03-12-2016, 03:36 PM
The strange crowd of Primes had grown to a size even larger than it was when Sinestro had first come to the Omniverse, mottled with bright colors, strange shapes and droning voices. The same faces that had stood out to him before were still who he considered to be the most suited for the gift he had to offer, and their target might appear at any moment. It was time to use his newfound abilities.
“Excuse me once again,” he said boldly, his natural voice loud enough to cut through the din of passive conversation. A few faces turned to look at him, but most continued their idle chatter. He struggled to keep his temper under check and cleared his throat, once again proclaiming, “Excuse me!”
When nobody new paid him any heed, his face folded into a snarl, and frustration overtook him. An aura of yellow flared around him, and he thrust his fist towards the sky. A screeching beam arced upward, detonating with a horrible rumble and shower of yellow sparks. “EXCUSE ME!” he shouted, teeth bared and eyes burning.
When the crowd jolted and snapped to stare him, his anger deflated. He exhaled slowly and tilted his head curtly, “Thank you.” He held his ring-hand out in front of himself and clutched as a sphere appeared between them. He continued to speak as he focused on his creation, pouring his ring’s energy and Omnilium alike into his outstretched hand. “In order to bolster our chances of victory in this upcoming fight, I have prepared tools to further equip a select few of you with considerable power.”
Even through the open scrutiny and distrust of the congregation he addressed, more than a few ears perked at the mention of power. Magus’ finally allowed a lazy glance to dart to the blathering lantern, his head propped up by his knuckles. “What are you prattling on about now?” he shouted from the seat of his summoned throne.
Sinestro shifted his weight and grinned at the silver-haired man as he lounged. “I would like to offer you a weapon I think you’d be well-suited for.”
Magus’ eyebrows furrowed into a frown and he flicked his wrist in irritation. “Well, get on with it then!”
Once again the master of the Yellow Light restrained his anger. “I offer you a weapon. A weapon forged from a power that lies within all living beings. This constant, this force, is the most abundant source of emotional energy in this, or any other, universe.” The ball within the man’s hand had continued to grow brighter, now nearly blinding. “But, really, all of that doesn’t matter to you, does it? All you really need to hear is…”
The ball of yellow brilliance flashed out and finally congealed, solidifying into a swarm of gleaming golden bands. For a moment they just hovered there, suspended, as if by their own volition.
“… Welcome to the Sinestro Corps.”
The rings flashed out from his palm, driven by an unseen intelligence as they sought out their owners, leaving streaks of golden light behind them. They twisted and zipped, taking harsh, angular turns on their circuitous and meandering routes through the Nexus, darting about like silent insects on a hot summer’s night. The collection of Primes only had a few moments to gawk before they began to find their homes.
“MAGUS OF [NULL], WELCOME TO THE SINESTRO CORPS.”
“SHANG TSUNG OF [NULL], WELCOME TO THE SINESTRO CORPS.”
“ATELOS OF [NULL], WELCOME TO THE SINESTRO CORPS.”
The rings loudly declared their new owners, though when they attempted to source their home sectors, they could only blare out an error line. Even more troubling was that after the initial three recipients, the remaining rings fizzled out and evaporated before they managed to find their mark.
Sinestro’s expression collapsed into one of concern, and he looked down at his ring in confusion. “I don’t understand,” he said quite flatly, unaccustomed to such blatant failure. “At this charge, the ring should be able to support at least ten duplicates.”
His eyes shot back and forth between all of the collected members, suspecting each before it finally found the true culprit: the fountain. Once again, the nature of omnilium had made a fool out of him. “Damn you, Omni…” he spat, beneath his breath.
Magus startled to his feet as the ring slipped over his finger, his other hand instantly attempting to pry it free. “What is this?!” he snapped.
Sinestro looked over to the struggling sorcerer, “It is your weapon, Magus. It is the most powerful weapon in the entire galaxy.”
“Hnngh!” the man shouted, tugging desperately at his finger, anxious beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “What is it doing to me?!”
