dryskies_btb - The Deadest End Ch.5

— Ganthet, Guardian of Hope —

“Ganthet, my love, must we?” Sayd asked.

Ganthet could only sigh, “You know we must. I would have us back on Odym, just you and I and our Blue Lanterns, if we could. But then, who will keep burning the flame of Hope? We are not so established as to be self-sustaining, and even if technically allied with Will, you know as well as I that many would see us removed from all equations if they could. Our visits to Oa keep them honest and ensure we cannot be forgotten or purposefully ignored.”

Sayd didn’t roll her eyes — much too dignified to do so — but Ganthet heard the gesture in her tone, “One might argue that we shouldn’t be needed to keep them honest, that we shouldn’t need to remind them so.”

Ganthet chuckled, “If only, my heart. If only…”

Oa lay below them. The majority of the world at the center of the universe had always been barren, but it’d been rendered even more so by a past calamity that destroyed the Main Power Battery. It’d been rebuilt, of course, but rebuilding the rest of the planet had been deemed unnecessary. To the Guardians: unimportant. Life at the center of the universe existed only as the Guardians allowed it, for Oa was the core of their Order.

Truly, there was only one point of interest and importance on Oa: the city around the Battery. It was a massive and sprawling beacon of civilization, maintained in spite of its barren surroundings.

The City of Oa was colored in green and black and chrome, built up to levels few, if any, other civilizations could match. The Main Power Battery was a constant feature from any angle, so tall it brushed against the void of space. It dominated the skyline and the function of Oa. Immediately around it, towers climbed into the sky, adorned with sleek curves and great domes. The city extended far below, too. There were layers to Oa, and the Guardians cared only for the uppermost ones, where they and their Corps presided over the universe.

Millions more called Oa home, the true number unknown even to the Guardians. Not for lack of census ability, simply for lack of care. Most helped to support and maintain the Green Lantern Corps, to give Oa life. Others were refugees. A rare few were the families of Green Lanterns. All were deemed as unimportant to the Guardians’ vision of Order as the barren state of Oa outside the City.

Those millions would seldom, if ever, get the chance to climb the layers of Oa. Those ambitiously dreaming few who came to Oa to try their hand at becoming a Green Lantern without understanding the actual process were inevitably disappointed, and then, often stuck upon Oa. Many, despite living directly beneath their headquarters, would never even see a Green Lantern.

None saw a Guardian, and no Guardian saw any of them, either.

Those unseen millions upon Oa were an infinitesimally small slice of the universe’s population, but Ganthet considered them a telling sign. The Guardians of the Universe, his own brothers and sisters, didn’t even see those directly beneath them. How could they claim to see the rest of the universe’s population?

Ganthet had long since vowed he wouldn’t fall into the same trap as his kin. When he and Sayd flew down into the city, they didn’t immediately head for the Planetary Citadel, from which the Guardians decided Order for the universe.

He took the time to linger on the lower layers of Oa. It was a sad sight when the populations there didn’t even recognize him as kin to the Guardians, but a strange relief as well. For a time, short as it may be, he and Sayd were just two more faces in a diverse crowd at the center of the universe.

They would have to announce themselves soon enough, but knowing the welcome that would await them, Ganthet and Sayd had little trouble putting it off.

They stopped at a small restaurant built into the side of a street. It was open to the crowds that came and went — a simple process of sitting down, ordering, eating, and being on one’s way.

Sayd’s expression lit up when she saw Glirellian noodles on the menu. Ganthet chuckled to himself. Noodles: a near-constant feature, in some form or another, of every alien culture that enjoyed food.

Ganthet sat with his lifemate while she slurped down the noodles, amused as she left streaks of broth on her chin. When she turned to him in confusion at his laughter, he wiped away the broth with a thought. The smile she gave him was payment enough for that service.

At the same time, Ganthet watched the unseen millions of Oa. He saw the ones who looked at the restaurant’s menu and winced on their wallet’s behalf. He saw the ones who coughed, struggling to breathe on a barren world, and the ones who looked longingly at the stars above. He saw that while few turned to crime for obvious reasons, many seemed to have some gray-tinted hustle or another.

When he and Sayd could no longer reasonably put off their appearance on the upper layers of Oa, they fortified themselves and went to greet their kin.

