Ladybug perches atop a gothic spire, her yoyo coiled at her hip. She surveys the city, alert for trouble, unaware that in the maze of shadows below, something ancient and hungry stirs.

The Cannibal, a figure shrouded in tattered robes, sharp eyes glinting, watches the city’s protector from afar. A twisted hunger coils within, masked by stillness. "Tonight, the hunt begins. Paris’s champion will fall silent," the cannibal murmurs, voice barely more than a growl.

Ladybug[/@ch_1], pinning her limbs. The moonlight flickers through the net, casting strange patterns across her suit.] Ladybug thrashes, her voice strained. "Who’s there? What do you want?" The cannibal steps into the light, predatory smile widening, holding a wickedly curved knife. "Only what I need to survive," he whispers.

Ladybug is bound to a heavy spit above a low fire. The cannibal circles her, chanting in a forgotten tongue. "Please, let me go. I can help you. There’s another way," she pleads, tears welling in her eyes. The cannibal gently removes her mask, tracing her cheek. "You are hope made flesh. But tonight, hope is my feast,"

Ladybug[/@ch_1]’s trembling form. Sweat beads on her brow as the spit slowly turns, controlled by the cannibal’s steady hand.] Ladybug struggles, her voice barely a whisper. "Paris needs me... Please..." The cannibal leans close, pressing a slow, mocking kiss to her brow. "Paris will forget. But I will remember this taste forever,"

Ladybug’s strength fades, her tears silent as her fate is sealed. The cannibal eats in methodical silence, savoring each bite. In the darkness below Paris, a legend ends—not with a cry, but with a whisper and the snapping of bones.