#invincible fic

His words linger heavily in the air as he brings his lips to the side of your neck, a whiff of an almost familiar cologne grazes your nostrils as he dips his head low. A quick sharp pang rings through you when he latches onto your neck, his teeth digging into the tender flesh while one hand roughly grips your hip to keep you pinned to the tree. A shaky pained yelp slipping from you, your head craned to the side as you try in vain to pull yourself from him. The weak attempt is only met with a cruel chuckle that stirs in Mark’s throat before he lets go. The pull back is nearly as painful as the bite because he throws his head to the side, making sure to nip the already agitated skin near the puncture site as he recoils. 

You could tell he broke the skin and that you’re bleeding, the little bit of blood that coats your skin gives a vague warmth. With a shaky hand you reach to touch the new wound, and when your fingers brush against the abused skin you flinch away, another soft cry leaving you as you do. 

Your breath unsteady as your chest heaves, your sight slightly blurry as tears collect in them but you do manage to focus enough on ‘Mark’ to notice the crimson painting his lips. Your eyes are wide and you struggle to swallow the lump in your throat as you look him over. Besides the alt colors of the suit you would never know by looking at him that this isn’t your Mark. The tuft of pitch black hair that’s on full display from the top of his suit, the toned definition of his muscles, and even the body language is close to the Mark you usually know. If you ignore the bite he gave to your neck, you might be convinced that this could be your Mark, until your eyes slowly drag back up to his face. 

Lips that are curled into a tight, thin smile. A small trail of your blood running down from the corner of his mouth as he watches, his tongue poking out from the corner to steal another taste of you as studies you. His interest piqued but he isn’t quite sold on you yet. 

You taste like his. You look like his. But he needs to know you can take him like his. Like he trained his version on you to do. He needs to know if you’re even worth wasting more fun on. 

The modest tilt of his head and his unwavering attention almost lull you into a false sense of safety. The strong hand on your hip holding you in place feels like something you’d only ever imagined Mark doing. The rough bark of the tree that you’re pinned against digs into your back roughly as you shuffle your weight. Your knees weak and your shoulders already ache from the tension you've been holding in your body since this encounter started. 

“Wh-Why?” Your voice comes across as far too meek for your liking, reading as if you’ve already resigned yourself to being his without much fight but that’s far from the truth. 

“You told me to ‘bite you’. So I did. I gave you what you asked for.” Mark’s free hand comes up to the side of your face, his gloved fingers brushing close to your ear as his thumb toys with the corner of your mouth. The smallest amount of pressure is all it takes for him to pry it open, slipping the unwelcomed digit into your mouth. 

You let out a distressed gag, your tongue immediately recoiling from the intruder as you wrap your hands around his arm. You try to pull him off of you but he’s unmoving, your garbled words that somewhat resemble pleas fall on deaf ears. 

“Now, let's see if you give me what I want.” It’s said in such a steely voice that it sends a shiver down your spine before he continues. 

His thumb glides along the bottom row of your teeth on the side as his fingers change their position to mercilessly grab hold of your mandible. His expression unchanging as you struggle in his hold. One of your hands shoots out towards his face, your nails weakly digging against his skin but they don’t even leave scratches. 

His gaze is fixed squarely to your face. He takes in the view before him as if he’s so uninterested. He doesn’t crack wise or a smile as he watches you come undone because of him. 

The panic that falls over you takes total control. Tears spill from your eyes as a string of fearful whines come from you. As you struggle against the tree, you kick the dirt and rocks around the tree from around you. Your trashing does nothing but remind you just how powerless you are against him.  With widening eyes you feel his grip tighten ever so slightly as you struggle, another pained cry leaving you before your fight or flight kicks in. You blink the tears in your eyes away and you choke back the cries in your throat as you try to steel your nerves. 

Your fingers curl under his mask as you tug it to the side, it doesn’t come off but it's enough to get him to focus back in on your eyes. His gaze had never left you but it had wandered back down to that little possessive mark he gave you on your neck. The skin still red and angry as the blood slowly dried against your flesh. Though once his eyes travel back up to meet yours he’s greeted with a more appetizing sight.

Instead of fear, fury is shown in your eyes. Your brows furrowed and your mouth curved into the best scowl you could manage. You lift your leg to try and kick his stomach, your foot colling with his sturdy frame but he doesn’t budge. With your back against the tree, you try and force distance with your foot still pressing into his lower half. You pull your leg back just to kick him in the crotch but still get no reaction visibly. Despite the forced thumb, you practically spit at him as you speak. 

“Fu-ghck yeow” 

It’s a garbled curse but he can make it out easily between the hate burning in your eyes and the venom dripping from your words. 

“THAT’S WHAT I FUCKING WANT!” Between the aggressively excited declaration, the pressing of his knee to your crotch, and the hand that once held your hip now having punched a 5 inch hole into the trunk of the tree beside your head you’re more than a little taken aback. 

A wicked low cackle rings through your ears as he brings his head back to your neck, his thumb still poised in your mouth and his hand still gripped round your jaw as he forces you to look to the side. 

“I was ready to snap that pretty little neck of yours.” His words pull another shiver of fear that runs down your spine but you bury it before he continues. “I hate when you look like a pussy. All whiney and teary eyed. It’s so fucking BORING!” He gives another quick nip to your neck before he grabs hold of the lobe of your ear with his teeth, grinding the little flab of flesh between his teeth as he pulls his fist from the tree and presses it against your chest, applying just enough pressure to knock the wind out of you. 

Coughing between breath being forced from you and the thumb still tucked on your mouth, you’re barely able to regain yourself before he lets go of your ear to whisper something in your ear as his hand travels slowly down your body. 

“I hate it when you look at me like you’re scared…” His words trail off as his tongue swipes out to take a generous lick of the blood that’s collected on your neck, a pleasure filled hum leaving him before he finishes that thought. 

“I love it when you look at me like you hate me!” His words cut with his fingers forcing themselves down your pants, hand running over the crotch from the outside as he gives you a quick squeeze.

Arching your back, you try to move away from his hand but he doesn’t let you. Instead he pulls back his head from your neck and finally removes his thumb from your mouth, bringing the wet digit to his own lips to give it a quick taste. 

A strained cough leaves you as your face darkens with a blush, your lips tightening to a scowl when you feel him give you another testing squeeze. 

“You know, you might actually be a little bigger than my version of you.” Another rough squeeze earns him a groan that you couldn’t hold back. You feel a sliver of shame growing inside you when it slips out, especially since he seems to take it as license to do more.  “That’s that voice I want. I’m gonna need you to start fucking participating or this is going to get boring quick.”

“Get-get your hands off of me!” 

“That’s a start.” Mark forces the two of you closer, his hand hooking around the leg you’d kicked him with to hold it up more. Your weight now supported between the tree you’re against, the single shaky leg you've still got planted on the ground, and him… His hand digging into the fabric of your pants and into your flesh as he holds you. 

“Let go…” It’s a warning. One that he knows he doesn’t need to heed. 

“Aww, look at you trying to be all tough! That’s the kind of attitude I LOVED fucking out of you.” 

Your glare is unwavering as you watch him, the uptick of the corners of his mouth forming a wicked smile. The dried blood from your neck coats his mouth and chin as he watches you struggle against him. The whole time his dick only gets harder and harder. Between the hatred emitting off of you and the sheer amount of time since that last time he’d had you, he’s not exactly eager to show some patience. 

“Why do you want me!? I’m not yours!” Your voice struggles to sound sincere, the way he’s caressing your dick from outside your pants is distracting you but you try in earnest to carry some vitriol in your words. 

“I don’t care whose you are. You’re going to be mine.”

“No! No, I’m not! You’re not my fucking type, you psycho!” 

Despite the mask, you can see his face harden when he registers your words but you don’t care. You’d rather die than than give this fucker the satisfaction of claiming you.

“I don’t like you! I don’t want you! You’re not my Mark and I’m NEVER going to be yours! I bet whatever version of me YOU had was a total fucking loser who just faked everything!” 

“Shut up.” It’s a stern word of warning, one that unfortunately you decide to ignore.

“I will never think about you instead of him.” 

There’s a quick twitch to his nose when you say that, one that you barely get to register before he’s wrapped a hand round your neck. His fingers and thumb digging into either side of your throat. The hand that was against your groin is the one he forced against your throat, the one that’s held your leg still where it was before. 

You let out a rough cough, your voice straining as you barely manage out another jeer. “Yo-You’re not-not as hot…Ye-ach! Yellow and black…isn’t go-good-good…on Mark.” 

He tightens his hold on your throat just a little, making sure to not go too hard because he wants you conscious. He wants you awake. He wants you aware. 

He waits for a second, relishing how warm your skin feels even through the gloves, drinking in how the calmed hatred in your eyes contradicts the panicked scratching and attempted prying to his hand. 

If you aren’t going to think about him instead of the loser you know then he’s going to do something incredibly cruel. 

“Then I’m going to ruin this face for you.” 

Mark floats for a second, repositioning himself infront of you properly as he kicks your legs apart further. He forces you to properly hook your one leg around him before he lets go of your throat, the hand that was wrapped around your neck now mimicking the other hand to force your other leg around his waist. 

“Hey-What-waht are you doing?!” Your confusion only grows when he reaches up to quickly rip off his mask, shaking his head slightly as he does so his hair settles faster. 

“I told you. I’m going to ruin his face for you.” 

Instead of soft, caring and playful eyes like you’re used to from Mark you’re met with intensity that borders on the sadistic. 

You never admitted it but you always found Mark incredibly handsome…You on more than one occasion had to cover for yourself when William saw your eyes lingering on Mark just a little too long. You constantly had to bury those feelings you'd slowly been growing for Mark over the years so as not to upset the friendship you’d created. But every once in a while, all those what if scenarios would plague your mind. 

What if you told him? What if he told you? What if you had just once chance with him? What would you do if he pinned you against the wall? 

All those self-indulgent thoughts are nothing compared to what’s happening now. 

You’re too lost in thought to realize what he’s doing. Your eyes wide as you focus on the beautiful man in front of you, the way he tilts his head back just enough so he’s looking down at you when he slowly grinds himself against you, his shoulders square as he arches his back to press against you harder. 

A quick gasp leaves you, your eyes clenched shut as he starts to rut against you. You tilt your head forward as you bite back a moan. You can feel just how hard he is as he presses against you, your own growing need unmistakable to him as well.

“You’re getting harder.” There’s a callousness in his voice that sends a chill through you. 

“Sh-shut up…” Your voice is low as you struggle to hide your growing need from him. You writhe in between him and the tree, your back arching as you let a small moan slip from you . 

You can’t see the proud smirk he gives you but you can tell he was emboldened by your voice. Strong hands hold you in place as he floats a little off the ground, the twigs under his boots snapping as he shifts lightly before he rises. The tent in his suit grows when you let another small mewl escape you as you feel him quicken the pace of his rocking hips. Your hands struggle to find something to grab hold of that feels right and you subconsciously make the choice to drape them over his shoulders. 

“And you thought you’d get away with being such a fucking brat.” He gives a rough snap of his hips, chuckling when he sees your eyes flutter open as you tilt your head back, your hair messy and dirtied by you thrashing it against the bark of the tree. 

“AH! Fu-Fuc…” Your chest heaves as you feel him continue his rutting, the continuous rolling of his hips encouraging your own growing desires as you let your mind wander. You can feel the inside of your underwear is getting wet with precum, his relentless bully only working you over and over more. Your throbbing erection begs for more attention but you aren’t willing to give him the win and he’s got no intention of rewarding your bad behaviour. 

“I know you love this. You get off so quickly with dry humping…It makes you feel like you’re getting away with being a naughty little bitch, doesn’t it?” His voice is low as he speaks, he leans forward to give you a quick kiss but you deny him. Your head thrashing to the side again to avoid his lips but he captures them anyway, giving you a brisk but rough french kiss as he forces his tongue in your mouth. 

You moan into the kiss, bucking your lips against him as you finally start accepting the pleasure he’s giving you. You let his tongue probe around your mouth, teasingly running your own wet appendage over his before he gives a quick corrective nip to your lip.With every pass of his tongue over yours and every thrust of his hips, he can feel you getting more and more undone. He knows you’re getting into this, he can tell by the way you’re aching your back. The way your soft moans are muffled by the kiss as he reconnects your lips with his over and over again, each time he pulls away you’re leaning forward, trying to keep the contact going for just a second more. 

You’re getting too cocky…

“I had to fuck my version of you into submission and I’m not above doing it to you too!” He forces himself against you roughly, his chest suddenly pressed into yours and you lock your legs behind his back without a second thought. He rewards your surprisingly submissive act by replacing the quick thrusts of his hips with a deep, leisurely pace instead. 

