gaien

Based on a TikTok idea by the user ‘Clem’, in which Jax didn't recover his skin after the mess Caine made. I then decided that the others wouldn't recover so easily either, but that's beside the point AO3

Jax fell to the ground with a thud, seeing patches of loose purple fabric (skin) lying beside him. He saw the others falling in the distance; he tried to close his eyes to ignore them, knowing what he must look like, but he shuddered and let out a stifled laugh that sounded more like a sob. He didn’t want them to see him like this, incomplete, wounded… traumatised. Unable to close his eyes, he covered his face with his hands. Jax stubbornly decided that if he couldn’t see anyone, then he wouldn’t be seen either.

“Quite childish, isn’t it?” whispered a muffled voice that sounded like Ribbit. Jax tried to make himself smaller.

Jax heard footsteps; from the squelching sounds, he deduced it was Podmi. He didn’t want to speak to him. He tried to stand up for the first time, only to trip over something; looking down, he saw the remains of his... skin... hanging uselessly from his waist and legs. Almost nothing was left attached, and in a fit of rage he simply ripped it all off, paying no heed to the hands in red and blue gloves trying to stop him.

“All right!” Jax shouted, laughing hysterically, not noticing how the world was grey and dull, and he couldn’t hear the usual static of the circus. “This isn’t real! Any moment now, Caine will come back, fix me up, and then torment us again as always!” The last part was said with a hollow laugh, lifeless, without reason, just mad. He really couldn’t take it—all this, King talking about how the company was real, how that stupid chess piece had actually helped create Caine, and all the rest with Scratch. It had to be another stupid mission from Caine. It didn’t matter if they used him as a toothpick again; he’d tell him the truth all over again, just to tell him how horrible he was.

Jax fell to the floor abruptly, seeing purple patches of loose fabric (skin) that had fallen beside him. He saw the others falling in the distance; he tried to close his eyes to ignore them, knowing what he would look like, but he shuddered and let out a stifled laugh that came out more like a sob. He didn’t want them to see him like this, incomplete, wounded… traumatised. Unable to close his eyes, he covered his face with his hands. Jax stubbornly decided that if he couldn’t see anyone, then he wouldn’t be seen either.

“Quite childish, isn’t it?” whispered a muffled voice that sounded like Ribbit. Jax tried to make himself smaller.

Jax heard footsteps; from the squelching sounds, he deduced it was Podmi. He didn’t want to speak to him. He tried to stand up for the first time, only to trip over something; looking down, he saw the remains of his... skin... hanging uselessly from his waist and legs. Almost nothing was left attached, and in a fit of rage he simply tore it all off, paying no heed to the hands in red and blue gloves trying to stop him.

“All right!” Jax shouted, laughing hysterically, not noticing how the world was grey and dull, and he couldn’t hear the usual static of the circus. “This isn’t real! Any moment now, Caine will come back, fix me, and then torment us again as always!” The last part was said with a hollow laugh, lifeless, without reason, just mad. He really couldn’t take it—all this, King talking about how the company was real, how that stupid chess piece had actually helped create Caine, and all the rest with Scratch. It had to be another stupid mission from Caine. It didn’t matter if they used him as a toothpick again; he’d tell him the truth all over again, just to tell him how horrible he was.

“hahaha—

SLAP

“How d—

SLAP

“Calm down! This is real, do you understand!? We’re not animated beings, we´re real people, and we have to resist!”

“Pomni…” Jax heard Ragatha say in a faint whisper.

After a moment’s hesitation, Pomni took hold of Jax’s face and made him look him straight in the eye. She hesitated at the sight of Jax and the fact that if she looked at his waist and legs, she could still see traces of the skin that had been torn away, and she knew that if she looked down, she would see the remains of the skin Jax had torn off himself. “You’re hurt, and so are we, but together we can do this. I promised you we’d be in this together, and guess what, now we’re even more so, because this is real—we’ve got a chance. You’ve got to be with us on this.”

Pomni blinked, trying to ease her own pain after Gummigoo... No, that NPC who looked like him had attacked her along with the rest. She felt awful, and Pomni could swear that parts of her body were probably a hair’s breadth away from detaching from her torso, but she was fine. The rest were fine too; they hadn’t fully recovered, but they should still have control of the circus—or at least what was left of it...

“Pomni...” Kinger said. “I don’t think she’s listening to us; she seems... lost.”

