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Episode Twenty-Seven

Phantom Victorious

Weeks had passed since Chris first arrived at the abbey, and his days had been filled with rigorous training. The courtyard, once a place of casual archery displays, had become a scene of intense practice sessions for Chris.

Old Man Robert's archery lessons had begun to show results. Chris' form had improved significantly; his aim was steadier, and his confidence with the bow had grown. The elderly fox's stern but encouraging guidance had pushed Chris to refine his technique, and it was evident in the way his arrows consistently found their mark. Each day, Chris had spent hours perfecting his skills, learning to balance precision with speed.

At the same time, Brock, the muscular badger known for his wrestling prowess, had been hard at work with Chris. The training sessions were grueling but effective. Brock's methods were tough, but they were forging Chris into a more formidable competitor. Paired with a badger kid who was also a skilled wrestler, Chris had learned to adapt and respond to various wrestling techniques and holds. The badger kid, eager to help, had been a valuable training partner, pushing Chris to his limits and offering advice from the sideline as Brock observed.

This particular morning, Chris was in the midst of a wrestling session, his muscles aching from a week of intense training. The sun had barely risen, casting a soft glow over the courtyard. Brock, with his usual no-nonsense demeanor, watched intently as Chris grappled with the badger kid, their movements a blur of skill and strength.

"Keep your balance!" Brock shouted from the sidelines, his voice carrying over the clash of bodies. "Don't let him get the upper hand!"

Chris, sweat trickling down his face, grunted in response. He had been working on various holds and counters, and today's focus was on escaping from different wrestling positions. As the badger kid applied a particularly challenging hold, Chris' mind raced back to his encounter with Hunter, who had used a pinning move to restrain him.

After the training session ended, Chris approached Brock, who was wiping sweat from his brow with a towel. "Brock, I've been thinking... I'd like to learn how to escape from wrestling holds. I had a run-in with someone who used a move that really pinned me down. I want to make sure I'm prepared for that kind of situation."

Brock raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "A specific hold, huh? What kind of move are we talking about?"

Chris took a deep breath, recalling the intensity of the moment. "It was a hold where he squeezed me tightly while lifting me off the ground and pinning me against him. I could barely move."

Brock's eyes widened slightly, and he nodded in understanding. "Ah, sounds like the bear hug pin. It's a tough one. It combines strength with restraint, making it hard to break free. Alright, I can definitely show you how to counter that hold. It'll take practice, but with the right technique, you can escape from it."

Chris' eyes lit up with determination. "Great! I want to be ready for anything."

Brock clapped Chris on the back. "Let's get started then. We'll work on some drills to build your strength and technique. I'll show you some escapes that should help you get out of that pin."

As Brock demonstrated the escape maneuvers, Chris focused intently, practicing each movement until he felt the technique become second nature. With each repetition, he grew more confident, knowing that these skills would be crucial for any future confrontations.

In the guest room of the abbey where Chris was staying, he took a deep breath and reached beneath his pillow, carefully pulling out his Gummiphone. He had been hiding it from the abbey residents, knowing their technology was more akin to medieval times. With a quick tap on the screen, he activated the app that connected directly to P.J. Within seconds, P.J.'s familiar face appeared on the screen.

"Chris! It's been a while. I was starting to get worried," P.J. said, his voice tinged with relief.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Chris replied with a sheepish grin. "A lot's been going on. I'm staying in Eleutheria for now, in a place called Maple Springs Abbey."

"Maple Springs Abbey, huh? Sounds peaceful."

"It is," Chris nodded. "And it's a good thing Gyro invented the Gummiphone, so I can still contact you from a different realm."

"No kidding! Gyro really outdid himself with that one," P.J. agreed.

"Hey, P.J.? Can you let the Colonel and my Dad know that I'm staying here for additional training? I'm safe, and the residents at the abbey refuse to let me go hungry. Their food is really good!"

"Will do, Chris. Your Dad's gonna be relieved to hear you're okay," P.J. assured him. "How's the training going?"

Chris filled P.J. in on his progress, mentioning Old Man Robert's archery lessons and Brock's wrestling sessions. Then, he hesitated before adding, "I'm learning some escape maneuvers too. There's this one hold I'm trying to figure out—Hunter squeezed me so tight, lifted me off the ground, and pinned me against him."

P.J.'s eyes lit up with recognition. "Oh, that's the bear hug pin!"

Chris blinked in surprise. "How do you know that?"

P.J. chuckled, "If you grow up with my Dad, you pick up on some wrestling. There's a reason Dad wanted five hundred channels, you know. Who's Hunter?"

Chris shrugged. "I don't know, some guy who was with Phantom. He really did a number on me with that bear hug pin!"

P.J. nodded, his expression turning serious. "Sounds like Hunter's no joke. If he's rolling with Phantom, then he's probably as tough as they come. That bear hug pin can be brutal if you don't know how to counter it."

Chris sighed. "Yeah, I found that out the hard way. But that's why I'm here, training and getting stronger. I'm not gonna let him or Phantom get the best of me next time."

P.J. smiled, encouragingly. "That's the spirit, Chris. Keep at it, and you'll be ready for whatever they throw at you. And hey, if you need any tips, you know where to find me."

"Thanks, P.J. I appreciate it," Chris replied, feeling more determined than ever.

"Anytime, Chris. Keep up the training, and let me know if you need anything else."

"I will, bye!" Chris said, feeling reassured as he ended the call and tucked the Gummiphone back under his pillow.

He approached the full-length mirror in his room, studying his reflection. During his stay at the abbey, Chris wore a blue short habit, fastened at the waist with a white cincture. He admired how the outfit suited him before pulling a set of pajamas from the wardrobe and beginning to get ready for bed.

The next day, Chris and Skippy made their way down the path toward the river, fishing poles in hand, the sound of the water growing louder with each step. The woven baskets bounced lightly against their legs, but Chris barely noticed. His thoughts were heavy, his mind drifting back to everything that weighed on him: the mission, Phantom, and what it meant if he failed.

