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Qward
The Anti-Matter Universe
A lanky pink skinned individual paced circles around a pillar of soft yellow light that stretched from the shadows of the extremely high ceiling down to the floor. His dark blue body armor almost blended in with the darkness around him, what little light was there reflected off of the winged helmet tucked into the crook of his right arm. Black eyes scrutinized a golden ring that floated serene, rotating around an imaginary axis in the center of the light. Frustration over the recent, dismal, failures over the previous bearers of this powerful weapon weighed heavily on his shoulders.
Chief Weaponer Bayloc knew, deep within himself, that these failures were partially his responsibility, because if there was anything he had learned was that if you wanted something done right, you do it yourself. It was one of the only sayings Bayloc even remotely liked from the positive matter universe; everything else about that reality burned like acid in his chest. For a brief moment he wondered how his predecessor, Chief Weaponer Kiman, handled this constant disappointment without decimating everything around him.
The original yellow ring was created after the Qwardians first encounter with the disgraced Green Lantern, Sinestro. The alien was absolutely essential in the creation of the weapon, using his knowledge of the Corps to exploit their major weakness: the yellow impurity. Sinestro was an amazing success, opening up a whole new realm of possibility for Qward. His experience made him the best to command the awesome powers granted unto him, which made it very difficult to replace him after he was imprisoned in the Central Battery on Oa, then later killed in combat by their greatest nemesis, Hal Jordan.
The Chief Weaponer grinned at the irony that it would be the greatest of the Green Lanterns to destroy the Corps and the Guardians of Oa, and not their own instrument of fear and chaos.
Without the orignal ring it had taken the Qwardians many years to duplicate another golden ring and many more stressful years to research and find an acceptable replacement to bear this new weapon
Their first choice, Fatality, was a complete failure. She attracted their attention because of her seething, burning anger for the Green Lantern Corps ever since John Stewart let her entire world die. Fatality had gone on a hunt for vengeance and slaughtered every member of the Corps he targeted. Her hatred towards the Corps made Yrra the perfect candidate without any conditioning required. While the ring itself performed much better than Bayloc anticipated, the weakness of the ring turned out to be Fatality herself. The pain she carried in her heart and the willingness to die had hampered her willpower, and had ultimately gotten the better of her.
Her inexperience with the ring was countered by the power rings artificial intelligence. Every Green Lantern ring had the capability of a super computer, but always at the command of the bearer. This ring was designed to be much more intuitive than the average ring, able to interact with the bearer on a subconscious level giving instant knowledge and drawing upon untapped willpower to deliver more power and quicker performance. The union between them should have been instantaneous, but her genetic structure was a mess, hampering the rings ability to cleanly merge with her. However, years of inbreeding weren’t predicted to be a problem, but taken into consideration for their next choice.
Alexander Nero was that choice. The Chief Weaponer had theorized that another artist, like Kyle Rayner, would be an excellent candidate because of the untapped creative potential buried within. The fact that Nero was an insane, chaos-worshipping psychopath was an added bonus. He was an instant success, mastering the ring famously and commanding fear to the point that he even bested Alan Scott. Yet, he ultimately failed too. It was the same chaos-worshipping psychopathic tendencies that made Nero an uncontrollable loose cannon that threatened those that gave him such power.
So now, here he was, standing, staring at the lone ring that was floating useless in front of him.
“Chief Weaponer?” came a voice from behind Bayloc.
“What do you have for me Wochal?” Bayloc asked with other visible reaction, having expected the presence of his chief scientist.
The other pink skinned Qwardian moved into position next to his boss and opened his left hand to let the round projector form a hologram. “I believe I have the perfect candidate.”
Bayloc straightened, and looked at the holographic figure over Wochal’s palm. Despite his grim mood he almost laughed – before suppressing the urge to snap his subordinate’s neck. “This is your choice? The Green Lantern of Earth?”
“Not exactly, sir.” Wochal was quick to explain himself, fearing certain death if he didn’t make his thoughts clearer. “This is Oblivion. Year’s prior, Kyle Rayner created a being of immeasurable power from deep inside his subconscious mind. Oblivion was the personification of the Green Lanterns dark emotions: hate, anger, insecurity and fear. In the end, Oblivion was remerged inside Kyle’s mind but he still exists in the Green Lantern and I have figured out a way of freeing this creature for us.”
Bayloc’s forehead scrunched over his large sunken eyes, silently telling his scientist to continue. He was definitely intrigued by the prospect.
“Oblivion is essentially everything we have been looking for. He is the exact opposite of Kyle Rayner, but with the same untapped potential and easily his equal in willpower. However, Oblivion was created by Kyle’s ring. This time, that won’t be the case. I have figured out a way of downloading Oblivion into the yellow ring, effectively he would be powering his existence and the ring would be powered by Oblivion. The artificial intelligence of the ring would make the union complete and unbreakable.”
Chief Weaponer Bayloc moved to a large open window and looked upon the city of Qwardeen, the capital of Qward, as it stretched out to the horizon; the jungle, that edged around the city, barely in view. The most prominent sight was the towering statue of Yokal the Atrocious, the best of all Qwardians and the founder of their current way of life. “How soon can you make this happen?” he asked turning back to Wochal.
