Edited February 2008
Pits
A Danny Phantom FanFiction by Cordria
Page 7
I sat on my hard cot, staring blankly at the wall, ignoring the icy water dripping off of my black bangs and trickling down my back. Over and over again, I went over the fight in my head. The girl, standing there, alive… and then blankness. A blur of colors.
What happened?
My fingers clenched into tight fists, my fingernails digging into my palms. The entire fight was gone from my mind, vanished like it had never happened.
I…
I...
I killed…
My stomach twisted, heaving. With a gasp, I raced over to the hole that served as a toilet, runny, noxious, slight glowing liquid burning up my throat and out of my mouth. I moaned, dropping my head into my hands, and swallowed hard.
Holding perfectly still, I tried to ignore the growing pounding in my head and the aching of my body. The horrible taste of radioactive bile was coating every surface of my mouth, trying its best to compete with the throbbing of my brain for what was worse. Finally, I stuck my finger into my mouth and quickly scrubbed at my teeth, spitting out everything I could.
I dragged myself away from the corner, pulling myself tiredly back onto my bed. Every muscle in my body ached distantly, so finding a comfortable position was nearly impossible. I ended up on my back, head cushioned by the wafer-thin pillow, the blanket pulled around me.
The ghost lights were dancing away in my blurred vision. The two green lights swirled around a single blue light like picadors at a bull fight, racing in to touch the blue light before streaking away, dodging and skittering around the ceiling, ricocheting off walls like a giant pinball game.
A small smile flickered onto my face at their random antics. My eyes drifted closed, the tenderness in my body making it hard to think. The death of that little girl was out staged by the pounding drums of my headache.
Barely conscious, I rolled onto my side, the cool stones of the wall inches from me. With my forehead pressed against the welcoming cold of the rocks, my eyes drifted closed.
"Hi-ya dipstick."
I screamed, digging my fingers into my black hair. Actually, it was such a good release for the frustration building up in me that I kept it up a bit longer than necessary. Before too long, I ran out of breath and had to stop.
"You done?" Ember strummed her guitar, sending soft melodies floating through the air.
I closed my eyes, debating screaming again. It had felt very good. "Why are you still here?" I moaned. "I accepted the fact that I'm killing ghosts."
"Am I annoying or something?" She laughed slightly, humming along to her tune.
"Like a bad plot device," I muttered. "I don't even like that world-conquering siren." I looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. "Who are you, really? I know you're not Ember."
Her fingers danced on the strings, not talking. "On the one hand, you know exactly who I am." She flicked a smile in my direction. "On the other, I'm not sure you can handle who I really am. You're ignoring what you know for a reason."
Rolling my eyes at her horrible logic, I sighed. "Fine. But why are you here?"
She sent me a half-grin, her melody picking up speed. "I'm here to protect you."
"Protect me? From what?"
She let the song float in the air for a moment, one hand coming up to point over my shoulder. "From a number of things – but mostly from him."
Before I could turn around, a cold shiver drifted down my spine. "Your nightmare isn't over yet," a deep voice hissed in my ear.
My eyes widened – I remembered that voice perfectly. I twisted around, my heart pounding in my throat. Floating just to my right, blue skin glowing, hair flaming, red eyes blazing… was me.
"Hi, Danny," Dan sneered.
I backed away from him, tripping over my feet and tumbling to the ground. "But… but… you're trapped in a thermos!"
Dan chuckled, malevolence slicing through the air. "Oh yes, I'm trapped in a thermos all right." The powerful being shook his head slowly. "How stupid was I growing up? We're inside your head."
"He's just a memory," Ember said, walking over and crouching next to me. "A piece of your mind. He's not real."
"Not yet," Dan hissed.
I was glancing from Ember to Dan and back, my eyes wide with panic. "He's in a thermos." I repeated dully.
The siren looked at me, her emerald eyes gazing deep enough into my eyes to dig around in my brain. She leaned back on her heels, shaking her head. "Don't worry about him. I'm here to protect you, I told you that."
"You can't stop destiny," the evil spirit snarled. "I'm destiny."
Ember ignored him, her eyes calm. I stared over her shoulder into the bloody eyes of my older counterpart. Inching backwards, I felt the hard wall suddenly press into my back. "He's in a thermos," I whispered once more.
"Yes," she sighed, standing up. Her guitar swirled into existence under her fingers with a flame of energy. She fiddled with the knobs for a second, then strummed down hard. The blast of power slammed out of her guitar and into Dan – blowing him into mist.
She stood there, staring at the disintegrating ruddy mist. "Why…" I asked hesitantly when she didn't turn around for a few seconds. "Why is he in my head?"
"Because he's a part of you," she answered softly. "You really need to fight him, not me. I can't defeat him; I'm not you." She blinked, then shrugged. "Well, I'm not you you, anyways," she added cryptically.
