Chapter 2: Bad Luck
Part 1 - Living Together
Plagg didn't talk to Adrien much anymore, not after what he did to Nooroo.
If the kwami had learned anything from what became of Hawk Moth, it's that the miraculous holder's word was all powerful. Tolerance played no part in the act of a miraculous transformation. When your miraculous holder said transform, you transformed. No matter what their intentions may be.
Adrien slouched in his car outside the Louvre. He hadn't told Plagg what they were doing here so late. He never told Plagg anything.
Adrien didn't talk to Plagg much anymore, not after what he did to his father.
He was always looking at that big book of his. Plagg had no idea why. He knew Adrien couldn't read it. How did Plagg know? Plagg couldn't read the book, and Plagg could read a few thousand more languages than Adrien could.
Condescension. That's how this pair used to communicate. The dumbfounded curiosity of the human and the godlike superiority of the Kwami. It was a pretty sweet gig for the old cat.
Now the two only shared an infinite silence.
Plagg and Adrien didn't talk much anymore.
The dry silence of the car was broken when Adrien slammed the book shut. Plagg had been trying to take a bit of a cat nap in the back seat, and his eyes shot open, startled by the powerful thud. In truth, he had not been sleeping, he couldn't.
In all his years, there had been 3 times that the almighty Plagg, god of destruction could not sleep.
The first time came in the days after Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated Hawk Moth. The disturbance did not come immediately, as Plagg had no recollection of what Adrien had done with his powers that night. He never did. When your Miraculous holder said transform, you transformed and hoped for the best. Plagg did not sleep for days.
The second time came not long after the first. This time, Adrien did not need Plagg's power to commit this heinous act. Plagg could only watch helplessly, tucked away inside his jacket. Tikki was there too. He often wondered about Tikki, and how she handled what she saw Adrien do. Tikki had been missing ever since that day. That kept Plagg up at night.
That brings us to now.
Plagg cannot sleep. Adrien had taken him on several patrols over the years, but tonight felt different. Adrien had this poignant expression on his face. An eerie smirk slid up his cheek. It was that book. Something had finally clicked within him. Things were falling into place for Adrien Agreste.
Plagg, a powerful Kwami, a god of destruction, was losing sleep. It was that look in Adrien's eyes. The time had come once again. He was on a hunt, and he had found his prey.
Plagg had been dreading this night for a long time.
The night Adrien Agreste would kill again.
Adrien sat up, reaching for the door handle, and froze with his ear against the car window. A black van was approaching, loud and reckless, flying past Adrien's car and up to The Louvre. Two men in masks and black outfits jumped out of the vehicle, and attached a chain to the front entrance. The van, driven by a third member, jerked back in reverse, prying the doors open. Clearly these men couldn't think they would get away with this. Clearly they had not heard of the Black Cat of Paris. But he had heard of them.
"Plagg, you know what to do."
Adrien opened the door and stepped out onto the empty street. Had those really become the magic words for his transformation? Plagg was unwillingly vacuumed into Adrien's ring and everything went black. Adrien and Plagg were no longer two individuals, they were one. They were Chat Noir. Plagg became no less of a murderer than Adrien.
The outfit had changed a lot over the past few years. Now in his twenties, Adrien developed a distaste for the catlike attire. He ditched the pointy ears, tightened his long tail-like belt over his shoulder, and tore off the shiny bell. At first glance, you would wonder why they call him The Black Cat of Paris. Except, there was one thing he wanted to keep.
He wanted the claws.
The two men had disappeared into the museum.
Their driver, Logan Dupont, sat alone in the van, sweating, shaking. Logan was a local, who had lived in Paris his entire life. In his youth, he wanted to become a big-shot, blockbuster movie stunt driver. Shortly after finishing school, he fell on hard times due to an unforgiving drug addiction. He recently scored a job at a restaurant, a fast food chain, one of six identical restaurants in the city. The money wasn't enough. Logan did not know the other two men - they were from out of town. They just needed someone to drive, someone who knew these streets. They were offering a generous percentage of the take.
Logan nervously rubbed his thumb against the column shifter of the running van. He still had the chance to opt out. The kid who hired him had a history of impossible getaways, but why did he need a new driver for every job he pulled? He couldn't argue with the money. He wouldn't dare.
Logan Dupont would never again operate any vehicle or machinery, not after Chat Noir's extending staff shot through the passenger window and rammed into his temple.
Part 2 - No Sleep Tonight
Chat moved with a silent, unerring stride, past the van and through the barged entrance. Much to his surprise, the museum was coated in darkness, only the distant glow of the streetlights shone through the skylights. The facility's power had been sabotaged. Chat wasn't so sure if these men were the amateurs he first perceived them to be, but he was certain that they did not know his name. Paris was The Black Cat's territory; Darkness was his home.
