Hmm… what do I say… ah, yes. First: this is my first Danny phantom fic, and I haven't seen many of the episodes yet, so be patient. I'm trying, and also sneaking over to my dad's house to watch Monday morning cartoons (and Tuesday morning cartoons, and Wednesday morning cartoons… see where I'm going with this?). Um… I know some people don't like OCs in stories, so if you are one of those people, please click the little back button on top of your screen. Reviews would be appreciated so I know if I'm doing okay. I apologize in advance for the shortness of this chapter.
Warnings/Disclaimers: I do not own Danny Phantom. Butch Hartman does. This chapter is mostly in my OC's perspective, so it might get confusing. If you've got a problem with werewolves, don't read. That's all I'm saying for now.
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The golden moon hung high in the sky, caressed by the bitter autumn wind and nestled in among the stars. Every so often, a fluffy gray cloud would float menacingly below it, obscuring the friendly light for a few seconds before moving on. It was a deceptively nice night. No one would have guessed, having looked only briefly at the so-called 'great' outdoors, that the pleasantly warm atmosphere masked a tangle of horrors.
In Amnity Park's park, a creature desperately tried to hide. Its long, ivory white fangs shone in the full moonlight, golden eyes alight with fear and the exhilaration of the chase- except it knew it was on the wrong end of the chase. Ears, pointed like twin mountaintops, shot straight up at any noise, however miniscule. This was the look of a beast that had been running far too fast for far too long.
It stopped, collapsed under a park bench, its ragged brown sides heaving in exhaustion. A long tail, the fur clotted with dust and matted with barely congealed blood, swept around to cover the wet black nose. It was done. The chase was over.
But let no one say it had not tried to fight. It was too proud to go down that easily.
Another of its kind, big and arrogant and putrid smelling, stalked out of the shadows. It could always hide in shadows. They seemed to like it. Shadows love darkness, and there was plenty of it in this new creature.
Werewolf some screamed. Loup-garou, others cried. The truth was that whether you called it faoladh or varulv or even libahunt, you were speaking of the same thing. Many names, same animal. If, and that's a big if, you could say it was an animal.
It lacked something, some fundamental animal-ness. It was different. And the part of it that still possessed human intelligence was deeply and profoundly worried about that, even with more pressing matters at hand. Was it normal to be part beast and part man? Certainly not. But things were never normal for long. You had to move with the times, and, unfortunately, the times were edging in a dangerous direction.
This too worried the wolf. It may have been next-to impossible to kill, but that still left an opening. And there was far too much silver in the world for its taste.
The other wolf, the black one whose coat shone like steel in the pale light and whose eyes betrayed nothing but cold dead hatred, slunk closer. A voice whispered in the good wolf's ear to run, telling her (for it was a she-wolf) that she would soon be needed for grand things, but she did not listen. Wolves are stubborn that way. Show them a problem, and their solution will doubtlessly be to fight.
The other wolf leaped first, but the she-wolf caught hold of its throat and twisted her head. A carnal growl ripped from between her canine teeth, and she threw the black wolf, pelt dark as midnight (if you ignored a trickle of scarlet streaming from the region of its chest) in the dirt. This was a grave miscalculation. She should have hung on, as soon became all too clear as she found herself pinned to the spiky, impeccably cut grass but a set of iron claws.
The she-wolf was mad. Mad with an anger inherited from thousands of others before her, who all seemed to be shouting in her ear, "Kill it!" Unluckily, or-as some like the infamous Vlad Masters might put it-luckily, both sets of ears perked as a new sound was heard, one that temporarily halted the fighting.
From far away in the distance, a teenage boy was heard bidding goodnight to his friends. "Bye Tuck!" The kid called. "Good luck fixing your PDA, man!" A pause, and the wolves thought it was over. "Uh… 'Night Sam! See you in school!"
