Disclaimer: I'll say this once and only once: I don't own Danny Phantom. If you're looking for ways to earn money through devilish means, suing me will only incur more debt on your behalf. So I suggest that you heed my words because they are the brutal, hard truth. So, thanks. Moving on…

This is my first fic on Danny Phantom. I was devastated to find out that Danny Phantom is over. I watched the last episode of season three, "Phantom Planet", and I was sad to hear such bad news. Because of that, I've decided to write my story about one of the best shows I've ever laid my eyes on. I hope that you enjoy this chapter and the following ones coming after this. Thanks a bunch in advance for reading or leaving reviews. I love y'all!

Oh yeah, a bit of advice: so as not to spoil Danny Phantom for you, watch "Phantom Planet". There's and Nickelodeon, of course.



Everywhere he turned was pitch black. The void was chilling, lonely, and frightening. He roamed in the spatial realm; feeling rejected and despised by the inhabitants of his former home, earth. He clutched his bleeding arm, struggled in the darkness to search for a place to rest. He felt ashamed and angry with himself for acting too rash back then. He coughed up blood again, cursing quietly when the pain grew unbearable.

Danny Fenton, a.k.a. Danny Phantom, would eventually pay with his dear life for humiliating him. Sure, Vlad Masters made the irreparable mistake of revealing his ghost self to the entire world. But that didn't exempt the fact the Danny Phantom was an indestructible prick in his past successful, affluent life. Ever since that meddling brat destroyed his mansion in the countryside, everything from the suburban content to the mayoral supremacy, to the disgraced ultimatum—the promise of saving the world from the asteroid—was of Danny Phantom's subtle yet insidious doing. The boy had finally consigned him to a life of despair and complete isolation.

Vlad Plasmius gritted his teeth in unquenchable rage at the memory of the ghost boy. He would get his revenge on Danny and his idiotic father, Jack Fenton, one way or the other. He bellowed in agony when his wound broke open from strain, blood flowing freely down his arm. Stupid ghost-repellant asteroid. Of all the things it repelled, it had to be of spectral entity! He looked frantically from left to right, seeking an abandoned meteor floating about the galaxy. After realizing that he was unable to return to earth because of divulging his ghost form, he made the mistake of giving up, of surrendering his dignity to Danny Phantom. If only he hadn't given up, if only he didn't let one ounce of doubt occupy his mind for one second, the asteroid wouldn't have caused serious damage to him.

If only he'd been more wary of his surroundings, the asteroid wouldn't have surprised him. He had to thank his ghost powers for barely saving him from the fatal slip. On the grand scheme of things, however, Jack Fenton was the undying thorn in his life. They would all pay… this wasn't over for Vlad Plasmius.

Suddenly, his lids began to droop, his eyes felt immeasurably heavy. Sleep started to lure him into its perilous clutches, its grasp alluring but deceptive. He fought against it but in a matter of time, he knew that his very limited strength would give him no opportunity to fight anymore. This was probably the end for Vlad Plasmius: his humanity destroyed long time ago, his entity forever defeated. He moaned when he felt throbbing course through his veins; he didn't know whether his body was sending signals of approaching death or… or… was something else. He didn't know… and he hated himself for caring no more. He was going to die. Die alone. Die in vain. Die without sweet, beautiful Maddie ever calling him "Cupcake" or "Vlad Darling" or "Honey Bunny" or… just simply, "Vlad" with clear passion in her voice.

"Vlad. Vlad. Come to me, my darling!" He could hear her clearly. His eyes barely open when he cried out loud as burning pain gushed throughout his entire body. And just when the pain started, it was gone. And so was his consciousness. He was definitely dying.

Oh, Maddie. I've always loved you. Goodbye, my sweet Sugarplum…


A year and thirty-three days later (after Danny's heroic rescue of earth)

Danny and Sam sat quietly in Tucker's office. Or rather, what an office would have looked like in an ordinary workplace. Danny made sure that Sam wouldn't jump and destroy one of the robots serving them drinks. Judging by the constant twitch under Sam's eye, Danny was more concerned about Tucker's well-being, knowing well that Sam was never technology's advocate. He squeezed her tense hand, eyed the convoluted labyrinth of robotics and flying PDA's encircling the room.

