Metropolis — Centennial Park
8:54 AM — The Heroes Arrive
(AKA: The Day the Plants Picked the Wrong Picnic)
So here's the thing about killer plants: they have absolutely zero sense of dramatic timing.
I mean, come on. If you're going to try to murder innocent picnickers with your mutant rose bushes, at least have the courtesy to monologue first. Give me something to work with here. But no—just straight to the attempted strangulation. Very disappointing, really.
The vines didn't even scream when I hit them with my fire, which honestly? Major missed opportunity. I've always believed that a little screaming really sells the moment. Makes the whole "heroic rescue" thing feel more epic, you know? But the way they hissed and blackened under my golden flames like bacon on a grill? Yeah, that worked too.
I dropped out of the sky like Zeus having a particularly bad day, all seven feet of black and gold enchanted armor gleaming in the morning sun. The impact crater I left in the middle of Centennial Park was, frankly, a work of art. The kind of art that says "I'm here, I'm ridiculously powerful, and I really should have thought about the property damage reports I'll have to fill out later."
My entrance had exactly the desired effect on the civilians still dumb enough to be hanging around a plant apocalypse. They immediately stopped screaming about killer daisies and started screaming about me. Can't say I blame them—six feet three inches of flame-wreathed armor topped with a full-face helmet that makes Darth Vader look like a friendly neighborhood crossing guard tends to make an impression.
The crimson fire sigil on my chest pulsed like a heartbeat, casting dancing shadows across the park. My helmet's golden wing crests caught the light, and I knew my glowing eyes were doing that whole "mysterious and slightly terrifying" thing that made certain people bite their lips in ways that were absolutely not appropriate to think about during a crisis.
"All teams, in position," came Zatanna's voice through my comm, smooth as aged whiskey and twice as intoxicating. Even through the static, I could hear that hint of barely contained power that meant she was about to do something spectacular and probably illegal in at least twelve dimensions.
"Copy that," Aqualad's voice followed, steady as a rock and about as exciting as watching paint dry. "My squad will focus on evacuation. While your squad handles the threat. Try not to level the city unless you're Zatanna."
"Hey!" came Zatanna's indignant response, and I could practically hear her rolling those impossibly blue eyes. "That was one time, and technically it was only half the city!"
"And technically," I added, letting my voice drop to that register that made certain people's breathing patterns change, "it looked amazing when you did it."
The pause that followed was loaded with enough tension to power a small city. "Flatterer," Zatanna's voice came back, purring like a contented cat. "Save it for after we save the world, fireboy."
"Always do," I replied, and the heat that flared between us through the comm had nothing to do with my flames.
"Luck is for the unprepared," I announced to the world in general, rolling my shoulders as flames started licking off my gauntlets like eager pets. "And I'm always prepared for plant-related violence."
Behind me, my squad materialized like something out of a fever dream. The good kind of fever dream. The kind where everyone you care about is incredibly competent, devastatingly attractive, and armed with magical weapons.
Zatanna stepped forward first, and I swear the laws of physics held their breath. Her midnight silk costume clung to her curves like it had been painted on, silver runes dancing along her arms like living tattoos that seemed to pulse with their own inner light. Her dark hair fell in perfect waves past her shoulders, and when she smiled at me—all sharp edges and dangerous promises—I felt my armor's temperature regulation systems kick into overdrive.
"Miss me, fireboy?" she purred, snapping her fingers with theatrical flair. A dozen vines that had been trying to creep up behind her immediately shriveled to dust, their death rattles sounding suspiciously like disappointed sighs.
"Always," I shot back, letting my flames flicker in that way that made her pupils dilate. "Though watching you work never gets old."
"Smooth," she laughed, and the sound was like music played on silver strings. "I'll take the north quadrant. Try to keep up."
"When have I ever failed to keep up with you?" I asked, and the look she gave me was hot enough to melt steel.
"Never," she admitted, her voice dropping to that husky whisper that made my thoughts go to very inappropriate places. "But there's always a first time."
