So here's something they don't tell you in those "Congratulations, You've Accidentally Achieved Cosmic Significance!" pamphlets that cosmic entities apparently don't hand out: coming home after redefining the laws of physics is really awkward when your girlfriends have been tracking your vital signs and freaking out about your magical core doing things that shouldn't be theoretically possible.
"Shadowflame - B-01," the Zeta Tube announced with its usual cheerful computer voice, completely oblivious to the fact that it was delivering me into what looked like a cross between an intervention, a family reunion, and possibly my own funeral—if my funeral was being planned by eleven of the most dangerous women in existence and they were all really upset about my recent life choices.
I stepped out of the blue teleportation glow trying to look casual, which is harder than it sounds when your magical core has recently achieved what interdimensional scholars apparently study as "theoretical impossibility" and you can literally feel cosmic entities updating their threat assessment files. My jeans were clean, my favorite t-shirt had survived the afternoon without acquiring any new holes (which was honestly miraculous given my track record), and my hair was doing that thing where it looked perfectly messy despite having been through what basically amounted to a graduate seminar in stellar physics taught by homicidal plants with anger management issues.
The main hall of Mount Justice had never felt smaller. Maybe it was because eleven pairs of eyes were focused on me with expressions ranging from "thank gods you're alive" to "I'm going to kill you myself for making me worry" to "we need to have a very serious conversation about your tendency to accidentally rewrite reality without proper advance notice."
"Hey, gorgeous—" I started, going for my usual charming greeting.
That's when Kara Zor-El hit me like a blonde missile wrapped in Kryptonian concern and enough emotional intensity to power a small galaxy.
Let me tell you something about getting hugged by Supergirl when she's been worried about you: it's an experience that makes you understand why Superman has such good posture. She's strong enough to punch through planets, fast enough to catch photons and ask them to slow down, and currently radiating enough protective energy to make my newly enhanced magical senses register her as something between "loving girlfriend" and "natural disaster in really cute boots."
But the actual hug? Gentle as butterfly wings. Controlled enough that she didn't even wrinkle my shirt, which required the kind of fine motor control that would make neurosurgeons weep with professional envy.
"Harry James Potter," she said, her voice carrying that particular combination of relief and fury that could only come from loving someone who treated reality-bending disasters like minor scheduling inconveniences. Her blonde hair was practically crackling with contained Kryptonian energy, making the air smell like ozone and righteous indignation. "If you ever—and I mean EVER—disappear into magical combat situations where we can't monitor your biological functions and then stroll back here like you've been out getting coffee instead of apparently achieving the kind of power levels that make cosmic entities file paperwork, I will personally ensure you spend the next millennium in protective custody."
Her blue eyes were blazing with enough intensity to probably melt titanium, and I could feel the barely contained Kryptonian strength in her grip—like being hugged by a controlled nuclear explosion that really, really cared about my safety.
"To be fair," I said, because apparently my mouth had decided that now was an excellent time for witty commentary instead of survival instincts, "I did send updates. 'Fighting supervillains with Poison Ivy's murder garden, back for dinner' is totally adequate relationship communication."
"You sent that text four hours ago," Kara replied, her voice dropping to that dangerous register that meant she was channeling her inner Last Daughter of Krypton and finding my survival skills entertainingly inadequate. "And then proceeded to have philosophical debates with immortal megalomaniacs while operating at energy levels that made our monitoring equipment submit formal complaints about working conditions and possibly request hazard pay."
"The equipment can request hazard pay now?" I asked, genuinely fascinated by the implications. "That's either really advanced AI development or—"
"Harry," came a musical voice from above, carrying that distinctive Tamaranean accent that made everything sound like it was being sung by solar winds, "perhaps this is not the most strategic time for the making of jokes about our technological resources' labor relations?"
Koriand'r floated down to join what was rapidly becoming a group hug of cosmic proportions, and let me tell you, Starfire in full protective mode is something that would make astrophysicists reconsider their career choices. Her orange skin was practically glowing with stellar energy, her long red hair moved like she had her own personal solar wind system, and her green eyes held that particular combination of alien beauty and barely contained stellar fury that reminded me why Tamaran had never been successfully invaded by anyone with functioning self-preservation instincts.
"Kori's absolutely right," I said, accepting her embrace and trying not to think about how her warmth felt like being hugged by concentrated sunshine with really strong opinions about my safety. "Sorry. Deflecting with humor when faced with overwhelming concern from beautiful women who could probably relocate planets if sufficiently motivated. It's apparently one of my coping mechanisms."
