Kyle Rayner wasn’t sure what would be worse at the moment: to pass out and be left completely helpless in Purgatory’s clutches, or to remain conscious and continue to suffer the searing agonies of his mistakes and regrets as rendered by the madman’s blue-green flames. Unfortunately, he seemed to have no choice. As painful as the ghostly fires at Purgatory’s command might be, they seemed to dance tauntingly on the edge of Rayner’s biological defense mechanisms, never quite pushing him into unfeeling oblivion. Whatever Purgatory intended to inflict on him, Rayner would be aware of every moment of it.

“You had to know this day would come eventually, Lantern,” Purgatory exulted, hovering near the roof of the shadowy cavern on fiery blue-green demon’s wings, as Rayner writhed on the stony floor below him. “You had to believe all along that your lifetime of betrayals would end in a reckoning.”

Rayner said nothing, but raised his right hand in a fist, aiming his power ring at Purgatory. Rayner’s arm trembled with effort as he tried to will the ring to respond, but the weapon on his finger remained stubbornly inert.

“Fool,” Purgatory spat. “The power of the Guardians cannot save you. It never could.” Purgatory slowly waved one hand through the air between himself and Rayner; his other hand maintained its grasp on an eerie, smoldering noose from which the dead form of Ganthet dangled. Blue-green tongues of flame poured forth from Purgatory’s open palm and engulfed the floor of the cavern, flooding the rocky chamber. The hellish fire lifted Rayner up, as if he were floating on water that burned. Soon Rayner had risen close to Purgatory’s lofty position. “Power is fleeting, Green Lantern,” the ruinous visage of Neron’s servant leered, “but failure is forever.”

Rayner raised his arm again, not in an attempt to wield his ring this time, but in an effort to grab at Purgatory’s glowing solid-light boots. His fingers clutched at empty air, Purgatory’s feet just out of reach. “No … more …” Rayner seethed through clenched teeth.

“You seek release?” Purgatory scoffed. He crouched in mid-air, his blighted face drawing closer to Rayner’s. He swung the fiery blue-green noose, now empty, between them. “I believe your neck will fit here,” Purgatory suggested. “Submit, and end your pain. End it forever. More importantly, end the pain and suffering of everyone around you, once and for all.”

The burning rope dangling from Purgatory’s hand swam in Rayner’s vision. Searing heat lapped at his body from all sides, wave after wave of infernal pain coursing through his flesh and sinking into his bones. And somehow, at the core of the incendiary suffering that was Kyle Rayner’s world at that moment, the misery of loss remained like a misshapen, grievous lump. Losing Alex … Donna … Jennie-Lynn … would it be so wrong to pull Purgatory’s noose over his head, let the madman snap his neck or choke the air from his lungs, and end it all?

Framed by the crackling outline of the noose, Purgatory grinned at Rayner, waiting with expectant hunger.

“I don’t know what they marinate the mushrooms in back in that kitchen,” Carol Ferris said, “but it’s got to be something highly addictive.”

“Got to be,” Hal Jordan agreed with a chuckle. His female companion had already devoured all of the roasted mushrooms on her own plate, and was now spearing those nestled beside Jordan’s steak. Jordan playfully swatted at her fork with his own, but allowed her to retrieve another mushroom and pop it between her lips.

“Mmmm,” Carol savored the morsels as she chewed. “Of course anything that addictive is probably illegal.”

“Maybe we should turn the restaurant in, alert the authorities,” Jordan suggested wryly.

“Don’t you dare!” Carol gasped, her horror only half-joking. “I don’t know what they’re putting in the mushrooms, and I don’t care, and I don’t want to know. I just want to … enjoy it,” she admitted, helping herself to yet another mushroom off Jordan’s plate.

“That’s fine by me,” Jordan nodded.

“Are you sure?” Carol asked, smiling and tilting her head slightly. “If you don’t find some way to slow me down, there won’t be any mushrooms left for you.”

“That’s all right,” Jordan said. “I’m enjoying the whole experience. Just being here with you.” His eyes locked meaningfully with hers and then he shrugged casually and added, “Besides, I think I filled up a little too much on bread, anyway.”

