Shadowflame

The battlefield was starting to look like Halloween on steroids—a chaotic swirl of fire, shadow, and glowing superhero energy blasts, except this particular Halloween party wanted to kill everyone. If you squinted through the chaos, you could see just how far things had spiraled into nightmare territory. Spoiler alert: it wasn't looking great.

Voldemort—let's be real, he was never winning "Most Handsome Villain" to begin with—was sprawled in a smoking crater like a discarded action figure. His right arm? Still missing. His face? Somehow managing to look even more terrifying, with the whole "burned to a crisp and mad about it" vibe. His slitted eyes glinted with pure rage, the kind that screamed, This isn't over! Cue my dramatic return!

Cue Trigon. Because when things are already terrible, why not invite a demonic overlord to the party?

Trigon, in all his fire-and-brimstone glory, decided that Voldemort's charred, half-dead body was prime real estate. Like the worst kind of roommate, Trigon didn't even ask. He swept down in his creepy, ghostly form, wrapped in flames and shadows, and—without so much as a "May I?"—merged with Voldemort like a demonic parasite latching onto its new host.

The air went from "bad storm brewing" to "the apocalypse just clocked in for its shift." Magic and dark energy crackled around the crater like fireworks from the Underworld's Buy One, Get One Free Sale. Voldemort screamed—well, screeched, really. Not the dignified kind of scream, but the high-pitched wail of someone who was very much not okay with what was happening.

And then… Voldemort started changing.

His burned skin began knitting itself back together, but not in a "yay, he's healing" way—more like "oh no, what fresh horror is this?" The place where his arm used to be? It morphed into a massive, demonic claw, complete with glowing veins of molten fire. His already snake-like face twisted further, the slits of his nose flaring wider, reshaped into something that resembled a dragon's snout. His pale, scarred flesh turned crimson, his eyes blazing brighter than a solar flare.

When Voldemort finally stood, he wasn't Voldemort anymore. Trigon had taken what was left of the Dark Lord and made him into something worse. His voice—a bone-chilling mix of Voldemort's hiss and Trigon's guttural growl—boomed across the battlefield, shaking the very ground.

"I am reborn!" he roared, his words echoing like thunder. "I am beyond mortal comprehension. I am death, destruction, and domination incarnate!"

Superman, who was still recovering from the whole "Trigon was literally in my head" thing, exchanged a look with Kara. "That's... not good," she said, her usual confidence wavering as she hovered nearby.

"No kidding," Clark muttered, his fists clenching. "We stop it. Together."

TrigonMort—yes, we're calling him that now—wasn't about to wait for them to get their act together. He raised his demonic claw, and the earth beneath his feet cracked open, sending molten lava spewing skyward. From the fissures rose shadowy figures—twisted humanoid shapes made of darkness and fire. Death Eaters and other souls that Trigon had corrupted during his brief stint inside Superman's head emerged as shadow-thralls, their hollow eyes glowing with malevolent energy.

"This just keeps getting worse," Fred said, trying to lighten the mood. "Seriously, who invited the Shadow Army?"

"I don't care who they are," Kara said, her eyes blazing red as she hovered in front of the group. "We'll take them down."

"We have to," Starfire agreed, her hands glowing with crackling green energy. "The world is depending on us."

Meanwhile, Shadowflame was still lying unconscious in the dirt, clutching the Elder Wand like a kid holding a security blanket. Death stood over him, looking down with something that might've been affection—or exasperation.

—

The battlefield had transformed into the kind of cinematic chaos that even Michael Bay would struggle to outdo. Fire and smoke curled through the air, casting long shadows over the assembled heroes and the towering figure of TrigonMort. It was no longer a fight for survival; this was the apocalypse served with an extra side of doom.

First to arrive was Wonder Woman. She descended from the skies with the grace of a falcon and the fury of a thunderstorm. Her golden armor glimmered against the flickering firelight, her lasso coiled at her hip, and her shield strapped to her arm. When she landed, the ground cracked beneath her boots. Her eyes locked onto Voldemort's grotesque, demon-enhanced form. "Harry is my family," she said, her voice a dangerous calm that promised destruction. "And anyone who threatens my family faces me."

