Watchtower Medical Bay
I woke up to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the low hum of medical equipment. My ribs were throbbing with a deep, persistent ache that made every breath feel like someone was pressing hot coals against my chest. My head was pounding, a dull pressure behind my eyes that pulsed in time with my heartbeat.
I groaned, the sound coming out rougher than I intended, and tried to sit up. Pain shot through my torso immediately, forcing me back down against the medical bed.
"Easy there," a voice said from somewhere to my left.
I turned my head slowly, wincing at the movement, and saw an IV line running from my arm to a bag of clear fluid hanging on a stand next to the bed. The needle was taped securely in place, and I could feel the cool sensation of whatever they were pumping into me spreading through my veins.
The medical bay was busy. Doctors and nurses moved around the space with practiced efficiency, attending to other heroes who'd been injured in training or missions. The walls were white and clean, lined with advanced medical equipment that looked like it belonged in a science fiction movie. Holographic displays showed vital signs and medical data, updating in real-time as the staff worked.
A woman approached my bed, and I got my first good look at her. She was a doctor, that much was obvious from the white lab coat she wore over dark blue scrubs. She had beautiful brown skin that seemed to glow under the medical bay's fluorescent lights, and long curly hair that was pulled back into a professional ponytail. Her eyes were bright and intelligent, the kind of eyes that missed nothing, and there was a no-nonsense expression on her face that told me she'd seen plenty of stubborn patients before.
She picked up the chart from the foot of my bed and scanned it quickly, her eyes moving over the data with ease. Then she looked at me, and I saw her expression shift slightly, becoming more stern.
"Look, I know you aliens, " she started, then paused, looking closer at the chart. Her eyebrows rose slightly. "Sorry, Viltrumites hybrids are durable and heal quickly, and get a little stronger after each injury. But that does not mean you should beat each other senseless."
She gestured toward the adjacent room as she spoke, and I followed her gaze.
Through the transparent wall that separated the medical rooms, I could see Mark lying in his own bed. He looked worse than I felt, which was saying something. His face was covered in bruises that were already starting to fade from purple to yellow-green, and there were bandages wrapped around his ribs. An IV line ran from his arm just like mine, and he was staring up at the ceiling with an expression I couldn't quite read.
Standing next to Mark's bed was a woman.
She was tall, probably around 5'8" or 5'9", with a slender but athletic build that spoke of someone who took care of herself. Her brown hair was styled in loose curls that fell past her shoulders, and her blue eyes were fixed on Mark with an expression that was equal parts concern and something else. Relief, maybe. Or hope.
She was talking to him, her voice too low for me to hear through the transparent wall, but I could see the way Mark was responding. His jaw was tight, his hands clenched into fists on top of the blanket, and he wasn't looking at her. He was still staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers to questions he didn't want to ask.
I looked away, focusing instead on the hallway between the two medical rooms.
Sitting in a chair against the wall was a young boy, and the sight of him made my breath catch in my throat for a completely different reason.
Oliver.
He looked like a teenager, maybe thirteen or fourteen years old, with a lean build that was just starting to fill out with muscle. Now that I had a chance to take it in, his distinct reddish tint skin. It really showed his Martian heritage.
He was eating cookies from a small package, munching on them contentedly. He looked so young, so innocent, completely unaware of the weight of what he represented.
But I knew the truth. I knew that despite looking like a young teenager, Oliver was only four or five years old. It was still hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that this was this universe's version of Oliver. Instead of a Viltrumite-Thraxan hybrid like in the original timeline, he was a Viltrumite-Martian hybrid. And the potential he represented... it was terrifying.
Viltrumites were already one of the most powerful species in the universe. Super strength, invulnerability, flight, enhanced healing, and a lifespan that stretched for thousands of years. They were conquerors, warriors bred for battle and domination.
Martians, on the other hand, had a completely different set of abilities. Shapeshifting, density manipulation, intangibility, telepathy, telekinesis, and in rare cases, the ability to become a Burning Martian, a form so powerful and destructive that it was feared across the galaxy.
Combining those two power sets into one being? That was god-like potential right there. If Oliver ever unlocked his full abilities, if he ever learned to access his Burning Martian form while maintaining his Viltrumite durability and strength, he would be nearly unstoppable.
