Illusiveone - 122: Marvel's Green Lantern, A Scoundrel, a Thief, a Villain…

The chamber was dark.

The only light came from a cube that sat at its centre, suspended inside a shimmering containment field. It pulsed with a deep yellow glow, slowly at first, then faster and harder, each pulse throwing long shadows across the stone walls. It looked as though whatever was inside it was throwing itself against the walls of its prison, over and over, trying to break free.

It went on pulsing like that until footsteps echoed down the corridor outside and a man entered the chamber.

He was old, with a long white beard that fell almost to his waist, and he wore robes of deep blue embroidered with silver. A tall staff of pale wood rested in his right hand.

He walked toward the cube without hurrying and stopped before the containment field. For a moment, he only watched the yellow light beat against it. Then he raised his staff and began to chant.

The words were old. As he spoke them, the cube’s pulsing slowed, and the light inside grew dimmer and calmer. But as it always did when he performed this spell, the chant brought something else with it, and he heard the echoes of his own memories rising out of the dark.

“Feron, my friend, why all this effort for one spirit? Or so you claim it to be.”

“It is a spirit, Merlyn. Why would I lie to you? He is the Lord of Gifts, wise and benevolent, and his only wish is to have a proper physical body, like us, like all living beings.”

“Using the Energy Matrix for this is dangerous.”

“I can do it safely. I only wish my friend could have what he wishes for most in all the world.” A pause. “You will help me, won’t you, Merlyn?”

A sigh. “Fine. Fine. It won’t be easy. Tell me, is this spirit known only as the Lord of Gifts, or does he have a proper name?”

Laughter, warm and embarrassed. “Oh, dear, how careless of me. I forgot to tell you his name. His name is Parallax. Parallax, the Lord of Gifts.”

The memories changed.

The warmth went out of them, and there was only panic and screaming. Light everywhere, yellow and blinding, and the floor shaking beneath his feet.

“FERON!”

“MERLYN, STOP HIM! I WAS WRONG! MERLYN!”

And then the laughter came.

“Hehehe... hahaha... HAHAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

It was not a sound any living throat should have been able to make. It began low and rolling and then climbed, layer upon layer, until it seemed to come from everywhere at once, from the walls and the floor and from somewhere inside Merlyn’s own skull. There was delight in it, the delight of something that had been waiting a very long time and had finally been handed exactly what it wanted.

Merlyn finished the chant.

The yellow light inside the cube went still, and as it settled, the echoes of the past faded with it and left the chamber silent once more.

He stood there for a while longer. When he finally turned away, there were tears in his eyes, and he did not bother to wipe them.

As he left the dark chamber and entered his own quarters, a small crystal orb floated out from somewhere within the room and drifted toward him. Merlyn held out his hand, and it settled into his palm. An image formed within it: a woman in dark clothing, floating high above a forest clearing with her arms outstretched, violet light gathering around her as she prepared a ritual.

Merlyn looked at her for a long moment as her form grew clearer within the glass.

“Why did fate bring you here,” he muttered, “sister of Dormammu?”

==============

Umar hung in the air above the clearing with her arms spread wide, and the words that left her mouth were old and forbidden.

“Vrakh’tul esh moragh. Dhaal vorn’ith ka-sereth. Uuth anagh, uuth anagh, Zhar’mekh ul-voren!”

Each syllable came out scraping against the air like stone dragged over iron. They were words from a tongue that had been forbidden in the Dark Dimension long before she and Dormammu ever set foot there, and she spoke them with absolute confidence.

The forest answered.

The ground beneath her began to tremble. The ancient trees around the clearing groaned and swayed, their branches thrashing as a wind rose out of nowhere and tore leaves from them by the thousands. Violet energy gathered around Umar’s body, then spread outward in a swirling storm, spinning faster and faster until it roared in her ears and the clearing below her vanished behind it.

Yes, she thought. Yes. This time...

The storm stopped.

