Marvel x Genshin: Mavuika, The Sun Goddess Rules Asgard — Chapter 159

Chapter 159: Jessica Jones

Jessica felt as if she were trapped in a very, very long dream.

In that dream, there was a Purple Man, always smiling at her, always telling her, “Go do this,” or “Go do that.”

She wanted to refuse, but her mouth wouldn’t obey her; she wanted to resist, but her body wouldn’t listen either. She was a prisoner in her own skin, locked inside a transparent cage, forced to watch as the Purple Man outside manipulated her body to commit all sorts of acts she never wanted to do.

She had shouted. She had screamed. She had cried and cursed until her throat was raw.

No one heard her.

No one came.

Then, suddenly, the cage shattered.

Light flooded in, so brilliant it stung her eyes, forcing them shut against the overwhelming glare. Through the haze of pain and disorientation, she heard a voice, impossibly soft and gentle.

“You’re safe now.”

Jessica forced her eyes open.

She saw a face—a young woman with a cascade of long, golden-red hair and eyes the color of warm amber. There was no hostility in that gaze, no disgust, only a deep calm that radiated like heat from a hearth.

Jessica opened her mouth, wanting to say something, anything.

Instead, she cried.

It wasn’t a silent weeping, but a complete and total breakdown, the catastrophic failure of a dam that had been strained for far too long. She bent over, her hands propped on the ground as huge, fat tears crashed onto the floor. Her shoulders trembled violently, and broken, wordless sounds clawed their way out of her throat.

It had been three months.

For three long months, she had been manipulated like a marionette, forced to do things she didn’t even dare to look back on. For three months, she had thought about death countless times, but she couldn’t even manage to die—because the Purple Man wouldn’t allow it.

Now, she was finally free.

That voice was no longer echoing in her head.

She could cry.

Mavuika knelt, placing a hand on Jessica’s shoulder. She didn’t speak or offer hollow words of comfort. She simply kept her hand there, a steady, grounding presence letting her know—someone is here.

Thor stood in the doorway, his expression complex as he watched the scene unfold. He didn’t quite understand these things; in his world, battle was battle, and enemies were enemies. But this woman wasn’t an enemy—she was controlled, a victim. He scratched his head, unsure of what to say, and finally just whispered, “Big sis, is she okay?”

Mavuika did not answer.

Loki stood off to the side, watching quietly. His expression was a mask of calm, but something flickered deep within his emerald-green eyes—a ghost of a memory, a shadow of understanding.

Jessica cried for a long, long time.

Only when her tears had run dry and her sobs had subsided into shuddering breaths did she slowly lift her head. Her eyes were red and swollen, her face streaked with tear stains, but those eyes—they were no longer hollow.

She looked at Mavuika, her voice as raspy as sandpaper. “Thank you… thank you all.”

Mavuika helped her to her feet. “Come inside. You need rest.”

Jessica’s first instinct was to refuse. She didn’t want to trouble anyone, and she certainly didn’t want anyone to see her in this state. But her legs were weak, her head was spinning, and her entire body was screaming at her—you’ve held on for three months, it’s enough.

She nodded numbly and allowed herself to be guided into the villa.

Mavuika led Jessica into the living room. Jessica stood in the center of the room, looking utterly lost. She subconsciously scanned her surroundings—the spacious area, the simple yet elegant furniture, the books lining the shelves, the blooming flowers on the balcony.

It was a very ordinary place.

But it was also a very warm place.

It was the complete antithesis of the dark warehouses and filthy apartments she had been forced to inhabit while under his control.

“Have a seat,” Mavuika said, gesturing toward the sofa.

Jessica hesitated for a moment before sitting down, her body still rigid, like a tightly wound spring. It was a lingering effect of being controlled for so long—she no longer knew when she could relax or when she had to be on alert.

Thor poked his head out from the kitchen. “Big sis, what does she want to drink?”

Mavuika considered for a moment. “Hot water, with a little honey.”

Thor wasn’t very skilled at making honey water, but under Loki’s surprisingly patient guidance, he still managed to produce a decent-looking cup. He placed the mug on the coffee table in front of Jessica and offered a gentle grin.

“Drink up. It’s honey water. It’s sweet.”

Jessica stared at the cup of honey water, freezing for a moment. She picked it up, her hands trembling slightly, and took a tentative sip.

The warm liquid slid down her throat, carrying with it the simple, pure sweetness of the honey.

Her tears began to flow again.

It took a long time before Jessica’s emotions finally settled. She sat on the sofa, holding the now-cold cup of honey water in both hands, and spoke in a low voice about her experience.

“I knew what I was doing. Every second. But I couldn’t control myself. It was like… being locked in a transparent box, watching someone else use my body.”

Thor’s fists tightened at his sides.

Loki leaned against the doorframe, his expression unreadable, but his gaze had turned cold as ice.

Mavuika didn’t speak, just listened quietly, her presence a silent testament.

Jessica continued, her voice barely a whisper. “During these three months, I did so many bad things. Assault, theft, intimidation…”

She lowered her head, unable to continue.

Mavuika remained silent for a long moment. Then she spoke, her voice soft but firm. “That wasn’t you.”

Jessica was stunned. She looked up, and then a small, fragile smile touched her lips—it was the first time she had truly smiled in three months.

“Thank you,” she said. “But I still need time… to accept it.”

Mavuika nodded in understanding. “You need rest.” She stood up. “Stay here tonight.”

Jessica immediately shook her head. “No need, I—”

“You need rest,” Mavuika repeated, her tone calm but leaving no room for refusal.

Jessica looked into her eyes. In those amber depths, there was no sympathy or pity, only a calm, certain warmth that felt more reassuring than any platitude.

Jessica finally nodded. “Okay.”

…

The next morning, Director Fury, accompanied by Agent Coulson, arrived at Mavuika’s apartment.

The door opened to reveal Mavuika standing at the entrance.

“Director Fury?” she asked, her tone neutral.

Fury stood at the door, his expression one of utmost sincerity—at least, it looked that way.

“Ms. Mavuika, I’m here to apologize.”

Mavuika raised a single, elegant eyebrow. “Apologize?”

Fury nodded gravely. “Regarding the Kingpin matter. It was due to poor management by S.H.I.E.L.D. that these lawless elements were able to disturb you and your brother. This was my failure.”

Mavuika looked at him, her face unreadable, and said nothing.

Fury continued, his voice steady. “I have already dispatched agents to deal with Kingpin. Soon, he won’t be causing you any more trouble.”

Mavuika was silent for two seconds.

Then, she smiled. It was a faint, fleeting smile, but Fury could read the volumes of meaning behind it.

“Come in,” she said, stepping aside.

Fury and Coulson walked into the living room. Thor was sitting on the sofa watching TV. When he saw Fury enter, he grinned broadly.

“Oh! It’s you! That mortal Director!”

Fury inclined his head. “Your Highness Thor.”

Thor patted the sofa beside him enthusiastically. “Sit, sit, sit! You’ve come at the right time, I’m watching this thing—”

He pointed at the TV, where a cooking show was playing. A chubby chef was passionately demonstrating to the audience how to make pizza from scratch.

“The pizza this man is making looks delicious! Are all your chefs in Midgard this amazing?”

Fury glanced at the chef on the screen, then back at Thor, his professional mask never slipping. “…Yes, Your Highness. Our chefs in Midgard are all very amazing.”

Thor nodded with deep satisfaction.

Just then, Loki walked in from the balcony, carrying a cup of tea. He glanced at Fury, and the corners of his mouth curled up into a slight, knowing smirk.

“Director Fury,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “You’re here to apologize?”