Shadowflame

Voldemort wasn't having a good day.

To be fair, he didn't have many good days—being a dark wizard with a god complex will do that to a person—but this was different. This was a new level of terrible. He'd gone through the trouble of gathering his most loyal followers, performing a powerful ritual, and—well, they were supposed to end up in a new world where he could rule without interference. Instead, they ended up in what could only be described as the world's weirdest "lost and found" section.

Voldemort was standing in a vast, empty field. The sky above was some kind of off-gray color, and the air smelled vaguely of burnt popcorn, which was, frankly, not what he'd had in mind for an ideal afterlife.

As his followers moaned and stumbled around him—looking like they'd just been through the worst magical car wreck in history—Voldemort couldn't help but enjoy the irony. He, of course, had come through the ritual without a scratch. (He'd had a little extra help, courtesy of his genius-level Dark Mark design. Don't ask, it's a long story.) Meanwhile, Bellatrix was hacking up something that looked suspiciously like bad sushi, Lucius Malfoy was crouched in the dirt like a defeated dog, and Greyback—well, Greyback always looked like a mess, so no one was too surprised by his situation.

But this? This was new. And uncomfortable.

"What in Merlin's name is this place?" Bellatrix screeched, waving a hand in front of her face like she was trying to get rid of a bad smell. (Which she probably was.)

Voldemort didn't respond at first. Instead, he turned his attention to the sky. There was a strange streak of light cutting through the clouds, glowing unnaturally bright. It was the kind of light that screamed, "I'm magical, and I'm about to cause some serious trouble."

"Definitely not Hogwarts," he muttered, his red eyes narrowing in suspicion.

The thing was, Voldemort wasn't really worried about it. Not yet. His plan—such as it was—had been executed flawlessly (for him, at least). His followers had no idea that their Dark Marks had been modified to suck out their magical energy, which Voldemort had then cleverly siphoned off to protect himself. They were weak, but he was stronger than ever. As for the glowing light in the distance? Eh, whatever. He'd handle it.

"What's wrong with you lot?" he hissed, his voice dripping with disdain. "Can't you see that I'm in the middle of something important?"

But they weren't listening. And to be fair, it wasn't like they were in any position to argue. Half of them were stumbling, coughing up blood, and looking like they'd just been hit by a magical truck. Lucius Malfoy was the first to collapse, his body twitching like he'd just seen a ghost—though, to be honest, he was probably more scared of his wife than anything else.

Voldemort sighed dramatically, as if this whole situation wasn't going just the way he had planned.

---

Meanwhile, about 200 miles away, in the sleepy little town of Smallville, Kansas, Clark Kent was not having the most relaxing Halloween.

Clark, who usually spent his nights saving the world, had decided that he could use a night off. No big alien invasions, no Kryptonite-related near-death experiences. Just him, Lois, and his parents celebrating the holiday like normal people. So far, so good—until a bizarre flash of light erupted from the direction of the far-off fields.

"Did you see that?" Lois said, looking up from the couch where she was reading about some celebrity gossip she'd picked up.

Clark, who had super senses, could already hear the faint hum of something not quite right. Something that wasn't natural. And that was saying a lot for a guy who regularly fought giant space robots.

Clark squinted out the window, his heart rate picking up. "Definitely not a Halloween decoration," he muttered.

Lois raised an eyebrow. "You don't say, Smallville. You want to investigate?"

Clark paused, glancing at his parents. His dad, Jonathan Kent, appeared in the doorway looking like he already knew what Clark was going to say.

"Clark," Jonathan said, voice stern but calm. "We've talked about this. You can't just fly off every time something strange happens. Remember last time? The whole 'alien invasion that turned out to be a guy with bad fashion sense' incident?"

Clark chuckled nervously. "Yeah, I remember. But this? This is... bigger."

Lois threw a pillow at him. "Are you really going to sit here and not go investigate? You're Superman, for crying out loud!"

"I'm not always Superman," Clark replied with a smile. "But this? This is definitely a job for him."

Before anyone could say another word, Clark shot up out of the house faster than a speeding bullet, leaving only a faint whoosh of air behind.

