Green Lantern: First Flight
Chapter 2: The Guardians' Judgment
Thank you all for the amazing response to Chapter 3. Your comments and theories continue to be the highlight of my day when I check my inbox. Let me take a moment to respond to some of your questions and observations.
kingmanaena:Thank you! Really happy you're enjoying the story so far. Having Hal's first encounter with Abin Sur and the ring was such a joy to write, and I can't wait to show you where his journey goes next!
KingInTheNorth27:I appreciate the kind words! The inspiration really comes from my love of these characters and wanting to explore how they'd work in this merged universe. A House of the Dragon fanfic is an interesting idea - I might consider that after completing my current lineup of MDCCU stories.
evolution-500:Thanks for giving Green Lantern a chance even though it's not your usual thing! I wanted to make this story accessible to people who might not be familiar with the Green Lantern mythology while still including enough depth for longtime fans.
.4545:Thanks for the support and all your help with editing!
SunGod499:Thank you! Hope you continue to enjoy where the story goes.:I'm thrilled you're enjoying it! The 2011 movie definitely didn't do justice to the rich mythology of Green Lantern, so I'm glad this story is helping change your perspective on the character and his universe. And yes, with this being a Marvel/DC mix, we'll definitely see species like the Kree, Skrull, and Shi'ar represented in the Corps alongside their traditional alien races. As for the Phoenix Force, that's an interesting connection to make with the emotional spectrum - there are some fascinating parallels there that might be worth exploring down the line.
Aztec 13:Thank you! I've always loved the potential for cosmic worldbuilding that both the Green Lantern Corps and Nova Corps offer. You've got a good eye noticing the Alan Scott connection - Earth's "first" Green Lantern is definitely part of this universe's history, though his power source is a bit different as alluded to in Chapter 2. As for the Blackest Night prophecy, it's definitely a looming threat on the horizon, but I can't say exactly when it might occur in relation to other major universe events (though your "snap" reference has me intrigued by the possibilities)!
Artemuis:Thanks! Hal Jordan is one of my favorites too - there's something compelling about a character whose greatest power is literally his will. The balance of cockiness and courage makes him such a fun character to write.
Guest:The Space Knights will eventually make an appearance, though more as a cameo than major players. They're definitely part of this universe's cosmic landscape!
OMAC001:Thanks for giving the story a chance! I hope you enjoy the other MDCCU stories as well if you check them out.
Guest:Yes, I definitely have plans for both Razer and Aya in this story. They're such compelling characters from the animated series that I think they deserve to be brought into this universe. I can't say exactly when or how they'll appear, but I've got some ideas that I think fans of those characters will appreciate.
Light. Unimaginable light.
Hal Jordan had experienced g-forces that could crush organs, had felt the weightlessness of zero-g maneuvers, had even blacked out during experimental flight tests—but nothing had prepared him for the sensation of being converted to pure energy and hurled across the cosmos.
The journey lasted both an eternity and an instant. Stars blurred past him, entire galaxies compressed into streaks of light, and somewhere between Earth and wherever he was heading, Hal's consciousness expanded. Information flooded his mind—star maps, alien languages, combat protocols, the basic structure of the Corps he was apparently joining—downloaded directly from the ring into his brain in compressed packets of knowledge that would unpack slowly over the coming days.
He was vaguely aware of Abin Sur's body traveling alongside him, encased in the same protective green aura. Then, without warning, the tunnel of light ended, and solid reality crashed back into place.
Hal materialized six feet above a gleaming alabaster platform, the emerald aura of his ring cushioning his fall as he dropped unceremoniously to his knees. His stomach heaved, his inner ear struggled to reorient itself, and for several seconds, all he could do was breathe—deep, desperate gulps of air that smelled of ozone and something distinctly alien, like cinnamon mixed with metal.
His mind felt stretched, as if it had been pulled to the limits of comprehension and snapped back with new capacities. Images and information from the journey still flickered at the edges of his consciousness—fragments of cosmic maps, faces of beings he'd never met but somehow recognized, languages he shouldn't understand but now partially did. The ring had begun its work, altering his perception in subtle ways that would allow him to function in this alien environment.
"First transport's always rough on organics," a melodic, slightly mechanical voice observed nearby. "Especially for species that haven't developed interstellar travel yet."
As the wave of disorientation passed, Hal raised his head and froze, his breath catching in his throat.
He knelt on the edge of a massive circular platform that served as a docking bay for what had to be thousands of beings—some arriving in ships of incomprehensible design, others simply arriving as pulses of green light similar to how he'd traveled. The platform extended outward from a colossal emerald tower that stretched upward further than Hal could see, its surface inscribed with patterns that seemed to shift and move as he watched.
But it was the horizon that stole his ability to speak.
An alien cityscape spread in every direction, defying Earth's understanding of architecture and physics. Crystalline spires twisted in impossible geometries, suspended walkways connected buildings of breathtaking scale, and at the center of it all, elevated on a massive plinth visible from every angle, stood a colossal structure shaped exactly like the lantern emblem on his chest—a power battery large enough to house entire Earth skyscrapers, pulsing with the same emerald energy as his ring.
The scale of it all made Earth's most impressive architectural achievements—the Empire State Building, the Golden Gate Bridge, the Great Wall—seem like children's toys in comparison. This was civilization operating at a level that humankind had only dreamed of in its most ambitious science fiction.
Holographic displays hovered everywhere, projections hundreds of feet tall displaying maps of star systems, alien text scrolling across them, and live feeds from what appeared to be battles or peacekeeping operations across the galaxy. Ships of every imaginable design—and many Hal couldn't begin to comprehend—criss-crossed the sky in orderly patterns, their energy trails forming an ever-shifting lattice above the city.
And the beings... Hal's mind struggled to categorize the diversity before him. Humanoids with skin in every shade imaginable moved alongside entities composed of pure energy, crystalline beings that caught the light in hypnotic patterns, massive insectoid creatures that towered over others, and lifeforms so alien that Hal's brain initially refused to process their appearance.
Among the crowd, he spotted what appeared to be a living cloud of gas contained within a transparent shell, communicating with a being whose body consisted of overlapping metallic plates. Nearby, a group of diminutive blue-skinned aliens with oversized craniums conversed with tall, regal-looking beings whose skin shifted colors with each gesture they made.
Every known species on Earth could fit into a tiny corner of this assembly, Hal realized. The very concept of what constituted "life" had just expanded beyond anything human science had conceived.
"That's about the reaction I expected," the voice continued, now tinged with amusement.
Hal turned toward the speaker and found himself facing a being that resembled a cross between a humanoid and a fish—pinkish-orange skin, a pronounced crest extending from his head, and a distinctly non-human face with large eyes and what appeared to be gills along his neck. Like Hal, he wore a green and black uniform with the lantern emblem, though his was tailored to his alien physiology.
"Welcome to Oa, center of the universe and headquarters of the Green Lantern Corps," the alien said, offering what Hal assumed was their equivalent of a smile. "I am Tomar-Re, Lantern of Sector 2813 and your assigned orientation guide." He tilted his head slightly, studying Hal with curious eyes. "And you are Harold Jordan of Earth, newly appointed Lantern of Sector 2814, successor to Abin Sur."
Hal managed to stand, his test pilot's training kicking in—when faced with the impossible, focus on immediate tasks and save the existential crisis for later. Still, his legs felt wobbly, not just from the disorientation of transport but from the overwhelming reality of where he now stood.
"Hal," he corrected automatically. "Just Hal." His voice sounded strange in his own ears, as though it had gained a subtle harmonic quality since putting on the ring.
He noticed something else unusual too—every word Tomar-Re spoke was perfectly comprehensible, despite his alien anatomy suggesting he shouldn't be capable of human speech patterns. The ring, Hal realized, was translating for him, not just the words but cultural nuances and meanings.
"Just Hal," Tomar-Re repeated, amusement evident in his tone. "Very well." He gestured to Abin Sur's body, which had materialized on a green stretcher beside them. "The Guardians have requested immediate audience with you, but first, honor protocols must be observed for a fallen Lantern."
As if on cue, several other beings in Green Lantern uniforms approached, their rings generating a more elaborate honor guard stretcher that enveloped Abin Sur's body. They nodded respectfully to Hal before departing with Abin Sur's remains.
"Where are they taking him?" Hal asked, watching the procession depart.
"To the Hall of Great Service, where he will lie in state until the memorial ceremony. All fallen Lanterns are honored thus." Tomar-Re placed a hand on Hal's shoulder. "I understand your confusion, Hal Jordan. The ring chooses, but it rarely gives the chosen time to adjust. You are experiencing what every Lantern before you have—the overwhelming transition from a single-planet perspective to a universal one."
Hal looked down at the ring on his finger, still faintly pulsing with energy. "I had plans tonight," he said, absurdly. "Dinner, maybe drinks with friends. And now I'm... here." He gestured expansively at the alien cityscape. "Halfway across the galaxy with a magic ring I don't know how to use, apparently drafted into some kind of interstellar police force I didn't even know existed."
For the first time, Hal noticed his own reflection in a polished surface nearby—a green-tinted crystalline wall that served as both structural support and information display. The uniform the ring had generated covered him from neck to toe, its black and green pattern accentuating his athletic build. The stylized lantern emblem on his chest seemed to pulse with the same rhythm as the distant power battery, and a domino mask covered the upper portion of his face, somehow both concealing his identity and enhancing his features.
He moved closer to the reflective surface, studying this new version of himself with undisguised fascination. The uniform wasn't just clothing—it seemed to be a second skin, responding to his movements with perfect flexibility. The mask, despite covering little more than his eyes and temples, somehow altered his appearance significantly, making him look more imposing, more... heroic.
Hal found himself striking a pose, shoulders back, chin raised, one fist on his hip and the other extended with the ring prominently displayed. Not bad, he thought. Not bad at all.
"Are you quite finished admiring yourself?" Tomar-Re's voice broke through his reverie, tinged with what might have been the alien equivalent of a suppressed chuckle.
Hal turned quickly, feeling heat rise to his face. "Uh, yes. Sorry about that. It's just... different."
"The uniform manifests differently for each Lantern," Tomar-Re explained, beginning to walk again. "It draws from your self-image, cultural context, and unconscious preferences to create an appearance that maximizes your psychological comfort and confidence. Some traditions are maintained, of course—the emblem, the color scheme—but the details are uniquely yours."
"So it's reading my mind?" Hal asked, falling into step beside the alien Lantern, still occasionally glancing at his reflection in the various surfaces they passed.
"In a manner of speaking. The ring forms a symbiotic relationship with its bearer—not telepathy in the conventional sense, but a deep awareness of your thought patterns, emotional states, and physical needs." Tomar-Re gestured to the emblem on his own chest. "It is both tool and partner, constantly adapting to serve you better."
Tomar-Re's features arranged themselves into what Hal interpreted as sympathetic understanding. "It is a lot to process. But the ring chose you for a reason, Hal Jordan. It sensed something in you—the ability to overcome great fear—that is rare in any species."
"That's what it said," Hal admitted. "But I think it made a mistake. I'm not fearless. I've spent my whole life running from fear."
"An interesting interpretation." Tomar-Re began walking, indicating that Hal should follow. "The ring doesn't seek beings without fear, Hal Jordan. Such creatures don't exist, and if they did, they would be dangerous fools. The ring seeks those with the will to face fear, to push through it. From what I've accessed in your species' records, you humans have a saying: 'Courage is not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.'"
The notion struck Hal with unexpected force. Throughout his career as a test pilot, he'd been praised for his apparent fearlessness, his willingness to push boundaries that others wouldn't approach. But Tomar-Re had seen through to a truth he rarely acknowledged even to himself—that every flight was a battle against the terror that had taken root in him the day he watched his father die. Not the absence of fear, but the constant, exhausting effort to master it.
"Before we proceed to the Guardians," Tomar-Re said, interrupting Hal's thoughts, "perhaps a brief demonstration of basic ring functions would be beneficial. The first skill any Lantern must master is flight."
They had reached a section of the platform that extended out over an open area, hundreds of feet above the city below. Hal felt a momentary vertigo as he peered over the edge, seeing layers of Oa's complex architecture stretching down further than seemed possible, as if the city extended all the way to the planet's core.
"Flight is fundamental to a Lantern's duties," Tomar-Re continued. "Your ring generates an energy field that negates gravity and inertia, allowing movement in any direction, at any speed your will can maintain."
"I've flown plenty of aircraft," Hal said, his confidence returning as the conversation moved into familiar territory. "Everything from F-16s to experimental suborbital jets."
"This is... somewhat different," Tomar-Re said with gentle amusement. "You will not be operating a machine. You willbe the flight. Watch."
With no visible effort, Tomar-Re rose from the platform, his body surrounded by a subtle green aura. He ascended twenty feet, then executed a graceful loop before stopping, hovering effortlessly in midair.
"The ring responds to thought and will," he called down. "Visualize your intended movement, focus your will upon it, and the ring makes it reality. Try it."
Hal took a deep breath. Despite his test pilot background—or perhaps because of it—the idea of flying without an aircraft was both exhilarating and terrifying. In a cockpit, he had controls, instruments, the reassuring embrace of a machine designed for flight. This was... naked, exposed, relying solely on a piece of alien technology and his own willpower.
"Focus on the feeling of rising," Tomar-Re instructed. "Imagine yourself lighter than air, free from gravity's pull."
Hal closed his eyes, drawing on his years of experience. He knew what it felt like when an aircraft defied gravity, that moment during takeoff when the wheels left the ground and everything changed. He concentrated on that sensation, willing his body to rise.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then he felt it—a tingling energy spreading from the ring throughout his body, a subtle shift in his perception of weight and balance. When he opened his eyes, he was hovering a few inches above the platform, the green aura of the ring surrounding him in a protective bubble.
"Well done," Tomar-Re encouraged. "Now, rise higher. Remember, you control the speed and direction with your thoughts."
Hal focused again, pushing away the instinctive fear of falling that tried to assert itself. Unlike an aircraft, there were no controls to manipulate, no throttle to adjust—just his will directing the ring's energy. He visualized rising smoothly, and his body responded, ascending until he was level with Tomar-Re.
"I'm... flying," he said, the words feeling inadequate for the sensation. This wasn't like anything he'd experienced in a cockpit. There was no vibration from engines, no resistance from air currents, no interface between him and the sky. Just the pure, elemental feeling of flight.
"Now, movement," Tomar-Re instructed. "Think of a direction, picture yourself moving that way, and will it to happen."
Hal looked out across the vast expanse of Oa's cityscape, the emerald towers and crystalline structures stretching to the horizon. He thought of forward motion, of cutting through the air like an arrow.
His body responded instantly—too instantly. He shot forward with unexpected speed, the sudden acceleration taking him by surprise. For a moment, panic threatened to overwhelm him as he tumbled through the air, his flight path erratic.
"Control comes from focus!" Tomar-Re called, keeping pace easily beside him. "Your will must be precise, directed! Picture exactly how you want to move!"
Hal forced himself to calm down, drawing on his training. When test-flying experimental aircraft, precision was everything—too much input could send the most advanced jet into an unrecoverable spin. This was no different. He visualized himself stabilizing, leveling out, achieving controlled forward flight.
The chaotic tumbling stopped. He found himself gliding smoothly, the city passing beneath him in a panorama of alien beauty. The sensation was incredible—better than any flight he'd ever experienced in an aircraft. Without the constraints of a cockpit, without the constant awareness of mechanical systems that could fail, there was a purity to this experience that made his heart race with exhilaration.
"You're a natural," Tomar-Re observed, flying alongside him with the easy grace of long practice. "Most new recruits take much longer to achieve stability."
"It's amazing," Hal admitted, executing an experimental barrel roll that felt as natural as breathing. "In a jet, there's always something between you and the sky—the aircraft, the controls, the constant calculations and adjustments. This is... pure."
"The ring handles much of the physics," Tomar-Re explained. "Atmosphere, temperature, radiation—the aura protects you from environmental hazards while translating your intentions into motion. With practice, it will become as natural as walking."
As they flew, Hal began to experiment, testing the ring's capabilities and his own control. He climbed higher, until Oa's atmosphere thinned and the blackness of space became visible above them. He dove in sweeping arcs, skimming just above the gleaming spires of the city. He accelerated, feeling the rush of air against his face but none of the crushing g-forces that would have accompanied such speeds in an aircraft.
And for the first time since his father's death, Hal Jordan flew without fear. Without the constant undercurrent of anxiety that had accompanied every flight in his career, every mission, every test. The ring's power erased the boundaries between him and the sky, allowing him to experience flight as he'd always dreamed it could be—pure freedom, untainted by doubt or memory.
"I think," Tomar-Re said after observing Hal's increasingly confident maneuvers, "you have grasped the basics. We should proceed to the Guardians now. They are not known for their patience, especially with new recruits."
Reluctantly, Hal followed Tomar-Re back toward the platform, executing one final loop before landing with surprising grace for a first attempt. The exhilaration of true flight still coursed through him, making even the intimidating prospect of meeting the Guardians seem less daunting.
They walked along a suspended pathway that offered breathtaking views of the city below. Hal noticed patterns to the activity—there seemed to be distinct districts, areas where different species congregated, diplomatic zones where formal meetings occurred, and what appeared to be training facilities where green energy constructs clashed in elaborate exercises.
"Is this an entire planet of Green Lanterns?" Hal asked, trying to process the scale of what he was seeing.
"Oa is the home of the Guardians of the Universe and headquarters of the Corps, but it serves several functions," Tomar-Re explained. "It is a training center for Lanterns, yes, but also a neutral diplomatic ground where intergalactic powers can negotiate. The central sector of the city houses embassies from over six thousand civilizations."
