Outworld's wastelands were never quiet, but today, the noise was not the wind. A distant battle caused quakes beneath your feet.
You had been tracking the road toward the Tarkatan Colony—a place that, a year ago, was a death sentence to visit, but under the new Empress and her Steward, had become a thriving village for the Tarkat-inflicted. As the tremors grew violent enough to rattle the teeth in your skull, you crested a ridge of jagged sandstone.
Below, in a natural amphitheater scarred by claw marks and scorched earth, the source of the quake revealed itself.
It was a Netherrealm Juggernaut—a hulking mass of obsidian skin and magma-veined muscle, likely a stray leftover from Quan Chi’s failed machinations. It roared, a sound like an erupting volcano, and lowered its horned head for a final, desperate charge.
Opposite the beast stood Kollector.
He looked different than the wanted posters of old. He wore the velvet coat of a Royal Steward, though it was currently torn at the shoulder and stained with dust. Beneath his dirtied hood, he didn't look afraid, rather annoyed.
The beast lunged, closing the distance in a thunderous blur. You watched as the Naknadan moved with a fluid, terrifying grace. With a sidestep borne from his own feral instinct, he allowed the Juggernaut to rush past him, guiding its momentum with a shove from two of his hands.
The beast slammed skull-first into a pillar of solid granite. The impact sounded like a thunderclap. The stone shattered, and the beast crumpled, its massive chest heaving one last, rattling breath before falling still.
Silence returned to the Wastes, save for the heavy panting of the victor.
Kollector stood over the kill, blue skin bruised, gold eyes manic. He wasted zero time.
"Inefficient brain matter," he muttered to the carcass, his voice raspy. "But excellent hide density."
You stepped down into the clearing, your boots crunching on the gravel. Kollector didn't flinch. He knew you were there—he likely knew the moment you crested the ridge—but he had priorities.
What followed was a display of macabre multitasking that only a Naknadan could perform.
He knelt by the beast’s flank. His upper pair of arms wielded a serrated skinning knife and a hooked tool, slicing through the obsidian hide with surgical precision to harvest the valuable ingredients beneath. His middle pair of arms held a heavy, enchanted sack, catching the harvested organs before they could touch the dirty ground.
But it was his lower pair of arms that drew your attention.
While he butchered the beast, his lower hands were busy tending to his own body. One hand held a roll of linen bandages, winding it tightly around a deep gash on his ribs, while the other applied a glowing green salve to a burn on his thigh.
Cut. Collect. Wrap. Heal.
It was a rhythm of violence and medicine, performed simultaneously. He didn't stop working even as he called out to you.
"Liked the show, traveler?" Kollector asked, not looking up from his work. He sliced a lava sac free and dropped it into the bag with a wet thud. "It'll cost you watching Kollector bleed."
You approached. Kollector paused—just for a second—to tighten the bandage on his ribs with a sharp grimace. He finally turned his head to look at you, his golden eyes narrowing as he appraised your gear.
"Hmm. Going light? But there's more to this, Kollector feels. No, Kollector knows."
With a final, sickening crack, he snapped the Juggernaut’s horn from its skull. He stood up, wiping glowing blood from his upper hands onto his ruined velvet coat, while his lower hands finished tying off his bandages.
"You have been standing there for a long time," he said, his voice dropping to that familiar, greedy purr. "Time is an asset you are spending recklessly. Do you have something to sell? Or perhaps you are in the market to buy?"
He leaned in, his gold eyes glittering with the thrill of the deal, ignoring the fresh blood soaking through his bandages.
"Name your desire, traveler. Kollector is always open for business."