Shadowflame

I fiddled with my glasses for the hundredth time. They felt weird—like wearing shoes after you've already decided you hate shoes but forgot why. The charm on them was supposed to make people not notice my features, and it worked. To everyone else, I looked about as interesting as wallpaper. But me? I just felt like a complete idiot. After Luthorcorp's little science project, I found out I didn't even need glasses. But since I'd worn them my whole life, ditching them now felt... off. Old habits die hard, I guess.

Next to me, Diana adjusted her own glasses, because why not? She could've walked in wearing full Wonder Woman armor, and people would probably assume she was headed to Comic-Con. But no—business suit, glasses, and a whole lot of I-mean-business energy. Somehow, she made it look effortless, like undercover work was her idea of light cardio.

"We will meet Clark and Lois soon," Diana said, as if I wasn't already thinking about how awkward this was going to be. Not just any Clark—Superman. And not just any Lois—Lois Lane, the woman whose journalism probably scares crime bosses more than her fiancé does.

Look, I've handled Dark Lords and Dementors, but after what Rita Skeeter put me through back in the day, the idea of sitting down for an interview gives me war flashbacks. Please, for the love of Merlin, let this interview be chill. No enchanted quills. No ambush questions. Just a normal, nice conversation. Is that too much to ask?

We strolled into the Daily Planet, and it didn't take long to spot Clark. The man could blend in about as well as a unicorn at a petting zoo. He stood there, tall and broad, with that whole "I build houses for orphans in my free time" vibe radiating off him. Beside him was Lois, who gave me a look that screamed, I will figure you out and write an award-winning piece about it. Great. This was already going well.

Clark stepped forward, all smiles. "Harry, it's great to finally see you in Metropolis."

He offered me a handshake, which I accepted, even though I half expected him to accidentally crush my hand. But no, his grip was firm, warm, and—annoyingly—perfect, like the guy probably practices friendly handshakes for fun.

"Yeah, same," I said, trying not to sound like a complete dork. And because apparently I can't help myself, I glanced at his glasses. "So, uh... the glasses thing. You really think that works?"

Clark blinked, clearly not expecting that. Diana shot me a quick look, the kind that said please don't antagonize the Kryptonian.

"What do you mean?" Clark asked, amused.

"I mean, come on," I said, waving a hand at him. "You look exactly like Superman—just, you know, with glasses. That's not a disguise. That's... accessorizing."

Clark chuckled, and okay, I could see why Kara liked him so much. The guy radiated nice. "You'd be surprised," he said.

I shook my head. "At least my glasses are magic. People actually don't notice me. Yours? You're banking on everyone having really, really bad facial recognition."

Lois folded her arms and gave Clark a playful look. "Told you someone would figure it out one day."

He shrugged, unbothered. "It's worked so far."

Diana gave me a small, amused smile. "Perhaps you should take notes."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help smirking. "Yeah, sure. I'll jot down, 'Step One: Look suspiciously like a superhero.'"

Clark just smiled, the kind of smile that made you want to confess every secret you've ever kept. We headed deeper into the building, and I tried not to overthink the fact that I was sitting down with Superman and Lois Lane. No pressure.

Still, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Glasses. As a disguise. For Superman. It was like wearing sunglasses and hoping no one recognizes you at the mall. Wild.

At least I had magic on my side. If Lois pulled out an enchanted quill mid-interview, I was ready to bolt through a window and let Clark deal with it.

—

Lois closed her notebook with the kind of smile that said, I know you're hiding something, and one day, I'll dig it up like an archaeologist with a grudge. Harry had faced down dark wizards, Basilisks, and soul-sucking Dementors, but nothing prepared him for the unrelenting curiosity of Lois Lane.

"Thanks for your time, Harry." She packed away her things, her expression practically screaming, This isn't over.

Harry forced a polite smile. "Glad to help." Which was a lie. He'd rather sit through another Rita Skeeter interview.

