The endless night of Sector 2815 embraces the volcanic world of Vorunn, its three moons casting long shadows across the planet's jagged landscape. Rivers of molten magma snake between obsidian mountains, their fiery glow illuminating the undersides of ash clouds that perpetually shroud the upper atmosphere. Despite its harsh environment, Vorunn hosts one of the sector's most resilient civilizations – beings who evolved to harness the planet's volatile energy and forge it into technological marvels.
G'rek, Green Lantern of Sector 2815, glides toward home, his exhaustion evident after mediating a territorial dispute between neighboring systems. Forty-three standard years of service to the Corps had taught him to treasure these moments of return – the transition from Lantern to simply being G'rek of the Vorn, husband to Selika, father to three children who had grown during his many absences.
His ring's emerald glow dims slightly as he relaxes his guard in familiar territory, the emerald shield around him thinning as he prepares to enter Vorunn's atmosphere. From this altitude, he can see the capital city of Dren-Vokai, its towers of tempered volcanic glass rising like defiant spears against the planet's natural chaos. Artificial cooling systems create a habitable zone around the metropolis, visible as a shimmer of controlled climate amid the hellscape beyond.
He doesn't notice the three crimson streaks cutting silently through space behind him.
—
Razer leads the hunt, his tactical mind analyzing G'rek's movements with cold precision. Unlike his companions, whose rage burns chaotic and wild, Razer's hatred is focused—a blade rather than an explosion. His blue skin stands in stark contrast to the red uniform that encases him, tribal markings pulsing with crimson energy that flows in time with his heartbeat.
"He's returning to his dwelling," Razer communicates through their shared red energy network. "No awareness of pursuit."
Bleez, her once-beautiful features now twisted with rage and pain, responds with barely contained eagerness. The bat-like wings extending from her back flutter with anticipation, trailing wisps of red energy like blood in water. "I want to see his face when he realizes his precious ring can't save him," she hisses, her voice carrying an edge of perverse pleasure. "They always look so shocked when they discover their vaunted willpower means nothing against true rage."
Zilius Zox, the third member of their hunting party, emits a wet, gurgling laugh that bubbles from his grotesquely spherical body. "Can I eat his eyes this time?" the bloated Red Lantern asks, his impossibly wide mouth stretching into a grin that reveals rows of needle-like teeth. "The last one's eyes popped so deliciously when I bit down."
"Remember Atrocitus's instructions," Razer cautions, his voice betraying neither disgust nor approval at Zilius's sadism. "This isn't just about killing—it's about sending a message. Control yourselves enough to complete the primary objective."
In truth, Razer feels a flicker of revulsion at his companions' bloodlust. His own rage, though no less intense, stems from loss and betrayal—from finding his wife Ilana's broken body amid the ashes of their village, destroyed while the sector's Green Lantern focused on "more pressing matters" elsewhere. His hatred has purpose, direction. Theirs seems increasingly untethered, driven by the sheer pleasure of inflicting suffering.
But such thoughts are dangerous. Atrocitus had warned him that doubt weakens the connection to the red energy. And Razer needs that connection if he's ever to have justice for Ilana.
"You think too much, Razer," Bleez observes, flying closer to him. Her eyes, glowing like hot coals, study his face with unsettling intensity. "I can almost hear the gears turning in that disciplined mind of yours. Atrocitus chose you for your tactical thinking, but remember—the ring chose you for your rage. Don't disappoint either master."
Razer meets her gaze without flinching. "My rage burns no less hot for being focused, Bleez. The difference is that I harness it rather than letting it harness me."
"Pretty words," Zilius mocks, spinning lazily in the void. "We'll see if you maintain that philosophy when the blood starts flowing. Even you can't resist the song of suffering, Razer. I've seen how your eyes light up when Green Lantern flesh burns under your constructs."
"Enough," Razer commands. "The target is descending. Formation Delta. We strike at my signal."
