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The throne room of the Infinite Realms’ Citadel was significantly quieter after the incident. And by incident, of course, they meant the accidental merger of thousands of metaphysical haunts into a single, continent-sized divine territory, followed by Phantom’s mild existential breakdown, followed by the Ancients forcefully ejecting the Justice League like rude patrons from a three-star Yelp restaurant.
Phantom sat curled up in what could only be described as a sentient nebula-pillow-throne—levitating several feet off the ground and gently pulsing with a calming cosmic glow. His cape trailed off the edge, flickering like a weak signal between material and ghostly. In one hand, he held a conjured thermos of chocolate milk. In the other? A spectral phone projecting the search bar:
“how to file taxes as a dead god???”
Clockwork floated nearby, clearly debating whether or not to confiscate the ghost phone. He didn’t. Instead, he sighed and turned to Frostbite.
“Do we tell him now or…?”
Frostbite, whose usual demeanor was cheerful and booming, looked utterly grave. “No. Let the child process the fact he has subjects first. Then we’ll tell him he owns time. Baby steps.”
One of the Ancients tutted. "He already made Time fetch him nap snacks. The steps aren't very baby."
The Citadel, now massive and dizzyingly complex, was still rearranging itself. New doorways opened in soft spirals of space-time, constellations rearranged themselves along the ceiling in soothing patterns, and somewhere in the distance, a ghostly choir sang a lullaby made of gravitational waves.
Despite all this divine majesty, Phantom looked like a sleep-deprived honors student accidentally crowned king of the multiverse.
Which, to be fair, was exactly what had happened.
At the watchtower!
The silence on the Watchtower was deafening.
The kind of silence that followed being collectively evicted from godhood’s living room for what the Infinite Realms had described as:
“Grave mortal disrespect toward His Celestial Majesty, the Infant Sovereign of Realities Known and Unknown.”
Flash was the first to move, fidgeting as he leaned over the console.
“Okay… so… not to be that guy, but was anyone else not expecting the baby god thing? I was guessing like… maybe junior prince or ghost intern?”
Wonder Woman didn’t respond. She was busy pressing her fingertips together and looking like she was about to personally duel a concept.
Batman, for once, said nothing. Possibly because his ears were still ringing from the part where the Ancients called him a “Shadow Rodent with No Decency.” (In his defense, all he’d said was “minor god” under his breath. Apparently, the Infinite Realms had incredible hearing.)
Constantine, pale and vaguely singed, lit his third cigarette since being tossed across a reality seam.
“I’ve banished helllords with better manners,” he muttered. “Did you see that one with the fire beard? He spat ectoplasm at me. That's a hate crime.”
Aquaman blinked. “Wait—wasn’t that the River Guardian of Black Ice?”
“I don’t know!” Constantine snapped. “They all look like eldritch fever dreams and I only speak eight ghost dialects!”
“Uh,” Flash said from the console, nervously tapping the keyboard. “So I was trying to Google how to send a divine apology gift basket but now I’m in firewall jail and it says ‘Touch the Infinite Again and Suffer.’ Should I… shut it off?”
The console screen blinked a warning in bright, glowing green letters:
“THE INFANT KING IS RESTING. DO NOT DISTURB OR YOU WILL EXPERIENCE ALL ERAS OF TIME SIMULTANEOUSLY.”
Flash gently powered off the console.
“…So. We wait?”
“We wait,” Batman said, grim as ever.
“And next time,” Wonder Woman added with uncharacteristic sharpness, “we send a fruit basket first. And we don’t let you,” she stared pointedly at Batman, “call a universe-warping power a minor anything.”
The Citadel of the Infinite Realms had seen many things—wars, the crowning of Ghost Kings, the eternal arguments between Frostbite and Clockwork over philosophical time loops—but nothing quite like what was unfolding now.
For once, Phantom—newly crowned Ghost King, baby god, chaos incarnate, and known lover of fudge—was not panicking. He was sprawled across a throne of stardust and obsidian, legs swinging as he munched happily on a pastel-colored lollipop shaped like a supernova. Time herself hovered nearby in an amused huff, occasionally plucking stray pieces of sugar off the Timestream’s rippling form like a tired mother cleaning up after a hyper child.
“He’s sugar-loading again,” she muttered to Clockwork.
Clockwork, long since resigned to his Chosen One’s dietary preferences, merely sipped tea from a steaming mug labeled #1 Ghost Dad and smiled. “Better that than summoning another divine council while trying to do mortal taxes.”
“It was one time!” Danny chirped without looking up.
“No,” growled the Realms. “It was five.”
“Six,” Frostbite corrected gently.
