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Chapter Text

The Infinite Realms were quiet.

Not silent—never silent, not in a dimension stitched together by the afterthoughts of the dead and dreams of the nearly forgotten—but quiet. A hush of expectation had settled over its endless skies and fractured pathways. And at its heart, something began to bend.

It started with a tug. A thread yanked loose from the patchwork cosmos.

In the depths of the Infinite Realms, something snapped.

It wasn’t violent—at first. Just a sudden hush, like the universe holding its breath. Then, from the core of the Realms, space itself began to fold inward. Ghosts paused mid-duel, ancient beings froze mid-riddle, and even the tide of ectoplasm hesitated, reversing direction as a gravitational force pulled inward toward a single point.

And then—implosion.

Somewhere in the Infinite Realms

A dozen thousand doors, once drifting like satellites across the Ghost Zone, snapped inward.

Each was unique: one shimmered with stars and shifting galaxies. Another pulsed like the heartbeat of an unborn universe. A third whispered names that hadn’t been spoken in eons. They were his lairs—afterlives born not from death, but from that little moment when Danny Fenton went ghost.

Unknowingly, unintentionally, he’d been dying. Over and over.

And with every death came a new lair.

The Realms had watched patiently.

So when their Chosen defeated Pariah Dark and took the throne by Right of Combat, they gave a gift.

A home, forged from his fragments.

It crashed into being with all the subtlety of a Big Bang played in reverse. Space crumpled. Ectoplasm surged like solar flares across the Zone. Energy coalesced into meaning.

A singular, impossible Haunt was born.

Not just any haunt—a monumental, reality-warping, obsidian-and-nebula citadel that screamed of death, rebirth, stars, and wonder. Orbiting moons made of fossilized memories. A throne carved from a collapsed supernova. Infinite halls and living libraries. Gravity that sang in keys of longing and silence. And most disturbing of all… it felt like it belonged.

The haunt, which from this moment would be knows as The Starborn Citadel. Orbiting moons that reflected Danny’s emotions. Black holes drifted lazily in its gardens. A living throne at the center pulsed with power, purring like a cat made of gravity.

It was alive.

It was his.

Justice League Dark Meeting – Two Hours Later

John Constantine was not having a good day. His cigarette dropped from his mouth. 

Zatanna looked up from the ripple in the scrying mirror. “What the hell was that?

“I—I don’t bloody know!” John growled. “It was like a black hole got drunk on death magic, exploded into a temple, and started humming lullabies to the Veil.” “I felt it from London,” he barked, slamming a bottle of holy water onto the table. “Through the Veil, through three binding wards, and through that bloody time-lock I set around my soul after the last apocalypse!”

Zatanna winced. “I thought that was a precaution.”

“It was! Until something punched through the Realms like a cosmic meteor!”

“You’re being dramatic,” Deadman said, despite shivering.

“No, Boston, I’m being underdramatic.” John turned to the others. “We need to find the source of that blast. It didn’t just echo through the Veil—it bent time through it. I felt aftershocks from World War II and the goddamn meteor that killed the dinosaurs.”

A pause.

“…What do you think caused it?” Zatanna asked, already reaching for her book of dimensional coordinates.

John stared off, frowning. “I don’t know. But I felt a core. Young. Raw. But not malicious. Just… confused. Like a baby god waking up surrounded by toys it forgot it made.”

The scrying mirror rippled. Deadman hovered nervously. Swamp Thing was still re-rooting after the shockwave turned half his forest into singing willows. Even Doctor Fate looked rattled.

“I’ve identified the epicenter,” Zatanna murmured. “It’s… it’s in the Infinite Realms.”

John frowned. “You mean the Ghost Zone.”

Zatanna nodded. “And I found a name tied to the energy signature.”

Everyone leaned in.

She looked up.

“ High King Danny Phantom.”

Amity Park

Danny Fenton was currently shoving pizza into his mouth while floating upside-down on his ceiling, lazily watching YouTube on his phone.

It had been a long week.

