Seeing Chaos: A Jujutsu Kaisen/WH40K Quest

48 New
[X] Play the most muzak-y track in your extensive song library.

Fortunately for your muzak-less state, you have the solution in your pocket: a phone chock full of music, with at least one or two tracks that would qualify, sort of. Close enough.


You queue one up, set the volume appropriately low, and grin at the startled looks on your companions' faces. Well. On Elias' face; Val's in more implied than anything else. But he's surprisingly emotive for a guy with a scaled mask for a face, he really is. Maybe it's the tentacles? They shift and move rather expressively as well. It could be that, yeah.


"You can't ride an elevator without muzak," you explain, setting aside your thoughts on Val's emotions for the moment. "It just feels wrong."


"Is that the way it was in ancient times?" Val asks eagerly, leaning in toward you a little. "Elevators always played music?" Elias looks, for a split second, very tired. You hope he wasn't expecting you to keep your quasi-time-traveller status a secret or anything; if he was, he never mentioned anything to you about it.


"Yep," you say, popping the P and ignoring Elias's face. He can get over it. "In the really old days there also used to be a guy who pushed the buttons for you. And sometimes a lever. Mostly it was just the same as this, but with muzak." You gesture expansively at the little box you're all standing in--well, relatively little. It could still hold a space marine in power armour with room to spare, which makes it bigger than the box you were stuck in for thirty-eight thousand years. You don't think you're going to be getting over that any time soon. (And why? It was only supposed to hold whatever was in it for one thousand years. Maybe you were a bit hasty in destroying it? ...Nah, there's no need to worry about it now, and any malfunctions are irrelevant because it can never be used against you again.)


"He isn't singing in either High or Low Gothic," Elias comments. It's not a question, but you treat it like one.


"It's Nihongo. My native language. It... I would be surprised if it still existed," you admit. It's a rough thought, but you have no idea if Japan is even still a--a place on Earth at all anymore, much less the language. The idea that any language would have withstood the test of time is laughable; what they call... well, some flavour of Gothic, you guess, has some sounds and structure in common with English, which is a surprise in and of itself.


"Terra used to have thousands of languages," you continue, as the elevator keeps going down. "Some spoken by billions, others by a bare handful. But they were all considered valuable parts of human culture. It's been so long though that I doubt that any are left." Elias and Val exchange a look.


"For better or worse, you are correct," Elias replies. "None of this is remotely familiar; the only human languages for at least the last ten millennia are High and Low Gothic."


"That's a shame," you say, as the song winds down. You switch to the Wii Lobby music afterwards, but that doesn't last long; the elevator door opens with a soft bing, and leads out into a long hall. It's not the hall to the interrogation room; you would recognise that.


Waiting for you there is a space marine who nods, but doesn't otherwise move from his post. Elias breezes right past him, clearly expecting you and Val to follow. For lack of anything more entertaining, you do.


Where Elias leads you to is a big door guarded by more space marines, that opens into a giant holding cell with weapons lining the walls, all pointed inward at the several hundred prisoners all crammed in there. You give a low whistle.


"That's a lot of people to be interrogated," you comment. Several of them flinch. A few glare at you all defiantly, but most just look... resigned. "And you want me to check them all for daemons?" Elias just nods. "Sounds boring. How about I just force any that are here to manifest, exorcise them, and then we can get on with asking questions?"


"You can do that?" Val asks.


"I can do anything I want," you assert with, you think, understandable confidence. "Well, almost anything," you allow after a moment. "Never have figured out how to heal people, so don't ask me. Actually, yeah, I'm doing it, stay close." And then without another word, you stop holding your cursed energy back, and allow everyone here to feel it. Someone close by faints. No daemons app--wait. It's small, and hiding well, but you can see it clearly now, clinging to an old woman. Inside, like the one attached to the governor. You wonder if she knows it, or if she's just as ignorant.


Better err on the side of caution. You teleport in, Infinity pushing the press of people aside, and grab her for an exorcism--and clawed hands lunge for your face. Guess she's not ignorant. She doesn't get anywhere near you, of course, but that seems to be the sign for everyone around you to start screaming, or worse.


One person in close proximity falls to their knees and immediately begins clawing their eyes. Two more faint. The screaming continues, and you have to ignore it for now, because you need to deal with this daemon--which is easy enough, its skull is still human-sized. The skin and shattered bones of the old woman's skull are sloughing away as you reach for it. It tries to bite, and you snap its head in two with a simple expansion of Infinity. It tries to claw you again, letting out a wordless, inhuman shriek before you crush its skull, splattering ichor around your fingers. Everyone else has pressed away from you far enough that they're spared the mess, however temporary.


The screaming doesn't let up, and seems to be directed at you now.


"I'll talk, Lord Inquisitor I'll tell you everything, just get me away from that!" one slightly hysterical man with ink-stained fingers and the look of a fussy bureacrat says, falling to his knees in front of Elias. Your Inquisitorial pal smiles thinly.


"Then we will begin with you." He drags the man up by his collar, and terrified eyes roll in your direction, before looking back to Elias with all the wild hope of a man saved from certain horrible death. You're not sure whether to be offended or not; while you are aware of your own status as a nightmare for cursed spirits and now daemons, you don't much like ordinary people being terrified of you. It's to be expected, on a certain level, especially given what you just did, but it's still... uncomfortable.


You use Infinity to flick already-fading ichor away from your hand.


"Anyone else?" you ask into the room at large. A number of people are still in... less-than-optimal shape, but nobody seems to have been trampled to death, at least.


"I'll talk," a woman, one of the resigned ones says quietly. "On the condition that I get a clean execution, and not... that." Again, she points to you, and yeah, you're definitely offended now.


You regard her from your full height, frowning deeply.


She flinches.


"I stand by my request," she says anyway. "I want a bolter to the head, not a jacked up psyker."


"I will see to it myself," Elias assures her, and shoots you a Look that clearly says don't mess this up for me. Yeah, yeah; you guess if you scaring the prisoners makes interrogation easier, you can live with it. You guess. Elias gestures for her to come forward and she does. She glances at you and shudders--and oddly, does the same at Val. Friendly, cheerful Val. Maybe it's not just you she's afraid of, but anyone associated with Elias? Because she's definitely afraid of him, too...


You have too many questions and not enough answers, and there are just too many social variables here that you have no damned context for, and it's starting to get annoying. It's one thing to consciously choose to flaut all social rules and conventions, and another thing entirely to just be flat-out ignorant of them.


"Val. Handle this one," Elias gesture to the woman. "I'll take this one." He gives the man a little shake. "The rest of these can think about their choices for a little while. Good job, Gojo."


"Naturally," you reply. Elias turns, and begins leading the way out. A new tentacle snakes out of Val's robes, thinner than the two he always has out, and he wraps it around the woman's wrist. She whimpers, but he just tugs her along. Neither prisoner seems particularly happy about their current situation, despite volunteering to talk.


[] Follow Elias and Val, and their prisoners.
[] Chat up one or more of the prisoners; you're not convinced you've found all you can find here.
[] There are two Vorpal Swords right there who might not know about your little tiff with their Librarian; chat them up.
[] Something else? (Write in.)
 
49 New
[X] Chat up one or more of the prisoners; you're not convinced you've found all you can find here

"I'll catch up," you say, as Elias and Val head out. "I'm going to talk to a few of these people." You point your finger and waggle your hand a bit to generally encompass the whole of the crowd. Several people flinch. Elias arches an eyebrow, looks over the room, and nods.


"Try not to kill anyone yet," he says. You wave him off.


"No promises," you say. If there are any more daemons--or any curse-users, or whatever they call rogue psykers--you'll probably have to kill them, if only to prevent them from killing everyone else. Elias just hums thoughtfully, and leads the way out. Val follows, and the door closes behind them.


"You're a brave man, locking yourself in here with all of us, Inquisition," a defiantly glaring man with a nosebleed that he isn't bothering to stop says to you.


"You think so? Feel free to try something." You beckon him on; best to get this part out of the way quickly. "But when you fail, you have to answer my questions, okay? Okay." You beckon again, feigning impatience. The man exchanges looks with his fellows—an oily-looking woman in some kind of robes, and another man, who looks surprisingly well put-together for a guy bleeding from both eyes in a cell crammed full of people—and they both shrug.


He lunges, quick as a whip, form utterly perfect as he strikes for your throat, and naturally comes up short as he meets Infinity. He doesn't let that slow him down, however, and his next strike is just as quick, just as form-perfect, and so is the sweeping kick he aims for your legs.


