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Chapter Text

Invincible: The Dark Sister

Chapter One – Site Seven

The black-site was never meant to breathe.
It slept beneath five miles of concrete and radiation shielding, sealed in the kind of silence that could drive a man insane. Site Seven existed outside of maps, court systems, and conscience — a tomb for monsters humanity refused to kill but couldn’t control.

For two years, Veronica Banks hadn’t known light.

Suspended in her containment pod, a steady rhythm of sedatives hummed through her veins. Monitors glowed faintly across her cell — brain activity flat, pulse regulated, neural inhibitors suppressing even dreams. Her body was perfectly still, but the energy beneath her skin never died. It shimmered faintly, invisible to human eyes, coiling like a storm waiting to wake.

And above her — far above — the war raged.

---

Cecil’s office, two hours earlier.

“Site Seven’s readings are spiking.” Donald’s voice crackled through the comms, monotone but edged with alarm. “We’re detecting energy signatures off the charts — collision coming from orbit.”

Cecil didn’t even look up from the chaos of screens before him. “Another one of those goddamn Marks?”

Donald hesitated. “Bigger.”

The next moment, the satellite feed turned white.

---

When Viltrumincible hit the atmosphere, the world screamed.

He had burned through clouds and satellites, torn through debris still hanging from the Invincible War. His body — bloodied, half-healed — struck the Earth like a comet, a living warhead. The shockwave flattened forests, split the crust, and swallowed an entire mountain range in dust and fire.

By the time he crashed, he’d already torn through concrete, metal, and thirty layers of reinforced earth.

And that was when Site Seven cracked open.

---

Inside the prison, the world shifted from stillness to chaos.

Alarms howled. Red lights stuttered across empty corridors. The tranquil hum of containment pods became a shriek as backup generators failed, magnetic locks disengaging one by one.
Then — hissssss — a single pod at the end of the hall began to glow.

A slender hand twitched inside.

Sedatives drained. Circuits overloaded. And in the silence between klaxons, Veronica opened her eyes.

---

Her first breath was agony — a lungful of air after years underwater.
Her mind was noise, fragmented memories flashing like lightning: the red blur of a man called Red Rush, the thunder of omniman's voice, the taste of blood and rain. She remembered losing, the first and only time. A hand gripping her throat. His voice: “You’re not worth killing.”

Then darkness.

Now — freedom.

She staggered forward, the pod glass shattering under her touch. Her containment suit, still clinging to her frame, reeked of sterilizer and metal. Wires dangled from her wrists. The faint glow of energy crawled beneath her skin, tracing her veins in dull crimson light.

She could feel the air humming — the world itself waking with her. Power. Chaos.
And somewhere above, something massive and alien had just fallen from the sky.

---

Through the collapsed roof of Site Seven, light pierced the underground.
Smoke coiled through broken corridors. Soldiers screamed faintly somewhere beyond the wreckage. She moved through it like a phantom, barefoot, her hair wild, her breathing even.

Her senses — sharper than they’d ever been — guided her through the labyrinth. Every footstep echoed through her chest. Her pulse synchronized with the hum of residual energy above.

When she reached the main corridor, the roof had caved in entirely.

Dust shimmered in beams of light. Concrete and rebar hung like broken bones. And in the center of it all — a crater, molten at the edges — something moved.

At first she thought it was a meteor. Then it groaned.

A figure stood up, shaking ash from his shoulders.

Tall. Muscular. Torn suit. Blood drying down his chin.

His eyes burned gold — not human, not sane.

---

Viltrumincible.

He looked around, dazed but not disoriented. His expression was blank, like someone who’d seen too much and stopped trying to process it. He wiped his mouth, spat blood, then noticed her standing in the smoke.

For a second, neither moved.

The silence between them was thick, stretching, electric.

Then his gaze sharpened — recognition flickering not from memory, but instinct.

“You’re… not supposed to be here,” he said quietly. His voice was deep, gravel scraping over steel. “What are you?”

Veronica’s lips curved slightly. “Awake.”

The next second, she moved.

---

She struck first — a blur, faster than a bullet. Her fist slammed into his jaw, the shockwave ripping through the air and sending dust spiraling like a storm. He staggered only a step, hand snapping up to catch her second strike mid-air.