"We've noticed," said a voice from the shadows that managed to sound both fond and exasperated in equal measure. "It's one of your more endearing personality quirks, though not necessarily appropriate for situations involving accidental cosmic ascension and potential interdimensional consequences."
Deedee stepped out of a shadow that absolutely had not been there thirty seconds ago, because Death of the Endless didn't believe in conventional entrances when she could bend reality to accommodate her dramatic flair. Her pale skin seemed to absorb light in ways that made her look like she'd been carved from moonbeams by a cosmic artist with really excellent aesthetic sensibilities, and her black hair fell in perfect waves that defied several laws of physics and at least two local ordinances about supernatural hair care.
She was wearing her standard gothic ensemble—black corset, flowing skirt, combat boots that could probably kick holes in dimensions—and when she moved, it was with the kind of fluid grace that suggested she existed slightly outside normal space-time and had gotten really comfortable with the whole arrangement.
"Besides," she continued, settling into our expanding group embrace with the casual confidence of someone whose job description included shepherding every living thing through their final transition and finding it consistently meaningful work, "emotional processing is crucial after achieving legendary status through compassionate ascension. It's not something that happens every cosmic Tuesday, even in our admittedly unusual social circle."
"Legendary status?" I repeated, because today was apparently full of information my brain really didn't want to file under "Harry Potter: Totally Normal Teenager." "I thought we'd established that I just got a magical core upgrade with some enhanced energy output features."
"Oh, honey," Megan said, settling beside me with that characteristic Martian grace, and there was something in her voice that made me remember she was a telepath with access to my emotional state whether I'd given permission or not. "You didn't get an upgrade. You achieved something that cosmic scholars study as theoretical mythology."
Miss Martian was currently in her natural green-skinned form, which usually meant she was either really comfortable or really stressed about something. Given the circumstances and the way her red hair was practically vibrating with empathic energy, I was betting on stressed. Her warm brown eyes held that particular combination of fascination and concern that came from being able to literally feel other people's emotions and discovering that mine had apparently developed their own gravitational field.
"Your psychic signature," she continued, her voice taking on that analytical tone she used when her telepathic abilities were showing her things that required new classification systems, "has fundamentally transformed. It used to register as 'powerful human wizard with authority issues and really excellent friends.' Now it's reading somewhere between 'cosmic entity with strong feelings about proper breakfast nutrition' and 'living star that occasionally remembers to do laundry.'"
"Is that problematic?" I asked, though I was starting to suspect I already knew the answer wasn't going to be reassuring.
"Unknown territory," Megan replied with that brutal honesty that made her one of my favorite people, even when the honesty involved information that would probably give me anxiety dreams. "But it means that any psychic entity within several light-years knows exactly where you are, what you're thinking about, and probably your opinions on current breakfast cereal marketing strategies."
"I had toast this morning," I said automatically. "With that imported jam Zatanna likes that costs more than most people's monthly rent but tastes like liquid happiness."
"Liquid happiness is actually a surprisingly accurate description of your current psychic resonance," Megan observed, tilting her head in that way that meant her telepathic senses were picking up patterns that didn't fit into normal psychological categories. "It's like someone took your standard thought patterns and gave them the emotional equivalent of stellar fusion. Very warm, very bright, very... overwhelming for anyone trying to monitor your mental state."
"Overwhelming in a good way, right?" I asked hopefully.
"Overwhelming in a 'cosmic entities are probably taking detailed notes and possibly updating their threat assessment protocols' way," she replied, which definitely wasn't the reassurance I'd been hoping for.
"Speaking of overwhelming," Tia said, and her voice carried that particular combination of amusement and barely contained interest that reminded me why dating a Kryptonian clone with enhanced everything was simultaneously the best and most dangerous decision I'd ever made in my admittedly questionable romantic history, "your power evolution apparently has some fascinating practical applications that we should probably discuss. Preferably somewhere private where our conversation can't be monitored by satellite surveillance, interdimensional eavesdroppers, or nosy cosmic entities with really good hearing."
Galatea—because she'd insisted on using her Kryptonian designation rather than her more clinical Earth name—had inherited all of Kara's incredible abilities and then some. Her blonde hair caught light in ways that suggested it had been personally designed by cosmic forces with strong opinions about aesthetic perfection, her blue eyes held depths that came from enhanced Kryptonian vision that could probably see through dimensions, and her figure was the kind that made physics professors reconsider their understanding of how matter was supposed to distribute itself in three-dimensional space while maintaining structural integrity.