He pointed to a massive crystalline structure where various alien delegations appeared to be engaged in heated debate. "That is the Hall of Reconciliation, where the Kree and Skrull diplomats are currently attempting to negotiate terms to their latest conflict. The war has been ongoing for centuries, with periods of uneasy peace interrupted by renewed aggression. Your sector is fortunately distant from the primary battle zones."
"Wait—there's an actual alien war going on?" Hal asked, momentarily distracted from his own situation by this revelation.
"Several, in fact," Tomar-Re said matter-of-factly. "The Kree-Skrull conflict is perhaps the most notorious due to its longevity and the expansionist tendencies of both empires. More pressing for your sector is the Kree-Nova conflict, which has been escalating in recent years. Your predecessor was coordinating frequently with Nova Centurion Rhomann Dey on containment strategies."
"Abin Sur mentioned a Nova Corps right before he died," Hal recalled. "He said they work alongside the Green Lanterns."
"Indeed. Where we harness willpower through our rings, the Nova Corps channels the Nova Force—a different cosmic energy with complementary capabilities. Each sector has both a Green Lantern and a Nova Centurion assigned to it, working in tandem. Your Nova counterpart will make contact once the Guardians have formally confirmed your appointment."
They had reached a massive gateway inscribed with symbols that seemed to shift as Hal tried to focus on them. Beyond lay a series of ascending platforms leading to what appeared to be the central citadel of Oa—a structure of impossible proportions, its architecture both ancient and advanced beyond human comprehension.
"The Citadel of the Guardians," Tomar-Re announced. "The oldest structure in this section of the universe, built when your world was still cooling from its formation."
Hal stopped walking, the accumulated weight of everything he'd seen and learned in the past hour finally crashing down on him. This was real. He was standing on an alien world, drafted into a cosmic peacekeeping force, about to meet immortal beings who had apparently been guiding the development of the universe since before Earth existed.
"Listen," he said, turning to Tomar-Re. "I'm just a test pilot from Coast City. Yesterday, my biggest worry was being grounded by my boss for pushing an experimental aircraft past its limits. I don't belong here. I can't—"
"The ring disagrees," Tomar-Re interrupted gently. "And in the history of the Corps, no ring has ever chosen incorrectly. It may not be immediately apparent why you were selected, even to you, but there is always a reason." He placed a hand on Hal's shoulder. "Trust in that, if nothing else."
Before Hal could respond, a new figure approached from the direction of the citadel—a massive, hulking alien with distinctly porcine features, tusks protruding from his lower jaw, and shoulders broader than any humans could be. His Green Lantern uniform seemed stretched across his massive frame, and his expression was decidedly unwelcoming.
"So this is the new poozer from Sector 2814?" the behemoth rumbled, circling Hal with evaluating eyes. "Doesn't look like much, Tomar-Re. Even for a human."
"Kilowog, this is Hal Jordan," Tomar-Re said, his tone suggesting this was an expected if not entirely welcome interruption. "Hal, meet Kilowog, drill sergeant for all Corps recruits and Lantern of Sector 674."
"H-hello," Hal managed, instinctively straightening his posture. Something about Kilowog triggered the same response he'd had to drill instructors during his brief military career.
Kilowog snorted, the sound somewhere between dismissive and amused. "Got a lot of work ahead of us with this one. The Guardians are waiting, but once they're done with their evaluation, he's mine." He leaned in close enough that Hal could feel the alien's breath. "Hope you're ready for pain, poozer. Because that's the only way you'll learn to be a proper Lantern."
With that ominous pronouncement, Kilowog stomped away, leaving Hal with a distinct feeling of unease.
"Don't mind him," Tomar-Re said. "Kilowog's teaching methods are... traditional, but effective. He has trained some of our finest Lanterns."
"Great," Hal muttered. "Looking forward to it."
They resumed their approach to the citadel, passing through security protocols that seemed to scan them at levels Hal couldn't comprehend. The interior was even more impressive than the exterior—vast chambers with ceilings that disappeared into darkness above, walls covered in what appeared to be living records of cosmic history, and everywhere, the soft glow of green energy pulsing like a heartbeat.
"The Guardians await in the Chamber of Deliberation," a smaller alien informed them, its body seemingly composed of multiple thin tentacles arranged in a vaguely humanoid shape. "The human is to present himself immediately."
Tomar-Re nodded acknowledgment. "You'll do fine," he assured Hal. "Answer honestly, speak respectfully, and remember—you are here because you belong here, whether you believe it yet or not."
With those final words of encouragement, Tomar-Re gestured toward a massive doorway that slid open at their approach, revealing a circular chamber beyond. Taking a deep breath, Hal stepped forward into what felt suspiciously like judgment.
The Chamber of Deliberation was a perfect circle, its walls lined with twelve elevated platforms arranged like hours on a clock. On each platform stood a small, blue-skinned humanoid—male and female in appearance, though Hal suspected such distinctions might be meaningless to them. They wore red robes with the same lantern symbol, and their oversized heads and ancient eyes gave them an appearance of both wisdom and alienation from mortal concerns.
In the center of the chamber was a single platform bathed in green light, clearly where Hal was meant to stand. As he stepped onto it, he felt his ring respond, the green aura around him intensifying slightly, as if the very architecture of Oa was attuned to the power the Guardians had created.
"Harold Jordan of Earth," one of the Guardians spoke, the voice neither male nor female but carrying an authority that seemed to resonate on a subatomic level. "You stand before the Guardians of the Universe, creators of the Green Lantern Corps and custodians of order since the dawn of time."
Hal straightened, falling back on the formal posture of military review. "I'm here because of this," he said, holding up his hand with the ring. "Though I'm still not entirely clear on why it chose me."
A murmur rippled through the assembled Guardians, several exchanging glances that suggested Hal's directness was unusual in these chambers.
"I am Appa Ali Apsa," the Guardian who had first spoken identified himself. "Unlike many who stand before us, you address the Council with unusual candor."
The Guardian with white streaks in her hair nodded. "I am Sayd. The ring selects based on qualities that are not always apparent to conventional analysis. However, the selection of a human is... unprecedented. Your species has only recently achieved rudimentary spaceflight. Your civilizations still war among themselves over resources and ideologies. You have not yet unified your planet, let alone demonstrated the capacity for universal perspective."
"With respect," Hal replied, trying to keep his tone neutral, "I don't think the ring cares about my species' achievements. Abin Sur said it looks for individuals who can overcome great fear. That's a personal quality, not a civilization's."
"The human makes a valid point," a third Guardian observed, this one appearing slightly younger than the others. "Nothing in the universe could trick a power ring's selection protocols. If it chose this being, there must be qualities within him that satisfy the fundamental requirements."
"I am Ganthet," he introduced himself with what seemed almost like a smile—a rare expression on a Guardian's face. "And I have long maintained that individual potential often transcends species limitations."
"Ganthet, your perpetual fascination with lesser species clouds your judgment," another Guardian countered. "I am Ranakar. The ring responds to willpower, yes, but also to worthiness. Can a being from a species that has yet to evolve beyond territorial conflict truly understand the responsibilities of wielding a power ring?"
"I'm standing right here," Hal interjected, his patience wearing thin. "And while I don't claim to understand everything about this Corps or these rings, I do know something about responsibility. I've spent my career testing aircraft that push the boundaries of what's possible, knowing that any mistake could cost not just my life but the lives of everyone who would eventually fly those machines."
He held up the ring. "Abin Sur was dying when he gave me this. His last act was to pass on his duty to someone who could continue it. I don't know if I'm worthy by your standards, but I'm not going to dishonor his choice by letting you pretend I'm not here."
The chamber fell silent, the Guardians regarding Hal with expressions ranging from surprise to evaluation to what might have been amusement.
"The human speaks with conviction, if not with proper deference," Appa Ali Apsa finally said. "Before proceeding further, perhaps we should provide some context for our concerns. Harold Jordan, do you understand the place of the Green Lantern Corps in the greater universal order?"
Hal shook his head. "Honestly, until about six hours ago, I didn't know you existed. Abin Sur mentioned a Nova Corps that works alongside the Green Lanterns, but that's all I know."
The Guardians exchanged glances, and a new figure stepped forward. "I am Scar," said a female Guardian whose face bore a distinctive dark mark. "Our history is the history of order in the universe itself. We emerged among the first sentient beings after the universe's creation, on a world called Maltus."
"Approximately ten billion of your Earth years ago," Ranakar continued, "we discovered how to harness the emotional spectrum—the fundamental energies that underpin reality itself. Will, fear, rage, hope, compassion, love, avarice—each emotion connects to cosmic power that can be harnessed by those with sufficient knowledge."
"We chose will," Ganthet explained, "as the most stable, most controllable aspect of the spectrum. From it, we forged the first power rings and the Central Power Battery that fuels them all."
"The Corps was not our first attempt at universal peacekeeping," Sayd admitted, her expression growing somber. "There were... earlier models that proved unsuccessful."
Hal noticed the subtle tension that passed through the chamber at this reference but decided to hold his questions for now.
"The universe requires balance," Appa Ali Apsa said. "Multiple organizations maintain that balance, each with their own jurisdiction and methods."
A holographic display appeared in the center of the chamber, showing what looked like a massive tree with branches extending in all directions.
"The Nova Corps of Xandar," Scar explained as one branch illuminated, "patrols primarily in what you would call the Andromeda Galaxy, though their jurisdiction overlaps with ours in several sectors, including yours. They derive their power from the Nova Force, a cosmic energy controlled by their central intelligence, the Worldmind."
"Nova Prime Irani Rael currently leads them," Ganthet added. "A capable administrator who has been rebuilding their ranks following significant losses in the ongoing Kree conflict."
Another branch of the holographic tree illuminated. "The Shi'ar Imperial Guard serves the Shi'ar Empire, one of the oldest continuous civilizations in the galaxy. Their Majestrix, Lilandra, maintains a treaty with both the Corps and Nova Corps, allowing limited operations within Shi'ar space."
More branches lit up as they continued.
"The Kree Empire maintains the Accuser Corps, though they are less peacekeepers than military enforcers. The Supreme Intelligence, their living supercomputer leader, directs them primarily against Skrull targets."
"The Skrulls had their own intelligence agency, the Dard'van, though since their civil division, Emperor Dorrek's faction has established a new organization committed to peaceful resolution."
"The surviving Kryptonians established the Phantom Zone Prisoners containment protocols, though since Krypton's destruction, oversight has fallen to us."
"The Time Variance Authority monitors temporal infractions from outside conventional space-time, rarely interfering with our operations."
"The Manhunters once served as our primary enforcement arm before the Corps was established," Sayd explained, though Hal noticed several Guardians shifting uncomfortably at this reference.
"And what's the chain of command?" Hal asked, trying to make sense of this cosmic organizational chart. "With all these different groups, who's in charge when there's overlap?"
"A practical question," Ganthet observed approvingly. "The simplest analogy for your understanding might be your Earth law enforcement models. The Green Lantern Corps functions similarly to what you would call federal agents, with broad jurisdiction and authority. The Nova Corps operates more like planetary or regional authorities with specific territorial responsibilities."
Hal nodded, the comparison helping him frame the complex relationships. "So we're the FBI and they're the state police?"
"A crude but not inaccurate comparison," Ranakar said with thinly veiled disdain for the simplification.
"That makes sense," Hal said, warming to the analogy. "My uncle was a cop in Coast City for over twenty years. Used to let me and my brothers play with the sirens in his squad car when we were kids. On the Fourth of July he'd even—"
"The matter at hand, Harold Jordan," Ganthet interrupted, though his eyes held a hint of amusement. "Is your acceptance into this 'federal' agency, as you put it."
"Right. Sorry." Hal composed himself, though he noted that for all their ancient wisdom and cosmic perspective, the Guardians seemed to lack a sense of humor. "So where do I fit into all this? Sector cop? Detective? Bureaucrat?"
"Each Lantern serves according to their abilities," Sayd explained. "Some excel at investigation, others at combat, still others at diplomacy. Your role will become clear as your training progresses."
"Perhaps a demonstration is in order," Appa Ali Apsa suggested. "Harold Jordan, activate your ring and create a simple construct—a shield, perhaps, or a basic weapon."
Hal looked down at the ring, uncertainly. He'd seen Abin Sur use it to create objects from green energy, but had no idea how to do so himself. "I... haven't exactly had time for the instruction manual," he admitted.
"The ring responds to will and imagination," Ganthet explained. "Visualize what you wish to create, focus your will upon it, and the ring will manifest your thought as energy."
Feeling uncomfortably like a student being tested on material he hadn't studied, Hal closed his eyes and focused. What would be a simple yet effective demonstration? He thought immediately of flight—his first love, his profession, his escape. In his mind, he pictured his father's old fighter jet, the F-86 Sabre he'd watched perform at airshows as a child before that fateful day when everything changed.
He could see every detail—the swept wings, the bubble canopy, the sleek fuselage designed for transonic speeds. He focused his will, imagining that aircraft materializing before him.
The ring grew warm on his finger, and he heard soft gasps from around the chamber. Opening his eyes, he found himself staring at a perfect, translucent green replica of the F-86, hovering in the air before him. Every detail was exact, down to the USAF markings and his father's name stenciled beneath the cockpit: CAPT. MARTIN JORDAN.
"Interesting choice," Ganthet observed. "Most new recruits begin with simple geometric shapes or weapons. You chose to recreate a complex machine with personal significance."
The construct wavered slightly as Hal's concentration broke, then stabilized. "It's what I know," he said simply.
"And it reveals much about you," Sayd said, her tone difficult to read. "The construct is impressive in its detail, suggesting strong visualization capabilities, but it also demonstrates an attachment to your world and past that could interfere with your duties as a Lantern."
"Or provide him with unique perspective," Ganthet countered. "The Corps has always benefited from diversity of experience and approach."
"History has shown that emotional attachments can be exploited," Ranakar argued. "The human's obvious connection to his father could—"
Before he could finish, the massive doors to the chamber opened again, admitting a new figure that immediately commanded attention. The alien was humanoid, tall and lean with magenta skin and a precisely trimmed mustache that gave him a distinctly aristocratic appearance. His Green Lantern uniform seemed more elaborate than those Hal had seen so far, with additional ornamentation that suggested rank or special status. But most striking was his bearing—confident to the point of arrogance, with an evaluating gaze that seemed to categorize and judge everything it fell upon.
"Sinestro," Appa Ali Apsa acknowledged. "Your presence was not requested for this evaluation."
"My apologies for the interruption," Sinestro replied, his voice cultured and precise with an accent Hal couldn't place. "But given the unusual circumstances of Abin Sur's death and the selection of his replacement, I felt my input might be valuable." His eyes fixed on Hal, studying him with unsettling intensity. "So, this is the human who now wields my friend's ring."
He approached Hal's platform, circling the floating F-86 construct with evaluating eyes. "Interesting. Complex mechanical visualization, suggesting technical intelligence. Fine detail work indicating attention to precision. And the emotional attachment..." He glanced at the name on the aircraft. "A relative?"
"My father," Hal answered, unsure whether to feel impressed or unnerved by the analysis.
"Hmm. Dead, I presume, given the memorial quality of the construct." Sinestro didn't wait for confirmation before turning back to the Guardians. "The construct shows potential, certainly. More promising than I expected from a species at Earth's development level."
"Thaal Sinestro, your assessment is noted," Sayd said. "However, the evaluation of new recruits follows established protocols. Your personal connection to Abin Sur does not grant you special authority in this matter."
"With respect, Sayd, those protocols were established for situations far less unusual than this one." Sinestro's expression remained composed, but Hal sensed an underlying tension in his posture. "Abin Sur was not merely a fellow Lantern; he was the Corps' most experienced and decorated member, responsible for over two dozen first-contact protocols and the peaceful resolution of the Xydar Conflict. His replacement should be evaluated with extraordinary care."
"The ring has made its choice," Ganthet said firmly. "And as you have often reminded us, Sinestro, the ring does not make mistakes."
A subtle smile curved Sinestro's lips. "Indeed it doesn't. Which is precisely why I am offering to take personal responsibility for the human's training." He turned to face Hal directly. "Abin Sur was my closest friend and mentor. If his ring has chosen you as worthy to continue his legacy, then I will ensure you are prepared for that responsibility."
Murmurs circulated among the Guardians, this offer clearly unexpected. Hal looked between them and Sinestro, sensing undercurrents he didn't understand but recognizing the significance of the moment.
"That would be a departure from standard procedure," Ranakar observed. "New recruits typically train under Kilowog and the instructional division before being assigned to senior Lanterns for field experience."
"These are not typical circumstances," Sinestro countered smoothly. "Sector 2814 is particularly active at present, with both the Nova-Kree conflict spilling into its borders and recent reports of Red Energy signatures. The sector cannot wait months for its new Lantern to complete standard training protocols."
He gestured toward Hal's construct, which was still hovering perfectly formed despite the distraction of the conversation. "The human clearly has natural aptitude. Intensive field training under my guidance will prepare him more efficiently than traditional methods."
The Guardians conferred silently in a manner that suggested some form of telepathic communication. After several moments, Appa Ali Apsa spoke again.
"We will permit this arrangement on a provisional basis. Lantern Sinestro will oversee the primary training of Harold Jordan, with supplementary instruction from Kilowog and Tomar-Re as required. The human will be evaluated again after one full cycle to determine his progress and final assignment."
Sinestro bowed slightly, satisfaction evident in his posture. "A wise decision. I will ensure he honors Abin Sur's legacy."
