The Ghost of Korugar

July 06, 2017:

Kyle is rushed to Beltrassus for medical care by his old flame, and potentially new enemy, Soranik Natu (Mild NSFW content. Implied adult situations)


The seat of Queen Iolande


NPCs: Soranik Natu

Mentions: Iolande, Hal Jordan, The Guardians, Alexandra DeWitt, Kilowog, Guy Gardner


Mood Music: None.

Fade In…

(Mild NSFW content. Implied adult situations)

Log Resumed: 06-Jul-17 10:17PM EST



The seat of Iolande's royal family was a thing of a second home for Kyle and Soranik over a year ago. There are rules. Laws. Lanterns aren't supposed to maintain romantic relationships. It's a rule that's been broken thousands of times, but with Princess Iolande being Soranik's partner, the world had become a hideaway more than once.

A safe place.

A discrete place.

It's just the kind of place a wounded Green Lantern can receive care from a member of the Sinestro Corps that doesn't attack on site.

Kyle moans as he's lowered to the chaise, teeth chattering through the cold.

Just twenty feet towards the balcony, the three had dined, dozens of times.

"Look, it's something I've got to do, okay? I'm //sorry, but she's dead and I don't know who he's going after next!"//

Kyle, controlled in mind, if not for his aching heart, never raised his voice to Soranik. He knew his transfer would mean distance that couldn't be maintained, not even with Iolande's discretionary assistance.//

"Who's he going to hit next? Hal? My father, wherever he is?" Kyle pressed his hand to his chest, frowning towards Soranik. "I can't leave that to you, or Guy, or Hal, or even Kilowog. It's not about revenge. This is my mess to clean." Kyle reeled back slowly, though he reached for her. "I'm…sorry."

"I'm sorry…" Kyle murmurs in his cold, held-down state upon the table. That his beloved Cubs jersey has been removed goes entirely unnoticed, as their work to stop the red element, the boiled blood that could have killed him had he taken a direct hit without shielding.


"You should not… " The Queen… No longer a princess states to Soranik as she lays him upon the chaise that nearly overlooks the balcony she had descended upon with him in her grasp.

A hop-skip-jump… Work is set into motion and the shirt is left to rags, flesh exposed drawing Iolande back but not to hesitate as the syringes are laid out on a table that is hefted into a tray via severance from base to help in giving the man care because, yes…
Years ago:

"You cannot stop it, Kyle! I understand it may not stop upon you and your family but isn't there…."

Soranik's voice rose, but only lightly, only in a lilt that showed care and a form of will to try and make Kyle -see-… But he did not…. Not, at least, to her desires and those thought best…
… for whom?

//"This is all of our mess! Kyle! We're…fam—" But when he reaches for her, Soranik steps away, nearly clutching reddened fingers deepening in hue in the clutch over bare shoulders. Hugging herself to turn away and leave the back laden in inkwork to him as her head lowers.

"No…. You are not sorry…" /I am…/

"I am…" A firm set of jaw, hovering just above yellow and black lined collar is clicked closed as the multiple syringes of local anesthetics are lined up around the spread….

Whack-a-mole it is… And with a rapid fire of plasma from Iolande and Soranik they fire to numb the areas while what is dead tissue becomes removed, all the while a massive figure like a leech is placed over his form and digs into the exposure of meaty tissue and begins to glow… red with every pulse and draw.

A pack is drawn from a small container, and once cracked the blue is indigo and set upon the furthering veins, freezing them from progression.

I will not sit and wait for them to bring you back in a burial rite befitting a Lantern all because you /insist/ on doing this alone!
Things scattered, and with the upheaval of his table, her tiny trinkets of things… even a picture scatters to fall shattered upon her floor in the flurry of motion.
// You cannot tell me to stay, sit, and expect me to want to obey… But there is always more…//

"I am…" Stated lowly as Soranik now sets to cauterizing, inspecting every tiny vein set aglow by an ink injected within, pushing back the napalm is toxin to the /leech/ all the while the tissue is melded and webbed, like the planet they left behind, no longer alive…


He killed Alex! He killed my mother! My mother, Soranik! I've got to fly back and bury another because I. Wasn't. There.
Plates clatter off of the table. Round fruits spill out over the floor past the wine. Kyle turns and digs his fingers in the black hair at the back of his head, frustration written in his every muscle as control is lost.

