Chapter 17: Hand Mark

Skulker suppressed a yawn as he floated through the ceiling towards his attic dwelling. He still couldn't believe that Clockwork had made a request of him. It seemed that his instincts were right the last time he had been in the Ghost Zone: something was going on. It wasn't exactly normal to have conversations with wandering spirits for one, especially not when they were causing rot in the Ghost Zone.

And then there were the hungry things rising out of the muck, parasites that lacked a complete core. No wonder ghosts were scarce when they had visited. They were running away from the encroachment.

Obviously, things were going to shit and something had to be done. So a meeting would occur in Plasmius' territory. Unfortunately, no one had asked Vlad beforehand. Thus, Skulker was given the duty of informing the halfling of the honor of hosting the first Ghostly Gathering in over eight hundred years.

Cringing at the thought of informing the halfa, Skulker acknowledged that there really wasn't much of a choice in the matter. The castle had one of the few stable ghost portals in existence, and as the corruption spread, Vlad's portal was likely going to be a popular location.

Metallic feet hitting the wooden floor, the spirit cracked his neck as he dwelled on the state of the Ghost Zone. Clockwork had been as vague as fuck about everything else though. The old goat was probably trying to be mysterious or mystifying or melodramatic or something. Personally, instead of being entranced with wonderment, Skulker just wanted to shank the all-knowing jerk for calling on him in service to the Ghost Zone. Regardless, Skulker knew he had a job to do and he would do it ... or at least push it off onto a spirit lower in the hierarchy.

Turning towards a dimly lit hall, wondering if he could scare up a ghostly helper or two, Skulker suddenly felt a chill as he entered his rooms … followed by a click against the back of his head as the door shut behind him. Said click felt strangely reminiscent of a gun.

Lifting his hands up, the hunter titled his head slightly to try and see who had the ectoplasm to threaten him. "You know it's rude to invite yourself into someone else's home when they are not in. Criminal in fact."

There was a dry chuckle and a familiar voice, "I wasn't aware you knew any laws ... being an escaped convict and all. In fact, the only residence you should have right now is a cozy cell. Don't you think?"

His head tilting so he could glance at the intruder, Skulker bit out, "Well, well, well, if it isn't the warden. Still sour over my successful escape, huh? Maybe instead of hunting me down, you should be increasing your security."

"And you would know all about that, wouldn't you?" ground out the warden, Walker's voice biting with abhorrence. "Now, tell me, did you sell out my territory? Tell anyone about its weak spots? Or better yet, tell me who attacked my prison and ripped apart half of my men?! I know you know something, Skulker. Even if you kept your mouth shut, you are still Plasmius' lap dog and he has his fingers in everything."

Skulker twitched at the title of lap dog and immediately decided he wasn't taking this in his own territory. He lashed out with his right arm, slapping it against Walker's bicep and sending the ecto-gun flying. The warden didn't even have time to swear before Skulker was spinning around and punching him in his boney ribs. With this, Walker barked in pain and fell back into the wall, barely lifting his head in time to see Skulker bringing his metallic fist down again. The warden dodged, a hole forming in the wall with a spray of splinters and drywall. Walker took this opportunity for what it was, Skulker tugging his fist out of the wall, and aimed right for the kisser. Skulker tripped backward further into the room, taking a fine hit to his jaw.

And so a type of dance started, fists being pushed to the side, dodged, or bitterly accepted with a grunt of pain. It might have even lasted for a while if it was just a challenge of strength and stubborn resolve, but Walker had obviously lost his territory and thus his ley line connections were severed if his pale ectoplasmic glow was any indication. His defeat was imminent.

Skulker, as if tired with this game, finally hit the warden hard enough that he went down with a bark. Then, before the enforcer could even try to pick himself off the floor or phase through it, the hunter brought a metal foot down, stomping down on a preexisting shoulder wound to make sure the boney ghost stayed down.

"Are you done, warden? Prey should know when it's lost," grumbled Skulker as he ground his heel into the wound as if to make a point.

