"Crura Implicitus!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Two streams of light erupted from my fingertips—wild, uncontrolled, completely useless.
The first spell carved a fist-sized crater into a rooftop. The second hit a water tank, flash-freezing a pigeon mid-flight. The bird dropped like a stone, encased in ice, probably very confused about its sudden career change into lawn ornament.
Damn it.
Without a wand, my aim was garbage. Worse than garbage. I was basically throwing magic at the world and hoping something stuck.
Note to self: craft a fucking wand. Immediately. Today if possible.
I stomped down on the edge of the building's roof, magic propelling me forward in a desperate leap. My feet left the concrete. Wind screamed in my ears. For one terrifying second, I was falling—
Then I caught myself with another burst of Levitation Charm, rocketing after Jessica and Kilgrave.
Shit, I can't keep this up.
Every spell drained me further. My magic reserves were scraping bottom, running on fumes and spite. If I didn't end this soon, I'd pass out mid-flight and become a very sad stain on the pavement.
Think. There has to be a way to—
Movement in the corner of my eye.
A construction crane loomed between two buildings ahead, its massive arm slowly hoisting a steel beam toward the rooftop. The beam swung gently in the wind, huge and heavy and perfect.
Jessica and Kilgrave were heading straight for it.
My eyes narrowed.
There.
I extended my hand, fingers spread, palm facing the beam. Magic gathered—weak, flickering, barely enough—
"Wingardium Leviosa!"
Creak...
The steel beam lurched. It rotated mid-lift, rising faster than it should, positioning itself directly in Jessica and Kilgrave's path like a massive metal clothesline.
They didn't see it coming.
Jessica leaped from one rooftop to the next, Kilgrave still tucked under her arm—and slammed headfirst into the beam.
The impact was brutal. Metal met flesh with a sound like a car crash. Jessica's eyes went wide. Her grip on Kilgrave loosened. Her body tumbled backward, spinning through the air, before crashing onto the rooftop below with enough force to crack the concrete.
Kilgrave flew.
He sailed through the air like a broken doll, arms windmilling uselessly, and hit the ground hard. Bones snapped. His legs twisted at angles that made my stomach turn. One arm bent backward, completely shattered. Blood poured from his nose and mouth in a steady stream.
For someone with the physical durability of a normal human, that fall was fatal.
Almost.
If Jessica hadn't absorbed most of the impact, cushioning him with her own superhuman body, he'd already be dead. But she had cushioned him, and he was still breathing—gasping, broken, bleeding out, but alive.
Well. We'll have to correct that.
I descended slowly, feet touching down on the rooftop with barely a sound.
Jessica was already moving, pushing herself up from the ground, shaking off the impact like it was nothing. Her eyes were still blank. Still under his control.
No time.
I raised my hand. "Petrificus Totalus!"
Magic slammed into her, locking her muscles, freezing her in place. She stood there like a statue, eyes wide, unable to move.
The strain on my magic core was immediate. Jessica was physically stronger than me by an order of magnitude—holding her required constant effort, constant energy, like trying to wrestle a bear using nothing but willpower.
I could feel the spell fraying at the edges. Without a wand to amplify and stabilize it, I had maybe a minute. Maybe less.
Hurry.
Kilgrave's control was absolute. As long as someone was conscious and within range, they couldn't break free. Period. The only exceptions were people who'd been controlled for years—long enough for their bodies to develop resistance through sheer mental and physical fortitude.
Jessica didn't qualify. Not yet.
So I needed to keep her immobilized until Kilgrave was dead.
Simple.
I turned toward him.
Kilgrave was crawling backward, dragging himself across the rooftop with his one intact arm. Blood smeared behind him in a grotesque trail. His breathing was wet, labored, desperate.
"When you played with other people's minds and bodies," I said quietly, closing the distance, "you should have expected a day like this."
He kept calling Jessica's name. Over and over. A hoarse, broken mantra.
She didn't respond. Couldn't respond.
Realization finally dawned in his eyes. He looked up at me, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, and smiled—a horrible, mocking grimace.
"What makes you think you're any different from me?" His voice was a ruined rasp. "With superhuman power, you'll naturally look down on ordinary people from a superior height. You'll become just like me sooner or later." He coughed, spattering blood across the concrete. "Why do you kill me? What right do you have to kill me?"
I stopped in front of him.
"I'm not killing you to uphold justice," I said. "I'm killing you because you endangered my family. That's all."
His smile faltered.
I didn't give him time to respond.
I raised my hand one last time. "Wingardium Leviosa."
Kilgrave shot into the sky.
He screamed—high-pitched, terrified, human—as he rose higher and higher. His broken limbs flailed uselessly. Blood rained down in droplets, painting the rooftop in red.