We'd been dancing around each other for months now, all loaded glances and accidental touches that lasted just a heartbeat too long. Every mission cranked the tension higher, every shared look promising things that we never quite had time to explore. One of these days, we were going to have to do something about it.
But apparently, today was not that day.
"West is mine," called Arcana—Hermione in her starlit armor that somehow managed to look both scholarly and absolutely lethal. The woman had figured out how to make protective gear that was practically a dissertation on defensive enchantments, and it showed. Every piece was perfectly crafted, every rune precisely placed, every surface gleaming with the kind of attention to detail that was pure Hermione Granger.
Her bushy brown hair was pulled back in a practical bun, but a few strands had escaped to frame her face in that way that made her look like a warrior goddess of knowledge. When she whirled her wand into position, the movement was so precise it could have been choreographed.
"Someone has to keep you boys from doing anything too stupid," she added, and even in the middle of a crisis, she managed to sound like she was lecturing a particularly dense first-year.
"Oi!" came Ron's voice from somewhere behind a particularly nasty cluster of thorns. "We resent that implication!"
"The implication that you do stupid things?" Hermione asked sweetly, ducking under a snapping flower that looked like it had been designed by a particularly sadistic dentist. "Because I have years of documented evidence to the contrary."
"Can we argue about Ron's life choices after we save the city?" called Druid—Neville in his moss-green robes that seemed to shift and grow as he moved, like they were alive. He slammed his staff into the dirt with the kind of authority that made the earth itself sit up and pay attention.
The result was immediate and spectacular. Roots erupted from the ground like geysers, but these weren't Ivy's twisted mutations—these were the park's own defenses, clean and strong and angry. The normal plants were joining the fight, and they were not happy about what had been done to their home.
"East quadrant secured," Neville announced with quiet confidence, and honestly? Watching him command nature like that was kind of incredible. "Let's go."
The Marauders—Fred and George—popped into view in a swirl of smoke and maniacal laughter, both in crimson-trimmed black robes that made them look like they were ready to either save the world or blow it up. Knowing them, probably both.
"We'll take—" Fred began, already lobbing what looked like a glittering marble into the nearest tangle of thorns.
"—everywhere else," George finished, throwing his own marble in a perfect arc that would have made a professional baseball pitcher weep with envy.
The explosions were rainbow-colored and smelled like peppermint. Only the Weasley twins would make warfare whimsical.
"Brilliant as always," I called out, and they both grinned at me with identical expressions of manic glee that usually meant someone was about to have a very bad day. Since we were the good guys, I was hoping that someone would be Ivy.
Above us, Firebolt—Ginny in her Gryffindor-red-and-gold armor—streaked overhead like a comet with serious anger management issues. Her enchanted broom cut through the air with the kind of precision that would make professional Quidditch players weep with envy, and she was launching fiery hexes down at anything that looked remotely plant-like and hostile.
Her red hair streamed behind her like a banner, and when she executed a dive that would have made a falcon jealous, I couldn't help but admire the view. Sue me—I'm a guy, and Ginny Weasley in combat armor is a sight to behold.
"Someone's showing off," I called up to her.
"Learned from the best!" she called back, pulling out of her dive at the last possible second and sending a cluster of snapping flowers up in flames. "Besides, someone has to make sure you don't burn down the entire park!"
"I have excellent control over my flames, thank you very much!"
"Tell that to the Great Hall's ceiling!" she shot back, and I could hear the laughter in her voice.
"That was one time!"
"And it was spectacular!" she admitted, spinning in midair to avoid a thorned whip that could have taken her head off. "But maybe let's keep the property damage to a minimum today?"
"No promises," I replied, and her answering laugh was like sunshine.
To my right, Diamond—Daphne in her glittering frost-blue armor—moved with the kind of lethal grace that made you think of ice queens and winter storms. Every step was calculated, every spell cast with deadly precision. She was freezing vines mid-snap and shattering them into snowflakes that caught the morning light like falling stars.
