Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If he's being honest with himself, Danny didn't know what he was doing. Don't get him wrong, Danny isn't stupid, an idiot sure but stupid? No. Before he became Phantom, the ghost boy was a diligent student with aspirations of joining NASA as an astronaut. The point is Danny isn't stupid. He does have an idea of what to do as High King of the Infinite Realms.

Surrounded by his council and family, the halfa finds support should the need arise. Yet, despite this network, he remains an ordinary teenager—well, as ordinary as one can be while being half-dead and king of an entire realm. As previously noted, the boy king isn't without assistance in governing the Ghost Zone. However, ultimately, it is his voice that holds the final sway.

Danny is trying his best.

Driven by a desire to improve the afterlife for his subjects and ultimately establish peace across the Realms.

Amidst the widespread joy following the coronation of the new king, there existed a faction of ghosts less than pleased with the turn of events. And when I say "faction," I'm referring to none other than Phantom's Rogues Gallery in its entirety. Don't get them wrong, they're happy that Pariah was gone, they're just not happy that Danny was king.

For EVERYONE could be happy,
Danny got an idea.

Upon inheriting Pariah's Keep, the new king embarked on a venture to enhance its scope, transforming it into a haven where ghosts and other ghostly entities could visit, have fun, and feel safe.

As the halfa poured his creativity into the Keep it burgeoned into a veritable city of entertainment. There stood an amusement and water park tailored for the "young and childish" ghosts like Youngblood and Box Lunch, who still relished in playful antics with Danny despite his regal status. An arcade brimming with every conceivable video and amusement game across the multiverse beckoned enthusiasts—although Danny had to impose limits on Tucker's enthusiasm during his visits. Adjacent to the arcade stood a grand conservatory adorned with gothic architecture, earning Sam's approval. Linked to this botanical marvel was a serene park housing a quaint playground. Opposite the verdant haven, the planetarium and observatory awaited, where The King found himself reluctantly pulled by the combined insistence of Phantom's Fright and The Ancients, albeit without Clockwork.

Within the expanding realm, a tapestry of human-like amenities flourished: a movie theater, a mall, cozy cafes, restaurants, and even a library. The ghostly monarch foresaw not only Ghostwriter relishing in the library's embrace but also Mr. Lancer, who, constrained by his human form, could only linger in the Ghost Zone fleetingly, despite his somewhat liminal nature. Thus, Danny conceived a novel concept: a café fused with a bookshop in Amity, bridging the realms to cater to both humans and ghosts alike, ensuring a shared haven of enjoyment and enlightenment.

Danny entertained the idea of incorporating some more "adult" attractions into the realm but was a bit iffy. After careful consideration, the king unveiled Scarlet Street—a zone designed to cater to the desires of 'older ghosts', mirroring the enjoyment offered to their younger counterparts. Within this district lay three public bars, two nightclubs, two strip clubs, three restaurants, a BDSM dungeon, a burlesque club, a sex shop, and a brothel. Anchoring the street was a grand casino, promising excitement and luxury to its patrons.

Deliberately situated on the opposite side of the keep from the family-friendly venues, Danny ensured that entities like Youngblood and Box Lunch wouldn't stumble upon the risqué establishments and ask awkward questions.

𝘊𝘖𝘜𝘎𝘏... Moving on

Nestled at the heart of the bustling city stood its crowning jewel: the Phantom Stadium—admittedly, the name could use a touch of refinement, but let's move on. This grand arena served as the ultimate battleground for ghosts, ectoplasmic beings, and eldritch entities of all sizes and strengths, hosting duels and battles that ranged from the petite to the monstrous.

Feeling the weight of a particularly rough day? Or perhaps you've got some unresolved grievances with another spectral being? Look no further than the Stadium to unleash your pent-up frustration and settle scores.

Moreover, the Stadium doubled as a prime venue for electrifying concerts, offering an additional avenue for entertainment and cultural expression within the city.

Initially, there was a collective hesitation among the denizens of the Ghost Zone to venture into the newly established city, given its association with the king's Keep—a domain traditionally reserved as the ghostly monarch's lair. However, with reassurance and the "official" blessing from the ghost boy himself, any lingering doubts were swiftly dispelled, paving the way for an enthusiastic influx of visitors.

From the most ancient spirits to the newest arrivals, everyone found themselves immersed in the delights of Phantom's burgeoning city. Even the venerable Ancients were not immune to its charm, reveling in the diverse offerings it provided. For Danny, witnessing the joy and contentment of his subjects as they embraced their afterlives was a fulfillment of his deepest desires.

Amidst the widespread enjoyment, there remained the pressing matter of attending to accumulated paperwork—a task that had been neglected for far too long under Pariah's reign. The sheer volume of documents was nothing short of being fucking ridiculous. With the amount of paperwork, Danny honestly wanted to burn everything.

An astonishing two-thirds of the paperwork comprised grievances, showcasing ghosts' affinity for airing their dissatisfactions. Some complaints dated back millennia, allowing Danny to burn those. Among the most absurd was one lamenting the color of the sky in the Zone—Seriously!? Are you complaining about the sky being green? Burned. Goodbye.

Others were more durable. Reports surfaced detailing tensions between different sections of the Zone's populace, while others cited instances of perceived rudeness and intimidation from the royal knights dispatched by the Council to mediate disputes—a matter Danny resolved to address directly with Frighty. Additionally, a notable portion of the complaints pertained to his parents and the Ghost Zone's adversaries, the GIW, suggesting deeper underlying issues requiring his attention.

Complaints from demons also cluttered the paperwork, primarily revolving around grievances regarding individuals with whom they had forged contracts. Fortunately, the majority of these contracts had expired, rendering the complaints moot. Recognizing the fleeting nature of human life—especially when entangled in dealings with demons—Danny wasted no time in consigning these documents to the flames, acknowledging that extended lifespans often came with their own set of complications.

