Heroes of the fractured

by NITRAM

Summary:

Something is causing trouble in all of time and space who is it what is it?

Chapter 1: Rifts in Storybrooke

It was a late, storm-heavy night. Thunder roared across the sky, and lightning crackled, painting the clouds a deep, unnatural red—almost as if the heavens themselves were bleeding. The air felt heavy, suffocating. The ground trembled once, then again, though no earthquake had been reported. Something about this weather was wrong… deeply wrong.
Amid the storm, an old green hippie van sputtered and rolled to a stop at the edge of a strange little town.
“Zoinks! Like… not again, man,” Shaggy groaned, rubbing his eyes.
“Reah… rot ragain,” Scooby muttered, tail drooping.
“Relax, guys,” Fred said, his voice steady. “We’ll find a mechanic. Someone around here can fix the van.”
Velma frowned at her tablet. “Jinkies… I can’t locate this town on any map.” She double-checked her paper map, then her laptop. “It’s like this place shouldn’t exist.”
“Jeepers… that’s strange, isn’t it?” Daphne whispered, stepping out into the rain.
The gang moved forward cautiously, the wet streets reflecting neon signs and cracked pavement. Soon, they came across a diner that looked straight out of the 80s—chrome trim, neon lights buzzing faintly, and a faded checkerboard floor visible through the windows. The whole town had a frozen-in-time quality that felt off… uncanny.
A young boy, no older than eleven, spotted them. His eyes went wide, and his jaw dropped. Storybrooke was strange enough, but this—seeing them walk down the street—was like something out of a movie.
“IT’S YOU! IT’S THEM!” he shouted, sprinting toward them.
Before he could reach the gang, someone grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back.
“Henry, don’t be rude,” said a blonde woman with fair skin and sharp emerald eyes, gently steadying her son.
“But Emma, it’s Mystery Inc.—or, you know, the Scooby Gang,” Henry protested, struggling against her grip. They’re here… I know it! I saw them!

 

Emma glanced at the teens entering the diner and exhaled sharply through her nose. Of course, she thought dryly. I’m the daughter of Snow White… so why not add sixty cartoon teenagers to a town full of fairy tales?
She was just about to introduce herself when something crashed through the clouds above the diner. Gray, clay-like figures hit the ground in a messy pile, scattering debris and shattering a neon sign.
Emma’s eyes widened. “Putties?” she muttered, recognizing them instantly—from her favorite childhood show.
“What the heck is going on now?” she added aloud, stepping in front of the diners as the creatures regrouped, weaponsless but menacing, and charged. In one fluid motion, she shoved a table aside and planted herself firmly, bracing for the next wave.
Her fists clenched. The show made it look easy… but these are tougher than they look.
“Kid, stay behind me,” she ordered, spinning just in time to deflect a clay arm aimed at Henry.
Henry was losing his mind, eyes wide. “THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER—if, you know, we weren’t about to die!” His voice wobbled between exhilaration and sheer terror as he peeked around Emma for a better view.
At that moment, Neal burst into the diner, rolling his shoulders as if nothing could faze him. “Great… this BS is why I left the Enchanted Forest,” he quipped, flashing a half-smirk at Emma. “Mind if I join you, or should I just admire the view?”
Emma raised an eyebrow, ducking under a swinging Putty arm. “You’re lucky I don’t punch you too,” she shot back, driving a fist into a creature’s chest. Sparks flew as it crumbled into dust.
Neal grinned, swinging a chair to knock another Putty into a wall with a satisfying thud. “Guess I’ll take my chances,” he said, eyes flicking to hers.

The gray creatures lunged forward. Emma twisted sharply to block one, Neal sliding under the same arm, their movements nearly instinctive. We’ve got to move faster… Emma thought, heart hammering. Their proximity sent sparks of adrenaline through her veins—even amid the chaos.
Emma shoved a diner table aside; Neal grabbed a metal chair, swinging it to intercept a clay fist mid-swing.
“What’s a Putty?” Daphne shouted, wide-eyed.
“I have no idea… a ghost, maybe?” Velma replied, already scanning the creatures with frantic precision.
“Gang, looks like we have another mystery on our hands!” Fred yelled, charging forward, slamming a chair into a Putty’s chest with a satisfying crack.
The Putties crashed into tables and walls. Diners ducked for cover, some frozen in terror. Emma’s bare hands struck fast and precise—blinding speed, fist colliding with clay, sending it skidding across the floor. Neal spun a creature aside, letting out a sharp laugh.
“Still got it,” he teased, glancing at her sideways.
Emma smirked, ducking a low swipe. “Don’t get cocky, Neal.” Sparks flew as Neal collided with another Putty, sending it sprawling across the floor.
Henry ducked behind a counter, heart pounding—thrilled and terrified all at once. This is insane…
He watched as his father punched a Putty square in the jaw, sending bits of gray flying. Emma flung a chair at another creature; chaos erupted in the diner. Patrons screamed, scattered, or froze.
A heavy crash echoed—Neal’s body slammed into a Putty with full force.
“You always said you wanted to be a Power Ranger,” Neal teased, grinning at Emma.
“Shut up!” she snapped, blushing as a clang echoed when she smacked another Putty with a toaster.
Henry stole a quick glance at his parents, silently rooting for them. Then his eyes drifted upward. The windows framed the sky—red and black, a gaping hole tearing open reality itself.
Emma’s heart skipped. The patrons were gone. She immediately drew her gun. “Let’s see if these—Playdohs—take a bullet,” she muttered, aiming carefully.
“Henry, get out! Go to Regina or your grandparents!” she shouted, voice sharp and commanding over the chaos.
Henry didn’t hesitate. He sprinted, heart hammering, never happier to see the white manor on Muffin/Miffin Street.

 

“MOM!” Henry yelled frantically, voice cracking over the chaos.
Regina spun toward him, worry etched across her face.
“Mom… putties… best day ever… but also… not help!” he rambled, words tumbling out so fast it was nearly incomprehensible.
“Henry, dear… slow down,” Regina said, placing a steady hand on his shoulder. She felt his rapid heartbeat through her palm—running, dodging, the Putties… the entire ordeal still thundering through him. He’s okay. He’s okay… she thought, trying to soothe both him and herself.
Meanwhile, back with Emma and Neal, the fight pressed in around them. Every second pushed them closer to being overwhelmed. Emma squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself. Neal instinctively wrapped his arms around her protectively—but the strike never came.
She opened her eyes.
Two teen warriors stood between them and the Putties: one male clad in red, the other female in bright pink.
“IT’S MORPHIN TIME!” the red warrior’s voice boomed, sharp and commanding—cutting through the chaos.
“PTERODACTYL!” the pink warrior shouted in sync.
“TYRANNOSAURUS!” the red warrior yelled, fists already moving.
Jason glanced at Kimberly. “Kim, watch my back.”
“Gotcha covered, Jason,” she replied, grim determination in her tone.
Finally… backup, Emma thought, relief sparking amid the tension.

 

Throughout the chaos, the Scooby gang ducked behind an overturned table, hearts hammering as the swarming Putties advanced.
“Jenkins… this isn’t our typical case,” Velma muttered, peeking over the edge of the table, eyes scanning the street. “Something bigger—or someone—is behind this.”
“Zoinks—” Shaggy’s voice cracked, trembling as his entire body shook. “Is it just me… or is the sky on fire?” He pointed upward, jaw slack.
Scooby yelped, ears flattening, and darted behind a trash can. Daphne clung to Fred’s arm, eyes wide, fingers digging into his sleeve.
Fred squared his shoulders, trying to project calm. “Gang… this might be beyond anything we’ve seen—but we can handle it. I mean, we teamed up with Batman once—we can hold it together.” His voice wavered despite the encouragement, betraying the knot of fear tightening in his stomach.
Then, a group of Putties spotted them. Without hesitation, the gray creatures gave chase.
“Run!” Shaggy yelled, and the kids bolted down the street, their screams echoing off the buildings as the creatures thundered behind them.
They rounded a corner—straight toward Regina and Henry.
Regina raised an eyebrow, a sharp edge to her voice. “Henry… explain. What did Miss Swan do this time?”
Henry skidded to a stop, breath ragged, heart racing. “Nothing! This is just… weird—awesome—terrifying—and weird all at once!”
Regina’s lips pressed into a thin line. She flicked her hand, attempting to blast the Putties with magic—nothing. Not even a spark.
A frustrated sigh escaped her. Of course… magic’s unstable. Of course. She drew a sword from under her coat, the metal catching the flickering red light above, and marched forward, slashing through the advancing Putties with precise, clean strokes.
“Go, Mom!” Henry cheered, eyes wide.
Velma, still catching her breath, pushed her glasses up, voice shaky but urgent. “People… the sky isn’t breaking. These aren’t normal storms… these are rifts in reality. Different realities are collapsing into each other.”
“How is that even possible?” Daphne whispered, trembling, her voice barely audible over the din.
Fred stepped forward, jaw tight, determination returning. “It’s trap time, gang.”
Shaggy’s hands flew to his head. “Like—are you mad, man? What the heck are we gonna trap?”
“Reah… rwhat?” Scooby squeaked, trembling behind him.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Emma and Neal ran through the smoky street, every step jarring against the uneven pavement. The Pink and Red Rangers moved in tandem behind them, blades and energy trailing with each swift motion. Emma’s breathing was sharp, knees aching from the relentless fight.
Neal reached out, steadying her with a firm hand. “You good?”
Emma shot him a look, teeth gritted. “Define good… We just got saved by two teenagers in spandex.”
Neal smirked, shaking his head. “Hey… dream come true for you. You always said—”
“Shut up,” she snapped, cheeks flushing red, adrenaline mixing with irritation.
Jason—the Red Ranger—called over the chaos, voice sharp and commanding: “We need to regroup! Those things aren’t slowing down!”
Kimberly nodded, energy crackling faintly around her. “If more show up, you two won’t last long.”
Emma clenched her fists, determination hardening in her chest. “Henry… I have to get to Henry.”

Across town, Regina led the other group down the opposite end of Main Street, every footstep deliberate. Henry, Velma, Daphne, Fred, Shaggy, and Scooby clustered close, their faces masks of tension.
“Okay… okay… this is officially the worst field trip ever!” Shaggy panted, glancing nervously at the crumbling buildings and red-tinged smoke curling overhead.
“Reah! Worst!” Scooby agreed, tail tucked, ears flat against his head.
Regina’s gaze swept the street, sharp and calculating. Focus… keep them safe… just breathe.

 

Velma’s eyes darted toward the sky, scanning the swirling red-black clouds.
“This… this is not natural,” she said, voice trembling. “Something is destabilizing reality.”
Daphne shivered, hugging herself. “And Velma saying that… is scarier than the sky itself.”
Henry kept glancing over his shoulder, panic flickering across his face.
“Mom… where are Emma and Neal? They’re still out there!”
“That is exactly why we’re moving,” Regina said firmly, jaw tight, eyes scanning the street. If anyone gets hurt out there… not on my watch. She added with a sharp glance at Henry: “And for the record, when this is over, I am banning dimensional nonsense from Storybrooke forever.”
Then, chaos collided—literally.
Emma rounded the corner—Regina rounded the other—and they nearly crashed into each other.
“Mom!” Henry yelled, relief and worry crashing together in his voice.
Emma dropped to her knees, gathering him into a fierce hug. Henry squeaked under the pressure.
“You’re okay…” she whispered, voice shaking slightly. “Thank God.”
Neal leaned on his knees, chest rising and falling rapidly, sweat streaking his face.
“Regina… those clay things—”
“Magic doesn’t work on them,” Regina snapped, voice hard, sharp. “At all.”
Jason stepped forward, stance alert, eyes flicking toward the advancing Putties.
“They’re called Putties. We deal with them often… but these ones are different.”
“Different how?” Snow called, jogging up the street, bow in hand, arrows already nocked.
Snow and David appeared behind her, weapons drawn, faces set and ready. Alright… let’s keep everyone alive. Focus.

 

Emma blinked, incredulous.
“Mom? Dad? What… what are you doing out here?”
“The sky split open,” Snow said, voice grim. “We came running.”
David’s gaze swept the chaotic street, landing on the Pink and Red Rangers.
“Who… who are they?”
Kim folded her arms proudly, energy brimming despite the battle.
“Power Rangers.”
Shaggy leaned toward Scooby, voice barely a whisper.
“Like… did he just say Power Rangers, man?”
“Reah! Rower Ragers!” Scooby echoed, ears twitching nervously.
Fred stepped forward, determination returning despite the smoke and chaos around them.
“Well, gang… sounds like we’ve got a mystery—”
Regina’s sharp glare cut through his words.
“Not now,” she snapped, eyes scanning the street for danger. Focus. Everyone… stay alive.

Chapter 2: Heroes Collide

Chapter 2

The group gathered inside the loft, still shaken, still breathless, but finally safe enough to speak.
Fred ran a hand through his hair, trying to organize his thoughts.
“We’d just finished solving a mystery… and then our van broke down in this town,” he explained, voice steady but eyes sharp.
Jason frowned, arms crossed, every instinct alert.
“I don’t buy coincidence. I’ve fought all sorts of villains, and the only one who comes to mind is Drakkon.”
Kim shuddered at the name, her voice low.
“He… he was tougher than most monsters Rita and Zedd ever sent out.”
Shaggy clutched himself, leaning against the window.
“I tell you, man… nothing like this has ever happened to us before, man…”
Scooby whimpered in agreement, tail tucked.
Emma and Regina stepped near the table, speaking in low, urgent tones.
“I think… with reality breaking,” Emma began, “it’s affecting our magic too.”
Regina grimaced, lips pressed tight.
“That would explain why my spells barely scratched those creatures…”
Across the room, Velma muttered almost to herself, voice trembling.
“Magic isn’t really real…”
Her words faltered as doubt crept in, threading through the chaos.
Snow and David remained focused on keeping Henry calm, hands gently on his shoulders, while Fred and Daphne tried to steady themselves, though the tension was thick enough to taste.
A massive crack and boom shook the street outside—so loud it rattled the windows and sent a shiver through the floorboards.
Everyone jumped.
Then—except for Shaggy and Scooby—everyone bolted for the door, instincts screaming that safety was fleeting.

 

“Like—hello?” Shaggy yelped, voice cracking. “You’re supposed to run away from explosions, not towards them!”
Scooby nodded vigorously, ears flat.
“Reah! Raway!”
They rushed outside—and froze.
A man lay unconscious in the street, smoke curling from the asphalt around him. His uniform was Starfleet-style, partially burned; the badge was scorched except for the letters “Lt.”
Without hesitation, Jason, Neal, and David lifted him.
“Let’s get him upstairs,” David said, voice firm, eyes scanning the street.
“Careful,” Neal added, hand steadying the lieutenant. “Whatever threw him here… it wasn’t gentle.”
They carried the stranger back into the loft, the others following, hearts hammering and questions stacking with every step.
Once inside, the group tended to him.
A low groan escaped as he stirred, blinking rapidly at the unfamiliar ceiling and the ragtag collection of heroes around him.
“Who are you? Where am I—why am I here? What’s going on?” Panic laced his voice.
Snow leaned closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm.
Steady… calm… she thought.
“Take it easy. You’re safe… we’re here to help you.”

 

Far from the safety of the loft, another rift tore open in the sky—
this one larger, more unstable, its edges glowing like molten metal…
A cluster of figures spilled from the tear, landing with unnatural precision, predatory grace etched into every movement.
The silence of the night shattered with rhythmic, inhuman footsteps—
a marching formation, deliberate and merciless.
She stood ahead of them, not separated by distance, but by dominance.
Her long, obsidian-black hair spilled like liquid ink over her shoulders, framing a face both severe and breathtaking. Eyes of molten gold glowed in the dark—calculating, cold, hungry. Her clothing seemed woven from shadow itself: fitted silks layered with practical leather, streaked with crimson and brass.
Ambition radiated from her like heat… everything bends to me, it seemed to whisper.
Behind her, rows of white-armored soldiers formed perfect, faceless lines. Helmets smooth, expressionless, black visors swallowing every trace of humanity.
She raised one hand.
The ranks stiffened, every movement synchronized, sharper than instinct.
When her hand dropped, a burning orange glow pulsed beneath her skin—
fire gathering at her command, bright enough to stain the white armor of her troops.
She was the mind.
They were the machines.
Together, they moved with absolute, merciless unity.
She commanded them.
And they obeyed.
The fierce woman and her army marched into town as if it already belonged to them.
“Find the Rangers. The Savior. And the Witch,” she sneered, golden eyes glittering like molten metal. “They are the greatest threat to our master’s plan.”
The soldiers obeyed instantly, opening fire on anything that moved… without hesitation, without concern for who—or what—might be caught in the crossfire.

