The Council Room at Site-01 was dimmer than usual. The O5 Head stood alone at the circular table, backlit by a flickering projection of Abel's newly formed pocket dimension. It pulsed with blood-red mist and floating blades, a nauseating visual even for those used to anomalous phenomena.
Dr. Amalia Van Leeuwen stood a few paces behind him, arms crossed tightly, face pale.
"What exactly are we looking at?" the O5 Head asked, his voice calm, but tight.
"Abel has created a pocket dimension," Amalia said quietly. "It mirrors SCP-106's... but it appears to be made entirely from his own willpower and rage."
The O5 Head turned. "You're saying he's mimicked 106's ability?"
"Not just mimicked--corrupted it. That arena—it shouldn't exist. And worse, it's severed all comms just like 106's dimension."
She tapped her earpiece again. Static. Abel wasn't responding. Her voice rose slightly. "Abel. Respond. That's an order."
Still nothing. The O5 Head raised a brow. "I thought the collar gave you control."
Amalia didn't answer. She was under the same impression, but Abel was proving to be more of a monster by the second. O5 Head propped himself against the table. His posture was relaxed, but his face told a different story.
"You know what's at stake here, doctor. This is your last chance to get things under control...or we nuke the place. And the funding for your little 'project' goes into other interests."
A bead of sweat ran down her cheek as she stared at her holoscreen. She couldn't mess this up. Everything that she's worked for was being defined by this moment. She tapped another button on the desk, opening up the comms to Cain and Asher.
"Cain? What's the situation out there?"
Cain and Asher both were standing in front of a red wall that seemed impenetrable. Several SCP agents stood with them, all surveying the outer walls of the dimension for a weakness. Some even tried opening fire on it.
Nothing.
Cain tapped his ear. "Currently, we're just as lost as you, doc. Abel's unreachable in there. No one can break through--not even with SCP weaponry."
"Dammit," Amalia hissed, slamming a fist on the edge of the desk. "We have to get in there before he takes this too far."
Inside the Pocket Dimension—
The world Abel created was a battlefield frozen in time. A field of swords jutted from the ground in every direction, their blades half-buried in the soil—or what passed for soil. The surface was a shallow pool of blood, dark and syrupy, rippling faintly with each unnatural breath the realm seemed to take. Here and there, bones jutted up from the mire—skeletal remains still clutching broken weapons or locked in twisted death poses. The skeletons looked like fallen warriors from eras long gone, dragged into this purgatory by Abel's warped hunger for conflict.
Overhead, a crimson sky loomed heavy and oppressive, swirling with smoke-like clouds. A massive, cracked moon hung high above—its black and purplish surface radiating an eerie pallor across the blood-soaked ground. The light it cast made the blades shimmer with a dull, ominous glint.
Among the wreckage stood Abel, at the heart of it all. Crimson aura spiraled from his body in violent waves.
A dozen swords floated in the air like angry wasps, glowing faintly in the haze. At the far end, SCP-106 stood in silence, his form twitching unnaturally. For a brief moment, he looked uncertain—almost afraid—as if the corrupted dimension had stolen something from him. His hollow eyes locked on Abel and the blood-soaked landscape, and for the first time in a long while, the Old Man hesitated.
Then came the a deafening pulse from within him. He was being changed somehow. The dimension was turning him into something different. Something—stronger.
With a sickening series of cracks and wet snaps, his limbs began to stretch grotesquely. His arms lengthened far beyond human proportions, bones splintering and reforming as his fingers morphed into hooked claws. His feet enlarged into twisted talons that tore through the bloody ground with each step. Each nail an acidic spike that hissed at the earth beneath it. His mouth, once a thin slit of rotted flesh, widened to a monstrous gape—revealing jagged, needle-like teeth that continued to grow until they jutted from his jaws like rusted spears. Viscous acid drooled from the corners of his mouth, sizzling where it touched the ground, filling the air with the stench of chemical rot.
His blackened skin pulsed as if barely containing the warped space inside him, glistening with oozing dimensional scars.
He hissed confidently, voice now a chorus of wet whispers.
"I'm going to drink your terror... strip it from your bones..."
The words came out wet, bubbling with acid and something far older than language. Each syllable oozed out of the Old Man's grotesquely distended mouth like a curse. His breath reeked of sulfur and corrosion, and every word seemed to slither across the blood-soaked ground like leeches made of sound. As he spoke, his maw continued to widen, teeth twitching and dripping with sizzling green saliva that hissed when it hit the skeletal remains below.
"...and wear your screaming face like a crown."
"There you are," Abel grinned. "My domain isn't designed to weaken you. Oh no. Now...you're a proper threat."
The Old Man crouched low as if preparing to pounce. The two of them stared off for a brief moment. Then, the Old Man lunged. Abel vanished in a blink, reappearing on the handle of a floating blade, then flinging it like a missile. The Old Man batted it away, but Abel was already gone, teleporting to the next sword. He danced from blade to blade, each movement precise and surgical. The Old Man struck back with claws that tore through blood and steel alike.