His version of you was always more turned on by the teasing, the back and forth, the quick and sharp motions suddenly being undone when he decides to force you to beg, the pure degradation that comes with benign his personal little fuck toy. He never lets you feel like you’re in charge…and you both like it that way. 

You’d only ever dreamed about Mark doing this to you, forcing you to submit to him, dominating you every conceivable way. So now you’ve got this fierce and borderline cruel version of him...Are you even sure you want him to stop anymore?

Your hands ball into fists in his cape, the article catching the wind as he slowly drags his hips up and down against you.  Each pass of his hidden erection to yours only serves to push you closer to your end. You’re wildly aware of how quickly you changed your tune about him but it isn’t you fault, he…he’s just too pretty. Too demanding and controlling. Too domineering in the way you need.

But worst of all?

He’s just too Mark. 

The quick pants of air you hear from him, the way you catch his head tilting to the side more often to the left than the right, the lust filled moans that sound just like the way you imagined them countless times before. The thing that really does it though? His voice…All those terribly raunchy things you want Mark to say to you? The harsh words of degradation that only make your cock ache for his touch more? The things that your Mark would never dare say to you because he’d never want to hurt your feelings?

Well, this one has no such reservations. 

“God, I bet you’d take me so well…You’re already acting like a bitch in heat, I won’t even have to train you, will I? You’d take Daddy’s cock ten times then still beg for another round, wouldn’t you?” He isn’t expecting an answer but he’s pleasantly surprised when he gets one, even if it’s just you pathetically mewling out his name. 

“I-I…Ma-Mark…” You roll your hips in time with his, trying to urge him to quicken the pace by squeezing your legs around his waist, but he keeps in time with his slow rhythm. 

“You’re so fucking close, aren’t you? You want me to reach down your pants and give that little cock of yours something to cum into, don’t you?” 

You nod weakly as you look up at him with pupils blown. He isn’t blushing, he isn’t breaking a sweat, and he’s barely even reacting to you as he toys with you. You on the other hand? Your face is flush, your lips are slightly parted as you let quick moans and pants slip past them, and your back is dramatically arched as you try to goad him into playing with you more. 

He gives you one last deep thrust before he stops his movements all together. Your pride goes out the window as you let out a desperate whine, you look up at him confused with your mouth agape. 

“Wh-why’d you stop!?” 

“Finish yourself.” He still holds you but he’s not moving a muscle.

“Wh-what?” You lick your lips hesitantly, your mouth achingly dry so you got to kiss him again only for him to be the denier this time. 

“No kissing. No more help. No more rewards. Finish yourself.” It’s a demand that he knows you’re going to follow. He’s scoured and memorized every inch of your body. He knows any and everything that’ll undo you. And he knows you’re way too close to your orgasm to deny yourself the pleasure. 

You start slower than before. Dragging your aching cock against him to the best of your abilities while he has you pinned with your legs up. There’s so many layers of separation between your erections but you don’t let that stop you, your hips quickening their pace as you chase your orgasm. Each pass of your hips you try a new angel, a new moan, or anything that’ll entice Mark to rejoin in the fun. 

“Faster.” A swift correction that you’re happy to listen to. You buck your hips against him, your eyes finally landing back on his face after you closed them to imagine your own Mark and you having this moment. Again, instead of those soft sweet eyes, you’re met with a pair of intense orbs that look at you with nothing but disdain…And you can’t bring yourself to stop. 

Your eyes are locked with his as you hump against him, your legs tight around his waist while your arms cling to him. He saw through your fake tough act, knowing you’d become his favorite little toy in dimension. And he sees through you now. 

“Go on. Do it.” 

“Oh-Oh god…Fuck! Mark!” Your voice wavers as your rhythm slowly fades into erratic and frenzied thrusts, the obvious wet spot that’s formed on your pants from your precum presses into the tent of Mark’s suit, the hero finally letting a small moan out when he feels the warmth. Your lewd moans echo off into the woods as you let yourself be overcome by your pleasure. You thrash against him as you cum in your pants, the spot on your pants darkening as the cum seeps into the fabric as you work yourself through your orgasm. Your hands having quickly shot to his head so your fingers could lace themselves in his dark hair as you pulled yourself closer, struggling to catch your breath as you shutter against him.

He lets you ride out the high but once he thinks you’re done, he brings hand down to pat against your shaking leg to tell you it’s time to let go of him. You slowly unlock your legs from him, he has to catch you as your legs give out the second you put weight on them. You’re slumped against the tree as you sit on the ground, you grimace and shift uncomfortably as you feel the wetness in your pants, another small influx of shame slowly dawns as you as your senses work their way back to you. 

You close your eyes to try and steal a moment of rest but you feel a tight tug from your hair, your eyes fluttering open to look back up at Mark who’s got your hair pulled tightly in his hand. 

Thankfully, Debbie was still back. He was surprised Majesty had the patience to stand her, since he hated having to calm down his power.

Debbie was lagging behind with a shuffle. Her feet hurt, and she had to stop to readjust them. “You guys go up ahead, let me just—” she said, trying to fix her shoes.

Majesty was already moving, but he paused, looking up at the sky, then grumbled, “Shit.” He turned back to Debbie and Waylon, who was standing right by her side.

“You don’t have to wait for me,” she told Waylon. He was on Debbie’s phone, watching a video this time his interest seemed to have shifted to history. Waylon simply shrugged, then his head tilted, and he looked around the area suddenly.

Rubble almost flew toward her face. Waylon slapped the rock away as Debbie stared in shock.

“What the—” Debbie started.

Majesty rolled his eyes. “Marek and Minsoo are fighting,” he said.

Debbie sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Just my luck,” she muttered. She really just wanted one day without any fighting or trauma anything that might not make them normal.

Not that Debbie minded the powers. It was just sad that power always went to the most emotionally unstable individuals, and she had to deal with it.

Which was exhausting. She’d drink if she could, but every single time she or anyone else got alcohol, it would mysteriously go missing. And when asked, Minsoo would offer every other beverage he could.

Debbie didn’t know what his deal with alcohol was. Actually, she had an idea it just didn’t sit well in her stomach.

“You’d really rather stay behind than go deal with Marek or Minsoo?” Debbie asked, turning to Majesty.

Majesty had been rubbing his arm a bit, but stopped when she looked at him. He scoffed. “As if,” he said, then went quiet.

“I’m not scared of them,” he said. “Or any of them. Or anything.” His voice rose as he growled in her face.

“Okay,” Debbie said confuse since she didn't mention anything about being afraid. She should have been terrified, but after dealing with Angstrom, she’d kind of stopped being completely horrified whenever something looked close to killing her.

Majesty was pulled away by Waylon, still on her phone, his hand tight on Majesty’s shoulder as a warning. Majesty scoffed.

“Not gonna hurt her, guard dog.”

Waylon hummed but stayed next to Debbie, his feet slightly floating off the floor. It was dark enough that Debbie decided to let it slide. Waylon only moved when she did, staying on her exact path. It was a little nice to know he was still aware of his surroundings unlike in the house, where he seemed completely unaware.

Debbie turned and realized Majesty was behind them, floating slightly. His arms were folded, and he was tapping his finger, though he seemed to be shivering a bit as he muttered.

“Majesty?” Debbie asked as she walked closer.

Majesty flinched, his hand almost hitting Debbie again before Waylon stopped it with a growl.

Debbie didn’t really know how she felt about Waylon growling like a dog. She added that to the growing mental list of everything wrong with her boys.

“What’s wrong?” she asked Majesty, whose eyes drifted to his hand still caught in Waylon’s grip before he pulled away.

“Nothing. I’m not scared,” Majesty repeated.

“Right,” Debbie said. She took a step; Waylon followed. Majesty didn’t. Debbie sighed and grabbed Majesty’s hand, the man flinching slightly as she led him to sit on a bench.

“Is it Noah?” she asked.

Majesty froze again. He fiddled with his hands for a bit, then stopped as if he realized she was still there. He didn’t seem to know what to do, so Debbie slowly took his hands and held them. He squeezed them, then stiffened before stopping.

It was quiet for a bit. The only sounds were the occasional car and Waylon’s video playing.

“It’s not like I’m scared of him,” Majesty said. “He just reminds me of Dad.”

Debbie stiffened at that, and Majesty quickly added, “Who I’m also not scared of. Seriously. I get Minsoo had a shitty dad, but mine wasn’t horrible.” He seemed to be reminiscing.

“He gave me prizes and praise and treats if I was good which I always was so, you know, he always treated me well,” Majesty said, sounding a bit proud.

Debbie hummed. It was crazy how much he was acting like her Mark now, without all the false confidence. "And what—" She wanted to ask if Majesty had been beaten to a pulp like her Mark when Nolan tried to take over. Instead, she settled for something a bit more vague. She swallowed, licked her lips, then met his eyes. "What would happen if you were bad?" she asked.

Majesty paused and looked away. It was quiet again. Debbie traced her thumb over his hand as if she could already guess.

“He was good,” Majesty reiterated. “I had no reason to be scared of him, because I was always good. Everything I do is good,” he said, then swallowed as he stood and clenched his fists.

Waylon looked up and shut off his phone, ready to fight.

“I’m not saying you weren’t,” Debbie said, when the sound of crashing cut her off. Both boys turned. Waylon immediately grabbed Debbie as debris went flying.

Majesty huffed. “They’re done, so let’s go home,” he said.

Waylon grabbed her face to check her. “You good?”

Debbie nodded. As Waylon stood, Majesty was already ahead. Waylon picked her up anyway, and Debbie supposed it wasn’t that bad.

She grabbed Waylon’s arm. “What happened when you were bad?”

Waylon tilted his head as if it were a weird, stupid question. “You get punished. What else?”

Debbie hated that she knew it was true. She hated that she asked. She hated that she didn’t feel like crying only that heavy sense of “of course”, settling through her. 

“Oh fuck, Minsoo got his ass handed to him,” Turbo said.

Marco turned to Noah. “Aren’t you going to do something?” he asked.

Noah sighed. Right because apparently he always had to be the one to stop fights.

Marek sent Minsoo crashing into the street, creating a crater as he punched Minsoo hard enough for it to echo through the air.

“Fuckin’ bet that feels good, huh? Repeat the cycle and all,” Minsoo hissed.

“Shut up,” Marek demanded.

“Let me guess this is exactly what Dad did to put you in your place?” Minsoo said.

“Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!” Marek repeated over and over again followed by a heavy hitting punch.

“That’s enough,” Noah said, pulling Marek’s shoulder.

Marek immediately punched Noah in the face. It didn’t hurt as much as his dad’s punches had, so it was fine.

When the fist fell away, it revealed a crying Marek sniffling, snot and tears covering his slightly injured face. He looked like a younger Noah, and that felt weird, because they were around the same age…he thinks.., yet Noah felt as if Marek was a sixteen-year-old version of himself.

Minsoo cackled a bit. “Bet that fealt good,” he said confidently.

Noah glared at both of them. “I said that’s enough.”

Both of them flinched. The cackling from Turbo went quiet.

Ah..Right. That’s why Noah was the one to do it because apparently he was the only one they were scared of.

“Minsoo, go stand in the corner,” Noah demanded.

“Why?” Minsoo started.

“Now.” Noah’s voice boomed, and even he shivered a bit for some reason.

Minsoo paused. His eyes seemed to glaze over as he went quietly, like he was a different person. Marco tried to help him up, but Minsoo ignored him.

“Fucking serves him right,” Marek muttered.

“You too, stand in the opposite corner,” Noah demanded.

Marek opened his mouth. “He started it—why should I have to—”

“That’s an order,” Noah said.

Marek flinched, straightened immediately, and headed into the house.

Noah followed inside, where Turbo and Mo were now laying on the floor gaming. He looked around. “Zack, Sebastian, and Oliver are still missing,” he said.

“Not our problem,” Mo added. Turbo hummed in agreement.

“Yeah, besides, Mark is on it,” Turbo said.

Noah almost opened his mouth when there was a struggle.

“Let me go, I can take him,” Oliver said, Marco walked in holding a struggling Oliver between his arm and hip.

“Found him. Uh Mark is still fighting Sebastian, and Zack went to go get pizza for us, so don’t worry about that.”

He dropped Oliver. “I had him,” Oliver huffed.

There was a feeling in Noah’s chest he couldn’t quite describe as he sighed.

“Hey, you okay? You’re trembling,” Marco asked.

