Nova Prime's voice cut through the chaos, broadcasting on all emergency frequencies. "All non-essential personnel, evacuate Oa immediately. Repeat, full planetary evacuation is now in effect. The compact that protected this world has been dissolved. This is not a drill."
The announcement sent new waves of panic through the surviving forces. Ships began launching from the planet's surface in growing streams, carrying refugees from what was about to become ground zero for cosmic annihilation.
"You cannot run from Galactus," Atrocitus called out, his voice carrying contempt as he watched the fleeing vessels. "But perhaps that is fitting. Let the universe see how its protectors abandon their sacred world when faced with true power."
The Red Lantern leader turned his attention skyward, where the shadow of the World Eater was growing larger by the moment. "My forces will remain. We have unfinished business with the Devourer of Worlds. The rage of Sector 666 will not be silenced by some cosmic glutton."
Even through the haze of despair, Hal recognized the insanity of what Atrocitus was proposing. Nobody fought Galactus directly and survived. The entity was a fundamental force of nature, as unstoppable as entropy itself.
"Enough," Atrocitus announced, his voice carrying across the entire planet with the weight of cosmic authority. The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once, transmitted through the very fabric of space itself rather than mere atmospheric vibration. "You have all played your parts perfectly. Every moment of conflict, every act of aggression, every spark of rage has fed my power. Now witness the culmination of my design."
Atrocitus rose higher into the air, his form now more energy than matter, the Butcher's influence having transformed him into something beyond physical limitations. Red energy poured from his ring in torrents that defied comprehension, all of it focused on a single target.
The Central Power Battery.
"No," Hal breathed, understanding immediately what was about to happen. "He's going to destroy the battery. Without it, every Green Lantern ring in the universe will lose power."
The realization galvanized everyone on the battlefield. Ancient enemies suddenly found themselves fighting side by side against a threat that transcended politics or territory. Kree soldiers stood shoulder to shoulder with Skrull warriors. Thanagarian Hawkmen dove alongside Nova Corps fighters. Even the various criminal factions that had been looting the chaos turned their weapons toward the ascending Red Lantern leader.
Hal launched himself toward Atrocitus, creating constructs as fast as his will could manifest them. Barriers, weapons, restraints, anything that might slow or stop the assault on the battery. Behind him came every powered being still capable of flight. Kilowog roared as he created massive barrier constructs. Tomar-Re's precise energy beams sought weak points in Atrocitus's defenses. K'rok and Gladiator abandoned their own battle to coordinate a two-pronged assault.
"You cannot stop what has already begun, Jordan," Atrocitus called down, his voice now carrying harmonics that seemed to originate from dimensions beyond normal space. "For billions of years, the universe has operated under the Guardians' flawed vision. Will has had its chance to prove itself worthy. It has failed."
The Red Lantern leader's attention shifted to the fleeing masses below, and his expression twisted into something resembling pity mixed with contempt. With a casual gesture, he sent a wave of crimson energy washing over the plaza. Where it touched the ancient Oan architecture, the crystalline structures began to pulse with an angry red light, their surfaces taking on an organic quality that seemed to breathe with malevolent life.
"Feel what I felt," Atrocitus whispered, but his voice carried across the entire battlefield. "When the Manhunters came to my world, when I watched my people burn, when I screamed for help that never came."
Hal threw up a massive dome of green energy to protect the fleeing civilians, but the strain was immediate and overwhelming. The red energy didn't just attack his constructs—it attacked his very will to create them. Images flashed through his mind: his father's burning cockpit, Carol's disappointed face when he missed another important event, Jim's worry every time Hal took a dangerous test flight. The fear that he'd always been running from suddenly felt crushing.
"Poozer!" Kilowog's voice cut through the mental fog. "Whatever that red bastard's showing you, it ain't real! Stay focused!"
The big alien's words helped, but Hal could feel other defenders beginning to falter. Some of the Nova Corps officers were literally turning red as rage overwhelmed them. A few Thanagarian Hawkmen had stopped fighting altogether, their weapons hanging loose in their hands as despair consumed them.
That's when the entire sky above Oa suddenly erupted in brilliant golden fire.
The light was so intense that even Atrocitus paused his assault, turning to look upward as something tore through the atmosphere at impossible speed. The newcomer hit the brakes hard, decelerating from near-light velocity to a controlled hover in the span of heartbeats. The sheer display of power control was breathtaking.
