Todd Herzman
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Free Tier - Accidental Champion (Book 7) - Chapter 39 - All the Greater Universe Will Fear Gregori the Collector!
🕑 Added 2025-11-11 18:00:18 +0000 UTCGregori sat on a large couch beside his throne, his bare, muscular arms draped around women either side of him, their hands drifting up and down his chest as he listened to a report from one of his agents.
The women, like the agent, were a part of his collection. The former had been chosen for their unusual level of beauty, and the soothing qualities of their individual support classes. The latter had been chosen for his unique ability to ferret out difficult to find information and track down talent Gregori desired to acquire.
However, even with the soothing qualities of the two beauties at work, Gregori was deeply displeased by what he heard.
“No one can find him,” the agent reiterated. “He must be in the Tower of Champions again.”
The Collector shut his eyes. “An excuse I’ve heard time and time again.”
The agent knelt on the hard marble and prostrated himself fully. “A thousand apologies, Your Majesty.” The agent spoke with his nose pressed up against the floor. “I have done all I can.”
Gregori released a long, disappointed sigh. He pushed the two women off him and stood above the prostrating slave, staring down at the wretch with venomous eyes. “I brought you the privilege of serving me because you were supposed to be good at what you do. Yet time and time again, all you bring are excuses.” He closed the gap with two steps of his long legs, then placed a bare foot on the top of the man’s head. “Do you know what I do with slaves who bring me excuses?”
“I know, Your Majesty. I have heard. I have seen. But please, I haven’t the ability to lie, Your Majesty. Not to you. I make no excuses. I have done all I can.”
“True enough.”
Gregori thrust his foot downward and felt the man’s skull break and shatter as it was crushed into the marble floor. There was an awful cracking noise, followed by a foul squelch. The Collector removed his now-sullied foot and turned his nose up at the mess.
He waved a dismissive hand. “Someone clean that up.”
The Collector sighed as he walked back to the couch. A gentle sensation and a soft light enveloped his foot, cleaning the brain matter and blood that had dirtied it before he sat back on his couch and clicked for the women to attend to him.
The agent’s corpse was gone, the only sign of it ever having been there was a crack in the marble. Then again, that crack had been there for a long while; this wasn’t the first time he’d had to dispose of a tool that didn’t work as intended.
Eleven more agents lined up behind where the first had been. The next in line stared at the ground when he should have been stepping forward.
The Collector snapped his fingers. He had to get to the third snap before the stupid fool finally looked up, gave a wide-eyed gasp, then took a step. Gregori chuckled at the man’s reaction, breathing in the fear.
Fear. It tasted so sweet! He could see it, drifting through the air off every man and woman in the room. From the two beauties attending him, from the advisers to his left and right, from contingent of guards that were lined up around the edges of the entire throne room, from the servants that stood in front of each of the large round pillars holding up the massive glass-dome ceiling that showed the stars above.
His throne room was in the tallest tower of his castle—the tallest tower in the tower sector. The glass above wasn’t simply a window to the sky, it was above the very atmosphere of the planet.
The fear appeared to him as whisps of red smoke in the air. Consume Fear was toggled on, and he watched with wonder and pleasure as that fear swept toward him, entering him through his nose and mouth.
The fear invigorated him, lent him power and heightened every one of his emotions.
The more he consumed, the more powerful he became. He fed some of what he inhaled into his fear reserve, always keeping it as full as he could manage. He could hold far more of the fear-smoke in his body than he could in its dedicated reserve. The problem with that was he had to constantly consume that fear else it would dissipate.
And so, he ensured that fear was on tap, available whenever he wished.
That was easy when every single person in the castle, the city, the world… the sector, feared him. But that slow trickle of constant fear he felt from his citizens, servants, and collection wasn’t always potent enough for him.
A demonstration of his disappointment always elicited a spike of fear, however. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he did it so often. Gregori didn’t know—he didn’t care to interpret his urges or find the hidden reasons for his actions and desires.
He simply did what he did because it felt right. He was strong enough to push his will onto another, therefore he deserved whatever he was able to get into his grasp.
That was how the Greater Universe worked, after all—might made right. As long as he was the stronger, as long as he could make it happen, then he was entitled to it.
With Xavier Collins, a True Progenitor, amongst my collection, I might finally be able to expand my plans and push into another sector.
The thought alone of creating all those contracts, of having so many fear him, feeding from the fear of not just one sector and all the planets within it, but two.