First Pariah Dark broke out of his sarcophagus (again), then tried to reclaim the throne with all the drama of a Shakespearean villain, and then Danny had accidentally challenged him.

...And won.

Apparently that meant he was King now.

Whatever that meant.

“That guy was so dramatic."

"Honestly,” Danny muttered around a mouthful of pepperoni, “I figured there’d be more paperwork.”

Above him, the ceiling glitched into a swirling sky of stars. Nebulas twisted. A pulse of gravity tugged at the edge of his vision.

A hallway opened beside his closet and whispered with wind from another dimension.

Danny blinked. “Huh.”

He blinked again. “Since when do I have a spiral staircase in my closet?”

The air shimmered. A hallway unfurled—cosmic and silver, stretching into eternity. A door labeled “You (but Shinier)” opened with a sound like a choir getting static shocked.

“Oh no,” Danny muttered. “This better not be a cult thing again.”

As Danny stepped cautiously through the shimmering doorway that had appeared in his closet, the familiar hum of his bedroom faded behind him like a forgotten dream. The air grew thick with the scent of ozone and stardust, and the very fabric of reality seemed to ripple around him. Hallways stretched endlessly in every direction, lined with walls that pulsed with constellations, nebulae swirling within transparent glass panels. The distant echo of ghostly whispers and cosmic winds filled the space, carrying the weight of eons and the secrets of countless lives. This was no ordinary haunt—it was something vast, alive, and undeniably his. As he moved deeper inside, the grandeur of the Starborn Citadel unfolded, a realm born from every fragment of himself, waiting for its reluctant king.

The Ancients arrived in silence.

Clockwork. Frostbite. Pandora. Nocturne. Even Vortex, rarely seen outside tempests, stood solemn before the Starborn Throne.

Danny, still in a hoodie, blinked as they bowed.

“...Did I miss a dress code?”

Clockwork smiled faintly. “Daniel. Your Core has completed an unintentional ritual of divine recursion. Each transformation, each brush with death, created a reflection of yourself. Your lairs.”

Pandora nodded. “And when you took the Throne, the Realms themselves merged your reflections into one.”

Danny looked around at the galaxies spiraling above him. “So… this whole place is… me?”

Frostbite placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Your soul’s echo. And more.”

Nocturne floated forward. “You are no longer merely a king, young one. You are the God of the Infinite Realms. And by extension…”

Clockwork gave a little bow.

“…of the multiverse seeded by your domain.”

Danny’s jaw dropped. “I—what?!”

“Your domain includes the afterlives, sub-realms, magic roots, and threads of death and rebirth across all known continuities,” Pandora added gently. “Even the timestream has knelt to you.”

A ripple of light appeared beside Danny.

A humanoid figure made of clock gears and galaxies bowed low.

“Hello, My King,” said the Timestream, voice echoing with past and future. “Do you require synchronization?”

Danny screamed internally.

The Timestream shimmered beside Danny like a living constellation, its form flickering between a humanoid figure and a vast, swirling river of stars and light.

“I am the current embodiment of time’s flow,” it explained, voice layered with echoes from a thousand possible futures and forgotten pasts. “Bound to this plane by your ascendance, I serve as both sentinel and messenger—your witness to the ever-changing weave of existence.”

Danny stared, fascinated and overwhelmed. “So you... watch everything? Like, all the time? Past, present, future?”

“Yes. Every moment, every choice, every consequence. I am the keeper of causality within your domain. And yet,” the Timestream paused, a subtle ripple of uncertainty crossing its form, “I am also your subject. My currents bend and shift according to your will—even if you have yet to discover it.”

Danny blinked. “That’s... kind of terrifying.”

“Indeed,” the Timestream chuckled, a sound like a cascade of falling stars. “But it also means you possess the power to protect or destroy realities with but a thought.”

The Citadel itself pulsed in resonance with the Timestream’s words, stars orbiting the throne syncing to its rhythms, a cosmic heartbeat intertwined with Danny’s own.

A vast rippling portal opened in the Citadel’s central hall.

The Ancients exchanged glances, their silent consensus heavy with unspoken warnings. The veil between worlds was thinning—not just between life and death, but between realms, realities, and dimensions.

