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His breath catches in his throat.
I have to protect them! I’m the only one who can!
The Collector does their best to ignore the painful titan-magic influenced rot on his arms. It tore and ate through stardust like it was nothing.
It was the first time he’d ever had to think about the concept of mortality.
About what would happen if the rot fully consumed him.
His small star platform blazes through the air. His powerful magic was rendered useless in the presence of the rot, leaving him forced to use his raw strength.
Tears welled in his eyes as he bites down on his lip with fanged teeth. His physical form was having trouble keeping itself stable.
He watches in horror as the Titan skull shakes, and then lifts slightly as Belos lets out an angry cry.
The Archives were going to fall and crash!
The starchild sped up his platform, darting straight for the center.
From his hands and arms shot out powerful magical ribbons that lassoed around the ridges of the Archives.
They heard yelps of surprise as the descent was abruptly stopped. They have half a mind to shoot down a small, uneasy smile to Luz’s friends.
Wordless, it was a statement of ‘do what you need to do, you’re safe in my hands.’
It was terribly ironic to them—had it been hours before, they would have been turned right back into puppets. But here he was now, their literal guardian angel.
For now, he had to focus.
The Archives were unbearably heavy, and despite his unlimited natural strength as an angelic entity, his energy was swiftly being sapped by the rot that continued to spread.
The Collector’s ruby-red irises gleamed with pain, tears spiking the corners of his eyes.
He had to stay strong. This was his fault after all.
The battle raged around him. He saw flashes of ancient titan magic from both sides. He hadn’t seen anything like this since the war. That did not make them feel better.
The ribbons strained with the weight of the Archives, some starting to break.
His physical form briefly flickers. The rot had climbed from his hands all the way to his shoulders.
The space god releases a cry of strain and agony. It was unbearable now.
He had no flesh or bone, but it was almost simulated for him in an extra effort to cause pain. Of course Phillip would do this to him.
More of his ribbons snapped.
He couldn’t do it.
Not like this.
A thunderbolt of pure agony struck through him as the rot began to decay his torso.
His gaze grew glassy as the battle continued to rage behind him. He had five ribbons left.
His teeth grit so hard he was sure one of his canines cracked. The floating star was losing power beneath him.
He had only one option left.
The starchild took a deep breath.
And he let go.
…
For a moment, the Hexsquad cried out as the Archives suddenly lost their support.
But only for a moment.
A mortifying, gut wrenching battle cry exploded from outside, alongside strange, foreign noises that sounded like piano notes and windchimes.
The Archives steadied once more.
Through the window, they saw it.
It was still The Collector, but so much different.
Above the archives, two powerful sets of wings beat the air.
Hunter recognized him—he held a drastically similar appearance to his shadow form; tangible this time. His body was slightly transparent and deep purple, almost black–exactly as you’d expect from the night sky. Where legs should have been instead formed a sleek, faded tail like a ghost.
The rot was still quickly consuming him. When they first felt relieved upon seeing him in this powerful form, they soon realized it wasn’t about strength. It was a last ditch effort to ensure their safety.
The Collector couldn’t do this for much longer.
His pained cries were in a language undecipherable by any mortal being. The rogue star platform whisked away and slammed into the side of the Archives, lodging into solid stone.
And then the shaking slowly moved to a stop.
Luz must have won.
He could feel his night black wings stop beating the moment he set the Archives down safely. The rot growing on him slowly began to recede, but not without more excruciating pain.
All of his energy was depleted, and he plummeted fast, giving up completely.
He was prepared for the crash, but something had intercepted him.
A soft voice was talking to him. His eyes couldn’t make out her face, but he saw pinkish colored hair. He was flying, but not of his own volition.
Amity had caught him on her staff. She didn't need to fly for long, taking him straight back to the Archives.
They still had no idea why The Collector had a change of heart, but he’d exhausted himself into accepting his fate—all to ensure their safety. Having an open mind was the least they could do.
The pink-haired witch delicately sets the star child down. He was in rough shape.
“How do we help you?” Camila gently crouched beside him, her maternal instincts overwhelming her, despite The Collector’s nigh incomprehensible form.
Their only responses came in strange chimes and notes as he panted on the cold floor like an exhausted dog.
Their white sclera was dull and his solid black pupil was wide with pain.
Camila and Amity stayed by the child’s side like guardians. Through every painful twitch and cry, they were there to hold their hand and gently run a hand over their head. Amity realized his whole body was covered in tiny, sleek feathers. Gently, she ruffled them a little bit. “You’ll be okay,” Her voice was gentle and soothing.
What had he just done? He’d nearly risked his existence for a couple of spiders.
Why? Why did he do that?
The question was answered by his own overwhelming guilt.
He owed them.
He can’t comprehend why these spiders were so worried about him. He would be fine eventually, even if he couldn't physically move right now.
Even so, they leaned into the comforting gestures.
To Amity’s surprise, the angelic entity leans into her hand, vocalizing what she could only describe as a purr. Instead of the linear sound a cat would release, this was more melodic. His natural language sounded like a series of wind chimes.
The pain that overwhelmed him slowly eased as his form naturally regenerated its energy.
His tail made an experimental flick, and he slowly began to rise off the ground, wings still limp at his sides. At his full height, he was just slightly taller than them.