In the upper levels that only flight could easily reach, Green Lanterns became a constant sight. They came and went, their eyes on the universe outside of Oa. With how much they looked up and out, Ganthet couldn’t blame them for not looking down — not the Lanterns, hard-working and Willful to a soul…

Ganthet and Sayd were readily greeted by those they knew, and even those they didn’t gave nods of respect, so unlike the welcome they would receive from their kin.

The Lanterns respected them and their efforts; over the decades, centuries, millennia, they’d affected many who wore that ring. The Guardians… did not. It’d started when they were still full-fledged members, not falling in line with the rest. It’d only escalated since they’d broken off to found the Blue Lantern Corps, though thankfully, never to the point of open conflict.

They passed through the halls of the Planetary Citadel, from the top down. Halfway down the tower, a bulbous section overlooked the outlet of the Main Power Battery. There, in a grand meeting room that mimicked space, the universe the Guardians watched over, they found their kin.

“Vega maintains its quarantine,” One Guardian said.

“As it always is. As it should. As it must,” Another Guardian nodded in approval.

“Such a shame that the system is lost to us.”

“A shame indeed. The population could use our Order more than most.”

“It would be a point of interest to rival Earth, unfortunately,” One Guardian pointed out.

“There is truth in that. Even without the Orange Light within the system, one would struggle to deem it worthy of the attention it would require.”

One Guardian, scarred across her face, pushed the gathered council, “How long will we let that Orange Light thrive unopposed?”

“Forevermore, if possible. Larfleeze, thankfully, is consumed by his Greed. He is the easiest of our enemies to contain, for we must simply do nothing and leave him to his own devices.”

“False. He has made expeditions outside the Vega system to satisfy his Greed. You know it as well as I.”

“Ultimately, he is no great threat to Order. We will continue to quarantine the Vega system.”

Round and round the room, the Guardians all nodded, even the scarred one who pushed for action, “Agreed.”

Sayd very nearly rolled her eyes; Ganthet didn’t even bother hiding the gesture. How many times had they walked in on their kin having this exact conversation? Ganthet wouldn’t be surprised if they hadn’t moved from their current seats since his and Sayd’s last visit.

The Guardians sat in a circle, and perpetually, they talked in one. It was, to them, the best way to decide the Order of the universe. Ganthet saw it for what it truly was: the circular and unproductive complaining of some of the universe’s oldest souls. They were old men and women bickering and bemoaning the state of the universe, all while they had the power to act on their every quibble.

“Guardians,” He greeted. “I expected to find you all here.”

Eerily, all of his kin turned to him and Sayd as one, “Ganthet and Sayd, of the Blue Light. Why have you come here?”

“We did not invite you.”

“Your presence is unnecessary.”

“Disruptive, even.”

“Can a man not check in on his kin?” Ganthet asked.

“How bothersome…”

“You claim innocence, but we can all see that you hope to disrupt Order,” The Scarred Guardian almost snapped; in a way, she was closest to Ganthet and Sayd in how she held herself, though on the opposite, hard-lining side of the spectrum.

“That has never been the modus operandi of the Blue Lantern Corps,” Sayd scoffed. “You see threats where there are none.”

“We see the shadows of the universe as they are, as they’ve always been,” The Scarred Guardian tilted up her nose and sneered pointedly in reply.

“At large? Perhaps,” Ganthet allowed. “The shadows beneath your very feet escape your notice, however.”

“There are no shadows on Oa.”

“Ridiculous. Irrational. Impossible.”

“How is the food situation in the city below? Do you know?” Ganthet asked.

“The hydroponic gardens supply all those petty mortals need to survive,” A Guardian dismissively waved away his question.

“The nutrient paste stocks will keep the hungriest fed for a millennium more. I checked just 400 years ago,” Another Guardian said.

“And that is a poor way to live, even for those with a Green Lantern’s Will,” Ganthet shot back.

“For all but our soldiers of Order, Oa has always been a mere midway point,” The Scarred Guardian said. “They will be on their way soon enough. Oa and the Corps will persist, for it is our duty to the universe.”

Sayd frowned, “You say that with such certainty from up high in your tower. Oa’s population is not nearly as transient as you think.”