Noah grabbed Marco’s shoulder. “Marco, I swear you’re the only person I can stand right now,” he said which was surprising considering most of the time it was the exact opposite feeling.

Marco blinked. “I …thanks....I geuss "

Debbie shimmed through the door to stare at them. She looked at Noah, then frowned.

“Your nose is broken. Let’s go fix that,” she said.

Noah touched it. There was blood on his hand and face, and he hadn’t even realized.

“Right.” He let Debbie lead him to the bathroom. He didn’t need the help, nor did he need to worry about the injury he hadn’t noticed until someone pointed it out.

It's not like it matters; the wound would heal without a scar, and he'd never have to think about it again.

“Dude, that’s so gross,” Mo said with a snort.

“Aw man, I wish I was there,” Turbo said.

Zack smiled. “What did you do with the body?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Eh, I tried to eat it, but turns out pus doesn’t taste good.”

That caused the three of them to go silent.

“That’s disgusting,” Majesty said, having overheard them.

Oliver blinked. “What? What’s wrong with what he did?” he asked. “Viltrumites do that, right?”

“Absolutely not,” Marek and Majesty said at the same time.

Marek glared at him. “When you kill a noble warrior of your caliber, you bury them as a form of honor and respect. Or, if not, you make sure to leave the body in a way that doesn’t come off as mockery.”

“The fuck kind of noble shit is he on about?” Mo asked.

Turbo nodded. “That sounds like way too much work.”

Noah turned away, clearly not wanting to be involved, and Mark agreed, turning back to Debbie.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he said.

Debbie sighed, rubbing her head.

“You good?” Mark and Marco both asked and yeah, it was getting creepy how often different versions of them said the same thing.

“Fine. Just tired,” Debbie waved them off.

Mark frowned. He felt bad. Of course Debbie had to deal with them while he was asleep for what was it, a week? A few days? He honestly forgot.

They arrived at the clothing store and went straight inside.

Mark had already found everything he wanted, which was pretty easy. He dropped his clothes into the shopping cart and looked around.

“Dude, I’m thinking of getting another piercing on my tongue,” Mo said as he shoved his clothes into the cart, all punk-rock about it.

Turbo hummed. “I feel that. I was thinking of getting one on my di—”

“Yeah, I’m gonna stop you right there. That’s too much information,” Mark interrupted. “There are kids here.” He gestured around the store.

The two rolled their eyes.

“Tell Debbie we’re getting piercings,” Mo said.

“With what money?” Mark asked but they were already gone.

Mark groaned, noticing Noah walking around without grabbing a single thing.

“Any reason you have no clothes whatsoever?” Mark asked.

Noah frowned. “I’m trying to find a shirt in Petterian Purple.”

Mark blinked. “In what?”

“Petterian Purple,” Noah repeated.

Mark tilted his head and chuckled a bit. “What is that?”

“It’s a shade of purple,” Noah explained. “It’s like an in-between of purple, blue, and black.” He stroked his chin. “Kind of like a galaxy, I guess.”

“Hold on spell it out for me,” Mark offered as he searched it up. Noah did. Mark shook his head. “Nope.”

Noah sighed. “Guess your dimension doesn’t have it. I’ll find something else, then,” he said, though he looked disappointed.

“You really like it that much?” Mark asked.

Noah glanced at the cart as Debbie came back with Oliver, dropping his clothes in.

Noah shrugged. “Not really,” he said, then turned and left for another section.

Mark shrugged. “Weird.”

He turned to hear cackling where Zack and Sebastian were staring at shirts. He had no idea what they were laughing about, but he was grateful they seemed pretty tame for now.

“Oh, check it!” A bear was shoved into his face, overly decorated in rainbows and wearing a shirt with a duck that said Be Gay, Do Crime.

Mark looked at it, embarrassed, then up at a happy Minsoo. “Hilarious, right?” Minsoo beamed.

Mark pushed it away a bit. “I guess,” he said. It reminded him of the shirt William had when he first came out.

“Kinda stereotypical,” Mark added.

Minsoo’s eyes brightened even more, as if that were a compliment. He turned around. “I think I’ve shown everyone but Marek, Marco, and Majesty. Where are they?”

Mark shrugged. “I have no clue.”

“Oh, Majesty and Marco are over there,” Debbie pointed to a corner where the two were muttering.

Mark tilted his head, confused, as he and Minsoo went over passing Waylon, who was happily showing his flower bear to a very unimpressed Noah. Noah looked at Debbie, who motioned for him to smile. Noah sighed and smiled at Waylon.

“I haven’t measured myself in forever,” Marco admitted.

Majesty stared at him. “I weigh about 175, so I’m guessing you’re maybe three pounds below me,” he shrugged.

Majesty then added, “Maybe you should just wear shorts. You already have your hip measurements.”

“But then my chest will show,” Marco argued.

“There’s no way you still have the scar. How long ago did you get it?”

“Uh… two months ago.”

“So it should be gone,” Majesty hissed.

“Okay, what if there’s a faint line?” Marco asked.

“Then they’ll think it’s a battle scar. Nobody’s going to question why your chest—” Majesty stopped.

Mark stepped in. “What exactly are you guys doing?”

Minsoo didn’t care. “Check it!” He talked over Mark, shoving the bear into their shocked faces.

“Oh, cool. Remind me to get one on the way out,” Mark said.

“We should go together. I’m definitely getting another,” Minsoo insisted.

Majesty frowned. “Now I actually wish I did go,” he admitted.

Mark shook his head. “We’re getting off track. Why were you whispering?” he asked.

“We’re trying to remember our sizes,” Majesty said.

Mark didn’t really believe that. “Right… So then why the whispers?”

Majesty opened his mouth, but Marco interrupted. “No reason whatsoever. It’s none of your business.”

Majesty stared at him in disbelief. “Seriously? Now he definitely thinks we’re suspicious.”

“Oh, why would he think that? We’re not even suspicious,” Marco said.

“Well, now I definitely think so,” Mark replied.

Majesty smacked his head and groaned. “It’s nothing. Marco wants to wear a bathing suit and doesn’t know whether to wear a one-piece or trunks.”

“Riiight. Why is he debating that?” Mark asked.

“Because he’s scared you’re going to think less of him cuz He’s trans which makes zero sense, because why would he value the opinion of someone who hates us?”

Mark blinked. “Wait, what?”

“We’re both trans,” Majesty said, folding his arms. Marco seemed to hide behind him. “You got a problem with that?”

“No, I just, wow.” Mark paused. “I guess I forgot trans people can be evil,” he admitted.

“What does that mean?” Majesty hissed.

Minsoo glared at Mark. “I didn’t mean it like that, okay? Yeah, that sounded bad. I just meant you guys are the evil versions of me, so—” Mark sighed he was making himself sound worse.

“I’m not transphobic,” he blurted out. The store went quiet, and he immediately covered his mouth.

Majesty snorted, then turned to Marco. “Told you,” he said.

Marco sighed. “Whatever. Okay, I get it. I’m still wearing a bathing suit. I’ll just come back later.”

Mark blinked. “Wait, have you guys seriously been debating what bathing suits to wear this whole time?”

Majesty scoffed. “I already knew what I wanted.” He grabbed a pair of purple periwinkle trunks and handed them to Marco.

“We have actual clothes to find now,” Majesty said.

Mark followed after them, then stopped when he noticed Marek with Debbie and Oliver.

“Just pick one already,” Oliver groaned.

“It’s not exactly up to code, and all of these are quick to tear. Plus, a lot of them aren’t easy to wash. You have to be precise. This is why Viltrumites empire always choose,” Marek said.

“Well, maybe I can choose for you?” Debbie asked.

Marek shook his head, holding an arm out to stop her. “Thanks, but you don’t let another species choose your gear unless you have no other option or you know them completely and utterly,” he recited.

“You know me i'm your mom,” Debbie says.

Marek stares, "You're another dimensional version of the woman who birthed me.”

Debbie pursed her lips then shook her head with a small groan. “Come on, let’s go help someone else,” she said, steering an annoyed oliver away.

“What’s the problem?” Mark asked.

Marek turned to him and Minsoo, who was still holding up his teddy bear.

“I need an outfit that works in the wilderness. Would camouflage work?”

“Absolutely not,” Mark said.

“Ugh, okay, fuck it. I’ll just go with white the Viltrumite colors.” Marek reached for a white shirt but was stopped by Minsoo.

“No way. Choose a different color,” Minsoo demanded.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with white?” Marek asked.

“You literally just said they’re the colors of the Viltrumites. Do I need to name another reason?” Minsoo shot back.

“Yes,” Marek shouted, then hissed when Mark shushed him.

“We’re in a store,” Mark reminded them. “Also… Minsoo kinda has a point.”

“Why do you care?” Marek asked Minsoo.

“Because we agreed we were going to wear matching outfits, and I’m not wearing shit like that.”

“Then don’t match with me,” Marek argued.

“Or how about you don’t wear this at all? If you bring it home, I’m burning it.”

Minsoo smiled at that.

“You better not touch my shit,” Marek warned.

Minsoo didn’t budge.

“I swear to Viltrumite, you are so lucky we’re in a store. The moment we’re home, I’m beating your ass.” Marek says through clenched teeth.

Minsoo rolled his eyes. “Oh, I’m so scared. Not like our crappy dad didn’t beat me every day.”

“Our dad isn’t crappy,” Marek said.

“He isn’t bad,” Noah added, having overheard.

Mark shrugged. “I don’t know. He was pretty big ass hole and I geuss he's  gotten a bit better,” Mark said, scratching his head. “I don’t really know what to think of him,” he admitted.

“He’s an awful, abusive, neglectful husband who sucked ass. That’s literally the only thing all our dimensions had in common, so why are we acting like he isn’t?” Minsoo list.

“He did a great job raising us. Not my fault your human side outshined the Viltrumite in you,” Marek hissed.

“How is that an insult?” Mark asked.

“Oh my god, you’re so brainwashed. Wake up, he never loved us,” Minsoo clapped his hands, enunciating every word.

“Let’s calm down here. He definitely loved us,” Noah said.

“Oh yeah? Because if we weren’t half Viltrumite, he’d totally love us. Hey, Mark why exactly did you have Oliver again? Because your dad beat the shit out of you, flew away, married another girl, then forced you to help raise his son. Real dad of the year.” Minsoo drags him into this.

“Okay, let’s calm down,” Mark said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong he sucked but could we not do this in public?” Mark begged.

“You are not—” Oliver shouted.

Mark groaned. “Great. Now what?”

He turned to see Oliver trying to hit Sebastian, who was shoving his head away.

Debbie was nowhere to be seen, and Mark frowned.

“What’s going on? Where’s Mom?” he asked.

“Bathroom,” Zack said as he looked through more shirts.

“What are you guys fighting about?” Mark asked.

“I’m just saying it’s my turn on the TV when we get back. He’s trying to fight me,” Sebastian said with a toothy smile.

“There’s no way that’s what happened,” Mark said.

“It is my turn, and he always steals it every single time,” Oliver said, panting. “He takes everything from me.”

Sebastian shook his head. “I never—”

Oliver pulled away. “You’re literally wearing my hat right now, and it doesn’t even fit you,” Oliver pointed out. Sure enough, the hat Oliver had come in with was on Sebastian’s head.

“Not my fault we have similar hats and you lost yours,” Sebastian said.

Mark groaned. “This is officially getting ridiculous,” he said.

Zack pulled out a shirt. “Aye, I found another one,” Zack said.

Sebastian ditched Oliver in a heartbeat, causing the kid to fall over.

Both of them stared at a black shirt with a wolf and crows on it. The shirt read:

I am the wolf, howling at the night 

and in the morning, the devil goes ‘oh thank god, he’s asleep.’

Both cackled at that, and Mark stared at them. “Seriously?”

“Okay, fine whatever. Fuck you,” Marek stormed off, dropping his shirt in the cart.

Mark blinked. “What happened?” he asked Noah as Minsoo also stormed away, muttering while heading to find Marco.

“We have exactly thirty minutes to leave before Marek starts fighting Minsoo,” Noah said, clearly upset, eyebrows twitching. “I’m still debating whether or not that’s a bad thing,” he muttered.

Mark glared at him. “It’s a bad thing,” he told the usaully mature man. “Okay, look, we gather everyone up and leave. Turbo and Mo are probably waiting for us anyway,” Mark admitted.

It didn’t take long to gather everyone up. Minsoo, Marco, Waylon, and Majesty had gone ahead to Build-A-Bear, which put Mark in a slightly better mood.

When they finished purchasing, Mo and Turbo were sitting with slushies and sunglasses. Turbo flipped him up.

