18532/HUNGER: Blackest Nights - Vega: Hunger vs Greed

HUNGER: Blackest Nights - Vega: Hunger vs Greed
Date of Scene:	14 July 2024
Location:	Okaara, Vega System
Synopsis:	Morg and Terrax fight, and the heroes work together to bring down the Executioner. To the shock of no one, Terrax turns on them. To the shock of maybe some, the reason is Galactus' arrival on the planet. He offers Terrax his original deal, as he does every Herald, exchanging his world for service. But Big Purple is still hungry, and sets his sight on the other planet in the system that you've heard of.
Cast of Characters:	Norrin Radd, Monet St. Croix, Peter Quill, Warlock, Hal Jordan, Mary Bromfield, Diana Prince, Mantis
Tinyplot:	Hunger

---

Norrin Radd has posed:
The scene is just where we left it:

In the throne room of a great basalt pyramid on the surface of Okaara, the heroes are gathered as two brutish figures square off, each wielding massive pure metal battle-axes, ONE of which can be assumed to be the weapon used against the Green Lantern Corps. On one side is the grey-skinned 'Warlord Tyros,' now rebranded Terrax. The other is Morg the Executioner, who has more of a orange-brownish textured thing going on, with spikey growths. Axe Guy #2 has accused Axe Guy #1 of treason against their mutual master, the so-called Galactus. A name that presently means little to most.

Both figures radiate with cosmic power, although the newly arrived seems more potent than his rival, having arrived in the wake of some great disturbance in space-time elsewhere in the system. This Executioner has pronounced not just Terrax's end, but that of the entire world.

In response, Terrax has formed a passage down into the stone mantle of the planet, leading to a now-opened cave, seeping orange light. Terrax claims this to be an ally. Time will yet tell.

While the heroes ponder the situation around them, the two titanic figures immediately leap into battle. Axe meets axe, and just the impact sends a dangerous shockwave outward, ripping through the chamber around them.

Monet St. Croix has posed:
All Monet knows with building terror is that this feels just like the Phoenix. Radiating everywhere, lashing out.. As brutal axes imbued with power beyond ken and terror. That name - Galactus.. That has been in the X-Men's files. That is something she at least knows with passing horror. She looks over at the others and breathes in and out.

"We cannot fight them. Either of them. So which one will we be working with?" Because as far as Monet was concerned, with those -things- she felt? EIther one could just as casually destroy the planet with but a backhanded swing. Whichever was responsible for the slaughter of the Lanterns.

Peter Quill has posed:
Peter was just in the middle of a dramatic moment, where the arrival of He Who is Named But We're Pretending We Don't Know Who That Is Yet caused some reaction in him due to his own strange godlike space beings heritage. Though he has recovered his wits, the whole thing has left him visibly shaken. Hearing a dramatic call of his name from his- wait we don't know that yet either -crewmate Mantis, he shakes things off and makes a quick skidding rocket-boot slide-grab in her direction as the BIG DUDES clash and things explode. It's not 100% elegant, but sometimes speed matters more! To cover!

"I'm good. You OK?" to her first, and then, more loudly: "I repeat the question: do we wanna be here for this? Dude said the planet is doomed."

Warlock has posed:
Warlock could eat them. It's. Definitely a thing he could do. It is not generally a thing he wants to do, however.

But. He can eat their weapons. A weapon? One world-destroying entity? Something. He wiggles a little from his place as Monet's boot covers, and flows upward into his human form. For now. "Self-" he coughs, politely, and tries again. "Self could eat a weapon, and maybe more, but Self is not sure that both could be consumed. Safely." It would be somewhat like gorging at a particularly good buffet, he thinks, eyeing both combatants. Which one is safer to leave alive? Self is unsure.

Hal Jordan has posed:
For his part, Hal ventured downward, into that space opened up by their 'host', the Warlord known as Terrax.

That green glow surrounds him, both surrounding him in that protective aura of the Green Lantern ring around his finger while also providing him that illumination that lights up the passage, that lets him see. Of course the Green Lantern of Sector 2814 can still very much hear the disturbance up above, but for the moment at least the possibility of gaining some sort of ally for the fight ahead might do even more good then a Lantern present and on the scene.

At least that's the hope. The reality might prove to be very different indeed of course, especially as it becomes increasingly clear that there is no longer just a green glow down here in the depths beneath that palace.

According to the Guardians there has always been the Green, and while Hal is welll aware that before they turned to the power of will they attempted to utilize a force of robotic peacekeepers, their gruding admission that the emotional spectrum of energy might be greater then it appears was reluctant when the Zamarons and the violet Star Sapphires of Love arrived on the scene.

But now Hal is in for another nasty surprise. On just why the Vega system is forbidden to them.

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Normally, the Rock of Eternity doesn't concern itself too much with things off-Earth. But then again, normally there's not cosmic-level threats clashing with enough power to shatter a world either.

Plus, Mary got some information from Donna and other Titans about what was happening. So with a crash of lightning and roar of thunder that seems... really small compared to the clashing axes center-stage, Thunderbolt appears from a portal near the wall, eyes going a bit wide as she takes in the scene, then she quickly looks around for faces that she knows.

Fortunately, she knows quite a few!

Diana Prince has posed:
With the clashing of the two titans causing a tidal wave of kinetic energy to spread out away from them, Diana pulled her gilded shield from her back. The gleaming metal of her rounded shield is hoisted up, and leveled outward, as she leapt in front of the rest of her team, allowing herself to bear the brunt of the wave of energy from the two colliding together in the midst of a new battle for supremacy of this world? This star system?