“We are prepared now. I have already created the necessary equipment. All we need now is the current location of the Green Lantern.”
“Excellent, you have done well,” Bayloc said. “Now leave me and summon the Master Thunderer. We have an attack to plan.”
New York City
It was going on dinnertime as Kyle Rayner and his girlfriend Allison walked the streets of New York, headed to dinner at Lupo’s, an Italian place they frequented. Allison had just gotten off work a half hour ago, and taxied down to meet Kyle, he was himself coming from a job interview, applying to be an art teacher at the recently established Gil Kane high.
“How’d it go?”
“I don’t see how they could hire me.”
“What? I don’t see how they couldn’t. You’re a professional artist, for Christ’s sake!”
“Yeah, but I have no experience in teaching at all. And I don’t have any of the right degrees…”
“Who cares? You’re an artist. Plus, I’m sure you interviewed well.”
“Well, I had the guy laughing…but it’s still insane to think that anyone would put me in charge of a group of kids. I can’t even do my laundry on a regular basis.”
As they walk, she slips an arm around his waist, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I dunno…you seem to be able to hold a girlfriend.”
“Would you have any objection to me getting that tattooed on my forehead?”
“Ha! See, you’ve got charisma.”
“That’s true. And I am very sexy.”
“I may agree, but you still probably wanna leave that off the tattoo.”
“Ow! I’m wounded…” With that, Kyle stopped, halting them both. “…and completely wiped.”
“Right. We’ll be skipping dinner then?”
“Sorry. How hungry are you?”
“Hungrier than I will be after we pass that hot dog vendor and you buy me one.”
“Hey, you’re the one with the job here.”
“Yeah, I woulda paid for Lupo’s, buddy.”
“Fair enough.”
The Hot Dog vendor was a small, thin man, with dark skin and a wiry mustache, rather resembling a rat. “Buy a dog for the pretty lady?” he started, before Kyle even approached him.
“Yeah, sure. How much do I owe you?”
“Whaddaya want on it?”
Kyle cocked an eyebrow at Allison. “Ketchup and Mustard,” she piped in.
“$3.30.”
“Right. Got’cha.” Kyle reached into his pocket for a wallet, not too keen on the idea of spending his last five, but seeing little recourse. When he opened the wallet and found it empty, he saw even less. He turned to look sheepishly at Allison. “Or maybe not…”
Allison started to look mad for a second, but then shifted her expression to neutral. “Fine. Don’t worry about --”
“Why don’t you just let me cover it?” The voice came from behind Allison, someone who had been previously buried in all the street traffic. He had very short blonde hair, stood just under 6 feet, and was extremely clean shaven. He had on a pair of Adidas warm up pants and a sleeveless ‘Gold’s Gym’ T-shirt that was completely sweated through. His muscles were large, but not obnoxiously so, like some people. However, the man was ripped. The muscles of his arms were extremely well defined, and the sweat-shrunken T-shirt outlined bulging pectorals and a completely flat stomach.
To Allison he was a stranger, to Kyle an old friend. “Connor! What’s up man?”
“I’ve actually been trying to find you since I got into the city. I was worried you might hurt yourself after what happened to your Lakers.”
“Christ…I don’t even talk about it. I wasn’t gonna hurt myself, but believe me I was about to go after Rasheed Wallace.”
Feeling left out, Allison decided to chime in. “Yeah, except Rasheed Wallace is like 6’6.”
Connor looked blankly at Kyle, who was by this point quite good at innuendo. He held his right fist up, his ring finger displayed prominently. “She hasn’t seen my right hook yet, Con.”
Comprehension dawned quickly on young Hawke, he was no stranger to innuendo himself. “Shame, it’s a beauty.”
Allison felt fairly ingratiated by this point. “Somebody’s a little cocky.”
“Quiet, woman.”
“Please. If you’re gonna start with that you have to at least buy me stuff.”
“I think she may have you there, Kyle.”
“See? Connor agrees with me. Was it Connor?”
“Oh. Right, introductions…Connor, this is my girlfriend Allison. Allison, this is Connor Hawke, an old friend. We --”
Kyle was slipping, so Connor filled in for him. “Played in a men’s basketball league together.” He extended his hand before the topic could be continued. “Hi.”
Allison took the hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you, Connor.” Then, on impulse, she slid her hand up to his bicep and squeezed. It was rock hard. “Oooh. Sexy.”
Connor had seemed confident a moment before, but his face quickly turned beet red, and he looked down sheepishly. Allison felt Kyle’s hand on her shoulder. “Easy. That stuff makes him uncomfortable.”
She thought it was odd, but could see it was true, so she became slightly embarrassed, herself. They stood there in awkward silence for a second, the four of them – Connor, Kyle, Allison, and the rat-faced hotdog vendor, waiting patiently for someone to pay for his merchandise.
The silence lasted but a second. A loud BOOM could be heard, along with many screams from about two blocks away. The ground shook under them.
That was all it took – the two men were off like a shot – Connor much faster, but Kyle following with equal purpose, both heading right for the source of the explosion, pushing against street traffic as they went.
Allison, standing still and watching, amazed, could not help but feel that something was deeply wrong with the situation. A second later, she realized what it was – she had been left to pay for her own hot dog after all.
Ding!