He spits at you, and it gets no closer than his limbs. He probably thinks that he's a good distraction for when his friends close in on you from different sides, but he's really not; none of them have anything more than physical force to attack with, and that is, unfortunately for them, the easiest thing in the world to ignore. You mental subroutines have been handling it automagically for--


"Huh," you say to yourself, thoughtfully, propping your chin on one hand, and ignoring the way the trio is trying to goad more prisoners into attacking you. Because how long has your technique been running on its own? Does the time in the Prison Realm count? You certainly experienced it, and definitely spent an unreasonable amount of that time working out the yet-unknown intricasies of your Eyes and Limitless, but... does it really count?


"You," you say, pointing to the oily-looking woman as she backs off for a moment to asses you more carefully. She stumbles, startled to be singled out. "Philosophical question for you. Does life in suspended animation count as years lived?"


"No," she replies immediately.


"What if if you were conscious during the whole time?" you ask. She opens her mouth to answer, and stops, frowning.


"I--stop it, you're trying to distract me," she snarls.


"Nothing of the sort. I usually chat up my sparring partners. You're all a bit lackluster in that department though, I have to say. In fact, I think we might be done. You ready to accept the fact that you can't touch me?" The first man gives you a scowl almost as black as Megumi on a good day, but finally inclines his head in a nod.


"It's hardly a fair fight; a psyker against unarmed prisoners," he sneers. His well-dressed buddy puts a hand on his shoulder, and shakes his head.


"There's more going on here," he says. "This is obviously a test of some sort, Kevin. Am I right?" he asks, giving you a hard, defiant look of his own.


"Not on my part," you say breezily. "Really, I just want to know what's going on."


"What's going on?!" A fourth person, a man in what looks like some kind of military uniform bursts in. "Your Inquisitor has had us rounded up like animals, for no reason!" Oh, isn't that interesting; his cursed energy is rising. Looks like there's a psyker hiding here. Not a very strong one, fourth, maybe third grade, tops, or however they rate sorcerers these days; enough for you to notice when he starts doing something, but not enough to stand out of the crowd unless you're deliberately looking for him.


"I dunno, Elias is a reasonable guy," you drawl. "I doubt he'd do it for no reason." He might not have a particularly good reason, but you're sure that one exists.


"We weren't told anything!" another person shouts. An angry murmur runs through the room, punctuated by the crying and whimpers of people traumatised by the daemon.


Shit, you should check on them. You ignore the anger, and head for the nearest person curled in a foetal position, and crouch to check on them.


Their eyes are closed tight, their face and hands bloody, and a nasty mess that used to be eyes smeared all over--damn. Though, this *is8 the future; given Val's eyes, they can probably get new ones. You hope.


"Hey," you say, reaching for their shoulder.


"Oh, stop pretending you give a damn," that first man says again. "We're all walking dead men anyway, we might as well--" His oily female companion elbows him sharply, but it's too late.


"Might as well what?" you ask, very mildly. You raise your cursed energy output from the 'give normies the creeps' level to a more 'actively scares people you look at' level, and look right at him. He stands his ground.


"Do this!" the psyker shrieks from further away in the room, and snarls words that your ears can't make sense of, but your Eyes-- You can see those words etched on the fabric of reality and unreality both, and you cross the room, slamming your fist into his face before he can finish whatever summoning he was going for.


Not for nothing, but you're not just the strongest sorcerer, you're also the fastest. Nothing beats no distance at all.


Your punch caves in his nose and shatters his teeth, but you hold back enough not to kill him, or even knock him unconscious, though he is stunned, which gives you the chance to steal the scarf from around his neck and shove it in his mouth. He shrieks incoherently around it.


"Someone give me something to bind him," you say, and find yourself presented with a variety of belts and sashes to choose from. You take the toughest looking of the lot, and wrap them neatly about the psyker's wrists. "Be right back," you tell the rest of them. "And I'd be thinking very carefully about my next moves if I were all of you."


You teleport out to the hall, with two very startled space marines pointing very big guns at you as soon as you appear. Good relfexes, those.


"This one needs to be in an isolation cell," you say. "Slap some seals or whatever you use to contain psykers on him, too. Elias is going--"


"Elias is going to what?" Said worthy says, coming down the hall towards you at a rapid pace. "I got intel, there is a--"


"--Psyker, yeah, I found him," you cut in.


"He is an important member of the cult that has taken root here on Gheistos," Elias informs you. "I see that you have... located him. Excellent work." He visibly takes in the damage done to the prisoner, but aside from a wry look, he doesn't comment on it. "I will take him from--"


You don't know what else he would have said, because there is cursed energy rising in the cell again, and you're back in there as quick as that, slapping mouths and smacking solar plexuses, and otherwise shutting up the idiots who just started chanting something. Interestingly, they seem to be raising power despite not actually having any of their own; you hadn't realised that that was entirely possible. It certainly says something about the changed state of the universe since you went into the Prison Realm and came back out.


Clearly you have a lot to think about; questions to ask, analyses to make, and then the door opens, and Elias strides in, looking disapprovingly down his nose at the prisoners.


"Thank you for your timely intervention, Gojo," he says. "I see that all is not well in this holding cell; I am disappointed that you could not all comport yourself as subjects of His Imperial Majesty--"


"Fu'gh yuh!" the defiant man from earlier, now sporting a broken nose a missing front tooth and a cut tongue snarls. Elias narrows his eyes, and frowns, and then smiles thinly.


"I do not think so. I will not be provoked into any summary executions, especially not now that I know you possess relevant information." The man exchanges glances with his cohorts, and as one--


--they bite their fucking tongues off.


What the fuck?


Elias curses, and shouts over his shoulder, "MEDICAE! NOW!" All the authority you've sensed under his calm, affable exterior suddenly comes out in force, and the space marines stationed at the door snap to, and immediately obey, before they even have a chance to consider his words.


[] First aid o'clock.
-[] Defiant man
-[] Oily woman
-[] Well-dressed man
[] Time to give external RCT another try. (1d100+???)
-[] Defiant man
-[] Oily woman
-[] Well-dressed man
[] Let them bleed out.
[] Something else? (Write in.)
 
50 New
[X] First aid o'clock.
-[X] All of them - gather them together and use Infinity as a glorified tourniquet, to stop their bleeding until the medics arrive and start proper treatment.
-[X] Then, ask Elias for permission to experiment on one of them - maybe play into the reputation you'd apparently gotten among the captives, so that Elias can use your ominous request as another lever in convincing at least one of these three to talk?

Now would be the time to apply first aid, but what the hell is first aid for a bitten off tongue? Usually it would be 'teleport to Shoko and bother her into fixing it' if it was someone you needed alive, or 'just let the idiot bleed out' if not. But here, now, in the far-flung future where everyone and everything you've ever known is long gone to dust, even (especially) the people...


You take an entire second--a minute in your own perception--to come to a decision about what to do. You start by gathering the three idiots into one convenient place, holding them down with Infinity, and after another moment of consideration, you expand it, and.


Well, you try to use it as a tourniquet, but it doesn't quite work that way; despite your best efforts, it just doesn't work that way. It isn't a thing that can be shaped in a way that makes sense with what you need to do. You resist the urge to pout, and make a note to work on it, and make it work like that; you dislike any kinds of limits on what you can do. Limits are fundamentally opposed to your being.


"I can try to heal one of them," you offer Elias, as the pair of you stand there like a couple of useless boobs.


"Do it," Elias says, without even bringing up the way you had said before that you can't heal; obviously he doesn't care. It's more important to keep these prisoners alive long enough to be interrogated than it is to be questioning you about anything.


Right.


Here you go.


Reverse cursed technique, outside your own body. From the inside, it's easy. So easy. You do it automatically, without even thinking about it, constantly regenerating your brain and eyes, and other things as well, circulating the energy through your body to keep it operating at peak efficiency, even though it's been--too damned long since you've had so much as five minutes of sleep. But to make it work outside, and on people with no cursed energy of their own...


It has been years since you've even tried, but there's no time like the present! The worst that can happen is that it doesn't work.


Shoko can do it. Yuuta can do it--


Could do it. They could do it. And now humanity spans the galaxy at least, maybe the universe, and the least you can damn well do is figure this out.


So you reach for your cursed energy, deliberately shape it outside yourself, and you even murmur seldom-used chants and incantations to help you focus, and.


It just doesn't work. You can see the shape of it, you can feel how it can, should, does work, but it just.


Doesn't click.


