The Golden Star

[Thaal Sinestro]

The red eye of the sun stared down over the earth below, its burning gaze drawing up rolling columns of heat that bent the light that passed through them. Sand blew from the peaks of the undulating dunes as stiff, dry winds pushed them. Towering, red spires of stone clawed at the clear sky like the fingers of a long-dead giant begging for water. The desert was unrelenting in its harshness, unashamed of its malice, and unforgiving in its cruelty.

And yet, some thrived.

A roar of the engine preceded the war-truck’s cresting over the summit of a sandy knoll, a towering trail of yellow dust rising behind it. The thrumming of music could be heard from a distance as the craft barreled through the arid wasteland, the driver’s eyes locked upon her target on the distance. It wasn’t long after that the rest of the war party came into sight.

Vehicles of all makes and models, jetbikes, motorcycles, semis, pickups, dune-buggies, pursuit vehicles, and almost every other conceivable craft made up the bandit’s marauder militia; the remnants of what was once Sledge’s Gang were now rallied under a new banner.

The Bandit With No Name clutched her chest as she rode onward, a grim look of determination and hatred on her face. Caret sat beside her, a distant look of worry tainting her usually enthusiastic expression. The few cowards that had advised against the charge into the Town With No Name had died under the hammer of their previous leader, and those that remained seemed all but too enthusiastic about joining her in the violent crusade. Nothing would stop her. Nothing could dim the spark that had been lit when Sinestro drew first blood.

“Why are you doing this?” Caret finally blurted. “Listen, I’m glad that you found me a bunch of cool stuff at your base, and became the leader of a huge gang by murdering their old boss or whatever the fuck happened back there, but this is totally crazy! What does this have to do with anything?!”

The bandit sat for a long time, holding the wheel with one hand as they raged through the barrens. “It’s just something I’ve got to do,” she said flatly after the lingering pause had finally worn itself out.

Crossing her arms, Caret threw herself back in her seat with a huff. “Sure. Ok,” she said, clearly unconvinced. She crossed her legs and peered out the window, her foot bobbing in agitation as she watched the world blow by. Her silence didn’t last long. “You’re just committing suicide!” the girl screamed, slamming her hands on the dash. “You tried to do it when you fought that guy the first time, and now you’re just doing it again!”

“Don’t talk such bullshit,” the bandit spat in irritation. “I’m trying to right the wrong that shithead Prime made against us. Show him what you don’t mess with us.” Another silence gestated in the cab, both glaring out their respective windows.

Caret’s fingers tapped on the dash in front of her anxiously, “Roland isn’t some pushover. He’s not just gonna let us take that town.”

The bandit grinned. “Nah, he won’t, but this time he’s not gonna have a choice. This time we got something special for him.” She thrust her thumb to the massive convoy that followed, the wild revving and swerving of their vehicles taking up most of the valley. “Even Roland can’t fuck with those numbers.”

“Well what about the other Primes? What about the one you fought in the first place, huh? What if there are more there?” Caret’s face had become red, her body tense and her thin fingers were clenched in frustration and anxiety.

The bandit shook her head. “If I can put that one guy down on my own, we don’t gotta worry about him. Any of the others? Well, they’ll learn quick not to fuck with us.” She slunk into her seat with a self-satisfied smile, “They’ll learn that just because they’re Primes doesn’t mean they can put us down.”

Pushing her hair back, Caret sighed heavily. “Listen, I’m here for the adventure, but if this gets any more crazy, I’m out”

The bandit’s eyebrows knit and a maniacal laughter erupted out of her mouth, “I’ll let you know when take off, kid.”

-----

“Up here, Sherrif!” the man waved from the top of the roof, pointing and shouting at the distance beyond the Town. “Coem up, quick! There’s something you gotta see!”

Roland moved up the ladder quickly and took the binoculars from the lookout, putting them up to his eyes. The distant thunder and the wall of dust was headed by the familiar silhouette of a truck he had seen a few weeks ago. It seemed she had more friends than he had anticipated, too.

“She doesn’t die as easy as I thought,” the sheriff said bleakly. “Sound the alarms! Everyone is either inside or carrying a weapon!”

[Illidan Stormrage]

Continued from here.

Orion hadn't spent long in Carrefore. Nothing tried to keep him there.

There was an energy to the place that reminded him of old times. As he walked through the town, eyes gawking at him, perhaps due to the bloodied arrow wound in his shoulder, he remembered those old, desolate streets of planet Vegeta. He spotted rigid parades of men armoured in sheer, molded white, laser rifles cuddled into their arms like a newborn infant, and remembered the changeling guards that wandered around his planet, harbouring malicious thoughts, looking for an excuse to 'lawfully' put a round between his and his kins' eyes. There were far fewer guards here than in his past, but the atmosphere was the same.

The message was clear; you are free, but you are being watched.

Orion stumbled into the bar, seemingly the only place of any interest in the dust blown shithole. A few unsavoury folk gave him a narrow eyed inspection as he entered, his shadow miring the thick shaft of light that splashed into the saloon floor. He could tell he wouldn't get many answers here, if only by the virtue of these peoples' apparent temperaments. Orion shot back cold, prickly stares and walked up to the bar.

The man that served him rinsed a dirty glass with an even dirtier cloth, his hand unendingly polishing the same three centimetres as his eyes fixated on the saiyan.

"Barkeep," Orion rasped, throat hoarse from his battle. "What do you know of Omni?"

The barkeeper shrugged nonchalantly and scratched at his hook nose. "I only talk to payin' customers."

Orion humphed. A drink wouldn't go astray. "Beer."

The barkeeper disappeared below and returned with a lukewarm bottle. He left Orion to pop the lid. "Two omnilium."

Omnilium. Orion remembered what Omni had said about the substance. As far as he was concerned, the barkeeper could have it all.

A few moments later, Orion handed a marble sized orb flashing with rainbow hues. "This enough?"

The barkeeper took it away. "What do you want to know?"

Orion took a swig of the beer. Warm, bland, flavourless, but it had a hell of a kick. "Omni. I want directions."

"Omni?" the barkeeper said, resuming his pointless glass polishing exercise. "You wanna see Omni? You stupid or something?"

Orion felt a stab of heat in his chest. Fight it back. "I paid you your damn money and I'm drinking this warm piss. Now tell me how I find Omni."

"You don't find Omni, moron," the barkeeper responded, spitting on the ground. "And I don't much like having my establishment insulted." He pointed emphatically at the door. "Get out!"

Orion blinked, and his chest went cold. An image flashed over the barkeeper as he gestured. Red tinged, the gnarled and angry expression of Heral, his white hair matted with blood. For a split second, he heard the mumbled rumblings of bombs, and the ground shook beneath him.

"Get out!"

"H-Heral?" Orion whispered, and fell onto his backside from the tremors. His beer smashed onto the ground, and Heral vanished. The echoes of war melted away, as did the pale red colour that moments ago covered everything. Only the barkeeper gazed back at him over the bar. Someone behind him laughed, a wheezing and choking sound.

"I told you to get out!"

Orion left Carrefore, following the signs that led him back onto the traveller's path. He looked at his clawed hands as he walked, unable to comprehend what happened to him. Why did he see Heral? Did he just have a flashback? A hallucination? Surely not. It couldn't be ... No. He was a saiyan. The heat and dehydration had claimed his sanity for a second there. That's all.

The sun had not abated one iota during his stay in Carrefore. The grasslands thinned out and gave way to glistening hills of sand. Heat rolled off the dunes in wavy, distorting plumes. Not a single cloud dared interfere with the sun's zealous mission of scorching the earth and those on it. The winds, allied with the sun, sent a warm, joyless breeze across his sizzling skin, probing his wound. He wished he had the presence of mind to have at least washed off the dried blood while in the bar. Orion licked his chapped lips with a dried tongue and yearned for that rocket fuel the barkeeper called a beer, now spilt over the ground.

But there was nothing for him in Carrefore. All that mattered was Omni. If he couldn't find the information he craved there, he would find it somewhere else. Someone had to know something about that mischievous, mocking bastard.

After what seemed like an age, shimmering, dancing apparitions of buildings appeared on the horizon. As he grew closer, he realised he was approaching another town. His hopes lifted. If nothing else, it was a chance to rest, refuel and clean up his wound.

Orion instantly felt more comfortable in this town that held no sign at its entrance to announce its name. The lack of white clad soldiers governing the streets was keenly acute to the saiyan. The town was bigger than Carrefore, perhaps a little more civilised, but they were by no means leagues apart. Orion wondered why the presence of the law didn't reach out this far. What did Carrefore have that this town didn't?

Bah. It matters little. Some rest and a drink. That is my mission.

The saiyan warrior found the closest bar and wandered in. It was smaller and less decorative than Carrefore's, but didn't have concerns about clientele. A few people spun tales at the tables, suds lifted to their lips between turns. A small crowd gathered around an apparently exciting game of darts. As Orion reached the bar, hands splayed on the counter, a few more individuals leaked in, taking off khaki cloaks and shaking the sand from the grooves. This town was looking more lively than Carrefore already.

"What'll ya have?" the proprietor asked, chewing absently and scratching at his thick, wiry beard. His eyes fell upon the dark, dried blood that festooned Orion's arm but said nothing, ostensibly unperturbed by it.

"Beer," Orion said in a voice like sandpaper.

The barman obliged after Orion provided the omnilium. He upended the bottle and drained the drink in seconds, fast enough for the beer to ignore his taste buds on the way down. Slamming the empty container back on the counter, he motioned for another. As the proprietor fetched the next, Orion spied the restrooms against the far wall. "Hold it for me. I'll be right back."

Orion started for the men's room. A man dressed in baggy, colourless clothes waited outside the woman's room, and gave him a head nod upon eye contact. Orion returned the gesture.

The women's toilet door swung open. A woman stepped out, and Orion's blood iced in his veins.

That short, brown bob that curled beneath her ears. Those stunning, wide blue eyes. That delicate, crafted nose. Lips slivers of pale pink above a rounded chin.

His breath stilled in his lungs. Everything was suddenly filtered through pale red.

She was in his arms. Looked at him with bright, glistening eyes. A mixture of fear, the fear of the unknown, and love. No matter the situation, always love.

Her lips, stained with blood, moved in tiny motions, but no sound came out. She blinked, and tears rolled down the sides of her face

Orion's hand pressed feverishly down on the wound above her swollen belly. He looked at his pale pink hands, fingers a deep and foreboding red. Her delicate but sure hand reached his and her fingers intertwined with his. He barely heard her words over the screaming, explosions and his own thundering pulse.

"We'll be together ... soon ... again ..."

Her eyes still stared lovingly into his, but the light in them went out.

"... I said, do you have a problem, buddy?"

Orion blinked. He was back in the bar. His chest felt pulverised, as if his ribs had broken and speared their sharp ends into him. He let out the breath he didn't know he was holding, and inhaled deeply again. "Yes."

"Then stop looking at my woman like that!" he returned and took his partner's hand, dragging her to the door and outside.

Orion stood, numb. He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping to see the woman with the stunning eyes, but she and her boyfriend were gone. He ordered his mind into the moment and walked into the bathroom.

He reached the sink, grimy from months of neglect, plunked the stopper into the drain, and turned the rusted tap. Pale brown water poured forth, pooling in the chipped porcelain. Orion dunked his hands in and splashed water over his face. He scooped water out of the sink in a cupped hand and applied it to his wound, rubbing and loosening the blood on his shoulder.

What the hell was happening to him? Why was he seeing visions of things past? He grit his teeth as his fingers accidentally struck the damaged flesh and he shouted; not in pain, but frustration. He didn't understand one bit. It had been hot outside, but surely the sun hadn't baked his brain that fast. This had never happened to him before. At least, not on this level. Not this intense, and certainly not during waking hours.

Orion splashed the cool water onto his face and rubbed at his eye. Calm down. Just ... calm down.

It didn't help. He couldn't just calm down. Orion rarely got this agitated, and when he did, it was for good reason. No number of self strengthening platitudes would settle him.

He took his hands from his face. They were trembling.

But he didn't want to face what he knew to be true.

Orion looked into the mirror, covered in smudges and dried spittle. Enough clear space remained for him to see his face. He stared bitterly at the saiyan that stared back.

Look at me. Old, purposeless, alone ... and with a fucking computer in my brain!

Orion grimaced, breathing fast and shallow. His vision settled upon his eyepatch. A tightness gripped his throat, making it impossible to swallow, and squeezed all the way down into his stomach. His fingers leapt to his eyepatch. With a single, furious motion, he ripped it off, pulling at the hair that caught beneath the band.

A perfect red circle stared back at him.

Orion's face went blank as the mirror went pale red, drowning out his reflection. "No. No!"

Too much. Too much flashed through the mirror as he gazed wide eyed, mouth slack, unable to tear away. Explosions toppling buildings, sending out airborne shards of glass. Fires devastating the forest, and crawling hungrily over the grass. Screams of the defenseless drowned out beneath the crackling of ki and the horrid, thunderous crumbling of concrete and steel. Black, oozing sludge walked on two feet, falling upon a fleeing civilian, and completely consuming her body in a matter of seconds.

He climbed back to his feet, forcing his ki to the surface, but it struck again. A searing, grating static suffocated his mind, and he fell to hands and knees, unable to think beyond breathing. It stopped again, but gods knew how long he was down for. He jumped back to his feet, but the enormity of the situation finally collapsed upon him. The rumbling that claimed the earth resonated from the stampede of soldiers that charged towards him.

He turned, and saw the buildings ablaze, the corpses strewn across the fields, the once untainted lake clouded with blood, and knew his fate. It would be here. He would not run. A blinding purpose and rage suffused him. He would go down fighting.

A ball of energy pulsed to life in his hands, shimmering with an otherworldly light, and he hurled it into the sky as high as he could. Clenching his fist, the ball expanded threefold, and he stared at it with his lone eye, knowing these were his last moments as a saiyan ...

"Nooooo!"

Orion roared until his throat became raw and strained. The pale red still bled into the mirror. Cocking a fist, he slammed his knuckles into the glass. It fractured in twenty different angles, and the shards fell noisily into the sink, still running with water.

He was a saiyan! Saiyans were warriors, fighters to the death! They didn't suffer from flashbacks, or become entangled in paltry emotion!

Then why did he feel like he was seconds away from cracking? From falling and sobbing like some stupid wretched weakling?

A flood of rage spilled through Orion's mind and washed away any concept of restraint. He dropped to his knees, arched his back, and bellowed at the ceiling at the top of his lungs.

He had to fight. He had to kill. He didn't care what. His heritage demanded it.

Orion exploded out of the men's room. The bartender looked at him with a frown, Orion's beer beaded with condensation on the counter.

"What was all that fuckin' noise in there?" he said, scratching his beard.

Without a word, eye almost hidden by his slanted brow, Orion rose an open palm at the bartender and fired.

The explosion doused the room in smoke and flame. The majority of the customers stormed out the door the minute they saw Orion shifting his hand to face them. Only three were still inside, scrambling for the exit, when Orion fired again.

Orion ground his teeth together, feeling no satisfaction nor release at the dead bodies, the smoking tables, the splintered glass. It wasn't enough. Shooting fish in a barrel wasn't the same thing as fishing for a shark.

Bursting out of the bar, Orion's head snapped back and forth, looking for a new, appropriate outlet for his blood lust. People on the street stared at him, wide eyed. Hands vanished beneath vests or pockets, cradling something unseen, in case they were needed. They were nothing. Paper tigers, ants ... whatever they were, they didn't inspire fear, nor provide a challenge.

On the horizon, a plume of sand and dust rose high into the sky. Orion rushed to the edge of town. An entire cavalcade of vehicles charged across the vast desert, of all makes, models and description. They were heading straight for this little town with no name. Bandits.

Orion laughed cruelly, sadistically. A ball of ki birthed in his open palm, glowing with an otherworldly light. He tossed it into the clear blue sky, and he waited until it travelled high enough.

He threw an open hand towards the ball of ki and clenched his fingers. "Burst open and mix!"