The Red Lanterns descend into Vorunn's atmosphere in tight formation, their red auras burning away the ash clouds they pass through. Below, the massive city of Dren-Vokai spreads before them, its concentric circles of volcanic glass towers connected by arching bridges. Shield generators maintain the habitable temperature throughout the metropolis, allowing its two million citizens to live and work in comfort despite the planet's natural hostility.
G'rek lands on a private landing pad jutting from one of the taller spires—his residence during his infrequent visits home. As his uniform dissolves into civilian attire, he stretches wearily, relishing the moment when Corps responsibilities temporarily fade. His thoughts turn to his family, most likely already asleep at this late hour, and the precious days of leave he's accumulated.
The first indication something is wrong comes as ambient light shifts, bathing his obsidian home in an unnatural red glow. G'rek turns, ring hand rising instinctively, only to freeze at the sight of three figures hovering beyond his balcony—uniformed beings whose outfits resemble Green Lanterns but in blood-red and black.
"What is this?" he demands, his uniform rematerializing instantly. "Identify yourselves!"
"We bring greetings from Sector 666," Razer says, his voice unnervingly calm.
Recognition flickers across G'rek's features, followed by alarm. His ring fires a desperate distress beacon—the standard Corps emergency signal—before erupting into a barrage of emerald energy bolts.
"What in the void—?" G'rek gasps, his decades of experience still not preparing him for the sight of these red-uniformed intruders. "Those uniforms... those rings... impossible!"
The Red Lanterns respond with terrifying coordination. Zilius absorbs the brunt of the attack, his grotesque spherical body seeming to drink in the green energy before regurgitating it as corrupted crimson force. Bleez swoops down from above, her bat-like wings trailing red energy as she dives like a predatory bird. Razer strikes head-on, his crimson blade cutting through G'rek's shield like it was made of paper instead of will.
The battle spills into the Lantern's home as G'rek retreats inside, hoping the confined space might give him some advantage. Through the windows, Razer catches glimpses of a life well-lived—family photos on the walls, souvenirs from a hundred worlds, the ordinary treasures of someone who comes home too rarely but cherishes it when he does. For just a second, doubt gnaws at him. This Green Lantern has a family waiting for him to come home. Just like Razer once had. Just like Ilana had waited, until the night she didn't survive.
His hesitation costs him dearly. G'rek seizes the moment and lands a haymaker that sends Razer crashing through an interior wall, plaster and stone crumbling around him. Before Razer can recover, the veteran Lantern presses his advantage, wrapping him in glowing chains that pin his arms to his sides.
"Whoever you are," G'rek says, approaching cautiously, sweat beading on his brow, "whatever grievance you have, the Corps can—"
His words die in a wet scream as Bleez drops from above, her wing-blade slicing clean through his shoulder. Green blood paints the floor as G'rek stumbles, one arm hanging useless at his side.
"The Corps can what?" Bleez circles him, enjoying his pain like it's fine wine. "The Corps can ignore you? Abandon you? Let everyone you love die while they're busy playing politics?" With each taunt, she slashes again—never killing blows, just cuts designed to hurt and weaken.
Despite everything, G'rek fights back with the skill of a Lantern who's survived four decades of service. His ring creates a squadron of small drones that fire concentrated energy blasts, forcing Bleez back with surprising effectiveness.
Then Zilius crashes through the ceiling like a wrecking ball, laughing that horrible wet laugh as debris rains down around him. Unlike Razer's precision or Bleez's artful cruelty, Zilius fights with brute, overwhelming force. His constructs are crude—massive hammers, spiked maces, crushing walls—but devastating in their raw power as they batter G'rek's weakening shields.
"Your precious ring feeds on willpower," Zilius taunts, his impossibly wide mouth spraying spittle as he speaks. "So what happens when we make you feel nothing but despair?"
Without warning, Zilius's ring projects a sickening image into the room—a live feed showing G'rek's family trapped elsewhere in the building, suspended in blood-red bubbles that slowly contract around them. Their terrified faces contort in silent screams.
