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He had undergone the effect of many, many akumas.
Taken their blasts to the heart. Had every single one of his organs feel on fire. Feel the weight of adrenaline, of fighting and life fade in an instant as he knew very well it could be the time the Lucky Charm did not bring him back.
Known he hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye.
He had undergone the effects of fighting the different powers of the Miraculous.
He had been frozen, trapped, transported, and even Cataclysmed.
He had felt it like a thousand mixed punches to the gut, disintegrating his cells through the suit. Felt what he later knew was a bruised rib, a damaged organ.
He had taken many hits during fights. Felt the agonizing pain of falling one, two, five, fifty floors from roofs. Felt the sickening sensation of his bones cracking and splitting. Felt his bones piercing through his skin. Felt the tissue of his organs be pierced by a rib, felt his muscles be sliced by bone.
The day he was reached by Sandboy's powers, he saw his world turn smaller and smaller, trapped beneath bars for what felt like forever. He heard his own throat be ragged raw from screaming, only to realize nobody would come. He felt his heart drop with the crushing realization that he would be stuck there forever.
The day he fought inside of Guiltrip, he felt the all too familiar sensation of feeling his will to exist fade, of having it replaced with the knowledge it wouldn't matter if he were to disappear forever. He felt the crushing need of activating his power and holding a hand to his chest to prove himself with a mercy kill.
The day he fought Dark Owl with the power of the Pig Miraculous, his mind and heart had been shattered with the pain of having a life he would never have play before his eyes.
But those had been an akuma and nothing more.
Those had damaged him a little, sure, but the Lucky Charm always deleted the worst part of the feeling. It was even better than talking to a friend, than being able to free oneself from a long-dreaded nightmare.
A nightmare.
Those had been nightmares where something damaged him. When he knew there was no hope in something. Where he damaged himself.
This time, though, it was different.
A nightmare, true, but a different type. He could bear taking the blasts, the thought of dying, the knowledge there was something he simply would never have.
Nightormentor's nightmare had been different.
His father's.
He did not get hurt.
He did not hurt himself.
He hurt the entire world, and with it, the people he cherished the most.
He didn't even simply hurt them, though.
He laid there, unable to do anything after eliminating every single life form in the planet.
Every single but himself.
And Ladybug laid in his arms, lifeless and turned to dust by his own hand. A Cataclysm.
It was haunting him.
And, to make things even worse, the Lucky Charm had not come with the bliss of warmth and the knowledge things would be alright.
Ladybug wasn't there to throw her Lucky Charm.
Ladybug wasn't there to purify the akuma right after the battle.
He had no clue where she was.
And that meant having the thought roam restlessly in his mind. Having the image as vivid as if he were still inside the illusion, the acrid smell of burnt flesh making his senses overflow.
Having his hands feel ashy with the fine powder of what once was his partner, his companion.
His friend.
If he did not know any better, he would say he had been akumatized.
The world around him felt blurry, unreal. He was lightheaded, unsure.
Who was breathing that loudly? Who was breathing so quickly?
One second, he had been changing back into his pajamas, feeling the wave of exhaustion crashing onto him after well, everything, and the next, he was feeling his mind detach as if possessed.
Who was that, making his chest rise and fall twice every click of the floor on the wall?
It couldn't be him.
What wall?
He kneeled in the midst of a valley of death, of decay, of destruction.
There were no walls around him, none that were entire and lacking damage.
There was dust. There was so, so much dust.
Enough dust that the red glow of the moon reflected on every single particle around him. Enough dust to make his lungs feel like soup flowed through it. Enough dust to make his entire respiratory system feel the need to scream for help.
Yet again, just like when Sandboy attacked, he knew it.
Nobody would help.
Nobody would come.
Though, unlike that day, where it had been thanks to the akuma, it would be because there was simply nobody left to answer his pleas.
Who was making so much noise? So much screaming could only scrap a throat raw.
He wished he could help them.
But, who was he going to help anyways?
There was no one left.
No one left to help.
He wasn't just wondering anymore, he was sure he had been possessed. Someone was puppeteering his body. Someone was making him breathe. Someone was making him blink. Someone guided his hand towards Ladybug's ashy cheek, only for it to break and crumble under his touch.
Dust.
Dust.
She had turned to dust.
He was literally breathing her in, her dust filling his lungs.
And it was his fault.
Somebody had taken him and used him like a dress-up doll, making the black of his suit turn to white. Not that he wasn’t used to being a dress-up customizable doll, not after the Alliance avatar. Just like the default version of him that appeared as soon as the ring was turned on, he was wearing the purest of whites, enough to reflect the light. Pure as the water of a flowing river, crystal clear, could be.
Bright.
Bright under the red glow of the moon.
White.
Red.
Gray.
Too much gray.
He was possessed by the vision. Somebody was controlling his ragged breathing. Somebody kept his eyes open, somebody made his eyes keep perceiving white and red and grey. Somebody made sure he blinked and blinked and blinked, what for? It wasn't going away. It wouldn't go away.
Why wasn’t it going away?