---

Back in the field, Voldemort was starting to feel... weird. Not in the "I'm a dark wizard who is plotting world domination" kind of way, but in the "maybe I shouldn't have eaten that last piece of fruitcake" kind of way. Something was off. He had no idea what was causing the creeping sense of unease in his gut. But when you're about to conquer an entirely new world, a little nausea is the least of your worries, right?

And then, from behind him, a loud whoosh filled the air.

Voldemort turned, his wand ready, heart already picking up speed. He was prepared for any threat. He had to be. He was Voldemort, after all.

And then, to his utter disbelief, he saw him.

A man—no, a figure—dressed in a ridiculously shiny blue suit, with a red cape flapping behind him like it was a regular Tuesday. He hovered in midair, effortlessly. And, just to top off the whole thing, he was glowing a little. Like, Kryptonian glow.

Voldemort's eyebrow twitched.

"Great," he muttered to himself. "Just what I needed. A flying, glowing, hero-type."

The figure—Superman, as Voldemort would later learn—hovered closer, clearly waiting for the showdown to begin.

But Voldemort didn't flinch. No, he just gave a long, exasperated sigh.

"Well, this is going to be one terrible Halloween."

And that's when everything went sideways.

—

Inside Superman's mind, where the borders between consciousness and the unknown were more porous than one would like to imagine, a dark presence stirred.

Trigon, the demon lord who had taken up residence in Superman's mind—unknown to the man of steel—was currently observing the bizarre situation unfolding outside. His fiery red eyes glowed with the kind of satisfaction only a true manipulator could experience. He was watching his new 'tool'—Superman—hover above the field, locking eyes with Voldemort.

Trigon wasn't much for the theatrics of world domination or the whimsical ramblings of dark wizards. No, his interests lay in something far more personal: the ability to possess and control. And right now, the demon's focus was entirely on the man dressed in all black, the one with the snake-like features and that twisted, high-and-mighty air about him. Voldemort.

Ah, so this is the one... Trigon mused, his voice a soft, ominous whisper inside Superman's skull. A being who believes himself untouchable, who wears his power like a crown. But he's just another pawn, another insignificant speck in the grand game.

Voldemort's presence was intriguing, even to a demon like Trigon. The dark wizard's magical aura was... potent. And though it seemed different from Trigon's own demonic energies, it held a certain potential. A potential that, with the right manipulation, could serve Trigon's greater purpose.

What is he after? Trigon pondered. Power, control—like everyone else. How quaint. But I will control him... as I will control everything.

Superman's brain buzzed with conflicting emotions—heroic determination, curiosity, and a lingering unease. Trigon, feeling the subtle discomfort of Superman's mind, let out a low chuckle that reverberated in the depths of his host's consciousness.

You're not in control, Kal-El, Trigon thought, savoring the words like a long-awaited meal. Not while I am here.

Superman's eyes narrowed slightly. It was as if he could feel the edges of his thoughts fraying, like his mind was being tugged at from some dark corner. His grip tightened on his comms—discreetly pulling it from his belt, out of sight of Voldemort.

"Watchtower," Superman said, his voice calm, but with a quiet urgency that only someone who knew the League well could detect. "We need Shadowflame on site. Now."

He didn't give much more explanation than that. They didn't need to know the specifics, just that Shadowflame—the one member of the Justice League with both magical powers and the combat experience to batlle Voldemort—was exactly who they needed right now.

The line went dead silent for a moment before the response came, quick and concise.

"Understood, Superman. Sending Shadowflame immediately."

Superman sighed in relief, but his mind wasn't fully at ease. He could feel the pressure of the situation building. What is Voldemort up to? He'd read about the dark wizard—Harry Potter's memories had been shared with him by the Martian Manhunter. Voldemort was a ruthless, calculating individual, and Superman wasn't sure what he wanted from this world or why he'd come here.

But there was something else bothering Superman now. He couldn't shake the nagging feeling that there was more at play. Voldemort was here, yes, but something else was brewing in the depths of his mind—something dark, something he couldn't entirely see but could feel in his gut.

Trigon's voice whispered once more, carrying an edge of amusement.

Oh, Superman. You are so blind to the darkness within you. So unaware of what I've already done. You think you can call in your precious heroes to save the day?

