The Devil in Paris: Part 5: Mergings. And Sacrifices

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I don't own any part of this franchise.

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"Those," breathed Ladybug, "were way too hard to take down." They were both breathing heavily, and Ladybug was holding her side. Cat Noir hoped she wasn't injured. Injuries followed them between transitions. If she was hurt in her Miraculous form, she'd be hurt in her baseline human form-only she wouldn't have the magical energy of the Miraculous to bolster her up. "What were those things, anyway? Sentimonsters?"

Cat Noir shook his head. "I didn't see any amoks, or, for that matter, akumatized humans. Don't the two usually go together?"

"I've always thought so." As soon as they both were satisfied that everything was safe, she'd give the authorities the all-clear. But these things were new.

They'd resembled giant human eyeballs, capable of flight on their own, and of emitting rays which seemed to dissolve any matter they touched. There were almost a dozen of them, all flying separately, which meant Cat Noir's Cataclysm was virtually useless. And Ladybug's "Lucky Charm" had only produced an improbably large bladed weapon, which she'd at first been hesitant to use. But these things had obviously never been human, and they posed a clear and present danger to the people of Paris, so she'd reluctantly taken to slicing them up. Cat Noir had relied on his staff. Blunt force-enough of it, at least-had seemed to smash the things-whatever they were-into tiny black particles, which in turn dissipated into nothingness. But it had been a hard-fought battle, and now, he noticed, Ladybug was holding her side. "You okay, Bug-a-boo?"

She actually smiled. "Don't call me that. And yes, I'm…okay, I guess. Just a little winded. It's nothing." Frown. "What's not nothing is what those things were and where they came from. I'm pretty sure Hawk Moth, or Monarch, or whatever he's calling himself these days, wasn't involved; you notice there was no attempt to steal our Miraculous's."

"I noticed that. They just seemed to want to destroy." Then he noticed her earrings. "We need to bug out. You're about to transform, and I'm pretty sure I am, too. You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah. I've got…support…not too far from here. Go. I'll catch up with you later."

In a back alley, beneath a heavy iron culvert, she transformed back. "Alya?"

Rena Rouge popped out of the underground, already in the process of transforming back. "Girl! What happened to you?" Marinette was leaning against the wall, still holding her side.

"Battle Royale against some unknowns. Look, just help me back to my-*"

"Room, nothing. Your face is pale, you're sweating buckets, and you're holding your side like you're trying to keep your insides from becoming your outsides. It's the ER for you, bestie. Don't worry, I'll think up some excuse why you were outside during an akuma alert. Here." She dialed on her phone, all the while holding Marinette up with her other arm. "Don't fight me on this, girl friend."

…

"Appendicitis?!" bellowed Tom Dupain. "And she's in the hospital?!" Every paternal instinct he had was firing on all afterburners. "What was she doing outside during an akuma alert, of all things?" Not that inside had proven any more effective than anything else, however. But it was a natural human response to danger.

"She told me that," replied an unruffled Ayla. "She thought she saw somebody outside, some child or something. And of course, you know Marinette…" That had been their agreed-upon cover story. "She's actually lucky Ladybug happened along. She helped get her to the hospital."

"Bless Ladybug," muttered Sabine Cheng. "Tom, we've got to go see her! The alert's off…"

"I've been to visit her, right before the surgery," Alya explained. This was also more of the cover story. "The docs had her so pumped up on painkillers she barely knew who I was. You might wanna give her some time." After giving them Marinette's location and room number, she left.

What she'd said was mostly true. The only thing of importance she'd omitted was that right before entering the ER, Marinette had given her the Miraculous earrings for safekeeping. After all, things get lost in hospitals, and it just wouldn't do to take the chance with something as valuable and potentially powerful as the Ladybug earrings. Now, she thought, a little more damage control. She'd have to let Cat Noir know about his partner's health-and she could see that as being an issue, since the black-clad superhero was a bit jealous of her knowledge of Ladybug's secret ID. Well, he'd just have to understand, yet again.

The other thing…

Back in her room, she prepared to make a patrol as Rena Rouge. Not much of a patrol; just a quick sortie, mostly to find Cat Noir. And tried to think about what she'd say to the class in general, come Monday.