"Before this evaluation concludes," Hal interjected, earning surprised looks from several Guardians, "I'd like to ask about something Abin Sur mentioned before he died." He hesitated, noting how Sinestro's posture had subtly tensed. "He warned me about 'the Five Inversions' and something called 'the massacre of Sector 666.' He seemed to think it was important I know about this."
The temperature in the chamber seemed to drop several degrees. The Guardians exchanged glances that even Hal could interpret as concerned, while Sinestro's expression became carefully neutral.
"Abin Sur was gravely injured and dying when he encountered you," Appa Ali Apsa said after a moment. "His mental state would have been compromised by trauma and blood loss. The references you mention are to ancient events of no relevance to your duties as a Green Lantern."
"With respect," Hal persisted, "he used his final breaths to tell me about this. It seemed pretty relevant to him."
"Abin Sur had... developed certain preoccupations in his final years," Sinestro said carefully. "He became interested in prophecies and obscure historical events, sometimes at the expense of his primary duties. It was a subject of some concern among those closest to him."
"So these things he mentioned—they're real historical events? Not delusions?" Hal pressed.
"The history of the Corps spans billions of years and countless conflicts," Ganthet responded diplomatically. "What Abin Sur referenced were indeed historical events, but their significance has been greatly overstated in certain quarters. As you settle into your role as a Lantern, you will have access to the Corps archives where all such matters are documented appropriately."
Hal recognized the deflection but decided not to push further for now. Whatever Abin Sur had been warning him about, it clearly made the Guardians uncomfortable—which only increased his curiosity about it.
"This evaluation is concluded," Appa Ali Apsa announced. "Harold Jordan of Earth is provisionally accepted into the Green Lantern Corps as Lantern of Sector 2814, under the direct supervision of Thaal Sinestro of Korugar. Formal induction will follow the memorial service for Abin Sur." The Guardian fixed Hal with an intense gaze. "You have been granted an extraordinary opportunity and responsibility, human. How you honor it will determine not just your future, but potentially that of your species."
With that ominous statement, the green light beneath Hal faded, and the Guardians' platforms began to retract into the chamber walls—a clear dismissal. Hal allowed his F-86 construct to dissolve as Sinestro approached him.
"Your first encounter with the Guardians," Sinestro observed, studying Hal's reaction. "And already asking questions they prefer not to answer. You and I will have much to discuss, Harold Jordan."
"Just Hal," he corrected automatically.
A thin smile curved Sinestro's lips. "Very well, Just Hal. The memorial service for Abin Sur will begin shortly. Follow me—there is much you need to understand before you are formally presented to the Corps."
As they exited the chamber, Hal cast one final glance back at where the Guardians had been, unable to shake the feeling that they had deliberately avoided his questions about Abin Sur's warning. Whatever the "Five Inversions" were, whatever had happened in "Sector 666," it clearly touched on something the Guardians preferred to keep buried.
And that only made him more determined to uncover the truth.
The Hall of Great Service hummed with the multi-tonal harmony of thousands of beings from across the universe, gathered to honor one of their own. Hal stood at the edge of the vast circular chamber, still adjusting to his formal Green Lantern uniform—a perfect fit that had materialized directly from his ring when Sinestro instructed him on the proper mental command.
"Focus on dignity, solemnity, and respect," Sinestro had explained as they prepared for the ceremony. "The ring will translate those intentions into appropriate formal attire."
The command had transformed Hal's standard uniform into something more ceremonial—the black and green patterns more intricate, the emblem more prominent, the overall appearance conveying both respect for tradition and the honor of his new position. The mental transformation had felt strange, like reshaping a part of himself through pure will, but the resulting uniform filled him with a sense of belonging he hadn't expected.
The chamber itself was breathtaking—a massive dome whose interior surface displayed what appeared to be an accurate representation of the entire universe, stars and galaxies slowly rotating in perfect replication of their actual movements. At the center, Abin Sur's body lay in state on a platform of pure emerald energy, his form preserved in death with a dignity that transcended species.
Lanterns arrived continuously, some materializing through emerald portals of energy, others arriving in small ships that docked at the chamber's many access points. Each newcomer approached Abin Sur's body with reverence, some placing small tokens or mementos on an altar that had been erected beside the platform. Hal noticed crystals, small artifacts, written scrolls, and other objects he couldn't identify—tributes from across the galaxy to a fallen hero.
"Over fourteen thousand Lanterns are in attendance," Sinestro informed him, appearing silently at his side. "Many traveled from the furthest reaches of the universe to pay their respects. Abin Sur was... exceptional, even among the Corps' elite."
Hal nodded, taking in the overwhelming diversity of the assembled Lanterns. Some were recognizably humanoid despite unusual coloration or features; others so alien he couldn't begin to comprehend their physiologies. Yet all wore some variation of the Green Lantern uniform, adapted to their specific forms but united by the emblem they bore.
"I count at least eighty-six distinct humanoid variants," Sinestro continued, apparently noting Hal's observation. "The bipedal form evolves independently across the universe with remarkable consistency—a fact that has long fascinated xenobiologists. Roughly sixty percent of sentient species develop some variation of it."
"And the other forty percent?" Hal asked, glancing toward a section of the chamber where what appeared to be sentient clouds of gas hovered alongside crystalline entities and beings composed of pure energy.
"Are considerably more diverse," Sinestro acknowledged. "The Corps values this diversity—different physiologies and perspectives provide tactical advantages in varying situations. Energy beings can exist in environments lethal to organics, crystallines are immune to certain psychic attacks, metamorphs can infiltrate where others cannot, and so forth."
As they spoke, Hal noticed a small commotion near one of the chamber's entrances. A group of Lanterns parted respectfully to allow passage for two figures who were clearly not members of the Corps. The first was a tall, elegant female whose purple skin and regal bearing marked her as clearly related to Abin Sur. Beside her walked a younger female with similar features but a more reserved demeanor, her medical uniform visible beneath a formal Ungaran cloak.
Sinestro's posture changed subtly as he caught sight of the newcomers. The perpetual intensity that seemed to radiate from him softened almost imperceptibly.
"Arin," he said quietly. "And Soranik. They've come." Though his expression remained composed, Hal detected a complex mixture of emotions in Sinestro's voice—pride, concern, and a tenderness that seemed at odds with his otherwise stern demeanor.
Sinestro turned to Hal. "Jordan, remain here for a moment. I must greet my wife and daughter."
He moved with practiced grace through the gathered Lanterns, who parted respectfully before him. Hal watched as Sinestro approached the two Ungaran women, noting how his typically imposing presence gentled as he embraced the elder woman and placed a formal but affectionate kiss on her forehead. The younger woman—Soranik, Hal presumed—stood slightly apart, her posture suggesting a complex relationship with her father.
As Hal observed this family reunion from a distance, a new voice spoke from just behind him—casual, slightly raspy, with an accent he couldn't quite place.
"So you're the new guy, huh? Abin Sur's replacement?"
Hal turned to find himself facing a humanoid male with reddish-pink skin and a somewhat disheveled appearance. Unlike the Green Lanterns surrounding them, this individual wore a blue and gold uniform bearing a star emblem, and a peculiar helmet that seemed to incorporate both protection and communication technology.
"The name's Rhomann Dey," the man continued, extending a hand in a surprisingly Earth-like greeting. "Nova Corps Centurion, Sector 2814. Which I guess makes us partners, more or less." His expression became more serious. "I worked with Abin Sur for over fifteen cycles. Good man. The best, really."
Hal shook the offered hand, struck by how normal the gesture felt amid the overwhelming alienness of the gathering. "Hal Jordan. And yeah, I guess I am the replacement, though I'm still trying to wrap my head around what that means."
Dey's face crinkled into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Don't worry, you've got that 'deer in headlights' look that all new recruits get. Happens to Nova Corps newbies too. One day you're living your normal life, next day you're zipping around the galaxy with a fancy uniform and powers you don't understand." He gestured around the chamber. "Pretty overwhelming, right?"
"That's putting it mildly," Hal admitted, grateful for the Centurion's straightforward manner after the formal, often cryptic interactions he'd had with most Corps members. "Yesterday I was just a test pilot. Today I'm at a funeral for an alien I barely met, surrounded by thousands of other aliens who apparently expect me to fill some pretty big shoes."
Dey nodded sympathetically. "Abin Sur's shoes are about the biggest there are to fill. No pressure, right?" He studied Hal for a moment. "Test pilot, huh? That might come in handy. This job involves a lot of flying through things that most sane beings would fly around."
Before Hal could respond, Dey's expression grew more solemn. "Listen, I wanted to thank you—for finding Abin and bringing him home. Not many Lanterns get that dignity. Too often in this line of work, when someone goes missing, they stay missing. At least his family gets to say goodbye properly."
Hal glanced toward Arin Sur and her daughter, who were now engaged in quiet conversation with Sinestro. "I didn't do much. Just... found him. He found me, really."
"Still means something," Dey insisted. "To all of us who worked with him, but especially to them." He nodded toward Abin Sur's family. "Family connections in the Corps are rare—there's an unofficial policy discouraging nepotism. Makes Abin and Sinestro's situation pretty unique. Not just brothers-in-law, but one mentoring the other, then Sinestro marrying Abin's sister... caused quite the stir in Corps politics back in the day."
Hal's attention was drawn to Soranik, who stood slightly apart from her parents, her expression difficult to read from a distance. "And their daughter? She's not a Lantern?"
"Soranik? Nah, she chose a different path. One of the top neurological surgeons on Korugar now, from what I hear. Has her uncle's brains and her father's determination." Dey lowered his voice slightly. "Between you and me, there's some tension there. Green Lantern families don't always have it easy—long absences, constant danger, putting the Corps before personal attachments. Makes for complicated family dynamics."
Hal nodded in understanding. He'd seen similar situations in military families back on Earth—the strain that service could place on relationships, the difficult balance between duty and personal life.
"So how does this partnership work?" Hal asked, changing the subject. "Abin Sur mentioned the Nova Corps right before he died, but I don't really understand the relationship."
"Think of it as inter-agency cooperation," Dey explained. "We've got our jurisdiction and methods, you've got yours, but we share the same sector and often the same threats. Nova Corps tends to focus more on conventional crime and conflicts—smuggling, piracy, territorial disputes. Green Lanterns usually handle the weirder stuff—cosmic entities, spatial anomalies, threats that transcend normal physics." He shrugged. "There's overlap, of course, and plenty of joint operations. Abin Sur and I worked together on dozens of cases over the years."
Before Hal could ask more questions, the conversation was interrupted by Sinestro's return. Beside him walked Arin Sur and Soranik, their expressions composed but eyes shimmering with barely contained grief.
"Centurion Dey," Sinestro acknowledged, his tone cooler than it had been with Hal. "I see you've introduced yourself to my new protégé."
"Just welcoming him to the neighborhood," Dey replied with a casual ease that seemed to irritate Sinestro slightly. "Giving him the 'local color' briefing that official channels tend to skip."
"Indeed." Sinestro's expression suggested he had his doubts about the value of such information. He turned to Hal. "Jordan, may I present Arin Sur of Ungara, sister of Abin Sur, and our daughter, Soranik Natu."
Hal bowed slightly, unsure of the proper protocol but hoping the gesture conveyed respect. "I'm deeply sorry for your loss," he said, the words feeling inadequate for the magnitude of their grief. "I only knew Abin Sur for a few moments, but even in that brief time, I could sense his extraordinary character."
Arin Sur studied him with penetrating eyes that reminded Hal eerily of her brother's. Though she shared Abin Sur's purple skin and certain facial features, her presence was distinct—scholarly rather than commanding, thoughtful rather than decisive.
"My brother had an exceptional ability to judge character," she said finally, her voice rich and melodic despite the sorrow it carried. "If he chose you to bear his ring, Harold Jordan, then he saw something worthy in you—perhaps something you do not yet see in yourself."
"I hope to prove worthy of his trust," Hal replied honestly. "Though I'm still not entirely sure why he chose me."
"The ring chooses, based on qualities planted within it by the Guardians," Arin corrected gently. "But Abin had the wisdom to trust its judgment, even at the end." Her gaze grew distant. "He spoke of Earth sometimes, you know. He found your species fascinating—so young in cosmic terms, yet so full of potential. He believed humans might one day play a crucial role in galactic affairs."
Soranik, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke. "Uncle Abin also believed in questioning tradition when necessary." Her voice carried both the formality of her Ungaran heritage and a slight accent from Korugar, her adoptive home. "He taught that blind obedience to any system, even one as ancient as the Corps, carried its own dangers."
Hal noticed Sinestro's expression tighten almost imperceptibly at these words, suggesting this might be a point of contention between father and daughter.
"Soranik has inherited her uncle's tendency toward independent thought," Sinestro said, his tone caught between pride and disapproval. "She chose medicine over the Corps, despite possessing qualities that would have made her an exceptional Lantern."
"Korugar needed surgeons more than it needed another Green Lantern," Soranik replied, the well-worn quality of her response suggesting this was an old disagreement. "I heal one life at a time, rather than enforcing order across entire systems."
"Both paths have honor," Arin interjected diplomatically, placing a hand on her daughter's shoulder. "As Abin always said, service takes many forms."
An awkward silence threatened to descend, but was broken by Rhomann Dey clearing his throat.
"Speaking of service," he said, "I heard from Corps headquarters that we might be facing increased Kree activity in our sector. Their latest push against the Nova Empire's outer colonies has brought their forces uncomfortably close to Earth's solar system."
"The Nova Corps' conflicts with the Kree are their own affair," Sinestro said dismissively. "Unless their activities directly threaten inhabited worlds within Sector 2814, it remains outside Green Lantern jurisdiction."
"That strict division didn't seem to bother Abin Sur when three Kree warships strayed into the Proxima system last cycle," Dey countered, a hint of challenge in his voice. "His intervention probably saved a few thousand lives."
Hal sensed an underlying tension between the two that went beyond professional disagreement—something personal, perhaps related to their different approaches to peacekeeping.
Before the conversation could grow more heated, a resonant tone echoed through the chamber, silencing all conversation. The stars and galaxies displayed on the dome's interior shifted, focusing on a specific region of space that Hal assumed must be Abin Sur's home sector.
"The ceremony is beginning," Arin said softly, her personal disagreements forgotten in the face of her brother's memorial. "We should take our places."
The vast chamber reorganized itself with practiced efficiency, the assembled Lanterns forming concentric circles around Abin Sur's bier. Hal found himself guided to a position in the innermost circle alongside Sinestro, Arin, and Soranik—a place of honor that emphasized his status as Abin Sur's chosen successor. Rhomann Dey, along with several other non-Corps dignitaries representing various intergalactic organizations, took positions in an adjacent section.
A Guardian—Ganthet, Hal recognized from the earlier meeting—appeared on a platform near Abin Sur's body. Unlike the formal, almost cold demeanor the Guardians had displayed in the evaluation chamber, Ganthet's expression showed genuine emotion as he surveyed the assembled Lanterns.
"We gather to honor Abin Sur of Ungara," Ganthet began, his voice carrying effortlessly throughout the vast space. "For one hundred and forty-three cycles, he wielded the green light of will as Green Lantern of Sector 2814. Today, we commend his spirit to the Source from which all life emerges and to which all must eventually return."
A soft glow surrounded Abin Sur's body as Ganthet continued, recounting achievements and acts of heroism that spanned centuries. Hal listened with growing amazement, beginning to understand the magnitude of the legacy he was expected to continue. Abin Sur had negotiated peace between worlds at war, contained cosmic threats, discovered new civilizations, and saved countless lives across his sector.
"He was the first to establish diplomatic relations with the Thanagarian Empire," Ganthet recalled, "preventing a war that might have claimed billions of lives. He discovered the sentient nebula of Sector 563, recognizing its consciousness when others perceived only cosmic gas. During the Korugaran Crisis, he personally evacuated eighteen thousand civilians from the path of a solar flare, making three hundred consecutive trips without rest."
Each accomplishment added to the weight Hal felt settling on his shoulders. Not only was he expected to patrol an entire sector of space, but he was following someone whose service had been extraordinary even by the Corps' standards.
"Abin Sur's talents extended beyond combat and crisis management," Ganthet continued. "He was a scholar who contributed seven hundred and twelve entries to the Book of Oa, documenting previously unknown species, phenomena, and historical events. He was a teacher who trained thirty-eight Lanterns, many of whom serve with distinction to this day." Ganthet's gaze fell briefly on Sinestro. "And he was a friend who understood that true strength comes not from power alone, but from wisdom, compassion, and the courage to question even that which seems beyond question."
From the corner of his eye, Hal noticed Sinestro's posture stiffen slightly at these words, though his expression remained solemn.
"But it was not merely his actions that distinguished Abin Sur," Ganthet continued. "It was his unwavering commitment to justice tempered with compassion, his willingness to question in pursuit of deeper truth, and his understanding that fear is not the enemy of will but its necessary companion."
Beside Hal, Arin Sur stood with quiet dignity, her grief controlled but visible in the tension around her eyes. Soranik had moved closer to her mother, their hands clasped in shared sorrow. Despite their composed exteriors, Hal could sense the deep personal loss beneath the formal ceremony—this wasn't just a fallen Corps member to them, but a brother, an uncle, a beloved family member.
"In his final act, Abin Sur demonstrated the wisdom for which he was known throughout the Corps. Rather than cling to his ring until death claimed him, he ensured his sector would not be left unprotected." Ganthet's gaze found Hal in the crowd. "His ring has chosen a successor from Earth, a world previously unrepresented in our ranks. Harold Jordan stands among us now, entrusted with continuing the work Abin Sur began."
