World On Fire: No More Heroes

by DrTwit

Marinette never thought there'd come a time where her only ally was Hawkmoth, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Three years after his death, Gabriel Agreste awakens to a Paris ruled by akumas and no heroes left to defend it. To save his son, and perhaps even his soul, he must team up with his arch nemesis, Ladybug, to save a future built by their mistakes.

45. Surface Pressure

Past

An hour into the latest super villain and, as far as Chat Noir knew, there were no damages. Even that trademark optimism of his couldn't see that as anything more than a bad omen waiting for him or anyone else to jinx themselves into disaster. He arrived in front of the courthouse to the welcoming party of the task force setting up barriers to push back the waves of suicidally curious civilians, and three out of five team members.

The villain of the day was… Sleeping? She sat on the top step of the courthouse – a long, snake-like figure that was mostly comprised of her legs. Most of her body was wrapped in black and orange jumpsuit, a baggy jacket hanging on her shoulders, sitting on a writhing mass of bronze hair that was bigger than her entire body; but her legs were the focal point. They were long enough to cover multiple steps even while bent, and made even heavier by the giant boots they were contained in. Big metal orange clankers, big enough that they looked like they'd leave cracks and quakes with every step, with what looked like a thrust built into the heel.

And yes, she was sleeping. Even from a distance, Chat's enhanced vision could see her head tilted to rest against her arm, eye lids shut tight leaving only her burning crimson skin to stand out and her shoulders lightly shuddering with the beat of her breath.

Suffice to say that when Chat landed, her attitude left a heavy weight pulling on his landing. Knowing how Lila worked so far, this all screamed a set up for a show, and this villain was waiting for all the actors to arrive.

He traded a stiff nod with Chalot as he passed over the task force blockade, curiously noting that Chalot's arm was in a sling and bandages were wrapped around half his face. At least he could assume that Defect wasn't going to come into play here.

Reaching his own team gathered around the outskirts of the cornered off arena, he got straight to business. "What are we dealing with today?"

Pegasus was crouched down over his communicator, typing down his train of theories and queries. He didn't glance up, but he replied. "She's calling herself Surface Pressure."

Viperion and Rena stood back the back, one watching the villain while the other scanned their surroundings, waiting for a hint of Chrysalis or Argos joining the fray. They probably had the same feeling Chat did, even if they didn't have the knowledge Kagami gave him yet, this entire situation felt like Lila prepping an announcement. She was most certainly around here somewhere, keeping a watch over her latest experiment.

Viperio glanced over at Rena, "What are we thinking, amok or akuma?"

"She's a memento." Chat said smoothly, before anyone could ask the obvious question, he held his hands up and cut them off at the head. "I had an insider tip off just before the alert went off, I'll explain later."

Rena rolled her eyes, sucking in her breath so sharp it sounded like a broken whistle. New name meant new bullshit, and she was already tired of amoks and akumas. "Okay, so what's a memento?"

"Supposedly it's the combination of an amok and an akuma." Chat explained, giving off a weak grin as he rubbed the back of his neck. "What that means for us… I have no idea."

Weak grin. Heavy footsteps. Strangled air. Chat knew on his way here that he wasn't feeling particularly energetic today, his head hadn't been in the game since his date with Lila, and knowing that she was probably watching them right now got under his skin like nothing else. However, it wasn't just that, as soon as he arrived, he felt it, a strange foreboding that seemed to wash over everyone else too.

It was that itch that told you to grit your teeth and prepare for the worst, because something was coming to rock your world. Something was waiting for them around the corner, and it was bringing a whole lotta pain with it.

He extended his staff to pull out his own communicator, scanning through the map function and letting his brow furrow when he saw no trace of their two missing members. "Where's Bee and Carapace?"

"They're not coming." Rena grumbles, suddenly looking very tired and annoyed.

Chat thinks about whether he dares to inquire further, but eventually sighs and does so anyway. "Why?"

He sees Rena's eye twitch as she lets out a bitter, tired laugh. "…They went out clubbing last night and are currently in a drunken coma."

"Seriously?" He asks incredulously.

"Hey, take it up with them." She murmurs with an exhaustion that told Chat that she was probably the one who had to pick up and manage the aftermath of said drunken antics. "I'm just the messenger."

It hits him in that moment that he hasn't really talked to the rest of the team much after his encounter with Lila. He passed on a message or two about seeking out hidden passageways in the mansion, and some… Carefully selected and filtered tidbits of the information she gave him. He didn't tell them the true extent of her interest in him, he didn't tell them the personal stories she told, he didn't tell them what she offered him; and he most certainly didn't tell them that he, on some level, liked the attention she gave him. He didn't tell them that he dug up the other letters she'd sent him and hid them in his room.

Plagg and Tikki worry that he's just scaring himself, and he is, but his fear of Lila is not the same fear that they think he has of her. The fear that her power wasn't in any threat she could level at him, or leverage she could hold over his head, but in the fact that she awoke something in his heart that he was ashamed of. And they won't know, just as the rest of the gang won't know, not yet; because Adrien couldn't begin to imagine how he could explain it.

How do you look your friends in the eye and tell them that you were attracted to the woman who murdered the love of your life? That you felt comforted by the villain making everyone suffer? God, even the selected information he left out made it feel like he was trying to protect Lila's privacy, that he was respecting the personal stories she trusted him enough to tell. How could he tell them what he was going through without revealing to them that he was broken, that his heart had betrayed the team and Marinette?

He shook his head, grounding himself in the moment. He glanced up at the present threat, and she was still just sitting there, eyes closed, waiting. "What's up with her? She hasn't made any demands yet?"

Viperion eyed him for a moment and Chat internally cursed himself for forgetting how aware Luka was of his conflicted heart, but thankfully Viperion didn't call him on it; yet. Instead, he shrugged. "Nope, she's just been sitting there. I think she's sleeping."

Pegasus stroked his chin. "If this is Chrysalis' newest creation, I'm sure she's waiting for an audience." He fell back on the balls of his feet, staring up at Chat pointedly. "I know this may be improper, but might I suggest that we try to drag this fight out if we can? We need to learn as much as we can about this new power."

Chat scoffed, "I don't think she's going to give us that chance."

Rena slapped Viperion on the back. "Good thing we have a guy here with infinite chances."

Somehow, they all felt it, heard it in the recess of their minds, when Surface Pressure opened her eyes.

"Look live, she's getting up!"

She rose without muscle or effort, just a wave of force traveling up from her legs to propel the rest of her body up, a puppet being jiggled around by their stand. Her arms pressed tightly to her sides, curling inward to stuff her hands in her pockets. From that perspective, it made it easy for the arms to blur into the rest of her, making her look like one solid body, a snake- No, a cobra, with a bulky tail that ran up one line into the head, where the mass of hair curved perfectly to accentuate the shape of a cobra's hood.

The only thing that broke up her form was the vibrations. Her legs, however slightly, jiggled, moving with purpose and eagerness, building up to a rapid tapping that Chat Noir could feel reach him through the air. Her legs still clung together, but the rest of her body fell into a curve, leaning forward and pulling the heroes' attention closer.

The vibrations grew stronger, rippling through the ground beneath them. Chat Noir tightened his grip on his staff, eyes locked on Surface Pressure's eerily fluid movements. The rest of the team tensed around him, falling into a cautious formation.

His instincts were screaming at him, the foreboding sensation pressing harder against his chest. His ears flicked as Surface Pressure's steady tapping became faster, more deliberate, the rhythm pulling at something primal, something deep inside. It was hypnotic, almost musical, but in the way that made his skin crawl.

Surface Pressure's crimson irises snapped into place, shrinking to the side of a pin as she locked on. She tilted her head, a slow, deliberate motion that seemed both curious and mocking. Her grin spread wide, revealing jagged teeth that looked more like shards of glass than anything human.

She pressed down into her feet, body squishing like a spring unfurling into itself, and she spoke. "Boom, Baby."

She was gone.

In her place, the ground unravelled, a miniature earthquake erupting from underneath, shattering the ground, the steps and the entrance to the courtyard into shards. Ripples expanded outwards, pulling apart and breaking down every inch it touched until it was one giant sinkhole that the rest of the courtyard's foundations crumbled into. It was only then than Chat's ears registered the explosion.

She was gone.

Chat couldn't see her, all his eyes gathered was an orange blur escaping the impact zone a split second before the explosive eruption.

She was gone.

Until he turned around.

He was only allowed a second to act, not enough to change the outcome, but enough to witness. Frozen in that second, he saw that Surface Pressure had past him, past Rena, past Pegasus, and now, twisting through the air on the momentum of her destruction, she held her heels to Viperion's head.

"Viperion!"

The explosion went off at point blank range, ripping away Chat's vision, blinding him to all but the sensation of being knocked to the ground. However, the roar of pain shooting through his chest wasn't enough to stop Chat from stealing a glance at the aftermath.

Viperion's limp body shot out of the smoke, cleanly crashing through a car like it was made of paper before smashing into the wall across the street. And that's not to mean he went through the wall, he made his own imprint on it, one that his broken body hung from as blood gushed from his now crooked face.

The sight of Viperion's shattered form sent a spike of horror through Chat Noir's chest. His breath caught, and time seemed to slow as his mind scrambled for a plan, a response—anything to turn the tide of what already felt like a losing battle.

Rena was the first to react, her sharp gasp breaking the spell. "No!" she screamed, sprinting toward him before Chat's hand shot out to grab her arm.

"Don't!" he barked, his voice tight with urgency. "It's not safe!"

Rena tried to yank her arm free, her eyes wild with panic. "We have to help him!"

Chat just barely managed to shove Rena back before Surface Pressure's leg appeared where her head used to be. "No, no, go help your friend." She taunted as she made a smooth landing out of the miss, sliding across the street and easily twirling her way back onto her feet. "He looks like he needs someone to light up his fuse."

It pained Chat to leave Luka crumpled there, but they could not afford to turn their back on their opponent right now. The moment one of them ran to Luka was the moment she'd nail them in the back. He crouched down into a cautious stance, extending his baton into a staff; he felt comfortable having some sort of reach here.

"Sorry 'bout that there." Pressure drawled while patting herself down. "I got orders from the top to take out the groundhog guy first, and I guess I let my rhythm get carried away. It's been so long since I've gotten to make that wonderful tune."

Quickly, Chat noticed that everyone's attentions were distracted, bring him to cautiously turn his gaze, keeping Pressure in the corner of his view. Beside him, where Viperion used to stand, there was a crack. A crack, crackling with white energy, in the air, as if they were surrounded by floating glass.

"Unreal…" Pegasus muttered, "She hit the air so hard it turned… Solid?"

"How's that possible?" Rena spat through gritted teeth.

Pegasus adjusted his shades, trying to keep his explanation simple. "It's like the effect of jumping into a body of water from down low compared to high up."

Pressure offered them a toothy grin, throwing her head back to save her the effort of pointing her thumb at Viperion's body. "Did you hear the way his rips crunched as the air popped?" Her following sigh was tinged with nostalgia. "Now that is some sweet music."

Everyone saw her feet beginning to vibrate again and, thankfully, everybody had the instant reaction of splitting apart to dodge the next attempt.

Rena called out as she jumped up high. "What the hell did you just do?"

Unfortunately, throwing yourself into the air when you couldn't fly just meant that you couldn't dodge. As Rena quickly found out when a smaller explosion propelled Pressure upwards, flipping her body mid-air to catch Rena's stomach on her feet and bringing them both down for a hard landing.

In the span of two seconds Pressure had made a new Rena-sized hole, pinning the girl to the floor with one leg. "It's in the name, Sweetie." She cackled, slamming her other foot down on Rena's head. "I can create enough pressure to turn any surface, solid, gas or liquid, into a homemade explosive."

A portal opened up under Rena, sucking her in and depositing her safely into Chat's arms while Pressure's foot plunged into the muck. Pressure only looked mildly annoyed by the save, throwing her entire body around to face them, hands still in pockets, feet still locked together.

"I was scared at first, thought I'd up and died when they ripped open my chest." Idly, she squeezed her shoulders together, the creases in her suit drawing a line down her wound. "But today I woke up to find myself with a gift. After so many years of dull snaps and safe fizzles, I'm back in my element, I can make the real booms again."

Rena looked more than a little disgruntled as she pushed her way out of Chat's arms, feverishly wiping away the trails of blood escaping her broken nose. "And here I was thinking she was going to be a wacko."

Suddenly, Pegasus piped up, pointing wildly at the villain. "Guys, look!"

Chat's head snapped to follow the finger, finding a familiar device hidden under the folds of Pressure's jacket. The chestpiece with the akuma symbol on it, the same one Disruptor had, the same one many other of Chrysalis' akumas had; the same one that went missing every time after the akuma was defeated. "It's that weird harness again."

Rena steadied herself, revealing the aftershock of Pressure's attack still ringing in her bones, making her legs dance to an unsteady sway. "Think it's for the memento?"

Pegasus shrugged, "Not enough data, but it's the only theory we have."

Chat nodded, slapping his staff against the opposing palm. Something about tapping it, keeping his hands busy mimicking what move he'd use to drum Pressure's head out; it soothed him. "Only way to find out is to crack it open."

Pegasus stood up to join him, sighing. "And I so wished to have a sample to study."

Chat glanced over towards the blockade, the task force members lined up to witness the fight, but none looking eager to join in just yet. "Looks like we're on our own…"

Surface Pressure started to sway, bouncing on her heel as the vibrations picked up again. His muscles tensed, his focus zeroing in on every subtle movement Pressure made. He couldn't afford to miss a beat. "Rena, Pegasus, spread out. Don't give her a single target."

"Got it!" Rena leaped to the side, her movements slightly unsteady as she wiped at the blood under her nose, but her determination didn't falter.

Pressure's smirk widened as she watched them scatter. "Aw, now you're just making it fun for me." With a sharp stomp, she launched herself into the air, another shockwave rippling outward from her departure point.

This time, Chat was ready. He vaulted upward, meeting her mid-air with his extended staff. The clash of his weapon against her metallic boots sent a jarring vibration through his arms, but he held firm, pushing her back just enough to disrupt her trajectory.

"Nice try, kitty," she sneered, twisting in mid-air to land gracefully a few meters away.

Pressure's feet hit the ground, but only for a moment. She was off again in a flash, propelling herself with a sharp burst from her heels, zigzagging across the battlefield like a human pinball. Chat, Rena, and Pegasus found themselves constantly turning, dodging, and striking out, but every move seemed just a split-second too slow.

Chat swung his staff in a wide arc as she streaked by, but she ducked under it with ease, planting a quick, bone-rattling kick into his ribs before springing away. The impact knocked him back, forcing him to skid to a stop against the pavement, his breath catching painfully in his chest.

Rena attempted to cut her off with a series of illusions, trying to corral Pressure into a trap. But Pressure wasn't fooled, her sharp eyes tracking the real Rena amidst the decoys. With a quick hop, she spun in the air and delivered a vicious downward kick that sent Rena sprawling.

Pegasus tried to predict her movements, opening a portal just in time to avoid a glancing blow to his shoulder. He reappeared a few feet away, gritting his teeth as Pressure skidded to a halt, her grin feral. "Oh, you're quick, Shades," she taunted. "But I'm quicker."

"Don't bet on it," Pegasus muttered, adjusting his glasses with a sharp flick.

Pressure lunged at him, the ground shattering under her heels as she launched herself forward. Pegasus, eyes darting, quickly opened a portal in front of him, angling it just right. Pressure shot through with a loud whoosh, only to emerge high in the air, her momentum carrying her at full speed.

For a brief moment, she seemed suspended against the sky. Then gravity reclaimed her, and she plummeted. The ground met her with a sickening crunch, the sound of shattering concrete mingling with the sharp gasp she let out upon impact.

The heroes didn't have time to celebrate. With a groan, Pressure rolled to her feet, brushing herself off as if nothing had happened. Her smile returned, wider and sharper than ever. "Alright," she drawled, stepping back into the street. "If you want to play dirty, let's really get messy."

Positioning herself at the end of a line of abandoned cars, her feet began to hum with that familiar vibration. "You know what'll really make my demolition album pop?" she said with a wicked grin. "Some more metal."

Her heel tapped against the edge of the nearest car, releasing a powerful explosion that sent it hurtling forward, a blazing projectile of crumpled steel and flames.

The heroes scattered. Chat barely managed to roll out of the way, his ears ringing as the car crashed into the pavement where he'd stood moments ago.

Rena puffed out her chest, grinning. "Heh, talking about road ra-" The second car came careening toward her, and though she raised her arms to brace herself, the impact knocked her flat. She groaned from the ground, her voice muffled by pain. "That was a cheap shot!"

Chat glanced at the chaos, his mind racing. They couldn't keep this up. Every move they made only seemed to feed into her destructive momentum. But there had to be a way to turn this around. Then his eyes caught on the device under her jacket, the faint glint of the akuma symbol. It had to be important; it had to mean something. One well aimed cataclysm was all he needed… That, and an opportunity to keep her in place.

He clenched his fist around his staff, formulating a plan. "Rena," he called out, catching her attention as she shakily pushed herself to her feet. "Throw out a distraction!"

"Pegasus," Chat continued, inclining his head ever so slightly, signalling behind and above Pressure. "I need the drop on her. Get me in position."

Pegasus adjusted his shades, nodding once. "You got it."

As Rena scrambled to her feet, a sly smile tugged at her lips despite the ache in her bones. "Hey, Boom Box!" She brought her flute to her lips and let the miraculous energy flow through her breath, smoke materializing around her to form a wall to shelter her from Pressure's gaze.

A moment passed before the smoke pulled away to reveal Rena #2 continuing her quip. "How about."

Rena #3, #4 and #6 echoed her words in song.

The next several Rena's spawning behind her sang in harmony. "We add"

Before they knew it a whole army of Rena's were belting out in high notes. "A whole choir to the mix?"

Surface Pressure scoffed, crouching down and squeezing her legs until the vibrations sounded like jack hammers. "I can raise the roof, I can raise this whole street; I can sure as hell raise all of you."

The Rena Rouge Legion surged forward, a chaotic sea of orange and red-clad warriors, their battle cries echoing through the streets.

