One of my first DP multichapter fics, this. Started it in November; I'm still nowhere near done. I'm going to warn you right now, I can be painfully slow at updating. The prologue and first three chapters will be up quickly since they're done. After that, though...I'm going to try to do a chapter a week. We'll see if that works.
Disclaimer: If you've seen it on Danny Phantom, it's not mine. In that case, it belongs to Butch Hartman, Nickelodeon, and all other copyright holders. All other characters and locations are mine, as well as the actual story. If you wish to borrow any of my OCs or locations for your fic, just ask my permission. Borrowing my fic and claiming it as yours is not at all welcome, however, and I'll get seriously P'Oed if I find out. :)
Chosen
by misaoshiru
Prologue: A Menacing Rebirth
In one of the deepest corners of the Ghost Zone, there was a cramped, cluttered workshop made even more cramped and cluttered by dozens upon dozens of bookshelves and tables. The bookshelves were full, the tables were piled with books, and there were books piled atop the piles of books! Most of the books were coated in thick layers of shiny green dust, indicating that they hadn’t been touched in eons. A short, slightly hunchbacked ghost wearing clothes that had most likely been fashionable centuries before peered through his monocle at a page in an ancient volume titled Odd Phenomena, Even for the Ghost Zone. He sighed and slammed the book shut, almost sneezing from the resulting dust cloud. ‘Well, nothing here,’ he thought to himself. ‘Might as well start on the next one…’ Before he could, however, everything in the building, whether book or furniture, flickered for a moment. He swore; there was just something suspicious about the apparent instability of the surrounding ectoplasmic matter. It had all started a few months ago, and it left him utterly perplexed. He had always been a very scientific-minded man, in life and in death, and confusion bothered him. So he’d immediately set out to pinpoint the cause of the problem, but after all this time, he still didn’t feel like he’d made any headway. Sure, he knew it wasn’t movement of ectoplasmic energy fields, nor was an ectostorm brewing, but he still had no clue what was going on. “Mateo?” he said, calling to his assistant. He’d finally resigned himself to taking a short break, and he figured he might as well check up on what was going on elsewhere in the Ghost Zone and on earth.
“Yes, sir?” the assistant ghost said, looking up from the textbook he had been poring over. Mateo was slightly darker-skinned and appeared to have died far more recently, based on his attire. He wore wire-rimmed glasses, gray sweatpants with a college logo on one leg, and an oversized t-shirt. On his desk, between miscellaneous, scattered books, was a rolled-up scroll, yellowed and beaten with age.
“Tell me, is anything important going on in the Realm this morning?”
Mateo unrolled the scroll and examined it carefully for a moment before saying, “No, nothing out of the ordinary. The Box Ghost seems to have disappeared again, but it probably won’t be long until he’s forced back.”
“And what of the human world? Hmm?”
“Peaceful. Few ghosts seem to have crossed over today, but that could change at any moment. Ghost energy is at a minimum at the moment.”
“Ah, I see. Tell me, boy. You’re always so good at predicting things. Where might I find the information I seek?”
The young adult slowly re-rolled the scroll and tied it before closing his eyes and holding out his palm toward the largest stack of books. For one moment, his entire form glowed neon green, his dark hair flying up as if blown by a strong burst of wind, but then everything returned to normal and he opened his eyes, looking enlightened. “This one,” he said, pointing to a heavy book titled The Basics of Particulation.
“Particulation? What does this mean, Mateo?”
“I do not know, sir. But I feel that you will find your answer there, though it may not be one that you are ready for.”
The wizened old ghost lifted the tome with a grunt. “When you’ve existed as long as I have,” he said, “you find that you’re ready for a lot more than you think.” He opened the book and began to read the preface.
“Particulation,” it said, “refers to the odd phenomenon when a ghost is ‘destroyed’.” That explained why he didn’t remember ever hearing the term. Few ghosts, scholars or otherwise, knew much about this field of study. “In actuality, a ghost can never be truly, permanently destroyed. Rather, he or she is reduced to ectoplasmic particles that can take anywhere from hundreds to thousands of years to come back together, depending on a number of factors. It would take an entire afterlife to discover everything there is to know about particulation, so this book will only briefly touch upon the basics. For further study, please refer to the best-selling sequel, An Advanced Course in Particulation.”