It's that same frustrating sense of almost, not quite back when you were first learning to use RCE for Red and for healing yourself, and you basically had to die to get that. It had better not take a similar event to get it again.


"Damn it," you curse under your breath, and try again.


"I do not know any biomancy either," Elias starts, and you shake your head.


"It's not that, I can heal myself, damn it," you don't quite snap, and try again. It still doesn't work.


"Try a different target," Elias suggests. And you kind of want to facepalm, because of course. Even Shoko can't get RCT to work on everyone, it depends a lot on the individual being healed, so you move on from the defiant man to the oily woman, and. Try. Again.


And that's when it clicks. And you don't just heal her stop the bleeding, you regenerate her entire tongue as she stares at you in abject horror. And before she can bite her tongue off again, you shove the side of your hand between her teeth and let her chew on Infinity.


"I'll take her from here," Elias says, with a certain grim satisfaction. "Try the other. And WHERE IS THAT MEDICAE?!" he demands at volume, as he produces a gag from... somewhere... and you let him put it in place of your hand. Something about the whole thing strikes you as... off, but how the hell else are you going to keep her from biting her tongue off again? It still leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Judging by the look on his face, Elias doesn't like it either.


He still had the gag at the ready, though.


The other two are still bleeding out though, and so your turn your attention to the well-dressed man. He glares at you in a mix of defiance and despair as you turn your powers upon him.


And it doesn't fucking work.


It's nothing wrong with you, per se; you're doing everything right, you know you are, but there's something there that is... slippery about his body. The way it's constructed is not quite right, and... come to think of it, the same could be said of the defiant man as well. The oily woman to a much lesser extent, one that didn't prevent your RCT from working on her.


You feel yourself frowning, deeply.


"What is it?" Elias asks, sharp as a tack it seems, and instantly picking up on your discomfiture.


"There's something wrong with them," you state. "Physically. They're abnormal on the inside. My technique isn't working on them."


"What about her?" Elias asks, very calmly. His gun is in his hand;you can't blame him for that. You pinch your fingers together a little.


"Not enough to cause a problem." In the near distance, you hear the ding of the elevator, and then steps on the stone rapidly approaching. A tall woman--well, she would have been tall for Japan, here, you'd call her closer to average, based on the people you've seen so far--followed by two bulky men stop at the door.


"Medicae here, Inquisitor, with my orderlies." Despite running, she doesn't sound at all out of breath.


"Excellent. Prevent these two from bleeding out," Elias says, pointing to the two men. At his words, and a gesture from him, the space marines standing guard let her and her minions pass. She pulls a tool out of the bag that one of the minions presents to her, activates it, and after the second minion pries the well-dressed man's mouth open, shoves it in, and, ah, of course. A cautery tool. That'll get things done.


The defiant man gets the same treatment, just as quick and efficient.


"There," the medicae says. "Was that all? Because I still have a plethora of patients to be seeing to."


"Forget them. Until I say your duty is discharged, your job is to keep these three alive--no matter what." The medicae looks like she wants to protest, but she nods once, shortly.


"As you say, Lord Inquisitor. I take it the third one is still intact?"


"Indeed," Elias confirms. "Now then. These three need to be put in chains and isolation cells--see to it," he says to one of the space marine guards. You see the man frown under his helmet, but he nods anyway. It's interesting, the way that even though some people clearly don't like taking Elias' orders, they do so anyway. An Inquisitor must be something pretty special. Or Elias himself is something special. Or both. It could be both.


"Good job, Gojo," Elias continues. "Carry on as you were; it clearly gets results." His eyes scan over the crowd of prisoners, and a fearful murmur runs in the wake of his gaze.


"Whaddaya say, people?" you call out over the crowd. "Wanna keep doing this the hard way? Because I can keep doing this all day. Night. Whatever. What time is it here, anyway? Wait," you add, before anyone can answer. "I don't even know--"


"That's enough, Gojo," Elias interjects. He reaches out to put a hand on your shoulder, and you almost let him, just the thinnest whisper of Infinity between you, for the benefit of the onlookers. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it. "It is late morning, here."


"Oh, good to know. Not too late for brunch, I hope?" Elias' lips twist in a brief, wry smile.


"I suppose not. Do you need a break?"


"I mean." You shrug a little. It has been a couple dozen millennia or so since you had more than ten or fifteen minutes of real down time. The time in the Prison Realm manifestly does not count, because you were conscious for every damned second of that toturous existence. Something you can't quite read flickers in Elias' eyes for a moment; there and gone, too quick for even you to make any sense of it.


"I see," he says, and you can't help but wonder if he's sussed out the truth of the matter. He certainly has enough information on hand to put it together. "In that case, you have already done what I asked of you here; if you would like, I see no reason why you cannot have a few hours of rest."


[] Take him up on it. You need the damned rest. Food, sleep, a bath, maybe? (Rest brings opportunities.)
[] Continue fucking with the prisoners; there is still something off here, and while you could trust Elias and Val to get to the bottom of it, you trust yourself more.
[] Something else? (Write in.)
 
Last edited:
51 New
[X] Take him up on it. You need the damned rest. Food, sleep, a bath, maybe? (Do they have baths in the future?)

A tangible wave of relief rolls through you, but you don't show it on the surface, opting to maintain your cool and careless demeanor. It's getting harder and harder though. You really do need this break--just a few hours, long enough for your RCT to stop just keeping up with the pressure, and start doing something about the accumulated damage of 38,000 conscious years.


If you were anyone else you would have been dead, insane, or both, let's be real. Nobody without your technique and sparkling personality is equipped to cope with all of that.


Thatness.


(What's the word? You'll think of it after your nap. Yes.)


"I think I'm gonna take you up on that, Elias. You know how long I've been awake. I remember where the kitchen is; I'll just help myself, and then find some place to crash a while."


"I will send a vetted individual to show you to a secure location," Elias offers, and you just nod.


"As long as there's a bed." You could honestly probably fall asleep on your feet right now, but the prospect of a bed is so heartening that you just cannot resist it. Can. Not. Elias' lips quirk ever so slightly up.


"There will be a bed," he says.


"I'll hold you to that," you reply, and then take yourself to the kitchen.


It's a lot quieter here than it was the last time you found yourself here. The person you assumed was the head chef is gone, and so are two of the three assisstants; the remaining one, a woman around maybe twenty, looks as though she's been crying, but she's still gamely chopping herbs, and tipping them into those little ingredient bowls that you never bothered to learn the name of.


("It's mise en place you cultureless idiot," Nanami's voice echoes down the corridor of millennia through your memory.)


"Hey, what's around that I could eat?" you ask, and she jumps, swinging back with the knife in her hand, hitting Infinity and staring at you with wide, terrified eyes.


"Oh no," she breathes. "Oh no, I'm so sorry, please--"


"Hey, relax, there's no harm done," you assure her, twirling on your toes to demonstrate just how untouched you are. You need her to not start crying, because you really arfe not equipped to handle strange women crying. That's. Literally everyone else's department. "See? Look, I've been up all night doing... things... and I just want breakfast."


"Oh," the woman says quietly. "I remember you now. You took the cake. All right. I can. I can make you an omelette," she offers. "And there are some pastries still, if you don't mind yesterday's... I'm not trained in pastries, I'm just a prep cook, I don't know how the Inquisitor--never mind. I'm just. Never mind. I'll make that omelette."


She points to a hustles off toward a very recognisable refrigerator--or whatever they call it these days--and pulls out three eggs, a block of cheese, and some already-prepped vegetables.


The process of making an omelette hasn't changed in the better part of forty thousand years, and it's not long before she's shoving a plate full of savoury eggs into your hand.


"I'll get those pastries," she says. "You can sit in the next room, I guess. It's the chef's table." She sniffs, and turns away from you. You give all of a second of consideration to saying or doing something about her feelings (which is more than you would bother with if you weren't feeling so tired) before you follow her directions to the chef's table.


The room is small, and the table is as well, big enough for two people to sit at at a time, if they're very good friends, which you suppose means that only one chef or assisstant is supposed to be using at a time? You think about it for another entire second, and then just shrug, sitting at one of the three chairs crammed in there anyway. You kick your long legs up on one of the others, and dig in.


The omelette is actually pretty good. Restaurant quality, easily. Or at least that's what your memories are telling you; you are aware that your recollections might be a little off, after so long.


Is occurs to you, as the chef--elevated prep cook, whatever--brings a tray of pastries in that you have no idea what kind of bird those eggs you just ate came from.


"Hey, what kind of eggs were those?" you ask.