Upon the impromptu operating table, Kyle Rayner is stable. His ring sees to the most of it, keeping his body stable in tiny ways where the trauma handled by Soranik and Iolande cover the rest. Fresh beads of sweat streak down his face, but somehow his body seems to know. His arms don't fight theirs. Such is the level of exhausted that even then he doesn't wake.

He'll scar. For sure.

"Hey," Kyle turns back to Soranik, his voice lowered. His shadow looms against hers by the doorway, enough to show his shadow's means to reach for her, but stops, fingers drifting in midair. "I'm asking you to understand. He killed Alex, Soranik. I found her chopped to *pieces*, God, my aunt, the police." Kyle pinches the bridge of his nose, looking down.
I do NOT live with ghosts
I need to go. I'm sorry. I've got to stop this.

Lantern 3313, we are concerned that you seek this transfer to sector 2814 due to the recent attacks against your family. It is our concern that this places too much emotional attachment to the sector for you to properly perform your duties…
Kilowog stood beside Soranik, watching from the wings. The powerful muscles in his neck nodded, cracking with the gesture.
…but with your meritorious conduct and your strength of will, we have decided to grant-

"Oh you've gotta be kidding me…" Kilowog whispered under his breath, looking to the ground.

Kyle Ranyer circled her apartment on Oa nine times before flying towards Earth, that day.


Sornik is the daughter of Sinestro…

Giving her a plea for the dead and gone….
… should mean nothing…

Fingers deftly work over electrodes that are far too advanced for that of earth, her eyes following every detail as she sews his bicep back into place so rotary cuff meet upon triceps behind… Can allow him function…

A dart of dark eyes bearing a flash of multi-faceted go to Iolande and the utensil needed seems fed to her palm laden in the faint tint of blood, on time!

A stab!
A severance!
The leech grows fatter

Soranik stood beside Kilowog, watching as the askance is given a verdict and…
… granted!

Every bit of her wanted to crumble..
You still pray,
.. never stray..

Soranik wanted to collapse against Kilo… his name, his truth… Even s he uttered… What Soranik -thought-.

"This is not //right! Not the will..!//
Of what? Soranik. Or of who?

Glass is the bed of rounded fruits, imbedding into the skins and making them unsafe for consumption.

Her words could have rattled those walls, her rage and…fear for him could have made her an entity of more than what she was… IS

Praise the one who left you,
broken down and paralyzed…!

Soranik works fast, her fingers trained and deft, her brow creased, and like his own in the simple will to last, to see others live… to survive…
Soranik sought the same of him, knitting flesh as it is drained of the napalm and visceral toxin, the leech something Iolande herself flew out to the borders of her planets lining and pitched into the ether like a piece of galactical trash to freeze and shatter unto…

"He'll be back, Sor—"
"No he won't. Not who I knew.." A shrug of the visual from Kilo, or if there ever was an offer of massive palm…
But she would not be, either…

Not even as she rested over his form wrapped in bandages on that balcony ledge, hunched over with her forehead hidden behind a veil of black strands while rested upon forearms.


The weeks passed. Months.
Not a word returned from Earth about Major Force.
The trail had gone cold.
Kyle Rayner's designation changed to 2814.2
His return trips to Oa had him passing her apartment for weeks…until they did no more.

The door…slammed shut.

The sands in the hourglass had to be turned over three times. Alien chronometers in their rings kept time far better, ticking the seconds into minutes, and later into hours, while Kyle Rayner slept in his bandages and pillows. Eyes shake behind closed lids, locked in a peaceful state of dreaming kept calm through alien remedies that forced deep slumber to aid in the body's natural healing processes. Kyle Rayner is strong, though, one of the strongest humans worthy of a ring since Hal Jordan. In Appa Ali Apsa's eyes…stronger.

Kye's hand lifts from the bed.
It comes to rest upon Soranik's forearm in a weak squeeze and brush of thumb, a signifying of his return to waking, long after the Queen Iolande's planet has rotated into its night cycle.

"I…recognize this balcony." Kyle whispers, closing his eyes again once marking Soranik's position with his hand. "How…long/"


Soranik remained Green until…
//Brave the forest.. brave the stone…

~Sinestro has come to his end, he is sick… ill..

… Why can't I cross this river??

"Lantern 1417, we grant you this severance…"
"Thank you, Light…"

Soranik never returned for her ring left upon a dresser, and below rotten fruits and shattered glass…
An image scratched to indiscernible readings, but Iolande took that from the shattered frame and flew -home-.

