King Clown
Atrocitus: The Prophecy (A DCU One-Shot)
Space Sector 666: Planet Ryut, 1990
"Yasiim!" echoed a deep, yet weakened voice. Out of the dust and debris walked a man with pure red skin, wearing black pants. "Uluva! Pendia! Call if you can hear me!" Atros, a psychologist of the planet Ryut, cried to his family, hoping, begging, for a response. It was all he could do.
It was a normal day. He had just left his office, when the sky began to cry, cry tears of fire. The robots, red and blue in color, crashed into the city of Crymzun. Cries and screams began to echo, almost as if it filled the streets. The blood… the blood is what truly filled the streets.
The robots, weapons in hand, butchered the innocent. Limbs torn, bodies blown apart… it was an absolute genocide.
Atros sprinted through the streets, passing the mutilated bodies of his people. They didn't matter, he had to find his wife and daughters. It's what he kept repeating to himself. He saw friends, colleagues… butchered before his very eyes. His goal was all that mattered. His family was all that mattered.
"Yasiim!" his voice bellowed out once again, his legs tired from running for almost 20 minutes straight. He avoided the robots, praying to find his family. He had to pray, hope was all he had.
It was all he had. That flicker of light left him as he came across impaled heads on pikes. The smaller light that left his eye, the flicker of hope that everything would be fine, was replaced with something else. No longer a spark of hope, but an inferno blazing with hatred.
And he screamed. Screamed because he was angry. Screamed because the love of his life and his children were nothing but mutilated corpses in front of him. He dropped to his knees in front of the pikes, his hands hurrying themselves in the sand.
This. This was the birth of true, uncontrollable rage. He knew it. He also knew that vengeance would be his.
Space Sector 666: Planet Ysmault, 1990
"Are you sure you wish to do this, Commander?" asked the second in command of the Empire of Tears, his face bearing worry.
In the center of a pentagram sat Atros, the sole surviving member of the planet Ryut. At each point of the star, stood a member of the Empire, all but one. On the remaining point was a black bowl filled with blood belonging to each of them.
"Start the ritual," commanded Atros, leaving no room for debate.
As the order was ushered, the other four members began to chant various phrases of ancient magic. Atros closed his eyes, the feeling of his blood cooling down a sign of success.
That's when his world went black.
Images began to flash through his mind, like a film reel.
An Indigo colored Lantern locked hands with another Lantern, Blue in color.
A Lantern in Yellow and a Green Lantern, both clad in capes, dueled with Atros himself, bearing some sort of red ring.
An Orange Lantern's blade collided with that of a Star Sapphire, both fighting for their lives.
Then the final image appeared, a reaper, bearing a scythe as black as the night itself. In front of him was a normal sized man, his skin gray and worn.
"The Blackest Night, falls from the skies.
The darkness grows, as all light dies.
We crave your hearts, and your demise.
By my Black Hand, the dead shall rise."
The vision ended, Atros panting and gasping for air. The sounds of the other members filled his ears, but none of the words were legible. Only one thing was on his mind.
"Black…. Hand…."
Space Sector 2814, 1991
"I only wish to know who you saw," spoke the low voice of Abin Sur, who currently was interrogating the red terrorist. "This could spell the death of all things, even you."
The small cell on his space shuttle was currently occupied by Atros, the leader of the Empire of Tears. His arms were folded in his lap, his eyes staring at the pink man.
"Please, Atros," Abin requested, sincerity riddling his voice. "If this vision you see is true, then you may be the key to saving our universe."
Atros' eyes narrowed, staring at the pink man in front of him. "Hand," he spoke, informing the other man. "Black Hand is all that I know of."
Abin nodded, turning from the cell to the main console. "Aya," he started, activating the A.I of the ship, "Scan Terra's life forms for any notable references of 'Black Hand'."
Atros knew it was his time. Sliding a small device from his sleeve, the press of a button caused a small explosion. Abin turned his head to see an empty cell. Before he could make an attempt to fight, a blade pierced through his abdomen.
Atros stood in front of him, a scowl present in his face. "The Blackest Night will arrive… and it will bring justice to those who were wrongfully punished." Abin stared at the malice filled eyes of the other man.
As the blade slipped from his abdomen, Abin stumbled to the console, only to feel a large hand on his shoulder. Abin was pushed aside, thrown into the floor with force. The sound of hands slamming against the console filled the ship, Atros repeating the motion until it was a mess of metal.
"Atros…" called out Abin, his hand raised. Atros turned his head to view the weakened man. "You will be one of them. One of those who ward off the Blackest Night."
Atros ignored the words, opting to crouch in front of the Lantern. "I will never aid your kind," he spewed, spitting in the face of man. "The blood of my family should be enough to prove it."
Atros stepped to the small escape pod on the ship, typing in coordinates. Ysmault, the home of the Empire of Tears. He gave one last glance at Abin before pressing the button on the console, sending himself back to his empire.
Space Sector 666: Planet Yasmult, 1995
"With blood and rage, crimson red."
The sound of a hammer pounding into metal is heard throughout the caves of Ysmault.
"Ripped from a corpse, so freshly dead."
The sparks flew from the red metal, the shape being a tall, yet lean lantern.
"Together, with our hellish hate."
The lantern was placed down, seemingly beginning to glow. A small ring floated from the center of the lantern.
"We'll burn you all."
The ring floated itself to the large red finger of its creator. Sliding itself on, a burst of red energy surged from the lantern. As the light dimmed, the smith stood tall. His body was covered in black and red armor, blood dripping from his hands and mouth.
"That is your fate!"
