Razor's POV
The void between worlds has always been my sanctuary. Out here in the darkness, the red rage burning in my chest can exist without consequence, without needing to justify itself to anyone. But as I drift through the emptiness watching Hal Jordan and Atrocitus tear reality apart with their cosmic battle, all I feel is the crushing weight of what I've become.
Ilana would be disgusted.
The thought cuts through my consciousness like a blade made of pure guilt. My wife's face floats before me in the star-drunk darkness. Not as she was in those final moments, broken and dying in the ruins of our village, but as she lived. Gentle hands that healed rather than harmed. Eyes that saw potential for good even in the darkest hearts. A voice that spoke of mercy when others called for vengeance.
She would look at me now and see what her death has made me. She would weep.
I've told myself for so long that everything I've done was for her. Every world I helped burn, every innocent I allowed to suffer, every time I stood silent while Bleez and Zilius reveled in cruelty. All of it justified by the sacred cause of avenging her murder.
But watching the terror in those Coast City civilians' eyes as our assault devastated their homes, seeing families flee in panic from forces they couldn't comprehend, I heard Ilana's voice as clearly as if she stood beside me."This is not justice, my love. This is not what I would want."
The code I swore when I first took up arms to defend our village echoes in my mind now, each word weighted with the memory of her approval."My rage shall serve only justice. The innocent will find protection in my wrath, not suffering."
I have violated that oath so thoroughly that even speaking it feels like blasphemy.
Below me, the cosmic duel between embodied Will and living Rage continues to reshape local space-time, but my attention is drawn to movement at the edge of my perception. Three familiar energy signatures approaching fast. Crimson trails burning through the void like wounds in reality itself.
My former comrades have found me.
Bleez arrives first, her bat-like wings spread wide against the starfield, a vision of terrible beauty carved from malice and pain. Behind her comes Skallox, his massive frame radiating the kind of barely contained violence that makes entire star systems nervous. And bringing up the rear, Zilius Zox, his bloated form spinning lazily through space while that permanent rictus grin splits his grotesque face.
"Well, well," Bleez purrs, her voice carrying easily through the vacuum via ring transmission. "The traitor reveals himself at last."
I don't try to run. What would be the point? I know exactly why they're here. This isn't a rescue mission or an attempt to bring me back into the fold. They're here to kill me, and then they'll help tear apart Oa the same way we destroyed so many other worlds. The irony isn't lost on me that I'm about to die defending the very people I once swore to destroy.
"Bleez," I acknowledge, my voice steady despite the chaos raging in my chest. "Skallox. Zilius." I face them without defensive constructs, my hands open at my sides. "I suppose this is where you execute the traitor."
"Execute?" Skallox's laugh is like grinding stone. "Oh, we're going to do much worse than that. After what you did on Earth, after you turned your back on everything we stand for..." His ring flares as massive hammer constructs begin forming around his fists. "You helped those pathetic humans evacuate. Youprotectedthem. From us."
"Yes," I say simply. "I did."
The admission hangs between us like a challenge. For a moment, none of them speak. Perhaps they expected denials, excuses, some attempt to justify my actions. But I'm done with lies, especially the ones I tell myself.
"You betrayed everything," Bleez hisses, her beautiful face twisted with rage that goes beyond mere anger into something personal. "Three billion years of suffering. All our dead worlds. All our murdered families. And you threw it away for what? To save the enemies who would see us all burn?"
"I threw it away because I remembered what Ilana actually stood for," I reply, and for the first time in years, the words feel completely true. "Before the rage consumed everything good in me. Before I let my pain become an excuse to become exactly what killed her."
Zilius's giggle bubbles up from somewhere deep in his bloated chest. "Oh, this is beautiful! The mighty tactician has grown a conscience right when we need him most. Tell me, Razer, when you were playing hero on Earth, did you think about all the Green Lanterns we've killed? All the Corps members who died because you weren't there to plan our strikes?"
The words hit differently than I expect. There should be guilt, shame, the crushing weight of knowing my former comrades died without my tactical support. Instead, I feel something that might be relief.
