Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all had gone wrong.

Danny ran as fast as he could. He needed to get away, to find an opening, anything. But they were too hot on his tail, following closely behind and not giving him an inch to escape.

It was the G.I.W. They knew his secret identity. That Fenton and Phantom were one and the same.

It had been just a month since everything went downhill. Since Danny came back from defeating Dan, only for his friends and family to still die in that damn explosion.

He knew he couldn’t go to Vlad; he had spent way too long avoiding that future to go headlong into it. No, he stayed far away from that man; even if it broke Danny’s heart to give him the cold shoulder, given that they had started getting along well in more recent months.

So, all his friends and family had died, and the one person he had left he couldn’t go to. He wasn’t ready to live in the Infinite Realms either, he was only 15! He had a life ahead of him, one he still wanted to live despite everything.

Even if he was technically the Ghost King, it’s not like he wanted the mantle in the first place. Plus, he was still learning how to rule and what all his kingly duties were.

Luckily, the people of Amity Park had left him alone for the most part. Allowing him to grieve without interruption from CPS. The townsfolk generally avoided the Fentons anyway due to their eccentricity. Even his normal ghostly rogues had given him space to heal.

Unfortunately, the same could not be said for the G.I.W. They had somehow found out about his secret. How? Danny doesn’t know, and doesn’t rightfully care either. Not when he’s running for his life.

The bastards had caught him off guard while he was in his human form. Upon trying to transform into Phantom, he had been shot with ectoblasts. The G.I.W. were not going to give him a chance to take to the sky or even a brief respite to catch his breath.

He needed a way out of this. Please, just anything. For a small slip-up from the G.I.W. chasing him, a place to hide away, interference from a townsperson, anything. Danny was desperate at this point. And with the anti-ecto weapons the G.I.W. were carrying, he didn’t just run the risk of severe injury or dying, no; he could be permanently Ended.

Danny was starting to get winded. He was in human form, so he still needed to breathe; he wasn’t used to this much strenuous activity outside his ghost form. He needed to catch a break, and fast.

That’s when it hit him. A calling from deep inside his core, a summoning. It was faint and far, far away from what he could tell. But he didn’t care. As long as it got him away from the G.I.W., he’d happily answer the summoning for the Ghost King. It was probably some damn cultists, but it was better than here.

He let the feeling of the summoning take him over, automatically changing him into his kingly Phantom form. It made him look regal, otherworldly, and ethereal. Darkness took over as his position in space and time shifted. This summoning was in a different dimension, he could feel it as he traveled through. He didn’t mind, though; he knew how to get back with his access to the Infinite Realms if he so chose. It’s not like he had much left in that dimension anyway.

Once he was able to open his eyes again, he noticed the odd world around him. It didn’t quite look odd; rather, it felt odd. Sure, he was in some shady warehouse surrounded by cultists, but that was to be expected. No, what was odd was how much the air felt like death, yet despite that held little ghosts. In fact, this whole world felt that way.

And wherever here was gave him the creeps, beyond just the cloaked cultists. Just as the corny movies dictate, the cultists surrounded him in a circle akin to the one drawn on the floor. It was painted in real, human blood and adorned with candles alight with green flames. The cultists all wore masks, and the ‘leader’ held a grimoire of sorts. The group itself didn’t feel all that menacing, but the grimoire felt powerful.

There was a dead body in the dark corner across the room. That’s probably where the blood for the circle came from. He hated it when people killed for summonings, it always made him sick. They always claimed ‘sacrificing the pure’ or ‘blood of the innocent’, when in actuality, you could just draw it with chalk or a sharpie. There was no need for death or a sacrifice at all.

He composed himself and spoke, his voice overlaid with static, crackling ice, and power. “For what do you summon the High Ghost King, Phantom, of the Infinite Realms?” He had to keep it professional, even if he couldn’t care less and most likely wouldn’t grant the cultists’ wish.

“Your Majesty,” began the leader, “we have summoned you so that you may grant us, your loyal followers, power so that we may make this world yours.”

What a pompous ass, these guys were delusional to expect that. “If I wished to claim this world as my own, I could do so well on my own. Besides, I do not take kindly to killing.” Danny needed to end this soon, he didn’t care for their demands.

