Chapter Text

PROLOGUE: THE FALL

The throne room of Lord Zedd's lunar palace vibrated with his fury. Red energy crackled from his exposed muscle tissue as he paced back and forth, metal staff striking the stone floor with each step. His chrome exoskeleton gleamed in the dim light, visor flashing as he turned to face his cowering minions.

"Incompetence! Surrounded by absolute incompetence!" Zedd's voice boomed across the chamber, echoing off the ancient walls. "How difficult is it to defeat five teenagers? Five! Humans barely out of their larval stage!"

Goldar, the winged warrior, knelt before his master, golden armor trembling slightly. "My lord, the Power Rangers are—"

"The Power Rangers are children with fancy suits!" Zedd slammed his staff into the floor, sending a shockwave that knocked several Putties off their feet. "And yet you cretins fail me time and again!"

From the shadows, Rita Repulsa watched, her lip curling beneath her elaborate headdress. Once, she had commanded this palace. Once, she had been the one to make monsters tremble. Now she was reduced to this—watching her husband's temper tantrums while he belittled everyone around him, herself included.

"Perhaps, my lord," Finster suggested timidly from his position near the wall, "a new monster design might—"

"Your monsters are useless!" Zedd's visor flared brighter. "Pathetic clay dolls that crumble at the first sign of resistance!" He swept his arm across a nearby table, sending scrolls and artifacts crashing to the floor. "I conquered three galaxies before breakfast in my prime! I reduced the planet Sentari to cosmic dust! I am LORD ZEDD!"

Rita rolled her eyes. This speech again. Always the same boasting, the same rage, the same results. Her fingers tightened around her wand.

"You!" Zedd pointed at her suddenly. "What are you skulking about for? Planning another migraine to avoid your duties?"

"Just enjoying the show, husband dear," Rita replied, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "You do put on such a performance."

Zedd stalked toward her, looming over her smaller frame. "Perhaps if you contributed something useful instead of your constant complaints, we might actually conquer this miserable planet!"

"Oh? And what would you suggest? More of your brilliant plans?" Rita's voice rose. "Like the time you sent a monster that was allergic to water to attack a beach?"

"Silence, woman!" Zedd's staff came dangerously close to her face. "I should have left you in that dumpster!"

Goldar and the others exchanged nervous glances, slowly backing away from the feuding couple.

"And I should have stayed with my father, Master Vile!" Rita shot back. "At least he respected my abilities!"

"Abilities?" Zedd laughed, a harsh metallic sound. "Your greatest ability is giving me a headache! Now be useful or be gone!"

Rita's eyes narrowed, a dangerous smile spreading across her face. "Be gone? Oh, I'm not going anywhere, Zeddy. But you... you might be taking a little trip."

"What nonsense are you babbling now?" Zedd turned his back on her, dismissing her with a wave of his hand.

That was his mistake.

Rita's wand began to glow, energy coiling around it like a serpent. "You know, husband, you talk so much about these human teenagers. How weak they are. How pathetic." The energy pulsed brighter. "Yet five of them have defeated you again and again."

Zedd spun around, sensing the power building behind him. "What are you doing?"

"I wonder," Rita continued, her smile growing wider, "what would happen if the great Lord Zedd experienced that weakness firsthand?"

"Rita!" Zedd raised his staff defensively, but too late.

"You pride yourself on control, on power, on your fearsome appearance." Rita's wand pointed directly at him now. "Let's see how you fare without any of that!"

The spell burst from her wand in a blinding flash of light. It struck Zedd square in the chest, enveloping him in crackling energy.

"What have you done?" he roared, his voice already changing, weakening.

"Just giving you a taste of what you despise most," Rita cackled. "Humanity! Youth! Hormones and uncertainty and all those messy little emotions you're so above!"

Zedd's chrome exoskeleton began to melt away, his imposing height diminishing. The red muscle tissue receded, replaced by pale human skin. His staff clattered to the ground as his hands—human hands—clutched at his transforming body.

"Stop this at once!" His command came out as a voice-cracking plea.

"Oh, I don't think so," Rita circled him, watching with satisfaction. "I think Lord Zedd needs to learn what it really means to be powerless. To be at the mercy of forces beyond his control."

Goldar stepped forward uncertainly. "My Queen, perhaps—"

"Silence!" Rita snapped. "Unless you want to join him?"

Goldar immediately backed away, bowing deeply.

Zedd fell to his knees, his transformation nearly complete. Where once stood a terrifying intergalactic warlord now knelt a gangly teenage boy with pale skin and dark, unkempt hair. His red eyes—the only feature that remained from his former self—widened in horror as he looked down at his human body.

