The Emotional Electromagnetic Spectrum is an energy field fuelled by the emotions of all sentient beings and one of the Seven Forces of the Universe. The light spectrum is the power source for all of the Lantern Corps. Red Lantern Corps commanded the force of Rage and its ancillaries.
Rage, hate, and wrath simmered just beneath the surface. Its eruption would turn the surroundings into cinders. Cole wasn't sure if its fiery creator was the York Persona or Todd's; for all, he knew or didn’t know, it could've been him, Cole Stephens.
His heart thumped inhumanly inside him, the rhythmic drum beating of his heart pumping plasmoid blood, its vicious lava-like makeup searing beneath his skin, creating avenues for the physical aspect of the new power.
He could sense the heat his newly acquired blood gave off, its lava-like consistency channeling newer magical circuits. He was sure his body temperature was beyond that of an average human.
He was being changed fundamentally; only time would tell what would come about the metamorphosis.
Whatever magic the ring held sway over was doing something magical to him. He could feel something special in the air, that same energy he could barely perceive before. Now he could reach out and touch it.
He cast his gaze skyward, and a scarcely discernible pull emanated beyond the planet. Reading about the lanterns and experiencing it firsthand was eye-opening. Could his acquiring the ring also bring forth the guardians? Possible but improbable, The System was still a mystery; whatever being granted it to him hadn't shown itself, but he did understand one thing: whatever came from the system was under his control, or better yet, the authority of the system itself, the guardians if they were here because of the ring, which he didn't believe. The guardians would answer to the system and, in conjuncture, him as it's the holder.
No. What he felt wasn't the guardians, but a planet, a new world had appeared in the universe; Yasmault had emerged, the birthplace of the red Lanterns saga.
He cast his gaze back from the sky. He assumed the Red Lanterns were just malicious individuals, their creator being a prime example, but he was wrong. There was anger, not manufactured anger, hate, and rage, but the madness of injustices. That resonated with the Red Lantern ring, at least in this universe.
‘Injustice,’ he thought, staring at the lady across from him. Unbeknownst to her, his turmoil was happening at speeds an average person couldn’t perceive emotions.
He wanted to lunge across the desk and wring the spiteful matron's neck. It would be so simple: one hand and snap, and her neck would break under his grasp.
He closed his eyes, thankful for the suppression aspect of the ring. A few hours earlier, he wouldn't have been able to hold the cage that was Jeremy York's anger, and that was beyond the grave.
Ms. Carmichael, the orphanage's matron, put on her reading glasses and read the letter attached to the disciplinary slip he had received from the school.
As expected, Cole was suspended, which could be considered getting off lightly. Well, lightly, as one could expect from getting into a fight at school and breaking the hand of the star quarterback.
He suspected the school had ulterior motives in not expelling him outside of the York Enterprise donations, likely from his inheritance. It seems he would have to investigate the school, too. All that profited from Jeremy's death wouldn't have an easy end.
His father's family had gone to great lengths to leave him destitute. His mother's side practically disowned him for his ethnicity since they didn’t do anything wrong outside of being immoral. Little did that matter now. He didn’t need either side, and both will regret it. Once his products hit the open market, the money would flow, and he could bring out more ‘proprietary’ tech from the shop.
Sandy Carmichael slowly removed her bifocals, a predatory smirk slowly forming on her heavily made-up face as she regarded him. He barely could hold in the laughter. The coup de grace wasn’t where she expected it.
"It's comical," she finally said, reclining into the rickety chair.
“We were worried about nothing." She said cryptically.
"Your social worker and someone from your family will arrive tomorrow with some documents." She lit the cigarette and took three calming puffs before sighing contently; the stench of cigarette smoke quickly permeated the small room.
"I shouldn't have to say this, but I will for your sake. Be on time Tomorrow and sign whatever document is placed before you, or my boys will do what they did before on a more permanent level.”
‘Tomorrow, so soon,’ he thought inwardly. He would have been ready. His lawyer should have already submitted the emergency emancipation petition, along with the documents and video data on Carmichael’s crimes.