“What do you-“ Sinestro began, but quickly cut his words short and looked to the other two recipients. Atelos’ eyes seemed to have glazed over, and he stood there in a seemingly catatonic state. Shang Tsung was nowhere to be found. “Something’s wrong,” he said, his gaze bolting about wildly.
“You!” Magus shouted, trusting his scythe in Sinestro’s direction, “You did this! UNDO IT, OR I WILL TAKE YOUR HEAD!”
“Very well,” the lantern said quickly, betraying the panic that had begun to bubble up in his chest. He once again held his hand out and focused. Several moments passed, but nothing changed.
“Well?!” Magus demanded, taking a step in Sinestro’s direction.
“It’s…” Sinestro’s brow folded as he poured his effort into recalling the rings, but still nothing budged. “It’s not working! The duplicates aren’t deactivating like they should!”
“Unacceptable!” Magus screamed, sweat now streaming down his head and over his cheeks. He stalled a moment, and clutched a hand over his chest. His pupils restricted and his eyes bulged as the feeling within him amplified. “What… what is this that? What have you done to me, kur?!”
“I’d like the same answer,” a deep voice bellowed from across the white void.
All looked to see Atelos, his body wreathed with dark red flame, his weapon in his hand. “What is in these rings?!”
Sienstro took a few steps back, clearly bewildered, before he collected himself and thought clearly. “Fear,” he said to himself, more than anything, “The entire spectrum must be flowing into them.” He held both hands up and shouted over the growing clamor of concerned primes, “The omnilium has made the rings malfunction! You are feeling the full brunt of the yellow spectrum of emotion. You are feeling Fear. Try to remain calm and-”
“FEAR?!” the lithe warlock roared, “I don’t have any fear!” With that, he thrust his hand forward, and a swirling purple sphere erupted from it, spiraling through the crowd and towards Sinestro.
The lantern thrust his ring forward in an attempt to intercept the attack, but his ring only fizzled.
“POWER LEVELS AT [NULL] PERCENT.”
Sinestro’s eyes went wide just in time to catch the full force of the Gloom bolt to his chest, hurling him backwards. He hit the unforgiving white tile and left behind a thin trail of purple blood as he slid to a stop. He shook his head and groaned, his hand clutching the gruesome wound on his chest.
“Good,” the Spartan barked, his voice altogether different than it had been only a few moments before. “Now maybe I can remove this cursed thing!” His arms ignited in a deep, malevolently swirling flame and his thick fingers grasped at the golden circlet. He tugged hard enough that his bulging muscles strained, his veins jutting from his neck and bicep. Still it did not move.
Smith stepped forward out of the masses and straightened his tie. “Gentlemen,” he said coldly, a tinge of disdain in his voice, “Let us remain focused on the task at hand. Do not be,” he paused shortly, as if finding his words, “distracted by petty squabbles.”
“Petty?” the strange voice spoke from Atelos’ lips, “This is hardly petty, pathetic mortal!”
“Alright, enough of this!” Magus hissed, and held his hand up. “We’ll see how these trinkets stand up to the Winds of magic.”
Shadowy purple magic burst into existence in Magus’ other hand, and he held it over the ring. Corrupting forces pulsed into the tiny object, the magister masterfully manipulating the foundational forces of reality in an attempt to cleanse himself. The dark haze flowed over his hand like rolling fog until suddenly they seemed to be drawn into it. Magus grimaces as the ring swallowed more and more of his power, seemingly to pull it from him in deep, greedy gulps. Grinding his teeth together, he the stream of magic swelled, casting rays of purple light against his face and the white tiles below him. Still, the ring drank it up. “What’s happening!?” he growled, and allowed his attempt to die off.
Sinestro moaned as he pushed himself to his knees. “I have no idea,” he conceited. “My ring is acting…“ He cut himself off when he noticed a cloudy purple aura around his own ring. “… strangely.”
“What new treachery is this?!” Atelos roared, a similar affliction seeming to have overcome not just his ring, but his entire flaming aura. Roaring red had transformed to flickering purple, and covered his entire body.
