Chapter 8: Saviour

The suns beat down on him as he walked.

After the rather ominous statement about war coming, the bartender had clammed up quickly. In a way, that was good as it allowed him to think on what had been said. That the Cyan Ranger had left before Zriac had been chosen as the Black Ranger and Leader was apparently common knowledge, yet no one knew the identity of the Huran behind the mask. It also became apparent that not all Hurans supported the drastic measures to overthrow the Elders from their position of power. Unsurprisingly, many of the female Hurans and a handful of males that had grown up enjoying the old tales of the Rangers battling evil wanted everything to continue as it had for longer. It was mostly the younger generation, the ones that didn't believe the stories about monsters attacking, that felt a need to rebel and cause havoc. However, try as hard as he might, the pieces just didn't fit together and he was left with glaring holes in his situational knowledge. Why was the rule of the Royals so respected and, at the same time, feared? Why did the majority of Hurans want the Royals to come back, even though they had the stories and tales of how rough life had been? Was it really in a Huran's blood to keep attacking and fighting until nothing was left?

There were other questions as well; the ones whose answers were so tantalisingly in reach…but also so damn far. Why was the rule of the Royals considered better than the Elders? What would happen to Muitime and Muiesaf if they were deposed? Would their Rangers still follow them or would they be cast aside in favour of other protectors? So caught up in his thinking was he, that he didn't notice the small group of Hurans trailing him until he was surrounded. They had the look of thugs about them: pierced skin, crazy haircuts and extreme facial tattoos that resembled open wounds. An image of Frenter popped into the forefront of his mind and he fought to not groan out loud, unconsciously rearranging his perception of the Huran criminal. Pushing down the option that screamed to slaughter them all, he chose to go for diplomacy first. Also, he was in the guise of a traveller and didn't look like he had many weapons on his person.

"Can I help you?"

One of the Hurans stepped forward, bringing out a short metallic beam from behind his back. Running his finger down the side, the box began to vibrate slightly as three short laser blades slid out of the top. Like all Hurans, his voice was gravely, but held a tangible undercurrent of malice. Amusingly, it had a thick stereotypical 'gangster' accent as well.

"Da boss wants you to know he's not takin' no for an answer anymore. He sent us to get ya."

He frowned and shook his head once, lowering his right hand to his belt. If things got ugly fast, he could possibly surprise them with an attack or a fire blast to the face. On the other hand, that tactic hadn't really worked wonders for many battles with Jabarkas and he didn't want to burn or hurt Zriac in any way.

"I am afraid you have me mistaken for someone else, friend. I am nothing more than a simple traveller from an off-planet world. I do not wish to fight but if you continue to push me…"

He let the sentence trail off as he succeeded in drawing out his Raptor Laser. He had to give Andros props for recommending the cloak and hood combination as the material really concealed any motion that was made to draw out weapons. He could see the confusion and indecision starting to bloom over the Huran's face, as well as the nervous looks the others were giving each other. Weihan could also see that many of them held the same metal rods; which could only mean that those were the strange Laser Shredders that Frenter was so known for using. The leader stepped forward and he fought to stay perfectly still. Leaning in, the leader spoke softly; dropping the strange accent altogether.

"If you are a traveller, then I apologise but our quarry has made the same excuse many times before. That you're obviously on two legs should be enough for the Boss, but I'm not keen on making another mistake."

"I understand."

As the last syllable dropped from his lips, Weihan sprang into action – catching the group of Hurans off guard. Surging forward, he smashed his forehead into the jaw of the leader, sending his tumbling back into the dust. Gulping hard as the blades of the weapon came dangerously close to his throat; he stomped on the wrist and, when the tight grip on the weapon had been released, kicked it straight into the groin of one of the gawking pseudo-gangsters. Stepping off the downed leader, he raised his left hand up to ward off an outstretched hand from another Huran, only for the clawed appendage to snag on his glove and yank it off his hand. Without missing a beat, he channeled his fire powers into his left hand and sent a stream of fire into the Huran's face. A pair of arms looped under his arms and pulled him back as the last of the group turned on his Laser Shredder. With a roar of rage, the Huran powered the weapon forward and into his stomach.

"Why won't you die?"

Weihan grunted in pain as the blades cut into his skin, the weapon having been barely stopped by the armour that had been weaved into the fabric of the clothing. Unfortunately, the brutish Huran holding his arms was pushing him into the blades and there was no guarantee that the armour weave would hold out long enough. Luckily for him, he had mastered the art of aiming a blaster even though he couldn't see it – though his aim was off for the first two shots. The first bolt went totally wide, impacting against the side of the pavement with a small mushroom cloud of dirt and dust. The second bolt lightly grazed the inside of his left leg before boring a hole through the leg of the Huran holding his arms. The wounded alien released his body and stumbled back as light green blood leaked from the wound. Without missing a beat, the Orange Ranger leapt over the Huran's head, raining fiery bolts down on the other Hurans. By now, the leader had managed to scramble off the ground and had snatched another Laser Shredder from one of the others. Gripping the weapons in both hands, he ran over to where Weihan had landed and swung the weapons at him, aiming for his head. Flipping back, the Orange Ranger was able to narrowly avoid the blades but wasn't able to avoid a strong kick that sent him into the air once more.

"Pathetic wretch…and once again, I apologise if you are an actual traveller. However, our boss Frenter gave us specific orders and we intend to fulfil them."

Looking up from the ground, Weihan nodded weakly but tightened his grip on his blaster. His body throbbed with pain and he was pretty sure the impact with one of the walls wasn't helping the cuts on his stomach heal either. However, he knew he had to conserve his strength for one final attack…something that he hoped wouldn't happen as he didn't want to show the majority of his cards in public. Yet, even as he waited for the opportunity, his mind was whirling with questions. If Frenter preferred to work alone, why did he hire a group of wannabe gangsters? What was the intended target of this attack? Why was it such a surprise that he was a biped traveller? One thing was clear though – he wasn't going to wait around to find out what the end result would be. He tensed his body and readied himself to escape. If he slipped past those –

"Away, I say! Away!"

The slightly over-the-top growl startled him out of his thoughts and he momentarily lost track of his plan. Yet, the small hitch in everything wasn't nearly as mind-bendingly impossible as what came next. Something that could have been described only as an upturned opaque test tube with rockets for its base came screaming round one of the corners with what looked like submachine guns gripped tightly in its claws. Expertly assessing the situation, the strange object opened fire, peppering the Huran thugs with a multitude of new holes. Slowly standing up, Weihan reached out with his magic and lifted his discarded glove off the ground, never taking his eyes off the strange test tube robot that was hovering in front of him.

"Please, you can remove that hood of yours."

There was something about the voice that threw him off a small amount and, as he holstered his blaster and began to remove his hood, he struggled to pinpoint it. It almost seemed as if the voice was being run through a synthesiser of some kind; something that could be easily explained if the object was a robot. Yet, as he freed his head from the hood and stared at the machine, one question kept running through his mind as he stared at the arms of the robot.

Why was it wearing a Morpher?

TBC…