A flying PDA, who would have imagined? One zoomed right pass Danny, leaving a jet of steam in its wake. Danny counted six of them soaring about the room. Beeping sounds filled the room, and it began to annoy the couple. Danny glanced around him, while Sam was on the verge of leaving Tucker's domain.

Despite the mass of automations occupying the entire room, Tucker, at least, had the sense in putting a comfy-enough sofa at the corner of the room—a tiny, cramped waiting area for his guests. Right next to the alcohol cabinet. Instead of glancing at Sam, Danny read the expensive, unfamiliar labels of each wine. 'Does Tucker even know the name of each bottle he's offering?' Danny thought.

"Miss Manson, care for another glass of lemonade?" The robot asked again, its bionic appearance that of Star's, its sweet voice very much like the blonde, perky cheerleader's. And they said I had issues with Paulina. Nonetheless, Danny was impressed by the unmistakable imitation.

Sweat dripped down his forehead when he saw Sam glaring at the robot version of Star. He yelped in surprise and pain when Sam clenched his hand in quiet rage.

"How many times must I say, 'I DON'T WANT ANY!'" Sam yelled, her cheeks red with frustration.

Robot Star tilted its head to one side, asked cheerily, "You sure you don't want another? It's Tucker-rific!"

Danny chuckled uncontrollably. He knew that Tucker made this robot especially for Sam. Looking at Sam's glower, however, he stopped. He bit his lip to stop laughing. Soon enough, he tasted blood. Still, it amused him to see its effect on Sam.

Sam stood up, grabbed the pitcher, and dumped the container over Star's head. "If it's so Tucker-rific, have it all! Maybe next time, he'd give you everything, including the thing in his pants!"

Danny fell off the couch, howling in laughter. He barely heard something crash in the closet next to the entrance.

Soaked but unfazed, robot Star cocked its head to the side, said with an adorable pout, "Oh, look at what you've done. You've soiled Mayor Tucker's carpet. Stains are hard to get by with this kind."

"Stains! It's barely a stain! It's lemonade, which is made of lemons and water! It's not going to create a stain, you useless scrap of a machine!" Sam exclaimed, pissed beyond measure. Danny worried that a vein would pop in her forehead.

Robot Star bent down, apparently disagreeing with Sam. "No, Miss Manson, look." The robot's nose met carpet. "There's a spot. It's certainly hard to clean up such mess. Oh, what should I do?"

"You want advice? Sure, I'll give you a few." Sam breathed out a sigh, said with a calm yet irritated tone, "Tell your lovely Mayor to stop hiding in the closet before I turn you into nothing more than worthless shrapnel!"

"In the closet?" Robot Star's head tilted to the other side. "Oh, silly, he's in a meeting with the U.S. military."

"Yeah. Then he'll surely be surprised to see you in pieces after he arrives from the meeting." From her backpack, she dug out the Fenton ghost-pulverizer. Danny winced, made sure to stay a yard away from it. There was a label on its handle. It said, "A CAUTIONARY NOTE: DESTROYS GHOST WITH A SMASHING WALLOP! DANNY, BE CAREFUL!"

Another Jack Fenton original.

Ever since his identity was revealed, his dad has been gluing these cautionary labels on each weapon, as if Danny didn't already know that they were a danger unto himself as well. But he smiled at the concern. Not to mention the humor in it.

Finally able to compose himself, Danny, with a calm voice, said, "You know, Sam's serious about this, Tucker."

Sam, hovering the hammer over her head, was ready to bring it down on the robot's head. "It may not be a ghost, but it can sure break even the most advanced scrap of metal ever speaking the tongue of the superficial conformity!"

"Tucker…" Danny called out. He heard a slight shuffle in the closet.

"Down with the bubblehead community of Casper High!" Sam was surely enjoying this. Tucker's means of annoying her did have its benefits.

A frantic shrill loomed in the room where coats prevailed. They could tell that Tucker was probably stuck in there, having a hard time escaping the deadly clutches of unused, dust-veiled jackets, sweaters, and coats.