“Or asleep,” Gangle said slowly, whilst comforting Zooble, who had been staring blankly at a single spot ever since they’d escaped Caine’s torture.

“All is not lost. Let’s rest; there must be some furniture left to sleep on... I think I saw some on my way here,” Kinger said tenderly, whilst stitching Ragatha up as best she could with some thread she had in her pockets. “I think a nap would do us all good.”

Series in ao3

Mauro smiled when he saw the bed they had been given. It was what many would call a “mess.” The rectangle was not made correctly, making it uneven and looking more like a poorly made triangle, with a fluffy cotton blanket that moved every so often. Mauro assumed it would feel like a waterbed. He hoped it wouldn't get punctured soon. According to what they had been told, they had tried to make everything as “humanly healthy” as possible, but neither humans nor Koviteans had had many ways to verify this until now.

Mauro quickly but firmly ran his hand across the makeshift bed, and once he was sure it was safe,(and it was surprisingly soft) he lay down on it delicately. He didn't want to die on his first day, which was very likely, so each of the not-so-voluntary volunteers (considering the 15 tests the not too young man had taken) had enormous insurance coverage for any accident, provided by the aliens themselves, of course. Humans had never thought of such a thing in their lives.

Remembering that he still had things to do, he got out of bed and walked to what he hoped was the bathroom. Luckily, he found a functional human bathroom, or at least one that was close enough not to arouse suspicion. Sighing with relief, he picked up the suitcases from the floor that some assistants had brought him while he and his team talked to The Queen, and began to get organized. It was better to start now before having to deal with chaos in the middle of the morning.

Finishing putting away the basics, he wondered why they thought sending 400 tubes of toothpaste was a good idea in the first place, but considering that they had created, along with Kovitian technology, a container capable of withstanding space travel light years away, he decided it was better not to ask too many questions; they must have had a reason. Tired, he ran his right hand through his hair, noticing how greasy it was, and knew that if he looked in the mirror he would probably regret meeting royalty in this state. On the other hand, this mirror was shiny, and from here he could see colors and lights that he knew weren't in the bathroom in the first place, so he decided it was worth it.

Oh yes, messy red hair, tired green eyes from all this crap on the first day, messy clothes, and definitely a being of light and colors with what appeared to be eyes behind him, watching HIM. The norm—

Mauro fell to the floor quickly from the shock, hitting his arm against a shelf as he fell, and began to curse until he heard the being in the mirror speak. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, we're just curious.”

“What the hell,” he thought, already imagining how he was going to tell his boss on Earth how he got high on his first day here. “Yes, General, I swear I only took the Plark pill they gave us before landing here.” Yes, they wouldn't believe him. He covered his face with one hand, and through the spaces between his fingers he looked at the figure in front of him. Yes, it was definitely the being he saw behind him, but it wasn't in the room. It was against the wall, so...

“Where are you?” Classic horror, Mauro cursed himself mentally. He's gonna die right here no? Shit

“Here.” The voice echoed everywhere, even in the human's body, sending a chill down his spine and making all his hairs stand on end. Only his years of training for the tests saved him from running away. "Sorry, we were curious. The... pills are just taking effect, if you know what I mean. The queen changed herself so that you can see her more clearly and hear her without the fear we generate.

“Sure,” Mauro thought to himself. The queen looked so humanoid that even he was surprised to see her. He was expecting something more like... Well, what he had in front of him right now. Still, it didn't matter. He cleared his throat to gather the courage to speak. “It's rude to spy like this. Do all your mirrors do that?”

“They do.” Again, Mauro felt a chill and curled up a little, not enough to be noticeable, but enough to comfort himself. “But we have rules. I was told to keep an eye out if there was any doubt. I didn't mean to bother you.”

“Next time... just knock on the door... That's what we humans do...”

“Okay.” The figure in the mirror vanished, but not only that, the pressure in the room itself vanished too, as if he had been under pressure compared to being at ground level, and then suddenly on the highest mountain without realizing it, and it didn't affect him except for the chill, and... the dizziness he was beginning to feel... Damn. The good thing, but also curious, was that the slight hunger I had begun to feel had completely disappeared. It was a relief to have one less thing to worry about, and I didn't really feel like eating poorly made space food either... Luckily, the natives also promised to supply us with food. He thought as he arranged things for early tomorrow morning. He assumed it was one of the most cordial things to do, and because the aliens had promised that first, it had generated several disputes among all human governments, since it was obvious, as a matter of courtesy, that the humans would have to do the same, but according to the books Mauro had read, they ate everything except what humans considered food. Tar, petroleum, acids of all kinds, nitrogen, titanium, and probably the entire periodic table and other things that humans could not see, touch, or hear. The senses of these beings were so heightened and in tune with everything that spiritual people called them ‘elevated beings’ or ‘astral beings’ and, well, the Christian and Catholic churches called them demons. If it weren't for the separation of church and state in his country, he probably wouldn't be here today. Blessed be the fall of the church in 2037.