"Good," I say, and their expressions shift to genuine surprise. "I'm glad I wasn't there to help you murder more people. I'm glad every Green Lantern who survived did so because I chose to remember what justice actually means."
But beneath my defiance, I hear Ilana's voice again."Even enemies deserve the chance to choose differently, my love. Even monsters can remember they were once something else."
"I remember," I say quietly, looking at each of them in turn. "I remember everything. Her death. My failure to protect her. The rage that followed." I meet their hostile gazes directly. "I also remember what she taught me about cycles of violence. That choosing to become a monster because monsters hurt you just creates more monsters."
"Spare us the philosophy lesson," Skallox rumbles, his hammer constructs growing larger and more elaborate. "You've made your choice. Now live with the consequences."
He launches himself at me with the subtlety of a collapsing star, those massive hammers trailing crimson fire as they arc toward my head. I dodge rather than block. It's a tactical choice born from years of analyzing his fighting style. Skallox hits hard enough to shatter moons, but he's always been predictable in his aggression.
The first hammer whistles past my ear with enough force to create a localized gravity distortion. I twist away from the second, using the momentum to bring my own constructs online—not weapons, but a series of binding constructs designed to restrain rather than destroy.
"Still thinking like a soldier instead of an executioner," Bleez observes, diving at me from above while Skallox recovers from his missed attack. "That's always been your weakness, Razer. Too much strategy, not enough hatred."
Her wing-blades slice through my binding constructs like they're made of paper, the red energy of her rage burning hotter than mine ever has. Where my power has always been controlled, focused, hers is pure emotional intensity given form.
I create a spherical shield around myself, layering it with multiple defensive matrices. It's a technique I developed during our campaigns against the Green Lantern Corps. But Bleez's assault isn't random; she's probing for weaknesses with the same tactical awareness that once made us effective partners.
"You can't win this," she calls out, her attacks coming faster now, each strike testing a different aspect of my defenses. "Three against one, and we're not holding back anymore. Atrocitus gave us permission to use full force."
"I'm not trying to win," I reply, and the honesty in my statement seems to surprise her. "I'm trying to do the right thing for once in my miserable existence."
That's when Zilius hits me from behind.
His attack is everything I should have expected. A massive construct designed not for elegance but for overwhelming, crushing force. It slams into my back like a freight train made of crystallized malice, shattering my shield and sending me tumbling through space.
"The right thing?" Zilius cackles as I struggle to regain my orientation. "The right thing was standing with your brothers! The right thing was honoring your wife's memory by burning the universe that failed her!"
I create a new shield just in time to deflect Skallox's follow-up attack, but the impact still rattles my bones. Fighting three experienced Red Lanterns simultaneously while maintaining defensive protocols is like trying to perform surgery during an earthquake.
"Her memory deserves better than what I've become," I gasp, using Skallox's momentum against him to redirect his charge into an asteroid. The massive Lantern crashes through the rock with barely a pause, already turning for another assault.
"Better?" Bleez's voice rises to a shriek of pure outrage. "She's dead, Razer! They're all dead! Our families, our friends, our entireworlds—wiped out while the Green Lantern Corps played politics and the Guardians counted their precious rules!"
"And making more people suffer brings them back?" I create a series of construct barriers, trying to establish some breathing room. "Makes their deaths mean something?"
"It makes their killers PAY!" she screams, her wing-blades extending into massive scythes that carve through my defenses like they're made of smoke. "It makes every smug, self-righteous 'protector' understand what loss feels like!"
Her assault intensifies, and I realize with growing clarity that I'm not going to survive this encounter. Three against one was always poor odds, but fighting them while refusing to embrace the full destructive potential of my ring makes it impossible.
Perhaps that's fitting. Perhaps this is how it should end. Not in some blaze of vengeful glory, but in a last stand for principles I abandoned so long ago I'd forgotten what they felt like.
The thought brings an unexpected peace. If I die here, defending something good instead of serving something terrible, maybe that's enough. Maybe Ilana will forgive me when I see her again.