Voldemort hadn't moved. He was watching Superman, his snake-like eyes narrowing in suspicion, and yet, Superman wasn't focused on him. No, Superman was holding onto his phone, his thoughts racing as he tried to pull himself out of the grasp of the demon lurking inside his mind.

Not yet... Trigon thought, his laughter barely a ripple across the surface of Superman's consciousness. I'll wait. When the time is right...

Superman's grip on his comms tightened even further as he could feel Trigon's influence slithering beneath the surface of his mind. But he had a plan. He wasn't going to let Trigon—or Voldemort—win. Not this time.

Just then, a faint rumble echoed from the distance. Shadowflame was en route. And if there was one thing Superman could rely on, it was the fact that he wasn't alone. Not anymore.

---

On the outskirts of the field, Voldemort stood tall, his red eyes narrowed, scanning the man hovering in front of him. The air crackled with tension as the flying figure remained perfectly still, watching him with an unblinking intensity.

Voldemort sneered. The man looked impossibly powerful, like something out of a legend. He exuded an aura of confidence—almost too much confidence, in fact. But Voldemort wasn't impressed. He'd faced enough so-called heroes and paragons of virtue to know they were often the easiest to break.

"So, who are you supposed to be?" Voldemort hissed, his voice sharp, like the bite of a venomous snake.

Superman didn't respond. He simply floated in place, his arms crossed, the cape billowing slightly in the wind. His expression was unreadable, his posture calm. It was the sort of silence that could drive a man mad if left unchecked, but Voldemort wasn't in the mood to be provoked by a mere lack of words. No, he was more interested in the power standing in front of him. The man's aura hummed with an energy Voldemort had never encountered before.

No matter, Voldemort thought, I'll figure him out soon enough.

Inside Superman's head, however, things were far more complicated. Trigon, the demon that had quietly nestled into the deep recesses of Superman's mind, watched the exchange with growing interest.

Not this one, Trigon thought, his voice a dark whisper slithering through Superman's consciousness. He's not the one I want. Not the one who'll feed my hunger.

Superman's mind was his own battleground, a place where Trigon quietly pulled at the strings of his thoughts. For now, the demon could only watch as Voldemort, unaware of Trigon's presence, continued his assessment.

No, there's someone else here who has the fire I need, Trigon mused, his voice thick with anticipation. The one with the potential to burn everything to the ground. That's the one I'll possess. The one who will set the world ablaze. But first, I'll have to wait...

Meanwhile, Voldemort's attention remained fixed on Superman, his dark eyes narrowing as he tried to make sense of the situation. This world was entirely new to him, foreign and strange. He hadn't planned for this. He hadn't planned for any of this. He'd performed the ritual to escape, to find more power, to reclaim his lost form—but now, here he was, in a strange land with no immediate answers.

His mind raced, but his voice remained calm, betraying none of the unease he was beginning to feel.

"I don't know where I am," Voldemort said, eyes flicking over Superman's face, "but I know I won't tolerate interference. So tell me—are you here to oppose me? Or simply to die?"

Superman didn't flinch. He knew Voldemort had no idea who he was or what he represented. The wizard's arrogance and sense of superiority were typical of the threats Superman had faced before.

But what Voldemort couldn't know—what neither of them could know—was that inside Superman's mind, a far darker force was stirring. Trigon's voice grew louder, more insistent, whispering through every crack in Superman's psyche.

The time is coming, Trigon thought, his mind latching onto Voldemort's words. He's the one who will serve me. Not this Superman—he is but a vessel. But the other one, the one I want...

Superman blinked, a chill running down his spine as the darkness within him stirred. He had felt this before, a sense of wrongness, like a shadow had fallen over his mind.

Voldemort tilted his head slightly, sensing the silence, sensing the tension between them. But he didn't understand it. He only saw a powerful being before him, one who might stand in his way.

"Where are you?" Voldemort asked, his voice laced with a venomous edge. "What are you?"

Superman's eyes narrowed, his voice calm yet firm. "I'm not your enemy. But if you continue to threaten this world... I will stop you."

Voldemort's lips curled into a cold smile. "Is that so?" he whispered, drawing his wand.

But just as the dark wizard prepared to strike, there was a faint disturbance in the air—a shift that neither of them expected.

A new presence was approaching.