"Show off," I muttered, but I was grinning inside my helmet. Daphne had always been beautiful, but seeing her in combat was something else entirely. She moved like violence was an art form, and she was a master painter.
"Jealous?" she asked without looking at me, her voice carrying that aristocratic drawl that somehow made everything sound like a challenge.
"Always," I admitted, and the smile she gave me was sharp as the ice she wielded and twice as dangerous.
"Good," she said, and something about the way she said it made my armor feel uncomfortably warm.
Spitfire—Susan Bones in her blazing yellow-and-orange armor—darted forward with speed that blurred the air around her. Her twin wands sparked like miniature suns, and everywhere she went, Ivy's plants burst into flames. But they weren't normal flames—they were phoenix fires, flames that burned away corruption and left only purity behind.
"Try to keep up, Potter!" she called, her voice carrying that hint of laughter that made my chest tight. Susan had always been able to make me smile, even in the middle of chaos.
"Is that a challenge, Bones?" I called back.
"Everything's a challenge with you!" she replied, and the grin she flashed me was bright as the flames dancing around her wands.
And then there was Raven.
She stood in the center of the chaos like the eye of a storm, darkness swirling around her like a living thing. She didn't need to move, didn't need to gesture or speak. The shadows did her bidding, reaching out to touch Ivy's plants with fingers of pure night.
Her pale face was framed by dark hair that seemed to absorb light, and those violet eyes—God, those eyes—looked at me like she could see straight through to my soul. We'd been partners for over a year now, and I still felt like I was standing at the edge of an abyss every time she looked at me like that.
"Ready?" she asked, and her voice was like silk wrapped around steel, soft and deadly at the same time.
"Always," I replied, and meant it. With Raven at my side, I felt like I could take on the world. Hell, I'd done it before.
The moment stretched between us, electric and dangerous, until Zatanna cleared her throat in that way that reminded me she was still very much present and very much the kind of woman who could turn me into a toad if she felt like it.
"As much as I enjoy watching you two have silent conversations with your eyes," she said, her voice carrying just enough bite to remind me that she was still a force to be reckoned with, "we do have a city to save."
Right. Plants. Killer plants trying to murder innocent people. Focus, Harry.
"You heard the lady," I growled, letting my aura ignite into a roaring golden inferno that made the air shimmer around me like a mirage. The fire didn't burn—it was pure magical energy, warm and alive and absolutely lethal to anything that wasn't supposed to be there. "Move out!"
What happened next was like something out of an action movie directed by someone with unlimited budget and a complete disregard for the laws of physics.
I launched myself forward like a golden missile, flames trailing behind me like wings. The first cluster of hostile plants I hit didn't stand a chance—they vaporized on contact, turned to ash and memory in the space of a heartbeat.
"Showing off again!" Zatanna called, but I could hear the approval in her voice.
"Always!" I called back, spinning to face the next wave of attackers. "Wouldn't want to disappoint!"
A massive vine, thick as a tree trunk and covered in thorns that looked like they could punch through steel, whipped toward my head fast enough to break the sound barrier. I caught it with one hand, my gauntlets blazing with protective fire, and squeezed.
The vine didn't just burn—it exploded, sending sap and plant matter flying in every direction like the world's most disgusting fireworks display.
"That's more like it," I muttered, then louder: "Come on, then! Let's see what you've got!"
What they had, as it turned out, was numbers. Lots and lots of numbers.
Vines erupted from every surface—the ground, the trees, even the park benches seemed to be sprouting hostile vegetation. Flowers the size of dinner plates snapped at anything that moved, their petals razor-sharp and dripping with something that hissed when it hit the ground.
"Defensive positions!" I shouted, but my team was already moving like the well-oiled machine we'd trained to be.
Zatanna was in her element, literally and figuratively. She spoke a word in backwards Latin that made reality hiccup, and the air around her shimmered into a barrier of pure magical energy. Vines struck it and simply... ceased to exist. Not burned, not frozen—just gone, like they'd never been there at all.
