Santa Prisca – Ruined Venom Factory Entrance
(Where the air smells like death, bad decisions, and someone definitely needs a mint)
We were creeping down the cracked, broken road toward what was left of the factory's main entrance—basically a giant, smoking hellscape that looked like a dragon had hosted a barbecue and forgot the fire extinguisher. Smoke stung my lungs like a thousand tiny bees with a grudge. I sucked it down anyway. No point crying over burnt factories.
Around us, the ground was littered with debris: shattered glass, warped metal, and enough venom cult flyers to start a horror-themed tattoo parlor. I didn't even want to know what their recruitment pitch sounded like.
And then, bam. There he was.
Bane. Big as a mountain and twice as intimidating, standing like he owned the entire damn place. Mask on, muscles bulging like they'd been pumped full of hydraulic press juice. The guy was rigging explosives around the doorframe like he was decorating for an apocalypse-themed party. Spoiler: no one RSVP'd "Yes" to this one.
"Looking for a warm welcome?" Bane's voice rumbled out like a freight train with attitude. "You're walking into a trap. I'm here to make sure none of you walk out alive."
Robin's jaw tightened so hard I was half-convinced he could crush steel. The kid's got that teenage "I'm trying not to flip out" vibe nailed down. Before anyone could say a word, Bane's hand shot to the detonator, fingers curling like a grip that meant boom.
And then came Kid Flash, aka Dylan O'Brien in a blur of caffeine and wisecracks. Kid Flash zipped in, lightning-fast, snatching the detonator like a magician stealing your watch.
"Not today, big guy!" he chirped, grinning like he'd just robbed the last slice of pizza from the fridge.
Bane's glare turned deadly, flexing those anaconda arms like he was about to throw down in the world's angriest wrestling match.
I didn't wait for an invite. Flames sparked along my fingertips as I shot forward and clocked him in the jaw with a punch so solid even Tom Hardy's Bane would have felt it. The guy staggered, stars exploding in his vision like a bad 4th of July.
The detonator clattered to the ground. Kid Flash caught it mid-spin, fingers twitching like he was defusing a bomb—which, technically, he was.
"Guess your plans just went up in smoke," I said with a wicked grin, flicking a small flame off my hand like a mic drop.
Bane groaned, blinking the stars away, probably wondering how his life became a series of unfortunate events starring us.
Kaldur stepped up, calm as ever, voice like a lighthouse in the chaos. "We're not the ones who should be dying today. Walk away, or next time it won't just be fireworks."
I caught Megan's eyes—emerald green meeting glowing turquoise—and that little smirk she gave me? Oh, it said all the things no one dared speak aloud. Like, yeah, we're kicking ass. Yeah, it's sexy. And yes, I totally noticed the way her eyes shimmered when I let my fire dance just a little higher.
Kara, ever the blonde dynamo, tucked a lock behind her ear and shot me a wink that had serious "You think you can keep up?" energy. Honestly, it was distracting, but in a way that made my heart beat faster—not just from the adrenaline.
Robin let out a shaky breath, nodding toward Kaldur. "He should lead. Calm, strategic. He kept us alive."
Megan floated closer, voice teasing but sincere. "He's the glue when everything's on fire. Literally and figuratively."
I nudged her playfully, fingers brushing hers for just a moment. Sparks. Definitely sparks.
"Okay, okay," I said, voice low, smoldering like the embers I was born to command. "I'm still the firestarter, but every team needs a cool hand on the wheel. Kaldur, that's you."
He nodded, that steady, no-nonsense look making me want to follow him anywhere—even into a snake cult lair.
Bane growled, getting up, all bruised pride and muscle. "This is far from over."
I gave him a slow, deliberate smile—half challenge, half promise. "Oh, sweetheart, it's just getting started."
As we moved forward, the tension between me, Megan, and Kara was thicker than the smoke choking the air. Silent glances, playful smirks, the kind of chemistry that could light up an entire city—or burn it to the ground.
We had a shipment to stop, a cult to dismantle, and a team to prove wasn't just playing hero—we were the damn headline.
—
Santa Prisca – Venom Factory Helipad
(AKA: Where Helicopters Get a Second Chance—Then Crash and Burn Like They Owe Us Money)
Just when I thought the worst was over and maybe—maybe—we'd catch our breath, that blasted chopper groaned back to life like it was some kind of immortal cockroach with rotors. Nine lives? More like nine thousand.