He kept his ear to the ground. Two pairs of scuttling feet echoed through the empty complex. The men had taken separate paths. Two pairs of footsteps, moving away from one another. No matter how disinterested Chat was in their plan, he couldn't help but ponder what would be worth such a risk. On the subject of priceless artwork in The Louvre, the mind immediately turned to the Mona Lisa.
Breaking down the entrance to the world's largest museum does not leave any time for error if your heist is going to succeed, if it ever could. Furthermore, what happens after you stole the Mona Lisa? What kind of black market lunatic would ever be able to fence the world's most renowned work of art?
Whoever was behind this wanted the take for himself.
Chat had found his mark.
Still, two things did not add up:
Why would these men risk lifetime imprisonment for this heist?
And if they were here for the Mona Lisa, why was one of the crooks moving in the opposite direction than the painting?
Chat did not have time to care as he was closing in on his prey. The odd pair of footsteps were leading him to the exhibition hall, where the annual superhero exhibit had opened last week.
He sharpened his claws on the museum walls as he ran.
Roman Petrov was not going towards the exhibition hall.
Roman Petrov did not believe in superheroes.
The concept that a person could be given power greater than the average man without sacrifice, without training, without discipline? Roman found this repulsive. He was offended when Demetri split up to get something from the exhibit.
Their prize was in sight now. Demetri was always the one to find a workaround to the security. These damned kids and their computers. Roman was boiling as his pace slowed to a stop. What was taking that kid so long?
The bright, lavish colors of the superhero exhibit felt eerie in the darkness. Much of the area was decorated in a vibrant red with black polka dots. Banners draped from the ceiling of the famous Ladybug and Chat Noir of days past. Their glory days. No actual artifacts from the akuma attacks were on display, only photographs of the events matched with replicas of the villain's weapons and outfits. In the silence, Demetri swore he could hear Roman grinding his teeth.
"Wow! Just look at all of this! Real life supervillains, right here in Paris!"
He bounced around the room with a childish enthusiasm. He did not live in Paris, but he knew all about superheroes. He believed.
Demetri let out a squawking laugh when he finally saw her.
Volpina.
Chat Noir watched silently from the ceiling. He was encompassed by memories of his past. Every akuma, every travesty at the hands of Hawk Moth, every reason he must finish the job. He dropped to the floor with a whisper.
Demetri was talking again, quietly. Chat struggled to make out the words.
Two words penetrated him with extreme clarity.
"Transform me!"
Chat's eyes flared.
Choosing a miraculous holder was not an easy task. A person's good will was a fragile coil: the Hawk Moth onslaught taught Master Fu that. Because of this, he hoarded his remaining two miraculouses. Six years past after Hawk Moth's defeat, and Fu could stand it no longer. His time on this earth was limited, unlike the Kwami. He could not allow them to sit in his box long after his passing, possibly an eternity.
Choosing a miraculous holder was not a decision to be taken lightly. It was not a decision that you can rush. But that is exactly what Master Fu did. Demetri seemed like such a gentle, innocent kid. He was behind Fu in line at a grocery market, when Fu turned up short for his total, Demetri jumped at the chance to pay the difference. Such a nice gesture. Fu shook the boy's hand and with a sly flick of his wrist, dropped the necklace into his coat pocket. Little did he know Demetri had more than enough money to spare.
Demetri was the heir of a long line of thieves and con-artists. His father got him into the game, and he played it well. The Vulpes Miraculous' powers of deception only made his work a cakewalk.
Hawk Moth was a bad apple, and so too was Volpe.
Somewhere along the line, Fu also managed to give away the bee comb miraculous for a bee powered superhero. They were never seen saving the streets of Paris. Some say they had the power of flight and blacked out from the extreme altitude. Some say they were sucked into a jet turbine. Some say The Black Cat of Paris came for them before they could even learn of their new found powers.
So here stood Volpe, a miraculous superhero turned supervillain. There was no doubt about it now. He was hearing Roman grind his teeth after all.
Petrified by the display of Demetri's transformation, Roman's feet rooted to the ground at the entrance of the exhibition hall. He had expected to find the boy gawking at statues in tights, not wearing them. He could not believe this deceit. Rage fumed from his eyes as they beamed at Demetri. Adrien had seen that look before. He remembered the expression all too well.
My son… a superhero?
Roman brushed his palm against the holster of his gun to dry the sweat, but his hand did not leave his side. Demetri found himself paralyzed with terror. The two of them had been an unstoppable father-son duo, but Demetri was modest. With the powers he had been given, there was never a job when he wasn't pulling the strings. It was Volpe, every lift, every con, every heist, it was all done with the vulpes miraculous' power of deception.
Roman felt he was going to vomit.
Demetri felt his eyes beginning to flood.
"Father! Please, let me explain!"
Chat would not give him the time of day. He brandished his staff and pounced out of the shadows, his stride surging towards Volpe.
It was Roman who first saw the black of the darknesses gliding towards Demetri. He remained aghast to the reality playing out before him.
