Disclaimer: I am in no way affilliated with Saban, Disney, or any other owners of the Power Rangers series. All copyrighted material is property of its respective owners. Power Rangers, all its past and present incarnations, and all its distinctive likenesses are trademarked and copyrighted by Disney and Saban Entertainment.
Power Rangers Militia
Episode 1: Call to Arms, Part 1Written by Database Ranger
In a time long past, before the birth of Zordon and the corruption of Rita Repulsa, there existed a planet between the red deserts of Mars and the fiery storms of Jupiter. This planet of eternal blue was known as Aquitia. The beings that came to be there were a peace-loving people, who knew neither pain nor suffering. Over all of them shined the light of the mystical Star, an artifact of such antiquity that even those ancient people had long since forgotten its origin. But it granted abundance throughout the wide waters of that aquatic world, and eternal life to its many inhabitants. The Aquitians used their many gifts to better themselves and their world, developing a unique technology that worked in perfect harmony with the forces of nature, allowing them to travel to the distant stars and discover the secrets held in every grain of sand. It was a utopia, the kind of culture that has been desired by every civilization since. But it was not meant to last forever.
A race of the purest evil, known only as the Tormenta, arrived in this universe through an inter-dimensional rift. They were ruthless and cunning, born of a world that knew no peace, only war. Bringing with them a fleet of their most powerful warships, they sought out the power of the Star, hoping to use it to poison this world with chaos, just as they had done to their own. They mercilessly slaughtered the innocent Aquitians, who had no means of defense. Hastily assembled weaponry were no match for the sheer might of the Tormenta armada. In a final attempt to save the universe and themselves, the Aquitians led a full-scale attack against the evil ones, using all their ships but one.
That one lone ship was a small cargo ship. Hoping it would be able to escape during the chaos of the ensuing battle, the Aquitians placed their best and brightest into cryogenic containment on the ship, as well as the Star itself. They succeeded, and fled to a distant planet, far away from the war that was ravaging their home. There they landed, but the unfamiliar atmospheric conditions caused a crash, and the pilots were forced to eject with the Star, leaving behind the only friends and family they had left. Praying that the cryo-pods survived the crash, the pilots searched out a place to hide the Star and keep it safe for eternity. They placed it in a deep underwater cave, and used their technology to create a vast desert, one which none of their race would ever be able to cross, and a small force field around the star that would protect it from any evil touch. Knowing that they could not leave with their knowledge of the Star's location, the pilots destroyed the cave's opening, allowing themselves to die alone in that barren wasteland.
No one would ever know of the sacrifice of the pilots. The moment that the vicious Tormenta learned that the Star had escaped them; they activated their ultimate weapon and destroyed the entire planet, extinguishing billions of lives. Even now, the broken pieces of Aquitia still drift between the red deserts of Mars and the fiery storms of Jupiter, barren and lifeless, its once great oceans gone without a trace.
But even with their home destroyed, a small piece of the Aquitian race lived on, resting on that distant planet where the Star had been hidden. There they slept for a century in the remains of the small cargo ship. When they at last awoke from their cryogenic slumber, they had lost all memory of their home, their culture, and the plight of their people. They knew only that they were Aquitians, and that this new planet would now be their home, their watery refuge. This was the planet that would thereafter be known as Aquitar.
A hundred millennia passed, and the Aquitians rebuilt their culture, learning once again how to travel to the distant stars, and allied themselves with other races and beings, even the great Ninjor and wise sage Zordon. The Tormenta themselves dispersed and went into hiding, to bide their time until the Star would reveal itself once more. Masking themselves as inhabitants of various planets, they maintained a secret society, ruled over by the Grand Council, and dedicated themselves towards the corruption and devouring of souls. The souls were like food to them, fueling their power, and allowing them to stay in this world. Occasionally, if the corrupted ones were strong enough, and had been corrupted willingly, the Tormenta would grant them power, allowing them to spread the chaos. The forces of Zordon, Ninjor, and others thwarted many of these villains. They created Power Rangers to battle the evil ones, and maintain peace in the universe. Despite that, the unseen Tormenta would always find new ways to corrupt, spread chaos, and fuel the ongoing war between good and evil.
