Ch. 1
It wasn't the steady increasing of mechanical beats, or the steady decreasing of an already exceptionally low percentage bar that had the brunt of the young Phantom's attention, no matter how many times his eyes flickered down to check the screen. It wasn't the ghostly king whose sarcophagus was rocketing back and forth, sending flashes and flares of light and energy in every direction; nor was it the trembling and cracked earth that threatened to shake free the footing of the heavy(and getting heavier) Ecto-Skeleton he was currently using to hold his own against everything that had been thrown at him in the past ten or so minutes.
His family ended up filling his vision, his focus. Each of the little things that endeared them to him seemed to try to snag his attention all at once. Making his world that much smaller and bigger at the same time, his surroundings blurring away, becoming less than important when faced with those things he considered most important of all.
He almost thought it odd, but then he realized he might be dying, so it might not be so odd after all. If he could actually die, that is. Sometimes that was the last thing anyone tried to worry about. The deeper worries tended to lead one(or him, at least) on the train of thoughts that in order to fully die, he had to be fully alive; which, when one thinks about a human being half ghost, isn't exactly the first conclusion to come to.
So, he might be dying, and it might be futile, since the percentage bar(what did it read now? 5%?) was still dropping lower and the guy he was holding captive inside a giant sarcophagus was only fighting harder, and he really wasn't sure what would happen if he didn't figure out a way to seal the thing from opening as soon as he passed out.
Maybe it wasn't so odd to think about them now.
His mother's sweet voice and deadly grace, genius enough to build her own high-tech weaponry even if everything she cooked tended to come under demonic possession of a sort(he wondered if those monster hotdogs ever escaped the bottom drawer of the fridge, maybe they were amassing their own forces to try and take over the world if Pariah Dark failed to escape). The thought would have made him laugh if he had the energy. (4%)
His father's clumsy gait and even clumsier charm. Even with all of the mistakes he wouldn't admit to making(maybe he didn't think of them as mistakes) and all of the rants about ghosts and fudge, he'd made sure to include his family in everything in he did. The fact he was willing to endure the Ecto-Skeleton again after how it drained him the first time, if only to save them, spoke volumes about the character most people didn't care to see. The Phantom wondered what that said about himself. Not that it would really matter soon. (3%)
His sister's obsession with putting an end to their parents' obsession, if only to try and make sure they were as psychologically sound(happy) as possible. It only took a few glimpses into the more chaotic parts of their lives to make her appreciate that the way they functioned worked as well as could be during the calm(boring) times, considering how flawed(excitable?) they all were. But then, who wasn't? (2%)
His best friend's love for all things geek or nerd, even if it did interfere with his position on the social(dateable) ladder. He didn't really seem to mind as much as he complained that he did, the things that made him truly happy were the things he learned to hold close, like his tech and his meat, and his friends. It turns out there was a certain pride that came with being a nerd. (1 %)
Sam. Who knew who she was and wasn't afraid to say it. Wasn't afraid to say anything, for all the times it got her into trouble(she could handle it) and back out again(like he said, she could handle it). He really wished he knew what she wanted to say to him before he left. Before he- (0%)
Somewhere in his mind it clicked that all of this would probably sound really cliché and sappy if he were to read it on paper, but he was past the point of caring.
He was dimly aware of a darkly gloved hand sliding in front of his face to turn a key in a lock(why was there a lock? What was he leaning against again?), his faint, wry thoughts gathering enough to grumble about the very last face he'd probably get to see before his vision faded to black and all sound stopped.
Stupid Vlad. Stupid Fruitloop.
**DP**
Dark shoes tapped a steady staccato rhythm on the tiled floor, or at least they would have if said shoes had not been floating two feet above the sickly red tile. Instead there was a pale glow that brushed the floor, tinting its bloody red a more than gruesome green, the wooden walls stretching high above the ancient hall reflecting the color almost more so. Dark castles floating in gloomy ghostly zones tended to have that effect. The figure gliding through the halls almost acted as if he belonged there, his bearing proud and cruel, from the vampiric fangs that glinted in his smile to the garish red holes that were his eyes, right down to the white cloak that fluttered with no wind, contrasting the coal black hair that arched back as if forming pointed horns.
His grin widened as a varied assortment of ghosts and minions slowly began to gather behind him, an impressive force if he did say so himself.
The walls trembled and cracked, and the group paused as one, taking in for the first time the sounds of carnage raking their way through the doorway of the room ahead. A long, drawn out yell of denial signaled what was hopefully the end of the battle; all that was needed now was a finishing touch or two. Like a key in a lock, and then maybe some gloating.
There really was nothing to close a prosperous day like a good gloat. It needn't be long, or monologue-esque, just so long as it had sharp enough wit to make a point. And villainous, dastardly, desperately-in-need-of-a-cat(though he would never admit it), and half-ghost billionaire Vlad Plasmius knew exactly what that gloat would be.
Or he would as soon as he could figure out how he wanted to phrase it. He snapped his fingers, resting one darkly gloved hand on his bearded chin and the other on his equally dark belt, looking every bit the evil ponderer despite the white attire that stretched between the points of black. In hindsight, the contrast was fairly fitting. He merely resembled the side of the board that always struck first.
'It was Chess, really. Using two fourteen year old pawns to turn a Knight and topple a King. If your chess skills are as pitiful as your math-' But no, he'd already insulted the boy's grades many times, and chess really was so much more challenging than math, it wasn't fair to degrade it by comparing the two. Especially with Daniel's grades. Oops, apparently he really couldn't avoid taking a jab at the poor boy's grades, even in his own head.
Anyways, it needed to be worded a little more eloquently than that. Ah, well, he could figure that out later, it wasn't like he had to try too hard to outwit his foe. Foe was giving him too much credit. What had he called the teen before? Pawn, to outwit his pawn.
Oh, enough dallying! The group strode forward again, following the newly muted sounds of chaos to the next scene.
Plasmius smirked as he took his time to enjoy the sight. The giant crevices along the floor, the massive coffin standing bolt upright in the center of the room, and the smaller form that barely covered the door. The battle suit barely looked any worse for wear, despite the inverted color scheme of black and white and green that reflected the strained countenance of the boy inside. He could hardly see the boy's black jumpsuit through the glass opening at the top, though it hardly mattered, the shock of snow white hair and the fading glow of bright green eyes was enough to assure him of the identity of the figure within the somewhat-aptly named Ecto-Skeleton. Of course the bright white, stylized DP plastered over the chestpiece helped, too.
The size of the battlesuit would dwarf a regular sized man, none-the-less the scrap of scrawny teenager currently integrated with the technology, and even that was dwarfed by the size of the coffin it was determinedly shoved against. It only made the suit seem a more impressive piece of machinery than it already was. And Plasmius was certain to make it his new impressive piece of technology.
He bid his time in floating up to the lock on the sarcophagus, watching the young Phantom within the suit grow ever paler, waiting until he had finally organized his clever little taunt into the right order. Satisfied he had decided on the wording he closed his eyes before lifting the key and sealing the coffin with a 'click'. Schooling his face into a proper sneer, he glanced down in time to see the younger Halfling's eyes slip closed.
"Oh, butterbisquets," he muttered, "All that thought for proper witty banter and you go and faint on me."
His eyes narrowed in a glare for a moment before he blinked. Something was off about the scene before him, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. It took him a few seconds before he shrugged and reached down to retrieve the suit(and the unfortunate boy inside).
Only when his hand was just close enough to touch the suit did he realize what was wrong, looking between his hand and the young Phantom currently slumped over the controls inside. His whole frame, small and angular though it was, was loosely draped across the inside of the machine, not a finger twitching, not an eyelid stirring, he was languid as any cat draped across the back of a couch(the imagery did not please the elder Halfling). But ghosts are naturally still, he thought, not having to draw breath or beat a heart. The problem was that the boy wasn't glowing.
He repeated that thought. The boy wasn't glowing. A ghost didn't stop glowing just because he had passed unconscious, including the half-ghost child(he should know, having been the cause a few times before). He hadn't reverted to his human form. And he wasn't glowing.
His fiery eyes blinked again, slowly, as he took a moment to process this before the inevitable horror could set in. He hadn't meant to permanently hurt the boy, had he taken too long in organizing his witty banter? Surely not for that few amount of seconds had he miscalculated? For that small of a reason?
Sucking in a panicked gasp, Vlad Plasmius jolted forward, intent on grabbing the suit to check the vital statistics of the small inhabitant, his mind flying faster than his hands. Which was a small pity to him, he thought later(maybe if his hands had moved as fast as his mind instead of the other way around many things that night would have been avoided ), as his hands closed on empty air, the unexpected free space causing him to tumble forward until he hit the floor. He hadn't bothered to catch himself, too stunned at both the revelation that had caused him to act, and the disappearance of the cause of that revelation. So instead he sat where he fell, his mouth hanging open as he gazed at the space that had previously been occupied by a giant Ecto-Skeleton containing a very small, very not quite, ironically, alive looking half-ghost child.
"Um," he heard someone ask behind him, dreading the question that he knew always followed such surprising circumstances, "What just happened?"
**DP**
"How could you?!" A being yelled, the cry reverberating around the giant tower it hovered in, temporarily drowning out the constant ticking and tocking that droned in the background.
"I do not think it is up to you to berate me in such a decision," came the calm reply, a young voice that seemed to grow older as the sentence continued, "If I recall correctly, an alternate version of this type of conversation ended similarly in your disfavor."
The other voice was silent for a moment before continuing in a gruff manor, "You had better know what you are doing this time around as well."
"Do not worry, all is as it should be," the calm voice continued, rumbling into an even older pitch before suddenly reversing and continuing down the scale.
"I hope you are right," the harried voice grumbled, "For all our sakes."
**AN:
Just for future reference, I hate that I like to write in Vlad's voice… And I hope the last section(curse you, autocorrect) wasn't too bleck, but I didn't feel like going back to watch that episode to see if I toned it right…
Anyways, there was going to be another section of this chapter, but at the end of the second it was already at 2,000 words so I decided to split it in two. Hopefully this isn't too boring of an intro. Jack Frost was supposed to appear in the next chapter, but I dunno if he still will depending on how long the next section ends up being.
Also, as a newbie in posting here, I can't seem to get it to accept my pagebreaks, apologies in advance...