Back at Mount Justice, I did what any self-respecting magical firebird demigod would do after narrowly escaping a soul-sucking jazz demon apocalypse prophet with more vibes than a Billie Holiday fever dream.
I brought out the pastries.
Like, obviously.
I dropped the paper bag onto the table in the rec room with all the dramatic flair of someone casting the One Pastry to Rule Them All into Mount Doom. "Behold, ye brave and hungry," I intoned, "I return from the mystical, syrup-drenched land of New Orleans bearing gifts: beignets, pralines, and something called a King Cake—which, according to the charmingly cryptic swamp witch who sold it to me, contains either a tiny plastic baby, a blessing, or a generational curse. Possibly all three. Also maybe jazz."
Kara was on me like a Kryptonian heat-seeking sugar missile before I'd even uncorked the bag. Milly Alcock energy in full chaotic cheerleader mode, she was practically vibrating. "If I get the baby, do I win something?"
"You win diabetes," I deadpanned, "and possibly a pact with a minor demon lord named Kevin."
She blinked at me, snorted, and popped a praline in her mouth. "Worth it."
Kori floated over next, eyes wide, copper skin practically glowing with delight. She peered into the bag like it was a sacred relic. "These pastries… they radiate the essence of deep-fried joy and powdered dreams."
I handed her a beignet with exaggerated reverence. "And they taste better than sin on Sunday."
Kori gasped, bit into the beignet, powdered sugar exploding like a magical girl transformation. "Glorious!" she declared, lips dusted white, eyes sparkling. "Harry, I shall compose a song about this texture. You will be the chorus."
"You already make me sing, gorgeous," I murmured, and she blushed—glowed, really—before kissing my cheek with unapologetic fire.
Mareena tilted her head from her perch beside the indoor aquarium, eyeing the pastries like they might sprout legs and start dancing. "You bring surface food," she said with mock sternness, "yet no seaweed-wrapped moon snails?"
I pulled out a small, coral-colored charm shaped like a seahorse. "Forgive me, oh briny beauty. Voodoo Grandma didn't carry Atlantean delicacies, but I got you this. Gris-gris charm. For protection. Or to summon a haunted jazz saxophonist named Reginald. Odds are even."
She took it delicately, brushing my fingers. Her sea-glass eyes softened. "It's beautiful. Like you, flame-born. Though less likely to start fires during kissing."
"No promises," I said, smirking. "I burn hotter when I'm close to you."
"Then stay close."
Deedee—goth queen, death incarnate, and the reason Hot Topic still turns a profit—was sprawled on the couch in one of my oversized hoodies. Nothing else I could immediately see, which was both thrilling and terrifying. Powdered sugar clung to her black lipstick like an unholy halo.
She popped a beignet into her mouth, licked her fingers slowly, and purred, "Mmm. Agatha made the gris-gris?"
I blinked. "You know the ghost who owns that shop?"
Deedee winked. "Of course. Agatha's been running that corner since 1847. Big fan of soul music and cheating death. We do book club. Tuesdays."
"Do you even need books?"
"No, but I enjoy spoilers."
Zatanna strolled in like a magician making a red carpet appearance—hair cascading, lips curved in that knowing smirk that said she was both impressed and deeply amused. "You get voodoo trinkets and a sugar buffet? Harry, did you flirt your way through the French Quarter again?"
"I have a very marketable face," I said solemnly. "Also, she might've been dead. And kind of into me. Which, if I'm being honest, is a recurring theme."
"Obviously," Zatanna said, taking a bite of praline. "Even I'd haunt you. Stylishly, of course."
"I wouldn't mind," I said, stepping closer and brushing her hair off her shoulder. "You'd be the classiest poltergeist ever. I'd leave out offerings. Silk gloves. Dark chocolate. Fishnets."
Her eyes sparked. "Careful. I might hold you to that."
Tia, ever the effortlessly dangerous blonde bombshell—Galatea meets Greco-Roman fury—was on the floor, braiding Megan's hair like it was an Olympic sport while eating pralines with the other hand. She glanced up, her icy blue eyes narrowing in that way that made her look equal parts seductress and executioner.