The Star of Aquitar remained hidden for all those years, and not even the Power Rangers of Aquitar suspected its existence. They only knew the Eternal Falls, a mysterious cascade that granted youth to those who bathed in it. It became central to their culture, but they never knew that its power stemmed from the artifact deep beneath the falls, in the hidden desert. One day, now seven years past, an outsider came to Aquitar in search of a cure that only the Eternal Falls could provide. He too made the watery planet his home, and soon married one of the Aquitians. For once, he felt that he could belong, in a way that he never had on his original home. But now, that outsider has unearthed the cave and traversed the hidden desert. He has found the Star that should never have been found, and in doing so, he has doomed the world.
She
strutted down the sidewalk, rapidly clicking her high heels against
the pavement as she walked. All of her attention was centered upon
the card in her hand, and she paid no heed to anything or anyone
else.
But everyone else paid heed to her, especially the men.
She was stunningly beautiful, with long, wavy blonde hair. It had the
perfect sheen, the perfect blend of honey and platinum. Her waist
seemed virtually non-existent at the top of her long legs and shapely
hips. Her hour glass figure seemed to be all the men could see, some
of them even walking into lampposts because of their preoccupation,
and a few of them were sure to get some harsh words from their wives
later on. But none of them cared. All of them were focused on that
perfect body, with the perfect skin, hair, face, and ruby red lips.
Not one of them saw the cold, piercing eyes of that face. Those icy
blue eyes that could burn through a wall of steel cared nothing for
them. Only the card mattered. The only indication the woman gave that
she even perceived the world around her was the small curve of her
lips when she bent to fix her shoe and heard the crash of a car. She
was used to the attention, but it never ceased to please her.
Now,
though, was no time for pleasure. The card that rested in her hand
was all-important. It was only a small note, perhaps three by five
inches, but the three words in blood red alien script spoke volumes.
Man had never known these words, but the woman knew their
meaning.
"HE HAS RETURNED."
It didn't seem
possible. She had never thought that she would ever see him again. If
this card was true, then everything was about to change. Millennia of
waiting would finally come to fruition. The time to strike was at
hand. Soon, she and all others of her race would finally take their
rightful place in the universe. No more hiding in the shadows. No
more mind games. No more dependence upon the souls of mortals. At
long last, they would have their freedom. And the power that went
with it.
She looked up and saw that she had finally reached
her destination. It was a small, dirty alleyway. Not the kind of
place one would normally see a woman that could easily outshine every
model in the country. She walked over to the brick wall at the
alley's end, and quickly looked around to make sure that none of
her admirers had followed her. Seeing nothing, she turned to face the
wall, carefully counting the bricks across from the right, and then
up from the bottom. Once she came to the brick she searched for, she
dug her perfectly manicured fingernails into the cement around it,
prying it loose to reveal a mark in the shape of stone-faced white
mask. Pulling out a pendant from her blouse, she held it up to the
eyes of the mask. The eyes glowed red, then sunk back into the depths
of their sockets. Turning towards her right, she watched as a section
of the adjacent wall, which had seemed solid enough before, had begun
to open. Once the mysterious passageway had revealed itself, she
tucked the pendant back in her blouse and replaced the brick panel.
Within a few moments, the door was gone again, and the woman was
nowhere to be seen.
Marching quickly down the long corridor,
the strangely beautiful woman soon made her way to a downward
spiraling staircase, ending in a wide, arched doorway, marked with
almost demonic alien carvings. But she was not afraid. If anything,
she was reassured, for she was home.
Behind the door was a
room so grand that one might have thought it a palace. But no king or
emperor would ever have had carvings like those on the walls of his
home. They were things to inspire nightmares, to scar the minds of
those who saw them. The designs were so foreign in nature, so wrong,
that no human could have conceived them. Then again, she was not
human.
In the corner of the room, a man stood, leaning against
the wall and smoking a cigarette. He twirled something in his left
hand, obviously lost in thought. When she closed the door behind her,
he looked up, and smiled slyly. He was a relatively handsome man,
somewhat older than she, with his temples streaked gray. He had a
strong jaw, and carried with the confidence of a man that knew his
own worth. Walking jauntily over to his female companion, he held up
the object in his hand, a card identical to the one she carried.
