Satoru awoke in the cramped inn with a yawn, blinking against the faint morning light that filtered through the single, narrow window. He lay still for a moment, staring at the faded ceiling. He felt Infinity's gentle hum curled around him like a subtle cocoon. Morning in Shibuya was no different from its nights: still brimming with Sorcerers, illusions, and potential dangers. With a groan, he sat up on the lumpy mattress and stretched, rolling his neck until it popped.
He stood and moved to the window, pushing aside the thin curtain. The view wasn't much: the side of another building, some neon signs flickering in halfhearted patterns. Distant voices drifted upward, a mix of vendors hawking breakfast noodles and Sorcerers chatting about newly invented techniques. He caught a glimpse of the fortress's topmost spires, looming far beyond the cityscape. Even at this distance and angle, it was impossible to ignore.
He sighed. He had a mission. Steal that Necron Artifact from Sukuna's fortress, a monstrous structure that reached into orbit. And, so far, every lead told him it was suicide. Perfect.
He gathered his things—slipping on his boots, readjusting his hood, and making sure the stolen currency was still stashed in his cloak. Then he stepped out into the corridor. The inn's hallway smelled of incense, the floor squeaking under his weight. Nodding a brief acknowledgment to the sleepy innkeeper downstairs, he exited onto the street.
The day's light was faint. Shibuya's "morning" had a peculiar quality: artificial suns drifting overhead among real cloud formations, weaving together something that approximated daylight. Many Sorcerers and normal civilians bustled about, some heading to clan academies, others opening shops or hurrying to workplaces.
Satoru stuffed his hands into his pockets, scanning the crowds for anything suspicious. Not that he expected immediate trouble—he planned to remain inconspicuous for as long as possible. Besides, the real fight would happen near Sukuna's fortress if anything went wrong.
He set off, weaving through the throngs. He planned his day: find records, talk to archivists, bribe or cajole whomever might know the fortress layout. He intended to check official channels for city planning maps, ancient texts, or rumor logs. If that failed, he'd prowl the underbelly for black-market information.
He started with something official.
A modest building stood near the administrative district: a squat structure overshadowed by towering official complexes that soared above. A small sign read: Shibuya City Hall - Records and Archives. It didn't look particularly busy. Satoru eyed the building from across the street. At the door, a pair of bored-looking Sorcerers in city uniforms loitered, occasionally checking passersby.
Satoru inhaled and let Infinity settle around him. Not too conspicuous, but enough to dissuade casual confrontation. He crossed the street and stepped up to the entrance.
One guard glanced at him, noting his hood, and frowned. "Identification?"
Satoru feigned a friendly shrug. "I'm new in town, trying to research local building codes."
The second guard, a tall woman with a staff strapped to her back, raised an eyebrow. "Locals only. Off-worlders need a permit to view records."
Satoru gave a disarming grin. "Aw, come on. Just a quick peek. I can pay any fees."
They both scowled, exchanging looks. The tall woman tapped her staff on the ground, faint sparks of cursed energy flickering. "Move along. We're not letting random travelers rummage through city documents."
Satoru lifted his hands, adopting a lighthearted tone. "Alright, alright, no need for fireworks. I'll go."
He spun on his heel and walked away, mind already churning. So, official records were locked tight behind red tape. He'd likely have to forge documents or perform a stealth infiltration to see them. But that risked drawing clan attention. Maybe a simpler way existed.
Next, he tried the public archives, a more open institution near a university district. The building was less guarded, its halls bustling with students in clan-marked robes. He slipped inside easily, Infinity masking any suspicious aura he carried.
Shelves rose from floor to ceiling, lined with data-slates, scrolls, and digital consoles. He meandered among them, scanning the labels. Many contained genealogies, historical clan feuds, treatises on cursed techniques. Fascinating, but not what he needed.
He paused at a section labeled Historical Architecture: Shibuya's Landmarks. Satoru quickly scanned the shelves, pulling out a thick digital codex. He flipped through projections of old city schematics, images of spires rising from the wastelands, the earliest expansions of Shibuya's megalopolis. He scrolled until his eyes landed on references to "Sukuna's Citadel."
He tapped the console. Page after page described expansions of the fortress, each addition more grandiose than the last. One passage read: Year 2299 (Imperium Standard): The fortress soared to new heights. Retired Devourers integrated anti-orbital defenses. Men of Iron units introduced for perimeter control.