Diana, was a bit foggy on the ins and outs of galactic politics away from Earth, but she'd learned enough to know that this place was not the newly arrived Brute's home, but rather the one who'd shown them this chamber, and told them that he had not killed those Lanterns that they'd come to investigate.

Thus, Terrax had a bit more leeway with Diana than that of Morg.

"Disarm them both!" Diana called out, as she looked back to Quill and Mantis. "If this fight is too dangerous, return to your ship and prepare it for a hastey retreat!"

A look was sent to Warlock, who wasn an unknown to the Themysciran Princess, but she did afford him a single nod. "If we can disarm Morg first, feel free to do what you believe you can to further end this contest."

She did not speak further, instead wobbling her weight from one muscled leg to the other, before she drew her lasso from her hip, raised her shield to peer just over its edge, and leapt through the air just as Mary had arrived.

The golden lasso of truth was sent toward Morg's weapon's handle, attempting to find a opportunity to wrap around the handle, where the Princess would then charge at Morg, attempting to bash in to him with her Amazonium forged shield, as her lasso of Hestia was given a powerful pull to tear the mighty axe from the one known as MORG.

Mantis has posed:
Mantis stares at Peter with wide(er) eyes. Moments earlier, she experienced a ripple of celestial dread and, for reasons that she keeps secret, knew that Peter Quill experienced it, too. Perhaps feeling that he'd need the comfort of a /crewmate/, Mantis called his name and reached out with her hand. But then...

Mantis' antennae rise with equal parts astonishment and gratitude as Peter boot-slides her to safety. "I...I will be fine," she states, though obviously still carrying some of the cosmic dread she just experienced. Mantis looks up (way up) at Diana and then back to Peter, reconsidering his suggestion that, perhaps, they should leave.

"I can prepare the Milano," she offers.

Norrin Radd has posed:
Without immediate intervention, the two continue dueling with their axes. Terrax is more controlled, demonstrating techniques mastered on this very world, but Morg's fury and power creates an obvious gap to try and overcome. Blows ring together, or one swings and the other dodges. The Executioner leaps in, only for Terrax to call an explosion of stone spikes up through the floor. Some cut Morg, barely, but the wounds burn with crackling energy, and he slashes through the forest of stone with his axe like it was paper.

Below, Hal has heard the voice once, but now it calls again. "A ring, a new ring, a GREEN ring. You're not supposed to be here. That was the deal. All of this is MINE, your little midget masters said." The orange light reflecting off the walls grows stronger, as a figure makes his way out of the dark. The face, when he sees it first, is no stranger than any member of his own corps, humanoid overall but with lanky bguild and a long-snouted face ending in both sharp teeth and extra protruding tusks. Perhaps his skin is orange or tan, but it is hard to see with the shroud of brighter orange construct-light that flows all around him, like a burning shroud. He has a uniform too, crafted like the Green Lantern ones are, but with his own colors, his own symbol. He carries a battery under one arm.

"So why are you here? Did you come to bring Larfleeze a GIFT? He likes presents." At first, Hal might think it is just that single figure. But behind him, others soon come into view. Not whole beings of flesh, but echoes, duplicates of a myriad alien shapes, garbed in similar uniforms. They are nothing but light, but they follow behind him like an army.

Back above, Diana calls a play, and then makes her own. Neither is paying their audience much attention, and the lasso lands, seizes around the weapon. This is where everyone in the room learns the magnitude of the beings they are up against: she gets a hold, and pulls. He pulls back. "Heh. Not too bad."

Then, with a much harder motion Morg jerks back and spins away and around with a powerful motion. Suddenly, Diana is the one being swung around on the end of the lasso anchored to a being who can actually challenge her world-class strength. And he is not shy about testing her, swinging her bodily through stone columns in a wide arc.

It does give Terrax a moment, and he leaps in, axe brandished, striking into Morg's shoulder. But the blade does not bite deep. That same energy crackles at the wound, refusing to allow injury.

Both beings boil with this powerful energy, but Morg clearly possesses the greater portion.

Monet St. Croix has posed:
Whatever sort of hesitancy now that Monet has in the matter is settled once Diana goes to interfere, and then Diana is thrown solid. She goes to speak to Warlock along the psi-link <<If you can without oding yourself harm!>> She doesn't knwo what Warlock's limits are. But she's going to trust in him. As Terrax goes to slash over into the shoulder of Torg, Monet St. Croix is going to charge over in at him while he's focused on Terrax and Diana. Her attempt is to smash into the side to hit the hilt of the axe that conducts such power, along which the lasso is looped. She's going to try and smash at the wrist with all her power, to try and make him flinch just a bit..

While then letting Warlock pop off of her while going to try and let him go for the axe! It's rather tricky timing wise, but among Monet's speed, Warlock's enhancement of reflexes.. Hopefully there's just enough to let him go in for the cosmic snacktime!

Monet goes to share her plan amongst the others as she sets up a batlte meld. This will have to be quick - and they need some consensus of how to fight.

Peter Quill has posed:
"I got Rocket on the comms before, he's doing pre-flight," Quill tells Mantis. "I think we oughta stick together." Which might mean sticking together in running away, but at the moment, it doesn't seem like he wants to just let her run off. They're having an odd moment. Also? Scary dudes with axes being general menaces.