“But Your Majesty, why waste your time doing so when you can just have us do so for you? And-”

“Silence,” he cut the leader off, “I do not care for your tone. I shall not grant you the power you seek. I bid you farewell.”

But as Danny tried to leave the circle, he found himself trapped. He could not walk out; instead blocked by an invisible wall, and he could not tear a portal to the Infinite realms. He was unable to leave.

“Unfortunately, King Phantom, we cannot take no for an answer.” And with that, chanting began anew. Danny’s demands to be let go fell on deaf ears.

Glowing purple chains rose from the circle and chained him to the concrete ground. It felt like lightning coursing through his body all over again, as painful as his death. He could feel his power waning as it was transferred to the cultists. His eyes and body grew heavy from the rapid drain.

“You see, it’s imperative for us to have access to your power, so we cannot let you go.”

“You will regret this.” he snarled, trying his best to keep what little composure he had left.

“Oh, I doubt that, Your Majesty. I highly doubt that.” And with those final words, Danny’s body collapsed against the cold, hard floor, and everything faded away.

Chapter Text

When Danny awoke, it was to a splitting headache. He begrudgingly opened his eyes to take in his surroundings. As his vision cleared, he noticed… a warehouse?

That’s right, he was summoned and trapped by lunatic cultists who had drained his powers. He felt a little better now, less bodily heavy and lightheaded. Probably from regaining some energy after however long he had been out.

Upon looking around the room more, he noticed a few changes. It was cleaner for starters, beginning to look more on the pristine side. Squeaky clean floors, freshly painted walls, and decorative adornments.

The walls were a deep, warm grey. Although this room was windowless, white and green curtains lined the top of the walls. A large purple rug sat in the center of the room. There was even a freaking grand chandelier, black with silver accents.

Danny then noticed his more immediate area. The bloody summoning circle was now covered with a thick glass pedestal; the circle was still visible, still trapping him. Within the pedestal sat a white throne-like chaise lounge with silver trimming, which he was quite comfortably laid upon. There were pillows too, green and purple. To the right of him was a dark walnut side table. 

What was alarming, though, was that he was no longer in his kingly regalia. Instead, he now wore pants and a long-sleeved crop top; the fabric lacy and flowy in an ectoplasmic green. The chains were still there, but weren’t attached to the floor anymore. Chain cuffs were around his biceps, wrists, waist, thighs, ankles, neck, and middle fingers and toes.

Great, he was barefoot too. But it’s not like he was going anywhere soon; plus, upon further inspection, he could still fly. Just not outside the circle.

The cuffs were connected by chains as well. Two parallel chains connected the wrist cuffs to the bicep cuffs, as well as the ankle cuffs to the thigh cuffs. Single chains ran from the thigh cuffs to the waist cuff on both of his sides. Same thing for the bicep cuff to the neck cuff. A chain ran down his back connecting neck to waist. Smaller chains ran from wrists to fingers and ankles to toes. His pointed ears were even pierced with the cuffs and chains. All of which were the same glowing purple as they had been upon his capture. 

All in all, he kind of looked like a genie. Aside from his crown that still floated above his head, made of black ice and aurora flames. Occasional glistening blue gems adorned the outfit.

Danny got up from the chaise lounge and floated over to the edge of the circle, not wanting to walk on cold glass with bare feet. Reaching a hand out, he felt the resistance of an invisible wall enforced by the enchantment.

He threw an ectoblast at it, but it merely dissolved upon impact. “I’m afraid that won’t work, Your Majesty.” Danny whipped his head towards the voice to see the cult leader entering the room. He lost the cloak, wearing more casual clothes, and his face was now visible. He looked around late 20s or early 30s, with dirty blonde hair, sharp face, bulbous nose, and grey-blue eyes. “King Phantom, I apologize for my previous rudeness, but I’m afraid it was necessary.”

“If you were sorry, you’d let me out of here.” Danny tried calmly. Maybe he could persuade this guy.

“Unfortunately, I can’t do that. You made yourself clear that you wouldn’t help us willingly, so we had to resort to drastic measures. We need your power to be able to rise within the ranks of Gotham.” Gotham? He’d never heard of the place, but the way the guy sounded made it sound like it was well-known on this world.

“Ah, so you sought power to sate your own claim on this world, not mine. Now, I did suspect as such; however, to lie then admit so blatantly to my face is quite impertinent.”