Skippy, always the lively one, was the first to break the silence. "Hey Chris, I heard the fish are biting today! We might catch a whopper! What do you think?"

Chris forced a smile, trying to focus on the moment. "Yeah, maybe. I hope so."

Skippy glanced at Chris, noticing the distant look in his eyes. "Hey Chris," he asked, his tone shifting to one of concern, "what's on your mind?"

Chris hesitated, the weight of his thoughts holding him back. He didn't respond immediately, lost in his own world.

Skippy frowned, sensing the tension. "Is it Phantom?"

Chris finally met Skippy's gaze, giving a subtle nod.

"I thought so," Skippy replied, his voice softening. "You know you can talk to me about it, right?"

Chris shook his head, his voice quiet but firm. "I can't involve you in this, Skippy. Or anyone. I've got to do this alone."

Skippy frowned deeper, his worry evident. "Alone? Chris, that's crazy. You know how dangerous Phantom is. You almost got buried alive last time. Fighting him by yourself isn't just tough—it's risky. You don't have to do this alone."

Chris sighed, his shoulders tensing as he gripped the fishing pole a little tighter. "I know how dangerous it is. I knew that when I took on this mission." He paused, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the river shimmered in the fading light. "But this is my fight, Skippy. If I don't catch Phantom, I lose everything. The academy... it's where I belong. All my friends are there. It's where I'm learning cool new stuff every day."

Skippy listened quietly, his concern deepening. "I get that, Chris. I really do. But if you go at this alone, you're putting yourself at a bigger risk. Phantom's no joke. What if you get caught again, like in the cave?"

Chris gave a slight, bitter smile. "That's why I've been training harder than ever. Archery, grappling with Brock—it's all been tough, but I have to be ready. There's no other choice. If I don't catch Phantom, the academy will kick me out. And if that happens…" His voice trailed off as he looked down at the fishing pole in his hand, as if it could somehow give him an answer to his troubles.

Skippy frowned deeper, his worry evident. "I get why you're doing this, but even the best need help sometimes. You can't just push everyone away."

Chris met his eyes, his expression serious. "I'm not pushing anyone away. But this is my problem. I need to prove to myself—and to the academy—that I can handle it. This is what I was trained for. It's my responsibility."

Skippy watched him for a moment, then sighed, crossing his arms. "You're stubborn, you know that?"

Chris chuckled, though the sound was brief and tinged with tension. "I've been told that before."

They continued walking, the river finally coming into full view as the sun dipped lower. The air smelled fresh, and the world felt peaceful for a moment—but the weight of Chris' mission still hung between them.

"I just... can't fail," Chris said softly, more to himself than to Skippy. "The academy isn't just a school to me. It's where I've found out who I am. I've made real friends there, people who get me. And every day, I'm learning new things about myself—how strong I can be, how much I can do. I can't lose that. I won't."

Skippy remained silent, his gaze fixed on the flowing river. After a moment, he spoke, his voice gentle but firm. "I understand, Chris. I really do. But just remember—you don't have to face everything alone. Sometimes, we need our friends to remind us how strong we are."

Chris nodded, but his resolve didn't waver. "I know. But this time, it's something I have to do myself. If I'm going to stay at the academy, I need to finish this. No one else can do that for me."

Skippy opened his mouth to argue, then stopped. He could see the determination in Chris' eyes, the fire that drove him forward. It wasn't something that could be easily swayed.

"Alright," Skippy said at last, his tone softening. "Just... promise me you'll be careful. And if it gets too dangerous, don't hesitate to call for help. Even if you think you can handle it."

Chris gave him a small, grateful smile. "I promise."

As they approached the riverbank, Skippy suddenly frowned. "Oh no! I forgot the bait for the fish!"

Chris waved his hand dismissively. "Don't worry about it." He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "But you have to keep this a secret, okay? I have something I want to show you."

Skippy blinked, curiosity piqued. "What is it?"

"I'm an Aqua-caster," Chris said, a glint of excitement in his eyes. "I can manipulate water."

Skippy's eyes widened, and he took a small step back, looking both surprised and a bit fearful. "Wait, really? That sounds kinda... like sorcery or something. The elders always warned us how dangerous magic can be. Are you sure it's safe?"

Chris laughed lightly, trying to ease his friend's worries. "No, it's not sorcery! It's just a natural elemental ability. I promise I won't hurt you with it. You can trust me!"

Skippy hesitated, glancing at the river nervously. "O-okay, I trust you."

Chris smiled reassuringly as he squared his shoulders and took a stance, his focus shifting to the water in the river. He raised both hands to the sky, and as he did, spheres of water began rising up from the river. Each sphere contained a fish, glimmering in the sunlight.

"Whoa!" Skippy exclaimed, his eyes wide with awe. "That's... actually amazing!"

With a flick of his wrist, Chris dropped a few of the spheres into each of their baskets. Skippy watched, his initial fear fading as he saw the fish swimming inside the shimmering water orbs, marveling at how effortlessly Chris was controlling the water.

"Aw wow, that's incredible!" Skippy shouted, a mix of surprise and excitement flooding his voice. "You've gotta teach me how to do that someday!"

Chris chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, here's the thing, Skippy. Unless you're an Aqua-caster yourself, I can't really teach you. It's not something you can just pick up like archery or grappling. It's a natural ability, you know?"

Skippy's excitement dimmed slightly, realization washing over him. "Oh... I didn't think about that. So, it's not something I can learn?"

"Not unless you have the gift, which is pretty rare," Chris explained. "But that doesn't mean you can't appreciate Aqua-casting! Besides, you're already great at so many things. We'll catch fish the old-fashioned way next time, okay?"

Skippy nodded, feeling reassured. "Okay, that works for me."

