The SCP Experience - The Ever-Living Man | SCP-138

Episode Date: December 4, 2023

Want to listen ad-free? Try it FREE for 7 days here: patreon.com/TheSCPExperience SCP Foundation SAFE class object, SCP-138: The Ever-Living Man  This story was derived from https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-138 and is released under Creative Commons Sharealike 3.0. https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/ Author: Lucas Click Discover the Author's impressive series of SCP Tales here: https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0BVWJFGV3 Check out more of Mr. Click'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. #thescpexperience #scp #scpfoundation #scpencounters #securecontainprotect #scpstories #scpexplained #whatisscp Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Lazang sur-gillet, Puisance-Moyerned 15 minutes. Oh, you'd say that's the Dojo? Prere to play? Vive the pleasure with Leo Jo.

The casino in-line that proposes the most recent machine-a-sou and the games to Casino in direct. For Big Bas, Bonanza, without exigance of misgisance and with

the payments instantane. Hey, I've gained! Woohoo! Sentire the pleasure! Play-Ojo! 18-10 and plus, 1-Depos only depots in Ontario.

50 tours on the machine-a-sou Big Bas-Bas Bonanza. DePos minimum of $10. DePososos $0. conditions apply. Revenge is fleeting. It can carry a man for a lifetime, but not for eternity. No one knows this more than I do. I don't know how much time has passed in the dark,

wrapped in injuries that refuse to heal, with no light to see, a voice long turned, too hoarse to speak. Even the voice of the God in my head is indecipherable now. Its constant prattling and prophesying have turned into gibberish. Once, I had power that rivaled the pharaohs themselves. I would have taken over Egypt and spread the influence of my dark God throughout the known world. For decades, visions of my victories played through my mind, giving me comfort against the wounds carved into my flesh. My defiance was shouted for centuries with no one to hear me but me and my God.

Revenge can motivate, but a man needs more than motivation to break the chains of captivity. Eternity is a vast stretch of time that man was not meant to see or experience. If one ever traveled down its path, they would be driven mad by isolation and loneliness. I know this now, and the price of my wisdom is everything. To have faith is to have certainty. There is a comfort that comes from the knowledge that you are a member of the true faith. Our gods were our liberators. Without them, they would be a member of the true faith. them, they would only be chaos and insanity. This was told to me by many different voices growing

up. Everyone must work hard and trust in the gods, their emissary, the pharaoh, and maintain their ma'at, the divine balance. Every honest Egyptian believed these facts. Yet I felt a drawing and a power in these words more than the average citizen. That's why I entered the clergy and studied my whole life to become a priest. I gave up my life in service to the God Amin. My early years passed, learning to read and write, with my teen years spent shadowing the elder priests as they went about their duties. My early 20s passed, learning law and rhetoric to further help the followers of Amin gain sway from the Pharaoh amongst the competing voices from the other faiths. My 30s were spent being groomed for power and assuming the mantle of the high priest of Amman.

My forties were met with betrayal. Instead of being given the role of high priest by the Pharaoh, he chose another. Someone who came from a wealthy family who slept late into the afternoon to recover from the previous evening's debauchery. In short, he chose someone who made a laughingstock of our devotion. The Pharaoh looked at my years of sacrifice and spat on them. I didn't understand why initially. Not even after my mentors explained the Pharaoh's decision to me.

The Temple of Amin had grown strong in Thebes, earning the love of the people and the sway of those in power. Too much leverage, the Pharaoh's advisors cautioned. Best to curb our influence now while it was still possible. And what better way to neuter and insult us than putting the crown on a fool's head? Their explanation was Ash in my mind. How could the Pharaoh make such a selfish decision? decision. All of my life, I was brought up believing him to be the connection between the mundane world and the spiritual one. And yet, he made a decision not with the gods or the people in his heart, only himself. Distraught by this new side of the divine, I took a sabbatical to the desert. For three days and nights, I ate nothing and drank only water, fasting, praying, and meditating in hopes of finding some new purpose in this world.