Far beyond the Infinite Realms, on a small blue planet spinning in the vastness of space, things were already beginning to stir.

Meanwhile, Back on Earth

John Constantine crouched in the shadowed corner of the Justice League Dark’s war room, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if trying to erase the headache the last few hours had gifted him and lit a cigarette with shaking hands.

“Alright, so we’ve got a baby god in the Realms, who may or may not be older than time depending on how the Timestream feels about it.”

“Do we panic?” Boston asked.

“Quietly,” Zatanna answered.

John shook his head. “Wonderful. I thought dealing with demons was complicated enough without adding baby gods who can rewrite reality because they got bored.”

Chapter Text

Danny sat cross-legged on his throne, hoodie half-zipped, his crown of ghost fire hovering crookedly over his head like it was trying to escape the situation. His phone glowed in his hands as he frowned at the screen.

“Okay. Okay, there’s gotta be a guide or something. ‘How to File Taxes as a Dead—wait.’” He backspaced and retyped:
"How to File Taxes as a Dead God."

He hit enter.

The phone instantly crashed.

“Nooo,” he groaned. “Not again. That’s the third phone this week.”

He poked the screen. Static. It glitched, sparked, then let out a soft chime.

There was a pop. Like a soap bubble the size of a black hole.

Then came the whoosh.

Danny slowly turned around, already regretting everything he’d done today—including waking up.

Floating in the air behind him were five divine, terrifyingly powerful ghosts, radiating the kind of ancient authority that made even gods think twice.

“Oh,” Danny said blankly. “Oh no. Did I accidentally ghost-Google summon you guys?”

Clockwork, as unbothered as ever, gave a nod. “You spoke an invocation. You sought divine guidance.”

Danny flailed. “No, I was just trying to file my taxes!”

“You said, and I quote,” Pandora intoned, “‘How do I pay taxes as a dead god?’ That qualifies as a cosmic plea for counsel.”

Frostbite looked amused. “And here we are.”

Nocturne floated a few inches off the ground, arms crossed. “Honestly, I thought it would take you longer to trigger a high-level summoning loop. You're ahead of schedule.”

Vortex just glared, wind howling faintly around him. “I was napping in a typhoon.”

Danny dragged his hands down his face. “I’m seventeen! I don’t even do my living taxes. Why does being Ghost King come with a divine audit?”

Clockwork stepped forward. “Technically, this is your first celestial council meeting.”

“Unintended,” Pandora added.

“Unprepared,” Nocturne sighed.

“Under-dressed,” Frostbite finished, eyeing Danny’s ghost-themed pajama pants.

Danny looked down. “Rude. These are limited edition.”

The throne beneath him purred. Yes, purred. Danny suspected it was encouraging the chaos.

A familiar shimmer appeared beside him. The Timestream—now in the form of a glowing humanoid with a smug smile and eyes like swirling clock faces—gave a courtly bow.

“My King. I have prepared three possible timelines in which you successfully complete your taxes. Would you like one labeled ‘You survive without causing a dimensional incident’ or ‘You ascend to a higher plane accidentally’?”

Danny stared at it. “Is there a normal one?”

The Timestream blinked. “Unlikely.”

Danny slumped back into his throne. “Look, can we skip the audit? Like, declare me tax-exempt by reason of divine teenage burnout?”

Pandora sighed. “Mortals would envy your responsibilities.”

Danny waved at the room. “Mortals don’t have talking furniture, a smug timestream, and council ghosts showing up every time they Google something!”

The throne coughed gently and spat out a scroll labeled “Form 1-GOD: Soul-Declared Cosmic Property.”

Danny stared at it. Then at the council. Then at the scroll.

“I’m gonna cry.”

“You may,” Nocturne said solemnly. “It is a sacred rite of first-time divinities.”

Vortex muttered, “I cried in my lava cave.”

“Not helping!” Danny yelled.

Location: The Starborn Citadel — Throne Room, or what’s left of it

There had been… an attempt.

