The Soul Sepulchre Chapter 17: Jyoth pe Jyoth, a danny phantom fanfic

Hiya!

So… it's been a little while hasn't it? (sheepish grin) Sorry 'bout the wait, guys…

Oh! Congrats and special cyber cookies (they automatically change to your favourite type! :3) to Nylah for correctly guessing that "Jyoth pe Jyoth" is Hindi and perpetuallyconfused for pinning down the meaning! You guys are awesome ^.^ And to perpetuallyconfused… hmm… I'm not sure if the words are Sanskrit… It's possible; they might very well be. After all it's a root language for Hindi, right? You were pretty much right with the writing, though I think there was an extra 'i' sound at the end, or something…

Disclaimer: Danny Phantom and all related characters are the property of Butch Hartman. Er... I also don't own 'The Silence of the Lambs'

Enjoy!

I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I

The Soul Sepulcher

-By Sholay

I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I

Chapter 17—Jyoth pe Jyoth

Mr. Lancer entered his morning homeroom class, shutting the door behind himself and straightening his shirt convulsively before turning to face his students. Blank eyes and sleepy yawns met his gaze and the middle-aged teacher inwardly sighed. It was difficult enough to gain the class' attention on the best of days, but on Fridays it was an absolute exercise in futility.

He would have to put on his old cheerleading outfit and do cartwheels to pull even a modicum of interest from their vapid expressions.

Nonetheless, he persisted, sweeping a hand over a prematurely balding head and sending a stern look at the class before swiping up his register with extra gusto.

"Dash Baxter." He called, and was met with a half-hearted grunt from the teen.

As Mr. Lancer continued the roll call the volume of chatter in the room gradually grew. After fifteen years of teaching, the man knew it was pointless to even try to quell the noise, so he just raised his voice and continued.

Reading down the list, Lancer soon reached the 'F's and the name 'Daniel Fenton' leapt up from the page at him.

For the past two days, the teacher had quietly omitted Danny's name from the register, trying, in vain, to stifle some of the gossip surrounding the wayward teen. But today was Danny's first day back at school; so when Mr. Lancer spoke the boy's name he looked up expectantly, searching for the familiar mop of messy black hair.

Silence met his call and Mr. Lancer frowned, searching the sea of faces with his eyes.

"Daniel Fenton?"

No answer.

The entire class had quietened at Danny's name, now the murmurs blossomed anew. From the corner of his eye, Mr. Lancer saw Dash Baxter lean back arrogantly, a sly smirk on his face as he gloated to his friends about how he'd pounded 'Fentoad' so bad he was afraid to come back to school. Other students were leaning towards each other, whispering excitedly behind their hands.

"Where do you think he is?"

"Maybe he got into another fight."

"You think he got suspended again?"

"Maybe he's in prison!"

"Class! CLASS! The Silence of the Lambs! QUIETEN DOWN EVERYONE!" Mr. Lancer bellowed so loudly his voice rang off the walls. Shocked into silence, the students blinked dumbly at their red-faced teacher.

Knowing the quiet wouldn't last, Mr. Lancer just calmed his erratic breathing and moved on to the next name, doing his best to pretend like nothing unusual had happened.

In truth, he wasn't so much angry about Danny's absence as he was disappointed. He'd given the boy a second chance—even after that disturbing incident with Dash—and he'd really been hoping Danny would live up to his expectations. Unfortunately, it looked like the boy was slipping back into his old habits.

"Tucker Foley" Was the next name Mr. Lancer called.

Again, his only response was silence and Mr. Lancer, smelling something amiss, searched the classroom with narrowed eyes.

It seemed that Samantha Manson was also inexplicably absent, making it three for three.

It wasn't uncommon for Danny to miss school, in fact—exempting the last few weeks—the boy had been late more often than he'd been on time. But while Danny was always stumbling in with some feeble excuse, it was quite unusual for Sam Manson and Tucker Foley to be absent.

Well, at any rate, Mr. Lancer flicked his papers, he would have to make a call to their parents. And maybe a few hours of detention would straighten those kids out.

He could only hope.

"Valerie Gray." He called.

The classroom door abruptly burst open.

