ZILLION:
The year is 2022. Zillion Martinez is now a fully-grown Chimeros and a member of the A-Team, Xirxine's elite Protector Force Core comprised of the Phoenix and her Worthy. However, his Protector duties must take a backseat as the arthrogon-h...
Valafar sat in one of the Trozian warship's holding cells, his head hung low and his mouth concealed by a muzzle to stop him from breathing fire. I have failed my people, he thought despondently. I have failed my dynasty. I have failed... my family.
"Oh, come now, my friend. Lift that stubborn head of yours."
Valafar looked up sharply.
A strange, wraithlike figure hovered in front of him, glowing a pale blue and standing at least seven feet tall. It had the form of a human man, sharply dressed and decked with jewelry on his hands and neck.
The giant's mouth curled in a chilling smile. "The echoes speak highly of your exploits... Valafar Marnozal," he purred.
Valafar stood slowly, narrowing his eyes. "Who are you?" he snapped through his antennae. "How do you know me?"
"You may call me Rosh Rishon," the giant answered, somehow hearing the unspoken words. "As for how I know you... that will be discussed in time. For now, just know that I and my kind have need of your... special abilities."
"Oh?" Valafar raised an eyebrow. "And what do I receive in return?"
Rosh Rishon's chilling smile turned into a terrifying grin. "You will be reinstated as High Commander, leader of the Arthrogonian Empire. You may begin your quest for universal domination anew... starting with Earth."
An equally terrifying grin slowly made its way across Rosh Rishon's face. "This is a... satisfactory offer," he said at last. "I accept."
"Very good. Now prove to us that you are worth our time and escape the Trozian warship. When you do, I will send you our coordinates." Rosh Rishon bowed deeply. "We anxiously await your arrival... High Commander."
Valafar watched as the illusion faded before his eyes. Rosh Rishon, he mused.
Two Trozian soldiers suddenly appeared at his cell door, sliding it open. "Alright, prisoner. Time for lunch," one of them said gruffly.
"Careful with his muzzle," the other ordered as he placed a bowl of meal on the ground in front of Valafar. "We don't want him spitting fire all over the place."
"Right." The first soldier—who had a respectable amount of muscle—slowly reached up and deactivated Valafar's muzzle before quickly holding him in place from behind. "Okay, eat up," he commanded, forcing Valafar to the ground.
Valafar scowled.
Then he breathed a downward burst of fire so powerful it launched him and the two soldiers into the ceiling of the cell. They bounced off it and landed hard on their faces while Valafar landed on his feet. He quickly stomped on each of their heads in turn, knocking them out instantly. Then he retrieved the keycards from their belts with his teeth, sliding it through his handcuffs.
As the cuffs dropped off, Valafar pulled out his hands and plucked the keycard from his mouth before using it to deactivate his wing bonds. The former High Commander of the Arthrogonian Empire flew out of his cell as alarms blared throughout the warship—but he knew the Trozians couldn't stop him. No, it was far too late for that.
Valafar blasted straight through the warship's hull, staring out at the horizon as he basked in the sweetness of freedom once more.
Words and numbers suddenly appeared before him, formed by bluish light.
Coordinates.
Valafar's lip curled into a snarling smile. "For the glory of Arthrogonia," he growled.
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