“They’ve linked us,” a cold voice spoke, seemingly from nowhere until Shang Tsung chose to show himself, somehow looming unseen only a few meters away. “And if we are linked…” he splayed out his fingers with a soft smirk, “I suppose we might also take as easily as we can give?”
Clenching his fist, the Outworld sorcerer summoned a cloud of howling souls around himself, and then they folded inward and into his open hand. The purple flames around the ring were drowned out with green spirit energy, the soul-stealer’s complexion began to glow with vigor and youth. Quite the opposite seemed to happen to the other cursed ring-bearers, this skin growing ashen and pale.
Shang Tsung’s smirk grew into a grin, and he laughed, “I suppose so!”
Members of the congregation wore looks of concern, though few seemed to have an immediate response. Even Smith remained silent, watching the conflict resolve with crossed arms and a perked eyebrow. Ryner opened his mouth, ready to offer a solution, only to close it again, dumbfounded.
“Which one of them is the bad guy?” Jim shouted loudly, his lower jaw jutting out. “I need to know so I can shoot ‘em!”
Atelos clutched a hand to his heart and staggered, but managed to find his feet steady beneath himself. “Damn you, sorcerer!” he boomed in his twisted voice. “I will not allow you to drain my vessel in like this!”
No sooner had the brawler finished his challenge than he charged forward with an inhuman burst of speed, flying into a shoulder spear into Shang’s midriff. The sorcerer grunted out most of his breath and then hit the ground, and the green stream of energy ceased.
Finally the deputy was on his feet, and he angrily stared down his source of power. “Ring,” he demanded angrily, “identify malfunction!”
“NO KNOWN MALFUNCTION.”
“Damn it!” he screamed into his fist. “Fine!” he leveled his ring at the wrestling pair, “Then WORK!”
A beam of yellow light wedged itself between them, expanding into a pair of toothy maws which pried them apart. Pivoting on his heel, he whipped the same beam around towards Magus. When it struck his shoulder, it wrapped around him like a rope and firmly held him in place. “Enough of that,” he said condescendingly, “calm yourselves while I find a solution to this problem.”
“I think I have a solution,” Magus said snidely, “I’ll take your head!” He lifted his ring into the hard-light construct, and it was instantly absorbed, breaking him free of the binding. He then nimbly leapt onto the string of yellow emanating from Sinestro and sprinted along it. A puff of magic gasped between his hands, and when is dissipated, a wicked scythe was revealed.
As Magus reached the end of the thin, golden line, he sprung into the air and flipped over Sinestro’s head, swinging his weapon at the apex. The lantern frantically twisted the amber beam and expanded it into a hexagonal shield to intercept the curved blade. A shower of citrine sparks showered down over them as Magus landed in a crouch.
Their fight was interrupted when all of Atelos’ mass slammed into them in a heap. Shang Tsung stood across the floor, his foot still hanging in a perfect side-kick. The titan howled in blood-thirsty rage, his aura igniting to the brightest it had been, and kicked himself up to his feet.
Rolling to the side and into a prone position, Sinestro quickly fired off bolt towards Shang Tsung. He reeled when the color of the blast was a burning red, just the same color as Atelos’ fires.
Magus stared in disbelief for a moment, then tentatively summoned an orb of Gloom. It too was an angry red. The two warriors shared a glance at each other on the ground, but their attentions were violently shifted when the muscle-bound Grecian snatched them both up by their necks.
Holding them both aloft, Atelos spoke with an otherworldly authority, “That’s my power you’re using.” He then slammed their heads together with a dry CRACK and tossed them aside like litter. “Now, old friend,” he rumbled, stalking towards Shang Tsung, “we have some busi-”
The man was battered to the side as Shang’s foot impacted the side of his head. The spry martial artist then called forth a burning skull from the earth, which instantly exploded in a viridian bloom between the grounded pair.
The green energy was predictably devoured by their rings, leaving behind only a wispy trail of jade smoke. Sinestro and Magus looked to each other, and a silent agreement was made. They quickly rolled counter to the other and tumbled to their feet. The temporary allies stepped in on either side of the sorcerer and launched a flurry of attacks.