 

Back with the heroes…
“We can’t let this go on,” Emma said, breathless but determined. “We fight for this town. We fight for everyone.”
In the corner, Velma sat curled in on herself, words tumbling out faster than her mind could catch.
“This isn’t possible—this isn’t rational—the fabric of reality is collapsing. This isn’t some real-estate agent in a mask. This is… the actual apocalypse—”
Her voice cracked. Her hands trembled.
Shaggy knelt quietly in front of her. “Velma… hey, look at me.”
He lifted her chin gently, just enough so their eyes met. “We’ll get through this. Together.”
Velma blinked at him. For the first time, she didn’t just see her friend—she saw something steadier. Something braver.
“Reah… rogeder,” Scooby added, nuzzling her side in agreement.
Across the room, Regina stood over the mysterious lieutenant, arms crossed, expression sharp.
“How convenient,” she said coolly. “That you remember nothing. How do we know you aren’t working with those creatures—”
“Putties, Mom,” Henry interrupted automatically.
Emma gently pulled Henry back beside her. “Let me handle him, Regina.”
Meanwhile, Jason—still keyed up from the fight—moved into a clear space in the loft and ran through combat forms, each strike sharp and precise. Even amid chaos, a Ranger stayed ready.
David stepped beside him, observing. “You know… we’re here to help each other. You don’t have to take the burden all on your own.”
Jason gave him a warm, easy smile.
“I’m not doing this to stay in shape or hide anything,” he said. “I just… love martial arts. It’s been my thing since I was a kid. And yeah—my skills help me save the world. But I do it because it’s who I am.”
David nodded, understanding more than Jason realized.

 

On the other side of the loft, Scooby and Shaggy were making a surprisingly normal sandwich and tea—
and for once, it wasn’t for themselves.
“Like, Velma,” Shaggy said, placing the sandwich in front of her, “here. You ate nothing. And nothing makes a person feel better than a good, healthy meal, man.”
Velma blinked, touched but trying not to show it.
“Th-thank you, Shaggy.”
Scooby nudged her arm gently. “Reah. Eat.”
Nearby, Henry was pleading again.
“Emma, I can totally help! This is all sci-fi stuff—I’m good at that!”
Emma and Neal exchanged the same exhausted but worried look.
“Henry, we said no,” they scolded lightly, but firmly. “You’re staying safe. End of discussion.”
Henry groaned but didn’t argue. Not this time.
Snow tended to the lieutenant’s injuries while Regina interrogated him, arms crossed.
“So, like I keep telling you, lady,” the lieutenant said, wincing as he tried to sit up, “all I know is that I was on a ship. Alarms were flashing—I think my crew was under attack.”
Regina rolled her eyes dramatically.
“I don’t buy it.”
“Yeah, I got that,” he muttered under his breath.
Fred and Daphne sat close on the couch, holding hands, silently anchoring each other through the chaos.
Suddenly, Kimberly—the Pink Ranger—burst into the loft, urgency tightening her voice.
“We gotta move, people! It’s not just Putties anymore—there’s an army out there with blasters, and some lady with powers leading them! We need to go. Now!”
Everyone tensed at once. The room shifted from fear… to resolve.
“Gang, we need to split up,” Fred announced, stepping forward with the same confident tone he used on every mystery.

Regina shot him a deeply unimpressed look.
“Absolutely not—if we’re going to split up, I suggest you kids take—”
But before Regina could even finish, the Scooby gang bolted out the door.
Velma’s hands trembled around her notebook, Shaggy could barely stand upright, and Scooby clung to both of them.
Regina blinked once, sighed, and muttered,
“I suppose that means we’re going together.”
Snow pulled her quiver over her shoulder, sliding arrow after arrow inside with practiced precision.
David tightened his grip on his sword, the metal catching the reddish lightning in a sickly glow.
“Let’s bring them home safe,” he said. Snow nodded, her eyes steely.
Outside, chaos had already swallowed the streets.
Jason and Kimberly teleported into the fray—pink and red streaks slashing through the smoky air.
A squad of stormtroopers turned toward them, raising blasters.
Jason moved first. He launched into a spinning tornado kick that knocked a trooper off his feet; before the first hit the ground, he drove an elbow into another’s chest plate, sending him skidding across the pavement.
Kim dodged a volley of blaster fire, flipped over a trooper’s head, and kicked his helmet so hard it snapped sideways.
“For the record,” she shouted over the fighting, “I still hate space guys with armor!”
“Focus, Kim!” Jason called back.
They were holding their own—until the troopers formed a firing line. Red bolts lit up the street. Jason barely dove behind a car as the asphalt beside him exploded.

 

Emma fired round after round at advancing troopers, ducking behind a fallen mailbox.
Beside her, Regina fought with a sword—every strike efficient and lethal.
“Magic still unstable!” Regina growled. “I can barely conjure a spark!”
“Then we do it old-school!” Emma shouted back, ejecting a magazine and reloading without hesitation.
A trooper charged Emma; Regina was there first, her blade slashing through his blaster and sending pieces clattering.
Behind them, Snow and David engaged a fresh wave of Putties.
Snow’s arrows blurred through the air, striking clay bodies that dissolved into dust.
David’s blade clashed against stone fists as he shielded Snow with his own.
“Stay behind me!” he yelled.
“Not a chance!” Snow shot back, firing another arrow point-blank into a Putty’s chest.
The battlefield glowed red and black as another rift pulsed overhead.
The team had managed to take down several troopers, but it wasn’t enough.
The battlefield shifted—too fast, too violently. Bolts of red light flew in every direction, Putties surged from alleyways, and smoke blurred the street into a half-red haze.
Then everything stopped.
A wave of heat rolled over the pavement, sharp enough to sting.
Footsteps followed—slow, deliberate, predatory.
She emerged through the smoke with a cruel smile carved across her lips. Her hair burned with faint embers, as if catching the light of her own inner fire, and the air shimmered around her with unnatural warmth. Clutched in her arm, struggling against her grip, was Daphne.
“Rangers. Witch. Savior.” Her voice dripped like molten metal.
“Surrender. Now.”
The heroes froze.
Weapons lowered.
Breaths caught.
All except Regina.
Regina stepped forward, chin lifted, eyes wild with fury.
“You think having a hostage is going to stop me?” she cackled.
A spark—black, violet, and unfamiliar—flickered across Regina’s skin.
Then—
“Misthaven Prism Power!”

 

Magic burst around her like a shockwave.
Her clothes shifted in a flash of swirling light—forming a white and black sailor-style uniform, trimmed with sharp elegance.
A black pleated skirt.
White gloves lined in midnight.
A golden tiara appeared on her forehead, centered with a dark gem that pulsed like a heartbeat.
Regina looked down at herself.
“…Nothing says ‘fear me’ like a skirt,” she deadpanned.
Emma opened her mouth—smirk already forming.
“Not a word, Miss Swan.”
Emma burst into laughter anyway.
“Emma, really not a good time to get distracted,” Neal groaned.

Meanwhile — Far from the Battle
The Scooby gang hurried through the quieter streets, searching for any clue they could find. Velma’s mind raced, her eyes darting between her scanner, notes, and the swirling sky overhead.
“JINKIES!” Velma shouted.
“Like—what’s up, man?” Shaggy asked, shrinking closer to Scooby.
“The rifts!” Velma exclaimed, adjusting her glasses. “They’re not just dropping people in—they’re changing things.”
Fred stepped closer. “Changing them how?”
Velma flipped her notebook open, frantic but focused.
“As far as I can tell, the rifts are spilling atmosphere and residue from other dimensions into ours. It’s all getting mixed. People, powers, physics—everything. We’re getting a little of each world bleeding into this one.”
Scooby shivered. “Reah… reeird…”

“L-like… this is way above our pay grade, man!”
Shaggy grabbed fistfuls of Fred’s shirt, shaking so hard his knees almost knocked together.
“Shaggy, calm down,” Fred tried gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Calm down?! Man, we’re out of our league! This isn’t a real-estate scam or some dude in a mask—this is interdimensional Armageddon, man!”
Shaggy’s voice cracked as he glanced at Velma.
She was pale. Hands trembling. Glasses sliding down her nose.
Seeing Velma scared—really scared—hit him like a punch to the gut.
Shaggy swallowed. His shaking didn’t stop… but he quietly stepped between her and the chaos outside.
Scooby pressed against both of them, whimpering.

 

The sky deepened into a darker, blood-red, the clouds swirling like molten ink.
The earth groaned beneath their feet. The air thickened—heavy as wet concrete—and every breath tasted of storm and smoke.
The fight had turned brutal.
Kimberly stood alone, surrounded by stormtroopers and Putties. She rolled her shoulders, grounding herself.
“Bring it,” she said, voice steady through her helmet.
Blaster bolts exploded around her as she leapt, spun, and kicked—pink energy trailing each strike, slicing through the advancing enemies with precision.
Henry Enters the Danger
Henry had slipped away, heart slamming with a mix of excitement and fear. He reached the edge of the battlefield, eyes wide.
“GO TEAM!” he cheered, voice cracking with adrenaline.
Unfortunately… a squad of troopers and two Putties heard him.

 

They turned as one.
And charged.
Henry froze. He wasn’t as brave as he wanted to be.
Kimberly saw him.
“NOT TODAY!” she shouted, diving through a wave of troopers.
A blaster shot hit her forearm—impact knocking her sideways into a mailbox. She hit the ground hard. Her arm hung limp, and she unmorphed, her morpher clattering away.
“Kimberly!” Jason sprinted toward her, cutting down two troopers with precise strikes. “Talk to me!”
“I’m fine,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Just… not using that arm again today.”
Regina Unleashes
Regina, in her Misthaven Sailor form, fought with elegant, vicious power. Black-and-white magic spiraled around her hands like ribbons of starlight.
She dashed forward in a blur.
“Get. Away. From. MY. PEOPLE!” she roared.
Her kick sent a Putty exploding into dust. Two troopers lunged for Daphne—Regina sliced their blasters in half, grabbed Daphne’s arm, and pulled her behind her.
“You’re safe. Don’t wander off again,” Regina snapped, though her voice trembled with relief.

.

.Emma & Neal
Emma emptied a clip into a row of advancing troopers, ducking behind a toppled trash bin as red bolts scorched the pavement.
“Covering fire!” she yelled.
Neal slid beside her, swinging a broken metal pipe like a staff.
“In a place like this, you still attract the weirdest crap,” he muttered.
Emma shot him a grin.
“Welcome to my life.”
Together, they moved in rough but perfect rhythm—partners in every way that mattered, trading fire and blows seamlessly.

Snow & David
Further down the street, Snow let loose a rapid flurry of arrows, each finding its mark.
David’s sword flashed beside her, deflecting incoming strikes with precise, practiced motions.
They moved as though time hadn’t passed—still the bandit and the shepherd boy, instincts perfectly intertwined.
“Just like old times, huh, Snow?” David panted.
Snow smirked, releasing another arrow.
“Oh yeah. This takes me back.”
Back-to-back, they spun in perfect sync, carving a deadly circle through the chaos around them.

Chapter 3: Storybrooke Stands

 

 

Henry skidded to a stop at the edge of the battlefield, eyes widening as he finally took in the chaos.

“No way…” he breathed.
“That’s Cinder… from RWBY. This would be awesome—if, you know, reality wasn’t literally falling apart.”

He barely had time to register her before Emma’s voice thundered across the street.

“HENRY MILLS!”

Regina, Emma, and Neal stormed toward him—dusty, bruised, furious, terrified.

“We told you to stay at the loft, kid,” Emma snapped, breathless.
“You are so grounded, young man,” Regina added, finger pointed, tiara shimmering with dark energy.
“Listen to your mothers, buddy,” Neal said, voice cracking despite his attempt at calm.

Henry swallowed hard. Maybe sneaking out hadn’t been his brightest idea.

Jason & Kimberly

Across the street, Jason moved with renewed ferocity, keeping himself between Kimberly and incoming blaster fire. He dropped into a defensive stance, smashing a trooper’s helmet with a spinning backfist.

He pivoted sharply.
“Kimberly—how’s your arm?”

She cradled it to her chest, trying to keep her voice steady.
“I think it’s… fractured,” she admitted, wincing as she flexed her fingers.

Jason’s stomach tightened. Kim never admitted pain unless it was serious.
“We’ll get you out of this. I promise.”

Kim nodded, trusting him without hesitation.

The Lieutenant

Nearby, the Starfleet lieutenant stumbled out from behind a ruined bench, dazed but determined. His mind was a fog, memories shattered like broken glass—but his body remembered what his mind could not.

His hand snapped to his belt, drawing a scorched but functional phaser.
“Set to stun,” he muttered, almost automatically, unsure why the words came so easily.

Instinct took over.

He fired.

A stormtrooper dropped instantly.

Something inside him whispered: I know this. I’ve done this before.

Daphne Alone

Daphne crouched behind an overturned car, heart hammering as blaster bolts scorched the street around her. She hugged her knees, eyes darting desperately for any sign of her friends.

“Come on… guys… where are you?” she whispered, voice trembling.

She’d faced danger before, but never like this—never with entire worlds colliding and monsters raining from the sky. Fred had always made her feel safe. Right now… she felt terribly, achingly alone.

The Fall of Storybrooke

Storybrooke was burning.

Buildings crumbled under the assault, fire consuming wood and brick alike. The sky above tore open in jagged, glowing rifts, each one a wound bleeding fragments of other worlds into the streets.

Slashes of past, present, and future collided:

• A pirate ship flickered in and out above the library.
  
  
• The clock tower changed time with every heartbeat.
  
  
• Strange, elongated shadows slithered across the sky.
  
  
• Snow fell in chaotic flurries beside the smoldering debris of stormtroopers.
  
  
• Somewhere impossibly close, a dinosaur roared, shaking the very ground.
  
  

Reality itself was unraveling, thread by thread—and high above it all, Cinder watched, a cruel smile etched across her face as Storybrooke burned.

Meanwhile — The Scooby Gang

In a quieter, smoke-choked part of town, Shaggy clutched his communicator like a lifeline. His hands shook so violently that the device rattled against his palm.

“L-like… we better call the others, man… tell them what’s happening,” he stammered, voice cracking.

He forced himself to straighten, to stand tall, if only for Velma’s sake. She was huddled close, knees drawn up, eyes wide and glassy, glasses sliding down her nose as she shook. The fear radiating from her was contagious, but Shaggy refused to let it overwhelm him.

Fred’s stomach churned. He had split the group earlier—his decision—and now the consequences were painfully clear. Daphne was missing. Somewhere out there, alone and in danger, and every second that ticked by was a second he couldn’t get back.

Shaggy swallowed hard, trying to steady himself. Scooby pressed against his leg, eyes wide and alert, sensing the danger that even the heroes couldn’t fully grasp.

“This is… not good, man. Not good at all,” Shaggy muttered, glancing toward the smoke and chaos, where the world itself seemed to be collapsing.

 

Maybe I’m not as good a leader as I thought… Fred thought miserably, stomach twisting.

They could set a trap—but what do you trap when the enemy was an army from space, a fire-wielding sorceress, and a reality that was literally collapsing around them?

Shaggy gulped so loudly it echoed off the shattered walls.
“M-man… I miss the haunted amusement parks…”

Scooby whimpered, pressing closer, his eyes wide and pleading.

Velma drew a shaky breath, squeezing Shaggy’s arm as if the contact alone could anchor them in the madness.

“We’ll figure it out,” Fred said, forcing steel into his voice. “For Daphne. For everyone.”

Whether he truly believed it or not… he had to.

Smoke twisted through the ruined streets, glowing with an unnatural red at the edges where the sky threatened to split open entirely. Jagged lines of blaster fire cut through the haze, while debris clattered and sparks flew.

At the center of it all, Cinder stood unshaken, amber eyes glowing like molten metal. Stormtroopers fanned out around her in precise, deadly formation, and the heroes knew—they were the only line standing between her and the destruction of everything they held dear.

Kimberly’s pained cry cut through the chaos like a knife.

Jason spun instantly. She clutched her arm, teeth gritted beneath her helmet.
“Kim!” he yelled, catching her before she could collapse. “Your arm—”
“Fracture,” she hissed. “Don’t… slow down. Go.”

For a heartbeat, fury froze him. Then he moved.