Danny had hoped to stump the guy, but he gained no satisfaction as the guy continued on unbothered. “Ah, yes, that. We were trying to appease to you as much as possible, hoping that you’d choose to become our patron. Unfortunately, things went quite differently.”

“Hence the chains?”

“Yes, hence the chains. The pedestal is so no one may accidentally disturb the circle, and we thought it right that our patron be upon one.”

“What discourteous hospitality. What’s with the outfit then?”

“A side effect of the enchantment, came with the chains, I suppose. We did not dare to touch you aside from laying you on the chaise lounge.”

“And you don’t think keeping the Ghost King prisoner will have any repercussions?

“The Grimoire was immensely challenging to acquire, and even more difficult to make sure it was authentic. I have no doubts in its ability to keep you with us, as well as to hide you from those who may wish to take you from us.”

That was… concerning. Would even Clockwork be affected? “And what of my stay here?” He still needed food and water after all, even while he was Phantom. Which, speaking of, he found that he couldn’t transform back into his human form. Was that healthy long-term? He didn’t really know.

“Do not worry, you will be given the utmost care. Any demands you have, if we can grant them, they will be done. Baths as regularly as you wish, gourmet food, we can even redecorate the room however you like.”

“So I can have anything I’d like, except for being free.”

“Correct. I do apologize, Your Majesty, but it is imperative we have you as our patron.”

“Then I don’t suppose I could get a glass of water?”

“Of course, My King.”

The days went by slowly at first. Being in this circular prison was rather boring, given that Danny didn’t have much yet.

Any time he was alone, he would try everything he had to get out. The ice merely frosted the glass beneath him, but nothing else. Brute, ghostly force proved just as effective, his punch ricocheting back at him and shaking his bones. Even when he used his wail, there was still nothing, not even a shake in the foundation.

Danny didn’t know if the cultists could hear him attempting to escape, but at least they weren’t watching him. He had spent what felt like hours scanning the room for cameras from where he was stuck, but found nothing. Asking the cult leader provided the same answer, though, he had a history of lying to Danny.

“You know, I don’t even know your name, Mr. Cult Leader. Kinda rude, if I do say so myself.” Danny asked on day four(?, it was hard to keep track of time with no clock or windows) from his chaise lounge. It was… really comfortable; despite the circumstances, he’d gotten the best sleep he’s ever had on this thing.

The man chuckled. Chuckled. “My, I really am a terrible host. It’s Gilbert Strobe, My King.”

Gilbert was true to his words the first day Danny woke up. He was able to bathe whenever he wished with complete privacy, the cultists would bring a bath into his circle and leave him be. The enchanted outfit would disappear as he got in, and Ancients, was the water nourishing to his skin; it must have been infused with balms or something. The food was exquisite, fancy and expensive and always there at his request.

Despite the imprisonment, the cultists took very good care of Danny. He still didn’t like it, he wanted out.

Over the length of two months, Danny’s attempts to escape slowly became few and far between, until they stopped altogether.

The power drain happened once a month. Every month. It wasn’t as painful as the first time, and he soon grew mostly numb to it through the repetition.

He began to get more comfortable asking for things. When Danny asked for video games, they obliged. He wanted to know more about this world, so he asked for books. History, physics, astrology, newspapers, anything he could think of, he got.

The stars were a little different, but mostly the same. The history was vastly different, though, as to be expected. At least he could keep track of time with the newspapers; he would get them daily, and the papers were kept current.

One day, he asked if he could see the stars; he rather missed them after six months. The cultists seemed genuinely sorry when they told him he couldn’t. Apparently, Gotham had too much smog and light pollution that you couldn’t see the stars from a normal altitude. So they gave him a high-tech star machine and hoped to someday grant his wish.

At least the fake stars were pretty.

The years went by.

Danny grew older, fuller. He tried to keep up his exercise as much as he could while in the circle, he became buff and broad. An image not too dissimilar to Dan, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not here.

When Danny was 18, the age he was supposed to take up the crown more officially, Gilbert Strobe began to rise in Gotham like he hoped.

Strobe Industries started up and grew as a company. Their power and influence as a million-dollar company were immense over the city that Danny distantly came to know. Danny was already in the lap of luxury, but even more so now with the mass influx of money.