Zilius seems to sense my resignation, because his attacks become more vicious, more personal. "You want to know the best part, 'brother'?" he pants between strikes. "When we're done with you, we're going back to finish what we started on Earth. All those pathetic humans you 'saved'? We're going to find them. One by one. And we're going to make sure they understand that helping them was the last mistake you ever made."
The threat against innocent lives cuts through my acceptance like lightning through a storm cloud. These people have done nothing except exist in the wrong place at the wrong time, and they're going to suffer because I dared to grow a conscience.
"Protect the innocent,"Ilana's voice whispers in my memory."Whatever else you do, whatever else you become, promise me that much."
It was the last coherent thing she said before the end. A final request that became a sacred oath, broken so many times I'd stopped counting the violations.
Not this time.
My ring explodes with renewed power as I abandon all pretense of restraint. Not embracing the destructive madness that has defined the Red Lantern Corps, but channeling my rage into something Ilana could approve of. The fury of protection, the wrath of the righteous, the anger that shields rather than destroys.
The crimson energy that erupts from me catches all three of my former comrades off guard. This isn't the controlled, tactical power they remember, nor is it the mindless destruction they've come to embody. This is something else entirely. Rage transformed into justice, hatred refined into purpose.
My first construct catches Zilius center-mass, a spear of crystallized determination that punches through his defenses and sends him spinning away into the void. My second binds Skallox in chains that burn with protective fire, each link forged from my oath to defend those who cannot defend themselves.
Bleez recovers fastest, her own rage flaring to match mine. "You think changing sides makes you a hero?" she snarls, her wing-blades reforming into a massive crossbow. "You think one moment of conscience erases years of complicity?"
"No," I admit, dodging her barrage of crimson bolts. "But it's a start."
We circle each other in the void, two wounded souls expressing their pain through violence, but with fundamentally different purposes now. Her rage seeks to destroy everything that reminds her of what she's lost. Mine seeks to protect what remains to be saved.
The philosophical difference becomes tactical as our constructs clash. Her attacks are designed to inflict maximum suffering. Weapons that maim rather than kill cleanly, constructs that feed on fear and despair. Mine focus on restraint and protection, seeking to neutralize threats without unnecessary cruelty.
"You're holding back," she accuses, pressing her attack as Skallox breaks free from my chains. "Even now, you can't commit fully to either side. Still the same indecisive coward who let his wife die."
The words are calculated to wound, to break my concentration by attacking my deepest shame. For a moment, they almost work. The rage rises in my chest like molten metal, demanding release, demanding vengeance against anyone who dares speak Ilana's name with such contempt.
But then I remember her hands in mine during our marriage ceremony, her voice speaking words that feel prophetic now."Promise me that if the worst happens, you won't let it make you into something I couldn't love."
"You're right," I tell Bleez, and the admission seems to surprise her. "I am holding back. Because becoming the monster that circumstances try to make you isn't strength. It's surrender."
That's when the golden meteor hits Zilius from behind.
Captain Marvel appears like divine intervention, her entire form wreathed in cosmic fire as she careens through the void at impossible speed. Her tackle sends the bloated Red Lantern tumbling end over end, his ring's glow flickering as he struggles to process what just happened.
"Three on one?" Carol Danvers calls out, taking position between me and my attackers. "That hardly seems fair. For you guys, I mean."
I stare at her, unable to process why a being of her power would intervene on my behalf. "Why?" I manage. "Why help me?"
She glances back, her expression carrying something that might be understanding. "Because Jordan vouched for you. Said you chose to do the right thing when it mattered." Her power flares brighter. "Plus, I've seen what these Red Lantern bastards do to innocent people. That doesn't sit well with me."
Bleez recovers from her shock first, her beautiful features twisting into a mask of pure hatred. "Captain Marvel." She spits the name like a curse. "The Kree's little pet, come to play hero again. When we're done with the traitor, we'll add your blood to our collection."
"You're welcome to try," Carol replies, her voice carrying the casual confidence of someone who regularly faces cosmic-level threats. "But I should warn you, I just spent the last hour watching your boss throw the universe's biggest tantrum. I'm really not in the mood for more psychotic monologues."
