A/N: This update has certainly taken its time in coming out. I'd like to say that I have a different reason from usual for the delay, but unfortunately that's just not the case. Time has bested me once again! Nevertheless, I've worked to deliver this update as soon as possible for you guys. Hopefully it's enjoyable and still holds a decent quality (because I haven't written seriously for a while now).
I'm also gonna warn that this chapter is quite lengthy. About 12k in total, so feel free to take breaks between the reading.
Guest - Marinette's gotta have someone to hyperfixate on. Otherwise it's just not Marinette.
Samuel Dudek - It was with one big bang indeed.
Till next time,
Drama (formerly D.L.D)
Chapter Eight: Inertia
Two years had passed since Ladybug had resigned. Two years of stumbles, learning on the go and trying their best to replace the dynamic duo had occupied the remaining heroes' lives in Paris. Ever since the attack on Île de la Cité, that fateful night where Ladybug and Chat Noir were rendered useless against a much more powerful kwami user, nothing had ever been the same. Not time. Not space. Not even Paris. Everything had changed.
Two years ago, blurted out on a rooftop, Ladybug had resigned her post as leader and handed on the metaphorical baton to Rena Furtive. Pushed onto her, thrust as suddenly as a hot tray from the oven, the heroine had no choice but to accept her idol's - her best damn friend's - plea to take over. To replace Ladybug. To do a better a job that Ladybug had always felt she had failed to do for the people of Paris.
At first, it had been terrible. Thrown into the deep end, uncertain how to navigate the coordination of so many new heroes, Rena Furtive had felt that the decision had been a mistake. Rushed. Emotional. An attempt to run away. Everyone had been confused. Some of the heroes had at first tried to resign. Others had questioned if Rena Furtive was a good enough replacement. Most simply sighed, shrugged their shoulders and adapted to the change.
All they could do was adapt to the change.
So, really, it hadn't become much of a surprise when news reached Paris of a monster in Marseille. Wrecking havoc along the coastline, disturbing fishing boats and the crowds of tourists that had come to the south of France to enjoy their summers, the monster was becoming a nuisance that they couldn't ignore. This threat wasn't like the long-since-vanished Akumas and Amoks. Contained, somewhat controlled, they could be ignored for a matter of a day. Their damage wasn't catastrophic.
This monster, though... A day would be too long. Much too long. Marseille would probably not exist if they waited for a day.
When Kagami had first shared the news of the first sighting, a quick flash of a picture sent onto a group chat, the new heroes had been concerned. Huddled up at their meeting table, heads on elbows and thoughts filling their minds, they had all discussed the possible ideas of what they could do, what it could be. Some figured it may be something like an Akuma; others argued that a Sentimonster seemed more similar to the descriptions of the creature.
Either way, unanimously, it was agreed that they would have to travel to Marseille. Waiting simply wasn't possible - not with the growing reports of sightings and the increasingly more panicked news stories updating on their feeds. Plus Ladybug and Chat Noir had always handled threats external to Paris; they didn't simply stick to the boundaries of the capital city. So why should they - the successors - dare to break from that trend?
Deciding to go to Marseille had been the easy part. Even in her everyday life, Rena Furtive had made much more difficult decisions over much smaller matters. Herding everyone together, ensuring that they were ready for a battle, the heroine had never felt more prepared, more ready. In her mind, this was probably some kind of fluke - a Sentimonster that had flown under the radar or a lab experiment gone wrong.
People had even began to dub it with Hawkmoth-esque names, the most popular seeming to be 'The Street Fighter'. Definitely, that suggested that it wasn't completely pulverising the city.
"We're only going to check," Was what Rena Furtive had called out to her teammates, stood before the glowing pool of Pegasus' Voyage. Hands on her hips, a determined look within her eye, she felt was doing Ladybug - Marinette - proud. "If things change - which I doubt they will - then we'll regroup at the checkpoint and strategize from there. Got it?"
A chorus of positive responses had filled her ears in that moment. Behind each one was an equally as determined face, covered by a colourful mask and sporting the familiar smile of a hero well-used to the adrenaline that came with the job.
"Alright, then off we go!"
Those had been the last words Rena Furtive said before stepping through the portal, ready to combat this latest challenge. Unknowingly, she was leading the entire group into a battlefield of pure horror and chaos.
Life had been somewhat... blissful. Yes, blissful was the word that Marinette would use to describe her life ever since she had invited Camille to become a part of it. Routine, peaceful and comforting, had swiftly come to replace the clinging grief and guilt that had invaded her mind ever since the attack on Île de la Cité. Most days she woke up, checked off whatever errands she needed to do for the day, returned home for dinner (with a gradually defrosting Camille) and would then go to sleep.
Predictable. Every day had become predictable. Even with the small hiccups, like a hole in her favourite pair of socks or finding out that Tikki had devoured all of the gallette once more, Marinette knew what to expect from her days now. Camille was even more calm, more quiet, her actions less 'kill all of the human race' and more 'I am delaying the inevitable for you'. Or was it more of a 'I'm waiting for you to change your mind about it' kind of way?
Really, in Marinette's mind, it didn't matter. Not even now, far away from Paris and enjoying a quiet breakfast, as she prepped her notes for a meeting with a potential supplier out here in Marseille.
Out of all things Marinette expected for today, she hadn't thought about a monster sighting. Popping up on her news feed, bright yellow with the banner of a breaking news alert, she could see a picture of a strange creature. Bold, glaring, the headline of the article immediately caught her attention: Monster spotted in Marseille, all citizens are advised to seek shelter. A threat. This monster was a real threat. A real problem. Alerts like those were only given out whenever government officials felt that people's lives were in danger.
And that meant Ladybug was needed to help.
Transforming into her alter ego had been almost effortless. Calling out to Tikki, discarding her half-eaten breakfast, Marinette barely had to think to summon her transformation. In one bright flash of pink light, sparkles raining down onto the carpeted floor, Marinette Dupain-Cheng had been replaced with Ladybug - well, not quite the Ladybug that people knew and loved. Different, with more black to her costume than the bright and signature red, she was different. Unrecognisable.
Even as she pitched her yo-yo out into the golden sunshine of the day, Ladybug knew that no-one would associate her darting form with the disgraced heroine of Paris. Wide-eyed, gasping, the people of Marseille would simply gawk and stare at the new hero, wondering if she was truly a good person or a rogue miraculous user like Camille. And, to her expectations, they did exactly that, snapping pictures and whispering between each other as she made her way down to the harbour.
When her two feet landed on solid ground, the dull thud of her boots flat against the cracked pavement, Ladybug couldn't half believe what her eyes were seeing. No-one in the immediate area really could.
Screaming, panicking, people were flooding from every direction, like water crashing out of a giant wave, spilling into side alleys and pouring out into wider avenues to disperse deeper within the city. Tiny children stumbled as their parents dragged them roughly by the arms, skinned knees and bloody elbows bumping against one another as tears and snot stained their faces. Adults, crammed onto scooters or sprinting from the chaos, barely flicked an eye in the heroine's direction as they fled. Elderly people... they were simply left to putter along, canes and zimmer frames shaking with anxiety.
Farther down the harbour - toward the main city - people were urging those who were fleeing toward buildings. Holding signs, waving white pieces of cloth, they were crying out for mercy and help as they tried to guide others toward safety. Speckled between the volunteers were the bright blue uniforms of the police officers, barricades set up and littered with the bright flashes and curious questions of the journalists piled up at the makeshift fences.
