Disclaimer: (Anal-retentive legal garbage) - I, A.J. Mashburn, realize I am using these characters without permission from their owner, Saban Entertainment. I am receiving no monetary compensation for this story, It's just for the hell of it. Saban and only Saban can use my ideas using their characters without direct approval from me. Saban's property ends at his copyrighted material, anything that is not copyrighted under his name is mine, specifically, the Eternal and Jha'tok, and the non-MMPR\PRZ human characters that don't appear on the show, and can only be used with my EXPRESS permission! This Disclaimer must be attached to this file in all forms, and any use of the authors intellectual property except by the affore mentioned corporation above will be met with serious litigation. If anyone wishes to use these ideas in a story or other work of media, then I want to be contacted so as to know of any use of my characters. Any comments or flames may be sent to Corlathsol@aol.com, each will be given equal attention. This story is purely fictional, fictitious, and any other synonym of MAKE-BELIEVE, any similarity to any persons, Living, dead, not yet conceived, or on a higher plane of existence, is purely Unintentional, accidental and any other big words us southerners aren't supposed to know!
Power Rangers are copyright Saban Entertainment, who is affiliated with Saban International, which I am not.
Autho's Note: Though Dulcea appears in this story, this is not a continuation of MMPR: The Movie.
In the great infinite of void of deepest space, where the most abundant feature is the all-consuming, dark emptiness and silence, where there are no stars, only the insignificant pinpricks of light, that litter the distant galaxies. No one would believe that this place once held a beautiful, lush, a world of numerous colors, with areas teeming with life as diverse as our own, creatures with hopes, dreams, and loves, everything we all want out of life. Now, not a single speck of dust floats in the empty darkness that is left of this world. Except, a single, solitary, object at the center, easily overlooked from a distance.
Upon closer inspection, the object is actually a man, or at least a humanoid in appearance, clad in a long, flowing, onyx-black cloak that nearly dwarfs the surrounding space in it's abysmal darkness, with a full hood covering most of his head, and two silver, angular horn-like projections, protruding from the grey cloth over his heavy forehead. Staring from the dull grey mask, a pupiless, magma red eye gazes into the ether . The cloak itself covered his entire body, hiding an otherwise heavy-set muscular frame from view. Each fold seemed to absorb the smallest ray of light that was unfortunate enough to slam into them. In one exposed hand was a weapon at least six feet long, an axe, apparently made of crystal that gleamed as the light form the distant stars and galaxies played off each faceted point on it's fine cut edges.
Almost immediately an enormous section of space began to distort above him, causing an erupting chaos to envelop the area around him, growing in intensity until the faint stars overhead could no longer be seen. The distortion began to peel away, like the tearing of a skin from an orange, a large triangular vessel appeared over him, hovering only inches away from the staff that called it, the dimming light illuminating the concrete-like, pock marked skin of the giant vessel. Once more an incredibly bright streak of blood red light streaks forth from the staff, and strikes the ship in a small dark alcove on it's hull, opening an entry hatch on the black obelisk. Once more his mind uttered words, he slowly began to fly toward the opening, as he was moved by an overwhelming force towards the entrance. He walked from the hatch, he was greeted by the familiar clay brown interior of the ship. The walls were as pock-marked, and strewn with conduits and wires, pulsing with light, like vein and arteries, delivering blood to vital parts of the body that was the ship. Basking for a moment in the perverse architecture, he remembered his task and walked through the hall, his footsteps echoing madly in a cavernous, inner hull, so large Yankee Stadium could fit in a small corner.
He was greeted by an odd crature, with the looks of a classic demon, red skin casting shadows like a moonless night. His human-like upperbody had a build that would intimidate even the world's greatest bodybuilder, but his lower half more resembled a goat, with legs that angled back instead of down , only with out the fur. Heavy, golden armor that played of the low lighting of the corridor, hung proudly, almost obsenely on his chest, and huge, dragon-like wings arose from his back. He spoke with with the dull rumble of thunder.
"Nothing yet, master, except that we will arrive in earth orbit within the week," replied the captain in a burly voice, sharp with the sting of fear.
"All is in readiness, my lord, Zordon of Eltar and his children won't know what hit them. We have begun work on the special weapons you commanded for the Necrolans."
"Aye, Milord, aye."
With that the Eternal left Jha'tok to complete the preparations, and
to cower in the fear that he had for his master. At this point, nothing
must get in the way of his revenge, and his other goal.
As the Eternal walked down the hall to his quarters, he once more marveled at how far Eltarian construction had come in the past ten millennia, ships the size of entire star clusters now pervaded this universe, though this ship was among the lesser cruisers of the fleet, it was still enough to pay back Zordon for the humiliation wrought on him those ten thousand years ago. As he continued down a larger corridor, as lost in thought as ever, he came upon a large door with a silver "S" upon it. Manipulating the complex, crimson rune encrusted control pad next to it, he input a series of commands into it, and watched as the door slid open.
Entering he came upon total and all encompassing darkness, so thick it put the darkest night to shame. Moving to what he knew was the center of the room, he reached out his hands into the unlight, and began chanting, the words at his lips not said for centuries, now came with full force from his mouth, and his extended hands began to glow pure white. With the end of the chanting two bands of colored light shot from his hands, striking two large crystalline objects at opposite sides of the room. At that, they began to glow, so bright, the sun seemed as dim as a mere flashlight to the brilliance. The maelstrom ended, all that was left of the flash was a large white orb, with two images that distorted as the pictures ran towards the center of the globe. Those images were of the same thing, separated by time and backgrounds, that image was the single most reviled image in his memories, the image of Zordon of Eltar.