There was no warning. One moment the violet energy was screaming around her, and the next it was simply gone, as though something had reached out and snuffed it like a candle. The wind died. The trees went still. The power holding Umar in the air disappeared with everything else, and she dropped out of the sky and landed flat on her ass in the grass.

“Ow,” she said, sounding almost bored as she lay there.

Frustrated did not begin to describe it. Neither did angry. This was her sixth attempt to leave this dimension, and it had failed exactly like the five before it. Brunnhilde had told her no one could leave, that every pathway was closed. Umar had not believed a word of it. She was Umar of the Faltine, once co-ruler of the Dark Dimension, and she had refused to accept the word of some axe-swinging Asgardian. So she had set out to find a way out herself.

And how badly she had failed.

Eventually, she picked herself up, brushed the grass from her robes with as much dignity as she could manage, and walked back through the forest with her pride in pieces. It did not take long to find her way back to the great treehouse in its clearing, and to Brunnhilde, and to Brunnhilde’s hellion of a child.

The Asgardian was sitting on a fallen log near the stream, polishing her axe. She looked up as Umar came out of the trees, and her mouth curved into a smile.

“Ahh,” Brunnhilde said. “The seiðkona returns. I thought you’d be back home by now.”

Umar did not answer. She walked over and sat down on the log beside her without a word.

Brunnhilde went back to her polishing. Umar watched her for a while. The axe was a beautiful weapon, its blade marked with old runes, and even from where she sat, she could feel the power coiled inside it like a storm waiting to break out.

“Maaaaaxxx!”

The voice came from somewhere off in the trees.

“MAAAAXXXX! Max, come back! Maaaaax!”

Umar frowned and looked toward the sound. “Who is Max? Does someone else live here with you?”

“It’s what she calls her pet,” Brunnhilde said, without looking up. “A cat-monkey. Cute little thing.”

They sat in silence for a while after that. The stream babbled past their feet, and somewhere in the distance, Aurora kept shouting for Max.

Finally, Umar spoke.

“Fine,” she said. “I accept it. I cannot leave.” The words tasted terrible. “It would not hurt to meet this Merlyn of yours. This grand sorcerer you keep speaking of.”

Brunnhilde nodded. “Yes, Merlyn can explain to you properly why we are all trapped here.”

Umar made a small sound that was neither agreement nor disagreement.

Aurora came racing out of the trees on the far side of the clearing. She was sitting astride a creature that looked like someone had tried to make a cat and a monkey at the same time.

Umar watched her.

“The child is strong,” she said. “Obviously, the Phoenix was involved in her birth. And some other powerful being.”

“Oh, I know exactly who her mother and father were,” Brunnhilde said.

Umar turned toward her. “Oh, you do? Then who?”

“Her mother was the host of the Phoenix Force. A powerful warrior, from what I heard.” Brunnhilde’s hand slowed on her axe. “And her father...”

Her face changed. Annoyance came over it first, and then something closer to genuine anger.

“He is a scoundrel,” Brunnhilde said. “A thief, a villain, a rogue, a rascal, and a cheat.”

Umar raised an eyebrow. “Oh dear, oh dear. You speak as if her father did something to you.”

“He did,” Brunnhilde said. “In a way. Her mother helped, but it was her father, mostly.” She glanced at Umar. “Perhaps you’ve heard of him. Max. The Green Lantern.”

Umar went very still.

She looked at Brunnhilde in shock, then slowly turned to look at Aurora, who was riding happily in circles around the pool while her strange pet chattered beneath her.

“The emerald warrior,” Umar whispered.

The memories came back all at once. The battle in the sky above the fjords, the green light meeting her magic blow for blow, and the moment that beam had struck her and driven her down into the earth. Her defeat. Then she remembered the way he had looked at her in that crater, the arrogance and the laughter, and the intoxicating rush of want that had swept over her. If that wretched Phoenix had not interrupted, she would have had him right there in that crater.

She pushed the thought aside and kept her voice light.

“I suppose he and his lover will not be happy that their child is here with you,” she said, watching Brunnhilde from the corner of her eye.

“He’s dead,” Brunnhilde said. “So is his wife.”

