SCP-7367 - The Black Plague

SCP-7367

By Captain_Wavzies

Published on 26 Feb 2025 23:15

Item#: 7367

Level3

Containment Class:

safe

Secondary Class:

{$secondary-class}

Disruption Class:

ekhi

Risk Class:

critical

link to memo

Secure Containment Procedures: SCP-7367-1 is to be kept in a standard object containment locker, access restricted to Clearance Level 4 (Secret). A book lock is to keep SCP-7367-1 closed at all times. Under no circumstances is SCP-7367-1 to be opened.

Subjects infected with SCP-7367-2 are to be terminated immediately. Should a Class 2 or higher outbreak be identified on-site, Biological Research Area-12 is to undergo indefinite quarantine, up until SCP-7367-2 infected subjects have all been terminated or expired. If SCP-7367-2 breaches quarantine, the on-site nuclear warhead is to be detonated. Any outbreaks off of Foundation property are to be sterilized, with measures up to and including nuclear bombardment if necessary.

Description: SCP-7367-1 is a journal written from 1341-1350 CE, by a Father Gabriel Montreux, detailing the effects and origin of SCP-7367-2. Subjects who read at least 1 full page of SCP-7367-1 will become infected with SCP-7367-2. SCP-7367-1 can be damaged via intentional means, but does not suffer the effects of natural degradation. SCP-7367-1 is written primarily in Middle English, with the Latin and Sarkic languages comprising most of the last written pages. SCP-7367-1 also has a multitude of Christian and Sarkic symbols written within it, along with several that the Foundation has been unable to attribute to any mundane or anomalous organization.

SCP-7367-2 is an anomalous memetic disease centered around SCP-7367-1. SCP-7367 possesses four distinct stages of infection.

1. Pre-Infection

SCP-7367-1, when opened, will cause mild to moderate headaches in all subjects in a 5 meter radius. Should SCP-7367-1 be closed before a page can be read, infection will not occur.

2. Initial Symptoms

Victims will experience mild to severe headaches and will occasionally mutter words in an unidentified language while in REM sleep.

3. Mid-Stage Symptoms

Victims will experience extreme migraines and begin chanting in the unknown language while awake and experience states of delirium. Subjects who hear the chanting have a 70% chance of becoming infected.

4. Late-Stage Symptoms

Victims experience severe neurological effects, such as confusion, psychosis, and hallucinations. Subjects will speak exclusively in the unknown language, with transmission rates rising to near 100% infectiousness. ~50% of infected subjects will spontaneously vanish after an indeterminate amount of time, usually between 1 hour to 4 days after progression to Stage 4, though demanifestations have occurred as early as 5 minutes and as late as 2 weeks. Remaining 50% will remain as vectors for the spread of SCP-7367-2.

Upon an area reaching an unidentified concentration of infectees, a black, spherical object will manifest approximately 20-50 meters above the area, growing in size the more infected subjects there are. Upon reaching an unknown size, various other anomalous phenomena will occur in the area, most prominently manifestations and/or hallucinations of tall humanoid figures in hooded robes.

The rate of progression varies wildly among subjects, some progressing to Stage 3 in hours of infection.

Addendum 1: Discovery Log

Date: 07-1-2017

Location: Châteauvaud, French Republic

Containment Difficulty: Low

Casualties: 0 injuries, 0 fatalities

Summary: The SCP Foundation recovered SCP-7367-1 following reports of a mundane archeological expedition at the site of Châteauvaud, a French village abandoned during the Black Death, uncovering a reliquary surrounded by Sarkic and Christian iconography, sealed in a crypt housing the body of a Christian priest named Gabriel Montreux.

21:09 - Junior Researcher Lulit Jakobsen and Containment Officer Tamāra Bouvier open the reliquary.
21:11 - After removing several Sarkic and Christian artifacts, JR Jakobsen removes SCP-7367-1, the artifact displaying an impossible lack of deterioration and opens it. SCP-7367-1's anomalous effects begin, causing mild headaches in both personnel. CO Bouvier shuts SCP-7367-1 before Jakobsen can finish reading the first page.

Closing Statement(s): SCP-7367-1 remained closed during transit to Site-36. Attempts to remotely observe and transcribe the contents are pending.

