A/N

Sooooo, this ended up waaaaay longer than I meant to. I've been in love with this arc for a while now, so I figured it was high time I got it up and running. Hope you enjoy!

Discalimer: As much as I wish it were so, I don't own Danny Phantom.

Chapter 1

A New Apparition

Samantha Manson was Princess of the Kingdom and hated it with a passion. She hated the gowns and the etiquette lessons, the lectures and reprimands, the ban on her combat lessons, and most of all, she hated the feeling of drowning. Her Kingdom was dying, and even as a figurehead of society, she was utterly useless.

It had began over fifty years ago, back when Sam's Grandparents were in power. They had been leading a proud, safe, and prosperous Kingdom, well known for the diplomacy and respect for other cultures, yet still possessing strength and a strong army. Contradictory, she supposed, but the world had yet to find another era of peace like they had known. Then, everything had changed when the skies began to bleed.

The usually pristine blue sky had darkened, veins of green erupting out of a wave of sickly green mist, and half of the sky turned black. Half the Kingdom was engulfed in the darkness as it billowed out of a crack in the sky, eating up half of their land. Many in the Kingdom died as the mist covered their lands, floating green rocks crushing their homes. The pastors had called it Doomsday and bowed their heads, waiting for a Judgement that never came.

Instead, it was something worse.

The ghosts swept from the skies, eyes glowing savagely with glee as they attacked the Kingdom, led by their great and terrible ruler, Pariah Dark. It had taken weeks for them to end their assault, in which time little remained that wasn't damaged. Dark himself had sauntered into the castle and demanded unyielding terms of surrender, which her grandparents had been forced to concede. And from that day forward humanity bowed to the whims and wishes of ghosts everywhere, looking to Amity in reminder of the true horrors the ghosts could spread.

They could never retaliate either, from fear of sparking a war they would inevitably lose, forced to stand by and watch as crops were ruined, cities burned to the ground, and droves of innocent humans slaughtered. The people lived in fear, and to top it all off, Sam had to bear it all with a smile, like nothing was wrong.

As Princess, it was her duty, as well as her families, to put up a front of devotion to Pariah, and a seemingly uncaring nature to the fate of their subjects. At every social event, every speech uttered, every conversation ever held; if she so much as lifted a pinky, the action had to be seen as supportive to the Ghost King's cause.

Today was one of those days.

Pariah Dark himself was attending their annual 'Pariah-day' ball, much to Sam's utter horror. It was to be expected, of course, but that didn't make the prospect any less alarming. It wasn't so much the ghost aspect-they'd hosted such a multitude of ghosts in their castle, Sam sometimes wondered why Pariah hadn't claimed the castle as his own-but rather the fact that if Pariah saw one little thing that irked him, they could kiss their short fear-filled lives goodbye.

Pamela Manson, Sam's mother and the Queen, was in such a state of worry she'd let Sam skip school. To be honest, Sam would rather be there with her best friends Tucker and-Sam blushed-Danny, than locked in her room, expected to spend the entire morning dressing herself up for the corrupt King.

Her mother had always highly disapproved of her friendship with the two commoners, but Sam had quite literally fought back tooth and nail against the Queen's attempts to, ahem, 'get rid of them' (the assassins never saw the goth's fists coming). They were the first two friends she'd ever had, and by God, she'd battle Pariah himself if it meant they were safe.

The three of them had met at Casper High School, the only high school in all of Amity Park, the merging point between the two worlds. Sam had managed to get both her parents and the council to agree to send her there, something about her learning 'humility' and 'respect for her superiors'. Sam just thought they wanted to get her and her troublesome attitude out of the castle.

Sam herself was in a disguise, as expected. But despite the brunette wig, she'd felt more herself than she had in her entire life. Like she could take on the world armed with nothing but Danny, Tucker, and her trusty combat boots.

High school itself was an interesting experience. The hierarchy itself was nothing new, nor was the corrupt sense of power it instilled. The teachers were little different in their attitude and expectations of schooling than her personal tutors, and there were still ghosts that floated by, though far fewer than in the castle.

No, the thing that had to be the biggest surprise was the sense of anonymity. Here, she wasn't expected to be the ditzy Princess, wasn't put up on a pedestal and told to be perfect. Here, she was the simple daughter of two rich merchants, nothing more interesting than Dash Baxter. She reveled in it.

People there would gossip about her to her face, rather than behind her back (and, in retrospect, she appreciated that). Tucker wasn't afraid to criticize her Ultra-recyclo-vegetarian habits, and Danny, well, she knew nothing could ever become of the two of them, but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy the romance blooming between them, while it lasted. Sometimes she felt badly of her deception, like she was pretending to be a different person, but it was the price of being seen as 'normal'. It was doubtful she would ever see them again after they graduated, which was a sickening thought she did her best to avoid.

