15
QUASIMODO couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The further they walked into the catacombs, the heavier the air seemed to grow around him. The narrow tunnels felt like they were closing in, making it harder to breathe. The air was thick and damp, and though they were searching for Sarousch, Quasimodo's mind was elsewhere. He could hear bits of their conversation drifting back to him, and every time Clopin spoke, a sharp sting of anger flared in Quasimodo's chest.
"It's strange, being back down here," Clopin's smooth voice echoed. "The catacombs haven't changed much. They still hold their secrets. Funny how life works, isn't it, Captain? One day, enemies, the next, we're all working together."
Quasimodo's brow furrowed into a frown as he listened, though he pretended to focus on the path ahead. He couldn't believe that Clopin was here, with them, helping look for Sarousch. He didn't want to work alongside him. Not after everything.
He slowed his pace, letting their voices drift farther ahead, but he couldn't escape the nagging feeling gnawing at him. Clopin's words from years ago still echoed in his mind, cold and sharp. "We always let the prisoners go…after they've been hanged!"
Quasimodo felt the color drain from his face at the memory. He could still feel the noose tightening around his neck, his heart pounding in terror as Clopin had prepared to hang him and Phoebus without so much as a question. Clopin hadn't listened. He hadn't cared. To Clopin, he had been nothing more than a threat. Just another monster to be dealt with.
Quasimodo's chest tightened, anger bubbling up inside him. He couldn't forgive Clopin—not for that. And now, hearing the King of Gypsies joke about their past like it was nothing made Quasimodo's hands clench into fists.
"I've forgiven the past, Captain," Clopin continued, his voice light but with an edge of amusement. "After all, we've all moved on, haven't we?"
Quasimodo's jaw clenched. Forgiven? The word made his stomach churn. Clopin acted like it was all behind them, like Quasimodo should be grateful. But he couldn't forget. And he certainly couldn't forgive him.
"You were the one who tried to hang us," Phoebus said, his tone cautious. He must have felt the same tension that Quasimodo did. "Quasi and I came to warn you, to help you. We were trying to Esmeralda and the rest of your people from Frollo."
Clopin chuckled, the sound cold and careless. "And yet, here we are, Captain. The past is the past, my friend, no? Surely even the bellringer can understand that."
Quasimodo felt the familiar sting of that word—bellringer. Clopin never saw him as anything more than that. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried, he was always just the hunchback from the bell tower. The one they nearly hanged.
I haven't forgotten, Quasi thought bitterly. And I never will. He let out a frustrated sigh and glanced over his shoulder, trying to distract himself from the anger boiling inside. Madellaine had been walking behind him, her soft footsteps a comforting presence. But now, as his eyes scanned the darkness, his heart skipped a beat.
She was gone.
"Madellaine?" he called out softly, trying to keep his voice steady.
No response.
Quasimodo stopped in his tracks, his pulse quickening as he turned fully around. The flickering torchlight danced on the stone walls, but the tunnel behind him was empty. A cold chill ran down his spine.
She was right behind me. Where is she?
"Madellaine!" His voice rose, trembling with the first wave of panic.
Still no answer.
Quasimodo's chest tightened as his eyes darted around the dark, winding tunnel. She's fine, he tried to tell himself, but the dread was already sinking its claws into him. She has to be fine.
But as the seconds passed and the silence stretched on, that small flicker of hope began to crumble.
No, no, no…
Quasimodo's heart pounded in his chest, each beat harder than the last as his eyes darted frantically through the tunnel behind him. His breath came in short, panicked bursts. There was no sign of her anywhere.
She was just here! She was right here! She was with me!
The panic that had been simmering beneath the surface erupted in full force. He spun around, his voice now louder, desperate. "Madellaine!"
Nothing. He felt a surge of dread rise in his chest, his mouth dry. His hands trembled as he stepped back, searching the dimly lit tunnel with wide, fearful eyes.
"Phoebus! Clopin! Erik! Colette!" he cried out, his voice rising with panic as it reverberated off the stone walls.
The footsteps of the two men ahead suddenly stopped. Farther up, beyond Phoebus and Clopin, Quasimodo thought he heard Erik and Colette come to a halt too, with Erik ordering Tiberius to stay still.
Phoebus turned around first, confusion clear on his face. His brow furrowed as he asked, "Quasi? What is it? What's wrong?"
Clopin followed suit, the playful light in his eyes dimming as he took a step toward Quasimodo. "What is it?" he asked, his voice dropping into a serious tone.
Quasimodo felt a lump form in his throat as he struggled to form the words. "M-Madellaine," he stammered, his throat tightening, "S-She's gone! She—she was right behind me, and now I—I can't find her!"
