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John Constantine was in a dingy hole-in-the-wall bar in some average unidentifiable town. He'd figure out where he was later, but for now he didn't care where the House of Mystery dropped him off, he just wanted a good drink. After his most recent case . . . well, it'd be a lie to say he ever expected a happy ending, those never happened. But it never got any easier dealing with the tragedies. Most days it seemed like he'd never be able to drink enough alcohol to drown his sorrows, but that didn't stop him from trying anyway.
He played with the clear, cheap glass his whiskey was in, twisting it round and round, watching the light refract and bounce onto the dry, wooden bar top. A cig was in his other hand, smoke rising up lazily in the air, curling around on itself like a mocking smile. John sighed, and threw back the drink, relishing in the burn and waiting for the warmth to kick in. He took a drag of his cig, feeling the poison fill his lungs and the fleeting flash of relief hit his soul. He already knew he'd be here for hours, smoking and drinking until he passed out and the bartender would have to wake him up and ask if he had anyone to pick him up.
No, he would say. He did not have anyone to pick him up. He had no one. All his friends were either dead or hated him or stayed away because they knew better than to get too close.
He didn't blame them.
It still smarted though.
So he would just sit here and drink and think about the newest horrors that would be joining his nightmares, the blood and grief and family members left behind, and he would think about the most recent person to leave him.
Zatanna.
He frowned at the bar top, trying to ignore the pain in his chest. She said she never wanted to speak to him again, after his plan killed her father. He got it, he did. Wouldn't be the first time something like that happened, wouldn't be the first time someone would leave because of it. Wouldn't even be the last.
Didn't make it hurt any less.
She was his everything. The reason he got up in the day, even if they weren’t together anymore, hadn't been in a long time. He still adored her, would still do anything for her, even now. But they weren't friends. They couldn't even just talk anymore, not without being reminded of Zatarra's death.
John asked for another whiskey, and another, cigarettes burning away and piling up alongside his glasses. Eventually he got woozy. Eventually he found himself plastered to the bar top. Eventually he didn't know anything at all. And just as he'd predicted, the bartender woke him up and asked if he had anyone to take him home.
“No, don't got anyone,” John mumbled, slowly getting up and wobbling towards the exit.
The night air hit him smack in the face, cooling off his heated body. He stumbled on the sidewalk, heading towards the vague direction of the House of Mystery. If the House really thought he needed the help, she'd come closer and have him smack his face into one of her doors. So really, he was fine. No need to worry.
But then John felt a lurching in space itself - so very different from the House just opening a door in front of him without warning - and he saw a flash of jagged green that blinded him midstep. He winced and closed his eyes, and his foot came down, not on cracked concrete, but empty air. John fell forward, eyes shooting open as he was swallowed by the jagged maw of green. He yelled as he fell, and heard something like a flash of energy behind him.
Whatever sort of portal that was, it just closed with John on its other side.
He felt like he tumbled and fell through an empty space and then yet another portal before he fell face first onto hard ground, nose crushed under his weight. He groaned in pain. Oh that would hurt in the morning, as if he wouldn't already have one hell of a hangover. He breathed in what he thought was dirt but it definitely didn't smell like the usual kind. Or the Hell kind. Or any-dimension-he's-been-to kind. Wonderful.
John lifted his head up and saw whirling swirls of light and dark green, the swirls most definitely moving but also not and he had to hold back the instant nausea he was hit with. He collapsed back to the floor, resting his head on his forearms and just breathing until the nausea passed. He sensed magic all around him: it was in the air, the dirt he was face down in, and it felt like innumerable souls maxed to infinity. The closest thing he could compare it to was one of the afterlives, but even still it felt like more. When he adjusted to the feeling and finally looked up again, he squinted, not wanting to get fucked by the sight of what looked like a terribly decorated neon bowling alley.
Yeah, he definitely had no idea where he was. This would not be a good time, if his track record was anything to go by. In his experience portals didn't open for no reason, meaning something brought him here, and he wasn’t exactly too keen on confronting that something; at least, not until he'd figured out a way to cheat himself out of the situation.
He moved to get up and paused at seeing the ground; purple, that was new. He stood and looked around, seeing endless waves of varying shades of green. He was standing on a small purple island, and in the distance he could see others floating too. And also what looked like, purple doors? They were too far for him to really be sure. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a wobbly-looking green staircase, more than a jump away. He supposed he could try reaching it, but there was no way to tell where it would lead and he couldn't be entirely sure it wasn't an illusion. He had no idea the rules this place worked by.
Well then.
