Shadowflame

Clark Kent and Lois Lane stepped out of the car and onto the familiar grounds of the Kent Farm, the crisp autumn air making the fallen leaves skitter across the driveway like little ghosts. Smallville's Halloween decorations were in full swing, and if Clark hadn't known better, he would've thought his mom and dad were about to throw the most intense harvest festival since the invention of the pumpkin. There were hay bales stacked in perfect pyramids, jack-o'-lanterns glowing cheerfully, and a suspiciously large amount of fake cobwebs hanging from the porch.

"Ready for the Kents' Halloween extravaganza?" Lois asked, adjusting her glasses with a grin that was equal parts amusement and disbelief.

"Well, it's certainly... festive," Clark said, smiling. "You'd think it was the first time they've ever decorated the place. Halloween's basically their second favorite holiday."

Lois raised an eyebrow. "Second? What's their first?"

Clark grinned. "Christmas. They go all out with the lights. Last year, we had to tell them the tree was about to make the news for 'being visible from space.'"

They walked up the porch steps, where Martha Kent was vigorously stringing up lights with her usual meticulous precision, while Jonathan Kent was balancing on a ladder, hanging a banner that read, "Spooktacular Halloween Bash at the Kent Farm." They both turned and beamed as they saw Clark and Lois.

"Well, look who finally made it!" Martha called out, waving her hand. "You two sure know how to make an entrance! Lois, it's so good to see you again."

Lois stepped up onto the porch, her arms open for a hug. "You guys always go above and beyond for Halloween. Looks amazing as usual!"

Martha beamed. "Oh, thank you, dear! We wanted to make sure this year was special. You know, it's important to keep traditions alive." She paused, looking up at the banner. "Though I might've gone a bit overboard with the decorations. Your father's already muttering about 'going too far this time.'"

Clark smiled and nodded, crossing his arms. "I see. Well, just—uh—take it easy tomorrow. Halloween's a big deal for a lot of people, but... it's also a sensitive time for Harry."

Jonathan, from his perch on the ladder, looked down at his son. "What do you mean?"

Clark exhaled slowly, not wanting to sound too grim. "It's the anniversary of Harry's parents' death. They died when he was only one. He's been through a lot, and we don't want to overwhelm him with too much, you know?"

Martha's face softened, and she put down the lights in her hands to walk over to Clark. "Of course, honey. We'll keep things low-key tomorrow, for Harry's sake. No haunted houses, no overwhelming amounts of candy... though I can't promise there won't be a few extra pumpkins on the porch." She winked.

"Thanks, Mom." Clark smiled, feeling the weight of his words, but also the warmth of his family's understanding.

Lois stepped over, resting a hand on Clark's shoulder. "Don't worry, Smallville. You can't control everything, but you've got a pretty solid team behind you."

Before Clark could respond, Jonathan climbed down from the ladder with a grunt, brushing his hands off. "What about tomorrow, Clark? You said something about your cousin coming to visit?"

Clark's eyes lit up, and for a moment, the weight of the conversation lifted. "Yeah, Kara's coming! And she's bringing her boyfriend, Harry—he's actually a superhero, too, though you might not guess it by looking at him."

Lois smirked, stepping back. "Harry sounds... interesting."

"Yeah," Clark chuckled, "he's got this, uh... whole magic thing going on. And his other girlfriend's a bit of a firecracker. Kori's... well, she's also from a different planet. Literally. And the relationship between them is definitely not what you might expect."

Jonathan and Martha exchanged looks. "Wait," Jonathan said, clearly processing, "they're... all together?"

Clark scratched the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, it's one of those things we're still figuring out. I warned Kara to, you know, keep it down a little when she meets you guys tomorrow. It's... a lot."

Martha chuckled and gave Jonathan an affectionate nudge. "I think we can handle it, Clark. What's important is that we all get to spend time together. And don't worry about Harry—he sounds like someone we should welcome with open arms."

"Yeah," Jonathan added with a nod. "And trust me, son, when it comes to family, there's no such thing as too much love."

Clark smiled. "I appreciate that, Dad."

Just then, the wind picked up, rustling the dry leaves in the yard. Lois shivered, pulling her jacket tighter around herself. "So, who's coming tomorrow again? I'm still not sure I've got the whole 'Supergirl-and-Her-Entourage' thing down."