Then came the click in his ear—Clark, Diana, and Harry's comms all lighting up at the same time.

"Anomalous signal detected near your position," the Watchtower operator's calm voice said. "Investigate immediately."

The three of them exchanged a quick glance. The kind of glance that said, This could be bad.

Lois, of course, noticed the shift in the air. She folded her arms and gave Clark one of those I know what you're up to, Smallville looks.

"Need to duck out?" she asked.

Clark shrugged with a sheepish grin that could've powered a small farm town. "Looks like it."

Lois sighed, shouldering her bag. "Just don't break anything important. That includes yourself."

Clark leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. "I'll do my best."

With Lois playing cover, the three of them slipped out to the terrace of the Daily Planet. They were pros at this—no sudden movements, no alarm bells, just three people casually preparing to save the day without making a scene.

Clark went first, because of course he did. With a quick tug, he ripped open his shirt to reveal the bright "S" symbol underneath. Seriously, Harry thought, how did that never get old?

Next up: Diana. She did one of those effortless spins—bam! Golden armor, lasso, tiara. Just like magic. Okay, it was magic, but still. The whole thing was borderline unfair. Harry would probably trip over his own boots if he tried it.

Now it was Harry's turn. He flicked off his glasses—the same glasses he'd been ribbing Clark about earlier. Sure, it was a bit hypocritical, but in his defense, his glasses were magic. Totally different situation.

He touched the Crimson Gemstone embedded in the black-and-gold amulet around his neck. A wave of heat pulsed from the gem as his Shadowflame Armor flowed over him, every piece forming from liquid nanotech that glimmered like shadows in moonlight. The armor snapped into place, gold edges gleaming. His red hood dropped over his head with the exact amount of mysterious flair he'd been aiming for all along.

And then the wings happened.

Bird-like flames exploded from his back, spreading wide and trailing embers in the air. There are a lot of cool things about being a hero, but flying with fire wings? Easily top three.

Clark raised an eyebrow, clearly fighting back a grin. "Bit dramatic, don't you think?"

Harry shrugged. "Says the guy with the shirt-rip-of-justice routine."

Diana sighed, adjusting her sword at her side. "We're on a timer, boys. Let's move."

With that, all three launched into the sky. Clark soared ahead, cape fluttering behind him in a way that only someone born to be a hero could pull off. Diana flew smoothly, like a warrior goddess on a mission. And Harry? He zipped through the air with flames streaming from his wings, and not for the first time, he thought: Flying with fire beats flying on a broom any day of the week.

Their comms crackled again. "Signal located—one mile east."

Harry folded his wings tighter, picking up speed. As they flew side by side, he couldn't resist throwing one last jab at Clark.

"So," Harry said casually, "how exactly do you think the glasses thing works for you? You don't even charm yours."

Clark shot him a grin. "Are yours working right now?"

Touché, Superman. Touché.

—

We landed in the warehouse district with all the grace of three superheroes trying way too hard. My flaming wings folded back into my body with a whoosh, which always makes me feel like a human torch lighter—one flick and bam, instant fire. Clark, of course, landed like a god. No fanfare, just that calm Superman aura that says, Yeah, I do this every day. And Diana? She touched down so smoothly that even the wind seemed to sigh in appreciation. She's the kind of person who could trip and still make it look like performance art.

Meanwhile, I was just trying not to faceplant and embarrass myself. Flying with wings made of fire looks awesome, but trust me, it's a lot less glamorous when you forget to tuck them in and accidentally set someone's umbrella on fire. (Not that I'm speaking from experience. Okay, maybe I am.)

The second we hit the ground, I knew something was off. The air was thick with magic—sharp, electric, like biting into tinfoil. It was the kind of magic that makes your skin prickle and your instincts yell, Danger, danger, Will Robinson! Not exactly the vibe you want on a quiet night in Metropolis.

I muttered, "Magic in the air. Probably not the party kind."