The ball suddenly expanded threefold. Everyone in town gazed at the new star shining in the sky, but none with the fervour of Orion.

Instantly he could feel the change beginning. He hurriedly unchained his robe and threw it to the ground, lest it shred. He arched his head as his tail writhed from side to side. Muscles twitched as they were fed new power, solidifying and growing. Orion hunched over as fur sprouted along his forearms and neck, sparse at first, then bursting out in full, thick bristles. He continued to grow, his body casting shadows over the buildings of the town. His nose stretched gradually into a snout, fangs sliding menacingly out from his lips. His single organic eye turned blood red, the same hue as the circular robotic sensor in place of his left. His black chest armour, mustard pants and navy boots had miraculously stretched with his transformation.

In mere moments, a six foot saiyan was gone, and in his place stood a fifty foot tall ape, bellowing in a guttural cry that made the windows shudder. The mighty Oozaru was unleashed upon the Omniverse.

Orion reined in his instincts long enough to redirect his attention at the approaching bandits, and then sunk deep into the depths of the animalistic fury of his bestial form.

No more thinking, no more memories ... only battle ...

[Dean Winchester]

When they had left Carrefore after a few drinks Dean was feeling pretty damn good, he had done the job he had set out to do! That Reaper bitch learned the hard way that you do NOT fuck with Dean Winchester, and soon the rest of this wasteland would come to learn the same damn thing. His hunting partner had even commented on his mood, to which Dean just flashed his teeth in a smile and slid across the hood of his car to the driver side and opened the door to get in.

Since then though Dean had started to feel a change in his mood, flashes of her face kept popping up. Her words at the end, the look on her face at the end. It was bothering the Winchester but he was not going to admit that, not now. Instead he reached into the box of tapes and took out a random one and popped it into the tape player and let the music just play.

Never made it as a wise man
I couldn't cut it as a poor man stealing

NO NO NO NO NO! Dean ejected the tape immediately, wondering who the hell had slipped this into the mix. Reading the label all he saw was the following;

'HA! Got you Dean! -Sam'

This brought back memories of one of their many prank wars that they had on the road, things they did to pass time. They always escalated so fast though, Dean had almost kicked Sam out of the Impala for this one. You do NOT mess with a mans tunes!

All those memories sprung back to the surface, and mixed in with them was the Reaper's face and all her taunting words. Dean yelled and cursed and slammed on the breaks before flinging open the door to his car and storming out of it. He threw the tape to the ground and did his best to stomp it into oblivion with the heel of his boot. He was still doing this when a voice called to him through the rage.

”Dean, my friend, are you ok?” Dean snarled and looked up at Sinestro before quickly snapping at the deputy.

“YES!” Dean was still bearing his teeth at the deputy before he realized what he was doing and forced himself to calm down a tad. “No. Maybe... I don't fucking know.”

”I have been with you long enough to be able to read your emotions Dean Winchester, at least the limited ones you allow yourself to show, and I can see something is bothering you.” Sinestros' words were enough to send Dean into a rant.

“That FUCKING REAPER!” Dean yelled the last two words as loud as he could. “We killed her! We fucking won! IT. FELT. GREAT! I wanted to do it again, but slower! I wanted her to feel every cut and slice. It was bliss, but then at the end there, the way she looked at me? It was like... well.”

Dean trailed off a bit trying to think of the right words.

”Like even though you killed her she still won?” Dean opened his mouth to tell the ex-lantern EXACTLY where to go, but then thought better of it and snapped his mouth shut and just nodded. ”Perhaps there is still some humanity left in you, fading slowly as it is but still there.”

Dean thought about it for a bit and then went back to boot stomping the tape. Sinestro was about to inquire about exactly what Dean was doing when an explosion in the distance caught their attention, followed by a large flash in the sky which resulted in a new sun or something like that. The two just looked at each other and then scrambled up a dune to see what the hell was going on.

All Dean could make out was a column of people and vehicles heading into the town, fire and smoke in the town, and what seemed to be some sort of giant monkey monster. Looking over he saw Sinestro looking through some binos, the man seemingly focused on the column of vehicles and such. The look on Sinestros face was of worry, the one on Deans' was excitement!

”I get to kill a giant monkey monster!” His words seemed to snap Sinestro out of whatever funk he was in as the deputy looked at Dean and shook his head.

”That 'monster' is attacking bandits who are trying to enter the city.” Sinestro thought about this for a moment and then seemed to get some sort of idea because he raised an eyebrow and looked at Dean. ”Let's not attack a potential ally shall we?”

Dean looked upset, then angry, and then finally something that basically resembled sulking. Angry sulking, but sulking none the less.

”Listen, I will deal with the giant monkey and the bandits at the gate.” Sinestro looked at Dean and then pointed to the burning town. “YOU deal with them.”

Dean caught Sinestros meaning and just grinned. Without a word he turned back towards their respective rides and slid down the dune. He heard Sinestro calling back to him.

“When this is done we should meet up, I have something I wish to talk to you about!” Dean just waved at him over his shoulder as he headed towards his ride.

”You know where to find me!” Getting into the Impala he started the engine and once the tires caught on the sand he slowly pressed down till the vehicle was at top speed. Spinning the wheel he did a few donuts before righting himself and heading towards the town with no name, to the OPPOSITE side then where the large column was.

Sure he was basically going to play clean up, but this meant he had an entire TOWN to hunt in.


.......

Three battered bandits ran through the streets of the town, looking frantically for anything that could be used as cover. They were battered, bruised, and scared shitless of that giant thing that had attacked their column. Whatever it was they had no desire to fight it and so they took off into town, dozens of them, scattering in every direction.

Finally one of them pointed to exactly what they needed! A black vehicle sat there with no driver in sight, all they had to do was get in and use the damn thing for escape! When they got close enough the dove towards the vehicle and crouched low as the lead of the group tried the door handle. It was locked, just their luck. He was going to have to break a window and hot wire the damn thing, it was that or keep going on foot and praying that the monster didn't catch up with them. He was about to rise up when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“What?!” His friend pulled him down and turned his head to have a closer look at the car in question. This black beauty seemed to be covered in dents, bullet holes, and a hell of a lot of blood. Come to think of it the dirt under their feet seemed to be a bit squishy too. Looking down his jaw dropped open as there was a trail of blood leading from their spot to the other side of the car. Rising up he peeked over the hood to see a gore covered man not too far off, who was holding one of their friends in his hand and stabbing him. Repeatedly. They ducked back down and prayed to whatever deity was out there that the man had not seen them.

Unfortunately for them, Dean Winchester had spotted them.

”OLLY OLLY OXEN FREE!” Dean shouted at them as he broke out into a run, causing them to get up in a panic while bumping into each other.

Dean jumped up and used the hood of the Impala as a spring board and tackled one of them, the one who had originally poked his head over the hood, and pinned him to the ground.

”Let's see what's on your mind!” Dean said with a mischievous grin. As the man opened his mouth to answer Dean thrust the first blade into it, feeling that euphoric rush he got every time he stated the marks lust for blood, causing the mans words to be cut off. Cut off, that was a good one! Pulling the first blade out, Dean watched as it caught on one side of the mans' jaw and almost tore it off. This caused Dean to almost giggle.”Nothing too Important I guess!”

Dean heard the sound of gun fire as a bullet pierced his chest. Looking up he saw the other two standing there, one holding a gun at him while the other stood behind him shaking in his boots. Dean sighed and got up and slowly marched over. He saw the man cock the hammer on his revolver and pull the trigger again. Click.

”OOoooo, bad luck there pal!” Dean grabbed the man by the shirt and picked him up with a grin. Without a word Dean stabbed the man in the gut and twisted the blade around slowly. His eyes flashed black and he turned to look at the mans' friend and showed him his teeth. ”You stay there, I will have plenty of time for you next.”

The man of course did not listen to Dean, they never do it would seem, and took off running. Dean was about to drop his current pray and chase after him when the sound of more gun fire stopped him. The sharp pain in his shoulder that followed also helped to give him pause. Turning Dean saw a man holding a rusty revolver who was looking at Dean, then the man who was running, then back to Dean again.

”S..S...Sorry!” The man stammered before pointing his gun at the retreating bandit. ”I missed!”

Dean tore the first blade out of the now dead bandit, paused, then stabbed him again quickly before tossing the corpse to the ground. Marching over to the townsfolk Dean grabbed the one that had shot him by the shirt and lifted him off the ground. Dean stared at the man, though when the guy looked back at Dean all he saw were endless black voids where eyes once where. Dean wasn't sure if it was his eyes or the fact that he was covered in head to toe in bandit blood and bits, but the man dropped his revolver then did something the Winchester could only assume he hadn't done since the guy was a kid. He pissed his pants.

Dean sneered at it and then looked at the man with contempt.

”I'm not going to kill you, but next time AIM BETTER!” As he shouted the last few words Dean tossed the man through a near by window and smiled at the sound of shattering glass, and then laughed at the groans that had accompanied it. Hey, he didn't kill the guy so the Deputy couldn't say shit to him! Turning around Dean called back in the direction that the bandit had fled in.

“HEY! Come back!” Dean grinned his sadistic little grin again before starting to run. ”I only want to talk!”

[Thaal Sinestro]

“Alright,” the deputy said calmly, patting his mount on the neck, “once more into the fray.” The camel grunted loudly and kicked at the ground, sand tossing up. He drew his rifle and flipped it over, pulling bullets from his bandoleer and pushing them through the gate on the side. When it was full, he nodded to himself, pulled his hat down, and kicked the beast’s flanks.

Riding into the swirling chaos, a cloud of dust and grit washed over him, and visibility became scarce. Shadows lurched at the periphery of his vision, the echo of gunfire and screams seeming somehow distant as he drove himself further into the madness of the battle.

A bald-headed maniac sprinted in front of the lawbringer, a burning Molotov Cocktail in her hand and a wild grin on her face. She wound up to throw the bottle when Sinestro quickly fired, the glass exploding and a burst of fire and gasoline quickly consumed her. She screamed in a panic as the deputy continued to ride onward, his eyes locked on the titanic ape that rose above the battlefield.

The monstrous, cybernetic ape stomped around furiously, firing massive blasts of energy from its fanged maw. Explosions erupted as the beast’s blasts ignited one of their vehicles, and most of the oncoming assault had completely changed their path to avoid the creature. Still it raged on, scooping up one of the fighters, ripping them in half and hurling their still-screaming torso at one of their comrades. The legs were disdainfully spiked into the ground as the monster lifted one of its gigantic feet and brought it down on top of the wrecked buggy it had so recently destroyed.

Whatever the hell it was, it was pointed in the right direction and Sinestro wasn’t going to get in its way. Instead, he redirected himself towards the routed forces, hoping to head them off and possibly create a solid line of defense.

The camel cut through the streets of the town, the wild panic of the population was apparent as people ran from their homes in terror. Some popped off un-aimed shots at the invaders as they fled, but even the militia of the city seemed wildly underprepared and unwilling to fight.

Sneering in frustration and disgust, the deputy lifted his rifle to his cheek and began firing at the ghouls that had taken the avenue, guiding the camel with his knees. They fell quickly and a torrent of unarmed civilians rushed away from the scene, shepherded by the few who actually carried weapons. Sinestro tilted his weapon up and held out shouted out, “Where do you think you’re going?”

Some of the confused people turned back, though everyone ignored him until he fired into a nearby street lamp. “I said, where are you going?!” he barked, his mustache curling as his features distorted in anger.

“We’re leading these people to safety!” one of the women said, brandishing her six shooter over her head with a steam-powered prosthetic arm. “We can’t just stay in the streets like this, its madness out here!”

“The best chance these people have is if we rally an effective defense,” the red-skinned man said calmly. “We need every gun we can get on the western side of town, along the rooftops and setting up barricades! We need choke points. If we don’t stop them from getting in, they’ll overwhelm us and pick every single one of you off, one by one.”

The woman stopped, glancing back and forth nervously. “Where the hell is Roland?” she demanded, as if it was an excuse to ignore Sinestro’s words.

“I don’t know, and right now it doesn’t matter.” His eyes became dower, and his face fell into a scowl. “It’s far too late to run, now. Rally everyone you can or I can promise you that you will die here, along with everyone you know.”

“And just who the hell are you to be bossing us around like that?” a man shouted from the center of the group, waving his arms around. “It’s not safe out here!”

Sinestro overturned the fabric of his poncho, revealing the golden star that was pinned on his chest. “I’m the law, stranger, and not one to be questioned much more that you already have.” He gestured with the butt of his rifle, reeled his camel and turned towards the oncoming wave of attackers. “Now get moving before I get shooting.”

Reluctantly, a few of the denizens steeled themselves and followed after him, clutching their feeble weapons tightly. Moving through the streets, Sinestro shouted commands at those few who would dare to bear arms, rallying scarce few more that were willing to stop running away and mount a defense. They scurried up to the tops of the buildings, taking cover in their height as they began to fire. A few others began were convinced to throw the contents of the local shops and houses into makeshift barricades, the haphazardly stack chairs and tables more capable of slowing a vehicle rather than stopping it.

All the while, attackers trickled in, flurries of frantic gunfire popping off from the nervously stalwart line of defenders. It wasn’t until a droid marched forward, its copper plating glinting in the sun and cruel yellow eyes glowing, that anything had made it past the hastily assembled defensive force.

“We got an HK!” one of the men shouted from the rooftops, moments before a bright red beam of blaster fire penetrated his chest and he fell to the ground, striking with a plume of dirt.

Terror once again ran through the ranks, several of the small force simply turning to run while the others abandoned their attack on the upcoming force and chose to focus their fire on the robot. The machine walked almost proudly through the road, blasting with amazing accuracy through the stucco and wooden rooftops, not wasting a second shot before he moved to the next target.

“Maintain your sectors of fire!” Sinestro shouted, again forced to shoulder his weapon. His call went unheeded, and another of the militia tumbled from their perch. Growling in frustration, the Deputy dismounted his camel, leaving it behind one of the buildings, and crept to the edge of his cover. Peeking around the corner, he spied the HK assassin droid a moment before it spotted him, and was able to duck back as another sizzling bolt of energy tore through the wooden frame.

“Mocking: you can’t hide forever,” the robot stated with a flat monotone that could only belong to a machine.

The lawman looked around frantically for a moment before laying his eyes on a barrel beside the old gun shop and grinned. “Don’t have to,” he muttered to himself, tipped over the cask and rolled it up to the edge of the building. He steadied the drum with his boot while he cocked his rifle, pushed up his hat, and readied himself.

With a deep breath, he kicked out the barrel, giving it a half-second lead before rounded the building with his rifle aimed high. The droid tracked the tottering object for a split second before it snapped back to Sinestro, too late to dodge the bullet that sank itself into the machine’s head. Sputtering a stream of sparks, the robot’s arms flailed around wildly, the blaster in its hand firing with every jerk and pull of its failing circuitry. It stamped forward, whatever semblance of its programming that remained commanding the thing without purpose as it went through its cybernetic death-throes.

“No,” Sinestro muttered as it wandered towards the barrel, the blaster still sporadically firing. “No, no!” he shouted, sprinting into the street, dodging an errant beam. He leapt through the air, tackling the malfunctioning HK droid to the ground, trying desperately to control its arm while it continued to issue shot after shot.

The deputy finally managed to wrest control over the machine’s wrist, but a moment too late. A beam struck the wooden barrel, and the super-heated plasma ignited the keg of gunpowder which erupted with a thunderous blast.

A wave of force washed over Sinestro, ripping him from the ground and carrying him across the dusty streets, terminating his flight with a harsh landing beyond the edge of town. He rolled to a stop, his ears ringing and face burned by the explosion, groaning as he gathered his senses.

He was not given long to recover as the rumble of an engine snapped his attention to the massive grill of a truck plowing towards him. Pushing himself with his arms and legs, he tossed himself from the vehicle’s path, though only by a few inches. Grunting, he rolled to his feet and pushed his dirty and bruised fingers into his mouth, whistling as hard as he could.

