Ring Capacity: Chapter One
CW: Violence, cussing, mental health issues, intense scenes, mature context, implied sexual content. Chapters with smut will be marked with a warning beforehand.
GENERIC POP BLARED IN HER EARS as she sped across the sky, scrolling mindlessly on her phone with one hand, holding her combination lunch-dinner from Bat Burger in the other, with a straining plastic bag hanging by the tip of her fingers and a milkshake enveloped in a green, sloshing as it followed her flight path. It's been 20 minutes since she finished her shift at Bat Burger and was ready for a night of pure laziness and a major diet break.
The events from the day replaying like a broken loop in her mind — the bad, the trill of the fryer drowning out the music in her ears; seemingly forever ingrained in the back of her mind, the sound that she heard for hours after each shift in the quiet of the night — the okay, giving away the kiddie toys to anyone who asked because Clea realized a long time ago she simply did not get paid enough to care about it, her new record being sixteen, and the meh, having to work there at all.
Bat Burger was… a job, she supposed. It paid the bills and covered her irresponsible spending on luxuries such as food and housing. Clea probably would've quit a long time ago if it weren't for her Uncle vouching for her — and being the general manager. Being a nepobaby — at a fast-food restaurant — wasn't the worst thing, but she didn't try to advertise it because… not even really needing an explanation — at least Clea didn't suck at her job. Ish.
There was some fun to be had dressing up as different heroes, Clea supposed, but smelling like burger grease and dressing up as Wonder Woman was a humiliation ritual in itself.
The Spoiler-shake, a purple foamy drink smelling of blueberries that she grabbed from work, trailing behind her, sped up and slowly guided itself to her lips — slurping on it, going what felt like Mach 1 as she watched the ground race and blur around her; soaring just below the clouds, before the air thins and the world below her looks miniture with fields and houses seeming so minisicule in comparsion to before.
Really, Clea knew she shouldn't abuse her Green Lantern ring like this, but it was such a small abuse of power, and she was heading home anyway—reasons upon reasons —so it didn't matter how much she drained it; there was a lantern charge waiting at home. Public transport sucked anyway, taking twice as long as it should to reach her stop, which she'd have to walk another mile, which was killer for her leg.
Even with the prosthetic, Clea had been surprised to realize it could still ache and tire out just like a real, flesh-and-blood leg. It had taken some time to get used to it — still, even after a year, after getting used to walking again and functioning, Clea still, in the corner of her mind, at least — felt the burning flare of alarm each time she brushed her leg, either accidentally adjusting how she sat or putting on her shoes, and each time, affirming to herself that she didn't have that leg anymore.
It was cool, though, Clea supposed. The silver prosthetic made her feel like and look a cyborg, and because it couldn't feel pain — unhooking it from its sheath and whacking it at the bad guy of the day when they least expected it — always worked when she was in a pinch.
She looked down, being roughly 25,000 feet into the air, just a hair's breadth from the death zone, what was supposed to be a death sentence for the average human with the limited oxygen available in the atmosphere at this point, because her Green Lantern's might was just a Tuesday.
The music stopped — and her attention snapped away from the half-empty milkshake and the whipped cream coating her lips to her phone (the milkshake, lagging a few feet behind in response). She did her best to contain her annoyance when she saw it was her mom calling.
"Yep?" She greeted her phone; Clea delving further down in the sky — better reception — maneuvering her phone to rest against her shoulders, ripping out her earbuds from her phone and shoving them into her pockets.
"Mhm. Pick up groceries? Heard."
Buildings — townhouses, civilization came further into view as she dipped down.
"How long will I be? Uh.. Gotta stop by home for a charge, course, but, uh, I can probably get it all done in an hour, tops. Maybe two, if I stop at the comic shop…" Clea trailed wistfully, creating a construct of a trash can — of which she threw her milkshake in as if it were a basketball, grimacing as it completely missed, her cheeks heating up as the trash can dropped down and caught it for her.
Green fingers disappeared into the black abyss of her hair to keep strands from whipping into her face, her mouth, and her eyes, tying it in a high ponytail, a fluorescent green tie as the topper.
Listening idly, already expecting the backlash, she winced as her mom began yelling at her over the phone, wishing she hadn't set the phone so close to her ear.
"Alright— alright!! I get it, no comics." Clea gritted out — her reluctant promise as flimsy as her intention to keep it.
Her world, which had been so small for an hour or so, enlarged as she controlled her descendant. Now in the city, Clea's ugly Burger Mart uniform — Princess Di's red, white, and blue spandex unitard, burned off her skin by a green flame, as if it never existed — was replaced by the skintight uniform of the Green Lantern, with a cowl atomizing to complete the look.
It just made sense to patrol afterward — and it didn't hurt that she got her groceries discounted if she showed up in uniform.
"Okaay…— oh, yeah, really? That's crazy." She hmm'd and hawed into the phone as she approached her homestead, placating her mom by listening to her rant about her, chiming in every so often to give the illusion of an attentive daughter. Pause. Pause. Talk, reply, compliment. Easy enough formula to navigate a conversation with her mom.
'Oh. Wow. That's a lot of cakes — how did you deal with that guy stealing forty of them?' resting on the tip of her tongue at the nexus point for her to respond. Whenever that be.
