A Human steps forward.
“Hey, guys. I’m Josh. I’m Human. I’m interested in this woman, but I won’t be bidding. I’ve only got a one-seater, and it’s not even as good as the Sadjim’s. She’s beautiful, but I’m out.”
“Truth,” Noviosk replies, unmoved.
Then comes a Venor—small, humanoid, with crumpled gray skin and translucent wings. I suppress a grimace. Ihatethis species. They’re hollow, selfish, and violent. No empathy. No soul.
He presents a few weapons, but Noviosk barely glances at them before waving him out of the room—just like he did with the Human before him.
And now… I’m the only one left.
Noviosk turns to me, his expression shifting into something that might be called a smile—if you ignored the fangs. His eyes are a piercing, unnatural blue. He studies me like a puzzle he’s almost solved.
I rise slowly, deliberately. My posture is relaxed, my expression confident. Every step I take toward the center of the room is calculated.
Showtime.
Chapter 22.
Ileana.
Pherebos walks confidently to the center of the room, completely at ease among the others. He’s wearing dark pants and a matching jacket, which he hasn’t even bothered to zip up. A few braids keep his hair out of his face, revealing his pointed ears and those unmistakable violet eyes.
Honestly, at this point, I don’t even know who I want to win the auction—him or Prax.
When I first saw him, I spent a few minutes trying to figure out why he was here. I thought he wanted to sell me. So why is he now trying to buy me back?
And Wingo’s not with him. That worries me. Am I wrong about all this? Or has he already sold Wingo?
I try to make sense of it, but my thoughts are a mess. Nothing about this situation is clear anymore.
“Noviosk. Gentlemen,” Pherebos begins. “My name is Pherebos. I’m from the planet Asgarne. I’m here on a mission to retrieve the Human who escaped. I’m prepared to pay the price.”
He pauses, then gestures to the items he’s brought.
“These are Asgarne daggers. Ten of them. Double-bladed—our most iconic weapon. They’re difficult tomaster. Each blade runs about fourteen inches, and the full weapon stretches close to three feet. It weighs just over two pounds—light enough to move fast, heavy enough to matter. On Asgarne, we train with wooden replicas first. Otherwise, the injuries can be… severe.”
The room shifts as everyone leans in to get a better look. One of the guards picks up a dagger and walks it around the room for inspection. The others eye the weapons with clear interest.
Manly turns to Noviosk, waiting for his reaction.
“Truth,” Noviosk says, voice low. “How did you get these?”
“There’s no industry on Asgarne,” Manly adds. “Everything’s handmade. Even weapons. Forged by their owners. It’s a long, grueling process.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Noviosk says, his tone sharper now.
“You didn’t give me time,” Pherebos replies with a smirk. “I made them myself. Would you like a demonstration?”
Pherebos steps forward and shrugs off his jacket, revealing his perfectly sculpted torso. Even now, I can’t help but be a little awestruck.
Noviosk leans back in his chair as two guards move to flank him, pistoblasters drawn. They look ready to fire if Pherebos so much as twitches the wrong way.
But Pherebos just lets out a quiet, amused laugh. It clearly irritates the Srebat, who waves the guards off with a flick of his hand.
Pherebos takes the dagger that was handed to him and steps into the center of the room. For a few seconds, he stands completely still, his expression sharpening into focus.
Then he moves.
