'It's finally begun,' Mark thought as he stood silently beside his mother. Debbie's soft sobs filled the room as she clung to Nolan's hand, her thumb brushing over his knuckles as if her touch could somehow wake him. Her tear-streaked face was etched with worry, her red-rimmed eyes locked on her husband, who lay motionless in the hospital bed.
Mark's gaze shifted to his father. Nolan looked peaceful, almost serene, as the machines around him beeped softly, monitoring his vitals. The oxygen mask covering his face rose and fell rhythmically, the sterile hum of the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows across the room. To anyone else, this might look like a tragic scene, a hero gravely injured in battle. But Mark knew better.
'He wasn't injured—not really'. This was all an act, part of the facade Nolan was carefully maintaining. Last night, while Mark had been asleep, the Guardians of the Globe had been summoned to their headquarters. One by one, they had arrived, only to find themselves face-to-face with Omni-Man.
The battle had been swift and brutal. Blood spattered the walls as Nolan tore through the Guardians with ruthless efficiency. When the carnage ended, he stood alone among the bodies, his chest heaving. Then, as planned, he collapsed to the ground, feigning unconsciousness to cover his betrayal.
Now, Mark stood in the aftermath, his chest tight as he watched his mother unravel. 'How could Nolan do this to her? How could he stand there and let her believe this lie?' Mark's fists clenched at his sides, his emotions simmering just beneath the surface. He didn't know what to say—didn't know if there was anything to say.
Debbie had been his mom for the past 17 years. In his previous life, his mother had passed away when he was young, leaving him without the chance to form a deep bond with her. But Debbie had always been his true mother in every way that mattered, and it pained him deeply to see her so distraught.
The sound of approaching footsteps broke the heavy silence. Mark turned to see Cecil Stedman, the director of the Global Defense Agency, entering the room. His expression was unreadable, as always, but his presence carried an undeniable weight. He nodded briefly to Debbie, his tone soft as he said, "I'm sorry for what you're going through." Then his gaze shifted to Mark, his demeanor hardening.
"Mark," Cecil said briskly, "can I have a word?"
Mark quickly glanced at his mom. She barely seemed to notice him as her attention remained fixed on Nolan. With a crisp nod, Mark followed Cecil into the hallway. The moment the door closed behind them, Cecil pulled out a tablet and tapped the screen. A live news feed flickered to life, showing chaos in the heart of the city.
Mark looked at the tablet. Aliens clad in mechanical armor were pouring out of shimmering portals, firing energy weapons that tore through buildings and civilians alike. Screams echoed through the feed as people scattered in every direction, their movements frantic amidst the collapsing rubble.
"They've never attacked before," Cecil began, his voice grim. "They're organized, they're relentless, and they're not stopping. We're doing everything we can, but we're stretched thin. And with the Guardians gone…" He trailed off, his eyes meeting Mark's with an intensity that left no room for doubt.
"You need my help," Mark said, his voice steady.
Cecil nodded. "You're the strongest resource we have right now. I won't lie to you—this is bad. But I've seen what you can do, and I know you can handle this."
Mark had to suppress a smirk. This was the moment he'd been preparing for, the moment he'd planned for. He couldn't afford to mess it up. The Flaxans were just the beginning, a stepping stone to what was coming.
"Alright," Mark said finally. "I'll handle it." He glanced at the screen one last time, his resolve hardening. 'It's time to put my plans into motion'.
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Mark soared through the sky, the wind whipping past him as he approached the battlefield. His Invincible suit, crafted by Art, clung tightly to his frame, the bold yellow and blue colors standing out against the smoke-filled skyline. Below him, chaos reigned. Flaxan soldiers swarmed the streets, their weapons leveling entire blocks in seconds. Civilians screamed as they ran for cover, dodging falling debris and energy blasts.
He dove into the fray, landing hard in the middle of a group of Flaxans. The ground cracked beneath his feet as the shockwave from his landing sent several soldiers sprawling. Before they could react, Mark moved, his fists a blur as he tore through their ranks. Each punch connected with brutal precision, shattering armor and sending bodies flying.
The first Flaxan he took down lay motionless on the ground, his armor cracked open. Mark paused, staring at the body. A lump formed in his throat. '...I killed him' The realization hit hard. This wasn't like the comics or movies he'd grown up watching. This was real. The Flaxans weren't faceless enemies—they were living beings, and he was ending their lives.
His moment of hesitation cost him. A blast of energy struck him from the side, throwing him into the rubble of a nearby building. Mark grunted, shaking off the hit, and looked up to see more Flaxans advancing, their weapons trained on him. The weight of their actions—the destruction, the lives they'd already taken—snapped him out of his daze.
'They're not here to play fair,' he thought, pushing himself to his feet. 'This is the Invincible universe. It's kill or be killed'.
A new fire ignited in his chest, and his Viltrumite instincts surged to the forefront. The hesitation and guilt melted away, replaced by cold, calculated focus. Mark gritted his teeth. 'I might not be a true hero like Superman, but I'm not letting these monsters destroy the city'.
He charged forward, his movements precise and unrelenting. He tore through the Flaxans like a force of nature, using their own weapons against them when necessary. The thrill of the fight coursed through him, a primal excitement that made his heart race. For the first time, he felt truly alive. The strength he'd always dreamed of having was finally his, and he wasn't going to waste it.