In the shadows of a Parisian night, deep within a secret lair draped in velvet gloom, a quiet storm was building.
Nooroo, the ancient kwami of transmission, hovered uneasily in the dim candlelight, his tiny wings twitching with tension. His voice, soft but laced with centuries of wisdom, echoed against the stone walls as he began his solemn tale.
"Many centuries ago, magic jewels bestowing extraordinary powers were created. These were the Miraculous. Throughout history, heroes have used these jewels for the good of the human race." His violet eyes dimmed as he continued. "Two of these Miraculous are more powerful than the others; the earrings of the Ladybug, which grant the power of creation... and the ring of the Black Cat, which grants the power of destruction. According to legend, whoever possesses both at once will attain absolute power."
A deeper voice stirred from the shadows. Calm and calculated, yet burning with obsession.
"I want that absolute power, Nooroo," the man whispered, stepping into the moonlight. His eyes, sharp and full of purpose, locked onto the floating kwami. "I must have those Miraculous."
Nooroo's wings fluttered with dread. "But... no one knows where they are!"
The man smiled darkly. "And yet I found you, didn't I, my little Nooroo?"
He stepped forward, extending a pale, commanding hand toward a delicate object resting on a black velvet pedestal—a brooch shaped like a butterfly.
"Remind me of its power."
"The Moth Brooch," Nooroo said reluctantly, "allows the wielder to grant others superpowers... and bend their wills to your own. But master, the Miraculous are not meant to be used for evil—"
The man's voice dropped like a guillotine. "Your Miraculous is in my control."
He raised a finger. Nooroo flinched, stunned by a sudden pulse of violet energy. His head dropped, his voice fading to a whisper. "Yes... master."
A moment later, the brooch was fastened to the man's chest. A pulse of light erupted as swarms of butterflies spiraled around him, cloaking his form in a cascade of energy. Nooroo vanished into the brooch. The man's transformation began—his coat stretching into elegant, ominous lines, his eyes gleaming with cruel conviction.
When he opened them again, he was no longer a man.
He was Hawk Moth.
"From this day forth," he declared with a smirk, "I shall be known as... Hawk Moth."
And he laughed—deep, echoing, terrifying.
Across the city, beneath an unassuming massage shop in the heart of Paris, the air shivered with ancient magic.
A soft green shell stirred. "Master," whispered Wayzz, the turtle kwami of protection, his tiny voice filled with alarm. "Master, wake up!"
In the corner, Master Wang Fu blinked his weary eyes. "Master, master," he muttered aloud, disguising the words as a mantra. His customer paused mid-massage.
"It's all part of the treatment," Fu insisted, shuffling them quickly out the door. "Thank you for coming. See you next week!"
The moment the door shut, the mask dropped. "Wayzz," Fu said quietly, "what is it?"
"I felt it," Wayzz said gravely. "The Moth Miraculous. Its aura... corrupted. It's in the hands of darkness now."
Fu's eyes hardened. "I thought it was lost to time."
Wayzz floated closer. "Master, it is... powerful. And dangerous. The balance could tip—"
Fu held up a hand, walking to an old gramophone in the corner. "Then we must act."
He flipped open a hidden panel in the gramophone, revealing an ornate wooden box carved with the sigils of ancient heroes. Its golden clasp gleamed as if it too sensed the shifting tides.
"I am too old to wield a Miraculous again," Fu said, his voice quiet with age and purpose. "But we must find the ones who can."
He touched the box. It glowed softly beneath his fingers.
"Paris needs new protectors."
The sweet scent of freshly baked bread and buttered croissants drifted through the upper floor of the Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie, but Marinette Dupain-Cheng barely stirred beneath the tangle of her covers.
Her phone buzzed endlessly on her nightstand, its screen flashing the time in bold, unforgiving numbers: 7:43 a.m.
From downstairs came the call, warm and lightly urgent.
"Marinette!" Sabine's voice rang up from the kitchen, just above the sound of kneading dough. "Your alarm's been going off for fifteen minutes! You're going to be late for your first day back at school!"
A muffled groan escaped from beneath the blanket pile. Moments later, a hand emerged, followed by a sleepy face.
"Got it, Mom!" Marinette mumbled, yawning as she staggered out of bed, hair tousled like a half-built bird's nest. She rubbed her eyes, still bleary from the night's dreams, and muttered, "I bet you anything, Chloé will be in my class again."
Sabine chuckled from the kitchen, handing off a warm mug of cocoa as her daughter descended. "Four years in a row? Is that even possible?"
"Definitely. Lucky me," Marinette said, rolling her eyes.
"Don't say that!" her mother scolded gently. "It's a new year. I'm sure everything will be just fine."
Marinette smiled half-heartedly and nodded, but as she set down the cocoa, her elbow nudged a tray of utensils. Several clattered to the floor in a metallic cascade.
"Ugh!" she groaned, crouching to clean up, but Sabine merely offered her an encouraging touch on the shoulder.
"Take a deep breath. It's only day one."
At the counter, Tom sang softly—La Marseillaise, bold and spirited—as he finished decorating a box of fresh macarons. When Marinette stepped closer, her expression lit up like a sunrise.
"Dad, these are amazing!"
"Glad you like them," he beamed. "Something special to start the year right."
Marinette threw her arms around him. "Thank you! My class is going to love these. You're the best!"
Tom caught the box mid-hug, juggling it with a foot and a grin. "We're the best. Your designs make the magic."
Giggling, she took the box from him, kissed her mom's cheek, then her dad's, and bolted for the door.
"See you tonight!" she called over her shoulder.
The early morning sun shimmered on the cobbled sidewalks as Marinette dashed from the bakery, her backpack bouncing, one arm clinging to the precious box of pastel-colored macarons. She rounded the corner, her feet nearly slipping from beneath her—
—and stumbled into the street.
"Wha—? Aah!"
A car horn blared. Marinette flinched but managed to catch her balance just in time. Her heart thundered in her chest, relief flooding her limbs.
That's when she saw him: an elderly man with a crooked posture and a long cane, inching his way across the intersection. His movements were slow, deliberate—too slow.
A car was turning the corner fast, too fast.
Eyes wide, Marinette looked to the other pedestrians. They were all distracted, heads buried in phones, oblivious.
Without hesitation, she dashed into the street and grabbed the old man's wrist. "Come on!" she gasped, pulling him with surprising strength. The car sped past just behind them with a whoosh of wind. They made it to the curb.
But Marinette tripped on the curb's edge and fell flat on the pavement. The box flew from her hands.
"Blehhh," she groaned, her face squished to the concrete.
Macarons spilled in a bright burst across the sidewalk like edible confetti. At least seven rolled into the street—one of them crushed under a distracted pedestrian's heel.
The old man—Master Wang Fu—stared at the mess, then lowered his hand to his lips. "Oh! What a disaster."
Still face-down, Marinette groaned again. "Don't worry. I'm no stranger to disasters."
She sat up, brushing dust from her elbows, and forced a smile. "Besides, there are still a few survivors."
She turned the tilted box toward him, inviting.
Master Fu accepted one macaron and took a thoughtful bite. "Mmm... delicious," he said, his voice soft with sincerity.
Their eyes met. Marinette's smile widened just a little, warmth returning to her cheeks.
Then—
DING! DING! DING!
The school bell echoed from down the block.
Marinette jumped to her feet. "Oh no! I'm gonna be late!" She bowed quickly. "Ah—have a nice day, sir!"
And she was gone, sprinting down the sidewalk, pigtails flying behind her.
Fu watched her disappear around the corner.
Then, quietly, he looked down at his palm—at the small, dark box that had seemingly appeared from nowhere. Its surface was lacquer-black, etched with ancient red markings in the shape of a swirling spiral.
He pocketed it slowly.
"Thank you very much, young lady," he said to the breeze, eyes full of thought.
Cane behind his back, he walked past the bakery, a ghost of a smile on his lips.
Something had changed. And it had all begun with a box of macarons.