Phoebus's face darkened with concern as he quickly turned to scan the empty tunnel behind him. Before he could say anything, Erik and Colette rushed forward, with Tiberius close behind at Erik's heels.
"Gone?" Erik repeated angrily, stepping closer. "She was just here—what do you mean Madellaine's gone?"
Colette's face went pale, her worry clear. "Are you sure she didn't just fall behind?" she asked, biting her lip and nervously wringing her hands.
Quasimodo shook his head, his chest heaving with panic. "I—I didn't hear anything... I don't understand. She—she was right there, and now... now she's gone!" His hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms as his thoughts raced.
Phoebus stepped toward him, keeping his voice calm though tension tightened his jaw. "We'll find her, Quasi. She couldn't have gone far. We'll spread out and—"
Quasimodo shook his head, cutting Phoebus off mid-sentence. His voice cracked with urgency. "No! It's him…Sarousch has her. I—I know it." The name escaped his lips like a curse, and with it came a wave of dread that threatened to drown him. His mind spiraled, racing through all the horrible possibilities, each one worse than the last. He had taken her before. He could take her again. Sarousch was always one step ahead.
Phoebus paused, his brow furrowed deeply as he exchanged a glance with Clopin. "Quasi, we don't know that for sure. She could've just—"
"No!" Quasimodo cried out, his voice echoing through the tunnels, his desperation rising. "It's Sarousch, Phoebus, who else could it be down here? He—he must've taken her…He…he'll hurt her." His breaths were ragged, his fists shaking. The terror was almost too much. He could feel it clawing at him, dragging him back into the panic that had gripped him hours ago when Sarousch had nearly killed her.
Clopin stepped forward, his face serious, no longer lighthearted. "Quasi, calm down." His voice was smooth but firm, cutting through Quasimodo's anger. He moved closer, arms raised in reassurance, his expression grim. "We're going to find her. We're going to stop him, but you can't lose your head now, my friend."
Quasimodo felt the color drain from his face. Those words—my friend—were like a spark thrown into dry tinder. Quasimodo whipped around, his eyes blazing with fury, his fists trembling.
"Don't call me that!" he roared, his voice shaking with emotion.
Clopin froze, shock flickering in the older man's sharp, dark eyes.
Quasimodo stepped toward him, his voice rising, barely contained. "Only my friends call me Quasi. And you are no friend of mine!"
Clopin blinked, startled, but stayed still, his expression hard to read. Tension filled the air as Quasimodo's words lingered in the silence. Quasimodo's fists were clenched, his body shaking with anger as six years of buried resentment surfaced.
"You tried to hang me and Phoebus," Quasimodo spat, bitterness churning in his stomach as the memory hit him. His voice was sharp with pain as he confronted Clopin. "You didn't care who we were. You didn't listen! You only saw a monster and were ready to kill me without a second thought!"
Clopin's usual playful smile was gone, his face now serious as he faced Quasimodo's anger. "Quasi—"
"Stop calling me that!" Quasimodo's voice cracked, his emotions raw. "You never cared about me. I was just the hunchback to you. You almost killed us, Clopin. Don't act like you're my friend now."
Phoebus and Erik exchanged tense glances, the air in the chamber thick with tension and anger. Colette stepped forward, her eyes full of concern, but she hesitated, unsure of how to calm the storm brewing between the two men.
Clopin sighed softly, crossing his arms over his chest as he took a step back, his eyes never leaving Quasimodo's. There was no humor in his gaze now—just something deeper, something that flickered with regret.
"Quasimodo," he said carefully, his voice steady but serious, "I know I made mistakes. But that's not who I am now."
"You don't get to decide that!" Quasimodo shot back, his voice trembling with emotion. "You don't get to act like everything's fine, like you've changed when I've never forgotten what you did. You're here because you have to be, not because you care!"
The words hit hard, echoing through the chamber, and for a moment, no one spoke. Clopin's face remained calm, but Quasimodo could see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers tightened around his staff. But Clopin didn't argue. He didn't defend himself. He simply stood there, watching Quasimodo with an unreadable look, his usual charm stripped away.
Phoebus finally stepped between them, his voice calm but firm. "Quasimodo, we need to focus on finding Madellaine. Whatever happened in the past, we have to put it aside now."
Quasimodo's chest heaved, his fists still clenched, but the raw fury inside him was slowly burning out, replaced by the crushing weight of fear and guilt. He glanced at Phoebus, then back at Clopin, and his voice softened, but it was still edged with pain. "I can't lose her."
