#SS:H&G | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ggomos-maribat · 1 month

Text

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 1: the assassin and his servant | AO3

CW: Suicide, blood, injury, referenced childhood trauma, mild violence

It is no surprise that the League of Assassins has its own fair share of enemies at its tail. Yet recently, there has been an onslaught of attacks, prompting its members to switch between the network of bases—its young heir is no exception. The third base to house Damian sits between two frosted peaks towering over a Tibetan village, first founded by the demon's daughter herself. Though the instigator of the attacks is unknown, it seems that the abilities of the opposing group is nearly on par with the trained assassins. Damian has scoffed at this piece of information; no one stands at the same level as the League.

Unfortunately, Damian has been kept away from the frontlines under Talia's strict instructions despite his insistence to fight. Knowing his status, Damian begrudgingly complied to escape and hide. Even if the food is cold and the night wind sometimes sneaks in to bite his bones, he sits still to wait for news announcing that it's safe to return to the main base.

He sits up on his creaky bed. The ends of the sheets are fraying, and the floors are ice cold, with the gray and brown meshing into a drabby color. The only semblance of a decoration is his twin katanas leaning off the side of his bed frame. It's a far cry from the home he knows, though his routine is mostly unchanged: training from dawn to dusk. But he can tell this day is different. From the commotion happening outside the room and the lingering tension in the air, Damian deduces that another attack is on the way.

Finally, his thoughts are confirmed when he hears the door open. "Master Damian?"

He has his back turned to her, his servant, but he can already picture out her presence. An unsteady stance dwarfed in a thick coat, calloused hands wrapped in fingerless gloves, cheeks that have lost a tad bit of their rosiness nowadays, and hair pushed back into twin braids. A child just like him, but raised an assassin nonetheless. "Lady Talia wishes for you to be relocated again. We will use the back tunnel and rendezvous with our guides halfway down the mountains. They will escort us to out—"

"Where are we relocating to?"

". . . I don't know, Master."

She swiftly moves to the side to pack his things. Damian picks up his weapons, biting back the habitual click of his tongue. He's sick of the cycle, feeling like a coward running away endlessly. "And why can't we hold them off?"

"We do not have enough people. Between guarding the Demon Head and the Pits, and covering all bases . . . The enemies have become too much to handle." Marie ties together the strings of the backpack, before strapping a rolled-up sleeping bag on top.

"If our assassins are competent enough, we would not be struggling ," Damian hisses.

The servant doesn't reply, but he catches the twitch of her upper lip. Like him, Marie has been forbidden from fighting the enemies, but she has been helping with the supplies and cleaning, apart from assisting him in training. She should know how weak the League has become.

"We will leave in five minutes," she says, offering his coat to him.

"What if I don't want to leave?"

"I am sorry, Master, but Lady Talia said—"

"Nevermind what Mother said. I can do it. I can fight."

Marie's expression changes just a little, and her hand reaches up to clutch her sleeve. He knows that even though she serves under him, she mostly answers to his mother. And defying Talia had greater consequences. It is not the first time Damian has wanted to go against higher orders; Marie has often eased him into not breaking the rules.

"I think it is better for you to reserve your energy for training, Master. Let the rest of us worry about the enemies."

"Tt. Grandfather should do something about this."

When Marie finally persuades him, they venture out to the winding halls. She navigates expertly, avoiding the rings of the gunshots and clashing of swords. Damian knows that they are near the exit when he feels the chilling gust of wind. The rocky snow-topped terrain welcomes them outside—there is only white and gray for miles that everything looks like a lifeless desert. Damian blinks against the sunlight, puffs of fogged breath floating along his vision. In the snowy landscape, Marie looks even paler, as if her skin has become translucent.

The swords on Damian's back feel heavier too. He has found that fighting in the cold is more troublesome—his joints are hardened, and the blood rushes out of his limbs. The stiffness of his muscles limit his movement and the thin air makes it difficult to breathe. Their escape party is too vulnerable, and if they were to encounter a hostile group, he will have to make the kill quick.

He glances at Marie every now and then. Her skills are average, and she looks smaller when bundled up. He doesn't miss the way she favors one foot when she trudges in the snow. Though she has been mentored by Talia, she is not like his mother, nor like the other women he is familiar with, like Nyssa or Lady Shiva. She's practically dead weight for Damian. An easy target.

He doesn't remember when she first started serving under him. He only recalls huffing in annoyance seeing the tiny girl hanging around on the sidelines as he trained, occasionally joining him for a spar. He only knows her as the one who brings his food, supplies him with his secondary weapons, escapes into other bases with him, and acts as his mother's slave. She looks more attuned to the civilians in the towns Damian sees during his missions, not someone who has blood in her hands. Rarely does she show emotion, not even some annoyance or defeat when he easily beats her during practice, not even flinching when the other servants delivered sharp slaps on her arms, not even a hint of awe like when Damian first gazed upon the second League base in Nepal. Her expressions are usually blank or incomplete, as if she suppresses her reactions.

She marches close to him, head darting around to check for danger. Damian stops and asks, "How long until we meet the guides?"

"We have one day of travel, Master."

"One day? Could they have not sent a plane?"

"It's too risky…"

Damian clenches his jaw. A day of hiking through frozen hell. He pulls his hood over his head and quickens his pace.

"Wait, Master, we should slow down." Marie calls after.

He doesn't care. The faster they walk, the faster they can meet up with their allies and get out of there.

"Master, wait—" A thump sounds out. Damian looks behind him to see Marie scrambling to get up.

"Tt. You could have stayed behind if you can't even walk."

Marie mumbles her apologies while catching up to him. "We should keep ourselves from tiring out quickly. There is still a long way to go."

"What if the enemies catch up to us?"

"They will not." She purses her lips. "They should not know you're escaping. They should not know you're here in the first place."

"They always know." Damian continues along the nonexistent path. "I'm certain there are moles here."

As they keep walking, Marie sometimes wobbles with the humongous bag but she doesn't trip again. Damian doesn't keep count how many steps they have taken or how long they walk, but soon he starts to stagger and shiver, and the sun fades away slowly. Marie directs them to a small cave carved out on the side of a cliff. It is small and still cold, but it will do for the night. Damian gives in to his aching legs, putting his swords in front of him, while Marie sets up the camp. She kindles a humble fire and takes out the supplies to make a meal.

"A seating mat, Master?" Marie lays out a folded cloth off to the side. Damian crawls to it wordlessly, leaning against the bumpy wall and draping an arm over his eyes.

She hugs her knees and watches the boiling water. "There might be a storm tonight. I can cover up the entrance, but I do not know how well it will hold up."

He doesn't reply.

"Any food you prefer, Master?"

"What difference does it make? It's all tasteless meal kits."

"But—"

"I don't care. Whatever you can make."

"If we wake up early, we can reach our destination in time," Marie continues, "It is colder in the morning but I have heat packs in the bag."

“...”

Damian peeks as she cooks a simple stew. The aroma spreads around the cave, mingling with the shadows created by the fire. The warmth chases away the chill just a little. His servant seems to note his unwillingness to make small talk, so they eat their meals in complete silence, basking in the crackling flames instead. Marie unrolls the sleeping bag and positions herself near the opening of the cave with a knife in hand.

"Please get some sleep, Master Damian. I will keep watch," says Marie.

Damian rolls to face the ceiling. Camp-outs are often bleak, and he practically has to sleep with one eye open. But owing to the soreness of his body, he drifts into deep slumber. He has no clue how long he sleeps but when he wakes up, the fire has gone small and the numbed pain in his back has become more persistent. Damian sits up to see Marie staring off blankly into the foggy snowstorm. She's trembling badly and her chapped lips have turned into a light shade of blue. They make brief eye contact before she jumps up to push out the little snow starting to pile up at the opening.

Damian averts his gaze, buries deeper into the sleeping bag, and thinks to himself how foolish it is for her to stay awake and away from the fire.

He lies awake instead of going back to sleep as the cold has won over his drowsiness. An eternity of gazing up at the darkness, his eyelids begin to feel heavy—

Damian's hand darts up to grab the wrist hovering over him. “What are you doing?”

Marie recoils back in surprise. "Hea—heat pack, Master. You looked cold."

"Tt. Forget it. I will get one myself if I'm cold."

Marie nods weakly, lowly muttering her apologies again, and returns to her post.

***

The next time Damian wakes, it's from noises nearby. The morning light has spilled into the cave, and the fire has reduced into ash and some smoke. The second thing he notices is the lack of Marie's presence—Damian scrambles up and runs towards the cave opening to see his servant locked in a fight with a stranger just on the edge of the cliff. An enemy assassin perhaps. He has her pinned to the ground, but her fingers are tightly wound around his neck. Marie lets out a choked scream when the man jams the hilt of his weapon on her injured foot.

Damian immediately pulls out his katana and swipes at the enemy's neck. He tugs Marie by the collar and kicks the man's large body off the drop. After looking around for other assassins he looks down on his servant, who's already making a makeshift splint from her knife holder despite her ragged breathing and the cut running across her hairline.

"Where's the bag?" Damian asks, wiping off the hint of blood from his blade.

Marie's eyes widen up at him, and they slowly follow down the height of the cliff.

"Really? You can barely hold off an enemy and you've lost our supplies?" Damian's hand clenches around his sword.

"I am sorry, Master, I was packing up and—and I was about to wake you." Her voice wavers. "I—I still have some food in my belt—"

" Save it," he cuts her off. "We have to get down from here as fast as we can."

Even if that assassin is a lone wanderer, they can't risk another similar encounter. If that happens, Damian isn't certain if he can keep himself alive, much less the both of them, especially if they're overwhelmed by numbers. He curses at his stiff hands; he could've been much faster if it were any other circumstance.

"I—I am sorry, Master," Marie gasps out.

"I said save it." Damian begins to hike again, and she follows while limping after crawling into the cave and packing up his sleeping bag.

He's surprised that she survived and held off the assassin, but she did so sloppily that her injury was aggravated. Because of that, they will be slowed down indefinitely, unless he chooses to venture on ahead. That is the truth in the League of Assassins: that kind of weakness isn't tolerated, even if she has some ability to defend herself. Those incapable are quickly rooted out, and those who are prodigies train to become more vicious.

Damian momentarily halts when he observes that the path has narrowed down. They can still cross and climb down, but after one wrong move, they will be falling into a merciless death. He tests the rock, moving one step at a time and clinging onto the shallow crevices of the wall.

He turns to Marie. “Climbing gear?”

She bows her head in guilt. “Inside the bag . . . Master.”

“That is your own fault,” he spits out. “If you cannot cross this, I'm not helping you.”

He feels her trying to follow closely, but her balance is dangerously off. Damian watches as she struggles to walk through. Her breaths are unsteady as she keeps her gaze on her feet. On top of that, she's shivering more than the previous day.

When Marie makes a misstep and gasps sharply when she slips, Damian jumps in to grab her sleeve to keep her from falling. She swallows and thanks him, to which he sternly directs to hold onto him as they cross. It takes them a longer while than he hoped for, but they finally come towards a more spacious and safer landing. Still, the bottom of the mountain is still too far to see.

“I thought Mother sent you to escort and protect me,” he tuts, looking down at her as she collapses on her knees to catch her breath. “Yet you are slowing us down and putting both our lives in danger.”

“You . . . you are right, Master. Forgive me.” She coughs a little, rubbing the area near her wound. “But I was trying to protect you—”

“You were as good as dead if I had not stepped in. Who were you trying to protect?”

“I apologize for my inadequacy.” She has lowered herself into a deep bow, head touching the snow. “Please punish me or kill me as you wish. We are nearing the meeting point anyway; I will be of no use soon.”

“Tt. You don't even deserve to perish by my hand.” Damian looks down at her in distaste. The heir of the League should not be accompanied by such a servant in the first place. It's already a miracle that she has survived for this long, and he doesn't want to get rid of the little help she can offer. Perhaps as a convenient shield if they encounter enemies again.

“Stand up,” he orders. “You are delaying us again.”

She carefully does so, but when she shows her face again, Damian is nearly taken aback, seeing her again up close. Her forehead is smeared with dried blood and the side of her face is slightly swollen. But what surprises him is her usual dead eyes are now glistening with tears.

“You are right, Master. I should not delay us any longer.” Marie sniffles, moving over to the edge.

“Wh—what—”

“I am sorry for not meeting your expectations. There is no excuse for my actions.” She takes out her knife.

“Wait—”

“Our allies are nearby; it will not take long.”

Red. All that fills his vision is red: bold, flowing red against the canvas that is the frost. The intricately-carved hilt sticks out of her abdomen, spreading the ghastly color into her clothes. The blood isn't anything new for Damian to see, but he has never seen it like this.

The white sky and red.

Her white fingers and red.

The white shine of the blade and red.

Heavy drops spill onto the snow, then crushed underneath her boot as she sways backwards.

“Please take care . . . Master Damian.”

Before he can tell his body to move, she has disappeared by the hand of gravity, falling until the fog covers up. Damian wonders where the scream he hears comes from until he realizes his throat is hoarse.

***

Damian jolts awake, cold sweat slithering down the nape of his neck. It takes him a second to realize that he is in his bedroom in the Wayne manor, and the sun is yet to rise. He shivers even though he feels warm, as if the memory of the cold has followed him back to reality. Frustrated, he tugs hard at his hair as he tries to even out his breaths.

He just dreamed of that again.

Next Chapter →

#tw child abuse #tw suicide #maribat fanfic #dc x mlb #mlb x dc #maribat #maribat fic #daminette #marinette dupain cheng x damian wayne #tw blood #ggomoz #maribat damian wayne #maribat marinette dupain cheng #SS:H&G

32 notes · View notes

ggomos-maribat · 26 days

Text

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 3: to remember and forget | AO3

CW: Panic attack, mentions of childhood trauma, mentions of death

If Marinette can put it in simple words, the Justice League's prison doesn't look like a prison at all.