Pressure's grin widened, and with a sharp stomp, she propelled herself upward, twisting in midair before slamming her heel down into the pavement. The resulting explosion sent shockwaves rippling outward, scattering some of the illusions like dust. But for every illusion that vanished, two more seemed to appear, weaving around her, dodging her blows, and keeping her perpetually off balance.

Flaming cars rained down from the sky, each one a fiery projectile aimed at the encroaching illusions. Pressure stomped, kicked, and spun, unleashing bursts of energy that sent chunks of asphalt and twisted metal flying in every direction. But no matter how many Renas she took down, the sheer number of illusions overwhelmed her.

"Hope you're ready for a duet!" one Rena quipped, dodging a spinning hunk of debris.

"Talk about chaotic harmony," added another, her voice laced with playful sarcasm.

Pressure snarled, her focus splitting between the illusions and the real heroes moving in the periphery.

From above, Chat watched the chaos unfold. Rena's distraction was working beautifully, giving him the window he needed. With a nod to Pegasus, he braced himself. "Now!" he whispered.

"Voyage!" Pegasus grinned, opening a portal beneath Chat Noir's feet. In an instant, Chat was airborne, the world a blur of motion as he hurtled toward the ground.

The crackling energy of his Cataclysm coiled around his hand, black and deadly, as he zeroed in on the faint glint of the device under Pressure's jacket. "Cataclysmic delivery service coming right up!"

From his fingers, black claw marks streaked forward, crackling with destructive energy as they whipped around like feral shadows, rocketing straight toward Surface Pressure's chest.

But instead of panic, she grinned wide, her movements a blur of speed. "Not enough 'umpf' in that track, Clumsy Cat." With a quick burst of energy from her legs, she spun in place, the concussive force forming a shield of air that redirected the Cataclysm away from the tech harness.

Instead, the destructive energy hit her directly in the arm.

Chat's triumphant grin faltered, his expression twisting into horror. "No!" he shouted, the realization hitting him like a truck. Behind all the chaos, all the power, there was still an innocent person. And now, he had to watch as his Cataclysm consumed her arm.

The black energy spread like wildfire, eroding flesh and fabric alike, the sickening crackle of destruction filling the air. Yet, Pressure didn't scream. She didn't panic. Instead, she let out a low chuckle, unfazed by the touch of death traveling up her arm.

"Aww, look at you, all concerned," she cooed mockingly, lifting her gaze to him. Then, without hesitation, she grabbed her infected arm with her remaining hand and, in one swift, sickening motion, ripped it off.

Chat landed hard, joined immediately by Rena and Pegasus as the three of them stared in collective horror.

"She just—" Rena gasped, clutching her flute. "She ripped off her arm!"

"That did not look painless," Pegasus muttered, his voice tight with disbelief.

Pressure's severed arm hit the ground with a dull thud, crumbling away into blue void-like energy. Left behind was the jagged stump of her shoulder, swirling with an eerie, almost alive blue glow.

Pegasus adjusted his glasses, his analytical mind kicking in despite the grotesque sight. "That void… it's the insides of a sentimonster," he theorized aloud.

"Wait—" Rena's eyes widened. "So her whole body's a sentimonster?!"

"Not just any sentimonster," Pegasus said quickly, his voice rising into a stream of mutterings and theories firing off in his brain. "It's akumatized, but there's something else. What's its unique feature? That's what we're missing—"

Pressure interrupted with a cough, clutching at the stub of her arm. Her face was pale, sweat dripping down her forehead, but she was laughing through the pain. "Oh, it hurt like hell," she admitted, her voice breathy but gleeful. "But when just being in this form is such a rush, who cares about a little pain!?"

A boom roared above them, bringing Chat's attention to the sudden appearance of storm clouds above. These were not natural ones. They were a familiar sickly purple, and they were swirling all together to only hang above the villain. Pressure staggered to her feet. Chat's gaze snapped upward, his heart sinking as he noticed a foreboding omen staring back at him: dark patches in the storm forming the unmistakable shapes of the butterfly and peacock symbols.

"Master," Pressure cried out. "Show them the difference between the posers and the pros!"

A split second later, a brilliant purple lightning bolt and a blue one converged, striking her at the same time. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the street, forcing the heroes to shield their faces from the blinding light.

Pressure's body convulsed violently as the lightning coursed through her, her form briefly outlined in electric blue and purple. She dropped to her knees, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Then, horrifyingly, the stub of her arm began to bubble and hiss, the skin stretching and twisting as bones sprouted outward like fast-growing vines.

"What the fuck?!" Rena exclaimed, her voice breaking in disbelief.

The skeletal arm thickened as veiny wires wrapped around it, pulsating with artificial life. Moments later, crimson-red flesh overtook the wires, forming a fully functional arm. The process ended with steam pouring off her body, and Pressure threw her head back, cackling maniacally.

"That's the good stuff!" she shouted, flexing her new arm dramatically. She made a show of rolling her shoulder, her grin wicked and triumphant. "That's right, boys and girls. With one little pick-me-up from the almighty, I can come back from anything you throw at me!"

Chat tightened his grip on his baton, his jaw clenched. "We don't need to kill you to take you down, we just need to find the object storing your essence."

Something in his wording triggered a neuron in Pegasus' mind, and from the dark look that came from it, there was nothing good about what Pegasus was going to suggest. "Wait, is that it?"

"Huh?" The two other heroes asked in unison.

"It's a paradox." Pegasus hummed, his brow dropping with his frown. "The akumatized object is her amok, but the amok is stored inside the akuma; the villain herself is the object."

Everything slowed down for Chat, the implication clear to him. Good news first; they could defeat her.

"Does that mean…" He asked, his voice wobbling. "The only way to take her down is to kill the victim?"

Bad news: the solution was to murder an innocent woman.

Pegasus breathed in deeply, fixing Chat with an uncomfortable look that spared no grizzly element of what had to be done. "Chrysalis' mementos are the ultimate hostage."

It was simple back in the day.

Akuma, sentimonsters; it didn't matter because, at the end of the day, there was no permanent damage unless they screwed up majorly. No matter how much they were pushed to their limits, Ladybug and Chat Noir never had to worry about hurting the person underneath. The damage of the akuma never transferred to the victim and the victim barely had any memory of the incident. They never had to consider what the consequence of attacking too hard or think about holding back.

Not until they had Monarch dead to rights, bound and broken on the floor after being thoroughly humiliated by Ladybug's scavenger quest. Not until Chat Noir panicked and used his cataclysm on Monarch. There was a person underneath that costume, and unlike his victims, his damage didn't get undone.

Chat hated Monarch with every fibre of his being; and he still felt like a monster for doing that to the man. And now, he was faced with the possibility of doing it to an innocent person whose only wrong was being used as a puppet by Lila.

"Oh, you don't have to worry about breaking me." Surface Pressure's voice felt infinitely more painful to hear with this new information dragging behind it. "As we just got through establishing, I'm unbreakable."

In a matter of seconds this situation turned into a clusterfuck, and Chat needed advice from his better half. He looked between Pegasus and Rena, voice heavy. "Cover me for a second."

Thankfully, there was no argument, the two already understood the what's and why's, turning to face down Surface Pressure while Chat ducked behind one of the destroyed cars. He flicked open his baton, trailing his finger down the base until he found an indent that, with one push, revealed a hidden compartment. It was something Su-Han had helped install, working similar to how Ladybug's yoyo allowed her to reach into her miracle box from any distance to grab miraculous.

In this instance, his baton was connected to every member of his team, allowing them to seamlessly pass small items in between. That include Nathalie, who, refusing to listen to Chat Noir's insistence that she stay out of harm's way, had hidden herself somewhere near by to watch over the battle with Tikki and give updates.

He dug out the ladybug earrings, summoning the red kwami to his side. She and Nathalie were always listening in, so he didn't need to appraise her of the situation. "Tikki, be straight with me; if we pull this off, will the miraculous cure bring back the victim?"

There was no comforting lies behind Tikki's eyes, just a reluctant truth. "…I'm sorry, but I can't say for sure. I've never encountered this 'memento' before. There are many things that even the cure cannot undo."

The truth was acid on his cheeks, leaving only a stinging shame burning his skin as he shook his head. "We can't… We can't just kill an innocent person." For a moment, it was as if his transformation had dropped and only the powerless Adrien sat there, pleading before the Goddess of Creation. "There has to be another way. Can't we trap her?"

Tikki looked uneasily over to the task force members. Chat knew there was a good chance that most of them were ignorant and had no idea of Chalot and Lila's true identities; but he also knew that, without evidence, none of them were gonna go against Chalot's command and come to their aid. "The only ones with the capability of trapping a super villain like this are the same people who created her."

Nathalie's voice came over the communicator. It was soothing and warm, but nothing could make this pill easier to swallow. "Adrien-"

"This isn't right." He gasped out.

Nathalie was silent following that, not because she had nothing to say, but because she knew he needed the moment. In the silence, he could almost imagine Nathalie pulling him into one of those strong hugs that made him feel stable and grounded, the sort of ones that would end with her awkwardly blushing because she wasn't the affectionate type.

When time had passed, and time was too short because he knew damn well that while he was going through his crisis his friends were putting up the fight of their lives, Nathalie cleared her throat. "Listen. Many times in life we don't get the privilege of having a right option." He imagined her taking his hand, gaps of implication filled in by his mind, knowing that her life was one of experience. "As long as this villain is roaming, everyone in Paris is in danger. We don't have a choice except hoping that the cure will work."

Chat Noir's grip on his baton tightened as the words left Nathalie's lips. They weren't new to him—he'd heard similar advice before, from teachers, mentors, even his father once upon a time. But this time, they hit differently. This wasn't just some abstract idea of a difficult decision. This was real. This was immediate. And this wasn't a choice he was ready to make.

His fingers trembled as he stared at Tikki, who floated in the air beside him, her usual radiance dulled by the weight of the situation. The Goddess of Creation, usually so full of hope, now looked burdened by the uncertainty of their chances.

"What would Ladybug do?" he asked, his voice cracking under the strain.

She would find a better way. She always found the way out.

Tikki hesitated. "Ladybug would do everything in her power to protect Paris... even if it meant making the hardest choice."

That wasn't the answer he wanted. It wasn't the one he needed.

He let out a shaky breath, his heart twisting painfully. "I don't know if I can do this, Tikki. I can't... I won't just be someone who decides who lives and who dies."

"You're not that person, Adrien," Tikki said softly, placing her tiny hand on his cheek. "But you're also the one person who can stop her right now. And the longer you wait, the more lives are at risk."

The words felt like daggers. He knew she was right, and that made it so much worse.

Behind the car, he could hear the battle raging on. Rena's illusions created chaotic distractions, her voice carrying quips that almost sounded natural if not for the strain behind them. Pegasus called out calculated orders, trying to coordinate attacks that wouldn't put any civilians—or themselves—at risk. Surface Pressure's laughter echoed through it all, loud and manic, as explosions rocked the street.

And all the while, Chat could only sit there, paralyzed by indecision.

Then Nathalie's voice came through again, gentler this time. "Adrien, I know this feels impossible. I know you're terrified of making the wrong choice. But remember, you're not alone. You're part of a team. Trust in them, and trust in yourself. You've always done what's right, even when it was hard."

He squeezed his eyes shut, her words a small comfort in the storm of guilt and fear. Slowly, his breathing steadied, and the trembling in his hands lessened.

"I… Understand." he whispered, opening his eyes and looking at Tikki. "If I don't do it, someone else will; and they'll screw it up."

Tikki nodded solemnly, her determination mirroring his. "Then we'll give it everything we've got."

He clipped the earrings on, jumping over the hood of the fallen car as the transformation took hold. "Tikki, Switch."

He turned his communicator back on. "Rena, Pegasus, I'm back in. Let's take her down."

"About time," Rena quipped, her voice strained but relieved. "We were starting to think you were gonna sit this one out, Kitty."

He glanced at Pegasus, who was fending off Surface Pressure with precision portal placements. "Pegasus, you have any ideas on how to take this thing down?"

Pegasus wasted no time, while Chat was caught up in the 'ifs', Max was already filing an orderly list of 'hows'. "I'd suggest finding a way to bind her legs, she needs to manually generate friction to trigger her pressure power."

He fell back into a somersault to escape Pressure's latest attempt to swipe at him. Despite her overwhelming presence, it was clear that Pegasus was at least successful in pissing her off. "If we attack her at the moment she attempts to burst, we could knock her off balance and cause some major damage."

That grim expression came again. But Chat gave an encouraging nod, there was no point dancing around it. "But to truly take her out of the fight…" He clapped his hands together. "We'll need something that annihilates instead of wounds."

Rena rolled her eyes, "I can hear the wheels turning in that big brain of yours."

"I only need some time." Pegasus patted Chat on the shoulder before launching himself upwards and opening a portal in mid-air. "And some help from our friends over at the miraculous task force."

---

Chalot felt like shit. Which, by all accounts, was a miracle considering he was incapable of real feelings. Then again, that was by design, wasn't it? He can latch onto all the bad crap, but didn't have a prayer of stopping anything good from slipping through his fingers.

Yesterday, he'd been returned to the Malevolence's embrace for the first time since Lila found him. It only lasted for a few minutes, but it was enough to remind him how much that creature terrified him. And yet it also brought a new sensation, something that almost felt like living, something he thought he was denied of in this metal prison; paternal instincts.

Everything since he became an abomination had been numbness and noise. But the moment he ripped Felix from the Malevolence's grip, there was a clarity, a raw, rebellious little feeling that surged through him and overwhelmed all power the Malevolence's presence had over him if just long enough for him to give it hell.

It was the closest thing to pain a creature like him could muster, yet it was almost a relief. For a long time he wondered how low he had sunken, if he, in his heart, despite knowing how wrong and senseless it was, had given up on Felix. If he'd stopped seeing the boy as a son. In that moment, he was awakened to the fact that he was wrong; he still cared for the boy, so much so that his paternal need to protect his cub stuck to his wretched soul.

And then he fucked it.

It was going well, him and Felix almost tolerated each other for a second, Felix found it in himself to make an apology of all things; and Colt was plagued with the thought that Felix calling him 'father' was nothing more than something he imagined. Colt was going to say something to Felix, something important. He didn't really know what he was going to say, but he knew he had to say it, that they were on the verge of- Of- Something, damn it!

How the fuck did Colt god damn Fathom manage to choke? He was the master of running his mouth, but he gets cold feet when it actually matters? Damn it.

Everything that followed was just reinforcement that everything had gotten worse. He could tell Felix and Kagami got into some sort of fight, that Felix had pretty much shut down, and that any attempt to touch upon their little moment down in the chamber was going to be met with nothing but that especially disdainful scowl Felix reserved for him alone.

And now Chalot was left to sit around with his thumb up his ass because Lila had a script to follow. The official excuse was that the task force didn't want to get in the heroes' way since none of them could keep up with the speed of the fight, that keeping the dumb ass civilians at bay (what fucking idiots decided to take their kids to see the terrorist attack?) was the best they could do.

Unofficially, Colt wanted to break Defect out, injury be damned, and hit something.

God, what was taking Lila and Felix so long?!

Thompson was speaking up again, and as much as his voice grated on Colt's tolerance, Chalot thought that they should at least attempt to listen. "Aren't we supposed to be doing something, Sir?"

Chalot's head turns sharply on the man, and Defect takes amusement from how Thompson stiffens at the slightest movement. The bastard hasn't been as gung-ho since his failed hostile take over. Chalot wonders if Thompson is watching Surface Pressure with horror, wondering what it'll feel like when Lila eventually makes him a memento too.

"Just keep the civies back and watch the show." Chalot says stiffly, "It's their fight."

Thompson hesitated, his nervous eyes flicking to Chalot's arm. "What… Uh… happened to your arm, Sir?"

It must look quite bizarre to those in the know, a fake metal arm with no nerves to care for and no bones to hold in place, wrapped up in a sling. That was the rub with the Malevolence, it was all-consuming and all-corrupting, if it got into you deep enough to wound, it tended to stay there.

Now, there were Malevolence burns all over this metal shell which served both to break the machinery and miraculously stop Tomoe from performing conventional repairs; it was like acid, except it took it's time burning just to stop anyone from getting it over with. It wasn't like they could just throw it out and make a new body from scratch, it took her months just to develop the prototype for this one.

So, for now, he was stuck like this, half his body held together by bolts, tape and a lotta prayer. And, if he could help it, he'd like people to stop bringing it to his attention like annoying little gnats buzzing in his non-existent ear.

"Does the story behind my injury have anything to do with the lady tearing up the street?" Chalot snapped, his tone razor-sharp.

"N-No, Sir." Thompson muttered quietly, shrinking under Chalot's glare.

"Then shut the fuck up, Lieutenant."

Of course, the moment Thompson quiets down, Weevil decides to come barrelling through the line and stumbling right into Thompson's back. His skin is still sweating bullets, his rat-faced eyes were screaming panic and every limb in his body was flailing like there was no bones.

If Chalot could breathe, he'd take the deepest and sharpest of breaths. Who knew that staying back would be so aggravating?

"S-Sir!" Weevil doubled over, weakly slapping his hand against his forehead in salute. "Sir!"

Chalot pushed his hand over his scalp, growling. "For God's sake, Weasel; fucking breathe."

"It's just the horse hero, Sir." Weevil wheezed out, pointing over his shoulder to where the trucks and equipment were being stored.

"The portal guy?" Chalot hums, only half paying attention. "Did he suck one of our trucks into his portals again?"

"He's stealing our equipment."

If Chalot could, he'd sigh. Somebody's got to do it, and everyone else here can't handle conflict for shit apparently. So, Chalot storms through the lines of underlings with a dead look in his eye and his healthy arms hanging limp by his side.

Low and behold, the nosey little pony was right there, crates knocked over so he could graze over the contents now spilled across the floor. People circled around him, gawking and confused, but Pegasus paid them no mind as he casually disassembled various rifles, radios and power units and hooked them up to some strange Frankenstein-esc creation he'd set up in the middle of it all.