As it was, the Ghost King's rule would never end, and it was probably best if Sam didn't get attached. Too late.

She was faintly roused as a round of bangs and knocks sounded at her door, like someone was kicking it. Just fantastic.

"Princess Samantha, please open the door," begged the fraying maid, baskets of laundry perilously balanced on elbows and forehead.

Sleepily, Sam dragged herself out of bed, muttering darkly under her breath as she yanked the door open. Instantly, her attitude took a 180 as she caught sight of the struggling girl.

"Jazz, what are you doing!" Hurriedly, the goth grabbed two baskets from the servant girl's unsteady grip.

The redhead let out a sigh of relief, perching a basket on her hip and leaning against the doorframe. "Well, I know how much you hate dressing up, so I figured I'd come be of assistance."

Sam shuddered, opening the door wider and ushering her friend in. Slamming it shut, Sam let her back lean against the smooth surface, eyeing the girl with relief, "Anything's better than being alone today."

Allowing a comfortable silence to settle between them, Sam helped Jazz lug the heavy baskets to her enormous closet, pulling out the various garments and stringing them on wooden hangers.

"So, what are you doing here?" Sam asked casually, noticing the way Jazz's shoulders tensed. "I mean, I know I have to be here despite there being school, but I'm pretty sure they understand that this takes precedence. What's your excuse?"

The silence persisted, and Sam glanced back over to see the redhead blushing. Sam snorted, laughing as she saw the blush deepen. "Are you, are you skipping school? You, of all people?"

"Shut up," Jazz muttered, whacking the giggling girl with a folded towel. "Besides, the Queen promised to pay me triple my normal wage if I could get you looking decent by dinner. She said something about you refusing all your normal maids and flying butter sticks?"

Laughing, Sam, absently wiped a stray smudge of said substance off her cheek. "Well, they were all refusing to leave, and I knew the best way to get rid of a girl is to go for her soul. In this case, it was the hair."

"That's not very nice, Sam," Jazz scolded good-naturedly, "you should know that diplomacy works better than threats."

"But I didn't threaten them," Sam countered, "I merely skipped that step and went straight to the action." The ebony quickly dodged a well aimed swat, picking up another gown with a wrinkled nose.

Rolling her eyes, Jazz hung up another pair of tattered jeans, hiding them in the special closet that had been made to hide Sam's alter-ego's outfits. Glancing around the large 'public' closet, Jazz mentally catalogued the hanging dresses, frowning when she noticed something missing.

"Ok, so, what are we working with?" Jazz asked warily, glancing at Sam in question. "I'm fairly sure the court wouldn't let you wear whatever on a night such as this, but I don't see anything new."

"I'm, ah, not exactly sure yet," Sam replied with a frown. "Usually they would've sent the dress up weeks ago, but Pariah only announced his plans to attend yesterday, so my usual formal gowns are thrown out of the question. The last I heard the castle seamstresses were working overtime just to finish the royalties new garments. Right now, all I have is my corset."

Jazz snorted, "You mean that old ratty thing? They're honestly going to let you wear that?"

"Hey!" Sam crossed her arms defensively. "I'll have you know that 'that old thing' has served me well. Just last week, Princess Dora asked me where I got it."

"C'mon, Sam, we both know that Dora hasn't left the house enough to understand what a cellphone is, much less what's considered fashionable in this day and age."

"Yet here I am, wearing mid-century clothing," Sam muttered, smirking at Jazz's exasperated expression.

"...Give me it," Jazz finally consented, grinning at Sam's muted cheer. The grin quickly changed to a frown as she saw the state of the solid black silk. "What did you do to it!"

Sam tilted her head innocently, "Do what?"

Sputtering, Jazz gestured to the worn garment's various snags and holes. "Do you see this? I think Danny's NASA shirt is in better condition than this, and he's had it since he was 5!"

"Mom refused to let the seamstress mend it because she hoped it would make me agree to get a few new ones," Sam shrugged, "so it's never been fixed."

Not even bothering to grace that with a reply, Jazz picked up a needle strung with black thread and began slowly mending the most obvious discrepancies. Sam grinned, giving the older teen a pat on the shoulder, "This is why you're my favorite, Jazz."

"And don't you forget it!"

Another half hour passed in that fashion as Jazz stitched, her full concentration needed, and Sam worked on her homework for the next week.

"So I heard you and Danny got nice and cozy at the school dance," Jazz said casually, breaking the silence. The redhead winked, laughing at Sam's fiery red blush.

