Edited/rewritten February 2008
Pits
A Danny Phantom FanFiction by Cordria
Page 4
Slasher disintegrated right in front of my eyes, slowly disintegrating into a pile of goo. "I… I… I…" I stammered, backing away from the growing puddle of glowing mud. "But I…"
The leather collar around my neck suddenly sparkled to life, wrenching a scream out of my mouth and making me collapse to the ground in pain. Before I could do more than get back onto my hands and knees, the guards grabbed me and twisted my arms painfully behind my back. Still blinking stars out of my eyes, they 'walked' me out of the Pit, through a set of doors, and down a dark corridor.
"Let go of me," I snapped, struggling against the guards' hands when the last tingles of energy stopped flowing around my body and I was able to move without being in lots of pain.
"Shut up." One of the guards kicked my feet out from under me and I collapsed, face-down, onto the floor. "Get them blades off him."
I twisted my arms against their cold hands, arching my back, and doing anything I could think of to get out of their grasp. Nothing helped. Suddenly I felt a cold hand wrap itself around… the blade and tug. "Stop that!" I yelped at the sharp pain.
"Th-they st-stuck," one of the guards stammered after a few futile tugs. "Wh-what we do?"
"Cut them off?" another guard offered and I caught a sparkle of light reflecting off a knife's blade before it dug into my arm. I hissed at the pain, feeling the blood trickling coldly down my arm and oozing into my shirt. Closing my eyes, I tensed my arms and kicked out with my feet. My root foot connected solidly with something and I heard a yelp of surprise as one of the ghosts' arms vanished.
The rest of the guards reacted before I could move anymore. My arms were jerked sharply away from my body, bowing my back to try and relieve the pain. To make matters worse, the collar around my neck suddenly sparked to life. Screaming, I twitched as electricity zapped through me. After what felt like an eternity, it cut off and I sank back against the table, breathing quickly. "Stop moving, prisoner!" a guard snarled in my ear.
I twisted my head to send him a pain-filled glare. "Stop cutting open my arm."
"Wh-what we d-do now?" the guard on my other side stammered.
"They comin' off?" the ghost I was glaring at asked. He tapped his crocked teeth with his fingers as he stared at the other ghosts over my head.
"Nah, they connected good. We gotta cut off them arms to get 'em off."
Teeth-tapper continued to stare off into the distance. The other ghosts I could see seemed to be watching him, waiting for his decision. Great, my thoughts drifted lazily underneath the pain and the terror that were coursing through me, the leader of the pack is a moron.
"We leave 'em on," teeth-tapper finally decided. "Doc'll look at 'em later. Bring him back to his cell."
"Shower?" a guard on my other side rumbled.
He blinked his blue eyes and looked down at me. "No," he drawled, "don't wanna deal with him. He can shower after Doc sees him."
Back in my cell, I settled onto the edge my hard cot with a soft groan and tried to push the pain and fear out of my mind. I knew that dwelling on it would make it all worse. So I picked something to think about.
Those blades. I stared down at my arms, able to study them for the first time. They glittered like starlight in the flickering glow of the ghost lights. Even though they had sliced straight through Slasher, they were perfectly clean. There wasn't a trace of green ectoplasm in the tiny grooves along the sides… which was really odd since the rest of me was covered in drying, crusty, bloody, ectoplasmic muck.
My eyes trailed over the smooth edges of the blade from the tip down to the leather straps…
Which weren't there.
I reached up slowly and brushed my fingers along my dirty arm where the straps should have been, a shudder wracking my body. Bringing my arm up closer to my face, I peered at the place where the silvery blade seemed to enter right into my pale, glowing skin. I flicked my finger against the blade, jumping slightly when I felt it.
Okay… that is…
Closing my eyes, I slowly settled my arms onto my legs.
Okay…
I unclenched my fingers and tried to relax.
Okay… I can handle this. I am NOT going to overreact. I am not going to…
"AHH!!" Something brushed against my leg. I yanked my feet up onto the cot, eyes flying open. There was nobody else in my room when I got here. I would have noticed. Unconsciously tensing for a fight, I snuck a glance over the edge of the bed, half-expecting some sort of monster or ghostly roommate.
Two glowing, blue eyes stared up at me from behind a tiny, black nose. I relaxed, letting out a breath. "Stupid rat," I sighed. "You scared me."
The rat's eyes narrowed, whiskers twitching. It blinked up at me.
