The Collector sat on the floor, its hands bound behind its back, its fine clothes stained with dust and ichor. Its eyes darted nervously between Aurelion and Nova, searching for an escape that didn't exist.
Aurelion crouched in front of it, his claws retracted, his expression calm.
"Three hours," he said. "That's how long we have before the shipment arrives. That gives us plenty of time to talk."
The Collector swallowed. "I told you everything I know."
"No, you didn't." Aurelion's voice was flat. "You told me what you thought I wanted to hear. Now you're going to tell me the truth."
The Collector's eyes flickered. "I don't know anything else."
Aurelion reached out and grabbed the Collector's collar, pulling it closer. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Let me make this clear. I've killed a lot of beings. Demon kings. Monsters. Loan sharks who thought they were untouchable. You're not special. You're not important. You're just another criminal who made the mistake of getting in my way."
The Collector's face went pale.
"But," Aurelion continued, "I'm willing to give you a chance. Tell me everything you know about your boss, and I'll let you walk away. You'll disappear. You'll never be seen again. That's a better deal than most people get."
The Collector's mouth opened and closed. Its eyes darted to Nova, then back to Aurelion.
"I—I don't know who they are," it said. "I've never seen them. I've only ever heard their voice. Through a communicator. They give me orders, and I follow them."
"Where do the orders come from?"
"Different locations. Never the same place twice. They're careful—very careful."
Aurelion studied the Collector. It was terrified. Desperate. It was telling the truth.
"What about the shipment?" Nova asked. "Who's coming?"
"Buyers. From across the Great Structure. They pay for the travelers—the ones we take. They're collectors, like me. They build collections. Different species, different worlds. They pay well."
Aurelion felt something cold settle in his chest.
He had heard those words before. Not in this life. In his previous life—as Azrathor, the Demon King. He had seen the aftermath of such collections. He had seen the cages, the chains, the broken souls.
He had seen what happened to beings who couldn't fight back.
"Collections," he repeated, his voice flat.
The Collector nodded eagerly, mistaking his tone for interest. "Yes. Rare specimens. Unique beings. Some collectors pay extraordinary amounts for the right—"
"Shut up."
The Collector's mouth snapped shut.
Aurelion stared at the being before him. At its fine clothes. Its rings. Its smug, self-satisfied expression. It saw itself as a businessman. A merchant. Someone who had found a niche and exploited it.
It didn't see itself as a monster.
But Aurelion did.
The memories surfaced, unbidden. The cages in his old world. The chains that bound the succubi—beautiful, defenseless creatures who had never been trained to fight, never been given the chance to defend themselves, as they couldn't, they weren't built for it. They had been taken from their homes, sold to humans of "noble" status who saw them as trophies, as ornaments, as playthings.
The human kingdoms had been consumed by civil war at the time. Their leaders had been too busy fighting each other to notice the rot spreading through their nobility. They had been unaware—or perhaps they had simply chosen not to see.
And Azrathor had seen it all.
He had seen the cages. He had seen the chains. He had seen the broken spirits of beings who had been torn from their homes and sold like livestock.
And he had waged war.
The humans had called it conquest. They had called it an invasion. They had called it the Demon King's cruelty.
But Aurelion remembered the truth.
He had waged war because the humans had dared to touch his subjects due to reasons other than their natural enemity . He had burned the kingdoms because their leaders had allowed the rot to fester. He had killed the nobility because they had deserved it.
And now, here was another trafficker. Another being who saw living creatures as merchandise. Another monster who wore fine clothes and called himself a businessman.
Aurelion's claws extended.
The Collector's eyes went wide.
"W-what are you—"
Aurelion grabbed it by the throat, lifting it off the ground. His claws pressed against its skin, drawing thin lines of blood.
"You are nothing. A parasite. A bottom-feeder who preys on the lost and the helpless." He pulled the Collector closer, its feet dangling. "And I have zero tolerance for parasites."
The Collector's mouth opened and closed like a fish. It couldn't speak. It couldn't breathe.
Aurelion's grip tightened.
Nova stepped forward. "Aurelion. We need them."
He didn't look at her.
"I know."
He held the Collector for a moment longer. Then he released it.
The Collector collapsed to the ground, gasping, clutching its throat.
Aurelion stood over it.
"You're going to tell me everything," he said. "Every buyer. Every seller. Every location. And if I find out you're hiding anything—"
He leaned down, his face inches from the Collector's.
"I will make you wish you had never been born."
"Y-yes, of course" The collector replied
"good, now, Where do the travelers come from?"
"All over. We have spotters at the ports, at the arrival gates. They look for new arrivals—people who don't know the city, don't know the system. They're easy targets. Easy to grab."
"The shipment," he said. "How many travelers?"
"I don't know. Maybe a dozen. Maybe more."
"And the buyers?"
"Three of them. Different species. I've never met them in person—they handle everything through intermediaries."
Aurelion stood.
"Here's what's going to happen," he said. "You're going to contact your buyers. You're going to tell them the shipment is delayed. You're going to give us their location."
The Collector's eyes widened. "If I do that—"
"If you do that, you live." Aurelion's voice was cold. "If you don't, you die. It's that simple."
The Collector was silent for a long moment.
Then it nodded slowly.
"Okay. Okay. I'll do it."
The Collector's communicator was a small, sleek device—a silver disc that fit in the palm of its hand. It hovered in the air as the Collector spoke, its voice steady despite its fear.
"The shipment is delayed," it said. "Complications. We'll need to reschedule."
A pause. Then a voice responded—distorted, metallic, impossible to identify.
"Complications? What kind of complications?"
"Security issues. The city is being watched. We need to lie low for a few days."
Another pause. Then: "The buyers won't be happy."
"Tell them I'll make it right. Tell them I'll double the shipment."
The voice was silent for a moment. Then: "They'll want proof."
"I'll send it. Have them meet me at the usual place. Tomorrow. Same time."
"Agreed."
The communicator went dark.
Aurelion nodded slowly. "Good. Now tell us where the meeting is."
The Collector told them everything.
The meeting place was a warehouse on the edge of the lower levels—abandoned, unguarded, hidden from view. The buyers would arrive alone, expecting to complete the transaction. They would be vulnerable.
Aurelion turned to his team.
"We have until tomorrow," he said. "That gives us time to plan."
Nova stepped forward. "What about the Collector?"
"Keep them alive. We might need them again."
The reptilian creature hissed something. Its guide translated. "It says the Collector should not be trusted."
Aurelion looked at the creature.
"They won't be. But they're useful."
He turned back to the group.
"Alright," he said. "Let's get ready."