"And that's how She-Who-Thirsts came to have ownership over the soul of very single Eldar in all of existence." The Farseer, Caoimhe, explained, narrating the story of how the Eldar came to be where they are now, fractured and scattered, weakened and close to extinction, but still fighting and hoping for a better tomorrow – just like everyone else, really. The short story was that this whole galaxy sounded like it was totally fucking fucked and that hope came in little or no supply; sorry boss, hope machine broke. The long story was a little more complicated.
"So, that's it?" Satoru asked, raising a brow. "Your ancestors... kind of just orgied a new Chaos God into existence?"
Chaos God... that was the term used to describe the four mountains he sought to climb and conquer one day. Well, if nothing else, the term was somewhat accurate; the overwhelming power they wielded, the Cursed Energies available to them, made their existence nearly impossible to quantify. And, therefore, the only word that could possibly and accurately describe them was... well... god. Chaos, in this case, referred to the ridiculous amount of wars and strife and death and conflict that seemed to permeate the entire galaxy, wars that ravaged entire planets and solar systems, wars that claimed the lives of billions.
What an unfathomably large number that was, Satoru mused – billions of people dying in these battlefields. The horrific Cursed Spirits such a thing would've birthed over the course of thousands and thousands of years. Honestly, it set the bar so much higher than he'd been expecting. Now, to truly get to the point where he could become a god, Satoru found that the only way forward was to somehow tap into this Realm of Chaos, or the Cursed Realm, and take its Cursed Energies for himself, the same way Kairos did.
He'd get to that later. These Aeldari, as they called themselves, had plenty of Cursed Techniques that he could learn and refine, things they otherwise wouldn't share with him if he wasn't the one hope they had to not get eaten by a galactic super rape demon, fueled by a galaxy's worth of sex drugs and rock and roll. Honestly, this She-Who-Thirsts bitch sounded like a lot of fun, but that was the thing with these Cursed Entities; they took a fragmented trait of humanity and dialed it up to eleven, becoming parodies of otherwise normal emotions or experiences. So, seeing as he was their only hope, Satoru figured they wouldn't protest much if he learned their techniques.
The one thing he really wanted to learn was what the Farseer referred to as 'Bonesinging', which was how they manipulated that psycho-reactive material their whole ships were made of, Wraithbone. Why did he want to? Well, because it sounded cool as hell in theory and practice, and also because it essentially represented an infinite amount of resources as long as he had access to Cursed Energy, something he did not have an infinite amount of, but learning how to access the Cursed Realm should fix that little problem for him.
The Farseer sighed, dramatically turned to gaze out the viewing port, where the stars were in full display, before turning back to look at him with sad eyes. "That is... correct. Our ancestors lost themselves to the sensations of flesh and spirit and fell into degradation and excess, fueling the birth of She-Who-Thirsts. It is... a painful thing to think about. And, even now, the practices of our wretches ancestors live on through the Drukhari."
Drukhari, the Aeldari equivalent of hardcore goth kids on a crazy amount of drugs, were perpetually horny, excessively kinky, and lived only for the moment and for the heck of it. Honestly, they sounded like Satoru's kind of people, but he didn't voice out that particular comment, since Caoimhe held quite a bit of disdain for her wayward cousins.
Still, that lifestyle seemed kind of fun if you took away the torture and the depravity. Satoru liked sex; that much was a given. He was a handsome guy and a lot of women, over the years, had fallen head over heels for him, and then they'd fuck around – he wouldn't be shocked if there were a bunch of kids, running around, with the Gojo clan's snow white hair, courtesy of his beautiful self – but the Drukhari took that a little too far, deriving sexual pleasure and gratification from torturing and tormenting others.
Actually, that sort of practice reminded him of a bunch of Curse Users who used torture to generate more Cursed Energy; they'd been hoping to create a Cursed Spirit of pain, but Satoru had gotten to them before they succeeded. But Satoru had always wondered what would've happened if they succeeded, if they were able to birth a Cursed Spirit in such an artificial manner.
Pain and suffering both produced quite a bit of Cursed Energy, leaking all over the place in mass quantities; it was only natural that the Drukhari found a way to harness this form of energy. Pretty cool, but also very limited. Satoru didn't want to just feed off of pain and misery; he wanted all of it at once.
"I gotta be honest here, Caoimhe," Satoru said, shrugging. "It sounds like the Aeldari's got a lot of problems on your plate, aside from the claim on your souls."
Man, these Aeldari sure were a dramatic bunch. But, if nothing else, Satoru liked it. Plus, Caoimhe was so... beautiful that not paying attention to whatever it was she was saying or doing was pretty hard... heh... hard. But, anyway, he might've been staring at her... armor boobs for most of the time, but he was listening. And the fact of the matter was that no faction seemed to be on the right side of things; everyone on this galaxy was desperate for survival and, thusly, did everything they could to live, fighting with teeth and claw and all they had and were. Humanity... Monkeigh, in Aeldari terms, was seen as a bunch of brutish apes that ruined everything they touched; they were warmongering creatures that exterminated entire races and crushed entire planets into the dust with their expansive crusades. However, even Caoimhe had to admit the fact that humans weren't always like this and the Aeldari were not blameless in the fall of humanity. "Also, antagonizing humanity doesn't seem like the best thing to do, honestly. You're better off brokering some sort of peace deal, than trying to finesse these humans."
