The Lantern Corps knew next to nothing about what lay beyond the Source Wall. Only Kyle Rayner, the White Lantern, had ventured there and returned safely.
The little blue folks on Oa claid the Source Wall bordered the Sea of Light, a cosmic pool of all emotional spectrum energies. Go there, and you’d never return.
The big shots said so, and the Book of Oa backed it up, so no one questioned it. The Lantern Corps stayed in their little corner of the universe, bickering and battling among themselves, draining their energy in endless squabbles.
The Guardians’ plan worked perfectly.
They feared soone getting too curious and glimpsing the world outside.
Why were they called Guardians? What exactly were they guarding? No one ever asked, and they never answered.
But while they could control the Lantern Corps, they couldn’t stop Lex Luthor. Sohow, Luthor had seen beyond the Wall.
Though he couldn’t leave this world, he was no longer content with the status quo.
Destruction was a fine solution, in his mind—reshape the entire universe. A new universe wouldn’t need a Wall.
Flying through the viscous chaos, Su Ming let his thoughts wander.
Luthor reminded him of a teenager addicted to the internet.
Spotting a cybercafé across the street from the school, he’d plan to sneak over the wall at night to surf.
But the school security team wouldn’t allow it, so he sched to blow up the school and build a new one—without security or walls.
Gotta admit, money breeds audacity. Destroying the multiverse sounded like a casual Tuesday for Luthor.
But Su Ming’s plan required the DC Universe to endure, not to expand endlessly like Luthor envisioned.
In so ways, Su Ming, the guy running a diner outside the school, shared a similar stance with the Justice League security team.
Luthor, the internet-addicted teen, wanted to play simulation gas online. Su Ming could let him play to his heart’s content. The security team relied on the school for their livelihood, hoping it’d stand forever—Su Ming could make that happen too.
Of course, a bigger school ant better business for his diner, so Su Ming stood to gain as well.
Things shouldn’t be the way they were now.
But first, he needed to deal with the bald guy and his lackeys.
He reached the Light Repository. Despite its na, there was no light to be seen—just denser chaos than elsewhere.
Like a nebula, thick with gray specks of light, muddled thoughts, and emotions, cramd into an indescribably vast region.
Entering it felt like a bug getting stuck in a spider’s web—movent was a struggle.
But with seven Lantern Rings, the Anti-Life Cloak, and Stranglehold, Su Ming moved through it like it was solid ground.
No, more like he was swimming freely.
Freestyle, then butterfly, then breaststroke, doggy paddle...
Then he noticed Black Hand staring at him, utterly lifeless.
Stare.
What, is this your personal pool? This is the ultra-dangerous, ultra-mysterious Light Repository—can you take it seriously?
That’s how it felt to Black Hand. He was floating in the Repository like a body in the Dead Sea, bobbing with the energy currents. The gray, misty chaos bound his limbs, leaving him immobile, forced to stare at the unchanging scenery.
He was going mad—well, madder than he already was. This desolate, empty world was far less beautiful than death.
He didn’t know how long he’d been trapped here—centuries, maybe. He craved release, to return to the realm of the dead.
But he lacked the power. A deceased soul, cut off from the cycle of reincarnation, he couldn’t even cry. Despair and frustration consud him, exactly as the Guardians intended, until the chaos turned him into a gibbering idiot.
Maybe he was already losing it, because suddenly, he saw Deathstroke swimming casually nearby.
Though he couldn’t see Deathstroke’s face, Black Hand sensed the guy was in a pretty good mood.
Ahem. "Black Hand, I’m here to make a deal."
Deathstroke stopped swimming and floated in front of him, looking down.
Black Hand hadn’t spoken in ages. His voice barely sounded human. Funnily enough, he and Hal were hotown buddies, both raised in Coast City.
"Yoo wan wha?"
"Can the ring translate that?" Su Ming scratched his head. It sounded like English, but he couldn’t make it out.
Wearing multiple rings had its quirks. Issuing a translation command triggered seven voices in his head, like a choir.
Sa deal with sector maps—seven identical maps would pop up from his rings, stacked ssily.
But it worked. He could now understand "zombie speak." Black Hand was asking what he wanted.
"Tch, not bad, Black Hand. Trapped in the Light Repository and still so generous, letting na my price?"
Su Ming gave him a once-over, wondering what goodies he might have.
Black Hand wasn’t inherently evil—just a nutcase. All he wanted was for corpses to rise and keep him company.
