Camelot's rise in Marvel Chapter 84

The walls were steel and silence. Monitors flickered in a dimly lit room, casting pale glows on the faces of those seated around the black glass table.

A man in a lab coat adjusted his gloves as he stood beside a projected hologram—a grainy still of a beautiful blond woman at the blackjack table, her expression unreadable, her eyes glowing faintly in the filter.

"She's gone," he said without preamble. "Off the grid. No customs records, no private flights. One mont she's winning half the casino, the next—nothing."

A sharp-featured woman seated across from him exhaled slowly, irritated. "SHIELD interference?"

"Yes. They were watching her the whole ti. We couldn't make a move without exposing the operation. One of their agents—Coulson—got involved directly. We suspect they suspected us."

"What about the girl?" another asked. "The one with the red jacket and attitude problem."

"Sa story. Disappeared at the sa ti. Wherever they went, they went together."

There was a pause. The woman tapped her manicured nails against the glass.

"Enhanced?" she asked.

"Almost certainly," the man replied. "The odds she was pulling at the blackjack table alone suggest so form of probability manipulation—or preternatural awareness. Her physiology appears... altered."

"You confird this?"

"We acquired DNA," he said, gesturing to a small secure case beside him. "Cutlery from the penthouse suite. Both subjects. Samples are being processed now, but initial scans suggest abnormal cellular regeneration, sothing on par with Weapon X—but cleaner."

A ripple of interest moved through the room.

"You lost them," another voice said flatly. It ca from the end of the table, where a man in a dark suit sat in shadow, hands steepled. "But you got a taste."

The lab tech nodded. "We'll replicate what we can. And next ti, we won't wait for SHIELD to blink first."

"No. You won't," the man in the shadows agreed. "Next ti, we take her."

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming like a predator in low light.

"Enhanced or mutant, I don't care. Whatever she is… she's not natural. And the world doesn't need another freak walking free."

-----

The waves crashed gently outside the glass walls of the cliffside mansion, sunlight pouring over the sleek, minimalist interior. Inside the workshop, sparks flew as Tony Stark crouched beside the leg of a new suit design, his hands moving in practiced rhythm.

"Sir," JARVIS's voice chid in, calm and British as ever. "You have visitors."

Tony didn't look up. "Tell them I'm not signing autographs today."

"They're not press," JARVIS replied smoothly. "Two won. No appointnt. No visible weapons. And… forgive the observation, sir, but they are both exceptionally attractive. Statuesque. Seems to be siblings, both blond, and very different attire."

That got Tony's attention.

He stood, removing his welding visor, eyebrows lifting. "Different? How?"

"The older one is dressed in a black suit. Tailored. Immaculate posture. The very image of professionalism, the younger-looking one seems to be what is called a tomboy, and showing a lot of skin." Jarvis, knowing his master's tastes, dutifully reported back.

"And you said they're both… what, nine out of ten?"

"I would rate them a ten," JARVIS said with unusual certainty. "One a cool beauty, the other a wild fire of life. And blond siblings of 10, that is on the list of things you wish to do before you die, as number forty-four."

Tony lowered the welding torch, tossing it onto the workbench with a clatter. "Well, damn. You had at hot siblings, but number forty-four? That's sacred."

He walked toward the glass door, straightening his tank top and saring grease off his hands onto an already-ruined rag. "Alright, JARVIS. Let's see what the gods have delivered.

Jarvis, keep them entertained while I get dressed and cleaned up to knock number forty-four off the list ahead of schedule."

-----

The front doors of the mansion slid open with a soft hum, revealing a foyer so clean and polished it felt like walking into a showroom. Sleek modern furniture adorned the space with an effortless kind of wealth—nothing looked lived in, but everything scread money.

"Welco to the residence of Mr. Anthony Stark," JARVIS's voice said smoothly, echoing from sowhere unseen. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. Mr. Stark will be with you shortly."

Mordred whistled low. "Okay, yeah. This guy's definitely compensating for sothing."

I gave her a sidelong glance, but didn't say anything, I didn't particularly know if she was right or not, so it wasn't my place to comnt.

Instead, I just nodded my head to the invisible butler as I stepped inside, and followed his lead into a living room, which had a very different style from the entrance.

While the foyer hadn't felt lived in, this place clearly did. And while I doubted it was Stark who stood for the interior design of the place, it clearly had been made with him in mind; it was far more relaxed.

Mordred wandered in behind , her boots thudding lightly on the polished floors as she craned her neck to look at the ceiling, the walls, the giant abstract art installations she imdiately frowned at.