Captain Marvel descended toward the chaos like a falling star made flesh, her entire body wreathed in cosmic energy that made the air shimmer with barely contained power. She wore a blue and red uniform with a distinctive star emblem that caught the light of her own energy corona, and everything about her bearing screamed veteran fighter pilot—the easy confidence, the way she sized up a battlefield in seconds, the slight smile that said she'd seen worse.
"Well," she announced, surveying the devastation with practiced eyes, "this is a hell of a welcome party."
Atrocitus turned his full attention to her, and his expression shifted to something like recognition mixed with anticipation. "The Kree hybrid," he said, rolling the words around like he was tasting them. "Captain Marvel. Your reputation has reached even the depths of Ysmault."
"All bad, I hope," Carol shot back, then her gaze swept across the battlefield until it landed on Hal. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in his uniform, his ring, the green energy still flickering around him despite his obvious exhaustion. "Green Lantern? You're not Abin Sur."
"Abin Sur's dead," Hal replied, creating fresh barriers as Atrocitus's attention seemed split between them now. "I'm his replacement. Hal Jordan."
Something flickered across Carol's face—grief, maybe, or just the weight of galactic politics. "Damn. I was hoping to catch up with him." She floated closer, her energy signature making Hal's ring resonate sympathetically. "Fury mentioned Earth had a new Green Lantern. Guess that's you."
"You know Fury?" Hal asked, genuinely surprised despite the chaos around them.
"Long story. Involves Skrulls, bad coffee, and the worst vacation I never took." Carol's expression grew serious as she took in the true scope of what they were facing. "How bad is this?"
"Scale of one to ten? About a fifteen," Hal replied, dodging a stray blast of red energy. "He's trying to destroy the Central Battery. If he succeeds—"
"Every Green Lantern in the universe loses power," Carol finished. "Yeah, I figured. The energy signature is... distinctive."
"Touching," Atrocitus interrupted, his voice dripping with contempt. "But your reunion changes nothing. I have absorbed the full essence of the Butcher entity. Your combined power is meaningless against the rage of an entire sector."
To prove his point, he unleashed a complex pattern of attacks—not just raw energy blasts, but constructs designed to exploit specific psychological vulnerabilities. A burning spaceship for Hal, evoking his father's death. Military formations for Carol, playing on every soldier she'd been unable to save during the Kree-Skrull conflicts.
Carol's response was immediate and brutal. She channeled her cosmic powers into a focused beam that cut through Atrocitus's constructs like they were made of tissue paper. "Nice try," she said, her voice carrying the edge of someone who'd learned to compartmentalize trauma. "But I've had decades to work through my issues."
Hal found her confidence infectious. He created his own massive construct—a fighter jet that swooped and dove around Atrocitus, firing green energy bullets with precision that would have made his old squadron proud. It wasn't the most sophisticated technique, but it was distinctly his, and that personal touch seemed to give it extra power.
For a moment, they seemed to have Atrocitus on the defensive. Carol's photonic blasts and Hal's constructs worked in tandem, forcing the Red Lantern leader to actually dodge rather than simply absorbing their attacks. Hope flickered across the battlefield as other defenders rallied to their coordinated assault.
But Atrocitus was laughing.
"Yes," he said, his voice filled with genuine delight. "This is what I wanted to see. The full force of your will, your determination, your hope." He spread his arms wide, and instead of defending against their attacks, he began pulling them into himself. "Don't you understand? Every act of heroism creates its own shadow. Every moment of hope generates despair when that hope is crushed. Every display of will births rage when that will is broken."
Hal felt it then—the anger building inside him despite every effort to stay focused. Rage at the injustice of the situation, fury at his own inadequacy, anger at the universe for putting him in this position. And underneath it all, the deep, primal rage that had driven him since childhood—fury at a cosmos that could steal fathers from sons, husbands from wives and force children to grow up too fast.
"That's it, Jordan," Atrocitus whispered, and his voice seemed to come from inside Hal's own skull. "Feel the rage. Let it make you strong."
"Hal!" Carol's voice cut through the mental assault. She grabbed his arm, her touch somehow grounding him. "Don't listen to him. I've seen this before—entities that feed on emotion. The trick isn't to fight the feeling, it's to accept it and move past it."