Right on cue, a green comet streaked across the battlefield, revealing Hal Jordan, the Green Lantern, who landed with a confident smirk. His emerald constructs buzzed to life, forming a massive hammer over his shoulder. "Wonder Woman's already here? Guess I missed the memo on the apocalypse invite list." Then he glanced at TrigonMort and whistled low. "Alright, scratch that. This is way worse than I thought."

Shazam followed, practically skidding into the chaos with his usual youthful enthusiasm. "Did someone say apocalypse? Let's punch it!" His fist crackled with lightning, eyes glowing like miniature suns. Right behind him was Doctor Fate, floating serenely in his golden helmet, his aura radiating an otherworldly calm. His entrance wasn't flashy, but the sheer weight of his power settled over the battlefield like a storm front. "This battle may determine the fate of more than this world," he intoned ominously. Because of course it would.

Then came Zatanna, emerging in a swirl of silver smoke, her top hat askew, though her eyes burned with focused determination. As her gaze swept the battlefield, it lingered on Shadowflame, lying motionless in the dirt. Her heart clenched, but she pressed forward. "No time for distractions," she whispered, her hands already weaving spellwork in preparation.

Before anyone could adjust to the reinforcements, Raven appeared. She materialized in a shroud of darkness, her cloak billowing like living smoke. Her glowing violet eyes locked onto TrigonMort with the kind of cold rage that could freeze fire. Without hesitation, she moved toward him, each step an unspoken declaration of war.

And then came Talia al Ghul. She strode onto the field like she owned it, her katana gleaming in her hand, her expression a mixture of icy calm and calculated menace. Flanking her was Sirius Black, his wand raised and his lips twisted into a feral grin. "Well," he muttered to no one in particular, "this day just keeps getting stranger."

On the other side of the battlefield, TrigonMort raised his clawed, malformed hand, and with a snap, more dark shapes began to rise from the cracked earth. Corrupted spirits bound to Trigon's will, and shadow-beasts that clawed at the ground as they emerged. The sight was enough to make even the hardiest heroes falter.

"Anyone else getting major 'final boss' vibes here?" Hal asked, conjuring a glowing green chainsaw. "No? Just me?"

"They're victims, Hal," Wonder Woman snapped, her voice sharp with righteous anger. "We don't destroy them. We save them."

Raven didn't wait for the conversation. She launched herself at TrigonMort, her soul-self erupting into a massive raven that screeched as it tore through the air. "Azarath Metrion Zinthos!" she roared, sending a torrent of black energy surging toward the demonic hybrid. TrigonMort raised a claw and batted the attack aside like it was nothing.

"Ah, my daughter," he rumbled, his voice a cacophony of Voldemort's serpentine hiss and Trigon's booming growl. "At last, you embrace your heritage. Come, stand by my side."

Raven's response was a wordless scream of defiance as she charged him again.

Meanwhile, Death—who was still cheerfully resembling a goth barista—crouched next to Shadowflame's unconscious form. He clutched the Elder Wand like it was his lifeline, though his grip was slack. "Honestly, kid," Death muttered, tapping her boot impatiently. "You're supposed to be the star of this show, and here you are, napping through the climax."

With a sigh, she plucked the Elder Wand from his hand. "Fine. Guess I'll give you a head start." Without any warning, she jammed the wand into the glowing crimson gemstone embedded in Shadowflame's chestplate.

The reaction was instant. The gemstone ignited with a blinding light, brighter than the sun, sending ripples of energy across the battlefield. Everyone—heroes, villains, shadow-thralls—stopped in their tracks, shielding their eyes as the light surged outward in a massive wave. TrigonMort snarled, his glowing eyes narrowing as the energy slammed into him, forcing him to stagger for the first time.

Shadowflame's body arched, his armor glowing like molten gold. The Elder Wand dissolved into pure magic, merging with the power already coursing through him. For a moment, the battlefield held its breath. Then his eyes snapped open, blazing with a fierce, otherworldly light.

TrigonMort raised his claw, prepared to strike. But the moment hung frozen, a stillness so sharp it cut through the chaos like a blade. And in that silence, the tide of battle shifted.