He could stay tipsy and treat this like a bad trip, or he could use magic, immediately get sober, and try to get home sweet home.
. . . He really didn't want to be sober but even drunk him knew staying in an unknown dimension in this state would just get him killed.
Well, it would. If he could die.
Still, he wasn't keen on staying here and possibly experiencing immense pain at the moment. So, he sighed, raised his hand, grasped for the magic in the air, and . . . He frowned. This was not magic he was used to. It fought and riled and squirmed against his hand like a hissing cat, and it almost stung. It was practically screaming “Let go of me!”. Lucky for him, John's faced much worse than some temperamental ambient magic, so he just grabbed it tighter, forcing it to calm down. It did, reluctantly, but he could almost sense a sort of begrudging respect from it. He wasn't sure what to make of that. Magic wasn't sentient unless it was part of a being's essence, but there wasn't anyone he was grabbing this from . . .
He looked around in suspicion. This place was most definitely more than he thought it was. He needed to go.
And so he commanded the magic, connected it to his own mana, threaded it through to where he could feel his home dimension’s signature - he ignored how far away it felt - and uttered the words to make a bridge between the two worlds and -
Screaming, screeching pain struck through his mind, his soul. The magic rang out in a cry that made John hiss and yell and pull his hand back violently, cradling it to his chest as he felt like it was being chopped off. The air around him shuddered and quaked, and in the spot where he was opening the portal, sparks bounced from ripped, bleeding lines that closed up sluggishly.
That was not like anything he’d ever seen before.
He’d say it wasn’t normal but he had no idea what normal was for this place.
The sting faded from his hand and the warbling echoes of pain calmed down in the air. Now, it was just eerie silence, nothing but the hum of whatever magic this place was made of.
Great. So now he was sober, had an aching hand, and he had no idea what just happened and if he would be able to even get out of here given what just happened. He supposed he could try again, just, without letting go too soon. He looked up, staring blankly at the endless vertigo-inducing green. Try again and potentially get a ton of painful magical backlash but also probably get home? Or stay stuck on this little purple island in what looked like an endless dimension of green acid that probably didn’t have anything edible in it?
Well, that wasn’t really much of a debate there was it?
John took a deep breath, shook out his hand, and reached out again, feeling the squirming magic that was definitely more angry now and -
Green bindings wrapped around him slamming his arm back into his side. He yelled in surprise as he was restrained in a condensed form of the very magic around him, literally bubbling with contained energy. “I wouldn’t do that again if I were you,” a rich voice spoke from behind him, sending chills down his back.
He was dragged back and turned around, forced to come face-to-face with what looked like a green demon. Red eyes frowned at him, and white flames danced on the head of the demon that’d caught him. A large gear sat on his chest, and chains sprouted from it, wrapping all around his torso. A cape fell from his back. Those red eyes glanced him up and down, measuring him up, and then the demon sneered as if he found John lacking. John felt a bit insulted at that honestly, even if it was to his advantage.
“You’re the one who Clockwork and the Observants deemed actually concerning enough to work together for once and get me to come after you?” He tilted his head. “You don’t seem like much, just another human.”
Names he didn't know. That was rare. John frowned at the demon's last sentence. “Oh I may not look it but I know how to cause quite a bit of trouble. Are you the bugger that brought me here?”
The demon grinned, sharp fangs glinting, maliciousness oozing off of him. “Brought you here? Oh human, no one brought you here. The Realms just have a habit of taking in unsuspecting visitors.”
Well that sounded just right didn’t it. So this place was alive in a way then, and it apparently liked to just snatch people from other dimensions willy nilly. And of course John just happened to get caught. Really, it was just his luck. John raised a brow. “I don’t suppose the ‘Realms’ can just open a new portal and let me go back home, can they?”
The smug bastard laughed. “Ha, no! Natural portals are random, completely unpredictable, and unlikely to ever open up again to where you need them to go.”
Well wasn’t that just swell.
The demon’s smile slipped into annoyance. “Lucky for you, however,” he said as if this was far too much trouble, “I have been sent to help you get home. Whoever you are, the Observants have never seen you before, which means you aren’t remotely from here.”
John rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, this isn’t exactly my home dimension.”
The demon shook his head. “No, more than that. You don’t exist anywhere in any timeline here, which means you aren’t from this universe at all.”
John froze. Not from this universe. Bugger, he wasn’t even in his own universe anymore?! No wonder his home’s signature felt so far away! It still didn’t explain why the portal didn’t work though. He’s been to neighboring universes before, other dimensions within those other universes, and he was still able to open a portal home. He frowned. “I’ve been to alternate universes before, and was still able to open a portal to get home. What’s so different about here?”
