Disclaimer: I do not own the Power Rangers; they belong to their respective copyright owners and are used here without permission. No money is being made from this fic.
Authors Note: This is an alternate universe from the television show with an alternate timeline.
Fall of an Order
The system had changed since the fatal day when the peace of the Triforian System and the once proud Royal Family had been destroyed. Although it was a matter of days, maybe a few weeks at most on Earth, time on Triforia passed at a faster pace; the uprising had occurred almost five months ago. The King was officially dead, the Queen and both her daughters placed under protective custody, which in reality was house arrest.
As far as the people of Triforia were aware, the uprising had been a coup attempt by Trey, the heir to the throne and current Gold Ranger; news broadcasts had told the tragic tale of how he had been corrupted by the Earthlings he had become involved with. He had hired an invasion force consisting of mercenaries paid to usurp the King and place a puppet government led by his mother on the throne.
How Trey had managed to subvert the Queen of Triforia and his sisters was unknown, but for the protection of the people the three women had been placed in the custody of the government.
Indeed, according to the news networks and official sources, the people had been lucky that the King’s adopted son had uncovered Trey’s plot and taken steps to intervene. In doing so he had saved the people of Triforia. Terr or King Terr as he preferred to be known, had chased the invaders from his world and seen to it that Trey had been taken into custody. Even though he had been begged to assume the role as king, he had refused until Trey had been made to see the error of his ways and signed over power. So far Trey had not been willing to cooperate.
Of course while Trey was being rehabilitated, the system had been placed on high alert. The old Triforian regime had been reborn to quell any attempts by Trey’s collaborators to threaten their society. Armed guardsmen, some of whom closely resembled the usurpers, patrolled the populated areas suppressing any intentions of treason. There had been many swift executions since Trey’s arrest, but still the planet was no closer to crowning its new ruler.
It surprised Trent as he tried to sleep, that after all the Gold Ranger had done for his people, they had willingly turned on him. Few had been willing to question Terr’s story and those who did were too scared to stand up against the real traitor. The Triforian Order, an illegal body of outcasts, who preferred the name: Triforian Guardians, had been handed the planet without a fight.
The Order was made up of murderers, rapists and soldiers guilty of crimes that would make Rita Repulsa sick. Terr was their leader, in some ways their most twisted member, and it was he who had murdered the King, before pinning the blame on the Gold Ranger.
Trey had been off-planet during the invasion and despite an attack that had forced Trent, Travis and Trey to split up. When Trent had arrived on Triforia, Terr had assumed he was Trey and having already provided false evidence, had ordered his imprisonment.
But Terr was not as clever as he believed and although he had made it his business to study the Earth, he had not studied Trey’s activities while he was on the planet. Had he done so he would have known that Trey had been permanently split into the three manifestations of his soul. Instead of just Trey of Triforia, there were now Trey, Trent and Travis. While Trey had retained the qualities, memories and the behaviour that his people admired, Trent and Travis had evolved into their own beings. Of course with Travis and Trey missing, Terr was none-the-wiser and Trent had no intention of correcting the misunderstanding.
There was a good reason why Trent had not been given a swift trial followed by immediate execution. Terr wanted the Golden Power Staff, the symbol of the Gold Ranger powers. More importantly, he needed the forgiveness only a member of the Royal Family could give in order for his own claim on the throne to be accepted within the Galactic Council. Only the current holder of the staff could pass it to a successor. Otherwise, the Golden Power Staff would be sent to the
Grid Masters of Eltare to select a new avatar; there was no way the Morphin Council would choose Terr.
Not that Trent could hand over the Golden Power Staff anyway. The staff belonged to the Gold Ranger and that was not Trent. When they had been separated, the entire Gold Ranger powers had transferred to Trey and while in times of need Trent could call on the powers, he did not wish to do so. That meant that no matter how much Terr threatened, persuaded or tortured his prisoner, Trent could never give in; of course it was fortunate Terr did not know the truth or Trent’s life would have already ended.
