This story is a follow-up to my earlier fanfiction, "Plasmius...The Origins of Vlad!" It is not, however, a sequel. The connection between the two stories comes from my fancharacter, Katou, who plays a major supporting role in both stories.
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A rare event besieged The Ghost Zone that night – a spectre storm. Howling and twisting, winds came from every corner of the compass and flew with great speed, knocking away doors, trees, and any loose object that was caught within them. Lightning shot across the horizons and thunder seemed to shake the entire realm. Rain and hail poured down with such savage fury that it seemed as the waters which had borne this storm could only have come from the seas of Hell.
Pariah's Keep, strong fortress though it was, was as subject to the raging tides as anything else in The Ghost Zone. The aged masonry cracked, creaked, and crumbled, and within the walls, paintings fell to the floor from the vibrations and torches shook unevenly within their braces.
The Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, left perched at the top of its podium, spun about like a top. Its balance was so off-kilter that the slightest tilt in any direction could have sent it crashing down to the floor below. But not a soul would have needed to worry about the return of Pariah Dark, The Ghost King, if the tomb had fallen. For wise had been the Ancients who had imprisoned the sage. A powerful spell had been placed upon the casket – making it impervious to the damage brought about by such falls. It was one of many elaborate precautions taken against the chance of the king ever returning to The Ghost Zone.
But the Ancients had not foreseen all possible events. They had not taken to mind self-serving profiteers who would release Pariah to obtain his treasured Crown of Fire. Such a thing had brought out The Ghost King not too long ago. Only through the heroism of the half-ghost, Danny Phantom, was Pariah denied the chance at a second reign of terror. He was re-sealed, this time with his Ring of Rage. The Crown, as well as Pariah's servant the Fright Knight, fell into the hands of the profiteer – another half-ghost, Vlad Plasmius.
This action of Plasmius had undone one of the precautions taken by the Ancients. For as the only ghost with the power to harness the Crown and the Ring, Pariah had become attached to the artefacts and the energy within them. When one strayed too far from him, the energy within the relic called back. Hence the Ancients' reason for keeping the Crown and the Ring within Pariah's Keep. The Ghost King had many powers unknown to even the Ancients, and they wished no chance of the call of his Crown or his Ring to stir him from within the sarcophagus.
Vlad's actions had done precisely that.
The Ghost King had not woken from the Forever Sleep. He could not break free from his prison. He could not even move within it, it was so tight around him. But he had consciousness of mind and spirit. Thought was available to him again. With this gift, he recalled the circumstances that had brought him back within the Sarcophagus. He remembered the writing he had read on the walls of his Keep that revealed all that the Ancients had done to prevent him from being at his full power should he ever be awaken. He knew why he could not slay the ghost-child easily.
And he formulated both plans for vengeance and plans to return.
---
"So tell me, my friend…what do you know about this crown?"
In the darkest, most secluded area inside his laboratory, Vlad Plasmius stood in the shadows with his ally, The Fright Knight. They stood around a green tractor beam, the lone source of light within the room. Within that beam levitated Vlad's most treasured spoil of war – Lord Pariah Dark's Crown of Fire.
"Lord Pariah rarely went about without the Crown or Ring," the Knight mused. "And we were strictly forbidden from inquiring about the relics. But we all knew that the true power was left within the Crown. The Ring was merely the key. But without the Ring, we will need to find a new way to unlock the power within."
"Yes," Vlad purred as he leaned forward, studying the crown intently. Since acquiring it, he had doused its seemingly eternal flames, letting it float in the tractor beam for him to observe and touch as he pleased.
How magnificent his prized jewel looked! Its power was pulsating within, just waiting to be unleashed. Any and all that was in existence could belong to him, could he but find the key to fit the magic lock.
The crown did look lovely in that soft green light. Its shine almost made it seem aglow.
It was aglow.
It had caught fire.
