#Tigorr

[splooosh]

“they’re here”

Keith Pollard - Mike DeCarlo

[dcbinges]

The New Teen Titans #24 (1982) by George Pérez & Marv Wolfman

[deathstroke-wilson]

[mysteryonearth52]

R.E.B.E.L.S. 14 (2010) by Tony Bedard & Claude St Aubin 

Cover: Kalman Andrasofszky

[somewherefornow]

TIGORR in ADAM STRANGE: PLANET HEIST (2004)

[sebeth]

Felicity

[resurrectionsadamwarlock]

My Other Podcasts-L.E.G.I.O.N.P.O.D.Cast

L.E.G.I.O.N.P.O.D.Cast Episode 146: A Starro is Born

We’re looking at the last chapter of the Starro epic. Fourteen issues and an annual later, Vril Dox, Adam Strange, Captain Comet and the Omega Men think they’ve finally found a way to toss this starfish back into the ocean. Have they? Let’s find out.

Find it HERE!

[scorchedhearth]

Day. 24 FIGHT, FLIGHT OR FREEZE

Blood Covered Hands | Catatonic | “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

crossposted on ao3

The days, they are all blending together. He doesn’t know how many days have passed since they went down the road of that war, how many since they took the last city, how many they’ve been fighting this battle. They’re all the same, wake up tired, break the bread with the others at the camp, march to the field or city, fight, fight, kill, go back to the camp, break the bread again, celebrate if it’s a victory, go to sleep exhausted, sleep of a restless, haunted sleep, wake up tired.

Kyle is tired of waking up tired.

The battles they’re- They fight them because they must, and he fights with them. He stands among the Omega Men bearing their insignia on his chest, he lends his ring to their cause, he-

He ducks just as a sword slices the air, hears its whitle in his ears as he takes a step back and conjures up a shield in the ghostly light he controls. The strike brutally bears down on his forearm, the impact felt throughout his bones all the way to his shoulder and Kyle grunts at its violence. Willing his strengths back to him, he pushes back and strikes at the man with a saber of his own making, feels as the blade sink into his flesh, watches the blood seeping between his armor plating.

It’s been hours and his concentration is running thin. Long gone are the flight and complex constructs and artful weapons, Kyle is panting and clinging to his chest as he blocks hits with rudimentary shields and wills gloves on his hands to strike men and robots alike. He stops when he can to heal the men fighting on their side, ignore the way his stomach churns when he walks past those they’re facing, he wipes the blood clogging his eyes and drying on his lips, cloying on his tongue, in his throat, and he keeps going.

He keeps going, keeps on marching, fighting, he slices skin and flesh, the last strings of respect he can afford to offer to those dying, he tears out electronics and heads to stop the monotonous ‘please surrender’ they broadcast. He does not look at the surroundings, does not let himself wonder where they are fighting, who used to live there before the war forced them to flee, what this building that’s being crushed under the android he’s tearing to pieces was used for, or who built it.

No, Kyle doesn’t think about that, he cannot afford to waste the little and precious energy and willpower he has on those. He has to duck and dodge and jump and charge, he has to focus on his ring, on the fear and rage and avarice in his blood, he has to muster enough strength to keep the love and the hope just as bright in his heart, to find compassion despite his exhaustion, he fights tooth and nails every second to see the hope around him, to keep the light flowing from his hand blue rather than red or yellow, to let violet flickers through the white. Green is growing more rare in his construct, and he does not think about this either.

No, Kyle fights. He follows Kalista and her Omega Men and the violet of his sword shines on the metal she yields so masterfully. He sits and wipes the tears and sweat from his face while Tigorr jumps over him, covers Primus while he shoots the androids and men around them, conjures bombs with Scrapps clawing her way through the lines.

He sits alone when the fighting is done, when the last retreat is called and the last breaths are exhaled, when everything falls silent.

His hands are green again. Dripping with blood, thick and sour smelling. It starts off sweet, like a fragrance sprayed with too much enthusiasm, but like everything organic it rots, and after a few hours gone is the uncanny, revolting sweet smell. It’s replaced by something that burns the back of his throat, something that sticks for hours after it’s washed off, that will seep into the earth when it’s not.