“...It felt like one time,” Danny amended with a shrug.
A shiver ran through the Infinite Realms as a new ripple echoed across its fabric. The Ancients froze.
Time narrowed her eyes. “Someone just addressed Phantom correctly.”
“Someone respected him?” Pandora asked with more hope than judgment.
The Realms themselves began purring. Like, actual, audible contented purring.
The Teen Titans had just entered the Infinite Realms.
“Okay, so, we’re doing the diplomatic visit,” Tim said, rubbing his temples. “Not a mission. Not recon. Diplomatic. Diplomacy. Which means no stabbing, no exploding, and no turning anything into a squirrel.”
“An accident that one time,” muttered Beast Boy.
“Just be polite,” Raven sighed. “Which means: don’t call him ‘dude,’ don’t throw snacks at him, and don’t try to arm-wrestle him.”
“Who even is this guy?” muttered Wonder Girl. “He’s not on the League’s registry.”
“They said his name’s Phantom,” Tim replied. “Apparently he caused a cosmological event the other week and now has a haunted kingdom that dwarfs the Watchtower.”
“That sounds fake,” said Beast Boy.
“It’s not,” Raven replied. “I felt it. He’s real. And he’s powerful.”
Starfire clapped her hands. “Then we must offer him the proper fruit arrangement! For diplomacy!”
They looked at the enormous basket of Tamaranean citrus she had balanced on one arm. No one questioned it.
“Just be respectful,” Tim said one last time.
Back in the Citadel, A new platform shimmered into being, the Realms opening space like a curtain to welcome honored guests. The Titans stepped in—and immediately paused at the sheer scale of what they’d entered.
The Citadel was larger than some planets. Its skyline was a blend of nebulae and gothic towers, swirling aurora skies above a land shaped by paradoxes and metaphors. Reality bent politely to allow their mortal minds to comprehend it.
And at the center of it all sat Phantom. Glowing, crown askew, cheeks full of sugar, legs swinging as he watched them arrive.
Beast Boy whispered, “...He’s just a kid.”
“I heard that,” Phantom said cheerfully. “Also I’m older than you now. Technically.”
Tim stepped forward. “Phantom of the Infinite Realms, we humbly request your audience as visitors from Earth and offer gifts of peace.”
He even bowed.
Raven blinked.
Phantom blinked.
The Realms shivered.
A heartbeat later, the Ancients appeared.
No explosions. No growls. No judgment.
Just surprise.
“The mortals used his proper title,” murmured Pandora.
“And brought fruit,” Frostbite added, touched.
“They see him,” whispered Clockwork, almost misty-eyed.
“DIBS,” the Realms announced, startling everyone.
Danny choked on his lollipop. “NO. No dibs. Stop dibbing people.”
The Realms did not stop.
The Formal Titles Came Next
The moment the Titans unknowingly showed proper divine etiquette, the Ancients began handing out formal titles like candy at a Halloween block party.
Tim Drake became The Strategist of Woven Time, for his foresight.
Raven was dubbed The Mind That Knows the Quiet, a psychic ambassador recognized by the Realms.
Starfire: Bearer of Flame-Bright Peace Offering. Her fruit basket had been accepted.
Beast Boy: The Green Fool Who Spoke Truth. No one was sure if this was an insult or not, but it was said fondly.
And Wonder Girl? The Shield of Mortal Will. For holding her composure when the floor briefly turned into cosmic jellyfish.
“You’re taking this surprisingly well,” Tim muttered to Raven.
“I’m dissociating,” she replied.
Back at the Watchtower, The Justice League watched the unfolding events via mystic projection and were not taking it well.
Superman looked like he’d swallowed kryptonite.
Batman’s left eye twitched.
Zatanna, hands on hips, muttered, “How are they doing this by accident?”
Constantine lit a cigarette inside the Watchtower and no one stopped him.
“Because they’re not trying to dominate or contain him,” he muttered. “They’re just... being kids. Respectful kids. Unlike some League members who called the Ghost God-King a minor.”
The room went silent.
“I didn’t know he was listening,” Batman snapped.
“HE’S TIME-ADJACENT,” shouted Zatanna. “HE’S ALWAYS LISTENING.”
Back in the Citadel, Danny offered Starfire a slice of fudge.
She beamed and took three.
“You guys are weird,” he said, but he sounded grateful. “In a good way.”
Tim smiled faintly. “Well, Your Majesty, being weird is kind of our thing.”
The Realms sighed happily. Somewhere, the stars blinked in approval.
Danny sucked on another lollipop and leaned back.
Maybe being a baby god wasn’t so bad after all.
As long as he never had to do taxes again.