“About damn time. You guys took forever,” Turbo rolled his eyes as Mark and Noah caught up.

“Where did you get those?” Mark asked. Mo handed him a box of donuts.

“You’re welcome. The others already had theirs.” Mo said letting the question linger in the air.

When they regrouped, the group was once again split. Marco was listening to Minsoo vent, completely agreeing. Every so often they’d glance at Marek, who was twitching and clearly irritated. He stood next to Noah, who had a hand on his shoulder, clearly making sure Marek didn’t attack Minsoo.

Debbie was occupied with Waylon and Majesty, the two taking turns talking about something. Both seemed happy, which was a relief.

Turbo and Mo were, of course, talking to each other and that’s when Mark realized.

“Where are Oliver, Sebastian, and Zack?” he asked Noah.

Noah frowned. “We didn’t count,” he said as the thought hit him. He turned to Marek as well, since he was usually the one who help keep track.

Marek shrugged. “They went up ahead, so they’re probably taking turns beating up Oliver,” he said. “Like I’m going to do to Minsoo the second we get home,” he shouted loud enough for Minsoo to hear.

Minsoo glared at him, and Marek glared back. Noah pushed Minsoo forward and nodded to a concerned Debbie.

“We’re going up ahead,” Noah said quickly.

“Why does he have to come? Seriously, he isn’t even part of the family!” Marco whined, half-pained, half-irritated.

“Yeah, plus his name is Paul.” Majesty echoed , dripping with disdain. “Anyone with the name Paul should be executed. Paul is such a basic name.”

“We get it. You hate Paul. You think people should have names like ‘Highness’ or ‘Our Princess.’ You narcissistic asshole with a stick up your ass.” Mo mockingly chimed in.

“I can hold them for ten minutes,” Noah whispered. “So hurry.”

“Ten puh-leas,” Zack huffed "You couldn’t even hold us for one minute.”

“Oh, another challenge? To prove white boy wrong?” Turbo giddy voice added. “Count me in!”

Mark turned his head toward Eve,  with confusion in his eyes. “Do you hear that?”

Eve’s lips pressed into a thin line. She heard.

“Daily remind us we're all wasian,” Minsoo muttered.

“No I'm not, I'm a viltrumite!“ Marek shouted.

And then the hospital door creaked open.

Paul stepped in, awkward as ever, holding Debbie by the arm. She looked exhausted, her eyes swollen from crying. “Uh. Hi,” Paul offered, sounding like he wanted to disappear.

Eve flinched, pulling away from Mark, embarrassed, smoothing her hair and slipping into the nearby chair.

“Mom,” Mark rasped, trying to sit up straighter. His body screamed in protest.

Debbie crossed the room quickly, kneeling by his bed and grasping his hand. “It’s okay, Eve. We all need comfort sometimes.”

 She turned to Mark and smiled but before she could ask him anything. Mark’s lips curved in a weak smile. “I’m okay, Mom. Really.”

Debbie’s face crumpled, tears spilling. “I am so sorry.”

“For what?” Mark asked, startled as she wrapped her arms around him, careful but trembling.

“For everything.” Her voice broke against his shoulder. “When I married your father, I didn’t know… I didn’t know the life I’d be giving you. The responsibility. Every time we asked if you had your powers yet, how hopeful we were...how" she swallowed " How disappointed you were when it didn’t happen. And then it did, and I…” She sucked in a breath, clinging tighter. “It disgusts me. Seeing you out there, getting hurt, fighting for your life. And it’s my fault.”

“Mom, no—”

“I could’ve taken you away from all this.”

“Mom—”

“I shouldn’t have let your father convince me it would all be okay.”

“Mom.”

“You did everything right. Everything.” Her voice shattered, raw. “Mark, I love you so much.”

His throat closed. He hugged her back, whispering, “I love you too.”

Mark rubbed her back then gulped “ Hows Oliver?”.

The moment cracked when Debbie pulled back slightly, wiping her eyes. “Oliver’s okay. He’s a little banged up Sebastian threw him into a tree, but…”

“Wait.” Mark blinked. “Who’s Sebastian?”

The room fell silent. Debbie stiffened, her gaze flicking to the door.

Before she could answer, the door burst open.

“Ten minutes, please. That was barely five.” Mo flew in, mockery dripping from every word.

“And he had backup,” Zack added, smirking.

Mark froze as reality bent as he watched another version of himself throw aside Paul. The man flung into the air and was caught by his foot, Minsoo carefully setting him down as if he were glass.

“Can we stop throwing Paul around like a baseball?” Minsoo groaned. “He isn’t that bad.”

“Yeah, I’d like that very much,” Paul muttered, brushing himself off and giving a weak thumbs-up.

Noah rubbed his temples. “We tried to hold them off as long as possible, but they got relentless.”

“Hey, you challenged us, man,” Turbo snapped back.

“We are not having this argument again,” Noah sighed, folding his arms.

“Move aside.” Majesty pushed through the crowd, flying above the rest like he needed everyone to see him. His presence filled the room, arrogant and heavy.

Mark’s heart thudded. They were real. Not hallucinations. Real.

“Three days for an injury like that?” Marek asked, tilting his head. “Kinda weak. Are you even eating  right? You should be doing six meals a day. Minimum.”

“If he needs to eat, I got this.” Waylon tossed a bag of candy at Mark.

Instinct snapped. Mark shot into the air, dodging the bag, landing with his fist clenched and his chest heaving. “What are you all doing here?” His voice cracked into a growl. “You know what? Doesn’t matter. Leave. Before I—” Pain flared, his knees almost buckling.

“Wow. That was pathetic,” Zack snorted.

“Really embarrassing,” Marek agreed, shaking his head. Then, softer, “But we shouldn’t make fun of him. He’s one of us.”

“Yeah, guys, Marek’s right,” Marco cut in, as Debbie's pushing him aside. “Don’t mock him.”

Immediately, gagging noises rippled through the group.

"Oh why cuz it’ll hurt his wittle feelings, blegh.’” Mo mimicked, fake retching. Turbo and Zack cackled.

Mark’s fists trembled. “What is happening?”

“Here.” Minsoo shoved a bottle toward him. “Water. And a pain reliever.”

Mark slapped it away. “I don’t need that.”

“Maybe he is one of us,” Waylon muttered.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” Turbo agreed, nodding enthusiastically. “Fuck pain relievers. Pain’s what makes it good.”

“Personally, I prefer other people’s pain.” Zack shrugged. “But respect.”

“That’s not—ugh! Why are you here?” Mark demanded.

“Oh, brain damage. Classic.” Mo waved a hand. “Didn’t we tell him?”

“Did we?” Minsoo scratched his head.

“I think he passed out before we explained,” Marek said.

“Long story short,” Noah finally cut through the noise, his voice steel, “we killed Angstrom. Now we’re stuck here. So we’re helping you… to help us get home.”

Mark stared at them at all the versions of himself. Majesty with his imperious sneer. Mo with his mocking grin. Marek’s calm dissection. Waylon’s half-crazed prison stare. Turbo bouncing with energy. Noah, brooding. Zack with that wolfish smirk. Minsoo and Marco with too much sadness in their eyes.

Mark’s voice was hoarse. “You guys are working with the government?” He swallowed hard, blinking at the dozen faces that were his and weren’t. “Alternate versions of me who just destroyed half the world?”

The hospital room felt too small for all of them. The fluorescent lights hummed. The IV drip ticked. Mark’s mother sat with her hands folded so tightly around her own that the knuckles shone white; her cheeks were streaked with dried tears. Eve stood beside the bed, tense and alert, her fingers loose around Mark’s hand.

Debbie sighed and tried for steadiness. “Mark, look this is bad, I know. But they did help you fight Conquest. And… Well, we don’t really have a choice in the matter.” Her voice trembled on the last words. Noah drifted near the doorway, eyes sweeping the room like he was counting exits. "Beside they've been listening  to everything Cecil tells them to do."

Majesty snorted. “Like hell I’d let any of you tell me what to do,” he huffed, crossing his arms theatrically.

“You sound like a child,” Minsoo said, exhausted.

“Say that to my face,” Majesty demanded, stepping forward.

“Can we please go one day without picking a fight?” Marco begged, pulling the unflinching Minsoo gently backwards. He had that tired, pleading look he always did when tempers flared.

"That’s asking for too much...try a minute" Marek offered.

Mark closed his eyes for a second and shook his head. “So let me get this straight. Cecil agreed to all of this? All of this?” He waved his good hand vaguely at the clustered selves, the hovering cape, the luggage-sized egos.

Noah floated into the hallway and eased the door shut behind him, folding his hands together. When he turned back, his face was solemn. 

Minsoo steps closer politely “If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “Cecil made us change our names so there wouldn’t be confusion.” He offered a small, awkward smile. “We have to technically pretend to be siblings now. But aside from that, you’re still you.”

Mark bit his lip, then managed a small, incredulous laugh. “That… actually makes me feel a little better.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. The absurdity of the whole thing made his head throb.

Noah cut in, more serious. “Has anyone seen Sebastian?” He asked the room.

 “He was right behind us.” Marek clarified. He frowned, scanning the corners.

“He was,” Noah echoed, crossing his arms. “But now—” His gaze snagged on an empty space in the far corner of the ward. “He’s gone.”

The silence stretched like taffy. Then Mo clapped once, too loud. “Welp. One less edge-lord to deal with. Problem solved. Everyone go home.”

“No,” Noah said, rubbing his forehead. “This is serious.”

Paul awkwardly leaned on the wall, scratched his head. “Maybe he just left?” His voice was small.

Every head turned to him as if his words were a splinter. Mo deadpanned, “Paul the Philosopher, ladies and gentlemen. What a profound insight. Maybe the missing man is… missing. Riveting.”

Paul flushed. “I was just saying—”

“Shut up, Paul,” Zack hissed out.

“Yeah, shut up, Paul,” Marco repeated without thinking.

“Hey! don’t talk to him like that,” Mark snapped before he could stop himself; he wasn’t going to let them gang up on Paul in his room. Zack glared at Mark, eyes sharp. “Or what?” he spat.

Eve stepped forward then, her posture low, controlled; she’d had enough. “Can we please focus on Sebastian and not make fun of Paul?” she demanded. Her voice was calm but carried an edge that cut through the chatter. She rubbed the bridge of her nose, the younger woman’s jaw tight with a headache that had been growing for hours. She felt ill at the way Mo was staring at her all love dovey and she forced herself to ignore it.

Debbie looked grateful for the intervention. “Thank you,” she said, quietly.

Marco deflated a little. “Yeah,let’s find Sebastian! And… maybe tease at Paul just a little" He offered a reluctant half-smile as he pinched his fingers.

Debbie and Eve glared at him. Marco groaned as  he fell onto the floor “Okay, fine. Let’s find Sebastian.” he flimsy pointed his hand towards 

Mark pinched the bridge of his eyebrow. “Who is Sebastian, anyway?”

“The worst of us,” Noah said flatly.

“An absolute menace,” Turbo nodded. “You gotta appreciate his craft, though.”

“I am not going to appreciate a cannibal,” Majesty said, voice clipped.

“A what?” Mark asked, eyes narrowing.

“Yeah,” Mo said. He waved a hand as he shuffled through the bag of candy someone had tossed into the room and popped one into his mouth. “He’s a cannibal. He eats people. Gross. Awful. So glad we agreed to leave him behind.”

Waylon sat in the air stroking his chin. “Can we really judge him? Maybe people taste good. What’s the difference? We’re all animals.”

Eve’s expression went hard. “Do not—” she started, then stopped, taking a breath. “We’re not going to have a philosophical debate about whether eating people is acceptable.” Her voice was quiet, but her eyes were fierce. “We need to find Sebastian and get him back before someone else before anything else happens. End of discussion.”

“I regret teaching you that,” Noah muttered under his breath.

“He can’t eat people,” Marek snapped, angry now. “The whole point was to protect people. We are not shepherds who turn on their flock.”

“And we have to find Sebastian,” Marek added, more composed but urgent. “No Viltrumite goes unaccounted for. Rule seventy-six in the origin handbook.”

“Ugh, okay, boy scout,” Mo groaned.

“We seriously need to discuss our dimensions more, because mine never had a handbook.” Noah contemplated.

“Mine either,” Minsoo nodded.

“Mine did, I just burned it,” Turbo smiled at the memories “Good time”

“Huh… I don’t remember if mine did or didn’t.” Marco scratched his chin in thought.

“Wait, so we’re just glossing over all the atrocities that another version of us did?” Mark asked.

