Hello!
I've decided to put up a separate "story" up, mostly misc fragments of possible stories I could work on.

I will not be updating this very often, as this is more or less an infrequent thing that I do when I'm bored.

If a fragment receives enough positive feedback, I might fully commit to creating a story about it (although it'd still be infrequent, and I'll most likely end up building a framework anyway).

For the record, a majority of the stories I'll be posting here will be crossovers. Almost all of the stories will involve OCs of varying power levels.

So with no further ado, let's start this off with a bang.

Edit:

I've decided to use this "Story" for my concept work, although a majority of it at first will be my Danny Phantom OC, and if I come up with another one sometime soon, perhaps some work on that too.

3/4 of the work in here is concept, and will either be worked into a story, or be kept as an amusing note in my works for my characters. If anything, it might be interesting to see how a character evolves. I'll be putting an author's note at the bottom, which might be edited later, explaining what exactly I've changed, and what makes me laugh the most about my old work.

Second edit:

A majority of my work is now on Deviantart, under the name ReaverSivinoth. Some day I might write a story involving this character, but her personality is still under construction. I'm not entirely sure where on the scale of stable to absolutely psychotic she should land: it seems to fluctuate wildly during her characterizations.

Third Edit:

This character is actually the prototype for Annabelle Cain, the mother of my Harry Potter OC.


Mana: Creation

"So tell me little girl. Before I kill you, do you have any last words?"

The gun in my vision comes closer. The hand holding it slowly cocks the hammer of the pistol, its owners grinning face the only part of him still visible.

"None? Well that's a shame. I suppose that's what you get for having the family you have, no? You and your stinking thief of a father. But I suppose your family is full of thieves."

Instantly, the killer's hand whips to the side, and his firearm reports thrice. Three cracks of a shot, three screams, three sounds of something wet impacting the floor. I know that I should feel grief, but somehow, every part of me is dead. My emotions are absent, having long since fled along with my hope of being rescued.

"Well… I suppose at this point, it's more of a 'was' full of thieves. So how's about it. Those last words?"

No words come to my mouth, but only one thought fills my mind.

I am about to die. My family is dead. Nothing more will matter any more… no matter what the result of this is, my life is over. There is no coming back. And with a blink, something inside me snaps.

I hadn't resisted at all, during my capture. But now… there was nothing left to hold me back. As stealthily as possible, I grab the nearest thing, and swing it towards the murderer. The criminal. The one who I knew would kill me where I stood.

The object impacts bone. I see a small spurt of blood, a tiny trickle coming from the chin of the killer.

"A good hit, little girl. Where was that spirit an hour ago? No matter."

One final report of his weapon. A feeling of pain, directly between my eyes. The darkening of my vision, the smell of my own blood.

"Time's up. You lose." His voice is punctuated with the sound of his gun slowly being reloaded.

I desperately raise my hands to my head, patting for my wound. I find a hole, two inches deep, gushing blood. My body slowly stops responding to my frantic orders, my vision darkening even further, my other senses disappearing in but moments. The last thing I remember is the ground, coming closer. And then darkness. But above it all, there is a single wish.

I wish that I could have another chance. I wish that I could be someone else.

I wish that I could begin anew.

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It is silent inside of the ancient tower, its usual sole occupant currently out doing business.

The air begins to shimmer with overwhelming power, and the sound of ripping begins to fill the air. Moments later, a gash, a tear in reality itself begins to form. And from the gash spews a creature.

The creature is human, appearing in the form of a man in his late twenties. His form is obviously unstable, with sparks of power floating off like the embers of a dying fire. It slowly raises itself to its feet, stumbling twice as its once-mighty strength fails it for the first time in a decade.

"I can't survive like this." murmurs the creature to itself, as it glances up and down its new, unwelcome form. "My body is damaged too much to repair."

The sparks are appearing quicker now, and the creature's fear continues to rise.

"I need a body. And quickly." it fumes. "Do I go out and kill… No. That isn't... I did this to stop the killing. To stop..."

The creature clenches and unclenches its fist rapidly in anger as it begins to pace the room.

"A corpse then. And it has to be fresh and, hopefully, reasonably intact." it concludes. "I have only enough energy to do this once though… I'm running out of time."