Over the weeks Terr’s most loyal servants had attempted to learn the secret of how to get the Golden Power Staff. Tristan, Trey’s cousin and Terr’s partner in crime had executed innocents in the hope that Trent’s compassion would force him to reveal the answers. But Trent knew the horrors Terr had planned and compared to that, a few lives was the lesser of two evils. Neon, one of Terr’s more violent cronies had used more direct means to extract the information. A large hammer Neon had repeatedly slammed into his knee had shattered Trent’s leg. Greta, a hideously deformed hag, had used truth potions that were guaranteed to work, but had asked the wrong questions. And Valon, a sick and twisted former servant of the old king, had inflicted countless injuries on his prisoner, including a hole that had been burnt through Trent’s hand.
The hope of release was gone and Trent wanted only death. In his powerless state he defied Terr by simply being unable to answer the fake king’s questions.
“People of Triforia.” Terr said, addressing the assembled people from the balcony and those watching from their homes. “I know that there are some of you are wondering why I have chosen to address you at this time. I do so bearing bad news for our people. When I was asked to become King of Triforia, I refused until such time that I had helped Trey to recognise his sins and correct some of the injustice he has caused.”
There were some murmurs from the crowd, but as Terr’s guards moved about, ready to pounce on any sign of insurrection they fell silent. Each guard held a heavy stun baton; a security precaution Terr had insisted on using whenever he addressed a crowd.
“I know many of you will be saddened to learn that the corruption of our beloved Trey is absolute. Not only did he orchestrate the deaths of his father and his own Ranger team; he has deliberately rendered Triforia’s greatest defence inoperable. How, you might ask. I regret to tell you that Trey has corrupted the power of the Golden Power Staff to such an extent that only he can command it. He has refused to surrender the powers to our planet’s defenders or even acknowledge his crimes. I am sorry that I have failed you.”
As Terr had hoped, the crowd was outraged at the suggestion that Trey would leave them so vulnerable. Many started to boo the former Lord of Triforia until Terr held up his hand and the people quietened.
“But never let it be said that I do not try to grant the wishes of the people.” Terr said with false modesty. “I have been unable to redeem Trey, but I will punish him for his actions. Trey will be executed as soon as it can be arranged. His rights and powers shall be stripped from him and as sanctioned by law, given to his cousin Tristan until such time that a new king can be appointed.”
“Hail King Terr!” a peasant the Order had paid off shouted.
It was enough as slowly the other peasants picked up the chant.
“I will humbly accept your wishes if that is what you desire,” Terr said. “When Trey has been punished, I will accept my role as your king.”
Inside the Triforian Royal Chamber, Terr’s allies Valon, Neon and Greta extended their greetings to Terr, congratulating him on a successful ‘transition’ of power.
“Well done your highness.” Greta said. “No one can dispute your claim now.”
“Thank you.” Terr said. “A great idea of yours if I must say so Tristan. While only the king can abdicate the throne, an uncrowned king can be stripped of his position if the people agree. My first act will be to remove such ridiculous laws.”
“Now Cousin,” Tristan said. “That law was never intended to be used in that way and you know it. We are lucky that those who knew the law were amongst those you had executed. Besides, there are more important issues to be addressed. We will need an army to fight off any advances by the Council or the Alliance.”
“It shall be done,” Valon said. “Of course if we had the Golden Power Staff we could just wipe out both sides.”
“And if you knew what I have discovered, you would not worry about the staff anymore. I have found a replacement weapon.”
They had made a mistake and for the first time in ages Trent felt as if he had a chance. During one of the many torture sessions he had been forced to endure at the hands of his guards, a metal cane had been used on his shattered leg. The pain had been terrible, but the result had been favourable. When they had left the cell they had forgotten to take the cane with them and although he was chained, he was able to reach the piece of metal.
It had been designed to inflict pain and as such, its thickness varied along the length. The tip was a very thin piece of wire intended to break the skin, while the rest grew thicker to deliver heavy blows. While the heavy end was a useful weapon, the tip was his ticket out of his shackles. He used the thin wire to pick the lock and after some very unsuccessful attempts, he managed to free his hands and then his ankles. He hobbled to the door, well aware of the nagging pain in his leg. He knew the odds of escaping were against him, but then he had no real intention of survival. His mission had changed when he had heard one of the guards mention Terr’s plans. Now instead of escape his mission was to disable whatever weapon Terr had discovered before he could use it.
