#invincible imagines

The multiverse is vast, infinite, cruel.

It births and kills versions of the same soul over and over again, shifting fates with a careless hand, allowing some to prosper and others to rot. For some, it is a playground of endless possibility. For others, it is a prison, one in which they are forced to watch the echoes of a life they will never have.

And for them the ones who have lost you it is a nightmare they cannot wake from.

●

It begins with loss.

A singularity of grief, festering across countless realities, bound by one constant: You are gone.

There are worlds where you died in battle, torn apart in the ruins of a dying Earth, your hands still reaching for him even as the light faded from your eyes. There are worlds where you were murdered, where a crueler Mark snapped your spine in a fit of rage, only to regret it for every breath he took after. There are worlds where you simply ceased to exist, erased by the cruel machinations of fate.

And then, there is this world the one you call home. The one where your Mark, your love, is the one who died instead.

Here, the sky is calm, the streets are quiet. There are no Viltrumites looming above, no blood painting the clouds. The war that destroyed countless other Earths never touched yours. But you, the one who has seen too much, who has survived what so many versions of you did not, carry the weight of it all.

You exist in a universe untouched by their ruin, unaware that they are coming for you.

●

Across shattered dimensions, the hunt begins.

Sinister Mark Capevincible never grieved like the others. Grief was for the weak, for those who still held onto human things like regret. And yet, he felt your absence like an open wound, like a thing gnawing at the edges of his mind. He had killed for you. With you. And when he found you lifeless in his arms, he slaughtered an entire world in your name.

But the void you left behind never filled. Not with blood, not with screams.

Mohawk Mark Movincihawk was less composed. He raged, he laughed, he tore through entire cities just to feel something, to make the world suffer as he did. He mocked the idea of love, spat on the memory of you, and yet, when he thought no one was watching, his fingers traced the phantom shape of your face in the air.

No Goggles Mark Nogogglesible made a game of it. Of pretending he didn’t care, of sneering at the pathetic ache that settled in his bones. But he did care. He cared in the way a starving man cares for food, in the way a drowning man craves air. He wanted you back, but the universe had taken you from him, and he would make it suffer for that.

Prisoner Mark Prisonincible was methodical. He didn’t scream or rage. He simply decided that if he could not have you, then no one could. He had nothing else to live for, nothing else to fight for. And so, when Angstrom Levy came to him with an offer, he listened.

And he was not the only one.

Hoodvincible. Capvincible. Gogglesvincible. Viltrumincible. Omnivincible.

They had all lost you in their own way, and each of them, no matter how cold, how cruel, how merciless they had become, wanted you back.

Angstrom promised them that.

All they had to do was take down the one Invincible who had everything they lost.

●

The war was brief but brutal.

Main Mark fought with everything he had. He was strong stronger than many of them had anticipated. He fought for his Earth, for his mother, for the life he had built. He fought for the people who depended on him, for the future he dreamed of.

But more than anything, he fought for you.

The you of his universe had been gone for years, torn apart by his father’s wrath when she dared to stand beside him. He had never truly recovered from that loss, but he carried on, because that’s what you would have wanted.

And that was why he had to die.

Because he still had you, in another universe.

He fought. And he fell.

They tore him apart in the ruins of his own city, surrounded by the corpses of those who had tried to defend him. He was bloody, broken, but still defiant to the end.

“You’ll never have her,” he spat, teeth stained red. “She’ll never be yours.”

It was Capevincible who delivered the final blow. A hand through the chest, fingers curling around a still-beating heart.

“You don’t get to decide that,” he whispered.

Main Mark’s body crumpled to the ground, and the war was over.

●

Now, they are coming.

Your world is untouched, peaceful. You wake every morning to the rising sun, to the hum of a city that still thrives. You go about your days carrying the weight of the past, of the love you lost, unaware that across the multiverse, echoes of the man you loved are tearing through reality to find you.

They are different from him. Twisted, cruel, shaped by loss and rage. Some of them will claim to love you still. Some will see you as a possession to reclaim. Others will simply want to break you, to make you suffer as they have suffered.

But they all want you.

And soon, they will have you.

This is shaping up to be an intricate, dark, and poetic story of obsession, grief, and twisted devotion. Since you want this next part to be even longer than the last, I'll take my time building the eerie tension of their arrival, their interactions with each other, and the looming dread of the hunt.

I'll weave in their personalities, how they view you, how they react to the idea of having you again.

This will be a descent into the mind of monsters who believe they have earned you.

●

The first thing they notice is how quiet your world is.