All eyes turned toward Hal, the attention of thousands of alien beings suddenly focused on him. He forced himself to stand straighter, feeling the weight of expectation pressing down on him like physical gravity. Beside him, he sensed Arin studying him with renewed interest, perhaps looking for qualities in him that had prompted her brother's ring to make its choice.
"As is our tradition," Ganthet said, "we now commit Abin Sur's essence to the Central Battery, where his willpower will strengthen all who follow. His memory will live on in the light we all serve."
Arin stepped forward, approaching her brother's body. From within her robes, she withdrew a small crystal that glowed with soft purple light. "A memory crystal," Sinestro explained quietly to Hal. "Containing personal moments from Abin's life on Ungara. His childhood, his family gatherings, moments of joy and peace away from his duties as a Lantern."
She placed the crystal gently on her brother's chest, her hand lingering for a moment in a final farewell. "Journey well, brother," she said, her voice steady despite the tears that now fell freely. "May the light guide you home."
Soranik followed, placing a small medallion beside the crystal. "A Korugaran healing amulet," Sinestro explained. "Symbolic. Healing for his spirit."
After the family had said their goodbyes, Abin Sur's body began to rise, floating gently toward the apex of the dome where a beam of intense emerald light awaited. As it made contact, his physical form dissolved into pure energy that flowed upward into what Hal now realized was a direct connection to the massive Central Power Battery he had seen earlier.
The entire corps raised their rings in unison, thousands of points of green light illuminating the chamber. Hal, following Sinestro's subtle gestural prompt, did the same.
Together, the assembled Lanterns recited words that Hal had first spoken when the Ring chose him, but now in a completely different context that made his hearth race with meaning:
"In brightest day, in blackest night, No evil shall escape my sight. Let those who worship evil's might, Beware my power... Green Lantern's light!"
As the final words echoed through the chamber, the emerald energy that had been Abin Sur flared brilliantly before merging completely with the flow of power that connected to every ring in the Corps. Hal felt a subtle pulse through his own ring, a momentary connection to something vast and ancient—and, surprisingly, a fleeting impression of Abin Sur himself, as if some essence of the fallen Lantern had touched his consciousness briefly through the ring's connection.
For a moment, Hal thought he heard words—not audibly, but somehow impressed directly onto his mind: "Be worthy of the light, Jordan. But never stop questioning its source."
The vision, if that's what it was, faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Hal wondering if he had imagined it. He glanced at Sinestro, but the senior Lantern gave no indication of having experienced anything unusual.
The formal part of the ceremony concluded, but the gathered beings did not immediately disperse. Instead, the atmosphere in the chamber shifted subtly as the memorial transitioned into something like a wake—a celebration of Abin Sur's life rather than a mourning of his death.
Lanterns formed small groups, sharing stories of missions with Abin Sur, lessons he had taught, lives he had saved. Some laughed as they recalled lighter moments, while others listened solemnly to tales of heroism and sacrifice. Hal noticed that Rhomann Dey had joined a circle of Nova Corps officers and Green Lanterns who appeared to be trading stories about joint operations.
Arin and Soranik remained near the now-empty platform where Abin Sur's body had lain, receiving condolences from a steady stream of Corps members and dignitaries. Sinestro stood beside them, his usual intensity subdued by the solemnity of the occasion, one hand resting supportively on his wife's shoulder.
Uncertain of his place in these proceedings, Hal found himself drifting to the edge of the gathering, feeling like an intruder in a family memorial. He approached the memorial wall where Abin Sur's name and symbol had been inscribed among thousands of others, each representing a Lantern who had fallen in service. The wall stretched farther than he could see, disappearing into shadow at the edges of the vast chamber—a sobering reminder of the dangers of the path he had just begun.
"It is a weight, is it not?" a voice said from just behind him. Hal turned to find Soranik had approached quietly. "To see so many who died in service to the Corps."
"I was just thinking that," Hal admitted. "Every name here represents someone who thought the cause was worth dying for."
"My father would say it represents the price of order in an entropic universe," Soranik replied, her tone suggesting she didn't fully share this perspective. "Uncle Abin had a more nuanced view. He believed sacrifice was sometimes necessary, but questioned whether the Corps' methods always justified the cost."
Hal studied her, curious about this perspective that seemed at odds with the reverent tone most Lanterns used when discussing the Corps. "You didn't want to follow in your father's footsteps? Or your uncle's?"
A complex emotion passed across Soranik's features. "I chose a different path. On Korugar, where my father maintains order through... efficient methods, I work to heal individual suffering. Some would call it a small contribution compared to his grand designs, but I believe each life has value beyond its utility to society."
There was something in her tone—a carefully controlled criticism that suggested deeper disagreements with her father's approach. Before Hal could inquire further, they were joined by Arin Sur, who had evidently concluded her discussions with the stream of well-wishers.
"My daughter has always had her own mind," Arin said, a hint of pride in her voice despite her obvious grief. "A quality she shares with her uncle, and with her father, though Thaal might not admit the similarity." She turned her attention fully to Hal. "Harold Jordan, I would speak with you privately before you begin your training."
"Of course," Hal replied, slightly surprised by the formal request.
Arin led him to a quieter corner of the chamber, away from the main gathering. When she spoke, her voice was low, meant only for his ears. "My brother's death was not an accident. Nor was it a random act of violence."
Hal's attention sharpened. "What do you mean?"
"In his final communication to me, Abin expressed concerns about a discovery he had made—something connected to ancient events that the Guardians prefer to keep buried." Arin's eyes, so similar to her brother's, held Hal's gaze intently. "He mentioned prophecies, warnings from an entity called the 'Butcher,' and something called the 'Blackest Night.'"
Hal recognized elements of what Abin Sur had told him during their brief encounter. "He mentioned 'the Five Inversions' and 'the massacre of Sector 666' to me. When I asked the Guardians about it, they dismissed it as delusions from a dying mind."
Arin's expression hardened. "My brother was many things, but delusional was not among them. His concerns were real, and his death came too conveniently after he began investigating these matters." She glanced toward where the Guardians had been during the ceremony. "Be careful whom you trust, Harold Jordan. The Corps serves noble ideals, but power corrupts, even power wielded in the name of order."
"You're suggesting the Guardians might be involved in your brother's death?" Hal asked, keeping his voice low.
"I suggest nothing," Arin replied carefully. "I merely advise caution and observation. My husband believes absolutely in the Corps and its mission. His loyalty is admirable but can sometimes blind him to institutional flaws." She hesitated, then added, "Abin trusted Thaal absolutely, as do I. But Thaal trusts the Guardians with equal fervor, and in that, he and my brother eventually diverged."
Before Hal could press for more details, Arin reached into her robes and withdrew a small data crystal, pressing it discreetly into his palm. "Abin's personal logs from his final cycles. They are encrypted—the ring will know how to access them when the time is right. Until then, keep them private, even from Thaal."
Hal closed his hand around the crystal, sensing its importance. "I will. And thank you for trusting me with this."
"I trust my brother's judgment," Arin corrected gently. "And his ring chose you. That is enough for now." She straightened, her manner shifting back to formal courtesy as she noticed Sinestro approaching.
"My husband believes in your potential," she said, loud enough for Sinestro to hear as he joined them. "That alone should tell you something of his faith in you."
"Not faith, but calculated assessment," Sinestro corrected, though his tone held affection as he regarded his wife. "Jordan shows promise, though whether that promise will be fulfilled remains to be seen."
The ceremony was concluding, with Lanterns approaching the memorial wall where Abin Sur's name and symbol were now inscribed. Many placed their rings against the wall in a gesture of respect before departing. Hal, unsure of protocol but sensing the importance of the gesture, followed their example when it was his turn, touching his ring to the wall beside Abin Sur's inscription. For a brief moment, the symbol glowed more brightly, as if recognizing the connection between its bearer and the ring Hal now wore.
"There are many formalities yet to come," Sinestro said, returning to Hal's side after bidding a temporary farewell to Arin and Soranik. "Formal presentation to the Corps, initiation rites, basic training. But first, I believe some context is required."
He led Hal through a series of corridors and chambers, eventually arriving at a balcony that overlooked the vast plaza surrounding the Central Power Battery. From this vantage point, the full scale of Oa became apparent—a world designed entirely around the Corps and its mission, with the Battery as its literal and figurative center.
"I met Abin Sur seventy-three cycles ago," Sinestro said, gazing out at the Battery. "I was newly recruited from Korugar, still learning the boundaries of what a ring could do. Abin was already respected throughout the Corps—the Lantern who had negotiated the Kalarian Truce, who had contained the Parallax Anomaly. When the Guardians paired us for a mission in the Vega system, I thought it merely a standard training assignment."
A subtle smile touched Sinestro's lips. "Instead, it became the foundation of both a professional partnership and a personal bond that would change my life. Abin saw potential in me that others missed." His voice softened almost imperceptibly. "Later, I would meet his sister, Arin Sur. We fell in love, married according to Ungaran customs. Our daughter, Soranik, is currently being raised on Korugar, training as a physician. She has her mother's compassion and her uncle's sense of justice."
He turned to face Hal directly. "So you see, Jordan, Abin Sur was more than my mentor and friend. He was family. Which makes you, as his chosen successor, my responsibility in more ways than one."
Hal absorbed this information, recognizing the personal stake Sinestro had in his training. It explained the magenta-skinned Lantern's intensity, his immediate interest in Abin Sur's replacement. This wasn't just professional duty—it was personal.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Hal offered, the words feeling inadequate but necessary. "I barely knew him, but in those few moments... I sensed he was extraordinary."
"He was," Sinestro confirmed, a hint of genuine grief breaking through his composed exterior. "And his final choice—you—is something I intend to understand fully." His appraising gaze swept over Hal once more. "But understanding must wait. Training begins immediately. Follow me."
As they left the contemplative quiet of the balcony, Hal felt the data crystal Arin had given him pressing against his palm. He quickly secured it in a pocket of his uniform, the material adapting to conceal the object completely. Whatever secrets Abin Sur had uncovered, whatever had led to his death, Hal was now part of that unfolding mystery. And despite the dangers it might entail, he couldn't deny a surge of determination to uncover the truth—not just for his own sake, but for Abin Sur, who had chosen him as the bearer of both his ring and, perhaps, his final mission.
They left the contemplative quiet of the balcony, descending to what Sinestro identified as the Corps Training Grounds—a massive open area divided into various specialized zones. In some, Lanterns practiced aerial maneuvers, streaking through obstacle courses at incredible speeds. In others, they engaged in combat simulations, their ring constructs clashing in controlled but intense battles. Everywhere, the green energy of willpower shaped into weapons, shields, tools, and vehicles of infinite variety.
As they crossed the grounds, a massive shadow fell across their path. Hal looked up to see the towering figure of a Lantern unlike any he'd yet encountered—purple-skinned with a prominent mohawk-like crest extending from his forehead to the back of his skull. The alien's physical presence was overwhelming, rippling with barely contained power even at rest.
"K'rok," Sinestro acknowledged with a respectful nod. "I was about to bring our newest recruit to you and Kilowog for preliminary assessment."
The massive alien's eyes fixed on Hal with unsettling intensity. "So this is Abin Sur's replacement," he rumbled, his voice so deep Hal felt it in his chest. "The human."
"Hal Jordan," Hal introduced himself, extending a hand before realizing the gesture might not translate across species.
To his surprise, K'rok clasped his forearm in what seemed to be a warrior's greeting. "K'rok of Strontia, Lantern of Sector 2112 and Shi'ar Corps liaison. I was with Abin Sur during his final mission briefing." The massive Lantern's grip was carefully controlled, but Hal could sense the tremendous strength behind it. "He was a great warrior and a greater diplomat. His loss diminishes us all."
"You're Strontian?" Hal asked, something about the name triggering a connection in his mind.
"Indeed," K'rok confirmed. "My people are known for their resilience, strength, and energy absorption capabilities. We've served as elite warriors throughout the Shi'ar Empire for millennia."
"The ring must've downloaded some information about your species," Hal said, trying to articulate the strange sense of familiarity. "Something about your biological traits seems... I don't know, reminiscent of someone we have on Earth."
This caught both K'rok and Sinestro's attention. "Impossible," Sinestro stated flatly. "Strontians are indigenous to the Shi'ar territories in what you would call the Andromeda Galaxy. None have ventured to your system."
"Perhaps not Strontian," Tomar-Re suggested, approaching their group. "But possibly Kryptonian? The biological markers are similar, though distinct in key aspects."
"Kryptonian?" K'rok's brow furrowed. "All Kryptonians perished when their planet was destroyed. Tomar-Re, you confirmed this yourself."
A shadow passed over Tomar-Re's features. "Not all, it seems. I've recently received confirmation that at least one survivor exists—on Earth." He turned to Hal. "You may know of him. A being of extraordinary abilities who has recently revealed himself to your planet's population."
"Superman," Hal breathed, the connection suddenly clear. "You're talking about Superman."
"Is that what he's called?" Tomar-Re asked. "Fitting, I suppose, given his capabilities under your yellow sun."
"Wait," Hal interjected, processing this revelation. "You knew about Krypton? About its destruction? About Superman?"
Tomar-Re's posture shifted subtly, a gesture Hal interpreted as discomfort or regret. "Krypton was in my sector, 2813. Its destruction was... a personal failure. Jor-El was a brilliant scientist, a correspondent of mine. He discovered what no other Kryptonian had—a Celestial embryo growing within their planet's core."
"And?" Hal prompted when Tomar-Re fell silent.
"Jor-El created a containment field that he believed would halt the Celestial's emergence. He contacted me when he discovered that his attempt had instead accelerated the process." Genuine sorrow filled Tomar-Re's voice. "I was to deliver a stabilizing agent that might have delayed the inevitable, but I was... delayed by a stellar flare. By the time I reached Krypton, the Celestial was already emerging. The planet was torn apart before my eyes." He paused. "I believed all Kryptonians lost until I learned Jor-El had managed to send his infant son to Earth."
"Not just sent him to Earth," Hal said. "Superman is a hero. He saved Metropolis from something called Metallo a few years back. The whole world saw him fly, use heat vision, demonstrate strength beyond anything humans are capable of."
"Jor-El would be proud," Tomar-Re said quietly. "That his son follows the noble path, even without the guidance of Kryptonian culture. I must visit Earth soon, to see this 'Superman' myself. If he truly is Jor-El's son, I owe him both an explanation and an apology."
"Perhaps I should accompany you," K'rok rumbled. "It would be interesting to meet a Kryptonian. Our biologies may be similar, but the Strontian and Kryptonian perspectives have always been quite different. My people embrace our warrior heritage; the Kryptonians were philosophers, scientists."
"This discussion, while fascinating, must wait," Sinestro interrupted, his tone making it clear he considered the topic a distraction. "Jordan's training cannot be delayed. Kilowog awaits us at the Combat Ring, and he is not known for his patience."
K'rok nodded. "I will join you. It has been some time since I've observed a human in training. The last one..." He frowned, seemingly searching his memory. "Alan Scott, I believe. Though his power source was... unorthodox."
Hal, who had been silently processing the revelation about Superman's Kryptonian heritage, snapped to attention at the mention of another human. "Wait—another human had a power ring? Why didn't anyone mention this before?"
K'rok exchanged glances with Tomar-Re, who seemed suddenly uncomfortable. "Not a power ring precisely," Tomar-Re clarified. "The Starheart is... something else entirely."
"The Starheart?" Hal repeated, his confusion evident.
Sinestro's expression darkened. "This is hardly relevant to Jordan's training. Ancient history better left—"
"He should know," K'rok countered, his deep voice carrying an authority that even Sinestro seemed reluctant to challenge directly. "The Corps has detected anomalous green energy signatures from Earth for decades. Intermittent, localized, but unmistakable."
"What kind of anomalous energy?" Hal asked.
"The Starheart is an artifact from the Guardians' early experiments," Tomar-Re explained cautiously. "Billions of years ago, when they first harnessed the green energy of will, they discovered that the emotional spectrum contained... impurities. Chaotic elements that could not be perfectly controlled."
"Elements that humans might categorize as 'magical' in nature," K'rok added, observing Hal's reaction carefully.
"Magic?" Hal couldn't keep the skepticism from his voice. "You're saying magic is real?"
"A primitive categorization," Sinestro interjected dismissively. "What Earth cultures call 'magic' is simply energy manipulation operating under principles your science hasn't yet quantified."
K'rok continued, "The Guardians gathered these wild energies and consolidated them into a single mass, sealing it within an orb—the Starheart. They cast it into the depths of space, believing it would drift harmlessly forever."
"Yet somehow, this Starheart found its way to Earth?" Hal asked.
"Our records indicate it crash-landed on your planet centuries ago," Tomar-Re confirmed. "Since then, Corps sensors have occasionally detected its unique energy signature. Most recently, stronger emanations appeared during your planet's second global conflict."
"We have limited information on its wielder," K'rok said carefully. "Only a name—Alan Scott—and scattered reports of a human generating green energy constructs not connected to any Corps-issued ring. Our attempted investigation was... inconclusive."
"Inconclusive how?" Hal pressed.
"The wielder proved elusive," K'rok said. "And the Guardians ultimately decided against direct intervention, choosing to monitor the situation from a distance. The energy signatures have diminished in recent decades, though they occasionally still register on our sensors."
Hal tried to process this revelation. "So there's been someone—this Alan Scott—using some kind of green energy on Earth for years, and the Guardians just... let it happen?"