"What is this?" Vlad asked as he raised an eyebrow. He awaited reply, but none came. Looking up from the crown towards his companion, Vlad found the Knight terror-stricken, stepping back from the flames of the Crown and eyes wide with fear.
"No…" he said, his voice shaking. "How could it be?" the violet fires of his cloak began to consume the rest of him, and the Knight's dread grew as he became fire and dissipated into air.
"What is the meaning of this?" Vlad demanded, his voice now raised. He was speaking to no one – the Knight had left him alone, something he did not wish to be right now. The Crown's flame continued to burn, reaching out towards Plasmius in the shape of a bony hand. The old half-ghost drew back, sweeping his cloak out ahead of him as a shield, but the fire crept onward. As it reached the cape, the fabric did not burn, but was pulled in as though in the grip of a fist. Another arm of fire licked out from the Crown and touched a finger to Vlad's brow.
All at once, Vlad's entire spine seemed to erupt. Every nerve in his body snapped and bent and sent such shocks running through him that he collapsed to the floor in a heap. His spine writhed beneath his skin, as would a ravenous python.
He began to feel a second arm inside his own right arm.
Soon he felt another left leg.
And another head.
Without conscious thought, Plasmius lurched his head backwards, and the head of Vlad Masters emerged from the base of Plasmius's neck. In a mess of spectral smoke and ectoplasmic goo, Masters emerged in a foetal position on the floor, while Plasmius was lifted skyward by the hands reaching out from the Crown.
Numb from pain and shock, Plasmius hardly noticed himself dissolving away into a funnel of green mist. He failed to see that the Crown had been replaced by a vortex pulling him in. What he did see just before his head became mist was the body of Vlad Masters rapidly decay into nothing more than a skeleton.
---
The Realm of Aragon had transformed itself. The most backwards part of The Ghost Zone had, in a few short weeks, already made it past the Renaissance, and it was now going through the conflicting times of Enlightenment and Romanticism. Thanks to Danny Phantom and his friend Sam Manson, Prince Aragon's mad cling to olden times had finally been broken, and his sister, Dora, was now swiftly moving her world up through history.
One thing that had not been changed was Aragon Castle. The old stone palace stood as it had for centuries, looking over forests, lakes, and villages. From the topmost tower, Dora looked fondly down upon the realm. The waters and trees were calm and serene, and in the villages, ghosts were building their world into the future. The work was hard, but none were unhappy. Progress had borne fruit, and all were content with their new realm.
All were content, Dora observed glumly, but one.
In a tall oak near the edge of the moat, her brother Aragon sat with a brooding expression. He hugged his legs to his body and rocked back and shot out filthy looks in every direction. He had gone out and done that daily ever since the day when his realm left the Dark Ages and he had lost his human bride, his control over the place, and his amulet that allowed him to become a dragon. He would wake up, sit there and rock all day, come back, sleep, and begin again.
Every day when he went out and grumbled, Dora called down and tried to bring him into the future with the rest of the ghosts. Today was no exception.
"Really, brother, can't you just try to go along with the rest of us? At least make an attempt to make it into the High Middle Ages."
"Never!" Aragon shouted as he leapt to his feet, suddenly defiant. "I liked things the way they were! And besides, we had orders! We were supposed to maintain the Realm of Aragon's ways! Do you have any idea what awaits us now that the realm has turned into this?" he pointed towards the villages indignantly.
"Oh brother," Dora laughed. "Are you really still worried about that? He didn't even come here the last time he was free."
"Just you wait, sister! You will rue the day you brought my kingdom to this!"
"Very well," Dora sighed. "But if you won't move on like the rest of us, then I can't give you back your amulet!"
She took Aragon's pendant from her neck and looked it over. Identical to hers but for the place where it was set, it had been taken from her brother the day that Danny had defeated him, and Dora had kept it from him ever since. From the first she had told him that he could have the amulet back when he had at least made an attempt to adjust to new ways. It was a promise she intended to keep.