"No!" G'rek's concentration shatters like glass, his shield dissolving as horror overwhelms will. "They're innocent! They have nothing to do with this! Please!"
"Everyone connected to the Corps shares in its crimes," Razer says, breaking free from the weakened chains. He steps forward, keeping his face expressionless despite the war raging inside him. This wasn't the plan—families weren't supposed to be involved. But he says nothing as Bleez and Zilius move in for the kill. He can't risk showing weakness now.
"The Guardians' sins cannot be forgiven," Razer continues mechanically, watching his companions tear into the defenseless Lantern. "Sector 666 remembers. And soon, all sectors will know."
G'rek struggles desperately against Bleez's hold, his ring flickering weakly as despair battles determination. "Sector 666? But that's ancient history—stories to scare rookies—"
"Not stories," Bleez hisses, dragging her wing-tip down his face, carving a line that wells with green blood. When the blood touches her red energy, it sizzles and steams. "The Guardians lie. About Sector 666. About the Manhunters. About everything."
"Please," G'rek gasps, his eyes fixed on the images of his trapped family. "Kill me if you must, but spare them. They know nothing."
The plea hits Razer like a physical blow. How many times had he begged the warlords on his homeworld to spare Ilana? How many times had he promised anything, everything, if they would just let her live? For a heartbeat, his disciplined mask cracks, and genuine doubt flashes across his face.
Bleez notices immediately. "Having second thoughts, Razer?" she taunts, hovering close enough that he can feel the heat radiating from her wings. "Remember your wife. Remember how the Corps abandoned her—abandoned your entire world—while they played politician elsewhere in the universe."
The reminder hardens Razer's resolve, but not in the way Bleez intends. He makes a decision in that moment—one that will have consequences he cannot yet foresee.
"Atrocitus sends his regards," he says to G'rek, stepping closer and lowering his voice. "And a message for your masters."
G'rek tries to rally, summoning what little willpower remains despite his fear for his family. A flicker of green light surrounds his hand—feeble, but defiant.
"Do... your worst," he manages, voice shaking but determined. "The Corps will... find you. Stop you."
Zilius's laughter fills the room, a wet, bubbling sound like someone drowning. "Oh, we're counting on them finding us eventually," he says, moving uncomfortably close to G'rek's face. "But by then, it'll be far too late."
Bleez circles behind the wounded Lantern, her fingertips brushing almost tenderly across his shoulders. "We should make this one special," she suggests, her voice a grotesque parody of seduction. "He's been with the Corps over forty years. Let's make sure his ring brings back something... memorable."
G'rek's eyes dart frantically between them, then back to the projected image of his family. His wife's silent scream as the crimson bubble constricts. His children's terrified faces pressed against the red energy. Something breaks in him.
"Please," he begs, all pride forgotten. "I'll tell you anything. Corps secrets, Guardian protocols, defense codes—anything. Just let them go."
"Information isn't what we're after," Razer says coldly, maintaining his facade. "Justice is."
Zilius moves with shocking speed for his bulbous form. His massive hands grab G'rek's right arm, holding it outstretched while his ring generates a construct that resembles a crude surgical table. The Lantern's arm is pinned against it, fingers splayed.
"I'll start with these," Bleez purrs, her wing-tip transforming into something resembling a scalpel. "One for each decade of service to your precious Corps."
G'rek's scream as she severs the first finger at the knuckle is raw, primal—the sound of someone experiencing pain beyond anything they've ever known. Green blood spurts from the wound until her red energy cauterizes it, purposely triggering nerve endings rather than deadening them.
"That's one," she counts with disturbing cheerfulness. "Forty years, four fingers. Seems fair."
Through it all, Razer forces himself to watch, his expression a mask of cold satisfaction that conceals his inner revulsion. This isn't justice—it's sadism. But he can't intervene without compromising everything.
"Why?" G'rek gasps between screams as the second finger falls. "Why are you doing this?"