"Where did you come from?" My eyebrows furrowed as I studied the rat's glistening fur. I crossed my arms, carefully avoiding slicing myself open with those… blades… which I did not want to think about right then. "You weren't in here before."
Of course, the rat didn't answer. It just watched me for a moment before ducking back under the cot. I leaned over to watch it go. The glowing rat scurried to the back corner of the cell, glanced over its shoulder at me, and then walked straight through the wall.
For a few seconds, I just sat there, processing that.
"Wait…" I whispered. Sitting up, I leaned back against the wall and went intangible. The wall was totally solid. I twisted around and pressed one hand against the stones, focusing on getting through. Nothing. "How did…"
A thought filtered through my head. Quickly crawling under the bed, I slid over to the corner. I was going to try and stick my fingers into the corner and see if there was some kind of invisible hole, only my blades were in the way. My fingers were a full two feet from the wall when the tip of the blade nicked the rough stones.
Stymied, I drummed my fingers on the floor and accidentally banged my head against the underside of the cot. If only the blades were intangible…
With a startled blink, I turned my whole right arm intangible, grinning when the blade took on the same slightly blue cast as the rest of my arm. "Perfect." Again, I reached forward, this time probing the dark recesses of the cot with the razor point of my blade.
After a moment, I knew two things. One: there was no rat sitting invisibly in the corner. It would have been shish-kabobbed. Two: there was no rat hole in the corner. Even intangible, my blades were met with solid stone. I growled softly under my breath. "How did…OW!"
I had smacked my head against the hard cot once again. I crawled out from under the cot and sat cross-legged on the floor. Rubbing my head with one hand, grimacing at the feel of the crusty muck in my white hair, I closed my eyes. My mind was whirling in circles, trying to find something to settle on. It was like channel surfing at three in the morning: there was nothing on you wanted to watch.
Escape plans? Nope. That was an exercise in futility.
Slasher's deranged eyes? Definitely not.
What was going to happen next? Hell no.
My family? I actually shook my head at this thought.
Where the rat went? My brain processed this for a moment before deciding it had no actual thoughts on the subject. I had no clue where the rat went, where it came from, or how it got there.
I groaned, my mind drifting to the only topic left I could come up with to think about: those blades sticking… into… my arm. Slowly I eased my eyes open, glanced down at the blades. Shimmering hypnotically in the dim lights, I traced the edge of the blade with my finger tip. I shivered. It was like running a finger over your arm – I could feel it. It was so weird.
It was almost like the blades were now a part… of… me…
My breath caught in my throat as that thought echoed through my mind. Another followed right behind it, this one slightly more terrifying. What about when I turn human?
I almost didn't want to think about it. The blades were physically attached to me in ghost mode, would it be the same in human mode? I stared at the blades in fascinated horror, debating between triggering the transformation back to human and just sitting there in ghost mode for the rest of eternity. The thought of seeing these blades sticking out of my arm when I was human made my stomach twist.
Then, before I could get stuck in an endless mental argument, I reached for the warm, heavy feeling trapped in the corner of my mind. Silver light exploded around me, gravity pressing down on me again. My eyes were locked on a patch of skin just below my arm. The place where the leather straps were going to appear.
The light danced across my arm, changing the deadly pale skin back to my normal shade. My whole body twitched and my once-again beating heart stopped for a second. There were no straps.
Panting shallowly, I slammed my eyes shut and tried desperately to process the thought. No straps had appeared. I did not want to see those blades attached to my human skin. My head started to spin moments before the vague thought that I was probably hyperventilating crossed my mind.
I need to stop this. This is no way for a hero to act. It's just a bit of metal. I'm fine. I'm fine. I'm fine…
I forced my breathing to slow down, focusing on repeating that phrase to myself. I'm fine. I'm fine. "I'm fine," I whispered. Letting out a long breath, I repeated it once more. "I'm fine. I've handled all sort of weird things. I can handle this."
My eyes flickered open and gazed across the room, not risking glancing down at the arms resting in my lap. "I can do this. I'm fine. I…" My gaze fell down to my arms and I trailed off in astonishment.
There were no blades.
"Where…" I raised my arm and stared at it closely, then ran my hand all over my arm. I frantically examined every inch of both of my arms, twisting them around. "…did…"
"They're not there," I breathed. A bubble of happiness rose up from my stomach, a smile flickering onto my face. "They're not there!" I jumped to my feet and laughed. Eyes glittering with barely contained joy, I threw my arms into the air and screamed. "They're not there!"