Chris said, smiling brightly: "Good! Now, let's take our catch back to the abbey."

They both laughed, the day's tension briefly lifting as they celebrated their catch from the river. Though Phantom was still out there, Chris felt more prepared than ever for his return. His training in archery and wrestling had sharpened his skills, and in his mind, he had been carefully plotting which moves he'd use against Phantom or Hunter, strategizing as he learned new techniques.

When they returned to the abbey with their catch, Skippy's mother beamed with delight as they presented her with two baskets full of fish.

"Oh, wonderful! You boys caught enough for me to make that fish stew you love so much!" she exclaimed, hugging Skippy and kissing the top of his head.

Skippy stood tall, pride evident as his sisters showered praise on both him and Chris.

"Well, I can't take all the credit," Skippy admitted with a grin. "Chris caught most of them."

"Well done, Chris!" Skippy's mother said, and Chris blushed modestly at her kind words. "Now, you two go wash up while I get started on the stew."

"Yes, ma'am," Skippy replied, leading Chris to the bathroom where they took turns in the tub, washing off the day's adventures.

After being bathed and well-fed, Chris said goodnight to Skippy and headed back to his room to rest.

Just as he was about to settle in, a distant explosion echoed through the air, and the ground trembled beneath his feet. Alarms spread through the abbey as the residents scrambled from their rooms, heading toward the safe areas, fearing an earthquake. The rumble came again and again, a steady "boom, boom, boom," followed by more tremors.

Struggling to keep his balance, Chris honed in on the sound, realizing it was coming from the direction of the forest. Without hesitation, he bolted in that direction, determined to investigate the source of the disturbance.

As Chris entered the forest, he swiftly pulled out his airfoil, unfolded it, and tossed it ahead. In one fluid motion, he leapt onto the round metal board. The moment his feet touched it, the airfoil glowed, rising from the ground before surging forward. He sped through the forest, weaving effortlessly between the trees as the warm evening air rushed past him.

Before long, Chris arrived at the caved-in cave he had previously narrowly escaped from. But now, the rubble that had once blocked the entrance was gone. In its place was a perfectly round hole, as if something had drilled straight through. Beyond the entrance, a smooth tunnel stretched ahead, recently carved into the earth.

Chris hopped off his airfoil, quickly folding it and tucking it into his shirt as he cautiously approached the mouth of the tunnel.

"Bombara!" an echoing voice bellowed from deep within the cave. A sudden explosion followed, shaking the ground beneath Chris' feet.

Struggling to maintain his balance, Chris gasped. "Phantom!" he blurted out, instantly recognizing the voice. Without hesitation, he bolted into the cave, determined to face him head-on.

Halfway through the newly formed tunnel, Chris slowed his pace, opting to walk quietly on tiptoes. Catching Phantom off guard seemed like the smarter move.

Rounding the corner, Chris spotted Phantom, his back turned, kneeling as he frantically tossed rocks aside, digging through the rubble in search of something.

"Where is it?" Phantom muttered, frustration seeping through his words. "It's gotta be around here somewhere. If it weren't for that stupid little twerp, I'd—" Before he could finish, Chris tried to inch closer but accidentally nudged a small rock, sending it clattering against the wall. The noise echoed, catching Phantom's attention. His ear twitched, and in an instant, he spun around and fired a bolt of red light at Chris, who dove to the ground just in time to avoid it.

"YOU!" Phantom roared, his voice reverberating through the tunnel, eyes wild with fury. Advancing on Chris, he raised his staff and unleashed a barrage of red light, forcing Chris to draw his D-blade. He deflected the incoming spells with swift precision, as if they were locked in a high-speed game of baseball.

"You ruined everything! Now I'm gonna make you pay! Expelliarmus!" Phantom bellowed, and with a flash of red light, the D-blade was ripped from Chris' hand, spinning across the cave floor.

Left weaponless, Chris had no choice but to rely on his agility. He darted left and right, narrowly avoiding the next barrage of spells as they shot past him. Each movement brought him a little closer to Phantom, who quickly noticed Chris' strategy.

Realizing the danger, Phantom began to retreat, trying to keep his distance. But the narrow tunnel worked against him, making it harder to fire off spells while stepping backward. Chris pressed on, dodging blasts and steadily closing the gap between them.

Finally within striking distance, Chris lunged at Phantom, aiming to tackle him. But like a skilled boxer in the ring, Phantom sidestepped effortlessly, spinning around Chris and firing a spell into his back. Chris winced as searing pain shot through him, feeling like a burning rock had struck him. Without the protection of his super suit, he was vulnerable, and he hadn't realized just how painful being hit by magic could be.

But Phantom wasn't finished. He unleashed a flurry of red bolts, each one striking Chris' back. The pain intensified with each hit, forcing Chris to whimper and struggle to move away. But before he could escape, Phantom snarled: "Petrificus Totalus!"

Chris' body froze instantly, stiff as a board. He couldn't move a muscle or even speak—completely paralyzed.

Panting slightly, Phantom caught his breath and then walked up to Chris, standing right in front of him. "Playtime's over, twerp," he said with a smirk, flicking Chris' nose with his finger. "I'd end this right now, but lucky for you, I've been ordered to capture you. The Emperor said I could restore my honor by bringing you in as my prisoner."

With that, Phantom shot another spell into Chris' chest, making the pain surge again. Then, without a second glance, he turned away, continuing his search for the shard, leaving Chris frozen and helpless.

As Phantom scoured the rubble, tossing rocks aside and blasting them away with the occasional Exploding Charm, Chris stood rigid, paralyzed but with his mind racing. Desperation filled his thoughts as he frantically searched for a way out of this situation, all while dreading what fate might await him as Phantom's prisoner.

Then, a sudden realization hit him: both he and Phantom had been given the same command—to capture each other.