… Formulas always blew up in her face, however.
"Oh, um — you have to go?" Clea questioned — raising an eyebrow at the spontaneity of it all; truthfully, she had already mentally prepared for the conversation to endure for ten more minutes.
Home. It was finally in sight; the only structural masonry house in the entire city, wedged between two apartment building blocks. Thoughts of landing and resting her feet for a few minutes before jumping back in the action overwhelmed her mind — Clea hoped her burger was still semi-hot after flying for so long. Even if her 'relaxing' night was out of question, it didn't mean she didn't want to enjoy her greasy burger and fries.
She skidded to a halt — kicking her feet out in front of her to stop the momentum, reminding her of a swing being suddenly stopped, instead using the motion to slowly propel herself closer to her home.
"Okay, then, I lo—" The call ended abruptly with a beep. The southern window unlocked, a nimble green hand soared through the sky to open it so she could swoop in with ease.
"Love you, mom." She finished.
Ducking her head, she entered through the window.
Suppressing a giant sigh as she made a landing on the carpet just outside of her door, running a hand through her hair, mussing up a few strands in the wake, "She always does this." Clea wasn't disappointed — far from it, simply bouncing from her skin, but it hurt a tad. On a surface level, she understood why her Mother refused to say goodbye on the phone, trauma, she supposed, but it did hurt. So much that her mom refused to tell her.
The Green hand lingering nearby plucked the burger from the bag — catching the bag midair as Clea tossed it over to it, the trendils of willpower using its grand power to unwrap the burger and hand it back to her, patting her on the shoulder in a comforting motion as she walked down the hallway to her room.
"It's not, like, sad I'm doing this? Right?" She asked the inanimate tendril, eyeing it for a second before flushing, instead of waiting for a reply, biting into the burger — and groaning into it.
Clea really loved burgers — and rightfully deserved to eat shit food after the day she's had.
"No. It is normal for lifeforms to seek comfort — even in the non-sentient." It answered back, or rather, her Green Lantern ring did.
Choking — inhaling a piece of lettuce accidentally in her shock, Clea's eyes bulged as she turned an accusatory glare towards the ring, cursing herself as she began to beat at her chest — the green hand that had been lingering by, heeded her mute call and began to slam its open palm against the hard of her back.
Then a haggard, sharp intake of air flooded her lungs; spitting out the piece of lettuce on the floor that nearly killed her, "You— you have got to warn me when you're going to speak! I could've died!" She griped, berating the ring, wringing her hands and her fingers to emphasize her point.
The buzz accompanying its voice fell silent. Had she successfully shamed a semi-sentient alien ring?
"I apologize. It was not my intention to frighten you; however, there are pressing matters —" It was like it could sense the very second and anticipate that Clea was just about to interject, "— that go beyond the matters of one life, but all life within the universe."
That shut her up; her anger evaporated as quickly as it came, as she paid attention to its words. "Where?" She asked, her mind racing with possibilities
"It is occurring in all facets of the universe. However, the Green Lantern Corps, and you by extension, should be focused on Oa. This is a directive from the Guardians themselves." Clea had been on Oa — only three times, in her entire career as a Green Lantern.
The first time was for basic training, when the ring had chosen her and took her there, weirded out by the ring that had kidnapped her and was stuck on her middle finger.
The second time was when she was assigned and met her mentor, John Stewart, and the third time was getting her ass kicked every which way by one of his fuckwad, "buddies" after she lost her temper at them shortly after meeting John, who actively discouraged picking a fight but laughed when she lost.
In all that time beyond what was necessary, Oa had never beckoned her from across the cosmos; having enough might to fight their own battles.
Of which, Clea heard they got into fights and came close to destruction every week or so.
"Shit.. Is.. Is everything alright?" It didn't frighten her that they suddenly wanted her to protect or defend Oa after all this time, but it made her alert.
"No." It didn't elaborate — and that left a lot of awful possibilities to marinate in her head.
"Say no more, I'm ready." And she was. Clea may not have been born for this, but she had a leg up on whatever conflict she was going to face (pun not intended) — she, like all the other Green Lanterns, was chosen for this duty — trained to fight such evils.
It didn't matter if she was more experienced with taking down human muggers — Clea could feel the electric pulse of the ring against her skin and knew she could do it.
"I had no intention to add onto my initial announcement, so no addendum is necessary."
… It spoke without an iota of emotion every time it saw fit to reply to her, so while Clea could've sworn it was being sarcastic, she couldn't be entirely sure. Sixty percent sure of it, it was really hard to tell with the alien types — really, anyone in the universe, though.
"You're really lucky you're a ring, buddy, otherwise," She mimed choking out an invisible target, chuckling to herself. Not joking. Mostly. Clea was sure she would stop before anything really bad happened.
Finishing off her burger, resisting the urge to shove her grease-ridden fingers in her mouth, not because she was raised right, or anything, out of a sneaking suspicion that her ring would judge her for doing so.
Instead, Clea quickly wiped them against the fabric of the mesh of her suit and rushed to her ass to her room — catching the wrapper from the green hand and throwing it into the trashcan by her desk, not bothering to watch as the helper hand deposited the rest of the trash from earlier into the trash can as well, and instead located her power bank.