"A
pleasure to see you again, Azala."
"The pleasure is mine,
Typhus," she replied. "It's been too long since last we've
worked together. When was it? One hundred years ago? A millennium? My
memory fails me."
"I think it was about six or seven
hundred years ago," he answered with a smirk. "It was that little
epidemic I cooked up, remember?"
"Ah, yes. That was it.
You know, people still talk about that one. They call it the Black
Plague."
The two evil beings laughed as they remembered the
beautiful chaos they had caused just a few centuries ago, reliving
old times and pleasures. They stood at the table in the center of the
room and drank blood-red wine from the flagon there. They entertained
each other with stories of what they had done since their last
meeting, of atrocities done and pure souls corrupted. During one of
Typhus' particularly witty anecdotes, though, a chill wind whisked
through the room. Startled, they turned, and were suddenly knocked to
the floor, and the chalices of wine dropped from their hands. A
monstrous beast stood before them. Its muscles bulged beneath its
shining silver fur, in a way that boggled the mind. Its upper body
dwarfed its legs to the point where it could barely stand upright,
and human science could never have explained what kept its spine from
cracking under the pressure. Slung across its back was a giant
sledgehammer, one that was obviously meant to do great damage. Over
its face, the beast wore a golden mask, carved to look like a
demented jackal with a hideously sadistic grin.
"TO YOUR
KNEES!" the beast barked out. Shocked into submission, Typhus and
Azala cowered on the floor. After a moment, Typhus was able to regain
his composure and look up at the beast. Recognizing the mask, he
stood up and dusted himself off.
"Anubalon," he spoke.
"What is the meaning of this? Why have you summoned us here?"
Before the hulking creature could answer, a voice spoke out behind
him.
"He didn't. I did."
Anubalon stepped aside
to reveal a dark figure stepping in through one of the arched
doorways of the room. The light behind him made his features
indistinct, but his profile was impressive. His height exceeded seven
feet, and his shoulders more than a yard wide. A cape was draped from
his shoulders that fluttered with the chill wind now flying through
the room. In his hand was a staff, a three-headed dragon sculpt at
its top. His head slowly came into the light as he stepped forth on
cloven hooves, a reptilian tail giving him balance and a deadly sort
of grace. Instead of a face, he wore a three-fold mask. In the center
was a death-white face with thoughtful blue eyes. To each side of
that face was half of a silver mask, its mouth open and laughing, but
its eyes dark and dead, since it was not being used at the moment. On
the outer edges were the halves of a gold mask that no one in that
room wished to see. It was a mask of hate and fury, but its eyes too
were black like the silver mask, so there was nothing to fear. For
now.
The other three were on their knees in an instant. Azala
gazed up at the faces of the powerful being before her.
"High
Prince Trilorin," she said respectfully. "We are glad to see that
you have returned to Earth. To what may we owe this great
pleasure?"
Suddenly, she was on her side, with the side of
her face red and stinging.
"Speak when spoken to!" a voice
roared at her. Looking up, Azala could now see the dreaded golden
mask had slid into place, its fiery red eyes blazing with anger.
"Don't forget your place, Azala. You have been among these humans
for far too long. Now shed those ridiculous forms immediately! I will
not be insulted by addressing such lowly creatures."
"Yes,
sir," the man and woman spoke together. In that instant, their skin
started to shimmer. Azala's perfect skin turned a pale white, and
her already slim waist became even narrower. Her legs and arms
elongated, and her shoes melted into tiny pointed feet. Her perfectly
manicured fingernails became long claws, and her luscious hair drew
into itself until nothing was left but a single braided ponytail. Her
designer clothes blended together and merge into a low cut gown,
violet with golden embroidery, and a slit on either side reaching all
the way to her silver belt. Typhus' fashionable shirt began to
twist and deform as a multitude of faces appeared all over his arms
and hands, each with a frozen look of total anguish. His vest
hardened and reformed into black armor plating that shielded his
chest and shoulders. His pants billowed out and took on a silver
sheen, and his toes and heels pointed and stretched until they
extended equally to front and back. Then both their faces hardened,
and lifted off their skin, becoming masks. Azala's mask was white,
with blood-red lips curved in an eternal, self-satisfied smirk. Her
eyes were a piercing black, and an indigo jewel was centered in her
forehead. Typhus's mask was black, with a scowling green mouth that
echoed determination. He had blank white eyes that were frightening
to look upon and a golden jewel on his brow.
