The Five Evolution

『"This was only going to end one way."』

The Collector crashed through another spatial barrier and hit the floor, cracking it. He rolled once and pushed himself upright, white cloak hanging in scorched strips around his shoulders.

One sleeve had burned away entirely, exposing skin covered in fresh bruises and electrical burns. Crystalline debris drifted through the zero-gravity void around them.

Yuri landed a moment later, draconic wings unfurling behind her as she skidded across the surface to a stop. "He’s one tough bastard," she growled.

A streak of blue lightning descended beside her and resolved into Director Konstantin Mikhail. "Don’t let up."

They stood on opposite sides of the Collector, their breathing heavy, their three orange bars blazing with spent energy.

Konstantin made the first move, launching himself forward.

This time, the Collector didn’t raise Dragon Fang to meet him. "I will not be making that error again."

He sidestepped the axe, cloak snapping like a flag in a hurricane and slashed with his dagger in the same motion, aiming for Mikhail’s exposed side.

The Director grinned. One of his axes had left his hand, spinning through the air in a cyclone of electricity.

Before the Collector’s blade could connect, Mikhail vanished in a burst of sparks, and his slash cut through empty space.

The Collector’s eyes widened as Mikhail reappeared beside his airborne weapon and caught it one-handed by the haft. "Storm Cleaver: Thunder step." He brought the axe down with a roar.

Dragon Fang came up in a desperate block, but the impact still drove the Collector’s boots through the floor, spiderweb cracks radiating outward from his heels.

Lightning exploded outward like the last time, and the Collector’s jaw tightened, gritting his teeth as arcs of electricity raced through his body.

Yuri did not wait for him to recover. She crossed the distance in a blur, her fist cocked back.

The punch that followed crashed into the Collector’s ribs, sending him skidding backward and carving twin trenches across the floor.

"Don’t let up!" Konstantin repeated and threw his axe. It spun toward the Collector like a lightning disc, dragging a storm behind it.

The Apostle dodged, leaning slightly to the right as it passed by him.

A mistake.

Sparks bloomed where Mikhail had been, and he appeared behind him, catching the weapon in the same motion and sent arcs of lightning into the Collector’s back.

Boom!

The Collector dropped to one knee, the stun effect slowing his movements. When he raised his head, Yuri was already closing in for the kill, her wings half-manifested, her claws extended.

This time, the Apostle changed tactics. Dragon Fang vanished, and in its place appeared a silver stopwatch. He clicked it open, and a sphere of absolute stillness expanded outward.

Time had stopped.

The lightning of Konstantin paused mid-arc, becoming a sculpture of frozen voltage. The Director hung suspended mid-teleport, sparks crystallized around him. And Yuri—

Yuri hung mere inches from the Collector’s face, her fist arrested in its forward momentum, her expression frozen in predatory triumph.

The Collector exhaled, slowly, and began to rise. He had ten seconds. He would deal with Konstantin first, then—

Yuri’s wings exploded out. They erupted with such violence that the temporal stasis around her shattered as a shockwave of raw, unfiltered power rippled outward.

The Collector had time for one thought—oi, oi, you’ve got to be kidding me—before her fist, still traveling on its original trajectory, slammed into his guard.

He caught her wrist. Barely. His reflexes, honed over decades saved him from a bruised face, or at most, a shattered jaw. But the force of the blow still drove him backward.

And in a flash of tactical brilliance—or desperation—he pivoted, using her own momentum against her. He swung her like a discus, hurling her directly at Konstantin, who still hung frozen in the time field.

Yuri collided into Konstantin, and both Directors tumbled across the floor as the temporal stasis finally released its hold on him.

The Collector did not hesitate. Stop-watch vanished, replaced by a ring of blue-white ice on his finger. He then swept his arm in a wide arc, and the temperature plummeted.

A glacier erupted from the floor, rising like an avalanche in reverse as its crystalline mass swallowed up Yuri before she could get back up.

The ice was not merely frozen water—it was absolute zero given form, a prison where molecular motion itself ceased to exist.

Within the glacier, Yuri’s slit orange eyes burned with volcanic rage. Her scales strained against the ice. Her wings beat uselessly against the frozen tomb. But she was trapped. Frozen solid.

"Perhaps that will hold you," the Collector said, flexing his fingers against the chill. Then he shifted his attention to Konstantin.

The Director had risen to his feet, blood running from a cut on his scalp, both axes sparking. Yet, the Collector’s expression remained calm. "Sorry if I kept you waiting," he said.