Chalot's shadow towered over the boy, but still the hero did not spare a blink, his mind far more occupied with ripping two cables open and tying them together. With a gasp, an idea clearly striking him, he scrambled for component he'd discarded earlier, only to find Chalot's boot on top of it. "Mind telling me what you're getting up to there, Horsey?"

Begrudgingly, Pegasus looked up at the man, his face blank. "Theoretically, I'm about to make your equipment accomplish something for once." He stated simply before ripping the component out from under Chalot and clambering back to work.

Brats these days are so fucking rude.

Chalot decided to be more aggressive, lunging forward to catch the hero by the scruff of his neck and yank the boy up to eye level. "See, that's private property and tampering with it is illegal."

The only motion Pegasus made was to adjust his shades and narrow his eyes. "Tampering is touching something that I shouldn't or damaging it." He waved around that condescending little finger. "I'm fixing and improving your modest attempt at the 2X4 Midas Beam; and considering the threat at our gates, I most certainly should be touching it."

Chalot's grip tightened with a snarl. The nerve of this kid.

"Why you little-" However, Chalot found his words caught as he doubled back on what Pegasus said. "Wait, how do you know what it's called? We only finished work on it yesterday!"

"Irrelevant." Pegasus clamps frown on Chalot's hand and tugged on it to request his freedom. "I have the solution to all our problems, that's all that matters."

His arm went out, gesturing to the gathering of civilians who were now taking quite the interest in the Task Force leader manhandling the heroes. "The people are watching, Sir. So, tell me if I have your permission to save them from a super villain."

Chalot had already decided that Pegasus had a point, but he still took a long, dead moment to pretend that he was thinking it over. Technically, letting Pegasus create something to counter Surface Pressure went against Lila's plan, but on the other hand; f Lila's memento could be beaten by the horse kid, then it wasn't all it was cracked up to be.

He finally dropped Pegasus with an irritated grunt. "Weevil, watch him," he ordered, jerking his head toward the hero. "I don't want him blowing us up on accident."

"Nothing to worry about, Sir. I am Pegasus, and I'm not sure if you've heard, but I'm a genius."

---

Nadia stared into the tv monitor, watching the chaos of the latest akuma and/or sentimonster unfold before her, and all she could summon is apathy. The years had worn away at her sense of wonder, and even her sense of danger, the attacks so routine that at this point, Hawkmoth or Chrysalis, she couldn't find the will to be amazed any more.

Maybe it was because she'd already decided that she and Manon were going to be on the next train out of Paris as soon as she handed in her resignation. Paris was too crazy for her, she needed to go somewhere with normal stories where her daughter wasn't at risk of transforming into a maniacal super villain or get kidnapped by some shape-shifting freak.

At the very least, the attack had the benefit of cancelling her interview with some task force spokesperson today.

"I remember when you'd rush to the scene to get a good view of a fight like this." She leaned back in her chair, catching Alec picking at the catering selection behind her.

She shrugged, "Guess I'm just getting too old for this."

"That doesn't sound like the Nadia I know." Alec narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips. "Are you a sentimonster?"

Nadia sniggered, "Hell if I know." She turned her seat around, the TV left in the past, looking up at Alec curiously. "Are you not tired of all this ruckus yet?"

"Nah, I think I'll always have a love for the job. I look too good on camera to do anything else." He dramatically swept back the golden locks of his wig. "Why, are you thinking of quitting?"

"I'm handing in my two weeks' notice as soon as I finish covering that press conference."

"Press conference?"

"The Task Force are putting together an emergency conference later today. Well, if this akuma wraps up in time." Nadia rested her chin on her palm. "I've got front row heckling seats for it, apparently they uncovered some shocking information for the public." She threw herself back in her seat, sighing. "I hope it isn't any changes to the evacuation protocols. I swear at this rate they're gonna end up quarantining all of Paris to stop Sentimonsters from getting out."

"You're just being paranoid." Alec shrugged, rifling through his pocket to pull out several postcards and slam them down on the table. "This whole mess will be over before you know it. And when it does, I'm going on a long vacation somewhere tropical."

"Don't count your eggs before they hatch."

Alec snorted, "Please, this time next year I'm going to be anywhere but Paris. You can count on that."

---

By this point the tapping had become monotonous, like being stuck on the last note leading into a chorus. It was a never ending droning that drilled so deep into Chat's ears that he swore he was still hearing it even after she attacked.

How many times does she need to wind herself up before she actually does something? he groaned internally, suppressing the urge to yawn as Surface Pressure built up her energy for what felt like the hundredth time.

He shifted on his feet, twirling his staff lazily. Tiring. That's what this fight is. Tiring. She's like a bad knockoff drumline that's all build and no drop. His ears twitched as the tapping quickened—oh, now she was finally gearing up.

Pressure launched herself forward with a manic grin, her voice dripping with smug enthusiasm. "I'm bursting with energy; I might just explo—"

Her taunt was cut short as Chat, clearly done with her theatrics, interrupted with a sharp, confident shout: "Calamity Dash!"

In an instant, he slashed the air with his staff, erasing the space between them. Surface Pressure suddenly found herself face-to-face with Chat, her expression one of absolute bewilderment.

"What the fu—"

Chat didn't let her finish. His fist connected with her jaw, sending her stumbling. Before she could recover, Rena Rouge darted in, capitalizing on the opening. She leapt gracefully, planting a kick squarely to the back of Pressure's head with a satisfying thwack.

"You could say you walked right into that one," Rena quipped with a sly grin as Pressure toppled forward.

Chat wasn't about to let the momentum slip away. He rushed in, diving into a handspring beneath Pressure's crumbling form. With a sharp twist of his core, he drove his legs into her stomach, launching her upward like a rocket.

"And here's Chat Noir with the air juggle!" he announced dramatically, his grin widening.

In a flash of pink light, Chat's suit morphed into the familiar red-and-black of Mr. Bug. Now armed with his yoyo, he wasted no time. He lashed it out, expertly lassoing Pressure's legs mid-air.

"Only to switch out to Mr. Bug with the yoyo!" he narrated, yanking hard to pull her back down. Pressure hit the ground with a resounding crash, a stunned groan escaping her lips.

Not giving her a moment to recover, Mr. Bug began spinning her around like a top, his yoyo still tightly wound around her legs. He moved with calculated precision, careful not to give her the chance to generate more pressure in her limbs.

"And for a photo finish," he bellowed, "the stunning final blow: a full pinwheel spin!"

Around and around Surface Pressure went, smashing through cars and asphalt while Mr. Bug pirouetted on the spot. He knew it wasn't going to do any lasting damage, but damn did it feel good after spending half the fight on his toes, and damn did it help him ignore what was coming the moment Pegasus finished whatever he was working on.

"B-B-Baaaaaatter up!"

At the apex of his swing, Rena stood at the ready, hoisting her flute like a bat, winding it up and turning this into the mother of all tether ball matches by whacking the villain so hard that Mr. Bug was pulled into turning the swing counterclockwise. Every swing afterwards held the same sequence, throwing Surface Pressure around until she inevitably collided by Rena's gifted home run arm and bounces back.

Surface Pressure, for her part, was too disoriented to form coherent thoughts, let alone build up the energy for another attack. Her limbs flailed uselessly as she was sent hurtling back and forth like a ragdoll, the repeated impacts from Rena's strikes leaving her too stunned to fight back.

"Okay, one more for the highlight reel!" Mr. Bug called, letting the yoyo's line slacken slightly before yanking it taut, sending Surface Pressure rocketing back toward Rena.

With a grin sharper than her flute, Rena stepped into her swing. "And that's the game!" she crowed as her final blow sent Surface Pressure crashing into the remnants of a crumbled car.

Mr. Bug held his hand over his eyes, letting out a sharp, impressed whistle. "Chalk that up as a decisive blow for the Foxy Cat team u-"

However, in that moment, he realized two things:

One: The yoyo was still wrapped around Pressure's legs.

Two: He was still holding onto the yoyo.

"Ah. Crap."

Surface Pressure was as quick on the uptake as him, as when he was yanked forward to follow her trajectory she managed to bend herself back enough the catch the ground with her head, halting her momentum and using it as a springboard to launch herself in a sharp, curving motion to meet Mr. Bug in the middle with her bound feet.

"This is gonna hurt…" Mr. Bug muttered under his breath, his instincts kicking in just in time for him to raise his arms in a desperate attempt to block the incoming blow.

The impact hit like a freight train, the force sending him skidding backward across the cracked asphalt, his boots leaving trails of dust and debris in their wake. The yoyo unraveled from Pressure's legs during the collision, freeing her entirely as she landed on her feet with a triumphant smirk.

He didn't have a moment to breathe before he felt her foot stamping down on his chest. "Did you enjoy your five minutes of fame, Kitten?" Pressure's shrill voice cackled, and in that moment all Bug could think about was how she sounded like a hyena.

Despite the pain, Mr. Bug found it in himself to choke out a sympathetic, weak smile after glancing over her shoulder.

"Funny, I was just about to ask you the same question."

The split-second she spent turning her head back to follow his gaze was the only window of opportunity he had. He switched back to Chat Noir just as, in her surprise and shock, she raised her foot ever so slightly. By the time she saw the portal that had opened over her, and gazed in deep enough to see the, for lack of a better word, cannon sitting on the other side, Chat already made his move.

One cataclysm brought down on the ground itself, breaking through the undergrowth and, most importantly, giving him room to slip out from under Surface Pressure's boot, scramble to his feet and throw himself in any direction that took him far enough.

Behind him, the cannon in the portal began to glow brighter, and the telltale sound of energy reaching its peak filled the air. Surface Pressure staggered, trying to regain her footing amid the collapsing ground. She snarled, turning toward the portal and screaming in frustration. "You think this is going to stop me, you—"

A deafening boom cut her off as Pegasus's cannon fired. An eruption of blinding light and force engulfed Surface Pressure, her form swallowed whole by the devastating blast that reduced the surrounding area to a withered wasteland in two seconds flat.

Chat felt like he needed to watch it happen, that he had a responsibility to witness what he'd unleashed on this woman. Maybe he thought it would ease his guilt, maybe he just hoped he could see for himself that the woman died before the victim could understand what was going on. For whatever reason, he was watching, and as he glimpsed into the blast, catching the last few flickers of Surface Pressure's figure, he saw it. He saw her.

Cassandra Smith. The woman beneath the memento, and the one lieutenant of Chalot's who was suspiciously absent.

Chat expected that to soften the blow. He knew that this woman was no saint, a domestic terrorist who never truly answered for the thousands of people she murdered for the sake of a fascination with watching things explode (the 'boom' obsession made sense now); he was sure many would say this was more than deserved. But he didn't feel better, he didn't feel justified, he only felt ashamed that he couldn't find another way.

He tried to put on a brave face as he emerged from cover, calling over to the blockade. "Cutting it a little close there, Pegasus!"

Pegasus, who was standing by one of the remaining trucks, looked up from his tablet, his expression unreadable behind his tinted glasses. "I could've gone closer," he replied nonchalantly, though there was a flicker of something—was it doubt?—in his tone.

Rena Rouge jogged over to Chat, her eyes darting between him and the smouldering crater where Surface Pressure had fallen. "Is she…?"

"Down, for now," Chat muttered, keeping his voice low. He didn't dare let the others hear the uncertainty in his words.

Then he felt it—the sharp, iron grip closing around his throat.

His yelp of surprise was cut short as Surface Pressure materialized before his eyes, her melted, unstable form flickering with a sinister glitch-like distortion. Pulsating blue cracks zigzagged across her body, glowing faintly with the energy of her wounds.

"Haven't you kids ever heard of not counting your explosions before you press the detonator?" she snarled, her voice distorted like a broken speaker. Her eyes, glowing with an erratic blue light, burned with unrelenting fury.

"Chat!" Rena turned, gasping in horror, but she didn't even have time to reach for her flute before Surface Pressure's leg shot out with unnatural speed. Her foot slammed into Rena's chest, sending the fox hero hurtling across the street and crashing into a row of parked cars.

"Rena!" Chat choked out, clawing at the villain's hand, but her grip only tightened.

Surface Pressure turned her jagged grin back to him. "Here's how my closing number's gonna go, Pipsqueak." She leaned in closer, her flickering face mere inches from his. "I'm gonna keep dropping bombs until you stop moving."

Before Chat could respond, she drove her knee into his stomach with devastating force. His eyes bulged; the air knocked clean out of him as he was launched upward like a ragdoll. He barely had time to register the pain before she followed, leaping into the air and delivering a brutal, explosive kick to his ribs that sent him spinning uncontrollably.

He felt the impact of her next kick before he even knew where he was, her legs crashing into him with the force of a wrecking ball. He was flung through the side of a building, shattering glass and crumbling stone as he tumbled through walls and floors, only for her to be there waiting, her leg crackling with energy. Another kick sent him spiralling through a second building, then another, each strike more devastating than the last.

By the time she delivered the final blow, a deafening explosion erupted, swallowing Chat in a blinding flash of light and heat. The world spun into chaos, and the last thing he saw before blacking out was the distorted, flickering image of Surface Pressure's grinning face.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

When he awoke, it was to an irritation in his eye.

He pulled his hand out of something wet and sticky he assumed to be his own blood, groping at the darkness to find his eyelids, which suddenly felt so distant, and swept them over his face. It felt as if something was pressing down on his eyes, many little, bony things; and yet his fingers found nothing but his own cold flesh.

Getting up was a frustrating process. He couldn't see anything, not even the way he came in. All he could gleam was that he was underground by the strong earthy smell of dirt, grass and cracked concrete filling his nose. He was submerged in a tar-like substance, and every movement had to fight against it, the sticky globs of something wrapping around his arms, pressing into his skin and pulling him back down.

His breathing hitched as panic flared in his chest. He flailed, but that only made the muck grip him tighter, as if it had a will of its own.

"Great," he muttered under his breath, his voice hoarse and broken. "Underground. Blind. Stuck in the world's worst mud bath. This is fine. Totally fine."

He clawed at the sludge, managing to free one arm before the other was yanked back in. The viscous substance was relentless, and his arms burned with the effort of pulling against it. Every sound he made—every gasp, grunt, or splash—was swallowed by the oppressive silence around him, leaving him feeling completely and utterly alone.

"Rena..." he rasped, though the name barely made it past his lips. He tried again, louder this time, his voice cracking, desperate. "Rena! Anyone?"

No answer. No sound but the endless drip, drip, drip in the distance.

Chat groaned as he struggled against the suffocating grip of the tar-like substance. His voice was weak, rasping against the silence. "Crap… how long was I out?" He pushed harder, his muscles burning as he fought the sticky sludge that clung to him like an unrelenting shadow.

But then he stopped. His body froze mid-struggle. A chill ran down his spine, not from the cold tar but from something else—a presence. He couldn't feel it physically, but it was there, slithering at the edge of his awareness, coiling in the back of his mind.

Indiscernible whispers. Faint and distant, like the remnants of a nightmare you can't quite remember.

"Plagg?" he asked aloud, though his voice lacked conviction. That wasn't Plagg. Somehow, he knew it wasn't Plagg. This felt… different. Darker. And now that he thought about it, where was Tikki? She should have emerged by now, yelling at him to get his act together, to focus.

His breathing grew shallow. "Tikki? Plagg? C'mon, guys, now's not the time for hide-and-seek…"

The whispers grew louder. Angrier. He couldn't make out words—only emotions: rage, hunger, something primal. It clawed at his mind, seeping into the cracks of his fear. His attempts to free himself became more frantic, his movements feverish as the sense of dread swelled. "Gotta… get back in the game… before—before…"

The tar resisted until, with a sickening tearing sound that sent shivers down his spine—too wet, too much like flesh ripping apart—he broke free. His hands shot forward, gripping a wall of slick, cold mud. The tar released him reluctantly, and for a moment, he felt like it was still reaching for him.

He didn't waste a second. Scrambling against the wall, he began to climb. Mud slicked beneath his fingers, but he clawed his way upward, slipping and sliding but refusing to stop. The whispers receded with every inch he gained, growing distant.

But that scared him more.

The whispers weren't just some hallucination. They belonged to something, someone. And if they were fading, that meant whatever they belonged to was staying behind. Watching. Waiting.

Fear fuelled him. His claws dug into the wall harder, his breaths ragged as he climbed faster and faster. He couldn't see—there was no light above him, no obvious exit—but he didn't care. He had to escape.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pushing through the exhaustion, willing his body forward. Then, finally, a rush of cold, fresh air hit his face. The sensation startled him, and for a split second, he almost forgot where he was.

And then—

"FESTER."

The word echoed in his ear, putrid and sharp, like a thousand voices compressed into one, all dripping with venom. It hit him like a sledgehammer, and his eyes snapped open, watering from the force of it.

He found himself clawing out of a jagged hole in the ground, the darkness below him still pulsating faintly like a living thing. The whispers were gone now, but the memory of them lingered, scraping against his thoughts.

Chat dragged himself out, gasping for air and collapsing onto the dirt, gazing up at… The… Sky…

It wasn't day.

It wasn't night.

It was hell.

The sky above was a swirling abyss of crimson, the sun swallowed by infernal fire and choking smoke. Shadows of jagged, malformed shapes loomed in the smog, shifting like living things. And then the sounds hit him.

Screams.

Hundreds—no, thousands—of screams, belted across the horizon, distant but unrelenting. They came from everywhere and nowhere, echoing in a symphony of anguish that stabbed at his soul.

He staggered to his feet, his body trembling, his hand instinctively clutching at his chest. The ground beneath him squelched, sticky and wet. He looked down, only to gag at the sight. It wasn't just mud. It was putrid sludge, thick and black, mixed with streaks of dark red that seeped like blood.

His boots sank into it as he forced himself to move, his steps unsteady. The landscape surrounding him was a nightmare—twisted, corrupted. What used to be streets and buildings were now consumed by flesh-like tendrils that choked out any sign of life. They pulsed and throbbed, dripping with viscous ooze that fell in slow, deliberate drops.

Trees—if they could still be called that—were skeletal, their bark stripped away to reveal warped, sinewy fibres that bled. The air stank of iron, rot, and decay.

"What the hell happened here?"

And then the ground shifted beneath him.

At first, he thought it was an earthquake. The wet, spongy terrain trembled violently, making it hard to stay upright. But then he realized the truth.