Addendum 2: SCP-7367-1 Translation

March 29, 1345 - I have elected to halt my journey here, at the Lake Issyk-Kul, as it is named by the locals. I have heard that this land is afflicted with a severe pestilence, no doubt a result of the concerning lack of faith among the people of these lands. But God is merciful and has sent me, His sword and His quill, to show the people the path to His salvation and lead them away from the works of Satan. As strange as the Mongols are, their tolerance for the word of God is applaudable, though I do worry that their misplaced tolerance for false idols may work against us as well.

March 30, 1345 - I have discovered a small Christian community among this network of trading villages and have established our mission there. A preacher named Georgiy has lead this community in the absence of an official priest such as myself. We have engaged in some insightful discussions in the few hours we've known each other. The man has attempted to teach some of the surrounding settlements of God's word, with limited success. Of particular interest is one settlement in the nearby mountains that both the good Christians and the local pagans of this lake fear, the latter accusing them of "forbidden sorcery" and the former of outright Devil-worship! Georgiy has attempted only once to convert them, and came back missing his left hand, though he appears to become ill whenever I ask him to tell the story further. Though the man is a Nestorian Christian, we are both children and followers of Christ, and I see no reason to spurn him or his community as many of my fellow do.

April 28th, 1345 - I believe that my efforts to convert the surrounding communities have been going well for the short time I've been here, though the local pestilence seems to have given them a greater push towards God than I would have alone. However, I have yet to make contact with the pagans in the mountains. I understand the risks, but His light cannot reach the dark without sacrifice. I have already set out with a few novices, with directions from Georgiy. The man attempted for hours to convince me to change my mind, even falling onto claims that they build houses from flesh and bone. The man is intelligent, but superstitious, and I had to give him a stern talking to, reminding him of the Original Sin. Should I perish, I allow him to laugh at me once he reaches the Kingdom of God.

April 30th, 1345 - By God's name, Georgiy was right! They were all right! These pagans are unlike anything I've laid eyes upon in my life! It is not only their dwellings that pulse with the sickly ooze of flesh, but their very selves! They appear as grotesque monsters that I would have run screaming from had they not spoken in all too human voices. I do hope that Pierre comes back. The mountains are treacherous. The "Nälkä", as they call themselves, directed us to a mercifully normal stone hut outside of their abhorrent settlement while their elders convene.

May 1st, 1345 - The Nälkä arranged a meeting between myself and their highest elder, a woman named Krovka, a hideous person, marred not by age, but by whatever blasphemous sorcery they practice upon themselves. More arms than I care to count, melting into and out of each other, eyes circling her head, hair bleeding an impossible quantity of blood onto the ground. It chills me to the core to even be near her and her fellow person-monsters. And yet, I shall not back down, for no man, woman, or child is yet too far into the shade that they cannot be coaxed back to the light.

I sat face-to-face with her and her many eyes, one of the local Nestorian men translating to Persian for me. "I am a humble priest of the One True God", I declared. "I bring a message of salvation to all here willing to hear."

Her eyes remained cold, seeming to tear me apart in her mind, looking for cracks in the armor God bestowed upon my soul. She spoke, extra mouths tearing open on either side of her throat, hissing and growling assaulting my ears in tandem with her words.

"I have heard of your deity before, outsider. Why have you come here of all places? My people are not traders, not city-dwellers, nor seekers of new gods."

"All souls deserve His salvation, even those who hide from it. I assure you, I come not as an enemy, but as a guide toward the light of Christ."

The woman-creature smirked at that.

"Many guides have come before, all claiming the same things, most times resorting to steel and fire when they did not get their way. If they waited that long. Do you know what became of those that tried?"

She reaches into her robes, removing a hand that seemed freshly severed. I sickly at that moment as I realized whom the appendage might've belonged to.

"I assure you again, I do not wish to harm you. My fellow devotees often forget themselves, neglecting to remember that Christ preached peace. I swear under God that neither me nor my people shall draw steel against yours."

"We shall see."

I realized that she was attempting to draw this conversation to a close. I had to act fast to establish myself, for if we were removed, there would be no way for us to stay, even had I not promised peace.