He stopped there. Reading the volume from cover to cover would take ages, and he didn’t have that kind of time. Turning to the table of contents, he scanned the list of chapter titles until he found something promising. Chapter forty-seven, “Signs of a Re-Forming Ghost”, sounded like it just might have the information he sought.
“As stated in chapter three, most particulated ghosts tend to be revived in a part of the Ghost Zone that they have a strong attachment to, though in the meantime, their particles may drift,” the first paragraph read. “Many bizarre occurrences have been reported in these places shortly before the ghosts are reborn. These include disappearing objects, inexplicable brittleness of ectoplasm-based materials, and general instability of surrounding ecto-fields. These phenomena generally occur for a few weeks to a few years before the ghosts reach adequate levels of stability.”
There. That was the answer. He understood now. A ghost was re-forming somewhere in the vicinity of the workshop. Some puzzles remained, though. Which ghost? When would it appear? He would know very soon, apparently. All of the lit oil lamps in the shop suddenly burned out, and the eerie green glow of the Zone around them faded to black. It was as though all of the energy in the room was attracted to a bright nickel-sized spot in the middle of the floor that rapidly grew, within minutes taking on the form of a medium-tall man. “Mateo, run,” the scholarly ghost said. He stared, transfixed with a mix of awe and horror, praying to every god he’d ever heard of that this ghost was not the one being who absolutely terrified him more than anything. ‘Please, don’t let it be…it can’t be…anyone else, just not him.’
But his fears were confirmed when the specter’s features became clear. With his long, dark hair and well-defined muscles visible despite the thick, slightly ripped tunic, he could be considered handsome, in a rugged sort of way, but there was something about his posture, the look in his eyes, and his malevolent smirk that gave him a presence, the kind that demanded a sort of resigned respect, mixed with fear. Just to glance at him would tell you that this was not a ghost to be trifled with. “Ah, yes,” he said, giving the small, hunchbacked ghost a quick glance, “you. The Oracle’s ‘Assistant I’, yes? Pity you never were quite good enough to earn a better title.”
“Master Mayhem,” Apprentice I said through gritted teeth. “While I’m sure it would be wonderful to reminisce with you, my student and I have important matters to attend to, so I would suggest you leave.”
“Matters involving the Prophecy of a King, no doubt, in which case I’d rather stay. The Prophecy is something I’d so dearly love to see, after all,” Mayhem drawled.
“I should have known you’d be up to no good!” The Apprentice, who rarely raised his voice, stood up from his study chair, his face reddening. He hadn’t yelled so loudly ever, at least that he could remember. “You never have been! In life, you were the bandit king who oppressed England even in times of famine and drought! Upon your death, you immediately became aide to Pariah Dark and oppressed the ghosts! Even when you started your own army to rally against the king, you were no better than he! You have never done a good deed in history, and now you expect me to grant you the honor of looking at the prophecy? Do you take me for a fool?”
“If anyone’s the fool,” Mayhem said as calmly as ever, “it is you. Did your great Oracle not say that none but the Oracle himself and the one destined to be king could read it? You doubt your own idol.”
“I cannot allow the risk. You can never set eye on the prophecy, and you shall never wield the powers it teaches!”
“You are as stubborn as the Oracle was. I guess I’ll just have to teach you a lesson as well.” Mayhem hit the Apprentice in the stomach with his palm. There was a flash of fire, and the elder ghost doubled over, gasping for air by reflex even though he no longer needed to breathe. The bandit king walked passed, murmuring to himself, “Now where could that prophecy be? Aha!” With a heavy booted-foot, he kicked Mateo out from under the table, where he’d been laying, miserably huddled and waiting for the threat to pass. Grabbing a tattered old scroll from the youth’s numbed hands, he strode out the door looking like he’d just defeated an entire army with his bare hands.
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“Sir, I’m sorry,” Mateo said in an apologetic tone after Mayhem had departed. “I don’t know what came over me. I just felt like I was paralyzed, like there was nothing I could do to stop him.”
“It’s all right, boy,” said Apprentice I as he dusted himself off. “There really was nothing you could do, most likely.”
“I know, but I wish I could’ve at least tried.”