The thick metal doors slid apart from each other, opening to let its passenger off at his designated floor. John Stewart huffed as he wheeled himself off of the elevator, despite having flown all over this world he still hated the slight feeling of vertigo these infernal contraptions gave him when they slowed to a stop. His gloved hands pushed at the hard rubber wheels to propel himself along to the floor until he stopped at the door of the last Green Lantern in the Universe, Kyle Rayner.
Once a week the former hero would drop by the Green Lantern’s apartment to assist the artist on his comic strip, City Dwellers, by sketching in the city’s landscape in the backgrounds. Kyle was a tremendously talented artist, but the emerald hero simply sucked with architecture.
His dark hand reach out and rapped on the door, hoping that the Green Lantern would be home. The temperature outside the door suddenly, and drastically, dropped what felt like twenty degrees. Goose bumps rose instantly all over his skin and felt the tiny hairs rise on the back of his neck. Something was disrupting the natural order of things, yet somehow John knew that there wasn’t cause to worry.
John heard the mechanisms in the doorknob twist, then the door smoothly swung open. In the threshold stood a figure wearing billowing, green robes that gently flowed as if they were caught in an ethereal breeze, but John could not see the persons face covered in dark shadow from the hood that hung low over the eyes.
“John Stewart, please, come in,” the figure stated in a cold voice that sent shivers down John’s spine. He seemed to float backwards away from the door to permit the crippled man’s entrance. “It’s time we had a talk.”
A look of indecision flashed quickly across Stewart’s face momentarily deepening the worry lines in his forehead, before it disappeared, replaced with a steel-eyes look of determination. John grabbed the wheels of his chair and he entered Kyle’s apartment. “It’s been a long time, old friend, I hope you are not here to take me away. I’d hate to think that the first time we’d have met, in your new role, would be for my death.”
Even through the shadow John could have sworn he saw a grin flash on the spirits face. “Of course not, John, it is far before your time and you have far too much to accomplish in that time. No, I am here to help you – to heal you and make you whole.”
John smirked. “You don’t have to bother. I’m not ill, so you’re wasting your time here.”
The Spectre’s green gloved hands snaked out of his robes, opening them to reveal a circle of bright green flame that burned on his chest, and pulled the hood from his head to reveal a pale face, covered in a green mask that was all too familiar to John. There was a look of sympathy in the Spectre’s eyes. “Maybe, no, perhaps you are not ill, physically, but you are wounded spiritually and emotionally.”
Kyle’s apartment melted away without warning, and barely a notice as John just found himself, somehow, floating in space on an asteroid. Despite the vastness and similarity of space the former Green Lantern knew where he was instinctively, and his gaze drifted down to his knees trying to avoid looking at the scenery around him.
“Let us begin with your little ‘cosmic odyssey’, shall we? Your battle against the Anti-Life Equation in the now dead Xanshi System.” The Spectre looked down at John. “Look up, John. Look at you just kneeling there crying, sobbing on that piece of rock after suffering the most horrific moment of your life.”
Stewart tried to ignore the Spectre’s words, but he swallowed his fear with courage. John Stewart was never one to back down from a confrontation. His dark eyes drifted back up and there he was, his Green Lantern uniform was torn to shreds. An aura of soft green energy surrounded his body, keeping him alive in the harsh void where once a planet existed. John felt pity for his younger self.
“Oh my God…Oh my God… All those people…I felt them die…I could hear their screams through my ring…Feel their agony…I never dreamt…I…I…J’Onn?” the Green Lantern called for the Martian Manhunter, needing for some sort of beacon of life in the shadow of all this death.
The only other survivor of the catastrophe flew next to John, standing in cold silence. His blank white eyes bored into the Green Lantern.
“I…I never…” John pleaded, hoping that the Martian would offer him some sympathy, tell him it wasn’t his fault.
That’s not what he got.
~Thanks to your arrogance and stupidity, I have now seen two worlds die.~ The Martian Manhunter’s voice, carried by the ring, was hard and unforgiving. He could barely conceive the enormity of it, himself. Even with his telepathic mind fresh with the echoes of a billion cries of death. ~I will never forgive you for this.~
“But I thought I could handle it...” John not only thought it, he believed it. John had defied the Anti-Life aspect, dared death itself to challenge the might of the Green Lantern; only moments before the planet exploded and hurtled itself into the sun. “Didn’t think it would know about the ring’s vulnerability to yellow…I would have…I should…I…I…” John didn’t know how to continue, the awe of staring at the freshly painted yellow bomb was still prevalent in his mind.
The Martian had enough and lifted off of his rock with disgust. ~John…Shut up. Just shut up.~
The past continued to play itself out even as the Spectre drew John’s attention away. “You knew in that exact moment that you wanted to end it all, didn’t you? Unfortunately, you still had a job to do and you had to see it through.”
“What is the point of all this?” John asked.
“Just answer the question, John. All will be revealed in due time.”
John looked at himself now standing. His head dipped in shame, looking at his feet as J’Onn J’Onzz flew away from him. “Their agony was fresh in my mind. It was overwhelming…I didn’t know how to deal with it.”
The entity formerly known as Hal Jordan turned to John Stewart and shook his head “Even now you still lie to me, to yourself…”
“What do you mean?” John asked. Anger peppered his voice.