Blinking, he realised that there was nothing left for him to do. He put his empty bag in a corner and lay down on the bed a little roughly, not because he trusted it, but because he was tired. He realised that it wasn't physical as he had expected, but mental. He found this curious, but just remembering the being in the mirror gave him the chills. He didn't even want to imagine what it would be like to see several at the same time. It was better to sleep for now, especially since there was no concept of day or night here. 

It took me over seven hours, and at first I struggled terribly with the wings. It was supposed to be something ‘cute,’ but scary? But I didn't manage it, lol. I have lots of ideas I discarded from this drawing, like this:

At first I liked the idea of the eyes, but I thought they didn't fit my drawing style very well, and well, the yellow stripes (done by hand, one by one), although pretty, I realised they took away the feeling of horror :(

MY FIRST ANIMATION!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"Well, to go into space you have to pass several tests, not only mental, but also physical. There is no space tourism yet, so not everyone gets to go.‘ Jose shrugged, sipping his coffee. ’It's for safety, but many complain."

‘It seems unfair.’

‘Some people think so, but I don't know. It's a different world. I decided to have a hearing implant not to go into space but to have a better quality of life.’ He watched a person with a green guide cane walk slowly by, their eyes met and he smiled, the person smiled back. ‘I've encountered situations where the implant shuts down and I'm really in danger. At the same time, similar things have happened to people who have prosthetics or some other type of disability. It's dangerous here too, but space is unknown.’

‘I understand, but why doesn't everyone use prosthetics or something to improve their quality of life?’

The human shifted uncomfortably. "Well, there are factors. Some people can't, although we're improving in that area. It's the year 3080 and we're still struggling with this, but it's also the person. I was born deaf, as was most of my family. I remember that many decided not to have an implant. They considered changing for others to be a mistake. I'm not sure, but there's a whole large community of deaf people who simply choose not to have an implant."

‘That sounds complex.’ Skul finally decided to look around. Being in a ‘Disability Assistance Centre’ wasn't his idea when he came to Earth, but his friend had said he had something to do. There were many different types of people, some alone, others accompanied by a person or animal, some, mostly young people, seemed more nervous about moving around or where to go in the building. Skul assumed they were new to this place.

You are the traveller, always with your pleasant companion by your side. You hardly ever speak; many think you cannot. You save every nation you touch, every person you meet, in one way or another. You simply look at them, knowing that this is how it must be, because what else can you do? Your sister said it: you must finish the journey and see the truth of this world, but you were already beginning to suspect it yourself. Expert eyes due to hundreds of years of travelling as living stars (world devourers really, but you didn't say that freely; it would bring too many problems and questions). Everything was repeated, reused. The enemies did not share a soul but a source, the abyss, but that was not all. There was a flaw, but that was obvious: the lines of kings, the abyss rising and falling, the quality of life of the people or the lack thereof, and above all, the convenient conversations he had had around the abyss and its people. Looking at his sister, he could only notice one thing: she was a shell, a source, a symbol perhaps, or a battery that was quickly running out of power, and they were looking for a replacement. A note saying ‘we have what you are looking for’ but also ‘those who know too much are eliminated’. You had seen it many times throughout your journey: several cultures eradicated in a single movement. It left you frozen for a second, thinking about the knowledge lost and not found. What was Celestia looking for? What did she want to achieve? Was there a problem with evolving?

The answer seemed obvious to you shortly afterwards: it was a reward system that controlled everything. Are you ambitious enough? Perhaps you are chosen by the gods and destined for something more important. Besides, there would also be an extra protection system against the world's natural enemies, which certainly would not exist if Celestia had not done her thing. It all seemed too complex but at the same time planned. People would die for a power similar to a vision, which is why deliriums were so important and used in times of need or by people seeking to increase their power. It was a deceptive trap, and who was to say that the visions themselves weren't also a trap? It was Celestia's will, not the archons themselves. The archons were also puppets with strings that reached up to the sky, and a part of you thought of that Melusine you met who saw the truth. A devourer of worlds, and, by his side, definitely someone who was not to be trusted. A friend, travelling companion, even a sister, who had a pretty little string that reached beyond the sky, without being able to see where it ended.

