Danny Phantom, the Ghost King and part-time Justice League member, stood in the Watchtower briefing room, arms crossed and very much trying to look professional. The meeting had been dragging on, and his phone had already buzzed twice, much to Batman’s annoyance.
The third time, it started vibrating again, drawing glares from the Dark Knight and a few raised eyebrows from other Leaguers.
"Phantom," Batman said, his voice a growl.
Danny sighed, pulling out his phone. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Ghost King business doesn’t wait. Let me just—" He hit the answer button with a sharp jab.
"What?!" Danny snapped, glaring at the screen.
The room fell silent. They hadn’t seen Phantom lose his temper like this before.
On the other end, a smooth, deep voice oozed through the speaker.
"Respectfully, my liege, I ask that you reconsider my proposal on—"
Danny cut him off mid-sentence. "Not today, Satan." With an exasperated sigh, he ended the call and pocketed the phone without another thought.
The reaction was immediate. Superman chuckled, Green Lantern grinned, and Flash burst into laughter. Even Wonder Woman's lips twitched upward.
"Nice," Hal said, giving Phantom a thumbs-up. "Solid delivery."
Danny waved it off. "What can I say? He’s persistent, and I’ve got no time for his nonsense today."
But not everyone was laughing. Constantine sat ramrod straight, pale as a sheet, his cigarette dangling precariously from his lips.
"Danny," Constantine croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Was that the Satan? Like... Lucifer Morningstar Satan?"
Danny blinked, tilting his head. "Uh, yeah? Who else would it be? Dude’s been pestering me about a territorial dispute with the Infinite Realms for weeks."
The entire room went quiet again, and all eyes turned to Constantine. The seasoned warlock looked like he might pass out on the spot.
"You just hung up on the actual Devil," Constantine hissed, his British accent thick with disbelief.
Danny shrugged. "Yeah, and? He’s one of my subjects. I’m the Ghost King. I outrank him. If he wants to whine about his little hellish boundaries, he can take a number."
Constantine’s eyes darted around the room, desperately seeking someone to share in his existential terror, but the rest of the League didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of what just happened.
"You outrank..." Constantine trailed off, rubbing his temples. "Bloody hell, kid, you don’t just hang up on Lucifer!"
Danny smirked, leaning casually against the wall. "Oh, I do. And I’ll do it again if he calls during League meetings. I’ve got enough on my plate without playing arbiter for Hell’s bureaucracy."
Clark patted Constantine on the shoulder. "Relax, John. Sounds like Danny has it under control."
John groaned. "We’re all doomed."
Danny, unfazed, pulled out his phone again and started texting. "Now, if we’re done freaking out, can we get back to the meeting? Or do I need to block Satan’s number to make that happen?"
The League collectively laughed, except for Constantine, who was muttering something about needing stronger wards and a drink.
