Unknownfate
patreon
Chapter 94
🕑 Added 2025-04-10 18:49:31 +0000 UTCMordred’s boots scraped against the floor as she shifted her stance, arms still folded. “You really don’t get it.”
Kilgrave raised an eyebrow. “Don’t get what?”
The grin on her face was not the kind you gave to someone you respected. It was the kind wolves gave before they bit. “You think you know me, but the truth is, you know nothing.”
Kilgrave paused, then laughed. “Well, that’s only normal, isn’t it? You meet someone, and then you get to know them. We don’t know one another yet, but we will get to know one another really soon.” He spoke with confidence.
Far too much confidence, in fact.
I couldn’t understand the reason for his confidence; surely it wasn’t the woman by his side. She might act like his servant, but that wouldn’t matter, she was far too weak to do much, not to mention there were two of us, and one of her.
Which meant he had to be confident in his own power, but I felt nothing from him. His body wasn’t that of a warrior.
So, what was going on?
I wished I could remember his name, but honestly, I just couldn’t. Kilgrave was kinda like that Wakanda guy, but he was white, so it couldn’t be him.
And he didn’t move like someone trained. There was no weight to his steps, no tension in his limbs. He was a man utterly convinced that the world would move for him, not the other way around.
That made him dangerous.
Not because of strength—but because of certainty.
People who believed the world bent to their will often had power that didn’t come from fists.
Still, I saw no runes. No circuits. No magecraft sigils etched on his skin. No magical fields, and certainly no divine essence. He was just a man.
And yet...
“You’re awfully sure of yourself for someone who can’t even beat me in a staring contest,” Mordred said. Her tone was casual, but there was steel underneath it. “You act like we’re already on your side.”
Kilgrave didn’t flinch. “Aren’t you?”
Mordred’s eyes narrowed.
And then, as if it had just occurred to her, she tilted her head toward the woman in the corner. “What’s her deal anyway? She your pet? Or just real into standing around doing nothing?”
Jessica didn’t react.
Kilgrave smiled.
“Oh, her? She’s mine. Mind, body, soul. All of it.”
Mordred frowned. “The hell does that mean?”
“It means,” Kilgrave said, almost purring now, “that if I told her to break her own neck, she’d do it. Without hesitation.”
Jessica didn’t blink.
The silence hit like a dropped knife.
Mordred’s hand stopped halfway to another fry.
I narrowed my eyes slightly.
“It’s a gift,” Kilgrave continued, his voice still soft, smooth, maddening. “I speak. They obey. No resistance, no struggle. Just... obedience. Isn’t that beautiful?”
Jessica stood still. Breathing. Barely human.
“Sometimes people don’t notice it at first, like you two, others show it rather obviously, like Jessica here. But you will come to learn all the… pleasures of being under me.” He said with a twisted grin on his face.
That did it.
The last fry on Mordred’s plate didn’t survive. Her hand crushed it into crumbs without even trying. She rose, slowly, her chair groaning in protest.
“Under you?” she asked, voice level. “You think I’m under you?”
Kilgrave smiled at her, smug and serene. “Of course you are. You haven’t tried to leave. You’ve been so compliant. Charming, really.”
“You think me not beating your face in is compliance?” she asked, a little louder now. “Buddy, the only reason I haven’t folded you in half is because he—” she pointed at me without looking, “—is still curious.”
Kilgrave’s gaze flicked to me.
I said nothing.
But I was on high alert.
Because his words had jogged my memory. I remembered who he was, and what he could do.
Kilgrave, I couldn’t remember his real name, but I remembered that he should be someone who had undergone brutal experiments as a kid, that had twisted his body and mind.
He had gained the ability to control others using his voice, using some kind of biochemistry.
I didn’t fully understand everything about him or his ability, only that after gaining it, he came twisted. He never had anyone say no to him again. And that kind of life twisted him; when it came to Narcissism, he made Tony Stark look like a beginner.
That explained the confidence. The smugness. The absolute belief that we were already his. He didn’t need to threaten us, because in his mind, we were already in his pocket. Just didn’t realize it yet.
Kilgrave turned away from me and gave Mordred a little shrug, like they were in on the same joke. “It’s alright. You don’t have to accept it now. It takes time. Resistance is a phase.”
“You’re not gonna live long enough to see it through,” Mordred replied flatly.
“See?” he said, grinning. “You’re adorable when you’re angry.”
I couldn’t help but worry. After all, his power wasn’t magic, so something like Magic resistance wouldn’t affect it. And Mordred wasn’t a servant, but possessed a body, which might make her susceptible to his ability.
I didn’t worry about myself; I wasn’t fully human, being made a god by my lance, and therefore, I wasn’t affected. However, I worried for Mordred, and I thought about acting, but I held myself back only due to curiosity.
I wasn’t sure if his power affected Mordred or not; if it did, I would have to be more careful about non-magical abilities, such as mutants, in the future.
Kilgrave’s eyes stayed locked on Mordred, as if trying to peel her apart with nothing but his grin.
“You’re a tough one,” he said smoothly. “But even the toughest fall. Everyone breaks. I just have to find the right word.”
He breathed in, sharp and deliberate.
“Kneel.”
The word cut the air like a whip.
And it hit her.
I felt it. Not through sound, but through reaction. Mordred’s breath caught in her throat. Her stance shifted—just slightly. Her fingers twitched. Her spine stiffened.
Her smirk vanished.
I watched as Mordred disappeared; she was still there, but also not. Her face lost its expression. The body of Mordred was no longer under Mordred’s control.
Her arms slowly relaxed, dropping to her sides.
Her legs bent—not into a fighting stance, but into submission.
