summery: this is set in post apocalyptic world, the power rangers were chosen to stop a corrupted zordon hell bent on eradicating the earth and starting a new species. These rangers are all oc's the original power rangers have died off.
It was a dark place. Nothing began, nothing ended. There was no existence.
"Please tell me rat, why suffer your blood for the sake of a dying planet?" said the disembodied voice. "Why die with the bitter knowledge that your cause is meaningless"?
He was a worrier of mystic design. He was sculpted as the ideal champion, as the saver for the forsaken. Mortal but yet so much more.
Silence befell the desolate plane. The worrier stood clad in his suit of armor, standing not of a hero but of a revolutionist.
"Standing there won't save you from your fate boy, speak!" his voice was final. He was final, this was the almighty being. The wielder of logic and understanding. The judger of fates. The keeper of souls. This was no mere man, baring your will onto him caused for a punishment incomprehensible.
But the worrier remain silent. He stood peacefully still as he peered into the majestic abyss. He was ready. There was no trepidation in his stature.
Like the bloom of a rose the being appeared. Nothing made sense of its form, its eyes too divine for human description, and its body too surreal to understand. It was utterly beautiful.
The light resonating of it was so overwhelmingly bright it burned. How could such a power exist? How could such a being exist?
"Speak to your God!" a slight crackle of lightening passed as his voice rose.
The worrier raises his metallic head. You could see the angelic source of light reflecting of the worrier's visor. He reaches for his shoulder.
"So tell me god" the worriers voice is husky full of experience; He detaches a handle from his crimson shoulder plate "do you bleed?" a blade of light materialized onto the handle revealing it to be a futuristic sword.
And in that moment the worrier launched at the god. His sword still shining as he drifts into the light