"It appears that you know much of the Christian ways. Perhaps you may tell us the way of the Nälkä, so we may exchange meaningful dialogue as opposed to refusals to understand one another."

The almost-human seemed to ponder my words for a moment. Or was it hesitation?

"We are unlike the other Nälkä that walk this world," she told. "We all oppose Yaldabaoth, the god of life and death and chaos. It consumes all other gods and worlds it comes across and breathes life back into this world and all other worlds. We are all its children and its prey."

It is certainly a creative idea.

"And what makes you unlike?"

"We are opposed to a different god. Y'Xanthir."

"Who do you believe him to be?"

"Like Yaldabaoth, she consumes worlds, but where the God-Eater is mindless and incomprehensibly powerful, Y'Xanthir is both far inferior and is an intelligent trickster. The settlement we sit within now was once a glorious city of bone and sinew. Naloreth. Modest, compared to Black Adytum, the capital of the now long-gone Nälkä Empire, but glorious."

I immediately knew this could have no basis in reality, for there had to have been at least some evidence of this ancient empire. She continued.

"Y'Xanthir found and touched this world centuries before the fall of the Nälkä, speaking to the Karcist of Naloreth. She offered him visions of a world permanently protected from the hunger of the Devourer and visions of one consumed by him. There was a seal hidden in this world long ago, a seal keeping Y'Xanthir out. She claimed it to have been made by madmen who worshipped The Great Winnower. All they had to do was find it, bring it to Naloreth, and open it to bask the world in her salvation. Whatever the truth of the seal was, it wasn't to keep a protector away."

She paused to drink from a bone white cup. I doubted it was red wine.

"The rulers of the city found it and broke it. A piece of Y'Xanthir emerged, a ball blacker than the darkest night appeared in the sky. The people rejoiced. And they they died. They babbled nonsense, wandered the streets screaming and crying and laughing and then vanished from the air. Within a day, the city was burning, half its utterly countless population gone and most of the rest insane. The few who remained sacrificed themselves to recontain her, hastily writing a book filled with crude imitations of the seal's enchantments, only barely succeeding in driving it out of the world with their own sorcery. What little they were unable to expel they imprisoned in the book itself. But even that little could spell doom for the world should it escape. Naloreth was forgotten by most, except for those who witnessed the catastrophe."

I sensed the story had finished.

"And you guard this book?"

"We do."

"Forgive me, but I find this superstition to be-"

"Not superstition. Duty."

Oh, how I wish that the pagans of the world weren't so headstrong in defense of their misguided faith as we Christians are in the truth of God.

"Even if so, would it not be possible to simply leave the book hidden? Does it require your presence to seal this manifestation of Satan?"

"Y'Xanthir is no mere demon, priest."

"Of course, but please answer me."

The pagan hesitated. It was indeed hesitation this time.

"No. It does not."

"Then why not leave it behind? If it does not need you, nothing is stopping you from learning Christ's teachings. If this abomination you speak of does exist, God will protect us."

"You do not understand the burden we carry. The book cannot be abandoned. Even if we did, The Womb of Chaos remains a far greater threat. We will not abandon either of our duties."

"Your faith is built on fear. God offers hope. No ungodly creatures of the like you speak of will be allowed to harm the world so long as His eternal love shines upon us. If you desire safety from these demons, then Christ is the only path you need to take. God is all-knowing, all-loving, and all-powerful."

"Then why do these devourers exist? Why is man allowed to bring evil unto themselves?"

"The ability to choose is the most terrible curse and most precious gift humankind has ever been given. For every terrible evil-doer that stalks the land, there exists a man who fights this evil. If God didn't love us, we'd be forced by divine wrath to worship Him. Those who do will find not fear, but salvation in the Kingdom of Heaven, untouched by the evil Satan has brought upon the land."

"The choice between living in a paradise or burning for eternity depending if you believe in your God is no choice."

There was a finality in her tone. This conversation was over. I had failed. Or so I thought. A young girl, yet untouched by the monstrous changes of her elders, spoke up.

"Mother, can they stay? I'd like to learn-"

"No," she replied firmly.