Of course, she'd have to stick with the "appendicitis" story (which was the truth-evidently the magical earrings didn't protect one from such mundane issues), and it shouldn't be too hard to make a convincing sounding lie to the rest as to Marinette's presence outside during what everybody was calling an akuma alert. She was fairly confident that everybody in the class (with three notable exceptions, of course) would no doubt make a pilgrimage to Marinette's side, to check on her.

But one thing they both agreed upon, and that she would not keep from Cat Noir, was…what had happened had not been an akuma attack. And although it was by no means certain, she, herself, was fairly certain no sentimonster, such as the amoks tended to spawn, had been present either.

So what had those things been?

Ever since becoming Ladybug and taking up the mantle of Defender to the people of Paris, Marinette had battled evils other than those spawned by Hawk Moth. These things had released no akuma, no amok when defeated, according to Marinette's own account, but had definitely seemed unearthly, somehow. So what had they been?

But all that would have to wait until Marinette was out of the hospital. For now, it was her ally that concerned Ayla the most.

It was no secret that Cat Noir longed to know Ladybug's secret identity, in spite of her explanations to him about the danger of doing so. Now…he had a perfect time. Once he knew his partner had taken ill, all he had to do was check the local hospitals for any young girl, age 14 to 16, who'd been admitted on that night.

He could not be allowed to draw the correct conclusion from that tidbit of information. Not for Ladybug's sake, nor for his own. After all, curiosity killed the cat.

Bounding over the rooftops, Rena Rouge wondered just how she was going to find him when she spotted him, sitting crosslegged, on a particularly high rooftop. From up there, he had an excellent view of a large part of the city.

She landed only a few yards away from him. "Cat Noir!"

He turned. "Oh, hey, Rena Rouge. Uh, say, you, uh, haven't seen anything of Ladybug, have you?"

She drew a deep breath. "As a matter of fact, I have." Now would come the most dangerous part of this shadow play. "She's…sick. She won't be able to 'Ladybug it' for a while yet."

He abruptly stood up, turning to face her fully, the night's patrol forgotten. "Sick? What does she have?"

She moved in closer, eyes downcast, and placed a hand on his chest. "Cat, listen. You know as well as I do…now would be a perfect time for you to uncover her secret identity. You also know she wouldn't want that, that it could be dangerous to you, and maybe others as well.

"I know you want to know her civilian ID but…now is not the time or the place. Or the way."

He turned back, to look over the city. She could tell he was dealing with his anger: Of course. She tells half of Paris, but not me, not her partner, noooo, never that.

How can I trust her if she won't trust me?

I hope there's no akumas in the area, thought Ayla / Rena Rouge, looking around. Things could get nasty if there are.

"Cat? You know she'd tell you in a heartbeat if she just thought it wouldn't expose you to danger."

He stood there, at the railing, balling up his fists. "I…I'm not sure what to believe anymore."

He turned, resting his elbows on the railing, and she came up alongside him. "Then believe this: believe in her. Believe in your relationship. She won't keep you out of the information loop any longer than absolutely necessary."

He leaned his head over the railing. "I…I wish I could. But…it's so hard sometimes…

"I feel like she doesn't trust me, I guess."

"She trusted me. And a sentimonster attacked me and my family because of it. So maybe you see why she's cautious about who she confides in. Believe me, it hurts her, not being able to tell you." Change the subject. "Now. Tell me about these eyeball thingies you and she battled the other night. You know, until Ladybug gets back in shape, you're gonna haveta be our biggest gun. Without Ladybug to 'de-evilize' them, you may be called upon to 'Cataclysm' some akumas and maybe some amoks. Think you could handle that?" While it was true Alya could use Marinette's earrings to transform into her version of Ladybug, the last couple of times she had done so had not filled her with great confidence regarding her incarnation as such. She felt more at ease as Rena Rouge.

He half-turned towards her, unconsciously squaring his shoulders. "Guess I'll have to." His smile was bittersweet yet winning.

Oh, why, Marinette, do you have to be so fixated on Adrien? What's he, besides rich and pretty? I know you're not that shallow. Mr. Perfect, here-dashing, courageous, and definitely easy on the eyes-oh, yes, definitely eye candy-has been by your side, patrolling with you every night. Why, if it wasn't for Nino, hell, I'd snap him up in a heartbeat.

I'm halfway tempted to, anyway.

…

Somewhere far out in space: The tiniest twinkle heralded the entry, into our universe, of something very, very unwanted. Had anyone been close enough to see, they would have seen a humanoid figure emerging from a warp in space. A humanoid figure dressed in red, carrying a golden trident.