Umar looked at her in shock.

And strangely, beneath the shock, she felt something else. It was small and unfamiliar and sat heavily in her chest, and it took her a moment to recognise it as sadness.

“What being,” she asked slowly, “could have killed them both?”

“I was told it was quite heroic,” Brunnhilde said, with a wave of her hand. “Not that I care. He is still a scoundrel who charmed me into letting him steal a priceless relic from the vaults of Asgard.”

Umar laughed.

“Don’t laugh,” Brunnhilde said.

That only made Umar laugh harder, though she did her best to stop when the Asgardian gave her a look sharp enough to cut glass. She turned away and watched the child playing instead, and after a while, a thought occurred to her.

“So she named her pet after her dead father,” she said. “Charming.”

“Oh, she doesn’t know them,” Brunnhilde said. “I never told her who they were.” She was quiet for a moment, and her voice softened. “She has memories of them, yes. Bits and pieces. And without knowing it, she gave her dearest companion the same name as her father.”

Umar looked at the Asgardian for a long moment.

“So you have been raising the daughter of a man you hate.”

“Hate is a strong word,” Brunnhilde said. “And Aurora is not responsible for her father’s sins.”

She stood, swung the axe up onto her shoulder, and looked down at Umar.

“I would rather you not tell her about all this. I plan to tell her when she is old enough,” she said. “We leave for Merlyn’s tomorrow.”

Then she walked off toward the house.

Umar stayed on the log and watched the child. Aurora had climbed onto Max’s back again, and the creature was leaping from tree to tree, her black hair streaming behind her and her bright blue eyes full of delight.

Dead, Brunnhilde had said.

Umar did not believe it. Not a man with that much power. A man like that did not simply die.

He couldn’t be dead.

Could he?

Max sprang from the highest branch of the tallest tree and soared across the clearing, and Aurora threw both arms into the air.

“Whoaaaa! Hahaha! Whoaaaaaaa!”

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“Whoaaaa!”

Max threw himself sideways as the first barrage tore past him.

The anti-air batteries were firing from every direction at once, a whole field of them dug into the hills around the island’s capital. Their shots climbed into the sky in thick streaks of white fire, and the air around Max filled with explosions so quickly that for a few seconds he could barely see the ground through the smoke. He rolled under one burst, pulled up sharply to avoid another, and felt a third go off close enough that it rattled the shield around his body.

“Okay, okay, I get it, you’re mad,” he muttered.

By the time he reached the ground, the batteries had barely managed to scorch his cape.

He went through them one at a time. A construct hand closed around the barrels of the first battery and crushed them shut, then gently lifted its crew out of their seats and set them down on the grass a safe distance away. The second had its power cables neatly severed. The third, which had kept firing the longest, found its entire firing platform wrapped in emerald bubbles and lifted ten feet into the air, its operators shouting curses at him from inside it. Within a minute, every gun on the hillside had fallen silent, and every gunner was alive, furious, and completely unharmed.

Then Max flew straight toward the capital.

He found the island’s leader standing on the steps of a grand stone government building, surrounded by officials and armed guards. He was a tall, grey-skinned man in a uniform heavy with medals, and he watched Max land in front of him with eyes full of hatred.

“You villain!” the leader shouted. “You scoundrel! You alien invaders will not take us alive! We will defend our lands until our last breath!”

Max stared at him. “Alien invaders? What the fuck are you talking about? We’re trying to save you!”

“Lies! You invaded us! The others might have surrendered to you, but we, the proud citizens of Salacria, will not!” The leader thrust his fist into the air. “Unbowed! Unbent! Unbroken!”

“UNBOWED! UNBENT! UNBROKEN!” the officials and guards around him chanted, raising their weapons toward Max.

Max pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Listen to me. Your planet is about to be eaten by Galactus. In a few hours, there won’t be anything left of it. We’ve been evacuating the whole world for the last three days. Everyone else is already gone, you fool!”

“Lies! Lies!” the leader roared. “Leave our soil, you villain! You rogue! You alien scum!”

Max shook his head slowly.