Her words helped, but Hal could see the same corruption spreading across the battlefield. Nova Corps officers were turning on each other as rage overwhelmed their discipline. Some of the Green Lanterns were creating red-tinged constructs without seeming to realize it. The very act of fighting was feeding their enemy.
"This is impossible," Hal gasped, his constructs flickering as doubt crept in. "How do you fight something that gets stronger from conflict?"
"You don't fight it," Carol replied, her own energy beginning to shift toward redder wavelengths as anger bled through her control. "You endure it. You protect what matters and let everything else burn if you have to."
But even as she spoke, Atrocitus was changing. The Butcher's influence was reaching some kind of critical mass, transforming him from a powerful individual into something far more fundamental. His form expanded, becoming less humanoid and more abstract—a living manifestation of rage itself that towered over the battlefield like a crimson storm made solid.
"Observe," the entity that had been Atrocitus commanded, and his voice now seemed to come from the air itself. "The futility of order imposed by force."
The red energy that had been spreading through Oa's architecture suddenly concentrated, flowing like liquid fire toward the Central Power Battery. But this wasn't destruction—it was corruption. The ancient construct began to pulse with alternating colors, green and red energy intertwining in patterns that made Hal's eyes water just to look at.
"No," he breathed, understanding what was happening. "He's not destroying it. He's converting it."
"Smart boy," the Butcher confirmed, its attention split across multiple conversations as its consciousness expanded. "The Guardians built their great battery as a repository of will. But will without purpose is meaningless. Will without conviction is empty. I am giving their creation true purpose—the rage to act when action is needed."
The implications hit Hal like a physical blow. If the Central Power Battery was corrupted rather than destroyed, every Green Lantern ring in the universe wouldn't just lose power—they would become weapons of rage, turning the entire Corps into an extension of the Butcher's will.
"We have to stop him," Hal said, pouring everything he had into the largest construct he'd ever attempted. It was crude compared to Sinestro's geometric perfection or Kilowog's brutal efficiency—just a massive green fist the size of a city block, driven by pure determination.
"Together," Carol agreed, channeling her cosmic powers into a beam of concentrated photonic force that could have punched through a battleship.
Their combined attack struck the Butcher entity with devastating force. The impact sent shockwaves rippling across multiple dimensions, and for a brief moment the red corruption spreading through the Central Power Battery actually reversed direction.
But the entity merely smiled—a expression that somehow manifested across its abstract form.
"Perfect," it whispered, and began drawing their attacks into itself. The green energy of Hal's construct and the golden fire of Carol's photonic blast poured into the entity, but instead of causing damage, they seemed to fuel some deeper transformation. "Show me your strength. Show me your will. Show me how much you care."
Hal could feel his power being turned against him, transformed into fuel for the very force he was trying to stop. Every ounce of determination, every moment of heroic resolve, was being converted into rage and fed back into the entity's growing power.
"This is how it felt," the Butcher continued, its voice now seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere as its consciousness expanded beyond physical form. "This is the helplessness I experienced when the Manhunters came to Sector 666. This is the rage of watching everything you've sworn to protect burn while you stand powerless to stop it."
The corrupted energy reached critical mass within the Central Power Battery. Cracks began spreading across its crystalline surface—not the clean breaks of destruction, but diseased-looking fissures that pulsed with malevolent light. The emerald glow that had protected the universe for billions of years began to flicker and fade, replaced by something far more sinister.
Hal threw everything he had left into reinforcing the battery's structure, creating layer after layer of protective constructs. Carol joined him, weaving barriers of solidified light that should have been impenetrable. Other defenders rallied to their position—Kilowog roaring defiance as he manifested constructs the size of buildings, Tomar-Re's precise energy beams trying to cut away the corruption, even some of Sinestro's followers setting aside their rebellion to face this greater threat.
But it wasn't enough. The Butcher's power, fed by the collective rage and despair of beings across multiple star systems, was simply too vast to contain.
"The universe failed my sector when we needed protection," the entity continued, its words carried on waves of red energy that washed over every conscious mind on the planet. "Now the universe will learn what it means to exist without protectors. Now you will all understand what I have endured."
The Central Power Battery cracked with a sound like reality breaking.
The explosion released energy equivalent to a small star going nova. Every being on Oa was thrown to the ground by the shockwave, their rings flickering as the source of their power died. In the skies above the planet, the various fleets detected energy readings that broke their instruments.