The demon shrugged. “I’ve been told the only way The Observants wouldn’t know you is if you came from an entire multiverse away.” The demon looked up in thought. “Never thought this was how I would learn that the multiverse exists. Or that there’s whole other sets of multiverses. Guess there are some perks to this job.” That last line sounded very sarcastic.
Bollocks. A whole multiverse away. Well, that was new and utterly terrifying. He hadn’t heard of anyone traveling to a whole other multiversal set. Anyone worth their salt in dimension and universe hopping knew that every universe that was most alike was bunched up into sets, like apples in a basket. The theory was that there were multiple “baskets” out there, with universes entirely different from our own universal neighbors. Except no one had been daft enough to confirm that because breaking into another “basket” was just asking to be bombarded with problems you were not equipped to deal with, not to mention you would be literally breaking the fabric of reality and probably not be able to fix it. And John had somehow managed to break into another basket. And he hadn’t even tried.
John was feeling very slighted by the universe - multiverse as it were. He was certain reality itself was laughing at him. He hissed at the demon, “How in the bloody hells is your dimension, your universe, opening up portals into whole other multiverses?!”
The demon sighed, and started heading towards the edge of the island, John cursing as he was dragged floating behind him. The demon then started flying and took John with him. Maybe not a demon then. Demons typically didn’t fly unless they had wings. John had no idea what this being was; this “Realms” place clearly had creatures he’d never seen before. Mr. Rich Voice started talking again, voice lazy like he couldn’t care less. “From what I’ve been told, apparently back when the Ghost King, Pariah Dark, was in his world-conquering phase, he tried to conquer our other universes. But those universes were filled with more versions of himself, and they were just as strong. So, he decided he’d try his chances with different universes entirely. He’d torn a hole through the veils of reality, and ended up making an opening into your universe. Or, your multiverse at least. The Observants have no way of knowing what exactly happens on your side. But, lucky for you, the Ancients defeated Pariah Dark before he could even set a foot into your universe.”
Ok, bloody info dump. There was a conquering Ghost King - who seemed to have already been taken care of, so thank fuck for that - which meant this guy was probably a ghost, but he wasn’t like any ghost John had ever seen, so clearly ghosts worked by different rules here.
The ghost looked back at him, flaming hair and long cape undulating with no wind. “Since then, there hasn’t been any contact between our worlds. Until now.”
John sagged in his binds. “Swell. Any idea why?”
The ghost shrugged. “None at all. Best guess is that there’s been natural portals opening on your end ever since, it’s just that no one’s been unlucky enough to get caught before.”
John sighed and looked to the heavens. He wondered if there even was a Heaven here. “And of course I was the bloke who was unlucky enough to win the inter-universal lottery. Just another episode in my terrible life.” John looked back to the ghost. “How exactly are you gettin’ me home?
The ghost swung around, flying backwards as he reclined in the air itself. “The only way to safely get you home is to use the original tear as a gateway. Creating a new tear, like you were doing, would have caused more damage to our universes.”
John winced at that. Maybe next time he should listen when the ambient magic yells at him. At least here. He couldn’t promise for anywhere else. John eyed the ghost though. He’d been awfully forthcoming, giving away information. Maybe he just liked to talk, but John couldn’t trust it. He’d made a lot of enemies over the years, learned to never trust anyone at first glance. The ghost said he was helping him get home, but John had no way of knowing if that was true or not. He had no idea what the ghosts here did with humans. The bloke looked an awful lot like a demon. Who’s to say the ghosts here didn’t act like demons too? Hell, maybe they were this universe’s demons.
He started feeling around the binds with his mana, testing their hold on him. They snarled back at him like rabid dogs behind a cage. He tried to make them submit, like he had with the ambient magic earlier, careful to not actually break the binds yet, but they wouldn’t listen at all. It was like the magic was deaf to him. John looked at his “guide” again. It made sense. If the magic was coming from him, then it would be entirely under his control. If John wanted to break out of these binds, he’d have to brute force it with his own mana. It’ll eat into his own reserves quite a bit, but it wouldn’t be impossible. He was sure he could get out if he needed it. It helped that the ghost already didn’t think much of him. Though, then that would leave him stranded in a practically empty void with no way to get around and probably pissed off ghost . . . For now, he would keep his cards hidden.
John asked another question. “And why can the Realms open up natural portals to my universe whenever it wants without going through the original tear?”