Princess Diana the Very Tall Lady makes a convincing battlefield leader for Peter to follow, even if that's normally his job. He can kind of respect the scope of the situation here. She says 'disarm' and 'run away if you have to.' Running away is pretty...

He pops up from behind their cover, twirling the two pistols to the ready, and opens fire. Not the electro-stun mode this time; odds of this guy dying as he shoots him seems pretty slim. But what he can do is unload a pretty hefty volume of fire, rapid-unload plasma bursts. The first are just suppressive, but after the dude starts flinging Diana around, he fires a burst at his face, at the hand, anywhere that seems like it might distract or weaken.

"Could your thing work on these guys? Maybe I could fly us in."

Mantis has posed:
Mantis nods at Peter's confirmation that Rocket is handling the Milano as they speak. Rocket's good like that, even though his feelings on being pat on the head are at odds with Mantis' desire to do it. She hesitates with her thoughts before popping up behind cover. She watches the unfolding conflict between Morg and Terrax just for a moment before she's forced to duck back down to avoid any debris from Morg smashing through the floor spikes.

Peter's question about whether she could do her 'thing' ping-pongs around the clean slate inside Mantis' head. Diana getting yanked off the ground by her lasso is enough to solidify her response. Her antennae rise.

"One of my duties was to help Ego sleep," Mantis reminds Peter, alluding to her life of servitude prior to meeting the Guardians of the Galaxy. "If we can get close enough for me to touch them, I....I think I can do it."

She doesn't sound so convinced in her own abilities despite doing this every night for a /celestial/.

Warlock has posed:
This is why Best-Monet-Friend is Self's friend, really.

He slings through the air as a joyful << Whee! >> flashes across the battle meld, landing along the axe and armor with a slightly sticky-sounding 'plop'. The Lasso is... a small impediment. Do not ask Self questions right now, nope. He - for lack of better human understanding - splits into numerous streams, and starts the replication process.

A stream of molten black and gold flows over the hilt and blade of Morg's axe, leaving tiny gaps where the shiny Lasso is wrapped around it, and as the virus consumes the flooded particles the sated bits of Warlock drip... drip... drip... across Morg's mighty foot, surrounding and encasing it much like a friendly Warlock had surrounded Monet's feet earlier.

This... is not a /friendly/ technarch. At least not to Morg. The part that lands in his injured shoulder begins that same process, digging in... rooting... transforming. It's a slow process, but on the bright side... the virus consumes everything, and the space-farers aren't subjected to viscera or gore.

Hal Jordan has posed:
Well, isn't this just a lovely surprise.

There are definitely times that Hal would very much like to kick the Guardians right where the sun doesn't shine, with their obsessive need to keep secrets. Anything they decide might be too important for their own Corps of peacekeepers to know.

That orange glow, the power bleeding off the figure down here beneath the surface of Okarra, it is terribly familiar. Familiar enough that Hal can identify it almost immediately. Emotional spectrum energy. No different from the Green or Violet -- the two known spectrums already out there at work in the galaxy. But more concentrated however. More intense. As if it has all been gathered in one place instead of spread out across the many wielders as is the case for the other two light spectrums.

For a moment Hal Jordan simply studies the strange figure with those bright orange flares of power and spectral apparitions that seem to surround it. The figure with a uniform that that dissimilar to his own. With a Lantern that largely just differs in hue. Oh yeah, he is going to have a lot of questions for the Guardians the next time he sees them, that much is certain.

But one of them will not be just what the Orange represents. That seems clear enough just from the creatures demeanor, from the words translated by his ring. Will. Love. And now Greed.

So, the Guardians have a deal with this creature. A deal that seceded the Vega system to it, presumably to insure that it did not venture elsewhere in the galaxy. Which suggests that it is a danger. Which suggests that it has a great deal of power at his disposal, if the Guardians would rather negotiate then simply lock it away as they do most threats.

And clearly Hal is not exactly welcome.

It isn't hard to tell that at least some of those spectral figures that mass around the Orange Lantern appear to be wearing Green Lantern uniforms, though now cast in an orange glow. And he can't help but wonder if these constructs are like his own -- entirely a product of his imagination and the power of his Will made manifest. Or if it is something more.

"I do bring you a gift," Hal begins slowly, a note of caution in his voice. "The gift of warning. Above there is a power threatening this world, maybe all the worlds in this system. It is as likely to lash out as you as well. But perhaps with the help of myself and my allies.." he says, letting the words trail off.

He's not at all sure this is a good idea. But he can feel the sheer power radiating above. Power that might be greater then even that contained in his ring. If the newly arrived threat truly means to destroy worlds, well...

Sometimes you work with what you're given.

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Thunderbolt grins, "Selffriend Warlock! You look like you could use a boost!" She soars into the air, then cries out in a loud echoing voice, "SHAZAM!"

And that's when a massive bolt of lightning roars from the heavens, hitting Warlock and cranking everything he can do up to eleven!

Before the after-image of the lightning clears, she flies down quickly and grabs Morg's other arm, trying to restrain him just long enough for Terrax to get an upper hand. Better the devil you know for the moment, and she trusts Monet and Warlock if nothing else... though, from the look she passes Mantis and Peter, she overheard what they were saying as well.

She's not looking to /win/. She's looking to be the distraction so Mantis or Warlock can do their thing.

