Broken Phantom

Jazz

The energy in the Phantom Nebula Arena was electric, a raw pulse of excitement thrumming through the air. Spectral banners flickered above the stands, shifting between vibrant hues of green and blue, bearing the sigils of various factions and rulers of the Ghost Zone. The stadium, a colossal structure suspended within a swirling vortex of ectoplasmic energy, was filled with thousands of ghosts—each one eager for the bloodsport that was about to begin.

Jazz stood among the other spectators, her fingers clenching the rail as she scanned the arena below. The center platform, a shifting, translucent battlefield, flickered in and out of different terrains. One moment, it resembled a frozen tundra, ice glistening dangerously under the ethereal glow of the sky. The next, it melted into cracked obsidian, molten rivers weaving through jagged peaks. The battlefield was alive, adapting, and shifting between environments to challenge the fighters.

Danny stood beside her, arms crossed, his cape barely moving in the weightless air of the Ghost Zone. He was still in Human form she could see.

These days he rarely changed unless necessary.

His expression was unreadable, but Jazz knew him well enough to see the tension in his jaw. He wasn't just watching for entertainment. He was studying, analyzing—preparing. But there was something else underneath his careful composure, something Jazz could recognize in the smallest flickers of his movements—the weight of responsibility.

Every time this Tournament was held some fool would challenge him and while Danny was definitely more powerful than anyone else, he was not above being tricked while in his lesser forms. That, with everything that was happening she could see he was a little stressed.

All around them, various ghostly factions whispered amongst themselves, speculating on who would win, who would fall, and most of all—who would challenge Phantom. Danny's name carried weight here, and he was a legend born from his battles, but respect in the Ghost Zone wasn't static. It had to be earned. Again and again. And with the GIW looming in the background like a shadow waiting to pounce, Danny wasn't just fighting for status—he was fighting to keep everything he had built from collapsing.

"Are you sure about this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "You could just take a break and not accept any challenges this time around"

Danny didn't look at her, his gaze fixed on the battlefield. "I can't do that. While most of the zone won't care there are others who would use that against me later. So I have to It's necessary."

The tournament wasn't just a game. It was a statement. Power in the Ghost Zone wasn't given, it was taken, earned through battle. Danny's presence alone was enough to command respect, but competing—winning—Is what reminds them of his status and power among even the ghostly elite. And yet, Jazz could see the deeper conflict in him. The worry that gnawed at him, the fear for his friends.

Sam and Tucker.

They had been acting strangely. Something wasn't right, and Danny knew it. Jazz had noticed the flickers of unease in his expression every time he glanced at them, the way his eyes lingered just a second too long, trying to see past whatever was clouding their minds. But there was no time to investigate now. The tournament was moving forward, and Danny had no choice but to focus on the battle ahead.

A booming voice interrupted her thoughts as the spectral announcer materialized in the center of the battlefield.

"Welcome, spirits and specters, to the biannual Phantom Nebula Tournament!"

The crowd erupted into cheers, the very air quaking with their excitement. The announcer, a lanky ghost draped in regal, flowing robes, extended his arms wide, feeding off the energy of the spectators.

"As per tradition, our first match will be a showcase of new blood versus seasoned warriors. Let the challengers step forward!"

Jazz leaned forward as the first two contenders materialized onto the battlefield. Their names flashed across the shimmering sky in bold, glowing letters.

**Varian the Devourer vs. Klynn of the Silent Tomb**

She had heard of them before. Varian was a towering, four-armed beast with a skeletal face and molten cracks running along his obsidian-like skin. His reputation preceded him—ruthless, efficient, a predator among ghosts. Klynn, by contrast, was barely visible, a wraith-like figure wrapped in layers of shifting shadows, their form flickering in and out of sight like an echo lost in time.

Danny exhaled. "This is going to be brutal."

The battlefield pulsed, shifting into its first environment—a dense jungle of twisting, bioluminescent vines, the air thick with glowing spores.

The bell rang.

Varian moved first, his four arms a blur of motion as he lunged forward, claws extended. Klynn didn't retreat. Instead, they melted into the shadows, vanishing completely.

The audience gasped as Varian struck nothing but air. His glowing eyes darted around, searching, but Klynn was nowhere to be seen. Then, without warning, razor-sharp tendrils of darkness erupted from the ground, ensnaring Varian's limbs, pulling him down like a predator dragging prey into the abyss.

Varian roared, his molten veins pulsing as he flexed, shattering the tendrils with sheer brute strength. He slammed one of his massive fists into the ground, sending a shockwave through the battlefield. The jungle twisted, vines snapping as the terrain quaked.

Klynn reappeared just in time to dodge, flickering back into existence on the far end of the battlefield. They tilted their head slightly as if considering their next move.

"Varian's in trouble," Jazz muttered under her breath. "Klynn has always been known for his quick movement and ability to hide. He's strong and definitely has the power to back up his attacks but if he can't touch Klynn then it's all for nothing."

Danny wasn't so sure.

They stood for a few seconds before Varian short forward and Klynn vanished right as he reached him.

The match was a flurry of movements, as Klynn seemed to instantly materialize behind Varian for a sneak attack but it seemed he expected that as two of his arms stretched back and grabbed Klynn before slamming him down into the ground, catering the ground beneath.

The arena was silent for a moment before the cheers erupted.

The fight was about 15 minutes long filled with intense moments but it seemed Varian had won.

"We Have Our Winner" The announcer yelled out, getting more of the crowd worked up." Varian the Devourer"

The first Round is over.

Danny

Danny watched as Varian basked in the crowd's cheers, their eyes locked in silent acknowledgment. He recognized that look. It was pride. It was expectation. Varian was waiting for his turn. Waiting to challenge him.

Jazz glanced at him. "You know he's going to come after you."

Danny smirked. "Let him."

But even as he said it, the weight pressing on his chest didn't ease. His mind was split, torn between the tournament and Sam and Tucker.

The GIW he would handle, He knew they were still out there. Waiting. Planning. He had spent years escaping their clutches, rebuilding his life beyond their reach. But he knew better than anyone that they would come like a moth to a flame.

And he was ready for them.

But Sam and Tucker. That was what was on his mind the most.

Something was wrong. He felt it in the way they moved, the distant look in their eyes when they thought no one was watching. He wanted to push, to dig deeper, But was afraid they would snap, Break. And that terrified him. He needed to wait for the right time, Clockwork had said but he was not sure when that was.

And then there were his donors.

Danny clenched his jaw, a slow burn of fury simmering beneath his skin. Jack and Maddie Fenton. Once, he had wanted nothing more than their approval, their love. Now, all he wanted was to ensure they would never hurt anyone again. He hated them—not just for what they had done to him, but for what they had done to everyone like him, to what they had done to his friends. Their cruelty, their arrogance, their relentless crusade to wipe out ghosts without hesitation or remorse. To kill and destroy even normal people and then call it necessary was repulsive. He would never let them get away with what they have done.

Once everything was over They would get what was coming to them. They and HIM.

He couldn't help the growl that escaped him.

He exhaled slowly, pushing the thoughts down. The tournament had only just begun, but the real battle was still ahead.

And he was ready.