"Well, ain't this a bitch," Six Eyes narrowed for a moment, before he sighed and blinked.
Satoru rolled the scroll back up, tucking it into his sleeve. The message from Cegorach wasn't exactly what he'd call helpful—just more cryptic nonsense. But it did tell him one thing: the Laughing God was watching him. And if a trickster god with a penchant for chaos and mischief was paying attention, things were about to get even more interesting.
"Well, Lentheren, you've delivered your message," Satoru said, pushing off the wall and walking over to the window. He flicked it open with a finger, letting a cool breeze swirl into the room. "Anything else, or are you gonna poof out of here like some ninja in a cheap action flick?"
Lentheren's smile didn't falter. "Lord Cegorach's eyes will be upon you, Britheim. The future is a dance, and every step you take will shape it. Remember that not all who laugh with you are friends, and not all enemies seek your downfall."
"Yeah, yeah, mysterious and vague. Classic Harlequin stuff," Satoru waved her off, but there was a hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Tell your boss I'll keep that in mind. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got more important things to do—like figuring out what to have for dinner."
With a small bow, Lentheren flickered out of sight, leaving behind only the faintest shimmer in the air. Satoru turned back to the empty room, rubbing the back of his neck. The Laughing God's attention could be a blessing or a curse, depending on how he played his cards. But if there was one thing Gojo Satoru excelled at, it was making the impossible look easy.
He closed the window, sealing the room in comfortable silence. His stomach growled, reminding him of his earlier thoughts.
"Food first, god stuff later," he muttered to himself as he headed towards the kitchen.
The manor's larder was a treasure trove of exotic ingredients, thanks to Caoimhe's hospitality. Satoru wasn't much of a cook—he usually left that to others—but even he could appreciate the spread laid out before him. Spiced meats, vegetables from planets he couldn't even name, fruits that shimmered with an otherworldly glow. His mouth watered at the sight.
As he rummaged through the shelves, his mind wandered back to Tzeentch and the Cursed Realm. Unlimited Cursed Energy was one thing, but the idea of becoming a god? That was a whole different level. He knew the path wouldn't be easy—gods didn't just appear out of nowhere. They were shaped by belief, by power, by followers who saw them as something more than mortal. Satoru had never been one for religion, but the thought of having that kind of influence, that kind of control… It was tempting. Very tempting.
"Step one, get some worshippers," he mused, pulling out a slab of meat and laying it on the counter. "Step two, don't piss off any existing gods too much. Step three… profit?"
He chuckled to himself, grabbing a knife and setting to work. As he sliced through the meat with practiced ease, he considered his next move. The Aeldari were a good start—ancient, powerful, and already seeing him as some sort of messianic figure. But they were just the beginning. There was a whole galaxy out there, filled with countless beings who could be brought under his influence. If he played his cards right, if he maneuvered through the intricate dance that the Harlequins seemed to think was so important, then maybe, just maybe, he'd find himself at the top of the cosmic food chain.
"Or maybe I'll just end up with a bunch of crazies worshipping me like a god and more problems than I can handle," he muttered, flipping the meat onto a pan and turning up the heat. The sizzle filled the kitchen, and the rich aroma of cooking meat began to fill the air. "Either way, it's gonna be one hell of a ride."
He finished preparing his meal in relative silence, the rhythmic chopping and sizzling of food grounding him in the present. For now, he could afford to relax, enjoy the fruits of his labor, and let the future come at its own pace. After all, he was Gojo Satoru, the Honored One, and if there was one thing he knew for certain, it was that he'd face whatever came his way with a smile and a snarky comment.
As he sat down to eat, a thought crossed his mind—a brief flicker of insight that made him pause, fork halfway to his mouth. He glanced at the cool rock that Lentheren had handed him, still resting in his pocket. It was just a rock, nothing special. But something about it nagged at him, a tiny voice in the back of his head whispering that it was more than it seemed.
"Guess I'll find out sooner or later," he said to himself, finally taking a bite. The flavors exploded in his mouth, a perfect blend of spices and textures that made him hum in appreciation. For now, though, he'd focus on the present—on good food, on the quiet moments that were becoming rarer and rarer.
Tomorrow, he'd deal with gods and prophecies, with Harlequins and Cursed Energy. But tonight? Tonight was for him.
And maybe, just maybe, he'd start planning out that next step toward godhood. After all, it wasn't every day you got a rock from a trickster god. Still, Cegorach's message had been... interesting. And now, Satoru had no choice but to consider... well... quite a lot of things about the Galaxy and what he wanted to fight for. But, then again, it changed absolutely nothing. He knew exactly what he was getting into – maybe not every single specific detail, but he knew enough to draw his own conclusions. But this was exactly why seers were goddamn annoying; the future sight stuff was freaking broken as hell most of the time, which... well... he couldn't really complain about it aloud, because he had Six Eyes and Infinity, but still.
Sighing, Satoru took another bite of... he actually had no idea what he was eating, but it tasted kind of like vanilla ice cream with the texture of mochi, which was... actually something he'd tasted before, all things considered. It was simpler than typical Aeldari food, but also familiar and comforting. He liked it.
A few minutes later, someone knocked on the front door. The Cursed Energy signature indicated that the person was Aeldari, but not anyone Satoru knew personally. Shrugging, Satoru leapt down from the top floor, where the dining room was located, and landed on the ground floor. He then opened the front door. "Yes?"
On the other side was an Aeldari boy who looked like an overworked intern whose whole existence was to go and get coffee. The boy bowed and fell to his knees. "Lord Britheim, Lady Caoimhe humbly asks you to join her in the talks with the Drukhari; she said it was important."