Carol laughed. “Sometimes you are just impossible, Hal. But for what it’s worth, I’m enjoying this evening, too.”

Hal Jordan looked at Carol Ferris, taking in her striking beauty with unmasked admiration as he considered what to say next. So much history existed between the two of them that finding a new and meaningful way to communicate was a daunting task. Instead, Jordan found himself saying nothing at all, allowing that perfect shining moment to spin out under its own power.

“Hal Jordan!” a gurgling voice called out from overhead, as an emerald glow suffused the ceiling of the dining room. Within seconds a bizarre creature had emerged from the green light. It was five feet tall, with a humanoid head atop a long, pod-like body. The skin of its face was turquoise, with tiny slits for nose and mouth and large white eyes, and in place of hair a nest of dark green kelp rose from the crown of its head. Long, slender arms devoid of visible joints swayed at its sides. Its lower half consisted of a segmented bulb, of the same shade of turquoise as its face, with undulating strands of kelp clustered below in place of legs.

Around the Saddlehorn Steakhouse, patrons took notice of the strange new arrival, but the reaction overall was one of curious interest, not panic or terror. In part this was because the clientele, mostly native Californians, prided themselves on having seen it all before, even creatures which had never before been seen on Earth. But, perhaps more importantly, the creature hovering beside Hal Jordan inspired trust rather than fear because of the uniform it wore: the black and green tunic and green-on-white badge of the Green Lantern Corps.

“Lin Canar,” Jordan managed in greeting, recognizing his fellow Corpsman from the planet Fluvian.

“When I received the Guardians’ summons, I made haste to Earth,” Lin Canar declared proudly. “And once I arrived in this sector, I directed my ring to guide me to you, Hal Jordan! But … I … I see that you are not in uniform …”

“No, I’m … ah … not exactly on duty tonight, Lin,” Jordan acknowledged. He turned toward Carol and said, “This is …”

The words caught in Jordan’s throat. Carol’s arms were crossed imperiously across her chest. Her eyes shot daggers at Jordan and Lin Canar. The rigid line of her lips forestalled any introductions Jordan might have made or apologies he might have offered.

Lin Canar, on the other hand, felt compelled to try. “I am so sorry, Hal Jordan,” the aquatic Green Lantern insisted. “I did not mean to intrude on your time. Madam, I apologize to you as well. I will depart.”

“Actually,” Carol said, pulling her napkin off her lap and tossing it disdainfully across her plate, “I’ll go.”

“Carol, no!” Jordan urged. “Lin had no way of knowing he’d be interrupting, but he’s not here to pull me away for some emergency … are you, Lin?”

“Not at all,” Lin Canar confirmed, already beginning to rise toward the ceiling again as if on a strong ocean current. “My wish was only to renew our acquaintance and express as always my esteem for you, Hal Jordan. Neither I nor the Guardians need anything which cannot wait until you next visit the Green Lantern Citadel. Farewell!” With that, Lin Canar vanished through a shimmering emerald portal.

“See? Nothing to worry about,” Jordan offered to Carol. “It’s as if an old high school buddy wandered over to the table to say hello, and didn’t overstay his welcome.”

Carol stood up forcefully. “It is nothing like that,” she retorted.

“What?” Jordan asked, confused. “Why …?”

“An old high school buddy would have been human,” Carol snapped. “Socializing with aliens … that’s not normal, Hal. And to me, it is something to worry about.”

“Carol, wait …” Jordan attempted. But Carol Ferris was already stalking towards the door of the restaurant, and never looked back.

“Kyle Rayner, do not despair,” a voice murmured in the Green Lantern’s ear. “You are not altogether forsaken, and you should not forsake yourself.”

Rayner immediately recognized Ganthet’s voice, as aged as all the other Guardians but with a slight, decidedly non-Malthusian accent. Rayner opened his eyes, expecting to see the image of Ganthet summoned up at Purgatory’s command. But while the long-haired man in rags continued to leer at him, he gave no indication of perceiving Ganthet’s words, or being aware that Rayner had heard them.

Closing his eyes again and twisting his face into an exaggerated grimace of pain, Rayner turned his thoughts inward. “Ganthet?”