She eyed her brother's medallion intently. Something about it was different. A cloud of black had consumed the stone that held the draconian powers, leaving not even the slit of the dragon's eye. A curious red shape floated up out of the darkness.
It was a hook with half of another one set alongside it. Contained within the space between them was an eye.
Dora knew this symbol. She knew it all too well.
"No," she whispered, shocked. "It can't be…"
Her hands began to shake, and the amulet slipped through her fingers and fell down towards the moat
"The amulet!" Aragon cried. "It's mine!" he made a mad dash forward. In his haste he forgot about the presence of a moat, and fell face-first into the water. He emerged with a gasp at the base of the castle and found himself back in the water when the amulet hit his head and knocked him back down.
Soon he emerged, the amulet around his neck and a devilish smile on his face.
"Aragon, please!" Dora begged. "You don't have to go back! Please don't go!" She knew at once that her pleas were in vain when her brother looked up at her with malice in his eyes.
"Enjoy your freedom, sister dear!" Aragon sneered. "You'll soon pay! You'll all pay!"
A pair of black, leathery wings sprouted from Aragon's back as he rose up out of the moat. His neck became elongated, and scales took the place of clothing. Blue skin became black hide. Soon the transformation was complete, and the great dragon soared off into the clouds with a piercing roar.
Back on the tower of Castle Aragon, Dora fell to her knees, too much in shock to even think of following her brother.
This was not like last time. There was only one thing this could mean.
---
In his lair of gears, watches, and timepieces, Clockwork floated before the surface that would show him the present at will. For now, it remained nothing but a well-polished mirror, and the Master of Time turned the crown of the watch mounted on his staff, adjusting the time to be correct down to the second.
Clockwork was not quite himself. On a typical day he would move through the ages, being a child, a man, and an ancient all in the same day. Yet for days now he had been a hunched over old man and had remained that way. His breathing was heavy. The pendulum inside his body ticked at a slower rhythm. The red glow of his eyes had faded. But he paid his ills no mind. His last look into time had been very interesting, and it insured him two bothersome visitors.
"Haven't you ever heard of knocking?" he coyly said. Without looking, he knew that the Observants had arrived.
"You have seen the signs?" one of the seer beings asked.
"Of course," Clockwork replied, finally turning to face his guests.
"Then you know how dire the situation is," the second Observant said. "The time has finally come. Tá eagla orm is upon us!"
Clockwork stared flatly at the twin beings, and then turned back to his staff.
"Tá eagla orm is upon us!" the first Observant cried, more dramatically. Clockwork paid him no mind.
"Why are you not moving to prevent this?" the twins yelled together.
"You Observants," Clockwork sighed and smiled. "Always with you it's the same routine. You have a terrible vision of the future and bring me in to try and prevent it. I advise you against meddling with time, but you send me in regardless. And what always happens?"
"We save the future. Now move!" the first Observant snapped.
"We? No." Clockwork said as he turned towards them again. "Are you at all familiar with Greek tragedy?"
"Of course!"
"Well?"
"Silly mortal fairy tales. Come to the point!"
"Very well…" Clockwork sighed. "Perhaps an example will help? You recall the little incident concerning Danny Phantom?"
"Of course…" the twins said, clearly unaware of where this was heading.
"You saw Danny growing into the most evil ghost on the planet," Clockwork continued. "You had me brought in to destroy him, and instead I tested him. My test ended with him getting the answers to a test – the test that he was supposed to cheat on, the event that triggered further events that turned him into an evil ghost."
"What does this have to do with anything?" the Observants demanded.
"It has everything to do with anything. For you see, I read – and learn from – the 'silly mortal fairy tales.' In Greek tragedy, when the gods gave men their fate, the men often tried to change their future. In doing so, they ended up helping to bring it upon himself."
"How does this apply to Danny Phantom?" one twin said. "The boy did not become evil! I fail to see the point to all of this!"