Trey had the Golden Power Staff and Pyramidas, which as Trent knew, was the most powerful weapon the Triforians possessed. However there were other weapons that could prove equally potent if Terr were allowed to use them. For a moment he remembered the stories his father had told him of a great space cannon built during the old times, which had later been hidden deep within Triforia’s main sun. If that was the weapon that Terr had mentioned they were in serious trouble. Not only was the weapon capable of destroying anything in its path, the risk to Triforia itself was huge. Sadly Terr was in Trent’s opinion crazy enough to attempt firing such a monstrous weapon.
He waited until the guards checked his cell, at which point he hid behind the door. When they noticed the empty shackles, the two men moved inside the door to investigate. Trent struck quickly, using the cane to stun one guard and his momentum to knock the other one to the ground. He picked up one of their weapons and used it to prevent them from waking up anytime soon. Then he used their personal teleporter keys to vanish from the cells and into the sewer system under the city.
Not all resistance had been crushed in the Triforia System. There were pockets of fighters loyal to the Royal Family who knew that Terr had been lying to them. They moved secretly, unable to speak outside of their own group through fear that Terr’s spies would find them. They used their contacts on the other planets to monitor Terr’s activities, but only attacked when lives were threatened.
Tresan was the leader of his resistance cell based right in the center of the Triforia capital. He was a former palace guard who had fled rather than face the death sentence that many of his fellow guards had received. He was responsible for collecting supplies and raising an army to strike at the right time and hopefully eliminate Terr.
At the moment though he was more concerned with dealing with one of Terr’s hunting parties. His men had detected a teleport into the sewer system where they were hidden. It was obviously a party sent out to destroy them and had to be dealt with swiftly. Due to the urgency Tresan had led the attack himself, using only former guards as backup.
They had already rigged explosives in their area, using the methane produced in the sewer to make it seem like an accident. It only required one of the intruders to trip a piece of wire planted beneath the water line. So far though the charges had not been triggered, something that made Tresan suspicious. Next to him he felt Dappa tense.
“Hear something?” he asked.
Dappa had exceptional hearing that allowing him to detect anyone sneaking up on him. He nodded and then gestured to their left. Sure enough a lone figure could be seen limping through the water.
“He’s alone,” one of the other guards whispered.
Tresan nodded and gestured for his followers to seize the man. A prisoner could give them more information than a corpse.
As they attacked Tresan noted that something was wrong. The invader did not seem scared and even moved into a very crude fighting stance. Instead of drawing a weapon like most hunters, he used a punishment cane to trip his first two attackers and to disarm a third. Then he tried to shuffle away on one leg; the other dragged along behind him.
One of the guards caught the invader around the ankles and forced him face-down as another slammed the butt of his rifle into the man’s skull.
“Turn him over,” Tresan ordered, “We don’t want him to drown just yet.”
His men did as they were told, gasping as the face of their invader was revealed.
The prisoner’s escape had not gone unnoticed and a search was underway. The guard who had carried his teleporter into the cell conveniently forgot to mention it, choosing instead to blame the torturers and Trey’s knowledge of the secret passages throughout the palace; after all he had no intention of being killed for his stupidity.
Terr had ordered a search of the palace grounds, but had been keen to keep the activity quiet. The last thing he wanted was the people to discover Trey had escaped and start their own searches. If they found him, they would know the conditions he had been kept in and start to doubt Terr’s position. That could not be allowed until he became king.
An explosion rocked the city, sending man sewer covers into the air. Guards moved to investigate and returned with a charred arm and a piece of the clothing Trey had been wearing. Terr smiled, things were looking up.
News spread through Triforia and its sister planets over the next few days. The news of Trey’s escape had been altered to make it look like the last dash of a madman followed by a fatal explosion when he had encountered a pocket of sewer gas. Terr had announced that after he had been allowed a few days to mourn their beloved hero he would accept his role as king. At the same time he planned to unveil his new weapon. But Terr had in a moment of poor judgement made an error that would haunt him. He had pardoned Trent of all the crimes he was accused of.
Members of the resistance had at first believed the story, but when a message arrived at their outposts stating that Tresan was still going to remove Terr from power, they had pledged their allegiance to the resistance leader.