Clopin's eyes softened, and he nodded slowly, his voice quiet but steady. "I know. We won't let that happen."
Quasimodo turned away, his heart heavy. He wanted to believe him, but the bitterness, the resentment—it was all still there, simmering beneath the surface. But he couldn't afford to focus on that now. Not when Madellaine's life was at stake. With one last glance at Clopin, Quasimodo forced himself to take a deep breath, his focus shifting back to the task at hand. "We need to go. Now."
Phoebus nodded, giving Quasimodo's shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "We will. Let's go."
Without another word, the group pushed forward through the winding tunnels, the tension between them lingering like a shadow in the dim light.
But Quasimodo's heart was set on one thing now—finding Madellaine. Everything else, even the old wounds with Clopin, would have to wait.
For now, all that mattered was getting her back.
Quasimodo's heartbeat thundered in his ears, louder than the silence that hung in the air. Fear gnawed at him, flooding his senses as he followed Phoebus and the others through the winding passages. The tension between them was thick, an unspoken worry shared by all, but it was Madellaine who occupied every corner of Quasimodo's mind.
The shadows danced and twisted along the walls as if mocking him with shapes that weren't there. His heart raced, every throb a reminder of the terrible possibilities—what Sarousch might be doing to her, where she could be.
Then, he heard it.
A sound. At first, he wasn't sure—perhaps a trick of his frazzled nerves, just his mind playing games in the quiet. But there it was again, faint but unmistakable—a small, pained cry.
Then, the voice. Her voice.
"Quasi…"
His heart stopped. He'd know that voice anywhere.
"Madellaine!" The name tore from his lips, raw and filled with desperation. He bolted forward, ignoring Phoebus's urgent warning to stay together. Their shouts faded into a distant hum as he ran, his footsteps pounding against the stone beneath him, echoing wildly through the dark tunnels.
Every moment felt endless, each breath tighter than the last. But now, he could hear her clearly—so soft, so weak, calling his name.
She needed him, and nothing else mattered.
He turned a sharp corner, the narrow walls closing in on him as the tunnels spiraled deeper into the earth. And then, in the dim flicker of his torch, he saw them.
Sarousch stood in the center of the small chamber, his hand gripping Madellaine, holding her in front of him like a shield. Her face was pale, streaked with tears, her body trembling with exhaustion and fear. But it was the cold gleam of the knife pressed against her throat that froze Quasimodo in place.
Sarousch smiled, a wicked, twisted grin that chilled Quasimodo's very soul. Sarousch's eyes gleamed with a cruel satisfaction as Quasimodo froze in place. The grin on his face stretched wider, oozing malice.
"I knew you'd be the one to come for her, monster," Sarousch sneered, his voice practically dripping with venom. "For your pretty little songbird."
He gave Madellaine a harsh shake, but this time, Quasimodo noticed something different—Madellaine's hands were moving. She was trying to twist herself free, her fingers subtly clawing at Sarousch's arm, searching for a weakness in his grip. She wasn't just cowering; she was fighting, in her quiet way.
Quasimodo's chest tightened with hope. She wasn't giving up.
Sarousch's voice cut through his thoughts again.
"You pathetic fool, you couldn't resist, could you? You thought you could save my little trinket, didn't you? How noble. How predictable." Sarousch leaned closer to Madellaine, his breath hot on her cheek as he whispered in her ear, loud enough for Quasimodo to hear. "But she was always mine. From the very beginning."
Madellaine winced but didn't look away. Quasimodo saw it—the determination in her eyes. She wasn't broken, not yet.
Quasimodo's chest heaved, his breath ragged with fury. His eyes burned as he stared at the man holding the one person he loved more than anything. The beast within him stirred, clawing to be set free. He took a step forward, fists clenched, his voice trembling with rage. "Let her go, Sarousch. Let her go, or I swear—"
"Or what?" Sarousch interrupted, his grin widening, eyes gleaming with malice. "What could you possibly do, you disgusting creature?" The word was a hiss, a knife twisted in Quasimodo's heart. "You think you're a hero, don't you? Running through the shadows to save the damsel? How very touching. But she's not yours to save."
Quasimodo's vision blurred with anger. With a roar, he surged forward, his powerful frame launching at Sarousch, ready to tear him apart. But then—
Madellaine cried out in pain. Sarousch twisted the knife, just enough to draw a thin line of blood at her throat, and Quasimodo froze in his tracks.
"Ah-ah!" Sarousch tutted mockingly, pressing the blade closer. Madellaine whimpered, her knees buckling beneath her, and Quasimodo felt his heart shatter. His rage melted into a cold, consuming fear, his strength draining from him as he stared helplessly.