Noisy, deafening, all of these people - the ones who were alive - distracted from the true scale of destruction and death that Ladybug had just landed herself right into. Shaking the ground, rattling the harbour and cracking at its paving, jostling the boats, the true consequences of this monster were still coming into fruition. Disaster - pure and unrestrained - was waiting to break out and cause as much trouble as possible.
Only twice before had Ladybug seen something like this before her very eyes. Once had been when she was fourteen year old girl, quivering with fear as she spun her yo-yo and tried to appear confident for her equally as terrified partner. Most recently was when she had first learned about the Chaos kwami, the true power a human being could hold once they knew the full truth about the miraculous and the powers it could gift.
Both times had resulted in Ladybug shitting bricks - feeling like she wanted to throw up everything within her gut. This time was no different, the same nausea swimming in her intestines as she stared at the trail of red lining the harbour, snaking along the concrete and dotting itself on the panicked, fleeing people.
This place - this monster - stunk of the stench of death. This place - this monster - was something that could do true damage.
Even without being right before the creature, staring into its probably soulless eyes and bloody hands, Ladybug could feel the terror that would seep into her bones. Bodies, chaos, was enough to evoke such a feeling in her soul. Bodies, chaos, were the indicators of a being that could prove to be a challenge to her; Hawkmoth and Camille had proven that much. But, as they did say, third time was the charm. Hopefully.
Sucking in a deep breath, closing her eyes, Ladybug remained still for a moment. Rushing bodies bumped into her, roughly barged at her shoulders and shoved her out of the way. Screams continued to fill the air. Tears punctuated the already salty breeze with a bit more saline. Groans of pain and agony flitted in the wind, curled into her ears and made her think of the people she had failed to bring back. Those lives that had been lost in the attack on Île de la Cité.
At that reminder, her eyes snapped open and she launched her yo-yo into the distance. This would not end like Île de la Cité - even if it meant that Ladybug had to die.
Was this how long she had been out of the game?
Breathless, chest heaving with the desperation to catch a decent breath, Ladybug found herself feeling fatigued as she stared at the opponent that currently had around ten heroes struggling to keep up with it. Whizzing, her yo-yo was still spinning, prepared to move with almost light-speed as she kept her eyes glued to the hulking figure standing in the middle of what had once been a bright, beautiful plaza.
Crumbling, towers of debris and destruction were stacked around the square. Benches, splintered and mangled, were uprooted from their posts. Mighty trees were knocked onto their sides, split down the middle of their trunks or stripped naked of their healthy, emerald leaves. Even a small fountain, once spurting glittering water into the air, was now a broken gush of water, the pipes beneath its basin exposed and flooding the plaza's paving stones with water.
Beside Ladybug, their breaths a shuddering inhale and exhale, was Rena Furtive, her flute clutched firmly in her gloved hands as she also studied their surroundings. Somewhat thankfully, the other heroes from Paris also happened to be in Marseille, easily teaming up with Ladybug in order to tackle the monster. However years had passed since they had last worked together, learned to read the other's intentions from a single glance, and it showed clearly in how they battled.
Colliding heads and twisted limbs had made the heroes sloppy in their offensive against the monster. Poor coordination and panicked actions made their moves predictable to the enemy who threatened the well-being of the city.
Now, barely a scratch upon their body, the enemy - now known publicly as Street Fighter - was gaining the upper hand. Eyes closed - although they barely needed to be open to be effective - the creature took on a humanoid shape, muscular and intimidating in its four meter tall height and broad-shouldered stance. Black hakama pants hung from its legs and a bright white sash wrapped around its waist, covering most of the creature's legs and lower body.
Blood was specked along its exposed skin, banded on its arms and flecked on its nose and cheeks. Around its feet were shards of glass, digging into its flesh and crunching with the slight shift of its stance. Then there was the piles of body parts, the organs dangling from open cavities and ribs jutting out from bent frames. Open eyed, mouths agape, many of the victims didn't even look peaceful in death. Missing limbs, heads stomped flat like cherries under a boot, most of the victims weren't even recognisable as human.
Ghoulish, harrowing, they looked as if they were still trying to escape their fates. Stumps of bone and flesh still reached for the ground mere feet away from their graves. Tangles of bodies still clung to each other, created human ladders that had ultimately been twisted into biological jigsaws.
Overwhelming, just the creature's shadow alone created a spine-tingling presence. Dancing in the sunlight, shifting with its every movement, the shadow was often the only thing giving away Street Fighter's position or next movement. Even Bunnix, a hero who was able to manipulate time, was struggling to land decent blows against the creature. Second Chance had been used more than a dozen times by Viperion, each result only yielding in a tiny amount of progress.
Now the heroes were all spread out, Bunnix in her Burrow to see if time would provide an answer, and the other heroes doing their best to provide an ample distraction. Currently, Purple Tigress and Pigella were working together with Ryuko and Viperion. Fluttering around, Polymouse and Minotaurox were also providing background support, dancing out of the way as the monster made a move to strike them or damage the buildings nearby.
Many of them hadn't been in a battle like this. Inexperienced, new, they hadn't seen the true horrors of pure, unbridled evil. That much was obvious as they battled against Street Fighter, stumbling over the dead bodies and pausing to recollect themselves whenever they heard a bone crunch or saw another innocent person get buried under an avalanche of debris. Screams, too numerous to count, cut through the air too frequently; sobs, too powerful to ignore, clenched at the heroes' hearts and only added to the urgency they felt to wrap this up quickly.
In the past ten minutes alone, around thirty people had died. Crushed flat under the force of the monster's blows, bent into contortions of bone and flesh, civilians were getting caught within the crossfire much too frequently for Ladybug's liking. Even when Rena Furtive had suggested clearing a perimeter, making sure that they fought away from the people of Marseille, the suggestion had proven pointless. With the power of Street Fighter's blows, the way it could throw the heroes around like rag dolls, the more densely populated areas were becoming the new battlegrounds.
Entire buildings would become bulldozing zones, windows shattering and people being crushed under the weight of sturdy furniture and falling beams. Many of the victims simply became trapped, desperately trying to free their relatives or unable to move because of they themselves were stuck, frozen, suffering. Sometimes the casualties would be the result of the monster itself, lost children whose wails attracted its attention or unlucky adults who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
No matter the circumstances, the result was always the same; no matter where the heroes fought, innocent people were dying. Too many people were dying. And with the alert from the government instructing the civilians to stay put, the people of Marseille would not fully evacuate their city. Even if they could see, hear, how many of their own were dying in this battle, they would stay firmly put until the government declared the area safe.
Which was a rather stupid executive decision - if Ladybug could have any say about it. Really, all this did was make the people sitting ducks, lambs being led to the slaughter house. No doubt to only keep everyone else in the country safe, to sacrifice one mere city for the safety of all others.
"Clout!" Going for an opening, sprinting across the chaos of the plaza, Purple Tigress raised a clawed hand above her head. Bright, visible, her violet ponytail flared in the wind as she slid under the monster's legs.
When she had cleared the distance, everything fell silent around the plaza. Ladybug and all the other supporting heroes held their breaths, watched to see if anything would change. If this ability, this move, would finally shift the scales of the fate of this battle. If this hero, this kwami, could finally provide some answers as to why they felt so powerless against this adversary.