His hands are green, dripping with it, and he cannot look away. He wants to, he wants to stand on his feet and stand and look around him, walk through the ruined building and battered bodies, he wants to spare a thought for the deaths and pain spilled on the earth. Today, he’s stuck kneeling, the back of his wrists resting over his thighs and back arched as he stares at his hands.

There’s the ring, on the third finger of his right hand, and it is not spared by the horror, the bright and pure white is covered in blood, as is the dark gray of his suit. A few fingers twitch every so often, they curl slightly and arches over his palms, his hands shaking despite the rest of his body feeling weighted down by lead, too heavy to move.

Someone is talking near him, and he thinks they’re trying to talk to him. He cannot hear anything, the sound muffled and distant in his ears. The voice shouts, and he doesn’t flinch, only try to squeeze his hand, slowly, gently curls the fingers into his palm, then rolls them until he can fit his thumb over them and clenches once, twice, thrice, before opening the fist and letting the finger fall back into their position. The blood sticks between his fingers, bubbles at the frictions between fingertips. Green, and sickening.

Kyle used to spend a lot of time on his anatomy studies, especially the hands. The way so many bones and muscles and ligaments work together to create this wonderful thing that can reach the world and let you touch it. He’d look at his own, and his friends, strangers’ too, he’d sketch them when sitting in cafes or bars. He had a few of Radu too, with the fat flesh on the back of them and burned fingertips, thick callouses from good, honest work.

He closes his fists again, opens them, closes them a third time.

Someone else approaches, and he recognizes her before he even sees her, could pick her perfume apart from anything. Kalista smells like cut grass and cloves, like sandalwood under the acidic smell of death surrounding them.

She’s speaking, from where she’s standing behind him, she’s speaking and he doesn’t hear a word, not until he feels her hand on his shoulder, heavy and warm, she leans closer to him, and speaks near him.

“We did good. You did good,” she says, and he can’t even open his mouth to answer, to say no, to say yes, to say anything. “You were great, today.” He clenches his fists once more, looks up at the sky, red and brown and no clouds. A perfect day.

“Tomorrow, we move,” she continues. “Today, we rest. Take the time you need, because tomorrow we will need you, Kyle.” She squeezes his shoulder once, quick and gentle, and stands up, leaves him to be on his own again.

He closes his eyes and sags on his heels, lets his mask fade, lets his suit fade back to reveal the clothes they gave him, the scarf wrapped tight around his throat. It’s as if the weight of the mask over his face keeps him from breathing, from seeing clearly, with it gone it’s a rush of air and feelings.

There’s no more blood on his hands when he looks down, they’re as clean as they were before he willed the suit on but he is not fooled. Not a night goes where he doesn’t feel covered with it, sticky and wet, running down his back and toward his hands, pooling in his palms like a well. Its source is not dry, and it won’t dry soon, that he knows. Maybe not ever.

He is not fooled, he knows what he’s doing, what he’s leaving behind to fight in this fight, what they’re demanding of him. After months of deception, it is all laid plainly in front of him, and despite the illusion of choice they gave him, how could he say anything but yes. And they knew that, they knew. She knew.

People are moving around him, pulling wounded out of the bodies, retrieving weapons and supplies, talking between them in hushed tones. The thunderous voices will return in a few hours but for now, the weight of the day is still too heavy.

Kyle raises to his feet slowly, uncoiling his spine and biting back a wince when the movement pulls on his strained ankle, on his sore knee, on his spasming thigh and aching hip. He’ll walk back toward the rest of their group, and he’ll try and heal everyone who can be healed, and afterward they’ll walk back to their camp, and they’ll eat, and he’ll go rest exhausted, and he’ll wake up tired.

The days are blending together, as the cities and planets blend together, and it seems that between all this blurring of the lines, Kyle is not exempt.

[shadethechangingman]

if the karnan dude on sinestros crew is tigorr i will explode. No More Omega Men No More Vega System until someone can be normal about it

[all-action-all-picture]

1984 ad for The Omega Men from DC.