Thank god the Viltrumites' reproduction rates were so low. Thank god Type Two hybrids like Oliver were extremely rare. Because if the Empire ever figured out how to mass-produce beings like him, the universe would be in serious trouble.
I was still staring at Oliver, my mind racing through the implications, when I heard footsteps approaching.
Nolan walked into the medical bay, his presence immediately commanding attention now all of it was good. He was wearing his red and white suit. The same white and red suit that he attacked the league and world in. He looked at both me and Mark through the transparent walls, his eyes assessing our conditions with the practiced gaze of someone who'd seen plenty of injuries before.
"Alright," Nolan said, his voice carrying easily through the medical bay. "You two get thirty minutes to rest up, then we're heading back to the training room. Come on, Oliver. You and I will get a head start."
Oliver immediately perked up, stuffing the last cookie into his mouth and hopping down from the chair. He looked excited, his eyes bright with enthusiasm, and he waved at both Mark and Debbie as he passed their room.
"Bye, Mark! Bye, Miss Sandy!" he called out, his voice cheerful and innocent.
Mark managed a weak wave back, and the woman smiled at the boy, but I could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her hands were clasped tightly together. She looked nervous. Scared, even.
Why was she nervous? And more importantly, who was the woman who'd been standing in my room earlier?
I watched as Nolan and Oliver left the medical bay, the door sliding shut behind them with a soft hiss. The moment they were gone, the woman who'd been talking to Mark earlier turned and looked at me.
She waited a moment, as if making sure Nolan and Oliver were truly gone, then she smiled and walked from Marks room into mine.
"Hello," she said, and her voice had a strong Southern accent that immediately caught my attention. "I'm Sandy."
I looked at her more carefully now. She was probably in her early to mid twenties, with an athletic build and an easy confidence in the way she moved. Her curly brown hair was styled simply, and her blue eyes were warm and friendly. She was wearing casual clothes, jeans and a simple blouse, but there was something about her that suggested she was more than she appeared.
"Caius," I said, my voice still rough from the fight. "Nice to meet you. Can I help you with something?"
She smiled wider, and I got a weird feeling in my gut. It was like I'd met her before, like there was something familiar about her that I couldn't quite place. But I was certain I'd never seen this woman before in my life.
"No, I'm fine," Sandy said, and I noticed a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "I just wanted to say thank you for everything."
I raised an eyebrow, confusion settling over me like a blanket. "Thanks for what? Beating up Mark?"
She shook her head, chuckling softly. "No, even though he could use a good beating every now and again to keep him humble."
I smirked despite myself. "How do you know Mark? Are you his girlfriend or...?"
Sandy laughed outright at that, the sound genuine and warm. "Oh god, no. I'm his therapist. I've been working with him for the past five years during his rehabilitation." She paused, then added casually, "And I'm a bit of a psychic."
I raised both eyebrows now. "Oh."
That explained the weird feeling I'd been getting from her. Psychics always set off my mental defenses, even when they weren't actively trying to read my mind. It was like an itch at the back of my skull, a constant reminder that someone nearby could potentially peek into my thoughts if I let my guard down.
Sandy's expression turned more serious, and she took a step closer to my bed. "Mark has changed a lot over the years, Caius. He knows he can't take back what he did, but he's trying to be better. He's working every day to—"
"Please stop," I said, cutting her off. My voice came out harder than I intended, but I couldn't help it. "Look, I know he must feel bad. I get that. But that doesn't fix anything, and I get you're trying to help him, but until he faces the people he's hurt, he won't be able to gain the redemption he wants."
I sat up slightly, ignoring the pain in my ribs, and looked Sandy directly in the eyes.
"Look, I hate the man, but I understand I need his help to face the Empire. And after that, I will fight him again, once and for all. That's just how these things go."
Sandy was quiet for a moment, studying my face with those intelligent blue eyes. Then she smiled, and it was a sad, knowing smile.
"You have no idea," she said softly.
I frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Instead of answering directly, Sandy reached out and gently touched my hand where it rested on the bed. Her touch was warm, and I felt a strange tingle of energy pass between us, like static electricity but softer, more controlled.
