Okay, buckle up, because things were about to get very interesting.
Ravager (a.k.a. Rose Wilson) was standing right in front of me, all smug like she thought she had this in the bag. She had her twin swords out—like the kind of swords that could give a guy a bad day if they got anywhere near him—and that irritating, cocky smirk on her face that made me want to punch something. Preferably her.
"Not quite as fun without the whole gang, is it?" I said, stretching my arms like I was getting ready for a workout. (And trust me, this was going to be a workout.)
She glared at me, spinning her blades in her hands like she was about to show me some fancy moves. "Are you gonna talk the entire time, or are you actually gonna do something?"
Oh, I was definitely gonna do something.
I flicked my wrist, and bam! Chains of fire shot out from my fingers, forming into these wild, twisting whips of flame. They moved with a mind of their own, which was both cool and terrifying. The chains snaked toward her like they were auditioning for a part in a summer blockbuster. But Rose? She was fast. Super fast. She ducked, dodged, flipped over them like she was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil, and then—bam—one of the chains caught her around the ankle and yanked her down to the ground with a yelp.
"Nice try," I grinned, watching her struggle for a second.
She snarled, slashing at the chains with one of her blades. "You're really starting to annoy me."
Aww, that was sweet. She liked me. I could tell.
Before she could do anything else, I snapped my fingers. The fire chains expanded, shifting and contorting into an enormous flaming bird. You know, the kind of bird that could probably roast an entire village if it felt like it. I sent it after her with the kind of precision that only came with years of definitely not training.
She barely managed to dodge it, slicing at the fiery wings, sending sparks flying in every direction. But no matter how hard she swung, that bird just would not die. The flames reformed every time she cut through them, like a magic trick gone horribly wrong.
"You are good," I admitted, impressed despite myself. "But not good enough."
I raised both hands to the sky and let the heat build up around me until I felt like I was standing inside an oven. Then—POW—out came this enormous fiery fist, hurtling toward her at high speed. Think Hulk smash but with more flame and less green rage.
She dodged again. Of course, she did. Why would she not dodge? She was Rose Wilson, the human hurricane.
"Seriously?" I asked, feeling my temper rise. "Is that all you've got? This is getting boring."
"Talk less, fight more," she shot back, rolling out of the way and flipping into a crouch, her swords raised.
Oh, this was great. She was all cool and composed while I was trying not to set the entire block on fire. But hey, I had more tricks up my sleeve. This was just a warm-up.
But before I could do something else epic, I caught a strange shift in the air—like the temperature dropped about ten degrees in a split second. My gut told me something was off.
And that's when I saw him. Conner.
Superboy was charging at Copperhead, like a freight train on steroids. One punch, and bam—Copperhead went down like a ton of bricks, his snake-like body collapsing with an almost comical splat into a pile of rubble.
"Nice," I muttered, giving Superboy a nod, though he probably couldn't hear me over the sound of his fists demolishing bad guys.
But Rose? She wasn't looking at Superboy, she was still eyeing me. This was so far from over.
"Are you done yet, Wilson?" I asked, crossing my arms. "Because I've got a whole team here, and you're starting to get in the way."
"Don't flatter yourself," she snarled, stepping forward, her blades raised.
I shrugged. "I was trying to be nice."
But now, no more Mr. Nice Guy.
"Alright, time to turn up the heat," I said with a grin, my wings bursting from my back in a flash of flames. With one swipe of my hand, a massive ring of fire shot up from the ground, trapping Rose in the center.
"Oh, this is rich," I said, my grin widening. "I was thinking about letting you off easy, but now? I'm having second thoughts."
She hissed in frustration, slashing at the fire with everything she had, but the flames were like a bad ex—they just wouldn't go away. No matter how much she cut or dodged, they kept reforming.
I wasn't gonna let her out of this cage until she realized I was in charge.
"You're not leaving until I say so," I said, voice practically purring with satisfaction.
Rose started to try and cut through the fire again, but that's when I went full lava flow mode. The flames around her shifted, becoming liquid fire that bubbled and swirled like it was having a dance party. The fire-shaped spikes shot toward her with the precision of a sniper. She parried with her blades, sparks flying every time the fire met steel, but I wasn't done yet. I wasn't about to give her a chance to get away.
