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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. Some lines taken from Transformers the movie.
Authors Note: This is an alternate universe from the television show with an alternate timeline.

The Black Dragon

The searing pain in his chest was relentless, a cruel reminder that he should not be standing, breathing, or even conscious. The sheer overload of Grid Energy that had surged through his body should have torn him apart from the inside. But the energy hadn't just attacked his physical form; it clawed at his mind, twisting his thoughts into chaotic spirals. Memories flickered like shattered glass, fragmented and painful, each jagged shard reminding him of who he had been and what he had lost. There was an ever-present hum at the back of his consciousness—a lingering residue of the Grid’s power—that made it difficult to focus, as though a thousand voices whispered at the edge of his awareness. It drove him to the brink of madness, yet his fury anchored him. Pain was fleeting; his desire for revenge was eternal. His morpher—a symbol of his power and a lifeline to his identity—was little more than a scorched metal box clinging to his belt, useless now, just like his shattered dreams of revenge.

And yet, he lived.

He stumbled forward, his boots scuffing against uneven ground that felt both solid and liquid, an unsettling sensation beneath his feet. The inconsistency jarred his balance, each step forcing him to adjust his footing as if the ground might shift entirely beneath him. The effect was disorienting, gnawing at his focus and leaving his mind teetering on the edge of frustration. It was as though the very environment conspired to keep him unsteady, testing his resolve even in the simplest of movements. The sky above him was a swirling void of colours he could barely comprehend—reds and purples twisted together, punctuated by flashes of jagged white lightning that split the darkness like veins of fractured glass.

Where am I?

The question echoed in his mind, but no answer came. His last memory was of that cursed battle—facing Tommy Oliver and Billy Cranston. He had been so close to victory. They had underestimated him, treating him as a relic of a past they'd long since outgrown. But he had proved them wrong. Even as the backlash from the Grid Energy had overwhelmed him, he had refused to give them the satisfaction of knowing they had killed him.

He had lost control for a brief moment—a split second when the energy coursing through him had twisted and warped, breaking the tether that kept him anchored to their world. As the rift opened, Oliver and Cranston had made their escape, vanishing through the portal. He had tried to follow, his mind screaming with defiance, but the doorway closed just as he reached it. Instead of returning to the physical world, he had been flung through the dimensional fabric, hurled into the unknown.

And now he was here.

The air tasted wrong—metallic, bitter, tinged with something ancient and malevolent. He could feel the Grid Energy pulsing through him still, unstable and raw, threatening to rip him apart from within. But his willpower, forged through years of struggle and hatred, kept him standing.

In the distance, towering structures loomed, their shapes twisted and jagged, like monstrous shards of black crystal stabbing upward into the chaotic sky. The landscape seemed to shift with each step he took, as if the very ground was alive, reacting to his presence.

The Dark Dimension.

He had heard whispers of this place—fragments of stories told in hushed tones by those who dabbled in forbidden knowledge. Rita Repulsa had spoken of it during her lectures on the nature of magic, warning of a realm within the Morphin Grid where dark souls incapable of death were cast away, trapped for eternity in a prison of their own making.

He had never believed he would see it with his own eyes.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, the sound echoing in the empty expanse around him. Fate, it seemed, had a cruel sense of irony.

"So, this is what it's come to," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "A fate worse than death."

But he was no ordinary man. He had survived the impossible before. He had clawed his way back from the brink time and time again. This would be no different. He would find a way out of this cursed place. He would harness the power of the Dark Dimension, twist it to his will, and emerge stronger than ever.

Tommy Oliver and Billy Cranston had made a grave mistake. They had believed that the raw power of the Morphin Grid, amplified by their righteous cause, would be enough to defeat him for good. They had underestimated the depth of his cunning and the sheer force of his will. Their mistake was thinking that destroying his morpher and severing his connection to the Grid would strip him of his position. But Drakkon's hold over his Earth had been achieved through more than his personal power; he had convinced the planet's military that his vision for the planet was better than the chaotic mess that passed for freedom. As for the Grid, it's power was a tool, not the source of his strength, and now, they would learn just how resilient he truly was.

