The Gathering (II) – Part 1

The God's Hand

The sliding doors shot open wide, with an audible hiss ringing out as their sensors picked up the presence of someone walking towards them. Though with the sudden, unexpected movement, Batibat quickly leapt backwards, daggers quickly drawn in anticipation for an attack.

But one never came. The door simply remained opened, waiting for her to pass through.

A shaky exhale came from the she-Demon and former Hand of Horror, daggers slipping back into her shadows as she looked through the open doorframe. With a cautious air about her, she slowly stepped through, her footfall punctuated by the metal floor with a slow 'click', 'click', 'click'.

She had lost track of just how long it had been since her Master had cast her aside, deeming her latest failure to bring an end to the Warriors the straw that broke the camel's back. Frankly, she was surprised to still be alive; those who failed as the Generals for the Master were often killed, unless they had severely failed the Master.

Then their fate would be far worse than death.

Frankly, Batibat wasn't sure why the Master had decided to spare her. Could it have really been purely due to the intervention of-?

"Ah! Batibat! Just the she-Demon I was looking for! Er, well, the only she-Demon I was expecting."

Admiral Richter's two-toned voice caught Batibat off guard for the second time in as many minutes, but before she even had a chance to respond in a similar manner to the door, she felt a hand grab her wrist and pulled her into the room. Despite not looking like he wielded great strength, the she-Demon had grown to not underestimate the 'enhanced' Admiral, as he himself called it.

Normally any being that dare lay a finger on her wouldn't live for much long after. Well, almost any being.

Her Master was always the exception; she didn't dare think about, much less physically, raise her hand against him, even in defence.

Now? This Admiral was her new Master.

"I just thought you might want to be present for this. I think I might have cracked it!"

The borderline enthusiastic tone was in sharp contrast to the cybernetic voice coming from the half-robotic man calling himself Richter, but by this point, Batibat had almost grown used to the feeling of unpredictability that he was.

Almost.

She still couldn't quiet get a handle on what he was thinking at any given moment, like she had with Master Horror. It could readjust in time, perhaps, but for now…she just had to be weary.

Batibat was so consumed with her thoughts, she only realized which room she was standing in, and had been previously summoned to, when she spotted what was sat on a podium in the centre of the room.

"The Nightbringer."

"Yes, my dear,"Richter confirmed, as Sebastian, his robotic assistance, rolled smoothly behind the Admiral, connecting various devices together with wires of varying thickness; Batibat could have sworn one of them was as thick as her arm. Another looked as thin as her dagger tip.

"I've been running some tests and diagnostics on this staff of your Ma-err, former Master, in exchange for his hospitality."

"You mean when you manifested yourself in his Realm," Batibat replied dryly, the she-Demon sharing a brief look at the Admiral. She got a nonchalant shrug in response.

"You say one thing, I say another; the truth lies in the perspective of those who weren't paying attention,"Richter breezed pass the accusations, turning on the spot to retreat to a control panel facing the column. "Now, I'd advise you to step back from the immediate area surrounding the staff; less you fancy your chances at surviving a nanosecond cremation."

Batibat raised an eyebrow silently, mulling over Richter's words-was it some kind of thinly veiled threat? -but before she could ponder it much, noticed a thin black strip across the floor. It formed a large circle on the floor, centring around the podium where the Nightbringer rested. A circle that Richter stood on the outside of, and one where, currently, Batibat was within.

Quickly making herself scarce and standing to the side opposite the Admiral, Batibat slowly walked herself, asking, "What exactly are you trying to do with the Nightbringer? It's served its purpose, locating the Pillars of my…my former Master's empire. Now, it's merely a staff."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong, my dear Batibat,"Richter replied, flicking a few switches up across the control panel. His eyes went up-Batibat's following-to the great laser descending from the ceiling of the room, an extendable arm folding out to reveal the much finer point of the laser. Richter's movements on the control panel were minute, pausing only to make a small adjustment to the dials.

"For just as beauty is in the eye of the beholder, usefulness is deemed by the hand of the wielder."

His cybernetic hand flicked another switch, and the laser ignited into life, burning an extremely bright white as it began a pre-planned cycle around the broken staff head.

