Disclaimer
I do not own Marvel Cinematic Universe characters or concepts, property of Marvel Studios. I do not own Green Lantern or any related characters, property of DC Comics. Of course, you know that.
Author's Notes
This story is set in an Alternate Universe within the MCU (Guardians Vol. 2/Thor: Ragnarok timeline), with Riley Stone, a Green Lantern. While core MCU events hold, expect tweaks to backgrounds (eg. comic book characters, cultures) to fit Riley's journey. I'm only experimenting with first-person writing, expect a switch to third-person by chapter 10.
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all links are in my profile.
—-
Riley Stone.
That's my name.
And right now I'm floating thirty feet above the most boring collection of cosmic bureaucracy in the known universe, watching a tiny green floating rock climber rappel down an imaginary cliff face around my left hand.
To be honest, this little guy's got perfect form, better than mine ever was, honestly.
With a swish of my hand the climber vanished and a diver materializes near my right shoulder, complete with fins and mask, doing lazy backstrokes through the recycled air of the Green Lantern Archives.
The air inside of here tastes like ozone and old paper. That was if paper could exist in a place where most records get stored as crystalline memory fragments.
I really miss the smell of actual rock and pine trees.
Being a Green Lantern is supposed to be this big deal, protector of space, defender of the innocent, wielder of the most powerful weapon in the universe.
What they don't tell you is that the job has supervisors.
THUNK.
The sound of something very large and very annoying bumping into me from behind winks my constructs out of existence.
Still floating, but momentum halted, I look up to see Supervisor Tomar-Re hovering there, all orange skin, beak-like face, and a stern expression that suggests I'm about to have a very unpleasant conversation about "proper protocol."
He doesn't say a word surprisingly.
Just points one clawed finger toward a messy pile of crystalline storage units scattered across a floating platform below.
Sigh.
The sound echoes strangely in the vast chamber.
The one thing I hate is unnecessary work, and that's exactly what comes with being a record keeper. Most reports were meaningless and only required quick revision and a stamp, just for it to be sent to a disintegrator. How charming.
"So," I say to the empty air, "what happens when a guy who used to hang off cliff faces for fun becomes a Green Lantern and accidentally destroys a city?"
I snap my fingers.
"They end up in the Records Room of Doom. How did I destroy a city, you ask?"
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
OVERRIDE
Standing on Korvac Prime.
That's where it started going wrong, really, really, really, wrong.
Picture this: you're a guy who spent most of his twenties dangling off cliff faces and diving into underwater caves for fun. Your idea of a relaxing weekend involves risking death in creative ways. Then one day, this glowing green ring shows up and goes, "Hey, want to be a space cop?"
Obviously, you say yes. Who wouldn't?
What they don't tell you in Green Lantern orientation, and yes, there is an orientation, complete with badly animated training videos, is that being a Lantern isn't just about flying around punching cosmic villains.
There's paperwork. There are protocols. There are diplomatic missions where you have to smile and nod while someone explains why their particular brand of oppression is actually totally reasonable and necessary for galactic stability.
This was my third mission to another planet.
Third time playing space diplomat unlike the space hero I preferred.
I was part of a small team, me and two other understudies following around Lantern Kilowog.
Big pink guy, looks like someone crossed a pig with a linebacker, has a voice that could level buildings and a heart bigger than most planets. He's responsible for training new recruits and teaches them how to make constructs that won't fall apart the first time someone sneezes at them.
The other two rooks were Xaneshi–six-limbed insectoid types who communicated through pheromones and had an unsettling habit of clicking their mandibles when they were thinking.
Nice enough, but conversations with them always felt like I was missing half the information.
It was unusual for Green Lanterns to travel in groups of this size, in fact, Green Lanterns usually performed tasks on their lonesome. But this was a rookie's introduction to Green Lantern diplomacy.
We'd been traveling for two days to reach Korvac Prime, and Kilowog had spent most of the trip explaining the delicate political situation we were walking into. The masters of Korvac Prime had technology that could give the Guardians themselves a serious headache.