Tears welled in his eyes, and his voice broke. "Please… please don't hurt her," Quasimodo begged, his voice barely a whisper now, raw and desperate. His massive hands shook at his sides, powerless. "I'll do anything. Just—just don't hurt her. Please."
Sarousch's smile faded, his expression turning dark as his eyes narrowed. "Oh, now you beg. How pathetic. You're even worse than I thought," he growled, disgust twisting his features. "But perhaps… perhaps I'll show mercy. After all, it's not her fault she fell into this mess, is it?" He glanced down at Madellaine, his lip curling. "No, she was foolish to betray me, to fall for you," he spat the word, eyes flashing with hatred. "A disgusting, misshapen beast like you." His hand gripped Madellaine's arm tightly, making her wince. "But I won't kill her—not if you let me go. I'll leave the city, take what I'm owed, and vanish. Let me pass safely, and she may live."
Quasimodo's tears spilled over as he looked from Sarousch to Madellaine, her eyes pleading with him silently, her body trembling. His heart twisted painfully. He couldn't lose her. He wouldn't. "Please," Quasimodo whispered again, his voice cracking, broken. "Take whatever you want. Just… don't hurt her. Please..."
Sarousch's eyes flickered with contempt. He looked at Madellaine, then back at Quasimodo, his sneer returning. "You would do anything for her, wouldn't you?" His voice was a low growl. "How pitiful. How weak." He yanked Madellaine closer, making her gasp. "But know this: if I see even the slightest hint of betrayal, if I sense the smallest trick, she'll pay the price. Understand, beast?"
Quasimodo nodded, his whole body trembling, his heart a storm of fear and desperation. He could only pray that somehow, some way, he'd find a way to save her. But for now… all he could do was obey.
His heart raced as he stood frozen, paralyzed by fear, his breath shallow, his gaze locked on the gleaming knife against Madellaine's throat. Her trembling lips parted, and for a moment, the catacombs felt as though they'd grown smaller, every shadow closing in on him. Madellaine squirmed in Sarousch's grasp and looked up at him, her blue eyes showing something he couldn't quite read. When she spoke, her voice shook but was steady.
"You're wrong, Sarousch... Quasi isn't the monster here." She kept wriggling, and even though fear flashed in her eyes, her voice grew stronger. "You are! You're the one who's done terrible things, used people—used me! Quasimodo is not a monster, and I am not your trinket anymore!" Her words were brave, but her stammer revealed her fear. "So... let me go!"
Quasimodo's breath hitched. She's so brave... But then he saw the flash of fury in Sarousch's eyes.
Before he could react, Sarousch's grip tightened. With a vicious snarl, he twisted Madellaine's arm sharply.
Quasimodo heard the gasp that escaped her lips before he saw the pain etched across her face. Her knees buckled, her body trembling as she let out a scream that tore through him like a knife. Tears welled in her eyes as she clutched at her arm, and in that moment, everything inside Quasimodo broke.
No...
The sight of her in pain, her tears, the sound of her scream—it shattered him.
And then, something inside him snapped. A fury unlike anything he had ever felt erupted, surging through him like wildfire. There was no fear, no hesitation—only rage. Rage at Sarousch. Rage at the man who had hurt the one person who meant everything to him. Before he could think, before the pain in his heart could consume him, he lunged, his world narrowing down to one thing: saving her.
A cry of rage left his lips that echoed through the catacombs as Quasimodo grabbed Sarousch by the shoulders and roughly yanked him away from Madellaine. Sarousch's smug confidence melted into a look of sheer terror as Quasimodo's immense strength ripped him away from her.
In a single, brutal motion, Quasimodo threw him against the stone wall. The ground trembled as Sarousch hit the wall with a sickening thud, gasping as the air was knocked from his lungs. Quasimodo thrust his face inches from Sarousch's, so close that the tips of their noses practically touched.
"You dare hurt her?!" His voice was a raw, guttural snarl, thick with years of suppressed pain and anger. The fire in his eyes, he knew, was unlike anything Sarousch had ever seen before.
Sarousch quivered, his face pale, fear filling his wide eyes. "No! Please!" he stammered, raising his hands in a pathetic attempt to shield himself. "Have mercy! I—I didn't mean to—"
Quasimodo growled low, his large frame looming over the man who had caused so much pain to Madellaine and her friends. Every lie, every cruel act Sarousch had done to her felt personal, as if he had suffered it too.
The anger burned inside him, and all he wanted was Sarousch to pay for everything Madellaine had gone through.
But then, a soft voice cut through the haze.