One of her hands raised to shield her eyes from the sheer brightness, Batibat turned her face away entirely to address Richter again.

"What is the purpose of…this?" she asked, blindly gesturing to the Nightbringer. "What exactly do you expect?"

Richter's eyes, both organic and cybernetic, were very intently focused on the staff head, yet when he spoke, he was very clearly addressing the she-Demon to his side.

"You know, how about I tell you a story my mentor told me during my earlier years?" he asked, seemingly unprompted and at random.

Batibat responded as such, cocking her eyebrow, and opening her mouth as the to verbally back up her face.

Richter, however, continued before she had a chance to.

"He taught me victory was not so simple as blasting one another into submission; how there are…other means to achieve our goals."

"Underhanded victories," Batibat replied darkly under her breath, a scorn spilling over her face. "I've had my fair share, as had my former other Hands."

"Mmmm, not so much underhanded," Richter disagreed, giving a slight head shake. "I don't like the sneaky approach favoured by those who stalk in the shadows…no offense, of course. I much prefer the unorthodox."

"You see, in the grand cosmos of our galaxy, War is rarely a distant thought; for power, for territory, through one form or another there is always someone striving for a greater hold of their corner of the galaxy. During one of these times, my mentor fought against this species called the Crael, merciless warriors who slaughtered any worlds that dare defy them. Only the Federation stood a chance against them, but even they were holding on by their fingertips."

"My mentor-Admiral Jaecob Dei-fought hard against these savage Crael, but even he couldn't prevent such losses. At least, during the early stages of their campaign. The Federation's weapons seemed all but useless against the Crael; even our most devastating weapons of war barely scratched them."

"You were part of this…Federation?" Batibat asked.

"Good question; with an answer for another time," Richter answered without missing a beat.

"It was only by chance did Jaecob discover the faintest flaw-the tiniest of cracks, or faults-in their seemingly impenetrable armour. The Crael communicated on low frequency wavelengths, you see; far below the Galactic average for sentient life. We foolishly believed this to mean they were but a lowly species, not worth monitoring. We were certainly proven wrong. But Jaecob's discovery was the turning point in the War."

"You see, due to the Crael species operating on a low frequency, anything above their communications threshold causes significant pain to their receptors. And the results, if pushed high enough…well, can be quiet… explosive."

Batibat quickly snapped back to Richter as he continued with his story, momentarily caught up with watching the laser complete its first circle, and looked away just as it was repositioned for a second circle.

"'Explosive'?" the She-Demon echoed.

"Yes, explosive," Richter confirmed.

Batibat could have sworn she saw a ghost of a smile flash across what remained of Richter's flesh face, but it vanished as soon as she thought it appeared.

"The Crael Incursion collapsed from the inside-out, and the universe was saved. Because my mentor found a way to beat them, without resorting to mutually assured destruction."

"Instead he just assured their destruction?" Batibat questioned, half-wondering if her eyebrow would lift off her head entirely if it was raised any further.

"But he did so in such a way that it could have passed as blowing themselves up. Discretion, through unorthodox means," Richter quickly corrected, but raised a hand just as fast to keep Batibat from replying.

The laser had completed its second round of the crystal, a faintly visible 'X' finally crossed. Though the orange glow of the laser started fading, Batibat looked closer. Her eyes widened a fraction.

Through the fine cuts, shards of light started breaking through.

Five, distinctively coloured types of light.

"Throwing everything you have at your enemy only ensured utter destruction on both sides," Richter continued, reaching for the console and, after letting his mechanical finger hover over a small blue button, gave it a firm press.

"But know your enemy, know exactly what you're up against…"

The laser slide into place once more, hanging over the crossover point of the two previous lines. The lasers' electronic whirling grew loud-far louder than previously-as the tip of the beam grew brighter. A bright white laser suddenly shot at the crossover, lasting only a second before both sound and light died down from the device.

The sharp crack that echoed throughout the room afterwards almost made Batibat flinch.

"And victory is that much easier."

Richter looked from Batibat's reaction-she quickly recovered, he noted-before his gaze swept to the crystal. Or at least, the crystal's fractured remains.