---

Meanwhile, Trigon's thoughts grew darker, his mind churning with plans. The fire will burn soon. I will have what I want—what we both want.

Voldemort, oblivious to the larger forces at play, raised his wand with an almost predatory precision. Superman stood unmoving, his mind fighting the demon's influence, but neither of them could have known that the game was just beginning.

---

Far off in the distance, Superman's thoughts were interrupted. His connection to the Watchtower was established, and he gave a discreet command. Shadowflame would be here soon.

The battle between dark forces was about to begin, and the stakes were higher than anyone could possibly imagine. But in that moment, one thing was clear: Voldemort had no idea what he had just stepped into.

—

Flying through the chilly Kansas night, I was once again forced to confront an immutable fact about my life: Halloween is cursed. Like, properly cursed. If there were a patron saint of terrible holidays, Halloween would be their crowning achievement, and I'd be their unwilling spokesperson.

My wings—massive, fiery things that flickered like molten gold—sliced through the air as I led the charge toward yet another disaster. Beneath my black and gold armor, I could feel my patience fraying. The crimson gem embedded in my chest pulsed like an irritated heartbeat, and the hood covering my face only barely muffled my muttered complaints.

Beside me, Kara and Kori kept pace like the flying powerhouses they are. Kara, resplendent in blue and red, looked perfectly calm, while Kori's outfit seemed to radiate enough light to guide lost ships through the dark. Both of them had this annoyingly optimistic air about them, which I suppose is part of their charm, but at the moment, I wasn't feeling very charmed.

"I told you Halloween was cursed," I grumbled, my voice sharp enough to cut through the wind.

"Oh, come on," Kara said, rolling her eyes. "It's not cursed. You just have bad luck."

"Yeah, bad luck specifically on Halloween." I shot her a glare. "Do you know how many times this holiday has tried to kill me? This is not a coincidence."

"Perhaps the holiday dislikes you personally," Kori suggested, her tone bright as ever. "Or maybe it is jealous of your wings? They are very impressive."

I couldn't even argue with that. My wings were impressive, but I was too busy spotting the growing problem on the horizon to bask in her compliment. A sharp pulse of magic, cold and dark, brushed against my senses, and I stopped mid-flight so abruptly that my girlfriends nearly crashed into me.

"Oh, no," I muttered, my heart sinking like a rock. "You've got to be kidding me."

"What is it?" Kara asked, her voice immediately serious.

I pointed toward the field below us, where Superman—actual, honest-to-God Superman—was squaring off against a figure I recognized all too well. Tall, pale, and snake-faced, with that unmistakable air of smug superiority.

"Voldemort," I said, the name tasting like ash in my mouth.

Kara frowned, tilting her head. "That's him? The dark wizard you've mentioned?"

"Yep. That's him." My wings flared angrily, sending a few sparks into the night. "The complete lack of a nose kind of gives it away."

"But how?" Kori asked, her green eyes wide with confusion. "You said the Veil was destroyed. Your Weasley friends assured you."

"They did," I replied, my voice tight. "They swore up and down that it was gone, destroyed completely. But clearly, Halloween had other plans."

"Maybe it's not really him," Kara suggested, squinting at the scene below. "Could be a lookalike. Or a shapeshifter."

I let out a dry laugh. "Trust me, I know Voldemort when I see him. And unless some random Kansan decided to cosplay as the Dark Lord and bring an authentic magical aura to the party, that's the real deal."

Superman, bless him, seemed to be holding his own for now. But here's the thing about Voldemort: he's not just a wizard. He's a schemer, a manipulator, a bona fide sociopath who doesn't need brute force to ruin your day. And while Superman's powers are second to none, I wasn't sure how he'd fare against magic like Voldemort's.

"Great," I muttered, dragging a hand down my face. "Because what this Halloween really needed was Voldemort making an appearance."

"Do you think Superman can handle him?" Kara asked, her tone cautious.

"Probably," I said, though the word felt more like a question than an answer. "But Voldemort doesn't fight fair. He'll exploit any weakness, magical or not. And magic's kind of his whole thing."

Kara nodded, her face set in determination. "So, what's the plan?"