Abel laughed in ecstasy, warping from position to position, blades clashing like war drums.
In the Real World, Seconds Later.
The wall of the dimension pulsed faintly as SCP agents scrambled around it. Amalia stood near the control terminal, her voice sharp as she directed Asher and the others.
"Have we tried synchronized sonic pulses? What about a corrosive destabilizer?"
"Negative," Asher called back. "Nothing's getting through. It's like the wall knows we're trying to force it. This isn't just containment—it's rejection.
Amalia gritted her teeth. The O5 Head remained behind her, arms folded, saying nothing—but his presence loomed like a guillotine.
Cain, standing off to the side, had been quiet all this time. But now, something pulled at him. A strange tug at the edge of his awareness.
He stepped forward without a word, approaching the wall. The frantic noise around him faded as he raised his hand and placed it flat against the surface.
A deep stillness followed.
He closed his eyes.
Abel. He could feel him.
It wasn't just a sense of direction—it was instinctual. Like he was being called, welcomed. The barrier, once firm and impenetrable to the agents and their tools, felt… different to him.
Inviting.
Cain opened his eyes slowly, whispering to himself, "This is Abel's domain. If there's anyone he doesn't want inside--its people he considers weak. But the strong?"
The surface began to shift under his hand, warping like hot wax under pressure. Green and crimson hues shimmered across it.
"Here's to hoping I still know my brother..."
Amalia noticed Cain on the screen. She called out, stunned. "Cain—what are you—?"
He didn't answer. He took a breath, steeling himself, and pressed forward.
Slowly, the wall parted around him like liquid velvet. He didn't question it. He continued forward, one step at a time. The wall seemed to welcome him in, right before closing behind him with clash of red mist.
And then—he was gone.
Cain appeared inside, startled by the splash of his foot setting in the blood. It rippled beneath him. Abel and the Old Man clashed again in the distance. Cain's sudden arrival sent out a ripple, like reality was acknowledging him.
He saw his brother, standing over a defeated Old Man. Despite his new found strength, Abel had proven himself unbeatable in this place.
Amalia's voice suddenly crackled through the space, her signal being carried by the tracker placed on Cain's collar.
"Abel. Stand down now. You are not authorized to kill 106. Am I clear?"
Abel paused—just for a moment.
Then his face twisted. His chaotic glee was shattered by the sound of her voice. Rage took him.
His hand flew to the collar around his neck.
"SHUT...UP!" he roared, gripping the collar tightly. "YOU. FUCKING. WEAKLING!"
With a guttural snarl, he dug his fingers under the edge and began pulling. The device beeped frantically.
[WARNING. Tampering detected. Detonation imminent.]
He didn't care anymore. Nothing was going to get in his way—not even death. He tugged harder.
"I'm done taking orders...FROM ANYONE!"
Cain shouted, "Abel, don't—!"
The collar ignited with a blinding flash—then erupted.
The detonation split the air like a thunderclap from hell. A shockwave burst outward, flattening nearby swords and sending a torrent of blood and bone flying across the pocket dimension. For an instant, everything went white.
Then—
Smoke. Silence. A crater of scorched ground hissed at the center of it all.
Abel emerged from the blast cloud.
His left shoulder was gone, neck a gaping crater. But he stood. Skin already knitting back together. The Foundation's fail-safe had failed.
Cain's heart dropped.
Amalia, watching from the control room through Cain's comm device, was frozen in disbelief.
The O5 Head simply said, "I'm afraid its undeniable now, doctor. You've lost control."
Amalia had no response. His words were true. Abel was out of control, and the Old Man was seconds away from being eliminated.
The Old Man tried to crawl away.
Abel walked slowly, picking up a sword. He menacingly dragged it through the blood.
"Looks like you hit your limits. There's only one thing left to do now."
He raised the blade, grinning as he stared down at the Old Man, silently deciding where to stab him. He went for the torso, jabbing the blade into it with malice.
"Let's see how well you burn."
As the Old Man grabbed at the blade attempting to get free, a geyser of dark fire exploded around him, engulfing 106 in a black inferno. The creature flailed, screaming in layered, glitching tones.
Then:
"Abel!"
The flame vanished, his concentration completely broken.
That voice.
He turned in the direction of its origin, and there he was.
Cain.
"You've gone too far."
Abel's grin was manic. "What's this? Finally come for a real fight? All done with sneak attacks now?"
Cain's face darkened. "That's fair. But I'm here for the mission. Nothing personal."
Cain stood amidst the sea of blood and broken blades, watching the black fire slowly fade from Abel's shoulders. His brother's silhouette stood at the center of it all—part man, part demon—grinning with savage joy.
Cain exhaled slowly. Deeply. He hated this.
He closed his eyes.
"I never wanted it to come to this…" he whispered to himself.