The neatly-done bed, a queen size perhaps, leans against a large headboard. There's a desk positioned at one corner with a rolling chair tucked into it; at the center sits a sofa set on top of a comfy rug. In the other corner, a narrow door leads to the bathroom. The room is well lit, the palette is quite friendly, and the golden accents speak of lavishness.

She barely caught onto what the Justice League discussed with the Parisian Government, but suddenly she found herself escorted into the Watchtower. Into space. If he had not already known where she was taken, Adrien would've freaked out.

Speaking of Adrien, her biggest inconvenience is her lack of direct communication with the others. She trusts that her second-in-command will take care of things while she's gone but if they do get into non-guardian-permitted trips, it's not her problem if they incur more expenses.

She looks down on the special handcuffs they put on her. Apparently, they are supposed to suppress powers, whether of the meta kind or the magical kind, but as soon as the metal hits her skin, she realizes that the cuffs don't do anything to her. Next, she stares up at the two heroes ordered to escort her. They stare back at her.

“Um . . .” The shorter one breaks silence, rubbing the back of his head, “You're not actually a bad person, are you?”

Marinette blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Are you actually Hawkmoth?”

“What difference does that make?” She asks. “If I say no, will you let me go?”

“I—um, no we can't but why didn't you insist that you're innocent?” The masked man asks, “With the right evidence you could've won, but you weren't saying anything. How do you not care about being imprisoned?”

“I'm not the only one falsely convicted because of the flawed justice system, you know,” says Marinette with practiced nonchalance. “The judge said I'm guilty, so I'm guilty. Nothing I can do about that.”

“But this is a serious crime. Terrorizing Paris? Causing widespread trauma?” This time, the taller leather jacket-clad one interjects.

“How is this any different from the situation of the ones wrongfully accused? Does that mean I deserve freedom and they don't?” She tips her head towards the room. “Ironic, how you're imprisoning me, a supposed ‘world threat’, in a luxurious room. If you ask the people in Paris, they'd probably tell you I deserve a death penalty, so this is actually a light punishment.”

The two seem to have difficulty replying to her words, until the shorter one sighs and tells her, “Still, keep in mind that you still have a chance. The members of the JL are still half-and-half about what to do with you. Some of them want to keep you here under close watch while you're serving your sentence. The others are pretty convinced you didn't do anything—they're having a pretty heated debate right now.”

“What do you guys think?”

“I dunno, really. You're weird,” says the tall one.

“Cool. I'll take that as a compliment.”

“As a detective, I'm taught to consider every clue first before I act,” says the other. “For now, I still can't say for sure.”

“Okay, that's reasonable.” She gives a flitting smile. “Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt.”

She can tell they're feeling awkward based on their expressions and stances. She holds out a cuffed hand. “I'm Marinette, by the way. Nice meeting you both.”

Marinette nearly laughs at their astonishment. She's aware she's unexpectedly direct even though she's the criminal. The brightly-dressed man steps forward to shake her hand first. “I'm Superboy.”

And the other tentatively follows: “Nightwing.”

“Superboy. Nightwing.” She nods, finally stepping into the wide threshold of her room and activating the automatic barrier. “I like you both. Before you go, can I ask when I can eat?”

The two share a look before Nightwing replies. “Your meals will be delivered at set times. There's some kind of chute over there.”

“Thanks. See you around?”

---

Marinette easily falls into a rhythmic routine inside her ‘prison cell’. Though the bed is beyond comfortable, and the meals are filling, she finds that she has nothing to quell her boredom. So instead of walking around aimlessly, she decides to make use of the space to exercise. The other heroes don't seem bothered by this; in fact, in the first two days, rarely anyone stopped by her room. Later on, she wonders if she can request a sketchbook or two.

Finally, on the third day, she's taken out of her cell, bound into handcuffs again, and brought to what looks like an interrogation room. There is only one occupant—Superman—but the glass panel on one of the walls tells her otherwise.

She looks up and down at the hero, who gives a polite smile and motions for her to sit.

“I think you're already aware of the situation you're in?” Superman asks.

Marinette nods. If unfair treatment and injustice is her current situation then, yes, she is very well aware of that.

“I know there are things you cannot simply say in court.” His face is grim. “I was there the whole time. But you can tell me, and we'll see what we can do for you. It's safe here.”

Her eyes stray towards the glass panel, wordlessly saying, ‘Is this what you call safe?’

“Fine,” Superman sighs, “But can you at least elaborate on why you can't tell us. Is this a binding secret? Will you be harmed if you divulge anything or are there drastic consequences for it?”

“I'd say a little bit of all three.”

“Is there anything that will make you talk?”

She shakes her head. “By keeping silent on the matter, I'm not lying, but I'm not giving the full truth either. I can't tell you because this is what I think is the best course of action to protect you and many other people.”

“What do you mean?” he presses.

“You know about what happened to Paris, yes?”

“Hawkmoth and the akuma attacks . . .”

“Let's say Ladybug and Chat Noir decided to globally broadcast the existence of miraculi, magical jewels that can grant anyone immense power. What do you think will happen?”

“It will be chaos. Everyone would be fighting to get a miraculous for themselves.”

“A perfect example of why knowledge is dangerous.”

Superman looks like he's thinking it over; she can only predict that he's trying to guess what kind of knowledge she holds, and how far worse it is than the Paris situation.

“Fine,” he relents, “Can you at least tell us about Hawkmoth's reign?”

Marinette notes how he said Hawkmoth's reign, which leads her to inwardly ask if he's one of those who believes in her innocence.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do I owe you my trauma?” She makes her tone calm but her words impactful. “I've set my expectations for the Justice League, and now I can say that you've gone below it.”

“What are—”

“What gives you the right to persecute someone from Paris when you neglected our city when it mattered?” Her eyes narrow slightly. “Much less ask that someone for intel you can't be bothered to find yourself?”

It's already common knowledge for the Parisians: at one point, the young heroes had called on the JL for aid during Hawkmoth's time, but they were unanswered again and again. It’s just bemusing, how in the most urgent of times, they haven’t responded at all, but when a random girl is convicted of terrorism, suddenly they're all up in their feet.

The silence in the room is deafening, and Marinette can tell the onlookers outside are speechless as well.

Superman's voice is painted with deep regret. “I'm sorry. We’re trying to extend our help to the city, even if that doesn't make up for our mistake. We want to do that with you as well, but why do you want to be in prison?”

Partly, it's because she owes Paris that much. The city never found out who Hawkmoth was, so their anguish was directed at the heroes instead for keeping them in the dark. Then a year later, they find a girl fitting into the profile of their villain. If she's the convenient scapegoat they choose to blame, then so be it.

“I didn't go here on my own. You guys brought me here,” Marinette says pointedly.

“That's not what I meant.”

“You know I can't cooperate even if you try to convince me.” She looks at the window, even if she can only see her reflection. “I think it's best for you to spend your energy elsewhere.”

---

“That sign is flickering,” Adrien comments with a mouthful of burger in his mouth.

Eating double-decker burgers in a Batburger parking lot at nearly two in the morning certainly isn't their usual gig. But Adrien gathered from the reliable internet that the Batburgers are a must-try during a Gotham visit, so he decides to hunt for them. Kagami surreptitiously heard about his plans and wanted to tag along, as did Luka. Fei has to join to babysit them.

“Here, Gami, flip it upside down. The bun will absorb the sauce,” Luka suggests to the girl beside him, who has been attempting to bite down on her burger for a minute already.

“Seriously, we are being americanized,” quips Fei, who squeezes out some more ketchup on hers.

“Aw come on, it's a celebration for Adrien,” Luka says, “He did a good job in his defense attorney debut.”

The boy in question groans, pausing mid-bite to drop down his head on his free hand. “I did so badly! Even when I spent all night reading that textbook on French law and making my cute little badge. She was still proclaimed guilty!”

“We all know Marinette doesn't mind.” Fei picked up her soda from beside her to let Adrien have a sip. “You could've, you know, told her you'll be representing her. To get the trial running more smoothly.”

“I had it under control,” the blond insists, “It's just that they brought up the childhood issues card, which is a foul by the way, they basically breached her privacy. I'm still so mad about that!”

“If I could give my critique, I'd say you should've done a worse number on Rossi,” says Kagami.

“I couldn't. They would've kicked me out of that trial and disbarred me.”

“Adrien, you're not a real lawyer in the first place,” Luka reminds him.

“Whatever. That trial's done and we just have to think about what to do next.” Fei makes a face at the grease on her fingers and furiously rubs them into a napkin. “Marinette's aboard the Watchtower now, so we have to do our work down here—”

“Marinette's in the Watchtower?!”

“Yes, Adrien, the JL took her away, remember?”

“Do you think if I turn myself in for fraud, the JL will take me there too?”

“Adrien—”

“What if I say my father's the supervillain, do you think they'll take me? That earns me criminal points, right?”

Kagami delivers a light slap to his arm. “I thought we agreed that you would not joke about that.”

Adrien lets out a huff of defeat, focusing back on his burger. Just then a noise sounds out from above them—looking up, he sees that a vigilante has landed on top of the restaurant, partially cloaked by the night. The figure offers a friendly wave, which Fei snorts at.

“Did we do something?” Adrien whispers as he looks at his friends. “If this is about the camembert stash in our hotel room, I swear to kwamis, it's not me.”

“What does the infamous Red Robin want with us?” Fei yells up at the stranger.

“Oh good. You know me.” Red Robin drops down to a ledge, much closer so they can hear him.

“This is about Marinette, isn't it?” Luka guesses out loud.

The vigilante nods. “The Justice League is conducting its own investigation for her case. I was hoping to hear from you, since you four are her closest friends.”

“What's there to hear from us?” Adrien asks. “I already gave my statements to the court.”

“Before you ask us, we knew nothing about her involvement with the Butterfly miraculous before the whole thing blew up,” Fei supplies firmly.

Red Robin taps his fingers on his leg. Adrien wishes he can see him better, because he's pretty sure the Gothamite is buzzing with eagerness. Entertainment. “This isn't a formal interrogation so I call your bullshit. You're obviously lying.”

“Even if we are, you don't have the evidence for that claim.” Adrien licks the sauce that has gathered on his thumb. “The police already asked us. They got nothing from us.”

“But aren't you concerned that your friend just got thrown into jail?”

Ah. All the while, they've been munching on fast food in a deserted parking lot. Adrien can tell there's something wrong with that picture.

Kagami smiles wryly. “Marinette assured us she'll be fine before she was arrested. Unless the Justice League has turned inhumane and is currently torturing her?”

“No—no, of course not! A handful of the heroes want to prove her innocence, in fact. Don't you want to help out?”

“Even if we do want to fight for her freedom,” Fei replies, “Are you insinuating that we try to break her out of space prison?”

And Luka adds, “Marinette's very stubborn if you haven't seen yourself already. We can't help her if she doesn't want to be helped.”

“Any idea why she's like that?”

The four of them simultaneously shrug.

“So your lips are sealed like hers. Got it.” Red Robin sighs. “Why are you in Gotham?”

“Oh? Did tourists need clearance from the Bats before vacationing in Gotham?” Adrien quips, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I thought you'll be in Paris. Imagine my surprise tracking you down here.”

Fei crosses her arms. “Marinette's trial opened up fresh wounds in that city. Of course anyone would want to escape for a short while.”

“You're not from Paris.”

“I was close enough to Marinette to understand what it was like. I'm from Shanghai, which Hawkmoth also targeted once, in case you haven't done your research.”

“You're having a getaway in Gotham, though. Why in Gotham?”

“Why does that matter?” Adrien rakes a hand through his hair. “If you're concerned about our safety here, don't be. We have experience beating up akumas while half-awake.”

“Actually we wanted to see what's so great about Gotham that Batman chose to neglect Paris all this time,” says Kagami casually.

That seems to have struck a nerve. “We didn't know—!”

“You ignored a city crying for help,” Fei says, “Sorry birdy, but this is a touchy subject if you ask all Parisians. They may have given Marinette to the JL, but everyone still holds a grudge. It's not just us.”

Later on, they finally chase off the talkative bird, but Adrien has grown quiet. While the burger did lift his mood a little, Red Robin's appearance has soured it again. He angrily sips on the last of Fei's drink (which he promises to replace at another time), leaning against one hand on the pavement.

“The nerve of them,” he mutters. “Now I don't want to stay in Gotham anymore. Let's go back to base.”

---

Damian's heart is practically leaping out of his chest. The incidents in Paris and the convicted girl are all the talk in the Wayne manor. At first, he had no mind of looking into it himself until he saw a picture of her.

Before he knows it, he's suited up, headed towards the Zeta tubes and the Watchtower, breathless but persistent. He knows that face from his dreams. He has memorized that girl in his memories. If there is a chance she's alive after all, he doesn't care how; he just needs to confirm it with his own eyes.

Finally he's there and he sees her sitting on the foot of the bed. Her blue eyes widen when they meet his, and she presses herself against the wall when he subconsciously opens up the barrier himself. That's when it dawns on Damian that it is her, it's Marie in the flesh, the girl he killed when he was a child. Overwhelmed with the tightness in his chest, he drops on the ground, trembling.

“Hey, are you okay? What's going on?”

He feels her presence nearby but her voice seems warped, like he's hearing her underwater. He tries to blink his eyes back into focus, only to be met with a hazy double vision. Hot tears run down the sides of his face; he doesn't notice the hands holding onto his arms.

“You—you . . .I don't—” he chokes out.

The voice is closer now. “Stay with me, okay? You're going to be okay. Come on, deep breaths.”

Damian cannot even control himself, which is such a foreign feeling. His body is wracked with sobs as he holds onto her tightly in the fear she'll disappear before him again. He can't form coherent words, nor stop the shaky cries from his throat. It's as if all the grief he's bottled up in his childhood is coming out all at once.

