Unknownfate
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Chapter 165
🕑 Added 2025-06-21 14:12:43 +0000 UTC“Look at you! What’s happened? A few demons too much for you?” Mordred mocked, laughter echoing down the scorched boulevard as she hopped li
“Look at you! What’s happened? A few demons too much for you?” Mordred mocked, laughter echoing down the scorched boulevard as she hopped lightly over the barricade. Her gun rested on her shoulder like a baseball bat, swagger in every step.
Lancelot ignored her taunt; instead, he turned his attention to me. “Your majesty, it's good to see you are unhurt. I noticed the demons stopped coming. I assume you have something to do with that?”
I nodded, but before I got a chance to speak, Mordred spoke up again.
“Hey! Why do you assume Father did it? I could have done it as well! I totally got that stupid guy at the portal, didn’t I, Father?”
I sighed, though I couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Yes, you did. Quite decisively, in fact.”
Mordred beamed like a child receiving a gold star, swinging her gun in a wide, gleeful arc before resting it against her shoulder once more. “See? Told you.”
Lancelot shook his head ever so slightly, but a trace of relief lingered in his features. “I am glad you were able to bring an end to them; they kept coming no matter how many I killed. Trying to save lives was difficult; if not for these young people, I couldn’t have saved as many as I did.” He said, gesturing to the people around him.
“I do enjoy being called young,” the masked man said, voice smooth and theatrical. “It’s terribly flattering. But let’s be precise. I am Fantomex—thief, improvisational killer, and current slayer of demonic vermin. A pleasure.”
He offered a short bow, all theatrics, no respect. “I should have assumed you knew this guy, given that he calls himself Lancelot, and those swords of his. Even I am jealous.” He threw me another hopeful glance as if I would somehow give him weapons now.
I just ignored him and instead looked at the rest of them.
Two figures stepped forward, emerging from behind the crumbling husk of a transport van. A boy and a girl. They were young—perhaps no more than fifteen, but they carried themselves with the kind of practiced defiance born from surviving too much too soon.
The boy moved first, practically dancing over broken stone, his grin as sharp as a blade. The girl followed in silence, her gaze unreadable, her eyes holding the sort of stillness that made grown men nervous.
“We’re Maxime and Manon,” the boy said brightly, spreading his arms as if presenting a prize. “Mutants, twins, psychic terrors, and, apparently, the French resistance.”
“Really? These brats are the best France has to offer? Damn I knew this place was a shithole, but this bad? No wonder you ran all the way to Father’s court.” Mordred couldn’t help but mock them, or rather, mock Lancelot and France.
I placed a hand on her shoulder. “It is rare to see someone so young be so brave, you fight for your home, that is something worthy of respect.” I said, smiling at the two of them.
Maxime blinked, then turned to his sister, lips twitching. “See? I told you we’d impress royalty eventually.”
Manon didn’t smile, but she tilted her head just slightly, studying me with something more than wariness now. “I didn’t expect to see cosplayers today, but damn, your outfits are cool, and you are strong.”
I smiled at her. “Thank you, I'm quite happy with the outfits, I designed them myself.”
Manon gave a slow nod, then looked at Maxime. “We should get matching capes.”
Maxime lit up. “Yes! Finally, someone with taste. You hear that, Manon? Even the shiny knight says capes are in.”
Fantomex scoffed, folding his arms. “They’re only in if you glow or brood. You two do neither.”
“Yet,” Maxime said, winking. “We’re working on both.”
Mordred squinted at him. “You show up tomorrow looking like mini-villains, I’ll toss you back into the sewers myself.”
“Rude,” Maxime muttered. “But fair.”
Lancelot cleared his throat, “These two helped a great many people. They might not be strong in a fight, but their powers, while strange, helped many people get to safety.”
Maxime placed a hand on his chest, mock-offended. “Not strong in a fight? Lancelot, you wound me. I had those demons rage at their own kind, ripping one another apart.”
“Combined, the two of them had the demons not just ignore the civilians, but also fight one another, not strong in combat, but deadly on a battlefield like this.” Lancelot clarified.
I nodded in understanding. Such powers of controlling minds, or emotions, or whatever, were indeed practical and powerful on a large scale. And the two of them were so young as well. Impressive indeed. Not many of their age could withstand the horrors happening here.