—

Let me set the scene for you: I was floating in a weird, starry void, surrounded by random snippets of my life. Like, over there was the time I faced a troll in the girls' bathroom. (Not one of my better moments.) Over here? The memory of me smacking Draco Malfoy with a hex. Solid life choice. And somewhere in the distance, I could hear faint echoes of Voldemort's raspy voice, which, let me tell you, is not a great background track.

Then she showed up.

Not some bony skeleton in a hood, scythe in hand, saying ominous things like, Your time has come, Harry Potter. Nope. Death—yes, Death—looked like she'd just stepped off the set of a quirky indie film. Think black leather jacket, ripped jeans, combat boots, and a smirk that said, I know everything about you, and I'm judging you for at least half of it. Her wavy black hair framed a face that was… okay, fine, she was gorgeous. But she also looked like she'd tear you apart with sarcasm before lifting a finger. Intimidating and attractive. Great combo.

"Harry Potter," she said, her voice smooth and just a little sarcastic. "We meet at last."

"Uh… hi?" I managed, because apparently, that's how I greet cosmic entities now.

Her smirk deepened. "That's the best you've got? After everything you've been through? 'Hi'?"

"Well, forgive me for not having a prepared speech," I shot back. "I didn't exactly expect to meet Death today."

"Fair," she said, crossing her arms and tilting her head like she was sizing me up. "Let's skip the small talk. You, my dear wizard, have just become what your kind likes to call the Master of Death."

Okay, that got my attention. "Wait, that's real? I thought it was just a dramatic name wizards came up with to feel important."

"Oh, it's real," she said, waving a hand like this was all very obvious. "But the term is a bit… misleading. Death doesn't have a master, Harry. Never has, never will. You're not my boss, if that's what you're thinking."

"Then what am I?" I asked, already regretting the question.

Her smirk softened into something I wasn't expecting: warmth. "You're my betrothed."

Pause. Rewind. What?

"Come again?" I said, blinking like an idiot.

She sighed like I was being incredibly slow. "You're my betrothed. Fiancé. Cosmic soulmate. Pick your term. The Hallows? The Peverell brothers? That whole saga? It was all part of my plan to find someone worthy of merging the artifacts. Someone who could handle the power and wasn't a total jerk. Congrats. You passed the test."

I stared at her. "You're telling me… this entire thing was a matchmaking scheme?"

"Pretty much," she said, like this was the most normal thing in the world. "Eternity's a long time, Harry. Even I get lonely."

I opened my mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Okay, but… I already have two girlfriends."

"Oh, you mean Kara and Kori?" she said, her tone casual, like we were talking about the weather. "Yeah, I've noticed. Don't worry—they're fine with sharing. Honestly, they'd probably be excited to have me around. Your girlfriends aren't exactly monogamy enthusiasts, in case you hadn't noticed."

I had, but that wasn't the point. "This is insane," I muttered.

She rolled her eyes. "Insane? Harry, you've fought a giant snake, time-traveled, and merged with magical artifacts older than dirt. This is Tuesday for you."

She wasn't wrong, which was annoying.

Before I could argue further, she held up a hand. "Look, we can debate the logistics of our eternal relationship later. Right now, there's a big ugly demon hybrid out there about to mess up your friends. You might want to get back to the fight."

The battlefield. Right. Voldemort's demon makeover. How had I forgotten that?

I took a deep breath, readying myself to leave the mindscape, but Death wasn't done.

"Oh, before you go," she said, grinning mischievously, "I made some upgrades to your armor. You'll like them. Trust me."

I glanced down at my black and gold suit, which was now glowing faintly, like it had leveled up in a video game. "Upgrades?"

"You'll see," she said cryptically. Then she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "Oh, and Harry? Before I put out for you, I expect a proper date. Candlelight, flowers, the works."

My brain officially broke. "Wait, what—"

But before I could process that, the world around me shattered, and I was hurtling back to reality. Her laughter followed me, echoing in my head like the universe's most unfair inside joke.

—

The battlefield had been an absolute mess. Explosions rocked the ground, swords clashed, and people screamed—basically, a typical Tuesday for anyone involved in a life-or-death fight. Then, without warning, everything froze.