From the departure a flash of light come from her apartment, and thereafter…darkness…

Soranik left…

When his hand touches upon her forearm Soranik tenses, her body nearly convulsing in a hiccup of air that shows her relief…
… and sorrow. It takes a moment for dark eyes to lift for him, but not after speaking..

"Three? Maybe… I do not know…" A cast of those glassy eyes towards the heavens beyond as he speaks.

"You should…"

Sornik sat upon the balcony edge, the sheer fabric falling from her shoulder and laughed as he approaches her, rocking back with a seal of lids, unfearing of the depth below!
"You could never deny what you just did! Oh how they will never forget…! Pride will make Kilowog's chest inflate! If he pops, so be it!"
So childlike, so free, and yet, Soranik never fell..


"…just give me a few minutes. I feel like I got hit by a volcano." Kyle replies quietly, loosening the tension in his neck muscles to allow himself to rest for the moment. "I don't know if I could move yet, without an emergency."

Emergency. His ring is flashing. Already, the status reports are coming through that he's being looked for. The flash of his ring brings a sigh up towards her.

"This afternoon has been about a lot of things that should and shouldn't." Kyle whispers, closing his eyes, once more.

His Earth-clothing was left behind in the massive stateroom provided for their privacy.
"It feels so weird dressing so normal in a place like this."
"Normal for Earth," Kyle laughed.

He walked out to the balcony's edge clad in a square, black, Earthen undergarment. Boxers? Like the sport? He'd pulled them on to join her, lowering to his knees to crawl the last three feet and wrap his arms around her from behind, dragging her from the ledge.
They'd laughed, then.

"What's important is that we're still alive, with whatever that…woman was. I've never seen anything like it or heard about anything red from the guardians…" Kyle swallows past the desert in his throat and turns his head away from the bandaged burns on his shoulder towards Soranik. His parched tongue tries to wet his lips as he looks past the blur to the yellow in her uniform, the ring on her fingers. His breathing slows, but his thumb still brushes at her forearm.

Without speaking a word, the silence in the air between them changes the subject. Like a shift in the wind, the ache in Kyle's brow previews the coming shift on the balcony.

"Why would I want to deny it?" Kyle lowered his lips to her shoulder, pressing his lips in a kissed line towards her neck.
"It's a patriarchal rule, at best. They don't own the universe."

"Where do we start?" Kyle whispers slowly. "Wherever we start," Kyle shakes his head weakly, one side to the next. "You're not my enemy, either. If they demand…I'll protect her, tell them you saved my life."


Soranik now sits beside him, perched, moreso to keep sleep at bay with knees bent over her form, arms folded over them at perfect height to rest forehead on so she could peer up or through to view his sleeping form and the read of vitals as he slept. Behind her…
The balcony, left open to the night sky of Baltraussus.

Soranik stood on that balcony clad in simply nothing, the spanse of her back exposed and bearing the black inkwork laden across red flesh of her kith and kindred of Korugar and their passages of a rite. Earthen pride or coverage unknown to her, and even as Kyle gripped her around the hips from his knelt position and pulled her back from the ledge…
Soranik smiled and sank to her knees before him - with him… And laughed..

When his touch lands upon her in the now her dark eyes lift and she nearly reflects his image back to him, but immediately they retract like pupils in in the depth to direct to his wounds, her body unfolding to reveal the omnipresent yellow on black of uniform, her hands pausing over him for a breath…
Then checking bandages and turning away only to grip a glass of iced water to offer his way as his voice croaks forth.

"Shhh~… Please… Kyle…" Her eyes dart to the blink of his Green ring and how she wanted to null it at this very moment for the necessity of rest…. But Soranik knows better.

An arm lifts, angled back to clutch the path of fingers through his hair from crown to the base of cranium, curling to hold as he kissed along her collar and whispers..
No, they do not. But they Guard it. Our defiance would…
My name is already lost, but you, Kyle… YOU, are destined for more than I ever could. Never stop…" And her breath catches…

"Lanterns of Atrocitus. Red. We have met our match. Do not worry, not right now. You need to rest." Her hold on the water releases once he takes it and she moves to the side of his bandages, his words bringing her pause and those eyes to lift to him and busy themselves away and into her 'work'.

"She was not acting of a normal Red, too many lived. /We/ lived…" A catch then and she almost avoided his final words with a grim set to her lips and a downward flux of lids over her eyes to veil them.

"I will never be your enemy Kyle. Or theirs. What color I wear does not matter…" To me.. "I'll present myself as I must. I lead the Yellow Lanterns, now. The Guardian's should very well know why."


