Unknownfate
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Chapter 89
🕑 Added 2025-04-06 23:10:17 +0000 UTCThe United States of America, the USA. It is without a doubt a cursed land. Honestly, I don’t think there is a more cursed place on earth.
No other place seemed to have as much misfortune gathered, no place as many super villains or their plans.
After all, how many of the alien invasions, both past and future, would involve the USA? How many heroes wouldn’t come from here? Born from a need due to the number of bad guys running wild?
Even a small-scale hero like Spider-Man had enough villains that he rarely had a free moment, and he was one guy in one city, and there were plenty of other heroes working in that city, taking their own share of evil villains.
Truly, these fifty states are a sponge of misfortune, which is sometimes squeezed and spreads highly concentrated doom across the world.
There was no doubt that this once colony of my kingdom likely needed my help and my rule far more than my true nation did. Though the people here would likely resist such a thing far more than my people had resisted me.
I was glad that I didn’t have to shoulder the burden of fixing this mess, and could leave that to the likes of Tony Stark. “Mordred, are you done messing around?” I asked as we stepped through the TemPad portal.
Mordred rolled her eyes as she stepped out beside me. “Define messing around, Father,” she said. “If you mean teaching a guy with wandering hands how to kiss concrete—then yes, I’m done.”
“That’s too bad,” I stretched my words as I looked around.
I had ended up moving us to the top of a rather tall building, yet it wasn’t the tallest around, given that on both of our sides were cold concrete walls.
“Because here I was planning to go around making some supposedly immortal ninja assassins kiss concrete, but since you are done with that, I might have to do it alone.”
Mordred blinked, the words taking a second to register. “Wait! I’m not done at all! I can smash in assassins all day long, immortal ones all the better.”
Had Mordred’s luck been lower, perhaps at the level of a lancer, I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had tripped and fallen, given how she jumped around all excitedly like that.
“Let’s just hope you won’t alert them with your loud voice, they might all run and hide before we catch them.” I playfully admonished her for being so loud at this time of the day.
Mordred grinned, entirely unrepentant. “Let them run. I like a good chase.”
She meant it too. If there was one thing that never changed about my knight-turned-son, it was that fire in her heart. Always eager for battle. Always hungry to prove herself. Even now, when she had no idea what we were truly facing.
“They’re called the Hand,” I said, stepping toward the ledge of the building. “A cult of assassins who have found a way to bring the dead back to life.”
My words caused the very air to still, and even Mordred, who was about ready to go on a wild hunt, froze at them. She looked beyond shocked.
And I couldn’t blame her.
I was powerful, a true goddess, yet my power, and Mordred’s, all came from the Fate universe, and the system there was very different. Sometimes higher, sometimes lower than here in Marvel.
But one thing that everyone with enough power in the Fate Universe knew was that bringing the dead back to life was impossible.
The Holy Grail couldn’t do it, nor could even divine spirits like myself. I could think of only two ways to bring the dead back to life.
One was using the full might of an outer god, those beings had power far beyond anyone like me, and while they might not do what you want, being more madness than anything else, they could overturn reality.
So I figured they could do it, should they fully descend on earth, which would lead to the end of the world, but they likely could do something like that.
The other way would be using the MoonCell. The full-powered MoonCell could rewind time itself, and bringing back the dead wasn’t difficult for it. It kept a record of every soul, every event, and could therefore undo them.
The MoonCell in the Fate Universe had, however, been badly damaged, and that damage had been ensured in every timeline, every parallel world, so while in theory it could do it, one would have to repair it somehow.
No, to Mordred, the act of bringing the dead back to life was just unbelievable; it simply didn’t compute with her.
Mordred blinked again. Her expression faltered.
Then, for the first time in a very long time, she actually took a step back.
“Wait… what?” Her voice cracked just slightly. “Back to life? As in… actually back?”
I nodded.
Mordred stared at me like I’d just said the sky was made of glass and we were walking on it.
“No. No, that’s not— That’s not a thing! That can’t be a thing.” She was shaking her head now, aggressively, like she could throw the idea out of her skull. “You can’t just… that’s not possible! Even the Grail—you said—!”
“I know what I said.”
Her voice rose. “Not even gods can do it. Not truly. Not the way you’re talking about!”
I said nothing.
Mordred turned in place, trying to find some anchor to latch onto in this rooftop of quiet stone and dark skies. “You’re serious. You’re serious.”
“I am.”
There was silence. Real, heavy silence. She didn’t blink. Her jaw clenched like she was holding back a scream.
“How? How can they do that? I mean, it's impossible,” she asked, grasping for reason, for structure, for anything that made this make sense.
I could only shake my head. “I’m not sure, I don’t know how it works, only that they apparently are able to do it. which is what I want to confirm, something or someone able to bring the dead back to life isn’t a small matter.”
Mordred slowly ran a hand down her face, the motion uncharacteristically slow—like her body hadn’t caught up with her mind. “That’s like telling me someone turned off gravity because they were bored. You’re talking about violating the foundation of everything.”
Her eyes snapped to mine, wild and sharp. “And you want to go down there and check?”
I nodded once.
A slow, breathless laugh escaped her lips. “Of course you do.”
She stepped forward to stand beside me at the ledge, looking down at the city with new suspicion. Her posture stiffened as her instincts caught up—sword hand twitching even though she carried no blade.
“Alright,” she muttered, voice tight with adrenaline now. “So what’s the plan? Break some skulls, set some bodies on fire, and see if any of them come crawling back?”