Appraising it quickly — rotating it around and about to check for cracks or anything that would indicate it was broken.
Clea, once, in the first month as a Lantern, had used it to smack against an invading alien commander's skull — and while it did knock him out and sent him flying miles away, having to properly explain to John why it was cracked, and hence, she was unable to charge her ring, was a mistake she swore never to repeat after spending a month guarding a dust planet set for annihilation.
Clea also dropped it a lot in space. She always made sure to get it back — but it was a constant risk.
A slow smile filtered on her face. No cracks. Perfect.
"Hey, ring?" It buzzed to life in attention, "How long will it take to get to Oa?" She questioned—already formulating what text she'll send her mom and an estimate of how long she'll be gone. Given this is a potentially-Oa ending ordeal… Two weeks would be good, right? Maybe if she were optimistic, a week, but being a "superhero" as is, was rarely simple. Although she thought herself more of a vigilante — or space liberator, if anything. It just sounded cooler in her head.
"If you maintain a speed of one hundred and sixty miles per hour, there is a high chance you will reach Oa by 1900 hours." It replied.
Clea looked at a clock — it was, squinting for dramatic effect, 1300 hours. So, six hours, simply put. The problem with sentient life acting as a sidekick in the sky was that they loved the sound of their own voices and rarely gave short explanations.
"Shit… I hope my mom doesn't kill me for not picking up the groceries." Clea muttered to herself, clutching her phone in one hand and juggling her lantern in the other, trying to think of a decent enough explanation of why she bailed on her duties:
Love u, going 2 space, will be back. pls feed oscar.
She smiled to herself, bouncing the phone in her hand, giddy at the instantaneous message read from her dear old Mother. She really did hope her Mother would continue to feed Oscar— despite all her talk about hating the stray, Clea kept fed, never once did she stop her from feeding the grouch. By pure miracle, Clea suddenly remembered to text her manager, too
Got hit by a bus on the way home— c u nxt monday
Hey, Clea, what the fuck?
Clea stared at the bubble as it appeared and disappeared for a minute, then turned off her phone and shoved it into her pocket. She was definitely fired after this. There was enough in her savings, she supposed; it's not like she loved the job anyway. She would, however, be keeping the uniform.
"Okay then. I did everything I needed to do…" Having accomplished everything possible to do before jetting off into space, which was just telling her mom not to worry about her, the green bathing Clea with its light, intensified— burning so bright it filled her room with its glow— only fading when she dashed towards her window and took off into the sky.
It was only when Clea had flown past through the clouds, and the sky — just teetering on the edge of humanity, coldness caressing her spine, nearly touching space with the blue hue of the atmosphere's sheen engulfing the Earth visible to her eyes— did she fully realize what was happening;
Clea was about to fight in what she thought was an intergalactic war. Or save a planet from destruction. Maybe find herself in the middle of a conspiracy, a world undiscovered that she had to protect.
So many possibilities, endless as the horizon.
"Your heart rate is elevating. Keep your nerves about you." The Ring told her, but she ignored him, setting her sights on the boundless void that's fasctinated her since she was old enough to walk.
She stayed there, just floating for a moment — imprinting this moment in her memory, when everything was going to change for her. Clea wouldn't just be a rookie Green Lantern after this; she would mean something.
"Ready as I'll ever be…" She muttered to herself, a green light bursting from her ring to guide her to Oa — like a string unraveling — and with that, Clea took off into the darkness.
Space was really cool. Until your phone died.
Clea hadn't noticed it before, maybe because her phone had been fully charged and had enough music and funny videos downloaded on it, but just… flying through space was boring — and disorienting.
It was like swimming in the ocean, almost, and you've gotten overturned by a current. There was no way to differentiate which way was up, down, or even sideways after dealing (and crashing into) meteors with the endless, really, endless void. There had been a myriad of different planets that initially provided Clea with enough direction — the ones she recognized easily, such as Venus, Pluto, and Mars.
All of which didn't take much guesswork to determine how far she's gotten through the current galaxy.
Entirely different story once you've entered a different solar system.
Now, she had to rely solely on the Green Lantern's MapQuest, AKA her ring, and it was all too happy to gloat all about it— "Warning. Be warned, there are meteoroids careening off their designated path towards you."
"Gee. Ride to Oa sure is bumpy." Clea grumbled, revving up her speed — ready to absolutely burst through them.
Entirely unnecessary, but it was fun to watch the rocks explode into a million pieces.
There was no TikTok in space; she might as well make a few space rocks take the brunt of her frustration.
Clea admired the classics — old Hollywood, while problematic, held a special place in her heart, and so did a comically large mallet. Positioning herself just right, Clea's fingers were soon illuminated by green in a flash, an old-timey circus mallet materializing in her hands as she aimed the instrument towards the huge-Minnesota-sized piece of space rock coming towards her at what felt like the blink of an eye.
"Yeah! I'm a bit of a," She paused to really purfurate her incoming pun, "Knockout!" She gritted out, thrusting her body forward on the metoride; even with all her might poured into her construct, Clea still struggled as it threw her back a couple of miles, beads of sweat forming, whispering against her babyhairs — taking a breath to watch in amazement as a rainshower of rock burst throughout the sky — jagged pieces of rock—
Clea was suddenly slingshotted five miles back into something hard— "Aw shit— She groaned, opening her eyes to check what she bumped into.