The hunter might have even taken this moment to gloat over his previous imprisoner's pain, but Walker's core was even worse than he thought. He could feel the thing flickering below his boot, reaching out for any kind of connection in order to keep itself stable. To top it off, the warden really did look like shit, ectoplasm encrusted wounds leaking wherever they'd been reopened.

A part of Skulker wanted to be petty, to continue beating down on an already battered opponent, but the truth was … Walker was a homebody. He liked his prison and its endless collection of cells. Walker, like Clockwork, rarely left the Ghost Zone meaning something strong enough to break the warden's connection to his own territory was lurking about.

Sighing, slightly bitter that he didn't get more of a battle, Skulker lifted up his foot. A second later, he was grabbing the bloodied warden by his shirt collar and throwing him into a worn lazy boy.

"Here, take a seat, Walker. I'm always happy to entertain, even if you broke into my sanctuary uninvited. We can talk up the old times … and the new," growled out the armored ghost as he quickly pressed a metallic finger into Walker's bleeding shoulder wound when the warden tried to rise once more. "I said don't move. As a good host, I repeat … you … should … sit … still or I'll be adding a new pelt to my collection, even if there isn't much skin on it."

Despite his usual stubborn resolve, Walker couldn't fight anymore. He instead collapsed back completely into the homely chair, panting slightly while green ectoplasm dripped down his jaw. He was tired. Just so tired.

"That's it. Just sit right there, and I might even treat those wounds for you. I'd usually let you rot, but I'm guessing you are here for information. And, in turn, I can safely say that you have information that I want as well," said Skulker as he stood there a moment more overshadowing the other spirit, his green gaze unyielding.

Walker, even though he was panting, bore his teeth but painfully admitted, "That's a fine hypothesis you have there, convict. I came here for your boss, for answers … like why half my guards were shredded to pieces and dragged into this growing rot. It seems like a curse of the old gods, and we both know Plasmius likes to poke around where he doesn't belong stirring up sleeping titans. Tell me: what has he done?

Skulker rolled his eyes at the hint about the Ghost King incident, kicking a stool over to the lazy boy before walking to a small mini-fridge. He pushed it open and took out a few vials of some kind of eco-plasm concoction. He even grabbed what looked like a first aid kit except for being a red cross, it was green. Walker raised a brow in question. Were there really medical supplies for ghosts here? He had heard that Plasmius treated his employees decently, but he was actually surprised. Then again, it only made sense, Plasimus' ghost experiments and labs were no secret. It was probably hard to get help to begin with.

"Did I say you could stop talking? If you stop talking, I stop stitching you up as well," groused Skulker bitterly as he sat on his stool next to the other heavy hitter. The truth was, he didn't care for Walker. He was a rulemonger that lacked a sense of humor, but he also hit like a truck and was a cunning strategist. And despite his coarse disposition, Walker had kept some rather unsavory spirits in check while the Ghost Zone's King remained absent. Even Skulker could recognize that.

Walker frowned, more green ectoplasm dripping down his jaw. "Answer my question first. Is Plasmius involved?"

Skulker glared for a moment, uncorking one vile before allowing its glowing liquid to be soaked into a clean towel. He honestly didn't want anything to do with drama, but perhaps the conversation had to start with him giving a little information in turn.

Shrugging, he admitted, "Plasmius doesn't know what's going on with the Ghost Zone. He has bigger problems to deal with in the human realm. Though, knowing his luck of late, the issues may be connected. He certainly wasn't poking around and waking up long-dead things."

Walker stared at him with a calculating gaze before he said, "The was painfully vague of you."

"Well, vague is all you get because I know very little at this point, except that we probably need each other right now. You need a ley line and safe territory to recover in, and I need your ugly face to keep other lesser ghosts in line in the coming days, " said Skulker with a shrug before he pulled out his hunting knife, pointing it at his guest. "Now, my good warden, how about you take off that fine coat-jacket you have there or I cut it off. I can't have you bleeding out when you have work to do."