“What of the air purifiers? The shield that keeps that air contained?” Ganthet pressed. “Basic and essential, yet Sayd and I saw worrying evidence of their current state during our journey here.”

“Irrelevant: no Lantern has complained about a lack of air, whichever kind suits their unique physiology best,” A Guardian said.

“And they would not,” Sayd bit out the words. “Their power rings supply all the accommodations they could need. The majority who call Oa home — and they do call it home — do not have that necessity at their disposal.”

“I very much doubt many could call Oa home. Technically, we are the only citizens of Oa,” A Guardian shook his head, almost laughing.

The rest of the Guardians nodded in agreement — again, almost as one — and Ganthet simply stared at their insistence on ignorance. They quite literally couldn’t concern themselves with the millions laboring beneath their seats.

“… I will spend a portion of my visit to Oa rectifying your oversights,” He said, eventually. “It is likely for the best. I wouldn’t want to distract from your greater purpose, your Order.”

“Do as you will, irrelevant as it is,” The Scarred Guardian said. “Before you devote yourself to such irrelevance, however, we would have whatever information you have to report. Tell us, how fares the… Blue Lantern Corps…?”

“That is hardly anything you should concern yourself with,” Sayd deflected.

“Ah, but you maintain that the Green and the Blue Lights should be allied,” The Scarred Guardian fired back. “Is sharing information not an essential benefit of such an alliance?”

Sayd bristled at the tone, the implication of ingenuine commitment on their part; Ganthet soothed her with a hand on her shoulder.

“The Blue Lantern Corps is growing well and consolidating that growth,” He said. “We will never have the established nature or the numbers that you and the Green Lantern Corps enjoy, but our way serves Hope just as well as yours serves Will. We can now claim 8 serving members, and they have frequently joined with Green Lanterns on patrol when the situation calls for it.”

“An objectively pathetic showing,” The Scarred Guardian scoffed. “That you continue to try is simply illogical.”

“One might mistake it as a play for power.”

“Another might see how unsuccessful you have been on your own and suggest turning back to your kin. There would be punishment, of course, but we would still welcome you back into Order.”

“So few, so few… I almost struggle to see how your recruitment efforts could falter so.”

“It is illogical, as Hope often is,” Ganthet calmly refuted all of their words in turn. “It is not play for power, simply a duty that does not align with yours. We have no intention of abandoning our Corps to rejoin the Guardians. And our recruitment is more personalized, for Hope is a tenuous but powerful emotion for mortals to grasp.”

“You will fail, inevitably.”

“Will is the only emotion that can achieve Order.”

“All others should be properly managed by it, for what drives life more than Will?”

“I would argue that Hope drives life just as readily,” Ganthet said, still maintaining his composure. “Just as the Orange Light of Greed does, for some. Just as Fear, Rage, Love, and Compassion do. Denying the rest of the spectrum serves no one but you.”

“Precisely…!” The Scarred Guardian hissed. “As it should! We have our duty to the universe; any who stand in its way are enemies. How long have we toiled alongside Green Light, Ganthet? Will is the true power of the spectrum, the only power. The others are illusions, mere upstarts. They will be stomped out in due time.”

“Including Hope?” Sayd asked, her shoulders squared.

“You will see the purpose of Order again. You will return to your proper place in this council soon enough.”

“Only the Guardians-…”

Ganthet did not shy away from his emotions as the rest of his kin here claimed to (whether or not that was as true for some of them as they claimed was up for debate); he would admit to no small frustration.

‘Only, only, only, only…’

For as long as he could remember, since shortly after the very start of time, the Guardians had taken the Order of the universe unto themselves. They would not share the burden with any others. Now that other Lantern Corps had risen to the universal stage as well, they’d grown even more stubborn in that single-minded arrogance.

Oh, what could be if Green and Blue joined arms in good faith… And oh, if they could include the long-lost kin who claimed Violet and Indigo, too… Yellow and Red were trickier, but Ganthet could still Hope…

It was not to be; the Guardians would not suffer it, not even a hint of good-faith cooperation, for it would mean willingly giving up their sole claim upon the Order of the universe.