Then came the silence.
Across the galaxy, on thousands of worlds in every sector of space, Green Lantern rings went dark. The emerald light that had been a beacon of hope for countless civilizations simply ceased to exist. Lanterns in the middle of rescue operations found themselves powerless to save those they were trying to help. Heroes facing cosmic-level threats discovered their greatest weapon had become nothing more than jewelry.
The universe held its breath as the implications became clear. The Green Lantern Corps, the oldest peacekeeping organization in galactic history, was finished.
On Oa's surface, Hal knelt among the crystalline fragments that had once been the source of universal order. His ring was silent and dark, no longer connected to the cosmic force that had made him more than human. Around him, other powerless Lanterns struggled to comprehend what they had lost.
Carol landed beside him, her own cosmic powers flickering as the sheer magnitude of what had just occurred sent shockwaves through the fabric of space itself. For the first time since her arrival, she looked genuinely shaken. "Jesus," she breathed. "I felt that from three galaxies away."
"It's over," Hal said, staring at the dead ring on his finger. His voice was hollow, drained of everything that had made him Green Lantern. "We failed."
The devastation was absolute. Bodies lay scattered across the plaza, some moving weakly, others ominously still. The great spires of Oa that had stood for billions of years were cracked and crumbling. Fires burned out of control in districts that had never known violence. The very air seemed dead, no longer carrying the subtle hum of cosmic energy that had defined this place since the dawn of galactic civilization.
This is it,Hal thought, staring at the fragments of green crystal scattered around him.This is how it ends. Not with some grand victory or noble sacrifice, but with complete and utter failure.
The fear that had haunted him since childhood surged back with overwhelming force. The same helplessness he'd felt watching his father burn alive in that cockpit. The same terror of being powerless when everything depended on him. He was seven years old again, screaming for his daddy to get out of the plane while flames consumed everything he loved.
The entity that had been Atrocitus descended slowly, its form still crackling with red energy that now faced no opposition. The Butcher's influence had made it the sole wielder of emotional spectrum power in a universe suddenly bereft of Green Lantern protection.
"The age of will is over," it announced, its words carrying to every corner of the galaxy through means beyond conventional communication. "The age of rage has begun. Those who wronged Sector 666 will face judgment. Those who stood by and watched as we suffered will learn what that suffering feels like."
It paused, looking down at the powerless heroes who had once stood against it.
"And those who thought themselves protectors will discover what it means to be helpless in the face of forces beyond their control."
Hal stared at the largest fragment of the Central Power Battery, about the size of a basketball, still glowing faintly with residual energy but clearly dying. It was hopeless. Everything was lost. The universe was about to lose its greatest protector to a cosmic predator, and there was nothing he could do about it.
But then, deep inside him, something stirred. Not hope—hope was too fragile for what this moment required. It was something harder, more primal. The same stubborn refusal to accept defeat that had driven him to become a test pilot in the first place. The voice of every Jordan who had ever faced impossible odds and decided to try anyway.
No.
He stood slowly, his legs shaking from exhaustion and emotional trauma. Around him, the evacuation continued as beings fled from the approaching cosmic catastrophe. But Hal walked past all of it, his focus entirely on the dying fragment.
"This is pointless," he said to himself, but something inside him answered:Everything worthwhile is pointless until someone makes it work.
Carol Danvers watched him from a few yards away, her cosmic senses picking up something shifting in the fundamental energy patterns around them. "Jordan," she called out, "what the hell are you doing?"
He didn't answer. Couldn't answer. Every fiber of his being was focused on the fragment before him as he knelt beside it and placed his hands on its surface. The crystal was warm to the touch, and he could feel the faintest pulse of energy, like a dying heartbeat.
"In brightest day," he began, his voice barely a whisper.
Nothing happened. The crystal continued to fade, and around him, the sounds of evacuation grew louder. Beings were fleeing in terror as the shadow of Galactus grew larger in the sky above.
"In blackest night," he continued, pouring more conviction into the words.
Still nothing. But he pressed on, remembering not just the words but what they meant. Not just the promise, but the choice to make that promise real.
"No evil shall escape my sight."
A spark. Tiny, almost invisible, but definitely there. A flicker of green light in the crystal's depths.
Carol moved closer, her energy signature resonating with whatever was happening. "Keep going," she urged, though she wasn't entirely sure why. "Something's responding to you."
