Hey guys! Wassup! So I haven't updated this in a while...HOPE YOU STILL LOVE ME! I wrote a LOT of DannyXEmber, so be prepared for that, but I'll try to have different varieties and stuff. This one (hopefully you get this) is SKULKER! YAY! Next on will probably be Ember...sorry for those people who don't like that! I'm thinking of titling the chapters so that those who don't like stuff like that can just skip it.


Skulker zoomed through the air at a speed not too slow, but not too quickly either. Sure, his bulky armor made him less streamline and took away some of his speed, but just one look at the arsenal he was packing was more than enough convincing for Skulker that it was worth it. Besides, that's what would finally make up for all his past failures and gain him the pelt of that annoying twit of a halfa child. And he would succeed this time.

Skulker didn't bother even checking the other places the ghost child frequented and made straight for the school building. The ghost child's schedule was unpredictable only on days that started with the letter S. Weekends were hard, since he could be anywhere, doing anything. From right next to the ghost portal training his extensive range of ever-growing ghost powers, to hanging out with the goth girl and technology-inclined boy, or even sleeping off a particularly hard ghost fight.

But on five out of seven days, his schedule was easy. Sleep until seven, school at eight, Nasty Burger at three, home at four. There were always the ghost fights the boy engaged in, but that could hardly be counted as a regular schedule, because even though the ghost attacks were now constant for the child, to keep him distracted and frazzled so he wouldn't attempt to make more allies than necessary in the Ghost Zone, the ghosts attacked on their own time, never in pattern.

Skulker reached the school building, proud lettering-if slightly singed- spelled out Casper High School. This was a seemingly happy mistake, but hilarious to any ghost who cared to notice the detail. Skulker was far to focused to laugh now, though. HIs prey was in reach, just getting ready to head off to lunch with his two close friends who knew his secret.

Skulker phased through the wall, and-invisibly and intangibly-sped through the school halls, zipping through students, looking for the ghost child. He finally came across the halfa in an unlikely location. Over twenty meters from his locker, headed in the opposite direction of the cafeteria. This was not so much puzzling to Skulker as the apparent reason for the halfa's unusual placement.

A meaty hand was clapped on the top on the halfa's head, squishing black hair that refused to completely comply to the rules of gravity down flat except for small tufts of hair sticking out between the fingers. The halfa was stumbling along, being pulled by his head after a tall blonde boy in a letterman jacket. Skulker recognized the jacket as one worn by many who screamed and ran in terror when he had showed up to fight the ghost child in previous situations.

Three other boys wearing the same jacket followed the first boy, prodding and jeering and shoving the boy, taunting him with obvious stupidity. Didn't they realize that, despite their bulk, the halfa could take all of them on now without even using powers? They were clearly morons of inexpressible capacity, which brought Skulker back to the matter of why the ghost child was with them in the first place.

Skulker nearly jumped out of his exoskeleton when the blonde boy, the idiot who'd been dragging the halfa, suddenly turned and slammed the halfa's back sharply into the dense metal of the lockers, holding him by his throat about three inches off of the ground. His legs dangled without restraint, and Skulker almost flinched for the blonde boy, for he had once preformed near the exact same maneuver of the halfa against a building around fifty feet up, and had gotten a rather powerful kick in the head that had detached his metal head from his shoulders and sent him flying.

He was bewildered when the halfa did nothing, and instead just dangled there. He saw, to his bemusement, a wisp of blue frost escape the halfa's mouth, but at that exact moment, the blonde boy lifted him higher and then slammed him back into the lockers, probably frazzling the halfa just enough for just a moment so the ghost sense didn't register, which was very lucky for Skulker indeed. What a spectacular coincidence!

Skulker saw the halfa grit his teeth in frustration as his black0haired head slammed against the metal of the locker behind him, denting it, but yet, he did nothing, even as the blonde boy did it once more, clearly denting the locker this time. The group of morons didn't seem to notice the locker denting nor the obvious frustration the halfa was experiencing, instead taking it for pain.

"Aww," the blonde supposed "leader" of the group mocked. "Does wittle FenTOILET need to call him Mommy?" The other morons in the group giggled like, well, morons.

Skulker saw the halfa begin to roll his eyes, but then stop suddenly, and turn his attention of the blonde boy. The halfa didn't reply with the expected witty banter either, and didn't even square his shoulders to express his dominance and eagerness to fight. He just looked blankly at Dash with unexpressive blue eyes, and Skulker's extra movement sensors picked up the hints that he was sighing, probably with exasperation.

"No reply?" the blonde sneered. "I'm giving you an opportunity to beg for mercy, Fentonio! Maybe if you do, I'll be lien…lieni-" he paused, a confused expression on his face. This time Skulker did see the halfa roll his eyes. "I'll go easy on you," the blonde finally growled, angry at him own incompetence. The other boys in the group chuckled and pulled out phones, probably to record.