The stone archways of Collège Françoise Dupont loomed overhead as Marinette Dupain-Cheng sprinted through the courtyard, her bag bouncing against her hip and a single macaron clutched desperately in her hand—the last survivor of a morning disaster.
"Ahhh!" she hissed, weaving past the janitor who had just propped the doors open.
He blinked after her. "Morning to you too, mademoiselle…"
She didn't hear him. Her shoes squeaked across the tile floors as she rounded the corner and burst into the classroom just as the final bell rang. She stumbled mid-step, catching herself with an awkward spin and a nervous laugh.
"Made it!" she declared, a little too loudly, straightening her blouse and brushing hair from her face.
At the front of the room, Miss Caline Bustier smiled kindly. "Nino, why don't you take a seat in the front row this year?"
But before Marinette could even think about sitting down, a familiar voice sliced through the air like a paper cut.
"Marinette Dupain-Cheng."
Marinette flinched. Here we go again.
Turning slowly, she found Chloé Bourgeois, arms folded and chin tilted with regal entitlement. Her ever-present sidekick, Sabrina Raincomprix, loomed behind her, lips already curled into a smug grin.
"That's my seat," Chloé announced, pointing imperiously at the desk Marinette had always claimed since first year.
"But Chloé, this has always been my seat," Marinette replied, keeping her tone as neutral as possible.
"Not anymore!" Sabrina piped up with a squeak. "New school year, new seats!"
"Exactly," Chloé said with mock sweetness. "So why don't you just go and sit beside that new girl over there?" She gestured lazily in the direction of a student Marinette didn't recognize—a girl with bold glasses, curly brown hair, and an air of defiance.
"But—"
Chloé cut her off with a dramatic toss of her hair. "Listen. Adrien and Jinx are arriving today. That's going to be Adrien's seat, so this is going to be mine. Got it?"
"Wait…" Marinette blinked, confused. "Who's Adrien? And... Jinx?"
The laughter that followed was cruel and high-pitched.
"Can you believe this?" Chloé cackled. "She doesn't know who Adrien or Jinx is! What rock have you been living under, Dupain-Cheng?"
Sabrina adjusted her glasses like she was giving a TED Talk. "Adrien Agreste—only the most famous teen model in Paris. And Jinx Sancoeur? Gabriel Agreste's fashion assistant. He's also the co-founder and head designer of Carnaval de Minuit. You know, the best theme park in all of Europe?"
"Not to mention," Chloé added smugly, "they both adore me. We're, like, inseparable. So go find yourself another seat. Shoo."
Just as Marinette opened her mouth—perhaps to protest, perhaps to surrender—a confident voice interrupted.
"Hey!" The girl Chloé had labeled "new" stepped forward, arms crossed. "Who elected you Queen of the Seating Chart?"
Chloé's eyes narrowed. "Oh look, Sabrina! A little do-gooder. What are you going to do, super newbie? Shoot beams at me with your glasses?"
The girl didn't flinch. "Wouldn't you like to know?" She turned and offered a hand to Marinette. "Come on."
Marinette hesitated—but took it. They made it two steps before Marinette tripped, sprawling forward as her bag fell open and the macaron box hit the floor. One lone macaron rolled dramatically to a stop by Chloé's feet.
"Sorry! Sorry!" Marinette groaned, cheeks burning.
"No biggie," the girl said, crouching to help her gather the mess. "Chillax, girl."
"I so wish I could handle Chloé like you do…" Marinette whispered as they sat down together.
"That's how Majestia would do it." The girl flashed her phone screen, displaying an image of the famous superheroine, fierce and smiling in her golden cape. "'All that's necessary for evil to triumph is for good people to do nothing.' Sound familiar?"
Marinette nodded slowly.
She pointed at Chloé. "Well, that girl is evil. And we're the good people. We can't just let her get away with it."
Marinette sighed. "That's easier said than done. She's had it out for me since forever."
"That's 'cause you let her," the girl said plainly. "You just need more confidence."
From the slightly crushed box, Marinette picked up the remaining macaron, split it in two, and offered half. "I'm Marinette."
The girl grinned. "Alya."
The moment of peace was interrupted by Miss Bustier's gentle call. "Has everyone found a seat?"
Marinette gave a shy nod. Alya just winked.
Toward the back of the room, Chloé huffed dramatically. "Ugh! They should have been here by now."
Sabrina leaned in with a dreamy sigh. "Adrien and Jinx always make a grand entrance."
Chloé rested her chin on her hands, batting her lashes at the empty doorway. "Well, obviously. Only icons arrive fashionably late."
But Marinette was no longer listening. She was too busy glancing at Alya, wondering if this—finally—might be the beginning of something new.
A friendship.
A fresh start.
Maybe even... a miraculous year.
Outside Collège Françoise Dupont
The morning sun filtered through wisps of cloud, casting golden rays on the prestigious stone façade of the school. Students chatted excitedly near the gates, the energy of the first day back buzzing in the air.
Among them, Adrien Agreste stepped out of the sleek black car parked by the curb, adjusting the strap of his designer backpack. Beside him walked Jinx Sancoeur, a stark contrast to Adrien's polished charm. With a half-eaten cookies-and-cream bar in one hand and quiet detachment in his violet eyes, Jinx moved like a shadow in the morning light.
He wore a long, tailored black trench coat with wide lapels and silver buttons that gleamed under the sun. Decorative straps dangled from the hem like ceremonial ribbons, swaying with his every step. A silver-buckled belt cinched the coat tightly at his waist, revealing glimpses of the black mesh top beneath—just sheer enough to show the lines of his collarbone and a subtle sliver of his chest. His black shorts were sleek, clinging like a second skin, with tight leggings tucked into high, buckled boots that thudded softly against the pavement. A black choker circled his throat, its central ring catching the light, accompanied by studded wrist cuffs and a chain that hung from his belt, completing his gothic, rebellious edge.
Nathalie Sancoeur, standing stiffly near the car, was already mid-argument.
"Adrien," she said sharply, her voice tightly controlled, "please reconsider. You know what your father expects of you."
Adrien gave her a tired glance, his patience fraying. "But this is what I want to do." He spotted something over Nathalie's shoulder—an elderly man struggling with a cane. Adrien was already stepping away.
As the man wobbled near the street's edge, Adrien rushed forward, catching him gently by the arm. "Are you okay, sir?"
Wang Fu looked up at him with mild surprise, eyes kind behind deep wrinkles. "Thank you, young man."
Adrien nodded, smiling as he helped Fu back to the sidewalk. "I just want to go to school like everyone else," he muttered under his breath as he returned to the car. "What's so wrong with that?"
He glanced at Jinx, who was now sitting cross-legged on the stone ledge near the gate, calmly finishing his snack like nothing in the world could rush him.
Adrien added, half-joking, "Besides, don't you want Jinx to have more friends than just me?"
That landed hard.
Nathalie's face darkened with such quiet fury that even Jinx, who had remained aloof the whole time, straightened slightly—his bite slowing mid-chew. Her glare wasn't loud, but it said everything. In the upper echelons of Paris, whispers abounded about Nathalie's overprotectiveness of Jinx—especially after whatever had happened two years ago.
Adrien flinched. "Please don't tell my father about this."
With nothing more to say, the two boys entered the school together. Jinx turned once to look behind them, his gaze landing on Wang Fu. The old man was walking away, whistling innocently, but the way Jinx's eyes narrowed showed he'd taken an interest.
Inside the Classroom, Minutes Later
Miss Bustier stood at the front, smiling warmly at the students. "Those of you who have P.E. right now, Mr. D'Argencourt is expecting you at the stadium. The rest of you may head to the library."
In the back row, Ivan stood stiffly, fists clenched.
"Kim!" he barked.
Miss Bustier blinked. "Ivan, what's going on?"
"He started it!" Ivan growled, holding up a crumpled paper that Kim had clearly passed to him earlier.
"Principal's office. Now."
Ivan grumbled something under his breath and stormed out, the paper still crushed in his fist.
Elsewhere—Hawk Moth's Lair
In the dim light of a towering window, Hawk Moth stood alone, surrounded by swirling butterflies.