She felt the force of his grip — like being caught in the orbit of a planet. He squeezed, testing her strength, surprised when she didn’t buckle.

Her eyes glowed, veins flaring crimson.

“You bleed,” she hissed. “Good.”

She ripped her hand free and drove her knee into his ribs. He countered with a brutal elbow to her side — she twisted, caught his arm, used his momentum to throw him across the chamber.

He crashed through a wall.

The impact shook the facility, dust raining from above.

She sprinted after him — a predator scenting blood — only for his fist to meet her halfway. It was like getting hit by a truck made of bone and rage. She flew backward, slammed into the remains of her containment pod, and rose with a snarl.

He floated now, hovering inches off the ground, blood dripping from his nose.

“You’re strong,” he said, voice low. “But not Viltrumite strong.”

She wiped her mouth, smirking. “Funny. I fought one before.”

His eyes flickered — disbelief.

“Impossible.”

He blurred forward. She barely saw him before he was on her, slamming her through walls, through machinery, through the steel bulkhead of Site Seven’s lower chamber. They tumbled into a storm of debris and fire, the air thick with dust and metal shards.

He pinned her against the ground, forearm to her throat.
Her hands sparked with absorbed energy, heat crawling up his arm.

She stared into his eyes — unflinching, almost curious. “You don’t scare me.”

“I’m not trying to.”

Then she unleashed it.

The blast ripped through him, a surge of pure red energy exploding from her chest to his. He was thrown back, armor and skin scorched. The light burned through the walls, tearing through power conduits and rupturing containment fields.

Above them, the entire facility groaned.

---

Meanwhile, high in the sky, Angstrom Levy watched through a portal’s lens — scanning for the remaining Viltrumite Mark variants.

He saw one signature flicker deep underground.
He saw another — a new energy source, unknown, unstable — flaring beside it.

His mind raced.

“That’s… not one of them…”

Then his feed erupted in white static.

He panicked.

“Not again—no, not—”

He ripped open a portal directly over the crater.

---

Down below, the air split open like glass.
Veronica and Viltrumincible froze as the world around them bent inward — gravity folding, light shredding.

“What the hell—?” he started.

The portal expanded, devouring the ceiling, the ground, everything.

Veronica felt the pull first.
Her power surged instinctively, absorbing fragments of the energy — but this wasn’t anything human. It twisted. It burned.

She screamed, reaching out — and grabbed him by the wrist.

His eyes widened. “Let go—!”

“Not a chance,” she snapped.

The portal collapsed — light and darkness imploding as one.

Then silence.

---

They fell through nothing.

Weightless. Breathless.
The universe around them melted — colors stretching, stars bleeding into molten rivers of light.

He tried to steady himself, to fly, but there was no up, no air, no space.

Her hand stayed locked on his wrist.

Then — light.

---

They slammed into soil and mud, tumbling down a steep incline, branches cracking beneath them. They hit the ground in a storm of dirt and leaves, air heavy and humid, sky tinted red-orange like a burning sunset.

For a long moment, neither moved.

The only sound was distant thunder — no, not thunder.

A roar.

---

Viltrumincible rolled onto his back, gasping. The air was thick, alive. He could feel it crawling against his skin — dense oxygen, pressure unlike Earth’s. He looked around: towering trees, massive leaves glistening with dew, mountains in the distance shaped like teeth.

Veronica coughed beside him, pulling herself from the mud. her containment suit torn, glowing faintly at the seams. She squinted against the light.

“huh… am i?” she murmured.

He didn’t answer.

Because at that moment, a shadow passed over them — enormous, winged, gliding low enough to shake the ground with the force of its wings. The creature was vast, ancient, its eyes glowing with strange intelligence.

It landed nearby, talons digging into the earth. Its scaled head turned toward them, smoke curling from its nostrils.

Then, moving its mouth, a voice filled the area minds.

“Intruders… alive.”

Veronica’s eyes widened.

Viltrumincible stepped forward, jaw tightening.

--

The creature’s roar split the air — and the jungle came alive around them.

Dozens of eyes opened in the treeline.
Growls. Footsteps. The ground trembling.