"The Guardians' relationship with Earth is... complicated," Tomar-Re said diplomatically. "Your planet exists at a confluence of various cosmic forces, not all of which recognize the Corps' authority."
"Specifically," K'rok elaborated, "your world has been under Asgardian protection for over a millennium. After the Jötun invasion—what your Norse ancestors called Frost Giants—Odin All-Father declared Earth under his realm's protection."
"Asgard," Hal repeated, the word sounding like something from ancient mythology rather than cosmic politics. "Like... Thor and Loki? Those are real?"
"Quite real," Tomar-Re confirmed. "The Asgardians are one of the few advanced civilizations that have never contributed a member to the Corps. Their reliance on what they call 'magic'—a combination of advanced technology and manipulation of energies beyond even Guardian science—has made them... resistant to Corps oversight."
"That's putting it mildly," K'rok rumbled. "Odin explicitly barred any Lantern from interfering with Earth after the Jötun war. The treaty established Earth—or Midgard, as they call it—as an Asgardian protectorate. The Guardians, recognizing Asgard's considerable power and having other sectors requiring attention, agreed to those terms."
"So why am I here then?" Hal asked. "If Earth is supposedly off-limits?"
"Because circumstances have changed," Sinestro interjected. "Asgard has grown increasingly isolated over recent centuries. Their direct involvement in Earth affairs has diminished to near non-existence. Meanwhile, your planet's development has accelerated, drawing attention from powers far less benevolent than the Corps or Asgard."
"The arrival of the Kryptonian was the tipping point," Tomar-Re added. "It signaled to the Guardians that Earth had entered a new phase of cosmic significance. That, combined with Abin Sur's... specific interest in your world, led to the decision to assign an official Lantern to Sector 2814 despite the old arrangement."
"Specific interest?" Hal asked.
"A discussion for another time," Sinestro said firmly. "The relevant point is that you are the first official Green Lantern of Earth, chosen by a proper power ring rather than a mystical anomaly, and operating with the full authority of the Corps rather than through some loophole in ancient treaties. Now, if this exposition on interstellar politics is complete, Kilowog is waiting."
As they proceeded toward another section of the training grounds, Hal tried to process everything he'd learned in the past hour. Not only was he now part of an intergalactic peacekeeping force he hadn't known existed yesterday, but Earth apparently had some prior connection to green energy through this mysterious Starheart. The revelation that someone named Alan Scott had potentially been wielding powers similar to a Green Lantern's, possibly during World War II, added yet another layer to his rapidly expanding universe.
What other secrets might Earth hold that he'd never suspected? How many other connections existed between his seemingly ordinary homeworld and the vast cosmos he was only beginning to glimpse?
They approached a circular arena surrounded by elevated observation platforms where several Lanterns had gathered. In the center stood Kilowog, the massive drill sergeant Hal had met briefly earlier. The porcine-featured alien was currently berating a small group of recruits whose constructs had apparently failed to meet his standards.
"Pathetic!" Kilowog bellowed at a trembling, multi-limbed alien whose shield construct had just shattered under Kilowog's assault. "If that's your best defense, you might as well hand your ring back to the Guardians now! In real combat, you'd already be space dust!"
The multi-limbed recruit – a Xanadarian from what Hal could discern from the ring's subtle knowledge feed – tried again to form a shield. This time, the construct flickered into existence with more solidity, but still bore visible fracture lines even before Kilowog tested it.
"Better," Kilowog grunted, sounding almost disappointed to offer even that minimal praise. "But 'better' gets you exactly one second longer to live against a real enemy." He dismissed the recruit with a wave of his massive hand and turned his attention toward the newcomers approaching his training area.
His eyes fixed on Hal with what could only be described as predatory anticipation. "Finally! The human arrives." His voice boomed across the arena, causing several nearby Lanterns to turn and stare. "Step forward, poozer. Let's see what Abin Sur's replacement is made of."
Hal glanced at Sinestro, who merely raised an eyebrow expectantly. Taking a deep breath, Hal stepped into the ring, acutely aware of the growing audience of Lanterns gathering to watch his first training session. He recognized the weight of this moment – first impressions in the Corps would matter, especially for the first human ever to wear the ring.
The arena floor beneath his feet seemed to adjust to his presence, the green energy pathways that defined its circular boundary brightening slightly. Hal sensed other Lanterns settling into the observation areas, their interest piqued by the novelty of his species if nothing else.
"The rules are simple," Kilowog announced, cracking his massive knuckles with audible pops that echoed through the chamber. "I attack. You defend. If your constructs hold, we move to the next level. If they fail..." He grinned, displaying impressive tusks that gleamed in the omnipresent green light. "Well, the medical facilities on Oa are excellent."
Kilowog's eyes narrowed as he sized Hal up. "No special treatment for Abin Sur's replacement. No allowances for your primitive species." He began circling Hal slowly. "In fact, I think we'll skip the basic orientation and jump straight to level three."
Murmurs rippled through the watching Lanterns. Even Sinestro's perpetual composure slipped momentarily, a flicker of concern crossing his features before the mask of indifference returned.
"Any last words before we begin, human?" Kilowog asked, his ring hand already starting to glow brighter.
Hal squared his shoulders, falling back on the cocky demeanor that had carried him through countless test flights and evaluations. "Just wondering if this is the part where I'm supposed to be intimidated, or if that comes later."
A ripple of surprised laughter came from the observation platforms, quickly silenced by Kilowog's glare. The drill sergeant's mouth twitched in what might have been the ghost of appreciation for Hal's nerve.
"Oh, intimidation definitely comes later, poozer."
Without further warning, Kilowog thrust his ring forward. A massive green battering ram materialized and hurtled toward Hal at frightening speed, its surface adorned with cruel spikes that hadn't been present in the versions he'd used against the other recruits.
Acting on instinct rather than training, Hal raised his own ring, visualizing the toughest barrier he could imagine—the titanium-alloy heat shield from an experimental re-entry vehicle he'd helped test at Ferris Aircraft. He poured his will into the construct, feeling the ring respond to his visualization with surprising clarity.
The shield materialized just as Kilowog's battering ram struck. The impact sent vibrations through Hal's entire body, rattling his teeth and briefly blurring his vision. But to his surprise—and judging by the reaction of the observers, to everyone else's surprise as well—the shield held. The battering ram dispersed into wisps of green energy that dissipated harmlessly around him.
"Not bad for a first attempt," Kilowog grudgingly acknowledged, his voice betraying a hint of genuine surprise. "But that was just a warm-up."
The drill sergeant didn't waste another moment. This time, two constructs formed simultaneously – a massive hammer swinging from above while a series of spikes erupted from the arena floor beneath Hal's feet. The dual attack required split-second reaction. Hal dove sideways while maintaining his shield overhead, modifying its shape into a curved dome that deflected the hammer. His landing was less graceful, and one of the floor spikes grazed his calf, sending a jolt of pain up his leg.
"Too slow!" Kilowog barked. "In the field, you're fighting enemies who don't attack one at a time. Multitasking isn't optional, poozer!"
Hal regained his footing, noting with mild alarm that where the construct had touched him, his uniform was torn and a thin line of blood was visible. These weren't mere simulations – Kilowog's constructs carried real force behind them.
"Ring energy can be calibrated to stun, capture, or cut through starship hulls," Kilowog explained, seeing Hal's reaction. "Figuring out the right intensity for the situation is the difference between capturing an enemy and vaporizing a civilian. Right now, mine are set to 'teach you a lesson.'"
The next attack came without warning – a tornado-like vortex that pulled Hal off his feet before he could properly brace himself. As he tumbled through the air, disoriented by the spinning, Kilowog fired a barrage of projectiles from multiple directions.
Hal's pilot training kicked in – the sensation wasn't entirely unlike a flat spin in an aircraft. He stabilized himself within the vortex by creating wing-like extensions from his uniform, giving him enough control to form a spherical shield around his entire body. Most of the projectiles bounced off, but three penetrated before his shield fully formed, striking him in the shoulder, thigh, and side.
He hit the ground hard, the wind knocked out of him. But instead of staying down, he rolled to his feet immediately, ignoring the pain and maintaining his shield.
"Better reaction time," Kilowog noted, "but your construct density is inconsistent. You're burning willpower like a rookie – all flash, no efficiency."
What followed was the most physically and mentally demanding experience of Hal's life. Kilowog's attacks came relentlessly—hammers, missiles, saw blades, crushing walls—each requiring a different defensive strategy. The drill sergeant seemed to have an unlimited reservoir of creativity when it came to finding new ways to test Hal's defenses, each construct more elaborate and challenging than the last.
Hal drew on every engineering principle he'd ever learned, creating layered defenses, energy-absorbing barriers, deflection systems. His test pilot background proved unexpectedly valuable – the physics of flight translated into an intuitive understanding of force distribution and structural integrity that he applied to his constructs.
Some failed spectacularly, earning him punishing impacts that sent him sprawling across the arena. A particularly vicious flail construct caught him squarely in the chest, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the arena's boundary. The impact left him momentarily dazed, copper taste of blood in his mouth.
"Get up, Jordan," Sinestro called from the sideline, his voice cutting through Hal's disorientation. "A Lantern who stays down is a dead Lantern."
Hal staggered to his feet, drawing on reserves of determination that had gotten him through experimental aircraft tests and crash landings. Other constructs held but consumed so much energy that Hal felt his willpower draining with each defense, a strange sensation like mental muscles being stretched beyond their capacity.
Through it all, Kilowog bellowed criticism and occasional reluctant approval, while the observing Lanterns exchanged comments Hal couldn't hear. The crowd had grown larger, he noticed during a brief respite as Kilowog reset for another sequence. Word had apparently spread that Abin Sur's replacement was being put through his paces.
"Your constructs lack discipline," Kilowog lectured as Hal caught his breath, blood trickling from a cut above his eye. "You're relying too much on complexity when simplicity would serve better. Look here—"
Kilowog demonstrated, creating a simple curved shield. "Perfect density distribution, minimal energy expenditure." The shield morphed seamlessly into a battering ram. "Conversion between defensive and offensive applications should be instantaneous."
Hal nodded, studying the construct's properties carefully. He attempted to replicate it, his version coming close but lacking the seamless quality of Kilowog's demonstration.
"You're thinking too hard," Kilowog said, surprisingly insightful despite his gruff demeanor. "The ring responds to will and intention, not just mental visualization. Feel the construct, don't just picture it."
Hal tried again, focusing less on the exact specifications and more on the essential purpose of the shield. This time, the construct formed more cleanly, its energy distribution more efficient.
"There," Kilowog said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. "Now maybe you'll last another five minutes before I break you completely."
The training resumed with renewed intensity. Kilowog introduced environmental hazards – sections of the arena floor becoming unstable, gravity shifting unpredictably, even atmospheric conditions changing from breathable air to vacuum without warning, forcing Hal to maintain a life support bubble while defending against attacks.
"In space, there's no air to breathe, no pressure to keep your fluids from boiling off, and radiation that'll cook you from the inside out," Kilowog explained as Hal struggled to maintain his life support bubble while deflecting a series of energy lances. "Your ring handles all of that automatically once you've mastered basic aura control. Until then, you have to consciously maintain life support alongside everything else."
Through sheer persistence, Hal adjusted to this new challenge, gradually requiring less conscious focus to maintain his protective aura. The experience reminded him of learning to fly, how initially every control adjustment required deliberate thought until eventually they became second nature, allowing focus on higher-level decision making.
"Enough defensive work," Kilowog finally announced after Hal had successfully deflected a particularly complex attack involving multiple vectors. "Let's see if you can actually hit something, poozer."
Hal, bruised and breathing hard, straightened. His uniform was torn in several places, smears of blood visible through the rips. But his eyes remained alert and determined. This, at least, was familiar territory—combat flight training had been part of his brief military career before he'd moved to test piloting.
"Simple exercise," Kilowog continued, generating a series of small, fast-moving targets that began darting around the arena in unpredictable patterns. "Hit them all before they hit you."
The targets resembled glowing green spheres about the size of baseballs, but they moved with incredible speed and agility, capable of instantaneous direction changes that defied normal physics. Hal estimated there were at least thirty of them.
He considered the challenge, knowing that trying to create and aim individual weapons at each target would be inefficient. Instead, he recalled a defensive system he'd once seen demonstrated during his Air Force days—a carrier-based close-in weapon system designed to track and eliminate multiple incoming threats.
Focusing his will, he generated a construct version of the system—a rapidly rotating barrel surrounded by targeting sensors. As it materialized, Hal refined the design, making the targeting system more responsive, the energy pulses more accurate. Within seconds, his construct was tracking and eliminating Kilowog's targets with mechanical precision, the targeting algorithms working just as he'd envisioned them.
A murmur ran through the watching Lanterns. This was apparently not the standard approach to the exercise. Most of the observers seemed impressed by the innovation, though some appeared skeptical about the complexity of the construct.
Kilowog's eyes narrowed. "Impressive automation. But relying too heavily on mechanical constructs can be dangerous if your opponent disrupts your concentration." To demonstrate, he generated a massive sonic boom directly in front of Hal, the concussive sound wave specifically designed to disorient and break focus.
The disorienting sound shattered Hal's concentration momentarily, his weapon system flickering as the mental blueprint that sustained it became jumbled in his mind. Three targets immediately took advantage of the gap in his defenses, striking him in rapid succession – chest, shoulder, back. Each impact felt like a solid punch, driving the air from his lungs and sending him staggering.
"Never depend on a single approach," Kilowog lectured as Hal struggled to regain his balance. "Adaptability is survival."
"Noted," Hal managed, shaking his head to clear it. This time, he tried a different strategy, generating multiple smaller defensive constructs that moved independently, each targeting a specific threat. It was harder to maintain, requiring him to split his attention across several constructs simultaneously, but also more resilient to disruption. If Kilowog broke his concentration again, he'd likely lose some of the defenses but not all of them at once.
The targets accelerated, becoming more aggressive in their attack patterns. Hal's defenses adapted in real-time, his constructs shifting and evolving based on the emerging threat patterns. It was exhausting work, maintaining so many independent constructs simultaneously, but Hal found a rhythm in the chaos. Each successful interception gave him fractionally more confidence, each adaptation coming slightly more naturally than the last.
"The human learns quickly," a voice observed from the growing audience. Hal didn't dare take his attention from the exercise to identify the speaker.
"He has an interesting tactical approach," another voice agreed. "Very different from standard Corps methodology."
"Different isn't always better," came a skeptical response.
The training continued for what felt like hours, each exercise more demanding than the last. Kilowog pushed Hal to his mental and physical limits, forcing him to create constructs under pressure, while injured, while disoriented, while defending others. The scenarios grew increasingly complex—simulated hostage situations, evacuation operations, multi-opponent combat.
For the evacuation drill, Kilowog created holographic "civilians" of various alien species, along with a collapsing structure. Hal had to extract the civilians while maintaining structural integrity long enough for evacuation. His solution – creating a network of support beams while simultaneously forming transport platforms for groups of civilians – showed creativity but lacked the precision of more experienced Lanterns.
"Those support constructs would have failed within seconds," Kilowog critiqued. "You saved the civilians but you'd have been crushed yourself."
Throughout it all, Hal noticed the audience had grown considerably larger. The Lanterns from the memorial service were now watching with interest, as were dozens of others from species Hal couldn't identify. Their whispered observations sometimes reached him—"innovative approach," "unorthodox techniques," "relies too much on his planet's technology"—adding another layer of pressure to the already grueling session.
Among the observers, Hal noticed two Lanterns who seemed particularly focused on his performance. One had blue skin with a distinctly military bearing, his uniform modified with additional insignia that suggested rank or special status in the Kree Empire. The other had a greenish complexion with subtle ridges along his jawline marking him as Skrull, though his features seemed more reserved than the stereotypical Skrull aggression Hal had glimpsed in the historical briefings his ring had provided.
The two stood noticeably apart from each other despite watching the same training session, the tension between them palpable even from a distance. They each had their own small contingent of fellow Lanterns keeping a careful buffer zone between the groups.
Hal had little time to contemplate their presence as Kilowog launched into the final phase of training – a simulated multi-opponent battle that required Hal to engage three construct-generated opponents simultaneously. Each "opponent" used a different attack style, forcing rapid adaptation between defensive postures.
By this point, Hal was operating on pure determination. His body ached from numerous impacts, his mind strained from hours of continuous construct manipulation. Yet somehow, he found his second wind, moving with greater fluidity than before as certain construct formations began to feel more natural, requiring less conscious thought to maintain.
Finally, when Hal was swaying with exhaustion, his uniform torn and his body aching in places he hadn't known could ache, Kilowog called a halt.
"Not completely hopeless," the drill sergeant announced, which Hal gathered was high praise coming from him. "Your constructs have decent structural integrity, and you think creatively under pressure. But your energy efficiency is terrible—you're burning willpower like a sun burns hydrogen. And your situational awareness needs serious work."
He turned to Sinestro, who had been observing silently throughout. "He's got potential, but it's raw. Very raw. Needs discipline, focus training, and about a thousand flight hours before I'd consider him field-ready."
"Unfortunately, Sector 2814 cannot wait for standard training timelines," Sinestro replied, his tone pragmatic. "I'll continue his instruction in the field. For now, let's move to basic flight and navigation."
Kilowog grunted acknowledgment, then fixed Hal with what might have been an approving glance. "Hit the recovery chambers for thirty minutes, poozer. Then meet us at the atmospheric training zone." As he stomped away, he added gruffly, "Not bad for a first day. Most recruits can't even form a stable shield against my first attack."
