Yoyo: um hi…. this is my first submission to all excited and a bit worried…am I good enough? i hope so…..this is only a one shot, the idea and title based on the quote Dan told Tucker….
Dan: in my weaker moments I sometimes miss your droll sense of humor….that?
Yoyo:yeah!that one!its dan thinking of that dwelling inside himself…well read and review…flame if u want…lol…hope u like it!
The rubble surrounded him; not a living thing around as he sat on a piece of what he had created, or to be more correct, destroyed. It was his will that had caused all this destruction, everything in ruin. So here he was alone again, staring off into the dirty haze of the darkening sky. What was there to do now? The last city that had stood before him now lay as another smoldering speck, a reminder of his special kind of work. A hand swiped through his flaming hair as he rubbed the back of his neck, a habit that not even ten years could get rid of. Being alone was something he hated, hated quite a lot. He needed the screams of those around him, to continue wreaking chaos on everyone's lives. But there was no one to be seen, nothing to be seen except the empty, broken city that stretched silently around as far as the eye could gaze.
In a sudden burst of anger Dan stood up and shot a large blast at the remaining half of a building. The tremendous sound it made as it fell in on itself brought back the small smirk that his victims were used to seeing. He felt himself again, or the form of himself he had come to know. But as the dust cleared and the silence returned he felt his mind slowing drifting back to its previous thoughts. Thoughts that he tried to ignore, they didn't exist inside of him. They were not his, none of them, memories of another person, another time. He was the ruler of the world, ruler of both worlds. The ghost and human realms submitted before his might, toys that he played with and broke to his hearts content. So why when he was alone did he feel so strange? Feelings that were supposed to have died along with the part of him that had been human crept their way up from the depth of the unknown inside him. Nothing could be done to stop those feelings from coming, how could he control everything and yet had no control over such small emotions?
Trying to ignore the long forgotten images that resurfaced and swam inside his head he stepped back, absentmindedly touching his hand to his chest. There was no sound of breath or the beating of a heart; he couldn't even recall what those were to him. Breathing was what humans did when they cowered before him, gasping and chocking it out as best they could when he held them in his grasp. A heart was a sound that beat inside them, louder and louder the nearer he got, still echoing inside its cage for a moment after he had already taken the life from the body. His chest never moved up and down, no beating, no sounds. There was a time when it did beat, when he pumped air into his lungs to continue on, that he knew, but it seemed so long ago, and who really cared about that now though. Another weakness he had killed along with the rest of himself. No, he did not kill himself, only became better! Stronger and full of power, power to do anything he wished!
Looking at where he had touched he found his fingers resting on his symbol, the one he had always worn. Even after changing his outfit he had kept it. Why? It was a last small reminder of his past, one he didn't care about. The symbol had been given to him by those that were dead, dead and forgotten, not needed in his dark lust for the destruction of all things. He needed no one, but what was this ache that came about him whenever he was alone? Taking Vlad's ghost form had been the greatest thing he had done, it destroyed the only real threat he had ever known and given him all the power he craved. He had done it because…because….
Dan sat back down and lowered his head. This time he allowed the memories to come to him, almost curious this time. Why had he done it? The last ten years were the only clear thoughts he could recall. He knew he had a life before, filled with friends and family, those that loved and cared for him. But they were nothing; he was better off without them. Wasn't he? Being human he had been weak, yet now something inside him was saying he was wrong. Never before had he tried to bring back that which he felt he didn't need, there had always been something else he could do to escape. Now he was drawn to find out more. There it was once again, playing in his head like a recording, the image of taking over Plasmius, and his transformation to who he was now. Separated from his pathetic human self, that side left to await the new power he was dying to try out. Now though his mind went further, before that had happened. He had been separated from himself for a reason, he had been sad. Sad for the ones in his old memories, and he couldn't continue on with those feelings inside. So Vlad did him a favor, by taking him away from it all.
At that moment all that had been kept back rushed forward. His hands cradled his head as the images kept coming. He who he was now was from the pain of losing everyone, all of them killed because of the weakness he had been. He felt that same weakness now, as if his human side was once again a part of him. The forgotten ones he felt he didn't care for suddenly mattered. The names of those dead slipped past his eyes.
"… Lancer… Mom…. Dad…. Jazz…. Tucker..…. Sam…."
He didn't know if he had spoken them aloud or not, but now he was filled with new thoughts. Would he have been this way if they were still alive? Why did that now matter? Old memories of himself, being a hero and saving the day danced inside. Always doing the right thing, laughter that didn't cause fear in the eyes of others, time spent enjoying each day. Tucker's gadgets and lame attempts at a joke, Sam's sarcasm and dark dress style…. all of it bore into him; no more did he consider it a weakness. He felt like crying out, how could he have forgotten all this? Mom and dad's obsession with fighting ghosts, Jazz always doing what she thought was best for him, even Mr. Lancer, with his strict ways and sudden bursts of book titles. He was never weak, as he had thought; now in fact he felt that forcing the memories down and trying to forget them had been weak. He had become this way from sorrow, and turned away from all he protected and fought for, trying to keep away from the fact that it had been his fault they were all dead, his fault and only his.
He lifted his head and looked out upon the ruined city. He did everything to lose the past, and now that he had dwelled within that past he felt things he had not known for a long time. Plasmius had poured pure evil into him, changed him to this form, something he had always sworn to never become. What had pushed him to take over him anyway? After he was pulled out by the gloves he felt a sudden rush to do the same to Vlad, there was no thought put into it. One minute he was out, the next he was wrapped in a blinding pain that seem to crack him open and erase everything inside him, leaving only a thirst for power and emptiness. Evil was what he had become…who he was…. what he was…that was right, he did everything because he was evil…Evil felt right, the way he had wanted, or felt he wanted. It was what he had wanted, right? The questions that he continued to ask that never seemed to be answered filled him with rage. The memories and feelings were starting to drain of their power over him; they once again began drifting away, back into where they could be forgotten. He had merely lost who he truly was for a moment there, no need to continue such trivial acts. It was after all, all in the past…
He stood up; a soft wind blew by billowing his cape behind him. The time spent dwelling on those memories he now felt as wasted effort seemed to sweep away along with the wind.
"I made a decision, this is me. Old memories cannot change that."
The words he spoke were the last of him that tried to help, in any way, to show him this was wrong. Yet they were lost as well as he shut it all out, the dead were dead and he no longer cared to think about them. With fists clenched he scanned the area, there must be something he could do now. As if to coming to grant his wish, an army of tanks and helicopters appeared on the horizon. They moved slowly toward him, as if hoping he wouldn't notice them. He ran his forked tongue along his fangs, his lips spreading out into a wicked smile. As long as there were things to do the memories would stay forgotten, and he could continue being who he was now. Danny had been killed several times, and there was nothing or no one that could bring him back. Only a shell that killed others remained now. That shell walked up towards the advancing rebels, soon to be more piles of metal and corpses….