Satoru frowned. The next entries were heavily censored, entire paragraphs blacked out or redacted. At the bottom, a note stated that further information required high-level clearance.
He exhaled, leaning back. So the official historical record wouldn't yield the details he sought. He spent another hour scanning adjacent sections, hoping for some oversight or uncensored blueprint. Everything relevant was locked behind digital encryption or sealed beneath clan authority.
He quietly slipped the codex back onto the shelf. A few students passing by shot him curious glances, but he pretended to be an ordinary researcher. Then, deciding he'd gleaned nothing new here, he slipped out into the midday bustle.
By midday, he stood in the shadow of the fortress itself, or as close as the surrounding structures allowed. This district was more subdued, with fewer shops, fewer pedestrians. Instead, large gates and thick walls separated the fortress grounds from the rest of the city. He walked along a wide thoroughfare that ended at a massive gatehouse. From a distance, he saw lines of Men of Iron marching in precise patrols behind the gate. Their metallic forms glinted in the artificial sun, eyes glowing with a dull red hue.
He lingered near a street vendor selling grilled skewers, pretending to browse. Peering around casually, he watched the guard rotations. Every ten minutes, a new squad of Men of Iron replaced the previous, their movements almost mechanical. He noted the presence of at least one retired Devourer at the parapet—a hulking figure leaning on the wall. The man's silhouette alone radiated danger, even from a hundred meters away.
"Anything catch your fancy?" the vendor asked.
Satoru blinked, realizing he'd been standing there, not speaking. "Uh, sure," he said, forcing a friendly smile. He tossed the vendor some currency and accepted a skewer of sizzling meat.
He nibbled it absentmindedly, cursing that he found no obvious infiltration route. The outermost wall soared high, the gates sealed shut, and watchtowers dotted the top, each presumably manned by who knew how many Sorcerers or ex-Astartes.
He moved on, meandering around the fortress perimeter, ducking into side alleys when patrols drew near. He tried to see if any drainage tunnels or hidden maintenance shafts connected the fortress to the city's infrastructure. But everything at the base was sealed or patrolled. He found no blind spots, no unguarded corners.
Eventually, he circled back to the lower city, disheartened by the fortress's impeccable defenses. If infiltration was so easy, others would have done it, right? He let out a humorless chuckle. The day wore on, the sky turning a hazy orange as evening approached. Shibuya's neon signs kicked in, bathing the streets in fluorescent pink and electric blue.
He considered returning to the inn, maybe rethinking his plan. But a nagging voice in his mind told him there had to be something deeper, some rumor or secret path. Sukuna's fortress is ancient and massive. Possibly there's an underground route.
At dusk, he found himself in a small public library on the city's western edge, rumored to house older, less-censored records. He rummaged through dusty shelves, scanning battered scrolls. These records read more like personal journals of travelers or explorers than official documents. Some mentioned labyrinthine sewers beneath Shibuya, older than the city itself. Possibly from an era when the planet's ecology was different.
He found a snippet in a frayed volume: "They say the fortress's roots sink into the planet's crust, with entire layers lost to time. Strange creatures dwell in those depths, feeding on the scraps of ancient wars."
He frowned at the cryptic mention. No mention of a route leading into the fortress, but the idea that the fortress extended far underground seemed plausible. If so, maybe there was some neglected catacomb, an old crypt, or a collapsed corridor leading inside.
He closed the book, tucking it back onto the shelf. Outside, the city lights glowed with renewed fervor, and he decided to resume wandering. If nothing else, the city's underbelly might yield unexpected revelations.
Night descended fully as he ventured into a district known for its labyrinthine backstreets. He passed shady bars, dimly lit establishments, and alleys thick with the smell of garbage. The crowds here were rougher—vagrants, lower-tier Sorcerers, or clan outcasts lurked in corners. Some shot him wary glances, others ignored him.
He wanted to find a place where rumors flowed freely. A seedy bar called Spiral's End looked promising. Its neon sign flickered overhead, the door battered, the windows opaque. He stepped inside, letting the door creak shut behind him.
Darkness and the stench of cheap liquor greeted him. A handful of patrons loitered at rickety tables, their voices low. A single bartender, an older woman with half-lidded eyes and a swirling tattoo on her cheek, cleaned glasses with a rag. She glanced up, momentarily surprised by a newcomer. Satoru offered a casual nod and approached the bar.
"Looking for a drink?" she asked, her voice husky.
He slid onto a stool, leaning his elbows on the worn counter. "Maybe. Also looking for rumors."