Through the orb's shards, lay the true prize.

Five lights, five colours.

Texas

Joel stared at the morpher-his morpher-in Carter's hand for what felt like the longest time. He didn't even realize he still had the offered cup of coffee outstretched, ready to hand it off to his friend and fellow former Ranger.

Though it seemed like 'former' should have been retracted from that.

He finally broke his look with the morpher to bring his gaze to meet Carter's-was it just him, or were those wrinkles starting to become more noticeable? Age seemed to be catching up with all of them-but his expression brought him right back to their golden years. Their service under Lightspeed.

"What the hell's going on Carter?" Joel finally asked, his tone still.

Carter removed the mug of coffee from Joel's grip, which had suddenly grown tight, and closed the gap to place his morpher right back into his now open palm. The firefighter then turned to place the coffee back on the countertop, glancing out between the windows' blinds. His eyes scanned the street within view before he quickly moved to wind the blind shut.

As Carter dealt with whatever he was doing, Joel found himself starring at the Lightspeed morpher. It was exactly the same as when he last saw it-when he last held it-all those years ago. Not a smidge of dirt or dust, no sign of any speck of rust on any of the moving parts. Cautiously, as if too much movement would trigger a reaction out of the device, Joel moved to handle it in both hands, rubbing a thumb over the top.

Despite the unexpected reunion, the smooth metal brought an odd sense of…comfort.

"Might want to put that on."

Joel quickly looked up when Carter spoke again, discovering that the Red Ranger already had his own morpher back on his wrist. Only now was he aware that Carter was walking back to his original spot, coming from the door-now notably locked. He gave a quick flick down to his opposite wrist, wearing a watch.

"Expecting company?" Joel questioned, already mid-way through strapping the Morpher back into place. Like it was second nature.

"Unfortunately," Carter responded gruffly, already moving through and eventually out of the kitchen and into the rest of Joel's house. Joel was quick to follow, after securing the morpher back on his wrist.

"You still haven't explained what exactly is going on," Joel argued as he walked after Carter, watching him peak out between the bars of his blinds before walking away again. Joel hesitated to follow immediately, he too peaking out between the blinds and letting his eyes sweep back and forth. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. "You're acting really weird Carter. This something to do with what's going on with the new Lightspeed base?"

"It's Angela. She's in trouble."

That got Joel's attention, tearing him away from the window. He quickly approached Carter, forcing the Red Ranger to turn around and face him, a firm grip on Carter's jacket collar

"She's in trouble?" he echoed before he quickly followed up with rapid fire questions.

"What the hell? Why didn't you start with that?! Where is she? We gotta go get h-"

Joel's grip tightened, shaking Carter a little before the Ranger put his hands over Joel's to still his shakedown.

"She's under surveillance. She couldn't contact you directly without something happening to you," Carter tried to explain gently, while simultaneously attempting to pry his collar free from the death-grip of a fraught husband. "Angela got through to me and told me to make sure you were safe."

Easing a little, Joel still had to jerk his hands away from Carter and walk away a short distance, less he have another go at his teammate. He ran his palms over his face, moving all the way to the back of his head as he released a built-up exhale. Turning back, he caught Carter mid-smoothing out his jacket.

"And I take it from this," he gestured to the morpher, "that this place isn't exactly Fort Knox?"

"It's not," Carter answered directly, giving a quick check to his watch as he jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen. With the less-than-subtle hint, Joel followed.

"Did a quick sweep around the area. Spotted at least three unmarked vans in the street over, and another two each end of this one," Carter detailed, standing on one side of the table as Joel entered the kitchen, and remained on the opposite side of. "No plates, no logos. Look pretty much abandoned but haven't been towed away."

"What's this got to do with Angela?" Joel asked, glaring at Carter now.

Carter glanced up to Joel.

"The people Angela's working for sent people to keep an eye on you. And according to Angela, they were sent here to keep her toeing the line. Because if she acted out, they'd come after you."

Joel's eyes widened slightly; his breath seemingly escape him as he leaned on the table for support. His fingers carefully drummed the surface, staring down at the varnished wood before asking, "What the hell kinda person is she working for?"