The memories came in fragments: Abel laughing under a sunset, fists bruised from training; the sound of metal clashing in mock battle, not war. The brother he knew was in there—buried under bloodlust and the thrill of carnage—but Cain could feel the gap widening. It had to end now.
Cain rolled his shoulders, breathing out one last time. Then, he reached for the hidden latches along his gauntlets.
Click.
A hiss of pressure escaped. The sleek black metal fell away in pieces, clattering into the shallow pool of blood below.
Underneath, his arms were bare—but not unmarked. Chains, engraved directly into his flesh like branding, coiled around his limbs from shoulder to wrist. Their green glow pulsed like molten veins, the heat causing the air to shimmer.
Smoke rose from his skin where the acidic aura touched the air, sizzling with corrosive power.
He opened his eyes—calm, a bit mournful, but resolved.
Abel's eyes lit up. "About time you stopped hiding what you really are. Underneath all that tech you're still a destructive monster. Just like me."
Cain didn't answer. He balled his hands into fists as the corrosive power within them hissed. Abel turned to face him completely, his blade materializing in his hand.
Silence consumed everything as the two faced off.
Then...a single drop of blood fell from a blade above, landing in the blood pool below.
BLOOP.
They vanished.
Flashes of red and green exploded across the arena with thunderous force. Blades shattered. Cain blocked, weaved, twisted through the chaos. Both of their movements were almost untraceable. Every blade Abel hurled, Cain destroyed on contact.
Abel cackled. "YES! That's it! Bring your all to bear!"
He leaped, materializing his blade once more before crashing into the ground where Cain once stood. Cain dodged, disappearing right before impact. Abel stood and pulled his blade from the ground, waiting for the dust to settle. Cain appears yards away, breathing heavily.
Amalia's voice crackled in his ear: "Cain! You're holding back!"
Cain winced. She was right. Every move he made was defensive—restrained. He was fending Abel off, but not ending him. And Abel wouldn't stop. If anything, his smile just grew wider.
Then something cracked.
In the middle of the chaos, Cain felt it—not guilt. Not grief. Something more familiar.
Annoyance.
For the first time in centuries, he didn't feel like the penitent brother. He was the older brother. And Abel was being a fucking pest.
Abel's persistence had forced him to zero in one singular goal: To wipe that stupid grin off his face.
He gritted his teeth and planted his feet just as Abel charged him again.
"You're not the only one who's leveled up, asshole." Cain whispered.
Abel blinked. "What?"
Cain slammed a glowing fist into the ground. Lines of green light cracked outward like lightning. Then he thrust his arm skyward, forcing the blood-drenched earth to rise with it—warping into a spiked barrier.
Abel crashed into it with full force, merely cracking it with his blade.
Cain wound the other arm back, and let off a devastating punch to the back side of the barrier. The entire dimension shook and rumbled from the force. Then the barrier exploded. The force was massive, sending Abel flying back at unbelievable speed.
Cain dropped low like a sprinter at the blocks. The air around his legs hummed with rising power, sounding like turbines coming to life.
With a thunderous step, he blurred forward—a green bolt zigzagging like a thunderbolt through the blood-soaked field.
Time slowed just as he caught up to Abel.
Cain's fist glowed, drawn back like a cannon.
In that moment, he almost felt sorry. But then his pupils sharpened into something more malicious. Deadly--like a predator with the killing blow in its sights.
He whispered, eyes wide and focused. "Desolate Arm...Obliterate."
The punch landed with earth shattering force.
BOOOOM!
The impact sent a ripple through the entire dimension. Blades snapped. The floor buckled. Abel's body broke—head, arms, legs flying in different directions. Blood and limbs flung outward from the point of impact.
The blood-red sky cracked as the pieces of Abel dropped from the sky. They splashed into the shallow blood pool around them.
And the dimension collapsed in a burst of red mist and ghostly howls. Cain stood with his fist outstretched, chest heaving from overexertion, arms sizzling with the remnants of his corrosive power.
Soon he was once again inside the SCP facility, surrounded by confused agents who only saw him, a charred Old Man, and the remnants of Abel.
Cain knelt in the empty chamber, breathing hard. Abel's broken body was scattered around him.
SCP recovery agents collected the broken SCP-106, and what remained of Abel.
Amalia didn't speak. Her hands trembled.
The O5 Head turned to her.
"Your asset nearly killed an SCP, survived an explosion meant to atomize him, and turned on you in the process."
He let that hang in the air.
"But it seems...your mission was a success. Good work, doctor."
Then he left, his hard bottom shoes echoing with each step out of the room.
Amalia remained still, staring at the bloodstained floor of the facility through her holoscreen.
Cain finally stood.
He didn't say a word.
No one did.
The agents moved around him, clearing out the mess while he stood there, lost in thought and regret. He'd done it again. He told himself he didn't have a choice.
But was that really true?
Chapter End--