The solar system is huge. Whole planets can get lost in it and not be found for ages, if ever. This is particularly true of those celestial bodies which emit no light or electromagnetic radiation signature of their own.

Or, if the object does emit, but is too small to notice. So perhaps the ground control of the various world governments can be forgiven for not taking notice of the relatively tiny humanoid figure emitting a very strange spectrum of electromagnetic radiation, one never cataloged before. And, because of that, each and every one, they failed to take note of the object's trajectory.

Which was right down humanity's collective throat.

Saulsuesor pointed frantically, but the SCP researcher on duty was busy catching some ZZZ's. Nothing exciting ever happened here anyway. XK class extinction event, headed your way!

….

In his office at the school, Denis Damocles sat at his desk and hung his head. Once again, he'd failed. In spite of that young man's kind words, he knew failure when it stared him in the face.

So depressed was he that he hadn't even changed out of his "Owl" costume. It didn't matter; the entirety of Paris knew his "secret" identity. He could just see himself depicted in their minds: a laughingstock. The most ineffectual "superhero" on the planet. He hadn't even turned his computer on; right then, he didn't want to talk to or see anybody right then.

Ever since he'd been a boy, he'd always wanted one thing: to be a superhero. He didn't care about being admired or looked up to. He just wanted to help people. In a super sort of way.

Everyone's soul is different. Some are content to live their lives in an ordinary way, doing ordinary things, as ordinary people. But some are not. Some want more. Denis Damocles was one of the latter.

It just wasn't fair, dammit! Here he was, the soul of a superhero, being carried about in the body of a middle aged man-*

"Careful," said a calm voice, "Too much negativity, and you could be akumatized again."

Damocles' head snapped up. He'd thought he was alone…

Sitting across from him was a stranger in what looked like an expensive suit. He was sitting, perfectly relaxed, in the chair that Damocles was sure had been empty a moment ago. "Who-who are you?" Then he immediately cringed. Here he was, still in his Owl costume, saying "who who." Surely the intruder would laugh at him now.

But instead of laughing, the intruder simply looked around the office. "Of course," he said, "You might want to be akumatized. Even though you don't remember it, those times when you were, you were actually quite effective. That," and now he turned his gaze back on Damocles, "probably hurts, doesn't it? The only times when you were truly effective, as a super, is when you were evil."

His words hit home. More than once, Denis Damocles had mused on that; a great source of irony. "If you've come to gawk at the freak," he said, "Gawk away and leave. Poke me with a stick, if it amuses you, the way they used to do the insane, back in the day when mental asylums were more freak shows than actual places of treatment. Maybe I need treatment." This last was said in a low voice: this wasn't the first time he'd thought this. A grown man running around in a Halloween costume… "Just don't forget to give my keeper, whoever that is, a few pennies for my upkeep. It helps pay the bills, I'm sure."

"Oh, nothing of that sort. I'm actually here on a mission. You, Denis Damocles, have great potential. You just don't realize it yet.

"Have you ever wondered, to yourself, why you chose the persona of the Owl as your super identity?"

Damocles shifted uncomfortably. He didn't know who this stranger was, and, truthfully, right then, didn't much care. How he'd gotten in, who he was…and it seemed like he knew something about him. "Actually, no, it hasn't. I guess I just like owls. Symbols of wisdom, maybe. Not that I've exhibited much, lately."

"More than you know." Here the stranger leaned forward, an earnest expression on his face. "Denis Damocles, what do you know of the multiverse?"

"What, the many worlds hypothesis?" Why am I having this conversation? Who is this man? "No more so than your average comic book reader, I suppose. Why?"

"Because you didn't choose the persona of the Owl. It chose you. You, and only you."

"Oh, that's rubbish. It's just a character I made up. Maybe I saw it in an old comic book…"

"It'd be cruel of me to tell you that, if it wasn't true. And I am not a cruel individual." He reached into his vest pocket and drew forth…

…something very odd looking. Damocles stared, his mind trying to process it. It seemed to move, yet he could tell it did not. That was nuts; either a thing moved or it didn't. It couldn't do both at the same time…

…could it?

It appeared to be a small crystal owl, floating, suspended, a centimeter or two over the stranger's palm. Its wings were both moving and stationary, simultaneously. How could that possibly be?

"This is a eudaemon, Denis Damocles. Take it. It will convey upon you the powers of the Night Owl. But before you do, there are some things you must know.