"I'm not a freak," I laughed, "at least not more than normal." I dropped back onto the cot, wincing as my tailbone connected with the hard board under the thin blankets. Propping my feet up on one end of the cot, I laced my fingers together under my head and watched the ghost lights dance across the ceiling. "They're not there," I informed them after a moment.
Two of the ghost lights twirled over my head, racing each other from one end of the room to the other. Another spun like a crazy St. Catherine's Wheel in the corner. The rest waltzed lazily in bizarre patterns around the room, never pausing in their endless movements.
My brief bit of manic energy spent and a pervasive tiredness pressing in on me, I yawned and let my mind drift. One, I counted, eyes half-shut as the lights danced before me. Two, three, four. My breathing slowed. Five, six, seven, eight.
Dimly, my brain registered that there was something wrong with that. But I had already sunk too far into my exhausted sleep to care.
"YAHH!" I screamed, curling up into a little ball as greenish energy suddenly radiated out of my collar and played across my body. It stopped as quickly as it started, leaving me panting and staring around my empty room in painful surprise. I pushed myself into a sitting position, my arms still trembling.
The door creaked open, a guard sticking his head in and glancing at me before coming in the rest of the way. "He's awake," the ghost rumbled.
I stared at him for a second, but my gaze twisted away from him when someone new walked into the room. She was wearing a long, white lab coat that dangled down to her knees and shiny, black boots that came up to the tops of her calves. The woman had black hair that was pulled back in a ponytail that dangled down nearly to her waist. Her sparkling, emerald eyes glanced up at me from the clipboard she was carrying. My breath caught in my throat at the small smile that suddenly tugged at the corners of her mouth. She was beautiful.
"I thought you said I was treating a ghost," she said softly. Her eyebrows furrowed as she flipped through the pages on her clipboard. "Idiot ghost…"
"Nope," the ghost shook his head. "Phantom, room 143."
She sent him a short glare before blinking at me. "You're Phantom?"
I nodded silently. She chewed her lip, taking a step towards me before hesitating and flipping through her papers. "It says here you're a ghost." She shot me a quick smile. "But you obviously aren't dead." She took another step forwards, but stopped and wrinkled her nose, eyes flickering over my dirty, muck-encrusted clothing. "May I see your arms please?"
Shrugging, I held my arms out for her inspection. The woman walked forwards the rest of the way and ran her gloved fingers over my arms. "I'm Doctor Mary," she said softly, letting go of my arm. "The guards said your blades wouldn't come off? They had fused to your skin?" She shot me a confused look.
"They're gone," I said simply.
"How?" she wondered. Ignoring her own question, she pulled a needle out of her pocket and sent me another reassuring smile. "I need to draw some blood for some tests. All humans need to get tested for common spectral diseases, and your chart says you weren't." She laughed. "Probably because it says you're a ghost, huh?"
"Spectral diseases?" I watched as she tied a rubber tube around my arm and swabbed the inside of my elbow.
As she stuck the point into my skin, she mumbled, "Ectoacne, ghost flu, spectral pox, stuff like that." Pulling the needle out of my arm, she held the filled vial up and glanced at it. "Odd… high levels of ectocontamination already," she muttered. "Your blood is practically glowing."
She put the vial into her pocket and wrote on the chart for a second. "I'll get that tested right away." Doctor Mary smiled at me once more before turning away and starting for the door.
"What about his blades?" the guard rumbled.
"What about them?" she snapped back.
"Where are they?"
Mary glared at the ghost. "Do you see any blades?" When the guard shook his head, she added, "Do you have any idea how to treat 'disappearing' blades?" She snorted and pushed past the guard. "I don't have any time to deal with your brainless problems."
"We can't leave him with blades." The guard held the door shut with one hand as she reached for the handle.
"Then take them away. I'm sure they're here somewhere. It's not my problem if you can't find them." She tugged on the handle, but the ghost easily held the door shut. "Let me go, ghost."
"We can't leave a ghost with blades," he insisted.
"That's not a ghost!" she shot me an odd look, rolling her eyes. "Are all ghosts blind as well as stupid?"
"Yes, he is a ghost."
"Really," she sighed, crossing her arms.
"He's a halfa." The guard leered at me for a moment.
"A what?" Mary asked sourly. She shook her head. "Do I really care? Let me go."
"He's half ghost," the guard pressed. "He was a ghost when the blades were stuck to him."