"I'm here!" Valerie, panting and, blushing with embarrassment, dropped her eyes from Mr. Lancer's as she shut the door behind herself. "Dad had car trouble." She muttered by way of excuse as she made her way to her seat.

"Note?" Mr. Lancer asked, raising an eyebrow. He already knew her answer though and when she shook her head, he simply gave a curt nod. "Detention, Miss Gray. After school."

Valerie looked resigned, but she made no argument as she lowered herself into her desk, taking care not to bump her sprained arm.

At the end of homeroom, while everyone streamed out through the door, Mr. Lancer looked up to see Valerie lagging behind as she struggled to adjust her backpack around her left arm. Upon closer inspection, he noticed some other things about the girl that he'd previously overlooked: she seemed harried and there were lines of strain around her face. She looked tired. Remembering the difficulties she had already gone through this year—with her father loosing his job and the family fortune, this sprained arm was only the latest in a rash of unlucky event to befall the girl—Mr. Lancer's expression softened in sympathy.

"Do you need some help, Miss Gray?" He asked affably.

Valerie looked surprised for a moment but quickly gave a small smile and shook her head. "I got it." She said as she stabilized the pack.

Mr. Lancer hesitated a moment, then asked another question. "Miss Grey, I don't suppose you saw Mr. Fenton, Ms. Manson or Mr. Foley while you were playing truant earlier?"

Valerie's head shot up. "No…" She replied. "I didn't. All three of them are absent? But… Danny… it's his first day back after his suspension, isn't it?" She sounded worried.

Mr. Lancer sighed.

By second period, Mr. Lancer had realized that Jasmine Fenton was also mysteriously absent from school. Having some free time during lunch after downing his homemade sandwich in two bites, he decided to make those telephone calls sooner than expected.

I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I

Jazz had been expecting the phone call, but that made her no less nervous when it finally came.

"Hello?" She spoke into the receiver.

"Oh, hello Mr. Lancer. Yes, I know, Danny and I weren't in classes today. Actually, Sam and Tucker were here yesterday and they stayed over so long they ended up staying the night… yes, on a school night." Here she inserted just enough exasperation, as though the situation annoyed her as well. "Anyway, when they woke up today they, all three, were doubled over with stomach aches and nausea. My parents had already left for work so I decided to stay home and look after them. I mean, they can barely move. They're all lying flat on the couches." She finished with a little laugh which sounded much too high pitched for her liking.

Fortunately, her reputation held. Mr. Lancer believed her, no questions asked, and after convincing the teacher that he didn't need to call Tucker or Sam's parents—that it would just be a waste of his time— she exchanged a few pleasantries with him before finally hanging up the phone with a grateful sigh, leaning her forehead on the wooden cupboards near her head.

Later she'd call the Foleys and the Mansons, telling them Tucker and Sam would be staying over for the weekend. She wouldn't tell her own parents anything and hopefully her threads of lies would never meet. Sam's parents certainly won't be very happy, but the girl had stayed over so many nights without their permission that they'd probably just be grateful Jazz was calling them.

It would buy Danny some time.

Hopefully that would be enough.

It was the most uneventful trip through the Ghost Zone that Danny had every taken. He'd yet to be attacked, threatened or even tackled unexpectedly by ghosts wanting to be his friends.

The Ghost Zone was empty. Desolate.

Gliding through the endless green miasma that made up the ghost world, Danny ran his thumbs over his silver-gloved fingers as his gaze was caught by yet another floating purple door. Suspended on nothing and seemingly leading to nothing, the door bobbed up and down slowly, inviting Danny to open it.

But the half-ghost just turned away and kept flying. He already knew that the door would only lead him to another empty room, another empty lair of a ghost who had fled to who-knows-where for who-knew-what reason.

This continued, inexplicable absence of all ghost-life bothered Danny. However, he had a much more important issue to deal with first.

A shadow loomed in the distance and, with a sharp exhalation of relief, Danny sped up his flight toward it.

As the Master of Time, it was only fitting that Clockwork would live in a giant clock tower.