[docgold13]

365 DC Comics Paper Cut-Out SuperHeroes - One Hero, Every Day, All Year…

September 25th - Tigorr

Toghurrhu is an alien born on the world of Karna. His species are feline bipeds with sharpened claws and teeth. Toghurrhu was especially large for his kind and possessed the rare ability to alter his form, becoming larger and more tiger like in shape. He lived a peaceful life among his pride, taking a wife and readying himself to raise a family. Yet then the dreaded Citadel attacked Karna, burning the forests and laying waste to Toghurrhu’s pride. He was the only survivor and pledged to spend the rest of his days hunting down ash destroying the despotic Citadel Empire.

He ended up a member of Primus’ freedom fighter unit known as The Omega Men. His comrades had difficulty pronouncing his given name so he asked to instead be referred to simply as ‘Tigorr.’

While Primus was shrewd and pragmatic, Tigorr was bold and hungry for action. The two often butted heads and Tigorr felt he was better suited to lead The Omega Men. The two were ultimately able to settle their differences and, working together, The Omega Men were ultimately able to take out the leadership of The Citadel and cripple its empire.

Tigorr would go on to lead a new faction of The Omega Men in taking on The Spider’s Guild.

In the updated DC continuity, The Citadel is an intergalactic corporation preying off of smaller worlds and systems; and Tigorr and his Omega Men have been branded as terrorists. Green Lantern/Kyle Rayner is initially dispatched to bring the Omega Men to justice, but ultimately joins with them in uncovering The Citadel’s nefarious corruption.

Tigorr first appeared in the pages of Green Lantern #141 (1981).

[splooosh]

?

[dcbinges]

The New Teen Titans #24 (1982) by George Pérez & Marv Wolfman

[primepanels]

Whose God Did What?

(Edited for language)

Tigorr and the Omega Men follow a pair of deities called Alpha and Omega. Alpha started things, Omega will end them. Or something. Anyway, the tyrannical Citadel destroyed a planet, and Tigorr is having it out with Kyle Rayner over religious views.

Kyle's not a very theologically sound Christian in this book, if you haven't noticed from my previous posts on the topic. In this monologue, he's got a few things right and one thing drastically wrong.

He's right that God is the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end (Revelation 1:8; 21:6; 22:13). Dr. Thomas Constable says,

Alpha and omega are the first and last letters of the Greek alphabet and signify here God’s comprehensive control over all things including time. This is probably a merism, a figure of speech in which two extremes represent the whole. John strengthened this point further with present, past, and future references (cf. Revelation 4:8; Revelation 11:17; Hebrews 13:8). He is the originator and terminator of all things. God is not only Lord of the future. He is also powerful enough to bring what John just predicted to pass. He is the "Almighty."

(emphasis added)

Kyle also says that God is the one who not only let the massacre happen, but made it happen. The first part must be true because there's nothing outside of God's reach. If he'd wanted to stop the Holocaust, he could have. And that's a difficult thing to wrestle with. Only far out-there thinkers like Greg Boyd believe that the God of the Bible lacks that ability. Did God make the massacre happen, though? Well, if you're a full-fledged Calvinist, then you believe that a sovereign God must be the initiator of every single event ever, so you would say yes. If you're a Molinist, then you think that God knew it would happen, but he didn't actually cause it. I'm not going to come down on one side or the other at this time, but I based on what the Bible says about God, I can't support any perspective that says that God doesn't at least know what will happen in the future. He exists outside of time, after all (2 Timothy 1:9, Titus 1:2, Ephesians 1:4, 1 Peter 1:20).

Of course, this naturally leads into the age-old question of, "If God, why evil?" But that's not going to get into that right niw.

What I take issue with is Kyle's declaration that the massacre of that planet was God's fault. The word "fault" implies wrongdoing, weakness, or a mistake. God can't do wrong; he's the very basis of goodness (Luke 18:19, 1 John 1:5, James 1:17, etc.). God has no weakness - at least, not as we count weakness (1 Corinthians 1:25). God doesn't make mistakes (Psalm 145:7). So whether God caused the massacre or just allowed it to happen, he was not at fault. He had a good reason.

Of course, it's just a fictional comic book story, so maybe I'm overthinking it. But I think it's worth thinking about.

From The Omega Men

[mysteryonearth52]

Adam Strange 5 (2005) by Andy Diggle & Pasqual Ferry

Planet Heist

[somewherefornow]

😳 … 😳