"What have you done to me?" His voice cracked again, higher-pitched and unsteady.

Rita leaned down, bringing her face close to his. "I've given you exactly what you deserve, Zeddy. Or should I say... Ed?" She laughed at her own joke. "Just a normal, hormonal, confused teenage boy. No powers, no army, no control."

"You can't do this!" Ed tried to stand but stumbled, unused to his new proportions.

"I just did." Rita straightened up, admiring her handiwork. "And now, to complete your education..."

She waved her wand again, and a backpack materialized beside him, along with a stack of papers.

"Your new identity. School records, a fabricated history. Everything you need to blend in at Angel Grove High School." She smiled cruelly. "After all, you're so convinced teenagers are weak and useless. Now you can prove it—from the inside."

Rita waved her wand in a circular motion, sending a shimmer of purplish energy into the documents. "And a little glamour spell to ensure no one looks too closely at your paperwork or those unusual red eyes. Teachers, administrators, even doctors—they'll accept you without question, their minds sliding past any inconsistencies." Her smile widened. "Can't have Child Protective Services interfering with your education, can we?"

"I will destroy you for this!" Ed's threat sounded hollow coming from his adolescent throat.

"With what? Acne cream?" Rita laughed, joined nervously by the others. "Face it, Ed. You're powerless. And the best part? Your teenage body will betray you in ways you can't imagine. Urges, emotions, insecurities... all those human weaknesses you've mocked for centuries."

Ed looked down at himself in disgust. He wore baggy jeans that hung awkwardly on his skinny frame, a faded t-shirt that was slightly too large, and scuffed sneakers. The clothing felt restrictive, uncomfortable—nothing like his exoskeleton.

"This is temporary," he growled. "I'll find a way to reverse this."

"Maybe," Rita shrugged. "But not before you learn your lesson. And not before I've had my fun watching the great Lord Zedd struggle with homework and gym class."

With another wave of her wand, a swirling portal opened beside Ed.

"Your new life awaits," Rita gestured toward it. "Don't worry about missing anything here. We'll manage just fine without you."

"You treacherous witch!" Ed lunged for her, but his uncoordinated teenage body betrayed him. He stumbled and fell forward, directly into the portal.

The last thing he heard was Rita's cackling laughter as reality twisted around him.

---

The basement of Angel Grove High School was a forgotten place, filled with outdated textbooks, broken desks, and the musty smell of neglect. Dust particles danced in the thin beams of light that managed to penetrate the small, grimy windows near the ceiling.

In the center of this abandoned space, air shimmered and twisted. A flash of light erupted, and Ed tumbled out of nothingness, crashing into a stack of moldering cardboard boxes.

"Damn it!" His voice echoed in the empty basement as he struggled to his feet, sending a cloud of dust into the air. He sneezed—a new, strange sensation that made him grimace in disgust.

Ed looked down at his human hands, turning them over in disbelief. They were soft, weak, with no claws or armored protection. He touched his face, feeling smooth skin instead of the metal visor that had been part of him for millennia.

"Rita," he snarled, his voice breaking on the name. "I will make you suffer for this humiliation."

He tried to summon his power, to call forth the energy that had always been at his command. Nothing happened. Not even a spark.

"No..." Ed closed his eyes, concentrating harder. Still nothing.

Panic—another new sensation—began to rise in his chest. His heart was beating faster, his palms sweating. He had never experienced these physical reactions before, and they only increased his distress.

"This body is defective," he muttered, wiping his hands on his jeans. "How do humans function like this?"

The backpack Rita had conjured lay at his feet. He kicked it in frustration, then winced at the pain in his toe—another unwelcome reminder of his new vulnerability.

After a moment of childish resistance, he grabbed the backpack and rummaged through it. Inside were textbooks, notebooks, pens, and a folder containing the papers Rita had mentioned. He pulled them out, squinting in the dim light.

"Edward Zedd," he read aloud from what appeared to be a transfer student form. "Age seventeen. Previous school: Moon Academy." He snorted at Rita's idea of humor. "Guardian: Rita Repulsa, aunt." That made him growl.

The documents looked official enough—Rita had always been skilled at deception. There was a class schedule, a crude map of the school, and even a student ID card with a photo of his new face—a face he hadn't even properly seen yet.

Ed stared at the ID. The boy in the photo looked back with a sullen expression, dark hair falling across his forehead, red eyes glaring at the camera. At least she'd let him keep that one feature, though it would surely mark him as different among these humans.

"This is temporary," he reminded himself, shoving the papers back into the folder. "I just need to find a way to contact Finster or Goldar. They wouldn't dare leave me here."

