Air. Was it one of those things that had no specific definition? Did air's meaning depend on the person defining it? Did it even exist by any definition? It could not be seen, touched or tasted. Air did not carry its own distinguishable smell, nor did it resound with its own voice. Can something that cannot be experienced in its raw state by any of the five senses actually exist? As Danny Phantom neared the speed of sound, it felt as though this master of intangibility was as solid as the ground beneath him. He pushed himself forward, refusing to allow air to win. Clouds were swept into his wake. Ethereally charged energies surged through these clouds in the form of green electricity, turning the water vapor into its liquid state. Rain fell in a line behind the ghost boy. Thunder echoed through the skies like the pounding of an angelic drum, but Danny Phantom was paying no mind to the aftermath of his first attempt at supersonic flight.

He had been curious as to why Plasmius was not racing to catch up to him. She could fly much faster than he could – at least he assumed she could – and if that wasn't the case, then she could at least teleport. As his attention was focused on his destination, he hadn't even considered that it wouldn't take long to find the unusual string of rainclouds, and then it would be as easy as pie to figure out where he was. Thankfully, Plasmius was otherwise preoccupied at the moment. Or so Phantom hoped.

Then again, maybe her preoccupation was not exactly a good thing. He had left his father to fend for himself. There hadn't been time to explain. Proximus was dead, left on Plasmius' doorstep. Had he passed her test, if that was indeed what his battle had been? And what did that mean for him now?

Nothing good, if he knew Plasmius. Given the disturbing nature of her previous mental "attacks", he had a sickly feeling that he was beginning to really get to know her. Nothing felt right anymore. Amity Park was becoming a hotspot for acts of terrorism and ghost attacks were increasing in lethality almost exponentially. Plasmius' plans were growing more diabolically horrifying with each new one. Two of his children were in the Ghost Zone, one from the future wanted to kill him and the other from the present, too young to comprehend what "kill" meant. And, as the icing on a most disgusting cake, two voices reigned over his mind and had just helped him absorb the spectral energy from a living creature, resulting in the death of a human being not much older than he was.

How many more would die by his hand before he wouldn't have to do it anymore? How many more times could he suffer being a hero? Could he really keep going, even by following his others' advice and recognizing the good that came from his actions? He wanted to. Phantom was still the hero, but how much more could he bear?

Spider-Man never had to put up with this.

Neither protoconsciousness replied; either too tired or forcing him to think for himself again. Typical.

News choppers hovered around the pillar of smoke as it ominously rose into the darkening sky. Below was a burning heap of what used to be Amity Park's Terror Tower. Twisted, warped steel arched above the crumbled brick and drywall. Cords, cables, and wire of all kinds remained woven around the framework. Some of the wires still sparked, spraying miniaturized fireworks into the air. The way in which the tower fell left the remains sprawled into the street before it and, from the height of the helicopters, it looked the decaying remains of a great beast.

Sam could hardly believe what she was seeing. She hadn't moved from the middle of the street where she had fallen to her knees in desperation. Who could have done this? Why? How? So many questions flooded her mind, forcing out the tears that had been welling up for some time now. One final question blocked the flow like a log in a stream. Where was Danny? He could have stopped that building from falling, couldn't he?

"Come on, Sam," Jazz whispered. The younger girl had nearly forgotten about the two Fenton women. Danny's elder sister's voice betrayed a similar reaction to Sam's – one of despair. "We should get inside."

Making no move to resist, Sam stood with surprising calm and silently followed Jazz and Maddie back into the house. Skulker had tried to kill her. His niece! The one relative she was beginning to truly connect with hadtraded in his histrionic yet understanding personality for a new look and, apparently, a new stance towards family. Why would he do it? Unless Plasmius had something to –

Wait.

"Oh God," Sam choked, trying her hardest to hold back her sobs. She was thankful that she was sitting down now, otherwise she might have collapsed again.

"I know, this is just . . ." Jazz paused, taking a deep breath. "I don't even-"

"No, not about this," Sam waved her arm to the door. "Danny!"