She blinks at you, nonplussed.


"Chicken...?" she answers, as though the question was a test of some kind. You find yourself laughing.


"Ha! Even after all this time! That's great, thanks." The chef looks away, and sets the tray of day-old pastries in front of you.


"I remember you ate that entire cake. So I brought you a whole tray. If there anything else?" That last is asked a little stiffly, as though she isn't used to asking it. If she's usually a prep cook, she probably isn't, really. It's not like she's a waitress, or anything.


Coffee, a part of you says, but you tell that part to shut up. You're getting ready for a nap, you do not need wake-up juice, no matter how delicious an iced vanilla caramel latte would be right about now.


"Just water," you say instead. The chef nods, and leaves. You're two pastries down when she returns with a jug and a cup.


"I need to return to my duties now. The Inquisitor will be expecting lunch. Excuse me." You watch her go with a little concern; that kind of negative energy can draw or even create cursed spirits, and this place just had way more of that than it could handle. A large-scale purification ritual might be in order.


You hate large-scale purification rituals. They're such a giant pain in the ass, you just leave them to managers and lower-ranked sorcerers. It's not like you need a special grade to do one. You make a note to mention it to Elias anyway, just in case.


The pastries are good, even a day old. It might just be how long it's been since you had one, but really, whoever was making these was good. They're rich, indulgent, delicious, almost excessively so.


Wait. What are you thinking. There's no such thing as excessively delicious.


Mm.


A knock comes at the door when you're about two-thirds of the way done with your feast.


"Come in!" you call, and a woman you vaguely recognise--ah! "I remember you, you were my guide before." The young soldier gives you a not-very-enthusiastic smile.


"That's right," she says. "Ah, the Inquisitor cleared me for duty, and asked me to be your guide again, so. Here I am."


"Here to take me to a bed?" you ask. She nods.


"That's right. As soon as you finish... breakfast, I suppose?"


"I won't be long," you assure her, and you really are not. The remaining pastries vanish, and you're on your feet in minutes. You could probably stand to eat a little bit more--what you do burns a lot of calories--but this will be fine. Your mind and body already feel more relaxed, and by the time your guide leads you to your suite--it's nice, in an excessively gothic kind of way, a bedroom, sitting room, and bathroom--you are actually feeling sleepy. You almost never feel sleepy; you just sleep because it's necessary from time-to-time.


You really have been pushing it too far these past... is it hours, or millennia?


A debate with yourself on the subject of time is your last train of thought as you kick off your shoes, and fall into bed.




You have 100 points to distribute.


Attributes
(5pt/1; 20pts for +1 over 100)

-[] Mental: 80/100
-[] Physical: 70/100
-[] Spiritual: 150/100
-[] Appearance: 100/100


Skills (2pts/1; 8pts/1 for skills over 100)

Jujutsu:
-[] Technique: 110/100
-[] Reverse: 30/100 (80/100 on self)
-[] Domain: 150/100


Combat:
-[] Unarmed: 80/100
-[] Melee: 80/100
-[] Ranged: ???/100


Social:
-[] Intimidation: 90/100
-[] Manipulation: 50/100
-[] Cooperation: 30/100

Bonus:

[] Extra Extra Chaos (????pt): Write in something you want. Offer a price. Fortune favours the bold.


(Choices will affect your dreams, and your future.)

((Sorry this took so long orz))
 
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Interlude: Elias I New
If anyone had asked Elias Fuzeyr, Inquisitor, how his day (days) was (were) going, he would have given them a mild look, and answered, "Well." The actual answer, the one he would keep to himself and never speak aloud to anyoneis that the days since the Chaos incursion on Gheistos started have been the most, well, chaotic and messy of his hundred-and-some years of life.

The incursion itself was not, ultimately the cause of most of the chaos in his life right now. No, the fault for that lies squarely at his own booted feet: he had opened the artifact, he had released what lay within, he is to blame for it, and everything that came after.

For all that it seems to have turned out in the favour of mankind, there are more than a few of his fellows who would condemn him for opening the artifact. There are more than a few more who would condemn Satoru Gojo as well--as though they could.

Elias' thoughts turn to the thing they have been circling: Satoru Gojo, relic of the deep past, a being so ancient that it makes his teeth hurt just thinking about it. If he is telling the truth--though he has not given Elias any reason to think that he is not--he predates not just the Imperium of Man, but the Dark Age of Technology, and... Admittedly, he is a little vague on what comes before that, the exact progression of human history, but it's a heady thought, having access to such a relic. To say nothing of his power.

And what power. Gojo is the single most powerful psyker Elias has ever met short of the Emperor himself. Not the most powerful he has ever heard of, of course, but the man tore apart an army of daemons. Sometimes with his bare hands. There's a lot to be said for that kind of power, and right now, knowing what he does about Gojo's untouchability, well. A bet on Gojo would be a long shot, but not entirely misplaced, even against ancients, traitors, and xenos.

All that is to say, the man is someone that he really really, very much wants to keep on his side, in his hand, and content to be there.

"--which is why," he says, calmly and without rancor, into the vox. "I told you not. To. Antagonise. That. Man. Chapter Master. Do I make myself clear?"

"I understand you perfectly, Inquisitor." Chapter Master Matann is likewise calm, and without rancor. "And I have already explained my reasons to you."

"And what of your Librarian's actions?" Elias counters.

"What of your... 'asset's' actions?" Matann returns. "He--"

"--responded in a perfectly reasonable, if a trifle immature way to being fired upon without provocation, and poisoned. You are well-aware that space marine rations are not fit for unaltered humans."

"If that asset of yours is an unaltered human I will eat my damned power armour," Matann replies immediately. "He should be dead. He is not."

"If you had succeeded in killing an Inquisition asset, we would be having a very different conversation, Chapter Master," Elias tells him, still very calmly. "I think that you are lucky. You are lucky that Gojo has apparently unshakeable self-control, keen awareness, and--"

"You--"

"I am not finished!" Elias does not, quite snap. "You are lucky Chapter Master, lucky beyond all belief that my asset did not decide that you and the rest of the Vorpal Swords were a threat! You are lucky that all he did was play with your Lilbrarian a little, instead of blowing a hole in the side of your ship, or leaving your Librarian stranded in vacuum half a solar system away. We are all lucky, Chapter Master, that that man is on our side. I do not know if you have a hololith available-"

"-I do-"

"-then put up a current projection of the planet. Of Gheistos itself, and take a look at the state of the southern continent, near the equator."

"What coordinates?" Matann asks, audibly reluctant. Elias does not care if he is reluctant, so long as he does as he is told. The daemon invasion is over, but the system is still on the edge of a crisis, one that has only been avoided so far because a man out of time has been somehow, mysteriously, willing to cooperate with Elias.

"You will not need them," Elias says, seconds before he hears an audible sound--not a gasp, but more like someone sucking air in over their teeth. "You see it."

"That man did that?" Matann demands.

"We do not know how much was him, and how much the Warp portal," Elias admits. "But yes. And no, the depth is as yet unknown; the auspex has not returned the same numbers twice."

"All right," Matann admits after several long seconds of silence. "We are lucky. I can admit that. What do you intend to do with him?"

"Fold him into the Inquisition and point him at His Imperial Majesty's enemies, of course." What else can you do with a man who clearly sees himself as a living weapon? A weapon needs a hand to guide it. Elias' might as well be that hand.

"I should tell you, Inquisitor, that my Librarian believes that your asset was stolen from a space marine chapter, and he is not happy about it."

"I can tell you without a doubt that that is not the case," Elias replies.

"And can you tell me why?" There is an edge to Matann's voice, one that Elias cannot quite help but smile at. He is sure that it is audible when he replies.

"No."

He ends the call.
 
52 New
For all that you are genuinely exhausted, sleep does not come easy. Thirty-eight thousand years of consciousness (or something approximating it) turns out to be hard to shake. That your life in the hours since you got out of that damned Prison Realm has been utterly chaotic doesn't help your mind to settle either. That beacon in your awareness also doesn't help, especially now that you're in a dark room on a comfy bed without a whole pile of other sensory input to distract from it.

You can see it if you look, like a glow somewhere off in space, a beacon of pure energy that you can see even from here, at a distance that your mind automatically calculates in parsecs, and not some more reasonable distance like--well, like any other possible measure of distance. The implications of such a thing are.

Well, you don't like to think so, but it's staggering. Humbling. You can measure how much power it takes to put out that kind of beacon, and it is orders of magnitude beyond anything that you knew back in your own time. You have to wonder just who--what--it is.