Konstantin charged at him, and the Collector’s ring disappeared, replaced by a compass.

Just before Konstantin swung, the needle on the compass spun, and his axe missed.

Konstantin’s eyes widened, and he swung again, a horizontal cut from the right axe. Again, the blade distorted, veering wildly off course, missing by feet rather than inches.

He attacked with both weapons simultaneously, a scissoring strike that should have been inescapable. Yet, the axe passed harmlessly on either side of the Collector’s body.

With each spin of the compass’ needle, the Director’s attack bent away at impossible angles and kept missing.

Konstantin took a leap backward and his eyes narrowed. "No, not space distortion." He spat out blood. "Something else."

"In that case..." He roared and slammed both axes together. A wave of lightning detonated outward in every direction. But even that curved away, spiralling harmlessly around the Collector.

From the resulting cloud of smoke, a fist emerged, ramming into the jaw of Konstantin. "As much as I enjoy hearing the sound of my voice... and I do—" he punched him again. "—this sounds better."

He cocked his hand back and slammed it into Konstantin’s face again. Once. Twice. A third time, each blow, devastating.

The Director’s head snapped back as blood sprayed from split lips and a broken nose. Yet Konstantin laughed. It was a wet, bubbling sound, blood flecking his teeth, but it was defiant.

"The Institute does not negotiate with—"

The Collector landed another punch, and Konstantin’s words dissolved into a grunt of pain.

The Collector hit him again. And again. Each strike drove the Director closer to unconsciousness, but Konstantin refused to fall.

His knees buckled, and his axes clattered to the floor, dissolving. His eyes were swollen and blood was everywhere. Still, he tried to rise.

The final blow caught him square in the face, and Konstantin’s eyes rolled back as he collapsed, body going limp.

The Collector stood over him for a moment, chest heaving, his once-pristine gloves soaked in blood. His hair was disheveled now, strands falling across his forehead.

"What a bloody mess." He punched the unconscious Director one more time, almost as an afterthought, and his knuckles came away red.

"I admire your spirit, Director," the Collector said almost kindly, running his hand through his hair. "But this was never going to end well for you."

As he dusted off the remains of his ruined cloak, tears in the fabric revealed four bars at the back of his neck. Then he turned his head, the sound of running footsteps drawing his attention.

Seconds after, Amara burst into the pocket dimension with her blade drawn. Her eyes immediately took in the scene of devastation, and horror dawned across her face.

Up ahead, Yuri was frozen in a glacier of blue ice. On the floor, Director Mikhail was unconscious, blood everywhere. And at the center of it all was the Collector.

Amara’s jaw clenched as she raised her blade, planting one foot firmly in front of the other.

"Perfect timing," the Collector said.

***

Director Arthur Blue sat cross-legged on the floor, his chin resting on his hand. "See? This is exactly why I hate meetings." He sighed.

His glasses-wearing guard stood beside him, arms folded tightly as she looked toward the fighting.

Around him, another spatial barrier shattered. His gaze tracked the destruction for a second before he looked at his guard. "Let’s relocate."

She frowned. "Director?"

He gestured lazily toward the infinite expanse around them. "Each pocket dimension is effectively infinite, Thalia. No reason to stand where the punches are landing."

His expression remained frustratingly calm. "Distance is free. We should use it."

Thalia pushed up her glasses. "Shouldn’t we assist the others?"

Arthur shrugged. "If I jump into this without understanding their abilities, I’ll just become another hostage." His eyes narrowed. "If things truly get out of hand, I can always close the distance."

***

Bodies littered the War Room. Some groaned, and some didn’t move at all. Director Okoye knelt near one of those bodies as her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps.

One hand was pressed against a wound in her side, while the other still clutched onto her slowly dematerializing spear in a death-grip.

Michael Trevor stood behind her, his massive blade rested in his hand. Its tip was angled toward her back, and after a moment, he brought it down.

Just before the killing strike connected, a translucent shield appeared between Director Okoye and the blade. The shield shattered, but it had served its purpose of protection.

"Hm." Michael turned, and his eyes settled on Ethan.

Raj stepped forward beside Ethan, cracking his knuckles. "You wouldn’t mind if I put the beating on your brother right?"

Ethan’s eyes stayed locked on Michael. "Be my guest," he said without turning to face Raj.

Raj grinned. "Let’s fuck shit up." He charged.

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