The ground wasn't shaking.

It was breathing.

He staggered backward, his heart pounding as he stared at the surface. What he had thought was dirt was alive, a heaving mass of rotting muscle tissue. It stretched and contracted rhythmically, each motion accompanied by grotesque squelches and pops.

Then bumps sprouted from the ground. They started small, barely noticeable—a few protrusions scattered across the undulating ground. But they grew rapidly, swelling to the size of his head in mere moments. The way they moved, the way the surface stretched and bulged, was horrifyingly familiar. It looked like fingers were pushing up from beneath the flesh.

The bumps writhed and convulsed, the texture of the ground splitting apart like old scar tissue. The stench intensified, burning his throat and making his eyes water. One of the bumps began to crack open, revealing the glint of something wet and moving beneath.

"Ad… Adrien…"

The voice was breathless, wet, gurgling—a desperate rasp in the hellish landscape. His feet faltered, and before he could process what was happening, he turned to face the source.

There, half-sunken into the rotting ground, was Alya.

Her body was a grotesque distortion, like a ragdoll thrown carelessly into a pit of chaos. The tendrils of flesh twisted around her form, as if the very land was consuming her. Her skin was bruised and battered, blood seeping from her mouth and pooling beneath her as she choked, the sound sickening and unnatural. Her eyes were empty—blank, lifeless—glassy like a doll's, devoid of any recognition, and her body twitched in spasms, as if her very soul was trying to flee from the torment she was experiencing.

She couldn't speak, just gasping for air in between the blood that choked her throat. Every inhale seemed to cost her something, her chest heaving only to send a fresh stream of red into the muck around her.

"Alya..." Chat's voice cracked, his throat constricting as he rushed toward her, his legs heavy and sluggish against the sucking ground. His hands reached for her, desperate, but they trembled in hesitation. What could he do? What was there to be done when all he had left was the echo of his own helplessness?

Alya's body jerked again, her head lolling to the side as if trying to make some kind of connection with him, but the agony was evident in the sharpness of her movements. She couldn't speak. She couldn't move.

The whispers from before—those dark, ominous whispers that had haunted him in the tar—rushed back into his mind. They were louder now, more insistent, and he could feel something like eyes on him, a suffocating presence closing in, watching him. Whatever had been lurking behind the slithering words, whatever had been guiding him here—it was here now, watching him fail, helplessly.

"No… no, no, no, no…" He chanted softly, as if repeating the words could undo this nightmare. He could feel the pull of the abyss beneath him, dragging at his very core. But he couldn't look away from Alya.

He couldn't let her end like this.

He didn't register the bumps until it was too late, until they had Alya surrounded. The first bump burst open with a sickening squelch, followed by an inhuman, guttural screech. Whatever was beneath the surface was no longer content to stay there. And he could do nothing but watch as more sludge gushed from the opening, but the sludge didn't merely roll down, it rose up, it twisted in on itself, expanding and expanding until it towered over Chat, until it started to take shape.

"We see your heart."

It was like watching an image be stretched out, not at all proportional or natural, just a puppet made of clay being tugged back and forth by invisible forces until it resembled a man. Well, half a man as, past the torso, there was just a single body of sludge sinking into the ground, almost like the bottom of a tree. Only Chat knew trees couldn't bend like that.

The thing was, Chat recognised this man. The face was blank, the figure was misshapen, the colour was rotten, but he recognised the stature, the aura, the pure feeling of malevolent hatred and distain that wrapped around him like a blanket of spikes.

Monarch leered over him, Alya's limp body in his arms.

"It beats like his did".

"How… How!?" Was all he could choke out, his body refusing to move, refusing to help, just content to sit there and watch.

That moment would sit in his mind for weeks to come, asking himself what stopped him because, in absence of action, Monarch's body opened, one large cavity in his chest shaped to follow the line of Chat's long remembered cataclysm. It was large enough for Alya's body to sink into it, but not enough for it to be a smooth journey. The rest of his body trembled and swelled, gagging on the human-sized meal while Alya's legs uselessly kicked and struggled with the little energy she had left.

The body ripped and distorted, it screamed, and it cried, but it was consumed all the same.

"A clean body can never be strong."

Chat's breaths came in shallow gasps as he staggered backward, his boots sloshing in the rancid sludge beneath him. His vision blurred; his mind unable to process the horrors unravelling before him. He was too late. Again.

"It must be cut. The wound must fester."

The grotesque Monarch turned his attention to Chat fully now, his distorted features twisting into something akin to amusement—or mockery. Monarch stood still for a moment, letting the echoes of Alya's final struggle fade into the wretched stillness. Then, without a word, he began to shift, the rotted tendrils of his form reaching outward, the landscape around him becoming an extension of his being.

Chat's knees buckled; his strength almost gone. But then he saw them.

"Cut the man. Feed him Pain."

Hanging from the skeletal, flesh-like trees above were more bodies. The charred remains of Max and Luka swayed in the fiery wind, their heads lolled to the side, necks bent at unnatural angles. Their faces—gone. Hollow, blank slates stared back at him, the last remnants of his friends erased, leaving behind empty husks. Their broken bodies dripped with some sickly black fluid that seemed to feed the writhing ground below.

"Let him rage."

The sight hit Chat like a punch to the gut. His knees trembled, but he didn't fall. He couldn't. Instead, something else rose within him—something primal and unrelenting. His heart burned, not with fear, but with a rage so pure and overwhelming that it seemed to ignite the very air around him. Tears streaked his face, hot and bitter, but he barely noticed them as his hands clenched into fists so tight they shook.

"No more." His voice was low and ragged, trembling with fury. "You're not taking anyone else. Not again. NOT EVER AGAIN!"

The hellish world around him seemed to respond to his outburst, the crimson sky vibrating with a deep, echoing pulse. He didn't care. All that mattered was the monster in front of him. The monster that had taken Alya, Max, Luka, and so many others.

"Open the wound."

Chat let out a roar, his body moving on instinct alone as he charged toward Monarch. The sticky ground tried to pull him back, but he ripped free, his movements fuelled by unyielding determination. He slammed into Monarch with all his strength, the force of the impact sending a shockwave rippling through the air.

Monarch staggered, clearly not expecting the ferocity of the attack. But Chat wasn't done. He wasn't anywhere close to done.

With a guttural snarl, he began laying into Monarch, blow after devastating blow raining down on the grotesque form. His claws tore into the sludge-like flesh, each strike digging deeper and deeper, black ooze splattering across the ground as Monarch reeled. Chat's attacks were wild, unrelenting, each one fuelled by the anger, the guilt, the pain that had been building inside him for far too long.

"Expose the nerve."

He screamed, his voice cracking with raw emotion as he slammed his fist into Monarch's chest, leaving a crater where the villain's chest had begun to reform.

Another blow, this time shattering one of Monarch's malformed arms, the appendage collapsing into a pile of sludge.

A vicious kick sent Monarch sprawling backward, his twisted form crashing into one of the skeletal trees, which groaned and snapped under the weight.

Tears continued to stream down Chat's face as he pressed his assault, his claws tearing through Monarch's form with a savagery he didn't know he possessed. Two muffled voices screamed at him from the depths of his mind, desperate and panicked, but he ignored them. He couldn't stop now. He wouldn't stop now.

Monarch tried to retaliate, his misshapen limbs lashing out in desperation, but Chat was faster, angrier, stronger. He dodged each attack with ease, his movements almost feral as he drove Monarch further and further back. His rage consumed him, the world around him fading into a red haze.

He was only stopped from delivering the finishing blow by another body slamming into his chest, knocking him to the floor. He was quick to recover, stabbing his baton into the ground and hosting himself back onto his feet. Before him stood another Monarch, slightly different shape, slightly different size, but just as blighted.

"Let it fester."

This Monarch raised his hands, but didn't make a move to attack. So Chat made the first move for him, extending his baton into a polearm and striking the second Monarch in the stomach. While Monarch #2 was reeling from the attack, Chat leapt upon him, slashing across his front, smacking him across the jaw, a rabid animal clawing at his prey.

However, savage he was, Chat couldn't stop this one from slipping through his fingers as, suddenly, this Monarch disappearing into the floor, emerging just beside the first Monarch and trying to drag him away. No, no, that wouldn't do. Chat would fix this with Tikki, but until every trace of that rotten, rancid monster was dead, buried and erased from the face of the planet, nothing could be fixed.

"Let it roar."

He reared back, ready to chase them down, but he found another foe stepping in to distract him. Several more in fact. There were so many Monarchs, a little army of scum all converging together to shoot energy blasts at him. It was an infestation, how had he allowed this to happen? How could he fail Marinette and his father so much? How could he wield the two most powerful miraculous in existence and still be unable to save one life?

"All are one in malevolence."

"Tikki… Plagg…" He felt like he was choking, everything in him resisting the words but he spat them out all the same. "UNIFY!"

The transformation into Chatterbug was painful, every fibre of his being resisting the change, pushing by the miraculous light until it burned him. He had to push it, had to dig into himself with a scalpel and cut away at the disobedient body until the perfect avenger was formed.

He didn't care about the consequences. He didn't care about the voices in his head. All he cared about was one thing: destroying Monarch.

Armed with a yoyo and his staff, he charged into his one man war, an unmatched feeling of power flowing through him as he swept through ten bodies at a time with one flick of his staff. Monarchs went flying, bones broken and bodies crushed against whatever remained of Paris. Only a few notable Monarchs came close to being a challenge outside of exhausting him.

A one-armed one was agile and plenty strong, when it hit Chatterbug, he could feel the punch reverbing throughout his body, but he didn't falter. A few dozen of them tried to all jump him at the same time, piling on top of him until he was drowning in bodies all stabbing and punching at him. It took great effort just to shake them loose, much less shake them off, letting out a guttural roar as he casted them aside.

Another came at him with fists bigger that his head, it managed to push him back somewhat, pummelling away at Chatterbug until blood gushed down a broken nose. But Chatterbug was only momentarily stunned, each hit shorting out his eyes for a split-second, blurring the edges and seeing Monarch's visage shrink into a blurry shape of gold and blue.

Fortunately, miraculous reflexes eventually caught up and, on Monarch's last punch, Chatterbug caught both fists and, channelling cataclysmic energy into his arms without even speaking the words. Marinette would have used a lucky charm by now, she would have some clever plan to subdue them. Chatterbug just shattered the fists with one squeeze.

Big Fist Monarch stumbled back, and somewhere Chatterbug could hear a scream, but all he could hear were screams, screams of everyone he failed to save, so what was one more? One hand shot out, grabbing Monarch's forearm and yanking him close into Chatterbug's clawed fist, stabbing and digging deep into the man's chest. Without mercy, he lashed out with his yoyo, the wire wrapping around Monarch's neck and tightening into a noose.

Chatterbug jumped up, picking up Monarch by the throat with him, using this new leverage to swing Monarch around, using his body into a makeshift flail he used to bludgeon the rest of the Monarchs. At least he did until the yoyo line was cut.

All the Monarchs seemed to inch away from him, they were afraid; he made them fear him. He couldn't decide how he felt about that.

Only one remained, the one that cut his line, standing before him with a smooth steel blade held out before them.

Adrien.

Chatterbug stood motionless, his chest rising and falling with heavy, ragged breaths. The blade glinted faintly in the crimson light of the sky, its smooth surface untainted by the corruption of this hellish landscape. This new Monarch wasn't like the others—there was no grotesque deformity, no misshapen limbs or writhing tendrils. This one was sleek, composed, almost…human. It was unnervingly familiar, and for a fleeting moment, Chatterbug faltered.

The steel blade wielder took a single step forward, calm and deliberate, their posture unnervingly steady in contrast to the chaos around them. The other Monarchs, once so numerous and relentless, retreated further, disappearing into the sludge or fading into the choking smoke. It was just the two of them now.

Adrien! Please…

"Who… Who the hell are you?" Chatterbug snarled, his voice a guttural rasp. The yoyo spun idly in one hand, his staff in the other, both trembling with residual energy. He felt his body teetering on the edge of exhaustion, but the rage still burned, urging him forward.

The figure tilted its head, almost curiously, but said nothing. Instead, it raised the blade and pointed it directly at Chatterbug, the tip unwavering.

"I asked you a question!" Chatterbug roared, his voice breaking. He lunged forward, his staff raised to strike, his yoyo snapping through the air like a whip. But in the blink of an eye, the figure moved.

You have to listen…

The blade flashed.

Chatterbug stumbled back, his staff clattering to the ground as a sharp, searing pain exploded across his chest. He looked down to see a shallow but precise slash running diagonally across his torso, the black and gold of his suit torn, blood welling up beneath. The pain brought clarity—brief and unwelcome.

"You're fast," he muttered, his voice tight as he pressed a hand to the wound. "Doesn't matter. I'll still destroy you."

The figure didn't respond, only shifting into a ready stance. There was something unsettlingly familiar about the way they moved, the way they carried themselves. Chatterbug's instincts screamed at him to retreat, to regroup, but the fire in his chest wouldn't allow it.

He charged again, his movements wild and feral, his yoyo striking out in rapid, erratic arcs. The blade wielder met each attack with precision, deflecting the blows with ease. Sparks flew as steel met miraculous energy, each clash reverberating through the air like a gunshot.

"WHO ARE YOU?!" Chatterbug screamed, his voice cracking as his assault grew more desperate. "ANSWER ME!"

The figure finally spoke, their voice calm and steady, cutting through the chaos like the blade they wielded.

Adrien.

Chat.

Kid.

Why?

His own voice spoke. "You already know."

Chatterbug barely had time to process the figure's words before the blade drove straight into his chest.

The pain was unlike anything he had felt before—searing, raw, and immediate. It wasn't like the dull, distant ache he had numbed himself to during the battle. This pain was real, grounding him in a way the chaos of the hellscape hadn't. He staggered backward, his legs nearly giving out as his hands instinctively clutched at the blade.

But it wasn't just the pain that sent a cold wave of horror through him. The sword… it wasn't the sleek weapon wielded by his doppelgänger moments ago. It had changed—slimmer, lighter, etched with the distinct markings of Monarch's blade, but altered in subtle ways that made it foreign.

He followed the length of the sword upward, his gaze locking onto its wielder. It wasn't him.

It was Chrysalis.

Her smirk was cold and calculating, her amber eyes glinting with something far more dangerous than hatred—amusement.

"Chrysalis!" he snarled, his voice a guttural growl, though it wavered with the pain coursing through him. "What did you do?!"

Chrysalis tilted her head, her expression almost mockingly sympathetic as she yanked the blade free with a sickening squelch. Chatterbug let out a strangled cry as he crumpled to the ground, his knees hitting the pavement hard. He clutched at the wound, expecting to feel his lifeblood seeping through his fingers.

But what he saw wasn't his blood.

It was red—stark, vibrant red—but it wasn't his. Somehow, deep in the pit of his stomach, he knew it wasn't his.

"What…" he choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. His head shot up, his eyes wild, darting around the battlefield. The twisted, hellish world was gone. The skeletal trees, the crimson sky, the screaming Monarchs—all of it had vanished.

In its place was the same battlefield he had left behind when Surface Pressure had smashed him to the ground. But it wasn't the same—not entirely.

The streets were littered with bodies. Task Force members lay scattered across the ground, some groaning in pain, others helping their comrades onto stretchers. Chalot was on one knee nearby, his rifle still smoking as he struggled to rise. Not far off, Argos was crumpled against a broken wall, clutching his stomach, deep red marks ringing his throat.

And then his gaze fell on her. Over Chrysalis's shoulder, he saw Rena.

Her once-pristine suit was shredded, her torso decorated with deep, jagged claw marks. She was struggling to lift herself up, even with the aid of a black-eyed Pegasus.

"No…" The word barely escaped his lips, his chest tightening as panic set in. "No, no, no…"

"Oh, Chat Noir," Chrysalis hummed, her voice silky and cold. She crouched before him, her sword still slick with blood. Her smirk widened, her amber eyes glowing with cruel delight.

"The question is: what did you do?"

---

30 Minutes Ago

Chrysalis was conflicted watching this fight play out. On one hand, she wanted her memento to be a success and make the heroes look like a bunch of chumps. On the other hand, she hated Cassandra Smith and savoured every brutal hit the heroes got off against Surface Pressure. On the other, other hand, she was antsy as hell to get in there herself and set the world on first, and more even this match up becomes, the longer she has to wait to join in.

The perfect plans were always the most frustrating to pull off.

From the little alcove she tucked herself into, giving her a perfect view of Rena and Chat Noir tag-teaming Surface Pressure, she found herself looking across to the next building where Felix laid down flat, staring up at the sky.

"Is your head in the game, Felix?" She asked, idly twirling her cane in her hand, loving the feel of the butt of it coming mere inches from cracking her across the jaw as she spun it. "I didn't think you'd be so eager to go into the field again after your… Incident."

"I have a lot of energy to work off."

The cane came to a stop against her thigh, inviting her to stare down into the head, where akuma energy still crackled, fresh off of the miraculous storm she'd managed to conjure up. It was easy to learn new ways of using the butterfly when she was willing to experiment on herself. With only one miraculous and two years under her belt, she'd vastly improved her arsenal and expanded her power in ways Gabriel could have only dreamed on.

She was the smarter, better Hawkmoth.

She promptly ignored the small voice in the back of her mind that asked if Hawkmoth was too dumb to do what she does, or smart enough to know that none of the extra abilities were worth the cost. That annoying voice that liked to remind her that Gabriel was probably her grandfather's apprentice for a reason.

"Just saying," She murmured, not even sure if her voice reached Felix that time. "You don't need to be here."

"The Memento is as much my creation as yours." Argos snapped back, propping himself up on his elbows and scowling at her for ruining what she was sure was a nap. "I won't sit back and watch you bungle it, Witch."

Chrysalis rolled her eyes. "I can see why it took so much for Kagami to break up with such a charming personality."

Argos snorted, a smug sneer covering up the flicker of pain that flashed at the mention of that name. "If you were someone whose word mattered more than dung, I'm sure that would have wounded me."