Majesty snorted. “I will never accept that  man as one of us.”

“Dude, we’re murderers, conquerors, and slave owners. Of course we are, ah duh,” Mo said.

“Beside all my slave were happy to serve me” Majesty boost

“For the record, I didn’t own any slaves,” Minsoo said quickly.

“Me neither,” Marco jumped in.

“I had indentured servants,” Noah explained.

Marek nodded as well. “Yeah, and mine loved serving me. They all told me so.”

“You guys do realize indentured servants aren’t that much better, right?” Eve asked flatly.

The room fell quiet.

Marek clapped his hands loudly, breaking the silence.“Onward to find Sebastian. Let’s go,” Marek said, flying away in a blur.

Eve moved closer to Mark’s bedside, curling into the space between him and the rest of the chaos. She rested her fingers on his wrist, checking the pulse with a practiced touch. “Listen to me,” she said, soft now, in the voice she used when he was small and scraped his knees. “You don’t have to be the same thing as them. You’re not the sum of their worst choices. You’re you. Promise me you’ll stay,don’t go anywhere. Let me sort this out okay.”

Mark looked at her, and for the first time since he woke up, something like relief flickered across his face. “I promise,” he whispered.

Noah hovered in the doorway, turning back once toward Debbie. “You should stay here. I know roughly where he is. I just need them to go. Enjoy thirty minutes with your mom. It might be a while before you get another chance.” He offered Mark a rueful smile and then launched himself back into the sky-crowded hall.

Debbie squeezed Mark’s hand. “They’re not all bad once you get to know them,” she said, half-heartedly, then shrugged. “Well, some of them.”

“They sound like monsters,” Mark muttered.

Debbie hummed and stroked his arm. “I know. But—” she hesitated, confessing softly, “I think I can help them. Or at least try. “ She didn’t tell him she was also terrified of losing any of these versions of him—couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud. She just sat straighter and smiled, switching the conversation to something lighter when she could feel the room’s weight pressing on both of them.

Mark watched her for a long beat, then let out a shaky, humorless laugh. “You think you can redeem slave owners?”

She gave him a crooked look and rubbed the back of his hand. “Redemption isn’t the point, Mark. Keeping the world safe is. And maybe, if we’re lucky, we’ll make one or two of them less terrible.”

He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and let his head sink back into the pillow. 

Mark had barely been awake for an hour and he already felt exhaustion and dread for his next mission. 

Trying to redeem these men.

"Nah, no need—he’s been dead inside for years," no Goggle Mark quipped, drawing a cross dramatically over his chest like he was mourning at a funeral. Headcap Mark smacked his hand in response.

“You’re all cringe,” muttered Sinister, who then spat out blood.

"We should also get the version of us to a hospital," Empire Mark added with a hiss, gesturing vaguely at Sinister Mark, who was barely conscious and definitely not standing. “Not that I care or anything—I just don’t want to watch myself bleed out.”

"Just call me Sinister. Easier to remember," the injured Mark mumbled with a blood-streaked grin.

There was a beat of silence.

“Dude, We’re not going to call you Sinister . ” Head cap, Mark said.

“On God, you’re not him,” Goggle Mark muttered in disgust.

“CAN WE GO?” Mohawk Mark shouted, throwing up his hands. “I’m getting sick and tired of standing around here next to bootleg Justice League.” 

"And why, exactly, do you think I’d bring  you guys to a top-secret military base just to offer free medical aid?" Cecil replied coolly, unbothered by the heat. As usual, he looked composed, even as several of these superpowered Marks could crush him into paste in less than a second.

“I think I’m—he’s—you’re Invincible—is hallucinating from the blood loss,” Viltrumite Mark muttered as the Original Mark moaned softly against his shoulder.

A few feet away, Oliver landed clumsily in front of Cecil. “You can help him, right? So help him!” he pleaded, his eyes wet with tears and worry.

Cecil tilted his head, looking the boy over, then flicked his gaze to the others. Most of them were exhausted, bruised, bleeding, or still riding the high of interdimensional adrenaline.

He sighed. "Explain why you’re all still here, and then we can talk about medical help."

“Someone Killed Angst Storm,” Empire Mark grumbled, narrowing his eyes at Sinister Mark.

Sinister blinked, still staring at the stump where his arm used to be. “Yeah... guilty,” he giggled weakly before passing out cold. Empire Mark barely caught him before he hit the ground.

“And now we’re stuck here with no way back,” Viltrumite Mark added, sighing heavily. “Great job, team.”

"We came here with a deal," Mohawk Mark said, floating over toward Cecil but unable to get too close thanks to Cecil’s teleportation tech. "We help you. You help us build a portal to get home."

Cecil adjusted his tie, having freshly teleported behind them. It always got a little askew when he jumped, a minor annoyance in an otherwise flawless image. "And why exactly would I trust a room full of evil alternate versions of Invincible? If I just wait long enough, statistically, one of you will die off anyway." He looked directly at Sinister Mark’s unconscious body.

“You fucker—” Headcap Mark growled, stepping forward as if to punch him, but Cecil vanished again, reappearing in the middle of the crowd, surrounded by Bulletproof and a few other loyal supers who moved instantly to defend him.

"But fine," Cecil relented, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "I’ll help you. In return, I make you into top-tier heroes. Clean up your mess. Prove your worth."

"Boss, are you sure?" Bulletproof? asked quietly, leaning in close.

Cecil raised one hand and waved him off. Bulletproof didn’t look thrilled but didn’t argue.

“I have seven inquiries about this,” Robot’s voice cut in flatly over the speakers. He didn’t elaborate further, as someone else shouted:

“Wait—is that Robot? He’s still alive in this timeline?” Headcap asked. Several heads turned toward Robot.

Viltrumite Mark raised a brow. “So let me get this straight. You don’t trust us because we’re ‘conquerors,’” he said with air quotes, “but you’re fine with  Robot conqueroring? Sounds like hypocrisy to me.” 

“Robot did what?” Mask Mark said, confused.

“You accidentally let one thing live and they start a revolution,” muttered viltrumite.

“I feel that.” Mohawk agreed, nodding 

Empire looked baffled as he turned to the Viltrumite. “You let him live?”

"I didn’t mean to. He had a backup no one knew about. Next thing we knew, he had an entire robot army. I’ll give him credit—he played the long game. Still lost, but points for trying." Viltrumite Mark hurriedly tried to defend himself.

“Note to self: check for any surviving AI when I get home,” Empire Mark muttered, typing into his phone.

“Seriously?” Bulletproof grumbled, arms crossed. “These are the guys you want to turn into heroes?”

“I’m well aware they can’t be trusted,” Cecil said. “But do we have a better option right now?”

Bulletproof paused. Then, reluctantly, he nodded.

“Alright. You got me there.”

“No, but seriously—can we go ?” Viltrumite Mark groaned, readjusting Original Mark in his arms as Oliver fluttered in to try and help support the other side.

“He’s got a lot of internal bleeding,” Viltrumite  said, his voice tight with panic. “And his eye? It’s red—like, really red. I don’t know if it’s from an infection, dust, or if something snapped in his socket, but it should probably be checked out. Viltrumite eyes take longer to heal than the rest of our body.”

“Wh-What” Oliver said, horrified. Viltrumite looked at Oliver with pity. 

Masked flew to correct it. “But he’s not going to die, right?’ Masked, ask the Viltrumite with a warning glare.

“OF course not,” he said and Oliver sighed while Masked  patted his head, “...Probably.” Viltrumite began to think, calculating the likelihood of it” ... If his human blood is a weak as ours...” he was jabbed in the side by Mask, who shook his head While oliver panic became clearer.

“But he’s going to be fine, right?” Oliver repeated the question, and the Viltrumite cracked an awkward smile.

“Yep, totally, if we get the help we need.” Viltrumite placed the Oliver situation on to Cecil pleadingly.

Cecil sighed and waved them forward, tapping something into his phone. “Fine,” he muttered.

In a flash of light and sound, the entire group suddenly vanished from the suburban wreckage and reappeared inside a massive, sterile military base.

“WHOA,” Goggle Mark yelled, stumbling forward and immediately spinning in place to take it all in. “Okay, I have to say—our Cecil didn’t have cool teleportation high-tech shit like that . Damn! This is  awesome .”

He whipped out his phone and immediately began taking selfies, grinning wide with the smoldering remains of a jet engine behind him. “Also, it didn’t look this fucking cool. Like. I’m Jealous.”

“Can you not ?” Masked Mark muttered, ” It’s rude,“  shoving Goggle’s phone down as they marched forward, following Cecil.

The balding man led the bleeding Mark, still groaning softly, to a clean white infirmary. An assistant arrived moments later with a clipboard and a stack of papers.

“Please sign your names here,” she said, placing the documents on the table.

The Marks all reached for pens—except Mohawk, who actually paused to flip through the pages.

“I mean, yeah, it’s government paperwork, but you should read these. Could be giving up your soul, your DNA rights, or your firstborn child.” He skimmed a few more lines, then grunted. “Oh. It’s just the standard Guardian induction form. Guess they never updated the paper since I joined years ago.” With that, he signed without further protest.

They passed the clipboard back to the assistant. She raised an eyebrow as she looked it over, her eyes darting from signature to signature.

“Sir?” she called out, brisk heels clicking across the sterile floor as she pulled Cecil aside by the elbow like a panicked school administrator dragging a principal into a room full of delinquent clones. Her clipboard trembled in her hand.

“This is going to be a problem.”

Cecil turned his head slowly, giving her the kind of side-eye. “Why?” he asked, already bracing himself.

She lifted the clipboard and flipped it around. “They all have the same name,” she whispered like it was a forbidden curse. “First, middle, and last.”

Cecil stared at the paperwork in front of him. Then at the eight almost-identical men loitering across the room, most of them looking like they either wanted to fight, nap, or start a podcast.

He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, the sigh that followed echoing through his sinuses like the ghost of every bureaucratic headache he’d ever had. “Right. Of course. Multiversal duplicates.” He looked at the group like a fed-up teacher on the last day of school. “You’re all going to need to change your names. Legally.”

“We can’t have eight guys,“ he started but was cut off by masked.

“Actually, Eleven, there are three more at home,” Viltrumite corrected. 

“Eleven other guys named ‘Mark Grayson’ running around in government databases,” he added dryly. “It breaks too many systems. ”

Mohawk mark flipped on his sunglasses, which he definitely  had before they arrived here and  He definitely didn't steal from same person passing by them.leaned back in the infirmary chair. “I already gave myself a new name. Mohawk.”

From across the room, Empire Mark stood up so fast his chair skidded. “You are not naming yourself fucking Mohawk,” Empire Mark snarled. “It’s wretched, horrible, and ghastly!”

“Someone pulled out the thesaurus,” muttered Headcap.

“Not legally,” the assistant clarified, raising her voice above the incoming chaos. “We’ll need full legal designations for recordkeeping, insurance, and emergency response. Something unique for each of you.”

No Goggle put down his phone. as he realized what the conversation was, he jumped up excitedly. “Finally. I can change my name to what it should’ve been from the start.” He raised his arms like a prophet. “Turbo.”

“Denied,” Empire Mark snapped instantly.

“Why?!” No Goggle demand, aghast.

“Because it sounds like a Fast and Furious sequel and you know it.”

“That’s what makes it badass!”

Masked Mark, who had been holding and skimming through the hospital pamphlet, raised a hand. “Can I be ‘Mark with a C’? Like, Marc?”

Viltrumite Mark groaned as he shifted the unconscious Original Mark on the bed beside him. “That’s just too confusing,” he said. “Besides, if he’s anything like me, he’ll haunt you for picking that name.” He paused, narrowing his eyes. “And if he doesn’t… I will.”

Masked Mark lowered his hand. “Okay, jeez. Marc is a no. Got it.”

Cecil stepped back in, arms crossed and one brow twitching ominously. “You need proper names and identifiers, or this turns into a logistical nuke, which means no naming yourself after a hairstyle.”

Mohawk gasped offendedly, "Nobody told me this universe was so fucking lame!" he shook his head.

Empire Mark scoffed, folding his arms. “I’m not changing my name to jackshit.”

Head Cap Mark stepped behind him and yanked Empire’s ear like a crab pinching a balloon. No, Google held Empire back by the shoulders while Head Cap handed him a form with a self-satisfied grin.

Empire read it with the solemnity of a man signing away his villain origin story. “Sebastian Markus Grayson,” he muttered. Then paused. “…Actually, not that bad.”

“Dude, seriously?”  No Goggle frowned.

“Shut it. I don’t want to hear it from a guy named Turbo ,”  Empire hissed.