His ring chimed, and Carina’s voice came through the comms. “Max? What’s taking so long?”

“I’m dealing with an island full of hypernationalistic ignoramuses,” Max said, keeping his eyes on the leader, who was now attempting to lead his guards in a patriotic song.

“Well, we don’t have time,” Carina said. “Galactus seems to be very hungry. He’s beginning the process.”

Max looked up. Far above the clouds, the sky had started to darken, and he could feel the familiar pressure of the Power Cosmic gathering around the planet.

“Att-Lass, Revan, Twig, Turgon,” he said. “Finish getting the last life ships into the air. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Understood,” Att-Lass replied, and the others answered one after another.

Max rose into the air above the government building.

The leader shouted something defiant at him, and then the shouting turned into a startled yelp as a sphere of emerald light formed around him. It happened all at once, all across the island. Every man, woman, and child who had refused to leave was suddenly wrapped in an orb of green. The orbs lifted gently from the ground and rose toward a vast construct taking shape in the sky above them, a life ship so large that its shadow covered the entire capital city.

They jeered at him. They shouted insults and pounded their fists against the insides of their orbs as they drifted upward.

Max ignored all of it and made sure every last one of them was aboard.

Then the ship rose, and Max flew with it out of the atmosphere.

Beyond the planet, the sky was full. Hundreds of thousands of life ships hung in orbit, all of them Oan vessels. The fleet had once served the Oans, rescuing countless people and civilizations from Galactus and other planetary catastrophes, evacuating entire worlds and relocating their populations to safety.

Max guided the ship into place at the edge of the formation, then flew toward the others.

Att-Lass, Revan, Carina, and Twig were waiting near the head of the fleet with Turgon, all of them looking exhausted.

“Good work,” Max said. “Your first evacuation of an entire planet. Not bad at all.”

“I am Groot,” Twig said tiredly.

“You did great, Twig,” Max said. “And with any luck, we won’t be seeing the purple bastard in this sector again for fifty years or so. He likes to move around the universe a lot.”

“Fifty years,” Revan repeated. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“It should. Sometimes it’s five.” Max turned toward the fleet. “Make sure the Shepherd Fleet is ready to receive them. Aren’t the Puffs already there?”

“Yes, the Puffs have been helping the Oans prepare the planet,” Att-Lass said.

“Good. I’ll see you all back on Oa in two Oan weeks.”

The four Lanterns and Turgon led the life ships away from the dying world, slowly at first and then faster, until the fleet was a long ribbon of light disappearing into the stars.

Max watched them go. Then he turned back toward the planet and flew down.

Galactus had already begun. Great machines had been anchored into the planet’s crust at its poles and along its equator, linked to one another by lines of crackling cosmic energy, and Galactus himself sat at the centre of it all on an enormous throne of metal, his vast hands resting on its arms as the machinery hummed and the planet beneath him began to shake.

A streak of silver met Max as he approached.

“Max,” Norrin Radd said, bowing his head from his board.

“Norrin.” Max gestured back toward the departing fleet. “The planet’s clear. Everyone’s off.”

“Thank you, Max.” Norrin looked toward the life ships for a long moment, and there was gratitude in his face that he did not try to hide. “Truly.”

Max flew past him and stopped in front of Galactus’s enormous face.

“Hey, Galan,” he said. “You should slow down on the devouring for a while. You’re starting to get fat.”

Galactus’s eyes began to glow.

Cosmic energy blasted out of them in two great beams, and Max threw up a shield just in time. The rays slammed into it and sent him tumbling backward through the sky.

He was laughing as he righted himself and flew off, waving over his shoulder.

He did not slow down. The stars stretched around him, and Max turned his course toward the edge of the sector and the Nine Realms beyond it.

He had a coronation to get to.

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Two more time-skip chapters coming up next, and then the Cul arc begins.

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Merlyn

Feron

Parallax the Lord of Gifts (Parallax used this form in the past)

Brunnhilde

Aurora and Max

(the cat monkey is from the new avatar seven havens)

Umar