"One, I misspoke, earlier. I'm using terms you can understand. The eudaemon, this one, at least, does not give you power; rather, it merges, I suppose the best term would be, two separate timelines from that multiverse I just now spoke of. And in that timeline, you are the Owl, who preys upon the human predators who roam the streets of Paris…and beyond. His timeline will become yours, and yours, his. Things will be…different, here. You will be different. You will be what you have longed to be, all these years. But once you take it, it will be bonded to you, to your soul. It can never be taken from you.

"But. There is a cost. A rather high one, for you. No one will think less of you should you refuse. I certainly will not. It will mean a great sacrifice, on your part."

Damocles hesitated. He couldn't take his eyes off the strange object in the man's hand. It hypnotized him, more with its promise of power than its appearance. He licked his lips, nervously. Something about the stranger's attitude, his demeanor, told him this was no con, no scam, no joke. This was real. "What's the cost?"

The stranger told him. Damocles sat back in his seat, eyes wide. He hadn't even been aware he'd been hunched forward. "You…are right. That is a high cost."

"I wouldn't be here making this offer if there wasn't a desperate need for it. Because soon, Denis Damocles, the world will have need of more than just the Night Owl.

"It will need you."

Mr. Damocles sat and thought. What the stranger was asking did indeed come with a high price. And, really, just how badly did he want to be the Owl, anyway? Wasn't it safer, less painful, less dangerous, to just run around Paris in his costume? Who would ever know what he gave up?

He would know.

It was no longer a question of his own personal desires. Paris-and perhaps the world-was going to need the Owl. If he was serious about being a superhero, if he had ever been serious, he really had no choice. "What the hell," he said, taking a deep breath, "As the young people say, 'lay it on me.'" He stretched forth his hand.

After the stranger had left-and it was truly odd; he hadn't been able to see just how the stranger had left-he changed out of his costume, into his "civvies." Switched on his computer. Checked a few files, sent a few emails. Tended to some necessary details, some things he'd been putting off. Good thing tomorrow was a holiday; he'd be occupied. Very occupied.

At last he decided he was just putting off the inevitable. "Albert, close," he said. When next we meet, if we do, you'll be very different.

And so will I.

"Complying, Mr. Damocles," said the robotic voice. Then, "Uh, sir? I notice an odd undertone to your voice. Is something the matter?"

Denis Damocles smiled, even though Albert, in his current incarnation, could not see it. It had already begun. "I'll tell you later, Albert."

And with that, he left his office, his nice, safe office, went downstairs, his hand brushing the guardrail. Wouldn't do to fall and break a leg right now. Besides, he'd always admired the workmanship. Not many people knew it, but Denis Damocles had worked his way through college as a carpenter. He could appreciate the well-polished railing; it had been polished by hand, every inch of it, and it showed.

He walked out onto the sidewalk, turned right and began walking. He knew, instinctively, where to go, even though every fiber of his being protested. He was not yet in too deep; he could still reject the eudaemon, reject its offer of power-and responsibility. But…no. It was really too late. It had been too late the day he was born. The day his soul was formed.

Thus musing, he walked out into the street, between two parked cars, right into the path of the oncoming Corvette.

Pain and darkness, darkness and pain.

….

"Ooohh," Marinette woke up from another doze-it could hardly be called "sleep"- and looked around. Yep, still in the hospital. She'd hoped it was all a dream.

But it was beginning to come back, with returning consciousness. Even with the pain blockers they'd administered to her, she still hurt. The doctors had said it would be a couple of days.

"Don't try to move, bestie," said a familiar voice to her left. Ayla had barely left her side the entire time. Her parents-she had a vague memory of them coming by, making a tearful visit, as though she were in the last stages of some terminal illness. She'd had to threaten to get up out of the bed and throw them out to get them to leave. After all, they had a business to run! And it wasn't like there was really anything they could do. Ayla was here and would definitely keep them informed of any and all changes or lack thereof… "You're still recovering. These things just take time."

"Mom and…Dad…"

"Eh, they're probably in worse shape than you are. But I just got off the phone with them. Give it a little more time and they'll be glued to your side, here."

"What…about…the…?"

"Got 'em right here. And, uh, the other thing, the guy thing? You know what I'm talking about? He's okay, too. I, uh, talked with him and, and he's not gonna…I mean, he's okay."