Clark gave her a pointed look. "Kara's not a showstopper, Lois. She's just—"

Lois interrupted with a smirk. "Supergirl, I get it. Don't worry, I'm all in. But I've got a feeling this Halloween is going to be a little more... complicated than usual."

Clark hesitated, then lowered his voice, almost as if he was speaking to himself. "Yeah. There's something about tomorrow that doesn't sit right. I can feel it."

Lois gave him a sideways glance, but before she could say anything, Clark's super-hearing picked up the faintest whisper—a dark whisper—carried on the wind.

And for a brief moment, deep in the recesses of his mind, he felt a cold presence that seemed to... smile.

---

Meanwhile, inside Clark's head, something far darker stirred.

Trigon had settled into Superman's mind like an unwelcome tenant, waiting patiently for the perfect moment to spring into action. Halloween, the time of darkness and rebirth, was the ideal opportunity. Samhain, the night when the veil between worlds was thin, would serve as the perfect backdrop for his plans.

In his twisted corner of Superman's consciousness, Trigon grinned with malicious glee. This is the moment.

The veil between worlds would be thinner than ever. And nothing, not even the Man of Steel, could prevent him from unleashing chaos on a world that thought it was invincible.

For now, he waited. But when the time came, the world would tremble.

And he would be reborn.

—

Let me tell you, spending the night before Halloween fiddling with ancient magical artifacts is not how I planned my evening. But when you've got two out of three Deathly Hallows and the whole Master of Death gig breathing down your neck, well, plans tend to go out the window.

I stared at the objects on my desk: the Invisibility Cloak and the Resurrection Stone. Together, they could theoretically make me the boss of death, which sounds cool until you remember what that job actually entails. Spoiler alert: It's not glamorous.

The Elder Wand—the missing piece of the creepy puzzle—was in Voldemort's possession. And Voldemort? Oh, he's off in another universe probably monologuing about how he's the greatest thing since sliced bread. Meanwhile, here I am, stuck with the magical equivalent of two-thirds of a DIY Ikea project, dreading Halloween like it's an overdue Potions essay.

I sighed and stood up. If I was going to do this, I'd do it in style. A flick of my wrist, and my Shadowflame Armor appeared. Black and gold plates snapped into place over my body, fitting perfectly like a magical tuxedo. The crimson gem in the chestplate started glowing ominously. (Side note: I really need to figure out why magical artifacts always insist on being ominous.)

The armor came with a red hood, which I pulled over my head because, hey, if you're going to mess with death magic, you might as well look the part. I turned toward the desk and picked up the Cloak first.

Now, this isn't just any cloak. This is the Cloak. Dad's cloak. The one that made me invisible to Filch and let me sneak into the kitchens after hours. It felt warm and familiar in my hands, like it still carried a piece of Dad's laughter.

"Alright, old friend," I muttered, setting the Cloak over the crimson gem. "Time to merge with my armor and make me look even cooler. No pressure."

Next came the Resurrection Stone. Unlike the Cloak, it was cold, small, and unimpressive—like the world's most depressing skipping rock. I rolled it in my palm, its rune barely visible in the moonlight. "Let's hope this doesn't backfire spectacularly," I muttered and placed it next to the Cloak.

I took a deep breath. "Okay, Harry. You've done dumber things. Probably. Maybe. Actually, no, this might top the list."

I started the incantation. The words—"Adhaereo. Vinculum Mortis. Nex interitus. Concordia perpetua."—felt ancient and way too serious coming out of my mouth. I mean, they didn't even rhyme. What kind of spell doesn't rhyme?

The gem on my chest flared to life, sending out tendrils of dark, shimmering light. They snaked toward the Cloak and Stone, like magical spaghetti noodles reaching for their meatballs. (Don't judge me, I was hungry.)

The Cloak was first. It resisted, rippling like it was alive. "Come on, don't be dramatic," I grunted, holding my ground as the tendrils wrapped around it. "You're going to look amazing as part of the armor. Trust me."

The Cloak dissolved into silvery streams of light, disappearing into the gem. Instantly, I felt its power settle into me—like I could disappear at will, fade into the shadows, or sneak into a party without anyone noticing. (Not that I'd use it for that. Probably.)

The Stone was next, and it went out with a dramatic crack. Pieces of it floated toward the gem, glowing faintly. As its power fused with the armor, I felt a tug in the back of my mind—a connection to something... someone. The dead? Maybe. Whatever it was, it gave me the creeps.

