The SCP Experience - Immortal Iron Maiden | SCP-762

Episode Date: July 15, 2022

SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-762: Immortal Iron Maiden This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-762, and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas Click Check out the Author's work here: newpulptales.com DISCLAIMER: This episode contains explicit content. Parental guidance is advised for children under the age of 18. Listen at your own discretion. #drscp #scp #scpfoundation #doctorscp #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

We hear and smell the invading army long before we see it. The air shakes like thunder from the invading forces. People who have never seen a legion of men move know nothing of the scope of an invading power. The reek of piss and shit from a small moving country hangs heavily on the wind. The responding force is laughably weak. Only three men. My general is to the left,

and to the right is a boisterous drunk. noble, sweating heavily through his leather armor. I chose him for his booming voice and nothing else. I ride in the center, an old man, wearing no armor and a strange sword on my belt. Let them laugh. Plenty of laughed before. We pause at the outstretch of land before the invading horde. The shimmering steel of the mounted knights is like a sun plucked from the heavens and forced to the earth. The thought triggers a memory, and a smile crosses my lips. Spurred by a youthful eagerness I haven't felt in years, I dig my spurs into the horse's side and gallop toward my opponents.

My two men call out in surprise, but then follow. The camp comes alive with confusion as runners search for their officers. I pull up on my reins halfway toward the enemy camp, and my horse rears back with a defying line. My two chosen come to a stop beside me, and we wait. I can feel their fear as the foreign army lines up in formation to intimidate us before three other riders break formation and ride toward us. They pull to a stop, kicking up dirt and grass.

The steeds they ride are beautiful and massive, the kind bred for war and not farmwork like our own mounts. I nod to them. We've come to discuss the terms of surrender. The foreign knight smiles. Very well. Have King Rolf lay down his arms and secede all claims to not our surrender. I cut him off with a stern look.

Yours. My defiance startles them into silence. It only lasts a moment before laughter breaks their confusion. I ignore them and speak louder as I dictate my terms. You can keep your horses. Leave your weapons and armor and everything else that you are carrying. That includes gold. Consider that atoll for dragging me out of bed.

Christ Almighty, one of the other night scoffs. This one's nuttier than there, king, isn't he? He is our king. My fat aide's voice booms across the land. You stand in the presence of King Rolf I, the heaven blessed, sacred protector of our kingdom. He who protects with his left hand and heals with his right. He pauses for dramatic effect. And who brings down God's vengeful wrath with his blade?

The tactics used to work fairly well in days long past. Back when the legends about me were still young, and I still stood proud and strong, rippling with muscle. Now time and age have robbed me of my once intimidating presence. My attendance voice carries all the way to the end. enemy camp. But it's not long before the land itself echoes with laughter as their army joins in with the other nights. Laugh now and die screaming for mercy in a few minutes. I narrow my eyes as my heart quickens with anger. Or leave now with your lives, but not your valuables. Those are your

only options. They spit at my feet before riding back to their camp. I sigh and hoist myself off my horse, ignoring the pain in my back and knees. When I first took the crown, I used to love shows of force like this, tempting foreigners to invade our land, hoping to grow rich off our trading passage, but only to find themselves bending the knee after meeting me in battle. Now though, I am too old for these games. The men ride beside me as I unsheath my weapon. Legend calls it a sword, but the hilt below the metal rod,

is the only resemblance to one. I cranked the dial near the base of the sword to the right. The weapons hum grow steadily louder as it comes to life, and my hand starts to shake as the power builds. The camp commander decides that we only warrant a small company of his cavalry. Six riders charges, eager for our blood. I raise my left hand, and the bracelet around my wrist hums with power like my sword. The air crackles and pops.

engulfing us in a sphere that shimmeres faintly around us. The cavalry doesn't notice it until they collide against the unseen shield. A loud crash fills the air as the horses are thrown back. They're knocked hundreds of feet in the air and come crashing down on the ground with violent thuds and explosions of gore. The laughter at the camp stops as they start with their broken force and remember the legends of Rolf the heaven blast. Now a little cautious. The commander calls for his archers. line up in formation. Like it ended all now, but they've made me angry. An old longing for

violence rises in my heart and makes me want to show off some more. The bright noon sky darkens as it fills with arrows. Archery has always been a game of numbers, spraying the area as much as possible in a game of quantity over accuracy. Most of the arrows rain down on the ground around us, while dozens more bounce off the invisible shield, causing the the light to flash a faint blue with each impact. The enemy camp comes to life with activity as they mount for their next attack. But I've given them three chances already, and I am bored of this game. Lowering my left hand, I raised the rod in my right and squeeze the trigger at the base.