"Negative emotions," he murmured, his voice deep and chilling. "This is perfect. Just what I need."
A dark butterfly landed in his palm. He cupped it reverently and whispered into it like it was a messenger of fate.
"Anger. Sadness. Let it burn a hole into his heart, my horrible akuma."
The butterfly turned jet black as it shimmered with dark energy.
"Fly away, my little akuma... and evilize him."
Principal's Office
Denis Damoclès looked up from his desk as Ivan barged in without knocking.
"Excuse me, young man!" he said, outraged. "Hasn't anyone ever taught you to knock? Out you go. Try again!"
Ivan glared, seething.
From his hand, the crumpled paper unfurled slightly—and the dark akuma slipped inside. His body stiffened, eyes wide.
From afar, Hawk Moth's voice echoed in Ivan's mind.
"Stoneheart… I am Hawk Moth. I grant you the power to seek vengeance on those who humiliated you."
Ivan's voice was a low growl. "Okay… Hawk Moth."
A surge of dark energy erupted from his chest. He swelled—his muscles growing, his skin hardening into cracked stone.
The office door exploded off its hinges.
"KIMMMMMM!" roared Stoneheart, his voice deep and thunderous.
Damoclès dove under the desk. "Mon dieu!"
Back in the School—Library
The students were quiet at first, gathered around a few open books and hushed conversations—until the ground shook.
Marinette and Alya were thrown to the floor.
"What the heck was that?" Alya asked, pulling herself up and dusting off her phone.
They looked toward the security monitors just in time to see the hulking form of Stoneheart tearing through the front entrance like paper.
"Did you hear that?" someone yelped.
"KIMMMM!!!" the monster bellowed.
Marinette gasped. "Wait… that sounded like Ivan!"
"It was Ivan," Alya said, tapping furiously at her phone. "It's like he's been transformed into a real-life supervillain!"
"W-what are you doing?" Marinette asked, watching her.
"Getting out of here," Alya said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Where there's a villain, there's always a hero close behind. No way I'm missing this."
She bolted for the door.
"Alya!" Marinette shouted, but the girl was already gone.
Marinette turned back to the screen—just in time to see Stoneheart lift a car and hurl it straight at the camera.
The feed cut to a multicolored error screen. Marinette winced, heart racing.
"Kimmmm!!!" roared the monster again.
Whatever was happening… it was only the beginning.
Agreste Mansion — Dining Room
Morning light spilled softly through the tall, ornate windows of the Agreste dining room, casting warm amber hues across the polished mahogany table. The air was heavy with quiet tension, broken only by the faint ticking of a small, mysterious black box resting near the threshold—Wang Fu's subtle presence just beyond the door.
Nathalie stood by the table, her voice calm but firm as she addressed her old friend and boss son. "Who was the first president of the Fifth French Republic?"
Adrien, sitting at the head of the table with the weight of exhaustion shadowing his usually bright eyes, let out a small sigh. "Everyone thinks it was Charles de Gaulle, but actually, it was René Coty who served before the first elections."
A brief smile flickered across Nathalie's face. "Excellent, Adrien. Your history is as sharp as ever."
Before Adrien could respond, the heavy footsteps of Gabriel Agreste echoed down the hallway. The towering figure of his father appeared in the doorway, the shadow of authority falling across the room like a storm cloud.
"Give me a minute, will you, Nathalie?" Gabriel's voice was stern, his gaze cold and unyielding.
She nodded without hesitation. "Yes, sir."
Gabriel's eyes shifted to Adrien, who was still seated. "You are not going to school today. I've already told you."
Adrien's protest was quiet but resolute. "But Father—"
Gabriel cut him off sharply. "Everything you need is right here, where I can watch over you and Jinx. I will not have you two out there—exposed to that dangerous world."
Adrien's jaw tightened, frustration bubbling beneath his calm facade. "It's not dangerous. I'm always stuck inside by myself. Why can't I go out and make friends, just like everyone else? I mean…" He glanced sideways at Jinx, who sat nearby absorbed in his tablet, sketching intensely. "All I've got is Jinx." He gave a faint, nervous smile. "No offense, bro."
Jinx barely looked up from his drawing—a ticket booth with multiple arms and a mechanical head, a new attraction idea for Carnaval de Minuit. His voice was quiet but understanding. "It's cool. I'm usually busy anyway, so I get it."
Gabriel's expression darkened. "You are not like everyone else! You are my son! I will not let your rebellion corrupt Jinx!"
Nathalie stepped forward gently, hoping to defuse the tension. "We can leave it there for today, if you have—"
But before she could finish, Adrien pushed back from the table, eyes flashing with sudden determination. "No." And with that, he bolted from the room, the sound of his footsteps pounding down the grand staircase.
Jinx glanced toward Nathalie, who shook her head slowly, her eyes heavy with weary understanding.
Jinx sighed softly and turned back to his tablet, fingers already sketching the outline of a new fantastical ride—one that might never see the light of day but existed vividly in his imagination.
Adrien's Room
The late afternoon sun filtered softly through the half-closed curtains, casting long shadows across the sleek modern furniture. Adrien lay on his bed, half-awake, thoughts swirling with the anxieties of the day ahead. Suddenly, a distant, rhythmic thump echoed faintly through the walls. Frowning, he sat up, alert.
Curious and uneasy, Adrien padded silently to the door and slipped out into the hallway. He crept down the stairs and pushed open the front door to the bustling street beyond. The usually calm Parisian avenue had erupted into chaos.
Flashing lights from police vehicles bathed the area in a frantic blue glow. Officers crouched behind barricades, weapons drawn and aimed at a towering figure advancing through the street. Stoneheart.
Roger, the commanding officer, shouted a cold order, "Ready? Fire!"
A volley of bullets erupted from the police line, but Stoneheart's massive form only grew larger, his dark stone-like skin hardening and swelling as if absorbing their attacks. The police scattered, some ducking behind cover, others retreating under the sheer force of his presence.
Roger shouted again and bolted down the street just as Stoneheart seized a nearby police van and hurled it with terrifying strength. The metallic crash echoed off the buildings.
"Kim!" Stoneheart bellowed, his voice a deep, gravelly roar that shook the very air.
Adrien, heart pounding, darted back inside and vaulted over the sofa, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. He flicked on the television just as the screen flickered to life.
André Bourgeois's serious voice filled the room, calm but tense. "I am asking all Parisians to stay indoors until this situation is fully under control."
The news crews buzzed behind him, shouting questions. Nadja, the reporter, leaned forward, her voice urgent. "As incredible as it seems, it's confirmed that Paris is under attack by a supervillain. Police forces are struggling to contain the situation."
Roger's voice crackled on the live feed, trying to instill hope. "Be confident, the strong arm of the law will come crashing down on the—er, the other arm."
Marinette's Room
Far from the chaos, Marinette sat curled into her chair, anxiety knitting her brows. First days back at school always filled her with dread. Her fingers nervously toyed with a small, curious box she'd found sitting on her desk.
Suddenly, her phone buzzed, and she glanced down to see a matching little box appear on her screen. At the same moment, Adrien—across town—noticed the same strange box resting on his dresser.
Their eyes widened in unison. "Huh?" they murmured, voices tinged with confusion.
The boxes shimmered and glowed, emitting a gentle golden light that slowly enveloped the room.
In the glow's wake, a small, winged creature appeared in Marinette's room—a bright, cheerful figure no bigger than her hand.
"Ahh! Help! It's a giant bug! A… a mouse! A… bug-mouse!" Marinette shrieked, leaping back as the creature fluttered about.
Tikki's calm voice reassured her, "Everything's okay! Don't be scared!"
Marinette, startled and panicked, began tossing small objects—pens, cushions, even a shoe—at the tiny being, who nimbly dodged each with an amused smile.
Adrien's Room
Meanwhile, a shadow darted from corner to corner, settling on Adrien's gaming console—a small black figure with mischievous green eyes and a toothy grin.
Plagg yawned widely, stretching his tiny wings. Adrien stared, eyes wide with disbelief.
"No way. Like the genie in the lamp?" Adrien whispered.