"The point," Clockwork said, "is that time is not carved in stone. Today's vision of the future is only one of many. Only time will reveal the path that the future will take. By refusing to wait, and trying to change Danny's future, you would have indirectly been the cause of it. But I cheated," he grinned. "I sent him into the future and let him see what could happen. When he made it back to his own time, the boy made his own decision. He would not become what he saw."
With a sweep of his arm Clockwork motioned towards the table where a lone Fenton Thermos sat. It shook on occasion, and had dents left in it from struggling from within. The thermos held the future Phantom, now existing outside of time.
"Danny chose his own future," the Master of Time resumed. "And he made his decision without ever asking to know his future or really thinking about how to prevent it. His primary motive when facing his evil self was to save his friends and family."
"Are you suggesting…are you suggesting we do nothing to stop Tá eagla orm?" the Observants spat, incredulous.
Clockwork knew how this would end before they spoke again.
"We can't accept that!" the first twin said.
"This is a far more important matter than Danny Phantom's future. Earth and the Ghost Zone hang in the balance! This may be the only time we would consider breaking the Oath!"
"If you won't take action, Clockwork, we can assure you that we will still work to stop this nightmare!"
"Very well," Clockwork sighed. "I'll step in. But for once, let me do things my way from the beginning."
"Your way requires too much time!" the Observants hailed. "Your time grows short!"
"I am aware," Clockwork grunted back, slightly affronted. "In that case, I'll just have to find someone to do things my way."
"Who could you possibly enlist? The boy?"
"'The boy' has a role to play in Tá eagla orm anyway."
"But the part he plays is…"
" – And all who will be involved in the conflict, he has defeated before," Clockwork cut him off.
"But never at once! And you know the situation surrounding Pariah!"
"We know you have great faith in the boy, Clockwork," the other Observant said. "But you must admit, he is still just a child. And he isn't prepared to face this. And you don't have time to prepare him."
"Well then…" Clockwork smiled. "I'll just have to find someone who can." He pointed his staff at the great circular mirror. Reflections of the three ghosts gave way to a glowing image of a horrible, decrepit figure, with long and greasy hair and hideous scars on his face. He was covered in filth, his clothes were in rags, and he was chained to a wall.
Through all the grime, however, the Observants recognised the figure, a relic from a bygone age.
He was Katou – samurai, founding member of the lost Order of Afterlife, and former master of Vlad Masters.
(He's a Phantom)
(Danny Phantom)
Young Danny Fenton, he was just fourteen
When his parents built a very strange machine
It was designed to view a world unseen...
(He's gonna catch 'em all cuz he's Danny Phantom)
When it didn't quite work
His folks, they just quit
But then Danny took a look inside of it
There was a great big flash
Everything just changed
His molecules got all rearranged!
(Phantom, Phantom)
When he first woke up It was then that he knew what he had to do (He's gonna catch 'em all cuz he's Danny Phantom)
He realized
He had snow white hair
And glowing green eyes
He could walk through walls,
Disappear, and fly!
He was much more unique than the other guy!
He had to stop all the ghosts
That were coming through
He's here to fight
For me and YOU!
(He's gonna catch 'em all cuz he's Danny Phantom)
Gonna catch them all cuz he's Danny Phantom
Master and Apprentice
Within his Tomb, Within his Keep,
Lord Pariah doth now sleep.
But beware, Spirits of Ghost-Land Vast,
For this Time of Peace shall not last.
---
All ghosts knew that Walker's prison was the last place that anyone would wish to live out their sentence in. The warden took special care to make it the most unpleasant place for all inhabitants – whether they deserved such a harsh sentence or not. Small, crowded cells, poor food, long hours in labour, guards with no mercy…it was a torturous existence, and some began to view Walker's frequent execution sentences as a mercy.
But the majority of the jailbirds suffered little compared to those held below.