I got to my feet, staggering slightly as my headache made the pit spin in giddy circles. "You did a pretty good job."
"It's not permanent – he'll be back." Her eyes flickered over to mine. "You need to destroy him."
"Oh yeah? How? He's trapped in a thermos and I'm trapped in the Pits."
"Not the real Dan," she sighed, "this Dan. The one in your head. The one feeding off of your evil tendencies."
"Evil?" I whispered.
"Yes. The part of you that thinks you are evil for killing those ghosts, for murdering that girl, for destroying your friends." Her emerald eyes drifted off of me and trailed around the room. "The part of you that thinks you deserve to be here." Her smile was fierce. "That Dan."
We were silent for a moment. I gazed down at the ground, for the first time noticing that it wasn't the slippery muck I was used to, but soft sand. Slowly, I traced my toes through the warm sand, refusing to think about what she was trying to bring up. "Who are you, really?" I asked softly. "Not Ember, I know that. But who are you?"
"You already…"
"I already know," I cut her off. "So you've said. But I don't know." I glared at her, ignoring the way she took a few steps backwards. "Who are you? Why Ember?"
"I needed to look like someone you'd listen to," she said softly.
"Ember?" I yelped in disbelief. "What made you think I'd listen to Ember?"
"I don't know," her voice was sour and flat and defeated, "but for some reason you do. At least, you listen to her more than you'd listen to me." Her chuckle was morose.
"Who are you?"
She dropped her guitar to the ground, letting it dissolve away. "I'm you," she whispered, her eyes not meeting mine. "I'm just trying to help." Ember's form flickered and misted, vanishing and leaving a smaller form behind. The specter had on my normal uniform – black on silver-white – with shocking snowy hair. "I'm sorry," my own voice stuttered from the figure, "The part of you that's me… I just didn't want to die."
Suddenly, he looked up at me, my own blue eyes gazing into his supernaturally green ones. Deep down, fear started to tug at me, pulling at my mind, but I couldn't look away from what I saw in those eyes.
A scream ripped through the pit, the tiny ball of blonde hair curling up on the floor in terror.
A flash of silver-green blades.
A wash of blood.
"No…" I whispered, backing away. "No…"
Those dark, depressed, slightly crazed emerald eyes followed me as darkness swirled around me.
"I'm sorry," my voice whispered to me.
I woke up, sobbing, in my cell, the new blanket clutched to me.
It was yet another visitor to my forlorn and forgotten cell. I didn't even look up as he cracked the door open and slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind him. "What was her name?" I asked dully as he stood in the doorway, watching me.
When he didn't answer, I turned to glare at him. "Tell me her name!" I snapped, wincing away from the sharp sound, my head still pounding.
Former shook his head. "Who are you?" he asked me softly, taking a step closer.
"Stay away from me," I snarled. I twisted around, turning my back to him, ignoring him.
A warm hand touching my shoulder made me jump. I swiveled my head on my shoulders, refusing to say anything but stare up at him. He just blinked at my darkest glower, not even flinching from the emerald light that swirled into my irises. "Will you let me explain?" Caramel eyes met me stare for stare; one hostile and tense, the other sad and wistful.
"What was her name?" I repeated, letting my anger settle a bit. The cool burning in my eyes faded slowly away.
"Rose," Former whispered. "Her name was Rose."
I relaxed the rest of the way, letting my eyes close and my head drop a bit. "Rose," I breathed, vowing never to forget that name.
After a second of silence, the hand tightened on my shoulder and I glanced back up. "Let me explain?" he asked softly.
Not quite forgiving him, I nodded slowly. I would love to know why I had to kill that little girl.
"You have two forms?" he wrinkled his forehead in thought, "one's a ghost?"
Confused by the question, I nodded again, twisting my entire body around so that I faced him. If this was going to be long, it wasn't really worth getting a sore neck
He sent me a short smile. "Could you take your ghost form?"
I blinked, tipping my head to the side. "Why?"
"It's easier. I'll explain in a second." He watched me watch him, then he sighed. "I'll answer any questions you want, just… please."
My stomach swirled as energy buzzed in my head, silver light sparkling against the cold walls. I suppressed an unconscious grin as power fizzled in me, flooding my nerves with delicious tingling. Gravity vanished, my own mind taking on the task of keeping me on the cot and not floating up into the air. "What else do you know about her?" I demanded, my eyes hard.
Former's face split into a grin. "That's spectacular," he breathed. "It makes no sense, but yet it's the only reasonable explanation." He looked into my eyes, shaking his head, then let the smile fade from his face. "Rose was from a foster home, she didn't have a family."
"A foster home in Amity Park?"