Seriously, like someone had hit the pause button on the universe.

Harry—well, Shadowflame, as he was now—was floating in mid-air like he was auditioning for a role as a superhero in some big-budget movie. His body, still knocked out cold, started glowing. I mean, really glowing. The light was so bright that even the toughest warriors—who'd probably seen their fair share of crazy—squinted, shielding their eyes like they were facing down the sun.

The light spun around him like some kind of mystical storm, wrapping him in patterns that looked like they belonged in some ancient book you only get to read once every century. The entire battlefield went silent, as if the universe itself had stopped breathing.

Then, the light started to fade. And, just when the last of the glow was about to vanish, Shadowflame's eyes snapped open. Not just any eyes, though. His eyes were glowing—and not in a cool "I have glowing eyes" kind of way, but more like "I could probably melt you with just a glare" way.

It was like he'd just stepped out of the pages of a graphic novel. His armor, which had been black and gold with a cute little red hood, started shifting. Plates of blackened metal gleamed, tracing glowing crimson veins of power. His gauntlets pulsed like they'd just been hooked up to a power source that could run an entire city. And don't even get me started on his chest piece. That little red gemstone at its center? Yeah, it flared up like it was auditioning to be the sun.

But the best part? The thing that made everyone stop in their tracks—was the mask. It appeared out of nowhere, shiny and gold, with runes all over it like it was designed by a master craftsman with a flair for the dramatic. It wasn't just any mask. It was the mask. The kind of mask you wear when you want to walk into a room and make everyone wonder if you're about to save the world or destroy it.

The red hood—once just a part of his armor—now seemed to crown the whole look, with a red cape completing the ensemble with an air of mysterious badassery.

Shadowflame floated down, his boots barely skimming the scorched earth, like he was walking on air—because, well, he probably was. The gemstone in his chest pulsed one last time, sending a shockwave of power out in every direction. Everyone—friend, foe, anyone caught in the vicinity—took a collective step back, like they suddenly remembered they weren't dealing with a guy in fancy armor anymore. They were dealing with something far more terrifying.

Meanwhile, a few miles away in Haephaestus' forge, the god of smithing was holding his hammer mid-swing. Not because he'd frozen in place—no, no, this was something else. The guy felt it. The transformation. The armor he'd made? Yeah, it had just gotten a serious upgrade. And not the kind you get with a new pair of shoes. This was something deeper. Something cosmic. "Well, that's a surprise," he muttered, setting down his hammer like it was a sacred relic. "Looks like she finished the job."

Back on the battlefield, the silence was deafening. Shadowflame's glowing eyes scanned the crowd, like he was trying to decide which of them was going to be the lucky winner in today's "who's about to get their butt kicked" contest.

Then, in a voice that would have made even the most confident warrior take a second to rethink their life choices, Shadowflame spoke. "So… who's next?"

And yeah, that's when everyone realized: this was no ordinary fight anymore.

—

The battle was chaos. Pure, unadulterated madness. But you know what? It kind of felt good. I mean, seriously, how often do you get to be the guy who literally changes the game mid-fight?

And trust me, this wasn't your average glow-up. It was a whole transformation. Like a caterpillar turning into a dragon made of fire. Which, by the way, is exactly what happened to me. So yeah, that's a thing now. You can all start sending me fan mail.

Superman, looking like he'd just seen the sun rise sideways, was the first to speak. "What... what happened to him?"

Wonder Woman, of course, was way too chill about it. She crossed her arms like she was admiring a new set of armor. "That," she said, "is the power of a god reborn."

Okay, sure, that sounded a little dramatic, but hey—this was my big moment. I was rocking some serious divine vibes. If anyone needed a cape to match the aura, I'd be happy to pass on a few tips.

I glanced over at Kara, who was grinning like she'd just met her favorite celebrity at a coffee shop. "I knew there was something different about him," she said, not even trying to hide that heart-eyes look.

Honestly, I think I've got a thing for dramatic entrances. But that wasn't the point right now. TrigonMort was making himself comfortable, and by comfortable, I mean crushing Raven.

