Yo, my fellow chaotic crossover junkies, gather 'round!🔥

It's already boy, Hopeless Author, back at it again, juggling fanfics like a sleep-deprived Nightwing dodging Batarangs. And before you ask—no, I haven't been kidnapped by the League of Assassins, nor have I been trapped in the Speed Force. The reason this update took longer? Well, turns out some of you lovely people had thoughts about the last chapter, so I had to take a break from making Shirou Emiya dodge Avada Kedavras in Ravenclaw's Missing Sword to fine-tune this beauty right here.

This chapter? Oh, it's a whole thing. We got:

✅ Angra dropping some dangerously snarky truth bombs.

✅ Jaime Reyes realizing that superhero life isn't just quippy one-liners and cool armor (sorry, Iron Man fanboys).

✅ Rose Wilson proving yet again that being a menace is a full-time job.

✅ Doctor Fate giving life advice like he's your wise yet vaguely terrifying uncle.

✅ A suspiciously unspoken Zatanna situation that totally isn't going to backfire later.

Also, yes, I heard you—"Hopeless Author, what's next?" Where's the next chapter of Ravenclaw's Missing Sword?"—and to that I say: chill, my doubts. Writing is an arcane ritual that requires caffeine, insomnia, and the willpower of a Green Lantern. I'll get to it, promise. And hey, for those of you with burning questions about plot details, character choices, or whether I'd survive in Gotham (spoiler: I wouldn't), I'll be sliding into PMs soon.

Oh, and before I forget—FSN x Pokémon crossover idea officially brewing. That's right, folks. We're talking Shirou Emiya with a Charizard, Gilgamesh collecting Legendaries like he's Professor Oak's worst nightmare, and Saber facing off against a Lucario in a duel of blades and honor. Are you ready? Because I sure as hell ain't.

Alright, enough rambling. Grab a drink, sit back, and prepare for a chapter filled with emotions, insults, and just enough foreshadowing to make your brain scream at me later.

And remember, kids:

If you meet a speedster, don't accept their time travel offers.

🎩 If you see a magician, read the fine print before making a deal.

And if Batman ever looks at you with disappointment? You've already lost.

See you in the next one.

This fanfiction was created by me, Hopeless Author, and draws inspiration from the worlds of the DC Universe and Fate/stay night. All rights to the original characters, concepts, and universes belong to their respective creators and owners.

A smooth, teasing voice slipped through the grand hall of the Tower of Fate, echoing against the walls bathed in the dim glow of the fireplace.

"Once upon a time, in an ordinary neighborhood of Northern Gotham, there was a naïve little boy… So naïve, in fact, that he blindly idolized the image of his father. Not unusual, of course. He grew up listening to his mother speak with pride about the noble ideals of that man… A man who dedicated his life to finding a cure for cancer."

A heavy sigh interrupted the narration.

"Oh, come on, Rose… This story again?" Angra groaned, letting his head fall against the back of the couch.

"Oh, sweetheart, but it's my favorite," the girl replied, casually brushing a strand of white hair from her face. "Besides, I'm sure your new friend would love to hear it."

"For the love of God… I bet Jaime would prefer literally anything else. After all, he's still recovering from our little incident at the Lady's Pass. Right, buddy?"

Jaime, who had been silently watching them with curiosity, shrugged with a lopsided grin.

"Nah, why not?" he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Sounds like a decent way to pass the time. Plus… your grandpa does know a thing or two about magic tricks."

Beside him, Kent Nelson smiled mischievously, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"It brings me great joy that these old bones can still be of use to the younger generation… especially to the friends of my shameless grandson. Though, I must admit, there are so few of them that this old man is starting to worry about his future."

Angra shot him a warning glance, but that only encouraged Rose further. She wasn't about to waste such a golden opportunity.

"Oh… Is my sweet baby embarrassed?" she teased, leaning closer with a satisfied grin.

The alien Scarab on Jaime's back emitted a couple of chirping sounds, seemingly confirming her mockery.

"Besides, Grandpa Kent likes the story too, don't you?"

