Pits
A Danny Phantom FanFiction by Cordria
Page 8
"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow," I moaned as the freezing water cascaded over my burned and abused body. I was still solidly in ghost form, floating a few inches off the floor; the desire to have my feet actually touch the ground was as far from my head as possible. Seven guards were arranged around the room, thirteen wary eyes watching my every movement.
Taking a deep breath, I plunged my aching head under the icy waterfall and let the liquid wash the blood and mud out of my hair. The water pounded into my skull, pressing against my closed eyes, trickling into my mouth, and spraying in my ears. Pushing the deadening pain out of my mind, I tried to relax. I let the blades hang loose at my sides and focused on enjoying the freezing water that was stealing away the burning pain.
Blue-white lightning crackled around the black-cloaked Muerto before it sizzled across the floor, throwing bits of mud in every direction. It slammed into me, frying my feet and sending my flying.
The memory made me wince as I shook the water out of my eyes. I pulled my foot up to examine the damage for the first time, hissing at the angry red blisters. Ignoring the guards – who were quietly whispering to themselves – I pressed a cool finger against one of the larger blisters. "Ow, ow, ow, ow!"
A guard roughly grabbed my arm and yanked me out of the shower. "Move it," he growled. Turning my gaze on him, I narrowed my eyes slightly, annoyed at the interruption. Surprisingly he took a small step backwards, blinking, his hand traveling to the small device attached to his belt. "Come on," he snapped, but his voice seemed to tremble slightly.
Muerto exploded, pieces of the powerful ghost spraying in every direction. A nameless, scared ghost cowered away from shining blades – but to no avail. Panther-like Doric sliced in two, Slasher's demented head falling from his shoulders, and poor Crusher's hands directing his final movements. Each of them dead. Each of them killed by my fingers.
I tipped my head to the side, studying the guard for a moment before raising one arm to study the blade now eternally attached to my pale, glowing skin. In the silvery shimmer of the ectoluminum, I could see the reflection of the weak guard, his widening eyes glowing brightly in the dim lights of the showers.
Just two seconds, that's all I would need. A twist on my heel, the blade could flash out and remove his head from his feeble body in one easy movement. While the ghost's blood splattered on the floor, a half-spin would get me in line to take out the others. Two seconds – and all seven of them would be gone, their chilly ectoplasm staining the floor a brilliant, electric green. They wouldn't stand a chance.
The smallest of grins flickered onto my face despite the aching of my body. I clenched my fingers, watching the lean muscles in my arms flex. It would be so easy, and then I'd be free…
But why stop there? We could destroy Walker… make him pay for everything he's done to us. We could rule, you know. Make the Ghost Zone ours – get rid of the Pits for good.
I blinked at the thought, my stomach turning over. "It'd be so easy," I whispered. My eyes drifted up to gaze into the terrified eyes of the guard that was fingering the device that would trigger the odd collar around my neck. "Just two seconds…"
But then who would I be? I hesitated, my fingers brushing softly against the freezing metal of the blades. A murderer in truth?
We'd be free. Isn't it worth it to be free?
"Is it?" Shaking my head, I lowered my arms. "Not today it's not. I'm not a murderer."
But it was too late. The frightened guard had already grabbed the small box off his belt and was rapidly pressing the button, backing away from me. The leather-skin collar around my neck exploded to life. Electricity zapped and zinged around me, tossing all my thoughts out of my head. Gritting my teeth, I refused to scream even as I collapsed to the ground on my knees, my feet shrieking in pain as they touched the floor. It was a small eternity before the fizzling pain faded.
"That'll teach him," the guard said, his voice still trembling through the false bravado.
I sat as still as possible while ignoring the agony of my feet; head bowed, arms relaxed, not wanting to let the guard see the small smile that had flickered across my face at his words. As if that would have stopped me if I wanted to escape. You would all be dead and scattered across the Ghost Zone before you could push that thrice-cursed button again. Hesitating, my smile vanished. Where did that thought come from? I don't even know what thrice means…
Drifting back up into the air, I let myself slide intangible for a moment. The icy water sluiced off of me as my gaze settled on the ghost still fingering his shock box. He blinked back at me, fear evident in his carbon-copy eyes. Fingers moved uncertainly over the button as he waited for me to attack, clearly confused by the odd expression on my face.
Not today, I thought, closing my eyes and pushing the pain away enough for me to get back to my room. I am not a murderer. I am not going to kill the guards.
As they escorted me back to my cell, each of them eyeing me carefully, shock boxes out and ready to be used in an instant, the thoughts still swirled around in my head. A tiny corner of my mind refused to shut up. It delighted in reveling in the idea of destroying the guards and going after Walker. Plan after plan was shoved into my mind, each one more bloody and devastating than the last.
And I could do nothing but drift along and listen.
I've got a new ghost light. Big surprise.
Human again – not that it really matters, dear reader – with my throbbing feet propped up on the edge of the cot; I had my arms behind my head, watching the lights dance around. Strangely, the lights seemed to be bobbing in time to the agony piercing my brain.
Three green lights and a blue light. The blue light was tiny next to the others, twirling and dashing quickly from one edge of the room to the other like a small child playing with its family. The green lights were slightly slower, but were still swirling like they were attached to some invisible fan.
The voice was still chiming away incessantly in my head. I was disgusted to find myself agreeing with some of the slimy, oily thoughts. It'd be so easy, the voice whispered soothingly, take out Walker and be free. Surely it can't be evil to destroy one who hurts so many. Be a hero. All the ghosts would be free of Walker's rule and the Pits would be shut down.
"A hero drenched in blood," I whispered, stretching a little. My whole body was aching again – tight and stretchy on my body and my stomach was ached, long past wanting to be fed and to the point of not wanting to eat anymore.
The free world was created by the ending of lives. Sometimes killing is necessary.
"Sometimes…"
Walker can pay for what he has done to all the innocent ghosts and humans. It's justice.
"Justice…" I shook my head. "What kind of justice would it be? I'd just be another Walker."
I pushed the thoughts out back into the corner of my mind, ignoring them. I wasn't going to turn into the creature I hated. I wasn't going to kill…
Blinking, my forehead creased in confusion. "But I want to kill Walker," I rasped, a bit of fear clawing at my stomach. "What would that make me? Another Walker?"
A hero, the bit of my mind inserted unhelpfully.
I shivered, closing my eyes. At first, I had hated fighting and killing. Then I had started to enjoy the fighting – but killing had still been wrong. Now… now… I was looking forward to killing. I wanted to destroy Walker. I wanted to make him pay for everything he had done to me and everybody else.