Jazz made sure her mother was out of earshot – she had relocated to the kitchen and was watching one of the many news networks as they reported and speculated on the attack – before locking Sam in a firm gaze. "What about him?"

"He gets called away with your dad on some trip, Uncle Kaine tries to kill us, and now this?"

Jazz's eyes slowly widened. "What are you getting at?"

"Plasmius. She has to be responsible. This is, like, her last ditch effort to get Danny to join her or make him her son or whatever," Sam rubbed the tears of silent mourning from her face, smudging her eye shadow in the process. The dawning of this realization had overtaken the shock of the attack. "She wanted to separate him from us so she could kill us and . . . I don't know, blame it on the attack!"

The two girls sat in silence, listening to sirens of every suit sing in a jumbled unisonas their respective vehicles rushed to the scene.

"There has to be more to it than that," Jazz said finally. "And Danny's not just going to give into her game. He'd suspect something."

"Even if he did, he couldn't just fly away from Vanessa, she'd kill him!"

"SHH!" Jazz looked worriedly from the kitchen doorway back to Sam. "Not so loud," she whispered angrily.

Sam scowled. "I don't think we can be keeping his secret from everyone much longer. His parents need to know."

Jazz reeled back as if smacked in the face. "Are you insane?! They'd kill him!"

"You don't know that. Hell, if they knew then maybe half of these problems wouldn't be problems! Maybe all this could have been averted!"

"Nobody could have seen this coming, Sam," Jazz said solemnly.

"Not just the tower, all of this. The Lunch Lady, the mercenary attack, all of it could have just been avoided. His secret isn't helping him. So much of what he's done is bottled up inside and we can't understand it any better than he can."

Jazz chewed on the inside of her cheek in contemplation. "You really think it's a good idea?"

"Jazz, this isn't a city anymore. This is a war zone. Things are changing in ways – horrible ways – we never could have imagined. Think of this; what if Danny snaps? What if he turns on us?"

"Do you think he would?"

"You can only push someone so far, and he's way past the limit now. We're there for him one hundred percent of the way, but we're just not enough. He needs more support. He needs his whole family behind him."

Jazz looked into Sam's imploring eyes. She could see why Danny would get lost in them. That is, if he ever stopped being so dense. There was truth behind those violet irises; maybeSam was right. "Mom?" Jazz called hesitantly. "Can you come here? There's . . . something we need to tell you."

These will do nicely, Clockwork thought.

The frames frozen in circular clock faces depicted warriors of incredible strength, intelligence, but most of all, valor. These warriors, these heroes, would go a long way in helping Daniel in the trials he faced ahead. But events had unfolded quickly. Too quickly. To have caught Clockwork off guard could mean one of two things: either Walker was planning an attack of greater magnitude than the destruction of the Terror Tower or Lord Phantom himself was planning on making a visit to exterminate his rebellious seed. Clockwork shuddered at the horrendous possibilities the second option would bring, and hoped that it was the former.

"I understand that the attack on Terror Tower is the beginning of something much more sinister," Clockwork announced as the Observants materialized behind him. "And there is only one way to ensure that this event does not lead to the inevitable future."

Turning, Clockwork was easily able to read the expressions of his "supervisors", even though their heads were composed of a single eyeball. He grinned at their uncertainty, and pinpointed their response by gauging that reaction. "You will likely object to this action, but it is our last viable option before we must use the Ghost Writer. I will select a viable strike force of elite warriors from across the multi-verse by collecting them from alternate timelines in which the fiction of these universes is reality. Each warrior will be returned to his or her respective universe once the crisis is averted with no memory of the events that have transpired. I will then permanently seal the bridge to the multi-verse from this universe, making it impossible for anyone to call upon its power ever again."

Gears turned in the time master's mind and answers came to him. "I understand that the combining of universes creates a fair amount of instability. I have foreseen the use of several artifacts that will counteract this instability and which will ultimately reverse it. If nothing else, this strategy will completely rule out one possible way in which Danny Phantom sheds his humanity."

The Observants looked from one another to Clockwork. "You wish to send one of these warriors to Earth now?"