"You better hurry, Mayor Sir. The goth is out for vengeance, and obviously has some issues against Casper High's cheerleaders."

"Cheerleaders." Sam scoffed. "Sounds to me like they're calling for a mate. It happens to be mating season, by the way. It's spring—the breeding season of more bumbling, dull conformists." Sam paused, corrected herself, "They're more like sheep, Casper High's cheerleaders. They don't individualize. They'd rather move with the crowd, even if it means jumping off a cliff. They're sheep! They think they're cheering, but they way I hear it, they go, 'bah, bah, baaaaaah…' Dumb sheep."

"You hear the Tucker? Star's a confused sheep."

They could hear Tucker calling for help.

"Dumb sheep. They might as well die in a blink." Sam was excited to inflict torture upon Tucker's poor soul.

"Courtesy of the Fenton ghost-pulverizer, of course," Danny added in.

Sam was about to bring down the weapon when Tucker burst in from the closet, his face flat on the floor. Danny, seeing his friend's painful fall, winced. He stood up, walked to where Tucker was dusting off grime from his coat. Tucker groaned, rubbed his arm with an exasperated sigh.

"Oh man." Tucker moaned in apparent irritation. "This is Dolce." Tucker gingerly plucked the dust and lint from his coat. He smoothed the ruffled lapel. "And my glasses…" He examined them closely for signs of damage. "You've cracked my glasses!"

"Correction. You brought it upon yourself, Mayor. I wasn't planning on crushing your precious Star. If she hadn't bugged me, you wouldn't have to bring your Dolce to the drycleaners." Sam packed away the pulverizer, crossed her arms over her chest. Danny stood in the middle of them, ready to pull them apart if a brawl happened.

Tucker, resigned to the fact that his lens were ruined, squinted at Sam intently. He then said casually, "Actually, my robot staff do everything for me, including my laundry. So it's not an issue. The only thing that ticks me off right now is my glasses…"

"Which is Prada. We know, we know," Danny and Sam muttered in unison.

Sam sat down, obviously angered at Tucker's haughty air. No hint of apology felt owed to them. Tucker had definitely changed for the worse, Sam wearily thought to herself. She loathed the fact that she and Danny were partly at fault for Tucker's unbecoming attitude. Often times Tucker was always there to help, but was given almost no credit for his efforts of getting them out of sticky situations.

Sam was always relied on and thanked. And now, loved. Tucker was no different. But since boys are, by nature, a kind of species that refuses to show any signs of gratitude or emotions to one another, Tucker was usually kept in the dark of realizing Danny's grateful acknowledgement. It had always been Danny and Sam, Danny and Sam, DANNY AND SAM! Tucker was often left to fend for himself.

As if reading Sam's exact thoughts, Danny stared at Sam's eyes for a moment, lowered his head in shame and sympathy. He remained at Sam's side, still standing, afraid to approach Tucker. The young mayor was now occupied with one of his PDA's, his dark brows furrowed in concentration. Robot Star walked to him, gave him a cup of coffee.

The aroma was strong yet delicious. Danny never liked the taste of coffee though. He watched as Tucker took a sip from the cup. He sighed, gathered the courage to talk to his friend. He took six (at times when he was nervous, he counted—unbelievable from someone as math-illiterate as Danny) tentative steps to where Tucker was sitting in his leather swivel chair.

"Tucker," Danny started, sweat obviously beading across his forehead. "Sam and I came here to ask you to come with us to the arcade."

Without looking up, Tucker busily tapped on his PDA, his fingers barely pausing to consider Danny's proposal. He remained composed, businesslike, engrossed with his technology. Seemed as though he loved his androids more than his friends. Danny sometimes felt that way with Tucker. Oh well, boys will be boys. Sports, machines, and stoicism mostly came naturally to them. So there was nothing he can do about Tucker's instinctual love. Maybe the arcade might help drive the techie out of his abyssal obsession of all things technical.

Waiting for Tucker's reply, Danny stood rigid in front of Tucker's desk. The wood seemed to glisten. At least two of Tucker's dreams came true. He was rich and legally powerful. Although Danny was famous and immensely admired for his heroics and powers, he was shy of earning more than thirty dollars a month.