It was almost elementary for him to set up cameras and spyware inside the house. The only person he was hesitant to approach was the chief, who allowed the murder unanswered, not out of fear of bodily harm but detection from a one-eyed Mary-sue.
He leaned back in the chair comfortably, and the manufactured tension in his musculature lessened. His mask, one he had fostered since day one, pulled back across his outline, pointing out features the most astute observers wouldn’t notice. The art of deception was more than a gib-tongue. His dull grey orbs sparkled, the steely irises a quality of his father’s brightened across his face.
‘No need to hold back; Jeremy deserves his just deserts. Cole's hubris and forethought are admirable, but his reluctance to meet force with force was causing his enemies to act unhindered; if this shall be a game, he might as well even the playing field, at least visibly.
“Your inheritance, forget it. Hell, the company your father built will never belong to you." She said, her eyes hard as she met his steely glare.
His steely grey eyes locked on her; then, his [Enhanced Investigation] activated; typically, it remained passive. However, there were instances where significant clues were near, and his gut feeling alerted him to something he had never considered.
Sandy was surprised at the sudden metamorphosis of the youth. His posture and his whole demeanor were entirely different. But, it was false. He was done, and she would get her due and be done with the rotten hovel.
“Toughness is excellent when you can back it up." Sandy objected to his staunch resolve to her words.
'Interesting,' he thought inwardly. 'What gave Sandy Carmichael such confidence?' She reached into her desk and removed A thick package. His eyes landed on it briefly before he looked back toward her.
"Tomorrow is your sixteenth birthday; how fitting a gift to have your inheritance ripped from your hands." The smoke from her cigarette clouded the small, dank room as the two sat mere feet apart.
‘I guess my grades were turning around scared them, and now they decided to act. If they knew about the companies under me and the ones that would follow, they might try and kill me again.’
He wasn't under any illusion that Sandy didn't orchestrate the alleyway incident. He doubted his family was that dumb, especially his uncle. Killing him without his inheritance drained or put into a standard account would have caused too many eyes to focus on their deeds.
"Here," she said, tossing the package toward him, which he quickly ascertained was cocaine. He would sell it to the system, thankful for their continued patronage.
Sandy, freighted by the sudden motion, jerked back from the boy. Her face went through many emotions before settling on two he was more familiar with. Her hatred for the boy and his family boiled, and she leaned forward, Virginia slim, barely hanging from her smeared red lips.
"Listen here, bastard. You're no better than me; look where you are standing now, my boot on your neck, working for me, my little trust fund slave."
She stood from her desk, and her yellowing nails pressed hard into the wood as she leaned across the desk to curse at him.
"I knew your slanty-eyed whore of a mother and that black immigrant she married." Her eyes bulged as she recalled the two.
"Smiling, speaking and apologizing to those beneath them every damn time something went wrong, handing out raises to everyone, except the board and other managers." She growled at him.
He smiled, edging her on, her ire for him growing. He sat rooted in the seat as he began piecing together scenario after scenario, tuning her passionate tirade out. He tried to recall Sandy from the past, but she wasn't a board member; she was far too uncultured and uneducated, so how did she know his parents?
He listened as the lady raged on and on about his deceased parents. He felt her Rage. The red tendrils that crept into her slowly sped up; at any time, he could have touched upon her Rage and manipulated her, but he didn't; he wanted her to expose it all to him without moving a finger. The lantern's ring began to warm considerably on his finger; there wasn't pain but soothing, welcoming heat. He had to actively remove his mind from the sensation in fear of activating the ring.
Unbeknownst to him, that decision not to activate his newfound power hindered those actively tracking and searching for the new mage that appeared.
"Get out! And don't even think about being late or running. You wouldn't want to imagine what I'll do to you." She said, sitting down with a huff of indignation.
He stood, grabbed the package, and turned on his heels. All the while, the Rage in the room began to lessen; with a reflex born of the system's unique method of implementation, he flexed his newfound sense, and the red energy churned before zipping toward him.