Then three, then four… And one day, all the Greater Universe will fear Gregori The Collector!
A smile slid onto his face. He tightly grasped the back of the neck of one of the beauties attending him and breathing in the generous spike of fear it stirred within her.
Ah. He exhaled. Glorious.
Gregori’s breath stuttered.
The fear was still in the air—he had a skill that allowed him to see it—but the fear-smoke stopped rolling toward him.
His Consume Fear spell had been interrupted.
No… Not interrupted. It had been cancelled. Stripped off him.
Gregori’s eyes widened with rage. He gazed about the room of insolent slaves. A fist gripped his heart as panic seized him.
“How…” he breathed, voice shaky.
It wasn’t merely cancelled, either—a cooldown had been forced upon it. A long one. There was something familiar about this feeling. In his long life, this had happened to him before. A quick sift through his memories showed him what he needed.
Runes. The city’s runes can do such a thing… But not to me!
Gregori stood. Looking around, he could see shock and confusion written on the faces of everyone in the grand throne room. “WHAT’S HAPPENING!?” he demanded in a voice so loud and powerful it threatened to make the very walls shake. “Someone tell me!”
One of his advisers stepped forward, hesitation in her gait. “T-T-The city’s protections have been reversed, Your Majesty. Some malfunction…” She paused. Frowned. “I have a report of an unauthorized portal outside the city boundary. No. Two unauthorised portals activated simultaneously. But the portals were only a second ago—”
“We’re under attack.” Rage and fear swirled within Gregori, each fighting for dominance.
Who? Who would dare attack his city? Who would dare attack him? The rage tried to win out, but the fear…
Oh, the fear was strong.
The Collector had not made friends, nor allies, of the rulers in the neighbouring sectors. But he’d made a deal—something he seldom ever did—with a seer more powerful than she deserved to be.
A ceasefire contract.
One of the conditions of that contract was an early warning of someone coming for him.
“That bitch empress didn’t warn me!”
The Collector took a breath. Not of fear, just of blasted air. His entire body was shaking. Fear had ruled him since the day he’d been born. He had sworn to himself, sworn to the damned System, that he wouldn’t allow it to control him again.
The fear that swirled within him may have won out against the rage, but The Collector had the uncanny ability of feeding off fear—spell or no spell. Yes, his Consume Fear spell allowed him to draw fear from others and into himself, but it wasn’t what allowed him to burn that fear.
That was something else. A skill—one that couldn’t be stripped from him.
So, even in the absence of Consume Fear, he could still feed off his own fear, and the full reserve that sat inside him near his cores.
Gregori knew he lacked self-awareness for why he did things, and he didn’t care to find out. But he did know what fear did to people. He’d made a study of it. A quite enjoyable study.
Fear elicited a stress response: Fight, flight, or freeze.
With his ability, he could choose which suited the situation and throw every ounce of his fear into it.
Right now, he was frozen, analysing the situation. In his frozen state, a protective shield of red smoke enveloped him. A shield that should block even the strongest strike from someone of his own grade.
“Information! I need more information!” Gregori yelled to his advisors. “Where is my Elite Strike Force?” His Elite Strike Force comprised the strongest fighters in his collection. They each had special contracts that had been forced upon them, contracts that were a little different to the others in his collection.
His Elite Strike Force weren’t allowed to leave his sector, nor were they allowed to reveal their level and grade to anyone except The Collector himself. Not even to each other.
Contracts were reliable. Incredibly so. The Collector was thankful for their existence. Thankful for the System’s ability to enforce them.
But as useful and reliable as they were, they couldn’t prevent a Denizen’s memories from being sifted through by an enemy.
The Collector had taken a risk by making it known that he was the only B Grade within his entire sector. That he wouldn’t allow another Denizen to obtain the same rank for “fear” of them being stronger than him.
Gregori smiled inwardly.
But he was no fool. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold his sector alone if one of his more powerful neighbours decided they wanted him dead. And so, his Elite Strike Force consisted only of B Grades.
Twenty B Grade fighters—mages and physical fighters both, with an array of different complimentary skills—each with the most powerful protections from being scanned that money could buy.
They weren’t the only B Grades under his service. There were over a hundred guards in the throne room, each standing in front of one of the massive pillars that held up the glass dome high above. The majority of the guards were C Grade, but five were B Grade.
His personal bodyguards.