"Almost there…" I murmured, letting the fire bend to my will, pushing it just a little further. I could see it in her eyes—she was getting frustrated.
And that's when the comms buzzed to life, loud and clear.
"Shadowflame," Ginny's voice crackled through, "They're ready! We're clearing out the stragglers!"
That was my cue. I waved my hand, and just like that, the flame-cage disappeared. Rose hit the ground with a thud, gasping for air like she'd just run a marathon in a sauna.
"I'm not going to kill you, Wilson," I said with a grin, "but you can think of this as a little vacation until we finish up here."
She glared up at me, face dark with rage. "This isn't over."
I raised an eyebrow. "We'll see. We'll see."
I turned back to the chaos down the street. Superboy had Copperhead knocked out cold, Artemis and Kid Flash were crushing Black Spider, and Fred and George were weaving through the mercenaries like they were in their element.
"We're wrapping this up, team!" I called over the comms. "Let's finish this and get to the real fight. Deathstroke's lair is waiting."
I glanced back at Superboy. He was still punching things. I knew he was good.
This was our time to shine.
"Time for the real fun to begin," I grinned to myself, my wings still flickering with flames. The night was just getting started.
And I was ready to turn up the heat.
—
The lair smelled like old pizza, metal, and bad decisions—definitely not the best combo. I wasn't exactly thrilled to be here, but hey, this was the mission. Besides, when you're stuck in a cramped hallway with a bunch of heroes and villains who are as ready for a fight as a kid at a candy store, you sort of get into it.
"Alright, team, let's do this." I gave a half-hearted salute to no one in particular, because honestly, I wasn't feeling too heroic right now. My hands were full of flames and sarcasm.
Sirius Black, looking like the human version of a storm cloud, was right behind me, a little too at ease for my liking. "Don't get too cocky, kid. We still haven't seen all the bad guys yet," he said, voice low but laced with that familiar mischievous tone.
"Yeah, well, we can handle it," I shot back. "It's not like we're facing the world's most dangerous supervillains or anything."
Talia al Ghul, the woman of mystery and danger, didn't respond. She was too busy scanning the area like she could smell trouble a mile away. Honestly, the only thing more dangerous than her was the way she made everyone feel like they were one wrong move away from being in serious trouble. It's the eyes. They're always calculating.
Behind us, Fred and George Weasley were already debating some new prank involving confetti bombs or exploding gum or whatever madness they had come up with. They'd been at it since we left the Bioship, and I could already tell that whatever it was, it was going to end in disaster—and probably a small fire.
"Can we focus, please?" Hermione—Arcana—grumbled. She was carrying way more magic in her than I could understand, but right now, she was the most grounded person on this team. Her magic was sharp, precise—basically the opposite of me, who preferred my powers a little messier, a little flauntier.
"Yeah, yeah, we're on it." Ron, who was a few steps behind us, sighed. "But, uh, I could've sworn I heard something. It's too quiet."
Just as he said it, the quiet was broken by a small, high-pitched voice on our comms.
"Incoming," Miss Martian's voice rang through the earpiece. "You're approaching Ragdoll and Deathstroke. They're just ahead, and more mercenaries are closing in on your location."
Great. No pressure.
Conner, aka Superboy, had his arms crossed and his stance wide, like he was ready to take on an entire army. Which, given his invulnerability and ridiculous strength, he probably could. "Let's get this over with. I'm not here for a long conversation."
"Tell me about it," Wally (Kid Flash) added from beside me, already zipping back and forth like a blur of red and yellow. "I came here to break stuff, not listen to a bunch of villain monologues."
I almost laughed, but then the door slid open, and I saw them.
Ragdoll, twisting like some nightmare version of a human origami sculpture, grinned at us from the other side. "Well, well, the heroes have arrived. I was wondering when you'd show up."
"Is that your real face or are you auditioning for a weird horror movie?" I muttered under my breath, honestly not in the mood for whatever this was.
And there, standing calmly beside him, was Deathstroke. The man was practically the definition of dangerous—famous mercenary, ridiculously skilled fighter, and the kind of guy who made you want to rethink your life choices when you saw him.
"You know, I was hoping for a bit more of a challenge," Deathstroke said, twirling his sword like he was auditioning for Pirates of the Caribbean. Seriously, who does that?