“Not in the truest sense,” the voice in Rayner’s head answered, “for the being you knew as Ganthet has returned to the provenance of the universe. Still, given the limitations of your human awareness, the fraction of Ganthet’s spirit which is now bonded to your power ring is understandably indistinguishable from the Guardian himself ...”

“That’s great and all,” Rayner’s own thoughts cut in, “but right now your spirit power isn’t doing much for my ring, and this psycho seems to be giving me a choice between killing myself and letting him kill me.”

“Apparently so,” Ganthet’s voice concurred.

“Well I don’t want to die, and I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you don’t want me to die, either,” Rayner thought. “So how do I get out of this?”

“By realizing that self-preservation, in and of itself, is not enough.”

“Do you think maybe, since you’re a fraction of Ganthet’s spirit, you could maybe cut it down to about one-sixteenth the riddles?” Rayner mentally suggested.

“This is no riddle, Kyle Rayner,” the Guardian’s voice rejoined. “You are well aware that the power ring of a Green Lantern, even one as unique as your own, is fueled by willpower. And that willpower signifies more than a desire to avoid death. It is the capacity to act, the essence of sentient life.”

“Fine, I know that the ring runs on willpower,” Rayner admitted. “But Purgatory is still blocking the ring somehow.”

“No,” Ganthet’s voice declaimed. “Purgatory possesses no such power. All Purgatory has done … all he can do … is suggest. Fear blocks your ring. Doubt blocks your ring. Those things are within you.”

“They’re a part of me,” Rayner insisted. “I’m not fearless like the others. I’m not … Purgatory’s right, I failed you. I fail everyone.”

“You have failed in the past, Kyle Rayner,” the Guardian replied. “That is the other essence of sentient life. But do not believe Purgatory’s lies. You did not fail me, any more than I failed you in thrusting the Green Lantern’s power upon you. As for any true failures, they are not forever. If even a Guardian of the Universe may die, as I have, then nothing is forever. Fear will be real to you in one moment, but banished in the next. Doubt may assail you, but you can withstand it.”

Ganthet seemed to place an invisible hand on Rayner’s, gently covering his power ring. “Purgatory’s aim is to make you feel unworthy of this symbol,” the Guardian whispered. “My aim is simply to remind you of the truth. You have always been worthy.”

Rayner opened his eyes, nearly face to face with Purgatory, who was losing patience with his intended victim. “Have you nothing to say?” the bedraggled thrall of Neron sneered, infusing the final word with utter loathing. “Will you die now as you have lived, failing utterly to make any difference? Can your self-hatred run so deep?”

“Save the armchair analysis, you nutjob,” Rayner retorted. He pointed his power ring at Purgatory and tensed his fist. Emerald light flashed and a giant head of Sigmund Freud sculpted in green photonic energy blasted out of the weapon’s crest. The spectacled, bearded green face smashed into Purgatory like a battering ram and propelled the madman through the air across the cavern, pinning him against the craggy wall on the far side of the chamber. The Freud head hammered at Purgatory’s body again and again, as the sea of blue-green flames that had subsumed Rayner evaporated.

When Rayner’s feet touched the floor, it was the floor of a small room in the Green Lantern Citadel. The cavern had disappeared, as had Purgatory. Rayner was alone.

Mikaba Mylla Mi turned away from the screen showing Kyle Rayner as he spun in a small circle and took in his surroundings. To the newest inductee to the Guardians of the Universe, N’Lasa, he said, “And so you see, brother, that the psychodrama has played out to its end.”

The towering leonine Guardian stroked his white-furred muzzle thoughtfully. “I do. Yet I am not sure that I see the full significance.”

“Of primary significance is the fact that Kyle Rayner of Earth has passed the test set before him,” Mikaba Mylla Mi answered. “The duties of Green Lanterns are not to be taken lightly, and the means by which Rayner entered the ranks of the Corps were … somewhat unorthodox. Now that his patron is no longer among our number, the Guardians felt it necessary to determine whether or not he could remain a Green Lantern.”

“You seem surprised that Rayner acquitted himself,” N’Lasa observed.

