John's brow furrowed, his eyes widening just slightly as Batman's words echoed through his mind.
''Yellow?'
He responded aloud and in thought at once, the words escaping before logic could rein them in.
"Those are Sinestro Corps."
The moment hung still.
The Batwing broke into view, engines low as it slowed to a controlled hover nearby, its silhouette framed against the open sky. The green lanterns glanced at it only briefly—acknowledging it, not prioritizing it. Their focus remained squarely on John.
Kilowag was the first to break the silence.
"Sinestro Corps?"
His voice didn't rise. It dropped—like weight being set down too hard.
John nodded grimly. "League satellites caught a signature breach not long after you entered the system. Yellow light. Enough to trigger priority surveillance."
Tomar-Tu's face hardened, his mandibles twitching slightly. Soranik's mouth tightened. Her jaw moved like she was chewing something she hated the taste of.
Arisia tilted her head, clearly trying to process. "Wait—why would they come here? This sector's under Green jurisdiction…"
Kilowag muttered to no one in particular. "What the hell does Sinestro want in this sector…"
John didn't answer right away. He turned—just slightly—his gaze sliding to Soranik.
It wasn't subtle.
She caught it instantly. So did the others.
He spoke plainly. "Seems too much of a coincidence. Sinestro showing up right when Hal's death is under investigation… when Arias is changing the entire planet. Maybe someone here knows why."
Soranik's expression snapped. She floated forward an inch, eyes narrowing.
"How dare you—!"
'John!'
Batman's voice sounded in his head. The urgency wasn't normal. Something was happening.
'I think they're here.'
And then—
"My, my…"
The voice didn't thunder. It crept in. Smooth. Icy. Arrogant.
"…and here I had thought you were all actually here for something interesting."
Sinestro's tone was effortless condescension. Like a scholar looking down at amateurs. Each word carried the self-satisfied polish of a man who had never once questioned his own superiority.
The reaction was immediate.
Kilowag clenched both fists, floating slightly higher. Tomar-Tu's ring glowed brighter, his posture shifting to ready. John didn't move—his face locked in a stare. No surprise. Just disdain.
Inside the Batwing, Batman's fingers moved quickly across the console.
Ping. Lock.
Above the clouds.
Target found.
The clouds parted before any command could be spoken.
A figure descended.
Sinestro.
Clad in full yellow corps regalia, his suit patterned with angular lines that seemed to move when stared at too long. His hands rested behind his back, posture straight. Regal. The yellow of his uniform almost too bright, the way lightning's afterimage lingers behind closed eyes.
His face wore the usual smirk. The one that made people want to punch him before he finished his sentences.
Soranik froze. Just for a second.
'Father…?'
Arisia's hand brushed against her hip unconsciously. Her ring hummed. Low. Nervous.
Batman's voice returned, flat and direct. 'Will they be a problem?'
Before John could respond, another voice entered the link.
'If they are a threat,' J'onn said calmly, 'I will alert the rest of the League immediately.'
"No," John answered both of them aloud and in thought. "We can handle Sinestro."
He wasn't sure he believed it. Not fully. But his voice stayed firm.
"Let's not escalate this. Not unless we have to."
Neither Batman nor J'onn argued.
Kilowag, however, did not wait for peace talks.
He stepped forward in the air, voice direct and unamused.
"What the hell do you want here, Sinestro?"
Sinestro scoffed.
A second later, the clouds above opened again.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Three more figures followed behind him.
The first—Arkillo.
A mountain of muscle and scars, with fangs like daggers jutting from a jaw built for crushing. His skin was a deep, rotted blue. Tattoos snaked across his shoulders, most looking etched in pain. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. His eyes did the threatening for him.
Next—Lyssa Drak.
Slender. Elongated. Her skin a cold lavender shade, her eyes pitch black without whites. She held a long, leather-bound book chained to her hip, its pages moving in the wind even though there wasn't any. She smiled—but the kind of smile you'd expect from someone who writes epitaphs before the bodies fall.
Last—Romat-Ru.
Shorter. Hairless. His yellow uniform wrapped around a skeletal frame. His skin was brownish, dry like aged leather. His grin showed teeth too sharp to be natural. There was something wrong with his eyes. The kind of wrong you feel before you think it.
They hovered just behind Sinestro, forming a staggered line.
No one spoke.
Not yet.
But the balance had changed.