He blinked at me, then shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose it's possible. Walker sends ghosts out into the human world every so often to pick up kids that have odd abilities. Things that separate them from the rest of the world." Former settled down onto the cot next to me, his eyes lost and unfocused. "Rose had probably been exposed to high levels of ectoplasm at some point in her life. She could see ghosts even when they were invisible." He glanced at me, then back down.
"So…" I tried to figure this out in my head, " Walker's killing people that might be a problem for him later in life?"
Former shook his head, not ever looking up at me. "No, Walker's looking for employees."
I snorted, watching him carefully. Again, the dark man never looked up as I spoke. "So why did I kill her?"
"He offers you a choice," Former whispered. "Work or Pit fighting. Rose refused to work."
I bit back my first snapped question, why did you pair me up with her, in favor of a slightly less diplomatic one. "Why did you make me kill her?"
Former's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "I didn't," he said.
"You set up the fights," my eyes began to burn as energy swirled around me. The blades on my arms fizzled and popped as green light flared around them for a second.
"Not yours." The large man shook his head. " Walker's setting up your fights on his own."
I closed my eyes, rubbing my temples, frustrated energy boiling away, leaving my body aching for that comforting feeling of power. "I suppose that makes sense."
" Walker doesn't like you much," he said sourly.
A smile flickered onto my face. "Yeah," I laughed softly, "that's an understatement."
Former matched my sad grin, then looked up at the ghost lights dancing around the ceiling. They swirled and bobbed and raced and twirled, never stopping their eternal, silent ballet. "You've only got three," he said suddenly, "shouldn't you have more?"
"Huh?"
He glanced at me, then shook his head. "Never mind." He watched them flicker for a moment longer. "My lunch break is only so long. Any other questions?"
I narrowed my eyes, fighting the desire to spill all the questions in that were in my head. Who are you? Where did you come from? Why are you here? Why do you do what you do? Why don't you fight him? What's wrong with you? What's with the Pits? How do I escape? Why can't I walk through the wall and the rat can? All those wonderful questions, free reign with answers… and the question that popped out of my mouth was, "Why am I a ghost right now?"
Former started to laugh. "That's an odd question."
"Not really," I snapped, annoyed with myself that I had asked such a bizarre question.
He sighed. "It's a long, complicated answer. You sure you want to know?"
I nodded, not taking my eyes off of him. "Can you give me the short answer?"
"I'm deaf." He looked at me out of the corner of my eyes, snickering at my confused expression. "Would you like the slightly longer answer?"
No reply seemed necessary, so I just sat back, carefully crossing my arms. The blades snicked against each other with a light noise like a bell ringing. Behind Former's head, the three ghost lights froze for an instant at the sound before spinning like crazy tops and continuing their dance.
"When I was born, I could hear just fine. Something happened to me when I was five, and I lost my ability to hear." From the tone of his voice, he knew precisely what that something was, but it clearly fell in the not-going-to-talk-about-it category. "I was put into foster care when both my parents died a little later. As the troubled, deaf kid, my chances of getting adopted were small." He hesitated, lost in a memory. "To cut a long story short, I was adopted by two people when I was fourteen – a man named James and a woman named Penelope. Something was up with them, I knew that right off the bat. I hadn't heard anything for nearly ten years, but I could hear James and Penelope. James was so excited. To me, it was so strange, hearing voices again. But only theirs."
"Why?" I broke in, startled.
He grinned. "Turns out I have one of those unique abilities like Rose did. I can't hear a word any human says, but I can hear ghosts just fine."
I blinked at him, comprehension dawning. "That's why I'm a ghost… so you can hear me?"
Nodding, he added, "I can kind of hear you when you're a human too. It was so weird the first time I heard you talk. It's kind of like hearing someone talking through water." He chuckled. "I spent hours trying to figure you out. Never would have guessed you to be part ghost."
"So, how'd you end up here?"
Former sighed, his caramel eyes closing. "I was ready to be happy, to have a family again. I was so excited to be adopted, to have a mother and a father." He was silent for the longest time. Then he chuckled morosely. "I wish they never would have stepped foot in that foster home. I never liked it, but…"
A strange sensation was starting in the pit of my stomach. James and Penelope. I knew those names. But it wasn't possible, was it?"
"We were an hour out of the foster home, driving to some strange place in Wisconsin, when I finally got up the nerve to ask my new parents why I could hear them. They explained it was because I had the special ability to hear ghosts – and always know if they are telling the truth or not." Former shivered. "I remember him smiling at me so broadly, my own confusion that I couldn't put together the facts."
"You could hear them because they were ghosts," I breathed, the thoughts coalescing even inside my aching brain.
"Exactly," he whispered.
"James… James Walker…"
He nodded, shutting his eyes. "And Penelope Spectra."