But even as he said it, doubt crept in. Goldar's loyalty had always been questionable, and the others feared Rita almost as much as they had feared him. Would they risk her wrath to help him?

A bell rang somewhere above, startling him. The sound was followed by the thunder of hundreds of feet moving through hallways, voices and locker doors and the general chaos of a high school between classes.

Ed felt a new sensation in his stomach—a tightening, a hollowness. Was this... fear? No, impossible. Lord Zedd feared nothing. And yet...

He looked down at his clothes again, noticing for the first time how ill-fitting they were. The jeans hung low on his hips, the t-shirt's neckline stretched and sagging. He looked... poor. Insignificant. Like prey.

"This is intolerable," he muttered, trying to adjust his clothing to something more dignified. But there was no dignity to be found in these human garments.

The noise above began to subside as students settled into their next classes. Ed realized he needed to move, to begin gathering information that might help him escape this punishment. Standing in a dusty basement wouldn't restore his power.

He slung the backpack over one shoulder, the way he'd seen human teenagers do, and made his way toward the stairs. Each step felt wrong—his balance was off, his limbs too light without his armor. His body felt simultaneously heavy and fragile, a contradiction that made movement awkward.

At the top of the stairs, he paused before a door marked "Basement - Authorized Personnel Only." Beyond it lay Angel Grove High School—the domain of his enemies, now apparently his prison.

Ed took a deep breath, another unfamiliar bodily function that seemed necessary in this form. His hand trembled slightly as he reached for the door handle.

"I am Lord Zedd," he whispered to himself, the words sounding hollow in his human voice. "Conqueror of worlds. Emperor of evil. I will not be defeated by... puberty."

He pushed the door open and stepped into the empty hallway, blinking in the fluorescent light. Lockers lined the walls, educational posters promoting reading and mathematics stared back at him, and the faint smell of floor cleaner and cafeteria food hung in the air.

Ed looked down at his schedule, then up at the numbered classrooms. According to the papers, he was already late for first period.

"Perfect," he growled, adjusting the backpack that already felt too heavy on his shoulder. "Day one of my humiliation begins."

As he took his first steps down the hallway of Angel Grove High, Ed made a silent vow. He would endure this. He would find a way back to power. And when he did, Rita Repulsa would learn that even in the weakest form, Lord Zedd was not to be trifled with.

But first, apparently, he had to find Room 103 for American History.

* * *

The door swung shut behind him with a soft click, sealing Ed in the sterile brightness of the hallway. The distant clatter of a Janitor’s cart echoed from somewhere down the opposite end. He clutched the printed map of the school like a talisman against this oppressive normalcy. Room 103. American History. The words mocked him. How could a former emperor be subjected to the trivialities of human education?

His new body felt heavy and awkward. These limbs, this height—wrong. He missed the effortless glide of his exoskeleton, the silent, imposing presence that had preceded him like a wave of dread. Now, he bumped against a locker, the thin metal vibrating with the impact. He swore under his breath, a teenage curse he hadn’t even known he knew until it slipped out. This human form was corrupting him already.

He consulted the crumpled map, scanning for landmarks, for any hint of order in this labyrinth of brightly painted walls and generic doors. Another bell rang, shorter this time, signaling the end of the short passing period. The hallway, thankfully empty, remained silent save for his own clumsy footsteps.

Finding Room 103 proved a minor challenge, less a strategic navigation than a process of random turns until he recognized the numbers on a door. He hesitated, his hand hovering over the knob. Every instinct screamed at him to blast the door open, to announce his presence with fire and thunder. But his hand remained empty, his voice a reedy adolescent soprano.

He pushed the door inward.

The classroom was large, filled with rows of desks facing a whiteboard covered in sprawling handwriting. A woman with tired eyes stood at the front, gesturing with a piece of chalk. Twenty pairs of human eyes turned toward the disturbance.

Ed felt a surge of something hot and unpleasant flood his face. He recognized it from his monitoring of human behavior—embarrassment. Another weakness this body had inflicted upon him.

"And you are...?" the teacher asked, her voice flat with mild annoyance.

Ed stood frozen, the backpack strap digging into his shoulder. His mind raced, searching for a response, any response, but it came up empty. His vast knowledge of galactic history, of warfare, of dark magic, was useless here.

A few of the human teenagers snickered.

"Class," the teacher said, a warning tone in her voice. She turned back to Ed, a flicker of concern replacing the annoyance in her eyes. "Are you alright? Are you a new student?"

He nodded, mute.

"Well, come in, don't just stand there," she sighed. "You're late. Name?"

"Edward Zedd," he managed, the name tasting foul on his tongue.