Skallox chooses that moment to rejoin the fight, his massive form hurtling toward Carol with the force of a guided meteor. She meets his charge head-on, her photonic blasts carving through his hammer constructs like they're made of cardboard.
The collision when they meet sends shockwaves rippling through local space-time, but Carol emerges from the impact looking barely ruffled while Skallox tumbles away, clearly stunned by the raw power she commands.
"Okay," she says conversationally, "that was actually kind of fun. Who's next?"
Zilius has recovered enough to rejoin the battle, his grotesque features split by that permanent grin as he creates constructs designed for maximum intimidation. Massive spiders with human faces, serpents that scream with the voices of the dying, weapons that pulse with malevolent life.
"Let me guess," Carol observes, easily dodging his assault, "you're the one who gets off on being as disturbing as possible. There's always one in every villain group."
"I am the embodiment of suffering made manifest!" Zilius declares, his voice bubbling with obscene pleasure. "I am the pain that follows in rage's wake!"
"You're a walking therapy session that nobody asked for," Carol shoots back, her energy beams systematically dismantling his constructs. "Seriously, have you considered getting professional help instead of projecting your issues onto the universe?"
The casual dismissal of his attempts at psychological warfare clearly infuriates Zilius, but before he can escalate further, Bleez makes a tactical decision that changes everything.
"Enough games," she snarls, turning away from Carol to focus her attention on me. "You want to know what your precious wife really thought in her final moments, Razer? You want to know what she said when she realized her 'hero' wasn't coming to save her?"
I know what she's doing. I know this is calculated psychological warfare designed to break my concentration and make me vulnerable. But the words cut through my defenses anyway, reaching the raw wound at the center of my soul that has never healed.
"She called your name," Bleez continues, her voice taking on a cruel intimacy. "Over and over, as they held her down. 'Razer will come,' she kept saying. 'He'll save me. He promised.' Right up until they cut her throat."
The rage that erupts from me isn't the controlled fury I've been channeling. It's the primal scream of a soul that has been pushed beyond all limits. Every careful restraint I've maintained, every tactical consideration that has guided my actions, burns away in the face of raw, overwhelming wrath.
My ring explodes with power so violent it makes space itself ripple. The energy that pours out of me forms constructs I've never made before - not weapons, but raw emotion given shape.
"YOU DON'T GET TO SPEAK HER NAME!"
The words tear from my throat with enough force to shatter nearby asteroids. My assault on Bleez is pure fury unleashed. No tactics, no restraint - just the rage of a man who has lost everything and refuses to lose anything else.
This rage is different though. It burns clean, focused on protection instead of destruction. Every hit I land comes from remembering Ilana's gentle hands, every construct springs from her belief that strength should shield, not harm.
Bleez staggers back, overwhelmed. My rage-fueled assault combines everything I learned as a tactician with pure emotional fire. Her wing-blades shatter against my constructs. Her mind games bounce off me like rain.
My eyes burn red with pure rage as the ring's power consumes me. This is what it was meant for. Not random violence, but wrath in defense of what matters.
"This is impossible," she gasps, real fear creeping into her voice. "You can't sustain this level of focused rage without losing your mind!"
"That's because you never understood what rage really is," I tell her, my voice carrying across the void with terrible certainty. "It's not about destruction. It's not about revenge. It's about caring so much about something that you'll burn yourself alive to protect it."
Carol watches us fight, and I think I see approval in her expression. Her own battle with Skallox and Zilius has slowed as they regroup, trying to figure out what the hell just happened to me.
"You know," she calls out, ducking under one of Zilius's construct spiders, "I'm starting to see why Jordan thought you were worth saving. This is what righteous anger looks like when it's properly channeled."
Her words cut through the rage flooding my head, reminding me this fight isn't just about settling old scores. Below us, Hal Jordan is still battling Atrocitus in their cosmic duel, and innocent lives hang in the balance.
I have to choose. Keep fighting my former friends, or end this fast so I can help where it actually matters.
The choice is easier than I expected. Ilana used to say that a person's worth wasn't measured by their mistakes, but by what they learned from them. I've been making the same mistake for years - putting my pain before everything else.
Not anymore.