Sandy Carmichael began to cough uncontrollably as he turned from her. "Send the other bastard in on your way out." Her final words came out like a wheeze. His mask fell, and a smile appeared on his face.
"I see,” was his first words spoken. “I remember you,” he turned around, his steel grey irises carrying a sharp glint as he peered at the woman, causing her to fumble back before fumbling for her phone.
“You dare!” She hissed, her hands calling her son or anyone
“You were the cleaning lady. I wondered where you fitted in the York death puzzle.” Cole brushed a stray lock from his face.
“So be it. I will be seeing you, Sandy. And tell my uncle that he will never own York Enterprise as long as I draw breath.” He said as the door closed behind him, and the flabbergasted lady couldn't even retort from her restricted airway.
She reached for her phone to alert her sons. She had miscalculated. He needed to be dealt with. She texts the boy's uncle too. They need to do something. How did he know?
Cole was outside Sandy's office. This whole time, I wondered how the assassins got access to the building in that capacity that they were able to accomplish. It wasn't security because the guards were murdered that night. Who else has more access than security? The Janitorial staff.
He paused and closed his eyes, his mind placing together that fateful night; the street and the building appeared like a three-dimensional image. Took in three deep breaths as his fist was clenched and unclenched. His eyes opened, and a red dot could be seen inside his steel-grey eyes.
He told the kid who was waiting outside he was following. And he made two steps away before he was stopped.
"Hey. You're Jeremy, The York kid whose family got popped." He said casually.
He stopped in his tracks and eyed the kid. "Yes. And who are you?"
The kid smiled tightly, not getting the rise he expected. "Brendon. I just wanted to let you know that I've been in your room," he gestured upward, "last few nights, and you weren't inside." He smirked, walking away.
"Best hurry along now," Brendon said. "Mama Carmichael needs me." Cole stared at the kid back but didn't make any moves.
“Brenden,” Cole called out. The kid turned, a smirk still plastered across his face. But he was startled immediately as Cole stood before him.
“What are you-“ Cole jabbed the boy in the stomach with enough force to cause the kid to fold over.
“Be careful with your words,” Cole said over his shoulder. He was headed upstairs to get his stuff. To hell with the orphanage. He pulled out his phone, texting his lawyer. The man was on call anyway with the money he was paying.
Cole walked through the living room, the children quiet, his presence spilling inside the living space as he strolled onwards. He stopped and made eye contact with the firebug, her gaze matching his, his intense hers searching for information and a hint of independence. Without a word, he veiled his presence, queried the system, and flung his new purchase, Wayne logo card across the room, the Pierce the wall above the firebug's head.
The girl didn’t flinch; unlike her, whatever he was, she met his eyes, and a smile crept across her face.
He nodded. She will do.
His business acumen had afforded him a lot of information, but one, in particular, was people
Investment. A company couldn't be run by oneself but by an assortment of ideal people.
He didn't need her for his company but for a team. He was just now getting a clue of who he wanted and needed. With his knowledge of events, he could grab people before others got their hands on them.
He had no idea who that girl was, but her mention of bunting things and a cursory search would turn up numerous arsons across the city that were camouflaged for theft.
“And if you’re going to invest in a company, you might as well do it right. Otherwise, you’ll be scrambling to hire the right people constantly as your company expands.” He said to himself as he stepped from the orphanage.
Sandy exploded from her office and was roaring and threatening him, and he flung a middle finger behind him as he stepped out into the night.
The kids all left their seats and rushed outside; Sandy was through the door like a localized hurricane, her anger palpable as she searched for the child that had disrespected her.
On her phone screaming at one of her sons, she didn't notice Anne, the girl with the card squeezed tightly in her hand, slip out the side; her friend, the giant boy, was hot on her tail.
