Unknownfate
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Chapter 136
🕑 Added 2025-05-23 13:44:35 +0000 UTC“Magneto!”
“Impossible!” a Chinese diplomat snapped, his face pale, his hand clenching around the edge of his desk as if the polished wood might somehow shield him from the living legend that had just entered the room. “This... this is madness!”
Fury felt his pulse spike, his single eye narrowing as he watched the scene unfold, his mind racing to anticipate what would happen next. He had expected Arthuria to make a statement, to push back against the accusations being leveled against her kingdom, but this... this was something else entirely.
Magneto stopped beside Arthuria, his head tilting slightly as he took in the chaos around him, his lips curling into a thin, satisfied smile as he felt the metal in the room bend and quiver beneath his will, the lights overhead flickering wildly as the magnetic fields continued to shift and warp.
He enjoyed it, the fear, and the chance to be here. Even for all his power, reaching a room like this, with world leaders from across the globe, was nearly impossible. They always kept track of him, and they did have weapons effective against him.
They had had plenty of time to make such things.
So, yes, this was a rare opportunity, where he could stand before all those who stood against him, and there was nothing they could do but cower.
The fear, the panic in the room, it was satisfying, it was everything his kind often felt when they were locked in dark rooms with heavy chains holding them down. He wished he could unleash his full wrath on these people, but he knew he couldn’t.
Even if the King of Knights allowed it, killing these people wouldn’t help his cause; more people would step forward, and they would be out for blood, mutant blood. *1
No, he would have to do more, and today, he just so happened to be planning just that.
I looked at Erik next to me, the smile on his face told me he had many plans for this meeting. And honestly, I didn’t care much. Whatever he would do, as long as he didn’t cross the line we agreed on, I would allow it.
After all, my own plan here almost required him to cause some chaos, as that would buy Albion the time it needed.
In fact, his wandering into Camelot a few days ago had been a stroke of good luck. He wasn’t there for me, but for Mjolnir, but that didn’t stop me from giving him an offer he couldn’t, and wouldn’t refuse.
“Enough,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise like the crack of a whip, the sharp, clear tone echoing through the hall, forcing the room into a sudden, breathless silence.
The diplomats froze, their eyes snapping back to me, their faces pale, their hands clutching at the edges of their desks, their papers, their notes, as if the thin, crinkling sheets might somehow shield them from the force of my presence.
I let the silence stretch for a long, deafening moment, my eyes sweeping the room, taking in the fear, the confusion, the barely concealed rage that now filled the hall like the smoke of a burning city.
“Now that I have your attention,” I continued, my tone cold, my eyes narrowing slightly as I took another slow, deliberate step forward, “we will have a proper discussion.”
Magneto’s thin smile widened, his arms folding across his chest as he took his place beside me, the metal in the room still creaking and groaning in response to his power, the lights overhead flickering as the magnetic fields continued to shift and warp.
“Make no mistake,” I added, my tone dropping to a low, dangerous growl, my eyes locking onto the pale, trembling face of the Secretary-General, “you will hear what I have to say.”
I paused, letting the silence stretch again, the tension in the room building like the pressure before a storm, the air itself seeming to vibrate with the force of my will, my power, my presence.
“Now, why don’t you all return to your seats.” I said, as I looked around, and quickly spotted what I was after. The section that normally housed representatives from the United Kingdoms.
“We,” I said as I walked over with Magneto following close by, though while I talked, he stalked across the path, like a predator, taking endless joy in this. “Will sit here.” I told the three people about to sit there.
The three people there forced, and then almost tripped over themselves as they tried to get away from the very hot seat.
“Now that we have a place to sit,” I said, my voice cutting through the low, panicked whispers and rustling papers like the crack of a whip, my tone sharp and unyielding, “we can begin.”
I let the silence stretch for a long, breathless moment, my eyes still sweeping the room, my head tilting slightly as I took in the fear, the confusion, the raw, unfiltered terror that now filled the hall, the tension building like the pressure before a storm, the air itself seeming to vibrate with the force of my will, my power, my presence.
“First,” I said, my tone cold, my eyes narrowing. “Let’s deal with introductions… Let’s have Director Fury handle them, I’m curious about how he sees us, don’t you agree?” I turned and asked Erik.
Erik’s thin smile widened, his sharp eyes cutting through the tense silence that had settled over the room.
“Yes,” he said, his tone carrying a hint of dark amusement, his head tilting slightly as he regarded Fury, who still stood beside his chair, his single eye narrowed, his jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tight with barely restrained tension.
“I would like to hear it. I have always been curious how our friend, the good director, chooses to describe us when he is not whispering into the ears of world leaders.”
Fury took a slow, deliberate breath, his jaw tightening, his fingers curling around the polished armrest of his chair as he straightened.
“You want me to introduce you?” he said, his tone sharp, his eye narrowing further, his fingers tightening around the polished wood of his desk. “Fine. Let’s start with you.”