They had my respect.
Mordred however wasn’t as impressed as I was, she never cared much for such subtle powers, she cared only for loud and flashy. “What use is controlling these little demons? Just kill them and be done with it.” he scuffed.
Fantomex slapped his thigh. “Damn you really got the Mordred feeling down. I’m impressed, I get why you roleplay her, you are like her less attractive twin.”
“Hey!” Mordred complained. “I’m the more attractive one!”
Mordred’s antics brought a few chuckles from the others, lightening the atmosphere a little.
“Obviously,” Maxime said, barely keeping a straight face. “Your entire look screams ‘chaotic hot medieval disaster.’ It’s honestly working for you.”
Manon, ever still, simply said, “You are loud.”
“I take that as a compliment,” Mordred replied with a toothy grin.
“You would,” Fantomex muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched.
The laughter was brought to an end by a painful, wet cough.
The sound drew my eyes to the last person of the group, someone who had been silent until now.
On the ground sat a young woman in the tattered remains of what must once have been clerical garb. Black and silver, trimmed with a thread that shimmered faintly in the fading light, marked with a stylized crossed key and sword over her chest.
Blood had dried against one sleeve, and a crude bandage wrapped around her thigh, soaked through. Her hand clutched a broken staff tipped with scorched silver, etched in Latin script I didn’t need to read to recognize: wards, bindings, prayers turned into weapons.
This was the first person from the church I had met. I had met a few people from the Church of Albion, and some individuals sent by the Vatican to greet me, but this was the first person who openly wielded the powers of the church.
The first exorcist I had met.
“I’m glad to meet fellow heroes willing to stand up against these demonic creatures.” She said in a weak voice. “But, maybe this isn’t the time to relax just yet.” She reminded us.
Lancelot was at her side in an instant, kneeling beside her like a watchful shadow.
“She’s right,” he said. “This is Sœur Laure, of the Lyon cloister. She fought hard to defend civilians from harm, yet I wasn’t fast enough to save her from getting hurt.”
“I didn’t just defend,” Laure muttered, her voice still hoarse but steady. “I drove them out. Burned them with holy flame until they screamed like pigs and crawled back into their holes.”
“Then passed out from blood loss,” Lancelot added.
“I woke up,” she said with a shrug, attempting to straighten up despite the wince it cost her. “Eventually.”
Fantomex nodded. “I must admit, when I first saw her, I was impressed, and shocked, I never knew the church had powers like that.”
“God is merciful and powerful; one shouldn’t doubt his grace.” She argued, but Lancelot urged her to rest.
“You are hurt, my lady, please rest.” He said gently, the poor girl had no ability to resist a man like Lancelot’s charm.
“Damn adulterer, going after little kids now? Disgusting.” Mordred spat.
Fantomex tilted his head. “You don’t look any older than her? In fact, you look around their age.” He pointed to the twins, who nodded in agreement.
Mordred huffed. “I age like a mythic blade—shiny, immortal, and never dull!”
“You got that last part right,” Maxime said.
Laure, still leaning on her scorched staff, gave a weary chuckle. “You’re all insane.”
“Welcome to the team,” Fantomex replied, sweeping one arm dramatically. “Sanity is the first casualty in any apocalypse worth surviving.”
“I’d rather keep my faith intact,” Laure murmured. “But… I’ll take what allies I can get.”
She looked at me again, more measured this time. “You feel… strange. Familiar and not. Not quite holy. Not infernal. Something old. Something sharp.”
“I am many things,” I replied gently. “But I am not your enemy.”
“I hope not,” she said. “Because if you are… I don’t think we could stop you.”
That brought silence.
She was sharp, that I had to admit.
“I’m flattered by your compliment. Perhaps we should consider getting this young girl some help? The current crisis seemed to have ended.” I spoke.
I wasn’t wrong.
With my Fae eyes and my divine nature, I could look far and wide, see what others couldn’t see. Even as we stood here, I could see how the demons seemed to just disappear one by one. Or sometimes entire groups just vanished.
Always in the same way, as if they moved through a shattered mirror.
I figured that whatever had caused The Ancient One to stay had ended, and now she acted. Clearing up the city of Lyon with ease.