Reality manipulation, matter conversion… serious capabilities. In exchange for not using any of that tech to destabilize their sector, the Corps agreed to let them handle their internal affairs however they wanted.
'Internal affairs' being a diplomatic way of saying "slavery, gladiatorial combat, and whatever other horrific entertainment they could dream up."
The planet itself looks like any other futuristic city but with unlimited funding and zero moral oversight. Gleaming master cities floating above ground level, connected by bridges that shimmer like liquid metal, defying gravity in every possible way it could.
The architecture is all flowing curves and impossible angles, buildings that look like they were grown rather than built.
Down below, in the dirt and shadow cast by the floating marvels above, that's where the slaves live.
Ramshackle settlements that stretch for miles, made from scrap metal and hope. The air down there is thick with industrial smog and the smell of too many people living in too little space with too few resources.
The masters keep themselves separate, of course.
Their technology doesn't just make them stronger and smarter, it makes them functionally immortal. Some of them have been alive for thousands of years, collecting slaves and hobbies with equal enthusiasm. They host arena battles where entire species fight to the death, not just for sport but as a form of artistic expression.
The way a master designs a death match is considered high culture among their kind.
So we're floating down to the meeting point, following a transport track that runs right through the slave quarters. I can see them down there, hunched figures moving crates twice their size, fixing machinery that sparks and hisses like angry metal animals, building things for people who see them as slightly more useful than furniture. Children who should be playing are instead sorting salvage, their small hands quick enough to reach in crevices that adults couldn't.
It hurts terribly. Accepting that there was nothing I could do to help these people. Slaves struggling in blind obedience.
Ignorant of the capacity to be free.
It wrecked my heart, truly. Human or alien, freedom should not be exclusive to any species but a right, to and for all. It truly put into perspective the amount of privilege given to me.
But this is the way of the galaxy. Not every planet is earth and Terra is no stranger to slavery.
As we continued onward, an unfamiliar scent flooded my nose, it bore the similarity of burning electronics and a strange organic material that makes my stomach clench.
Kilowog notices me staring. "Poozer," he says, that's his pet name for recruits. "Remember what we discussed. We're here for diplomatic relations. Not to fix every injustice in the universe."
"How is this diplomatic?" I ask, watching a group of slaves dragging a cart full of scrap metal.
"Because the alternative is war," one of the Xaneshi clicks out. "And war would kill more people than are suffering now."
I want to argue, but the math is probably…
Definitely right.
The masters of Korvac Prime could glass entire star systems if they wanted to. The Corps keeps the peace by choosing which battles to fight, and this just isn't one of them.
The meeting point is this massive throne sitting in the middle of what appears to have been a city square. The surrounding buildings are ruins now, not from war or disaster, but because the master who lives here likes the aesthetic of decay. I learned that in the briefing.
Sitting on that throne is the master they were here to meet.
Korvac Prime Master Thane.
Eleven feet tall, covered in white hair that isn't old-man white but snow-white, like fresh powder on a mountain peak.
His eyes are completely black, not just the pupils, but the entire eye, like looking into deep water at night. When he smiles, you can see that his teeth have been modified too, too many of them, too sharp, arranged in patterns that suggest he eats things that require serious chewing.
I didn't want to know what they were.
"Ah, Lanterns! Welcome, welcome to my little garden!" His voice was filled with a tone of condescension, as if just being in their presence was reviling him.
"Such a pleasure to see the Corps again. If it weren't for our delightful agreements, I'd be killing you right now for trespassing." He laughs, this booming sound that echoes off the floating cities above us.
He's not joking. He genuinely finds the idea of murdering us amusing.
Kilowog keeps his expression neutral, professional. The Xaneshi make some clicking sounds that are polite greetings.
And me, I stay silent, watching the slaves who move around the throne like ghosts, careful not to draw attention to themselves.
But something unique catches my eye, a human, not just one but two. The sight makes my heart clench and suddenly that silent rage toward injustice that had lingered on my mind throughout the entire flight here returns.
Perhaps that sudden change in emotion was both obvious and visible because Master Thane noticed my silence immediately.
His black eyes fix on me, and there's something hungry in them, like a predator that's just spotted something interesting.