Groaning again when, instead of a rock or even a block of ice — which was an actual thing that happened in space, littering, apparently — Clea's brown eyes met with a similar shade of brown, but instead of flesh— a whole lot of fur, and a flash of green.
"Urhh.." She shot forward, clutching her stomach before turning back — Clea's nape hairs prickling up with recognition.
It was G'nort of Sector 68. What Guardian or God did she piss off, for him to be on her exact path to Oa?
Smelling of fresh ass, too, if the air wafting near him was to be believed. Clea scrunched up her nose and gave herself some air to breathe — that wasn't polluted by his odor.
"G'nort!" She said, silently unsure whether her tone was accusatory or whether that trepidation she felt was because she was — God forbid — excited to see another Green Lantern responding to the distress call.
"Who are you?" He asked, tilting his head in a way that had his puppy-donkey-dog ears falling over, what would be adorable, looked more like a worn-out teddy bear's head falling over and revealing its spilled stuffing.
She scoffed, offended. Sure, they had only met on two separate occasions, one of which Clea had caught him having dinner with her Mother, "Clea Kane? Of Sector 2814?" She clarified, although it came off more as a desperate question — how could G'nort of all people not remember her? It offended her greatly that she wasn't memorable to the alien. Clea still recalled how he had woken her up by standing menacingly over her bed.
"We fought that… big tentacle thing? That was in Chicago? Remember? You got hurt, so I saved you?" Clea further asked, fibbing only slightly. She'd been the one to get struck down by the tentacle monster mid-flight. She saw later it had been made into a GIF and raged for only a month or so.
He blew smoke — how the hell did he get cigarettes? — not that Clea recognized the brand; perhaps it was an alien type, into the air before catching up to her, then responding as he reached her, "Jus' kiddin', I remember you. The girl with the mom."
"All humans look the same t'me," He explained, and a new fact learned that Clea didn't want to unpack due to mixed feelings, continuing, G'nort nodded his head towards the green light before them, "I saw ya a sector or two back, was racin' the entire time to catch up— figured we can answer the call and see what Lanterns are up together, eh?"
With that, they exchanged a nod and took off; two joint lights against the dark.
Clea didn't bother to mention that all humans of the sector had moms too, and that didn't make her special or distinguish her in any way. A win was a win, right? Right?
"Ring capacity: 80 percent." Her ring beeped — thrumming against her skin to steal her attention from the road, forcing ambered eyes to the acidic green sheen.
She would let it drop — just slightly more. She still had time before she reached Oa, and she wanted her ring to be fully charged. Still gripping the Green Lantern like a vice, her fist was surely white with pressure; there was no way she'd drop it. None.
They flew in silence after that — there was far too much on both of their minds, with the serious expressions burdening their faces. The situation on Oa was clearly serious enough to not only summon a rookie, but what many thought had to be the walking, breathing laser-shooting joke of the Green Lantern Corps.
It opened up so many possibilities on what could be happening on Oa — closing the more ridiculous theories that Clea had thought of on her way to the planet.
There was definitely no princess from a galaxy that depended on all of the Green Lanterns to keep her alive in order to restore democracy — or whatever government space aliens used — to the rest of her world, as seemingly possible as it was, she doubted it was that.
Nixing that, Clea had to assume that, unfortunately, and the theory that had excited her the most to ruminate on, there most likely was no ultra-powerful alien with guns and a spaceship the size of the Empire State building, going from planet to planet abducting people so he can hunt them in a sick game of trophy-letting — she was sure that Arnold Schwartanaggar would sleep better at night knowing that.
Brown, fluffy fingers appeared in her field of vision and began snapping to get her attention. She looked over at G'nort, expectantly. Clea's lips drew into a thin line, unamused with him breaking her out of her day fantasies.
"Ay— speed'stah, hold up! We're entering Oa's sector. Protocol 10— or 11. One of them two."
One of those protocols dealt with proper body burial rites and consulting with the corresponding planet they inhabited, so Clea really hoped he was referring to 11, which, off the top of her head, referred to… when in a perilous situation or unfriendly sector, stay low to the ground and stay out of sight.
Something like that. Paraphrasing.
Otherwise, she would wisely be refraining from telling G'nort how humans buried their dead — if that was a threat.
However, Clea strongly doubted whether he was smart enough to even threaten her with protocol, let alone have the balls to turn on her suddenly after they swapped personal anecdotes about their childhoods.
He now knew that Clea had once climbed a tree when she was six, and was so confident she could fly, that she broke her arm trying to prove it to her friends after flinging herself off said tree.
She now knew that G'nort's Uncle nepotism'ed him into the Green Lantern Corps. Maybe they had more in common than she thought.
Clea shuddered at the thought. Yuck.
"Whatever, you say.." She faux-grumbled — but listening to him as she slowed down, the rumble of the non-air around her stilling to a gentle breeze.
Technically, and this was odd to think about, but G'nort did outrank her, weird enough.
Even if he had been given an opportunity — read, not promotion — to be a lone Green Lantern, after being strangely dismissed from protecting his sector. Theories on what happened ranged from a successful c'oup'detat being his fault to G'nort being the secret love child of one of the Guardians, seemingly genderless as they were.