Diana Prince has posed:
In Diana's time since originally leaving Themyscira, she'd faced a number of challenges that had ever increased her own knowledge in her powers, her abilities, and the upper limits there-in. Though her sisters had helped her train as an Amazon warrior for nearly a thousand years, they were not able to help her learn the ins and outs of what she was truly capable of, and the lengths in which she could truly test herself. Rare was it that an occurence would come Diana's way that WOULD yield her an opportunity to see her limits, or at least see the limitations she was putting upon herself.

Case in point, the limits at which she applies strength, and force to this foe, are tested as the mighty Morg turns Diana's lasso connection to him against her.

Wonder Woman is slammed through a pillar of stone, followed by another, then another. Her shield is bashed against the edge of one crumbling pylon, causing it to flip out of her grip, slamming on to the ground where it flips end over end before rolling to a stop near to one of the destroyed pillars left in Diana's wake.

At least, she pulls the lasso free of Morg's control, her body sent rolling, tumbling, and ending up on her back upon the chamber floor.

Motionlessly, she lays there for but a second, before she pushes up to her elbows, her body covered in the dust and debris from that ordeal. She exhales a sharp breath, before she shakes her head from side to side, and begins to rise up again to the full height of her armored boots.

Well, that did not go so well...

Diana reaches her right hand up over her shoulder, the leather wrapped palm pressed to the blue grip of her Athenian sword where it rests within its sheath upon her spine. She pulls the gleaming blade from its scabbard, and once more leaps in to the fray to join the others attempting their fate against MORG!

Norrin Radd has posed:
As Quill predicts, opening fire even at full power has little chance of putting his foe down, but the explosive flashes are distracting, and they come at a high rate of fire. This is valuable. Because a lot of people are attacking the obvious target of their combined efforts, and even a moment of blindness is one in which Morg cannot properly react.

Warlock goops down onto the axe first. It is viable as a meal, in its natural state, no magical item like the lasso, simply a weapon and perhaps a symbol of terror. However it is, as he discovered previously, incredibly dense, some esoteric process having reworked matter in ways not usually possible in nature. In a sense, it is a very LARGE meal, crushed down into a smaller package. This makes the eating slower than Warlock might have imagined, but the end result potentially more satisfying?

The other things are more challenging. Encasing his foot is not hard, but slowing his movement is, a tremendous power imbued behind it. The wound provides an inroads, and the flesh does begin to change-

-only then to be met with hostility, the same bubbling power that seemed to heal, hold his shoulder in one piece despite being struck with an axe as heavy as his own, now attending to the techno-organic invasion. It is, for descriptive purposes, like an immune response. Active hostility, energy bubbling from the unknown to annihilate unwanted matter.

What's left is a clearly infected wound, not spreading quickly, but the little spider-web growths still there around it. An active conflict. And when Mary's lightning strikes, the gold-black pattern spreads wider, the energy balance tipping in the moment. This is having an effect, but what is also increasingly clear is the tremendous depth of the source that empowers this otherwise... unremarkable alien humanoid. It is not his body that proves such a titanic force. It is what courses through it.

Mary grabs his non-weapon arm and pulls it out. Terrax takes the combo-starter and swings from above.

She ends up holding an arm.

THe energy bubbles at the stump.

----

Beneath, Larfleeze considers what Hal has told him. That this world, this system perhaps, is at risk. "Well... We do not like the sound of that. These things are ours! They belong to us! And we do not want them damaged!"

While the voice is sinister at times, it is almost childish at others, in expressing such base materialism, almost tantrum like at the thought. But the sinister side remains. "We will help, and we will take... everything! Now let us go and seeeee!"

----

Above, Morg stands with a missing arm, and a seething, infected wound on the other shoulder, but the axe is free of Diana's grip momentarily, and the Executioner smiles viciously. "No quarter for any enemy. No mercy."

Terrax takes the first blow, an immediate response to his own, and it cleaves down shoulder-to-hip, not fully through, but opening a massive wound in his counterparts chest. It would be lethal to any normal being, but the same reaction seems to keep the other alive... but stumbling, clutching over the wound. Out for the moment.

He rounds on his next target, whoever is closest. Well, perhaps 2nd, as Warlock seems... enmeshed, not easily struck. But Mary, the Arm Taker? Rounds on her, swinging, and again, and again. She's fast, so she can keep ahead of the blows, until he seems to take the measure of her defense, and when a swing comes just short, releases a powerful offensive blast of that same energy at point blank, into her chest.

Diana is ready to charge to meet him, and he turns to face her next, a greater horror than even when he began, parts of his flesh changing, other parts boiling with energy, the axe changing in his hand. None of it is happening fast enough to stop their own little clash of titans.

Monet St. Croix has posed:
This is not going to go well. Monet can only watch in a morbid sort of fascination as Morg's immune system seems to be fighting /off/ whatever exactly infection it is that Warlock can press upon him. His arm being taken off him merely seems like the slightest annoyance. This is terrifying. This is fascinating. This is horrifying. But mind before fear. Duty before all else.

She goes to charge in from the side, going to smash over into Morg with her fists to hit him around the knees with her full power. It's not noticable at all. Not by him. Not by anyone else. Her strikes might as well not be attempted for all the recognition they get. She goes for strikes at back, neck, joints. It's like she's not even attacking him at all for how things are reacting. Her slamming into him at full power isn't even /noticable/.

Ant, boot. Or ant, axe in this case.

Monet goes to keep on slammin ginto Morg, as if at first you don't succeed.. At the very least she might displace some air molecules to let someone else do something a little more easily on him. Or serve as a platform for Mary or Warlock to yank off on.

