The Trials of the Minion
by Shadow RangerDisclaimer: I do not own Power Rangers. They belong to their current copyright owner.
Author's Note: This is an added story that takes place during the events of Delegation.
The Trials of the Minion
"Your sense of humour leaves much to be desired, Lord Drakkon," Dark Specter told him as he watched his servant thrash upon the ground. "I gave you a task and now you attempt to pass that mission onto a piece of animated clay? Perhaps I should reconsider your continued existence if you think to insult me in such a way."
For the first time since he had fallen into the hands of Drakkon, Minion was grateful that the twisted evil doppelganger of Tommy Oliver had decided to turn him into a puppet servant. It meant that he could enjoy watching as the powerful entity he now knew as Dark Specter, punished Drakkon for the perceived slight of trying to palm his duties onto Minion.
"Of course not, Dark Specter," Drakkon gasped as he attempted to stand. "Minion is just a tool I plan to use against your enemies, allowing me to launch simultaneous attacks."
"Multiple attacks?"
"Yes Dark Specter. Minion is a clone, built from clay. Once he has been trained and perfected, Finster Five can build a mold to build an army of Minions; we can send Minions forth to conquer Earths throughout creation, transforming them into your worlds."
Not to mention of course it allowed Drakkon more time to finish securing his power within his reality. The Earth had fallen, the planet's allies had been hunted down... but Drakkon wanted to be certain.
"You may have a point, Drakkon," Dark Specter allowed. "But is he up to the task?"
"Of course I am oh mighty Dark Specter," Minion began. "Drakkon would not have rebuilt me if I was not worthy of serving you."
~And taking my place as one of the true villains,~ he thought.
"ARGHH!"
Drakkon watched as Minion was struck down by the same dark energy that Dark Specter had previously thrown in his direction. Minion's screams were louder than Drakkon had heard during the time he had spent tormenting the clone. For a moment he felt a pang of jealousy that Dark Specter could inflict such torture with a thought.
"Pathetic!" Dark Specter growled, the eyes of his child-like avatar sparking with crimson energy. "Such a lowly creature that does not even understand its place. You bring this before me Drakkon as an offering. I should be insulted."
Minion was dragged into the air as the child gestured with his hand, his head snapping left and right as Dark Specter slapped the air. Despite his annoyance at Drakkon, it was Minion that attracted Dark Specter's wrath.
"But this Minion of yours amuses me. Even when he has been completely cowed by your efforts, he believes that he can become something more. He believes that he has the potential to grow, to become more than a magically enhanced lump of clay. Know this, Minion: here, deep within the Dark Dimension, I have power and you are nothing."
There was a pause as he considered Minion closely. Out of nowhere, a table appeared with what at first appeared to be a chessboard. In reality, Minion realised that this was not a normal game board. There were far more pieces on the board than would normally be found. Several kings and queens, each with the appropriate number of bishops, knights and rooks, all of varying heights, which he assumed was a sign of their importance to the game. At the very back of each army were two squares where the King and Queen should have been. Around those empty spaces stood two bishops, two knights and two rooks along with eight pawns. Minion noted that they were larger than the other pieces.
"As you can see this represents more than a normal game. You cannot limit such a complex war to just sixteen pieces on each side." He watched as the cloaked being plucked up a badly damaged piece that resembled the body Minion had seen earlier. It was one of the smaller bishops. "Once I was the pawn of the Dark One. Through loyal service, I ascended to a rank more akin to a bishop. Now I have assumed the role of king. One day I shall ascend even further."
He lifted a piece from the board, a long pillar carved with the faces of the various factions of the Machine Empire, from the place where a rook would normally be found.
"As you can see, a valuable piece matched only by the Alliance of Evil for its strength and number."
Minion noticed that despite his words, the piece that represented the Machine Empire was still one of the smallest.
"See this?" he demanded as he pointed to the other end of the board. "The Alliance of Evil, the most powerful villains bound by mutual purpose, a cooperative that seeks to extend the power of the individuals by preventing the petty infighting between factions. Zedd, Rita, Vile, and many others you have not met; are easily as powerful as the Machine Empire. And yet compared to some of the pieces they are weak. At least they are useful."
"You on the other hand are less than a pawn." He pointed to a piece that looked as if it had been melted. "You should have had no purpose once your usefulness expired. And yet, you defy your fate and continue to exist. The curse you unwittingly invoked has sustained you, transforming you into something more than you have a right to be. Sadly for you, you are still a pawn, there to be used at my will. Drakkon has chosen you as a tool. I will see that tool honed before it is unleashed."