"The type of person we need to get her away from," Carter answered, "but we're going to need to get out of here first."

"I mean, if they were watching me, chances are you being here's got them really riled up," Joel replied, idly gesturing behind him; towards the front of the house, and the street that lay beyond.

Carter nodded, adding, "I have a feeling we'll be fighting our way out of here," just before an earth-shattering BANG seemed to rock the entire house.

Both Joel and Carter snapped to the source-the front door, which not sported a faint circle stamped into it from the outside. Joel turned back around, he and Carter's eyes meeting and exchanging a look.

"That doors not going to hold," Carter stated.

"No…it ain't," Joel agreed, before another BANG rocked the door, actually knocking off a small, framed picture on the wall beside it. This one prompted Joel to move around the table, as Carter quickly dug under the table and flipped it over. It fell onto its side with a shuddering, full thud.

The pair ducked behind it just in time, for the third BANG struck the door, and finally swung it lose, the door lock hanging loosely on the splintered frame. Immediately after, several tactical soldiers swarmed into house, red laser sights swaying across the room. Radio chatter was consumed by static as channels were switched, one pair quickly splitting off to climb to the second floor and another three separated to go off into the other side of the house.

Just as the lead was giving out final orders, a bright flash of light blazed from the kitchen, briefly bathing the living room in sterile white before fading just as suddenly. The remaining tactical team on the ground floor all turned to the kitchen, a collection of red lasers gathering on the upturned tabletop facing them.

"Hands in the air!" one soldier barked, presumably the leader, as he and two others broke off and advanced towards the kitchen, the others focusing their sights on either side of the table. Ready to pick off any attempts their targets made to escape.

"We know your there Grayson! You and Rawlings aren't making it out of here without cuffs!"

A few seconds of silence followed this declaration, waiting for a response, before the squad leader signalled for the others to move in. In staggered steps, the soldiers zeroed in on the kitchen, the first three cautiously crossing the threshold. Their footsteps resulting in faint taps as they transitioned from carpet to tiles.

That prompted a response.

Like a bullet being shot out of a gun, the table suddenly rammed forward. Only a pair of soldiers managed to get out of the way. The rest of the unfortunate soldiers were caught by the table's sudden launch, throwing most of them to the ground or pinned beneath the table when it finally fall onto its top; one unfortunate soldier was flung straight through the still open door and tumbled onto the front lawn.

The lead soldier, who just barely escaped getting trapped under the table, quickly scrambled to his feet, shaking the daze from his eyes. In the same motion, he looked towards the kitchen, and his aim faltered.

"Shit."

"Spectre-1, what's going on in there?" Agent S questioned, taking her finger off the button to the two-way radio, waiting for a response. Her foot tapped the base of the truck floor, as the two technicians worked away either side of her. On the screens in front of the three, several monitors displayed various images; some showed static, others displayed images that were barely recognisable and could've been passed off as damn near anything.

One even showed the bright blue sky overhead; quiet amazing, considering the cameras were all meant to be going inside.

The seconds seemed to drag by as S waited for a response, from the team leader, from any member of the squad at this point. The technician to her left worked on his keyboard, while the one to her right worked on trying to get the failed cameras working again.

"Spectre-1, report," S said, more forceful this time, taking her finger only a inch away from the button as she awaited a response.

Still static.

"Ma'am, we've got one of the cameras ba-shit!"

S snapped to look at the technician, moving to get a better view of the screen that was back in working order. Her grip on the back of the chair grew tight.

"Get the rest of the men there, NOW!" Agent S ordered, slamming her other hand into the back of the chair belonging to the other technician. This prompt made the technician to lunge for the nearby radio, relaying the order into the device.

"This is going to be a pain in the ass report…" S muttered under her breath, a dark glare in her eye as she stared at the screen.

Watching the pair of colourful spandex-wearing men fighting the soldiers, her scowl only grew when she saw they were winning.

Division 13

Kyle's body struck the ground with a heavy thud, his head getting thrown back with the force of the impact. The momentum carried him over, eventually come to rest on his side. His chained-up arm was drawn tight, keeping him from moving too far back into his cell.

