Vilgax depressed

From Hal Jordan's severed hand, the ring glowed and slipped from the fourth finger. It floated gently towards Vilgax and stopped in place. Green light bathed him.

VILGAX OF VILGAXIA. YOU POSSESS GREAT WILL. YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN.

What a fragile thing. He reached out to touch it, as gently as stroking a rabbit's fur with two fingers. In those two fingers he crunched that ring to pieces and rubbed them close together as the grains fell through and mixed with the sand.

"Praetor," he said. "I am depressed."

- Round 2