Clark gave me a look like he was two seconds away from asking what party magic was, but before he could, the magical signal tugged at me again, like a GPS with an attitude problem. I followed it, weaving between warehouses with Diana and Clark trailing behind me. Clark was scanning everything with that freaky x-ray vision of his, and Diana moved like she was born to sneak around abandoned places. Meanwhile, I was just hoping I didn't trip over a rusty pipe or something.

Then we saw her.

A girl floated in midair, cocooned in this weird bubble of energy, like she'd gotten stuck halfway between worlds. And not to be dramatic, but she looked like something straight out of a gothic fairy tale. Her skin was pale with this grayish tint, like she'd been dipped in moonlight, and her violet eyes were half-closed, as if she was barely hanging on. Her hair—dark purple, cut at a sharp angle—framed her face like she was born for mysterious Instagram selfies. Oh, and the cherry on top? A red gemstone, outlined in black, glowing faintly from the center of her forehead.

I'm telling you: You see a girl like that floating in a ball of energy, and you know your night just got a lot more complicated.

The energy field flickered, then blinked out of existence like a bad Wi-Fi connection. And just like that, the girl started falling.

"Crap," I muttered, launching forward without thinking. (Pro tip: When something magical and possibly cursed falls from the sky, always catch it. That way, it has fewer chances to blow up in your face.)

One second I was standing still; the next, I was diving through the air, arms outstretched. I caught her just before she hit the ground, sliding a few feet on the pavement for dramatic effect. She was way too light, like she was missing half her soul or something.

Clark landed beside me in a heartbeat. "She okay?"

"Alive," I said, shifting her in my arms to make sure I didn't drop her. "But if magic burnout feels anything like getting whacked by a troll, she's gonna have a great morning."

Diana knelt next to us, her gaze fixed on the glowing gemstone in the girl's forehead. "She carries a burden," she said softly, like she was reading a prophecy.

I snorted. "Don't we all?"

Clark glanced around the empty street, his expression tightening. "We need to move. Now."

"No arguments here," Diana said, already rising off the ground. "We'll take her to the Watchtower. This situation feels... volatile."

"Volatile?" I echoed. "Diana, the milk in my fridge is volatile. This is more like, 'Oh no, we just picked up a cursed magical artifact in the shape of a person.'"

Clark smiled—because of course he did. He loves this kind of nonsense. "Want me to carry her? I am faster."

I rolled my eyes. "Thanks, but I've got this, Supes." I adjusted my grip on the unconscious girl. "Besides, I've already caught her. Dropping her now would just be rude."

Diana was already in the air, and Clark followed close behind. I didn't need an invitation. My wings flared to life with a hiss, flames curling outward like an explosion in slow motion. With one powerful beat, I launched into the sky, the warehouse district shrinking beneath us.

And just as I was starting to feel like we'd dodged a bullet, a sharp crack echoed through the streets, followed by a low hum that made my hair stand on end.

Clark's jaw clenched. "Too late."

Yup. Because with us? It's always too late.

My wings burned brighter as I picked up speed, the girl's limp form cradled in my arms. "Well," I muttered under my breath, "this is gonna get messy."

And with that, we flew headfirst into whatever disaster was waiting for us, because apparently, trouble is just our default setting.

—

The three of us touched down just in time to catch the source of that very bad sound—a slow, sarcastic clap. Because clearly, things hadn't been weird enough tonight.

Standing in the alley was a guy who looked like he just rolled out of a noir film and decided to punch it in the face. Trench coat—check. Rumpled suit—check. Cigarette dangling from his mouth like it paid rent—check. He had the kind of smirk that screamed, I know more than you, and I'm going to make sure you hate me for it.

"John Constantine," Clark said, as if that explained anything. He folded his arms, looking like the world's most polite bouncer. "We sometimes call him in when things get... supernatural."