Marinette smiled weakly and turned her head away. "He's…a great guy." Why can't I get into him? At least I don't start sputtering and gesticulating like a palsy victim around him.

She may have as well have spoken the words, such was Ayla's talent for reading her. "I don't know."

"Huh? What?"

"Uh, I said, 'there you go.' Worried about somebody else, when you're the one in the hospital. But everything's been dull as dishwater. There's been nothing for…anyone…to do lately." She brushed Marinette's hair out of her eyes. "Practically the entire class has been by, to see how you've been. Nurses wouldn't let 'em in, of course. You're just now-*"

"Knock, knock!" said a hatefully familiar voice from the doorway, as two of the last people Marinette would have expected oozed into the room: Chloe Bourgeois and Sabrina Raincomprix. "Sabrina and I were in the neighborhood and thought we'd drop by. How's the patient?"

"Being very impatient," answered Alya gruffly. These two were not really on her "welcome" list, but she felt the need to observe the rules of common courtesy anyway.

Chloe stood by Marinette's bed, hands on her hips. "Well, Dupain-Cheng, I have to admit, whenever I thought of you, I never thought of you in this setting. It just doesn't suit you, somehow."

"Oh?" managed Marinette, "And just what would suit me, in your estimation?"

Chloe waved dismissively. "Oh, I don't know." This in a tone of voice that indicated she knew exactly the "correct" setting, and it probably wasn't anything pleasant-or in this hemisphere-for Marinette. "But hey, did either of you hear about Mr. Damocles?"

Marinette and Ayla looked at each other. "Noo…ooo. Should we have? I've been a little under the weather, lately."

"He was hit by a car. A hit and run. It broke his back just above his hip. The doctors are saying that, even with surgery and bioimplants, he'll never walk again."

"What?! But, but that's awful! When did this happen?" Marinette pushed herself up in bed, her own troubles forgotten.

"Just yesterday. Daddy's up here visiting him; he's right down the hall in ICU. He's awake, but of course, doped up to the gills. He's in for a good, long stay in rehab. Several guys and gals from class are here. First you, then him."

"Oh, I'm…terribly sorry to hear that! Did they catch the guy?"

"No. Or at least, not yet. Weirdest thing, whoever it was, was driving a Corvette, which looked to be the latest design, but it didn't seem to register on the traffic monitoring system. The cops think it may've been deliberately altered so as not to be part of the system. That would make whoever was driving it an attempted murderer. Or, at the very least, vehicular manslaughter, since they couldn't know he'd survive." Now, all jocularity left Chloe's voice and her stance. "That's serious business. Red Wasp might need to take a look into that." Referring to her "superhero" form. Then she bounced back. "Well, anyway, we just thought we'd drop by, see how you were doing. Oh, and bring you this." At that exact moment, Marinette noticed Sabrina was carrying a large, flat box, such was commonly used for clothing. Chloe took it and handed it to Marinette.

"Er…What is this, Chloe?"

"Something you'll need. After all, summer's coming. You'll need appropriate…attire." With that, she hustled Sabrina, who, true to her submissive nature, hadn't said a word the entire time, out the door. "Enjoy!"

Marinette and Ayla were alone in the room. "Er…Ayla? What do you suppose this is?" The notion that Chloe Bourgeois, of all people, would actually give her a gift, was so far beyond the pale that she was having trouble processing it.

"Dunno, Marinette. Open it and find out."

Well, at least it wasn't ticking. And the box had no air holes, so she could discount a rabid mongoose. Cautiously, Marinette opened the box. Inside was a heavy garment with a note pinned to it: For the next time you go to the beach.

Marinette, with Ayla's help, extracted the garment from the box. Held it up to the light.

It was an old-style one-piece bathing suit, such as women had worn back in the 1920's, one that covered everything imaginable, and a few things the designers must've had to think long and hard about. There was even an attached piece clearly intended to fit, partially, at least, over her head. She and Ayla had occasionally laughed at pictures of women wearing more to the beach than they'd wear to the theatre-and here was the reality.

Another note inside: This'll cover up that nasty surgery scar. I'm sure Adri-kens will love it! Along with a stylized picture of a grinning cat's face.

"Ooooooohhhhhhhh," fumed Marinette. "I am so gonna get her for this!"

Ayla couldn't hold it any longer. "Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!"

Marinette glared at her friend. "You do know you just added yourself to the list, right?"

To be continued…