All the humans froze.

"It…talks?" said the woman. "The thing talks? The Terran tongue, too?"

"Quiet, Bea," said Dale. "Intelligent monsters shouldn't be insulted. They can be reasoned with. Gunther, back off."

Gunther hesitantly withdrew from the Collector, but his spear was still raised.

"What is your name, good creature?" asked Dale.

"I require no such thing as a name," said the Collector. "Names are weakness. They signify individuality. The Collective is all that truly matters."

Dale nodded slowly. "I see. Then, good monster-"

"Neither am I monster," replied the Collector. "I sense that in this language, 'monster' connotes a being of inferiority and savagery. However, I am evolutionarily far beyond your primitive kind."

"A mere monster dares to lord over us?" said Gunther.

The Collector sensed heightened aggression. It stretched out its claws.

"Quiet, Gunther, you bumbling oaf," said Dale. "My apologies, good…creature," he said to the Collector. "We only wish to know why you are here. You see, we were tasked with exterminating the goblins in this very den."

"They are gone. I have consumed all of them," said the Collector.

"The hobgoblin too?" asked Dale.

"The larger variant of the species too."

"Then we have no quarrel with you, good creature," said Dale. "We are merely curious as to where you are going from here."

"A settlement of your kind due south of here."

Gunther grasped his spear in both hands. "Enough! We are adventurers. We slay monsters, not parlay with them. This beast has made its intentions clear. It wishes to lay waste to a village. What more must we hear!?"

"Gunther, wait, you impulsive fool!" shouted Dale, but it was too late.

Gunther roared as he sprinted, thrusting the spear outwards to the Collector's stomach.

The Collector did not react. It had assessed the tensile durability of the weapon and determined it held zero threat. An object of mere wood and soft metal would do nothing. The spear thumped on the Collector's hardened carapace, sliding off of it and screeching out sparks.

Gunther cried out in surprise as he slipped forwards. He had not expected the spear to simply slide off the Collector's armor and his reckless forward momentum, so abruptly halted, ruined his balance.

Strangely, the Collector had miscalculated. The strength of the spear and its sharpness were a good bit beyond what its material qualities would suggest, managing to carve out a small chunk in its carapace.

Odd. But no matter.

The Collector grabbed Gunther's helmeted head in its hand. At two and a half meters of raw muscle, the Collector's hand was large enough to wrap around Gunther's helmet and keep it in a vice-like grip.

The Collector raised Gunther off the ground with ease. The human flailed, kicking uselessly at the Collector.

"Bea! Spell! Cast a spell!" shouted Dale.

Bea hastily aimed her staff the Collector and began chanting.

Too late.

The Collector crushed Gunther's helmet like a tin can, turning the soft head within into complete mush. Blood and brains flowed from its fingertips, dripping on the grass. It tossed Gunther's limp body aside.

It would have liked to question this human, but its aggression proved to be too much.

The other humans, however, seemed more open to negotiation.

The Collector began walking forwards with slow steps.

"Let loose the sparks of chaos. [Fireball]!" shouted Bea as she pointed the stick at the Collector. Sparks whirled around the tip of the stick for a second before coalescing into a ball of fire that ejected forwards.

The Collector stuck out its arm and blocked the fireball. It exploded violently, bursting out a torrent of thick flame that momentarily blotted out the Collector's figure in an orange blaze.

"Fuck!" shouted Dale. He pointed at Gunther's body, still twitching, and said to Bea, "Bea, heal him! Quick!"

Bea bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes. "I…you know I can't heal something like that."

Dale roared in rage, stomping the ground. "Gods above," he said. "This was supposed to be easy. A quest for goblins, they said. Those fucking villagers."

"What was that?" said the Collector as it emerged from the pillar of flame burning behind it. Fires licked its whole body, but they were growing smaller by the moment, unable to burn a single inch of the Collector's durable form. "You, female human, how did you generate this fire? The explosive force? I do not see a flamethrower on you, nor any combustion engine to speak of, no hum or electrical charge of machinery.

