Some villains about to be unleashed

The Star Lab facility stretched before Minthara, dusty and abandoned. In many ways, this underground lab reminded her of her home of Menzoberranzan deep in the underdark back on Toril, with its dark and dusty abandoned hallways. The Drow paladin was clad in form fitting Drow leather armor, the material hugging every curve on her 5’8” frame. Her skin, a light shade of purple, like wisteria, rather than the more common grey and obsidian of her kin, blended perfectly with the low light cast by the few pieces of machinery still running, powered by some backup generator.

Minthara had been stuck on the Eastern half of Battleworld since almost its Formation, lying low, taking in information about her situation. As far as she knew, she was the only person from her world to have been brought here. Overall, she found it a relief, as she had heard nothing from either Lolth or the Absolute since she’d been brought here and relished her newfound freedom. However, that freedom came at a cost. Even her prowess as a warrior and the few magical items she held paled in comparison to the might the so called “super-heroes” here wielded. She idly rested a hand on the cold gun she’d acquired after gutting Captain Cold and smiled. This lab would hopefully give her another tool to aid in carving out her own kingdom here.

She ran her fingers over the keypad to the secure door leading into the labs of the bunker, her mind drifting back to the unfortunate lab technician she’d captured and tortured for information. He had been strong at first, but drow interrogation methods were…thorough. She could still feel the way the flensing knife sliced through his tendons, could still hear the sweet music of his cries for mercy as she meticulously extracted the information about this lab and its cache of weapons from him. He’d been all too happy to give up the location of this heretofore unplundered lab to her after that. A small slice of a city called “Seattle”, not large enough to house a base of heroes, and only seeing the occasional patrol from the various Nexus Nations, most of the population long since evacuated to larger bastions. Of course, one the technician's usefulness was spent, she’d left his corpse among the rubble.

She typed in the code and the reinforced door slide open with a hiss, letting out some stale air. Inside, dim emergency lights cast an eerie glow over rows of cryopods, their occupants sleeping, unaware of the changes to the world outside. Minthara narrowed her eyes. Biological experiments. Weapons, perhaps? If so, they would serve her, or they would be destroyed. Her homeworld had no technology even remotely close to this level, however much of this could have just as easily been accomplished with magic. Of course, like magic, technology was another tool for her to use in her conquest. She would bring battleworld to heel, not for Lolth or the Absolute, but for herself. Or, she mused, find a way to return to Menzoberranzan with some of the weapons she’d looted from here, and take her rightful place as the matriarch of house Baenre the city.

Two pods drew her attention. One held a hulking, ape-like creature with deep blue fur, its fanged maw frozen in a half-snarl. The other contained a man with deep violet skin and sharp, aristocratic features. Minthara's eyes widened slightly. A drow? No, something was off. His face lacked the angular sharpness of her kin, and his attire was unfamiliar—some sort of Earthly garb, though regal in its own way.

She tapped a control panel, bypassing the security with the stolen codes. Gas vented in a hiss, and the pods slid open. The ape-like creature stirred first, red eyes flickering open, nostrils flaring as it took in its surroundings. Then the purple-skinned man, Zebediah Killgrave, stepped forward, stretching as though waking from a pleasant slumber.

"Ah… freedom," he mused, his voice smooth, rich, and amused. His gaze fell on Minthara, assessing her with an arrogance she did not appreciate. "And what might you be?"

Minthara raised her chin, her hand hovering near the hilt of her blade. "I am Minthara of Menzoberranzan. I freed you. You will serve me."

The man smiled, a slow, knowing thing. "Oh, my dear… I think you misunderstand our dynamic."

Before she could react, his eyes burned into hers, and her thoughts wavered, slipping from her grasp like sand through her fingers. A strange, irresistible compulsion wrapped around her mind. She tried to will her body into action, to draw her blade, to speak, but her muscles betrayed her, standing still in perfect submission.

Beside her, the ape-like creature—Mandrill, her mind whispered—grinned. The air around him pulsed with something unseen yet undeniable. A wave of control, seizing her will, drowning her in obedience. She clenched her jaw, but the struggle was meaningless.

