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Prologue: Day and Age

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“If you’re going through hell, keep going.” Winston Churchill.

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October 2009. Nighttime.

It was impossible to say how many there were; too many to count, to be honest. All he knew was that he had to keep his family safe, the city protected. It was his duty and his job, his call to being a hero in the eyes of many and a menace to those who mattered. He could not fend off all of them, though, and he blearily recognized this fact as he warded off another energy blast in his direction.

Too many coming. One of him. They must have realized this and plotted an attack. Or that crazy fruit loop put them up to this in the process. Either way, it didn’t matter.

He landed in the street with hands radiating the barest of his own energy and strength. There was no chance he was going to be able to stand for much longer then. Hours of fighting, hours of screams of pain that were only hoarse grunts now. Bloody, bruised, but never broken, he threw up an energy shield in an effort to gain his strength back. It would only last for a short minute or so, but he could handle it. He just needed a breather.

But that one minute was all it took as a powerful ghost ray shattered the shield and slammed into the ghost kid. He was thrown back into the concrete with another grunt, doing his best to stand to no avail.

That was also when he saw them. His parents.

They were staring at the ghost boy as he laid there, the hoard advancing on him first and not even noticing the ghost hunters a few feet away. They were watching as he tried harder to get up, to fight the fatigue, the pain in his body.

They were staring when suddenly, out of the blue, a white ring appeared around his body and split in two up and down his beaten frame to reveal an eighteen year old with jet-black hair, a bloody t-shirt, and ripped pants. The ghosts roared as he was on the ground, his eyes no longer on his enemies—but the two people on the sidelines that could not help but stare at him.

At their son. Danny Fenton.

At the ghost boy they had been so desperately trying to capture and dissect the last few years of his high school career. The one whom they tried to teach, to help grow into a ghost hunter when he was so busy already hunting those that tried to attack the city.

The one who lay in front of him as the hoard of ghosts roared at him and lunged.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

And suddenly, be it a snap or such, Madeline Fenton yanked out her gun and fired with a shrill scream at the invaders. “Leave my son alone!”

--

April 2011. Afternoon.

She stumbled back in a daze, shaking her head as the teenager…no. Man stood in front of her now with that snowy white hair. His emerald eyes held a cold fire to them, fists clenched and teeth gritted. “Don’t you get it yet? Do you understand?”

The woman still shook her head, holding her gun out with one hand shaking. “That’s… that’s impossible. No. I don’t…how?!”

“I had an accident,” he spoke with a similar ice in his tone. “I had an accident years ago, and it screwed me the hell over. You think I wanted this, Valerie? You think I wanted any of this?”

Gray growled under her breath and took a step back. “Stay the hell away from me!”

Phantom held up his hands with his own angry noise. “I’m not gonna do anything to you! I just want to know if—“

“I said stay back!” she screamed, firing the weapon. The blast connected with the half-ghost’s shoulder, and he cried out whilst falling back. “Don’t come any closer, you sonofabitch!”

She dropped the gun and jumped on her hoverboard, taking to the skies and leaving the wounded man on the ground. Her mind was in a fog; she was in shock.

That… that could not be possible.

Fenton? Danny Fenton was Phantom. She almost wanted to kick herself for not thinking about this similarity in the name, but the appearance. They were basically the exact goddamn same; yes, their hair and eyes were different colors, but they were the same. The one she had a crush on in high school and the boy she had been hunting the whole time were the same person.

It had been enough of a shock with Masters and Plasmius; she never would have worked that out on her own. They truthfully did not look the same, but Fenton and Phantom? Anyone with a brain could have worked it out.

Except Gray had not. He had exposed it to her in a moment of trust.

Trust.

Gray laughed bitterly as she landed on the rooftop of a building and opened her visor. “Trust… he’s got a lot of balls and nerve for showing me that.”

How the hell was she supposed to be okay with that? With any of this? She knew she would not be able to face Danny for a few days, weeks even. Not with this knowledge. It was not like she could expose this to everyone. Masters probably already knew, knowing their track record as it was, and his family? Maybe his sister had the idea, but the parents? Those… weirdos?

Gray sat down on the ledge and placed her head in her hands.

She thought seeing Masters a half-ghost was enough of a shock. But this one blew the entire affair out of the damn water.

So what was she actually supposed to do?

--

November 2012. Election Day morning.

Third election running. Third time unlucky for many. Lucky for one.