"Well, get in line," I shot back, preparing to ignite my chains of fire. "You'll be fighting me."
Sirius took a step forward, cracking his knuckles. "And me. Though I'm just here for the fun of it."
Talia unsheathed her blade with a calmness that almost made me jealous. She was a walking definition of deadly, and you could practically see the calculated focus behind her eyes. "Enough talk. Let's end this."
Ragdoll made his move first, lunging at me in one of those weird, contorted ways that made me wonder if he was more of a circus performer than a villain. I barely managed to catch his hand with my flaming chains, and the next thing I knew, he was twisted up like a pretzel, trying to worm his way out.
"Seriously? This is the guy who's supposed to be dangerous?" I grinned, tightening my grip. "Come on, dude, try harder."
Wally zipped by, laughing. "You know, I was expecting more of a challenge, but this guy is just weird."
Before I could take another shot, bam—there was Conner, charging into the fray like a wrecking ball, plowing through a bunch of mercenaries and leaving chaos in his wake. He picked up one guy, threw him across the room, and smirked. "See? This is what I do best."
Meanwhile, Artemis was already drawing her bow, firing off arrows like they were going out of style. One after another, mercenaries were dropping like flies as her arrows found their marks. Every shot was clean and precise, and honestly, I could watch her in action all day. Too bad she probably wouldn't let me.
"Focus!" Hermione snapped from behind me, already waving her wand and casting some kind of protective charm over Ron, who was muttering something about needing more snacks for a fight.
I spun around just in time to block a huge slash from Deathstroke's sword. The thing was as sharp as a razor, and for a second, I thought I was going to lose a limb. But, of course, my fire powers kicked in, and I sent a burst of flame straight into his face, forcing him to back off. "Not today, Slade. Go home."
Deathstroke, looking only slightly annoyed, dodged and flipped back onto his feet. "You'll regret that."
"Well, now I'm just excited," I said, my grin widening as I prepared for round two. "Come at me, bro."
From above, Miss Martian's voice crackled through the comms. "Heads up, Shadowflame. More mercs on the way."
"Perfect. Just what I needed," I muttered, feeling the adrenaline kick in. "Let's make this epic."
And with that, the chaos continued. But hey, at least it wasn't boring.
---
So, there I was, trying to keep track of my team while also pretending I wasn't two seconds away from a major freak-out. On one side of the room, Ragdoll—basically Slenderman's bendy cousin, if he had a flair for the dramatic—was doing his best Cirque du Soleil routine. He twisted and flipped around like a hyperactive slinky on steroids. Wally was zipping back and forth in a red blur, trying to grab him, but every time he got close, Ragdoll bent into some horrifyingly impossible position that made The Exorcist look like amateur hour.
"Shadowflame!" Wally's voice crackled through the comms. "Any chance we can tie this guy into a knot or something? Preferably one he can't wiggle out of?"
I ducked as a loose beam fell from the ceiling—thanks to Wally ricocheting off a wall—and shot a quick glance at the chaos. "I'm working on it, Kid Klutz," I said, scanning the room. "Megan, you got eyes on this guy?"
"Already on it," came Megan's calm voice from above, like she was sipping tea on the Bioship instead of monitoring an escalating battle. "Ragdoll's not going to be a problem much longer."
Sure enough, Ragdoll froze mid-backflip, limbs locking up in the most awkward position imaginable. Seriously, one leg was wrapped behind his head while the other was bent backward like he was auditioning for a yoga horror movie. His head tilted to the side like a possessed mannequin, and then he just… collapsed.
"Psychic takedown," Megan said cheerfully over the comms, like she was announcing a weather update. "He's trapped in his own mind now, fighting himself. Should keep him busy for a while."
"Remind me never to make you mad," Wally muttered, skidding to a halt beside me. His hair was sticking up in every direction, and he looked more annoyed than tired.
"Duly noted," Megan replied, her voice just a touch smug.
I was about to make a snarky comment about Wally's inability to catch a guy in a spandex suit when my Spidey-sense—or whatever my equivalent is—went haywire. A shadow moved to my left, faster than I could react, and suddenly, Slade Wilson was right there.
Now, let me paint a picture for you. Deathstroke isn't your average bad guy. He's like if Batman decided to go full-on evil, ditched the no-killing rule, and picked up swordsmanship as a side hustle. The guy's terrifyingly fast, and his sword? Let's just say it wasn't the kind you find at your local flea market.