The bandages tighten as Kyle's elbows tense. The want to sit up is real, but the constriction of the bandages keeps it all a weak lift of his head to the rounded edge of the glass of water. He's lost his touch to her forearm, but without the blind way of tracking her presence, he's kept his eyes closed. His lips press to the edge of the glass…

A green, roundish fruit, akin to a grape, is lowered with fingers to her reddish lips.

The Beltrassan silk clung to sweaty skin as the two collapsed in a pile.


Two cream-colored arms wrap against the red of her back, tracing the inkwork. Four fingers, two thumbs, press and record the contours. "Sssh, it's okay," Kyle shakes his face, buried against her neck, as he guides her to rest upon his lap. "…it's not about destiny. I'll never stop being who I am. They've just forgotten that it's not the ring that makes the person," Kyle's breath hitches as hers does, arms coiling upwards to curl fingers about her shoulders. "It's the person that makes…"

"WHAT? You're leading them?!" Kyle asks it louder than he means to. The hiss of apology comes as he tries to sit up. A humbled groan forces him back to the pillows, flopping with a hand to his neck where he wouldn't DARE touch her bandaging. He's been in Soranik's care before. "Soranik-"

Such tones. Such a brief flareup of shame-on-you spurts from his lips. It's not disappointment.

It's loss.

"I didn't mean that," Kyle lowers his voice and cracks his green eyes open, seeking out hers. The stark frown that forms is pained, laced with leftover concern. "Not like that, but you know how stubborn they can be." A beat passes, brows tip in the center in another attempt to sit. "I'm genuinely, genuinely concerned for your well being, here. You mean to tell me that Arkillo asshole is following your lead?"


Soranik hold the glass for him, and no matter if he finishes this one, another will be quickly prepared, he is her patient… Now…

..Not forgetting what it means to dream.
Indulging everything…

Deep red lips part, nearly black to flash against ivory as she pierces fruit betwixt fingertips, let nearly like a fish on a hook to the indulgence as the skin is split and spills nectar…
The collapse is on bated breaths and a smile that peels the corner of lips over his torso, turning and twisting to bess with every pillow of flesh in a -kiss- that ascends, dry breath left hoarse before lips could colli—-
"…. You are insatiable…"
// The tug into his lap is met with more laughter until his words which bring a stark stoicism to her features, the narrow darker with onyx lined darkness framed in red that is only limned by darker ink. "No, but they have seen, they have been, Kyle…" A clutch of hands to his face as her own hovers just above, smearing the pads of thumbs across his cheekbones in a sweep -back-. "Please…"

Kyle's words of interjection cut to her core, but when he goes to sit up her palm is upon his bare chest and presses him back, or holds him there for the moment, as a lounge of posture leads to ramrod straight and a sudden look… He knows well…

His tone is heard, -was- felt, and well absorbed months ago and still being chewed on like a jerky from years old rations. "You meant it, no matter how, Kyle. He follows with watchful eyes and waits for his own moment. I will be fine. I have been for well over a year…"

… and there it is, the sting.


Houston, we have lift-off.

Pinned down by the application of force of gravity and her reddish palm, Kyle stops. His eyes widen and stare up into hers, lips slightly parted. The chaise mattress he lays upon rocks with the press of his ankle into it, caught like a deer in the oncoming death engine of a pickup truck, two parts confusion to one part…lost.

"A year? But, that's not long after I went to Earth." Kyle works it together, letting his expressive brows ask questions that don't come to his lips. "Not long after we…" Kyle trails off, swallowing his pride in ways some of his fellow Earthling Lanterns aren't known often to do. "…God."

The momentum slows. Insatiable, as she says he is, Kyle's shadow-lined body welcomes her lap to sit upon his beneath the moons of Beltrassus. Purple light from above fills the creases in their skin, darkening their faces beneath the lay of the same, straight, black hair that they share.
"I won't assume that I'm smarter than them, Soranik."
Reaching behind her shoulder, Kyle threads his fingers through her short, black hair. He smears the locks into place, a distraction as he's trapped beneath the heat of her eyes. Kyle's pulse slows, the focus of his intentions sharpening on her features as he allows himself to be forced to the present, to her words.
"…I won't stop, Soranik Natu." Kyle whispers, lips extending to try to capture the edge of her thumb. "But you could never be my downfall. I promise. My destiny, whatever it is, is stronger than that. I swear."

But not stronger than the deaths of his loved ones.

