~~~ Levi Wilder ~~~
Levi knelt on the rooftop, rifle steady, body still. Everything was in place.
A gentle wind rolled through the city, rustling loose tarps along the construction site around him. Below, streetlights flickered on, humming with electricity, stretching long shadows across the damp pavement. The occasional car passed at a distance, but here—this corner, this block—was quiet.
Kilgrave was headed this way.
Levi had only tracked him for a few days. Not weeks. Not months. But he'd found a pattern. Discovering Jessica had been taken pushed his timeline to 'right fucking now.'
Now, Levi lay prone in his black 'work suit', tucked under the loosely fastened tarp, counting down the minutes until he became a murderer.
And he couldn't wait.
6:57 PM—he rounds the corner, a smirk on his lips, like he's amused by the world.
7:02 PM—he takes the shortcut. A blind corner, narrow and predictable. No cameras. No witnesses.
7:04 PM—he's dead.
Kilgrave rounded the corner, walking unhurried. No sense of caution. No fear. He didn't fear karma.
Levi pulled out the signal scrambler and activated it. This should give him a couple minutes of blinded cameras to work with.
He slowed his breaths and flexed his gloved fingers. The rifle's crosshairs hovered right at Kilgrave's upper chest.
Levi exhaled.
Pfft.
The first dart hit, lodging just under his jaw.
Kilgrave blinked. His step hitched.
Pfft.
The second struck deep in the shoulder, pumping more toxins into his bloodstream.
Kilgrave tried to react. His free hand twitched toward his throat, a confused, sluggish movement.
Pfft.
The third drove into his ribs. A direct line to the lungs. Total system failure.
Kilgrave staggered. His lips moved, mouth opening and closing. A reflex—trying to speak. Maybe give a command.
No one heard him whimper.
His body folded, knees giving out, and he ragdolled—his head striking the pavement with a dull thud.
No struggle. No theatrics. Just—gone.
Levi kept the scope trained on him. Watching. Waiting.
One. Two. Three.
A slow twitch in Kilgrave's fingers. Spasms.
Four. Five.
A shallow rise of his chest. Another, shallower. Then nothing.
Six. Seven.
His body stilled.
Eight. Nine. Ten.
Levi pushed up from his position. No hesitation.
The hard part wasn't killing him.
The hard part was making sure it stuck.
Rushing forward, Levi vaulted over the rooftop's edge, dropping onto the scaffolding below. The metal groaned under his weight, but he didn't stop moving.
Down. Down. Fast.
He hit the pavement hard, knees bending to absorb the impact. 20 meters.
Kilgrave was right where he fell.
Levi's mind screamed at him to move him now. To drag the corpse, get out, disappear.
But doubts wriggled.
Levi had delved his memories. Some versions of Kilgrave had a healing factor. This one probably didn't, but he wasn't taking any risks.
He dropped to his knees beside the body. One hand pressed against Kilgrave's throat. No pulse. No breath.
And yet.
Best to be sure.
Levi reached for the injector in his belt—a backup dose.
Enough to take down a literal whale.
He stabbed the autoinjector into Kilgrave's chest. Directly over the heart.
Click-hiss.
The chemical flooded into him—a concentrated mix of fentanyl, paralytics, and a neurotoxin.
Kilgrave didn't react.
Didn't even twitch.
Dead.
Levi let out a slow breath.
That's it. No more commands. No more enslavement. No more chains.
Then, just as quickly, the weight of it settled.
This wasn't a game.
He'd killed a man. A father.
Levi clenched his jaw.
A "man". A "father".
Like Hell!
Disgust churned in his gut. Kilgrave was no man.
And could he have actually been a real father? A narcissist, a sociopath like that, actually raising his daughter to be anything but his tool?
Unlikely.
But the purple child was still out there—just a baby. A girl who'd had no say in the man she was born to. The powers she was born with. The hatred she'd face.
He had taken her father from her. He had to believe that, at least, was a blessing for her.
Even if it wasn't, he'd also taken a walking nightmare off the streets.
A mind-breaker. A man who had turned people into puppets.
There was no undoing what he had done.
And the world was better for it.
Levi pushed himself upright. He still had work to do.
The body was still warm. Levi hooked his arms under Kilgrave's cooling body, dragging it toward the construction site.
