Chapter 2: Fight, More Fighting And Briefly Meeting Someone New
The man, or rather, the SCP in front of me resembled a man in his late twenties with natural black hair that reached around shoulder length, eyes which are gray (albeit bloodshot and filled with madness right now), and a deep olive skin tone. It was about 6'5" in terms of height and was quite lean for his height. I'd even say he seemed a little underweight. Not that it seemed to be stopping the guy from bisecting people with a black longsword.
Numerous tattoos depicting arcane and occult iconography are present all over the body (mostly in the form of leering demonic faces) and ranges from subtle to openly ostentatious. They gave me very bad vibes - sort of like looking at them for too long could have adverse effects on my mental state.
As I finished looking over the man, he'd finished with the MTF operatives. He turned to look at me, his eyes filling with rage as he charged toward me.
Funny thing about practitioners of the Hercules Method - we have a sort of premonition that allows us to see every available physical move of our opponents. Meaning I saw this guy's movement before he even made it. Which, in turn, meant his thrust missed me and a counter was almost instantly sent flying at the man's face. His body was thrown back by the force of the hit, his head snapping backwards, but I didn't stop there as I charged after him.
I grabbed one of his arms - the one not holding a black sword - and pulled at it, slamming my foot into his center mass as I did so. With a surprising amount of effort, I ripped his arm from it's socket and used it like a bat to hit the SCP's head.
His flesh was tough, no doubt. Felt more like trying to pull apart metal than it did flesh.
And if he felt any pain from what I just did, he didn't show it as he dodged the attack and countered with a thrust. I hardened the muscles around my chest to their current limit but as expected of an anomalous entity, the blade cut through my flesh with relative ease, piercing through my heart. I grunted, my mouth forming into a frown as I cut off my sense of pain.
I forced my heart to continuing pumping, regardless of the sword piercing it, and I healed what I could despite the sword blocking most of it from healing. Furthermore, I grabbed the opposing SCP's sword arm with both my hands after dropping the guy's other arm and squeezed.
The toughened flesh might have been impervious to other people's grip strength but it certainly wasn't to mine. The flesh contorted at the edges of my hands and burst into gore seconds later.
Again, the man seemed to not feel any of this pain and instead sent a kick toward my temple.
I dodged it, bending my head and neck back at an impossible angle and sent a kick of my own back at the olive-skinned man. Just as my kick contacted his chest, I let go of his arm and he flew back with an audible shockwave. Not a second later, the wound through my chest and heart was healed and I turned my sense of pain back on - it was a vital part of a human, sadly, and I couldn't keep it turned off forever or I may cease to notice injuries on my person.
My healing factor wasn't autonomous, after all. It needed me to consciously order it to heal things, though a certain level of it was subconscious - as long as I felt the pain and therefore a threat to my life, that is.
Pain is a vital thing for a human self-preservation instincts. Without pain, you don't look after yourself. The same goes for my healing factor. Without pain, I wouldn't know what to heal.
Besides, when I turn off pain, I basically turn off my sense of touch and I kinda need that too.
Anyway, on closer inspection, the SCP I knew as 076-2 or Abel, was decently injured before I'd even done anything to it. No doubt having got here through a killing corridor and how many MTF operatives shooting it unceasingly. Now it was missing an arm, it's other arm's muscle was mutilated and it's chest was caved in to a degree. Not to mention the pieces of flesh that had been blown off it's body through gunfire and other conventional weaponry.
Which meant I really wasn't fighting Abel at his best. Still, I wasn't really one to care all too much about that sort of thing. If it was an easier fight, why complain about it? I'm not Goku, after all.
Either way, I knew my overwhelming performance up till now was purely because of Abel's injuries prior to our fight. I was sure that I was naturally stronger than him, regardless of his state of being, and even if he came at me while fresh and fully prepared, I'd still be stronger than him. But I also knew that his injuries and subsequent berserk mode took away his ability to use his most deadly aspect:
His fighting skills and tactical genius. Abel was a warrior among warriors, that's for sure. But as soon as he loses himself to his anger, he's prone to mistakes and rash decisions that put him at a disadvantage when opposed with a decent enough enemy.