I wanted revenge.
The ghost lights danced wildly around my room as my head spun, unanswerable questions whirling in my brain. Should I kill Walker? Would that make me evil?
One of my teachers once said that no actions were completely evil or completely good. Everything was just various shades of grey. The characters in the story we were reading at the time were being tested to see how far they would go into 'the dark side.'
I wondered what color grey killing Walker would be.
I was still contemplating that some time later when I finally fell asleep, my dreams strangely blank and empty.
Suddenly I was awake, my eyes still shut, forcing myself to keep my breathing regular. I'd had a lot of practice over the past year of faking sleeping – and Jazz says I'm pretty good at it. I didn't want anyone to know I was awake until I knew what was there.
Click. The thick cell door was pushed open, frigid air gushing into the room for a moment before the door was carefully and quietly shut. Whoever it was obviously didn't know I was awake and wasn't trying to wake me up.
Breathe in, breathe out. I had to keep reminding myself to breathe normally despite the chill presence that was leaning over me. There was a metallic sound as something was dropped onto the floor.
Whoever was in my room pulled the blanket up around my shoulders. I clenched my fingers into tight fists, trying my best to keep my arms and shoulders from tensing when chill fingers brushed against my skin. Don't hold your breath - breathe in, breathe out.
A hand touched my forehead for a moment, feeling the heat radiating from my aching skin. I couldn't help the slight flinch at the cold fingers, but whoever it was didn't seem to notice. There was a slithering, light clacking sound for a moment from the ground by my bed, then the room when silent.
I stayed perfectly still for a few moments more, breathing, listening, straining to remain relaxed. Finally I couldn't handle it any more and one of my eyes cracked open.
The room was empty.
Slowly, cautiously, I rolled over, peaking under the cot. Nothing.
There was nothing in the room besides me.
Sitting up and blinking away a second of dizzy vertigo, I stared around me in amazed confusion. There was no place for anyone to have gone, and the door hadn't opened and closed again – I would have heard it.
But yet, here I was. Alone.
I sank back down, my head dropping back onto the thin pillow, my eyes drifting closed again. It was too much to think about. I was tired, my stomach was churning, and my whole body ached. I wish I was home right now.
My mind was off on a tangent I couldn't control. A memory was playing in my head of the last time I had felt this horrible. Mom had trundled me off to bed, setting up the DVD player in my room and letting me watch movies all day. Then she had made me chicken soup and crackers, bringing it up on a tray for me to eat in bed.
The memory was soothing, a feeling of comfort surrounding me even in this dismal little room. But when the mental image of my mother turned to me, my eyes jerked open in surprised horror – her face was blurry and unclear, her reassuring voice distant and vague. "Mom?" I murmured, anxiously trying to picture her in my head. Red-orange hair, intelligent eyes… but it wouldn't come.
One hand worked its way under my pillow, pulling out the creased and blood-splattered picture of my family. I studied their faces for a long moment. "I won't forget you," I promised softly, memorizing their familiar features.
"How long have I been in here to be forgetting what you look like? Weeks? Months?" I shook my head, letting my arm drop down onto my chest, the edge of the picture pressing into my palm. "I hate the fact that the Ghost Zone doesn't have time. I can't tell how long it's been."
Unable to keep my eyes open for a moment longer, I let my mind drift into the oblivion of feverish dreams. "I want to go home," I whispered sadly. "I just want to go home."
The next thing I knew a hard boot to my stomach jerked me awake. I curled up, arms clasped around my stomach, trying my best not to throw anything up. We don't get fed enough to throw the food back up. "Where is it, Punk?" a voice growled in my ear before I even had a chance to open my eyes.
I barely had a thought for Walker. My head was throbbing and every cell in my body seemed to be screaming in agony. "Where is what?" I managed to wheeze, trying to sit up. The room spun around my as I changed positions and my stomach lurched alarmingly. I swallowed hard and tried to focus my aching eyes on the warden.
"Talk!" he snarled, his raisin eyes glaring at me. "How did you get out of your cell to steal it?" He grabbed me roughly by the front of my brown-grey shirt and yanked me into the air. After shaking me roughly a few times, he settled on staring me down while keeping my toes from touching the ground.
My brain refused to process what he had just said. Despite the fact that the 'Terror of the Pits' was holding me up, ready to kill me, my head just couldn't seem to care. All I could think about what that I was sick and tired and hurt and starving. I blinked blearily at him, sluggishly trying to figure out what to say. "What?"
He screamed and threw me across the cell. Yelping when my aching body slammed hard against the rocky wall and tumbled to the ground, I kept my eyes closed, focusing on keeping what little I had eaten in my stomach. My brain couldn't keep up with this. It was stuck in 'confused' mode.
When the door slammed roughly shut, I glanced wearily around the room. Walker was gone. Crazy, insane, and apparently extremely ticked off – but he was gone.
Something was poking my mind, trying to get me to think. There was something wrong about that meeting… But every time I tried to figure it out, my brain crashed and I was left, sitting on the floor, dizzily leaning back and forth, shaking my head in confusion. If only I could think, I'd figure it out.
Satisfied with the thought that I'd get it later, I set the dilemma aside and put one foot underneath me to get up and go back to bed. Burning lightning bolts of pain shot up my leg and left me gasping for breath on the floor. "Okay," I panted, gazing down at my blister-covered feet. "Not a good plan." I held perfectly still for a few minutes, my pain-riddled mind trying to figure out a better course of action.
It took awhile, but one came to me: crawling. Moving on my hands and knees, careful to keep my feet from touching the floor, I scooted slowly across the room. Every few feet I had to stop and readjust my balance. Half-way to the safety of my cot, I lost the battle with what little bit of food I had eaten and it forced its way up and out. Retching at the smell and the sight of the thin, slightly-glowing liquid, I skirted the mess and made it to my bed.
Collapsing on the thin blankets, my eyes flickered closed and my brain promptly shut off. Not even the rough pain of my feet or the throbbing ache of my body could keep me awake for one second longer.
"Ghost."
The warm hand roughly shaking my shoulder hurled me to the land of the awake more than the clipped word. I opened my eyes, trying to place the voice. Long black hair, emerald eyes, impossibly beautiful features set into a disagreeable expression greeted me. Doctor what's-her-name. I was, quite frankly, too tired and sick to try and remember she was called. Besides, if I was remembering right, she didn't overly like me anyways.
She jabbed a thermometer into my mouth without a further word, her icy eyes studying me. "Don't spit that out if you know what's good for you," she snapped.