It was abandoned. A forest of rusted rebar and unfinished concrete husks.
Levi had planned this, too.
One of the pillars, still incomplete, had a hollow core.
And next to it—a drum of premixed concrete he'd prepared an hour ago.
Kilgrave's coat scraped against the debris covered ground as Levi hauled him into the pit. The body slumped forward, thumping into the hollow space designed for the next concrete pour.
I hope he can recover from the toxins, that he can live without oxygen. Trapped. Helpless. Forgotten. A long, horrific life buried beneath a city that never even knew he existed.
Levi pulled himself back up and moved to the steel drum.
A quick tilt—the slurry poured in.
Thick, wet, suffocating. It rolled over Kilgrave's body, swallowing him whole.
Levi worked quickly, ensuring every part of him was submerged. Completely subsumed as easily and helplessly as any of his victims.
This wasn't just a disposal.
It was erasure.
No grave. No monument. No shrine.
It was like he'd never existed—he was just a passing night terror.
Levi exhaled. His heartbeat began to slow. It was done.
And then—a low, amused whistle.
"Now that's an honest day's work."
Levi's stomach turned to ice.
He pivoted.
An absolutely massive man stood at the edge of the site, arms crossed, watching.
He grinned.
"Gotta say," he drawled, "Buryin' a guy in cement? That's real old-school mob shit. Did Hammerhead put a hit out on one of his own? I thought you was just a sneak thief."
Levi didn't answer. Didn't move. His pulse hammered against his skull.
Sabretooth?!
He stepped forward.
Slow. Unrushed.
Like he had all the time in the world.
His massive frame cut through the dim light, the neon haze of the city casting harsh angles over his scarred knuckles, the sharp curve of his canines.
"Y'know…" Sabretooth rolled his shoulders, casual, amused. "Most people just leave a body in the river. But you?"
His grin widened.
"You really wanted this son of a bitch gone."
Sabretooth sighed dramatically.
"Problem is…"
His weight shifted forward.
"You didn't leave enough room for a second body."
Then he charged.
Levi's mouth opened—
Too late.
Sabretooth was already moving.
A blur of muscle and malice, his grin flashing in the dim construction lights. Predatory. Eager.
Levi barely had time to shift his weight before—
The first hit wasn't a punch.
It was a wrecking ball.
Sabretooth slammed into him—full weight, full force.
Levi left the ground.
CRACK!
Concrete met spine. A bloom of dust. A spiderweb of cracks. The wall shuddered. So did Levi.
Pain tore through his ribs—sharp, searing. Something cracked.
His lungs—forgot how to work.
Vision—splintered.
Then—airborne. Again.
Sabretooth's claws hooked his jacket. A single-arm toss—effortless, like flinging a duffel bag.
Levi spun midair. Desperation overrode pain. Tuck, roll—
His shoulder slammed into a crate—splinters, a sharp, stabbing impact.
But he rolled with it. Gained momentum. Used it.
He came up crouched, heart jackhammering.
The beast laughed. Low. Rumbling.
"Not bad." He tilted his head, considering. "Not great, but not bad."
He flexed his fingers. Claws—wicked, curved things—glinted under the floodlights.
Levi exhaled. Focus.
Words wouldn't help.
This wasn't about winning. It was about surviving.
MOVE.
Levi exploded, feinted left—then broke right, sprinting for the scaffolding.
High ground. Obstacles. Anything to slow the bastard down.
Sabretooth lunged—a violent blur.
Steel shrieked. Sabretooth's claws ripped through a support beam like it was drywall.
Levi didn't slow. No time. He was already taking stock.
Durability: That first hit—should've snapped ribs. Maybe ruptured something. The force had sent a deep, concussive tremor through his body. The impact should've broken him.
He wasn't fine. But he was still standing. Vascular Fortification was putting in work.
Speed: Levi's reflexes had sharpened—the sparring, drills, footwork.
He'd taken on some of the toughest boxers in Hell's Kitchen. He could slip whatever they threw, outlast them, and knock them out.
But he wasn't facing a man. This was a goddamn animal.
Still… He could keep up. Barely.
But for how long?
Sabretooth threw a wild haymaker, telegraphed but still difficult to dodge.
Levi pivoted, dropping low, launching a counter.
