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9: Marvel's Green Lantern, A Three Year Detour
🕑 Added 2025-06-11 12:51:39 +0000 UTCThree Years Later
Xeronia IV
Max stirred awake beneath a comfortable but very heavy weight. Three violet-skinned Strontian women lay draped across him, their bodies warm against the cool sheets. One rested her head on his chest, long silver hair spilling over his torso like liquid moonlight. Another was curled against his side, her arm slung across his waist as if claiming him in her sleep. The third stretched lazily across the foot of the bed, her legs tangled with his.
With a quiet grunt, Max carefully—expertly—disentangled himself. The circular bed—soft, enormous, and sunken slightly into the floor—shifted only a little as he rose, his bare feet meeting the polished stone.
He stepped over a discarded corset-like garment toward the counter, where a bottle of water waited. He snatched it up and drank deeply, the cool liquid soothing his parched throat.
Glancing back at the sleeping forms, Max let a grin tug at his lips. “Fun night,” he muttered.
Too lazy to look for his clothes, he flexed his ring. Green light shimmered over his body, coalescing into a suit—a sleeker, more defined version of the one he’d worn when he first arrived here. Sharper lines traced his limbs like circuitry, and the chest emblem burned with a fierce emerald glow. The plating was stronger now, forged through countless battles and refinements born of experience.
He moved into the wide living area, then into the open-concept kitchen, where floor-to-ceiling glass walls wrapped around the room and offered a breathtaking view.
The mansion stood atop a terraced hill surrounded by lush violet-and-blue flora, humming with life unique to Xeronia IV. In the distance, the crystal spires of Sena—the planet’s capital—pierced the horizon like shining blades.
Max busied himself at the counter, slicing into a root fruit he’d learned to enjoy and warming a loaf of the closest thing to bread he could find on this world. He moved easily—almost domestically—preparing enough food for himself and the three Strontians still asleep.
As he bit into the warm, lightly spiced bread, he wandered over to the low glass table in the center of the room. It was buried under piles of notes, datapads, star charts, and scribbled research on ancient ruins, ley-line phenomena, and galactic mythologies.
Three Earth-standard years had passed since he and Odin left Asgard. He had meant to return to Earth right away.
Odin, of course, had other plans.
Somewhere between stopping a Space Bandits, stealing a cursed relic from a black-star cult, and saving a princess, Max had forgotten his plans to go home. They were heroes now—well-known, well-liked… and maybe even a little feared.
“Jade, what time is it?” Max asked.
A pause, then the familiar, calm voice of the ring replied, “It is currently Galactic Standard Time: Day 33, Month 32, Cycle 32 122. Local calendar: Day 2, Month 43, Year 4323. Earth Standard Time: three years, two months, and twenty-two days since your arrival.”
“Thanks.”
Time was something Max still struggled to wrap his head around while drifting across the stars. Odin swore by Asgardian time—seasons that spanned decades, months named after gods Max could barely pronounce. The galaxy he was in now followed Galactic Standard Time, an imperial system that felt as cold and bureaucratic as the name suggested, and every planet had its own local calendar.
Thankfully, the ring took care of the math. Max had long since defaulted to Earth weeks and months for his own sanity, and Jade did the conversions automatically whenever he needed to communicate with Odin or any locals.
“You also asked me to remind you,” Jade added, “to go look for Odin. You were supposed to do that yesterday.”
Max rubbed the back of his neck, smirking. “Right. Got distracted.”
He glanced toward the bedroom, his smile widening. A memory surfaced—meeting the three Strontian women who’d been eager to celebrate the hero who saved their planet: the drinks, the partying in the city, and everything that followed.
“I’ll find him today,” Max said, finishing the last of his breakfast. “But first—any updates on the artifact we found?”
“No,” Jade replied. “Additional data required. Current analysis is inconclusive.”
Max nodded, unsurprised. The artifact had become a persistent headache.
It had all started during their second year in Shi’ar space. They’d rescued a stranded freighter near the Zarn Belt, and one of the survivors—a gaunt old scholar—told Max something he’d never forgotten: the abilities max used reminded him of a legend he’d read as a boy, about a lost civilization of peaceful monks known as the Tel Variq.
By the man’s description, the Tel Variq used the same abilities as him, a people who had somehow harnessed the emotional spectrum. The monks were said to be reclusive, rarely leaving their world, and, according to legend, they were wiped out in a cataclysm.
As an archaeologist, Max couldn’t resist the chance to be Indiana Jones in space.
As a Green Lantern, he couldn’t ignore a people that looked to have connection to the spectrum.