The ghost flippantly waved a hand. “The Zone knows how to navigate itself without tearing itself apart. Most of the time.”
John was confused. “The Zone?”
Another flippant hand wave. “The Ghost Zone, alternate name for the Infinite Realms.”
Ah, well, important places usually had more than one name. “Where is the original tear anyway? Doesn’t seem like there’s much for landmarks here.”
The ghost chuckled. “Yes, apparently Pariah’s rule left it quite empty, whole Lairs destroyed and others left in pieces.” This Pariah Dark was just right and dandy wasn’t he. And why was this ghost laughing about it? It did not make John feel better about being dragged around by this guy but it wasn’t as if he had any other options at the moment. The ghost turned forward again. “The tear is at Pariah’s Keep, somewhere underneath it to be exact.” He grins sharply. “I do hope Fright Knight will pick a fight. It’s been a while since I last saw him.”
Oh that really didn’t make John feel any better. This ghost was just a little to eager for a fight. Not that John couldn’t understand but today was not the day for a good tussle. He was still bruised and exhausted from dealing with demons. He hadn’t even showered yet. And that name. “Fright Knight? Really? What is he, some villain from a B-rated Halloween movie?”
The ghost laughed brightly. “Close. He’s the Spirit of Halloween, and he’s very good at striking fear into anyone’s hearts. Has it down to an art form, really.” The ghost glanced at John with a sadistic smile. “I hope you don’t have many fears, he can send you to a dimension built around your personal nightmares. Try not to get caught by his sword.”
Oh bugger, just why. If they faced him, John was not looking forward to facing his worst fears. He’d already had one mental breakdown, thank you. He didn’t need to check himself into another hospital. John grumbled in his binds, glaring at the laughing ghost. He grit his jaw. “Bet my nightmares would break your mind, ghostie. Supernatural being or not.”
The ghost smiled a mean grin at him. “Is that so?”
John smiled bitterly back. “The stuff I’ve seen would’ve made most people kill themselves decades ago. You’ve no idea the sorts of hells I’ve been through.”
The ghost’s smile grew wider, a gleam in his red eyes. “Interesting. I would take that bet.”
John scoffed. “And I’d win it.”
The ghost barked out a laugh, flaming hair dancing around with his amusement. “Maybe you’ll have to show me these horrors of yours, human. I’ve been a bit bored lately.”
John scowled. “No thanks, I’d like to keep what little is left of my sanity. And the name is John Constantine.”
The ghost shrugged smugly. “Suit yourself, John Constantine.”
And damn it, some part of John was actually a bit pleasantly surprised. No one back home ever said his name right, not even the demons (though, he was half-sure that was on purpose. The other half was that they just didn’t care). The only ones who did were from the good ol’ motherland, but he hadn’t been back in years and he’d lost contact with his friends . . .
John shook his head. “And what’s your name spooks? Think I get to know the name of my own personal tour guide.”
The ghost quieted at that, face falling to something more neutral. Maybe tired. “I have no name. I’m just the phantom.”
John raised a brow skeptically. “‘The phantom’? Bit dramatic no? You’re a ghost aren’t you? Meaning you had a life, a name. Why don’t you use that one?”
The phantom scowled, flame hair acting up and roiling around itself. John kept an eye on it, wondering what it would look like if he really royally pissed off the ghost. “My old life is dead, in every way. It doesn’t exist anymore. I am not who I was before. You could even say I was only just born after my old life ended.”
That sounded like a heavy load of tragic backstory that John was admittedly nosy enough to want to hear about. The ghost probably had a good reason for not having a name. But John also just couldn’t help being a bit of a jackass about it. “Couldn’t name yourself after you were ‘born’ could you? Would sure make addressing you easier.”
Burning red eyes flashed at him, flame hair growing even wilder. The phantom bared his fangs. “I was too busy destroying the world to think about something as useless as a new name.”
Ah, well. John wasn’t quite expecting that but maybe he really should have, given his track record.
And still, John wanted to know. Knowledge was power after all. Maybe he could find out something to throw the phantom off his game if the ghost tried to suck out his soul or something. He reckoned the phantom might actually succeed at that. No need to worry about demon contracts when they were based in a totally different universal basket. Probably. Maybe. Did that mean his contracts wouldn't keep him alive then? Bollocks, he'd have to be more careful than usual then.
He frowned at the phantom, most definitely untrusting of him now that he'd learned that fun fact and also entirely wary of possibly being led to his death at this moment. “And what in blazes would make you do that?”