“When you arrived on New Genesis, you separated yourself from the rest of the group,” the Spectre continued, ignoring John’s anger. “The blood of billions was still wet on your hands. Suicide ran through your mind.”
“I’m sorry Kat…But all those people died because of me…Because of me.” John could feel the cold grip of the gun in his hand. All he had to do now was put it to his head. “I just can’t live with that!” He pressed the barrel of the gun against his temple. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he tried to muster the will to squeeze his finger – but he couldn’t.
~Well? Are you going to kill yourself or not?~ the Martian Manhunter asked as he stepped into the room from hiding in the shadows of a curtain.
“huh?” John looked startled.
~You might as well. It’s apparent that you’re not suited for this line of work. This profession is a tough and unforgiving calling, demanding strength and character. Our kind is called upon to make crucial decisions daily and act upon them. We also have to be able to live with the consequences of our actions and to learn from our mistakes.~
~You, John Stewart are obviously not strong enough to handle such responsibility. You are flawed. So do everyone a favor and finish with this grisly act of self-destruction. I am sure Hal Jordan will find a new and more suitable caretaker for your power ring.~
An uncomfortable amount of time passed in silence as the two stared at each other like a pair of Old Western gunfighters. John was the first to give in and he bowed his head in submission, then summoned his ring from the cold depths of space. “Ring.” The object re-entered the atmosphere and slid effortlessly onto his finger. John stood up and looked the Martian square in the eye. “Screw you, J’Onzz.”
John pushed his way passed the Leaguer and exited the room.
J’Onn simply smiled.
“How dare the Martian step from the shadows and tell you what to do! How could he know the pain you were in, the responsibility that crushed down on you because of the genocide you failed to prevent?”
The Spectre appeared in front of John and leaned into his face. “You want to know the truth?”
John looked away. “What truth?” he asked meekly.
“That you couldn’t do it because you knew he was right. That maybe you weren’t strong enough for the task. He was right, but you had to prove to him that he was wrong.” The Spectre leaned in closer, his unnatural presence causing John to uncontrollably squirm in his chair. “But, J’Onn’s smart, he knew the buttons to push to force you to live just to spite his arrogance in telling you to pull that trigger.” The Voice stood back up and looked down at the broken man. “You played right into his hand.”
John sat in disbelief at the verbal bashing he was receiving. “Go screw,” was his only retort.
The Spectre nodded and pressed on. “Fine, let us skip ahead to something less gloomy. The Darkstars. Just one of the few forces created to ensure order and peace in the wake of the Corps destruction. You were happy to join. You became a leader in a group mixed with your peers and relative rookies. They looked up to you for knowledge. It was nice to be wanted again, useful. You not only faced great challenges, but you found another reason to live: Love.”
Their environment shifted again, this time to the interior of a starship, just like the last place it looked very familiar to John, but he wasn’t as anxious to ignore this place. It was weird to the man, however, because like last he didn’t notice the change. It was like they were always standing there and not on New Genesis like moments ago. Again he found himself staring at a younger version of himself.
John stood, proud in his red and black Darkstar uniform; in his arms he held a beautiful, exotic woman with a wonderful shade of blue skin and erotically pointed ears. Everything about the Merayn made him feel alive, jubilant and free from the burdens he carried in his soul.
“I love you, Merayn, you’ve healed the hole in my heart that’s been there for years,” he said to her as he looked deep into her pale yellow pupiless eyes.
“I love you too, John,” she replied through a grin that showed off her slightly sharper than normal canines, and for the first time they kissed…and John was happy.
“Merayn was the best thing to happen to you since Star Sapphire took your first love, Katma Tui, away from you. The both of you share a love so strong that even Darkseid himself cannot break. Your current handicap only serves to bring you two closer together.”
“That’s bullshit!” John spat, oblivious that the starship was now gone, replace with nothing but a white void that stretched on infinitely around them. “Merayn takes care of me because she loves me. Nothing would change our love, even if I could walk.”
The Spectre raised a pale eyebrow. “Really? Don’t you see that you’re paying for your own arrogance? You love her and that frightens you. Not because you’re afraid of losing her, but because you’re afraid of failing her, being a disappointment. You had to find a way to play it safe, whether you’re consciously aware of it or not.”
John seethed, his knuckles turned white under the stress of gripping his wheelchair arms. “You couldn’t be more wrong. When Grayven did this to me it was the universe’s way of making things even. This chair is my penance for my mistakes.”
The Spectre drifted around John then knelt beside the chair and hissed into his ear. “Grayven didn’t do that to you. You did. You were sloppy, a fool. The Darkstars were getting torn apart around you. It was the Corps all over again. This time, though, you blamed yourself. You’ve dealt with beings far tougher than Grayven and chewed them up like candy.” The Spectre pointed a finger at John. “That grief you feel isn’t from the deaths of the Xanshi race, or from the destruction of the Darkstars – it’s from your failure. You failed to defeat your enemy and you couldn’t deal with it. You set the bar too high. Even Superman could never pray to match your impossible expectations, and when you couldn’t match up you took it out on yourself.”