"Have we met before?" I asked, the question coming out before I could stop it.
Sandy's smile widened, becoming more mysterious. "Not yet. But probably a very long time from now, we will." She squeezed my hand gently, then let go. "Just be a little more patient when we meet again. And be a little bit more open-minded."
I raised an eyebrow, my mind immediately jumping to conclusions. "Oh great, cryptic BS. You must be from the future."
Sandy didn't confirm or deny it. She just smiled that same mysterious smile, gave me a small wave, and turned to leave.
"Wait," I called after her. "What do you mean, 'when we meet again'? How do you know we're going to meet?"
But she was already walking out of the room, and she didn't look back.
I stared after her for a long moment, my mind racing. A psychic therapist who knew things about the future. Who talked like she'd already met me, even though I'd never seen her before. Who looked at me with that strange mixture of fondness and sadness, like she was remembering something that hadn't happened yet.
Time travel. It had to be. Or maybe she was a precog, someone who could see possible futures. Either way, it was unsettling.
I was still thinking about it when Mark stood up from his bed in the adjacent room. He moved slowly, carefully, like every muscle in his body was protesting the movement. His face was set in an upset, somber expression, and he didn't look at Debbie as he walked toward the door.
I pulled the IV out of my arm, ignoring the doctor's protests, and got to my feet. My ribs screamed at me, but I pushed through the pain and followed Mark out into the hallway.
We walked in silence toward the elevator, our footsteps echoing in the empty corridor. The Watchtower was massive, with hallways that seemed to stretch on forever, and right now it felt like we were the only two people in the entire station.
Mark pressed the button for the elevator, and we waited. The silence between us was heavy, weighted with five years of history and pain and anger that neither of us knew how to address.
When the elevator doors finally opened, we stepped inside. Mark pressed the button for the training level, and the doors slid shut with a soft hiss.
We stood there, side by side, staring at the closed doors as the elevator began to descend. The numbers on the display ticked down slowly: Level 7... Level 6... Level 5...
Then Mark spoke, his voice quiet and strained.
"So my mom replaced me with you."
The words hit me. I turned to look at him, and I saw the pain in his eyes, the raw hurt that he was trying so hard to hide behind that somber expression.
"No, Mark," I said, and my voice came out rougher than I intended. "She didn't replace you with me. Your mother missed you and your father every single day. She was broken-hearted."
I took a breath, trying to control the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm me.
"It was thanks to a family friend that we found each other. She brought light to my world, and I hope I did the same for her. She was my mother in every sense of the word. And I hope I was the son she needed."
Mark looked down at the floor, his jaw clenching. For a moment, I thought he was going to argue, to push back against what I'd said. But instead, he just nodded slowly.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For looking out for my mom all this time. How... how is she?"
The question was so genuine, so vulnerable, that it caught me off guard. And then the anger came rushing back, hot and fierce.
"Fuck you," I said, my voice cold. "I know she went to go visit you, and you turned her away. If you want to know how she is, call her back."
I turned to face him fully, getting right in his face, close enough that I could see the guilt and shame in his eyes.
"Better yet, go see her in person and get on your hands and knees and beg for her forgiveness."
Mark looked at me for a long moment, and I saw something shift in his expression. The defensiveness faded, replaced by resignation and acceptance.
"Yeah," he said finally. "I will do that."
"Good," I said. I pulled back slightly and tapped on my suit's forearm interface, pulling up the communication system. A few quick commands, and I'd sent a message.
"It's done," I said.
Mark's eyes widened. "Wait, what?"
I smirked. "I told Diana to bring your mom here. The two of them are good friends anyway, and since Diana is basically my aunt, she'll do it no problem. So get this shit figured out, because while we're training, I will be beating you and your father up."
Mark sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Look, Caius, I'm one thing, but let me tell you one thing, my dad is on a whole other level. The version of him you probably fought in the simulation room at Titans Tower is a watered-down version of him."
"I know," I said coldly. I looked at my hand, clenching my fist, feeling the power coiled inside me. "I know he's stronger. But you and I have the potential to surpass him. Especially your brother."