Veronica raised her hands, crimson light igniting between her fingers.
Viltrumincible floated just above the ground, blood drying along his jawline.

For the first time since the Invincible War, they weren’t enemies or prey — not yet.
They were just two apex predators in a world that didn’t want them there.

And the world had just noticed.

Chapter Text

The ground, this place pulsed.
Not with wind, not with life—something deeper, like the planet itself inhaled through roots and stones. The ground swelled beneath their boots and bare feet, flexing once, then stilled again.

Veronica scanned the tree line. Every trunk was thick as a tower, bark ridged like scales. Mist clung to the canopy in sheets of red light from the swollen sun. Somewhere above, wings beat the air in a slow, thunderous rhythm.

“Flesh from another sky. You do not belong.”

another voice again, old and heavy. She bit back a gasp, focusing instead on the shimmer in the air ahead of them. A shape emerged—first eyes, then claws, then an entire beast. It was like a raptor grown from nightmare and myth: six meters tall, feathers tipped in metal sheen, eyes burning with thought.

More followed.

Viltrumincible lifted from the ground, shoulders rolling back as he steadied his breathing. Dust swirled around his feet. “How many do you see?”

She didn’t answer. Her hands were already glowing crimson, a low hum building beneath her skin.
The creatures fanned out, semicircle formation—predators that knew patience.

Then one hissed, and the forest moved.

They came as one body—dozens of scaled forms, claws striking stone. Veronica stepped forward to meet them, faster than thought. Her first blast cut through the air, a ring of compressed energy that knocked the lead raptor aside in a crack of thunder. It shrieked but kept coming, bones unbroken, mind unfazed.

Viltrumincible blurred forward slower than he wanted too, intercepting the next. He hit it like lightning, the impact lifting dirt and leaves into a spiral. Another leapt, jaws wide; he spun midair, kicking it away before it touched him. He landed beside her, breathing steady.

“You hit them. They don’t stop,” she said.

He obviously ignore her

“hey-” she replied, eyes narrowing. “fine I guess I will help.”

They moved together without planning—her light chasing his speed, his strength complementing her precision. When she threw an energy pulse, he redirected its shockwave with a punch, sending it through the ranks of scaled bodies. When he caught a lunging creature by its throat, she struck the ground beneath it, sending ripples of heat that dropped it unconscious.

It was a rhythm neither expected but both fell into easily: strike, counter, shield, move. Their power collided and harmonized in the same instant, each adjusting unconsciously to the other’s timing.

Still, the beasts kept coming. The planet trembled under their cries.

Above, the winged creature—the one that had spoken—watched from a ridge.

Veronica winced at the psychic echo. She felt memories that weren’t hers—cities burning, skies torn apart, creatures screaming as light swallowed them. Viltrumite devastation… replayed in the mind of the world itself.

She shook her head. “It knows you,” she said, voice quiet but hard.

He looked at her, unreadable. “Then it knows what happens when something tries to kill me.”

She almost smiled. “Try not to level the planet.”

He shot forward again before she could say more, The ground cracked where he landed, but his strikes were careful—controlled, not killing. She realized he was holding back, matching her restraint.

For a moment, the noise, the roars, the beating of wings blended into rhythm. Two hearts, two energies pulsing against a living world that seemed to test their resolve.

Then the air changed.

Every creature stopped. Silence rippled through the air.

The telepathic voice returned, quieter, almost… curious.
“Survive… and the land will watch.”

Leaves whispered overhead. The beasts withdrew, slipping back into shadow until only footprints and steam remained.

Veronica lowered her hands. Her arms shook from the afterburn of power; sweat streaked the dirt on her face. “They’re gone.”

“For now,” Viltrumincible answered, scanning the treetops. “They were warning us.”

“Or judging.”

He turned to her fully for the first time since the fight. Sunlight cut through the mist, gold catching in his dark hair. His expression was unreadable, but not hostile. “You fought well.”

“So did you.” She flexed her fingers; faint light still danced beneath her skin. “You’re bleeding energy. Your cells aren’t healing right.”

“Different dimension. Different rules.”
He looked around. “ I need high ground, water, shelter.”

He look at her with a stone face expression, then nodded. “Agreed.”