The sky is still, unbroken by the charred streaks of dying ships. There are no sirens screaming through the streets, no blood soaking the pavement, no desperate, last-breath cries for help. It is a world untouched, soft in a way that feels wrong.

They step onto this Earth like wolves entering a sanctuary, their mere presence a corruption of its peace.

Some of them sneer at it Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Hoodvincible. Weak. That's what they see. A world that has never known their wrath, never earned the scars of war. They walk its streets like ghosts, watching the humans move about their day with sick amusement, wondering how long it will take before terror consumes them.

Others are indifferent Gogglesvincible, Capvincible, Prisonincible. They have no interest in the people who roam this Earth. No interest in the mundane, fragile lives that scurry beneath their feet. Their purpose is singular.

And then there is Capevincible.

For a long moment, he does not move. His fingers flex, curling, twitching at his sides as he breathes in the air of this untouched world.

You are here.

Not an echo. Not a memory. You.

He has not seen you in a long time, not since your body lay limp in his arms, warmth fading, breath stilling, eyes staring through him like he was already gone.

He has not forgotten that moment.

The way his vision had blurred, red creeping at the edges, heartbeat drumming, pulse roaring in his ears. The way rage had swallowed him whole, the way the universe had been made to suffer for what it took from him.

And now, it dares to give you back?

Something dark coils inside him.

Something violent.

"You feel that?" Mohawk Mark is grinning, his hands clasping together with a crack of his knuckles, his eyes wild. "She's close. Shit. It's been a while since I've been this excited about something."

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Omnivincible says, his tone even, detached. His eyes flick toward Capevincible, watching the way his breathing has slowed, measured, controlled.

Omnivincible is a calculating man. Where the others are eager, he is patient. He does not let his emotions rule him the way Capevincible does. But even he knows this is different.

This is her.

"Do we kill her?" No Goggles Mark asks, tilting his head, his smirk lazy and sharp. "You know, like we did with him. Would be kind of poetic, wouldn’t it?"

The air shifts.

It is sudden.

One moment, they are standing as they always have monsters in the shape of men, beings of unshaken power, unchallenged dominance.

And then Capevincible moves.

No one sees it.

Not even Omnivincible, whose perception is unmatched, who has always been the first to anticipate a strike before it lands.

All they hear is the sound.

Flesh breaking.

Bone cracking.

No Goggles Mark's body slams against the concrete, his ribs caved in, blood splattering across the pavement, a gurgled breath wheezing from his throat as he chokes on the force of the impact.

Capevincible stands over him, his hand still outstretched from the blow, his expression unreadable.

And then he speaks.

"If you ever suggest that again," he says, voice low, deadly, "I will break you into so many pieces even we won't be able to count them."

Silence.

No Goggles Mark coughs, rolling onto his side, a sputtering laugh bubbling from his lips even as his lungs struggle to repair themselves. "Damn," he wheezes, wiping the blood from his mouth. " Someone's sensitive."

But he does not repeat his question.

Because now he knows.

There will be no killing you.

Capevincible will not allow it.

And the others?

They are no different.

Mohawk Mark clicks his tongue, but there is something hungry in his gaze. "You know," he muses, "for all your dramatics, you are right about one thing." His smile widens, all teeth, all threat. " We deserve her more than he ever did."

Omnivincible does not argue.

Neither does Viltrumincible.

They all know the truth.

You were theirs in every universe.

And now, you will be theirs again.

●

Somewhere in the city, you shiver.

It is an ordinary day, as it has been every day since your Mark was taken from you. The world continues to spin, unchanged, indifferent.

And yet, for the first time in a long time

You feel watched.

A presence, unseen but there.

A warning, whispered into your bones.

Somewhere, far closer than you think, something is hunting.

And it will not stop until it finds you.

●

The sky splits open like a wound.

They arrive in silence. No grand entrance, no dramatic descent from the heavens just a slow, deliberate bleed of presence, as if the universe itself is trying to pretend it never let them in.

The city does not notice at first. People go about their lives, oblivious to the wolves that have slipped into their midst. They are insects, ants scurrying across pavement, murmuring into phones, sipping coffee, clutching bags of groceries with hands that have never held blood.

They do not realize that they are already dead.

Sinister Mark moves first.

Not to kill, not yet.

His movements are slow, measured, purposeful. He breathes in the air of this world, of your world, and feels something inside him snap into place.

He had wondered if this version of you would feel different. If you would be someone new, an echo rather than a resurrection.

But no.

He feels it already, like a tremor in his bones. You are you. The one who was taken from him. The one who left him with nothing but rage and emptiness.

His fingers twitch. His jaw clenches. His vision narrows.