Ornate and somewhat medieval-looking, the black tower was had long, curved windows and a wide stone staircase that Danny was certain had only been built for show. High up, near the steepled point of the tower, was a giant clock with fancy, dusty black hands. It showed a time that was nowhere near correct by real-world convention, making Danny wonder briefly how ghosts even viewed the passage of time.

The interior of the building was no less elaborate than the exterior. As Danny let himself into the building, he spared a glance at the sculpted archways and detail etchings. Towering above him, held up by nothing and powered by no source, were the giant gears and inner workings of the clock: turning, clicking and rotating with a constant grinding sound of wood on wood.

Danny remembered how the endless, hollow sounds that echoed and re-echoed off the walls had once creeped him out. The physics of a floating castle floating in the middle of nowhere, with a working clock and gears that turned of their own accord were somewhat mind-boggling. But then again, most aspects about Danny's life were pretty far off the beaten path. He'd long since learned to deal by stuffing all those impossible facts in a little mental box he fondly referred to as 'The Consequences of Being a Fenton'.

Landing softly on one of the large stone blocks that made up the ground, Danny blinked luminous green eyes and looked up, searching the shadows.

"Clockwork! Are you there?" A terrible thought struck him, what if his old friend had left the Ghost Zone—gone to whatever place all the other ghosts had disappeared to?

A lopsided, relieved grin broke out on Danny's face as the Time Master suddenly materialized before him. Cloaked in his familiar purple robe, the ghost had taken on the form of an old man.

"Danny… Very good, you're just on time."

Danny's grin faded into a wry smirk. "I guess so." He said, wondering silently if it was even possible to be late when visiting a ghost who could very literally see the future.

"We have many things to talk about, young half-ghost." Clockwork's voice was grave, immediately sobering Danny's own mood.

"Yeah…" Danny's eyes lowered as he thought of Sam and Tucker but he quickly shook off his self-doubt and put aside his guilt. That could wait. Resolve hardening his expression, Danny looked up at Clockwork. "I have to save them. Legion… it wants some stones, or crystals, whatever. Where can I find them?"

"Hold, young one." Clockwork shifted into the form of a young child and raised a gloved hand, abating the teen's impatience. "To get to the end we must first start at the beginning."

"The beginning?" Danny's brow furrowed as he shifted on his feet. "What beginning? I don't have time for some long-winded story right now!"

Clockwork, now a middle-aged man, tilted his head and he gave Danny such a reproving stare that the boy flushed in embarrassment.

"Sorry," Danny apologized, ducking his head. "I—I just…" He closed his eyes and took a calming breath as the elder ghost waited tolerantly for him to continue. "Okay," Danny relented, taking a moment to think. His eyes reopened. "I guess, you mean Legion's beginning?"

"Yes," Clockwork sounded pleased and Danny gave a small smile, feeling the reciprocating pride at having gotten the right answer. The Time Master turned away and, from a nearby table, picked up a long sceptre crowned by a glowing clock. The ghost's appearance was now continuously shifting—from youth to man to elderly to man to youth to child to youth—Danny found it difficult to concentrate on Clockwork's words as his shape-shifting was giving the halfa a headache.

Nonetheless, when Clockwork continued speaking, Danny forced his attention on to the words. "You probably remember the story of Legion: the monstrosity created when one man allowed an army of demons to enter his body." Danny nodded slowly, it sounded familiar. "Indeed, all legends take root in some truth. Legion, though not a single, specific being, does exist through various physical manifestations. That Hound which you saw is one of them, neither living nor a ghost."

Danny looked confused but didn't ask any questions as Clockwork continued speaking "A ghost is, essentially, a human spirit—or soul—tied down by the lingering regrets and sins caused during life. But Legion… Legion is not any one creature. It is a collection of many spirits: the spirits of men, women and children all melded together to form one entity." The ghost swept his staff over the mirror and immediately the face turned from a milky white to smoky grey before burning complete black.

Screams of pain filled Danny's head, making his knees buckle and his hands clamp down on his ears. It was no use though, the tortured screams continued to pound in his head, tearing into his mind until he was crying out with them.