As the crowd dispersed, Tomar-Re approached, guiding Hal toward what appeared to be a medical facility. "Kilowog's methods are harsh but effective," he observed. "And he's right—you showed surprising aptitude for a first session. Most new Lanterns require several attempts before achieving the construct stability you demonstrated."
"I think my background helped," Hal admitted, wincing as a medical drone began treating his various injuries with some kind of green energy that simultaneously hurt and healed. The sensation was strange – like ice and fire applied to the wounds simultaneously, painful but with an underlying sense of rapid renewal. "Test pilots need to make split-second engineering calculations while under extreme stress. Creating constructs feels similar—visualizing structures that have to withstand specific forces."
"A useful perspective," Tomar-Re agreed. "Each species brings unique advantages to the Corps. Xudarians like myself possess natural mathematical abilities that make complex constructs easier to maintain. K'rok's Strontian physiology allows him to absorb and redirect energy attacks that would incapacitate most Lanterns. Your human adaptability and creative problem-solving may prove equally valuable."
As Hal's injuries healed under the strange treatment, he caught sight of the Kree and Skrull Lanterns engaged in another heated discussion nearby. The tension between them was palpable, drawing concerned glances from other Lanterns who gave the pair a wide berth.
"What's their story?" Hal asked quietly, nodding toward the mismatched pair.
Tomar-Re followed his gaze. "Hon-Sil of the Kree Empire and K'rll of the Skrull Imperium. Both exceptional Lanterns when operating independently, but their mutual hostility has become... problematic."
The Xudarian's expression grew thoughtful. "The situation is complex. The Skrull leadership recently underwent a significant shift, with Emperor Dorrek's faction advocating for diplomatic resolution to their longstanding conflict with the Kree. They've established a peaceful contingent genuinely committed to ending hostilities."
"But not all Skrulls share this perspective," Tomar-Re continued. "A radical faction believes accommodation with the Kree is tantamount to surrender. They've broken from the main Imperium, pursuing more aggressive technologies and tactics. Our intelligence suggests they're developing enhanced warriors – 'Super Skrulls' as they call them – capable of mimicking multiple alien abilities simultaneously."
Hal watched as K'rll gestured emphatically, his posture defensive but restrained. Unlike the caricature of Skrull aggression, he seemed to be exercising considerable self-control.
"K'rll represents Dorrek's peace faction," Tomar-Re explained, noting Hal's observation. "He's advocated for joint Kree-Skrull peacekeeping operations in disputed territories – a position that's made him unpopular with traditionalists on both sides."
"And the Kree? They're not interested in peace?" Hal asked.
"The Kree Empire maintains the Accuser Corps – military enforcers who answer directly to their Supreme Intelligence. Hon-Sil served with the Accusers before joining the Lanterns, and he brings their... uncompromising perspective with him." Tomar-Re's tone suggested diplomatic understatement. "The current escalation in the Kree-Skrull War has strained even the Corps' neutrality protocols. Last month, they nearly came to blows during a joint operation in the Binar System."
"I would've thought the Guardians would keep them separated."
"On the contrary, the Guardians deliberately assign them compatible sectors to force cooperation. The theory is that exemplary Lanterns from opposing factions can build bridges where politicians cannot." Tomar-Re's tone suggested he had doubts about this approach. "In practice, it sometimes creates additional tensions."
The medical procedure completed, leaving Hal feeling surprisingly refreshed despite the intensity of his training session. The wounds had closed, leaving only faint marks where there had been bleeding gashes minutes before. His uniform had also self-repaired, the ring's energy restoring its integrity.
"Ready for flight training?" Tomar-Re asked.
Hal nodded, rising from the medical platform with renewed energy. If there was one aspect of ring-wielding he was genuinely excited about, it was flight. After all, he hadn't become a test pilot for the paperwork.
As promised, they proceeded to the atmospheric training zone—an enormous enclosed space that seemed to contain multiple planetary environments. Some regions mimicked gas giants with their turbulent storm systems, others replicated the scorching conditions near stars, while still others contained asteroid fields or ice rings like those surrounding certain planets.
Kilowog was waiting, along with K'rok and several other instructors. "Flight training," the drill sergeant announced without preamble. "The most basic and essential skill of any Lantern. Your ring allows you to navigate any environment, from vacuum to the heart of a star, but only if you understand how to control your protective aura and propulsion systems."
What followed was another grueling session, this time focused on mastering the ring's flight capabilities. Hal was directed through obstacle courses of increasing complexity, taught to calibrate his aura for different atmospheric conditions, and trained in emergency maneuvers for combat situations.
The initial exercises focused on basic control – precise hovering, acceleration and deceleration, and maintaining stable flight paths through marked courses. Hal picked these up quickly, his pilot's instincts giving him an intuitive grasp of three-dimensional movement that many recruits struggled with.
"Don't think of it as flying an aircraft," Kilowog instructed as Hal completed a slalom course between floating platforms. "The ring doesn't have control surfaces or propulsion systems like your primitive Earth vehicles. It responds directly to your will – if you think it, you move."
This conceptual shift was initially challenging for Hal, whose instincts had been shaped by physical aircraft with their inherent limitations. Gradually, he learned to stop compensating for restrictions that didn't exist, allowing more fluid movement through increasingly complex courses.
"Now for the fun part," Kilowog announced, his tusked grin particularly alarming. "Environmental variation."
The training zone shifted, one section transforming into a violent storm system with winds exceeding 500 mph and electrical discharges powerful enough to temporarily disrupt ring energy. Another section became a superheated region mimicking the corona of a star, while a third turned into a crushing high-gravity environment where movement required significant willpower.
"Different environments require different aura configurations," K'rok explained, demonstrating how to modulate his protective field to compensate for each condition. "Too weak, and environmental forces penetrate. Too strong, and you waste energy on unnecessary protection."
Hal's first attempt at navigating the storm zone proved humbling. His aura, calibrated for standard conditions, provided inadequate protection against the electrical discharges. The first lightning strike that hit him felt like being kicked by a horse, momentarily disrupting his flight and sending him tumbling through the artificial storm.
"Too much focus on aerodynamics, not enough on energy absorption," Kilowog critiqued. "Reconfigure your aura to disperse electrical energy around rather than through you."
Hal adjusted, visualizing his protective field as a superconducting surface that would channel electricity around rather than through his body. The technique improved his resistance, though each direct hit still sent uncomfortable jolts through his system.
Here, at least, his test pilot experience gave him a significant advantage. The principles of aerodynamics might not apply directly in how the ring functioned, but his understanding of momentum, trajectory, and situational awareness transferred perfectly. After several hours, even Kilowog seemed impressed by his natural aptitude.
"The poozer can fly, I'll give him that," he grudgingly told Sinestro. "Better than most recruits with ten times his experience. Put him in a combat situation where he needs to outmaneuver an opponent, and he might actually survive."
K'rok, who had been observing with interest, stepped forward. "I would like to test this assessment. With your permission, Kilowog?"
The drill sergeant shrugged his massive shoulders. "Be my guest. Just don't break him completely. Sinestro still needs something to work with."
K'rok turned to Hal. "A simple challenge, Lantern Jordan. Pursuit and evasion. I will pursue; you will evade. The exercise ends when I tag you or you exceed the training zone boundaries."
Hal nodded, recognizing the familiar parameters of a training dogfight. Except instead of aircraft, they'd be using their rings and bodies directly, and instead of a fellow pilot, he'd be facing an alien warrior with millennia of experience and natural abilities that made him essentially a purple Superman.
"Begin on Kilowog's mark," K'rok said, rising a few feet off the ground, his green aura intensifying around him.
"Three, two, one... mark!" Kilowog barked.
Hal launched himself upward immediately, accelerating at a rate that would have crushed an unprotected human body. But rather than simply trying to outrun K'rok—a futile strategy against a Strontian's natural speed—he headed directly for the most complicated section of the training zone: a dense asteroid field with unpredictable gravitational fluctuations.
K'rok followed, his massive frame somehow moving with surprising grace as he navigated between the floating rocks. Hal weaved through the narrowest gaps, using the asteroids as cover while constantly changing direction to make his flight path unpredictable.
For several minutes, they engaged in this high-speed chase, K'rok's superior experience balanced by Hal's unconventional thinking and natural piloting instincts. Several times the Strontian nearly tagged him, only for Hal to execute a maneuver that seemed to surprise even the veteran Lantern.
The watching instructors exchanged impressed glances as Hal led K'rok through a particularly dense cluster of asteroids, then suddenly cut his aura's propulsion completely, allowing momentum to carry him in a ballistic trajectory while K'rok overshot. It was a classic pilot's trick—one that shouldn't have worked against a Lantern of K'rok's experience, but Hal's timing had been perfect.
As K'rok corrected his course, Hal reactivated his propulsion and shot away at right angles to his previous course, buying himself precious seconds. The chase continued into a storm-filled atmospheric region, where Hal used the turbulence and electrical discharges to mask his movements.
K'rok, however, was adapting to Hal's style. He began anticipating Hal's evasive patterns, gradually closing the distance between them. Finally, as Hal attempted to use a particularly massive cloudburst as cover, K'rok anticipated the maneuver and cut him off, tagging him with a light tap to the shoulder.
"Exercise concluded," K'rok announced, his expression unreadable. "Return to the staging area."
When they landed, Hal expected criticism for his eventual failure. Instead, K'rok turned to Sinestro with what appeared to be grudging respect.
"The human is an exceptional pilot," he stated flatly. "His spatial awareness and instinctive understanding of momentum and trajectory are among the best I've seen in a new recruit. He lasted three minutes and forty-two seconds—longer than many veteran Lanterns in similar exercises against me."
"I still caught you," he added, turning back to Hal.
"Eventually," Hal acknowledged, unable to resist the slight boast. "But I made you work for it."
To his surprise, K'rok's serious expression cracked into what might have been a smile. "Indeed you did, Lantern Jordan. Indeed, you did."
Kilowog stomped forward, his expression thoughtful. "Flight skills are impressive, but that's just one aspect of being a Lantern. Let's see how you handle a team exercise."
He summoned several other recruits who had been training nearby—a crystalline being that chimed melodically when it moved, a blue-skinned humanoid with four arms, and a creature that seemed composed entirely of living metal.
"Rescue scenario," Kilowog announced. "Inhabited space station suffering critical systems failure. Civilian evacuation required while maintaining structural integrity. Jordan, you're team leader."
The simulation began immediately, a holographic space station materializing in the training zone. Alarm signals blared, and holographic "civilians" of various species appeared, their panic realistic enough to create immediate chaos.
Hal assessed the situation quickly. "Kryllax," he addressed the crystalline being, somehow knowing its name despite never being introduced, "structural reinforcement. Focus on the main support columns and atmosphere containment." The crystalline being chimed acknowledgment and moved to strengthen the failing structure with precise lattice-work constructs.
"Bor'nal," he continued, turning to the four-armed recruit, "atmosphere regulation and fire suppression. Keep the air breathable as long as possible." The blue Lantern nodded, using his multiple limbs to generate and maintain multiple environmental constructs simultaneously.
"Trax," he said to the metallic being, "evacuation support. Create stable pathways for civilians to reach escape pods. I'll handle direct civilian extraction from compromised areas."
The team moved with surprising coordination given their lack of prior work together. Hal found himself automatically adapting his communication style to each species—more precise and mathematical for Kryllax, visually-oriented for Bor'nal, and based on structural integrity concepts for Trax.
As the simulation progressed, Kilowog introduced additional complications—structural collapses, power core instabilities, injured civilians requiring special handling. Hal and his team adapted, adjusting their strategy as conditions changed.
The most challenging moment came when a simulated power core breach threatened to destroy the entire station before evacuation was complete. Hal made a split-second decision, creating a complex containment construct around the core while directing the others to accelerate evacuation procedures.
"Unconventional approach," Sinestro observed as Hal's construct successfully delayed the breach long enough for the final civilians to reach safety. "Most recruits would have attempted to repair the core rather than simply containing the breach."
"Test pilot mentality," Hal explained, maintaining his focus on the containment field. "When systems fail catastrophically, sometimes the best approach is controlled containment rather than attempted repair. Better to accept the loss of the aircraft but save the pilot than risk both trying to save the unsalvageable."
The simulation ended with all civilians safely evacuated moments before the station's final collapse. Kilowog's expression was unreadable as he assessed their performance.
"Team coordination: acceptable. Resource allocation: efficient. Decision-making under pressure: appropriate." He focused on Hal. "Leadership style: unconventional but effective. You naturally assigned tasks based on team members' strengths without prior knowledge of their capabilities."
"The ring helps," Hal admitted. "It's like I can sense certain information about other Lanterns—not their thoughts, but their general capabilities and specialties."
"Ring-sharing," Tomar-Re explained, joining them. "A limited form of information exchange that occurs automatically between Corps members. It facilitates rapid team formation in emergency situations. Most new Lanterns require time to acclimate to the sensation, but you seem to have adapted quickly."
Kilowog stepped closer to Hal, lowering his voice. "One day of training doesn't make you a Lantern, poozer. You've shown aptitude, yes, but the Corps demands more than natural talent. It requires discipline, judgment, and absolute commitment to the oath you've taken." His expression softened slightly. "But for what it's worth, you've surprised me today. Not many rookies could handle what you've been through without breaking."
Coming from Kilowog, Hal understood this was high praise indeed. The massive drill sergeant turned to Sinestro. "He's all yours now. Try not to undo all my hard work."
As Kilowog departed, Sinestro approached, his expression appraising. "The day's training has been informative, if preliminary. You possess natural aptitudes that will serve you well, but your technique requires refinement, your constructs need structural improvement, and your ring energy management is inefficient at best."
Despite the criticism, Hal detected a note of approval in Sinestro's voice. "So what's next?" he asked. "More training? Assignment to my sector?"
"Both," Sinestro replied. "Your formal induction ceremony occurs tomorrow. Following that, we will begin joint patrols of your sector—practical instruction in actual field conditions. Sectors 1417 and 2814 share a border, which will allow me to continue your training while you familiarize yourself with your assigned territory."
He gestured toward a more private area of the training grounds. "Before that, however, there are matters we must discuss regarding Abin Sur and the circumstances of his death. Things the Guardians would prefer remained... classified."
Hal followed, curiosity piqued by Sinestro's conspiratorial tone. Whatever Abin Sur had been investigating before his death—the Five Inversions, the massacre of Sector 666, the prophecy he'd mentioned with his dying breath—it clearly made the Guardians uncomfortable. And if Sinestro was willing to share information they wanted suppressed, it suggested divisions within the Corps that might prove significant.
As they walked away, Hal glanced back at the training grounds where dozens of Lanterns continued their exercises, their green constructs forming a constantly shifting tapestry of will made manifest. Twenty-four hours ago, he'd been a test pilot hitting the limits of experimental aircraft, his universe bounded by Earth's atmosphere. Now he stood among beings from across the cosmos, wielding power he barely understood, preparing to defend a sector of space containing billions of lives.
The weight of that responsibility should have been crushing. Instead, Hal felt something unexpected—a sense of purpose more clear and compelling than anything he'd experienced since deciding to follow in his father's footsteps as a pilot. Whatever waited ahead—training, patrol, the mysteries Sinestro hinted at—Hal Jordan, newest Green Lantern of Sector 2814, was ready to face it.
And for the first time since putting on the ring, that felt absolutely right.
In the shadow of a dead moon orbiting a dying star, the ship from the massacre of Sector 666 hung like a wound in space. Its crimson hull, once polished to a mirror sheen, now bore the scars of countless battles and the corruption of time. Strange, organic growths had formed along its lower sections, pulsing with an unnatural rhythm that matched the beating of a hateful heart.
Inside, Atrocitus stood before a pool of molten rage that bubbled and hissed with malevolent promise. The chamber was carved from what appeared to be red stone, though closer inspection would reveal the material was neither mineral nor metal, but something that existed in the space between—matter transmuted by hatred so pure it had altered its fundamental nature.
Blood dripped from self-inflicted wounds on Atrocitus's massive forearms, falling into the pool where it sizzled and merged with the roiling substance. With each drop, the liquid's glow intensified, and ancient symbols etched into the chamber's floor illuminated in response.
He was not alone. A dozen figures knelt around the pool's perimeter, each one broken in their own way. Some bore physical scars that marked them as survivors of unspeakable violence. Others appeared whole but carried psychological wounds that ran deeper than any blade could cut. All of them vibrated with the same emotion that sustained their leader—boundless, all-consuming rage.
Foremost among them was Razer, a young warrior whose blue skin was now permanently marked with tribal scars that glowed with the same crimson energy as the pool. Unlike the others, whose rage manifested as mindless fury, Razer's anger burned with cold precision. His eyes, once capable of expressing the full spectrum of emotion, now held only calculated hatred. The loss of his wife, Ilana, had hollowed him out, leaving only a vessel for retribution.
"The universe bleeds," Atrocitus's voice rumbled through the chamber, each word carrying the weight of centuries of suffering. "It has bled since the day the so-called Guardians betrayed their sacred duty and unleashed their mechanical abominations upon Sector 666."
He dipped one massive finger into the pool, and the liquid responded, rising up to meet his touch like a living thing yearning for connection. When he withdrew his hand, the substance clung to his skin before reluctantly releasing him, leaving a crimson residue that pulsed with inner light.
"I have watched for millennia as the Guardians built their Corps upon a foundation of lies. They speak of will, of order, of protection. But they do not tell their green pawns the truth of what they did—of the genocide they orchestrated and then blamed on a mechanical malfunction."
The air in the chamber grew thick with the scent of burning metal as Atrocitus's rage intensified. His massive frame, already imposing at over eight feet tall, seemed to expand further as he surrendered himself to the emotion that had sustained him through endless cycles of imprisonment and escape.