Mark nodded, his expression becoming more serious. "I know. Cecil put me through scenarios of the possible hybrids I could run up against, and Oliver is one version of them."
I sighed. "It had to be Martian. Well, better than Kryptonian."
Mark didn't say anything to that. He was thinking about Galatea, the Supergirl clone he was dating. The implications of what a Viltrumite-Kryptonian hybrid could do were terrifying, and he knew it.
Some more silence passed between us as the elevator continued its descent. Then Mark spoke again, his voice quiet and sincere.
"I'm sorry about what I said about your mom and the other Amazons. It was fucked up, and I know a sorry won't make it go away, but I wanted to start with saying that."
I sighed, some of the anger draining out of me. "It's fine. Your mom's pretty hot too. Your dad got lucky."
Mark's head snapped toward me, confusion and anger flashing across his face. "What?"
I kept my expression neutral. "I always thought Debbie was an attractive woman, even when we were kids. She is a beautiful Asian woman. She's smart, successful, and more. Any man would be lucky to have her."
The elevator stopped, and the doors began to open. I turned back to Mark as we reached the training room level.
"She even told me about your little threesome with the two Ambers," I said with a smirk. "So you like a little chocolate and vanilla at the same time, huh?"
Mark's face went through several expressions in rapid succession, shock, embarrassment, and then a reluctant smile. But then he shook the smile off, his expression becoming suspicious.
"Caius, are you trying to—"
I stopped him with a raised hand. "Mark, I see her as a mother. And I notice how attractive of a woman she is. That's all. I have no want to blur the lines of our relationship. I'm just stating the obvious."
I paused, then added, "Plus, if I wanted to, I could have when I turned eighteen. But I doubt she would choose me since she still loves your dad."
Mark's fist clenched at his side, and I saw the anger flash in his eyes again. "Fine. Can we just drop all this?"
I nodded. "Yeah."
As we entered the training room, the first thing I saw was Oliver and Nolan sparring in the center of the massive white space.
They were moving fast, their bodies blurs of motion as they exchanged blows. Oliver was holding his own surprisingly well, his Martian abilities allowing him to phase through some of Nolan's attacks while his Viltrumite strength let him hit back with real force. Nolan was clearly holding back, but not by much, and I could see the pride in his eyes as he watched his youngest son fight.
They exchanged a good number of blows, punches, kicks, grapples, each one landing with enough force to create small shock waves in the air. Oliver was learning fast, adapting to Nolan's fighting style in real-time, and I could see why Nolan was so invested in training him.
Nolan noticed us entering and immediately stopped the sparring match. He caught Oliver's fist mid-punch and gently pushed the boy back.
"Good," Nolan said to Oliver. "You're getting better. Now that they're here, we can begin the real training."
A holographic terminal appeared in front of Nolan, floating in the air with a soft blue glow. He began typing on it, his fingers moving quickly across the interface.
"Hold your breath," Nolan said without looking up. "I'll be making the setting like that of space. Now, the setting for this will be large, so you can be knocked into a planet or moon. So get ready. And the gravity on these planets will be intense, as well as the natural life there that can and will try to kill you."
He continued typing, and I saw the training room's parameters changing on the holographic display. Simulated star systems, planets with varying gravity levels, hostile alien wildlife, it was going to be brutal.
"Oliver, you will partner up with them," Nolan said, gesturing to me and Mark. "And the three of you will fight against me. And remember, we are using the telecommunication devices installed in our ears."
Oliver looked confused. "I can just make a psychic link. Why not use that?"
"That won't work on me," I said. "My mind is strongly guarded, so I can't connect to psychic links."
Oliver looked at me like that was the weirdest thing he'd ever heard. "That's weird. You must be powerful. The only person I know like that is my friend Arg."
"Arg?" Mark asked, his eyebrows rising.
"Yeah, he's my friend," Oliver said cheerfully. "But he only talks to me in my head. He says all these great things about...."
"Oliver, that's called an imaginary friend," Mark interrupted. "Kids your age have them all the time."
"Let's focus, boys," Nolan said, cutting off the conversation. "You three are gonna fight against me, and no need to hold back. We will start in space and go from planet to planet with more intense gravity and harsh wildlife. That will help gauge your abilities."
