"Just so there are no questions," Satoru began, raising his right hand and flaring his Cursed Energies, revealing the Mark of Khaine upon his wrist – Kaela Mensha Khaine, the Bloody-Handed God of Murder, one of the very few gods from the old Aeldari Pantheon who was still somewhat respected by the Drukhari. Satoru saw their eyes widening ever so slightly. "I am the Britheim and this-"

For a moment, he willed forth the Sword of Khaine, the weapon appearing in his grasp in a burst of fire and crimson blood, wringing forth audible gasps from those who were watching, Drukhari and Asuryani alike. Even the Archon was similarly impressed, the flames reflecting off of his dark eyes. "-Is all the proof you'll ever need."

Satoru willed away the flaming sword. The Archon's smile was as wide as it could've been, polite and courteous, before he spoke. "The Supreme Overlord offers the gift of friendship and knowledge to the Lord Britheim, the Harbinger of the Golden Age, the Pantheon Reborn!"

Satoru's grin widened as he leaned forward, eyes glinting with mischief. "And I guess you want me to remove that little ol mark from your souls, yeah? You want freedom from the Thirsty Bitch? Because, as far as I'm aware, I'm the only one who can do that."

Synthrac's smile did not fade. "A mutually-beneficial exchange is, of course, appreciated, Lord Britheim."

"I reject your bullshit," Satoru suddenly said, the words slipping off his tongue with a casual finality that echoed through the chamber, even as his grin seemed to widen.

Archon Valossian Synthrac, his spiked armor gleaming under the dim light, stiffened. For a brief moment, the air between them crackled with tension, as if the very molecules around them had been charged with electricity. The Drukhari's mask hid his expression, but the rigidness in his posture betrayed his irritation. A flicker of surprise passed through the other two Drukhari, their eyes narrowing behind their own masks.

"You reject our gift?" Synthrac's voice was a low, dangerous whisper. Still, he maintained the smile. It was hilarious. Satoru would've been laughing if Caoimhe wasn't there. "You think to refuse the gift of the Supreme Overlord?"

Satoru didn't miss a beat. "Gift? Bro, what I see is a pretty package wrapped in dildos. And I've never been a fan of getting pricked – don't swing that way. That's your thing, isn't it? I heard Drukhari just love getting pricked all over. So, unless you make it worth my while, choke on it, bitch boy."

Caoimhe face-palmed and shook her head, sighing rather audibly.

Synthrac's hands twitched, perhaps out of instinct, perhaps out of the urge to lash out. But he remained still, the weight of his position forcing restraint. "You are bold, Lord Britheim. But do not mistake our courtesy for weakness. The Kabal of the Black Heart does not offer without expectation. You would be wise not to make an enemy of the Supreme Overlord of Commorragh, Lord Britheim."

Satoru's grin didn't falter. "Oh, I'm well aware of that. You Drukhari love your little games of power and deceit. But here's the thing—you're not dealing with someone who's going to dance to your tune. I dance to my own tune – and I'm a pretty good dancer. Also, are you seriously trying to scare me? Of all people, you're trying to scare me. Do you have any idea how stupid that is?"

The Archon straightened, his voice cold as ice. "You would be wise to reconsider, Lord Britheim. The Supreme Overlord offers information that could benefit your… allies."

The word was almost spat out, as if it tasted foul on his tongue. "Rejecting us could have consequences – dire consequences for all."

Satoru's gaze hardened, his grin fading into something more serious, though no less confident. "Let me tell you something, Synthrac. I don't play by your rules. I make my own. And if you think you can just waltz in here, make some vague threats, and expect me to roll over, you've seriously underestimated who you're dealing with. So, if you've got something important to say, you better say it quick."

The room fell into a tense silence. The Drukhari, who thrived on psychological warfare, were suddenly unsure of their footing. Satoru's words hung in the air, a clear challenge that had yet to be answered.

Caoimhe stepped forward, her voice measured and diplomatic. "Archon Synthrac, perhaps it would be best if you were more forthcoming. If this information is truly valuable, then it's in everyone's interest to discuss it openly, yes?"

