Hey, there!

I feel as if I can get my point across with chapters that are less than seven thousand words if that's alright with you guys (even though you're probably mad at the about the three-month wait). But this chapter was physically and emotionally painful to write in some parts, to be honest. (Carpal Tunnel in my dominant hand and some emotional issues, too).

Title: Corpse Flower

Rating: M

Summary: My mind is a dark place, an endless abyss filled with horrors that no sane person could ever dream of. Everything I care about is gone, and I am constantly on the run as I struggle to control my demons. But my dark past is rapidly catching up with me, and my sanity continues to slip by the day. It hasn't helped that I'm now stuck with a bunch of egotistical superhumans, either. I just hope I don't end up killing them, too.

Warnings: Schizophrenia/Mental Health Issues, Cannibalism, Extreme Gore, Masochism, Sadism, Torture, Graphic Descriptions of Illness, Graphic Descriptions of Corpses, Slight Necrophilia, Hallucinations/Delusions, Unreliable Narrator

Author Notes: Heed the warnings, as always. There's kind of a flashback in the middle of this (and at the end), but it's what Danny is dreaming about while he is unconscious during the time Tony and Clint confront each other. I actually rewatched "The Ultimate Enemy" from DP today, just so I could get a good refresher on Dan's personality in the show. It helped to write him better. Spoiler alert: there's a cliffhanger at the end, kind of. And the next chapter will fully detail the "fight" between Barton, Tony, and Danny.

But don't let that stop you from reviewing!

Where the band never sleeps

And dead waltz through the streets

And I'm slowly falling...

I swayed to the beat of an internal song, one I had involuntarily been introduced to many years ago. I had grown attached to it and it had never really gone away. Especially not now, when its beautiful, haunting words numbed my mind and body and left me in a comfortable, empty nothingness.

There's a voice in my head

Whispering softly it says

Join me dance, dance, dance

Dance with the dead

My worn, chapped and bleeding lips moved to form the words—the dark and demented, spine-chilling lyrics to the pounding melody tucked safely away in one of the darkest corners of my brain—and I felt a strange sense of euphoria overtake me. It had been so long since I had felt this way.

Mmm...why don't you go faster?

My breathing hitched, and my hands trembled at my sides. That wasn't supposed to be there. That was the wrong melody—wrong harmony, chords, notes, verses—

You like this, don't you? Then go faster.

I shook my head, tangling my jittery hands in my thick, unkempt hair. Think, think, think—just get it out of your head—

Whisper me a miracle

Or think of something logical

It's all too hard to deal...

There it was. My melody, my notes, my chords, and harmony—they had come back. They hadn't abandoned me.

And all the shunned and broken creatures...who shall love them but ourselves?

Lies. All lies. The humans were manipulating me again.

Listen to yourself. You are making no sense.

"I've never made sense." A growl tore from the back of my throat as my aura surged and the air temperature dropped significantly. "Never in my life have I made any sense." Always the outcast, always the social pariah—stepped on like an ant beneath an oppressing, bloodstained boot.

Your soul will scream for mercy, and you will have none.

Why am I constantly plagued by these thoughts? Why can't they just leave me in silence, for just a moment, one silent, blissful moment?

Just close your eyes and it'll all be over soon.

It'll all be over soon.

Sure, it would.

And if I die before I wake

I pray the Lord, my soul, to take

And if there's none oh well...

I guess I could say that I no longer possessed a soul. Not after all the things I've done and the things I'm destined to do.

Me, my future—I'm inevitable. And there's nothing you can do about it.

Nothing for now, at least.

You're tired now, aren't you? Close your eyes, my dear boy, and get the rest you so wonderfully deserve.

I had nothing better to do than to follow his orders—although it was technically myself ordering me around—so I found myself drifting into a restless darkness once again.

Uncontrollable. Dangerous. Do not approach.

These were the words we saw plastered over every news channel, every television, every newspaper.

All hovering in big, bold letters over my face.

As the pale, bloated faces of my friends and family turned to stare at me in horror, a not entirely unwanted grin stretched over my cracked and bleeding lips.

I was finally free—free from any retributions, from any setbacks or limitations, from any nagging and ordering me around. They knew what I was destined to be and now they could do nothing about it.

Nothing could stop me now.

"Danny?"