She raised an eyebrow, staring at him in stark disbelief. "Do you," she asked softly, "have any idea how much ectoenergy it would take to convert human cells into a stable spectral form? That amount of energy would kill a human long before that could happen. It's not possible."
"He is, though."
Mary sighed deeply, closing her eyes. "I'm surrounded my idiots today." She turned to me and shot me a smile, her emerald eyes glittering in the ghost lights. "We can clear this up really easily. Are you half ghost?"
Startled at suddenly rejoining the conversation, I hesitated. Mary's smile faltered. After a few seconds of silence, I slowly nodded my head. Her smile faded the rest of the way, her sparkling eyes losing their inner light.
She glared at me with suddenly dead eyes. "Where are your blades… ghost?" she spat at me.
I blinked at her sudden change in personality, sliding backwards on the cot. "I… I don't know," I whispered.
Mary snarled, flipping through her charts, mumbling to herself. "It's probably developed some sort of spectral connection to the ectoluminum in the blades." Her cold eyes flickered from me to the clipboard and back. "If your description of the problem is at all accurate," she said scathingly to the ghost, "which I personally doubt, then the blades have probably fused into it's ghost form. They'll be back next time it turns into a ghost." She slammed her pen down on the clipboard and twirled around to glare at the spectral guard. "And, most likely, just as irremovable. Now, may I leave?"
With one more glance at me, the ghost escorted Doctor Mary out of my room and locked the door behind them. I was left alone, sitting on the cot, completely confused.
Spectral connection?
Ectoluminum?
I bristled slightly. It?!? Why did I become an 'it'?
For a moment, I let myself enjoy the toe-curling feeling of annoyed rage. Then I shook myself out of it, allowing the next thought to slip into my brain. They'll be back…
Pushing the pretty doctor and her confusing behavior out of my mind, I stared down at my human arms. Did I even want to know? I never wanted to see that silvery metal sticking out of my arms ever again.
I groaned and collapsed back down on the bed, burying my head in my pillow. I tried to go back to sleep, I really did. But the thought of those blades on my arms kept flittering through my mind like an obsessive firefly.
Finally, with a sigh, I sat up and felt for the cold, powerful, weightless feeling I kept locked up in the far corner of my head. As silver light swirled into existence around me, I shut my eyes.
I was firmly back in human mode when the door slammed open. I glanced up, expecting to see Doctor Mary again. Even though she obviously had some problem with ghosts, she was better than the alternative. Imagine my disappointment when a certain dried-out warden stormed into my room.
"Punk," he snarled.
"What?" I asked, getting to my feet.
"You are a disappointment," he snapped. "I throw you in those fights to die, and what do you do? You win." He crossed his arms and glared at me. "But I can work with that. What I need now is to make sure we are on the same page so it doesn't happen again."
"Same page?" I repeated softly.
Walker's eyes narrowed darkly at my quiet words. "One must speak up when spoken to. If you can't remember that, we'll have to give you lessons." The knife glittered in his fingers for a moment as he leered at me. "Clear?"
I nodded, taking a small step backwards. "Same page?" I asked again, a little louder.
Walker seemed satisfied. "Yes. You see, boy, I need you to win."
I stared at him in amazement. Like I wanted to lose? If you lost it meant you died. Of course I was going to win.
Walker nodded, a grin brushing at his cracking lips. "Win. Some ghosts lose the desire to win after a few fights, so I dredged up something to help… motivate you." He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and his dried-out eyes took on a manic glint. "Do you want to know what it is?"
I was still gazing at him. I still hadn't completely processed the idea that Walker wanted me to win. My sleep-deprived brain wrapped up in contemplating that, I missed the fact that he had asked me a question.
Walker stepped up to me, his shriveled nose a hair from touching mine. I focused on him, swallowing hard as my mind finally caught up and started digging around for an answer to his question. His scraggly, dirty hair brushed into my face. "You want to know something, punk?"
I gazed into his desiccated eyes. From this close, I could clearly see the weathered lines snaking out from the corners of his eye sockets. "What?"
His eyes narrowed and he pulled back out of my face. "You don't seem to care what I have to say," he hissed and glanced down at his feet. Whispering crazily, he said, "One must listen when one is spoken to." He turned his head to glare at me, raising his voice. "Should we make you listen?"
The bloody, rusty knife appeared in his hands like magic. It twirled and glittered in the greenish glow of the ghost lights. I could very clearly remember what happened last time Walker and that knife can into contact with me. My arm was still aching from our first torture session.