Glaring, but seeing no point in denying some much-needed assistance, Walker sat up and painstakingly removed his jacket. He tried not to wince as the hunter started poking and prodding his wounds almost immediately like some kind of sadist. Skulker didn't miss the size of the claw marks.

Walker, grinding his jaw against yelp, was finally able to ground out, "So I'm guessing you have an idea of where the wandering spirits and corruption are coming from then since you are already assigning me tasks? My guards and I tried to investigate, but we merely got mauled for our troubles. It was … it didn't belong there, those things rising from the rot."

Staling, enjoying the wince the other ghost gave as the hunter unremorsefully started to roughly clean the shoulder wound, Skulker ground out, "I'm not much of an environmentalist, but even I knew not to go near that stuff. Now, don't bleat like a babe when I dig into you. There's something in there. And you better not pass out on me, because I am not giving Plasmius the bad news alone that Clockwork volunteered his territory up for a Ghostly Gathering."

Walker, surprised, wanted to immediately ask why Clockwork was outside the Ghost Zone, but it's hard to ask anything when you are holding back a scream. Really, Skulker was a sadist. He was sure there was a rule against that somewhere.

…

When Danny laid his head down that night, he thought his biggest problem was Vlad and his reputation. But, of course, the true villain always strikes when you aren't looking.

Having fallen into an uneasy sleep, the halfling awoke to a blistering pain running up and down his scarred arm. Whimpering, he curled up into a ball, his teeth creaking as he tightened his jaw so he didn't scream. A vision was coming and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He could only watch.

"Ewww! Pick it off Tommy," said a young blonde girl to her brother as he picked at a leech on his toe. "I told you not to walk in the stream barefoot."

The little blond boy merely continued to pick at the slimy thing with a frown, not even looking up at his sibling. "It won't come off …It's stuck."

"See! I told you going out so late was a bad idea. I'm telling mom it was all your idea," she added as she gathered up her red dress and waded onto the rocks at the water's edge so she could properly lord over her brother.

"Molly, you're such a tattletale," growled her twin as he finally tugged the parasite from his toe allowing warm blood to drip into the stream below.

The young girl, turning pale at the sight of blood, gasped as her golden hair wisped around her, "It bit you! Now we have to go to the hospital. Mom said she was out of bandaids!"

Tommy rolled his eyes.

"No, it's fine. I'm too big for dinosaur bandaids anyway," he grumbled as he poked at the bleeding wound until something blocked out the setting sunlight, the day late and the sun dipping away into the night. He looked up at the shadowy figure with his green eyes. He frowned at the scruffy-haired man before him. Tommy usually liked meeting new people, but even as young as he was ... he knew something was wrong with this person. Even Molly seemed to feel the wrongness of the situation as she took a step back, her feet splashing in the stream.

You could taste fear rising to the surface along with a slight tinge of copper.

"Oh, hi?" said Tommy awkwardly, standing up straight as the water ran around his ankles, his bleeding toe back in the water and forgotten. "Sorry if we bothered you. We were just leaving."

Yet, as Tommy grabbed his silent sister by the wrist, meaning to step around the man that was before them, a splash filled the air. Suddenly, the stranger was standing in the water with them, blocking their way, but his inhumanely wide grin was the worst part. His teeth even seemed to flash in the dying light as the man spoke, "Leaving ... but I just got here. Aren't we going to play?"

"No," said Tommy weakly, fear filling his eyes as he got a good look at the stranger. There was something inhuman and wrong about him. His stance seemed odd and his skin color was clammy and sick. The smell though ... was the worst part.

Suddenly, as if offended, the smile fell from the stranger's chapped lips, his tone gaining a growl, "I don't believe you were given a choice."

Then there was red, screams hushed somewhat by the running water. The crimson color quickly followed the stream downhill, staining the rocks while making small puddles of gore on the shore. A pair of boy's shoes lay in the foliage, the only witness to the snapping and gurgling noises that followed after.