From the depths of the dark mirror, a wisp of grey appeared. The figure took the shape of a woman's face, so contorted with agony that Danny's own heart constricted at the sight. A hand, the woman's hand, emerged from the black, reaching out to him, begging for his help and, without even realizing it, Danny's own hand reached out toward hers.

Suddenly the screams stopped, the mirror cleared, and Danny fell forward onto his hands and knees—shaking—panting with exertion and feeling like his entire body had just been released from some horrible vice.

"The spirits that make up Legion are doomed to spent eternity drowning in endless torment. Their only desire is to ensnare more hapless souls to join in their suffering. The state of the soul—pure or corrupted—makes no difference to them." Clockwork, seemingly unaffected by the entire ordeal, spoke calmly as Danny, deeply rattled, tried to gathered himself.

Once he'd regained control of his erratic breathing, the teen gasped out a question. "But that Hound has a single…" waved a hand idly, Danny fumbled for words "…consciousness; one voice that it speaks with. How can it do that if it's made up of many different souls?" As Danny asked this he tried to look up at the Time Master, but found it too disconcerting to watch as the ghost once again rapidly de-aged from adult to child, then begin the cycle anew. The halfa sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose.

Clockwork passed a hand over his chin before answering. "Perhaps it is the voice of the original monster, the one that first began devouring souls. Or maybe it is the voice of all the souls that have melded together to form a unit. We cannot know for certain." As though realizing that Danny was having difficulty watching his constantly shifting body, Clockwork abruptly settled on the form of an old man. Danny smiled appreciatively. "What we do know is that this creature's sole purpose is to devour souls."

Fear turned Danny's insides to ice. "Tucker and Sam!"

Clockwork shook his head. "Fear not, young ghost. Legion is weakened in his state. He cannot devour the souls of the living at this time. I believe your friends, though frightened and trapped, are safe for the moment. Have you noticed that Legion seems to be confined to the museum?"

"…I… yes…" In all honesty, Danny hadn't given that much thought.

Clockwork's eyebrow rose with an expression somewhere between exasperation and amusement. "Legion is still gathering its strength. In its condition it can only devour souls separated from the human body."

"You mean ghosts." Danny's eyes widened in realization. "Is that why all the ghosts have disappeared? They fear that Legion will come after them?"

Clockwork nodded. "A ghost's greatest fear is being stripped of their obsession, their regrets—essentially their very will—without having fulfilled it. That would condemn them to an eternity trapped on earth."

Danny wondered then how exactly he fit into the equation. The Hound had made it clear that it desired to have Danny as some kind of tasty appetizer, but Danny was only half ghost. So… what did that mean? Feeling that his head was already pretty stuffed with information, Danny decided to put off this question for a more important one.

"Why is Legion back now?" The teen asked. "And how can we stop it?"

"Legion was awakened…" Clockwork said slowly. "And the last time that happened the damage caused was monstrous." Again, the time ghost passed his sceptre over the mirror, this time creating a rust coloured stain that crawled over its smooth reflective surface. Gradually, a scene began to materialize and Danny flinched, half-expecting the horrible screams to start again.

The screaming did come, but not in the same ear-shattering way as before. Across the mirror's surface people ran in haphazard terror as they tried to escape fire that rained down from a sky the colour of blood. People fell, struck down by forces they couldn't comprehend. Tendrils of darkness slithered across the ground, gathering to a single point as they came together in a form Danny knew all too well. Riveted, he realized that this scene was much worse than the screaming from before.

Legion towered over the chaos, looking down on the terrified people with the lofty scorn of a tyrant regarding a slaughter. The demonic dog-beast, formed from writhing tentacles of black, stood at a terrific height that more than dwarfed the creature Danny had encountered in the museum. Spitting fire from its mouth, its giant paws came down in steps that crushed both buildings and people alike, tearing apart the Earth with horrific claws.

"Enough… stop… I don't want to see this." Danny recoiled, but horror glued his eyes to the bloody massacre. Clockwork, showing the young teen mercy, nodded in understanding and swept away the image. But before the picture had completely faded, Danny recognized something about the scenery, the landscape.

"That place looked familiar…" He murmured, speaking his thoughts aloud.

Clockwork gazed at Danny thoughtfully. "As well it should. That was Amity Park."