Sputtering, Sam waved her hands around in denial, "N-no we didn't! That was just Paulina spreading lies again, Danny and I are just friends-!"

Snorting, Jazz resumed the task of mending Sam's beat-up bodice-she'd been wearing the same one since middle school and refused to buy a new one-not fazed in the slightest. "The day the two of you are 'just friends' is the day I hate phycology. Honestly Sam, it would be best for the both of you if you just admitted your feelings! You know Danny would never hurt you, and I for one know that he would reciprocate them."

"Jazz, I'm the princess. The Queen would never allow such a match, much less look on it with approval. Besides, it wouldn't be fair to force that on Danny, and I don't want to ruin our friendship."

"You say you're not a girl, yet here you are, stressing out about your feelings more than Paulina would on a tear in her dress," Jazz teased, making the goth snort in agreement. "Besides, you've got at least a year before other Kingdoms start demanding your marriage-enjoy this freedom while it lasts. Besides, what can they do? It's not like you're eloping with him. Even the law states that the Princess is allowed to court who she wishes until she is forced into marriage."

"Somehow, I feel like you're a little biased as his sister," Sam muttered, ignoring the amused smile that Jazz sent her.

"So, have you heard anything about the failing crops?" Jazz asked in a hushed voice, cautiously looking for the tell-tale signs of an eavesdropping ghost. "Nobody's said much, but most people think it was another ectoplasm dump."

Sam tilted her head thoughtfully, "I think my dad's been wondering the same thing but, from what his advisors have said, it was another ghost battle."

"Again?" Jazz whispered.

The last few months there had been an incline in ghostly skirmishes among Pariah's ranks and the civilian ghost population, or so the rumors said (and practically confirmed by the Exterminators), by one ghost. The Exterminators, Pariah's hand picked hunting crew made up of both humans and ghosts, tracked down dissenters to his reign dead or alive, and brought them in, dead or alive. Jazz's own parents were forced to participate, or have their children taken away from them. It was a wonder they got to see them at all, what with their almost constant missions in all four corners of the nation. The pay was little, but the repercussions for not doing them were even worse.

Hence Jazz's job as a servant girl.

Suddenly, there was a furious pounding at the door as a servant girl desperately called out for an answer. Jazz breezed over, carefully waiting for a pause in the knocks before opening the door slightly. "Yes?"

"Is Princess Samantha here?" the girl asked between huffs and puffs of air, hands braced on her knees.

"Yes-"

The servant girl pushed past Jazz, ignoring her angry protests as she made a beeline for the back of the room where Sam sat.

"Princess, the Ghost King Pariah Dark is going to be coming a full two hours earlier!" the girl wailed, still panting harshly. "Your mother asked me to inform you so you would be ready in adequate time."

Sam blinked, glancing at Jazz, who shrugged. "I don't even have a dress," the princess stated flatly, jumping at the girl's dramatic gasp.

"I forgot!" The girl wailed, sprinting back out the door. It slammed dramatically behind her.

"Well, shall we begin?" Jazz asked with a raised eyebrow.

Sam was ready in record time.

With Jazz to help her, she managed to briefly wash up, pulling on a slip before allowing the redhead to apply her makeup. As the evening was a special occasion, Pamela had forbidden her from applying her usual dark toned colors, forcing a lightly toned palate on the ebony before confiscating the rest of her makeup (not that she wore any, anyways). There was a small amount of black eyeliner, but the rest of the supplies was lost on her. Jazz had taken one look at her confounded expression before giggling and snagging the bag.

After finally finishing that horrible aspect of the night-it had to at least taken an hour and a half-Jazz had practically had to wrestle Sam into the low cut silver and green number her mother had forgotten to inform her of. Said girl was now fuming on a slightly raised platform, arms crossed in protest as Jazz scuttled to and fro around the base, hemming the slightly long train of the gown.

"Now, this isn't so bad, is it?" Jazz questioned through a mouthful of pins, carefully measuring the length on all sides. "At least it isn't pink."

Sam groaned, covering her face, careful not to smudge her makeup. "Believe me, I can think of a thousand things that could be worse. I'm just lucky my mom is too worried about the King to remember to ruin my life with another tacky pink dress."

Giggling, Jazz resumed with the task, moving onto the hemming of the dress, cutting off the excess just above her careful stitches. "I still don't know what you have against the color. It's just a lighter shade of red, really."

"It's pink," Sam growled, letting her arms drop at Jazz's slight tug. The redhead twittered, fluttering about as she tugged slightly on the fabric, adjusting the corset slightly to fit seamlessly with the dress.

