The portal transit was instantaneous yet somehow disorienting—reality collapsed and rebuilt itself in a flash of emerald light. One moment they stood in the launch chamber on Oa, and the next they materialized in Korugar's upper atmosphere, the blue-green world spreading out beneath them.
As they descended toward Sinestro's homeworld, Hal noticed his mentor's growing tension. The normally composed Lantern's jaw was clenched, his flight path direct and unwavering—all signs of the personal stakes this mission carried.
"Your family," Hal began, drawing alongside Sinestro. "Are they in the capital?"
"No," Sinestro replied curtly. "Soranik maintains a medical practice in the northern province, far from the reported disturbance. Arin is currently off-world, conducting research on Ungara." Something in his tone suggested this information brought him only partial relief. "But Korugar is my responsibility. Every citizen my charge."
As they breached Korugar's atmosphere, the extent of the situation became immediately clear. The southern capital, a once-gleaming metropolis of obsidian spires and crimson archways, now bore a massive scar across its center—a swath of destruction several miles wide where buildings had been reduced to smoldering rubble.
"By the light," Sinestro breathed, his composed façade cracking at the sight.
They descended rapidly, rings automatically scanning for survivors and threats. Data flowed into Hal's consciousness—atmospheric contamination from the fires, structural instability in remaining buildings, life signs scattered throughout the ruins but drastically fewer than would be expected in a city of this size. Hal's training immediately kicked in, the information processing techniques Tomar-Re had taught him allowing him to absorb the tactical situation without being overwhelmed.
"Spread out?" Hal suggested, already calculating search patterns.
"No," Sinestro countered firmly. "We stay together. Whatever did this could still be present. And from the attack pattern, they specifically target Lanterns." His ring projected a three-dimensional map of the city, highlighting a particular structure near the epicenter of the destruction. "The Diplomatic Hall. The distress signal originated there. We start our investigation at that point."
They landed amid the ruins of what was once clearly an impressive building—a domed structure with collapsed columns and shattered crystalline windows. Hal immediately noticed the pattern of the destruction—not the chaotic damage of a natural disaster or conventional attack, but precise, almost surgical devastation that radiated outward from a central point.
"This wasn't random," he observed, kneeling to examine a section of wall that appeared to have been melted rather than broken. "Something—or someone—was looking for something specific."
Sinestro moved deeper into the ruins, his ring casting emerald light into shadowed recesses. "The diplomatic archives were housed here. Records of Korugar's interactions with other worlds, including historical documents dating back centuries."
"What would Atrocitus want with diplomatic records?" Hal asked, following him through the wreckage.
Sinestro's expression darkened. "Abin Sur believed Atrocitus possessed a form of precognition—the ability to glimpse possible futures. If true, he might be seeking information about specific worlds or events mentioned in prophecies he's witnessed."
They pushed deeper into the ruins, eventually reaching a sealed vault that had somehow remained intact despite the surrounding destruction. Sinestro placed his ring against the door, its energy interfacing with Korugarian security protocols. After a moment, the massive door slid open with a hydraulic hiss.
Inside, they found chaos—storage units torn open, ancient texts scattered across the floor, digital archives forcibly extracted from their housings. But what drew their immediate attention was the lone figure huddled in the corner—a Korugarian archivist, his purple skin ashen with shock, his trembling hands clutching a ceremonial dagger for protection.
"Thaal Sinestro," he gasped, recognizing his world's Green Lantern. "You... you've come too late. They've taken it."
Sinestro knelt beside the man, gently lowering the ceremonial blade. "Taken what, Arix? What were they seeking?"
"The Abysmal Archives," the archivist whispered, eyes darting nervously. "The sealed records from before the Reformation. The documents Abin Sur helped us recover from the Forbidden Zones."
Hal noticed Sinestro go very still. "Why would they want those specific records?" he asked, his voice carefully controlled.