The room began to shift around us. The white walls and floor faded away, replaced by the black void of space. Stars appeared in the distance, twinkling like diamonds against the darkness, and I felt the artificial gravity of the training room disappear completely.
Several large planets materialized around us, each one different in size and color. Some were rocky and barren, others covered in swirling clouds of toxic gas. I could see moons orbiting some of them, and in the distance, a massive gas giant dominated the view.
"Now let's begin," Nolan said.
I heard his voice in my mind, wait, no, that wasn't right. I heard it through the communication device in my ear, but it had that same quality of telepathic communication, immediate and clear.
And then Nolan was in front of me.
I didn't even see him move. One second he was floating several hundred feet away, and the next his fist was slamming into my chest with enough force to send me flying backward like a missile.
The impact drove all the air from my lungs. Pain exploded through my already-injured ribs, and I felt something crack, or maybe re-crack. My vision went white for a second, and then I was tumbling end over end through the simulated space, completely out of control.
I flew backward for what felt like miles, the stars streaking past me in blurs of light. Then I felt gravity grab hold of me, pulling me down toward one of the planets behind us.
I managed to stop myself just before I hit the surface, my TTK flaring to life and creating a cushion of force that slowed my momentum. I hovered there for a second, holding my which was surprisingly easy, I focused on trying to get my bearings.
Then I saw Mark and Oliver flying toward me, both of them tumbling through space just like I had been. Nolan had hit them too, sending them flying in my direction.
I dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding a collision with Mark. Oliver wasn't so lucky, he slammed into a boulder on the planet's surface, creating a small crater. And then Nolan was there again, moving so fast he was almost invisible. His forearm caught me across the chest in a clothesline that sent me spinning.
I thought to myself as I tried to recover: This can't get worse.
But I was wrong.
Because as I looked up, I saw the planet we were near had atmosphere. And that atmosphere was filled with massive flying creatures that looked like a cross between dragons and pterodactyls, each one easily the size of a bus.
And they were all looking at us like we were dinner.
Oh, fuck.
Deep Space — Viltrumite Orbital Station
In a large chamber deep within the Viltrumite orbital station, several individuals sat around a massive round table. The room was dimly lit, with only the soft glow of holographic displays providing illumination. The walls were made of dark metal, reinforced and battle-scarred, speaking to the station's age and the conflicts it had witnessed.
At one end of the table sat Thaal Sinestro, and his presence alone was enough to command attention.
He was tall, standing at 6'7", with a slender but powerful build that spoke of controlled strength. His skin was a distinct magenta color, smooth and alien, and his facial features were sharp and angular. His eyes were a piercing yellow, glowing faintly in the dim light, and they missed nothing. His ears were pointed, giving him an almost elven appearance, and his eyebrows were thin and arched in a way that made him look perpetually calculating.
His hair was short and black, styled neatly, and he wore a signature thin pencil mustache that was groomed to perfection. But what really drew the eye was his uniform, a rigid black and yellow bodysuit that bore the symbol of the Sinestro Corps on the chest. The yellow lantern symbol glowed faintly, pulsing with the power of fear itself.
Behind him stood a stunning woman, and "stunning" was putting it mildly.
Lyssa Drak was a light blue-skinned alien humanoid with long black hair that fell past her shoulders in sleek waves. Her teeth were sharp and predatory, visible when she smiled, and her eyes were a piercing yellow that matched Sinestro's. She wore a minimal black bikini-style suit that left little to the imagination, paired with long black gloves and high boots. A long black cape draped from her shoulders, and the Sinestro Corps symbol was emblazoned on her chest.
She stood perfectly still behind Sinestro, her posture relaxed but ready.
Across from them, on the other side of the round table, sat a figure that radiated pure rage.
Atrocitus was massive, easily seven feet tall even while sitting, with a muscular build that looked like it had been carved from stone. His skin was crimson red, the color of fresh blood, and his eyes were a burning yellow that seemed to glow with inner fire. He had no hair, his head completely bald, and his features were brutal and intimidating. His teeth were sharp and prominent, visible even when his mouth was closed, and there was an aura of barely controlled violence around him.