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Thunderbolt thought she was holding her own, blocking blow after blow until she realized that Morg was merely taking her measure.

And then he blasted her point-blank.

She flew through the wall, knocked back almost a mile before she slammed into a nearby mountain range, forming a Mary-shaped hole about fifty meters deep.

Coughing weakly, Thunderbolt gasped, "Never been... hit... like that." She stumbles slowly out of the hole, then falls to one knee, catching her breath. Then her gaze hardens, determination filling her eyes, "But it isn't about how hard you hit..."

She picks herself up, standing on her feet, her uniform scorched and blackened, but intact as she launches herself into the air, building up speed and momentum...

"It's about how hard you get hit, and keep moving forward." Her speed increases, as she's the fastest of the Shazam family in the air, and she's circling around, going faster than she's ever tried before...

"How much you can take... and Keep Moving Forward!" She's little more than a red-and-gold blur at this point, as she changes course, flying right through the hole that she made in the wall and planning to slam into Morg with every ounce of her Goddess-granted speed and strength.

"THAT'S HOW WINNING IS DONE!"

Peter Quill has posed:
Peter sees the scale problems as he gets a little pew-pew in only for several of the more heavyweight folks to descend into the increasingly complicated melee. There's no weak point weak enough for him to get a job done here with his guns. But Mantis makes a good point: "He does look smaller than a living planet."

"Alright, um... you wanna?" There's some awkward evaluations of potential positions here. Does he carry her in his arms? He's not superman. Uh. Piggy back?

When they sort it out, Quill fires up the boots, rocketing high first. There's a whole lot of MESS down below, Diana and Big Cheesus squaring off, and Mary doing lightspeed punches, and unlike some people, they can't take random neutron-star axe blades or whateverthehell and just shrug it off.

"Tell me when-"

He waits for the moment, and then dives at high speed, bringing up the guns for another spray of distracting fire, diving in close enough to deliver a Leaping Mantis Style payload.

Diana Prince has posed:
For Diana, it was a thousand years of fighting with some of the best trained, most skilled, highest naturally gifted, women that Earth had ever seen, that fueled her ability to stay toe to toe with this MORG fellow. He was undoubtedly powerful, his strength was some of the most impressive that Wonder Woman had come across in her 106 years of fighting villainy in all its forms. But when it came to martial skill, he was no more advanced than many of her own people, or so it seemed.

When Diana lunged in to battle with him, no longer attempting to use her lasso, but instead to utilize her sword, their weapons would clash, with Diana doing her best not to hinder the efforts of Warlock- though she did not at all understand his own abilities-- and in doing so her focus was on adding any injuries she could to MORG's body, even if he would recover from them in some near-feature moments.

If she could stack injuries across his body, then she figured every chop would make the tree fall faster.

Diana's blade, gleaming with the sharpened state of Themysciran steel, clashed with MORG's weapon, with his body, and through it she swept it across his form where she could find an opening.

He was no slouch, however, and with powerful kicks, even an elbow, Diana was temporarily knocked aside, only to display her aggressive, and unwavering dedication to the art, and dance, of combat.

Her sword came down across MORG's wrist, then her body swept around behind his, a backflip leaving her tumbling over him to where she'd deliver a kick to his sternum, before swiping directly for his throat!

She did not kill, unless she had no choice, and unless he was up to the challenge of fighting the annoyingly acrobatic Amazon, he just might find out how fast his breathing hole takes to heal!

Hal Jordan has posed:
Yeah. Hal has something of a bad feeling about this.

While he doesn't particularly like the fact that the Guardians have kept him and presumably the rest of the Corps in the dark about the existence of this latest emotional specturm energy, the little blue trolls usually have a reason for the things that they do. Hal doesn't always happen to agree with those reasons, but he can't deny that they exist.

just listening to this strange creature with his strange mix of childish naivety and sinister covetousness is ringing all sorts of warning bells in Hal's head. The promise to help and then take *everything* doesn't sound like it will necessarily bode well.

But sometimes you have to deal with the threat at hand with whatever tools you have at your disposal and trust in the fact that you'll just find a way to deal with the next problem as it presents itself.

Regardless, Terrax suggested that this particular power might be required if this world was to be saved and he has done that much. So mission accomplished, right?

Hal will just have to hope that the cure isn't worse then the disease in this particular instance.

With Larfleeze in tow, with the sounds of battle -- muted but still audible from up above -- Hal whirls, that green aura seeming to brighten around him as he streaks back up towards that audience hall, that ring extended before him like a green glowing beacon to cut through the dark -- though it in and of itself might be little more then a pinprick in the massed orange glow of the strange creature and his equally unnerving army of orange constructs.

The scene in the hall is suitably ominous of course, and while the interloper knows as Morg might be under assault, by those gathered, he seems to be holding his own. Despite the force directed towards him, despite his weapon being compromised and his limb severed. Against all that, he stands, seemingly undetered.

The melee around the invader is chaotic indeed. And about to get a whole lot more chaotic.

Maybe it is the whole old school feel of two titans simply hacking at one another with axes, but as the Green Lantern soars back into the chamber, letting that flood of emerald radiance from him and that ring wash over those present he points it towards Morg, that energy flairing.

And what leaps from the ring is an a green charger and it's armroed rider, charging force, racing into the fray with lance leveled. A second quickly follows and then a third, galloping across the room towards their target.

Not content to leave it at that a trio of other figures emerge, the same as the original three. But these horses have wings, soaring through the air to insure that Morg is under assault from all sides.