However, what irked Danny most was the incessant bickering among demons, each one quick to point fingers at the perceived faults of their infernal counterparts. This cycle of blame seemed futile to him, prompting a decisive action: any complaints regarding demon disputes were swiftly dispatched into the flames. If they took issue with his approach, they were welcome to submit new complaints, but Danny made it clear that he would continue to dispose of them without hesitation.

The remaining stack of paperwork served as a testament to the king's authority. Clockwork had elucidated that across all realms, allegiance had been pledged to the Ghost King, regardless of their individual governance.  Even though Danny might not be intricately involved in their daily affairs, his status as the paramount authority mandated that tribute be paid to him. It was basically taxes.

As the king diligently sifted through the towering stacks of paperwork, efficiently organizing them into their rightful places, one persistent issue demanded immediate attention.

Among the litany of complaints concerning contracted deals, one name recurred with alarming frequency: John Constantine. Over the span of two decades, this idiot had managed to piss off a good dozen demons, establishing himself as a fucking nightmare within the Ghost Zone. It became abundantly clear to Danny that addressing the grievances surrounding John Constantine necessitated setting aside other matters and meticulously cataloging every complaint against him.

The more Danny delved into the accounts involving Constantine, the more he became a headache. t appeared that this man had recklessly bartered away not only his soul but also various other assets to multiple demons simultaneously. Consequently, these demons found themselves embroiled in a tumultuous dispute, each vying for supremacy over their shared acquisition.

Honestly, the halfa didn't want to deal with all this anymore, the halfa resolved to expedite a resolution by purchasing all contracts and deals associated with Constantine. While the demons initially expressed discontent with this decision, they found themselves powerless against the authority of the Ghost King. Nevertheless, Danny extended an olive branch by offering the demons the opportunity to rent certain ghostly artifacts, ensuring that the transaction was conducted under the auspices and approval of the Council.

Even though Konstantin's soul held little practical value for him, Danny couldn't deny the unique usefulness of the individual himself. After all, how many occultists possessed such a skillful—albeit ingeniously quirky—aptitude for their craft?

With the realization that there was still much to be done, Danny acknowledged the necessity for a brief respite. Thus, when he sensed the unmistakable pull of a summoning, he readily accepted without hesitation, eager for the temporary reprieve it promised.

~❀~

They fucked up. Nobody took the Cult of the Lord of the Dead seriously at first. But then they went ahead and killed nine people, and to top it off, they set up this huge summoning circle. Picture this: a massive cavern in the Grand Canyon. So, there they were, the head cultist kicking off their creepy chant, and suddenly, the circle started glowing this sickly green, kind of like the Lazarus Pit. Creepy stuff, right?

Once activated, the circle sparked to life, forming a protective barrier that nobody seemed able to penetrate. The magic the cultists were tapping into was no joke; it was potent stuff.

Constantine couldn't help but peer into the swirling energy of the circle, feeling a bit intoxicated by the raw power emanating from it. It was thick with death magic, making his skin crawl. The runes etched into the circle were like nothing he'd ever seen, and the language the head cultist was howling sounded downright otherworldly. Whatever they were summoning, it was monstrous, and they were clueless about how to put a stop to it.

The head cultist fell into a solemn silence, and the tension hung thick in the air as they all waited with bated breath. Konstantin couldn't shake the certainty that once the summoning concluded, the shield would dissipate, thrusting them into a confrontation with the summoned creature. John pushed aside the nagging thought that their odds against the monster were abysmally low.

A colossal afterimage materialized in the air above the circle's center, its form obscured yet unmistakably formidable. Through the haze, the heroes discerned the silhouette of four massive pairs of wings, each casting a foreboding shadow that seemed to swallow the surrounding light. Despite maintaining a safe distance of seventy feet from the shield's edge, the sheer scale of the creature's wings loomed ominously overhead, dwarfing the heroes in comparison.

"King of Ghosts!" the cultists began whispering reverently, falling to their knees.

John went cold. The Ghost King.  If they were able to summon the Ghost King...

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuuuuccckkkk...

They don't have the power to stop the Ghost King!

"Constantine! What are we dealing with?" Batman's voice echoed through the cavern, urgency lacing every syllable. Before John could respond, a hush fell over the group, silencing all other sounds. The shield surrounding the circle dissipated, along with its eerie glow, plunging the cavern into an unsettling silence.

A chill wind swept through the cavern, causing a ripple of unease. Suddenly, the ground beneath them erupted into a field of delicate white flowers, which swiftly morphed into sinister red spider lilies, casting a macabre ambiance over the scene.

"𝐇𝐞'𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞"

Chapter Text

The one time that John decided to be nice and not be an annoying git to the Justice League, he gets the fucking Ghost King.

This type of shit would happen to him.

Now Constantine was with Batman, Superman, and Flash about to fight the Ghost King.

Before anything could happen the whole cavern was plunged into darkness. The only existing light was from the red spider lilies that strangely gave a soft red glow. The chill from before grew colder and colder until it felt like everyone was standing in the middle of the freezing Antarctic. However, that was quickly ignored when a lone huge red eye opened in the middle of the darkness. Soon another eye opened and another and another and another until the whole dark freezing cavern was covered with huge terrifying red eyes.

The Leaguers stood rigid, their bodies taut with tension and fear, as if petrified in their tracks. And who could blame them? Here they were, trapped in a vast cavern hidden within the depths of the Grand Canyon, haunted by the memory of failing to prevent the cult from claiming the lives of nine innocent souls. Now, they found themselves face-to-face with a being rumored to be the King of Ghosts, summoned into their midst. They hadn't braced themselves for a confrontation with such an otherworldly entity.

John felt sick to his stomach and he's seen some shit in his life that would drive anybody insane. Here standing in this stupid fucking cave with the fucking Ghost King! He could feel the weight of those terrifying blood-red eyes on him.  For a fleeting moment, Constantine could have sworn he felt the weight of a scrutinizing gaze as if an unseen eye had fixed upon him, passing judgment.

