Sobek stood opposite Wu Ren, the air between them crackling with unspoken stakes. Her presence was a quiet storm—elegant in her blue silk robe, silver cranes glinting faintly against the fabric, yet her golden eyes held an edge sharp enough to cut through stone. Sobek’s own armor, bronze and emerald, shimmered subtly as he shifted his weight, his posture relaxed but coiled, a predator sizing up its equal. The doors had sealed them in, their guards relegated to the shadows beyond, leaving only their wits to clash in this gilded arena.

  Sobek’s mind raced as he met her gaze, calculating every angle before the first word left his lips. He had the numbers, the momentum from Jakkan’s fall, the fervor of a growing cult—enough to crush her if it came to blows. But war was a gamble, and the galaxy’s clock was ticking faster than Wu Ren knew. The SGC, the Asgard, the unraveling tapestry of the Goa’uld empire—all loomed on the horizon, threats he couldn’t ignore. He needed her cooperation, not her corpse. With a faint smile that masked his urgency, he opened the dance.

  “Let’s dispense with pretense, Lady Wu Ren,” he said, his voice smooth and resonant, carrying the weight of certainty. “I have the forces to defeat you—ground troops, ships, a will hardened by victory. Jakkan’s ashes testify to that. But I’d rather not spill your blood. War serves neither of us when alliance could.”

  Wu Ren’s lips curved into a smirk, her head tilting slightly as if amused by a child’s boast. She leaned forward, resting her hands lightly on the table, her long sleeves brushing its surface like whispers of silk. “A bold claim, Sobek,” she replied, her tone cool and laced with skepticism. “You may have numbers, true—Jakkan was a fool, and fools fall easily. But don’t mistake my forces for his rabble. My ground troops may be fewer, but I’ve just received a shipment of new Goa’uld ships—sleek, swift, and bristling with firepower. I’d wager my fleet could carve through yours like a blade through silk. You’re not the only one with an edge.”

  Sobek’s smile didn’t falter, but his mind shifted gears, the gears grinding briefly as he processed her words. She wasn’t bluffing—he could hear it in the steady cadence of her voice, see it in the glint of her eyes that dared him to call her liar. New ships changed the equation; his Ha’tak and Al’kesh, formidable as they were, might not hold against a fresh, advanced fleet. He adjusted mentally, the reality settling in like a cold weight: neither of them could afford a protracted war.

  For him, the Tau’ri’s inevitable rise and the Asgard’s looming interference were ticking bombs, threats that would soon dwarf any petty System Lord squabble. For Wu Ren, defeat was a certainty—whether by his hand or one of Hathor’s other lackeys. She might not see it yet, but Sobek knew she viewed him as Hathor’s subordinate, a tool rather than a rival. That miscalculation was his leverage.

  He chuckled softly, leaning back with a casual air that belied the storm of strategy beneath. “New ships, you say? Impressive. I’ll grant you the skies might bleed red if we clashed. But tell me, Wu Ren, how long do you think your shiny toys would last against a siege? My forces are relentless—fanatics, not mercenaries. They’d grind your ground defenses to dust while your ships circled helplessly above. Victory, perhaps, but at what cost?”

  Wu Ren’s smirk widened, her fingers tapping a slow rhythm on the table. “Fanatics are a double-edged sword, Sobek. They die eagerly, but they don’t think. My Jackal Troops, on the other hand—bred for war, not faith—would cut through your zealots like a scythe through wheat. And as for cost? I’ve weathered worse storms than you could muster. You’d be surprised how resourceful I can be when pressed.”

  Sobek raised an eyebrow, his tone turning playful yet pointed. “Resourceful? Or desperate? I’ve seen your kind before—clinging to power with clever tricks while the galaxy shifts beneath you. Tell me, how long do you think Hathor would let you stand if I fell? She’d send another pup to nip at your heels, and another, until your cleverness ran dry. You’re not fighting me, Wu Ren—you’re fighting time.”

  Her eyes narrowed, the smirk fading into something sharper, more calculating. “And you think you’re immune to Hathor’s leash? You’re her progeny, Sobek, her favored pet—for now. What happens when she tires of your… innovations? You’re bold, I’ll give you that, but boldness doesn’t shield you from a queen’s whims.”