"I'm listening," I muttered.
"One must speak up when spoken to," Walker hissed, the knife jumping forwards and slicing lightly into my stomach.
My eyes widened in pain. I pressed a hand to the slice on my abdomen, taking a half-step backwards and tripping onto the cot. The rusty point of the knife danced back into view just beyond the tip of my nose. "I'm listening!" I all but screamed.
Walker nodded, a satisfied smile twisting his face. "Good." The knife vanished back into a pocket. He brought the small bit of paper forwards and pressed it into my hand, curling my fingers tightly around it. "You will win the next fight," he said softly. I glanced down at the paper, flipping it over. It was a photograph of three people: Mom, Dad, and my sister. My head jerked back up, eyes widening at the barely concealed threat.
I pushed my back against the wall, one arm wrapped tightly around my bleeding stomach, the other clutching the photo. My mouth was dry as I stared into his scarred and weathered face. He knelt down, inching closer and closer, his eyes calm and crazy. "There will be a Fenton in my Pits." Shrunken eyes stared straight into mine. His cold, leathery nose brushed my cheek, causing a shiver to run down my back. "Whether or not it's you fighting is up to you," his voice was rustling leaves in my ears, "understand me punk?"
I just stared at him as my stomach flipped over and frozen fingers of terror worked their way into my gut. I couldn't bring myself to do anything but just sit there as he backed off and stood up. Slowly, my gaze fell down to the picture. Mom was sitting at the kitchen table, her head buried in her arms. Dad was standing over her, caught in the act of reaching out to comfort her. Standing in the doorway, Jazz was swiping at tears on her face. It was a recent picture, that much was sure. A very recent picture. Almost unconsciously, my finger brushed over a wrinkle in the photograph, smoothing it out.
"You understand," Walker stated. I didn't look up. "I'm looking forward to watching you win your next fight."
I flinched slightly as the door slammed shut, but I couldn't wrench my eyes away from the picture of my family. When the photo suddenly became blurry, I brushed at my face angrily and looked up. The back of my head thumped against the wall as I stared dazedly towards the rough door. My mind was blank, my fingers numb.
I have no idea how long I sat there. Minutes? Hours? Already my sense of time was growing hazy. Locked in the depths of fear, I couldn't think or move. My whole being was centered on the horror of what was happening to me and the hopelessness of everything.
A point of cold, frozen ice touching my arm made my jump. Crouched, unnoticed, by my leg was that peculiar rat from before. Its blue eyes were staring into mine, one small, chill paw was resting softly on my leg. It must have bumped me with its nose. A flicker of a smile crept onto my face at the rat's seeming display of concern, but then I noticed what it was standing on.
My eyes widened. "Get off of that!" Screaming, I batted the rat across the room with the back of my hand. I scooped the slightly damp photograph off the ground and cradled it to my chest; I must have dropped it earlier. Glaring across the room, not even conscious of the fact that I had shifted into ghost mode, I watched the rat shake itself before slinking along the far wall and vanishing under the cot. "Don't touch my family," I whispered to the empty room.
Clutching the picture to me, I curled up into a little ball. "I won't let anything happen to you," I vowed. I carefully touched each person in the picture before pressing it back against my chest. "I promise. I'd do anything to save you."
I was still sitting there hours later when the guards came for me.
"You're fighting Doric today," Former said as he moved his hand over a line of text in his humongous book. "Class J newbie. Shouldn't be much of a fight."
I was back in human mode, staring down at the stones that made up the floor. "You need a rug," I muttered aimlessly. My mind was still back in my cell, focused on the photograph of my family. The guards had, despite my protests, yanked the picture out of my fingers, crinkled it up into a ball, and tossed it into a corner. It was probably ruined by the water on the floor.
My dazed eyes watched the toe of my shoes dig into the roughly-hewn stones. I was barely registering what the dark man was saying. "…barely can fly, much less put up much of a struggle. Don't know why the warden picked you two to fight…" I let his voice drift through me as my mind slid in and out of focus.
Suddenly, my head was twisted around. Former's strong fingers were clenched around my chin, pulling my eyes up into his. "Focus," he snapped. "Or do you want to lose?"
I blinked at him. Do I want to lose? Do I? Just stop all this nonsense?
His brown eyes softened. "You're just a kid," he whispered, "but you can't give up. Not yet. You can beat this."
I can beat this? How can I beat Walker? He's two steps ahead of me and there's nothing I can do about it.