His family ran Coast City’s only mortuary business. His dad was a master at it.
Even if a body was half-eaten by maggots, his father could make it look like it was just sleeping.
So, Black Hand’s family was loaded.
To groom him for the business, his dad often brought him to watch corpse restoration and dressing.
But that made young Black Hand obsessed with corpses—the eternal beauty of death, an existence that never faded.
Even as an adult, his "evil" was simplistic, almost innocent, though terrifying and incomprehensible.
He didn’t care for the living. If he liked soone, he’d kill them to keep their corpse by his side forever. That’s what he did to his family, then used an "accidentally acquired" Black Lantern Battery to revive them.
That way, his parents and sister could stay with him forever.
One day, Hal happened to pass by Black Hand’s house and saw the setup.
Hal didn’t get it. A young guy living with his family’s corpses, eating at the sa table? Creepy and unhealthy.
He casually conjured an incinerator and cremated Black Hand’s family.
"No need to thank . I’m Green Lantern. Coast City’s the City of Courage, but your kind of courage is wrong. Go out, play so baseball with kids your age, live healthier."
Hal winked, gave a thumbs-up, flashed a heroic smile, and flew off to deal with the Red Lantern Corps—Atrocitus was stirring trouble again.
Black Hand was devastated. Thank your grandma’s leg! Thanks to your whole family!
His family reduced to ashes, he didn’t want to live. Before killing himself, he realized Green Lanterns and fire were the enemies of death’s eternal beauty.
But the "big boss" revived him. He rose from the cold floor.
The Black Lantern Emperor saw his obsession with death and chose him as an agent, unleashing a zombie invasion on Earth.
That was the gist of Blackest Night.
"I want your Black Lantern Ring. In exchange, I’ll kill you. Deal?"
Su Ming drew his weapon, the Nightfall Greatsword gleaming with a gorgeous black light.
Sure, he could just chop Black Hand and take the ring, but Black Hand would revive. No need to burn bridges with an unkillable psycho.
Deathstroke was a rcenary, not a robber. Negotiation was better.
If Larfleeze hadn’t been so impossible to reason with, Su Ming wouldn’t have gone hard.
"You... real? Not a hallucination?" Black Hand tried to rub his eyes but couldn’t move.
Su Ming sliced his leg with the greatsword. Black, formaldehyde-like blood oozed from the wound.
"Feel real enough?"
"Real! Too real!" Black Hand got excited. The pain, the weapon—it was amazing, making even a dead man feel alive!
"Give the ring, and I’ll make it quick and spicy." Su Ming tempted him like a street vendor hawking miracle cures.
Black Hand was eager. He wanted death, to return to it, to escape this place.
"Ring’s on my hand. Take it! Just kill !"
"Heh, deal’s done. Want to see the contract? No? Don’t need it? By the way, I don’t do receipts. That cool? If you lose the ring, will the Black Lantern Emperor reimburse you?"
"Quick, kill !"
Maybe he was crazed or just desperate, but he kept repeating, begging Su Ming to kill him.
"Man, your family’s got a legacy—you know your stuff. Let’s be real, I’ve got three tiers of service. Which one you want?"
Su Ming wasn’t in a rush. He knew Black Hand had a Black Lantern Battery too, and he wanted it.
"Kill , kill ."
"The three tiers are based on the victim’s corpse condition: ’rcy Kill,’ ’Grueso End,’ or ’Dead as Doornails.’ Process is customizable—how many cuts? From the left or right? Gut the organs or just bleed the arteries? Gotta be clear."
Deathstroke pulled out so papers from sowhere, sat cross-legged in the void before Black Hand, and started explaining the contract details.
Black Hand had never wanted to die more. Already miserable, now he had a talkative rcenary yamring like a monk chanting scriptures.
And this rcenary was the only one who could kill him. Too real.
"Kill ."
Deathstroke flipped through his papers, ignoring him. "Now, let’s discuss section two, subsection three. Do you, the victim, want your heart intact post-mortem? Need it frozen? If we’re chopping it up to feed dogs, you prefer a ’cross’ cut or a ’peony’ cut?"
"Just kill ! I’ll agree to anything! Stop torturing !" Black Hand thrashed his head, in agony.
"Kids these days, no patience. If you’d said that earlier, we’d be done!"
Deathstroke’s red visor flashed. He drew his sword with a flourish.
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