[Third Person's PoV]
"Thank you… that would be much appreciated," Vantasma said softly, his voice laced with reverence as he extended the brush with both hands.
Death stepped forward with ethereal grace. She reached out, and rather than simply taking the brush, she accepted it as if it were something sacred—delicate and meaningful. Her hands were gentle, her demeanor kind, and though the gesture was subtle, it revealed a depth of compassion that surprised even Danny.
'She's… a nice person,' he thought, the anxiety within him slowly giving way to calm.
The red energy within the brush pulsed erratically—spirits long trapped, agitated and confused. Death held it close to her chest, cradling it with genuine empathy. Her eyes closed, and for a moment, the room felt utterly still, as if time itself paused to listen.
Then she spoke—her voice soft, melodic, but with a power that resonated beyond the physical.
"You've been lost for so long… forgotten by time, misunderstood by fate. But you are seen now. Heard. And loved."
The brush began to glow in her hands, the red light softening into gold.
"You were not meant to suffer so. What happened to you was not fair, and it was not your fault. But you do not have to carry that pain anymore."
She looked down at the swirling energy, her eyes filled with warmth.
"You are free. Your time in this world has ended, but peace awaits you. Love awaits you. Let go, and be whole again."
With those final words, she whispered, "Go and rest in peace."
The golden light radiated from the brush in soft waves, enveloping the spirits. Shapes emerged—indistinct at first, then clearer. Some smiled. Some cried. Some simply closed their eyes and lifted their faces toward the light.
One by one, they rose, ascending with grace. The pain that had clung to them for so long fell away, leaving only serenity. In silence, they departed, vanishing into the light above, returning to the cycle of rest and rebirth.
The brush in Death's hands dimmed, now just wood and bristles again—empty, and finally, at peace.
She gently lowered the object into Vantasma's stubby hands with a solemn nod of acknowledgment, her expression unreadable, yet oddly tender.
Meanwhile, Danny stood there awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck, unsure of what to say. After a pause, he opened his mouth and spoke with hesitant curiosity, "So, I have to ask… did you really make yourself known just for that? Or was there something else behind it?" His voice carried a mix of suspicion and wonder, the kind of tone someone adopts when they've spent far too much time around someone like Batman. 'Damn it,' he thought to himself, 'being around him too long is making me paranoid of everyone.'
Death turned to him, an amused glint dancing in her ancient eyes. There was something playful in her demeanor, like a cat toying with a mouse—not malicious, just mischievous. "Come now, Daniel," she said, her voice lilting with teasing affection, "you're not really nervous about little ol' me, are you? What happened to that bold little speech you gave earlier? How did it go again? Ah yes... 'Death can have me when I deem her worthy,' wasn't it?"
Danny groaned and buried his face in his hands, his ears turning green as a muffled scream escaped him. The sudden outburst startled Dick, who jolted beside him and gave him a questioning look.
Death laughed heartily, clutching her stomach as she doubled over with genuine delight. "Oh, you really do need to be more careful with your words," she said between giggles. "You never know how someone might take them. Lucky for you, I'm not the type to get offended easily. I actually find it rather… endearing."
"I'm sorry," Danny said quickly, his face still flushed. "I didn't mean to offend you. I wasn't trying to sound arrogant or anything. I just meant that... well, I wouldn't go down without a fight."
Death's smile softened as she waved off his apology. "Danny—may I call you Danny?—there is more to the reason why I made myself visible to you," she admitted, her tone becoming a touch more serious, though still gentle. For the first time in the conversation, there was a trace of vulnerability. "While I found your presence intriguing, I also came to ask something of you. I'd like you to keep doing what you're doing, helping spirits, fighting when necessary… and, if the time ever comes when I require assistance with certain ghost or spirit-related matters, I'd like to be able to call on you. Not as an obligation, of course—more as a favor. You wouldn't have to say yes every time, just... consider it."
Danny blinked in surprise. That wasn't what he had expected. "Oh… I mean, yeah, I don't mind. Honestly, I'd be honored. Really. Being asked by Death herself? That's not something that happens every day. I take it this sort of thing happens a lot?"