"Sorry I'm late to the party. But I brought a surprise guest."

When said guest eats all the food, guzzles all the beer and generally makes a mess of things, chances are no one will be thanking Hal. But he'll just have to take that chance.

Warlock has posed:
This is so much food, and so much resistance, and Self is - Self is not hungry enough to finish this meal. But leaving this meal is worse that the uncomfortable-stretch-ache of Too Much, so Self keeps fighting a war of attrition. If nothing else, Warlock will make certain that he is not making _replication_ instead of _food_. That is a terror too strong to comprehend, and Self Does Not Want Children, Thank You Good Day.

The particles on Morg's boot start eating as well, as the energy required to slow him starts to consume what they've received from eating parts of the axe and its hilt.

Mantis has posed:
Mantis looks up at Peter with curious eyes, antennae swaying easily in the emotional breeze. The instant it becomes clear that they're going up on Peter's rocket boots, she leaps up onto Peter's back, enthusiastically choosing the piggy back option. Mantis stabilizes herself with a single arm across Quill's chest, both legs extended forward, and her hand pointing heroically in the air!

Down below, Monet uses her fists, Wonder Woman uses blade, Warlock devours, and Thunderbolt reads from the Book of Balboa. Mantis, meanwhile, cackles with delight, not unlike a child on an amusement park ride, as Peter takes her across the battlefield on his rocket boots.

Somewhere in the thick fog the Priests of Pama placed over Mantis' memories, though, a master of martial arts, potentially even the Celestial Madonna, remains dormant. For some reason, unknown even to Mantis herself, she stops cackling right as Diana's blade drags across Morg's throat. "Now!" she shouts before leaping onto Morg's back!

Mantis wraps both of her legs around Morg, locking her ankles together. "Sleeeeeeeeeeeeep!" she shouts, pressing both of her palms against the executioner's temples. She closes her eyes and grits her teeth as the tips of both of her antennae glow.

Norrin Radd has posed:
Morg is not the Executioner for nothing. Though not a graceful opponent, he is a vicious one, and the crackling bestowement of the Power Cosmic gives him a raw physicality far in excess of his brute frame. Enough to stand toe to toe with Diana of Themyscira... and with her friends. With raw violence he sets at her, having no problem wielding the axe in just the single arm, laying whirling swings and slashes against the Amazon's shield. The armaments of the island are nigh invulnerable... but 'almost' a thing is not the same as the thing itself. He cleaves notches into that shield with every strike. Only the bracers and lasso are truly safe against the blows.

It also goes both ways. Every time his axe meets her blade, the damage being done to its slowly-eroding structure is tested a little more. Warlock, whatever he is, is of a different density, a different makeup, so transformed portions are not the same as the base. They are structurally unsound.

In the midst of his oppressive attack, Diana's allies come as flying missiles from various directions. Monet and Mary, to deliver more standard physical attacks, and Quill to deliver a more complex one. Plus a whole cavalry of Green Knights and... well, we'll see about Larfleeze.

Monet is close, and goes low. Morg is sturdy, though one knee briefly buckles, bringing him down onto it. The woman receives a response with an overhand strike - fist not axe, he's regrown the arm - and with her already low, it easily slams her face first down into the stone floor. He starts to rise-

-and now they start hitting him, from every direction. One Green Knight and another. He cleaves through one, but another comes, driving a lance through his shoulder. Diana again, fast and close, working inside the reach of the axe. The sword opens a dozen small wounds. He swings, but she slips behind him, and then flips over again, kicks, shoves him back. Her blade comes up for his throat but he lifts the axe. They strike each other, there is a sound of creaking metal.

And then THUNDER, as Mary joins with her high-speed punch. Axe-to-blade already, Morg is ill prepared, his speed is not quite so much as his strength, and the blow catches him square across the jaw, visibly breaking it, disjoining the lower portion of his face.

That too, in theory, will heal, but with every wound, cut, puncture, break, the energy is spread thinner. The black-and-gold spreads a little more.

In a rage, he strikes out blindly now, at those nearest.

Which is when Peter and Mantis arrive. One of them makes it through cleanly, the other does not. Landing, Mantis loops that leg lock and delivering her very specific power. Wounded, infected, so many things, Morg sinks down and... is still.

It may seem, then, that the Orange Army that arrives behind Hal's Green Knights is un-needed. Late to the party. "Did we miss it? Is he for us? He's already damaged, far from mint condition..."

YOU HAVE BOTH FAILED ME.

The booming voice is heard in a way that transcends language. Not quite telepathic, although it echoes in the recesses of the mind. In all the same ways as the earlier 'arrival,' it echoes through each person present in ways reflective of their own nature and abilites, senses, place in the cosmos.

MY DISAPPOINTMENT IS EQUAL. BUT I OFFER REDEMPTION. THERE IS ONLY ONE CHOICE BY WHICH THIS WORLD IS PRESERVED AND FAILURE IS ABSOLVED.

Terrax, slowly recovering to the side, hauls himself up, hefts his axe, and considers his choices. "I submit." He raises his axe, and directs a power blast into Diana's back.

TOGETHER, MY HERALDS.

And if anyone should look up, through the broken ceiling of the pyramid, they would see a great visage peering down upon them from the havens. He can appear in many ways, depending on the observer. To many, to those lacking a specific mythological context, the great purple helmet is the default.