A feint. A shift. Then—bam. Hard left hook.
The punch connected. A clean shot to Sabretooth's jaw.
The impact shuddered up Levi's arm—like hitting solid iron. A normal man would've staggered, fingers shattered.
Sabretooth's head barely budged. He turned back—grinning.
"Cute."
Levi's shifted gears instantly.
Of course, Wolverine's bully isn't going down from my One Punch Man impersonation. Let's try something else.
His hand dipped to his belt.
A flash of steel.
Levi whipped the knife upward—fast, brutal, and surgical.
Right under the chin.
Squelch.
The blade punched through—skin, muscle, soft tissue—
Right into Sabretooth's skull, rocking his head back.
A full-force upward stab—everything Levi had. A picture perfect Shoryuken.
Levi didn't stop moving. His free hand grabbed the back of Sabretooth's head, twisting the knife, grinding it in like he was making ground beef.
This should do something… right?
For half a second, Sabretooth's grin twitched. His body froze.
Then—
His eyes flicked to Levi.
A slow, almost disappointed blink.
And then—the bastard pulled the knife out.
Casually. Effortlessly.
The wound closed before the blade even cleared the skin.
Levi stumbled back.
Let's hope he doesn't take it personally.
Sabretooth tossed the blood-slick knife aside. The metal clanged against concrete.
"Yeah," he muttered, rolling his neck, letting out a slow exhale. "That's about what I thought. I don't like pests like you."
Levi's stomach dropped.
This wasn't just insane durability—it was pure bullshit.
"No hard feelings?"
Levi backed up—fast, hands flexing.
Sabretooth stalked forward, rolling his shoulders.
"C'mon, Pest, give it up. You can't beat me."
He's right. I can't out-brute this juggernaut. Think Wilder, think.
Sabretooth's weakness wasn't his body.
It was his arrogance.
Levi's eyes flicked upward.
Scaffolding. Support beams. Half-poured concrete blocks.
He could use it.
Sabretooth lunged—Levi moved first.
A fast scramble up a support beam.
Sabretooth followed, laughing. "Oh, you're a chipmunk now. Let's climb!"
Perfect.
Levi leapt for an overhead railing, swinging just as Sabretooth reached the same beam—
Then Levi drove his heel into the support brace—hard. The wood snapped and metal groaned.
The beam collapsed under Sabretooth's weight—metal shrieked and he dropped.
Twenty feet. Concrete and twisted metal crunched under the impact.
Dust exploded up.
Levi landed in a crouch above him, scanning fast, muscles tense. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
Sabretooth shook the impact off.
Laughing.
"Smart," he admitted. "Won't save you, though."
Levi exhaled sharply. He was already moving again, pivoting and sprinting toward his bag.
Twenty meters.
That was all.
Twenty meters to his rifle. To his darts.
To survival.
There's enough concentrated drugs in each dart to kill an elephant. It won't do much to this animal, but all of them? It should buy me a minute… I hope.
His boots skidded against the dusty concrete as he reached the first scaffold ladder—and then he heard it.
A deep, guttural growl.
Ah, Come on!
His head snapped back—just in time to see claws sinking into the ledge.
Levi moved on instinct. He grabbed a steel pole from the ground, whipping it into a ready stance.
Sabretooth's head crested over the ledge. His grin was wider. Bloodier. Crazed.
"Heh. Too slow, chipmunk."
Levi's only answer was a vicious stab, trying to shove Sabretooth back to the ground. "Eat pipe!"
The pole rammed through Sabretooth's throat, piercing straight through the other side.
But his grip held firm. Sabretooth… barely reacted.
His head tilted. His claws gripped the metal—slowly, deliberately—yanking it out like a splinter.
Then he stabbed it right back at Levi.
Levi barely had time to turn with the blow. The impact hit his shoulder like a sledgehammer—sent him twisting midair before he crashed into an unfinished support beam.
His body screamed in protest. But he couldn't stop. He wasn't dead yet.
His eyes darted around.
Find the next move.
Sabretooth pulled himself up. Leisurely.
Blood dripped down his throat—but the wound was already sealing.
Levi's mind raced. He couldn't fight him head-on. Couldn't outrun him.
But maybe…
His eyes flicked to the ground.
A steel cable. Looped.
Attached to a large winch. A large, unbolted wench.