Instead of finishing off Bleez, I create something massive - a construct that wraps around all three Red Lanterns. It's not a cage to hold them, but a transport to get them the hell away from here.
"What the hell are you doing?" Bleez demands, confusion replacing rage as she realizes I'm ejecting them from the fight instead of killing them.
"Something I should have done years ago," I reply, programming coordinates that will dump them in some empty system where they can't hurt anyone. "Choosing what's right over what feels good."
Carol nods as my construct shoots away, carrying my former comrades into exile. "That couldn't have been easy."
"The right choice rarely is," I admit, watching the crimson glow fade into the distance. "But my wife always said that doing what's difficult is what separates heroes from everyone else."
"Smart woman," Carol says. "Think she'd be proud of what you just did?"
I consider the question, feeling something shift in my chest that I haven't felt in years. The pain is still there, but it's different now. Like it has a purpose. "I think she'd say it's a start. But the real work comes next."
Below us, the situation is deteriorating rapidly. Through the chaos of the larger battle, I can see Rhomann Dey desperately trying to evacuate a group of Nova Corps cadets from a training facility that's been caught in the crossfire. The veteran Corpsman moves with practiced efficiency despite his obvious exhaustion, his Nova helmet flickering as its power reserves run dangerously low.
"Come on, kids! Stay together!" Dey's voice carries across the battlefield, that unmistakable mix of authority and genuine care that made him legendary among the Corps. Even now, with his own life in danger, he's more concerned about getting those young recruits to safety than his own survival.
But he's not going to make it. I can see what he can't. Three Red Lanterns converging on his position, their rings pulsing with malevolent energy as they prepare to strike down the retreating Nova force.
That's when I see something that makes my decision for me.
On the far side of the battlefield, Kilowog and the brothers K'rok and Gladiator are locked in brutal combat with Arkillo of Vorn. The massive warrior stands nearly ten feet tall, his yellow skin stretched over muscles that could crush starships. This isn't some powered villain relying on exotic technology; this is raw, primal strength honed by centuries of conquest. His reputation as one of the galaxy's most feared warlords is being proven with every devastating blow he lands against three of the universe's mightiest champions.
"Holy Hannah!" Kilowog grunts as he parries a devastating blow from Arkillo's talons, his own construct-hammer cracking under the impact. "This lizard's stronger than a collapsing star!"
K'rok attempts to flank the massive warrior, his tactical mind searching for weaknesses in what appears to be an impenetrable defense. "Brother, his hide is nearly invulnerable. We need a coordinated—"
His strategy is cut short as Arkillo's massive fist catches him off guard, a devastating backhand that sends the strategic genius flying into a collapsed building. The impact craters the ancient Oan structure, dust and debris raining down as K'rok struggles to extract himself from the rubble.
Gladiator immediately moves to intercept, his own incredible strength allowing him to grapple with the creature. For a moment, they're locked together like titans from myth, each testing the other's limits. But even the Strontian powerhouse is being slowly overpowered by this monster of pure physical dominance. Arkillo's strength isn't just brute force. It's refined through countless battles, honed by a warrior's instincts that have kept him alive for centuries.
"I'm going to enjoy tearing you apart piece by piece," Arkillo hisses, his voice a deep rumble that seems to originate from somewhere in his chest. The sound carries undertones of barely restrained violence, like distant thunder promising a storm. "Been too long since I've faced opponents worthy of real effort."
The reptilian giant's scarred hide tells the story of a thousand battles. Each mark represents a victory, a conquered world, a defeated champion. His eyes burn with the cold intelligence of a predator who has never met prey he couldn't eventually bring down.
Gladiator strains against Arkillo's grip, his legendary strength pushed to its absolute limits. "Your reputation precedes you, Warlord of Vorn," he grunts through gritted teeth. "But strength alone won't save you from Shi'ar justice."
"Justice?" Arkillo laughs, the sound like boulders grinding together in an avalanche. "I am beyond your primitive concepts of right and wrong. I am inevitable force given flesh."
To emphasize his point, Arkillo breaks their grapple with a surge of power that sends Gladiator skidding backward across the crystalline plaza. The Strontian champion recovers quickly, but there's new respect in his eyes and perhaps the first hint of genuine concern.