The room shook, the air buzzing with magic as the ritual reached its peak. I dropped to one knee, my chest burning as the Cloak and Stone's powers merged with the gem. "Bind to me," I growled through gritted teeth. (Cool, right? I felt like I was in a movie trailer.)

And then—boom. It was over. The room went still, the shadows retreating to the corners like sulking toddlers. The Cloak and Stone were gone, but their power? Oh, that was definitely sticking around.

I stood up, every muscle in my body aching like I'd just done a marathon with Hagrid on my back. The gem on my chest pulsed steadily, brighter and deeper, like it was alive. My reflection in the mirror showed the armor gleaming under the moonlight, the red hood casting my face in shadow. I looked… intimidating. Like a magical superhero who'd just had a very bad day.

"Happy bloody Halloween," I muttered, pulling the hood lower.

Tomorrow would be worse. Tomorrow, the nightmares of Halloween past would catch up with me. But for now? For now, I was two-thirds of the way to being the Master of Death, and I had an ominously glowing gem to prove it.

What could possibly go wrong?

—

Let me tell you, if there's one thing more chaotic than a group of witches and wizards on a sugar high, it's a group of witches and wizards on a sugar high in superhero gear. And not just any superhero gear—no, this stuff was made from Ukrainian Ironbelly hide and Acromantula silk. Which, by the way, is about as durable as it sounds. If you're imagining dragons and giant spiders duking it out over who has the tougher skin, congratulations! You're on the right track.

"Check this out!" Ginny spun in her crimson-and-gold suit, looking like she was about to audition for a superhero movie. "I could definitely fight a dragon in this."

"Technically, it is dragon-proof," Hermione said, trying to sound responsible while tugging at the sleeves of her own deep-blue suit, which had stars embroidered along the edges. Very Hermione—practical with just a dash of 'Look, I'm a walking astronomy chart!'

Fred struck a ridiculous pose in his black-and-red armor, complete with dramatic cape swish. "I'm going for 'mysterious anti-hero who saves the day with sarcasm.' Thoughts?"

"More like 'the guy who trips over his own cape,'" Ginny quipped, which earned her a mock glare and an exaggerated sigh from Fred.

Meanwhile, George was busy testing out his jet-black gloves, which had built-in enchantments for "maximum mischief efficiency." Don't ask me what that means—knowing George, it's probably best we never find out.

"This is amazing," Dean said, admiring the sleek green-and-gold suit he'd requested. "It's like we're all superheroes now. Or maybe Hogwarts has its own Justice League?"

"I call dibs on being Wonder Woman," Ginny said, throwing a mock punch at an invisible villain.

"Called it first," Daphne chimed in from the corner, looking particularly lethal in her dark-purple outfit with silver accents. "But by all means, Ginny, you can be the knock-off version."

"Thanks, Daphne. Always a delight," Ginny shot back with a smile that was only slightly murderous.

Ron, who had opted for a black suit with fiery orange accents because subtlety is overrated, was busy admiring his reflection. "What do you think?" he asked, turning to no one in particular. "Pretty intimidating, right?"

"Sure," said Tracey, smirking. "If your plan is to blind the enemy with sheer tackiness."

Hermione groaned. "Can we all just focus? These suits are supposed to help us in battle, not become the centerpieces of your next comedy routines."

"But Hermione," Fred said with a straight face, "what's the point of saving the world if we can't look fabulous doing it?"

The banter continued as the group tested their suits. Angelina, Katie, and Alicia were busy testing the flexibility of their gear. "I could probably pull off a full somersault in this," Katie said, impressed.

"Same," said Alicia, twirling her cape dramatically. "I feel like a magical ninja. Or maybe a superhero Quidditch player?"

"Ten points for style," Angelina agreed, grinning. "Zero for practicality. No way you're sneaking up on anyone with that cape."

Neville, ever the modest one, inspected his forest-green outfit. It was practical, sturdy, and, most importantly, didn't make him look like he was auditioning for a Broadway show. "I just asked for something I wouldn't trip over," he admitted with a small smile. "So far, so good."

Then came the big question: Halloween. The Brits in the room (which was, well, all of them) were buzzing with curiosity.

"So, Halloween in America," Ginny started, leaning on her staff. "What's the deal? Costumes and candy, yeah, but is it, like, a big thing?"

"Big thing?" Hermione sounded almost scandalized. "It's huge. There are decorations, haunted houses, parties—you name it."

"Haunted houses?" Fred perked up. "Finally, something I'm good at."

"You live in one," Hermione reminded him dryly.