She slowly shushes him. “It's okay. I'm going to touch your back now, is that okay?”

He nods against her shoulder, hearing his heartbeat become less erratic. A small hand presses against his suit and rubs circles on it. He starts to savor the warmth—

“What are you doing?!”

He's suddenly separated from that warmth, but he can't register what's happening. He can hear loud yelling and footsteps rushing, and from the corner of his eye, he catches the movement of his father's cape. Damian whimpers, clutching his head.

“I don't know! He suddenly came in and—”

I needed to see her!

“You used magic on him!”

No, she didn’t harm me. I need to talk to her!

“No, I did not, he's having a panic attack—”

Stop, please—the words seem to dissolve on his lips.

“Stay away from my son!” Damian doesn't know how or when, but he's being carried away from the warmth, from her. His body struggles to break free, but he's forcefully held down. The tears come again, unstoppable as his whole body shakes.

←Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Fun Fact! The idea of Adrien being Marinette's defense lawyer came from a joke between him and Kagami. If you ask Luka, he'll say he had no part in it. They carefully kept the secret from Fei and Marinette until the day of the trial . . . for obvious reasons Taglist: @noisydreamlandkoala

24 notes · View notes

ggomos-maribat · 18 days

Text

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 7: an end and a beginning | AO3

Clark nearly spits out his coffee when he sees a face hovering outside the Watchtower. At first, he thinks of it as a figment of his imagination, brought on by the stress of the current crisis the Justice League is facing. But the longer he looks, the more permanent the figure seems: Chat Noir himself motioning for him to open the nearby hatch.

And he does, while pinging a message to the rest of the members on board.

The first thing he notices is that he can't detect the hero's heartbeat with the suit. His X-ray vision doesn't work either.

The second thing he notices is the similarities between the beaming Chat Noir in front of him and wannabe defense attorney Adrien Agreste are so striking, now that they have ID'd the former Parisian heroes.

“Um—”

Before Clark can gather his words, Chat Noir thrusts a box into his hands—a smoothly-wrapped package complete with the Ladybug spot pattern and a black ribbon around it lined with neon cat paws. “What is . . .?”

“Marinette's clear of charges, right?” Chat asks, the grin not faltering on his face.

“Of course she is,” Clark clears his throat. He picks up on a handful of League members standing just outside the door of the room they're in, perhaps unwilling to disturb the both of them. “We're collating the evidence right now and we'll send them soon to the Parisian government. Since we can't expose her identity, we're building an alibi for her as Ladybug's aide, which should explain why she was tight-lipped during the trial.”

“Right, okay.” Chat points to the box. “We decided to make your jobs easier and send you these. They're all the records, written evidence, and photos pointing to the real identity of Hawkmoth.”

Clark gawks at him.

“Ladybug's only condition is that you don't reveal this to the public.” Chat scratches the back of his head. “Her worry is that people might start blaming those associated with his civilian identity, even if he was working alone most of the time.”

“This—this is—”

“Oh, and I'm not sure how you can punish him on your own ‘cause he's in a coma right now.”

“Huh?” Clark mentally kicks himself at his lack of words, but this seemingly cheerful boy just has no filter.

“Yeah, it sucks. In the final battle, I managed to Cataclysm the actual Butterfly miraculous but then he used it—there are serious consequences if you use a broken miraculous by the way—and then bam. Coma,” the Parisian hero narrates, “We're keeping an eye on him right now but I don't think he's waking up soon. I guess that's his punishment in itself?”

“So . . . this Hawkmoth. Who was he?”

Chat pauses. “Do you know Gabriel Agreste?”

“. . .”

Clark stares at him.

“. . .”

Chat Noir stares back.

“But that's your father!” Clark suddenly exclaims in horror.

“I know right?! It's such a small world!”

Clark doesn't know what to feel. He's seen this before; too often in fact, in Bruce's many children—little bunches of young pent-up trauma masked with lighthearted humor and smiles. He now has half the mind to fly this boy to the nearest therapist.

“Well, if you don't have any more questions, I'll be off!” Chat looks around at the interior design of the Watchtower. “Cool satellite base by the way! I've been wanting to see inside since forever. We only have rocks and broken domes in our base.”

In the blink of an eye—before Clark can think of an excuse to make him stay—he opens up the hatch and flies out into space.

---

Damian steps out into the ruined temple, with Marinette closing the portal behind him. In the daylight, the place looks much friendlier, potentially a historical artwork even if it is half-destroyed. He did not expect to return so soon, but Marinette suddenly visited him in his bedroom, saying that she and the team will be moving soon. She wants to talk one more time as well, since they didn’t have much of the opportunity during the attack.

“What will you do now?” Damian eyes the boxes piled up against the curved wall.

Marinette smiles and stretches her arms. “Now that I’m a free woman?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong in the first place.”

“Killing isn’t wrong?”

“Marinette,” Damian sighs.

“Just teasing.” She smirks. “We’ll be around, don’t worry. There are still links to the Order everywhere.”

“They’re not completely wiped out?”

“You’ll be surprised.” Marinette shakes her head. “It’s a network almost as big as the League of Assassins. They’re not all monks—there are miraculous-adjacent dealers, collectors. All sorts of people. We’ll be infiltrating and destroying the adjacents.”

Damian figures it’s a problem the Justice League can look into too, but she assures him that it’s her responsibility to deal with and she’ll be using her powers for miraculous-related attacks only. He knows the JL is looking to recruit her but they’ll have to be utterly shameless to ask that of her. Fortunately, the heroes are giving their attention to Paris’ rehabilitation instead.

“They haven’t given a formal apology to you yet.” He crosses his arms. “Father will be given my cold shoulder for an entire month for that.”

“That’s because I haven’t responded to their calls,” she laughs. “They can say sorry when they see me by chance but I think they’ve learned their lesson.”

He remembers the JL facing public backlash about imprisoning an innocent when they finally publicized the (half-true) evidence supporting Marinette as an aide and not a villain. He hasn’t seen his father that overwhelmed by guilt, not to mention the other Justice League members. Barbara even reported once that even Constantine is looking for a talisman to guard himself from miraculous magic (which Adrien and Marinette found absolutely hilarious when the news reached them).

“Tt. They have not.”

“How stubborn, habibi.”

Damian feels his cheeks go warm.

He clears his throat. “Will you keep in contact while you’re away?”

“Of course! I can give you my number. Your phone?” She holds out her hand.

He stares at her dumbfoundedly before digging through his pocket to lend her his phone. Marinette chuckles while typing. “What? You think we won’t use phones while traveling the world?”

“N—no . . . I just thought it would have been confiscated when you were arrested.”

“It did, but Kagami and Luka kindly stole it back for me when I was in prison.” She gives back his phone. “It does have classified information after all.”

While Damian tries to control his grin at having her number (which none of his siblings nor Barbara probably have!) he’s suddenly enveloped in a tight hug. He freezes, but instinctively places his hands on her waist.

“You’ve come so far, Damian, I’m happy for you,” she whispers against the crook of his neck. “Thank you for trusting me again.”

“I thought you were gone.”

“I know. I’m sorry. ” Her grip tightens. “I’ll stay this time. I promise.”

←Previous Chapter

That wraps up Soul-Stitching! Thanks so much for reading this fic <3 I know there are plot points I didn't get to address in the story, but in case you were wondering: 1. How did Fu get the Miraculi, and later on give the jewels to Marinette and Adrien? Marinette was able to destroy the Order, but not all of them so some had escaped with the real miraculi and a whole stock of adjacents. They reestablished a stronghold elsewhere, the whole Feast thing still happened, but Fu didn't know about the Guardian well enough and unknowingly gave the earrings to Marinette (later on proclaiming her as guardian, as with canon). However, the Peacock and Butterfly were pawned off to Gabey beforehand, and therefore were already missing from the box before Fu had them. 2. If Marinette was so powerful as the Guardian, why did it still take years to find Hawkmoth? Marinette's powerful, but she didn't have full knowledge or control over all the powers yet. Plus, a real miraculous' power is on par with hers, so it was still hard to defeat HM despite that. If I missed anything else (nope, you didn't see that!) , please feel free to ask in the comments.

Taglist: @noisydreamlandkoala

23 notes · View notes

ggomos-maribat · 20 days

Text

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 5: death and revival | AO3

CW: Human experimentation, mentions of religion, cult-like behavior, child abuse, childhood trauma, mentions of death, grief, killing, blood, violence, injury

“Adrien, why are you screaming—oh.” A girl steps up to the top floor, and her face instantly morphs into disgust when she sees him. Her hand reaches up to her choker necklace. “It’s him.”

“Who?” The boy, Adrien, turns to her wide-eyed after stepping over the spilled milk and cereal.

“Damian al Ghul. Or should we address you as Wayne?”

Damian takes a tentative step back, looking down on himself to realize that he rushed out of Gotham without a mask on. But his head snaps up when it dawns on him that the girl called him ‘al Ghul’, which means they must have heard it from Marie.

Which means she hasn't forgotten.

“ That Damian?” Adrien puts a hand over his mouth. “Wait what's he doing here anyway?”

“I don't know, but it might have something to do with that thing she's telling us.”

Before Damian can try to comprehend what that meant, another figure emerges from the shadows.

Marie. Marinette.

What is she doing here? Damian is frozen with shock.

Marie seems surprised by his presence as well, but she quickly schools her expression and stands behind her two friends.

“Should we kick him out, M'lady?” Adrien frowns.

She sighs. “No. I'll talk to him. Kagami, please help Adri clean up the spill. I'll pass a message to Fei that we have a guest.”

---

Damian follows her quietly down a winding flight of stairs, with only a bit of the moonlight guiding them. His eyes end up on her hand, which braces against the wall—there are crimson marks around her wrist. When she doesn't utter another word, he breaks the silence himself instead, “What are you doing here?”

She halts and turns back to him, making him stumble back. Her eyes shimmer more luminously in the dark. “I escaped for a while. There's a decoy up in the Watchtower.”

That explains one of the questions he had. She can escape on her own after all. Of course, he's not telling the others this. She must have been shaken up after the memory projection.

They reach a landing that extends into a carpeted hallway. If the place isn't so dark or badly damaged, the temple's design can rival that of the League. She leads him to a set of double doors and into her bedroom.

“What are you doing here?” asks Marinette.

“I—I saw what they did . . . and um, the Order . . .” He trails off, hoping that she can fill in the blanks.

She sits down and beckons him over. Normally, he wouldn't blindly follow anyone, even if he has known her in his childhood. But something about the temple makes him feel safe. It's not enticing , but rather comforting. It's like his entire being knows there's no danger around him.

“If you're looking for the Order of the Guardians, I killed them,” she says plainly.

“What?”

“I guess I should start from the beginning huh?”

---

The Waynes decide to give Damian his space and instead focus on investigating the case. Mainly, it's Barbara immersing herself into research, with Tim helping in the sidelines. Five hours later, she calls everyone to the cave.

“Where's the old man?” Jason strolls in, tugging off his helmet.

Dick pulls his lips into a thin line. “Watchtower still. I think the JL is investigating on their own too.”

“Well, he has to be here, ‘cause this is all fucked up.” Jason leans against the railing as the rest of the family gathers around Barbara.

“What do you mean? You're caught up in this case too?” Tim is about to lift his cup to his lips but Cass is quick to snatch it away from him.

“I asked Jay to look into it too,” Barbara explains calmly. Her tiredness is evident in her eyes, but it's coupled with an air of rage. “Marinette's past is more complicated than we think.”

“There is a small village in Tibet inherently blessed by the gods. The records date to several hundred years ago,” she begins. “Every two decades or so, a child called the ‘Guardian’ is born in that village. They possess every power we know that is manifested through the miraculi.”

She pulls up several pictures: a few photos of children, but most are paintings. A striking feature appears as a pattern. “The Guardian always has these blue eyes. They're not from any specific family; the children appear randomly from different lineages. And there can only be one of them at a time. If the previous Guardian dies, a new one is reborn.”

---

“My eyes . . .”

“They weren't as blue,” Damian breathes out.

Marinette touches the corner of her eyes, chuckling humorlessly. “Yeah, they weren't. This is where the Order of the Guardians come in. They operate under the guise of a religious group who worship the Guardian and the gods so that tragedy doesn't befall the village. Every time a new Guardian turns four, they fetch the child from the village.”

---

“In reality, they're just a sick disgusting cult of old men,” Jason spits out. “People who know about the miraculi believe that they came from a mage that put the power of the kwamis into the magic jewel. That's bull. The Guardian is the source of that power.”

Stephanie draws in a shaky breath. “So . . . so when they were drawing blood . . .”

“It's some kind of ritual,” Barbara continues. The tension in the air multiplies. “With magic, the blood mixed with an accessory creates a miraculous.”

“But each miraculous is only one of its kind,” Dick points out. “Unless there are duplicates?”

“The ritual doesn't work all the time, that's why they have to—to experiment which methods will work to combine the jewel with the power.”

---

Damian swallows a lump in his throat as Marinette speaks monotonously about the Order. “The monks weren't strategizers so they usually tried every variation of the ritual they could think of. For instance, to extract the power of Emotion—the Peacock—should they make the Guardian cry? Should they anger the child or subject them into an assortment of emotions? What about the power of Destruction? Will breaking every bone in their body work?”

He hasn't noticed how hard he's clutching the sheets.

“Multiply that with the variations in the jewels. Which power will work with earrings? A necklace? That's one vial of blood for each variation.” Marinette rubs her arm. “Over the course of seventy years, they ran their experiments and created all the miraculi you know that showed up in Paris.”

“That's why they're unique,” Damian mumbles.

