Awakening
The tree glowed in a halo of red as if its leaves had been dipped in sunset. It was beautiful. It was unsettling. Magic shivered in the air and sent prickles up and down Marinette's spine. Her heart skittered in a little flip, and she found herself pressing back into Blanc, who stood behind her with his hand on her shoulder.
"At last," Hawkmoth breathed. "It begins."
The light flared brighter, pulsing just like the cocoon she had seen in her dreams every night. Then came the beat: a steady thump, thump that echoed through her body, working itself deeper and deeper. It felt as if her bones would shatter from the sound. It felt as if every part of her would be consumed.
She squirmed, her fingers curling into her palms and missing the reassuring touch of metal. Blanc had taken the staff back. Hawkmoth hadn't liked the idea of her having a weapon, not if it meant she could interfere with his plans or put herself in danger. (It was the latter that had convinced Blanc.)
Blanc gave a sudden twitch, his fingers digging into her shoulder. Wind ruffled her hair and robe, and the blood-red leaves rustled.
"From behind," he muttered.
He pulled her against his chest, forcing her to turn with him. That was when she saw it: a stream of purple surging towards them from the sky. Her heart lurched like a ship tossed by waves. She knew that light. It had torn apart trees with careless ease and left a gaping wound in the forest.
Blanc thrust out his hand and an icy-blue sphere formed, getting bigger and bigger. The crackle of destructive magic raised every hair on her arms. Then he threw the sphere up at the purple stream, which was engulfed like a flame snuffed out by a single breath. Just poof! Gone. Her eyes widened at the sheer power, even as the sphere continued to surge up into the sky—straight to where Mayura stood on the back of a sentimonster. Her body-hugging dress had been exchanged for blue armour, still elegant but clearly designed for battle.
Mayura jumped into freefall, wings spreading out in a burst of purple-black feathers. The sentimonster, however, was not fast enough. The sphere made contact and then it was just complete obliteration. Nothing remained of the bird. Not a single trace.
Marinette's heart hammered against her ribs. So, this was the true power of destruction.
"Papillon!" Mayura shouted, landing on the wall and unsheathing a bladed fan. "You think I'll be stopped that easily?"
Hawkmoth barely glanced at her. "Get rid of her," he said. "She'll try to destroy your wife and the tree."
Blanc let go of Marinette and stepped forward, his expression a mask of ice.
Mayura's eyes narrowed. "I did not come here to be brushed off like some worthless mortal!" She plucked a feather from the fan, streaks of bruised blues and black crackling from her fingertips like lightning-flecked shadow. "If you want to hide behind your pawn, then fine. Two can play at that game!"
She threw the feather into the air and swiftly traced an outline with her finger. A humanoid figure took shape: tall, pointed ears, long hair. Marinette's heart stuttered. That was—
"Kill her!" Hawkmoth ordered. "Kill her now!"
Mayura laughed and swooped into the air, dodging the icy spheres that were thrown at her. No, guiding Blanc's attacks away from her creation. Her fingers formed a claw-like motion as she poured magic into the sentimonster, letting him solidify and take colour. He opened his eyes—blue like a frozen wasteland—and his tail swished behind him.
Blanc. It was another Blanc.
"I wonder which will be stronger?" Mayura said with a twisted smile, though her breathing was a little ragged. "My pawn or yours?"
The sentimonster clashed with Blanc: claws against claws, destruction against destruction. It was a brutal collision of power, yet there was something terrifyingly beautiful about the way they mirrored each other, like a dance of snow storms.
"How?" Marinette murmured. "How is this even possible?"
She had not known that Mayura was capable of such magic. The last two sentimonsters seemed inelegant and weak in comparison—just clunky beasts dredged up from imagination. Then again, Mayura was not moving as swiftly now. She landed in an ungraceful stagger, her wings vanishing.
"You overextended your magic," Hawkmoth observed. "Fool. There's no way you can beat me."
Mayura unfurled a second fan, showing off the curved, silver blade that matched its twin. "I don't need magic to beat you."
A chunk of the courtyard was ripped apart by a stray blue sphere, scattering jagged shards all around. Marinette flinched and shielded her face with her arms. The castle quivered as the sentimonster and Blanc clashed again. All the while, the tree flared brighter and brighter.
Two gods of destruction fighting was not good, even if one was a fake. They were all going to be destroyed at this rate.
Hawkmoth spared the tree a worried glance before he unsheathed a sword from his cane. "I don't have time for this."
"Oh, but you do." Mayura's expression hardened like frosted steel. "I'm not giving you a choice."
She charged, twin fans gleaming with wicked sharpness in the pulsing, bloody light. Hawkmoth shoved Marinette behind him.
"Stay back," he ordered.
Then he rushed to meet Mayura, his sword clanging against her fans in a vicious song of metal against metal.
Marinette's heart thudded against her ribs. No one was minding her. She could escape right now if she wanted, but that was the thing: she didn't want to run. There was no point. Adrien was still trapped under his father's control, and Carmine wouldn't let her get far even if she tried. It was a promise in every thumping beat that reverberated from the tree.
"Soon, I will awaken, and then I will take what I need from you whether you like it or not."
Marinette gritted her teeth. "Blanc!"
Both the sentimonster and Blanc stared at her from where they were fighting on the other side of the courtyard.
"Give me the staff!"
One of the Blancs ducked a punch, then kicked the other hard in the chest. He fell back into the wall, leaving a web of cracks from the impact.
"You wanted to keep me safe, right?" she yelled. "Then give me the staff. Carmine is—"
The red light turned blinding. Marinette's breath caught in her throat, even as the drumming beat slammed into her like a fist. It shook the ground, shook the very foundations of her soul, threatening to overwhelm everything. She clamped her hands over her ears and stumbled to her knees. Ahead of her, the tree pulsed like some giant, twisted heart. It looked as if the leaves were dripping blood.
A woman stepped out from the trunk, the bark clinging to her like a sticky cobweb. No, it was being absorbed into her. Every branch and leaf that was sucked into her body gave her more solid form until only she was left standing in the tree's place, the blood-red light dimming to nothing.
Now it made sense. The tree had never been a prison. It was Carmine who had been the tree.
Carmine met Marinette's gaze and a honey-sweet smile curved her lips. "Found you."