I couldn't get my head around it. I blinked, pushing myself off the cot and hovering in mid-air without really noticing. " Walker's… Walker's… your father?"
"No!" Former snapped. "He's not! My only father died fifteen years ago." The silence that fell between us was deafening. Finally, Former spoke again. "They brought me here, gave me a job to do."
"Why don't you run away? Or fight him? You're not locked up."
He got up off the cot, walking to the door, head bowed, apparently ignoring my question. Hand resting on the doorknob, he turned back to me. "You're right, there are no locks or chains holding me here."
"Then what?"
He tipped his head to the side. "Same reason you killed all those ghosts. Same reason you killed that little human girl. Same reason you'll kill the next person thrown in the arena with you."
The door opened, the guards peaking around the corner at us, waving at Former to leave the room. "I thought your family was dead."
Former shivered. "My parents are dead," he whispered so softly I could barely hear him. Then the door shut and I was alone with my thoughts.
Alone except the dancing ghost lights. For no reason, my head still full of Former's story, I tapped the blades together, listening to the haunting ringing noise. The ghost lights all froze, seeming to stare at me for a second. I just stretched out in mid-air on my back and watched them begin to dance in a frenzy, half-wishing I had asked a Former better question and half-hoping he would come back to talk to me again.
But I was alone, except for my headache and the memories of those I'd killed.
Two naps, three meals, and an eternity of staring up at the dancing green and blue lights, I was officially bored. Once you've more-or-less come to grips with the deaths of those ghosts that have been murdered… and not willing to contemplate odd, stress-driven dreams… being trapped in a small room with nobody to talk to and nothing to do is boring. Dear reader, I'm not sure you've gotten to this point yet, but let me assure you that it is coming. This room? A boring, depressing hole.
I was also slowly losing my grasp on the feeling of time, so I wasn't entirely sure how much time had really gone by. If I had to haphazard guess, I'd figure two days. It might have been lots more; it might have been quite a bit less.
Random boredom leads the human mind to do weird things. Ghosts can put themselves on 'hold' and just sit there, but humans lack that ability. As I found out, ghost form or human form, hybrids such as myself lack that nice ability also. So, my mind started to find things to do.
There are 315 stones in my ceiling, ranging in size from slightly bigger than my head to about the size of my fist. If you include the walls and the floor, that number increases to either 1,983 or 1,986, I haven't quite decided as my count changes every time. There is a stone just to the right of the door that looks kind of like a square with a black dot on it that is actually loose. Wigging the rock, you can yank it out and there is a small hole back there, but other than that, it's just a tiny hole. It takes exactly five steps to cross my room, about four-and-a-half going the other way, and three steps from floor to ceiling if you happen to be a ghost pacing up and down the walls. There are eighteen knots in the wood that makes up the bottom of my cot, and sixty-three in the door. The number of stones in my room times the number of knots in the wood equals some huge number that I'm not bored enough to figure out… yet.
The entire time – all those countless hours – I was stuck in my cell with nobody to talk to. My headache receded and came back with a vengeance any number of times, bringing dizzying bouts of nausea with it. My whole skin seemed to be on fire at times, aching and burning. Going to ghost mode relieved the pain for awhile, the cool energy of ectoplasm soothing the sensitive, singing feeling, but it inevitably returned.
Finally, I just curled up on the cot and closed my eyes, letting the fiery sensation wash over me. The sound of something rattling my food bowl made me look up, but I sighed when it was just that stupid rat. "Hello again," I muttered, dropping back down onto the pillow. "That stuff isn't really edible," I offered helpfully, "so I don't think you'll want much."
There was, quite predictably, no answer from the rat. It scuffled around in the food for a few more moments before disappearing back under my cot.
I rolled onto my stomach, sticking my head over the edge of the cot to peer into the dark corner. As usual, the rat was nowhere to be seen. "I would kill to know how you do that," I muttered. "Ghosts and humans can't walk through walls… so how can you?"
I snarled sourly. "This stupid place is a mystery wrapped up in an enigma, you know that?" I asked the empty air. "In the human world, ghosts can walk through walls. In the ghost zone, humans can walk through walls. Neither of us can here." I scowled, drumming my fingers against the wooden side of the cot. "So…" an odd thought crossed my mind, "am I even in the ghost zone?"
"Ah!" I dropped my head onto the pillow, burying my face into its thin softness. "This is so stupid. Where else could I freaking be. Of course I'm in the ghost zone. Look at all the ghosts." Reaching my hands under the pillow to stretch, my fingers brushed against the small horde of treasures I'd collected.
The crispy picture of my family came out first, followed by the blood splattered scrunchie. I stared at them, held tightly in my fingers, the objects a clear symbol of why I'm alive. Why I fight.