Trent had spent the days recovering from his ordeal and advising Tresan. His leg had been beyond repair by either magical or conventional means, but they had at least managed to numb the pain and fit it with a brace so Trent could walk. In turn he had told them the truth about Trey of Triforia and the Gold Ranger powers. They were of course saddened by the news that their beloved leader was not there to help them, but they agreed that Trent should continue to portray Trey until Terr was removed.
Phonon, one of the men who had dealt with the remains of the former Triforian Rangers had revealed a small secret he had been keeping. He had managed to find the remains of the Triforian Power Coin and had over the weeks managed to fit it back together. They gave the coin to Trent as a token of the respect he still deserved.
“Our first objective is to destroy Terr,” Trent said, “But we must ensure that no matter what happens, that the weapon he has found is destroyed. I suspect that he has uncovered one of the old planetary defence systems and until that weapon is taken from him, there is nothing to stop another Terr from rising to attempt the same goal.”
“That’s easier said than done,” Volga, one of the snipers pointed out.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got a good idea of how those stations work. A few charges in the right places and it’ll be disabled for the time being.”
“Who are you, I’ve never seen you before?” Von said.
Trent watched as a armoured warrior, walked calmly out of the shadows and turned to where all in the room could see him. There were several gasps as he calmly walked across the meeting room and shook hands with both Trent and Tresan.
They had good reason to act surprised. The warrior was a part of an organisation unlimited by race, planet, age or gender; that held no loyalties to any government other than its own elders, but whose loyalty and skills could be purchased for the right price. Like many other organisations they were subdivided into clans. Clan loyalties often dictated the type of job they would take. Some refused to work for the Alliance and others were considered too dirty to be dealt with by the Galactic Council. Even though they were divided by clan loyalties, some chose to specialise in their skills, forming smaller groups they referred to as guilds. Often if a clan could not be convinced to take a job, a guild could find somebody with the skills.
This man did not belong to a guild. He was trained to handle all tasks even if he was not a master at performing them. That left him the freedom to work with whomever he wanted, including the falsely accused Trey of Triforia.
For his part Trent had often heard his father speak of these mercenaries and knew that their word was their bond so long as the money was good. He also knew them to be the most unorthodox of warriors when the situation called for it.
“You think those charges will be enough to disable the weapon?” Trent asked.
“So long as nobody fixes them. The second set will blow up the pyramids, then all you have is a piece of space junk.”
“My lord, this man…” one of the men protested, not sure how to voice his concern without offending their ally and angering their lord. “They never do anything for free,” he finally managed.
“The fee I charged your father last time will suffice,” the warrior known as the Black Falcon stated calmly. “Not a credit less.”
“Agreed,” Trent smiled.
“My lord, I protest. Tresan, surely you cannot agree to this.”
“Lord Trent has spoken,” Tresan stated. “There will be no further debate.”
“I take it we have a deal then?” the mercenary asked. “I will be starting now.”
He vanished from the room as the resistance carried on with their plans.
The days of mourning passed quickly and if Terr had had his way, would soon be forgotten. Today he was ready to take the crown and with it the power to deal with anyone who opposed his rule. He watched as members of the Triforian Order moved amongst the timid crowd encouraging them to chant the name of their new king. The few who jeered him were instantly named as traitors and dragged away for punishment. Terr waved to the crowds before entering the tall cathedral where in accordance with tradition his coronation would take place.
There he sat and waited impatiently as the ceremony progressed. Leaders of the four sister planets made proclamations of loyalty to Triforia while Regional ministers swore their allegiance to Terr. The trumpeters insisted on playing the full version of their introduction as the minister droned on about the family line and decreed that Terr was worthy of becoming King of Triforia.
Then came the most important part of the ceremony where the symbols of office were handed to the new king. The Crown of Destiny, Rod of Honour and Orb of Wisdom were handed to him alongside a lecture about their significance to Triforian society. Terr of course knew the significance to Triforian society, but was more interested in the true powers of the items. As the Robe of Mercy was secured to his shoulder, he recalled the ancient legends. When the Robe was worn, it protected the wearer from the intense energy found within a Triforian space cannon; protection normally provided by the Gold Ranger powers. The Rod and Orb controlled the functions of the weapon while the Crown translated an image into a target. In short he now held the symbols of rank and the tools to ensure his continued dominance.
“If any person has reason to dispute the rightful claim of Lord Terr, speak,” the minister droned. “It is tradition my lord,” he added when he noticed the glare Terr was giving him.