Too absorbed was Danny in his train of thought that he didn't notice Tucker looking at him. Danny gave a start, surprised at himself for being marginally nervous of his best friend. He tried to smile, but his anxiety showed. It made him look like he swallowed a fly.

Tucker kept staring at him, his eyes unreadable. Looking at Tucker in that way was killing Danny. The ghost boy couldn't make up his mind on whether he should fly out of there without knowing Tucker's answer, or feign dizziness and call 911.

Just when he was on the verge of feigning a headache, Tucker broke into laughter. It's been a while since Danny saw him laugh like that. These days, the mayor was too busy with Amityville-related events and projects that he rarely had real fun going on in his life. Danny soon laughed with him. Tucker stood up, close to tears from suffocation, and hugged Danny. Danny returned it, patted his good friend hard on the back.

"It's been four months since I've last been to the arcade. It's about time the mayor gets to take a break," Tucker said, adjusting his glasses.

"Great! Ever since you've been appointed mayor, Sam and I just can't find ourselves having fun without you around," Danny said with a grin.

"Hearing that makes me more fired up to get going." Tucker moved to his closet, started to unbutton his shirt.

"Whoa, I'm right here if you haven't noticed," Sam exclaimed, shielded her eyes.

"Like I'd like you to see my sexiness beneath the Dolce," Tucker retorted, went in the tiny, musty wardrobe and closed it behind him. "Just give me a sec while I change!" Tucker added in.

Sam smiled, shook her head at the nonsensical incredulity of Tucker's mood swings. She had plenty of reasons to be angry in one minute, and be happy in the next. She was, after all, a girl—to much of Casper High's cheerleaders' dispute. But Tucker was a guy. It was simply odd to see him change moods for such brief intervals. Nonetheless, she didn't give that thought a second chance, as Tucker was very willing to accompany them to the arcade.

Danny was walking towards her when the closet door suddenly swung open, and Tucker, to their delight, was showing off his old attire. Old in a sense that he looked like the same old Tucker. He was wearing his yellow shirt, olive green pants, brown leather shoes, his signature red cap, and his thick-framed glasses. Not Prada, thank heavens. They certainly didn't expect that from him; they believed that he was going to dress into his Lacoste rather than the clothes he'd worn when he was normal, techie-Tucker.

Knowing that both Danny and Sam were satisfied with the look, he asked excitedly, "Shall we?"

The couple nodded proudly. Although fame and paparazzi conquered his life these days, Danny wouldn't let any of them ruin his short-lived freedom of acting like a fifteen year old with his best friends now. Without any other choice to begin with, they were forced to don Tucker's heavy coats and oversized hats from his office's closet to conceal their identities. Sure, it wasn't exactly normal, but the thought of sneaking past meddling tabloids and fan girls was exciting enough. As Danny held on to Sam and Tucker as they floated high in the air, he believed, wanted to believe at least, that no one was able to disturb his rightful peace. No one. Not even a meddling ghost. Not even a life-altering encounter with his past.


He laughed evilly as he scanned the icy area. A year and thirty-three days before, he would have felt frostbite killing his fingers in that spot. Speaking of which, he wondered how he'd have to deal with the tribe's leader Frostbite. Shall his wrath wreak slow or quick agony? He'd have to ponder on that along the way. He was, after all, stronger, invincible, and more possessed for vengeance than ever before. He was going to retaliate against the ghosts and people who've humiliated him, who've allied with Danny Phantom, who've discarded him like trash.

At long last, he was so close to reaching his final goal of inflicting torment and shame on Danny Phantom and his family. With Maddie as an exception, of course.

She would be my queen, and Jack…

Jack Fenton would be nothing more than a beaten, pathetic, old, good-for-nothing, bird-brained loser in Vlad Plasmius' eyes.

And Maddie, oh dear sweet Maddie, would be my queen.

Soon, his dream was to come true. Not even Danny Phantom was going to stop him from reaching it. Danny Phantom deserved to die. The ghost boy was going to get what he just deserves.