"Is that supposed to be… a duck?" she muttered, pointing at a curving sculpture of chro and blue glass that looked vaguely aquatic if one squinted sideways. "Because if it is, then rich people need help."

"Please do not tap the art," JARVIS added politely.

Mordred, of course, tapped it anyway.

"Lightweight," she declared. "Could snap it in half."

I took a seat on one of the couches, adjusting my jacket. "We are guests. Try not to break anything before our host arrives."

She flopped onto the couch opposite mine with the sa energy she brought to battlefields. "What kind of genius billionaire lets two strangers into his house without even eting them at the door?"

"One confident enough to assu he can handle anything," I said. "Or one who thinks we're not a threat."

She snorted. "Well, joke's on him."

JARVIS, ever professional, cut in again. "Refreshnts are available should you desire them. Would you like sothing to drink?"

"Do you have ad?" Mordred asked instantly.

There was the briefest pause.

"I have sothing that approximates the flavor profile of Scandinavian ad with a carbonated twist and a slightly citrus finish," JARVIS replied.

"Sure," Mordred said. "I'll try the fake ad. Bring on the future."

I gave a nod as well. "Tea, if you have it."

"As you wish."

The room fell into a comfortable silence for a mont, broken only by the distant hum of machines sowhere deeper in the house.

Mordred leaned back, hands behind her head. "Y'know, I expected more gold and stuff from soone this rich."

I smiled faintly, watching her settle in like she owned the place. "You were expecting a palace?"

"Obviously. Golden stairs, giant lion statues, maybe a throne or two. You know—sothing to scream I'm better than you and I'll buy your country just to shut you up."

"Subtlety," I said, folding one leg over the other, "is its own kind of wealth."

Mordred scoffed. "That's just what rich people say when they're too lazy to go full dragon hoard."

Before I could reply, a sleek silver tray hovered into the room, carried by a near-silent drone. It presented a crystal glass of golden liquid to Mordred and a delicate porcelain cup of tea to .

"Oh, now that's fancy," Mordred muttered, taking the drink with both hands and giving it a cautious sniff. "Slls like citrus got drunk at a Viking wedding."

She took a sip. Her brows rose.

"…Not bad."

"I am pleased it ets your standards," JARVIS replied.

-----

Tony Stark was no fool; he wasn't normally willing to just let strangers into his ho, but he was rather confident in his security system, which he had greatly enhanced after the ss with Obadiah.

And he was dying, at least he had to acknowledge that the chances of it happening were high. He still had found no solution to the palladium poison, other than slightly delaying things with those disgusting drinks.

This ant that he would cross off every point on his bucket list.

"JARVIS, anything on the guests?"

I'm afraid I've run into a problem, sir. I can't seem to identify them; their pictures seem not to be in any database I have checked, and my preliminary search showed no match on the photo at all, which is strange given how good-looking they are, far beyond most models you have interacted with in the past."

Tony arched a brow at the monitor as he unbuttoned the last clasp of his stained tank top and tossed it into the laundry chute.

"No matches? Really? I figured the tall one in the suit at least did runway in Milan."

"She did not," JARVIS replied. "Nor has she ever been a public figure in any known capacity. The younger one is equally anonymous. No governnt records. No social dia. No paper trail. As far as the world is concerned—they do not exist."

Tony's brow furrowed.

"Okay… now that's interesting."

He turned and crossed the room, grabbing a fresh shirt off a hanger. Sothing practical, just in case this eting ended with lasers and lawsuits.

"Alright," he muttered, buttoning it quickly. "So, two beautiful blondes, one of them dressed like a mob boss and the other like she's five minutes from crashing a motorcycle through a convenience store window, both with zero background, and they just show up at my door."

He paused, looked at his reflection in the glass.

"…Either this is the start of a very weird dream, or I've just beco soone else's target."

He didn't sound worried.

He sounded excited.

"Alright, JARVIS. Give five seconds, then let them know I'm on my way. And keep the AI-controlled turrets on standby, just in case this turns into another' wanna-be assassin punches through a glass table' kind of day.

"Already done, sir."

Tony smirked and made his way toward the living room.

------

The doors at the far end of the room hissed open a mont later.

In walked Tony Stark, freshly showered, wearing a designer shirt that looked intentionally half-buttoned, and a smirk that probably cost just as much as the shirt. His gaze swept the room, imdiately locking onto us—first at a distance, then with the sort of focused interest reserved for puzzles and very fast cars.

"Well," he said, spreading his arms as he strolled in, "this is definitely not what I was expecting when JARVIS said I had guests."