"Seriously? Who gave this thing a damn upgrade?" I muttered, watching the blades start spinning like a DJ's sad remix nobody asked for.
Kaldur's voice cut through the tension, calm and commanding—like a walking tsunami who just decided you're about to get wiped out. "Better coordinated this time. Let's go."
And that's when the chaos dropped harder than a bad mixtape.
Sportsmaster—looking like a disgruntled asshole who just stormed off a coffee bender—charged at me and Kara with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball auditioning for America's Next Top Destroyer.
"Gotcha, firebug!" he snarled, swinging his death-speared weapon like he forged it in the depths of angry blacksmith hell.
I ducked, flames licking the ground where his spear would've landed. Kara flew above, eyes glowing heat-vision red-hot, looking like a literal goddess of destruction.
"Not today, bub," I shot back, unleashing a fireblast that made Sportsmaster flinch like he'd just touched a hot stove. Rookie move.
Kid Flash zipped in, a blur of caffeinated squirrel energy and cheeky grins. Before anyone could blink, he tackled a cultist and ripped off his mask like it was the ultimate souvenir.
"Hey Kobra," Kid Flash called out, waving the mask like a winning lottery ticket. "Your creepy fan club's losing members."
Kobra—ever the calm, calculating snake charmer (seriously, creepy stalker vibes)—just smirked like he was watching a rerun he'd seen a thousand times. "Inevitable," he said smoothly, voice dripping with "I'm always three moves ahead."
Robin jumped in, bless his scrappy soul, to square off with Kobra. Watching was like watching a butterfly try to punch a hurricane. Kobra tossed him back like he weighed nothing. Robin hit the rubble with a groan.
"Damn it," Robin muttered, winded but stubborn as ever. Kid Flash called out, "You good, man?"
"Yeah… just… my ego's bruised. That's all," Robin grumbled, trying to act tough but failing spectacularly.
Meanwhile, Aqualad was in his element. Water bent to his will, and today? It was electric. He sent a jolt straight through Mammoth's hulking frame. Mammoth howled and crumpled like a giant, pissed-off ragdoll.
"Electricity — never goes out of style," I quipped, watching Mammoth twitch like he'd just met a live taser.
But just as Sportsmaster spotted his chance and sprinted toward the chopper, clearly thinking this is my getaway, Megan's eyes caught mine. That little flicker of "I got this" meant trouble — for Sportsmaster.
Megan pressed a button on her wrist—beep—flash—and then BOOM.
The helicopter exploded in a fiery symphony of destruction that would make even the most seasoned pyromaniac nod in approval.
The chopper spun wildly, rotors screaming like banshees caught in a blender.
Sportsmaster parachuted out, probably thinking he'd just won life's worst lottery.
I was faster. Flames wrapped around him like a living cage—soft enough not to burn, sharp enough to pin him down.
"Nice try, sports dude," I said, emerald eyes glowing gold as I muttered a stunning spell that knocked him out cold. Then came the bindings—magical, tight, and corporate-deadline-level unforgiving.
Kaldur smirked, arms crossed like he was watching a masterclass. "And that's how you lose your chopper."
Behind us, the factory groaned, collapsing in a fiery ruin like a bad ex finally getting their comeuppance.
And there he was — Bane, tied to a tree like he'd been invited to the worst barbecue ever and didn't get the memo.
"Well," his voice was rough gravel and grudging respect, "that was entertaining."
I exchanged a grin with Megan and Kara. "Welcome to the party, ladies. This is just the opening act."
Kara winked, that confident sparkle in her eyes. "I like our chances."
Megan's eyes twinkled, all that telepathic mischief shining through. "Let's make sure they never forget who they just crossed."
The three of us shared a look—fire, mischief, and maybe something dangerously close to more than just teammates.
We moved forward, battle-hardened, coordinated, and definitely on fire—literally and figuratively.
—
Mount Justice – Briefing Room
(AKA: The Batcave's Less Fun, More "Why Did I Get Out of Bed Today?" Version)
We shuffled into the briefing room, which smelled like leather boots, bad decisions, and enough unspoken disappointment to fill Gotham City twice over. Batman was already there, standing like a shadow that forgot how to smile, silhouetted by a single overhead light that screamed "I'm judging you."