"Gnivael on ecart!" she called, and every plant in a hundred-yard radius stopped growing. Just... stopped. Frozen in time like a photograph. "How's that for showing off?"
"Incredible," I said, and meant it. Zatanna in full combat mode was a sight to behold—beautiful, terrible, and absolutely magnificent.
"Flatterer," she replied, but she was smiling.
Hermione had conjured what looked like a small army of stone guardians, each one perfectly crafted and moving with mechanical precision. They were systematically dismantling Ivy's plants with the kind of methodical efficiency that was pure Hermione—no wasted motion, no unnecessary flourishes, just ruthless competence.
"Protego Maxima!" she called, and a dome of silver light erupted around a group of trapped civilians. The barrier held against a barrage of thorns that would have turned a normal person into a pincushion. "Stupefy! Incendio! Finite Incantatem!"
The spells flew from her wand like bullets, each one finding its target with surgical precision. She was conducting a one-woman orchestra of destruction, and it was beautiful to watch.
"Brilliant as always, Hermione!" I called.
"Obviously!" she called back, and even in the middle of combat, she managed to look smug about it. Some things never changed.
The battle raged on around us, and I found myself grinning despite the chaos. This was what we did—this was what we were good at. Saving people, fighting monsters, being heroes.
Even if those monsters happened to be very angry plants with serious boundary issues.
"Incoming!" Fred called, and I looked up to see a wall of thorns racing toward us like a green tsunami.
"Outgoing!" George replied, and suddenly the air was full of their glittering marbles.
The thorns hit the explosions and... started dancing. Literally dancing. The entire wall of hostile vegetation was now doing what looked suspiciously like the tango.
"Seriously?" I called over to them.
"What?" they called back in unison, identical grins on their faces. "They're neutralized!"
"By making them dance?"
"Happy plants don't try to eat people!" Fred explained, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Scientific fact!" George added solemnly.
I shook my head, but I was laughing. Only Fred and George could weaponize joy and make it work.
The battle was far from over, but for the first time since this whole thing started, I was starting to think we might actually win.
After all, we were heroes. And heroes always find a way.
Even if that way involves making killer plants waltz.
—
The Evacuation Crew
If you've ever wondered what it looks like when a group of teenage superheroes try to evacuate a park full of panicking civilians while killer plants are trying to turn everyone into fertilizer, well, wonder no more. It's about as chaotic as you'd expect, with twice as much property damage and three times as many one-liners.
On the west end of Centennial Park, Aqualad was doing what he did best—being the responsible adult in a room full of super-powered teenagers. Which, granted, was like being the designated driver at a party where everyone else had superpowers and questionable decision-making skills.
"Foxes—perimeter patrol, now!" he commanded, his voice carrying that tone of absolute authority that made even the most rebellious team member snap to attention. "Robin, Batgirl, you're with me on crowd control. Kid Flash and Artemis—keep the civilians moving toward the evacuation points!"
The second wave of Ivy's plant army was already crashing toward them like a green tsunami of death, and Aqualad's dark eyes were scanning the battlefield with the kind of tactical precision that would make a chess grandmaster weep with envy. His water-bearers were already in his hands, and the tattoos on his arms were glowing with that eerie blue light that meant business was about to get very, very wet.
"Yes sir!" came the synchronized response from the Foxes—Angelina, Alicia, and Katie—who shot off on their levitation boots like they were auditioning for the world's most dangerous ice skating routine.
Angelina—Kitsune—moved with the fluid grace of her namesake, her fox-themed costume a blur of orange and black as she zipped through the crowd. Her boots left trails of golden light in the air, and she was deflecting thorned vines with what looked like ethereal fox tails that materialized from nowhere.
"Civilians, this way!" she called, her voice carrying a subtle enchantment that made people want to follow her. "Don't look back, don't stop running, and definitely don't try to take selfies with the killer plants!"