I flinched, turning to see two pairs of eyes—one a darkened violet and the other a deep brown—staring closely at me. Throughout my hidden fantasy, I had lowered the temperature of the air around us and frost had begun to coat my skin and our clothes.

Shaking my head, I rose slowly to my feet and turned to head outside. I ignored their confused and concerned cries and sat at the base of an ancient tree, closing my eyes and resting my head against the rough, weather-beaten bark. The wind whistled eerily around me, and the weather seemed to alter itself in an attempt to adjust to my mood. Maybe those abilities I had temporarily gained from Vortex were not completely gone. They certainly would be helpful in the long run.

"Danny, what are you doing?"

I twitched in the direction of the voice, forcing my hands to stop trembling. "Leave me alone."

"We're just trying to help."

A scoff escaped me before I realized what I had done. "Don't think to lie to me."

There was a shocked silence, and then a shadow passed over my muted field of vision as my offender stood directly in front of me and my source of light. "You know, you've been acting really strange lately. I don't know what's going on with you, but you promised us not to let this hero stuff go to your head."

"I'm not letting it get to my head. I have always been fine. I'm still here for you, aren't I?"

She was silent for a long moment, but I kept my eyes shut as I waited for her to move out of the sun's way. I was shivering again, something that hadn't happened for years. It caused a heavy lump of dread to settle in the bottom of my stomach. I didn't usually become warm like this—like I was human.

"Danny. Why are you sleeping?"

I flinched and cracked open an eye. She was back—a rotted, bloated imitation of my former friend—swaying back and forth with the dull beat of my heart.

"I thought I told you to leave me alone."

I knew I was shivering again—violent, body-shaking tremors that left me disoriented and aching—and that I was no longer stable as I had originally convinced myself I was.

"Danny. Wake up."

I didn't want to. This was one of the dreams I liked—I wasn't in pain and I wasn't being tormented by my other half and I wasn't being manipulated in any way. There was no way I would want to wake up from this dream, even if the distended corpses of my family and friends were muttering around me.

"It'll be alright. Everything will be alright. Just wake up, Danny. Wake up."

No. It was better here, broken away from the harsh reality of everyday life. I wouldn't have to face everyone like the monster I was. It was better here. It was better here.

"Daniel, can you hear me?"

What? That wasn't any of their voices—not Sam, not Tucker, not Jazz, not Mom or Dad or anyone I had eradicated all of those years ago—so who was it?

The room was dark and cold, and I knew that my aura had affected the temperature and atmosphere of the room. My other half was growing restless, snarling and growling and pacing in the deepest corners of my mind.

I had to restrain a shudder as the scent of human flesh bombarded my senses. Through it all, however, I could vaguely discern the aroma of expensive aftershave and cologne, as well as the acrid presence of fear and agitation. It was the scientist, Tony Stark, the one who had tracked me all the way here from wherever he had come from. I was assuming it was far since he felt the need to fly here.

He's here, and he will be able to help you stay in control.

"Daniel, I need you to help me. Both of our fates depend on this." His voice was a soft rumble that cut through the hazy silence shrouding my mind and body.

What? Help for what? I can't help—I only destroy everything I touch. I can't help.

You know you can smell the other human, little boy.

Yes, I could. There was another cocktail of aromas—of rich, sweat-stained leather, muddled spearmint, and waxed wood. I could smell their fear and agitation as well—just what had happened in the time I had been unconscious?

Nothing good, Daniel. Now get your head out of the clouds and focus.

"He'll kill us both, Stark!"

Who was it, this other man? What did they want? I couldn't—my mind was too muddled. I couldn't think clearly; I couldn't figure out who was speaking to me—and threatening, in reality.

"Just listen to me. Clint Barton, also known as Hawkeye, is a government agent who's been sent to kill you or imprison you. I need your help to get rid of him."

Get rid of him? I can't kill anymore. I won't kill anymore!

—who's been sent to kill you or imprison you?

Imprison you. Imprison you.

Listen to yourself, child. Both of your fates rest on this decision. We both know deep inside that you're not as conflicted about getting rid of this little government rat.

"No! I can't kill him! I won't!"

Fine. I'll make sure you don't. But he won't be getting out with his limbs intact.

"Okay, Daniel. Can you hear me? I'll make sure that doesn't happen. Focus for me, can you do that? Nod once for yes and shake your head for no."