They thought they had rid themselves of him.

But he was still alive.

And he was coming for them.

Time passed, though how much he could not say. The chaotic sky remained ever-shifting, and the landscape continued its eerie dance, as if mocking him. In the beginning, he thought he was alone in this forsaken realm. But he quickly learned otherwise.

He was not the only one trapped in the Dark Dimension.

Others moved through the twisted landscape—some humanoid, others monstrous in form. One creature lumbered past, its body a grotesque fusion of metal and flesh, each movement accompanied by the grinding of gears embedded in its spine. Its eyes glowed with a sickly green hue, scanning the environment with predatory intent. Another figure darted through the shadows, its form shifting between solid and mist, its elongated limbs tipped with claws that scraped against the rocky ground. The very air around it shimmered with latent energy, giving the impression that reality bent to accommodate its presence. Their eyes glowed with a faint, malevolent light, and their bodies seemed to pulse with energy that resonated with the Grid itself. These beings were remnants, echoes of those who had been cast into the void and left to endure an eternity of torment.

Unlike him, many of these creatures had long since shed their humanity. They were stronger, faster, and crueler. And in this unforgiving place, strength dictated survival.

His body, though enhanced by Grid Energy, remained fundamentally human. He still needed rest. He still felt hunger and thirst, though such needs were dulled by the oppressive atmosphere of the Dark Dimension. But his weaknesses made him vulnerable, a fact that others quickly exploited.

Confrontations were inevitable. At first, he fought back, driven by pride and defiance. But each time, he found himself overpowered, beaten down by beings who lacked his mortal frailties. The pain they inflicted was excruciating, a constant reminder of his limitations. And though he could not die in this realm, he could suffer—and suffer he did.

The creatures of the Dark Dimension showed no mercy. They revelled in his torment, taking pleasure in his pain. For someone who had once commanded respect and instilled fear in others, it was a humbling experience. He had fallen to the bottom of the pecking order, a position he despised with every fibre of his being.

For months he endured the torment. Frequently losing, constantly hurting. His will refused to waver despite the punishment. He sensed that the other occupants paid him more attention than he deserved, their constant encounters aimed at breaking his resolve. Yet he refused. He would not be cowed by those that were beneath him. All his life he had found a way, turning servitude into equality and then true power. They would not break him, and he would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him fall.

But there was something else—a presence lurking at the edges of his awareness.

Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he could sense another mind watching him. It wasn’t an oppressive presence, nor did it feel overtly hostile, but it held an unsettling weight—like the gaze of a predator observing its prey. There was a flicker of curiosity within it, but also something colder, more calculating. It wasn’t fear that gripped Drakkon, but a simmering anger. The notion that someone, something, dared to watch him with amusement ignited his fury. Whoever it was, they would learn soon enough that he was not a man to be toyed with. It was not like the others, who sought only to hurt and humiliate him. This presence felt different. It observed with interest, amusement, and anticipation.

And it was waiting.

Something struck his chest, causing him to hiss from the discomfort. And then there was a sharp pull as he felt himself being dragged through the darkness. It was a long journey, and as he was carried along, he was aware of just how many planets and civilizations had fallen to the power of the Dark Dimension; corrupted, lifeless, and hopeless, the planets and what remained of their populations were now slaves to whatever forces tormented them.

Eventually, the sensation ended as he crashed onto the surface of what he believed to be a planet. He could feel the change in his environment, the sudden return of gravity, albeit lower than that found on Earth. The cold air around him made it difficult to move, and he had to shield his eyes from the intense light from the flames erupting in the distance until he grew used to the illumination. He knew that he was still within the confines of the Dark Dimension—he could still make out some of the broken worlds he had witnessed on his journey—but this place felt different. Unlike the other worlds that felt broken, this planet seemed intact and filled with power.

He heard something, a word whispered from afar. "Drakkon..." the name drifted around him, blown on the freezing air. The blast of ice tore at his broken body, sending a shiver through his bones as he realized that the flames he had witnessed earlier had done nothing to warm the planet. And then there was nothing, and he questioned if it had been a figment of his imagination.