"Fascinating in what way?" I asked, though her smile suggested I probably already knew the answer and was going to find it either really entertaining or mildly terrifying. Possibly both.
"Well," she said, moving closer with that casual confidence that came from being functionally invulnerable and having really excellent interpersonal skills, "enhanced magical cores tend to affect all aspects of personal... performance. Energy output, emotional resonance, physical capabilities, endurance levels, recovery time, sensory enhancement..."
She let that observation hang in the air for a moment while her smile widened and she watched understanding dawn across my face like a really attractive sunrise.
"Oh," I said, feeling heat that had absolutely nothing to do with stellar energy output creep up my neck and probably turn my ears an interesting shade of red. "Those kinds of practical applications."
"Those kinds exactly," Tia confirmed, and her laugh was the kind that made me remember why she was simultaneously one of my favorite people in existence and one of the most dangerous beings I'd ever developed feelings for.
"Perhaps we could focus on the immediate tactical concerns," Raven interrupted, though her voice carried that particular dryness that suggested she found our romantic complications more entertaining than inappropriate, "before we dive headfirst into detailed discussions about enhanced physical capabilities and their applications in relationship contexts that might require soundproofing."
She glided forward with that supernatural grace that made normal walking look like an inefficient approach to locomotion, her violet eyes holding depths that probably connected to dimensions most people couldn't perceive without specialized equipment or really good drugs. Her pale features were arranged in that expression she used when delivering analysis that everyone needed to hear but probably wouldn't enjoy processing, and her voice carried that distinctive otherworldly quality that suggested she was accessing information from sources that didn't technically exist in standard reality.
"The magical transformation you underwent today," she continued, her tone shifting into that professorial register that meant she was about to explain something cosmically significant, "wasn't simply power evolution. It was fundamental restructuring of your relationship with magical energy itself. You're not drawing power from external sources anymore—you're generating it from internal conviction."
"Internal conviction?" I repeated, because that sounded both incredibly important and potentially problematic for my long-term health and sanity.
"Emotional commitment to protecting others," Raven clarified, and somehow she managed to make that explanation sound both romantically inspiring and slightly terrifying from a power-scaling perspective. "Your energy output is now directly proportional to how much you care about keeping people safe. Given your psychological profile and documented history of self-sacrificial behavior, your theoretical maximum power level is essentially unlimited."
"That's either the most romantic thing anyone's ever said about magical theory," Zatanna said, settling beside me with that elegant grace that made even casual movements look like performance art, "or the most terrifying power-scaling mechanism in the documented history of thaumaturgical research."
Zatanna in full analytical mode was something to behold. Her midnight silk stage costume was somehow still pristine despite having spent the afternoon explaining cosmic physics to people whose understanding of magic typically stopped at "point wand, speak backwards Latin, hope for the best," and her dark hair was arranged in a style that managed to look both practically functional and absolutely stunning. Her blue eyes—the kind of deep blue that made you think of ocean depths and infinite possibilities—were focused on me with the intensity that came from having magical senses that operated on frequencies most people couldn't comprehend.
"The magical resonance readings we recorded," she continued, her voice carrying that particular edge that meant she was channeling professional fascination into scientific analysis, "were unlike anything in our extensive databases. Whatever happened to your core during that confrontation created energy patterns that our equipment couldn't classify using existing theoretical frameworks. We literally had to invent new mathematical models just to describe what you accomplished."
"New mathematical models?" I asked, because that sounded like the kind of development that usually preceded really complicated conversations with beings who existed on cosmic scales.
"The kind that require peer review from interdimensional scholars and possibly formal acknowledgment from cosmic entities who specialize in magical theory," Zatanna replied, which definitely wasn't the reassuring explanation I'd been hoping for. "Congratulations, Harry. You've achieved something that most theoretical magical researchers consider pure mythology. You've become a living legend, literally speaking."
"Everyone keeps mentioning that," I observed, looking around at eleven faces that ranged from proud to concerned to fascinated to what I was pretty sure was "planning elaborate celebrations that might require updated insurance policies." "Mythological this, theoretical impossibility that. Could someone please explain exactly what I did that's got the universe apparently filing incident reports about my existence?"
"You achieved ascension through compassion," Jean said, stepping forward with that particular grace that came from being connected to cosmic forces that viewed entire galaxies as convenient rest stops during interdimensional travel. "It's something that's been theorized in academic circles for millennia but never actually documented in practical application."
