[Third Person's PoV]
As Danny and Dick finalized their plan after their chaotic first encounter with the Painter Ghost—the name they both settled on when referring to it—they picked up speed, racing ahead through the spectral landscape in pursuit.
But just as they began gaining ground, they both halted abruptly.
As they turned a sharp corner, they were met with a jarring sight—an elaborate obstacle course stretching out before them. This wasn't just any ordinary gauntlet; it was a mechanical nightmare, clearly designed to maim or kill. Along the crumbling edges of a road that hovered precariously above a seemingly endless abyss, deadly traps had been laid with malicious intent.
Massive hammers swung with thunderous force, sharp spikes launched from hidden panels, saw blades spun wildly in synchronized patterns, and flamethrowers roared to life, spewing jets of blistering fire that distorted the air with their heat.
"Is he trying to kill us?" Danny asked in disbelief, his voice echoing off the warped architecture around them.
"He already tried to send us into a void that might as well be a one-way ticket to nowhere," Dick replied, grimly. "I wouldn't put it past him."
"We don't have time for this nonsense," Danny said, clenching his fist as emerald flames ignited around it. The flames danced and grew, pulsing with supernatural energy as he took aim. With a shout, he thrust his fist forward, releasing a powerful tempest of ghostly fire that surged across the pathway, engulfing the traps in a roaring inferno of green energy.
Metal warped, wires sparked, and flames consumed the mechanical monstrosities in seconds. What had once been a gauntlet of death was reduced to a field of smoldering wreckage.
"Well, that's… efficient," Dick said, brushing debris from his shoulder. "I suppose I would've had no choice but to try going through it."
Danny gave a weary sigh. "I probably could've managed it too, but honestly? Why bother."
He turned toward Dick. "I'm going to overshadow you again. You'll burn through your stamina if we keep sprinting like this."
"Just make it quick," Dick muttered, spreading his arms.
A moment later, Danny's ghost form melted into Dick's form. The lenses of Robin's mask flashed an eerie green, and in a blur of supernatural motion, they launched forward, racing across the scorched ruins of the obstacle course and onto the wooden road ahead.
It didn't take long before they spotted the Painter Ghost again. The ghost had clearly slowed, assuming the obstacle course would stall them long enough to escape. A fatal miscalculation.
Danny didn't speak. He surged ahead, the glow in his fists intensifying as ectoplasmic energy surged through Robin's body.
But the ghost must've sensed the incoming danger—whether through instinct or some spectral sixth sense, it snapped its head back, eyes widening in shock. With a terrified cry, it bolted forward, the hem of its floating sheet-like body fluttering frantically.
"LEAVE ME ALONE!!!" the ghost screeched, voice squeaky yet filled with desperation.
"WE JUST WANT TO GET OUT OF THIS PLACE!!" Danny shouted back. His voice was distorted—an unnatural blend of his and Dick's—creating a reverberating echo that chased after the phantom.
The Painter Ghost reached out toward its palette with its brush in panic, but Danny acted first. He fired a concentrated blast of ectoplasmic energy that struck the object in the ghost's stubby hands with a crackling boom. The brush and palette flew from its grasp, clattering to the ground and skidding across the spectral wood.
The ghost froze midair, stunned, as Danny burst from Robin's body in a burst of green light. He somersaulted overhead, landing in a crouch and sliding to a stop, one hand braced on the ground.
Before the ghost could react, Danny lunged forward, grabbing its stubby arms and lifting it off the ground. He hoisted the spirit until they were face-to-face, floating midair so it couldn't reach his tools.
"Listen here, little guy," Danny said, frustration simmering in his tone. "All we want is a way out of here. We don't know how to escape, and you're the only lead we've got."
The ghost thrashed in his grip, squealing indignantly. "My name isn't Little Guy! It's Vantasma, got it? Now release me! I have a job to do!"
"Not until you tell us how to escape from their place," Danny said, raising his glowing hand threateningly. "I really don't want to hurt you, but you're not giving us much choice."
"Escape?" Vantasma hissed, his squeaky voice darkening with unnatural distortion. "Like the others who came before you? There is no escape! You'll learn—just like they did!! AND I SAID RELEASE ME!!"
His voice shifted, going from adorable to monstrous in an instant. Both Danny and the approaching Dick froze in alarm as the ghost's hollow black eyes flared a sinister green. For a moment, they seemed to fill completely, swirling with countless flickering souls, reflections of tortured spirits caught in the void.
The sheet that cloaked his body expanded outward, and the darkness within morphed into a churning vortex of green energy—like a tear into the ghost dimension itself.
Without warning, eldritch tendrils burst from the vortex, writhing wildly. They lashed out and ensnared both Danny and Dick in a slimy, glowing ectoplasmic grip. The goo burned cold and clung to them like tar, slowing their movements as it spread across their bodies.
Danny was slammed into the ground with bone-rattling force, rubble and dust flying in every direction. Dick, reacting on instinct, rapidly twirling his staff mid-air. With one fluid motion, he ignited its tip with concentrated ectoplasmic energy and slashed through a tendril with a powerful arc.
Vantasma screamed in agony, a high-pitched, otherworldly screech that reverberated through the realm. In response, the remaining tendrils began swinging Danny even more violently, tossing him like a ragdoll.