"We go down there, back him up, and keep Voldemort from doing something monumentally evil," I said, already diving toward the scene. "Kori, Kara—stay sharp. Voldemort doesn't mess around, and he's definitely not here for the sightseeing."

As we descended, the wind howled around us, but the growing sense of dread in my chest drowned out the noise. I'd fought Voldemort before—too many times to count—and I'd left that life behind for a reason. I'd built something here in this universe, something worth protecting.

But if Voldemort thought he could just waltz into my new world and start throwing curses around, he had another thing coming.

Because this time, I wasn't some scared kid with a wand.

This time, I was Shadowflame.

—

The air felt electric as I descended, wings blazing like the living embodiment of a phoenix. Beside me, Kara and Kori landed with their usual flair, radiating power and confidence like they'd just stepped off a superhero runway. Between my flaming wings, Supergirl's Kryptonian might, and Starfire's starbolts, the three of us probably looked like a comic book cover. Or a poster for your favorite apocalypse movie. Either way, Voldemort and his merry band of maniacs didn't seem thrilled.

For a moment, I let the theatrics do their job. Hovering there, red hood draped low over my face, I looked down at the field of Death Eaters. My armor gleamed in the light of the flames—black and gold, with a pulsing gem at the center. The whole ensemble screamed unstoppable force meets dramatic flair, which, let's be honest, is kind of my brand.

Predictably, Bellatrix couldn't help herself. "Who is this?" she sneered, her voice dripping with disdain. "Another self-styled savior? How quaint."

Voldemort raised a hand, silencing her like the good little megalomaniac he was. His crimson eyes locked onto me, narrowing as he tilted his head like a snake sizing up its prey. "I don't recognize you," he hissed, his voice that familiar nails-on-a-chalkboard sound I'd never missed. "And yet, there is something... familiar."

I smirked under the hood. Perfect setup. Slowly, I reached up and pulled it back, revealing my face. Voldemort's red eyes widened—just a fraction—but it was enough. For a second, his whole "I'm the most terrifying wizard alive" vibe wavered.

"Potter," he whispered, the name barely audible, like he didn't quite believe it.

"Miss me?" I said casually, keeping my tone light, almost teasing. "I hoped you were dead. Funny thing, though—people say the same about me. Guess we're both full of surprises."

His expression tightened, but I caught the flicker of uncertainty. Gotcha, snake-face. "You should have perished in the Veil," he spat, trying to regain control of the moment. "How are you here?"

I shrugged. "Oh, you know, long story. Fire, divine intervention, and a little bit of elbow grease. Standard hero stuff. You wouldn't get it." I motioned toward Kara and Kori, who were already glaring daggers at him and his lackeys. "Plus, I've got backup. Say hi, ladies."

Kara cracked her knuckles. Kori smirked, a glowing starbolt already forming in her hand. Voldemort's Death Eaters didn't look nearly as smug anymore.

Bellatrix was practically frothing. "Master, allow us to—"

"Silence," Voldemort snapped, cutting her off. He flicked his wand, and the temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. I tensed as the bodies of fallen Death Eaters started twitching. Bones cracked, skin twisted, and suddenly the battlefield was full of shambling Inferi—undead horrors with blank, unseeing eyes.

"Classic Voldemort," I muttered.

"Are those—?" Kara started.

"Inferi," I confirmed, my voice dry. "Zombie Death Eaters. Real original, Tom. Someone's been binging horror movies."

Voldemort sneered, clearly unimpressed by my commentary. "You will fall, Potter. As will your pitiful allies."

I flipped a golden galleon into the air, catching it with a snap of my fingers. "You sure about that? Because I brought friends."

The galleon flashed brightly and vanished. A series of loud cracks echoed across the field, and suddenly, there they were: my team.

Ron was the first to speak, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "Blimey, Harry. You really know how to make an entrance."

Hermione shot him a look. "Focus, Ron."

Fred and George, of course, couldn't resist chiming in. "Look at this lot," Fred said, gesturing to the Inferi. "Halloween decorations gone wrong."

"Reckon we can fix that?" George asked, twirling his wand.

"Boys," Hermione snapped, "not now."

At the front, Moody stomped forward, his magical eye whirling like mad. "Inferi, Death Eaters, and a walking snake in a suit. This'll be fun."