"You look like you've been through hell," she said bluntly. "And you smell like brimstone, brimstone, and… broken time. What did you do, babe? Hug a paradox?"
"I high-fived it," I corrected. "And then got punched by a cosmic saxophonist with a God complex."
"Sounds like Tuesday," Megan said, Ariel-Winter-sweet but with her eyes sparking with telepathic curiosity. "Seriously though, your aura is sparking like three divine thunderstorms on a bender. You need to talk."
"Four," Deedee corrected, licking powdered sugar off her thumb. "Fate-dunked, jazz-haunted, Flame-chosen, and soul-marked. And yet still sexy. Life's not fair."
Everyone stared at me.
I sighed and dropped into a chair. "Right. Quick summary. While on my way to Doctor Fate's little training session—which, by the way, thanks for the zero warning, Nabu—you know what happened? Fate yeeted me into an alley. Just—boom. I landed like expired takeout."
Kara gasped. "Again?"
"Yeah," I said. "But this time it felt personal. Then he shows up."
"'He' who?" Zatanna asked, her fingers twitching with readied spell-light.
"The Harbinger," I said dramatically. "Cloaked figure. Red glowing eyes. Sounded like Idris Elba narrating a horror trailer. He brought backup: a jazz band. Skeletal jazz band. Fireball-shooting saxophonist. It was like Mardi Gras in Hell."
Kori tilted her head. "Did they play music that made you want to dance or die?"
"Yes," I said. "It was disturbingly catchy. But he wasn't there for my autograph. He looked me dead in the eye sockets and said, 'You are an error, Shadowflame. A wound in the weave.' Then he tried to kill me. With music. Literal murder-jazz."
"How'd you survive?" Tia asked, standing now, tension rippling through every sculpted inch of her.
I extended one arm. Flames shimmered, and my wings exploded out—phoenix-bright, feathered with fire, brighter than a star having a tantrum.
"They helped."
Everyone leaned in.
"Fate showed up, all dramatic," I said. "Said I'd awakened something. The Flame of Beginning."
Cue dramatic air quotes.
"The Flame of Beginning?" Kara echoed.
"Primordial fire," I said. "Pre-dates time. Magic. Gods. Coffee. It burns reality into being. And apparently… it lives in me now."
There was silence.
Then Deedee gave a low whistle and said, "Oh, honey… You've been claimed by the First Flame. It doesn't obey destiny. It wrote the concept of destiny on a napkin during creation's lunch break. Of course it chose you. You're chaos incarnate."
"So," Kara said, "the Big Bang's cooler older sister just adopted you?"
"Basically," Deedee nodded.
"The universe didn't know what to do with you," Megan said softly, resting her chin on my shoulder, "so it gave you a new job."
"Or a target," I muttered. "Because guess what? There are others who were touched by the Flame before. And they're not thrilled I got the final rose."
Zatanna raised an eyebrow. "You've made enemies?"
"A jazz necromancer tried to set me on fire with sound, Zee. We're past enemies. We're exes."
"I will burn them," Kori said, standing tall, fire rising in her palms. "They threaten what is mine."
"I'll help," Kara added, cracking her knuckles. "I've got rage to spare."
"I'll melt their minds," Megan said with a sweetness that somehow made it scarier.
"I'll flood their cities," Mareena added.
"I'll grind their bones into mascara," Tia snapped.
Zatanna spun her wand and said, "I'll put them in a play. The kind where everyone dies."
Deedee grinned, leaned over, and kissed my jaw. "They won't kill you, babe. Not unless I let them. And I really like kissing you. So… hard pass."
I looked at them—my wild, gorgeous, terrifying goddesses—and felt something stir deep inside me. Something warm. Fierce. Home.
I stood, flared my wings again, and smiled like the monster under the universe's bed.
"Then let them come," I said. "Let the next Herald show up. Because when they do…"
I cracked my knuckles. "I'm serving roasted apocalypse with a side of jazz."
—
Okay. So here's what you need to know: when a Tamaranian princess slams a Kryptonian into a wall hard enough to make the ceiling dust shiver in fear, things escalate fast.
WHAM.