The more he uncovered, the more convinced he became that the Tel Variq had tapped into the emotional spectrum long before his arrival—shattering his old assumption that the spectrum’s presence in this universe began with him.
Max settled onto the living-room couch, the artifact in his hands—a rectangular slab of ancient metal etched with intricate markings that shimmered faintly in the morning light. Brow furrowed, he traced every curve and symbol.
He exhaled and set the slab down, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Maybe I should shelve this—for now…”
“Maybe actually go to Earth like you planned three years ago,” he muttered to himself.
Before he could finish the thought, footsteps echoed behind him. He turned, smiling as the three Strontian women from the night before stepped into the living space.
“Good morning,” Max said, walking over to them.
They grinned, stretching like cats. One yawned and rubbed her eyes while the other two drifted toward the food he’d set out.
“Food?” one of them said, surprised. “So considerate.”
Max gestured at the spread. “Help yourselves. You’ll need the energy.”
Another smirked. “Why—planning to tire us out again?”
The third added with a sultry lilt, “We were thinking of taking the whole day off… and spending it right here.”
Max chuckled, pulling one of them to his side and wrapping an arm around her waist. “That, my dear, is the best thing I’ve heard all day.”
They giggled, leaning into him.
“Max,” Jade’s voice cut in—calm but alert—“incoming vessel. High-energy signature. Matching X-Class specifications. Approach vector: direct.”
Max turned toward the balcony, his expression sharpening.
One of the women joined him, squinting into the sky.
“That’s… an X-Class ship,” she murmured.
The second woman whistled. “That thing’s worth ten lifetimes of what I make.”
“Stay here, ladies. Let me see who it is.”
He strode onto the wide balcony as the ship descended. Its anti-grav engines purred—a low, velvety hum. Sleek and opulent, the craft showcased high-ranking Shi’ar design: polished metal sweeping in elegant curves, inlaid with gold and etched in alien runes that shimmered like starlight.
With a flicker of green light, Max lifted off the balcony and glided through the warm air, touching down just as the ship’s side panel lowered into a ramp.
Two figures emerged.
The first was a tall, broad-shouldered man—Odin.
“Grænlaðr!” Odin bellowed, grinning. “I have returned!”
Max smirked. “And with a new friend, I see.”
“Aye.”
The second figure followed—an alien with scaled, green-gold skin and a regal bearing. Tall and dignified, he wore robes that flowed behind him with every precise step. His head was reptilian and angular, with eyes like twin suns and a voice as keen as a polished blade.
“You must be the Green Lantern,” the alien said with a respectful bow. “Or Grænlaðr, as Prince Odin calls you.”
Max nodded, shifting his stance. “That’s me.”
“I am Iruzan, envoy of Her Majesty Majestrix Xaria, ruler of the Shi’ar Empire.”
Max’s eyebrows rose. “It’s an honor, Envoy,” he replied, adopting a more formal tone.
Before the moment could stretch, Odin clapped Max on the shoulder with his usual bluntness.
“Max—the envoy seeks our aid. At last we can stop chasing ghost planets and return to proper war and glory.”
Max chuckled. “I figured as much.”
Iruzan offered a polite smile. “Then why don’t we speak inside the ship?”
Max nodded. “Lead the way.”
They ascended the ramp, and the interior unfolded in pure luxury. Polished dark-metal floors gleamed, threaded with silver veins of living circuitry. The walls were adorned with Shi’ar art—crystal etchings, shifting holograms, and floating star charts—and soft lighting tracked their movement, adjusting hue and warmth to suit their presence.
“This is… impressive,” Max said, taking in the elegant lounge, plush seating, and glowing command console.
Iruzan gestured with ceremonial pride. “Fully stocked quarters, guest suites, a sparring chamber, an auto-adjusting gravity drive, and—of course—a jump engine forged in the Da’nur Spiral Foundries. Fastest drives in the Empire.”
Max smirked. “Why do I feel like you’re trying to sell this to us?”
Iruzan’s eyes gleamed. “Not a sale, Lantern. A gift—from the Majestrix herself. In gratitude for your heroics across the Empire, and for what we hope you’ll do next.”
Max glanced around again. The ship was extraordinary. With a vessel like this, he wouldn’t have to rely on his ring for every journey; the ring was faster, yes, but these accommodations made longer trips appealing.
He looked at Odin, already sprawled across a plush seat, sipping from a flask.
Turning back to Iruzan, Max said, “All right, Envoy—you have our attention. What exactly does the Majestrix want?”