Familiar runes of energy begin to circle an area in front of the creature as it carefully chants to itself, its full focus turned to the casting of the spell that could possibly save its life.

The gateway opens, and discharges a form from within, which lands face down with a lifeless thud. The creature approaches the body hesitantly, praying that he chose correctly. The body is a young teen, female. Her platinum blonde hair is matted, caked in blood and grime, and her clothes are not much better off.

"Besides the fact you appear to have not cleaned yourself in weeks, you seem reasonably intact" mutters the creature. "I don't see how you could have died."

Carefully, the creature flips over the body.

The front of the body is not much better. The blood and grime staining her clothes was also caked upon her face. The only clean parts of her face outlined portions of her face like ritualistic markings: spots which the creature knows were caused by the body's tears.

The body's eyes were an autumn brown, and frozen in a look of desperation, of begging, of shattered hopes. The eyes stared at the creature balefully, as if the body they were attached to were begging for the creature for another chance. To be let free.

The creature reacts unlike anything he had done in a long time. With shame. It continues to stare at the body, as its body becomes translucent.

"This could have been one of my victims… from long ago." it speaks, its voice low, heavy with emotion. "Looking back… Was this the face they always stared back at me with?"

The creature places a hand against the body, starting at the chin and brushing upwards. He pauses as he touches her hair, and begins to her bangs upwards. Below the bangs, a deep, bloody hole stares back at him.

"So this is how you were ended. A single shot to the head. Quick, efficient, brutal. Judging from the blood… I'd say you died about five hours ago."

The creature wastes no time reaching into the wound to retrieve the bullet. Its long fingers extend even longer, and with a practised efficiency, the bullet is removed.

"I'd stitch you up… but my medical kit is still back on the other side. And I don't know if I'd be able to survive going back, while not fully recovered. Most certainly not like this."

The creature chuckles darkly. "I'm not able to go back there even if I try. After I pulled THAT stunt, I doubt I'm ever going to be able to try again."

"I suppose you'll just have to do."

The creature's body is transparent as it begins casting one final spell. The runes circle the body once, twice, and three times, before the entire circle erupts with power. And then, the creature is gone, leaving behind only the corpse.

A strange glow fills the room as the corpse's wound begins to knit back together.

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The inside of the corpse's mind is a mess.

The creature is floating amidst it all, trying its best to locate what used to be the corpse's memories.

Although some would believe that a person only has a mind while alive, the creature knew otherwise. Even though it was impossible to communicate with the dead, it was NOT impossible to delve a corpse's brain, to search for an echo of who they used to be.

It takes the creature a minute to find what it is looking for: a simulacrum of the corpse, floating in the void. The creature pokes the echo, and awaits a response.

"I couldn't save them." whispers the echo. "I wish that I could have another chance."

The creature turns its head in curiosity as the echo continues.

"I wish that I could be someone else. I wish that I could begin anew."

The creature nods, satisfied with what it has seen. It grabs the shadow, and begins to direct power into it. The sound of a heartbeat begins to fill the air, intermingled with the familiar whisper of scrambled thoughts.

The simulacrum begins to appear more and more solid, before it recoils in shock.

"Am… am I alive? How...? I… I saw myself die." the echo questions. "Did… did you do this?"

The creature grins as it extends its hand to shake. "I had something that you needed, and you have something that I need. I'm here to offer you a deal."

The echo recoils slightly as confusion spreads across her face. "You can bring people back to life?"

"For a given definition of life. " The creature continues to smile. "You see, if this is to work, we'll need to stick together, form a bond of sorts. If we grow strong enough, it might even be possible for us to split apart again. However… even if we split, you won't be human any more."

The girl pauses, before responding with defiance. "I don't care. I begged for a second chance, and I'd be an idiot to pass this up. What are the conditions, and what will I become."

"The conditions, are that I will be granting you some of my powers, but in return, you'll need to allow me to feed every once in awhile. About… once every few weeks will do fine." a smirk is plastered across the creature's face. Its body is no longer transparent, and has begun to become more and more solid with every second. "Also, you're probably going to go berserk when it's time, or whenever you feel the need to draw on that power. It'll make you stronger, faster, and deadlier, but it will fill your mind with the urge to feed."

"Feed? Like a vampire?" mutters the girl. "Please tell me I'm not undead, or something."