The sight of these heroes fighting desperately against a monster I helped unleash fills me with a clarity I haven't felt since Ilana's death. K'rok is pulling himself from the wreckage, blood streaming from a gash above his eye. Kilowog's constructs are growing more desperate, less refined, as exhaustion takes its toll. Even Gladiator, the living embodiment of Shi'ar might, is being systematically broken down by an opponent who seems to grow stronger with each exchange.
But it's what I see next that truly galvanizes me into action.
Dey has spotted the three Red Lanterns closing on his position. Instead of abandoning the cadets to save himself, he's turning to face his attackers, drawing what power remains in his Nova helmet for one final stand.
"Sir, your power levels are critical!" one of the young cadets calls out, clearly recognizing the situation. "We can—"
"You can get to the evacuation point like I ordered," Dey interrupts firmly, but not unkindly. "That's an order, Cadet. Take care of each other."
He raises his hand, and I can see the pathetic flicker of energy that's all he has left. Three Red Lanterns against one depleted Nova Corpsman. It's not even going to be a fight.
But what strikes me isn't just his hopeless bravery. It's the look in his eyes. The same expression Ilana had in her final moments. Not fear for himself, but desperate love for those he's trying to protect.
"I can't watch this," I tell Carol, my voice tight with emotion I thought I'd forgotten how to feel.
"Then don't," she replies simply. "Do something about it."
I streak downward, my red aura flaring as I position myself between Dey and the attacking Red Lanterns. They pull up short, momentarily confused by my appearance.
"Razer?" one of them snarls. A brute named Voz I remember from Atrocitus's inner circle. "What are you doing? The Nova filth is defenseless!"
"That's exactly why I'm here," I reply, my ring glowing with renewed purpose.
Behind me, I hear Dey's surprised intake of breath. "Well, I'll be damned," he mutters, that dry wit intact even in the face of certain death. "A Red Lantern with a conscience. Now I really have seen everything."
The three Red Lanterns spread out, preparing to eliminate both Dey and myself. But something's different now. The rage flowing through my ring feels controlled. Purposeful. For the first time since I put on this ring, my anger serves justice instead of vengeance.
I don't give them time to coordinate their attack. My constructs slam into all three simultaneously - binding chains that wrap around Voz, an energy net that drops Skallox to the ground, crushing force that pins the third before he can even react. They're unconscious in seconds.
"Impressive work," Dey says, lowering his hand. "Though I have to ask - should I be thanking you or preparing for round two?"
Before I can answer, a new voice cuts through the air. "Nobody move! Red Lantern, you're under arrest!"
A young Nova Corps officer drops from above, his helmet gleaming and weapons trained on me. Human, from the looks of him, probably not much older than Jordan. His stance is perfect, professional, but there's tension in his voice.
"Richard Rider, Nova Corps," he announces, keeping his weapons steady. "Step away from Centurion Dey and surrender immediately."
"Kid, hold on," Dey tries to intervene, but Rider doesn't waver.
"Sir, with respect, Red Lanterns are considered hostile combatants. I can't let—"
"Stand down, Lieutenant Rider." Nova Prime's voice cuts across the battlefield, transmitted through their communication network. "The Red Lantern in question assisted in evacuating civilians during the Earth incident. His actions here appear to be in defense of Nova Corps personnel."
Rider's weapon lowers slightly, confusion clear in his posture. "Ma'am, are you sure? He's still wearing a Red Lantern ring."
"I'm sure, Lieutenant. Secure the prisoners and assist with civilian evacuation. That's an order."
The young Nova looks between me, the unconscious Red Lanterns, and Dey, clearly struggling to process this turn of events. Finally, he holsters his weapon.
"Yes, ma'am." He approaches the fallen Red Lanterns cautiously. "I'll get these three secured and transported to holding."
"I've spent years running from the hardest fight," I tell Carol through our communication link, watching as Rider begins creating energy restraints around my former comrades. "Time to stop running."
The path to redemption is never easy, but it always begins with a single step.
This is mine.