Plagg cut him off with a casual wave. "I met that guy once. So what? He grants wishes. Big deal! I'm way more personable. Plagg. Nice to meet you. Ooh, swanky." He zipped around, inspecting everything, occasionally trying to nibble on the joystick.
"No! Don't touch that! Hey, come back!" Adrien chased after the impish creature, laughing despite himself.
Marinette's Room
Marinette, still tense, finally trapped Tikki under a glass. The tiny kwami's voice came through muffled but patient.
"Listen, Marinette. I know this is a lot to take in."
Marinette's voice trembled. "What are you? And how do you know my name?"
"I'm a kwami. My name is Tikki," the tiny being said. "And I'm here to help you understand everything."
Adrien's Room
Plagg lunged at the remote control but missed, biting the edge instead. Adrien, trying to climb his rock wall, suddenly leapt to catch Plagg in midair.
"Hey! Let me go!" Plagg yelled.
"I still don't know what you're doing here," Adrien said, holding the small creature securely.
Plagg sighed. "Look, I'm a kwami. I grant powers. Yours? The power of destruction."
Adrien shook his head. "Uh-uh."
Plagg scanned the room, eyes lighting up. "Good. Now… got anything to eat? I'm starving."
Adrien gave a wry smile. "My dad's pranking me, right? No way he's this crazy."
Plagg shrugged, flying out of Adrien's grip. "Your father must never know I exist. Or anyone else, for that matter."
Scene:Marinette yanked at the trapdoor in her room, panic rising in her chest like a tide. "Mom! Dad!" she called, voice sharp with fear. The sound of chaos still echoed in her mind—Stoneheart's roar, the shouts on the street, the news flashing warnings across every screen.
But before her voice could climb louder, something small and fast darted into view.
"No, no, no! Shh!" the little creature pleaded, zipping through the air and hovering in front of her. It was the size of a plush toy, red with black spots and large, anxious eyes. "I'm your friend, Marinette! You have to trust me!"
Marinette recoiled in confusion and disbelief. Her whole world was unraveling. "A… flying bug? That talks?!"
Tikki floated closer, her voice calm but urgent. "You're the only one who can stop Stoneheart."
Marinette stared, still stunned. But something in the creature's eyes—earnest, ancient, kind—struck a chord deep in her. Hesitantly, she let her hands fall away from the trapdoor.
Far across the city, an old gramophone clicked shut in a dimly lit massage parlor. Wang Fu stood over it, his face shadowed by candlelight as he sealed away the Miracle Box once more.
"Do you think they'll be up to it, Master?" Wayzz asked, his tiny turtle eyes filled with worry as he floated near the rim of the gramophone.
Fu's voice was quiet but resolute. "I only got it wrong once. It will never happen again…" His fingers lingered on the box. "At least, I hope not."
There was a silence between them.
"…Especially not after that boy."
The candlelight flickered—and memory came rushing back.
Two years ago.
Fu's old apartment had been still and serene, the quiet broken only by the rhythmic grind of mortar and pestle as he prepared herbal ointment for an elderly client. He moved slowly, methodically, every motion honed by decades of discipline. On the wall, an incense coil twisted smoke into the air.
Then came the knock.
Firm. Slow. Knuckles tapping wood with too much control.
Fu wiped his hands and turned to the door, assuming it was his client.
Wayzz darted out of his hidden alcove like a green comet. "Master, don't open that door!"
Fu stopped, fingers inches from the knob. His instincts flared. Too late.
The door dissolved into a slow scatter of black dust, atomized into nothing by an unseen force. The hallway beyond was empty—save for a figure standing in the threshold.
They were clad in a full-body marionette-themed suit, almost like a porcelain doll sculpted from cloth. White stripes ran down the arms like puppet strings. Buttons adorned the chest. A hood covered their hair entirely, and their face was concealed behind a grotesque mask—a wide, permanent smile carved in bone-white ceramic, its eye sockets filled with soulless black marked by tiny glowing dots. Long black tears streaked from the corners of its eyes, down its cheeks, staining it in grief—or mockery.
"I've been looking for you for a long time, old man," came a voice—smooth, chillingly hollow. Not male. Not female. Simply… empty.
Fu immediately shifted into a defensive stance, placing himself between the intruder and Wayzz, who retreated behind a cupboard with a tremble.
"Who are you?" Fu demanded, his heart already thundering in his chest.
The puppet-masked stranger tilted their head unnaturally, like a broken marionette suspended by invisible strings. "You may call me… Marionne. And you have what I seek, Keeper of the Miraculous."
At those words, Fu's stomach turned to ice.
Without hesitation, he snapped his bracelet open. "Wayzz—shell on!"
A spiral of light burst into the room as Wayzz vanished into the bracelet. The transformation was instant: the air shifted, heavy with ancient magic. Fu stood clad in ceremonial green and bronze armor, his cane pulsing with light—carved with deep, glowing Chinese runes—and the turtle shield unfolding like a blooming lotus upon his arm.
Marionne laughed—a soft, eerie sound that echoed with distortion. From behind their back, a long, jagged scythe unraveled, the blade blackened with rusted edges, humming with ominous power. The weapon shifted in a blur, its curved blade splitting in two to form a pair of crescent-shaped sickles.
Fu's eyes narrowed.
He had read of this once—long ago. The Death Miraculous.
A myth. A whisper. A power said to rival the Ladybug and Black Cat combined… and then surpass them.
This was no ordinary thief.
The air cracked.
Marionne moved first, twirling their dual sickles with supernatural grace. Fu raised his shield, absorbing the blow as sparks flew. With a twist of his cane, he countered, summoning a glowing energy wave that forced the puppet back across the room.
But Marionne only grinned wider, mask never shifting.
"You're good, old man," they said, voice lilting with amusement. "But you're not the only one who knows how to dance with fate."
They vanished in a black blur, reappearing behind him, slicing the air. Fu blocked with his cane—barely. The sickles shrieked against his runes. The ancient symbols flickered.
Each move became faster, more brutal. Fu was experienced—perhaps more than any living guardian—but the Death Miraculous obeyed no balance. It devoured balance. It rewrote rules.
Fu leapt backward, sending a burst of protective force through the ground. Marionne skidded to a halt, unbothered, their hood still shadowing their features.
"I don't want to kill you," Marionne said quietly. "But I will if I must. Give me the box."
Fu gritted his teeth. "Never."
"Then this world will learn what death looks like with no keeper left to stop it."
They lunged again.
Steel clashed with spell-forged jade. Cane against scythe. Experience versus overwhelming, unchecked potential. And in the center of it all—Fu realized with a cold certainty—this wasn't even Marionne at their peak. They were toying with him.
He needed a plan. He needed help.
He needed… new wielders.
The very walls of the apartment moaned under the pressure of Marionne's rising aura.
Wang Fu grit his teeth as his breathing labored—his centuries of wisdom had taught him many things, but nothing could have prepared him for the horror that was the Death Miraculous in action.
Marionne's scythe, once two crescent-shaped sickles that danced through the air like whispers of shadow, now clicked and churned in midair, locking together with a mechanical snarl. The new weapon extended and curved, becoming a full scythe, jagged-edged and humming with dark, unspoken energy. The runes along its spine flared with crimson and black light, and as Marionne raised it, the room darkened like the air before a funeral storm.
"Let me show you what makes mine... superior," Marionne purred, his eternally grinning puppet mask making the moment grotesquely surreal. With a swipe, he activated Death's Touch, and the floor beneath them dissolved—rotting wood, stone, and steel all crumbled into black ash as if time had devoured them in an instant.
Wang Fu grunted, leaping backward just in time to avoid the creeping disintegration. But Marionne wasn't done.
"Let's tip the scales," Marionne whispered, dragging one clawed finger across the blade of the scythe. It shimmered, then darkened further as a black-pink aura surrounded it—Destined Death now infused it fully.
He swung.
The very air screamed.
Wang Fu barely had time. "Shell-ter!"