The high-security prisoners were kept in the dungeons far below the main gates. Secret passages led to the damp, slimy, stone caverns where the felons were kept, held down by ghostly incarnations of medieval torture devices. No light save for poorly kept torches made its way down into this area. Prisoners here were not given the striped uniforms of the others – they were left to rot in their own clothes. Their meals were the scraps left over from the lunch of the others, and their exercise came in the form of trying their best to resist the full pain of the daily attacks they had to endure from the guards. No one who had ever been sent down to the depths of Walker's prison had ever seen any sight other than the masonry of the walls ever again.
Katou the samurai had been locked up in this area of the prison for eight years. He was kept chained against the wall by his hands at all times, except when it was time for his beating. His sword was kept in the cell with him, hung mockingly from the ceiling far beyond his reach. The samurai's clothes had become splattered in mud and filth, were soaked with sweat, and were badly torn from all the abuse he had endured. His black hair and beard were long and greasy, and streaked all over with grey. His eyes, which had always had a tired look to them, now were faded, sickly, and haunted. He had become very pale and gaunt over his eight years of imprisonment. Across his right eye he had a scar, and his left eye was burned shut. Both wounds were grim reminders of his day of arrest, brought about when he faced his traitorous former apprentice, Vlad Masters. The last member of the Order of Afterlife had been reduced to a humiliated prisoner, condemned and confined. Failure to defeat Vlad, failure to control his emotions during that last battle, and failure to elude capture had left him without honour and completely defeated. Any ordinary prisoner would have completely given up everything after the first week, let alone eight years.
But Katou was far from an average prisoner.
He was one of the few who met each torture with his head held high. He made no shameful protests, but took the abuse and all its force with quiet nobility. After each blow he got to his feet before the guards could drag him up, and marched in front of them on the way back to his cell. Whenever taunts were thrown at him at how his weapon was in the prison with him and out of his reach, he took them all with a stoic face. And he offered comforting words to prisoners who had lost all hope.
Early on, Walker had tried to crush this spirit of defiance by doubling the amount of torture and shortening his already slim rations, but it had amounted to naught. Though physically broken and exhausted within his mind, Katou had proven the most resilient prisoner ever to be thrown into the dungeon. It seemed as though, even if he were destined never again to see the light of day, the samurai was determined to find some way to re-gain his honour – even if all he could do was face torture with the control a samurai was meant to posses.
The time neared 1:15 in the afternoon – the time of day reserved for his torture. Katou waited with patient dignity, showing no sign that he was soon going to be beaten. He stared straight ahead at the stone wall across from him, blinking away a trick of the eye that made him think that a blue patch of light had appeared in the middle of the room.
But the light remained where it was.
It began to grow and spin clockwise, and it started to take on the characteristics of the face of a clock. An old, robed figure with a ghostly tail, a long white beard, and a staff filled the light, and then came into full view as the spinning vortex faded. It had been a very long time, but after initial confusion, Katou recognised the form of Clockwork, Master of Time.
"Clockwork?" Katou's voice had weakened, but awe and confusion were recognisable within it.
"I don't have long," Clockwork whispered, holding a finger to his lips. "I'm afraid an old vision of the future is coming true, and it's not just any vision. Tá eagla orm is about to take place."
"Tá eagla orm?" Katou gasped. Eight years of torture had not eroded his memory. He knew what those words meant. It was the darkest record in the Order's library. They had all hoped it would never come to pass.
"The Observants are meddling again. But for once, I've convinced them to let me do things my way from the beginning. And to do that, I need your help."
"My help?" Katou let out a half-laugh, half cough. "Surely you can find someone better. You must know the story of why I'm here."
"I do," Clockwork nodded. "But I need someone who knows the story of Tá eagla orm. I need someone with experience. And I need someone who can teach another."
"I haven't had the best teaching record…"
"A single failure out of hundreds of students is nothing to obsess over. In fact, it's unwise. And the boy I need trained is my ward, so I know from experience that you won't have another Plasmius on your hands."
"If he's your ward, why can't you…"
"I'll explain that," Clockwork interrupted, "when the two of you come together. I don't have the time to tell you about him, so I'll just give you all the knowledge you need."