"They didn't say. They just... the red ones, they came without warning. Three of them." Arix's breathing became more erratic as he relived the memory. "Their leader, he had these markings, tribal patterns that glowed like blood. He knew exactly what he wanted, went straight to the sealed vault as if he'd been here before."
"Did they say anything?" Hal pressed gently. "Give any indication of where they were going next?"
The archivist nodded jerkily. "The leader—the one with the markings—he said to tell any Green Lanterns who came that 'the prophecy unfolds as written.'" His voice dropped even lower. "And he said a name, over and over, while they searched. Abin Sur. He seemed... fixated on him."
Sinestro and Hal exchanged glances. The connection to Hal's predecessor couldn't be coincidental, especially given what they now knew about Abin Sur's final investigations into the Blackest Night prophecy.
"How many casualties?" Sinestro asked, his tone shifting to something harder, more formal.
Arix shook his head helplessly. "Hundreds, maybe thousands. They didn't discriminate between those who resisted and those who fled. Their power..." He shuddered visibly. "It was like yours, but wrong somehow. Corrupted. Where your constructs are precise, controlled, theirs seemed alive with hatred—almost feeding on the destruction they caused."
As if summoned by the description, a faint red glow began to emanate from deeper within the ruined archives. Hal's ring sent an immediate warning pulse through his nervous system—danger approaching, energy signature matching records from the previous attacks.
"Get him out of here," Hal told Sinestro, already moving to place himself between the archivist and the ominous crimson light. "I'll delay whatever's coming."
"Negative," Sinestro countered, stepping forward instead. "You're not prepared to face this enemy alone." He turned to Arix. "Find shelter. Now."
As the archivist scrambled away through a secondary exit, Sinestro and Hal formed defensive positions, their rings generating complementary shield constructs as the red glow intensified. The air grew thick with an almost tangible malevolence, a hatred so concentrated it felt like a physical force pushing against their green energy barriers.
"Remember your training," Sinestro said quietly. "Whatever comes through that door, whatever you see, maintain focus. If their power comes from rage, they will attempt to provoke emotional responses to disrupt your concentration."
Hal nodded, centering himself as Kilowog had taught him, feeling the ring's connection to his willpower strengthen as he pushed aside doubt and uncertainty. This was what all those brutal training sessions had been preparing him for—real combat against a deadly enemy.
The red glow coalesced into a humanoid figure that stepped through the shattered doorway with deliberate calm. Hal's first impression was of controlled lethality—a slender, blue-skinned being whose body was covered in tribal markings that pulsed with crimson energy in time with his heartbeat. Unlike the chaotic rage Hal expected, this being's hatred seemed cold, focused, refined to an almost surgical precision.
"Lanterns," the figure acknowledged, his voice unnervingly calm despite the rage-fueled energy crackling around him. "I am Razer of the Red Lantern Corps. Atrocitus sends his regards."
Sinestro's posture shifted subtly—a tension in his shoulders that Hal recognized from their training sessions as preparation for immediate combat. "Atrocitus was sentenced to eternal imprisonment," Sinestro stated, his voice betraying no emotion. "He's a mass murderer who should still be rotting in his cell on Ysmault."
A thin smile crosses Razer's face. "Fascinating, how history is written by the victors. Did your precious Guardians ever tell you why Atrocitus sought vengeance? Did they explain what really happened in Sector 666?" His cold gaze shifts to Hal. "Did they tell their newest recruit about the billions of innocents their Manhunters slaughtered? About how they covered up their greatest failure and imprisoned the sole survivors when they dared demand justice?"
"We're not here for a history lesson," Hal interrupts, sensing the dangerous direction of the conversation. "You've attacked a peaceful world, murdered civilians. Whatever grievance you have with the Guardians, these people are innocent."
"Innocent?" For the first time, Razer's calm façade cracks, raw emotion bleeding through. "No one is innocent who stands with oppressors. No one is innocent who benefits from systems built on genocide." His red ring flares brilliantly. "But you're right about one thing, human Lantern. We're not here for conversation."