"Why do they always try to take selfies?" Alicia—Huxian—asked, executing a perfect aerial spin that would have made an Olympic figure skater jealous. Her costume was silver and white, and her movements were so precise they looked choreographed. She was slicing through smaller vines with what appeared to be claws of pure light, each strike clean and efficient.
"Because humans are weird," Katie—Gumiho—replied, her British accent making everything sound more polite even as she was systematically dismantling a cluster of snapping flowers. Her costume was a striking combination of black and red, and she moved with the kind of deadly precision that suggested she'd been training for this her entire life. "Now less talking, more saving!"
The three of them moved like they were connected by invisible strings, each one covering the others' blind spots without having to communicate. It was beautiful in a terrifying way, like watching a perfectly choreographed dance where the dancers happened to be armed with supernatural powers.
Meanwhile, Robin was doing what he did best—being everywhere at once and making it look easy. He vaulted off a light pole with the casual grace of someone who'd been defying gravity since he was old enough to walk, and landed directly on a vine that was trying to wrap around a mother and her young daughter.
"Hey, Kaldur!" he called, his voice carrying that hint of excitement that meant he was having way too much fun. "These things regenerate! Heads-up!"
"Understood," Aqualad replied, but Robin was already moving, his escrima sticks sparking with electricity as he drove them into the vine's center mass. The plant convulsed and released its intended victims, who ran screaming toward the evacuation point.
"Ma'am, please keep moving!" Robin called after them, already spinning to face the next threat. "And maybe invest in some better running shoes!"
Batgirl chose that moment to flip into the middle of what looked like a small jungle of hostile tendrils, her red hair catching the light as she moved. She was like a whirlwind of controlled violence, every movement calculated to cause maximum damage while looking absolutely effortless.
"Someone's compensating hard with these plants," she commented, pulling out a flash pellet and detonating it in the center of the mass. The resulting explosion of light and sound sent the vines recoiling like vampires from a sunrise. "Seriously, Ivy, we get it. You like plants. Maybe try therapy next time?"
"Therapy's for quitters!" came a voice from somewhere in the plant maze, presumably Ivy herself. "And I prefer permanent solutions!"
"Yeah, well, so do we," Batgirl shot back, already moving to intercept another wave of attackers. "The difference is, our solutions don't involve trying to murder innocent people!"
Kid Flash zipped by at that exact moment, carrying two elderly ladies under his arms like they were footballs and he was making a touchdown run. His red hair was a blur in the wind, and he was maintaining a steady stream of cheerful commentary that was either reassuring or completely terrifying, depending on your perspective.
"Don't worry, ma'am! Ma'am! No need to panic!" he called, his voice somehow carrying clearly despite the fact that he was moving at roughly the speed of sound. "This is barely a Tuesday for us! Last week we fought a giant robot dinosaur! This is actually pretty tame!"
"A robot dinosaur?" one of the ladies managed to squeak out.
"Yeah, but it was a friendly robot dinosaur," Kid Flash replied, as if this made perfect sense. "Mostly friendly, anyway. It only tried to eat Robin once!"
"That's not reassuring!" the other lady protested.
"Trust me, Robin's been eaten by way worse things," Kid Flash said cheerfully. "He's got a whole system for it now!"
Above them, Artemis was providing overwatch with the kind of precision that would make a Swiss watchmaker weep with envy. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a practical ponytail, and her green costume blended with the foliage in a way that made her nearly invisible until she wanted to be seen.
Arrow after arrow flew from her bow, each one finding its target with surgical precision. She was pinning vines to the ground before they could snag fleeing civilians, creating barriers of ice where needed, and generally making it look like archery was the most natural thing in the world.
"All clear on the west side!" she called, her voice carrying that hint of aristocratic precision that made everything sound like a royal decree. "For now!"
"Define 'for now,'" Aqualad called back, his water-bearers slicing through a particularly aggressive rosebush that looked like it had been designed by someone with serious anger management issues.