Without another moment to lose, Vlad once again scanned his surroundings. Nothing but stark white filled the entire region. The bitter, cold wind blew at his cape but not even once bit his skin. The place was the ghost world's equivalent of the Antarctic, only colder and more foreboding. He heard furtive footsteps circling him. He knew that this place was well-guarded, and he was absolutely prepared for it. The oversized bears that guarded the map were all around him.

They knew him as the ghost boy's mortal enemy, and were given the freedom of impaling him without a moment's hesitation when the time called for it. He smirked at their complete ignorance of his newfound power. He could hear them scheming to capture him, to interrogate him, to drive him out of there forever.

Stupid bears. If only they knew of his capability, they wouldn't even bother to brave it out of facing him. Closing his eyes, he ignored their threatening inquiries of impaling him with their iced spears if he didn't leave of his own accord.

How futile. His energy of defeating them would be used in vain. But if he was to get the map, he might as well expend it on creatures that at least guarded his destiny. With his eyes closed, he could hear them coming at him. As he waited patiently, he could feel the power within him rush throughout his entire body.

Oh yes, Fenton. You're next.

Lightning fast, he sped towards the oncoming wave of tribes-bears. Their spears and arrows were aimed at him, their battle cry loud and fierce. But with a wink of his eye, their weapons were all but turned to dust. Puzzled and taken back, they started to fear for their lives. About to retreat, Vlad shook his head, said in a mocking tone, "Not yet. Pity how I'd let you tattle on me to the chief. Better rest while I deal with him personally."

Many of them cried for help, hoping that the warning could be heard across the snow-capped, gargantuan mountains to their sheltered homes. However, a heat storm suddenly enveloped them in its scorching cyclone, trapping them in and barely giving them air to breathe. Although the place was frigid-cold, the heat that overcame them was inexplicably more powerful than the force of nature. Succumbing to the futility of their efforts, they fell, gasping for breath.

Vlad guffawed at their defeated looks, their disappointment in themselves. He closed his eyes, breathed in deeply. Ah, midst the defeat of others, Vlad felt ecstatic beyond measure. The smell of others' downfall amounted to his glee. But enough of feeling slightly proud of himself. Defeating the bears was nothing compared to his future annihilation of Danny Phantom.

Concentrating hard on his goal, he flew in the direction of the tribe's encampment. Approaching the main tent, more bears were blocking his way. Tsk tsk. When can they ever learn? They bellowed in pain as another heat tornado swallowed them into its grasp. Soon enough, shards of ice flew in his direction. But before they were well a yard from him, they blew up in flames, melted to the ground in a second. He caught Frostbite's glare, returned it with a smirk.

"Hello there. It's been a while," Vlad said amid the cries of the inhabitants filling the air around them.

Frostbite bore his teeth. "Let them go! They'll die if you don't stop!"

"They'll die if you don't give me the map," Vlad said. This was the best punishment he could impose on the leader. Seeing that he had no other alternatives to gain some leverage, and watching his fellow people suffer before his very eyes were enough to bring the bear down on his knees. "The map, Frostbite," Vlad repeated, held out a hand.

"You were supposed to never come back. That's what Danny told us," Frostbite roared in anger.

"Apparently, the ghost boy is wrong. Turns out I'm back, better and stronger than the last time any of you saw me." Vlad glanced at the orange cyclone drowning the bears in heat. "I want the map. Now. Otherwise…"

The bears' cries made Frostbite wince, look away.



"But my people…"

"I will them go," Vlad promised. Sincerity surprisingly real in his ominous presence. Frostbite nodded, and the map materialized in his hefty paw. He trembled in fear and rage as Vlad took it from his grasp. "Thank you. You've done what you only had to do."

Frostbite glowered at Plasmius. "You will let them go."

"Of course."

With a wink of his eye, the cyclone disappeared. Vlad began to fade, but before he finally disappeared, Vlad gave Frostbite another warning. "Not a word to the ghost boy, otherwise…"

And he was gone, leaving Frostbite attending to his people in heavy concern and regret. Looking at his people, he realized an even more serious prospect that lay before them. His people may be safe now, but what about tomorrow, and the day after that, and the days after that? He usually gave every decision meticulous consideration, but why this time? Why now? What made him act so rash, giving him no thought to the doomed future they were about to experience? What had really happened to him just then?