A little known fact about werewolves (or lycanthropes; they're not picky on terminology) is that they are often times the servants of Fate. Whether the good Fate or the bad Fate, they are there. And they are famous for hearing the voices of new talent, as it is smack-dab in the process if being discovered. If the person was already slightly existential, so much the better.
In the park, two angry, loathing wolves, both nearly rabid with desperation, battled it out on the turf. And somewhere else, a new talent thought to himself, rather foolishly, It's a nice night out. Maybe I should walk home instead of flying.
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It's often that the little things that count. If only Danny Fenton had stayed a little longer at his friend's house, perhaps a great deal of tragedy and adventure could had been prevented. Perhaps we would not be here now, recalling the tale of the most famous werewolf in history. Perhaps Danny would have stopped being clueless of his own accord.
Maybe. But probably not.
As Danny walked towards his house, taking the park route home, he noticed two things. One, there were two very large, very creepy looking dogs battling. Two, it had been a full moon for three days. It's amazing what some people will overlook, but being half ghost tends to heighten your senses when it comes to all things paranormal.
As he stopped to watch, trying to come to terms with a nagging sensation at the back of his head telling him that things were not as they seemed, the bigger dog threw its adversary to the ground, where it landed like a sack of rags. It sort of looked like a sack of rags.
The bigger dog appeared to speak to the smaller, and then all Danny could remember were flashes of light and sound.
Flash! The bigger dog tore an ugly gash down the other's shoulder.
Flash! The bigger dog saw him, and pounced.
Flash! Trapped under a ton of stinking, grimy, grisly twisted flesh, he attempted to transform into Danny Phantom, scourge of ghost hunters everywhere, but could not.
Flash! It bit him in the same place as on the other dog, and as he bled profusely it raced off. He noted that it melted seamlessly into the shadows, as if it had never been there at all.
Flash! New flesh crawled evilly over the gap in his chest, covering up the slimy purple muscle that had been exposed. He felt like throwing up, and did so.
The last thing he could recall before passing out was the crash of rolling thunder, and another dog over him. He hoped his end would be swift… and then the darkness claimed him.
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"Bloody hell!" The she-wolf exclaimed, as rain poured from the suddenly not so inviting sky, and vast thunder clouds stampeded high above the land. The earth was suddenly a churning sea of muck, and she knew she couldn't leave the boy there. It wouldn't be right.
Rats. She'd almost gotten the edge, too, and then this… this… frootloop (werewolves have a knack for picking up regional dialect, even if all they have to go on is slang used by passed out teenagers in park) had gone and showed up too soon. It would have gone perfectly if the boy could have walked a few paces slower.
Now that other Messenger had gone and wrecked it all. Look, the poor kid got so much of a scare that he passed clean out! The wound may have gone, but mental aggravation lasts forever.
Double rats. It was raining harder, if that was even possible. It was like stepping into a mini hurricane in the Midwest. It wasn't good. It wasn't right. It meant that werewolves had been around, and sooner or later somebody was going to start noticing things. She hated people who noticed things. They tended to be too nosy, and too goody-goody.
Cursing mildly under her breath, the wolf sniffed Danny. Okay, she could tell where he lived now. All she had to do was drag him there.
Easier said than done. Ten minutes later, she found herself outside Casper High, thinking Well, this can't be right! Surely the kid doesn't live in a school, for Fate's sakes!
Ten more minutes later, she was outside the Manson house.
Then in Tucker Foley's yard.
And at something called Nasty Burger, which she assumed could only be frequented by people with extremely bad taste in food.
Then, at last, she was at the Fenton household.
It was late, but that didn't matter much. The important thing, of course, was to get the poor boy out of the storm. There would be questions, sure, there always were, but she could sort them out.
The wolf did the only thing she could think of that would help. She left a note.
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Whew! First chapter done! Review, please! You get cookies!
A note: none of the werewolf trivia here is accurate except for the alternate spellings. I got those off wikipedia, which of course means that I don't have absolute faith in them either. You have to be careful with that site.