“Your exploits have become legend,” Iruzan said with dignified calm, his golden eyes flicking between them. “All across Shi’ar space, holo-feeds chronicle your victories—Larinses, for example, and the battle with Mycothrax, the fungal intelligence that nearly consumed the planet.”
Max chuckled and nodded. “Damn those mushrooms.”
Odin laughed. “Aye—and you smelled like rotting vichen for a week.”
Throughout their adventures, Max had only grown stronger. His understanding of the ring had deepened—especially after fighting Mycothrax—yet even three years later he felt he had only scratched the surface of its power.
Iruzan offered a small, diplomatic smile. “And yet you both emerged victorious. That alone would have earned you acclaim. But then there was the matter of the Acanti.”
The mood in the room shifted.
Max’s smile faded; Odin’s hands curled into fists.
The Acanti were peaceful, intelligent space-whales—majestic creatures that migrated from system to system and were worshipped by many cultures. Max and Odin had clashed with hunters who hunted them for their bones and a special liquid within them, and within weeks that group ceased to exist.
Odin’s voice hardened. “Those who hunted them we made sure they no longer draw breath.”
Iruzan bowed his head solemnly. “The Empire remembers. That deed alone earned the Majestrix’s respect.”
He paused, then added, “And let us not forget Eitarnis—your masterful diplomacy in preventing civil war.”
Max smirked. He had been lucky; even now he wasn’t sure how he had persuaded both sides to choose peace, yet most of the empire now regarded him as a master diplomat.
Iruzan’s tone became formal. “Which brings me to the reason I am here. The Majestrix requests your aid once more—in a matter both delicate and dangerous.”
Max leaned forward. “What kind of matter?”
The envoy clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace. “On the fringes of Shi’ar space lies a federation of five systems known as the Varr’Unn Federation. Their people—the Varr’Run—are proud, strong, and fiercely independent. For some time the Empire has sought to negotiate their inclusion.”
“But it’s gone badly,” Max guessed.
Iruzan nodded. “Very badly. Matters have escalated: civil war has erupted between factions that support joining the Empire and those that vehemently oppose it. Entire colonies have burned. We estimate more than 1 million dead.”
Max frowned. “So why don’t you step in and stop it?”
Iruzan’s gaze sharpened. “Because if we intervene directly, we will confirm the undecided systems’ worst fears—that we are conquerors in disguise. We are not, and the Majestrix will not risk giving that impression.”
Odin folded his arms. “Then what do you need from us?”
“We believe,” Iruzan said carefully, “that your presence—independent, neutral, yet influential—could tip the scales. Support the legitimate government, protect its people, and help end the conflict. Quietly.”
Max nodded, thoughts already turning. “You want us to do what the Shi’ar can’t—intervene without making it look like the Empire’s hand.”
“Precisely,” Iruzan replied with a shallow bow.
Max glanced at Odin, who stood with arms crossed and a skeptical expression. “I was thinking we might finally get back on course to our original destination.”
Odin groaned. “Midgard? Come now, Grænlaðr. The Majestrix herself has requested our help!”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Is this really our business—civil war, imperial expansion?”
“It could be,” Odin countered with a grin. “Give it a week—maybe less. We put down the rebels, earn a few medals, then Midgard.”
Max sighed, already regretting his concession. “Fine.”
Iruzan, wearing a practiced diplomat’s smile, stepped forward. “Splendid. The ship is yours, Prince Odin, Lantern. Use it as you please.”
Max shot Odin a sideways look. “One week.”
Odin raised a hand in mock oath. “One week, then Midgard—just as you wanted.”
========
SIX MONTHS, COUNTLESS BATTLES, AND ONE BROKEN PEACE TREATY LATER…
Max tore through the black of space like a green comet, streaking past the shattered hulks of a dozen warships. Chaos reigned around him—frigates burning, capital ships fractured and spilling plasma into the void. Blue-and-silver rebel vessels clashed with Varr’Unn cruisers in brutal dogfights.
“Odin is being held on Level 6—the lowest deck of the station,” Jade reported. “Security grid active. Over two hundred hostiles detected.”
Max’s eyes narrowed behind his mask. “Then we blast in.”
A roar of willpower surged from his ring. Emerald armor flared around him, his arms morphing into glowing cannons as he angled toward the rebel stronghold ahead: ten miles of dark metal bristling with turrets—the rebels base of operations.
He raised both arms and unleashed twin beams of green light that lanced through the oncoming ships. Fighters vaporized; frigates cracked and split apart. Thousands must have died in that instant.
Max accelerated toward the station. Laser fire streaked past; a wall of automated drones rose to intercept, but they were nothing to him.