Atrocitus: The Prophecy (A DCU One-Shot)
Space Sector 666: Planet Ryut, 1990
"Yasiim!" echoed a deep, yet weakened voice. Out of the dust and debris walked a man with pure red skin, wearing black pants. "Uluva! Pendia! Call if you can hear me!" Atros, a psychologist of the planet Ryut, cried to his family, hoping, begging, for a response. It was all he could do.
It was a normal day. He had just left his office, when the sky began to cry, cry tears of fire. The robots, red and blue in color, crashed into the city of Crymzun. Cries and screams began to echo, almost as if it filled the streets. The blood… the blood is what truly filled the streets.
The robots, weapons in hand, butchered the innocent. Limbs torn, bodies blown apart… it was an absolute genocide.
Atros sprinted through the streets, passing the mutilated bodies of his people. They didn't matter, he had to find his wife and daughters. It's what he kept repeating to himself. He saw friends, colleagues… butchered before his very eyes. His goal was all that mattered. His family was all that mattered.
"Yasiim!" his voice bellowed out once again, his legs tired from running for almost 20 minutes straight. He avoided the robots, praying to find his family. He had to pray, hope was all he had.
It was all he had. That flicker of light left him as he came across impaled heads on pikes. The smaller light that left his eye, the flicker of hope that everything would be fine, was replaced with something else. No longer a spark of hope, but an inferno blazing with hatred.
And he screamed. Screamed because he was angry. Screamed because the love of his life and his children were nothing but mutilated corpses in front of him. He dropped to his knees in front of the pikes, his hands hurrying themselves in the sand.
This. This was the birth of true, uncontrollable rage. He knew it. He also knew that vengeance would be his.
Space Sector 666: Planet Ysmault, 1990
"Are you sure you wish to do this, Commander?" asked the second in command of the Empire of Tears, his face bearing worry.
In the center of a pentagram sat Atros, the sole surviving member of the planet Ryut. At each point of the star, stood a member of the Empire, all but one. On the remaining point was a black bowl filled with blood belonging to each of them.
"Start the ritual," commanded Atros, leaving no room for debate.
As the order was ushered, the other four members began to chant various phrases of ancient magic. Atros closed his eyes, the feeling of his blood cooling down a sign of success.
That's when his world went black.
Images began to flash through his mind, like a film reel.
An Indigo colored Lantern locked hands with another Lantern, Blue in color.
A Lantern in Yellow and a Green Lantern, both clad in capes, dueled with Atros himself, bearing some sort of red ring.
An Orange Lantern's blade collided with that of a Star Sapphire, both fighting for their lives.
Then the final image appeared, a reaper, bearing a scythe as black as the night itself. In front of him was a normal sized man, his skin gray and worn.
"The Blackest Night, falls from the skies.
The darkness grows, as all light dies.
We crave your hearts, and your demise.
By my Black Hand, the dead shall rise."
The vision ended, Atros panting and gasping for air. The sounds of the other members filled his ears, but none of the words were legible. Only one thing was on his mind.
"Black…. Hand…."
Space Sector 2814, 1991
"I only wish to know who you saw," spoke the low voice of Abin Sur, who currently was interrogating the red terrorist. "This could spell the death of all things, even you."
The small cell on his space shuttle was currently occupied by Atros, the leader of the Empire of Tears. His arms were folded in his lap, his eyes staring at the pink man.
"Please, Atros," Abin requested, sincerity riddling his voice. "If this vision you see is true, then you may be the key to saving our universe."
Atros' eyes narrowed, staring at the pink man in front of him. "Hand," he spoke, informing the other man. "Black Hand is all that I know of."
Abin nodded, turning from the cell to the main console. "Aya," he started, activating the A.I of the ship, "Scan Terra's life forms for any notable references of 'Black Hand'."
Atros knew it was his time. Sliding a small device from his sleeve, the press of a button caused a small explosion. Abin turned his head to see an empty cell. Before he could make an attempt to fight, a blade pierced through his abdomen.
Atros stood in front of him, a scowl present in his face. "The Blackest Night will arrive… and it will bring justice to those who were wrongfully punished." Abin stared at the malice filled eyes of the other man.
As the blade slipped from his abdomen, Abin stumbled to the console, only to feel a large hand on his shoulder. Abin was pushed aside, thrown into the floor with force. The sound of hands slamming against the console filled the ship, Atros repeating the motion until it was a mess of metal.
"Atros…" called out Abin, his hand raised. Atros turned his head to view the weakened man. "You will be one of them. One of those who ward off the Blackest Night."
Atros ignored the words, opting to crouch in front of the Lantern. "I will never aid your kind," he spewed, spitting in the face of man. "The blood of my family should be enough to prove it."
Atros stepped to the small escape pod on the ship, typing in coordinates. Ysmault, the home of the Empire of Tears. He gave one last glance at Abin before pressing the button on the console, sending himself back to his empire.
Space Sector 666: Planet Yasmult, 1995
"With blood and rage, crimson red."
The sound of a hammer pounding into metal is heard throughout the caves of Ysmault.
"Ripped from a corpse, so freshly dead."
The sparks flew from the red metal, the shape being a tall, yet lean lantern.
"Together, with our hellish hate."
The lantern was placed down, seemingly beginning to glow. A small ring floated from the center of the lantern.
"We'll burn you all."
The ring floated itself to the large red finger of its creator. Sliding itself on, a burst of red energy surged from the lantern. As the light dimmed, the smith stood tall. His body was covered in black and red armor, blood dripping from his hands and mouth.
"That is your fate!"