Kara bounced off the padded wall like a superpowered pinball, flipped in mid-air (because apparently, gravity's just a suggestion), and landed in a crouch with a grin that said, Hit me again, sunshine.
"You know," she huffed, brushing imaginary dust off her crop top, "I definitely let you throw me that time."
Kori hovered mid-air, eyes gleaming, hair doing its floating inferno thing. "You blinked, sweet Kara. And your eyelash flutter is very expressive."
"Oh, please," Kara groaned. "My eyelash flutter is fierce."
"Ladies," Mareena called out from across the room, her British accent somehow making everything sound like a Vogue editorial, "as fun as it is watching you punch each other for dominance, the apocalypse jazz cult isn't going to defeat itself."
"Oh, come on," I said from the center of the chaos, spinning my flaming staff like a baton in a Boyband of Doom music video. "Let them work out their violent love language."
Yes. The staff was literally on fire.
Yes. I was humming Bad Romance.
No. I regret nothing.
"Harry," Zatanna snapped, ducking a roundhouse kick from Kori like it was Tuesday brunch, "you're still radiating like a cracked Amazonian battery. You need training. Not flirting with fire physics."
"I am flirting with fire," I replied, catching her spell mid-air and sending it back with a wink. "And she's very much into it."
Cue a chorus of groans. Tia muttered something that sounded like "I'm surrounded by children," while Kara tried—and failed—to cover her laugh-snort with a stretch.
Zee just narrowed her eyes. "One day that ego of yours is going to combust. Literally."
Deedee, upside down on a ceiling beam like the world's hottest bat, was eating a croissant and twirling her sickle like a fidget toy. "Why not both?"
And then came the record scratch.
"You should tell the League," Tia said, arms crossed, voice the exact opposite of amused.
My staff stopped mid-spin. My brain did the same.
Kara stepped up next to her, folding her arms in that intimidating Kryptonian Big Sister way. "She's right. This Harbinger guy? Cosmic murder band? God-flavored flames? That's way above junior hero pay grade."
Mareena chimed in, "They might already be tracking something similar. Keeping them in the dark could backfire."
"I'm not saying confess your life story," Zatanna said, brushing her hair back like a movie star with a spellbook. "Just enough to not get blamed when the world explodes in C minor."
Deedee flipped off the beam and landed in a squat beside me, smirking. "Plus, you're technically the surprise son of Wonder Woman and temporal destiny. Might as well cash in that 'Prince of Themiscyra' card before it expires."
I groaned. "I'm not her lovechild. I'm her accidental demi-clone offspring thanks to Luthorcorp and a science experiment with the ethics of a soap opera villain."
Kara tapped her chin. "Yeah, but you've got her cheekbones. And her murder-glare. And when you get mad, your hair floats like you're summoning the wrath of Olympus. It's honestly kinda hot."
"I third this," Kori said sweetly as she hurled Zatanna across the mat. "Very attractive rage."
Tia sighed. "Focus, horndogs."
M'gann floated down beside me, her eyes soft, her voice even softer—think Disney Princess meets mind-reading therapist. "They should know, Harry. Especially her. If the Harbinger's after you… Diana deserves to be warned."
Ah yes. That.
The part where I go knock on the door of the most iconic Amazon warrior in existence and go, "Hey, surprise! Acosmic death cult wants to use my spine as a prophecy piñata."
Totally casual.
"I'll think about it," I muttered.
"Good," Deedee whispered behind me like a ghost with too much eyeliner. "Also, the empath's getting twitchy."
Everyone froze.
And then came the voice—low, dry, with enough emotional repression to make Batman look chatty.
"Oh, come on," Raven said, stepping out of the shadows. Hood down. Cheeks pink.
"You all knew I was here?"
Deedee smirked like the Grim Reaper with a martini. "Babe. I'm Death."
Zatanna raised an eyebrow. "We're witches. And aliens. And mind-readers. And whatever Deedee is."
Kara added brightly, "Your cloak smells like lavender and existential dread."
Raven glared at her like she was debating which soul to consume first.
Kori flew over, sparkling like sunshine. "Friend Raven! Would you like a beignet? Or perhaps join in our glorious sparring dance of violence and sugary delights?"
