After finishing my work with the Philosopher's Stone, another year quietly slipped away. The moment my research notes were archived, the system announced what I had been waiting for:
A new SCP was ready to manifest.
For a brief moment, I actually lifted my hands to pray—to someone—before stopping myself. In the SCP universe, praying wasn't a harmless gesture. If I whispered a plea to a god, I might actually summon that god. And given the number of deities—from benevolent to apocalyptic—that existed here… I decided it was best to trust my own luck.
And for once, my luck didn't betray me.
Instead of a world-ending horror or a reality‑destroying monster, we received something incredibly valuable:
SCP‑407 – The Song of Genesis.
One of the most useful anomalous items that could have possibly appeared.
A melody capable of healing, restoring, accelerating biological processes—and, unfortunately, mutating anything exposed for too long. A delicate miracle and a biological nightmare rolled into one.
The Search Begins
We mobilised immediately.
In this ancient era, no one could make copies of the song, no one could record it, no one could unknowingly spread it. That alone made containment a thousand times safer than in the original timeline.
All we needed to do was look for:
Overgrown forests
Sudden, unnatural plant bloom
Rapidly healed or mutated wildlife
Areas where the ecosystem behaved abnormally
We dispatched reconnaissance teams with strict orders: if you hear anything melodic that isn't natural—RUN.
This was going to be a long-term project. We had no idea if the disk had just manifested or if it had been active for years. Either way, it was out there somewhere, singing to empty forests or distant mountains.
But that was a problem for the containment teams.
My Focus Shifts to the Reality Stone
Now that the Philosopher's Stone was understood—and sitting safely inside Site‑01's Omega Vault—I finally had the time to begin the research I had waited years for:
Understanding the true potential of the Reality Stone.
I sealed myself inside my private laboratory, activated every Reality Anchor I had, and placed the Reality Stone inside a floating stasis chamber. Its red glow illuminated the entire room like a pulsing heart.
My goal was simple:
Determine whether it was possible to create matter from nothing.
If I could accomplish that…The Foundation would never lack resources again.
We could generate vibranium, adamantium, enchanted materials, star‑metal—anything. Entire cities could be built overnight. Wars could be ended with a gesture. A single user could reshape the world's economy.
But the risks were more dangerous than the benefits:
Creating matter meant altering universal constants.
Even small mistakes could tear space, destabilize gravity, or rip holes in the fabric of reality.
And the Aether itself had a mind—it protected itself, manipulated hosts, and reacted to fear and doubt.
However, with the mind of Rick Prime, Uzumaki vitality, elemental control, and mental shielding earrings?
I was confident.
No…I was certain.
The First Step Toward Godhood
So I began the first experiment.
I reached out with chakra-enhanced hands, syncing my energy with the Reality Stone. Its power surged through me—violent, burning, overwhelming. I felt the universe shudder around my intent.
I didn't try transforming anything.I didn't try reshaping a space.I didn't try illusions.
No.
For my first test, I attempted something fundamental:
I tried to create a single speck of matter. A grain of dust. Something that had never existed before.
If I could do that…The path forward was limitless.
And dangerous.
But I was ready.