Synthrac turned his head slightly toward her, his eyes flicking over her figure as if assessing her worth. Then, with deliberate slowness, he shifted his gaze back to Satoru.

"Very well," he said, voice low and venomous. He turned to Caoimhe and gritted his teeth. "In the presence of the Lord Britheim, I shall speak openly."

He turned to Satoru, who simply nodded at him. Synthrac breathed in and for the first time since the meeting began, there was a hint of something akin to respect in his posture.

"Very well," he said again, his tone more measured. "The information we bring concerns a threat far greater than any of us. A threat that even the Drukhari cannot ignore. In fact, it would not be an exaggeration to claim that this is something the entire Galaxy cannot and should not ignore."

Satoru's interest piqued, but he kept his expression guarded. "Go on."

Synthrac took a step forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "An ancient enemy of our people… the One Who Sleeps Beneath the Stars… is stirring. The Supreme Overlord, Lord of all Commorragh, Asdrubael Vect sent a scouting party to confirm such a thing and, though they did not return, their findings did. And what he discovered confirmed our worst fears, the most powerful of the living Yngir stirs."

The words hung heavy in the air, the implications sinking in. The gathered Aeldari all looked absolutely horrified at the news. Satoru felt it in their souls, the sudden flood of fear and anxiety. Briefly, Satoru wondered if the Drukhari were lying about this sort of thing, but – ironically – it seemed unlikely. There were very few things that could bring people together and one of those things was a common enemy, a mutual threat. It reminded him of an old proverb about how a dysfunctional family would fight each other all the time, but very often would unite when faced or threatened by an outsider. Perhaps, a common enemy was the only way to unite the Drukhari and the Asuryani, but that seemed like a far off dream if he was being honest. And the Drukhari were still scum, no matter what they did. Caoimhe's eyes widened in shock, while Satoru's grin returned, sharper than ever.

"Now that," Satoru said, "is something worth talking about."

Caoimhe turned to the Archon, her eyes still wide with shock. "Why did you withhold that information, earlier? You could've said so from the beginning and everything would've gone much smoother. Our conversation was going in circles, because all we did was trade insults!"

"I told you beforehand, you stupid Asuryani," Archon Synthrac spat, almost hissing. "We were sent to speak to the Britheim. I recognize only his authority – and the Harlequins, but that's a given. You and your miserable lot hold no authority over me!"

Satoru stepped forth. "Okay, break this shit up, kids."

He then turned to the Archon. "First and foremost, explain, but keep things direct. I'm not in the mood to listen to riddles. I've got shit to do and... not a lot of time to do them. So, talk. But first... Caoimhe, who's the one who sleeps beneath the stars?"

Archon Synthrac seethed underneath the surface, but kept himself otherwise composed. Idly, Satoru noted his soul and the dimness of it. The souls of the Drukhari seemed even weaker than the souls of humans, which was a shame since even the weakest Asuryani soul shined like a freaking bonfire, compared to the flickering flame that was a human soul. Caoimhe sighed and shook her head. "Lord Britheim, the One Who Sleeps Beneath the Stars is also known as the Outsider, the Betrayer, Tsara'Noga, the last true C'tan, unsharded and unbroken, unlike the rest of its misbegotten kin. It was imprisoned, trapped by the Laughing God in a divine ploy, trapped in its own mind."

Satoru's grin faded immediately. Caoimhe told him the stories of the War in Heaven, the legends that gave birth to the galaxy as it was now. The C'tan were the gods of the material realm, able to perform impossible acts of power and destruction with but a single thought, ravaging entire solar systems in but the blink of an eye. Their servants, the Necrons, apparently turned on them for one reason or another and broke their bodies apart into smaller shards, which were kept like pokemons. Caoimhe never mentioned the Outsider before. Then again, the Aeldari usually didn't like to speak of the Necrons, in general, which was why Satoru didn't know a lot about them, aside from the fact that they made use of some super advanced science that was so freakishly advanced it was indistinguishable from sorcery – almost.