Slowly the thousands apon thousands of eyes changed into a glowing Lazarus Pit green before disappearing. After what felt like an eternity, the form of the being materialized before them. What they beheld was a visage simultaneously horrifying and captivating, so ghastly in its appearance yet so alluring that they found themselves transfixed, unable to tear their gaze away. This eldritch entity—whether deity, ghost or some other unfathomable being—was a manifestation of both nightmares and dreams. It defied comprehension, leaving them to ponder in awe and terror, certain that such a THING could not possibly be human.

There, suspended in the air, loomed an enormous elongated body—an aberration of anatomy with too many limbs, each unnaturally elongated and alarmingly thin. Its skeletal frame bore sharp bones jutting through its fragile, paper-thin skin, resembling nothing less than a grotesque mockery of life. His skin -or what looked like skin with it being sticky black tar falling- seemed to mimic the very fabric of the night sky, adorned with shimmering stars. Upon closer inspection, galaxies swirled and shifted within their inky depths, with black holes devouring planets while new stars ignited and exploded in a celestial dance of creation and destruction. Massive planets, each resembling wrecking balls, orbited the figure, while behind it unfurled four colossal pairs of jet-black wings, their presence seeming to absorb what little light the cavern had, casting the entire scene into an eerie darkness.

Adorning the creature's face was a sinister grin, revealing a mouth filled with needle-like teeth, each one sharpened to a menacing point. From its gaping maw billowed icy fog, suffusing the already frigid cave with an even more bone-chilling cold. Its eyes emitted a piercing glow of bright green, with pupils as dark as the abyss, seeming to hold within them the secrets of the dead.

Atop its head, towering spiral horns emerged, transitioning from a base of pristine white to tips as dark as obsidian, framed by flame-like strands of bluish-white hair. The horns stretched upwards, almost grazing the cavern's ceiling—a testament to the immense stature of the eldritch horror, towering at least three hundred feet in height, if not more.

Nestled between these imposing horns floated a crown—a crown that Constantine recognized all too well as the Crown of Fire. Fashioned from twisted black iron and adorned with shimmering crystals encased in icy hues, the crown was wreathed in verdant flames, casting an eerie glow upon the cavern's walls.

The creature's looming presence cast shifting shadows that danced and writhed as if ensnaring souls struggling to break free from its grasp. Faces flickered in and out of view within the darkness, fleeting glimpses of lost spirits yearning for liberation. Additionally, the shadows seemed to form gaping maws, bristling with hundreds of rows of teeth, ready to consume anything unfortunate enough to stray within their reach.

A mesmerizing yet terrifying entity, this eldritch creature exuded an aura of unparalleled power and authority. It was an enigma, a ghostly presence cloaked in mystery and dread. This... This KING was nothing short of awe-inspiring, simultaneously instilling terror and fascination in all who beheld its form.

Barry found himself paralyzed, confronted with a creature of colossal proportions hovering before him. The Flash is a man of science, he doesn't believe all that magic stuff, regardless of what Marvel, Zatanna, Dr. Fate, or John says. But seeing this thing crawling out of the summoning circle makes him think twice. He didn't dare look at Clark or Bruce to see how they were doing, John was probably having a mental breakdown. -He is and is having a hard time not throwing up.-  Unbeknownst to Barry, the Speed Force itself seemed to recoil in the presence of this abomination, as if instinctively avoiding detection.

-Danny had inadvertently brushed against the Speed Force upon his arrival, silently beseeching it to spare the speedster from harm. Clockwork did have a soft spot for speedsters and the Speed Force.-

Clark didn't know what to do. Part of him yearned to take flight, to soar away from the looming terror and never glance back. Yet, an instinctual determination anchored him in place, readying himself for a fight. He had never encountered or even fathomed the existence of such a being, and the realization left him profoundly unsettled. Even if he possessed knowledge or experience of this incomprehensible entity, the sheer magnitude of its presence rendered him powerless. Him, Superman, the strongest of the strongest, a god among man, admits he could not be able to defeat this being.

-Danny caught sight of the crest of the House of El emblazoned upon his chest, prompting a moment of reflection. He wondered if Superman was aware of the protective gaze of the spirit of Krypton, watching over their last son in his moment of dire need.-

Bruce was unprepared, for this seemingly unknown entity. Initially, the appearance of the cult had seemed like just another routine disturbance, but their actions quickly escalated, culminating in the senseless loss of nine innocent lives. By the time the cultists summoned what they dubbed the Ghost King, it was already too late. Despite his reputation for paranoia and meticulous preparation, Batman had nothing. This was unlike him—he was the Dark Knight, renowned for his exhaustive knowledge and strategic foresight, the master of contingency plans upon contingency plans. 

-The ghost boy was finally going to meet Lady Ghotam's Dark Knight, she talked all about him and his birds. That got him wondering how she was doing. He hasn't seen her in a while, he'll probably invite her for coffee soon-

John threw up. He couldn't hold it in anymore. He had the true sight so he was seeing something more horrifying than the others were seeing. Why him, god why him? Konstantine knew he was a scammer and bloody annoying bastard but this was something even he shouldn't mess with. He's gone against gods, demons, and other evil things that lurk in the supernatural world. But this was way out of his league. Standing there, every fiber of his being screamed a warning that he was facing the most formidable and deadly predator imaginable. Revealing weakness in front of such a being would be equivalent to signing his death warrant.

-The mark on his soul glowed ominously, indicating Danny's ownership of his soul. The boy king can finally give the con artist a piece of his mind.-

"Oh, Mighty Ghost King! We, your devoted servants, call upon your spectral presence to purge the unworthy and impure from this mortal realm! Grant us your formidable power, that we may join forces and reign over this tainted human world together!"