"Nor were we expecting an AI with taste," I replied calmly. "But here we are."

Tony gave a low whistle and gestured at the couch. "You sit like a queen. And you look like one as well, clearly you are used to being treated just right, and I promise, I will treat the both of you just right."

Mordred made a choking sound halfway through another sip of her "future ad."

"Wow," she said, wiping her mouth and grinning wide. "You don't waste ti, huh?"

Tony shrugged, striding in with the lazy confidence of a man who had both too much charm and too little sha. "Ti is money. And flirting with gorgeous strangers who break into my house is a sound investnt."

"We didn't break in," I said evenly, setting my teacup down with delicate precision. "We walked in. Your AI welcod us."

I was amazed as I watched the man of iron just stride in like that. After all, his greeting had caused an intense amount of bloodlust to spill forth from Mordred, she was but a single wrong word away from going full murder on him.

Tony, naturally, didn't flinch. If he noticed Mordred's glare—or the quiet tension curling in her shoulders—he didn't show it. Either he was the bravest man alive… or just the dumbest genius on Earth.

"Hey, Father, do we really need this guy? Personally, I think we should just deal with the AI thing, he seems nice."

Tony raised an eyebrow, pausing mid-step. "Wait—did she just call you Father?"

Mordred grinned wide, baring teeth. "Got a problem with that?" her voice begging him to push his luck so she could deck him one.

Tony held up both hands in mock surrender, but the amused glint in his eye never faded. "Hey, no judgnt. I've seen weirder family dynamics. I once dated a girl who called her parrot 'Dad'—long story, don't ask."

I doubted that his definition of dating was very much the sa as mine or Mordred's, but even I couldn't say anything about the absurdity of that family dynamic.

He moved to the bar and poured himself a drink—sothing dark and probably aged longer than Mordred had been alive, not that she looked it. He sipped, eyes never leaving us.

"So," he said, setting the glass down and leaning casually against the counter, "you've got no records, no aliases, no internet footprint, and your daughter got an attitude that says she doesn't like much, don't tell , am I the mother?"

*shatter*

Everyone turned to the sound of glass shattering, which ca from the glass in Mordred's hand, which was now completely destroyed.

Mordred slowly looked down at her hand, shards of crystal falling like glinting snow onto the sleek tile floor. Her expression had gone completely flat, save for the vein pulsing dangerously at her temple.

Tony blinked. "Okay. That one might've been a little much."

"You think?" Mordred said, her voice oddly calm for soone radiating the energy of a bomb about to go off.

I rose slightly in my seat, not enough to make a scene, just enough to prepare—if necessary. "That was not the right joke."

Tony held up his hands again, this ti with a hint of genuine concern. "Alright, alright, I crossed a line. My bad. No offense ant. It's just how I deal with strange situations—bad jokes and bourbon."

"Try not to anger my son, he is trying very hard not to shove your head up your rear." I advised while sending Mordred a look that said 'calm down'

"Son?" Tony couldn't help but ask, before shaking his head and emptying his drink, as he decided to ignore it.

"Alright, Lady Mystery and Punk Knight. You've got my attention. Why are you here? Because you don't seem to be the type of female guests I usually get, wanting a modelling gig."

I smiled, though it didn't reach my eyes. "We're not here for fa, money, or a photoshoot, Mr. Stark. We ca because the world is changing—fast. And if we're going to keep ahead of it, we need sothing only you can provide."

Tony tilted his head, swirling the last of the bourbon in his glass. "Let guess. It's not a Stark internship."

"No," I said plainly. "It's your arc reactor. Or rather, the principles behind it."

That got his full attention. He lowered the glass without drinking. "Huh. That's… bold. Most people start with 'can I get a selfie' before asking to steal my greatest invention."

"We're not asking to steal," I replied calmly. "We're offering to buy it. and we can pay you better than you might imagine."

Mordred snorted. "You can keep your selfies. But we do need a power source. Sothing strong, clean, stable. Sothing that can light a kingdom."

Tony raised an eyebrow at that. "A kingdom?"

"Allow to introduce us." I said with a smile on my lip, knowing that Stark's reaction had the potential to be great.

So Tony Stark, a real playboy, getting visited by two beautiful won, yeah, no way he isn't going to flirt with them. which is not gonna sit well with Mordred or Arthuria for that matter.

While the older Arthuria might be able to keep herself in check knowing what she knows, Mordred is far more likely to fly off and swing at him.

So, trying to make them all fit together is not going to be easy, but I think I managed it well enough.