"Vampires would be cliche, anyway. No. Because of my… particular power set, you'll be turning into… something else. Your form will be fluid, but it will take serious effort to change more than your hair color at first. This should stabilise over time, after you gather enough energy to allow me to reactivate my power. It's just a quirk of who I am that requires you to feed on energy."

"And who are you, anyway?" asks the girl.

"You can refer to me as… Cyrus. What is yours?"

"I… think I should get another name. My old one should die with my old self."

"Fine." states Cyrus. "Your new name is Mana. Seems ironic enough to work for me… and as for a last name… Let's pull out something random. Faust? Nah. Too obvious… How about… Nimune? Sounds like a real name, and I don't feel like going with the tried-and-true method of just using 'Smith', 'Jones', or 'Adams'."

"Mana… Nimue..." utters the girl. "It'll do."

"So. Mana, I think it's time we get out of here."

"Where exactly… am I? I… haven't seen the area around me… since I was dead the whole time…"

"That's for me to know, and for you to find out… in about a year or two. All I'm willing to say, is that it's a good idea for me to get us out of here as soon as possible."

There was a quiet affirmation between the two, before Mana finds herself on the floor of a tower. Rubbing her eyes blearily (and wincing from the pain of them being so dry), she quickly takes a view of the room. The interior of the tower resembles the guts of a tremendous grandfather clock, except that a few of the gears appear to be floating, and everything was tinted green. Several amulets hang from a peg on the wall, their faces green and black gears, edged with bronze,

"Take two of the amulets." directs Cyrus. Mana obliges, grabbing one in each hand and giving one of them a quick examination. The necklace seems gaudy and altogether not valuable, but Mana wasn't ready to anger the person responsible for her continued existence.

"I'm going to be in control a bit." comes Cyrus's voice, before Mana suddenly feels a tightness in her limbs. She doesn't bother resisting as her hands moved free of her will, magical runes beginning to form around her as she gestures and chants in a voice that is not her own. The voice… Cyrus's voice continues steadily,

A tearing sound fills the air as Mana's vision momentarily swims, before blacking out completely.

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Mana's vision returns, revealing to her a surging river. She wastes no time throwing herself into the water, desperate to clean the blood and filth from herself, to wash away what was left of her abandoned life, to cleanse herself of what she used to be completely. She resurfaces, before flopping onto the sore to dry. The amulet she had taken earlier was gone.

"Where… am I?" asks Mana, unsure of how best to communicate with her… copilot.

"Outside of a particular little town. All I can say, is that here, you definitely won't go hungry." joked Cyrus.

Mana sighs as she stares at the town before her. A new life to experience, and despite what she may have given up (she still didn't completely trust Cyrus), she was alive again. Alive, and (for the most part), free.

She wanders towards the town, to experience what exactly had brought her here. To see the sights, and to rediscover her own purpose.


A/N: Cyrus was originally an OC of mine for Harry Potter, a cunning Slytherin spell-caster who was known for making up his own spells, being an orphan, and having a specific hatred of Dementors. For some bizarre reason, I decided to have him travel through time to possess Mana's Corpse.

This situation was so extremely contrived, that I immediately backtracked. What was I thinking?

Anyway, I ended up keeping the origin, but tossing out the reincarnation, then reworking Cyrus to be her boyfriend instead, because I found the idea of a demon-hunting sarcastic archmage being attracted to a semi-psychotic demon hilarious.

And now the two are mentally inseparable.


Yeah, I've decided to upload the rest of my concept work.

Unfortunately, a majority of it is either unfinished, or abandoned. I didn't really put much effort into these, but it did give me a framework to improve the character on.


The next piece is technically a sequel to the last one. However, I lost interest halfway through, due to various idiotic reasons.


Mana: Hunger

It would be a lie to say that the events that occurred in the first few weeks of Mana's "life" were boring.

The town that Cyrus had brought her to was an absolute powder keg: even if the occupants couldn't feel it, the place was practically saturated with supernatural energy. She could feel that what little stability this town still possessed was only moments away from being shattered beyond repair. Occasionally, a particularly wry spirit would slip away, and cause a ruckus, but all of them will primal. Beastial. Mindless.

Mana instead had spent a large amount of time trying to settle into the town.

