Unknownfate
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Chapter 93
🕑 Added 2025-04-09 17:26:29 +0000 UTCI couldn’t help but be slightly confused, as this man apparently made himself right at home. I mean, he was hardly welcome, having been forced to have his companion push the door open.
Yet given that he was here because he believed us to be enhanced, and that the woman seemed enhanced as well, it was likely that he was some wanna be hero or villain.
Still, I hardly worried, no two-bit villain or hero could threaten either of us. “Fine, come on inside and talk, clearly you aren’t going to take no for an answer.”
He smiled at that—no, grinned—as if he’d just been invited into a palace instead of a cheap hotel room. The woman behind him, dressed in civilian clothes and with dark hair hanging around her face like a curtain, didn’t speak. She entered only because he moved, trailing behind him like a ghost in her own skin.
He glanced around the room with mild curiosity, then turned his gaze back to us.
“I appreciate your hospitality. It’s so rare, these days, to find people who aren’t screaming by now.”
“Screaming? At what? I mean your suit is horrible, but hardly worthy of screaming about.” Mordred muttered under her breath as she went back to her own pile of food.
He chuckled, and the sound made my skin itch. “Now, now. No need for hostility. I’m here to offer... an opportunity.”
“Who are you?” I asked plainly.
“Oh, I go by many names. But I like Kilgrave. I know, not the most flattering. But branding is hard.” His smile widened. “And this lovely creature behind me is Jessica. Don’t worry, she doesn’t bite. Unless I tell her to.”
Jessica didn’t react. She stood still, her expression blank, shoulders slightly hunched—as if the very act of standing there was a weight she could barely bear.
I studied her closely.
She seemed strange to me, like she wasn’t all there. She was clearly stronger than a normal person. Could she be a mutant who had lost her intelligence in exchange for strength? It was likely, mutations were strange like that.
But something felt off.
“Jessica, be a dear and close the door, would you?” Kilgrave said without looking back.
She moved immediately, turning without a word to quietly shut the door behind her.
It was too smooth. Too practiced. Too obedient.
Still, I didn’t move. Not yet. Not until I understood.
“So,” Kilgrave continued, stepping toward the small table near the window and casually pulling out a chair. “Let’s not waste each other’s time. I’ve been following the reports—two incredibly gifted women showing up in New York, tearing through organized crime like paper. I was intrigued. I’m a man who appreciates power.”
He sat, crossed one leg over the other, and smiled like he was the one hosting us.
“And you’re… what?” Mordred asked, disinterested. “Some recruiter for a setup? Like those Brotherhood guys?”
“Something like that,” he replied. “I like the idea of collecting people like myself, gifted people, there is strength in unity, isn’t there? And under me, you won’t have to stay in small places like this, or eat food like that.”
He clearly didn’t think much of the little hotel room we had, which indeed was pretty shit. Though the food wasn’t bad, even though it was just junk food, it was a whole lot better than what we often got back in our time.
Still, I couldn’t blame him for thinking we might be down rough, after all. Many heroes struggled to pay the bills, since being a hero didn’t really pay at all.
Kilgrave leaned forward slightly, fingers steepled beneath his chin. “Tell me—what’s it like? Smashing your way through the city like a storm. Does it feel good?”
Mordred didn’t look up from her food. She shrugged. “Beats sitting still.”
He smiled at that, soft and sly. “Of course it does. All that strength—it must feel wasted unless it’s used. You enjoy it, don’t you? The heat of battle. The thrill of it.”
Mordred paused mid-bite. Just for a second. Then she kept eating. “Heck yeah I enjoy it, fighting it the best! Nothing beats a good fight to fight off boredom.”
“Boredom,” Kilgrave echoed thoughtfully, “now that’s a killer. That’s what drove me mad, you know. Having power… It got so lonely, being the only special one around.”
His eyes shifted to her, studying her with a kind of quiet hunger. “But you… you’re different. I can tell. Strong. Wild. Not afraid of getting your hands dirty.”
She glanced up at him then, finally, with just a spark of curiosity. “You trying to flirt with me?”
He chuckled, smooth and unbothered. “I have dear Jessica here, that all I need, although, your sister is a very pretty woman.”
The air shifted.
Mordred froze mid-bite, her jaw tightening. Slowly, deliberately, she set the food down beside her. Her chair creaked as she leaned forward, eyes narrowed to slits.
“You better pick your next words very carefully,” she said, voice like gravel and ice. “Because that’s not my sister.”
Kilgrave blinked once, his smile faltering only slightly. “Oh? My mistake. I assumed—”
“You assumed wrong,” Mordred cut in, rising from her chair with the scrape of wood against tile. “That’s my father you’re talking about.”
There was silence.
Jessica didn’t move.
Kilgrave raised a brow. “Really? My, how progressive.”
Mordred took a step forward. “Keep talking. I dare you.”
I didn’t stop her. Not yet. I was curious to see how far Kilgrave would push, and more importantly, what he was trying to read from us.
He leaned back slightly, fingers tapping the arm of the chair. “Touchy. Family resemblance’s quite strong though. The fire. The attitude.” His gaze flicked to me for half a second. “And I can see where she gets it.”
“Don’t look at him,” Mordred hissed.
“Mordred,” I said, loudly and with warning in my tone.
I didn’t like this man any more when she did; his words had a strange tingle run down my spine. It was a disgusting feeling - something was wrong about him, but I didn’t want Mordred to start a fight over something so minor.