Danny's eyes shot to the other's, widening.

"Yes, that was Amity, twenty-six years ago…" Clockwork shifted into a more youthful form, that of a middle-aged man, and drifted to the side, long cape fluttering behind him. "But if you want the full details, I suggest you ask your father about it… Ask him about the 'Night of Abaddon'."

Danny's mouth was open; and it hung there for a few moments as he could think of absolutely nothing to say. He'd never heard of anything like that happening in Amity Park. Why hadn't his parents talked about it? Was it an alternate-reality type of thing—like his evil future self? His Dad had sucked the house into an alternate dimension before… Licking his lips, Danny dragged his jaws together.

'Right. Okay.' He told himself. 'One thing at a time.'

"Right, well, I don't need to know what's happened; I just wanna know how to fix it and save Sam and Tucker!" Danny spoke fervently and when Clockwork's expression told the halfa he was going to be scolded for his impatience again, he ploughed on. "No, Clockwork, don't look at me like that! I can't be patient! I know all this history and stuff is important. And I will listen to it. Just not right now. Right now there's no time! While we're sitting here, Sam and Tucker could be going through…" Danny paled as his mind brought up all sorts of ghastly images. "Something bad. My first priority is to save them—and take Legion down in the process, if possible. So, what I need to know is what are those crystals Legion wants, what is that Jot-pa-jot thing and how can I find it?"

Clockwork was silent for a long moment and Danny, chest heaving after his impassioned speech, was beginning to wonder if he'd made the Time Master angry. Much to his surprise, Clockwork just let out a low chuckle.

"Well said, young half-ghost." The ghost, fingering his long staff, melted down into the form of a child and looked up at Danny with glowing red eyes half hidden by his purple hood. "Very well, I will tell you what you need to know."

Danny nodded, satisfied "Good."

"A soul, when it is separated from the body, will instinctively try to leave the Earth. However, sometimes these souls are burdened by such strong regrets that they are forced to remain here—chained to the mortal plane—until they are fulfilled. In the absence of a physical body to reside in, the soul creates a temporary, metaphysical container."

"A ghost." The teen said knowingly, easily following the explanation after having listened to one too many of his parents' ghost-related debates. "It's like the Ghost Zone, which is, basically, the metaphysical mirror image of the physical plane."

"Correct," Clockwork agreed. "Now, some ghosts, when their metaphysical body ceases to exist, will leave behind a crystal. Much like the one I gave in return for sparing your friend's lives. These crystals, when gathered together, are called 'Jyoth pe Jyoth'… not jot-pa-jot as you so passionately quoted earlier." The ghost gave a vague, fond smile at Danny's embarrassed blush.

"Yeah, sorry 'bout that." The halfa rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at Clockwork sheepishly as he apologized for his rant. "So, um…" The teen hummed, putting a fist to his lips as he pondered Clockwork's words. "All I have to do is find a ghost, put it to rest and I'll get a crystal thing?" It was that easy? Surely there must be some catch…

"Not just anyone can put a ghost to rest. And not just any ghost will yield a shard." Clockwork warned, making Danny groan. Shifting back into the form of an elderly man, the ghost swooped closer to the boy and placed an reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Do not be discouraged. I am sure you will find the right path in time."

"But I don't have time!" Danny gripped.

Clockwork just patted the younger boy's shoulder before gently turning him around. "Go now, find the ghosts—"

"But they're gone!"

Clockwork smiled kindly. "It is true, the ghosts have fled their homes; but you'll find that it's much more difficult to leave the one place that binds your spirit to Earth." The ghost's eyes glinted meaningfully down at Danny, who just cocked his head, bemused.

"Very well, it's time for you to continue your quest, young Halfling. I fear I've far exceeded my quota for meddling today." And with a low chuckle, Clockwork guided Danny to the gates of his castle.

Left alone to chew on his mentor's words, Danny renewed his flight through the Ghost Zone. Only this time, he was actually trying to find his enemies.

Danny had started his search with a determined energy: zipping through the Ghost Zone like a bullet as he opened every door, overturned every rock. But as the hours dragged on, without a single fruit to his labour, Danny's flight began to lag and the cold pit of doubt began to settle in his stomach.