His camel rushed out from the relative safety of the town, bursting from the smoke and fire that the gunpowder had left behind. Reaching a hand out, Sinestro snatched the animal’s barding on the shoulder, swinging himself up into his saddle as the creature ran. A hail of bullets fell from the oncoming army of bandits, a few sinking into the animal’s haunches. It whined loudly but continued its sprint without faltering.

Rounding the truck, Sinestro’s eyes went wide when he recognized it. The craft continued onward into the city, easily smashing through the barricade the militia had constructed, swerving to a stop in an intersection. The truck was large, almost the size of a semi, its harsh angles and boxy appearance instantly recognizable. The aggressive steel-bumper, the external fuel reserve, the long, bordered flatbed (which now sported a mounted weapon of some kind), and even the olive drab paint were all identifying markers for the M809, and he knew that only one person could be inside.

[Illidan Stormrage]

Gods, it felt good.

Oozaru Orion opened his maw and bellowed into the empty skies. His mammoth leg lifted up and slammed down on an approaching truck, obliterating it into a twisted, dented wreck. A cluster of rusted motorbikes swerved away, following a parade of vehicles diverting away from Orion and searching for another entrance into the town. Orion cocked a fist and plowed it into the sandy dunes, feeling the frames of the well worn bikes crumple and bend to his immense knuckles. He turned, opened his mouth, and a sizzling beam of ki exploded forth, cutting a burning line of destruction through the approaching vehicles. Standing, he swiveled on one foot and kicked out, scooping up a giant monkey sized handful of targets along the flat of his boot and flung them into the distance.

His thoughts barely broke the surface of his raging instincts. They rumbled quietly and indistinctly, satisfied with the churning waters they submersed into. Being an elite saiyan, Orion had been trained in the art of controlling and suppressing the baser impulses that arose in the Oozaru form, but he had no desire to. The unbridled rage and chaos was simply too cathartic.

The procession of targets made for a plentiful shooting range. Oozaru Orion launched another ki beam from his terrifying jaws. A dome of fire and energy bloomed from the impact, and several charred chassis lay buried in various depths in the sand. The cavalcade of rag tag vehicles had learned swiftly that Orion was to be avoided, and the lines streaming towards the town had changed, looping away from the edge of town that Orion viciously guarded. They weren't out of range of his searing breath though, as another cluster of drivers fatally discovered.

Orion bounded out into the dunes and hurled himself onto the correcting convoy. His boots pounded heavily on the sand, crushing the vehicles he landed on and sending a wave of sand in all directions, like a drop of water falling onto the surface of a still lake. Cars and bikes veered around his massive feet. He snatched two random cars with impressive, sturdy bull bars and peered into the windows. The drivers, stunned at the burning red eyes glaring at them, reached for guns an arm's length from them and opened fire. The tiny pellets stung Orion's muzzle and he roared in angry response, the car windows shattering. With an almighty yell, he drove the fronts of the vehicles together, testing the resilience of their eye catching bull bars. Alas, they crumpled and fused together like a giant metal accordion. Blood and oil leaked onto his fingers.

Orion dropped the mangled wrecks and took another pot shot at the tail of the trailing convoy. As sparse as it was, another couple of cars exploded under the weight of his mouth fired ki blast. The remainder vanished over a dune, heading towards the other side of the town.

Fatigue coursed through his body out of nowhere. Orion grunted. The blood lust frenzy that absorbed his mind absolutely had waned. His Oozaru instincts settled and he found himself back in control. He snorted through his flared nostrils and rumbled back towards the town. Maybe he could find another bar that hadn't been demolished by his fiery temper.

Reaching into the sky, Orion pinched the false moon that hung over the town like an oversized light bulb and snuffed it out. Without the constant refreshment of blutz waves, the changes to his body quickly unravelled. Fur receded back into his body as he shrunk at a fantastic speed. His snout melted away, reforming his regular face. The red left his natural eye and in moments, any sign of an Oozaru in the Endless Dunes was removed.

Orion hurried over to his robe, covered in dirt and boot prints. He groaned and snatched it from the ground, flapping it to release the muck that had accumulated on it, and slipped it back on. Once the gold chain was snapped into place, he looked around and spotted an eyepatch. Likely not the one he threw off in the bar's bathroom, but an eyepatch nontheless. He snapped it over his head, covering his prosthetic eye.

The town was in chaos. Windows of the buildings were smashed, crude barricades constructed of all sorts of random items covered the roads, some in better shape than others, and people ran about screaming. A few bodies were scattered around, resting eternally in a red sheen. What had happened here?

Of course. That convoy that rode for the town weren't just regular people; they were outlaws. The ones that managed to skirt around Orion as an Oozaru slipped in and started a raid. These people weren't ready to defend themselves against these bandits, and while Orion had managed to soften the blow of their invasion, he had failed to take the sting out of it. Strangely, the saiyan warrior felt an invigorated desire to help defend the town. Part of him wondered if it was because of the guilt he felt over destroying the last pub he was in, but the more likely answer was that his saiyan thirst for combat hadn't been sated. It was one thing stomping around as an invincible Oozaru, destroying anything resembling a threat with little effort, but getting his hands dirty and actually working for his satisfaction? Well, it was beyond compare.

Orion looked around, searching for the first outlaw he could pound into red sludge. His ears pricked up as a loud rev snuck on him from behind. He jumped to the side just in time as a horn blared and a shoebox shaped truck came to a sliding stop. Orion rolled on the ground and alighted on his feet, turning back to face the oddly designed vehicle. That thing must have terrible wind resistance.

"Hey!" Orion shouted at the driver, pounding a fist into the other hand. "Get outside. I want to talk."

[Thaal Sinestro]

The deputy rushed back into the town, between the bullet-addled structures and into the crossroads just across from the military vehicle. His eyes narrowed as they met with the driver’s, and he whipped the lever down to cock his rifle. Grinning, the familiar bandit twisted the volume knob on her cassette player, the screaming guitar filling half the city. She revved the engine heavily, the stink of fuel filling the air as the two continued their overwrought stare-down.

Making the first move, the bandit slammed down the pedal, the truck’s wheels spinning furiously before it launched forward down the street past the worn store fronts. Hutting, Sinestro drove his steed forward and began to fire, prodding holes through the windshield of the oncoming juggernaut.

The bandit barely flinched as the glass spidered, cracks crawling outward as more bullets sprayed through it. Caret screamed as one of the bullets cut a deep gash in the woman’s cheek, blood pouring down her face and chin. Still she drove on, none of the determination faded from her eyes. As the glass became impossible to see through, the bandit lifted her rifle, maneuvering it over the wheel, and fired. The windshield erupted in a blast of heat, smoke, and melted glass as the laser beam fired through. Suddenly able to see, the dilapidated pillars of the local General Store consumed her view. The woman swerved hard to right her path and slammed on the breaks, Sinestro riding past and behind her, still cracking off shots as he went.

Slamming her hand down in frustration, the bandit jerked on the wheel, sending the massive craft into a power-slide. With her foot slammed down on the gas, the two rear wheels spun wildly on the dirt road, the wicked oversteer of the truck whipping it around a hundred and eighty degrees, facing the fleeing ungulate and its rider.

A storm of tossed gravel and sand flew down the street as the bandit and her truck ran down the deputy, quickly catching up to him and his ride. Squinting and lifting her head to see out of the hole that blasted wind into her face, she aimed her las rifle with one hand, balancing it on the dashboard. She gazed down the sight with one eye, slowly squeezed the trigger, and grinned with sadistic glee.

With a cry of pain, the tortured beast crumbled into the rocky ground and tossed Sinestro from its back, the saddle and the various satchels splaying out in every direction when it hit the ground. The deputy hit the ground and rolled, transferring as much of the impact into motion as he could, eventually sliding onto his back and shuffling out of the way. The truck didn’t stop, the wounded camel still gurgling in torment when the fat tires rolled over it, ending the creature’s pain in an instant of blood and terror.

Sinestro’s heart unexpectedly jumped as his sole companion in the wastelands was snuffed out, pain both emotional and physical wracking his body. He looked to the animal with some hope that it had survived the impact, but its flattened body lay unmoving, an almost impossible stillness overtaking his loyal companion’s form. Silently, he faced the truth that the animal was dead and there was nothing he could do to bring it back.

Suffering quickly turned to anger as he pulled himself to his feet and grabbed his rifle and hat from the dirt beside him. Slamming a few more rounds into the side of the weapon, he swung the lever and began to fire madly at the bandit’s vehicle, each bullet harmlessly deflecting from its steel exterior.

“Come on!” Sinestro yelled at the swerving military vehicle, “COME ON!” Another series of rounds zinged from the armored truck and he blustered in frustration at the impotence of his weapon.

The behemoth jerked into a turn once again, fishtailing back in his direction. As the truck roared back towards the deputy, his muscles tightened as he prepared himself to leap out of the way. His teeth grit as the vehicle drew closer and closer, his grip on his rifle getting tighter and tighter. Suddenly, the wheels locked with a squealing of the breaks, the craft turning as it slid to a stop, the driver’s side door now facing Sinestro.

He steeled himself in the stagnation of the moment, the air haunted by the sounds of the battle. Seconds ticked by as he stared at the door, a stiff breeze blowing through the street, the brim of his hat wavering as it passed.

The door swung upon and immediately a torrent of fire was exchanged between them. Bullet rebounded from the side of the truck and twanged offer her armor, jerking her back and forth with every hit. Red beams incinerated patches of the road and blew through one of the tall, wooden beams that supported a store front overhang, all while the deputy leapt from cover to cover.

The bandit’s skull-painted face was cold and unfeeling, her movements tactical and calculated. The exchange seemed more of a dance than a fight, flashes and thunder of their weapons giving the ballet a grand score and rhythm to move to. Glass shattered, metal bent, blood ran.

Crouched behind a large, water-filled cask that was set beside a roadhouse, Sinestro frantically fumbled with his bullets and the rifle, carefully peering out from behind his cover. The powerfully-built woman sprinted across the street, taking advantage of his reload to move. She slid into place on the other side of the building, only offering a shot at a sliver of her face and the end of her laser rifle.

The final bullet entered the lever-action, and Sinestro took a deep breath. Exhaling, he stood quickly and turned, his rifle already cracking off a shot by the time he had exited the cover. The bandit fired, and a huge chunk of the barrel exploded, warm water pouring out the corner in a haze of steam and burning wood. Another bullet bit into the bandit’s cover, and another crackling blast of energy screamed wide of the deputy’s head. Shifting slightly, the bandit fired a third volley, hitting the center mass of the barrel which erupted in a blast of planks and hissing water.

Sinestro fell backwards with a heaving breath, feet and hands scrabbling as he tried to regain his footing in the wet, slick mud and stabbing particulate of the barrel. Pushing the advantage, the bandit sprinted from the edge of the building and kicked the remainder of the shattered keg to the side. Sinestro began to pull his mud-soaked gun up, but the woman’s heavy boot slammed it down. With a sneer, she pointed her weapon at his and pulled the trigger, thousands of degrees instantly scorching the ancient lever-action rifle into little more than a mound of melted steel.

“Got any last words, you punk-ass, little man?” the red of her weapon glowed in his face once again. A curled lip and a hateful glare was all that answered her. “Alright, if that’s all you-“

“Bandit!” Caret shouted from across the street, “Look out!”

The woman looked up and saw the sheriff’s figure lifting up his pistol just in time to jerk back. The shot still managed to clip her, ripping off half of her ear and painting the wall with her blood. She reeled back and kicked in the door of the building, leaping into it as another blast from Roland’s powerful revolver sharply glancing off of her armored thigh.

The woman slammed up against the wall beside the door and winced, half of her face covered in the gore of her torn ear. She sucked her teeth and looked around herself, finding a bottle of whiskey below the counter. Carefully kneeling down, she grabbed the bottle and pulled the cork out, spitting it on the ground. Putting the smooth glass to her lips, she drew a long drink from it, the alcohol burning her mouth and throat as she swallowed. The grainy, woody flavor twanged in her mouth sharply, and she couldn’t help but to make a sour face as it made its way down.

“Come now, bandit! Surely ye don’t hold any fear for death, lest ye wouldn’t be scurry’n bout my town!” Roland’s powerful voice boomed, the presence of his anger apparent.

Breathing heavy, the bandit dumped some of the brown liquor over her ragged appendage, stomping her foot as it bit into her bleeding flesh. “I ain’t afraid to die, but I ain’t dumb either!” she shouted back. “That deputy of yours has gone and gotten his ass beat twice, so I’m starting to wonder why you keep him around!”

Roland slowly made his way forward through the town, glancing back and forth as he searched for another threat, but his gun was always pointed at his target. “His sins aren’t your concern, harrier. Come on out and we can share truths as equals, you and I.”

“Equals?” she shouted haughtily, “We ain’t never been equals, you Prime mother fucker!” The bandit ejected the energy clip from the bottom of her weapon, tossing it into her drop pouch, grabbing a fresh one and reloaded. “Your kind has never been an equal to ours!”

“Is that what this is about, then?” Roland asked, pausing behind a large sheet of concrete that supported the water tower. “I cry your pardon for the sins of the one who wronged you, but these people don’t deserve your hate. You have forgotten the face of your father.”

Balling her fists in anger, the bandit took a deep breath, the scent of the whiskey filling her nose. She exhaled, the faint dizziness of the booze finally hitting her and allowing her to temper her rage. “I told you, you stupid fuck, I don’t HAVE a father!”

“Who was it that created you then?” he calmly asked as he scanned the street, slowly fitting together a plan.

“Who the fuck knows,” she said, a hint of pain in her voice, “I just showed up one day, just outside of town, no clothes, no weapons, nothing! All I knew was that I was angry, and that I was smart. Must have been the some extra in some dumbass Prime’s dream, that’s how I see it. He thought a little too hard about me and had an accident in his sleep, made a monster from his dreamland real.” Shaking her head, she put on another smile, “Well now I’m back, but this time I’m not some fucking background filler! I’m not some accident! I’m a nightmare here to put some holes in the dreamer!”

“You won’t get that change, I set my watch and warrant to it,” he replied, his tone now less angry but more firm with conviction. Roland’s eyes narrowed, assured now of his path and the need to destroy the woman. His long coat fluttered as he sprinted from his hide into the street, his revolver held high, waiting for an opportunity to take a shot.

“Caret!” the bandit screamed, and the pink-haired girl rose up from behind the walls that lined the bed of the truck, grasping the handles of the Gatling gun. Roland’s eyes went wide as the spinning barrels rained down a torrent of super-heated plasma all around him, explosions of heat buffeting him as stones and gravel were super-heated to explosive temperatures.

Instantly the gunslinger stumbled to a halt, holding his arm up to his eyes as the searing heat and explosions battered him, just barely able to stagger out of the path of each oncoming bolt of energy. Swearing to himself, he managed to double back on his path and get behind the water tower’s dense stone base.

Stepping out from the door, the bandit held her rifle high and began to lay-down crossfire on the sheriff’s position, forcing him to hunker down as the twin energy weapons tore into the concrete base that he hid behind.

Reaching into her pocket, the bandit retrieved a large, metallic sphere with a large red button on its top. She slung her rifle, stepped into a throwing stance and depressed the button. “I beg pardon, fucko,” she growled and hurled the sphere towards the base of the tower. The heavy item flew sluggishly through the air, the flashing red top beeping madly as it soared. Sinestro had gotten to his feet just in time to try and turn and run, remembering the object from their first encounter.

Roland’s arm swung around the concrete pillar, his dead eyes unblinking, time hanging still. His finger squeezed the trigger, the hammer fell, and the bullet struck the thermal detonator mid-flight.

The explosive erupted mid-air, a torrent of flame and pressure blasting all four of the combatants in opposing directions. The windows of every building on the block shattered as the shockwave blew outward, peeling away weak boards and stripping rusted nails. The bandit was flung back into the door of the sop, the paned glass door crumpling inward and catching her. Smoke and debris filled the air, concealing the fate of Roland or Caret, and Sinestro was nowhere to be seen.

Blinking, the bandit strained to see and tried to banish the ringing from her ears. She shook her head, the tangy, metallic scent of ozone overwhelming every sense but the buzzing numbness of adrenaline. Groaning, she gingerly pulled herself out of the doorframe, shards of glass tinkling as she dragged herself upright.