He turned to stare at Drakkon, sensing that his chosen servant's ambitions were focused on completing his mission.
"You have brought me this pathetic thing and expected me to accept its service. I will accept its service, Drakkon, but you will make it worthy. Now it is weak, easily bested. You will make it strong and then turn it loose."
"Yes, Dark Specter," Drakkon agreed before walking over to where Minion lay on the ground. He reached down and grabbed the living clay soldier by the neck, pulling slightly as they vanished from Dark Specter's sight.
Day One
Minion groaned as awareness crawled back into his broken body, sharp and unwelcome. Every nerve screamed in protest. He felt like shattered glass poorly glued back together - barely whole, barely conscious.
"Your mouth has a way of getting you into trouble, Minion," Lord Drakkon said, his voice laced with cruel amusement as he descended a flight of narrow obsidian stairs toward him. His white-and-green armour gleamed in the dim light of the chamber, the dragon emblem across his chest flickering with latent power.
"Whether it be from your inability to close it," he continued, "or your failure to answer questions correctly... your ability to speak is a liability. Perhaps I should have Finster reconstruct your face so it is no longer an issue."
Minion didn't respond. Not out of defiance - though defiance was always close to his nature - but because his brain was still catching up with reality. He blinked against the gloom, trying to focus his eyes. The room was alien, its walls formed of jagged black stone, etched with red runes that pulsed faintly like a heartbeat. Overhead, there was no ceiling - just a swirling crimson sky held back by energy fields.
"Do not think to ask where you are," Drakkon said, noting the flicker of curiosity in the clone's eyes. "Dark Specter instructed me to make you stronger. This is the place where you will learn. You will endure the trials the Dark Specter demanded, and should you survive, then you will be worthy of serving him… and me."
Minion finally took in the platform he stood upon - a narrow slab suspended by chains above a pit so deep it seemed bottomless. No stairs. No ladders. No escape.
"All you have to do is survive," Drakkon told him. "And when you succeed, you will be worthy of Dark Specter. Prepare yourself, Minion of Darkness… your trial begins, now."
With a casual flick of his hand, Drakkon triggered the mechanism. The platform dropped out from beneath Minion's feet. He fell with a yell that was more instinct than fear - plummeting straight into the darkness below.
There was a bright flash—teleportation—and suddenly, he was no longer falling. He landed hard on stone, his knees jarring, and his breath driven from his lungs.
All around him were enemies: Putties of Zedd and Rita's twisted make, Tengas flapping in from the shadows, and Cogs with eyes like dead stars.
They didn't hesitate.
They swarmed him like vultures sensing death. Minion snarled and fought, arms flailing, fists striking with blind fury. But he was unarmed. Unmorphed. Unready.
They overwhelmed him.
Metallic fists. Feathery claws. Rubber limbs. Blow after blow until darkness took him.
Somewhere above, Drakkon's voice echoed, dispassionate.
"We have a long way to go."
Day Two
Minion gasped as breath surged back into his lungs. His eyes snapped open, expecting agony - but there was none. His body was whole.
Drakkon stood nearby, arms folded.
"Dark Specter ordered me to make you worthy," he said. "Your destruction is not an option. And thanks to the Dark Dimension, you will not escape through death."
Minion groaned as he sat up, memories from the previous day returning in jagged pieces. It made sense now - why his body felt unfamiliar. This wasn't his original form. Finster Five had rebuilt him like a toy soldier reassembled after being torn apart.
It wouldn't be the last time.
"Prepare yourself, Minion of Darkness…" Drakkon's voice grew cold. "Your trial begins, now!"
Again the platform vanished. Again, Minion fell.
Again, the army of foot soldiers closed in - but this time something within him snapped.
"NO!"
Minion roared, a blast of dark blue energy flaring from his fists. Rage coiled through his body like a living flame. He would not be fodder for these vermin again.
He surged forward, his fists crackling with Grid-infused power, smashing through Z-Putties with precise strikes to their weak points. Their explosive deaths became chain reactions. Tengas were caught in the blasts. Cogs were sent flying into walls, limbs sparking. He didn't stop.
He didn't want to stop.
When it was done, he stood panting amidst the smoking ruins of his enemies, fists trembling, chest heaving.
Drakkon nodded slowly. A thin smile on his face.