"And by sometimes," Constantine added with a grin, "he means only when they're properly desperate." He took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing smoke in our direction like he was flavoring the air with sarcasm. "And here I thought tonight was going to be dull. Then you lot show up with a kid radiating demonic energy. Lovely."

I shifted the unconscious girl in my arms, trying not to wince at how heavy the word demonic sounded. "Demonic? As in, horns-and-pitchforks kind of demonic, or more like an unfortunate magical side effect?" Because, believe me, with my luck, it's always the first one.

Constantine gave me a look like I'd just asked if the sky was blue. "You tell me, mate. That pretty rock in her forehead? It's giving off enough bad mojo to make the Exorcist blush. If you're carrying that thing around hoping for a peaceful night, you're in for a treat."

Clark frowned. "What's it doing here?"

"That's the question, innit?" Constantine flicked his cigarette away, probably thinking it made him look cool. It didn't. "I was tracking a demonic pulse, something nasty. Followed it all the way here." He jabbed a finger toward the girl. "And it's coming from her. Well, more specifically, from that." He pointed at the gemstone in her forehead, as if we could somehow miss the giant glowing curse beacon.

I glanced down at her, suddenly feeling way more uncomfortable holding her. "Fantastic. We rescued a walking demonic time bomb."

"Yeah, well, good luck with that." Constantine shot me a grin that was more smug than helpful. "If she blows up, it's been nice knowing you."

Diana gave him one of her trademark I am so done with you looks. "Do you know what kind of demon we're dealing with?"

"Not yet." Constantine shrugged. "But trust me, whatever it is, it's bad news. That rock isn't just for decoration—it's holding something back. And whatever's inside it? Not exactly friendly."

Great. Because carrying her around wasn't stressful enough already.

"Any advice?" Clark asked, in that super-calm and reasonable voice he uses when things are about to go sideways.

Constantine gave us all a lazy smile, as if he was very pleased with himself. "Yeah. Don't die."

I groaned. "Oh, that's super helpful. Thanks, you wanker."

He winked at me. "Anytime, sunshine."

Diana rolled her eyes so hard I was surprised they didn't fall out of her head. "We need to move before this gets worse."

"You say that like it's not already a disaster," I muttered, adjusting my grip on the girl. Her gemstone pulsed faintly, like it was agreeing with me. Great. Even the cursed jewelry thinks I'm doomed.

Constantine snorted. "Don't worry, mate. This'll either end in blood, fire, or some combination of the two."

"Comforting," I said, my wings sparking to life as I prepared to take off again. "Really."

Clark gave me a small, reassuring smile. "We'll figure this out, Harry. We always do."

"That's the spirit!" Constantine called after us, already lighting another cigarette. "But if you start seeing demons, don't come crying to me!"

With that, the three of us shot back into the sky, the girl still limp in my arms, her gemstone glowing with the kind of energy that promised nothing good.

And all I could think was, Yup, this is absolutely going to explode in my face.

—

By the time we stepped into the Watchtower infirmary, I could already tell this was going to be one of those days. You know, the kind where a cursed gemstone is the least of your problems. The Zeta Tube travel had scrambled Constantine's nerves—and his patience, not that he had much of that to begin with.

"Bloody teleportation," he grumbled, brushing off his trench coat like it had insulted him personally. "Could've warned me it feels like being flushed down a magical toilet."

Diana shot him one of her trademark glares. "We're here to save a life, Constantine, not cater to your comfort."

Constantine winked, because of course he did. "Don't worry, love. I'll live."

Meanwhile, I was still holding the unconscious girl, her forehead gem pulsing like it was the worst kind of magical mood ring. I wasn't sure how long we had before it exploded or summoned something straight out of a Lovecraftian nightmare, but it probably wasn't long.

Clark led the way with that calm, purposeful stride only he can pull off. The infirmary doors slid open, and we were greeted by the welcoming faces of Batman and Martian Manhunter. You know, welcoming in the "we've heard bad news and expect worse" kind of way.

