Chrysaor's mouth set in a thin line all his attention focused on piloting the flying car south, following the course of the Rhone River. The group had met by the ruins of the Eiffel Tower shortly after dinner last night – he and his group of "Heroes of Paris," along with a few others. Only La Paonne would be left to watch Paris and protect the city, should Fire-Fly or Sandy attempt to take advantage of their absence. There had been little conversation among the heroes as they marshaled to leave, as many as possible piling into the flying car. Chrysaor frowned. For the first time since completing the car, he found himself wishing that he had designed it with more passenger room: the interior space was far too small for the ten he had with him to sit comfortably.

Unfortunately, no matter how many people he brought with him, he could never hope to match the Tarasque… if they even found it.

They had met the river just outside of Lyon after driving almost entirely through the night, relying on the car's skirt to hover above the debris left behind by the Tarasque's transit of the countryside. It had taken them longer to hover than it would have to drive, but it was far safer and easier, given the unexpected debris and detritus over which they had traveled off and on that night. The destruction had expanded far beyond that caused by the Tarasque in the six weeks since the Battle of Paris; as the car picked its way south, Chrysaor noticed more and more evidence of looting and vandalism, even in the countryside through which they passed. He had heard the reports around city hall of breakdowns of local government around the country, but the reports had failed to capture the full gravity of the situation. Clearly conditions had deteriorated significantly in the power vacuum left behind by the Paris government's evacuation. Large, sprawling refugee camps dotted the countryside, doubtless populated by people who had escaped from Paris as well as those who had been displaced by the Beasts' transit of the country before the Tarasque had formed. Although they could not stop and meet the refugees, just seeing the faces looking back at them through the darkness had been enough for Chrysaor to accelerate. Finally, on reaching Lyon, Chrysaor had activated the car's flight jets and risen into the air, flying directly above the river and high enough to pass over the bridges and power lines crossing it. Now they were making good progress.

It was a pity he only had 120 minutes of fuel.

Sitting next to Chrysaor, Lieutenant Ramus clenched and unclenched his fist as the flying car accelerated, his mouth set in a deep scowl. "We don't even know that we're going to find the Tarasque," he pointed out sullenly, raising an eyebrow at Chrysaor.

"Never mind that," added Elementa, sitting in the back seat. "How are we supposed to fight it with just us?"

Chrysaor opened his mouth to respond, but Ray interrupted him a dark look in his eyes. "After everything that Monster did to Paris – did to me – I won't mind a little payback, even if it is futile." Gritting his teeth, he looked down at his prosthetic hand, opening and closing the fingers dubiously. "Assuming that this thing doesn't come off or something…"

Chrysaor glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "It will hold up," he assured Ray. "If you run into any troubles against the Tarasque, we can work on an improved version."

Ray frowned. "If I run into too much trouble, you might not need to fix it…"

Le Tirreur scoffed. "Anything happens, just let me know. I'm always happy to give a 'hand' to the boys in blue!"

Ramus twisted around slightly in his seat. "Don't push your luck."

"I thought we were cool: 'Sometimes we need people like you' and all that."

Ramus cracked a smile. "I wasn't talking about that…"

Chrysaor cleared his throat with as much authority as he could muster. "Presently, we are only searching for the Tarasque's location; we will not engage it if it would be a losing battle. But once we know where it is, we can search for assistance."

Le Tirreur snorted, arching an eyebrow. "You're assuming a lot there, buddy," he noted. "What if we find it and it attacks us and takes us out of the sky the way it did to so many others in Paris?"

Gouger folded her arms. "Are you looking for a reason to abandon us?"

"Say your mind." Le Tirreur's eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Sergeant," Chrysaor interjected sharply, not daring to take his eyes away from the panel in front of him. Gouger frowned, her eyes narrowed and staring at le Tirreur

"I don't have any problem with you," Ramus informed him. "But I'm uncomfortable with some of your vigilante companions." His eyes drifted out the flying car's window and found Albailier, flying in formation on the car's right.

"And after I helped you with those escapees…" Albailier clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment. "I would have thought that would earn at least some respect…"

Ramus clenched his jaw. "Oh, I'm grateful for that, of course," he retorted. "But that time I wasn't putting my life in your hands."

Sarsavat hissed, the sound echoing loudly in the enclosed car. "Everyone here isss focusssed on the missssion," the alien asserted. "There are doubtsss, there are fearsss. But I am confident that all of thossse here will fight if needed. You do not have to fear betrayal, Lieutenant."

"You have to understand," Ray observed after a moment, giving le Tirreur an apologetic look. "It's not easy to trust after all the madness we've been through. Especially with all the moles that were able to get inside the Police Prefecture. Plus," he added, holding up his prosthetic. "This is a pretty good reminder of what can happen.

Ramus let out a breath, leaning back in his seat.

Looking out the window on his side of the car, Chrysaor found Janabatala flying beside him, her miraculous jetpack allowing her to keep pace easily with the flying car. "How are you doing out there, Nabatala?" he asked.

Janabatala started and dropped a meter in the air before catching herself and flying back up to the car's level. She looked over at him and tapped on her communicator. "Huh? Oh! Sorry, Chrysaor," she apologized. "I was just lost in thought…"

"If you need a rest, we can make room."