The ancient turtle shield erupted from his bracer just as the slash struck. The impact forced a thunderclap through the room, launching Fu backwards like a leaf in a monsoon. He crashed through his own furniture, splinters flying like shrapnel. The force cracked the wall—and his treasured gramophone exploded into fragments.
Amid the dust and chaos, something else spilled onto the ground.
Three Miraculous—each glittering with an inner pulse—tumbled free from their hidden compartment: the Cat ring, Fox necklace, and Tiger panjas. On the opposite end of the shattered room, near Fu, the Ladybug earrings, Horse glasses, and Snake bracelet rolled across the broken floor.
Marionne's blank white eyes fixed on the ones closest to him. "How generous," he said, almost amused. With a casual step, he knelt and scooped them into his hands.
The kwami emerged in bursts of color and confusion.
"Plagg?"
"Trixx?"
"Roaar?"
The kwamis floated, wide-eyed—but their hesitation lasted only seconds. Marionne's voice was a hypnotic lull.
"Plagg, Trixx, Roaar... Unify."
The kwami shuddered and then obeyed.
They vanished into their respective Miraculous, and Marionne's body twisted with the force of their fusion. The transformation was unsettlingly fluid, like ink bleeding into water. Black tiger stripes etched themselves into the white-painted puppet mask. A fox's tail, fluffy and long, coiled around his waist like a sash. From beneath the hood, pointed orange ears poked out, twitching with unnatural stillness. The two white dots in the mask's empty eyes elongated into narrow, cat-like slits—hungry, cunning, unblinking.
Wang Fu's heart raced. He could feel the combined magic coursing through Marionne like a storm of shadows.
But he wasn't done yet.
"No choice..." Fu whispered, his voice hoarse.
He clutched the remaining Miraculous near him and steeled himself. "Tikki, Kaalki, Sass... Unify!"
The three kwami looked at one another with concern, then dove into their relics, trusting their master. Light erupted around Wang Fu like a flash of cosmic dawn. The ladybug earrings glowed with red and black patterns that swirled up his face like a ceremonial mask. The horse glasses settled over his eyes, glowing faintly blue. The snake bracelet wrapped tightly around his wrist, humming with the vibration of infinite chances.
Fu's body changed—not younger, but sharper. Vital. His green robes shifted into a battle tunic inscribed with moving glyphs, and his cane lengthened, the runes along it pulsing like a heartbeat.
The two stood now as avatars of opposing destinies. One, a herald of extinction. The other, the last shield of balance.
Marionne raised his scythe again, its edge drooling black mist.
Wang Fu lifted his cane, tapping it once on the floor.
The apartment, though broken, seemed to hold its breath.
"You should have stayed hidden, old man," Marionne whispered, his voice layered with three tones now—his own, Plagg's lazy echo, and Roaar's deep growl.
"And you," Fu replied, his voice filled with layered harmony, "should never have touched that Miraculous."
They launched.
The room cracked again as two forces collided—one of fate, the other of death. And for a moment, the very threads of destiny trembled.
The crash of energy between the two Miraculous wielders rippled outward like a sonic wave, cracking walls, shattering windows, and warping the very air around them. Wang Fu's movements were precise and focused, spinning his cane with the grace of a lifelong warrior as he parried a devastating downswing from Marionne's scythe. Sparks burst from the contact point—fiery orange clashing with inky black and violet.
Marionne pivoted fluidly, his fox-enhanced agility making him a blur as he danced around Fu's counterstrike, tail sash fluttering like a mocking banner. The sharp crack of the runed cane nearly caught his leg, but Marionne bent backward at an unnatural angle and spun low, carving a shallow trench in the tile with the back edge of his scythe.
"I must say," Marionne crooned, voice carrying a low purr, "you wear your years well, Keeper. But even a relic breaks eventually."
Fu's reply was swift—he hurled a flurry of shimmering ladybug disks formed from raw creation energy. They exploded on impact against Marionne's barrier of dark wind, dispersing into glittering red sparks. Fu vanished in that moment—Kaalki's power folding space with a blink—and reappeared behind Marionne, staff aimed for a disabling strike to the back.
But Marionne was already mid-turn.
"I've learned to see behind me," he whispered.
With a sudden growl, he twisted his body unnaturally and met Fu's attack with the haft of his scythe. The shockwave from the collision sent both hurtling back—Fu crashing through his own bookshelf, Marionne skidding across what remained of the floor, boots leaving molten trails behind.
Blood dripped slowly from Fu's brow. He wiped it away and narrowed his eyes. "You're not just a thief," he said. "You're something worse."
Marionne grinned wider. "Oh, Master Fu… I'm the promise you were too afraid to break."
Then he raised his scythe, and this time—his tone dropped.
"Plagg's gift. Let's make it absolute."
The scythe pulsed violently as black energy coiled up its handle. It wasn't just destructive—it was unraveling the very concept of structure. The Miraculous of Destruction—the Cat—was now fully imbued into Marionne's reaper's blade.
"Cataclysm Slash!"
He swung the weapon in a wide, devastating arc. The energy didn't travel—it detonated forward, cleaving through the apartment wall like it was paper. A wave of pure obliteration surged outward, shearing through concrete, steel, and brick. Fu barely had time to whisper "Shell-ter!" again before the destructive energy hit.
The shield held.
But the rest of the building… did not.
In a catastrophic roar of thunder and crumbling stone, the apartment complex folded in on itself, each floor falling into the one below as rubble rained like judgment. Shockwaves shattered the surrounding blocks' windows. A parked car down the street exploded just from the force. Smoke rose in heavy pillars.
From the dust, Fu stood—shield flickering, but still alive.
And for the first time in years… truly furious.
He could feel them—dozens of Miraculous pieces buried in the wreckage. Lives nearly endangered. Children possibly watching.
"You've gone too far," he murmured, voice ice.
Marionne stepped from the smoke, boots crunching gravel, mask untouched, a piece of cloth burning on the curved blade of his scythe. "Finally. We're past the lectures."
Fu reached into his tunic and opened his palm. A swirling, glacial glyph etched in sapphire shimmered in the air.
With Kaalki's power, he drew a doorway in midair—its edges freezing over.
"You want death?" Fu said coldly. "Let's see how long you survive it."
With a burst of wind, the portal to the Arctic opened wide—an endless plane of ice and silence howling beyond it.
Then—without hesitation—Wang Fu lunged forward and shoved Marionne with all his strength into the bitter, endless cold.
Marionne's scythe hooked into the floor, claws scrambling to regain purchase.
But Fu followed him in.
Together, they vanished into the blizzard.
The portal sealed shut behind them.
And the ruined city block was left in eerie silence.
A distant siren began to wail.
But the true storm… had just begun.
The moment they crossed through the shimmering blue portal into the arctic expanse, both Fu and Marionne tumbled down a jagged slope of snow and ice, their bodies rolling, sliding, crashing over frozen rocks and frostbitten earth. Snow exploded around them with each impact, and the howling wind swallowed all sound save for the distant rumble of shifting glaciers.
They finally came to a rough halt at the bottom of the hill, a wide frozen basin rimmed by jagged peaks like teeth biting into the pale sky. Fu groaned as he rolled onto his side, clutching his ribs. Marionne, unfazed by the cold, slowly rose, cloak dusted in frost, and lifted his masked face to the bleak heavens.
A low growl escaped his throat as he extended one gloved hand, calling his scythe to him with a ripple of black and violet energy. The weapon materialized in his grip with a metallic shriek, curved and menacing, its twin sickles once again merged into a singular reaper's blade that pulsed with latent death energy.
"Well, well, well," Marionne cooed, his voice disturbingly cheerful despite the situation. "It seems I truly underestimated you, Master Fu. Over a century guarding the Miraculous... I suppose you've committed every nuance to muscle memory. How exhilarating."
Before Fu could answer, Marionne vanished in a blur of warped time—a flicker of air where he'd once stood.
Timeshift.
He reappeared an instant later at Fu's flank, scythe already mid-swing, arcing toward the old man's head. But Fu had expected this. With reflexes honed over decades, he raised his turtle shield just in time. The impact rang out like a gong across the tundra, sparks flashing where steel met magical energy.