Instead, when Ganthet extended an open hand of Blue, the Guardians all but slapped it away. The Green Lanterns were less prickly, but they could only do so much to work with his Blue Lanterns when the Guardians so dominated their objectives and protocols.

The spectrum was divided, now more than ever. Green and Yellow fought their eternal feud. Red raged, spilling over from the margins. Violet was a rare sight, and Indigo was even rarer. All the while, the Guardians were unopposed, unchecked, and unquestioned. Their vision of Order was practically inevitable — unanimously cold decisions made from above it all without any peer resistance; they were a monolith.

Was there no Hope…?

A snap in reality silenced the Guardians’ chamber. A portal split the illusion of space. It should’ve been impossible. Ganthet, for all his issues with his kin, never doubted their power. Other than the Main Power Battery, there was nowhere on Oa more warded and protected than these chambers.

Yet all that power failed before whatever was barging straight into their midst.

The portal expanded to show an eccentric scene on the other side. A gathering of humans and others who called Earth home; it was always them.

Ganthet spied the Green Lanterns of Earth through the portal;  he was familiar with all of them, though Kyle Rayner most of all. He saw the Kryptonian outlier’s cousin, a princess and a queen from the Vega system, and a rather stoned Green Martian.

He saw many more faces that he didn’t immediately recognize. Mages of Earth…? Magic was always a touchy beast for him and his kin. They tended to avoid it when they could, especially after failing to eliminate it from the universe.

Finally, he saw striking figures that he didn’t recognize but knew intimately, instantly, inherently in his immortal soul: Demiurgic Brothers, Endless Siblings, one Avatar, old, and another Avatar, new. Even all of his kin combined would pale before the power of just one of those Aspected beings.

Now, several stared at him, Sayd, and their kin through the opening portal. Then, worse, they stepped through. All of them, from the Green Lanterns of Earth to the Demiurgic Brothers of Creation.

They were led by a man who defied all sense and common understanding, seeming powerless and mortal, just a man… yet so much more; Death walked lovingly at his side.

“Interlopers!” The Scarred Guardian exclaimed, her voice shrill and demanding retribution.

“What is the meaning of-?!”

“You have no place here.”

“Lanterns: report.”

“We are cut off!”

“Kyle, what is going on?” Ganthet asked the Green Lantern he had personally raised to such duty and power.

Kyle sighed, “Honestly, I’m still not quite sure. It certainly is happening, though. Sorry, Ganthet.”

“This is not an attack,” John Stewart said.

“Not an outright one, at least,” Guy Gardner snorted. “We’ll have to wait and see the actual damage.”

“All I see is betrayal,” The Scarred Guardian hissed. “There is no other reasonable explanation for intruding upon such a hallowed chamber. Hal Jordan, John Stewart, Guy Gardner, Kyle Rayner; take one more step and I will personally strip you of your rings!”

One of the Earth Mages snorted a little laugh, “They don’t need to. This is Dad’s show.”

The new Avatar, a child-like being of pure starstuff, roared with the sound of lightning striking lightning, “JUSTICE~!”

“Easy, little one,” Hecate, Avatar of Magic — Ganthet recognized her like, well, magic — soothed the starry child. “We’ll get there soon enough, I’m sure.”

The Guardians reacted to the star-child’s roar with cold dismissals.

“All we do is for Order; all is justified.”

“That is the point of this invasion? Justice? The Guardians commit no crimes.”

“There is no jurisdiction high enough to judge us.”

“Oh, for Death’s sake,” The leading man rolled his eyes. “Can you be more confidently wrong?” 

The Scarred Guardian narrowed her eyes at him, “We speak no falsehoods. Our work is far from the domains of those you have illogically coerced to your side, stranger. Demiurge, Destruction, Delirium, or Death have never bound us.”

“Wrong,” The man listed on his fingers. “Wrong. Wrong. And so, so, so wrong. You exist in Creation, and thus, you are bound by my Demiurgic friends here. You destroy and you can be destroyed, so you are bound by Destruction. You utilize Heart yet abandon it, so you’re bound by dear Del. And no one, not even her Endless siblings, escapes Death.”