Oh Lumine, if knowing the truth will turn me into another shell like you, it is better to play dumb and see where this ends. Perhaps if I wait, at some point I will find enough clues for us to have our wings and my sword, and finally we can find a place outside this world, where everything is deception and lies, to such an extent that not even the adventure you put me through is real, or even your declaration to see me and travel together once I am finished.

NOT CANNON

Racism towards Muggle-borns and half-bloods surely arose very early on in the history of the magical world, perhaps due to the lack of knowledge they possessed, or the ego of magical families who had their own ways of doing things, and the lack of knowledge of those who did not have a magical heritage. But I definitely know that everything got worse with the witch hunts, not the ones known in the Muggle world, but those of the 10th century (since we know that Hogwarts was created at that time, and it was considered a dangerous era where Muggles hunted magical people more than ever. (One possible cause was the rise of Christianity, causing communities that worked together with magical people to betray them).

This persecution not only caused the death and extinction of many families in the magical world, but also Muggle families with magical descendants and the magical disease known as Obscurus. This caused panic not only among Muggles but also within the magical community itself.

The whole situation caused great concern for Muggles, and for half-bloods and Muggle-borns, because, due to the beliefs of their non-magical relatives, they could betray magical people thinking they were doing the right thing. At the same time, they would be the most notorious in the use of magic due to their lack of control and knowledge, making them one of the main victims of the witch hunt.

All this meant that not only were many magical offspring destroyed (perhaps causing the first mass extermination of the magical community), but fear and paranoia grew. Many claimed that Squib children were born after their mothers encountered Mugglesborns while pregnant, Others claimed that Obscurus were just another way for Muggles to steal magic to use for themselves, and it was even said that Obscurus were just failed attempts to inject external magic into the bodies of Muggle children, since very rarely had a ‘natural-born wizard or witch’ been seen as an Obscurus. This undoubtedly confirmed suspicions on a large scale, and so several wizards set out to hunt down Muggle-borns, saying that they were surely seeking access to ‘true magic’ so they could steal it.

This sparked a great massacre of Muggleborns, which did not cause their extinction due to magical connections between distant relatives, one-night stands with Muggles, or magic itself accessing a Muggle family heirloom, but it certainly caused a great rift. Even years later, when Hogwarts finally became known, Muggle-borns were the last to realise it. There were whispers, yes, clues, but at the end of the day they were also excluded and treated with distance in their early years at school. I have no doubt that it was Helga who finally convinced Rowena and Godric that they too would need help.

Not only that, but at that time Hogwarts was more of a refuge than a school itself. It did teach things, but only the basics needed to survive in the wild world of that era, with perhaps some extra knowledge from the founders and the occasional adult wizard who knew a particular type of magic, such as wand-making or alchemy. Something very common at that time that is not so common to see in the magical world today. At the same time, although wand-making was something of a black market activity and very difficult to obtain, knowing how to do it was always welcome because, although it was difficult to obtain the materials, it usually paid well, and being locked up with magical creatures and having wood at your disposal meant you could perform magic, even if you were emotionally unstable or magically exhausted, which was a great help in a pinch.

But all those estimates fuelled racism towards Muggle-borns and half-bloods.

If Caine can REALLY control and modify the minds of the circus members (in the last episode he literally downloaded information into Jax's brain and in another episode he literally forced him to be vegan to continue the story)

then what if Caine gave Kinger his memory loss, like: you know a lot I'm going to silence you. Because we also saw how he created a DAMN BUTTERFLY that gave Ragatha a life and said he did it alone, without help from Caine .

WHO LITERALLY CONTROLS EVERYTHING AS FAR AS WE KNOW then Kinger HAS KNOWLEDGE, and that surely makes him dangerous.

But anyway, this drawing took me like 3 days or more, I don't know. It started all random with a baby doll's head with its spine sticking out, but then I just threw everything away and created this cfrazy art. I'd like to delete the recording frame, but my laptop broke and I lost the original file… D: f for me

software: Clip studio paint

I drew this yesterday in my English class. My school secretary liked it so much that she kept it. I took a photo and redrew it.