“Oh, so now I’m a heartless fiend? Some sort of narcissistic egomaniac? A cold-blooded killer?” John growled in the Spectre’s face. “How dare you trivialize what I’ve accomplished!”
The Spectre stood, the sorrow was apparent on his pale face. “Forgive me, I did not wish to imply that you were a monster. I know you feel true sorrow about Xanshi, the Darkstars and everything else that happened in your life. However, none of those come close to the pity you feel about yourself for failing to stop them…despite everything else that you’ve accomplished and all that you’ve saved with the Mosiac world alone.”
Thick, salty tears began to pour down John’s cheeks. “I hear those poor bastards screams echo in my every night I lay to sleep. I wake up in a cold sweat with the memory of watching my teammates getting slaughtered around me. I feel all of their pain, their shock, their disappointment and their anger – and it’s overwhelming. Maybe you remember what it’s like? Countless billions snuffed out in a heartbeat. All of those futures and the greatness that would come from that potential erased from history by your own hands! Yet, you dare to stand in front of me and judge my actions?” John wiped at his tears and almost laughed at the irony. “One genocidal maniac lecturing another about morality.”
The Spectre’s face went grim. “I’m serving my penance for all that now and even with eternity in front of me I will never be able to make up for my actions, but at least I owned up to them, accepted them. I didn’t run away. If you can’t take a little bloody nose, maybe you ought to go back home and crawl under your bed. It’s not safe out here. It’s wondrous, with treasures to satiate desires both subtle and gross; but it’s not for the timid. I’m sure Merayn will understand.”
“You son of a bitch!” John suddenly wished he could belt the spirit. “I love Merayn, but I didn’t put myself in this chair just so I could do so without fear of failing her!”
Sadness returned to the Spectre’s face. “Then you did it for your own ego. Maybe, I’m not the perfect person to stand in front of you and judge you, John, but I’ve made a decision none the less.” The Spectre paused. “You haven’t learned a damned thing. You’re a coward too afraid to see the truth and accept it.”
“Oh yeah? What truth is that?” John asked. His anger boiled – but before it could blow the Spectre replied with something that took the fight instantly out of the tired man’s soul.
“That you’ve been forgiven.”
John’s eyes watered and his mouth dropped open. His mind struggled to grasp the meaning of that last word. “What?” he asked confused.
“The burdens you’ve been carrying aren’t meant for your shoulders anymore. You’re free from them now. The souls of Xanshi have forgiven you your torment. Katma forgives you your pain and Merayn forgives you your selfishness. I forgive you and more importantly God forgives you, John.” The Spectre put a hand on John’s shoulder. “Let him be your Atlas.”
John Stewart couldn’t believe it, refused to let his mind process the words and tried to fight it. “No, I’m sorry, but that’s not good enough. Not for what I’ve done.”
The Spectre looked down at his former teammate and felt sympathy. It was tough to believe you could live with tremendous consequences. “John, is your arrogance that strong to ignore what He has done for you? Let it go. If God can forgive you, isn’t it time you forgive yourself?”
John hung his head in shame. “Yes, I guess it is time,” There was no more anger left in him to fight with. “All I’ve felt for myself was pity. Even when it wasn’t obvious I could still feel it just beneath the surface. I felt that if I had sacrificed myself heroically, one last hurrah, that I could make my mistakes seem lighter. I guess heroism and sacrifice under false pretense didn’t do anything but erase that look of pity from others’ eyes…not my own.”
They were no longer in the endless white, but back in Kyle’s apartment.
“Take my hand, John.” A white hand appeared outstretched before his eyes. John looked up the hand to the arm of a brown bomber jacket, then to the smiling face of his friend, Hal Jordan. “Go on, take it.”
John extended a trembling hand to grasp Hal’s and without warning he was pulled to his feet. He stood in shock; his legs didn’t shake nor feel weak anymore. “Did you…?”
Hal nodded and spoke through his smile. “I healed your spine and reversed the atrophy to your legs. You are a healed man, in more ways than one.”
John looked confused. “But, why? Why go through all that trouble for me?”
“Because you are needed.” Hal extended a closed fist, palm down, then flipped it over and unclenched his fingers. Sitting in the middle of his palm was a shiny new emerald ring. The sunlight, through the window, reflected off of it briefly like the ring was winking at John. “Do you accept my offer to become the man you once were and are meant to be? To become a Green Lantern again?”
John stared at the ring in silent awe. With a trembling hand he reached out and his fingertips brushed against it, feeling its electric energy course through him. He took the ring from Jordan’s palm and slid it smoothly onto his middle finger, where it sat comfortably. A shiver of excitement ran up his spine at the old familiar weight. A wide grin decorated John’s face and when he looked up the Spectre was once more standing in front of him. The spirit’s open robes revealed the circle of emerald flame that burned on his chest.
“Does this mean that the Corps is back?”
“No, but they will be and when they are they will need guidance and wisdom that only you can provide.” The Spectre pulled his hood back up over his face, covering it in shadow. “Are you ready?”
A green halo surrounded John’s body and slowly his t-shirt and jeans morphed, starting from his head to his feet, into a black and green uniform. The Green Lantern logo was centered on his chest. “I am ready…now. Thank you, old friend, for not giving up on me.”
The Spectre simply nodded and faded away from existence. His job was done here for today.