“There will be other opportunities. He hasn’t won yet; we don’t even know if he’ll be able to read the scroll. Still, there is a way you can help out now.”
“How, sir?”
“Summon the Apollos. We need some assistance if we’re ever going to get that prophecy back.”
“And who shall they deliver messages to?”
“Hmm…good question.” The Apprentice ghost paced back and forth, rubbing his chin, before saying, “Aleron the Noble and Bronya the Blade have always been very reliable. Aidan of Ceara is strong, if a bit dim. Dorjan Fabius is very sharp and a good strategist. Nicanor Garcia is an all-around good ghost. Let’s see…whom else? Oh yes, Vlad Plasmius.”
“Are you sure about that last one?” Mateo said. “I’ve heard rumors that he’s arrogant, self-centered, and willing to use others as pawns to get what he wants.”
“It’s a risky gamble, yes, but we need all the help we can get. At this point, beggars can’t be choosers. I will keep your advice in mind, however. Mateo, do you have suggestions for anyone else who might help?”
“I think you should send the fastest of the Apollos to Danny Phantom, sir. You know, the other ghost-hybrid.”
“Are you sure? He is young and inexperienced.”
“Yes, but he has defeated some very powerful ghosts. With the help of a special power-suit, he managed to reseal Pariah Dark after Plasmius inadvertently released him. He also led a successful breakout from Walker’s prison, meaning he has good leadership potential.”
“Intriguing. All right, I’ll do as you suggest. I trust your instincts, Mateo.”
“Thank you, sir."
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End prologue
Chapter 1: Not Such an Ordinary Day
It started as a normal morning, or at least as normal as it ever was in the Fenton household. Jack Fenton hadn’t even blown anything up in nearly eighteen hours! Danny sat at the table, gulping down orange juice between bites of scorched toast. His sister Jazz, across from him, watched him as she added a pinch of salt to her perfect poached eggs, chewing slowly. After swallowing, she shuddered, saying, “Eww, Danny. How can you eat that every morning? You should get up earlier so you’ll have time to fix yourself a nice balanced breakfast.”
“Not everyone can get up at five in the morning like you,” he mumbled.
“I don’t usually get up until six, actually.”
“My sister, the morning person.”
“Honestly… Danny, you could do it too, I’m sure of it. All you’d have to do is get to bed earlier.”
“Well, some people can’t get their homework as quickly as you can. Some people have to stay up late doing unbelievably hard essays for Lancer because some people have to spend what feels like every waking minute fighting stupid gho--”
“Danny!” Jazz said quietly but forcefully. “We shouldn’t be talking about you-know-whats when Mom and Dad could come in here at any moment!”
“Where are they, anyway?” Danny said, taking another bite of the barely-edible toast.
“In the lab, of course. I think they’re testing out some invention or another.” Jazz sighed. “We’ll probably be seeing them soon, actually.”
“Huh?”
Before either teenager could say anything more, however, Jack Fenton literally leapt into the kitchen as if on cue, a thick block of some sort of metal in his hand. “The spectral cell is operational!” he said with glee.
“Another of your silly inventions?” Jazmine said in a bored tone as she poured herself a mug-full of coffee. “What is it this time?”
“The spectral cell is a phone specially wired to function in the Ghost Zone,” Maddie said from where she stood behind her husband in the doorway. “Unfortunately, we still haven’t wired the battery in a way that will enable it to hold an adequate charge, meaning it must only be used in emergencies.
Danny stared, incredulous. “That’s supposed to be a cell phone? It looks like an oversized metal Lego with a bunch of random buttons and stuff stuck on!”
“We had to make it that large to fit the battery and all of the technology it needs.” Maddie shrugged. “Opening any kind of connection between here and the Ghost Zone drains a lot of energy. It may well double or triple in size after we actually test it in the Ghost Zone, if we do; for now, we’ve only generated artificial interference for obvious safety reasons.”
“Oh my gosh! I’m late!” Jazz said after checking her watch. “As…informative as this conversation is, I’m afraid I have to go. I need to get to school early for science club. Here, Danny.” She thrust her plate of food toward Danny; he stared at her, not comprehending. “Take it,” she said. “I don’t have time to finish, and you probably need it more than I do.”
