The Honored One, Chapter 64

Satoru spent the morning wandering the labyrinth of Shibuya’s lower tiers, a worn hood drawn low over his eyes. The bustle of Sorcerers and civilians swirled around him—voices calling, cursed energies rippling, neon signs humming overhead. He walked with purpose, ignoring the lingering scents of street food and the frequent glances strangers cast his way.

He had a goal. He needed a Genestealer. Not one of the deep cultists hidden far underground, but one who moved freely on the surface. Someone he could question. Someone with enough knowledge to be useful. After all, these cultists didn’t stay down there all the time. They’d have infiltrators and spies everywhere. Satoru just needed to find one.

He passed a narrow alley full of vagrants, each huddled under makeshift tarps. Another street glimmered with high-end shops selling enchanted relics. The disparity of Shibuya never ceased to amaze him, considering that a planet that was made up mostly of Jujutsu Sorcerers should’ve been something of a paradise, instead of… well… looking like any other city he’d ever been in, honestly. So, it was kind of disappointing. But his focus never wavered. 

He was hunting.

Occasionally, he sensed a faint twinge of that off energy—something neither purely cursed nor purely human. Sometimes it came from a small figure scuttling around a corner, or from behind a shuttered door. The Genestealer brood, he knew, kept watch. They must have watchers or scouts who gathered supplies or information.

He found the best place to look in the mid-level district, where old structures had been retrofitted into cramped apartments. The foot traffic was heavy enough that a single robed figure might disappear unnoticed. Perfect for infiltration. Perfect for xenos infiltration too.

He paused outside an abandoned temple, scanning the crowd. He sensed them eventually—faint, alien pulses of Genestealer presence. He kept walking, acting casual, letting Infinity mask his own cursed aura, waiting for the moment.

A robed silhouette slipped by, drifting like a shadow through the crowd. Its face remained hidden by a tattered hood, but Satoru picked up the subtle ridges around its eyes, the elongated nails peeking from the sleeves. The figure moved with purpose, stepping deftly between Sorcerers who never spared it a glance. Now, the alien features weren’t exactly a giveaway as Biomancy was pretty common among Jujutsu Sorcerers and a bunch of weirdos liked to make alterations to their body; unfortunately, the presence of a Genestealer, no matter how well-hidden, could not hide from the Six-Eyes.

Satoru followed at a distance, letting the swirl of pedestrians conceal him. The figure made its way down a set of stairs that led to a side street, each step careful, each turn precise. He traced the figure deeper, weaving between half-empty stalls. The ambient noise lessened, replaced by the drip of water from overhead pipes. The figure glanced left, then right, stepping into a narrow alley overshadowed by a leaning steel canopy.

Now or never.

Satoru sped up, Infinity tuned to silence his movements. The figure paused, sensing something, then tried to dart forward. Too late. Satoru lifted a hand, focusing a tight beam of Blue—an implosive pull that dragged the robed figure to him as if yanked by invisible strings.

“Who—” came a sharp voice, pitched low and tinged with a hiss.

Satoru stepped in, slipping behind the figure. He applied steady pressure with Blue, immobilizing them from the shoulders down. His captive tried to twist free, but found no give.

They glared back, hood slipping off. Underneath was a female face, pallid, half-human, half something else. Her eyes were too large, pupils slit like a reptile’s. She bared pointed teeth. Inhuman, certainly, but not beyond the realm of Sorcery, especially when compared to someone like Sukuna. No, what gave her away was her alien signature.

Satoru smirked.

“Sorry to snatch you like this,” he said softly. “But you and I need to talk.”

She hissed, trying to summon a small flicker of cursed energy in her hand, but Blue tightened around her arms, locking them at her sides. She couldn’t even raise her fingers.

Satoru turned them both intangible to onlookers, a trick of Infinity that warped light and sound away from them. A Curtain might’ve been too obvious. Pedestrians passed by the mouth of the alley, oblivious.

“Come along,” Satoru said, voice casual. He jerked his chin to a side door of what looked like a condemned building.

A short, forceful application of Blue ripped the door off its rusty hinges. He guided the Genestealer inside, her feet scraping the grimy floor. She spat something in a guttural dialect, eyes flaring with hatred. It sounded like a mix of Japanese and… was that Khalkha?

The interior reeked of mold and decay. Broken furniture, piles of junk, and rusted machinery lay scattered in the dim light filtering through boarded windows. Satoru walked them past toppled shelves into a central clearing where dust motes swirled in the faint glow.

He released a small fraction of his hold, letting the Genestealer woman stand on her own two feet, but still pinned by an invisible band of Blue around her torso. She tested it, straining her shoulders, but found no freedom.

Satoru sighed. “You can do this the hard way or the easy way, but I’m not letting you go until we talk.”

She turned her head, lips curled back over pointed teeth. 

“Kill me,” she growled. “I won’t betray the Brood.”

Satoru raised both palms in a mock show of calm. “No one said anything about betraying. But you will answer questions.”

