Per 
Chapter One
The Barren Lake
There must be a Foundation, or at least, something akin to it. Before the SCP Foundation as we know it, there was the Association for the Defense, Security and Acquisition of the Supernatural, which lasted from 1787 to 1864. Even older than that is the Brotherhood of Preternatural Inquisitors, whose motto, “Secure. Continere. Praesidio,” was translated and adopted by the modern foundation.
It was during the age of the Association -1864 to be specific- That the Association’s host country, the United States, was fighting its civil war. At the same time a similar war waged between the Association and its nemesis, the Insurgency. The former was allied with the North, and the latter allied with the South. While this conflict was underway, a certain Captain Thomas Mallory and a small team of agents traveled to Wales hoping to retrieve an anomalous artifact from Nimue Lake.
While on route, Captain Mallory and his team interviewed several locals on the lake. It was soon discovered that the topic was taboo. Few spoke its name, even less conceded it even existed. Mallory was discouraged, obviously, but not deterred, for the few that did speak of the lake gave many exciting tales. The prevailing theory was that the lake is deeply related to the occult. There were talks of dark spirits, blood rituals, and portals to hell. Standard stuff, really.
Agent Johnson fiddled with a picture of his family, as he was prone to do in stressful situations. When he was assigned any task he deemed to dangerous, he would use his family as an excuse to stay behind. Today, while looking out on the dreary wasteland of a lake, he felt very endangered. "I say we leave it where it is," he announced, turning to leave.
“Well we know it’s safe from cowards,” growled Flint Barlow, prompting Johnson to jump and walk faster.
“We'll need to dive,” said the captain. “McKelly, do you remember the business we worked with to pull that statue out of the Bahamas?”
"Yes sir. The one in London?"
“Exactly. You and Sterling go get a diving suit. Johnson and Simmons find us lodging in town and see if anyone has a boat large enough for us to use. Barlow, can I speak with you a second?”
As everyone prepared to leave, Barlow and Mallory stood at the edge of the water, staring over the horizon.
“I need you to know something, don’t tell anyone else.”
“Wasn't planning on it,” said Barlow, leaning closer.
“What is down there is more powerful than you could ever possibly imagine. I have seen it before, I know what it can do.”
“That’s why we’re here, right?”
"I'm worried that it might do something to me. Maybe even the team. It could get worse if they know too much, so keep it quiet."
"So why tell me this?"
Mallory rolled his eyes. “I told you so you can keep me in check if the worst should happen,” he explained. “I trust you more than anyone else.”
Barlow nodded and walked away. Even though Barlow seemed indifferent, Mallory had worked with him long enough to know it was just an act, so he saluted him behind his back. He had nothing but respect for his friend.
Chapter 2
Only Darkness Below
For the next two weeks, Mallory took notes on the lake and its surroundings. He found several things that were out of the ordinary. The massive mounds of earth surrounding the lake were all at an even height. While digging in one, he unearthed a rusted tool he could not identify. He also discovered a large plot of land that appeared more sunken than the area around it, which he did not have the time to investigate.
When Sterling and McKelly arrived, the team set sail for the center of the lake. There was a moment of silence when they realized someone had to actually go in, and for a moment, everyone secretly worried it would be them. Thankfully, Captain Mallory stepped forward. "Before you say anything, Johnson, no, you do not have to go. I'll do it."
Mallory donned the suit and put the brass helmet on his head. He carefully ensured that his tubes and ropes weren’t tangled before saluting his team and stepping off the boat. The warm water made him sweat inside the suit, making him feel sick. He descended deeper, until the light of the sun no longer illuminated him. There was no life in this place, plant or animal. The deeper he went, the stronger the feeling got that he was not meant to be here, that no man was meant to be here. The darkness around him seemed to actively hate him.
Try as he might to shake the feeling away, a force that he could not comprehend was invading his mind and manipulating his feelings. He felt immense pain in his wrists and on his neck, although he knew he wasn’t injured. He was beginning to feel faint, and despite his best efforts, he slipped into unconsciousness.
He awoke a short time later with his head throbbing in pain. The pain was accompanied by the sound of a heartbeat. It was with great surprise that he felt the earth beneath his feet, as he was beginning to think he would descend forever, or until he reached hell. The mud beneath him shook in time with the sound of the heartbeat, and a wave of heat rushed rolled over him.
It took a moment to orient himself, the darkness, the headache, and the weightless feeling had made him feel nauseous. Once he had his bearings he began to walk along the lakebed, hoping the source of the pulses was the object he sought. The closer he got, the warmer the water became. It wasn’t long before he saw a glimmering light. The source was the blade of an ancient sword, wielded by the mummified corpse of a woman, her other arm suspended as if pointing accusingly.
Mallory followed her arm and saw it pointing at a skeleton lying on a stone dais. Unable to gleam any knowledge on the scenario, he grasped her hand and pried the blade from her grip. As soon as he did, the world flickered. All the water seemed to drain away, pulling with it the bodies of the woman and the skeleton. The stone structure crumbled and was pulled away as the currents split.
