Conclave

Conclave

The world was normal again. The Reality Gauntlet saved from the hands of the evil megalomaniac, the fabric of existence returned to normal, and of course nobody knew his secret anymore.

There was only one way to keep it that way. Danny tossed the artifact into the air and blasted it to smithereens.

And then... normality failed again.

A ripple in the fabric of reality arched out through the dimensions. Quiet, near-petrified eyes opened, the first time in millennia. Shades spiraled in the depths of shadow. Demons and worse stirred in their lairs. The greedy, the damned, the ghosts, all looked around in fear at their hoards.

Someone dared...

Someone dared destroy an artifact?

Who?

Who would do such a thing?

*****

The circular chambers were filled with a cacophony not heard in a thousand years. Collected in an arc at the rim, floating behind their raised dais, thin-fingered creatures with giant single eyes floated draped in fine robes. They observed the gathered conclave.

After all, observe was what they did best.

A black fox held a glowing ball in his tail, glancing nervously as he clutched at it. He spoke to a white-furred man with ankles ending in charred stumps and the horns of a stag jutting from its head.

A great feathered snake undulated as it spat and hissed at a beautiful woman in a red dress.

A woman with a tiger's head chatted with an ever-aging man in a purple cloak.

A man made entirely of darkness stood in the shadows, tendrils of blackness occasionally reaching out to grasp at the unwary and toy with their souls. He spoke dismissively to a blue-skinned man in a white and red cloak.

Cyclopses in their finest robes, furry creatures from the planes of ice, balls of flame bouncing across the floor, tendrils of plant snaking along the edge of the chambers, the rustle of feathered wings, the soft rumble of a dragon's breath...

Chaos reigned in the conclave.

One single Observant floated up to the dais and clapped its long, bony hands three times. The cacophony died down and many, many different eyes turned toward it.

“We all know why we're here,” the Observant said. “A heresy has been committed, one that is not to be taken lightly. The Reality Gauntlet has been destroyed.”

A chaos raised again. The Observant clapped its hands together but this time there was no adherence to rules. It glanced at a voluptuous woman with the head of a tiger. She roared, her voice echoing through the chambers, leaving silence in its wake.

“Yes, yes, this is a serious offense,” the Observant said. “What does the Crawling Chaos have to say about these events? It was your gift, was it not?”

Shadow dripped into the middle of the floor. The light shining from above to illuminate the speaker did no such thing as the blackness sucked at the very air around it. “The Reality Gauntlet was ours,” it said in a deep, commanding voice somehow both oily and trustworthy. “We gifted it to humanity. It became theirs... to do with as they would.”

“You granted them a weapon to destroy themselves with and you expect us to be sorry that it's lost?!” boomed a voice in the back. A great bird with flaming iridescent feathers took to the air, lightning and smoke roiling off of its wings. “You gave them the Gauntlet to toy with them and their faults! Of course they destroyed it!”

“The Thunderbird has not been granted the floor!” the Observant shouted. “Furthermore, the humans were not responsible for its destruction!”

A murmur rose in the chambers at that revelation. The Observant sighed and hid its eye in its hands.

“Oh but they were, inadvertently,” said a calm voice.

The Observant glanced at the speaker then gestured resignedly. “The floor recognizes the Master of Time,” it said.

Clockwork floated far above the council floor, drifting down only as the Crawling Chaos withdrew. “Frederick Showenhower was the last human to use it,” he revealed. “Something I am sure the illustrious Nyarlathotep knows full well. But one other used it after to reverse the damage to reality. Including stripping the memories of the event from nearly everyone alive.”

“Not unlike some of your own recent activities, Clockwork,” the Observant sneered.

“Of course,” Clockwork allowed. “And I have taught the boy well. After all, you did place him in my care.”

Chaos reigned as shouts for answers came from all sides. Clockwork gave a smug smile to the assembled Observants. Their meddling would not go unpunished.

“Order! I demand order!” the Observant shouted. And yet its voice was lost among the din.

“What 'boy' is this?” demanded a monkey with shimmering gold fur.

“Clockwork's involved?!” shrieked a man with the beak of a crow.

“I, Technus, demand answers! I-- OOF!” A large stone hand smacked the newer addition to the conclave into silence.

“I will let loose the ten demon daughters if I do not have order!” shouted the Observant at the top of its voice.

The din grew quiet. The Observant straightened its finery and cleared its throat. “Now then...” it said, its voice kept very carefully neutral. “Clockwork, oh Master of Time, are you saying... that you have failed... to teach young Danny Phantom... in any way?”

Clockwork looked carefully smug.

“You were responsible... for his future,” the Observant continued, enunciating every word to keep its calm. “That... half-dead... creature was fated... to destroy the material plane... and the metaplanes... including the Ghost Zone. Are you saying... you have lost control... of that boy?”

“Of course not,” Clockwork said.

The Observant's eye twitched. “Then... why did he destroy... an artifact?”

“You wanted me to assure that the boy would not grow to destroy the world,” Clockwork drawled, shifting forms to something much younger. “An artifact is not the world.”

“An artifact is just the beginning!” shouted a voice in the back. The floodgates were opened as the conclave devolved into a bar brawl masquerading as heated debate. Clockwork stood in the pillar of light, controlling the floor like a mad conductor as old battle lines were redrawn and ectoblasts began to fly. Emissaries of the planes of ice shouted in defense of their 'great one' while the the buzzing of insects called for the extermination of the blasphemer. The Crawling Chaos laughed with glee as serpents writhed and struck at each other.