Technus' layer was filled with his useless gadgets and gizmos, but they were all lifeless and abandoned.

And Skulker… Danny had never been in the Ghost Zone so long without the hunter trying to make him 'prey'.

There weren't even any guards patrolling the area around Walker's prison; though he hadn't dared to go too close. The warden was still holding a grudge from the last time they'd met and Danny had a feeling Walker would sooner lob off his head than help him.

Bit by bit, Danny was feeling the hope seep out of him; and it was like his very life was bleeding out—leaving him weak and dazed. It was at this time, while he was desperately consulting his ghost zone map for un-scoured areas, when he picked up Jazz's voice on the Fenton Phone hanging from his ear.

"Yeah?" He asked, putting a hand to the triangular device in his ear as his head tilted to the side. His sister's voice came in on the other end, pelting him with rapid fire questions: where had he'd been, what he was doing, had he found a way to save Sam and Tucker and… she kept going, and going… asking more questions than Danny cared to think about.

Moving his hand to his temple and rubbing the headache developing there, Danny gave his sister a watered-down version of what Clockwork had said. Some gut intuition was cautioning him against telling Jazz everything. She'd only ask questions: analyze the situation and basically waste time pouring over stuff that wasn't important. So he told her only the immediate basics: he needed to find the missing ghosts in the Ghost Zone because they had something that Danny would trade for Tucker and Sam's freedom.

He must have been very convincing… either that or he had sounded very strained. Either way, Jazz didn't press him further. Instead, she instructed him to pack it in for the night and head home.

Danny had protested—he would have searched all night if it brought him any closer to finding Tucker and Sam—but Jazz was adamant. She told him their parents would be coming home soon, and with Sam and Tucker already missing, the last thing they needed was for their paranoid parents to start getting suspicious. She told Danny to come home, get some sleep and start early the next day. It was the weekend, Danny could take the Specter Speeder and the Fenton Finder and search much more efficiently than his haphazard, chaotic flitting about.

There was no disputing his sister's logic and Danny relented, cutting the connection and setting off toward home with a dejected sigh.

Danny slept fitfully.

A powerless observer, Clockwork could only watch as the teen faced the unseen demons of his troubled mind.

"Strength, young Halfling." The ghost placed a hand on the boy's head, weaving thin fingers through the mop of messy, black hair, even as Danny grimaced and rolled away.

"The real trial has only just begun."

Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il Il

Danny awoke in a dark place.

Scrambling to his feet, he threw his arms out, pushing away at the air. It was a defensive mechanism, one deeply ingrained in him after so many hours of ghost fighting.

But there was nothing.

Nothing in front of him, nothing behind him and nothing on the sides. Danny spun in a slow circle, sweeping his hands through the air. His eyes—useless—were blind in the endless dark, though he continued to blink owlishly at nothing, hoping, for a shred of light to appear, to guide him.

Swiping his foot over the ground, Danny took a cautious step into the abyss. The utter silence pounded in on his ears from all sides. Cut off from every human sense, Danny felt the chilling claws of insanity pressing in on his mind.

No. He couldn't.

Gathering himself together, Danny forced confidence to the forefront of his mind and strode forward. Almost immediately, his foot snagged on something and he fell with a mute yelp.

A door handle on the ground.

Opening it, it led to a whole new world. Vibrancy, colour and above all: sound. Danny leapt down into the pit of flames without even thinking.

Flashes of fire. Lava. Danny landed on a ground of bubbly black rock threaded by tiny rivers of red. He looked around.

Flames danced in the air before him, playing and crackling merrily. It was pleasant, amusing, and Danny relished the comforting warmth. Then the lava reached for him and he cried out at the searing heat on his skin. Droplets of unbearably hot fire turned into black slim that crawled over his chest toward his heart.

Danny swept off the stuff, taking to air. He flew with all his strength, away from that flaming hell. Heat once soothing was now stifling, making sweat dampen his hair and run down his neck.

And then he was no longer trapped by walls of fire.