Unlike Colt, Lila had picked up pretty quickly on what went down between Felix and Kagami. She'd warned him, she'd also taunted and teased him about it, but she warned him that not telling Kagami would come back to bite him. Hell, Lila was kind of pissed at him to; she had a whole night planned of relaxing to go through, all to throw it out the window because suddenly she needed to spend the night calming the Malevolence down and getting someone to repair Scruffy.

She felt herself stiffen at the memory. She'd known descending back into the underbelly of their lair that Colt had been damaged, Felix had been surprisingly helpful and, dare she say, earnest about the whole ordeal, but nothing could have made it easier to see Colt like that. Even just approaching him, she could smell the Malevolence on him, feel her insides writhe and scream in acknowledgement of the mark it left on his metal shell.

It reminded her of the early days of their reunion, when Colt was just a disembodied spirit lurking over her shoulder. He'd been so self-conscious before she'd put a blade to Tomoe's throat and demanded she build Colt a body. No matter how many times she told him she wasn't repulsed by him, Colt would hide himself in the shadows, scared to death of letting Lila see what was left of him, what the Malevolence had left of him.

In life, Lila only remembered Colt as the mountain of southern pride and energy. He was loud, unrelenting and walked through social interactions like a drunk wrecking ball. In other words, he was a superhero to a girl who'd given up on superheroes. He was like… Well, like how you look up to your dad. You think he's invincible, that he knows everything, that nothing could ever hurt him.

Then you see him broken and humiliated.

Lila only learned of Colt's death a few months after it happened. There was never going to be any public outcry about the life of Colt Fathom, no articles and no remembrance. She remembered being so afraid during those months when he suddenly stopped calling her. He'd never told her of his illness, that type of pride couldn't survive being seen as so weak, so broken; so, she was left to wonder.

At the time, she'd thought he'd finally given up on her, like everyone else in her life. That fear turned into spite, into betrayal, which made the perfect fuel for ambition. Little Lila schemed, con'd and snuck her way to London; marvellous how much she was able to forge and get by with the connections Colt left for her. She had outgrown the orphanage and all those backstabbing bastards anyway.

In her head, she'd track him down, she'd interrupt his life, maybe spill the beans to his wife and kid and make him admit that he'd been sending their money off to some little girl he betrayed. She had the perfect character picked out to and knew exactly how she'd play on the heart strings, how she'd use the hurt she knew so well.

All that planning went out the window when she followed Amilie out to the grave, and then all that hatred quickly turned into guilt.

Which just left her as some strange eleven-year-old nobody showing up at a man's grave, breaking down into ugly tears in front of a very confused wife. Strangely enough, Amilie didn't ask her any questions, she wasn't freaked out by the random girl mourning her husband.

In fact, she invited Lila to come sit beside her and leave some flowers.

Later, Lila would be even more confused because she was so sure that Colt was convinced that his wife hated him and would be happy to see him dead. But Lila shrugged that whole event off as Amilie just being a weirdo.

She thought that would be the worst of it for old Scruffy. Then she saw him enslaved. Then she saw him beaten. Then she saw him broken.

Chrysalis shook off the thought, lest she risk digging up that deeply buried part of herself that felt guilty that she couldn't do more for him, her attention snapping back to the present as a particularly loud crash erupted from the battlefield below. Her smirk returned, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. She was slightly confused on what she was seeing as Pegasus' portal unleashed a golden beam that she could feel the impact of even from up here.

Whatever it was, it was keeping her on edge. She sort of needed the memento to survive for her plan to work here. Who'd have thought that the damn nerdy horse guy was going to pull the mother of all haymakers out of his ass?

Argos tipped his head back, looking almost bored by the lights show. "I see this 'wait for a dramatic entrance' plan is working out for you."

She was really regretting bringing him along.

It's not like she was worried about him or felt bad for him or anything – of course she didn't, Felix was a dick – but the damn moping was grating. Talk about it, tell her to fuck off or cry, anything was better than the slow, murmuring brooding where he couldn't even scowl at her as fiercely as he usually would.

"Do you have anything of value to add, or is it just going to be bitching with you today?"

Argos didn't bother to respond, still reclining lazily on the rooftop, though his fingers twitched slightly as if he were itching to step in.

"You know," Chrysalis called up to him, her tone saccharine with just a hint of venom, "for someone so eager to 'protect' our project, you're awfully useless right now."

Argos finally turned his head, fixing her with a glare that was less sharp than usual but still cutting enough to make her smirk. "And for someone so desperate for validation, you're doing an excellent job of stalling."

"Stalling?" she echoed, feigning offense. "Oh, no, no. I'm planning. Big difference."

"Planning, stalling, whatever helps you sleep at night." He waved her off dismissively, turning his gaze back to the sky. "Let me know when you've decided whether you actually care about this fight or if you're just here to watch the show."

Chrysalis's smirk faltered, and she shot him a glare that could've melted steel. "You know what your problem is, Felix?"

"You act like you're above all this," she said, gesturing vaguely to the chaos below. "Like all this simple stuff doesn't interest you, doesn't get your heart racing, that you don't care – but you do. You care, which means you can get hurt by it. And you don't wanna get hurt, so you just brood and look away thinking that if you keep acting like you're above it, if you convince yourself that you're flying high, then nothing on the ground can get to you."

No response, just a blank look, so Lila continued. "I know you don't want to be vulnerable with someone as opportunistic as me, but at the very least you can spare me the attitude, especially because you're the one screwing up my day and getting my fa- henchman hurt."

Argos didn't respond, but the look he gave her was enough to make her blood boil. It wasn't anger or frustration—it was pity.

And that? That was unacceptable.

Like she said, Felix was a prick and putting up with him was a pain. She had to turn her attention back to the battle, with the memento emerging from Pegasus' attack with gas to spare, to remind herself of the benefits Felix brought. She could tolerate his venom for good results, and she knew that if she were working with any other potential peacock user, this wouldn't turn out nearly as well.

It was a relief finally being able to stand up, spying the wonderous sight of Surface Pressure slamming Chat Noir into the ground so hard she might as well have dug his grave for him. And she just might have because the little kitty wasn't getting back up. The other two heroes looked in none too better a shape.

A quick hop crossed the gap and had her standing over Argos, stabbing her cane down just beside his head. "Looks like the Cat's down for the count and the rest of the strays are on the run." She grinned. "Shall we give our fake heroes a hand?"

She was the smarter, better Hawkmoth.

And she was about to prove it.

The first thing she prioritized on her arrival was ensuring that her entrance was a stylish one. Flying into the scene on a cloud of butterflies, back-to-back with Argos, her crouched with her sword half-way out of its sheaf and Argos bending back over her with his fan drawn over his face. Suffice it to say, whatever issues the two had, Lila and Felix were in the same wavelength when it came to working it.

They rocketed in the middle of the battlefield, making sure to cut through the wall of civilians to ensure the maximum amount of eyes suddenly looking up at them. When they reached their destination, Surface Pressure was stepping over the Chat Noir's new grave, a wicked grin on her face as she stalked towards Rena.

"Y-You… Monster!" Rena cried out, fresh tears streaking down her cheek. "You're going to pay for what you've done, you hear me?! Chat, Viperion; they're better than you'll ever be!"

She was going to rush headfirst into Surface Pressure in a bout of thoughtless grief – Chrysalis couldn't have that now. So, before Rena could push one pinky out of line, Chrysalis whipped out her sword to full length, the crackling akuma energy charging down the top of the blade and shooting out in one clean slice.

At the same time, Chrysalis threw herself off the cloud, making sure that she was at the perfect height and timing for her hero landing. First, the energy slice cut through the ground in between the two super beings, prompting them to both fix their eyes on Chrysalis, and then in the resulting impact of the slice she landed in the middle of it all. Crouched down, eyes closed and sword held out, far and wide to act as her 'wings'.

Chrysalis could just feel that hateful glare burning through her side, Rena's voice knocking down an octave, sounding more like a dog barking. "And just when I thought this day couldn't get any worse."

Elegantly, Chrysalis rose from her landing, back straight, legs together and hands closed over the hilt of her upturned blade – the picture of poise. She regarded Rena with a restrained smile, meeting Rena's murderous glare with amused eyes.

And now was the time to put her plan into action.

Chrysalis offered a brief curtsey. "You're in no condition to keep fighting, Rena." She said softly, before spinning on her heel to face Surface Pressure. "So, why don't you sit back and let the real heroes save the day?"

Silence fell so thick that Chrysalis could practically hear every confused blink Rena took.

"…Huh?" The fox girl finally managed to get out.

There was no response as Chrysalis raised her sword to point to Surface Pressure, her ears just picking up the sound of Argos back-flipping into position by her side. "Surface Pressure!" She called out. "We apologize in advance for what we must do to stop you. We know that you are just another victim of a sinister villain."

Surface Pressure had nothing but amusement in the face of Chrysalis' arrival. "Damn, do they just grow you punks on trees or something? You're multiplying." She cackled at her own joke, shifting from one foot to another, just itching to get a few more heroes under her belt before the fun ended. "Doesn't matter though, nothing's gonna stop this nuclear countdown."

Surface Pressure launched herself forward, her feet tearing through the air with enough force to ripple the ground beneath her. Each kick landed like a bomb, sending chunks of concrete flying as Chrysalis and Argos darted to either side. Despite her raw strength and speed, her attacks lacked finesse, her movements telegraphed enough for the two villains to weave around them with relative ease.

Chrysalis spun nimbly out of the way of a downward slam, her sword flashing to deflect a stray chunk of debris flying her way. She twirled around Surface Pressure, teasingly close, her poise as sharp as her blade. Argos, on the other hand, maintained his distance, darting in only when he saw an opportunity to throw her off balance with a calculated flick of his fan or a strike with his blade.

Surface Pressure's frustration was palpable. "Hold still, you little gnats!" she bellowed, her voice echoing through the battlefield. Her wild swings grew more erratic, each one narrowly missing its mark as Chrysalis and Argos kept their movements precise and deliberate. They turned up the heat when Argos summoned his sentimonster into the fray – 'Punch Out' was a simple monster, a pair of giant floating fists that Felix could secure over his hands or command to fly out and attack.

During a brief reprieve, as Surface Pressure paused to regain her footing, Argos leaned in close to Chrysalis, his voice low but sharp. "You know, we could just snap her away," he hissed, his fan snapping shut with an irritated flick. "Would save us the trouble."

Chrysalis didn't even look at him, her gaze fixed on their opponent as she casually rolled her shoulders. "That wouldn't look as impressive," she replied, her tone light and breezy.

Felix's scowl deepened. "Impressive to who? The crowd? You're obsessed with the theatrics."

Chrysalis finally glanced at him, her lips curling into a playful smirk. "Theatrics are half the fun, darling. Besides, I barely get any time to stretch my legs as Chrysalis. Gotta make the most of it."

Felix shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. "You make everything so complicated."

"Mhm, I know," she said with a shrug, stepping forward again. "I treat you so well, don't I?"

Felix's eyes narrowed. "You're insufferable."

"And yet here you are." She grinned, spinning her sword idly in her hand before planting it into the ground with a dramatic flourish. "Now focus."

Surface Pressure didn't give them another moment of reprieve. With a roar, she barreled toward them again, but this time Chrysalis met her halfway. She dodged to the side at the last second, her blade carving a shimmering arc of energy that forced Surface Pressure to stumble as it seared the ground near her feet.

"Careful!" Felix called, dashing in to exploit the opening. With a sharp swing of his fan, a gust of energy knocked Surface Pressure off balance, sending her crashing to one knee.

"Relax, Argos," Chrysalis said, flipping back to his side with practiced ease. "I've got this."

"Do you?" he shot back, flicking his fan open again. "Because from where I'm standing, you're just playing with her."

"I am," she admitted with a wink. "It's working, isn't it?"

Chrysalis hung back, stepping out of the immediate fray. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes as the chaos of the battlefield melted away into the shadows of her own mind. She needed to ground herself, to call forth the memories that hurt the most—the ones she spent years burying under layers of lies and ambition.

The sting of rejection. The bitter taste of failure. The burning anger of being overlooked. She forced herself to relive every slight, every betrayal, every moment that carved a piece of her soul away. Her body tensed as the memories swirled within her, each one sharper and more vivid than the last.

The pain began to manifest. Smoke seeped from her lips, curling into the air like the whispers of a long-forgotten curse. The purple akuma smoke coiled around her, twisting into mini-storm clouds that crackled ominously overhead. They churned and grew, sparked by the raw emotions she had summoned.

Chrysalis raised her sword high, the blade catching the glint of the storm's lightning as she began to direct its current. Her movements were slow and deliberate, almost ritualistic, as though she were conducting an orchestra of chaos. But before she could unleash the storm, a stray explosion from Surface Pressure sent shockwaves through the battlefield, knocking Chrysalis off her feet.

She stumbled backward, nearly dropping her sword, but before Surface Pressure could capitalize on the opening, Argos darted in. With a precise kick to the chest, he sent Surface Pressure skidding across the ground, buying Chrysalis the time she needed.

"Thanks," she murmured, steadying herself.

"Don't thank me," Felix snapped, glaring at her as he repositioned himself. "Charge up your worthless attack already."

Chrysalis let out a low chuckle, shaking off the interruption as she adjusted her grip on her sword. "Always so dramatic, Felix."

Raising her blade again, she focused on the storm above her, swaying the sword back and forth as if she were stirring an upside-down cauldron. The storm followed her movements, its purple energy bubbling and roiling like a potion brought to boil. "Storm of memories," she intoned, her voice echoing with a strange, unnatural resonance, "strike at me…"

The storm's energy lashed out, lightning bolts arcing downward to collide with the tip of her blade. The sheer force of it made her arms tremble, and the sword itself began to shift colors—deep purple, blood red, searing white—each hue reflecting the emotions that fueled the storm. As the blade absorbed the energy, flashes of the memories that had created it surged through Chrysalis's mind: her humiliation, her despair, her rage.

But she didn't flinch. She welcomed it.

"And bring me," she cried, her voice growing louder, "the strength of spite!"

With a final burst of lightning, the storm's energy solidified into the blade, leaving it glowing with a menacing light. Chrysalis could feel the raw power coursing through it, her memories no longer a weakness but a weapon.

"Argos, together."

The two of them charged in perfect sync, like twin storms converging on a single point. Argos leaped into the air, his fan snapping open again, aimed high at Surface Pressure's face to keep her distracted. Chrysalis dropped low, sliding across the ground with her sword poised to slice at Surface Pressure's legs. The woman barely managed to stumble out of the way, her power crackling in her fists, but there was no time to unleash it.

Argos spun midair, his fan slamming down to force Surface Pressure back while Punch Out whirled around behind her to take her from the rear. As soon as she stumbled, Chrysalis surged forward, her blade carving a shallow arc across the ground. The two moved in a deadly rhythm, trading places with seamless coordination. Argos struck high—quick, sharp jabs that forced Surface Pressure to block or duck. Chrysalis struck low—her sword sweeping and slicing, each attack designed to keep their opponent off balance.

Surface Pressure snarled, frustration etched on her face as she found herself unable to do anything but react. Her legs sparked with power, but she couldn't get a moment to focus on using it. Every time she tried to gather energy, Argos or Chrysalis was there, cutting her off with frightening precision.

"You're making this too easy," Argos quipped, ducking under a wild swing from Surface Pressure and landing a glancing kick to her side.

"Don't get cocky," Chrysalis shot back, sliding in under another one of Surface Pressure's desperate attacks. "We're not done yet."

Surface Pressure roared, throwing a wild punch that sent a shockwave rippling through the air. Chrysalis ducked just in time, rolling to the side before springing back onto her feet. She locked eyes with Argos, and in that brief exchange, they both knew the time had come to finish it.

Chrysalis feinted left, drawing Surface Pressure's attention just long enough for Argos to strike from the right, his fan slashing across her shoulder. The blow staggered her, and Chrysalis seized the opening. She darted forward, dropping into a low slide that carried her right under Surface Pressure's next swing.

Before the woman could recover, Chrysalis sprang up, driving her sword into Surface Pressure's chest with a shout of effort. The glowing blade sank deep, and for a moment, everything went still.

Then the energy stored within the sword erupted.

Purple lightning arced out from the blade, engulfing Surface Pressure in a storm of raw emotion and power. Her scream echoed across the battlefield as the energy surged through her, radiating outward in violent bursts. Chrysalis held her grip firm, her teeth gritted as the storm raged around them.

Finally, the light dimmed, and Surface Pressure's body went limp, collapsing to the ground as the last of the energy dissipated before breaking apart into dust. Chrysalis staggered back, breathing heavily as she looked down at her defeated opponent.

Argos landed beside her, his fan snapping shut. He tilted his head, giving her an appraising look. "Dramatic enough for you?"

Chrysalis wiped a bead of sweat from her brow, a triumphant smirk tugging at her lips. "Oh, absolutely. I think we made that look rather impressive."

Argos peered around the area curiously. "The memento is nowhere in sight."

"Either it was destroyed, or…" Chrysalis scratched the back of her head. "Either way, it's a success for our first field test."

She moved to turn back to the crowd of stunned on lookers, and one side-eyeing Chalot, with a pre-planned speech on her lips.

A speech that died on her lips when her heart stopped.

Literally. For two seconds, Lila Rossi was dead as invisible hands squeezed her heart until it could no longer move. She crumbled to her knees, broken down under the weight of the sudden cold, mind scattered to the hundreds of hungry, feral whispers gnawing at the air.

Her heart was allowed room to breathe, but that wasn't the same as being released. Chrysalis gasped, a swimmer breaking through the surface of the water to heave in that first gust of air after almost drowning.

She vaguely felt Argos' hand upon her, his eyes furrowed in something that could be called concern, though she knew that was because Argos knew damn well that anything that had her crumbling was something to be scared of. "Chrysalis?"

Under her feet, past the layers of dirt, concrete and industry, she could feel it. It wasn't calling to her, no, it was laughing at her, reaching into her mind just to shove her aside as it slithered past. No one else could hear it but her, she reserved the rights to hear all it's putrid promises, all the disgusting comments and memories it echo'd because it knew exactly what would make her shiver, what would make her scared.

The Malevolence had arrived on the battlefield; and it wasn't coming for her.