"I do," Clockwork replied with a nod, "in order to prepare the boy for the task ahead and to keep his family safe during his absences; for now, of course."

"Who did you have in mind?"

Clockwork grinned and turned to the center-most dial. "This one should be able to blend in easily enough."

"Subtlety never was one of your strong suits," one of the Observants muttered upon seeing Clockwork's choice. "He will surely draw attention to the Fentons and to himself."

"Do not be so sure. With so much going on, who will stop to notice him?"

Clockwork awaited the response he already knew while the Observants communicated with each other telepathically. "You are sure he is a suitable first choice to send?"

"Have faith, my friends. He will change the outcome of this approaching storm, and in more ways than one."

It was on fire, but it wasn't burning. He stared at it in awe, trying with every ounce of maturity to suppress the giddy feeling that swelled in his chest. He failed. Giggles gurgled out of his throat at the fire that danced up and down his arm. He looked from his immaculate hand to the great dead beast lying before him. It was not on fire, but for a brief moment, it had been. Too bad, the fire had been so beautiful. Those red rectangles with their grey tubes had doused the fire that had roasted his kill. What were they, those smaller, water-spouting creatures? Some kind of deep-sea fish? That would explain the water. It would also explain the glowing lights atop their heads. Angler fish had those, didn't they? Then smaller ones had arrived. Black and white shapes with red and blue lights. Was it mating season? Had he interrupted an eons-old tradition with his kill? Suddenly he felt sad for the great beast, and for the fish he had disturbed. Those giant angler fish, how sad.

Angler fish? Why would their lights be on if it was bright enough to see anyway? Was he even under water? How could he sustain fire under water? It sure felt like he was under water. The crushing pressure, the stinging in his eyes, and other sensations he had simply attributed to being under water; the constricted throat that made him want to cough, the clouded vision, the feeling of being disconnected from his body. But there was no fire under water. There was fire on top of water in that movie with the killer whale, but that was because of oil or some other deus ex machina of that sort.

Frowning, he looked at his other arm. It was not on fire, but it sure looked different. It was gold – gold! – and there were gems on it! When had this happened? His fingers ended in claws now, and the golden arm formed a bony spike that covered his elbow. A defense mechanism? Of course! While he had been mastering fire, his other arm had evolved to master protecting him from it. But would gold keep him safe from fire? He pointed his finger at his newly evolved arm and prepared to fire a blast, but stopped. Feeling was returning to him. Frederick took a deep breath as his ethereal state of being ended in a swift stroke. He had foolishly tried to attack the Reality Gauntlet, and it had taken away his power as a precaution. Perhaps there was more to learn about this gauntlet still.

"Hey ,you! Are you alright?"

Frederick looked up. He hadn't even realized he had fallen down after the gauntlet had taken his power away. He opened his mouth to reply when, to his horror, the man's head exploded like a watermelon filled with C-4. His own, intact head spun around to see if he could identify the attacker. It took only a fraction of a second. The person responsible slammed the toe of a very hard reinforced steel-toed boot into his jaw. Pain exploded from the impact area, but the shock prevented him from crying out.

"I've seen some pretty serious screw ups in my time, but this might just take the cake." That voice! It was so familiar!

"Huntah?" Frederick's broken jaw prevented him from forming words correctly. Another mini explosion of pain spread through his mouth and he mentally slapped himself.

"Agent X, GIW," the man corrected. "We've had dealings through our mutual friend Lydia. That doesn't excuse you from this, however. K, O, take him to headquarters. His bitch might enjoy the company."

Two sets of arms hoisted Frederick up off the ground. He felt his gauntlet slide off his arm and, in the blink of an eye, it was over before it began. Walker would have his head. Or worse.

Vanessa smiled and waved gingerly as Jack took off in her private helicopter. Once airborne, she spun on her heel and stormed back into her cabin mansion. A jerk of her thumb over her shoulder sent her two stooges, Hank and Harold, after the helicopter. Unlike any other Fenton, the condors were on a mission to protect Jack from anyone or anything that might want to prevent him from returning safely to Amity Park. Not that Amity Park was safe.