Fu countered immediately. With his free hand, he tossed the Ladybug yo-yo, catching Marionne's leg and yanking with practiced strength. Marionne was ripped off balance, cloak flaring like a tattered flag, and stumbled backward just as Fu stepped in, cane glowing with intricate red-and-gold runes.
He struck.
CRACK.
Marionne exploded into a shower of glass-like shards.
Fu blinked, heart racing. The cold wind whistled between them.
"Trixx... Mirage," he murmured in realization.
A whisper of movement.
Before he could turn fully, searing pain bloomed in his right side. Marionne stood there, scythe embedded in Fu's ribs, blood already staining the old master's robes crimson.
"First blood," Marionne whispered, twisting the blade before wrenching it free. "Now let's see who takes the last breath."
Fu staggered, breath catching. Snow fell gently around them, softening the blood that splattered onto the white sheet beneath his feet. Marionne surged forward again, predatory and cruel, ready to end it.
But Fu's hand shot out and seized the Snake Miraculous.
"Second Chance!" he gasped.
The world twisted. Time rewound in a spiral of light and frost.
And in a blink—they were back.
Back at the top of the snowy hill, wind whipping around them, neither wounded, the slash never delivered.
Fu gasped, holding his side reflexively, though there was no pain now. His breath came in visible puffs as he braced himself, preparing to make a new move.
But Marionne stood still.
And he was smiling.
"I know what you just did," he said quietly.
Fu's eyes narrowed in shock. "That's… impossible."
"Is it?" Marionne tilted his head. "Oh, Master Fu. You of all people should know not to trust the limits of the unknown. The Death Miraculous—my lovely trinket—grants its wielder immunity to the memory-altering effects of temporal rewinding. A little curse in exchange for foresight. It remembers… even if the timeline doesn't."
Fu's knuckles whitened around his cane.
"I suppose that makes your little snake trick"—Marionne raised his fingers and slowly snapped—"nothing more than a second helping of your own death, doesn't it?"
The mockery in his voice stung, but Fu steadied his breath. He wasn't finished. Not yet.
"I only need one more chance," Fu said, lowering into a martial stance, "to end this."
Marionne laughed, low and theatrical. The ice beneath them crackled as the death energy emanating from his scythe began to melt and freeze the ground in unnatural patterns.
"Then let's make it theatrical, old man," he said. "One last act before the curtain falls."
Marionne slowly brought his gloved hands above his head. A storm was coiling in the pit of the world.
"Cataclysm."
The word rang out like a curse etched into the wind. In his right hand, a swirling black orb ignited, crackling with destructive energy—a corrupted echo of the Black Cat's infamous power. Shadows clung to it like ink suspended in water, the air itself writhing as though trying to pull away from what was being summoned.
With deliberate finality, Marionne clenched his fist.
The orb imploded with a visceral snap, the energy sinking into his palm. The lines of his glove smoked with violet fire, and death crept up his wrist like frostbite on flesh.
"Death Syphon."
From his left hand, a thick, magenta aura erupted—seething, pulsing like the breath of some ancient god. He brought his two hands together with a whisper of silk and static. They slapped against one another—and then pulled apart, stretching an unholy thing between them.
A sphere was born between his palms: swirling black and violent magenta, like a miniature storm, sucking in the very light around it.
"Unification Art: Entropy Rend."
The ground moaned. Ice cracked. Snow melted in wide circles around Marionne's boots. The winds grew sluggish. The sky dimmed as if twilight had been yanked forward in time, swallowing the northern sun.
Wang Fu's breath hitched. His ancient instincts—those of a man who had studied and served the Miraculous for over a century—screamed at him with more force than any battle or lesson ever had:
Run.
But he didn't move. His old fingers trembled on the cane. His shield hung heavy on his back. And yet—
He remembered.
Years ago, in the thick incense-smoke of the Guardian's sacred temple, a younger Fu knelt before Su-Han, the Grand Master of the Order. The ancient grimoire lay open between them, its pages older than memory, drawn in ink and blood and symbols no tongue had spoken for centuries.
"These," Su-Han spoke, tracing a clawed finger across a page depicting the Miraculous of Creation and Destruction, "are the foundation of balance. But they are not the strongest."
Fu leaned in as Su-Han flipped the page—only to find three jagged tears, three missing sheets violently ripped out.
"Master?" Fu's voice cracked with youth. "What happened here?"
Su-Han's expression tightened. "These pages were not lost by chance. They detailed the Three Forgotten Miraculous. Powers never meant for mortal hands. They are no longer referred to by animal form. Only by Concept."
Fu's eyes went wide. "What are they?"
Su-Han answered, voice grim as tombstones.
"The Miraculous of Life, bearer of the Kwami of Vitalis, can manipulate and animate the forces of nature itself—plants, animals, growth, even renewal.
"The Miraculous of Cold and Absence, the oldest known Kwami, governs silence, darkness, and the very absence of presence. It is emptiness incarnate.
"And lastly—"
Su-Han hesitated.
"The most feared of all… the Miraculous of Death and Finality. It commands decay, rot, the end of all things. It has no rival… only cost."
Fu's blood chilled.
"What… what price?"
Su-Han's expression darkened.
"The wielder of Death is bound to its purpose. They become a ferryman—forced to guide the souls of the lost, the murdered, the suicidal. In the beginning, they watch the lives of every soul they help pass on. They carry the memories, grief, and pain of thousands. Most lose their minds. Some take their own lives. Others…" he looked away, "...inflict their agony on the world."
Fu whispered, "Like Vlad the Impaler."
Su-Han nodded. "Or Queen Rasenth of Gaul. Or Saint Apophis, the False Martyr. The most cruel, hollow monsters in history were born from this curse."
Fu swallowed. "Where are they now?"
"Lost," Su-Han said. "For centuries. No Guardian has ever reclaimed Cold or Death. Only Life was partially recovered, then lost again. But…" he leaned forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "One thing was recorded by Jeanne d'Arc's successor—her daughter. She battled Vlad… and won."
Fu's heart raced. "How?"
"By using Miraculous Amplification—while Vlad was channeling it. She touched the Death Miraculous at the precise moment of its amplification and used it to supercharge her own Miraculous, killing him. But it cost her her life… for she did not wield a favored Miraculous."
"Favored…?"
"Only two Miraculous resonate with Death… enough to exploit its amplification without shattering under the pressure. Destruction and Time."
Fu's eyes snapped back to the present.
The Entropy Rend pulsed like a beating heart now, massive and humming, dragging even the stars closer to annihilation. Marionne's puppet mask tilted in amusement.
But Fu had seen it—the pocket watch, half-concealed at Marionne's waist. The Death Miraculous. It was amplifying.
He had a narrow window. A moment carved between certainty and doom.
"I know what I must do," Fu muttered.
He flung his cane to the ground.
Tightened his grip on the Cat Miraculous.
The yo-yo of the Ladybug spun into his other hand.
"I'm sorry, Su-Han. This will be my last mistake… or my final triumph."
He took a step forward, cloak billowing.
Toward entropy.
Toward death.
And perhaps… toward redemption.
Marionne stood at the heart of a dying world. The Entropy Rend between his hands pulsed like the core of a collapsing star, swirling with decay, unmaking everything it touched without hesitation or mercy. The wind no longer howled. It held its breath. The snow had melted into steam. The sky above the Arctic dimmed unnaturally, as if reality itself was hesitating to witness what would come next.
His puppet mask tilted upward, black tears gleaming like ink beneath the eye sockets. "Soon..." he whispered, voice low, almost reverent. "Let it all rot."
He never saw Fu coming.
The old Guardian rushed through the melting snow, pushing his aging body harder than he had in years. Every fiber of his being protested—but his heart burned with purpose.
Marionne didn't even register Fu's movement until the crunch of boots came within two feet of him.
He turned—just as Fu's weathered hand lunged forward, fingertips stretching for the pocket watch that gleamed faintly at Marionne's waist.
