Chapter Thirteen
A flash of light lit up the night sky. A sphere of white energy burst from the mound of ice, swelling out like a nuclear bomb. The ice mound and remainder of the army was vaporized instantly, but orange waves continued to burst outward from the center of where the mass had once been.
Phantom, Danny, and Plasmius shielded themselves in the distance as the waves reached them, shaking the building they had taken shelter in. The shields of energy each of them had erected as a reflex were cracking with the force of the blow. Their insides turned as if they were being beaten, and they clung to the rooftop to avoid being knocked back.
Andy felt the energy leaving her in waves. The build had nearly incinerated her, and releasing the energy relieved the pressure she felt. Her eyes were shut tight against a bright white light, and her scream echoed within the sound of the blast. It charred the remainder of the road and beat against the concrete buildings around her.
The energy stopped and reversed. It sucked back in toward Andy and collided hard. The force sent out a shockwave and dropped her glowing white form to the center of a deep crater, and she lost the light that had consumed her.
She stood back up with a lot of effort, putting her hands on her knees and groaning. She stood stiffly, and put her hands on her hips to catch her suddenly-needed breath. She looked around, admiring her handy work. Not a single soldier was left, and no windows remained.
There were several circles around her, all varying degrees of burnt, and the trees in the planters were blown back. She gave a satisfied smirk and turned her malevolent purple eyes to the unhappy audience up above. Her hand raised up, and she saluted them arrogantly.
Danny, Plasmius, and Phantom approached her, floating over the smoking ground. Plasmius patted her back once, amused.
"Well done, Miss Carter," he said politely. "I'm sure everyone in Amity Park has good insurance.
She looked at the buildings, guilt panging in her momentarily, "I hope so."
Phantom smiled proudly with his hands folded behind his back, as if he knew all along that she was an ectoplasmic nuclear warhead. Danny just looked overwhelmed. They all stood in a line facing the remaining two enemies.
The Ghost King flew closer, clapping slowly and looking amused.
"Well, well, well," he smiled haughtily. "You've put together quite a team, Phantom."
He didn't respond. No one did.
"Unfortunately, I'm not interested in your team effort nonsense." He waved his hand, shooting beams at three of the four opponents.
Phantom stood alone, his three allies trapped within prisons of eco-energy. He mentally kicked himself for not stopping in to end the Ghost King before he came to Amity Park. It would have made things much easier. Someone must have seen him. Perhaps it was those ancient vultures that Plasmius employed. They were dumber than they were helpful. Now he ran the risk of exposure from his foolish younger self, destruction by the power-hungry Ghost King, and destruction of his only companion: Andy.
She was captive now, because of him. He owed her a debt, aside from their companionship. She was the one who had set him forth on his mission, giving him a second chance to exist. Beyond the monumental importance to his mission, she was his ally. Even before he knew it, she cared about him.
He still remembered the day he first heard her angelic voice through the metal walls of his cylindrical prison:
He was completely burnt out. The white-hot rage that once fueled him had dimmed to a glowing ember of grumpiness. He was bitter toward Clockwork for keeping him prisoner, and himself for losing to the fourteen-year-old version of himself. His only company was his regrets and his grumblings. Then, in the cramped darkness, he felt a shift.
Andy had picked up the thermos, wondering what it was. Phantom didn't make a sound until she shook it briefly. In his aggravation, he'd snapped at her.
"Put me down!" he'd yelled.
Andy let out a small noise of surprise and dropped the thermos entirely, landing Phantom right on his head before clinking several times and settling on the stone floor.
Andy tapped the thermos with her fingernail, right by Phantom's squished shoulder. He knocked back with his elbow.
"Just put me back, you clumsy fool." He was in no mood for Clockwork's torment.
He was surprised to hear a voice that didn't belong to Clockwork outside the container. "There's a person in there?" it said, surprised. "Oh my god."
She picked it up and carefully righted it, turning it slowly in her hands. Phantom maintained an agitated scowl as he felt himself being rolled over. He twisted and clanked against the walls as it turned, like he was in a dryer.
"Just put me back on the shelf," he snapped. "Carefully, you imbecilic lout."
He felt the prison set back in its place, "There's no need for harsh language. Especially not foreign harsh language."
"You've dropped me onto my head," Phantom snapped, muffled to Andy's ears. "I should think I've earned the right to call you whatever I please."
"I'm sorry I dropped you," the feminine voice became soft. "I thought it was just a decoration."
Phantom remained in agitated silence.
A soft tap came from the wall behind his back, "I've heard of the Box Ghost, but never a Thermos Ghost," she giggled. "No wonder Clockwork keeps you locked away."
"I am not a Thermos Ghost, you vexation," Phantom hissed, grumpily managing to fold his arms. "This is my prison, not my chosen domicile."
"You're trapped in a soup container?" the voice expressed confusion; perhaps doubting the sense in the situation. "Anything I ask about that would only raise more questions."