"No! The flying is fun," she quickly assured him. "That's not it. I just – there's way too much time for thinking out here… Do we have a plan? What are we supposed to do when we reach the Tarasque, if we find it?"

Chrysaor frowned. "When we find it, we will decide then, but do not do anything with which you are uncomfortable," he told her. "If you need to stay back, then do. We–we lost too many against it the last time we fought it. Just use your Horn-Fade if you can and retreat to a safe distance."

Janabatala nodded jerkily, her mouth set in a thin line.

"Hang on – what's that over there?" called Albailier, jerking his head toward a spot behind them, in the direction of Paris. Chrysaor tapped a button to activate the flying car's built-in camera system, centered it on the figure, and cocked his head in surprise. Albailier hummed. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he looks like Áquila Altíssimo, with the gold helmet and wings."

"But it – it cannot be Áquila Altíssimo," began Chrysaor, staring at the approaching figure. "I–he is dead!"

The figure flew closer, and Chrysaor zoomed in to examine him carefully. He was a tallish man, maybe a little taller than Chrysaor himself, wearing a gold helmet and carrying a golden mace on his hip, but that was where the similarity to Áquila Altíssimo ended. His body-suit was dark purple with gold highlights on the shoulders, and in his hand was a slingshot. He rocketed straight toward them and fell into formation outside of Albailier, giving them a curious look.

"Are you the Heroes of Paris?" the newcomer asked, the wind carrying away his voice.

Albailier snorted. "Do I look like Cat Noir?"

Chrysaor caught the newcomer's attention and tapped his ear. The newcomer cocked his head in confusion and looked around intently before finally raising his slingshot. Chrysaor gave him a thumb's up, and the man popped an earpiece out his slingshot and jammed it into his ear. Chrysaor ran a scanning program on the flying car's radio to pick up the new frequency and patch it into the main communication system. "Who are you?"

The newcomer hummed, his brows furrowed up in thought. "I'm… Águila Peregrino, I guess? After the attack I heard about what happened to Paris, and I came to see for myself. Perry said we needed to do something, so…" he shrugged "here I am."

Ramus raised an eyebrow doubtfully but shrugged. "I don't suppose we can turn away any help that presents itself," he observed wryly.

"Under the circumstances, you are correct," Chrysaor agreed. "But we need to have a conversation about those miraculous once all of this is over," he told Áquila Peregrino. "Because the American miraculous team will want the Eagle Miraculous back."

"Sounds like a plan," Áquila Peregrino confirmed, nodding.

They flew for close to another hour, still hugging the course of the river as closely as they could. The green gas which had been clinging to the ground below them began to accumulate more and more, until it spilled over the banks of the river and onto the shore, leaving patches of browned and dead plants in its wake. The poison rose above the fence posts, then halfway up the sides of the buildings lining the river, until finally, as they drew even further south, it buried the houses and trees in their entirely. "We must be getting close," warned Elementa, a note of trepidation in her voice.

"We have nothing to fear, friendsss," Sarsavat assured them.

"Are you clairvoyant, in addition to empathic?" demanded le Tirreur.

Sarsavat shook his head. "I am merely…" he furrowed his brows in confusion, hissing to himself "… optimissstic, I think isss the correct word."

Janabatala hummed. "I suppose that's a good thing," she mused, nodding slowly. "Especially after everything that happened in Paris…"

A few kilometers further south, the video screen built into the car's dashboard activated as the cameras mounted on the car's undercarriage picked up movement on the ground to the east. Chrysaor stared for a long minute before accepting what he was seeing: a group of people, all dressed in the garb of the Olympic gods and driving a pickup cross-country in the direction of the Rhone River. "Um… what?"

Leaning forward to see the video screen from the back seat, Ray snorted. "Well, you said we can't turn down help," he pointed out wryly. "The more the merrier, right?"

"Right…"

"I hope they understand what they are getting themselves into," muttered Gouger, pursing her lips.

"Do we?" retorted Elementa, arching an eyebrow.

Chrysaor pulled up sharply, drawing the car higher into the air as an all-too-familiar deafening roar rang out from just over the horizon. His eyes widened, staring as the Tarasque's head rose above the wreckage of the city that his onboard mapping software identified as Tarascon. Majestia, the Knight, and the Lancer flew in circles just above the Tarasque's head as a pair of space-planes peppered it with missiles and energy cannons from a distance. Iron Maiden and Mecha-Man rocketed along the length of its back, strafing it with missiles and energy cannons. Tiny from the distance, Chrysaor could just make out a swarm of heroes running around the Beast's legs. The Tarasque drew its head back and sent a torrent of fire at Majestia, only for the Knight to summon a floating shield in front of her. "I hope we understand what we are in for…"

"So what's the plan?" Ramus demanded, mouth set in a thin line and eyes furrowed in concentration. "You're the resident Hero of Paris…"

"I will flank it!" called Águila Peregrino, rolling out and swooping around to the right in a wide arc.

"Hold on – we need a plan!" Chrysaor shifted the camera's focus to narrow in on the Tarasque itself, searching for any sign of an opening. However, all of that was forgotten and he gasped in shock, his eyes bulging out on catching sight of the ground closest to the Tarasque.

There knelt Impératrice Pourpre, with the Tarasque's paw hovering directly above her.