Without further warning, Razer attacks—not with wild, rage-fueled chaos, but with precise, calculated strikes that test their defenses methodically. His red constructs take the form of razor-sharp geometric patterns that slice through the air with incredible speed, probing for weaknesses in their shields.
Sinestro responds with equal precision, his decades of experience evident in the flawless execution of his counterattacks. Hal follows his mentor's lead, remembering the combat formations they'd practiced, creating complementary constructs that reinforce Sinestro's strategy.
For several intense minutes, the battle seems evenly matched—green and red energies clashing in spectacular displays that illuminate the ruined archives. Then Razer smiles, a cold expression that sends a chill down Hal's spine.
"Enough assessment," the Red Lantern announces. "Bleez. Zilius. They're ready for you now."
Two more crimson figures materialize from the shadows. The first is a female with bat-like wings that trail red energy like blood in water, her once-beautiful face twisted in a permanent snarl of rage. The second is a grotesque, spherical being whose mouth seems permanently fixed in a macabre grin, saliva dripping between needle-like teeth. Unlike Razer's controlled demeanor, these new arrivals radiate chaotic, unbridled fury.
"Three on two," Hal mutters to Sinestro. "Odds could be worse."
"Numbers are irrelevant," Sinestro replies tightly. "It's their power source that concerns me. Rage is a primal emotion, more difficult to exhaust than willpower. They may be able to outlast us in a prolonged engagement."
Bleez launches herself at Hal with a blood-curdling shriek, her wings extending into deadly scythes that carve through the air toward his throat. Hal instinctively forms a shield, but the red energy of her attack connects with his construct and begins to corrode it on contact—like acid eating through metal.
"Your will is nothing against my hatred, human!" she snarls, pressing her advantage as Hal's shield begins to dissolve under her assault. "I can taste your fear—it only makes me stronger!"
Hal abandons the failing shield and switches tactics, creating a series of concentric energy rings that spin around him at varying speeds and angles—a defensive technique Kilowog had demonstrated during training. The rings deflect Bleez's first attack, each one absorbing a portion of her rage-energy before shattering, but giving Hal precious seconds to counter.
He forms a massive green battering ram, driving it toward Bleez with all the willpower he can muster. The construct connects solidly, sending the Red Lantern tumbling backward through the air. But instead of showing pain or injury, Bleez laughs—a sound like glass breaking.
"Yes!" she exults, recovering with unnatural speed. "Fight harder! Your resistance gives me purpose!"
Meanwhile, Sinestro engages both Razer and Zilius in a display of ring mastery that leaves Hal momentarily awestruck despite the danger. The senior Lantern's constructs evolve and adapt with fluid precision, countering the Red Lanterns' attacks while simultaneously launching his own offensive maneuvers. Where Hal's constructs are still somewhat derivative of Earth technology and weapons, Sinestro's are purely conceptual—geometric impossibilities that seem to bend space itself to his will.
"You've improved since our last encounter, Sinestro," Razer observes, his controlled rage matching Sinestro's disciplined will in a deadly dance. "But then, so have I."
"Last encounter?" Hal calls out, ducking under another of Bleez's wing-blade attacks and countering with a volley of emerald projectiles. "You've faced these things before?"
Sinestro doesn't answer, his focus entirely on the battle as he creates a complex cage construct that momentarily entraps Zilius. The spherical Red Lantern simply opens his grotesque mouth and spews a torrent of crimson energy that dissolves the cage from within.
The battle intensifies as the combatants adapt to each other's tactics. The architecture around them begins to crumble further under the strain of their clash, support columns shattering as misdirected energy blasts tear through the already damaged structure. Hal realizes they're fighting a losing battle—not just against the Red Lanterns, but against the collapsing building itself.
"We need space to maneuver!" Hal shouts to Sinestro. "Too confined in here!"
