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SM/DC Chapter 159 : A Corps of One
🕑 Added 2025-06-25 22:42:17 +0000 UTCThe ring slid onto Arthur’s finger like it had been waiting centuries just to be worn by him.
There was no burst of light.
No triumphant flare.
No chant or oath.
Only a sudden stillness that fell across the place.
Then came the sound not an explosion, but a pulse, like the echo of something vast and ancient awakening. The yellow glow that had been gently humming around Arthur’s form instantly snuffed out, and in its place…
Darkness bloomed.
It wasn’t just black it was anti-light, the kind of darkness that felt like it can swallow everything, like it was pressing down on the soul itself. The sky of Qward dimmed. The surrounding lanterns flinched. Even the great towers of the Sinestro Corps flickered under the oppressive pressure.
Shadows surged outward from Arthur’s boots, slithering across the metal floor like living veins, crawling up his legs, arms, torso engulfing him, consuming him, until his form was swallowed by the void.
And then he reemerged.
The transformation was silent but stunning. His clothes reshaped itself, like the ring had woven it from the threads of midnight. It was sleek, form-fitting, regal and militaristic in design but utterly alien. Sharp lines carved across the surface of the black suit, pulsing faintly with violet veins of power, reminiscent of something ancient and forbidden. A long, dark cape flowed from his shoulders like a living shadow, its edges dissolving into black mist.
And on his chest… not the symbol of fear, or will, or rage.
A symbol unfamiliar to any of the known Lantern Corps.
A sigil that shifted, distorted, as if reality couldn’t decide what it was meant to be. It pulsed once. Then faded, leaving only a faint glowing brand that refused to be identified.
Arthur’s eyes glowed dim violet. His hands sparked with restrained power, and around him, shadows coiled and twisted alive, drawn to him like moths to flame.
The Sinestro Corps warriors hardened by fear, born into chaos stared in silence.
Romat-Ru took an involuntary step back. “What… the hell is that?”
Amon Sur’s ring trembled on his finger. “That’s not one of us. It’s not even close.”
Even the cocky, sneering ones held their breath.
Sinestro, for the first time in years, didn’t speak. His eyes narrowed, glowing golden under his brow, watching Arthur not as a master judging an initiate but as a someone assessing a threat.
Finally, Sinestro broke the silence. “That is not the ring I gave you.”
Arthur glanced down at his hand. The ring now glowed black, tinged faintly with amethyst light. Around it, the shadows hissed like steam escaping a sealed chamber.
Arthur lifted his gaze, eyes glowing like twin lanterns in the dark.
“No shit. Of course it’s not. I altered it.”
Sinestro’s lip curled faintly. “To what end?”
Arthur smiled. Not cold. Not cruel. Inevitable.
“To mine.”
Suddenly, the ground beneath Arthur’s feet cracked, fracturing in the shape of veins that stretched outward. The pressure, his presence as palpable, like gravity had increased tenfold. Lanterns staggered. Some raised their rings defensively without thinking.
Sinestro clenched his fist. “You command fear well, I’ll give you that.”
Arthur tilted his head slightly. “I don’t think you fully understand your position here...I don’t command fear alone…”
The shadows surged higher behind him, forming wings, a crown, a presence larger than his body could contain.
“What is fear… in the presence of death itself?”
A hush fell over Qward.
There was no storm, no wind… but the air itself began to twist. The light the ever-present amber glow that bathed the Sinestro Corps’ homeworld dimmed.
Arthur’s body cloaked in void-forged armor, blacker than black, his ring humming too quietly with power that did not belong to this place. A false calm.
Then it began.
His shadow moved.
Not like any shadow cast by light this one crawled. Clawed. Spread.
From the soles of his feet, the black stain of his presence began to stretch outward in slow, deliberate surges, flowing across the metal of Qward’s battleground like liquid night. It moved against the light, devoured it. At first, it only coated the floor then the walls, then the towers then the sky itself darkened.
The Sinestro Corps stared in disbelief as his shadow enveloped everything.
Then… it broke apart.
From within the roiling tides of living darkness, they emerged.