He glanced up, and saw that all was quiet and still.

This was not good. They were almost certainly doomed.


"And they said you were nothing but a myth," Vlad slowly approached the dark shadow huddled in the cage. Its nose flared with fire in caution, but it instantly relaxed when Vlad held up a hand to destroy the lock. "Don't worry, I'm not here to hurt you."

It stood up in all fours, waited to be set free. It saw that the guards watching over it were unconscious. Every one of them. They were the most formidable militia that lived in the most secluded part of the ghost world. How Vlad knew of the place was itself a mystery. But realizing that his powers intensified after the accident, something about this creature before him, something about this place called to him. Before he knew it, he was after the map, for it would lead him to the answer shrouded in darkness.

As soon as its prison broke open, it initially stepped out hesitantly, stretching its inept muscles. It cocked its head to the side, sniffed Vlad. Its scales were of gold and red tint, its eyes black. Vlad studied it, looked down to see its private region.

"A female," Vlad rubbed his chin in scrutiny. "I would have thought so. The frame is small, yet the way you hold yourself… both elegant and terrifying at the same time. Hmmm… beautiful…"

It cocked its head to the side.

Judging by its puzzled look, it didn't understand a word Vlad was saying. Vlad looked devastated for a moment. By the looks of it, the creature looked like it came from a Chinese folktale.

Great. Just when I was beginning to hopeful, it had to be Chinese.

As a matter of fact, looking around him, he was indeed in a shrine. The guards were wearing armor of Oriental design. Not to mention that their moves were kung fu style. Vlad rubbed his temples to repress his temper from exploding.

The creature stomped its hand on the ground. Vlad gave his attention to it; apparently she demanded it. She gestured to Vlad to look at a tablet, which was standing next to him.

"Ah! An inscription! It might tell me how…"

It was in Chinese.

"High mountains and floating sea, I can't speak or read a word of Chinese! What makes you think I can understand this—!"

The ghost dragon gruffly pushed Vlad's head to an English translation lined next to the Japanese version.

"Oh. Thank you." Vlad blushed. But he ignored it and read on. It said, "For dragon and master to be one, they must share the same blood. Once the pact is made, dragon and master share the same vision. Everything depends on the master's objection, for when blood is spilled, dragon is master's slave until another master makes the dragon his."

"A pact? How do I go about it?"

Fire flared in the dragon's nostrils. It pointed to the small footnote below all the translations. Again, Vlad had to look for the English version.

"Dragon and Master have to drink each other's blood."

"Drink! How on earth?"

He looked up, but before he could evade the blow, he fell unconscious, blood flowing from the wound. The dragon's head bent down to lick at its new master's warm blood spilling from his arm. As soon as it was finished, Vlad groggily sat up, rubbed his head as dizziness overcame him.

"Buck up and get a grip, we haven't got all day!"

Vlad, hearing a voice in his head, instantly stood up, his jaw hanging open in shock.


"I was tired of waiting, so I took a good swipe from you, drank some of your blood, closed the wound with my saliva, and now we have a telepathic connection. It's time for you to do drink my blood so that you can hear my thoughts. So far, I can only hear yours." Unlike the time he released the dragon, she was now even more brutish, impatient, and sharp. Just like him. She used to be quite timid and lost, looking for someone to rely on, to serve. Vlad smiled. He finally knew what the inscription meant. "For dragon and master to be one, they must share the same blood. Once the pact is made, dragon and master share the same vision." In other words, the dragon adopts the master's attitude, opinions, and more importantly, a connection where only the two of them share is born. This was perfect. Too good to be true in fact.

With its sharp claw, it made an incision across its hand, let the blood flow. Before taking a drink from the fountain of red, Vlad asked, "What shall I call you?"

"Anything you want, Master." Its voice was low, menacing, yet melodious in Vlad's ears.

Vlad thought about it for a moment. "How does Madison sound?"

"Anything you deem fitting I think so too, Master."

Vlad grinned. "I'm glad you like it, Madison. It suits you perfectly."


To be continued….

So, I'd be happy to read your comments and suggestions about this fic. It would help a lot to hear from you. Thanks for reading this, hope you have a wonderful day/ evening. :)