A/N

Another intermission I'm writing just in case I get behind again. Same as the last one, this is a short story for a previous wielder, this time of the black cat ring.

Weeee (unenthusiastically enthusiastic)

WARNING: There is a scene here which many may consider animal abuse. I am not trying to glorify this type of entertainment.

It was the year 1590, almost 100 years since Spain became its own country and the battle of the Strait of Gibraltar was happening... somewhere. Plagg didn't care.

Plagg had a habit of running from things when life got a little too complicated, so fleeing China entirely to go to Spain was not completely out of pocket. He knew he wouldn't be here for long but that curse he had seemed to worsen by the day, becoming especially painful when near Tikki. He'd run away before and he was running away again.

He'd been spending the last month in the great ancient city of Toledo. His wielder, Baltasar del Cano was washing up his face before a show. He was an egotistical young man, much like many of Plagg's wielders. And just like all the others, he had a sense of humor.

"This is going to be a tremendous night Plagg!" He declared, finishing laying his hair perfectly in the mirror. Plagg nodded his head in agreement. "The governors are sure to indulge in my theatrics enough to allow this vigilante the freedom of being a hero."

"None of your performances have convinced them of that," Plagg reminded.

"Ah, well, I have a different approach this time."

"And what's that?" Plagg asked curiously.

"I will NOT be killing the bull. Force sympathy on them. Make them see me as a gentle man who cares about all life."

"But you don't."

"That's why it's a show," Baltasar said, sparing one last look in the mirror. "I think it's time. Plagg, make sure the costume is shiny in the front. I want the eyes of the people led to my face."

"They already will be."

"Alright, Plagg, claws out!"

A flash of green consumed Baltasar, transforming him into the strange hybrid of a matador and a sword wielding bandit. He had a black mask and... well he generally resembled the guy from Princess Bride. This was Gato Nocturno! Cat of the night! There were many legends about this man. He stole from the rich to feed the poor, making him very popular among peasants and hated by nobility. Yet despite their hatred, no one could deny he was quite the entertainer.

He could already hear the roaring cheers of the crowd outside before he entered the arena. Now, ordinarily, wielders of the black cat possessed a baton as a weapon. But Gato Nocturno had a sword. Sometimes it was a poke sword, sometimes it was a fatter blade suitable for killing a bull, just as it was this evening. The hilt glinted at his hip as he emerged on horseback into the arena. Cheers consumed his ears, swelling upon his entry. He waved and boasted, grinning like a man who knew he was about to win the game of their hearts.

His horse's head jostled in agitation as he halted on the reins, waving to the crowd with immense pride. The bells on its bridle and girth jingled, with intention to irritate the bull when it would be released. He circled the giant base of the arena, jeering. Then, the bull was released.

Instantly the matador on the ground toyed with the beast as Gato Nocturno pulled to the side, out of the way so he could watch. Someone even handed him a goblet of something, something with liquor. By the time the chastising of the beast was done and the bull had grown tired, Gato Nocturno had nearly downed all the contents in the goblet. He tossed the near empty goblet aside haphazardly and jeered his stallion. The horse reared his head and turned, just as the clownish matadors left.

He pulled out his first poke. It was a device with a sharp end, crowned by usually flowers or a flag on its opposite. Tonight, his had little flowers and jangling bells. He persued the bull, chasing it and being chased. The bull gained on his rear and he commanded his steed to turn slightly, halting at the same time. The motion was so abrupt it took immense skill on his part to stay mounted. The bull could not stop or redirect in time, granting him the perfect opportunity to jab the end of the poke into the fatty neck of the bull.

The crowd went wild. Gato Nocturno steered and galloped away from the bull before it had the chance to enact its wrath upon him. And the chase continued. He rushed to the edge of the arena to receive his next poke, taking it swiftly in one hand and this time directly perusing the bull. He stabbed it again at record speed, just barely next to the already bleeding stab where the other poke was still lodged. The jingling of the bells was definitely pissing the bull off.