He conjured a massive battering-ram construct. “Brace for impact,” Jade warned.
“Ahhhh!” Max screamed.
BOOM.
He slammed through the outer hull in a detonation of light and fury, flames billowing down steel corridors. Alarms shrieked; bulkheads groaned; the entire station shuddered under the force of his will.
Max landed in a crouch, already shaping new weapons. Exhaustion showed in the ragged beard beneath his glowing eyes, but the dangerous green light only intensified. Armor re-formed piece by piece—sleek, reinforced plates locking over his chest, arms, and legs. His gauntlets reshaped into multi-form weapon systems: a plasma cannon on one arm, a collapsing blade on the other, and missile pods blooming over each shoulder.
A HUD flashed inside his helmet: hostiles—dozens. Hundreds.
“Let’s kill them all”
With a roar, Max lunged forward.
The station dissolved into chaos. Every corridor became a war zone. Turrets swiveled toward him—destroyed before they could fire. Rebel soldiers unleashed torrents of plasma; Max returned fire ten-fold, cutting through squads with ruthless precision.
Explosions rocked the structure. Fires raged in ruptured compartments, and oxygen vented in shrieking gales. Still, Max pushed on—unstoppable.
Bursting into a hangar bay mid-battle, he spotted Odin: bare-armed, cloak in tatters, lightning crackling around him as he fought off a platoon of guards. Mjölnir whirled in a deadly arc, smashing skulls and bulkheads alike.
“Odin!” Max shouted, landing beside him and sweeping a glowing construct blade through another wave of troops.
Odin grinned through smoke and carnage. “Grænlaðr! These fools could never hold me for long!”
Max loosed a volley of emerald missiles; Odin answered with a torrent of lightning that leveled an entire corridor. Together they carved a path of devastation through the station.
“We need the control room,” Max called over the din.
“Aye!” Odin roared, lightning flaring from his fingertips. “Let’s finish this!”
They fought upward, deck by deck, the very framework of the station trembling beneath their onslaught. Resistance was fierce, but nothing could withstand their combined fury. Max led the charge, emerald beams slicing barricades apart; Odin hurled Mjölnir, clearing rooms with single, thunderous strikes.
At last they burst into the command dome—vast and vaulted, its ring of consoles ablaze with warning sigils. And there he stood:
Yarrick the leader of the rebels.
Tall, blue-skinned, silver-eyed—antennae bristling above a ridged brow—he whirled to face them, teeth bared.
“Yarrick,” Max called, advancing with Odin at his side, “it’s over. Surrender.”
The rebel leader snarled. “You think I’ll kneel to Shi’ar puppets? Parade me like some trophy?”
He threw back his head and laughed—wild, unhinged. “No, Lantern. I’ll make them remember me forever.”
He slammed his palm onto a console.
Behind him, a massive jump gate flared to life. Energy surged across the station’s hull; space folded—
WOOSH.
The whole structure lurched as the starfield snapped and whirled. Max staggered, Jade’s voice crackling in his ear:
“Max—we’ve jumped. Current coordinates: orbit above Varr’Ruun. The station… it’s descending. Trajectory: direct impact on the capital city.”
Max’s eyes widened. “No…”
Beyond the viewport, the blue-green sphere of Varr’Ruun swelled. The station was falling—fast—on a collision course that would kill millions.
“You’re too late,” he gloated, arms spread as if basking in divine retribution. “The Shi’ar, the entire Federation—everyone will remember us and our cause.”
The station shuddered as it plummeted through the upper atmosphere. Fire licked the hull; sirens screamed.
Max’s jaw clenched. His fists trembled, his whole body blazing with furious emerald light.
Odin stepped forward, lightning crackling over his frame. “Max…what do we do?”
Odin never used his real name unless things were truly dire.
Max didn’t look back. His voice was low, controlled—angry. “One week. You said one week.”
“Max, now’s not the time—”
“No. I’ve had it.” Max turned, eyes blazing. “I’m done with these fucking people, their fucking war, all the dead—and the fucking Shi’ar dragging us into this.”
The ring pulsed, jagged sparks of green will crackling around him.
Max held out his hand. “Give me Mjölnir.”
Odin hesitated only a heartbeat before tossing the hammer over.
Max caught it mid-air; divine power surged through his arm—familiar after using it in many battles. He closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, then opened them, blazing brighter.
With a gesture, a containment construct wrapped around Odin, locking him in a shield of emerald light. “You’re sitting this one out.”
Before Odin could protest, Max rocketed upward—straight through the command dome—tearing a gaping hole in the reinforced hull. Yarrick barely had time to curse before he was spaced out, dying a very painful death.