A blur of motion, Jason struck. A push kick sent one trooper crashing into a lamppost. He flowed into a spinning backfist, a rising knee—every strike sharper, faster than the last. Helmets met pavement, bodies flew through the air, and even unmorphed, he was a force of nature, a living thunderbolt on the battlefield.

Emma’s breath caught.
“Remind me to never tick him off,” she muttered.

Neal snorted.
“Yeah… no kidding.”

Jason’s onslaught shifted the tide—briefly, gloriously—until Cinder raised a single hand.

Gold flames licked her fingers, hungry and alive.
“You think this matters?” she sneered.

Reality itself lurched.

A pulse of unstable rift-energy tore through the street, warping the air, twisting the world like water. Regina staggered, then gasped as the energy sank into her skin, a liquid light igniting from within.

“Regina!” Emma lunged forward—

—but Regina straightened. Eyes glowing dark violet, she stood unshaken. Her outfit had shifted again: white-and-black fuku, gloves, pleated skirt, tiara—a sailor warrior born of rift magic and sheer will.

Even Cinder’s expression faltered, just slightly. That alone was worth the chaos surrounding them.

Regina lifted a single, elegant hand. Her voice rang out, unwavering:
“STORYBROOKE WILL NOT FALL.”

The ground cracked beneath their feet. Troopers stumbled as gravity warped around them. Their aim faltered. Their stances broke. Putties crumpled to their knees, caught in the strange, stabilizing pulse of magic. Reality seemed to bend to Regina’s will, holding itself in place just long enough for the heroes to strike.

Emma blinked. “Okay… that—wow.”

“Miss Swan,” Regina said without glancing back, voice sharp, “if you laugh, so help me—”

Emma snapped her mouth shut, trying—and failing—to hide a grin.

The heroes surged forward through the opening. Snow and David exchanged a glance—a silent, unspoken plan honed over years of battle.

David raised his sword.
Snow nocked an arrow.

“NOW!” Snow shouted, her voice echoing across the burning streets. “STORYBROOKE, STAND WITH US!”

And they did.

From one alley, dwarves charged, axes gleaming. Fairies glowed and hovered from above, flitting between shattered buildings. Townsfolk grabbed anything they could—baseball bats, crossbows, even fire extinguishers—and surged forward behind their prince and princess.

The tide flipped.

Troopers fired blindly. Blaster shots went wide. Jason sent three tumbling into a crumbling wall. Regina’s hand swept through the street, forcing another wave of attackers back. Snow’s arrows found every target; David cut through advancing lines with precision.

For the first time, Cinder’s lips twitched in genuine annoyance.

“This world isn’t worth losing resources,” she growled, eyes flashing gold. “Fall back!”

A flaming rift tore open behind her. White-armored troops scrambled through it, Putties dissolving into smoke.

Cinder’s gaze lingered, venomous, sweeping across the battlefield: Regina… Emma… Jason.

“This isn’t victory,” she hissed, teeth bared.
“It’s delay.”

The rift snapped shut. Silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by the crackling of fires, distant sirens, and the heavy, stunned breaths of heroes who realized—the first wave had ended. But the war was just beginning.

Meanwhile, in a disoriented pocket of the rift—where gravity coiled in the wrong direction and colors bled into one another like melting glass—Cinder staggered against a jagged outcropping of fractured reality. Her wounds hissed angrily when exposed to the unstable air. She pressed a hand to her side, fighting to keep her breathing steady.

“That… was not supposed to happen,” she muttered, fury and humiliation burning hotter than the pain.

A shadow fell across the shimmering ground.

Then a voice—smooth, cold, and dripping with contempt—slid into the space like a knife through silk.

“How pathetic.”

Cinder jerked upright.

“You’re just as useless as my brother.”

A low, amused laugh echoed, its cadence cruel and aristocratic. The rift dimmed around its source, as though the world itself bowed in reverence—or fear.

She arrived like a living specter of superiority.

The new figure stepped forward, an apparition sculpted with chilling, aristocratic precision. Her profile was razor-sharp and eerily composed, framed by raven-black hair twisted into intricate ceremonial knots that spoke of rulership, of ancient expectation, of inherited supremacy.

Her garments—deep crimson layered with burning gold—fell around her in immaculate lines. Nothing fluttered, nothing shifted without intent. She moved with the lethal grace of someone who had already predicted every possible outcome of this moment.

Her eyes—glacial blue, unblinking—cut straight through Cinder’s defenses.

When she spoke again, her voice was a low, velvety murmur that carried the weight of absolute, unquestioned power.

“I expected disappointment, but you’ve managed to underperform even that.”

Cinder’s jaw clenched. “You don’t understand the interference I faced. These weren’t ordinary—”

A sudden crackling, like the tearing of the atmosphere itself, silenced her.

Azure fire blossomed in the newcomer’s palm—flame so hot it burned without smoke, without flicker, without even a hint of chaos. Pure, lethal, controlled heat. It arced along her fingers like a living thing, obedient and poised, waiting for permission to kill.

Nothing about it was wild.

It was perfect.

She was not merely a fire-wielder.

She was the embodiment of pressure-forged mastery—beautiful, merciless, and flawless in the way only something terrifying can be.

The blue flames pulsed once, casting Cinder in stark light.

“Excuses,” the woman said softly, “are for those who still believe they can change their fate.”

She took another step closer.

“And you, dear Cinder… were doomed from the moment he chose you instead of me.”

The air rippled with cold, electric dread.

Cinder’s eyes widened.

This wasn’t just a rival.

This was someone worse.

Someone who wielded perfection the way others wielded weapons.

Someone who had come not to help her—

—but to judge her.

Chapter 4: Fractured Alliances

Chapter 4

Snow gently tightened the last wrap of bandages around Kimberly’s arm, securing it into a makeshift cast fashioned from splints and enchanted cloth that shimmered faintly with fairy dust.

 Kim winced but managed a bright, grateful smile.

“Thanks,” Kimberly said, exhaling through the pain. “Really. I appreciate it.”

Snow returned the smile—soft, steady, comforting.

 “It’s no trouble. We archers have to stick together,” she said, tying the final knot with practiced ease.

Kimberly chuckled despite herself. Archer solidarity, she thought. I’ll take it.

Across the room, David knelt beside his daughter, checking her over with the disciplined precision of a knight and the stubborn worry of a father.

“D— Dad, I’m fine, we nee—”

Emma started to stand, but David’s hand landed on her shoulder before she could finish.

“What we need right now,” David said firmly—his tone that unmistakable blend of father and leader—“is rest.”

Emma froze… then let out a dramatic huff and dropped back onto the couch, arms crossed.

Neal snorted. “She’s totally not fine,” he whispered.

Emma glared at him.

 Neal raised both hands defensively. “Love you, though.”

 

Velma sat a short distance away, her laptop balanced on her knees, fingers flying across the keys. But frustration kept making her movements jittery. Error messages blinked on the screen. The rift readings didn’t make sense. Her maps kept re-scrambling. And—most distracting of all—Shaggy was watching her with that worried-soft look he only ever used when she was the one scared.

Focus, Velma. Focus…

She shook her head, adjusted her glasses, and tried again.

Shaggy slid closer, Scooby pressing in at her other side like a warm, anxious wall of fur.

“L-like… it’s all gonna be alright, Velma. Right, man?” Shaggy said, forcing optimism into his voice even though it trembled at the edges. “Right, Scoob?!”

Scooby nodded vigorously.

 “Reah! E-everything right!” he barked, tail thumping.

Velma swallowed—the tiniest crack in her composure.

 They’re scared too… and still trying to comfort me.

She reached out, resting her hand briefly on Shaggy’s. “Thanks, guys.”

 

On the opposite couch, Jason sat with his elbows on his knees, his helmet at his feet, deep in thought. The distant crackle of damaged power lines echoed outside. The faint smell of burnt ozone still lingered.

Can I lead this group?

 Emma, Regina, the Scooby Gang, my team…

 This isn’t just monsters or Rita. This is worlds collapsing. Everything at stake.

His chest tightened. Something he hadn’t admitted in years whispered in the back of his mind:

What if I’m not enough this time?

A shadow fell across him—small, light-footed.

Jason looked up.

Henry Mills stood there, clutching a history book scribbled with notes and fan drawings. His eyes were huge. Reverent. Almost glowing.

“You’re… you’re Jason Lee Scott,” Henry breathed. “The first Red Ranger. Leader of the Mighty Morphin team!”

He looked at Jason the way most kids looked at superheroes in comics—like he’d stepped out of myth.

Jason blinked. “Uh… yeah.”

 He rubbed the back of his neck. “You okay, kid?”

Henry nodded—then shook his head—then nodded again.

 “I mean—yes—but also wow. You’re—you.”

Jason couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at his lips.

For the first time since the battle ended… the weight on his shoulders felt a little lighter.

 

Regina glared down at the lieutenant, sprawled on the couch like some exhausted cat. He had finally succumbed to sleep—but only for a moment, she knew, before questions would demand answers again.

 

Dream Sequence

The room was bathed in a cold, humming light… white and sterile, almost painfully so. His hands hovered over a row of glowing panels, but each button shifted under his fingers—as if the controls themselves refused to be tamed. Red lights blinked in frantic patterns, pulsing like a heartbeat. Outside a towering window, stars streaked past, long trails of white and gold, bending and warping as if the universe itself were spinning around him.

A voice echoed—sharp, crisp, unnervingly familiar.

“Bring the phasers to target.”

Instinct took over. His fingers danced across the panels. The hum grew louder… louder… vibrating through his chest like some living thing. The buttons shifted again, slipping like water, but he obeyed anyway.

“Why am I—?” he tried to ask aloud, but his voice was swallowed by the rushing of stars outside. The room began to tilt. The panels glowed brighter, white-hot streaks coiling around his arms like serpents. A second voice—closer, intimate—whispered in his ear: “You’ve done this before… you will do it again.”

Something—his hand? His mind?—tensed. A surge of panic mixed with perfect precision flooded his senses. He could feel the weight of decisions he didn’t remember making… victories he didn’t recall… lives balanced on the edge of a trigger. The hum became a roar. Lights flashed crimson. The stars outside warped into impossible shapes, galaxies bleeding into one another. And then—just as suddenly—the panel blinked off, leaving him in darkness.

 

He jerked awake, eyes snapping open.

“Glad you’re up, Sleeping Beauty…” Regina’s voice cut through the quiet room like steel. “…Are you ready to answer more questions?”

The lieutenant bolted upright, blinking rapidly.

“I’ve told you everything I know!” he shouted, irritation sharpening his voice.

Regina’s gaze didn’t waver—cold, precise, unrelenting. She leaned forward, chin lifted, eyes burning with something more than authority. No one will get hurt on my watch—not here, not in this town. This was no longer her curse to carry. This town… these people… they had become her family. Something she had longed for, something she would protect at all costs.

She let her words linger, unspoken but heavy in the air… a warning, a promise, and a mother’s determination all rolled into one.

 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>

The distortion rift shuddered like a living wound in reality, its edges flickering in colors that didn’t exist in any sane world. Beyond it lay the villains’ lair—an impossible, shifting fortress carved from fractured dimensions. Walls twisted in angles that defied geometry, light pooled in corners where shadows should exist, and the air vibrated with a low, thrumming pulse like a giant heart buried beneath the floor. Stormtroopers patrolled the impossible hallways with mechanical precision, while Putties lurked in alcoves that warped in and out of existence.

And deep within the core chamber, Cinder sighed.

So this was it… She was being replaced. Tossed aside like defective machinery. By someone she didn’t even know. She clenched her jaw, trying to keep her composure, though the thought gnawed at her like fire licking bone.

Who is she?

 What is she?

 What makes her so special?

All Cinder knew was the barest whisper—a woman, rumored to command both lightning and fire as if the elements themselves bent willingly to her hand.

Lightning and fire… Cinder’s fingers curled. My fire was never enough, was it?

Before resentment could twist deeper into her gut, a booming voice cracked through the chamber, rattling the very structure of the lair.

“Cinder.”

She stiffened instantly. The tall, imposing figure of her master stepped forward—towering, cloaked in shifting darkness, face obscured by a mask that swallowed all light.

“You have failed me,” he said, calm and cold. “Normally, I do not tolerate failure… but in your case, I suppose I can make an exception.”

Cinder swallowed, unsure whether relief or humiliation burned hotter in her chest.

“I want you to go to the Moon and bri—”

“Sire, that might be too much for her.”

The interruption cut the air like a blade.

From the shadows, the mysterious woman stepped forward—her posture poised, confident, infuriatingly calm. Blue fire flickered around her fingertips, lighting her face in ethereal, murderous beauty.

“If need be,” she continued smoothly, “she can keep the heroes distracted. I already know what you want. Allow me to retrieve it.”

For a heartbeat, there was silence.

Then their master chuckled—a soft, warm sound that didn’t belong in this horrific place.

“That is an excellent idea…”

His voice snapped like a whip—

“DON’T YOU EVER INTERRUPT ME AGAIN.”

The chamber trembled.

Both women stiffened as icy fear sliced down their spines. Even the stormtroopers faltered in their march, blasters lowering by instinct they weren’t designed to have. The Putties, sensitive to emotional presence, shuddered like frightened animals.

Cinder lowered her gaze, fury simmering beneath her fear.

Replaced… humiliated… but not beaten. I will prove myself. I will.

 I won’t be overshadowed again—not by her. Not by anyone.

The blue-flamed woman simply bowed her head—calm, composed, untouched.

Cinder hated her for it.

 

 

<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>><<<>><<><><><><><>

 

 

The loft—normally warm and cluttered with mismatched furniture and the scent of stale coffee—was buzzing with tension. The windows rattled under the distant thunder of unstable rift-energy, casting flickering red and violet light across the room.

“AAAAH!”

Kimberly’s scream snapped every head around. She winced, cradling her broken arm against her chest as panic overtook pain.

“Where is it?!” she gasped, breath quickening. “Where—where is it?”

 She checked her pockets, the couch cushions, even the floor around her boots. Her movements grew more frantic, eyes wild.

Jason reacted instantly, sprinting to her side. The lieutenant and Regina followed in quick succession.

“Kimberly—are you all right?” Jason asked, dropping to one knee. His body shifted subtly into a battle-ready posture, as if danger might erupt from beneath the floorboards.

The lieutenant scanned the room. “She’s fine. I think she just… lost something.”

Regina rolled her eyes hard enough to be audible. “No duh, Lieutenant Obvious.” She continued to glare at him, as if she were daring him to remember more than he claimed.

“Kimberly, stay calm—and Regina, stop antagonizing the lieutenant.” Jason said with a tone that brooked no argument.

“Thank you, Jason,” the lieutenant muttered, sounding both relieved and annoyed.

Regina’s head snapped toward the Red Ranger, incredulous. “Excuse me? Who do you think you are, ordering me around?”

Jason exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Oh great… just what I needed.

 “Look… I think I know what she lost. And I’d rather find it before anything else spirals.”

“You’re just a kid,” Regina countered, folding her arms. “You don’t give me orders. I’m the mayor.”

Jason bit back his irritation. He wasn’t here to fight her. “Madam Mayor,” he said evenly, “I understand your frustration. Honestly, I do. I’m not trying to boss you around—I’m trying to keep everyone calm.”

Regina blinked, lips parting just slightly.

She hated to admit it—not even to herself—but the kid had a presence. A steadiness. Leadership, even.

 She would absolutely never say it out loud.

Kimberly’s voice cracked as she interrupted, “My—my morpher… I can’t find my morpher…”

Jason’s heart sank. That’s what I was afraid of…

Before anyone could respond—

 BANG!

The loft doors flew open, slamming into the wall.

“They’re back!” Grumpy shouted, breathless and frantic.

Every hero in the room tensed.

Kimberly forgot her pain. Jason stood straighter. Regina’s fingers twitched with unstable magic. The lieutenant instinctively reached for a phaser that wasn’t at his hip anymore.

Whatever waited outside that door…

 it wasn’t rest.

 It wasn’t safety.

 It was the next wave.

 

Chapter 5: Commands in Chaos

Chapter 5

 

The loft buzzed with frantic motion and the low hum of unstable magic. Smoke from earlier battles clung to the cracked windows, and the floorboards vibrated faintly with each rumble from outside. The group barely had a moment to breathe before Jason stepped into the center of the chaos, shoulders squared, voice steady.
“Okay—listen up.”
He pointed gently toward Kimberly. “Kimberly, you stay put until you find that morpher. We can’t risk you without it.”
Kimberly nodded, still pale. “Yeah… I know.” She pressed her hand against her injured arm, frustration written across her face.
Jason turned to Scooby. “Scooby, can you try and sniff it out?”
“Ruh-roh…” Scooby tapped his paws nervously on the floor. “I dunno… but I’ll try, Rason!”

