The van rolled through the underworld streets, humming low and steady. Neon streaks bled across the windows, reflections of signs and symbols that didn't exist up on the surface. The ride didn't take long, and soon the van slowed before a towering structure that glowed like a heartbeat in the dark.

The Crimson Star.

From the outside, it looked like a cathedral reimagined through the lens of sin and excess. A tall arch of blackstone carved with glowing red veins, wide steps leading up to doors that breathed light with every opening. The faint pulse of bass throbbed in the air, not music exactly, but something primal that tugged at instincts.

The doors opened, and heat, scent, and sound spilled out all at once. Inside, the Crimson Star was nothing like the auction hall's rigid elegance. Here, masks were gone. Power bared itself openly. Faces revealed, expressions sharp with hunger, greed, lust, and pride. Gold and scarlet lights bathed the interior, shadows pooling in corners where whispers meant more than money.

The floor was alive with bodies—creatures from across galaxies and races brushing against each other, talking, laughing, plotting. The bar stretched like a molten river, stocked with glowing bottles and drones.

Above, balconies curled along the walls, private booths shielded by shimmering curtains where secrets could be bought or traded. Dancers moved on stages.

Jason stepped out first, smirking at the sight. "Now this… this feels like home."

Lyra wrinkled her nose. "Looks more like a den of trouble."

Angel's gaze scanned the crowd, calm but calculating. "That's exactly what it is. And that's why you need to stay sharp. Nobody wears masks here, so you'll see them as they really are."

Viola tilted her head, eyes catching on the movement of cloaked figures exchanging glowing slips by the bar. "Looks like masks weren't hiding much anyway."

Xavier stood at the entrance a moment longer, taking it in. The auction had been a show of wealth. This was something different—wealth and power stripped bare, where everyone was a wolf and the weak were prey.

"Hmph. Better than I expected."

A crimson-lit hostess approached, bowing slightly. Her eyes lingered on Xavier longer than the others. "Your private table has been prepared, sir. Follow me."

They were led deeper into the belly of the Crimson Star, the crowd parting just enough to let them through, whispers trailing behind as the underworld's eyes tracked every step.

The group followed the hostess through the crowded floor, but Xavier slowed his pace, his eyes moving across the Crimson Star like a predator sizing up a new hunting ground. Here, there was no auctioneer's voice to keep the crowd in order—just raw noise, laughter, sharp whispers, and the occasional shout that cut through the bass-heavy air.

They passed by clusters of guests who had shed their masks along with their restraint. A hulking, four-armed beast of a man leaned against the bar, his tusks dripping with drink as two half-dressed alien courtesans clung to his shoulders.

A group of finely dressed nobles from some intergalactic council sat in a corner booth, their jeweled fingers moving quickly over glowing tablets, likely brokering deals worth entire empires. A demon woman with molten eyes danced lazily on a table, fire flickering from her fingertips as her patrons laughed too hard to realize they were already burned.

Jason leaned back as he walked, hands stuffed into his pockets, smirking. "Quite the guest list tonight. Looks like every rat with too much money and too little shame crawled out for this one."

Lyra's nose wrinkled as a cloaked figure shuffled past them, the stench of chemicals and blood trailing in his wake. "Smells worse than a den of corpses. And people actually come here for fun?"

"Fun," Viola murmured, her tone laced with curiosity as her gaze slid over a trio of masked twins who had taken theirs off only to reveal identical faces covered in glowing tattoos. "Depends on how you define it."

Xavier didn't respond at first. His mind was elsewhere, eyes scanning for something specific. The fragment. Or more accurately, the man who took it from him. His jaw tightened as he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Angel to catch. "I wonder if Victor's here."

Angel's eyes flicked toward him, sharp and steady. "He will be. He bought and sold the most tonight, Xavier. This is his playground as much as the auction hall. You'll see him."

Xavier hummed low in his throat, a note of impatience cutting through. He didn't doubt her, but the thought of Victor somewhere in this den of wolves set his blood simmering.

As they moved deeper in, the crowd seemed to shift, attention drifting subtly toward them. Whispers started, not loud enough to hear, but Xavier felt the weight of eyes. Not just curiosity. Recognition. Respect. Envy. And in some cases, open hostility.

Their hostess finally gestured toward a balcony level above the main floor. "Your private booth is waiting. From there, you can watch the party without interruption."

But Xavier's eyes lingered one last time on the crowd below, certain that somewhere among them, Victor was watching too.

Xavier's eyes swept across the floor again as they followed the hostess toward the upper level. The crowd blurred—faces, races, glittering clothes, drunken laughter—until one group stood out like a blade in the dark.

Victor.

He was easy to spot, not because of his build or height, but because of his iconic VICTOR chain and of the gravity around him. A small circle of men and women lounged at his table like satellites, their expensive clothes and jeweled trinkets flaunting more wealth than most empires. Bottles glowed like liquid stars on the table, and in front of him sat two women draped across his lap as if they were accessories instead of people.

Victor leaned back in his seat, draped in a wine-colored suit that shimmered faintly under the Crimson Star's lights. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes—cold, mocking—locked on Xavier the moment their gazes crossed.

And then he smirked.

The kind of smirk that wasn't just arrogance but ownership. Like he already knew he had something Xavier wanted and was daring him to try and take it.

Slowly, deliberately, Victor raised his glass toward Xavier in a mocking toast, tilting it before spilling some onto the floor like it wasn't even worth drinking. The people at his table laughed.

Xavier's jaw tightened, but before he could even look away, Victor raised his hand and tapped two fingers against his lips before flicking them outward—an obscene gesture meant to mock, meant to provoke. His entourage roared with laughter.

And then again, as if once wasn't enough, Victor pointed at Xavier, dragged his thumb across his throat, and leaned close to whisper something into the ear of the woman on his lap. She laughed, too loud, her eyes glancing Xavier's way with the kind of cruel amusement that made his blood heat.

Victor wasn't done. He mouthed something slowly, deliberately. Even through the noise of the party, Xavier could read it clear. "Mine."

Angel, catching Xavier's silence, followed his gaze and saw Victor's performance. Her lips pressed tight, her hand brushing against Xavier's arm. "Don't. Not here. He wants you to bite. And if you do, you'll be chewing glass."

Jason chuckled under his breath, clearly enjoying the tension. "Looks like your new friend's got a talent for getting under skin. Almost entertaining."

Lyra just scowled. "I don't like his face. Can I claw it off later?"

Xavier's smirk came slow, dark, and dangerous. He didn't answer Lyra, but his eyes stayed on Victor until the hostess gestured toward their booth. Only then did he look away, the smirk still carved on his lips.

Victor had made his move. And Xavier wasn't about to forget it.

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