Starfire, the ever-optimistic ball of energy, was practically glowing with admiration. "His light is brighter than the sun," she said. "But this new form... it's like he's become something even more powerful."

Okay, not gonna lie, that felt pretty cool. Like I was the star of some really epic anime.

Zatanna, who's usually busy with spells and chaos, was totally distracted by my wings of fire. "Yeah. It's like... he's tapping into something ancient. Something beyond anything we've seen before," she muttered. "And this energy? It's almost alive."

Now, Hal Jordan—Green Lantern himself—squinted at me, looking a bit more serious than usual. "I've seen a lot of power in my day, but this? This is something else. That aura... it's like the universe is taking notes."

Shazam, standing there with a grin that suggested he was the fun of the party, slapped me on the back. "No wonder he's always been the leader—he's got the spark. I can feel it, too. The guy's a walking legend now."

I mean, could they all be any more complimentary? (Don't answer that, I like the attention.)

And then, of course, there's Doctor Fate floating high above us like he was some kind of cosmic judge. "This... this is something new," he intoned, analyzing me with that helmet of his.

At that point, Sirius gave me this half-sarcastic, half-impressed look. "Well, that's a bit over the top, isn't it?" he drawled, like he was commenting on a dress at a fashion show.

Fred and George didn't miss a beat. "Fred, you think we're allowed to take credit for that?" George asked, gesturing to my new fiery, winged transformation.

Fred, with the typical confidence of someone who knows they're a master of chaos, shot back, "Technically, we did help him build a sense of dramatic flair."

Meanwhile, Ron just stared at me, his mouth hanging open. "Blimey... no wonder we've always been following him. This is a game-changer."

Ginny, mid-battle and looking like she could take down a small army, glanced at me and gave a low whistle. "He's unstoppable now. This is what we've been waiting for."

Neville, being Neville, was a bit quieter, but you could see the awe in his face. "This is it. This is the change he was destined for."

You could practically hear the collective "wow" from the group, but I wasn't there for the applause. No, I had a mission. And that mission? Saving Raven's butt from the scary Voldemort-Trigon hybrid, TrigonMort.

I snapped back to the battle when I felt Raven's presence weaken. TrigonMort was making his move, his twisted magic wrapping around her like a vice. She wasn't gonna last much longer unless I did something big.

With a growl that was more beast than human, I threw myself into the air, my wings flaring out in a blaze of fire and fury. They weren't just Phoenix Flames anymore. No, now they were Hellfire too. Like, the universe was sending me a power upgrade. And I was gonna use it.

Doctor Fate's voice echoed in my mind, heavy with that cosmic understanding. "Those wings… they are no longer just Phoenix Flames. They are a blend of Phoenix Flames and Hellfire. The Flames of Life and Death, intertwined. You've become something beyond even what we imagined."

Shazam, clearly struggling to keep up with me, shot a wide-eyed glance my way. "Did he just... fly on fire?"

"No," Kara said, her voice suddenly more serious. "He's flying with the force of creation and destruction at his back. He's like... the literal embodiment of life and death combined."

Yup. That was me. Just a casual Tuesday for the guy with fiery wings.

I made my move, diving at TrigonMort with the speed of a comet and the power of a god. His eyes widened just enough to make me think he'd finally realized his mistake. But by then, it was too late. My punch, charged with Phoenix Flames and Hellfire, hit him square in the chest.

BOOM.

The entire battlefield shook as TrigonMort was sent flying, crashing through a mountain of his own thralls. Raven gasped for air, finally free from his grip. She didn't waste any time, scrambling to her feet like the fighter she was.

Standing tall, I spread my wings wide, fire crackling around me, and called out over the chaos, "You're not the only one with power, TrigonMort. Let's see if you can handle this."

And just like that, the real fight began.

—

Meanwhile, from a distance, Death stood with her arms casually crossed, watching the chaos unfold like a concertgoer at a rock show. She wasn't one for jumping into every battle—she preferred to chill out, perched somewhere on the edge, observing the spectacle with an almost zen-like detachment. But today? Today, her gaze was locked on the fight between her betrothed and that... well, thing the people around had taken to calling TrigonMort. Honestly, he looked like a walking horror movie, but Death? She was more interested in the man she was watching.