He went to receive his third poke, this time taunting the bull and getting it to spin in circles. His horse was going to tire soon so he had to make haste, while also putting on a good show. In went the third poke, then a fourth, then the first one fell out, giving him a few deductions of his points. That didn't matter. The crowd loved him.

Eventually, it came time for the sword. As he drew it, sunlight glistening off its reflective surface, the stadium swelled with noise. A smile appeared on his face, though he wasn't sure if it had ever truly left. Then he turned to face the bull, pissed off and very unwilling to die. This time, the bull charged him.

"Oh, he's still wants a fair fight," Gato Nocturno said to himself. He didn't sheath his sword, but he did not point it threateningly. He charged right back at the bull, pulling away last second. They danced like this for a while until eventually, the wounds and exhaustion inflicted on the bull became too much.

The bull stopped, dead center in the arena. He could hear its groaning. The crowd went silent in anticipation. This was the moment. It was time to "kill" the bull. But of course, he had that plan not to. To show the world sympathy and gain the favor of those who would learn to further adore him. And to piss off the nobles, of course.

Steadily, he approached. His sword was drawn, pointed at the bull who no longer could care. He smiled again, flashing his brilliant teeth at the onlookers.

"I will not kill this bull!" He declared.

Silence.

Then a scream.

"Lady Catalina has been killed!" Cried a man from up above in the stadium where the nobility would be seated.

What?!

Gato Nocturno looked to where the voice had come from and witnessed quite the commotion. Of all the nobles he hated, Lady Catalina had never been one of them. She graciously donated her riches to those in need and had funds set aside for workers in the local low income hospitals. Among all humanity, she may have been one of the very best and for that he had no choice but to respect her. Dead? But how?!

The figure of a man slipped over the upper wall, disappearing over the edge some hundred or so feet in the air. No one had even heard Gato Nocturno declare he would not be killing the bull. They were too distracted by the sudden murder!

Gato Nocturno raced into action. Abandoning his show, he galloped to the edge of the arena where he'd entered from and disappeared below the stadium. He cantered through the hallways beneath until he found an out. There was a guard there and immediately he "traded" his horse. His was far too exhausted after the run to chase a criminal, after all. He felt his sword shift in shape, resting in the sheath of his hip. It was now a poke sword—more traditionally Spaniard and flimsy but excellent for dueling.

The man in black galloped after a figure in the distance, unmistakably the same figure who'd fled the seen just moments ago. It didn't take long to gain on him. He was quickly trying to fix the hitch of a carriage. So there were others! In that carriage, at least four more men, plus the same dark figure who now road in coach. Before he caught up, the men were galloping away, towed by two horses in their buggy.

"Not today!" Gato Nocturno declared as he gained on them. His waved at the men through the little window in their carriage, smiling devilishly. "Want to see a trick?" He said to them, lifting his gloved right hand—the same hand bearing his ring—as he summoned his cataclysm without enchanting the word. Dark aura engulfed the hand and horror swam across their faces.

Gato Nocturno kicked his horse, urging it to go faster, just close enough to reach the carriage. He stood, balancing on the saddle at a full gallop, then leapt, landing directly on the roof of the carriage. The man in the coach swung  a fist around, blindly trying to keep Gato Nocturno away. But he was promptly stabbed through with a sword, left handed. He didn't die, of course. It was more of an inconvenience.

"Lord Aarón!" Gato Nocturno said when he recognized the man's face, "whatever was this fuss all for?! Lady Catalina is quite possibly the nicest woman on this earth!"

"To the public eye, lad," the man coughed out.

"Perhaps so, but she's helps the lives of hundreds," Gato said and crept forward. The man couldn't move without slicing his innards further so he could only watch. Gato Nocturno reached down below the coach seat to touch the gear harnessing the horses to the carriage but he was stopped.

An arrow had just flown into his back! A crossbow? At this close distance? How had he not noticed one of the men having a crossbow? That was hardly a concern anyway. He could bribe Plagg into healing him a little faster easily.