Somewhere in this city, you are breathing. Existing. Untouched.

And that will not do.

The others spread out. They are not patient like he is. They are wolves with snapping jaws, hyenas tearing into the throat of something too fragile to fight back.

Mohawk Mark is the first to strike.

A man in a suit, rushing across the street, briefcase in one hand, coffee in the other. An insignificant thing. An insect, like the rest. Mohawk Mark lands in front of him with a grin, cocks his head, and watches him stumble back.

"P-please," the man stammers.

Mohawk Mark laughs. " Please ?" he echoes. "Man, I love when they beg."

His fist moves too fast for the human eye to track. One moment, the man is whole. The next, he is red mist.

The street falls silent.

Then, the screaming starts.

And that is all it takes.

No Goggles Mark vanishes into the crowd, reappearing in the center of a busy intersection. "Oops," he hums, before grabbing the nearest person a woman, her mouth open in terror and crushing her like paper. Blood splashes his face, and he laughs. "Damn, that was fast. I was hoping she'd scream more."

Hoodvincible is less creative. He simply starts ripping people apart. Limbs fly, bodies drop, the pavement darkens with blood. He is snarling, cursing, relishing the slaughter.

Gogglesvincible is clinical. No rage, no joy, no amusement. Just cold efficiency. He moves through the city like a shadow, erasing life with every flick of his wrist.

Viltrumincible and Omnivincible are more restrained. They watch. They study. They take note of how quickly this world crumbles, how fragile it is compared to the war-ravaged Earths they have known.

Prisonincible? He lingers. He does not lose himself in the bloodshed like the others. His purpose is singular. He watches the skyline, waiting for the moment when you appear.

They are enjoying themselves.

Sinister Mark does not care.

He lets them play, lets them tear through the city like feral dogs, lets the streets run slick with the blood of people who never saw it coming.

He is focused.

Because you are near.

And then

A flicker. A heartbeat. A presence that does not belong to this ruin.

His head snaps up. His eyes darken.

He moves.

●

The alley is dark.

You press yourself against the cold brick, your breath sharp and uneven, your pulse hammering against your ribs.

The city is screaming.

You do not know why.

You do not know what is happening.

All you know is that the air feels wrong , that something is crawling under your skin, that every nerve in your body is shrieking for you to run, run, run

But it is too late.

He is already here.

The shadows shift. A shape steps forward, slow, unhurried.

You feel it before you see him.

A weight. A force. A presence so thick, so suffocating, that the air itself seems to cower from him.

And then

A voice.

" There you are."

It is almost gentle. Almost.

Your breath catches.

He is

Wrong.

You know Mark. You loved Mark.

But this is not him.

This is a monster with his face.

His eyes are different. Darker. He is taller than you remember, broader, his frame coiled tight with something hungry. His hands flex at his sides, fingers curling, twitching, like he is holding himself back.

You take a step back.

His lips twitch. A smirk.

"You remember me," he muses. "Good."

His voice is deep, smooth, threaded with something dangerous. It slithers through the space between you, wraps around your throat like a vice.

"I " Your voice breaks. You do not know what to say.

He takes a step forward. You take a step back.

And his smirk widens.

"You do ," he breathes. "I can see it. You feel it, don’t you?"

His head tilts, eyes raking over you. Slow. Lingering.

You want to run.

You try.

You don’t even make it a step before he moves.

It is not a fair thing, the way he moves.

One moment, he is a breath away. The next, his body is pressed against yours, his hands braced against the brick on either side of your head, his breath ghosting over your skin.

"You think you can run from me?" he murmurs.

His voice is velvet and knives.

You shudder.

He leans in. His nose brushes your jaw. His lips hover at the curve of your throat.

"You feel it," he repeats, softer now. "Don’t you?"

His mouth is so close.

You gasp, twisting away.

His fingers curl around your chin, dragging you back.

"Ah-ah," he chides. "I lost you once."

His grip tightens.

His voice drops to something almost reverent.

"I'm not losing you again."

Atom Eve does not like girls, it does no good to meddle between labels and meet somewhere in the middle that will only provoke questions. So saying she can indulge with men is far from what she actually means to say. She can love them, there's no doubt about it, but there's something more.

She can remember the third grade, kissing her friend's cheeks and squeezing pudgy flesh between fingers. Samantha Eve Wilkins likes girls, enjoys the way they flush under her polite stare and hold their breath as she innocently tucks hair behind their ears. At eight, she knows what the little thump in her chest in her means and she ignores it. Always stopping it before it goes a half too far, but she lets it go when she joins Teen Team.