Death was all about the quiet moments—the endings that came in silence, the graceful surrender of life to time. Flashy displays weren't really her thing. Fire and brimstone? Eh, too much effort. But Shadowflame? He was a different kind of showstopper. Watching him fight, the sheer force of those massive wings blazing with a terrifying cocktail of Phoenix Flames and Hellfire... it was kind of like watching a meteor crash into a mountain and then dance around it. Poetic, in an oddly beautiful way.

A playful grin tugged at the corners of her lips. Her fingers drummed absently on the handle of the scythe that always seemed to stay by her side, a symbol of her work, but mostly a prop she liked to occasionally swing around for dramatic effect. She admired the explosion of energy rippling across the battlefield, and for a moment, she even had to stop and think, "Damn, he's really good at this."

But, of course, she wasn't just here for the show. TrigonMort was no slouch. The kind of evil that oozed from him was enough to make even Death take notice. And while her betrothed had just upped his game to an absurd cosmic level, well... she wasn't exactly thrilled about the balance of things in the universe being tossed around. Things weren't supposed to look like this, were they? She shrugged to herself. Not her circus, not her monkeys. She was just here for a really cool front-row seat.

When Shadowflame landed that massive punch and TrigonMort crumpled like a ragdoll, Death couldn't help but let out a quiet, amused chuckle. It was like watching a dog wag its tail after a long day. "I mean... wow. He really is a lot stronger than I thought." Her voice, soft and almost lazy, trailed off, the warmth in her tone betraying her joy at watching him kick some serious butt. Maybe that was the part of him that made her a little mushy inside. Okay, a lot mushy, but she wasn't telling anyone.

Her gaze flicked across the battlefield to the others—Kara, Superman, Wonder Woman, and all those big-name heroes. You could practically hear the collective thoughts buzzing in the air: "Wait, this guy's WAY more powerful than we thought."

Death smiled, her expression uncharacteristically soft but still holding that aura of cool detachment. "Well, guess they're finally catching up."

It was funny, in a way. These mortals—no offense to them, really—they always took so long to realize what she already knew. Shadowflame wasn't just some hero. He was something... bigger. Not just death and destruction like her—though, hello, she was totally good at that, thanks to her little job—but he had life in him. He wasn't about endings; he was about beginnings, too. About creating, protecting. Like a weird blend of life and death wrapped up in this incredible force. She really was proud of him, but she'd never tell him that. She was too cool for that.

Death chuckled to herself again, eyes twinkling as she watched Shadowflame prepare for his next move. He was, without a doubt, a force of nature—and she wasn't the only one noticing it. The energy shifting around them was palpable, like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm. She could almost taste the change in the air.

"This is gonna be so good," Death murmured to herself under her breath, a dreamy little smile creeping up her face. "Very, very good."

Her scythe clinked slightly as she adjusted her grip, the sound almost like a gentle whisper to the winds around her. Her eyes narrowed a touch, and for a second, there was a flicker of something dark in her gaze. But then it was gone, replaced by a relaxed, almost amused look. "Honestly, though. I could get used to this."

There was a quiet kind of excitement in her chest, something soft, something unspoken—but it was there. Shadowflame was more than she ever thought he could be. And TrigonMort? Well, he was about to get the front-row seat to a show that would be unlike anything he'd ever imagined. The beginning of the end, as she liked to say. And she didn't have to lift a finger. How perfect was that?

—

As Shadowflame was busy obliterating TrigonMort, the others were fighting tooth and nail to keep up with the chaos. They were all geared up in their brand new superhero armors—custom-designed, made from the toughest materials known to the non-magical world: Ukrainian Ironbelly hide, Acromantula silk, and reinforced with enchantments for added durability. It was a mix of magic and tech, just how they liked it.

Ron and Hermione were side by side, their armors shining under the fiery glow of the battle. Ron was never one for too much gear, but this suit? Perfect for him. It was sturdy, practical, with a few charms to make sure he didn't trip over his own feet in the heat of the moment. Hermione, on the other hand, had customized her armor to have multiple compartments for every conceivable spellbook or gadget she could need. She was practically glowing with the power of runes and magic-infused tech.