My family was still alive, although probably desperate to know where I am. Slowly, almost sadly, I brushed my finger over the picture of my parents, wondering if Jazz ever told them that I was really half ghost. She always said that she put me before some stupid secret. She had to have told them by now – maybe they were even searching the ghost zone for me.
And the scrunchie. Sam and Tucker… dead. I shivered, pushing the family photo back under the pillow. I gazed at the purple hair tie, pictures of Sam drifting into my head. The fact that Tucker might be dead was horrible, but Sam… that was a whole new level of pain. It felt like something had been torn from me. A piece of my soul that had gone missing.
My eyes closed, fingers clenching around the bloody purple scrunchie. I pressed my fist against my forehead, letting my mind drift. I could see Sam in my head. For a second, all I could see what that vague image of Sam running away from me in terror, but I pushed it away. Finally, she was smiling at me, her soft hair blowing in an unseen breeze. A smile slid onto my face as I watched her laugh at something, reaching her fingers up to play with her green scrunchie.
I froze, the image of Sam engraving itself into my mind. The green scrunchie almost seemed to glow against her dark hair.
Slowly, I opened my fist and stared down at the purple scrunchie Walker had given me.
I was still laughing when the guards came to get me for my next fight.
I trudged out into the assigned pit with a weary reluctance. I was back in pit two… the one that was trying its best to be completely dark but yet still offer the crowds something to see. The guards behind me were tense, waiting for me to do something to resist our forward momentum, but I did nothing.
The silky-sweet taste of fear and terror wasn't tainting the air, so I assumed that my opponent was a ghost this time around. I didn't have any idea what was coming; Former had refused to talk to me, to even look at me, really. I had even changed into my ghost form so that I know he could hear me, but he hadn't said anything.
"Have a good fight," was all he had said as I was pushed out the door.
And so, here I was, heading out to a fight to kill another opponent I knew nothing about. A ghost – or so I hoped. Ghost's deaths were easier to think about than human deaths, however morbid and wrong the thought of killing anything was.
I hesitated before stepping onto the muddy sand of the pit, realizing with a sinking feeling that this fight was taking place rather late in the day. The ectoplasm and human blood was almost flooding the arena. So many had already died…
Slowly, against my will, I was pushed out into the pit. My first step sunk into the muddy ground beyond my ankle and I had to phase my leg to keep from getting stuck. It took just a few strides to realize that it wasn't getting any better – if anything, it was getting worse. Finally employing my mind, I kept my feet from sinking into the mud and tripping me up.
But it was still horrible to think about what I was walking on. How many souls had been snuffed out to create this macabre bog…
The guards, as usual, gave me a rough push when they reached my starting spot. I fell into a crouch, trying to keep from dropping into the mud. After a moment to regain my balance, my eyes were scanning the pit, searching for my opponent.
The ghost wasn't too hard to spot.
The darkness seemed to condense in one corner, hiding the walls completely from view. That's where the ghost was, I knew that. But I was still surprised when a glob of the blackness seemed to break away from the others and take a solitary step forwards. The dark was pervasive; the only thing I was able to make out by the dim overhead lights was something silvery and sharp that gleamed and sparkled.
Another step out of the darkness and the black glob suddenly developed eyes. A shimmering icy blue, they stared at me, narrowed and focused. I shivered under their unhesitating glare, taking a small step backwards. "Hello?" I said stupidly, my voice quavering. What I had hoped to accomplish by greeting this thing I will never know.
It replied rather simply. It chuckled. The chill, freezing sound drifted out through the pit, ringing deep inside my soul. "Hello, my pretty oyster," malice dripped from his tenor voice. He twisted his hand, the gleaming silver metal dipping sideways. For the first time, I got a good look at his weapon: it was a deadly-looking scythe. "Would you like to play?"
A blast of cold wind shot from the ghost. It picked up mud and blood as it raced towards me, gaining strength. By the time it hit me, it was a wall of gale-force wind. I crouched down, raising my hands to try to keep the picked-up gunk from getting in my eyes, but the force of the wind was too great. It picked me up like I was nothing more than a small twig and slammed me backwards into the pit walls. For a few seconds it held me there, helpless and unable to move. Then, just as suddenly as it appeared, the mini tornado was gone.
I staggered as I hit the ground, barely keeping my feet. Reddish and greenish mud was burning in my eyes and fouling my mouth – I didn't spare the scythe-bearing ghost a second thought. I rubbed my eyes and spat out the iron and pepper flavored muck, completely forgetting that I just could have turned intangible for a second.
Instincts screamed at me between gasps for breath and I ducked, a whir of sound passing right over my head. Fighting to get my eyes open, I backpedaled, following the curve of the wall with one hand. Finally I could see, blinking through tears.