 

He lowered his nose and began sniffing around the loft, weaving between overturned chairs and scattered blankets.
Jason continued, his tone firm but never harsh. “Fred, Daphne—you two investigate outside, but don’t engage. We don’t know what’s still out there.”
Fred nodded with determination. Daphne touched his arm, relieved they finally had direction.
“Shaggy, Velma,” Jason said, “stay here. See if you can dig up anything on interdimensional physics, collapsing realities—anything that explains what’s happening.”
Velma pushed her glasses up, trying to steady herself. “R-right. We’ll… we’ll do our best.”
Shaggy swallowed hard but nodded too. For Velma, he told himself. Be brave… or at least look like it.
Jason turned to Regina and Emma. “Regina, Emma—you two take on Cinder.”
Regina let out a dramatic huff, folding her arms. “Oh, fantastic. Flame Barbie again.”
Emma smirked. “Regina—are you goin—”

 

“Don’t you finish that sentence, Miss Swan,” Regina snapped, though an amused spark flickered in her eyes.
Jason moved on before they could bicker. “Neal, you and the lieutenant take on the Putties.”
The lieutenant straightened, still unsure of himself but determined.
For a heartbeat, the loft seemed to twist around him—walls gleamed metal, panels lit red, and a distant hum pulsed in his chest. He shook it off as if waking from a dream.
Neal clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry—we’ll make clay dust out of ‘em.”
The lieutenant almost replied with “Aye, sir”— the phrase rose automatically, too familiar, too easy. He swallowed it back. “…Yeah. Let’s do that.”
“David, Snow—and I—will handle the stormtroopers,” Jason finished, scanning the room to make sure everyone understood their roles.
He was about to head for the door when he felt a tug on his pant leg.

 

Jason looked down.
Henry stood there, eyes wide, practically vibrating with awe.
“Sir… Mr. Scott… Jay…!”
He was still fanboying so hard he could barely form words.
“Jason will do, kid,” Jason said with a gentle smile.
Henry swallowed. “What about me? I—I want to help too.”
Before Jason could answer—
“Absolutely not!”
Emma, Regina, and Neal barked in perfect unison.
Henry’s shoulders slumped. “But I can help! I know tech stuff! I know the Rangers—”

 

Jason crouched to Henry’s level. His voice softened, but his gaze remained steady.
“I know you want to help. And you are helping… if you stay here and help Kimberly find her morpher. She needs backup. And I need someone I can trust to look after her.”
Henry blinked—surprised.
Then he nodded slowly, swallowing his disappointment.
“O-okay… I can do that.”
Jason gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

 

Good kid, he thought. Brave kid, just not ready for this battlefield.
The loft doors rattled from another tremor outside.
For a moment, the vibration felt like the deck of a ship under attack. His pulse quickened, a memory teasing at the edge of his mind before disappearing.
There wasn’t a second to waste.
“Everyone—move out!” Jason commanded.
And the heroes scattered into the collapsing world.
As he stepped forward, the hallway shimmered briefly, metal walls replacing the loft’s cracked plaster, and the hum of distant alarms filled his ears. He blinked—and it was gone.

Kimberly, Henry, and Scooby continued rummaging through every corner of the loft for Kimberly’s morpher. Clothes, blankets, pillows—everything ended up tossed aside.
“It’s useless… it’s not here,” Kimberly sighed in defeat, slumping back against the couch.
“We’ll find it, Rimberly,” Scooby said earnestly, patting her leg with a paw.
Across the loft, Shaggy and Velma worked at a frantic pace. Velma typed furiously on her laptop—keys clacking like rapid-fire—until suddenly the screen flickered.
Bold letters flashed across the display, the word practically punching its way out:
ZAROTH.
Velma froze. “That… can’t be good.”

Neal and the lieutenant fought back-to-back against the Putties outside. Neal ducked under a wide swing just in time for the lieutenant to fire a precise phaser volley, sparks erupting as the Putty collapsed. Neal spun, driving his fist into another one’s chest emblem, sending it skidding across the pavement.
For a moment—
the report of the phaser sounded wrong.
Too strong.
Too familiar.
He heard shouting.
Not Neal.
Someone else—someone crisp, commanding.
A voice echoing over speakers.
Orders.
Impact tremors.
Red lights flashing.
A corridor shaking beneath his feet.
The lieutenant blinked hard, and the memory shattered.
Neal glanced at him. “You good?”
“…Fine,” he lied, steadying his grip on the weapon.
Despite having met hours ago, their movements flowed together seamlessly—instinctively, almost like they’d trained for years.
Another Putty lunged.
The lieutenant sidestepped and struck its weak point in one smooth, practiced disengage-and-thrust motion.
The kind of motion that didn’t belong to a man with amnesia.
The kind of motion that used muscle memory older than the life he remembered.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he saw a blur of gold, and a hand slapping his shoulder—
“Back in the action, lieutenant.”
The image vanished as quickly as it came.

 

Snow stood atop the roof, her breath fogging in the cold air as she fired arrow after arrow. Each loosed shot hit its mark—stormtroopers toppled, scrambled, or ducked for cover. Red blaster bolts streaked past her, searing the shingles at her feet.
She rolled behind a vent, nocked another arrow with smooth archer’s form, and rose to fire again without hesitation.
Princess no longer… she thought. Warrior always.

 

Down below, Jason and David fought like a synchronized storm. Their swords clashed against blasters, armor, and metal plating as they pushed forward. Jason’s strikes were fast and precise—clean cuts, ripostes, and parries—while David’s were powerful cleaving blows and wide sweeps.
It looked like a slaughter—
—but it wasn’t.
Neither man delivered a killing blow. Every stormtrooper they struck fell unconscious, alive. Jason checked each one with a quick glance, relief flickering across his face before he moved on.

 

Emma slid behind a flipped car, chest heaving. She fired another shot, but her gun barely scratched Cinder’s armor. The P226’s rounds pinged harmlessly off the plating.
This is useless… she thought bitterly.
Cinder moved like a wildfire given form—her twin blades clashing violently against Regina’s sword. Then, with a flick of her wrist, the blades morphed into a bow. She drew back the string—arrows forming from glowing shards of molten glass—and fired explosive energy projectiles that sent Regina stumbling.
“Regina, you need—”
“No, Miss Swan, I will not!” Regina snapped, disgust curling her lip at the mere idea of transforming a third time.
Cinder smirked, drawing another arrow. “Suit yourself.”

 

Meanwhile
The sky above Fred and Daphne darkened to a deep, blood-red hue—the air thick with metallic heat. They searched cautiously through the eerie silence, trying to understand what was happening.
Then the silence shattered.
Putties lunged from behind a crumbling wall. Stormtroopers emerged from the shadows. Fred swung a broken pipe—using it like an improvised quarterstaff—while Daphne used her spinning kick and tumbling dodge, but there were too many. Both were forced back, breathless, overwhelmed.
A stormtrooper raised his blaster—
A bolt of green energy tore through the sky.
It struck the ground between the villains with an explosive impact burst, sending Putties flying and stormtroopers collapsing in sparks.
Smoke curled upward…
…revealing the silhouette of a young woman—no older than nineteen—standing tall, electricity dancing around her hands in a crackling aura of charged power.

Chapter 6: Serpent Morphin Time

Chapter 6

The fractured time-rift lair pulsed like a living wound—walls shifting, cracking, reforming as if the room itself breathed. Dim, unnatural light spilled from glowing fissures in the stone, illuminating machines, artifacts, and relics stolen from a dozen worlds. At the center of the chamber stood a towering mirror—its surface swirling with smoke and flickers of battles happening far beyond.

The Supreme Emperor stood before it, hands clasped behind his back, his silhouette sharp and imposing. Beside him, hunched and twitching with gleeful malice, was his right-hand man: the Puppet Master.

They watched the chaos unfolding on the mirror’s surface.

“Azula did good... stealing the Z-Scepter and the magic wand from Zedd and Rita,” the Puppet Master cackled. His laughter slithered across the room—thin, cold, and wrong, as if pure evil escaped his lips with every breath.

The Emperor didn’t turn. His voice rumbled through the chamber like rolling thunder.

“Yes… she performed exceptionally. But Cinder…” He paused, eyes narrowing. “Cinder is becoming overwhelmed. I am disappointed. I had high expectations for her.”

The Puppet Master’s grin widened. “It’s not like you to tolerate failure… so why with her?” Another cackle burst free, sharp enough to raise goosebumps.

Why indeed…? he thought gleefully, eager for an answer.

“That is only for me to know,” the Emperor replied coolly.

The Puppet Master nodded—still cackling—because he knew better than to press further.

The mirror shifted, showing Azula standing in a corridor of the lair, lightning crawling down her arms in elegant ribbons.

“Azula,” the Emperor said, his voice echoing magically through the chamber, “you have done well. Go assist Cinder—finish off the heroes.”

Azula bowed with perfect, lethal grace. “As you wish.”

She turned… and smirked.

Oh, I’ve done far more than you asked, she thought. And the heroes won’t know what hit them.

Crackling arcs of green lightning followed her as she vanished into the rift.

 

On the Battlefield

The fight had devolved into chaos.

Jason and David stood back-to-back in the center of a tightening circle of stormtroopers. Snow, on a rooftop earlier, was now forced to the ground, her quiver empty—every arrow spent.

No arrows… no height advantage… wonderful, she thought grimly.

Jason ducked under a blaster bolt, then launched himself upward, delivering a series of spinning tornado kicks that knocked three troopers off their feet. David followed up with a sweeping strike, disarming two troopers and sending their blasters skidding.

Snow grabbed a broken metal rod off the pavement, twirling it once to test the weight. “Improvisation it is…” she muttered before charging back into the fray.

 

Nearby, Regina and Emma continued their desperate duel with Cinder.

Cinder’s twin blades carved brilliant arcs of gold as she advanced, her attacks growing more vicious with every second. Regina parried with her sword, sparks flying violently. Emma fired round after round to cover her, each bullet barely slowing Cinder down.

“REGINA!” Emma shouted over the roar of clashing magic. “We’re outmatched! You have to—”

“Don’t say it, Miss Swan!” Regina snapped, fury and exhaustion burning through her voice.

“I’m saying it! You need to tran—”

“Don’t you dare finish that word,” Regina growled, blocking a flaming arrow with a shield of crackling dark violet magic.

Emma ducked another strike. “Transform.”

Regina froze for half a heartbeat—rage, fear, and pride all colliding.

“Never!” she spat.

Cinder smirked, drawing another molten arrow. “Oh… please do. I’d love to break that form a third time.”

_________________________________________________________________—

 

The fight raged on—violent, chaotic, and blistering with heat.

The broken city around them flickered like a glitching dream: buildings half-solid, half-transparent; streets twisting in on themselves; crimson lightning tearing through a sky stained the dark, heavy red of old blood. The air itself felt wrong—thin, trembling, as if reality were exhaling its final breaths.

Cinder spun in a tight arc, her molten blades carving fiery streaks through the fractured air before she slammed them downward. The impact erupted like a miniature explosion—BOOM—sending Regina and Emma hurtling through the air. They crashed hard and tumbled across the warped concrete, skidding to a stop near Jason.

Regina groaned, pushing herself up on trembling arms. Dust and heat burned her lungs. I am too old for this… she thought bitterly—but she forced herself upright. Emma rose beside her, hand clamped over her ribs, fury burning like a rising storm behind her eyes.

“Regina… you have a power that can stop this—use it,” Emma snarled. She staggered to her feet, every muscle screaming. Her vision wavered—pink light flickering at the edge of her mind, pulsing with a strange familiarity.

 What is that…? Why does it feel like it knows my name…?

Regina sighed sharply, temper fraying. “Miss Swan, how many times must I tell you I shall not use that power again? Besides—it is of no help anyway.”

Jason rushed over, sword raised defensively. Blaster bolts and glass-energy arrows exploded behind him like dying fireworks. “What’s going on?” he asked, voice low but urgent.

Emma jabbed a finger toward Regina. “She has a secret power and refuses to use it! And that power? It can totally help!”

Jason exhaled through his nose—a clear, controlled frustration. “Regina, ma’am… if you have something that can help, I suggest you get over your pride and transform.”

“I am not going to do it, so stop insisting!” Regina snapped, her voice cracking under pressure and fear she refused to name.

A volley of blaster fire tore toward them. Jason deflected one, two, three shots—but even he was starting to be overwhelmed. The sound of battle pressed in from every direction: David shouting in the distance… Snow’s arrows clattering uselessly on the ground… the metallic march of stormtroopers closing in…

Jason turned back to Regina, eyes sharp. “If you don’t do it… then your son and stepdaughter are going to die.” His voice dropped—firm, heavy with the weight of truth. “You have something that can protect your family. And no matter what… you should use it.”

Regina froze.

She hated the truth in his words.

 Hated how they cut deeper than any blade.

Henry… Snow… Emma…

 She couldn’t lose them. Not again. Not ever.

“Fine… whatever,” Regina muttered—and the ground trembled.

She called out the words.

 But they were not the same as before.

They were older. Deeper.

 As if the magic had been waiting centuries for her to speak them again.

She lifted her hand, voice echoing with power:

“MISTHAVEN CRYSTAL POWER—MAKE UP!”

 

The Misthaven Crystal erupted in a blinding burst of white-gold light, spiraling upward like a tornado of magic barely contained. Darkness folded back. Reality dimmed.

A ring of deep violet runes ignited beneath Regina’s feet, spreading outward like ripples across a moonlit pond. Her blazer and cape shredded into ribbons of shadow—writhing, twisting—then wrapped around her body and lifted her gently into the air.

Silver mist curled around her legs, forming knee-high boots etched with glowing, vine-like patterns. The mist climbed higher, swirling across her torso in warm luminescent waves that crystallized into a fitted bodice—midnight black trimmed with regal burgundy.

Two streaks of light—forest green and blood crimson—spiraled around her arms like enchanted silk, weaving into long, elegant gloves.

Her hair flared outward in a glossy wave, then swept upward into a dramatic high style. A delicate tiara formed from drifting petals of light, the central gem pulsing—once… twice… thrice—before settling into a brilliant ruby flame.

Her eyes snapped open, glowing with fierce violet fire.

Behind her, a massive silhouette of a dark rose bloomed, its petals shimmering before dissolving into hundreds of drifting sparks.

Regina descended gracefully, cape billowing like a storm in the night.

 She snapped her fingers.

A single petal of enchanted light drifted downward.

And she declared:

“I am Sailor Misthaven — Guardian of Enchanted Light.

 To protect my world… and all worlds… I stand ready.”

____________________________________

 

Fred and Daphne stood frozen, staring at the shadowed figure who had just saved them—lightning still crackling faintly around her boots like leftover static.

 

Fred swallowed. “W-Who are you?”

 

The woman stepped forward, her silhouette sharpening as the glow around her faded. “I am Sailor Jupiter. But… where am I? How did I get here, and why was I brought here?” Her brows furrowed as she glanced between them and the smoking remains of the attackers. “And why were those guys attacking you? Who are you?”

 

She sounded genuinely confused—defensive, but not hostile.

Okay… not a threat. Probably, Fred thought.

 

“I’m Fred, and she’s Daphne,” he said, gesturing beside him. He frowned at the pile of unconscious stormtroopers and twitching Putty dust. “Well… those guys are stormtroopers and Putties—and they’re bad guys, obviously, but—”

 

“I think you fell from the sky… or, more accurately, from the rifts tearing through it,” Daphne added, gazing upward at the distorted blood-red sky where cracks of green lightning pulsed. “As to why you’re here—I have no idea.”

 

“As for where you are,” Fred continued, “this is Storybrooke.”

 

“Storybrooke?” Jupiter repeated slowly. “Sounds like a fairy tale…”

 

Daphne gave a breathless, almost awkward laugh. “We’ve actually met Snow White and her family.”

 

Sailor Jupiter blinked. “…Oh. So it is a fairy tale.”

 

Before anyone could say more, a cold, mocking voice cut through the air.

 

“Well, well… I see my little Cinder friend needs help dealing with you pests.”

 

A burst of blue fire spiraled down from the rooftop. Azula descended like a vengeful comet, using jets of sapphire flame as a propeller before landing gracefully on the cracked pavement—smirking, eyes glinting with cruel anticipation.

 

Just great… Fred thought. As if things weren’t bad enough.