She didn't wait for me to respond. Instead, she helped me to sit up and grabbed my face firmly in her strong, lean fingers, tipping my head this was and that, studying my eyes. "Bloodshot and dilated," she whispered, her forehead wrinkling in thought. She let go of my face and snatched up one of my hands, carefully looking at my fingernails. "Green cuticles…"
I dizzily shook my head, running my tongue over the cold glass thermometer in my mouth. While she muttered and moved around, I was debating whether or not I was going to throw up on her. It wasn't really my decision, but the roiling in my stomach and the ache of my head were preventing me from thinking about much else.
Suddenly, I noticed that the doctor was no longer right next to me staring down at my hands. Instead she was across the room, digging through her toolkit. She turned around, two things in her hands. I blinked… and she was back at my side, picking my hand back up and turning it palm-up. For a moment, my confused and dizzy head tried to figure out when humans learned to teleport.
Watching with growing uncertainty, my fingers trembled as the doctor lifted a small knife and held it poised over my hand. I opened my mouth to say something, but her hands moved quickly, the knife glinting silvery in the light from the dancing ghost lights, and she pricked my thumb. I flinched, but she held my hand firmly in hers. She snatched up a small strip of grey paper from beside her hand and held it over the tiny wound for a moment, catching a drop of my blood. When the paper turned a sickly green color, her forehead furrowed once more and her mouth pinched together.
"How is that possible…" she trailed off, turning away from me to search through her clipboard of papers. Muttering under her breath, she flipped from one page to the next. The quiet lull made my bleary, dry eyes drift closed.
"Idiots!" she snapped suddenly, making me jump and snap my eyes back open. "He never got immunized!"
"He's part ghost," one guard answered with a deep, gravelly voice, "we weren't sure he needed the shots."
"Apparently he did. You never thought to ask someone who might now." She was snarling, enraged. "His human side has managed to contract spectral influenza. Do you know how fast that spreads?" She didn't bother to wait for an answer. Instead, she threw her clipboard through the air at the errant guard like a lop-sided Frisbee and continued with her rant. "Fast! I bet half this wing is infected by now."
The guard snatched the flying clipboard out of the air before it could hit and raised one eyebrow. "That's your job, not mine."
"Idiots," she seethed. Grabbing the thermometer out of my mouth, she didn't ever bother to read it before tossing it into her toolkit and turning back to me. "There's no cure or medicine for spectral influenza," she said sourly, her eyes drifting over me. "If you don't get over it on your own by the next time you fight, you're as good as dead."
I stared at her, my brain trying to work. It really was. "Huh?"
"Read my lips, Ghost-Boy, you won't survive your next fight."
The room suddenly lurched sideways. Although I was woozy and nauseous, my brain sent a fleeting signal to my mouth. "Can you at least do something about my feet?" She blinked at me, surprised at my question. Truthfully, I was surprised at my question as well.
"Feet?" She yanked the blanket off of my feet and hissed at the sight. Kneeling down, she prodded the blisters. Some were angry and red, some of them white with puss. "Incompetent ghosts," she complained, "these could have gotten infected! He might have lost his feet, and then were would we be? It wouldn't be my job to tell Walker his latest pet had died."
A painful few minutes later, she rubbed some calming gunk onto my feet and wrapped them tightly. I sighed as the numbing salve stole the pain away, sleepy dizziness crashing in its place.
Still grumbling under her breath about the ghosts she was forced to work with, she packed her stuff into her bag and looked up at me. Tilting her head to the side, studying my half-asleep expression, she sent me a very small smile. "Get some sleep, that's all I can do about the spectral flu. If you've got a full-blown case, you'll probably start hallucinating before you get any better. Your feet will just have to fix themselves, if you live long enough."
I think I may have nodded, stifling a yawn. Between blinks, she vanished. I gazed around the room in sleepy surprise before my mind decided that figuring out how she'd vanished so fast was too much work.
Lying back down on the cot, her words slipped through my feverish mind.
…good as dead…
…won't survive…
…if you live…
But, somehow, I couldn't bring myself to care.
When I opened my eyes, my whole body hurt. Everything ached and my head felt like it was going to explode. I groaned, pushing myself up off the cot and collapsing against the wall. My arms shook with even that little bit of effort. Blinking tears out of my dry eyes, I glanced around the room. Something was…
"Mom?"
Her blue Hazmat hood was pushed back, her goggles perched on her head. She was carefully screwing some loose bits onto her latest gadget, serenely ignoring the fact that she was sitting on a kitchen chair in a ghost cell.
"Mom?" My voice was scratchy and barely audible, but she didn't even glance up at me. She just continued to hum softly under her breath. I pushed away from the wall, sitting up on my own, dizziness making my head spin. "Where did you come from?"
Instead of answering, she held up her completed ghost invention and smiled. "I'm done!" she cheered, jumping to her feet.
Jazz's voice echoed through the room. "Mom?" I twisted my head, swallowing a bout of nausea at the quick movement. My sister was leaning against the wall opposite of cell, her arms crossed, an annoyed scowl on her face. "Are we going to try and find Danny now?"
"Find me? I'm right here." I weakly waved my hand in her direction, but she didn't seem to see me.
"Why would we need to find him?" Mom was still gazing at her invention with a smile on her face. "He can take care of himself, he's a ghost."
My jaw dropped. "What?" I rasped. I struggled to get their attention, but only ended up falling off the cot. Wincing when my newly bandaged feet hit the ground, I moaned and pushed myself up to my hands and knees… but the cell was empty.
"What?" I whispered, staring at the place where my mother had been sitting. "Where…"
"Danny?" Sam's voice brought me to a dead stop. "What are you doing on the floor?"
I twisted my head, glancing behind me at the cot I had just fallen off of. My Gothic best friend was sitting cross-legged on the thin blankets, hands limp on her knees, gazing down at me with a skeptical eyebrow raised. Blinking in confusion, my mouth worked soundlessly as I tried to figure out what I was trying to say. "Sam?"
"Some hero you are," she said sourly, "just deciding to kill me like that. I always thought you were different from the other ghosts."
"I didn't kill you!"
"Yes, you did," Tucker chimed in. The room whirled dangerously when I whipped my head in the direction of his voice. He was standing by the door, gazing down at his broken PDA sadly. Pushing his charred beret farther back on his forehead, he sent me a glare.
"But… but… but Sam's scrunchie was the wrong color!" Scooting backwards as far as I could, my back pressed into the sharp edge of the cot.
