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The journey to the Kyln was a prolonged, cold, and absolute study in humiliation.
Xen was encased in the heavy-duty containment cell—a space barely larger than his own body, made of dark, metallic composite that hummed with a low, perpetual energy-dampening field. This was the ultimate insult: the power he had relied on, the source of his eternal life and apocalyptic strength, was being systematically stifled by glorified technology.
The Red Lantern Ring, usually a blinding supernova of crimson, was now a dull, ember-red glow. It functioned only to keep his dead body in perpetual animation. The plasma in his veins felt thick and sluggish, lacking its customary searing heat.
His armor, which was usually a self-repairing extension of the Ring's will, remained fractured, leaking wisps of energy that were instantly consumed by the surrounding dampening field.
The silence was the worst. He was used to the constant, roaring scream of the lost millions; the Red Ring usually filtered the pain into a usable, focused rage. Now, with the Ring's output diminished, the agony was a quiet, suffocating presence—a chilling reminder of his failure.
Kyros is gone. And I am here.
The anger he felt was so immense it threatened to consume the cell, but he couldn't unleash it. He was a volcano capped by concrete.
The transport ship eventually docked with a sickening, grinding shudder. The outer seals hissed open, and the lights of the facility—a stark, institutional white—blazed into his containment cell.
The massive, reinforced door slid open, revealing two towering figures clad in the same white and blue Nova Corps armor as the pilots he had destroyed. These were guards, built like starship engines, their faces hidden behind dark, impassive visors.
One of them carried a specialized, multi-limbed inspection drone. The drone's metallic limbs unfolded like a surgical spider, equipped with sensors, energy readers, and one particularly nasty-looking buzzsaw attachment.
"Anomaly designated: K-402," the lead guard stated, his voice flat and robotic. "Proceeding with intake protocol. Immobilization system remains at 100%."
Xen didn't need the Ring's translation to understand the cold, dismissive tone. They saw him not as a warrior or a Corpsman, but as an anomaly—a piece of wreckage to be processed.
As the guards kept their distance, the drone advanced. Its sensors focused immediately on the Red Lantern Ring. A thin, probing beam of gold light hit the crimson band.
"WARNING! WARNING! DEVICE UNKNOWN. COMPOSITION: XENIUM-OSMIUM ALLOY. POWER SOURCE: EXTRA-DIMENSIONAL, EMOTIONAL ENERGY BASED. UNCLASSIFIABLE. NO MATCH IN GALACTIC DATABASE."
The drone's report, translated instantly by the Nova Corps comms, caused a ripple of alarm among the guards.
"Hold," the lead guard commanded. "Repeat scan on the power source. Cross-reference with the Xandarian database for 'Power Batteries' or 'Emotional Weaponry.'"
The drone scanned again, lingering on the Ring, which pulsed faintly in protest.
"NEGATIVE. NO KNOWN CORPS OR ORGANIZATION MATCHES. ENERGY READINGS RESEMBLE HIGH-LEVEL QUANTUM-DISTORTION RESIDUALS. OPERATOR IS HIGH RISK. RECOMMEND: IMMEDIATE SEVERANCE OF DEVICE."
Severance. The word was a hot iron pressed against Xen's brain. The Ring wasn't a weapon he wore; it was his substitute heart. To sever it was to guarantee his final, agonizing death.
A guttural roar tore through his throat, but the confinement beam—the thick, purple light holding him—only intensified, crushing the sound back into his lungs.
"Proceed with extreme caution," the guard ordered. "Attempt removal using low-frequency sonic cutter, set to a non-organic resonance field. Do not risk explosion."
The drone retracted its sensors, extending the whirring, high-frequency buzzsaw. It was a tool designed to cut through starship armor, now aimed at the band of metal on his finger.
Xen thrashed violently, fighting the containment beam with every last flicker of hatred in his soul. He focused every iota of his power on the Ring, demanding it break the purple light, demanding it incinerate the drone.
The Ring responded with a single, massive surge—a flare of pure, crimson malice that fought the Nova technology.
RING WARNING: CRITICAL POWER SPIKE. REPAIR FUNCTION ATTEMPT FAILED. SYSTEM OVERRIDE FAILED.
The confinement beam shuddered, momentarily straining to hold his power, but it held. The Ring's surge was a one-time desperate gasp, and now it was weaker than ever. The purple light settled back into its dominant hold.
The Nova guards, unnerved by the uncontrolled power burst, ordered the drone to proceed. The saw whirred closer, closer, its noise screaming in Xen's ears.
Just as the buzzsaw was about to make contact, a new voice cut through the comms. It was female, sharp, and carried an obvious rank and authority.
"Hold! Do not engage the artifact! Transferring new orders from the Citadel. Classification: High-Level Security. Artifact K-402 is not to be separated from the host. Bring him to Maximum Isolation Block 7, Level 4. Assign an Energy-Dampening Field Watch 24/7. We need to study the device in situ."
The guards paused, visibly relieved. The sonic cutter retracted, saving Xen from a gruesome death, but condemning him to an endless analysis.
"Acknowledged," the lead guard replied. "Transferring Anomaly K-402 to designated isolation cell."
The confinement beam carried Xen through the winding corridors of the Kyln. He got a brief, terrifying glimpse of his new reality: vast, tiered levels of cells, packed wall-to-wall with thousands of the galaxy's most brutal, colorful, and strange criminals. Alien species he had never encountered watched his procession with a predatory curiosity.
He was finally deposited into a solitary cell: a block of pure, seamless alloy, sealed by a circular, massive door. Once the purple confinement beam dissipated, Xen fell to the cold, hard floor. He scrambled to his feet, trying to summon a construct—a simple energy dagger—but the Ring was too weak, drained to a faint, sickly glow.
The only sound in the cell was the low, electric hum of the triple-redundancy dampening field that enveloped the room.
He lunged at the wall, punching it with his fists, trying to use the sheer kinetic force of his armored body. The alloy wall shuddered but remained intact. His efforts only succeeded in causing pain to his arm, which the weakened Ring was slow to alleviate.
Exhausted, demoralized, and burning with a rage that had no outlet, Xen slumped against the wall. He stared down at the faintly glowing crimson Ring on his finger, the last piece of his world.
"Report," he rasped.
RING WARNING: POWER LEVEL: 70%. EXTREME CONSERVATION MODE. EXTERNAL SIGNAL: NONE.
The "NONE" was a bullet to his mind. His Corps, his world, his entire universe—it was simply beyond reach. The fear that had been rising since the dimensional jump finally settled, a block of ice in his chest.
I'm not in my universe anymore.
The technology was different. The species were different. The very language used to classify his power was different. No one here knew what a Red Lantern was, or the terror that name commanded.
The isolation became absolute. He was a monster from a nightmare, trapped in a waking reality that had no place for him.
He closed his eyes, forcing his mind back to the image of Kyros, of the twelve million lost, of the eternal oath. He clung to the pain, stoking the rage, because it was the only thing that stopped the fear.
If I can't kill them, I will kill you. All of you.
A slow, terrifying smile stretched across Xen's face inside the confines of his helmet. He was a prisoner in the Kyln. But a prison, no matter how strong, was only a temporary barrier.
He had failed his vengeance. Now, he would simply redefine it. He would wait, he would grow stronger, and when the Nova Corps made the mistake of bringing someone else into this block, or when the energy dampeners inevitably failed, the new universe would learn what a Red Lantern truly was.
He was a monster caged, and the whole universe was his next target.