ʏᴏsʜɪᴋᴀɢᴇ ᴋɪʀᴀ's ᴍɪʀᴀᴄᴜʟᴏᴜs ʟɪғᴇ

The Spirit

The Spirit moved through the darkness, only ever stopping to avoid collision with any one of the pedestrians that crossed his path. Not that any of them could see him, but it was always uncomfortable to pass through a living human. In fact, he detested passing through anything, whether it be a wall or human.

He always called them that, 'humans'. He knew he had been one, at some time. He couldn't remember his life on Earth, only his name remained. That, and a deep desire to have a quiet and peaceful life.

He smirked, if only it were that easy.

The Monk had sent him on yet another mission, today his job was to assassinate a fashion artist with a questionable agenda. He didn't receive any details about the apparent villains plans, for all he knew the Monk was in contact with someone with a grudge, or he was being sent to clean up a mess.

But that didn't matter now, a job was a job, and he couldn't exactly say no. He wasn't completely sure what would happen if he disobeyed an order, but he knew the consequences would be dire.

Outside the massive building, he watched through windows the best he could. It had taken him a few hours to get past the front gate, but he slipped in whenever a girl with blue hair was allowed inside the mansion. He had been hopeful the first time a mailman approached, but after a women's voice from a speaker drove him away, it was clear to the Spirit this man didn't like visitors.

As he walked around the sides of the house, parting with the girl at the front door, a part of him wondered what about her was so special. She definitely didn't live here. He pushed his thoughts down as he usually did whenever he saw the target.

Entering a large underground complex, he found his prize, though nothing could have prepared him for the atrocious outfit his target would have on. A purple and black suit with outrageous shoulders, and a silly looking face mask that was nothing more than a pillow case tied over his head.

A lavender ring formed around his eyes, and he began talking to someone. Unless the man was insane, the third party was apparently named "Time-Tagger". Utterly ridiculous. The man opened a nearby window, and the Spirit took this as an invitation.

He slipped through the sliding glass, and came to rest behind the man. At this time, the target muttered something about wings, and his outfit began to change. Now, he was wearing something closer to what the Spirt was expecting for a wealthy fashion designer.

The Spirit still thought that man looked ridiculous with his red pants and cream jacket, but then he remembered his current outfit of choice. His blue suit and bowler hat weren't exactly doing him any favors either.

He sighed, wishing he had some paper and a pen to make a note to steal some new clothes. He couldn't think about that now, no distractions. He raised his hand, took a deep breath, and prepared to administer the killing blow.

Suddenly, he was launched to the side, feeling a well placed kick in his stomach. How this new opponent even saw him was beyond him. He then heard the target scream, "Time-Tagger! Why are you not after the Miraculous as I instructed!?"

He saw his attacker, decked out in what looked to be a costume of some kind. He was blue and black, with a pair of headphones around his neck. He wouldn't be a challenge.

The oddly colored boy responded, speaking in rhyme with a beat right out of a low grade video game,

"Time-Tagger's here
Don't mean to boast
I'll save your life
And stop the ghost
He's going down
He'll feel the burn
Now it's time
Now it's his turn-"

The song most likely would have continued, but it was hard for the boy to press on whenever the Spirit's hand went through his stomach.

"N...not cool man"

The body collapsed to the ground, and the power of the villain began seeping out.

The Spirit noticed his target looked very afraid, and if those two knew each other then it was probably a cause for concern. Based on the way he was looking about, the man couldn't see him.

Odd.

The man spoke, "His power is going to open a portal and destroy the Akuma! I need to get out of here." The man began to walk towards the door, and the ghostly assassin followed.

The Spirit felt a powerful force appear behind him, and as he fell backwards he felt an irrational fear of this pull, as if he had felt it before. The world crumbled around him as he began to fall through what he could only process as different times.

The sands of Egypt.

Buildings taller than anything he's ever seen.

A small town, where four people sat at a table, seemingly entranced by a story being told.

A familiar alleyway.

Then, he was back in Paris. He hasn't noticed it as he had been falling, but he was definitely younger than before. Based on his height and the now baggy clothes he was wearing, he guessed he was about 16 years old.

He had no time to try to figure out what had happened to him, guessing wouldn't solve anything. He started to formulate a plan.

He spotted a clothes store nearby, and made his way inside. He searched through the racks and piles of clothes, trying to find an outfit that would not only fit, but also wouldn't look absolutely terrible. He found a pair of nice, deep purple pants and jacket with a causal black v-neck. As he walked out with them, weaving between the humans, he heard a voice,

"Hey! Are you going to pay for those?"

He stopped, dead in his tracks. Turning around slowly, he made direct eye contact with the cashier. The first person he had locked eyes with since the Monk.

"You can see me?"