“Well?” Terr demanded. “Does anyone here dispute my rightful claim?”
“I dispute your claim!” Trent called from the back of the cathedral where Terr’s men had been unable to reach. They at once made to seize the protestor, screaming accusations. Trent calmly fought them off until the minister intervened.
“Stop this at once!” he cried. “Never has this been allowed. If he has a valid protest, we must hear it so it may be either accepted or dismissed. These claims cannot be silenced only dismissed.”
“Very well,” Terr agreed. “Let the traitor speak so we can proceed.”
The people moved aside and allowed Trent to move towards the throne; a cloak hid his face. Behind him Trent could sense the Order members stalking him and knew that when the opportunity presented itself they would pounce.
Terr was starting to feel uneasy as he watched the robed man approach. He wondered what story this man had to tell that would be worth the risk of imprisonment. Even if he knew the truth Terr was certain the people could be convinced they were lies.
“You cannot succeed to the throne because Trey is not dead,” Trent stated simply.
“Trey was a traitor to the people of Triforia. A criminal cannot be king.”
“But a former criminal can,” Trent pointed out. “Trey was pardoned of the crimes he was falsely accused of. He is alive and therefore the rightful king.”
“Trey is dead,” Terr insisted.
“On the contrary,” Trent said as he pulled his cloak away. “I am quite well.”
“Arrest him!” Terr cried. “I said seize him!” Terr screamed. His wonderful plan was failing.
“They can’t,” Trent said as the Order members hesitated. “I was cleared of the charges you falsified and as such I am king.”
As Trent spoke Royal Guardsmen were rounding up the members of the Triforian Order. Terr decided that he was not going to allow the appearance of a dead king to ruin his dreams of power and after shoving Trent aside, he used the powers of the royal symbols and summoned the space cannon from deep inside Triforia’s sun.
“My Lord,” Neon whined when they appeared inside the cannon. “We should leave here at once. We could find allies . . .”
“Silence you fool,” Terr snapped. His mind was filled only with a desire to prove himself superior to Trey. In his mind Trey would surrender if he could prove himself superior and the people would follow him without question if they feared for their lives. “I am king, I do not need to flee.”
Terr’s hands moved over the controls, pushing buttons and pulling levers. There was a low hum as the cannon was charged with energy from the planets below. The four sister planets’ gravity twisted the solar panels to where they could capture the energy from the three suns. The focussing disks shifted into place as the mighty generators filled with energy. Terr pulled the controls to change the strength and direction of the beam.
“Now we will show them a weapon worthy of Triforia,” he boasted.
Terr pushed the fire button and the beam shot into space.
“He’s going to activate the weapon,” Tresan said grimly.
Trent turned his attention to the mercenary. “Did you set the charges?”
The seasoned warrior smiled and held out a remote control.
“You’re too late,” one of the Order members proclaimed as a beam of light shot overhead.
Trent pressed the button and hoped the weapon had not been pointing at anything.
The explosives the mercenary had planted detonated swiftly and the space weapon was plunged into darkness. While the barrels of the vast weapon were strong enough to withstand anything, the lenses were not and glass rained down on the Triforia Order.
In the rubble of the Palace halls Terr picked himself up. He looked around to find an escape route, but was met by a dismal sight. Neon, Valon and Greta were plastered across the console, their body parts short-circuiting the machinery. Tristan stood in shocked silence next to them pointing at the main monitor. The orbit had shifted and the station was plunging into Triforia. If they didn’t escape, they would die.
Coughing up dust, he tried to see where he was at the moment. With luck the teleport controls would be on an undamaged panel. He glanced at the screen and noted that time was running out. Looking up he saw an explosion rip one of the focussing panels from its housing, the exposed section flashed for a brief second and died out as the fires of destruction were extinguished by the cold death of space.
“They’ll pay for this!” he cried as he thought of those who had ruined his perfect plan. “They’ll all pay!”
He angrily slammed his fist into the controls and activated the teleport system. In a beam of light the two surviving members of the Triforia Order disappeared.
When he appeared on Triforia, Terr set off to find an enemy to kill. He didn’t care if it was Trey or just some poor peasant who happened to get in his way. He wanted blood. He drew his sword from the subspace pocket he owned. It was the same sword he had used to murder his parents and the Triforian Rangers, and was as sharp and deadly as ever.