Nelson nodded with a knowing smile.

"You surprise me, Miss Wilson. I've noticed Angra showing more emotions lately… Something tells me his patience has grown since meeting you."

With an elegant flick of his staff, the room was bathed in a warm glow. The fireplace flared to life, and as if by magic, an assortment of pastries and drinks gently floated toward them.

Angra let out a long-suffering groan, grabbed a glazed doughnut with resignation, took a bite, and slumped even further into the couch.

"Please… Just kill me already."

Rose laughed, stretching comfortably in her seat, completely enjoying herself.

"Oh, come on… Just this once, don't be such a buzzkill. And who knows… If you behave, maybe I'll reward you later. Didn't you say you wanted to try that thing last time?"

She threw him a playful wink, but Angra only sighed in exasperation.

"Hmph… Do whatever you want…"

She loved teasing him like this. And even though he always pretended not to care, Rose noticed the slight way his shoulders relaxed. Satisfied, she resumed her tale with exaggerated theatricality.

"But we all know fairy tales don't have happy endings. One night, that fragile happiness shattered when his father, Dr. Alexander Sartorius, reached the point of no return. Desperate for funding, he sold his principles by making a deal with Rupert Thorne… And as we all know, that never ends well."

She paused briefly, savoring the weight of each word. Every eye in the room was on her.

"With time working against him and results failing to meet expectations, Thorne decided to take more… 'drastic' measures. He struck Sartorius where it would hurt the most. A mere snap of his fingers was enough to seal the fate of his wife… and his son."

Her voice dropped lower, laced with a dark undertone.

"The family was tortured until he was completely broken, forced to watch as their lives were taken right before his eyes."

The air in the room grew heavy.

Angra didn't react immediately, but his fists clenched tightly, and his jaw set hard.

Rose glanced at him from the corner of her eye, and for the first time that night, her smile softened. There was no mockery in it now.

No matter how much time passed, Angra would never be able to outrun his story.
Not when it was the root of his nightmares.

"Inside an ordinary house, deep in the suburbs, no one heard the screams of a man of science who had lost everything," she continued, her tone laced with a cruel melancholy. "None of those mobsters cared as they watched him kneel, holding the cold, lifeless bodies of his family in his arms… his trembling hands still stained with their warm blood."

"Angra…" Jaime called out softly, concern evident in his voice.

But his friend remained motionless, eyes unfocused.
As if he was watching the scene unfold right in front of him.

Even the old Kent maintained a solemn expression.

Rose was the only one who allowed emotion to seep into her voice as she carried on.

"Without a chance to say goodbye or beg for forgiveness, he was ripped from his own home and dragged toward an even worse fate. His captors, reveling in their victory, never stopped to consider what they had truly created that night…"

She lowered her voice further, barely a whisper.

"The birth of a pure malice… a being that would come to be known as…"

The final name lingered in the air, an icy echo.

"Avenger."

"I've known you for over three years, and I still don't get it… Why did you choose that name, my little heartbreaker?" Rose asked with a sly smile.

Angra sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Are we doing this again?"

"I'm just curious!"

"We've talked about this before, Rose…" He exhaled in exasperation, then let out a long sigh. "Besides, what really matters now is figuring out why your father tricked us into attacking a military base last month—right when they discovered a new Lazarus Pit."

"Mhmph!" Rose huffed, sticking out her tongue like a spoiled child. "I already told you—I was deceived too. Isn't that why we deserted together? Or have you forgotten?"

Angra simply adjusted the red bandana on his forehead and looked away.

"Should I be worried about hearing this kind of thing, Doctor Fate?" Jaime asked with an uneasy tone, which seemed to amuse the old man.

The elder Kent let out a soft chuckle before replying:

"I'm afraid to say that the relationship between my grandson and Rose's father is more complicated than you might think, young Reyes. But I believe it's something only Angra will be able to tell you when the time is right."

"But…"

"Hey, I think it's pretty rude to interrupt me like that, don't you?" Rose complained, crossing her arms with a childish pout.