The humming turns into a scream as light explodes from the tip. It rips through the center of the enemy camp, turning men to ash and scorching the ground to glass. My arm shakes violently, but I keep my hold steady as I move my arm left and right, painting the land with death and fire while decimating the enemy army. I let go and breathe heavily, taking in the scent of burned meat. I see no survivors, not even dying men, and I sigh in frustration. With no survivors to spread the tail, it means another army will probably come sooner than later. How annoying! She think the weapon that has given me an uncontested kingdom, I turned back to my horse.

My knees pop as I climb the stirrups, and the pain freezes me in mid-motion. My general steps up to help me, and with no invading eyes to see, I let him. I pretend not to notice the hunger in his eyes as he watches my struggle. Now send out our army. I nod to the smoldering ruins of the enemy camp. Salvage what we can. Any gold they have should be melted. It's still valuable. He slams his fist into a quick salute. And I turn on my horse and ride back to my castle. When I am out of view from my men, I let loose the racking coughs that have been building in my chest since the battle.

They grow so fierce, they threaten to throw me off my horse. A man who just solely vanquished an army shouldn't have to worry about a damned cough. I wipe the blood away from my lips before my castle gates swing open. I've had a long and prosperous rule, but all rains must end. Not if I can help it. King Rolf, the heaven blessed, will become King Rolf, the immortal. There isn't a drop of royal blood in my family's lineage, not even an ounce of nobility.

My family before me had always been peasants. Our life was not a happy one. Even without times of war, life on the farms is harsh and unforgiving. It squeezes any happiness or innocence from the people who toil in the fields. Our kingdom was never prosperous, but the land was fertile and near the borders of wealthier kingdoms, making us an ideal passage for trade and a frequent target of war. Invading armies cut through our lands as far back as I can remember. remember. Most of my childhood was spent in a vicious cycle of running and hiding, then repairing

the burned and ruined farms. All the while waiting for the next army to raise it all over again, the labor made me broad and strong, rippling with muscle, even from a young age. During one of these constant wars, a mercenary guild that was low on men took one look at me and put an axe in my hand when I was 15. That axe changed my life. The life of a mercenary isn't an easy one either. However, it pays much more than farming and gives you more time off. There's easy access to food, wine, and women in the lulls of wars. With each battle, I grew stronger, wiser, and made more money to outfit a better kit. In those days of war, the right set of armor made all the difference between life and death. For the next ten years, I made my name as a mercenary for hire,

sometimes working for my kingdom, sometimes for its invaders. With every kill, I grew steadier at the sight of blood until it no longer bothered me, so long as it was the enemy's blood and not my own. I came to relish the sight of it. The feel of its warmth on my skin became as comforting as the fleeting embrace of my mother as a child. Not all things are destined to last, though. The side willing to pay the most will not always be the victor, as I discovered in my early 20s. My mercenary band and I found ourselves pinched in between two warring armies. The fighting was brutal, and went long into the night. I survived only by abandoning my brothers in arms. I survived.

but I didn't walk away unscathed. A club had cracked my ribs, and a sword opened a deep cut of my leg. Desperate to survive, I ignored the pain and ran deep into the woods. The constant snarls of the enemy hounds grew closer and closer, while I only moved slower. I rested against a tree and drank the last of my water. Knowing that my life was coming to an end, I looked up to the heavens. To this day,

I'm still not sure why I looked up. I stopped believing in God long before becoming a mercenary, but I was thankful for the new churches springing up in his name. They were good for business. After all, one man's heretic was another man's client. Perhaps I was only looking for some brief sign of peace before a bloody death. I did not find it in the sky. A ball of fire ripped across the darkness, growing closer,

crashing right toward me. It roared over my head, igniting the treetops on fire, and exploding against the land so hard that it knocked me off my feet. Curious, I pulled myself up and limped towards the fallen star. I found a burning metal wreckage, ripping a wound into the earth. It had broken trees and disgorged rock. The metal glowed with an almost divine shimmer that drew me closer. The metal shifted and a small bridge extended from an opening.