“Not entirely. Some of the ‘failed’ jewels worked, only they don't possess even half of the Guardian's power. They are like . . . disposable miraculi. Their power can only be used once and it doesn't even transform the user. The Order produced hundreds of these—they call them miraculous-adjacents.”

How many children did they sacrifice? He wishes he can revive the Order just to subject them to torture himself.

“How did you end up in . . .?”

---

“How does Marinette fit into all of this?” Dick asks.

“She's a Guardian, isn't she?” Tim guesses.

“It's not as straightforward as that.” Barbara adjusts her glasses, opening another file: a picture of a dark-haired girl with bright blue eyes.

Yet it's not Marinette.

“Like you saw in the memory projection, Marinette came from the League of Assassins. There's a League base not too far from the temple; it's where she and Damian escaped from. When she died, I'm guessing they found her body. This girl was the Guardian at that time.”

---

“She didn't have a name. Guardians usually weren't given one. She fell into a coma because of their experiments,” Marinette leans back.

“Did they not kill her?”

“They can't draw any more blood or directly kill her, because they risk waiting for years until a new Guardian is born. I don't know the exact rebirth cycle—the life expectancies of Guardians are already low but that girl was too young to die. Bottomline is, they refused to kill her but they couldn't wake her up either.” Marinette waves her hands around. “Lucky for them I guess, they found me.”

Dread settles on Damian's chest. “But you . . .”

“Were dead? Yes, but I had the body strong enough to withstand the Guardian's power. They performed one important ritual. I'm not sure exactly how they did it, because I was—obviously–busy being dead, but they joined the two of us somehow. Her soul, my body. When I woke up, everything was healed–my leg, the wound from the knife, my scars. I had memories that weren't my own but at the same time, I knew I lived through them. They called me a vessel.”

He can only imagine the confusion, the stress taking a toll on her that time.

“You—you don't have to tell me if it's too much,” Damian stammers.

“What? No, it's okay. I owe you this much.” She seems surprised at his interjection. “I've told this story a few times already.”

He gives a nod and she continues, “Even if I was healed, I was still weak from the cold and hunger. I stayed quiet the whole time, gathered as much information as I could, and let them get blood from me. One day, I saw an opening.”

She pauses.

“I killed them.”

She waits. Perhaps for judgment from him?

“I killed them all, Master. I had all the powers at my disposal anyway. I knew I was an assassin first before a Guardian, so I made sure I got rid of all of them. I made this temple into what it is today.”

Damian remembers seeing the powers of Destruction manifested through the ring in the videos of the akuma attacks. She must wield a greater degree of power than that. He moves closer to her and takes her hands into his, telling her slowly, “I would've done the same.”

“Master–”

“Do not call me that,” he cuts in. “You cannot call me that after what I've done to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“It's my fault you died.” Damian starts to shake. “I treated you terribly even when you protected me. I was too arrogant to see that you were in pain—”

“What are you talking about?” Marinette frowns, this time covering his hands with hers. “You never treated me badly. You were the reason I remained in the League.”

“I . . .”

She runs her fingers over his knuckles. “You protected me even if I was weak. You made sure I ate and slept. You would protect me in fights just as I tried to protect you.”

---

“Climb on my back.” Damian crouches in front of the girl. He has noticed her labored breaths since they started walking through the snow.

“Master, I can't possibly—”

“It's faster this way. They made you work too hard, didn't they?” he hisses. “I will tell Mother this time. You have no other business in the bases except to serve me.”

Marie reluctantly goes on his back, locking her arms around his neck and burying his face on his shoulder. His breath hitches when he realizes how light she has become.

---

“Why are you sitting over there?”

She blinks at him. “To guard the entrance, Master. You can go ahead and sleep.”

“No. Stay here by the fire.”

“But what if the enemies—”

Damian sighs and digs into the backpack to retrieve the heat packs. He tosses two to her and tells her to wake him up at midnight so they can switch. But when he wakes up, he finds that it is dawn and Marie has dozed off by the cave opening, shivering.

“Tt. Foolish girl.” He rushes to wrap her up in a blanket before carrying her into the sleeping bag and taking her place.

---

“Marie!” Overcome with panic, he kills the assassin quickly and tosses him over the edge of the cliff. He tries to look for the backpack but then she grabs him by the sleeve.

“I'm sorry, Master . . . it fell when I was . . .” she sniffs.

“Ssh, none of that.” His heart is racing as he tries to look for a makeshift bandage and splint.

“Please don't worry about me. We have to go—”

“I will worry. What were you thinking? Why didn't you wake me?” He hoists her up again, taking care not to move her injured foot.

---

“Master—I mean Damian. ” Marinette reaches up to cup his cheek. “Have you forgotten?”

A sob comes out of him. It all starts coming back—his dreams have overshadowed his memories, painting him as the ruthless child who was indifferent to Marie. He was too overridden by guilt to remember correctly. He starts to cry while inwardly scolding himself for forgetting everything.

She doesn't say a word but lends her shoulder, holding him close. Damian realizes it has never felt this liberating to cry.

“I never blamed you for anything,” she whispers. “I did it to myself.”

“I’m sorry—”

“It's not your fault.” Her voice is close to his ear. “It's okay. I'm okay now.”

---

“There's no record of what happened to Marinette after she was taken by the Order,” says Jason, “But after a year or so, she was found walking into the village alone. There was no blood on her or anything but she didn't speak at all. The monks weren't seen again after that and the temple was abandoned. Protective services picked her up months later.”

“This is all just a theory, but she could have gained the powers of the Guardian.” Barbara rubs her head. “Must be why Constantine was so alarmed.”

“So the Hawkmoth thing . . . actually checks out?” Stephanie says.

Jason scoffs in reply. “No, it's the opposite of that. If she had the powers of the miraculi at her disposal, why the hell would she terrorize a city?”

“Jason and I found another reason for the evidence against her,” Barbara explains. “Marinette is the Guardian in the sense of her powers, but also in the sense of being the keeper of the magical jewels.”

“Marinette is—”

---

“I'm Ladybug, by the way.”

Damian's eyes widen while he tries to wipe the last of his tears. “Why didn't you say that in court?”

“We had a plan, don't worry.” She smiles a little. “It's also dangerous to reveal my identity that easily. I have more duties to fulfill as Guardian.”

“Duties?”

←Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Did I just make Marinette Gojo Satoru? Yes. Yes I did. Taglist: @noisydreamlandkoala

22 notes · View notes

ggomos-maribat · 1 month

Text

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 2: the innocent and the guilty | AO3

CW: Mentions of trauma, childhood trauma, and bullying

This is in no way an accurate depiction of a real court trial!! My inspiration comes from k-dramas, Ace Attorney, Danganronpa and Legally Blonde!! Similarities to real-life cases a purely coincidental!! Thank you!!

It is often noticed by any visitor of Paris that the city has changed in the few years of war with a magical terrorist. The sullen mood is palpable, even more so as citizens begin to file into the Court of Cassation. The fight with Hawkmoth has concluded since one year ago already, yet the topic is rarely brought up, only made known through hushed whispers. At least, that is what Clark discovers after spending a casual day in the city.

He adjusts his glasses whilst looking up at the graying pillars of the building. It's an important case to cover, both as a reporter and a member of the Justice League—easily two birds with one stone. Clark is no Bruce Wayne but he can be a detective of his own. That's what a journalist is already, anyways. And judging by the flock of Parisians entering, it seems that this trial is important to them. He sees faces of unspoken trauma, some out for a sort of vengeance, some quietly remembering what it was like during the reign of akumas. When he finally takes his seat inside the grandiose courtroom, there is nothing but an air of somberness.

The layout is as per usual: the judge high up, front and center; a witness stand beside him; a jury off to the side; and two tables on opposite sides for defense and prosecution. The things most different are the bulky cameras standing at the edge of the room, manned by the local reporters to document the entire thing. The important people have not arrived, however, and in the meantime, Clark decides to scribble on a small notebook.

The facts of the case are baffling, persuading Clark that he has to see the trial himself. To make a sound judgment, he doesn't need only evidence but the people's opinion as well.

A sharp hush washes over the courtroom as the double doors at the front open up. The judge, a sharp-nosed old man, heads the parade, followed by the prosecution and the defendant escorted by police and the bailiff. The accused walks with conserved grace although her hands are bound in thick handcuffs. The prison uniform falls loosely around her thin frame as she looks around curiously.

“Monsieur Blanchard.” The judge pinches the bridge of his nose. “Where is our defendant's lawyer?”

“It seems that Kingston has backed out of this one, Your Honor,” Blanchard replies, not hiding a snicker in his tone.

“Then who—”

“Wait, wait, I'm here!” The doors from the back fly open, turning many heads. In runs not the pot-bellied Kingston, but instead a young man fixing his tie with one hand and carrying a bulky briefcase in the other.

“I'm here. Sorry I'm late.” The man smiles sheepishly, as if he had just been tardy for a class. But his grin is unfairly charming, shining brightly like the sun.

“A—Adrien Agreste?” The judge does a double take. “You are the defense attorney?”

“Yes sir.” Adrien’s grin widens. He proudly shows off the badge clipped to his suit, and a license that Clark is certain is fake. “It's my first ever case but I hope I do well.”

Murmurs go over the crowd.

Even the defendant herself looks genuinely surprised at his presence.

Clark doesn't know if the judge is an idiot, or just doesn't want to prolong the trial any further, but the old man simply accepts Adrien's position as the defense representative. Meanwhile, Adrien is still beaming—not even in the confident manner like in the belief that his win is guaranteed. His expression is quite innocent, like he doesn't quite grasp how heavy the situation is.

“We will begin now.” The judge swings his gavel. “Respectable citizens of Paris, we are gathered here today to hear the case of Mlle. Marinette Dupain-Cheng, who is on trial for terrorizing the city for six long years as the supervillain Hawkmoth. The prosecution may now give its opening statement.”

“Thank you, Your Honor,” Blanchard clears his throat. “On the eighteenth of June there was a series of calls coming from Rue Lepic, reporting suspicious behavior from an apartment complex. Specifically, bright beams of ‘magical’ light, multiple loud noises, and white butterflies coming out of a window. This suspicious person was found to be Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, an occupant of the unit in the fifth floor, however upon the inquiry of the police she was uncooperative. After multiple complaints, a search warrant was ordered and police found multiple pieces of evidence in Mlle. Dupain-Cheng's apartment.”

“If you direct your attention to the screen here . . .” Blanchard motioned with his hand. “We found several blueprints depicting ‘an underground butterfly lair’, a list of akumatized civilians, and detailed plans to obtain Ladybug and Chat Noir's miraculi. Ladies and gentlemen, I don't think much explanation is needed; the defendant is undoubtedly the villain Hawkmoth!”

An uproar reverberates in the courtroom which the judge silences again.

“That does seem conclusive.” The judge nods. “Does the defense have anything to say?”

“Yes.” Adrien takes the floor, holding up a piece of paper and putting one hand on his hip. “I think we're missing one big point here.” He points at the TV screen, which switches to a masked photo of Hawkmoth. “This is Hawkmoth! He's a grown man and no way a young woman, much less my client. You say that you found evidence in my client's apartment, which could just be circumstantial evidence. The butterflies? My client might be an entomologist.”

“I must object, Monsieur Agreste, but these are baseless arguments.” Blanchard raises an eyebrow. “We all know that the miraculi grant a ‘glamor’, a magical protection that makes holders unidentifiable with the mask on. This has been explained by Ladybug and Chat Noir a few times, and we have also witnessed its concealing power when their ally holders were revealed by Miracle Queen.”

The mustached prosecutor huffs. “And as far as I have gathered, the defendant does not dabble in entomology. Rather, she's had a keen interest in fashion designing.”

“As seen in the revealed holders’ profiles, the glamor does hide their identities but it does not change, in any way, their build, gender, and age,” Adrien argues.

“Even so, we cannot be certain that the defendant is not behind the terrorist's mask. The magic must work in ways we do not understand; Mlle. Dupain-Cheng must have manipulated her appearance to a greater degree. The other documents—the blueprints and plans, are the supporting pieces of evidence.”

“That's another point I want to make,” Adrien begins, “There is limited information about the miraculi that is publicly known. We're going off by statements Ladybug and Chat Noir have made previously, but you cannot convict anyone of being Hawkmoth without their presence right here, since only they can give the confirmation about who's the villain and who's not.”

The crowd stirs at the mention of the two heroes, which Blanchard seemingly notes. “Unfortunately, those two have gone missing in action ever since Hawkmoth ceased attacks one year ago, effectively denying the people of Paris a formal declaration of the end of the battle as well as the identity of the villain. Ergo, we truly do not know if they've defeated him, if he was rightfully punished, or if he had only retreated into the shadows without the heroes ever finding his real identity.” He scoffs. “But today, we have a suspect and clear evidence right in front of us. Why must we wait for these ‘heroes’ before we act?”

Half of the people make sounds of agreement, while others direct their annoyance at the defense attorney. For the umpteenth time, the judge brings down his gavel.

“Yes,” the judge sighs, “Monsieur Agreste, we have tried coordinating with the mayor to contact Ladybug and Chat Noir for this case, however there is no sign of them. Our concern in this case is the defendant's identity regardless of whether the heroes would deem her guilty.”

“But—”

“If you have a way to bring the heroes to the witness stand, I will be happy to postpone this trial.”

Adrien pouts and shakes his head, clearly unequipped with such a method.

“The prosecution will now present further arguments.”

“Very well, Your Honor.” Blanchard sweeps his gaze towards the other table. “I would like to call the defendant, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, to the witness stand.”

Everyone watches the petite girl as she is guided to the stand beside the judge and swear the oath. Unlike the majority in the position of an accused, she doesn't wear a gloomy face, or worry, or fear. Marinette's expression is just . . . unfazed. Almost cheery, even. In addition to that, she's eerily calm—no nervous ticks or excessive babbling.