Mikaba Mylla Mi’s bushy white eyebrows rose slightly higher on his broad pale blue forehead. “Perhaps,” the Guardian said neutrally. “He is a breed apart from other Green Lanterns. Some of our brothers felt that he might lack the necessary resilience, which could only be determined with such a psychodrama test. But … like other Green Lanterns of Earth, other humans … he has demonstrated a certain capacity to exceed what might have been otherwise expected.”

“And he is lucky that such capacity saved him from a gruesome fate,” N’Lasa pointed out.

“He was never in physical danger,” the Guardian attested. “Rest assured, no harm was intended towards him.”

“Certainly not,” N’Lasa nodded. “And the use of the Purgatory figure, of all those foes Kyle Rayner has faced? Was it significant that Purgatory has no connection to any other member of the Green Lantern Corps … or the Guardians?”

“The Guardians are satisfied that Rayner meets our needs,” Mikaba Mylla Mi stated. “There is no need for him to know that there was ever any doubt. He will forever believe that his vision of Purgatory’s return was an anomaly.”

Before N’Lasa could prolong the conversation further, Mark Shaw and Hollika Rahn entered the room. The Green Lantern stood aside to allow her guest to step forward, and the man formerly called Manhunter extended a hand to N’Lasa. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome, so I should probably hit the road,” Shaw said.

N’Lasa took Shaw’s hand and shook it. “Where will you go?”

“Don’t know,” Shaw admitted with a shrug. “There’s not much demanding my attention at the moment, now that the business with the robot Manhunters is settled, but I’m sure if I wander around a bit I’ll stumble on something.”

N’Lasa considered Shaw appraisingly. “I see.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Shaw asked.

“Perhaps,” N’Lasa acknowledged. He looked to his fellow Guardian, and gestured at Shaw. “Here is another human with a capacity for exceeding expectation,” N’Lasa said. “And this particular human has a unique talent of his own.”

“We are aware of Mark Shaw’s connection to the Wild Hunt,” the diminutive Guardian said.

“Consider its application to the Guardians’ needs, then,” N’Lasa suggested. “The Corps needs new recruits. Shaw needs a mission. If he were charged with finding potential Green Lanterns … hunting for them, as it were … he would no doubt succeed. And in doing so, might even find worthy ringbearers who might … surprise us all.”

“Mark Shaw, Lantern Hunter?” Hollika Rahn surmised with a coy smile.

Shaw shook his head. “The Wild Hunt lets me do a lot, but interstellar travel isn’t covered,” he said.

“A shortcoming which the Guardians of the Universe could more than compensate for,” Mikaba Mylla Mi said. “It is a compelling idea. Will you accept this duty, Mark Shaw?”

Shaw looked back and forth between N’Lasa and Mikaba Mylla Mi, stealing a glance at Hollika Rahn as well. “Hell, why not?” he finally answered. “A guy can’t have the Guardians owe him too many favors, can he?”

Carol Ferris pressed her foot down on the accelerator of her red Audi TT vehemently, as if she were stepping on the throat of a hated enemy. The sporty car blasted across the serpentine asphalt that cut through the desert. Carol held the top of the leather steering wheel in one hand, and reached into her purse with the other. She drew out her slim cellphone, popped it open, scrolled through her contacts and hit Send as she reached the name she had sought.

“Can you meet me at my offices?” she asked once the call was answered. She shifted her weight slightly, subconsciously leaning into a turn as the Audi whipped around a curve in the road without slowing. “Yes, I’ll be there in about ten minutes,” she confirmed. “See you then.” She dropped the phone carelessly on the seat beside her, and continued to guide her car through the arid wilderness of the night.

Soon Carol was pulling onto the grounds of Ferris Aircraft, a silver-haired night watchman waving her through the front gate. All the other company employees had long since gone home, but large floodlights still blazed atop poles across the grounds, casting severe shadows between the hangars, trailers, towers and jet planes. Carol drove across the tarmacs with more restraint than she had shown on the highway, until she slowly idled in front of the stucco building that contained her director’s office.

A man was leaning against the exterior of the building, just beside the front door. He was dressed in military uniform, although only one sleeve and the side of one leg were clearly visible, the rest of his form obscured by deep shadow. He did not move as Carol killed the engine and stepped out of her car.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” she said as she walked around the front bumper.