The ghost was a few feet away, standing sideways to me, head turned in my direction. I could feel my breath catch in my throat as I stared in wondrous fear. Shrouded in a ragged black cape, the only features that could be seen were his two, glowing, malicious eyes and the silvery gleam of its sickle. Darkness seemed to coalesce around its feet, billowing away like fog. He was the freaking Grim Reaper.
"I am Muerto," the ghost said calmly, his deadly voice cutting to my very core. "And you, little oyster, have just survived longer than any other ghost before you." The scythe was lowered to point in my direction. "Congratulations are in order." Muerto's speech was perfect, enunciating every sound, his words cutting off cleanly.
"Now what?" I asked shakily, still backing away. This ghost was radiating evil power. The last thing I wanted to do what fight him.
"Do you like poetry young oyster?"
I blinked, started by the question. "What?"
"Poetry. Poe, Carroll, and the like." The clarification was accompanied by a sideways tip of his head.
Slowly I shook my head. "Not really."
"A pity," he sighed. "Then you won't have nearly as much fun, tasty oyster. Which do you think – am I more a walrus or a carpenter?"
"What?" I whispered, completely confused.
The sickle sliced through the air as he twirled it like a cheerleader's baton. "I suppose it doesn't matter, the oysters always die at the end, eaten by the two friends." He was silent for a moment, an air of mourning around him. Then he looked back up at me, his sapphire eyes shining. "So, let us remove you from your shell, little oyster."
Muerto attacked without seeming to move, his scythe crackling with icy blue power. It slipped through the air, cutting towards me at about neck height. Still scrambling and half-blinded by the muck that had been thrown at me, I stumbled to the ground, falling on my back. Instantly, Muerto was over me, the sharp point of his weapon pointing right at my nose. "Well," he said conversationally, "since you obviously are not well read on Lewis Carroll, let's try something else." He leaned over me, his chilly, rancid breath blowing in my face. "Quoth the raven, 'Nevermore.'"
I felt an icy hand gripping my chest, making my stomach churn and my brain freeze over. As the scythe's tip danced closer to my face, I could do nothing but watch it come, pressing myself deeper into the muck. "No," I whispered, my eyes closing involuntarily.
"Do I really need to protect you?" Ember rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "Can't you even fight this guy? He's just a stupid ghost pretending to be death.""But… but…" my argument trailed off as I stared at her, my mind still trying to figure out where she had come from. "Oh no," I whispered as the truth of the situation slammed into me. "I died and now I'm trapped with you forever."
She glared at me. "Idiot," she hissed. "You're not dead yet. But you will be if you don't get up and fight."
"I can't," I whined, pushing myself into a sitting position.
"Are you scared? Have you even tried?" she sneered. "Fight him."
"How?"
Suddenly she was right in front of me. Her façade faded away, leaving me staring straight into my own green eyes. "The power is in us. Fight him."
My eyes flickered open, focusing instantly on the point of the scythe grazing my nose.
"Fight him."
Power trickled through me, tickling against my senses like a cool breeze. Muero didn't seem to notice the dim glow of my hands as I pushed them into the frozen mud. I was still unable to move, the invisible, icy grip on my chest tightening, forcing my brain into spirals of panic and fear.
"Fight!"
All the sudden, energy exploded inside of me, racing away from me like an emerald wave. Muerto was tossed across the small pit, slamming against the wooden planks on the other side. As the fist inside my chest dissolved away, I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the loud cheers of the crowd.
"Stay off of me," I panted, rubbing my breast bone as I watched his shadowy form rise to his feet.
"Oh, young reader who so fears the demon's bird," Muerto breathed, his voice barely sounding over the raucous crowed, "say hello to poor Lenore when you see her." He slammed his staff into the mud before him, his azure eyes glowing like small suns. "Nevermore."
Blue-white lighting crackled around the blade of the scythe, arching and sparking, then raced down the length of the ebony staff. It plowed into the muddy ground like a small explosion, throwing gobs of muck in every direction. Deep cracks and crevasses snaked away from him, all of them racing in my direction, the sapphire lighting fizzling within their depths. A heartbeat, the blink of an eye, a half-thought – and they were at my feet, dancing within their holes.
Then, as one, they blazed upwards, slamming into my feet before I had a chance to do anything but comprehend that there was no escape. Burning pain etched across the soles of my feet and up my legs for a moment before I was tossed into the air. The power of the lightning was so great that I slammed – back first – into the shield still going full-speed.
The energy from the shield instantly sizzled into me, holding me in place for a few moments, extending the torture. I couldn't hold back the wild scream any more. It tore from my throat, echoing against the domed ceiling. I felt myself dropping away from the shield, the flaring, sharp pain fleeing from me slowly.