“Turbo’s a pretty badass name!” No, Goggle protested, tossing his phone down dramatically.

Without fanfare, Empire riped the one they wrote for him and then  grabbed another form and scribbled out “Majesty” in glitzy cursive. The assistant side-eyed him with the expression of someone silently calculating how many aspirin she had left.

“ Are you certain this is the name you want?” she muttered.

“Absolutely , ” Majesty replied, somehow making it sound like a royal decree.

“I’ll be Zack,” said Head Cap Mark suddenly, writing like he was racing the clock.

Empire looked genuinely confused. “Why, Zack ?”

“Yeah, that came out of nowhere,” added Masked Mark.

“Just cuz  and I won’t take any further questions,” Head Cap replied solemnly as he sealed the form like it was a war treaty.

“I’ll go with Marek,” Viltrumite Mark offered. “Keeps it simple.”

Mohawk Mark blinked. “Why are your names so boring ? Where’s the pizzazz ?”

Cecil exhaled while keeping his composure. “It’s fine. For now, just differentiate enough to keep the system from melting. Later, we’ll work on cover IDs and training.” He snatched the last clipboard.

Mohawk Mark, eyes sparkling with chaos, calmly wrote, Mo Mohawk Grayson. Then he handed it over with both hands like he was presenting Excalibur.

Cecil stared.

Mohawk grinned wide, all teeth and menace.

Cecil blinked, then shrugged. “Whatever. We’ve got bigger problems.”

“You’re still serious about turning us into heroes?” Masked Mark asked, finally setting down his pamphlet doodles. “Because I’m 60% sure that’s going to end in disaster and 40% deeply unfit for mentorship.”

“I’ve worked with worse,” Cecil replied, completely deadpan. “Your powers are the same. Your brains? Not even close. That might actually work in our favor.”

“That,” Goggles Mark said, standing with arms crossed, “sounds like the start of a CW show. I call theme music rights.”

“Can we circle back to the whole medical thing?”  Viltrumite Mark asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose like it had aged fifty years since entering this room. “Original Mark’s not waking up.”

A nurse finally bustled in, pushing a cart loaded with equipment. “We’re stabilizing him now. His vitals are weak—surgery’s needed. Likely multiple organs.”

“You guys are lucky we’ve got alien surgeons on standby,” Cecil muttered, glancing at his assistant. “Get D.A. Sinclair to assemble the trauma team. Viltrumite-grade. Diamond-tipped scalpels only. I don’t want a repeat of last time.”

“Yes, sir.” The assistant saluted and stormed out like someone on a side quest with very high stakes.

Masked Mark tilted his head. “You have a surgeon for aliens?”

“You think we don’t prep for this kind of multiversal circus?” Cecil sighed. “Welcome to Earth. You’re heroes now.” He looked over the ragtag squad, rubbing his temples again.

“Try not to blow it.”

There was a pause.

Empire Mark coughed before asking, “Does this hero status come with dental?”

Cecil didn’t even look up. “Let’s get your I.D. sorted first. Then we’ll talk benefits.”

“Breathe,” he whispered. “One... two... three... four...” He inhaled and exhaled in measured cycles, counting softly to himself. “...three... four... one...”

“Are you alright?” Debbie asked, voice low, nearly brittle. The fear hadn’t left her chest yet.

“I—uh—yeah. Sorta. Um...” Maskless rubbed his face. His words trailed into silence, and then, gently, he reached out and guided her back to her chair.

“Sit. I’ll make you more tea. A different blend this time, I’m sure we can find one that works,” he said, already turning to the cupboards.

Debbie winced. She hated how that sounded like he was the parent and she was the child. She hated how easy it was to feel small lately.

“No, it’s fine. I got it,” she said quickly, moving to stand again. “Besides, I’m very particular about my tea blend.” She offered a tight smile, trying to pass it off lightly, even as she judged herself for it. Or maybe she was judging Maskless. She couldn’t tell anymore.

He stared at her as she moved around the kitchen, pulling down her usual tin and setting water to boil. She worked in silence for a moment, until the kettle began to whisper. She looked up. Maskless was still watching her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, finally meeting his gaze.

He blinked slowly, like surfacing from deep water. His chest rose and fell once before he shook his head.

“Huh? Nothing. No—it’s just...” His eyes flicked to the steam curling above the kettle. “You look like her. But you’re nothing like my mom.”

Debbie’s breath caught in her throat. Her hand trembled just slightly as she poured the hot water, but Maskless saw. His reflexes were sharp even now and he winced at how quickly he’d said it.

“Oh, sorry. That must’ve been really rude of me. I’m sorry,” he said immediately, holding up his hands in surrender. “It’s not a bad thing or anything. I think you’re... um... neat?” he offered, his voice unsure.

Despite herself, Debbie let out a shaky chuckle. His quick attempt to soften the blow felt clumsy but sincere.

She poured another cup and handed it to him. “I don’t think I’ve heard any of you guys talk about your mom,” she said. “What was she like?” she offered.

He declined, but Debbie lowered her gaze and tried again.

Maskless accepted the cup, though he didn’t drink. He just stared at the surface for a moment, studying his own reflection. Eventually, he spoke.

“Well, for one... she wouldn’t have forced me to have tea,” he said, and Debbie blinked as he moved toward the very chair he’d led her to earlier. “The moment I said ‘no,’ she would’ve left me alone.”

He sat, cradling the cup but not drinking from it.

“And that would’ve been our whole conversation for the day,” he added, almost bitterly.

Debbie stared at him, lips parting, but she didn’t know what to say yet.

Maskless took a sip finally, blowing gently on the steam first. He didn’t grimace, so maybe it wasn’t too awful.

“She wasn’t cruel. Not loud. Just... absent. Emotionally. Like talking to a wall, except the wall seemed to quiver if you were near it,” he continued. “She’d put on makeup before school drop-off. She smiled at teachers. But she never asked how my day was. Not once.”

“I’m sorry,” Debbie murmured. She meant it.

He shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine,” He said.

“Is it?” Debie asked, his lips pursed as he shook his head and ignored it.

“ She was constantly scared of me and refused to look me in the eye,” he stated, then turned to Debbie, who stared back completely enigmatically, waiting for him to finish. “Not like you,” he added with a hum before darting away nervously from Debbie. “And her eye’s...it looked like she had nothing left, at least by the time I showed up.”

Debbie set her tea down. Her hands folded on the table in front of her. She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes but refused to let them fall.

“I know that kind of tired,” she whispered. “I didn’t used to. But I do now.”

He really didn’t know what to say here.

They were quiet for a long moment.

Then he glanced at her. “Do you miss Nolan?”

The question hit her like a punch. She opened her mouth. Closed it again.

“I don’t know,” she finally said, honestly. “Sometimes I miss the man I thought he was. Sometimes I hate him for leaving this behind.”

“Yeah,” Maskless said. “Sounds about right.”

Another silence passed, this one gentler. The tea cooled between them. Maskless seemed to drift off into the window, and she knew that look because despite what dimension he came from, it seemed all Marks had the same pattern of focus.

“You know,” she said softly, tapping Maskless’s shoulder gently and he jumped just a tad, hesitantly turning to her as if he didn’t want to scare her away. And Debbie fell for that then she felt slight disgust at feeling bad for a murderer. “I do miss moments like these, though. Before the whole superhero thing. Just... enjoying each other’s company,” she admitted.

He gave a faint, tired smile. “Yeah. me too.”

They both sipped their tea in peace.

—--

Omni-Mark liked to think he’d been doing a pretty decent job at keeping his temper under control. He hadn’t yelled, hadn’t screamed, and most importantly, hadn’t beaten up any of his other selves which, honestly, deserved a medal.

Even when he found out this Debbie had started dating some dude named Paul, he’d managed to keep his cool. Slightly offended, yes but nothing that warranted a nuclear meltdown.

But right now?

Omni-Mark was at his rope’s end.

He could hear it. That cursed nursery rhyme, playing from a phone speaker with all the grace of a dying animal. The tune was abysmally off-key, layered with the tinny screech of cheap children's music.

“Let’s together bath, let's together bath!”

It looped, mocking him with its terrible English and broken melody. His eye twitched. He slowly turned to face the source of his torment: one of his alternate selves, bald-headed and scar-faced, seated cross-legged on the floor like a five-year-old.

Omni-Mark stared. Stared hard .

He was starting to think he deserved this. All of this. Maybe this was penance for the mass genocide he committed. But there was no other explanation for being trapped in a house with this .

After five more unbearable minutes, the video shifted without pause, without shame to something even worse: Elsa giving birth to Spider-Man’s child. The visuals were a fever dream of moaning sound effects, glitchy animations, and deeply unsettling facial expressions.

Omni-Mark, watching his other self laugh   cackle  and he felt something inside him snap.

“Absolutely not,” he  muttered, snatching the phone from Prison-Mark’s hands.

Prison-Mark scowled. “Dude, what the fuck?” Prison Mark barked, scowling. The contrast was almost comedic. A grizzled, foul-mouthed version of himself watching the worst content ever produced by mankind. Omni-Mark was sure his alternate selves would find this hilarious but all he felt was horror. And disgust. And... disappointment.

Omni-Mark stared at the phone in disbelief, face locked in deadpan horror. “How on earth can you watch this?” he asked, flatly. His voice was hollow, void of all emotion.

“That’s the good stuff,” Prison-Mark grinned, unfazed. “Now hand it back before I cram my fist through your ear.”

He leaned forward threateningly, breath hot and minty. Too minty.

Omni-Mark shoved him not out of fear, but to get away from the nauseating wave of peppermint death. It was like being assaulted by ten different types of wintergreen.

“How many mints did you eat?” he asked, recoiling.

“Just like… ten,” Prison Mark shrugged, casually tossing an empty box aside.

Omni-Mark caught it. “The box says twenty. Did you eat all of them?”

“Yeah, who cares?” 

Omni-Mark pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. ” You know what? You’re right, it doesn’t matter.”

A pause.

He looked down at the variant still lounging on the couch like a gremlin.

“Sit down. I’m going to teach you how to identify numbers.”

Prison-Mark blinked. “Psh, dude. I already know numbers. Like, five plus five equals two, and all that junk. So hand it over.”

Omni-Mark was struck speechless. Somehow, this man this thing  was another version of him. And for that alone, he absolutely deserved prison. “You are... a disgrace to multiversal intelligence.”

“Sit down ,” he barked, chest puffing up in authority.

A flicker of something passed between them. The angle of Omni-Mark shoulders, the grim set of his mouth it was like staring into the glare of Omni-Man himself. Prison Mark blinked, then slowly sat. 

His bones tingled.

“Okay, calm down,” Prison Mark muttered, raising his hands. “It’s not that serious.”

Omni Mark sighed tapping on the wall where Debbie was.

“Oh Mark,” Debbie paused, visibly uncomfortable with the name. The word hung between them, awkward and stale

Omni-Mark tensed. He didn’t like it when she called him that, and judging by her expression, she didn’t like it either.

“Invincible,” Omni-Mark corrected with a shrug, leaning against the doorframe. “ Just… Invincible.”

“Do you have any flashcards?” Omni-Mark asked.

Debbie raised a brow. “Yeah... but why?”

“I’m teaching the idiot over there how to count,” he said bluntly.

Across the room, Prison Mark slammed his palm against the table. “I’m not an idiot! Come say that to my face!”

“Shut it,” Omni-Mark snapped, and the room went eerily silent. Maskless tapped his teacup a bit too hard, and Debbie blinked several times as though she had to reset her thoughts. Then, with a quiet hum, she stood up properly.

“I think I left them in Oliver’s room,” she murmured. “Come on.”

Omni-Mark floated after her, drifting silently like a shadow until she suddenly turned with a sharp look and tapped her foot on the ground. “No flying in the house.”

He raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. She crossed her arms, her foot tapping faster in defiance until he sighed and let himself lower to the floor.

“Fine.”

Satisfied, Debbie smiled and led the way up the stairs. Omni-Mark followed a step behind, still slightly baffled that this woman this persistent, grounded, quietly intimidating human was the same person who had given birth to him in some version of his life.

As they reached the top of the stairs, something else struck him: he didn’t remember there being three bedrooms in this house. And yet, here it was a third door, painted a bright navy blue and covered in a smattering of superhero stickers and random Decor. Had Cecil rebuilt this place? Or maybe this version of their dimension had always had it? The idea made his head buzz.

But not as much as him  having to finally come to terms with the fact that another version of him had a brother.