There's something else out there, too, something you can see now that your attention is directed outward, out there, into space, and it's another thing that just wasn't there in the 21st century. Less a beacon, and more a blot of concentrated cursed energy, huge and churning, and again, at a distance so great you really do not at all like the implications of it being so damned visible, even to your Six Eyes.

You're just going to have to ask Elias, you guess. That doesn't mean you won't dwell on it until then, putting yet another obstacle between you and sleep.

Sleep, when it does come, does not come easy. Your dreams are… unsettled.

First come the dreams of your past, of Suguru and Shoko and lazy days in better times. For some strange reason, there is a light over Shoko's head, the entire time.

You're skiving off homework, and smoking her cigarettes together—it's there.

You're underage drinking in your room, all three of you, and there's that light again, like a halo illuminating her.

You're shopping in Shibuya, buying extravagant and unnecessary things for yourself and your friends, and still, it's there, fainter in the dream-sunlight, like the washed out glow of a star against the dawn.

You wake briefly, and you can still see the light, shining like a beacon in the vast distance, and it clicks then that you're seeing a giant burning torch of reverse cursed energy, shining like a lighthouse—

Your next dreams are an old familiar thing, the shift and turn of fractal shapes and patterns, the result of your unconscious mind synthesising new information. You exist in a semi-lucid state in these dreams, forming new connections from the abstractions, generating patterns of your own in dimensions and directions that don't exist in the waking world.

There's something different now, in the old familiar patterns, something that your mind can't quite grab onto—a rather unique experience, waking or dreaming. You reach for it, and fall, tumbling down the depths of a multidimensional Sierpinski gasket, triangles upon triangles upon triangles upon eyes in the dark, all the way into infinity, until your awareness latches on to that lighthouse in space, even in your sleep, and once again, you wake.

It's there, blazing as bright as ever, and you stare at it, part of your mind still rolling through fractal patterns, and wonder.

This time, you don't bother to try and go back to sleep; instead, you meditate, and work on shoring up your mental defences, because if there are things that can reach you in your sleep, that's bad.

"Uugghhhhhh," you groan out loud, as you drag yourself off the nice soft bed, and fold your body into the correct position on the floor, and start shifting your groggy just-woke-up mental state into something more meditative. This is the worst part of being a jujutsu sorcerer, because you can't just brute force your way through the process like you can with literally any-and-everything else.

It's not that it's difficult, just that it's time-consuming, which is annoying, because you could be doing literally anything else, like tipping your students out of bed, and—

Your students are dead. Have been for longer than human civilisation existed in your own time. Grief and bitterness colour your thoughts even as the larger part of your mind sinks into meditation; you are very good at compartmentalisation, at thinking multiple things at once, and it is oddly even easier now than it ever was before. Turns out, sleep is good for you, who knew?

Of course it turns out that your mental defences had eroded somewhat after tens of thousands of years, and you take the time to do what is necessary to get them back up to scratch, and maybe a little better, as a few new ideas occur to you—including a way to make Infinity work for abstract constructions like a human mind.

You implement it immediately of course, and lament the fact that there's no-one around you trust enough to put it to the test. You'll just have to wait and see, you guess.

Meditation done, and mental defences restored, you go through some basic morning physical exercises—crunches, pushups, stretches, anything that doesn't need more space than you have.

It's then that you realise that you kind of reek. Sure, you avoided all the nasty battlefield gore, but Infinity doesn't protect you from your own sweat and dead skin cells. Eugh.

The vox is still on your wrist—you never bothered to take it off—so it's a simple matter to dial Elias.

"Gojo?" The man sounds surprised but not concerned when he answers, as though he wasn't expecting you.

"Elias! I have two~ questions," you all but chirp into the vox. "How long was I out? And where can I get some clean clothes?"

"Five hours," Elias replies. "And I anticipated your second question; someone should be waiting outside your room with clothes that should fit."

"What, you have some guy just waiting on me?" Not an unfamiliar scenario, but kind of surprising, all things considered.

"Your guide from this morning has been detached to you on a semi-permanent basis until such time as her services are no longer required," Elias answers, and that explains that. You should probably find out her name.

"Right. I'm going to get clean. After that, we need to talk."

"I quite agree," Elias responds. "Call me when you are ready. I will join you."

"Later, then," you say, and end the call.

You spend and entire minute contemplating the beacon again. For all that your mental defences are stronger than ever, it still catches your attention. You shake it off, though, and go pop your head out the door.

Your guide is waiting there, and is well-trained enough not to jump at your abrupt appearance.

"Sir," she greets you, visibly restraining the impulse to salute. A moment later, she offers you what basically amounts to a future suitcase.

"Thanks," you say, taking it, and ducking back into your suite—before poking your head out again. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Magda Calvara," she replies, and you feel your eyebrows pop up a little.

"Any relation to Calvara-the-psyker?" you ask, and she shakes her head.

"Probably not, sir. Calvara is a common surname on Gheistos. No psykers in myfamily… not that, erm, there's anything wrongwith that, uh…" She stammers a little, and her cheeks flush with embarrassment, probably remembering that you, yourself, are part of that particular demographic.

You just grin, and pat her on the head, before closing the door, and popping the suitcase open on a table, so you can examine your options.

It's all black. The materials seem to be a decent quality, and the construction is solid. Nothing tailored of course, and nothing that will last more than maybe one good fight, but it'll do for now. On a better note, it appears that not much has changed in clothing design in the past few dozen millennia—there are a few magnetic closures, but everything is still snaps, buttons, zippers, and even one shirt with ties at the wrists. You're tempted by the novelty, but you also know that you would not be able to resist messing with the ties, and that's not a good look.

You instead pick things that are basic, practical, and have enough pockets to hold all your junk. Which isn't so much junk anymore as it is ancient relics. (A part of you wonders if any of it is worth anything.)

You lay everything out, and head for the bathroom—bathing chamber, more like, with the toilet properly off in its own cubby—bringing your phone with you. It's charged; no reason notto listen to your tunes, right?

It takes you a few minutes to figure out, but you get the shower working without needing to ask for help, which is almost a shame, because it would have been hilarious to ask Magda.

A shower is.

Well it's just plain amazing after just existing for so long with the extreme lack of sensory input in the Prison Realm, and then the chaos of battle—yeah it's amazing. The glories of hot water must never be undersold. You spend maybe a little too much time in the water, but that's okay, you've had a rough time of it, you deserve a little indulgence.

The hot water never runs out, but your fingers do eventually start to prune, so with a sigh, you get out, and dry yourself off with the provided towels—extra large and very fluffy. Just what you needed. You take extra time toweling your hair, since despite looking, you can't find a future hairdryer anywhere. It leaves you looking a bit fluffy, and less than intimidating, but you're just having a chat with Elias, it's not like you have anyone to impress.

The clothes actually fit. Like something off the rack, but that's more than you could say about most of the clothes you could find in shops back in Japan. Even the socks and underwear are acceptable, and you're picky about those.

You get all of your things stowed away in your new pockets—not as capacious as your normal pockets, but big enough—and reach for the vox.

[] Call Elias right away.
[] Take some time and poke around your suite some more.
[] Teleport somewhere else for a bit, it's not like you gave Elias a timeline on your shower.
-[] Somewhere in the fortress.
-[] Somewhere on the planet.
-[] Somewhere in orbit.
[] Something else? (Write in.)

Also…

[] Blindfold.
[] Glasses.
[] Neither.
 
53 New
You reach for the vox, and call Elias.


"Gojo," he greets you, voice even. "Are you ready?"


"I'm even dressed!" you don't quite chirp, grinning so that it's audible. "You can come over any time."


"I'll have drinks sent. Do you have a preference?"


"Triple iced vanilla caramel latte, six pumps vanilla, eight pumps caramel, but I doubt you can get that here," you reply. Elias is silent for a moment before he answers.


"You may be surprised," he says. "I'll see you soon." He ends the call, and you strap the vox to your wrist, and then the hair goes up, and the blindfold goes on, and oh that's a relief. You should have put that on ages ago. You were running closer than you like to sensory overload. It's not as though cutting off your physical vision hampers you in any way, anyway.


It's a trade-off, either way; some things (the excessive skull detailing) become less distinct, but others stand out more: that beacon, for instance, and the blot that mirrors it. Both are much more stark in your vision when the local physical distractions are cut off. They're still far too distant to make out any actual details of course, you would have to be much closer to learn anything more about them than what you have already deduced, but they do both shine (for want of a better word, in the case of the blot) more brightly to you now.


