CHPT 6: Memories of a World Transformed

Since witnessing the transformed city of Metropolis-- now known by the people as Nekropolis, Rankorr and his Reds had swiftly entered the city darkened by trauma and war.

And darkened it was. Even the swaths of people roaming the streets in the midst of nightfall reflected the deep shadowy monoliths looming over them. Dark, hardened.

The feelings permeated the streets and traveled down the alleyways he roamed with his team. Intermingled and twisted with old rage. It tugged at the rings on his fingers. It spoke to him and threatened to bring out his Blood-Beetle Armor. It reminded him that everyone he saw had once been standing where he stood when it all began. When the ring found him and the world seemed to be ending in the midst of a violent war between gods and men.

Now merely an old wound that scarred the city. A scar that would abruptly reopen if he required it. To get what he desired. He'd do almost anything.

Including stalking-- skittering, through the abandoned warehouses littering the outskirts of Nekropolis like a Bettle traveling through dung littered grass..... how on the nose.

Finally, they'd found a momentary base to rest and recuperate. An old hollowed out department store at a doc. Nothing special. Unclaimed by man and company for days.... weeks.... years even. Maybe longer if the thick caution tape that wrapped the building had anything to say on the matter.

Either way. It was ideal. The sounds of the city no more than a distant hum behind the thick industrial walls of the building. The waxing moon that shined in the clear night sky above breached the thick windows and gave the interior a pale white glow. It shined calmly against the violent blood markings that were scribed on the dusty walls in a language unknown to humankind.

Rankorr used to grill his previous Leader-- and Alien Blood-Mage, Atrocitus, about what the symbols meant after he'd seen him use the blood of their enemies as a magic source. Eager to maybe one day replicate them. Add the practice to his skillset. He was never given an answer. Big surprise, Atrocitus was an asshole.

They were never that close anyway..... especially since Atrocitus tried to cut him open upon their first meeting.... and Rankorr later killed off half of the Corps and stole their power rings. Life as a Red Lantern.

Over time he learned to stop asking. It helped keep his urge to maim the Monster down. He also learned to stop asking where the giant razor-tooth giant got the blood from.

He was busy anyway...

He hadn't been on earth in two years. Two whole years. Even longer out in space.

It felt so different. The gravity. The smells. The aura of it all...

He was an entirely different man the last time he was on earth.

"Entirely different ..." He whispered as he hovered in the air, studying the way the Blood-Beetle Scarab's bladed limbs wrapped around his back and sunk into the sides of his abdomen. No pain. It felt as if it were part of him. In the darkness, he could see the veins around the limbs glowing a dull red.

Entirely different indeed. All of him was.

Something he pondered over as he flew to the floor and approached the broken remains of a mirror leaned up against a wall in the back corner of the room.

With the scarce number of lights in the room, he raised his power rings and shined a blood-red light throughout the entire area to view himself more clearly.

When he left earth as an enraged mindless Red-Lantern entrant, he was frail. Pale unhealthy skin untouched by sunlight wrapping brittle and often bruised bone that new nothing of how to handle the impact of war. His hair was short. Slimy and unkempt at times. All in all, he was a kid beaten by life.

Now, he was different. Very different. Naturally.

His face had aged up. More drastically than he would've thought. His jaw thickened-- filling out his once eerily slim face. His nose sat larger and crooked on his face from the countless times Atrocitus, Skallox and Kara broke it in training. His eyes that once felt too small on his face remained the same. Brown and cast in shadows by the thickness of his eyebrows. His hair stayed in a low buzz-- as brown as his eyes.

Speaking of shadows. His high cheekbones cast the same over the rest of his face due to the aggressive way they jutted from his tanned skin. Tan. It seems fighting for hours on planets where the number of suns and pseudo-suns varies from one to six had a drastic effect on his pigment. It still failed to hide the scars. They looked bizarre-- old wounds healed over in odd shapes and sizes due to the variation of Alien limbs, fangs and crafted weaponry.