I was trembling violently now, my breaths coming quicker with every passing moment. But maybe I could...maybe I could help the scientist. He seemed to know what was wrong with me, or he had some kind of guess at what was wrong. Maybe if I helped him it would make him accept me for something other than a monster that had broken his bones, had bruised his skin, had drawn his blood and had caused him to scream in that horrific voice—that delicious, spine-tingling, bone-chilling—

With an only slightly settling breath, I fixed bleary eyes on his exhaustion riddled face and nodded.

"Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality." ~Edgar Allen Poe

Damaged people are dangerous. He knew that clearly and understood every moment of it.

He had been there once. Years ago, decades ago—whatever time it was, he just knew that he had been there before.

He also knew that once you entered the darkness—once you became a part of that bestial, boiling, and churning darkness—there was no escape from it. Never in the rest of an embittered lifetime. You just couldn't escape it. You ended up making what other people believed was hell your own special little home.

He was no stranger to that.

He was hiding beneath the cool shelter of his blankets, his limbs shuddering wildly. His heart was pounding in his chest and it was becoming increasingly harder to breathe.

From the darkness enveloping him, he felt a presence linger at his shoulder.

"Ready or not, here I come."

The child was shuddering beside him, frost glazing his skin as he rocked back and forth. He seemed to be sensitive to the tense atmosphere of the room, but he remained locked in the embrace of a restless unconsciousness.

I am haunted by humans.

The man stood before him, a pillar of unrelenting strength and power. The moonlight illuminated the deep crimson and black of his clothing, casting a harsh and reflective glare on the material of his quiver and arrows. His bow was clenched tightly in one hand, and there was a faint sheen of sweat glistening on his skin.

"What are you going to do?"

At dusk, death will come in the form of a man.

"You know, there's this saying I heard a while ago. Maybe you've heard it."

Tony was slowly rising to his feet, deathly aware of the archer's piercing gaze tracking his movements. He knew he only had one chance, and he knew that whatever he did would not be quiet enough to keep the monstrous boy behind him asleep. Daniel would wake very soon, and then all hell would break loose.

It was what he was counting on.

"Stark," Barton growled out, his voice deep and hoarse and strained with exhaustion. "I don't have time for your games."

"I know, I know. I'm just drawing this little reunion out, can't you see?" The scientist's fingers twitched, and then the gauntlet from his latest suit model appeared over his hand. He moved as quickly as he could, biting back a grimace as his still-healing wounds throbbed and protested, and aimed the small arc reactor in the palm of his hand at the former assassin.

"Have you ever heard the phrase: Glory and gore go hand in hand?"

Barton's icy blue eyes widened for a split second before pain laced through his arm and he felt the warmth of his blood and the acrid stench of burnt leather and flesh. The damn crazy man—he had always been one of the people who questioned Tony Stark's sanity—had managed to clip him on the arm with a shot from his gauntlet. With a growl, the blond man took an arrow from his quiver and hooked it into the nocking point. He knew that some of his arrows were strong enough to pierce through the other man's skin, but he was unconcerned with that at the moment. What he needed to do was incapacitate and capture the kid—he wasn't going to stay asleep for long.

As he pulled the bow string back towards his anchor point, he became aware of the temperature of the room dropping even lower than it already was. The child was becoming restless, and it was clear that he either beginning to gain consciousness or he was reacting to the agitated atmosphere that was stretched out between the two men. Barton growled and pressed his lips together; he didn't have much time and had to get the scientist out of the way.

"I knew you were the talker, Stark, but now you're just stalling."

Tony shrugged, something like a pained smirk curling back his lips. "I already told you what I was doing. Do you have a problem with that?"

"What I have a problem with is that kid behind you."

The scientist narrowed his eyes to slits and tilted his head to the side. "Why?"

Barton only shrugged and spread his feet apart further, resettling his weight and distributing it more evenly. "I was given an assignment. I intend to carry it out."

"I thought you despised the whole 'having the government breathing down your neck' thing." Tony resisted the urge to cross his arms and sent a scathing glare towards the agent instead. "Or was that entire speech nothing but a lie?"

"Nope. Not a lie." Clint shook his head and ran gloved fingers over his beloved bowstring. "The only reason I'm doing this is that of simple curiosity."

"You just want to find what makes him tick, don't you? You were dead set on either painting the walls with the kid's blood or arresting him moments ago."

Clint's mouth stretched into a dark, spine-chilling grin. "Maybe I've changed my mind."

"Oh, really? Aren't you just a little maid who's come to change the towels and sheets?"

