Chapter Text
In a shadowy safehouse lit only by flickering candles and Constantine’s bad ideas, the Justice League Dark was holding it’s monthly meeting.
“Right,” John said, leaning back in his chair with a cigarette hanging from his lips. “We’ve got ourselves a potential future problem, mates. Something nasty stirring. There’s been a development in the Infinite Realms and now there’s a new bloody Ghost King.”
Zatanna folded her arms. “And what exactly is a Ghost King? Sounds like one of your pub stories.”
Deadman floated upside down above the table, arms crossed. “I’ve heard whispers. Spooky underworld type, rules over some kind of death dimension. The last guy, Pariah Dark, was apparently bad enough to make demons nervous. Can’t image the being that would be able to defeat him.”
Swamp Thing rumbled from his corner, moss shifting like restless muscles. “If he has dominion over the dead… he is a force of imbalance.”
Constantine slammed a hand on the table for emphasis. “Exactly! You lot remember Pariah Dark? Nearly tore reality a new one. Now picture a the person who can rally the other ghosts in order to defeat him. What’s to stop him from looking at the mortal realm and wanting to expand his kingdom. That’s a bloody time bomb.”
“Or,” Zatanna said slowly, “it was someone who didn’t agree with the tyrannical ways.”
Constantine waved her off. “No, no, trust me, Zee. Power like that, it corrupts. Even if there were pure intentions then, give them a few years and we’ll all be singing ghostly national anthems before breakfast.”
Deadman chuckled. “Do ghosts even have national anthems?”
“Not the point.” Constantine dragged a half-burnt scroll from his coat pocket and smacked it onto the table. “Here’s the plan. We bind him. Nothin’ fancy, nothin’ cruel. Just tie him to his home realm.
Can’t leave it, can’t come knocking on our doors with a ghost army. He gets his kingdom, we get peace of mind. Easy.”
Zatanna eyed the scroll like it might sprout fangs. “You’re sure about this?”
“Dead certain.”
Deadman groaned. “Really, mate? The pun?”
“Look,” Constantine said, lighting another cigarette off the first. “Either we act now, or we’re cleanin’ up the mess later. And I don’t fancy another end-of-the-world Tuesday.”
Swamp Thing rumbled low, but didn’t object. Zatanna pinched the bridge of her nose. Deadman muttered about terrible puns. In the end, though, they agreed. Better safe than sorry.
The ritual was set.
In Amity Park, Danny blasted a rogue Lunch Lady out of the quad and shoved her back into a thermos. He barely had time to stash the thing in his backpack before jogging back to class, hair still faintly green at the tips.
Life as Ghost King wasn’t glamorous. The Infinite Realms demanded endless “royal decrees” and “meetings of cosmic importance.” His ghost council was convinced he needed to adjudicate everything from territory disputes to the acceptable length of ghostly moans. And the Observants… well, they were the worst.
But here on Earth? Danny could at least pretend to be normal. Stress-ridden, exhausted, but normal.
Which was exactly when the ritual hit.
It felt like a switch flipping. One second, Danny was fumbling with his textbook. The next, his core shuddered, every ghostly sense sparking like static. Something latched onto him, binding tight.
He gasped, half-phasing through his chair. “What the…?”
The air hummed with ancient magic. Not ghost magic, but human magic. Different rules, different flavor, Danny had just started learning it from Clockwork. Danny’s eyes glowed bright green as he instinctively tried to open a portal to the Infinite Realms.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, harder. Still nothing.
His stomach dropped.
“Oh no. Oh no no no…”
He ducked out of class, sprinted to the nearest alley, and transformed fully into Phantom. He tried again.
Portal…nothing.
Summoning Frostbite…nothing.
Even his connection to the Realms felt… muffled, like someone had stuffed it in a box.
Panic rose. He yanked out his phone, thumbed through his contacts, and hit speed-dial.
“Jazz?” His voice cracked. “Something’s wrong. I..I think I’m locked out of the Realms.”
There was a pause, then Jazz’s calm, no-nonsense tone. “Meet me at home. Now.”
That night, the Fenton living room looked like someone had dropped a courthouse into a mad scientist’s workshop. Jazz had turned the coffee table into a paper warzone. Sam was cross-legged on the couch, flipping through books that smelled like ectoplasm and mildew. Tucker sat in the recliner, typing furiously, screens glowing around him.
Danny paced in front of them, still in ghost form, sparks snapping off his fingers every few seconds like he was about to short-circuit. His eyes kept flashing green, then fading.
“I can’t get in,” Danny said for what felt like the hundredth time. His voice cracked halfway through. “I can’t even hear the council yelling at me. Do you know how wrong that feels? What if…what if I lose my form next? What if I…”
“Stop,” Jazz cut in, steady but firm. “We’ve been running the scans. The Zone is still intact. Nothing’s collapsing, no instability readings. It’s not broken, Danny. You’re just… locked out.”
“Yeah, man,” Tucker said, not looking up from his screen. “Like someone changed the Wi-Fi password and forgot to tell you.”
“That’s not funny!” Danny snapped, energy sparking louder this time. “What if this is permanent? What if…”
“Hold up.” Sam leaned forward, her voice sharp enough to cut through his spiral. “You said no council. No Observants. No paperwork. Nothing pulling you back?”
Danny slowed mid-pace. “…Yeah.”
The silence was heavy for a beat. Tucker’s typing slowed. Jazz looked up from her notes.
Danny blinked. “Wait. No council. No Observants. No paperwork.”
Something shifted in his expression. His shoulders, tight for days, dropped. His eyes widened. And then, for the first time in months, a grin stretched across his face.
“…Holy crap. I’m free.”
Sam gave him a flat look, but the corner of her mouth twitched. “So instead of panicking that you’ve been magically locked out of your kingdom, you’re celebrating?”
Danny threw both hands into the air. “Do you know how many forms I had to sign last week about spectral property disputes over a haunted dumpster? A dumpster, Sam! This…this might be the best thing
that’s ever happened to me.”
Jazz tapped her pen against her notes, unconvinced. “Danny, if you’re locked out, then someone did this to you. That’s not freedom, that’s a threat. We need to figure out who and why.”
“Later,” Danny said, already flopping onto the couch with a blissful sigh, sparks calming around his hands. “Right now, I’m just gonna enjoy not being nagged by a bunch of floating eyeballs. Seriously, do
you think this is what freedom tastes like?”
Tucker finally looked up, deadpan. “Probably like gummy bears.”
Danny pointed at him. “Exactly.”
Sam rolled her eyes. But yeah, she was smiling too.
Back in the safehouse, Constantine leaned back in his chair, smoke curling lazily from his cigarette.
“There,” he said, satisfied. “All wrapped up. Ghost King’s tied neatly to his little death dimension. No muss, no fuss.”
Zatanna wasn’t so sure. “You’re positive you bound him to the right realm?”
“Course I am,” Constantine said. “Home realm, innit? Where else would a Ghost King belong?”
Swamp Thing rumbled. “Something feels… unsettled.”
Constantine shrugged, knocking back a swig from his flask. “Give it time. The new King wont be able to move about easily and thus is out of the picture, we’re all safer for it.”
Far away, Danny Fenton lay on his couch, midterms looming, ghost powers humming oddly, and for the first time in years…actually relaxed.
Somewhere in the Infinite Realms, the Observants were screaming.
And Constantine had absolutely no idea what he’d just done.