"So?" Sam asked from right beside my ear, "I have more than one scrunchie, idiot. Even I'm not weird enough for them all to be the same color."
"You're not dead," I whispered, shaking my head. "You're not dead… I didn't kill you."
"If you really want to think so," Tucker muttered darkly, tossing his PDA at me. It hit the ground and skittered to a stop inches from my bandaged feet, "but you broke my tech." He shook his head in dismay. "And you killed me too."
"Murderer," Sam hissed.
"NO!" I closed my eyes, continuing to shake my head in denial. "No, no, no, no, no."
Sam snorted. "You kill all the time, what makes it so hard to believe you didn't kill us?"
"I didn't," I pressed, shakily getting to my knees and crawling a bit towards Tucker.
"Stay away from me," he snarled.
After staring at him in disbelief for a moment, I glanced over my shoulder. Sam was gone from my cot. "Sam?" I turned back to talk to Tucker, but he was gone too.
Once again, I was alone in my cell.
"What?" I'm not sure I actually was talking by this point. More like my mouth was moving on its own as my brain struggled to catch on. Turning around in a complete circle a few times, I examined every inch of my cell. Nobody. No Tucker, no Sam, no Mom, no Jazz… "What's going on?"
I crawled back onto my bed and curled up into a ball, tucking one arm under my head, my headache beginning to grow again. Gazing out into the empty room, I couldn't get myself to close my eyes and go back to sleep. Every time my eyes drifted closed, they snapped back open to check the room to make sure I was still alone.
"Danny?" Dad's voice drifted through the air. My father was nowhere to be seen – I had the entire cell in my sights – but his voice was there nonetheless.
Suddenly, I got it. I knew what was going on. The doctor's words seemed to float into my head: You'll probably start hallucinating before you get better. Letting my eyes drift closed, I sighed heavily. "Wonderful."
"Danny?" Dad called again. I refused to answer; did not open my eyes. I just rolled over to face the wall and curled up into a tighter ball.
"Danny." His voice sounded like it was coming from right behind me. I could very easily imagine him reaching down and putting a comforting hand on my shoulder… any second… any second…
He's not there, I reminded myself, putting my hands over my ears and trying to ignore him.
"Daniel Fenton, look at me!"
Taking a page out of my imaginary mother's book, I started humming an old lullaby, hands pressed painfully against the sides of my head, eyes clenched shut, tears starting to leak out of my eyes. Leave me alone…
There was a blessed few minutes of silence. I began to relax, my fingers loosening their death grips on my head. My mind began to drift… and I was almost asleep when my mother's voice once again danced in my ears. "Danny?"
If I had enough energy, I would have screamed. Instead, it just came out as a whimper.
This was going to be a long night. Well, if it was night anyway.
A cold spot pressing against my cheek startled my eyes open once again. Pushing myself up on an elbow, my gaze shot around the room, half-expecting to see a hallucination of my family or friends in the flickering ghost lights. Surprised to see none, I looked down… into the glowing sapphire eyes of the rat.
Next to the black and blue rat was a bowl full of what looked like chicken noodle soup. It wasn't even glowing like everything else I had eaten over the past who-knows-how-many days. This was human food. My stomach twisted and churned, gurgling as the sickeningly wonderful smell assaulted my nose. I was starving, but the last thing my stomach wanted was food.
Groaning, I rolled over, tucking my arm back under my head and closing my eyes. I didn't even want to think about it… but the thoughts tickled my brain anyways. How had a bowl full of soup and a rat gotten onto my bed?
There was one very simple answer. I was hallucinating. Again.
"Hybrid" a voice asked softly. It was a light tenor was that odd overlay of spectral echoing resonance. "You need to eat something."
Opening my eyes, I rolled onto my back and looked around the room with eyes that would barely open. There was nothing in the room but me, the rat, and the bowl of soup. Losing the battle with my hallucinations, I answered. "What?" I winced at the sound of my voice. It was barely there and my throat hurt like nothing else when I spoke.
"This will help."
I raised an eyebrow, my eyes fixed on the rat. I could have sworn his mouth moved. This was a stellar hallucination. "Chicken soup?" Even in my sickened delirium and almost voiceless mode, sarcasm managed to work its way into my voice.
"It's an ancient recipe. Chicken soup has always been a cure-all for all sorts of paranormal diseases. Where do you think humans got…"
I stopped listening, letting my eyes drift closed again as the rat rambled on for a few more moments. It wasn't until a set of sharp claws pressed painfully into my face that I opened my eyes again to study the rodent. "Eat, hybrid," he commanded.
"I have a name you know," I grumbled, trying my best to ignore this figment of my imagination. There was no way I was going to pretend I was eating hallucinated chicken soup from a talking rat. "If I have to be delirious, why can't it be something that makes some sort of sense?"
"Eat," he chuckled.
"You're not going to go away, are you?"
"No. Now eat before I force-feed you. You have to get better… you dying in the next fight is not part of my plan!" The rat glared at me, his sapphire eyes flaring with energy.
I didn't even try to wrap my brain around the idea of how a hallucinated rat could force-feed me chicken soup. To be completely honest, I didn't even question the idea. My head hurt too much for me to care. All I did was push myself shakily into a sitting position, my bandaged feet dangling off the edge of the cot, and grab the bowl.
Surprisingly, it was warm against my hands. Trembling fingers latched onto the spoon and scooped some of the almost hot liquid into my mouth. For imaginary soup, it tasted really good.
"Better," the rat said, wrapping its tail around its feet and seeming to smile at me. "Eat the whole bowl, please. It took a lot of work to get it here."
"You brought the soup?" My voice was getting a bit louder, a bit less raspy.
"Yes. Do you see anybody else?"
Silence fell between us. Glancing from the steaming soup to the rat and back, I tried to figure out something to say. What do you say to an imaginary, talking rat? I've been through a lot and seen more weird situations that I can count… but this was just bizarre. Even for me.
Nobody said anything as the soup slowly vanished out of the bowl. It left a warm glow in my stomach, silencing the endless grumbling and settling my dizziness down a little. "Thanks," I said after I drained the last of the soup. So what if I was talking to a delusion? It's better than talking to myself.
"You're more than welcome," he said grandly, puffing up a little. "It's the least I can do."
I wrinkled my nose, thinking about that. You're more than welcome… I've heard that before. "You saved my picture!" I gasped. "I remember you saying that same thing!"
The rat nodded. "True, I did. My name is Läkadeshíjai – but my friends call me L'Jai."
"LJ?"