"Exactly," Fred replied. "It's called experience, Hermione."

Daphne looked unimpressed. "So they try to scare each other for fun? How very… Muggle."

"Oh, come on," Ginny said, nudging her. "You're telling me you've never cursed a Slytherin dormitory to look like it was crawling with Acromantulas?"

Daphne's smirk widened. "No comment."

Ron frowned. "So, no pumpkin juice? Or bobbing for apples?"

"There's pumpkin spice," Hermione offered, though her expression suggested she wasn't thrilled about it. "In coffee. And pastries. And, oddly, candles."

"Candles?" George asked, horrified. "Who eats candles?"

"Americans, apparently," Fred said solemnly, earning another groan from Hermione.

"So," Ginny clapped her hands, "who's up for testing out their new gear? Last one to the training mats cleans up after dinner!"

And just like that, the group bolted, leaving behind a flurry of laughter, jibes, and just a touch of chaos. If this was a preview of Halloween in America, they were in for a wild ride.

—

Sitting cross-legged on the floor of my room in Mount Justice (don't ask me why it's called that—there's not nearly enough justice happening here, but hey, "Mount Mediocre Teen Heroes" doesn't have the same ring), I adjusted the crimson gem embedded in the chestplate of my Shadowflame Armor. The thing was practically buzzing with energy, like it had too much coffee and was trying to jumpstart itself. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or if I was about to be electrocuted into oblivion, but hey, what's life without a little bit of dangerous, mind-bending magic?

Tomorrow was Halloween, which, in my world, basically means "Get ready for a disaster." Halloween and I have a history, see. Not a pleasant one. In fact, the last time I celebrated it, I was basically cursed to lose everyone I ever loved in one fell swoop. Fun times. Anyway, it's not just about me tonight. It's about the people I've gained since—my new, semi-dysfunctional-but-still-trying family. I didn't ask for them, but apparently, the universe thought I needed backup.

Remus had just finished his fifty-seventh reminder that "staying safe" was important (because apparently, I'm not aware that Halloween is the unofficial death day in our original universe). And Sirius had popped by with his new girlfriend, Talia, who was just radiating "I'm dangerous, and I know it" vibes. Which, fine, I get it. Sirius has zero standards, but the woman could probably bench press a bus, so I'm not going to complain. Then, there's Kara and Kori—yeah, two girlfriends, because apparently, the universe was like, "Let's make Harry's love life as complicated as possible. Why not throw in a few intergalactic superpowers while we're at it?"

"So, uh," I said, glancing between my gathering of misfits, "I'm going to try something emotional here. Like, real emotional. I'll give you fair warning now, feel free to scream and run for the hills if this gets awkward."

Kori, who looked like someone had put a halo on a fireball, tilted her head. "Why would we scream? Is it not custom on your Earth to speak with those you have lost?"

"Yeah, but not when you're about to summon them from the afterlife using a super-powered artifact that might also be cursed. No big deal," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. "But no pressure, right?"

"You're a romantic, Harry," Kara teased, her eyebrow quirked. But the smile on her face softened the jab, so I guess I could forgive her for the dig.

Sirius, being Sirius, stepped forward, his arms crossed. "Are you really sure about this, kid? I mean, it's not exactly 'light reading' when it comes to magic—especially not when it involves the dead."

I looked at my godfather, who was usually the one throwing the sarcastic quips, and found myself genuinely meeting his eyes. "Yeah, Padfoot. I'm sure."

With a reluctant nod, Sirius stepped back and wrapped an arm around Talia, who gave me a glance as if she could sense what was coming. Honestly, I was worried she might be sizing me up for potential damage, but she just stood there quietly, which, in her case, was probably her form of emotional support.

I took a deep breath and placed my hand over the crimson gem. The Resurrection Stone, now fused with my armor, thrummed beneath my palm. It felt like warmth was bleeding into me, like sunlight on a foggy morning. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the people who had been everything to me but were ripped away before I could truly know them.

"James Potter. Lily Potter." I whispered the names I'd only ever heard in stories, only ever seen in photographs, only ever felt in my bones. "Your son needs a chat."

The air shifted. It got heavier, colder—but not in a bad way. More like it was thick with memories, swirling like autumn leaves in a breeze. And then, as if the universe itself had decided to cut me a break, two shimmering figures appeared.

One had messy black hair and glasses that were totally not fashionable. The other had fiery red hair and a look of gentle, impossible love. Lily and James.