The phantom seemed a bit taken aback, blinking at John’s frankly nonchalant reaction, considering what he’d just admitted to. The phantom raised a brow. “You’re taking this rather well. Usually people react with horror and fear.”
“Mate you’re far from the first world-ending maniac I’ve ever met, and you’ll most certainly not be the last. And considering you're in chains and taking orders, I’m willing to bet you got dealt with just fine.”
The phantom growled, flame hair rising up and writhing like an ocean of flames. “Considering my timeline had to be erased for me to be ‘dealt with’, I’d say there was a heavy price to pay for me to be ‘taking orders’ at all.”
A pit of dread pooled in his core. John was legitimately gobsmacked at that. To actually erase a whole timeline just to deal with one enemy . . . he glared at the phantom, trying to see how much power he could possibly hold. John had never heard of anyone erasing a timeline to deal with an enemy before. Though, he supposed he wouldn’t have heard of it anyway if it did happen. Either way, that meant this phantom was far more of a threat than the usual wankers.
“Alright, I’ll admit, you must have been one hell of a beast to need that to take you down. But then how are you here? You should’ve faded with the rest of your timeline, shouldn’t ya?”
The phantom sneered and flicked the chains on his body. “These do more than just show my status. They quite literally keep me anchored to the timeline.”
Good to know. John would most definitely be making note of that.
“Now why would anyone bother to keep a world-ending threat like you around?”
The phantom stared into the void, gaze distant. “They saw potential in us.”
Us? John scoffed. “That’s quite the risk to take.”
The phantom grinned at that. “Oh I know. I was going to take advantage of that in the beginning, but then . . .” He shook his head. Apparently the ghost did have a limit on when to stop talking. He looked up, and nodded ahead of them. “Where almost at Pariah’s Keep. I’d suggest staying out of the fight if Fright Knight comes out to play. Wouldn’t want you to lose the rest of your sanity, man of horrors.”
John stared flatly at him. “Gee, thanks, I’ll be sure to remember that, Mr. Mass Murderer.”
The phantom just rolled his eyes with a slight smile and continued onward. As they got closer John saw more tiny islands clustered together, only green instead of purple. They were in clusters, and as they saw more and more of them, John realized that these must’ve been one whole piece of land at one point. It was a glimpse into the sort of destruction that Pariah Dark’s reign must have wrought. Or the battle that took him down.
Soon enough, they got to Pariah’s Keep, and John grimaced at the red architecture, at the hanging bridges and sharp towers. This really wasn’t doing anything but make him further confirm that the ghosts here were just this universe’s version of demons. The architecture was just so hellish.
The phantom caught John's expression and chuckled. “I know, Pariah's tastes leave something to be desired.”
John glanced at him. “Good to know you don't like vampire chic. You would've lost any respect I could've possibly had for you for that.”
The phantom laughed. “‘Vampire chic’, you have no idea. No, I prefer something more, sleek.”
John looked the phantom up and down. Ignoring the chains, it did look like he was wearing a skin-tight suit. Could've easily passed for a hero suit, really. Though the cape did add a little flourish. John looked at the phantom again. “Good to know. Now what does this ‘Fright Knight’ look like, so I know when I need to duck and cover?”
The phantom brought them forward, heading towards beneath the main island. “Tall. Decked in dark armor. Long purple flaming hair and a glowing green sword. Sometimes has his nightmare alicorn with him. Has a real penchant for rhyming, when he isn't trying to make you suffer for eternity.”
John raised a brow. “Are you sure you lot aren't this universe’s version of demons? Cuz with the garish architecture and the rhyming, you lot would fit right in at Hell. In fact, there's a demon that'd probably feel at home here, if it weren't for the lack of ground. Likes rhyming too. Might get along with your ‘Fright Knight’.”
The phantom actually thought about it. “Huh. Actually, we might be. Technically, we're everything here. Every myth, legend, or folktale the world has ever had is probably based off a ghost.”
Ah. That wasn't quite the answer John was expecting, but it was an answer.
The phantom raised a brow at John. “Deal often with demons, do you?”
John sighed heavily. “Unfortunately. Been in the business too long to keep away. It latches onto you like a vice. And,” John looked up with resigned bitterness, “there's no one else around who's willing to do what needs to be done for the best ending.”
John knew he'd done this to himself, started dabbling with magic and demons when he was just a kid. But at this point . . . He couldn't just let other naive idiots like his younger self get killed by the demonic. So he'll keep jumping back in, no matter what it costs.
The phantom studied him quietly. “Hmm, everyone else is too much of a goody-two shoes to get the job done?”