Alfred, just passing by: "Young sir, how exactly does soap stain?"

Tim, too tired to realise it’s Alfred: "Depends... I mean, it could, right?"

Damian, who was with Alfred: "Don’t be deluded, Drake. Anything that cleans doesn’t stain."

Tim, blinking slowly at Damian: "HClO stains... so does it clean or does it dirty?"

Alfred: "I’d simply say it disinfects, young master. Time for bed."

Tim, staring at him: "No, because... it cleans, doesn’t it? Removes stains... I... oh shit. You’re Alfred."

It was a peaceful day, the sun was shining, and blooming spring flowers filled the garden of the mysterious mansion. Your friends decided not to come this time because during the winter, a group of occultists had tried to open a portal outside of "the simulation," causing a massive blackout that lasted all night. They were simply fans of the recently released movie: The Matrix Revolutions. You weren't afraid of the system, and you weren't about to miss a piece of news by recording something interesting, especially so you could brag in the future about going to a place "forbidden" by almost, if not all, adults in the city. You finished setting up your 2003 Sony Handycam DCR TRV 70 and entered the building. It was picturesque with graffiti, half abandoned over the years. You didn't know what it was before it closed, but many said it had been a laboratory, a prison, a hospital, and finally a school. The strongest rumors were that it was a disappearance room for those deemed dangerous by the government. They were thrown into a mysterious doorway and vanished forever. Pretty crazy, and a bit foolish, you reflected, looking at the typical "Get out of here" graffiti written on a wall. You continued walking, looking at the scattered soda cans, bags of snacks, and the occasional used condom. You couldn't help but grimace in disgust at the last bit, so you decided to move forward and go straight to the jewel of the place. The basement was where those occultists tried to break out of the "Matrix." No one yet knew what they had used to cause such a blackout, and the police, as always, hadn't said much. So you thought it would be a very good idea to try and find out.

"There's probably nothing there," you thought somewhat sadly, but decided that just going in here was worth it.

It was dark, as expected for a sonato, so you turned on your flashlight. It didn't illuminate much, but deep down, you allowed yourself to fall into the illusion that the light was more than enough for everything to look good on camera.

There were masks, boxes with things inside, most of them: vials with a reddish-brown liquid, some white, some pink, and some orange with golden veins. You decided it was a custom painting the occultists had ordered. Still, what caught your attention most was the large circle with symbols, codes, and numbers drawn in the center of the basement. The painting must have glowed in the dark or when it came into contact with the air because it was so well lit, you barely needed your poor flashlight to see. You moved closer and felt a breeze surround your back, making you shiver, and at that moment you swore you heard a whisper. "It's done."

You blinked for a second, thinking that out of the corner of your eyes you'd seen repeating numbers 1 and 0. You clutched your head after turning off and putting away your flashlight. "That was weird," you thought weakly, trying to push away the fog that had invaded your brain. "Why was I here?" Oh, you looked ahead, and everything was clearer again. You had to enter the circle. Your arm with the camera left its elevated position to simply relax as you took a step, and another. On the third, you frowned. Something was wrong, what was wrong?

Ah, yes. The camera was there to record. You positioned your arm to record properly, and walked. Soon you were inside the circle, and there you heard it, perfectly clear.

"Ornament" "Treasure" "Liberator" "Pride" "Sacrifice"

Crack

Something breaks, and suddenly you fall. Your brain tries to tell you that this isn't possible, even though you're in a basement, but the truth is as clear as day. You screamed the whole way, seeing the same strange symbols, numbers, religious references, and… Archon. That stuck with you, but before you could register what was happening, a voice whispered.

"If you want to escape, leave your human body and mind behind, become one with 2D, become one with 5D, and perhaps you'll belong in 7D."

A thought ran through you: Weren't we higher before?

Another voice said: Foolish humans beyond 7D after awakening their power and repeating the first condemnation that brought them to 3D? No way, we're not going to talk anymore.

Everything is gone, and you've changed. Box, cardboard, heart shape, code, and error, and before you, it appeared. Fears, whispers, sorrows, hell, and suddenly, they were gone. You blinked, surprised, seeing the light, and you felt loved and wanted. You cried for forgiveness, but there was no one to hear you, no one you could see. You looked at your body, nothing human except for a few pieces. "Shoe, leg, thigh, and a single working eye." You thought belatedly as you looked at yourself, and then realized you couldn't see anything on your right side. "Serve me and you'll see."