He leaned back slightly, his jaw tightening, his single eye locked onto Arthuria, his tone hard and unyielding, his expression a mask of tightly controlled anger and frustration.
“Arthuria Pendragon,” he said, his voice carrying through the hall, echoing off the high, curved ceiling, the words ringing in the ears of the gathered diplomats like the tolling of a great bell. “The King of Knights. The White Lion King. The Wielder of Excalibur. The Once and Future King.
The woman who carved a kingdom out of the heart of Europe, who bent the world to her will, who brought magic back into the light, who shattered the old order and replaced it with something... new.”
For a long, breathless moment, the room was silent, the diplomats frozen in place, their wide eyes locked on me, their faces pale, their hands clutching at their desks, their notes, their polished wooden armrests, as if the thin, crinkling sheets might somehow shield them from the force of the revelation that had just been dropped into their laps.
A woman. The King of Knights, the legendary Arthur, the living myth, the ruler of Albion — a woman.
The whispers started slowly at first, a low, nervous murmur that spread through the room like the first, tentative crack of thunder before a storm, the diplomats turning to one another, their eyes wide, their voices trembling, their faces twisted in disbelief and confusion as they tried to process what they had just heard.
“No... that can’t be right,” one of the French representatives whispered, his face pale, his hands trembling as he clutched at the edge of his desk. “King Arthur was a man... a warrior... a legend. This... this is impossible.”
“I thought... I thought it was a bad translation,” a German diplomat stammered, his voice cracking, his eyes wide, his face flushing a deep, confused red as he glanced at his colleagues for reassurance, his hands tightening around the stack of papers in front of him.
All over the room, people were losing it; they struggled to accept the truth, some took it better than others, but many couldn’t accept it. Especially those nations that still didn’t have a progressive view on women.
I watched from my seat, took in their reactions one by one, and one in particular caught my attention. One man, sitting in a far corner, representing a minor European nation.
His reaction was different; he was still shocked, but other than that? It was very different from the others, and that alone was enough to make me interested.
“And beside her,” he continued, his tone turning colder, his eye flicking to Magneto, “we have Erik Lehnsherr, better known as Magneto, the Master of Magnetism. Leader of the Brotherhood of Mutants, a wanted terrorist, and mutant supremacist. And now, apparently, the representative of all mutantkind.”
“There,” he said, his tone cold, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. “Introductions made.”
“Thank you, Director,” I said, standing up. “Some of you might doubt it, doubt my identity, and I won’t blame you… If you do, please direct those doubts to my son.” I said as the door in the back was once more forced open, this time, the doors couldn’t take it, and they broke down completely.
In the opening stood Mordred, her battered, crimson armor catching the flickering light, Clarent resting casually against her shoulder, her other hand on her hip, a wild, unrestrained grin on her uncovered face.
For a long, breathless moment, the room fell silent, the diplomats frozen in place, their wide eyes locked on the armored figure in the doorway, the jagged, broken remains of the doors still settling around her feet.
“Oi!” Mordred called out, her voice sharp and clear, cutting through the stunned silence like the crack of a whip. “You heard my father. Any of you got a problem with who she claims to be, you take it up with me!”
She stepped forward, her boots ringing against the polished marble, her head tilting slightly as her fierce, red eyes swept the room, her lips curling into a savage, eager grin.
“Not that it’ll change much,” she added, her tone dropping to a low, dangerous growl as she reached the center of the hall, her sharp eyes locking onto the pale, trembling faces around her. “But at least it’ll give me something to do.”
I leaned back in my seat, letting a small, satisfied smile spread across my lips as I watched the chaos around me, the fear, the confusion, the raw, unfiltered terror that now filled the hall, the tension building like the pressure before a storm, the air itself seeming to vibrate with the force of my will, my power, my presence.
“Thank you, Mordred,” I said, my tone cool, my eyes locking onto the wide, disbelieving stares of the gathered diplomats, my head tilting slightly as I took in their pale, trembling faces, their white-knuckled grips on their polished wooden desks. “Now, shall we continue?”
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Victor von Doom had planned on using this important meeting to finally declare himself the emperor of Latveria. He had spent the last year fully cementing his rule, having invested heavily in advanced weapons.
After all, Albion was clearly the best example; power was everything. If you were strong, no one would question you.
Well, it wasn’t entirely true, as this meeting was all about questioning and dealing with that King Arthur, though Doom knew that it was pointless.
Yet, clearly he had underestimated how useful this meeting would be, not only the perfect stage for him to rip Latveria away from the bonds of the external world, the obligations made by its former ruler.
But it also served to shine some light on an important secret: Arthuria Pendragon, the king of Albion, was a woman. And a beautiful one at that, beautiful and powerful… perhaps he should consider an alliance, one forged from marriage.
The strange relationship she had with the blood knight Mordred… he could accept, for Doom was nothing if not magnanimous.