I prayed to the gods, begging for an answer. They replied by knocking stars from the sky. I awoke to fire streaking across the dunes. The display had woken the nearby sleeping city, and I could hear the shouts of fear along with the chanting of prayers. Only I knew this was a message, and I took off across the sands, chasing the streaks of light, weakened in my search for answers.

It wasn't until the sun finally crested over the horizon, that I found the obelisk. The orb was in a crater the size of a temple. I tried to descend the slope carefully, but my body was weak, and I stumbled. I fell down the rest of the way, the sand already catching the early rays of raw and burning my skin.

A cold calmness wrapped around my body when I finally rested at the center of the crater. The stone my hand rested on was jet black. It was both cool and reflected my expression, expression like it had been polished by the gods before being dropped onto the mortal plane. Closing my eyes, I wrapped both hands along its surface and prayed again. And the dark God answered. The words were impossible to decipher it first.

The divine presence captured within the rock was too vast to understand a concept such as a spoken language. Being in its presence felt like dangling your hand before a starving lion, just waiting for it to pounce and devoutes. bower you whole. Faith saved me that day. I clung to it tightly and waited, shivering in the divine presence, but never backing away. Slowly, it understood my thoughts, and as it did, it discovered my concerns and my desires. The dark god was all the gods I knew and many more that I did not. It was old when humanity looked at the stars for the first time and wondered about the their existence. In its infinite wisdom, it had discovered Ma'at and the ways of achieving balance

between the gods and people. The dark god promised that there was a true middle ground between the gods and people like me, but it wasn't the Pharaoh. Any man could be the emissary if proven worthy. And the dark god would show me how to be worthy. I returned from the desert a changed man, much more than anyone suspected. Keeping the black orb hidden from others, my days were spent in my room in prayer and meditation, conferring with my dark God. While I slept, its wordless voice filled my mind, showing me glimpses of what was to come, the thoughts and petty concerns of those around me.

And it told me how to manipulate this new knowledge in our favor. During my forties, I indulged in both wine and women in great excess. I ignored the shameful looks from those who had trained me, for I knew the truth. I was now serving a true God, and he assured me there was no sin in either vice. My peers and mentors thought I had given up after being passed over by the Pharaoh. In truth, I was merely biting my time.

After several years of unrepentant hedonism, I drew the attention of the high priest of Amin. He suspected we were birds of a feather. Soon, we became partners in our evenings out, spending long hours away from the temple and our responsibilities. And over time, he confided in me. The confidence soon became reliance, and after that, I became the high priest and all but the title.

My 50s were my rise to power. I made alliances with other temples, and through them my influence spread throughout Thebes. While the high priest drank and hoared his way into oblivion every night, I consolidated our power. Before my 60th year, our priesthood was second in power to only the Pharaoh himself. But this was also when the dark god first started to show worry. I had already lived a long time,

much longer than most people in Thebes could have ever hoped for. I now had fewer years in front of me than behind me. And yet, my God did not abandon me. He wanted me to ascend the next pillar between mortal and God in hopes that I may continue to spread his influence amongst the people. My God knew a ritual to make this possible, but it required royal blood. Royal blood, easier to ask for the moon.

Yes, we rivaled the Pharaoh in power now. but that rivalry was not something the people would risk civil war for. He was seen as a god himself. A misbelief I now realized our monarch purposefully spread throughout his followers. I plotted and waited, having faith, and was finally rewarded. During one of our nightly drinking sessions, the High Priest finally confided in me his darkest secret. There was a reason why the Pharaoh had chosen him for the position of High Priest,

Besides what we all suspected. It wasn't simply to annoy those seeking more power for the temple. The high priest was the Pharaoh's bastard. There's something else here now. Something new. From exclusively on Paramount Plus, it's the series Stephen King calls Scarious Hell. Everything here is impossible, but it's also real.