I only mention this because as the two of us looked over at the other, the rage and mania left Abel's face as his bloodied expression twisted into a savage yet curious smile.
"You...are an unusual warrior," he said, his voice deep and hoarse - though that was most likely due to the damage around his throat-area. He pointed his sword toward my chest, "I have only battled one other being who has shown such tenacious vitality. I wonder, do you have a connection to that beast?" he asked, no doubt referring to SCP-682.
"No," I simply answered, shaking my head in juncture and earning myself a nod of respect.
"You are a warrior of few words, it would seem. I can respect that," he said, blood dribbling from his mouth in what would be lethal amounts if experienced by normal people. He gestured to his body as he continued, "Nevermind. When I next wake, I will seek you out, strange warrior, and we shall fight while I have a healed body. Tell me, what is your name?"
I sighed, cracking my neck - I hadn't realized he'd stop fighting and turn this into twenty questions - but I answered nonetheless, "Marco. I usually go by Marc, though. This place," I gestured to the facility around us, "Calls me SCP-4113 though."
Abel smiled, "Well then, Marco, I await our next fight with a fervent excitement--!" he said before passing over, dead. He no doubt gave up life on his own terms so he could be healed...or maybe I'd hit him harder than I thought. I wouldn't know until the next time we met, I guess, and stepping over the rapidly putrefying corpse, I knew that could be anywhere between six hours and twenty-five years.
...God, I hope I'm not gonna be here for twenty-five years.
. . .
"Die, you fucking cockroach!" a roar came from below me and I ignored it as I drove my heel into the bony substance covering it's head.
"Nope," I answered simply as I dug my foot into the bone, the resistance I met much, much higher than before. I guess that was par for the course when dealing with this bastard, so I didn't let it stop me and I pushed my muscles to work even harder. Even causing a few of them to rip, snap and shred themselves under their own force.
I healed them soon after either way.
You see, 100% Muscle Usage is easy with my set of powers. I can easily turn off the limiters on my muscular strength. And with my bodily tissue's increased density, my body doesn't fall apart when I use 100% of my muscular power.
A more advanced usage of this power, however, is to use beyond 100% of my muscle power. A sort of overclocking that I could only do temporarily - or as much as my healing factor could keep up with. I didn't use the ability all that much because of how destructive and painful it was to use but it was available for when I needed a little extra oomph to my striking power.
Like right now.
The exoskeleton creaked and cracked, the Reptilian covered in it groaning in pain and letting loose a truly ear-shattering roar. I turned off my sense of hearing for a few seconds, letting the sound pass before turning it back on.
SCP-682. Crazy how it'd just been mentioned by Abel not long ago and how I was now fighting it. But that's how the SCP Universe is, I guess.
Crazy, that is.
"You goddamn cockroach," 682 growled, claws gripping at the dead corpses that lined the floor below as I stood on the end of it's snout, "You sicken me. Your very life is an insult of the highest order to me--and I will end it. I will END YOUR LIFE!" the reptilian skull screamed, seemingly getting angrier by the second. I just looked down at it.
"When?" I asked and for a second, the SCP didn't know what to say. It froze mid-rage and it's beady eyes looked to me.
"...When? What are you talking about? When am I going to kill you? Now--"
I smirked, "No, I meant: When did I ask?" I felt the smile tugging across my face when I saw 682's eyes fill with indignant rage. Before it could rage, reply or just straight up attack me I lifted my foot and stomped down on it's bony snout with everything I had in me.
A visible shockwave broke out as my foot moved, signifying that I'd broken the sound barrier, and the air around my foot moved out of the way, as if scared. Shaking and whipping about like a crowd of people trying to escape from some sort of catastrophe. When the foot finally impacted it's target, 682 was shot to the floor below, turning the corpses below into little more than meat paste as it's titanic mass pressed downward and created a crater of sorts.