But nothing happened.
Simply rolling its shoulders, glancing down at the spot on its leg where Purple Tigress had punched it, Street Fighter took in a deep breath. Everyone else around it, let out theirs. Everything else happened so quickly. Rumbling, crashing, quaking, the plaza devolved into movement once more: Bunnix leaping out from her Burrow, grabbing Purple Tigress and rolling them both out of the creature's way; Pigella and Polymouse scurrying away to avoid an avalanche of broken concrete; Minotaurox and Carapace racing to shield everyone closest to them.
Not willing to let the monster gain the advantage, Rena Furtive had leaped into the fray. Ladybug herself, unsure of where exactly to start, followed her lead. Whizzing, the sound of her yo-yo filled her ears as she swung closer to the source of danger.
Even though years had passed since they had last worked together, the duo almost seamlessly clicked somewhat back into place. Taking the high ground, Ladybug used her yo-yo to maintain her solid vantage point of Street Fighter. More focused on the ground, Rena Furtive mostly aimed to incapacitate its legs, serve as a distraction to create openings for Ladybug.
Intricate, this battle was like an intricate dance for the heroes as they sashayed and waltzed with their opponent. Clipping themselves against solid walls, throwing themselves to the ground, they did everything they could to avoid getting hit. In the background, with each passing minute, Viperion grew an increasingly somber expression. More sweat piled on his brow, more scrapes and bruises were covering his body. Breathless and sweaty, Bunnix seemed to be following in his footsteps.
"Can you guys quit almost dying on us!" By the seventh close call, Bunnix was growing irritable. Holding up her umbrella, parrying the fist of the monster, she wore a deep scowl as it threw her backwards into a brick wall, "I'm getting pretty tired of saving your asses."
"It won't be long until I detransform either," Solemn, almost defeated, Viperion pursed his lips as he and Pegasus launched a car toward the creature's head, "We need to wrap this up fast."
As if agreeing with his words, Street Fighter launched the very same car right back at the heroes, its alarm blaring like an ominous siren. Opening up a portal, Pegasus nullified the approaching metal threat. Once the portal closed, he fell to the ground, breathing harshly as his legs buckled from exhaustion. Rushing to his aid, Ryuko and Viperion lifted the hero to his legs and attempted to find ample cover so that he could rest.
"What we have to do is call Chat Noir!" Yelling over the sounds of the chaos around her, Ladybug frowned as she narrowly missed being hit by the creature's massive fist. Perching on top of a tilting lamppost, she gripped her yo-yo in her shaking hands as she said, "We're scrambling for options we just don't have here."
"You're right," Wiping at her bloody nose, scarlet smearing on her black gloves, Rena Furtive nodded. Broken, her nose was definitely broken, however she only let out a slight hiss as snapped it back into place. "We need as much manpower as we can get." Turning toward Pegasus, the small alcove of cover that Ryuko and Viperion had found for him to recover in, Rena Furtive called out, "Can you open a portal to Paris, Pegasus?"
"I should be able to!" Yelling back to her, somewhat breathless, the hero waved an arm over the top of the car he was hiding behind, "Just give me five minutes."
"Try to make it three!" Ladybug responded, springing from her lamppost as the creature slammed its fists down onto the metal pole. Dust flew into the air, a huge crack fracturing the front of a department store. "This is urgent."
Because, clearly, nothing was working. Just like several years ago, just like when Camille had attacked Paris and destroyed the reality Marinette had once known, Street Fighter was a real threat to be reckoned with. It made Hawkmoth look like a tiny mosquito compared to a vicious lion.
Years had passed since Adrien had last seen her. Enough time for a lot to change about her had passed since he'd last seen her. For all he could know, she could have completely changed her life, put everything about their past lives behind her, content with a future which none of them could have ever predicted. That much time had passed since he had last let her down, stared into her teary eyes and handed back his ring, admitted that he wasn't good enough to be her partner.
Although years had passed since he had formally resigned, that wasn't the last time Adrien had ever been Chat Noir. That wasn't the last time he had ever heard about Marinette either - it was kind of impossible to not hear about her when his best friend was dating her best friend. But those small snippets of the past, those tiny similarities, were not enough to bridge the gaping rift between them; they couldn't fill the space created by their severed bond.
Even though Adrien had somewhat recovered, become more mentally stable, things weren't entirely the same anymore. These days he tended to be more quiet, more subdued. Whenever he heard news about the newest heroes and their exploits, he would simply shrug and take it as his new reality, the new norm. Whenever they asked for him to use the miraculous of Destruction once more, he simply slipped on the ring and fulfilled his duties.
But he was no longer Chat Noir. No longer boyish, playful and lighthearted, his alter ego wasn't the same blonde kid who cracked jokes and wore an all black leather suit. Sure, he still had the leather cat ears, the belt tail that trailed after his every step. Sure, he was still Adrien, still the son of the disgraced Gabriel Agreste. But he wasn't Chat Noir. Just like how Marinette was no longer Ladybug.
Really, it was strange seeing her again after so many years. In his mind, he still saw the fourteen year old girl he had fallen in love with, a smile on her subtly freckled face and her blue eyes crinkling with the amusement she often hid behind her snarky eye rolls. Bright red, her suit had always been so identifiable. With its black dots and obvious inspiration, everyone who was anyone could tell that she was Ladybug.
This woman who stood before Adrien now, though, was not Ladybug. Just like how he was not Chat Noir.
Dark. One of the first things he had noticed about her new suit was that it was a lot darker than her original one. More black made up the majority of her suit, wrapping around her sides and staining the ribbon tied at the end of her braid. Red was still present, streaking through her midnight hair and swirled into the dots that were littered onto her mostly black suit. Framing her eyes was a black mask, red etched onto the material in strange shapes.
Over the years, just like him, Marinette had changed. Ladybug was no longer the happy-go-lucky girl that had saved Paris countless times; Chat Noir was no longer her lovable sidekick, the adorable idiot who always sacrificed himself so that she could succeed.
Those changes did seem fitting with the passage of time though. Especially as the threats they now faced, the dangers that came their way, were no longer the same.
"Nothing so far has worked," Rehashing him on everything that he had missed, foot tapping with agitation as she scanned their surroundings, Marinette - Ladybug - sighed, "It seems that everyone's abilities are powerless against Street Fighter."
"Everyone's?" Adrien couldn't help but sound confused, lost even by such a development. Every power of the miraculous within the miracle box being rendered useless? Such an event was more or less unheard of over the course of his time as a hero. There was always one miraculous, one superhero, who could nullify the enemy; the box was created in a way to make each miraculous a fail-safe to another. "Even Purple Tigress?"
"Even her," Ladybug confirmed, lifting her arm upward and pitching her yo-yo into the chaotic fray of the ongoing battle, "So you're our last hope. Don't screw it up, Kitty."
"Don't screw it up". Easier said than done. Adrien couldn't help but swallow thickly as he watched her launch herself into action, narrowly dodging the twisted metal of a beam being thrown her way. Fluttering around her were the figures of a few other heroes, most of them breathless, winded or injured, trying to cover up their own mistakes with teamwork. Currently, Pegasus and Bunnix were doing most of the heavy-lifting; their Voyages and Burrows were changing the outcomes of a lot of close calls.
