This is sort of a proof of concept. I'm thinking of doing a more involved fic with the same general idea.
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Dark
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Danny pushed down on the lid of the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep, one eye on the Ecto-Skeleton's power level counter as it ticked ever closer to zero. Every time Pariah Dark pounded on the inside of the lid, he felt it vibrate up his arms. He was growing weaker. He couldn't hold on for much longer.
Where the heck was Vlad with the key?
The lid bounced up under the force of a particularly strong blow, and Danny pushed it back down, panting. It took him more effort than before. Something wet ran down his back and his face. Not sweat- He didn't sweat, not as a ghost, and Danny tried not to think about stories his parents had told him about ghosts destabilizing and melting.
The counter was at 1%. The only thing that gave him the strength to keep pushing the lid down was sheer desperation.
He choked out a sob as one of his arms buckled. Where was Vlad? He was supposed to come with the key! Danny should have already won. He'd gotten Pariah Dark into the Sarcophagus. He was holding it closed. Those were supposed to be his victory conditions.
His vision blurred through tears.
(He didn't want to die again.)
The counter ticked to 0.
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Pariah's next slam against the Sarcophagus lid met no resistance. It slammed back with a crash that resounded around the throne room that had been, for so many years, his crypt. With a roar, he emerged. Never again would he be imprisoned in such a way!
He saw his crown lying on the floor, kicked to a corner in the fight, and, with a gesture, summoned it to himself and placed it on his head once again. Power strummed through his skin, making him whole once more.
But what had happened to the young warrior who had challenged him?
Ah, there he was, collapsed next to the Sarcophagus, trembling within the metal prison his magic armor had become. His aura flickered like a guttering candle.
Pariah had destroyed enough ghosts in his afterlife to know the boy was fading. What a waste. The boy was strong and clever. In Pariah's court he would have gone far.
Perhaps he still would. Pariah knew a trick or two.
He reached through the metal armor and pulled free the limp child. His flesh was soft beneath Pariah's hands, malleable.
With a gentleness that would have surprised his many enemies, Pariah Dark turned the child over, shaping him, molding him. The child instinctively and unconsciously accepted the bargain Pariah offered. Stability and continued existence in return for compliance with Pariah's wishes. It was an exchange child ghosts were predisposed to make.
When Pariah was done, a much smaller, more delicate ghost rested in the palm of his hand. He smiled as the little ghost curled in on itself and yawned, displaying small fangs. The boy put one hand in his mouth and the other on one of his newly grown horns, face scrunching in sleep.
Pariah had always wanted a son.