-the control room of some sort of.. facility..? Multiple control panels show that it was designed to be operated by a larger number of people than the one who currently occupies it. Illusion projectors show a variety of scenes from Columbia and other places, and a large window to the exterior shows… A red coloured rocky desert. No, yellow-brown, it's the dim light from above that's red.
Honestly, you're making it sound slightly like a TARDIS... At least with the 'operated by less than the optimum number of people. I bet there's some limited similarity in its' ability to travel, too.
"Now-."
As the last ray projector slumps in its ball mount I reach out for Melmoth with orange strands and brand.
Ah, a moment well worth the wait. This will be sooo satisfying.
He grits his teeth, and I can feel him resisting. The images I saw suggested that he had a similar upbringing to Larfleeze; starving and scrabbling for every crumb. But while Larfleeze learned absolutely nothing from the experience, Melmoth learned discipline. Mental strength and focus. Even as he tries to suppress his own desires to zen-like calm the witch-signs he'll use to fight me are forming around his fingers.
But I didn't use every trick when I taught the Green Lanterns to resist me.
Of course not! Why would you show everything in your arsenal to the people stuck working for assholes. Gotta have something in reserve if they turn on you. Paranoia at its proper finest.
Enkindle Need.
Because while assimilation works best on people with little self-control, there's a difference between control and mastery. Melmoth could probably go centuries without hurting anyone if he had to without any adverse psychological consequences. But he could never let go of that desire and as his eyes glow orange and he tilts his head back with a gasp he abandons his effort at control in favour of lunging at me, rationality overwhelmed by his burning need to hurt something.
Big old chink in his metaphorical armour, isn't it? He just can't let go of that sadistic streak. And now it's biting him in the arse.
The brand finishes forming a moment before his face slams into my chest plate.
I reset his desires to their baselines as he stands and takes a closer look. Yes, he's… Flaking a little, but he's healing faster than it can take hold.
Bet he's regretting rendering himself immortal now, huh? Has he stopped smiling, at least?
Normally I'd speak instructions at this point, because this brand is a temporary thing and whoever I've done it to is going to have to be rehabilitated at some point. But in this case… I think he's.. if not a lost cause then at least one I'm not inclined to look for.
Instead I reach into his soul, search out the atrophied drives for cooperation and camaraderie and empower them while I turn down his selfishness and cruelty.
Oh, that's even crueller than anything physical you could do. Especially since he'll remember how he was, and the difference will
burn.
"Melmoth, stop the attack."
"Ah-? Yes. Well, I… Can't." He hurries over to a control panel. "I set up the trigger before I left. I can release the counteragent-" He pulls a lever. "-but that won't stop any attackers who are already 'triggered' from carrying out their instinctive behaviour. And I should shut down the mass mutation device I left on the great southern island."
...Oh, that would have been bad. Very, very bad. I shudder at the monstrosities it would have produced.
"Is there anything else you can do to help them?"
"Certainly!" He presses a few more buttons, and the… Some sort of ornament in the middle of the floor spurts a green fluid from… Oh, it's a fountain, from the top and the liquid flows beneath the keys as Melmoth presses them. "We'll be there in a moment."
Very.. stylish. Not lessening the comparison to a TARDIS any, either...
"Where are we now?"
"We're over what used to be the Atlantic Ocean. Before it dried up." He smiles as the scenery outside the window shimmers and vanishes. "The one place no Sheeda would look: the miserable period before the first Harrowing."
So, he fled into his own past. Setting up plots that would come out to play when he made his move in the future, I suppose. Timey-wimey stuff...
"We're in the future?"
"No, the past! I won't be born for centuries!"
At least that joviality isn't being directed at people suffering anymore. I can just imagine him chuckling to himself at the irony of his position, At least in the timestream. I doubt he's very happy about his current state, deep down.
He hurries between the consoles, pulling levers, pressing buttons and briefly creating small witch-signs to manipulate the machinery.
"My future?"
"The future of humanity; the death of the world and the succession of the Sheeda. But put it from your mind! We have a people to aid!"