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  Sobek’s laughter was low and genuine, a sound that echoed faintly in the chamber. “A pet? Oh, Wu Ren, you wound me. I’m no lapdog—I’m the blade she wields, and I cut where I please. Hathor’s whims bend to results, and I deliver. But you’re right about one thing: time is our enemy. Not just yours, not just mine. The galaxy’s stirring—powers beyond our little thrones are waking. A war between us would bleed us dry, leaving scraps for others to claim.”

  Wu Ren straightened, her gaze piercing as she studied him. “You speak of shadows—enemies unseen. What game are you playing, Sobek? If not war, what do you propose?”

  He leaned forward now, mirroring her earlier stance, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial edge. “Alliance. Not submission—partnership. We pool our strengths—your ships, my ground forces, our wits. Hathor gains a stronger front, and we gain breathing room. The real threats aren’t at this table—they’re out there, plotting while we bicker. Crush me, and you’ll face them alone. Join me, and we might just outlast them.”

  Wu Ren couldn’t help but find the proposal interesting. When she was under Ra she was never able to accomplish as much as she desired. Ra was simply too powerful. The rumors of his death to the hands of slaves was an embarrassment. It also would inevitably lead to more rebellions if words spread. It was a nightmare and something she didn’t wish to deal with alone, but this man didn’t seem concerned at all about it.

  In her four centuries of existence, she had dealt with countless Goa’uld—arrogant tyrants, scheming sycophants, decadent fools like Jakkan—but none quite like him. His words carried a weight she couldn’t dismiss, a blend of confidence and foresight that set him apart from the petty lords she’d outmaneuvered over the years. He was different, and that difference gnawed at her, a puzzle she couldn’t yet solve.

  His offer of alliance hung in the air, tempting in its pragmatism. Her bluff about the new ships wasn’t entirely a lie—her engineers were indeed working on a shipment of advanced vessels, sleek and deadly, their hulls still gleaming in the drydocks of her shipyards. But she doubted they’d be operational in time to tip the scales against Sobek’s forces. Her spies had whispered of his conquest of Jakkan—swift, brutal, decisive. They spoke of new technology, plasma weapons cheaper and faster to produce than her own cumbersome staff cannons. If even half those reports were true, he held an edge she couldn’t ignore, one forged not just in numbers but in innovation—a rarity among their kind.

  She let her gaze drift over him, assessing the host he’d chosen. Tall and well-built, his frame carried a quiet strength, the bronze-and-emerald armor accentuating a physique honed by discipline rather than decadence. It was a stark contrast to Jakkan, that lazy slob whose corpulent host had mirrored his slothful rule. Sobek moved with purpose, spoke with clarity—could an alliance with such a Goa’uld be warranted? The thought flickered through her mind, a cautious ember amid the storm of her calculations.

  Wu Ren straightened, her posture regal as she nodded slightly, testing the waters. “If we were to join forces, Sobek,” she said, her voice calm but firm, “I would retain control of my world. My people, my domain—they remain mine.”

  Sobek shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips as if he’d anticipated her gambit. “That would only sow the seeds of betrayal, Wu Ren,” he replied, his tone measured yet unyielding. “We’d be back to plotting against each other within a year—two, if we’re generous. No, for now, you need to see what I’m building. Come to Vulcan IV. Bring as many troops as you desire—your Jackal Troops, your elite guard, whatever comforts your skepticism. I’ll show you the future of the Goa’uld empire, a vision worth more than a single world.”

  Her brow arched, surprise flickering briefly before her composure reasserted itself. Vulcan IV—his stronghold, the heart of his burgeoning power. It was a bold invitation, one that could easily be a trap, yet his offer rang with a strange sincerity. She studied him again, searching for the lie, the hidden blade beneath his words. Four centuries had taught her to trust little, to see every gesture as a feint—but Sobek’s eyes held a glint of something she couldn’t quite place. Ambition, yes, but tempered by a clarity that unsettled her. He wasn’t like the others, and that difference could be her downfall—or her salvation.

  A slow smile curved her lips, wry and guarded, as she weighed her options. “Very well, Sobek,” she said at last, her voice smooth with a hint of challenge. “I’ll visit your precious Vulcan IV. I’ll bring my troops, and I’ll see this ‘future’ you speak of with my own eyes. But know this: my trust is not so easily won.”

  Sobek inclined his head, his own smile mirroring hers—confident, yet tinged with respect. “Nor should it be, Wu Ren. I look forward to proving it.”