The amount of ambient cursed energy in this place is more starkly outlined now too, in the way it lays thickly over everything, and makes your current lack of (honestly overrated) colour vision completely redundant. Even if you didn't already know the colour of the bedspread you'd be able to recognise it as red, just from the interactions of the cursed energy with it. (It's a skill that took you a long time to develop, but it's a great party trick. You have a lot of great party tricks.)


Some twenty minutes after your call with Elias—spent rummaging through your phone to find out just what you do and do not still have on it—there is a knock at the door. Since you can see Elias' cursed energy (stronger now than it had been before you went to bed; he must be recovering), you just call out,


"It's open!" from your place slouched indolently at the head of the little table in the sitting room. Feet up, chair tilted at an angle impossible for anyone else, phone in hand, the perfect image of no fucks given.


Elias, when he comes in, doesn't even blink.


"I see you are feeling better," he says. He sets two drinks down on the table, and slides one over to you. Ice clinks in the glass, pale brown liquid sloshing slightly. "I had to pay a personal visit to the kitchen for this. I hope it is satisfactory." He has a folder as well, an actual paper folder, that he sets down as well.


A faint, sweet smell hits your nose, and while it's not quite right… it's not entirely wrong, either. You feel your eyebrows quirk up, and you reach for the drink. Another sniff closer up reveals the definite smell of coffee and burnt sugar, and of course sweet. You hum thoughtfully, and take a sip.


There's coffee—strong—and caramel—good—but not a hint of vanilla. You look at Elias, and he gives you a very slight smile.


"While vanilla is out of the question—the chef did not know what it was—caramel is apparently quite easy, and both recaf and milk are available in abundance." You respond by taking a loooong sip of your iced caramel latte, and grin. (Recaf, the mysterious language section of your brain tells you, is Future for coffee. All right, you know what to ask for.)


"Not bad," you opine, after considering the taste a little more.


"I am glad to hear it. So. What did you want to talk about?" You consider countering by asking what he wanted to talk about for less than half a second, take another sip of your latte, and reply:


"Yeah so what's that bright thing off that way in space?" You point with unerring accuracy toward it. "And while we're at it, what's the… concentration of cursed energy that way?" Again, you point. Elias arches an eyebrow briefly, and then he looks distant, and you can see his own cursed energy at work, as he looks one way, and then the other.


"Exactly how distant?" he asks.


"Parsecs," you reply. "Really far away." You can see the moment it clicks in his head, and both his eyebrows go up.


"I believe you are seeing—or sensing?"


"Seeing."


"Seeing the light of the Astronomican, and what we call the Eye of Terror," he says softly, and a little unsettled. "That should be—what is going on with your eyes?"


"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to kill you," you say, not really joking at all. "Or give you severe brain damage, seal you up, or something else along those lines, and I'd really rather not." You actually kind of like Elias. He's excellent at handling your bullshit, and such people are not to be undervalued.


"You are not joking," Elias states, eyeing you warily.


"Nope." You pop the P, just because. "So let's table this part of the discussion permanently, and just agree that I can see what I can see, which is basically everything, okay?" You take another sip of your latte. Several seconds pass in silence before Elias finally nods.


"Very well," he says. "We will table it for now."


"Forever." Your voice is blandly neutral, matter-of-fact, and almost bored. "Look, you can say 'for now' all you want, but it's not going to change my mind about talking about it." Elias looks at him for several seconds again, his face completely unreadable. Finally he nods.


"Very well." You can tell he doesn't actually mean it, but you can let it go for now.


"Right, so, what is an Astronomican, and why can I see it from here?"


He he pulls out an elegant-looking device, and activates it. You can see the disruptive field it puts out, cursed energy and more ordinary energy alike. And then he tells you.


Ten thousand psykers, and one Emperor of All Mankind, powering and directing the beacon so that ships can navigate the depths of space through the Warp. Ten thousand, and a hundred or more die every day. It's fucked up, but if they chose it...


"Do they chose that life?"


"As I understand it, it is less a matter of chosing it, and more a matter of it being a calling," Elias explains. "Although we all started in the same place--all sanctioned psykers do--our paths diverged rather early on. But that is beside the point."


"You're right," you reply. "I don't like it, Elias. This isn't--is it really necessary?" you ask.


"Unfortunately, yes." You're not surprised by his answer; the life of a jujutsu sorcerer was one of hardship and sacrifice, so why would it be any different in the future? You can't help but feel a bit like a failure, even though you're not really sure how much of a difference anything you could have done thirty-eight thousand years ago could have made.


Your mind is already reaching for another solution, though. There has to be a way to navigate without burning people out. There has to be a way to make things better for your people; you just need more information. A lot more information. You turn your eyes to the beacon, and wonder how many deaths you're watching right now, in this moment.


"You're sure there isn't a way?"


"Not for humanity," Elias says, a little reluctantly. "The Aeldari--a xenos species--have a different means of travel, and--Satoru Gojo, do not!" he says sternly, raising an admonishing finger at your grin. "No good has ever come of meddling with the xenos and their Webway--"


"Soo~ It's called a 'Webway' hu~h?" Grin.


"Leave it, Gojo. I left your eyes, just leave this." You scoff. "You do not know how their Webway works. I do not know how their Webway works. From what I know of the Aeldari, it could very well be something far more terrible than people voluntarily dying to support the Imperium."


You frown a little, and--


"Please do not ask me to explain right now," Elias sighs. "If you truly wish to learn of the atrocities of xenos, I would be glad to provide documents for you to peruse, but I do not enjoy discussing them unless absolutely necessary." You lean back again.


"Yeah, all right," you say. As long as you're getting reading material, you guess. "So what kind of horror is the Eye of Terror?"


"It is a place where the Warp overlaps with the material world, and impinges upon it, populated by daemons and heretics, servants of Chaos, entire worlds soaked in the madness of it all, warped and transformed by the wills of the daemons that rule them. It is a terrible place," Elias replies. "And I am surprised you can see it."


"Why? It's at least as 'bright' as the Astronomican..."


"While psykers tend to be aware of the Astronomican, most cannot sense the Eye unless they are in much closer proximity to it than we currently are," Elias explains. You frown at your empty cup; you're not sure when you ran out of latte. You could go for another one.


"I'm not just any psyker," you remind him. He smiles a little.


"That is eminiently evident. Which brings us to what I wanted to discuss. I have acquired the paperwork necessary to make you exist again, with a legal identity and everything." He pats the folder. "It is of course entirely up to you if you want to--though I highly recommend it, as you could encounter... difficulties without one."


[] Do the paperwork. It's not like it can actually tie you down anyway.
[] Don't do the paperwork. They can't stop you if they don't know you exist.
[] Something else? (Write in.)
 
54 New
You consider it for three entire seconds, before reaching for the folder with a put-upon groan.


"Paperwork, seriously, Elias? Come on, this is the future, shouldn't this all be done electronically?" Elias has the gall to look amused at your expense. "At least get me another latte, I deserve it." To your mild surprise, he activates his vox.


"Madame Chef," Elias says. "Have a pitcher of that drink you made earlier sent to Gojo's quarters. Thank you." You hear a surprised 'Yes Inquisitor' on the other end, before Elias ends the call. He arches an eyebrow at you, and pointedly slides a quill--a fucking quill like this is Harry Potter or something--over to you. You heave a great sigh, and take it. Upon examination, it does appear to be a bit more like what you expect of a pen than some of what you have glimpsed around here--its own ink reservoir for instance--but it's still a damned bird feather with a nib on it.


"What the hell happened to ballpoints, Elias?" You have to put the word together yourself; your knowledge of this language, whatever they call it, doesn't provide a word, and it's telling. "Or felt tipped pens? Why on Terra--or any other planet--are you using bird feathers to write? It's positively primitive."


You open the folder, and start going through the paperwork as you complain. It's a heap of boring bureacracy, all Name and Planet of Birth and List of Augmetics. At least there's enough ambient cursed energy in it that you don't need to push your blindfold up to read it. Which is just a little worrying, actually.


"Whoever's been handling this paperwork--or maybe the ink, or both--needs some R&R, and maybe therapy," you inform Elias, before he can answer your whining. "They're liable to attract daemons if they don't." Elias' mouth closes on whatever he had been about to say, and tilts his head curiously.


"You can see that, I take it?" he asks. You nod.


"Yep." You keep rifling through the paperwork, reading all the details as you go along, looking for the catch. Oddly, there doesn't seem to be one yet, just an extensive list of personal details to fill out, some of them really personal, which you are manifestly not going to be filling out, thanks. There are some things that nobody alive needs to know about you.