But the station was still falling.
Max shot below it, Mjölnir in hand. He glanced at the hammer, then at the descending colossus.
Layer upon layer of green energy formed around the weapon, forging a gigantic hammer construct with Mjölnir at its core—willpower and Asgardian magic intertwined, green lightning crackling over its surface.
“Construct stable,” Jade reported.
“Good.”
Max raised the will-powered hammer and, with a primal roar, swung.
BOOM.
The first strike shattered the station’s port wing. The second cracked its central spine. Blow after blow, fire and debris rained through the upper atmosphere.
He struck again and again until the entire station disintegrated, burning up before a single shard could reach the capital below.
On the planet’s surface, millions looked up to see a new sun of green blossoming in the sky.
“By the Norns…you mad bastard, you did it!” Odin whispered, awestruck.
High above, Max hovered amid the fading flames, breathing hard, the hammer’s glow finally dimming. He gazed down at the unscathed world…
…and laughed.
It was over at last.
====
Everything after the battle passed in a blur.
They were hailed as heroes. In the heart of Varr’Ruun’s capital a grand ceremony unfolded—banners billowed, musicians played, and crowds roared while Max and Odin stood at the center of it all. Draped in ceremonial robes, they received medals forged from rare alloys and were proclaimed “Honored Friends of the Varr People.” Dignitaries spoke; survivors thanked them; children stared in wide-eyed wonder at their new heroes.
Max, though, had stopped listening the moment the ceremony began. His mind churned with everything that had happened in the past six months.
Back aboard their ship he dropped into the pilot’s chair, slumping so low his gaze fixed on nothing. Across from him, Odin sat, elbows on his knees, shoulders slouched.
For a long time neither said a word. Silence—thick and heavy—hung between them.
At last Max exhaled, long and hollow.
“…Fuck,” Odin muttered.
Max’s reply came out flat. “That was a loooong week.”
“Fuck,” Odin repeated, slower this time, the word seeming to sink into the deck plates.
Max clutched his head, fingers digging into his hair. “Oh my god… what the fuck. What the actual fuck. AHHHHHHH.”
Odin didn’t answer. His eyes were vacant, haunted.
Max groaned again, louder. “I can’t do this anymore! AHHHHHH! So many dead! What the hell! What the FUCK!”
Odin finally spoke, voice low. “We almost died.”
Max snapped his gaze to him. “So you agree.”
Odin nodded slowly. “Fuck yes, Grænlaðr. That was— that was…. I wasn’t in control of anything. Even Asgardians have limits… fuck.”
Max stared forward, memories flickering like lightning. “I can still smell the corpses… why would they…”he whispered.
Odin looked at his own hand; it was shaking. “Look at this,” he said softly, holding it out. “My hand won’t stop.”
Max leaned forward, breath ragged. “Why did you— Why did you make me do this?!”
“I don’t know, Max!” Odin snapped, eyes wild—then caught himself, closing them. His voice dropped to a murmur. “Maybe… after everything with my father, I wanted to prove something. Prove I was right. That I was strong enough—worthy enough—to be a king.”
He fell silent for a moment.
“But not like this,” he whispered at last. “By the Norns… not like this.”
Max pressed his palms to his face, the ring on his finger flickering with strained light as it tried—and failed—to muffle the trauma. “Ahhhhh…” He was grateful for the ring’s help in strengthening his mind, but after everything he’d endured, even that wasn’t enough.
Odin gave a short, bitter laugh. “Let’s go to Midgard, Max. Boring, peaceful old Midgard will cheer you up.”
“Yes. Midgard. We should’ve gone there in the first place—this was a mistake.”
Max nodded slowly, hands still covering his eyes. “Yeah… let’s go to Earth. Midgard.”
“Get some sleep,” Odin said, moving to power up the ship. “I’ll fly us there.”
Max rose like a man twice his age. “Yeah… okay.”
He turned and trudged back to his cabin, determined to leave the horrors of the past months behind him—hoping that when he opened his eyes again, he would be looking at Earth.
Home.
.
.
Next chapter: finally getting to Earth.
This chapter was meant to develop Max and Odin’s relationship to show that they have fought together, spent much time side by side, and become true friends.
It also serves to open up another plotline, with Max search for a lost planet and its people.
The upcoming chapters will involve two Eternals, a Sorcerer , a mutant, and a time traveler.
Comments
Tyler Karp
Thank you for the chapter
Sentinel1107
Lol. Saw that you took inspiration from Rick and Morty - the Toxic Removal Episode.