He didn't even say hello. Classic Bat move.
"You lost control of the mission," he growled, voice low and gravelly, like a nightclub bouncer who just caught you sneaking in with a fake ID. "Kobra escaped. Bane was caught by luck, not skill. Sportsmaster almost slipped through your fingers."
Ouch. I felt that in my chest—right where the fire lives.
I took a breath, trying to channel my inner phoenix without actually setting anything on fire. "We adapted," I said, flames flickering along my fingertips, mostly for dramatic effect. "We stopped the shipment, took down some big players, and, yeah—the chopper went up in flames. On purpose."
Batman's glare sharpened, those piercing gray eyes drilling right through my smoke-and-mirrors bravado. "You made a mistake letting Robin lead."
I flinched. Hearing it from the Bat himself? That's like getting roasted by the universe's ultimate dark knight.
"But you made the right call naming Aqualad second-in-command," he added, and I swear I caught a hint of respect buried under all that Batman-grimness. "That's what kept the team from falling apart."
Kaldur gave me a subtle nod. Calm, cool, collected—as always. Honestly, I half expected water to drip off him.
Batman turned to the rest of the team, voice slicing the room like a Batarang. "You all need to function as one unit. This isn't about solo heroics. It's about the mission."
Robin shifted, looking like he'd just swallowed a bat-shaped lemon. I threw him a quick "You'll get there" glance. Kid's got heart; just needs a little less 'batwing solo act.'
Megan—my telepathic partner-in-crime—grinned from the side, eyes sparkling with that familiar mischievous glow. I swear she was already scheming ways to mess with the Bat's brooding aura.
Kara? She threw me a rare, genuine smile that made my chest tighten. There's something about seeing Supergirl softened by the Bat's tough talk that's strangely... electrifying. Or maybe that was just the fire crackling between us.
Batman's last words landed like a thunderclap. "Next time, less drama. More results."
I exchanged a look with Megan and Kara—both of them smirking like "Good luck with that."
"Less drama?" I said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's gonna be the hardest mission yet."
Megan shot me a telepathic grin. "Speak for yourself, flame boy. I'm just getting started."
Kara laughed softly, the sound like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "Welcome to the team, Harry."
I let a slow smile spread across my face, flames licking up in celebration—and maybe a little bit for the way those two looked at me, like I was the spark they needed.
Because let's be honest: when you're juggling villainous cultists, crashing helicopters, and Batman's existential disappointment all in one day... sometimes, you gotta let the fire burn bright.
—
Somewhere Else — The Light's Hidden Chamber
(AKA: The Villain Squad's Version of "Let's Plot World Domination Over Fancy Drinks")
The chamber was a cavern of shadows, dark enough to swallow a dozen suns, with flickering wall sconces throwing ominous shapes across the obsidian table. It smelled like power, danger, and a dash of regret for anyone who thought they could outwit these masterminds.
Vandal Savage sat at the head, his weathered face etched with centuries of ruthlessness. His voice was slow, deliberate, the kind of menace that could make your blood run cold and your spine straighten out involuntarily.
"Three strikes now," Vandal said, eyes glinting like ancient daggers. "The Team has meddled in our affairs—Venom Factory, shipment interceptions, and now… this disaster." He gestured toward the holo-display showing scenes from Santa Prisca. "Their persistence borders on arrogance."
Lex Luthor adjusted his impeccably tailored suit, his smirk razor-sharp. Bald and brilliant, he carried the room's tension like a conductor commanding a dark symphony.
"We did capture Sportsmaster," Lex said smoothly, "but not before a vial of the Kobra-Venom slipped through our fingers. Our ace in the hole. It's small, but potent." He tapped a device that projected a swirling greenish liquid. "The Brain assures me the formula will be reverse-engineered. Within days, replication—and enhancement—is inevitable."
The Brain's grotesque, techno-organic visage appeared in the corner, eyes glowing with a sickly green light. His voice was a gravelly whisper, layered with cold precision.
"Formula integrity is uncompromised. I will improve it beyond the original. The Team's resilience is admirable but irrelevant. They are but obstacles."
Queen Bee leaned forward, every movement the picture of poised menace. Her voice was velvet wrapped around a razor.