The canny warrior managed to block the initial volley, but hit after hit slipped through his guard. A stiff kick to the leg put his knee down, and the pommel of a scythe sent him into the ground.
The duo wasted no time betraying each other, both lashing out with bright bursts of energy which collided in the space between. The force of the collision sent them flying in opposite directions, hitting the ground with heavy slaps.
The four men lay equidistant on the cold, unyielding ground, a crowd of bewildered primes staring down at them.
All four groggily staggered to their feet, each of them far beyond words. Instead their actions spoke. Shang thrust two open palms at Atelos, who quickly lifted his shield, red aura roaring. Magus thrust an orb of shadow energy at the same time as Sinestro unleashed a bolt of hard-light energy. All four powers met in the center, and in a flash, they melded into one blinding mass.
Each of the four men struggled and pushed, the confluence of their collective might being pushed backwards and forwards through the center. No sooner would it tilt in one direction would it then jerk in another. The very earth seemed to shudder beneath them, and the color of their energies scintillated and pulsed.
Somehow it happened slowly, yet all at once. A hole opened up in that twisting maelstrom, deeper and blacker than any night. It seemed to fall inward from every angle, a singular void of true darkness against a background of dancing colors and white. And in this hole fell everything. It devoured the quarrelling fighter’s energy, it devoured their strength and the breath from their lungs.The fighters resisted its pull, but even a few mere moments in its presence was too much. They were drawn in.
As the men were sucked, screaming, into the void, it sealed shut with a hiss, leaving nothing to be seen, and only dead silence to be heard.
The gathering could only stare in wonder at the empty space where their allies had once stood, not a trace of them to be found. Even the blood that had been shed had been neatly cleaned away, and not a scrap of their battered clothing was left lying in their wake.
A voice from within the crowd, but it couldn’t be said who’s, called out, “What the hell was tha-”
In the very same place the men had disappeared, a shockwave erupted outward. The sound of a terrible gale, or perhaps shrieking spirits, followed that burst of pressure, deafening and terrifying to any that heard it. A single flame blossomed, though it did not move nor appear as fire but something entirely different. It was no larger than a head, and segments of it slowly warped and fluctuated: first green, then purple, then red, then yellow. Another surge exploded outward, this more powerful than the last, enough to take a few off their feet.
There, in the epicenter, stood something. Something none would call a man, but neither could they call it anything else, for nothing like it had ever been.
It knelt there, its skull hanging low with a fist on the ground supporting it. The silhouette of a skeleton loomed behind a body made of ethereal fire, ever changing between those which the previous fire had predicted. A broad, bronze pauldron reflected the wavering lights of the flame, and a chain rattled and clinked as it hung from that shoulder to the opposing hip. The heat that wafted from its burning form pushed a deep red cape into a billowing flutter, the fire nipping at its edges and folds, but it never seemed to fully catch. A three-panelled ō-yoroi was draped down from its hips, yellow and black as Shang-Tsung’s had been.
Slowly it lifted its head, and from within the deep sockets of its eyes, baleful smoke sizzled outwards, its gaze unseen and unknowable. Pushing it’s conflagration body from the ground, it held a skeletal hand in front of itself, turning it back and forth, seemingly in amazement at its own body.
“What the hell is that,” the same voice asked in a trembling timbre.
The creature’s attention turned, slowly, to its audience. “I-” it began, its voice a chorus of the men who had created it. It shook its head, “We hear so many voices...”
They let out a long, haggard exhalation might of reminded you of a bellows breathing into a flame, and stepped forward, a trail of ashes and woe in its wake. “We are the bringer of many things…” The aura flashed wildly between yellow and green, and the flickering images of Shang Tsung and Sinestro were momentarily juxtapositioned over the creature’s frame. “... Hunger,” it growled, “Terror.” Red took the place of yellow, and Atelos grimaced, “Ruin.” Finally a deep purple with Magus’ toothy grin, “Loss.”