"Much better,"
Trilorin spoke calmly, with the blue eyes of the white mask once more
gazing down upon his servants. "Now, listen well. I have returned
to this backwards little planet by order of the Grand Council. They
have reason to believe that an object of great power has surfaced,
and has, for some reason or another, been brought here. I am to lead
the three of you on a reconnaissance mission to retrieve it. You were
each chosen because of your skills and experience on this
planet.
"Lord Typhus, you were selected for your ability to
manipulate the souls you steal with unparalleled skill. It has been
said that you can even make others grow by releasing your souls in
fixed amounts. This will hopefully be useful in our mission.
"Lady
Azala, you are known far and wide as a seductress. You should be able
to obtain all the souls we will need to accomplish our goal. Since
you have worked with Typhus before, you shall be paired with him for
the greater part of the mission.
"And of course, my own
loyal Beast General Anubalon. Your strength in battle and ability to
strike fear in hearts of your enemies is legendary. I am pleased that
the Council saw it fit to have you join me on our most crucial
assignment yet.
"Prepare yourselves, my three servants.
Serve me well, and you shall be first to taste the power that lies
before us. Fail me, and you will be first to know the true wrath of
the Tormenta Empire. Never forget that I have thousands willing to
give their masks to serve me, and you can easily be replaced." The
three Tormenta before him shivered slightly, fearing the fury of
their unstable leader. Anubalon's mask glowed slightly and
uncertainly.
"Yes, Anublon?" asked the High Prince. "You
have something to ask me?"
"Me do, master," spoke the
brutish creature. "What is thing we seek?"
His master
chuckled as the silver mask slid into place.
"Why, the Star
of course!" As soon as he said it, the tall Tormenta leader began
laughing hysterically, his yellow eyes glowing bright with delight.
"Prepare yourselves, Tormenta, for we will soon possess the
greatest power in the universe! Ha, ha! Come Anubalon, I will tell
you my plans in the central chamber!" Suddenly, the laughter
stopped as the white mask of thought once again became dominant. "As
for you two. Return to the human world and put an end to all your
present affairs. This mission is your new prime objective. Everything
else should be put on hold. Understand?" The gold mask quivered on
the outside edge of his head.
"Yes, High Prince, of course.
We understand," answered the two lower Tormenta shakily. As
Trilorin left the room, Azala and Typhus turned their heads to face
each other.
"The Star..."
General
McKnight could hardly believe his eyes. There, in the middle of a
military airfield, was something never meant to fly through
terrestrial skies. It had sunk deep into the ground, steam rising
from its overheated shell. It was shaped like some sort of deformed
egg. Its sides pulsed with blue and silver light. It was neither
robotic, nor organic, but some mix of the two.
It was a
spacecraft.
The general did his best to remain calm, but this
was something that was never listed in any regulations guidebook. He
had been trained to deal with men, demons, monsters, and even robots,
but somehow, alien interaction had never been part of his training.
Giving the signal for his men to stay on guard, he slowly approached
the craft, followed closely by the best extraterrestrial experts
available. Still about a hundred feet away, he turned to the elderly
scientist on his right.
"So what do we have here,
Professor?"
"It landed here exactly one hour ago,
sir."
"Do we know where it came from?"
"Judging
by its trajectory and the materials it was forged from, it is not
from the Sol system."
"Then where?"
"I'm
not sure, sir, but we have noticed some... unusual activity."
"What
could be more unusual than a spacecraft crash-landing in my
airfield?"
"Well, do you see these pulsing lights
here?" he gestured, as the general nodded in affirmation. "When
the vessel first crashed, they only appeared once every five minutes.
Now, the pulsing has accelerated to once every four seconds."
"But
what does that mean, Professor?"
"We're not sure,
but we think that whatever is inside was weakened by the crash. This
seems to be some sort of revival mechanism. From the readings we're
getting, there are two distinct heartbeats in there, and they're
getting stronger."