Looking around, she waited for any sign of a fight and pulled one of her misaligned chunks of armor back into place. “Yeah,” she scoffed when nothing moved, “that’s what I thought.”

A guttural scream cried out and Sinestro charged from the swirling smoke, taking her by surprise. He tackled her at the waist, slamming her back into and through the broken panes of the door frame. As the two combatants hit the floor, he postured up and slammed his open palm into the side of her bloody ear and face, the other arm holding her weapon hand down by the wrist.

“Nightmare!?” he screamed, his blood-spattered face contorted into a ghoulish shape, “You don’t know anything about nightmares!”

The woman’s free arm swung up and impacted his chin, his head wobbling in a haze form the impact. “Jackass,” she said, smearing her own blood over her cheek with the back of her hand. She struck him with another firm punch as she began to sit up, laying him down on the floor. “I’m not gonna argue fucking semantics with you.” She managed to get herself to a standing position after a few wobbling steps and then stepped forward and drove her steel-toed boot into his ribs. “I’m here to kill your dumb ass, not exchange quirky one-liners.”

She looked around the ground and located her rifle, lifting it up. She turned it from side to side, noticing a few sparks crackling from one of the panels. She gave the trigger a test pull, and nothing happened. Shrugging, she threw it to the side and slammed her fist into the opposing palm. “Though, if we’re honest, I do have some good ones.”

Sinestro groaned on the ground, holding his undoubtedly broken rib with his hand. Rolling to his side, he slowly put his hands on the floor and got himself into a kneeling position, the bandit calmly watching over him as he did so. Her white skull had been smeared by sweat and a long streak of blood that originated at her still-leaking half-ear. He recognized the stain and the bullet hole in her shirt, knowing it had come from Roland the last time she had beaten him. Furrowing his brow, he clambered up, finally standing in front of her.

“That’s right, get up and fight,” she said tauntingly, her myriad injuries and bullet wounds going almost unnoticed. She swayed back and forth for a moment, rolling her neck back and forth and allowing her long dreads to sway. Her fists balled up beneath her gauntlets and she brought them up in front of her face. “You got some crazy, alien bullshit kung-fu you’re gonna bring? You got some kinda mind powers or some weak-ass shit to try and fuck with me?” Grinning, she shook her head, “Cause none of that shit is gonna work. I’m gonna win, and I’m gonna beat you to death. I’m gonna beat you to death with my own two hands, and I don’t need a damn thing else.”

Sinestro pulled offer his poncho and threw it to the side, revealing his blood-stained button-up shirt and the golden star that rested on his chest. His hazel eyes glowered as he slowly lifted his hands, a tug of pain forcing him to wince half-way through the movement. “I’ve killed a hundred fighters better than you,” he hissed as his foot slid back into a long stance.

“We’ll see,” she snapped back with a smirk.

A half a beat later, the powerful woman swung her arm in a broad haymaker towards his face, and he brought up he guard to catch it. The blow staggered him and even with the block he was almost thrown off his feet.

Darting forward, he cleared a stiff jab to her chin followed by a heavy cross, his dry knuckles opening her lip up in a small spurt of red. Her head leaned back as a third punch whiffed by, her arms forming up in front of her head. Sinestro stepped over with a powerful straight as she backed up, his knuckles cracking on the metal forearm guards. Sinestro stepped forward with a swinging kick, the bandit shifting her elbow to partially block the strike.

He stepped back from the counter, light on his feet and the woman uncovered, settling back into a strong boxing stance. Sinestro moved forward, but step kept the gulf between them wide, circling around the open area of the store. He gave a bit of chase, tossing out an easily intercepted kick, growing frustrated with the gap between them.

The korugaran charged forward, with a strong right hand, but the bandit suddenly changed her backwards movement forward, stepping into the hook and throwing forward a straight, slamming it into his nose. The man’s charge, her step forward and the strength of the punch mingled into an astoundingly powerful hit, flattening and breaking his nose in one shot. His punch went limp as he legs fell out beneath him, flopping harmlessly off of the side of her head as he crumpled into her.

Woozy, the deputy pushed himself off of the woman’s chest, only to catch another hook to the temple when he was far enough away. The man reeled as the world spun around him, barely able to put a hand out as he hit the floor.

The bandit stepped over him, immediately in the dominant position with her feet on either side of his hips. Grinning, she cracked her bloody knuckles and said, “I would say that was disappointing, but I really didn’t expect much from you.”

She lifted her boot and planted it on his neck, not with enough force to instantly crush his windpipe but as she slowly applied pressure, his breath became more and more labored. “Without your friends, without your little pea shooter, without any tricks or gadgets, do you know what you are?” the woman said softly but assuredly, Thaal’s hands raking on the leather of her footwear. “Nothing. You are nothing.”

Darkness slowly crept into Sinestro’s vision, the sharp treads of her shoe cutting into his skin. The throbbing ache that covered his body slowly began to fade. His fingers grew weaker and slower, his last attempts at survival dying along with his breath.

Still, in his mind, he struggled. He strained, commanding his will to hold on, refusing to relent in his fury or desire to fight. Green flashed in his eyes, the old battles of his sector flashing through his memory. Will, conquering all.

As the light grew dimmer, and his thoughts began to flutter away, something else crept into his mind. Something he had not felt in a long time. Something he had not allowed himself to feel since he had come to this place, ever since he had left that fountain.

Fear.

Terror, true terror slithered through his mind, eroding the will that had allowed him to fight, gnawing at the determination he had used for so long. It devoured him whole, drenching his very essence in the golden light of Fear.

His heart pounded as his adrenaline coursed, his fingers went numb. One last ragged, terrified breath was sucked through his lips. Somewhere, in the distance beyond the blackness, he heard a scream. A scream that grew louder and louder, and soon he realized he recognized the voice.

Sinestro’s eyes snapped open, his irises blaze with yellow light. He throat burned as he roared out a blood-curdling shriek, and his fists balled at his sides. He gripped the fear that coursed through him, pulling it tighter and tighter into his chest until it was all that he could feel. Golden light filled the room, casting looming silhouettes of the bandit against the wall behind him, the scene of his own death staring back at him from the shadow.

Throwing his fist forward, the light congealed around his finger in a single, glowing band of yellow, slowly condensing and solidifying into a single shape.

Yellow flame burst up from inside of Sinestro’s clothing, the flames instantly burning through his clothing, devouring them in in silence and revealing a form-fitting black and yellow uniform beneath. A shimmering aura surrounded him, slowly pushing the bandit’s boot off of his neck and lifting him off of the ground.

A massive beam of yellow shot forth, piercing the roof of the building and crossing the horizon with its brilliance. Silence filled the room.

The bandit slowly removed her foot, staring down with both of her hands at her sides. An opening, just about the size of a bullet, had pierced her chest right through the hole in her shirt where Roland’s bullet had passed through before. She stumbled a few steps back into she hit the wall, blood flowing down the wood and pooling around her feet.

Staring at the injury, she slowly smiled. The smile turned into a grin, and the grin in laughter. Soon, the Bandit With No Name was cackling, red flowing down her shirt and out of her mouth. She looked to the sky, her fingers curled at her side as she howled at the sky.

Her sight fell upon the opening in the roof, the red eye of the sun staring back down at her. She smiled, tears now streaking through the makeup and the blood, letting her vision go white as she felt the cruel heat of the desert one last time.

[Dean Winchester]

Dean was sitting on a porch outside one of the towns buildings, it looked like it might be a bank or something, with his feet resting on a bandit. He was leaning back against a post with his eyes closed, listening to all the fighting going on outside of town. There was gun fire, explosions, roaring, the whole nine yards. He was probably missing an awesome fight, but he had kept himself busy here in town at least. Opening his yes Dean took a look at the scene around him.

There was a lot of red everywhere, some of it was starting to dry to a dirty brown though. The body parts left strewn about the other parts of town are a particularly nice touch, Dean thought to him.

Dean had pretty much kept the few bandits who had got past the battle out front from making it too far into town. He was sure he hadn't gotten all of them, but enough that the townsfolk could mop up what was left. The Winchester brother on the other hand was starting to get thirsty.

“Maybe I should go grab a beer” he muttered out loud before kicking at the bandit under his feet. “What you do think pal?”

The bandit of course did not answer, it was kind of hard to talk when your lungs had been poked full of holes and you were now dead and all. Still Dean gave the respectable amount of time for an answer then just grinned and shrugged.

“I'll take that as a yes then.” Getting up Dean stretched out his arms and then hopped off the porch. “Let's see, I think the bar was... this way!”

Dean started off down the street and turned the corner, bumping into someone who was baking up around it themselves. Dean was about to yell at the guy when the other dude spun around, showing Dean that it wasn't just one guy but a bandit with some woman, and of course he was holding a gun to her head.

“Listen, I don't care. Get out of my way.” Dean's words came out before the bandit could even say anything, which of course caused a bit of confusion in the mans mind. Though apparently the bandit eventually found his tongue again.

“S... Stay back! I'll kill her!” Dean just growled at the man and shook his head.

“Then do it, I don't fucking care.” Dean went to push the man aside and walk past but this just caused the bandit to tense up and press the gun against the womans' temple.

“Oh god! Come on! You aren't going to do it! No you won't, or you already would have.” Dean just glared at the guy then shrugged. “Listen, you either kill her now and then I will kill you, keep wasting my time and then eventually let her go and I still kill you, you just let her go now and I only break a few of your bones, or...”

With a burst of speed Dean Rushed forward, the womans' eyes going wide as a wet and somewhat squishy sound could be heard, before she went limp. Dean ripped the first blade out of her stomach and knocked the lifeless body out of the bandits grasp.

“I kill you both.”

The bandit was in shock, though he didn't last long as he went to point the gun at Dean. With one swipe of the first blade though the offending limb was cut off right off at the wrist. This of course caused the bandit to start screaming before Dean covered his mouth with one hand, the other holding the first blade under the mans throat.

“I have to hand it to you,” Dean said, grinning at the man again, “If it had been anyone else that plan might have worked. A lot of these people care about others and shit like that.”

Dean put pressure on the handle of his blade, lettting it slow slide into the man's throat. Dean could still hear the muffled screams the man was trying to make, which sent a shiver of pleasure down Deans' spine. Once the muffled cries had started to die down Dean pulled the blade out and let the body go crashing to the ground, twitching now and then.

Before he could bask in the scene though a bunch of towns people came rushing around the corner and took a look at the gruesome scene before them.

“Wha... what tha hell happened!?” One of them barked at Dean who just took a casual look around and then shrugged.

“He killed her, I killed him.” Dean glared at them, almost daring them to question him before he spoke again. “Now, one of you better show me the way to the bar, pronto.”

While the others went to tend to the dead woman one of them put up a shaky arm and pointed off in the opposite direction Dean had been going on, this caused Dean to laugh a bit. Figures.

“If you killed her, we are going ta hunt you down Mister.” The words brought Dean back to the here and now and he tilted his head to the side. They were going to kill me? The thought of it made him get really close to the man, in your face uncomfortably close, and just smile.

“If that's the case, you know where to find me.” With that Dean just turned and headed in the direction of the bar. “I need to get a damn beer.”

[Illidan Stormrage]

Orion balled his fists. He did not like being ignored. "Hey! I'm not talking to myself here!"

The box shaped truck kept silent except for its idling engine, its sheer metallic surface glinting in the harsh sunlight. He heard the radio roar to life, though the door didn't move nor did the window unwind. Perhaps the driver thought they were safe inside their fortified vehicle; after all, it had been constructed to withstand small munitions fire, perhaps even stronger attacks than that. Unfortunately, such havens gave overconfidence to their owners. Steel was no match for ki, when applied with enough force and vigour. Yet as Orion was coming to believe, the knowledge of ki manipulation was non-existent; indeed, he theorised that he may be the only practitioner in all of this Omniverse.

For now, it gave him an edge. Without being exposed to ki, he had the element of surprise against many foes. On the other, it robbed him of a gleeful sense of superiority he used to wield in his own world, where fighters believing in their own power would soon cower in terror at Orion's mastery of the craft. In any case, news of the saiyan's finesse and brute force would soon spread throughout the Omniverse, and he would get the notoriety he deserved.

Perhaps it was time to start building the reputation now.

Orion levelled an open palm at the reinforced vehicle, and a pinprick of light spun before it. The light bulged into a sphere, rivulets of power flowing within. It shone brightly against the sand whipped truck exterior and caught in the slivers of glass that lay in a jagged pattern nearby.

"Fine. If you don't want to talk-"

A booming, thrumming foghorn spilled over his warning. Orion turned and saw the dented, ill fitted bull bar of a bus rocketing towards him, sparks skittering from its sagging end. Through the windshield he could see a sadistic, overjoyed grin. Orion spun frantically, throwing his arm over to blast the vehicle, but he was simply too slow. The bull bar crashed into his exposed torso and dug bitterly into his chest and gut, stealing him from his feet. Orion roared and fired his ki blast, his arm jutted out and away from the bus from the impact. The spear of energy screamed upwards and hit the roof of a nearby shack, birthing a scorching fireball that plumed into the air.

Orion grimaced at the dull, rounded steel pressing firmly into his skin, wrapping his hands around the bull bar. The wind whipped at his back, tussling his hair, and tangling his robe amidst the torn and jagged lower section of the bus. He tried pushing himself off but the powerful blow had thieved the air from his lungs, not to mention the raw, dull pain spreading throughout his torso. A lesser creature may have been killed, but not Orion. His thick armour, while the throbbing ache from the crash persisted, had stopped more permanent damage, perhaps even averting his rib cage from imploding. His stomach, however, was unprotected and pulsed with the remembered impact of the thick, maculate bull bar.

Orion spied the driver, still cackling maniacally at his apparent joke. Positioning his weight on his left arm, he struggled against the vehicle's speed to place his feet on the lower rung of the bull bar and aimed his right hand at the driver's stupid, insipid face.

"You picked a terrible opponent to run over," Orion seethed, though the rushing winds drowned out his threat.

The driver seemed to catch on. He pointed ahead, his eyes fixated on something. Orion craned his neck and saw the backside of a building screaming towards him.

"No. No!"

A sharp, slapping blaze of pain consumed his back, splinters of wood stabbing into his skin, and Orion was thrown backwards. He slammed into a table, smashing the entire thing into splinters, and slid across the ground, coming to a stop at the opposite wall.

Time stood still as Orion lay in a haze of agony, coughing as dust settled in his lungs. Streams of light pierced through the building, illuminating the floating specks that drifted through the air. Orion gingerly opened his eye and waited for his vision to focus. The bus, embedded in the wall across from him, smoked from its exposed engine. The bull bar creaked, dinted and smashed, and detached from the bus, its fall booming through the empty building.

Orion couldn't see a body slumped over the wheel, but the assumption had to be accurate. That driver must have killed himself from that crash. What was he thinking? Had he simply got caught up in the madness of the raid and taken things too far? Or was he trying to protect that other vehicle, the one Orion almost tore a hole through? Well, no sense questioning it now. Dead men tell no tales.

Orion struggled into a sitting position and threw off a plank of wood that rested on his chest. Propping himself on an arm, he looked around. Another bar. Destroyed, but much of the damage was dealt before the bus created a new doorway. Glass panes had been shot out, and several serrated gin bottles sat menacingly on the racks that hadn't fallen to the ground. Bullet holes riddled the front of the bar. The scent of dirt, blood and spirits swelled in the stuffy air.

The saiyan warrior threw himself forward, stopping himself on hands and knees. Slowly he pushed himself on one knee and grimaced as a wave of pain rolled through his back. When it subsided, he groaned and heaved himself onto both feet. His ribs burned. Outside, he could hear the screams of terrified townsfolk and the throaty bangs of rifles intermixed with occasional excited hollers. The bandits had this town, despite the blow Orion had dealt to their forces.

He had no attachment to this town, but the bandits wouldn't spare him. It wouldn't be safe until he cleared them out, nor was it an option for him to run. He probed his side with a finger and instantly regretted the inspection. He was in no position to travel, especially in an already hazardous environment. Not to mention that one wrong turn would send him into an eternal desert.