He scowled at me. "Why does everybody always slaughter my name nowadays? It's not a couple of letters, it's a title. L'Jai. I am a respected Guardian, not the stupid alphabet. The subtle nuances…"
I stopped listening as he ranted on about his nonexistent name. This would have been funnier if I hadn't been so tired. Yawning, I noticed that the rat had stumbled to a stop.
"You're tired," he said, "go back to sleep. Now that you've got some soup in you, you'll get better. You need to keep winning your fights."
Dropping back down onto my cot and carefully propping my aching feet up on the edge, I mumbled sleepily, "I don't want to fight." I was too tired to care what I was saying.
"True, but you have to. For the sake of a million souls, you have to."
Drifting back to sleep, I let a small smile cross my face. Hopefully, when I woke up I'd be better. No more hallucinations. No more talking rats.
There is only so much a human-ghost hybrid superhero can take, after all.
This was becoming an awful dance. For the sixth time, I was being jerked out of my sleep. Dry eyes flickered open, hoping against hope that I wouldn't be looking into the eyes of my nonexistent family. I really wasn't in the mood to deal with imaginary parents.
On the positive side, it wasn't my parents that woke me up this time.
It was worse.
One hung-out-to-dry warden was standing over me, prodding me with a walking stick. "Ghost-boy," he snapped, "get up."
I sat up, blinking at him, barely registering the fact that I wasn't nearly as dizzy as I had been. I stared into his raisin eyes, trying to decide if this was another hallucination or if he was real. Walker stabbed my shoulder with his stick one more time and my nose caught a whiff of his rotten-spicy smell. Just beyond him I could see that all the ghost lights were huddled in the corners of the cell, almost holding still. Oh yes, he was real.
"What do you want?" I asked, being careful to keep my voice calm. His knife did not need to be embedded in my flesh again. My arm had finally healed from our last encounter. Pressing my back against the wall to help me stay upright, I kept my eyes on him.
"You have won seven fights." He paused, glaring at me. "Don't you pay any attention? After seven fights, your reward is a wish. I'm here to make sure your wish doesn't break the rules."
"A wish?" I whispered as Walker entered into a rant about rule breakers. What would I do with…
A wish.
My gaze drifted slowly over to the pillow where the picture of my family was hidden.
I could do anything…
"Desiree!" Walker shouted, not taking his eyes off of me. "Get in here."
The genie-ghost appeared in the doorway, brushing her black hair out of her eyes. "No man commands me," she muttered darkly, "not even you, Walker." She crossed her arms, refusing to enter the cell. Her red eyes flickered around the cell, settling on me for just a moment before dancing away. Fingers drummed anxiously against her arms as her shoulders hunched slightly.
"A wish," Walker snarled, ignoring the ghost, "what do you want?"
I want to talk to my family.
I tried to stand up, but my blistered feet screamed when I put weight on them. My aching legs gave way underneath me and I collapsed back down onto the bed. A smile flickered across my face as I stared at Desiree.
My family. I just want to talk to them.
My mouth wouldn't start working. I could talk to my family! It was like a dream, my throat choking up. I licked my lips, ready to say what I wanted. Ready to talk to my family. Ready to…
"Meals are pretty common wishes." She had tipped her head to the side, studying me. "What's your favorite food? Pictures, soft beds, chairs, televisions… those things get wished for pretty often. A couple of ghosts have it pretty cozy here." Her gaze flickered around the cell again, a shudder visibly shaking her before her eyes were back on me.
"I know what I want to wish for," I whispered. "But you'll just take it and twist it like you always do." My heart dropped at this realization and I fought to keep my expression from crumbling. There was no way she'd grant a wish for me to talk to my family. What was I thinking? "Poisoned food? A bed I can't sleep in?"
Desiree's eyes softened a bit. She smiled at me, nodding in agreement, letting her tense posture relax just a touch. "I don't twist these wishes, Phantom." Her voice was gentle, her words slow and carefully chosen. "I don't agree with the Pits. Nobody should be treated this way."
"That's none of your business," Walker growled, "you're just here to grant his wish."
She bowed her head, black hair falling into her eyes. "I am with Skulker on this one. The Pits need to be stopped – not even men should be forced to fight like this."
Walker back-handed the wishing ghost. She collapsed against the far wall of the hallway, one hand pressing against her face. "No man can touch me!" she snarled as she got to her feet, her free hand clenched into a fist. Although she was trembling with fury, she did nothing but glare. Her eyes snaked back to mine. "What is your wish?"
I opened my mouth. I want to talk to my family.
I was willing to risk the heartbreak if she twisted it. I needed to talk to my family. That's what I wanted more than anything – I wanted to know if they were alright. I needed to know.
Somewhere between my brain and my mouth, the words got garbled. The first time I tried to talk, all that came out was gibberish. "Wantaloomyily."
Blinking in confusion, I tried again. I want…
"I want to be better."
What? That's not what I was trying to say.
"What do you mean?" Desiree asked, red sparkles of energy dancing around her hand as she held it out towards me.
One phone call. I want to talk to my family. Please!
No matter what I was trying to get my mouth to say, it moved on its own, forming its own words. "My feet and my spectral flu. I wish to be better."
No… stop!
"So you have wished it," she intoned seriously, streamers of red ectoenergy swirling around her. "So shall it be."
No! I didn't wish it! I want to talk to my family! STOP!
The powerful ghost waved her hand, bangles jangling, and energy raced through the doorway and wrapped around me. My feet tingled as it enveloped me; then my entire body began shivering and trembling. I closed my eyes against the bright light, fighting the wish. I don't want this, I don't want this…take it back…
The glow died away and I opened my eyes, staring at the receding back of Walker's long coat in dismay. When he slammed the door shut, cutting me off from Desiree and my only chance of finding out about my family, I collapsed down onto the cot, my mouth working wordlessly in disbelief at what had just happened.
I stared up at the ghost lights that were just beginning to dance around the ceiling again. What? "What just happened?" I asked the empty cell. Not too surprisingly, I didn't get an answer.
Feeling better than ever and completely awake, I just lay there, my fingers laced behind my head, my painless feet propped up on the end of the cot, trying desperately to work out what was going on. "Traitor," I whispered, thinking about what my mouth had done. "My own body is turning against me."
I shook my head. "And now I'm talking to myself." Chuckling slightly, I couldn't help the grin that was sliding across my face. "I'm delusional, talking to myself, and I'm losing control of my body. I am going crazy." The ghost lights swirled and bobbed on the ceiling, seeming to agree with me. "I suppose I deserve it though, being here."