She let out a soft snort. "Plenty of those around."
Satoru fished a coin from his cloak, setting it on the counter. "Heard anything about the fortress or maybe hidden tunnels?"
She raised an eyebrow, picking up the coin and biting it lightly to test it. "That question could get you in trouble."
He shrugged, pulling down his hood just enough to reveal a confident grin. "So I've heard. That's why I'm willing to pay."
She eyed him a moment longer, then pocketed the coin. She poured him a small glass of some amber liquid. He took it politely, sipped. It tasted pungent, but not terrible.
"There's talk of old sewers," she began, voice low. "But no one's sure if any lead inside the fortress. Could just be stories."
Satoru nodded, taking another sip. "I'll take stories."
A gruff man at a nearby table glanced over, eavesdropping. He wore a tattered Sorcerer's robe, a single ocular implant glowing faintly in his left eye. "You're barking up the wrong tree. If there was an easy sewer route, we'd all be rich or dead by now."
Satoru spun slightly, eyeing the man. "So you haven't tried?"
The man scoffed, tapping his implant. "Tried once. Found nothing but flooded tunnels and mutated beasts. No entrance. Just rotting pipes and acid pools. If you like a swarm of flesh-eating vermin, be my guest."
Satoru sighed. "That's the general consensus, then?"
The bartender shrugged. "There's rumor of something deeper. People vanish in the depths. Some say it's a gateway to something older than the city. Others claim it's an underground clan outpost. No one has proof."
Satoru gave a faint smile. "Well, that's helpful."
She smirked back, flipping a glass in her hand. "Best I can do, off-worlder."
He tossed another coin on the counter, draining the rest of the drink. "That's fair."
Leaving Spiral's End, Satoru wandered the back alleys, letting his footsteps guide him. Overhead, the night sky glimmered with distant stars, but most were obscured by the fortress's looming silhouette. He'd gleaned nothing solid about a direct infiltration route. The day felt like a near-total bust.
He turned a corner, passing by a deserted street. Garbage bins overflowed, and a single flickering lamp gave the place a sickly green glow. A shape flitted at the edge of his vision—a hunched figure with robes patched together from scraps, moving quickly through the shadows. The figure paused, glanced around, then vanished down a side passage.
Satoru frowned. The figure's cursed energy felt… off. Not quite Sorcerer-like. Then again, it had a tinge of something else. Something that reminded him of xenos. The memory of Tyranids and Genestealers flashed briefly in his mind—he'd read about them, how they infiltrated hives and turned them from within. A twisted infiltration approach that spread, cult-like.
He felt a quiet thrill. Maybe this was some random mutant or a disguised xenos. Either way, it was worth investigating.
He moved after the figure, Infinity tuned to minimal presence, letting him blend with the darkness. The figure led him deeper into the labyrinth of Shibuya's lower tiers. They descended stairwells, hopped over broken fences, and squeezed through a rusted hatch leading underground. All the while, Satoru maintained a healthy distance, quietly following.
Down here, the air changed, turning stale. Flickers of old lighting flickered overhead, leaving large patches of darkness. The corridors felt older, more industrial, lined with pipes and sealed ducts. He stepped lightly, controlling his breathing.
At a junction, the figure paused, looking around as if ensuring no one followed. Satoru flattened himself against the wall, letting Infinity deflect stray sounds. The figure turned left, moving into a wide, sloping tunnel.
He followed, hearing the distant drip of water. The walls were slick with condensation, and the floor coated in grime. This had to be part of the old sewer network. A rancid smell hung in the air. Satoru forced himself not to react, continuing.
The figure reached a heavy gate, rusted but still sturdy, etched with bizarre symbols. It tapped a sequence on a small console, the symbols glowing faintly. The gate hissed open. Satoru edged closer, watching as the figure entered.
When the gate began to slide shut, Satoru slipped through, Infinity letting him pass without stirring the air. Inside, the tunnel opened into a chamber lit by eerie, green bio-luminescent pods affixed to the walls. The stench grew stronger—organic, alien.
He felt a jolt of recognition. Bio-luminescence that wasn't typical of Shibuya's cursed environment. More like Tyranid or Genestealer biology. Something told him he'd stumbled upon the lair of a cult.
The hooded figure moved to a set of black-robed individuals standing in a circle around a single, faintly glowing symbol on the floor. Their chanting was low, guttural. Satoru crept behind a large pipe, flattening himself to observe.