The others exchanged glances before finally apologizing. Rose nodded in satisfaction before continuing her story.

"As I was saying… I don't think anyone expected Dr. Sartorius' son to rise from the dead with a face completely different from the one life had given him. His eyes had changed forever. He had become an orphan without direction, without purpose… lost in a sea of doubts about his fate, with no one who even tried to understand him…"

Angra stopped listening.

He didn't need to hear the story.

He remembered it all too well.

Because that night… that cursed night…

That was when, trapped between life and death, he began to glimpse fragments of something beyond his comprehension. Amidst a sea of shadows, a voice whispered in his ear.

A Persian god of Zoroastrianism.

It was time to awaken.

He didn't understand. But the images were clear: the crude village where he was tortured until he lost his sanity, the relentless beatings that left him too weak to resist, the cursed words carved into his skin with fire and blades.

They forced every imaginable sin upon him.

And then, everything changed.

He found himself in a cavern, surrounded by suffocating heat, engulfed by it.

The visions were vague, distorted. But one name echoed in his mind, again and again, like an endless refrain:

Angra Mainyu.

The sacrifice of a defenseless soul.

A child without talent, without destiny… molded into whatever others wanted him to be.

They turned him into exactly what they feared.

All the Evils of the World.

Hated. Hunted. Stripped of his own humanity.

Thus, a hero was born.

Or rather…

A destroyer.

The origin of all corruption.

The one who brought limitation, stain, and disease to Ahura Mazda's splendid creation.

Angra blinked.

The present slowly returned.

He let out a weary sigh and murmured:

"Truly… I have a cursed fate… A cycle with no end."

Because, despite everything…

Even though he still despised humans for what they had done…

He still loved the world.

At this point, it was no surprise when Rose's enraged voice interrupted his thoughts once again.

—"And this is when that helpless little boy, just trying to survive in Gotham's underworld, meets that vile witch!"

Angra closed his eyes and groaned.

—"Oh, come on, Rose… Not this again!"

She just laughed, clearly enjoying herself, though she couldn't quite hide how much she also despised the effect that woman's name still had on him.

—"Zatanna Zatara grew up surrounded by the impossible. As the daughter of a legendary magician, her childhood was filled with spells, illusions, and secrets that most people could never begin to understand."

—"Oh… man, you know the famous magician Giovanni's daughter?" —Jaime raised an eyebrow, incredulous.

—"Indeed. I was just as surprised, young Reyes," —the old man remarked, sipping his tea calmly.

Angra, on the other hand, ignored them both, giving Rose a slight nod to encourage her to continue.

—"As I was saying, even as a child, Zatara had seen countless inexplicable things—enough to develop an insatiable thirst for knowledge about magic. Maybe that's why, the moment she saw him, she knew he wasn't just an ordinary boy," —the mercenary's voice turned indifferent—. "Or maybe it was just the whim of a little girl angry at her father, looking for a distraction in the first thing that caught her eye."

—"Now that I think about it, I'm inclined to believe the second option," —Angra finally responded, crossing his arms and looking away.

—"I might have to disagree, my grandson. I have met young Zatanna, and she is an incredibly kind-hearted girl. Even your cousin Khalid has mentioned that, though she still has much to learn, she is a patient and dedicated teacher."

—"Oh, come on… we both know she's not as innocent as she seems," —Rose scoffed before Jaime could ask anything.

The air grew slightly tense, so everyone decided to take a sip of their drinks before the young Wilson resumed her story.

—"At first glance, their meeting seemed nothing out of the ordinary: a boy, around her age, running through Gotham's streets, clumsily dodging two police officers. He clutched a couple of half-eaten hamburgers in his arms, along with a torn bag of fries, leaving a trail of crumbs behind him."

—"Tell me at least they were doubles," —Jaime joked, though only the old man seemed to appreciate it.

—"Oh, subtle. Real smooth," —Rose interrupted sarcastically—. "I see you still haven't lost your touch, heartbreaker…"

Angra sighed, ignoring her.