"You've got to wonder though," I murmured to the ghost lights as I prepared to spend the rest of my day in boredom, "why was Walker carrying around a stick? Doesn't he have a knife to poke things with?"
The guards tossed me into Former's room, slamming the door loudly behind them. I rubbed my wrists, scowling at the closed door. Letting freezing, tingling energy swirl through me with a flicker of silvery light, I turned to face the young man sitting behind his book, studiously ignoring me.
"Former," I said sourly, crossed my arms – carefully of the blades that had appeared – and waited.
He flinched at his name, but just kept writing.
"Why are you ignoring me?"
Two brown eyes flickered up to meet mine. I crossed my legs, hovering mid-air, waiting. "I'm not ignoring you," he said slowly.
"You're not?" I raised an eyebrow
"No." He shook his head, "I… just wasn't sure you wanted to talk to me."
"Why wouldn't I want to talk to you?" I tipped my head to the side, confused. "It's not like I have a lot of other people to talk to."
Former smiled slightly. "It's just…" he hesitated, turning back to his book for a moment to make a few notes, "it's just that people tend to not want to have anything to do with me when they find out Walker adopted me."
"That sounds kind of mean."
"People can be mean, whether they are alive or dead." Former shrugged, pushing away from his desk and looking at me a bit closer. "Or half-dead, I guess."
I grinned at him.
"They're a bit behind in their fights – there a new ghost that's making some interesting battles, I heard – so we've got some time to kill." He stretched his arms over his head, groaning as his back cracked.
"Time to kill," I murmured back, the smile vanishing. Kill… but kill who? Walker?
Former winced, "Sorry."
"If you had a chance, would you kill Walker?" I asked suddenly, the corner of my mind beginning to whisper plans of death and destruction again.
He looked at me, his brown eyes dull. "No," he whispered, "I wouldn't."
"Why not?" I landed on the ground, walking over to him, pushing the thoughts of blowing the doors to splinters out of my head. "Come to think of it, why doesn't anybody fight him? How come they all just sit there? Why does Walker get away with this? He's killing everybody – ghosts and humans – and… nobody cares!"
"People care," he said softly, "even ghosts care." Former was silent for a moment, sadly shaking his head. "Most of the people and ghosts that work here don't want to be here."
"But you don't fight him! You just sit here and do whatever he asks!"
"What do you want us to do?" Caramel eyes hardened as he stared at me, anger rising in his voice. "Have you tried to fight him?"
My mouth moved, but no words got out for a minute. "I just got here!"
Former pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. When he spoke again, his voice was softer and calm. "I think we need to start at the beginning. Do you know where we are?"
"The Pits," I said slowly.
"Yes, but do you know where the Pits are?"
I looked at him blankly. "The Ghost Zone?"
He sighed, shaking his head. "That's what I thought. You don't understand." Biting his lip, he looked around his room for a moment, then glanced back at me. "Let me tell you story. Maybe that will help." He settled back into the chair, fingering the huge book he had been writing in. "We've got time before your fight."
"Okay." I dropped into a nearby chair, absently brushing a few strands of hair out of my eyes.
"You know how there is a ghost zone and a human world, and that they are separated by a barrier? At times, the barrier wears down and thins, creating natural ghost portals. Most of these portals are relatively small and short lived – usually lasting only a few hours before vanishing." He looked at me, raising an eyebrow.
I nodded. That's easy stuff I already knew. But what does this have to do with Walker?
"But, thousands of years ago, there was a huge thinning of the barrier. Miles of land became blurred between the human world and the Ghost Zone. The 'portal' lasted for so many years that an entire city was built in that part-human, part-ghost land. It was a human city… and a ghost city." A grin flashed across his face. "A hybrid city."
"An entire city?"
Former gestured with his hands. "This whole place that we call the Pits were originally part of that portal city. They were built for the strongest of fighters – both ghost and human – to test their abilities. But, after hundreds of years of coexisting, the portal suddenly closed. The entire city vanished without a trace."
"What happened to it?" I tapped my fingers against the armrest of the chair, trying to think this one through. I wasn't even sure that was really possible. A portal big enough to build a city in?
"Nobody knows. No one knows what happened to the city, its inhabitants, or anything. All we know is that about hundred years ago, a new set of doors appeared in the Ghost Zone. Behind the doors… was the Pits."
"So the entire city vanished, and became… a ghost lair?"
"Kind of. But it's just the Pits that are here. Where the rest of the city vanished to is anybody's guess."
I wrinkled my forehead. "So how does that answer my question? How can Walker get away with this?"
Former smiled. "I'm getting to it. Hold your horses. Have you ever seen a ghost lair?"
"Not for long."
"Ghost lairs adapt themselves to their masters. The lairs become what the ghost wants and assumes the lair would be. It's their own version of the afterlife… sort of their personal heaven."
"I don't understand…"
He sighed, shaking his head. "Think about it for a moment. A musician dies and becomes a ghost. He picks a lair in the ghost zone and goes in. The lair is just… nothingness at that point. As the ghost lives in the lair, it begins to change itself to become what the ghost would want. For a musician, the lair might become a soundstage, or a concert hall, or something."
"I guess that makes sense."
"But it's more than just visual things. The ghosts also have control over the lair's properties. If a ghost thinks that you shouldn't be able to fly in their lair, the place makes that thought a reality. You wouldn't be able to fly there. If a ghost thought it should be more powerful inside its lair, then it would be." He smiled for a second, waiting for me to reply.
"So?"
"So, the Pits acts like a lair. The master of the lair controls all sorts of things. They control the 'rules' of the area. And every person that exists inside the lair must follow the rules."
I was silent for a moment as that sunk in. "Who owns this one?"
" Walker. The story goes that he found the key to this lair when the door first appeared in the Ghost Zone. Ever since then, the basic rules of the Pits have changed to follow what Walker wants them to be."
This is not good. "And…"
"And, so I think anyway, one of the rules he has is that other people won't fight him. So it's not so much that we don't want to fight, but more that we can't." He was silent, thinking. "It's hard to explain, but think about it this way: in the human world, gravity pulls you down – that's a really well established fact."
I nodded.
"The Pits have become Walker's second lair, so his rules are like gravity. We can't fight Walker's desire for us to be complacent any more than a human could fight gravity."
They're all being controlled! I gasped in realization, my eyes widening.