My fall halted a few feet from the ground… more due to the instinctive fear of how painful contact with any surface would be than any real desire to levitate on my part. My feet felt like they were on fire, my legs were twitching from the uncontrollable energy, and my back and head were sizzling from the shield. I raised my arm dimly, watching steam and smoke rising from the back of my hand. A painful chuckle almost slipped out of my mouth at the sight. The energy surge had dried all the mud, leaving only a thick coat of dust behind. I shook my hand, wincing at my aching muscles, watching the reddish- and greenish-tinted powder float down like ash to sprinkle on the muddy floor.
"You know," I rasped, twisting my head to stare in the direction of Muerto. The ghost was standing stiffly, his scythe held at attention. "I've read that poem – the one with the bird." A cough wracked through me, my body fighting to get the dust out of my lunge. "The reader, the writer – whatever – doesn't die."
Muerto tipped his head to the side, still calm and cool. "Really?"
"I always thought it was the raven that died in the end." I clenched my fingers, fighting to keep the flinch of pain out of my face, and energy tingled into existence around my fist. The cool power was numbing against the ache of my muscles.
"Poetry is in the eye of the beholder," Muerto agreed after a moment. "Perhaps the poem was a bad choice. However, it does not change the fact that you will not survive this day." The blue-white lightning once again began to dance along his black scythe. "Raven or reader, this poem has reached its end." I blinked, and by the time my eyes were open again, he was half way across the pit, crackling weapon aimed straight at me.
Fear and rage, hurt and pain commanded my movements. My brain no longer had any say in what was happening – I was moving on pure instinct and desire to survive. I ducked under another slice for my neck, my foot slamming out in a simple kick. A yelp of pain leaked from my lips when it connected with his chest, throwing him backwards for a moment.
Using the momentum from my kick, I flipped over in a neat back flip, making sure to stop my fall before I touched the ground. My burned feet hovering inches from the muck, I dropped into a crouch, watching Muerto collect himself. For a moment, I paused, my aching muscles screaming for me to stop moving. But I couldn't.
I had to finish this fight, and soon. My body couldn't stand up to much more of this.
We stared at each other, the sounds of the cheering, screaming crowds fading away, our whole existence focused on other. The blades sparkled out of the corner of my eye. Memories swirled into my brain, flitting fireflies in the darkness of the pit.
The energy 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. It exploded.
Another touched through me:
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.
Then a third:
Former laughed as he tightened the straps around my arms. "We only give these blades to humans, so you don't have to worry about Crusher having them. I heard that they used to give them to ghosts – back before humans in the Pits was legal – but some ghosts had some kind of psychosomatic connection with the ecto- part of the ectoluminum and made it kind of unfair. So now it's just humans like you and me."
Another memory on its heels:
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 its ghost form."
All within a heartbeat. Trembling slightly, I raised one blade up before my eyes, thoughts converging in my head. Spectral connection… the doctor's voice echoed. These blades are some kind of power source, some kind of filter… they make me stronger… They are a part of me…
Could I do it again?
Agonizingly wonderful energy cascaded through me like an approaching thunderstorm. It swept up from my burning feet, sliced through my stomach, exploded in my head with an almost audible roar, and coalesced in my outstretched hands with pinpricks of aching delight. I steadied it with my mind, forcing that raw energy into a simple sphere. I held it carefully, completely aware of the uncontrollable power between my palms.
Despite the aching pain in every pore of my body, I could barely bite back a grin as zaps of stray energy burst like little bubbles in my mind. The power was intoxicating. I set my gaze on Muerto, watched him back up a step at the display. But I wasn't just going to blast him like I would have normally.
I focused, channeling the energy back through my hands and up my arms. It fizzled, tickling, almost painful as it arced through me and collected on the two silvery blades. I could feel the power sparkling along the sharp edges, tingling against my nerves. Instantly they took on a greenish shine, sparking, hissing, steaming, and glowing in the dimness. Energy continued to build as I pushed it into the ectoluminum blades, the glow escalating until it had burned away the darkness of the pit.
If I would have been paying any attention to the pit's spectators, I would have noticed that they had grown completely silent and still, watching in growing horror and excitement. But my attention was fixed on Muerto, who was pressing his back against the wall as far from me as he could get.
I pointed a blade in his direction, my mind stuttering around the idea that I would have to kill. Again. "Nevermore," I said sadly.
Muerto nodded, dropping his hands to his side and letting his staff fall into the muck. Slowly, dejectedly, he raised his hands up and pushed the hood back off of his head. His white skin was burned and puckered, his skull cracked in places. "And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor," he whispered, closing his sapphire eyes, "shall be lifted – nevermore."
The attack was swift and silent. I buried the star-like blades in the ghost's chest, flinching away from the sudden cry of pain that escaped Muerto's burned lips, and released the build-up of energy.
