Three crimson streaks sped through the darkness of space, glittering with stardust and galactic debris. Those three crimson streaks were members of the Red Lantern Corps – Razer, Laira, and Skallox. Before their leader seemingly abandoned the Corps, Atrocitus gave these three a very specific mission: To find the Qwardian Weaponer, a man by the name of Ojo.

Of course, he may not even exist. He may just be a legend. Neither Razer nor Laira had ever even heard of the man before, but Skallox had. The lanky, horse-faced alien had proved remarkably useful since his dip into the Blood Ocean – between his knowledge of intergalactic rumor and his connections to the cosmic criminal underworld, he could get information that other Reds could only dream of collecting, even with the most deviant of tortures. Skallox simply knew where to look, and it was because of him (and a few space pirates still recovering from their wounds) that the trio was now traveling to the distant planet of Tamaran.

"Why are we going here, again?" Laira questioned, using her ring to communicate with the other two as they cruised through space at many times past the speed of light. "Tamaran has no history of being associated with any Lantern Corps – why would Ojo be here?"

Skallox glanced down at his ring, sending a telepathic answer through it. "Maybe for exactly that reason. Besides, I never said that Ojo was here – this is just my first lead on him. I'm hoping we can get some kind of clue as to his whereabouts. Tamaran has strict anti-extradition policies however, so for those rich enough to get protection from their people... well, they can be hard to uproot."

"We're not here to extradite anyone," Razer chimed in, his ring glowing as it transmitted the message. "Whether or not we call ourselves a Corps, we're not a real government or a real military. If we find Ojo here, we'll take him. The tamaraneans can't stop us from doing so."

"Aren't you underestimating the tamaraneans? I heard tale that one of them serves as a hero on earth. They're quite strong," Laira said.

Razer narrowed his eyes, speeding up. "Dex-Starr has recently been proving that earth's heroes and villains aren't as impressive as they make them out to be."

Finally, the large gray planet – dotted with slim maroon landmasses and shrouded in a canopy of dense clouds – began to come into view. Tamaran. The place where they'd find the Weaponer and get all of this over with. Razer couldn't help but hope beyond hope that once they found Ojo and brought him back, that Atrocitus would return and he could abandon this charade of being the team's leader.

Laira had told him of what Atros had said shortly before Skallox had returned from his interrogations and the three had left. Atrocitus had left him in charge, the youngest of the Corps... but why? It seemed so unlike him. While the High Lord had treated Razer with respect, perhaps more than he deserved, he was never the type to give responsibility where it wasn't due. He chose the best soldier for the job – that was why Ratchet was the one governing Veon, that was why Zilius took the most vile and brutal jobs, and that was why Skallox did the interrogations and intel gathering.

And that was why Razer shouldn't have been leader. He didn't care enough about the other members of the Corps to govern them, he wasn't outspoken enough to lead them, he wasn't strong enough to force them to respect him. So why had he been chosen?

The three lanterns entered orbit, sifting down through the clouds and using their rings to locate the nearest city, speeding there. Each lantern in turn dropped to their feet down in a large, populated sprawl, Razer obliged to spearhead the trio with Laira and Skallox behind and to the sides of him. He was the leader. He was the face of the Red Lanterns. The responsibility gnawed at him, but not as badly as the question of why.

Tamaranean citizens – well-built, orange-skinned, content-looking people – scattered aside as the scarlet coronas around the three lanterns simmered down to a faint glow. "I come on behalf of the Red Lantern Corps," Razer stated firmly, then inhaled. "I wish to speak with your leader."

There were some brief nods, and mumbles in an alien language. Razer's ring struggled to translate (a newer function of the rings that Ratchet had been tinkering with, it still wasn't perfect), but translating mumbles into mumbles didn't turn into much. The word "Blackfire" was something he kept hearing.

"Your leader," Razer hissed. "Take me to him."

"Her," one man said, a tall, burly man with a thick crimson beard. "You seek Princess Komand'r. I will take you to her."

"Princess-Commander?" Laira chirped inquisitively. "They have cool titles on this planet."

The tamaranean man paused. "Komand'r is our leader's name. You would do well to show her respect."

Razer remained silent, unsure whether to threaten the man or try to be polite. What kind of message did he want to send, as a leader of the Red Lantern Corps? Did we want to send a message of fear or wrath? Were they butchers, madmen? Were the red lanterns what everyone thought they were? Should they be?

"...Thank you," he finally said, earning himself a foul look from Skallox. Oh well. No do-overs. Not with this job. Razer wondered how long he'd survive in this position – in fact, he seriously doubted that he'd live through the first night back on Ysmault. Not if Bleez was there.