He knew this city like the back of his own hand now, and the dim thought of if this was actually a good thing or not ran briefly through his mind. He pushed it out of his thoughts, however, closing his eyes in the office and concentrating. In that moment, above the building, twenty floating specters stared down at the flock of people gathering near the polls. Each one of them flew down and took over one person, changing their vote…or keeping said one.

Third year unlucky.

He chuckled grimly to himself as he stared out the window, watching each citizen place their vote not for Carl Barnes, but for him. Vlad Masters.

The company owner of DALV, VladCo, many other companies. Perhaps too many to name right then. But he owned a great deal, and the billions and billions of dollars continued to roll in just as he wanted. He was the richest man in the world, the Billionaire of the Year for almost nine years running now. He would become the mayor of Amity Park, Minnesota once again after today’s election, and he was known and feared throughout the Ghost Zone for his alternate half of Vlad Plasmius.

So why was he not satisfied with any of this?

He sat at the desk and folded his hands; elbows perched on the wood as he stared ahead at the door. There had been rumors and whispers of how someone wished to take over Amity that was not him; he had heard them. Not only from the citizens, but the staff was murmuring about it. His three staff members he actually trusted with anything had mumbled about it to one another when they knew he had not been listening.

But he had been.

And Phantom.

The brat was now more than just a simple pain in his side. He was getting older, smarter. Stronger. He was no longer just the whelp or the brat or the boy; no, now he was the bastard and the pathetic hero. At least, aloud.

He barely fought Daniel these days; Vlad had been too busy perfecting his techniques, learning new maneuvers amongst other things. Even in this, he had been keeping tabs on the other hybrid—how he was losing his ice powers in favor of a more fluid, water-like energy. There were reports of electricity, even. But he refused to believe it until he saw it for himself, and he had a muted feeling this would be happening soon.

It would not be a little inexperienced teenager, but a young man undoubtedly filled to the brim with confidence in himself. Much like how a hero should be.

It had been a long time since they had both had little more than a verbal spat before Vlad threw him out of the office and such. Then again, the mayor had seemed to have gone quiet with his plans for, well…whatever he had been doing. He obviously had not a clue what had gotten into him years ago as well.

But now—now there was a plan… a small plan that had been forming in his mind, and a way to make Phantom suffer. But with it came certain darkness. Certain darkness that would slowly engulf him and make him a shadow of his former, half-decent self he was when he first met the teenager.

Description
Prologue: Day and Age

---

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.” Winston Churchill.

---

October 2009. Nighttime.

It was impossible to say how many there were; too many to count, to be honest. All he knew was that he had to keep his family safe, the city protected. It was his duty and his job, his call to being a hero in the eyes of many and a menace to those who mattered. He could not fend off all of them, though, and he blearily recognized this fact as he warded off another energy blast in his direction.

Too many coming. One of him. They must have realized this and plotted an attack. Or that crazy fruit loop put them up to this in the process. Either way, it didn’t matter.

He landed in the street with hands radiating the barest of his own energy and strength. There was no chance he was going to be able to stand for much longer then. Hours of fighting, hours of screams of pain that were only hoarse grunts now. Bloody, bruised, but never broken, he threw up an energy shield in an effort to gain his strength back. It would only last for a short minute or so, but he could handle it. He just needed a breather.

But that one minute was all it took as a powerful ghost ray shattered the shield and slammed into the ghost kid. He was thrown back into the concrete with another grunt, doing his best to stand to no avail.

That was also when he saw them. His parents.

They were staring at the ghost boy as he laid there, the hoard advancing on him first and not even noticing the ghost hunters a few feet away. They were watching as he tried harder to get up, to fight the fatigue, the pain in his body.

They were staring when suddenly, out of the blue, a white ring appeared around his body and split in two up and down his beaten frame to reveal an eighteen year old with jet-black hair, a bloody t-shirt, and ripped pants. The ghosts roared as he was on the ground, his eyes no longer on his enemies—but the two people on the sidelines that could not help but stare at him.

At their son. Danny Fenton.

At the ghost boy they had been so desperately trying to capture and dissect the last few years of his high school career. The one whom they tried to teach, to help grow into a ghost hunter when he was so busy already hunting those that tried to attack the city.

The one who lay in front of him as the hoard of ghosts roared at him and lunged.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

And suddenly, be it a snap or such, Madeline Fenton yanked out her gun and fired with a shrill scream at the invaders. “Leave my son alone!”

--

April 2011. Afternoon.

She stumbled back in a daze, shaking her head as the teenager…no. Man stood in front of her now with that snowy white hair. His emerald eyes held a cold fire to them, fists clenched and teeth gritted. “Don’t you get it yet? Do you understand?”