"I know that you can take care of yourself, Soranik," For the dozen ways Kyle calms, the tension at the back of his neck and the fidgeting way he reaches for her wrist is hardwired. "But…you never asked for a green ring in the first place, and then your father, you taking up his work? I wish you would have told me you were considering this," Kyle lowers his voice, frowning. "I would have tried to talk you out of it. I…hoped for a happier life for you."


And what will happen?
Will I dream?

Kyle's look has Soranik wanting to backpedal and move away, that deer in headlights, the want to truly understand - the parts she left him out of. It is as if the impact of her palm on his chest burned into her skin a deeper shade of red. "I had to! Even with you here it would not have stopped me. They would take him and leave them with Arkillo. None would challenge him!" A breath, a curl of fingers that nearly razed lines against his skin as she did so and then withdrew in a snap!

"But me…" Soranik did withdraw then, but she kept watch over Kyle, a sidelong -leer- of warning for him to remain there upon his 'bed' of hospice. "I made an impression, and they believe…" Or so Soranik believes!

I am too scared to close my eyes.
For a second please hold me..
..none can change in me these things that I believe….

Her body rides every ripple like a river split by the smooth stones that seek to break it, but only make it that much more… fluid. Kyle did that for her, with every bend of curve, with every press of flesh, with every shadow made deeper by the press of his fingers and pliant will to make her bend, but in the most supple and desired ways!
//Soranik listens, her brow laden in the sheen of sweat presses to his as every pant batters mated strands of noir beside their lips to part ways and only return and stick. Her thumb is grazed and her breaths ~tremble~, as if there is a sorrow there, but not et… Now…

"Swear it then. Promise. Never. Ever…" Her words are like a ballad whispered as she draws in closer and wordlessly begs for those hands to Further…

"I did not ask… " When he reaches for her wrist and she does not pull away, she only stares at it - his grip - like it was the battle of the century and causes her to choke back so much more than she ever had even when saving…

//Pulse-ox meters bleep, rise and fall in sharp arcs, her hands moving deftly, clad in latex over smaller bodies, larger bodies, her training not meant for this….
but meant for this!
Not all could be saved and she failed body…

But Kyle's spirit… She cannot mend. Ever, not if she could not save…, Everyone..//

"… As I did for you… /Once Upon A Time./.." The curtains over the balcony clip and wave in a wind only this planet shifts to as the moons crawl into a new place…
… New pace…

"You've suffered enough."


But I don't know what happens now.
I am too scared to close my eyes…


Green eyes pinch together, forced into a state with the beginning hint of pain from fingernails once welcomed to welt. Rayner, silently, listens. It's a skill that he has; patience. Only one fight in their history did he interrupt, and there, bandaged and semi-broken, waiting for his ring to flicker enough times with unanswered calls, he remains silent.

He releases Soranik's wrist, fingers curling under his knuckles to gently tap his ring against her slender arm. It's a distraction, like the snooze button on his alarm clock at home. Five more minutes, then he'll answer…after another five minute snooze.

"…Soranik." This time, he breathes it, mournfully.

Thigh grazes upon thigh. Red against cream. The rise and fall of bodies and thousands of pores pressed by foreign flesh is intoxicating. When her body rises, Kyle reaches out with his lips, ready for her to come back down again to where the air is stifling.
"I swear…" The wind comes out needful, a gust kicked out of his lungs by her body's return to his. The return bites down deeply; the feeling transferred through to his fingertips that dig into her shoulders, holding her upright. "…we'll be okay, but //we won't tear each other apart. No matter what. I swear."

Lips smear across clavicle, dragging in the rise and fall. Seated together, upon knees, though their hips move in animal ways, their embrace…is a cocoon.

"I deserve that." Kyle lowers his hand to the chaise, eyes darkening with gray clouds. He tries to lift his shoulder against the bandages again, this time taking it slow, an elbow moving to prop himself up.

Mincingly, he makes another attempt to angle himself some other means than flat.

"What's done is done, I know I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this. So I'm not going to even try, okay? I wouldn't insult you like that." Kyle begins. His eyes lift again to seek out hers, dipping at first, as they always do, upon the mark of her house that is inked to her cheek. "But is Iolande going to be able to get to you if things go horribly wrong? If Arkillo gets too ambitious?" Kyle pauses into a lengthening stare. "If they believe, fine, but you know Iolande and myself care way too much for you to pull Corps loyalty into question if you run into trouble, and please," Kyle holds up a hand. "Don't deny me this. Please. I need you to understand that you can call me for help."