"I'm not stalking him," Raven blurted.
"No one said you were," I replied, still not looking at her.
"I'm not attracted to you."
"Literally no one said that either."
"I don't want to be part of your ridiculous harem of chaos witches and overpowered blondes and smug demigods!"
I finally turned, letting the corner of my mouth twitch. "...'Harem of Chaos Witches' is going on a T-shirt."
Deedee perked up. "Already printed it. It glows in the dark."
Raven's entire face went red. Vivid. Glorious. Like a tomato with sarcasm issues.
"I only came because I sensed Harbinger's magic," she growled, cape flaring like an angry curtain. "Not because I care about you."
"And yet…" M'gann said in the sing-song voice of someone who knew everything, "here you are. Breaking stealth protocols. For someone you totally don't care about."
Kara's grin was blinding. "We definitely believe you."
"Shut. Up."
And then, in a dramatic swirl of darkness and sass, Raven vanished.
But not before using her powers to swipe the last beignet.
I turned back to the team, sighed, and spun my staff once more. "So… League meeting?"
Tia cracked her knuckles. "We call the parents."
Zatanna grinned, eyes gleaming. "And then? We bring the fire."
I smirked. "I am the fire."
—
If Mount Justice had a heart, this was it—the control room. All glowing screens, blinking lights, and dramatic beeping that made it seem like we were always this close to DEFCON One. You'd think we'd keep it serious in here. And you'd be wrong.
As I walked in, the first thing I heard was Lee Jordan—full volume, full flair, and approximately six espresso shots deep—giving play-by-play like he was the love child of Howard Cosell and a stand-up comic.
"—And BAM, Kara's in the air with a triple axel twist that would make a Russian judge weep, followed by Kori bringing down a suplex like she's writing love letters with her fists. Ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing violence with sparkle!"
The door swished shut behind me like it had opinions. Batman-level opinions.
Victor Stone—Cyborg himself—didn't even look up. "Lee," he said, in that tired-but-tolerant tone he uses when he's trying not to reboot Lee manually, "how much coffee have you had?"
Lee spun in his chair like a hyperactive DJ at Coachella. "Define 'coffee.'"
Victor raised one eyebrow. "Define 'rehab.'"
"Okay, rude," Lee said, fake-offended. "Just because my bloodstream now qualifies as a Starbucks secret menu item—"
"Fun fact," I cut in, strolling in like I owned the place (because let's be real, I kinda did), "your pulse is currently faster than Wally on speed during a sugar crash."
"EXCUSE you," Lee said, clutching his mug like it was holy. "That was one time, and Wally agreed to eat the Pixy Stix sandwich. Consent was given."
Victor finally looked at me. The glowing blue part of his face was all business, the human part? A raised brow and a sigh waiting to happen. "What's up, Shadowflame?"
Ah yes. The Name.
Because nothing says mature, responsible team leader like a title that sounds like I moonlight as an anime villain with tragic backstory energy and premium hair care products.
"I need a line to the Watchtower," I said, already sliding into the seat beside Vic. I spun it around once because dramatic entrances are important. "Code: Priority Omega. Shadowflame requests an emergency meeting with the Founding Members. Full quorum. No exceptions."
Victor froze. Lee dropped his mug.
"Wait, wait, wait," Lee said, waving his hands like I'd just told him Beyoncé was retiring. "Founders? As in Big Seven? As in the Justice League Voltron Power Core? We're talking Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Martian Manhunter, Aquaman, Flash, and—"
"Green Lantern," I finished for him. "Yes. Those guys."
"Bro," Lee whispered. "That's like asking for all the Greek gods to show up to your band recital because you learned 'Wonderwall.'"
"Pretty sure Artemis would stab me just for the guitar," I said, deadpan. "But point taken."
Victor leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, one eye glowing, one eye skeptical. "That's not a small ask, Harry. You know that, right?"
I didn't break eye contact. "I'm not asking."
Lee whistled. "Daaaang. Shadowflame came in with that 'I'm the main character' energy."
Victor studied me for a second, like he was scanning my soul for malware. Then he nodded. "Copy that."