“Thank you,” he said, barely able to keep from gaping and asking if he’d somehow been sucked into some parallel dimension where an alternate Jazz who was actually nice dwelled.
“No problem, little brother.” She tousled his hair, but before he could bat her hand away, she was gone.
“Sisters,” he grumbled before tucking in.
“Jazz has been abnormally kind to Danny lately,” said Jack. “I wonder if there’s something wrong with her. Maybe she’s been overshadowed by--”
“She has not,” his ever-practical wife interrupted. “Actually, I think it’s really sweet how the two of you have been looking after each other lately, Danny.”
Danny blushed and looked away, swallowing a mouthful of half-chewed eggs. Ever since Danny found out that Jazz knew about his powers, the bond between the two siblings had strengthened. And although their parents didn’t know the cause, they had noticed the change, and it pleased them more than it confused.
Eventually, Danny finished eating, and he even managed to leave five minutes early for once! Of course, the Box Ghost attacked and made him a few minutes late for first period, but that was normal. It had, indeed, started as an ordinary, even slightly better than usual, day.
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Meanwhile, in the Ghost Zone, Mayhem stood in a large field of crimson-tinted grass. Several large tents stood erect around him, but these were dwarfed by an enormous watchtower constructed from a strange ectoplasmic material. It was coated in strange, ancient symbols painted in red. Mayhem didn’t know what they said, but it was no matter. It had already been in the field when he had taken it. This place, and everything in it, was his, and he took pride in it. “Ah, Camp Blood,” he said with authentic joy. “It is good to be home.”
He had heard muted footsteps as he had traveled there, and now he saw an unnatural patch of shadow behind a nearby tree. “Tsukikage, I see you. Come here.”
A petite female ghost appeared at his side. She wore black from head to toe, her long black hair in braids that gracefully flew out behind her with each movement. Her skin, or what could be seen of it, was unusually pale, even for a ghost. “Ohayou gozaimasu, Mayhem-sama,” she said. “O-genki de gozaimasu ka?”(1)
“Ah, it can be so useful to have a ninja fluent in another language at my side. It really gives me an edge when it comes to reconnaissance,” said Mayhem. “I still have no clue what you’re saying, you know.”
The kunoichi’s ordinarily stoic expression quirked into a small, amused smile. (2) “Sorry, Mayhem-sama. Are you well?”
“Yes, I am actually feeling better than ever. Thank you.”
“It is good to hear,” she said, fidgeting slightly. She was uncomfortable in social situations, even more so out in the open like this.
“Tsukikage, my old friend,” Mayhem said, his voice taking on a more serious tone, although he still smirked, “something odd happened when I went to the Oracle’s workshop all that time ago. Some of Pariah’s minions ambushed me.”
“How…unfortunate,” she said carefully, watching his expression thoughtfully. She needed to be careful how she worded things, lest she unintentionally offend him.
“Only two ghosts knew where I was right then. Pierre Benedict, and you.”
She looked somewhat affronted, though it would take someone who knew her quite well to notice. Her expression was the same, but her posture had shifted slightly, as had her body language. “Is my lord suggesting that I…?”
“No of course not, my esteemed colleague. I just thought we might want for me to have a talk with our old buddy Pierre.”
“I will bring him here at once, then, Mayhem-sama?”
“No, not just yet. Tell me, who out of my army’s ranks remains loyal?”
“Well…” She hesitated. What could she tell him? She decided it best to go with the truth; if he found she was lying, it would not bode well for her future. “You were gone for so long, Mayhem-sama. Most left when we learned that you would not be back for quite some time, if at all. Even Gar-san and I went around and sought work as mercenaries, though we always remained loyal to you, my lord.(3) I could probably get a good many of your men back with the right words, I’m sure.” Both knew she had implied that she would threaten anyone who she couldn’t convince otherwise.
“Do so. If any refuse, you know what to do.”
“I understand.”
“Now, let’s see. Is Gar here? I would so like to talk to him after all this time.”
“He’s in the middle tent, I believe.”
“Thank you. You are dismissed. Go perform your duties.”
“Yes, Mayhem-sama.” She bowed. Then, like the kunoichi she was, she disappeared.