Once he was up, his singular white eye blinked open. Despite his 2D appearance, he looked tired and ancient. He was still young and naive, but that eye carried the weight of millions of years of wisdom.
They were looking the history in the eye.
And still, he manages a small smile, wings managing to rise once again.
And then, he glows. His form becomes briefly uncharted and unrecognizable—an amalgamation of wings and light that gave them all headaches.
Slowly the light receded, and there was that familiar form of the star child, half moon face, white hair and star pajamas.
He floats down to the ground and gives them a small nod. His red eyes gleamed with a new resolve.
It was time to stop Belos and save the Isles—once and for all.
He lifts off the ground, magic returning to him, and he flies off like a shooting star.
He hears a sudden clap of thunder from above and lowers his altitude, aiming for the old castle.
It was in shambles—destroyed by Belos’s rampage.
In the epicenter of the destruction was Luz, Raine, King and Eda, all standing around a wriggling mass of green sludge, melting in the boiling rain.
He lands delicately behind them, ruby red eyes now gleaming.
“You’ll be just as evil, just as conniving, and just as insufferable as those witches!”
The cold, familiar voice makes them stiffen, but they don’t freeze.
Instead, they’re filled with fury. Though, their face does not show this. Their expression was purely neutral, flat, emotionless.
They stop just shy of brushing their arm against Luz, staring down at the blue eyes of the man who’d held him hostage for hundreds of years.
The melting man shifts his attention to the new figure, realizing Luz was not going to change her mind. But The Collector… surely he could reason with him.
“Collector, surely you understand. You’re an angel, one of God’s most powerful children. You understood my goals, that’s why you helped me. These demons are filth!” He crawls closer to them.
The Collector pushes down a furious growl.
Belos had tried to push this narrative onto them for all the hundreds of years that he’d had that deal with them. The Collector was a god of angelic nature, yes. But he was not part of that narrative.
“Please, understand! You are a holy being, Collector.” The man pleads with his melting hands pressed together, as if he were praying to a divine being.
Because he was.
But The Collector’s ruby red eyes only gleam slightly in the boiling rain, form untouched.
“You’re right, Philip.” The white-haired boy says flatly. “I am.”
Belos’s eyes briefly gleam with victory, before they slowly dull again as the Collector’s ruby eyes somehow pierce his very soul.
“But you’ve crossed the line for the last time, and you don’t deserve my benevolence.” The usual childish tone to their voice was dropped completely, replaced with a cold, flat tone.
Within the blink of an eye, his form glowed and morphed, returning to his true form. Galaxies swarmed in his body, making the man feel unfathomably small.
The Collector’s white eye glows with unmatched fury as he states his curse. His voice seems to echo, accompanied by the sound of backwards piano music and wind chimes. “What awaits you in the beyond is a fate worse than agony for your crimes. Each nano-sliver of your soul itself will be woven with the despair and agony of every individual you’ve hurt tenfold for thousands of years to come. As the angelic watcher of this realm, I decree that you shall never feel peace, Philip Wittebane.”
The man was trembling in horror.
The Collector’s wings spread out far, and the boiling thunderstorm is forced to summon a powerful bolt of lightning from the sky above. The lightning crashes down on the man, remaining for a second longer than it should, before it dissipates.
In its wake, nothing was left. Not a single speckle of oobleck was left behind.
The sky clears of its rain, likely summoned by Luz’s titan magic. The Collector’s form slowly morphs back to his casual, preferred one, flats landing on the dirt light as a feather.
It was silent for a moment, before Eda whistled behind them. “Damn, kid. That was brutal.”
Their eyes look behind them, blinking.
Everyone was slack jawed, staring down at the spot where Belos was vaporized.
Eda looked proud, Raine looked impressed, King was hard to read, and Luz was blinking the flash out of her eyes.
Behind them was the rest of the Hexsquad, who were just as surprised by the raw display of godly power.
Luz looks down at him with a smirk. “Did you really curse him for all eternity?”
The Collector just blinks up at her. “No. I just wanted him to think he was before he was brok—died. Before he died.” He fixed his wording immediately, averting his eyes. “I can’t actually do anything with souls. It’s forbidden magic, even for the ancients.”
Eda scoffs and reaches over to ruffle the hat on his head. “Yeah, well, it was still pretty metal, squirt.” They squawked, but didn't pull away.
Everyone’s reunion is suddenly interrupted by Luz… floating?
The Collector’s eyes follow her up and witness the raw Titan magic flow through her body and then flow out, ascending into the air.
Of course, The Monarch’s incredible power couldn’t stay in a human body for long safely.
The magic forms the spirit of the Titan himself.
“Dang, kid. You do have tall genes,” Eda smirks, looking at King, whose eyes glow with pride.
The Titan looks down, and The Collector meets his gaze.
No words were exchanged, there was nothing to be said anymore.
The angelic child only nods firmly. They weren’t sure if they could forgive him, but they would do their best.
And then, in the blink of an eye, his spirit was gone.
A sense of resolve flows through them as they slowly approach King with gentle eyes, holding out their hand.
It was a gesture of peace. Not between them, but between their species.
The last Titan looks up to him with wide eyes, before they soften. He raises a claw and rests it in his palm.
Both smile gently.
The violence between the Titans and Archivists stops here, promoting a new era of peace. Not just for them, but for everyone around them.
The Collector would do their best to right their wrongs.