Chris stood frozen, unable to move, as Phantom rummaged for the elusive shard. Panic surged through his mind, thoughts crashing into each other like a storm. He forced himself to block them out, focusing solely on finding a way to escape. He knew his D-blade could break the curse that held him—but it lay several feet away, and summoning it had always been difficult for him. Still, he had no choice but to try. He concentrated, calling out to the D-blade with his mind, willing it to come to his aid. Yet, despite his efforts, the D-blade barely stirred, rolling lazily on the ground as if mocking him.

Had Chris been an Ignis-caster, flames would have erupted from him in pure rage at his D-blade's defiance. Fueled by anger, he intensified his focus, his willpower crashing through the blade's stubborn resistance. As if sensing the heat of Chris' fury, the D-blade vanished from the ground and reappeared in his immobile hand. With the D-blade now in his grip, Chris shouted in his mind, "FINITE INCANTATEM!" Instantly, the curse shattered, and he regained his freedom of movement, just as Phantom let out a triumphant yell.

"Got it! Finally found it!" Phantom cried, holding the shard high, his fist punching the air in celebration. Chris swiftly dismissed his D-blade, causing it to vanish from his hand as he stood perfectly still, pretending to still be under the Full Body Bind curse. Phantom stowed the shard inside his cloak, turned, and approached Chris.

"Well, prisoner, we have one more stop before I take you to your new home in Drekmore," he said, pointing his staff at Chris. "Can't say you'll like the place, though."

Chris felt the urge to act, but something held him back—a sense that it wasn't the right moment to strike. He remained still as Phantom cast his next spell: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Chris felt weightless as his body floated off the ground, controlled by the direction of Phantom's staff. With his other hand, Phantom summoned a dark Shadow Portal. Chris hovered before him, helpless, as Phantom swiftly directed his staff at the portal as if casting a fishing line. Before Chris could react, he was hurled bodily into the swirling darkness!

He was thrown through the darkness and flew out onto the other side, landing face-first in a few feet of snow and ice. By the time he pulled his head free from the snow, Phantom had already stepped through the portal, standing there with a mix of amusement at the sight of Chris struggling and bemusement.

"Weren't you under my curse? How are you able to move just now?" Phantom asked, raising his staff. Before he could cast his spell at Chris, Chris swiftly raised his hands, causing a solid wall of ice to spring up in front of him. The spell struck the wall that was shielding Chris, leaving him unharmed.

"Oh… raspberries…" Phantom muttered, his fox ears drooping as he realized his mistake in bringing an Aqua-caster to the Arctic. "You're a water bear. I forgot."

Without hesitation, Chris made the first move, slamming his hand onto the ground. The earth rumbled as a sinkhole formed in the ice beneath Phantom, causing him to stagger. He quickly regained his balance, leaping clear of the hole just before it snapped shut.

Chris didn't waste time. Raising his hands, he summoned bars of ice around Phantom, encasing him in a cage.

"What the—are we fighting or playing cops and robbers?" Phantom's voice rang out, dripping with sarcasm. He aimed his staff at the icy bars. "Incendio!" A fiery blast erupted from the staff, melting the bars in an instant, steam hissing as the cold air clashed with the heat. Phantom leapt out of the enclosure, his movements swift. "You're not catching me like that, twerp! You'll have to knock me out first because there's no way in this icy wasteland I'm letting a twerp like you take me alive! Depulso!"

A blast from Phantom's spell struck Chris, sending him flying backward. He crashed into the snow, sliding across the icy ground before coming to a halt. The next spell followed fast, shattering the ice where he had been moments before as he rolled out of harm's way.

Getting to his feet, Chris knew he needed more than agility. He focused, summoning his super suit. In an instant, the full-body suit materialized around him, forming a protective layer.

Phantom sneered, eyeing the suit with disdain. "You're wearing pajamas to a fight? What are you, five?"

Ignoring the taunt, Chris quickly drew on his Aqua-casting abilities, manipulating the icy terrain to launch a barrage of jagged ice spikes at Phantom. The frozen shards streaked through the air, forcing Phantom to dodge. He retaliated swiftly, slashing through the air with a whip of fire. Chris countered by raising another wall of ice, but the flames melted it, leaving only a cloud of steam behind.

The battle intensified as both combatants exchanged blows—ice and water clashing against fire and magic. Phantom moved nimbly, evading Chris' relentless attacks, while Chris continued to harness the snow and ice, shaping them into defensive barriers and offensive strikes.

Seeing an opening, Phantom grinned wickedly and flicked his wrist, casting a spell that targeted Chris' super suit.

In an instant, the fabric constricted, wrapping tightly around Chris' arms and torso, pinning his arms and legs together. "What the—" Chris gasped, struggling as the super suit tightened, restricting his movements.

Phantom chuckled, his amusement clear. "Looks like you're all tied up now."

Despite the tightening fabric, Chris remained focused. Unable to break free physically, he turned to his Aqua-casting. Drawing on the sweat beading on his fur, he crystallized it into sharp, icy spikes that tore through the super suit. The fabric ripped apart, falling away in shredded pieces, freeing his body.

His furry body now exposed to the cold, Chris wasted no time in summoning the surrounding snow and ice. He quickly formed it into a suit of shimmering ice armor, the frozen plates encasing him in a protective layer.

Phantom's expression shifted to one of surprise mixed with irritation. "Impressive, but you'll need more than that!" He raised his staff again, ready for the next round as Chris stood armored and determined, prepared to meet him head-on.

Chris, now encased in his ice armor, felt a surge of confidence. The Arctic was his domain, and with the vast expanse of snow and ice surrounding him, he had the upper hand. Every step Phantom took sent small clouds of frost billowing, while Chris moved with fluid precision, bending the elements to his will. The snow rose at his command, swirling around him like an obedient force.

Phantom, realizing the tide of the battle was turning, hurled fireballs from his staff, but Chris countered by erecting towering walls of ice that absorbed the flames. His Aqua-casting was relentless, and with every move, he sent waves of ice spikes shooting at Phantom, forcing him to stay on the defensive.