—"Zatanna, meanwhile, watched from the sidewalk, her curiosity piqued. Especially because the boy had a wary, almost feral look in his eyes. He had used his wits to shake off the officers, yet he didn't leave immediately. And besides… she figured using a couple of her new magic tricks on the agents wouldn't hurt."

Rose paused, flashing Angra a mischievous grin before continuing.

—"And a few minutes later, with that same alert expression, the mysterious boy returned to the scene. He looked ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger. But when his eyes met Zatanna's… he didn't look away. He didn't run, like those who had discovered her 'magical tricks' usually did."

Silence stretched for a moment before Rose smirked in amusement.

—"And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he offered her one of his half-eaten hamburgers."

Jaime blinked, stunned.

—"Don't tell me she actually took it, man…"

—"Believe it or not, against all common sense, the prodigy of magic did, in fact, eat food straight from the filthy hands of a street delinquent," —Rose said, folding her arms.

Angra shot her a sidelong glance.

—"Oh, please. You're just jealous, and you know it."

—"Of course! Because obviously, you never bought me the special meal with the toy included," —she made an exaggerated gesture with her hands, feigning indignation—. "You're so cruel to me."

—"Oh, come on, Rose… you know that's not true. You're just impossible."

—"And so are you," —she shot back with a teasing smile, tucking a strand of unruly hair behind her ear.

Jaime watched them, bewildered, before turning to the old man.

—"Are they always like this, Doctor?"

The old man smiled, satisfied.

—"More than you can imagine…"

Although Zatanna had always been outgoing and optimistic—the kind of person who saw the best in others—maybe, just maybe, in that instant, she saw something beyond the dark eyes of the boy standing before her.

Something not even he understood yet.

"This sounds like the start of a great love story..." Jaime grinned, and the Martian Scarab let out a noise of approval. Angra's expression turned stoic in an instant.

"Oh, come on, man... I just—"

"I think it would be best if we heard the rest of the story," the old man interrupted, placing a gloved, magic-infused hand on Angra's shoulder. However, his gaze briefly flickered toward his grandson, searching for any trace of emotion on his face. "Things are never that simple, young Reyes. Sometimes, you just have to let events take their course."

In front of them, Rose gave a slight nod before continuing.

"In the end, Zatanna became his first friend."

Angra stopped listening, his mind drifting back into the past...

Maybe it all started with magic. Or perhaps it was simply his curiosity about the world Zatanna had introduced him to—a world full of mystery and a freedom he didn't quite understand. It was almost poetic how fate brought together two opposites: the spoiled rich girl and the boy who survived by pulling small heists on the streets of Gotham.

Over time, their friendship grew with each encounter, strengthened by the challenges that came with their age. There were laughs, small feats shared between them... Despite the vast difference in their worlds, when they were together, everything seemed to fit in a strange, effortless way.

Angra sighed, emerging from his memories.

"Tch... how stupid," he muttered to himself. "Thinking that could ever last..."

"Oh, please!" Rose cut in with a teasing smile. "Don't tell me you were the typical boy with a broken heart?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"That was a long time ago, wasn't it?" Jaime asked, his curiosity piqued, enough that even the Scarab's pincers twitched from his back.

"It was barely six months of just messing around together. In the end, we both realized things just weren't meant to—" Angra huffed, rolling his eyes, trying to put an end to the topic.

"Should I ask your grandfather to confirm?" Rose asked, turning with interest. "Oh, come on, Mr. Kent, how pathetic did my little heartbreaker look back then?"

The old man chuckled, amused at the unusual look of silent pleading in his grandson's eyes.

"Oh, Rose, Rose... I may not have been present during that stage of his life," he admitted with a guilty smile, though it didn't stop him from continuing. "But I have seen Angra's memories, and there's more to it than you think... After all, he constantly tried to impress her in every way possible."

Angra scowled, unable to take it anymore.

"That's not true!"

His outburst was so sudden that a faint shadow peeled off his body before dissipating.