"Tsk, tsk," he says when Kilowog starts to speak up. "I see we have a serious one among our visitors." His smile gets wider, showing more of those modified teeth. "How fascinating. You know, you're the same race as some of my collection."
He snaps his fingers and the sound cracks through the air like a whip. "Number Twenty-Seven. Come here."
A human woman emerges from behind the throne. She's maybe forty, maybe younger, hard to tell with the malnourishment and the way trauma ages you. She's wearing what might have been clothes once upon a time, now just rags held together.
When she hears her number called, she hesitates for just a second, and I see the fear in her eyes.
Not fear of pain. Fear of hope. Fear that whatever happens next might be worse than what she's used to.
"No, no, come along, my dear," Master Thane says, voice dripping false kindness like honey from a broken jar. "I want you to see something wonderful. Look at him." He points one long finger at me. "He's the same race as you. Isn't that marvelous?"
The woman inches closer, eyes darting between me and her owner. I wave at her, try to smile, try to show her that somewhere out there, humans aren't slaves.
"Hey, we've got our own world, our own civilization, our own space program and art and music and all the things that make life worth living. A world where slavery is frowned upon—outlawed. Where freedom is no longer a luxury but a right. A world where you could be human again."
But the words never left my mouth.
And yet, for just a moment, something lights up in her eyes, as if she had entirely read my mind.
Master Thane's hand moves faster than thought.
One moment the woman is looking at me with what he wished was the beginning of a smile, and the next moment her head just... isn't there anymore.
Squashed like a bug under a boot that moves at superhuman speed. Blood and brain matter spray across the ancient stone, painting abstract patterns on rocks.
An eyeball lands at my feet with a wet little plop sound.
Master Thane throws the body at me like he's tossing a piece of garbage but it hits my automatic shield and slides down, leaving a red smear that looks like finger painting done by a child with psychological issues.
He's laughing.
This delighted giggle like a kid who just discovered a new toy and can't wait to break it.
"Wonderful! Simply wonderful!" he claps his hands together, the sound echoing off the ruins. "The expression on your face! Priceless! Absolutely priceless!" He looks around at my fellow Lanterns, still giggling. "Why aren't you laughing? That was comedy gold!"
Kilowog's jaw tightens, but he forces out a chuckle. The Xaneshi make some clicking sounds that could pass for laughter.
I couldn't make a sound.
The feeling of limitation is infuriating. Knowing fully well that you have the capacity and means to at least try to put an end to senseless abuse solely for entertainment. Yet, understanding and internalising that retaliation would only lead to a pathway of destruction.
My ring is getting warm around my finger. Actually warm, like it's conducting heat from somewhere else.
The eyeball at my feet stares back at me, its gaze narrowed and sharpening.
This is normal here. This is what Tuesday looks like for him.
"Oh, we're not done yet!" Master Thane claps again. "Number Fifteen! You were that one's offspring, yes? Come here, come here!"
A girl emerges from the shadows. A teen. Same dark hair as the woman who just died, same nose, same way of holding her shoulders. She starts walking toward us, toward her mother's corpse, toward the man who just killed the only family she had left because he thought it would be funny.
Her feet make tiny splashing sounds in the blood.
Is this the norm here? Kilowog said this guy wasn't anywhere near as bad as the other masters. This is him on his best behavior.
The girl's eyes meet mine as she walks past her mother's body. She doesn't cry. Doesn't scream. Just looks at me with this expression of absolute emptiness.
I look at the eyeball at my feet—
"Do something about it."
Are those even my own thoughts?
I look up at Master Thane, at his expectant smile, at the way he's practically vibrating with anticipation for whatever entertainment he's planning next.
Perhaps I'm stupid, maybe even dumb.
But who could witness a life being toyed with such dismissiveness and not feel a yearning in their heart to act a hero.
To vanquish the source of suffering on Korvac Prime. To put an end to the sick games of Master Thane and his sadistic cohort.
My legs moved on their own, just ever so slightly, just as Thane moves.
Not toward the girl. Toward me.
"You know," he says, conversationally, "I was going to make this quick. Merciful. But that look on your face..." His grin widens. "I think we can make this far more entertaining."