The floor was scorched. The ceiling had a new constellation. And the reality warping around the east wing had finally stopped turning everyone’s feet into interpretive dance metaphors.

“Okay,” Danny groaned from the floor, “so maybe letting me wing it with reality bending was a bad idea.”

“I told you not to think about waffles while shaping the Memory Atrium,” Pandora sighed, dusting astral soot off her skirt.

“They smelled so good! And the chair said it was fine!”

The throne, made of collapsed dark matter and ghost steel, glowed innocently behind him. A trail of syrup sparkled along one armrest. It may have chanted “waffles” at some point. Unclear.

Clockwork appeared next to him in a puff of temporal steam. “Phantom, you must learn to control your divine manifestations. You are affecting smaller Realms—”

“—and the dreams of two dozen ancient cryptids,” Nocturne added.

“Not the dream cryptids,” Danny groaned.

“They’re delicate,” Frostbite said solemnly.

“I know! I am trying! Do you know how stressful this is?! I used to panic over pop quizzes! Now it’s like, ‘oops, I sneezed and gave the sun a personality!’”

There was a polite ding, and a small moon floated in. It looked sheepish. The words “SORRY ABOUT THE CORONATION FLARE” were etched across its surface.

Danny waved it off. “It’s okay, Moon Steve. Just… orbit quietly for a bit.”

Location: Watchtower — Justice League Briefing Room

Superman was the first to break the silence. “We… agree that this is above our paygrade, right?”

Zatanna nodded grimly. “The Citadel appeared on every magical radar simultaneously. Every god-plane tilted. The Veil rippled. And Constantine started drinking through a straw. That’s not a good sign.”

“Oi,” John muttered. “That was one time.”

“Who is this ‘Phantom’ then?” Batman asked, arms crossed. “This ghost child who now rules a divine death dimension?”

Zatanna pulled up a glowing sigil of the Citadel. “He is the Ghost King. Infinite Realms monarch. Chosen of the Realms. And—according to ancient contract—a being our multiverse now technically bows to in matters of death, space, time, and unfiled soul claims.”

Batman frowned. “How old?”

John coughed. “Seventeen.”

Silence.

“...We let a teenager ascend to divine godhood?” Superman asked slowly.

“We didn’t let anything!” John snapped. “He accidentally won a duel and accidentally merged his soul-split lairs and accidentally restructured the Veil! I don’t think he even knows what half his powers do!”

“So he’s unstable,” Batman summarized.

Zatanna hesitated. “...He’s earnest. And confused. He’s not malevolent.”

“We’ll be diplomatic,” Superman said. “We request a meeting. A friendly one.”

John gave him a long, long stare.

“You’re gonna insult him within five minutes.”

Location: Starborn Citadel — Grand Hall of Realities

The diplomatic envoy arrived exactly 0.72 seconds late by Realms-time, which was enough to insult three time spirits and confuse two gravity snakes, but technically still on schedule.

The doors opened.

Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Zatanna, and Constantine stepped forward—right into a sea of impossible architecture. One hallway was vertical. The carpet was alive. The windows looked into a toddler’s dreamscape where cats ran bookstores and clouds sold juice.

And at the center was him.

Crowned in stardust and wearing a hoodie with the words “Don’t Talk to Me Until I’ve Screamed Into the Void,” sat Phantom—King of the Infinite Realms.

“...Yo,” Phantom said, floating sideways in his chair. “You guys look tense. Want waffles?”

Everyone blinked.

Wonder Woman cleared her throat. “We come in peace.”

“That’s good,” Phantom said. “Because my diplomacy advisor is also a baby black hole. And he’s very hungry.”

A small void wiggled at his side and made a delighted chirp.

Batman stepped forward. “Phantom, we’ve come to evaluate your role and powers—”

“Whoa,” Phantom said, floating down. “That sounded weirdly formal. I mean, I get it, you’re the Justice League. But I’m still new here, and I don’t even have a… divine HR department.”

Zatanna smiled politely. “We just want to establish peaceful communication—”

Then Batman muttered, just quietly enough that he thought Phantom wouldn’t hear:

“...We’re dealing with a minor godling. A diplomatic approach is wise.”