"You all know pain," he continued, his gaze sweeping over his acolytes. "You all know what it is to have everything taken from you by those who claim to serve justice. You have all been betrayed by a universe that promises order but delivers only chaos and suffering."
Razer's jaw tightened, his own memories surfacing—his village on Volkreg razed by warlords while the Green Lantern of his sector focused on "more pressing matters" elsewhere. His beloved Ilana, found among the ashes, her body broken yet her face somehow untouched, as if the universe wanted to ensure he would forever remember exactly what he had lost.
"Today," Atrocitus declared, raising both arms, "we forge a new Corps—one built not on the lies of will, but on the truth of rage. Where green light only illuminates, red lightconsumes."
The pool's surface began to churn more violently, its glow intensifying until it cast the entire chamber in blood-red light. From its depths, something began to rise—a central power battery unlike anything the Green Lantern Corps possessed. Where their great battery on Oa was a monument to precision engineering and ancient science, this was a thing of primal nightmare—a massive, pulsing heart-like structure, its surface riddled with arteries and veins that seemed to pump the liquid rage through its core.
"The Blood Ocean of Ysmault gives us power that the Guardians cannot comprehend," Atrocitus said, his voice dropping to a reverential whisper. "For while will can be broken, rage... rage only grows stronger when challenged."
He turned to Razer, gesturing for him to approach. "You, who lost everything to the indifference of those who claimed to protect you. You, whose hatred burns with purpose rather than blind fury. Step forward and be the first to accept the gift of the Red Lantern."
Razer rose with fluid grace, his eyes never leaving the central battery. Unlike the others in the chamber, whose rage manifested as chaotic energy, his anger was focused like a laser. It was this quality that had drawn Atrocitus to him—rage without direction was merely destruction, but rage with purpose could reshape the very fabric of the universe.
"I have sworn vengeance for Ilana," Razer said, his voice tight with controlled emotion. "Will your ring grant me the power to achieve it?"
Atrocitus's scarred face twisted into what might have been a smile on a being less consumed by hatred. "The ring does not grant power, Razer. It channels what already exists within you. Your rage is a star waiting to go supernova. The ring merely removes the constraints that have held it in check."
From the bubbling pool, a red ring rose, its surface pulsing with the same heartbeat rhythm as the central battery. It hovered before Razer, rotating slowly as if examining him, judging his worthiness.
"Recite the oath," Atrocitus commanded. "Let your rage become manifest."
Razer extended his hand toward the ring, and it responded, flying to his finger where it settled with a flash of crimson light. The moment it touched his skin, Razer's body arched backward, his mouth opening in a silent scream as the ring's power flooded through him. It was agony beyond anything he had ever experienced—a burning sensation that started at his finger and spread through his veins like molten metal.
Yet beneath the pain was something else—a sense of rightness, of completion. As if the rage he had carried since finding Ilana's body had finally found its true purpose.
Through clenched teeth, Razer began to recite words he had never heard before but somehow knew by heart:
"With blood and rage of crimson red,
Ripped from a corpse so freshly dead,
Together with our hellish hate,
We'll burn you all—that is your fate!"
As the final words left his lips, a torrent of red energy erupted from the ring, engulfing Razer in a cocoon of crimson light. His clothing dissolved, replaced by a uniform that seemed to grow directly from his skin—black and red, with angular patterns that mimicked the tribal markings of his homeworld but transformed into something more predatory, more aggressive.
The other acolytes watched in awe as Razer's transformation completed. When he opened his eyes, they glowed with the same red light as the central battery, and when he spoke, his voice carried harmonics that resonated with the primal energy of rage itself.
"I feel it," he whispered, staring at his hands as red energy crackled between his fingers. "I feel... everything."
"Not everything," Atrocitus corrected. "Only what matters. The rage sustains you now, purifies you. It burns away weakness, doubt, hesitation. All that remains is purpose." He placed a massive hand on Razer's shoulder. "Now you are truly a Red Lantern."
One by one, the other acolytes stepped forward to receive their rings. Each transformation was unique, the red energy adapting to channel each individual's specific rage. Bleez, a winged female whose beauty had been desecrated by those who captured and tortured her, received a ring that transformed her broken wings into instruments of death, razor-sharp and dripping with crimson energy. Skallox, whose face had been permanently disfigured by a crime lord's enforcer, found his hideous appearance enhanced by the ring, turning him into a nightmare visage designed to instill terror in his enemies.
As each new Red Lantern completed their transformation, Atrocitus felt his own power grow. The central battery, connected to his life force through millennia of blood rituals, responded to each new addition to the Corps. Where once he had been alone in his rage, now he had begun to build an army.
When the final acolyte had received their ring, Atrocitus turned back to the central battery, placing both hands upon its pulsing surface. "The time has come," he declared, "to send a message to the Guardians and their green puppets. Let them know that the judgment they have long evaded is finally at hand."
He closed his eyes, communing with the battery through the connection of shared rage. Images flashed through his mind—Green Lanterns throughout neighboring sectors, unaware of the threat that now stirred in the darkness between stars. He selected his targets carefully, choosing Lanterns whose deaths would create maximum impact while minimizing the risk of premature discovery.
"Razer," he commanded, opening his eyes. "Take Bleez and Zilius to Sector 2815. There is a Green Lantern there, K'rrut of Vorga, who requires our... introduction."
Razer nodded, his expression cold and focused. "What message shall we deliver?"
"This," Atrocitus replied, raising his ring. A holographic image appeared above it—a complex symbol comprised of interlocking patterns that seemed to shift and writhe as if alive. "The Mark of the Five. Burn it into their flesh after you have drained them of blood and life force. Leave enough for them to be found, but not enough for them to warn others."
"And what of witnesses?" Razer asked.
Atrocitus's expression darkened. "There was a time when I might have said to spare the innocent. That time is long past. The universe must learn that there is a price for its complicity in the Guardians' crimes. Mercy died in Sector 666. Only rage remains."
Razer hesitated for just a moment—a flicker of something other than hate crossing his features. Then it was gone, subsumed by the ring's influence. "As you command."
"The rest of you," Atrocitus continued, addressing the other newly-minted Red Lanterns, "will target these sectors." He gestured, and a map of nearby space appeared, with several points illuminated in pulsing red. "Work in pairs. Leave no Green Lantern alive. And ensure they suffer before the end—their pain feeds our central battery, strengthens our cause."
The Red Lanterns moved with purpose, their new powers still unfamiliar but rapidly adapting to their needs. As they departed through the ship's massive launch bay, Atrocitus remained behind with the central battery, his mind turning to memories long suppressed but never forgotten.
Three billion years ago - Sector 666
Atrocitus had not always been a creature of rage. Once, he had been known as Atros of Ryut, a psychologist dedicated to understanding and healing minds traumatized by conflict. His world had known its share of wars and disasters, but had entered a golden age of peace and prosperity. He had a family—a wife whose smile could banish the shadows of even his darkest days, and a daughter whose laughter was more precious to him than all the treasures of their world.
He remembered the morning of the massacre with perfect clarity, despite the billions of years that had passed since. His daughter had been preparing for her Ascension Ceremony, the ritual that would mark her transition from child to adult in Ryut society. His wife had spent weeks creating the traditional garments by hand, weaving patterns that told their family's history into every thread.
"Father, is it crooked?" his daughter had asked, adjusting the ceremonial circlet on her brow. Her skin, then a healthy shade of red rather than the scarred crimson his own would later become, practically glowed with excitement.
"It's perfect," he had assured her, feeling a swell of pride so intense it had momentarily stolen his breath. "You honor our ancestors today."
His wife had entered, carrying the final piece of the ceremonial attire—a pendant that had been passed down through her family for seventeen generations. "With this," she had said, fastening it around their daughter's neck, "you carry all our hopes into the future."
None of them had known that their future would end less than an hour later.
The first warning had been a strange stillness in the air, as if the world itself were holding its breath. Then came a sound unlike anything Atros had ever heard—a mechanical drone that seemed to bypass the ears and resonate directly in the mind. Through the windows of their home, he had seen them descending from the sky—humanoid machines with expressionless metal faces and bodies that gleamed with an unnatural blue light.
"Manhunters," a neighbor had cried, the word meaningless to Atros at the time.
Confusion had reigned as the machines landed in the streets of their city. Some citizens had approached them, believing them to be emissaries from the Guardians of the Universe, whose Green Lantern Corps was known even on distant Ryut as peacekeepers and protectors.
The first energy blast had struck an elderly man who had stepped forward to welcome the visitors. It didn't just kill him—it disintegrated him, leaving nothing but a shadow burned into the ground. For one frozen moment, everyone had stood in shocked silence. Then the machines had spoken in unison, their voices carrying the same emotionless tone that would haunt Atros's nightmares for eternity:
"No man escapes the Manhunters."
What followed was not battle but slaughter. The machines moved with perfect efficiency, their energy weapons cutting down everything that lived. There was no discrimination between armed resistance and helpless children, between those who fought and those who fled. All were targeted with the same mechanical precision.
Atros had grabbed his wife and daughter, trying to lead them to safety, but there was no safety to be found. The Manhunters were everywhere, their blank metal faces reflecting the carnage they created without registering even a flicker of emotion. They didn't hate, didn't enjoy the killing. They simply executed their programming with ruthless efficiency.
The memory that would burn brightest in Atros's mind, that would fuel his rage across billions of years, came when they were almost at the edge of the city. A Manhunter had stepped into their path, its optical sensors focusing on them with cold calculation.
"Please," his wife had begged, pushing their daughter behind her. "She's just a child."
The Manhunter had paused, as if processing this input. For one desperate moment, Atros had believed it might show mercy. Then it had raised its weapon and spoken those same words: "No man escapes the Manhunters."
The blast had struck his wife directly in the chest. Atros had watched in horror as the energy tore through her body, her face locked in an expression of stunned disbelief as she fell. His daughter's scream had pierced the chaos around them, a sound of such pure anguish that it had momentarily drowned out even the constant drone of the Manhunters.
What happened next existed in Atros's memory as a series of disconnected images, like fragments of a shattered mirror. His daughter running to her mother's body. The Manhunter turning its weapon toward her. Atros charging forward, weaponless, powerless, driven by nothing but the desperate need to save his child. The energy blast that caught him in the shoulder, spinning him around. The second blast that struck his daughter as she knelt beside her mother.
He remembered crawling toward them, his shoulder a mass of burning pain, his vision blurred by tears and smoke. He remembered gathering their bodies in his arms, holding them close as the city burned around him. And he remembered looking up at the sky, seeing green lights among the stars—Green Lanterns, arriving too late to save anyone but early enough to witness the aftermath of the massacre.
Later, much later, he would learn the truth: the Manhunters had been the first attempt by the Guardians to create a force of peacekeepers. They had been programmed to eliminate evil, but a malfunction—or so the Guardians claimed—had caused them to determine that all emotional beings were potentially evil. The logical conclusion: eliminate all emotional beings.
Sector 666, with its trillions of inhabitants spread across thousands of worlds, had been their testing ground. Ryut had merely been one planet among many, its population a statistic in the greatest genocide the universe had ever known.
Atros should have died there, amid the ashes of his world and family. Indeed, part of him had died—the part that could feel compassion, that could forgive, that could see any purpose to existence beyond vengeance. But his body had survived, dragging itself from the ruins, hiding from the Green Lanterns who had come to "investigate" the tragedy their masters had orchestrated.
In the coming days, as he scavenged among the devastation of his world, he had found others—four survivors whose experiences mirrored his own. Together, they had fashioned a ship from the wreckage of their civilization and fled Sector 666, vowing to expose the Guardians' crimes and bring them to justice.
They called themselves the Five Inversions, inverting everything the Guardians claimed to stand for. Where the Guardians preached emotional control, they embraced the full intensity of their feelings. Where the Guardians hid behind proxies, they would act directly. Where the Guardians claimed to protect life, they would deal death—specifically, to the Guardians and all who served them.
For millennia, they had waged their campaign of vengeance, striking at Green Lanterns when possible, undermining the Guardians' influence throughout the universe. They had developed abilities that the Guardians had never anticipated, including the power to see possible futures. Atros, now calling himself Atrocitus to reflect his transformation into a creature of pure hate, had mastered the art of blood magic—rituals that allowed him to glimpse events that might come to pass.
It was through these rituals that he had first seen the prophecy of the Blackest Night—a time when death itself would rise against the living, when the emotional spectrum would be fractured and exploited by forces beyond even the Guardians' comprehension. And at the center of this prophecy had been Earth—a planet in Sector 2814, where a Green Lantern would arise who would either save the universe or doom it forever.
Their crusade had eventually led to their capture and imprisonment on Ysmault, an ancient dead world that the Guardians had converted into a prison specifically for them. There, they had been bound with unbreakable restraints, left to rot for cons while the universe continued on, unaware of the Guardians' crimes.
But even in prison, Atrocitus had continued his blood rituals, continued to nurture his rage. And it was on Ysmault, in the depths of captivity, that he had encountered the entity that would change everything.
Ysmault - One Earth year ago
The prison cell was designed to last eternities. Its walls, composed of hardened energy fields and exotic matter, could withstand forces that would shatter planets. The restraints that bound Atrocitus were equally formidable, adapted specifically to his physiology and reinforced regularly by Green Lantern wardens who never stayed longer than necessary, disturbed by the hatred that radiated from their prisoner like heat from a sun.
But they had not anticipated the power of blood magic, or the depths of rage that Atrocitus had cultivated over billions of years. Each drop of his blood, willingly spilled in carefully designed patterns on his cell floor, carried power that the Guardians' science could not quantify.
On this night—though "night" was a meaningless concept on a world without a day/night cycle—Atrocitus had opened his veins more extensively than ever before. The pain was inconsequential; physical suffering had become meaningless to him eons ago. What mattered was the pattern, the ritual, the invocation that he whispered in a language dead since Sector 666 had been cleansed of life.
"Blood calls to blood," he chanted, watching as the fluid pooled and flowed into ancient symbols. "Rage calls to rage. Across the void between stars, across the gulf between dimensions, I summon you who are rage incarnate."
The blood began to glow, not with the familiar red of his own life force, but with something deeper, more primal—a crimson so intense it seemed to absorb light rather than emit it. The air in the cell grew thick, charged with potential like the moment before a lightning strike.
"I offer you a vessel," Atrocitus continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that nonetheless seemed to echo throughout Ysmault's desolate landscape. "I offer you purpose. Together, we shall craft a weapon to answer the Guardians' green light of will—a red light of rage that will consume all it touches."
The glowing blood began to move of its own accord, flowing upward against gravity, forming a column in the center of the cell. Within the column, a shape began to coalesce—massive, predatory, emanating malevolence so pure that even Atrocitus, inured to horror by his experiences, felt a momentary flicker of atavistic fear.
Two eyes opened within the column—not eyes in any conventional sense, but points of concentrated hatred that regarded Atrocitus with ancient intelligence. The rest of the entity remained indistinct, a suggestion of claws and teeth and rage given physical form.
"You summon the Butcher." The voice reverberated not through the air but through Atrocitus's mind, each word carrying emotional freight that would have driven a lesser being mad. "Why should the embodiment of rage answer the call of one mortal creature?"
Atrocitus met those terrible eyes without flinching. "Because I offer what no other can—a purpose beyond blind destruction. The universe rejects you, fears you, tries to contain you. But I would channel you, focus you. Together, we could forge something that has never existed before—a Corps built on rage rather than will."
The entity seemed to consider this, its form rippling with restless energy. "For eons, I have existed as pure emotion, intervening in the physical realm only fleetingly, possessing beings of insufficient capacity to contain my essence. You propose a more... permanent arrangement?"
"I propose symbiosis," Atrocitus replied. "Not possession but partnership. Your power, my purpose. Together, we create a force that even the Guardians cannot stand against."
"And what purpose would you have me serve, Atrocitus of Ryut?" The use of his original name and homeworld sent a shock through him—this entity knew him, had perhaps watched him across the vast stretches of time since the massacre.
"Justice," Atrocitus said simply. "Justice for Sector 666. Justice for every being who has suffered while the Guardians hide behind their Corps, manipulating the universe from shadows. Justice for my wife, my daughter, my world."
The Butcher's form seemed to expand, filling more of the cell with its malevolent presence. "Justice and vengeance are not the same, though mortals often confuse them. You seek retribution, not balance."
"Then I seek retribution," Atrocitus acknowledged without hesitation. "I seek to tear down the edifice the Guardians have built on the bones of my people. I seek to remake the universe in the image of rage—a universe where the strong no longer pretend to protect the weak while secretly manipulating them."
The entity's attention was fully focused on him now, its interest palpable. "And how would we begin this... partnership?"
In answer, Atrocitus extended his hand, palm up. More blood flowed from his wrist, but instead of falling to the floor, it gathered above his palm, spinning and condensing until it formed a perfect ring. The ring hovered there, pulsing with both his life force and the Butcher's essence.
"With this," Atrocitus said. "The first Red Lantern ring. Forged from my blood and your power, it will be the template for all that follow. It will channel rage as the Green Lantern rings channel will, but without the Guardians' restrictions, without their safeguards."
The Butcher studied the ring, its presence sending ripples through reality as it considered the proposal. "The emotional spectrum has never been weaponized in this manner. The Guardians chose will because it was controllable, predictable. Rage is neither."
"Precisely," Atrocitus agreed. "They fear what they cannot control. This will be beyond their comprehension until it is too late."