And with the last crunch, Danny's eyes snapped open, moonlight bleeding into his windows. Unsurprisingly, tears quickly joined the boy's strained breathing. A warm stream ran down his face unperturbed by the curve of his cheeks or the slant of his jaw. He was trying to keep it together, but he was failing hopelessly. Not because of the pain that coursed up his arm and spine. He knew pain. It was almost an old friend at this point, but his mind ... could not take the strain ... could not recall the swirl of blood in the water with a distant callousness.

His heart was too soft for such things.

Pressing his face back into his pillow, the young man tried to banish the details, but it was a losing battle. The worst thought of all though, as the images started to play behind his eyelids like an old picture show, was that sooner or later the demon was probably going to try to devour Vlad and him as well. The monster would probably even make him watch.

And so, his mind too haunted to sleep, Danny stumbled out of bed.

…

Elsewhere, the demon smirked as he stuffed his final ingredient into his magical array. Said array was an old homeless man whom he had killed with much enthusiasm. He had ripped the ragged clothes from the corpse and had quickly scratched out the necessary alchemic circles into the dead flesh.

He hummed approvingly as he looked over his project. If he was lucky this would bring an end to his long and hard journey. He would finally get the treasure he had worked so hard for. And no one, not even the god of the dead, could stop him.

"Now, my chosen, are you ready for your awakening?" mocked Joed as he lifted his head up to the night sky, thunder and lightning rolling in as the wind suddenly picked up.

"Of the blood of mortals and sins of men, I call upon the world's darkest whims," said the monster as he spread his hands out like the wings of a bat, his next words nearly lost as the wind picked up. "A sacrifice of past has been presented!"

The eyeless sockets of the doctor Troy Willow stared quietly at the electric dance now happening above them, lightning jumping in the clouds like it dared not touch the ground, "I have also brought the sacrifice of the present."

The five fires around him flickered as the wind started to spit, the lightning revealing the tiny form of a gold-haired boy who laid within the array's grasp. "I have even brought the sacrifice of future. Now, bring Mars' red light down and fulfill my demands so I can once again terrorize these lands!"

The demon then sliced his hand open with his dagger-like nails, blood falling to the ground as all the lightning collided in the sky like a temporary sun. It set off a chain reaction below, the corpses withering and screaming out in agony. The sounds of rearranging bone echoed in the air as the three corpses' flesh grew dark and slick like that of a bat. Their height soon reached over six feet as their limbs took on doglike structures. Their skulls creaked and waned as they lengthened into long jaws with shark-like teeth. Finally, the three sinisters stood up, throwing their heads back with howls as their transformations came to an end.

Slowly, the beasts all looked down on their master with hungry green eyes. They were ready for their commands.

They were ready to kill.

Joed smiled as he looked over his three grotesque creations. He motioned for them to gather closer so that they may take their commands. "My dark, beautiful, yet ugly children of the night, listen to my words carefully or deny your existence and die on the spot."

All the beasts whispered with voices like the wind. None denied their grizzly existence. They were ready.

"Your existence and commands are simple. Destroy the plans of the ghostly gathering and disperse as many of those treacherous spirits as you can. Also, find the ghost child and see if his awakening is coming to part. If he transforms, he has awakened. If not, the mark on his arm shall tell you how long until then. Do not harm him. He is mine," said the demon with a toothy grin as he recalled the older man who accompanied his trophy. "And the most important thing for you to do is to kill the one named Vladimir. I need that boy's soul broken for his change to progress."

The demons all nodded their heads as the rain started to downpour around them. With that said, they were about to part but the demon gave them some parting words. "Keep hidden until the meeting takes place and, again, don't hurt the boy."

…

Smith pulled his officer's cap a little closer to his face as the morning light bled down onto his shoulders. He was currently watching the young detective, Rodrick Gatzby, wander about the crime scene. The imposter looked around with a hiss, frowning at the investigators' ineffectiveness. They were all too busy with the girl's horrific slaying that they were nearly forgetting about the boy. Why weren't more people asking where he was?

That monster wasn't doing what he thought he was doing, was he?

Probably, though Smith bitterly as he stared at the children's shoes before him, a number tag placed next to them as evidence. In all honesty, Smith knew that if the demon was taking bodies away with him he was probably up to something diabolical with the bodies. He was probably making undead slaves or as he liked to call them: sinisters.