I heard it's neck and most of it's vertebrae snap and I felt the cracks spread through it's skull. And yet I knew it wasn't dead.
Because a second later a blur hit me - it's tail.
I hadn't let my guard down at all. It's speed just suddenly spiked. I wasn't fearful, however, as this could prove to be a vital experience - field data for my body, so to speak. I couldn't adapt on the go like 682 (yet) but I could review what had happened to my body later when I was in a meditative state and use the information gathered to further improve my body and my control over it. Basically, every fight was a lesson I could learn and improve from.
After all, to make the strings that represented my mind, body and spirit better, I had to find the inadequacies in them. Whether that was a weak spot or something vital missing, it could depend. Because nothing is perfect - and at the same time, nothing shows the malleability and adaptability that flesh does. Therefore, flesh has the most potential to reach so-called perfection.
682 is a living representative of that. It's basically unkillable from a conventional stand-point. So am I, for that matter. Bullets, tanks, missiles--none of it would work. I'd even put money on me to somehow survive a nuclear explosion.
...Though I'm not too keen on experiencing one to find out for sure.
The Hercules Method has changed my flesh and given it the ability to change and learn. So, all I need is opportunities to learn what needs to be changed.
And fighting 682 is one such opportunity.
I'm also quite confident in my inability to die, so there's no need to fear.
Still, that didn't mean I wasn't effected by the sudden spiky tail that had just slammed into me at supersonic speeds. It hit me and I was sent flying. It's spikes failed to pierce my skin but the overall force still hurt like hell - not to mention that I distinctly felt myself slamming through wall after wall after wall.
Probably made this containment breach, like, ten times worse. God, I hope I don't get blamed for all this shit.
I came to a stop in a containment chamber, being embedded in a wall. I had a few cuts here and there but otherwise I was fine, but when I pulled myself free of the wall I was embedded in I saw the SCP that had been taking up this containment cell.
Luckily it wasn't 173 or 096 - god that would've sucked - it wasn't even a something but instead a someone.
She was blonde. That was the first thing I noticed. But that probably wasn't the best way to describe her hair color. Her hair was like gold string and it shined in an almost unnatural way. Her eyes were more unusual, however, in that they continuously changed shade, going from dark green to light green, to sometimes even neon green that seemed to shine like an LED - it was a continuous change that didn't settle on one color. Just a constant change that seemed on loop.
The most unusual thing about her were the animal-like features she held. She had antlers, hooved-feet and digitigrade legs like that of a Satyr. But none of that mattered, she was looking at me with her ever-changing green eyes and they were filled with fear but also worry.
"Are...are you okay?" she asked, her voice giving me the odd impression of nature itself. It was oddly calmly after having spent so much time in a cell of metal and concrete.
I nodded, "Yes," I looked to the hole I'd made in her cell and let out a huff before looking back to the humanoid female SCP, "You better leave or hide. A particularly nasty lizard is on the run and I've gotta fight him. No guarantees that the fight won't come back over this way...and if it's the other guy who gets sent over here, you'll probably die."
My warning caused her to blanche before she whispered a few prayers to God, grasping at the cross in her hand even tighter. Why did I warn her? Because she seemed like an innocent enough person. Appearances could be deceiving in this world but I had pretty keen instincts.
Besides, the main reason I warned her is because I know who she is.
She's SCP-166 and she's Alto Clef's daughter. Last thing I need is that dude on my ass because I was a part of the fight that got his daughter killed.
With the warning out of the way, I turned away from 166 and walked back through the hole I'd came through, tearing off the shredded and tattered plain white t-shirt that was a part of the normal clothes for humanoid SCPs. Following the holes my body had made, I spotted 682.