"Hey!" a muffled voice shouted. "Over here! I found a door!"

Orion grimaced. Looters. He didn't expect to be found so quickly. With a little time, maybe he could have healed a little, at least worked out a plan of attack. But no, once again he had to think on his feet to survive. Thankfully, he'd had plenty of experience.

A thud resonated weakly from outside and the door vibrated.

"It's stuck!"

"Kick it harder, you soft cock!"

A groan accompanied the next attempt, and the top hinge of the door cracked free of the door frame.

"That's it! One more!"

The door moaned and teetered over, disturbing the dust and grit on the ground. A dishevelled, scrawny thug wandered in, hungry eyes crawling over the bar. Another, slightly more solid associate of the first followed, pistol in hand. The bus driver. How the hell did he survive that impact? He looked over his shoulder, back out into the wild streets. The chaos outside drizzled in unfiltered now; it sounded like a warzone out there.

"Keep a look out, would ya?" he said to someone out of Orion's view. "We don't need no competition."

"You might find more than you bargained for in here," Orion said. They were bound to see him eventually; might as well give them a shock beforehand.

The first bandit jolted. His wide eyes found Orion. "Well, what do we have here?"

"Ah, so he lived," the bus driver purred, spinning the pistol in his grip. "I was hoping we could rob his corpse, though I thought it would've been more smashed up than that."

The first bandit laughed. "Who says we can't make him a corpse?"

Orion frowned. Blasted cocky miscreants. His injuries still flared, but fast, powerful movements should still work. Even if his body did hurt like a bitch afterwards, it was smarter than extending their fight further than it needed to go.

"It's a pity," Orion remarked. "A better informed thug would turn tail and run from a saiyan."

The first thug grinned menacingly. "A saiyan? Am I supposed to be scared of-"

Orion's body faded away as he pushed himself to the utmost limit of his speed, leaving behind a mirage of his body. In a split second, he was behind the first thug, hands crushing either side of his face. The bus driver took a step back, but quickly composed himself and aimed his pistol.

"Now do you understand?" Orion whispered, and twisted the thug's neck rigidly to the side. A loud, sickening crack echoed in the dusty bar, and the thug went limp. Orion dropped the dead body to the ground.

The pistol fired, but Orion was prepared. The bullet screamed through the air and hit Orion dead on, but the bus driver's eyes widened as the projectile passed right through the rapidly dissolving image. The saiyan warrior reappeared above him, his back against the roof. The bus driver looked frantically left and right for him, but obviously didn't acknowledge the possibility of his foe being able to fly.

"Come out!" the thug yelled. "Stop being a pussy and take your medicine!"

Orion let the energy in his core swirl about, generating a pressure system of ki flowing about him. He thrust his hand out and shouted, to which the thug looked straight up, face showcasing his astonishment. The saiyan's kiai burst forward, an invisible bolt of energy rippling the air, and slammed into the thug, awkwardly forcing his body to crash into the ground. Orion instantly fell upon the downed bus driver, driving both knees into his gut. The thug opened his mouth wide, eyes bulging, but no sound came out but a wet gurgling.

Orion's hand seized the thug's neck and fingers burrowed into the skin. "You hit me with a damn bus. You were lucky I wasn't paying attention, or that incident would have ended very differently."

The thug clawed at Orion's iron clad grip, fingernails raking at the backs of his fingerless gauntlets to no effect.

"You vermin ... why do you think having a gun and acting like a self entitled child makes you a rebel? You're nothing but gutter trash, the refuse of your species' genes, clogging up society. I squashed and burned your kind but you still managed to sneak in like filthy cockroaches." Orion involuntarily tightened his choke hold. Perhaps his anger hadn't fully subsided after all. "Too bad that someone like me had to come along. Send my regards to the devil."

The thug whimpered weakly as the last of his life petered out, his shaky body going still, his reddened eyes dulling. Orion pushed off the weakling and stamped on his gun, smashing it. Pitiful tools of the cowardly and useless. How many more pathetic fools would he have to silence before this ridiculous raid would be over?

Another man looked in the door, ostensibly the lookout. "Hey, I heard noise in here-"

Orion through his full weight behind his punch and floored the thug in a single hit. He released his grip on his rifle and clutched at his nose, red streams running down his face. He seemed to be in a spot of agony. Best to put him out of it as soon as possible.

Orion drove his heel into the man's throat and the struggle ended as quickly as it began.

The saiyan took a breath and the breadth and depth of his injuries bore through. He grimaced, holding his side where the pain blossomed anew. His back ached, a stabbing sensation attacked his neck and shoulders, and various bruises throughout his arms and legs made themselves known. Nothing that would stop him being combat ready, except perhaps the constant niggling in his ribs, but definitely distracting. A fast movement or overextension could see him leave himself wide open. He had to be careful.

Orion gazed out into the streets, searching for his next target, when a brilliant column of yellow light erupted from the roof of a nearby building and pierced the sky, brightening an already dazzlingly bright day. Was that a ki beam? No, surely not. But a bandit sure as shit didn't do that. Curiosity piqued, Orion ran out into the street and headed towards the light's source.

In short time he reached the building, noticing a hole torn in the roof. A gunslinger stood outside, but he obviously wasn't the source of the light. Orion looked inside. The body of a woman was slumped against the wall and basted in blood. Unlikely she was the progenitor of the yellow beam either, unless it was some sort of final ditch attempt at winning a fight she obviously lost.

Another stood inside, looking down on the dead woman with an inscrutable countenance. Red skin, black hair, yellow irises, clad in a yellow and black body suit. Not a specie Orion recognised, but then even in all his years as a conqueror, he'd only seen a handful of planets compared to what the universe had to offer. A yellow ring glistened on his finger.

Orion didn't have a scouter, but he could tell this red skinned man was formidable. By no means was he a bandit, or at least he wasn't cut from the same cloth as all the rest of the dishevelled motley crew that descended on this town like angry locusts. It was possible that he was their leader, or perhaps he was caught up in the raid much like Orion had been. There was only one way to find out, and by the pang of heat that reared in his side, he hoped it was the latter.

"You," Orion said. The red skinned man turned. "Who are you?"

[Thaal Sinestro]

Sinestro’s body surged with power. It had been so long since he had felt the presence of his power ring that it almost felt foreign, like kissing a lover after years of being separated, like feeling the handle of a sword you hadn’t wielded since that war so long ago. Once again, the lantern felt the ebb and surge of the emotional spectrum, fear pulsating through the town in twanging waves.

His senses pulsed with energy, and he could feel the rings sub-systems stabilizing his myriad injuries. His shattered nose painfully readjusted as he focused on it, a burst of blood spraying over his face as it straightened. With a wave of his hand, the blood on his head and neck burned away in a flash of yellow, leaving his visage clean but for the deep purple bruising. There was a tingling in his cracked ribs as they were stabilized and reinforced by the ring, and he took a deep breath in celebration of that.

He looked down upon the still body of the bandit, her slumped, blood-splattered frame clearly far beyond saving short of a miracle. Then again, he had seen far too many miracles in his day. He held his fist aloft and spoke into the glowing yellow object, “Ring, scan for life signs.”

A yellow beam washed over the woman’s bloody remains, her veins illuminating in a yellow, then her nervous system. After a few more moments of shimmering, the ring replied in a sinister, digital voice, “No life signs detected.”

As the ring confirmed her death his eyebrow quirked and his chin lifted ever so slightly, his mustache bending as a smirk of superiority grew on his lips.

“Good,” he murmured to himself, and took his attention away from her. “Ring, begin download of all available data on the Omniverse and all associated information.” The ring silently complied, raking through the Dataverse and compiling every comment, post and erroneous statement into a comprehensive library.

Roland, who stood across the street, saw the approaching warrior and twirled his gun back into its holster. He stepped behind the concrete column and listened, his old ears knowing too well that they might catch a secret from the shadows.

“You,” a gruff voice demanded from outside. Sinestro’s burning eyes turned to the man, an aging and bedraggled individual with an eye patch. There appeared to be a dark brown tail wrapped around his waist, over a set of armor and under his broad-shoulder blue robe. There was an air of power around the man, and the presence of authority. “Who are you?"

Sinestro’s citrine halo burned a little brighter as he lifted from the ground and floated from the building’s broken doorway. His proud posture remained unmoving as he crossed his arms and levitated higher into the light of the sun. “I am Sinestro,” he said firmly, looking down on the man.

“And I am Orion,” he said proudly, “one of the last of the saiyan elite.” A slight disturbance rippled through the sand as he, too, lifted from the ground, flying up to look eye to eye with the alien.

The lantern shook his head subtly, “In this world, we are all the last of something. You will find it rare to see another individual from your home universe, let alone of the same species or affiliation.” The red-skinned man cocked his head back snidely, “What is it that you want, saiyan?”

Orion steely demeanor remained unchanging, despite the lantern’s cockiness, perhaps thinking that he was yet another to underestimate his ability. “Are you the leader of these bandits or did you just get caught in the crossfire, like I did?”

“In these lands, I am the law,” Sinestro replied, “and this attack will not continue much longer, I assure you.” Noticing the warriors various injuries, the lantern gestured towards his ribs, “You appear to be injured. Perhaps you wish to lay low until I’ve managed to clear out the raiders?”

“Nothing that will slow me down too much,” Orion said flatly, clearly disinterested in furthering that line of questioning.

“Mm, suit yourself,” the deputy said, quirking his eyebrow. “I somewhat suspect that the bandit I killed inside was the leader, though I can’t say for certain.”

Orion nodded, “That may be, but this group doesn’t seem to be under any kind of centralized leadership, so I doubt that will have much effect on their coordination, or lack thereof.”

Sinestro smirked, “I suppose we will have to break their will to fight, then. We will show them the meaning of fear.”

The saiyan grinned, “I suppose so.” He glanced down at the massive truck that had eluded him before, “Perhaps starting there.”

He opened up his palm and a sphere of blue ki materialized, about the size of a marble. After a moment of focus, the sphere grew a few feet in diameter and cast an azure tint of the warrior’s face and body. Just as he released the sphere, the wheels spun wildly and the truck made its way towards the desert. The ki blast struck the bed, tearing a large portion away with a large explosion, but it kept on running regardless.

Both of the flying men scowled and gave chase, swooping from the sky and down to the truck’s level. A yellow ray sprung from Sinestro’s ring, latching on to the rear of the truck’s bumper, and he twisted, planting his feet into the ground. The power of the qwardian weapon managed to slow the truck, despite its hulking size. The deputy wordlessly gestured to the yellow band that ran between his middle finger and the truck, and Orion seized it with both hands.

With the might of both of the men, the military transport sputtered and roared, only managing to creep forward over the wand. Sweat beaded on both of the warrior’s foreheads as their strained both physically and mentally, their combined might overwhelming even the steepest of odds.

“Look out!” Orion suddenly shouted, releasing the beam.

Sinestro quickly looked up, just in time for the flanking marauders to open fire. A glassy half-globe formed over the men as the bullets fell upon them, the twanging of the shells leaving gentle ripples echoing over the construct’s surface.

“I need an opening,” Orion said simply, sliding back into a wide stance. Another orb of brilliant blue light appeared between his hands, and the lantern opened a small circle just in front of him. As the manic gunfire of the raiders ricocheted all around them, Orion fired a thick beam of ki through the port-hole and swept it left, the opening keeping track of the beam and it ploughed through the team of vagabonds.

A momentary silence filled the air, and both men disengaged their amazing abilities, standing beside one another in the dusty road.

[Dean Winchester]

Staring down at the glass in front of him, Dean couldn't help watch the way the blood swirled together with the whiskey he had poured in. Not that Dean was all about drinking blood and shit now, just that after the greeting he had when he walked into the bar the place was just sort of covered in blood now, and finding a clean glass was just impossible. Looking over at the bodies around the place the Winchester just shook his head, he had given them a chance to leave after all.

When he had got to the bar the place had a few bandits in it, about three or so, who seemed to be raiding the place of the food and drink. Dean had, in his own mind, rather politely asked them to leave, possibly also suggesting that they leave the booze or they would find themselves never having the need to eat or drink again. They had of course declined his offer in the form of gun fire that punched a bunch of new holes in his meat suit, so he killed them.

Kill was probably not the right word, slaughtered was more like it. The bodies in general were pretty much intact, just with a few holes, slashes, and the odd missing limb. The blood however, well that had just gone everywhere. Dean sighed and picked up the glass and downed it, slamming it back down on the counter and reaching for the surprisingly non blood drenched whiskey bottle.

Not what you were expecting, was it Squirrel? Dean wasn't sure if he heard the voice or thought it, but looking behind him he saw no one else in the almost demolished bar. Turning back to face forward the demon almost jumped a bit, because standing there was Crowley, the king of hell himself. Boo!

Dean reached forward to grab the Crowleys' shirt and slam his face down into the bar but it just passed through air, nothing was there in front of him. Then a sound to his left make him look and there was the old Kay Oh Hech sitting on the stool beside him.

Not really here Dean my boy, this is all in your head. The imaginary demon reach up and tapped on Dean's forehead. I won't say you have bad taste though if you need to chat and think of me. At least it wasn't Moose. His stuff is getting boring and repetitive, innit?

Dean poured himself another drink, downed it, then turned to speak to the figment of his apparently twisted imagination only to be silence with a raised hand.

I know, I know! Poor wittle Dean got menaced by the big bad Reaper, and now feels bad about what he did. Get over it. Dean could have sworn the imaginary Crowley was staring at the whiskey with longing in his eyes, though again this was probably all in his mind. You're a demon now sunshine, buck up and take a look around! You have already painted this town red, figuratively and literally, and might I add what a splendid job you did of that! You were made for this Dean Winchester, this is who you are, no, who you were MEANT to be! A demon! The biggest, scariest demon around!

Dean had forgotten how much the king of hell liked to talk when you got him going, it was always annoying but sometimes he had a point in there somewhere.

Listen, no more of this half and half shite, either you are a man or you are a demon. Pick one then man the fuck up. Imagi-Crowley got up and patted Dean on the shoulder. Decide soon too, other wise this one foot in the light and one in the dark deal is going to get you killed. Now stop talking to yourself and get out there!

Off in the distance there was a bright flash of yellow light, followed by more explosions and various inhuman sounds.

Otherwise you are going to miss all the fun! Dean picked up his glass and downed the amber-red liquid mix as the fake Crowley faded from sight, before chucking the glass at the wall.


”Fuck it.” With that the Winchester stood up and dusted himself off a bit, which was futile considered all the blood he was covered in, and then headed out of the giant hole in the bar wall. Ten or fifteen steps outside Dean stopped, tilted his head to the side and then ran back in. A few moments later he appeared outside once more, this time with a partially full whiskey bottle in hand.

Time to join the big boy fight.

Dean marched off to find his baby, the car he had left in the middle of town while he had gone to play. It took him a fair bit of time but eventually he found it, luckily the town didn't wasn't really as big as it seemed. Well, it was either that or he was on a mission now and didn't notice time passing the same way as it normally did.

No matter what it was there was his car, just as he left her. Banged up, blood soaked, and full of bullet holes. Getting in he put the bottle of whiskey on the passenger seat and turned the ignition, verbally coaxing it to start, and after the third time the engine turned and roared to life. Putting the impala into gear he pressed down on the gas pedal, and shot off into the streets once the tires caught. He know where he was going at least, the bright yellow beacon and the large monkey monster thing made it impossible to miss.


As he got closer to the fight Dean popped a tape into the deck, and the closer he got the louder it got for everyone around.

Nobody's going to help you
You've just gotta stand up alone
And dig in your heels and see how it feels
To Raise a little Hell of your own

Raise a little hell, raise a little hell, raise a little hell!


Dean pressed the gas pedal down to the floor once the fight was in view, slamming his car into the first bandit that was dumb enough to get in his way. Slamming on the breaks after the man went sailing over his car Dean got out, first blade in one hand and the whiskey bottle in another, as the music continued to play.