"The guards don't think twice about hauling humans and ghosts off to their deaths because that's what Walker wants. Most of the employees here don't care about the prisoners and what's happening because Walker doesn't want them to. He's not a god, not really, but what he wants holds sway. It's kind of like subliminal advertising. He wants you to think this is the right thing to do and the entire lair is working to get you to believe what he wants."
I was staring at him, my mouth dropping open in horror. They can't fight, they can't even realize that they should…
"You're rather special," Former continued, a sad smile on his face, "one in a thousand. You can argue and fight him. You can think about killing him. Think about it – you're fighting the entire lair to think those thoughts. You must be incredibly powerful."
"Can anybody else?" I asked softly.
"A few," his voice was soft, "but not many. Most of them won't fight Walker anyway. He's got leverage over people like u… you. That's why he's threatening your family. He's trying to keep you in line."
Silence fell between us as I took all that in. " Walker gets away with all this because Walker wants to. Nobody fights him because he doesn't want them to." I couldn't help it; I drew my legs up and curled my arms around them, hugging them tightly to me as the thoughts banged together in my head. "They march off to their deaths, not even thinking about resisting it… because Walker wants them to."
Former nodded slowly.
My eyes narrowed. " Walker is forcing everybody to kill." I got to my feet, clenching my fingers, energy dancing around me. " Walker is to blame for every death in the Pits."
The corner of my mind whispered, and I let it out just a tiny bit, listening to it for a moment. Walker deserves to die, he's killed countless beings. It'd be a hero's move to save millions. One deranged afterlife in return for the souls of the innocent. Sometimes killing is necessary – it's justice.
"You asked me earlier," Former said quietly, "if I'd kill Walker if I had a chance. You know my answer… but what's yours? Would you?"
I stared at the silver-green blades embedded into my skin. Actions are never wholly good nor evil; they are merely varying shades of darkness and light. What shade of grey would killing Walker be? Did I want to slip that far into the shadows?
To my surprise, I found I no longer cared. To save the lives of others, I would kill Walker. I had to stop this insanity.
A smile played across my face. I looked up into his eyes just as the guards appeared in the doorway to drag me to my next fight. "Yes," I answered. "I would." And I wouldn't think twice about it.
Deep in my mind, the tiny voice laughed happily.
I was hauled towards the pit, my mind still reeling from what Former had told me. I glanced over at one of the guards, studying him. "Don't you ever think this is wrong?" I asked him softly.
The guard shot me a weird look, his glowing eyes confused. "I'm just doing my job."
"Yeah," I muttered, turning to the next one. "Don't you think this is wrong?"
"Shut up," the guard hissed, glaring at me. "Just go fight. Stop asking questions."
"I can't even blame you for this," I scowled, still making no attempt to help them get me into the pit. "You're just Walker's little goons."
Yes, but they aren't fighting him. They are just going along with it. We could take them out on our way to Walker. The Ghost Zone would be a better place without them.
Shut up, I hissed at my own mind. I'm not killing them.
But we're going to need to get free of them to get to Walker, and they aren't going to hold still and just LET us go. They'll need to be taken care of.
"I'm not killing them," I said, making a few of the ghosts jump and sent me skeptical looks. More than one reached for their little shock boxes.
Don't we want to kill Walker? Aren't just a few more not-so-innocent lives worth his death?
I closed my eyes, finally getting my feet underneath me. Stumbling a bit as I caught up to the guards' pace, I shook my head, refusing to answer that bit of my mind, and glanced up. The pit was opening up before me, ready for my fight. The silence of the crowds was pressing, a delicious sticky-sweet feeling brushing against my nerves.
When I stepped out onto the pit sand, I already knew what was waiting for me. The human, still sending out waves of terror, was standing at the starting spot, visibly trembling. The spectral crowds were pressed up against the edge of the pit, drinking in the euphoric feeling of human fear.
This could be interesting, that bit of my mind sneered. What shall we do know? How shall we kill this human?
"I'm not going to kill him," I whispered softly. The guards, who had escorted me all the way to my starting position, sent me another round of strange looks before shooting off into the sky and letting the shield snap into place.
You killed the last one without any problems. Remember the little girl?
I didn't move, I couldn't think. "I'll find a way out killing him. I will."
Danny? Ember's voice touched against my mind. Are you okay?
Closing my eyes, I fought against a rising torrent of insanity. Laughter was threatening to bubble out of me. "I've got voices in my head," I chuckled, "a good one and an evil one." I laughed a bit harder. "Only the good one is Ember for some freaking reason." Fighting against the crazy laughter, I bit my lip and looked around me. "I think I may have finally lost it."
I took a few steps towards the young man waiting to fight me. "Gone over the deep end," I whispered. A few more steps. "Gone completely nuts."
Snap out of it, Ember chided anxiously.
"No," I muttered darkly, taking another big step forwards. The human tensed, his feet shifting in the bloody sand. "You can't tell me what to do. Neither of you can."
The man blinked at me in confusion, backing up a few paces. "Who are you talking to?" he asked.
"The voices in my head," I answered sourly.
We should go for the head-slicing option. We like that one. That oily voice made my skin crawl.
"Stop it!" I hissed. "Stop talking to me."
I was so preoccupied with my own head that I never noticed the young man moving until it was too late. The human's blade glinted in the air, whistling straight towards me. There was no way I could react in time to save myself.
Caught in a moment of pure surprise, everything swirled and went black.
Suddenly I was aware again, my eyes shut, a distant feeling to my skull. It was almost like I had left it for a time, and now I was back and I needed to get used to it again. Shouting, cheering crowds pressed against my skull. A sharp peppery-metallic smell saturated the air and my knees burned with the feeling of the pit's sandy slurry. Sluggishly, I clenched my fingers into fists, feeling a dreamlike annoyance at the partying mob. Why are they so happy? I haven't done anything…
My mind derailed at the slightly sticky, squelching feeling on my fingers. I opened and closed my hands a few times, feeling the warm liquid congealing on my fingers. It was so odd. Unwilling to open my eyes to the harsh lights due to my pounding headache, I brought my fingers up to my face, smelling. Metallic, iron-like, a hint of sulfury-pepper.
"Danny, no!" Ember suddenly screamed in my head. "Don't!"
Emerald eyes flickered open, almost against my will, gazing down at the crimson fluid that was coating my hand. Absently, I watched the tepid liquid trickle down my arm and drip down onto the ground.
"Danny?" Ember's voice was soft, unsure. "Danny? Are you okay?"
My gaze wandered from my fingers to a form that was huddled a number of feet away, covered in a similar-looking liquid. What is it? my mind asked distantly as I pushed myself unsteadily to my feet. There's so much of it…
"Don't," she said, "you don't want to see. Go back to sleep, Danny. Please."