With each passing moment, the sheer cold and Chris' mastery over the environment began to overwhelm Phantom. His fire spells became less effective, and he found himself retreating from the constant onslaught. The icy ground beneath him was unsteady, shifting and morphing under Chris' control.

Phantom, clearly growing desperate, extended his staff into the air, summoning a swirling vortex of dark energy. From the shadows emerged a horde of Shadow Minions, their black, ethereal forms creeping toward Chris, ready to overwhelm him.

But Chris wasn't fazed. He looked around at the limitless snow surrounding him and raised his hands high. In response, the snow gathered rapidly, molding and shaping into an army of towering snowmen. They stood tall and menacing, each one armed with sharp icicle spears. With a wordless command from Chris, the snowmen marched forward to meet the Shadow Minions.

The battlefield erupted into chaos. Shadow Minions clashed with snowmen, darkness against ice. The minions swiped and clawed at the snowmen, but Chris' creations fought back with icy precision, striking down the minions with their spears. As the two armies battled around them, Chris and Phantom remained locked in their own duel.

Chris kept the pressure on, weaving the snow into sharp weapons and launching them at Phantom with unyielding force. Phantom was barely keeping up, his fire spells losing potency in the frigid air. A misstep by Phantom allowed Chris to summon a wall of ice behind him, trapping him between Chris' relentless attacks and the icy barrier. Phantom's eyes darted for an escape.

With a final thrust, Chris knocked Phantom's staff clean out of his hand. It spun through the air before landing in the snow several feet away. Phantom immediately scrambled toward it, desperation in his eyes. But before he could reach the staff, Chris raised his hand and encased it in a solid block of ice, freezing it completely.

"No more magic from you, Phantom," Chris said, his voice steady and firm as he approached the disarmed fox teen. "It's over. Now surrender."

Phantom, chest heaving, looked from the frozen staff to Chris. For the first time, the arrogant smirk on his face faltered as he realized the battle had been lost.

Phantom's face twisted with disbelief as Chris' words sunk in. "No… no… NO!" he shouted, his voice growing frantic. Refusing to accept his defeat, he let out a primal scream of rage and desperation. He lunged at Chris, his fists swinging wildly, abandoning magic in a last-ditch attempt to fight back.

Chris remained still, calm in the face of Phantom's futile charge. "I win," he said simply, his voice carrying a sense of finality. With a flick of his hand, Chris caused a block of ice to shoot up from the ground between them. Phantom, unable to stop his momentum, slammed into it with a sickening thud. He stumbled back, dazed, before collapsing onto the snow.

Panting, Phantom lay there, eyes wide, staring up at the cold sky. "I lost…" he muttered in disbelief, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes glossed over as he spoke, "Scar… I tried my best… please forgive me…"

The sound of Scar's name echoed in Chris' ears like a thunderclap, unleashing a wave of terror. His heart raced uncontrollably, and a tightening grip of fear closed around his chest. His vision blurred as panic engulfed him, an invisible force squeezing the breath from his lungs. Chris let out a piercing scream, horror twisting his features while his mind spiraled into chaos. He darted his gaze around, imagining demons and shadows with Scar's face superimposed, closing in on him. In a frenzied response, he summoned his D-blade and swung it wildly, attacking shadows that weren't really there. He swung the D-blade left, right and center until, exhausted, he dropped the blade and fell to his knees, his breathing becoming erratic. Clutching his head with trembling hands, he curled into a fetal position in the snow, seeking refuge from the terror that engulfed him.

The once-solid ice armor encasing him shattered and fell away, leaving his fur exposed to the biting cold. His body shook violently, wracked with fear and despair, as he whimpered uncontrollably. Phantom, still lying in the snow, watched the scene unfold in stunned silence.

"What…?" Phantom blinked in confusion, unable to comprehend what was happening. Just moments ago, Chris had been in complete control, and now he lay defeated by…

Realizing he could take advantage of the situation, Phantom's eyes narrowed. With a surge of determination, he crawled over to the block of ice that encased his staff. Placing both hands on it, he summoned all his strength and shattered the icy prison. Grabbing his staff, he rose to his feet and aimed it at the trembling bear cub.

"Stupefy!" he cried, casting the stunning spell. A bolt of red light hit Chris squarely, knocking him unconscious. His body went limp, and he lay in the snow. Instantly, all of his snowmen became lifeless and fell.

Phantom, still shaken by the turn of events, stood over Chris' still form. He knelt beside the unconscious bear cub, his expression softening for a moment as he removed his cloak. Draping it carefully over Chris' exposed, furry body, he muttered, "I… I don't know what happened… You had me…"

He shook his head, dismissing the thoughts that threatened to distract him. His gaze hardened again as he stood tall, gripping his staff tightly. "No matter. Now I have you."

Raising his staff, Phantom unleashed the binding spell. "Incarcerous!" he shouted, and thick ropes shot forth from the tip, snaking around Chris' body and binding him tightly. The ropes secured his arms and legs, leaving no room for escape this time. Phantom then bent down, retrieving the D-blade Chris had dropped, switching it off before tucking it into his belt.

With Chris bound and unconscious, Phantom walked a short distance away, finding the purple glowing shard, encased in a block of ice. With a flick of his staff, he shot a blasting curse at it, shattering the ice and freeing the shard.

Satisfied, Phantom picked up the shard and took a moment to catch his breath, glancing back at the helpless bear cub wrapped in his cloak. He tapped his staff on the snow, and with a final wave, he summoned the swirling black vortex of the Shadow Portal. Chris' limp body began to float, rising gently into the air as Phantom guided him toward the dark gateway.

"You're my prisoner now," Phantom said quietly, his voice filled with a strange mix of triumph and confusion. Stepping through the portal behind his captive, the two disappeared into the shadows, leaving the icy wasteland behind.