Barton frowned and raised a brow. "Aren't you supposed to be a scientist with a knack for explosives?"

"Touche, Birdie." Tony tensed as a faint moan sounded behind him. Finally—he had almost been too late.

Barton's eyes flashed dangerously as he watched the goateed man before him. "Stark. What did you do?"

It was then that the scientist realized he was grinning widely, a grim declaration of his amusement and anticipation.

"I've done nothing. Not by myself, at least." He paused as a low whine came from the boy, followed by a deep growl. "I was just waiting for reinforcements, and you helped guarantee that."

"He'll kill us both, Tony!" the archer hissed, his hands protesting as the muscles began to cramp. He had been aiming his bow at the scientist for the past few minutes, and while his intensive training had allowed him to ignore the aches and pains, his irritation was making them worse than usual. The stakes were raised uncomfortably high and he knew he would have to act soon—whether it was on pure instinct or a planned offensive or defensive take.

"It's enough of a distraction, now, isn't it?"

Barton growled and moved his aim towards the now trembling young boy. He had only read about what he was capable of, and based on the reports, he knew that this Daniel had inhuman strength, durability, and endurance, among other things—supposedly all things that allowed his bestial desires to come to light.

His eyes widened as the scientist stood directly in his view of the boy. Tony was grinning widely, and Barton felt a chill race down his spine as he glared at the man.

The scientist kept his gaze fixed on the agent as he turned his head to address the semi-conscious boy. "Daniel, why don't you come and help me with this little bird?"

"You—" The agent's body coiled like an agitated serpent as he remained vigilant. "Stark, don't do this!"

Barton's eyes burned brightly as the scientist turned his head to stare at him, that strangely wide grin still stretched across his face. "It's too late now, isn't it? Maybe you shouldn't have come."

"I...I don't want to hurt anyone..."

The archer groaned as the scientist moved to crouch next to the boy, still keeping his body in front of the other man's view and aim. He was still trying to protect the little beast, after all of this?

Tony hushed the child, keeping a defensive yet somehow comforting arm above him. Barton watched with a certain type of infatuated interest; why wouldn't Stark physically touch the boy? "You don't have to hurt anyone. Not if you choose to."

Daniel moaned softly, arching his back and reaching out to grasp the scientist's arms. Clint flinched in sync with the goateed man, watching blood seep through the young raven-haired man's pale and skeletal fingers.

"You know I c-can't keep control fully." Dull blue eyes locked the scientist in a deadly stare. "I'll lose control and...and hurt you and then you'll all judge me again."

Barton watched as the scientist knelt down closer to the boy, keeping his movements slow and visible. It was almost as if he was trying to keep a feral, aggressive animal calm. And since no one knew exactly what Daniel was, comparing him to a wild beast was nothing if not acceptable and reasonable.

Tony was whispering something to the raven-haired young man, who was shuddering but making a visible attempt to listen to his supposed ally. His eyes were two wide saucers of icy blue, and Barton found himself interested in the maelstrom of emotions that were flickering back and forth across those large, haunted orbs. Clint had seen his fair share of dark, twisted, and plain messed-up things, but the pain—the agony, the suffering, the sheer defeat that was reflected in those eyes back at him—was almost too much to bear.

It was almost too much to bear.

When a flicker of motion appeared in his peripheral vision, he immediately pivoted on his heel towards the source of the motion. To his surprise, the young boy was standing there, his head bowed and face shadowed by his thick, unkempt hair. There was a vapor surrounding his body, and frost glazed the ground, the walls, and his own pale skin.

"You...wanted to hurt...my ally?"

The archer's frown deepened as he kept his eyes fixed on the target of his mission. He remained silent, opting to keep his attention focused on his prey's movements.

Daniel tilted his head to the side, his body beginning to sway. "Why won't you answer me? I asked you a question..."

Barton turned his head slightly to growl at the scientist. "Stark, you really want to do this? You really want to have SHIELD hunting you down to the ends of the earth?"

He knew the man was shrugging with that stupid smirk on his face. "It's not the first time, you know."

"Answer my question!"

Clint grunted as a sudden force was pushing him back, almost making him loosen his grip on his bow and arrow. The boy before him was trembling harder, his hands twitching violently at his sides and his eyes glowing brightly.