John looked from his ring to his wheelchair that sat empty before him. He then looked over at the window that revealed the entire city of New York just outside. Five seconds later, with a cry of jubilation, John Stewart rocketed into the sky leaving a trail of emerald energy behind him. For the first time in years he felt invigorated, and more importantly he felt redeemed.
Elsewhere on the other side of the Universe
In the shadows of the dark cavern a the Spectre faded back into existence; a swirling green gas surrounded his body before solidifying into the flowing green robes that The Voice of God traditionally wore. He pulled the robes tight to his body and stepped further into the cavern.
“Did he accept?” asked another tremendously powerful being that the Spectre approached from behind. The Spectre towered over the individual who barely stood half of the spirits height.
“Yes,” the Spectre replied to his former master. “It took some hard convincing, but he eventually acquiesced. Unfortunately, that is all I can do for you. I cannot be permitted to intervene further.”
The tiny blue skin being finally turned to the Spectre, his red robes a stark contrast to the green of the spirit he spoke to. “How is it that you could do this task, but not anything else?”
“The nature of the duty performed. John was in need of redemption and I was in a position to offer him that. Me offering him the ring can be looked at as an extra step in the right direction. However, the rest is outside of my jurisdiction in the affairs of the universe.”
“I understand,” the tiny man replied. “I know all too well the different roles we must fit in to.”
The Spectre smiled and took two steps backwards away from the man. “Good luck, Ganthet, I hope everything works out.” Then he was gone.
The last surviving Oan sighed. “Me too.”
New York City
Kyle Rayner had managed about a block at a dead sprint before he had to slow down, but not for lack of endurance; there was a throng of people heading into a completely different direction, and fighting his way forward was like running through sand. Connor, predictably, had not been slowed; immediately upon contact with the crowd, the blonde had begun darting his smaller frame into small openings in the throng, moving ever towards the source of the disturbance and quickly moving out of Kyle’s sight.
Or not. Now Kyle, still muscling his way through the crowd, realized Connor was right behind him, apparently having double back without Kyle noticing. Hawke spoke quietly but with urgency: “The girl’s out of sight. Time to think green thoughts, buddy.”
“With pleasure.” Kyle’s ring flashed to life with a brilliant spark of green light. His street clothes were replaced with his more familiar black costume with an asymmetrical white trapezoid on his chest and the Green Lantern logo over his heart.
The Green Lantern looked at his friend’s empty hands and grinned. “Here, let me help with that,” he replied and with a simple thought Connor Hawke’s hand was suddenly filled with an emerald short bow, and a quiver full of arrows on his back.
Connor looked at the weapon constructed of green psychoplasmic energy and nodded in approval. “Thank you. Now let’s check this out.”
The architects of the commotion observed the scene below them from high above the streets on the rooftop of a commercial building. Their large eyes scanned the crowd for their intended target, hoping that this surprise attack on his home would draw him out into the open.
Chief Weaponer Bayloc was ready to think that the hero may not show up until he saw an emerald ember burn quickly below. His dark pupils focused on the spot and even without the aide of binoculars or other vision enhancing equipment he saw their mark.
“I see the Green Lantern. He is within range of the device,” Bayloc announced to Wochal.
“After I activate this we will only have a short time to retrieve Oblivion before the ring compensates for the dampening field.” The engineer spoke of the device he held within his pink hands, it was designed to create a field that would disrupt the bond between the ring and the host. But the field could only trick the ring for a short time.
“How long?”
“Five narns, no longer.”
“Do it now.”
Kyle looked up; the skyscrapers and glass buildings of New York City lined his sight as he scanned the cloudless blue sky, checking for objects of interference, before he would lift off the ground. Nothing would be more embarrassing than to blindly leap into the sky and crack your head on an errant flagpole. Just like that one time, shortly after he got the ring, that he told nobody about. Nobody.
Just before he gave the command to fly, Kyle felt the worst thing possible happen at the worst timing possible. His costume disappeared, replaced once again with his regular street clothes and Connor Hawke stared down at his again empty hands.
“Shit, this can’t be happening.” Kyle swore. “Ring? Ring?” he commanded, but received no response and, worse yet, the connection that was always in the back of his mind between them was silent. In an act of desperation he shook his ring hand, hoping that like a cheap VCR player it would somehow work again.
“I don’t believe it. I know I charged it before I left the apartment, but it stopped working.”
“Then make it work. We cannot delay further.”
“I’d like nothing more, believe me.”
Precious few seconds passed with no results. Kyle’s dumfounded look remained.
“Well?”
“No good. Something has to be wrong with it. It’s never done this before.”
“That’s not good, Kyle.”
“Oh, seriously? I was gonna get Batman to cater the pity party, actually.”
Connor didn’t let the sarcasm bother him. “Whatever. I guess it’s not important now. But with no ring, what the hell are you going to do against that?” The pair had made steady progress (more specifically, Kyle had made steady progress as Connor stayed effortlessly right behind him) and the source of the explosions was now visible.
It was a figure that was familiar to Kyle, but not so much to Connor. It looked to be a man of normal size and build (maybe a little on the small side), but wearing a costume that was far from normal - something of a cross between the Flash’s outfit and a roman centurion’s armor. There was a gold skirt that looked to be armored and, above it, a tight shirt of blue with thin lines of gold plating going from either side of the chest, up over the shoulders and back down to the shoulder blades.