Her hand reached for Argos' arm, grip tight as iron as she yanked him down to her level. "It's… It's coming…" Words came out stumbling over a sudden breathlessness, but she let her glare remind Argos that this was most certainly his fault.

The 'good' news was that the Malevolence wasn't really awake, it was dreaming, extending its roots to paw at the strange sensations it saw humans as. Like a dog pumping it's legs because it's dreaming of running through a field. This was only helpful so far as determining that it was still beatable at this stage.

Argos paled, his lips drawing together like he'd been sucking on a rotten lemon. She could hear his teeth chatter when he talked, when he leaned in and let her see the sweat dripping down his forehead. "You… You can still keep it at bay, right?"

This wasn't part of the plan, she hadn't taken any time to psyche herself up for an encounter with this creature. She was still reeling from the aftershocks of calming it down last night; which apparently she failed to do.

She had to grit her teeth to keep the weakness from showing, turning her gaze to glare into the ground. "Not yet."

With her unique connection to the Malevolence, she could practically see through it's eyes. She could see it sifting through the crowd, salivating over all the potential victims, but ultimately passing them over. It didn't want any of the civilians, it didn't want it's sloppy seconds, it had been gorging on her for years so it didn't want her anymore, it even passed over Argos and the heroes. What was it looking for-

This time, she couldn't stop the panic from showing in her eyes. She snapped her head to look past everyone else, into the hole where Chat Noir currently laid inside.

Shit. Shit! SHIT!.

"What do we do?" Argos growled, like she was the one at fault, like she was the one who had to make up for her mistakes. She didn't get the Malevolence all excited, that was all on fucking fruit-loop Felix! She had a whole vibe going on and Felix ruined everything. Damn it, damn it, damn it!

It was too late the get Chat out of there, she could hear the Malevolence bubbling around him, dragging him down into itself.

"We…" She calmed herself down, planted her cane firmly into the ground, using it as an anchor to steady herself. She rose up, letting Chrysalis' confidence and swagger shelter her strangled heart. She forced a wicked grin. "We use it to our advantage, of course."

What made a good schemer wasn't their ability to plan for every possibility, it was their willingness to turn ever obstacle into an opportunity. All her plan required was for them to be victorious at the end of the day – and she would do just that. She would beat back the Malevolence again and again, and it would fall back again and again; because Lila Rossi willed it so.

Chat Noir's hand clawed up over the edge of the pit first, trembling but determined. His body followed in a disjointed scramble, every motion manic, jerky, like a marionette with its strings tangled. His chest heaved as he pulled himself upright, eyes wide and wild, darting around the battlefield as though he didn't recognize it—or the people in it.

Rena gasped, the first to recover from the shock of seeing him alive. "Oh, thank God," she whispered, her voice thick with relief. Her baton clattered to the ground as she rushed forward, abandoning all caution. "We thought you were… I thought… I'm so happy you're okay, Chat."

Chrysalis froze, her heart sinking. No, no, no… She could see the Malevolence writhing around Chat like smoke, its tendrils burrowing into him, twisting him from the inside. His eyes weren't green anymore; they were a dark, molten gold, swirling with shadows, and his mouth was pulled into a tight, almost animalistic snarl.

"Rena, stop!" Chrysalis shouted, but her voice barely reached the fox hero's ears, drowned out by her own relief.

Rena skidded to a stop a few feet away from Chat, smiling through the tears streaming down her cheeks. "You're okay," she said, stepping closer. "You're—"

Chat moved faster than anyone could have anticipated. In one fluid motion, he lunged at Rena, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. His claws slashed through the air, narrowly missing her face as she stumbled back in shock.

"Chat?! What are you—"

The words barely left her mouth before his fist collided with her jaw, the force of the blow sending her sprawling to the ground. Gasps erupted from the crowd, and Pegasus and Chalot jumped back into the battlefield.

"Rena!" Pegasus yelled, rushing forward.

But Chat wasn't done. He pounced on her like a predator going in for the kill, his claws digging into her shoulders as he slammed her against the ground. His breaths were ragged, filled with fury, his teeth bared as he raised his fist to strike again.

"Chat!" Rena cried out, shielding her face with her arms. "It's me! What are you doing?!"

But Chat didn't see Rena. He didn't hear her voice, didn't register her panic. Through the filter of the Malevolence, she was no longer a friend, no longer a hero. She was an enemy. A monster. Something to destroy.

Chat Noir's claws tore through the air, raking across Rena's arm as she struggled to shield herself. The sharp, brutal sound of fabric shredding was accompanied by her cry of pain, her free hand pressing against the blood welling from the wound.

"Chat, please!" she gasped, her voice trembling. "It's me! Stop! You're hurting me!"

But her words didn't reach him. Not really. The only response she go was his claws ripping through her forearm with enough force to break it as she was slammed down.

Chrysalis had planned to jump in, it would look really good for her to save Rena; but damn if it didn't suddenly hit her that the miraculous of destruction being guided by the Malevolence was pretty damn scary. And that was enough to keep her legs frozen to the spot, reliving every nightmare she'd ever had about the Malevolence waking up.

Rena's baton was just out of reach, and her trembling hands pressed against the ground as she tried to crawl away, her blood leaving smudged trails in the dirt. But Chat Noir pounced again, his claws slashing down toward her back. She turned just in time to catch the strike with her arm, but her cry of pain was raw and guttural.

She couldn't hold him off.

Pegasus tackled him. The impact sent both heroes tumbling to the side, Pegasus rolling to his feet first. He summoned another portal, readying himself as Chat Noir sprang up like a feral beast, snarling.

"Whoa, Chat!" Pegasus snapped, holding his hands out in a defensive stance. "We're your friends, idiot! What has gotten into you?!"

Chat didn't respond. His wild eyes flickered toward Pegasus now, burning with hatred and confusion. He roared and lunged forward, his claws slicing through the space where Pegasus had stood an instant earlier.

"Come on, Chat, don't do this," Pegasus muttered, stepping backward through a portal and reappearing behind Chat, trying to trip him. "We both know I can't beat you…"

Chat staggered but quickly twisted, his leg lashing out in a wide arc to keep Pegasus at bay. His movements were feral and relentless, each attack more vicious than the last. Pegasus landed a clean kick to Chat's side, sending him sliding across the ground, but Chat didn't even flinch. It was as though he couldn't feel the pain at all, his rage overriding every other instinct.

In a panic, Pegasus dropped a portal under his feet, sinking into it and spitting himself out back by Rena. Before Chat could give chase, Chalot joined the fray. Chrysalis watched as, with only one arm and a gun, Chalot held his own against the rampaging hero, taking pot shots to push him of balance before charging in to shoulder check him. If it weren't for the chaos of the situation, it would most certainly be suspicious how a normal man's blows were able to stand toe to toe with a hero's.

Still, at the end of the day, Chalot could only do so much, and after one savage head butt threatened to tear off Chalot's fake skin, Chrysalis couldn't hold off any longer. Her fear was cast to the wayside as she charged forward, but before she could make any headway she was yanked back. A hand had shot out of the ground, more bone than flesh, and grabbed her ankle, keeping her there. The Malevolence knew little about the other heroes, but it knew her, so it knew she was somewhat a threat to it.

By the time she looked back up Chalot had be brought to safety by Pegasus, and now Chat turned on the task force members shooting wildly at him. Only, he wasn't Chat anymore, he'd unified the miraculous to become Chatterbug; and the power difference was immediately apparent. An entire army charged him, and he swept them away like he was a one-man tidal wave. She watched bodies by the dozen rain from the sky, the lucky ones got knocked out with a punch, the not-so-lucky ones got smashed through a car.

When he was all out of task force members to squash, Chatterbug turned his eyes on the civilians screaming at him from behind the barrier. He raised his hand, cataclysmic energy crackling to the centre of his palm, and Chrysalis could only what a unified cataclysm could do. He was only stopped from going any further by Argos nailing him across the jaw with one half of Punch Out, while the other fist came up behind to dig into Chatterbug's back.

"Careful, Argos!" Chrysalis shouted, her voice sharp and cutting through the chaos. "He can snuff you out like a candle—"

"Please," Argos interrupted, his tone dripping with condescension as he twisted his mechanical fists. "He's an overgrown fleabag having a fit."

Argos lunged forward, his sentimonster boxing gloves glowing with energy. Blow after devastating blow rained down on Chatterbug, each strike cracking the pavement beneath them. The sheer force of his punches created shockwaves, pushing back the scattered debris and what was left of the task force.

Chatterbug staggered under the relentless barrage, his expression twisting in momentary confusion.

"See?" Argos laughed, slamming both fists down on Chatterbug, driving him into the ground with a sickening thud. Dust and rubble flew up in an explosive arc. Argos stepped back for a moment, rolling his shoulders. "I think I can handle him."

He went for another swing, one final blow to seal the fight.

But this time, Chatterbug caught his fist.

The battlefield seemed to freeze.

Argos frowned, trying to yank his hand free. "Oh, really?" he muttered, going for a follow-up punch with his other fist. But Chatterbug caught that one, too.

Now, Chatterbug stood tall, holding both of Argos' sentimonster gauntlets in a death grip. Argos struggled, twisting and thrashing, but Chatterbug's grip didn't falter.

"Let… go!" Argos growled, panic starting to creep into his voice.

Chatterbug didn't answer. He didn't need to. The bulge of his biceps and the sound of metal groaning under pressure was answer enough.

With a sharp crunch, Chatterbug crushed the sentimonster gauntlets, reducing them to a cloud of shimmering dust.

Argos screamed as his bare hand cracked audibly under the pressure, bone snapping like dry wood.

"You think you're funny, huh?" Chatterbug growled, his voice low and dangerous. He didn't give Argos a moment to recover.

The first punch landed in Argos' ribs, and the wet, hollow sound made Chrysalis flinch.

Another punch came, snapping Argos' head to the side and busting a tooth clean out of his mouth. Blood sprayed from his lips, staining the ground in crimson streaks.

Blow after blow, Chatterbug unleashed his fury, his movements savage and unrelenting. Argos could do little more than stumble back under the onslaught, his body crumpling with each impact.

Finally, Chatterbug lashed out with his yoyo, the string snapping taut as it looped around Argos' neck.

"No!" Chrysalis shouted, her voice trembling, but her feet were frozen in place.

Chatterbug jumped into the air, yanking Argos along with him like a marionette. The string tightened, and Argos clawed at his neck, choking and gasping for breath.

Chrysalis acted on instinct, raising her cane and slashing through the yoyo line in a single clean strike.

When the dust cleared, Argos lay at Chrysalis' feet, barely conscious, his body a bloody, mangled mess. His breathing was shallow, and his eyes were half-lidded, glazed over with pain.

The string snapped, and Chatterbug stumbled back, momentarily thrown off balance.

Chrysalis forced a grin, her lips trembling. "Damn, that 'handling' really looked like it hurt," she quipped, glancing down at Argos.

Argos groaned weakly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Not… another word…"

Her grin faltered as she knelt down beside him, her cane trembling in her hand. She couldn't let the fear show—not now, not when the Malevolence was still watching, still hungry.

"Rest up, Argos," she murmured under her breath, her eyes snapping back to Chatterbug. "I'll take it from here."

It all happened so fast.

Chrysalis and Chatterbug darted across the ruined battlefield, their movements blurring to the onlookers, her sword meeting his baton in a flurry of high-speed clashes. Sparks ignited in the air with every strike, and the sound of their blows echoed like thunder, drawing everyone's gaze. Each step Chrysalis took was calculated, each swing of her blade aimed to push him further, closer to the breaking point. The Malevolence's influence wrapped around him like chains, but even chains could be broken with the right amount of force—and timing.

Chatterbug was relentless, his strength unnatural even for someone unified with so many Miraculous. His blows forced her back, one after another, her arms aching as the vibrations of every block rattled up to her shoulders. Yet, she didn't falter. She couldn't.

The whispers of the Malevolence brushed against her mind, taunting her with her own doubts, but she shoved them aside. If she could hold her ground, she might find the key to pulling him out of this madness. After all, no one understood the Malevolence's hold better than she did.

"Come on, Dumbass," she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling but firm. "You're supposed to be better than this…"

The annoying part was that, every now and then between blows, she'd catch Chatterbug at certain angels that made him look… Different. In the Chatterbug state, Chat's usual wild spikes were more tamed. They were still spikes, but they were pulled down, orderly, looking almost like a golden hat fixed with tassels. More orderly, at an angel that hid his sneer, Chrysalis could almost glimpse a different boy underneath.

It was enough to make Adrien's face flash through her mind, and in that moment, very time it struck her, she'd feel an overwhelming sickness and instinctively pull back to avoid attacking that image. Damn it, she was dealing with Chatter-whatever, not Adrien. She needed to keep her head in the game. She wasn't fighting Adrien, he was far away from here and safe in his mansion; she'd never hurt Adrien, never ever.

But the feeling, the association was slight enough to persist, to make every blow come with guilt and make her feel like she was attacking her own heart.

Chatterbug's mouth moved soundlessly, like he was yelling accusations or commands she couldn't hear. His eyes burned with rage, but there was something else behind them—an exhaustion that even his monstrous power couldn't hide. The Malevolence was pushing him too hard, too fast.

Chrysalis saw her opportunity. With a flick of her wrist, her sword transformed into a shimmering whip, the blade unraveling like liquid steel. She lashed out, the whip snaking around his legs, his arm, yanking him off balance. She hurled him into the wreckage of a nearby car, the force of his impact crumpling it like a soda can.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to breathe, her chest heaving as she steadied her grip. But it wasn't over. Chatterbug rose again, seemingly unfazed, his baton spinning in his hand like a cyclone.

They charged at each other once more, and their weapons locked in a final, desperate clash. Chrysalis gritted her teeth, her muscles screaming in protest as she held her sword steady against his unrelenting force. His snarl was animalistic, his golden hair now wild and matted, and yet... there it was. A flicker.

For just a moment, Chatterbug's eyes shifted. The rage wavered, replaced by confusion, a brief glimpse of the real Chat Noir buried under the Malevolence's grip. His hands faltered, his baton trembling against her blade.

But the Malevolence fought back, surging through him like a tidal wave. His snarl returned, and he shoved against her blade with renewed force. Chrysalis knew she couldn't hold back anymore. If she hesitated, he'd fall completely into its control—and no one would be able to pull him back.

She saw Adrien again in those dazed eyes. So she closed her eyes, se had to close her eyes.

With a burst of strength, she twisted her body, driving her sword through his chest. The blade pierced him cleanly, glowing with the accumulated energy of her memories, her spite, her determination. Chatterbug froze, his body convulsing as the energy surged through him.

For one heart-stopping moment, everything went silent. The battlefield, the onlookers, even the Malevolence seemed to hold its breath.

Then, Chatterbug let out a guttural scream that shattered the silence. The Malevolence's tendrils writhed and snapped, recoiling from him like smoke fleeing a flame. The air around him shimmered as the Malevolence's hold began to crack, splintering under the weight of Chrysalis's strike.

And suddenly, he came to, gasping for air. His eyes seemed to find focus when he found her face. She kept up the amused act to hide how fast her heart was beating.

"Chrysalis!" He snarled, "What did you do?!"

"Oh, Chat Noir." She yanked the sword out, let him crumble to his knees and then gestured to all the damage he inflicted on everyone. "The question is: what did you do?"

His gaze followed her hand, taking in the ruined battlefield—the claw marks gouged into walls, the wreckage of cars, the bodies of his allies strewn across the ground. His breath hitched. "Do you think I left all those claw marks on your buddies?" she continued, voice laced with mockery. "All I've done is protect the citizens of Paris… from you."

"You… You messed with my mind."

"I wasn't the one in your head." Chrysalis smirked, brushing invisible dust off her shoulder. "Though, I don't think Paris will care either way."

"I have to say, Cat, I didn't realize there was such ferocity hiding under all that preening." She circled him like a predator, her tone sharp and mocking. "I'm starting to see how you managed to hold your own against Scruffy."

Chat staggered to his feet, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and exhaustion. "I've still got enough left to take you in."

"I'd advise against that." Chrysalis's smirk widened, her voice dropping into a dangerous, almost playful tone. "I'm not done cleaning up your mess; if you don't let me do my job, the Malevolence will consume everything here."

Chat's response was stopped by an illustrative growl bubbling up from below them, and this time Chrysalis wasn't the only one who could hear it. For a moment, the fury in his eyes dimmed, replaced by uncertainty. Chrysalis seized the opportunity, stepping closer and leaning in, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Face it, Cat. Right now, you need me."

The noises continued, dragging their attention back to the pit Chat had risen from, where the Malevolence poured from. The flesh-like sludge emerged from the pit and, in the glint of daylight, it's horrid features were clear, hundreds of screaming, hungry faces stitched together in a pattern that defined the sludge, crying out at the failed ambush. However, they didn't remain faces for long as, with more twisting and reshaping, the mass of flesh became the familiar, faceless visage of Monarch.

"…You can see this too, right?" Chat asked uncertainly.

"Hawkmoth's final form? Yeah." Chrysalis replied stiffly, "Is… Is that what you saw everyone as?"

Chat nodded slowly. "More or less."

His breathing was heavy, his hands desperately groping at his fresh stab wound. Chrysalis didn't really think that attack through, it left him useless to help her- No, this was fine. She didn't need help.

"This…" Chat muttered, "This is the creature sealed away in the Butterfly miraculous, isn't it?"

Momentarily, Chrysalis was stunned by this revelation, that Chat actually knew the first thing about all of this. "Huh. So, you guys haven't just been twiddling your thumbs between akumas. I'm almost impressed." Almost, she emphasized almost. She'd never be completely impressed with these bozos. "Yes, this is the monster that Nooroo subconsciously kept at bay for years. A duty that has been passed down to me."

Chat looked between her and the slushy Monarch horror show and found it in himself to snort. "I can see you're doing a bang-up job."

There was so much she wanted to say to that, a hundred-mile yarn she wanted to spin about how he had no idea how much she sacrificed of herself just to keep this monster contained, how the fact that she managed to keep it this weak was a fucking miracle, how he was the last person who should be giving her crap about this.