“Mlle. Dupain-Cheng.” An air of exasperation surrounds Blanchard when he stands in front of the defendant, as if he has gone through this a thousand times. “Will you be cooperative in answering my few questions for you?”

She gives a small smile. A smile. “Yes, of course. I'll try my best.”

“Right . . .” Blanchard reads off a piece of paper. “First, regarding Monsieur Agreste's statement. Have you been practicing entomology recently?”

Her eyebrows furrow. “No, not really. I've just been designing.”

“In that case, how would you explain the butterflies witnessed by your neighbors and found in your apartment?”

“I've been keeping them there.”

“For what purpose?”

“I can't tell you.”

Blanchard doesn't say anything, as a way of telling everyone: ‘see how difficult it is to get through her?’ He switches to another topic. “How do you explain the blueprints and akuma plans found in your apartment? They tie you directly to Hawkmoth.”

“Yes, they're incriminating, aren't they?” Marinette chirps. “But you should understand that I can't tell you the reasons. They're just there.”

“Are you Hawkmoth?”

“No, of course not.”

“Do you have anything to say to at least prove you're not? Evidence?”

She thinks for a moment. “Something tangible? No, nothing I can show you.”

“Do you have companions in your apartment who may have planted those papers?”

“No, I live alone.”

Blanchard turns to the judge. “As you can see, the defendant denies the accusation, but ambiguously. Since she doesn't provide a clear alibi, we can only rely on the current evidence which points to her guilt.”

Marinette is quickly ushered away from the witness stand and Adrien is given his turn to speak again.

“It is reasonable for my client to deny those accusations . . . because masquerading as a villain isn't her at all. Let me tell you that all of Marinette's friends and family will vouch for her kindness; in both le collège and le lycèe, she was an excellent student academically, and a dedicated volunteer in her extracurriculars. Not to mention, she regularly sells her creations for charity. If you look at her school records, her worst offenses are just tardies; she did have a case of theft which, under the proper investigation, you would find she was framed for and one instance of expulsion that was retracted. Nonetheless, this girl couldn't have been an emotional terrorist in any way.” Adrien takes a deep breath after his spiel.

“There are other concerning points in her behavior. Several of her former classmates as well as her parents, have recounted Mlle. Dupain-Cheng disappearing at random times, which always coincided with the instances of akuma attacks,” Blanchard rebuts.

“My client becomes anxious during akuma attacks. It's just a coincidence.”

“Unfortunately, the defendant has been seen interacting with suspicious individuals as well.” Blanchard clasps his hands behind his back. “Your Honor, may I call another witness to the stand?”

With the judge's permission, a civilian is called into the stand: a woman just about the defense's age, wearing a pencil skirt with her long sleek hair cascading down her back. Clark swears he hears Adrien mumble ‘ew, hell no’ using his superhuman hearing.

“This is Mlle. Lila Bianca Rossi,” Blanchard introduces, “Former classmate and acquaintance to Mlle. Dupain-Cheng. She has some . . . notable observations about the defendant.”

Now Clark knows he hadn't imagined Adrien's comment. The defense attorney has his jaw clenched tightly, with no concealed disdain for the witness. But Marinette's expression doesn't mirror his; she only has her head tilted in confusion. With a hint of amusement perhaps.

“Mlle. Rossi, please enlighten us with the defendant's apparent change in behavior during collège and lycèe,” Blanchard requests.

“I regret standing here to testify against my classmate.” Rossi throws a look of pity at Marinette, folding one hand on top of the other. “But she had this . . . this shift in attitude all of a sudden. I was a transfer student in our school, Francois Dupont. From the way our classmates looked up to Marinette, I can tell that she's the consistent role model. But then—no one knows why—but she suddenly became distant and irritable. She even verbally harassed some of us even if we didn't do anything to her.”

“Is there anything about her that leads you to believe that she is Hawkmoth?”

“I saw something, a couple of times, in the park near her family's bakery.” The witness frowns. “There's a strange car that passed by a bench she was sitting on and . . . it looked like she was talking to someone inside. It didn't look like any of our classmates’ cars, and they looked pretty secretive about it.”

“Do you remember anything about these people who talked to the defendant?”

Rossi taps her lips. “I'm sorry, monsieur, I don't remember very clearly. The first instance was a man . . . I think, and after that it was a middle-aged woman. I do remember the woman wearing glasses and this bird-shaped pin on her chest. It stood out against her blue jacket.” She fiddles with her thumbs. “At—at first, I didn't think much of it and I didn't want to pry into Marinette's business, but now that I think about it, it was very suspicious.”

“Does this mean, Mlle. Rossi, that you speculate that woman to be Mayura?”

“I—I can't say for sure, but if you ask me, that seems to be the most likely explanation.”

Blanchard nods understandingly as more murmurs litter around from the audience. “For the information of everyone here, by the way, I have questioned the defendant about this matter prior to the trial. Like earlier, she denies everything the witness recounted.”

He faces Adrien. “Even if it is ‘unlikely’ for someone like the defendant to become a villain, we should acknowledge that people can have ill intentions despite a saintly image. Moreover, even if Mlle. Dupain-Cheng is not Hawkmoth as you claim, it is an undeniable fact that she is associated with him.”

Adrien heaves out a long sigh, stepping beside Blanchard in front of Rossi. “Monsieur Prosecutor, may I interrogate your witness?”

Blanchard nods. “Be my guest. As long as she consents.”

“Mlle. Rossi.” Adrien's tone drips with his strange dislike for the woman. “I don't even know how you ended up as a witness here and to be honest your crimes need a separate trial of their own—”

This earns indignant gasps from the audience.

“—but for now, let's dissect your testimony. You said you witnessed my client here speaking with suspicious people. When exactly was this?”

“Lycèe. Seconde,” Rossi coolly replies.

“Do you remember the appearance of the car that approached my client?”

“It was black . . . fancy with tinted windows.”

“A Bugatti, would you say?”

“Yes, yes a Bugatti. I remember it was that kind of car.”

A tight smile graces the lawyer's face. “What made the encounter you witnessed suspicious?”

“Before the car came, Marinette kept looking around as if she didn't want anyone to see. I never heard what they were talking about, but it seemed pretty serious. They were always whispering and when the car left, Marinette pretended as if nothing happened and went straight to her house.” Rossi shifts around a little.

“Is this your only basis for treating it as something suspicious?”

“Well—”

“Does that mean, Mlle. Rossi, that any two people conversing secretly are already planning magical terrorist attacks?”

“I—I just thought it fits Marinette's identity as Hawkmoth!” Rossi defends.

“It fits conveniently with that explanation, but it also fits with my explanation.” Adrien shrugs. “During this time, seconde—we were fifteen—my father, the designer Gabriel Agreste, started secretly commissioning the defendant here as a design collaborator for his brand. My father wanted to keep it under wraps because it's the only way to make her agree. Unfortunately, they can only discuss the details in person and through Father's assistant, Nathalie, because Mlle. Dupain-Cheng's email has been repeatedly hacked by her harassers and competition. They were particularly fond of taking the Bugatti around the city even if it was so conspicuous. If you request it, Your Honor, I can definitely retrieve the documents of that same agreement right now.”

Clark notices that Adrien throws a pointed look at Rossi when he utters ‘harassers’.

The judge hums. “We will cross check this as evidence later.”

“Of course.” Adrien nods. “Now that we've established that Mlle. Rossi had just misunderstood the situation, I think she's now pretty useless as a witness. What do you have to say, Monsieur Prosecutor?”

The judge quietly relays his disapproval at Adrien for being rude to the witness, but motions at Blanchard to speak.

“I believe I've yet to present the most incriminating evidence.” The look in Blanchard's eyes is menacing. “This morning, we did one final search inside the defendant's apartment. And we found this.”

The screen flashes to show a familiar purple brooch: two pairs of wings emerging from a shiny jewel. It draws out the loudest reaction from the audience yet.

Adrien gawks and turns to his client, who shrugs and shakes her head.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the Butterfly miraculous. The very magical artifact Hawkmoth used to control Paris with fear. We have found this in Mlle. Dupain-Cheng's bedroom and it has her fingerprints on it as well.”

“How certain are you that it's the real thing?” Adrien questions, rubbing his head.

“It is unusable at the moment. If you look closely, there is a crack at the bottom, which must be why it is deactivated,” Blanchard says, “We are in the process of reaching out to a magic user who can verify its properties.”

“You have used the evidence and my client's past behavior as bases for her guilt, but I have a question for the prosecution.” The defense lawyer looks agitated now, as if the brooch is one thing he hasn't accounted for. “What could be my client's motive for terrorizing Paris? Why did she stop?”

“As you saw earlier, the defendant can be quite uncooperative, so it's difficult to deduce a motive or an explanation for the disappearance for now. If you are so convinced that Mlle. Dupain-Cheng is not Hawkmoth, do you have another candidate for someone who might be?”

Adrien shares a look with Marinette. “Um . . . er—no . . .”

“Though I cannot present what her motive might be, I have a clue in the reasons behind Mlle. Dupain-Cheng's actions. Her resortion to villainy may be a product of repressed childhood trauma.”

Adrien visibly stiffens and pales.

“I have done my own investigation and found that Sabine Cheng and Tom Dupain are not the defendant's biological parents,” Blanchard declares. “She was brought into the foster system at the age of eight, and then adopted at nine. According to her former psychologist, she does not have any memories prior to her relocation to Paris, which may be from a traumatic experience. It is not impossible, then, that she may have psychological . . . tendencies, prompting her manipulation of others’ emotions through the Butterfly miraculous.”

“That's not—”

“Definitive? I agree, but the chance is not zero.”

Clark is stunned down to his core. The judge and the jury were unswayed by the defense's counter arguments—they had just declared Marinette guilty, and the length of her sentence is currently in the talks. He has watched the entire trial to gain clarity on the case, but he’s becoming more perplexed by the situation. Marinette Dupain-Cheng's behavior is already strange in itself, but so is Adrien's. It seems that he has purposely withheld information—he doesn't even try to argue with Blanchard's closing statements or fight for a lighter punishment.

He adjusts his tie. He still can't wrap his head around a single girl terrorizing Paris for six years, but the evidence is pretty solid. And said girl doesn't even mind being thrown into prison at all.

He even catches the conversation after the verdict was announced: Adrien apologizes to her, but she merely pats his back, smiles, and tells him that she's off to a long vacation. She says it so casually, that Clark doesn't believe it's a crazy woman speaking.

Clark stands up to approach Blanchard and get a more detailed statement, but he suddenly stops in his tracks.

He hears them before the doors burst open. Oh no.

“We'll take her from here.” Batman strides into the courtroom, flanked by Wonder Woman, the Flash, Zatanna, and Green Arrow at his sides.

←Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Fun Fact! Instead of Marinette, it was actually Adrien who started to dabble in entomology after Hawkmoth's defeat Taglist: @noisydreamlandkoala

23 notes · View notes

ggomos-maribat · 23 days

Text

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 4: freedom and imprisonment | AO3

CW: Depictions of (physical and mental) child abuse , childhood trauma, mentions of (human) experimentation, cult-like behavior, blood, violence

Marinette hasn't felt idiotic in a long while. After the Bats took away Robin and stuck the special cuffs to her wrists, she tries to think why the young hero suddenly burst in like that. She pities him, truly—he looked extremely pained when she saw her. She's sure she hasn't inadvertently used any magic on him, not that she even has the ability to do that to a person. At first, she considers that he might have some connection to Paris and the akumas, but that can't be possible.

She recalls him to the best of her memory: there are swords sticking out his back, dark hair, eyes concealed by the domino mask, marks on his hands, his tight grip on her. The swords on his back . . . twin swords with a . . . familiar hilt?

What.

Her hands fall limply to her sides as she sucks in a breath. That must be it.

Marinette jumps up and begins pacing around the room. Nevermind that encounter looked horrible in Batman's eyes, as well the other League members. Perhaps enough to aggravate her guilty position. This definitely complicates things on her end but kwamis know she'll be killed first before being able to approach within ten feet of Damian al Ghul.

For a few days, she isn't brought out for interrogation again but she hasn't missed the dirty looks from anyone who passed by her cell. On the bright side, she doesn't get to interact with the other heroes that much. On the other hand, she has a sinking feeling that something worse is to come.

One day, while she's sitting near the locked barrier, she senses someone approaching. Someone new who hasn't come by before.

“Hey.” She taps on the translucent barrier. “Black Canary, right?”

The blonde woman looks surprised at her sudden greeting. “Yes . . .?”

“You have expertise in psychology?”

She casts a look of suspicion. “How did you know that?”

“I heard other heroes talking about you,” Marinette explains. “Red Robin and Nightwing I think. They were wondering if you could examine me. They're still undecided on that part, but I figured I'd get ahead and jump the gun. Can—can I ask you something?”

Black Canary doesn't hide her skepticism, but she comes closer after one look at her cuffs.

“I haven't had the chance to talk to a therapist because of the akuma thing and all.” She rambles, waving her covered hands. “Plus with my background, you can see I'm emotionally troubled.”

“What do you mean 'because of the akuma thing’?” She asks.

Marinette's pretty sure she's trying to squeeze information from her which breaches some medical ethics. But she doesn't mind.

“Trying to . . . find an outlet during those times risks triggering negative emotions for an akuma. Basically, we couldn't talk about our feelings at all, unless we were at a safe distance away from Paris. If you don't believe me, you should look up the time a therapist got akumatized.”

Marinette ignores the look of horror on her face. “But that's not what I wanted to talk about. I was wondering . . . can repressed memories come back?”

The heroine doesn't say anything for a while. Marinette begins to think that she shouldn't have asked that question.

“Yes, they can. Usually, if there is a significant trigger linked to the cause of trauma,” Black Canary says carefully. “A sight, a smell, sound, event—anything can bring it back. Sometimes it happens all at once, sometimes little by little.”