"They're more than obstacles," she said, dark amusement flickering in her eyes. "They're a nuisance with bad timing and worse luck. Their interference jeopardizes our operations. That cannot continue."
Ra's al Ghul, regal and imposing, folded his hands, his voice a calm storm.
"The children believe themselves heroes, but their ignorance is their weakness. It is time for decisive action. We must crush this rebellion before it gains momentum."
Ocean-Master slammed a fist on the table, water dripping ominously from his gauntlet. The chamber seemed to shudder.
"They swim in arrogance, thinking the oceans and shadows protect them. Let us remind them that fear still rules beneath the waves and beyond the shore."
Klarion twirled his crooked staff, eyes gleaming with mischievous malice. His grin was a dangerous thing, like a child with a new toy—and a bad plan.
"Ooh, this is gonna be fun! Nothing like chaos to spice up the party! Let's cook up a nightmare they'll never forget."
Lex's smirk deepened, calculating and cold as a winter night.
"They adapt. They learn. We must evolve faster—strike harder, smarter. This threat must be eliminated. Efficiently. Permanently."
The Brain's whisper slid through the air like a knife.
"Our options are many. Our endgame is clear: no heroes, no interference, total domination."
Vandal Savage nodded once, the weight of centuries and empires in that simple motion.
"Then it is settled. The Light moves forward."
The chamber grew darker still, the shadows thickening as their plans unfolded like a storm about to break.
Outside, the world spun unaware. But inside, the pieces were shifting—fast, deadly, and inevitable.
—
Mount Justice — Training Arena
(AKA: Where the punches pack heat, the flirting is off the charts, and the bets get wilder than a reality show reunion)
I step into the ring, feeling that familiar, wicked fire crawl beneath my skin like it knows a party's about to start. Across from me stands Big Barda — all muscle, confidence, and that "I'm about to turn you into a human torch" smirk. Yeah, that Barda — one of my girlfriends. (No, I'm not worthy, and yes, I have the terrible poker face and a lucky charm story, but don't ask.)
She cracks her knuckles with a sound like thunder rolling through a canyon. "Ready to get roasted, Flame Boy?"
I flick my fingers, flames licking up my arms like they've got a mind of their own. "You wish, Barda. I'm the master of savage burn. Time to prove it."
From the sidelines, my girlfriends have assembled like the Avengers but way hotter and with a lot more sass. The betting is on, and the energy is electric.
Kara, lounging with that trademark confident grin, folds her arms. "Ten on Barda. She's basically a cosmic wrecking ball with a killer smile."
Kori, glowing like she just stepped off a sunbeam, cheers, "I'm putting twenty on Harry. No one controls fire like he does — except maybe the sun. But the sun's kinda busy."
Raven, all mysterious and intense, crosses her arms, purple eyes flickering. "I'm just here for the apocalypse-level drama. Someone better get scorched."
Zatanna, flicking a strand of her glossy hair, smirks. "I'd bet on both of you, but then I'd lose my hat—and that's not coming back."
Deedee, sarcastic and gothic, leans forward with that deadpan charm. "Harry's got style, but Barda's brute strength is a game-changer. My money's on a knockout... or at least a dramatic collapse."
Jean, the primordial Flame of the Beginning, floats nearby, her eyes glowing like dawn breaking through smoke. "Balance, Harry. Burn bright, but don't burn out."
Bekka watches quietly, her gaze ancient and fierce — like she's seen wars rise and fall. Mareena and Tia, whispering bets with mischievous grins, make the atmosphere even more electric.
I grin, fire sparking in my veins. "Alright, ladies, get ready to find out who's really bringing the heat."
Barda laughs — deep, booming, and full of challenge. "Bring it, flame-boy."
Our first clash is a cosmic collision worthy of a DBZ battle: her massive gauntlet swings like a wrecking ball; I duck and dodge, flames trailing like a comet, narrowly missing her boots. The arena lights up with sparks and dust, looking less like a training room and more like an interstellar war zone.
Kara leans forward, eyes wide. "Oof, that's gotta leave a mark."
Kori claps, practically glowing. "Fire and strength — what more do you want from a fight?"
Suddenly, a soft, teasing nudge slides into my mind. Megan (Miss Martian, Ariel Winter), warm and sharp, telepathically whispers, "Watch her left — it's slower but packs a serious punch."
"Thanks, babe," I murmur, cheeks heating for reasons both fiery and otherwise.