Without waiting for a response, Hal channels his energy into a massive concussive blast directed at the ceiling. The emerald explosion tears through the remaining support structures, creating an opening to the sky above. Debris rains down around them, but both Lanterns automatically generate protective shields as they ascend through the breach, the Red Lanterns in close pursuit.
Above the ruins, the battle explodes into three dimensions. Freed from the confines of the archive chamber, both sides can now unleash their full power. The night sky of Korugar becomes a canvas of green and red energies as constructs of incredible complexity clash in mid-air.
Hal finds himself matched against Bleez, whose aerial combat style combines brutal power with unpredictable maneuverability. Her wings aren't merely for show—they grant her a natural flight advantage that even a Green Lantern ring can't fully counter. She dives and banks with instinctive precision, her hatred-fueled constructs becoming increasingly complex as she feeds off Hal's frustration.
Drawing on his test pilot experience, Hal shifts tactics. Instead of trying to match her aerial acrobatics, he creates a series of homing constructs—guided missiles that track Bleez's movement patterns. As she focuses on evading them, he analyzes her flight style, identifying predictable elements in her seemingly chaotic movements.
"Adaptable," Bleez hisses, destroying the last of his homing constructs with a slash of her wing. "Most Green Lanterns rely on brute force. You actually think."
"Thanks for the compliment," Hal replies, circling warily. "Want to tell me why you're following orders from someone who uses you as a weapon?"
A flicker of something—perhaps doubt?—crosses Bleez's rage-twisted features. "Atrocitus gave us purpose when we had nothing but pain," she snarls, but there's a defensive quality to her tone that Hal immediately recognizes. "He showed us how to channel our suffering into power!"
"He's using your pain to further his vendetta," Hal presses, sensing a potential weakness. "You're just a tool to him—"
"ENOUGH!" Bleez shrieks, her momentary vulnerability replaced by redoubled fury. She lunges at Hal with renewed savagery, her constructs becoming more erratic but also more powerful—fueled by the emotional response he'd deliberately provoked.
Sinestro, meanwhile, engages Razer in what appears almost like a duel between masters—neither giving ground, both demonstrating ring mastery far beyond what Hal has witnessed in his training. Their constructs evolve and counter-evolve in real time, a testament to both Sinestro's experience and Razer's tactical brilliance.
"The records you sought," Sinestro says during a momentary lull, his voice calm despite the exertion evident in his posture. "What do they contain that Atrocitus wants so desperately?"
"Confirmation," Razer replies, equally composed as he forms a new series of attack constructs. "Evidence of the Guardians' deception—and of what's coming."
"The Blackest Night," Sinestro says, the words carrying weight beyond their simple meaning. "Abin was right, then."
Razer's eyes narrow slightly. "The first Green Lantern to take the prophecy seriously. Your friend understood what the Guardians refuse to acknowledge—that their actions have consequences that span billions of years." His ring flares brighter. "But understanding isn't enough. Justice demands action."
Their exchange is interrupted as Zilius, who had been engaged in a destructive rampage through the city below, rejoins the aerial battle. The bloated Red Lantern spews a stream of crimson energy directly at Sinestro's back—a dishonorable attack that Razer makes no move to discourage.
Hal, spotting the danger, abandons his own battle with Bleez to interpose himself between Sinestro and the attack. He creates the largest, densest shield he can muster, but Zilius's energy beam strikes with catastrophic force—not just impacting the shield but seeming to infect it, turning the edges blood-red as the construct begins to deteriorate.
"The shield's failing!" Hal warns, pouring more willpower into maintaining the barrier. The attack pushes him backward through the air, his boots creating emerald contrails as he struggles to maintain position.
Sinestro, alerted by Hal's warning, turns in time to reinforce the shield with his own construct. Their combined willpower temporarily stabilizes the defense, but Hal can feel the corrosive nature of the red energy continuing to eat away at their protection.