"A C'tan... not even a shard of one, but a whole ass Ctan." Satoru repeated, whistling. The scary part was that the C'tan, shard or otherwise, due to their mastery over the physical realm, all had the ability to mess with time and space, which was Satoru's whole schtick. Just the Necrons themselves seemed hard enough to fight, since Caoimhe warned him that the murderous skeleton boys possessed a bunch of tricks to get around Infinity. The C'tan were on a level that Satoru knew he could not fight and win against – not as he was now. Perhaps, eventually, once he reached godhood and attained some form of ascendance in Jujutsu, then he could take on, but that'd still be a pretty big maybe. "What the fuck."

"So, let me get this straight," Satoru began, his voice measured, as if testing the waters. "You're telling me that this thing is waking up, and you thought the best way to inform me was to dance around the point with cryptic threats and bullshit?"

Synthrac bristled, his dark eyes gleaming with something akin to disdain. "We are Drukhari, Lord Britheim. Our ways are not yours. But understand this—the Outsider stirs, and the galaxy itself will tremble if it fully awakens. We come to you because we have... interests in not seeing it do so. You may not trust us, but consider the alternative."

Satoru exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing as he stared at the Archon. "What's the catch? You're not here out of the kindness of your heart, obviously. You Drukhari never do anything without an angle."

Synthrac's lip curled slightly. "Indeed, there is always an angle. The Outsider's awakening would be catastrophic for us all, but we believe that with the right... tools, we can keep it dormant. We possess certain... artifacts, knowledge from our ancestors and technological horrors from our mutual enemy that could be used to contain the mad god. But we require something in return—something only you can provide."

Satoru raised a brow. "Yes, I know; you want the Mark of Slaanesh to be removed from your souls. We've established that, already. But I'm not dumb. I know there's more to this shit than that. So, hurry up and spill it."

Synthrac's eyes gleamed with cold calculation. "Your abilities, Lord Britheim. Your mastery over time and space could be the key to ensuring the Outsider remains trapped. With our knowledge and your power, we might have a chance to avert this catastrophe."

Caoimhe's voice cut through the tension, her tone urgent. "Lord Britheim, if they're right, and the Outsider is waking up, this could be the greatest threat we've ever faced – greater, perhaps, than the parasites in the Immaterium who are masquerading as gods. Even the Necrons feared the C'tan—feared them enough to shatter them. This one is whole, unbroken…"

Satoru nodded slowly, his mind racing through possibilities, scenarios, and the countless dangers that lay ahead. The Drukhari weren't to be trusted, but neither could he ignore the potential magnitude of the threat they were presenting. He'd take it with a grain of salt.

"Alright," Satoru said finally, his voice steady. "We'll work together. But know this, Synthrac—if you try to double-cross me, if there's any hint of treachery, I'll tear your little Kabal apart piece by piece. And I won't need to lift a finger to do it."

Because all he'd really have to do is find a way into Commorragh and open the biggest portal into the Cursed Realm in the middle of their stupid city. Satoru was pretty sure Tzeentch would be more than happy to send in a legion of Cursed Spirits and whatever else he had in his bag of goodies. Only very few people would be sad to see Commorragh burn.

The Archon inclined his head, a dark smile playing on his lips. "Understood, Lord Britheim. I acknowledge that the Drukhari are fond of politics, subterfuge, and betrayal, but we are not so single minded as to fail to acknowledge the necessity of an alliance; and the promise of finally losing the mark of She-Who-Thirsts is a far greater allure than any enjoyment we derive from all other sources. Just this once, perhaps, Lord Britheim, if you can manage such a thing, trust us."

Satoru raised a brow for a moment, before shrugging. Yep, if they double crossed him or his allies, then fuck everything. Synthrac did have a point, however, in that the Drukhari had a lot to lose if they started getting all shifty. "Alright. You get one chance."

Caoimhe breathed in. "We're going to need everything and everyone we've got. I'll send a message to Biel Tan and all the other Craftworlds. Everyone must know."

AN: Chapter 48 is out on (Pat)reon!