The explosion sent me reeling across the room, throwing me into the far wall with a scream of pain. Although I halted my fall before I landed on the ground, every nerve of my body was shrieking in agony. Only one thought managed to squirm through the torture that was my form: Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop…
After a few deep breaths, the pain began to recede. Not by much, but my mind was able to start working again. It's one of the good things about ghosts: pain doesn't last very long. I just contented myself with hovering there, eyes firmly shut, trying desperately to push the agony out of my mind. The sooner I forgot about it, the quicker it would heal and be gone.
"Better," Ember's voice soothed. "I may not have to protect you too much after all."
"Stay out of my head," I hissed. "I didn't want to fight him."
"No," she said sadly, "we don't want to fight. But we have to, don't we?" For a moment – an eternal heartbeat – she was silent. "But it's not all bad, you know. Open your eyes."
Blinking tears out of my eyes, I forced my eyes to open, scanning the pit. Scattered around me were bits and pieces of evaporating ghost, a crowd that was slowly shaking off the surprise of my attack and beginning to cheer… but there was nothing else other than deep, dark shadows.
I sighed, turning around and leaving the remains of Muerto. My head was still spinning from the dizzying concoction of power that had flowed unchecked through my veins. Floating above the bloody, freezing muck, I headed towards the doors that would let me out of this awful place.
I hated this place. Briefly, my eyes shot up to me Walker's as he glowered down at me from his gilded throne. The warden was sitting back, arms crossed, a look of satisfaction on his face. I win, punk, I could hear his voice hissing in my mind. How could you ever think to defeat me?
My gaze flickered to the side, to the green enshrouded ghost standing in the crowd off to his right. Slowly, the ghost held up one hand, pointing a silver finger to the side. I followed his finger, blinking in surprise as I noted another ghost cloaked in dark green. Like the first one, this ghost was not partying and screaming like the rest. The new ghost was shorter, less bulky, and sent me a slow nod.
I blinked at them, fighting to prevent the grin forming on my face. I had no proof, I had nothing but feelings… but I knew these ghosts were there to help me. They had some kind of plan.
Twisting around away from the 'rebel' ghosts, for just a second my gaze fell on the thick, green mist that had once been Muerto. My breath caught in my throat and I choked, swallowing hard, forcing myself to accept what had happened. I couldn't panic… I couldn't let Walker win…
A small flicker of light rose out of the dispersing, glowing fog. It trembled, a tiny pinpoint of glowing green that hovered in the air. I stared at it, my mouth falling open in surprise as the light floated closer to me, coming to a standstill a hair's breadth from my nose. Suddenly it took off, dancing out of the pit with joyous little spins and twirls.
I watched it go, completely confused, but for some reason bizarrely happy.
The guards froze in place at my simple smile, eyes wide and deathly pale faces tense. I just floated past them out of the arena, ignoring the screaming crowds and mocking laughter.
Day six was over. Day seven… the "Day of the Wish" was here.
"What?" the young woman said, staring down words at the end of the page. "Wish?"
Then, very slowly, she reached down and picked up the object that had fallen from the back of the notebook. She gazed at the crumbled, scarred edges before letting her eyes drift over the glossy finish of the rest. Blood splatters, creases, wet spots, and grime made the picture almost impossible to make out - but it was there. A woman, dressed in blue, seated at a table, a look of fear and despair on her face. "His family?"
She flipped it over trailing her fingers over a few words she had spotted earlier. Almost illegible due to the water damage, it took her a while to figure it out. "A treasure hidden is worth the risk."
"What does that mean?" she wondered. Then she laughed. "He thinks he's got some mystery on his hands, trying to figure out why he can't walk through walls. Mine's better. Now you've just thrown another into my lap, mystery boy."
Suddenly she shivered, a distant scream drifting through the door. For a moment she held perfectly still, but then she relaxed and turned the page. But instead of reading, she just stared down at the words, the cramped writing blurring and dancing before her eyes..
"I can't read any more right now," she sighed. "I need a break. Besides, it's another one of those inserted pages by that mysterious ghost." Setting the notebook carefully under the bed, she stood up, stretching.
Before she could do much more than pace the room a few times, the heavy wooden door slammed open. She twirled around, gazing in horror at the figure in the doorway. A withered, skull-like head with an out-dated hat, raisin eyes and a huge, white coat. " Walker," she whispered, backing away and tripping over the cot.
As she scrambled into the corner, terror leaking out of her in waves, the warden stalked into the room. For a moment he held perfectly still, absorbing her intoxicating flavor of fear, but then he scowled. "Where is it?" he snarled. "Where is my treasure?!"
Lost under the cot, there was no one to open the notebook and read…