Death let out a long, wistful sigh and nodded. "Yes. You'd be surprised how many souls are stubborn. Some fight the transition with everything they have. Others are simply lost, clinging to the world for reasons they barely remember. It helps to have someone like you, someone who understands both worlds."
She offered him a sincere, grateful smile before patting Vantasma's head. Resting her arm on his shoulders, she added, "And don't worry about this little guy. I'll make sure he gets to the Ghost Zone safe and sound."
Danny nodded, still digesting everything that had just happened. He was grateful, yes, but also perplexed by the surreal nature of it all.
"I'll be keeping an eye on you, Danny Phantom," Death said, her voice fading into the air like a melody at dusk. She gave him a wink and added with a sly grin, "See you on the flipside," before snapping her fingers.
In a blink, she and Vantasma vanished into the ether.
Danny stood there in stunned silence before he let out a soft snicker, caught off guard by the unexpectedly smooth one-liner. Shaking his head in disbelief, he ruffled his hair and let out a deep sigh. So much had just happened, and his mind was still racing, but at least for now, the crisis had passed.
He turned to Dick, who was still trying to piece things together. "It's fine now," Danny said with a faint smile. "She's gone."
"That's fine and dandy," Dick muttered warily, brushing dust from his shoulder, "but we still need a cover story. We were gone for hours, and we look like we crawled out of a warzone."
"Ah, fair point," Danny admitted, glancing at his torn outfit. "I hadn't considered—"
"Leave that to me!" a voice chimed in cheerfully.
Both Dick and Danny jumped as Vantasma suddenly appeared midair in a swirl of colorful mist.
"Weren't you...?" Danny blinked in disbelief.
"Supposed to be gone? Yes," Vantasma finished for him with a grin. "But the Mistress allowed me to return just briefly. I didn't want to leave without properly thanking you both—or giving you a little parting gift."
Without waiting for permission, he dipped his brush into his glowing palette and zipped around them with an artist's grace, splashing dazzling colors through the air. Paint streaked in brilliant arcs, swirling and weaving as he painted the space around them with rapid strokes.
Splashes of paint faded into motes of light that wrapped around their bodies like silk, and when the glow died down, Dick and Danny looked at each other in stunned silence.
Their battle-worn clothes were gone—replaced with pristine, perfectly tailored three-piece suits. Elegant blue auras sparkled faintly around them, and the dust and grime that had clung to their skin and hair was nowhere to be found. They looked like they had stepped straight out of a gala.
Dick's domino mask had vanished, revealing his sharp features and piercing blue eyes. His hair was slicked back flawlessly, and he adjusted the silver cufflinks on his sleeves like a seasoned aristocrat.
Danny's once white hair had been painted jet-black hair, while his green eyes were now back to their striking blue, looking equally refined. His hair shimmered under the light, combed back neatly, and he straightened his tie with quiet confidence.
Even their injuries were gone, as though they'd never taken a hit.
"How…?" Dick asked slowly, running a hand down the lapel of his jacket.
"I was connected to the painting, remember?" Vantasma explained, puffing out his chest with pride. "I saw what you looked like when you entered my realm—figured I'd restore you, but with a bit more flair. You're welcome, gentlemen."
He gave them a flamboyant wink, then looked upward. "Mistress! I'm ready now!"
As his form began to fade into shimmering particles, he glanced back one last time. "Oh, and Danny? When I open my very own art gallery in the Ghost Zone, you'll be the first I invite. So keep an eye out, yeah?"
Danny smiled faintly, watching him disappear. "I'll be waiting."
A moment passed before Dick exhaled slowly. "Well… that was interesting."
Then he groaned and muttered, "Oh man, Bruce is going to kill us."
"Lucky for me, I'm already dead," Danny said with a shrug.
Dick turned his head slowly, giving him a long, knowing look. "We're talking about Bruce. He's the kind of guy who'd find a way to kill a dead person."
Danny blinked, the humor fading from his face.
"...I'm going to die twice."
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