If you don't like what you've got, why don't you change it?
If your world is all screwed up, rearrange it!

Oh ohoh 

[Xehanort]

Worlds, from what the apprentice had read, weren't usually as big as the one he was experiencing. No, they were often smaller, ranging from as small as the "Nexus" was, to as big as a city. Radiant Garden itself was simply a stronghold, with a wasteland of blue canyon stretching as far as the eye can see until the world met the darkness that separated all worlds. This world didn't seem so lucky. The desert stretched as far as the eye can see. Everywhere Xehanort looked, sand lay in wait. The trail on to the next town became thinner and thinner the farther he went, though the tracks of travelers paved a new one for him. Xehanort was smart, but he'd best not stray from the path before him, lest he become lost and dried out with earth.

Within Xehanort's fist rested the glowing orb dubbed "Omnilinium". As the sun drifted away, and the darkness took hold of this world, the material filled with mystery gave a guiding light to the one who held it.

The white coated scientist thought long and hard of its nature. Why Xehanort? Out of everyone Omni could have chosen, why was he chosen? Because Omni was interested in him?! Xehanort barely had a year to his own memory, and nothing during that small time frame even interest himself. Could it be that this... Omni... knew more of Xehanort than Xehanort himself? It could be poss-

An image of a great expanse of water appeared before Xehanort's eyes. Like the sand from earlier, the water expanded farther than the eye could see. He stood in a sandy beachhead, staring off into the waters, this... ocean. His heart sunk deep in despair and loneliness. In one hand this island was home. In the other this island was a prison, surrounded by water. This Xehanort, no... this person from this memory, wished to escape from this prison.

"This world... is too small...", his voice spoke, lighter, smoother than the voice he carried now compared to his deep, heavy voice. It was possible the one from this memory could have been a younger self, but something felt rather off, as a part of himself was missing, yet never gone to begin with. It was confusing, and somewhat horrifying. It would be wise to think hard and meditate on these memories when the time presents itself.

Xehanort's eyes widened as a small piece of memory returned to him. The timing could have been better, as the trail started to slope upwards over a large dune. The sudden remembrance caught him off guard, nearly causing him to fall into the loose mountain of sand. The white haired apprentice caught himself, taking long slow strides as he waded over the dune.

"The sky... is still blue. It should be night...", he muttered softly to himself, his hands digging into the sand as he neared the dune's precipice. How short-sighted of him, to think of this world's time as the same as his own. Perhaps it was normal human instinct.

The man's brown eyes drifted from the burning sky down to the town in the distance. To be honest, if he were told the name of this town, he couldn't quite recall it. Perhaps it was never told to begin with this... town with no name.
It would seem he wasn't the only traveler. He could spy several others on foot just entering the large town while others could be seen in various wheeled vehicles such as horse driven and self-propelled carts. It would be wise to obtain a better mode of travel in the future.

An explosion rocked from within the town, seemingly near the center, throwing smoke and dust into the air. Xehanort stopped his advance, his eyes spotting a dim light rocketing through the smoke and ashes, that is until it collapsed in upon its self like a nova before expanded to become a second sun.

The unsuspecting man recoiled, shielding his temporarily blinded eyes. His face contorted into a tight wince. The light dimmed after a few moments. Only then was Xehanort able to lower his arms, only for another oddity to replace it. A giant ape rose from the town, charging through. Cracking of gunfire and explosions of energy meeting buildings and various vehicles causing the air around the city to blacken with smoke.

In his studies Xehanort had only heard of the horrors war brought. After all, Radiant Garden's bastion originally served as a strong point for a strong military power. Of whom this power was remains a mystery to all however.

"No-one in Carrefore gave any warning of this... just what is happening?", he muttered, his walk evolving into a brisker, hurried pace. Had he been closer, running may have been an option. He was only human though, and attempting to close this distance in a mad sprint may leave him too tired to defend himself if need be.

'No... it is best to take my time here. It would seem the majority of the fighting would be on the other side of town by the sound of things. Perhaps it will die out by the time I arrive.', he hoped. He was a man of science, discovery, and reflection, not a man of war. If it could be avoided he'd rather not take up arms. If fighting was still occurring when he enters the town however, it would seem he'd have little choice.

It was time to put his suspicions to the test.

By the time he'd arrived, gunfire had slowed down as the invading forces dispersed through out the entirety of the town, possibly trickling around the defenses like small streams of water finding cracks in a dam. What awaited for him proved how troublesome these individual parts of a torrent can be.

Blocking the road Xehanort followed into the town were two smoldering corpses, folded over each other and moved to the side while a humanoid figure stood front and center, a blocky, heavy, yet deadly rifle trained on Xehanort, stopping him in his tracks. The... thing... stepped forward slowly towards him. The close it got, the better he could discern its characteristics. The thing was a machine, crafted similar in structure to a human skeleton yet completely alien to him. By the red light in its eyes, the blackness of its paint, and the dark intentions Xehanort could almost feel from it, this machine was designed to kill.

"Warning: Do not step any closer citizen, this battle does not concern you.", It said, stopping within two meters of Xehanort. "Observation: You do not wear the mark of our enemies, nor are you carrying any weapons. Contemplation: Perhaps if you return from where you came from, I wont have to waste my ammo on you, worthless organic."

"I cannot return, you see. I am what you might call a prime.", Xehanort said, his hands dropping to his sides, unintimidated by this man-made piece of junk. From what he saw in his time here, primes seemed to be more powerful than the ordinary person. Why? They were Omni's chosen. Everyone else were limited by the rules of their own universe on top of the rules of this one, while primes could break the rules of their home 'verse, or so he speculated. Waste of ammo? Not likely. Waste of an opportune ally? Perhaps. Of course he held no intention of remaining this this machine's cold clutches, but it would give him time to find a way out of this web of his. Both alternatives the machine gave would eventually involve his death. This was the only way.

"Correction: Pardon me, I meant... less worthless organic. Realization: Master would enjoy killing you... prime... herself", the droid soldier stated, moving behind Xehanort, giving him the familiar feeling of metal against his back, its nudging encouraging the white haired man onward.

Their walk was a slow one, by choice of the droid. Xehanort would catch him gasing at the adjacent buildings for town defenders, but this part of town seemed to be deathly quiet, with the defenders rallied further on. It didn't seem good for the scientist, caught in the crossfire of this town's war. A solution appeared however, almost suddenly inside his mind.

This being was that of a mortal's making, to serve and kill whomever he's directed at. Despite this, the droid held a sense of free will, if you could take that free will and imprison it in a frame of programming.

"Is this Master of yours strong? Is she a prime like I am?"

"Answer: Yes and no. She is strong, but she is no prime"

"You arn't either I assume, but in a way you are similar. If your body is destroyed, another one can be built from your remains. If I am re-born, I am promised resurrection. We will live on but that organic non-prime will not. Am I correct?"

"Confirmation: You are not wrong."

"Consider this: There is a chance your master will be defeated here. What will you do then? Will you cease to function? No. You will be free. Let me go and I can assure you that your chains working against your freedom are released."

The pressure of the gun's barrel against his back diminished and dropped as the droid stopped walking. Xehanort smirked quietly to himself, not bothering to turn around to face him.

"If it ill help ease your programming. I am no enemy of yours or your master. I did not come here to fight. When the battle is over, seek me out. The choice is yours after all"

[Illidan Stormrage]

The armoured vehicle lurched forward and broke free of Sinestro's bond, wheels serving clouds of dust and sand into Orion's face as it rocketed away. The saiyan coughed and peered through the screen, catching a glint of sunlight bouncing off the vehicle's metallic surface. It was getting away. Orion didn't care overly much, but he had put in this much effort. He might as well see it through.

"I'll make sure they don't escape," Orion said, feet lifting from the ground.

He aimed an open palm at the fleeing truck, and cerulean light pooled within it. Moments later, the light blossomed into an orb, parting its colour to its surroundings. Orion took a breath to steady his shot and a stabbing jolt of pain burst in his ribs. He groaned audibly, free hand clutching at his side. The injuries from his accident would no longer be ignored, it seemed. The ki collected in his hand oscillated and popped like a bubble and with similar fanfare.

Orion descended back to the ground, pressing his weight on his right leg, as his left protested when it was used. Another stab screamed in his ribs and he hunched over.

Sinestro eyed Orion. "Is something wrong?"

The saiyan warrior snarled with lips closed. "No."

"The truck is getting away," the Lantern said, pointing at the dust cloud trailing behind the vehicle.

Orion ran his tongue over his teeth and spat on the ground. His saliva was clear. No blood. Good. "What does it matter? A handful of unorganised thugs escaping is hardly cause for concern." Orion straightened his back and his eye focused on Sinestro. He put an edge to his voice. "Unless you think this pathetic invasion is something to be worried about?"

Sinestro looked back at the saiyan with a clearly unimpressed countenance. He caught the tone. "No. But bandits aren't forgiving. If they find enough reinforcements, they might return."

The sharp flare weakened into a dull but still abundantly present ache. Orion breathed in the scent of blood and grit, checking for any twinges as his chest expanded. He flexed his arms and found a bruise that activated whenever he clenched his right fist. He gingerly added weight to his left leg and found it easier if he supported himself on the heel alone. His injuries were hanging around but knitting themselves at a much faster rate than Orion would have expected. He was rather resilient but never had his body started the healing process so fast.

"A trifling concern," Orion said. "Their attack was unsuccessful."

"I disagree," Thaal said, his eyes sweeping over the area. "They did plenty of damage, killed plenty of people. Maybe it didn't end for them the way they wanted it to, but it was hardly unsuccessful." He cleared his throat. "Plus I am the law here. I will not tolerate repeated raids like this."

"Indeed," Orion said. In his mind, the bandit's assault of the town had been messy, but ultimately not worth their while. Sinestro, on the other hand, recognised the damage done and seemed to care. Not a concept Orion was entirely intimate with, but he had defended his share of lines in the past and saw the wisdom in the red skinned man's words. They just didn't apply to him.

Orion assessed the Lantern again. A few inches taller than himself, striking yellow eyes to match his form fitting suit, and that ring on his finger. He managed to fire a malleable beam of light from it and grasp onto the armoured truck when it tried to escape. Ki manipulation? If so, why do it from a ring? Perhaps it was a magic construct, though Sinestro didn't look like any sorcerer Orion had ever seen. Still, as he mentioned, he may not even share a universe with the red skinned lawman. If nothing else, this Omniverse provided opportunities to learn.

Brushing off his chest, Orion pondered his next move. He looked at Sinestro. "You seem knowledgeable on this Omniverse. Perhaps we could have a drink and discuss our mutual fates?"

[Thaal Sinestro]

Sinestro gently leaned to the side, peering over Orion’s shoulder into the streets behind him. His eyes narrowed when the Impala peeled around one of the aging wooden structures, a bloodied ghoul pinned to the passenger’s side door, a long trail of dirt washing out behind the tires. When the muscle car ceased its drifting, the ghoul’s momentum sent it sailing off, slamming into the dirt and rolling to a stop.

Dean kicked the door open, the First Blade already bloody in his hand, and slid over the hood with a jump. The radiation-plagued marauder struggled with shattered limbs to escape the sociopathic demon, screaming in terror as he bore down upon him, stabbing wildly into his chest and neck. The creature’s blood splattered over the dirt, and glowed with radioactive potency.

Dean’s eyebrows cinched in confusion, but he simply wiped the jawbone over his jeans a few times after he stood, sliding his weapon back into its sheath. He gestured with his chin to the deputy and grunted, “Hey.”

The freshly-reinstated Lantern nodded to his partner, “Dean.”

The hunter pointed to the man’s new yellow jumpsuit and smirked, “What’s with the gimp suit? Did you get into some kinky shit while I was away?” He laughed at his own joke and then allowed his blackened eyes to flash at the warrior that stood beside the Lawman. “And who’s this guy?”

“I am an elite saiyan warrior,” Orion glowered as he barked his reply.

“Sayin’ what?” Dean scoffed, holding a hand to his ear.

“This is Orion,” Sinestro interrupted in an attempt to diffuse any blossoming animosity. “And I have reclaimed my ring,” he said, holding up the gleaming yellow object on his finger.

“Ah,” Dean grinned, his sclera clearing to a more normal color as he stopped, standing in front of the deputy, “that must have been that big-ass yellow beam I saw.”

“Likely,” Sinestro agreed. “I believe the majority of the town has been cleared out, but one last check could-“

The saiyan pushed past Dean and held up his hand, a brilliant sphere of blue ki instant firing from his palm. The dune buggy that had erupted from the sandy exterior of the city swerved to avoid it, tipping over and rolling to a stop a few meters away.

Dean’s hand had already found its weapon as he dashed forward into the wreckage, prying the driver out by her thick leather jacket, jamming the crooked edge of the weapon into the woman’s shoulders and neck. So consumed by the onslaught, his lust for blood drowning out everything but the violence, Dean barely had time to notice the passenger moving up behind him.

Amber beams of light swirled around the aggressor’s hands, crushing down and transforming into rough manacles. Sinestro jerked in the beam, tugging the raider from his path and into the air, holding him dangling like a fish on a line over Dean’s head. With an idle flick of the wrist, the lantern flung the man into the air, sending him soaring over a building. The man screamed as he fell, though it abruptly came to an end somewhere out of site.

“So,” the korugaran said dryly, the streets now seemingly quiet, “shall we?”

----

What little remained of the bar was coated in gore, bodies and bullet-holes, broken glass crunching underfoot as the trio of men entered. A disconcerting hum filled the air as a nearby table and three chairs were given a yellow aura, Sinestro righting them and setting them down just beside the bar. The chairs slid out politely before the light of his diminished, retracting into Sinestro’s hand.

Orion cautiously eyed the ring, wondering at the strange and multifaceted abilities of the construct as they each sauntered over to the worn wooden furniture and took a seat. “Before we start,” he ventured, “what is that ring that you are wearing? How does it allow you to manipulate ki?”

“It is a Qwardian Power Ring,” the red-skinned man clarified, “and it does not harness ‘ki.’” He held his fist out, the metallic surface of his beloved tool glinting with the light of the distant flames that licked at the sky outside the window. “It is a weapon, created to harness one particular frequency of the emotional spectrum. In the case of my ring, that is the emotion of fear, represented by yellow.” He retracted his hand and carefully folded it into the other, looking back and forth between his companions in arms. “I formed a military force around the use of these rings back in my home sector. We patrols the universe, bringing order where the more timid failed to do so.”

Dean gestured at the bar with his bloody finger. “Well can that thing get us some drinks?” he said, his rough voice grinding against his throat. “I’ve been parched since twenty minutes ago.”

Squinting at the hunter, Sinestro couldn’t help but smirk at his wild impertinence. “Of course,” he said warmly, though an edge could be heard on the fringes. A pair of glasses and a tall bottle of whiskey slid through the air and planted themselves in front of the group. “Have your fill.”

Sliding the topper out of the bottle, Dean filled his glass almost to the rim, greedily chugging half of it down, wiping his chin with his sleeve when he was finished. Orion slowly unfolded his arms and placed his hands on the table. “Won’t you join us?” he asked suspiciously, his one good eye glaring into him.

“Alcohol dulls the mind,” the korugaran replied sharply, returning the saiyan’s harsh look, “Though I suppose I could lift the glass in celebration.” He leaned down, pulling a canteen of the lower half of a bisected raider. He filled a quarter of his glass with the brown liquor and filled the rest of the cup with water, then discarded the canteen dispassionately.

Orion grabbed the bottle and splashed the liquor into his cup, raising it to his nose and sniffing. “It smells a bit weak,” he interjected.

“To victory,” Sinestro offered as cheers, and the group of defenders tapped their glasses.

Orion easily finished his drink and coolly put it back down. “So, let’s talk about the Omniverse.”

“Yes,” the lantern grinned, “let’s.” He took a slow sip off the top of his drink and then spoke firmly, “Ring, display retrieved data on the Omniverse.”

Deep shadows were cast around the room when the Qwardian technology emitted a translucent golden hologram over the table. The image slowly spun, allowing each of them to see the image of the eight spokes that radiated from the central hub, easily recognized by all as the fountain.