Azula ignored Fred and Daphne’s desperate, half-formed attacks as though they were gusts of wind. Her focus locked entirely on Sailor Jupiter.

 She’s the threat… she’s the one who can ruin everything, Azula thought, eyes narrowing.

 And then the battlefield cracked open with light.

A fierce lightning duel erupted—green against blue, thunder against flame. Azula shifted effortlessly from lightning to fire and back again, each transition fluid and unnervingly precise, keeping Jupiter constantly on the defensive.

Azula lunged first.

Blue fire burst from her fingertips like a whip of molten sapphire. Jupiter dodged left, rolling under the searing arc as it carved a glowing scar across the stone courtyard. She came up swinging—no magic, just a solid, disciplined punch aimed straight at Azula’s jaw.

Azula twisted back with dancer-like elegance, flipping away and landing lightly with a smug smile.

 “You think you can fight me with your fists?”

Jupiter cracked her knuckles.

 “Want to find out?”

Azula didn’t wait. A fireball rocketed toward Jupiter—

—who planted her feet and raised one hand skyward.

Clouds churned into existence above her.

“Supreme Thunder!”

A column of lightning slammed into her waiting palm, exploding outward in a streak of blinding white. The bolt collided with Azula’s fire mid-air, bursting like a miniature sun. The shockwave sent Fred stumbling backward; Daphne grabbed him before he hit the ground.

Azula skidded across the stones, hair singed, but smiling with sharp satisfaction.

“Lightning against fire,” she murmured, cracking her neck. “How poetic.”

Jupiter didn’t answer—she was already charging.

They collided in a whirlwind of blows. Jupiter’s raw strength slammed against Azula’s cold, ruthless precision. Sparks erupted with every strike. Azula spun into a vicious kick; Jupiter blocked with her forearm, gritting her teeth. The impact shoved her back a step… but she didn’t fall.

Azula’s smile faltered—impressed, and deeply irritated.

She thrust both hands forward.

Blue fire roared to life.

Jupiter vaulted over it, flipping gracefully. As she descended—

“Sparkling Wide Pressure!”

A sphere of crackling lightning expanded into a sweeping wave that lit the courtyard like a falling star.

Azula’s eyes widened. She rolled violently aside as the blast ripped past her, slamming into a column and shattering it like brittle glass. Stone rained in chunks.

From behind cover, Fred whispered, “That should’ve taken her out…”

But Azula stepped from the smoke—hair wild, eyes burning with murderous blue light.

“You’re starting to annoy me.”

“Good,” Jupiter replied. “That was the idea.”

Azula shrieked, launching herself forward with fire trailing from her heels. She spun, unleashing a spiraling tornado of blue flame hot enough to melt steel.

Jupiter braced, arms raised against the inferno. Sweat gathered along her brow. The firestorm pressed harder… hotter… hungry enough to swallow her whole.

“Jupiter!” Daphne gasped, hand flying to her mouth.

The storm engulfed Jupiter entirely.

For a moment—nothing existed but fire.

Then—

A spark.

 A flicker of green.

 A pulse of power.

Electricity tore through the firestorm from within, ripping it apart.

Azula blinked.

 “What—”

Jupiter stepped out of the flames completely unharmed, a corona of crackling light dancing around her body.

“That’s enough.”

Wind surged around her, sweeping glowing emerald leaves into a spiraling cyclone. They shimmered—alive, electric.

Azula’s eyes narrowed. “What is this?”

Jupiter snapped her arms outward.

“Jupiter Oak Evolution!”

Lightning ignited the leaves, transforming them into a hurricane of green and gold that surged forward like a wrathful storm god.

Azula countered with twin jets of fire—

—but the lightning leaves slammed into her with devastating force.

The explosion rocked the courtyard. Fire and lightning twisted together in a blinding pillar. Azula was thrown backward, skidding violently until she collided with a cracked wall.

She groaned, breath ragged, hair falling wildly around her face.

For the first time… she looked shaken.

Jupiter landed lightly, lightning fading around her fists.

 “I can keep going,” she warned. “Can you?”

Azula pushed herself up. Rage twisted her features—rage mixed with something she despised.

Uncertainty.

Daphne whispered, “Is… is she done?”

“No,” Fred murmured, staring at Azula. “She’s just getting started.”

Azula’s pupils shrank. Fire gathered at her palms—hotter, darker, unstable.

 Jupiter tensed.

 That’s not normal firebending…

 The real fight was only beginning.

Azula’s lips curled into a smirk. “I can.”

She reached to her side and pulled out something metallic—something shaped like a belt buckle, but in the center, instead of a coin, a brooch gleamed.

Jason, still struggling to stand, froze. His eyes widened.

 “That’s—THAT’S A MORPHER!”

Azula’s grin sharpened.

“It’s morphin’ time. Serpenterrasaurus Crystal Power—make up!”

Black flames erupted around her, swallowing her in spirals of shadow and heat.

When she stepped forward again, she wasn’t just Azula.

She was something worse.

Her suit clung to her like battle-forged armor—a molten-red bodysuit trimmed in regimented navy. A sharp navy skirt flared at her hips, precise and militaristic. Gold trim blazed along her gloves, boots, and collar, gleaming like lightning frozen mid-strike. A white rhombus emblem sat at her chest, the silhouette of a crimson serpent coiled at its heart—alive with ominous energy.

Her helmet—Ranger-like, yet mystically stylized—shone in red and navy. Gold crests swept back in curved, hornlike arcs. A serpent motif slithered subtly along the sides.

At her hip rested a black holster.

 Within it, a blaster shaped like a serpent’s fang-lined head hummed with restrained power—fire and lightning in mechanical form.

Shadowy flames rippled around her, wrapping her in a dark aura that flickered between beauty and terror.

She stood like a queen wrought of fire and shadow—

 a corrupted Senshi,

 a monstrous Ranger,

 a serpent crowned in darkness.

Fred exhaled shakily.

 “This day just gets worse and worse by the minute…”

 

Chapter 7: hope destroyed?

 

 

CHAPTER 7

 

While Jason and the others fought outside, the loft crew worked desperately to investigate Zaroth and search for Kimberly’s missing morpher. The atmosphere felt tight—claustrophobic—even though the loft was spacious. Fear had a way of shrinking the walls.

 

“I think I must’ve dropped it when I injured my arm…” Kimberly muttered suddenly, voice heavy with guilt. The words hit her harder than she expected. She clutched her wrapped arm, frustration knotting in her chest.

 

“Roh rno!” Scooby whimpered. He nuzzled Kimberly’s leg, trying to comfort her.

 

Kimberly’s tense expression softened. Using her good arm, she scratched behind his ear.

“Good boy…”

 

Henry sat curled at one end of the couch, shoulders slumped, expression stormy.

“It’s not fair… I should be out there.” He crossed his arms, lower lip jutting in a stubborn pout.

 

Kimberly couldn’t help a small laugh. “Henry, it’s dangerous out there. We can’t just rush into danger blindly—”

 

“But that is what heroes do!” he insisted, voice cracking with emotion. “They go out and risk themselves to protect people.”

 

Kimberly shook her head gently. “You’re half-right. We do risk our lives… but not blindly. We make a plan, we prepare, we train. Heroes don’t just jump in without thinking—they’d die, Henry.” She exhaled softly, rubbing her injured arm. “Trust me. I learned that the hard way.”

 

Henry’s defiance wavered, replaced with quiet worry.

 

Across the loft, Velma’s laptop flashed again—ZAROTH—bold, relentless letters taking over her entire screen like a digital scream. The name pulsed through her thoughts.

 

Zaroth… who are you? What are you? Why now?

Questions spun like gears in her brain, each turning faster than the last.

 

Velma typed furiously, eyes darting back and forth as if the answers might materialize if she just pressed the keys fast enough.

 

Shaggy walked up behind her, holding a sandwich he had clearly lost interest in halfway. “Like, Velms… maybe take a break—”

 

Velma whipped her head toward him, glasses flashing.

“Take a break? Shaggy, if we don’t find anything, it’s quite literally the end of the world.” Her voice was sharp—sharper than she meant. She winced. “Sorry… I just… I can’t risk losing this thread.”

 

Shaggy held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, jeez… I’ll help. I’ll even read a book.” He grabbed the nearest thick tome, flipping it open upside down at first, then correcting it. “But like… what if we’re going about this wrong?”

 

Velma froze mid-keystroke. “What?” she asked, brow furrowed.

 

“I’m just saying,” Shaggy muttered, tapping the page, “the world’s, like… tearing apart, right? So instead of looking at our reality for answers, maybe we should be looking at the other ones bleeding into it. Different worlds, different rules… maybe this Zaroth creep is from another dimension entirely.”

 

Velma stared at him.

 

Then her eyes widened.

 

“Shaggy… you’re a genius!” She grabbed him in a sudden, tight hug.

 

Shaggy turned beet red.

Scooby snickered.

Velma blushed too, abruptly letting go and pushing her glasses back up her nose.

 

“But really,” she breathed, excitement returning, “that might be it. Interdimensional cross-referencing. If Zaroth exists in another reality—his data might be bleeding into ours. We need to widen the search parameters…”

 

She began typing even faster, determination reignited.

 

Henry watched them, envy flickering for a moment before turning to hope.

 

Kimberly ruffled his hair.

“You’re helping too, Henry. Trust me.”

 

And in that moment—small as it was—Henry believed her.

 

____________________________________

The street was a ruin of cracked pavement and overturned debris, lit by the hellish red glow bleeding down from the fractured sky. Smoke curled low between shattered storefronts as the lieutenant and Neal fought back-to-back, Putties closing in from both ends of the block.

The lieutenant fired, then struck, then pivoted, footwork snapping into place with ruthless efficiency. His phaser barked once—twice—before he stepped inside a Putty’s reach and drove the butt of the weapon into its chest emblem, shattering it. He turned seamlessly into the next attack, never overextending, never hesitating.

Too clean.
Too right.

“Something seems different about this set of Putties,” Neal called out, smashing his elbow into one and following with a short, brutal hook that sent clay fragments skittering across the asphalt.

“Yeah—like what?” the lieutenant asked, parrying a clumsy swing and countering with a precise disengage-and-strike. His body moved on instinct, angles perfect, timing exact. He knew he was a lieutenant—he must have had training—but this was more than drills.

Faster… sharper…

Too precise.

Muscle memory, he told himself as he ducked another strike—
—but even that explanation felt thin.

For a split second, the street beneath his boots wasn’t pavement anymore.

It was smooth.
Metallic.
Vibrating.

A distant alarm echoed in his skull—

—Red alert—

—cut off abruptly as a Putty lunged and he rolled, coming up in a low stance with his weapon already leveled.

“The Putties from before didn’t have bone-white cracks spiderwebbing across their gray clay skin,” Neal continued, advancing with a flurry of close-range strikes, punching one back hard enough to fracture its chest. “And they didn’t look like that.”

He pointed toward the next wave emerging from the smoke.

Z-Putties.

Each one was wrong in a way that made the air feel heavier—as if reality itself recoiled from them. Shadow-smoke leaked from their joints, eyes, and mouths, drifting upward instead of dispersing.

Bone-mask growths had fused unevenly into their faces.

Jagged plates of pale bone jutted from shoulders and forearms, clacking softly when they moved.

Eyes—some glowing red, others stark white—burned behind hollow sockets filled with writhing darkness.

The familiar “Z” emblem on their chests was cracked like ancient bone, the fractures filled with swirling shadow… as if something underneath was trying to claw its way out.

From a distance, they read as Putties.

Up close—

They felt wrong.

The lieutenant raised his weapon… and hesitated.

For the briefest instant, the Putty’s chest wasn’t clay at all.

It was armor.

Blackened.
Scored.
Familiar.

A voice flickered through his mind—calm, professional, terrifyingly clear:

“Target center mass—adjust for movement.”

His heart stuttered.

“Heads up!” Neal shouted.

The lieutenant moved without conscious thought—firing, then shifting his aim a fraction of an inch, striking exactly where the fractures spread fastest. The Putty collapsed in a burst of shadow and dust. He didn’t remember choosing the shot.

His body simply knew.

Then something slammed into the side of his head.

Pain exploded behind his eyes—white-hot and blinding. He staggered, barely keeping his footing as the world skipped, jerking like a corrupted recording.

For half a second, the sky above him wasn’t red.

It was black.

Studded with stars.

A viewport.

Hands gripping a rail.

The deck shuddering beneath his feet—

Brace—

The thought cut off mid-command.

He gasped, blinking hard as the present snapped violently back into place. The memory retreated as quickly as it came, leaving behind a pounding headache… and the hollow certainty that something inside him had stirred.

And locked itself away again.

Neal grabbed his arm. “Hey—stay with me!”

“I’m… fine,” the lieutenant said, though the words sounded distant even to his own ears.

Fine wasn’t the right word.

Something had cracked—but not enough to break through.

Not yet.

The street was scorched and broken—cracked asphalt veined with cooling fire, shattered storefronts coughing up smoke as embers drifted lazily through the air.

The fight with Cinder had become almost effortless now.

Regina moved with absolute control—every step deliberate, every parry measured. Enchanted light flowed from her hands in precise bursts, intercepting molten blades before they could gain momentum. Where fire once ruled the street, magic now answered it—clean, focused, overwhelming.

Light crashed against flame.

Cinder snarled, barely managing to block a sweeping arc of enchanted energy. The impact hurled her backward, boots grinding against broken stone as she skidded across the pavement. She caught herself in a crouch… but her stance wavered.

For the first time—

Hesitation.

This is no longer a fight she can win.

With a sharp, furious curse, Cinder slammed her foot down and unleashed a blinding burst of smoke. Heat hissed violently as the flames around her collapsed inward, snuffed and swallowed by shadow.

Then she was gone—leaping back into the ruins, fire dying in her wake.

Silence followed.

Broken only by labored breathing.

Regina lowered her arm slowly, the glow around her hands dimming to a faint shimmer. The rush of power ebbed, leaving behind a familiar ache in her limbs—a reminder that control still came at a cost.

Nearby, Emma sagged against a cracked brick wall, one hand pressed firmly to her side. Her breaths were shallow, uneven. Burns and bruises marked both women—proof of how hard the fight had been… and how close it had come.

They needed a moment.

Just one.

“So…” Emma muttered, forcing out a weak laugh, “that was… something.”

Her gaze drifted down the ruined street, toward the far edge of town. In the distance, flashes of blue thunder collided violently with green lightning, each impact rolling across Storybrooke like distant cannon fire. Faint shouts—attack names—carried on the wind.

“I think there’s a newcomer, Regina,” Emma added, wincing as she tried to straighten. “And judging by the noise… they’re not subtle.”

Regina followed her line of sight, eyes narrowing as she watched the storm clash against itself.

Lightning against lightning…

Interesting.

Before she could speak, Snow and David emerged from the smoke farther down the street. David delivered a final, decisive disarming strike to a staggering stormtrooper, sending the blaster skidding away. Snow loosed one last arrow—clean, precise—dropping a fleeing trooper before he could escape.

They regrouped quickly and headed back.

“And where do you think you’re going, young lady?”

Snow’s voice cut through the moment—sharp with concern, not anger.

Emma turned, instantly flushing. “Mom, I need to help them,” she protested, already shifting her weight forward despite the pain screaming through her ribs.

“No, you don’t,” Snow said firmly. “You can barely move. We need to regroup.”

She took a step toward Emma—

—and visibly winced, hand drifting instinctively to her side.

“But,” Snow continued, steadying herself, “if you’re that worried… I’ll go.”

“No. You are not, Snow,” Regina said immediately, her tone leaving no room for argument.

She stepped between them, eyes flicking over injuries with a strategist’s precision. “Both of you are staying put. That is not a suggestion.”

Emma threw her hands up. “So what—we just stay here and wait to see what happens?”

David shook his head slowly.

“No.”

He glanced toward the distant storm of combat, jaw set, grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. “We hold position. We catch our breath. And if whoever’s out there needs backup—”

His voice hardened.

“—we move together.”

For now, though…

They waited.

Watching lightning clash against lightning.

And hoping that whoever had just entered the fight—

Was on their side.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You can call me Sailor Serpenterra Ranger,” Azula mocked, her grin sharp as broken glass as she faced both Sailor Jupiter and the Red Ranger.

The street around them was already in ruins—cracked pavement, burning debris, shattered storefronts glowing red beneath a sky still bleeding rift-light. Smoke curled low, thick and choking.

Azula lifted her fang blaster.

And fired.

Not at them.

At the civilians scrambling for cover.