Actually there are a lot of things that nobody needs to know about you, especially not in writing, where just anyone could pick it up and read it.


You're twenty pages deep before you start finding the things that you need to outright cross out, amend, or otherwise alter. Elias doesn't say anything, just watches you at work, sipping his drink. About the time you're finishing your initial revisions, there's a knock at the door.


"It's open!" you call absently, and the chef herself comes in, carrying a tray with a big glass jug of iced latte goodness. Her face is nothing like pleasant as she sets it down.


"Inquisitor. Gojo. I need to get back to my work, if you'll excuse me." You both wave her off, and she turns on her heel, and strides out, closing the door just a little firmly behind her.


"She needs staff," you observe, before filling your cup again, and descending briefly once again into sweet, caffienated bliss.


"Staff are being vetted as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, the high-level kitchen staff are a low priority." Elias finishes his drink, and sets his cup aside. You return to your paperwork, revising your revisions and adding a few fun little doodles here and there.


It's only after your third revision, and fourth latte that you find yourself satisfied with the paperwork, and start actually filling it out. You hesitate on Age and Date of Birth for about five whole seconds, long enough for Elias to speak up.


"How old are you?"


"Either twenty-eight, or thirty-eight thousand twenty-eight," you reply. You tap the quill on the paperwork for a moment, not caring about the spilled ink.


"Twenty-eight," Elias says. "The truth about your origins is going to be an Inquisition secret. The Administratum does not need to know."


"You're right," you agree, and put down 28. Oddly, numerals have changed far less than letters. "So when was I born, then?" Elias helpfully provides a date for you, and then you move on, filling in the fields you have decided are acceptable, and handing the pages off to Elias.


It hurts a little to put None under Next of Kin. It's probably true. The odds that any direct descendants of your clan--or those related--have survived to this far-distant time are literally astronomical. It would be nice, you think, if there was someone out there, even better if it were another person with your techniques--the very idea sends a little thrill through you--but the odds are just not with you on this.


It's a small hurt, in the grand scheme of things. You never felt much personal attachment to your clan, especially not with the way they tended to treat you as either an exalted being, or a dangerous thing, and not a person. Granted, you are in fact also both of those things, but not for the first time you wish that there were a few more people on your level. Someone able to talk maths and physics with you, someone able to play games with who you wouldn't crush without effort, someone you can spar with, without holding back, someone, anyone--


An equal. You want a damned equal, damn it. (You had one, and you lost him, and it hurts every day, just a little. Part of you will always wonder if you could have done something better, different, more.)


You drop the quill so you don't break it in your sudden bout of frustrated annoyance, and drink down the rest of your current latte. The paperwork is done enough, so you shove it over to Elias.


"There, paperwork. As done as it's gonna get. Consider yourself lucky you got that much from me."


"So you are comfortable with cremation in the event of your death?"


"I insist on it," you say, suddenly serious again. "Any psyker should be."


"I agree," Elias replies, and makes a note in your paperwork. "Is there anything I should know that you do not want to commit to paperwork?"


[] No. You've revealed enough already.
[] Yes. There are some things that someone should know.
-[] Write in. (Any pertinent Gojo facts that you want Elias to know? Now's the time.)
 
55 New
[X] Yes. There are some things that someone should know.
-[X] Inform him of your time as a teacher - you're pitching yourself for the role again mostly because at this rate, you know the people of this time could never hope to match you... not that any from your own could, but that's a moot point. You're open to teaching those you favor your brand of combat and using Jujutsu Sorcery, if only to hopefully raise up another combatant to a modicum of your own skill and certainly not the crippling loneliness.
-[X] Less informing him as opposed to... well, you'd like him to run whatever information line he has if he can; give him the names of those you considered close to you, see if any lines to their descendants might be found. Make specific mention of Suguru Geto - if any being were to have made it, the being who stole the body of your one-time friend could have potentially survived. And if not that, mentioning a body hopping brain creature might do the trick too. Admittedly the chances of finding either are near zero.
-[X] And while you're at it, might as well tell him about Sukuna too. If Prison Realm survived the millennia, then maybe Sukuna's fingers are lying around somewhere in the galaxy too. Of course you'd be able to deal with them, but others might have a little trouble.

You lean the chair back, and give it some consideration, and you do Elias the courtesy of taking ten whole seconds to contemplate the matter. There are, in fact, several things you can think of.

"Yes," you say slowly. "Several things. First, I'm a teacher. Or, I was, anyway, and I'm willing to be one again. You modern psykers could use a kick to get them up to a modicum of what I'd consider acceptable, but I'd be willing to take a few on as students, if they were promising enough."

"You can teach that?" Elias asks, and prods at Infinity. You don't pretend to misunderstand; shake your head, and wave your hand.

"I can teach my style of fighting, reinforcement, barriers and things like that, but not my own technique. That's innate, and not something that can be taught. I can also teach people to use their own innate techniques as well. Not everyone has one, but any stronger people ought to. Unless things have really changed in the past few dozen millennia," you add. "I guess it's possible."

Elias purses his lips, and hums thoughtfully.

"So, you can teach people to fight on your level?" he asks.

"I can teach psykers to fight on my level," you correct. "You have to be able to channel-" that part of your brain that knows this language provides the term "-warp energy to do what I can do. Look," you continue, the pedogological urge inescapable. "Touch my hand—go on, you'll be able to." To his credit, Elias barely hesitates before laying his hand against yours. You can feel weapon calluses, and the ridges of his skin, the spot where a cut is healing. You're a bit touch deprived, you know, but you're used to that, and can ignore it.

"Pay attention to my energy," you continue, and start deliberately reinforcing your hand, slowly, until it's hard as a rock and nearly crackling with power. Elias' eyes widen slightly as he follows along; he's sharp, and you can see the gears turning in his head. You can also see the moment when something there clicks, and he starts copying you. You grin, and pull your hand away. Elias is better than you thought.

"Very good," you say. "Now do that throughout your entire body, including your brain. Constantly."

Elias considers his hand, and then looks at you, eyebrow raised again.

"And this is how you fought Greater Daemons of Khorne hand-to-hand, and came out on top?"

"Yup. Though being untouchable helps," you allow. "So, work on it. Maybe find me a couple plucky kids to train—teenagers are easier to teach than adults, they have fewer bad habits to unlearn." You think of Yuuji, and his prodigious talents, and feel a moment of mingled guilt and regret at not being around to keep nurturing those talents. You never got to see Megumi get over himself and meet his full potential, never got to see—any of them, any of your kids grow up and become strong adult sorcerers, standing on their own beside you.

You never got to shove all the higher-ups faces into their fuckups like naughty dogs, never got to—

"You left students behind." Elias' statement, not a question, cuts through your thougts, and you find yourself laughing. It's a rough, unpleasant sound.

"Yeah. Hey," you say, as a thought occurs to you. "I know it's an astronomically long shot, but if I gave you some names…"

Wordlessly, Elias slides blank paper and the quill back over to you.

You write down everyone's names, in modern letters, the English alphabet to which it bears some resemblance, and then kanji and kana. You hesitate a moment before adding Suguru's name. A little longer than that before adding Sukuna's, off to the side, inside a little box.

"I think of anyone, you're most likely to find something on him," you explain, tapping the name with your index finger. "He's a special grade cursed spirit—same grade as me, even if I'm better in every way. He's dangerous. If anyone has word of him, tell me, and I'll deal with him. Any others like him, too."

"If he is a daemon-" you nod "-then he likely isstill around. They are very difficult to put a permanent end to."

"Not for me," you reply.

"Somehow, I am unsurprised. Is there anything else?" Elias asks.

"Well, the last time I saw my best friend, I killed him. The last time I saw his body, it was being ridden by an evil body hopping brain. I don't know much about it, but that could still be around. There were stitches across his forehead." Stitches across Suguru's forehead, his body occupied by something else, something elae using his power, his skill, his technique. Something else wearing his face, and—

The quill in your hand snaps, spilling ink all over the table. Elias offers you a handkerchief. It's red. You dab up the ink in silence. None got on you, but it did spill on the list you wrote, so you clean that up as well as you can, before pushing it over to Elias. Grasping for any distraction, your mind latches onto a name that Elias said earlier.

"Khorne. I think I heard that a few times on the battlefield, but I've never heard of it before. You know, back then."