Inside the cabin, Vanessa grabbed a tuft of hair in each hand and growled. Skulker had reported failure. Or at least it sounded like he had reported failure. His transmission was garbled and hard to understand. She had made out that he had been caught off guard by Samantha Manson, who revealed that she was Kaine's niece. The ensuing battle cost him his sight and apparently he was lucky to escape with his life and the lives of his hounds. That was before she had crushed her cell phone in her hand. Some horrible act of terrorism had destroyed the Terror Tower. To top it all off, Danny managed to not only defeat Proximus, he also managed to remove every trace of ectoplasmic energy from her pet's body. Elliot, as he looked before his confrontation with Phantom at the observatory all those months ago, wound up at her door. Dead. The only visible injury on Elliot's body was a handprint on his chest. A quick scan, made possible with invisibility, revealed that the boy's lungs were gone. No sign of forced entry or . . . exit to remove them, no signs of a surgical operation, nothing but the handprint. Danny had learned a frightful new power and was now using it to its full effectiveness.

Plasmius had been vaporized Elliot's body. The authorities didn't know he existed, but better to tie up loose ends than to have some organization or another taking her to court with a dead, lung-less child to use as evidence against her for a crime that she, for once, truly did not commit. At least not directly.

Jack had taken a bit of overshadowing to convince that Danny had never come on the trip in the first place, but it had worked had even gone so far as to remove any sadness from Jack's heart as a result of not spending time with his son. A regular Mother Theresa.

But now the stars were aligning in nobody's favor. It was as if the world was out to get itself; the cosmos' most erroneous idea of a practical joke. She set the security to its most secure setting for her cabin and her home in Wisconsin and her various other homes across the globe, meaning that anything short of a ballistic assault would not be able to get past. Normally such precautions wouldn't be necessary, but Vanessa was not planning on returning home any time soon. She even briefly entertained the possibility of never returning at all. Then the woman transformed into Plasmius, letting the black and purple rings wash over her body, caressing every curve as they removed her human disguise and let her true self emerge. With determination evident on her face, Plasmius took to the sky and set her sights on Amity Park.

Her intentions could not be discerned by anyone who would have had a good look. Even Clockwork, had he not already known, would have difficulty reading her. The fate of her master plan - many, many years in the making -was in the balance, and its fate rested on whether or not she would align with the forces of evil. Maybe she would do what was expected of her and antagonize those who fight for truth, justice and freedom. Or perhaps she would take a different path. It was hard to say for certain, but like the blue semi truck cab with flame decals that now sat parked several blocks down from the Fenton home, there was more to her than meets the eye.

To Be Continued

A/N: So yeah. Short, sweet, and full of win. By win, I of course mean the winner of the poll. 2007 Movie Prime won by a landslide. If you didn't vote, don't complain. If you did, and still aren't pleased . . . well that's democracy. Sorry. I think he'll work out fine. See if you can spot him in the chapter! LOLZ!

So I realized that, coming up soon, my review-to-chapter ratio will no longer be 10/1. Maybe it has something to do with the show's cancellation? Or maybe my laziness in updating is what's destroying my reader/reviewer base. I'll have to think of something to fix this, especially if the Reality Wars doesn't. Even still, I'm pretty pleased with those numbers.

So right now I'm in the process of doing finals work. Hard to believe that I started this story my sophomore year in high school, and just now I'm finishing the first "season", which will be concluded in Dead Men Walking. Crazy. Also, my friend stepped on my ankle the other day and it hurts. Luckily, my other friends are great caretakers and have provided me with ice, comforting words and cinnamon rolls. Mmm.

Reviews! I'd be lazy and just say thanks to "everyone", but I've only ever done that once. No need to do it again. But really, you're all amazing. Special thanks goes to Lockblade, alienphantom, Chemical Brain, Billy D., cdunn2010, General Razgriz, phantoms-allie, inukagome15, animeforever1, MasterChiefSamus117, and Anthiena.

WHAT I KNOW IS: IT WILL NOT BE BY YOU. – Apocalypse, X-Men Evolution.