The Master of Time aimed his staff at Katou's head, and a blue beam went out from the crown into Katou's mind. Within minutes, Katou understood everything. The boy in question was Danny Fenton, a 14-year old child who was also Danny Phantom, half ghost protector of his friends, family, and hometown of Amity Park. He had been making his own way, facing his enemies with only his powers and the help of his two best friends to rely on, and had managed to keep his loved ones safe. He had faced his share of close calls and temptations – and youth and its rash impulses had caused him to make mistakes – but he had been able to make it through even the darkest trials.
There was one aspect to his life, however, that made Katou cringe – the boy's mother was the girl that Vlad Plasmius had been in love with, and his father was the friend that Vlad had come to hate. Jealousy and hatred had sparked Vlad's moral collapse. Danny had faced Vlad many times and knew the connection between his arch-nemesis and his parents. Vlad had tried to woo Maddie and transform Danny into his son and apprentice. Danny wanted nothing to do with Vlad.
Katou had something to do with Vlad.
"This boy…Danny…" Katou shook his head. "I can't train him. His sworn enemy is my last apprentice. And I…I have to share some of the blame for why Vlad became what he is."
"Enough!" Clockwork barked, unusually stern. "I can't train the boy. I'll explain why later. You are the only one I can trust with this matter without pulling someone out of the past – and I refuse to do that. You have a choice. You can sit in this prison, brooding over what happened to Plasmius, or you can do as I ask and try and make right. What do you say?"
Katou looked away. He wasn't sure what to do. There had to be something special about this boy if Clockwork placed so much faith in him. Tá eagla orm was no small matter either. He couldn't let his guilt interfere if Clockwork needed this boy trained to defend against the ancient prophecy.
But Vlad…
"I'm not in an ideal position to be on the move," Katou rattled the ghost-chains on his arms to prove his point.
Clockwork smiled. "Those chains are removed when they take you away. I trust you can find your way from there. And, since I know everything, I know what your decision is." He drew one of his special medallions from inside his cloak and tucked into Katou's shredded tunic. "Show the boy that medallion and say that I sent you. Head directly north until you find a portal shaped like the Plasmius Portal. Good luck." Clockwork spun his staff, re-forming the spinning light. He floated inside it, and both he and the vortex vanished.
Katou stared at the spot where the Master of Time had just been. He didn't doubt for a minute what he had been told. He knew a perfect way to escape. He had sometimes contemplated taking it, but had always felt he should endure his torture to atone for his failure. And he knew that if Clockwork deemed this matter so important that he would come to him in prison to tell him all this, he had to train this boy.
But he still felt doubt in his capability as a master.
Pushing doubt aside for now, he shut his eyes and entered into a meditative state. He had not been adequately fed for eight years, and his body was frail, but he knew how to draw energy from the spirit.
Minutes later, two guards came into the cell, ready to take the samurai to the torture chamber. One had a small device in his hand that short-circuited any spectral energy it came into contact with for three hours. Katou had heard from conversations held by the guards that this "Plasmius Maximus" was one of many devices that Vlad had supplied Walker with in exchange for certain prisoners.
One guard yanked Katou down from the chains and cuffed him while the other held the Plasmius Maximus to him like a sword. Katou waited patiently for the former to finish his work. He waited for them to throw his hands down and begin shoving him along.
Then, with a sudden jolt, he thrust his hands forward, catching the cuffs inside the Plasmius Maximus and freeing himself from their grasp.
He made a grab for the Plasmius Maximus and caught it, thrusting it into the nearest guard. Walker's man was soon on the floor in a heap. A quick ecto-blast, and Katou destroyed the device. He ducked out of the way of the second guard's nightstick, knocked him back with a sharp kick, and leapt towards his sword. The katana was free in an instant, and a rush of flames covered the blade. Katou brought it down into the active guard's face, and the spirit vanished in a puff of smoke.