Kilgrave’s smile deepened, like a man watching dominoes fall. “That’s it,” he whispered. “It’s easier, isn’t it? No more thinking. No more choices. Just me.”
I remained still, but inside, everything turned cold. I saw what he didn’t.
That silence?
That stillness?
It merely masked the truth.
Because I could clearly feel Mordred’s mana scream. As a clone of me, she too had a dragon’s heart, or maybe a semi-dragon heart. But at this moment, it was no less then mine, and mana flooded her body.
The pressure in the room shifted.
Mordred’s pupils dilated. Her breathing hitched. Her hands—still hanging loose—started to tremble. But it wasn’t weakness. No. It was like a dam about to burst.
Kilgrave noticed too late.
He tilted his head, confused. “Why are you… shaking?”
Mordred blinked slowly, and something ancient lit behind her eyes. Her lips twitched. A smile? No. A snarl.
“You made me move,” she said, barely above a whisper.
Kilgrave backed up a step.
“You made me kneel.”
She lifted her head—and it was no longer a puppet’s posture. It was the rise of something defiant, indomitable, and furious.
“I will only kneel before one person, only one king is worthy of my loyalty! And that is my father!”
The words cracked like thunder, a declaration wrapped in reverence and rage.
Kilgrave flinched. For the first time, he truly looked afraid—not confused, not smug. Afraid.
Mordred straightened fully, chin high, her body thrumming with mana. Red lightning started dancing across her body.
“You don’t own me,” she growled, eyes alight with fury. “You barely even understand what I am.”
Her voice was no longer hers alone—it carried weight, the echo of rebellion given form. Her presence dominated the room.
“I am the Knight of Treachery. I am the sword that defied fate. The blood of kings runs through my veins, and I choose who I follow. And you?” She sneered. “You’re not even a footnote.”
Kilgrave’s mouth opened. No sound came.
Mordred took one step forward.
Then another.
Each step forced the floorboards to creak under pressure they were never meant to withstand.
“You think this is about obedience?” she said. “You think you broke me?”
Her laugh was short and savage.
“I am rebellion!” she shouted loud enough to force Kilgrave to cover his ears.
He was backing away slowly, mouth dry, sweat now visible at his hairline.
“Stay back,” he said, voice brittle.
Mordred didn’t stop.
“You wanted my power, didn’t you?” She said. “Then see if you can handle it!”
She slammed her fist into the cowering fool's head.
No matter how many people he could command, no matter how powerful they might be. Against Mordred’s fist, fuelled with her rebellion against his control, he was nothing.
His face was crushed, his head exploded under the force of that one punch, and the man who could have controlled the world died in that cheap hotel room.
The sound of Kilgrave’s body hitting the floor was followed by silence.
A deep, trembling silence.
His blood smeared across the tile like a broken promise, his body crumpled in an awkward heap. Whatever smugness had clung to him before was gone.
And just like that, the spell broke.
Jessica gasped.
It wasn’t loud, not even dramatic. But it was real. Her eyes snapped wide open, her body shuddering like someone waking from a nightmare.
She took a step back from where she’d stood motionless the entire time. Then another. Her hands reached up and grabbed her head, fingers digging into her scalp as if trying to tear something out.
“No,” she whispered, voice raw. “No, no, no, no—”
Mordred didn’t move. Her mana still crackled faintly in the air, but her eyes were locked on the woman in front of us now—not with anger, but with pity.
Even Mordred wasn’t without a heart, and even she knew when to feel bad for someone. After all, even she had felt what it was like to be controlled, even if only for a moment.
Jessica dropped to her knees, this time without command.
She was shaking. Crying. From relief, from sorrow, from disbelief. The monster she feared was dead. And she wasn’t sure what to think or what to do.
I stepped forward, slow and steady, as if approaching a wounded animal. Because that’s what she was—wounded, but still alive.
“Jessica,” I said softly.
She didn’t look up.
“He’s gone.”
Her shoulders jerked with a sob, but still she said nothing.
Mordred let out a breath—sharp, ragged, but not angry anymore. She crouched down, not close, but close enough for Jessica to hear her without needing to strain.
“I get it,” Mordred said. “That feeling like you weren’t in your own skin. Like your body betrayed you. Like you’re less now, because someone else held the reins.”
Jessica’s fingers twitched.
“I get it,” Mordred repeated. “And I also get that it doesn’t go away the moment he dies. You don’t just… snap back. It’s not that easy.”
Jessica’s breath caught. She turned her head slightly.
“But if you blame yourself for anything you did while under his control, then you are still under it. Draw a line, all that? Was him. Not you. Don’t let him control you anymore.”
Jessica looked up, eyes wide, full of cracks where strength used to live. But inside them, a flicker sparked.
“I don’t know how,” she said, voice hoarse.
“You don’t have to know,” Mordred said. “Just start walking. The rest comes later.”
Jessica stared at her. Then, slowly, painfully, she nodded.
I was surprised, I didn’t think Mordred had it in her. So say something like that, something so… wise. With a smile. I placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
(End of chapter)
So that was who Kilgrave was, some mind control freak… well he really didn’t last long did he?
Mordred is the knight of rebellion. And I feel that it should very much be like an NP. Or a skill of some kind. So yeah, she is more powerful when she rebels against something, much like how a dragon slayer is stronger when fighting against a dragon, and said dragon will be weaker facing them.
Mordred is someone who fights with rage, with hate, her NP is very much the full hate for her father, yet she also loves her. Mordred is only a fool when she wants to. In truth, she is a skilled warrior and as clever as her blade is sharp.
Though she is far easier to write as pure chaos, so it’s not often I’m gonna make wise often. But hey, I’m proud of her.