I barely dodged his first strike, twisting away at the last second. His blade sliced through the air, and I felt a sharp sting in my arm. Glancing down, I saw blood. My blood.
"Oh, come on!" I groaned, clutching my arm. "Hephaestus made this armor! Hephaestus! God of blacksmiths! It's supposed to be indestructible!"
"Apparently not," Slade said, his voice calm and deep, the smirk beneath his mask practically audible. He twirled his sword like he had all the time in the world. "And judging by your reaction, I'd say this is the first time something's gotten through it. Interesting."
Before I could come up with a witty retort, Wally zipped in, grabbing my injured arm. "Dude, you okay? Because that looked like it hurt. A lot."
"Thanks for the play-by-play, Captain Obvious," I snapped, shaking him off.
"Wally," Artemis's voice cut in, sharp and no-nonsense. She was crouched on a nearby beam, bow drawn, her blonde ponytail swaying like a flag of impending doom. "Focus. He's not here for a tea party."
"You think?" Wally shot back, but he zipped back into position beside her, just in time to dodge another strike from Deathstroke.
Slade turned his attention to me, holding up his blade. "This," he said, almost conversationally, "is the Godkiller. Forged by Hephaestus himself. Designed to do exactly what the name suggests."
"Kill gods?" Ginny Weasley guessed from across the room, stepping out from behind a toppled column. Her wand was in her hand, and her fiery hair looked like it was about to combust. "Because that's not terrifying at all."
"Bingo," Slade said, inclining his head slightly. "Hephaestus gave it to me in exchange for eliminating a certain Titan. Guess he figured I'd need the right tool for the job."
I groaned. "Okay, so let me get this straight. You're running around with a sword that can kill gods, and you thought it'd be a great idea to use it on me?"
"Not thought," Slade corrected. "Knew. You're no god, but you're close enough."
Before I could fire back, Conner stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. His eyes glowed with fury, and his voice was low and dangerous. "You're not touching him again."
"Superboy, wait—" I started, but Conner was already charging like a freight train.
Slade sidestepped at the last second, his movements almost too fast to track. His blade came down in a deadly arc, aiming for Conner's back.
Artemis's arrow zipped through the air, forcing Slade to deflect. The blade missed Conner by inches, and Conner spun around, landing a punch that sent Slade skidding across the room.
"Nice shot, Artemis," Conner said, his voice tight as he straightened. "But I've got this."
"No, you don't," Hermione cut in, her wand glowing as she stepped forward with Talia at her side. Talia's expression was unreadable, but her blade gleamed ominously in the flickering light.
"This isn't just your fight, Conner," Hermione said firmly. "We're all in this together."
"And if you think we're going down easy," I added, summoning flames to my hands, "you've got another thing coming."
Slade tilted his head, his smirk returning. "Good," he said. "I like a challenge."
And that's when all hell broke loose.
—
Alright, let's kick things off.
I did what any self-respecting, flame-wielding hero would do in a fight like this: I set my hands on fire. Not literally (although, you know, I could do that), but I summoned the Phoenix flames, which is basically like having a miniature sun in each hand. Yeah, I'm that awesome.
I grinned like a maniac, watching the fire flicker and flare, licking at the air with an unholy hunger. "Slade," I called out, "I hope you're ready for a hot date with destiny. And by destiny, I mean me. And by hot, I mean, well, you get it."
Slade Wilson, the man, the myth, the 'I-don't-smile-but-when-I-do-it's-scarier-than-your-last-nightmare' legend, just gave me this look. You know, the one that says, "I could kill you with a toothpick, but I'll let you keep talking." He twirled his Godkiller sword around like he was rehearsing for a dance recital, all smooth and show-offy.
"That all you got, kid?" Slade asked, his voice as dry as an old desert. He didn't look scared—like, not even a little. His tone was more like, "Do you mind? I'm busy."
I didn't even flinch. "No, no, we're just getting started. I've got a whole arsenal of fiery goodness just waiting to make you regret this whole fight."
And with that, I slashed my fiery sword through the air like a flaming windmill of death. It was beautiful—if I do say so myself. Slade, however, didn't seem to think so. The guy just sidestepped. Sidestepped. Like he was at a wedding reception, dodging awkward slow dances. I barely even caught the glint of his blade before it was at my side. And BAM! It slid across my ribs, leaving a gash that healed itself immediately—but still hurt like I'd just been run over by a bus.