Meanwhile, across the field, the young detective Gatzby frowned deeply as he lifted up the blood-stained sheets that covered the body. His heart gave a seldom throb as he stared at the small form. It was a little girl with golden curls. Her green eyes had long since glazed over and gracefully accepted death. They alone held the identity of her murderer.

The detective sighed as he lifted the sheet a little more, a gag threatening the back of his throat. They said her heart was missing ... likely eaten like the rest of her organs.

Standing up, if only to put a little distance between himself and the victim, Gatzby ran his fingers through his hair and silently wished the little girl peace in the afterlife. The detective continued to look over the lost soul when suddenly a soft voice spoke over his shoulder, interrupting his dark thoughts.

"A sad occurrence to lose such a young heart, but think of something more than just a dead little girl. Where is the boy? Where is her brother? You need to find his body as quickly as possible. Trust me when I tell you this, it will only end in bad things. Just like it ended badly for the trucker on the bridge, the women at the hospital … and the Fentons."

The detective, his head snapping up, could not turn his head and look to see who had whispered in his ear. It was like his mind wouldn't allow him to catch even a glimpse for that matter be curious. The detective, instead, rushed off as thoughts clouded his mind.

Smith couldn't help but smile bitterly as he watched the detective rush to his car. He felt little remorse for manipulating the human. What did bother him was that he was being dragged back in, one struggling step at a time. He truly did not want to return to the Ghost Zone. He was done with the games. That was why he had left … and yet here was, moving his pawns around the board while trying not to end up as a piece.

…

Vlad found himself sitting in light blue pajamas before the TV, a cup of coffee in one hand as he stared at the television with almost a blank expression. Generally, he would pick up the newspaper or sit at his fine table being served by the house butler, but not today. His mind was restless. He was still angry about the hospital incident even though his rage had faded into a dull hum. A part of him wanted nothing better than for a half-ghost fight to break out so that he could be done with his gathering fury.

There were just so many things that were chipping away at him, so much frustration when it came to the other halfa. Even more so when he knew that most of it could be quelled with a little information, a little truth.

What made it even worse was that he couldn't just take the information. Usually, he got what he wanted. And yet, he found he could not move nor act. He could not gather the needed information from backup files or whispers between cubicles. He couldn't send ghost spies or possess anyone. The only holder of the information wasn't a veteran on Wall Street … it was a teenage boy who had just lost his family.

Vlad had always considered himself patient. In fact, a part of himself told him he could wait to find out what had happened to the Fentons. Yet, he found a primal part of himself was wound tight, impatient, and weary. He was still expecting a fight to occur for this information. And yet … he hadn't seen hair or hide of Danny Phantom.

Frowning at the thought, wondering why the youth wasn't floating and phasing lazily everywhere, the man stared at the morning news as he dwelled on the oddity. Suddenly, a pretty newscaster was standing before a forest surrounded by flashing cop cars.

"Earlier this morning a young girl by the name of Molly Turner was found brutally murdered by this stream a few miles outside of Madison, Wisconsin. She is the latest in a wave of horrific murders in the area. There are no leads except for a burned hand mark on her body. Her brother Tommy Turner is still missing at this time. If you or anyone you know has information for this case, please contact-"

Vlad's mind went blank as the newscaster continued to talk, a hand coming to his throat as a look of comprehension overcame his features only to be interrupted by a pitiful voice.

"Vlad…"

Turning his head, the voice almost unrecognizable because it was so soft, the billionaire nearly dropped his coffee cup all over the new couch. There, in the doorway, stood Daniel clutching to the doorframe like he was going to fall over at any moment. The teen looked as pale as snow.

Frowning deeply, the elder halfa put his cup down and quickly rose to his feet as his mind dripped with new questions. The largest question though was if Danny had had another attack last night or if it was merely a nightmare.

Laying a hand on Daniel's forehead, the man quickly noted that the boy indeed felt hot to the touch even though he was physically shivering.