Monet St. Croix has posed:
It might as well be a fingerflick for her as Monet is sent flying away to the wall, spasming hard. She at least rated the attention, which is salve to her ego. And she wasn't even struck brutally enough to render her body to a pulp. And then existence quakes and unmakes. She looks up.

This is the end. Of everything. All existence shudders and bows. Untethered from reality, all that is kneels in supplication. Monet knows the technicalities.

A name. A function. A purpose.

She knows that this si just the image displayed in a way that is comprehensible over to a sapient mind interprets it. Mind numbing horror shatters her psyche as she can only withdraw into her head. Monet is not here. Monet is terrified. Monet is a broken shell.

It takes her a few seconds of consciousness to let the terror break away to horror and so far around to awareness as Monet's mind is broken into the void and forged asunder as shattered glass is broken into sand, sand hammered down to grooves, taken to metal and pieced back like a serrated jigsaw puzzle.

Terrified back to rationality is apparently a thing now. She can only look for the others, and goes to yell over along the mental link and the verbal one.

<<RUN!>>

Peter Quill has posed:
So that one untouched thing? Yeah that meant Peter took a hit. Also that thing about him not being able to take hits like these other people? That was foreshadowing!

On his valiant jet-boot descent in, Quill catches an axe swing. It nearly cuts him in half, and only actually takes a huge chunk out of his side. The boots are still engaged, even as the shock gets him, and he goes rocketing along to bounce-skid along the floor and finally stop, laying in a pile. Dead?

Not dead. "Ow."

But for the moment, laying there. He misses the big arrival, even if he feels it in the same DNA that's keeping him alive.

On the radio: "I'm inbound, what's your- FUCK WHAT IS THAT THING QUILL WHY IS THERE A FACE? Quill? Hello?"

The Milano approaches, from the distance!

Mary Bromfield has posed:
Thunderbolt blinks, shouting, "Diana!" as she gets blasted point-blank in the back from Terrax. Then she sees the helmeted form of... what, it's hard to grasp. But with the Gods and Goddesses, it almost looks like the primordial Titans, assembled into one horrifying avatar coming to End /Everything/.

And Monet's message comes over the mental link, snapping her out of the fear-induced paralysis, "You don't have to tell me twice!" She swoops over and scoops up Diana, then hovers just long enough to offer a hand to Quill, "Hey, I'm Thunderbolt, that your ride?" She glances over towards the Milano.

Warlock has posed:
The heavy, rolling boom of voice is... nope, no, not good, no thank you! Self recoils all of the many threads trying to eat Morg with a loud, slorping quickness at Monet's command. He roils and curves over and around the behemoth and down, free falling onto the axe-stuffed bits of himself and rolling quickly to Monet's side.

He has never been so full of energy.

It is the work of a split second to flatten into a carpet shape under under her and lift into the air, curving the edges to keep her from falling as he comes to a hovering stop next to Mantis. A little bicycle horn forms, emitting a hurried "BEEP BEEP" at the woman.

Diana Prince has posed:
With the plan evolving in-action, Diana engaged in another clash of weapons with the seemingly insurmountable MORG! She pushed with a powerful amount of her own might, and leapt backward to gain some distance from him, only to get blasted in the back by Terrax who found a moment of opportunity to attack the Princess, who had come to his aid.

Sent reeling, Diana was once more thrown across the floor of the chamber, her battered shield split in to pieces, as it fell from her arm and was rendered a literal heap of junk.

Recovering, but slowly, The Princess was pushing herself back up to her hands, when Mary arrived at her side. She was scooped up with ease by the other woman, and with blurry vision, she was slow to come to.

"We must retreat." Diana stated, her lasso and sword, slung around her body, with one hand barely able to hold on to the sword's hilt, the lasso wrapped around the crossguard, with its ends fluttering in the wind as Mary would move them along.

Mantis has posed:
Mantis holds on, pressing her hands into Morg's temples as she continues to chip away at Morg's resistance to her pathokenetic abilities. It's very unusual for beings to put up a fight like this, but that's why ankles are attached to legs that can lock together. "Sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep!" she continues before the pair fall to the ground with a flat THUD.

"Owwww!" Mantis complains, crawling out from underneath Morg's slumbering frame, apparently holding him responsible for how he gets induced to sleep. "Why do you sleep like that!"

Unlike the others, Mantis doesn't look up and doesn't bother with any of the existential dread. Instead, her focus is on...

"Peter!" she shouts. Without pause, Mantis begins running towards her fallen crew mate and, secretly, something else. She takes the most direct path, a straight line, requiring her to navigate across the craggy battle field with leaps, flips, jukes, and any other martial arts moves buried in her subconscious. She gets there too late, beaten by Mary Bromfield. "Peter!" she repeats with no reduction of urgency.

Beep beep.

Mantis looks up at Mary, then Peter, and then the flying carpet that just honked its horn at her. She repeats this twice more -- Mary, Peter, Carpet, Mary, Peter, Carpet -- before gently moving Quill to the magic carpet in a princess carry. After getting situated herself, Mantis points at the Milano hovering in the distance. Their destination.

"Beep beep!" she shouts, apparently assuming that this means something in carpet language.

Hal Jordan has posed:
There is a certain satisfaction that comes in watching the beastly Morg begin to succumb to the sheer numbers arrayed against him.

For each energy construct that the Executioner slices through, another seems to leap from Hal's ring, riding in to take their place, keeping that relentless pressure on him, keeping the invader from getting the chance to rest, to recover. To make sure that others gathered have their opening to bring their own powers into play.