Then, with a thunderous impact, Danny was smashed into the ground again—this time hard enough to shatter the platform beneath him. Chunks of spectral wood flew upward, and a cloud of dust and green mist obscured his crumpled form.
His body lay battered and bruised, ghostly energy flickering erratically around him as he struggled to rise.
And Vantasma hovered above, his form warping with rage and power—no longer an innocent ghost cute ghost who one would coo at when hearing his voice.
Dick struggled valiantly to help, but the relentless green tendrils lashed out again, aiming to wrap their slimy, ghostly limbs around him. He ducked, twisted, and fought back with expert precision, but the tide was turning. A particularly powerful tentacle struck him across the chest with a sickening smack, hurling him through the air like a ragdoll. Blood trailed in an arc behind him as he spiraled out of control, finally crashing into the ground with enough force to knock him unconscious momentarily due to the pain, his limp body skidding across the ghostly terrain.
Danny, meanwhile, was barely clinging to consciousness. His limbs trembled as he tried to push himself free, but more tendrils were already wrapping around him. They tightened with brutal force. Each breath came with agony, his ribs creaking and snapping under the mounting pressure. A scream built up deep within his throat, a sound born of pain, frustration, and sheer will.
It exploded from him like a thunderclap.
"AAAAA—AAAHHHHHHHHH!!!"
Danny's eyes burned white-hot, his form teetering between phases of consciousness and unconsciousness. The Ghost Wail tore from his mouth in a cascade of sound and fury. The air vibrated with the sheer force of the spectral scream, visible ripples of green sound waves layering over each other in an echoing chorus of power.
The monstrous form of Vantasma shrieked in turn, clutching the sides of his ghostly, oversized head where ears might have been. The sound waves crashed in with relentless pressure. His ethereal body convulsed and swelled, becoming unstable and chaotic. The painter ghost's control faltered—the tentacles flailed wildly, striking with less coordination as his body flickered like a broken projection. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, couldn't focus.
In a last-ditch reflex, Vantasma slammed Danny into the ground with such force that the half-ghost bounced upward from the impact, his cry cutting off as blood spurted from his mouth. Then, with a sharp flick, a tendril flung him through the air, and he landed hard near Dick's broken form.
"D-Danny…" Dick groaned, forcing himself up with his staff, blood dripping from cuts and bruises that marred his body. Every breath was a struggle.
Danny's body flickered. Transformation rings briefly sparked to life around his waist—but instead of reverting to human, they fizzled out. He was still in his Phantom form, locked in by pain and exhaustion.
Vantasma, still breathing heavily, began to shrink. His rage subsided, and his grotesque form slowly condensed back to his usual smaller size. He floated there in the air, trembling from the aftershock of the wail. With a small huff, he floated over to retrieve his brush and palette, pausing only briefly to glance back at his assailants.
On the ground, Danny lay with his head pressed into the dirt, his silver hair matted with blood. He bit his lip, tasting copper, and groaned as he slowly pushed himself upward, inch by agonizing inch. One hand trembled as he raised it, a faint glow of ghostly energy building in his palm.
But he didn't attack.
Instead, the energy from his hand twisted and coiled, forming into a lasso of ectoplasmic energy that spiraled through the air and looped around Vantasma's miniature form, binding him tight.
"Earlier…" Danny rasped, blood dripping from his mouth. "You said there were… others—cough—others before us. Were they… were they the zombies we fought?"
Vantasma wiggled in place, exasperated. "Why are you so stubborn?" he groaned, looking more annoyed than threatened.
Danny slowly rose to one knee, body trembling under the weight of his injuries. Beside him, Dick had also managed to stand, wiping blood from his chin as he limped over. He slipped his head beneath Danny's arm, supporting his weight without a word and lifting him up. 'If we can figure out more about him it, we may find our way out' Dick concluded.
"You know what? Don't answer, I think I already know the answer," Danny muttered, staring at the green-tinted blood that stained the floor beneath him. "But now I want to know something else. What exactly are you trying to do? You said you had a job to do. Also why the hell were we—and the others—dragged into this cursed place?"
Vantasma hesitated. His black eyes stared deeply into Danny's battered yet determined face, and for the first time, something akin to respect flickered across his features.
With a reluctant sigh, he finally answered, "Fine… I'll tell you, you stubborn meatbags."
He floated a little higher and said, voice softening, "I am… the accumulation of regret. Specifically, the regret of artists—those who were never satisfied with their work, those who failed to become something more. The longing to fix what they believed was never enough, the wanting to be recognized. That pain gave me life. My purpose is to finish their work… to soothe their lingering souls. To give closure."
He looked down at his tools, voice growing wistful. "But no matter how hard I try… I always fail. Every piece I attempt comes out wrong. Twisted. Incomplete. Their pain never fades."
Dick narrowed his eyes. "And the reason we were brought here?"
"That has nothing to do with me," Vantasma said, shaking his head. "You were drawn in by the painting—the cursed painting. Its creator poured every ounce of his longing into it, wishing it would captivate people, enchant them. But he died before it could be seen. That unfulfilled desire warped the painting, turning it into a curse creation that did exactly what the creator wanted, to draw people in."
"And who is this Artist exactly?" Danny said as he spat out blood and held his ribs, as they slowly mended.
He paused before adding, almost reverently, "His name was Vincent van Gogh."
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