He was on an empty road, lit by hazy streetlamps. Creeping along the lane, Danny kept glancing behind himself edgily. He could feel it: the flighty paranoia of the hunted. Answering his fears, a pair of sickly yellow eyes emerged from the shadows, squinting with dark mirth. Deathly fearful of the knowledge those yellow eyes held, Danny ran: turned away from the lit street and ducked down one of the smaller alleys.

His heart pounded in his ears, black hair flopped before his eyes and he shoved it away. In his mad flight, he had no concept of where he was running until he nearly slammed nose-first into a brick wall.

'Danny' His pursuer spoke with his name with a sibilant purr.

Danny froze. Turning with painful slowness, his wide eyes raked the air before landing on the figure before him. The eyes were not yellow but an endless abyss of black. His twin in height and body shape, the creature before him was a twisted, corpse-like version of Danny. Flashing filed shark-teeth, the thing leered at Danny.

"Wh—What do you want from me!" Danny pressed his back into the wall behind him as he shouted the words.

'Poor little Casper,' the doppelganger crooned, stepping slowly, deliberately, toward Danny.

And for all his strength and power, Danny could not move. He was a mind trapped in a body of lead, rooted to the ground. Immobile.

The creature, wearing a half-rotten mockery of his face, cocked its head. 'You will find out very soon. We promise.'

And, very lightly, it put its hand on Danny's chest. With a palm that felt more like water and worms than flesh, it gave him a light push. And like a doll, Danny tipped over backward and fell.

There was a splash and, to his alarm, he found himself underwater.

He thrashed. This instinctual movement sparked the realization that he could move and he immediately began coordinating his limbs to push him upward. But no matter how hard he pushed, how much water he paddled out of the way, there was no end in sight. Blue, blue haze all around, no light, no land, no salvation.

Eventually the need for air took him. Danny's mouth opened against his will. Water, not air, filled his lungs, shocking his body, burning his throat, his nose.

The thrashing became wilder, tinged with erratic hysteria as more water flowed through his nostrils, slipping down the back and drowning his screams of terror. In a desperate act, he covered his mouth, pinched his nose shut.

And then the burning began to fade, sight began to fade and sleep seemed so comforting.

It took Danny a long while to realize he could breath.

Lying there in his bed, chest heaving up and down as though he'd just run a marathon, Danny had been frozen in place, gripped by pure, animal fear for long moments until his brain somehow bypassed all the senseless babble in his mind to inform him that he was alive.

"… It… dream?" Danny's voice was subdued to a mere breath of air as he tried to wrap his head around the situation.

Sure enough, memories of dinner with his family and walking upstairs to his bedroom starting coming back to him. He'd spent a little time talking strategy with Jazz before sliding into under his bedcovers and tossing sleeplessly for a while.

Sitting up, Danny looked at the time. It was morning—or pretty close, anyway—and yet he felt like he'd been up all night.

A sudden though struck him and Danny tore off his salmon-coloured nightshirt and stared in dismay at himself.

The spot on his shoulder was larger. Every day it spread just a little more—not significantly, but the days were adding up. Now, instead of being a tiny bruise on his right shoulder, it had spilled over to his chest, and was crawling up past his collarbone. At this rate, it would soon be visible over the collar of his shirt.

It was creating a path to his heart. Danny knew it.

Pulling the shirt back over his head, Danny clenched at the buttons—noticed how his fingers trembled with fatigue—and lowered his head.

'What's happening to me?'

After, Danny resolved himself, after they rescued Sam and Tucker, he'd tell Jazz about the weird spot and they'd figure out a way to make it go away together.

After.

I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I

End Chapter 17

To Be Continued…

I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I-I¤I

Yay! End chapter ^.^ Hope you had fun. It's not a cliff-hanger (I think XD) AND now you guys have an idea of where I'm going with this story! So, please tell me what you think!

To everyone who reviewed the last TWO chapters ('cause I didn't thank you guys in the last chapter :3): I could not have written this without your encouragement! pearl84, Yugisrose, Nylah, sciencefreak330, If-I-Could-Write-500-Miles., SoullessAce, inukagome15, perpetuallyconfused, RenesmeeScarlet, Kirby77DP77, Werewolfsong and chalicity! Thank you!!

Adio!