Lee spun toward the console, typing like the caffeine finally achieved sentience. "Sending the drama signal to the Tower. This is not a drill, people. I repeat, this is not a drill! Shadowflame's got that end-of-season finale tone in his voice."
I didn't respond.
Because beneath the jokes, beneath the sarcasm and fire and banter, something in me had started to burn.
The Harbinger wasn't a maybe anymore. It wasn't a vague cosmic shadow lurking in the background.
It was here.
And the League—the whole damn League—needed to hear what I had to say.
Before the fire turned everything to ash.
Before the shadows swallowed the sun.
Victor tapped the last command. "Message sent. Timestamp marked. ETA for League response: three minutes."
Lee turned, his tone suddenly softer. Still Lee, still grinning, but now that quiet kind of grin. The one that knew when to cut the jokes. "Hey, man… you good?"
I stared at the glowing console. My reflection blinked back at me. Gold eyes. Faint Phoenix-glow in my skin. Hair like I stole it from a shampoo commercial filmed on the surface of the sun.
"No," I said honestly. "But I will be."
Three minutes.
Three minutes to change the future.
Again.
—
BEEP-BEEP-BWEEEEP.
Ah yes, the sweet, shrieking sound of my life going to hell. Again.
The comm board lit up like a Fourth of July disco, complete with angry red flashers and that high-pitched "pay attention or everyone dies" whine. Somewhere, an actual siren probably felt insecure.
Lee Jordan—resident chaos gremlin and part-time caffeine goblin—spun in his chair like he was auditioning for a DJ slot at a space rave. "Yo! That's Priority Alpha. Priority. Alpha." He blinked at me. "What the hell did you do, Harry? Microwave a black hole?"
"Worse," Victor Stone said, stepping up with his arms folded across his chest. His expression was that special blend of concern and 'I'm too young for this interdimensional nonsense.' "That's above even my clearance, and I have more security clearances than Batman has contingency plans."
I sighed. "I planned on telling them the truth."
Lee and Vic exchanged a look like I'd just admitted I eat cereal with orange juice.
"You planned on telling the Justice League the truth?" Lee said slowly, like he was trying to remember if he was dreaming. "About what? The apocalypse in your pocket or the sentient fire soul that sings lullabies to you at night?"
"Both," I said. "And the giant dude in a cloak with red eyes who tried to yeet me into the beginning of time."
Beep. The board flared again. Audio-only this time, but I didn't need holograms to know the voice coming through.
"Shadowflame."
Superman. AKA The Walking Flag. AKA Mr. Literal Boy Scout With Cheekbones That Could Cut Glass.
(His voice has this weird effect on people. You hear it and suddenly want to pay your taxes early.)
"Your request is acknowledged. You are cleared for immediate Zeta transport to the Watchtower."
Lee let out a low whistle. "Oof. Clark sounds… stressed. Like, 'I just found out the Batmobile's been keyed' stressed."
Victor leaned closer to the screen. "That's his restrained voice. That man once pulled the moon back into orbit while humming 'Bohemian Rhapsody.' If he's tense, we're screwed."
Another voice chimed in.
Calm. Commanding. Warm enough to melt glaciers but still had that don't-mess-with-me-or-I'll-throw-you-into-orbit edge.
Wonder Woman. Diana. My… kinda-sorta mom.
(We don't talk about it, but if anyone touches a hair on my head, she turns into a full-on divine wrecking ball. And don't get me started on Lee and his "respectfully crushing" issues.)
"Doctor Fate briefed us," Diana said, and oh man—there it was. That subtle tremor in her tone. Not fear. Not even panic. Just… worry. "He confirmed your encounter with the entity known as the Harbinger. And your bond to the Flame of Beginning."
Victor blinked. "The what now?"
"Is that like a soul STD?" Lee whispered, and I stared at him for a solid ten seconds, trying to decide whether to laugh or launch him into the sun.
"It's cosmic fire," I said. "The first spark of creation. Old. Sentient. Grumpy. Kinda like me before breakfast."
Lee mimed hyperventilating. "Okay, cool. Cool cool cool cool. Love that. Love that for us. Just need to sit down and scream for ten minutes."