Sci-fi vision calls it the best show streaming right now. We're running out of time and we still don't know who we're Don't miss what the movie blog calls something you need to watch. Saving those children is how we all go home. From Binge All Episodes exclusively on Paramount Plus. Everything moved quickly after that. It was my 63rd year and a deep cough had settled in my chest. And every night passed with heavy sweat and fever.

The words of my God grew more frantic with each passing day. My time was growing short. We needed to act now. The hardest part was simply organization. Isn't it always? It took time to ensure everyone would be in place with the right prices paid so that certain eyes would look away, and all the preparation for the ceremony.

My inner circle would all be present, two dozen men and women from all walks of life. They were my chosen few who would witness my next step toward divinity. As for the high priest, his task was easy. There was no need for poison or any such duplicity. He drank goblet after goblet of wine as he did every night, while I nourished my drinks. His favorite whore was paid extra to lead him not to his bed, but to the antechamber for the ritual. Even that was a small expense.

She had been one of my best informants for years now. He was so drunk, he didn't notice anything was amiss. His steps hobbled up the stairs to the platform, his face so red that I doubt he saw the masks of animals we eat. each war. The choir sang in an ancient language that took over a decade to learn. His eyes only widened when I stuck the needle into his neck. The drugs coating the tip quickly went to work, freezing his body in place as the chanting picked up its pace and rhythm. As the music reached its crescendo, I knew the time was now. I unsheathed the dagger and plunged it into the high priest's chest. He didn't scream, not even his blood.

spilled from his body in a heavy stream as we cracked his rib cage open. This had nothing to do with his bravery or constitution. It was all thanks to the drugs. But his mouth did hang open in a blank scream as I dug into his chest. The light in his eyes only went out after I pulled his still beating heart free. The song of my God filled my ears and heart as I bit into the organ. It was rough and chewy, the meat sticking with a long tug before it snout. free. Chewing was an effort that required the constant work of my jaw, but power coursed

through the blood and filled my body. I smiled, so enamored with my success, but I didn't notice the screaming until the sword was drawn across my throat. I screamed and dropped the heart as my hands flew to my throat. Blood spewed out of the wound, standing my vestments and puddling on the floor. A man with a sword stood behind me but didn't waste any of his time. My wound a fatal one and there were still many more marked for death. He turned on my choir and hacked down the nearest woman. The rest of the chorus remained standing, their faith proven, attempting to finish the song even as they were murdered. This could not be said of many of my followers. Some fled in terror, while others dropped to their knees and begged for mercy. Both gestures

proved pointless as men discarded their masks and raised the swords hidden within their robes. The accursed Pharaoh's bodyguards turned enforcers of his will. They had infiltrated my ritual with patience befitting the dark god. They waited until all my followers were in one place to wipe them out and one fell swoop. The sacrifice of the high priest was a small price to wipe out the Pharaoh's enemies. As the last of my followers were cut down, the group turned on me in surprise. The wound in my throat was deep and true, but as my blood continued to fall, I still live. One man crossed the room and thrust his sword through my chest.

My body jerked and spasmed with pain as he pulled the blade free. But, to both of our surprise, I remained standing. My laughter was harsh and quiet as blood spurred from the wounds in my chest and throat. It grew only louder as the group circled me with their swords drawn, hacking at me from all directions. But my body refused to fall to their blades. Every breath was labored and filled with blood. but I still lived.

I was immortal, and with it came my misery. They kept me alive for a month after that, trying to find some way to end me. Poison didn't work, nor did any work of swords or beatings, but oh how they tried all the same. All the while, I shouted my defiance at the Pharaoh and his cronies.

My immortality was proof that I was the true emissary of the gods. They could only keep me hidden for so long. Eventually, someone would see me, and they would rally against the false god our ruler claimed to be. My downfall was my arrogance. A ruler has two choices when dealing with a threat, either eliminate it or pretend that it never existed. Since the false king couldn't do the former, he chose the latter.