Iwalkthestars
1/3 chapters this week. Additional will be on my Patreon for anyone who wants to support me. Also, thanks for the read and construction criticism
The Emotional Electromagnetic Spectrum is an energy field fuelled by the emotions of all sentient beings and one of the Seven Forces of the Universe. The light spectrum is the power source for all of the Lantern Corps. Red Lantern Corps commanded the force of Rage and its ancillaries.
Rage, hate, and wrath simmered just beneath the surface. Its eruption would turn the surroundings into cinders. Cole wasn't sure if its fiery creator was the York Persona or Todd's; for all, he knew or didn’t know, it could've been him, Cole Stephens.
His heart thumped inhumanly inside him, the rhythmic drum beating of his heart pumping plasmoid blood, its vicious lava-like makeup searing beneath his skin, creating avenues for the physical aspect of the new power.
He could sense the heat his newly acquired blood gave off, its lava-like consistency channeling newer magical circuits. He was sure his body temperature was beyond that of an average human.
He was being changed fundamentally; only time would tell what would come about the metamorphosis.
Whatever magic the ring held sway over was doing something magical to him. He could feel something special in the air, that same energy he could barely perceive before. Now he could reach out and touch it.
He cast his gaze skyward, and a scarcely discernible pull emanated beyond the planet. Reading about the lanterns and experiencing it firsthand was eye-opening. Could his acquiring the ring also bring forth the guardians? Possible but improbable, The System was still a mystery; whatever being granted it to him hadn't shown itself, but he did understand one thing: whatever came from the system was under his control, or better yet, the authority of the system itself, the guardians if they were here because of the ring, which he didn't believe. The guardians would answer to the system and, in conjuncture, him as it's the holder.
No. What he felt wasn't the guardians, but a planet, a new world had appeared in the universe; Yasmault had emerged, the birthplace of the red Lanterns saga.
He cast his gaze back from the sky. He assumed the Red Lanterns were just malicious individuals, their creator being a prime example, but he was wrong. There was anger, not manufactured anger, hate, and rage, but the madness of injustices. That resonated with the Red Lantern ring, at least in this universe.
‘Injustice,’ he thought, staring at the lady across from him. Unbeknownst to her, his turmoil was happening at speeds an average person couldn’t perceive emotions.
He wanted to lunge across the desk and wring the spiteful matron's neck. It would be so simple: one hand and snap, and her neck would break under his grasp.
He closed his eyes, thankful for the suppression aspect of the ring. A few hours earlier, he wouldn't have been able to hold the cage that was Jeremy York's anger, and that was beyond the grave.
Ms. Carmichael, the orphanage's matron, put on her reading glasses and read the letter attached to the disciplinary slip he had received from the school.
As expected, Cole was suspended, which could be considered getting off lightly. Well, lightly, as one could expect from getting into a fight at school and breaking the hand of the star quarterback.
He suspected the school had ulterior motives in not expelling him outside of the York Enterprise donations, likely from his inheritance. It seems he would have to investigate the school, too. All that profited from Jeremy's death wouldn't have an easy end.
His father's family had gone to great lengths to leave him destitute. His mother's side practically disowned him for his ethnicity since they didn’t do anything wrong outside of being immoral. Little did that matter now. He didn’t need either side, and both will regret it. Once his products hit the open market, the money would flow, and he could bring out more ‘proprietary’ tech from the shop.
Sandy Carmichael slowly removed her bifocals, a predatory smirk slowly forming on her heavily made-up face as she regarded him. He barely could hold in the laughter. The coup de grace wasn’t where she expected it.
"It's comical," she finally said, reclining into the rickety chair.
“We were worried about nothing." She said cryptically.
"Your social worker and someone from your family will arrive tomorrow with some documents." She lit the cigarette and took three calming puffs before sighing contently; the stench of cigarette smoke quickly permeated the small room.
"I shouldn't have to say this, but I will for your sake. Be on time Tomorrow and sign whatever document is placed before you, or my boys will do what they did before on a more permanent level.”
‘Tomorrow, so soon,’ he thought inwardly. He would have been ready. His lawyer should have already submitted the emergency emancipation petition, along with the documents and video data on Carmichael’s crimes.