Although she did her best to ignore her past life, some of her own skills shone through the block she had created against herself; her previous talents as a pickpocket had returned with a vengeance. Any attempt to convince herself to stop were immediately stymied by the sheer necessity of theft. She had not a dollar to her name, and the occupants of the town were nothing if not blind.

It was for that reason that Mana now sat at a bus stop, eating the cheapest food she could find. Mana had always been frugal: regardless of where her… family's wealth had come from (or who it came from), she had always been taught to treat every dollar like it was her last. Thus, she had before her whatever she could get from the clearance aisle from the nearby grocery store that was still edible.

Although her diet was a mess, she has been doing fine for about twenty-five days, and has gathered enough money to begin fabricating an identity. Unfortunately, today, the food before her had no effect upon her hunger. A near insatiable urge to kill had begun to fill her mind, whispering for blood and death.

"What… What's happening to me…?" she whispered to herself, knowing that her… associate would answer.

"You're going to need to feed soon… I'd only give you about three days before you go berserk" came Cyrus's voice.

"And… How would I go about doing that?" continued Mana, who had begun to glance around in case anyone was watching her talk to herself.

"Well… there's two ways. Either you can feed off of a human…" Cyrus began to say.

"How about no." interrupted Mana.

"... the other option is to feed off of a ghost." muttered Cyrus.

"F… feed off of a ghost?" Mana sputtered. "You mean those weird green things that show up every once in awhile? Those things sure as heck ain't going into my mouth!"

"Relax." assured Cyrus. "You don't need to eat them, per say. You just need to kill one."

"But how would I kill o-"

"Just find one first. After we find it, I'll show you how to kill it."

"But aren't they already-"

"Yes. However, they've still got will, and they've still got power. Those are the true things that we feed upon."

Mana stopped arguing as she tracked down one of the green spectres. Her search led her to an alleyway, thankfully out of sight from the road. The ghost floated, seemingly obvious to its surroundings, and resembled a green monkey.

"So I've found one. Now what?"

"Don't resist."

Mana winced involuntarily as she felt herself lose control again. Moments later, she watched herself reach to her side, retrieving a brutal-looking waved knife, its blade stained red. She ducked low, getting ready to charge the ghost. In a second, she was directly beside the ghost, knife flashing as its brutal shape flew through the air. The blade sliced the side of the ghost, causing it to be knocked out of its reverie. The now-irate monkey hissed at Mana in displeasure.

A second later, Mana's hand were a blur as she sliced at the enraged ghost. She watched herself backflip (seriously, backflip?) away from the monkey is it counterattacked, before continuing her assault. Strangely, every blow seemed to cause the ghost to fade more and more, as if she was somehow…

"Am… Am I doing that?" whispered Mana.

"More than you'd assume. Who taught you how to fight?" replied Cyrus. His voice was curious, but still apathetic.

"I uhh… was a street thief before my… uhh... end." admitted Mana. "Though I've never been able to pull off a backflip like that before."

"It should be spent soon, this creature is rather weak. It will serve our purposes though."

Eventually, the ghost began to slow its assault, and then stop altogether. Seeing his opportunity, Cyrus does not hesitate to plunge the blade down to the hilt into the ghost. The ghost's form further destabilizes, and then finally dissipates into ash.

"Will every feeding be like that?" asked Mana, who was glad to at least not feel sore from her brawl.

"Only until we have enough power to do it faster." admitted Cyrus. "The faster way isn't as efficient, but it only takes a second to harvest a ghost, rather than that… long brawl we just had."

Mana nodded, and realised that her hunger had begun to fade: it was still there, but much less pressing. "One more, I'm assuming." she commented.

"One more."

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As the second spirit disintegrated before her, Mana fell to the ground, clutching her chest.

"What… What's… happening?" she sputtered.

"Those two were enough for now. I've gathered enough now to reactivate some…" Cyrus began, before his words were suddenly drowned out by pure fury.

"OF COURSE HE HAD TO DO THAT BEFORE I LEFT." screamed Cyrus. Mana clutched her head in agony as Cyrus's rage pounded against her mind.

"Is something wrong?" asked Mana though gritted teeth.

"HE DESTROYED MY POWERS WHEN I FLED!" ranted Cyrus.


A/N: About here, I realised that having Mana with no powers naturally was idiotic. I also realised that if she went back in time, she would get along fabulously with past-Cyrus. This is where the mental shipping between two of my characters began. The hunger and consumption, however, I kept.