“That,” John would have waved an arm if he could, “and no one else is as good at cheating demons out of their own knickers.”
The phantom burst out laughing at that, hair curling around. “Oh I would love to see that.”
John shot back a grin. “It's hilarious when they realize they've been tricked. Do you know how much of a blow to their ego it is to have been tricked by a human? They turn immediately to murder but they can never kill me.” Literally, but he didn't need to tell the ghost that was basically a demon stand-in that.
The phantom chuckled. “You are fun, John Constantine. It's been a while since I last had such a riveting conversation with a human.”
John gave one of his more dashing smiles. “I'm always a riot to be around.”
The phantom smiled back. “I'm sure.”
By this point they were directly below the main island, and there was still no sign of Fright Knight. The phantom sighed. “I suppose there won't be any fighting today.” He seemed wistful.
John raised a judgmental brow. “You really wanted to get into a fight when you've got another errand to run already? Said errand being me?”
The phantom rolled his eyes. “Can you blame a ghost for wanting to fight? It's practically all we do anyway.”
And yet more demon traits. Really, ghosts should not be so similar to demons.
The phantom looked straight down. John looked down with him. “I don't exactly see any sort of interdimensional tear here.”
The phantom crossed his arms. “No. The Observants didn't say exactly where it was, just a general area. They'd decided they'd already interfered too much by telling me to pick you up.”
“Ah, so they're the ‘no interference’ type of time deities?”
“Basically. Except for when it's, you know, the end of the world.” The phantom casually gestured at himself.
Right. John was having a little too much fun and forgot that for a bit.
The phantom started leading them down, down, down. There was no sign of a tear still, and well, John needed to do something to pass the time. So more questions it was. “Earlier, you mentioned a ‘Clockwork’. If the Observants watch over time, what does this ‘Clockwork’ do?”
The phantom scowled, hair flickering in what might have been irritation. “The Observants watch over only one timeline, the course the world is currently on, the path that's most likely to happen. Clockwork sees all of time's probabilities, and unlike the Observants, he has actual control over time.”
John could see a picture forming. “Ah, so he's the reason your timeline is gone.”
The phantom glared at him. “Yes.”
John wasn't phased. He couldn't even say he felt bad; the bloke had tried to destroy the world, and he paid for it. John would do the same to his own enemies if it were the only way to save the world. Though another thought came to mind. “So when you said they saw potential in you, this Clockwork quite literally saw timelines where you would do some good then?”
The phantom scoffed, though his eyes showed conflicted emotions. “Not quite. I'd say he's an old fool who doesn't know what he's doing, but his gambles pay off even when he doesn't mean for them to.” John would probably have a hell of a time trying to con this time deity. Would make for a good time. “Really I'm just a tool for my,” he hesitated, “guardian to redeem himself. Apparently, Plasmius giving up his body to keep me anchored to the timeline reaffirmed Clockwork's belief that second chances are worth it. Though, Plasmius keeps trying to convince me that applies to me too.”
John hummed. “He's probably right. I reckon Clockwork wouldn't have let you stick around if he thought you'd destroy the world again.”
The phantom rolled his eyes. “He also prefers to let us make our own choices and face our own consequences as long as they specifically don't lead to the end of the world. Everything else is fair game. And I'm literally in chains right now. He most likely saw that I would still be a threat, just one that would make a lesser threat better.”
John shrugged. “Could be. But your guardian’s hunch is just as likely. Probably. Can't see all of time's probabilities like your local time deity.”
The phantom just let out a short chuckle and they fell into silence. Down they kept going, more crumbling pieces of islands floating by themselves. Pieces of the Keep could be seen sometimes: a broken tower here, a shattered wall there. And of course, endless swirls of green. Though, John could swear the swirls were starting to make sense. They were starting to look like a whirlpool.
John's arms were honestly starting to go numb from how long they'd been pressed against his sides. And he was starting to get twitchy. He really wanted a cig. Just how long had it been? Hard to tell time when there was no sun or moon. He glanced at the phantom. He'd been amicable enough, despite being a tried and true threat to existence. Maybe he'd be willing to oblige. “Oi, think you can let my arms go free? They're going numb and I'd like a smoke.”
The phantom just raised a brow at him, then waved his hand. John was just expecting his arms to go free, for the binds to still be around his torso so he wouldn't go dropping into the green abyss. Instead, a green platform formed beneath John's feet, and then the binds disappeared.
John's arms tingled and he frowned at the phantom. “You could have carted me around like this the whole time?”
The phantom shrugged, a smile on his lips. “You were about to rip a hole through reality. I had to be efficient.”