Satoru raised a brow. "Huh, cool. Sure."
Satoru shut the door behind him, his hand lingering on the cool metal handle for a moment as he contemplated the request. Talks with the Drukhari, huh? That could mean any number of things—none of them good, most likely. But if Caoimhe thought it was important, then it was probably worth his time.
"Guess I'm not finishing dinner," he muttered to himself, casting one last wistful glance toward the kitchen. The sweet, mochi-like dish would have to wait. There were more pressing matters to attend to—like dealing with a faction of space elves who made the average villain look like a kid playing dress-up.
He turned back to the Aeldari boy, who was still kneeling in the doorway. The poor kid looked like he was about two seconds away from collapsing from sheer stress.
"Hey, kid," Satoru said, leaning down slightly to meet the boy's gaze. "You might want to take a breather. Caoimhe's a cool lady, but even she knows you can't run on fumes. Get some rest, okay?"
The boy blinked up at him, clearly not expecting the casual concern. "Y-Yes, Lord Britheim. Thank you."
Satoru waved off the title with a flick of his wrist. "Just Satoru's fine. Now go on, before I decide to drag you into whatever mess is waiting for me with the Drukhari."
The boy's eyes widened, and he scrambled to his feet, bowing deeply before retreating down the path. Satoru watched him go, a small smile tugging at his lips. He wasn't really one for titles or formalities, but he knew how much they meant to the Aeldari. Still, he couldn't help but wonder how many of them saw him as an actual leader, and how many just followed out of sheer, unbridled fanaticism.
With a sigh, Satoru turned toward the direction of Caoimhe's quarters. His mind was already racing ahead, considering the possible outcomes of this meeting. The Drukhari were unpredictable, to say the least. Sadistic, cruel, and with a penchant for torture that made most people sick to their stomachs. Negotiating with them was like trying to bargain with a tiger—you might get away with it, or you might end up as lunch.
But that was what made it fun, right?
He strolled through the manor's halls, the architecture as alien as it was beautiful. Everything was sleek, angular, with a kind of elegance that felt almost too perfect. It was a stark contrast to the chaotic energy that Satoru usually thrived in, but he could appreciate it all the same. That said, this sort of architecture was becoming normal to him, considering he saw it pretty much every single day. The blocky buildings and neon signs he remembered of Japanese Cities couldn't really compare.
As he approached Caoimhe's chambers, he felt the tension in the air—a subtle shift that signaled something was definitely up. The Aeldari stationed outside her door straightened up as he approached, their eyes flickering with a mix of respect and caution, before they all fell to their knees. Satoru just gave them a nod, pushing the door open without bothering to knock.
Inside, Caoimhe was pacing back and forth, her helmet removed and her bright crimson hair dangling, her usually serene expression tinged with worry. At the sight of him, she paused, relief washing over her features.
"Lord Britheim, thank you for coming so quickly," she said, her voice calm but laced with an urgency that didn't go unnoticed.
"Yeah, well, you know me—never one to miss a party. And aren't we past the Lord Britheim thing? Just call me Satoru." he replied, crossing his arms as he leaned against the door frame. "So, what's the deal? Drukhari causing trouble, or are they actually in the mood to talk for once?"
Caoimhe's lips pressed into a thin line. "They've requested an audience with you specifically. They claim to have information that could benefit our race, but they refuse to divulge anything until you're present."
Satoru raised an eyebrow. "Me? What could they possibly want with little ol' me?"
"That's what worries me," Caoimhe admitted, her gaze sharp. "The Drukhari are not known for their honesty, and they rarely offer anything without expecting something in return. This could be a trap."
"Could be," Satoru agreed, before he smiled and shrugged. "But it could also be fun. Let's see what they have to say. Worst case scenario, I get to blow off some steam."
Caoimhe's eyes softened slightly and she chuckled. Satoru smiled. He liked the sound of little laughter. "You never take anything seriously, do you?"
"Life's too short to be serious all the time," he replied with a shrug. "Besides, if they're planning something, they won't see it coming when I turn the tables."
Caoimhe nodded, though her concern remained evident. "Very well. The Drukhari envoy is waiting in the main chamber. Shall we?"
"Lead the way," Satoru said, gesturing for her to go ahead. As they walked, he could feel the familiar buzz of anticipation building in his chest. Negotiations, battles, gods—it was all just another challenge, another game. And if there was one thing Satoru loved, it was playing games.
When they reached the main chamber, the doors were already open, revealing a trio of Drukhari standing in the center of the room. They were dressed in their typical dark, ornate armor, their faces hidden behind expressionless masks. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the kind that made Satoru's fingers itch for a fight.
"Well, well, well," Satoru called out as he entered, his voice echoing in the grand chamber. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this little visit? I'm not exactly used to Drukhari dropping by for tea and biscuits."
I an Aeldari male with the coolest black armor Satoru had ever seen stepped forward. The man was covered in spikes and spikes and, look at that, more spikes. "I am Archon Valossian Synthrac of the Kabal of the Black Heart, here to represent the Supreme Overlord Asdrubael Vect; and, in his name, I greet and offer my very heart and soul to the Lord Britheim."
Satoru grinned. Even he could tell that the very words spoken by... what was his name again? Synthrac? Yeah, Synthrac was not used to showing subservience to anyone other than that Vect dude and everyone saw that. Even his stance, his rigid bow, was all forced. And that made everything fucking funny. "Nice."
AN: Chapter 47 is out on (Pat)reon!