“Now,” The man introduced himself. “I am Sean Caine, Hand of Death and her Prince Consort. I’m here on her behalf, and on Magic’s, too. Some of my work here will be for justice, and some will be for Change. Buckle in, Guardians, ‘cause everything you know and rely on is going to be very different by the time I’m done with you.”

He grinned, “We’re going to start with a whole lot more Heart and a whole lot less power at your fingertips…”

Ganthet glanced at his lifemate. Sayd looked back with worry in her eyes, but also a gleam of vindication and schaudenfraude. Ganthet could certainly understand that if their kin were finally going to see the consequences of their monolithic actions at the hand of the Hand of Death.

At the same time, that mention of Change… Could he dare Hope?

IIIII

— Sean Caine —

All the work of returning Heart to Guardians who’d made themselves purposefully Heartless for so long was best left to Delirium. The work of utterly crippling them power-wise as punishment for Didi’s 666-shaped scars and Starheart’s prison, however, I saw to with great gusto.

Well, me, Hecate, and Destruction.

By powerset, the Guardians are in a relatively strange tier. They weren’t divine — though they could certainly be considered as powerful as gods, even just individually — they weren’t magical, and they definitely weren’t Aspected.

Their power came from luck of the ageless alien draw, truly obscene levels of technological advancement, and not-quite psychic might.

Thus, to cripple them thoroughly, Death, Magic, and Destruction — all concepts they either had no claim on (Death and Magic) or outright hard-countered them (Destruction) — were more than a little overkill: perfect for Didi’s justice.

In some ways, it was as simple as I made it out to be, and in others, it wasn’t simple at all. For all their hubris and hypocrisy, the Guardians had maintained their place at the top of the mortal universe for a reason. They weren’t likely to give it up without a fight.

I saw them prepare themselves now, gathering all of their power to bite back at us ‘intruders’. The chamber of space contracted as technology answered their call. Not-quite psychic might Glowed in their hands.

“This cannot be allowed,” One Guardian intoned.

The rest agreed with him, “For Order.”

“For the Guardians of the Universe.”

It was slightly eerie, hearing such fierce statements in such flat, Heartless tones. Still, Delirium, Destruction, Hecate, and I stepped forward to meet their suddenly rallied defense.

A green Glow — Will used more primally and powerfully than what the Guardians gave the Green Lanterns access to — came to encircle the four of us. It squeezed. The Guardians tried to crush us out of existence with nothing but their combined Wills.

But truthfully, the Guardians, for all their might, could do nothing against us, nothing against beings one or two tiers above them on the power scale of Creation.

The Guardians’ Will only fed Delirium; they were far from masters of Heart, paradoxically, despite how they’d so mastered the Emotional Spectrum.

The constructs they created from sheer harnessed Will dissolved when they came into contact with Destruction, as did every piece of obscene technology that’d been created by their hands.

Hecate and I, meanwhile, stood strong with surety of self against the Guardians’ Will. Did Death’s Hand lack Will? Did the First Avatar of Magic?

Green power rushed at us from every angle. Constructs of focused gravity, false plasma, and faceted geometry attempted, with all the might of the Guardians, to obliterate us. The power slammed into Delirium’s concept and being, an overwhelming pillar of Heart in Creation. Del didn’t even move.

Exotic explosions, sparked by the technological defenses of the chamber, crashed against Destruction, and did nothing at all. Their arrogance, to muster destruction against Destruction, served them naught.

I called upon Death, acting in the name of her justice, and all of their vaunted power died a pathetic death. I coaxed it to its End, letting the power alone down gently, just as Didi would. The Guardians were left gasping for the power that had just died on them, slipping through their fingertips like sand.

Then, I pushed further.

I took a step, with Hecate beside me and the Endless Siblings at behind us.

“Bold,” I said. “And futile. Resisting here will gain you nothing. Accept your judgment. Need I name your crimes?”

Gasping, one Guardian snapped back at me, “All we have done is in the name of Order…!”

“Your Order, yes,” I nodded.

“Order for the universe!”

“It needs us, more than any one being can know!”

“Only we can use Light to guard against the shadows.”

“Ah, but how much do you actually guard?” I asked pointedly. “When was the last time you left this chamber?”

“334 galactic years,” Ganthet, one of the few Oans — not Guardians — that I didn’t immediately have a problem with, said flatly.