“Yes but after you bastard.”
The phantom just grinned wider. “It slipped my mind.”
John grumbled as he dug in his pockets, finding his pack of cigs, taking one out, and lighting it with a snap of his fingers. He took a drag, and sighed out the smoke in relief.
The phantom whistled. “Neat trick.”
John blew out a ring of smoke at him. “I don't do shows, don't much care for performing for mindless twits.”
The phantom flashed his fangs. “Shame, I might have bought a ticket.” And he flew them further down, John having to regain his footing as he lurched, him having to rely on his own two feet now.
The swirls were clearly forming a whirlpool now. The center looked like a little pin prick from where they were, glowing highly condensed green. John could feel the magic in the air being sucked through it, like a break in the hull of a spaceship. He could see why the higher ups here didn't want him making another hole. Wouldn't do to have what might as well be air to the ghosts be sucked out to a universe it doesn't belong.
Soon enough they were finally at the maw of the gaping wound, magic bleeding through to its other side. If it had a gravitational pull John would have been sucked right on through. Though a glance at the phantom told John the same wasn't quite true for him. He was floating just fine, arms crossed, an intense look of interest - but not effort - being directed towards the tear, but his fire hair and cape were being pulled towards the wound. Interesting. So ghosts were made of the very magic they used. It was nice to have that confirmed.
John took another drag on his cig. “So this where you drop me off then?”
The phantom hummed. “No, I'm curious. I want to see what's on the other side.”
John raised a brow. “Not worried about your bosses thinking you've run away?”
The phantom snorted. “They couldn't stop me if I tried.”
John was willing to bet Clockwork could, time powers and all, but said time powers also would've told him already if the phantom would run away. So he either wanted the phantom to become John's universe's problem, or he wasn't worried the phantom would run. John scowled a bit at that. He really hoped it wasn't the former. He still hadn't gathered enough information to really be ready if things went sideways. He could try the usual spells for ghosts and wayward souls, but the ghosts here were so different from home he knew he'd have to adjust his spells specifically for them. Maybe the spells meant for gods, if he really had to. But his best bet would be finding Plasmius, the phantom’s guardian. The fact that the bloke seemed to care might make the phantom listen; or distract him long enough for John to figure something else out.
John sighed out a cloud of smoke. “Into the universe's maw we go then.”
They stepped forward into the wound. Immediately upon doing so, John felt a marked drop in the ambient magic, and the phantom shuddered. On the other side was a long vibrant tunnel of green that had waves of magic pulsing towards the end. In between the waves however, they caught glimpses of a black, endless void, sometimes empty faces and what seemed like chunks of abandoned towns.
The Phantom looked around in unease. “The Unworld.”
John hummed, cig burning bright. “We call this Limbo, back home. Nasty place your Ghost King tore into.”
They continued forward, steps echoing and mixing into the pulsing beats of the magical energy. Before long they made it to the end, a wall of green seemingly blocking the way. The phantom reached forward and swept his hand through it, coming away with green water dripping off his hand, steam rising up. “Ectoplasm. Feels angry too, angrier than me. I wouldn't touch that if I were you. It's always a gamble how much it affects humans. You'll either be stuck with a chronic illness for years or get immediately fried with overwhelming energy. Either way you'll end up with your ghost in your body. And with how angry it is it might overwhelm your ghost to insanity.”
“My - what?” John almost choked on his smoke for a second. He was very confused. “Do you mean a soul? I have my soul.” The demons hadn't come to collect on that. Never would with the way he played them.
The phantom tilted his head at him. “Hmm.” He put a hand on his chin as he thought. He tilted red eyes down at John. “How do ghosts work in your world?”
John crossed his arms, cig hanging from his hand and dropping ash onto the floor of the interdimensional tunnel. “Our souls reside in our bodies. When our bodies die, our soul either moves on to an afterlife or stays stuck in the mortal realm, hung up on regrets. It's the ones that stick around that get called ghosts.”
The phantom nodded his head. “Interesting. Here, the body's soul and the ghost develop simultaneously, just separately. The ghost holds everything the soul channels to it that the body can't hold. When the body dies, the soul dies with it, and the ghost is left behind.” He nodded towards the wall. “Getting in contact with so much volatile, concentrated ectoplasm would force a ghost to dwell in their body, just on a different plane.” He turned to stare at John. “But your world doesn't have ghosts like ours. It seems like your bodies are perfectly capable of holding every emotion in them. I don't know what ectoplasm would do to you, other than probably make you violently sick as your body rejects something it was never meant to hold. Maybe it would drive your soul itself insane, rather than your ghost.”
