The League’s Mistake
Batman doesn’t believe in ghosts.
Until the footage.
A boy — pale hair, green eyes — walks into a cult den.
Dozens of men vanish.
Superman calls it “metahuman interference.”
Zatanna just mutters, “King Phantom.”
By the time they trace the ectosignature, the child is gone.
And the ashes are still warm.
They think it’s over.
It never is.
A week later, a League satellite picks up the same signature —
deep under Gotham.
Wonder Woman wants to intervene.
Batman tells her, “We don’t even know if it’s alive.”
Then comes the voice.
Not over comms — inside their minds.
“You called me an anomaly.”
“You should have called me Your Majesty.”
Every shadow in the Batcave flickers green.
Every monitor shows the same face — the boy.
White hair glowing like a dying star.
He smiles.
“You keep chasing monsters. But you never ask why they run.”
Zatanna is shaking now.
She’s seen this before — in grimoires that even Hell refuses to touch.
“He’s not a ghost,” she whispers.
“He’s the one they made King.”
And then the power surges.
The alarms die.
The lights burn out.
When they come back on, the cave is empty.
No heroes. No signals. No trace.
Only one message carved into the console, burning faintly with ectoplasmic flame:
“Next time, ask permission before entering my Realms.”
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