His teeth were bared, large and pointed and razor-sharp. The archer could hear the boy's heavy panting, and the notes at the bottom of his classified SHIELD report could not help but flash in his mind—

There are hints of a large desire for human flesh, as well as the need—whether it is a physical hunger or an emotional desire—for blood. Approach the target with extreme caution.

—and he knew that those warnings were definitely coming into play.

The monster growled loudly, a thunderous and demented sound that was stained with a lustful hunger. His eyes were changing colors, flickering back and forth between that abysmal ice blue to a vicious, bloodthirsty crimson. Barton had also read a little about Tony's confrontation with the boy and knew that the sheer strength Daniel had without even physically touching him was only a taste of what had snapped Tony's bones and had broken his skin.

Stark seemed to notice something wrong and a cautious note crept into his voice. "Daniel..."

"He...he won't get past. Not with us h-here," the raven-haired boy hissed, his ravenous gaze still locked onto the archer. "We won't let him."

With a sudden growl, Barton was thrown across the room with the chilling laughter of the monstrous boy ringing in his ears. Slamming harshly into the molded wallpaper, the breath was knocked out of him as stars danced in his vision.

Blinking harshly, he groaned as he straightened into a defensive position.

"So we're finally playing, now, huh?"

He snatched up his bow and nocked in two more arrows, their bladed tips gleaming viciously in the dimly lit room. Tony was watching him from the shadows, and Daniel was panting harshly as he watched the agent's movements.

Barton smirked widely and aimed his bow at the two. "Come and get me."

"Gerard. Have you seen Daniel anywhere?"

The young man whirled on his heel, his eyes wide as his grip on the large broom he was holding faltered. He flinched as it fell to the floor with a clatter, facing his boss ashamedly. "No, sir, I haven't. But...the last time he was here, I think he became sick."

"Sick? What do you mean?"

"Well—" Gerard rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "When he was serving a young lady, he was pale and jittery. Then he rushed off to the employee bathroom and locked himself in. When I went to check on him, it sounded like he was throwing up or something, and he came out all sweaty and unsteady."

The older man glared at his subordinate. "And you didn't think to come get me or anything?"

Gerard shrugged morosely, leaning down to pick up the broom. "I didn't think I had to. Daniel left after his episode or whatever. I thought he had checked out with you."

His boss sighed and rolled his eyes at the ungainly boy. "Just get back to work. I'll try to clear this up this mess with Daniel when I see him next."

Gerard gave a hesitant smile and wave as he watched the man shamble off to his office. "Sorry I couldn't be any help, boss."

"I keep so much pain inside myself. I grasp my anger and loneliness and hold it in my chest. It has changed me into something I never meant to be. It has transformed me into a person I do not recognize; but I don't know how to let it go." ~S.J.B.

The darkness of the room was omniscient, looming over everything in its touch as its companion—the bone-chilling, breath catching coldness—stretched its talons over the things well within its reach. The aroma of blood, sterilized metal, damp earth, and bodily fluids permeated the air with a brutal efficiency.

"You're special," he murmured, tucking a lock of raven hair behind the young man's ear. "I get why we chose you."

Two bright crimson eyes glared up at him out of a pale, exhaustion-riddled face. "Like I care."

"That tongue of yours is something else, isn't it?" the man continued on in a gravelly rumble, his gloved hands still running through the bound monster's hair. "Maybe I should cut it out. Would that be okay with you?"

A deep growl rumbled in the back of the ghost's throat, escalating into a furious snarl as his captor jerked his head back.

"I thought I asked you a question, little rat."

The monster bared his teeth and spat a mouthful of green-stained crimson blood in the man's face. "I don't care."

His tormentor straightened, taking a handkerchief and wiping the fluid off of his cheek. He frowned and shook his head as he looked at the now-soiled piece of cloth. "We can't have that, now, can we?"

The bound creature already knew what was going to happen. It happened every day, almost to the point where he was starting to convince himself that he was omniscient. First, he would leave me in a dark and soundproof room—it was meant to deprive me of any of sense of time, my own enhanced senses, and any chance of survival, as he put it.

He liked to manipulate my senses, ranging from the ever-popular leaky pipe dripping pungent, stale water onto my forehead to other things such as burning my feet with a blue-flame blowtorch. He seemed to like the smell of my burning, inhuman flesh.

Watery, ice-blue eyes flashed across my range of vision and a dark, bloodcurdling cry made my ears ring—

"Daniel, calm down!"

