As soon as the Overseer finished speaking, James' expression shifted. His calm gaze deepened, taking on a contemplative and serious tone.
The audience watching the live broadcast was momentarily silent—before an eruption of excited chatter followed. Many wished they could leap into the screen and speak on James' behalf, eager to see where this was going.
In the frame, James remained silent. The Overseer, noticing his silence, offered a slight smile.
"I'll tell you the content first," she said. "But keep in mind… I only have Level 4 security clearance."
There was a pause.
"I'm part of the O5 Council."
That statement alone silenced James again. A member of the elusive, all-powerful O5 Council—speaking to him directly?
After a long moment, James finally nodded. "Alright."
The Overseer's eyes flickered. She seemed to take a second look at James, now visibly impressed by his decisiveness.
She stepped forward and looked at him with a probing gaze. "I assume you've reviewed all five previous versions of the SCP-2317 file?"
"I have."
"Then what did you discover?" she asked.
James took a breath. "SCP-2317-K isn't actually contained by the Foundation."
The Overseer's expression tensed, but she neither confirmed nor denied it. Instead, she gestured for him to continue.
"And…" James said slowly, "SCP-2317-K isn't the Scarlet King."
"…Go on," she urged, her tone now serious.
James narrowed his eyes. "The 220-Kalabasas Procedure doesn't work."
Those words hit like a thunderclap.
The Overseer froze.
The live chat exploded in disbelief.
"Wait, WHAT? That ritual doesn't work?!"
"Bro, that's like the Foundation's most sacred containment procedure!"
"Is he serious?? What if this guy is falling under some illusion or trap?!"
"There's no way the Foundation would lie… right?"
At S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Natasha Romanoff stared at the screen, furrowing her brows.
"I get the first two points," she said, "but the third… it doesn't make sense. Even if SCP-2317-K isn't the Scarlet King, that doesn't mean the ritual is useless."
Nick Fury stood beside her, contemplative.
He was beginning to agree with James. If the Crimson King truly was the omniversal threat the legends claimed, there was no way a few symbolic gestures would hold his attention—let alone contain one of his projections.
Fury's eye remained fixed on the screen. What will the Overseer say next?
On-screen, she regarded James in silence for a while, as though seeing him for the first time.
At last, she spoke in a low voice. "Let's address your first guess. SCP-2317 was not originally discovered or contained by the Foundation. And… it is not a gate to another world."
James' eyes flickered, but he said nothing.
The Overseer continued. "In reality, SCP-2317 is an ancient entity known as [DATA EXPUNGED]—the Devourer of Worlds. According to the Erikesh Codex, it was captured and bound by occultists of Erikesh around 1894 BCE."
"Devourer of Worlds? Erikesh?" James muttered.
Even he couldn't hide his astonishment.
The viewers were left reeling.
"SCP-2317 is the Devourer of Worlds?!"
"Okay, that just flipped the entire SCP-verse upside down."
The Overseer began to recite solemnly.
"The Erikesh Book records: 'Then Keshpeth led his army of ten thousand into the realm above the clouds, where they fought a great battle with the Devourer, may his name be forever forgotten.'
'Keshpeth and his host forged seven chains of fineness, all made from the bones of JASPETAR, the Seventh Bride of the Dread Devourer, may his name be forgotten, and bound him in the Pearl of the Father of Secrets, in the Mirror of Salt beneath the Ocean Realm.'
'Keshpeth decreed that the gates to the Far Realm be forever sealed, lest the Dread Devourer ever find his way back to our world.'"
As her voice echoed, the audience couldn't help but visualize the epic tale.
An army of mystics marched into the heavens to confront a world-devouring entity the size of mountains. Their battle painted the skies with blood and darkness. In the end, they forged mystical chains from the remains of the Devourer's own consorts and imprisoned the colossal being beneath an otherworldly ocean.
That Devourer still exists—to this day.
At S.H.I.E.L.D., Natasha Romanoff repeated the words in a whisper. "So… SCP-2317-K is the Devourer of Worlds?"
The thought was unfathomable. In a pre-technological era, a group of occultists managed to imprison an entity so massive it could consume planets?
At Kamar-Taj, the Ancient One focused on one line in particular.