Something walked down the steps that I first mistook for a man. But then I gasped and fell to the ground again. It was a demon. Lazzang sur-joled, Pucance-Moyerned, we're saying. We're their dojo. Preet a pleasure with the Ojo.

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It stood twice as tall as a man, but half its weight on long, narrow legs. Its long arms ended in seven elongated fingers, and bracelets adorned its strange skin. Frozen with fear, it drew closer to me. It breathed deep, its chest inflating to twice its size.

When it exhaled, a musical sound came from its narrow lips. It looked down at me, revealing a bulbous head and two tear-shaped all-black eyes. It raised its right arm toward me, and I tried to crawl away, but a green light. It burst from its bracelet and held me in place. I struggled, but some unseen force held me down. Then the pain vanished from my body. My skin itched as the cut on my leg closed and healed before my eyes. I watched as the scar closed only to disappear beneath unmarred flesh, as the pain in my ribs vanished.

I stood up, healthier than I had ever been. Even the cold that had been plaguing me for a month was gone. I stared at the demon, and its lipless mouth quivered into something like a smile. Before I could ask questions, the woods filled with armed men and their beasts. The enemy had their swords at the ready, and the demon strode past me, held its arms open, and expanded its lungs again. The same calming sound from before issued from it, but it froze the men. only a minute before they swarmed around us.

The demon rose its left hand, and the air shimmered around us. The blades bounced off an invisible barrier, and the dogs flinched back with piercing rinds while swatting at their noses. The creature unsheathed the rod from its side and poked the nearest man. His body convulsed before he crashed to the ground. These men were not mercenaries. They were stern religious fanatics,

and the demon's resistance only enraged than further. My savior's shoulder slumped before its prolonged thumb twisted a dial around its weapon. The rod hummed, and after a rest from the barrage, it lowered its hand and thrust forward. From the rod burst out a light that momentarily blinded me, but when my vision cleared, a section of the forest

had been burned away. Finally, the soldiers broke and fled into the woods, screaming, I wondered what it would be like to wield that kind of power. And as the demon lowered its weapon, my imagination gave birth to action. I swung my axe as hard as I could. I made contact with the demon's midsection and its chest collapsed. With no air in its lungs, it toppled to the ground without a sound.

I slammed my axe down, severing its hand from its bracelet before it could raise it, and kicked the sword of light from its other hand. I raised my axe two more times and left it on. harmless and crippled. At first, I was worried that its strange jewelry would not fit me. But the bracelets grew as I raised them to my wrist, and each snapped on to make a perfect fit. Then I took its sword and walked away with a smile as I made my way back to the battle.

Over the next several months, I figured out how the demonic tools worked. I could protect myself and others by raising my left hand and heal myself with the right bracelet. Those wonders paled when compared to the demon sword. Its dial turned to the left would leave a man dazed and unconscious for hours. It only grew more powerful as you turned it to the right. The rightmost turn could raise whole armies. I decimated the invading forces and reclaimed the small survivors of my mercenary guild

with me as their leader. We headed back to the clearing and found the demon. broken and battered, but still alive. Unsure how long the device would last without its maintenance, we kept it shackled and took it with us on our travels. The villages we visited spread legends about me. They said I was so favored by God that I had been blessed with divine weapons and used them to defeat a demon.

The people loved pelting my captive with rocks in the town square, while my growing forces drank all their wine and bedded their wine. and bedded their women. My men and I put a stop to the war. We lined our pockets heavily with gold, and my legend grew so far and wide that army stopped beseeching our borders for a while. Heralded as heroes, we were summoned and brought before the king.

We stood in the center of his throne room, and he beckoned me forward. Saviors of our kingdom, we welcome you, Rolf the heaven blessed, and your divine war, A sudden idea struck me. You mean King Rolf. The king stared at me as I raised my rod and squeezed the trigger.

Even at a lower setting, the light ripped through his stomach. He stared down at the wound as he sunk into his throne. Fire spread through his body, turning bone and muscle to ash. The flames devoured his throne as well, but his crown remained, only slightly warm to the touch, as I picked it up and placed it on my head. Turning back to the throne room, my soldiers ready themselves for battle. Instead, the king's guards threw down their weapons and took a knee. Soon everybody in attendance, servant, priest, and noble alike, did the same.