"Gross.." He mumbled before turning away from the glass. Gross.... but it was him. John Moore. Older-- different. Transformed. But John all the same. He hadn't felt like John in years.

"*As the Organic Host, upon your request physical, mental and chemical changes can be made to your body.....SHZZSHZSSS!!...unless it impedes on the changes already taking place for Host Reconfiguration Protocols*" The voice of the Scarab, Khaji-Krow spoke into his mind.

John stopped walking suddenly, "Changes already taking place? What have you done, Scarab?"

"*Increased testosterone production, heightened adrenaline reserves, muscle fiber reproduction, manual progression of M1 and M3 Genes in relation to brain development, Blood Ocean Sample integration, hormo--*"

"Holy fuck, forget I asked." John said aloud, stopping Khaji-Krows biology infodump. "To put it simply.... I am being upgraded?"

"*Yes..... please refrain from physical altercations until upgrade is complete. Full Hybridization 52%*"

John looked down at his rings. In the dark of the open and expansive warehouse, they pulsed. Glowing like they were alive and hungry. Hungry for the old rage that accented the outside air.

"Refrain from physical altercations?.... Yea I'm afraid that may not be possible."

"*Very well. Defensive protocols have been made for the threats known to be found in Nekropolis after City-Wide Crime Report Scans. A subspecies of Homo-Sapien popularly known as Meta-Humans are our greatest threat.*"

"Meta-Humans... I remember them well. But they aren't our biggest problem." John replied.

"*...?*"

"Keep doing your research." John replied flatly before he began clearing out the main floor of the warehouse and began training.

The rest of the team seemed more interested in searching through the odd corners and corridors up and downstairs leading to massive basements and long hallways. He could hear their discoveries over the rings intercom as he exercised. Naturally, he didn't share the same level of interest. Hell, he was born on earth.

Eventually, the Lanterns fell asleep below ground, surrounded by Atrocitus' defensive rune magics. John stayed awake. He couldn't sleep.

So, he continued to train. Testing the limits of his strength, stamina and newfound symbiotic alien capabilities.

Sure, training alone embedded errors. But it also increased muscle memory, stamina and combative creativity. It also kept him out of his own head when he was camped out offworld facing alien warrior races that wanted more than anything for a human to challenge them. He learned quickly that human was a delicacy in many Sectors.....

Night flew by as he trained and caught up with the modern world thanks to Khaji-Krow and it's unending connection to all news sources and facets of internet culture. So much had changed-- he was only able to get through so much when Kara suddenly pushed through the great metal doors at the back of the warehouse that led into the basement.

Under the sun that now gleamed through the window and painted the once dark sky in shades of oranges and yellows, she looked like an angel. With her short golden hair, elegantly sad face and crystal blue eyes. He could've almost forgotten it was those very eyes that could shoot beams powerful enough to incinerate entire towns in minutes.

Those eyes, that scanned him and left her cheeks as red as his rings.

She spun around in a blur, "Where are your clothes?"

John looked down at himself, forgetting that he was in nothing after washing off in the waters outside the dock. "Oh-- bloody hell." He said in a lacking panic before a pair of clothes conjured by his ring appeared over his densely muscled frame.

Kara didn't move.

"Oh come the hell on, you've seen me in worse circumstances." John said flatly.

"Unfortunately." Kara mumbled.

"Arsehole Kryptonian."

"Dickhead Human."

John laughed. Not on the outside, but with her senses she seemed to catch it. Causing her to turn around finally. Her cheeks remained reddened.

"The others aren't awake yet." She said while walking around the warehouse, wiping the walls and desks in surprise to find no more dust.

"I'm aware."

"So what's the plan?"

"*SHHHZZ..... Search Nekropolis until we're in closer range of OOI (Object of Importance). Acute Wave Scanning requirements are currently not being met.*" Khaji-Krow interjected.

John suddenly knew what the day would consist of, "You like people?"

"No." Kara replied.

"Me neither. Let's hit the city for some socializing and recon."

As he walked out of the warehouse and headed for the City, Kara followed, just as eager as John to see how the world had changed firsthand.