"How much time do you think we
have before this egg hatches?"
"By our calculations,
it should only be a few minutes now. The heartbeats are approaching
normal levels for a human, but I sincerely doubt that those are
humans in there. For all we know, it could take hours. We're taking
shots in the dark here, sir. All that we know about the creatures
inside is that they are alive and are either human sized or
smaller."
"Thank you, Professor. That's good to
know. What did you say your name was?"
"Phenomenus.
Professor Charles Phenomenus."
"Ah, yes, the
specialist from Mirinoi. Glad to have you on board, Phenomenus. You
may carry on now."
"Thank you, sir." The
elderly scientist returned to his work, using various devices to
measure the craft's internal activity. But before he could get within
a few yards of it, the lights began to pulse fiercely, merging into
one steady bright glow that quickly spread across the entire
airfield. The professor backed away slowly, until he once again was
standing beside General McKnight. They tried to shield their eyes,
but couldn't block out the oncoming waves of blue.
Suddenly,
the light was gone. No flickering, no afterimage, just gone. The pod
remained still and silent. Slowly, as if drawn by an invisibly
artist, lines appeared on the craft's smooth exterior. They crept up
from the bottom, and curved inward to meet at the top. The moment
they met, the lines began to glow white, and the section that had
been carved out began to separate from the rest of the craft. It
opened like a drawbridge, gently falling to meet the ground. General
McKnight held the signal for his men to keep their weapons ready as
water came pouring out of the opening in the pod. Through the falling
cascades, he could just barely make out a shadow. Soon it was fully
drained, and the general saw two distinct forms. One was smaller,
more feminine, helping to support the larger, more masculine being.
They had the appearance of a normal man and woman, but looks could be
deceiving.
As they drew nearer, McKnight was able to make out
their features more. The female had a gold crest on her head that
covered most of her face and scalp. Purple bulges swelled out from
the gold crest, and seemed to pulse in time to her breathing. She
wore robes of black, pink, and lavender, which were remarkably dry,
considering all the water that had issued forth from the craft.
The
male wore similar robes that had shades of black, gold, and blue,
which were cut to emphasize his more muscular form. His face was much
different than his that of his companion, though. There was nothing
human about that face. It was covered with blue-green scales, and had
no mouth to speak of. The eyes were enormous golden orbs with no
pupils, and he seemed to breathe through slits on the sides of his
face.
That breathing was much labored, though. The general
could tell that this creature, whatever it was, had been injured in
the crash. The pair slowly made their way towards him, and the male
looked him in the face with those strange golden eyes, and spoke but
one word before collapsing to the ground.
"Home."
The
female knelt down beside him, cradling his head, supporting it from
the back. She looked up at McKnight with pleading eyes and spoke to
him in a strangely melodious voice.
"Please," she
said. "Please help my husband."
Not knowing what
else to do, McKnight knelt down next to the poor creatures, and
issued a command to his men.
"Quick, let's get a
paramedic out here, fast!" He turned to face the female. "Don't
worry, ma'am, we'll find a way to help your husband."
"Thank
you," she replied. "The thought of seeing his home again
was the only thing that kept him going during the voyage. There were
times that I didn't think he would make it."
"His...
home?"
"Yes," she repeated. "His
home."
As the paramedics rushed in, the female alien
creature gently peeled away the scales on her husband's head,
revealing sandy blonde hair, a creased forehead, and... finally... a
human face.
"My wife's name is Cestria. She is an Aquitian." The female alien had suffered far fewer injuries than her husband. Her body was designed for underwater life, and the crash had only managed to sprain her left wrist. The young man had taken the brunt of the impact.
"We are both from the planet Aquitar, and had to leave under dire circumstances. Now will you please allow me to speak to General McKnight in private?"
"Why?"
"Because I believe that the threat that Cestria and I were facing on Aquitar is making its way towards Earth. Assuming that it is not here already."
"And your reason for only wishing to speak to the general?"
"I have heard rumors about him through my contacts on Aquitar, Mirinoi, and KO-35. He is the head on the organization that defeated Queen Bansheera's demons. If this is true, then I believe that he may be trusted."
"Be trusted with what?"
The young man sighed as he leaned back and closed his eyes.
