Spanning more than 90 years of art from across the globe, this collection of short stories celebrates the fictional character in all its horrors, from the oil monster of FernGully to the demon kings of Blue Exorcist's Gehenna. Beginning with the bla...
WARNING: body horror, death, undeath, blood, hospitalisation, reality warping, mentions of religious concepts, psychological manipulation, toxic mindset.
A.N. - יחי האספן!
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A golden throne reached halfway to the ceiling, and bordering it on either side were bowls of fire that stood upon thin stems made from metal. The fire was extinguished and then relit with blue flames, casting a warm glow across the green rug stretching from the foot of the throne to the doors.
The doors to the throne room were made of hand-carved wood taken from the forests of the Boiling Isles and were taller than any living witch. Opening the doors took as much effort as heaving a large rock, yet the Collector burst into the room with the ease of blowing a feather.
Despite never sleeping, the Collector dressed in the type of roomy jumpsuit and nightcap that someone who intended to stay in bed would wear.
Beads of sweat trickled down your face at how fast the Collector was carrying you through the air, your legs dangling above a floor that was approaching far too quickly for your old bones to catch. "Nay, nay! I'm not as spry as I used to be!"
The Collector slowed their descent with a groan of disappointment, but they kept their hands near you until you found your footing.
You stumbled forth with a lame leg on your right side and a cane in your left hand. The butt of the cane hit the floor at the same time as your foot, helping you amble to the throne. Your right leg clumsily landed beside the armrest, which you leaned against to stop and breathe for a moment.
"Buddy!" shouted a high-pitched voice with forced sincerity, and the dark-furred shape of something resembling a canine emerged from behind the throne. "I just had, like, the best idea. What if we had eight people hiding instead of just us three?"
As the Collector flew to hug the owner of the voice, your brain filled with static. The words exchanged between the two of them were hard to understand and seemed to be missing all meaning. The painful flutters in your chest returned, and by the time you deciphered one word, you had forgotten the rest.
After a few moments of staring into space, you shook yourself free of the mental mud and noticed someone was tugging at the bottom half of your clothes.
It was King, a bipedal, dog-like creature with an exposed skull for a head. Atop his head was a pair of long, straight horns, the left of which bore a sizeable crack at the middle.
He barely reached your hips, but you did not need to look far to see how his clawed paw was motioning to the doors. "I'll be back-uh, lickety-split!" King swung his arm forward in mock cheer, glancing at the Collector every other second to confirm that they had not gotten closer or were suspecting anything.
The Collector applauded the news with claps and laughter as they spun in a full circle.
King was gone for so long that you kept forgetting and then remembering that he existed and was supposed to be coming back, although the truth was, you did not know how much time had passed.