The head cultist's voice snapped everyone back to the present, jolting them out of their fearful reverie. Despite the overwhelming dread induced by the summoned creature, the Leaguers knew they couldn't afford to falter. Their mission remained unchanged: to confront and, if possible, neutralize this monstrous entity, or failing that, to buy time until reinforcements could arrive.

Following the cultist's words, a heavy silence descended upon the group, each hero bracing themselves for what would come next. Tension gripped the air as the Ghost King hovered motionless, seemingly indifferent to the presence of the heroes. At last, the spectral being stirred, albeit only to cast its gaze downward toward the lifeless bodies of the victims.

"My King..." the head cultist's voice quivered with a mixture of awe and terror. His trembling could have been attributed to the overwhelming reverence of summoning such a creature or the sheer dread of its presence. It could have been both.

The King's sickly grin contorted into a menacing snarl, revealing rows of razor-sharp teeth. The look of disgust and displeased on its face was a sign to the heroes that this wasn't going to end well.  When it opened its mouth to speak, John and Barry had to look away, unsure if they feared or loved it, found it beautiful or horrifying.

Y̵̡̬͖̠̋ͫ̌ͤ̚͞͞o҉̢̡̲͇̌͗̀͢͝u̶͖̖͆̊̈́͡͡ k҉̴̶̬͈̫̹͖̾̎ͭ́̍̐͜͜͝͠i҉̧̯̤̙͔̑ͧ̅̔ͦ́͜͟͢͝͠l̶҉̰͚͖͕̍̈́̅͗̏̇͢͜͜͝l̶҉̰͚͖͕̍̈́̅͗̏̇͢͜͜͝e̵̡̫̫͍͕̎ͭ̐͟͟͝͞d҉̴̷̧̢̛̖͔̤ͯ̔̑̄͢͟͡͠ t҉̷҉̢͖͔̹͛̌͊͘͜͢͠͡͡h̷̶̘̘̬ͭ̏͞͡e̵̡̫̫͍͕̎ͭ̐͟͟͝͞m̴̵҉̸̲̗̰̼͗͌̃̇͟͟͟͠͞͠

As the King's voice reverberated through the cavern, Flash sucked in a breath, Batman shuddered, Superman winced from the booming voice, and Constantine tried not to throw up again.

The voice of the King was an amalgamation of sounds—reminiscent of a child's innocent whisper, the ancient wisdom of an elder, the howling fury of a windstorm, the relentless screech of static, the piercing shriek of a blizzard, and the deafening thunder cracks of fractured glaciers—all rolled into one

"My King?"

Y̵̡̬͖̠̋ͫ̌ͤ̚͞͞O̷̵҉̢̭͚̜̠ͫͣ͐͢͟͢͠͞͝U̵̶̸̹̮̹̲̻͙̎ͪͣͦ͜͡͞͡͡ K҉̿ͭ͘͜I҉̡̯̺̜̅́͋̃͢͜L̴҉̴͙͖̞̳̜̖ͣͧ̑̑͜͞͠͞͠L̴҉̴͙͖̞̳̜̖ͣͧ̑̑͜͞͠͞͠E҉̰̰͎̆͞D҉̣͍̓̎͗͜͜ T҉̘͙͖̠̓ͦ͑̄͜͜͟͞H̴̶̵҉̨̡̛̼͎̫͓̒́̔ͩ͜͟͠͞͞E҉̰̰͎̆͞M̶̶҉̳͈̺͟͢͠͠ͅ!!!

The Flash sprang into action, propelled by a sense of urgency that belied the fear swirling within him at the entity's terrifying voice. Despite the overwhelming urge to flee, he knew he had to intervene and apprehend the remaining cultists. And the Ghost King did not sound happy.

Flash moving prompted the others to join the fray and assist in subduing the fleeing cultists. Despite the cultists' attempts to escape, they were no match for the combined speed and strength of Flash and Superman. Meanwhile, Batman and Constantine remained vigilant, observing the unfolding chaos with tense anticipation as the King looked over to the head cultist when he screamed in fury.

"NO! No no no no, NO! This shouldn't happen! You were supposed to grant us power and help us conquer this world!"

Batman and Constantine instinctively retreated as the King of Ghosts forcefully slammed its twisted, clawed hand onto the ground. The appendage, twice the height of Batman himself—an impressive feat given the Dark Knight's stature—loomed ominously. With a menacing descent, the entity's head descended until it hovered directly above the head cultist. In a horrifying turn of events, the monster's jaws parted, consuming the cultist in one swift, chilling motion.

He legit just ate the cultist.

I҉̡̯̺̜̅́͋̃͢͜ h̷̶̘̘̬ͭ̏͞͡a҉͖̟̜̞̂̃̑̽͢͢͠͡t҉̷҉̢͖͔̹͛̌͊͘͜͢͠͡͡e̵̡̫̫͍͕̎ͭ̐͟͟͝͞ c̷̶҉̵̢͚̣̻̲̬͑̑͛͐̀͜͜͜͝͡͝͠u̶͖̖͆̊̈́͡͡l̶҉̰͚͖͕̍̈́̅͗̏̇͢͜͜͝t҉̷҉̢͖͔̹͛̌͊͘͜͢͠͡͡s҉̝̭̦͚̑ͯ̌͡

The Dark Knight and the mage exchanged a glance before directing their attention back to the ghostly entity, observing its solemn gaze upon the lifeless bodies with a sense of unexpected sadness. Meanwhile, the scarlet speedster and the man of steel completed the task of rounding up the remaining cultists before returning to join the others. Together, they watched in astonishment as the creature transformed, gradually shrinking in size.

Gone with the eldritch horror, now stood an otherworldly beauty that still had the terrifying death presence from before.

He was breathtaking.

His complexion appeared unnaturally pallid, devoid of the healthy tan one might expect from mortal flesh. A green Lichtenberg scar marred the right side of his face, with cracks of ethereal green peeking through the damaged jagged skin. Despite this, his countenance bore a peculiar beauty, accentuated by glowing freckles that shimmered with an otherworldly radiance, each one mapping out intricate star constellations across his visage.