"Quasi….no….please…"
It was Madellaine. Her weak, trembling voice, barely a whisper, was enough to stop him. He turned to see her still on the ground, holding her injured arm. Her face was pale and tear-streaked, but her eyes were fixed on him.
"Don't… don't hurt him…" Madellaine begged, her voice trembling with fear—not for herself, but for him.
Quasimodo's heart ached. His anger wavered. He looked down at her, and for the first time since his fury had taken hold, he hesitated.
But before he could act on her plea, a low growl echoed from the shadows. In an instant, Tiberius leaped from the darkness.
Sarousch let out a yelp, his eyes wide with fear, and in his panic, he dropped the heavy bag of treasures he had been clutching. The sound of gold and stolen artifacts spilling onto the stone floor echoed through the chamber, but Quasimodo barely noticed. All that mattered was Madellaine. The powerful beast crashed into Quasimodo, knocking him to the ground like he weighed nothing. The world spun as Quasimodo hit the cold stone floor, his vision blurring. But even through the confusion, all he could think of was Madellaine. Quasimodo scrambled toward her, his hands shaking as he reached out, his heart pounding.
"Madellaine," he whispered, his voice soft and full of worry. "Are you—are you alright?"
Madellaine nodded weakly, her breath shallow, but she clutched his arm, finding comfort in his presence. She was alive, and for a moment, that was all that mattered.
Then Erik stormed in from the shadows, his face twisted with rage. Colette followed close behind, shock and anger in her eyes. Erik's gaze locked onto Sarousch, still crumpled against the wall, trembling with fear.
"Sarousch!" Erik snarled, stalking toward him, fists clenched in fury. "You coward!"
Sarousch tried to shrink further against the wall, his voice cracking with fear. "I—I didn't—"
But Erik cut him off, his voice growing louder, angrier. "You left her tied up, trapped, in the fire you set at Notre Dame! You tried to kill her!" His fists shook with barely restrained rage. "After everything she did for you—after everything we did for you!"
Tiberius growled, standing between Quasimodo and Sarousch, his muscles tense and ready to strike again. Quasimodo remained by Madellaine's side, holding her gently, his heart racing and his mind in turmoil. She was safe, but just barely.
The thought of how close he had come to losing her haunted him.
Erik took another step forward, his voice cold and dangerous. "You left her. You left Madellaine to die."
Sarousch whimpered, his back pressed against the cold stone. His voice shook as he tried to plead. "I—I'll leave Paris! You'll never see me again, I swear!"
But Erik wasn't listening anymore. His rage was consuming him, much like it had consumed Quasimodo moments ago. His fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and for a terrifying moment, it seemed like Erik would strike.
"You think you can just walk away after what you've done?" Erik's voice was low, full of venom. "You think we'll let you go after everything?"
Tiberius growled again, inching closer to Sarousch, and Quasimodo knew Erik was on the edge of doing something he couldn't take back. The same rage that had overtaken him was now burning inside Erik.
And just as Erik's fury reached its peak, his voice dropped, cold and final.
"Tiberius, kill him."
The lion's growl deepened, and he tensed, ready to strike.
But before Quasimodo could move, Madellaine's voice cut through the tension, sharp and desperate.
"No!" She pushed herself up from the ground, stumbling to her feet as she threw herself between Sarousch and Tiberius, arms outstretched. Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head, her voice trembling with emotion. "Please, don't! Erik, don't do this!"
Erik froze, his eyes wide in shock as he stared at her. "Madellaine, how can you say that? After everything he's done to you…"
Madellaine shook her head, her lips pursed, her expression angry. Her voice wavered, but her resolve held strong. "I don't care, you're not killing him, Erik. If you do this, you'll be no better than him. Please, this isn't you, I know it… don't let your anger destroy who you are."
Erik's fists slowly unclenched, his shoulders slumping as her words sank in. He took a step back, his anger faltering, his gaze shifting from Madellaine to Sarousch. The rage in his eyes dimmed, replaced by a deep sorrow.
"I... he deserves it, Madellaine," Erik whispered, his voice barely audible. "After what he did…"
Madellaine shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Maybe he does… but it's not for us to decide."
Erik stared at her for a long, painful moment, the fire in his eyes slowly dying. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. "Tiberius... stand down."
Tiberius let out a low growl but obeyed, stepping back from Sarousch and retreating to Erik's side. The chamber fell into silence as the tension broke. Sarousch collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, trembling in fear.
Quasimodo held Madellaine close, her body still shaking in his arms, but she was safe. For now, that was all that mattered.