In that split-second of shock and fury, Marionne hurled the Entropy Rend downward, the dark mass falling toward the snow like a meteor ready to erase the world.
A millimeter from the ground—Fu's fingers brushed the Death Miraculous.
And in the same instant, his thumb slammed against the Snake Miraculous on his wrist.
"Second Chance!"
But instead of rewinding time, something else happened.
Time did not shudder. Reality did not coil backward.
Instead—the Entropy Rend vanished.
The dark, swirling mass of ruin was simply… gone.
The tremble in the air stilled.
Snowflakes, mid-melt, hung motionless before softly drifting again.
Marionne froze, a tremor of confusion threading through his voice. "W-What?"
Fu stumbled back, blinking.
They both stood untouched—whole. But the air where Entropy Rend had once hovered was now quiet.
And somewhere in the deepest past...
One hundred million years ago
A vast, silent desert stretched beneath twin moons in a sky yet to know civilization. Nothing stirred but the wind and sand across golden dunes.
On a single ridge, the sky suddenly tore open.
Entropy Rend dropped through the dimensional wound, screaming like a banshee ripped from the grave. The swirling black-magenta energy slammed into the center of a colossal dune, and for the briefest instant, time wept.
Then—
BOOM.
The explosion erased twenty-five miles of the desert in an instant. Sand turned to vapor. The earth collapsed inward. A crater formed, miles wide, as the shockwave cracked the bedrock and shifted entire tectonic plates.
Mountains rippled in the distance.
Fault lines fractured, and the aftermath sent a ripple through geologic history that would never be undone.
The world would forget the force behind it.
But it would remember the shape.
A perfect spiral.
Burned into the African continent like a scar from a cosmic beast.
It would take millennia for the world to give it a name.
The Eye of the Sahara.
Back in the present, Marionne stumbled back a step, the snow crunching under his boot.
His breathing slowed—then grew sharp again.
"You..." he rasped. "You used Entropy Rend's amplification... and fed it into Second Chance."
Fu didn't answer.
He barely understood it himself—except he had felt the transfer, the sheer power flowing from the Death Miraculous into the Snake one, warped by the strange interaction of time and finality.
Marionne hissed. "You don't know what you've done. You could've torn a hole in reality—ripped us both into primordial ash!"
"I did what was necessary," Fu said, straightening, bleeding from the side but standing tall. "You would have killed thousands... maybe more."
Marionne's voice dropped to a growl.
"I'm going to make you wish you'd let it end."
And he raised his scythe again.
Fu's fingers danced over the other Miraculous at his side.
He was outmatched.
But not out of hope.
And now, he had time on his side.
The Arctic wind howled like a chorus of ancient ghosts, tearing through the icy battlefield. Marionne and Fu stood apart, steam rising from their bodies, breaths coming in puffs of fog. The snow around them had melted and refrozen in patches, carved into deep craters and glassy mirrors by their clash. Time and space had twisted a hundred times under Fu's relentless use of the Snake Miraculous, and Marionne's patience—if he ever had any—was finally beginning to unravel.
Fu panted, clutching his side where the last strike had grazed him. Blood speckled the white snow in tiny crimson galaxies. His shell-shield shimmered faintly in front of him, covered in scuffs and small cracks. The Yo-yo from the Ladybug Miraculous retracted with a sharp hiss into his hand, while the gleam of the Horse Glasses perched low on his nose.
Marionne, by contrast, stood tall—eerily so. His puppet mask, now marked with black tiger stripes and fox ears, twisted in a permanently smiling sneer. His hands gripped the fused scythe, now humming with an unstable violet energy. Cataclysm crackled along its jagged edge like black lightning. His tail belt whipped in the wind.
"You know," Marionne muttered, voice like silk soaked in venom, "I've seen you die seventy-eight times. Seventy-nine. Eighty…"
Fu didn't answer. He was calculating.
Marionne raised a clawed hand. "Mirage."
A duplicate of Marionne shimmered into existence behind Fu and struck with a downward cleave. Fu, expecting it this time, rolled sideways, then opened a glowing portal with the Horse Miraculous. He vanished and reappeared behind the real Marionne.
"Too slow," Marionne whispered.
The scythe came around in a wide arc. Fu blocked it with his cane, but the force sent him sliding back, boots digging a shallow trench through the snow. His arms trembled from the blow.
Fu twisted the Snake Miraculous. "Second Chance!"
Reality folded.
The scythe never hit him. He was behind Marionne again—but this time, he summoned a gust of wind from a sudden polar vortex, one he had drawn into existence earlier with careful positioning. It pushed Marionne off balance.
He lunged.
The Yo-yo wrapped around Marionne's scythe, pulling it away.
But then—
"Cataclysm."
The moment Marionne's fingers touched the scythe, black lightning surged up the weapon. The Yo-yo string snapped, disintegrated mid-tension. Fu's eyes widened.
He ducked just as the scythe whistled overhead, trailing sparks.
"Second Chance!" he roared again.
Time flipped. He repositioned.
And again.
And again.
Each time, Marionne adapted. One strike became two. Two became four. The scythe danced like a serpent around Fu's defenses, black and purple arcs carving the air with malicious precision. Fu's shield barely held. His breathing was ragged. Each time he activated Second Chance, his limbs felt heavier, like stone was creeping into his bones.
On the ninety-eighth rewind, he feinted left and stabbed with the cane, landing a blow into Marionne's ribs.
On the ninety-ninth, Marionne mirrored the move and punished him with a slash across the thigh.
By the hundredth—
Fu staggered back, bleeding and frostbitten, the air heavy with the scent of scorched energy. He had memorized Marionne's style now—every twitch, every feint. But Marionne, unnervingly, had done the same.
The masked killer twirled his scythe once, then stopped. His fingers flexed, energy swirling.
"Interesting," Marionne said, voice low, reverent. "All this time I've been selfish with Time Shift… only using it on myself. But you, Master Fu… You showed me something."
Fu narrowed his eyes.
Marionne's hand hovered over the pocket watch. The Snake Miraculous glowed faintly from Fu's wrist.
Then he vanished.
And reappeared beside Fu—just as Fu had anticipated.
"Second Cha—"
But before Fu could twist the snake bracelet, pain erupted in his side. The scythe had already struck him again—twice. Once in real time. Once through something worse.
Marionne's voice came from behind Fu now, pleased and mocking.
"I just bent the moment back five seconds… while focusing on you."
Fu's hand fell away from the bracelet.
He stumbled, clutching the same wound as before—though Marionne had only struck once. Or had he?
"You see," Marionne continued, circling the old guardian, "Time Shift now works… on others. I call it—Restage."
Fu grunted, leaning on his cane. "That should be… impossible."
"Tell that to your own teachings," Marionne said with a tilt of his head. "Miraculous powers evolve in times of necessity. You taught that, yes?"
Fu clenched his teeth. "You shouldn't be able to—"
Marionne raised a finger. "Ah, but I can. Thanks to your little display… I learned. And now, I'm going to make sure you feel every cut… again."
With a fluid motion, Marionne opened his hand and whispered, "Cataclysm."
He slammed the palm into the base of his scythe, black energy flowing through the blade. He spun once, then lunged.
Fu dodged narrowly, leapt, and flung his Yo-yo to gain distance.
"Second—"
Pain.
His shoulder tore open, same spot as before.
He fell to his knees. Blood soaked the snow.
He hadn't even seen Marionne move.
"Too slow, old man." Marionne's voice echoed over the gale. "Now you understand. Restage doesn't just rewind pain—it replays it."
Fu collapsed fully now, still conscious, but just barely.
The world spun around him. The wind, the snow, the biting cold—all blurred with the agony in his body. And yet… deep in the back of his mind, he remembered Su-Han's words:
"When you see the reaper's edge… sometimes, the only path forward is through what has already been written. The grimoire hides its truths in pain. Survive it—and you may write your own."
Fu's fingers curled slowly toward the three Miraculous he still held… creation, time, and teleportation.
And as Marionne advanced, Fu's eyes flared with the ghost of resistance.
The hundred and first rewind would not come easy.But it would come.And this time, it would carry something new.Something that even death might fear.