"Let those who worship evil's might," Hal's voice grew stronger, the spark beginning to pulse in rhythm with his heartbeat.
The green light was growing now, spreading through the crystal's fractures like healing energy. But it wasn't enough. The damage was too severe, the battery too far gone. Around them, other survivors began to notice what was happening. Kilowog pushed himself up on one elbow, his own dead ring beginning to flicker faintly.
"Beware my power," Hal called out, his voice echoing across the battlefield and causing several beings to look in their direction.
Without hesitation, Hal drew back his fist and punched the crystal with everything he had left.
"COME ON!" he screamed, the impact sending pain shooting up his arm.
The light flickered but didn't strengthen. Carol winced at the desperation in his voice, recognizing something she'd felt herself during the darkest moments of the Kree-Skrull war.
He punched it again, harder this time. "COME ON!"
Blood started running down his knuckles, but the crystal remained stubbornly dim. Across the plaza, Tomar-Re struggled to his feet, his scholarly mind trying to understand what the human was attempting.
Again. "COME ON!" The pain was excruciating, but Hal didn't care.
"Poozer," Kilowog breathed, finally understanding what his student was trying to do. The big alien's voice was filled with something between admiration and heartbreak. "Kid's trying to jumpstart the whole damn battery by himself."
Razer, still crackling with red energy despite his alliance with them, felt something stir in his chest as he watched the human's desperate attempt. His ring pulsed with confused signals—rage at the futility, but also something else. Something that might have been hope.
Again and again, each punch accompanied by Hal's desperate cry. "COME ON! COME ON! COME ON!"
Carol stepped forward, her hands glowing with photonic energy. "Jordan, let me help—"
"No," he gasped between punches. "This has to be me. Don't know why, but it has to be me."
On the seventh punch, something impossible happened. A crack in the exact center of the fragment suddenly blazed with pure emerald fire. Not the measured, controlled energy of the original battery, but something wilder, more primal.
"Green Lantern's light!" Hal shouted, pressing his dark ring against the blazing crack.
Reality folded in on itself.
The world exploded into sensation beyond anything he had ever experienced, pulling his consciousness from his body and hurling it across dimensions into a realm where existence itself was malleable. Carol watched his physical form go rigid, emerald energy beginning to pour from his eyes, his mouth, every pore of his skin.
He found himself floating in an ocean of pure potential—not water, but the fundamental essence from which all determination springs. Above him, below him, around him stretched infinite space that pulsed with the rhythm of cosmic will. And rising from the depths of this ethereal sea came something that defied every expectation he had ever held about the nature of divinity.
The entity emerged like a leviathan of light, its form vast and cetacean, composed of flowing emerald energy that moved with the grace of something born in the deepest cosmic currents. It was beautiful beyond description—a whale-like being the size of continents, its hide inscribed with patterns of pure mathematics that described the fundamental laws of choice and consequence. Gossamer fins of crystallized starlight trailed behind it as it moved, and its eyes—ancient beyond measure—held the accumulated wisdom of every act of courage ever performed across the history of the universe.
When it spoke, its voice was the sound of solar winds carrying hope across the void, of neutron stars choosing to shine rather than collapse, of galaxies deciding to spiral toward beauty rather than entropy.
"Welcome, Hal Jordan of Earth," the entity said, each word creating ripples of emerald fire that danced across the cosmic sea. "I am Ion, and I have been waiting for you since before your species learned to dream of flight."
Hal floated before the cosmic whale, feeling impossibly small yet somehow perfectly valued, like a single note that completes an infinite symphony. "You're... not what I expected."
"I am what I have always been," Ion replied, its massive form circling him with movements that bent space itself. "The living embodiment of will—not as your limited perception might imagine it, but as it truly exists. Fluid, adaptive, eternally changing yet fundamentally constant. I am the force that drives atoms to become molecules, molecules to become life, life to become consciousness, and consciousness to choose hope over despair."
The entity's form began to shift, its cosmic magnificence flowing and condensing like liquid starlight being poured into a smaller vessel. The process was gradual, almost reverent, as if the being understood that revelation must come in steps that mortal minds can accept.
"But I perceive that you require something more... familiar," Ion said, its voice becoming warmer, more intimate, as its cetacean form compressed and took on increasingly human characteristics. "Very well. Let me show you how your father's will lives on within the infinite tapestry of cosmic determination."