He was too fast. Too good. This was the part where I was supposed to land a blow, right? Yeah, well, apparently not today.
"You're quick, I'll give you that," Slade said, flicking a drop of my blood off his sword like it was nothing. "But speed? That's for amateurs. Precision, kid. Learn it."
I narrowed my eyes. "Oh, trust me. I'm very precise. Watch this."
And then, because I am nothing if not an overachiever, I whipped out my second sword, a blazing hellfire thing that looked like it was made from a thousand tiny angry suns.
I swung it low, while my Phoenix sword came in high. It was like the perfect double attack. I could practically hear the victory music. Then... nothing.
Slade's sword met mine, and my whole arm jolted like I'd just been hit by lightning. I swear, if he wasn't so good, I'd have been impressed by the sparks. I barely managed to pull back before his sword slashed across my forearm. Again, it healed—thanks, armor—but man, my pride was wounded way more than my actual body.
"You still haven't figured it out, have you?" Slade said, voice all smug. "You're predictable. You've got all that firepower, but no finesse. Maybe I should slow it down for you. Let you catch up."
If I hadn't been so mad, I would've actually appreciated the taunt. Slade was like a walking, talking encyclopedia of everything that could wreck you. And he was doing it with style.
I growled, my temper flaring as I summoned a massive wave of fire. It was like every angry emotion I've ever had in my life decided to show up for a party. This time, the flames roared louder than I did, filling the room with heat that felt like the inside of a volcano. Yeah, that hot.
Slade didn't even blink. He just stepped forward, Godkiller raised. The next thing I knew, he cut through my flames like a hot knife through butter, casually dodging all the destruction I was sending his way. Casually. Like he was bored.
And then, when I finally thought I might've had him, bam, there was his blade again. Right in my face. My fire-sword clashed against his—sparks flying like we were at a Fourth of July show—before I felt the cold steel graze my side. Not deep enough to make me panic, but deep enough to make me angry.
"Your fire's not gonna save you, kid," Slade said, his voice cooler than the air in an ice cream freezer. "You're getting sloppy."
"Sloppy?" I snapped. "I'm just getting started, grandpa."
Okay, so I wasn't exactly helping myself here. But the guy had it coming.
I swung again—this time wildly. Yeah, it wasn't my smartest move, but who needs brains when you've got fire and fury, right? I sent both swords at him like a two-headed monster of molten rage.
Slade didn't flinch. Didn't even break a sweat. Instead, he parried one sword and twirled around the other. He was like a ninja, if ninjas were built like walking tanks and had the reflexes of a cheetah on Red Bull.
"I think you've had enough, kid," Slade said, all sweet like he was offering me a nice hot drink, before his blade flashed across my chest.
The pain burned. Literally. But for a split second, something clicked.
It wasn't just anger. It wasn't just power. It was something else. Something older. Something deeper.
I closed my eyes for just a second, breathing through the pain. And then, as if by magic—or sheer rage—I felt the Phoenix power surge. I was the fire. And the fire wasn't gonna lose.
When I opened my eyes, I didn't see Slade as a man. I saw a challenge. And that challenge was gonna fall.
"You're good, Slade," I said, voice low, a grin creeping up my face. "But I'm better."
I charged. This time, I wasn't playing. Both swords clashed with his in a fury of fire and steel. This was no longer about skill—it was about who had the bigger firepower. Spoiler alert: that was me.
We locked blades. The heat around us flared, and I could feel Slade's hesitation for just a second. Just a tiny second. But that was all I needed.
"I got you now," I muttered under my breath.
And then... BOOM.
—
Alright, where were we? Right, I was basically throwing down with Slade Wilson—who, by the way, is a legendary pain in the neck. But hey, at least I got the fire going. The flames were dancing like they were auditioning for the lead role in Fast and Furious: The Phoenix Flame Drift, but let's be real. It wasn't enough. Not against a guy like him.
So, there I was, swords clashing with the kind of sound you'd expect if you stuck a matchstick in a blender. But guess what? Slade wasn't even sweating. In fact, I'm pretty sure he was starting to enjoy this. Like, he was so calm, I was half expecting him to ask if I wanted a snack during this little murder fiesta.