Sirius clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Nice flair, Harry—sorry, Shadowflame. Real dramatic. I'd give it a nine."

"Gee, thanks," I said dryly.

The Death Eaters stirred nervously, but Voldemort's lips curled into a cruel smile. "You think your pitiful little army can stop me?"

"Oh, Voldy," I said, flames licking at my wings as I rose into the air. "We're not just going to stop you. We're going to end you."

The Inferi charged, Death Eaters followed, and the battle erupted like fireworks on New Year's.

And for the record? It wasn't just a fight. It was a spectacle.

—

The battlefield was chaos, but I've got to say, I was thriving in it. The flames from my wings lit up the darkened field, casting long, flickering shadows across the horde of undead Voldemort had so generously summoned for us. Honestly, if this was the best he had, I almost felt bad for him. Almost.

Hovering above the carnage, I crossed my arms, watching as the Death Eaters tried to rally. My armor glinted in the firelight, the gem on my chest pulsing steadily like it had its own heartbeat. Below me, Voldemort stood like some kind of demented conductor orchestrating this nightmare. His smug expression was begging for a punch—or a fireball to the face. Decisions, decisions.

"You really brought your B-game, Tom," I called down, loud enough to be heard over the groans of Inferi and the crackle of spells. "What's next? Giant spiders? Oh, wait—I've already tried that."

Voldemort didn't reply, but his crimson eyes narrowed dangerously. The kind of look that said, 'I would Avada Kedavra you again if you'd stop dodging.' Meanwhile, his pet psychopath Bellatrix was laughing like she'd already won the lottery. Guess someone forgot to tell her Halloween isn't about her.

Kara—Supergirl—flew up beside me, her expression calm but deadly. "So, what's the plan, Shadowflame?"

I grinned. "Plan? I thought we were just winging it." My wings flared for dramatic effect, and I could almost hear her groan.

"You're impossible," she muttered, diving into the fray below where Starfire was already lighting up the Inferi like Christmas decorations. Kara followed, and together, they tore through the undead horde with blasts of energy and raw Kryptonian strength.

Voldemort's gaze flicked to them briefly before snapping back to me. "You think you can stop me, Potter?" His voice cut through the noise, cold and venomous. "Even now, you surround yourself with muggles and weaklings."

"Muggles? Seriously, Tom? That's the best insult you've got?" I shot back, laughing as I dove toward him. He fired off a Killing Curse, the green light slicing through the air like a blade. I banked sharply, dodging it with ease.

"Let me guess," I shouted, "next you're going to tell me you're going to kill me. Oh wait, you already did—and I'm still here. Funny how that works."

Across the battlefield, the rest of my team was doing what they did best: kicking ass. Sirius and Lupin were tag-teaming a group of Death Eaters, Lupin's calm precision balancing out Sirius's reckless abandon. Moody was barking orders while simultaneously dueling three Inferi like it was just another Tuesday. And Neville? He was holding his own against Bellatrix, his spells hitting harder and faster than I'd ever seen. Honestly, I was so proud I could cry—if I wasn't busy dodging more Killing Curses.

A blur of red and blue streaked across the field, and I turned just in time to see Superman, Clark freaking Kent, land with all the subtlety of an asteroid. The ground shook as he punched through a line of Inferi, scattering them like bowling pins. He turned to me, his usual calm, dad-like expression intact despite the chaos.

"Need a hand?" he asked, casually deflecting a spell with his heat vision.

 "Sure, knock yourself out." I called back, grinning.

Superman turned to the Inferi and Death Eaters like they were nothing more than an inconvenience. He didn't even break a sweat as he moved through them, heat vision slicing through undead flesh and his fists sending dark wizards flying. I'm pretty sure one of them was going to wake up in another country.

Meanwhile, I zeroed in on Voldemort. He was trying to keep his cool, but I could see the cracks forming. "Your theatrics won't save you, Potter!" he hissed, his wand moving in sharp, angry arcs. "You are nothing but a child playing dress-up."

I smirked, my wings flaring as I gathered flames in my palms. "And you're nothing but a snake with delusions of grandeur. Let's see who burns brighter."