It was almost elementary for him to set up cameras and spyware inside the house. The only person he was hesitant to approach was the chief, who allowed the murder unanswered, not out of fear of bodily harm but detection from a one-eyed Mary-sue.
He leaned back in the chair comfortably, and the manufactured tension in his musculature lessened. His mask, one he had fostered since day one, pulled back across his outline, pointing out features the most astute observers wouldn’t notice. The art of deception was more than a gib-tongue. His dull grey orbs sparkled, the steely irises a quality of his father’s brightened across his face.
‘No need to hold back; Jeremy deserves his just deserts. Cole's hubris and forethought are admirable, but his reluctance to meet force with force was causing his enemies to act unhindered; if this shall be a game, he might as well even the playing field, at least visibly.
“Your inheritance, forget it. Hell, the company your father built will never belong to you." She said, her eyes hard as she met his steely glare.
His steely grey eyes locked on her; then, his [Enhanced Investigation] activated; typically, it remained passive. However, there were instances where significant clues were near, and his gut feeling alerted him to something he had never considered.
Sandy was surprised at the sudden metamorphosis of the youth. His posture and his whole demeanor were entirely different. But, it was false. He was done, and she would get her due and be done with the rotten hovel.
“Toughness is excellent when you can back it up." Sandy objected to his staunch resolve to her words.
'Interesting,' he thought inwardly. 'What gave Sandy Carmichael such confidence?' She reached into her desk and removed A thick package. His eyes landed on it briefly before he looked back toward her.
"Tomorrow is your sixteenth birthday; how fitting a gift to have your inheritance ripped from your hands." The smoke from her cigarette clouded the small, dank room as the two sat mere feet apart.
‘I guess my grades were turning around scared them, and now they decided to act. If they knew about the companies under me and the ones that would follow, they might try and kill me again.’
He wasn't under any illusion that Sandy didn't orchestrate the alleyway incident. He doubted his family was that dumb, especially his uncle. Killing him without his inheritance drained or put into a standard account would have caused too many eyes to focus on their deeds.
"Here," she said, tossing the package toward him, which he quickly ascertained was cocaine. He would sell it to the system, thankful for their continued patronage.
Sandy, freighted by the sudden motion, jerked back from the boy. Her face went through many emotions before settling on two he was more familiar with. Her hatred for the boy and his family boiled, and she leaned forward, Virginia slim, barely hanging from her smeared red lips.
"Listen here, bastard. You're no better than me; look where you are standing now, my boot on your neck, working for me, my little trust fund slave."
She stood from her desk, and her yellowing nails pressed hard into the wood as she leaned across the desk to curse at him.
"I knew your slanty-eyed whore of a mother and that black immigrant she married." Her eyes bulged as she recalled the two.
"Smiling, speaking and apologizing to those beneath them every damn time something went wrong, handing out raises to everyone, except the board and other managers." She growled at him.
He smiled, edging her on, her ire for him growing. He sat rooted in the seat as he began piecing together scenario after scenario, tuning her passionate tirade out. He tried to recall Sandy from the past, but she wasn't a board member; she was far too uncultured and uneducated, so how did she know his parents?
He listened as the lady raged on and on about his deceased parents. He felt her Rage. The red tendrils that crept into her slowly sped up; at any time, he could have touched upon her Rage and manipulated her, but he didn't; he wanted her to expose it all to him without moving a finger. The lantern's ring began to warm considerably on his finger; there wasn't pain but soothing, welcoming heat. He had to actively remove his mind from the sensation in fear of activating the ring.
Unbeknownst to him, that decision not to activate his newfound power hindered those actively tracking and searching for the new mage that appeared.
"Get out! And don't even think about being late or running. You wouldn't want to imagine what I'll do to you." She said, sitting down with a huff of indignation.
He stood, grabbed the package, and turned on his heels. All the while, the Rage in the room began to lessen; with a reflex born of the system's unique method of implementation, he flexed his newfound sense, and the red energy churned before zipping toward him.