He wore dark, minimalist battle armor accented with tribal motifs, and on his finger was a Red Power Ring that pulsed with crimson energy. The core red light radiated from him in waves, making the air around him shimmer with heat.
Sitting on his lap was something completely unexpected, a small kitten.
Dex-Starr was adorable in the most terrifying way possible. The kitten wore a tiny Red Lantern outfit, complete with the symbol on its chest, and a Red Power Ring was attached to its tail. Its eyes glowed with the same red energy as Atrocitus's ring, and despite its small size, there was something deeply unsettling about it.
Standing behind Atrocitus was a tall, imposing figure.
Bleez was a blue-skinned alien woman from Havania, standing at 6'5" tall and weighing around 160 pounds. Her build was athletic and powerful, with defined muscles that spoke of years of combat training. Her hair was black and wild, and her eyes were stark black, like pools of darkness. But what really made her stand out were the skeletal bat-like wing structures on her back, folded against her body but clearly visible.
She wore a spiked red-and-black costume with a cowled mask that covered the upper half of her face, and her entire presence screamed danger.
On the other side of the table sat a figure that was different from the others, not because she was less dangerous, but because she carried herself with a regal bearing that the others lacked.
Universa was a tall, slender alien woman with an athletic, powerful build. Her skin was bright green, almost luminescent in the dim light, and her eyes were a striking bright blue that seemed to glow with inner light. Her hair was long and silver, styled in an intricate braid that fell past her waist, and her features were sharp and beautiful.
She wore minimal barbarian-style bikini armor that was clearly designed for combat, with reinforced plates protecting her vital areas while leaving her limbs free for movement. Even while sitting, she held onto a high-tech staff called the Staff of Leadership, a weapon that hummed with barely contained energy.
She was the alien warrior queen Universa, and her presence at this table spoke volumes about the kind of power the Viltrumite Empire was gathering.
General Kregg stood at the head of the table, his gray-blue eyes washing over the room with a coldness that made the temperature seem to drop. He was a Viltrumite through and through, with the characteristic mustache and powerful build, and his uniform marked him as one of the Empire's highest-ranking officers.
"He comes," General Kregg said, his voice cutting through the silence. "The Grand Regent."
The two Viltrumite warriors standing guard at the sides of the chamber immediately snapped to attention, their postures rigid and formal. A door to the side of the chamber opened with a soft hiss, and everyone's attention immediately shifted to it.
Thragg entered the room, and his presence was overwhelming.
His physique was powerful and large, with muscles that seemed to have been carved from granite. He moved with a quiet grace that belied his size, floating into the chamber rather than walking, his feet never touching the ground.
He floated over the table, passing above everyone's heads, his shadow falling across each person as he moved toward the head of the chamber. His face was impassive, showing no emotion whatsoever, and his eyes, cold and dark, swept over the assembled group with the kind of look that suggested he was evaluating each person's worth and finding most of them wanting.
He wore the traditional Viltrumite uniform, but his was marked with additional insignias that denoted his rank as Grand Regent. The white and red colors seemed brighter on him, as if the uniform itself recognized his authority. His royal red cape billowing slightly.
Thragg reached the largest chair at the head of the table and slowly descended into it. The chair was more of a throne, really, built to accommodate his massive frame and elevated slightly above the others to emphasize his position of power.
No one spoke. Every eye in the room was fixed on him, waiting.
Thragg sat in silence for a long moment, his hands resting on the arms of the throne. The pause stretched on, becoming uncomfortable, oppressive. It was a power play, and everyone in the room knew it. He was making them wait, reminding them that everything happened on his schedule, at his pleasure.
Finally, he spoke. His voice was smooth and controlled, delivered in a perfect monotone that somehow made every word sound like a threat.
No one spoke. Every eye in the room was fixed on him, waiting.
Thragg sat there for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he spoke, and his voice was smooth and controlled, delivered in a perfect monotone that somehow made it more terrifying.
"This meeting can now take place."
General Kregg bowed his head slightly. "Yes, Grand Regent."
The chamber fell silent again, and the real meeting was about to begin.