"Has anyone told you you've got some serious anger issues?" I asked, hoping the reptile-like SCP could hear me over it's own roaring.
It could.
. . .
POC Change - SCP-166
Moments after that tall man left my cell, the shaking began again.
...Was he the one causing it? I had to assume it was the case after what he said, and if he was nice enough to warn me, I'd need to heed the warning.
Except I couldn't. Leaving my containment cell would no doubt lead to me becoming violently ill due to outside contaminants. I was already beginning to feel a burning sensation at the back of my throat due to breathing air that hadn't passed through the filter usually attached to my room. I covered my mouth and nose with the back of my cotton sleeve which only gave me a slight respite from the burning.
A slight moment I used to think about the visitor I'd just had. Like I'd said, he was tall. Incredibly so. I wasn't very tall - in fact, I've been told I'm below average in terms of height - but even so, the difference between me and that man was staggering.
Not just that, he wasn't just tall, he was broad and big too. I'd seen some of the bigger guards throughout my time here, but none of them came close to the size of that man.
He'd look almost too imposing with his height, muscular build and overall demeanor if it wasn't for his eyes. Green, like mine--Well, not like mine. But they were green. And they shone brilliantly. I could catch the man's features because of the relative darkness and because of the way his long hair covered his face but I could see his eyes for sure. They were nice.
But something that caught my eyes even more was that I didn't have a reaction to him, and neither did he have a reaction to me. He was definitely a male - I could just tell. So why hadn't he been affected like the others?
The quaking of the surroundings got even worse, each shake coming and going even quicker and getting stronger and stronger. To make matters worse, the burning in my throat had stretched all the way down to my lungs and I could see the edge of my vision fading.
But it didn't fade quick enough, as someone rushed into my containment cell. I was terrified for a second that it was a man, and that I wouldn't be lucky enough to find they weren't affected by me.
Then I realized who it was, even through the hazmat suit they were wearing.
Dr. Sarah Marshall, a woman who apparently worked with most humanoid SCPs and the person who came to take me away from the convent and to this facility.
Brown eyes looked worriedly at me as she entered, an oxygen mask in her hand and attached to an accompanying oxygen tank. She held the mask to me and I took it, slipping it on and taking a breath of pure oxygen. The burning disappeared. I gave a grateful look to the doctor, taking a few breaths so I could try and forget the harsh burning my lungs had just experienced. Meanwhile, the doctor moved me out of the way of the sightline through the hole in my containment.
"You can move now," she called out over her shoulder, "I need three female operatives to stay behind!" she said after a moment before turning back to me, "Are you okay, sweetie?" her voice was muffled in that odd way it usually is when someone tries to speak in a hazmat suit.
"Yes, I'm doing better now that I can breath without it burning," I sincerely answered, giving a smile to the doctor to try and put her at ease.
Doctor Marshall gave a relieved look at me saying this before she showed a confused expression and gestured to the hole in my cell wall, "How did that get there, 166?" she asked and I went on to explain it was because a man had come flying in through the wall. After explaining his appearance, she gave a sigh before muttering something.
I only caught a part of what was said, but it was enough. SCP-4113. That was what she called him.
I was ever so curious about him.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Empire_Of_Bussin
Empire_Of_Bussin SCP-166 has undergone a rewrite, so I'm using a mixture of both it's new and old iterations. The old 166 was basically a Succubus who unwillingly attracted any men who looked at her. The new 166 is basically a Satyr who has multiple health issues and is easily effected by pollution and artificial materials. There's a bunch of other stuff that both of them can do and are effected by but just know I'm mixing 'em both together.
A fight between a focused and calm SCP-076-2 or ''Abel'' and the MC would go very differently than the one in this chapter. The Abel in this chapter was enraged and had been whittled down prior to the fight, so it was much easier for the MC to win because he was basically just fighting a deranged animal.
Oh and I also know SCP-4113 is already an SCP. I'm just too lazy to find a number that hasn't already been taken lol.
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