All hail King Rolf, the heaven blessed. Long may he reign! The cry was picked up by others until their echoes rang in my ears. That was 60 years. ago. Now, as I sit in the banquet hall, fresh from battle, the people still toast my name, yet I hear the whispers from my throne. My sons have grown eager, and it's only a matter of time before they make a move against me. The bracelet on my right wrist has saved my life from dozens of assassination attempts. It mends cuts, poisons, and illness alike, but it does nothing

for my more immediate concern. What good is being able to heal if it doesn't stop my body from aging? Fortunately, I foresaw this eventuality long ago. Even though my time is running short, immortality is a short walk away. Everyone is so drunk off wine celebrating the day's victory that no one notices when I slip away. I sneak down the secret passage to the dungeons and unlock the celebration. door where the demon stands waiting for me. Most of the color has drained from its body over the long years of servitude, but its hands

grew back a decade after I severed them. It was a fortunate circumstance. Has it allowed it to work even with the constant beatings I deliver to keep it in line? It hunches near its latest creation. Most of it has been constructed from the remains of its ship that still hasn't rusted with age. But it didn't have, I managed to trade over the years with the neighboring countries. It looks like a hollowed out casket or coffin in the shape of a woman on the outside. But like so many of its creations, I know it is more than that.

Is it ready? The creature bows its head. Although it has learned our language, it hasn't spoken since the night I met it decades ago. It reaches for my sword, and I backhanded across the face. It stumbles so hard that I'm afraid I've killed it, but it slowly rises. This time instead of reaching for its weapon, it beckons me closer. A panel opens along the back of the tomb and reveals a metallic sheath the same size as the rod. Though it pains me to part with the weapon, I slide it in place, and the maiden hums with power.

Now what? The demon bows again and open it. the door, I'm still suspicious, but I have my protective and healing bracelets. Standing regal, I take stock of the aches in my body that have compiled over the years of my successful rule. I bid them a fond farewell as I step inside. As the door shuts, light fills the small cavern. Nothing happens. So I step towards the exit and spikes sprang to the door. I scream as they pierce my skin until one rips right. through my throat. Gagging, I try to raise my arms, but the spikes have driven through them as well.

The cursed demon has tricked me. I struggle, making the pain only more severe. I haven't known pain like this in ages, always protected by one bracelet or healed by the other. But the agony stretches on, and my mouth opens in a silent scream. No sound making it past the pierced metal. As painful as it is, I grow stronger. There's enough light to see the wrinkles and liver spots fade from my arms. Loose skin tightens, and muscles that fell decades ago reaffirm themselves. The demon has been true to its word after all, yet the spikes don't retreat, and the pain only intensifies. Every struggle sinks them deeper, forcing a quiet gurgle from my throat. You hear me, Ralph.

I've never heard it speak in my language before. Of course you can. You've spent so long telling me what to do. But now, you will finally listen to me. It pauses a moment, and I remember how it had to inflate its lungs before speaking. I came to your world in peace. I was an explorer. But all you have offered me is violence.

You've turned me into a slave and used me to spread only more violence across this pitiful world. Another long pause, and I use the time to try to curse its name. But nothing comes out. And the demon continues its diatribe. You asked for immortality. and I have given it to you. You shall spend the rest of eternity in this box with those spikes driven in your flesh.

All hail King Rolf, the immortal. Long may he reign. SCP 762-1 is a torture device similar to the infamous Iron Maiden of Nuremberg. When opened, SCP 762 was found to have a male human in it, now known as SCP 762-2-2. When found inside SCP-762-1, SCP-762-2 had the device's large spikes embedded in his flesh. But when removed from SCP-762-1, all of the subject's wounds healed instantly.

SCP-762 was found to be completely Gatotonic, but otherwise, in decent health. Given the unique properties of SCP 762-1, it may be impossible to determine how long SCP-762 was in the device. Dating on the device shows that it dates back to the late 15th century. So it is possible that SCP 762-2 has been in the device for centuries. Any person placed inside SCP-762-1 appears to enter a state of the device for centuries.

appears to enter a state of suspended animation. Subjects no longer need food, water, or even air when inside SCP-762-1. Subjects also appear to be immune to the effects of disease or injury when inside SCP-762-1, including the large wounds inflicted by SCP 762-1 itself. Subjects do, however, remain conscious, and the experience is described. as being very painful. Once the subject is removed from SCP 762-1, all wounds inflicted by the device are instantly healed.

Since all physiological processes except for cognition are suspended while in SCP 762-1, it seems likely that a person placed in it will not age.