Out of the ground rose great stone pillars which blossomed into a vaulted ceiling. Stone walls with stain glass windows appeared, from which poured a red light. Mallory panicked and tried to move, but the weights in his suit made his movements clunky and slow. Stone chairs rose from the ground in a circle like an auditorium viewing a stage. At the center, a large dias rose from the ground shaped like a star with 7 points. A golden throne materialized at the top.
Two great sets of doors appeared in the wall at the back. With a loud groan they opened, and in poured a macabre parade of men dressed in armor and wielding weapons from ages long passed, each appeared marred and broken from succumbing to various forms of death. They took their seats where they sat in silence for a few minutes, gazing at the golden throne. They didn't so much as look at Mallory.
A voice echoed from all corners of the room, “Bow before the Second King, the Conqueror, the Great, The Pendragon!”
A man rose from the golden throne and stared at his audience.
“We are gathered here today to hold a trial for the once honorable Thomas Mallory.” He announced in a gravelly, deep voice.
The audience bowed deeply.
“The trial shall last until the 7th bell rings, upon which a verdict will be reached,” the King announced. The crowd sat quietly.
The bell tolled.
“Thomas Mallory, you are accused of treason against the Crown, conspiracy against your fellows, and the worst crime committable by any mortal, regicide. What say you in your defense?”
The crowd turned towards Mallory. “What is this?” asked Mallory, his voice reverberated in his helmet.
The bell tolled.
“A fair trial, as agreed upon in the Treaties of the Knights. Again, I ask you what say you in your defense?”
“I don’t understand,” said Mallory, “You’re… You're dead.”
“Is that an admittance of guilt?”
The bell tolled.
“What are you?” Mallory asked. That thing wasn't human.
“The King. If you will not participate in this trial, I will have to make an executive decision considering your betrayal of the Knights, and your act of defiance against the Crown.”
“Not guilty!” shouted Mallory, terrified and confused.
“I call to the stand, the souls of those betrayed by Thomas Mallory.”
The bell tolled.
A podium rose from the ground before the throne. A horrible writhing mass of black substance materialized and began to screech with the voices of a hundred men all calling out in agony.
“What say you to these allegations?”
“Are those the Knights? What have you done to them?” Mallory asked.
The bell tolled.
“I call to the stand Thomas Mallory.”
Mallory found himself standing at the podium.
“Did you commit the acts you are accused of?”
“I-“ Mallory stuttered, he fell silent, unable to think of anything to say.
The bell tolled.
“Mallory you are found guilty of the crimes for which you stand accused. As punishment, you will suffer from the Blood-Curse of Alycanexus, until you admit your guilt and formally apologize to your King.”
The silence was deafening.
the bell tolled.
The crowd began to shout and point at Mallory, speaking in languages Mallory didn’t understand. Hands grabbed his arms and sat him at a chair before the throne. The King stepped off his platform and descended to the ground, where Mallory finally got a good look at him. He wore chain armor and a red cape on his back which depicted a 7-pointed star. His skin was as grey as the stones around him, covered in splotches and rashes. Red lines of blood trickled from the corners of his eyes, down his cheeks and into his beard. His eyes were blood red and cold. He wore a crown with 7 points, with gems carved like skulls set into facets around the band.
Mallory recognized his face.
The King placed his hand on Mallory’s mask, and uttered horrible, frightening words. His hand phased through the helmet, and as Mallory screamed, the King laid his cold fingers on his eyes, which were seared with immense pain.
When Mallory opened his eyes, they burned with an intense heat. Hazily, he could see the King frowning at him. “Clear the chamber,” he commanded.
Mallory heard the court denizens exit the room.
“I apologize for the theatrics, Thomas, but there had to be a punishment for the crimes you committed.”
“What do you want?” demanded Mallory, struggling in his restraints, tears streamed down his face as his body desperately fought the pain.
“I am not above the laws I write, Thomas. I forgive you for what you’ve done.”
Thomas shook his head, trying in vain to clear his eyes. “Your punishment will be lifted in time, just as soon as you let me help you,” the King said. “That’s why you came here, isn’t it? To ask my assistance?”
He didn't wait for an answer. “For retrieving Excalibur from its dark prison, you are granted one wish. Ask for anything, and it’s yours,” the King stepped back. He waved his hand and Mallory felt the restraints on his arms loosen. Instinctively, his hands went for his face, but the helmet got in his way. He clawed at it, trying to remove it.
“That is a strange suit of armor, Mallory, hardly befitting a knight of your particular nature.”
Mallory groaned as the fire spread deeper into his skull. It ignited his brain, causing every nerve to burn . He pried at his helmet harder as he screamed in pain. He fell to the ground at the King’s feet.
“As a courtesy -seeing as you are incapable of partaking of my services- I will give you time to think on the subject,” announced the King.
He leaned in so his face was inches from Mallory's and cocked his head slightly to the right. “The curse will remain in place until you come to me with a decision. Only then will I grant you a pardon.”
He gave a long dramatic bow, “Farewell, my friend, until we meet again.”