She hissed, like a feral cat. Her cursed energy spike, a spark that told him that she was about to perform a Jujutsu Technique. Infinity merely softened the energy, bleeding it away before it could form. She stiffened, eyes narrowing as her efforts failed.

“How are you doing that?” she demanded, voice pitched in frustration.

Satoru gave a lazy grin. “Trade secret.”

She spat on the floor. “Fine. Torture me then. I can take it.”

Satoru tilted his head, regarding her. “I’m sure you can. That’s not surprising. Genestealers are resilient, right?”

She froze, the alien pupils widening. Then she snarled. “So you know.”

He shrugged. “I stumbled upon your little meeting. Fascinating stuff.”

She snarled something, half xenos language, half curses in standard. Satoru exhaled. “Talking in riddles won’t help. Let’s cut to the chase.”

He walked a few paces, stepping around a broken desk that lay on its side. Then he leaned down, rummaging through the scattered debris until he found a sharp, rusted piece of metal. He tested its edge with a finger. Not the best.

He turned back to her. “I bet pain doesn’t bother you. You might have extra nerve suppression or brood physiology. But I have other ways to make you talk.”

She bared her teeth again. “I won’t talk, no matter what you do.”

Satoru nodded, dropping the metal shard. He wasn’t really any good with this sort of thing anyway. “All right.”

He crouched, drawing a circle in the dusty floor with his fingertip, caked with grime. Then he paused, remembering the details from the Aeldari ritual he’d studied back on Yme-Loc. He rummaged in his cloak, retrieving a small container of chalky powder mixed with dried blood, courtesy of Caoimhe.

The Genestealer watched, suspicion mixing with confusion. “What are you doing?”

Satoru flicked open the container, sprinkling the mixture in a careful ring around them both. He inscribed symbols—Aeldari runes, alien in shape, combined with a few Jujutsu glyphs. It took time, but he worked methodically.

“An Aeldari ritual,” he said, not looking up. “One that compels truth. No illusions, no lies. You can resist, sure. But it’ll hurt. And it might tear your mind apart if you lie. Applies to both of us, of course, but then I have nothing to hide.”

She hissed, twisting in the invisible grip. “Your tricks won’t break me.”

He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Once the circle was complete, he crouched at its edge, placing a palm against one of the runes. He closed his eyes, channeling cursed energy into the lines. The mixture of blood and chalk glowed faintly, an eerie greenish hue that warred with the grime on the floor.

A wave of intangible pressure spread through the room. The Genestealer stiffened, eyes darting. She sensed the shift in the air, the subtle hum that told her she was now in a locked zone of truth.

Satoru stood, Infinity crackling around him like static. He took a single step toward her, close enough that their gazes locked. “Now, we talk.”

She glared, sweat beading at her temples. He could see her breathing quicken. The circle’s energy pressed on her mind, dulling any attempt at deception. She bared her teeth, but he knew the ritual was working.

“First question,” Satoru said softly, tone calm. “How many of you are down there?”

She clenched her jaw, refusing to speak. He saw her muscles tremble as she fought the compulsion. Then a gasp escaped her, as if some mental pain gripped her mind.

“Answer,” he said, voice gentle but insistent.

She twitched, letting out a ragged exhale. 

“Hundreds of thousands,” she spat.

Satoru let that sink in. Hundreds of thousands? 

That was more than he expected, but also not nearly enough to do anything significant. After all, Shibuya was home to billions. 

He folded his arms. “Second question. How many are Sorcerers?”

She shuddered again, sweat dribbling down her cheek. The ritual flared, forcing her to speak. “More than half our number. We recruit from the outcasts. The clanless, the scorned, the ones who see the brood as a new family.”

Satoru nodded slowly. That was huge. A massive army of genestealer-sorcerers, waiting beneath Shibuya’s surface. That… was not a force to scoff at. What they lacked in numbers, they made up for in quality. A legion of hundreds of thousands of Genestealers wouldn’t be capable of much, but if more than half of them were Jujutsu Sorcerers… then suddenly the game was different. 

“Third question,” he continued. “What’s your plan for this city, vis-a-vis the whole planet?”

She laughed—an ugly, chittering sound. 

“We’ll conquer it from within,” she said. “We’ve laid seeds in every clan. We pit them against each other with assassinations. Let them tear each other apart, while we strengthen ourselves. Then we rise.”

Satoru tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Any timeline on those assassinations?”

Her eyes flicked downward.

“Soon,” she said, grudgingly. “But not yet. We wait for the perfect moment to strike. Maybe in a few years, when we’ve gathered our strength.”

Satoru let a smirk cross his face. 

“A few months? That might be too late for my liking,” he said.

She glared, but remained silent.

He paced around the circle. The glow of the runes pulsed with each step, matching his own cursed energy. 

“I want to see your brood rise sooner,” he said quietly. “You might find me an ally.”

That caught her off guard. Her alien pupils narrowed. 

“Ally?” she repeated.