"I'd say we have about thirty seconds before the next wave hits," Artemis replied, already drawing another arrow. "Maybe forty-five if we're lucky."
"Luck is for people who don't plan ahead," Aqualad said, but he was already moving, his tattoos glowing brighter as he prepared for the next assault.
"Speaking of planning ahead," Robin called, executing a backflip that would have made an Olympic gymnast weep with envy, "anyone else notice that these plants are getting bigger?"
He was right. The first wave had been mostly normal-sized vegetation with homicidal tendencies. The second wave had been bigger, more aggressive, and significantly more creative in their attempts to cause bodily harm. This third wave that was currently forming looked like it had been designed by someone who'd watched too many monster movies and decided to take notes.
"They're adapting," Batgirl observed, throwing what looked like a small grenade into the center of a cluster of sunflowers that were tracking civilians like artillery pieces. "Learning from our attacks."
"Great," Kid Flash said, depositing his elderly passengers at the evacuation point and immediately zipping back into the fray. "Because fighting regular killer plants wasn't challenging enough."
"Challenge accepted," Angelina said, her fox tails manifesting more solidly as she prepared to face down what looked like a carnivorous oak tree. "Anyone else miss the days when our biggest problem was passing algebra?"
"I actually liked algebra," Alicia admitted, her light claws extending as she squared off against a patch of daisies that were gnashing their petals like teeth. "It was predictable. Logical. Plants trying to eat people are neither of those things."
"Speak for yourself," Katie said, her accent making everything sound more civilized even as she was systematically dismantling a hedge that had developed opposable thumbs. "I find there's a certain logic to plant-based violence. It's very straightforward, really."
"Only you would find killer plants logical," Angelina replied, but she was smiling as she said it.
"Focus, team," Aqualad called, but there was warmth in his voice. This was what they did—this was what they were good at. Saving people, fighting monsters, and somehow managing to maintain their sense of humor in the process.
The third wave hit them like a green tsunami, and suddenly the west side of the park was a battlefield. Vines thick as tree trunks whipped through the air, flowers the size of dinner plates snapped at anything that moved, and somewhere in the distance, they could hear Ivy's maniacal laughter echoing through the chaos.
"All right, team," Aqualad said, his voice carrying that tone of absolute confidence that made everyone believe they could win. "Let's show these plants what happens when they pick a fight with Young Justice."
And with that, they threw themselves into the battle with the kind of reckless courage that was either inspiring or completely insane, depending on your perspective.
Probably both, really.
But that's what made them heroes.
—
The South Side
Here's the thing no one tells you about fighting a jungle grown by a supervillain: it's basically like being dropped inside Jumanji on nightmare mode.
Vines whipped across my helmet, thorn-tentacles lashed for my throat, and somewhere in the trees something that sounded like a tiger on steroids roared at me. I waded deeper anyway, setting everything alight with every step.
"Come on, Ivy," I muttered, my voice crackling over the comm as my flames roared higher and higher. "Is this the best you've got? A few overgrown ferns and a houseplant with an attitude?"
That's when the blossom showed up.
It was thirty feet tall if it was an inch, a mutant flower with petal-teeth and venom dripping down like it was auditioning to be Audrey III: The Revenge.
"Oh, good," I said flatly. "She upgraded Audrey II."
It lunged.
I met it with a dragon roar (yes, I can do that now—long story) and unleashed a wall of emerald fire that melted its maw shut before it could so much as hiss.
"Next," I growled.
That's when Zatanna's voice came through on the comm, silky and smug.
"Shadow? You're pulling aggro."
"Good," I shot back, catching two massive thorn tentacles, one in each hand, and burning them to cinders. "Tell 'em where to find me."
I could almost hear her grin. > "Knew there was a reason I kept you around."
"You mean besides my roguish charm, devastating good looks, and world-class snogging skills?" I said, ducking another vine and throwing a blast that turned a chunk of jungle into a charred crater. "Because I've got plenty of those too."