"Because the universe requires balance," Razer recites the words Atrocitus had burned into all of them. "Because your Guardians committed the greatest genocide in history and then rewrote the narrative to make themselves the heroes."
Bleez starts on the third finger, working more slowly now, savoring each incision. "Because we are the Red Lantern Corps," she says, "and our rage demands satisfaction."
G'rek's eyes widen at the name. "Red... Lantern... Corps?" Blood loss and shock make his voice faint. "You harness... the red light?"
"Finally," Zilius chuckles, "a Lantern with some education. Yes, little green man. Where your masters chose will, our master has unlocked rage." He leans closer, his grotesquely wide mouth inches from G'rek's ear. "And rage burns so much hotter than will ever could."
On the projection, G'rek's wife has collapsed inside her bubble, either unconscious or worse. His children continue to pound silently against their prison walls. The sight seems to give the Lantern one last surge of strength.
"You're making a mistake," he gasps, even as Bleez removes the fourth finger in an agonizing, deliberate cut. "The emotional spectrum... it's not meant to be weaponized this way. The red light... consumes its wielders eventually. Please... you can still turn back."
Razer feels something unexpected—respect for this Lantern who, even in his torture, tries to save his tormentors. It reinforces his decision.
While Bleez and Zilius are focused on their victim, Razer subtly directs his ring to alter the constructs holding G'rek's family. To his companions, nothing appears to change in the projection. But in reality, the crimson bubbles are now transporting the family to the outskirts of the city, where they'll be safe, unconscious but unharmed.
It's a small mercy, one that would earn him Atrocitus' wrath if discovered, but Razer cannot bring himself to punish innocents for the Corps' sins. His vengeance has a target, and collateral damage serves no purpose in his calculated crusade.
"The hands next," Zilius suggests eagerly, tightening his grip on G'rek's mutilated arm. "Or perhaps something more valuable first?"
With horrifying casualness, he extends one bloated finger toward G'rek's face. "They say the eyes are windows to the soul. Shall we see if Green Lanterns' souls look different from the inside?"
G'rek struggles desperately, but his strength is fading. "No... please... not my eyes..."
"Ah, there it is," Bleez says with satisfaction. "The moment when true terror overcomes training. When discipline crumbles and only the animal remains. This is what I live for now."
Zilius's finger hovers just above G'rek's left eye. "I wonder," he muses, "do they pop like grapes, or is there more resistance?"
"My family," G'rek pleads, tears mixing with the blood on his face. "At least let me say goodbye. Please... one last mercy..."
"Show him," Razer commands, knowing what his altered construct will display—his family seemingly in their final moments as the bubbles contract completely.
The projection shows the bubbles crushing inward, then dissipating—suggesting execution rather than the transport Razer has actually programmed. G'rek's howl of despair is unlike anything Razer has heard since his own cries over Ilana's body.
"Now nothing holds you back," Razer tells him with calculated cruelty. "Don't you understand? We've freed you from everything that made you vulnerable. This is a gift."
"A gift I'll now complete," Zilius says, plunging his finger forward with sudden violence.
G'rek's scream is primal as Zilius's thick digit makes contact with his left eye. The Red Lantern doesn't simply gouge - he takes his time, using his ring to create a small construct like a spoon that slides beneath the eyeball.
"Did you know," Zilius says conversationally, as if discussing the weather, "that eyes are connected by these fascinating little strings? Optic nerves, I think they're called." His construct begins to separate tissue, deliberately severing connections millimeter by excruciating millimeter. "You can't just yank them out - well, you can, but where's the artistry in that?"
G'rek thrashes against his restraints, his screams becoming ragged, desperate sounds that barely sound sentient anymore.
"The Corps always talks about 'seeing clearly,'" Bleez adds, hovering close to watch Zilius work. "About bearing witness to injustice across the universe. But what have you really seen in your forty years, Lantern? Did you see the massacre of Sector 666? Did you see the Manhunters execute trillions? Did you see the Guardians cover it all up?"