The halfa blinked blankly at Dash, looking very indifferent. His face was a mask of no emotion, just uncaring in whole. Still, suddenly Skulker knew exactly what he was feeling. Having to put up with other people's crap when you could easily pound their face in just because of an image, or that you'd get in trouble, or that the consequences were worse than the benefits, in the end. Skulker dealt with that often. From Plasmius. From Technus. From Johnny or Kitty. From Ember. From Walker. Even from the goddamned Ghost Writer, who hardly knew his name and wouldn't if it wasn't "difficult" to find things that rhymed with Skulker.

"You head me, FentOREO?!" the blonde boy shouted at far too high a volume. "I said," he threw the halfa on the ground, and, for some reason, though the halfa could easily catch himself-as Skulker knew-he let himself fall to the floor. "BEG!" the blonde ordered, face red.

"Please don't hit me," the halfa said in a monotone, looking like he probably found watching paint dry more stimulating than this.

"Not good enough," the blonde boy growled out, and lifted the halfa by his shirt collar. "I guess I'll just have to beat it out of you."

Somehow, though he'd been on the receiving end of many of the halfa's painful defensive maneuvers, Skulker could not find it in himself to pity the blonde boy any longer. The blonde raised a fist, and Skulker could see the perfect movement for the halfa to enact just as the halfa did. He'd had it done to him before, and he knew it was not extremely pleasant.

As the blonde's fist would come towards the halfa's face, the halfa would reach up and grab the boy by the wrist, not the fist, and scoot his hand up about an inch and a half, then twist his own wrist so the boy's body would be forced to twist afterward completely, leaving the boy, since he could not rebel against gravity, to smack into the cold tile floor with a hard bruise on his forearm. The halfa might add in a ghostly power kick for a ghostly opponent, but seeing as this boy was human, the forearm maneuver would probably work just fine.

To Skulker's utter shock, the halfa did not actually do anything. He stood perfectly still as the blonde boy held him by the collar and socked him straight on the cheek. The halfa's head twisted to the side, but Skulker could sense that he'd twisted to the side on purpose, to give the blonde "appropriate" satisfaction. He also fake-winced in pain, though it was obvious to Skulker that it hadn't hurt very much, if at all. He'd seen the halfa punched so hard he flew thirty feet back and slammed into buildings, partway-demolishing them with force. He didn't think an amateur high school bully could do much.

The blonde boy went for the gut next, socking the halfa several times in the stomach in an attempt to knock the breath out of him, but seeing as the halfa had no need to breathe for extended periods of time, this didn't work. Still, the ghost whelp put on a bit of a show, gasping for fake breath and twisting his features into a false mask of pain, but there was no feeling or emotion besides boredom and annoyance behind it, and Skulker could see this clearly.

It was odd, and Skulker did not understand why he let the blonde boy punch him repeatedly if he could be easily be beaten by a single flick of the wrist. It was obvious to Skulker that the blonde boy would back off as soon as his prey started fighting back, and that gave Skulker an excellent idea. Just this once, it would be help instead of hurt. Tomorrow he would be back for his prize pelt, or whenever the bruises healed. Shouldn't take too long, with the halfa's healing factor.

Skulker knew he would only have single shot at this, since if he got too close, the ghost sense would activate again, causing his cover to be blown. It had to be perfect, so he waited until the halfa had his back pressed again the lockers, a variety of blows coming form three of four idiots in red jackets, while the blonde screamed got him to grovel for mercy. He kept feigning pain, but Skulker could tell that it was so obviously fake, the group jocks had to be complete dunderheads to not notice.

When the perfect moment arrived, Skulker suddenly surged forward. An icy breath formed at the halfa's lips, and blue eyes winded, but before a reaction could happen, Skulker slammed intangibly into his target.

For a moment, he was completely disoriented, but he came to his senses quickly with the first burst of sensation. A fist landing a sloppily delivered blow on his now smaller chin, only clipping it and not hurting in the slightest, but providing enough boost for Skulker to blink away the disorientation. Another fist came his way, directed at his left cheek, and quick as a grasshopper, he reached up and grabbed it out of the air, pushing it's owner back and sending him stumbling. He put his thin hands on the chests of the other two beating him up and pushed them back gently, but nonetheless, they fell back, stumbling.

Suddenly, a twisting in his gut and prickling feeling all over his nerves caught Skulker by surprise, nearly making him disgorge the halfa's breakfast. The halfa, apparently, did not take kindly to Skulker helping him with his bully problem, but Skulker pushed the halfa down with all his strength. Just one more. The blonde.

Skulker turned the halfa's body so it faced the blonde head on, smirked a smirk he saw nearly every time he came to the human world, right before he saw the thermos, and squared his shoulders at the blonde. The halfa's willpower surged forward, pushing needles into Skulker's mentality, trying to get him out. But, in the same body, Skulker could tell, though he disposed being overshadowed, that the halfa almost wanted the blonde in front of him delivered a hardy punch by his own body, his own fist.

The blonde seemed momentarily taken aback, but then faced off, sneering at Skulker. He cracked his knuckles. "Been a while since I pounded someone in earnest," he said, but he was lying through his teeth, and the halfa knew it too, because a pang of irritation emitted from his part of the consciousness. Pain continued to stab at Skulkers, and the hunter noted that the halfa had gotten quite good at mental defense, but he hung on, just wanting to finish. If the halfa had been giving getting Skulker out of his head his all, Skulker would be out, but a minuscule part of the halfa was sitting back and eating popcorn, waiting for the show to begin, and Skulker used that as much as he could.