The Realms went dead silent.

Thick, cosmic, vibrating silence.

You could hear the dimensional tension in the air, like a string pulled taut across the universe’s last nerve.

Superman squinted at the room. Wonder Woman subtly stepped in front of Batman. Constantine began muttering something in Latin under his breath. Zatanna closed her eyes and tried to look harmless.

Phantom, floating above his throne with glowing white hair, flickering eyes, and ghost fire crackling around him, exhaled slowly.

A thousand doors across the Citadel shuddered.

Phantom blinked once.

The black hole made a hissing noise.

“...What did you call me?”

Batman straightened. “A minor—” “So,” he said casually without letting him finish, “I get promoted by the Realms after defeating a tyrant, ascend to some weird baby-god-of-everything status, merge thousands of personal lairs into a galactic-scale Haunt, and accidentally give the moon self-awareness… and this guy,” he pointed, “has the nerve to call me a minor godling.”

Constantine buried his face in both hands. “We’re all gonna die.”

The walls rippled. Time hiccupped.

And then—they arrived.

Clockwork appeared first, time gears rotating so fast they blurred into halos of light. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. The disappointment was palpable.

Pandora materialized next, her presence like judgment carved into stone. She had never looked more done in her immortal life.

Then came Frostbite, Nocturne, and Vortex, all glowing with righteous, ancient offense.

Pandora strode forward, robes trailing firelight.

“How dare you,” she said coldly, fixing Batman with a glare that could crack Olympus. “You enter His Realm, demand audience, insult Him—our King—and refer to Him as a minor god?”

Nocturne floated ominously beside her, eyes glowing like collapsing stars. “Do you wish to start a war with the Infinite Realms?”

Frostbite growled softly, eyes locked on Batman. “The child may be young. But He is no ‘godling.’ He is the Sovereign of Afterlives. The Echo of Ends. The Chosen of the Realms. The Citadel exists because of Him.”

Vortex crossed his arms. “You’re lucky the throne didn’t bite you.”

Superman raised a hand slowly. “This was a misunderstanding—”

“No,” Clockwork cut in smoothly, “it was an insult. One you delivered in the heart of His divine sanctum.”

The Timestream shimmered into view behind Phantom, whispering ancient complaints about “punitive timeline splicing” and “soul depreciation fines.”

Phantom buried his face in his hands. “Guys, can you not start a death match on my rug?”

Zatanna gave him a weak smile. “We really didn’t mean to offend. We just… underestimated.”

“Oh, you underestimated, alright,” Frostbite huffed. “You walked into the home of a god who has never taken worshippers, who builds galaxies in his sleep and who hasn’t even learned the full extent of his powers—and then you condescended.”

Phantom floated down, still glowing faintly. “Okay, look. I don’t want a war. I don’t want cosmic drama. I just wanted waffles and to maybe learn how to do my ghost taxes without summoning the IRS of the dead.”

“Actually,” Clockwork said, “you did summon them. They're waiting in the hallway.”

Phantom groaned. “Please make them go away.”

Pandora turned sharply toward the League. “You have disrespected our King. You are no longer welcome here today.”

Vortex opened a portal with a snap of his fingers and a rumble of thunder. It led back to the Watchtower.

“You may return when you learn humility,” Nocturne added.

“And maybe bring snacks next time,” Phantom muttered. “I mean, you barged in empty-handed. Rude.”

John, wisely, grabbed Batman by the back of the cape and shoved him toward the portal. “Time to go, Bats.”

Wonder Woman gave Phantom a bow before following. “We will correct this. You have our respect, Phantom.”

He gave her a weak wave. “Cool. Sorry about the sentient floor rugs.”

They vanished.

The portal closed.

Phantom slumped on his throne. “Ugh. That was awful.”

The throne purred and offered him a lollipop made of star fragments.

Clockwork smiled faintly. “You handled yourself well, Your Majesty.”

“I almost turned a moon into a grudge bomb.”

“Yes,” Clockwork agreed. “Progress.”