"They feed on resistance," Sinestro says through gritted teeth. "Each attack we deflect only makes them stronger. We need a different approach."
Before they can adjust their strategy, Razer capitalizes on their divided attention. His hands form complex gestures as his ring generates a construct unlike anything Hal has seen—a crimson net that expands outward with impossible speed, encompassing both Green Lanterns before they can evade.
The net isn't designed to capture but to siphon. Wherever it touches their green energy fields, it begins to drain power directly from their rings. Hal feels the effect immediately—a weakness spreading through his construct, accompanied by an emotional assault as tendrils of pure rage attempt to infiltrate his consciousness.
"Focus, Jordan!" Sinestro commands, his own energy field flickering under the strain. "Remember your training. Emotional discipline is our only defense against their power!"
Hal centers himself, drawing on the mental techniques Kilowog had drilled into him during those punishing training sessions. He visualizes his willpower as a fortress, shutting out the whispers of rage that Razer's construct tries to implant. The effort costs him dearly—sweat beads on his forehead as he struggles to maintain both his shield against Zilius and his mental barriers against Razer's assault.
The three Red Lanterns coordinate their attacks with deadly precision, each targeting a different aspect of the Green Lanterns' defenses. Bleez hammers Hal's shield from above, her wing-blades slicing through the weakened construct. Zilius continues his frontal assault, the raw power of his rage-beam forcing Hal and Sinestro to divert precious energy to reinforcing their forward defenses. And Razer maintains the siphoning net, steadily draining their rings' power reserves.
"We can't win this, not here," Sinestro acknowledges, a rare admission that momentarily surprises Hal. "On my mark, create a blinding flash—maximum intensity, omnidirectional."
Hal nods, already formulating the construct in his mind. The technique is one they'd practiced briefly during training—a last-resort diversionary tactic used to cover retreat or repositioning.
"Three," Sinestro begins counting down. "Two. One. NOW!"
Both Lanterns simultaneously release a massive pulse of emerald energy, sacrificing their shields to generate a blinding flash that momentarily illuminates the entire Korugarian capital. The light is specifically calibrated to overload optical nerves, effective against most species across the universe—a non-lethal but temporarily incapacitating technique.
The Red Lanterns recoil, their attacks faltering as the flash disrupts their concentration. Razer recovers quickest, his disciplined mind allowing him to fight through the disorientation, but those crucial seconds of advantage are all Sinestro needs.
"The southern continent!" he orders Hal, already accelerating away from the battle at incredible speed. "There's an old military installation in the mountains. Defensive systems we can use!"
Hal doesn't question the tactical withdrawal, falling into formation beside Sinestro as they streak across the Korugarian sky. Behind them, he hears Bleez's frustrated scream as the Red Lanterns realize their prey is escaping. A quick glance over his shoulder confirms they're in pursuit—three crimson comets chasing two emerald ones against the night sky.
"They're faster than us," Hal observes, noting the gradually shrinking distance. "Those rage rings don't seem to have the same power limitations as ours."
"That's precisely the problem," Sinestro confirms. "The emotional spectrum fluctuates in strength. Will is stable, consistent, but rage—" He cuts off as a red energy blast streaks past his shoulder, narrowly missing. "Rage burns hotter but consumes its user. We don't need to outfly them. We just need to outlast them."
They race across vast stretches of Korugarian terrain—over sprawling cities, across desolate badlands, toward a mountain range looming on the southern horizon. The landscape below blurs at their incredible speed, but Hal feels the Red Lanterns closing the gap with each passing second.
"Whatever this installation is, I hope it's got some serious firepower," Hal says, creating a rearguard shield to deflect another of Zilius's energy blasts.
"Better," Sinestro replies, his expression grim but determined. "It has a planetary defense matrix designed to neutralize energy signatures—specifically calibrated against the Thanagarian invasion force during the last Korugar-Thanagar conflict."
Hal briefly recalls his Corps orientation briefings. "The Thanagarians? The ones with the wings and nth-metal weapons?"