Deedee snorts from the sidelines. "Don't get burned, Harry. Literally or emotionally. Or both."
The fight escalates. Flames whip, fists fly, and the whole room buzzes with that special kind of magic only girlfriends betting big can create. It's a mix of awe, excitement, and, if I'm honest, some envy — because the chemistry between Barda and me is crackling hotter than this spar.
Barda sweeps low, fist crashing toward my ribs, and I hop back, spinning fire into a dazzling protective arc that lights up the room like a fireworks show.
Jean glides close, eyes molten gold. "Balance, Harry. Control the flame — or it will consume you."
Bekka's steady gaze meets mine — fierce, ancient, full of silent promises.
Tia winks at Kara, whispering, "Who's got the better abs?"
Kara smirks. "Easy — Flame Boy's winning that round."
Raven raises an eyebrow, voice dripping with shade. "I'm Team Chaos all the way. Bring on the chaos."
Feeling the surge of adrenaline, love, and sheer ridiculous power, I grin wide, heart pounding like a war drum.
Barda laughs again, breathless but standing tall. "Not bad, Flame Boy. You're hotter than I thought."
Our spar turns from a battle into a dance — a tempest of strength and flame, teasing jabs, stolen glances, and sparks that could melt the toughest armor.
Meanwhile, my girlfriends keep betting, laughing, and stealing looks like they're watching the best soap opera ever — and honestly, with this much fire, maybe we are.
Because around here? Family isn't just about blood or battles — it's the fire we fight with, the fire we fight for, and damn if that fire isn't burning brighter than ever.
—
Mount Justice — Training Arena, Round Two (AKA: The Rematch Nobody Asked For But Everyone Secretly Wanted)
If Round One was fireworks, Round Two was a solar flare — wearing sunglasses, flexing in the mirror, and asking, "Did it just get hotter in here, or is it just me?"
Barda stood across from me, all Amazonian muscle and Fourth World swagger, stretching her arms over her head like she wasn't showing off. Spoiler: she absolutely was. I was doing my best not to drool. (Narrator voice: He failed.)
"What's the matter, hot stuff?" she called, cracking her knuckles like thunder made of sex appeal. "Need a breather before I break you again?"
I rolled my shoulders, igniting a flame spiral around my arms like a dragon warming up for karaoke night. "You wish. But if you're offering a post-fight massage, I'll bring the oils. And the scented candles. Romantic playlist optional."
She smirked, head tilting. "Loser buys dinner."
"Winner picks dessert," I fired back, flame-tipped wink included.
Cue the peanut gallery detonating.
Deedee (Death herself, still rocking a black corset and Kat Dennings-level smirk) flipped upside-down on the bench. "Somebody's getting roasted — and I'm not just talking combat."
Tia (the bustier, sassier clone of Kara) whistled, one eyebrow raised and absolutely unapologetic. "Calling it now: that shirt's going up in flames. Please let it be his."
Kara, ever the chaotic blonde Kryptonian, sipped a protein shake like it was tea. "Harry's already halfway there. That shirt's hanging on by a thread and good intentions."
Zatanna, ever the glam magician, conjured popcorn out of thin air. "Abs are carrying the whole match. And the view."
Mareena gave her best diplomatic sigh. "I'm just saying, we reinforce the dome for a reason. Don't make me explain that to Batman again."
Jean, floating above like the goddess of sunlight and smirks, offered a smile that could melt glaciers. "Passion has consequences."
Megan (my favorite mind-reading Martian menace) beamed at me from the bleachers. "I already know how this ends. I'm just here for the outfit damage."
I ignited my palm with a casual swirl. "Alright, Barda. Let's turn up the heat."
She charged like a meteor made of rage, confidence, and thighs that could crush tanks.
Her first swing passed through the air like a sonic boom — where my head had just been. I flipped backward, fire curling around me like a fiery ribbon dancer with combat boots. My heel caught her gauntlet in a crescent kick and BOOM — floor cracked like it owed us money.
Kori, positively glowing with excitement, clapped wildly. "This is the most glorious combat!"
Raven, deadpan and dead-sexy in her hoodie, muttered, "She just deflected a fireball with her abs. I'm into it."
Barda swept low.
I vaulted.
She uppercut.
I flew. Literally. Into a wall. The crater I left behind? Not my proudest landing.