And when he slumps down, overwhelmed by injuries and Mantis' command to give in, to let that increasingly depleted form submerge into sleep, there is that brief buzz of hope.

Mixed with a little trepidation too. Was this really what he risked unleashing the pure hunger of Greed for?.

But then that voice sounds, from out of the heavens, from all around.

The shields of a Green Lantern are a formidable thing indeed, even mroe so when bolstered by a will such as that inherent in Hal Jordan. But despite all that those words pierce his skull as if he were standing right next to the amp at some rock concert, drawing a wince of pain from Sector 2814's Emerald Knight.

The green glow that surrounds Hal seems to intensify, the ring focused towards the purpose of dulling that roar to something manageable. And Hal can't help but turn his gaze towards the skies above, to catch a glimpse of that impossible figure there, towering above them all, looming like some sort of impossible threat.

"Ring, analyze threat," he instructs, refusing to let that impulse to flee, screaming creep in. There is a reason why the ring came to him afterall, first and foremost of all the other choices on the planet it had.

But those words spark a betrayal that was perhaps always inevitable, and as Terrax turns on them, gives in to the commands of that sheer presence and lashes out at his fellow Leaguer, Hal's eyes narrow.

Almost at once a glowing green wall seems to drop out of nowhere, intercepting that blast, offering what respite it can to the Amazon Princess.

He hates the idea of retreat. But until they know more the simple truth is that they might be outmatched here. "Go, I'll hold them back," the Green Lantern calls out, the green energy wall shifting into a dome, piling layer after layer onto it as he too begins a slow retreat.

Not that he is willing to leave Terrax's betrayal entirely unpunished. Within that green dome a line of emerald energy extends, lashing out in the shape of a giant boxing glove, socking the stone faced tyrant right in the face.

Sometimes the classics are the classics for a reason.

Even as he retreats, Hal turns his gaze towards Larfleeze. "You! If you're to save your world from this threat I suggest you deal with it's Heralds. We leave them to you now," he calls out.

Whether Larfleeze can stand up two Heralds Hal has no idea. From the sheer power radiating from the creature and it's Lantern he doesn't exactly doubt it. He's not sure that this is a good idea. But staying here, in the face of... whatever that is in the skies above -- seems like a poor option as well.

So Hal Jordan fights his holding action. He watches as the power of Greed takes the field.

And he retreats towards the Milano with the others.

Norrin Radd has posed:
With all they've piled on him, Morg does not immediately get back up. Even as Mantis leaves him to rush to attend Peter, the newest Herald of Galactus remains at a slumber. It will take him time to heal, but with Warlock gone, the process does begin. Terrax, with his new pact sealead, by contrast, seems to only improve in health by the moment. The wound from before, closing slowly, now does so before their eyes. The two have been made equal in their Master's eyes... and thus, likewise, their boons, their portions of the infinite.

It is this fact alone that supports the idea of a retreat, as they have taken serious injuries to bring down one, and now face another, refrehsed any ready. "If you had stood a little stronger..." he muses, brandishing his own axe. "...then perhaps. But no. There is no victory for you here. And if not, there can only be one end."

What standard could he possibly hold them to? Well, the great face above suggests that it may be a high one indeed. Does it matter, as he hefts his axe, ready to take the Executioner's place?

"WHO ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE AND WHY ARE THEY ALL TOUCHING MY STUFF?!"

Some may fear what has come to this world, or at least face it with grim resolve, or the staunch heroism that Hal Jordan represents. Agent Orange, the alien known as Larfleeze, the one-alien Orange Lanern Corps, summons no such deep emotions. He, very simply, just isn't having this.

Rushing from behind Hal, whose ring is in the midst of handing him various 'error' and 'classified information' messages as he querries it about the Giant Purple Space Face, the Army of the Orange descends upon Terrax. Emboldened, empowered, he lashes out against the enslaved army.

Hal's instinct is right, of course. These are not merely constructs. Every one of them is a former Lantern, of many colors, victims of Agent Orange. While the ring may deny him information, there are FACES there, and while most predate his service in the corps, it is impossible not to recognize them as people. A terrible fate, and yet...

...Right now, their best defense. The phantoms clash with Terrax, die, and then are reborn again around him. An eternal army bound to him alone.

---

A very distressed Rocket Racoon soon brings the Milano into view. He doesn't bother with trying to land, as people are hoisted up onto Mary's back or loaded onto the... "Wait what the hell is that thing? You want THAT, to go on my ship?"

Presumably someone gives him a 'not now Rocket' expression and he yields the argument.

The Milano will be able to make an escape, at least from the surface of Okaara, although wider concerns remain.

---

Later, Morg and Terrax alike kneel before the silhouette of their master. Here, he is only a mere two or three times their height, dressed in the same great purple armor. The figure looks out through a great window, a viewport upon the command deck of the Taa II, his Worldship. Below them is the sprawl of the whole Vega system.

"And somehow, yet, you were -defeated-. Failures upon failures. Still, as long as you serve me, your world will live... albeit in the clutches of the mad lantern."

Terrax says nothing. There is no trust in this master-servant bond. Galactus knows his treachery, his disloyalty, but also his use. Beside him, Morg remains bloodied and beaten.

"Still, I hunger. The energy of the transit has been spent, and I will feed. I grant you the privilege Herald, choose another."

Terrax does not hesitate in this. One has presented him with persistent rebellions, in his attempts to pick up from Citadelian rule. "Tamaran."