Just as the tension in the room started to ease, the sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the tunnel. Moments later, Phoebus and his guards rushed in, their torches casting flickering shadows on the walls. Clopin followed behind, quickly taking in the scene—Sarousch trembling on the ground, Quasimodo holding Madellaine close, Colette standing nervously behind them, and Erik standing over Sarousch, fists clenched, his face filled with anger.
Phoebus, sword drawn, immediately stepped toward Sarousch, his jaw set in a hard line. "Sarousch," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "It's over."
Sarousch looked up, his eyes wild with desperation as he scrambled to his knees, his hands raised in a pitiful attempt to beg for mercy.
"No! No, it's not what it looks like! I didn't—I didn't mean for any of this to happen!" His voice was frantic, the panic in his tone unmistakable. "You don't understand! They—they turned on me! I was just trying to protect myself!"
Phoebus's eyes narrowed as he sheathed his sword and motioned to his guards. "Arrest him," he barked, his voice firm.
Two of the guards stepped forward, grabbing Sarousch roughly by the arms and yanking him to his feet. Sarousch squirmed in their grip, his face contorted with terror as the cold iron shackles were snapped onto his wrists.
"You don't understand!" Sarousch cried, thrashing in their hold. "This is all a mistake! They—they attacked me first! I was just defending myself! I—"
"Shut up!" Phoebus snapped, cutting off Sarousch's frantic protest. His eyes flashed with fury as he stepped closer, looming over the man with a look of utter disdain. "You're pathetic, Sarousch. You used people, manipulated them, and then you tried to murder an innocent woman." His voice grew louder with each word, his anger barely contained. "You don't get to claim self-defense after the things you've done. Not after leaving Madellaine to burn."
Sarousch's eyes widened in panic, his protests growing more desperate. "No! No, please! It was a mistake—I didn't mean to hurt her! I didn't—"
Phoebus grabbed the front of Sarousch's tunic and yanked him forward, their faces inches apart. "You didn't mean to?" he snarled. "You tied her up and left her to die in a fire. You're a coward, Sarousch. And you're going to answer for everything you've done."
Sarousch's mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water, but no more excuses came. His body sagged in the guards' hold, and all his false bravado drained as he realized there was no escape.
Clopin, who had been watching the scene unfold with a cold expression, stepped forward and looked down at Sarousch, his lips curling into a sharp, humorless smile. "Seems your little tricks have run out, Sarousch. No more games. No more lies."
Sarousch's eyes darted wildly between Phoebus, Clopin, and Quasimodo, searching for any sign of mercy, but he found none. His face twisted in fear, and he began to shake his head frantically. "No, please! I'll do anything! I'll leave Paris—no one will ever see me again, I swear!"
Phoebus let go of Sarousch's tunic and turned his back on him, disgust clear on his face. "You'll do whatever the court tells you to do," he said coldly, signaling to his guards to take Sarousch away. "And if I had my way, you'd be sent to the gallows and hang for what you've done."
The guards began to drag Sarousch toward the exit, but he struggled against them, his voice rising in desperation. "No! Wait! You can't—this isn't fair! I'm innocent! You can't—"
"Enough!" Phoebus barked, turning to face him again. "You're not fooling anyone. You're nothing but a coward who hides behind lies and schemes, and now you'll pay for it."
Sarousch's protests turned into weak whimpers as the guards dragged him away, his legs nearly giving out. His cries echoed softly and then faded, leaving the chamber quiet.
Quasimodo let out a breath and glanced at Phoebus, who stood nearby looking both tired and focused. Phoebus's eyes landed on the pile of treasure Sarousch had dropped. He walked over, picked up the bag, and slung it over his shoulder.
"Looks like everything is here," Phoebus said. "I'll make sure it gets back to the people it was stolen from." He turned to Quasimodo and Madellaine, his face softening. "Sarousch will face justice for what he did, but I'll stop by tomorrow with Esmeralda and Zephyr to check on you both—make sure everything's okay."
Quasimodo nodded, surprised by the kindness in Phoebus' voice. It wasn't the commanding captain talking anymore—it was his friend, his brother.
"We...We'd like that," Quasi said, feeling a warmth spread through his chest.
Phoebus turned to Madellaine next, an apologetic look on his face. "Madellaine, I owe you an apology," he began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "I was wrong about you. About everything, really. I shouldn't have spoken to you like I did. You didn't deserve that."
Madellaine blinked, clearly taken off guard, but after a moment, she offered him a small smile. "Thank you, Phoebus," she said softly, relief in her voice. "I...I appreciate that."