The silence that followed the descent of the yellow lanterns didn't last long. It never did when certain names were involved.
Kilowag's face twisted into a full scowl. His upper lip curled, exposing teeth as he floated forward just a touch.
He didn't say another word.
Instead—
THWUMP~
He surged forward, hand shooting out. A construct materialized instantly—massive, crude, and familiar. A war hammer, green energy cracking around its head like it was pulled straight from his homeworld's forges.
"Fine," Kilowag growled. "I'll just beat you down and make you talk."
Sinestro raised one eyebrow, expression unreadable. Not surprised. Not impressed. Just… watching.
John extended a hand, voice tight with warning. "Wait, Kilo—"
Too late.
Kilowag's hammer construct swung forward, its descent fast and deliberate, aimed straight at Sinestro's chest. The blow never landed.
CLANG—SHHKRANG~
Twin yellow blades cut through the air, slicing the construct into two crumbling halves. The energy dispersed mid-motion with a shudder.
Arkillo hovered in front of Sinestro now. Grinning wide, too wide. The kind of grin that preceded broken ribs.
"That had some force behind it," Arkillo said, voice coarse, guttural. "Good. I like resistance."
Behind them, Romat-Ru tilted his head and laughed. High-pitched. Fragmented. Off-tune.
"Heh… looks like Arkillo beat me to the fun."
He turned to Sinestro with eyes glowing a touch too bright.
"Can I go on ahead?" he asked, voice slithering. "I've always heard humans scream so well. Wouldn't mind seeing it firsthand."
He inhaled through his teeth, slow, savoring it.
"This planet's so rich with fear."
Lyssa's voice followed like a whisper of nails down glass. Her smile was fixed, fingers gliding across her cheek as if imagining the sensation of someone else's panic.
"That it is. I can already see the nightmares swelling."
Sinestro gave a slight nod, formal as if granting permission at a court.
"Go ahead. We didn't come this far for nothing."
He glanced downward, eyes narrowed.
"For once, humans might actually serve a purpose."
Romat-Ru cackled and shot forward, yellow aura spiking around him.
"Wonderful! I can already see their screaming faces."
Chains erupted from Arkillo's fists, the glowing constructs spinning into jagged links mid-flight. He hurled them forward at the green lanterns.
"I'll have my fun here!"
Inside the Batwing, Batman's brow lowered. He watched the tactical screen blink.
"This is bad."
The words weren't theatrical. They were procedural.
He pushed the throttle forward and dove.
Tomar-Tu moved the second the Batwing shifted, giving chase after Romat-Ru, eyes narrowed.
Kilowag, unfazed by Arkillo's grin, batted the yellow chains away with a second construct—this time a thick shield reinforced with piston-like slams. He dropped it just long enough to dive at Arkillo.
BOOM~
The sky cracked with energy.
Meanwhile, Soranik hovered in place, her gaze locked on Sinestro. Her voice rose, cold but pointed.
"There are countless sectors you could've gone to if fear was all you wanted. Don't take us for fools…"
A pause.
"…Father."
Arkillo and Kilowag traded blows behind her. Glowing fists collided, constructs warped in midair, neither side holding back.
John and Arisia hadn't moved.
Their focus was on Sinestro and Lyssa.
Sinestro chuckled.
"As expected of you, daughter," he said, voice cool. "A shame you're too foolish to see the Guardians for what they are."
Lyssa's grin widened unnaturally. She drifted forward a foot, eyes falling on Soranik with unblinking delight.
"So this is your child," she said softly. Then, in a sing-song that sent a ripple through the air:
"A cradle born of light and doubt,
with screams to stitch the silence out,
her mind a mirror, soon to break—
a perfect place for fear to wake."
John narrowed his eyes. "What the hell does that mean?"
Soranik didn't hesitate.
"It's from the Book of Parallax. Lyssa's written hundreds of verses. Each one about a lantern or a system she plans to dismantle."
She didn't flinch as she said it.
Lyssa clapped once. Soft. Mocking.
"Well done. Quite the bright mind. I'll enjoy invading your space and making it a mess."
Her hand lifted.
A glow began to bloom around her. Yellow tendrils snaked through the air like ink in water. Behind her, faint outlines began to form—echoes of distorted faces. Whispers started. Not from mouths. From thoughts.
Fear. Memory. Doubt.
The construct was starting.