No one would tell Clea or any of the new recruits why he was a loner ¹— free to travel from sector to sector helping others.
Jedi mind tricks were not off the table, as far as Clea was concerned, but she didn't think he was capable of that. Not because he was such a stand-up guy, she just didn't think he could do it.
Staring out at what seemed like a jumble of moving, rock-ridden, obstacle-cluster jaunt before Oa, they quickly sought refuge near a big hunk of space rock to confer.
"I think — and stop me if I'm being crazy — we should see where our fellow GLs are; and think of a plan then, or better yet, just follow whatever plan they've hopefully come up with." Clea slowly began, her eyebrows screwing up as she looked at him, a hopeful smile on her face with her potential pitch.
She wasn't a big planner. Action came easier to her.
They were just a few football fields short of reaching Oa — so far objectively, but a short distance they could quickly close the gap.
"I— I don't know, I think that, maybe that's not," He began to say, frozen, looking forward before he turned to look at Clea… who was not next to him anymore, who had left while he was distracted.
"Too late!" She yelled, bolting from their spot behind the floating crud and space junk, twirling through the air as she continued to follow the green brick road.
"Wait for me!" He cried after her, waving his hands in protest as he followed her as fast as he could. Muttering under his breath about youngsters, or something, Clea could barely hear him as she weaved and bobbed through — then suddenly sent a few feet back with something attack her head.
Clea pried it from attacking her face, managing to pull him far enough to make out what it was; it was a squirrel.
What? She thought, pausing for a second to examine it.
A squirrel who really wanted to kill her, taking her by surprise as he doubled down on his murder attempt, eyes full of malice boring down at her as it screeched, quickly, a green hand began to dig its fingers into the squirrel's— Ch'ps, her former instructor when she last came to Oa, she realized, fur and try to yank him off her beautiful mug.
"Stop! They aren't themselves. They don't know what they're doing!"
"Yeah! I don't know about that," She snarled, digging her foot into his chest as she struggled under his grip — tiny claws springing from his paw-hand that felt like titanum steel digging into her skin held her right hand pinned down. "I've seen zombie movies before — and uh, he seems like he's made up his mind wanting to kill me! I definitely think he's committed to the idea!" She snapped at G'nort for doing nothing as she struggled, for watching as she was fighting for her life.
"Maybe you try talking to him! He seems— ugh! like a really reasonable guy!" She continued with a grunt, grinding her teeth as she continued to flail around with the squirrel.
There was no telling who'd win the skirmish — with the Ch'p's razor-sharp teeth snapping at her, as she struggled to throw him off her; even with her construct grabbing it by the tail, he would not budge from her person.
Suddenly, blink, and you miss it, Ch'p was smacked off her like a doll being thrown into the air by a green boot, which was not hers. She looked over at G'nort, who kinda just did nothing to help her, and shrugged.
"Clea! G'nort!" Clea's head whipped over to the source of the sound, her apparent savior being… Hal Jordan. Yuck. Still dizzy, with what Clea thought must be gratitude, she cast one final look at the twitching but neutralized for now squirrel encased in a box before making her way to Hal in a flash.
It was bad enough the world seemed like it was ending — but now she had to talk to Hal effin' Jordan?
"Hey! Jordan! Uh, what's— what the fuck is happening!?" She demanded, shoving her finger towards him like it was his fault. There was a good enough chance that Hal Jordan was behind it all. Six times. Six times she's heard of that Hal left or betrayed the Corps, including when he failed Coast City, that one time. He failed her.
"I had hoped that you would stay on Earth, but— really, we need all the Green Lanterns we can get." Hal began, having the decency to look sheepish as he began to explain — quickly, skipping over exposition and just giving them the bare amount of what they needed to know amid the space zombie apocalypse — which was that — what Clea had thought were zombies were actually Black Lanterns — who orginated from, something, Hal still didn't know entirely, helpful, much— and took on dead bodies as a host for their rings to spread death throughout the universe.
"Huh. Wait. Why didn't you wan—" Clea never got to finish her sentence, locking onto an incoming Black Lantern right behind Hal, her fist glowing green as she dove her fist into it's fast — purple, black and blue, it's skin sagging off with each hit but taking it like a champ; a grin sliding across their face as they began to give her as good as they got.
She swore she saw stars when their fist connected with her jaw— "F—Fuck you!" She yelled, her jaw aching and awkward, Clea hunched herself and dug her fingers into their shoulders as she forcibly moved him further into space, giving her a wide berth so she wouldn't be snuck upon from any Black Lanterns or have to deal with interference from Jordan. G'nort wasn't nearly self-righteous enough to mess with a fight to the death.
Her hands, newly empty — with her lantern floating in front of her, the silent promise to herself to retrieve it later, Clea cracked her knuckles and dealt with the asshole.
Tossing him around a little, more Green Lanterns came into view — and each of them was dealing with a Black Lantern — some of them fighting multiple at a time; not to be outdone, Clea's ring cherry-picked a few from the sky; either close by assiocation or outright stealing them from their own fights against her fellow lanterns, imprisoning them in a giant, no points for creativity, jail cell.