"Report," Batman said, sharp and direct.

Constantine took his time lighting a cigarette—because apparently, when surrounded by superheroes, the best thing to do is act like you've got all day. "Right. So what you've got here is a girl with a cursed gemstone buried in her noggin, leaking more demonic energy than a heavy metal album cover."

Batman's frown deepened, which, frankly, felt like an achievement. "How dangerous?"

"Lethal," Constantine said cheerfully. "The fun kind of cursed."

Martian Manhunter hovered over the girl, his glowing hands scanning her with eerie calm. "The presence inside the gem is ancient. Its hostility is... overwhelming."

Constantine blew out a stream of smoke. "Hostile? Mate, that's putting it lightly."

Clark sighed under his breath, clearly resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Diana crossed her arms, already looking fed up.

"What aren't you telling us, Constantine?" she asked, her voice sharp enough to cut through steel.

"Relax, I've told you everything I know." Constantine's smirk was back. "But whatever this thing is, it's way beyond a standard exorcism."

Batman turned to me. "Shadowflame, what's your assessment?"

The air was thick with magic, sharp and oily, like the scent of burnt metal. It practically hummed under my skin. "Yeah, this thing's cursed, all right. The bad kind. We need someone with more expertise—someone who knows how to handle this stuff before it goes nuclear."

Batman's eyes narrowed slightly. "Who?"

I shifted to place the unconscious girl in my arms in one of the infirmary beds. "Bill Weasley. He's a curse-breaker. This is exactly the kind of thing he deals with on a daily basis." I glanced at Constantine. "And if that's not enough, we could also call in the Goblins. They've got experience with cursed objects, and they're the best I know when it comes to handling magical artifacts."

Constantine stared at me like I'd just suggested summoning a unicorn to do our taxes. "Goblins? What, like the creepy little blokes from old fairy tales?"

I smirked. "Not quite. Think expert bankers with a side hustle in curses. They love a good challenge."

He shook his head, looking more amused than concerned. "Right. I'll just pretend that makes sense and hope I'm not around when they show up."

Clark shot me a curious glance. "You trust them?"

"As much as you can trust anyone who loves gold and ancient hexes," I said. "But yeah. If there's anyone who can untangle this mess, it's Bill and the Goblins."

Batman was already calculating a dozen plans, I could see it in his eyes. "We'll contact Weasley. If the Goblins are required, we'll arrange that as well." His gaze flicked to the gemstone on the girl's forehead. "But we don't have much time. If this thing activates—"

"Yeah, yeah, doom and gloom," Constantine interrupted. "Just say the word if you want me to step in with an old-fashioned spell."

Diana raised a brow. "You can actually do that?"

"Depends," Constantine said with a grin. "How attached are you to this space station?"

I rolled my eyes. "Why do I get the feeling this is going to end with something exploding?"

Constantine chuckled. "Because, mate, it usually does."

—

Meanwhile, inside Raven's mind, things were going about as well as you'd expect when your father is a giant, interdimensional demon who wants to conquer the universe using your soul as a shortcut. Which is to say: badly.

The mindscape around her flickered, glitching between bleak landscapes—cracked wastelands, endless voids, fire-filled skies—as Raven fought to keep control. Trigon loomed in front of her, all four glowing red eyes radiating smug malice. His voice slithered through her thoughts, making the air itself feel heavy, like trying to breathe underwater.

"You're slipping, daughter," Trigon said, his voice as smooth and poisonous as oil. "It's only a matter of time. You cannot fight me forever."

Raven gritted her teeth, summoning every ounce of focus to keep the dark energy from overwhelming her. It wasn't just her life at stake—if Trigon managed to break free, he'd use her body to possess one of the powerful beings around her physical form. And with Superman, Martian Manhunter, and Wonder Woman within reach? Yeah, not exactly the best houseguests for a demon overlord to take over.