Phoebus gave a small, regretful smile in return. "You were trying to do the right thing. You cared about Quasi and you didn't want him or anyone else to get hurt. I'm sorry for not seeing that sooner."
Madellaine nodded, her grip on Quasimodo's arm relaxing a little. Quasi glanced between them, feeling a quiet sense of relief settle in the air. Phoebus wasn't just apologizing—he meant it.
"Tomorrow, then," Phoebus added with a nod, offering them a genuine smile before he turned to leave, his footsteps echoing through the catacombs as he disappeared down the tunnel.
Quasimodo let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, turning to Madellaine. "A-are you alright?" he asked softly.
She nodded, though her expression was still a little unsure. "Y-yes, I...I think so," she said, her voice quiet but honest. "Thanks to you."
Quasimodo smiled, feeling a warmth bloom in his chest. They stood there for a moment, the weight of everything that had just happened slowly lifting. There was still so much to process, but for now, they were together. That was enough.
"Tomorrow," he echoed, glancing back at the tunnel where Phoebus had left. Whatever tomorrow brought, they'd face it together. And for once, Quasimodo felt like things might be okay.
Clopin, who had remained quiet, stepped closer to Quasimodo, his face unreadable. He placed a hand on Quasimodo's shoulder, his voice softer now. "You did well, my friend."
Quasimodo stiffened at the word friend, but he didn't say anything. His heart was too full, too tired to lash out again. For now, all that mattered was that Madellaine was safe.
The rest could wait.
Clopin's gaze shifted from Quasimodo to Madellaine, his expression softening as he approached. He tilted his head, a faint smile playing on his lips.
"And what about you, Madellaine, cher?" he asked, his tone curious but kind. "Now that this is over, what are your plans?"
Madellaine, still leaning heavily against Quasimodo, let out a long, relieved sigh. She looked up at him, her blue eyes bright with emotion, before resting her head gently on his shoulder. "I'm going to stay here," she said softly, her voice full of quiet joy. "Now that I'm free from the circus, I want to stay in Paris... with Quasi."
Quasimodo's heart swelled at her words, a warmth spreading through him as he tightened his arm around her. For the first time since this nightmare began, there was a sense of peace settling over him. Madellaine was staying. With him.
Madellaine's eyes darted to Erik and Colette, who stood a few feet away, watching the scene unfold with uncertain expressions. "And I—I want you both to stay, too," she added, her voice pleading as she reached out to them. "Please. I don't want to lose you. We've all been through so much together… we're family."
Erik glanced at Colette, his brows furrowed in thought. Colette's eyes softened at Madellaine's words, but before either of them could speak, Clopin stepped forward with a dramatic sweep of his hand.
"Well, well, well! Before you make any hasty decisions about leaving this fine city," Clopin began with a sly grin, "I happen to have an offer that might interest you." He folded his arms across his chest and gave Erik a pointed look. "You see, I've been thinking... Paris is always in need of good performers, and I saw your show last week—quite the spectacle! You and your lovely wife... and those magnificent animals—especially that lion." He nodded toward Tiberius, who stood beside Erik, watching the exchange with his usual calm.
Erik raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "What are you getting at, Clopin?"
Clopin's grin widened. "I happen to have a little... organization. The Court of Miracles, if you've heard of it. We could use performers of your caliber—and your animals. The lion, the two bears I saw... I think they would be a great addition." He winked, his smile playful but sincere. "What do you say? You'll have a place in Paris, with us, as long as you bring them along."
Erik blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Colette's face lit up with surprise, and she exchanged a glance with her husband. "You—you want us to perform in the Court of Miracles?" Colette asked, her voice filled with a mix of disbelief and excitement.
Clopin nodded, his expression warm. "Exactly. You wouldn't just be part of a circus troupe anymore—you'd be part of something greater. A family that protects each other. The Court takes care of its own."
Erik stood silent for a moment, his eyes flickering between Clopin, Madellaine, and Colette. Finally, a slow smile spread across his face. "That... that sounds like something we could be part of."
Colette let out a soft laugh, her eyes bright with excitement as she wrapped her arms around Erik's arm. "Oh, Erik! I think this could be perfect."
Madellaine's face broke into a wide, relieved smile. "You'll stay?"
Erik nodded, his expression softening. "We'll stay," he said, glancing at Clopin. "We'll join your Court."
Quasimodo smiled as he watched the scene, his heart feeling light for the first time in what seemed like forever. With Madellaine by his side and his friends staying in Paris, it felt like a new beginning—one filled with hope.
Clopin clapped his hands, his voice bright with cheer. "Well then! It's settled! Welcome to Paris, and welcome to the Court of Miracles!"