Finding his voice, trying to sound calm and comforting, Vlad asked, "Daniel, are you alright? If you were feeling unwell you should have stayed in bed. There is a phone in your room and I or one of the help would have come up."

The boy shook his head even as Vlad started to lead him to the couch, the two of them sitting down.

"I-I know. I just had to make sure it was a dream. I didn't want him to trick me again," Danny's voice was soft and lost as he spoke, his blue eyes showing signs of crying as his nails dug into his godfather's arm.

Nodding, getting the boy to face him so he could read his expressions, the older halfa asked, "Trick you? Like in a dream?"

Expecting the boy to shut down like usual, Vlad was surprised when the teenager slowly leaned against his shoulder and pressed his face into Vlad's upper arm. The boy's voice struggling not to sob, "Vlad … Please don't die. I don't want to see you die too."

The billionaire, frozen in surprise, took a moment to digest what the teen had just said before he carefully pulled the teen into a hug, his mind automatically presuming the youth had had a grim nightmare.

Sitting there silently, allowing the teen's sobs to calm somewhat, the older halfa stated calmly, "Daniel… I'm fine. I'm right here. It was obviously a nightmare."

"No, you don't understand. He's going to kill you as well … He almost succeeded on the bridge. Vlad … I can't take another moment of torment like that," said the teen, his head raised with red-rimmed yet determined eyes.

It was then, as Vlad tried to understand the boy's reaction, that he realized that Danny had far too many secrets and was about to snap. He just needed a little push.

"The bridge? Daniel, what is going on? Who is he? I need answers if you want me to help you," said Vlad, his fingers squeezing the boy's shoulder. This was it. He was going to get some answers about what was going on, about who had destroyed the Fenton's home and apparently attacked them on the bridge. But, as Daniel winced under his touch, the teen pulled back. And with that, the moment was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Daniel, don't push me away. I want this fixed as badly as you do," said Vlad, his voice becoming stern as he forced himself not to shake the boy in frustration. But Daniel was no longer looking at him.

And just when Vlad was sure the teen would slap his hands away or something equally brash, the youth spoke again. His tone was like that of a nightmare, chilling and dark, "I-I'm scared of him, Vlad. I can't win in a fight … It's only a matter of time … until he eats us both."

Masters tried to ask who this being was, but Danny quickly shut down. He didn't move or react. He just stared at the screen and the picture of two children smiling on the news, tears streaming down the boy's face.

…

Gatzby still had a chill in his bones from the forest. He just couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom that hung around the place. Even here in his the precinct, the sickeningly sweet fragrance of death wouldn't leave his nose.

He was starting to wonder if it ever would.

Huffing air out of his nose, telling himself that it was just his imagination, he tried to focus on the facts. He now knew that the death of a trucker, a doctor, an expecting mother, and the twins from the forest were all connected. From the files he was able to obtain, they all bore a sickening calling card of sorts: a burned handprint somewhere on their body.

In other news: they likely were dealing with a serial killer. Yes, it was every detective's dream to catch a true monster of the night. That is until the body count started piling up.

Nonetheless, what really got his interest was where the path of death seemed to originate: the Fentons. He still didn't know how he knew to request those files or how he had even known their names to begin with. But now it was easy to notice a pattern: Danny Fenton, now officially Danny Masters, was followed by death ... which made the boy his first suspect.

XXX

Paw07: Sorry it took so long. All these middle chapters need soo much work that I just started ignoring them. Anyway, Pearl84 said she really missed this story so I finished this chapter up. I'll see about the next few chapters. Regardless, I deleted almost all of the original chapter. The only things that didn't change much were the two gore scenes at the beginning and the end. Gatzby and his plot-hole self basically got a new spin on the tale. He just knew things and pointed fingers and was completely unprofessional for how a real detective would be. A Walker scene was also deleted. He just was so OOC and kind of popped out of nowhere. He somewhat got his introduction with Skulker here. This was a nightmare to clean up. Good thing though, I actually managed to have a short chapter. I shortened this chapter by 1,500 words.

Edited March 2022.