“Trey, show yourself coward!” he yelled as he approached the palace.
“That wouldn’t be advisable,” Trent said as he emerged from the doorway clutching the cane he had used to escape. “Trey would probably kill you where you stand; Travis would too for that matter although he’d do it in such a way you’d be begging for Trey to do it. I would rather see you tried and convicted.”
“What are you talking about Trey?” Terr demanded.
“You still don’t understand, do you?” Trent asked. “Trey of Triforia is gone forever. Trey of Courage, Wisdom, and Heart have been separated permanently.” He dropped the poise he had been holding and watched with interest as Terr took in the small but noticeable change in Trent’s appearance. “They call me Trent.”
“Guards!” Terr cried. “Seize this impostor!”
“Your guards are not here Terr,” Trent said. “They’re under arrest and awaiting trial. And you can join them.”
“So you’re not Trey, you’re not the Lord of Triforia and you’re not the Gold Ranger,” Terr said reaching behind his back and releasing the small holdout blaster he kept there. “If I’d known, I would have killed you sooner.”
Terr was fast; Trent was faster. As his opponent pulled the blaster Trent swiped with the cane, he had been holding. The blaster went off, but the shot went wide. Trent struck out again and the tip of the cane sliced Terr’s face, causing him to scream.
“I told you it was over Terr,” Trent stated.
“Why don’t you kill me then?” Terr said. “Put me out of my misery?”
“Because I am not a killer Terr and I cannot make myself judge, jury and executioner.” Trent answered.
The two stared at each other for only a second when a stray grenade struck a nearby palace wall sending both men back across the hall hitting the nearby wall. Trent quickly recovered, but as soon as he looked across the ground he already saw Terr shaking off the explosion.
The distraction gave Terr enough time to draw his sword, and soon Terr and Trent began what would surely be a gruelling battle.
Tristan watched Terr battle with the man named Trent, waiting for the opportunity to kill Trey’s look-alike. His concentration was ahead and he didn’t notice someone approach until something cold touched his chin.
“Don’t try it sonny,” a raspy voice told him. “I push this button and you’d be dead before hit the ground.”
“I can give you anything you want,” Tristan said. “Just don’t kill me.”
“Stand up,” the man told him. “I’m going to take you back to the boss so he can make up his mind what to do with you.”
“You’re a Deshaadra!” Tristan realised.
“That’s right, so now you know this is a Laser Sword and not to do anything stupid, right?”
“I – I want to hire you to kill Trent,” Tristan tried.
“Sorry sonny, your cousin and my partner have a business arrangement you can’t hope to match.”
“I can give you the Triforian treasury.”
“Thing is sonny, that’s what Trent’s already paid us.”
A different object poked Tristan in the back. This was an ordinary blaster set on kill. At close range it would normally finish an opponent in less than a second. But if the shot were to hit the spine, death would take much longer and far more painful. Knowing he was beaten Tristan threw his hands in the air and started scheming ways to convince Trey, Trent or whatever his name was, to spare him.
As Terr fought, he allowed his hatred to fuel his actions. Using a ring he had constructed from the Triforian crown jewels, he summoned the power of the Morphin Grid. He didn’t care about becoming a Ranger, only about killing Trey and restoring order to the planet. His power was like a magnet that drew a vast chunk of metal from the space cannon and transformed into a suit of heavy armour. Energy struck the surrounding architecture causing stones and glass to fall into the street where they stood.
Trent backed away, unsure of how to fight such a power without the Gold Ranger abilities. His hand gripped the Power Coin of his old friends even more tightly as he silently prayed to any of the higher powers to help him. And help him they did although not in the way he expected.
Terr gave a cry of great triumph and charged forward only to be stopped by a wall of multicoloured light. He tried again only to be thrown back on his butt as faces started to appear.
“You killed us all,” they repeated over and over as the faces changed to show all of his victims. “You will pay!”
The light grew ever brighter and then stopped. Instead of advancing on Terr, it vanished into the coin held by Trent. He held it up, feeling the power trapped within. It felt so much like the Gold Power Staff it caused him to remember the feelings he had had as Gold Ranger.