Attempting to clear the area, Pigella, Viperion and Ryuko were manning damage control. Civilians, covered in grey dust and dark dirt streaks, cowered as they scuttled away from the battlefield. Many of them were wounded, blood pouring freely from open wounds as they helped each other to limp and crawl and scurry away from the danger zone.
Slowly, gradually, the heroes were losing control of the situation; that much was obvious to Adrien without even being here for ten minutes. This creature's durability, its power, was much more overwhelming than anything they had ever seen. Potent, threatening, it carried the same threat that Camille had once done - decimating an entire arrondissement within Paris with only a fraction of her true power.
No wonder why they had thought to bring him in. Maybe his miraculous - pure destruction itself - might be able to change the tides.
Building up a plan within his mind, Adrien easily slipped into the familiar role of fighting once more. Extending his baton, inviting himself into the chaotic fray of fists, legs and weapons, he found himself being tested on just how rusty he'd gotten over the past few years.
Dodging, ducking, diving, they were a tangle of limbs and a jumble of actions. Massive and oppressive, Street Fighter's limbs would come crashing down in all directions with an impressive speed. Glass and brick and cement would fly everywhere, the chunks like bullets as they pelt against his skin. More often than not, Adrien found himself being saved by a heavy-breathing Bunnix or a quick dive from another hero.
Trying to survive the attacks was difficult - let alone finding an opening to retaliate. With the screaming civilians and crumbling debris, it was difficult to focus on just the monster. Even as Adrien managed to find an opening, ducking under a raised fist of the creature, he found himself being pummeled straight back by another.
Groaning from the impact - a solid fist to the stomach - the blonde couldn't help but grimace as he shook the building debris from his body. This battle certainly wasn't like most. Maybe he had gotten a bit rusty over the years too. Cause right now Street Fighter was kicking his ass.
"No time for rest, Sunshine!" Snappy and strained, Rena Furtive's voice boomed over the sounds of the battle, shaking Adrien from his thoughts.
Her voice alone was enough of a reason for him to get back onto his feet, gripping his baton and throwing himself into fighting once. If you could even call it that. Getting fists to the face, watching as his teammates were each pushed back by debris and large objects, it didn't feel a lot like a battle to Adrien. If anything, it felt more like a beating - with the heroes being the helpless punching bags of the monster.
But then, between all the fists and the damage and the bruises, he found an opening. Sticking out his hand, calling out the activation for his power, Adrien found himself willing Cataclysm to work much more than he ever had before in his life.
"It's damaged!" Polymouse was the first to notice the difference, delight lighting up her face as she pointed to Street Fighter's torso. Proving her words correct, fracturing its skin and splitting like an intricate spider's web, the area around Adrien's gloved hand was damaged. Piercing the impenetrable skin, blackened at the edges with the magic of his powers, the monster had finally shown some kind of weakness.
"We've done it!" Relieved, yes relieved was what she sounded like, Ladybug grinned, "Now do it again!"
Before Adrien could repeat his actions, he was blown back by Street Fighter's thick arm. Roughly, he collided with the metal pole of a lamppost, winded and definitely sore in the spine as he slid to the cracked paving stones. Gasping, some of the heroes had rushed to his aid. Deciding to not give the monster a chance to recover, others were racing to subdue it and weaken it further. Only, such a move was futile.
Placing a hand on the damaged area, digging its nails into the skin around the cracking, Street Fighter remained still for a moment. Then, in a sickening rip and crunch of muscle and sinew, it tore the flesh from the damaged area, bleeding a strange substance freely into the air. Shocked, most of the heroes ceased in the attack. That only bought the monster more time, the skin from the exposed area weaving and patching itself back into place, healing the damage.
"What is it doing?" Skeptical, cautious, Ryuko kept her weapon raised as she stared at the creature, watched it repair its flesh.
"It's healing itself," Pegasus responded, adjusting his glasses as he prepared to use Voyage once more, "Most likely it's absorbing information about the attack that's just injured it."
Indeed, the creature was. Throwing the damaged flesh away - forgotten within the raised rubble of the battle - it let out a strange sound, almost akin to a roar, as it resumed in its warpath. Only this time, it seemed stronger. Pushing through walls as if they were nothing, toppling the sides of buildings, its body was causing a lot more damage. More people were screaming, bodies being crushed under Street Fighter's feet as they wiggled under tiny mole hills of rubble.
Desperate to contain the damage, some of the heroes were attempting to tackle the monster and its rampage. Tossing cars, calling for its attention, they were splitting into smaller groups - twos and threes of trusted teammates - running down main roads or setting up their latest attempt at a trap.
Winded, definitely bruised somewhere along his ribs, Adrien was struggling to keep up with the constantly changing winds of the battle. So much so that he didn't entirely register when his Cataclysm had failed, the patch of flesh beneath his skin unmarked and unchanged as he was sent flying back into rubble once more.
"It's failed!" Someone's voice cried out into the chaos, panicked and worried and definitely filled with terror.
Terror for what - Adrien could not say. But as he shakily got to his feet, head pounding with a headache, he couldn't help but notice what was going to happen next.
Polymouse, distracted, eyes wide as plates as something paralyses her to the spot. Tiny, she looked so tiny standing before that monster's giant fist, a petite woman by nature and definitely a quiet one by choice. Shaking, Adrien could have sworn that she was shaking, as the fist grew closer to her body - closer to her skull - the knuckles well-defined and bulging with heavy tension. Maybe, in that moment, she had expected to die.
"Mylène!" His actions had been one of sacrifice. Tossing himself into the way, activating the powers of his miraculous, Minotaurox shoved Polymouse aside. Acting just in time, he was able to repel Street Fighter's attack, untouched by its fist and the certainly lethal power it could hold.
In that moment, everyone had taken in a sigh of relief. Glad that they were alive - glad that something appeared to be finally going right - they had all somewhat relaxed. Felt a heavy breath they didn't know they had been holding out.
Which had been a mistake.
Swinging again, the monster aimed to repeat its attack. Holding his head high, certain of his invulnerability, Minotaurox faced it head on. Shoulders straight, eyes burning with determination, the expression of a true hero was on his face. Everyone had expected this to go as it usually did - a failed attack and another action that fed into the perpetually thinning stalemate. No-one had actually expected what happened next.
Splat!
Red. Overwhelming, bright red exploded all around the area, like a paint bomb set off in a field. Most of the heroes had blinked when it had happened, flinching at the sudden wet flecks of blood and tissue that had landed on their faces. Only two of them had seen what had happened in that moment; wide-eyed, jaws agape, they couldn't say a single word as they just stood there, tried to absorb the aftermath of that moment.
Flattened beneath Street Fighter's fists, sticky and squelching as the monster moved its hand upward, was a single wet spot. Red. Mushy. Disgusting. Sinew and tendons stretched like rigid spaghetti, shredded and bound around strange spheres of tissue. Running through the pavement's cracks, staining the cement, blood dripped from Street Fighter's hand. That spot, so gunky and morbid and small, was all that remained of Minotaurox, Ivan Bruel. Well, that wet spot and a single one of his eyes, dilated and grey and staring right at his fiancee, covered from head to toe in his organs, flesh and bones.
Immediately, her screams filled the air. Fixed on that one eyeball, the severed optic nerve and fleshy tissue that crusted its surface, Polymouse was reduced to a mess. Twitching, she looked exactly like a mouse. Frozen in fear, body unable to do anything but scream and cry, she curled in on herself. Cowered within the confines of her tiny, fragile body. There had been no point telling Mylène to run; she couldn't even hear them.