Mallory pulled himself up and looked around. The room was beginning to collapse the same way it formed. Water poured into the chamber as the chairs melted into the floor. Soon there was nothing left but the throne on the dais. The King stepped backward and sat. He nodded to Mallory as he too faded away.
Chapter 3
No Certainty but Death
Mallory returned to his feet as his vision began to stabilize. He still felt pain throughout his body, but it has lessened to the degree that he felt he could move. Strangely, the scenery had altered completely. The oppressive darkness had changed to red, and the two bodies on the dais had drastic changes. It was clear that neither was actually human, but something human-ish. The woman now had both hands directly above the body, looking as if they were holding something. The body on the ground was face down with a gaping wound in the back from which a red cloud of blood ascended.
He realized the dais was the same shape as the 7 pointed star the King’s throne was on, as well as the symbol on his back. He looked at the sword in his hand. The runes were gone, and the blade seemed mostly normal, save for the bright light. With nothing else to do, Mallory signaled to the surface he was ready to be pulled up.
It wasn’t long until the ropes stiffened, pulling Mallory off the ground. The journey to the surface was long, and aside from the unusual red color, the lake seemed to be indifferent to Mallory. The water was cooler than before, his headache was gone, and now that he was going up, the pain in his nerves and his eyes was reduced to a dull throb. Mallory had time to calm down. Although the experience was probably going to haunt him forever, at least it was over.
Mallory regretted thinking that the moment he breached the surface. He was facing the ship, although it seemed to be in a state of serious disrepair. Looking around him, he saw that the lake, not his vision, had turned red. The sky was black, despite it being daylight. He could tell because the sun was still there, burning a brilliant scarlet. Onboard the ship, he looked at his team to find their skin had turned grey, and like the King, blood streamed down from their eyes. They couldn’t see the shock in his eyes because they were too busy staring at the sword.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Johnson marveled. He reached out to touch it.
“Don’t touch it!” Mallory shouted, raising the sword in the air.
Barlow grabbed Johnson and pulled him back, “I’ve seen better,” he said. He grabbed Mallory’s shoulder. “Put it down. Let’s get your suit off.”
Mallory sniffed, “Nobody touch it,” he repeated, sounding fearful. “Please don’t touch it.”
The team honored his request.
When Mallory’s helmet was removed, a powerful stench overcame him. It was so foul he retched over the side of the ship. The smell was that of a thousand corpses, rotting away. While he leaned over the side, Mallory got a whiff of the lake, which was full of blood. Terrified, he backed up, tripping over his helmet and landing on the deck. He coughed and sputtered as he tried to return to his feet. However, his hand caught on the sword blade, which sliced through his gloves and took his fingers off.
The crew backed away instinctively. Mallory grabbed the sword with his other hand and wound up to toss it back into the lake, but it merely clattered back onto the deck. Mallory sat on the ground and sobbed into his hands, but the tears were red, the sight of which caused him to collapse. He was like them, with blood pouring from their eyes.
Barlow grabbed him and sat him up against the side.
“What happened?” He whispered.
Something stirred in his chest. What had happened to him? He steeled himself and shakily got to his feet.
“Go to shore” he commanded, pushing Barlow aside as he scooped up the sword.
“What about your hand?” Carl Sterling asked. He had dropped the notebook and pen he was using.
Mallory showed him his hand. Already, his fingers were beginning to regrow.
“I’m fine. Now go to shore. Do you understand me Private Sterling?”
“Y-yes sir.”
“Good,” Mallory said. "I won't repeat myself again." The authoritative passion waned, and soon he was slumped against the side of the boat again. He sat there, staring into the luminance of the blade as they went to shore. He had to be carried off the boat. He couldn’t ride to town, so they camped as far from the lake as they could.
When Mallory finally found the courage to sleep, the dream was not a pretty one. He was standing in the streets of a city, wearing armor and wielding a sword. He heard screams and smelt smoke.
“Thomas!”
Mallory spun around. A Knight of the Round Table was smiling at him.
“Aren’t you having any fun?”
Mallory looked around him, all he saw was death.
“Well hurry, the King says we only have until nightfall until we must answer to him.”
Mallory shook his head and stepped back.
“What’s wrong?”
Mallory gazed at the ground.
“Look, everyone’s first time is hard. You learn to enjoy it, trust me.”
Finally, he spoke. “This isn’t what I thought it would be.”
“Well, if you won’t, I will,” the knight shrugged. He entered into a home. Mallory closed his eyes as he heard the screams, followed by laughter.
“Son?” a voice called out, but before he could open his eyes to see the source, Mallory woke up.
Everything was still as bad as he remembered, but if he strained hard enough, he could almost see things as they were meant to be seen. He remained distrustful of those around him, skittish, and easily frightened. The world was different now. Every field he passed was full of decay, every house was rubble. The inhabitants glowered at him as blood streamed down their faces.
A few weeks later, they boarded a ship in London, bound for New York. Mallory holed himself up in his cabin, tended to by Barlow. The journey would be long and full of nightmares, for Mallory, but one part of him was still unchanged. A stirring, a thought, a feeling that he must press on. He must not let his condition destroy him. He could not let the King win, no matter the cost.