The robed individuals had subtle inhuman features. Some had elongated fingers, others had ridges on their skull or a faint shimmer in their eyes. They whispered in a language that crackled with xenos undertones.
Genestealer Cultists, Satoru realized, adrenaline spiking. He'd learned of these creatures from the Aeldari records, but he never thought he'd ever run into them here of all places. They'd evidently established a hidden sect under Shibuya's streets. Possibly they thrived here, unnoticed among the massive population.
He watched as the newly arrived figure bowed, then joined the chanting circle. The group parted, revealing a pulsating organic mass embedded in the wall—like a fleshy cyst with tubes and filaments snaking around the edges. Satoru felt a wave of revulsion, but also a flash of opportunity.
A Genestealer Cult was dangerous. They could undermine entire worlds from within. But if Satoru needed a distraction or infiltration route, maybe he could nudge them. If they attacked the fortress from below, that might draw out defenders or create confusion. That many of these Genestealers also happened to be Jujutsu Sorcerers was a bonus.
He inched closer, Infinity ensuring no footstep echoed. The cultists seemed fixated on their ritual, siphoning some psionic energy or shaping a brood telepathy. He couldn't be sure. But from the labyrinth-like nature of these tunnels, it stood to reason that if they existed so close to the fortress's foundation, perhaps they'd found cracks or passages the fortress owners had overlooked.
He let a slow grin stretch across his face. Perfect.
He lingered, quietly observing. One cultist raised its hood, revealing a partially mutated face, half-bald with ridged skin.
"The day draws near," it hissed. "When we reclaim the surface."
The others responded in unison: "For the Brood. For the Star Gods."
Satoru almost chuckled. Star Gods, indeed—like the C'tan? Or Tyranid nonsense? He wasn't fully sure. But whatever they worshipped, it promised chaos. Possibly chaos he could exploit. As far as the Aeldari were aware, Genestealers weren't entirely aware of what the Tyranids actually were or what their ultimate fate was to be.
He mentally reviewed his next move: he needed to figure out just how many of them there really were and how strong they'd grown. Then plan how to coax them—maybe sabotage a part of the fortress from below. If they believed the fortress ripe for infiltration, they might swarm it, forcing the fortress defenders to focus on an underground incursion. Meanwhile, Satoru could slip in from above or through a side route.
Alternatively, if their Cult had grown powerful enough, then he could aid them in their little takeover - just enough to catch everyone's attention.
He carefully backed away, each step measured. The gate he'd passed through remained sealed, but he spied a manual override from the inside. With Infinity muffling any mechanical sound, he swiftly keyed the switch, slipping back into the outer corridor. The metal door hissed shut behind him, cutting off the chanting.
He paused in the darkness, heart pounding. This changes everything.
He turned on his heel, retracing his path to the upper levels. Once again, he used Infinity to lighten his footsteps, ensuring none of the cult's outriders would notice him. When he reached the rusted hatch, he lifted it slightly, peering out. No one. He climbed through, emerging into a deserted alley, damp with trickling water.
He straightened, letting out a low breath. He had stumbled on a massive secret: a Genestealer Cult right beneath Shibuya's polished streets. If any of the clans or High Priests found out, a purge would follow, one that might wreak havoc. Even better for me.
A smirk tugged at his lips. He pictured Toji's face if he told him. The kid would call him insane again, no doubt. But Satoru saw an angle here. If the Cult was large enough, and if they were desperate to expand or overthrow certain powers, he might seed some rumor or align an objective that pushed them to attack the fortress's lower levels.
Yes, that might be exactly what he needed.
He stepped out of the alley onto a side street, lit by flickering neon overhead. Passersby gave him a brief look, sensing his presence, but hurried on, each lost in their own concerns. He glanced upward at the city's skyline, dominated by towers and walkways, the fortress overshadowing everything.
He allowed himself a private grin. Let's see how interesting this city becomes when everyone's dealing with a Genestealer infestation from below.
He'd need to figure out how to manipulate them, or at least ensure their timing aligned with his infiltration. Perhaps plant a rumor that a hidden relic of immeasurable power lay in the fortress's lower catacombs—something a xenos brood might covet. Obviously, once the Jujutsu Clans and the Devourers fully took notice, the Genestealers would be very quickly wiped out. But, the fun came from the journey and not always the destination, right?
Of course, if the Genestealers proved too weak, then he was not above hurling a 1000% Hollow Purple right at the Fortress.
AN: Chapter 67 is out on (Pat)reon!