The tamaranean man led the trio through the city with heavy footfalls. The terrain was bizarre and the architecture only slightly less so, but Laira for one found it pleasant. Not so oppressively verdant as Havania or Odym, it seemed like a relaxed place, designed for comfort and contentment, not to stun with magnificence. There was something to be said for that.

As the three lanterns approached the tall, rounded, pale gold palace in the center of the city, a massive pair of double doors opened to reveal the monarch of Tamaran; a tall, orange-skinned woman with malicious eyes and swirling hair the color of burning coal. "I am Princess Komand'r," the woman said with an imperious voice as smooth as silk. "You, intruders, may call me Blackfire."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

This was a place of Geometry. Planets aligned, connected. Runes. Angles. It was a system, an artificial planetary construct. But what was its purpose? And most importantly, why was Atrocitus here? This was not the place his scrying had shown him.

"I speak to the guardian of this place," Atros boomed out, his words more a command than a statement. "Show yourself to me, and answer the High Lord of the Red Lantern Corps."

He waited, crimson energy rushing, pulsing through his alien veins. He took a few steps through the high, white, empty, sterile city of this planetoid. Everything was carved with intricate markings, everything looked like it had come out of a box and been pieced together, yet nothing looked like it had ever been used. Where was he? Why had he never heard of this place? Only one thing stood out, and those were the statues. They were everywhere, depicting a massive, armored figure–

Atros stopped in place, standing in front of one of the statues. It was taller than him, its stone eyes seeming to glare at him, judge him. "I know your face," the ryutan growled. "Appear before me... Invictus."

There was a rumble, a sort of buzz or vibration in the air, and the statue began to glow. There was a beam of light, briefly blinding, and the statue's eyes opened. Gone was the stone visage, and in its place, the massive, armored figure of Invictus, as angelic in appearance as Atros was demonic.

"You speak my name as if you know me, insect," Invictus intoned. "Yet I know you not from the other lantern-wielders who disrupt my rest."

"You are such an ancient creature, Invictus," Atros almost purred. "Who has not heard of your majesty, for you are so old that galaxies have been born and died since your birth so many eons ago."

"I am ancient, red creature," Invictus boomed out, straightening his posture even further. "Do you seek to flatter me?"

"Only to inform you that, despite your ageless wisdom, there is one who is older. One who is more ancient."

Invictus's eyes widened.

"...Atrocitus."

The armored figure took a step back, the golden glow around him growing more intense. "How dare you come to this place, demon?"

"It was not my intention. I seek he who is called Malvolio. Yet my portal was interfered with. It brought me here. Your system of artificial planetoids has... trapped me."

"I care not for your trials, demon. You may not stay here. Now, I banish you – your lesser Lanterns could not harm me, and not even the The Beast, the Agent of Orange, was my equal. You are nothing to me."

Atrocitus narrowed his eyes. This creature's arrogance may end up being its undoing. Atros was willing to simply find a way to leave – but insults would not be tolerated. "You would compare my might to the fool Larfleeze. I, Atrocitus, who has lived for billions upon billions of years. I, Atrocitus, who destroyed the Manhunters. I, who forged the Red Battery with my bare hands. You would dare to invoke my infinite rage?"

"Do not tempt me to be your undoing, demon," Invictus said, cold-faced as ever. The enormous titan's halo-like crown began to rotate and shimmer with incandescence, and the massive golden disc cut into the armor's chest grew equally more vibrant. "This is The Orrery. This is my domain, Atrocitus."

"I have no fear of you." A trickle of red plasma began to ooze from between Atros's thick fangs, streaming down his broad chin. "Perhaps my portal sending me here will be advantageous. One obstacle out of the way... and one false Archangel dead."

Invictus set his jaw and extended one hand, an enormous, ornate battleaxe appearing within it. "Then it is to be a duel between demon and angel. Give my regards to the Guardians."

"There is no afterlife that could contain us both," Atros snarled, lifting himself off of his heavy feet and hovering, facing Invictus eye-to-eye. "I will be sure to tell Malvolio that you were an unworthy guardian."

The clash when the two hit one another was devastation incarnate. Half of the planetoid they stood upon was reduced to rubble upon their impact. Blinding golden light swallowed thick splatters of crimson gore, only to be devoured and burned away by the Rage Energy in an ever-eddying cosmic blast of color and destruction, of pure power. Invictus slashed his enormous axe from side to side, the golden disc in his core sizzling with his "divine" power, only to have the blast captured by a vitriolic cage of red light. A twist of the construct and Invictus was thrown off balance, soaring through the empty, sterile air briefly before catching himself and turning in mid-air.