Most of all, she wanted to clarify that this was all Felix's fault.

But the image of Monarch made his move, slithering past them, his hips melting into the ground as he pushed along, making a B-Line for his consolation prize. If he couldn't get Chat anymore, he could fall back on settling for the morsel he failed to consume the day before.

"It's after Argos!" Chrysalis hissed, ripping away from Chat and sprinting as fast as her legs could take her.

No. No, no. No, no, no.

Argos was a mess, lying back in a heap blooded, bruised and broken. He was defenceless, so utterly vulnerable, and there was no Kagami or Colt protect him this time. He could barely turn his head to look upon the form of Monarch that came crawling upon him, sludge spewing from the base as an army of little tendrils followed every movement.

Monarch's arms became jagged spears, poised and ready to break through the skin. A wound, an opening, that was all he needed to dig in and let his corruption sink into Argos' insides and tear the boy apart.

Argos was the perfect prey for the Malevolence.

And so, Chrysalis had to be the perfect predator.

She dived in between them without a second thought. And it hurt. It hurt so fucking much she couldn't keep herself from screaming. The spear went straight through her side, the tip feeling akin to a molten edge with how super-heated it was, boiling her blood on contact.

She had to repeat in her head, like a mantra, that she would be healed when her transformation dropped, that no matter how fresh she remembered the pain, it wouldn't kill her. She wouldn't let it kill her.

The Malevolence's frustrated growls echoed in her mind like a headache. It would gain nothing from trying to corrupt her again, it wanted to feast on fresh meat, not rancid, chewed up leftovers. But she caught Monarch by the neck, fingers digging into the lumpy, pliant flesh and holding on with all her might.

Behind her, Argos croaked out. "Lila… Why?"

It hurt to laugh, but she made sure to laugh. The physical pain was nothing compared to the pain of losing face. "I still need you for the mission, don't I?"

He shifted around, fighting against his injuries to move to his feet. She caught the glint of his fan being unveiled and frowned. Dumbass was gonna try and fight? What, did he not see that she had this in the damn bag? "I'm not finished yet." She growled.

Argos matched her glare, "You're wounded."

"And not dead," She hissed, kicking her leg back to ward him away. "So, fuck off and let me work!"

Monarch twitched and jerked in her grip, but she didn't let go. He infested her mind, tore her open and burrowed his way inside; but that meant she could burrow into him right back. Dull roars and bitter threats rattled her bones, but didn't break her.

She was a little girl again choking under the rubble that would claim her parents' lives.

She was a little girl again watching the news coverage announcing that Rupture would not be serving her life sentence in prison.

She was a little girl again being stuffed and locked in the orphanage supply closet because the kids thought she was a bad luck charm.

She was a little girl again finding out that she was all alone in this world and that the only thing she could get in life was that which she took with her own two hands, through any means necessary.

The Malevolence wielded these memories like a whip, calling her that same little girl over and over again. That weak little girl, that worthless, stupid, fragile little girl who had no choice but to submit to it.

Ah, but that was where is was mistaken. Because she was that little girl again, and you know what that little girl did? She survived. She grew up. She outsmarted Ladybug, and Monarch, and everybody else. She won. She can't do anything but win.

At the end of the day she pushed the Malevolence back, she kept it in chains; she was it's master.

And the Malevolence had no choice but to submit as she forced it back, had no choice but to slither away wounded and fearful and scurry back down in it's hole to resume it's total slumber. "I am Queen Chrysalis." She hissed in its mind, driving the knife as deep as it could go, letting it's screams in her mind fill her with only satisfaction. "Before me: You. Are. Nothing."

For a moment she just stood there, basking in the glow of a bloodied battlefield, resting on her cane just to keep herself standing straight. Her eyes bore into the hole the Malevolence escaped through, letting the pain prickling at her mind tell her that it was over for now, that she'd bought herself more time.

It was a disaster. She was ready to crumble beside Argos and let the world of dreams take her. This was supposed to be a flawless victory, a miraculous display of her overwhelming power and competence. And yet she was left here, battered beyond belief, her body shaking, shivering and a trail of destruction she failed to stop.

She drew her hand over her face.

What made a good schemer wasn't their ability to plan for every possibility, it was their willingness to turn ever obstacle into an opportunity.

The moment her hand left her, the mask was in place as Chrysalis stood tall, stood triumphant and raised her cane over her head.

"People of Paris!" She called out whilst clutching her wounded side, the butterflies spread around the area projecting her voice. "For almost a year now, you have seen the fruits of my labour, witnessed my feats of strength…"

Her gaze grew sad, contemplative, when it fell on the muck pooling by her feet, left behind by the Malevolence. "And suffered for my failures."

She smoothed her hair back, batting away the grime and stains. "But it is only now that you can put a face to my revolution." Her body dropped into a low bow that most of the audience couldn't see clearly, but she liked the feel of. "I am Chrysalis, and I come not as your damnation, but your salvation."

Murmurs broke out across the crowds, none too impressed yet, but at least nobody was stupid enough to attempt trying to fight her. Chalot shot her a pointed look and, for a fraction of a second, she pouted.

Still, she kicked off her cane and strode forward like she had no injury, pushing through the pain for the sake of the mask as she neared the boundary line. Close enough that the civilians and the news reporters could get a good view of her face. "You may believe me to be Monarch's successor, I wouldn't blame you, but I fear I must reveal to you all that it is not that simple." The cane slid up in her grip, turned upside down so that the blade could point to the pit where everyone had witnessed the Monarch-looking creature emerge from. "I am the jailer of Monarch's final machination."

With a swooping motion, the cane came to rest on her chest. Her voice shuddering with fake restrained emotions. "Even after his demise, with his final breath he released one final gambit to wreak havoc upon Paris, and soon enough the world."

Dropping into a crouch, she poked at the surface of the Earth, her brow tightly knitted together. "It slumbers deep below us, it grows every night, it corrupted even Argos' sentimonsters to twist them against us. It is my will alone that keeps it at bay."

She watched the camera close in on her, making a show of her expression faultering and her fingers pulling at her hair. "That is why I carry heavy heart. I must tell you that you have been lied to by your so-called heroes, that many of Monarch's followers still walk among you."

The cane swept again, falling across the crowd in sync with the spread of their choking gasps. "That I work from the shadows because of them, fearful that they have followed the same path as their leader."

Her ears picked up Rena's wounded growl swiftly approaching. "What a croc of shit."

Pegasus, who she was sure was letting Rena lean against him, muttered as well. "She sure knows how to yap."

And yet, neither could summon the energy to try and talk her down it seemed. The stage was hers, and hers alone.

"I was there the day Monarch fell. I was there the day Ladybug showed her true colours." She took a sharp breath, shaking, quivering, almost on the verge of tears. "If I had not prevented her from reclaiming the miraculous, she would have damned us all."

She shut her eyes tight and shamefully looked away from the crowd, sniffling. "I know that I am not worthy of your trust, but I had to come out of hiding, if only to let you know..." The blood from her wound dripped into her palm, she let it drench her fingers so that she could form a tight fist over it, strangling her own pain and holding it aloft over her head. "That when all hope is lost and your heroes' true faces come to light; we will not abandon you."

A strong hand takes hold of her shoulder and sharply yanks her around, bringing her face-to-face with Mr. Bug's glare. "Do you think anyone believes the crap you're saying?" He growled, leering close to her. "Do you even believe it?"

And she grinned, because even without looking, she could hear the crowd's nervous murmurs and in Bug's wide, broken eyes, she could see the reflection of people backing away cautiously. They were afraid; oh their fear was so palpable in that moment. But they weren't afraid of her, they were afraid of him.

"They don't need to." She said in such a sickly sweet whisper and she leaned down by his ear. "I planted the seeds already; this is just me… Watering the crops before they bloom."

Over his shoulder, Rena, Pegasus and a very confused Viperion closed in. Chrysalis pressed her fingers against Mr. Bug's throat, hard enough that she could feel the blood pumping into her fingertips. "This is your last warning."

She ripped herself away, sashaying over to Argos and pulling him up to lean on her. The butterflies converged on them, sheltering them in a blanket of wings. And in the blink of an eye, the two were gone, lost to the wind, leaving behind only the echo of flapping wings… And the final word.

"Stay out of our way, because this time tomorrow it'll be open season on fake heroes."

---

"Miraculous Mr. Bug!"

The cure came and went. Buildings was put back in order, wounds were healed, but comfort never came to Mr. Bug. For all the goof the cure did, it didn't change what happened, it didn't erase the memories of his actions. It healed wounds, but left scars, and no body of Surface Pressure to alleviate his concerns.

He'd killed a woman today. And he'd almost killed many more, including his own teammates. Worst of all, he fused Tikki and Plagg together and forced them to be apart of it every step of the way, imprisoned in their holder and forced to watch him commit atrocities with their hands.

"It… It didn't bring her back." He admitted through gritted teeth, his minds eye seeing fresh blood on his hands. "Damn it."

Viperion patted him on the shoulder. "There was nothing else we could have done, Chat."

Viperion was wrong, and everyone else thought it. Chat knew this because Viperion, the one who was knocked out for the battle, who didn't see what he'd done, who didn't know the monster Chat became; he was the only one willing to stand beside Chat.

Pegasus and Rena exchanged pleasantries, they made polite excuses to stay back, but he could see it. Plagg stayed dutiful, hovering over his shoulder, but he didn't speak, he just stared into space. Tikki was part of him for the moment, but she too was silent. He could feel their eyes on him, watching wearily for the moment he'd pounce again. They were afraid of him; they saw the monster in him; and no cure was going to change that.

"We're superheroes, we're supposed to always find another way." His voice broke, fighting against tears. "Marinette would have."

Rena shook her head, "Stop talking stupid, she wouldn't of."

Viperion tried to laugh, but it was forced as hell. "At least you didn't get taken out in the first minute of the fight." He slung around Mr. Bug, and Adrien couldn't help feel annoyed. "Trust me, Chat, you did all you could."

Trust what? Him and all the second-hand information he got from Adrien? He knew Luka was trying to help and comfort him, but he was seriously getting sick of hearing these shallow little pleasantries from people. They weren't there, they don't know anything about what's going on with you, they don't even know the dark little impulses you keep hidden underneath, but they're so sure that they can tell you how you should feel.

Adrien knew he fucked up, he knew he failed, and the fact that Luka flagrantly dismiss all of the context to insist the opposite just proved his point. At that point, he's just saying shit for the sake of it, because it's what he's expected to say, not because he believes in it or Adrien.

Mr. Bug tried not be too forceful with how he pushed Viperion's arm away, but he could tell by the flash of hurt that Luka understood it as an attempt to shove Viperion away. Neither commented on it, leaving Mr. Bug to push forward and face the ones he hurt the most.

"Are you guys…"

Adrien stepped forward hesitantly, the weight of his transformation pressing down on him like an iron cage. He glanced over at Rena and Pegasus, who stood close to each other. Despite the Cure's magic having erased all physical traces of their injuries, they still somehow looked hurt.

Pegasus leaned slightly on Rena, his usually sharp and confident posture replaced with a stiffness that Adrien could almost feel in his own chest. Rena's arms were crossed tightly, but the hand gripping her upper arm trembled, her knuckles white against her suit. They were both staring at something—anything—except him.

Adrien opened his mouth to say something, but the words caught in his throat. The silence that hung between them was deafening. He took another step closer, his heart pounding.

"Are you…" His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, trying again. "Are you guys okay?"

Rena didn't answer right away. Her eyes flicked to Pegasus, then to the ground. Finally, she gave a stiff nod. "Fine," she muttered, though her tone carried none of her usual fire. It was a single word, short and clipped, and it landed like a brick in Adrien's stomach. "Just remind me to never get between you and catnip."

Pegasus let out a breath, his face tight. "Yeah," he added, equally flat. His gaze remained locked on the horizon. "We're fine."

But Adrien could see the lie. The way Pegasus' jaw clenched, the way Rena's fingers twitched against her arm—it was all too familiar. He'd seen those tells before in himself, in the mirror, every time he told someone he was 'fine'.

He tried to meet their eyes, searching for something—anything—that would prove his fears wrong. But Rena turned her head slightly, her hair obscuring her face. Pegasus shifted his weight, his hands fidgeting with the straps on his suit.

They weren't looking at him.

He moved past them, doubling back towards where Chalot directed clean up efforts, having the able men keep back the sea of reporters. Mr. Bug's eyes took in the scene behind Chalot, where many soldiers were still propped up on stretchers and being checked on by doctors. The cure healed them, but they weren't okay.

"Is anyone here hurt?" He asked hesitantly.

"No one dead." Chalot doesn't look up from his clipboard to address Mr. Bug pointedly. "Not for your lack of trying."

It took everything to stop himself from crying, but he still shook as his hoarse voice croaked. "I'm sorry."

The words felt inadequate, small and pathetic, and yet they were all he had.

He was sure that, later, Nathalie would try to comfort him. She'd tell him that he wasn't in control of his actions, that this creature was deceiving him and made him attack his friends; it wasn't his fault, it meant nothing about him, it didn't prove anything about him.

Maybe he was manipulated, maybe he was shown an illusion that made him lose control; but that didn't matter. It was like Su-Han said, even like Lila said – deception starts with someone enabling it and he didn't even hesitate to embrace this lie.

He should have known immediately that the vision made no sense, that the world didn't just go to hell and all his friends didn't just die in the time it took him to get up.

He should have listened to Tikki and Plagg screaming at him to stop.

He should have spent on damn second putting thought into it.

Instead, he ignored every sign, deafened himself to the screams of the two beings that were literally apart of him at the time, and drummed himself up into a blood frenzy. Once, he had been guilt-ridden to know that he might have killed Monarch. Today, he tore through multiple copies of that man with a smile in his heart and a hunger.

Dominating them, charging through every attempt at resistance like no one could touch him; it felt good, felt secure. It was a high produced by all that power he could wield in that moment. He didn't fight because he needed to kill them, he fought because he wanted to obliterate them.

He could have done better, and he knew he could have because Lila did. She faced the Malevolence and she didn't come away from it feral and bloodthirsty, she kept her wits about her, she grabbed it by the throat and shoved it back into the earth.

He came back to reality to find Chalot – No, his uncle, the man before him was Colt Fathom in a flesh suit – looking back at him with a look that almost felt understanding. And uunlike Luka' look, Adrien didn't feel like it was fake, he felt like Colt knew exactly what was going through his head. As if he'd thought it himself.

Colt sighed, his real accent feeling more pronounced now that Adrien who it really was. "Yeah, well, sorry ain't gonna mean much to the public."

"Do you believe Chrysalis' little speech?" He blurted it out without thought, and he wasn't sure why. Colt knew Lila's plan (though Adrien got the sense that Lila hadn't planned for that interruption), Colt knew her lies, Colt was the enemy, and yet suddenly Adrien felt self-conscious of what Colt thought of him in this moment.

Colt's eyes flittered back and forth, unsure of who was close enough to hear him. "I believe…" He drawled out, that southern twang squeaking through. "That she has a lot to gain by making you look untrustworthy, and you've given her plenty of ammo."

He almost sounded sad about that, though Adrien couldn't imagine why.

Mr. Bug's eyes fell down on the sling, desperate to search for another topic to distract himself. "What happened to your arm?" To be honest, he was actually curious how and why Defect's metal body got damaged enough to the point Colt had to fake an injury.

"One of my employees did something real stupid." Colt grumbled gruffly. "Got injured pulling their ass out the fire."

Before Mr. Bug could press further a loud, shrill voice broke through the noise. A familiar voice that set Mr. Bug's hair on end. A voice that should be impossible to be greeting them right now.

"Damn, did I miss the entire fight?"

The rest of the team arrived at Mr. Bug's back, just in time to watch Cassandra Smith approach. She was pale, sickly and bruised; but she was very clearly alive.

Chalot seemed to grimace at her presence. "Smith, good to see you on your feet again."

Pegasus chimed in, "Huh, I was thinking somebody was missing."

Mr. Bug glanced over his shoulder, mouthing to the rest of the group 'Memento' before turning back to keep up a polite look. She wasn't dead, he hadn't killed her. He wasn't a murderer; not yet. And on another glance, he spotted the glint of that same damn harness, only without the akuma symbol on it, over her chest.

Rena, on the other hand, did not even attempt any niceties to the woman she sure as hell knew had been trying to kill them thirty minutes ago. "You look like shit, Lady."

Cassandra weakly shrugged, "The akuma-senti-whatever hit our truck as we pulled in; got pinned down by five crates of weaponry."

Eventually, the group shuffled away from the task force, moving to a more secluded rooftop where they didn't have cameras on them. The moment Mr. Bug touched the ground, he was talking. "She's the memento, I'm sure of it."

Pegasus stroked his chin, "Seems Lila has created portable super villains."

"She was wearing that weird harness…" Viperion added, though he wasn't too sure. "Uh, that was the same one, right?"

Pegasus snapped his fingers, "Didn't Surface Pressure mention something about getting things ripped out of her chest? Right where that harness would be?"

Viperion snapped his fingers right back. "We need to get a hold of one of those harnesses."

But while the two were finding solace in a lead, Mr. Bug couldn't help but follow the uncharacteristically quiet Rena. She leaned against the edge of the rooftop, staring off into the distance.

"You okay, Rena?" Adrien asked softly.

"Nope." Her response was blunt, her voice flat. "Feel like I've been bludgeoned by a truck. And Lila's speech…" She hesitated, her expression darkening. "It's got me thinking."

Adrien felt his chest tighten. "You don't believe her, do you?"

"No," Rena said quickly, but then sighed. "But I can't help thinking… Lila wouldn't be this far ahead if Marinette wasn't so damn secretive."

---

It was night now, long after the battle.

For the past hour, Felix had sat in silence, watching as Lila vomited into the bin. He'd watched as this woman who took every step to project strength and control stumble through the front door on death's doorstep, knocking over everything on the kitchen counter as she stumbled through the apartment and then promptly falling through the dining table and break one of the legs.

She navigated the halls like she was made of glass, like every step shot pain into her legs and threatened to crack her open. Pitter pattering across the floor, she almost looked more like a sickly child than the conniving woman he'd come to know her as.

