Location💀 The Spirit World ➡ Headquarters.
Interactions💀 None.
Chaotic wastes of the Spirit World rumbled with a swirl of magic, force rippling through its otherwise still, ever-present nature. A place of eternity where time held no meaning. A nexus between realities, and a funnel to the afterlife, it was the realm of spirits, in all of its terrifying infinity. The Spirit World at the end of a war, one waged and fought by Blackwood fury. “Come and accept Nekron’s embrace!” A voice echoed through endless space, crackling energies of Necrotic might clashing with each motion, be it a dainty flick or savage swipe. “With his ring, you will rule in death! The Spirit World will be yours, at Nekron’s side!” How long had it been? Memories of the waking plane were vague, set aside for a conflict that had whisked a young hero from life’s touch. Months, years, it was impossible to tell, days fading into myth alongside time as little more than a fable.
It had been Casper’s reality, a constant war against the forces of Nekron, a battlefield where he was the prize. Strife rippled through the fabric of ghostly walls, a realm beyond that of which was material, a war with singular purpose; keeping Nekron locked in the Land of the Unliving, a prison within the Spirit World. There he would remain, Death; there he would continue to cradle eternity, pulling strings from behind an ethereal veil. One of these strings took the name of Casper, a key to releasing Death into an existence of life.
“It is your destiny!” Lord Murdoc Blackwood exclaimed atop the shattering tower where a battle maintained its crescendo, “not to be a soldier in an army of fools!” Yes, his destiny. Lies took flight, and with wings spread scattered an obfuscating mist, leaving only truth in their wake. Casper’s creation found purpose at Nekron’s side, the reason for his nature as a Wraithborn. He was a key, brought into being to free Nekron from ageless shackles. A herald to begin the process of unmaking life.
”Father..,” a ghostly tune echoed, familiar and different, present and yet distant,
”you and Nekron..,” the Wraith spoke, forces of immaculate white swirling between slender claws,
”..can go fuck yourselves!” It may have been clear that the otherwise proper boy, raised in nobility and wealth, had long since abandoned tact and grace cradling a silver tongue. Rather, what replaced honeyed words was a war-stained tone.
“This ring will make you unstoppable!” Murdoc roared, a spell soon following with waves of ghostly magic seeking to subdue the duke’s son. Sorcery thickened by the might of a black lantern ring, the forces of death striking at Casper’s own spellcraft.
A conflict they had waged for spans uncountable, the Wraithborn scarcely recalled his time on a material plane. The boy did, however, hold the thought close. His mission was to get back. With both the resistance and the forces of Nekron depleted to little more than scraps within the Spirit World, what remained was father and son. A duel atop spiritual ruins, a decisive battle.
Casper responded, the Wraith’s clawed digits allowing for a spectral shroud to manifest, a barrier halting Lord Murdoc’s onslaught before shattering beneath its weight.
”It doesn’t make you unstoppable.” A distraction, Casper utilized the ethereal chaos embracing them, his shape allowing for a spectral act of vanishing, all before reappearing at a vantage point where he unleashed a frightful blast of necromantic force, slamming into his father.
“Abandon this childish rebellion!” Came a response, Murdoc’s mastery of magic an impressive display as the man responded with a shield of his own. Casper was, however, aware of their differences. The boy could not best his father with measures of brute force. Amplified by a black lantern ring, Murdoc’s spellcraft was heavily enhanced, which forced the Wraithborn to consider a more creative approach.
One would not blame either combatant for a halting stride, a sudden freeze in motion and intent. It was over, for Lord Murdoc Blackwood failed to notice his son’s third spell. A wordless desire brought form, dark magic manifesting at the behest of Casper’s will, for such was the nature of a Wraithborn, Necromancy given form. A withering curse, thorns of necrotic mercy woven into physical shape slithered across the entirety of Murdoc’s form, digging deep into him with might, power, and essence viciously drained. Imprisoned on the spot, unable to move, the man witnessed an approaching Wraith, teeth clenching alongside his fists. Words were robbed of their purpose, for they refrained from leaving desperate lips. Motion was halted, and magic locked.
”I’m sorry, dad.., but this is it,” Casper uttered, a clawed hand extending to allow for a final spell, an ending to this overlong conflict. Silently, Lord Murdoc’s shape began to fracture, the man’s spirit shattering like glass. The son had erased the sins of the father, the Blackwood legacy as servants to Nekron. An unceremonious, quiet end following a wrathful battle amongst the infinity of an endless reality, the Spirit World.
“Holy shit, Cassy’, look!” Came a familiar voice, before talons gripped the boy’s shoulder. “A fissure! The fight with daddy dearest must have ripped it open,” the Wraithborn’s avian friend exclaimed, surfacing a measure of hope. Did Casper want to return? Was the living world a place for him? Throughout this conflict he had learned of his purpose, to free Nekron. It was the only reason for his existence. All that power, only to serve a creature who would bring forth the end of life.