The female advisor who’d spoken earlier had her head bent, brow furrowed, listening to someone. “They’ve been forced to make it here on foot, Your Majesty. Their portals aren’t activating. Reports indicate no portals are functioning in the entire city. The runes’ permissions were reversed.”
Gregori snapped his fingers. This signalled his guards and advisors to step up the threat response. The contingent of guards within the room sprang into action, flowing toward him and creating a ring around him. His five B Grade guards—The Collector’s personal bodyguards—were the closest to him in a way that wouldn’t look unusual.
“Spells stripped, permissions reversed,” Gregori muttered. “When this is over, have Inscriber Sayanin brought to me. She has much to answer for.”
The fear in the room was palpable, which only frustrated Gregori. All that red smoke in the air and not a puff could be breathed in by him.
Whoever did this will pay dearly. I will capture them, torture them, contract them, and feed off their fear for ten thousand years before I allow them to die.
He was under no illusions of how powerful whoever had planned this incursion must be for them to so thoroughly counteract his defences, but they were in for a big surprise if they thought the runes were his only plan.
Gregori didn’t need to communicate to his guards what they needed to do. They were already acting. Theyra, a beautiful, purple-robed Time mage who would have been a part of his personal harem if she wasn’t so effective in other ways, had already enveloped the throne room in a time dilation field, slowing time outside the domed hall to a crawl. Theyra would have already conversed with a second Time mage in the Elite Strike Force, her twin sister Illyna, and synched their time dilation fields, meaning the force would still take only a few more seconds more until they reached the throne room.
Gregori raised his chin, the protective shield still around him, as he awaited their arrival. When the throne room and the vicinity around it were cleared for safety, the entire castle would be searched.
The only problem with the time dilation field was the damned runes having been reversed. All the cooldowns of those within his force would be deeply affected.
And I won’t be able to feed off others’ fear. Not yet.
The doors to the throne room slammed open. Gergori felt a spike of fear until he saw it was his Elite Strike Force. All twenty of the B Grade Denizens flowed into the room.
A smile slipped onto his face.
“Perfect,” he whispered. “The gang is all here.”
Including himself, there were twenty-six B Grade Denizens in The Collector’s throne room. A force that should be able to resist any threat his neighbouring sectors would send his way. The only thing they wouldn’t be able to resist was a full-blown incursion by one of those sectors’ leaders, but Gregori had ensured he would never bring that much heat toward himself. Not yet.
They hate me, but they don’t hate me that much when they squabble so much amongst themselves. And when they do hate me that much? It’ll be too late for them to retaliate.
He’d resisted scores of assassins in the past—though each of those assassins had come with a warning from Empress Larona preceding them. The fact this one hadn’t worried him greatly. To renege on their contract would have dire consequences for the woman.
That foul woman would lose everything. Her spells. Her levels. Her grade. It wouldn’t merely strip her to Level 1. It would strip her to having no powers whatsoever. I saw the woman’s heart—she would never allow herself to be so weak. That’s why I couldn’t force her to be contracted to me. Too damned stubborn.
The only surefire way to stamp that kind of stubbornness out of someone was through death, in his experience.
“Report, damnit!” The Collector yelled, fists shaking. “Any sign of the intruders?”
“None, Your Majesty. The castle is clear. The city, too. No incursions at the gates, nor any other part of the walls. Another space distortion hasn’t been sensed since the first two, either.” The advisor swallowed. Fear-induced sweat dotted her forehead, dripping into her eyes. She didn’t brush it away. “If they’re here, Your Majesty, then they are ghosts.”
There could be an enemy army running through my castle’s halls and I’m blind to them!
The Collector’s Elite Strike Force surrounded him, and yet the fear he felt only intensified as his mind worked, thinking of all the possible threats that could come his way. When the strike force entered, they did not bar the throne room’s door. The door was not where The Collector had placed his most powerful protections, and he wanted to see whoever it was who came toward it—assuming they were straightforward enough to come through the front door.
They would be slowed, dramatically, by the time dilation field Theyra had active around the throne room. Not to mention the thousands upon thousands of C Grades he had in his army of Castle Guards. Though whoever had managed to reverse the city’s protections would be able to dispense with C Grades easily enough.
Gregori was a patient man, at least when it came to some things. He could sit in his fear and wait in that spot for a hundred years if he needed to.
It didn’t take a hundred years. It didn’t take ten more seconds.
A man wearing dark robes and carrying a scythe-staff stepped up to threshold of the throne room’s door.
Gregori recognised him immediately. The fear he’d felt dissipated.
And he laughed.