First, the wretched, shrieking shadow demons and the demon knights, Baruka and his Ice elves, Jima and the rest of the shadow legion all of them, pouring from the black, crawling up the spires, clinging to the edges of reality with jagged limbs.
Then, the giants hulking monstrosities made of bone and smoke, with glowing violet eyes and massive blades forged of nightmarish steel. They roared into the sky, shaking the ground with each breath.
The Sinestro Corps braced themselves.
And then came the Strong.
Empress her gaze cold and calculating, lasso of submission wrapped at her hip.
Quick, crouched low, Red lightning crackling around him.
Ring, his form glitching with voidlight, holding dozens of black energy constructs that seemed half-formed and half-thinking.
Tusk, the High Orc Shaman towering, hulking, his face marked with sacred war paint. he slammed his staff into the ground with a low growl. The shockwave cracked stone.
Ultra the violet-eyed Shadow of Ultraman, floating with arms folded, cloak rippling like torn thunderclouds.
Then the sky darkened further and the roar returned, this time louder… angrier.
Kamish.
The Dragon Marshal. Massive. Monstrous. His wings unfurled like death itself had grown claws and learned how to fly.
He landed beside Arthur with enough force to send several Yellow Lanterns scrambling for balance. His claws gouged trenches into Qward’s ground.
He lowered his head slightly, gaze locked on Sinestro.
And then there is Doom… who did not need to move. His presence alone shut down courage.
They all stood, ready.
Sinestro himself had to take a step back, not out of fear, he would never admit to that but out of calculated respect. Around him, some of the lesser Lanterns faltered. A few even lowered their rings. They could feel it in their bones.
This wasn’t just a man wearing a ring.
They realized that they really miscalculated everything.
Then came the system notifcation :
[Ring of the Shadow Corps]
[Forged in the darkness between realities, a legendary artifact of immense power, created not by science or the Guardians, but by the monarch of shadows and death. This ring pulses with quiet menace and unmatched authority.]
[It does not draw from a central power battery like the Lantern Corps.]
[The fuel that sustains it is the mana of its wielder.]
[Each use burns their essence, but in return grants devastating power, constructs, shields, flight, spatial distortion, and dominion over shadow-based energies that can rot the light itself. When worn by a strong enough soul, the ring becomes a living weapon.]
[Once The Black Heart, the sentient fragment of the first Shadow Monarch’s will, is obtained, the bearer can forge new rings from their own life-force and grant them to other—worthy beings who understand the cost of true power. These chosen do not siphon from an external source. The original bearer, the Monarch of Shadows, becomes the Central Battery, anchoring the corps’ collective strength to their soul.]
Arthur narrowed his eyes, the glow from his irises reflecting deep understanding and hunger for power.
“That is very good,” he muttered under his breath. “It means I can have authority over the people I decide to give these rings to…”
A pause. His voice dropped.
“The Black Heart again… I really need that.”
Another chime.
[You need to say an oath]
Arthur blinked. “I’m not gonna say that every time.”
A beat.
“…But fine. One time. In honor of Ashborn.”
He raised his ring high. Violet mist swirled upward, clashing violently with the yellow light in the air. The Sinestro Corps stepped back again.
Arthur’s voice boomed not shouted, but echoed, as if reality itself was listening:
“I was the light that chose the fall,
Now crowned in death, I judge them all.
No heaven’s call shall break my path,
For I am dread, and I am wrath.
None will escape my watchful eyes,
By my command, the dead shall Arise!”
As the last syllable left his lips, a resonance cracked through the air like thunder, and the ring shone with a light that should not exist not within darkness, not within shadow.
Then the system chimed again, softly.
[The oath isn’t necessary to fuel power.]
Arthur blinked once. His lips twitched.
“…Should’ve said that before I came up with that...”
Sinestro stared at Arthur not with rage, nor disdain but the kind of fascination and awe that he rarely feels. Sinestro, for all his mastery of fear, had to admit...
He had no idea what Arthur was or what he was becoming.
Comments
yanke301
In the end, all fears originate from the fear of death.
Brennen Anderson
So is it a daily upload story? Or are their breaks during like holidays and weekends?