"Drakkon..." The second time it was louder, and he felt the oppressive cold pushing down upon him. There was a shimmering pulse of light, and he felt himself pushed by the sudden wind. In his weakened state, he was hurled across the frozen ground. He felt that he slid for miles before coming to a halt just before the edge of the ice. A nervous glance told him that sliding off was not a good idea; only darkness lay beyond.

He started to crawl back away from the edge, dragging himself hand over hand until he was a good distance away. Only then did he notice that he was almost back where he had started.

"What is this?" he demanded. Whoever was doing this had control over the environment and was able to change the shape and size of the ice field at will. "Answer me!"

In response, a blast of icy air knocked him off his feet as he was pummelled from all sides. Something slammed down upon him, pinning his back down. Although it felt like a giant foot, he could see only sparkles of light.

"Welcome Drakkon!" a voice rumbled as the pressure was released.

"Where are you?" Drakkon asked.

Drakkon was thrown around again. This time he felt it through his magical senses. For a fleeting moment, he was awed by the overwhelming presence pressing down on him, a force that dwarfed anything he had encountered before. There was a terrible beauty to it—immense, primal, and ancient. Curiosity sparked in his mind as he tried to grasp the full scope of its power.

But then, beneath the awe and curiosity, he felt a pang of something more unsettling: pain. The oppressive weight of the aura stirred memories of past failures and defeats. Drakkon’s fists clenched. He refused to allow himself to succumb to fear. He had overcome too much, endured too many torments, to falter now. He crushed the feeling beneath his anger, letting it fuel his resolve. Whoever this being was, Drakkon would prove he was not one to be crushed by mere presence.

It wasn't the wind that buffeted from all sides, but the solid and overwhelming force of a powerful aura. His instincts told him to run, to hide from the incredible force that could easily destroy him. He had nowhere to go, though, and after looking around desperately, he still could not find the source of the voice.

Then he happened to look up, his eyes adjusting as dazzling light faded, and he realized he was looking at a massive cliff. And upon that cliff, bound to a throne of blackened ice, sat a massive figure.

The throne itself loomed over him, ancient and foreboding. It was carved from a dark material that shimmered faintly with an unnatural glow, etched with depictions of twisted creatures and grotesque faces he did not recognize. The carvings seemed to shift in the flickering light, as if alive, watching him with hollow eyes. It bore the weight of countless ages, a monument to suffering and power.

The presence of the throne only amplified the dominance of the figure who sat upon it, making Drakkon feel as though he stood at the feet of something eternal and unstoppable.

The figure was dark-skinned and muscular, with a mostly humanoid torso, clawed appendages, and a monstrous head. From his viewpoint, he could just about make out the angry red eyes burning within the darkness and the rows of white teeth that stood out from the rest of the dark shape.

Drakkon had no doubts that he was in the presence of an awesomely powerful being.

"Who are you?"

The response was laughter. Drakkon endeavoured to stand firm and show that he was unafraid. But he could not hide the shiver that ran through him.

"So many questions when the one you should be worried about is how can you be of service?" came an amused answer. It sounded closer than previous times and easier to locate.

Drakkon spun around, seeking the source of the voice. What he saw was a hooded figure dressed in robes of black and silver. Pale, weak, and unthreatening, in his hands though he held a glowing ball of ice. Drakkon knew at once that despite his appearance, this being was more than he appeared. He could feel the power burning inside the small body, the same power he sensed from the monster looming upon the throne. Clearly, the two were connected. The stranger's eyes were the same red as the creature upon the throne's eyes. And in the light of the ice, which was now a column of blue flames, the stranger's face appeared to share the creature's impossibly large number of teeth.

Drakkon pulled himself back to his feet, finally able to withstand the swirling energy around him. The hooded figure seemed completely unaffected by it.

"What are you?" Drakkon demanded.

The figure chuckled. Its laughter echoed by the beast high upon the throne.