"Ah, yes. Edward," she consulted a roster on her desk. "We were expecting you. Take a seat, Edward. The syllabus is on your desk."

Ed shuffled into the room, acutely aware of every eye on him. He chose a desk near the back, dropping into the plastic chair. It creaked under his weight. The laughter returned, louder this time.

"Settle down, everyone," the teacher said sternly. "Edward, welcome to Angel Grove High. Try not to be late again."

Ed ignored her, his attention fixed on the piece of paper on his desk. "American History," it declared in bold letters. Below it, a long list of topics. The Revolutionary War. The Civil War. World War II. Nonsense. What did any of this matter? These trivial human conflicts were nothing compared to the great wars of the cosmos. They weren't even worth remembering.

He glanced around the room. The other students had returned to feigning interest in the teacher's lecture, their faces a mixture of boredom and apathy. He saw groups of them, whispering and sharing looks. Were they plotting against him? Assessing his weaknesses?

The teacher droned on about something called the Declaration of Independence. Ed didn't listen. His thoughts were a whirlwind of rage and plotting. How could he turn this situation to his advantage? Being among the Power Rangers' peers was a perverse opportunity. He could gather intelligence, sow discord. But first, he needed his power back.

He spent the rest of the class period sketching furiously in his notebook, ignoring the faint headache that had started somewhere behind his eyes. His sketches were violent, chaotic—spiked armor, energy blasts, images of Angela Grove flattened into rubble. It was the only way he knew to process the humiliation of his current state.

When the bell finally rang, sharp and jarring, Ed flinched. The room erupted with sound as students gathered their belongings, their voices a cacophony of casual chatter. Ed remained seated for a moment, letting the flow of bodies thin out, before standing.

The weight of the backpack felt like a minor planet on his shoulder. He adjusted it self-consciously, feeling the stares of those who were still in the room. He needed to find a place to hide, a secure location where he could think, where he wasn't constantly exposed to these irritating humans.

The basement. It was empty, dark, and mostly forgotten. A perfect temporary base.

Navigating the crowded hallways was a nightmare. Humans moved with reckless speed, bumping into him without apology. Their casual disregard for personal space was infuriating. He kept his head down, pushing through the throng, relying on the rough map to guide him.

He found the stairwell eventually, tucked away near a gymnasium. The air grew cooler, the sounds of the school muted as he descended. The smell of dust and mildew grew stronger, familiar and almost comforting after the overpowering scents of human bodies and cleaning products.

He pushed open the basement door, stepping back into the dim light. It was exactly as he had left it—quiet, forgotten, his own small corner of solitude. He walked back over to where he had landed, near the stack of boxes.

Yes. This would do for now.

He dropped the backpack to the floor with a sigh—again, a new and bothersome human reflex. His stomach growled. Hunger. Also new. Also bothersome. He ignored it. Survival was more important than satisfying these pathetic bodily needs.

Ed began to explore the basement methodically, moving through the piles of forgotten junk. He discovered old sports equipment, broken furniture, crates filled with outdated electronics. None of it was useful for regaining his power or contacting his forces. But he did find a few things that could serve his immediate needs.

A ripped piece of tarp near a leaky pipe. He dragged it to a corner, examining it. It would offer some concealment, a barrier between him and anyone who might stumble down here. Not ideal, but it was something.

He found a few empty plastic storage bins. Useful for storing... what? He didn't have any possessions. He kicked one in frustration.

He needed a place to sleep. The floor was cold concrete. Painfully cold, even through the thin soles of his sneakers. He spotted a pile of old wrestling mats near the wall. Thick, cushioned. They were dirty, smelling faintly of sweat and rubber, but they were better than the bare floor. He dragged a few of them together, creating a rough sleeping surface near the tarp.

This was his new throne room. A dusty, forgotten basement filled with human discards. Lord Zedd, reduced to this.

He sat down on the wrestling mats, the springs in his lower back already protesting from the unaccustomed posture. He leaned back against the concrete wall, the chill seeping through his thin t-shirt.

He closed his eyes, trying to focus, to reach out with his mind, to project his will across the cosmos. Nothing. It was like a part of him had been amputated. The rage boiled inside him, a silent, internal storm.

How long would this last? How long would he be trapped in this pathetic, fragile form? He needed to escape. He needed to rebuild his power. He needed...

A noise from the stairs broke his concentration. Footsteps. Light, hesitant footsteps.

Ed froze, instinctively melting back behind the tarp. He held his breath, listening. The door at the top of the stairs opened, letting in a sliver of light, then closed again. More footsteps, descending slowly.