Ginny, perched high in the sky, soared on her Firebolt, maneuvering through the chaos like a seasoned pro. She was making quick work of the Shadow-thralls, weaving in and out of their attacks as if she were born to fly in battle. Her Firebolt, now enchanted to have some extra durability, hummed beneath her, and she was grinning like a warrior goddess as she knocked down thralls left and right.

Katie, Alicia, and Angelina were skating through the air using the Anti-Gravity Boots created by Fred and George, the twins having, of course, given them their own tweaks, while Hermione, Daphne, and Susan worked in some extra rune magic to make them practically unstoppable. They zipped through the air like missiles, their boots leaving trails of sparks as they plowed through enemy lines. They could accelerate to speeds that no one thought were possible without completely obliterating the ground beneath them. The only thing they lacked was brakes. But hey, they were the ones making the waves, so who needed brakes?

Neville, Luna, Daphne, Tracey, and the rest were down on the ground, charging at the thralls with magic, their wands blazing. Neville was especially fiery today, a mixture of sheer grit and the power of his armor turning him into a juggernaut. He was putting everything into his attacks, his usual hesitance replaced by the sheer power of his protective suit. Luna, of course, was as serene as ever, floating through the battlefield like she was enjoying a calm stroll in a meadow. She was summoning bursts of light, blinding and disorienting the thralls long enough for others to attack.

"Nothing quite like the thrill of a good fight, huh?" Fred shouted to George, who was tearing through enemies with his trademark grin.

"Sure, it's a great way to blow off steam!" George replied, unleashing a barrage of magical firepower from his gauntlets. "But can we not blow up the entire battlefield? I kind of like keeping the landscape intact."

Sirius, Remus, and the always-serious Moody were taking a different approach. Sirius had been fully equipped with a suit that had as much grace as it did power. Remus, whose sense of restraint was always his hallmark, was now channeling the full fury of his werewolf strength into every strike. Moody, however, was the constant professional—his Auror instincts on full display, making quick work of the thralls, cutting them down like an old hand at the job. He was an odd mix of old-school pragmatism and flashy, tech-enhanced magic. No one would have been surprised if he'd turned his new magical prosthetic into a cannon at some point.

In the sky, Superman, Supergirl, Starfire, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Doctor Fate, Shazam, and Zatanna were in full force. Zatanna, her suit magically amplified, was sending out dazzling spells of light and force, disintegrating enemies with a flick of her fingers. Shazam was punching through the thralls with the strength of gods, his lightning crackling and lighting up the entire battlefield. Doctor Fate floated high above, manipulating powerful spells that twisted the very fabric of reality to keep the thralls at bay.

"Let's not make a habit of this," Superman said, his jaw tight as he wiped the sweat from his brow. Even with his strength, there was no denying how challenging it was to keep up with this level of chaos. He couldn't help but glance over at the young wizard heroes. "They're... impressive, aren't they?"

Supergirl gave a half-laugh, her hair glowing from the power of her suit. "Are you saying you're surprised?"

Superman rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. But I don't think they're going to let us take the lead on this one."

Indeed, as Shadowflame went toe-to-toe with TrigonMort, it was becoming clear that this wasn't just a fight—it was the debut of the world's new superhero team. And they weren't just holding their own—they were impressing the likes of the Justice League, who were starting to see that magic and tech could coexist in ways they'd never fully realized before. Hadrian's transformation into Shadowflame was certainly a sight to behold, but it was the camaraderie and teamwork on the ground—everyone working together like a well-oiled machine—that made it clear this wasn't just a fluke.

TrigonMort, who had underestimated the sheer variety of powers on the battlefield, was starting to look a little worse for wear. His shadowy minions were being picked off one by one, and even with all his power, he couldn't seem to stop Hadrian's relentless assault. With every swing of his fists, it was clear that this fight was tipping in the heroes' favor.

As the battle raged on, it became less of a fight and more of a show—a grand display of power, teamwork, and magic that would go down in history. This was the debut of a new era of superheroes, and no one was about to let TrigonMort—no matter how terrifying his form—take it away from them.

---

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!

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