The skies above Coast City were beginning to clear, the morning haze burned away in streaks as the Batwing moved through the air. Its engines growled a steady VMMMM, the silhouette darting between the drifting remnants of cloud cover.
Up ahead, Romat-Ru's yellow aura glided with effortless arrogance. His path wasn't evasive—he didn't need to evade. He wanted to be seen.
In the cockpit, Batman's eyes tracked the alien like a hawk through his HUD. His jaw stayed locked, voice flat but edged with tension.
"Alfred, I'm in pursuit of a yellow lantern. Species and abilities unknown, but assume similar to the others."
Alfred's reply came quick over comms. "Hmm… scanning now, sir. I'm not seeing a fixed target yet, but—ah—there is a densely populated protest gathering three klicks ahead. Appears to be a continuation of the anti-government demonstrations following Markovic's latest decrees."
Batman's brow furrowed. "You don't think—"
The thought cut short when his cockpit's secondary feed flared to life. A side camera tracked Tomar-Tu in rapid approach, his green aura a spear against the pale blue. In seconds, the Xudarian overtook the Batwing, flying past like a missile in pursuit.
Romat-Ru's long ears flicked back at the sound, and he glanced over his shoulder with a sneer.
"Damn green lanterns," he said aloud, his voice carrying a rasp of amusement. "Always trying to ruin the fun."
His gaze dropped.
Below, the crowd gathered in the square looked like an unknowing feast—women, men, children, banners raised high, their voices lost in the distance. The sight alone pulled a long, sick grin across his face.
He began his dive.
Tomar-Tu's eyes narrowed as he tracked the yellow lantern's descent. His pace increased, knowing full well that whatever Romat-Ru had planned, it wouldn't be clean.
Batman hung back, his own speed no match for the two aliens—but tracking them was enough to tell him everything he needed. On his right display, dots and altitude markers showed both lanterns dropping hard toward the square.
Back over the city's edge, where the others had been left, the air was already a storm of light and violence.
Arkillo and Kilowag were in the middle of an outright brawl—blows landing with enough force to make the air shudder.
WHAM—Kilowag's construct gauntlet slammed into Arkillo's side, sending a spray of yellow energy scattering into the air. Arkillo countered instantly, swiping with a hooked blade that Kilowag barely blocked with a slab-like shield.
Arkillo's grin widened. "That all you got, pooz—"
The insult didn't finish. Kilowag swung again, his construct morphing mid-strike into a wrecking ball. Arkillo took the hit to the chest, staggered—then lunged forward, catching Kilowag in the gut with both fists.
The force drove Kilowag down—hard—toward the city below.
Sinestro's smirk didn't waver as he watched.
"This won't end well for you, Sinestro," John said, voice low but carrying as he charged forward.
Sinestro didn't even raise his guard until John was nearly on him.
KRASH—a parry, a twist, and John's construct shattered like glass under pressure. Sinestro's follow-up sent a surge of yellow across John's chest, the blast spinning him in midair before he steadied himself.
Arisia moved in fast to flank, ring already flaring—
"Leaving so soon?" Lyssa's voice curled out like a thread of cold breath.
Her hand lifted, ring glowing as chains of yellow formed from nothing, snapping around Arisia's wrists and ankles.
CHNK—CHNK—CHNK
Arisia pulled, twisted—nothing gave. Lyssa's quiet laugh followed. "It's pointless, little lantern."
Her other hand came up, and Arisia's vision blurred. Shapes formed in front of her—a vision of Hal Jordan, battered, reaching for her, only to dissolve into dust before her eyes.
Arisia's breath caught.
Soranik's jaw tightened. "Enough."
She moved to break the chains—only for Lyssa's gaze to meet hers, the ring pulsing again.
The world around Soranik shifted—a city, engulfed in flames, medical wards overturned, the screams of patients she had failed to save filling the air. And in the middle of it all, Sinestro—watching her with disappointment that cut deeper than any wound.
Lyssa's whisper followed like a chill wind. "And you still think you can judge me?"
John slid backward through the air under the force of Sinestro's latest strike, boots grinding against nothing before he steadied himself. His gaze swept past the Korugarian—and froze.
Arisia's hands trembled against the chains binding her, jaw tight as her eyes darted to something only she could see. Whatever Lyssa had trapped her in, it was eating at her resolve.
Soranik fared little better. She was fighting—shouting into the void—calling the visions lies even as her breath quickened. Her ring flickered in momentary lapses, her focus constantly being dragged back into whatever nightmare Lyssa had spun for her.
Sinestro noticed John's attention. His lips curved faintly, voice almost conversational.
"Amazing, isn't she? A true treasure to our corps. It's hopeless to resist… our rings are filled with the fear of countless beings from the Vega System—courtesy of Darkseid."
John's eyes narrowed. "Darkseid? What are you talking about?"
A scoff. "Now isn't the time for pointless questions, John."
Sinestro surged forward before John could respond, yellow light flaring around him.
Far below and to the west, the chaos was breaking loose in earnest.
Romat-Ru's dive was a spear of yellow fire. A few in the square caught sight of it—some pointing upward in confusion, others faltering mid-chant. The first shouts of alarm spread like cracks in glass.
"What is that?!"
"Get down! Move!"
Romat-Ru's grin stretched. The city's noise dulled in his head, replaced by the thrum of panic he could already taste.
KRSSHHH—his ring flared, birthing a storm of jagged constructs—shards, blades, and spines—raining down toward the packed crowd.
From behind, Tomar-Tu's voice rang out, desperate. "No!"
He threw his will forward, shaping it into an extended barrier that cut through the air. It intercepted part of the barrage—green colliding with yellow in shattering bursts. But too many slipped through.
The first hit drove into a protester's back, the yellow spike jutting out before dissipating into sparks. Another sliced through a man's shoulder, sending him tumbling into those beside him. A cluster of spinning blades tore across the square, shredding banners—and the arms that held them.
Screams erupted in every direction. Parents dragged children into cover behind overturned stalls. Others froze until the next impact snapped them into motion.
Romat-Ru's laughter rose above it all. He hovered, head tilted, eyes drinking in every drop of fear.
Tomar-Tu didn't give him long to savor it. His construct—this time a solid battering ram—slammed into the yellow lantern's side.
THOOM
Romat-Ru crashed into the square, scattering debris, his boots hitting stone slicked with blood.
He straightened, the fanatic's gleam in his eyes unshaken. "You can't beat me here! This is my type of fight!"
His ring flared again, shaping a long, serrated whip that lashed toward Tomar-Tu. The Xudarian twisted aside, the strike missing by inches—
—and swinging into the street behind him. The whip tore through a building's facade, the lower floors giving way in a KRRRNNNCH of brick and metal. Inside, something sparked.
The explosion followed instantly.
BOOOOM
A bloom of flame and shattered glass ripped outward, sending civilians and debris tumbling across the square.