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.