“It was no trouble,” the man answered smoothly. “I admit, though, I was surprised to hear from you at this hour of the night.”

“Originally I had other plans,” Carol admitted. “But they … fell apart. And I was inspired to reach out to you.”

“So that we can talk business?” the man asked.

“Naturally,” Carol answered.

The man stepped away from the wall, out of the shadows. Electric light fell across his tan, weathered face, his pale eyes and his dark mustache and his crooked grin. “Well, Ms. Ferris, in that case Colonel Aarno Rayner is at your service,” he said knowingly. “Shall we step inside?”

Hal Jordan arrived on a contrail of green light at the Green Lantern Citadel. He landed in the courtyard and found Kyle Rayner and John Stewart speaking to another Green Lantern, a tall, muscular purple-skinned humanoid.

“Hey, Hal,” Stewart greeted his old friend. “This is Raker Qarrigat, another GL answering the Guardians’ summons. You knew they were calling in more reserves, right?”

“I figured it out,” Hal said darkly.

“Uh-oh, that’s the ‘me and them Guardians is gonna have words’ voice,” Rayner observed.

“No, I’m not that bent out of shape, just … inconvenienced,” Jordan assured his fellow Corpsman. He shook Raker’s hand and said, “So where do you hail from, Lantern?”

“Apokalips,” Raker Qarrigat answered solemnly.

Jordan was momentarily taken aback. “I didn’t think the Corps had any presence there at all,” he confessed.

“It’s in an area that’s technically outside the 3600 sectors,” John Stewart added. “I know that doesn’t make perfect sense … just one of those mysteries of the universe.”

“And for some time I was unable to make myself known to the Corps, or to do much more than survive against the forces of the dread lord Darkseid,” Raker Qarrigat went on. “But since his son Orion overthrew him and assumed the throne of Apokalips, I have found myself able to venture far from the firepits and into the larger universe.”

“Well, it’s good to have you here in any case,” Jordan said. “I hope that your time here is …”

Jordan’s welcome was interrupted by an ear-splitting crack that echoed like high-pitched thunder across all of Coast City Memorial Park. A brilliant flash of vibrating light exploded in the center of the Citadel courtyard in accompaniment to the violent noise, and a large spherical object suddenly slammed into the ground from a curtain of parting air. The sphere was nearly ten feet in diameter, and appeared to be composed entirely of mirrored glass. A dark spiderweb of cracks, leaking tendrils of black smoke, marred one side of the sphere.

The assembled Green Lanterns were instantly readied for battle, lofted into the air and sheathed in protective glowing jade forcefields by their power rings. Nearly a dozen Green Lanterns had been present in the courtyard, and more emerged from the Citadel with each passing second.

As the reflective sphere came to rest, a circular porthole opened on its front surface. The interior of the sphere was revealed, lined with pink and purple computer consoles that were malfunctioning amidst showers of sparks. At the center of the sphere was a command chair, and from this chair a woman staggered forth. She was human, with tousled short brown hair, and was wearing a blue and white leotard that seemed to be made of some unearthly material.

“IONA!” Salakk shouted, flying quickly to catch the woman as she stumbled to the courtyard grass. The four-armed Green Lantern was soon cradling Iona Vane in his lap.

“I … made it?” Iona Vane asked dazedly. “He shot … the time bubble … as I approached the barrier. Didn’t … think I … would survive the trip …”

“Who shot you?” Salakk demanded. “Who, my love?”

“Salakk,” Iona Vane smiled, then coughed roughly. Her neck and legs were covered in dried blood, and the coughing caused a fresh scarlet trickle to roll down her temple from her scalp. “I’m … so sorry. The Solar Council … thought they had … located Hal Jordan … and only acted to summon him … so quickly … because of the emergency …”

“Summon who?” Salakk urged, inclining his magenta, pickaxe-shaped head closer.

Iona Vane coughed again. “He calls himself … Parallax …”

TO BE CONTINUED ... IN THE ANNIVERSARY SPECTACULAR GREEN LANTERN #225!!!

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