"Run!" Too many of the heroes had called out to her - Adrien included - as they spotted the monster's fist preparing for another strike. Coiling, rippling, the muscles on its body were signalling the impending attack. "It's going to get you!"
Extending his baton, Adrien was about to get Polymouse himself. Ladybug beat him to the punch, a darting flash of black and red as she launched her yo-yo and collided with the tiny hero, knocking her out of Street Fighter's range.
There was no-one to save Ladybug, though. Caught in the crossfire, her body was launched across the battlefield and into the wall of a building. There had been a sickening bang, the distinct sound of crunching, broken bones. Bent, her body had made a strange shape as it made impact before crumpling to the ground. Once it did, she just didn't land right, her torso twisted backwards and her legs right way round. Deep red dripped from the wall's brickwork, pooling into a puddle around her mangled body.
Other than that, Ladybug did nothing. She didn't even twitch.
"She's dead..." Unbelieving, Bunnix hopped out of her Burrow. By her side, Viperion looked equally as stunned, something like desperation pinching at his face. "Ladybug's... dead."
Suddenly, the tone of this battle had drastically changed.
Something was wrong. If there was anything that Camille could sense without an issue, then it was when something was going wrong. Being in tune with the universe, that mystical sixth sense the people often dismissed, was part of being a Chaos kwami user. Once a kwami user was fully aware of their true powers, the link they have to their kwami, it was easy to slip into a state where wrongness - chaos - was effortless to sense.
Tingling in the back of the brain, a raise to the hairs on her neck, Camille could easily decipher the familiar feeling settling into her gut. Many times before, countless times before, she had associated such a feeling with dread. Anticipation. Horrible, terrible news.
This time, though, she knew what was coming; Marinette had warned her thoroughly before her presence blipped off the face of the earth.
Marseille had been the place in which Marinette's presence last sat. So Marseille was where Camille had transported herself to, appearing right in the middle of a scene that could only really be described as pure carnage.
Damage and destruction stretched for as far as her eyes could see. Once a peaceful harbour, with glittering clear waters and rocking little boats, was now an upturned disaster, paving stones cracked and the boats upturned or shattered into driftwood. Alive, some people clung to the driftwood, soaked to the bone and paddling to the other side of the harbour. Dead, many of the people present were in piles of twisted and jigsawed bodies.
Their remains were the main decorations of this city. Fleshy pinks and violent reds were smeared across the pavement, buried under stone. Organs and stray tissues were strung from lamp posts like bunting at a birthday party. Severed limbs and cleaved torsos were the most common sights, a pair of legs meters away from a limp midriff, an arm kicked to the side of the curb.
Crowning the chaos, easily deflecting and dodging the darting, colourful movements of the superheroes, was the cause of this great damage. Towering, hulking, its broad-shouldered body cast a dark shadow over the harbour as Camille caught its gaze - or stared at its humanoid face and closed eyes.
If it were any other person, they would have panicked in this situation. Faced with a giant, powerful creature, thrown into the unknown, any other person would have been running through a thousand different scenarios, a million different escape plans. Camille was no average person, though. Faced with this great threat, the sight of her girlfriend's mangled body in her periphery, she didn't feel any true panic.
Instead, curling in her gut, polluting her system, was a strange sense of duty. Perhaps a little vexation too.
Part of Camille had known that this would happen. With how Marinette tended to think, her foolish optimism and belief in the good of humanity, she was bound to be destroyed by something like this monster. That was why she had set up her contingency measure - the safeguard which would preserve Marinette's body between life and death. Risky, energy-consuming, but necessary in Camille's mind; Marinette was just too susceptible to scenarios like this one.
Closing her eyes, taking in a deep breath, Camille let the magic of her transformation wash over her body. Familiar, comforting, the cool material of her magician's outfit rested on her skin. Black and white suit, the top hat which reminded her so much of her father, the long gloves: they all helped her to focus and centre herself on the situation at hand. Even if she felt weird about having blonde hair now.
As soon as she opened her eyes, Camille snapped into action. Heading first to Marinette, taking in the red that flowed in little streams down the cracks of the pavement, she decided her first course of action would be healing her. Only ten minutes could be used to maintain the balance of her soul between life and death; those ten minutes would also be filled with an intense lack of energy and mental stress.
Strategically, healing Marinette was the best course of action. So healing her would be Camille's first move.
Crouching next to the lifeless body, her knees digging into the shattered concrete and wet blood, Camille reached out. Cradling the body, twisting the torso back around, Camille began her work. Gently, her power began to emanate from her body, leaking into the air and flowing toward Marinette.
Usually, healing someone would be effortless. Within seconds, the skin would sew itself back together and colour would return to the person's cheeks. Deep breaths would inflate their lungs and muscles would contract with movement. Right now, this wasn't happening. Still lifeless, still somewhat cold, Marinette's body refused to begin healing, confusing Camille. Deeply. It was as if something was blocking her magic.
Frowning as she placed Marinette back down, Camille turned toward the enemy. Most likely, it was the source of this blockage. If she had any hope of healing Marinette, it would be in destroying that creature first. In the less than ten remaining minutes left.
That's probably going to be a challenge. But it was nothing that Camille hadn't ever done before; she could easily rise to meet it.
Standing on her own two feet, dusting off her legs, Camille approached Street Fighter, a suitable name for such a creature. Obvious, blatant, the power it held rippled within its muscles, flowed in every speedy movement it made. Even with the heroes ducking and dodging around, fluttery and twitchy like tiny songbirds, the creature made their attempts at attacks seem like annoying, little buzzes from tiny flies.
When Chat Noir called out Cataclysm, swiped his hand across Street Fighter's skin, shock was palpable among the group. Even though many of them protested against its utility, shook their heads at the futile attempts, Camille couldn't help but feel confused by its failure. Powerful, potent, the miraculous of destruction should be on par with her own. One of the four most powerful miraculous, birthed with the creation of the universe, its kwami had the power to effectively destroy anything.
So why not this? Why was Chat Noir failing at destroying Street Fighter with a single, simple touch?
There had to be a trick. Just like with her healing, there had to be something outside of this battle interfering with the miraculous and their mechanisms. Well, that and the incompetence of the other heroes. Unknowing of their true capability, the full extent of how their powers should work, they were simply scratching the surface. They were effectively stunting themselves and proving themselves to be moronic frauds.
Seamlessly sliding into the chaos of the battle, surprising many of the heroes as she slid past their own formations, Camille made her first attack. Aiming for the creature's arm, smirking with confidence, she used a projection slash. Admittedly, not her most powerful move - but a strategic one.
As Street Fighter's hand flew up to its arm, covering the angry red scar that marred its skin, she knew it had made a dent. Even though the skin healed, grew over the mark, Camille knew that her attack was enough to keep the creature in line until she figured out its tricks.
So, repeatedly, she used the same attack. Ignoring the heroes, their confused whispers and dawdling stares, she focused on the task at hand. Becoming a nuisance, trying to find her opening, the chaos kwami user only had one goal in mind. Even when the monster began to stray away from the harbour, crumpling cars and crushing market stalls. Even when people were caught in the crossfire, eyes gauged out or bodies sliced deeply by Camille's attacks.