“Ah . . .”

“Have you regained memories from your childhood?”

“Uhh, sure, something like that. How do I know they're not fake?”

“You would have to consider something tangible to verify the truth of your memories. It helps if another person can help piece things together with you.”

It's not my memories, Marinette wants to say.

“Thanks. I don't know what to do yet, but that helps. I have another question—”

“Stand back, we don't know what she's doing to you.” A sharp voice cuts in. That's when Marinette notices that more people have joined them: the magic-wielding Zatanna, as well as the big Bat himself scowling at her. But the man trailing behind them grabs her attention. She's heard of him, but it's the first time she's actually seen him in person.

She does a once over at the unkempt look and long brown trench coat. “John Constantine.”

Constantine freezes in his tracks when he lays his eyes on her. His tired expression shifts to a stony one as he utters one word. “ No. ”

“What do you mean, ‘no’?” Zatanna asks.

“Z, don't you see the kid?” He hisses.

“Does she have magical powers outside of the miraculous?” Batman steps towards him. “We have to know if she's Paris’ villain.”

Constantine scoffs. “Villain or not , you do not want to get on her bad side. Can't tell what she is but she's leaking a lot of magical aura right now.” He looks at her more intently. “Miraculous power. I'm out. I'm not dealing with this shit right now.”

“Miraculous power?” Zatanna repeats. “But I never sensed it aside from the traces.”

“She's hidden it from you, obviously.”

“Oops,” Marinette whispers, dropping her cover to bare her full aura to the heroine. She stares at her in shock.

“You cannot back out of this, Constantine. We need to pry information from her,” Batman grabs the other man's arm.

“What about that Martian of yours?”

“He can't get through her.”

Constantine shrugs him off. “Leave me out of this then. You're messing with something greater than all of you.”

Marinette blinks. She doesn't expect him to back out that easily, but at least he acknowledges the degree of her power, which she herself hasn't fully understood. She makes a mental note to ask him for advice next time.

“What do you mean?” Black Canary asks. “She hasn't done anything here. She can't. We had her in handcuffs ever since Robin . . .”

“That's because she chooses to,” the man responds. “Don't you see? Those handcuffs can't bind her powers.”

----

“Fuck you, John Constantine,” Marinette grumbles under her breath.

Because of the occult detective's wonderful remark, the JL has sounded a metaphorical alarm and increased the security around her. She's now confined in a smaller space, both hands and feet bound, with round-the-clock surveillance and even soundproof walls. She's astounded by this level of paranoia, honestly, but she expects nothing less from Batman.

What is bothersome, however, is that a: they should already know that the extra ‘precautions’ are useless; and b: she has been holding back out of her own volition this whole time.

Eventually, she feels too suffocated to stay in the same place. Marinette lets her magic hover onto the security cameras, casting an illusion to hide her disappearance. Next, she takes a piece of thread from her clothes, summons a different kind of magic, and watches as a senti-being in the image of herself sleeping morphs out of nothing. It takes a quick destructive energy burst to break out of her binds and in no less than five minutes, she's slipping through a portal to her base. Her home.

The night sky envelops the half-opened dome in the building. She grabs a spare blanket off the floor, wondering if the others are staying in the base or are still in Gotham. Her questions are immediately answered when Fei strolls in with a clipboard in hand.

“Marinette!” She perks up. “You came back sooner than I thought.”

“I'm back only temporarily.” She runs her thumb over the thin thread holding the existence of her replacement. Gliding over to the stone table, she pulls up several of the screens.

“Why? What happened?” asks her second-in-command.

“Nothing too bad.” Marinette rubs the telltale marks on her wrist. “So? What's the status report?”

“We did a survey across Gotham like you asked, but there's no signs of them,” Fei relays. “There's some talk on the streets, though. Kagami and Luka are looking into it.”

Marinette hums while studying the city map they've marked. “The site for the ritual?”

“The top of the Wayne Tower seems to be the best.”

She makes a face. Just yesterday, she made an association as well, between knowing that Damian is a Wayne and Batman just called Robin his son. “Eugh. Wayne Tower.”

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” Marinette shakes her head. Wayne Tower it is.

“I've been meaning to ask . . .” Fei tips her head. “Why Gotham? Why not, you know, here in Tibet?”

“Because their numbers are here. Gotham used to be a center of the black market for ring-adjacents, the Black Cat's power. Of course, none of it has the same power as the real thing, but its energy leaked out through the years. Pretty sure the Order has a stronghold there.”

Fei bites her lip. “But to make ring-adjacents, they'd have to be close to the source . . .”

“Yeah. They brought the Guardian there.”

The other girl's eyes darken as the meaning of Marinette's words settle in.

“If our hunch is correct and they have some brooch-adjacents–Peacocks, that is—we'll be very busy.” Marinette rakes a hand through her hair. “Where are the others? Is Adrien still sad about the trial?”

“I think he's seriously considering a law career.” Fei rolls her eyes. “They're sleeping and—oh, right now he's mad because of Red Robin.”

“Red Robin?”

“He came up to us in Gotham and asked about you.” Fei's tight grip on her clipboard tells Marinette that Adrien isn't the only one holding a grudge. “The nerve of them.”

“Oh? Were you nice to him?” Marinette remembers the same vigilante, who also visited her cell at one point alongside Nightwing.

“Of course not. Kagami flipped him off too.”

“Fei Wu.”

“What? He was the one who disturbed us!”

“Did you shake him off?”

“Of course. They're not touching Gotham until we've done our job.”

Marinette nods. If the Bats had spotted them in Gotham, questions were surely raised. They'll just have to be more careful; she's spending her time in the Justice League’s captivity anyways.

There are two reasons for the setup. First, to finally catch the Justice League's attention towards the Paris situation and have them help deal with the aftermath. But secondly—and most importantly—they have to divert the Bats’ attention elsewhere. Marinette is aware their plan isn't foolproof. There will always be eyes on Gotham regardless, like Oracle's surveillance or the Red Hood's rounds in Crime Alley. But at least they won't be interfering while preparations are being made.

Another voice speaks up behind them. Adrien sluggishly walks out, yawning.

“Marinette?”

“Hello, kitty cat. Slept well?”

“You're back?” He rubs his eyes.

“For now. My senti-double can't stay there for too long. Told ‘ya I can escape after you got me thrown in jail,” Marinette teases.

“M'lady!” Adrien whines. “I tried my best!”

She chuckles, looking back and forth between Fei and her former partner. They've got matching pajamas. Cute. “I know, I know. Come on, let's find Luka and Gami. I want to see them too.”

“What was that fake miraculous all about? It totally threw me off,” Adrien recounts the ‘one piece of incriminating evidence’ that the prosecutor showed everyone.

“You mean that replica? I made it and had Tikki take it to the apartment. Helps sell the show, you know.” Marinette shrugs. “The glass got damaged a bit on the way I think.”

“I didn't know you'd do that!”

“She didn't know you were going to be her lawyer, idiot.” Fei rolls her eyes.

----

Her stomach twists in worry when they open up her cell and take her out. There is a cloth over her eyes, and her limbs are bound in chains but she feels that she's transported to another area of the Watchtower much farther from her cell than the interrogation room. When her blindfold is lifted, she finds that she's in what looks like a meeting room, surrounded by the heroes talking amongst themselves.

Her gaze zeroes in on Zatanna holding a spellbook. She doesn't know what it is, but she feels wary of it.

“I don't think this is a good idea,” Black Canary tells the others.

“It's a breach of her privacy,” Superman argues as well, “What are you thinking?”

“We just need to confirm her identity as Hawkmoth or at least her collusion with the villain.” Batman crosses his arms. “If nothing comes up, we'll stop.”

“You can't do this to her, B. Didn't they say she has some childhood trauma?” Nightwing says.

“They're repressed memories. They won't show up,” Zatanna opens up the spellbook. “The magic will hold out for just a few minutes anyway.”

“I acknowledge that we must resort to this option to extract the truth, but what if she uses her magic like Constantine warned us?” Wonder Woman speaks up. Marinette vaguely remembers how the Lasso of Truth doesn't work on her, which she figures is owed to her own powers.

“That's why I'm telling you to stop if she tries to resist.” Constantine pushes off the wall, walking closer towards the debating group. “If her powers accumulate, I can't promise we can stop her.”

“It's safe ,” Zatanna asserts once more.

“She's barely an adult.” Nightwing raises his voice.

“Don't tell me you were influenced by her magic, Nightwing,” Batman says in a low voice.

“I'm not. And Robin wasn't. That wasn't magic; I checked with Constantine.”

“Even so, we need to confirm with her memories,” says Green Arrow. “She's still a threat, given the amount of magic she has.”

“Threat is an understatement,” Constantine mutters.

“If she is innocent as you say, Supes, we'll see that too won't we?” The Flash points out.

More or less, Marinette can figure out what they're trying to do—use magic to access her memories and prove her innocence or guilt . . . clearly without regard to her consent. If Fei or Adrien or Kagami or Luka find out, they are sure to storm into the Watchtower themselves, secret identities be damned. She stares off at the ceiling to contemplate her next move. She can, of course, escape easily and save herself from the unpermitted exposing of her inner trauma. But that can complicate things and make them view her even more as danger.

She can also resist the magic in her head without doing anything physically. She has shooed out Hawkmoth from her head plenty of times—more than she can count. It's not any different from the mind reading or Amazonian tricks they subjected her to, since her own magic can protect her.

As she's finished deciding, so have the heroes. Zatanna positions herself close to her, chanting an unfamiliar language than her usual backwards verses, drawing out a bright light from her hands and into Marinette's head.

Marinette bites her tongue.

She's made a grave mistake.

This type of magic isn't as simple as Hawkmoth's mental coaxing. There's barely any voice in her head, but she's compelled to open her mind. It feels invasive but welcoming, a foreign warmth that sends a shiver down her spine, almost hypnotic. Her muscles twitch as she tries to break away when she realizes that she has not pushed the magic out of her head, but rather another part of her consciousness.

She tastes blood in her mouth, not wanting to cry out. In her desperation to keep them away from her more recent memories, she has instead bared her past.

A holographic projection appears in midair.

As it is her memory, the vision appears in first person—coming from her own vision. She's in a dimly-lit room, surrounded by old men in long robes and sullen eyes. Deep but steady breaths sound out as she looks down on her bony arm speckled with bruises. A needle sticks out from the crook of her elbow, joint to a syringe, held by a man in front of her.

“This one is more behaved than the last.” The man grins, crooked teeth showing. He is speaking a different language than she's used to, but she still understands.

“Silence!” The monk beside him barks. “She is only a vessel for our Guardian.”

She stares down again at her arms. They're drawing blood. Again. She whimpers, trying to pull away but she's met with a harsh slap on the face.

“Foolish girl, be grateful for the success of the ritual. You are now one with the Guardian.” He turns to his companion. “How is the new set, Master Wen?”

“We've imbibed Illusion, Protection and Subjection so far but the miraculi are still weak compared to her natural abilities.”

“We shall harvest more blood then.”

Hatred and anger burst in her chest. Even if her body feels unbearably heavy, and the wound in her chest is seconds from opening up, she wants to fight these men. As she flails around and they hold her down, she catches sight of the line of vials, all filled with blood from her veins. She sees an opening, reaches out for one of the glass containers, and shatters it on the table she's sitting on.

“How dare you! That's for the miraculi!” She's struck again, harder this time.

One shard. She picks up one shard and swipes at their wrinkly eyes—

“THAT'S ENOUGH!” Constantine shouts, leaping to push Zatanna aside.

Zatanna looks back and forth at the girl and her fellow heroes, muttering her chants over and over. “I can't! I stopped the spell, I swear but—”

Even those not magically-aligned can sense some sort of subliminal pressure. Marinette is slumped and her eyes are trained on the projection, devoid of emotion. But the strength of her aura is burning around her, only increasing by the second.

“I thought it's not supposed to show repressed memories!” Superman yells.

Zatanna sucks in a sharp breath, jaw clenching. “It's not! That only means . . .”

“—her memories aren't repressed in the first place,” Black Canary continues.

“Her magic's making the spell persist,” Constantine deduces. While he tries to do damage control, the other members watch helplessly with pale faces.

The projection flickers.

She's a little younger, but still worn out and tired. In front of her is the naked back of her Master, marred by all sorts of scars and fresher wounds. Her small hands run a warm damp towel on his skin.

“You have to go easy on your body during training, Master.” Arabic spills from her lips.

“Tt. Aches are normal. I cannot improve without getting hurt first,” the boy in front of her protests.

“You have not improved yet if you cannot defend yourself well enough to avoid injuries,” she scolds lightheartedly. “I told you to watch your back earlier.”

“How am I supposed to predict another assassin behind me?”

“They can come from any direction, Master. That was just training.”

She stops scrubbing first, letting him face her for a moment. The green hue of his eyes dances with the candlelight. “I can't remember to watch my back because you are always behind me,” he confesses quietly.

Her mouth shapes into an ‘o’. “Then we'll just have to practice more. I'm afraid there will come a time that I can't protect you anymore.”

“What the—” Nightwing breathes out.

The scene flickers again.

The world tumbles in her vision as their trainer kicks her away. She hears her name called out by Damian but her ears are ringing. A familiar metallic taste trickles into her mouth.

“What have I told you, young master,” their trainer scolds, “If you fall behind in your training, she is the one to face the consequences.”

“You would not dare ,” Damian scowls.

“She is your servant. This is her purpose.” The assassin flicks his hand. “Back to your spar, young master.”

From the floor, he watches him fight another assassin, a designated sparring partner. She can tell his body is still tensed up, still concerned about her. She wants to tell him not to worry but she fears disrupting their fight. Damian is brought down to his hands and knees again—

She suppresses a scream after the trainer scratches her back with his knife. Damian is about to rush towards her but stops himself, picking up his sword and returning to position instead.