An old man sauntered into the spotlight with Clockwork, leaning heavily on a staff. His horned head was adorned with a straw hat and his lips idly puffed a reed pipe. He leaned close to Clockwork and whispered in a gravelly voice.

“Order!” shouted the Observant. “Order! I will have order!”

Clockwork nodded then conceded the floor. The old man stepped backwards as well to grab a ghost in a white and red cloak. Shocked red eyes went wide as the ghost was thrown bodily into the light. Those eyes turned toward the Observants. He jumped and began trying to compose himself, tugging at his cloak and pulling himself to his full regal height. He gazed haughtily at the Observants and waited to be recognized.

Clockwork's voice rose over the din as he reached for his staff. “Time Ou--”

The room went quiet.

Clockwork smiled and aged to match the old man.

“The floor recognizes Vladimir Plasmius,” the Observant growled, glaring at the ghost in the spotlight.

Vlad pulled his cloak around him, his natural sense of drama demanding he look good. “Honored Observants...” he began.

“Cut the crap, Human-Suit!” came a shout from the back.

Vlad paused. He recognized the voice, one prison warden in a white hat. “Isn't interrupting the conclave against the rules?” Vlad mocked.

If the Observant at the dais had a foot it would have been tapping with impatience.

Vlad cleared his throat as he sensed the tension from the dais. “Yes, well... Consider this possibility, if you will. A boy, lost and alone, refusing the counsel of nearly everybody who might save him from his imposed solitude. Striking out at whatever alters his little bubble of comfort. Unceremoniously deporting ghosts who roam the material plane. He even breaches contracts to carry out his mindless, tactless vendetta! And so you put your trust in perhaps the worst possible being in the multiverse to guide the boy.” Vlad gestured to Clockwork for emphasis. The room filled with whispers, watching as Clockwork was insulted to his face yet he did nothing but smile.

“Even Dread Azathoth would be able to teach the boy how to play the flute for Obatala's sake,” Vlad continued. “Honored Observants... You put Danny Phantom's teaching in the hands of one who cares not one iota for detail, life, death, contracts, or artifacts. Are you surprised the boy cares as little for these things as his teacher?”

The tiger-headed woman purred, drawing the Observant's attention. It leaned down for a quiet discussion.

Vlad took his own chance to dart over to the old man. “What am I doing out here?” he hissed.

“You wanted the boy as an apprentice,” Clockwork mocked.

“Ignore the temporal disturbance,” the old man said. “You've been annoying everyone trying to get us to help you claim your apprentice. So... here's the Way. Take the path or leave it. The choice is yours, Ge Rouge.”

Vlad bowed his head. “Yes, Papa,” he said before floating back to the spotlight.

“'Temporal disturbance'?” Clockwork asked, still mocking.

“Would you prefer 'quantum mechanical manifestation'?”

The Observant pulled away from the tiger-headed woman. “What do you propose, Plasmius?” it asked.

Vlad took a deep breath. He had several plans but none which would work. So he improvised.

“Consider the boy's point of view,” Vlad said, attempting to feel as confident as he looked. “His territory is invaded every other night and he doesn't even have a concept as to why that annoys him. New powers discovered and mastered through the cunning art of blowing things up. Managing to avoid the horrors of humanity through sheer dumb luck. He's lost, alone, scared, and he inherently distrusts anyone and anything who might help him rise above his situation. He's a danger to himself, to everyone around him, to the multiverse as a whole if left unchecked and untrained. But he can't be trained. He's made sure of it. He will not stand to be trained by anyone capable of it.”

“This is all well known,” the Observant drawled. “Make your proposal or make way for one who can.”

Vlad gathered his scattered thoughts, looking for something. Anything. What would the Green Hornet do... he thought. Vlad's eyes lit up. Of course!

“Now consider how the boy must view me,” Vlad said, some real confidence bleeding into his voice. “I've killed, kidnapped, blackmailed, obsessively stalked, and that's just this past year. I am the antithesis of his idea of a proper 'hero'. After all, that's what he considers himself. A 'hero'.” He paused for the sound of a thousand eyerolls to die down. “I will be his villain, Honored Observants. I will mold his future, his actions, his power, all from the outside. I will guide him into civility by forcing him to be civil to defeat me. He will do everything I ask because he will not realize I am the one asking.”

The Observants traded glances. Clockwork and the old man leaned on their respective staves and grinned maniacally. The Crawling Chaos had to fold in on itself to muffle its laughter. The room shuffled, noises of amusement and approval mixing in one quiet rumble.

The Observant on the dais convened with its fellows. Whispers were exchanged.

“You read too many comic books as a child,” Clockwork said.

“It was all I could think of,” Vlad murmured.

Whispers faded as the Observant took to the dais again. It floated tall and trim, regal and domineering. Self-important. “The conclave has reached a decision,” it said. “Vladimir Plasmius, you will be responsible for molding the boy's fate. Find some way to teach him basic etiquette or we will be forced to do what we should have done in the first place.”

Vlad looked as shocked as he felt, needing to be hit in the back of the head by the old man's staff before he bowed properly.

“This conclave is dissolved,” the Observant called. It clapped its bony hands three times, officially ending the conclave.

Vlad collapsed, finding himself sitting in the middle of the floor as the spotlight blinked out. Red eyes viewed the chaos around him as the spirits, the Ghost Masters, those creatures who dared call themselves gods, as they all went their separate ways. Soon he was alone, stone columns looming quiet and dark in the eddies of the Ghost Zone.

He had no idea how he was going to pull this off.