"Okay," I wheezed. "Rude."
Kara chuckled. "That's what you get for flirting mid-fight."
"You like it!" I coughed, backflipping out of the rubble and reigniting like a freaking phoenix with something to prove.
FLAME MODE: PEAK PETTY POWER.
Barda met me mid-air, and the explosion of our fists was audible from the next ZIP code. My aura flared. Hers shimmered with crackling kinetic force. We were a living physics experiment sponsored by sexy chaos.
Deedee fanned herself. "Tell me this isn't foreplay. Go ahead. Lie to my face."
Bekka, arms crossed like the ancient warrior she was, murmured, "I give it thirty seconds before someone loses clothing."
Spoiler: she was right.
Barda lunged again — pure power incarnate — and I twisted, grabbing her wrist. Fire spiraled up my back like a flaming cape with style. We froze, locked together, inches apart. Breathing hard. Sweat, smoke, and stubborn grins.
"You're holding back," she said, her voice low and smoky.
"So are you," I replied. Flame curling behind my words.
She leaned in. "Fix that."
FLAME PULSE: DRAGON'S WRATH MODE — ACTIVATED.
My aura exploded like a baby star was born in my chest. The ground cracked. The sparring dome's outer shell shattered in a sonic boom of light and pressure.
Barda dug her boots in. Her gauntlets glowed molten red. Her grin? Pure, reckless joy. "I KNEW you were saving that for Round Two!"
"I save the good stuff for the girls who can take it," I grinned.
I vanished in a flicker of fire. Reappeared behind her.
FLAME STRIKE — CRESCENT KICK.
Direct hit.
Shockwave.
Fire.
Smoke.
Landing. Chest to chest. Her breath on my neck. My heart in my throat. Her eyes locked on mine.
"You're better than I thought," she murmured.
"I get that a lot. Usually followed by a kiss or an explosion."
She grabbed my shirt — correction: what was left of it — and yanked me in. "Why not both?"
Our lips crashed like meteorites — fire meeting fire, strength meeting chaos. Every girlfriend in the room erupted into cheers.
Confetti fell. (Thanks, Zee.)
"CALLED IT!" Deedee yelled.
"Who had mid-fight kiss?" Kara asked, lifting her hand.
"I did," Megan said smugly, collecting bills from Mareena and Tia.
Raven sipped her drink, still deadpan. "Technically? Everyone wins."
And me?
Yeah. I definitely did.
Because sparring Barda was epic.
But kissing her?
That?
That was supernova-level fireworks.
—
Mount Justice — Training Arena, Round Three
(AKA: This Is Why You Don't Agree to a Sparring Rematch While Still Slightly Kiss-Drunk)
So. Quick recap.
I just made out with Big Barda mid-fight. There was heat, there was fire (both metaphorical and very literal), and I may have permanently short-circuited a few hearts—including my own. Zatanna conjured confetti. Megan was broadcasting everyone's spicy thoughts telepathically. Raven judged us from the shadows. In other words? Classic Tuesday.
I should have walked away grinning, maybe grabbed a protein shake, taken a few victory selfies, you know—hero things.
Instead, I got a dramatic slow-clap from Deedee (Death, goth chaos queen, lounging like a queen of sarcasm on her throne of snark) and the words: "Three-on-one next. I wanna see if he still smirks when he's outnumbered by literal goddesses."
Now here I am.
Facing off against Big Barda, Bekka, and Tia (a.k.a. Galatea, a.k.a. the kryptonian bombshell with fists of fury and a mouth that doesn't know how to whisper). One man. Three unstoppable warriors. Zero chill.
Barda cracks her knuckles with the grin of someone who definitely lifted a tank before breakfast. "You sure you're up for this, Flame Boy?"
I swirl fire around my shoulders like it's my favorite hoodie. "You're just mad I kissed you so hard you forgot what round it was."
Bekka steps forward, ancient grace wrapped in a red-and-silver war goddess body. Her voice is calm but her sword's already out. "Let's see if he can still flirt when he's buried under three opponents."
Tia just grins and stretches like she's warming up for a music video. "I'm just here to melt his pants off. Figuratively. Maybe literally."
The peanut gallery is already combusting.
Kara (Supergirl, in all her smug glory): "He's definitely toast."