The Flame of the Beginning—because Jean was so much more than just her human identity at this point—moved like someone who'd personally negotiated with cosmic entities and found them surprisingly reasonable dinner conversation partners. Her red hair seemed to move in solar winds that existed only around her, creating light patterns that were probably visible from several star systems, and her green eyes held depths that connected to powers most sentient beings couldn't comprehend without developing severe philosophical anxiety.
"Most beings who achieve cosmic-level capabilities," she continued, her voice taking on that lecturing tone that meant she was about to explain something everyone in the room needed to understand whether they wanted to or not, "do so through accumulation and conquest. They become powerful by collecting energy from external sources, stealing artifacts, absorbing knowledge, eliminating competitors. Traditional power acquisition through traditional methods."
She gestured toward me with that fluid movement that made simple actions look like they carried cosmic significance and possibly required background music.
"You accomplished the exact opposite," Jean explained, and there was something in her voice that sounded like professional admiration mixed with genuine awe. "You generated unlimited power from internal sources. Pure emotional conviction translated directly into magical energy. The stronger your commitment to protecting innocent people, the more power you could access. It's not just unprecedented in documented history—it's a complete redefinition of how magical power systems function on fundamental levels."
"That's..." I started, then stopped as the full implications began sinking in like particularly unwelcome quicksand made of cosmic responsibility.
"Terrifying?" suggested Bekka, joining our conversation with that regal bearing that came from being raised on New Genesis and having access to educational resources that included personal tutoring from cosmic entities with really excellent teaching credentials.
Her red hair seemed to catch light that didn't exist in normal electromagnetic spectrums, her blue eyes held the kind of ancient wisdom that came from growing up in a civilization that had successfully transcended most of the problems that plagued lesser species, and her voice carried the natural authority of someone who'd been trained from childhood to analyze cosmic-level threats and find them manageable through proper preparation and strategic planning.
"I was actually going to say 'awesome' in the original fear-inducing sense of the word," I admitted, because honesty seemed like the best policy when discussing cosmic power evolution with people who could probably rearrange solar systems if they put their collective minds to it. "But terrifying definitely works as an accurate description too."
"It should be terrifying," Barda said, settling into our expanding group with that casual confidence that came from being trained as one of Apokolips's most elite warriors and finding most cosmic-level threats manageable through proper application of overwhelming violence and really excellent strategic planning.
Big Barda in protective mode was genuinely intimidating to witness. Her massive frame made even Mount Justice's spacious main hall seem cramped, her advanced armor gleamed with technological sophistication that would make Blue Beetle weep with professional envy, and her presence filled the entire room with that particular combination of absolute confidence and barely contained capacity for spectacular violence that reminded me why she was considered one of the most dangerous warriors in documented galactic history.
"Power without clearly defined limits is inherently dangerous," she continued, her voice carrying that strategic authority that came from years of military training and really comprehensive threat assessment education. "Power that scales directly with emotional investment is either the greatest gift the universe can possibly offer someone, or the most catastrophic weapon system ever accidentally created by cosmic forces with questionable judgment."
"Which category do you think I fall into?" I asked, genuinely curious about her professional military assessment of my apparently upgraded threat level.
"Both categories simultaneously," she replied without hesitation, her expression shifting into that particular warmth that meant she was channeling her protective warrior instincts into supportive relationship commentary rather than immediate tactical violence. "Which makes you either the absolute best boyfriend in the entire multiverse, or the most dangerous person anyone could possibly fall in love with. Possibly both, depending on current circumstances and threat assessment variables."
"I'm definitely voting for best boyfriend," Kara said firmly, her arms tightening around me with that carefully controlled Kryptonian strength that could crush mountains into powder but wouldn't disturb the fabric of my t-shirt. "A romantic partner whose power levels increase in direct proportion to how much he cares about our safety is basically the ultimate relationship security feature. Very practical. Very sweet. Very likely to make our enemies reconsider their life choices."
"Most gloriously romantic," Kori agreed enthusiastically, her stellar energy mixing with Kara's Kryptonian radiance to create light patterns that were probably registering on astronomical observation equipment across the Eastern Seaboard. "Though perhaps we should discuss the practical applications of unlimited power scaling before we fully appreciate the romantic implications in ways that might require soundproofing and possibly some schedule adjustments."
"Practical applications like what, exactly?" I asked, though I was beginning to suspect I really didn't want to know the complete answer to that question.