“Tch-tch,” I tutted. “It sounds to me like you aren’t doing much, if any, of the ‘guarding’ work. The institution you’ve built here, I’ll admit, has some merit. But its leadership is stagnant to its core.”

“Stagnation?” A Scarred Guardian sneered. “Death’s Hand speaks of stagnation?!”

I blinked, “… Do you think Death is stagnant? Do you think she ever has been? Truly? If you do, you’re more ignorant than I anticipated.”

“What is there to know?” She — the Scarred Guardian — snapped back. “Your Lady has only one duty. We have many. We ensure the stability, the Order, of the universe. She is nothing more than an ending line!”

Behind me, Raven deadpanned, “… Oh, you shouldn’t have said that.”

“Truly,” Lucifer chuckled. “It’s good entertainment, though. Always amusing to see arrogant fools hold the idiot ball.”

Ignoring the commentary behind me, I told the Guardians in a grave tone. “She is everywhere: every Death and every Conception. She is constantly working, constantly there for those who need her — unlike you. She has seen all the souls you’ve touched in your ageless lives. She bears scars from your greatest mistakes.”

“All necessary for Order to reign.”

“Some? Perhaps. Others were malicious or simply negligent; that’s true, no matter how much you declare ‘necessity’.”

“The result is the same. The universe is more stable for our existence. Even Death must see that! Without our immortal efforts, the universe would wallow in ruin. Without us, it would be dead!” The Scarred Guardian exclaimed.

“Do not speak of destruction as if you know the truth of it,” Destruction said; the normally easy-going Endless was as serious as a supernova. “And never speak of Didi as if you know her.”

“She doesn’t blame you, not even for her scars,” I said. “She’s good like that. I’m not nearly so good. I blame you, Guardians. And so, I will act where she won’t. This will be the Death of your power, the End to your ability to affect Creation so greatly, so terribly. But it will also be Conception, a new Beginning, if you are willing to embrace it.

“I know Didi hopes you will. I’m of the opinion that you deserve an even harsher punishment, but for her, I’ll give you this chance to Change…”

“As the Hand of Death, I judge you so,” I declared.

I raised my arm. With a Hand of Death, I grasped all of the power within the Guardians — even Ganthet and his lifemate, unfortunately. I took hold of their ageless alien natures, the inherent might of their species. It was potent, but not nearly potent enough to stand strong against the gentle, welcoming call of Death. That power — its time had come.

The might inherent to the Guardians died a conceptual Death; it was only the first of their sentences.

Destruction, even more casually than me, reached out to destroy the connections to all of their creations. Their uncountable eons of technological advancement didn’t disappear, but the Guardians’ influence over all of it was brought to sudden and complete ruin.

“I will not punish creations for their creators,” Destruction said, sadly shaking his head. “Those innocent achievements of my concept shall be emancipated. You and yours, however, shall have no further say in their existences.”

The backlash of Death and Destruction left the Guardians reeling futilely. They tried to call upon their technology, and failed. They tried to muster inherent strength, and failed. They stared in horror, and more was to come.

Hecate stepped to the fore, passing her own sentence for Magic, “Your crimes against Lady Death are the greatest, but Magic’s pain is no less relevant, Guardians. Eons past, you attempted to exterminate its unharnessed aspects like-! Like it was some pest!”

She glared, “Even now, you do not realize how much damage you’ve done to Creation. Wild Magic turns the universe you claim to protect, but since it did not fit your vision of Order, you rejected it. Your guardianship saw to the stunting of your self-proclaimed charge.

“Thus, Magic’s retribution shall be ironic, and passed in a grand geas. Until Death finally claims you, you Guardians will ‘guard’ against each other. You will check yourselves, in only the best of faith; Magic will punish any attempts at defeating my geas. My sentence is a question — ‘Who Guards the Guardians?’ — and Magic will force you to answer correctly — ‘We do.’”

I watched with approval. Hecate and I had discussed this punishment, and it played well into the rest of my plans for the Guardians and their future existence. Magic’s Geas Upon the Guardians would ensure my coming system of peers saw good-faith participation. If not? Well, Magic could get rather… creative with its consequences.