"See — that's how you do it, boys!" She laughed, doing her best to look nonchalant — flicking her wrist in the air to emphasize her point. The Black Lanterns were pounding against her construct — claws and various appendages darting out from the narrow gap left to scratch and clamor against the holdings.
Honestly, Clea had to wonder why the other Green Lanterns were even bothering with their fists when they had a perfectly good — "Kane! Pay attention!" A voice yelled, sounding hoarse and like sandpaper against glass. She caught a flash of pink and green in the corner of her eye before one of the undead slammed the force of his body all against her and sent her falling into the sky.
She could only watch in slight horror as her concentration broke and what felt like hundreds— maybe even thousads of Black Lanterns burst from her imprisonment; green shards flying from the sky, Clea ducked her head to avoid the incoming fist and sharply careened out of the way as—
Clea screamed as one fell onto her; what felt like a piano crashing down on her entire body with a sickening crunch.
Thinking fast, a giant made out of pure green light emerged from her ring and began to swat and send Black Lanterns yards away, providing her enough cover to get out of the disfigured, dead alien, giving her the stink eye, some space to think about his unlife choices, and a giant hand wrapped around his body; shaking him up and down and sending him spinning to space.
Spotting the nearest hovel of rock, she fled there for a breather — her chest heaving as she rested her head.
The pain in her arm didn't register until she finally let herself quasi- relax against the stone.
They're not even tired. They couldn't get tired, Clea realized with a sickening clarity. They— the zombies, the ghosts of Green Lanterns who were dead, of aliens fallen in battle from every different Corps in the galaxy— could do this all day. She couldn't. She was getting tired.
Looking down at her ring — "How much juice do I have?" Clea wheezed out— the sounds of the zombie-lanterns were getting to her, beyond their anguished cries and hungers for ripping and consuming them; she could barely hear shit.
"Ring capacity: fifty percent." She was surprised — but beyond thankful it didn't give her lip for her lack of foresight.
Clea wished she weren't stupid — and that she'd charged her ring beforehand. She was hurt — her arm, glancing at it — definitely disfigured and bruised, broken, probably. With the glow of her ring, she materialized a cast over her arm as she glared at the sky, watching as countless Black Lanterns flew overhead, silently holding her breath as she tracked them passing over her; either not noticing her under the wreckage as she recovered, or wanting tougher prey.
She didn't count on them for mercy. Something had to be up. Clea knew that some of them could see her, and yet they did nothing.
The Green Lantern Corps was scattered — some of them were still fighting; she could see the remaining few in the distance trading punches and blows with the Black Lanterns, but most of them were dead.
Even from her hiding spot, Clea could see the thousands of Green Lantern rings hovering above the wreckage of Oa like unseen fallen angels, staring at the carnage before taking off in the night sky.
She would just... Clea let herself relax a bit as she caught her breath. Then, straight back into the battle.
"I found you. Little Kane." Her blood froze. She straightened up, limbs stiffening. Clea knew that voice.
She looked up and was met with a sight that broke her heart — the mangled face, half of his brain exposed and eyes that never seemed more sinister than the pure death that resided in them, John Stewart — with what used to be a goofy smile that made her roll her eyes in expasperation when he told a dumb joke, now… it just made her stomach roll over in revulsion.
John waved, simply, and for a moment, she could've tricked herself into believing John was still in the husk. Then, he tried to pounce on her.
He jumped towards her at an alarming speed — and thinking fast, or really, just pure animal instinct playing out, Clea bolted out of the way; stuck in the air for a mere second before she took off with him hot on her trail.
Harsh — dark rays of pure death chased after her, and with each death wish from her friend, Clea did her best to evade — near, near but never perfect enough.
"Ring Capacity: forty-six one."
Through the arc — trailing, just over the rings throughout Oa, she did her best to lose him.
Still chasing after her, the Corpse-Corpsman pointed an accusatory finger at her and declared, "You will die — and become flesh, flesh I will feast on!" Not far from where she was. Clea refused to slow down or break her stride — muscles straining as she sped up even faster.
Th- whack— a loud smack perfuated throughout the air, Clea— for just a second, turnt her head to see what the sound was. A brilliant beam of green, the cocksure smile, and a dastardly double-wielding red ring on his other hand.
"Eat this— heh, and here I thought Jordan liked them barely legal," Guy Gardener's voice rang through the air like a bullet, biting and cocksure as he delved down into delivering a series of punches, upcutting the Black Lantern one— two, three times until they could barely lift their head up.
He would've tumbled straight into space if it weren't for a straitjacket of red encapsulating him; instead, Stewart was struggling against his bindings as Guy watched on with an inscrutable emotion in his eye.
"Thanks." Clea was still reeling from nearly being disembowled, her skin buzzing— nodding idly with gratitude before she squinted. Wait, what did Guy say about Jordan? Before she could ask about the comment, Gardener took a breath and began to talk again.
"Don't thank me, kid, it ain't over just yet. Listen, round up as many of these Black Lanterns as you can — safely," Guy stressed, his eyes bearing into hers with a serious look; a stark contrast to his jovial demeanor earlier, his head rounding between Stewart and herself, pouring an equal amount of attention into containing Stewart from escaping the straitjacket and fixing her with a listen-to-me expression, "and once ya found all the Laterns you can handle — bring them to the center of Oa, that's where we're going to contain them until Rayner and Saint Walker come back."