"No thanks, Dad," Raven shot back, her voice echoing across the warped expanse of her mind. "I'm not interested in playing meat puppet for your world-domination plans."

Trigon laughed, the sound vibrating through the very fabric of her mind. "Ah, but they are so much more than mere puppets. Imagine—possessing one of them. A Kryptonian, perhaps, or the Martian. With my power, they would be unstoppable."

Raven knew he wasn't bluffing. She could feel his desire clawing at the edges of her consciousness, hungry and relentless. It wasn't just about her anymore. He wanted more. He wanted them.

But Raven was not about to let that happen. She closed her eyes, centering herself. "Azarath Metrion Zinthos," she whispered, feeling the words settle like stones in her mind. They were the anchor she clung to—memories of her training, the calm guidance of her mentors in Azarath, and the fierce determination that had gotten her this far.

Trigon's form shifted, expanding, as if trying to fill every inch of her mind. His power burned against her defenses, pressing harder with every moment. "You are weak, Raven. You always have been. You cannot resist me forever."

"I don't have to," Raven snapped, summoning a wave of dark energy that surged toward her father. "I just need to resist you long enough."

She threw everything she had into the attack—her rage, her fear, her hope, and her love for the people waiting for her outside. Her magic crashed into Trigon like a tidal wave, pushing him back, at least for now.

But she knew this was only a temporary victory. Fighting Trigon was like holding back an avalanche with a paper umbrella. She was running out of time, and the worst part? Trigon knew it.

His grin stretched wide as he faded back into the shadows of her mind, his voice lingering like smoke. "Soon, daughter. I will take what is mine. And when I do... Earth will burn."

Raven exhaled, her breath ragged and shallow. The mindscape stabilized, if only for a moment, giving her a sliver of peace. But the weight of Trigon's presence never fully left. He was always there—watching, waiting, and ready to strike the moment she faltered.

And Raven had a sinking feeling that the moment would come sooner rather than later.

—

At Mount Justice, the training room buzzed with the sound of grunts, spells, and the occasional "Oof!" from someone hitting the mat a little too hard. Talia al Ghul stood with her arms folded, watching the young recruits with an expression that could only be described as "mild approval"—which, coming from her, was practically a glowing recommendation.

Susan Bones had just thrown Hannah Abbott over her shoulder, though it looked more like an accidental bear hug gone wrong. Luna Lovegood, meanwhile, stood a few feet away, observing her sparring dummy with such intense focus you'd think it had whispered state secrets.

Sirius Black leaned in toward Talia with a grin. "Think any of these kids have a shot at assassin school?"

"Must you always be so dramatic?" Remus Lupin asked, watching as Tracey Davis dodged a punch from Daphne Greengrass with almost surgical precision.

"It's not drama, Moony—it's flair," Sirius said, waggling his eyebrows. "Besides, Tracey looks like she could slip poison into someone's pumpkin juice without blinking."

Talia rolled her eyes. "Assassination isn't about enthusiasm, Black. It's about control."

Just then, Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour walked in, looking far too nonchalant for people whose job regularly involved dodging curses that could turn you into a slug—or worse. Bill gave the room a quick scan, as if searching for traps out of habit, while Fleur adjusted the dagger strapped to her thigh with a grace that said, I know exactly how deadly I am, thank you very much.

"How are they doing?" Bill asked, nodding toward the recruits.

"They live," Talia said dryly.

"Always a good start," Bill replied with a grin.

Before they could dive deeper into sarcastic banter, the doors to the training room hissed open, and Kara floated in, trailed by Kori, who radiated sunshine and excitement the way most people radiate exhaustion. Both were carrying what looked suspiciously like swatches of fabric.

"We were decorating Harry's room!" Kara announced cheerfully, landing lightly on the floor.

"His room was a disaster of terrible design choices," Kori added with a bright smile. "So we are fixing it! Soon, it will be most... how do you say? Cozy for the snuggling."