Filling the air, the terror of the people could also be tasted by Camille as she fought. With every passing second, more and more souls were leaving this plane. More and more bodies were adding to the growing pile of casualties caused by this attack. Just like when she had attacked Paris, leveled and raised a good portion of the city with little more effort than it would take to kill a fly.
Today, the people of Marseille carried a similar feeling. Screaming and crying and begging for mercy. Pleading and praying and protesting to their gods. Although god would do little to save them in this circumstance. Little mercy would be given to them at all in the face of this rampage, flattened by Street Fighter's power or clipped by one of Camille's lethal shots.
No-one was able to do anything, when the creature eventually struck back. In the blink of an eye, much faster than even light could travel, it had swung its fist toward Camille's skull - most likely in an attempt to blow her brains out. What it hadn't expected was for Camille to match its sentiment, blocking the move with her tiny, slim forearm.
Beneath her feet, cracks spiraled out in a circle, like a spider's web, and a gust of wind shot through the air. Trembling, the earth rumbled and people wobbled on their feet. Some buildings, supported by little more than a flimsy, crumbling wall, completely flattened. As they fell, a deafening thud rang through the city, ringing and lingering in the air. No-one had even been able to scream. No-one had even had the chance to run.
That lone shockwave had killed much more people than Street Fighter had in a single blow. And there, at its centre, stood Camille. Tall, proud, her hair askew from the gust of wind, she remained unmarked and with her forearm pushing against the creature's fist.
Still, motionless, the creature made no effort to move. Then, Camille felt a strange sensation - that prickling in her nerves, the raise of the hairs on her neck. Without another word, she moved, leaped clear of the spot she had just occupied.
Instantly after, the monster moved - propelled almost like a jack-in-the-box - and pummeled the concrete she had just been standing on. Shards flew into the air, precise and powerful as bullets, fracturing glass and making holes in metal. One piece scraped Camille's cheek, made a red line that dripped down the curve of her face.
Retaliating, she also attacked. Heel jammed right where its eyes were, Camille pressed her foot to Street Fighter's face in a soul-crushing kick. From the impact, a tooth knocked loose. That satisfied Camille as she pulled back, her hands moving in a slashing gesture as she plummeted toward the ground. Just as she landed, the spurts of blood filled the air, gushing like fountains. Multiple slashes lined the enemy's body, falling apart.
Normally, the body would be chunks of flesh that remained motionless on the ground. But Street Fighter just wouldn't let up. Pulling itself back together, knotting flesh and repairing skin, the creature managed to regenerate in less than a second.
Such a development didn't phase Camille in the slightest, though. Regeneration could always be overcome, defeated by something else. Life always had its limits. But, with the clock ticking and her body beginning to feel the toll of maintaining Marinette's soul, she needed to figure out Street Fighter's trick in nullifying Cataclysm. That factor would be the true crux of this battle.
Swinging her fist, Camille went to punch the creature. Meeting her, like for like, its own knuckles brushed against hers. Both went flying back into nearby buildings, dust and glass flying into the air in a flurry of destruction. Beneath her feet, something rumbled.
"Are they alive?" Someone's voice called out into the air, distorted by Camille's ringing ears.
Initially, the watching heroes had glanced at Street Fighter's building with palpable concern. But then, when it didn't move, they instantly swiveled to stare at Camille.
Rolling her shoulders, Camille stood up from the rubble and calmly emerged from the hole. Brushing off debris, keeping her white gloves pristine, she looked unbothered as she stepped out into the newly cleared area.
In her mind, Camille was anything but unbothered. Aware of all the factors pouring into this battle, the many things that hinged on her ever-decreasing time limit and reduced power, she was feeling the pressure. Using more of her physical strength was something she had to do - but that would put Marinette at risk due to the contingency measure. There was also the fact that using a barrier was impossible with her currently overstretched energy stores.
Holding back was the only possible thing to do right now, or at least until Camille had gauged all she could about her opponent.
Flicking her gaze to the creature, also emerging from the rubble, Camille couldn't help but think about its own motivations and strategies. So far it had only matched her like for like, relying on physical attacks and little strategy other than retaliation it seemed. That meant there were things being hidden from Camille; Street Fighter wasn't going all out with her either. Almost as if it were playing with her, toying with her until she ran out of steam.
Sinking into thought, deep enough to sense Abyss within its miraculous, Camille took in a deep breath. There was a strange feeling settling within her. One she had never felt before, could not recognise in her system.
'What is up with this creature? There's something strange about it,' Contacting her kwami, feeling as if it would know more about this than her, Camille furrowed her brows as she stared at Street Fighter's towering body.
For a while, she waited. Normally, Abyss would give an immediate answer. Knowledgeable, almost as old as time itself, Abyss had always been an infinite pool of wisdom and guidance. Today, nothing left its mouth. Instead sheer silence met her question.
Deciding to brush off the silence, Camille rolled her shoulders once more and slipped back into battle mode. Making the slashing gesture once more, she aimed for Street Fighter's face and intended to get a strike at its brain. Hitting its mark, her attack stayed true; the forehead split open on Street Fighter's face and the creature seemed to blink, processing the attack. Just as quickly, the mark healed itself.
Letting out a small grumble, Camille flexed her fingers as she glared at Street Fighter. Horizontal, they were opposite each other, each stood before the reflective glass of two modern, sleek buildings. In the creature's building, Camille could see her own hands flexing and unflexing. No doubt, in her own, Street Fighter could see itself, calm and reflective as a pool of water - or, in this case, a glass building's windows.
Pushing itself away from the glass window, Street Fighter propelled itself toward Camille. Rattling and shuddering, the glass flew out of its frames, shattering in jagged shards as it rained down from the air. Concrete beams crumbled and screams mixed with the rumbling, shattering of the glass. Within moments, the entire building was razed to the ground, multiple floors all collapsed onto each other like a flattened sandwich.
Aware of the increased power in her opponent, Camille began to dodge. Backflipping, she maneuvered herself away from every swing of the creature's speedy fists. All too soon they were on a roof, having punched a hole into a building and danced their way up the concrete stairwell. Countless people had died, cowering behind desks or running down the stairs only to be thrown out of the wall by Street Fighter's attacks.
Wild and forceful, the wind was full of violence and energy up here. Blowing at Camille's face, pulling at her hair, it was brewing up a storm that she could only associate with impending terror and bloodshed. Tragedy.
Before her, silent as always, Street Fighter, simply slammed its hands together and brought them down to bang against the roof's surface. Rumbling, the building shook. Then, collapsing in on itself, the entire foundations folded, crumbled, disintegrated. Looking down, not at all phased by the way the roof beneath them shook, the creature simply surveyed the results of its damage. There was no blood to suggest its success.
Taking the opportunity, Camille leaped into the air and kicked the creature in the face once more. As she did, the strange feeling settled into her gut once more, intensifying into a strange knot that calcified itself.
That moment of oddity, strangeness, gave Street Fighter a chance. Grabbing onto Camille's leg, bruising her skin with the force of its grip, it managed to halt her kick. Just as fast, the second hand was flying toward her face, ready to crush her like a bug. Only, Camille was just as fast and made another slashing attack, nodding toward the ball and joint sockets of its arms.