“Starheart,” Hecate added. “Little one. You deserve to put your hand upon this scale. Won’t you aid me?”

“Justice~!” Starheart agreed with the sound of a world cracking in half and a seedling of new life sprouting from the broken core.

The starstuff child form she’d taken practically skipped over to join hands with Hecate. Hecate smiled at the newest Avatar of Magic, her littlest sister. Together, they wove a working of magic unlike almost any other in Creation. The mages present were blessed to witness it. Unharnessed, Wild Magic was the fuel and foundation; Hecate’s ancient experience shaped that foundation into something all-encompassing and absolute.

It fell upon the Guardians, and they sagged under its nigh-physical weight. Immediately, they began to look at each other with new eyes. Magic’s Geas compelled them to see — truly see — all of their past feats and schemes and atrocities that deserved to be guarded against.

It was only the first spark of such a realization. Delirium stepped forward last to fan that spark into a stable bonfire. She was the final nail, the true Heart of the Guardians’ sentence — and the Heart of Change, if they could manage it.

Delirium was Heart, all the overwhelming and underwhelming conceptual connections of Creation. It could drive a being mad; it could drive them sane. Delirium was both — she was all Heart.

The Guardians had abandoned her concept long ago. They’d existed, eternally untethered. Delirium returned that abandoned Heart to them, roaring as she did.

“FEEL, you apathetic bastards!”

Her voice fell nearly silent, “… How could you not?”

If Death and Destruction left the Guardians futilely reeling, and Magic left the Guardians forced to see each other for all their crimes, Delirium — Heart — fully opened their eyes to the universe they claimed to guard, and the universe within each of them.

“Oh, false gods and true! No, there is no way but forward!” One declared — Hope.

“He… He just wished to defend his daughter…” Another realized a past oversight — Compassion.

“It’s so vast, all of it! Oh, and we’re so small! Good Glow, the connections!” Yet another exclaimed in revelation — Will.

“We should have punished that-! That CUNT until he couldn’t hurt anyone else!” Yet another one roared — Rage.

“I wish I had known… I think I could’ve loved her, yet… I threw it all away. Zaoa, I’m sorry…” Yet another one still wept — Love.

“A hoard, a harem, a history all my own! By the Glow, I want!” Yet even another one still cackled — Greed.

“W-What have you done…?” The Scarred Guardian asked in horror — Fear. “W-What have I…?”

“It’s okay,” Delirium cooed, casually walking over to hug the Scarred Guardian as she wept. “Feel. Just feel.”

“I was going to throw it all away, our Order,” The Scarred Guardian confessed. “The Anti-Monitor…”

“You had half a Heart,” Delirium soothed her. “You didn’t embrace it; you resisted to the last. It hurt, didn’t it? Even Heart can become twisted and corrupted.”

“I-I was blind,” The Scarred Guardian nodded into Delirium’s shoulder.

Delirium drew her back, and, in a snap, slapped her, “SO OPEN YOUR EYES, DAMMIT!”

“W-Wha-?” The Scarred Guardian sputtered.

Delirium glared at her, “Open. Your. Eyes. And keep them open. Let yourself be connected, all of you. Rage on. Fear for all you care for. Love and be loved. Let compassion into your Heart. Fight on, willfully. Hope for a better you, a more connected, more Heartfelt you, fool.

“Now, you don’t have any other choice but to FEEL. Embrace it.”

Slow and stunned, the Scarred Guardian nodded under Delirium’s expectant glare. The other Guardians followed her, but no longer as one. They came to agree with Delirium’s Heartfelt commands individually, for their own reasons, their own feelings, their own connections.

The Guardians were the most affected, but their Hopeful kin — Ganthet and Sayd — weren’t excluded from the sentences passed upon them. Fortunately, the punishments were lighter for them; they had already re-embraced their Hearts, had already been guarding the Guardians, and, at the very least, understood the necessity of the Death and Destruction of their power.

“What… now?” Ganthet asked me while looking at his kin as if he was seeing them for the first time.

“Now,” I smiled. “The real work here at the center of the universe can begin.”

“Real work?” Sayd raised an eyebrow. “All of this… is not enough to satisfy your judgment, Hand of Death?”

“All of this is punishment,” I corrected. “It breaks you down to your lowest. From there, the only way to go is up, isn’t it?”