"Like the fact that every cosmic entity within several dimensional layers now knows precisely where you are, what your power signature looks like, and probably your preferred breakfast beverage preferences," Mareena said, stepping forward with that fluid grace that came from being equally comfortable navigating underwater diplomatic crises and surface world political situations that could determine the fate of multiple civilizations.
Princess Mareena of Atlantis—daughter of Arthur Curry and Mera, heir apparent to an undersea kingdom that had predated surface civilization by several millennia—had inherited her mother's distinctive red hair and impressive hydrokinetic abilities along with her father's tactical intelligence and really comprehensive diplomatic training. Her blue-green eyes held depths that came from growing up with unrestricted access to historical records that documented events going back to when surface dwellers were still figuring out basic agriculture, and her voice carried the natural authority of someone who'd been raised to eventually rule an underwater empire but preferred preventing apocalyptic interdimensional incidents.
"Father's been receiving diplomatic communications for the past ninety minutes," she continued, her tone shifting into something that sounded suspiciously like royal displeasure mixed with personal relationship concerns. "Four different undersea kingdoms have submitted formal requests to renegotiate existing treaty arrangements based on revised surface world threat assessment data. The Atlantean Council of High Scholars is demanding comprehensive briefings about surface magical capabilities and their potential impact on oceanic security. And Mother wants to know whether we need to develop new relationship counseling protocols specifically designed for scenarios involving boyfriends who accidentally achieve cosmic entity status during routine superhero activities."
"Your mom wants to develop cosmic relationship counseling protocols?" I asked, because that sounded simultaneously touching and absolutely terrifying from a privacy perspective.
"Mother is extremely thorough about family safety and emotional well-being," Mareena replied with diplomatic precision. "She's also concerned that dating someone with theoretically unlimited power might require therapeutic intervention techniques that haven't been invented yet by any known psychological profession."
"Relationship counseling for cosmic entities," Deedee observed, her voice carrying that distinctive amusement that came from being an anthropomorphic personification of universal concepts and finding mortal romantic complications endlessly entertaining to witness, "sounds like either a very niche professional market or a service that's about to become extremely popular among interdimensional dating communities."
"Speaking of relationship considerations that require professional consultation," Megan said, her voice taking on that particular combination of genuine affection and practical concern that meant she was about to raise issues everyone in the room needed to discuss whether they wanted to or not, "we should probably address security protocol updates and comprehensive threat assessment revisions. Zatanna and Raven provided us with detailed briefings about your philosophical conversation with Vandal Savage, and several of us have developed strong opinions about ancient conspiracy organizations that consider our boyfriend a potential recruitment target."
"Strong opinions?" I asked, though her tone suggested they weren't going to be the kind of opinions that involved congratulating me on my apparently excellent diplomatic communication skills.
"The kind that involve comprehensive protective measures and possibly some light preventive violence applied to anyone who represents a potential threat," Tia said cheerfully, her enhanced Kryptonian sensory capabilities probably picking up tactical information that would make normal people seriously reconsider their career path choices. "This Light organization apparently wants to either recruit you for their global manipulation agenda or eliminate you as an uncontrollable variable, which means they've just earned themselves a prominent position on our collective monitoring list."
"Your collective monitoring list?" I repeated, looking around at eleven of the most extraordinarily dangerous women in documented existence and suddenly feeling genuinely sorry for anyone who'd made the strategic error of ending up on said list.
"The kind where we establish rotating surveillance schedules to monitor potential threats and ensure they develop a comprehensive understanding of the consequences involved in threatening people we care about," Kori explained, her stellar energy crackling with enough contained intensity to probably qualify as a weapons system according to several galactic military classification standards. "Very thorough. Very educational. Usually very permanent in terms of threat elimination."
"Educational," Raven repeated with that distinctive dryness that made even cosmic observations sound like sardonic commentary, "is certainly one way to describe what typically happens when cosmic entities, Kryptonian warriors, stellar princesses, magical prodigies, Atlantean royalty, and the literal anthropomorphic embodiment of death collectively decide that someone represents a credible threat to their shared romantic relationship."
"You're making it sound like I'm some kind of prize to be protected and defended," I said, though I was honestly finding this entire conversation more flattering than concerning from a personal security perspective.
"You're not a prize," Zatanna said firmly, her magical senses probably detecting emotional resonances that normal people couldn't perceive without specialized equipment, "you're family. And family protects family members, especially when one of them accidentally achieves mythological status during routine superhero activities and attracts unwanted attention from organizations that specialize in manipulating global political events for their own mysterious agenda."