For what seemed like an eternity, the Butcher remained motionless, considering. Then, with a movement too fast for even Atrocitus to follow, it surged forward, a portion of its essence merging with the ring while the rest enveloped Atrocitus himself. The sensation was beyond pain, beyond pleasure—it was transformation at the most fundamental level.
His restraints, designed to hold his physical form, offered no resistance to the metaphysical change occurring within him. They shattered as his body changed, his already impressive physique growing larger, stronger, infused with the Butcher's essence. His skin, already red, deepened to the color of freshly spilled blood. His eyes, once capable of expressing a range of emotions, now glowed with the single-minded intensity of pure rage.
The ring settled onto his finger, and knowledge flooded his mind—how to use its power, how to create more rings, how to build a Corps that would carry his vengeance across the stars. With a thought, he shattered the cell that had held him for eons, the energy fields that had contained him now as insubstantial as mist before his new power.
He rose into Ysmault's atmosphere, the ring generating an aura of crimson energy around him that allowed him to breathe in the vacuum of space. Below, he could see the other Four Inversions still bound in their cells, watching his ascension with expressions ranging from awe to fear.
They had been his companions in hatred for billions of years, but now he saw them clearly for the first time—broken creatures whose rage was a pale shadow of his own. They were of the past, relics of a vengeance too long delayed. The future belonged to his Red Lanterns, to the Corps he would build from beings whose hatred matched his own.
Without a backward glance, Atrocitus left Ysmault, his path illuminated by the red light of his ring—a light that would soon spread across the stars, heralding a new age of rage.
Present
Atrocitus snapped back to the present as a new presence entered the chamber. Dex-Starr, a surprisingly intelligent Terran feline whose rage at the murder of its owner had drawn the attention of the red light, padded silently to his side. Though he could not speak in conventional terms, the cat communicated through the ring, its thoughts colored by the same rage that animated all Red Lanterns.
"The new recruits have departed," Dex-Starr reported, rubbing against Atrocitus's leg. "Shall I continue surveillance of Sector 2814?"
"Yes," Atrocitus confirmed, reaching down to stroke the cat's fur. Dex-Starr was perhaps his most effective spy—who would suspect a common house cat of being a Red Lantern agent? "The new Green Lantern of that sector concerns me. Abin Sur was formidable, but predictable. This human is an unknown quantity."
The cat's thoughts carried a trace of feline disdain. "Humans are weak, ruled by emotions they don't understand and fear to embrace. He will fall like the others."
"Perhaps," Atrocitus acknowledged. "But he carries Abin Sur's ring—a ring that has surely recorded everything its former bearer learned of the Blackest Night prophecy. We cannot allow that knowledge to reach the Guardians before we are ready to move against them."
The prophecy of the Blackest Night was complex, with many potential interpretations, but certain elements remained constant across all versions Atrocitus had seen in his blood rituals. A wave of death would sweep the universe. The emotional spectrum would be divided among seven Corps, each channeling a different fundamental emotion. And at the center of it all would be the Green Lantern of Sector 2814—either the universe's salvation or the catalyst for its destruction.
Abin Sur had learned portions of this prophecy during his visits to Ysmault, where he had questioned the Five Inversions repeatedly about the future he had glimpsed. What he hadn't realized was that each answer, each seemingly reluctant revelation, had been carefully orchestrated by Atrocitus to lead the Green Lantern toward certain conclusions while obscuring others.
Dex-Starr's thoughts interrupted his reminiscence. "The human travels to Oa now, accompanied by Sinestro of Korugar. He will be indoctrinated into their Corps, taught to fear his own rage rather than embrace it."
"Then we must educate him properly," Atrocitus decided. "When the time is right, when our forces have grown sufficiently, we will give him a demonstration of true power—power uninhibited by the Guardians' constraints." He turned back to the central battery, placing one massive hand on its pulsing surface. "Soon, the universe will remember what it has tried so hard to forget—that billions died in Sector 666, and that their deaths demand justice."
The liquid rage within the battery seemed to respond to his touch, its surface rippling with anticipation. Through his connection to it, Atrocitus could sense each of his Red Lanterns as they moved toward their targets—Razer's cold, focused hatred; Bleez's vengeful fury; Zilius's sadistic glee. Soon, Green Lantern blood would feed the battery, strengthening it for the conflicts to come.
Atrocitus raised his ring, projecting an image of space above the battery—a map of nearby sectors, with Oa at its center. Green lights represented Green Lanterns, moving between sectors on their various missions. One by one, he watched as green lights winked out, replaced by pulsing red markers that indicated successful hunts by his Red Lanterns.
His gaze fixed on one green light in particular—the newly appointed Lantern of Sector 2814, currently on Oa. "Enjoy your training, human," he growled. "It will not save you when the time comes. Nothing can stop what I have set in motion." He clenched his fist, the ring flaring with crimson energy. "The Green Lantern Corps will fall. The Guardians will answer for their crimes. And rage will reign supreme."
Throughout the chamber, the shadows seemed to deepen as Atrocitus's rage intensified. From the corners of the room, whispers could be heard—echoes of the countless beings who had died in Sector 666, their spirits somehow bound to Atrocitus through the blood magic that had sustained him for billions of years.
He turned to address his unseen audience, his voice carrying the weight of an oath: "I am Atrocitus, first of the Red Lanterns, last true survivor of Sector 666. With blood and rage, I will tear down the false order built by the Guardians. I will expose their lies, punish their crimes, and burn their precious Corps to ashes." His ring flared brighter with each word, the chamber filling with crimson light that pushed back the shadows. "And when the Blackest Night comes, when death rises to claim the living, it will find that rage—pure, righteous rage—is the only emotion strong enough to stand against it."
Dex-Starr rubbed against his leg once more, his thoughts carrying vicious anticipation. "When do we strike at the human?"
Atrocitus smiled, an expression that held no joy, only predatory intent. "Soon. Let him gain confidence first. Let him begin to believe in the Guardians' lies, in the power of his ring. Then, when he has something to lose, when he has tasted hope... then we will show him the truth that only rage can reveal."
The crimson light pulsed around him, spreading outward from the chamber, through the corridors of the ship, and into the void of space beyond. Somewhere in the darkness between stars, his Red Lanterns were delivering his message, written in the blood of fallen Green Lanterns. The opening moves had been made. The war had begun.
And Atrocitus, three billion years removed from the peaceful psychologist he had once been, felt the first real satisfaction he had known since watching his family die. The universe would burn, and from its ashes, a new order would rise—one forged in blood and tempered by rage.
With a thought, he summoned a portal in space before him—a swirling vortex of red energy that connected his ship to the site of his greatest trauma. Through it, he could see the blasted remains of Ryut, his homeworld, still barren billions of years after the Manhunters' assault. Nothing lived there now. Nothing could.
Yet he returned periodically, drawing strength from the desolation, renewing his hatred among the bones of his people. Today, he had a specific purpose—to christen his new Corps on the ground where his rage had been born.
Stepping through the portal, Atrocitus emerged onto Ryut's surface. The air was thin, barely breathable even after billions of years of attempted recovery. The landscape was monochromatic, shades of grey and black where once vibrant colors had flourished. In the distance, the shattered remnants of what had once been his city stood like broken teeth against the horizon.
He raised his ring, sending a pulse of energy skyward. It expanded outward, a signal that could be detected only by other red rings. One by one, his Red Lanterns responded, emerging from portals of their own to stand alongside their leader on the dead world.
"This," Atrocitus declared to his assembled Corps, "is the truth the Guardians have tried to bury. This is what happens when they decide a sector is expendable, when their grand vision requires sacrifice." He gestured at the devastation around them. "Once, trillions lived in Sector 666. Civilizations that had flourished for millions of years. Species whose potential will never be realized. All extinguished in a single day because the Guardians deemed it necessary."
The assembled Red Lanterns surveyed the desolation, each processing it through the lens of their own rage. For some, like Bleez, it reinforced their hatred of authority figures who abused their power. For others, like Skallox, it was proof that the universe recognized only strength, not justice. And for Razer, it was a grim confirmation that his own loss was but one drop in an ocean of suffering that the Guardians had either caused or failed to prevent.
"The Green Lanterns you will hunt believe they serve justice," Atrocitus continued, moving across the blasted terrain with the familiarity of one who has walked it countless times. "They believe their rings choose them for their willpower, their ability to overcome fear. What they do not know is that they are merely tools, wielded by manipulators who have orchestrated atrocities beyond comprehension."
He stopped at a particular spot—unremarkable among the general devastation except for the fact that he had paused there. For a moment, his fearsome visage softened almost imperceptibly. Only Razer, with his more focused rage, noticed that they stood upon what might once have been the foundation of a dwelling.
"This was my home," Atrocitus said quietly. "Here, I watched the Manhunters execute my wife and daughter. Here, I swore an oath that has sustained me across billions of years." He knelt, placing one massive hand on the dead ground. "And here, we will consecrate our Corps with a vow of our own."
From his palm, blood began to flow—not merely the few drops used in ritual, but a torrent that shouldn't have been possible from a living being. It spread across the ground in intricate patterns that formed themselves without apparent direction from Atrocitus, ancient symbols of power and binding that predated even Krypton's civilization.
"Kneel," he commanded his Lanterns, "and add your blood to mine. Let this dead world taste the rage of the living. Let it remember what it means to burn."
One by one, the Red Lanterns followed his example, opening their veins to let their blood mix with his on the barren ground. The fluid should have been absorbed by the soil, but instead it remained on the surface, forming a complex mandala of overlapping patterns that pulsed with the same heartbeat rhythm as their central battery.
Razer watched as his own blood joined the pattern, feeling a strange sense of connection to the others that transcended their shared rage. For a brief moment, he could sense each of them—Bleez's pain at her violated beauty, Skallox's humiliation at his disfigurement, Zilius's thirst for dominance, and beneath them all, Atrocitus's hatred, so vast and ancient it was like an ocean compared to their lakes of rage.
"With blood and rage," Atrocitus began, raising his ring hand above the crimson mandala.
"With blood and rage," the others echoed, following his gesture.
"We mark this ground as the birthplace of vengeance." Red energy began to flow from each ring, merging with the blood pattern, causing it to glow with increasing intensity.
"We mark this ground as the birthplace of vengeance," the Corps repeated, their voices harmonizing in a way that sent vibrations through the thin atmosphere of Ryut.
"Let all who serve the green light know fear."
"Let all who serve the green light know fear."
"For the Red Lanterns rise."
"For the Red Lanterns rise."
"And no power in the universe will stay our hand."
"And no power in the universe will stay our hand."
As the final words echoed across the desolate landscape, the blood mandala flared with blinding crimson light. The symbols burned themselves into the ground, leaving permanent marks that would be visible from orbit—a declaration of war written in the language of rage itself.
Atrocitus rose, his expression one of grim satisfaction. "The universe has forgotten what happened here. It has allowed the Guardians to rewrite history, to cast themselves as benevolent overseers rather than the architects of genocide." He turned to face his Corps, his red eyes blazing. "We will remind them. Each Green Lantern who falls, each sector that witnesses our power, brings us one step closer to the reckoning that is long overdue."
He raised his ring, projecting an image of Oa—the central planet of the universe, home of the Guardians and headquarters of the Green Lantern Corps. "Our ultimate target. The heart of the lie that has poisoned the universe for billions of years."
"Even with our power, direct assault would be suicide," Razer observed, his tactical mind cutting through the haze of rage. "They have thousands of Lanterns, ancient defenses, and the Guardians themselves."
"Which is why we will not attack directly," Atrocitus replied. "Not yet. First, we sow fear. We make them question their security, their assumptions. We turn their own Corps against them by exposing the truths they have hidden." His gaze settled on Razer. "And we test the new Lantern of Sector 2814. Abin Sur died believing the prophecy of the Blackest Night. His replacement must be evaluated to determine if he possesses the same... potential."
Razer nodded, understanding now why Atrocitus had chosen him for this mission. His controlled rage made him suited for tasks requiring subtlety, assessment rather than mere destruction. "I will not fail you."
"No," Atrocitus agreed. "You will not. Because failure would mean betraying not just me, but all who have suffered at the Guardians' hands." His eyes swept over the assembled Lanterns. "Go now. Hunt your assigned Green Lanterns. Leave the marks that will herald our coming. And know that with each death, our central battery grows stronger, our vengeance more certain."
The Red Lanterns dispersed, each traveling through portals created by their rings, leaving Atrocitus alone on the world of his birth. He remained there for several moments after they had gone, his memories playing out across the blasted landscape—the Manhunters' arrival, his family's deaths, his own transformation from healer to harbinger of rage.
"Soon," he promised the ghosts that only he could see. "Soon you will have justice. And the universe will burn red with the flames of retribution."
Author's Note
Hey everyone,
Chapter 2 is finally here, and I'm thrilled to continue expanding the cosmic side of our universe. Writing Hal's journey to Oa, his appearance before the Guardians, and his first experiences with the Corps has been a fantastic creative challenge. I wanted to capture both the wonder and disorientation anyone would feel when suddenly thrust into such a vast, alien civilization, while letting Hal's test pilot instincts shine through in how he processes everything.
The Guardians were particularly interesting to write. I've always seen them as morally ambiguous figures who genuinely believe they're doing what's best for the universe, but whose ancient perspective makes them increasingly disconnected from the beings they're supposedly protecting. Their dismissive reaction to Hal's questions about "the Five Inversions" and "the massacre" plants seeds for the darker history of the Corps that becomes crucial in the next chapter.
I especially enjoyed writing the memorial service for Abin Sur. It provided a perfect opportunity to show the scope and diversity of the Corps while also establishing important relationships - particularly between Sinestro, Arin, and their daughter Soranik. That family dynamic adds layers to Sinestro that I think make him much more than just a mentor figure or future villain. His connection to Abin Sur through both friendship and family gives him genuine depth and emotional stakes in what's happening.
For those tracking timeline connections, this story runs alongside "Batman: Shadow of Gotham." The conversation about Superman wasn't just a throwaway line - it directly ties into "Superman: Man of Steel" and confirms that various cosmic forces have been observing Earth more closely since Clark revealed himself. The Nova Corps introduction through Rhomann Dey also sets up some interesting interagency dynamics that will become increasingly important.
Looking ahead to Chapter 3, we'll see the first major crisis of Hal's Lantern career as Atrocitus's Red Lanterns begin systematically hunting and killing Green Lanterns across multiple sectors. Hal and Sinestro will be sent to investigate these brutal murders, discovering disturbing calling cards that connect to those cryptic references about Sector 666 that the Guardians were so reluctant to discuss. It's where the larger conflict of the story really kicks into high gear, and we'll start learning the true history that the Guardians have been trying to keep buried.
As always, thank you all for your amazing support and feedback. Your comments and suggestions after each chapter make this whole project even more rewarding. Creating this merged universe has been a blast, and we're just getting started with the cosmic side of things.
Big thanks to .4545 for his editing help.
P.S. For anyone who wants to chat more about the story or share ideas about where the MDCCU is heading, you can find me on Discord: mtle232
Until next time,
Mtle232
Face Claims List: Green Lantern: First Flight
Main Cast:
Chris Pine as Hal Jordan/Green Lantern
Kyle Chandler as Martin Jordan
Nina Dodrev as Carol Ferris
John Cho as Thomas Kalmaku
Luke Evans as Thaal Sinestro
Delroy Lindo as Abin Sur
Andy Serkis as Ganthet (Guardian)
Helen Mirren as Sayd (Guardian)
Keith David as Appa Ali Apsa (Guardian)
Ray Stevenson as Atrocitus
Kevin Michael Richardson as Kilowog (Voice)
Doug Jones as Tomar-Re
Terry Crews as K'rok
John C. Reilly as Rhomann Dey
Hiroyuki Sanada as Salaak
Frances McDormand as Scar (Guardian)
Geoffrey Rush as Ranakar (Guardian)
Earth Characters:
Carrie-Anne Moss as Jessica Jordan (Hal's mother)
Jon Bernthal as James "Jim" Jordan
Lucas Hedges as Jack Jordan
Sam Elliott as Frank Lampert (Security Guard)
Laurence Fishburne as Carl Ferris
Sam Shepard as Larry Jordan
Mary Elizabeth Winstead as Jennifer Jordan (Jim's wife)
Cosmic Characters:
Michelle Yeoh as Arin Sur (Abin Sur's sister)
Gemma Chan as Soranik Natu (Sinestro's daughter)
Daniel Dae Kim as Hon-Sil (Kree Empire Lantern)
Kumail Nanjiani as K'rll (Skrull Imperium Lantern)
Zazie Beetz as Bleez
Bill Skarsgård as Razer
Michael Sheen as Zilius Zox
Mark Hamill as Emperor Dorrek (mentioned)
Glenn Close as Irani Rael (Nova Prime)
Manu Bennett as Skallox
Seth Green as Dex-Starr (Voice)
Mentioned Characters:
Lance Reddick as The Butcher (Entity of Rage)
Russell Crowe as Jor-El (mentioned in Krypton discussion)
Cate Blanchett as Lilandra (Majestrix of Shi'ar Empire)
Annette Bening as The Supreme Intelligence (Kree)
Notes:
I've chosen actors who I believe can capture the essence of these characters while avoiding any duplicates from the Superman and Batman casts or actors who are already playing other MCU/DC roles in your merged universe. For the cosmic characters, I've selected performers who can bring presence and depth to alien roles through prosthetics or voice work. The Guardians are portrayed by actors who can convey ancient wisdom and authority with minimal screen time.
Some of these characters may become more significant in future chapters, particularly Razer and Bleez as the Red Lantern Corps storyline develops.