You accepted, but a light appeared, and you were saved. "You are not a God," you whispered to someone you couldn't see. "No, neither was the previous one. There are no gods out here, only incomplete rules for an even dumber human."

A light flickered from your center, and was ripped from its place. "A foolish human doesn't want a soul in this place."

You were locked away after passing through a mostly green portal. The place had four walls that didn't look like one at all. It was strange, like seeing myself in different universities and situations. Past, present, and future all in one place. It was incredible, yes, but also complicated. Error codes, alerts, numbers, everything filled the room, and at the edges of the walls and behind the portal wall lay the truth.

"You made a deal with a being. It's not a savior. It's not a speaker." An eye whispered in the distance.

"Now here you stay, with nothing to do. Its soul is gone, and so are your hopes," another murmured with a single, unhinged stare.

"We will devour you throughout this time, no matter the size, place, or location, you will be finished with us forever."

"Oh God," you thought, because you no longer had a mouth to scream or beg for mercy.

"There is no God in this place, you abandoned him, and this will be your doom."

It came as no surprise that after Monarch’s defeat, Paris could finally breathe again for the first time in years. Not only were there no longer Akumas posing a temporary but very real threat of death, but people could at last begin to express their emotions without the fear of being manipulated by an emotional terrorist. This led to an unprecedented rise in therapy sessions, more than ever before. While under Monarch’s rule therapists were focused on helping their patients suppress emotional responses to avoid falling under magical control, now they finally aimed to help them release the weight they had been carrying—years of fear, unspoken grudges, moral dilemmas, guilt over being akumatised, and memories of death and injury. Though the Miraculous Cure healed physical wounds, it never touched the mind, which made the situation even more bewildering—bodies were whole, yet minds took longer to realise they were safe.

Emilie was among the most frequent visitors, not just to therapists but also to psychiatrists and psychologists. She had been wounded several times by Akumas, lost limbs, fallen under illusions, and faced life-or-death situations several times a year. All of this manifested in multiple stress-induced disorders; when these peaked, both her body and mind forgot that the injuries she had suffered had already been healed. She relived every moment in an instant.

The only “good” part—though it’s unclear how much of a benefit it truly was—was that Monarch had never succeeded in akumatising her. According to Ladybug, this was because her mind wasn’t well enough to be controlled. “You can’t control a broken mind—it’s like trying to use a puppet without strings,” she said grimly, staring at the figure writhing in pain on a hospital bed. To anyone else, Emilie looked physically fine. The wounds she screamed about simply weren’t there.

She was a good person, said the staff at the psychiatric hospital (which in recent years had seen more temporary and permanent patients than ever before). Even her friends agreed—Emilie had always been a kind soul who studied lepidopterology. Whispers spread that Monarch had specifically targeted her so often because she’d offered to help Ladybug and Chat Noir track the butterflies he sent. “Unless Monarch’s running a massive butterfly farm for a species not native to Paris, they should return to him,” Emilie once said, after one of her closest friends was akumatised.

Darker rumours suggested she’d suffered so much not just for her resistance, but because she shared a name with the late Emilie Agreste—whom Monarch had been trying to save. It didn’t help that she was blonde as well.

But she wasn’t the only victim.

While everyone in Paris was a victim of Hawkmoth—or whichever ridiculous name he chose next—there are some cases, like Emilie’s, that became chronic and sadly, a bit repetitive.

Xavier Ramier is one of the best-known cases. After being akumatised so many times, he gradually withdrew from everyone. His family and close acquaintances say the more he was akumatised, the more isolated he became. These days, he is rarely seen.

Though Ladybug has confirmed that he’s safe, it’s obvious that his situation is far from healthy. Even months after the defeat of emotional terrorist Gabriel Agreste, he’s only been seen in public for brief moments. Local police have even been verbally assaulted by him for interfering when he feeds his pigeons.

There are many more victims worth mentioning. Some even “unregistered” from life—people who fled Paris in panic when Gabriel Agreste was reported in other parts of the world.

But in my opinion, the most tragic victim is his own son—Adrien Agreste.

After the revelation of Monarch’s identity, the Agreste brand plummeted within hours. People destroyed anything related to it—even posters of Adrien himself. Unfortunately, years of repressing emotion so thoroughly that one could barely feel anything exploded in a single night. In less than 24 hours, the Agreste mansion was destroyed. Thankfully, the child model wasn’t home that night—he was at the police station, being interviewed alongside his father’s personal assistant, Nathalie Sancoeur. She quickly confessed her involvement and denied that Adrien had any knowledge of, or role in, his father’s plans. Thanks to her statement and Ladybug’s own testimony, Adrien was released.