"The same," Sinestro confirms. "Their technology employs specific energy frequencies that this defense system was designed to counter. What matters now is that the system can be recalibrated to target red energy instead. But I need time to access the control center and modify the targeting parameters."
They crest the mountain range, and Hal sees their destination—a fortress built directly into the mountainside, its architecture more severe and utilitarian than the elegant structures of the capital. The facility appears abandoned, with no lights or signs of activity, but Sinestro flies unerringly toward what looks like a landing platform jutting from the mountain face.
"The Red Lanterns are less than thirty seconds behind us," Hal warns as they descend toward the platform. "Whatever you're planning, we need to hurry."
They land with practiced precision, Sinestro immediately moving toward a control panel embedded in the mountain wall. "I need three minutes to activate the system," he says, his ring interfacing with the ancient technology. "You need to hold them off until then."
"Three minutes against those three?" Hal questions. "That's a long time in a fight like this."
Sinestro's gaze is steady. "I've seen what you're capable of, Jordan. You don't need to defeat them—just delay them. Can you do that?"
Hal straightens, the responsibility settling on his shoulders. "Yeah. I can do that."
As Sinestro works at the control panel, Hal turns to face the approaching Red Lanterns, already visible as blood-red streaks against the night sky. He considers his options, knowing direct confrontation would be suicide. Instead, he needs to use the terrain to his advantage.
With quick, precise movements, he creates a series of construct traps throughout the approach vector—hidden energy snares, false landing platforms that will dissolve on contact, holographic duplicates of himself and Sinestro positioned as decoys. It's not enough to stop determined opponents, but it might buy precious seconds of confusion.
The Red Lanterns arrive exactly as Hal estimated, with Razer in the lead. The disciplined Red Lantern immediately spots the true Hal among the decoys, ignoring the distractions with tactical awareness that Hal finds increasingly concerning.
"Your mentor abandons you to face us alone?" Razer calls out, hovering just beyond the range of Hal's prepared traps. "How typical of the Corps' vaunted brotherhood."
"He's got better things to do than chat with you," Hal retorts, maintaining his position between the Red Lanterns and the entrance where Sinestro works. "I'm more than enough for this conversation."
Bleez snarls impatiently. "Enough talk. He can't stand against all three of us. Let's end this and take both rings back to Atrocitus."
"Agreed," Razer says coldly. "Formation Delta. Overpower and extract."
The three Red Lanterns split apart with practiced coordination—Bleez ascending to attack from above, Zilius circling to approach from the right flank, while Razer maintains position directly ahead. A classic encirclement strategy that would force Hal to divide his attention in three directions simultaneously.
Instead of attempting to defend against all three vectors, Hal makes a decision that would have impressed Kilowog—he attacks. Launching himself directly at Razer, he creates not a weapon or shield but a blinding cloud of emerald particles that engulfs the space between them. The cloud serves dual purposes—obscuring Razer's vision and, more importantly, neutralizing the targeting lock that allowed the Red Lanterns to coordinate so effectively.
As Hal expected, Bleez and Zilius hesitate momentarily, unable to execute their planned maneuver without visual confirmation of Razer's position. That split-second of uncertainty is all Hal needs to implement the next phase of his improvised strategy.
Within the cloud, Hal creates a series of hard-light holograms—perfect duplicates of himself that radiate outward in different directions. The real Hal dives toward the mountain face, using its rocky surface as cover while his duplicates draw fire from the confused Red Lanterns.
"Find him!" Razer commands, his voice betraying a hint of frustration as he dispels the particle cloud with a wave of red energy. "Don't let him reach the facility!"
Hal presses his advantage, using guerrilla tactics rather than direct confrontation. He strikes rapidly from different positions, never staying in one place long enough to become a fixed target. A battering ram construct knocks Zilius off-balance. A precisely aimed energy beam forces Bleez to break off her dive. A series of blinding flashes disrupt the Red Lanterns' attempts to regroup.