Satoru nodded. “I have no love for this city. I’m an outsider, here to get what I want and vanish. I’d gladly help you sow chaos, if that chaos helps me in the fortress. In return, all I ask is that you move up your timetable. I’ll blow up a good chunk of Shibuya.”

She seemed uncertain, her lips parting in silent confusion. “Why would you help us?”

Satoru paused, considering how much to reveal. Then he lifted a hand, letting Infinity swirl visibly for just a second, shimmering like a dense veil. The air around him warped, objects seeming to stretch away. She shivered at the display, sweat trickling down her jaw.

He let his cursed energy spike for a heartbeat, filling the room with a pressure that made the junk on the floor tremble and creak. After all this time, Limitless finally lived up to its name.

“I’m not just a Sorcerer,” he said softly. “Call me a god if you want. I have more power than you can imagine.”

She staggered, breath catching, her eyes wide as she felt that nigh-infinite pool swirling around him. 

“This… this is impossible,” she rasped.

Satoru turned it off just as quickly, letting the room settle. “So now you see. I’m not lying. If I want, I can burn this city to ash. But that’s not my goal. I only need something from the fortress. And your brood’s infiltration plan might help me get it.”

She swallowed, the tension in her shoulders spiking. Then she let out a slow breath. “You’d fight with us… against the clans, for the fortress?”

Satoru shrugged. “Yes. I’ll cause whatever distraction you need. In return, you push your plan sooner—assassinate your targets, incite the clans to fight each other, and divert attention from the fortress. That way, I can slip inside.”

Her alien eyes narrowed. “How do I know you won’t betray us once you’re inside?”

Satoru’s grin turned wry. “A valid concern. Let’s make a Binding Vow.”

She bared her fangs, but hesitation flickered in her stare. “What are the terms?”

“You do everything in your power to convince your brood to accelerate the plan. Launch the assassinations. Create turmoil among the clans, especially the fortress guardians. In exchange, I let you walk away unharmed. And I’ll assist your brood’s mission of destabilizing Shibuya… at least to the extent it distracts from my infiltration.”

She studied him warily. “And if I betray you?”

He motioned to the circle. “The vow will punish you. Possibly kill you, or worse. Same goes for me if I break my end.”

The truth was that no one–apparently not even in this era–knew what’d happen if a Jujutsu Sorcerer broke a Binding Vow. And no one wanted to be the first to find out. Thousands and thousands of years later and that general understanding was still in place, it seemed. The thought made him smile.

She swallowed, a faint tremble in her voice. “Let me go free. Let me keep my life. And you’ll help us.”

“That’s right,” Satoru said. “I’ll do what I can to draw off major defenders. I’ll sabotage clan relations if needed. Hell, I might even kill a few big names. Anything to keep them from focusing on me. All I need is the fortress’s defenses spread thin.”

She eyed him, brow furrowed. Then she nodded once, stiffly. “Fine.”

Satoru braced one hand on the floor, flicking a small surge of cursed energy to intensify the runes. “Then speak the vow. State your commitment. I’ll state mine.”

She drew a shaky breath. “I vow that I will do everything in my power to convince my brood to start the assassinations immediately… to pit the clans against one another. And to expedite our invasion of the surface. I vow to serve that cause with all my effort.”

Satoru felt the circle flare with energy. “In return, I vow to spare your life, free you now, and assist your brood’s plan by causing strife among the defenders. I vow not to act against your brood, as long as you keep your word.”

Satoru grinned. “And so a Binding Vow is formed.” 

He snapped his fingers. The runes glowed blinding white for a heartbeat, then dimmed. The Aeldari script flared, sealing the vow in mystic force. The Genestealer woman sagged, relief and unease contorting her features.

He stood, stepping back, letting the invisible hold of Blue dissolve. She staggered slightly, massaging her arms where the pressure had pinned her. She eyed him, half-fearful, half-defiant.

Satoru brushed dust from his cloak. “You’re free to go. Just remember to keep your end.” 

She nodded stiffly, adjusting her robe. “I… I understand.”

He gave a small nod. “Good. Go. Rally your brood. Do what you do best. And let me know when you strike. I’ll sense it.”

She glanced at him, uncertain. “You… you can sense it?”

He tapped his temple. 

“Consider me an omnipresent god,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ll know. Now, get moving.”

Without another word, the Genestealer woman hurried toward the door, casting a final backward glance. He caught a glimpse of conflicting emotions in her eyes—fear, grudging respect, maybe anger. Then she slipped into the corridor, footsteps echoing down the old building’s hallway.

When she was gone, Satoru exhaled, letting the tension leave his body. He gazed at the circle, the runes flickering with residual energy. Then he moved his foot, scuffing part of the design, dissolving the ritual’s power.

It had worked. He had an ally—of sorts—in the brood. If she succeeded in convincing them to accelerate their plan, chaos would erupt sooner. The fortress would reel under clan infighting, forced to protect its precious heirs or avenge any assassinations. Meanwhile, Satoru would slip in, retrieve his artifact, and vanish.

“Huh,” He muttered, brows furrowing. “Never asked her name.”