The room they entered was a chaos of toys, books, and stray socks. The floor was nearly invisible beneath scattered clutter. Debbie barely stepped inside before she yelped, stumbling back as a plastic frog toy leapt at her unexpectedly. Omni-Mark caught her with one arm before she could hit the floor. She clung to him instinctively, one foot lifted as she hissed through her teeth.

“Oliver! I keep telling that boy to clean his room, but he never listens!” she huffed, steadying herself.

Omni-Mark glanced down at her foot it was red from where she’d stepped on something sharp.

“Watch your step. He’s got a lot of junk and sharp toys around. I don’t want you getting cut,” she warned as she began rifling through shelves.

“I’m not going to get hurt by plastic,” he said dryly.

She paused, half-laughing, half-serious. “Well, he’s also hiding a knife somewhere here. I haven’t been able to find it, and he refuses to admit it’s his, so just… be careful.”

Despite himself, Omni-Mark raised an eyebrow.

“If you’re just going to stand there, you can help me find the box.“  Debbie calls out as she looks through the toy box.

“It’s a black and white striped cardboard box,” Debbie explained. 

He nodded and scanned the room. Posters leaned against the wall; toy cars plastered with stickers were scattered near a flickering nightlight. He paused at the bed, eyes landing on a well-worn plush dog resting on the pillow. He reached out and picked it up gently.

“You guys kept this,” he murmured.

Debbie looked up from where she was crouching near the closet. “Oh. That. Yeah. I wanted Mark to throw it out years ago, but he insisted on keeping it. It didn’t do much, just sat rotting in the attic, so I decided to give it to Oliver.”

She smiled, leaning against the wall.

“He keeps saying he’s too old for stuffed animals, but every night, he curls up with that dog like it’s a lifeline,” she said, fondness softening her tone. “He’s such a handful.”

“How old is he?” Omni- Mark asked, still turning the plush gently in his hands.

Debbie exhaled slowly. “I think... eight? Maybe ten?”

He blinked. “You don’t remember?”

She shrugged, sheepish. “He’s technically only a year old in human time, but he’s half-Thoraxian, half-Viltrumite. He ages way too fast.”

“That must be exhausting,” Omni-Mark muttered, setting the plush back down.

“You have no idea,” she groaned. “Thank god Mark and Paul are here or I’d lose my mind.”

Omni-Mark tilted his head. “You’re thankful for Mark being around?”

“Shouldn’t you hate him for being your ex-husband’s son?” he added, curious.

Debbie placed a hand on her heart. “Not even close,” she said, with a certainty that left no room for argument. “He’s my child. And even if he were a world-class conquering maniac, I could never hate him or any version of him.”

He stared at her for a moment, long and hard, trying to find a crack in her sincerity. He didn’t. He hummed and returned to his search.

A few minutes passed in silence. Debbie was halfway into the closet when she spoke again, almost absently. “Did your version of Debbie... hate you?”

She didn’t hear him answer at first. He was quiet for a long while.

Then he stepped beside her and held up a box. “I think this is it?”

She peeked inside to confirm. “Yep. They’re all here some bent, but still usable.”

Omni-Mark gave her a brief nod and turned to leave, pausing at the doorframe with his hand on the wood.

“I don’t know,” he finally said, his voice quieter. “She probably did.”

There was something in his tone something unguarded and worn. For the first time, Debbie didn’t hear Nolan in his voice at all. For once, he sounded exactly like Mark.

Her heart clenched as she watched him disappear down the stairs.

It took her a few moments to pull herself back together, her thoughts drifting like fog until a voice familiar but softer than the rest cut through the haze. Maskless Mark, she realized. She could always tell it was him. The others spoke like battering rams or broken glass. His tone was more like worn velvet: tired, but calm.

“Maybe you should ask Debbie,” he said, thoughtfully. “She did school us for a few years… or was that just my dimension?”

From the stairs, Debbie descended, her steps quiet against the wood until the creak of the fourth step betrayed her. She paused at the landing, peering into the living room just in time to see Omni-Mark flip over a large white flashcard with theatrical flair.

“What’s this?” he asked with the energy of a teacher trying very hard not to lose his last nerve.

Prison-Mark squinted at the card like it had personally insulted him. “A rectangle,” he said flatly.

Omni-Mark’s eye twitched. “It’s the number one.”

“Oh.” Prison-Mark’s voice carried no enthusiasm.

Another card was flipped.

“What’s this?” Omni-Mark asked again, slower this time.

Prison-Mark barely glanced at it. “Two rectangles,” he said, bored beyond belief.

“It’s the number two.”

“I’m sensing a theme,” Maskless murmured from the kitchen, rubbing his chin with one hand while the other lifted a delicate porcelain teacup to his lips. He looked far too elegant for a man watching an educational meltdown.

“You’re going to learn,” Omni-Mark growled through gritted teeth.

“Why should I?” Prison-Mark shot back. “None of this is going to be useful.”

Omni-Mark's hand froze in the air, flashcard still between his fingers. “Are you serious?”

Their eyes locked like clashing swords. The air grew thick with tension.

Debbie stifled a laugh behind her hand, reminded of the many failed attempts Mark had made to teach Oliver basic math when he was four. Some things, it seemed, never changed across dimensions.

Omni-Mark cleared his throat, clapping his hands like a man trying to reset a group of kindergarteners. “Right. let me reiterate. We’re learning to count . I say the number, you repeat the number, and then you identify the number on your own. Ready?”

Prison-Mark gave a dramatic yawn and leaned back in his chair like a man awaiting death by boredom. “This better help me get into Space Costco.”

“It’s kindergarten math , not a galactic license exam!” Omni-Mark snapped, shoulders stiff with frustration.

“There’s no way you’re getting into Space Costco,” Maskless muttered without looking up he seemed more drowsy, probably from the tea he was drinking.

Debbie blinked as she lowered herself onto the couch. “Costco? Like… the store?” she repeated, unsure if she’d stepped into a fever dream.

Maskless hummed in confirmation, scooting his chair slightly closer. “Yeah, after we colo—” He paused, catching Debbie’s skeptical glare. “— helped the human race avoid total destruction, we started helping them expand to other planets. Costco was the first mega-store to open off-world.”

“Ah,” Debbie said slowly, nodding along. “And let me guess—they only allow certain people in?”

“People above a certain intelligence level,” Maskless confirmed, then added with an apologetic shrug, “...after a few blood-related incidents.”

“Say no more,” Debbie replied, folding her legs under her as she watched Omni-Mark sigh for what had to be the twentieth time.

Omni-Mark pressed a hand to his temple like he could physically push back the migraine forming. “Okay. Fine. Let’s try again. What’s this?” He held up a flashcard marked with a bold, simple 3.

Prison-Mark leaned forward, sniffed the card, then licked the corner thoughtfully.

“Tastes like... cardboard,” he said, smacking his lips.

“ DON’T LICK THE NUMBERS! ” Omni- Mark exploded.

“I’m learning through taste,” Prison-Mark said calmly, licking his lips. “I think that’s a six.”

“ It’s a three! ”

“No one knows what numbers look like!” Prison-Mark argued, throwing his hands up. “They’re just little squiggles society agreed on!”

“YES. WE AGREED ON THEM. THAT’S WHY YOU NEED TO LEARN THEM.”

“Boy, quiet down, please,” Debbie said softly, more amused than stern. Her voice had the grounding effect of a warm blanket. She couldn’t remember the house ever being this alive. It was chaotic, yes but she was beginning to think she didn’t mind it.

“He licked the number three!” Omni-Mark barked in disbelief. “How on Earth can anyone calm down after that?!”

“He has a point,” Maskless said in a whisper, almost to himself. “If I were me… I’d probably ki— unalive him,” he amended with a polite smile toward Debbie.

“Hey, look, I’m not the one yelling,” Prison-Mark said smugly, arms crossed.

“I barely yelled,” Omni-Mark muttered, already losing the will to argue.

Prison-Mark lifted  something with ease “So is this is a… four?”

Omni-Mark blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “That’s a chair.”

“Oh. I wondered why it had legs.” he hummed with smug smirk.

“That’s not even a flashcard! That’s a piece of furniture! ” Omni-Mark shouted,  pushing said chair back down

Prison-Mark leaned back on it with a lazy smirk. “Ahhh. That makes more sense. I was wondering why the numbers were getting so detailed .”

By this point, it was painfully obvious Prison-Mark was just screwing with him. But whether Omni-Mark noticed or had simply chosen to ignore the reality of the situation remained a mystery.

Omni-Mark collapsed into a chair and groaned, “How did you survive prison?” It wasn't a question ment to be answered if anything it was more of him pondering out loud.

“Easy,” Prison-Mark said with a shrug. “I learned my lesson and realized I shouldn’t side with stupid humans.”

“You are the stupid people!” Omni-Mark snapped, throwing his arms in the air.

Debbie walked calm as ever, and handed Omni-Mark a juice box like he was a frustrated toddler. “You’re doing great, sweetie,” she said with a straight face, though a laugh threatened to break through. Omni-Mark wrinkled his nose at her.

“Debbie,” he whispered behind the box. “He thought four was a chair.”

“Everyone learns differently,” Maskless called out from the kitchen, rinsing a mug.

“He licked three,” Omni-Mark hissed back.

“I said differently. Not correctly,” Maskless replied without missing a beat. He clinked a plate into the drying rack, his voice dry with amusement.

“Thank you for the emotional support,” Omni-Mark muttered, sarcasm dripping like syrup.

Debbie hummed. “Yes, well, you’re quite welcome.” She reached out and ruffled his hair in a gesture so familiar it stunned him and then, without a second thought, kissed his cheek. It was casual, offhanded, as if he really were her Mark. She left the room before he could react.

He blinked. Once. Twice. His hand slowly rose to touch his cheek.

“She’s weird, right?” Maskless said from the couch, now curled up under a blanket like a sleepy cat.

Omni-Mark hummed, still dazed. “She’s the strangest woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Including Anessa?” Maskless asked, raising a brow.

Omni-Mark visibly shuddered. “I said strange" he corrected Maskless quickly " Anessa isn't strange, she’s just creepy.”

“I think you mean she's a baddie, ” Prison-Mark whistled, resting his chin in his hands.

“Oh yeah,” Maskless muttered, voice suddenly hollow. “We’re definitely dumb and traumatized.”

When Debbie returned, she held up a small whiteboard with "Oliver" written in large, clear letters. Omni-Mark squinted. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“I was thinking,” Debbie began, rifling through a packet of blank cards. “Do any of you remember the gold star board? Y’know, from school? Every time you did something good, you got a gold star, and if you got enough, you earned a reward?”

“Never did that,” Maskless admitted, but he leaned forward with mild curiosity. “Sounds interesting.”

“It sounds childish.” Omni-Mark huffed.

But Prison-Mark’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Wait. Do I get stickers too?!”

Debbie raised an eyebrow. “Maybe. But only if ...” She trailed off dramatically, then pulled a gold star sticker from the pack and held it up. “Only if you identify this number correctly.”

She flashed a card.

Prison-Mark leaned forward, tongue sticking out slightly like a determined toddler. “That’s…” He squinted. “Definitely not a rectangle.”he hummed dragging this on longer then he needed to.

“Good start,” Maskless murmured, deadpan.

“Could be a backwards chair,” Prison-Mark added thoughtfully.

“Less good,” Maskless said under his breath.

“Oh wait—I think it’s a… four! ” Prison-Mark shouted.

“ YES! ” Omni-Mark slammed the table with both palms. “YES! FUCK! GOD EXISTS. I NEVER DOUBTED HIM.”

Debbie clapped. “You did it, honey!” The joy in her voice was real, but it was undercut by a strange ache. A man his age struggling with numbers. A man once brilliant, now proudly recognizing the number five. She felt a chill settle in her chest. Just how long had he been in that prison? And how young had he been?

Prison-Mark stood on the couch like a victorious gladiator. “I AM THE MATH CHAMPION!”

“You got one number right,” Omni-Mark hissed.

“And that’s one more than I had before,” Prison-Mark shot back with a smug grin.

Debbie peeled the gold star off the sheet and handed it over. Prison-Mark stuck it directly to his forehead with the solemnity of a knight accepting his medal.

Omni-Mark groaned and slumped in his chair. “We still have to go through five to ten.”

“I thought we were stopping at four,” Prison-Mark said, instantly alarmed.

“No. That was just your first success,” Debbie said gently.

“Why are there more numbers?!”

“There are infinite numbers!” Omni-Mark shouted, his voice cracking slightly.

“That seems excessive. Can we vote on this?” Prison-Mark asked.

Omni-Mark started muttering.