Kori (Starfire, practically glowing): "He is not toast. He is sizzling cinnamon bun!"
Deedee: "I'm writing my will. I want this fight narrated at my funeral."
Megan: "Also broadcasting everyone's naughty thoughts again. You're welcome."
Raven: "I want to see if his ego survives this."
Zatanna: "Let's be real. His shirt won't."
Cue me: igniting into full phoenix mode.
Flames lick up my skin, my emerald eyes blaze, and yeah—shirt? What shirt? Kara actually drops her water bottle.
Jean (floating above us like a glowing, redhead goddess): "He's tapped into the Core Flame. Finally."
"Alright, Queens of Pain," I say, stepping forward, fire crackling from my fingers to the floor. "Let's dance."
Barda launches first. No warmup. Just a freight train of fury aimed directly at my chest. I leap, spinning overhead in a flame arc that leaves a streak of molten light in the air. But before I can breathe—
Tia's on me.
Like, full Kryptonian-speed, blonde tornado, boobs and boots and battle cries.
"No teleporting this time, hot stuff," she grins, slamming a punch at me that I barely block with a flaming shield.
"I like it when you play rough," I shoot back.
BOOM. Sonic wave from the impact cracks the arena floor. Bekka slides in with godspeed, her blade swinging toward my ribs. I whip out my own weapon—a literal sword of fire, summoned from raw aura.
"You've improved," Bekka notes as our blades clash in a burst of sparks.
"I have eleven reasons to," I say, jerking my chin toward the stands.
She nearly smirks.
Barda grabs me from behind. Full suplex position. I ignite in a burst of phoenix flame that sends her flying back.
"Three on one?" I yell mid-air. "What is this, Themysciran Tinder?"
"You're swiping right," Barda growls.
"You're my ENTIRE favorites list!"
We crash together again—fists, fire, blades, hair, and banter flying. Bekka's sword slices a lock off my hair (rude). Tia's boot nearly sends me to the moon. Barda hits hard enough to shake the mountains.
I go full Dragon Form.
Massive wings of flame erupt. My skin becomes molten gold. My aura blazes out like I swallowed a star and said, "More, please."
The entire dome shatters.
The girls skid to a halt. For a split second, even they are impressed.
BOOM. I clap my hands together and unleash a pulse of solar fire that blasts them all back. Floor cracked. Lights fried. Arena looks like a Michael Bay finale.
Tia picks herself up, grinning wildly. "Okay. That was hot."
Bekka brushes ash off her shoulder. "Very."
Barda, armor smoking: "Did you just go full dragon on us?"
I land in front of them, shirtless, sweaty, glowing like a god. "Dragon Form. Patent pending."
The stands go feral.
Deedee: "I want that on a T-shirt."
Kara: "Forget shirts. I want HIM."
Zee: "I'm putting 'Dragon Form Daddy' on his tombstone."
Raven: "Disturbingly aroused. Not apologizing."
Jean: "That was... beautiful."
Tia walks up first, eyes smoldering, hand gliding down my chest. "Okay, you win this round..."
Bekka joins her. "...But you're still buying dessert."
Barda? She yanks me in by the waist, lifts me off the ground like I weigh nothing, and kisses me so hard my fire flickers.
Cue screaming. Applause. Confetti cannons.
Yes, Zatanna had backup confetti.
And me? I just grin.
Because this? This is exactly how I want to spend my immortality: surrounded by badass women, fighting like gods, flirting like it's an Olympic sport, and kissing like the world's ending.
Next round? Bring it on.
---
Hey fellow fanfic enthusiasts!
I hope you're enjoying the fanfiction so far! I'd love to hear your thoughts on it. Whether you loved it, hated it, or have some constructive criticism, your feedback is super important to me. Feel free to drop a comment or send me a message with your thoughts. Can't wait to hear from you!
If you're passionate about fanfiction and love discussing stories, characters, and plot twists, then you're in the right place! I've created a Discord (HHHwRsB6wd) server dedicated to diving deep into the world of fanfiction, especially my own stories. Whether you're a reader, a writer, or just someone who enjoys a good tale, I welcome you to join us for lively discussions, feedback sessions, and maybe even some sneak peeks into upcoming chapters, along with artwork related to the stories. Let's nerd out together over our favorite fandoms and explore the endless possibilities of storytelling!
Can't wait to see you there!