“Yes, we will bring so many things to this world,” they spoke in unison. “We are The Harbinger.”
“Excuse me once again,” he said boldly, his natural voice loud enough to cut through the din of passive conversation. A few faces turned to look at him, but most continued their idle chatter. He struggled to keep his temper under check and cleared his throat, once again proclaiming, “Excuse me!”
When nobody new paid him any heed, his face folded into a snarl, and frustration overtook him. An aura of yellow flared around him, and he thrust his fist towards the sky. A screeching beam arced upward, detonating with a horrible rumble and shower of yellow sparks. “EXCUSE ME!” he shouted, teeth bared and eyes burning.
When the crowd jolted and snapped to stare him, his anger deflated. He exhaled slowly and tilted his head curtly, “Thank you.” He held his ring-hand out in front of himself and clutched as a sphere appeared between them. He continued to speak as he focused on his creation, pouring his ring’s energy and Omnilium alike into his outstretched hand. “In order to bolster our chances of victory in this upcoming fight, I have prepared tools to further equip a select few of you with considerable power.”
Even through the open scrutiny and distrust of the congregation he addressed, more than a few ears perked at the mention of power. Magus’ finally allowed a lazy glance to dart to the blathering lantern, his head propped up by his knuckles. “What are you prattling on about now?” he shouted from the seat of his summoned throne.
Sinestro shifted his weight and grinned at the silver-haired man as he lounged. “I would like to offer you a weapon I think you’d be well-suited for.”
Magus’ eyebrows furrowed into a frown and he flicked his wrist in irritation. “Well, get on with it then!”
Once again the master of the Yellow Light restrained his anger. “I offer you a weapon. A weapon forged from a power that lies within all living beings. This constant, this force, is the most abundant source of emotional energy in this, or any other, universe.” The ball within the man’s hand had continued to grow brighter, now nearly blinding. “But, really, all of that doesn’t matter to you, does it? All you really need to hear is…”
The ball of yellow brilliance flashed out and finally congealed, solidifying into a swarm of gleaming golden bands. For a moment they just hovered there, suspended, as if by their own volition.
“… Welcome to the Sinestro Corps.”
The rings flashed out from his palm, driven by an unseen intelligence as they sought out their owners, leaving streaks of golden light behind them. They twisted and zipped, taking harsh, angular turns on their circuitous and meandering routes through the Nexus, darting about like silent insects on a hot summer’s night. The collection of Primes only had a few moments to gawk before they began to find their homes.
“MAGUS OF [NULL], WELCOME TO THE SINESTRO CORPS.”
“SHANG TSUNG OF [NULL], WELCOME TO THE SINESTRO CORPS.”
“ATELOS OF [NULL], WELCOME TO THE SINESTRO CORPS.”
The rings loudly declared their new owners, though when they attempted to source their home sectors, they could only blare out an error line. Even more troubling was that after the initial three recipients, the remaining rings fizzled out and evaporated before they managed to find their mark.
Sinestro’s expression collapsed into one of concern, and he looked down at his ring in confusion. “I don’t understand,” he said quite flatly, unaccustomed to such blatant failure. “At this charge, the ring should be able to support at least ten duplicates.”
His eyes shot back and forth between all of the collected members, suspecting each before it finally found the true culprit: the fountain. Once again, the nature of omnilium had made a fool out of him. “Damn you, Omni…” he spat, beneath his breath.
Magus startled to his feet as the ring slipped over his finger, his other hand instantly attempting to pry it free. “What is this?!” he snapped.
Sinestro looked over to the struggling sorcerer, “It is your weapon, Magus. It is the most powerful weapon in the entire galaxy.”
“Hnngh!” the man shouted, tugging desperately at his finger, anxious beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “What is it doing to me?!”
“What do you-“ Sinestro began, but quickly cut his words short and looked to the other two recipients. Atelos’ eyes seemed to have glazed over, and he stood there in a seemingly catatonic state. Shang Tsung was nowhere to be found. “Something’s wrong,” he said, his gaze bolting about wildly.