John eyed the green wall of angry magical water. Ectoplasm, apparently. And not the Ghost Busters kind. “Yeah I'm not taking my chances. If it’s anything like the taste of backlash I got earlier, it'd probably fry my body into a crisp.” Not to say he wasn't curious on if he could make this work for him somehow. If ectoplasm was the source of a ghost’s power, what they were made of, if he could gamble just right if the occasion called for it . . . Though he wasn't sure if he wanted another him running around, glowing green and who knows what else as clearly, ghosts did not look like their living counterparts. Though, a copy of his soul would come in handy if the demons ever did come collecting, as unlikely as that was.
The phantom rolled his shoulders. “I'll guide you through, I suppose.”
John almost shot him a look at that. If the bloke was trying to run from his home and cause wanton destruction in John's, he'd have another thing coming. The phantom was this universe’s brand of ghost, not a regretful soul, but John would bet his spells would work well enough to at least cause him a world of hurt.
The phantom raised his hand and made a bubble of ectoplasm form around them. He lifted them up and through the wall. Passing through, John felt the energies of his home like a “welcome back”, albeit behind a veritable sea of ectoplasm. The phantom instead looked curious at the green around them, probably sensing more of that anger. He seemed to be looking for somewhere to drop John off, but couldn't tell if there was an end to the sea. John could tell, and it wasn't anywhere close to here.
“If you're looking for a ledge to drop me off at, you won't find it any time soon.” John finally finished his cigarette, and fished for another one. “I can sense all this. It's practically an ocean. Would take days to find a dry spot.” He snapped his fingers and lit it. He tucked a hand into his coat pocket, the other taking the cig to his mouth. He breathed in, and blew out. “I can take it from here. You can head on back to your bosses, report in or whatever it is you do.”
He could see the phantom thinking, flames flickering erratically and eyes distant. John prepared a few spells, some to restrain, and others to make a shield of his own: he would have to hope one of them would hold up against the volatile ectoplasm. He'd have to study it when he got the chance, to make proper defenses for it.
The phantom's flames calmed, and he looked at John. “Try not to fall into another natural portal. Or do. I wouldn't mind talking with you again. You're more fun than most of the company I keep.”
John's shoulders relaxed, and he blew out a puff of smoke. He smiled. “Don't worry, if you see me again it sure won't be on accident.” He raised his hands, drew on the energies of his world, his home, and called upon his mana. He twined them together, used the natural energies of the world to bolster his meager reserves, and spoke the words to form a bridge from here to where he desired, and a golden gate opened in air before them. Through it, he saw the door of the House of Mystery waiting for him. “See ya around, ghostie.” He waved goodbye with a two-finger salute, and stepped through the portal, whispering a marker into place so he could find this sea again. The last thing he saw of the phantom was his mildly impressed look, and the slight smile on his face.
He stepped onto solid, whole concrete, and breathed in the smog-filled air of whatever city he was in. He took another drag of his smoke and stepped towards the House. All in all, that was the calmest impromptu trip to another universe he'd ever had - aside from the fact that there was a bleeding hole in reality but there wasn't anything he could do about that. If even the gods hadn't handled it, there probably wasn't much to be done. But still, he was pleasantly surprised at how well that went; essentially no violence at all. He was entirely certain his universe would balance that out in the next few weeks.
He opened the House’s door and stepped into the foyer, steps thudding on the wooden floors. He went to the washroom, ready to finally shower and then sleep the next day away. After that, he would research.
Actual, real ectoplasm, and a whole dimension full of it. Not to mention a whole bunch of ghosts made of it, who apparently enjoy fighting and were basically the gods and demons of that world.
The best way to learn was straight from the source; he could probably find plenty of resources on ghosts in the Realms, ancient artifacts maybe. And if not, he still had the living realm to explore there. He found it hard to believe the humans there wouldn't have literature on their own beasties.
To start with, he'd have to make sure he could safely get through to the other side in the first place, which meant making sure his shield spells could hold up to the angry green energy, in case his portal attempts failed. Then seeing about designing a spell that could navigate through the tear the same way the natural portals seemed to do.
Then he could run amok to his rotted heart’s content.
And, to be perfectly honest, John wouldn't mind running into the phantom again. Mate was fun to talk to, despite his absolutely atrocious past. It wasn't as if John hadn't made friends with some demons before; a mass murdering ghost wasn't too different.
So yes, he would definitely be going back again. After sleeping. He was utterly knackered.