Shade of Despair and personification of War.
Pariah Dark only knew war.
Throughout both life and death, was he hardened by it. The thrill of battle, the whirlwind of blood and steel, the sound of metal clashing against metal and sheer satisfaction at the end of it all.
He was among the first, the very few that came with the expanse of the infinite itself. He belongs to it, and it laid an inexplicable claim upon him and the others that were born with him.
He did not know much, then. But he knew he had a purpose, one that called for something, something that laid out of reach for himself then, and not something he could've gotten from the infinite at that moment.
They were not connected to each other, despite coming into existence at roughly the same time. They had their purposes, and they fulfilled them, for at that moment they knew they only existed that singular purpose alone.
Except, he didn't.
So he left.
He was 'alive' in a rough sense of the word. He was not birthed, thrust into life as so many that came before and shaped the infinite from their beliefs. Yet he walked among them all the same.
He searched for his purpose, not understanding humanity's many values and woes, how they could live their lives without having a predetermined purpose of their own, yet he found himself feeling just the tiniest of similarity to the mortals, for they did not know their purpose.
So did he.
Then, he chanced upon it.
War.
It called to him, sang its sweet and bloody call of despair and hope to his ears, throughout his body, circling around his core and suddenly he saw it, knew it.
His purpose.
He sang the song of war, furthering its melodies and corralling others to be entranced and caught in its endless web.
He sang its song throughout all walks of life, as a peasant, a humble farmer, a hardened soldier, a noble, a king, a warlord, the child of a god to some, and a living god to others.
It did not matter what he was at that very moment, he heard its call and sang its melodies until it came to its end, then moving onto the next.
He was a blade crafted for war, hardened through its many battles and carelessly soaked in the blood of many and being one of many molded to its sweet song until he could be called a masterpiece.
Then it came to an end.
He was a fool, who believed that war would never end so long as he remained, so long as humans craved conflict.
But it did, and it left him confused, and surprised.
Humans found peace with each other. Something he never thought possible, something he didn't believe could be possible, but they reached for it, longed for it, and managed to obtain it.
He was not pleased.
There were only so many small skirmishes he could partake in before his hunger turned insatiable. He could sing its song, but with no others to join it could only last for a moment before ending as it began.
This. This was not something he expected, not something he could wrap his mind around.
Humanity lived it, breathed it, bestowed the secrets and his purpose upon him.
So how could they suddenly just stop as if it were no longer important? As if it were not just a part of themselves, something to satisfy and tame their ever-growing hunger and bloodlust?
Just as he left for the finite in the long before, he found himself roaming back to the infinite.
He came face to face with one of the first, Time itself. They were not enemies, nor were they friends, but they had an illusion of a link, of being among the first, what humans would call an 'old friend.'
Just as quickly and suddenly as time made itself known, so to, did it slip from his grasp.
What he saw from the infinite was not pleasing, nor did it leave him with a sense of dissatisfaction of any kind.
It just was.
They were much more than the first few, souls coming and out from the mortal plain, ghosts that formed from the infinite itself. Many upon many.
There was no order, perhaps an illusion of it, but an illusion it was nonetheless.
Just as the humans gave him war, did he bestow upon his home its sweet song.
He was conflict, he was bloodshed, he was the blade forged for, and perfected through war.
He was war's manifestation, and Fear became his tool, friend, and ally all in one.
Humanity bestowed upon him war, and he shall return their gift by reigniting its flame that went out inside each and every one of them by crushing that ideal of peace and make them descend back into the savagery and bloodshed of war.
He was war, and not all shared his ideals.
The fools, who dared to challenge and prevent him from fulfilling his purpose. He was created for it, hardened by it, perfect through blood and despair.
Despite it all, he failed.
His punishment being sent to sleep eternal until he could cease what he was created for.
He never did, and such he was never free.
Until a not quite ghost set him free, seeking to claim his power for his own. Yet his purpose, his ideal, never changed. He called upon Fear, who always accompanied him throughout, and he called upon the endless army in service.
And waged war.
He was conflict, he was bloodshed, he was a blade forged for and perfected through war. Crafted by the infinite and shaped by the finite.
He was war, and faced to face with a not quite ghost who pushed for the ideal of peace, the thing that robbed him of his purpose, the enemy of his ideal.
They clashed, and he found himself losing.
Yet he could not find it displeasing, just as the battle with the Ancients, it gave him pleasure to clash against someone who sought to challenge his ideal.
The fight did not give him as much satisfaction as that of the Ancients, where he pushed himself past his limits, drawn strength deeper and deeper from his core, straining his reflexes to combat that of six against one that sent thrills throughout him.
But it satisfied him, nonetheless.
He was conflict, the spiller of blood and the personification of War and one of the many shades of Despair.
He was War, a part of Despair, challenged by a boy who called for the song of hope and peace.
His loss paved the way for it, and the familiarity of eternal slumber embraced him once more.
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Constantine & the King
First time Constantine meets the Ghost King, he's expecting problems. In his line of work, when all the shadows in the room seem to be pulled toward a point in the room. Creating a dark portal that suddenly glowed a startling green, it's more than concerning.
However, Constantine was thrown off by the young man that stepped out of the portal. Young man could be putting it generously. The kid looked barely legal to drink.
However the kid was holding a scroll that looked thicker than his own head. A crown, ring, and cape that just screamed royalty.
Constantine did not expect the kid to greet with joy and friendliness.
It was the Ghost King. The being that held full control over that aspect of the mythical realms. His name was Danny, and Constantine found the kid's lack of professionalism a nice break.
That scroll? Every contract Constantine ever signed that used his soul as a bargianing chip.
Now, Constantine expected annoyance. If his soul was technically meant to end up in the grasp of thw King, wouldn't the kid be pissed?
After all, Constantine was certain one of those contracts was with the prior Ghost King.
Except, Danny loved it. He was all grins and laughter as he spoke about it. The kid complained about the amount of paperwork, sure. Who wouldn't?
Aside from that, Danny adored Constantine's work. His nonchalantness when it came to signing away his soul.
Danny relished in the chaos he has happening among various other entities. Praised Constantine, and thanked him for the entertainment.
Constantine realized that this Ghost King was a brat. He enjoyed the chaos and the drama as long as it hurt absolutely anyone. This kid was a little shithead.
And Constantine got a confirmation. No matter what, no matter what contracts he signed. His soul was going to end up in Danny's hands.
Constantine didn't mind that. He liked the spirit the kid had. Found a fondness for the King.
A fondness that only grew with every impromptu meeting. Every time the room grew colder, and the shadows moved and warped in the room.
Constantine grew accustomed to it. He looked forward to it.
Then it happened.
Constantine was at the Justice League Watchtower. A simple consultation, nothing too crazy. It was all going to be fine.
Until Constantine felt the shift in the room.
The temperature dropped. The shadows shifted and contorted, and a portal began to form.
Constantine waved off the other heroes concern and defense. Turning towards the forming portal, and prepared to see the kid. The kid who was easily his favorite being in the world at this point.
Except that changed once he saw the familiar being step through the portal.
Maybe step was the wrong word. Danny basically stumbled out of the green portal. Landing harshly on his knees in front of the league.
Constantine wasted no time rushing forward. Pulling the kid close to him, and taking in the sight. Looking for any sign of what was wrong.
Blood and a green substance coated the kid's closed. And Constantine noted the cape was completely missing. The kid was in tears, shaking horrible and in a state of complete hysteria.
All Constantine knew, was that he was going to make them pay.
Whoever brought this normally confident and carefree king to his knees, wasn't going to last much longer.
Those bastards will pay.
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