Prison-Mark flopped backward onto the couch. “Can we at least take a break?”

“No,” Omni-Mark snapped.

“I’m losing blood sugar,” Prison-Mark added.

“You drank three sodas and an entire tube of frosting for breakfast,” Maskless pointed out, one eyebrow raised.

“Exactly. I need real food,” Prison-Mark insisted.

Omni-Mark held up another flashcard, his hands trembling slightly. “What number is this?”

Prison-Mark barely glanced at it. “Snail.”

“It’s eight, ” Omni-Mark sighed.

“Could be a snail,” Maskless teased.

Omni-Mark slowly pressed the flashcard to his forehead and screamed into it.

Debbie re-entered, carrying a plate of cookies and a bottle of water. “Okay, maybe we do need a break. We can try again tomorrow. Besides, it’s getting late.”

She ruffled Omni-Mark’s hair again as she passed, and he froze.

“You do know we’re grown men, right?” he asked again voice low. Pondering why on earth she was treating them with so much care. 

Debbie looked at them for a long moment one curled up in a blanket, another slumped in exhaustion, the third proudly wearing a sticker on his forehead.

“Of course,” she said. But in her heart, she couldn't help it. Maybe that’s why she wanted to hold them so badly because she couldn’t imagine what their childhood had been like, or if they even had one at all.

“Not all of us killed mom here,” a voice shot back similar in pitch, but whinier, emotional. The masked Invincible stood stiffly in the air, shoulders slightly hunched. Though his face was obscured, the way he stared at the ruined rooftop made it obvious he was lost in memory.

“I liked it here. It reminds me of playing catch with Dad,” the masked one added, quieter this time. His voice trembled on the edges, brittle and barely held together, like a spiderweb ready to snap.

A sudden groan of frustration broke the stillness. Heads turned toward the source—another Mark, this one unmasked, with a short mohawk and a face twisted in exaggerated irritation.

“Agh—WHAT IS TAKING HIM SO LONG!” he whined loudly, both hands yanking at his hair as he kicked his feet like a child mid-tantrum.

“Yeah, the dude’s taking forever. So not cool,” said another Invincible, one with no goggles and an exasperated tone. He blew out a sigh and looked off to the side.

“Exactly. Can we hurry it up? Some of us have places to be,” Empire Mark chimed in with a sneer.

“Like where?” Omni-Mark asked dryly, not even bothering to look at him.

“Like at my empire? Or I don’t know—anywhere but this dumb, sorry excuse for a planet,” Empire Mark snapped, gesturing broadly to the neighborhood below like it offended him just by existing.

“It’s not that bad,” offered a bald Invincible with mottled burn scars down the side of his head. “Got a lot of fresh air. Kinda nice.”

Empire scoffed, folding his arms with a roll of his eye. “Nice? Oh, please.”

But before the debate could spiral further, a green portal tore open midair with a shimmer and a buzz. Out stepped Angstrom Levy, his oversized head bobbing with the weight of his entrance. One or two of the Invincibles seemed mildly intrigued by the arrival—except for No-Goggles, who let out an appreciative whistle.

“Sorry. I prefer to make an entrance,” Angstrom said with practiced cool, striking a pose. Nobody responded. Except No-Goggles, who gave a slow nod.

“Dude, I get it,” he said.

Omni-Mark scoffed quietly, eyes still fixed ahead. “Those who make the strongest impression are the ones who don’t try.”

“Okay, shut up Shakespeare,” grumbled another Mark, this one wearing a full cap pulled low.

“Who’s Shakespeare?” the burnt man asked curiously, glancing around.

“He’s like a super smart guy or something. I don’t know. I dropped out of school when I was twelve. I didn’t need to learn about some dumb human guy who writes poems,” muttered a Mark in the traditional Viltrumite uniform with a lazy shrug.

“Right, gentlemen, can we please get back on track,” Angstrom interjected, trying to steer the chaos back under control.

“On god, these humans and their stupid poetry,” the Emperor Mark added, looking deeply offended by the mere concept.

“Gentlemen,” Angstrom repeated, louder this time. The crowd of floating clones turned to look at him, some visibly rolling their eyes. “Right, where was I? Not only have you destroyed this planet—you’ve also destroyed him. And everything—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, dude. Did you script this out?” asked Sinister Mark, tilting his head and raising a brow in disbelief.

“Excuse me?” Angstrom blinked or tried to. His scorched eyelids barely moved, the knobs above his eyes twitching slightly.

“He definitely did,” Omni-Mark added, shaking his head with a smirk.

“This is just sad,” Viltrumite Mark chimed in with a disapproving shake of his head. “Don’t you have anything better to do than get revenge on me—like a twenty-five... thirty-year-old me? Us?” he paused, trying to remember his own age, but ultimately shrugged it off. Time blurred when your lifespan stretched over millennia.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding. You really did drop out of school. Twenty-five? How on earth would that work?” Omni-Mark asked, genuinely puzzled.

“Wait, what’s wrong with the math?” Prison Mark cut in, squinting.

No-Goggles stood in silence, brow furrowed. “Beats me, man,” he admitted after a moment.

“Holy shit, you’re all dumbasses,” Sinister Mark muttered, snickering as Mohawk let out a wheezing laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever. Can we get back to what we were doing?” Emperor Mark huffed, visibly losing patience.

“Right. Where was I…” Angstrom sighed, rubbing his temple as though that would help his massive head feel lighter. “Skip the speech,” Prisoner Mark barked.

“Very well. All I need for you to do is find Mark, bring him to me. It’s time we learn—wait, what are you doing?” Angstrom’s voice rose in pitch as he squinted at Mohawk, who was scribbling something into a worn notebook.

“Hmm? Oh, just keeping track of all your cliché lines. I’m about to reach bingo,” he said casually.

“Oh, what? Dude, not fair! You already started?” No-Goggles cried in protest.

“I thought we all agreed we weren’t playing this! Come on, guys, we can at least try to pretend to have manners!” begged the masked Invincible, clearly overwhelmed by the group’s dysfunction.

“Can you guys please focus and get Invincible so we can meet face to face?” Angstrom pleaded, trying desperately to keep to his script.

“OH, I GOT BINGO!” yelled the Mark in the cap, holding his hand up victoriously.

“How about we don’t,” Sinister Mark muttered, drifting forward with arms folded tightly across his chest. He floated directly in front of Angstrom, his expression hardening.

“Your stupid plan got most of us killed,” he growled, narrowing his eyes with a bitter edge. A sudden chuckle escaped from behind him, followed by a stifled snort. Sinister Mark’s gaze snapped to the side, brow twitching.

The air was still with tension, dust swirling around the broken foundation of what was once the Grayson backyard. Cracked pavement and dead grass surrounded the bloodstained group, their boots leaving faint imprints on the earth as they hovered slightly above it, like predators waiting for a signal to pounce.

Mohawk Mark gestured wildly, throwing his hands up as his eyes rolled back with exaggerated annoyance. “Who cares? They were weak. I would have murdered them myself eventually,” he scoffed, his fingers slicing through the air with every word, dramatic and unapologetically arrogant.

Viltrumite folded his arms, his tone brimming with irritation as he glared at Angstrom. “Besides, haven’t we done a lot for you? The deal was we help you, and you help us conquer other dimensions.” The words came out sharp, accusatory.

“Dude, he totally scammed us,” No Goggles Mark hissed, his stance tense, fingers twitching at his sides like he was barely holding back from punching something.

“We didn’t all make the same deal, man,” Mask said softly. The others turned toward him, their interest piqued just enough to pause their bickering. His voice dropped an octave, weighted with quiet emotion. “I came here to find Mom and bring her back with me.”

“Oh, gag me,” Sinister muttered under his breath, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Aww, someone misses their mommy,” Mohawk cooed mockingly. He leaned closer to No Goggles, jutting out his bottom lip and flapping his hands like a toddler. “Aw, does baby need his bottle? Goo goo gaga?” His face contorted in faux sympathy.

“We’re all the same person. I’m sure I’m not the only one who misses someone,” Mask said, the honesty in his voice slicing through the mockery. For a moment, everything went still. A brief silence fell, awkward and heavy.

“I miss William,” a Mark said quietly, his arms folded over his chest, eyes distant with nostalgia.

No Goggles sighed, his voice tired but fond. “Man, hate to say it, but I really miss Rex. That dude was a freak.” He chuckled, shaking his head with a small, sad smile. “Always a blast talking to him. Damn. Fuck.”

The silence returned longer this time, heavier. Even Angstrom opened his mouth as if to say something, but was immediately cut off by Sinister.

“Whatever. It’s all pointless if we’re dead, right?” Sinister snapped, fanning the flame of discontent with a careless shrug. The others nodded awkwardly, some more hesitant than others.

“Jesus, I hate you guys,” he grumbled, then turned on Angstrom with laser focus. “We’re done. Give us dimensions now, or we’ll kill you.” His tone wasn’t angry it was cold, calm, and final. Not a threat. A fact.

“Don’t be stupid,” Mohawk barked, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly annoyed. “If we kill him, we’ll be stuck in this shithole forever.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Mask muttered under his breath.

“Shut up,” Omni snapped.

“Let’s just torture him later, duh,” Mohawk said casually, giving a light shrug like he was suggesting ordering takeout.

The bald, prison-marked version of them grinned viciously and floated forward, cracking his knuckles as his eyes gleamed with malicious anticipation. “I can get behind that.”

They began gliding toward Angstrom slowly, the motion synchronized and deliberate, a united wall of quiet menace. It was a display a show of power, clearly meant to intimidate.

Angstrom didn’t flinch. Instead, a portal burst open behind them. They all paused, brows furrowing in confusion as a small fleet of floating robots emerged, arms extended to shove them through.

It failed miserably.

The machines were obliterated in a flash of motion explosions echoing around them as scrap metal scattered across the grass. A smoking limb skidded to a halt at Omni-Mark’s feet.

“Seriously?” Sinister said, sounding offended more than anything else.

“I have never been more insulted in my life,” Empire seethed, brushing a fleck of ash from his shoulder. “You’ve seen us destroy buildings at the speed of light why on earth would you think these robots would be fast enough to push us in?”

“Well, I—” Angstrom began, flustered.

“And even then, these are pretty light,” Mark without a mask added, holding a dented robot torso in his hands, inspecting it with disinterest. “We’ve been hit by, like, fifty-ton people with super strength at full speed and haven’t moved an inch. Doubt this would do anything.”

Omni-Mark raised an eyebrow, arms crossed. “You didn’t think this through, did you?”

“Of course I have. Everything was meticulously planned,” Angstrom insisted, puffing up.

“Clearly not planned enough,” Mohawk snorted.

“Bro should’ve followed his script,” No Goggles muttered with a chuckle.

“Fool. Do you really think my only plan was this?” Angstrom let out a laugh, trying to regain his theatrics.

“Uh yeah, kinda. I mean, you used up all your tricks,” No Goggles replied, unimpressed.

“Ugh, he’s doing the thing again,” Mohawk groaned, rubbing his temple.

“Obviously, I have a backup!” Angstrom shouted, his voice rising—just before a flash of motion silenced him.

Sinister Mark floated beside him, holding Angstrom’s now-severed head in one hand. He stared at it a moment, before spitting out a chunk of something with a grimace.

“Dude, that was so gross,” Mask said, wincing.

At the same time, No Goggles burst into laughter, doubled over in the air.

“All that head and yet there wasn’t a single brain cell in there,” Omni-Mark said, voice dry.

“Pause…?” muttered Full Cap Mark, glancing around.

“Guess he wasn’t as big a brain as we thought,” No Goggles added.

“And you are clearly mentally compromised,” Empire huffed, already bored with the banter.

“So, um, what now?” Maskless asked, looking around uncertainly. All eyes shifted to him, and then to Mask, whose expression softened.

“I know what I’m doing,” he said, a quiet certainty in his voice as he descended slowly into the Grayson home.

“Oi, dumbass, you realize she’s not there, right?” Mohawk called after him, exasperated.

“I know. I’ll just wait for her to show up,” Masked Mark replied from below, settling into the ruins with a sigh.

They all hovered there a moment, looking at each other, each waiting for someone else to suggest something better.

“What, you guys got a better idea?” he called up.

There were a few groans. One by one, they begrudgingly followed.

“Seriously,” muttered Sinister, landing last. He bumped shoulders with Maskless as he shoved over to sit on the dusty, collapsed couch.

And so, in a tangle of blood, irritation, and silent grief, they sat—half-gods turned squatters in the ruins of a childhood home, waiting for something they could no longer name.