"Harry?" Lily's voice was soft, disbelieving, like she couldn't quite believe I was standing there.

"Mum," I choked out, my throat going tighter than my jeans after Thanksgiving dinner.

James, of course, grinned like I'd just told him I'd invented a broom that could fly upside-down. "Merlin's beard, kid! You've grown up. And... is that armor? Trying to make your old man look underdressed for the afterlife?"

I couldn't help but laugh, even though my chest felt like it might explode from the emotion. "Yeah, Dad. Had to step up my fashion game. Turns out, saving the world isn't as glamorous as the movies make it look."

Lily stepped forward, glowing faintly despite being… well, a ghost. "Sixteen years," she said softly, her eyes glistening. "Sixteen years, and you've become… everything we hoped for."

"Please, don't go all sappy on me," I joked, trying to keep it together. "I've got a list of bad decisions long enough to make a Marauder proud."

James smirked, the grin turning into something more proud than teasing. "Atta boy."

From behind me, Remus—who, let's face it, probably still felt like he was my uncle more than my guardian—cleared his throat. "He's not just making Marauders proud, James. He's making us all proud."

Lily's gaze flickered over to him, softening. "Oh, Remus… you've looked after him, haven't you?"

Remus nodded, his voice thick with unshed emotion. "As best as I could, Lily."

Sirius, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, stepped forward. The usual cocky grin was replaced by something softer, something that actually looked vulnerable. "We've done our best, Prongs. But the kid's managed to outshine us all."

"Well, of course he did," James said, his grin back in full force. "He's my son, isn't he?"

"James!" Lily swatted his arm, but her smile made it clear she didn't mind one bit.

Meanwhile, Kara and Kori—who'd been politely standing in the background like this wasn't the weirdest thing ever—finally broke their silence. Kori tilted her head, a warm smile tugging at her lips. "Harry," she said softly, "these are your parents, yes? They are… radiant."

I smiled at her phrasing. "Yeah, Kori. These are my parents."

Kara's hand squeezed my shoulder. "Take your time, Harry. We're here for you."

And so, I talked. I told them about my life—my mistakes, my victories, my adventures that were definitely not suitable for dinner conversation. For a moment, it was like they'd never left. Like everything was normal, and I could just keep rambling about things that were probably way too personal for most people. But it felt right, like I was supposed to do this.

And then, just as they were fading away, I glanced over at Kara and Kori, trying to hide the grin that was creeping up on me.

"Oh, uh," I said sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck. "Mum, Dad—these are my girlfriends. Kara Zor-El and Koriand'r."

James blinked, the ghostly equivalent of raising an eyebrow. "Girlfriends? As in… plural? Harry, I'm proud of you, kid!"

"James!" Lily swatted him, but her eyes were shining. "Behave!"

"I'm just saying!" James raised his hands in mock surrender. "Two girlfriends! You've surpassed me, kid. I never even tried for that!"

"James!" Lily snapped, though her lips were twitching in amusement.

Sirius—because, of course, he couldn't let this moment slide—jumped in with, "Hold up, Prongs. I've got the most dangerous woman in the room wrapped around my finger. Obviously, Harry learned from the best."

Talia, as always, rolled her eyes but didn't seem particularly annoyed. "Lucky you," she muttered.

I buried my face in my hands. "Please tell me this isn't turning into a sitcom."

James, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye, chortled. "Oh, it absolutely is. And I'm living for it."

Lily gave me a smile that made the world feel a little bit lighter. "Don't listen to your father, Harry. We're proud of you. Always."

And just like that, they were gone—leaving me standing in a room that felt a little warmer, a little brighter, and maybe just a little bit less cursed.

I'd never be whole again, but for a moment, I could pretend.

—

The air in the Department of Mysteries was thick with anticipation, or perhaps it was just the stale scent of dust and ancient magic. The room where the Veil of Death was kept was silent, except for the soft, eerie whispers that seemed to echo from the depths of the ancient archway. The Veil, an unfathomable thing, was shrouded in a mystery that had confounded even the most powerful witches and wizards for centuries. Now, it was the centerpiece of Voldemort's dark ambitions.

As the clock in the Ministry struck just before midnight, the heavy door to the room creaked open, and the Dark Lord, his face a twisted mask of rage and triumph, entered, his presence sending a ripple through the air. The flickering light from the torches cast long, terrifying shadows on the stone walls. In his hand, he grasped the Elder Wand, its power pulsing as if in response to its new master. The same wand that had ended Dumbledore's life, now a symbol of Voldemort's dominance, gleamed coldly under the dim lights of the chamber.