"Please," G'rek begs between screams, his voice growing hoarse. "No more..."
"We're just getting started," Zilius replies gleefully. "Oh! There it goes, that first little pop as things disconnect." He wiggles his finger, causing G'rek to convulse in agony. "Can you feel it? That tugging at the back of your skull? That's your brain saying goodbye to half your vision. Forever."
With excruciating slowness, Zilius extracts the eye, holding it up triumphantly. The orb dangles from his finger, still connected by a thread of nerve tissue.
"Look at that beautiful emerald color," he marvels, turning it to catch the light. "So distinctive to your species. I wonder - will your ring still recognize you with one eye gone? Does it identify you by biometrics? Shall we test it?"
G'rek has gone beyond words now, his body jerking uncontrollably as shock begins to set in. Blood and fluid stream down his face from the empty socket.
"Don't pass out yet," Bleez warns, slapping him hard across the face. "You have another eye, and Zilius hates an incomplete collection."
"Very considerate of you," Zilius nods to Bleez before turning back to G'rek. "Now for the right one. This time, let's try a different approach." His ring forms a construct like a needle. "Did you know some species can still perceive light and dark even with the eyeball completely destroyed? Let's find out if yours is one of them."
He places the needle directly against G'rek's remaining eye and begins to push. "I'm going straight through the pupil this time," he narrates, his voice taking on the tone of a demented instructor. "Feel that puncture? That's your lens breaking apart. All those colors you've seen across the universe - the nebulae, the stars, the faces of those you love - all fading to black now, aren't they?"
G'rek makes a noise that's beyond screaming - a high, keening sound of absolute despair as his last connection to the visual world is methodically destroyed.
"What's it like?" Bleez whispers near his ear, almost intimate in her cruelty. "Tell us what it's like to have darkness fall across your universe, just as it did for Sector 666. Tell us, Lantern."
"C-can't... see..." G'rek sobs, blood streaming from both ruined sockets now. "D-dark... all dark..."
"Dark, yes," Zilius agrees, forming a construct that rips the punctured eye completely from its socket. "Just like the Blackest Night that's coming for all of you. Think of this as... a preview."
He holds both extracted eyes up like grotesque trophies. "Two eyes from Sector 2815. Our collection grows." Without warning, he tosses the left eye into his mouth and bites down with an audible, sickening crunch. Fluid spurts between his teeth as he chews with obscene enjoyment.
"Still warm," he says through his mouthful. "The fresher, the better."
He offers the second eye to Bleez, who recoils slightly.
"I prefer my souvenirs non-consumable," she says, watching with poorly disguised revulsion as Zilius shrugs and pops the second eye into his mouth.
"Your technique lacks... refinement," she observes, though there's a hint of unease in her voice.
"Refinement is overrated," Zilius replies, green fluid from his chin as he watches the ring. "Wonder who the next poor fool will be?"
The ring detaches from G'rek's mutilated finger, hovering in the air above his corpse. It rotates slowly, as if scanning the room one final time, recording everything that happened here. Razer knows it is—every Green Lantern ring is programmed to transmit critical data upon its bearer's death.
"Ring of G'rek, Green Lantern of Sector 2815," the ring announces in a mechanical voice that somehow still carries a note of solemnity. "Bearer deceased. Initiating final protocols."
A pulse of emerald energy engulfs G'rek's body momentarily—a last honor to its fallen wielder—before the ring rises higher, pulsing with urgent purpose.
"Emergency data transmitting to Oa," it continues. "Recording complete. Searching for replacement candidate."
"Send our regards to the Guardians," Bleez calls mockingly to the ring. "Tell them the Red Lantern Corps has risen!"
The ring hovers for one more moment, as if taking in the scene one final time—the brutalized corpse of its bearer, the three red-uniformed killers, the symbol burned into G'rek's chest. Then it streaks away with startling speed, shattering through the ceiling and disappearing into the night sky above Vorunn. Its emerald trail briefly illuminates the city below before vanishing into the stars.