The once sickly stretched smile now softened into a bittersweet grin, revealing elongated fangs that pressed menacingly against his bottom lip. His eyes, still aglow with bright green iridescence and endless black pupils, exuded an unusual warmth that belied their enigmatic depths. Though they still hold the secrets of the dead, there was an underlying sadness in their gaze, mirrored by the gentle curve of his lips.

His once prominent horns were conspicuously absent, replaced by a cascade of pure white human hair that rippled as if submerged in an invisible current. Drifting gently above his head, the crown gleamed with renewed intensity upon closer inspection, its twisted black iron and icy crystals now wreathed in vibrant green flames that burned with ethereal brilliance.

Yet, it was not just the crown that commanded attention; the aura emanating from it exuded a grandeur far beyond what the heroes had initially perceived. Adornments of long chains and silver jewelry dangled from his pointed ears, while a black spiked collar encircled his neck, adding an air of regal authority to his presence.

The King was clad in formidable obsidian armor, embellished with striking white accents that contrasted sharply against the dark hues. Adorning his chest just above where his heart should be -or if he even has a heart- was a symbol of particular significance. A ghostly white "D" adorned with intricate details, with the negative space within it cleverly forming the shape of a "P". It was a symbol that seemed to carry profound meaning, hinting at secrets and mysteries yet to be unveiled.

Draped across his formidable form was a cape of jet-black hue, its exterior imposing and foreboding. Yet, it was the interior lining that truly captivated the onlookers' gaze. Within the depths of the fabric, an entire universe unfurled, an ethereal tapestry adorned with shooting stars, swirling galaxies, and the enigmatic allure of black holes.

Peculiarly, the King had fastened the cape in an unconventional manner, pinning it to the front of his left shoulder, with the remainder cascading elegantly over the back of the same shoulder. This unique styling created a distinctive curve over his shoulder, adding a touch of regal flair to his imposing presence. To complete the ensemble, a delicate white fur trim adorned the collar, enhancing the cape's majestic allure.

With every movement of the King of Ghosts, the cape would subtly shift, granting glimpses of his left arm. Wrapped in layers of bandages and bound by a leather strap that snaked down his arm, encircling his hand and fingers, the focus rested upon a single glowing ring. Much like the crown, this ring emitted an aura of unparalleled grandeur, though unbeknownst to the observers, this aura masked a simmering rage and malevolence that lurked within.

As the cape danced with each step, it revealed one final detail—a crystal ice sword, sheathed at his side in a display of silent menace, ready to be unsheathed at a moment's notice.

It was difficult for them to reconcile the horrifying eldritch abomination they had witnessed mere minutes ago with the breathtakingly beautiful figure before them now. The transformation of the King was nothing short of astonishing, his magnificence exuding a power that surpassed anything the Leaguers had ever encountered. Even Darkseid, the formidable "New God" and one of their most formidable adversaries, paled in comparison to the sheer magnitude of power and authority radiating from this otherworldly being.

With an effortless grace, the King commanded the attention of the room, his presence so commanding that it seemed to transcend mere intention.

Sure they witnessed the King swallow a whole person—an act among the less disturbing behaviors they had observed from him—the heroes and mage could tell the ghost was not happy with the cultists.

The point is the King was unlike anything they had ever seen. He can be horrifying one second but mesmerizing the next.

The King was terrifying.

Alluring

Menacing

Divine

Nightmarish

Heavenly

Ghostly

The King was... a teenager

Wait...

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Pause...

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What?

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Now that they are not terrified out of their fucking minds and could see the King up close and personal, they could see the King is a teenager...

Hold on...

The King was the King of Ghosts, the King was a ghost, a ghost was a person who died, a person that died and came back has a ghost.

The King was a ghostly dead teenager.

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What. The. Fuck.

Batman, Superman, and Flash didn't know if the King was a teenager who died or was just some entity that took the appearance of a teenager. Either way, both are disturbing. Constantine has warned that some entities love to appear as children to throw humans off. But somehow they knew it wasn't some entity that posed as a teenager, this was an actual teenager that died and became The Ghost King. Again, what the fuck.

Shit, shit, shitty, shit, shit. That was all John could think when he saw the King was a teenager. Of course, he didn't believe that the King of all Ghosts was a teen but fuck man. He's seen his fair sure of ghostly and evil entities that looked like children. But he had a feeling, deep in his soul -it was the ownership of his soul- that knew this entity was a kid. This magnificent but terrifying being was a child that died.

Konstantine hates dealing with kids dead or not. He could barely handle the kids of Young Justice and Teen Titans and don't get him started with Batsy's brood. He did know they needed to proceed with caution because even if he was a teenager he was still the Ghost King.

"₣€₳₹"

A collective flinch rippled through the group. So caught up on the fact the ghostly entity was a teenager -They still can't get over that fact- The Leaguers didn't expect the King to say anything.

"₳ŁŁ ₮₶€¥ ₣€Ł₮ ￦₳$ ₣€₳₹ ₳₦Đ ₱₳ł₦"

All four turned their gaze in the direction of the King's focus, a sinking feeling in their chests. Amidst the chaos of the King's summoning and its aftermath, they had momentarily overlooked the tragic loss of life that had occurred. The realization hit them like a punch to the gut. They cursed themselves for their negligence, acknowledging their failure as heroes to remember the nine innocent souls who had perished in the summoning ritual.

All nine remained positioned around the summoning circle, when the ghost floated over, he landed in the center of said circle.  Upon landing, the red spider lilies, previously mere blooms of crimson, flourished until the nine innocents appeared to be resting amidst a sprawling field of flowers. To an uninformed observer, it could easily seem as though the victims had met their end in serene slumber rather than the horrific fate they had suffered.