“Jason—!” Jupiter shouted.

Jason didn’t hesitate.

He surged forward—straight into the line of fire—planting himself between the blaster bolts and the fleeing townsfolk. Energy slammed into his chest armor in violent bursts, sparks erupting as he staggered back a step… then another.

But he stayed standing.

“No one dies today,” he growled through clenched teeth.

Not again. Not on my watch.

Azula laughed—a sharp, delighted sound—and struck back instantly. Jagged arcs of black lightning tore from her hands, ripping across the street like broken veins of night.

Jupiter barely had time to react. She sidestepped and rolled as the lightning scorched the pavement where she’d stood a heartbeat earlier. A split second later, a blast of black fire roared past her shoulder, shattering a storefront window behind her in a spray of glass and flame.

Something was wrong.

The lightning wasn’t blue anymore.

The fire wasn’t normal flame.

Both were darker—heavier—warped by something corrupt, something that pressed against Jupiter’s senses like a storm ready to tear the sky open.

“Jason—her power—!” Jupiter shouted, raising her arms just in time to block another strike. “It’s stronger than before!”

Azula surged forward, overchanneling without restraint. Fire and lightning braided together into a devastating barrage that cratered the street with every impact.

Jason and Jupiter fell into formation without a word—back-to-back—parrying, dodging, countering as best they could. The ground split beneath them. Walls collapsed. The air itself seemed to scream.

Jason’s helmet cracked under a glancing blow, his visor spiderwebbing. His Ranger suit was scorched and torn, smoke curling from burned seams. Every movement cost him now—his energy bleeding away, his muscles screaming—

—but he refused to fall.

Not yet.

Not while people are still in danger.

They were being boxed in.

Black fire sealed off one escape route.

Lightning slammed down to block the other.

Jupiter staggered, breath ragged. “Red Ranger,” she said, forcing herself upright, “you called that thing a morpher earlier—but the object in the center wasn’t just a morpher.”

Azula hovered slightly off the ground now, dark energy coiling around her like a living crown.

“It was a brooch,” Jupiter continued. “The Dark Moon Brooch.”

Jason’s eyes widened behind the cracked visor. “A Dark Moon Brooch?” he said. “Are you saying she fused Ranger power with Senshi power?”

He didn’t know how he understood the word Senshi.

His mind buzzed with fragments—knowledge that didn’t feel learned, memories that didn’t feel earned… yet rang undeniably true.

Doesn’t matter, he thought grimly. She has to be stopped.

Azula spread her arms wide, black lightning spiraling around her as she laughed.

“I must say,” she purred, “I haven’t had this much fun since I killed the Avatar. Well—technically he died for a bit before that water bitch brought him back.”

She dove.

The impact shattered the street.

Jason barely managed to raise his sword, deflecting part of the blast—the rest sent him skidding across broken pavement. Jupiter answered with a thunder strike, green lightning clashing violently against Azula’s black energy—

—but it was like throwing lightning at a tidal wave.

The battle dragged on… strike after strike… blast after blast…

Until Jupiter’s knees buckled.

Until Jason’s sword trembled in his grip.

“I hate to say it,” Jason gasped, breath ragged, “but we’re no match for her. We have to retreat.”

“Damn it,” Jupiter hissed—then nodded. “I know.”

Azula lifted her hands again, gathering enough energy to end it.

Jason didn’t give her the chance.

He grabbed Fred, Daphne, and Sailor Jupiter—triggering the teleport just as black lightning crashed down where they’d been standing.

The battlefield vanished in a flash of red light.

They reappeared in a burst of displaced air, collapsing hard near Emma, David, Snow, and Regina.

Jason barely stayed upright, armor flickering erratically as he sucked in a breath. “Who’s missing?” he asked, voice strained. “And how did your fights go?”

“Fine—we won against Cinder,” Emma replied quickly.

“Good,” Jason said, nodding once.

“Snow and I finished the stormtroopers,” David added.

Fred scanned the group, counting faces—once… twice…

His stomach dropped.

“That just leaves Neal and the lieutenant.”

Jason clenched his fists.

Then the fight isn’t over yet.

Not by a long shot.

Chapter 8: Azula’s Tale

The Z-Putties—or, as Neal had dubbed them, the Grim Putties—had completely surrounded the lieutenant and Neal. The streets around them were littered with broken debris, smoldering rubble, and shattered streetlamps that flickered in the dim, fractured light of the rifts overhead. Sparks flew from cracked electrical boxes, casting long, jittery shadows across the combatants.

 

They fought furiously. Neal ducked under a wild swing from a Grim Putty, rolling over broken pavement. “Hey… you know something?” he called out, breath ragged but eyes sharp.

 

“No… not really. Why—do you have an idea?” the lieutenant shot back, deflecting a Putty’s bone-white arm with his phaser. The move was instinctive—muscle memory taking over where his memory faltered.

 

For a brief second, the street around him transformed. Panels of light blinked overhead, cold metal floors stretched beneath his boots, and a low hum vibrated through the air. Alien voices murmured unintelligible commands. He gripped his phaser tighter, heart thundering—but when he blinked, the city street returned, cracked pavement and all.

 

“Sort of,” Neal panted, punching at a crack forming on a Putty’s chest. “On that TV show… all they had to do was hit the ‘Z’ on their chest. Thought it had to be a really strong strike.”

 

The lieutenant blinked, rolling to avoid another swing. “So… we’re taking battle advice from a TV show now?” He punched a Grim Putty directly in the cracked emblem, sparks of energy scattering with the impact.

 

Another flicker—red lights, a bridge filled with stars visible through the viewport. Alien figures rushed past, gesturing, shouting. The lieutenant’s mind almost spoke a word of command, something precise and military. Then the vision snapped back—he staggered, breath catching, the street snapping into place beneath him.

 

Neal laughed breathlessly. “It makes as much sense as anything else right now.”

 

They were about to continue their improvised strategy when a young man wielding a saber made of pure light appeared out of nowhere. With a few precise strikes, he deflected the Grim Putties, each swing slicing through them with a hum of energy that made the street vibrate. Somehow—against all logic, destiny, and sanity—they began to gain ground.

 

Blows rained, sparks flew, and stone cracked under the fury of the fight. The lieutenant gritted his teeth as he ducked and rolled, feeling bruises bloom across his arms. Neal’s fists blurred with motion, striking at the weak points of the Putties’ cracked chests. One by one, the Grim Putties faltered, collapsing in a puff of gray smoke laced with shadow.

 

His mind flickered again: a console beeping urgently, alien hieroglyphics blinking across a screen. He was standing on a deck somewhere—ships lined in formation outside the viewport, stars stretching into infinity. He knew that he was needed there… but the memory faded before he could grasp anything else. He shook his head, focusing on the Putties.

 

Injured, battered, and bruised—but victorious—the lieutenant and Neal leaned on each other for support, breathing hard, bodies trembling from exertion.

 

Emma limped forward, eyes wide with relief. She wrapped her arms around Neal, pressing a quick, relieved kiss to his cheek. “I was so worried about you,” she scolded lightly, though her voice was laced with genuine fear.

 

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Neal joked, forcing a grin.

 

The group moved back to the loft together, weary but safe. Kimberly, Scooby, Daphne, Shaggy, Velma, and Henry greeted them—smiles, relief, and exclamations of surprise mingling in the cramped, cozy space. The loft, though battered, felt like a small island of normalcy amidst the chaos of the rift-warped city.

 

The lieutenant’s chest still thrummed with echoes of metal decks, strange alien chatter, and lights far above the floor. He had no idea why, or who he had been—but the instinct to move, to fight, to protect, and to survive… it was already there.

 

 

---

 

Meanwhile… inside the fractured-time rift, the villains’ lair loomed: the Riftspire Citadel. Spires of black stone twisted impossibly toward the sky, rift energy crackling along their edges. Shadows flickered unnaturally, as though the building itself were alive and breathing.

 

The Supreme Emperor sat perched on a throne of dark crystal, shoulders straight, aura radiating authority. “You’ve done well, Azula,” he said, voice smooth but heavy with approval. “Unlike Cinder… who has been a disappointment.”

 

Cinder clenched her teeth, eyes narrowing. It isn’t fair… why did the witch outclass me? Where did Azula even get that morpher brooch? Her hands curled into fists at her sides, molten energy flickering faintly around her fingertips.

 

Azula let out an evil giggle, her eyes glinting. “Naturally,” she purred, settling herself in a chair near the throne. A feast had been prepared in her honor—plates piled with exotic delicacies from across dimensions, though she barely noticed. Her mind was already turning, savoring the knowledge of her advantage.

 

The Puppet Master sat beside her, fingers steepled, eyes gleaming with curiosity and amusement. “My dear… I must know,” he said, voice dripping with delight. “How exactly did you acquire the Dark Morpher Brooch?”

 

Azula leaned back slightly, a smirk playing across her lips. “It all began…”

 

___________________________________

 

BACK AT THE LOFT;

 

 

The heroes were finally catching their breath after a half-won, half-defeated battle. The loft felt oddly calm compared to the chaos outside—the faint hum of electricity in the walls, the scattered remnants of gear, and the soft padding of Scooby’s paws across the floor.

 

Henry’s jaw practically hit the floor when he noticed the two new arrivals. His eyes widened, and he practically bounced in place.

 

No way… no way…

 

“Yo… you’re… you—Sailor Jupiter—Makoto Kino! And you’re Luke Skywalker—the greatest Jedi ever! Have you met Mara Jade yet? Is she really real? …I’m… this is so awesome! Can I see your lightsaber? Can I hold it? Can we be friends?…”

 

Henry rambled on, a mile a minute, voice full of awe, excitement, and pure, unfiltered fanboy energy. He nearly collided with Scooby, who wagged his tail, sensing the contagious excitement.

 

Emma struggled to keep her own fangirling inside. Focus, Emma… you’re supposed to be the adult here… but this is Luke Skywalker and Sailor Jupiter… in your living room… Her hands clenched, a strange mix of giddiness and awe tightening her chest. She wanted to ask them a dozen questions at once, but she reminded herself—she had to maintain some composure.

 

Jason leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching the scene with a half-amused, half-exasperated glance. Kids, he thought. Always the same.

 

Velma straightened her glasses, clearing her throat. “OK, people—listen up. Our enemy isn’t time itself. This isn’t a phenomenon—someone is behind this. According to reports, you fought Cinder, Azula, stormtroopers, Putt—”

 

“Grim Putties,” Neal interjected, ducking as Scooby nudged him.

 

“Right. Grim Putties,” Velma corrected, pushing her glasses up. “But that’s not all. I’ve found a name—well, three actually. One is the Supreme Emperor… two, the Puppet Master… and three, Zaroth. We might be fighting one… or all three. I haven’t discovered their plan yet, but in reality—zero—”

 

“Reality Zero?” Sailor Jupiter asked, eyes narrowing as she processed the concept.

 

“Yes,” Velma said, hands gesturing toward her laptop. “We’re all from different realities, realms, and dimensions. Time and space are bleeding in here.”

 

“That explains how I was able to use Senshi power…” Regina muttered, crossing her arms, a faint glow still lingering around her hands. It isn’t just magic… it’s fusion—realities colliding in ways I’ve never imagined…

 

“That’s not all,” Jason added. “It seems powers from different realities are colliding—or fusing—with each other.”

 

The lieutenant’s eyes flicked toward Regina, who was glaring at him with icy precision. “Have you recalled any memories yet, Lieutenant?” she asked, her tone cutting like a blade.

 

For a fraction of a second, the world tilted.

 

Stars… sliding past a viewport… metal walls… panels blinking with alien symbols… figures rushing past, issuing commands I almost understand…

 

He knew he should respond. He should know what to do. But the memory snapped away before he could grasp a name, a ship, or a single face.

 

“As a matter of fact…” the lieutenant said, voice steady despite the flutter of dizziness in his chest. “I know I’m an officer. And I’ve worked with… aliens.”

 

Another fragment hit him—hands on a console, the thrum of a starship beneath his feet, a strange hum filling the air. An alien voice called a rank he didn’t remember. He had obeyed. He had acted. And yet… nothing else returned.

 

He blinked, shaking his head, trying to ground himself in the loft’s warm, chaotic reality.

 

“That’s all I can recall for now,” he said, voice calm but tinged with uncertainty, as he looked back at Regina.

 

Henry bounced on the balls of his feet again, practically vibrating. This is insane… Sailor Jupiter, Luke Skywalker, and a real live Red Ranger… all in one room… I’m never washing this shirt again!

 

Emma inhaled sharply, trying not to squeal. I am literally not adulting right now… but I can’t contain it… they’re heroes… legends… right here in front of me…

 

Scooby whimpered, sensing the excitement and tension mingling in the air, tail wagging in nervous delight.

 

‐-‐‐—---------

 

Kimberly, Fred, Daphne, and Shaggy listened quietly as the others recounted what had happened on the battlefield. The room felt heavy—like the air itself hadn’t quite settled after the chaos outside.

 

Fred and Daphne exchanged uneasy glances. Both of them shuddered at the same time. They had been there… had seen her.

 

Azula.

 

The Sailor Serpenterra Ranger.

 

Neither of them said her name out loud, but the memory of blue fire turning black and lightning ripping through stone lingered like a bad afterimage burned into their minds.

 

“So… like,” Shaggy finally said, rubbing the back of his neck, “if powers can combine—can’t we, y’know, find something to help us do the same?”

 

His voice was hopeful, but there was worry underneath it. He was relieved he hadn’t gone to the battlefield… yet seeing his friends shaken, injured, and exhausted twisted something in his chest. Scooby and I wouldn’t have lasted a minute out there… he thought. But I still wanna help.

 

Snow returned from the kitchen carrying a tray of tea and coffee, carefully passing cups around the loft. The simple, domestic normalcy felt strange after everything they’d faced.

 

Jason smiled warmly but lifted a hand in polite refusal. “Thank you—but I prefer healthier beverages.”

 

Snow nodded in understanding as David, Neal, and the others took grateful sips. Even small comforts mattered right now.

 

Luke examined his cup curiously, then glanced up. “Excuse me,” he asked, completely sincere, “do you happen to have blue milk?”

 

Snow blinked—then shook her head apologetically.

 

Luke smiled anyway. “Worth asking.”

 

For just a moment, the tension eased.

 

 

---

 

Back in the Riftspire Citadel…

 

Azula leaned back, clearly enjoying the attention as the shadows of the fractured lair twisted along the walls. Her lips curled into a slow, satisfied smirk.

 

“It all began…” she said softly.

 

 

---

 

FLASHBACK

 

The moon loomed overhead as Azula stood within the ruins of Rita and Zedd’s palace.

 

What had once been a monument to tyranny and power was now shattered—walls cracked, pillars collapsed, debris scattered like the bones of something long dead. Smoke clung to the air, heavy with lingering magic.

 

“I’ve been searching everywhere…” Azula whispered to herself, her voice echoing faintly through the ruins.

 

She moved deeper into the palace, boots crunching against broken stone. That was when she heard it.

 

Whispers.

 

Soft. Persistent. Calling to her.

 

She didn’t know why she followed them—but she did.

 

The whispers led her into a hidden chamber where neither light nor darkness ruled. It wasn’t evil… or good.

 

It was chaos.

 

Pure, ancient, and alive.

 

At the center of the chamber rested the Dark Morpher Brooch.

 

Azula felt it pull at her—as if it had been waiting. For her.

 

Without hesitation, she reached out.

 

The moment her fingers closed around the brooch, reality shattered.

 

Flashes of other worlds—other realms, other universes—slammed into her mind. Lives that were not hers. Futures that never belonged to her. Battles won and lost across countless realities.

 

Knowledge she should not have known flooded her senses.

 

Power—unimaginable and intoxicating—ignited in her veins.

 

Two forces that were never meant to coexist… merged.

 

Not now.

 

Not before.

 

But always.

 

Ranger power.

 

Senshi power.

 

United within the Dark Morpher Brooch.

---

 

The world—or in this case, the moon—stopped in Azula’s mind.

 

It felt like an eternity… though in reality, only seconds passed.

 

Her breath hitched.

Her heartbeat slowed.

 

So this is it, she thought. This is what’s been calling me.

 

Then the ruins of the palace began to quake.

 

Stone screamed as ancient foundations cracked, fissures tearing open across the once-pristine marble floor. From the depths of the looming abyss rose a chilling, monstrous presence—its emergence dragging shadows with it like a living tide.

 

Of course, Azula thought darkly. Power never comes without a test.

 

The creature hauled itself into the pale moonlight.

 

Part scorpion.