Another defeat.

A second kick to her abdomen, only eliciting a grunt. Her body has grown numb . . .

Marinette feels a thread snapping in her head—the spell has halted, but the damage is done. She doesn't need to look at the heroes to tell what they're thinking. Finally, the wave of exhaustion takes over and she allows herself to collapse.

---

Damian is utterly furious with his father. Not only has Bruce banned him from the Watchtower, but he's also forced to sit out patrols. Now he can only spend his pastime sitting around in the cave, with Barbara and Stephanie to keep him company (read: watch over him).

“I don't get it. Why are you convinced that she's innocent?” Stephanie, still donning her purple gear, spins around on a chair.

“Because the facts say so,” Damian replies grumpily. “They have not completely proven that she holds the Butterfly miraculous.”

Actually, Hawkmoth or not, he can't care any less about which side she's on. All he wants to know are her reasons, and if she is guilty, she wouldn't commit crimes on a whim.

“Yeah, I'm on Dames’ side here,” Barbara adds, still poring over the same files on the computer. “Some things aren't adding up. I'd stay neutral until more information comes to life.”

A series of beeps announce the arrival of two more visitors in the Batcave—Red Robin and Nightwing, who both wear grim faces as they approach the central console. If Damian remembers correctly, they should have come from the Watchtower.

“What's up?” Barbara inquires, turning around on her wheelchair.

“The JL has gathered more info on Marinette,” says Dick. “We have more clues on her past . . .”

Tim looks at Damian. “There's something you're not telling us.”

Damian tries to hide the shift in his body language. He hasn't given his family a clear reason yet for his breakdown, not wanting to share his memories with Marie. He wants to investigate on his own first, especially on how she's alive. His first thoughts go to the Pits, but his gut feeling tells him it's something else.

“You knew her.” Dick folds his arms. “In the League of Assassins. She was an assassin.”

Damian bites his tongue. But she's more human than I'll ever be.

Stephanie's jaw unhinges. “Damian?”

Damian lowers his head. “Fine. I did . . .”

“How?”

He averts his gaze, thinking maybe he deserves to have his sins put out in the open like this. “We were raised together,” he recounts softly. “She served under me . . . Before the coup, there was a series of attacks on all the League's bases to weaken us—I had to be transferred frequently to different locations.”

“What happened to her?” Tim leans in closer.

“She . . . she died. We were heading back to Nanda Parbat and . . .” Damian cannot bring himself to say it. I killed her. It was my fault.

Both Dick and Tim share a look. A silent conversation.

“Fuck,” Dick breathes out, “We really messed up. It had to have happened after she died, after she was with the League.”

“Why? What did you find out?” Barbara begins to type furiously, to access the records in the Watchtower for them. “You said you gathered more information on her; how did you do it? Did she talk?”

Tim visibly flinches. “No, she didn't.”

Damian springs up to his feet. “What did you do? ”

“Zatanna . . . she had this spell . . .”

“You coerced her?!”

“Memory projection.” Barbara's voice is laced with horror as she shows a series of videos on the screen. “How—how can you do this . . . how did they agree to this?”

“We were only trying to look at the time of the akuma attacks!” Dick protests. “But something went wrong.”

Damian feels his throat dry up, looking at the memories they documented. He feels sick seeing himself there, through her eyes. One thing catches her eye: Marie sitting in front of old men as they stick a needle onto her. He only hears blood rushing, barely catching his brothers’ explanation on ‘the Order of Guardians’ doing some sort of experiments on her.

His lip trembles. Her body. He never saw her body after the fall. He remembered feeling to numbed by her death to look for it.

Did they take her? Bring her back to life? Is she the same ?

Back in the Watchtower, she looked at him with so much unfamiliarity that he was paralyzed. Her eyes colored in a vibrant shade of blue are forever seared into his mind—they were never that blue before. They were just dull.

Damian runs before he realizes it. Away from the cave, away from the manor, away from the voices calling him back.

His body moves faster than his mind; he doesn't know what he should do or where he should go, but he's aching to do something. Serve revenge to those who hurt Marie, or sneak into the Watchtower himself to get her out of there. He swiftly takes hold of one of his father's jets, running through his options.

Tibet. The Order of the Guardians.

He curses himself for letting them get to her. He heard of them during his stay in the third base; another secret organization associated with magic, also located in the Tibetan range. As far as his knowledge goes, his aunt Nyssa was researching them at that time. Damian immediately shifts his flight to head east.

The maps show the location as he traces from memory; it is not too far from the League of Assassins' base. A stone temple sits up on top of a mountain, capped with a dome that has been damaged, exposing the entire. Damian wastes no time landing his aircraft and entering via the open dome.

The temple is practically in ruins. He wonders if it has any occupants at all—if he sees any of those monks, he vows not to hold back, even if he ends up killing. If the Justice League hasn't done it yet, he promises to wipe away the Order himself.

A flicker of movement in the dark catches his periphery. Damian immediately snaps his wrist to throw his knife. A shout follows after, as well as an echoing crunch of ceramic breaking.

“ Noooo, my cereal!”

←Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Fun Fact! It took Marinette a while to perfect her senti-double. Her primary reference is Ladybug's wax statue in the Paris Wax Museum. It also took her a while to not get creeped out by said double. No, the double doesn't speak unless she orders it to Taglist: @noisydreamlandkoala

18 notes · View notes

ggomos-maribat · 18 days

Text

Soul-Stitching: The Heir and the Guardian

Masterlist

Chapter 6: fight and surrender | AO3

CW: the Order of Guardians appearing, mentions of death, wanting to kill, blood, violence, references to childhood abuse and trauma

Damian holds Marinette in his arms for the night as they lie in bed. He'll die first before he lets her go again. There's relief and comfort in burying his nose in her hair and running his thumb over her shoulder.

“The Order rebuilt themselves over the years with the handful left. They want the Guardian, so they're planning to hold Gotham hostage,” Marinette yawns. “Something like that.”

His hold around her tightens. “Why not let us handle it?”

If they do, he'll skin every one of their enemies alive before they can even look at Marinette.

She snorts. “They have a supply of miraculous-adjacents. Mostly brooch ones to help them make a sentimonster army. I don't think you bats and birds can handle that crisis very well.”

“Will you be alright then?” He says softly.

“Mhmm. We have a plan. Are you coming with us?”

Damian thinks for a minute. He doesn't have combat experience with miraculous magic, and Marinette's team seems to have solid chemistry with each other based on what she has told him. If he gets involved, he might just end up interfering.

“I will return to Gotham as well, but I'm not sure how I can help.”

She laughs. “It's not too different from slashing bad guys.”

“I know but what if I disrupt your plan?”

“If I propose that you hold off the Justice League, can you do that?”

“Of course.”

He looks down at her, brushing stray hairs away from her face. Her eyes are closed but she's still tracing her fingers on top of his chest. He never expected to let someone in so easily but this is Marie. She's the one he went through hell with, the one who took blows for his mistakes, the one that has been haunting his dreams since she died.

She has lived her own life in France, even became a hero, and yet she never forgot about him. He's happy she never forgot.

Slowly, Damian moves his head to plant a small kiss on the crown of her head.

---

Marinette stands at the top of Wayne Tower, tugging on her billowing ceremonial robes for the ritual. On the concrete, she traces over an intricate Guardian symbol with chalk, which is to be overlaid with the real material. A transformed Fei stands at her side, one hand over her earpiece.

“Chat says it's a three-kilometer radius,” Fei relays. “Nothing too far out; they're moving as one like you predicted.”

Marinette nods. She sent Adrien to scout around Gotham city and detect the activity of the brooch-adjacents using the Peacock miraculous. Her own power can sense them within a certain limit, but she isn't certain where the Order is scattered. “Let's begin,” she announces, pointing one hand straight upwards at the sky.

Marinette calls upon shell-ter, which manifests a green barrier around a part of the city, capturing the distance of three kilometers. That way, combat is restricted in the city—the civilians (those without miraculous magic) can vacate outwards, but it is untouchable from the outside. Luka and Kagami will survey the barrier's outer perimeter while Adrien and Fei will stay inside and make sure Marinette's untouched during the ritual.

The Cleansing Ritual is something she has picked up from the temple, though the exact method of performing it is something she owes to the previous Guardian's memories. It will break down the Order's defenses first; having the capability to remove miraculous magic from adjacents within its proximity. After eliminating their weapon, she’ll deal with the sentimonsters they have already created.

Fei steps forward to hand her a thick book. “This is all we could find from the temple.”

Marinette glances down. It is an incomplete copy of the Grimoire; nothing too special but it should be enough for the ritual. She was hoping for some spare adjacents but the temple has nothing of the sort anymore. “Thanks, Fei, this will do.”

She summons her cataclysm and crushes the book into heavy ashes, which she uses to trace over the symbol. It glows just faintly, signaling the effectivity, and she settles on the center. The most important thing is that the ritual is not disturbed, or else she’ll have to start all over again.

“I'll stick close by to fend them off,” Fei assures her softly.

“If it comes to worst, just come tell me.”

“But I thought—”

“It doesn't matter. You can interrupt me.” She doesn't know how they made their sentimonsters or if they will be harder to deal with than the creatures they fought before. She only knows that the adjacent-born monsters don’t operate by amok—once they are destroyed, that was that. But Marinette isn't willing to take any chances, especially if her team is in danger.

Marinette wipes her hand on her sleeve. Like Chat, she bears the power of destruction at the tip of her fingers. If she can, she would take the Order out with her own touch, but she obviously can't in that situation, where civilian lives are at stake.

After bidding her goodbyes, Fei leaps away to take her position. From her pocket, Marinette pulls out the thread that is tied to her senti-double's existence. Now, for the distraction.

She crushes it in her palm with the power of destruction.

Damian returns to the cave, breathless. Only two bats seem to be holed up in there, but the youngest Wayne wastes no time starting to explain roughly about Marinette's background.

Tim and Cass look at each other before the former speaks, “We know.”

Damian stops. “You know?”

“Hood and Oracle investigated on their own. They sent in a report to the JL hours ago,” Tim turns to the computer. “Speaking of the JL, they're a mess right now. Apparently, Marinette disappeared from her cell . . .”

“She's here. In Gotham.”

“She's what? ”

“You will not tell Father,” Damian demands. “Send a message to Oracle not to alert the League if she catches her here. There are members of the Order of Guardians attacking tonight, and Marinette will be facing them herself.”

“W—what?” Tim clicks on a screen to see a green barrier materializing over downtown Gotham. “Is this what it is? We should—”

“Do nothing,” says Damian. “They have a plan.”

“Dangerous,” Cass pipes up, frowning.

“It will be more dangerous if we or the Justice League interfere.” Damian shakes his head. “We cannot let them compromise this. Both sides will be operating by magic as well; it's best not to get caught up in it.”

Damian's fingertips are cold, hoping that nobody has alerted Bruce yet. He needs to make them understand that he was desperate—that he was asking not as Robin, but as their brother.

The screen shifts, showing what looks like an army marching down the streets. The sentimonsters have taken every kind of form: human-like, giant crawling insects, mechanical figures, fanged creatures. A collective chill passes over the three as they think that this must be what Paris has endured over the years.

“I sent a word to Babs but . . . are we really sitting here doing nothing?” Tim asks.

Damian purses his lips, remembering Marinette's words to him. “We can help protect the barrier and evacuate civilians. But we must stay out of the fight.”

Cass nods and disappears into the shadows to collect the other vigilantes. Meanwhile, Damian hovers near the screen, swallowing down his worry. They watch through the cameras as a white ring of light radiates from the top of Wayne Tower.

---

Kagami knows a thing or two about being restrained. She has suffered under the tortuous rule of her own mother, forbidden to do this or that, and for years she hasn’t realized just how caged she was. She hasn’t seen a mirror of her own life until she met Adrien, who suffered under the same predicament. Although she is already somewhat free and exploring the world on her own, she knows she can’t forget the memory of her shackles.

So when she first heard about Marinette’s past, she was livid—this is Marinette, the same person who once taught her about freedom and she hadn’t known how much the Guardian suffered in her youth. After Marinette told them, there were things about her that started to make sense: how she’s somehow a natural at fencing despite claiming that she has never touched a foil before, how she sometimes stares too long at her arms, how she knows an akuma is nearby before it becomes fully visible.

That is why Kagami has vowed to become Marinette’s support, like Adrien, Fei and Luka are.

“There are sentimonsters on my side, Ryuko.” Luka’s voice crackles from her earpiece. “Bats incoming too.”

Kagami lowers her sword and scowls at the group of sentimonsters on the street below the ledge she’s perched on. They’re more grotesque than the ones they had in Paris. Marinette has warned them that not all the monsters will be captured inside the barrier, but Kagami didn’t expect that there will be this many of them.

She stares off at the wispy light from inside the barrier. At least there are less of them that can attack Marinette during the ritual.

“On my side as well,” she reports back. “There are many, but I can deal with them.”

“Mmkay, be careful, my aria.”

Kagami jumps down to intercept the bunch trying to claw their way into the barrier. She feels only a bit of resistance while slashing them with her weapon, but she figures that their strength is in numbers. Since they’re made only from brooch-adjacents, they should be weaker than normal sentimonsters. But she can tell they’re still dangerous for anyone who doesn’t wield a miraculous.

She sidesteps and punctures another centipede-like sentimonster. They easily dissolve into nothing as long as her swing is lethal. She can’t quite pinpoint yet where they’re coming from but more hordes are appearing faster than she can eliminate them.

She grits her teeth, debating if she should use the Dragon miraculous’ powers. Transforming into any of the elements can take out many sentimonsters, but using the power too much—though she doesn’t have a time limit anymore—can drain her own energy. If the sentimonsters can easily multiply, that effort is futile.

“Hey kid, need some help?” A voice asks from above her.