"Ha! Got it!" Jazz said through a muffled mouth of pins, arms thrown up victoriously. "It's not half bad, really-the green makes your eyes pop. Huh. Actually, that green kinda looks like-"

A thudding knock on the door rattled it in its frame, making the two girls jump.

Sam forced a laugh, breaking the suddenly heavy silence. "Guess that's my cue-wouldn't want to make mother dearest angry, now would I?"

Jazz remained silent, helping Sam slip into her matching heels and tucking a stray curl back into her fancy up-do.

Taking a deep breath, Sam picked up the large skirts and went to the door, a light tap making it open by the waiting guards outside.

"Good luck," Jazz whispered fearfully, gazing at Sam like she would never see her again. Sam tried not to dwell on that. The sound of her chamber doors slamming behind her still sounded too much like a death sentence.

"Announcing his royal majesty, destroyer of the corrupt overseers, guardian of the ghosts, protector of the peace, and King of the Ghost Zone, King Pariah Dark!"

The humans in attendance instantly fell to their knees, groveling at the entrance while the ghosts merely bowed and curtseyed, respectively. Sam tried not to quiver and fear as she heard the all too familiar snap of a cape, and the clink of chains that promised death.

"Rise," commanded a dark voice, the gravelly sound chilling her to the bone. Warily, Sam allowed her violet eyes to raise slowly, tracing the floating feet up to their haunting owner.

The ghost King had spared no expense in his extravagant attire for the evening. A jewel encrusted cape was thrown over one shoulder, and gleaming silver armor peaked out from underneath, as if hours had been spent making it sparkle. Although the style was strictly old fashioned and attributed to ghostly preference, small details stood out that screamed human. The rumors of Pariah keeping human slaves seemed less preposterous now (Sam tried desperately not to be sick at the thought).

Accepting her father's hand, Sam slowly rose to her feet, squeezing the slightly trembling appendage. Her father gave her a small smile, before plastering a large one on his face to greet Pariah. "King Pariah, it is an honor to serve you here in our castle," King Manson said bravely, the King's well know twang appearing in his voice.

The glowing King inclined his head, an almost bored expression on his face. "Yes, yes, now shall we get to the feast? I have many things to attend to this evening."

"Of course, my lord," Queen Manson said courteously, curtsying to the King and discretely tugging on Sam's sleeve for her to do the same. Suppressing a growl, Sam dipped her head and fell into a low curtsey, years of training ingrained into her preventing her from falling over. Beside her, she felt her father bow respectfully.

"Let the feast begin!"

Neutrally, Sam raised another spoonful of green soup, trying desperately not to think of what was in it as she took a dainty sip. All around her, ghosts bellowed to one another, laughing boisterously and generally making a mess as they ate gobbled down their food. Pariah Dark sat on a gaudy golden throne, towering over the Manson's in their 'places of honor' besides him. Around the room, various Exterminators, Pariah's personal guard, and castle guards flanked every entrance, equipped with heavy artillery from guns to swords. It was rather intimidating, but Sam had grown used to the procedures by now, and had her own thin knife strapped to her leg beneath her dress, just in case. And it wasn't just for show. Whatever misgivings the castle tutors had about her, every one of them knew she could beat them up in a fight. She wasn't a black belt for nothing.

A blob of goo splattered on her chair, just barely missing her head. Sam took in a deep breath through her nose, slowly bringing her hand back above the table from where it had instantly reached to her knife. She couldn't afford to mess up, not with the Ghost King literally a few feet away from her. Goo or no goo, attacking any ghost under Pariah's rule was an act of treason.

Ignoring her mother's fearful glance of reproach, she carefully dabbed at her mouth, suddenly feeling like the room was closing in around her. It was a good thing the castles double doors suddenly exploded, or she might have done something stupid. Like attack Pariah Dark himself. And that would have ended quite badly, and not just for herself.

"My Lord!" called Fright Knight, snarling at the cowering humans in his way, "there is a problem. Phantom has struck again-"

"Not here, Fright Knight," Pariah interrupted smoothly, concealing his anger at his bumbling fool of a captain and bowing courteously to the still seated royalty. "I will be retiring for the night, as a rather irritating matter has come to my attention."

And without so much as a thank you, the King of the Ghost zone swept out of the hall, leaving the smoking ruins of the wooden doors and a deathly aura promising pain if any dared to move.

For a few moments, silence blanketed the hall. Then the Court Jester asked the question everyone was thinking. "Who is Phantom?"

A/N

Hope you had as much fun reading it as I had writing it :} Tell me what you think.

Kisses!

Alyss