It's an impressive display of tactical ring-use that even Sinestro might approve of—focusing on disruption rather than domination, buying seconds that accumulate into the minutes he needs. But Hal knows he's fighting a losing battle. Each attack depletes his ring's charge, while the Red Lanterns seem to grow stronger with each exchange, their rage feeding on the continuing conflict.
"Enough of this!" Bleez shrieks after Hal's latest hit-and-run attack leaves a smoking gouge across her shoulder. "Burn everything!"
Abandoning tactical restraint, she unleashes a wave of crimson destruction that sweeps across the mountainside, incinerating Hal's remaining holograms and scorching the very stone. The attack forces Hal into the open, his shield barely deflecting the worst of the assault.
Razer and Zilius immediately capitalize on his exposure, launching coordinated strikes that hammer Hal's defenses from multiple angles. A particularly powerful blast from Zilius shatters Hal's shield entirely, sending him tumbling backward across the landing platform. He crashes hard against the metal surface, momentarily stunned by the impact.
"Your will is impressive, human," Razer acknowledges, landing gracefully on the platform as his companions flank him. "But ultimately futile. Rage always overcomes will in the end—it's simply a matter of endurance."
Hal struggles to his feet, his uniform torn and scorched in multiple places. Blood trickles from a cut above his eye, and his breathing comes in ragged gasps. But his ring still glows defiantly as he assumes a combat stance.
"Maybe," he concedes, eyeing the three Red Lanterns. "But I don't need to win. I just need to stall."
"For what?" Razer asks, genuine curiosity in his tone. "Whatever defense system Sinestro hopes to activate, it won't save you. This facility was abandoned decades ago."
"You sure about that?" Hal grins through his exhaustion. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like the lights just came on."
The mountain itself begins to hum with awakening power, subtle vibrations running through the platform beneath their feet. Ancient defense turrets, previously hidden in recessed compartments, emerge from the mountainside, swiveling to target the Red Lanterns with unerring precision.
"Impossible," Razer murmurs, his composure slipping as he recognizes genuine threat. "This installation was decommissioned after the Khund invasion."
"Apparently not completely," Hal replies, his grin widening as Sinestro emerges from the entrance behind him. "And I'm betting those defense systems won't recognize your particular shade of red as friendly."
Sinestro steps forward, his expression coldly triumphant. "The targeting parameters have been adjusted. The defense matrix now recognizes red energy signatures as hostile." He raises his ring, which pulses with emerald light. "All systems are online and awaiting activation command."
Razer assesses the situation with tactical clarity, recognizing the trap they've entered. "Retreat," he orders his companions. "Mission parameters have been achieved. The archives were the primary objective."
"We can still take them!" Bleez protests, her wings flaring with renewed rage. "These automated defenses are nothing compared to our power!"
"We follow orders," Razer counters firmly. "Atrocitus commanded retrieval of the archives as priority. Engaging further risks failure of the primary mission."
Zilius growls his displeasure but complies, already rising from the platform. Bleez hesitates a moment longer, her hatred-filled eyes locked on Hal, before she too ascends.
"This isn't over, Green Lanterns," Razer promises, backing away while maintaining a defensive posture. "What began in Sector 666 billions of years ago reaches its conclusion now. The Blackest Night approaches, and neither your will nor your Guardians can prevent what comes."
With that ominous declaration, the Red Lanterns retreat, three crimson streaks accelerating into the Korugarian night until they vanish beyond the horizon. Only then does Hal allow himself to relax, his combat stance sagging as the adrenaline of battle begins to ebb.
"That was close," he admits, turning to Sinestro. "I don't think I could have held them off much longer. Those red rings pack one hell of a punch."
Sinestro doesn't immediately reply, his attention fixed on the direction the Red Lanterns had disappeared. When he finally speaks, his voice carries an unfamiliar weight.