"I have many names, Drakkon, granted to me by enemies and followers alike. My true name is no longer spoken beyond this realm, even by my closest kin; names bring power and I will not allow another to hold such power over me again. I am the darkness formed from the remains of the embodiment of evil that emerged while the universe was still forming, the remnant of all the darkness that survived the end of what came before. I am the darkness that infested the Dark One. Others have proclaimed themselves as his most loyal subjects, but I have always been more, both his father and his child. When he was defeated and imprisoned within the depths of the Morphin Grid, I was the one empowered to succeed him. I was one of those who refused to flee the wrath of The Creator, the chosen form of the ruler of this new existence. My father's closest servants were cast out of his sight and bound by seals to prevent them from returning. Their loyalty meant nothing if they could not free their master. But, I was not a mere servant and The One recognised and feared my power. We fought, briefly, and shredded my essence. He banished me to the Dark Dimension, determined that I would remain forever gone from his sight."

"So you are just another would-be villain claiming that he used to be someone of importance," Drakkon concluded dismissively. "Argh!"

"Have a care when you speak to me, Drakkon," he warned. "I control your continued existence in this place. Disrespect me and you will be obliterated. Now where was I? Oh yes... The One believed I was gone, banished forever from his work in progress; that once I was reduced to mere particles and scattered across the darkness outside of the universe I would no longer pose a threat to his dominion. His wrath ground my atoms into the smallest particles, just as easily as others who would try to replace me were turned to good or transmuted into piles of dust. The One decided that I was gone forever; many of those unworthy ones who attempted to take my place believed the same thing. Know this, Drakkon: regardless of my condition..."

A cruel grin crossed the other being's face.

"... I endured. I came before The One and although he is the ultimate power in this existence, as a being not of his making I retained some immunity to his power. But, I was weak, scattered across the darkness without hope of returning to the material plane, but then there came the lesser beings. They were the ones chosen by The Creator's loyal underlings to inherit the plane of matter. They were beings who were not content to accept their new home as it was presented to them. Instead of adapting to their environment, they sought to change the universe to meet their desires. They aimed to claim control of forces beyond their limited understanding; things they were not designed to comprehend. They used the gifts given to them by their predecessors to give those forces physical manifestations, just so they could try to contain them and force them to their will. And when they did seemingly succeed, in their moment of triumph, believing that they had somehow reduced the fundamental elements of existence to a level they could understand... they caused the barriers between existence and the empty space beyond to fracture. They gave the embodiments of those forces free reign where once they had been restrained by the word of The Creator. They created a doorway between the Material Realm and the Dark Dimension."

It had only been a small breach, a minute tear in comparison to the vastness of the universe, but it had been enough for those dark forces trapped beyond to find their way back into existence. He had returned that day and immediately retreated to regain his power. Others had remained and attacked their new home. They proved a useful distraction as the suddenly humbled races that had unwittingly freed them tried to overcome the dangerous invasion they had set in progress.

"When I returned to the reality beyond this dimension, I found that it had had changed. A mere universe was now a multiverse and where there had been one reality, there were now many. I was still little more than dust, scattered through existence. It took far too long to find a vessel capable of sustaining my power long enough for me to transform it into a suitable... the body you see upon the throne. In my haste to test my new body, I attempted to break the power of the Morphin Grid. I did not realise that The One had taken steps to prevent that from happening. My mistake left me exposed to the power of pure Grid Energy, something I could no longer tolerate."

He continued, his voice heavy with bitterness and contempt.

"I had not expected to encounter beings capable of wielding Grid Energy in such a way. Their purity, their light... it neutralised my dark energies. When wielded by those with conviction, the power of the Grid became a force I could not overcome. I was cast down once more, my new body destroyed, and I was forced to retreat back here, to the Dark Dimension. But the door they created... it remained."

Drakkon narrowed his eyes, intrigued despite himself. "A door? Between the Material Realm and the Dark Dimension?"

The figure upon the throne grinned, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. "Indeed. The arrogance of those lesser beings opened a gateway they did not comprehend. They believed they could seal it, control it. But they were wrong. The breach was never fully closed. Even now, it exists, hidden from their sight, waiting for one with the knowledge to exploit it."

Drakkon took a step closer, drawn in by the promise of power. "And you know how to use it?"

"I do. But know this, Drakkon: nothing in this realm comes without a price. You seek to return to your world, to reclaim your throne, and exact your revenge. I can give you the means to achieve that. But the cost..." The figure leaned forward, chains rattling ominously. "The cost will be your obedience and servitude."