"Just get me General McKnight."
The interrogator shook his head and got up to leave. Cestria got up from her seat in the corner to escort him out of the hospital room. After closing the door behind him, the Aquitian turned to face her husband.
"Do you really think it's necessary to keep them in the dark about all this?"
"We can't afford to make the same mistake twice. Right now, McKnight is the only one who can help us. Mitchell is retired, and no one else has the resources that this man does."
"But it won't do any good if he refuses to meet with us."
"He doesn't have much choice. Eventually, curiosity will get the better of him. I just hope it won't be too late." "Were you able to learn anything?"
"No. He's very stubborn. The only one he says he'll speak to is you. Outside of that, all he'll say is their names and the fact that they left Aquitar under extreme duress."
"What about his wife?"
"She's as tightlipped as her husband. Hasn't said two words since Cranston was placed in the hospital."
General McKnight looked the interrogator up and down. He knew that the balding little man wasn't holding anything back from him, so he began pacing the room, trying to work out the situation. For some reason, these two had traveled light-years to get to Earth, risking life and limb, but now they refused to say a word about what had sent them here. His gut told him that there was something off about the whole thing, but he couldn't place his finger on it. On the other hand, this was definitely a matter of national security, and it was his sworn duty to ward off any oncoming danger. He took a deep breath.
"Tell Cranston I will meet with him shortly."
The
sun had already set by the time General McKnight finally stepped into
the Cranstons' hospital room. Billy and Cestria looked up from their
conversation, immediately going silent. The older man approached the
bed.
"I understand that there was something you wished to
speak to me about, Mr. Cranston?"
"Yes, sir. You are
the same General McKnight that authorized the formation of
Lightspeed? And the development of the Cyborg Rangers?"
"That
would be me."
"In that case, there is something I'd
like to speak to you about. Provided that this information remains
strictly confidential?"
"Of course, Mr. Cranston.
Whatever is said here does not leave this room. You have my
word."
"Good," replied the blond-haired young
man. "Please, have a seat." The general moved towards the
chair offered to him and sat down. "Approximately two months
ago, my wife and I were diving in the seas of Aquitar, near a region
known as the Eternal Falls. I discovered the entrance to a cave, and
we both went in to investigate. It appeared as though the rubble that
once blocked it was torn loose when the Gold Ranger crashed his Zord,
Pyramidas, into the planet's surface. Inside the cave, we found a
large air pocket. Since the atmosphere was abnormally dry for an
underwater cave, Cestria chose to stay behind, lest she risk
dehydration. I continued on, and discovered a remarkable phenomenon.
Inside the cave was a vast, barren, underground desert.
"In
the distance, I saw a faint glowing light. It took several hours, but
I made my way towards it, crossing the mysterious sands. When I
reached the end of my journey, I came to it. A geometrically perfect
crystal star, emanating a light all of its own. The Star seemed to be
encased in some sort of force field, by my scientific curiosity got
the better of me. I'm fortunate that the field was not tuned to my
physical attributes. I was able to safely retrieve the Star and bring
it back to where Cestria was still waiting for me. She had been
reading some ancient hieroglyphics to keep herself occupied. They
were unlike anything she had ever seen before. They predated all
Aquitian languages, dating back over 50,000 years.
"The
moment we returned home, Cestria and I began our analysis of the
artifact and hieroglyphics. Scientists were called upon from all
corners of the galaxy, but not one of them had ever seen anything
like what we had found. Even our close personal friend, Varoc, who
had been known to unlock many of the great mysteries of the universe,
seemed to be at a loss. All that we were able to discover was that
some great power was buried deep within the Star, and that the
hieroglyphics were the key to releasing it.
"One night,
roughly five weeks ago, I went into my private laboratory for some
nocturnal research. Varoc was already there. He was attempting to
procure the Star for himself. When I hindered him, Varoc turned on
me. His form shifted, and his face was replaced by a bizarre cerulean
mask. His body became deformed and unnatural, and he proceeded to
assail me in a most brutal manner. Fortunately, he underestimated me,
and I was able to activate an emergency defense apparatus that
wounded him and ejected him from the lab. I guess that Varoc was not
the great friend he made himself appear to be.