“You!” Magus shouted, trusting his scythe in Sinestro’s direction, “You did this! UNDO IT, OR I WILL TAKE YOUR HEAD!”
“Very well,” the lantern said quickly, betraying the panic that had begun to bubble up in his chest. He once again held his hand out and focused. Several moments passed, but nothing changed.
“Well?!” Magus demanded, taking a step in Sinestro’s direction.
“It’s…” Sinestro’s brow folded as he poured his effort into recalling the rings, but still nothing budged. “It’s not working! The duplicates aren’t deactivating like they should!”
“Unacceptable!” Magus screamed, sweat now streaming down his head and over his cheeks. He stalled a moment, and clutched a hand over his chest. His pupils restricted and his eyes bulged as the feeling within him amplified. “What… what is this that? What have you done to me, kur?!”
“I’d like the same answer,” a deep voice bellowed from across the white void.
All looked to see Atelos, his body wreathed with dark red flame, his weapon in his hand. “What is in these rings?!”
Sienstro took a few steps back, clearly bewildered, before he collected himself and thought clearly. “Fear,” he said to himself, more than anything, “The entire spectrum must be flowing into them.” He held both hands up and shouted over the growing clamor of concerned primes, “The omnilium has made the rings malfunction! You are feeling the full brunt of the yellow spectrum of emotion. You are feeling Fear. Try to remain calm and-”
“FEAR?!” the lithe warlock roared, “I don’t have any fear!” With that, he thrust his hand forward, and a swirling purple sphere erupted from it, spiraling through the crowd and towards Sinestro.
The lantern thrust his ring forward in an attempt to intercept the attack, but his ring only fizzled.
“POWER LEVELS AT [NULL] PERCENT.”
Sinestro’s eyes went wide just in time to catch the full force of the Gloom bolt to his chest, hurling him backwards. He hit the unforgiving white tile and left behind a thin trail of purple blood as he slid to a stop. He shook his head and groaned, his hand clutching the gruesome wound on his chest.
“Good,” the Spartan barked, his voice altogether different than it had been only a few moments before. “Now maybe I can remove this cursed thing!” His arms ignited in a deep, malevolently swirling flame and his thick fingers grasped at the golden circlet. He tugged hard enough that his bulging muscles strained, his veins jutting from his neck and bicep. Still it did not move.
Smith stepped forward out of the masses and straightened his tie. “Gentlemen,” he said coldly, a tinge of disdain in his voice, “Let us remain focused on the task at hand. Do not be,” he paused shortly, as if finding his words, “distracted by petty squabbles.”
“Petty?” the strange voice spoke from Atelos’ lips, “This is hardly petty, pathetic mortal!”
“Alright, enough of this!” Magus hissed, and held his hand up. “We’ll see how these trinkets stand up to the Winds of magic.”
Shadowy purple magic burst into existence in Magus’ other hand, and he held it over the ring. Corrupting forces pulsed into the tiny object, the magister masterfully manipulating the foundational forces of reality in an attempt to cleanse himself. The dark haze flowed over his hand like rolling fog until suddenly they seemed to be drawn into it. Magus grimaces as the ring swallowed more and more of his power, seemingly to pull it from him in deep, greedy gulps. Grinding his teeth together, he the stream of magic swelled, casting rays of purple light against his face and the white tiles below him. Still, the ring drank it up. “What’s happening!?” he growled, and allowed his attempt to die off.
Sinestro moaned as he pushed himself to his knees. “I have no idea,” he conceited. “My ring is acting…“ He cut himself off when he noticed a cloudy purple aura around his own ring. “… strangely.”
“What new treachery is this?!” Atelos roared, a similar affliction seeming to have overcome not just his ring, but his entire flaming aura. Roaring red had transformed to flickering purple, and covered his entire body.
“They’ve linked us,” a cold voice spoke, seemingly from nowhere until Shang Tsung chose to show himself, somehow looming unseen only a few meters away. “And if we are linked…” he splayed out his fingers with a soft smirk, “I suppose we might also take as easily as we can give?”