Kagami whips around. A vigilante is crouching behind a gargoyle on the building closest to her. His helmet, guns, and leather jacket tells her (if she remembers correctly) that this one is Red Hood.

She ignores him and continues attacking. Meddling bats. Apparently, Marinette has allowed the Robin boy to help them out, but she can’t see how they can be anything more than a liability in the miraculous-driven battle. It seems that Red Hood doesn’t understand this at all and comes down to fight with her.

“Shouldn’t you be rescuing civilians?” Kagami dodges out of the way and decapitates a wolf-like sentimonster.

“That’s all done.” Hood procures a knife from his belt and throws it at another sentimonster . . .

Only for it to bounce and clatter onto the ground.

The vigilante lets out a slew of colorful swears. “Normal weapons don’t work on them?!”

“Obviously.” Kagami rolls her eyes.

“Uhh, then how—” Red Hood stumbles back when one of the monsters pounce on top of him, but Kagami drives her sword into it before it can maul him. Her breaths quicken as she tries to keep up with the pace of their overwhelming strikes.

While she’s jumping from place to place, she keeps an eye on Red Hood who’s now attempting to shoot at the monsters. She notes his agility and swiftness—he’s good enough jumping out of the way and keeping himself uninjured. The only problem is that his attacks aren’t working.

Kagami lets out a deep sigh.

“Here, use this.” She tosses her sword to the vigilante, who catches it with surprise.

“I can use this?” he quizzes. “What about you?”

“I can fight them without my sword.” The important thing is that you can make yourself useful now. “Do not worry about me.”

To prove her point, she activates Water Dragon and transforms into a wave that drowns several sentimonsters at once. She changes from one element to the next, blowing a strong gust of wind and then finishing off another horde with a bout of lightning. Luckily, Red Hood seems to have experience with the sword as he’s able to take down the sentimonsters with the Dragon miraculous weapon.

Kagami leaps up onto a window ledge to get a better look at the situation. The numbers are dwindling, but there are still a lot of them. She glances at the Wayne Tower again. The ritual must be nearly completed—then the miraculous-adjacents can’t be used anymore.

“Hey!”

She turns to see that Red Hood has grappled up to the next ledge.

“Oracle’s asking if she can connect your comms to ours.” Red Hood taps the side of his helmet. “We haven’t told the Bat or the JL either. We’re here to help.”

Kagami wipes off the sweat from her forehead. “I will ask the others.” She turns on her earpiece. “Red Hood is with me. They’re asking—”

“If they can connect to our line.” It’s Fei who answers her. “Yes, I heard. Luka got the same request from Red Robin. I don’t know if we can trust them right now. The ritual—”

“Let them.” Another voice buzzes in.

Kagami inhales sharply. Marinette.

Adrien chimes in. “M’lady. But the ritual—”

“Is finished,” Marinette says. “It’s okay, let them connect. They can help; if you can’t let them borrow your weapons, I give my permission to have them use the miraculi.”

Fei audibly gasps. “What?!”

Kagami surveys the street. They do need the manpower at this time. She knows the vigilantes can easily connect to their comms, since their line can link up normally to non-miraculous ones. The problem is having strangers wield miraculi for the first time.

“It’s okay,” Marinette says gently. “Kagami, Luka, finish off the remaining ones outside the barrier first. Take the vigilantes with you and convene at one location. Fei, please portal to the outside and help them in. Give them any miraculous you see fit—Adrien please help in choosing. I think the Order is nearby—I’ll join you as soon as I can.”

“. . . Yes, okay. Fine.”

“Got that, M’lady. Cool, I get to hand out miraculi this time!”

“Copy that.”

“We can meet up at the park,” Kagami suggests. “We’ll finish up in ten.”

She hears a second voice above them—a vigilante clad in blue and black who has begun bantering with Red Hood. “Make that five,” she corrects herself.

---

Fei can tell that Adrien can sense her hesitance. She looks up at him after he takes her hand in his. “You've got the miraculi?” he asks.

She nods, holding up a small satchel where the Miraculous Box is safely kept.

“Are you sure we can trust them?” Her hand hovers the satchel.

“If Marinette trusts them, then we can trust them,” he squeezes her hand. “Anyways, if they try to take the miraculi for themselves we can easily snatch them up again.”

She cannot argue with that logic—they're handing out the miraculi just so that the vigilantes can fight the sentimonsters. They will have no problem using the weapons, but they are inexperienced at handling a miraculous in general. That gap alone will make it easy for them to take back the miraculi if the jewels are not handed back willingly. Not that she hopes it will ever come to that.

Fei carefully takes the glasses from the box and unifies the Prodigious and Horse miraculous to create a portal. She peeks at the swarms of sentimonsters still lingering around the streets below them. “What about . . .?”

“Mari will take care of them,” Adrien— Chat— tells her softly and nudges her forward.

They traverse through the portal, reaching the agreed meetup point outside the barrier. In that moment, a crackle rings from Fei's earpiece, followed by an unfamiliar voice.

“Aha! I've got it,” the voice says. “This is Oracle. Can everyone hear me?”

“I think you are connected to our line now,” Kagami's voice answers.

The group is gathered as agreed. Fei tears her eyes away from them and looks expectantly at Chat Noir, waiting for his instructions about the miraculi. If it were up to her, the miraculi shouldn't be in her care in place of the Guardian; the Parisians know more about the jewels than she can ever read from the Grimoire. But she knows Adrien still has a heavy heart about taking that responsibility, so she trusts him to choose the miraculi to hand off at least.

“Hmm,” Chat taps on his chin with a clawed finger. “Mouse, Bee, Horse, Peacock.”

She freezes. “I'm sorry, the Peacock? ”

“What? We can fight fire with fire in this case, right?”

Fei concedes; the sentimonsters from the real Peacock should be stronger than the adjacent-born ones rampaging in the city. But she's surprised Adrien doesn't seem to have any reservations using it again after it was taken from Hawkmoth.

“Aegis, sorry, but can you switch back to the Snake? I need the Turtle.” Adrien requests Luka, who has donned the Turtle miraculous for the night since his original miraculous offered little in head-on solo combat. Luka complies wordlessly.

Fei watches as Adrien tosses the miraculi one by one, telling the still-puzzled vigilantes that their kwamis will explain everything (and not to worry because he, too, barely received instructions when he first used his own miraculous). The Mouse pendant is handed off to Nightwing; the Horse to Red Hood; the Bee to Black Bat; the Peacock to Red Robin; and the Turtle to Robin.

Fei notices that she, Ryuko, and Viperion share the same curious looks at Chat's choice.

“You don't get it.” He shakes his head. “It's all about the vibes. That's how M'lady used to pick them.”

“Wait, do we even have feathers for the Peacock?” Fei whispers to Chat.

“Ah, right.” Chat smiles widely at Red Robin. “Sorry, you might have to catch pigeons or something.”

Fei looks over the group. “Are you sure the JL won't be stepping in soon? Batman?”

Robin crosses his arms. “Even if he tries, this isn't his Gotham for tonight.”

---

After giving her commands, Marinette jumps down carefully from the tower and onto the surrounding buildings. She keeps her comms on to monitor her team and hears that their line has been connected to the Bats’. Though the ritual was a success, there is still much to clean up in the mess—their goal is to cause minimal damage and keep Gotham as it is, since the restoring power of the Ladybug doesn't apply to adjacent-born sentimonsters.

Hands in her pockets, she drops down on a window ledge. Most of the civilians have been evacuated, and the sentimonsters are more focused on her anyways as if she were a beacon. With a swipe of her hand, she summons the Turtle's barrier and the Tiger's clout to herd the sentimonsters in one place before coming near them to use her Cataclysm.

She clenches her jaw when she feels the presence of the Order coming closer.

She has not regretted killing off the members of the Order when she was taken. The memories of the previous Guardian have become hers after all, so she has relived the futile struggle of the girl and the ‘experiments’ they've done to her in the guise of ‘rituals’. But she dislikes the lack of remorse she feels after killing—it seems hypocritical considering that she's the heroine of Paris.

Marinette walks down the street, sensing the movements of the Order. She shouldn't be complacent about the situation; she doesn't know what the enemies have as an upper hand. On her way, she extends her hand to pulverize the sentimonsters coming at her with just one touch of Cataclysm.

“Marinette, we're inside the barrier. The Bats have their miraculi. We'll start clearing off the sentimonsters,” Fei's voice reports loud and clear from her earpiece.

“Good. Please steer clear of my location,” Marinette replies.

“Okay—”

“Please be careful,” Robin's voice cuts through.

Chat snorts out a laugh. “What he said.”

“I will. Thanks,” she takes a deep breath, ignoring the teasing jabs of the other voices.

She sees the familiar burgundy robes up ahead, shielded by an unmoving line of sentimonsters all in the image of animals: tigers and panthers with glowing eyes; predatory birds hovering above; and oversized wolves. Marinette plants her feet firmly on the ground and holds her knives. These sentimonsters are not like the others; they are made with stronger, more potent adjacents.

“The Guardian,” a raspy voice echoes from down the road.

Marinette's grip tightens on the hilt of her weapon. Those grating voices have followed her in her nightmares for so long, even coming to life in one encounter with Sandboy. Though she has finished off their Tibetan base, there are still some who have escaped and some who have been hiding away in other parts of the world.

The thought of them sickens her to no end.

The sentimonsters lunge forward.

And so does she.

Marinette runs, infusing Destruction into her knives and throwing them at the creatures before they can touch her. Then, she calls on Fetch, from the power of Adoration, to pull back the knives into her hands. The hooded figures are closer now—she sidesteps one sentimonster and jumps over another. She's about to come face to face with the Order when she's suddenly knocked back by one of the wolves.

She grunts while trapping one knife between the sentimonster's sharp jaws to keep it from biting down on her. Its claws have trapped one of her arms, scratching through her skin deeply. Marinette clicks her tongue in annoyance. These ones can fatally injure her, and she's already slowly losing energy.

Finally, she gains the momentum to kick the sentimonster away and open up a portal behind her back to slip through it and escape its hold. She transforms into a large wave of water, followed by a bolt of lightning to kill off the whole pack.

“What misuse of the Guardian's blood,” a voice snarls from behind her.

Marinette catches her breath, turning around with fury in her eyes. Misuse? They talk about misuse when they were the ones who drew her blood for power. They preach so passionately about saving people with the Guardian's blood when they were the ones who handed off the Ladybug and Black Cat miraculi to Ra's al Ghul to abuse.

“You have desecrated the blood of our Guardian!” Another monk cries. “Give back what you've stolen from us!”

“Ungrateful vessel!”

“They should have drained you dry when they had the chance!”

“It was a mistake to bring you back!”

“Murderer!”

“Assassin's dog!”

Marinette shuts her eyes for a second. She keeps a firm grip on her knife and asks coolly, “Why are you mocking me when I am your Guardian?”

“You are an impostor! Give us our Guardian's blood back!” One growls.

“For you to use in your crimes?”

“They are not crimes. We are creating jewels for the protection of humanity.”

Marinette's jaw twitches. The years Paris has suffered under Hawkmoth—they called that protection?

“And yet you keep the jewels for yourself,” she mocks.

“Because there are those more deserving of that power.”

Bullshit. She isn't ignorant of their misdeeds. For so long, adjacents have been circulating around black markets and underground auctions. They were practically using the Guardian as a human factory. As for the real miraculi, they have been given to the most vile identities just like how the Butterfly and Peacock that were thought to be ‘missing’ was given to Gabriel Agreste.

Marinette tries not to let her anger run rampant. There are already many voices coming from her earpiece, both from her team and Gotham’s vigilantes each cursing out the Order—

She gasps, tensing all over.

She hasn't noticed.

The prickly feeling she has felt many times back in Paris.

Marinette looks down on her knife to see that it has changed its appearance. The monks continue talking down at her, but seem to be waiting for something.

“How dare you taint the blood—”

Don't you want to kill them?

“---a worthless—”

It only takes one touch.

Her head is pounding as she tries to blink her vision back to focus.

“The poor soul of our Guardian—”

You've had blood in your hands before. What's a few more victims?

“The poor soul of our Guardian wasted on a killer.”

What will your Master say seeing you this cowardly?

Marinette draws out the knife and kicks it down to the ground, shattering it into pieces. A dark violet aura floats up from it—a remnant of the Butterfly's power. With a shuddering breath, she calms herself down. This is their plan. It's just an adjacent. It's not as powerful as the real thing. They must have had one stored too far from the range of the ritual.

She turns to her enemies—

I am not a killer.

—And forces down her powers—

I am an assassin.

She pounces forward with suppressed miraculous magic and launches attacks at them with her bare hands. Without their miraculi rip-offs to play with, they are mere powerless humans anyway. She kicks and punches, just enough to have them immobilized but never too strong to meet death. She remembers Adrien's words about his father: ‘ death is too merciful of a punishment’.

It's the same for the Order. Death will be too forgiving. Even a slow death. She dodges a loose attempt of a hit and flips one over her back.

The only thing that will destroy them is seeing her being the ‘blight’ to the line of Guardians.

---

Unbeknownst to the miraculous holders and vigilantes, there have been watchers witnessing the attack on Gotham and listening in to Marinette's conversation with the remnants of the Order.

They’ve made a terrible mistake with imprisoning Marinette.

And now they have no right to interfere.

The Justice League observes silently as Marinette brings the Order to its knees, without any trace of magic or weapons. Just her bloodied knuckles and pure strength. They recognize the anguish in her movements—careful and precise as someone born in the League but ferocious like someone delivering vengeance.

Finally, she binds the enemies in ropes just as the last of the sentimonsters are finished off by the rest.

The three founders are particularly tense.

It must be them who will make sure that the Order will meet its justice.

←Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

Taglist: @noisydreamlandkoala

15 notes · View notes