"Within a
week, Aquitar was under attack by interstellar warships. Fleets of
them. They sent but one message to us. 'Give us the Star,' they said.
But we refused. Judging by their already hostile temperament and
obvious knowledge of the Star's power... there's no telling what
might have happened if we had relinquished the relic. So we fought.
Our enemies had enough firepower to annihilate the planet, but chose
not to, for fear of damaging their prize. It bought us some time to
call in reinforcements. As we speak, much of the known universe is
still battling these creatures in a war even more devastating than
the United Alliance of Evil's assault five years ago.
"Earth
is one of the few planets left that has not yet been drawn into the
conflict. That is part of the reason my wife and I decided to seek
refuge here. It is also one of the only planets with the kind of
technology we require to continue our research. No one knows that we
are here, because we told no one. We decided that it would be better
this way. If Aquitar falls, our enemies will be unable to find what
they seek, because we brought the Star with us to Earth.
"It's
only a matter of time now before they discover the truth. Then the
chaos will start all over again. Only it won't be on Aquitar, it will
be here. Now I have a question for you, general. Will you help us
unlock the Star and end this senseless war?"
General
McKnight was speechless. He was expecting bounty hunters, or some
sort of planetary dispute, but not this. Not an intergalactic war.
Not again. If Cranston was telling the truth...
"What is
it you would have me do?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice
steady.
"I
understand that Lightspeed was able to develop Morphers for a Power
Ranger team. I believe it's safe to assume that you've made some
improvements since then, and we need access to them."
"Don't
you have that kind of technology yourselves?"
"Unfortunately,
no. For some reason, Earth and Eltar have been the only planets to
develop morphing apparatuses without the aid of mystical artifacts.
Since Eltar has been cut off from us, we must use earthen technology
to tap into the Star's power."
"And where is the
Star now?"
"Hidden. I'll show you it once you grant
me access to whatever technology you have available."
McKnight
paused again to think about what was being asked of him. If this
young man was right, then the entire universe could be in danger. But
could he really trust a stranger with the project...
"I'll
need time to think it over," he said.
"I
understand," replied Billy. "It's a lot to process. I just
hope you don't take too long to make your decision."
The
disturbed general slowly got up and headed towards the door. Cestria
followed him.
"Thank you so much for speaking with us,
sir. I know we're asking a lot of you."
"It's
perfectly understandable, Mrs. Cranston. I just have one last
question for you. What is this enemy that we're facing?"
Cestria
looked back at her husband, then down at the floor.
"They
call themselves... the Tormenta."
"Ready..."
"Begin!"
Typhus lunged at her with his sword. She leapt back on her toes. Again he lunged, and again she leapt back. So began the deadly dance. Every thrust was perfectly made, every blow perfectly dodged as they crossed the tiled floor.
Soon Azala reached the corner of the room. The powerful Lord, believing his victory to be assured, lunged mightily towards his prey, only to hit air once again as his opponent leapt up and kicked against the wall, flying and spinning over his head. She slashed down with her claws as she landed, but met cold hard steel as Typhus brought up his sword to parry. He spun to twist her claws around and kick Azala hard in the side. He brought up his rapier to deal the final blow, but she had already slid out beneath his legs by the time the blade hit the floor. In one smooth motion, she grabbed his leg and flipped over his head, bringing her opponent along for the ride. They each landed flawlessly, Typhus on one foot, Azala on two. He quickly executed a roundhouse kick with his free leg, but she ducked her head to the side and cart wheeled to keep the foot in her grasp. Hoping to catch her off balance, Typhus drew in the snared leg to stab at her, once again missing as she spun off to the side, swinging him by his leg and tossing him into a nearby wall.
Thinking fast, Typhus twisted his body and spin-kicked against the wall. He dived at Azala, sword-arm extended, but she was ready and waiting. Clutching the blade between her claws, the bright Lady dropped down, wrenched the rapier from his hand and kicked him hard in the stomach. To lessen the force of the blow, Typhus curled into a tuck-and-roll, landing on his feet in a perfect fighting stance as he turned to face Azala.
But she was already gone.