He reaches the girl in two impossibly fast strides. His hand wraps around her neck—not to snap it, but to hold her in place while his other hand does something to her skull that makes a sound like wet pottery breaking.
She's still alive when he starts pulling her brain out.
Gray matter falls to the stone like chunky soup while she makes these small, confused sounds, like she's trying to ask a question but can't remember what words are.
"Stop." The word comes out of my throat, but I'm not sure if I said it.
Master Thane looks up from his work, hands dripping with brain tissue. "Oh, this is rich. The little Lantern has feelings." He tosses a handful of the girl's frontal lobe at my feet. It lands with a wet slap next to her mother's eyeball. "Tell me, do you know what the human frontal cortex controls? Decision making. Personality. Everything that made it... it."
He keeps working, methodical now, like he's performing surgery. The girl's eyes are still moving, still aware, even as he removes the parts of her brain that make her human.
I can't help it, a fiery heat rises from within my core, a sudden green energy blazes around me, but Kilowog's massive hand catches my shoulder.
"Poozer, no! We can't interfere!"
The other two Xaneshi grab my arms.
I'm struggling against them, watching Master Thane hold up the girl's hippocampus like he's examining a specimen.
She's pleading, making different sounds now, empty sounds. Her eyes are wet with blood.
Whatever made her a person is in his hands, literally.
"The human hippocampus," he continues, "controls memory formation. Without it, this thing won't even remember being human." He crushes it between his fingers, and the girl's eyes go completely blank. "There we are. Much better."
He lets her drop. She hits the ground and just... stays there. Breathing, but nothing else. Her brain stem is intact, so her body functions, but everything that made her a person is splattered across the stones or being wiped off Master Thane's hands.
"Beautiful work, if I do say so myself," he says, admiring his handiwork. "She'll live for years like this. Decades, maybe. Just aware enough to feel hunger and pain, but not enough to understand why."
My world… focused on one point, one singular point of focus. And the energy that builds around me responds to that and isn't just green anymore…
Pause.
.
Riley? He's about to make what any reasonable person would call a catastrophically bad decision.
But first, let me explain exactly what went wrong and why.
Green Lantern 101
So just imagine I'm standing in front of a whiteboard and everything I'm about to tell you is being written on there.
The Green Lantern Corps is basically a space police force, except instead of guns and badges, we get jewelry that's powered by not fearing things. This entire operation runs on what you call willpower.
A perfect miniature cell phone tower appears floating above my palm.
Practically, it's all like a cell phone network.
The Central Power Battery on Oa, that's the main cell tower.
And it broadcasts power across all realities.
The tower glows green, sending out little energy waves.
Your personal power battery, the lantern shaped thing, that's like the home router.
It takes the signal from the main cell tower and makes it usable.
A tiny lantern appears next to the tower.
And the ring is your phone.
It charges up on that usable signal and converts it into whatever you need, force fields, energy blasts, giant green boxing gloves.
But your phone has parental controls, no?
The ring has the same thing. Safety protocols that limit you to about sixty or seventy percent of total capacity.
Why? Because one hundred percent power would fry your nervous system.
Now, being a Green Lantern isn't just about being brave. It's about having specific neurochemistry that lets you maintain willpower under extreme stress.
Rock climbing rewires your stress response. When you're hanging off a cliff by your fingertips, your brain learns to think clearly when death is seconds away.
Deep sea diving trains your neurotransmitters to function while your brain chemistry is being scrambled by nitrogen narcosis. It's what causes the best divers to become determined and focused even under the weight of pressure.
So when I hit that level of rage and helplessness, being held back while watching that monster lobotomize a child, my modified brain chemistry fired everything at once. All simultaneously.
And the pattern it formed, matched the override frequency built into the rings.
The emergency codes that give Guardians access to one hundred percent power.
Unpause.
.
Kilowog and the Xaneshi are still holding me when it finally happens.
The energy that explodes out of my ring sends them flying backward, their construct restraints shattering like glass.
Master Thane looks up from wiping brain matter off his hands, and for the first time, I see something like concern in those black eyes.