And the language you spoke just now. That language, is that not the tongue of the humans in the United Front?

Tell me, how do you know of it?"

It began walking towards the female.

Dale stepped in, sword drawn. "No, you don't, you damned monster."

"You tinkering species are so unpredictable. First, you extend me pleasantries, and just seconds later, you are pure aggression. Did you not see that your fellow human attacked me first? I allow you to strike me not only to show your weakness, but to show that it is in defense that I strike back." The Collector waved the human male away impatiently. "Move. I have no use for you, and your biomass will provide me little. I must question the female."

"Over my bloody corpse," said Dale through gritted teeth.

"If that is what you desire. First, the hobgoblin, and now you. Why is it that you simplistic tinkerers wish so strongly for death? Did your evolutionary foray into higher order thinking erase your basic survival instincts?"

Dale rushed into the Collector, aiming up and slashing at the Collector's head.

The Collector's antennae twitched as it sensed the attack almost before it happened, the sensitive hairs knowing how each and every single one of the human's muscles were twitching and how they would propel, calculating the exact trajectory and arc of its swing.

It tilted its head back ever so slightly and caught the blade between its mandibles.

Dale heaved as he tried to get his blade back, but the Collector's grip was too tight. The Collector exerted force in its mandibles and split the blade into two with a sharp crack of metal.

"You are useless. Not a threat nor are you open to giving me any information." The Collector spit the blade from its mandibles and swiped at the male's head, slicing it into five neat chunks.

One of the chunks still held Dale's eyes, still screwed in an angry expression as it landed onto the ground with a bloody squelch.

Had these humans fought the Collector when it was at its previous metamorphosis level, then they would have defeated it. They were actually surprisingly fast and strong, more so than their simple musculatures and builds would indicate, but not to the point they challenged the Collector.

They would not even have individually been able to beat Draug, though as a group, they certainly could have, especially with the fire creating capabilities of the female specimen.

But now, to the Collector, having consumed and far surpassed Draug, they were weak.

Nothing but creatures that the Collector would either ask or beat information out from, whichever was more efficient.

"Now, for my questions," said the Collector as it stepped over the male corpse, towards the female.

Bea pointed her staff at the Collector again. "[Fireball]!"

Another fireball emerged, hitting the Collector straight on. Once more, the Collector walked past the blazing inferno, now much closer to the female.

"Do not run, human," said the Collector. "Your leg muscles are weak. Your adrenaline will pass, and then the buildup of waste chemicals from anaerobic respiration will slow you to a halt.

My musculature, on the other hand, produces no chemicals that hinder its movement – its ultrafibers possess an efficiency that has been honed through genetic advancements sourced from countless species far stronger, faster, and better than you.

Any attempt at escape will only prolong your suffering."

The Collector was now right in front of the female, towering over her. It was almost twice her size.

She shivered in fright.

"Tell me, human," said the Collector. "Was it 'magic' you utilized just now?"

The female dropped her staff and clutched at a pendant around her neck. "I will never give up the secrets of the Order, beast," she said weakly.

The Collector bent over, its mandibles grazing her soft, yielding neck. She was pale with fright and shaking so hard her teeth could be heard chattering.

"I am merely asking for information. You tinkering species value sharing information, no?"

"I pledge myself to the Order, and so shall order come to be. I pledge myself against chaos, and so shall order come to be. I pledge myself to the realms of life, and so shall order come to be."

"What are you saying, human?" said the Collector. "These words, they mean nothing to me. Explain."

"I pledge myself to the Order…" said Bea, her eyes wild with fear. She chanted out the one thing that gave some small measure of comfort to her fear-riddled mind: the oath she had taken to join the Order of Sorcerers.

The Collector stopped her, grasping its index and thumb fingers around her neck. "Your pulse is dangerously high. Your vitals are out of control. You are in shock, babbling nonsense. It will take for too long to question information out of you. I do not have time for this.

Perhaps I should re-assess how I approach your kind for information. But for now-,"

The Collector crushed her neck and tossed her away, by the corpses of her two companions to line them up for easier consumption.

"Consumption will do."