He was placed under the care of Chloé Bourgeois, who was considered the best candidate to ensure his protection.

Tragically, that very night, Adrien Agreste was found dead just three blocks from the ruins of his mansion. His condition was horrific—multiple wounds, his face nearly unrecognisable. It remains unknown why he left the house that night, or who his attackers were.

Thankfully, Ladybug herself is here to answer our questions—and those of the public:

MdM: So, when you requested this interview, you said you’d reveal why the late Adrien Agreste was found so close to his mansion.

Ladybug (serious, her expression vacant. One would think she’d be happier with her greatest enemy defeated. Her insect wings droop at her sides, brushing against the chair she requested): Yes… Well… It’s complicated, but there’s a very good reason why he… was there.

MdM: Alright. And what would that reason be? There are plenty of rumours—from trying to retrieve evidence against his father, to wanting to finish what his father started.

Ladybug (clenches her fists, jaw tightening, visibly tense. Her wings flutter, stirring a small breeze): That’s as far from the truth as it gets! Adrien just wanted to check something at the Agreste mansion—something the police hadn’t found yet.

MdM: You do realise that doesn’t sound very good for him, right?

Ladybug (shouting, standing abruptly and ruffling her hair. Her wings buzz so furiously they blur before my eyes. She spins to face me, barely restrained rage in her gaze. For a moment, as the interviewer, I was afraid): HE JUST WANTED TO SEE HIS MOTHER! Gabriel kept her in a state of stasis because he wanted to revive her using Chat Noir’s Miraculous and mine... It’s my fault—I told him— (she covers her mouth, fighting back tears) He… just wanted to see her again. He never knew she had really died. All this time, he was waiting for her to come back home.

MdM: So, you're saying his death was your fault. That if you hadn’t told Adrien—a civilian—he wouldn’t have gone out that night?

Ladybug (silent, then collapses back into her seat. Her shoulders slump, posture curled and uncertain. She looks at me with a blank face, but her eyes reveal how shattered she feels): He wasn’t a civilian…

MdM (leaning in, unable to catch her whisper): Sorry, I didn’t hear you.

Ladybug (slams the table, startling me. Looking down, I see what appears to be Chat Noir’s Miraculous): He… was Chat Noir. And what they did to him that night is unforgivable. They’re lucky I can’t be akumatised—otherwise, the moment I heard the news, Paris would have fallen.

MdM: Are you saying that the great hero of Paris—who fought thousands of Akumas for years—was killed by a group of angry citizens?

Ladybug (jaw clenched, quickly pockets the Black Cat’s Miraculous, standing up angrily to leave): I’m done.

MdM (standing with her, trying to stop her): Wait, it can’t end like this—I’m sorry for what I said. The people need to know…

Ladybug (pauses at the exit, body tense): He was just a young man. Emotionally abused by his father, still grieving the loss of his mother. The pressure, the pain, the constant emotional suppression—then learning that the villain he’d fought for years was his own father… It broke him. He didn’t know who he was anymore when I told him about his mother, down in the Agreste mansion’s basement. (She hesitates, hand still on the door handle. Her trembling shoulders betray her effort to hold back tears.) He didn’t know… until his kwami brought me the Miraculous that night. According to him, Adrien tried to defend himself… but after hearing what those people shouted at him, he ran—to tell his kwami to find me at sunrise and say this: “I’m sorry, My Lady, for being such a burden.” They found him not long after, I suppose.

MdM: Are you… saying he took his own life?

Ladybug: No one knows. According to his kwami, there were over twenty people there to attack him. Even if he had transformed, I doubt he would have fought back with full force. They were civilians, after all—and he always cared about that. He never wanted to look bad, because his reputation was always hanging by a thread. I just hope the ones who killed him regret what they did. And mark my words—I will find them, and they will face justice. (She opens the door and leaves the studio. Within moments, she is gone—flying away down the street.)

With all this, several questions have finally been answered. We can now confirm what we at this section of the paper always suspected: Adrien Agreste was never guilty. He was just another victim of Gabriel Agreste. I hope those responsible for ending his life feel deep remorse—and that they turn themselves in. If they don’t, I have no doubt Ladybug will drag them out of hiding herself.