"Really? You are fortunate, then. Combat skill of your calibre…" He sighs, and shakes his head. "Never mind. We can speak of that later. What can you tell me of these people? Descriptions, family, skills…? Any information would help in tracking down traces. I can also set my sources to finding information about your family as well. Did you have any children?"

You shake your head.

"Nah, not yet." Sure, you were expected by the clan and higher-ups to produce an heir and a spare at some point, but nobody except one or two old aunties seemed any more interested in making you reproduce than you were in doing the reproducing. And now? You literally cannot imagine producing a child in your current circumstances. (Even if your can hear Auntie Saeko's toothless rambling about heritage and duty and the clan and your techniques and blah blah blah snore.)

"Yet."

"I was expected to produce the usual heir and spare," you allow with a shrug. "Anyway, don't change the subject, I want to know what Khorne is."

Elias regards you silently for several long seconds, before finally inclining his head.

"Khorne is the Chaos God of war and rage," he begins. He explains the destruction, the blood, the skulls, and you are very quickly drawing parallels here between both historical and Yuuji's descriptions... Part of you wonders if Sukuna isn't somehow connected to Khorne.

Elias continues.

There are cultists. You kind of hate cultists. You have ever since the Star Plasma Vessel mess. You'd almost rather be doing paperwork again than hearing about violent, blood-crazed war cultists in Elias' matter-of-fact tone. The worst part is, you can tell he's giving you the bare-bones version, the summary, the abstract, and nothing more.

As it turns out, there's more. Three more Chaos Gods, all representing different awful things, the absolute pinnnacle of cursed spirits, worse than Sukuna, just awful, all with their own cults and curse-using champions, and it's enough to make you wanna go back to bed, or go out and kill something, and—

"It gets worse," Elias tells you, wryly. "It is not for nothing that we call Chaos the Archenemy."

"Yeah, I get that," you grumble. "Okay—"

[] "Add 'kill the Chaos gods' to my to-do list."
[] "Tell me the 'worse.'"
[] "Let's table this for now. We have more immediate concerns."
[] Something else? (Write in.)
 
56 New
[X] "Let's table this for now. We have more immediate concerns."

"Let's table this for now," you say, resisting the urge to thunk your head on the table. Worse? There's worse? Of course you want to know, have to know, really, but there's just too much going on right now. "We have more immediate concerns."

"We do," Elias agrees.

You pour the last of your latte, and sip it slowly. Your body is already buzzing with caffiene and sugar, in the best possible way, and you are in a mood to get shit done.

"How are the interrogations progressing?" is your first question.

"Productively. The fortress, along with what remains of several other institutions, should be clear of cultists inside a month, if they carry on at this rate. That Magos you found has been veryhelpful in that regard, actually."

That makes you blink under your blindfold.

"Val? He doesn't seem like that kind of guy."

"He is not," Elias replies dryly. "What he is is enthusastic, and a techpriest. That alone… Of course, you do not know much of anything about the cult of Mars. You should ask him. I am certain he would be glad to tell you."

"I'll do that," you agree. You could stand to learn more about machine spirits anyway. You have to wonder if their presence isn't at least part of why all those future weapons could hurt daemons; it's a thing to ask. And you like Val, he's a pal. Thinking of Val actually prompts you to check the charge on your phone—it's sitting at 78%, and ticks down to 77% as you watch. Still fine.

"I have been meaning to ask—what is that device?" Elias asks, nodding toward your phone.

"It's my phone," you reply, wiggling it a little. "It's like a vox, kind of, but it does much more than that. It holds music and games, takes pictures, accesses—well, accessed—the internet…" You sigh. You miss the internet.

"And the internet is…?" Elias prompts.

"Mankind's greatest invention," you reply promptly, and begin a rundown of just what wonders the 'net of your day held. The more you talk about it, the more you miss it, and you finish up by asking, "Do you have anything like it today?"

"Not even remotely," Elias replies immediately. "Allowing that kind of free access to that muchinformation to just anyone sounds unconscionably dangerous."

You shrug, and wobble your hand a little.

"Mostly, it's porn and pictures of cats," you allow. "But everything else is there, too. I miss being able to just look things up on my phone." You miss your fan fora and Line, and pixiv, and all of it. You miss correcting maths and physics articles on Wikipedia.

You spin your phone about on your fingertips, and then open up a web browser. With no signal (Val must not be close enough), it gives you a 'you are not connected to the internet' message. You tip it so that Elias can see.

"It says I'm not connected to the internet. Because the internet doesn't exist anymore. …or maybe it does, but just not here?" That's possible, but all your hopes are dashed when Elias shakes his head.

"We have nothing of the sort," he says. "All of our libraries and databases are much less… interconnected. For security reasons, partially, but it would also be difficult or even impossible to maintain across the entire Imperium."

"Laaame," you opine, and sip your latte obnoxiously. You tuck your phone away again. "Anyway, students. You think you can find me some?" Elias doesn't even blink at your sudden change of subject.

"Would you be willing to teach space marines? Not the Vorpal Swords," he adds, before you can object. "I have someone else in mind."

"I'll think about it. I really would prefer to teach some precocious kids," you remind him.

"I will keep that in mind," Elias says. "That said, I believe that I will be your first student." His eyes gleam as he leans forward a little. "I want to learn everything you can teach me." You feel yourself grinning, showing off your teeth. You can see the cursed energy moving through him; he has been working at it since you demonstrated, reinforcing first his hands and arms, and then his feet and legs, and slowly, carefully his torso. Elias is sharp, and not untalented; he's older than you like for a student, obviously, but you could do worse. You could do a lot worse.

"Everything-everything?" you ask, leaning in. "Because if you say yes, I absolutely will."

"That sounds like a threat," Elias replies.

"The path of a jujutsushi isn't an easy, straightforward one," you tell him, no longer grinning. "If you want to learn, I can teach you, but it might be very different from whatever disciplines you have here in the future. I'd say it might not be better, but it obviously is, so I can see why you'd want to learn it."

"Whatever the rigours, I can handle it," Elias asserts confidently. "I did not begin life as an Inquisitor, and the road to get here has not been an easy one."

"Yeah about that." Elias smiles this time.

"I was wondering when you would ask. Would you like the short version, or the long version?"

"Short version; I'm running out of latte." You slurp it obnoxiously to make a point. Or maybe just because you can.

"The short version then, is that there is no higher authority than the Emperor Himself above an Inquisitor. In theory, at any rate. In practice, it is best to be diplomatic, and maintain polite relations with other branches of Imperial authority. But yes, before you ask, I am the highest ranked individual on the planet, and possibly in the sector, though there may well be other Inquisitors around."

"What about that guy, I think he was the boss of the Vorpal Swords, Matann?" you ask, tipping your chair back again, and sipping your latte. You're starting to really feel the need to move. You might have, maybe, possibly had a little too much caffiene and sugar. After dozens of millennia of abstinence. (Forget that you were almost in suspended animation, physically. It has to have affected you somehow, right?) …or possibly future coffee—recaf?—is higher in caffiene than what you're used to. Or both. It might be both.

"The Chapter Master. Technically, I could give him orders. Whether or not he would follow them is another story; the power of the Inquisition and of the Astartes—space marines—is somewhat lateral to each other. As a courtesy, we try to avoid situations where orders might conflict."

"I see." You do. You get it. They have different turf, and don't step on each others' toes. Hypothetically, anyway. "So how bad is it out there? Casualties, property damage? I saw a lot of farmland when I was teleporting around." At that, Elias grimaces.

"The world was almost lost already when I released you," he admits. "I was on the verge of calling in—well. It does not matter now. The world, at least, is saved. The populace… is at least a ninety percent loss. Perhaps more; sweeps are still looking for surviors. The problem, of course, being that the numbers we have for sweeps are commensurately low. It will likely be at least another week before we have solid numbers." He arches an eyebrow. "Unless you have a solution for that?"

"Nah, not my thing. You want a big hole in something? I'm your man. You want people found? Well, obviously I'm better at it than anyone else would be, for a number of reasons, but I still can't be everywhere at once. I'm wasted on something that any guy with four limbs and functional eyes can do." Elias smiles a little again.

"That is eminently true. On that note, I believe we are done with this for now. Would you care to join me in checking on the interrogations before dinner? It is not necessary, if you would rather do something else…"

The question of course being what the hell else there is to do around here.

[] Stick with Elias; you might as well. You'll be able to check in with Val again this way too.
[] Go poke around and find out just what else there is to do around here; surely there is someone—Magda, say—you can harass into providing entertainment.
[] Something else? (Write in.)
 
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