But more of the community's youth began to speak up, along with some of their elders, demanding that I stay. They were curious of the outside world, they clamored. I was here under the promise of peace. A sense of accomplishment flowed through my soul as she buckled under the onslaught. These people may yet be saved.

February 26, 1346 - It has been many months since I arrived in this village of flesh or indeed found time to write here, for when I am not preaching or traveling for supplies and food uncontaminated by their black magic, I am sleeping. God must be smiling down upon me, for there have been no incidents of violence on either side. Additionally, I have been met with - admittedly limited - success in my efforts to teach the Nälkä. The elders still spurn His truth, though the younger pagans have taken well to my preaching. Of particular interest is a girl by the name of Syra, who happens to be the daughter of this village's "Võlutaar". Where her fellows merely listen curiously to the word of God, she listens intently. Just yesterday, she attempted to gift me a crucifix made of bone. Grotesque and perhaps blasphemous, but her heart is on the right path. Word from the newly-established route back to the Lake says that the plague has been getting worse. I must work quickly here.

I am confident that, with just a little more time, myself and the people of this community will overcome this trial of faith and turn away from their false divinity of flesh. It is not fleshcraft that offers salvation, but truth and repentance. Winning over the rest of the youth shall break the hold of their old faith in the generations to come.

[EXTRANEOUS ENTRIES REMOVED]

June 3rd, 1346 - I was approached by Syra in the night, awaking to see her staring at me from the foot of my bed. I am ashamed to admit that I was convinced she was to kill me, but its is simply a lack of manners among her people that she neglected to knock beforehand. She came to me with a book. THE book that her former faith revolves around. She stole it from a hidden chamber beneath the village. The poor girl was sniffling as she handed it over to me, the lies her mother taught her still wrapped around her soul. I consoled her, reminding her that the book tells not truth and love, but lies and blasphemy.

I asked her what possessed her to bring this to me so suddenly. She believes in God and the resurrection of Christ now, she said to me, and that holding onto such a heretical relic will only harm the rest of the village's journey to the Lord. She said that only I will know what to do with this.

As I sit writing this, the Nälkä book lies next to my pot of ink. I know that its claimed purpose cannot be true, for where I sense the love of God from my Bible, I feel nothing, not love nor hate, from this so-called paper prison.

June 4th, 1346 - Though this may come as a surprise, I have decided, before doing anything else with it, I must study this book. Though I am loath to do so for such a devilish faith, I have extended the same courtesy to the corrupted scriptures of Islam and other infidel faiths. To fight evil, one must understand evil. Though my understanding of Adytite is woefully frail after only months to learn, Syra has fetched me a book of translation at my request.

June 17th, 1346 - The Nälkä language is abhorrently complex, but it made for an all more fascinating study. Aside from quite a few instructions on how to perform some of the most hideous witchcraft imaginable, I found the book fascinating. The story Krovka told me matches that within the pages, a city so terrified of one false god that they doomed themselves to another. The writers claim that though this Y'Xanthir has been expelled from the world, should the "piece" supposedly contained within their book escape, all it would need would be to latch on to the nearest living thing, no matter how small, to unleash itself onto the world again.

Indeed, it seems as if the writers genuinely believed that this book contains this evil they unleashed, with many Nälkä phrases and symbols, and several others I cannot find in my translation book, written in what is most likely blood upon the pages. But of greatest interest is not what the book says, but what it is. If Krovka was indeed being truthful, then this relic must be thousands of years old, predating the birth of Christ, and yet I cannot find a single mark of age anywhere on or within it. Perhaps the Nälkä applied an, ironically, corrupted form of incorruptibility unto the object through their black magic.

June 18th, 1346 - The plague appears to be drawing ever closer to the settlement. I have already departed. Though I wish I could stay longer, I have done what I can. It is in God's hands now and the will of those who listened to Christ's words to spread His good name. Before I left, I returned the Nälkä book to Syra, and instructed her to burn it. The poor girl was coughing a fit when I handed it to her, though she strangely covered her mouth whenever she had such a fit. She claimed that the air itself became sick when expelled from a sick person's lungs. Another primitive superstition, I suppose. In any case, I don't suppose it matters, for she may be the first convert from her clan to Christianity and with God's blessing, she will continue my work. For now, I journey westward, back to Avignon.