The building was growing around him. He could feel the construction happening as it was made anew outside of his vision.

Danny was 20 when he began to feel numb. Like his feelings, emotions, were dwindling.

He had less and less interest in material things. Merely meditating upon knowledge. Absorbing Ancient, kingly knowledge through the crown. He still read to keep up on current events, but humans were not meant for such isolation. So his more ghostly side took over.

It was a year later when Danny’s body began to morph from this influence. Limbs growing longer. Teeth and ears sharper with a snake-like tongue. Skin darker and irises overtaking his sclera. The transformation was slow, making him more uncanny and ghostly.

At the age of 29, Danny read about the rise of vigilantes and superheroes around the world. That there were actually aliens and people with powers in this dimension. The Justice League had formed, a group of such individuals dedicated to protecting the people of this world.

There was one among the group that particularly caught Danny’s attention above the rest. Batman, who worked in the night and struck fear into the hearts of criminals. A vigilante who worked in Gotham City, his city.

Danny prayed to the Ancients that maybe one day, Batman would find and save him.

At 30, Strobe Industries met a new, or relatively new, rival. Wayne Enterprises began to grow in power once more with the return of Bruce Wayne. He had turned it into a formidable company once more, and the billionaire became revered in the public eye. Despite the otherworldly power Strobe Industries had from Danny, Wayne Enterprise came out on top. However, Strobe Industries was still quite the powerhouse in Gotham and continued to grow.

Danny was 33 when he was moved, transferred while he was knocked out from one of the monthly power drains. He was no longer in that room he had been in since the start of all this. Instead, his new prison was on the top floor of the skyscraper that was built around the original warehouse.

The cultists had made a new, bigger circle. He could now travel through multiple rooms on the high floor. A bedroom, bathroom, living room, library, and a home gym.

Each room was grandiose in its own right, flourished with silver and marble. Fine art lined the walls, state-of-the-art equipment in the gym, furniture just as comfy as the chaise lounge. There was a TV where he could watch anything he so desired, including local and international news. The library was vast, allowing Danny an entire archive of knowledge and all the past things he’s read.

The crown jewel, though, was the glass ceiling, only see-through from the inside. The skyscraper was actually tall enough to tower over the city’s smog. From up here, he could see the stars. His core sang like it hadn’t done in a long, long time. He felt alive again for the first time in 18 years. The real stars, not just some imitation. Danny felt less numb.

There were also the same one-way windows on some of the walls. On some nights, he could see Batman swinging through Gotham. A young boy, Robin, had joined him in the night not long ago.

He watched the two grow from his stoop, his prison. Robin eventually went away, only for there to soon be a second. Then a third and a fourth. There were multiple vigilantes in Gotham now. Batman, Nightwing, Red Hood, Orphan, Red Robin, Spoiler, Signal, and Robin.

Batman had gone away for a while, and Nightwing, the first Robin, became Batman for a while until the original came back. He suspected Red Hood was the second Robin, his mannerisms and affinity for Crime Alley were the same as his. Red Robin was a clear candidate for the third. Seeing these vigilantes, this family, grow up and become bigger reminded him of his own lost family from so long ago.

Every time he saw them, Danny hoped they would see him back. But every time, they would pass by unseeing, unknowing. They didn’t know he was there, waiting for them.

Chapter Text

Bruce was in the middle of investigating Strobe Industries. It had come to his attention that the company was involved in some shady dealings. Dealings that possibly included metas, by the looks of it.

A number of their employees had gained powers from seemingly out of nowhere. The number of them was concerning. The company’s rise to power wasn’t something to overlook either.

Strobe Industries started to gain traction during Wayne Enterprise’s intermediate state between Bruce’s parents’ death and his takeover of the company. Their early financial records were shoddy at best, with holes and missing figures in the paperwork. The dealings even more so, investments towards the new company would happen even at a great risk.

However, that was 37 years ago, the business has grown tenfold since then. Their paperwork nowadays was even more suspicious than it was then. Bruce decided it was time to take matters into the main hub.

He gathered the rest of his family who were patrolling that night. Jason would be doing his route around Park Row as per usual. Steph was taking the Bowery. Cass in the Diamond District. Damian was off tonight with a twisted ankle.

Tim and Dick were to assist him at Strobe Industries.