Glaring at the globe in rage he feels the same darkness creep up within as it had before a million times hence, and soon his eyes began to glow in a dark sickening blood red hue, reflecting his anger. Sensing the change in his mood, the room began to change it's background color to match. Feeling his anger taking over, he quickly changed the view on the globe, slowly manipulating the image, it began to take on a new clarity as the scenes shifted, once more there were two images, a bright blue balmy day in a public park on earth, and the other, a room even darker than this one had previously been, illuminated only by small star-like pinpricks of light in the background, while the other had an Asian boy staring deeply into the eyes of a beautiful ebony skinned girl.
The moonrise over the mountains of Phaedos was always breathtaking in the summer months, the pale grey surface of the spotless satellite, against the pale blue of the sky, always made Dulcea's heart rise, though she'd seen it countless times before. The lithe woman walked proudly on the high plateau of The Monolith, carefully tracing the thousands of steps that she'd taken every day since taking on her responsibility. Her hazel eyes transfixed on the eerie red soil, her nose allowed the scents to overrun her, her hearing closed onto nothing but the birds in the Neaola jungle. This was something she'd done many times as well. Her dark, chesnut, skin reflected the light from the twin suns her home orbited, and her soft hands held her long, jade staff close to her body. She was clothed in a small, green halter that stopped just above the top of her stomach, a skirt that was only slightly darker than her top, and shin boots that showed their age as well as her face hid it.
She stopped walking for a time, and went to the side of the mountain and sat, her legs hanging from the side. Staring off into the fading redness of the sky, toward the location of a meaningless star, a thousand thoughts roll through her head at the speed of light. She'd been waiting here for hours, for a man she'd grown to love as close as a brother, and if there was one thing that Dulcea hated, it was waiting. Even though she'd learned, that patience isn't only a virtue, it was one of the requirements for existance in the Creator's universe. So, she continued waiting.
Almost in a response to her impatience, a flash of brilliant, blue light erupted next to her. Within moments, it took a vaguely human form as Ninjor, in full armor, appeared next to her. The black visor on his helmet, looked off into the same senless direction as Dulcea's eyes, as his blue armor disturbed the dust beside her.
"On time for once, eh, loud one?" she said, barely hiding a smile.
"That was a low blow. I haven't been late for over a millenia." he retorted.
"You forget, i've not seen you since you created the Temple of Power, which was...what, 1500 years ago?"
"More than that. You'd think I'd only established it the other day."
"I'm sorry," she frowned apologetically, "Its been some time since i've had company."
"I know. Don't worry." His voice's deameanor quickly changed. "Has it happened yet?"
"Yes, this morning. I was almost knocked over when their last thoughts hit me. So many in their death throes." Her eyes closed as tears formed about them, "I'm suprised I didn't die with them." Ninjor wrapped his arms around her, as she began to cry. He felt her tears hit his armor, each felt like a dagger to his heart. "Did so many have to die for a prophesy?" she asked, eyes wide, tears flowing down her face, staring up into his emotionless helmet, "Do the words of an old man justify ninty million lives, my brother?"
"I wish I could say," he said, doing his best to comfort her soft form on his armored body, "but, according to the Order, it will be worth it in the end."
"I hope you are right, I can't go through that again, I don't think Zordon
could either." "You are right, even through his stern demeanor, I know his heart broke as many times as people died today, sister. He is our leader, and now we heed his call."
"Oh, yes!" she said, mocking enthusiasm, "Off we go once more, to dictate terms to the universe!"
Ninjor, to use a understatement, was shocked. Dulcea had always been the first to advocate the Order of Meledan. "When did you become like this? You know the mission takes precidence at this time!"
"Ninty million people just died! As well as countless billions more before we are finished! Unlike some I can't write things off that easily. I refuse to!" she said, fierce anger burning in her eyes.
Ninjor, for the first time in millenia, allowed his anger to become apparent. "What?! Do you think I can abide standing by by while entire planets die, all because some Eltarian with delusions of godhood destroys innocent lives on a whim? Vorshal was once the home to a great race of artists! The only thing anyone could fault them for is trying to put the universe on a canvas! But you know haow much is at stake here, how much will be gained if we do this right!"
"Oh, but I do! And, before this, it was all I needed to keep me going. But now, an entire world has just died. Am I expected to lay this aside like an old washcloth?"
"No, but if we wish to keep more from dying, we have to resolve ourselves to not interfere."
"You are of course right, my brother."
"I wish I wasn't," his tone was now nurturing, "Now, we must go, the time is upon us."
"Yes. But go on ahead. I'll be along directly," she said, as Ninjor vanished in a burst of blue flame.
A final tear fell from Dulcea's eye, leaving its salty trail along her cheek, into her small hand. Closing it, a faint white light shone from her closed fist, bathing her in a soft, reassuring glow. Nealing, she dropped a small, transparent tear shaped stone onto the ground, Closing her eyes once more, she whispered, "For Vorshal."
Her form began to dissolve slowly, as it was circled by small specs of light, until all that remained was a bird-like shape composed of pure light, that flew off into the unforgiving night.
To Be Continued
Author's Note: Like the story? Hate? Tell me. It helps me refine my writing, and gives me a reason to keep going. Comments and Flames are welcome. Flamers, just make sure you know what you're talking about.