I'm keeping this one. It explains one of her more... Mary-sue-esque powers.


Mana: Feign

The hit had been much worse than I had expected.

And I had already expected the worst, because the beam pierced all the way through me, exiting out my back.

I glanced towards my enemy. He had no way of knowing what I was, or who I was.

And if I tried to escape, he'd track me down.

No, it was time to feign the dead.

I began to release flecks of energy, the overall image aided by my memories of my own death, supplemented by Cyrus's own near death experience.

Slowly, my form began to fleck away, as I faded, appearing weaker. I collapsed to the ground, hitting it hard, and struggled back to my feet, feigning intense pain and strain, before collapsing again.

Finally, I let my form go, releasing myself into particles, which flew away, out of sight.


A/N: I don't really have any comments for this one. Only that it basically means she's either an immortal coward, or a mediocre-durability metahuman.


I'm not entirely sure what I was thinking when I wrote this one. It was my first attempt to introduce Mana to the DP cast.


Mana: Identity

Within a week at arriving at her new town (which she had finally identified as "Amity Park", although she wasn't entirely sure WHERE it was), Mana had managed to forge herself enough legal documents to enroll at the nearest school. Although she was hesitant, Cyrus was quick to warn her that the cover story granted to her for being at school would greatly outweigh any sort of penalty that would occur from it.

Mana wasn't sure just how good a benefit having a cover story would be, considering just how unenjoyable the experience was.

She quickly found her niche among the creeps and the freaks, although she herself wasn't even social enough to interact with her 'peers'. Instead, she spent time alone, at the spare, rundown, extra table, going through books on the town's history.

Today was shaping up to be similar to similar to the rest.

"Hey… do you mind if we sit here?" speaks a quiet, nervous voice.

Mana lowers her book warily to reveal a group of fellow outcasts. Each of them is carrying a tray of horrible cafeteria food (Mana had long since decided that the food here was inedible, even for her, and had chosen instead to fast during school hours), and is looking at her expectantly.

Mana begins to open her mouth, before Cyrus cuts her off. "Let them sit with you. These three… are special in a way."

Shrugging her shoulders, Mana gestures to the table. "Fine, although I'm not sure why you've never asked before."

One of the three, this one apparently African-American with green eyes, and wearing the absolute ugliest hat Mana had ever seen, leans forward. "Well, I've been hoping to ask you out, but I was afraid that you hadn't settled in yet."

Mana gags slightly. There always has to be one of these people in every group…

"TUCKER!" screams the second one, this one dressed up as a goth. She's got purple eyes.

"Sorry about Tucker, … uhh… what's your name, anyway?" states the third. Black hair, blue eyes (seriously, what's with the color of eyes in this town?), and all-around looking like he doesn't really have his own theme.

"Mana." states the uncomfortable victim of Tucker's attention. "And no, I'm not interested. I'm gay."

"Huh?" whispers Cyrus.

"Huh! Are you gonna hit on Sam, then?" chides Tucker, who has begun gesturing towards the goth girl, now identified as Sam.

"Well that wasn't the WORST half-truth I've ever come up with…" mutters Mana, who had begun to blush slightly at the attention.

"Seriously, what?" returns Cyrus.

"Well you're a guy, and I'm pretty sure that you've got more effect on my mind than I do. So if you were straight, it's a pretty good idea that I'm either gay, or just bi." whispers Mana, as quietly as she can.

Which apparently wasn't quiet enough.

"Who are you whispering to? Is it a ghost?" chatters Sam excitedly.

"We'll talk later." promises Cyrus.

"Uhh… No one. Anyway, ghosts aren't real." deflects Mana.

"Lies." states Cyrus plainly. It's enough to stun Mana for a few seconds.

"Are… you alright there, Mana?" asks the second boy.

"I'm… fine. Besides, we did a pretty poor job at introducing ourselves just now. Can we please just go around the table and do it right this time?" answers Mana.

"Mana Nimue."

"Sam Manson."

"Tucker Foley."

"Danny Fenton."

"Jackpot." whispers Cyrus.

They all shake hands, and soon enough are seated at the table. They mostly eat in silence (although Mana still doesn't eat anything)


A/N: Of all of the things to survive this draft, her urge to troll people is probably the only thing. That, and absurdist humor.