"Good," he said. "Round Two."
Day Thirty
"Prepare yourself, Minion of Darkness… your trial begins, now!"
The words were ritual by now. A hateful mantra.
Minion hit the ground running. The Putties fell in seconds. The monsters that followed - hulking, grotesque things sculpted from Finster Five's fevered imagination - were next. His blows landed with explosive precision. His movements were fluid, almost instinctual now.
But then the machines came.
Always the machines.
Their cold iron bodies shrugged off his attacks. His Grid-infused strikes, lethal against organic and magical foes, fizzled on their metal plating.
He'd tried for weeks. Failed for weeks.
But not today.
Today, he changed tactics. No more fists. No more brute force. He ducked a Cog's punch, seized its arm, and ripped it free from the socket. Sparks flew. The machine screamed in static.
Minion spun the limb like a club, smashing one Cog into another, caving in chest plates and snapping necks. One by one, the machines fell until the chamber was filled with the stench of burnt circuitry.
He stood, blood and oil on his face, and glared up at Drakkon.
Drakkon chuckled.
"Round Three!"
Day Eighty
Minion was a monster now. Not the cobbled-together abomination Finster had created, but a creature born of fire and hate. He had killed more in these trials than he could remember. His body had been rebuilt a dozen times. Every defeat, every mutilation, only fed his fury.
Today, it boiled over.
The foot-soldiers fell like leaves in a storm. The monsters, once terrifying, were obliterated by his bare hands. And when Drakkon raised a hand to restrain him with a single word of power -
Minion resisted.
No more.
He shoved the command aside, roaring as his aura surged outward, cracking stone.
He caught the incoming monster mid-leap and tore it in half with a scream. Then, before Drakkon could react, he hurled a massive blast of dark energy upward. The platform shattered. Drakkon plummeted.
Minion launched himself after the tyrant, bolts of destruction hammering his armoured frame. Then came the blade - dark, jagged, a sword summoned from the deepest corner of the Morphin Grid.
He plunged it through Drakkon's chest, then slashed upward, carving through his helm and splitting his torso.
It was over.
Or so Minion thought.
Laughter echoed above him.
He looked up - and Drakkon hovered in the air, untouched, clapping slowly.
"Final Round!"
He struck like lightning.
Every blow broke something. Ribs. Teeth. Limbs. Minion screamed as he was thrown across the pit. Drakkon never stopped. Not for mercy. Not for breath.
When Minion was finally too broken to scream, Drakkon raised his hand, summoning the Dark Sword - its black blade humming with malevolence.
Minion saw it descend, knowing there would be no escape this time.
He welcomed the darkness.
But he would not forget.
Not this time.
Minion was not sure how many days had passed, how many times Drakkon had defeated him. Minion had reached a point where he could perhaps hold the dictator at bay for a minute before inevitable defeat. It seemed no matter how strong he became, Drakkon would always be more powerful.
"Alas, the trials are over," Drakkon told him after their most recent battle, just before the darkness claimed him. "Be sure to remember this moment. Never forget that no matter how powerful you might think yourself, some can crush you with ease. Remember the pain and humiliation you feel right now and use it against your enemies. Now, we have places to be."
And with that Drakkon transported them back to Dark Specter's domain where Drakkon threw Minion's broken body to the ground in front of Dark Specter.
"It is done," he stated, confidently.
Dark Specter's avatar looked first at Drakkon and then the broken form of Minion, reaching out to sense the minuscule trace of life within the clone's broken shell. And high above the true body of Dark Specter rumbled with laughter.
"Yes, he is ready," Dark Specter agreed. "You may proceed."
"Thank you, Dark Specter," Drakkon stated before he reached out, grabbed the broken minion and teleported away.
In the days that followed, Finster Five recreated the Minion's broken body one last time. Then Drakkon provided the rechristened Harbinger with the Dark Sword and instructions on his mission before sending him on his way. There was no doubt in his mind that sooner or later all the rage and the fury Harbinger harboured about his treatment would be unleashed. And the Power Rangers would find themselves the victims of that rage.
And if Harbinger failed... well with the large number of mass-produced bodies that Finster had prepared for the clone, not to mention the backups he had taken of its personality... Drakkon now had an army of Minions at his disposal. He looked up realising that during his contemplation he had been walking to stand over a deep pit. As he looked down he smiled at the mangled and deformed bodies of those Minions that had failed to pass their test, knowing that should Harbinger fail... he could always join them.
End