In the dimly lit throne room of Drekmore, Scar sat upon his throne, surrounded by scattered parchments filled with plans and schemes. His sharp eyes scanned the pages before him, but his concentration broke as a swirling Shadow Portal materialized in front of him. From its depths, an unconscious bear cub floated into the room, followed closely by Phantom, his staff still aimed at the boy.

Scar's lips curled into a twisted smile. "Roger, you've returned," he purred, rising slowly from his throne. "And you've brought a new prisoner. Well done." His voice carried a note of approval as he approached the limp figure.

With a casual flick of his foot, Scar rolled Chris onto his back, peering down at the cub's unconscious face. A flicker of recognition crossed Scar's eyes, followed by a low, amused chuckle. "Ah, yes," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "I remember this one. He's grown since I last laid eyes on him." His gaze then shifted to Phantom. "Did he give you much trouble?"

Phantom shrugged slightly, his expression calm despite the weight of the moment. "He put up a fight, but nothing I couldn't handle. And he never touched the prize, master." With that, Phantom withdrew the two glowing shards he had retrieved. Dropping to one knee, he bowed low, holding the shards out before Scar in a gesture of submission.

Scar's eyes gleamed with triumph as he reached for the shards, his fingers brushing over the purple glow as if he could already feel the power coursing through them. His grin widened, sharp and predatory. "Yes," he said, almost whispering, "Yes, very well done, Roger." He paused for a moment, savoring the moment of victory. "With these two shards and this prisoner in tow, you have redeemed yourself and restored your honor tenfold."

Phantom's breath hitched, his heart skipping a beat. "D-does… does that mean—?" He didn't dare finish the question, his hope barely contained.

Scar's grin remained, cold and calculating. "Yes, all privileges are restored to you," he declared. "You may eat whatever you like in the dining hall, and your room is yours again, along with a personal servant."

Phantom blinked in surprise, his bemused expression betraying a mix of relief and confusion. "A servant, sir? Who?"

Scar's gaze dropped down to the unconscious bear cub. "Why, this little prisoner, of course." He gestured lazily toward Chris. "You said he was nothing you couldn't handle, correct?"

Phantom's face twisted into a reluctant grimace. "Aw, master… Do I really have to babysit this twerp?"

Scar raised an eyebrow, his amusement never fading. "Yes, unless you'd rather he rot in the prison for the rest of his young life."

Phantom sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping as he seemed to consider the offer. After a long moment, he muttered, "Fine… I guess I'll take him as my servant."

Scar chuckled darkly. "Excellent." His eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned back on his throne. "Now, before you go, was this one carrying a D-blade?"

Phantom, almost forgetting, quickly nodded. "Uh, yes sir, I have it right here." He held up Chris' D-blade, presenting it to Scar.

Scar's wicked grin deepened as he took the blade from Phantom. Holding it up before his face, his eyes gleamed with malicious intent. Suddenly, green flames burst from the blade, consuming it in an instant. The D-blade dissolved into nothingness, leaving only a wisp of smoke in the air.

Phantom took a step back, terror creeping into his eyes. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed—his master had destroyed one of the legendary D-blades like it was nothing!

Scar's gaze flicked toward Phantom, catching the fear in his eyes. He seemed to savor it for a moment before speaking again, his voice low and deliberate. "One more thing, Roger…"

Scar waved his hand, and with a flicker of dark magic, a pair of metal cuffs embedded with a glowing purple gemstone materialized. He bent down over Chris and snapped them onto his wrists.

Phantom, his voice barely above a whisper, asked nervously, "What are those, master?"

Scar straightened, his smile returning as he admired his handiwork. "A measure to ensure he cannot use his powers while in your custody," he said smoothly, as if explaining a simple household item. "Now," he added with a dismissive wave, "that will be all. You're dismissed. And take him with you."

Phantom hesitated for a moment, still shaken by the display of power, but quickly gathered himself. He withdrew his staff from his belt and waved it over Chris, causing the bear cub to float into the air, still bound and unconscious. As Phantom turned to leave, Chris hovered silently behind him, his limp body following like a shadow.

Without another word, Phantom and his new captive disappeared through the doors of the throne room, leaving Scar to revel in the triumph of his latest acquisition.

Chris slowly came to, his senses gradually returning as he became aware of the cold flagstone beneath him. His eyes fluttered open, and he lifted his head, trying to figure out where he was. Glancing around, he realized he was in a bedroom of sorts. But he wasn't alone. Across the room, rummaging through an open wardrobe, a fox—around his own age, maybe a bit older—looked mildly annoyed as he pulled out a rolled-up sleeping bag and pillow. When the fox turned, he noticed Chris sitting up.

"Oh, you're awake," the fox said, setting the bedding aside and continuing to search the wardrobe. "Finally. I was starting to think I hit you too hard with that last spell."

"PHANTOM!" Chris gasped, his eyes widening with sudden recognition as he leapt to his feet. Without thinking, he stretched out his hand, concentrating hard to summon his D-blade. But something was off. The usual pull of the blade didn't respond. Instead, there was only a void. "What the—?"

"Don't bother," Phantom said coolly. "Your nightlight is no more. And your powers? Gone. So don't waste your energy resisting." With a casual toss, he threw Chris a full-size tunic. "Here, put that on and give me back my cloak." He turned his back on Chris, giving him some privacy to change.

Chris, still grappling with the loss of his D-blade, took a moment to search within himself. He reached out to the power of the Heart, but something blocked his connection. The power was still there, just beyond his grasp, as if locked behind an invisible barrier. Phantom wasn't entirely right—his powers weren't gone, but they were useless if he couldn't access them.

"Are you dressed yet?" Phantom's impatient voice cut through Chris' thoughts, his back still turned.