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The middle tent was at the very heart of Camp Blood, a giant structure that had a skull affixed to the front support pole. It was made from the hide of some monstrous creature, with red dye streaking down the sides like blood. This was Mayhem’s personal tent, and in the early days of Camp Blood, no ghosts except Mayhem himself and his highest-ranking advisors were permitted entry. It appeared that the Ghost Zone’s residents had, for the most part, respected his legacy even while he was gone. Everything in this tent was exactly as he had left it so many years before. “There y’are, ‘Mayhem-sama’,” said a slender, gangly young ghost from where he lay sprawled across a hammock tied to the support poles. “Spent a good deal of time talking to Tsuki, I see.”
“She had important information to pass on to me.”
“Dang…y’ve really got that girl wrapped aroun’ yer finger good. All she can ever talk abou’ is ‘Mayhem-sama’!” He laughed. “Foolish wench, that ‘un.”
“Her naiveté makes her all the more useful to me. But enough about her. How are you, Gar?”
“Good, now that I don’ always have t’be around Tsuki no more. It’s hell.”
“So, you are willing to do a job for me, then.” Mayhem did not say it as a question.
“Of course, May’em. Just say the word an’ I’ll do it.”
Mayhem’s smirk was even wider than ever right then, if that was even possible “Scout out the human realm for me,” he said. “We shall expand our domain until both worlds are mine.”
Gar grinned. “I al’ays knew there was a reason I respected ya.”
After Gar left, Mayhem sat on his hammock and opened the scroll he had stolen. Afterlife was good.
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Shortly before the start of third period at Casper High School, Paulina finally showed up at school for the day. No one knew where she had been before – she had probably ditched – but for once, Danny actually wished that she hadn’t come at all. She was wearing a low-cut, v-necked t-shirt. That much Danny liked. The problem was the screen print on the shirt – a picture of him in his ghost mode. “You like it?” she squealed to anyone in the hallway who would listen. (Which was mainly the other popular kids, of course.) “I had it specially made just for me!”
“It’s…interesting,” Star said, and Danny silently agreed. “Not that I don’t like it,” the satellite added, not wanting to offend the popular girl. “But, umm…only you could pull it off, Paulina.”
“Thanks!” she beamed. “It’s my new favorite shirt ‘cuz I lo-o-ove that ghost boy!”
“Hey, Mister Popularity,” Sam said as she walked up to him. “How’s it feel?”
“How’s what feel?” said Danny, looking up.
“Having your face on puddle-girl’s shirt,” she answered in a low tone.
“Oh. Half of me likes it, in a sort of embarrassed way. The other half is totally weirded out by the whole thing.”
“I can imagine. It sounds kind of like how I felt when you were under Ember’s spell.”
Both of them blushed at the memory. Then, the awkward moment abruptly came to an end as Tucker ran up and said, “Dude, did you see Paulina’s shirt?”
That is not to say that the moment that followed was any less awkward.
“How could I not, Tuck?” Danny sighed.
“Isn’t it great?”
“‘Great’ isn’t the word I’d use,” Danny said. “More like ‘embarrassing’.”
“How so?”
“Tucker! It has my – uh, I mean Danny Phantom’s – face on it!” Danny had to correct himself mid-sentence because he realized how loudly he was talking; it would only make things worse for him to inadvertently reveal his secret to the whole school.
“It does?” said Tucker, looking surprised. “All I noticed was that it showed good cleavage.”
“Tucker!” both Sam and Danny yelled, Sam smacking herself on the forehead.
“I was kidding,” Tucker said. “Can’t believe you guys actually fell for it, though.”
Sam sighed as she opened her locker. “I should be used to this by now. Boys.”
Anything else the trio had to say was cut off by a scream from the most congested part of the hall. Students scattered, and at the center of the chaos, Danny could see a scraggly, lanky ghost with a sharpened spear strapped to his back. “Now, why are ya all runnin’ away from me? Is it m’breath?” the ghost drawled, showing a crooked-toothed grin. “Oh well. Guess I’ll have t’make the most o’it.” Grabbing his spear, he sliced deeply into the shoulder of a junior boy Jazz probably knew, but Danny and his friends didn’t. The victim cried out and tried to kick his attacker, but the ghost merely went intangible and laughed. “Try again, kid,” he said, slamming the boy against a locker with a heavy boot.
