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It hurts.
Hunter knew the draining spell was going to be bad, but this—this is unlike anything he’s ever had to endure before. His right arm simultaneously feels numb and like it’s on fire, glowing cracks spiderwebbing across his skin and still climbing steadily higher. His collarbone begins to burn, and his breathing comes in short, uneven gasps. It crawls up his cheek, and he’s beginning to lose feeling in the side of his face. His vision swims as Belos charges toward them, and he flinches back into Willow’s chest as his uncle raises a claw, and—
The hit never comes. The five of them slowly look up, and—and Hunter doesn’t know who that is. Or—or maybe he does. His arm hurts. Titan.
The newcomer is talking, and Belos—monstrous as he is—looks… afraid. A sick satisfaction worms its way into Hunter’s gut. Guilt crawls up his spine. The child—the star-creature—the Collector. They twirl their finger and Belos is tossed around like a doll. Hunter’s heart jumps into his throat. He can’t hear.
The Collector flicks a finger.
Belos goes flying. He smashes into the wall, sticky black-green-brown viscera splashing down the stone, and Hunter sees Luz and Amity duck out of the corner of his eye, and Willow dodges right, Gus dodges left, and he tries to move, he really does, but he can’t feel his leg, and—and—
Blood and gore and dead-bug-paste-esque fluid splashes across his face. He can’t breathe. Everyone is staring at him.
Belos’ remains are staining his face.
Hunter gags. Slaps a gloved, bloody hand over his mouth and regrets it. He lurches forward, and hands come to steady him, and everything is on fire and burning and Belos’ lifeblood is staining his shirt and that was his uncle. That was his family.
Everyone tries to appease the Collector. All Hunter can do is choke on a sob.
The world begins to split apart, and Hunter hardly realizes he’s being dragged. The glowing is gone—they stopped the spell, then, good, hopefully the pain stops soon, and—and he recovers enough to take the charge, to throw himself at the door and swing it open.
They’re knocked through, and Hunter goes down hard. He lands in the mud on his hands and knees, thick brown muck staining his already-Belos-stained gloves.
(This time, he pukes.)