Chris glanced down and realized he was wrapped in Phantom's purple cloak like a makeshift robe. Embarrassed, he blushed, suddenly aware that he wore nothing beneath it but his fur. Quickly, he shrugged off the cloak and tossed it across the room, where it landed on the bed. Grabbing the tunic Phantom had handed him earlier, Chris hurriedly pulled it on.

"I-I'm dressed now," Chris called out. Phantom turned, grabbed his cloak from the bed, and slipped it on. Without the black mask and cloak, Phantom looked surprisingly ordinary—just a kid in simple clothes beneath the dark layers.

"Where are we?" Chris asked, scanning the unfamiliar room.

"Drekmore Castle," Phantom replied curtly, turning to face him. "Now that you're up, let's get a few things straight. You don't touch any of my stuff, and you follow my orders. Got it?"

Chris bristled at the words, his independent spirit flaring. "What am I, your slave?"

"You were given to me as a servant," Phantom said matter-of-factly. "Believe it or not, that's a way better deal than what most prisoners here get. Trust me, I've seen it." He tossed Chris the rolled-up sleeping bag and pillow. "That's your bed, and you get one blanket," he added, throwing him an old, tattered blanket riddled with holes. "As for food and water, I might bring you something from the dining hall, unless you'd prefer the prisoners' food."

"What's the prisoners' food?" Chris asked anxiously as he arranged his makeshift bed in the corner of the room.

"Gruel," Phantom replied flatly.

Chris made a gagging face of disgust. "I'll take my chances with whatever you bring me then. So, um, Phantom…"

"Call me Roger," Phantom interrupted, a hint of impatience in his voice. "Might as well, since everyone else here calls me Roger."

"Roger… What did you mean by 'most prisoners'? What happens to them?"

Roger's gaze fell, casting his face in shadow. "They're all isolated in their own cells. They might talk to each other if they can hear through the walls, but they never see each other's faces. And the hyenas' cackling and the ogres banging on the walls make it impossible to sleep at night…" He spoke as if he were reliving the experience.

Understanding washed over Chris. It all made sense now—why Roger was so desperate to avoid failure and why dark shadows lingered beneath his eyes.

"So that's why you didn't show up for weeks after our last encounter…" Chris said. "You were imprisoned."

"Yeah, I was punished for failure," Roger admitted. "So when I got out, I did everything I could to avoid failing again. But I almost did…" He turned his frown toward Chris. "What happened back there in the Arctic? You had me cornered, and then suddenly you screamed and fell to the ground. I managed to break my staff free and knock you out."

Chris looked away, avoiding Roger's gaze. "I don't know…" he muttered, and Roger could sense the lie beneath his words.

"It's no use lying to me…" Roger said, his tone steady. "There's a magical artifact my trainer, Magica De Spell, has that allows me to see into your memories and uncover the truth for myself. So, you can either tell me the truth, or I can go get the artifact and see for myself. The choice is yours."

Chris hesitated, weighing the possibility of Roger actually going through with it. He sighed, deciding it was best not to gamble on that.

"There is… a word that triggers the reaction," Chris admitted. "Ever since… I can't remember anything from that day. They wiped my memory to protect me, but they couldn't completely cure me of… whatever that was…"

A look of curiosity crossed Roger's face. "What is the word?"

"I don't know. Everyone's always careful not to say it in front of me…" Chris said, his voice barely above a whisper, making him seem unusually small and vulnerable. "Whenever I hear the word, my head just sort of... shuts down. I know I'm having a panic, but I can never remember what the word was after it happens. It's like my brain's trying to protect me by making me forget."

Roger's brow creased as concern flickered in his eyes. "Is there anything else that triggers a panic attack?"

Chris nodded, looking as though he might cry. "Thunder and lightning…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Roger smirked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's funny how just a little pressure had you spilling all your secrets. What's next? Are you scared of the dark, too? Is that why you had that little nightlight sword?"

Chris' gaze dropped to the floor. "No…" he muttered, a flush of embarrassment creeping up his cheeks. "I'm not afraid of the dark…" His voice carried a hint of resentment, as if he felt Roger was belittling him like a small child.

"Well, good, because it's about to get dark soon," Roger said, tossing a set of clean bed sheets at Chris. "You can change my bed while I head to the dining hall. And just so you know, don't even think about escaping—the door locks magically behind me, and the window? Unbreakable."

Chris caught the sheets, his irritation clear. "Great…" he muttered under his breath.

"Glad we have an understanding," Roger replied, his smirk widening as he turned to leave, closing the door behind him.

Chris stood still, staring at the door for a moment, his mind racing. He listened to Roger's footsteps growing fainter and fainter, and then his eyes narrowed as he studied the door. There was no lock, no bolt—just an iron ring handle. It could only be locked by magic, but maybe, just maybe, there was a way around it. He ran his fingers over the door's smooth wood, muttering to himself, "Is this door really locked?"

He took hold of the iron ring and pulled firmly. The door didn't budge. Chris' frustration flared, but he wasn't surprised. "That's magic alright," he muttered, clenching his jaw. Still, a part of him had hoped the magic wasn't that strong—hoped there'd be some flaw, some weakness he could exploit. But there wasn't.

Turning toward the window, Chris' determination hardened. He walked over and tested it, pushing against the glass with all his strength. Again, nothing. "Of course," he mumbled, biting back a surge of frustration. Grabbing one of Roger's hefty hardcover books from the shelf, he hurled it at the window with all his might. The book hit the glass and bounced off, clattering to the floor. Not even a scratch appeared on the window.

Chris stood there, staring at the unbroken window, his heart sinking as reality settled in. "Perfect, just perfect," he muttered, the weight of his captivity pressing down on him. For a moment, he stood in the middle of the room, fists clenched at his sides, fighting back the growing frustration and helplessness gnawing at him.

With a resigned sigh, he turned back to the bed and set about changing the sheets. The task felt like a bitter reminder of his powerlessness. When he finished, he tossed the dirty sheets into a basket and sank onto his sleeping bag in the corner, his eyes drifting to the door.