"You are sitting," Victor pointed out.
"And yet the screaming is still emotionally necessary," Lee snapped back.
Diana's voice came again, softer now:
"We need a full debrief. Immediately. The Zeta coordinates are primed. Come prepared, Harry… and please—be safe."
There was a pause. Like she wanted to say more. Then she added, quieter:
"We're worried about you."
Click.
Silence.
The kind of silence that comes right before the boss music kicks in and you realize you forgot to equip your best sword.
Then Lee, being Lee, opened his mouth.
"Okay, but like, hypothetically, if Wonder Woman weren't your honorary mom and if she wasn't a divine tank in heels—"
I turned so slowly it could've been scored by a horror movie soundtrack.
"Finish that sentence, Jordan. I dare you."
He gulped. "She could… probably bench press me into a coma. Which I would respect. Deeply. Silently. While unconscious."
Victor snorted, trying to hide a grin.
I straightened my jacket—black and red with phoenix embroidery, because if you're gonna get grilled by Earth's mightiest heroes, you might as well look hot—and let the Flame stir beneath my skin.
It responded immediately, like a loyal dog that just happened to be made of primordial fire and might accidentally torch reality.
"Vic," I said, stepping toward the Zeta tube. "Log my status."
Victor nodded and tapped a few buttons. "Shadowflame: En route. Mood: broody. Aura: spicy. Threat level: casually apocalyptic."
"Add: will punch Batman if he side-eyes me one more time," I said, stepping onto the pad.
Behind me, Lee shouted, "Tell Wonder Woman I said—"
"LEEEEE."
"I SAID NOTHING! I RESPECT MATRIARCHAL WARRIOR CULTURES!"
The Zeta tube flared.
"Recognized: Shadowflame. B-zero-one."
The world pixelated around me in a flash of light and heat. My last thought before dematerializing?
Please let Batman be in a good mood.
(He wouldn't be. But I'd burn that bridge when I got to it.)
—
So, I was emotionally fried, halfway to an existential crisis, and mentally preparing for a conversation with Batman that would almost certainly end in passive-aggressive glaring, a contest of snark, and at least one soul-crushing monologue. Shakespearean insult duels had nothing on us. Just another Tuesday in the life of your friendly neighborhood demi-god wizard hybrid.
I rounded the corner to the Zeta Tube and—
Oh.
Oh no.
Oh yes.
Standing there like the Avengers if they'd all been dipped in sexy and sprinkled with chaos magic, were my girlfriends.
Let me make this absolutely clear before someone starts screaming "Mary Sue! Harem fantasy!" like it's an exorcism chant. I did not plan this. I didn't charm them, hex them, or pull a Jedi mind trick. These ridiculously powerful, intimidatingly brilliant, occasionally unhinged women decided—entirely on their own—that dating me was worth the collective trauma, alien invasions, time travel, and frequent reality meltdowns. I'm just trying to survive the honor.
They'd clearly just come from sparring. There was sweat. There were tank tops. There were sports bras. There was visible ab-age. And oh my gods, the leggings. Skin-tight, soul-destroying leggings. I briefly forgot what year it was.
Kori was glowing—literally—with Tamaranian fire, energy crackling faintly off her gauntlets. Her long hair was tied up in a ponytail that looked unfairly majestic. She smiled at me like I'd just offered to adopt a puppy. A very flammable, possibly radioactive puppy.
Tia, leaning against the wall like a Kryptonian goddess on break, looked up, smirked, and flexed abs that could cut glass. She was in grey leggings and a cropped workout hoodie, and I'm not saying I forgot how to breathe, but I did consider calling Zatanna to cast CPR.
Speaking of Zee—Zatanna was leaning on one hip, gloves half-off, eyes glittering like she already knew what I was thinking and was enjoying every second of it. Her braid was loose, brushing the tops of her... well, anyway. Her crop top had the words Abraca-Damn in sparkly font. I died a little.
Mareena, the literal princess of Atlantis, was wringing seawater from her braid, droplets trailing down toned arms like she'd walked off the cover of Sea Nymphs Monthly: Warrior Edition. "You're late," she said, arching a brow.