Who was Saint Walk— honestly, Clea didn't need to know. They would tell her later if it was that important.
"Okay—okay, got it. Cool. Cool." She felt nervous—not bad, but tingly, like, was this adrenaline? She felt as though she could punch through a planet.
"Don't die." What marvelous advice, Clea would try, but not exactly something she could control.
"Inspiring — really, no wonder you give TED talks." She snarked, forgetting for a second where they were, for a second tricking herself into thinking this was a totally normal Green Lantern fight.
"Shuddup — and keep moving. Don't let 'em catch you." If she were less perceptive, Clea would've missed the soft tone taken in the last part of his sentence. She knew that many people saw Guy Gardener as a hardass, but really, he was a big softie.
"Yessire!" With the faux two-fingered salute, leaving him behind with his one-fingered salute, armed with a giant bug catcher flying a short period behind her, Clea went off to go Black Lantern catching.
"Ring capacity: thirty-nine two."
Don't give in to fear — don't give in to fear — don't give in to fear, repeating through her head like a broken record; as she flew up, far above to get an advantage on them.
They were spread out like a plague through the airspace — their numbers so strong it seemed more like pestilence determined to snuff out the stars themselves.
There were ten — there were twenty — Clea's eyes scattered and scrutinized — it was playing where Waldo is, but they were all Waldo. This was going to take a while.
"Kane! I gave you a simple order — and you completely disobeyed it!" John yelled overhead as he descended on her, a look of pure disappointment on his face as he approached her, his arms crossed and his shoulders tensed.
"I— shit, I'm sorry, it just didn't seem—" Clea protested — looking between the refugees and John, unable to bring herself to hurt them. Their ship had just been destroyed by some space pirates — it wasn't right to abandon them. She brought her construct closer to her, her body an obstacle, in case.
"Relax, it's a good thing. Means you can think for yourself. I'd be concerned if you'd followed through; the Green Lantern Corps aren't space cops, they're peacekeepers. Never fire first unless necessary, you hear me?" Stewart eased up on her, his shoulders easing up as he signaled for her to follow him.
Oh. It was a trick test. Clea loves those. She never understood why people couldn't ask her outright, though she knew that would defeat the purpose of said test.
"You… were going to save them, right? If I did abandon them?" She asked, biting her lip.
He gave her a look, "Ouch — I hope you don't think I wouldn't, but don't worry. Kilowag's been tagging along in the back for some time now. Just figured I'd catch you off guard 'cause it seemed like you were lost in your own head." He teased, causing Clea to look over her shoulder — and sure enough, Kilowag gave her a thumbs up as he carried the rest of the crew in his miniature spaceship construct, racing past them.
"Oh — and, one more thing; you might want to work on your constructs, hands are useful, good for hitting— but, you know, your power is only limited by your imagination."
"That.. Oh my god, so cheesy." She complained once they landed on Qwad, hitting him in the shoulder.
In zombie movies and shows, the dead were slow-witted but packed a mean punch — but this had to be far more difficult; from what Clea had heard over her radio transmissions from her ring, the Black Lantern Corps retained the muscle memory of their dead host, they knew how to hit hard and what to say to inflict damage if their hits weren't doing enough harm. Jordan had mentioned an infection that was transmissible, so she made it a priority to keep as much distance as possible while wrangling them.
Out of the sky, Clea plucked them — sweat pouring down her forehead as multiple beams of light shot from her ring, multitasking in the capture of the zombiods. She had it down to an effective system; capture them with the gigantic cup and slide a thin tray of nth metal under it, trapping them like a bug until she could deposit them safely into her picnic basket.
Thanks to the combined efforts of her fellow Lanterns, they had nearly caught all of them, but she couldn't lose concentration now.
If her mind so much as drifted slightly from the task at hand, there was a chance her constructions could collapse and then be set on a pack of them.
"Got the southwest section, cleared," Clea reported into her circuit as her eyes prowled the skies.
"If you're sure, head towards the lantern of Oa; we're rounding up the last of them." Guy's voice cut through her ring, accompanied by some static.
She nodded, as if he could see her, and began to fly towards the planet again, followed by a gigantic basket; imprints of fists banging appeared and disappeared rapidly, again and again, against the green.
Unaware they hadn't gotten them all.
It had been a quick jaunt, Clea's altitude coming to a halt as she floated down, giving a quick wave to Guy and the remaining Green Lanterns.
Just above the giant green lantern resting in the apex of the city, nestled between buildings and towers of various shapes and sizes, one of the tallest structures on Oa, was a giant toxic box; connected and formed by what looked to be twenty rings, maybe thirty— the surface pulsating with power; opaque, with a whole swarm of Black Lanterns staring at her arrival, some trying desperately to escape the structure though for every crack and splinter into the foundation, there was a Green Lantern to reform and stablize it.
"Wow. That makes my capture of nine flying zombies look measly in comparison." She whistled, eyeing them with an amount of wariness as they snarled against the foundation, drool leaking from their lips, really living up to the zombie visage.
Adjusting herself to a more comfortable resting flight position, she found it overexerting to keep her leg muscles constantly tense as she flew. With just the flick of her hands, the basket was escorted on its own and began to merge with the box, phasing the Black Lanterns through and into the container.