And then, something happened. My Phoenix flames weren't just burning; they were... morphing. Something shifted, like the heat wasn't just coming from me anymore. It was coming through me, like I was channeling something deeper. A wild surge of energy, ancient and primal, cracked inside me, and that's when the fire got a lot hotter.
But that's not the weird part. The weird part is when the flames shifted from their usual orange-red to bright blue. Yeah, not your standard "spitting hot fire" kind of blue, but more like "welcome to the heart of a star" blue. It was like I was suddenly wielding a whole different kind of fire—something no one had ever seen before.
That's when Sirius—yes, Sirius Black, my godfather, who was watching from the sidelines like the world's most sarcastic cheerleader—finally put two and two together.
"Wait a minute," Sirius muttered, his eyes wide with recognition. "I know that blue flame. That's not just your standard Phoenix stuff. That's Protego Diabolica. Harry, what the hell are you—"
Before he could finish, Slade took a swing at me, but this time, I wasn't having it. The blue flames licked out from my sword like a living thing, swirling around the Godkiller like it was made of paper. Yeah, it wasn't just fire anymore—it was magic. Dark, burning magic. And for a moment, I swear, even Slade had a tiny glimmer of hesitation in his eyes.
"Ah, so this is how it's gonna be," Slade said, his voice tinged with a mix of annoyance and grudging respect. "You've got some tricks up your sleeve now, huh?"
I grinned back at him. "You have no idea."
Now, here's the thing about Protego Diabolica. It's not your typical spell. Usually, it's used by wizards to conjure a protective barrier—a kind of force field made of hellfire to block incoming attacks made by people opposing him, while not hurting his allies. But, me being me, I decided to adapt it to my needs. So, instead of just protecting myself, I channeled it into my sword, turning the flames into something much more offensive. Diabolical, even.
I could see Sirius's eyes widen as he watched me in action. "The kid's using it wrong," he muttered. "But somehow, he's making it work."
Ron, my ever-enthusiastic sidekick (seriously, I need a better title for him), jumped in. "Wait, he's using Protego Diabolica?! Isn't that a dark spell? Why's he using it like this?"
"Magic is all about the intent," Sirius explained, his eyes not leaving the fight. "Harry's not using it for defense. He's using it to attack. And, uh, let's just say that the fire he's throwing around is... way more dangerous than normal."
Sirius had a point. That blue flame was different, hotter, more intense. Every swing felt like it could rip apart not just Slade, but the entire block we were fighting in. I could see the flames consuming the air, twisting into shapes that no fire should ever make. It was like my very will was shaping the inferno, forcing it into a form that was both beautiful and terrifying.
Then came the moment where Slade realized he might be in over his head. His eyes narrowed, and he took a step back, glancing at his sword like it was about to betray him. Not that I blamed him. If I were him, I'd be getting seriously nervous right about now.
"Okay, kid," he said, his voice tinged with irritation, but something else—something like respect—slipped through. "I've had enough of this."
That's when my teammates showed up. Oh, boy, did they show up. First, I heard the familiar thoom of Kid Flash, who zipped by so fast I thought he might trip over his own legs. Artemis wasn't far behind, bow in hand, ready to shoot something that might or might not be me. Superboy was already standing by, fists clenched, giving me the kind of look that said, "I'm not sure if I'm supposed to help or watch you burn this guy to the ground, but I'm good either way."
And then there was Arcana (Hermione), standing next to Ron and Ginny, both of them practically vibrating with excitement. Arcana was scanning the battlefield with the concentration of someone who might actually know what she's doing.
"Okay, Harry, now might be a good time to tell us what the heck is going on with that sword," Ron called out.
"Right," I grinned, trying to keep the edge off my voice as I lunged forward again. "Let's just say I've got a few tricks up my sleeve. Don't worry, guys, I've got this one."
But as I said that, I felt it. The fire surged again, stronger, faster. And I realized I wasn't just using Protego Diabolica anymore. The flames had taken on a life of their own—responding to my will like a beast finally freed from its cage. This fight had just turned into something a whole lot bigger than I had planned.
Sirius looked at me, eyes wide. "Now we're really in for it," he muttered.
And, you know, he wasn't wrong.
---
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