Why, hello there…
Sabretooth took another step forward—directly over the cable.
Levi didn't hesitate.
He leaned forward and shoved the winch with every bit of strength he had. It toppled over the side of the building.
Snap.
The cable jerked tight—wrapping around Sabretooth's ankle.
Got you, fucker!
Sabretooth's eyes flicked down. The weight ripped his leg out from under him.
His body was yanked off the edge.
Levi picked himself up, about to turn for his bag—and then he saw it.
A clawed grip, fingers dug into the ledge.
The monster stopped his own fall. Again.
Levi skidded to a stop, staring.
Sabretooth hauled himself up.
His foot was gone.
Ripped off at the ankle. A mess of torn muscle and shredded bone.
For a moment, Sabretooth just looked down at it.
Then he grinned.
Levi watched in horror—Bones sprouted. Tendons twisted around them. Muscle knitted together. Flesh slithered back into place.
By the time Sabretooth was standing, his foot was whole again.
"Well," he chuckled. "That was cute. What's next?"
Levi's chest heaved. His vision swam.
Sabretooth was between him and his only way out.
Think! Think! Think!
Levi had never stopped.
Even now. Even as Sabretooth took slow, deliberate steps forward.
Even as Levi searched.
For anything.
An opening. A weakness. A new angle.
Then he saw the skeletons of rebar reaching from the unfinished columns.
If he could… But he couldn't make Sabretooth budge, let alone fling him from the building.
This may be it, but I'm not just going to roll over and die.
Then—the world SCREAMED.
And the city SCREAMED with it.
New York fractured beneath the weight of it, a tidal wave of anguish crashing through steel and stone.
A cab driver in Midtown jolted forward, his grip on the wheel slackening. The honking cars around him blurred, replaced by the crushing weight in his chest. His fingers trembled. His breath hitched. And as he wept, blind to the red light ahead. Metal howled against metal, glass shattering as the taxi spun onto the sidewalk, slamming into a fire hydrant. Water erupted into the sky—his last sight before the world went black.
In an Upper East Side operating room, a surgeon gasped. The scalpel in his hand clattered to the floor, blood smearing his gloves. His knees buckled as an invisible weight crushed his ribs. The monitor beside him shrieked—his patient, mid-surgery, bleeding out. The assisting nurse wailed, but he couldn't hear her. He could only sob.
A trader on Wall Street sat at his desk, motionless. His pen had long stopped scratching against the stock reports beneath him. His fingers curled around it absently, like a man preparing for something final. His vision blurred—not from tears, but from the sudden, absolute certainty that nothing would ever be okay again. Only one thing could make the pain go away.
A rookie NYPD officer stumbled back against his squad car, his breath coming in wet, broken gasps. His radio buzzed with static-laced voices—other officers, whispering, sobbing, unable to form words. In the distance, a gunshot cracked. Another.
A pack of stray dogs howled in unison, their voices stretching through empty alleys, blending into the rising symphony of despair. In the East River, a flock of birds dropped from the sky, their wings folding mid-flight as if struck by something invisible.
In a subway tunnel beneath the city, a train never made its stop. Its conductor had slumped forward, his hands limp on the controls, the dead man's switch failing to trigger in time. A distant, screeching of metal rang through the tunnels—then silence.
Screaming began to overwhelm the city's soundscape.
It layered.
It built upon itself, wave after wave, until it was impossible to tell where one voice ended and another began.
A terrible, discordant orchestra of sorrow, agony, and loss.
Some people wept. Some shrieked. Some simply stared, mouths open in silent screams, their voices stolen by the sheer weight of it.
This was not a riot.
This was not panic.
This was anguish, stretched out across the city, forcing itself out of every throat.
The sheer weight of the noise crawled into Levi's skull.
His pulse hammered. His vision blurred.
He felt it. He felt everything.
The panic. The sorrow. The desperation.
Pain only a child could feel.
The abyss pulled at him.
I can't—
Then—
[NOTIFICATION] > Immunity to mental influence achieved.
> Free radicals accumulating.
> Critical threshold reached.
> Warning, aberration imminent.
His breath came roaring back into his lungs.
The pressure vanished.
The noise didn't.
Levi was still standing.
Sabretooth was not.
The mutant howled.
Not a battle cry.
