The deep Paris catacombs’ air was cold and oppressive, the silence broken just by the rhythmic drip of the Lazarus Pit.

To Damian Wayne, the sound echoed, a taunting echo of his complicated past and the specters that clung to him.

At sixteen, he bore the burden of his legacy, managing Wayne Enterprises, pursuing his medical degree, and preparing to retire as Robin.

A long-held debate with his father, Bruce Wayne, had been put on hold the moment Maya’s coded message arrived.

Maya Ducard, who was both his sister and his father’s goddaughter, had been missing for a long time. The message brought with it a sense of dread; she knew with stark clarity that an extraction was necessary.

The coordinates pointed to Paris, and the mission was personal. Only Bruce knew the full story, a secret they had kept from the rest of the family.

The history with the Ducards was a raw wound for Damian. Henri Ducard, an Interpol agent who had once trained Bruce, had a son, Morgan, who later became a ruthless assassin named Nobody.

Their betrayal of Bruce had led to a deadly confrontation years later, forcing Damian to make a choice that still haunted him. He had taken a life one last time, deliberately, a decision that weighed on his soul.

Now, he found his sister, Maya, playing a part far too deep—the villainous persona of Lila Rossi, a French-Italian socialite. His heart ached at the sight of her, a brilliant mind shattered by the roles she had to play.

As the green, unholy waters of the Lazarus Pit dripped in the cavern, Damian felt a knot of dread.

He knew this cursed abomination was tied to a much larger plot, one that could endanger everything he and his family had fought to protect.

He had to save her, and in doing so, confront the demons of his own past.

Damian’s mind conjured Marinette Dupain-Cheng, a welcome splash of color against the dark, silent catacombs. He recalled their first meeting, a bizarre chase across the rooftops of Paris, the wind whipping through their hair.

She’d stolen his phone, citing kleptomania, a transparent fabrication with a strange, almost endearing quality.

His training as Robin had prepared him for countless opponents, but this girl was different. She was agile, smart, and knew every twist and turn of Paris. He remembered watching her take a death-defying leap between rooftops, his heart lurching with a fear he rarely felt.

In a moment of slow-motion dread, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun as pigeons scattered, he had genuinely feared she wouldn’t make it.

But she did, landing gracefully before vanishing into the cityscape.

The memory brought a reluctant smile to his face, even as he remembered the frustration of losing his phone.

He never expected that encounter to be the start of something.

The impromptu hide-and-seek, the romantic dance at the gala—these moments had been a surprising respite from his grim mission.

But now, Leviathan had made their move, and the stakes were higher than ever. The past memories of that organization, the one that had ruined his life, now threatened to destroy everything he cared about.

Damian’s mind, a finely tuned machine, shifted from the emotional to the tactical. “Maya, are you good?” he asked, the question a quick check on their operational status.

He watched as Maya, now a regal and commanding figure in her Chrysalis form, directed a wave of newly-empowered Marinettes. These Vermin Queen clones were a marvel of miraculous ingenuity, and their speed was crucial.

Maya’s voice, a steady whisper in his comms, guided the clones with the precision of a field general. The list of coordinates Damian had compiled was a map of potential devastation, and each pin on it represented a target chosen for its symbolic and strategic value. The cloak of night, a rare ally, had cleared the streets of the usual Parisian crowds, making the high-speed mission feasible.

Marinette’s consciousness, split across her multiple forms, processed the data as it came. One clone, racing through the dimly lit streets of the 15th Arrondissement—the most populated in Paris—received the first set of instructions.

It moved towards the crowded Gare Montparnasse, a prominent railway station, and a Leviathan team was in the process of setting up a device there. The station, nearly deserted at this time, felt like a quiet, lethal trap.

Another clone was directed toward the heart of the city, the Châtelet–Les Halles station, a sprawling underground network often called the world’s largest. It was a perfect choke point, and the bomb there was meant to cause a city-wide transportation shutdown. The clone navigated the labyrinthine tunnels with practiced ease, slipping past the few maintenance workers as it hunted for the detonation device.

The third clone, eerily quiet, moved towards the Louvre Museum. Hidden near the Pyramid, a modern Parisian emblem, the bomb was its objective. This device wasn’t only about deaths; The clone could feel the weight of history and art around it as it slipped past a lone night watchman, a silent protector against a calculated desecration.

Meanwhile, a fourth Marinette was on her way to the Sacre-Coeur Basilica in Montmartre, a location known for its stunning panoramic views of Paris. The bomb wasn’t meant to destroy the church itself, but to detonate on the steps below, where it would be seen as a horrific display of power that would shatter the peaceful atmosphere and spread panic. The clone felt a pang of indignation at the thought of such a beautiful place being used for such a vile purpose.

Amidst the controlled chaos, Damian guided them, his phone a lifeline, the screen’s glow reflecting his composed strategy. He saw the impending doom all around him, but he also noticed a glimmer of hope, an opportunity to save Paris.

He felt the heavy burden of his Al Ghul’s past, but with Maya and Marinette supporting him, he was prepared to confront it.

While Damian busied himself setting up the charges, courtesy of one of the Vermin Queen clones who had brought a bomb to the Lazarus Pit’s cavern, he worked with grim efficiency. This cursed pool of green water needed to be erased, its existence a stain on the world and a source of pain for his family. He meticulously placed explosives at the structural weak points, calculating the safest distance for their detonation. The fuses were set, the wires connected. Everything was ready.

As he worked, Maya continued to direct the other Vermin Queen clones, guiding them through the city to disarm the remaining bombs. Then, a sharp, panicked shriek crackled over the comms, and the clones’ coordinated movements ceased.

“What happened?” Damian demanded, his hands halting their work.

“Putain. Shit, shit, shit!” Maya’s voice, usually a calm presence, was laced with terror. “This is not happening! Marinette, listen to me, don’t do anything reckless! That is not Adrien Agreste! Don’t listen to him! Fck, fck, Marinette!”

Damian was baffled, his confusion turning to cold dread. He scrambled to hack into the feed from the clone’s location. The video flickered to life, and to his dawning horror, he saw one of the Vermin Queen clones standing frozen. Unmasked, a Leviathan soldier was talking to her, his face a shocking mirror of someone Damian knew.

He cut his own voice comm, listening in to what the man said, a sick feeling building in his gut. The voice, smooth and familiar, echoed through his earpiece.

“Marinette,” the man said, his green eyes glinting in the low light. “You have no idea what you’ve walked into. My father told me everything. You are being manipulated. That creature—Chrysalis—she’s been lying to you.”

“He’s not Adrien Agreste, Marinette!” Maya’s last shout echoed in the cavern, the desperate warning reverberating against the stone walls.

The clone stood frozen, its face a mask of shock. In her hidden location, the original Marinette was just as stunned, listening intently through the comms.

“He’s not Adrien Agreste, Marinette. Because Adrien... is dead.”

The comms crackled, followed by a chilling laugh from the Leviathan soldier. “Oh, Marinette,” the man with Adrien’s face said, his voice a cruel, warped echo of the boy she knew. “Join us. Leviathan has shown me everything.”

The clone, its voice strained with confusion and disbelief, responded, “What? Lila, are you saying Adrien is dead? Tell me! What? And who is this man talking to me?”

As if in answer, more Leviathan soldiers gathered in the room, and one by one, they unmasked themselves. In the dawning horror of the video feed.

Marinette and Damian saw the same, identical face plastered on all of them—the face of Adrien Agreste, the model. Chat Noir.

In Damian’s mind, a whirlwind of confusion and fear swirled. What in Goliath’s Beard had Leviathan done?