“I agree that things have calmed down, but surely there are still plenty of those monsters out there.” Fantomex argued.
“Hey! If Father said it’s done, then it's done, don’t you dare doubt him!” Mordred was quick to jump to my defence.
Fantomex raised his hands in surrender, clearly amused. “Peace, oh, violent one. I meant no offense. I’m just being responsible here.”
I didn’t blame him, after all, how could he know what I knew? What I saw? “Calm down, Mordred, do not make enemies here. These people, far weaker than you, still tried their hardest; that is worthy of respect.”
Mordred glanced away, lips pursed, but she didn’t argue. Not this time.
Before anyone else had a chance to say something, a sound hit us together with a scent of sulfur and a cloud of smoke.
Mordred instantly drew Clarent II and aimed at the new person who appeared. And I didn’t blame her, the scent of hell combined with their demonic look, they looked like a demon.
Clearly, the rest of the group wasn’t shocked by his appearance, and even Lancelot wasn't. He instead moved like lightning. Appearing in the path between Mordred and Nightcrawler, and drew his twin swords.
The energy blades ignited just in time to block the energy blast from Mordred’s gun.
The bolt struck Lancelot’s crossed blades and burst in a radiant flare, the force kicking up ash and debris around his boots. Mordred didn’t lower her weapon, but her stance shifted—confused now, not hostile.
“Move, old man!” she growled. “That thing reeks of sulfur.”
“I know,” Lancelot said calmly, his swords still up, but his gaze locked on the figure emerging from the smoke. “But this one is not our enemy.”
The haze cleared in slow, curling ribbons. From within it stepped a tall, lithe man clad in dark blue and black, with three fingers on each hand, skin the color of deep indigo, and eyes glowing faintly gold. A spaded tail flicked once behind him.
“Bonjour,” the stranger said, voice warm, accent thick with the Rhine. He held up his hands in a peaceable gesture, palms outward. “Apologies for the entrance. It is hard to arrive quietly.”
Laure weakly raised the broken staff. “Please, while he does look like hellspawn, he is human, a mutant, but human.”
Mordred looked back at me, and I nodded at her. She clicked her tongue and lowered her gun. “Is that the same demon who pulled that screaming woman out of a window before?” she asked me.
“Not a demon!” He said as he calmed down a little.
“Indeed, despite looking like that, he is a human, and yes, he was the one you almost killed earlier, trying to save someone out of a building.” I said, making him swallow hard, learning that he almost got shot earlier as well.
“Well, you sure keep yourself in some interesting company, don’t you?” she said, looking at Lancelot, who could only shrug. “The best France has to offer, no doubt.” She continued.
(end of chapter)
Fantomex – Imagine a suave French assassin with a love for white leather and fourth-wall-breaking snark. A product of the Weapon Plus program (same people who made Wolverine), Fantomex is genetically engineered, wears sarcasm like armor, and has a literal spaceship for a nervous system. He's a thief, a killer, and a surprisingly loyal ally when it matters—just don’t ask him to play by the rules.
Nightcrawler (Kurt Wagner) – The kind-hearted, teleporting blue elf of the X-Men. German accent, swashbuckler soul, and devout Catholic beliefs. Don’t be fooled by his demonic appearance; Nightcrawler is one of the most deeply moral characters in the Marvel universe. He also teleports by briefly stepping through a hell-dimension, which is not as fun as it sounds.
Manon & Maxime – Twin French telepaths introduced in Dawn of X. Young, gifted, and a little creepy (in the way only kids with mental powers can be). Manon tends to be the more composed and mature of the two, while Maxime is a bit of a brat—but they’re both incredibly powerful and unnervingly observant. Imagine if Charles Xavier had mood swings and siblings.
Powers: Both are empathic telepaths. Maxime can manipulate emotions—amplifying or dulling feelings in others, which makes him dangerously effective in a crowd. Manon can implant thoughts and memories, subtly rewriting someone’s sense of self or loyalty. Together, they are a frighteningly effective psychic duo, capable of turning enemies into allies or destabilizing entire teams by pulling emotional strings.
Sœur Laure – I also wanted to show off the church, because, in a world with vampires, werewolves, and all manner of monsters, the church has its own ways of bringing God’s judgment to dark corners of his realm.