Didi stepped forward to my side — the revitalizing spark of Conception to my harsh Hand of Death, “Indeed. Punishment alone is pointless; rehabilitation is where you will learn to live anew. Despite all of this, there is still a need for you and your kin in Creation. Sean intends to stay and help you build something better.”

“Change…” Ganthet nodded slowly. “Thank you for the chance, Lady Death, Sean Caine. But I’ll admit… even now, I struggle to see how you will do so and ensure it sticks. You have rendered us rather powerless if we are to do much of anything meaningful for the universe.”

“Powerless, but not without influence or ability to do better,” Didi said.

“You’ll make for good figureheads, to be completely frank,” I shrugged.

“Figureheads…? Figureheads of what?” Sayd asked.

“The two of you already have a figurehead claim,” I hinted.

“Our Blue Lanterns,” Ganthet realized. “Yes, I can understand that much. I don’t see how it could be applied to the others, though.”

“There are six more Lantern Corps,” I said. “And the Lanterns have always been the ones to do the real work of the universe. Give the Guardians to whichever Corps fits their renewed Heart best, and it should make for a pretty effective system of peers, checks, and balances.”

Continuing, I laughed, “I’m not trying to usurp the ‘Order’ and direct the universe to my own image. Death, no; I’m retired, and that sounds like too much work for very little fun. I just want to reshuffle and equalize the board so that a monopoly of action like the one that scarred my Death can never rise again.

“Even the Yellow? Even the Red?” Ganthet asked.

I raised an eyebrow at him, “It’s a spectrum, isn’t it?”

Ganthet smiled, full of relief and Hope, “It is. For good and for ill.”

“I dread to ask, Lady Death,” Sayd began. “But what of the Black and Nekron?”

Didi chuckled and shook her head — as if the idea of Emotional Death was adorable to her (it was, I knew), “Nekron ultimately answers to me. He is me, if a rather — ironically — ‘spirited’ Avatar of Death. He does tend to overplay his hand and get carried away, but he has his uses, too. I think he would serve rather well as a uniting adversary for the system of peers Sean intends to build.”

I smirked, “And so the Lady Death has spoken.”

Playfully, Didi slapped me on the shoulder, “Oh, stop. This is your project, Sean. I’m just here in support. You could get ickle Nekron in line all on your own.”

“Never without your permission.”

“You are my Hand, dear. You act with my permission, in my name, always.”

“What would you do without me?”

“Die. Simply die.”

We ended our little back-and-forth smirking and staring deep into each other’s eyes. Hers flicked down to my lips. I leaned-…

Ganthet cleared his throat, “A-Ahem, apologies for interrupting, but I believe if you wish to set this all in motion, it would be best to strike while the proverbial iron is hot.”

His words were noted, but ignored for a moment as I completed my lean to steal a kiss from my Death. I left her chasing after my lips as I turned back to our two-person audience.

“Good point; I wouldn’t want to give the Guardians too much time to adjust and start getting ideas that aren’t mine. You wouldn’t happen to know where the significant players and the leaders of the other Lantern Corps are, would you?”

“It’s… a rather large universe…” Ganthet sheepishly replied.

“Del dearest?” Didi called out. “Would you-?”

“I heard! I LOVE it! This will be Heartfelt Madness~!” Delirium called back.

A moment later, portals began to open all around the Guardians’ space-painted chambers. Through each of them was a distinct color of the Emotional Spectrum, and immediately, things descended into Heartfelt Madness, just as Delirium was hoping for.

IIIII

[AN: Most of the characters I brought into Sean’s project didn’t get a chance to shine (or do anything but watch, really) this chapter, but don’t worry, that shouldn’t be the case for the coming chapters/rest of this arc. I’m picturing ‘the project’ as, like, mediators/ambassadors between all of the Lantern Corps that very much don’t get along. We’ll get plenty of character flavor from all of them as the politics/drama of this ‘Universal Summit’ play out and the board is so completely reshuffled. Honestly, the rest of this arc might be entirely non-Sean POVs now that he’s set everything in motion. I think that could be pretty interesting.

Face-slapping over; now the real work begins. And here, have a Didi bonus pic :]