I dove toward him, flames trailing behind me in a blazing arc. He met me with a barrage of spells, but I deflected them with sweeps of my wings, the fire eating through his magic like it was paper. Around us, the battlefield was a blur of light and chaos. Kara and Starfire were holding the line against the remaining Inferi, while Superman was mopping up the Death Eaters like the overpowered alien he is.

Above the noise, I heard Fred shouting, "Oi, Noseless! Do you take requests? Because I'd love to see your death scene!"

"Make it dramatic!" George added, firing off a spell that sent a Death Eater spinning into the air.

Voldemort snarled, his mask of arrogance slipping for the first time. "You dare mock me? I am Lord Voldemort!"

I grinned, landing in front of him with a burst of flame. "Yeah, well, I'm Harry bloody Potter. And this time? You're not walking away."

The battlefield seemed to hold its breath as we clashed, light and dark colliding in a storm of fire and magic. One thing was certain: Voldemort had no idea what he'd unleashed. And by the time we were done, he was going to wish he'd stayed dead.

—

The battlefield erupted in chaos as Voldemort fired another Killing Curse, the green light slicing through the smoke-filled air. I twisted mid-flight, the curse missing me by inches, its malevolent energy brushing past with a chill that crawled over my skin. But I wasn't about to let him take another shot.

I shot forward, flames bursting from my wings, closing the distance between us faster than he could react. As I moved, I focused on what Doctor Fate had taught me, channeling the fire from my core into something tangible. My hand ignited, and in an instant, a blazing blade of pure flame appeared in my grip.

Voldemort's red eyes widened as I swung the blade in a clean arc. The severing of his wand arm was almost surgical, the fiery blade cauterizing the wound instantly. His scream was high and shrill, echoing over the battlefield like a banshee's wail. The Elder Wand flew from his severed hand, spinning through the air. Before he could react, I released the fire in my wings, blasting him with a wall of heat and force that sent him careening across the field, his body a smoldering wreck as he crashed into the distance.

I hovered for a moment, panting, the flames of my wings flickering as I reached out to catch the Elder Wand. It felt strange in my grip—ancient and powerful, like holding a lightning storm in the palm of my hand. A burst of pure white light radiated from it, washing over the battlefield, freezing everyone in place for a split second.

That's when the real horror struck.

From behind Superman, a shadowy figure began to emerge—a red, horned demon of pure malice. My brain processed it in slow motion, the massive, ghostly form of Trigon peeling away from Superman's body like a nightmare come to life. Superman looked as shocked as the rest of us, spinning around just as Trigon fully separated, his glowing red eyes locked onto me.

Trigon surged forward, his immense spirit form blazing through the air toward me like a bullet. The Elder Wand vibrated in my grip, responding to the threat, but before I could react further, something impossible happened.

Her.

She appeared out of nowhere—a pale, goth girl dressed casually in a black top and jeans, a silver ankh hanging around her neck. Her eye makeup formed a design reminiscent of Horus, but her presence was anything but threatening. She looked... pleasant, even kind. As though she were just here to check on a friend, not step into the middle of a battlefield.

With an almost casual motion, she reached out and plucked Trigon from the air like he was nothing more than an insect. The great demon roared in fury, his spectral form writhing as her fingers closed around him.

"Not today," she said cheerfully, her voice cutting through the tension like sunlight breaking through clouds.

With an almost dismissive flick of her wrist, she threw him. Trigon's form flew through the air like a comet, hurtling straight toward Voldemort's crumpled form in the distance. The collision of dark energy and shattered ambition sent shockwaves rippling across the battlefield.

I barely had time to process what had just happened before the Elder Wand flared in my hand, the merging of its power with my own overwhelming my senses. The Hallows—the Cloak, the Stone, and now the Wand—were fully united within me. The white light from the wand grew blinding, and I felt my body falter. The immense energy coursing through me wasn't just magic; it was something older, something primal. It tore through my veins, screaming for control, demanding something I wasn't sure I could give.

As the light faded, I collapsed. The last thing I saw before unconsciousness claimed me was the goth girl—Death herself, I realized—kneeling beside me. Her face was gentle, her dark eyes full of understanding.

"Rest now, Shadowflame," she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face. "You've done well. But being the Master of Death isn't easy. You'll need your strength."

Her words were a strange comfort as the world went dark.

---

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