Drakkon smirked, unfazed. "It wouldn't be the first time."

The hooded figure chuckled, a sound that echoed across the icy expanse. "Good. Then perhaps you will succeed where others have failed. Perhaps you will be the one to breach the veil and bring the Dark Dimension crashing into the Material Realm. Together, we can reshape reality in our image."

Drakkon hesitated for a moment, considering the offer. But his mind was already made up. "Show me the way."

The figure nodded, a satisfied gleam in its crimson eyes. "Very well. The path is dangerous, and the forces you will face are beyond anything you have encountered before. But I sense that you are not like the others. You are driven. You are relentless. You will endure."

With a gesture, the hooded figure conjured a swirling portal of dark energy. "Step through, and your journey begins. But remember, Drakkon: there is no turning back. Once you commit to this path, you are bound to it."

Drakkon took a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the portal. His mind flickered through memories of his past victories, a mental litany of his accomplishments. He had taken down the Power Rangers of his world, crushed their spirits, and destroyed Zordon, the symbol of their hope. He remembered the moment he tore the White Tiger powers from Jason, their final desperate chance, leaving them powerless against his might. He had built an empire, an army that secured peace on his world through domination and fear. He had faced challengers—true enemies and would-be rivals alike—and had seen them all broken beneath his rule. Each triumph fuelled his resolve as he stepped forward, knowing that he was destined to reclaim his throne and rise even higher. The promise of power, of vengeance, burned within him. He stepped forward without hesitation, the dark energy enveloping him as he crossed the threshold.

And with that, the Dark Dimension welcomed its newest conqueror.

Drakkon paused before entering the portal, glancing back at the hooded figure. "Before I go, tell me who you really are."

The figure tilted its head, the shadows obscuring its face shifting slightly as the red glow of its eyes intensified. "Ah, you wish to know the name of the one offering you this gift? Very well. Among the Dark One's loyalists, I was called Infernus. I was his herald, the harbinger of destruction who paved the way for his dominion."

Drakkon narrowed his eyes. "Infernus? I've heard whispers of that name. But you are more than a mere herald, aren't you?"

The figure let out a low, guttural laugh that echoed through the frozen landscape. "Indeed. Titles are fleeting, Drakkon. Names evolve. In time, I became something far greater. Among those who feared me, I was known as Dark Specter."

Drakkon's expression darkened with recognition. The stories he had heard during his reign, the tales of a cosmic entity who brought ruin to entire civilisations—Dark Specter was a name that invoked dread across countless worlds.

"Dark Specter... you were the one who sought to unify the forces of darkness," Drakkon said slowly, realisation dawning on him. "You were more than a servant of the Dark One. You sought to claim his throne for yourself."

Dark Specter nodded, his movements slow and deliberate, a testament to his weakened state. "You understand now. I am not a mere shadow of the Dark One. I am his successor, the embodiment of all that he left behind. The Dark Dimension is my domain, and it has shaped me into something far greater than I was before."

Drakkon stepped closer, his curiosity piqued. "And now you offer me power? Why? What do you stand to gain?"

Dark Specter grinned once more, his teeth gleaming like shards of ice. "Because I see potential in you, Drakkon. You are like me—a being who refuses to bow, who seeks to carve his own path. Together, we can achieve what neither of us could alone. But make no mistake: this is no partnership of equals. You will serve my will, or you will be destroyed."

Drakkon met Dark Specter's gaze, unflinching. "We'll see who serves whom."

Dark Specter's laughter reverberated through the air as Drakkon finally stepped into the swirling portal. The deal was made, and the path to vengeance had begun.

Before the portal fully enveloped Drakkon, Dark Specter raised his clawed hand, conjuring a glimmer of energy that coalesced into a broken object—Drakkon's shattered morpher. The sight of it caused Drakkon to stop, his eyes narrowing as memories of his downfall resurfaced.

"This," Dark Specter said, his voice laced with regret, "is a symbol of both your triumphs and your failures. Your enemies destroyed it, severing your connection to the Grid. And here, in the Dark Dimension, it remains useless to me. It does not grant me the power to attack the Morphin Grid directly. But..."