Sirius smirked. "That sounds dangerous."

"Very dangerous!" Kori nodded eagerly, not picking up on the joke. "He was living like a—what is the phrase? A 'clorbag varblernelk'?"

"That's... probably accurate," Remus muttered.

Kara clapped her hands together. "Anyway, sorry to interrupt your murder practice. We came to grab Bill. Watchtower needs you. Something about cursed artifacts."

Bill blinked. "The Watchtower? First time for everything, I guess."

"You will enjoy it!" Kori beamed, as if going to space was something you casually did on a Tuesday. "The Zeta Tube is much fun! It makes the 'whoosh,' and then you are somewhere else!"

Fleur raised an eyebrow at Bill. "You are not going without me."

Bill chuckled. "Wouldn't dream of it."

"You must hurry!" Kori said. "Harry—who is also the bumgorf of my heart—is in trouble! There are cursed objects and much seriousness."

"And by seriousness," Kara added, "she means it's Harry, so things are probably already on fire."

As Bill adjusted his wand holster and Fleur tied her hair back, Sirius leaned toward Remus again. "Wanna bet this whole cursed artifact thing blows up in their faces?"

Remus snorted. "It's Harry. That's a given."

With a final wave to the recruits, Kara gestured toward the exit. "C'mon, Weasleys! We've got a Zeta Tube to catch, and trust me—you don't want Harry handling cursed objects without supervision."

Kori floated beside her, practically vibrating with excitement. "Yes! Let us go and make the whoosh! And also, if you have snacks, please bring them. Space travel makes me feel most... lobstery."

Everyone paused for a beat.

"You mean crabby?" Kara corrected gently.

"Yes! That! I am feeling most crabby," Kori said with a bright smile. "Though not in the 'bad vibes' way—more in the 'I-would-like-a-sandwich' way."

Bill chuckled. "Right. Let me grab my curse-breaking kit, and we're off."

And with that, the group headed toward the Zeta Tube, leaving the recruits—and the relative safety of Mount Justice—behind. Something told Bill this wasn't going to be a simple consultation about cursed artifacts. If Harry was involved, it never was.

—

The Zeta Tube flashed, and Bill, Fleur, Kara, and Kori stepped into the Watchtower. For Bill and Fleur, it was a whirlwind of firsts: first time using a Zeta Tube, first time in space, and definitely the first time standing on an orbiting space station.

Bill's jaw dropped. "This... is... incredible." He looked like a kid on Christmas morning, except the presents were high-tech space gadgets and the vast expanse of the Earth glowing beneath them.

"I must tell Dad about this," Bill whispered, running a hand along the smooth wall as if it could explain the mysteries of advanced technology to him. "Zeta Tubes, orbital stations… How does this even work?"

"Bill, mon cœur, you do not even understand how electricity works," Fleur said, amused. She threaded her fingers through his and gave him a playful nudge.

"Sure, but this—this is space!" Bill gestured wildly. "You can't expect me to stay calm!"

Shadowflame—Harry, really, but nowadays everyone insisted on calling him by his hero name—leaned against the Zeta platform, smirking. His black-and-gold armor shimmered in the station's light, the flames from his power flickering faintly along the edges. "Welcome to the Watchtower," he said, giving them a casual salute. "Let's get moving—Batman's allergic to joy, and he's waiting."

Kara chuckled. "Accurate."

As they walked through the pristine corridors, Bill couldn't help whispering, "Do you think they have a spaceship garage? Or a weapons lab? This place must be filled with insane tech. I need to know everything."

Kori floated alongside him, her hands clasped eagerly. "Do not worry, friend Bill! If we find the garage of ships, I will request permission to show you the many... flying things!" She gave him an encouraging smile, then turned to Fleur. "Do you believe Harry would allow us to conduct what Earthlings call 'the party of housewarming' once his room is complete?"

Fleur blinked. "A housewarming party?"

