As the Hulk in Danny Phantom/DC/Young Justice

Morning light filters through Casper High's windows as I make my way to first period. Each step is deliberate, measured - a constant exercise in control that's become as natural as breathing. Almost.

The halls are crowded with students, each one a potential catalyst. A stray elbow here, a sudden noise there... that's all it would take.

The anger sits beneath my skin like banked coals, waiting for the slightest breeze to ignite.

"Your readings are steady," Tucker murmurs beside me, PDA humming softly as it monitors my vitals.

He's been more attentive since the incident with Paulina and Desiree, watching for the subtle signs I sometimes miss.

I focus on the mundane details - the weight of textbooks in my hand, the familiar squeak of sneakers on linoleum, the drone of morning conversations. Anchors to normality.

Then Dash's locker slams.

The sound shouldn't matter. It's meaningless, routine, just metal meeting metal. But something about the sudden crash sends a ripple through my carefully maintained calm. Like a single spark landing in dry grass.

My hands tighten fractionally on my books. The first whisper of warmth builds under my skin, and I know from experience how this progresses. One spark catches another, then another, a chain reaction of fury that feeds on itself.

"Temperature's rising," Tucker warns quietly, tilting his screen so I can see the numbers climbing. "Want to step outside for a minute?"

I try to respond, but Dash chooses that moment to shoulder past, deliberately bumping into me. The contact sends another wave of heat through my system. The anger isn't just growing now - it's multiplying, each new spark igniting dozens more.

Breathe, I remind myself. Like Jazz taught you. Focus on the mechanics of it.

But even as I try to control my breathing, I feel my ghost sense flare - a burning in my chest that's so different from Danny's cold mist.

The mixture of spectral energy and growing rage creates a dangerous cocktail of power that pulses through my veins.

Its painful. 

Through the wall, barely visible, I catch Danny going intangible. He's sensed it too. A ghost is coming, and I'm already fighting my own internal battle.

The warmth spreads slowly but inexorably, like lava flowing beneath the surface of my skin. Each heartbeat pushes it further, feeds it more.

My muscles begin to tense, expanding slightly despite my efforts to maintain control.

"Hey," Jazz appears, reading the signs with practiced ease. "Let's get some air before class."

But before we can move, a shapeless mass of green ectoplasm phases through the ceiling. It's one of those mindless entities that have been appearing more frequently since our portal activated - not particularly dangerous, but destructive in its mindless pursuit of whatever draws it to our world.

The hallway erupts in predictable chaos, students scattering as the entity sends random bursts of ecto-energy into lockers and walls.

The noise, the panic, the rush of adrenaline - it all adds fuel to the growing fire inside me. My vision starts to take on that familiar green tinge around the edges.

The formless ghost's random destruction sends waves of heat through my system, but like with the weight room incident with Dash, I force myself to evaluate the situation rationally. This mindless entity isn't worth transforming for, just as that competition hadn't been worth exposing myself over.

I clench my fists, drawing on that practiced control. It's not the first time I've chosen not to let the Hulk out - I've been getting better at it, even if the struggle never gets easier.

The anger still pulses hot beneath my skin, but I watch with deliberate calm as Danny handles the situation.

"Good call," Jazz whispers beside me, recognizing the signs of my practiced restraint. She's seen me make this choice before, knows the effort it takes.

The Hulk - as I've come to call my transformed self - is meant for real threats. Like Skulker, like Vlad's possible schemes, not these random manifestations that Danny can handle routinely now.

This thought isn't new, but it reinforces my control. My muscles still tremble with contained energy, but like at the formal, like during Dash's challenge, I maintain my choice not to transform.

Then something unexpected happens. As I exercise this now-familiar control, I feel that new sensation - my ghost powers trying to manifest.

My hand turns intangible briefly, and for a moment, I can actually sense the ectoplasmic energy flowing around us, separate from the anger I've learned to contain.

"Different readings this time," Tucker notes quietly, his PDA recording the phenomenon. "More like when you stayed calm during the Paulina situation, but with some new energy signatures."

I focus on that feeling, adding it to my growing arsenal of control techniques. The rage doesn't disappear - it virtually never truly does - but it joins the familiar state of managed fury I've been practicing.

Danny captures the ghost efficiently, landing beside us as he transforms back. "Another one for your control streak, bro. Though I almost miss the Hulk's commentary on 'tiny ghost.'"

"Some fights need the Hulk," I reply, my voice steady despite the contained energy still coursing through me. "This wasn't one of them."

"And the data supports your improving discrimination between necessary and unnecessary transformations," Jazz adds, already documenting in her notebook. "Though these new ghost power manifestations during controlled episodes suggest..."

"Jazz," I warn, but there's no heat in it. She's right - my control is improving, even if each time feels like its own battle.

As students return to the hallway, I consider the new development with my ghost powers. They seem to emerge more clearly when I'm maintaining control, like they've been waiting for moments of clarity between the rage.

"You're getting better at this," Danny observes as we head to class. "Remember when every ghost sighting would set you off?"

"Practice," I reply simply. "And choosing my battles."

Tucker glances at his PDA. "Your baseline control readings are definitely more stable these days. Even with the new ghost power variables."

I nod, acknowledging both the progress and the continuing challenge. The fire's still there, always waiting, but I've learned - am still learning - to be its master rather than its slave.

It's not perfect control, not yet. But each time I choose not to let the Hulk out, each time I maintain myself despite the burning rage, I get a little better at managing the flame within.

I always try to prove to myself one important thing:

I can choose when to let it burn.

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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter!

I hope this clears up why Samael is so volatile. He's so new, and unfamiliar with this rage, that the nature of the Hulk is more dominant than if he supressed it like Bruce Banner could because of Bruce's entire childhood supressing rage against his abusive father.

Samael will eventually get better, since this is literally torture, because the anger is painful too after.

So yeah, I hope to see you all later,

Bye!)