This was the first piece I wrote about this character.

Yes, this is proto-character design.


Mana: Introspection

It's dark.

All around me, I hear the sound of tramping feet. Of crunching stone below the boots of thousands of warriors, of invaders. Of trained warriors who live for battle. Who died for battle. Who came back, when their lust for bloodshed allowed them to sleep no longer.

I hear them come closer. Some break into groups, and but a handful begin to move towards me. I am silent, I am aware.

I chuckle as the feet come ever closer. They aren't the only creature who still lives only due to bloodshed. They are not the only creature whose purpose is to kill, consume, and grow stronger.

As soon as I hear the first door open, I finally begin to move. Leather armor, bonded to skin, springs to existence. Soon, I am wrapped in a carapace: absolutely useless in a fight, but it conceals my identity well. It envelops me, leaving only my brown eyes exposed. Seconds later, the blade appears.

Its blade is over three feet long: a jagged, ugly mockery of bastard sword, emblazoned in spikes. It's an evil weapon, a weapon no human should ever use.

I grab it, sending shivers through my body.

I can only smile as I hear growls of confusion, only feel a surge of familiarity, hunger, and violence as the blade touches my palm, as its curse spreads through the air around me. I can feel the confusion of the creatures nearby as their vision swims, and a droning sound fills their ears. My eyes blacken, my body goes numb, as all of my senses merge into one, an unbreakable sense of knowing exactly what I look towards, my ears only receiving the sound of the essence of my enemies. Seconds later, I greet my foes; blade in hand, voice both whispering and screaming, my song of murder and death.

No longer do I see in colors, in names, or in appearance. All I see is blood. Essence. Power. A dozen entities, marked as weak, puny, disposable, unknown, all underlined as "Threat". Seconds later, the entities are gone, cut down by the sheer force of my hunger. Their bisected bodies decompose immediately into a viscous ooze, coating the ground in a thick goop, with what used to serve as their binding power still floating above. I barely take the time to gather their fading essence into a sphere, before shoving the energy into storage for later.

Feeding will happen later. For now, I am needed elsewhere. For there are enemies to be slain before the day is through.

The butcher has awoken.


It had gone so well, too.

I wasn't sure how many I had killed, how many of the minions I had utterly destroyed before it all came crashing down.

It seems that at least someone has a clue what they were doing.

Their regular weapons weren't affecting me at all as I cleaved through their ranks, until I came across one of them holding a different sort of weapon. One that looked more solid than the others.

And of course, the one weapon that was different was made of iron. God dammit.

So now, I'm laying on my back, literally floating in a pool of ectoplasm, with a spear made of iron stuck in my shoulder. If I could, I'd get up and just pull out the damn thing, but unfortunately, whoever decided to gear out a few of these minions with purified iron spears. If it were anything like the regular iron crap I've had to deal with over the years, I'd be winded, yeah, but I'd be back up to full strength in a day, not to mention I'd be able to just consume some of my collected essence to bounce back right away.

But noooo, they had to use purified, hand-worked iron. This crap completely paralyzes me on touch, and I could FEEL the minion laughing at me when it stuck the head of the spear into me. And it's not like the minion had a mind either! The spear didn't care that I was wearing armor, not like it'd matter, since the armor is my own powers, anyway, but still! I just got poked by a goddamn metal stick! I'VE SURVIVED BEING IMPALED, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. I mean, at least I managed to kill the smarmy bastard as I went down, but I could still see it grinning as it melted.

And now, I'm pretty much helpless. Hopefully someone will find me soon, and yank this stupid spearhead out of my shoulder. Normally, if it were less pure, (or at least impure enough to not fully paralyze me), I'd be able to grab some cloth or something and yank it out, but unfortunately, this time, I'm completely screwed. Hopefully, this time it isn't barbed. Oh who am I kidding, of course it's barbed. The ass who keeps arming these minions is doing this specifically to spite me.

It hurts too much to sleep.

So I guess all I can do is wait.


Yknow, one of these days I should get myself a real set of armor.