"Then don't ask anything else," he grumbled.
"What? No tragic backstory?" Andy quipped.
"Don't you have another soul to torment?!" he shouted, making the thermos hop.
Andy jumped back slightly. "I've met my limit for the day."
"And I suppose I'm the lucky remainder that can't fly away?" he snapped.
Andy smiled wickedly, evident in her voice, "How fortunate for you."
"If you aren't going to figure out how to release me, then depart from my earshot," Phantom grumbled.
"Or what?" she asked, feigning innocence. "Does the grumpy Thermos Ghost not like company?"
Phantom shut his eyes and rubbed at his temples, "I told you, I'm not a Thermos Ghost!"
A bell-like laugh sounded from the outside, growing fainter. Whoever it was had left.
Phantom settled back into his grumpy fog. He sighed shortly.
Regularly, he would hear the voice around the tower, either talking to Clockwork or singing to herself. Sometimes he would hear the familiar tap, tap, tap of her announcement. He usually replied with some sort of insult. She would annoy him further, he would ask her if she didn't have anything better to do, to which she described her day's mischief. In detail.
As his imprisonment dragged on in the time-neutral tower, the stories of the young woman who tapped on his container became an enjoyment. She shared her stories of tormenting the other ghosts, and he gave her tips and tricks that he knew certain specters feared.
She began asking him questions that, he assumed, Clockwork refused to answer. He told her his story, not in detail. He wasn't sentimental, anyways. Apparently, she didn't remember much of her own. To his surprise, her sympathy was comforting. She, evidently, knew what loss felt like.
Somehow, he began telling her of his plans for his own domain. He told her random details of the paradise he'd envisioned once he returned to the Chronological Map. He'd even told her she could haunt there with him, if she wished, meddling in the uninteresting lives of the townspeople.
They talked like this for quite some time. He'd begun to care for her. He waited for her to return from her adventures with stories and quips about the Ghosts she encountered. Her angelic voice soothed him from the malice and bitterness inside him, and he even caught himself humming the old rock songs she sang. Her stories washed away the rage, and he was beginning to wonder what it would be like to haunt alongside her. She was changing him.
He'd resisted in his own way, putting on a front of grumpiness when she would amiably pick on him. He stopped minding the shifting of the Thermos as she toted him to the other rooms of the tower in her arms. She would use Clockwork's portals to watch baseball and concerts from different times, and Phantom would listen to her chattering, smiling contently. He would deny the acceptance, telling himself it was just to gain her trust so she would release him. That was the deal, anyway. She would release him, and he would return for her.
But his ambitions had evolved. He knew it wouldn't work if he planned to destroy everything. He knew Clockwork would stop him. But he was stubborn enough to try.
Until she released him.
When he first laid eyes on the Shadow Ghost, whose voice had dulled the ache of imprisonment, he forgot everything. Everything but her.
She was somewhat featureless, like he had gathered from her stories. But she was a silhouette of slender curves, and wild, wavy, waist-length hair. And those eyes. Those eyes flashed a bright yellow, like that of the peak of a sunrise, looking him up and down as he stood before her. They dimmed a rosy pink as he tilted her chin up to gaze into them, surprising him. He must've worn his emotions on his face, because her eyes returned to that same warm, golden yellow.
"You're even more beautiful than I envisioned," he said coolly.
Her cheeks raised, pushing up under her eyes as they shifted to pink again. A smile was hidden on her face. "You can barely see me," she snickered.
"More so now than before," he replied.
"From the way we met, I had thought you were like a troll. I'm happy to say I was wrong." She looked him up and down again with velvety red eyes. "Quite wrong."
He laughed, "I'm glad you find me acceptable."
"Don't forget our deal," she said jokingly, still looking up at him. Her eyes turned purple, "Thermos Ghost."
"Phantom," he replied, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers.
Her eyes returned to yellow, and one eye squinted as if pushed by a lowered brow.
"My name is Phantom," he repeated kindly.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Phantom," her eyes returned to pink. "My name is Andy."
"It's certainly better than 'vexation'," he chuckled.
She gave a laugh, eyes turning gold before they closed briefly with the sound of her joy.
He realized then that he didn't want to leave. The warmth of her vaporous skin could be felt through the glove on his hand, making him trace her cheek to feel more of it.
That's when he got the idea for the crystal.
The bright orange in her eyes that sparkled was enough to make him smile without the maliciousness that most who knew him were used to.
He told her it was a symbol to remind her of their deal. He promised he could never forget. From the memory of her dropping the Thermos to the moment he was standing in the charred street staring at the Ghost King, he never did forget her. Not even once.
But now, he felt the rage. The vicious hatred that had once consumed him was rekindled. This time, for the first time since his now-nonexistent creation, he would fight for the vengeance of someone else.
Andy. His Andy.