"Good girl," the purple-skinned man purred, running a finger along her jawline. "You will do quite nicely."

Minthara, proud warrior, commander of legions, conqueror of the weak—knelt.

Mandrill let out a screeching laugh, baring his yellowed fangs. "Nice try, fancy boy! But I don’t take orders from anyone! I do the controlling!" His eyes flashed with power, his pheromones saturating the air. "This one’s mine!"

The purple-skinned man’s smirk faltered only slightly. "Please. Your crude methods lack refinement. I don’t need pheromones to make her dance."

Minthara’s body jerked as conflicting commands invaded her mind.

"Stand up!" Mandrill ordered, his voice a guttural snarl.

"Stay on your knees," the purple man countered smoothly.

Her limbs spasmed as she struggled, muscles torn between two irreconcilable directives. She staggered upright, only to collapse back down, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Mandrill sneered. "Walk to me, girl!"

"No. Come to me," the other said, amusement lacing his voice.

Minthara’s boots scraped against the floor, one foot dragging toward Mandrill before the other betrayed her, twisting her toward the purple man. She lurched like a broken marionette, every nerve fraying under the strain of dueling compulsions, before falling face first to the ground. Even then, she still attempted to crawl, first towards mandrill, and then towards Purple Man, back and forth.

"Submit to me!" Mandrill howled.

"No, no, no. Submit to me," the purple man said, his voice laced with cruelty.

Minthara’s breath caught in her throat as her body locked up, trembling violently. The two mind controllers stared at each other, malice in their eyes.

Mandrill snarled. "You’re immune to me…and you’re power can in some ways, counteract mine."

The Purple man’s smile widened. "And you, it seems, are immune to me. How… vexing." Purple man looked thoughtful for a minute, then glanced around the room. “We have been in stasis for an unknown amount of time. And the presence of this…fey creature and the ruins of the lab suggest things have changed. Perhaps an alliance is in order?”

Mandrill bared his fangs in an expression that was equal parts sneer and grin. "Heh. You suggesting we work together, Killgrave? Last time we worked together was with the hood, and his little operation fell apart."

The purple man smoothed his sleeves with deliberate elegance. "I am suggesting an arrangement of mutual benefit. If we cannot control one another, then it would be prudent to consolidate our strengths. Also, the hood was a fool. A two-bit criminal with illusions of grandeur. Although…this world? Do you recognize that logo? “Star labs”? This place is unfamiliar to me.”

Mandrill huffed, crossing his powerful arms. "Yeah, no kidding. I don’t like this—waking up in a craphole, no idea who’s running things. But you got a point. Strength in numbers and all that."

Minthara, still kneeling, could feel the weight of their gazes return to her. She clenched her fists, trying to regain her will, but their commands still loomed over her, forcing her to remain still.

"And what of this one?" Mandrill gestured at her. "You wanna keep fighting over her, or we gonna share?"

The purple man’s lips curled in amusement. "Oh, she is quite the specimen. I suspect she could be useful. A warrior, with a mind for strategy. We should see how far her skills extend once she is… properly conditioned. And I’m sure she’ll be a wealth of information."

Mandrill lounged in an easy chair in the board room of one of the abandoned high rises in the remnants of Seattle. Across the table from him sat Purple Man, sitting in a similar chair. “Battle world…” He sounded it out, almost as if tasting the word. “So, what’s next? We gonna carve ourselves a little kingdom here?"

“Such an interesting little place.” Nodded Killgrave. “Ripe for the taking. But control is a delicate thing. The heroes and villains here, they’ve had a headstart on us. Time to build their power bases.”

Mandrill spit on the floor. “Bases with amenities. And here we are, stuck in this shit hole city that doesn’t even have power.”

Purple man shrugged. “Come now, Mandrill. This place isn’t without its own perks. Wine?” He reached for a small bell sitting on the table and rang it.

Minthara glided into the room with a slow, deliberate grace, the scandalously skimpy maid uniform clinging to her fit, toned body. H er muscles subtly defined beneath smooth, dusky skin—sculpted arms, a firm core, and thighs that balance both power and allure. Yet despite the raw strength in her body, her expression is one of quiet, practiced subservience, crimson eyes lowered just enough to suggest obedience, lips slightly parted as if awaiting instruction.