“OMNIVERSE,” the device began, its harsh feminine voice peaking-out into static as it continued, “A SELF-CONTAINED UNIVERSE WITH NO KNOWN MEANS OF EGRESS.” Orion’s scowl deepened, and she snatched the bottle from the center of the table, taking a heavy swig.

“ALL OF THE OMNIVERSE’S RECORDED HISTORY BEGINS TEN YEARS AGO, AND IT IS ASSUMED THAT IT WAS EITHER CREATED, OR RESET, AT THAT TIME. THERE ARE EIGHT PRIMARY ‘VERSES’- LARGE AREAS WHICH SHARE A COMMON THEMATIC ELEMENT, CONNECTED TO THE CENTRAL VERSE, KNOWN AS ‘THE NEXUS.’”

Sinestro idly preened his mustache as he listened, gently rolling the tips between his fingers. “What are those Verses?”

“THE CURRENT STANDARD VERSES ARE: CORRUSCANT, CAMELOT, THE ENDLESS DUNES, THE TANGLED GREEN, THE VASTY DEEP, THE PALE MOORES, THE ASHEN STEPPES, AND THE FROZEN FIELDS. ASIDE THE STANDARD VERSES, THE DATAVERSE, THE VOID, THE OVERVERSE, AND THE UNDERVERSE ARE ACCESSABLE BY MEANS OTHER THAN THE NEXUS.”

Dean looked back and forth between the hologram and the ring-bearer. “What the hell does it mean, no egress?”

The deputy shrugged, “I would assume it means that there’s no way out.”

“Damn straight,” a gruff voice answered from the doorway, Roland’s broad outline dominating the frame. “There ain’t no way in nor out this place that any kin ponder. Plenty tried.” He pushed his way into the brightness of the ring’s light. “More failed.”

[Dean Winchester]

Dean looked over to a rather dusty looking fellow who entered the bar and interrupted their little get together, his hand instinctively going for the blade at his side. The only thing that stopped him was Sinestro's hand on his shoulder, when Dean looked over the deputy was shaking his head no. There still seemed to be a bit of tension in the room though, enough that the man apparently felt the need to introduce himself.

“For those of you who don't know I am Roland, the sheriff of this little town.” Dean could tell the man was straining over his words, as if speaking this way did not come natural to him. “I am going to try and speak clearly for those of you not used to my walk of talking.”

Dean watched as the sheriff dragged a chair to there table and he started to talk, though it seemed the moment the man had sat in his chair Dean had let his attention wander. He had pulled out some of that Omnillium crap and was idly playing with it. His thoughts had gone to getting himself a gun, because while he sure enjoyed watching a persons face as he sunk his blade into their squishy parts he also knew that sometimes attacking from a distance had it's advantages as well.

Even as he started to think about it the strange metal in his hand started to swirl about it, almost like those old sciencey pictures of what an atom would look like. First the started to form the frame, the main part of the gun that the rest would build itself upon. Next came the barrel and the screws, springs, what ever tiny little pieces would be needed, and eventually the slide. All the pieces also started to slide, lock, or screw into place as Dean just watched intently. The metal of the frame and slide started to take a shiny, mirror like look of polished stainless steel, a rather intricate engraving also starting to etch into the surface. Finally the glossy pearl grip started to form, and while it had no engravings or marks it was anything but plain.

Dean stared at the weapon in his hands, the Colt M1911A1 that had been given to him by John Winchester on a long forgotten birthday, it was his weapon of choice and something that would never leave his side. Ejecting the magazine Dean made sure there were rounds in it and then pulled back on the slide to send one of them into the chamber.

The Winchester could feel everyones eyes on him as he raised his arm, and the moment the fire arm was pointed at the bar off in the distance he squeezed the trigger. The resulting explosion from the weapons discharge, and then the violent shattering of a half full liquor bottle, would probably leave a slight ringing in the ears of everyone at the table but it just caused Dean to smile This was until he felt cold metal pressed against the side of his head.

He hadn't even seen it happen but sometime in the seconds it took for him to pull the trigger and then to smile the sheriff had his gun out, ready, and pressed against the demon's head. He also noted that Sinestro was surrounded by a yellow glow, and the Orion fellow was just glaring at him like Dean had pissed in his Cheerios.

”What?” Dean asked casually, before continuing to speak. ”I had to make sure it worked, didn't want any surprises during an actual fight again.”

Dean felt the gun barrel easing from his forehead as Sinestro let the yellow glow slowly fade away, the monkey man still looked rather pissed off though. Dean was just guessing that it was his default setting by this point.

“Can I finish now?” Roland asked, making sure to look directly at Dean as he asked this. Dean just gave it a dismissive wave as he slouched into his chair. Roland just sighed as he started to speak again. “As I said, there ain't no way out of this place, none that anyone has been lucky enough to find.”

Dean had started to drift again when he remembered something the ring had said, causing him to sit up in his chair and lean towards Sinestro.

“Hey! What the hell is a Dataverse? And for that matter what is the Oververse and Underverse?” Sinestro looked at Dean like he had just dribbled on his shirt a bit, while Roland was starting to looked very annoyed at the Winchester constantly interrupting him. “Seriously, I don't know much about this place other then what little I got about the Dunes.”

Sinestro just shook his head and shrugged. ”The Dataverse is an electronic collection of knowledge, games, communication tools that one can access from a device or enter into physically.”

”Wait, wait, wait! This place has the internet and VR all rolled into one?!” Dean raised an eyebrow at this, if this place had the internet that he could actually walk into then things were looking up, as long as some of the content was similar enough to the stuff back on earth. “And all I need is a device? Like a phone or something?”

”Yes, that would be a good idea. A communications device could also double as a dataverse device, you will need both of these. Get them as soon as possible.” Sinestro began playing with his moustache again as he went over the second part of the question. “Thematically speaking the other two are basically like your Christian Earth after life, Heaven and hell. I am hoping by the names you can tell which is which?”

”Over good, under bad” the Demon growled, to which Sinestro simply nodded.

”Correct, though the Oververse is more of a rumour then anything else. You see not many have actually made it there as far as I know, so nothing concrete is know about its actual existence.” Dean let out a low whistle at the red skinned deputy's words.

”That sounds about right, Heavens tend to be an 'old boys club' more then anything else, why let all the rift raff in?” Dean was almost snarling while he said this, memories of his old world taking over. “Sure they went through changes and all but I still don't think I would want to go there. Well, if I even could anymore.”


“This is all interesting but can I continue?” Dean looked over at the Sheriff again and went to speak, but decided to keep his mouth shut for now. No need to look for trouble at the moment.

Instead h e focused on getting himself a phone. The Omnillium wove itself together once again, placing a small, black, rectangular device in his hand. It had no buttons on it but a large screen on the other side. Dean always like these touch screen phones, made things a lot simpler after all. Now he could talk to people as well as surf the data-net-whatever thing, he was really tempted to check it out right now but thought better of it. Stuffing the device in his pocket he turned back towards Roland to pay attention, somewhat, to what the man had to say.

[Illidan Stormrage]

Orion stared at the glass with disdain, angry with its small capacity, and grabbed the bottle. He plugged the rim into his lips and gulped a few times before setting the bottle back down again. Cheap stuff, and watered down to boot. He cast a glance over the bar, but most other liquor bottles had shattered in the fight preceding their entrance. Fragmented glass covered the ground, and a thick stench of intermingling spirits assailed every breath. Orion's fingers tightened around the bottle. Some of that wasted booze might've been worth his time, had it not slopped onto the dusty ground.

He took another swig and mulled over what he heard. This grizzled cowboy comes in and says with quite the conviction in his voice that the Omniverse is a prison. Multiple attempts at escape have met with failure every single time. How someone escapes from a dimension Orion didn't have the foggiest clue. What sort of strategy could someone come up with to rip open a wormhole? Dimensional travel was always something the changelings worked on, hoping they could conquer more than just their own universe. Arrogant bastards.

At least that manchild with the smart mouth showed him something worth remembering; summoning a pistol with his omnilium. Orion remembered vaguely that Omni had mentioned a similar process on their first meeting, but he had no reason to believe such fanciful nonsense. Now that he'd seen it with his own eye, it wasn't nonsense. Though as a saiyan, what did he need to summon? Self sufficient and a hand to hand combatant, he couldn't think of a single item he would want to conjure. Still, the information might come in handy further down the line.

Everything that Sinestro's magic ring parroted from the Dataverse was all fluff information. Verse names, supposed age of the Omniverse ... what did any of that bullshit matter? Unless one of those verses would allow Orion to walk up to Omni and break that bald fool's nose with a single punch, what use was there in it?

When Sinestro mentioned that the Oververse was a supposition rather than a fact, Orion's eye twitched. He clenched his teeth but his tongue would not suffer duress. He hit the table with balled fists, smashing the base out of the bottle he was gripping. Alcohol seeped over the tabletop and drizzled onto Orion's lap. The glass shards of the bottle fell free of his fingers.

"Well what do we know about this forsaken place?" Orion growled, getting the attention of the entire table. "Everything I've heard is either downplaying the idea of escaping or damn rumours! How do I find Omni and force him to send me back?"

Sinestro levelled strong yellow eyes at the saiyan. "Calm down. Losing your temper will not help you find answers."

"Yeah, chill out," Dean added. "No need to go wasting our booze."

"Besides," Roland interjected, "that's a question without an answer. Seems to me if you don't want to hear that anymore, you best start asking smarter questions."

Orion growled. They were right, but he didn't have to like it. "This place is grinding my nerves. There must be more alcohol here somewhere." He pushed out of his chair and headed over to the bar. Glass crunched beneath his boots as he conducted his search, his fingers sticky from the broken bottle.

He didn't need to look for long. Sweeping a bloodied vest from the countertop, Orion found a half empty bottle of spirits on its side. The contents that escaped had soaked into the wood and darkened it several shades. Lifting the bottle to his nose, he sniffed. His eye watered. That'd do.

Snatching a chipped shot glass nearby, Orion returned to the table and poured himself a nip.

"So, what now?" Orion asked. "If we can't get out, what's the plan?"

"Make do with what you got," Roland said. "Nothin' much else to do."

Orion knocked back his shot and felt the firewater scald his esophagus. Good stuff. He poured another.

"What can you tell me about the Endless Dunes?" Orion asked.

"Sand and bandits. There. Now you know everything." Roland's deadpan expression didn't change to indicate he was joking.

Orion drained his shot glass again and sighed. He had no purpose, no destination. Strangers who had spent more time in the Omniverse than he had knew the cold truth of their imprisonment. What would he do now? There might be a multitude of verses more pleasant than a giant sandpit this place seemed to be, but ultimately he would end up walking around aimlessly, probably starting fights for the sake of it. He didn't want to do that.

Roland, and more to the point Sinestro, seemed like sensible, knowledgeable people. Perhaps staying in their company would net him more information. Perhaps what they knew wasn't the full story, and perhaps following them could lead him to that information. Hell, even if it didn't, they ostensibly saw their fair share of action. At least his battle lust would be sated by staying in the town. Besides, the Endless Dunes' harsh and capricious nature wasn't so far removed from his home world of Vegeta. Even the stinging, sand laden winds reminded him of his younger days.

This Dean, though, seemed like an itchy fingered psychopath. Useful as an ally on the field of battle, but little else. Not much to converse with. Something told Orion that Dean would wander off as soon as he caught the scent of something more interesting.

Orion tapped his left temple with a firm finger. His NOVA unit had sprung to life earlier, after killing the hunters who wanted to deny him a meal, but had since fizzled out again. It was working before he was whisked to the Omniverse; perhaps it malfunctioned when he traversed the dimensional veil, or it could've taken damage during his last stand in the moments before he was stolen from his universe. In either case, it frustrated him that it was disabled. Connecting to the Dataverse could be useful to pull more intelligence about the Omniverse.

He tried activating the robotic lens hidden behind his eyepatch, but he still received no video feed through it. If only he knew how to repair the damn thing.

He sloshed another nip of spirits into his shot glass, pinched it in his fingers and rose it to his lips. He threw his head back and swallowed the burning liquor. "I guess there's nothing for it. I have nowhere to go. Might as well hang around here." Orion cleared his throat. "For the time being."

[Xehanort]

The machine hadn't met up with him yet, so Xehanort assumed that either the battle still raged in other parts of the town or the body of his former master had yet to be confirmed dead. He didn't necessarily mind in either case. There wasn't the barrel of a blaster shoved against Xehanort's back and pockets of hostile resistance slowly being drawn out and eradicated. It was safe to say the majority of the bandit forces were indeed beaten and turned away. Anymore confrontations this day weren't ideal. Xehanort didn't wish to risk getting hurt. Taking time to heal would take even more time needed to establish a base of operations.

As Xehanort trod along the dirt road of the town, townspeople began to reveal themselves, coming out of hiding or cover, and slowly resumed their daily activities. Many turned a blind eye to the obvious newcomer, but those who didn't barraged the pale haired man with their stares. Some even made initial moves to confront him, thinking him of a bandit before their buddies stopped them, seeing him unarmed and walking from the opposite direction than the enemies came from.

Xehanort stopped and brought his dust covered sleeve to wipe the built up sweat from his brow. The day was burning hot and strong, its bright star burning high in the sky. He found it hard to breath from the heat. He simply wasn't used to this type of weather. No, he preferred the coolness of Radiant Garden's laboratories, the temperature akin to various caves he'd visited. This was like walking on the surface of the sun. It would have been much worse if he hadn't discarded his lab-coat. It would be wise to seek water, drink, anything.

The white haired man spotted various shops, but his best assumption of where water would be best found would be the bar. Xehanort approached the building, slowly stepping towards the door. Two men armed with small pistols and a hardened face stood next to the doorway, seemingly on guard. The gold colored star-shaped badges attached to their shirts indicated they were a part of some kind of security force, perhaps similar in function to Radiant Garden's guards. He brought his hands up and pushed the door open slowly. Some men started to glance at the newcomer, and snapped their heads to the bar as the loud report of a gunshot rang and the sound of broken glass scattered throughout the room.

'Convenient' , Xehanort thought as he used the attention to grab a seat at the bar, two seats to the right of the center of the attention. The man behind the bar didn't look in particularly happy, nor did he acknowledge his newest customer. Xehanort sighed and rested an open hand upon the smooth oak surface of the bar, concentrating lightly, he summoned a pair of thick silver coins, each stamped with a plain three pronged crown, a common symbol of his home-world. Tension in the room eased and the eyes of the man running the bar.

"One coin for water, the other to compensate for the bottle that man destroyed"

The man took the coins and weighed them in his hands to determine their authenticity. The coins were rather large, being three and a half inches in diameter and a centimeter thick. The man's face tensed and a brow raised as his eyes scanned them. He didn't recognize the mark, this much was apparent.

"This...is rather much for a single glass of water. You sure you want only water?"

"Yes...", he said lightly, his eyes scanning over the various bottles. Whiskey? Rum? Gin? Various other names were emblazoned upon different types of glass bottles, though none of them he recognized. The man brought a less than clean glass of clear liquid to Xehanort, but it'll have to do.

He turned on his bar-stool towards the man who commanded the attention of the entire bar, and listened in to what the man had to say. Roland spoke only what Xehanort had expected all along. This place, this... world, was a prison of sorts. There was only one way in, but perhaps that was the same way out. This Omni fellow was the epicenter of all this madness.

The man was interrupted again by the same brute who wanted to test his weapon, spouting out various terms such as Oververse and Underverse. They were more likely other planes of existence but the red-skinned man's comparisons didn't really help Xehanort. Assuming from the names themselves, this... prison... was probably a world wedged in between the Realms of Light and Darkness, which can explain why there wasn't a proper escape. Even if it were true, Xehanort would not accept it. The entirety of his efforts is simply to find the equilibrium between the two elemental bases to all of creation. To be dragged to this place without effort on Xehanort's part was simply unacceptable, and yet as a probable explanation it had to be.

The man in white couldn't imagine what to research if not that.