Clenching his fist, the Outworld sorcerer summoned a cloud of howling souls around himself, and then they folded inward and into his open hand. The purple flames around the ring were drowned out with green spirit energy, the soul-stealer’s complexion began to glow with vigor and youth. Quite the opposite seemed to happen to the other cursed ring-bearers, this skin growing ashen and pale.
Shang Tsung’s smirk grew into a grin, and he laughed, “I suppose so!”
Members of the congregation wore looks of concern, though few seemed to have an immediate response. Even Smith remained silent, watching the conflict resolve with crossed arms and a perked eyebrow. Ryner opened his mouth, ready to offer a solution, only to close it again, dumbfounded.
“Which one of them is the bad guy?” Jim shouted loudly, his lower jaw jutting out. “I need to know so I can shoot ‘em!”
Atelos clutched a hand to his heart and staggered, but managed to find his feet steady beneath himself. “Damn you, sorcerer!” he boomed in his twisted voice. “I will not allow you to drain my vessel in like this!”
No sooner had the brawler finished his challenge than he charged forward with an inhuman burst of speed, flying into a shoulder spear into Shang’s midriff. The sorcerer grunted out most of his breath and then hit the ground, and the green stream of energy ceased.
Finally the deputy was on his feet, and he angrily stared down his source of power. “Ring,” he demanded angrily, “identify malfunction!”
“NO KNOWN MALFUNCTION.”
“Damn it!” he screamed into his fist. “Fine!” he leveled his ring at the wrestling pair, “Then WORK!”
A beam of yellow light wedged itself between them, expanding into a pair of toothy maws which pried them apart. Pivoting on his heel, he whipped the same beam around towards Magus. When it struck his shoulder, it wrapped around him like a rope and firmly held him in place. “Enough of that,” he said condescendingly, “calm yourselves while I find a solution to this problem.”
“I think I have a solution,” Magus said snidely, “I’ll take your head!” He lifted his ring into the hard-light construct, and it was instantly absorbed, breaking him free of the binding. He then nimbly leapt onto the string of yellow emanating from Sinestro and sprinted along it. A puff of magic gasped between his hands, and when is dissipated, a wicked scythe was revealed.
As Magus reached the end of the thin, golden line, he sprung into the air and flipped over Sinestro’s head, swinging his weapon at the apex. The lantern frantically twisted the amber beam and expanded it into a hexagonal shield to intercept the curved blade. A shower of citrine sparks showered down over them as Magus landed in a crouch.
Their fight was interrupted when all of Atelos’ mass slammed into them in a heap. Shang Tsung stood across the floor, his foot still hanging in a perfect side-kick. The titan howled in blood-thirsty rage, his aura igniting to the brightest it had been, and kicked himself up to his feet.
Rolling to the side and into a prone position, Sinestro quickly fired off bolt towards Shang Tsung. He reeled when the color of the blast was a burning red, just the same color as Atelos’ fires.
Magus stared in disbelief for a moment, then tentatively summoned an orb of Gloom. It too was an angry red. The two warriors shared a glance at each other on the ground, but their attentions were violently shifted when the muscle-bound Grecian snatched them both up by their necks.
Holding them both aloft, Atelos spoke with an otherworldly authority, “That’s my power you’re using.” He then slammed their heads together with a dry CRACK and tossed them aside like litter. “Now, old friend,” he rumbled, stalking towards Shang Tsung, “we have some busi-”
The man was battered to the side as Shang’s foot impacted the side of his head. The spry martial artist then called forth a burning skull from the earth, which instantly exploded in a viridian bloom between the grounded pair.
The green energy was predictably devoured by their rings, leaving behind only a wispy trail of jade smoke. Sinestro and Magus looked to each other, and a silent agreement was made. They quickly rolled counter to the other and tumbled to their feet. The temporary allies stepped in on either side of the sorcerer and launched a flurry of attacks.
The canny warrior managed to block the initial volley, but hit after hit slipped through his guard. A stiff kick to the leg put his knee down, and the pommel of a scythe sent him into the ground.