Not like it'll do much. Something about me being what I am makes wearing armor hard. Not hard as in heavy, or hard as in effectiveness, but rather... it just seems so restrictive. Not to mention my absorbed powers seem to reject any sort of mundane armor... If I don't focus, anything from ceramic armor, to a stinking bulletproof vest will slide right off of me as soon as I start a fight. I mean, I am glad that I go semi-incorporeal when I start fighting, which is really handy for minimizing the amount of hits I take... assuming that none of the hits are from an iron weapon. If it's an iron weapon, I'm screwed.

I mean, armor would be handy to block the iron spears that I somehow manage to keep attracting (It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside that I forced them to diversify their troops and use subpar weapons just to deal with me!), but at the same time, even if I could keep it on, it makes my changeling abilities stop working. I mean, it wouldn't seem like much... except my rapid healing is ALSO a changeling ability... and apparently anything heavier than a gaudy bracer is considered armor...

Maybe I should convince the eggheads to make me a force field in a bracer or something... But then again, their specialty is anti-ghost, and I'm already almost entirely immune to that sort of thing. What really screws me over is solid, human-forged iron weapons, but... well...

If I had a field like that, it'd be like walking around in a giant hamster ball at all times. Not only would I look absurd, but because of just how much I move around when fighting... I'd be a liability for my team as well. And that's not even including the butcher... I'd probably be so berserk from being unable to physically strangle my foes, that I'd probably end up just crushing them into paste with the barrier, at least until it died and I could finally get my hands on their remains.

I mean, the force field could be skin-bonded, but if I did that, it would again lock me into my current form. Sure, I'd be able to heal, but the sheer amount of power that it would take to make a force-field that exact would be irrationally expensive, not to mention just impractical to lug around.

There has to be other ways to affect iron some way. Perhaps a magnet... Oh no. Yeah, no magnet. I can already imagine just how devastating having a strong magnet stuck to me would be. Pointed metal chasing me? Pointed IRON chasing me? Yeah. How about no. Note to self. If I ever get attached to a magnet, either escape immediately, or brace for pain.

I don't have a fear of getting stabbed with needles. I have a fear of being stabbed with nails. And it's not even like it even needs to be sharp: once, when I was being chased by government goons (long story, unimportant, but worth mentioning that they were both idiots), they threw a BLUNT iron bar at me, and it sunk a half inch into my back before it finally hit resistance and stopped. I mean, it was barely even 20% iron (if it were more, it probably would have stunned me), but even that was enough to stop me from phasing through walls or blinking away. I had to have someone else bail me out.

And it seems the effect the iron has on me is directly proportional to the purity. Anything over 10% is enough to stop a lot of my evasive abilities (and gives me a serious headache), but after 30%, they begin to paralyze more and more of my body. Yeah I know, bigger or purer chunk of iron, bigger area of effect, but even impure pieces of iron alloy are enough in a large enough quantity to seriously mess with me. I learned that first hand during the staple-gun incident. (For the record, the staple-gun incident never happened, nor did the people who were responsible ever exist. At least according to the investigators later).

But hand-forged, pure iron? This stuff is nasty. I've been hit by arrows tipped by this stuff, and it seems anything that weighs more than a deck of cards is enough to shut me down completely until it's removed. Even worse, it's enough to actually hurt me, in addition to stunning me; normally it takes two shots in the same general area to cause harm, (or an energy blast hitting an affected area... eesh...), but this stuff does it all: weakens, stuns, paralyzes, and can kill, all in one neat little package. I'm just glad that they haven't figured out how to make a hand-forged pure iron bullet yet...


Oh hey, someone's finally coming down. It looks like a human. I mean, I'd say something, but with the whole paralysis thing... I mean, it's not even like I have my scary sword any more, the damn thing disintegrates as soon as it leaves my grasp, anyway.

Hello. If you wouldn't mind pulling this spearhead out of my shoulder, that'd make my day just great.

... Really? It's just ectoplasm. Most of it's dried anyway. And it's not like that it's the ectoplasm of anyone we care about. Not like I'd end up taking an impromptu bath in THEIR ectoplasm anyway: generally, they just sorta stayed to themselves.

Gah. Well, that was uncomfortable, but at least the spearhead's out now. The wet feeling on my shoulder is all over the sleeve of my tunic now.

The human's looking at my shoulder now. What? Have you never seen clear blood before?