Katou floated up to retrieve his sword's scabbard and put it back into his belt. He turned his attention to the collapsed guard. Moving quickly, he removed his police gear and put it on himself, shoving his hair up into the helmet and hiding his beard and sword as best he could. He dashed out the door and up the stairs, lifting off the ground as he came into the upper levels of the prison. He had to squint, as his eyes weren't used to the bright lights of the surface, and he lost his way once or twice. But after several minutes, he managed to reach the outside wall. He floated up to the top of the prison gates. He prepared to head north.
The sirens sounded just before he started.
"Guards!" Walker barked over the loudspeakers. "We've got ourselves a high-security prison break. And if I don't have him back in his cell, my executions for the day are gonna include more than prisoners!"
Katou took off, but not before a guard noticed that he wasn't what he was dressed as. The samurai felt a sharp sting in his ribs as an ecto-blast flew by, but he did not stop to examine the wound. He needed to get a good distance away from Walker's prison. Special blocks surrounded the complex prevented certain powers from being used, and one of them was teleporation.
It may have been a few years, but Katou still remembered how to perform the technique. As soon as he was clear from the prison, his body became a swirl of green, and he vanished from the site of anyone who may have been behind him.
Miles away, at the mouth of his old cave, Katou reappeared. Gripping his side, he ran into his old home. He would continue on in a moment. He just needed to take care of a few things.
---
"Seriously, dude. If you need any help, we're here." Tucker said.
"I can handle it!" Danny grunted. With a lurch of his back and a more than slight moan, he threw the box of heavy equipment up onto its proper place on the shelf. His parents were out buying more equipment, and they had told Danny to clean and re-organise the lab. Unfortunately for his back, arms, neck, and knees, this involved moving a great deal of heavy equipment. He had been working for a solid hour and a half now, and it showed, and he was still only halfway done. Sam and Tucker, whom he was supposed to treat to a lunch at the Nasty Burger, were waiting on the steps.
"Danny, come on," Sam sighed, rolling her eyes. Danny could be so stubborn. "We're late, and you're exhausted. Just tell us what to do and we can get going!"
"Guys," Danny let out through gasps for breath. "I've defeated Plasmius on my own in Wisconsin and the Rockies, I've faced the Ghost King alone, I've fought my jerky older self by myself, and I deal with ghosts on a daily basis. I can do things myself, and if I can handle my worst enemies by myself, then I'm pretty sure I can do my chores by myself!" He held his head high as he bent down to lift up another heavy box. Unfortunately, he put too much force behind his lift, and the weight of the box coming up towards his chest knocked him off-balance. He stumbled back and fell to the floor, the box landing right on his chest.
"Although," he wheezed, "fighting ghosts is looking a lot easier right now."
The alarm above the Fenton Portal sounded, and blue spectral smoke drifted from Danny's mouth as a shadow stepped out from the swirling octagonal vortex. With a lurch Danny knocked the box off his chest and leapt to his feet. A flash of light, and two ghost-rings formed around his middle. Within seconds Danny Phantom stood, ecto-blasts charging up in his palms.
"Alright, pal," he growled. "What's your story?"
But Danny lowered his guard when he saw the ghost that stood before him. The spirit was a tired-looking old man, with a deep scar across his right eye and horrible burn marks around where his left eyes should have been. He was thin and gaunt, with his blue-trimmed black robes hanging loosely around his form. His short, messy black hair and goatee looked newly cut, and were streaked with grey patches. A belt held his robes, and tucked into the belt was a sheathed samurai sword.
"Whoa," Danny gasped. "Dude, you have to have seen better days."
"Indeed," the old ghost smiled warmly. "Our mutual friend sent me." Reaching down into his robes, he drew out a well-polished medallion, with black marble framed in gold. On the marble was inscribed the initials "CW" in topaz stone.
"Clockwork?" Danny, Sam and Tucker said together, awed.
"The very same. My name," the old spirit bowed, his hands clasped together, "is Katou."