Not a growl.
A high, broken, unnatural sound.
It wasn't rage. It wasn't defiance.
It was pure, undiluted terror.
His hands trembled, claws twitching like they no longer belonged to him.
His breath hitched, ragged—
His pupils—wide, unseeing.
His chest heaved. His lips curled, but it wasn't a snarl.
It was horror.
The sound ripped itself from his throat, as if his own body couldn't hold it in.
A broken thing, a wounded beast—his voice lost within the greater symphony of a city's agony.
His body convulsed.
A nightmare—brought to its knees by something worse.
Levi moved.
This was it.
The opening.
His mind snapped into motion.
His eyes locked onto the exposed column—a cluster of vertical metal spikes rising from the unfinished concrete base.
Sabretooth's claws twitched, half-raised, but the animal wasn't there anymore.
Levi's heartbeat slammed in his ears. This was it.
An opportunity.
His mind snapped into motion.
His eyes locked onto the exposed column—a cluster of vertical metal spikes rising from the unfinished concrete base.
No time. No hesitation.
Levi moved.
His legs coiled like springs. Every ounce of force, every bit of pain ignored.
His boot collided with Sabretooth's ribs with everything he had left.
A picture-perfect Sparta kick.
A bone-snapping crack rang out through the air.
Sabretooth's locked body shot over the ledge.
For a half-second, Levi saw his eyes flicker, his muscles twitching—
But it was too late.
Gravity did the rest.
A sickening crunch.
Levi barely heard it over the pounding in his skull.
Sabretooth lay impaled on rebar, spikes piercing through his back, ribs, and shoulder.
The howls continued to stream from him uninterrupted. The physical pain seemingly unflet.
Not dead. Not even close.
But stuck. Dazed. A perfect opening.
Levi was already moving.
His feet hit the ground hard, his body screaming at him to stop. But he didn't.
Bag. Rifle. Darts.
Dump them out. Load. Fire.
The first dart slammed into Sabretooth's side.
Pfft.
The second hit his chest.
Pfft.
The third drilled into his neck.
Pfft.
The final shot—a clean hit, straight into the jugular.
Pfft.
Four. That was all he had.
Sabretooth's breathing was already changing. Slowing. His cries quieted and faded. A twitch ran through his fingers, his claws flexing involuntarily. The paralytics were fighting his regeneration, warring inside his bloodstream.
Levi didn't let himself hope. Not yet.
He grabbed a length of steel rebar—tightened his grip.
And then he ran straight for him.
Sabretooth stared up at him, dazed but grinning.
"Not bad, chipmunk," he slurred around the drool and snot covering his face. His limbs twitched, trying to move.
Not fast enough.
Levi jammed the rebar through his eye socket.
Deep. All the way in.
A sickening crunch. Levi twisted it. Churned it.
No regeneration was fast enough to outpace having your brain blended inside the skull.
Sabretooth's mouth opened, occasional cries coming out before he went silent.
His body stilled. Then suddenly convulsed. Then stilled again.
The fight was over.
Levi kept at it.
He pierced another into the other eye for good measure. Levi didn't have a means to eliminate Sabretooth, but this should keep him busy for awhile.
With any luck, he gets a bit of Wolverine's amnesia from being used as a butter churner.
Levi exhaled, ribs protesting, blood pounding behind his eyes. He couldn't stop. Not yet.
Then another SCREAM rang out across the city.
Not as strong. But just as broken.
Jessica.
The mother.
The child.
Levi turned. He didn't watch Sabretooth's body convulse.
Didn't listen to the sharp, choking gasps—his body trying to breathe through lungs that weren't working.
Didn't wonder how long the drugs would hold, how long his brain would need to stitch itself back together.
He was already running.
That scream had just turned Hell's Kitchen into the epicenter of a psychic detonation. The whole goddamn world was on its way.
~~~ Jessica Jones ~~~
The apartment smelled of lemon polish and cooling coffee. The scent of a home well-kept, well-maintained, well-loved.
Jessica wiped the already-pristine counter with a fresh cloth, small circles, methodical, precise. Her body moved with quiet efficiency, a rhythm familiar and correct.
Master was late today.
She turned toward the clock.
It didn't concern her.
She had chores to do.
In the high chair, the baby cooed, small fingers gripping air, violet eyes wide and unblinking.