"It's worse than I feared," he says quietly. "If Atrocitus has gained access to the Abysmal Archives, he now has confirmation of what Abin suspected."
"Which is what, exactly?" Hal presses, tired of half-explanations and cryptic references. "What's this Blackest Night they keep mentioning? What did Abin Sur discover that has everyone so spooked?"
Sinestro turns to him, his expression grave. "A prophecy. A vision of universal death that begins with the splintering of the emotional spectrum into competing Corps. Atrocitus was the first to foresee it, during Abin's visits to Ysmault. At first, the Guardians dismissed it as the ravings of a vengeful prisoner. But Abin found... correlations. Evidence in ancient texts and stellar phenomena that suggested Atrocitus's visions held truth."
"And these archives? What do they have to do with it?"
"Historical records of mass extinction events across multiple sectors," Sinestro explains. "Patterns that repeat throughout cosmic history, all connected to disturbances in death itself. The Guardians ordered such records sealed—claimed they were merely superstition, not science. But Abin and I recovered them anyway. He believed they contained clues to preventing what Atrocitus had foreseen."
Hal absorbs this information, connecting it to Tomar-Re's warning and the data crystal Arin had given him. "So Abin was investigating this prophecy when he died. You think that's why he was in my sector? That Earth has something to do with this Blackest Night?"
Sinestro's expression becomes unreadable. "Perhaps. But speculation can wait. We need to report to Oa immediately. The Guardians must be informed that Atrocitus now possesses the archives."
Hal looks out over the Korugarian landscape, smoke still rising from the destroyed capital in the distance. "What about your people? The city—"
"Emergency protocols are in place," Sinestro interrupts. "Korugarian defense forces will handle evacuation and recovery. This attack wasn't simply about destruction—it was a calculated move in a larger strategy. One that has implications for the entire universe, not just my homeworld."
As if to emphasize his point, Sinestro suddenly staggers, one hand pressing against his side where his uniform shows a tear Hal hadn't noticed during the chaos of battle. Crimson energy flickers around the wound, preventing the ring's automatic healing function from sealing it.
"You're hurt," Hal observes, moving to support his mentor. "That red energy—it's interfering with your ring's healing capability."
Sinestro straightens with visible effort, his jaw tightening against the pain. "An... unexpected property of their power. One the Guardians should be informed of immediately." He attempts to levitate but falters, the energy field around him flickering unstably.
"Your ring charge is too depleted for interstellar travel," Hal says, his own ring confirming his assessment. "And that wound needs attention before we attempt the journey back to Oa."
"There is no time for delay," Sinestro insists, though his paling complexion undermines his forceful tone. "The information we've gathered is too critical."
Hal makes a quick decision. "Then I'll get us there. My ring still has enough charge for two." He creates a protective transport bubble around both of them, reinforcing it with additional layers to ensure stability during the journey. "Just try not to bleed out on the way. The paperwork for losing two mentors in my first week would probably be a nightmare."
The attempt at humor draws a faint smile from Sinestro. "Your adaptation to Corps culture is proceeding faster than expected, Jordan." His expression sobers. "But what we face now may require more than adaptation. It may require evolution—of the Corps itself."
With that cryptic comment hanging between them, Hal launches them skyward, accelerating rapidly toward escape velocity. As Korugar dwindles behind them, its wounded surface giving way to the vastness of space, Hal can't shake the feeling that he's caught in currents far larger and more dangerous than he yet understands.
The Red Lanterns weren't just enemies to be fought and defeated. They were harbingers of something far worse approaching—something connected to ancient crimes, cosmic prophecies, and perhaps even to Earth itself. And somehow, through cosmic coincidence or design, Hal Jordan now found himself at the center of it all, heir to not just Abin Sur's ring, but to his unfinished mission as well.
Cradling the weakening Sinestro in his emerald transport bubble, Hal accelerates to full interstellar speed, leaving Korugar's star system behind as he sets course for Oa.