The duo wasted no time betraying each other, both lashing out with bright bursts of energy which collided in the space between. The force of the collision sent them flying in opposite directions, hitting the ground with heavy slaps.
The four men lay equidistant on the cold, unyielding ground, a crowd of bewildered primes staring down at them.
All four groggily staggered to their feet, each of them far beyond words. Instead their actions spoke. Shang thrust two open palms at Atelos, who quickly lifted his shield, red aura roaring. Magus thrust an orb of shadow energy at the same time as Sinestro unleashed a bolt of hard-light energy. All four powers met in the center, and in a flash, they melded into one blinding mass.
Each of the four men struggled and pushed, the confluence of their collective might being pushed backwards and forwards through the center. No sooner would it tilt in one direction would it then jerk in another. The very earth seemed to shudder beneath them, and the color of their energies scintillated and pulsed.
Somehow it happened slowly, yet all at once. A hole opened up in that twisting maelstrom, deeper and blacker than any night. It seemed to fall inward from every angle, a singular void of true darkness against a background of dancing colors and white. And in this hole fell everything. It devoured the quarrelling fighter’s energy, it devoured their strength and the breath from their lungs.The fighters resisted its pull, but even a few mere moments in its presence was too much. They were drawn in.
As the men were sucked, screaming, into the void, it sealed shut with a hiss, leaving nothing to be seen, and only dead silence to be heard.
The gathering could only stare in wonder at the empty space where their allies had once stood, not a trace of them to be found. Even the blood that had been shed had been neatly cleaned away, and not a scrap of their battered clothing was left lying in their wake.
A voice from within the crowd, but it couldn’t be said who’s, called out, “What the hell was tha-”
In the very same place the men had disappeared, a shockwave erupted outward. The sound of a terrible gale, or perhaps shrieking spirits, followed that burst of pressure, deafening and terrifying to any that heard it. A single flame blossomed, though it did not move nor appear as fire but something entirely different. It was no larger than a head, and segments of it slowly warped and fluctuated: first green, then purple, then red, then yellow. Another surge exploded outward, this more powerful than the last, enough to take a few off their feet.
There, in the epicenter, stood something. Something none would call a man, but neither could they call it anything else, for nothing like it had ever been.
It knelt there, its skull hanging low with a fist on the ground supporting it. The silhouette of a skeleton loomed behind a body made of ethereal fire, ever changing between those which the previous fire had predicted. A broad, bronze pauldron reflected the wavering lights of the flame, and a chain rattled and clinked as it hung from that shoulder to the opposing hip. The heat that wafted from its burning form pushed a deep red cape into a billowing flutter, the fire nipping at its edges and folds, but it never seemed to fully catch. A three-panelled ō-yoroi was draped down from its hips, yellow and black as Shang-Tsung’s had been.
Slowly it lifted its head, and from within the deep sockets of its eyes, baleful smoke sizzled outwards, its gaze unseen and unknowable. Pushing it’s conflagration body from the ground, it held a skeletal hand in front of itself, turning it back and forth, seemingly in amazement at its own body.
“What the hell is that,” the same voice asked in a trembling timbre.
The creature’s attention turned, slowly, to its audience. “I-” it began, its voice a chorus of the men who had created it. It shook its head, “We hear so many voices...”
They let out a long, haggard exhalation might of reminded you of a bellows breathing into a flame, and stepped forward, a trail of ashes and woe in its wake. “We are the bringer of many things…” The aura flashed wildly between yellow and green, and the flickering images of Shang Tsung and Sinestro were momentarily juxtapositioned over the creature’s frame. “... Hunger,” it growled, “Terror.” Red took the place of yellow, and Atelos grimaced, “Ruin.” Finally a deep purple with Magus’ toothy grin, “Loss.”
“Yes, we will bring so many things to this world,” they spoke in unison. “We are The Harbinger.”
![[Image: sig2.jpg]](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v288/KrimTheUnsettler/sig2.jpg)