After a while, the door creaked open, and Roger stepped in, carrying a tray of food: a chicken leg, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn off the cob, a roll, and a glass of water.

"I'm back, and here's your food." Roger said.

Chris' eyes widened as Roger set the tray down in front of him. He had braced himself for something awful—gruel or some other miserable excuse for a meal—but instead, it was actual decent food.

"This is... way better than I expected," he said, his voice filled with surprise. "Thank you."

Roger blinked, clearly caught off guard by the gratitude. For a moment, the usual sneer was replaced by something softer.
"Don't mention it," he replied, though a small, satisfied smirk still tugged at the corner of his lips as Chris dug into the food, tearing a chunk off the chicken leg with his teeth. "I wasn't going to let you starve."

There was a sharp knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Roger called out, his voice wary and direct.

"Colby!" came the muffled reply from the other side, cheerful and unfazed.

Roger swung the door open, revealing Colby, a young but tall coonhound teen. In one hand, he held two bottles of root beer, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as if he were sharing a secret.

Chris, still seated on the floor and finishing the meal Roger had brought him, stiffened at the sight of Colby. He had only met the coonhound once before, and that encounter was etched in his memory as painful and humiliating. Colby had subjected him to rough wrestling holds, leaving Chris sore and ashamed. Now, he instinctively shrank back, attempting to make himself as small and unnoticed as possible, his eyes darting nervously between Roger and Colby. Colby was about half a foot taller than Roger.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, Roger raised an eyebrow. "What's up?"

"I heard you pulled it off," Colby replied, stepping inside with an approving nod. "Secured two shards and snagged yourself a little Dedi scout, huh? Regained your honor and got your room back. Thought we should celebrate." He lifted the two bottles of root beer with a flourish. "Nicked these from Ma Beagle's storage. Thought you'd appreciate a drink."

Roger's smirk widened as he glanced at the bottles. "Not bad," he said, stepping aside to let Colby in.

Chris continued to watch from his corner, hoping to remain invisible as the two teens conversed. A knot tightened in his stomach; Colby was trouble, and Roger's casual acceptance of this celebration only added to his anxiety.

With a satisfying pop, Roger and Colby opened their bottles of root beer, taking long drinks and sighing in satisfaction. The atmosphere between them was light and carefree—until Colby's gaze landed on Chris. Chris' heart sank as he realized he'd been noticed.

"What's he doing here?" Colby asked, eyebrows raised as he glanced over at Chris.

"He's my servant now," Roger replied with a casual shrug. "A bonus reward, I guess."

Colby's curiosity shifted into action. He strolled over to Chris, who instinctively backed away, pressing himself against the wall in a desperate attempt to escape Colby's reach. But it was futile. Colby easily slid his hands under Chris' armpits and lifted him off the ground, holding him at arm's length like a toy.

Chris felt an unsettling sensation as his feet dangled above the floor, leaving him feeling vulnerable. Colby examined him, a thoughtful look on his face. "You're really light," he remarked, as if Chris weighed next to nothing.

"That's why I'm feeding him real food for now," Roger interjected, arms crossed casually. "Don't want him fainting on me."

Colby grunted in response. "Doesn't seem like much of a threat, even with his powers. Are you sure he's worth all this trouble?"

Roger smirked. "Don't let his size fool you. He's actually pretty powerful. Gave me more trouble than I expected, but I took him down."

Colby glanced back at Chris, amusement flickering across his face, mixed with mild surprise. "Guess you're tougher than you look." His curiosity sparked, and a mischievous grin spread across his face. "Can I play with him? Maybe wrestle him a bit to see how tough he really is?" His eyes glinted with playful challenge as he looked between Roger and Chris.

Roger held up a hand, shaking his head firmly. "Not now. If you break him, he'll be useless to me as a servant."

Colby shrugged, disappointment momentarily shadowing his features. "Aw, come on! It'll be fun!"

"Fun for you, maybe," Roger replied, his tone dismissive. "But I don't need any accidents right now. Last thing I want is to be nursing him back to health."

Colby leaned closer, then pressed his nose to Chris' chest and belly, sniffing him as if trying to memorize his scent. Chris stiffened, squirming under the coonhound's scrutiny, wishing he could simply disappear.

"I'm just memorizing your scent," Colby teased, a playful lilt in his voice. "You know, in case I ever need to track you down." He took a quick sniff of the top of Chris' head, breathing in the scent of his hair. "Wow, you kind of smell like honey," Colby remarked, pulling back slightly to meet Chris' gaze. Chris remained silent, still hoping to blend into the background.

Roger crossed his arms, an annoyed expression creeping onto his face as he observed Colby's antics. "Alright, enough of that," he said, irritation edging his voice. "Put the twerp down and let's play marbles or something."

Colby rolled his eyes but complied, gently lowering Chris back to the ground. Chris felt a rush of relief as he finally stood on his own two feet, though he remained acutely aware of Colby's towering presence beside him.

"Fine, but I still want to see how tough he is sometime," Colby said, shooting Chris a teasing grin as he turned back to Roger.

Roger huffed, clearly unimpressed. "Yeah, yeah, when I'm ready to watch you squash him like a bug, I'll let you know."

With that, Colby and Roger settled onto the floor, pulling out a colorful array of marbles. They began to play, laughter and chatter filling the air as they rolled the marbles across the smooth surface. Chris watched from his corner, feeling like a spectator in a game he didn't quite belong to. The sound of their playful banter echoed around him, a stark reminder of his situation. Though he was safe for now, the weight of his captivity loomed large in his mind as he quietly observed the two of them enjoying their game.

Author's Note:
I hope you enjoyed this episode! Cyclone Blaze and I would love to hear your thoughts. Please share your comments, reviews, and feedback in the Review section—we truly value hearing from our readers!