Sandy Carmichael began to cough uncontrollably as he turned from her. "Send the other bastard in on your way out." Her final words came out like a wheeze. His mask fell, and a smile appeared on his face.
"I see,” was his first words spoken. “I remember you,” he turned around, his steel grey irises carrying a sharp glint as he peered at the woman, causing her to fumble back before fumbling for her phone.
“You dare!” She hissed, her hands calling her son or anyone
“You were the cleaning lady. I wondered where you fitted in the York death puzzle.” Cole brushed a stray lock from his face.
“So be it. I will be seeing you, Sandy. And tell my uncle that he will never own York Enterprise as long as I draw breath.” He said as the door closed behind him, and the flabbergasted lady couldn't even retort from her restricted airway.
She reached for her phone to alert her sons. She had miscalculated. He needed to be dealt with. She texts the boy's uncle too. They need to do something. How did he know?
Cole was outside Sandy's office. This whole time, I wondered how the assassins got access to the building in that capacity that they were able to accomplish. It wasn't security because the guards were murdered that night. Who else has more access than security? The Janitorial staff.
He paused and closed his eyes, his mind placing together that fateful night; the street and the building appeared like a three-dimensional image. Took in three deep breaths as his fist was clenched and unclenched. His eyes opened, and a red dot could be seen inside his steel-grey eyes.
He told the kid who was waiting outside he was following. And he made two steps away before he was stopped.
"Hey. You're Jeremy, The York kid whose family got popped." He said casually.
He stopped in his tracks and eyed the kid. "Yes. And who are you?"
The kid smiled tightly, not getting the rise he expected. "Brendon. I just wanted to let you know that I've been in your room," he gestured upward, "last few nights, and you weren't inside." He smirked, walking away.
"Best hurry along now," Brendon said. "Mama Carmichael needs me." Cole stared at the kid back but didn't make any moves.
“Brenden,” Cole called out. The kid turned, a smirk still plastered across his face. But he was startled immediately as Cole stood before him.
“What are you-“ Cole jabbed the boy in the stomach with enough force to cause the kid to fold over.
“Be careful with your words,” Cole said over his shoulder. He was headed upstairs to get his stuff. To hell with the orphanage. He pulled out his phone, texting his lawyer. The man was on call anyway with the money he was paying.
Cole walked through the living room, the children quiet, his presence spilling inside the living space as he strolled onwards. He stopped and made eye contact with the firebug, her gaze matching his, his intense hers searching for information and a hint of independence. Without a word, he veiled his presence, queried the system, and flung his new purchase, Wayne logo card across the room, the Pierce the wall above the firebug's head.
The girl didn’t flinch; unlike her, whatever he was, she met his eyes, and a smile crept across her face.
He nodded. She will do.
His business acumen had afforded him a lot of information, but one, in particular, was people
Investment. A company couldn't be run by oneself but by an assortment of ideal people.
He didn't need her for his company but for a team. He was just now getting a clue of who he wanted and needed. With his knowledge of events, he could grab people before others got their hands on them.
He had no idea who that girl was, but her mention of bunting things and a cursory search would turn up numerous arsons across the city that were camouflaged for theft.
“And if you’re going to invest in a company, you might as well do it right. Otherwise, you’ll be scrambling to hire the right people constantly as your company expands.” He said to himself as he stepped from the orphanage.
Sandy exploded from her office and was roaring and threatening him, and he flung a middle finger behind him as he stepped out into the night.
The kids all left their seats and rushed outside; Sandy was through the door like a localized hurricane, her anger palpable as she searched for the child that had disrespected her.
On her phone screaming at one of her sons, she didn't notice Anne, the girl with the card squeezed tightly in her hand, slip out the side; her friend, the giant boy, was hot on her tail.
Iwalkthestars
1/3 chapters this week. Additional will be on my Patreon for anyone who wants to support me. Also, thanks for the read and construction criticism