He kept his hands in his pockets the whole time. Even if he was inclined to help the witch, she'd glare at him if he set so much as one pinky any closer to her. If she was too prideful to accept any help, that was her problem, let the witch rot.

The apartment was cloaked in darkness, save for the dim light from the kitchen. Felix leaned back against the armrest of the couch, his arms folded, watching the woman he once feared and loathed with a strange, detached curiosity.

Lila was a mess. Her hair, usually meticulously styled, hung limp around her pale, sweat-slicked face. Her lips were cracked, and her eyes were bloodshot, barely able to stay open as she shuddered with each breath. Her skin had pulled so tightly in some areas that he could see the outline of bones. She moved with the grace of a baby walking for the first time, each step a struggle to stay upright.

The worst part wasn't the black chunks gushing out of her mouth, it was that he could see it before it escaped. It was something her gag reflex heaved up or something causing her stomach to bubble, it was multiple little bumps he could see slivering around her body, traveling up to her throat by any means necessary and crawling through her lips.

"Do you want me to call a doctor?" he finally asked, his voice flat and disinterested, though he already knew the answer.

Lila scoffed weakly, a bitter smile tugging at the corners of her cracked lips. "Save your breath." Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. "You think I'd let anyone see me like this?"

He shrugged. "Suit yourself. But if you die here, I'm not cleaning up the mess."

Her laugh was a dry, rasping sound that quickly turned into a fit of coughing. She leaned forward, clutching her side as if the act of laughing was enough to tear her apart from the inside. Felix watched her, unflinching, waiting for her to recover.

But she didn't recover, she just had bouts of peace between more malevolent chunks wriggling out of her and threatening to tear her open. Apparently this was normal for any time she put the Malevolence back to sleep, apparently she was used to this; but that didn't make it look any less painful.

And, despite his ego urging him that it was none of his concern, he couldn't help but feel partly responsible for her current state.

"Why did you do it?"

Lila barely reacted at first, her head lolling against the back of the couch. After a long moment, she turned to him, her eyes heavy-lidded and dull but still managing a flicker of bemusement. "Hm?"

Felix's jaw tightened. He didn't like repeating himself, but her nonchalance grated on him. "You know what I'm talking about," he said, his voice sharper now. "Why did you take the hit for me? You know damn well it's my fault the Malevolence almost got loose in the first place. Why didn't you let me deal with it?"

Lila stared at him for a moment, then exhaled a weak, raspy laugh. "Because as long as you're on my team, you're under my protection. Duh." She waved a trembling hand in the air, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world. "Besides, it made my speech, like, 50% cooler to do it while having a sacrificial wound."

Felix blinked. "Really? And that was worth… this?" He gestured vaguely toward her, the bin, and the broken table leg. "You look like you've been run over by a truck, Lila."

"Maybe not," she admitted with a shrug, though the motion clearly cost her. "I was really in the moment, you know? Wasn't thinking far ahead."

"And yet, you need them," he replied dryly. "If you don't take those, you'll be squawking at me all day, and I've had enough of your dramatics for one lifetime."

"I don't squawk," she said, narrowing her eyes. "I sing."

"Uh-huh."

For a moment, silence settled over them. She picked at the box absentmindedly, her hands trembling just enough to be noticeable. Then, her voice softened, catching Felix off guard.

"…Sucks to hear about Kagami," she said, not meeting his gaze. "You two looked real… uh… serious."

Felix leaned back; his expression unreadable. "We were," he said simply. "But I… I made my choice. I do… I do believe in this, you know?"

He didn't realize until he said it out loud that he meant it. He could go running back to Kagami, apologize over and over and help her take Lila down. He could have told anyone anything to improve the situation. As much as he wanted to feel like he was cornered into this with no choice but to lose Kagami, he had a choice, he had options; and he chose the mission over the love of his life.

He hated the darkness, he loved Kagami's light, but he willingly embraced the darkness to help Lila and his father. He did believe in their cause. For good or for ill, he made his decision, and Kagami made hers. If their decisions pulled them apart onto opposite sides of the war… Well, he guessed that was the price and the gift of free will.

Lila glanced at him, her lips twitching into something that wasn't quite a smile but wasn't far from it. "I appreciate it," she said.

"What?"

That was strange, he must have short circuited there for a second, because it almost sounded like Lila Rossi just said thank you.

"I don't have a lot to lose," she began, her tone almost too casual. "I don't have a life outside the fake ones. I don't have… connections to miss, or people to disappoint, or a legacy to be ashamed of sullying." She paused, her voice growing quieter. "So, I know there's a lot at stake for you. That it's not easy to help us."

She shifted slightly, her eyes fixed on the floor. "And I know we'd be in a much shittier position without your help. Scruffy would never be able to bring himself to use the Peacock again, and I ain't in no condition to be using multiple Miraculous." She looked up, her gaze sharp but sincere. "Giving up the love of your life for all this? Don't say I never acknowledge what you do for us."

Felix stared at her, his jaw tightening. "God knows I'd never be able to do that," she continued. "I believe we're doing something good in the end, but… I don't think I'd be able to choose the mission over Adrien."

"You do realize," Felix said slowly, "that if we fail, you'll be damned for all eternity. Consumed by the closest thing we have to the devil himself. You and everyone else."

"I know," Lila said softly.

Her answer hung in the air, heavy and unshakable. Felix didn't know what to say to that. Or maybe he did, but the words felt too small for the weight of the situation.

Instead, he glanced away, his gaze falling on the broken table leg and the mess she'd left in her wake. And for the first time in a long time, he felt something other than frustration when he looked at her.

He smirked, but for the first time in months, it didn't feel like it had any venom to it. "…You really are a crazy bitch."

"Of course, I am." Lila scoffed, "You think a sane bitch would be able to get this far?"

His eyes narrowed in amusement as he spotted her 'subtly' pulling a few pills from the box and swallowing them when she thought he wasn't looking. He shook his head. "Tch, please. I'm the only competent one here and, as you just so eagerly told me, the only loyal one here apparently."

At this, she genuinely laughed, rounding on him with her fingers smacking against his forehead. "Says the dumbass who got told 'Don't come in here, the goo flesh demon will eat you' and decided 'Oh damn, there's gotta be some good shit I'm missing out on'."

Turns out that Lila did a really good impression of his voice.

He turned away, crossing his arms to protect himself from her slander. "It was a strategic risk to ensure that I was properly informed of our situation."

She poked and prodded at his shoulder, further drawing his irritation. "It was you being pissy that you weren't getting the star treatment."

"Does your mouth ever stop running?" He snapped.

"I dunno, does your brain?" She giggled.

That come back didn't even make any sense, he grumbled internally, but didn't voice it. Instead, he curled up on the other side of the couch and sunk into the cushion, confused as to when this place started feeling comfortable. What? Lila saves his ass once and now he was letting his guard down? She was a witch and a deceiver; he should always be ready for her to stab him in the back. Just like he technically sorta already did with his Malevolence stunt.

He looked back at her, studying her. It was only because she was in such a bad shape, that was why he could drop his guard, and why she was acting slightly nicer than usual; because she was weak and they both knew it. Even her weak smile couldn't cover up how close she looked to a corpse despite only a few hours ago looking like a woman ready to take on the world.

"I saw all the medical stuff down there." He said quietly.

He spotted Lila stiffen, and maybe even idly run her fingers over spots he remembered her being cut open, but her voice held firm. "Yeah, I guessed that."

"What… What did that thing do to you?"

Lila tilted her head back, staring at the ceiling. "The Malevolence is an unstable freak of nature. Unstable is the big thing here. It's powerful—more powerful than any of us—but in its current state, it's fractured. Can't think straight. Can't focus. There's a mind behind it, but it's broken into so many little pieces that any thought is like a thousand voices yelling over one another. It can't think straight, ergo it can't focus and pull itself together."

Felix grimaced. He could remember all the voices, the directionless, thoughtless horde stumbling towards him. "That's what it wants you for, then. Stability."

"It wants to hollow me out and use me as a flesh suit that can keep its mind together," she said bluntly. "Problem is, the flesh is weak, and every attempt it makes rips me open like a piñata."

Felix's mouth tightened. "Why didn't that happen to Gabriel?"

"Two things," Lila replied, holding up a shaky finger. "First off, the Malevolence was sealed away with Nooroo for most of Gabriel's tenure. The seal didn't stop it, but it kept it weak enough—kept it sleeping. Note that even asleep, its stray thoughts still corrupted everything around it." She let her hand drop, too tired to keep it up. "It wasn't until our favourite mangy cat cataclysmed Monarch that the seal broke, and the Malevolence started its morning routine."

"Secondly, leading up to Gabriel, the Malevolence had a lot of time on its hands. For centuries, it pulled itself together, cobbling together just enough brain cells to know how to be subtle. It had to hollow Gabriel out, carve him into the perfect vessel for it, but it had to do it slowly. Otherwise, it'd risk breaking said vessel and having to start over with someone else."

Felix frowned. "And after all that work…"

Lila snorted bitterly. "Ladybug goes and convinces Gabriel to kill himself. Not even through normal means—he uses miraculous suicide." She rolled her eyes. "Now, imagine years of work flushed down the drain in an instant. And guess what? You just lost all the brain cells that held your patience."

"Now it's desperate and pissed," she confirmed. "All that effort wasted, and now it's stuck with me—damaged goods—as its next option. Lucky me."

Felix lazily drew her fingers over the wear and tear of Lila's body. It felt rude to directly acknowledge it, but he couldn't help himself, looking at all the dark, malevolent coloured rot spreading through her skin, all the incision marks, all the bruising. No wonder she liked staying transformed, it allowed her to hide all the damage.

"So, all this is the Malevolence's rush job?" His voice was quiet, almost disbelieving.

"It's a prolonged job…" Lila replied, her voice detached as though she were describing someone else. "I am very, very literally the Malevolence's prison. As long as I endure it, all the attention span it has is working on me. Thing is, even my willpower can't push it back. To keep it at bay, I have to… tire it out."

Felix's brows furrowed. "Tire it out?"

"That means letting some of it inside," she explained, her tone disturbingly clinical. "Let it ravage my insides and break me down—force it to exercise its limbs just enough that when I cut it off, it's exhausted, and I can will it back to sleep."

He stared at her in disbelief, his fingers stopping mid-trace. "You let it in? That sounds insane."

Lila gave a humorless chuckle. "You think I like it? It's the only thing keeping it from bursting out entirely. The moment I'm gone, it'll go out of control. Mindlessly spread to every shred of life it can find, and it will never stop expanding." Her voice wavered slightly at the end, but she quickly steadied herself.

Felix leaned back, his head resting against the couch as he processed her words. He didn't know what to say. How did you even respond to something like that? She wasn't just fighting the Malevolence; she was actively letting it eat her alive just to buy the world more time.

Felix swallowed hard, the reality of her situation sinking in. "Why didn't you just let it take me, then? If I'm such a screw-up, wouldn't I be the perfect distraction for it? You'd have time to figure something else out."

Lila turned her head to look at him, her expression unreadable. "Because, dumbass, you're part of the team. And for better or worse, I don't let my team get eaten by ancient evil goo monsters. Even if they're insufferable."

Felix sat up slightly, his gaze lingering on the twisted marks and bruises across Lila's arms. The dark patches of rot seemed alive, pulsating faintly under her skin. He wasn't squeamish, but even he felt his stomach churn at the sight of it.

"How… How do you do that to yourself?" he asked, his voice low, almost afraid of the answer.

Lila glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, her expression distant. "The Malevolence came from the misuse of the butterfly," she began, her tone clinical. "In that vein, it feeds off of experience, of moments, of memories, just like akumas do."

Felix frowned, unsure what she was getting at.

"I told you," she continued, her voice soft but unwavering, "my life is a wallet of fake, photoshopped pictures. I don't have anything to lose. But I have everything to gain."

He didn't respond immediately, mulling over her words. The way she said it, like it was just a fact of life, made his chest tighten in discomfort. "And the… the medical stuff?" he asked, gesturing vaguely to the damage on her body. "What doctor do you have that's willing to cut that nasty stuff out of you?"

Lila snorted. "Scruffy handles all that."

Felix blinked in confusion. His father performing surgery? "...Is he even qualified?"

"I shit you not, he actually is," Lila said with a small, tired smirk. "Claims he picked up enough education under Salvadore to get a license if he could ever get through the Hippocratic oath without vomiting."

Stifling a laugh, she continued. "Imagine, in another life, old Scruffy would be the next Dr. House,"

"Yeah, right," Felix shot back, though his lips twitched at the thought. "He's just spinning yarn, so you don't panic that he's holding the scalpel." He paused, then he groaned, leaning his head back. "Oh god, imagine going into surgery and he's still wearing that damn cowboy hat."

He would. Colt fucking would, the big oaf. Felix wasn't entirely sure when Colt got obsessed with cowboys, his mother just told him that his grandfather used to send Colt to a farm when he thought Colt wasn't representing the Fathom name right and that, somehow, Colt came out of the experience believing that cowboys are the 'gentleman of the west'.

Briefly, he wondered if Magni already made her holders look like cowboys or if Colt's mind had been the reason behind the look for Defect.

Lila stretched out her limbs, looking like she was starting to regain some colour as she inclined her head towards the tv. "Now, if we're done dwelling on depressing subjects, I'd like you to turn the TV on and a put a damn movie in." She groaned, pulling her jacket up onto the couch to use as a blanket. "We are going to be busy tomorrow, and you're seriously eating into my relaxation time."

Felix wanted to tell her lazy ass to go turn on the damn tv herself, he was no servant. But all he ended up doing was getting up and shaking his head. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"Yeah. I know." She called after him. "That's the point, dummy."

However, Felix didn't go to the tv, he instead ventured into the kitchen, soon enough returning with a packet in hand.

Lila tilted her head in confusion when he held the packet in front of her face. "What's that?"

He rolled his eyes. "The crackers. You can have them."

Lila squinted.

He watched her.

She scrunched up her face.

She reached forward and-

"…Nah." Her hand fell limp by her side.

His eyes widened, shaking the bag of crackers in her face like it would help make sense of it. "What do you mean 'nah'!?"

She shrugged, waving him off. "I don't want them, they probably taste dry and shit."

"You enjoyed munching on them all before, you pig!"

"Yeah, but that was because they had the flavour of being stolen goods." She said slowly, condescendingly; like he was an idiot failing to grasp the most obvious information. "It's not the same if you're just giving them to me."

Felix's eye twitched. "That's stupid." He bellowed. "You're stupid! Why are you so stupid!?"

Suddenly, she was brandishing a bottle of wine in his face. Where she had pulled it from, he had no idea. "Yeah, yeah, just make yourself useful and pass me a glass."

And now she was ordering him to pour her some shitty wi- Wait a minute.

Felix snatched it out of her hand. "Is that from my mother's wine cabinet!?"

"Oh yeah, I went to London the other day, thought I'd stop by to tell her that you're an idiot and almost got yourself killed."

Half an hour later Chalot made his way into the shared living space, Weevil by his side as they went over the plans to set up security around the Agreste mansion. After tomorrow press conference, they had to plan for the worst, after all.

The two's conversation was halted, however, when they entered the living room only to find Felix repeatedly hitting Lila over the head with a packet of crackers while she held a bottle of spilled wine out of reach. Many colourful swear words were being exchanged as the two bickered and fought like siblings' decades younger.

Colt sighed.

Weevil nervously scratched his head. "Heh, this is why I don't have kids."

"Shut the fuck up, Weasel."

---

Next Time: Smile For The Camera

A cigarette was offered to him, but even if Gabriel didn't smoke he'd be damned if he trusted anything Bob Roth handed to him. Besides, he felt like smoke gave a ceratin elegent framing, like an art snob sipping wine while observing an art gallery, that this painting didn't deserve. It dominated the office, Roth's shrine to his own ego making it a mission to be an eyesore on every wall. And hey, Gabriel wasn't opposed to self-portraits to assert ownership of your personal space, he had paintings of himself and his family; but his were tasteful, respectful. This was filfth.

The first thing anyone saw when they entered Roth's personal office, or thrown in after being slammed against the doorway several times, was a depiction of the fat bastard warpped in velevet sheets, with naked woman intertwined by the legs and arms to form a circle around him. All framed by cigerette smoke and heated colours.

"It's real classy, ain't it?" Roth didn't move to Gabriel, he remained hidden behind his desk, hands together and thumbs twiddling. "Had a whole collection commissioned."

A slime ball like Roth should never use the word 'classy'. It just sounded vile on his tongue. "What's classy about you commissioning perverse pictures of what I assume to be your fictional sexual exploits?"

"Hey, hey, hey. Pieces like this are basically behind all the great arts in history. One of our most well known statues is a guy with his paintbrush out, if you know what I mean." Roth cackled. After watching the man on TV, it was strange, almost unnerving, to see the man alone without his doubles. It left questions, and in such a periless situations, you needed some certainties nailed down. Just what was Roth's akuma power? "'Sides, this ain't fictional, all of these paintings are historical records."

"Ah yes, I see you've got an illustration of watching a very well endowned future PHD holder cleaning your car." Gabriel eyes peeled over the remaining paintings in the gallery. All of them surrounded Roth, and none of them seemed to have any information of historical relevence. "That's one for the history books."

"You just don't get it." Roth clicked his tongue, knocking back his drink. "See, you know when we have these big tragic events? President gets shot, buildings get blown up, heroes' dirty secrets get unveiled. You know, you know." He leaned forward, drumming his fingers over the desk. "Years later, people always start asking each other 'Where were you when it happened?'. Were you on the plane? Were you apart of the crowd? Were you having a moment?"

"That's what this is." He gestured to the gallery like it was some grand reveal. "This is where I was when Majestia debuted." He pointed to another painting. "This is where I was when my wife gave birth."

Gabriel couldn't stop himself from snarling. "You were on a cruise?"

"I was on a cruise with twins." Roth looked very proud of himself and Gabriel was so, so, annoyed that he couldn't just punch the bastard in the face. "Now, this one is my favoraite." He returned Gabriel's attention to the first one he observed. "Because I know, no matter how many years pass, everyone's gonna be asking me where I was... On the day Hawkmoth was unmasked."