"ł ₩ɆⱠ₵Ø₥Ɇ ɎØɄ ł₦₮Ø ₥Ɏ ⱤɆ₳Ⱡ₥ ₳₦Đ ⱧØ₱Ɇ ɎØɄ ₣ł₦Đ ₱Ɇ₳₵Ɇ," in this humanoid guise, the king's voice reverberated with a haunting distortion, yet it remained oddly intelligible. However, when addressing the victims, his whisper sent shivers down the spines of both the heroes and mage alike. The eerie softness of his tone, coupled with the echoes and distortions, created a chilling yet strangely comforting effect. Following his words, a luminous orb emerged from the chests of the victims, with only two taking on a human form – one male, one female.

The ghostly king raised a hand and clawed the air tearing into reality. The tear shifted into a swirling glowing green portal. Slowly the 7 orbs went through the portal leaving the two that shifted into the man and woman. The man approached the portal but stopped short, his demeanor hesitant. After a moment of indecision, he glanced back at the king, uncertainty etched across his features.

"Will we be safe?" The man's whisper reverberated throughout the cavern, echoing a haunting uncertainty. The words struck a chord of shame and defeat within the Leaguers. They were hailed as the "World's Greatest Superheroes" and "Earth's Champions," yet they felt powerless at that moment. What significance did their extraordinary abilities hold if they couldn't prevent such tragedy?

"Ʉ₦₮łⱠ ₮ⱧɆ Ɇ₦Đ Ø₣ ₮ł₥Ɇ, ł'ⱠⱠ ₭ɆɆ₱ ɎØɄ ₴₳₣Ɇ" Refocusing their attention on the king and the victim, the Leaguers were struck by the confidence and gravity conveyed in the ghostly king's distorted, yet strangely reassuring, voice. His words instilled a sense of trust, convincing them that he would ensure their safety. As the ghostly man appeared to exhale a sigh of relief, he stepped forward and passed through the portal without hesitation.

They all turned to the ghostly woman, and the heroes blinked in shock when they noticed she was looking at them.

"You can't always save everyone, we understand so don't blame yourself for not being there."

The woman's voice, like the man's, carried that same gentle whisper, yet it seemed to hold an even softer tone this time. Despite her comforting words, the weight of guilt and shame returned, heavier than before. Here stood a civilian they had failed to protect, yet she was offering them solace, urging them not to blame themselves. How could they not? The Leaguers grappled with the knowledge that they couldn't save everyone, but it didn't erase the bitter truth: they should have intervened sooner, and stopped the cult in its tracks. None of this should have happened if only they had acted more swiftly. To hear the woman absolve them of blame for her fate was a poignant blow, piercing deeper than any physical wound.

"Thank you for caring about us." The ghost of the woman expressed with a serene smile, radiating a warmth that enveloped the heroes in a sense of peace. It was a peaceful acknowledgment that she harbored no resentment towards them, recognizing their genuine efforts to save her.

"We'll be OK," she assured, turning her gaze back to the King. "He'll look after us."  With those words, the Ghostly King extended his hand, and as she clasped it, the woman cast one final glance at the heroes and the mage before stepping gracefully through the portal.

As the radiant portal sealed shut, a heavy silence descended, casting a pall of both sorrow and unnerving. Mostly unnerving since it grips the three founding Leaguers and the magician most tightly. Uncertainty loomed over them like a shroud, intensifying their apprehension. The Ghost King being creepily silent and utterly still only served to heighten their unease, leaving them to wonder what awaited them in the aftermath of the solemn farewell.

"₭Ø₦₴₮₳₦₮ł₦Ɇ"

The man in question will forever deny the yelp when the Ghost King called out to him and had his full attention.

"₩Ɇ ₣ł₦₳ⱠⱠɎ ₥Ɇ₮"

Here's the thing. John has been known to mess with many nasty things, piss off the evilest of beings, and con his way out of deals. Yet, he's never entertained the idea of striking deals or communicating with beings from the Infinite Realms,  let alone messing with the FUCKING KING OF ALL GHOSTS! Sure, his less-than-stellar reputation might have caught the Ghost King's attention, but typically, denizens couldn't care less about the affairs of the living. So why in all heavens above, hell below and everything in between did the Bloody Ghost King want with him?

"ł ₩₳₦₮ ₮Ø ₮₳Ⱡ₭ ₳฿ØɄ₮ ₳ⱠⱠ ɎØɄⱤ ₴ØɄⱠ ₵Ø₦₮₳₵₮₴ ł ₦Ø₩ Ø₩₦"

Well,

.

.

.

Fuck.

The Flash, a brave man, broke the tiny silence after that horrifying -but not surprising- reveal, and spoke with a small stutter,

"Um, a-are we not going to talk about the King of Ghosts being a dead teenager?"

The dead ghost teen scoffs and waves his hand off as if it's old news. That in itself does not help. How can this literal child wave off his death status like it's nothing? Well, Batman can somewhat understand since most of his children, including himself have died in some way. That still doesn't make him feel better. No child should be unbothered by their death. -well that's if you're the child of Batman, then maybe- BUT AGAIN! That doesn't help make the situation better.

"ɎɆ₴ ɎɆ₴, ł'₥ ĐɆ₳Đ ฿Ʉ₮ ₮Ⱨ₳₮'₴ ฿Ɇ₴łĐɆ ₮ⱧɆ ₱Øł₦₮"

How was that beside the point?! Superman and Flash feel faint, bless their hearts, they can't quite grasp the more serious problem at the moment. While they did understand that this otherworldy eldritch abomination owned one of the most powerful mages' souls, they just couldn't get over how this CHILD was so nonchalant about him being dead. Batman, however, the World's Greatest Detective -only second to Red Robin- moved past that and redirected his focus to the Ghost King's cryptic revelation.

"All of your soul contacts," the King had declared. Batman's narrowed his eyes, the white slits of his mask emphasizing his intense focus before he took charge and inquired, "All. What exactly do you mean by 'all'?"