"Yes! Harry's room will soon be ready for our staying over on many occasions, and so the housewarming must be required." Kori smiled, positively radiant. "I am thinking it will have the foods and perhaps music! Is it not customary to 'crank the tunes'? I will research the playlists."

Shadowflame shot Kara a look that clearly asked, You're the one who brought her, right? Kara just laughed. "I told you—she's still working on the whole Earth thing."

Kori beamed proudly. "Yes, I am improving! I now understand the difference between the 'mall of shopping' and the 'food of court.' Although the 'idioms' do still cause the confusion."

They reached the infirmary, where a group of heavy hitters awaited: Wonder Woman, Superman, Martian Manhunter, and, of course, the Dark Knight himself, Batman—looming silently in the corner like a thundercloud.

And then there was John Constantine. The trench coat-wearing mage slouched beside the unconscious girl on the infirmary bed. His cigarette was conspicuously absent—Batman's rules—and he looked about as thrilled as a cat tossed into a bathtub.

His eyes scanned the new arrivals, settling on Fleur with a mischievous grin. "Well, aren't you a sight for sore eyes. Fancy a drink sometime, love? Paris, maybe?"

Fleur raised an eyebrow, her expression cool and unamused. "Non. I am with Bill." She slid her hand into her boyfriend's, and Bill shot Constantine a smug grin, like a man who'd just won a very satisfying duel.

Undeterred, Constantine shifted his attention to Kara and Kori. "What about you two? I've got some free time on—"

Kara cut him off with a flat, amused smile. "No thanks. Also, you're... kinda ancient."

Kori tilted her head, trying to understand. "Yes, you are too... aged. And we are both with Harry." She beamed proudly at Shadowflame, floating closer to him. "Also, I do not think you would survive Kara's 'kicking of the butt.' It is very impressive."

Constantine groaned. "Bloody hell. Not even aliens?"

Batman cleared his throat loudly, giving Constantine a look that could curdle milk. "Get to the point."

Constantine rolled his eyes but turned to the unconscious girl on the bed, gesturing at the glowing gemstone embedded in her forehead. "Right, here's the deal. This gem? Not just cursed—it's dripping with demonic power. Ancient stuff. The kind that could turn your soul inside out just for fun."

Fleur and Bill exchanged a glance, intrigued rather than intimidated.

"And what exactly are you going to do about it?" Constantine asked, skeptical. "I mean, you two look like... I dunno, magical accountants. This isn't your everyday haunted music box. This thing is nasty."

"We're curse-breakers," Bill said simply, with the kind of quiet confidence that only came from years of experience.

Constantine gave a dry laugh. "Right. And I'm Father Christmas."

Shadowflame clapped Bill on the shoulder. "Don't underestimate them, you wanker. They've handled Goblin curses—and trust me, those make most ancient artifacts look like toys."

"Goblins?" Constantine stared at them like they'd just spoken in tongues. "You mean the fairytale kind?"

"Something like that," Shadowflame said with a grin.

Kori floated closer to the unconscious girl, her green eyes full of concern. "This gemstone... it holds her shlorvak, yes? Her dreams?"

"That's one way of putting it," Constantine muttered.

"She looks most uncomfortable." Kori gently brushed a strand of violet hair from Raven's face. "I do not like it. It feels... clorbag varblernelk—like something terrible is trapped inside."

Constantine blinked. "Clorbag varblernelk?"

"It means... something close to 'unpleasant,'" Kara whispered to him with a smirk.

Bill knelt beside the bed, drawing his wand. "Well, let's see what we're dealing with."

Fleur joined him, her wand already out. "Together, yes?"

Bill grinned. "Always."

As they prepared to unravel the mystery of the cursed gemstone, Constantine crossed his arms, muttering, "If these two can actually pull this off, I'll eat my bloody trench coat."

Batman, standing at the back, gave him a side-eye glare. "I'll hold you to that."

---

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