By now, Gato just kicked lord Aaròn, aka Lady Catalina's killer, into the road. The horses were running dead forward with no one to steer them. Gato reached down and brushed his fingertips against the hitch, which erupted with destruction. The horses tore away, their harnesses and straps breaking off of them with each step they took. Now the carriage was veering off the road and down the hillside.

"Why did you kill her?" Gato asked casually as them men screamed for their lives. "She was the only noble that made me think you lot were worth saving." Of course, all these men were nobles.

"She was a disgrace to her family!"

"My lineage!"

"You know better than anyone to never trust a noble!"

"You're right," Gato said and crawled into the carriage. "Now, do you want me to save you from whatever this carriage is gonna inevitably crash into? Or should I just hope out and enjoy the show?"

"Freak!"

"Haha, funny," Gato deadpanned.

That arrow in his back was becoming very painful, which was alarming. His magic should have dulled his pain senses and helped to heal the wound just enough that it wouldn't be unbearable when he detransformed. Why was it so agonizing?

"No one has answered my question," he finally said.

"All her money was coming from our family, MY family bank. It was never her earnings that she threw to those peasants, it was MINE!"

"I like her even more now," Gato said with a smile. He slapped his thigh. "Whelp. Looks like I ought to get going. I've got a bull to kill, except I'm gonna save it, and the people will love me. Good luck saving your carriage!"

He swooped out the window of the door and landed gracefully in the grass of the loping hill. He didn't even get to look back before he heard the sound of a loud WHACK! Followed by splinter wood and an even louder thud. He laughed to himself and began to hike back up the hill.

***

"Too bad, I thought Lady Catalina was a beacon f
of hope for the nobles," Plagg said after Baltasar detransformed back in his own old shack. Plagg was lost in the idea of all the trill that had just occurred, he hadn't even noticed Baltasar doubled down in pain. "Baltasar?!"

"My hand! My hand!" Baltasar exclaimed.

"I thought you were shot in the back?!" Plagg shouted but he was unable to miss the clear outrageous thing forming on Baltasar's hand. His hand was black, like he'd rubbed it in charcoal. And it was trembling without control, twitching more than just shaking in pain.

"This ring!" Baltasar said and yanking the miraculous off with an equally shaky left hand. Plagg assumed his full super human form. Sympathetically, Plagg approached, daring to touch the arrow in Baltasar's back.

"I should have known," Plagg whispered, "my curse would follow me. Even all the way out here."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Baltasar handed the ring to Plagg. It was scary how black his hand had become. "I don't know what I did wrong for this to happen."

"You've done many things wrong but... this was not inflicted by you. I warned you of my curse but you accepted it. If I don't leave you now, you will die."

"There must be a way. Without you, I'm nothing!"

"You're an excellent swordsman," Plagg said. "I cannot stay here. You'll make do on your own."

"You're leaving now?! While I'm like this?!"

"I'll help you sort this out," Plagg said, squatting next to the man and caressing his blackened hand gently. "But then, I must return home. It was fun while it lasted."

"Is there a cure?"

"No," Plagg shook his head. "I'm sorry."

"Oh." Baltasar said. "I... What do I do?"

"Cut the hand off, perhaps, if we can't get the darkness so go away. I'm afraid... I'm afraid..."

"Will you find others?" Baltasar asked. "After how quickly this happened to me, I-"

"I'm not sure if it's wise. It's become exceptionally bad for you. I'm sorry. You may be... the last..."

"Find another," Baltasar said eagerly, "like me. With dashing good looks and a model smile."

"Oh of course," Plagg chuckled, "I'll make sure he has your blond hair and green eyes too, yeah?"

"My legacy," Baltasar said sarcastically. "Thank you. You made me the greatest."

"You have yet to become the greatest. But you can. You will."

A/N
Yeah who expected to read a detailed bull fight in this fic?

ANYWAYS I HAD A BLAST WRITING THIS. Spanish chat noir is something. I REALLY wanted to name him Puss.