"Oh, but it is," Doctor Fate leaned back in his chair, a nostalgic air about him. "It was adorable... watching you act so gallantly in your attempts—whether with magic, physical feats, or even those clumsy gestures of chivalry... That's my grandson, no doubt about it!"

"Ha, ha, ha... I just can't picture Angra like that. No offense, man!" Jaime teased.

"Shut up, Reyes!" Angra huffed, crossing his arms. "After everything I did to save your tin-can ass back at Warehouse #13!"

"But things didn't end well, did they?" Rose cut in, ignoring the back-and-forth between her boyfriend and their new friend. "I bet at some point, our dear prodigy here decided he had to be 'cool'... and everything went straight to hell."

The air grew heavier.

"Unfortunately, you're right, young Wilson..." The old man's expression darkened as he turned his gaze toward the fireplace, releasing a tired sigh.

Because, indeed, there had been a breaking point.

"Despite all his efforts to impress young Zatanna—to prove to her that he was special too—my grandson began experimenting with his power recklessly, without truly understanding his limits." Lifting his staff, golden flames flooded the room, revealing fragmented glimpses of a memory. "Maybe it was vanity... or maybe just childish foolishness..."

"Doctor Fate...?" Jaime frowned, uneasy. In the flickering visions, he recognized a silhouette. It was the same figure he had seen days ago—the one he had decided not to talk about with anyone... not even when Peacemaker kept pressing him for answers.

Because what happened that day had been a disaster.

And just like that time, it was the first moment the world became aware of a forgotten existence buried in the sands of time.

It was the first time Angra Mainyu's power spiraled out of control.

And from that moment on, nothing in his life was ever the same again.

It was a day like any other.

A simple picnic in a secluded part of the park... until, in an instant, everything changed.

The sun, bright and warm, vanished as if someone had flipped a switch.

Darkness crept over the world.

Hundreds of shadows surged from the ground like a ravenous plague, devouring the light, silencing the wind, turning midday into a starless night. Zatanna, who had been hesitating about calling her father, felt a chill run down her spine.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

And then, she saw it.

Where there had been nothing before, a beast emerged from the gloom. A deformed wolf, a creature of living shadows that twisted and flowed like ink in water. Its crimson eyes burned with an ancient fury, locked onto its prey.

Then, it roared.

A deep, guttural sound, as if the earth itself recoiled at its existence.

The sheer force of it paralyzed her. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her mind went blank. She stumbled, collapsing onto the cold grass, and only when she felt the wetness of tears streaking down her cheeks did she realize she was crying.

But not out of fear of dying.

"Angra... where are you?" she whispered, her voice breaking under the weight of desperation.

Every second of silence suffocated her.

And then, she screamed.

"Save me!"

The echo of her plea was swallowed by the darkness.

For a moment, she thought this was the end.

But the beast… stopped.

Its eyes flickered. Something inside it stirred at the sound of her voice.

The shadows shuddered, twisted… and then, without warning, scattered like ashes in the wind.

Where the monster had been, now stood her best friend.

Angra trembled.

Tribal markings, glowing blue like ethereal fire, pulsed across his skin. His breathing was ragged, every gasp a testament to the inner battle he didn't understand.

Zatanna looked at him, but there was no relief in her eyes. Only horror.

Angra felt sick.

He didn't wait to hear what she had to say. He didn't want to know.

He just… ran.

He fled like a coward, leaving behind the only person who had ever accepted him without question.

And in return, he carried with him a new burden: guilt… and solitude.

It was to be expected that no one in the room would speak after what they had just witnessed. Even Jaime's usual good vibes and carefree attitude had vanished—so much so that even the scarab remained completely silent.

As for the one at the center of it all, he kept an indifferent expression, while his grandfather simply stared into nothingness. It seemed everyone was too lost in their own thoughts.

A sharp laugh shattered the silence.

"Ha! I never get tired of this part," the mercenary smirked. "But I still don't get it… Why did you literally turn into a monster while trying to impress her?"

Angra let out a low growl.

"You know damn well, Rose, that wasn't my intention."