Part dragon.

A nightmare given form.

 

Massive, tattered dragon wings unfurled with a thunderous roar, scattering debris in all directions. A scorpion’s tail—thick as a siege weapon—arched high over its back, its barbed stinger dripping with venomous energy that hissed as it struck the stone. Its body moved with terrifying intelligence, predatory and calculating. Its hands—if they could be called that—were pure stone, ancient and nearly indestructible, each impact against the ground cracking the lunar surface beneath it.

 

It was a fusion of everything that ever was… and everything that ever would be.

 

The protector.

The guardian.

The final lock upon the Dark Morpher Brooch.

 

Without warning—it lunged.

 

Azula barely had time to react.

 

She twisted aside as stone claws slammed down where she’d stood moments earlier, the impact sending shockwaves ripping through the palace ruins. Too slow—focus. She countered instantly, hurling black fire that detonated against the creature’s chest—

 

—and vanished.

 

Absorbed.

 

Her eyes narrowed. Interesting.

 

The creature retaliated with terrifying speed.

 

Its tail whipped forward, the stinger striking like lightning. Azula raised her arms just in time, black energy flaring as she blocked the venomous blow—but the sheer force sent her skidding backward, boots carving deep gouges into the stone.

 

Pain flared up her arms.

 

She smiled.

 

Good. A challenge.

 

The creature hissed as corrupted energy burned along its tail—but it did not retreat.

 

Neither did she.

 

The fight became a brutal exchange.

 

Wings battered the air, knocking Azula from her feet. Stone fists crashed down, forcing her to roll, leap, and counter with precise, lethal strikes. Venom-laced stabs narrowly missed her heart by inches. Each clash shook the ruins harder, chunks of the palace breaking loose and tumbling into the abyss below.

 

One misstep.

One hesitation.

 

Death.

 

Snarling, Azula dug deep—past restraint, past caution—and unleashed everything she had left.

 

Blue lightning and corrupted flame tore from her hands, slamming into the creature again and again. Cracks spiderwebbed across its stone armor. Its wings shattered mid-beat, exploding into fragments of dust and ruin.

 

The guardian roared—an echoing, ancient sound—

 

—and collapsed.

 

Its massive body broke apart into lifeless stone, raining down into the darkness beneath the moon.

 

Silence followed.

 

Azula stood alone among the ruins, breathing hard… alive.

 

Of course I won, she thought, straightening. I always do.

 

She stepped forward and claimed the Dark Morpher Brooch, its surface pulsing eagerly in her grasp—warm, alive, waiting.

 

She took it with her.

 

End of flashback.

 

“And that’s how I obtained such power,” Azula finished smoothly, satisfaction curling through every word.

 

The revelation left the others stunned—some frozen in place, others openly terrified.

 

Azula smiled.

 

She loved seeing the fear in their faces.

 

 

Chapter 9: The Hunt

 

 

 

In the Riftspire Citadel:

 

After hearing Azula’s story, Cinder’s chest burned with a mix of rage and jealousy. Why does she get everything? she thought, fists clenching. Her teeth ground together as she stormed into an isolated chamber, the cold, stone walls echoing every step like a judgment. Shadows stretched along the floor, curling like snakes toward her.

 

“Indeed,” the cackling voice of the Puppet Master slithered through the chamber, sending shivers down her spine. “What do you want, Puppeteer?” Cinder snapped, her tone sharp as obsidian.

 

“The same as you, dear… power,” the Puppet Master replied, voice smooth yet venomous. “And as long as Azula and the Supreme Emperor remain in play, we won’t truly have what we desire. But… no, never mind—that’s far too dangerous. Besides, I’ve said too much already…”

 

Cinder’s eyes narrowed. Her pulse quickened. Interesting… something dangerous, something powerful… She leaned closer, lips curling into a sharp smile. “I’ll do it. Whatever it is. If Azula can handle the Dark Morpher Brooch… I can handle anything.” Pride shone in her gaze. For once, I’ll outshine her… she thought, letting the nickname—the Sailor Serpenterra Ranger—linger in her mind with a mixture of envy and determination.

---

 

In the Loft:

 

Emma tossed and turned, her dreams tangled in a strange, persistent hum. It pulled at her, a force she couldn’t quite resist. No… not yet, she thought, pressing her eyes shut. The power was calling her, whispering as if it had chosen her, if only for a fleeting moment.

 

When she opened her eyes, the cozy loft was gone. Cold wind bit at her skin. The familiar warmth of her bed replaced by the ruins of the city—streets scorched, buildings shattered from the earlier battles. Emma froze, her heart tightening. We destroy more than the villains…

 

A pink light pulsed in front of her. Almost instinctively, she reached for the morpher. The hum grew stronger as she gripped it, yet the world didn’t flinch—she walked back through the devastated streets as if nothing unusual had happened. One step after another, until the familiar walls of her room returned. She sank into her bed, blinking, still catching her breath.

 

Meanwhile, the Scooby Gang huddled together on the couch.

 

“This has been a long day,” Fred said, shoulders slumping.

 

“I know… it should be just some guy in a mask, not the end of the world… Please, Velma, tell me this is some sort of elaborate scheme,” Daphne pleaded, voice tinged with exhaustion and desperation.

 

Velma shook her head, letting out a weary sigh. “I wish I could… but no, it’s not an elaborate scheme. Reality is… just breaking down around us.”

 

Shaggy nudged Scooby. “Like… we’ll get through this, right?”

 

“Rhea re rill,” Scooby agreed, resting his head on Shaggy’s lap.

---

 

Elsewhere in the manor:

 

Regina had returned with Henry, who was still bubbling with excitement and awe, though tempered by fatigue. Luke Skywalker and Makoto Kino exchanged small, shy glances across the room. Makoto’s gentle smile made Luke feel… grounded, a fleeting comfort amid chaos.

 

On the couch, Neal and the lieutenant rested, bruised but alert, quietly processing the day’s horrors. Meanwhile, David and Snow huddled together, whispering strategies and contingency plans. The air was thick with tension, yet beneath it lingered a fragile sense of hope.

 

Jason sat slightly apart, staring at a picture of Trini—his girlfriend—and a soft sigh escaped him. Kimberly stepped up behind him, placing a hand lightly on his shoulder.

 

“I know how you feel,” she murmured. “I miss them too… especially Tommy.” Her voice was calm, grounding. Jason allowed himself a brief smile, eyes lingering on the photo before looking up at Kimberly.

 

Tomorrow… we fight again, he thought, chest tightening with determination. But tonight… Tonight, we hold each other.

 

------

 

In the Riftspire Citadel lay a secret chamber—one known only to the Puppet Master.

 

“Here we are,” he cackled, his voice echoing unnaturally off the walls.

 

“What’s this place—your room or something?” Cinder snapped, venom dripping from every word.

 

She scanned the chamber, unease crawling up her spine. Unlike the other halls of the Citadel, this one felt… different. Familiar, yet twisted. Shards of broken glass littered the floor, crunching softly beneath her boots. A tall clock stood frozen at midnight, its hands unmoving. And there—parked against the far wall—was a carriage, its frame an eerie blue, its shape unmistakably… a pumpkin.

 

It felt like a story made real.

 

Cinder’s eyes narrowed as she turned on the Puppet Master. “What’s the meaning of this?” she hissed. “Is this your idea of a joke?”

 

“No,” he replied smoothly. “If this were a joke, it would be funny. This is simply… sad.” He laughed anyway, the sound sharp and hollow. “You see, Azula was born lucky—or so she would have us believe. But in truth, she is destined for greatness. Her power comes from destiny itself.”

 

He leaned closer, shadows clinging to him like a cloak.

 

“Yours,” he continued, “comes from the past. And the Supreme Emperor hoards it. You must take it—while you still can.”

 

Cinder’s pulse quickened. “Are you saying you can open rifts at will?” she asked cautiously. “Like the Supreme Emperor?” Her gaze hardened—this feels like a trap.

 

“Well… no,” the Puppet Master admitted, unfazed. “The trick is not to create rifts, but to find them. Look around,” he gestured lazily. “Tell me—what do you see?”

 

Cinder exhaled slowly. “Broken glass… a clock that can’t seem to tell time… and a carriage.” She frowned. “But no rifts—”

 

Then it hit her.

 

Her breath caught. Of course.

 

“This is a rift,” she said quietly. “This is my story.” Her eyes snapped to the carriage. “The carriage will take me where my power is—won’t it?”

 

The Puppet Master erupted into laughter, louder and more unhinged than before. “That’s correct, my dear. But before you go…” He raised a finger. “You must collect the twelve talismans for me.”

 

Her lips curled into a slow smile.

 

“Your power will come in the shape of rings,” he continued, eyes gleaming. “If you are worthy of it.” He winked.

 

Cinder didn’t hesitate.

 

She nodded once—then stepped forward, leaping into the carriage. 

 

________________________

The heroes regrouped at the manor, gathering in the wide living room as sunlight filtered through tall, dust-specked windows. The space still bore faint scars of recent chaos—scuffed floors, cracked stone near the fireplace—but for the moment, it felt… safe.

 

Henry cleared his throat and stood up straight, trying to look confident.

 

“I’m not the smartest,” he began, glancing around, “but I think we should find a way to get to the enemy and face them head-on. We’ll make plans, but I figure Velma could help us wi—”

 

“Henry, what are you doing?” Emma and Regina asked at the same time.

 

Henry blinked, then shrugged. “Trying to come up with an inspirational speech.”

 

Jason laughed softly, unable to help himself.

 

The lieutenant nodded in approval, and the Scooby gang visibly relaxed—shoulders lowering, tension easing—grateful for the moment of levity. Even Scooby let out a small, relieved “Ruh-roh…” of amusement.

 

Everyone seemed a little lighter… a little happier, despite knowing how dangerous the road ahead would be.

 

Jason stood, his expression shifting from amused to focused. “Alright, kid—let me show you how it’s done.” He glanced around the room, meeting each set of eyes. “We’re outmatched,” he admitted, voice steady. “But that doesn’t mean we’re beaten. We’ll find a way to succeed. We just need to figure out who’s really in charge—and what they want.”

 

Before anyone could respond—

 

“JINKIES!”

 

Velma came sprinting down the hallway toward them, nearly tripping over her own feet. Her hair was slightly wild, her sweater rumpled, and dark circles framed her eyes like she hadn’t slept in days.

 

She stopped in front of the group, panting. “I know…” she yawned deeply, pushing her glasses up her nose. “…what they want.”

 

A few heads snapped up.

 

“It’s too—” Velma’s eyes glazed over mid-sentence.

 

She swayed once.

 

Then twice.

 

And promptly slumped forward, soft snores escaping her as she fell asleep on her feet.

 

The room went silent.

 

Jason blinked. “…Well,” he said after a beat, “that’s one way to build suspense.”

 

____________________________

 

Cinder found herself in San Francisco.

 

Not that she knew—or cared—where she was.

 

All she knew was the mission.

 

Twelve talismans.

 

She stood inside a towering structure of steel and glass, sunlight spilling through high windows and casting long, angular shadows across the empty floor. The place was unguarded. Quiet. Too quiet. She scanned the space slowly… and found nothing.

 

No talismans.

 

Her jaw tightened.

 

He better not have sent me on a goose chase, she thought dryly as she stalked through the tower, boots echoing against polished stone. The Puppet Master had promised answers—power—but so far, all she’d found was empty space and unanswered questions.

 

What were these talismans supposed to do anyway?

 

And why did he want them?

 

Her steps slowed as another thought crept in, sharp and tempting.

 

Why should I hand them over at all?

 

Her fingers curled into a fist.

 

I should keep them. After everything I’ve lost… after everything I’ve endured—I deserve this power.

 

A bitter smile tugged at her lips. This will be mine.

 

With one last glare at the empty tower, she turned and left.

 

This would be a lot easier, she thought irritably, if I actually knew what the talismans looked like…

 

Her thoughts shattered when a voice echoed through the street.

 

“Bad day!”

 

A young man in a blue shirt burst into view, sprinting full speed as he herded terrified civilians out of harm’s way. Only once they were clear did he skid to a halt, pivoting smoothly as he dropped into a ready stance—focused, alert, prepared.

 

Cinder paused, watching.

 

Figures in dark clothing closed in around him—the Dark Hand.

 

They attacked all at once.

 

The man—Jackie—moved on pure instinct.

 

He ducked a punch, redirected a kick, and sent one attacker crashing into another with improvised precision. He vaulted over a railing, landed in a roll, and came up swinging, using the environment like an extension of himself. A crate shattered beneath a flying kick. A ladder clanged as he slammed it down just in time to block a blade.

 

It was chaotic. Desperate.

 

And… effective.

 

“Give it up, Chan,” a smooth, taunting voice cut through the chaos. “Give me the talisman.”

 

“Over my dead body!” Jackie shot back—already moving again.

 

The fight escalated.

 

Jackie disarmed one attacker, flipped backward over another, narrowly avoiding a strike that sliced the air inches from his face. He twisted, struck, leapt again—breathing hard as the pressure closed in.

 

Then—

 

A glancing blow.

 

The talisman slipped from his grasp.

 

It hit the ground with a sharp clatter, skidding across the pavement amid the chaos.

 

For just a split second, everyone’s attention faltered.

 

That was all Cinder needed.

 

Moving like a living shadow, she slipped in—silent, unseen—scooping up the talisman as the fight raged on around her. Neither Jackie nor the Dark Hand realized it was already gone.

 

Cinder straightened slowly, the talisman warm in her palm.

 

One down, she thought, eyes gleaming. 

_____________________________

 

The manor was quieter now—sunlight filtering through tall windows, dust motes drifting lazily in the air as the heroes gathered once more. Velma stirred on the couch, blinking behind her glasses as she pushed herself upright.

 

She gave a small, apologetic nod. “Sorry about earlier,” she said, her voice hoarse from exhaustion. She cleared her throat and straightened, focus snapping back into place. “As I was saying… what the villains want isn’t chaos.”

 

That caught everyone’s attention.

 

“They’re collecting relics,” Velma continued, fingers tightening around her tablet. “Artifacts from the past—and from different realities.” She took a breath. “The Dark Morpher Brooch belonged to an ancient sorceress known as Lamy. She’s from what’s called Reality Zero.”

 

Several brows furrowed.

 

“And before the multiverse existed,” Velma added, her tone sharpening with awe and dread, “everything… co-existed in Reality Zero. Every realm. Every timeline. Every power source.”

 

A chill crept through the room.

 

The lieutenant looked up from where he sat, posture stiff but attentive. “You mentioned relics,” he said, hope edging into his voice. “Do you have any idea what they are—or how to find them?”

 

Kimberly folded her arms, thinking. “We probably need one of those rifts,” she said slowly. “They could lead us to the relics.”

 

Velma nodded. “That’s right. The problem is—we don’t know how to open the rifts. Or where they’ll take us.” Her expression darkened. “Or if we’ll be able to come back. Once we step through… we might be lost forever.”

 

The weight of that settled heavily over the group.

 

Then Jason stepped forward.

 

“Then we divide,” he said firmly. “We’ll figure out how to open the rifts as we go. Some of us head out. The others stay behind and hold the line.”

 

“Like—uh—Velms?” Shaggy raised a hand nervously. “What are, like… the relics we need?”

 

Velma hesitated. “That’s… complicated.” She began ticking them off on her fingers. “Reality Zero speaks of a Master Emerald. Stones that grant unimaginable power. Rings capable of creating constructs limited only by imagination. Talismans that give their wielders unique abilities. And spheres that grant wishes.”

 

She swallowed.

 

“When all of those items are brought together… something incredibly powerful happens.” She shook her head. “What that something is—I don’t know.”

 

Silence.

 

Then Jason straightened, resolve hardening in his eyes. “Alright.”

 

He gestured decisively. “Scooby Gang—you stay here with Kimberly and Henry. Lieutenant, Neal—you go after the talismans. Emma, Regina—you’ll look for the Master Emerald. Snow, David—you’re on the spheres. Luke, Makoto—you track down the stones.”

 

He took a breath.

 

“I’ll look for the rings.”

 

Regina turned sharply—and scoffed as she followed Emma toward the door.

 

I can’t believe this kid is giving me orders again, she thought irritably. And why am I even listening to him?

…Yet her feet kept moving.

 

The lieutenant and Neal exchanged a glance, then nodded to one another and headed out.

 

Makoto Kino and Luke Skywalker paused briefly, sharing a warm, knowing smile before setting off together.

 

Snow and David checked their weapons—bows, blades, and shields—before taking their leave, shoulders squared with purpose.