Their scream sent shivers down her spine.
"Okay.. We rounded them all up, like the glorified Space Cowboys we are. So what now? Where are the Guardians? Shouldn't they be here helping us instead of leaving us to fend for ourselves?"
"What?" Clea would never find out what happened to the Guardians — for one second, she was preparing herself for bad news while surrounded by Gardener and Jordan, and the next, she found herself at the receiving end of her mentor's gaping maw.
Stars — galaxies far from her, blurred past her as she was dragged down.
"Shit!" She squeaked — her hands flying towards John's collarbone, or what passed for it, as her hands passed through and missed the mark, one of her hands shooting through his chest and landing on something putrid with a squelch.
Undeterred, Clea's biceps flexed as she struggled to create much-needed space between them, muscle fibers whimpered in protest as they were stretched beyond their limit, straining against a being far stronger than she, and she was no slouch either — John had twenty years on her, even when he was… incapacitated.
Dead. He was dead. She was wrestling with a dead man and losing. How sad.
"What the hell, Gardener — I thought you had him!" She shouted, never once taking her eyes off Stewart as they struggled mid-air; she was grasping and trying to wrench him off her, and he, determined to burrow his way into her body with his fists.
"Thought I did! He must'a of escaped!"
She wanted to scream at Guy — demand how the fuck he escaped, but she never got the chance with John's hand shooting forward and closing his fist around her windpipe, a hoarse cry escaping.
Thinking fast, Clea's hand emerged from his stomach cavity; tired of pretending that fondling up his liquid, decayed organs was going to slow him down any longer, and shoved it into his face, deftly avoiding his awaiting incisors aiming for her fingers, and plunged them into the soulless black sockets that used to be the warmest hazel she'd ever seen.
Fingers splayed out, the curve of her nail puncturing the jelly of his eye.
Blood and dirt were stuck underneath her fingernails — each swipe causing molten, dark brown blood to splurt from his wound and onto her face.
Like a wounded beast with its paw caught in a steel trap, he began to howl in pain, but never tried to throw her off, instead tightening his grip as they delved further into space.
She couldn't see Guy anymore, but she could hear him in the distance, him, unhelpfully yelling instructions on how to fight and evade it.
God. The worst part was that she could sense that he was just playing with her — that she wasn't winning, just further delaying the inevitable.
"Let.. me handle this!" She gritted out, as loud as she could possibly voice out while being strangled — swatting at space where the humongous tweezers that materialized near her, Guy's, she thinks. Fear never crossed her mind as she tangled further with the zombie — the decaying thing's breath smelled of death, its dribble splattering all over her face as she dug her fingers into its flesh.
Clea saw the writing on the wall — the spots blinking and disappearing through her vision; she knew well enough that she wasn't going to make it out of this fight alive — but she would be damned if she was the only one dying.
A burst of light — a medieval morningstar wielded by a triumphant olden knight with dented armor, complete with a warhorse; stomping his hooves against the star before they began to furiously attack his side, dealing blows that had the zombie distracted before he redoubled his efforts, his hand darting to her jaw— holding her still and taking a chunk out of her cheek.
She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.
The knight and the horse shattered into a thousand pieces and fell.
All the air was sucked out of her lungs as he landed a blow to her stomach.
The broken record he was, repeating that twice with the same malice-ladden within his words.
"So— so many promises, big guy. Ever," Her throat felt she was gurgling corrosive acid, "thought about how you'd die?" She spat back, her eye twitching when it fell silent.
Numb or shocked, Clea was unable to tear her gaze from the pieces of her flesh that were stuck in between his teeth.
"I— ack heard, you died saving the planet.. I— I attended your funeral, too. You.. wheeze, one of..my heroes." She confessed in between breaths, her legs flailing and hands clawing at him, trying to break his hold.
It could've been the trick of the light or her worsening vision, but Clea, for a moment, swore he loosened his grip — though whatever she thought she saw was gone; seeing double when John tightened his hold again.
"Enough! I tire of this. He calls for me." Clea didn't have time to think about what he meant, the pain too-consuming, demanding all of her attention as she weakly raised her hand— she just had to…
He looked at her with so much disdain; it burned in his eyes and permeated the air.
"Die." and with that command, a silent scream stuck in her throat— her hands seized up and stopped squeezing against his throat; her eyes grew tired and heavy, a Herculean task to keep them open, but she fought to do it— fluttering and twitching in rapid succession, honeyed eyes drifting between focused and hazy, widening slightly when she caught the briefest of glances of his hand diving into her chest with a disgusting sqiwnk— his ruby-coated hand emerging from her suken chest with a triumphant grin;
Her head swam as the biting void that bit away at the corners of her consciousness consumed her entire vision, lulling her head. She finally saw what was making him grin so much: the still-beating heart being pulled from her chest with a sharp motion.
"Ring capacity: three percent." It sounded far off — like it wasn't even resting on her hand but somewhere else.
The last thing Clea could make out was her ring shining bright despite it all.
Her skin stung from the heat.
She imagined what she'd do with that stupid ring.
Lurching forward, there was a supernova of color, hues of red, green, blue, pink descending from above, then bursting in front of her — then, total darkness.