The man’s helmet was something else entirely. The sides of his head were completely covered with large metal wings, cast in gold. The top and back of the helmet was more traditional, but the eye protection resembled greatly goggles one might wear in a high school chemistry class; there was no protection for the bottom half of the face.
All of this was only of cursory interest compared to what appeared to be a five-foot long bolt of lighting the man held comfortably in his right hand. He would occasionally toss it like a javelin here or there, at which point a bona-fide lightning bolt would strike the appropriate spot, and then the bolt would appear again in the man’s hand.
“Thunderer,” was Kyle’s one word reaction.
“Friend of yours?”
“No. Well, sort of. These guys and the Corps have a long history.”
“Great. Know anything I can use?”
“Well, the lightning is as bad as it looks, but these types generally have glass jaws.”
“I should be able to handle him, then. And Kyle…I know you don’t want to be sidelined, but with no ring, you’ve gotta stick to bystander duty. You can’t try to get it to work if you’re flash-fried.”
“I get it, I get it. I just didn’t want to do nothing.”
“Understood.”
With that, Connor was off again. By now, the crowd was not too thick; in fact, it was just Kyle and Connor, with the Qwardian Thunderer turned the other way launching lightning bolt after lightning bolt at the foundation of some random building, which was threatening to collapse at any moment.
Without breaking his stride, Connor swept a pebble off the ground and launched it in the direction of the Thunderer. Immediately after it left his hand, he did a quick flip to change his direction and was off to the left of the Thunderer by the time the pebble struck lightly on the back of it’s helmet. Predictably, the thing turned right around and launched a lightning bolt straight to where the pebble had come from. It threatened to strike Kyle Rayner, but fizzled out a dozen yards or so before reaching him.
As soon as the Thunderer had thrown, Connor Hawke hit a dead sprint right towards it, quick beyond belief. He was a blur as he started his jump at least five feet away from the thing, bringing his legs up together so his body was parallel with the ground, hoping to knock the Qwardian (though Connor would not have recognized it as such) out with the first hit.
This was not to be accomplished. The enemy dipped his head at the last possible second and, instead of the exposed Jaw, Connor’s kick hit the metal wing of his helmet. The Qwardian was bowled straight over and Connor ended in a standing position, but was quickly off and away, not stopping to look back.
He anticipated the loud boom before he heard it. He hadn’t hit hard enough to knock the Qwardian out through his helmet and he had tossed his next lightning bolt before even getting up. More followed, but Connor was too fast, changing direction too often and too quickly, to be hit. But the street was getting shredded and Connor was making no progress. It was a full three thrown lightning bolts before the young man was even facing his opponent again. Every time he tried to advance, the next bolt would necessitate that he dodge backwards. It was a stalemate, but it couldn’t last - Connor would have to get tired eventually.
And eventually Kyle would have to do something. He had promised to run damage control, but there were no bystanders in sight and there was very little he could do to prevent property damage. And after time in the JLA, there was something in Kyle that simply would not let him stand idly by.
Rushing blindly in was simply not an option - he wasn’t that dumb. But there was one thing he could do…it would buy Connor five seconds, maybe less, but it was better than nothing. So the de-ringed Green Lantern bent his upper body low to decrease visibility and shuffled awkwardly, but not without some quickness, to another section of the street, closer to the battle and where the street had been torn up and a street light knocked most of the way down He found a particularly large piece of rubble and bent to lift it - and almost blew out his back.
Kyle sighed and shook his head. The thing was 85-90 pounds…doable, but not with the ease ring-enhanced muscles would have provided and certainly not without putting his legs into it. The second try proved more fruitful after he found the right grips and made better use of leverage. Kyle was able to get the piece up with only light effort and he propped it up on the bottom of a telephone pole (the top part of which had been knocked off), creating a kind of metal lean-to structure. Then he reached out and found smaller piece of rubble, this one slightly smaller than a baseball, but jagged and shaped more like a square.
He tossed it up into the air and let it sail back down into his palm, once. Then he yelled, “Hey Ugly!”
The Qwardian’s neck moved like whiplash towards him, but Kyle was already throwing, not as hard as he could, but hard enough. He never saw what happened next - he just dove into the shelter he had made and waited for the Thunder to come.
It never did. Five seconds passed, then six, and then Kyle poked his head out. The Qwardian was down and Connor Hawke was walking towards him, looking only slightly tired. “That was pretty stupid.”
“A little. How come I didn’t go boom?”
“I saw what you were doing and pegged him with a rock before he could throw the thunderbolt.”
“Olympic of you.”
Connor merely shrugged. “It’s what I do.”
“Right. Well, that was fun. How much damage do you think there is?”
“Not over yet, Kyle.”
“Coulda fooled me.”
“You don’t hear the explosions? Northwest?”
“No.”
“Well, take my word for it. There’s at least one more. Probably two or three.”
“Fun. Northwest you said?”
“Is your ring working yet?”
“No.”
Connor sighed, exasperated. “Kyle, do me a favor and let me handle this. Go find your girlfriend. I betcha she’s pretty damn confused at the moment.”