She first looks at Rex, towering over the others with gangly limbs, and he returns a lazy half smile in her direction. Then her eye catches yours, bored and wandering off from introductions, maybe it's the subtle indifference in your demeanor she's attracted to. Yet, you're no different ( simply a temptation she has to overcome ) and her gaze tears away to stare back at Rex.

And she dates him because in her mind, it's that simple ( and it's meant to be ). Just the way her parents were, vowing to care for each other as man and woman because any other pairing rubs the wrong way. It's what she was taught and it rings true amongst eras so it's why she avoids you.

If she lets her heart go on for a half a beat too long, she would regret whatever else she would pursue.

She sits on the roof one night, hearing your laugh meld into one of Kate's many clones. Something you said must've been funny but she doesn't care, she's funny too ( even if her sarcastic quips garner more groans than chuckles ). Eve does this too often, avoiding your presence like the plague, afraid that you'll infect her with something she wasn't prepared for.

Because even if she is not all knowing, she has answers and she is prepared. It's why Mark asks her for advice and she's the supposed leader of this small team. If does not have answers, she has nothing and the thought crushes her like no other.

"Avoiding me again, Sam?" your voice echoes across the sea of a cricket symphony, all the noises looping around the shell of her ear. She doesn't like her birth name, it doesn't sound natural ( but it's like your lips was made for it ).

Yet, it's still a chore to correct and her sighs sound vexed, "It's Eve. Atom Eve at work,"

Still, you don't push it; not like he does. Instead, regret contorts your features, "Sorry, I got shit manners and a shittier memory." she thinks this might be the end of the conversation but you choose to sit next to her.

Another annoyed sigh leaves her and if you notice it, you don't comment on it. "But you didn't answer the question."

It's because she doesn't want to if she's honest with herself ( and that's not a rare occurrence, rather she just chooses to ignore it ). There are many things Eve would rather not admit like how much her gaze gravitates towards your dull expression rather than her boyfriend's and how she likes the calloused pads of your fingertips pressing against her skin because she knows how much touch relieves you of stress. So many things she isn't willing to be honest about, so many of those things revolve around you.

You sigh, copying her signature move but yours sounds far more intense. Her eyes flicker towards you, you're looking away. "I mean, you don't have to tell me an answer because I don't care—"

"You really know how to charm a girl,"

"I don't care about why, just wanna know if you're okay."

Her breath catches in the back of her throat and she nearly coughs, "If I'm okay?"

That thought doesn't normally leave your head. Even if the world were to crumble and erode into a bittersweet void, she's sure you wouldn't ask anybody about their well-being. Still, you're there acting like you care and babbling on as if you're oblivious to the way you make her feel. This flush she was only used to witnessing on others and the thrumming bouncing against her ears.

As you can't hear the way she silently cries for your presence.

"Listen, I know I'm not like Mother Tereasa—"

"Y'know, she's not a saint either,"

"Listen, please," and she recedes, a shaky smile crossing your features in gratitude. Maybe you're just as anxious as her ( she wishes, at least ), "I'm not a saint like you said and I'm aware of it, so if you're avoiding me then I must've been an asshole or something. So I don't know what I did but it must've been bad enough to avoid me. I'm sorry, like super duper fucking sorry."

She didn't expect and apology, those are far and few when it comes to you. Always the one to be right, always taking charge and never the blame, always having to be the loudest one. Yet, you're so earnest to earn her grace again and she doesn't know what to say ( doesn't know if it's appropriate to feel the way she does ).

But she holds your hand, like she's done countless times with Rex but this is different. ( Do you feel it too?) Mumbling first, "This is gonna sound cheesy; it's not you, it's me. I've been going through some stuff and it made me single you out."

You grip her hand tightly, enough pressure from it to feel as if you were trying to cradle something so small you couldn't dare hurt it. Her eyes trail down at your hand before looking up, unprepared to be caught within your solemn stare. "We're friends, Eve, you can talk to me about anything."

She wish this stopped at friends, then the word wouldn't sting as much. Still, you are as oblivious as you are stubborn and it's the little things like that have her unfurling at the sight.

"Not this, but I'll tell you if I'm ready. Promise."

"I just want you to feel safe around me, dude,"

"I do," she just doesn't know how to say it. Doesn't know if you can tell from the way her palm seamlessly fits within yours and she's left without words by a simple hold.

"I'll always be here, can't swear it'll be all good though."

"But you'll try," and that's all she ever really wants from someone.

A grin encasing your lips, stronger than the last and still gently caressing her hand within yours. "Yeah, I will."