"Dude…" Jaime finally spoke, though his expression was still pale. "You know none of that defines who you are now. That thing didn't lose control when we recovered the Holy Shroud of Magdala from Amparo's warehouse."

Angra didn't respond. His gaze, however, drifted toward the relic Rose wore as a scarf. For a moment, a flicker of an old memory surfaced—golden eyes and silver hair, a knowing smile as she watched him with amusement.

"The mystical properties of that artifact truly intrigue me," the old man murmured, lowering his cane before taking a long sip of his tea.

Rose grinned, tracing a hand along the fabric around her neck.

"Oh, Angra, always the hopeless romantic!" she cooed. "'Oh, Zatanna, look at how amazing I am… just give me a second while I accidentally invoke Verg Avesta and almost kill you.'" She wiped away an imaginary tear. "Such a tragedy!"

"Tch…"

"Oh, come on, heartbreak king. Don't tell me you never tried to see her again?"

His grandfather sighed.

"I'm afraid my grandson is unbearably stubborn, Miss Wilson." His eyes flickered toward Angra, who sat with his arms crossed, deliberately avoiding his gaze. "Must've inherited it from his grandmother… It's obvious he never even tried!"

Jaime put down his drink, leaning forward.

"Seriously, man? You're just gonna keep running your whole life like a scared puppy?"

"Shut up!" Angra snapped, his glare sharp and dangerous. His eyes glowed with an eerie blue hue. "Like you're one to talk—acting like you never made mistakes, when you can't even visit your own family!"

"Yihad!"

His grandfather rarely used his real name. Hearing it now, spoken with such cold authority, made Angra hesitate.

"You know what Reyes has been through," the old man continued, now standing. "For the past two years, since he became Blue Beetle, he's had no one to guide him properly… unlike you. For the last five years, I've tried to teach you how to control your powers… And this just proves you still have a long way to go!"

Angra said nothing. His fists clenched as he lowered his head.

Jaime broke the silence, searching for the right words.

"Look, man… Just like you know everything about me, I think I'm starting to understand why you were the way you were when we first met. You were kinda… lazy and laid-back…"

"Not to mention extremely sarcastic, cynical, and mercilessly mocking toward everyone he interacted with," Rose chimed in with a teasing grin.

"Hey—" Angra started to protest, but his words were cut off as Rose blew him a kiss.

"You can't deny it, grandson," his grandfather added in a neutral tone. "I can personally vouch for it."

All three turned to look at Jaime, who was still trying to gather his thoughts. Even the scarab let out a low, mechanical hum.

"Unlike you, Angra, I don't know how the scarab works, but I do know my life changed the moment this thing fused into my body. I can't remove it… not even when I went into space and tried to do the right thing. I'd like to believe I helped as much as I could… but now the superheroes hate me. I don't even know if they're gonna kill me just for being a potential threat…"

The room fell into an uneasy silence. Eventually, the discussion shifted toward apologies and words of reassurance. The younger ones listened intently to the wisdom of Doctor Fate.

After all, that was one of the reasons Kent had invited Jaime—to ease his mind and assure him that the Justice League wasn't even considering something like that. The other, though less spoken, was that someone like him could be trusted with his grandson's greatest secret.

Fate had already seen what was written in the threads of destiny. Time was running out… and perhaps, before the end, the League could grant him one last favor.

Meanwhile, Rose leaned her chin on her palm, a mischievous glint in her eye as she mused aloud:

"I wonder… does Zatanna still remember any of this?"

Angra, of course, heard her.

But he chose to ignore it.

Because he knew.

Of course he knew.

But he'd rather not think about it.

So yeah. If you've ever wanted to see Shirou try to Trace On a Poké Ball, stay tuned.

🎤 Final Words of Wisdom:

If the Scarab starts whispering "kill" in your brain, maybe don't listen to it?

️ If your best friend is an eldritch horror, set boundaries.

🎭 If Doctor Fate looks disappointed in you, start praying.

🃏 And if the Joker ever invites you to "just talk"? RUN.

See y'all in the next one. Hopeless Author, out. ✌️