He heard a voice, soft and musical. A female voice. One of the Power Rangers? He hadn't recognized any of them in his history class. They all looked so... insignificant in their human forms.

The footsteps stopped. He heard rustling, the clink of metal. Hiding something? Accessing hidden resources?

"Hello?" the voice called out, hesitant. "Is anyone down here?"

Ed remained silent, his heart pounding against his ribs. This was it. Confrontation. He was vulnerable, powerless. How could he defend himself?

He heard another sound, closer this time. A faint humming. He peeked through a tear in the tarp.

She was facing away from him, her back to the stairs. A young human female, dressed in brightly colored athletic wear. Long, dark hair pulled back in a ponytail. She held something in her hands, something metallic that glinted in the dim light filtering from the small windows.

She turned, and Ed saw her face.

Kimberly. The Pink Ranger.

His breath hitched in his throat.

She was... different up close. He had seen her only through his visor, a blurry image on a flickering screen. Now, he saw the curve of her cheek, the way her eyes scanned the darkness, the determined set of her jaw.

His new body reacted in a way that was utterly incomprehensible. A strange warmth spread through his chest, tightening his muscles, quickening his breath. It was not the heat of rage, or the burning energy of his power. It was something else. Something... confusing.

He had observed human mating rituals, their strange attractions and messy emotional entanglements. Was this... that? A physical reaction to the presence of this particular human female? The thought was repulsive. He, Lord Zedd, affected by the base instincts of a meat suit? Impossible.

It must be a side effect of the transformation. Some kind of physiological malfunction in this flawed body. A weakness he had to overcome, like the headache or the hunger. Yes, that was it. This sensation was just another manifestation of his current powerlessness.

Kimberly started to move, walking slowly through the basement, examining the piles of junk. He ducked back behind the tarp, his mind racing. He couldn't let her see him. Not like this.

He watched her through the tear. She stopped near the stack of boxes where he had emerged. She picked up one of the broken pieces of cardboard, turning it over in her hands. Was she looking for clues? Had she suspected he was here?

She continued her search, moving closer to his hiding spot. Every movement of hers, the swing of her ponytail, the way her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, seemed to intensify that strange, unwanted physical response in his body. It was a distraction, an impediment to his focus. He needed to ignore it, to push it down.

He forced his thoughts back to his predicament. He needed power. He needed resources. He needed information. He couldn't dwell on the bizarre reactions of this temporary vessel.

Kimberly paused right beside his pile of wrestling mats. His heart hammered against his ribs, a ridiculous, noisy drumbeat in his chest. He could hear her breathing, light and even.

She reached out, as if to touch the mat, then pulled her hand back. She sighed, a soft, disappointed sound.

"Guess not," she murmured, too low for him to fully understand, but the tone was clear.

What was she looking for? What did she expect to find in this forgotten corner?

She turned, walking back toward the stairs. Ed didn't move until he heard the basement door close again, the lock clicking into place.

He waited, counting off the seconds, until the last echoes of her footsteps faded. Then, he slowly emerged from behind the tarp, muscles stiff and aching.

The strange physical reaction lingered, a phantom heat in his chest. He pressed a hand against his sternum, trying to figure out what it was. It wasn't pain, not exactly. More like a... disturbance. A disruption in the normal, controlled function of his body.

This was worse than he had imagined. Not only was he powerless, he was also experiencing these inexplicable, unsettling sensations. This human form was not just weak, it was fundamentally flawed.

He glared at the spot where Kimberly had stood. She was one of his enemies. One of the teenagers who had consistently foiled is plans. And yet...

He shook his head violently, trying to dislodge the unwanted thoughts. This was a test. A test of his willpower, of his ability to overcome physical limitations. He would not be swayed by the illogical workings of this meat suit.

He would find a way out of this. He would reclaim his power. And when he did, he would make Rita pay for this humiliation. And the Power Rangers...

He looked around the dusty basement, at his makeshift bed and his single, useless backpack.

He had to start somewhere. He needed to understand this place, these people. He needed to find a way to manipulate them, to turn their own world against them.

But for now, he was just Ed. A new student, lost and alone in a human high school.

He sat back down on the wrestling mat, pulling the damp-smelling tarp around himself. The darkness of the basement was a welcome change from the oppressive brightness of the school. He could think here. Plot here.

He closed his eyes, his mind already working, shifting from rage to calculation. How could he use this school, these teenagers, to his advantage? What weaknesses could he exploit?

The path back to power was unclear, shrouded in the alien landscape of human existence. But Ed was Lord Zedd. And Lord Zedd never gave up. He just found new ways to conquer.

And if that meant enduring American History and strange, unsettling physical reactions, then so be it. For now.