"You cannot win, demon!" Invictus roared, unleashing a column-sized beam of light from his core as he soared closer on massive angelic wings. Another swing of his axe followed, then another, then another, then another.

The beam staggered Atros, causing him to stumble before throwing out a flurry of vaguely anvil-shaped constructs, battering the axe-strikes from side to side before thudding into Invictus himself, causing the angel to stagger back as Atros had. "You underestimate me, as the Guardians did."

There was another clash as the two titans met in close combat. What appeared to be hardlight armor now encased the ryutan, mimicking the archangel's own visage as Atros rained blow after blow down, a few strikes blocked with the flat side of the axe but several hitting home. The barrage ended as soon as it began; a sideslash ripping across Atrocitus's stomach and sending him soaring backward, clutching the wound. It burned with the red energy replacing his blood, sizzled and steamed. Hardlight staples from Atros's ring closed the wound, and the red-skinned alien retorted with a blast from his fanged mouth, cosmic bile spewing forth and splattering across Invictus, tarnishing his armor.

"Raaaargh!" the divine creature roared out, cinders burning their way past his armor and even burning his face. It was then that he vanished, reappearing in the form of another statue from a nearby planetoid, charging with his axe once more, wings beating hard behind him. His wounds were healed, or they seemed to be. Even his armor seemed fresh. "Give up, Atrocitus! I defeated Larfleeze! I've crushed lanterns of all colors! You are nothing new to me, just more of the same!"

"Then why I smell fear in you?" Atrocitus growled, firing forth a a whirling tornado of red blades from his ring. "If you were fighting with your rage, I would taste it. Yet I sense no anger... I sense self-preservation. You fight because you fear I will win. Your fears are correct."

Another blast from Invictus's core shattered and dispersed the hail of blades, and the archangel followed by tossing his axe forward, only to have it caught in Atros's open palm, then tossed aside. "Fight me like a man, Invictus."

Atros smiled as he sensed the a disturbance in the "angel" – rage, finally, it was there. Frustration and anger. It was delicious. His ring pulsed, drinking in the energy, causing the ryutan's veins to glow with power. One gauntleted fist slammed into Atrocitus, causing him to stagger back one step, but he had rooted himself for the second blow and pivoted his weight, his clawed hands tilting and pivoting Invictus along with him, redirecting the entity's momentum and sending it crashing into the demolished, runed ground beneath them. With his free hand, Atros tightly gripped the burning halo around the angel's head, the energy burning his hand. He ignored the pain, let it fuel him – pain is power to a Red Lantern.

With a roar and a gush of plasma, Atros yanked back, tearing the halo free and tossing it aside to the sounds of an agonized scream from Invictus. "You can regenerate your body, Invictus, select a new one from your host of effigies," Atrocitus grinned that vile grin, a rough backhand sending the injured archangel flying backward. "But what of the energy that fuels you?"

Invictus let loose another blast, weaker than the others, but it caught Atros unawares, hitting him directly in the chest where his heart used to be. The red creature seethed with pain, but reached out with his mind, drinking deeply from Invictus's anger and terror. One massive hand grasped the angel by its head, claws puncturing the helmet and digging in. "How much can you heal from?!" he bellowed, stuffing his free hand directly into that golden, glowing disc and reaching up. The red lantern's fierce yellow eyes stared into those of Invictus as the latter was violated, snarling with fury and contentment at the look of horror, the look of vulnerability, the sense of finality.

He ripped his hand backward, his fist now containing a globe of white light the size of small boulder. Invictus trembled, his armor beginning to sink in on itself, starting to collapse. "You... cannot..." the archangel rasped.

"I have," Atrocitus answered, sinking his claws into the globe and piercing it. Blinding beams of light shrieked free from it, illuminating the blackness of space. Invictus gasped out, a sickly coughing gasp, the type of gasp that was so very clearly someone's last.

The globe exploded in a blazing, all-consuming vacuum that seemed infinite in size and brightness, consuming the Orrery and sending Atrocitus flying backwards through its endless white hunger, searing his skin, boiling the energy in his veins and causing even the High Lord to roar out in agony. As he streaked through the whiteness, one solitary smear of scarlet light, Atros's claws tore themselves through reality, tore through the whiteness, corroded through the cataclysm itself until it had formed a portal of his own creation.

Atrocitus slipped through, swallowed into the void he had created. Where it led... even he did not know.