Both arms dropped to the ground, blood spurting into the air and wetting Camille's cheeks. Flying backwards, thrown into the air, she was free-falling. That moment of movement was used to attack once more, slashing at Street Fighter's muscled leg.
As the limb fell, so did the creature. Collapsing to one knee, its head jerking in Camille's direction, Street Fighter was put off balance. Rage was tangible in its expression, silent and stony but still rage all the same.
Tilting its head toward the sky, Street Fighter opened its mouth and a strange sucking noise - almost like a vacuum cleaner - filled the air. Rapidly, the creature's body began to inflate, its muscles bulging with the excess air that entered its large body. Veins became bright, prominent lines of blue and green against its skin. Redness swelled the apples of its cheeks and the curves of its pectorals, stomach and shoulders.
Like a balloon, taught with pressure and tension, Street Fighter was filling itself with air. Then, in a sudden burst, it clamped its mouth shut, turned its head back down, and shot the pressurized air back out of its body.
Sensing the change in air pressure, Camille twisted and smoothly turned to the side using her levitation. Just as she did, a powerful gust rolled past her side, tangling her hair and making goosebumps rise beneath the material of her suit.
Relief couldn't help but roll through her body as she watched the building behind her crumble, a huge crater carved into its surface by Street Fighter's attack. Air attacks were a rare thing in this world - often considered nonexistent. This type of attack in particular was one that Camille had never faced before. Dodging was simply the smartest approach to it; now she knew what it was, she could now find a way to block or deflect it.
Once again, the creature was charging up on its power. No doubt it had sensed her uncertainly, her unwillingness to block its attack. Letting it suck in more air, puff its chest with pride, Camille simply stood before another building. Then, when the attack came, she simply raised both of her arms and blocked it, allowing the air to pass around her body and toward the building instead of directly through her.
Another building toppled to the ground. More screams punctuated the air. Vague shouts from the heroes - who were probably doing damage control - rang between the cacophony of car alarms and sirens.
If there was one thing Camille and Street Fighter could agree on, then it was that human life didn't matter much. People had been in that building. People had been everywhere that they had fought in the past couple minutes. Most - if not all of those people - had died. And neither Camille nor Street Fighter seemed to care. Dying was inevitable; this was simply a part of life that must happen to keep everything in balance.
This battle, however, could not remain balanced.
Charging for Camille, Street Fighter surged forward to attack. Blocking him, her stance wide and secure, Camille tossed the hulking beast back into a school building. Piled at the windows, eyes wide with fear and curiosity, teenagers were lined across the front walls. Some were fleeing toward the back of the building, shouting and calling for teachers or someone to help. Sparse, a few were trapped in the playground, buried under twisted play equipment or too injured to move.
Ignoring the insects buzzing in the background, Camille continued to strike. Exchanging punches, she and Street Fighter bobbed and weaved around the playground, almost like a pair of boxers in a boxing ring. Beneath their power, so many things were destroyed. Walls crumbled, glass cracked and screams echoed around the place.
In a line, like ants, a class of children had attempted to escape. Scurrying through the chaos, slipping through the toppled main gate one by one, they filed out. One girl had tripped over a tree root, tears streaming down her face as she begged and sobbed for someone to turn back and help her. Her pleas were met by Camille's foot stomping on her head, smashing her skull clean as she followed Street Fighter.
Other members of that class were crushed under Street Fighter's feet, tiny blots of red and pink that wouldn't peel from the ground anytime soon. A few fingers even poked skyward - the only surviving body parts.
All too soon another building was being razed, collapsing like a house of cards against Camille and Street Fighter's power. Punching the creature, she had managed to toss it up into the air. That position gave her the opportunity to immobilize the enemy, creating an aramid rope to tie it up with.
Creating the rope had been the easy part. With her miraculous, creation had always been relatively easy. All Camille had to do was understand the atomic configuration of the object she wanted, the necessary parts and materials and the way it was made. After all of that was done, she could simply think about its coating and have the object fall into her hands, ready for use and perfect in its design.
Of course, like any power, there were limitations. But the skill was quite handy. Especially for someone as meticulous as Camille Bisset.
Darting around, Camille made sure to entrap Street Fighter within the bonds of her rope. Aramid rope - the strongest in the world - had been chosen by her for its practicality and likeliness to buy her some time.
Holding true to its title as world's strongest rope, it did buy her time. Enough for Camille to throw the creature toward a garage, setting off car horns and alarms alike. Their metal roofs all caved from the weight of Street Fighter's body, their bodies unrecognisable once it stood up and broke the rope's bonds. Lights were flashing. Bright orange and red and white glared into Camille's eyes as people screamed and rolled out of their nearby vehicles.
Ignoring their terror, Street Fighter simply began to pick up the vehicles and toss them toward Camille. Still floating in the air, Camille caught every impending attack, bouncing the vehicles as if they were balls into random directions. Some landed nearby, flattening already small piles of debris. Others were launched across the city, hitting intact government buildings or flattening residential homes. Most had people inside, trying to save their own lives by grovelling.
Such grovelling was futile. If anything, it made Camille all the more glad that such weak individuals were finally being purged from this world.
Once the creature had ran out of cars, Camille made her move. Performing a slash attack once more, she aimed for its broad chest. Only, this time, the range stretched over multiple buildings, arcing over a stretch of the city that had previously been untouched. When the attack was enacted, Street Fighter was cut in half; many buildings had their top halves plummeting to the pavement below in a deafening crash and thud.
Rather predictably, Street Fighter instantly healed itself and the cycle continued. More and more, the intensity of the battle began to increase. More and more buildings were crashing down in avalanches of concrete, steel and glass. Electrical wires were being exposed, water pipes burst and flooding onto the streets. Alarms began to blare, mixing with the muted sirens of emergency workers that had once bordered the 'secure perimeter' of the battle.
Thousands of people were dying. Hundreds had already had their fates sealed. Dumped onto the ground, left to bleed out by themselves, people were no longer lively and peaceful and filled with hope. Cowering, quivering, they were all making their final prayers, huddling together in their little units of family and friends, waiting out the inevitable time until they too would become a victim of this merciless slaughter.
Within her heart, Camille couldn't help but feel pleased by the sheer chaos and death that she was helping to spread. This battle, although tedious and frustrating, was the first time she had been able to vent her desire for revenge in years. Years ago, back in Paris, had been the last time she had done something that involved this much destruction; Ladybug and Chat Noir had been her enemy in her last bulldozing of a city.
This time, unrestrained, she was free to do as she wanted. As long as Street Fighter was defeated in the end, reduced to nothing but a memory, Camille would get away with killing and destroying as much as she can. And that was such a delicious feeling to harbour in her heart.
Now standing close to each other, Camille titling her head upwards to gaze at the towering creature, the battle had reached its climax. When the creature had moved, uttered an inconspicuous sound that somewhat clicked, she had expected it to try and crush her once more. Only, instead, a voice rang out of its lips.
"Abyss."
Female. Soft. Familiar. Camille couldn't help but flinch at the sound of the voice, knowing exactly what it signified and what effect it could have.
That voice, so soft and gentle and familiar, belonged to a kwami that Abyss rarely spoke of. When it did, it always mentioned how it had died, defeated by Gimmi and lost to the sands and mysteries of time. Yet here this kwami was - the kwami of Harmony - its body defiled and distorted into that of a monster by Gimmi itself. Through this body, Gimmi could speak with the voice of that kwami; they could torment their opponent with nothing more than a voice.