The blonde drove a fist toward Skulker, and though the body was knew to him, Skulker had his reflexes, and the fist seemed to be traveling at a snails pace. He could also feel the halfa's muscle memory burning, waiting, clenching. Ready to grab that fist and preform a maneuver worthy of only the worst ghosts on the blonde before him, because the halfa had done this so many times before. Skulker grabbed at just a straw of the ghost fighting muscle memory, but it was more than enough.

Suddenly, the blonde was laying on his back on the hallway, staring at the ceiling while his arm was completely dislocated from his shoulder, dangling limply. At the same time, such sharp and unexpected pain drove into Skulker's conscienceless so that he was thrown out of the whelp's body and sent flying down the hallway. The got up just in time to see the flaming green eyes of the halfa as he marched down the hall. Skulker swallowed at the anger contained within them.

The halfa grabbed him by the throat of his new exoskeleton and slammed him up against a wall much like the blonde had slammed the halfa up against the lockers, but instead of slamming three times until it dented, chips of plaster and drywall flew everywhere, littering the hallway.

"Don't. You. EVER! Try. To. Over. Shadow. Me. Again!" the whelp threatened, eyes glimmering bright emerald. "Or I swear I will rip your armor into minuscule pieces and donate you to a high school teacher looking to dissect frogs. I will release every prize you've ever caught and caged and burn every animal or ghost pelt you've ever collected. I will disintegrate every single one of your hunting tools into piles of ash and set a bomb in your lair so you will be homeless. Do you understand me?"

Skulker, surprised by the ferocity of the halfa, nodded mutely. A snarl twisted itself onto the whelp's ace, making him looks dangerous as heck. "I said, Do You Understand?!" He practically shouted, but not quite. He didn't need volume to sound terrifying.

"Yes," Skulker confirmed, and spotted the jocks he'd pushed earlier watching with mouths agape. One of them had fallen down and was now sitting on him butt next to the blonde, who was moaning about the dislocation. Skulker turned his attention back to the matter at hand and nodded tersely at the whelp before melting into the wall, coming out on the other side and shaking himself to his senses before flying off in search of better prey.

He flew fifteen feet away, and then decided to double back, to see the effects of his efforts. e flew up to the window, not bothering with intangibility, on invisibility, and saw the three jock's he'd dispatched before the blonde one staring at the halfa with wide eyes and shaky legs.

"F-F-Fe-Fenton j-just stood up t-too a gh-ghost!" one of them screamed. The shout resonated through the school before the halfa could smack a hand over his face.

"We're not going to share this little event," he said. "Now here."

The halfa leaned down and grabbed the blonde boy, sitting with his legs crossed and bracing the boy's shoulder against his leg. He grabbed the dislocated arm and somehow popped it back into place in a single movement, even without a wall. The blonde boy wrenched up, screaming, and smacked a flailing hand across the halfa's cheek like a scared little girl. The halfa didn't even flinch, just got up from the floor and casually dusted himself off.

He turned to the three jocks, standing there in surprise, and sent a glare down at the blonde boy, still scrambling to get up off the floor. "This. Never. Happened." His eyes blazed, but somehow, they remained blue. His hands were clenched into fists. "I'm not going to stand here and deal with your questions, either, because I have a ghost to catch. You're not going to tell anybody about this."

"Was that a threat, Fentina?" The blonde boy mocked. Skulker wondered just how stupid this boy had to act before the halfa showed his potential.

"No," the halfa said. "It was a fact." He didn't even spare the blonde boy another glance before spinning and walking down the hall, turning around the corner. The slightest hint of blue light flashed on the white-painted walls, and Skulker knew what happened next. He flew up, trying to the get away before-

"What the heck was that, Skulker?" a voice wondered behind him, and he spun to see the halfa floating in ghost form right in front of him. "Why did you do…that?" He gestured wildly down at the school building where the jocks no doubt still were.

Skulker paused. "It sucks to be the little guy, doesn't it?" he finally said, and the halfa paused, giving him strange look. "Especially when you know you can beat them and your consciousness is screaming for you to pound their heads in a show them what you can really do. I'm starting to understand why you let the Box Ghost go easy every time, instead of just hurting him so much he'd never come back. You secretly like to tussle a little with him. To get out your anger."

The halfa tilted his head, and then nodded. "It's not even a secret that sometimes I enjoy picking on somebody after I've been picked on, but I normally refrain unless I can hit them without serious danger of hurting them and that they're bullying other people. And," he smirked slightly. "It takes one to know one."

"Touche," Skulker replied.

"Good day," the halfa shot back, and Skulker found himself once again facing the hollow end of the dreaded thermos.

Not the best ending, but I was getting impatient. Whatever. Also, sorry for the "no accent" thing, on words like Touche and Cliche, because my computer can't figure out how to do accents. It keeps giving me a music note...?


UNtil NExt TIme.