What they found… wasn’t quite what they were looking for. The company was run by a bunch of cultist wacks praising their “king”. A being who has supposedly blessed them with great power and is to be attributed to Strobe Industries’ rise in Gotham.

The power, he could not deny. It appears the rumors of numerous metas working for the company were true. Luckily, the metas didn’t seem to have advanced powers; just one or two each, ranging from invisibility, intangibility, flight, strength, or energy blasts.

Nightwing was handling the cult members on the lower floors. Red Robin took point for the middle floors. And Batman, he was heading to the top. Hoping to find more buried files and possibly Gilbert Strobe.

He traveled through floor after empty floor; there was nothing. Then, he arrived at the top floor.

While the rest of the building seemed grandiose, this took the cake. It was clear that a lot of money went into the making of this floor. Top-of-the-line equipment and furnishing. Chandeliers and marble throughout the rooms. The entire ceiling was glass, so one could see the sky. The rooms seem to abide by the color theme of black, white, green, purple, and silver.

The top floor seems to be for living, not business. And whoever lived here lived a luxurious life, possibly Strobe.

Batman was about to open the last room when the door moved without him turning the handle. There stood a… creature? Its limbs were too long and bony, their hair white, Lazarus green eyes with no sclera, ears and teeth razor sharp, greyish skin. Whoever this was, they certainly weren’t Gilbert Strobe.

The creature in front of Bruce then began to shift and change, less uncanny, more… human. Bruce couldn’t help but notice the now-human had quite a flattering figure as well. In a poisonous green genie-like outfit that accentuated his abs and stomach. Glowing purple chains and blue gems adorned the outfit. He could see that this person really went with the green and purple theme.

The man, now looking about mid-50s, seemed to be a paramour of sorts. If the penthouse did belong to Strobe like Bruce believed, then the man was most likely his lover. It was best to ask anyway, see if he could get some answers out of the guy. Maybe some more intel on Strobe while he was at it.

“You’re not Gilbert Strobe. Who are you?”

The man chuckled. “Ancients, no, definitely not that guy. And for shame, Mr. Batman, it’s usually customary to introduce yourself first before asking someone for their name. But I guess when it comes to you, customaries can be thrown out the window. I’m Phantom.”

Bruce gave a small grunt, “Phantom?”

“That is what I said. I hope you’re not hard of hearing, old man, I have been looking forward to meeting you for a while.” Old man? He was only 47, though he did not deign to give ‘Phantom’ that knowledge.

“So you were expecting us?”

“Yes and no,” the man said with a smirk. “I was merely hoping you’d come by.”

Bruce didn’t know what to do with that information, frankly. “If you are not Strobe, then what are you doing up here? Are you one of the cultists? A paramour of Stobe’s?”

“Ancients, never, that’d be disgusting.” Phantom exclaimed. He then proceeded to do a mock gag that was kind of childish and honestly cute. “I’m not one of the cultists, and definitely not a paramour. Though that is a fun word. No, I’m more of a patron.”

“So you don’t deny the employees of Strobe Industries being cultists?” Bruce asked with a quirk of his brow.

“Absolutely not. Those guys are cultists, one hundred percent.” Phantom gave him a warm smile, teeth still sharp but much less so. The smile was quite lovely, actually.

“Then why stay with them?” Bruce gave him a glare, trying to smother the warm fuzziness he was feeling.

“Oh Batman, and here I thought you were the ‘world’s greatest detective’. I’ve waited so long for you, I’m starting to get rather disappointed.” His smile turned sad, and there was the faintest hint of pleading desperation in his eyes.

Bruce thought for a moment, then spoke, “They’re forcing you to help them.”

Phantom’s grin became wide and toothy. “There it is, I knew you had it in you!”

“For how long?” He was afraid of the answer.

“Let’s see,” Phantom pondered, floating around and mumbling to himself. “If the year is 2025, that would make me 55. So if I got here at… It’s been 40 years.” He spoke the last part aloud to him.

40 whole years? That means Phantom was only 15 when he was forced to become this ‘patron’. “Why not leave, or get help?”

His eyes suddenly went dull, “These chains aren’t just for show. I am bound here by an enchantment and am restricted to this floor and this floor only. And every time I reach out for help, it goes out unanswered. My pleas fall on deaf ears or people’s minds are wiped of my existence. It’s not their fault, the magic of the Grimoire keeping me here is strong; I wouldn’t be surprised if you walked away right now, forgetting this entire interaction.”

