Paris is silent save for the distant rumble of traffic and the occasional flutter of wings. On a narrow rooftop, Ladybug crouches, her senses sharp and alert. Something feels off tonight—a presence that seems to slip between the spaces of the city, unseen and predatory.
The Cannibal moves like a shadow, barely disturbing the mist as they hunt. Their gaze is fixed upward, drawn to the faint red glow of Ladybug's yo-yo. Every movement is deliberate, patient—a hunter savoring the anticipation. In the silence, a faint whisper echoes: "Tonight, the city will taste fear."
Disoriented, Ladybug struggles against the tight bonds, her breath coming fast. The net tightens, cutting into her suit as she twists, desperate for escape. Shadows fall over her; the Cannibal steps forward, face obscured by darkness, a cruel smile playing on their lips.
The air is thick with smoke and the scent of burning wood. Ladybug's heart hammers in her chest as she scans the chamber for an escape. The Cannibal circles her slowly, their eyes never leaving her face. "You're not just a hero tonight. You're a delicacy," they murmur, voice low and chilling.
As the spit turns, the heat licks hungrily at Ladybug's skin. Tears track silent paths down her cheeks, her body trembling as the pain intensifies. The flames crackle, illuminating the Cannibal's rapt expression. "Please... don't do this," she whispers, her voice breaking.
Ladybug's cries fade into quiet sobs. Her strength wanes, but hope flickers in her eyes even as she endures. The Cannibal approaches, knife in hand, the firelight glinting off the blade. "Sometimes, to survive, you must become the monster," they whisper to the darkness, as the hunt reaches its grim conclusion.