I watched him become smaller. Smaller. A black dot against the blue sky.
Then I snapped my fingers.
The spell released.
Gravity remembered it existed.
Kilgrave fell.
The impact was wet.
He hit the rooftop and splattered, bones shattering, organs rupturing, body folding in on itself like a crushed soda can. Blood spread outward in a rapidly expanding pool, dark and thick and done.
I stared at the remains for a long moment.
Good riddance.
Behind me, Jessica made a strangled sound. I turned just in time to see clarity flooding back into her eyes—confusion replacing the blank emptiness, awareness dawning like a light switching on.
I snapped my fingers again.
The Petrificus Totalus released. Jessica staggered, catching herself against the rooftop edge, breathing hard.
By the time she looked up, searching for me, I was already gone.
Brooklyn's alleys were a maze of shadows and forgotten corners—exactly what I needed.
I stripped off my hoodie, revealing the short-sleeved shirt underneath, and navigated through the labyrinth until I emerged onto a street with no surveillance cameras. A small clothing store beckoned from across the road, its neon sign flickering weakly in the afternoon light.
I walked in, bought a hoodie and pants in completely different colors—blue instead of black, gray instead of dark green—and changed in their bathroom. The old clothes went into a public trash bin three blocks away.
New person. New look. Nothing to see here.
By the time I approached the restaurant again, I looked like any other teenager wandering home after school.
The back door was still unlocked. I slipped inside carefully, ears straining for the sound of police sirens.
Nothing yet. That wouldn't last.
Inside, the restaurant was chaos of a different kind. The staff had regained consciousness, but the memories of being controlled lingered like poison. People sat slumped against walls, staring at nothing, trying to process the violation of having their minds hijacked.
That was the cruelest part of Kilgrave's power. You remembered everything. Every moment of being a puppet. Every second of watching yourself obey commands you'd never choose to follow.
It could break a person.
I moved silently through the kitchen, a ghost among the confused and traumatized. No one noticed me. They were too busy grappling with their own horror.
The surveillance room was empty—thank God—tucked beside the storage area like an afterthought. I slipped inside and got to work.
Deleting footage was easy when you knew what you were doing. A few clicks. A few keystrokes. Every angle that showed my face, gone. Erased. Never existed.
I popped out the master tapes for good measure, shoving them into my backpack.
No evidence. No problem.
Next stop: Mom.
I found her still unconscious in the kitchen, right where I'd left her. Her breathing was steady, her color good. The knockout blow had been clean—no lasting damage.
She's going to be so pissed when she wakes up.
I lifted her carefully, cradling her weight against my chest, and carried her to the staff lounge. The couch there was worn but comfortable, familiar from countless afternoons spent doing homework while Mom worked.
I laid her down gently, adjusting a cushion under her head.
Everyone in this restaurant was trustworthy. I knew them. Trusted them completely. They'd take care of her.
But I couldn't be here when they did.
I couldn't let anyone know I'd been here during the incident. Not the staff. Not the police. Not the inevitable government agents who'd come sniffing around looking for answers.
Especially not Fury.
Because if there was one thing I knew about living in the MCU, it was this: S.H.I.E.L.D. was always watching.
Home felt surreal after everything.
I walked through the front door like nothing had happened. Dropped my backpack. Kicked off my shoes. Raided the refrigerator for leftovers—some kind of pasta Mom had made earlier in the week—and shoved it in the microwave.
While it heated, I booted up my computer and checked my Amazon and eBay orders.
Still processing.
Estimated delivery: 7-9 business days.
I groaned, slumping in my chair.
The items I'd ordered were eclectic: various types of wood, bird feathers from at least six different species, preserved specimens of lizards and snakes, a few crystals that might have minor magical properties, and one very suspicious-looking piece of bone I'd found on a vintage curiosities site.
Wand-crafting materials. Or at least, the closest approximations I could manage.
This world didn't have the diverse magical ecosystem of my previous life. No dragon heartstring. No phoenix feathers. No unicorn hair conveniently available at Ollivanders.
I couldn't exactly knock on K'un-Lun's mystical door and ask Shou-Lao the Undying for a scale. Pretty sure the dragon would eat me before I finished the question.
So I was stuck with substitutes. Mundane materials that might work if I applied enough magical theory and desperation.
Step one: craft a functional wand. Any wand. Even a terrible one would be better than wandless casting.
Step two: use said wand to actually survive long enough to reach Kamar-Taj.
Step three: convince the Ancient One I wasn't a complete idiot and maybe, maybe, gain access to proper magical materials.
Simple plan. Foolproof, really.
Assuming I don't die first.
The microwave beeped. I grabbed my pasta and ate mechanically, staring at the shipping estimates on my screen.
7-9 business days.
I hate 2008.