A familiar sensation filled his body, power just waiting for release. He tried to let it out, but couldn’t. He knew he was forgetting something, something he needed to do to summon the Power. His mind raced as he thought of the possibilities. The coin wasn’t part of the Morphin Grid if it had ever been and therefore wasn’t magic. So he didn’t need to call it out loud. But then, he remembered that strictly speaking the powers were not part of the Zeo Crystal. Like the Golden Power Staff the Triforian Ranger powers drew magic and converted it into a form of energy similar to the Zeo Crystal. He would have to summon the Power verbally.
He closed his eyes and felt the energy take shape. Terr had stopped his advance and was staring at Trent angrily. Trent remembered all those who had suffered at Terr’s hands, his family, and the innocent victims on whatever world it was he destroyed. The coin changed shape until it resembled the Golden Power Staff, Terr cringed and Trent smiled.
“Triforian Ranger Power!”
Trent didn’t transform because he didn’t need to. Instead he simply attacked, allowing those who had fallen to guide his hand. The Power Staff connected with the sword resulting in a shower of sparks, but neither weapon was damaged. Terr appeared to have the advantage as he pushed Trent further back and drove him to his knees. But when Trent looked up there was no fear in his eyes, only triumph.
“Time for a Gold Rush!” he stated and the next moment Terr was blasted down the street and into one of the crumbling state buildings.
Concrete, brick and heavy wooden timbers collapsed onto the one time dictator of Triforia, but Terr was not quite ready to die. Using his rage he pushed the rubble back into the air. His rage grew, drawing the rest of his precious space station to him. Metal folded and reshaped itself to make arms and legs. Control linkages were wired deep into the machine as Terr was pulled inside to become its blackened heart.
Trent watched the events without concern, his destiny already known. He simply held his hand up as he had done many times before.
“Power of Triforia, make me grow!”
He resembled a Super Zeo Zord as he touched down opposite Terr. He wore black with a gold trim and his helmet had a ten-sided shape. In one hand he held a larger version of the Golden Power Staff and Trent decided the weapon had probably taken the form from his subconscious.
Even as the fight was beginning, Trent knew it could not last for long. The risk of injury to one of the planet’s inhabitants was too great, especially with the damage they had already caused. Instead he pushed his limits and called on his version of the Gold Rush.
The blast struck and to Trent’s surprise Terr’s machine remained upright. For a moment it seemed to smoke and then after only one shot, it fell to the ground and exploded. Trent followed him, shrinking back to the ground and there was a brief scuffle.
“It’s over Terr,” Trent finally stated as he held his opponent’s sword at the defeated warrior’s throat.
“Kill me then,” Terr spat defiantly, but Trent just dropped the sword and walked away.
“I won’t kill you Terr, you’re not worth it. I’m not even going to let them put you on trial. You’re beaten and you know it! Take what little honour you still have and leave, now!”
Terr considered his next move. The easiest thing in the world would have been to grab the sword and plunge it into Trent’s back. But as Trent walked away, Terr realised that to kill Trent would not give him the vengeance he sought. To do that he needed to destroy the things Trent and Trey valued most and sadly their lives were not it. As he teleported away though he promised himself that even if he never set a foot on Triforia again he would be avenged. And to start that process, he pressed a button on his remote control and nodded with grim satisfaction as the remains of the space cannon broke apart into chunks capable of destroying cities and rained down on the Triforian home world.
Trent saw what had happened and for a moment regretted his decision to let Terr go, but then he reminded himself that no matter what, Terr was not worth killing. If he was placed in custody he would never make it to trial, such was the level of corruption on Triforia. He dismissed the thought though as the super weapon crashed through the atmosphere and he was faced with the choice of his own life or those of his people. Naturally he chose his people.
“Golden Nova Blast!” he cried at the top of his lungs.
Trent for a moment became one with the power he was channelling as he was propelled towards the incoming missiles. As pure golden energy he struck the remains, all the power he had released in a single blow. His body reappeared on the ground seconds later as his uniform vanished and he struggled to breathe. He looked into the sky and spotted the remaining fragments. There were fewer pieces falling, but still too many to ensure the safety of his world. But a second object that was speeding towards the planet made him smile.
“Welcome home Trey,” he whispered as everything turned dark.
End of Part
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