The priests were not gentle as they prepared me for burial. My arms and wrists were broken and bent onto each other to curtail my resistance. Hot tar was poured over my body, my screams buried beneath the cloth that covered my mouth. They tucked the orb of my God with me last, placing it next to me. It was only to cover up all traces of my rebellion, but I smiled as they lowered the lid and plunged me into darkness. By sealing me with my God, they guaranteed I would one day rise and reclaim what was mine. I merely had to be patient, patience, vengeance, all proper motivators for someone who is immortal,

or at least they would have been for a true immortal, which I am not. Perhaps it's because I didn't devour the heart entirely, or because the choir couldn't finish their divine song. I am unsure of the reasons, but the ritual was incomplete. Yes, I will live forever, but the the wounds inflicted upon me will never heal. Even now, my throat remained slit and my body broken. It was easy to remain defiant despite the pain. With the pharaoh's throne in view and the sun on my face, lusting after these desires came easily, when they were within my grasp, I was able to block out the pain while I reached for them. That was before all this time in the dark. After my second century, I stopped shouting against the pain. My hope,

of ever feeling the sun on my face again died as the smell of my filth choked the meager air for my lungs. During my third century, I stopped counting the passage of time. I ignored the presence of my God until his voice turned to buzzing in my mind, praying only to death for salvation. Death never came. An eternity passed in sleepless dreams and constant pain. When the crack of light appeared in the tomb above me, I cowered away and fear. Even after all this time longing for death, I shrieked at what I thought was the afterlife. The light engulfed me while fear penned me in place. A gasp forced my eyes open.

Standing before me were several people. Their skins were strange, in shades that I had never seen before. Their clothing was also unusual, and the words they spoke to me were utter gibberish. Some of the braver ones took me by the arms and hoisted me up. I took the first fresh breath in ages. The clean air scorched and burned my lungs. The voice of my God swelled in my head, reminding me of the old days and our original ambitions. I had been patient. Now it was finally my time to claim this new world. I closed my eyes and tears filled them. My despair was stronger than the God that led me astray. His voice retreated to the back of my

mind as I opened my eyes again. I wanted to wipe the tears away from them, but my arms were still bound and broken after all this time. I pictured what I must have looked like to my saviors and couldn't stop sobbing. I looked up at them, meeting each of their eyes, trying to fight past their wonder and terror. Though I knew they wouldn't understand my words, I licked my dry lips and dragged forth the first words I had spoken in thousands of years. Kill me. Please. Kill me. SCP 138 is a human male, suspected to be in excess of 4,000 years old. Subject is approximately 1.5 meters in height, emaciated and wizened.

SCP 138's precise origins are unknown. Subject was discovered in 2006. in an Egyptian tomb located near Tutankhamun's tomb unearthed in 1922, sealed inside a sarcophagus. When a living being was discovered in the tomb, the foundation was alerted by one of our sleeper agents assigned to the International Archaeological Association. Subject was immediately moved to sector 37 for investigation by the lead research science team there. Physiologically, SCP-138 should clinically be dead. Muscles and internal organs are in a severe state of atrophy, and although the subject's bio-electromagnetic field is stable, his nervous system is also severely debilitated.

Subject also exhibits evidence of a large number of fatal wounds, some possibly accidental, some blatantly deliberate. There is no obvious scientific explanation for his continued living state. Although other SCPs have exhibited accelerated regenerative properties, allowing them to resist death. SCP-138 has no such abilities. His body does not regenerate damage, but simply continues to function despite lethal injuries.

Subject speaks exclusively in a dialect of ancient Egyptian. Communication using a civilian translator has revealed very little about the subject's past, though it would appear that he was buried in the tomb for an unknown religious purpose. Due to his severely injured state, SCP-138 is in a constant state of agony and has on numerous occasions insistently requested humanitarian euthanasia. No successful method of termination has yet been found, despite various and varied attempts, both official and unsanctioned.

Attached is a comprehensive list of the subject's injuries.