The woman still shook her head, holding her gun out with one hand shaking. “That’s… that’s impossible. No. I don’t…how?!”

“I had an accident,” he spoke with a similar ice in his tone. “I had an accident years ago, and it screwed me the hell over. You think I wanted this, Valerie? You think I wanted any of this?”

Gray growled under her breath and took a step back. “Stay the hell away from me!”

Phantom held up his hands with his own angry noise. “I’m not gonna do anything to you! I just want to know if—“

“I said stay back!” she screamed, firing the weapon. The blast connected with the half-ghost’s shoulder, and he cried out whilst falling back. “Don’t come any closer, you sonofabitch!”

She dropped the gun and jumped on her hoverboard, taking to the skies and leaving the wounded man on the ground. Her mind was in a fog; she was in shock.

That… that could not be possible.

Fenton? Danny Fenton was Phantom. She almost wanted to kick herself for not thinking about this similarity in the name, but the appearance. They were basically the exact goddamn same; yes, their hair and eyes were different colors, but they were the same. The one she had a crush on in high school and the boy she had been hunting the whole time were the same person.

It had been enough of a shock with Masters and Plasmius; she never would have worked that out on her own. They truthfully did not look the same, but Fenton and Phantom? Anyone with a brain could have worked it out.

Except Gray had not. He had exposed it to her in a moment of trust.

Trust.

Gray laughed bitterly as she landed on the rooftop of a building and opened her visor. “Trust… he’s got a lot of balls and nerve for showing me that.”

How the hell was she supposed to be okay with that? With any of this? She knew she would not be able to face Danny for a few days, weeks even. Not with this knowledge. It was not like she could expose this to everyone. Masters probably already knew, knowing their track record as it was, and his family? Maybe his sister had the idea, but the parents? Those… weirdos?

Gray sat down on the ledge and placed her head in her hands.

She thought seeing Masters a half-ghost was enough of a shock. But this one blew the entire affair out of the damn water.

So what was she actually supposed to do?

--

November 2012. Election Day morning.

Third election running. Third time unlucky for many. Lucky for one.

He knew this city like the back of his own hand now, and the dim thought of if this was actually a good thing or not ran briefly through his mind. He pushed it out of his thoughts, however, closing his eyes in the office and concentrating. In that moment, above the building, twenty floating specters stared down at the flock of people gathering near the polls. Each one of them flew down and took over one person, changing their vote…or keeping said one.

Third year unlucky.

He chuckled grimly to himself as he stared out the window, watching each citizen place their vote not for Carl Barnes, but for him. Vlad Masters.

The company owner of DALV, VladCo, many other companies. Perhaps too many to name right then. But he owned a great deal, and the billions and billions of dollars continued to roll in just as he wanted. He was the richest man in the world, the Billionaire of the Year for almost nine years running now. He would become the mayor of Amity Park, Minnesota once again after today’s election, and he was known and feared throughout the Ghost Zone for his alternate half of Vlad Plasmius.

So why was he not satisfied with any of this?

He sat at the desk and folded his hands; elbows perched on the wood as he stared ahead at the door. There had been rumors and whispers of how someone wished to take over Amity that was not him; he had heard them. Not only from the citizens, but the staff was murmuring about it. His three staff members he actually trusted with anything had mumbled about it to one another when they knew he had not been listening.

But he had been.

And Phantom.

The brat was now more than just a simple pain in his side. He was getting older, smarter. Stronger. He was no longer just the whelp or the brat or the boy; no, now he was the bastard and the pathetic hero. At least, aloud.

He barely fought Daniel these days; Vlad had been too busy perfecting his techniques, learning new maneuvers amongst other things. Even in this, he had been keeping tabs on the other hybrid—how he was losing his ice powers in favor of a more fluid, water-like energy. There were reports of electricity, even. But he refused to believe it until he saw it for himself, and he had a muted feeling this would be happening soon.

It would not be a little inexperienced teenager, but a young man undoubtedly filled to the brim with confidence in himself. Much like how a hero should be.

It had been a long time since they had both had little more than a verbal spat before Vlad threw him out of the office and such. Then again, the mayor had seemed to have gone quiet with his plans for, well…whatever he had been doing. He obviously had not a clue what had gotten into him years ago as well.

But now—now there was a plan… a small plan that had been forming in his mind, and a way to make Phantom suffer. But with it came certain darkness. Certain darkness that would slowly engulf him and make him a shadow of his former, half-decent self he was when he first met the teenager.