"On your feet!"

Kyle eased himself onto his hands and knees, hacking up a mixture of spit and blood that pooled on the grainy floor of his prison cell. The guard's shout left a painful ringing in his hair, instinct compelling him to lift his hand to massage his temple.

That only earned him another sharp kick to the ribs, sending him to the ground again.

"Jesus…" Kyle coughed, swallowing a shallow lungful-or as best he could-of air before another attack came. Though with a subtle turn of his head, as the ringing died down a fraction, he caught the guard returning both his feet to the ground. As if anticipating Kyle to continue.

The Black Ranger slowly eased himself onto his knees, feeling the aftereffects of the kicks rock through his body. His free hand gingerly touched his ribs. The slight movement didn't do the rest of his injuries any good…

"D…Did your wife leave you or something, and you needed a new punching ba-"

His question was interrupted with a sucker punch throttling his back, throwing his entire body to the back of his cell. His head slammed against the enforced glass, another concussion already well on the way. Kyle barely got himself together with a coughed gasp when another punch came at him, causing blood to spew out of a newly broken nose.

Across three of the remaining four prison cells, the other captive Rangers were going through similar beatdowns. Natalie and Tyler found themselves in similar situations, pushed to the back of their cells through various punches thrown at them, knees driven into their guts sending them keeling them over and coughing up blood.

Tanya's cell was a bit more crowded; three soldiers had barged into her cell, and a fourth had to back them up after Tanya choked one of the guard's out with the very chain keeping her Morpher contained. A boot slamming into her face pushed her back, and two of the guards continued the battering as the third guard dragged their unconscious collage out of the cell.

And in the central prison cell, slamming his fist on both sides of the fogged-up glass walls-interchanging every dozen or so to the opposite side-and barking out shouts that were steadily growing belligerent as he got worked into a frenzy, Isaac's harm came from no guards. He strained against the chain, trying with all his might to physically tear the chain free of the ground; the few links nearest his contained Morpher were smeared in blood, as were fist-shaped splatters across both sides of the cell.

Standing opposite, at the centre of all this chaos, stood Agent E; an impassive expression washed over his face, simply staring at the frenzied Isaac. He had his arms held squarely at his sides; hands, sticking of his overcoat sleeves, hanging in loosely held fists.

"This is what happens when you test my patience," E announced, a bit louder than possibly necessary; perhaps to be heard over the shouting or, in the case of the specific cell in front of him, Isaac's shouts.

Whichever reason, Isaac's eyes suddenly shot to focus solely on E.

After all these months monitoring them, the wild, yellowish ring surrounding the iris had lost their spook factor they initially had.

The more fang-like teeth, that seemed to almost be on display whenever any of the prisoners get riled up-like now-was more off-putting.

Isaac lunged forward, free hand reaching forward-in a claw-like gesture, E noted-before he was jerked to a stop, mere inches short of reaching the reinforced door. Let alone reaching the Agent. Not that this stopped the imprisoned teen from trying; he yanked at the cuff, fresh cuts digging into the flesh of his wrist, crimson leaking down the chain and to the floor.

"Bastard!" Isaac spat, easing up on trying to get E, but only slightly. Instead settling on pacing the width of the cage, back and forth in quick succession. He finally started taking deep breaths, shoulders visibly rising and falling with his chest. His cloths, though torn in places, visibly looked loose. Very look. Teeth on full display, sharp exhales out of his nostril.

"That's getting a little old don't you think?" E questioned, slowly turning on the spot and moved to walk away. "Maybe try some new material."

"Now, as you don't seem to be willing to share anything except profanities, let's see if you're more willing to talk after a few hours."

Isaac glared fire at the Agent, his face torn into a snarl as he tried pulling on the chain again, to no avail. Even with all the slack gone and his feet squarely placed either side of the chain link attached to the ground, the chain groaned but refused to break.

He only stopped when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head back to the front of the cell. His glare grew darker when he noticed another three bodies had replaced where E once stood.

All in heavy body armour.

All armed with batons.