Oh god, now he's acting like the Doctor. Stop him, please.
"What were you planning to do with them?"
"I imagine that you've deduced most of it. I wanted to create a reserve of people with whom I could colonise the Earth after the Harrowing."
Yes, well, that didn't go so well, did it? What with the whole 'rising up and trying to kill you' bit.
"But they all hate you."
"Yes, but the moment they decreed that certain things were forbidden they created an opening for my return. Hating me is part of their official creed, which naturally means that anyone they define as being outside of that creed suddenly doesn't feel the same need for animosity. With sufficient time I would easily have talked the warlocks and warlock-breed around. Once I offered them my aid in improving their skills… Once I repaired their pupae forms into true Sheeda, and once I led them to victory against the Columbians, then they would accept me as their leader."
Eh, I suspect he's overestimating his persuasiveness. Even now, the Warlock-breed hate him as much as the Columbians do. You're not likely to undo centuries of that much hate in a generation or two...
He blinks, giving his head a small shake.
"Not that that matters now. What a horrid waste of time."
On that, we can
all agree. Though the sooner he's safely somewhere he can't mess with anyone again, the better. What do you think? Oan Sciencell or a Maltusian lockup of some kind?
The churning kaleidoscope of textures on the other side of the window fades away, being replaces my the stars I recognise from the skies over witchworld.
Immediately, Melmoth moves over to another control station.
Presumably, OL is monitoring his actions. I doubt Melmoth could resist the compulsion to be helpful, but he could easily 'accidentally' be over-enthusiastic with some weapons fire...
"I can use the integrated weapons to cull the horde a little. You should be able to speak to your allies now."
"Orange Lantern to Justice League. Mission success. I have Melmoth and-"
Mission won't be completely successful until the Columbians are out of danger. But with their master working against them, the Sheeda-creatures will be somewhat easier to manage...
I scan the structure we're standing in. It's a huge cylindrical vehicle which floats unsupported in the air.
"-his base of operations."
Fricking magic, making a mockery of things like gravity. Is it hanging like a brick shouldn't?
"Is Melmoth under control?"
"Effectively. He's being very helpful. He's shutting down the attackers as much as he can and taking shots at the rest. You should be able to see-."
"The ship, yes. I see it now. Remain with him to ensure that your controls remain in place."
Yeah, can't trust he doesn't have some hidden countermeasures to undo the Orange Light tweaking. A backup memory that kicks in if he doesn't perform a certain action every so often, for example...
"Yes sir. Have.. you any plans on what we're doing with him once the immediate crisis is over?"
"Not yet. That will be… Difficult."
I See Wonder Woman is still a mistress of understatement. Difficult will not begin to describe it, methinks.
Telling me…
"I'll meet you on the ship once the fighting is over. Wonder Woman out."

So, a few minutes, at the rate they're going.
I nod as Melmoth continues to treat Central Columbia as a shooting arcade.
I just went to the far future. I… Don't think that's something I… Can do at-will. Time travel. I certainly… I'm not usually one to turn down power but that would sort of make me responsible for everything and I'd… Rather not be.
It's quite a feat. And quite the moral challenge. One of those 'No one man should have all that power' things...
"Melmoth, do you have any idea how I reached you in the future?"
"The water, probably." He points to the… Place where the water was flowing through the central console. "A small amount I temporarily stabilised from the fountain at the core of the Castle Revolving's time displacement system. It flows through time, which means that it escapes constantly. It wouldn't surprise me if it made the usual separation of eras somewhat less of an issue."
So it's a liquid space-time wedgie. Is it wibbly-wobbly, too? I suppose it must be, or it would run out at some point otherwise.
"And the Queen has the Castle?"
"Unless she lost it somehow. I think that's fairly unlikely, but that was how I was overthrown." He glances at the central console. "I'm afraid that if you want to do it again then you'll need more of the water."
Oh, how ironic, given what happened in the Renegade's timeline.
I nod, torn between disappointment and relief.
"Keep up the good work. I'll stay out of your way."
You have some things to consider, eh? Do keep an eye on him, though...