Chapter Text
“Where is she?”
You shuddered from your hiding spot, a pile of debris caused by the battle you had just witnessed. There was rage in his voice, a deep hatred you wouldn’t have imagined in a million years Mark was capable of. Yet, there he was, hovering above a crowd of those left after the slaughter. He holds a man up by the neck, growling over his choked gasps. The heroes who dared oppose him lay in a crumpled heap below. You think you may have met them once or twice back when the world made sense, but it's impossible to recognize them now. Behind their mangled corpses the group of civilians shuddered at the hero who had once promised to defend the Earth. The boy who had once fought by your side, now a symbol of destruction and devastation.
Mark had attempted to convince you, in the beginning.
There had been an earnest smile on his face, the same you’d seen countless times growing up alongside him. It felt so wrong to see that same smile as he told you his father’s true origins, that he came from a galactic empire intent on colonizing the known universe. That smile didn’t falter as he told you how fragile humans were, how they would never survive without the guidance of the Viltrumites. It twisted sinisterly around his words, professing that domination was the only way to preserve humanity, the only way to keep you safe.
You almost convinced yourself it was all just a joke, that there was no way Mark could actually believe what he was saying, but he wouldn’t lose that damn smile. There was a time it would’ve made your heart flutter with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Now though, the memory only made you sick.
Of course, life had become a relentless onslaught of sickening things ever since Mark joined his father in conquering the planet. As a member of the dwindling resistance, you saw such atrocities every day. Those who had submitted themselves to Viltrum rule were rounded up like animals, and were discarded as such if they stepped even one toe out of line. At least they might go quickly, their heads severed or throats crushed in an instant by their masters. Those who put up a fight weren’t so lucky. You helped bury the dead after the resistance’s first battle with the duo. You would never forget the visceral stench as you piled unrecognizable bodies into a mass grave, unsure of which were your friends. All you could be sure of, staring at their mutilated corpses, is that they had suffered unfathomably before their deaths.
Yet, despite the horror of it all, you remained with the dwindling resistance. What else could you do? You had been a hero your entire life, or at least a support to the real heroes. You weren’t strong, at least compared to those like Mark. You could regenerate yourself and others, healing flesh wounds in minutes and major injuries in a number of hours. You would never soar above the clouds or defeat supervillains or even put up much of a fight, but you could be of use to those who could. So you stayed with the resistance, heading their miniscule force of healers as you attempted to save the endless droves of the injured and sick. Life became an endless cycle of blood and gore, but at least it kept the image of Mark’s smile out of your head. At least you would never have the time to contemplate how utterly your friend had betrayed you.
Of course, nothing good can last forever.
You were in the infirmary when the alarms sounded. You were exhausted, your powers pushed to the utter limit after hours of healing. You knew there was no end in sight when the sirens began to blare and the lights began to flash. The base had been breached.
It didn’t take long for things to devolve catastrophically. All available heroes arrived to fight him, but it didn’t matter. By the time you made your way to the battle, it was almost over. Debris blocked the exits, trapping yourself and the others inside the base with him. You searched through the debris for those who could be healed, but most were already gone. It was then, as you desperately searched for just one person you could help, that you heard him call for you.
Mark hovered above the remaining civilians, slowly choking the man he dangled over them. He wasn’t facing you, and yet you felt his cold stare in your bones.
“Well? Do I have to start cracking some skulls?”
His hands flexed, one tightly around the man’s neck and the other at his side, still dripping with blood and viscera. It was so silent you could hear it splatter against the ground.
“Leave them alone Mark.”
Both your voice and legs tremble as you heave yourself over the pile of debris, not giving yourself even a moment to second guess your decision. You’ve had a good run, but this is the end. Maybe you can distract him long enough to allow the others to escape.
Mark turns his head toward you, and your resolve immediately shatters.
You’d built up a version of him in your mind, a cold unfeeling Viltrumite that had replaced your friend. Now though, you see him all too clearly. The face you see is Mark, your Mark. He looks so much like the boy you grew up with, the one who told you you’d be friends forever. The one who you loved silently for so long, who you’d always cherish even as just a friend. The one who smiled to your face as he betrayed your world. You stare at his face, a mixture of anger and terror welling within you.
God, it fucking hurts.
It doesn’t help that he smiles again. He looks happy, almost, some mixture of relief and excitement. That terrifies you even more.
“There you are.”
He drops the man without a second thought, completely disregarding him as he thuds against the ground. He’s still for a moment as he gazes at you.
Then, Mark begins to float toward you slowly. He raises his palms up, as if he’s trying not to spook a frightened animal. You can't say you don’t feel like one. There’s no point in running, though. If you do, he’ll catch you, and your death will be even more painful. The most you can do is try to ensure the others don’t suffer the same fate.
“Mark, please—” You stumble backwards as he continues forward, attempting to buy yourself more time before he gets to you. “Please, don’t hurt them.”
Mark doesn’t even glance back at the cowering throng of people. Maybe he knows they’re too terrified to move, or maybe he just doesn’t care.
Mark smirks. “You think I give a fuck about them? They’ll fall in line just like everyone else. You though…”
You take a faltering step back as he comes closer. You can’t meet his eyes, instead zeroing in on his advancing bloodstained chest. He still wears his fucking Invincible costume, and for some reason it’s that realization that finally brings tears to your eyes. You can heal your own wounds without leaving a single scar, and yet somehow he manages to reopen the same one over and over again.
You flinch when you feel his fingers brush against your cheek, his thumb brushing against the corner of your eye. Your immediate thought is that he’s going to press inward, slowly pressing until your head caves in. His touch remains light, though, even as his fingers skim down the column of your throat to rest at its base. They rest there, circling your neck but applying no pressure. Your eyes travel up his outstretched arm, slowly trailing upward until they meet his.
“I tried to be gentle with you, y’know? Dad warned me humans require a heavy hand, occasionally. But I really tried with you, and you still chose to run away.”
“Mark-”
His abruptly pulls you closer, cutting off your words.
“But… even after everything, I don’t want to hurt you. I thought about paralyzing you. I even practiced on some protesters, and my survival rate’s gotten pretty high.”
His grip tightens around your throat. You let out a raspy breath, eyes widening as his hand contracts.
“But you’d probably just heal yourself from that, wouldn’t you? And besides, then I couldn’t hear you apologize for all the stupid shit you’ve done.”
Your hands pry against his, trying desperately to loosen his grip. You’re suffocating, and despite your previous acceptance of your fate, you can’t help but struggle for life. He says he doesn’t want you dead, and yet you’re certain Mark is slowly killing you.
“Maybe dad was right…”
Darkness clouds your vision. It fades in and out, the pulses synchronizing with the slowing beat of your heart. Your eyes flit to the group of civilians behind Mark. Some have moved, seemingly trying to move enough debris out of the way to make an exit. Maybe they’ll make it, or maybe they won’t. Either way, you’ve at least bought them a little time. You wish you could say the same for yourself.
You feel Mark’s thumb press against your pulse, a light caress so dissonant with his steel grasp around your neck. He pulls you by your throat until your head rests against his chest. You feel a light pressure against the top of your head, but you’re past the point of being able to discern what he’s doing to you.
His words are a whisper against you.
“We’ll just have to try again.”
You realize then, as your consciousness finally fades away, that there are far worse things to fear than death.