Even with all my power, all my experience, all my stones, runes, chakra, and literal centuries of knowledge… I still had to start with the basics.
Because that damn God who summoned the SCPs into this universe never gave us the full files, only fragments. Just enough to recognize them—not enough to fully prepare for them. Yes, I had a knowledge web. Yes, I had perfect memory.
But I didn't have perfect memory of every single SCP ever created across infinite timelines.
So we had to do this the old-fashioned way.
Observation. Measurement. Data.And… unfortunately… D-Class.
"Alright," I said, stepping up onto the command platform overlooking the desert. "Initiate Preliminary Interaction Protocols. Group A-01 to the front."
A row of orange-clad D-Class shuffled forward under heavy escort. Some were shaking. Some were already crying. One man tried to bolt but was immediately pinned down by two security drones.
I raised a hand to calm the personnel.
"I know this looks cruel," I said quietly, "but remember—without accurate data, this thing could wipe out humanity just by turning the wrong way. We need to understand its parameters."
I wasn't lying. The Guardian's presence alone warped physics. It radiated divinity—real, measurable, terrifying divinity.
Shadow Clones beside me recorded everything.
Three drones hovered over my shoulder, analyzing light frequencies.
A vibranium tablet fed me real-time diagnostics.
And at the center of our attention:SCP-001, the Gate Guardian, its flaming sword resting beside it like a mountain of holy flame.
"Send D-01," I ordered.
The first D-Class, trembling so hard he could barely walk, was guided toward the marker line—exactly 500 meters from the Guardian.
He took one step across the line.
Nothing happened.
Second step.
Still nothing.
My eyebrows rose. "Interesting."
"Proceed," I said.
He took a third step.
The Guardian… looked at him.
The moment its gaze touched the D-Class, he evaporated into pure white light—erased so completely that not even dust was left behind.
No scream.No body.No time delay.
Just existence erased.
My clone wrote: Instant annihilation. Gaze-based. Consistent with canonical behavior.
"Alright. Next."
The personnel swallowed hard and pushed forward D-02.
This time, I prepared a shielding bubble around him—vibranium-uru hybrid plating mixed with my own reality manipulation for reinforcement.
He walked toward the line.
One step.
Two steps.
Still alive.
The Guardian didn't react.
On the third step, the Guardian again turned its head. Its eyes glowed.
And the shield I placed—reinforced with uru, vibranium, chakra, fūinjutsu, and Reality Stone energy—lasted exactly 0.4 seconds before disintegrating.
Then the D-Class died exactly like the first.
My eye twitched.
"Alright," I muttered. "So that didn't work."
My clone next to me scribbled: Theoretical limit: 0.4 sec survival under direct divine assault.
Another clone raised her hand. "Should we test drone interference next?"
I nodded.
"Drones C-01 through C-05, advance."
Five drones flew forward.
The Guardian didn't even look at them.
Instead—
FWOOOM
The flaming sword moved a few centimeters.
A ripple of holy fire expanded outward.
And all five drones melted midair like wax tossed into a furnace.
Even the sand beneath them turned to molten glass.
One of my scientists whispered, "This thing… could bisect a moon by accident."
I exhaled slowly.Then smiled.
"Good. That means I finally get to test some of my… heavier toys."
The personnel around me didn't know whether to cheer or run.
I stepped forward, eyes locked on the angel in the distance.
"Alright, Guardian," I murmured, "let's see how deep your divinity really goes."