Jessica leaned down, brushing a soft hand across her forehead.
"Shh, shh, sweetheart," she murmured. "Good girls stay quiet while we work."
The baby blinked. Stared at her.
Jessica smiled, practiced, warm.
Everything was fine.
Across the room, the mother sat still as glass, fingers locked around a ceramic mug that had long since gone cold.
She had not blinked in some time.
Jessica did not think about that.
She turned back to the baby, adjusting the soft folds of the child's dress. Master liked things neat, orderly, clean.
And then—
A breath.
Not Jessica's.
Not the baby's.
The mother moved.
A twitch. Fingers pressing inward.
A slow, sluggish turn of the wrist.
Jessica's hand paused midair.
The woman's shoulders shifted, vertebrae popping like breaking twigs as she twisted her neck.
Jessica tilted her head slightly.
"Dinner is getting cold," she reminded her. "You should eat while it's fresh."
The mother clenched her fists. Her arms shook.
Jessica resumed wiping the counter.
The woman gasped.
Loud, raw, as if she had broken the surface of water for the first time in years.
Jessica's hands paused again, cloth still pressed against the granite.
She turned.
The woman was looking at the child.
Not blankly. Not distantly.
With recognition.
Jessica frowned. That was wrong.
The woman cried out, suddenly choking on sobs, hands covering her mouth as if the force of the emotion had physically torn through her.
Jessica furrowed her brow.
"Don't cry," she murmured, tilting her head. "Everything is fine."
The silly woman didn't listen.
She rose from the chair in a single, shaking motion, staggering toward the doorway.
Jessica resumed her work.
The woman disappeared down the hall, footsteps unsteady but determined.
Humming to herself, Jessica reached for the dish towel and folded it into perfect, symmetrical thirds.
A minute passed.
Another.
Then—
A chair scraped against the hardwood floor behind her.
Jessica didn't turn.
A soft creak of rope.
Jessica picked up the baby.
She checked the bottle temperature.
She adjusted the folds of the blanket.
A sudden kick against empty air.
Jessica bounced the baby gently in her arms.
"Shh, shh, sweetheart," she soothed.
Behind her, legs jerked, convulsed.
Jessica didn't turn.
A sound, unlike anything else in the world.
A sharp snap, followed by absolute stillness.
The baby wailed.
Jessica staggered.
A force slammed into her body, an invisible tidal wave of grief and fear, smashing into her ribs, pressing her lungs flat.
She hit the floor on her knees, the impact reverberating up her bones.
Then nothing.
The baby screamed, the sound shattering the quiet, rolling through the air in unstoppable waves of emotion.
Jessica blinked, then smiled gently.
"Oh, honey," she murmured, brushing hair from the baby's face. "Are you hungry? Is your diaper wet?"
The baby's cries did not stop.
Jessica rocked her gently, back and forth, back and forth, murmuring soft reassurances.
She did not notice the tremors in the walls.
She did not hear the distant, animalistic wails rising across the city, layered, discordant, endless.
She did not feel the weight of the air pressing against her skull.
Her hands smoothed the fabric of the child's dress, adjusting the folds. Master liked things neat, orderly, clean.
The baby clutched at her dress, wailing inconsolably, tiny fists shaking.
Tears poured from her eyes. Snot from her nose. Sweat coated her as burned like a furnace.
"Shh, shh, sweetheart," Jessica soothed, her smile never wavering.
Everything was fine.
She did not notice how much time passed.
She simply sat, rocking the child, whispering soft, gentle words of comfort.
The baby's violet eyes flicked over her shoulder, gaze fixed on something else.
Jessica did not look.
It didn't matter.
Everything was fine.
The door burst open.
Jessica did not flinch.
She turned slowly.
Levi stood in the doorway, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. Wide, violet eyes. Stunned.
His gaze tore across the room, taking in the scene in an instant.
The crying child.
The dead woman swaying from the ceiling behind Jessica.
Jessica herself, smiling, soft and serene, gently bouncing the inconsolable baby in her arms.
"Jessica?" His voice wasn't loud. Wasn't sharp. Just disbelieving.
"What the hell is going on here?"
Jessica smiled.
Practiced. Soft. Perfect.
"Everything is fine."
---
END OF ARC 1