Master Fu's body trembled with effort. His every breath was labored, each heartbeat thundered like a drum echoing the end of a battle long fought. Blood soaked through his robes and onto the snow, a stark red against the frozen white. He had used Second Chance over a hundred times, and Marionne's cruel technique, Restage, had turned time itself into a weapon against him. Each slash, each wound, each moment was replayed, chipping away not just at his strength, but his very life.
Fu staggered back and winced, feeling the echo of that last blow. It hadn't just drawn blood—it had stolen time. A mortal slash, if ever such a thing existed. Though Fu would live for another year, his stamina had become a flickering flame. At most, ten minutes remained before his body could no longer fight. He knew it.
He looked up into the swirling gray sky above the Arctic horizon, and for a long breath, he hesitated.
Then he sighed—a long, weathered exhale of surrender... and resolution.
"So be it," he whispered.
With trembling fingers, he reached into the frostbitten air and activated the Horse Miraculous once more. A portal opened directly above him, swirling with silvery-blue energy. From it, a small object dropped—a pocket watch. But not just any timepiece. It shimmered with the same sigils carved into the walls of the Miraculous Temple. Its hands ticked in reverse, glowing faintly with azure light.
Marionne watched from several meters away, idly spinning his scythe. But the moment he saw the object fall from the sky, something changed.
Behind the puppet mask, Marionne's eyes widened. A whisper from the past echoed in his mind—Nocturn, his kwami, once told him in hushed tones: "Beware the rabbit. Time is her warren, and even death gets lost in its tunnels."
It was the one Miraculous—besides Cataclysm and Creation—that even Nocturn had warned could rival her.
The Rabbit Miraculous. Fluff.
Panic, real and sharp, flashed through Marionne's bones.
"Time Shift," he hissed.
A blur of motion.
He accelerated forward, scythe drawn, black lightning curling off its edge. But in his desperation, he misjudged the exact distance he could travel in thirteen seconds.
When the magic faded, he was still ten feet away.
And that was enough.
Fu, though weakened and shaking, brought the pocket watch to his chest and whispered, "Fluff, unify with Ladybug, Snake, and Horse."
A blinding light erupted from the convergence of the Miraculous. The strain nearly made Fu collapse, but he held on. For just a moment longer.
With his eyes blazing in resolve, he opened a shimmering tunnel into the Burrow, the endless space of doors and time-streams that wove through past, present, and possibility. Without a moment's pause, he dove in.
But luck was not on Fu's side.
Marionne also breached the portal before it closed.
Inside the Burrow, space folded infinitely. Floating platforms hovered in open starlight. Doorways twisted in and out of existence, glowing with hues tied to the emotions of each timeline. Threads of magic danced across the void.
Fu landed hard, rolling into a crouch.
Behind him, a blackened crescent slash carved through the temporal mist—Marionne's scythe, imbued with Cataclysm. The scythe struck.
"Shell-ter!" Fu cried, raising his shield in time.
The shield held… but the impact was monstrous. The blast launched him backward across the floating platform, skidding toward a swirling portal rimmed in soft orange light.
Fu came to a halt just shy of the edge and looked left.
And he froze.
There, through the shimmering veil of one particular portal, he could see a scene from three months ago—a place in Paris that had not yet known war. But what caught his attention were two figures standing far in the distance within the Burrow itself. They stood motionless, cloaked in veils of light and shadow. Fu couldn't see their faces or their clothing, only their presence—watching, unblinking.
But Marionne was still pursuing him, and Fu couldn't afford to let him see where the Rabbit portal led.
With trembling hands, he reached for the Ladybug earrings one last time and whispered, "Lucky Charm."
A sphere of crimson light burst into the space before solidifying into… a music box.
Fu blinked. "A toy?"
But instinct guided his hand. He wound the music box.
Click-click-click…
The moment the first note played, the tune spilled out like a lullaby woven from stars and forgotten memories.
Marionne, mid-sprint, stopped.
His scythe drooped in his grip.
His body floated slightly in the temporal gravity of the Burrow, head tilted… as if remembering something. As if the music stirred something long dead.
Then, with glassy stillness, he began to float slowly toward a different portal, eyes dim behind the mask. The music had pierced through even the madness of Nocturn's whispering.
Fu didn't wait to ask questions.
He turned toward the portal leading three months into the past and dove through it, gripping the pocket watch and bracing for whatever came next.
Behind him, the music box still played.
And the two silent figures—now closer—finally made their move.
The first floated gently beside Marionne, a gloved hand reaching forward. From his belt, they removed the Fox necklace and the Cat ring. With a flick of the wrist, both Miraculous were thrown into the Rabbit portal leading to the present.
The second figure, draped in shadow and sorrow, hovered in front of Marionne. They stared at him for a long, heavy moment.
Then, without a word, they cast him—still under the music's spell—into another glowing portal behind him.
One that led to a day before he ever met Fu.
The portal sealed behind him with a soft chime.
The music box stopped.
And the Burrow was silent once more.
Flashback end.
Fu blinked slowly, the memory of the Burrow still etched behind his eyes—Marionne's floating form, the music box's final chime, and the two silent figures who had intervened at the last possible moment. The cold wind of the Arctic was gone now, replaced by the subtle creak of old wood and the scent of medicinal herbs. He sat alone in his quiet massage shop once more.
His hand, as if moved by muscle memory alone, drifted up to the scar just below his ribcage. Faint, silvery and long-healed, yet never forgotten. It throbbed, not with pain, but with memory. The place where Marionne's scythe had found him. The price of facing the Death Miraculous.
Fu exhaled slowly and leaned against the wooden chair, gazing out the window at the sunlit rooftops of Paris. Somewhere, beyond those streets, children laughed and played, completely unaware of the battles fought in secret beneath their peaceful lives.
"I didn't want it to come to this," Fu muttered to himself, his voice worn and quiet. "Didn't want to leave the gates of Paris in children's hands."
He turned toward the shelf where the Miracle Box rested, its carvings faintly glowing in the slanted sunlight. Inside it, the remaining Miraculous waited—silent, ancient, and heavy with power. Ladybug. Black Cat. Rabbit. Snake. Fox. Horse. Turtle. All the surviving pieces of a game older than the city itself.
And now, they belonged to the next generation.
Fu slowly stood, his knees protesting under the strain, and shuffled to the shelf. He opened the box not to retrieve a jewel, but simply to look. Each Miraculous held a part of history… and a future he no longer had the strength to carry.
"I can't protect them forever," he whispered.
He'd known that day would come, but the reality of it was far heavier than he imagined. His body bore the evidence of too many rewinds. His soul, the memory of watching too many timelines fray and fade. The final battle in the Arctic had taken more than strength—it had taken years. While the outside world had moved mere days, Fu had burned time like kindling to hold the Death Miraculous at bay. His lifespan, once capable of reaching into the 200s like his old master Su-Han, had now been carved down to a decade—if he was lucky.
He placed a hand on the edge of the box and sighed. "Ten to twelve years," he murmured. "That's all I've got left."
But it wasn't regret that colored his voice. It was a quiet acceptance. He had made his choice when he faced Marionne in the Burrow. He had fought not just for the Miraculous… but for those who would one day inherit them.
Fu closed the box and locked it with care. Then he turned to Wayzz, who sat on a cushion in the corner, eyes half-lidded in thought.
"They'll have to be ready, old friend," Fu said softly. "This generation. They'll face darkness unlike anything before. Marionne may be gone… but the Death Miraculous isn't."
Wayzz nodded, his small green eyes filled with ancient sadness. "They'll need guidance, Master. Not a soldier. A teacher."
Fu managed a tired smile. "Then I'll give them everything I have left."
He turned to the window one last time. Outside, the streets of Paris bustled with innocent life. But he could see it—shadows shifting in the alleys, echoes of power yet to rise. The veil between the magical and mundane had grown thin, and the children of destiny would soon be tested.
Fu touched the scar once more and stepped forward, the weight of the past behind him, and the uncertain brilliance of the future ahead.