"Now what do we have here?" he says, but his voice has lost all its casual amusement.
The energy keeps building. I can feel power flowing through me that shouldn't exist, that my body shouldn't be able to handle. Every molecule of air around me vibrates with energy that makes reality itself nervous.
"Fascinating," Master Thane says, standing up from his throne. "I haven't seen that particular colour energy signature before. Tell me, little Lantern, what do you think you're going to—"
I don't let him finish.
The world glitches.
Everything stops. The air, the light, the sound—like someone hit pause on reality itself.
For just a moment, I can see through to what's coming.
Bodies. So many bodies.
Master Thane's form twisted and crystallized, frozen mid-scream, his hands still dripping with the girl's brain matter.
The floating cities above cracking like eggshells, their inhabitants spilling out and crystallizing before they hit the ground, masters and slaves alike, all equal in sudden, beautiful death.
Slaves running, screaming, some of them caught in the growing crystal formations, their faces peaceful as they're preserved forever in structures that pulse with impossible colors.
Children turned to living gemstones, their eyes still moving, still aware, but no longer afraid.
Fire that burns without consuming.
Light that sings lullabies.
Death and transformation happening simultaneously as matter gets rewritten at the quantum level.
And the crystals. Massive, impossible crystals growing from every surface, three different colours, only one familiar to him, each reaching toward the sky like the planet itself became art.
Then reality stutters back into motion.
.
Master Thane himself is barely recognizable, his eleven-foot frame twisted into a spiral of a trine coloured crystal, but his black eyes are still aware, still moving, tracking my movement across the hill. His mouth is frozen open, and I can see inside him, not organs, but chambers filled with flowing light.
The slaves are different. They're preserved in crystal formations that look like flowers. Their faces are peaceful, dreaming, and the crystal around them pulses with their heartbeats.
The girl is there too. The one Master Thane lobotomized. She's encased in a crystal cocoon near where her mother died, but her eyes... her eyes are whole again.
Fire dances everywhere, but it doesn't burn. It creates light without heat, flows like liquid music, changes colors when you blink.
I turn, and Kilowog is behind me. His pink skin is pale, his eyes wide beyond shock.
"What..." he starts, then stops. His voice is hoarse, like he's been screaming. "How..." Another pause. "Riley, what did you do?"
I don't answer.
My throat feels raw, and I have this vague memory of screaming something, not words, but pure sound, like my voice was trying to rewrite reality through sheer volume.
My ring is dim, barely glowing.
According to the charge indicator, it's at fifteen percent.
Somehow, I burned through eighty-five percent of my power in... minutes? Hours? Time feels broken here.
"The constructs," Kilowog whispers. "They're not fading."
He's right.
Every crystal, every formation, every impossible structure, they're all still there.
Green Lantern constructs are supposed to be temporary. They exist as long as you concentrate on them, then fade when you stop feeding them energy.
Some Lanterns can make permanent constructs, but it's an advanced technique that requires constantly feeding them power from your ring.
But these aren't drawing power from me. My ring isn't maintaining them.
They're just... there.
Existing on their own.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
I was punished.
Severely punished.
I don't know how I did what I did on Korvac Prime. The Guardians do, they've studied the site, sent teams of researchers, reality engineers, cosmic physicists.
Part of my punishment for this little incident was being classified as "Don't need to know" and I do want to know.
But what little that I do know is that the crystals are still there, one month later.
The reports say they are locked in reality, even the remaining Master's reality bending weapons hold little effect on them.
But despite the punishment, I couldn't help but feel a sense of elation.
Pleased, that I dwindled the Master's strength and destroyed their main populace.
The Guardians weren't willing to launch an invasion, nothing of the sorts. But from what little he'd put an ear to, they'd chosen to take far more aggressive diplomatic approaches to Korvac Prime.
…
And that's how a guy who used to climb rocks for fun ended up in the Records Room of Doom, filing paperwork about dimensional stability reports and trying not to think about the fact that somewhere out there, he'd destroyed a city littered with a race of "complete beings".
All because of something I built. Something I can't unbuild. Something that the Guardians understand but won't explain to me.