It was cut short, however, as Casper’s contemplation was pushed to the back of his head. From the ashes of his father’s defeat rose a ring, a nexus of power unfathomable calling to him. Temptation took center stage, confiscating the lad’s senses. He felt it, a tremble running though his slender shape, a caress slowly breathing its way down pale flesh, a voice in the darkness. It called out to him, a voice loving and chilling, the power to change everything at the very tip of his claws.
Ghostly eyes were fixed upon the trinket, a ring brimming with necrotic power, a battery to further the Wraithborn’s majesty over death immeasurably. “..don’t do it, Casper,” Coal warned, taloned feet digging into the boy’s shoulder, “don’t do it!”
”So much power..,” the lad’s hand rose, a pull of darkness and death itself shackling his mind.
“Put that on, and you’re Nekron’s puppet! He’ll control you! Don’t fucking do it, Casper!” There was that voice again, so familiar, so distant. Did a world exist outside the awesome, rippling energies before him? “Casper! The fissure is closing, let’s
move!” Coal neigh shouted, talons hopping up and down on that scrawny shoulder. “It’s now or in a hundred years, don’t be fooled! You still have idiot friends back there that need you!”
Idiot friends. The statement cut through Casper’s stasis, his trance.
Idiot friends. Yes, he recalled. A soulless abomination. An annoying magician. A dual minded bush baby. An insecure fish. A plant. A hardass, and worst of all, a literal sunbeam. Idiot friends.., and he had learned to appreciate them all. With sharp teeth clenched, the boy’s clawed hand soon followed, those obsidian spikes nearly boring into his flesh. Eyes fell shut, the boy’s body bursting into an ethereal state before Casper dashed forth, a ghost flying through the expanse of the underworld. “Fucking
yes!, go back to them, Cassy! You made a fucking promise!”
A promise. It was to the plant, Daphne.
'I’ll haunt you, until you feel better.' Turning to look behind him, a glance over his shoulder, it was enough to reveal that Nekron wasn’t done. The ring was following him, and it would catch its mark unless something was done. With a ghostly swipe, Casper ripped open the fissure, his spectral form flying through before manifesting once more in its physical state. He spun, arms extended as the lad attempted to close the fissure, necrotic magic crackling around him as the strength of spellcraft, black as night, began to stitch the seam. “Come on, come on!” Coal exclaimed, “he wants to put a ring on it Casper and you know this will be an abusive fucking relationship!”
He was well aware. The boy had been a puppet once already, one saved by his mother before Murdoc was able to open a rift into the Spirit World and use Casper to free Nekron. Yes, he was well aware of how it felt to be a puppet. The power to erase life rested within that ring, and for Casper, the power to rule the Spirit World. Power that came at the cost of his free will.
A massive flash of obsidian energies forced the gateway shut, a shockwave pushing the Wraith onto his back as Nekron’s black lantern ring slammed against the fabric of reality, all before silence blanketed the boy’s senses. Slowly, Casper rose to his feet, spectral orbs turning to scan the area.
”Coal, where are we?” Eyes of a ghost allowed for sight beyond the veil, for secrets to reach the surface, and for shades to vanish. Nothing hidden, nothing obfuscated, all laid bare to the core with soul on full display, everything except the most shallow, fundamental details. Casper could not make out one city from the next, a vast, gray
landscape stretching out before him. It was night, that much he could note.
An alleyway cradled the Wraith’s return, welcoming him to the land of the living once more, and thus he walked, Coal taking flight to further illuminate their presence, returning with a single word. “Harlem.” Where Casper’s eyes failed him, where they were blind to the surface of a living world, Coal would add color.
”America, then,” the Wraith spoke,
”let’s go home.” Home, the headquarters. Hopefully it was still there, hopefully too much time hadn’t passed.
Worlds apart, and it mattered little, for who was there to embrace her child upon his return other than Casper’s mother? Alas, it was with a phone connecting them, but a call which allowed for a ride to be scheduled. A conversation to sum up what had seemingly amounted to bearable sways of time. It has felt like an eternity, and for Casper, it was. Days stretching into infinity spoke for itself, and such was the nature of the Spirit World. One travels there expecting peril, but upon returning, one may step into an existence scarcely recognizable. Casper was lucky, spared from this fate.
Stepping out of the car he had been gifted by a phone call to mommy dearest, Casper found himself at Happy Harbor. A place of memories, each one returning with every weightless step. “And we’re back, teenage drama abound,” Coal mused.
”Think I’ll prefer that over constant warfare,” the boy uttered, raising his gaze towards a massive entrance rising to allow entry. It was like the first time he stepped into Mount Justice, the Wraith’s designation reaching his pointed ears. Scarcely a month, he was told. How ironic.
“So, lounge?” Coal asked, challenging a crow’s inability to grin.
”I want a fucking drink,” the boy groaned. It was fair to wager that following recent events, perhaps he deserved a soda. Despite his nature, Casper had missed the flavor of sweets, and few things would stand between him and a can of Monster Energy.
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