Soranik stares then, at Kyle while he insists on sitting up…
… and you are folded on the bed…
Where I rest my head.
There's nothing I can see…

Nostrils flare and even as she has drawn her hand away her eyes stare upon him with a care one deeper borne, one ingrained… One that has not bled away because,
.. You are.. haunting me…

It is like her own version of heaven he calls a god to… Her body rises and falls, a crescendo to the very ply of his pale fingers across devil-may-care-Red, of her skin; pulling that which parts back into a fitted place within his lap and making a choir herald from her lips as she nearly crumples into him…
… wanting to believe it could last, despite //knowing better

Soranik can still feel the chill air along clavicle just after the draw of the ghost of his lips, even as dark eyes cloud and she stares at him - deep draw of breath heaving her chest against the split of black-on-yellow. She does not shy from his reach this time, one that does not touch her, but falls just before to come to grips with the stature of position here.

Patient and Doctor. Surgeon. Caregiver…. Watcher…

..I'm already there,
wherever there is you…
I will be there too..

// … /We crawl like animals!/ Lips meet, the trails of gossamer in intricate forms trail over a mismatched form of skin as they move like a tide in neap, pulled by the moon(s), fingers buried into hair, skin, dimpling paths and razing ones anew as cries are like dulcet gulls upon one shore or another..
/Wherever there is you,
I Will be there too…/

Panting breaths laid side-by-side with profiles pantig the same. "Together…"//

"I will risk no one for my own personal desires, Kyle. Even if it is a change necessary." A small draw of breath, one that has her taking his hand finally, drawing her lips along his knuckles, ones wet… From unseen…

A slow lean, a tug… A brush of her lips to his. "Call your people, as mine are coming as well…" A warning, a hasten, like he had given her before she brought him here.

"But I understand. I know. Soranik states as she pulls away and releases his hand, glancing to the familiar blinking Green


The backs of Kyle's ears pulse like drum beats. The shadows between them become frantic. His chest, without mark, without the ink of his own house, presses to Soranik's in a crush of breast. Once it was an embrace of passion, but fingers now cling, holding on, lest the forces between them break their promise.

"I understand now," Kyle whispers, chin propped between her breasts as he paints geometric patterns into her sweaty skin. "After Alex, I get it now…why you were so angry when the ring came for you."

Kyle, mourning the blood shed now that she's left the order, a once architectural relationship now cast to the wind, curls his fingers in hers. He sighs against her hold on his knuckles.

A sigh, sometimes, is the only way to convey.

Kyle Rayner leans into the brush of lips, delivering a press of his own. In the intricate way that lips can speak volumes, the sadness is shared with her. Regret…and just enough willpower to survive it. His lips press to hers for four heartbeats, and ends with a scrape of brow and a new sigh past her chin, down the front of her uniform.

"This is parsecs beyond me running home to pay penance." Kyle grunts as she pulls away, his body following hers to swing his legs over the edge of the chaise. His eyes, now, a dulled green, avoid hers in favor of watching her feet in her backwards step. "They're gone. You're not." Kyle braces his hand, roughly, against a table as he pushes to his feet. "And I will be damned if I end up having to bury you, too. Now we just need to keep them from putting themselves in graves, as well."

Tan hiking boots wash over in a field of black and green that travels over blood-splattered blue jeans. The field of green and black, tight as a second skin, coats to Kyle's abdominal muscles until it forms a glowing symbol of white.

"…this is the first time I ever felt like I couldn't be strong enough to be a Lantern, Soranik." Kyle whispers softly, then crawls up from Soranik's red-encased ribcage to slide into her arms, nestling against her in a hug. "But I know I can. I just wish he'd come after me, instead."

"Lantern 2814.2 checking in." Kyle sends out on a wide-band to signals with the Corps, including the Interceptor and Aya. "I am injured and am awake now. I'm heading towards homebase."

A band of green light whips out of Kyle's ring to wrap his arm and shoulder, pinning it to his chest to keep the bandages in place. With the call set out, he has minutes to get away from Beltrassus before flight paths turn their way. Bitterness sets in, but before he leaves, Kyle turns to wrap his lone, good arm around Soranik's shoulders and pull her into a hug. He cradles the hug with his arm bent behind her head, fingers in her hair, for the safest squeeze he can maintain.

"Please be safe." Kyle whispers. "I'll be listening."

The squeeze ends…and Kyle turns in a frictionless thrust off of the balcony that sends his light dissipating through the night sky and into orbit of Beltrassus.

A circular explosion of green…and he bullets towards the center of known space. To Oa.

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