The boy crumpled, coughing up blood. “Sam, Tuck,” Danny whispered, glancing at them from the corner of his eye, “get him to the nurse’s office. He looks pretty bad.”
Sam nodded. “Good luck,” she said before he disappeared around a corner.
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‘No good,” Danny thought to himself. He’d looked everywhere he could think of, but he was unable to find a single empty hiding place where he could go ghost. Even the boys’ restroom was filled to capacity. Finally, it hit him. He hadn’t tried the janitor’s closet yet. He was so stupid! But he could beat himself up about it later. For now, he had a ghost to fight!
Grabbing the doorknob, he gave it a test turn. He was in luck; the door was unlocked, so it swung open with ease. Looking both ways, he slipped inside and began to transform.
Changing into his ghost form was not at all unpleasant for Danny. In fact, it was one of the best feelings the accident had enabled him to experience, second only to flying. It hadn’t always been that way, though; early on, it had terrified him and driven a shiver up his spine. But now…
He first felt the comfortable, familiar cooling sensation for just a second. It was so fleeting but so wonderful at the same time. Then, momentarily, he was numb. This was his least favorite part of the process, though he supposed it was better than feeling pain as his body changed itself. Fortunately, it took as little time as the first, quickly bringing him to the finale. Every cell inside of him felt like it was becoming pure energy. It was the most invigorating thing imaginable.
All too quickly, it was over. Still, he now felt a boost in confidence from the almost-intoxicating transformation. Where there once stood a normal-looking teenage boy was now a hero, a ghost who had saved the town of Amity Park more times than they’d ever know. And, apparently, he wasn’t alone. (There went his confidence.)
The closet door was open. Had Danny been thinking more clearly, he would have made sure to lock it before transforming, but he had been too frantic. Just another thing for him to feel self-deprecation about later. In the doorway stood Danny’s part-time nemesis Valerie Gray. She had seen the whole thing; she knew. This was not good.
“Fenton?” she said when she noticed he had spotted her. “What the…? You!”
“Hey, Val,” he said quietly, his head tilted downward. He couldn’t look her in the eye.
“‘Hey Val’? How can you be so casual? You seriously owe me an explanation, ghost!”
“That’s probably true,” he said softly. Valerie stared at him incredulously. She hadn’t expected him to agree. “I do, but not here. Not now.”
“No!” she moved suddenly, slamming him against the wall with unexpected force. “You aren’t going anywhere until you tell me everything I want to know!”
“I can’t. There’s a guy fighting out there. He’s hurt, Val. He could die, and it’d be my fault for not helping when I could’ve. I couldn’t bear that responsibility.” He could have just gone intangible and easily escaped her attempts to interrogate him, but that would be running away from the problem. Then he’d be a coward, and he would be sacrificing any chances of keeping their friendship. This way would be harder, but the difficulty would be worth it, he hoped.
Valerie glared at him, unspeaking. Then, she said, “How do I know I can trust you not to run off as soon as the ghost is gone?”
“I guess my word isn’t enough?” She shook her head vigorously, and he sighed. “Thought not. I guess you can come with me, if you want.”
“Huh?”
“That way, you would be there to stop me if I tried to go anywhere. Besides, I wouldn’t mind the help, even if I don’t need it.”
Valerie thought about it for a moment. “Try anything and I’ll shoot before you can move. That clear?”
“Crystal.” There was nothing more to be said. They were off.
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End chapter 1
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Glossary/Cultural notes
(1) "Ohayou gozaimasu, Mayhem-sama. O-genki de gozaimasu ka?" - "Good morning, Master Mayhem. Are you well?" Said in a very formal manner, indicating Tsukikage's deep respect for Mayhem.
(2) "Kunoichi" - "Female ninja".
(3) "Gar-san" - "-San" is a Japanese honorific that is roughly equivalent to Mr./Mrs./Miss in English. However, it is used more commonly than its English counterparts. If someone were to refer to anyone they aren't intimately close to without an honorific attached to their name, it would be considered very rude indeed. So despite Tsukikage and Gar's disdain for each other, Tsukikage would still call him "Gar-san".
Feel free to correct me if I mess up with Japanese phrases or culture. (Yes, Maba-sama, I'm talking to you, if you read this. XD)