Before she could sass me back, Raven's cool monotone chimed in. > "World-class is subjective. And you have yet to demonstrate it to both of us at the same time."
That made me grin under my helmet. "Oh? Sounds like a challenge. After I mop up here, you can test me."
Behind me, Hermione—Arcana—sounded scandalized, which was impressive given that she was busy flinging lightning bolts like Zeus's nerdy granddaughter.
"Honestly, Harry," she huffed (in a way only Emma Watson could make adorable and terrifying at the same time), "could you not flirt with your girlfriends while fighting for our lives?"
"Sorry, love," I called back. "Multitasking. You should try it sometime."
Ginny—Firebolt—swooped past me on wings of flame, red hair blazing behind her.
"He's got a point, 'Mione," she said with a laugh that was equal parts danger and mischief. "Besides, watching him show off is half the fun."
"Damn right," I muttered, vaulting off a trunk just in time to dodge a spiked creeper the size of a city bus.
Somewhere below, in a subterranean control room that smelled like bad intentions and expensive perfume, seven pairs of villainous eyes were watching me. Waiting.
And me?
I was just getting started.
Because if Ivy and her playmates wanted to step out into the light…?
Then I was ready to burn it brighter than they could handle.
Fred and George—The Marauders—showed up just then, somehow riding what looked like a flaming, motorized broomstick with twin machine-gun launchers welded to it.
"Miss us?" Fred called.
"Did you doubt we'd make an entrance?" George added.
"Wasn't doubting," I yelled back. "Just hoping you wouldn't make it worse."
"Oh, we made it worse," Fred assured me.
"Gloriously worse," George agreed, pressing something that made about twelve fireworks detonate mid-air and rain down more fire on the jungle.
Ron—Cannonball—literally cannonballed into the fray right next to me, smashing through a wall of vines like a ginger wrecking ball.
"Oi, mate," he panted, shaking leaves out of his hair, "you left some for the rest of us, yeah?"
I clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry. There's plenty of boss fight left to go around."
Somewhere to my left, Daphne—Diamond—was slicing through enemies with a diamond-edged blade, her eyes glinting like Florence Pugh in a very bad mood.
"Try not to hog all the glory, Potter," she said, slashing another vine monster to ribbons.
Susan—Spitfire—was right behind her, fists wreathed in blazing orange, looking for all the world like Molly Quinn starring in an action movie.
"Yeah, save some for me too, hotshot," she added.
I grinned, igniting both hands and letting the fire climb higher until I was practically glowing.
"All right, team," I said into the comm, my voice going low and dangerous now. "Let's light this jungle up."
The ground shook as Raven dropped into the middle of the field like a living shadow, her dark magic crackling out in all directions.
Zatanna landed beside me in a swirl of fishnets, heels, and arcane power, her smile positively wicked.
"About time you stopped hogging the spotlight," she teased.
"I'll share," I said, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her in for the kind of kiss that had Raven rolling her eyes and Hermione muttering something about inappropriate displays of affection during combat.
When we finally broke apart, Raven just muttered, > "Pathetic," before giving me a small smirk and pressing a cool, black-gloved hand to my cheek.
"You're next," I promised her, before turning back to the jungle with a grin that could have melted steel.
And then I roared.
A full-on dragon roar, the kind that makes birds drop dead and villains wet themselves.
The jungle erupted into chaos.
I blurred forward, trading blows with a monster so fast the air cracked around us. Ginny streaked through the sky like a comet. Fred and George detonated a literal wall of explosives that spelled out "SHADOW SAYS HI." Daphne cut a tank-sized flower in half. Hermione unleashed a storm of magical sigils that electrified the battlefield. Susan's fists slammed into the ground like meteor strikes.
And me?
I was just getting warmed up.
Somewhere below, Ivy and her friends were already running out of ideas.
Because I wasn't just fighting.
I was putting on a show.
And nobody—nobody—burns brighter than me.
---
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