Now without his weapon, the dark lord focused his mind and body to find his hidden adversary. Slowly, his right hand glowed brighter and brighter, until it was white-hot, and he launched a blast of fire and light at one of the many arches holding up the room's ceiling. Out of the dust and rubble came Azala, with the sword in hand. Spreading out her arms and angling her leg, she seemed much like a bird of prey, swooping down on her victim from the high ceiling. As she fell, daggers of light shot from her fingertips, quickly filling the room with such intensity that Typhus was blinded. When his vision cleared, he found himself lying on his back, with the blade at his throat and Azala's clawed hand hovering above his mask.
"Endgame," she said, her voice saturated with a sense of self-satisfaction.
Off in the distance, the two Tormenta heard the sound of laughter and applause as their leader stepped forward, silver mask shining. Anubalon was not far behind him.
"Very good, Azala," spoke the High Prince. "I enjoyed that immensely."
"I live to serve, my liege," she replied, giving a deep curtsy of respect.
"Unfortunately..." Trilorin's white mask became dominant again. "...this is not the time for pleasure. You two are to prepare for battle. Our scanners tell us that the Star is now in the hands of this planet's inhabitants. It is presently located deep in a nearby government facility, and I'm assigning you two to attack and infiltrate by whatever means necessary. Anubalon will accompany you on this mission." He motioned to the massive Beast General, who seemed to be twitching in anticipation. Typhus got up to kneel beside Azala, as Anubalon stepped forth.
"You two come with me now."
The three left the room, and Trilorin stood alone, fingering the head of his staff. They had best not fail me, he thought. I've come too close and worked too hard to let it all go to waste now.
A
chill wind rustled the dead leaves of the cemetery. Even during the
day, the place still carried a sense of nocturnal dread. The spirits
of those buried in that hollowed ground were restless, and eager to
once again roam the earth as they had in life. Little did they know,
their wishes were about to be granted.
At the noisy gate,
three figures stood. One was muscular and bulky, one tall and
dignified, and the last was slim and feminine. Cautiously, they
entered the graveyard.
"My dear Anubalon, may I be so
bold to ask what we are doing in here?" Azala inquired with a
honeyed tone.
"Master say you two make souls do what you
want. Here souls. You make them do."
"As you wish,
my intellectual friend," Azala replied as she stepped into the
center of the graves. She stood still and stiff, then slowly began to
move her claws through the air. Soon, her entire body was flowing
like water, as the Lady danced a strange, sensuous dance. The
movements of her body were accompanied by a surreal song that issued
forth from her vocal chords.
Drawn by the deadly siren, the
spirits emerged from their graves, swimming through the air in the
form of green, yellow, and purple mists. They flocked to her,
imploring her to sing and dance to her fullest, beguiled entirely by
her strange necromantic charm. She stopped and turned to face Typhus,
who was still standing at the gate beside Anubalon.
"My
turn, I suppose?" He raised his arms into the air and let loose
a deep bellow that shook the ground. The spirits instantly lost their
ecstasy and sought to return to their graves, but it was too late.
They had already been caught in the snare of the Tormenta Lord.
Lowering his left arm, Typhus extended his right hand towards the
captured souls, and a mouth opened in the center of his palm to draw
them in. Unable to resist, the spirits were all taken in by the
sinister vacuum.
The dark Lord stood tall, aglow with soul
fire. Gathering all the energy into his left hand, then issued a
blast into the nearby street. From the fiery crater he created,
beings emerged. They were the souls, now transformed by the power of
the Tormenta. They had been given the bodies that they had longed for
since their deaths, but it was at a heavy price. They were now
nothing but slaves, powerless to resist the commands of their
masters. Their heads were bleached-white skulls that had distorted
red insectile eyes. Gray swirled over their bodies, coated with chest
armor that resembled ribcages, and white, clawed gloves and boots. At
their belts, buckled with rat skulls, were sheathes, holding
scimitars sculpted to look like spines. Drawing their swords, they
stood ready to receive their orders.
"Necrons!"
called out Typhus. "You have been summoned to retrieve the great
and powerful Star! Go forth! Let nothing stand in the way of your
goal, and destroy anything and everything that stands in your
path!"
The minions of darkness groaned in reply, and then
set out to fulfill their masters' wishes.
To Be
Continued...