He sighed and gazed over the group in which the brute resided, and nearly all of them struck Xehanort as something, different than that of the common rabble here in this town. The Red-skinned man seemed to be radiating with fear and yet showed none of it. This fear seemed to flow in direct paths from various places throughout the stranger's body, from the heart, mind, and... his hand. Why the hand he couldn't say for certain, his vision partially blocked by the others. The brute toying with its new toy overflowed with a dark power. A small light radiated from the heart of this brute.powerful, but not powerful enough to break free of the chains of darkness binding it down. Xehanort didn't feel pity for the man. It is the mark of someone standing too close to the light without being strong enough to defend against the dark power that follows close behind him. The other held a completely different power altogether that originated from the body rather than heart. It was strange to see, yet familiar at the same time.

With all of these people here with obviously different abilities, it could be possible they were pulled here as well. It might be wise to speak with them later.

[Thaal Sinestro]

Sinestro slid his chair out and stood, nodding to the warrior that had begun to nurse a tall bottle of moonshine. “That’s right,” he said, a certain depth of confidence in his tone. “We don’t know where, or even what the Omniverse is. We all seem to be from completely conflicting realities, each of which with different physical laws, different beliefs, different gods or the absence thereof.”

He gazed out the window as the denizens of the city slowly began to crawl up from their hiding spots, the wounded and dead being gathered for treatment or disposal. “All we know is that we are here, and that all other attempts at escape have failed.”

He slid his finger over the window sill, smearing a streak of blood from it. He rubbed the substance between his fingers; eyebrows peaked as he dispassionately stared down at the viscous red on his white gloves, blinking as it was slowly consumed by a yellow flame. “They were burned away in the brightness of their own hubris.

“So this is our home now,” he gestured his hand over the ruined bar and jaggedly smashed furniture, stepping over a dead body as he did so. “This is what we have to live with for…” he glanced around the room at the various spectators, “what? Forever? Were we not all told by Omni that if we are to die that we will return anew? Is that not the rumor I have heard mumbled between those of us that call themselves Primes?”

Roland nodded knowingly, “Deputy’s right. Primes come back, no matter how many times you put a bullet ‘tween their eyes.” He took a drink from his whiskey and slowly shook his head, eyes locked on something far in the distance. “Don’t matter who puts it there.”

His eyes glowed yellow as the image of the Omniverse sprung back out of his ring, the hub spinning in front of them all on the table. “Somewhere out there,” each of the verses expanded to their actual proportion to each other, requiring an indicator of the town’s boundaries to illustrate its true vastness. It grew in every direction until the map overlaid the entire bar, the flickering gold sprawling in deep and intricate detail of the known areas of the verses. Large patches remained empty, no data yet collected and recorded.

“Yes, there could be some way to get back out of this place. Somewhere in the vastness of this place, with all of its impossible logic, there might be a way for us to return to where we came from.” He strode through the hologram, standing at the center as the entire image slowly rotated around him, amber tones under-lighting his face. “But why?”

The hologram collapsed back into the man’s hand, and he opened his fist. A small white orb dripped upwards from his palm, a sheen of prismatic light gleaming over its surface. “When here, we can finally make the world we’ve always wanted to see? Why live out our hollow, miserable, mortal existences when here, in this place, we can do anything? When we can be anything?”

The omnilium sunk back down into the lantern’s palm and merged with his body, his fingers gently closing over it. “Here, we can reclaim the lives we have lost, we can redeem the mistakes we have made, because here anything is possible.”

Holding his hand up to the bar, beads of energy rolled out and away from him, fusing into the broken glass and the bullet-scarred countertop. Slowly, the pieces of old cups began to merge and the wood’s splintered surface smoothed. Before long, the counter was revived, shining as fresh and clean as it had ever been.

He once again faced his companions and folded his hands behind his back. “We are not bound by anything but ourselves.”

He gestured out the door and into the streets of slowly normalizing chaos. “So why is it that this is the state of our newfound home? Why is it that my streets burn and the people, my people, are slaughtered for no other apparent reason than for the entertainment of a handful of insane marauders?”

Roland’s eyes slowly narrowed, “We do what we can with what we’ve got.”

“We have so much more now, Roland,” the korugaran replied with a taint of pride on his lips, “and we can do so much more.”

Crossing his arms, Roland leaned back into his chair, eyes narrowed. “What did you have in mind?”

“I suggest we bring the LAW to bear, sheriff.” The man couldn’t help but allow a sly smirk to appear as he sat back down at the table and interlaced his fingers. “With powerful Primes, we can make the Dunes stable again. We can wipe those who would create chaos off the face of verse, and create the order these people so yearn.”

Tapping his finger on the table firmly, Roland sighed and leaned back in his chair, “Alright, what specific you want to do?”

“First, a new brand of deputy, here in the town. Combat ready, tactically minded, and most importantly,” the man’s jewelry cast an image of an exact duplicate of itself, “trained to use one of these.”

“Can you make more of those?” Dean inquired, stuffing his pistol back into a holster at his waist.

Sinestro grinned slowly, “This ring is capable of duplicating itself, even if for a short time. With enough time and omnilium, I’m sure I could make more. Perhaps even permanent copies.” He returned his gaze to the grizzled peacekeeper that sat across the table, “Today would have never happened if I would have been able to create my Corps. All of this could have been avoided if only we had better trained law enforcers at the back of Primes like us. And if I can recruit more into our little ‘faction,’ we can spread that peace far enough that we might never hear of such a tragedy ever again.”

Roland strummed the tips of his fingers over the grain of the table, the wrinkles on his face twisted into knots as he contemplated the proposal. Finally he snatched the old-fashioned glass and finished his drink. His weary eyes locked with the lantern’s and, for a moment, he saw the fear that rested in the seat of that man’s spirit. It was a fear that he too had felt once, when he had the courage to let himself feel such things.

After another deep breath, the old man uttered, “Alright. Do what you gotta do.”

With that, he stood and made his way for the door, stopping at the threshold and glanced back over his shoulder. “Don’t you let me down.”

[Dean Winchester]

Watching the sheriff leave Dean just sat there in his chair, arms crossed, and his eyes narrowed at Sinestro. So that is what he wanted, make some sort of ring slinging police force or whatever, or just a good old fashion army. While Dean was down for kicking in skulls and good old general violence he wasn't really too set on the 'following other peoples orders' part. Shaking his head he let out a low whistle, almost sounding like the sound effects kids make when imitating a bomb falling, and after that he just let the room settle into silence.

”I ain't nobody's bitch” Dean muttered finally. He was pretty sure that Orion fellow just snorted at the comment, but Sinestro had raised an eyebrow curiously.

”Pardon? Could you be a little more clear on that? I am not sure I understand you fully.” The hunter just shrugged his shoulders picked up his drink.

”I love the whole bringing down the arm of the law thing, but that usually means following someone's orders.” Downing his drink Dean slammed the glass down. ”And as I said, I'm no one's bitch.”

Sinestro laughed at this, actually laughed for once seriously or not, and shook his head. ”Dean my friend, you misunderstand me.”

”Yeah, apparently that happens a lot” the demon growled at the reinstated lantern. ”Maybe you should fill in some of the blanks for me.”

”The members of LAW all have the same goal, but we are all still independent. We can choose to work with someone or not, no hard feelings as you earth people say.” Sinestro paused and then pointed a finger at Dean in warning, “As long as we do not work AGAINST each other that is. The idea is to control the chaos, eradicate it, not to increase it.”

Dean just sat there for a moment, ignoring everything else in the room. If people didn't know Dean better they would have thought he was in deep thought, weighing his options, trying to decide the right path, when in actuality he was just trying to figure out what he could get out of this.

”So, here is how I see it” Dean said finally as he started to fill his glass again. ”It's a great idea and all, love it, I am in, but I am not sticking around here waiting for the bat phone to ring. I am going to go do my thing, carve out a piece of this sandbox for myself.“

Dean paused for a second, realizing that he just sounded like Crowley for a moment there, then immediately dismissed it with a shake of his head. “When and if you need me to kill somebody, give me a call.”

Raising the glass to the others at the table in a sort of salute Dean then down the contents and then chucked the glass over his shoulder. Standing up he pulled his smart phone out of his pocket and tapped it against Sinestro's ring.

”You know how to get a hold of me.” Turning towards the exit he waved at the remaining two people at the table. ”You two ladies try and have fun without me.”

Dean started towards the door but then stopped after a few paces, by the look on his face something was currently bothering him, what it was exactly soon become apparent as he glared at the man who had been watching them from the bar. The Winchester had no idea how long the man had been there but something about him rubbed Dean the wrong way. Making his way to the bar Dean leaned down against it before speaking.

”I have no idea who you are pal, or why you decided to eavesdrop in on us,” Dean turned his head to face the man, his eyes turning pitch black, “but if I ever seen you again I will kill you, there won't be enough of you left to fill a fucking matchbox. Enjoy your water.”

Dean knocked over the glass of water then straightened up and turned around, not even waiting for the man to answer, and left. Whatever words the man had would simply fall on deaf ears. Dean was also sure that the man would not attack him here, not with Sinestro and Orion around.

”Fucking douche.” the demon muttered as he exited the bar and found his ride.

From inside the bar the sound of an engine starting, and then loudly revving, could be heard and soon it was followed by the sound of guitar, loud vocals, and the sweet bliss that was classic rock.

Hello me ... Meet the real me,
and my misfits way of life.
A dark black past is my
most valued possession.
Hindsight is always 20-20,
but looking back it's still a bit fuzzy.
Speak of mutually assured destruction?
Nice story ... Tell it to Reader's Digest!!!

As soon as the chorus started to play the sound of tires kicking up dirt against the wall could be heard, and then the sound of engine and music alike started to fade as the Impala got further and further away.

[Illidan Stormrage]

A peacekeeping force? Orion bristled at the idea. He was a warrior, and a saiyan at that; his efforts were rarely directed in any sense other than his own desires or instincts. He would kill for self preservation, or glory, or money, but defending random innocents? Where was the payoff in that? The gibbered pleasantries of saved weaklings was worth as much as the air that gave life to them. Orion never bathed in praise and never enjoyed it on the scarce occasions that it happened.

Sinestro, on the other hand, seemed driven by the concept. His yellow eyes shone as he spoke, every word imbued with a sacred importance. From what Orion had seen of Sinestro, however, he doubted he was purely altruistic. In his experience, those types of people were few and far between, and the off chance that the Omniverse had thrown him in seemed slim. Did Sinestro wish to conquer the sandy verse? Or were his reasons for protecting the town deeper than they first appeared?

Too much thinking. Orion poured himself another shot and downed it in a swift movement. As the liquor cascaded down his throat, he felt his face prickle and warm. That was probably enough.

As Orion was pondering Sinestro's proposition, Dean spoke his mind, and quite bluntly. With no particular allegiance to the ideals of teamwork, he relayed that he would be around if he was needed, but his lone wolf persona wouldn't stand for vigilantly protecting the town. After berating a white haired man at the bar, hitherto unnoticed by Orion, he left the bar. Moments later, Orion heard the revving of an engine, dying away with every second as it ostensibly sped away.

Orion understood that feeling. But as he already decided, there was nowhere out there for him to go. At least developing an ally or two could introduce him to something worthy of his time.

But joining an organisation, dedicated to keeping the peace? The idea, unmitigated, left a sour taste in the saiyan's mouth. However, when Dean had questioned it, Thaal had explained in greater detail, revealing the objective of reducing the level of chaos. Orion looked at his hand, clenching and releasing a fist. He'd seen enough chaos to last two lifetimes. He had no qualm with destroying it for the sake of it. He was still a saiyan, true, but there were things worth protecting in the world. Maybe even in the Omniverse.

At the very least, combating chaos meant battle. And Orion loved battle.

"Not exactly the most reliable person, is he?" Orion said as Dean's vehicle dimmed out of hearing.

"Strong willed, perhaps. Solitary. But not unreliable," Sinestro replied.

"Hmm," Orion considered. "True." Guess I have more in common with the thug than I thought. "So, you intend to start a peacekeeping force?"

"Just so."

"I must admit, the idea of wearing one of your rings is appealing." Orion cast a glance over the glistening band on Sinestro's red finger. "Ki is diverse, but I'm certainly not averse to gaining more power."

Sinestro looked the saiyan over. "It's not hard to see that you and Dean share similarities in demeanour. As I said previously, our association does not have a chain of command. We are all equals. A partnership among like minded individuals is a better explanation. Also, do not feel like you must join. If you were dissuaded because of this misconception - "

Orion raised a hand. "I understand. I've worked in a team more often than you might think." Indeed, I was the commander of my squadron. He cleared his throat. "I find myself with little to pursue in this realm, Sinestro. At least for now, maybe until something else comes along, I will stay here. The bandits will keep me entertained, if nothing else."

Sinestro stroked his pencil moustache, his face flat. "I am glad to hear it."

No doubt the Lantern was glad to hear it. If he truly intended for their alliance to be equal, without leaders and subordinates, then Orion could get on board. Yet, could such a proposition last? Orion was used to having squad mates obeying his commands, and judging by Sinestro's air and manner, was also accustomed to giving orders. Perhaps their aggrandised pride would collide one day. It had to be considered. Though the Lantern likely had realised such an eventuality as well.

Orion nodded. "So, my ring."

Thaal's eyes cast down at his imbued jewelry. "I'm not certain I can do it yet. At least not permanently. I will need to experiment."

"I understand," Orion said. "Then there is something I must ask of you." Orion rolled his shoulders and found the pain in his ribs to have fled completely. Strange. "We may commence this later, but if I am to enter an alliance with you, I need to know something important about you."

Sinestro cocked an eyebrow. "And that is?"

Orion balled his fist, each finger following the last in succession, and his knuckles cracked. "I need to know how powerful my ally is." His eye narrowed. "We have to fight."

Sinestro retained his curious expression. "Indeed?"

"Yeah," Orion said. "Saiyans need to respect those they fight with, shoulder to shoulder. If you can't provide a decent challenge to me, then it will be difficult for me to rely on you, and thus trust you in these law enforcement tasks. So, what say you?"

[Xehanort]

I will kill you

"Hmph, fool".

This would be the time Braig would say, "As If". That is if he were in Xehanort's place instead of the white haired scientist himself. Braig would also be inclined to rush that offer, picking a fight when none needed to be fought in the first place. It was as if he had something to prove to the world, to himself. Xehanort had nothing to prove. He had only a goal, an ending position, and as long as he met that end, everything accumalating up to that point would have been worth his time spent. The lessened consequence of death here in the... "Omniverse", as others call it, meant it was only a matter of time before the goal was achieved.

Xehanort finished his glass and set it down softly, and rested his hand squarely on the counter. The barkeep, who must have arrived shortly before Xehanort himself, retrieved the glass and wiped it clean and dry with a soft white rag before setting the glass with the others on the counter behind him. Curious. Nearly every building in this town had suffered some kind of damage and yet this particular one had remained as clean as a building in this town could be. The barkeep must work hard to keep his business in good condition.

"Ya know stranger, if all you wanted was to wet yer throat, the inn down the street would have served ya just as well. This place can draw in ah... a more... unsavory lot than most other places", the barkeep said with a stroke to his mustache. Fair enough, but there is always a method to ones madness, whether or not they know it themselves.

"Hmm, I must not have seen it. The buildings are all too similar, and the sign was probably destroyed in the fighting. Are you saying you don't want my silver? I can provide more.. rarer materials if that need be the case, but I doubt water is that precious."

Xehanort caught the word LAW, and turned his attention to the fool's two friends. It wasn't the word itself that interested him, but rather the way it was said. In this case LAW, was a person or a group of persons. Perhaps it was an organization. Xehanort toyed with the possibility of a group of Primes like himself among these wastes. From what little he had witnessed of them, he knew primes were a powerful lot. The man with red skin seemed particularly powerful himself, but rarely do leaders of their own faction do the recruiting themselves, especially if their organization is already fully established. No, Xehanort had a hunch that the one behind this, "LAW" was somewhere else, sitting pretty in his HQ.

"I think I'll have another glass, Barkeep"