He closed his hand around the fragments, and a surge of dark energy rippled through the air. The broken morpher reformed, its jagged edges smoothing into a sleek, obsidian device pulsing with malevolent energy. "I have restored it. Yet it will not be as it was before. The connections you forged—to the Green Dragon and the White Tiger powers—are no longer suitable for what you are becoming."

Drakkon watched intently as the reformed morpher hovered before him, glowing with a dark aura. "What are you offering me?"

Dark Specter's crimson eyes gleamed. "No longer will you draw power from fragmented sources. Instead, you will wield the full potency of the Dark Side of the Morphin Grid. The creature that once symbolised your duality—the Black Dragon—will now be your singular source of strength."

As he spoke, the image of a massive, serpentine dragon coiled around the throne, its scales dark as night, its eyes glowing with the same fiery red as Dark Specter's own. The beast's presence exuded a primal, overwhelming power.

"From this moment on, you are no longer bound by the limitations of your former powers. The Black Dragon will be your conduit, your weapon, and your armour. Through it, you will command forces beyond the comprehension of your enemies."

Drakkon reached out, grasping the new morpher. As his fingers closed around it, he felt the surge of dark energy course through him, reshaping and refining his essence. The pain of his previous defeats faded, replaced by a burning hunger for domination.

Dark Specter watched with satisfaction. "Now, go forth, Drakkon. Return to your world, reclaim your throne, and show them all the true power of the Dark Dimension."

Drakkon smirked, the morpher gleaming ominously in his hand. "They won't know what hit them."

Dark Specter chuckled, the sound reverberating with dark amusement. "There are many tasks you will undertake in my service, Drakkon. But first, you must reclaim what is rightfully yours. Return to your Earth. Crush whatever resistance has dared to grow in your absence. Re-establish your dominion and remind them who their true ruler is."

Drakkon nodded slowly, a dark grin spreading across his face. "And then?"

"And then you will be given the opportunity to find Cranston and Oliver, and even the score."


Even as he was teleported out of Dark Specter's presence, back to the place where the villain had abducted him, Drakkon could feel that something had changed during his absence. His keen mind allowed him to quickly realise that it was not his surroundings that were different. He had changed; whatever Dark Specter had done to him had bolstered his strength. He could feel the raw power of the dark energy radiating as he allowed the power of the Black Dragon to replace his previous hybrid connection to the Morphin Grid.

And with the realisation of his newfound strength came an understanding of the sensations he was feeling from those around him; fear. They were afraid of him and the power he now possessed. Before he had been prey, but now he was the predator and those with the sense to do so retreated from his sight. And if the energy he was emitting was not enough, the Dark Sword that appeared in his hand as his connection to the Power resumed, was clearly recognisable to the older creatures and a symbol of his new status.

He watched as some of the lesser monsters approached to examine the new power in their domain, he promised that despite everything he had been gifted in return for his servitude, one day the situation would be reversed; on that day Dark Specter would bow before the power of Drakkon, just as Rita had been forced to acknowledge Drakkon's power shortly before her demise. But to achieve such a lofty goal he knew he would have to act as though he was willing to honour his part of their arrangement. In truth, he was only too happy to seek revenge against those who had caused his recent torment. And when he was done with the traitors on his own world and seeking out his revenge against the Power Rangers who had dared to interfere in his affairs... he would find a way to deal with Dark Specter.

~Everybody has a weakness,~ he reminded himself, ~even Dark Gods.~

He drew the Dark Sword and pushed the blade forward, seeking the boundary of the Dark Dimension. He could feel the resistance as the blade made contact with the walls that kept those inside trapped there. He moved the blade, tracing a circle in the air, noting the sparks that appeared as he did so. he felt the pulse of energy from the Dark Sword. The outburst on lasted a few seconds before fading, but it was enough to cut the opening he desired. It was sufficient to allow him access to the doorway Dark Specter had described during their conversation. He sheathed the sword, extended his hand and touched the minute tear he had created.

"Let it begin."

End of Part

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