The ghostly being's grin stretched unnaturally wide, mirroring the sickly, stretched smile he wore during his initial summoning. He floated upwards, leaning back in the air with an eerie nonchalance.

"₩ɆⱠⱠ, ₳₣₮ɆⱤ ł ₩₳₴ ₵ⱤØ₩₦ɆĐ ₳₴ ₮ⱧɆ ₦Ɇ₩ Ⱨł₲Ⱨ ₭ł₦₲ Ø₣ ₮ⱧɆ ⱤɆ₳Ⱡ₥₴, ł Ⱨ₳Đ ₮Ø ĐɆ₳Ⱡ ₩ł₮Ⱨ ₳ⱠⱠ ₮ⱧɆ ⱤɆQɄɆ₴₮₴ ₳₦Đ ₵Ø₥₱Ⱡ₳ł₦₮₴ ₮ⱧɆ ₱ⱤɆVłØɄ₴ ₭ł₦₲ Ⱨ₳Đ."

As he casually circled the heroes, seemingly unaffected by their tension, he continued his explanation.

"₳₦Đ ₥Ø₴₮ Ø₣ ₮ⱧØ₴Ɇ ₵Ø₥₱Ⱡ₳ł₦₮₴ ₳₦Đ ⱤɆQɄɆ₴₮₴ ₳ⱤɆ ₳ⱠⱠ ₳฿ØɄ₮ ɎØɄ ₳₦Đ ɎØɄⱤ ₦₳₴₮Ɏ Ⱡł₮₮ⱠɆ Ⱨ₳฿ł₮₴ Ø₣ ₴ɆⱠⱠł₦₲ ɎØɄⱤ ₴ØɄⱠ. ₴Ø ₦Ø₮ ₩₳₦₮ł₦₲ ₮Ø ĐɆ₳Ⱡ ₩ł₮Ⱨ ₳₦Ɏ ₥ØⱤɆ ₱₳₱ɆⱤ₩ØⱤ₭, ł'VɆ ĐɆ₵łĐɆĐ ₮Ø ฿ɄɎ ₳ⱠⱠ Ø₣ ₮ⱧɆ ₵Ø₦₮₳₵₮₴ ɎØɄ Ⱨ₳VɆ ɆVɆⱤ ₥₳ĐɆ ₩ł₮Ⱨ ɆVɆⱤɎ Ɇ₦₮ł₮Ɏ."

The boy ghost ceased his ethereal movement, hovering directly in front of Constantine. Locking eyes with him, he uttered each word with chilling precision. "ɆVɆⱤɎ. ₴ł₦₲ⱠɆ. Ø₦Ɇ."

John's complexion paled, and a lump formed in his throat, making it difficult to swallow. The implications of the situation dawned on him, sending a shiver down his spine.

With a tremulous voice, he managed to utter, "So that would mean... you're..."

The King's grin, already unnaturally wide, expanded even further as he delivered the chilling revelation,  "₮ⱧɆ ₴ØⱠɆ Ø₩₦ɆⱤ Ø₣ ɎØɄⱤ ₴ØɄⱠ"

Oh Fuck...

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fucker-y, fuck, fuck!!

This can't be possible. Nope, nope. Not possible. Well, it is possible. He was the FUCKING Ghost King, the high ruler of the Infinite Realms. The one that gods bow down to and make them look like children. Hell even Lucifer is terrified of him. Of course, of fucking course he owns ALL of John's soul contacts. Constantine can't breathe. He losing it. He losing it. Oh god, is he dying? He's dying.

"฿₳Ɽ 12%"

That totally halted John's impending mental breakdown. Bar 12%? What does that mean? That couldn't be what the King had said.  With trepidation coloring his voice, he inquired about the significance of "Bar 12%."

So the King elaborated,"ł₦ł₮ł₳ⱠⱠɎ, ł₮ ₵łⱤ₵ɄⱠ₳₮ɆĐ ₳₥Ø₦₲ ₥ł₦ØⱤ ₳₦Đ ⱠØ₩ɆⱤ ĐɆ₥Ø₦₴ ฿Ɇ₣ØⱤɆ ₣ł₦Đł₦₲ ł₮₴ ₩₳Ɏ ₮Ø ₮ⱧɆ ₥ØⱤⱠɆɎ ⱧØɄ₴ɆⱧØⱠĐ. ł₮ ₩₳₴ ł₦ ₱Ø₴₴Ɇ₴₴łØ₦ Ø₣ ₮ⱧɆ ⱧɆłⱤ, ₩ⱧØ ₴ØɄ₲Ⱨ₮ ₮Ø Ø฿₮₳ł₦ Ⱨł₴ ⱠɆ₳Ɽ₦ɆⱤ'₴ Ⱡł₵Ɇ₦₴Ɇ ₣ØⱤ ₴ØɄⱠ ₵Ø₦₮Ɽ₳₵₮₴ ₳₦Đ Ⱡ₳₮ɆⱤ Ⱨł₴ Ø₣₣ł₵ł₳Ⱡ Ⱡł₵Ɇ₦₴Ɇ. ⱧØ₩ɆVɆⱤ, ĐɄɆ ₮Ø Ⱨł₴ ł₦VØⱠVɆ₥Ɇ₦₮ ł₦ ₳ ₴ɆⱤłØɄ₴ ł₦₵łĐɆ₦₮, ł₮ ₩₳₴ ɄⱠ₮ł₥₳₮ɆⱠɎ ⱤɆ₮ɄⱤ₦ɆĐ ₮Ø ɎØɄ."

Huh, who would've thought there's a learner's permit for soul contracting? Maybe John should check that out sometime.

"₮Ⱨ₳₮'₴ ₥ØⱤɆ ₮Ⱨ₳₦ ɎØɄ'VɆ ɆVɆⱤ Ø₩₦ɆĐ ł₦ ĐɆ₵₳ĐɆ₴"

Oh right, back to the part where he's having yet another mental breakdown over the Ghost King owning his soul.  Bloody hell! What on earth was John supposed to do now? Sure, he got back 12% of his soul, but that's hardly a bargaining chip anymore. Just one look at his soul and everyone will know that The Ghost King owns him.