My son… is a superhero?
A low thud pulsed through the room as Chat's baton crashed against the side of Volpe's head. There was a moment of confusion in Volpe's mind. Confusion, followed by a burning ferocity as he spiraled into the mannequins of the Akumatized villains, demolishing a display case filled with replicas of various villain's signature weapons.
Adrenaline coursed through Volpe's body. He grabbed the nearest weapon to his left and warped to his feet, swinging desperately at his shadowy opponent. His weapon of chance was a replica of Darkblade's broadsword, which clashed with Chat's shoulder, splintering the fabricated blade into pieces. Chat was unprepared for such a sudden retaliation. Volpe frantically grabbed at the debris around him for another weapon.
The two juggernauts continued to battle. Roman could only watch, literally powerless. He felt a weakness within him that he had not felt before. He felt meager, minuscule, and most of all irrelevant.
My son is a superhero… fighting a supervillain.
But there was something about the man in black. Even in the black gloom of the night, he could see the grin on his face. He was holding back against Demetri. Toying with him.
Volpe grabbed at the last weapon he could detect. He looked at to his clasped hand hoping to find a saving grace. Instead, there was only… a flute? What good would this do him?
It wouldn't matter, Chat Noir was ready to finish the job. With a devastating blur of a strike, Chat thrusted his claws at his chest. Blood erupted from Volpe's mouth as the claws hooked and bored into his skin, piercing his heart like a bullet.
No one should ever have to die twice. For Demetri Petrov-De Luce it happened both times, at once. Chat Noir held his face with a rigid grasp, eyes fixed, his grin glowing white in the dark, teeth glinting. The cat had won. And he wanted Demetri's last lucid moment to be a spectator to what he was about to do.
Roman cringed as his son choked and screamed in anguish. Chat pulled the blood soaked claws from his chest and raise the hand into view. Clinched in the palm of his razor bladed vise was the pendant of Demetri's foxtail necklace.
With a slight twitch of his neck, he muttered the word.
"Cataclysm."
The Merriam Webster dictionary defines the word, cataclysm, as "a momentous and violent even marked by overwhelming upheaval and demolition."
When Chat Noir uses the word cataclysm, it meant one thing:
Checkmate.
For an instant, Demetri felt nothing. Nothing, a stillness, almost serene in nature. Complete tranquility, followed by an excruciating torment that no mortal being had ever perceived. His body was being drained and now, the Kwami that had been fused within his being, within his soul, was eroding. Decaying. Demetri howled at the ungodly sensation as his lungs filled with blood.
His transformation deteriorated from around him, abandoning his frail, withering vessel. The bright orange glow of his disguise seemed to tear away, being devoured by the darkness. His gaze turned to Roman as he fell back to the ground. His expression repenting, pleading for mercy. Roman never noticed that Demetri had Elisa's eyes.
Now another set of eyes were on him, blazing green. Riddled with guilt and panic, Roman's mind told his body to run, but in his mind's absence his body had already drawn his pistol, sights aimed at Chat Noir. Roman hesitated, certainly not his first mistake. Chat threw himself at Roman. He closed his eyes and pulled the trigger. The crack of the gun reverberated like thunder.
When he opened his eyes, he saw the pair of green eyes, much closer now. Chat Noir, his son's own personal supervillain, clutched the smoking barrel of the gun. The shot had not missed. Blood began to leak down from the corner of his mask. Chat pushed the gun aside and seized Roman's face with his right claw. Adrien used to be such a showman. Each time he would use his cataclysm as a kid, it was accompanied with a special battle pose, like he was charging up his ultimate power. The villains knew they were in trouble when Chat Noir called out that magic word. Cataclysm… is his trump card. In the years after the defeat of Hawk Moth, Adrien discovered that he need only whisper the word to destroy anything to the same effect. Perhaps this lack of showmanship made him forget, his power can only be used once per transformation.
The power was restored to the museum. Whatever trickery Demetri had in place to distract the guards and tamper with the facility's power and security systems has faded with his Kwami. Roman held his eyes closed as Chat dug his claws into his forehead. When he dared to open them, he was gone, and the vibrant colors of the ruined superhero exhibit were fully illuminated in the fluorescent lighting. So too was his son's torn carcass.
Sirens blared from just outside of the complex. Roman still had his gun in his trembling hand.
Roman Petrov did not believe in superheroes.
One way or another, he was going to Hell.
When Plagg was finally released from Adrien's ring, he knew there would be no sleep tonight.
Adrien Agreste had taken another life, more ancient than he could comprehend.
It was not Demetri Petrov-DeLuca, Plagg would never lose sleep over the trivial life of a human.
It was the necklace. The Fox Miraculous.
Adrien had taken the life of a Kwami. Another one of Plagg's own kind.
Adrien tossed him a slice of camembert.
Plagg wasn't hungry.