June 5th, 1349 It has been three years since I left Asia, the Great Death on my heels. The moment I learned of it, I could not confess my sins even to this very book. Against everything I had ever known, ever been taught, I refused to return to Avignon and now I shall burn for my crimes. The pagans were right. Tale after tale of cities and towns being swallowed not by illness, but by the work of Satan himself. Hundreds, thousands vanishing from the streets, those who remain raving mad and speaking in a hellish tongue, their limbs blackening and rotting as they stumbled about. Miniature suns of darkness appearing over the settlements most terribly afflicted, the Devil's eye gazing cruelly upon them.

But this is not the work of Satan. The Tempter is a jealous creature. Y'Xanthir quite simply hungers. I thought myself safe from her, and for a time I was, but death, the Great Death, comes for us all. A man, screeching incomprehensibly, rode in on a horse this morning, galloping past the guards I'd convinced the mayor to station at the entrances to our town, for if the Nälkä were right about this, Syra, God have mercy on her soul, I expect was right about the infected air.

He crashed into the gathering of people outside the church I was preaching from. I had barred large crowds from entering during worship to ensure that no sick air could collect inside. I had thought that perhaps to atone for my damning of the world, I could protect the people of my home. But whether it be a punishment from God or the corrupted guiding hand of Y'Xanthir, it was to be doomed. The people who have not fled into the wilderness have barricaded themselves in their homes, as have I in the church. The man died in front of the church, a particularly large boubol on his neck bursting as he thrashed on the ground. He's still there, I believe. This illness is different than described in the Nälkä book. He's still there, I believe.

I remember the plague around the Lake. I remember the story of the Fall of Naloreth. I remember Syra's coughing the last time I saw her. It was my fault. Satan had no need to kill the world when I have done it for him.

June 10th, 1349 - A woman, Jean, I think she was, battered down my door with her bare fists last night. Her arms were rotting off of her body. She charged me and then, she vanished. Someone has been screaming for a few hours. When I went to investigate, I found young Robert, no older than 10, screeching among a pile of his family. Some did not appear to have passed naturally, if you could call any of this disaster natural. People ramble in the streets, their words bringing pains to my head. I saw a man cough into the face of a woman he'd dragged out of her home and then move on to the next, giving his sickened air to them. I told them how that worked.

June 11th, 1349 - A dark sun hovers in the sky. The town is burning. Slowly.

June 12th, 1349 - I was removing a knife from my drawer when I found my notes on the Nälkä book. I know what I must do.

June 13th, 1349 - I will use this very journal, the record of my sins, to atone for my sins. Brother Leon will watch from the church and preserve what will transpire here and take it to the papacy. Forgive me, Lord.

I am not Nälkä. I do not have their power, nor their faith. But I have knowledge. Knowledge will be enough. It has to be enough.

Addendum 3: Journal Entries recovered from the Vatican Archives.

Father Montreux has stepped outside. I saw him, kneeling in front of the altar he once preached from, carving Satanic words and symbols into his flesh, using the blood to write in his journal. He is dragging a sickened woman from the street. Her limbs are gone, but I can still see the rise and fall of her chest. He is raising the blade and he plunges it into her chest. She smiles at him. He works quickly, opening her torso, exposing the flesh within. He chants brokenly, reading from the words he copied from his notes onto the journal. He holds a bone-white crucifix up, arcing it around himself as he chants. He writes more into his journal, this time with the blood of his sacrifice. Scores of hooded men are filling the streets, emerging from folds in the air, pointing, jeering.

The world is shuddering. The very air seems to tighten around Montreux. Shadows are crawling to his feet and the blood on the pages shines like molten fire. By the light of Christ, I can see the sun of the devil shrinking! It

The village is destroyed. I only barely survived the collapse of the church. The black sun is gone, and Father Montreux's body lays unscathed where he was. I do not know if he is the most holy saint or most despicable heretic to walk the Earth. He instructed me to journey to Avignon as soon as possible if he died.

The plague still ravages the land, but the devil's work is no more. People yet die by the scores, and yet they celebrate. The madmen remain ill, but they no longer vanish or scream in tongues. Perhaps, so long as Montreux's book remains undisturbed, there is hope for the world yet.