"₳₦Đ ₮Ø ฿Ɇ ⱧØ₦Ɇ₴₮, ł ĐØ₦'₮ ₩₳₦₮ ɎØɄⱤ ₴ØɄⱠ."

Wait What?

"ł ₥Ɇ₳₦, ɆVɆ₦₮Ʉ₳ⱠⱠɎ, ɎØɄ'ⱠⱠ ₭ł₵₭ ₮ⱧɆ ฿Ʉ₵₭Ɇ₮ ₳₦Đ ฿Ɇ ₥Ɏ ₴Ʉ฿JɆ₵₮, ₴Ø ₩Ⱨ₳₮'₴ ₮ⱧɆ ₱Øł₦₮? ₣Ɽ₳₦₭ⱠɎ, ł'₥ ₦Ø₮ ₭ɆɆ₦ Ø₦ ĐɆ₳Ⱡł₦₲ ₩ł₮Ⱨ ₳₦Ɏ ₥ØⱤɆ ₱₳₱ɆⱤ₩ØⱤ₭, ₴Ø ₮ⱧɆⱤɆ'₴ ₮Ⱨ₳₮."

John stood in disbelief. Before him was the High King of the Infinite Realms, a ruler capable of controlling gods, shaping realities, destroying universes, and devouring worlds. Even Lucifer knelt before him at his command.

Attempting to suppress another lump in his throat, John struggled to grasp the gravity of the situation and asked tensely, "So, you won't require my assistance for anything?"

The King tilted his head in apparent confusion. "ł ₥₳Ɏ ⱤɆQɄłⱤɆ ₴Ø₥Ɇ₮Ⱨł₦₲ ₣ⱤØ₥ ɎØɄ Ø₵₵₳₴łØ₦₳ⱠⱠɎ, ฿Ʉ₮ Ø₮ⱧɆⱤ₩ł₴Ɇ, ɎØɄ'ⱤɆ ₲ØØĐ."

"But aren't you going to utilize my soul for some nefarious, creepy scheme to conquer the world and fulfill your desires?"

The King shot him a weird look and replied dryly, "ĐɄĐɆ, ł'₥ ₳ ₲ⱧØ₴₮, ₦Ø₮ ₳ ₱₴Ɏ₵ⱧØ₱₳₮Ⱨ."  Which, okay, was fair. John had been losing his mind this whole time, so his thinking hadn't been quite right.

"Before I go, I need you to sign this." Shaking off the peculiar conversation, the ghostly teen reached into his chest—What the hell!—and retrieved a scroll. Clearing his throat once he had unfurled the questionably lengthy document, the ghost spoke up.

"JØⱧ₦ ₮ⱧØ₥₳₴ ₵Ø₦₴₮₳₦₮ł₦Ɇ, ₴Ø₦ Ø₣ ₮ⱧØ₥₳₴ ₵Ø₦₴₮₳₦₮ł₦Ɇ ₳₦Đ ₥₳ⱤɎ ₳₦₦ QɄł₦₦, ₳Ⱡ₴Ø ₭₦Ø₩₦ ₳₴ ⱧɆⱠⱠ฿Ⱡ₳ⱫɆⱤ, ฿Ⱡ₳Ⱨ ฿Ⱡ₳Ⱨ, ĐØ ⱧɆⱤɆ฿Ɏ ₳₵₭₦Ø₩ⱠɆĐ₲Ɇ ₮Ⱨ₳₮ ɆVɆⱤɎ ₵Ø₦₮Ɽ₳₵₮ ɎØɄ Ⱨ₳VɆ ɆVɆⱤ ₴ł₲₦ɆĐ Ⱨ₳₴ ฿ɆɆ₦ ₮ɆⱤ₥ł₦₳₮ɆĐ. ₮ⱧɆ ₲ⱧØ₴₮ ₭ł₦₲—ɎØɄⱤ₴ ₮ⱤɄⱠɎ—ł₴ ₮ⱧɆ ₴ØⱠɆ Ø₩₦ɆⱤ Ø₣ ɎØɄⱤ ₴ØɄⱠ, ɆӾ₵Ɇ₱₮ ₣ØⱤ ₮ⱧɆ 12%, ₳₦Đ ɎØɄ ₳Ⱡ₴Ø ₳₲ⱤɆɆ ₮Ø ⱤɆ₴₱Ø₦Đ ₮Ø ₳₦Ɏ ₴Ʉ₥₥Ø₦₴ ł ł₴₴ɄɆ ₳₮ ₳₦Ɏ ₮ł₥Ɇ, Ø₦ ₳₦Ɏ Đ₳Ɏ."

John, utterly exasperated, simply grabbed the pen that was inexplicably inside the king and signed the contract.

Satisfied with the outcome and glad it wasn't much of a hassle, the King rolled up the scroll and stowed it back in his chest. "₲ØØĐ. ₦Ø₩, ł ĐØ ⱧØ₱Ɇ ł ₩Ø₦'₮ ฿Ɇ ₴ɆɆł₦₲ ɎØɄ—ØⱤ ₳₦Ɏ Ø₣ ɎØɄ—Ʉ₦₮łⱠ ɎØɄ'ⱤɆ ĐɆ₳Đ," he remarked in a cheeky, cheerful tone.

With one final horrifying grin, the Ghost King tore into reality, creating a swirling, deadly green portal, and disappeared within its depths.

The silence that followed the King's departure was unsettling.

A growl of John's name made the magician flinch. He had completely forgotten about the other Leaguers. Turning, he saw a frustrated Batman and a Superman and Flash who seemed to be thinking, "You're on your own." Traitors.

The cold sweat that had gripped John earlier when the king first arrived returned. Before things could escalate any further, Constantine raised his arms in surrender and spoke up.

"𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐧"