Chapter One:
Round 1

Danny frowned. "Have I said before how much I absolutely hate school assemblies?" he asked quietly, keeping his head down. He didn't want anyone to see him, fearful of running the risk of someone immediately shouting out about his day-old status as the number-one weakling in Casper High. He didn't need that—not this early into the school day.

"Only about seven times in the last thirty minutes," Tucker muttered, angrily shoving his screen-pen at his PDA. He shrugged, not bothering to look up from his game. "But hey, who's counting?"

"Lay off, Tucker," Sam said. She shoved Danny's crouched body beside her playfully. "He's having a bad day, aren't you, Danny?"

"Talking to me like a dog isn't helping me feel any better, Sam."

She laughed. "I know. Doesn't hurt though."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Gee, you guys are such great friends. So considerate."

"You know it, buddy." Tucker's eye squinted, and he glared down at his PDA, muttering under his breath. By the sound of it, he was losing—bad. "No... no! Come on, you crummy graphic frog! Jump, jump!"

"Ahem."

Tucker looked up, pausing his game with practiced precision. Sam and Danny looked up with him, though Danny's raised head was barely visible under the borrowed hood of Tucker's emergency raincoat.

Mr. Lancer stared down at the teens, his lips pursed. "Do I need to confiscate that, Mr. Foley?" he droned. "Or are you going to put it away and pay attention?"

"But the assembly hasn't started yet, Mr. Lancer." Sam blinked innocently, always the first to defy authority. Her sweet tone was obviously fake, though, and Danny struggled to muffle his snigger.

At the sound, Lancer stared at the hooded figure, his eyebrows raising. But he wasn't going to ask. He turned back to Foley and Manson. "Put away the PDA." He caught Sam's eye just as she was about to protest. "Now."

After he stomped away (most likely to take care of the ruckus coming from the last row of seats in the assembly-slash-theater room), Tucker immediately un-paused his game. "Yeah, yeah," he said to himself. "I'll put it away—as soon as I defeat the evil Zargon and rescue my frog-y princess!"

Danny peaked out from under the hood, gesturing with his head to Tucker. "What game is playing anyway?" he asked Sam.

She merely shrugged and leaned back in her seat, stretching out her long legs and closing her eyes. "Who even knows anymore?"

"True." He looked up at the stage, frowning in confusion. "And when's this thing going to star—"

"Casper High students!" a happy, nasally voice shouted over the loudspeakers. "How are you today?" The spotlight shinned, and a lone woman stood on the stage, grinning in a way that certainly looked like it hurt.

Great, Sam thought. It was Dora's Miss Happy Teenage Pretty Princess Pageant all over again. All the woman was missing was the crown and sash, but other than that, she vaguely resembled Dora's human form, right down to the floor-length gown and the soaked-in-hairspray blonde hair.

"I'm Katrina Chopin," the lady continued too-cheerfully, "and I'm here to help motivate you to sell—" she reached into the podium beside her, grabbing some rectangular-shaped object "—these! Amity's Finest Chocolate Bars!"

Danny scoffed. "A fundraiser? You gotta be kidding me."

"Another attempt to drown the public's money just to fix the football stadium for the third time in two years?" Sam shook her head. "That settles it. Pass."

"Pass," Danny and Tucker chorused together. They stopped paying attention, letting the overly peppy woman yap away without really hearing her. Even Tucker, who'd long-since finished his game, was bored out of his wits.

"When is this torture going to end?" Sam asked desperately, smacking her hand against her forehead. She'd never taken the term of dying of boredom very seriously, but now, she was seriously questioning it's possibility.

And then, just like that, Katrina was screaming at the top of her lungs, shouting things no well-collected lady should say, and making her way off the stage.

"What the heck was that?" Tucker asked, completely shocked.

"I think I got an idea," Danny murmured. A blue mist escaped his mouth, making him gasp. "Scratch that," he said. "I know what that was." His eyes narrowed, looking around suspiciously. "And I don't think anyone's going to like it."

"Now that that annoying human is off the stage," an echoing voice declared, and not half-a-second later a pudgy green ghost in an overcoat appeared. He smiled wickedly at the crowd. "It's time for the real show to get started!"

Danny was just about to transform—and probably thank the ghost for having saved him from the boring assembly (after he'd stuffed it in the Fenton Thermos and gave it a soundly beating, of course)—when he suddenly became immobile. "What the..." He looked down. There, strapping him to his seat, was a belt. Curiously, Danny poked it, wincing away, yelping, when the thing electrocuted him.

Beside him, he heard Tucker mutter, "You know, to the people without ghostly super-endurance, this isn't comfortable in the least."

"I am Blaine!" the small ghost on the stage continued. "Master of all Inter-Dimensional Fighting Entertainment—IDFE for short—planning!"

"A planning ghost?" Sam snickered. "What's he going to do? Boss us around to death?"

"And it's time for you to meet my master!"

"Wait, what?"

"The ferocious, bloodthirsty, brutal..." Blaine paused for dramatic effect. "Pulverizer!"

Smoke fizzled from the sides of the stage, enveloping it altogether, until a ghost started to rise from it, cleverly phasing through the floor. He had a black mullet and freshly trimmed mustache, with black sunglasses perched on a stubby nose. With his bulking size—nearly double that of any heavy-weight champ—he, indeed, looked ferocious, as Blaine had said.

Pulverizer smiled once he was fully visible, the 50s-style microphone in his hand matching the 50s-style stripped suit he had on. "Hello, my pretties," he cooed. "Are. You. Ready. To RUMBLE!?"

The entire place shook with the force of his yell.

No, wait, Danny thought hesitantly. He looked up at the ceiling and gasped. The whole auditorium was shaking and not because of some steroid-pumped ghost's shouting.

Pulverizer tapped his chin, examining the assembly room. "This all has to go," he said after a moment. "I need an actual wrestling ring."

"There's a stadium out back," Blaine said helpfully. "It would take less renovation than this."

The assembly room stopped shaking as Pulverizer thought. "True." He smiled. "Then it's time to call out the grunts." He clapped twice.

Almost immediately, various ghosts phased through the floor—are those Walker's prison guards?—and aimed at the students. "Hey!" Danny huffed when he felt one of them grab his shoulders. But it was too late, the guard had phased him out of his seat and was dragging him away. By the time he decided that it might be wise to turn ghost and fight off his holder, the guard had already dumped him on the school bleachers and another restricting belt held him in place.

Around him, his classmates weren't doing much better, though most seemed more apt to kicking and screaming wildly than actually trying to escape.

"And now, for the customary three-hundred-sixty degree viewing," Pulverizer sang happily. He lifted his arms, and the edges of the bleachers started to glow a menacing red. They shook for a moment, until, roughly, they smashed together at the sides. The metal groaned as it bended into a circle.

"Oh, goody," Pulverizer rejoiced, looking around him at the suddenly circular bleachers. They cut off about a quarter of the football field, being smooshed together as they were, but Pulverizer didn't care much for the ol' pigskin. He put his hands to his hips. "Now, where's my—"

A shadow passed overhead. Pulverizer looked up to find a group of ghosts carrying a giant square. There was no warning when they decided to go intangible, thus letting the object fall to the ground. When the dust cleared, it turned out to be a standard wrestling ring.

Pulverizer beamed. "Everything's coming together." He allowed himself a soft sigh. Then, the moment passed and he screamed irritably, "Technus!"

"I'm on it, I'm on it," a familiar nasally voice responded.

Danny looked up, and there, sitting calmly in the announcer's booth, was one Nicolai Technus. "Great," the half-ghost mumbled. "This is turning out to be like some type of crazy reunion. First Walker's guards and now him!"

"I am Technus! Master of all things electronic and beeping! And I shall have your mega-screens going in no time!" the technology ghost shouted through the loudspeaker. Sure enough, four giant television screens sprouted from the top of the bleachers, each carefully positioned to give every trapped teenager a perfect view of center-stage.

"Okay. Not cool," Tucker said drolly, staring in at the screens with narrowed eyes. "Why do the ghosts get the high-tech, high-definition televisions?"

Danny shrugged, keeping his eyes trained on Pulverizer. "They're ghosts. They're not really considerate about these types of things, Tuck. If you start to get jealous about all the junk ghosts can make appear, you'll just drive yourself crazy."

"Funny."

Even with his currently-trapped (thereby, useless) position, Danny smiled smugly.

The screens flickered on, showing what Danny already saw as Pulverizer walked to the center of his ring. The ghost poked his microphone, blowing air into it. "Is this thing on?" The sound carried well, echoing around the students. Pulverizer smiled. "Well then, time to get this show moving." He breathed in deeply. "Casper High students!"

Strange, Danny thought, how now two people had addressed him and his classmates like that to start a speech. Except with Pulverizer, Danny was positive everyone was paying attention, shaking in fear as they did.

"I ask again," Pulverizer continued, "are you ready to rumble?" At the silence he received, he merely shrugged and gestured for his assistant.

Blaine rushed up to him awkwardly, doing a strange dance between running and flying. He handed his master two papers, and danced off-stage with the same un-gracefulness he'd entered.

"In my hands, I have two lists," Pulverizer went on to say.

Danny instantly paled. Oh no.

"Of the strongest—and weakest—among you." He shook out the papers. "Let's see who they are, to see who our contestants will be for this match. Starting with the strong. Listed at the fifth strongest on campus, one Andy Williams."

One of Walker's ghosts moved out, plucking the junior into the air. His screams, even without enhanced audio, were easily identifiable as he flown way too fast for any human to stand towards center-ring. When he was finally visible on the giant, overhead screens, he was shaking violently and looked like he was about to be sick. The guard that had taken him stood behind him, making sure he wouldn't make a run for it.

Danny felt his anger boil.

Pulverizer kept on reading. "In the number four spot, we have Butch Lapaine." Again, the guard flew out and grabbed the student, though the captain of the wrestling team was shrieking hysterically for his mommy somewhere between his seat and the ring. "At number three, Kwan Patel!" Surprisingly, the running back hardly struggled, only whimpered. "And ooh, isn't this interesting? For number two, we have the only girl on the list. Ladies and gentlemen, Valerie Gray!" This time, the process of plucking and disposing of the teenager took longer than normal.

Valerie wasn't going to surrender herself without a fight. She kicked at the ghost the moment it had released the belt holding her in place. Even as her classmates openly gaped, she continued to dodge and kick—back and forth, in that order. It took two guards to finally restrain her, but not without heavy damage on their part.

"A fighter, isn't she, folks?" Pulverizer laughed once she was secured within the ring. "It'll be fun watching her fight." His expression sobered. "But now, for your number one!" On the speakers, Technus played some cheesy recording of drums rolling. "Dash Baxter!"

Unsurprisingly, at least to Danny, Dash didn't put up much of a fight, just whimpered like a school girl as a guard put him on his shoulder, and softly deposited him inside the ring once they reached it. From the screens, it was easy to tell just how badly his legs were shaking.

Pulverizer made a disappointed sound at the back of throat. "Huh," he said lamely, staring at Dash, "thought it'd be more interesting than that." One shoulder shrugged. "Oh, well." Regaining his earlier enthusiasm, Pulverizer gestured widely to the crowd of forced watchers. "And now, we present our clowns! The pre-show entertainment, if you will!"

Danny frowned, uncomprehending. "Clowns?"

"From weak to weakest, we have Timmy Sheffield, Larry Williams, Nathan Thomas, Mikey Smith, and—as your number one weakling, the weakest of the weak—Danny Fenton!"

Guards dashed into the crowd, picking up scrawny nerds as their names were called. When it was Danny's turn, he didn't fight it, though every instinct in his body was telling him to kick out to the ghost intruding on his personal space, to smash his face in with a well-placed ectoblast.

Danny let himself be carried, his mouth in a thin line all the way. When his feet touched down on the mat of the wrestling ring, his lip twitched, and he resisted the urge to hide half of his face in Tucker's coat and say mysteriously, "I'm in." (He'd always wanted to say that, but he was a spectral superhero, not a government spy, so the chance never arose.) He knew he'd never would've made it inside the ring without going ghost. He'd somehow needed to get in as Danny Fenton. What better way than to go along with all the theatrics?

But now, he needed to figure out how to defeat this wrestling-obsessed ghost, with both his secret and everybody's safety intact. Danny grimaced. Great.

Around him, his fellow Weak Listers were a shrieking mess. One—Larry was it?—was even blubbering his brains out. In Danny's opinion, that was a slight overreaction, since the school had two ghost attacks at least twice a week; but since he was a Fenton and had been exposed to this type of thing before, well before he'd obtained his powers, he didn't know how much his opinions counted when judging others' reactions to ghosts.

Pulverizer set the pieces of paper in his hand on fire, incinerating them well before they touched the floor. He repositioned his sunglasses back to the top of his nose, grinning as he brought his mic closer to his mouth. "What a collection," he said, motioning to the small group of teenagers at the side of the ring. "Ain't it, folks?"

The crowd remained silent, cautiously eying the ghost.