"I was having a mental breakdown. Very time-consuming," I replied.
Megan floated just above the floor, cheeks flushed and freckles practically glowing. She was in mint-green shorts and a white tee tied at the waist. Her ponytail bounced as she tilted her head. "Aww, poor Harry. Are you afraid that the Bat might glower at you again?"
"Only in my nightmares," I said. "But don't worry, I've been emotionally scarred by professionals."
Kara—my Kryptonian blonde bombshell with a smirk that could topple nations—stepped forward. Her Superwoman crop-top and black shorts looked criminal. She squinted at me. "You look like you either just survived a psychic nuke… or had an existential meltdown in the shower."
"Plot twist," I said. "It was both. And the shampoo was out, so I had to use Lee's 3-in-1 soap. I think my soul's still recovering."
Deedee bounced up to me—yes, bounced. Death herself, sporting skull-print leggings, a black sports bra with sparkly bones, and messy space buns. She poked my chest. "You smell like drama. I love it. Did you cry? Bleed? Unleash forbidden magic?"
"Two out of three," I said. "Guess which."
"Bleeding?" she guessed.
I wiggled my brows. "Emotionally."
Deedee gasped. "Hot."
Zatanna mock-gagged. "You're all sick."
"We're all in love," Megan corrected cheerfully.
"Speak for yourself," Raven muttered, materializing out of the nearest shadow like a brooding fashion model summoned by sarcasm and moonlight. Arms crossed, eyes unreadable, hood up.
She stepped forward slowly, gaze locked on mine. "You're going to the Watchtower."
Not a question.
I nodded. "Unfortunately."
"Typical. You can't resist throwing yourself into the abyss." Her voice was low, even. But there was tension. Tiny cracks in the deadpan mask. Her fingers brushed the edge of my jaw.
"Be careful, flameheart," she whispered.
Then she kissed me.
It was slow and soft and intense, like she was transferring an entire book of suppressed poetry into my bloodstream.
I kissed her back.
She gasped. Raven gasped. Literal pink flushed across her cheeks.
"Holy crap," Kara said.
Zatanna slow-clapped. "Finally."
"Someone update the group chat!" Megan squealed.
Kori practically vibrated. "Oh joyous day! We are one step closer to true communal bliss!"
"I told you there was sexual tension," Deedee said.
"I deny everything," Raven snapped, turning away. "That kiss was strategic. For morale. Tactical encouragement."
"Sure," I said. "Want to morale me again later?"
She vanished into a puff of shadows with a growl. "You're insufferable."
"You like me," I called after her.
"I tolerate you."
"That's basically Ravenese for 'deeply infatuated.'"
Just then, Lee's voice crackled over comms. "Bro, are you making out before a Zeta jump? That's... that's bold. Bad timing. Bold, but bad."
"I will hex your eyebrows off," I growled.
"You'd be doing me a favor. They're uneven anyway."
"I'm hanging up now," I said.
"Love you! Don't die, or at least do it sexily!"
Kara pressed her forehead to mine. Her hand slipped around my neck. "Come back," she whispered.
"I always do."
Her eyes hardened. "Don't lie to me."
"…Then I'll just have to make it true."
The Zeta Tube pulsed to life behind me.
"Recognized: Shadowflame. B-zero-one."
As the light swallowed me, Mareena called, "Remind Batman who saved Atlantis!"
"And tell Wonder Woman I like her boots!" Megan added.
"AND THAT I RESPECT HER CORE VALUES!" Lee screamed.
"LEEEEEEE!" the girls all chorused.
I vanished in a swirl of light and static.
And as the Watchtower blinked into view, one thought passed through my mind:
Please let Batman be asleep.
Or sedated.
Or trapped in an existential conversation with Clark.
(He wouldn't be.)
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Click the link below to join the conversation:
https://discord.com/invite/HHHwRsB6wd
Can't wait to see you there!
If you appreciate my work and want to support me, consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support helps me keep writing and bringing more stories to you. You can do so via PayPal here:
https://www.paypal.me/VikrantUtekar007
Or through my Buy Me a Coffee page:
https://www.buymeacoffee.com/vikired001s
Thank you for your support!