I took a few stumbling steps towards the crumpled figure. Back to sleep? Why would I want to go back to sleep? I want to know… Slowly, gingerly, I crouched down and reached out to touch the young man's arm. I flinched back at the chill feeling of his skin. "Are you okay?" I asked softly, grabbing his shoulder and rolling him over.
Lifeless, unfocused eyes stared up at me, his mouth stretched into an eternal scream. His chest was torn open – blood spilling out of the huge gashes. I stumbled backwards in horror, bringing my hand up to my mouth. Bile rose in my throat at the sight of the body. "He's dead," I whispered, more to myself than to anybody else. "He's dead," I whimpered again, clamping a hand tightly over my mouth to hold back the scream that was building inside of me.
The warm, sticky liquid pulled at my cheeks as it began to dry, and suddenly everything crashed inside my head. I jerked my blood-covered hand away from my face, staring at the crimson fluid in terror. It's… it's…
My eyes flickered frantically from my hands to the dead body and back. I… I… I killed…
Panic overwhelmed me. As the scream of terror tore free, blackness once again began to overwhelm my mind.
For just a moment, Phantom seemed to appear next to me, crouched down, his arms on my shoulders. "I'll take care of it, Danny. Go back to sleep."
And then all was black.
The young woman groaned, rolling her sore shoulders. "So am I falling for it? Is Walker influencing my mind too?" She stretched her arms over her head before letting them fall back into her lap. "Apparently not, because I sure as Hell don't want to fight. Maybe the boy did something to break Walker's hold over everybody."
She brushed the journal out of her lap and closed her eyes, carefully bringing up one aching hand to prod her right eye. "Ow…" It was going to be one huge bruise. Already, the swelling was preventing her from opening her eye the entire way. It made reading the boy's messy handwriting really difficult.
"But what's Walker's deal with the torture thing?" she muttered darkly, fingering the various cuts and scratches on her legs. "He's torturing Danny, looking for whatever it was he lost. And he's torturing me." Silence fell as she tried to put the puzzle pieces together in her mind. "So… whatever Walker thinks Danny took… he hasn't found it yet?" Her eyes flickered around the cell in surprise. "So… it could still be in here?"
She shook her head, wincing at the pain in her neck. "No, Danny hasn't taken anything of Walker's. He would have mentioned…" She trailed off as her thoughts suddenly smashed together in her head.
"That other person that writes… he took something." Grabbing the book and flipping back through the pages, she scanned the tiny writing. "L'Jai. He took something of…" she broke off, a look of surprise on her face everything all fell together.
"The rat. He said his name was L'Jai in Danny's delirium. AND he wrote that his name was L'Jai on the previous page."
"The rat… was real? He really brought Danny soup? He can really talk?"
She was silent as her eyes searched the cell for the elusive rodent that had kept her company on-and-off. "Interesting. I always thought he looked smarter than a normal rat." After a moment, she continued, musing aloud. "But what did you take from Walker?"
Flipping back through the pages, rereading the descriptions of Walker, a grin grew on her face. "That's got to be it," she whispered, "he's always had it, and now it's gone."
"But why would a rat take that?"
Letting her mind drift, her fingers danced unconsciously over a short phrase that the rat had written in the last part of the journal:
"…something so key to his rule…"
And she continued to read…
--o.o--o.o--o.o--o.o--o.o--o.o--
Special Bonus section:
White hair twirled between her fingers as the young ghost waited. Emerald eyes gazed confidently around the harshly lit pit as she tamped down on the anxious feelings bubbling in her stomach. She had heard the screams of the fighters before her. Two distinct screams – one a deep male voice, definitely human from the waves of fear that had seeped into her waiting room; the other more of a boy's, full of horror and pain. She knew the boy, the ghost, had won the fight since the human's emotions had been cut off so suddenly… so why had he screamed after he won? What had happened?
When the opposite door finally slammed open revealing her opponent, she shook herself out of her contemplations and dropped into a slight crouch. After the briefest of moments, she stopped, wrinkling her nose, not bothering to continue getting ready to fight.
Nope, she concluded as she watched the terrified ghost cling to the guards, not going to be much of a fight. The white-garbed guards pushed and zapped the ghost, trying to get him to let go of them. When they were finally free of their clingy prisoner, they vanished upwards; leaving the ghost huddled in a sobbing pile on the ground.
She tipped her head, vaguely annoyed at the ghost's attitude. "Crying's going to get you nowhere," she called out to the ghost.
He didn't raise his balding head. Curling up into a tighter ball, he ignored her.
She drifted into the air, stretching out her legs. Floating just above the bloody slurry of the pit, the younger ghost held out her hand. A swirl of green energy, a tingle of power, and a knife was balanced carefully on the palm of her hand. She smiled, examining at it closely. This was a new talent – creating knives like this – and she was still experimenting. This knife was lacking in any real detail, but it was nicely balanced for once.
One eye on the hysterical ghost a dozen feet away, she set the knife on her fingertip and balanced it there for a moment. "Hey, you ready?" she asked, waiting patiently for her opponent to come to his senses.
No response. His shoulders were hunched over and shaking as he wept into the mucky ground.
She rolled her eyes, giving up. There wouldn't be much of a fight, but she was okay with that. Tossing her knife up into the air, she grabbed its handle, twisting the tip to point at the other ghost. She formed a wash of power, feeling it sizzle against her nerves as it trailed down her arm, and poured it into the knife. The knife grew into a rapier, a filigreed guard appearing and snaking around her hand protectively, the tip of the blade extending nearly two feet from her hand.
The ghost-girl drifted to right next to her opponent before squatting down in mid air and grabbing his hair. She pulled on it, forcing his head up, red eyes meeting hers. "No offense. It's just business."
His red eyes widened when he noticed her rapier. Before he could manage anything more than a strangled whimper, she slammed the impossibly sharp point into his head between his eyes. Releasing of his hair and letting the blade dissolve away at the same time, she watched the ghost go limp and collapse into the mud. Green ectoplasm drained out of him, a miniature Amazon River in a flood of blood.
She hovered, turning her back on the disintegrating ghost, phasing a few drops of wayward blood off of her hands and arms. "Two down," she whispered, waiting for the guards to come and escort her back to her cell. Emerald eyes hardened when she spotted the spectral warden up in the stands. "Give me someone worth fighting."
Walker, almost like he could hear her muttered demand over the bustling crowds, suddenly smiled.