Humans. He used the term loosely. Many sorcerers, himself included, rightly viewed themselves as above non-sorcerers. They weren't mere humans, as Geto said, but sorcerers – ascended, evolved, greater, better. Unlike his fellow sorcerers, a lot of whom didn't give a shit about humans, however, Satoru did care and he cared a lot – for a sorcerer. He'd risked his balls to save a bunch of nameless, unimportant humans in Shibuya, opening himself up to be imprisoned in the process. Sure, he was better than any human could ever hope to be – hotter, prettier – but that only meant his responsibility to defend and protect them was greater than anyone else's. Geto would definitely disagree with him on that and he'd be right to. But what point was there to possess such overwhelming power if he used it only for himself?
Sure, he wouldn't go out of his way to die for a bunch of nameless humans, but he'd definitely try to save as much of them as he could – future or not. As things stood, Satoru found himself in a very unique position to try and mend the burning, broken bridge between humans and Aeldari, just enough so that the two races woke up and realized that they'd benefit more by working together, instead of against each other, especially with about a hundred other things trying to kill both sides.
"I know that, my lord." Caoimhe said, her eyes sad and distant. "But there are very few who agree with me on the matter. And even fewer still are not blinded by their prejudice against humanity and think themselves superior. Well, if we were superior, then we wouldn't be close to extinction."
Satoru smiled. Well, that was a perfectly reasonable and rational logic. "I think we can work with that, yeah? If what you say about me is true, then my word's bound to hold a lot of weight. And, as detached and cool as I am from humanity, I still do care about them."
"The word of the one who can remove the mark of She-Who-Taints from the soul of any Aeldari he touches will carry more weight than even the Craftworld Council, Lord Gojo."
"But, I suppose we could get to that later." Satoru stood up and stretched his limbs. Around them, the original warriors, whose souls he'd cleansed, silently stood guard; they'd pledged themselves to him, swearing total and absolute the pact they'd sworn wasn't bound by mere words too, because the fucking idiots actually made a Binding Vow to follow him to hell and back.
So, naturally, there was no point in saying no at that point.
Aspect Warriors, Caoimhe called them, of the Swooping Cranes, specializing in asymmetrical warfare, sabotage, and hit and run tactics – and a bunch of other tactics that might've just gone over Satoru's head. The Farseer kind of explained how these Aspect Warrior Shrines worked, but it seemed like a wild cultural quirk thing if Satoru was being honest, like donning some form of mental and physical mantle that dictated how, who, and why they fought. But, whatever, an entire race of Sorcerers was bound to be a weird bunch. "Right now, I'd love to get to know your people better."
They were on a ship at the moment – an Aeldari ship, bound for the Craftworld. At Satoru's insistence, the Imperial vessel, ruined and dilapidated though it was, was towed right behind them. Because he was going to learn how to Bonesing at some point and this thing was the best practice tool he could possibly ask for. And also because Larkin and Tanya were probably still there, hiding in their weird sub-dimensional forms. He couldn't just let them die. Larkin was the whole reason he was even able to escape that damn planet. But, yes, he definitely wanted
When he entered, a lot of the Aeldari crewmen had given him disdainful glares, kind of like when he saw a cockroach on the floor or when he saw Bieber fans walking about in broad daylight like they were allowed to. Weapons were pointed at him at some point and threats were thrown about. And it was here that Satoru found that Caoimhe's role as a Farseer did not mean she carried absolute authority. In fact, it seemed as though her authority, in general, was rather limited. Still, after explaining what exactly it was Satoru had done and after she'd presented evidence on the matter, those who'd aimed their weapons at him, other Aspect Warriors, were quick to knee and ask for forgiveness, even going so far as to put their heads on the ground.
Honestly, them shoving weapons in his face was amusing if nothing else. Because, as far as he was concerned, none of their attacks were getting through Infinity.
Satoru just shrugged at them and said, "No biggie."
And that was about thirty minutes or so ago. And, since then, he'd been given the finest room aboard their finest vessel, which was supposed to be for the highest ranking officer on board, but now it belonged to him.
"Of course!" Caoimhe's face lit up. And she smiled. "There are... so many things that I can show you, things no human has ever seen before, Lord Satoru. Yme-Loc may not be as grand as our sister-Craftworlds, but ours is a long and proud history that stretches back further than I could possibly count and quantify. You wish to learn our ways, yes? Well, there is much for you here, indeed, Lord Satoru."
Oh hell yeah.
"Then I'll be the best student that I can possibly be," Satoru grinned. After all, a true master was an eternal student. Those who believed there was nothing more to learn often turned out to be the least knowledgeable and the most ignorant. He wasn't like them. He was Gojo Satoru and he was fucking perfect– the perfect student and the perfect master. And there nothing that he wasn't capable of.
The Farseer then stood up and turned to the window. Raising a brow, Satoru did the same and looked out. And his eyes widened. It was beautiful – beautiful at a distance and beautiful up close. Their vessel begun its descent. And Satoru could almost taste the ambient Positive Energy that so utterly suffused the entirety of the Craftworld – a whole ocean of it. No Cursed Spirit could stand it here. They'd be burnt to ashes before they could do anything.
And then, his eyes narrowed. Didn't the Farseer mention, before they actually met, that there was some dire reason as to why they needed the Voidwalker's help? And, as far as he was aware, that reason was not the mark on their souls, but something else entirely.
In the distance, a few lightyears away, a fleet of gargantuan vessels appeared and gradually began drifting towards the Craftworld.