This development could only mean one thing in Camille's mind: time was running out. Gimmi had found a way to let its monster out; there was a loophole that Gimmi knew about and would fully exploit. Therefore, it could control monsters like this from its prison, could end the world without even leaving its cell and using the full extent of its power. Camille knew that even if Gimmi's power was limited, it was still immense. That much was shown by the blocking of Camille's healing and the other miraculous' abilities.
This development changed everything.
Caught in her own thoughts, Camille didn't notice the change in her demeanour. Weakening the integrity of her suit, reducing the power of her abilities, her own doubts and worries were affecting her overall performance. None of it really processed until she felt a strange weightlessness on her left side.
Looking down, Camille saw her arm, severed, bleeding onto the ground. Before her, Street Fighter smirked, its hand fixed into a position that Camille immediately associated with her own attacks - the slash attacks. That bastard had been watching and learning her moves! That was why it had grown invincible to the other heroes' attacks; it had been analyzing and absorbing information all about their fighting styles.
Buzzing, pain thrummed in the background of Camille's brain. Her arm had just been sliced clean off. She should be screaming in agony. But, used to the pain, she simply twitched and dragged her eyes back to Street Fighter. Her enemy.
'I see exactly what this is now. Real smart of you Gimmi,' Keeping a straight face, she simply shifted her stance as she huffed at the creature, 'You've blocked my healing and the barrier until I've defeated your toy. And this creature, thanks to you monopolizing the harmony kwami, had the ability that represents complete cycle and harmony. In other words, it's insanely skilled at adapting.'
Clearly, Gimmi had done its homework on Camille - the only wildcard in its universe domination plans. Expected but still all the more admirable. Truly a worthy adversary for someone as detached as Camille.
She hoped it was prepared for her to kick its ass - because that's exactly what she knew how to do next.
Healing her wound had been short of child's play for Camille. Letting the bones grow back out, tendons and muscles wrapping around the ivory material, she could only snort as she watched her arm regenerate from nothing but a few cells and thin air. Throbbing with oxygen, her muscles pulsated as the last of her skin sewed itself together with seamless ease. At the end, Camille snorted as she flexed her fingers.
Two seconds. Growing an arm had taken her a mere two seconds. And the old one was already dissolving, fading into nothingness against the dark patch of concrete.
Placing her hands together, pinkies and ring fingers interlocked on the inside, Camille began to perform her next move. Her index fingers and thumbs raised and pressed together, her middle fingers crossed over her index fingers so that their tips curled back to touch the tips of her thumbs. Both of her middle fingers' nails were touching. The Pyō sign: an instant, automatic delivery of her slashing attack.
Attacking Street Fighter from all sides, multiple slashes formed. In that moment, its adaptability to Camille's power was just finishing, nearly making it completely immune to her attacks. But now it was too late to try and patch over the gaps; Camille wouldn't give it a chance to.
Sucking in a deep breath, Camille steeled herself before delivering another onslaught of attacks. This time they were more powerful, striking deeper and with an even more stinging, biting force. As the gashes healed on Street Fighter's body, the creature lifted its head toward Camille, acknowledging her nudge and provocation into a more heated exchange. Now its mind was definitely not fixated on completing its adaptation.
Changing positions, Camille turned sideways, her legs spread wide and her feet light. If Marinette were conscious she would have laughed and said that she looked an awful lot like a warrior, those strange Amazonian women she always went on about from Greek legends. Raising her arms, one extended in front of her and the other pulled back, Camille shook her head of those thoughts. Right now she had to focus.
Pointing her fingers on the extended hand and curling them on the one pulled back, Camille exhaled. Heat, hissing, steaming heat, was beginning to take over her senses. Low, like a simmer, it bubbled beneath her skin like a pot of stew would on a kitchen hob. Then, as it crept through her body, spread around her blood vessels and nerves, the heat began to gain temperature; it all began to rush and pool within her hands.
Once the heat settled there, Camille's skill began to glow red. Soft, gentle, it seemed soothing at first. But, all too soon, her body erupted into bright amber flames, dancing with prickling heat as it traveled down her arms to concentrate in her palms. Bringing her hands together, back into the Pyō sign shape, Camille allowed the flames to spread between her hands. Mixing together, they flickered and swirled as they formed an arrow shape.
Waiting, allowing more heat to gather and pool in her body, Camille continued to cradle the arrow. Then, in a sudden movement, she released it and aimed it straight for the creature.
Sending warm air everywhere, there was a massive explosion. Everything rained everywhere, a mixture of buildings, bone and metal. Sounds, too loud and too numerous to fully measure, all mixed into a high-pitched ringing that echoed in everyone's ears for a minute afterward. Then there was the intense heat of the blast, blistering skin and charring concrete and stone with dark, sooty marks that rained ash and cinders.
Where Street Fighter once stood was now a spot of smoke. Thin, wispy smoke. In one move, the creature had been destroyed.
Vacating the area, Camille immediately rushed back to where she knew Marinette would be laying. All of her attention focused on her girlfriend, she remained silent as she leaned over the mangled body and began to heal it.
"We- "
Instantly, the voice was cut off. Kagami Tsurugi - who seemed to be the smartest of the bunch - shook her head and placed an arm in front of the hero. No doubt she could tell that if one of them moved, made an attempt to move, then Camille would make them become a matching wet stain on the ground like Ivan Bruel.
Watching as the flesh and bone sewed back together, patched into a jigsaw that looked and felt right, Camille ignored the presence of the watching heroes. Healing, although not her main power, had always been an easy thing to sink into. Concentrating on the way bones and muscles should interact, the newness of freshly healed skin, always helped Camille to drown out her annoying surroundings - especially when it was people she could barely tolerate.
Once Marinette was mostly stable, Camille stopped her efforts and picked up her limp body. Giving more than a curt nod to the other heroes, Camille left and teleported them both back to Paris.
Getting Marinette to bed had been relatively easy. Changing her into a soft, clean pair of pajamas, lifting the covers and fluffing her pillow were all easy things for Camille to do. Even as she tucked her girlfriend in for the night, smoothing out the duvet and checking her pulse for a final time, Camille had not felt any fatigue at all. Instead she felt a sense of peace, a calmness she hadn't felt for quite some time.
So when she walked into the bathroom, stared at her reflection for a good few minutes, Camille had not expected to feel as nauseous as she did. Pale, eyes bulging, shadows rimmed under her eyes, she looked a wreck. A mess.
Maybe that was why she ended up heaving all she had in her stomach into the toilet bowl. Blood, food and fluid all melded into one, burning her throat and filling the air with a pungent scent as Camille fell to her knees. Violent, awful, she expunged everything into that toilet. So much so that her throat felt dry as she closed her eyes, felt her heart beat slow within her chest, as she pressed her face against the toilet bowl, seeking something cool to provide her body sweet, sweet relief.
For a while, she kept her face pressed to that toilet bowl. For a while she could do nothing but savour the deliciousness coolness it brought, scold herself for over-expending her body in the battle. Slowly Camille wiped the remnants of vomit from her cheeks and lips, the tears that stung at her eyes. Keeping Marinette's soul in a dead body had definitely taken a toll on Camille; it had nearly cost her the battle.
But it all worked out in the end.
That final thought resting in her mind, Camille's eyes fluttered shut and she allowed herself to drift.