“I would like to ask them about the how first.” I said softly, “But I won’t mind putting them down. And keep doing so, until they stay dead.”
Mordred exhaled slowly, long and low. Then a grin—sharp and a little unhinged—returned to her face.
“I’ve never been more horrified. Let’s go make some monsters scream.”
…
The night air was sharp, cool against my face as I stepped to the edge and surveyed the city. Manhattan’s skyline stretched out beneath us—metal and glass gleaming under the moonlight.
Somewhere down there, hidden in the cracks of civilization, the Hand moved in shadows. But tonight, I intended to rip those shadows apart.
“Keep low,” I murmured. “We’ll have to search rooftop to rooftop until we find signs of them. They rarely operate during the day. At night, though…”
“I hate stealth,” Mordred said immediately. “Can’t we just shout their name really loud and wait for them to jump out like rabbits?”
“We could,” I replied dryly, “but these are assassins, they would hide away if they knew we were after them. only by finding them, can we force them to fight us.”
Mordred groaned but crouched beside me, bouncing once on her heels. “Fine. We do it your way. But I get to punch the first guy.”
“No promises.”
We leapt.
Wind roared in my ears as I soared across the chasm between rooftops, landing in a whisper of motion. Mordred landed beside me a half-second later, with enough force to rattle the old AC unit she nearly crushed beneath her boots.
“Oops.”
I gave her a look. She gave me a thumbs-up.
We kept moving. Roof to roof. Street to alley to warehouse top. New York had a rhythm to it, a pulse underneath the glass and grime. I tuned into it—feeling for dissonance, for the unnatural. But the Hand were patient vermin, always hiding just under notice.
Mordred, on the other hand, was getting bored.
After the seventh empty rooftop, she finally snapped.
“Okay, seriously—how do these guys live like this? Just hanging out in the dark? Do they have tea breaks between murders? Secret club meetings about laundry? Who the hell wakes up one day and says, ‘Y’know what I need in my life? More lurking.’”
“Remember, if they truly have the secret to true resurrection, then countless people would want to steal that, so they hide because they have to.” I reminded her as I looked out through the darkness.
The city was truly a horrible place, so foul that the air stank. It was loud, and beneath the brightness of massive signboards were unfathomable darkness and misery.
Mordred just cursed under her breath as we kept moving along. Looking for assassins wasn’t easy, and The Hand was far more than just assassins.
Finally, we came across a classic New York scene, some creeps armed with knives and guns and a screaming young woman in a dark, nasty alley.
Mordred grinned, and without waiting, she launched herself off the edge.
“Wait—!”
Too late. She shot through the air like a missile, shouting: “HELLOOOO NINJA DEATH CULT! I’M HERE TO BREAK YOUR SPINES!”
I honestly doubted it was The Hand. It was likely just some normal criminal lowlifes, but Mordred clearly wasn’t interested in that; she saw action, so she acted.
I sighed, muttered a quiet prayer for restraint, and followed her down.
The first man didn’t even have time to question the meaning behind the strange shout before Mordred crashed down on top of him. Planting a booted foot on each of his shoulders.
Mordred wasn’t particularly heavy, not outside of her armor, but even then, the force of a human body landing from such heights on another had only one possible outcome.
The man’s body was crushed, the loud sound of bone snapping broke the silence, the guy didn’t even get to scream, only a sickening sound of air leaving his lungs escaped him as he was stepped on.
Mordred, however, didn’t seem to care and instantly pushed off, further messing the body up as she shot forward, her hand balled into a tight fist as she hit the other guy before he even had a chance to realize his pal was dead.
The second man went flying—literally flying—back into a graffiti-covered wall. His head snapped to the side as he collapsed in a twitching heap, his cheap pistol clattering to the pavement.
A third man screamed and raised his weapon, but Mordred ducked low, swept his legs, and planted her elbow in his gut on the way down. His breath exploded from his lungs as he slammed into the ground with a pained grunt.
“That’s three,” Mordred said, panting only slightly, grinning like she was at a festival. “You see? This is how you announce yourself! This is fun!”
I landed lightly behind her as the young woman who had just been held at gunpoint started to catch up with the sudden turn of events.
She stood frozen for a moment, staring between the collapsed bodies and Mordred, who was now dusting off her hands with the nonchalance of someone swatting flies. Her lips moved, as if to say something, but only a confused little noise came out.
“Are… are you one of the X-Men?” the girl asked, wide-eyed.
Mordred looked at her, tilted her head, and frowned. “What’s an X-Man?”
I stepped forward before that conversation could spiral. “You’re safe now,” I told her gently. “Go home. And don’t take alleyways at night.”
She hesitated—still dazed—then nodded quickly and stumbled off, heels clicking awkwardly as she ran.
As soon as she was gone, Mordred turned to me. “So? Were they Hand?”
I shook my head. “No. Just regular criminals.”
Mordred groaned, loud and theatrical. “Ugh, come on! I drop out of the sky and shout ninja death cult and not one of them corrects me? No honor in thuggery anymore.”
I could only sigh at her recklessness. “We might as well keep doing this, maybe we will find someone from The Hand eventually, but please, keep at least one alive next time so we can ask if they know anything.”
(End of chapter)
So, a small visit to the darkness that is the US of A, and the city of death, New York. So much shit happens in this one damn place, almost like it was important or something.
So yeah, the Hand and resurrection. I’m not entirely sure about whether Mordred’s freakout was right. I feel like she should struggle to believe it, after all, in her mind, her father is the best, and Arthuria can’t bring the dead back to life. So I feel it's only right she has trouble accepting it.