Behind him stood his most loyal followers, each one as twisted and dangerous as he was. Lucius Malfoy, his sleek blonde hair combed meticulously as ever, stood with his wife Narcissa, both of them as imposing as they were insidious. Fenrir Greyback, his eyes gleaming with hunger, growled softly under his breath, flanked by his snarling werewolf pack—his presence enough to make the air feel thick with violence. Bellatrix Lestrange, her wild, maniacal laughter echoing around the room, was a maddened force of nature, still shaken from the loss of her husband months ago but eager for the chaos that would follow. Antonin Dolohov stood beside her, his cold, calculating eyes scanning the room as though analyzing every crack in the stone.

And behind them—an army of recruits, a rabble of Death Eaters who couldn't even manage coherent thought when they spoke, but who had pledged their loyalty to Voldemort in exchange for power and the promise of destruction.

"This is the moment," Voldemort hissed, his voice low and filled with an unsettling fervor. "We will cross over into their world, the world of the blood traitors and their misguided allies. We will rule it. The fools think they can hide in another universe. But they are wrong."

Lucius Malfoy, ever the sycophant, nodded, his pale face showing a flicker of nervousness, though he dared not voice it. "My lord, the ritual is in place, as Rookwood instructed. We need only to... activate the Veil."

Voldemort turned his red eyes toward the Veil, his gaze narrowing with intensity. The archway was large, ancient, and foreboding, its dark fabric hanging like a gateway to some unknowable realm. He had waited for this moment for so long. The betrayal of the Weasleys, the destruction of the room, the sacrifices of countless loyal Death Eaters—it had all led to this. He could almost taste the power of the new world, where they would have no opposition, where they could start anew.

"You've all played your part," Voldemort said coldly, addressing his followers. "Now, let us finish what Rookwood and Malfoy began."

At his command, Draco Malfoy, the reluctant but useful heir to the Malfoy legacy, stepped forward. He had been working with Augustus Rookwood for months, aiding him in reviving the Veil's dormant magic, a magic that was intricately tied to the fate of their world and now—dangerously—linked to the future of a new one. His wand flicked, and the air crackled with dark energy. The ground trembled as the runes etched into the stone floor began to glow.

Bellatrix's cackling rose in volume, a mad chorus to accompany the dark ritual. Her eyes danced with a manic gleam. "The Bloody traitors won't know what hit them," she purred. "The fools will pay for their betrayal. They always do."

The air grew heavier, the Veil shimmering faintly as the ritual reached its peak. Voldemort, eyes gleaming with the promise of victory, took a step forward, his wand raised.

"Now," he whispered, "we enter the new world. The world where we will be kings."

As the ritual came to fruition, the Veil began to pulse, its magic swirling as it responded to the dark forces at play. Voldemort's grip on the Elder Wand tightened, and for a brief moment, his eyes flashed with something akin to greed. This was it. The power to transcend worlds, to control fate itself. It would be his—he would be Master of Death.

Yet, what Voldemort did not know was that the Veil wasn't just a portal. It was a catalyst—a bridge not only to a new universe, but also to something even more dangerous. Something that was waiting.

Behind the Veil, hidden from all mortal eyes, was a force far older than Voldemort's dark ambitions—waiting for the right moment to make its move. A presence that could not be controlled, nor contained.

And as the ritual reached its peak, the ancient, restless force stirred.

The sound of a distant, haunting scream echoed in the chamber, reverberating through the stone walls. It was a sound that no one had ever heard before, nor would they ever wish to again.

Voldemort, focused on the Veil's shimmering power, didn't notice. He was too consumed with the thought of domination, too blinded by his ambition. His Death Eaters, likewise, were lost in the excitement of what was about to unfold. They did not see the growing darkness, the ancient energy creeping toward them.

The ritual was not going as expected. It was working, yes—but not in the way they had hoped.

And then, as the clock struck midnight, the Veil exploded with a burst of dark, chaotic energy.

Voldemort's triumphant sneer faltered. The world around him began to shift, to warp. The Veil, once a solid barrier between life and death, now seemed alive, pulsating with unnatural power, pulling them toward something far worse.

For in that moment, as Voldemort reached for the promised power of a new universe, he had unwittingly opened a doorway to his doom.

---

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