"Seven chains of fineness," she murmured. Her mind raced, trying to recall what entity "JASPETAR, the Seventh Bride," might be.
At the same time, a new question emerged: What exactly is the link between the Devourer of Worlds and the Crimson King?
Out in the distant cosmos, within the Observer dimension…
Watcher Uatu repeated the name to himself: "The Devourer of Worlds…"
Even with his vast knowledge, he found no relevant entry.
"Another monster that exists only in the Foundation's universe," he concluded.
To think such an ancient terror could be sealed by mere humans was astounding.
Back on screen, the Overseer continued.
"It remains unclear how the 19th-century Order of the Golden Arrow opened the path to Cosmic-Kappa-Erikesh… or why. What we do know is that the first four chains binding the Devourer broke entirely by accident."
James narrowed his eyes. "So the Foundation didn't originally contain SCP-2317?"
"No," she replied. "The organization inherited the anomaly from its predecessor, known then as the Founders' Society. They failed to repair the chains, and eventually collapsed. The Foundation stepped in later."
"The gate to another world…" James muttered.
"…Was constructed by the Foundation," the Overseer confirmed. "All data points to the conclusion that full containment will fail sometime within the next century. Every thirty years or so, one of the chains breaks."
"And the Foundation hasn't figured out how to repair them?" James asked.
The Overseer shook her head.
"Every attempt to replicate or repair the chains has failed. We don't even know what material they were originally made of."
A heavy silence followed.
"Our best scientists are searching for a new containment method," she continued, "but the odds are low. The original materials, the occult knowledge—it's all lost."
James was quiet for a moment before asking the most pressing question: "So… what is the relationship between the Devourer of Worlds and the Crimson King?"
The Overseer hesitated. Her eyes flickered with doubt, as though deciding whether the truth could be shared.
Finally, she exhaled. "We haven't confirmed it. We currently have two working theories."
Everyone leaned in closer.
"Originally," she said, "the Foundation believed the Devourer of Worlds was a projection of the Crimson King."
That statement stunned the audience.
"NO WAY!"
"A projection?? Of the Crimson King?!"
"That means the Devourer isn't even the final boss?!"
The Overseer raised her hand and added, "That theory has since been dismissed."
"What we believe now," she said, looking directly at James, "is that the Devourer of Worlds has been invaded by the concepts of the Crimson King."
The audience went wild.
"He got... conceptually hacked?!"
"Bro… the Crimson King doesn't even need to fight. He just infects entities like viruses."
"Imagine being the Devourer of Worlds and still being someone else's pawn."
At S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury slumped back into his seat.
He had thought he had some grasp of the Crimson King's scope.
Now he realized how naive he'd been.
If even the Devourer of Worlds was but a tool—or worse, a corrupted anomaly—then what was the true scale of the Crimson King?
On-screen, James finally spoke again.
"There's one last question."
The Overseer nodded solemnly.
"Your third guess… was also correct. The 220-Kalabasas Procedure is completely ineffective."
The live chat, no longer surprised, seemed to nod in agreement.
Of course it was.
If the Devourer was that powerful, and corrupted by the Crimson King, then what use was a symbolic ritual of human invention?
The Overseer elaborated, her voice full of weariness.
"The real danger now isn't the Devourer itself. It's the panic within the Foundation."
She gave James a long look. "You understand. The Foundation operates under immense psychological pressure. If we announced that SCP-2317-K was uncontainable, morale would crumble. People would resign. The world would spiral into chaos."
James looked thoughtful. "So you created a fake ritual."
"Yes," the Overseer admitted. "The 220-Kalabasas Procedure was designed not to contain, but to maintain hope."
She recalled the moment it was approved.
The proposal had been dramatic:
"We will make the ritual feel authentic.
We will use religious motifs, include elements from known occult groups, mention nearby anomalies, obscure specific steps for 'security', and imply nuclear solutions exist.
All of it to make our people believe that we still have control."
The live chat fell strangely quiet.
The so-called sacred containment was just a beautifully wrapped lie.
And yet… it had worked—until James uncovered the truth.
"The procedure was never meant to contain anything," the Overseer concluded. "Its sole purpose was to reduce psychological stress—until a real solution could be found."
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