He didn’t wait for an answer but shot off, faster than Kyle could hope to follow. Which, of course, didn’t stop Kyle from trying.
Rayner made it through 10-15 seconds of a dead sprint before he started to taper off, slowing gradually, but not stopping, hoping he wouldn’t lose sight of Connor - until he suddenly took a shot to the side of his head.
Kyle was somewhat adept at taking shots, but this one had caught him completely by surprise. His head bounced against broken-up asphalt, and he had time to feel something cold pressed up against the side of his head before he blacked out.
The front door of their apartment swung open, permitting the entrance of a blue skinned beauty with shopping bags filling her hands. “John?” Merayn called out as she walked into the darkened apartment. She looked around suspiciously, then saw the flickering light coming from the dining room. “John, are you I here?” she asked as she passed through the threshold into the room. “Why aren’t --” her voice trailed off as she saw the two long candles burning on their table, surrounded by plates, crystal glasses and gleaming silverware; next to a dozen red roses as the center piece.
John Stewart sat at one end of the table and smiled. “Sit down, hun, dinner will be ready right about…” ding! “…now.” He pushed his chair back, but Merayn rushed over. John raised a hand to stop his girlfriend. “Don’t worry, I’ll get it.”
Without effort or hesitation, or discomfort, he rose from the chair to his own two legs.
Merayn shot her hands to her mouth as she gasped in shock. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Are you really --?”
“Yes, baby, I really am,” he walked around the table and wrapped his arms around her. Their lips pressed against each other.
“How is this possible?” she asked as their lips parted.
John looked down into her eyes. “It’s a long story. Let’s just say that a friend made me realize that I really didn’t know all the answers.”
Merayn shrieked playfully as John swept her off her feet and into his arms. “Why don’t we forget about dinner? I’m not really all that hungry right now.” He asked as he carried her into their bedroom.
Hours later the pot roast had grown cold in the oven, the candles had long since burnt themselves out in stumps as the waxed solidified on the stems and tablecloth…and nobody cared.
Epilogue One
He had had been unconscious and bleeding from the head when Allison had first laid eyes on her boyfriend’s prone body, yet there was no one within a hundred yards in any direction. She was left to assume that he had tripped and fallen unfavorably, and that when he awoke later and could remember nothing of the incident, it was of little importance.
Now it was hours later and they were in Kyle’s apartment, all practical matters having been taken care of. Allison had only a layer of dirt on her to account for the day’s excitement, and Kyle was not much worse off, only a white bandage around his forehead and a scar under the hair on the side of his head, that no one would ever see.
Kyle had been fairly cavalier about it and Allison had had to insist on the bandage. For such a gentle man, he sometimes acts like bullets would bounce off his chest, she thought and smiled. She was sitting on the couch and helping herself to a can of Pringles while Kyle was reclined on a Lazy Boy to the left of her, his feet propped up on an end table.
The TV was flipped to a special news report on the disturbances downtown.
“… as many as eight of the thunder-wielding meta-humans caused an estimated 12 million dollars in property damages before the meta humans Sentinel and Guy Gardner arrived to handle the situation. Reported sightings of the Green Arrow and Batman are unconfirmed.”
The camera zoomed in on what looked to be some kind of robot with a face that was vaguely humanoid, but a body covered in some kind of golden armor. As the figure turned to face the camera, he flexed a bicep and then several golden spikes came jutting out of the muscle.
“What a prick.” To her left, Kyle sounded as if he was actually bothered by the figure on the camera.
“What?”
“Oh, you see that guy on the news all the time. He always seems so cocky. I don’t like it. Bet money Alan did all the work, too.”
“Alan?”
“The other g-” Kyle started, and then he got his expression on his face like a deer in the headlights and immediately looked down.
“You actually know his name?!”
To that, Kyle had no response.
Allison laughed. It was a good sound. “My God, Kyle Rayner, you’re a nerd!”
Kyle looked back up and had an inexplicably relieved expression on his face. “Yeah, I guess I am.”
He looked down again and smiled a little smile of his own.
Epilogue Two
The Anti-Matter Universe
Ten seconds.
“Chief Weaponer Bayloc, we must recommend you relocate yourself during the insertion.”
Eight seconds.
“We are safe, are we not?”
Seven seconds.
“We should be, but --”
“Then I will stay.”
Five seconds.
“As you will, Chief Weaponer Bayloc. But please don’t remove your goggles.”
Four seconds.
“There will be light?”
Three seconds.
“There will be light.”
Two seconds.
One second.
And there was light.
After a few seconds things got darker in the anti-matter universe. And the object they had all been looking at, a ring that had many times been quite important to a universe not their own, had disappeared.
“The ring is gone!”
“I can see that, sir.”
With that, the hand of Chief Weaponer Bayloc was at the throat of his subordinate, like lightning. “I will not be spoken to with disrespect.”
Before the exchange could progress any further, both were bowled over, sent flying to the far sides of the room as if struck. Both heads whipped back to where the ring had gone missing and they saw it again. This time on a finger - a finger both of them recognized. It was the finger of a sneering Kyle Rayner.
He looked at them and smiled…and then there was no more light.
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To Be Continued In:
Green Lantern by Tom Moses
Green Lantern Corps by Brent Lambert
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