Kilgrave tilted his head slightly at my tone, like a cat hearing an unfamiliar sound. His lips parted, a wordless flicker of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Of course,” he said smoothly, lifting his hands in a disarming gesture. “Didn’t mean to offend. I just like to… understand the dynamics of the people I meet.”
Mordred didn’t sit. She stood there like a loaded crossbow, her hands twitching near the hilt of the knife she’d used to cut her burger. Her jaw was clenched, one heel tapping out an irritated beat on the floor.
“Then stop making assumptions,” she growled. “Or you’ll end up with fewer teeth than you walked in with.”
Kilgrave chuckled lightly, but he didn’t push further—not with her. His attention slid back to me, like oil slipping down glass.
“And you? You’ve been quiet. Composed. I must say, it’s refreshing. Everyone else I meet tends to panic once they realize who I am.”
I offered him nothing but a thin smile. “I don’t know who you are.”
My honest answer had him at a loss. Clearly, he wasn’t entirely sure about how to react.
“I see, well I’m slightly disappointed, but then again, I’m not too famous just yet, nothing like Tony Stark… Jessica here used to be quite a fan of him, isn’t that right?” he asked the woman standing beside him.
Jessica’s mouth moved before thought could reach it. Her voice was flat. Hollow. “Yes. I was. He came out in front of the world. Said who he was. No mask. No shame.”
She paused, the slightest flicker of something—regret, memory—ghosting across her face before it was gone again. “I thought that was what a hero looked like.”
Kilgrave gave a pleased hum, like a man listening to a favorite tune. “Mmm. Inspiring, wasn’t it? Shame he’s not around to see what you’ve become.”
That sounded pretty suspicious. There was nothing wrong with her reply, but his words? They didn’t sound right. There was something there, something unsaid, something only the two of them knew, but whatever it was, it felt… wrong.
Still, I didn’t pry, I had a feeling that this guy, this Kilgrave, would tell me everything I wanted to know all on his own, so I just focused on listening and slowly eating my food.
Seeing that I had nothing more to say, he appeared slightly displeased, maybe bored, but quickly turned his attention back to Mordred.
Kilgrave leaned back in his chair again, arms resting on the sides like he owned the place. “Mordred,” he said suddenly, the name curling on his tongue like a sip of wine. “Now that’s a bold choice.”
Mordred, still standing, lifted a brow. “What?”
“Your name,” he said, smiling as if he’d found a secret only he understood. “You really went with Mordred, huh? The rebellious knight. The traitor. The one who tried to kill dear old dad.”
His eyes flicked to me, then back to her. “Let me guess, King Arthur?”
I realized that he thought Mordred was just someone who picked that name as a hero name rather than suspecting that Mordred was the real deal, which was understandable; after all, Mordred was still publicly believed to be a man.
I merely nodded at his question. Deciding to let him believe we just picked those names would at least allow us to use them without risking revealing who we truly were.
Kilgrave grinned, clearly entertained by the implication. “How quaint,” he said. “A little cosplay, a little mythic flair—it’s all the rage these days. But I’ve got to say, you wear it well. The King and the Knight.” His eyes swept across Mordred’s outfit—the shorts, the boots, the bare midriff. “Though I always pictured Mordred in something a little more… armored.”
Mordred’s grin widened—not friendly, not nice. The kind of grin that said she was two seconds away from throwing a punch at his face, yet clearly the man didn’t understand Mordred like I did, and misunderstood her. “Can’t wear armor around here.” she answered honestly.
“Yes, it surely would draw more attention,” Kilgrave said. “Still, it’s a curious name to take. Bit of a villain, that one. Patricide, betrayal, apocalyptic battle… but maybe that’s the appeal. The bad ones always have more fun.”
Kilgrave nodded to himself. “You know. Chaos. Rebellion. The thrill of it all. You look the part—wild hair, boots, confident smirk. You even carry yourself like someone who doesn’t care about rules. I understand that; I, too, hate all the rules of society. Those with power, like us, should be free.
Alright, that was clearly more villain than hero speak right there. Though he could be part of the Brotherhood, given they too often spoke like that, and those weren’t really the bad guys, more of anti-heroes, so it was still too soon to pass judgment on him.
But I was starting to feel like he would push Mordred past the point of no return soon enough, and honestly, I didn’t feel like holding her back.
Mordred tilted her head slightly, like she was trying to decide which part of his face to punch first. “You talk a lot.”
Kilgrave chuckled. “Words are power. Or hadn’t you noticed?” He turned slightly, stretching his back like he was lounging at some rooftop bar instead of standing in a hotel room with two apex predators.
“I’m beginning to wonder if you came here to offer something,” I said softly, “or if you just wanted to hear yourself speak.”
“Oh, I came to offer something,” he replied with that same insufferable smile. “Freedom. Influence. Safety. The world isn’t kind to people like us. People who can bend it. But together? We could shape it into something new. You wouldn’t have to hide in shadows or burn yourself out chasing roaches through alleyways.”
He turned his gaze back to Mordred, eyes glinting with something too slick to be sincere. “And you—you wouldn’t have to fight for scraps. Or prove yourself. Ever again.”
(End of chapter)
Kilgrave, so he is a funny guy isn’t he? And brave, daring to talk like that before Mordred, I wonder what his power is, that he isn’t afraid to get his face smashed in.
Anyway, I might have made a small change here. I’m not sure when Jessica Jones met Killgrave. I know she did it because she got inspired by superheroes, but I’m not sure if she did this after the battle of New York, or before.
Here, its before.