Of course not. I'm one of a kind. (Not to mention that I'm STILL more human than the resident hero of this town...) The only (well… there's more, but I'm sure as hell not telling anyone not already in on it) thing that's different about me, is that there's no iron in my blood. I mean, there's definitely iron in my system, but it all goes to my liver. It's a bit like alcohol, actually. A little is fine, but too much will kill me dead.

Well... Not so much kill me as just put me in the hospital for a while. I had a hell of a time in the hospital last time... Although at least the hospital was nice enough to not reveal that my blood was clear, my liver was full of iron, of all things, and my wounds closed immediately without stitches... Or at least they probably would have been nice, but 'unfortunately' for them, all of their records of that day were 'mysteriously' deleted from their database the next morning. That added to the fact that I still had enough control to force myself into a different form before I completely collapsed… They've got nothing on me. So for now, I mostly eat a low-iron diet. I mean, the occasional piece of red meat is great, and enjoyable, but too much, or too concentrated, and it's a bit like an allergic reaction.

Although it's not like I need to eat human food, anyway. Speaking of which, I'm hungry.

The human's staring again as I whip out the storage device I had been storing my plundered energy in. I laugh a bit. Even though the device resembles a thermos, I doubted anyone would even be crazy enough to eat out of one, let alone one that is full of what I've stuffed into it. Although, it's not like I'm really eating it with my mouth… more just absorbing it through my skin. Less eat-with-a-fork, more stick-hand-into-thermos-and-consume.

I wave off my rescuer as I wander away, hoping to regroup. I like to imagine that he enjoyed his day, truly confused about what he had just seen.

I finish my little meal, and feel refreshed. I begin to stow my now-empty device in a pocket, only to find the pocket now occupied by a wallet. Huh. Well, I guess old habits die hard, regardless of situation. Rifling through it reveals various credit cards (Meh, can't use them without a code… pass), Four half-completed free-drink coupons (Why would someone ever do this?), and about a hundred bucks in cash (Score!).

I take the cash, and begin moving back towards the person I 'borrowed' it from. Of course, I can't resist leaving them a little… present. I bend down, and scoop up one of the more solid fingers floating in the ectoplasm, and place it inside the wallet. From there, it's trivial to plant the wallet back in their pocket. All in all, this series of events took a little over two minutes. Not my best work, by a long shot.

My healing has fully kicked in now, so it's time to get back into the fight.


The battle has ended now. We won. Of course, there's a few of the warriors... I mean friends, that know who I really am. What I really am. I mean, I've played plenty of tricks on them, occasionally taking one of their forms to play a trick on the others, or occasionally covering for one when they were desperately needed elsewhere. It was a fun existence, made even more fun by the constant strife they seemed to endlessly gather towards themselves. It was like living in the center of a disaster area, which was orbited by several other disaster areas. It was complete bedlam.

I'm certain that they're glad to have my help, not like they'd be able to refuse it if they didn't want it... although I have gone soft enough to listen to them every once in awhile. I mean, never when it's something important, but when it's something trivial like saving civilians from a gigantic dragon rather than killing enemies, or hiding a family member from a psychopath (they really know how to pick accomplices and associates. These people are so trusting, that they're even willing to trust me…), I'm a good enough friend to help them out. But anything worse, and it's my game: my rules, my way. Yes, those were trivial things. Did I mention that I love the sheer chaos that surrounds these people? And that takes me back to the present. I'm sitting in front of them, unarmored in appearance, (not like armor matters, since it's all my skin anyway, and I'm just as durable 'armored' as I am while naked), soaked in dried ectoplasm.

Of course, one of them throws me a look of disgust as I saunter up: probably because I'm still caked in ghost blood. Another is giving me a look of terror. Right. Forgot one of them was an ecto-hemophobe.

One quick jaunt of in-corporeality (specifically tuned to a DIFFERENT frequency than ectoplasm… otherwise it would have just phased with me), and I'm clean again, except now there's a nice, circular puddle of dried ectoplasm dust around me. I shrug. I turn to the nearest threat, powerful, unique, target (dammit! They are my friends… not mere targets…) I turn to my nearest friend, and ask for the situation.


A/N: A quick list of things that I've dropped from the character... The blade, complete psychosis, the Cold Iron vulnerability (I've changed it to just be much weaker to explosions), the eating ectoplasm straight from the thermos... And many, many more...