 

The manor slowly emptied.

 

The war had begun—not with a single battle…

 

…but with many.

Chapter 10: The lieutenant heroism

Chapter 10

 

“Wait—before you all leave,” Velma said, stepping forward as the manor buzzed with hurried preparation. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, catching dust in the air as if time itself hesitated. “You’ll need a way to communicate.”

 

She lifted a small case, fingers tapping nervously against its edge. “I don’t know if this will work across different realities, but I managed to make a few communicators—thanks to Jason’s and Kimberly’s communicator watches.” She exhaled. “I’ll give one to Regina, one to Luke, one to Snow, and one to the lieutenant. I didn’t have enough material to build more, so for now you’ll have to share. Jason already has his, and we’ll share Kimberly’s.”

 

Velma passed the communicator watches out carefully, as though they were more fragile than they appeared.

 

As the lieutenant accepted his, the cool metal settled against his palm—

 

—and for a heartbeat, it wasn’t Velma standing there at all.

 

Another device.

Sleeker. Seamlessly woven into fabric.

A light tap against his chest.

 

“Channel open, sir.”

 

A calm, unfamiliar voice—measured, disciplined—with a cadence that sent a chill through him.

 

The image slipped away before he could grasp it, dissolving like fog under sunlight.

 

The lieutenant blinked once, steadying himself.

 

The heroes took their communicators—and then, one by one, left for their assigned missions.

 

 

---

 

Neal and the Lieutenant

 

Storybrooke was quieter away from the manor, the streets oddly still as if the town itself were holding its breath. Leaves skittered along cracked sidewalks, and the air carried that faint, electric tension that lingered after magic had been disturbed.

 

“So let me get this straight,” the lieutenant said as they walked. “Your girlfriend is the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, you’re the son of the Dark One, and the grandson of Peter Pan.” He shook his head slightly. “That’s… wild.”

 

As he spoke, the word wild echoed strangely in his mind.

 

Not the strangest thing I’ve heard, a distant part of him supplied.

 

Neal smiled faintly. “Yeah—but that’s not all. There’s a lot in Storybrooke.” He inhaled slowly. “So… any idea how we find a rift?”

 

The lieutenant slowed his pace. The edges of the town seemed to blur for a moment—like a bad signal struggling to lock in.

 

Metal corridors.

A long window filled with stars.

A ship—not small, not personal. A command vessel.

 

He had stood somewhere like that before, listening to reports from beings who weren’t human… and never once questioning it.

 

“Maybe it has something to do with something specific,” he said carefully, choosing his words, “or something like… a story.” He glanced at Neal. “If what you say is true—about everyone here being tied to fairytales—then maybe we just need to find the right one.”

 

Neal considered this. “That could work. But whose story do we look for?”

 

“Well—yours,” the lieutenant replied.

 

The moment the words left his mouth, another fragment surfaced.

 

A briefing room.

A table. Several figures seated—some familiar, some unmistakably alien.

Someone across from him raised an eyebrow, faintly amused.

 

“Interesting theory, lieutenant.”

 

He couldn’t remember the face.

 

But he remembered the tone.

 

“I know I told you that everyone here has a story,” Neal said quietly, slowing to a stop, “but I’m the exception. I mean…” His voice dipped. “I’m just the forgotten one. The abandoned one.”

 

The lieutenant stopped walking.

 

“No,” he said—firm, certain, surprised by his own conviction. “Your story is that of a man trying to save his family. A man who made a mistake in the past… and is trying to do better.”

 

The words felt lived-in—not rehearsed, not borrowed.

 

Debriefing.

Casualties discussed softly.

A hand resting on his shoulder.

 

“You did what you could. We move forward.”

 

“I believe your story is connected to Snow White’s,” he continued, “and to the story of Beauty and the Beast… given what you told me about your father.”

 

Neal stared at him for a long moment. “You talk like someone who’s seen a lot.”

 

The lieutenant exhaled slowly.

 

“I think I have,” he admitted. “I just… don’t know where. Or with who.”

 

For a fleeting second, the name of the ship hovered at the edge of his mind.

 

It was right there—

 

Then something pulsed nearby.

 

A low hum in the air.

A shimmer at the edge of the street.

 

Rift energy.

 

The thought scattered like stardust.

 

 

—

 

 

“Well that looks like rift energy, should we go in? The lieutenant asked. 

 

Neal nodded okay, but first we should let the others know .

 

The lieutenant used the communicator, “Neal and I just found a rift. I think the rifts are connected to your stories, you just need to search for something familiar.“ the lieutenant explained.

 

Neal and the lieutenant jumped inside the rift…

____________________________________---

 

“This looks like San Francisco,” Neal said as he stepped out of the tower, blinking against the light.

 

The lieutenant felt it immediately—a subtle nudge, like the echo of a memory brushing past him. The fog rolling in from the bay, the steep rise and fall of the streets, the sharp tang of salt in the air… it all pressed against something buried deep in his mind, something old and restless.

 

“I think I was here before,” he said slowly, the words forming with care. “Somewhere around here.” He frowned, searching himself. “I’m not sure… but I think I studied here. In some kind of academy.”

 

As he spoke, brief flashes cut through his thoughts—

 

Wide steps leading up to a grand building.

Rows of people standing at attention.

A voice lecturing about duty… exploration… responsibility.

The sound of wind off the bay—and distant engines humming overhead.

 

None of it lingered long enough to sharpen into clarity. The images slipped away as soon as they surfaced, leaving only fragments and the ache of almost remembering.

 

Neal nodded, understanding written plainly across his face. “I guess that means your memories are coming back,” he said, pride warming his voice—genuine, unguarded.

 

“Yeah…” The lieutenant smiled faintly. “I can’t wait to know who I am.”

 

Or who I was, he almost added.

 

This feels wrongly familiar, the lieutenant thought as they moved down the street. Each step fell into a rhythm his body seemed to recognize, even if his mind did not. Reflections shimmered in the windows they passed—

 

For a heartbeat, the glass didn’t show cars—but shuttles.

Not streetlights—but tall spires and banners.

Not civilians—but figures in uniform, walking with purpose and precision.

 

The images fractured before he could focus on them, dissolving into ordinary reflections and leaving behind only a lingering sense of discipline… and belonging.

 

I was almost there.

 

His thoughts shattered as chaos erupted ahead.

 

“Over there!” Neal shouted, pointing as Cinder came into view—already retreating, a talisman clutched triumphantly in her hand.

 

Both Neal and the lieutenant broke into a run, boots pounding against pavement as they gave chase—the echoes of a past he still couldn’t name surging in time with his heartbeat.

 

Cinder let out an irritated sigh. “Why can’t anything go my way…?” Rage and jealousy burned hot beneath her skin as she glanced at the talisman in her grasp—the Ox. Super strength. And with the power she already possessed…

 

This fight’s going to take a while.

 

 

---

 

She turned sharply, planting her feet and squaring her stance, shoulders rolling as the Ox talisman pulsed against her palm with a dull, powerful glow.

 

Neal reacted first—lunging forward with a sharp strike meant to disrupt her balance before she could build momentum. Cinder met him head-on, parrying the blow with her forearm and answering with a brutal counterpunch that sent Neal stumbling back several steps.

 

The lieutenant moved without hesitation.

 

He closed the distance instinctively, sidestepping her next swing and driving an elbow toward her ribs. The impact landed—solid, precise—but barely slowed her. Cinder absorbed the strike, muscles surging unnaturally as she twisted and grabbed for him, fingers locking around his arm.

 

He broke free on instinct alone—twisting his wrist, shifting his weight, disengaging with a clean, practiced motion before retreating half a step to reset his stance.

 

Cinder pressed forward, throwing a wide haymaker fueled by sheer force. The lieutenant ducked beneath it, the rush of displaced air grazing his neck as her fist smashed into the pavement behind him, cracking stone.

 

Neal reentered the fight from the side, sweeping low in an attempt to take her legs out. Cinder staggered—boots scraping harshly against the asphalt—but she stayed upright, snarling as she forced her balance back into place.

 

The Ox talisman flared brighter.

 

With a roar, she slammed her foot down.

 

The shockwave rippled outward, forcing both men to disengage, their bodies skidding backward across the street.

 

They landed hard—

 

—but remained standing.

 

Breathing heavily, the lieutenant lifted his gaze to meet hers, pulse pounding—not with fear, but with recognition.

 

He hadn’t planned those movements.

 

He hadn’t thought them through.

 

His body remembered how to fight…

 

…even if his mind still didn’t remember why.

__________________________________

 

 

 

 

 

As the fight continued to erupt, Cinder was pushed back by two—technically powerless—opponents. Yet she didn’t falter. She traded blows relentlessly, her stance widening, aggressive, primal, with every swing. Jealousy and rage fueled her now, overriding precision and control. Each counterstrike carried brute force, raw emotion… fury unbound. She was no longer fighting with technique—she was fighting with herself.

 

And then… out of nowhere, two rings materialized. One glowed red, the other orange, spinning lazily in the air before her, as if waiting, choosing.

 

The lieutenant felt it immediately.

 

Not magic—energy.

 

The air changed. The hairs on his arms rose.

 

He had felt this before. Not these colors, not this form—but the sensation of forces selecting, judging… binding. His pulse quickened. Something long sealed inside him shifted with an almost sentient hum.

 

You have great rage… the red ring whispered.

But your greed is greater. You can take me, the orange ring replied to Cinder.

 

Cinder’s eyes narrowed. Is this… the ring the Puppet Master warned me about?

 

But the lieutenant’s mind raced faster than hers. The words resonated… wrongly familiar. Not because they were unknown—but because he suddenly knew how dangerous they were.

 

Flashes came unbidden—briefings in a room bathed in starlight.

Long nights standing in a room with a viewport showing infinite space.

Discussions of sentient artifacts, civilizations undone by power promised at the cost of identity.

 

He remembered saying it calmly, professionally—

 

> “Anything that speaks to you isn’t a tool. It’s a risk.”

 

 

 

 

---

 

“Don’t look now, but I think those are the relics Velma was talking about,” Neal muttered, forcing himself upright, resetting his footing against the uneven street.

 

The lieutenant drew his phaser, lining up a precision shot aimed directly at the hovering rings. His hand didn’t tremble—not a flicker.

 

Because he remembered why it never did.

 

He remembered training halls overlooking a bay, lessons in restraint before power.

He remembered wearing a uniform that meant protection before conquest, exploration before domination.

He remembered being trusted.

 

Nothing happened.

 

The blast dissipated harmlessly—the rings were impervious.

 

Of course they are, he thought, not with frustration, but with grim certainty.

You don’t destroy something like that. You survive it.

 

 

---

 

Cinder seized the opportunity, lunging forward to snatch the rings.

 

“That can’t be good… how on earth are we supposed to beat her now?” Neal shouted as he blocked another incoming strike, the impact rattling his arms. Every blow reverberated across the street, each hit echoing like distant thunder. With the rings and the Ox talisman in her grasp, she was untouchable. 

 

“With this power I can truly defeat Azula and the Supreme Emperor.” Cinder smirked.

 

The lieutenant staggered back under the force of a blow—but his eyes were calm. Not panicked. Deliberate. Measured. Not yet… he told himself. This isn’t the moment.

 

Neal forced himself back upright, sweat dripping from his brow. “Wait—if you want to defeat the Supreme Emperor and Azula, join us. Help us!” he urged, circling her cautiously.

 

“Never,” Cinder spat, teeth clenched, anger radiating from her in waves. “My path is to walk alone… forever.” She pressed the assault, striking without hesitation, a blur of limbs and malice.

 

The lieutenant studied her—not as an enemy, but as a subject. He had seen this before. Entire worlds scorched because someone believed power was meant to be hoarded.

 

Neal tried to draw her attention, feinting, circling, hoping to create an opening—to snatch a ring, the talisman—but her focus was absolute.

 

The lieutenant’s mind sharpened in the chaos, steady and certain. Soon, he thought… when the time is right… I will remember out loud.

 

_____________________________________

 

“That was a close one,” Neal gasped, barely forcing the words out as he ducked beneath a savage kick—the wind of it slicing past his hair. The cracked pavement beneath them trembled as Cinder pressed forward relentlessly, her fury burning hotter with every exchange. She fought like a living catastrophe—wide, devastating strikes powered by the Ox talisman and the rings, each blow meant to crush, not outmaneuver.

 

They were being driven back. Step by step.

 

The lieutenant seized the opening anyway. He stepped in, intercepting her next strike with a sharp parry, raising his phaser and firing a controlled burst to force her back. Sparks flared as energy collided, and he followed immediately—precise, deliberate—placing himself squarely between Cinder and Neal. A shield made of flesh and will.

 

“Why do you persist in fighting me?” Cinder snarled, batting aside his attack with contemptuous strength. “Clearly I out-power you in every way possible.”

 

As she spoke, something inside the lieutenant clicked.

 

The noise of battle fell away—not completely, just enough.

 

The chaos dimmed.

The pain dulled.

The fog lifted.

 

He remembered.

 

Not fragments.

Not echoes.

 

Everything.

 

The bridge of a Constitution-class starship.

Stars stretched endlessly beyond the viewscreen.

The steady, familiar hum beneath his boots—the Enterprise.

Crew members at their stations—humans, aliens, officers who trusted him with their lives without question.

 

He remembered wide steps overlooking San Francisco Bay.

Starfleet Academy.

Lessons etched into him deeper than muscle memory—diplomacy before violence… exploration before conquest… protection without domination.

 

He remembered the uniform.

The insignia.

The oath.

 

To seek out new life and new civilizations…

To boldly go.

 

The world snapped back into brutal clarity as Neal staggered forward, forcing himself upright despite the pain ripping through his body. “We might be outmatched,” Neal said, breath shaking, voice raw but unbroken. “The odds are definitely against us—but we won’t quit. We won’t give up.”

 

The lieutenant nodded once, stepping into a ready stance. His phaser was steady. His posture calm. The battlefield raged around them, but there was no uncertainty left in him.

 

No fog.

No doubt.

 

“I remember,” he said—not loudly, but with absolute certainty.

 

He advanced, movements clean and deliberate—parrying a blow, redirecting Cinder’s momentum with a practiced turn, never wasting motion.

 

“I’m Lieutenant Leslie,” he declared, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade, “of the Enterprise. Of Starfleet.”

 

He met Cinder’s burning gaze without flinching.

 

“And I will not let you win.”

 

Cinder laughed—sharp, furious—and charged. She unleashed a devastating barrage, strike after strike fueled by rage and stolen power. Leslie met her head-on. He didn’t try to overpower her.

 

He fought to hold.

 

Block.

Sidestep.

Counter.

 

Every movement was intentional—measured, sacrificial.

 

He knew it now, deep in his bones and deeper still in his heart.

 

Protect.

Explore.

Stand your ground.

 

Not for power.

For life.

 

The fight escalated into a blur of impact and light. Leslie drew Cinder’s focus completely, absorbing the brunt of her fury, forcing her to commit—to him alone.

 

Neal saw it.

 

The opening.

 

“Now!” Leslie shouted.

 

Neal surged forward, diving for the talisman as Cinder’s eyes widened in realization—too late. She turned, roaring in fury—

 

—and struck Leslie with everything she had.

 

The blow landed squarely.

 

Energy tore through him as he was launched backward, his body crashing hard against the stone. His phaser skidded from his hand, clattering uselessly away.

 

But he smiled.

 

Because Neal had the talisman.

 

Cinder screamed in rage as Neal pulled away, victory clutched tight—but when she turned back…

 

It was too late.

 

Lieutenant Leslie lay still.

 

“NO—!” Neal rushed to him, dropping to his knees, hands shaking as he grabbed at Leslie’s uniform, as if refusing to accept what his eyes were telling him. “No—no, no… you can’t—” His voice cracked, breaking completely. “You did it,” he whispered, tears blurring his vision. “You bought us the chance.”

 

His hands trembled as he pressed them to Leslie’s chest, desperate—hoping.

 

Leslie’s eyes flickered once more. Calm. Peaceful.

 

“Worth it,” he murmured, breath shallow but steady. “Tell them…” A faint smile touched his lips. “The mission mattered.”

 

Then he was gone.

 

Neal let out a broken sound—half sob, half scream—his head bowing as his fists clenched into the ground beside Leslie’s body. Grief tore through him, sharp and unrelenting, but beneath it burned something stronger. Resolve.

 

Lieutenant Leslie had stood the line.

 

He had mattered.

 

Not defeated.

Not forgotten.

 

A Starfleet officer—

to the very end.