For the first time, the catacombs didn't feel like a place of shadows, but one filled with new possibilities. As Quasimodo kept Madellaine close, confident they would face whatever came next together, he felt her lean more heavily into his side.
At first, he thought she was just tired from the ordeal, but then her body trembled slightly. She sneezed suddenly, the small sound startling everyone.
Erik and Colette immediately turned to her, their faces flooding with concern. Colette rushed forward, her hands fluttering around Madellaine's shoulders like a mother hen, her voice full of worry. "Oh no, Madellaine, you're still weak! You need to rest. That fire was too much for you—look, you're shivering!"
Erik stepped closer too, his brows furrowed in concern as he placed a hand on her arm. "She's right, Madellaine. You shouldn't be standing around in these cold catacombs. Let's get you somewhere warm. Let's take you back from here, and we'll figure out the rest in the morning."
But Madellaine, clearly touched by her friends' concern but visibly exhausted, gently raised a hand to stop them both. "I—I'm alright," she murmured, though her voice was soft and shaky. She looked down at Quasimodo with a soft smile, her cheeks still pale. "But I…I don't want to stay anywhere else tonight." She hesitated, her gaze softening as she leaned more into him. "I want to go back to the bell tower. With Quasi. I—I want to stay with him tonight." Her voice was soft, but filled with certainty.
Quasimodo's heart swelled, and the warmth in his chest grew stronger. The thought of Madellaine choosing to stay with him in his bell tower—his home—made his heart race with a mix of excitement and fear.
Madellaine looked up at Erik and Colette, a playful smile tugging at the corner of her lips despite her exhaustion. "I'll have to get used to staying with him anyway... since we're together now."
Erik and Colette exchanged a look before breaking into wide grins. "Well, if that's the case," Erik said, his voice teasing but kind, "you'd better take good care of her, Quasi. She's your responsibility now."
Colette nodded enthusiastically, her eyes twinkling with warmth. "That's right, Quasi. She's yours to look after now, so you'd better make sure she stays safe."
Quasimodo's cheeks turned bright red, and his heart raced as he stammered, "I—I will. I promise." His voice was sincere, though his shyness showed. He would do anything for Madellaine, and the thought of being the one she trusted filled him with both happiness and nervousness.
As Madellaine held the figurine close, Quasimodo's gaze drifted toward Clopin, who stood quietly in the background, watching the exchange. The old tension stirred inside him—the memories of betrayal, the bitterness that still lingered. But as he looked at Madellaine, holding the figurine with such care, he realized something: holding on to anger wouldn't bring him peace. Not when there was so much more to be grateful for, so much love surrounding him now.
The act of carving that figurine had been a way for him to express his feelings, to find hope in the face of darkness. Perhaps forgiveness, too, was something he needed to carve out—bit by bit, letting go of the pain that had weighed him down for so long.
Quasimodo hesitated for a moment, but then, with a deep breath, he stepped toward Clopin. His voice was quiet but steady, carrying the weight of years of hurt and healing.
"Clopin…" he began, his hands still trembling slightly. "I remember everything that happened, and I'm not sure I can ever forget. But I want to try to forgive you."
Clopin's eyes softened, and he nodded, understanding the magnitude of Quasimodo's words. "Thank you, Quasi," he said sincerely, his voice quieter than usual. "It's more than I deserve."
Quasimodo nodded, feeling the weight of those old wounds begin to lift, just a little. The journey toward healing wouldn't be easy, but he knew he couldn't carry the anger any longer. It was time to move forward.
He turned back to Madellaine, who still clutched the figurine close to her chest, her eyes shining with warmth and understanding. Quasimodo felt a calm wash over him as if the simple act of trying to forgive had opened up space for something new—something lighter. Quasimodo wrapped his arm around Madellaine, offering her a small, tired smile.
"We...We should go," he said quietly. She nodded, still clutching the carved figure close, and leaned into him as they began walking out of the catacombs.
The heavy silence that had followed them through the tunnels was fading now, replaced by a quiet sense of relief. Behind them, Erik, Colette, Tiberius, and Clopin followed, their footsteps echoing in the distance as Clopin led them in the opposite direction out of the catacombs and towards his new Court's location.
As they reached the steps leading back up to the city, Quasimodo glanced at Madellaine, feeling a warmth spread through him. She was safe, they were together, and the darkness was behind them now.
Together, they climbed, heading toward the surface and whatever came next.
Silently, with a painfully beating heart and a swell of hope welling in his chest, he took Madellaine's hand and began to lead her out of the catacombs and back towards the surface, back towards Notre Dame—towards home—him leading her gently by the hand.