"This is where you start to cheer," Technus suggested from the loudspeaker. The crowd seemed to hesitate. "Now!"

Halfhearted cheers rose, lame catcalls and wolf whistles barely audible over the confused muttering most of the students were doing.

Pulverizer rolled his eyes. "Pathetic," he spat. "Simply pathetic." He turned to his remaining guards. "Next time I pause dramatically, get up on those bleachers and cheer. Jump and dance and make complete fools of yourselves. Show those humans how to do it." Pulverizer turned back to his captives, automatically switching back to announcer mode. He smiled. "Then's it time for the show to commence!"

The ghosts behind each of the Strong List grabbed them and phased them outside of the ring, leaving the Weak List to fend for themselves. Their guards quickly left as well.

"For our first round," Pulverizer rumbled happily, floating off the ring himself, "we have our pre-show entertainment." He gestured towards those five still remaining inside the ring. "They're going to fight each other off until only one remains! That one shall advance to the next round!"

When Pulverizer paused (dramatically), the crowd cheered unenthusiastically.

The ghost frowned. "Still pathetic, but better." He looked down at the Weak List. "Since I know these five do not possess any type of defensive or offensive ability whatsoever, they are all going to fight at the same time for your viewing pleasure," Pulverizer drawled, smirking. "It's time for Round One, ladies and gentlemen!" A bell appeared next to him, floating in midair. "When I ring this bell—" he motioned to said instrument "—the fight shall commence."

Danny glanced around at the other four boys surrounding him. They were trembling fearfully, fidgeting as they looked up at the crowd and the ghosts surrounding the ring. Danny placed his hands up in a placating manner. "Hey," he whispered harshly, trying to get their attention. They jumped, but turned to him once they realized who had called them. "I know we have to fight each other, but I have a pl—"

"I don't wanna fight!" Mikey whined loudly.

"Shh!" Danny looked over his shoulder, making sure no one had heard him. "You need to stay calm," he ordered them. "There's not much we can do. But when the time comes, just throw in the towel."

Four pairs of eyes stared up at him blankly.

Danny felt like smacking himself. "Just give up," he clarified. "Throw yourself on the floor, pretend to be knocked out—it doesn't matter. Just make sure none of you actually win."

Nathan raised an eyebrow. "Does that mean you want to win this fight?" he asked, slightly annoyed. "What about us? You're the number one on the Weak List, Danny. If anything Timmy should be the one to win."

The half-ghost merely stared at them as if to ask, "Really?" An eyebrow quirked when he saw each of their expressions harden. He shrugged. "Do you want to be the one to advance to next round, possibly to fend off one of the jocks?"

Nathan's resolve wavered. "Well...no..."

Danny turned to Timmy. "How about you?" he asked. "As the 'strongest' of us, do you want to fight against a football player?"

"No way!" Timmy squeaked, shaking his head. "You can win, Danny. The thing's all yours."

The others murmured in agreement, capitulating.

"Good," Danny said, nodding. "Now, all we need is—"

"Who's ready for some good, old-fashioned butt-whopping?" Pulverizer shouted into his microphone.

The crowd's response was slightly more animated than before. Dash, who was standing in the sidelines, pumped his fist in the air, loudly declaring, "Wooh! Nerd fight!"

"Much better," Pulverizer said appreciatively. "Now, for the rules." He floated down, his bell following him, and touched down center-stage. "There are no rules! Just no killing, maiming, or excessive mutilation—but a little mutilation, that's fine. And if you fall out of the ring—or are thrown out—you are out. No winner's circle for you." He laughed and rung the bell. Ring-ring! "Let the games begin!" He phased out of the ring, leaving the five teens to stand awkwardly next to each other.

"Remember, guys," Danny murmured lowly, "just throw in the—" He caught sight of them. All of the boys had thrown themselves to the ground, curled into little balls, and put their arms over their head. They whimpered from where they lied, trembling, their eyes shut tight. "—towel?" Danny blinked. He hadn't meant for them to take his advice in the literal sense...

Laughter exploded around them as Pulverizer blinked, too, totally stupefied. "Well, that was fast." He cleared his throat and approached Danny. He raised the boy's arm in the air and proclaimed loudly, "Winner!"

Danny was still staring down at the four boys crumpled on the floor in disbelief as the crowd roared at his victory.

A/N: There's the next chapter for ya! Next time, the actual fighting begins and things will actually be explained!

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