The weight of that statement settled over Mount Justice's main hall like a warm blanket made of absolute determination and barely contained cosmic-level violence, and I felt something completely unrelated to stellar energy output warm up in the center of my chest.
"Family," I repeated, looking around at eleven extraordinary women who'd somehow chosen to share their incredibly complicated lives with someone whose existence had apparently become significantly more cosmically significant over the course of a single Tuesday afternoon.
"Family," they confirmed in perfect unison, their voices creating a harmonic resonance that probably registered on mystical frequencies and definitely made local reality seem more stable and manageable.
"So," I said, settling more comfortably into what was definitely the most comfortable group embrace in the documented history of cosmic-level romantic relationships, "what's our strategic plan here? Because I have this sneaking suspicion that the Light organization isn't going to be satisfied with just one philosophical debate about the fundamental nature of power, responsibility, and proper organizational ethics."
"Our plan," Barda said, her voice carrying that tactical authority that came from years of elite military training and really comprehensive strategic threat assessment education, "involves a carefully coordinated approach combining education, multiple backup contingencies, and possibly some light preventive intimidation to ensure they develop a thorough understanding of exactly what kind of opposition they're potentially dealing with."
"Educational approach?" I asked, because that seemed to be rapidly becoming my signature method of conflict resolution, and honestly, I was kind of proud of that development.
"Educational approach with comprehensive practical demonstrations," Zatanna confirmed, though her smile suggested it would be the kind of education that came with really thorough hands-on learning experiences about cause and effect. "With particular emphasis on explaining why threatening people who have unlimited power and really exceptional support networks is generally considered catastrophically poor strategic planning."
"I really like this plan," I said, because the idea of confronting ancient conspiracy organizations while backed up by eleven of the most dangerous women in existence sounded like either the greatest adventure in the history of cosmic relationships or the most spectacular way to get myself into legendary amounts of trouble. Probably both.
"Excellent," Kara said, her voice carrying that particular warmth that reminded me exactly why falling in love with a Kryptonian had been both the best and most potentially dangerous decision I'd ever made in my admittedly complicated romantic history, "because we've already begun preliminary implementation of our protective strategy."
"Implementation how?" I asked, though I was starting to strongly suspect the answer was going to be both impressively comprehensive and slightly concerning from a diplomatic relations perspective.
"Let's just say," Deedee observed with that cosmic entity amusement that suggested she had access to information about immediate future developments that I probably didn't want spoiled for me, "that immortal megalomaniacs who make the strategic error of threatening family members tend to discover very rapidly why that particular approach is universally considered catastrophically poor life planning by beings with any functional survival instincts."
Around me, eleven extraordinary women exchanged meaningful glances that strongly suggested they'd already begun making comprehensive arrangements that would probably require significantly updated insurance policies and possibly some light diplomatic immunity documentation.
"Together?" I asked, though it was really more of a hopeful statement than an actual question.
"Together," they confirmed with absolute certainty, and somehow that single word carried enough combined determination to make the entire universe seem more cooperative and manageable.
Some problems, after all, were definitely too complex and dangerous to face alone.
But fortunately, I had comprehensive support from people who understood that the most effective way to handle ancient conspiracy organizations was through unlimited emotional backup, really excellent strategic planning, and the kind of combined power that made cosmic entities seriously reconsider their territorial expansion policies and possibly update their threat assessment protocols.
The Light wanted to play manipulation games with my life and the people I cared about?
They were about to discover what happened when you made the mistake of threatening someone with stellar energy output, completely unshakeable moral convictions, and a family of beings who could probably relocate entire star systems if properly motivated and given adequate reason.
This was either going to be the most successful educational reform initiative in the documented history of secret organizations, or the most spectacular example of why you should never mess with people who have really solid relationships and unrestricted access to cosmic-level violence.
Definitely both.
But it was absolutely going to be memorable for everyone involved.
And whatever challenges came next, we'd face them exactly the way we'd handled everything else that had tried to complicate our lives: together, with determination, and with the kind of love that could probably power entire civilizations if properly channeled through appropriate magical conduits.
The Light thought they were initiating a chess match with a teenager who'd gotten cosmically lucky.
They were about to learn they were actually confronting a family of cosmic-level beings who'd been patiently waiting for someone to provide them with a really excellent reason to demonstrate why love was the most dangerous force in any universe, dimension, or theoretical framework.
Educational experience, indeed.
Time to show some ancient immortals what a real legend looked like when it had backup.
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