As the caged wolf steeled himself for what was to come, E continued walking away until he was almost within reach of the reinforced door leading into the secured facility. Just before he reached the door, he paused by the set of monitors and technicians stationed at the very edge. The 'safe' zone, if one could call any area these caged Rangers were within safe.

"Keep the records on them; they might decide to talk sooner or later," E instructed, earning him a nod from the nearest technician who quickly returned his focus to the monitor, tapping a few keys and moving between various feeds.

E resumed his pre-destined path, the doors opening up automatically on his approach. After he passed through, E came to a stop. The doors slowly closed up behind him, several heavy clicks working down the height of the foot-thick door.

With a final, synchronised clonk, E, satisfied with the room's security, walked down the corridor again. But he only made it through the first two sets of doors, each with a pair of armed Division 13 soldiers stationed at either side, before he encountered another familiar face.

"There you are," Clint exclaimed, stopping mid-stride, and turning, the two guards accompanying him following, as they were redirected to approach E. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

As he approached, E noticed the phone in Clint's hand.

"What is it?"

"You left one of your phones in the offices upstairs. It's been ringing like crazy, whole bunch of different numbers trying to get through to you," Clint explained, offering the phone to the Agent, who cautiously took. Though instead of unlocking and looking through the voicemails, E simply slipped the phone into his trouser pocket.

"I'll get back to them later," E dismissed, gesturing for the two guards with Clint to continue about their way. The two guards exchanged looks with one another, before Clint glanced over his shoulders, his hands coming up to rest on his hips.

"You two get going, gotta talk with E a little more," Clint instructed, finally prompting the guards to withdraw and return to their previous route, leaving through another set of doors. As the door swung close, Clint turned his attention back to E.

"E, this is getting serious now. A lot of those calls were coming from Senators. They seem to be getting pretty antsy…"

"Like I said, I'll deal with them later," E pressed, raising a hand, palm facing Clint, between the pair of them, as E moved to walk around Clint. "I've got a lot of other things to deal with first; I'll get around to getting back to the suits when I get a chance."

"E," Clint urged, turning on the spot to keep facing E. "You've been saying this for the past week, they aren't going to take this much longer. They're demanding answers an-"

"And they will get their answers in due course," E interrupted, turning on the spot, hand like a sword out to cut Clint off as he faced him again. "The prisoners are proving to be less compliant than we initially hoped, but the big wigs don't need to know that part. Nor will they need to know how long we've kept them here alive…as far as they know, we're examining the corpses."

"But we're not," Clint quickly said, but didn't like how dismissively E shrugged a shoulder.

"Not yet."

"But those Demons-"

"-who have been all but inactive for the entire nine months since the Rangers' 'demise'. As far as we need to share, the mere presence of these Rangers invited these Demons to fight them; their power invited challenge," E answered smoothly-far too easily for Clint's immediate liking-, continuing with, "I've got a team working on keeping track of any demon activity; anything raises too many eyebrows, they'll alert me, and then I'll concern myself with acting."

Clint simply stared as E explained his course of action, almost suspecting that this wasn't an off-the-wall response. The lack of a gap for him to interject and how he covered all his bases were too well timed. If Clint didn't know any better, he'd suspect E had gone through this exact exchange, or one similar, in his head more than a few times.

Just as E finished and was about to turn around again, Clint caught a flash of red and looked back again.

"E."

He tried not to notice how E's shoulders seemed to sag before he turned around yet again, and instead just vaguely pointed to E's face.

"Your nose…"

E's scowl faltered briefly, one hand coming up to brush against his upper lip. He pulled it back, noting the crimson smear spread across the digit, and his scowl returned with a vengeance.

"God dammit."

Clint watched as E pulled a handkerchief out of his back pocket-alarmingly, dotted with dried red patches already-and wiped up the latest trinkle of blood. He muttered about "Needing to see one of the doctors again…" as he turned away, briskly walking away before Clint or anyone else had a chance to stop him again.

This left Clint standing alone in the hallway-the pair of guards stationed at the nearest door hadn't once moved during he and E's previous conversation, so Clint didn't count them as truly present.

"What is going on with you E?"