"Leave me alone!"

He also liked to see how long I could last if he slowly shaved away layers of my skin, mainly on my arms and hands. They were the parts that would have the most trouble regenerating—at least, that was what he thought—and believed that it would prevent me from lashing out at him.

If that was the case, then he should have ripped out my teeth, eyes, and tongue. I certainly had no qualms about biting my way out of captivity.

"Daniel! Enough!"

An ear-piercing cry tore through my bloodstained haze—I was anxious and on edge. Something was going wrong. I was losing control again—losing control, losing control, losing control—

I flinched as two strong but gentle hands were placed on my arms. One of them was encased in warm metal, and the other was simply a hand—warm and worn flesh that was a comfort against my own icy skin. I bared my teeth as the warmth began to counteract my cold—I wanted to feel normal, my normal, not too warm or not too cold.

The scientist was there, looming over me, and it was then that I tasted the rotten iron on my tongue. I had bitten something during my daydream-like haze, and I could feel the warmth of human blood on me.

You still don't have that much control over yourself, my boy. But, rest assured, we killed no one.

Tony Stark was staring at me intently, and his mouth was moving. He was saying something to me, but I couldn't hear it over the roar and rush of my blood in my ears. I couldn't even read his lips; my vision was fading in and out. Just what had I done?

"Daniel...it's okay. It will be okay." There, I could hear him now. I just had to focus on controlling my senses and keeping them—and myself—in line.

"What did...I do...?"

The inventor seemed pleased at hearing my broken rasp of a voice and something like a relieved smile pulled back his lips. "Good. You can hear me. Just focus on me."

I frowned, and the strange feeling of floating in a murky soup overcame me. I let out a shaky breath and felt my knees give out before I could give either of us a warning.

Tony grunted as he held up my body, keeping me close to his chest. Why wouldn't he let go of me?

"Hey. Daniel. Stay with me." Two deep chocolate eyes were boring into my own. "Do you remember anything that I told you?"

"You..." I grimaced and swallowed in an attempt to dampen my dangerously dry mouth. The taste of rotten iron was still there, as well as the scent of human blood. Had I—?

"You helped me take down the bad guy, remember?"

I moaned and shook my head, the rank and putrid, invisible water tightened its grasp on me. I tried to move my hands, but I was strangely motionless. What was going on?

"The bad guy?" I narrowed my eyes at the man, my tongue dry and swollen in my mouth. "I'm...I'm the bad guy. I've done bad things to—to a lot of people."

Tony sighed and shook his head sharply. "Not to this one. If anything, he deserved it."

A wave of heat overcame me, and the waves pressed harder against my skin. "What?"

"I won't press if you if you can't remember. Just calm down and relax, okay?"

Just...calm down. I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, albeit unsteadily. The man made a noise of encouragement and pressed me tighter to his broad chest.

"Good. Now, come with me."

I tensed and shook my head, pushing away from him. I didn't want to go; I wanted to stay in the comfort of this dank, rancid motel room. It was a disgusting place that could accept me for the monster I was.

"What? Don't you want some real food?"

Human food?

Humans?

My stomach growled.

Tony smiled widely and placed a heavy hand on my shoulders, easing up on his strength when he saw and felt my flinch. "Attaboy. Now let's go. There are some good places a bit from here, or we can eat in silence with that processed gas station food and think about life. Your choice."

I found an inkling of warmth was beginning to ease its way into my damaged soul.

It wasn't entirely unwanted.

Pushing back the snarling beast that lingered in my thoughts, I shut my eyes and let the man lead me out of the room and into the devastating world outside.

So, I had a lot of trouble with this chapter. It was originally planned to be posted on my birthday, but things were hectic and I still was overcoming major writer's block with the direction of where this story was going.

However, multiple songs helped spark my creativity with this. The first is "Confrontation" from Jekyll & Hyde (based on a Danny Phantom/Dark Danny video I found on YouTube), followed by "Torture," "Louder Than Words," and "String Theory," all by Les Friction (amazing band and you all should listen to them!)

If it's any consolation, Chapter Seven is being written right now, but like last year, marching band and AP summer work will impair my productivity with updating. Please continue to bear with me and support this story!

Also, I know I've updated other stories during my absence with this one, but my lighthearted Fairy Tail stories are easier to spit out than this dark, twisted mess (and I mean that in the loving way all authors mention their stories).

Don't be afraid to review!