Off the coast of Japan, near the Pacific Ocean—
What was once a shimmering blue sea has recently become shrouded in thick white fog.
This mist hanging over the sea seems like a monster silently roaring, devouring anyone who dares enter.
Recently, several ships have gone missing.
It's as if entering the mist over the Pacific means being swallowed whole—leaving not even a scrap behind.
All the missing ship incidents occurred within the misty regions of the Pacific.
Most incident reports share the same description:
The crew sees the mist, vast and impossible to avoid.
The captain decides to proceed straight through.
At first, once inside, the ship sends back frequent updates, reporting no significant changes within the fog.
Despite low visibility, the Pacific Ocean has few reefs, so the risk of hitting one and sinking is minimal.
But as time passes after entering the mist—
The frequency of reports decreases.
Most captains begin to repeatedly send the same message over and over...
Even though it's already been sent.
Eventually, no more information is received.
The ship goes completely dark—only a possible radar signal remains.
That radar signal will then remain fixed in one spot within the "Three-Five-Seven" mist region.
After a while, the signal vanishes completely, and the ship disappears without a trace.
Each ship vanishes in different parts of the mist; the distances between their last locations are vast.
The durations they linger before vanishing also vary.
Some ships entered the mist already aware of past incidents—
They intentionally avoided regions where previous disappearances occurred.
But in the end, it didn't matter.
The mist drifts across the sea, silently roaring.
As expected, this unusual phenomenon soon caught the Foundation's attention.
Related online content was promptly controlled.
Internet media departments took action, intentionally guiding public perception of the Pacific mist.
Some people provided serious scientific explanations—
Blaming the fog on monsoon patterns and temperature changes.
Others leaned hard into mysticism—
Forcibly linking the mist to the reappearance of the ancient oceanic nation of Atlantis.
And they did it with such confidence and flair.
As a result, marketing-driven popcorn films and literary works began to emerge in droves, inspired by the event.
Clearly, no one truly believed it was Atlantis.
It became mere dinner table conversation.
Once a concept is over-marketed, no one believes it anymore.
Just like some deeply-rooted monster myth.
If the Foundation simply gave it a name like "Joker" or "Bigfoot"—
And had Hollywood make a few films—
People would quickly dismiss it all as pure fiction.
Meanwhile—
Three Foundation submarines were headed into the misty waters of the Pacific.
Inside one of them—
Haruto and Megumi Kato sat together, admiring the underwater scenery outside the vessel.
In the crisp sonar visuals, schools of fish swam gracefully, and occasionally, bizarre creatures emerged from the seabed.
Coral and aquatic plants of all colors painted a scene so surreal it was hard to believe such life existed on Earth.
"The ocean... really is full of wonders," Megumi murmured in awe.
Haruto nodded in agreement.
While humanity may dominate Earth as a species, it's more accurate to say they dominate only the land. The ocean remains vast and mysterious, seemingly capable of holding everything within it.
Humanity's exploration of the ocean has barely scratched the surface—far less than even the tip of the iceberg.
Even with the Foundation—
Which has countless facilities on land—
There are currently only three undersea bases.
Not because they lack the ability to build more, but because oceanic exploration has always been postponed.
"Haruto, what do you think this anomaly is? A memetic one?" Megumi asked curiously.
Since Haruto had brought her along for this containment mission—
It was highly likely this was a memetic or antimemetic anomaly. After all, Megumi was now the head of the Memetics Division—
She only handled such cases.
Haruto shook his head uncertainly.
"Maybe. Based on the available data, this anomaly most likely involves some form of cognitive contamination."
While they talked, the sonar suddenly picked something up.
Something was ahead.
They stopped talking and turned to the sonar feed—
What they saw left them horrified and confused.
Something was out there—
Something stretching endlessly across the ocean.
The Foundation's sonar, far ahead of anything else in the world, covered thousands of kilometers.
Yet even within this massive range—
This object showed no end.
Seeing the readout, Haruto couldn't help but click his tongue.
"Looks like we've got a major problem."
Megumi silently nodded in agreement.
The submarines stopped.
Haruto exited alone, diving into the Pacific.
No protective gear.
In fact, the water pressure where he exited could easily crush steel—
But to Haruto, it was like nothing at all.
Megumi followed shortly after—
She, however, wore a special diving suit.
It was a biomechanical exoskeleton, the Foundation's latest tech—
Capable of supporting operation at depths of 10,000 meters, equipped with turbine propulsion systems and more.
Haruto and Megumi swam toward the sonar target.
Since the anomaly was suspected to have cognitohazardous properties—
Ordinary Foundation personnel couldn't be used.
Only Haruto and the Memetics Director Megumi were qualified to handle the mission.
Time passed—who knew how long.
Finally, they saw it with their own eyes.
There was no way to properly describe what they saw—
Nor the sheer sense of awe and terror it evoked.
It was an anomalous entity.
Until now, the largest anomalous creature on record was the "Devourer of Worlds"—
Even curled up, it measured over 200 kilometers and struck fear into anyone who saw it.
But compared to what was in front of them—
The Devourer seemed like a small fry.
It stretched across the Pacific—
An eel?
Maybe.
Not quite the best comparison, but the thing looked like an eel. Rough estimates put its length between 600 and 900 kilometers.
At the moment, Haruto and Megumi were near its head.
It had eyes—but they were closed.
Even just the head was terrifyingly massive.
If it ever opened its eyes—
They might illuminate several nautical miles around.
"Haruto... I'm not feeling well," Megumi suddenly said over the comms.
When Haruto looked at her—
He saw her eyes bloodshot.
She was staring at the "eel," her gaze unfocused, on the verge of breaking down.
Haruto immediately activated his Root: Mystic Eyes of Death Perception—
His irises shimmered with rainbow light.
He reached into his pocket.
He pulled out the divine relic pen—
A god's heart turned into steel and ink.
He had nothing else on hand—it would have to serve as his blade.
Lines of death spread across Megumi's body. Haruto selected the one tied to her affected memories.
He stabbed the pen into her.
A crisp shattering sound echoed from the ocean floor.
When he pulled it out—
There wasn't a single wound on her.
Not even her armored diving suit had been scratched.
Megumi slowly closed her eyes—
Her condition visibly improving.
Haruto gently pulled her close.
Then he turned his gaze back to the "eel," stunned.
[Anomaly Name: Anantashesha (SCP 3000), Anomaly Level: 5.9 Divinity]
[Anomaly Description: An eel—said to be the one from myth that signifies the end of the world.]
[Anomalous Traits: This entity possesses Level 6 cognitohazardous properties. All who approach and gaze upon it suffer extreme cognitive distortion, hallucinations, and delusions. Their perception of reality becomes permanently warped.]
The world-ending eel from legend.
Its cognitohazardous nature was so strong—
It even affected Megumi.
And she, as head of the Memetics Division, naturally possessed antimemetic traits—
Strong resistance to both memetic and antimemetic contamination.
She'd also been taking W-class memory enhancers for a long time—
Permanently altering her physiological traits.
To date, only AA-class memory-cleansing protocols had any effect on her.
Looks like Anantashesha might be added to that list.