Phantom looked… defeated. This was clearly not the first time the man got his hopes up on being rescued, only for that hope to be squashed. Bruce was determined not to let that happen this time, he now wanted nothing more than to protect this man.

“I promise I’ll get you out of here.”

Phantom’s glassy eyes looked back at him. “Do not make promises you cannot keep.”

It was then that the main entrance doors burst open, and standing there was Gilbert Strobe. A man who should have been in his 70s, but looked to be more around Phantom’s or Bruce’s age. “Ah, Batman, I see you have met My King. He has been benevolent to us, gifting us such gifts.”

So this was the being the cultists followed, it started to make sense with Phantom’s inhuman form. He was the one who supposedly granted all the cultists their powers and who helped Strobe Industries become a formidable company. Strobe had called Phantom ‘My King’ after all; the grand penthouse seemed to belong to their King, their patron, Phantom.

“Strobe,” Bruce addressed the man, “You must let Phantom go.” He readied himself; after 40 years, Strobe was likely not to give up so easily, but he needed to make his demands.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. His Majesty is vital to this company, and we are unable to part with him. I’m rather curious as to why you are still here, though; the enchantment should have affected you by now. It’s no matter, I’m sorry, but I must ask you to leave.”

Bruce stayed steady. “I can’t do that either.”

Strobe then fired an energy blast at him that he dodged; the blast a sickly, Lazarus green that the other cultists had fired. The CEO then came flying at him and got a rather strong punch in.

Energy blasts, flight, strength… it seemed that Strobe had more access to the powers than the other cultists, having more than the typical one or two. He was the cult leader, after all.

Strobe tried to punch him again, only for Bruce to catch it and throw him over his shoulder. He landed hard but got up quickly. When Bruce tried to punch him, the man turned intangible as well. However, he wasn’t fast enough for the second swing as Bruce’s fist met with his jaw, and he hit the ground once more.

Strobe struggled to get up and put a hand on his messenger bag. A bag, Bruce had noticed, that the CEO never parted from. That must be where he kept this fabled powerful Grimoire.

As he started chanting to himself and the bag began to glow, Bruce’s hypothesis was confirmed. He heard a thud behind him, looking showed that Phantom had fallen to his knees. The purple chains glowed brighter, and the patron grunted in pain. He saw wisps flow from Phantom to Strobe, who was draining the prior for more power.

Bruce took quick action, swiftly kicking Strobe in the chest and ridding him of the Grimoire. He then elbowed him in the head to knock him out, quickly cuffing him.

Pulling his attention towards Phantom, he saw the man lying on his side. Bruce approached to make sure he was alright. “Are you injured anywhere?”

“Nah,” Phantom weakly chuckled, “Jus’ feelin’ p’tty drained.” His eyes then fluttered, but he fought against it. “It happ’ns, doh.”

“I’m going to get you out of here.”

“Y’ c’n try.”

Bruce took that as permission and picked Phantom up, princess carrying him close to his chest. Upon making his way to the exit, he was met with resistance. It was Phantom, the Grimoire was still keeping him here.

Bruce gently laid him down on the lush carpeting and grabbed the Grimoire out of the bag he took from Strobe. Commissioner Gordon should be here soon to arrest him. Opening the Grimoire, he was met with an unknown language. “Phantom, how do I get this spell off you?”

The man sleepily sat up and started flipping through the Grimoire. He then pointed to a page, “There.” Then laid back down.

Bruce started to read off the words, not really making sense of them, but still needing to get Phantom out of here. The other’s chains began to glow again, as well as a large sigil on the floor. Once Bruce finished the incantation, both dissolved into thin air rather anticlimactically.

He put the Grimoire back in the messenger bag and picked Phantom back up. Not being met with resistance this time as they entered the elevator.

Phantom shifted, looking Bruce in the face. “Y’ fin’lly saved me, th’nk you.” Tears glistened in his eyes, a hopeful smile across his face.

“You’re safe now.” He had to try and keep it professional.

“Y’know, y’re kinda cute up cl’se, Batty.”

Bruce tried to ignore his reddening face as Phantom drifted asleep.