His fingers were warm on my chin. They slid over to grasp my shoulder tightly, his eyes never wavering. "You can," he muttered softly. "I'm not completely sure what you are, kid," a hint of a smile dusted his face, "but I believe in you."
I closed my eyes, wrapping my arms tightly around my still throbbing stomach.
"I've watched hundreds of humans and ghosts lose the fight before they even walk into those pits," Former sighed. "You can see it in their eyes. They stop caring, their minds break, and Walker wins. Each time someone gives up, Walker gets a little stronger. He wins a little more." Former's voice trailed off, like he was lost in a distant memory. "But each soul that fights weakens him. Every person that doesn't give in to him wins, no matter the outcome of the actual fight."
"Besides," he said lightly, "don't you have anything to fight for?"
Mom… Dad… Jazz… I'd do anything to save them…
"You can't give up yet."
I opened my eyes to smile sadly at him. "You're right," I whispered.
His eyes flickered from my mouth back to my eyes. "I'm always right," his eyes sparkled. Then his forehead furrowed, eyes drifting over my muck-covered clothes and the dried ectoplasm in my hair. "Didn't they remember to give you a shower yesterday?"
Shooting him a small smile, I shook my head.
The guards pushed me towards the ground, using me as a launch pad to get past the shield as quickly as possible. I stumbled in the muddy sand; it was slippery and dark with gallons of spilt blood and ectoplasm. The cheers and screams of the crowd cranked up in volume as I went ghost. Sliver light sparkled around me: my dirty clothes became jet black, my white hair flopped into my electric eyes, and my blades flashed into existence once more. I tensed, crouching low to the ground as I searched for my opponent.
I was, for once, ready to defend myself the second the guards had let me go.
However… nothing was attacking.
I straightened, my eyes straining in the dim lights of pit two. There was a shape at the other side of the pit, short, squat, and vaguely glowing. I raised my blades defensively before me, waiting for the ghost to attack.
It didn't move.
My mind was screaming in a dozen different directions as it tried to figure out what was going on. Is this some kind of plot? Does he have a special power that lets him attack from a distance? I waited, tense, at my end of the pit.
And still the ghost didn't move.
Around me, the crowd was getting louder. They were screaming and hollering, the ghost shield above my head flickering and flashing as it deflected various thrown bits of trash. Apparently they wanted me to do something. Although I loathed doing what those blood-thirsty idiots wanted, they did have a point. Standing still was getting nothing done.
Carefully, I took a step forward. The noise level in the pit instantly dropped as I gained the crowd's attention. Another step, squinting my eyes to see in the deep shadows. A third step. The short figure didn't move.
A dozen slow paces later and I was standing just outside the ghost's reach. I stared down at him in amazement. The ghost was barely human – thick, black fur stuck out of the various rips and holes of his muddy Pits uniform. Two rounded ears poked out of his long, matted hair and his fingers were tipped with silvery claws. Most surprising was the long, snake-like tail.
I shifted, my blades clinking together softly, feeling like I was tapping my fingers together. The ghost's ears twitched, and instantly he was on his feet. The coarse, black fur continued on his human-like face, ruffled and muddy. He snarled at me, fang-like teeth flashing in the dim light, and he leapt backwards out of my reach. Landing in a crouch, the ghost growled and tensed its claws. Two dimly glowing green eyes stared at me though the darkness.
Slipping into a simple battle stance, blades crossed at about neck level, I waited, watching the ghost. Every time the panther-human ghost shifted, I tensed, ready for his attack. Every time I tensed, I watched him freeze, claws ready. It was like a bad dance.
That was went I noticed it. A pearlescent tear trickling down the furred cheek. I blinked, trying hard to figure that one out. Why would the ghost be crying?
Then, slowly, I lowered my blades. The ghost's eyes widened, watching me. By the time I had dropped them to my sides, the ghost had relaxed slightly, his hands dropping down away from his face. We stared at each other.
I got it. He didn't want to fight either. I smiled at him, watching him relax and shoot me an uneasy grin. "Phantom," I said, carefully pointing to myself.
The ghost nodded. "Doric," he purred. His voice was soft, his words mangled by the fangs in his mouth. "I no wish fight."
The volume of the crowd was growing again. They were screaming and yelling – bloody murder being shouted into oblivion. I spoke to him over the noise. "Why are you in here?"
"I not know," he said. "I not guilty of crimes." The ghost sank down onto his haunches, perfectly balanced on the balls of his feet in the muddy sand, tail curled tightly around his ankles. He rested his hands on his knees. "I wish leave. You know how?"
I shook my head.
"Fight," a dry voice commanded above our heads. I twisted around to glare at the person I knew that voice belong too. Our favorite ghost: the warden.
"He doesn't want to," I snapped back.
"So?" Walker leaned forwards in his throne-like chair, desiccated eyes glaring into mine. "There's only two ways out of this pit, boy."
"What he mean?" Doric asked softly, his green eyes flickering uneasily between me and the spectral sheriff.
I crossed my arms, carefully trying not to slice my own fingers off with those blades. Two ways out of the pit: either dead or the winner. What wonderful choices. "He doesn't want to fight."
"You want to fight," Walker rasped, his voice slicing easily through the raucous crowd. "Because you remember what will happen if you do not." Walker's bloody knife sparkled in the light from his box.
Oh yes. I remember. I could feel my eyes burn as they flared in anger.
I don't want to fight.
My eyes dropped to the bloody mud, gazing at the odd green and red swirls. They mixed and flowed around my feet, tie-dying my white shoes in a garish holiday pattern. For some reason, my mind fixed on the question of why human blood and ghost blood doesn't mix. Like oil and water. Like ghosts and humans.
"Fight," Walker hissed. He leaned back, smiling at me with his discolored teeth.
I don't want to fight. I haven't fought any ghosts yet, not really. I've always been on self-defense mode, I don't start the fights.
A thick stream of fresh, red blood trickled through the mud and flowed up against my shoe, staining my entire left foot a dark red. A vision of my mother, standing in the Pits like I was, flashed through my mind.
I closed my eyes. My father, lying dead on the ground before an insane ghost. My sister, running in terror, but being cut down. A cold wetness sparkled on my face as my brain pushed images of death and torture into my mind. If I didn't fight, if I lost, then there was no telling what Walker would do to them. He was crazy enough to do anything.
Walker asked me what my family meant to me. He asked what I'd do to protect them. I said I'd do anything. My fingers clenched into fists, my arms trembled with the tension that was flooding through me. I'd do anything to protect them.
When I looked up, Doric was staring at me, his eyes confused. Slowly, I raised my hands before me, sliding into a battle stance. The panther-ghost tensed, sliding back a step.
"Attack," I whispered.
He dropped into a lower crouch, his claws coming up to protect his face. "What going on?" he repeated.
"Attack me," I said, just a little louder. I took a step forwards, the blades glinting before my eyes.
"No," Doric said softly. "I no wish attack." He lowered his arms, his green eyes boring into mine. "And you neither."
I hesitated, watching the calm ghost gaze at me. Letting my blades drop a bit, one of the shiny surfaces caught the light and threw it into my eyes. I stared at the mirror-like flat of the blade, seeing my own green eyes gazing back at me. In the spectral green, I could see my family, standing together. They were counting on me. "No," I said quietly. "I don't want to fight." I brought the blades back up and turned my eyes on the ghost. "But I have to."
He blinked. "I do not." His eyes were calm.
Silence fell between us. "Then you will die."
He just stared at me. "If you kill."
"Fight," Walker prodded. The crowd picked it up, began to chant.
"Attack me." I took a few steps towards Doric, watching him back away from me. The black panther shook his head, long hair flying around him. "Fight me," I said again.
Again, Doric shook his head. "You wish fight," he whispered, barely loud enough to be heard over the chanting crowd, "not me to start it."
My teeth clenched. A picture of my mother, dying in the Pits, flittered through my brain. I would do anything… "Fight me!" I screamed, launching myself at the ghost.
He dodged, leaping away from my swiping blades. I landed on my feet, sliding in the muck and barely keeping my balance. Twisting around, I followed the panther's quick movements with my eyes. They must have been blazing with the roiling emotions I was feeling. I did not want to fight. Yet each time I hesitated, I could clearly see my family, dying because of me.
Sorrow, terror, panic, and the excitement brought on by adrenaline crashed together in my brain. My whole body was shaking with the energy that was coursing through it. Breath rasping in my tightening throat, my mind raced. To save my family, I needed to win this fight.
There can only be one winner.
The loser's consolation prize is quick, sure, and never deviating.
To live is to win. To lose is to die.
My family's lives rested on me winning this fight.
Winning this fight rested on me making sure the other ghost lost.
Making sure the other ghost… died…
To win, I needed to kill.
To save my family, I would do anything.
My eyes hardened. I'm sure that Doric saw me come to my conclusion, saw my body posture change. No longer was I going to be attacking him in the hopes that he would attack me back.
My feet slid apart, my legs flexing. Now I was attacking and I wasn't going to be holding back.
Doric was going to die.
I pushed against the ground, throwing myself into the air. The ground was too slippery for me to run on; I'd fall and be killed. Hovering above the ground, bloody mud dripping off of my shoes, I focused on the ghost.
Doric was crouched at the other end of the dim pit, silver claws out and ready to be used. His dim green eyes were staring at me, watching my every move.
I raised my arm, the blade pointing directly at the panther-ghost. Freezing ectoplasm swirled down my arm and pooled in my hand, making the silvery ectoluminum blade glow and sparkle. I spread my fingers, the blast charging. I released it… but it didn't do what I expected.
It should have just flown past my fingers. Instead, it swirled between my fingers then arched back over my wrist. My eyes widened as the green energy snaked around my arm, then cascaded up onto the blade. The energy collected on the silvery metal, flaring and building. It glowed brighter and brighter, until, with an almost audible crack, it blazed along the blade and blasted through the air.
The flare of energy slammed into the ground a few feet to Doric's left and exploded. I raised my arm to deflect the mud and blood that was flying through the air.
In the dead silence that followed, I could hear my own breathing rasping in the dry air. Hundreds of globs of mud sizzled against the ghost shield and Doric was lying, unmoving on the ground. The blast had formed a five-foot wide crater in the floor.
If you compare my normal ectoblasts to a standard police handgun – that blast had been a grenade launcher. I stared at the hole, barely noting that Doric had struggled to his feet and limped away from the crater. As the crowd started to whisper again, my eyes flickered down to the once-again silvery blades, then back up. What the…
Whimpering filtered into my ears. I glanced up, dazed, and flinched away from the terror-filled eyes of my opponent. My feet unexpectedly hit the ground and I stumbled a bit. My brain wasn't working; it was backfiring steadily. What…
"Fight," Walker's voice sliced through the silence. The crowd picked up on his raspy command, echoing it around the huge space. "Fight, fight, fight, fight."
I glanced back down at my blades, then focused on the limping Doric. Think about it later. A vision of my family locked in the dark flooded through my mind. I can't think about it now.
I drifted back up into the air, carefully to keep my hands from forming ectoblasts. I glared at Doric, my mind settling back into battle mode. I need to fight.
Throwing myself through the air, I listened to the air whistle past the sharp edges of the blade as I raced through the air towards the panther-ghost. At the last instant, Doric dodged to the side, his claws snaking out to tag my leg. I yelped, clamping a hand over my sliced leg. I turned, still hovering, watching Doric limp away from me. He glanced over his shoulder at me, eyes wide in fear.
With his back turned, I blasted towards him, my blades up to cut at him. He never knew I was coming… or he knew and refused to turn back to look. My mind whirled as it began to comprehend what was about to happen. My arm reached back, then began to slash through the air towards Doric's back. My whole body spun, giving the blade more force.
The blade sliced through the air, ectoplasm fizzing along its length. Just before it carved into Doric, the silvery blade suddenly flared an electric emerald, the sword nearly doubling in length and sending sparks of energy drifting into the air. The blade sliced straight through the ghost's middle with barely any resistance.
My body had too much momentum. I continued to twist around, crashing into Doric's top half. It separated easily from the bottom half, the panther-ghost falling apart. I let my body slam into the mud, rolling to a stop, chest down in the mud.
As the crowd exploded, the roar becoming deafening, I tuned them out. Beside me, Doric disintegrated into nothing, his ectoplasm joining the rest to turn the muddy sand a bit more green. But I did nothing. I just laid there, cold, green mud seeping into my clothes, blood drying in my hair and stinging in my eyes, and cried.
I would do anything…
The young woman's eyes widened as she read the notebook. "He… he… murdered that poor ghost? I never would have thought he'd sink to that."
She grabbed another hand-full of her slightly-blue food and popped it into her mouth. "It's not all that bad," she mumbled.
"Interesting," she sighed, "but what about this rebel ghost in green? And LJ? I want to know more about them. And, come to think about it, doesn't this half-ghost have any ghost friends? Why don't they come to rescue him? Why hasn't his human family shown up yet?"
Captured by the story, wondering at the answers to her questions and what horrors the ghostly warden would pull next, she flipped the page…