In her hands, she carries a silver tray with a perfectly poised elegance, the weight of the wine bottle and two delicate glasses balanced with effortless precision, her warrior past lending itself rather nicely to the task. The tight bodice of her uniform strained subtly as she moved, drawing emphasis to her lightly muscled, smooth stomach, and her large perky breasts, barely covered between the translucent material and plunging neckline. Each shift of her body pulled the lace-trimmed fabric tight against her skin, the contrast between her strong physique and the delicate outfit only adding to the tantalizing sight.

Her steps were slow, almost teasing, the high heels she wore forcing her toned calves to flex with every measured movement. The absurdly short skirt swayed with her every stride, the hem barely reaching down to the bottom of her ass cheeks if she were to stand still, every step causing the skirt to flutter up, giving anyone lucky enough to be looking a pleasant view of the underside of her toned ass. The snug stockings that encase her long, sculpted legs stretch all the way up to lace-trimmed garters, the bands pressing gently against her skin, accentuating the firm definition of her thighs and the curve of her hips.

As she approached, she lowered her head slightly, offering the tray with a careful, deferential posture—her arms extended, shoulders slightly rolled forward, making her appear all the more servile, and serving to put her body on display for her new masters. But despite the submissive act, there is something undeniably sensual in the way she moves, the way her lips twitch in the ghost of a smirk, the way her fingers caress the edge of the tray as if even the simplest action is laced with unspoken intent.

“Masters” She said simply, her voice laced with an air of servitude as she poured two glasses of wine, placing one in front of each of the men.

Mandrill picked up the glass, swirling the wine before bringing it to his lips. His sharp yellow eyes flicked to Minthara, lingering, taking in every inch of exposed flesh.

“Come here,” he said, his voice thick with amusement. “On your hands and knees. Crawl.”

Minthara’s body tensed. Her lips curled, baring teeth in a fleeting snarl. "May the Abyss take you, filth-born beast," she spat, her voice sharp as a dagger in the dark. "Let your own stench **** you, let your hands wither like a spider’s severed legs." Just for a heartbeat, the command stalled in the air, resisted by something deep within her. A flicker of will, buried but not extinguished. Her fingers curled slightly, as if grasping for a weapon that was no longer hers to wield. Just for a heartbeat, the command stalled in the air, resisted by something deep within her.

Purple Man raised an eyebrow. “Interesting. It seems our powers are not absolute against her. Perhaps related to her “drow” nature?” he mused.

“Bah, no mere woman can resist the mandrill! I said CRAWL, you slut!” And it seemed, he was right. The air thickened with influence, seeming to grow heavy as Minthara felt her will sap away.

There was no hesitance this time. No inkling of resistance. Minthara dropped to her hands and knees and crawled to the Mandrill, a look of pure adoration in her eyes. Her uniform skirt rode up, revealing the entirety of her fit ass, showing the lack of underwear. As she crawled, she made sure to move her body as enticingly as possible.

Once she reached him, he gently lifted her chin with one clawed finger. “Tell me you love me.”

The words left her lips without pause, her voice smooth, soft, adoring.

“Yes, my love.” There was no resistance in her voice, only pure adoration.

The Purple Man laughed, slow and rich. “This one will be fun to break. The most willful ones always are.”

Mandrill reached down and unbuckled his belt, revealing his erect cock. “Suck it, slut.”

Minthara let out a squeal of delight, her resistance a faint memory. “Yes my master!” She replied enthusiastically, before gently taking the tip of his large cock into her mouth, her tongue swirling around it.

“Take all of it, you drow whore.” Mandrill grunted, a hand on the back of Minthara’s head.

She began bobbing up and down on it, each time taking a bit more and more into her mouth, slurping a bit as she did so. She struggled to take the entire thing into her throat, her eyes watering. Still, she pushed forward, her eyes turned up towards her master, filled with love and devotion.

He chuckled, as he stroked her cheek with a clawed hand. "Good girl," he murmured.