They started walking—him a step ahead, her watching the forest for movement. The ground underfoot thrummed with each step, almost guiding them east where the sun bled between mountains.

Neither spoke for a while. The silence wasn’t uneasy—it was observation, calculation, the first breath after chaos.

Then Veronica said, “What’s your name?”

He paused. “Does it matter?”

“I need something to call you if you die before me.”

A heavy look one that scream 'sure'. “Mark.”

She looked at him, expression unreadable. “Veronica.”

“....”

“hello?”

“I'm not staying here long.” he said simply, stepping over a root.

Her brow furrowed. “How long—”

“non of it's your concern ”

She fell silent again. The world around them hummed—plants whispering, wind bending in strange harmony. Somewhere ahead, water flowed; somewhere behind, the jungle breathed a low, watchful sigh.

Chapter Text

The forest light shifted as the day deepened. The suns hung heavy above the mist, staining the air in hues of copper and rose. Birds—or things shaped like them—sang from far away, notes stretched and strange, as if the air bent sound itself.

Mark and Veronica followed the faint sound of running water, stepping through moss that glowed faintly under their feet. Each footfall released a subtle pulse of light. The land seemed alive in more ways than one.

“This place…” Veronica murmured, brushing her hand across a fern. The plant leaned toward her touch, humming quietly, responding like a living instrument. “It’s aware.”

“It’s reacting,” Mark replied. “Could be energy resonance. Or it’s just… alien.”
He crouched by the glowing moss, pressing his palm to the ground. It pulsed brighter for a moment, then dimmed, almost shy.

She watched him. “You’re calm for someone who just fell through a dimensional breach.”

“I’ve had worse days.” He rose again, scanning the trees. “You?”

“First time ending up on a living planet,” she said. “But not my first time stranded.”

He looked back at her—this woman who moved with precision, who carried herself like she’d been trained in battle her whole life, but whose gaze softened at the smallest signs of life. “You said your cells are solar-charged?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Like yours, I think. But not Viltrumite strong. My body converts radiation into energy output.”

“So sunlight sustains you.”

“And you?” she asked. “You heal through…?”

He flexed his hand, knuckles cracking softly. “Genetic perfection. At least that’s what they call it.” His voice carried a tinge of irony. “Even perfection bleeds.”

She almost smiled at that. “Sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

They reached the source of the sound—a river, wide and slow-moving, reflecting the red sun in molten ripples. The water was clear but heavy with glowing particles, like liquid starlight. She knelt, scanning it. “Non-corrosive. Energy-rich.” She cupped some in her palm, studying the way it shimmered. “I think it’s drinkable.”

Mark frowned. “Or radioactive.”

She met his eyes. “aren't you immune to most toxins?. I’ll take my chances.”
She took a sip. Her pupils dilated for a second. “Warm. Metallic. Feels like….” Then she drank more. “It’s safe.”

He joined her, tasting it reluctantly. It was thick but strangely revitalizing. When he wiped his mouth, faint sparks lingered on his skin before fading. He doesn't need to do this but he can't seem to stop himself

She rested by the bank for a moment. She let her sandal like socks soak in the water, leaning back on her hands. The exhaustion of the fight, of the fall between worlds, began to show in her shoulders. “We need shelter before the temperature drops. The sun’s orbit feels irregular. I can’t tell if it’s setting or circling.”

Mark nodded, scanning the ridgeline above. “There.” He pointed toward a cluster of cliffs shaped like broken teeth jutting out of the forest. A cave entrance gaped between them. “we can get there before dark, it’ll do.”

She rose, wiping her palms on her thighs. “why not fly?.” he stays silent at the question

They moved again—faster now, scaling roots and fallen trunks, pushing through dense foliage that hissed softly when disturbed. Occasionally, small creatures darted out of view, translucent bodies scattering light as they fled.

The forest gave way to stone. The air grew cooler. Mark’s boots scraped against obsidian-like rock, sharp but solid. She exhaled, fog blooming in the air. “Temperature drop confirmed.”

Mark landed beside her soundlessly. “You getting tired?”

“Never,” she said, though her breathing betrayed her. He noticed but didn’t comment.

At the mouth of the cave, the wind moaned through the rock—a low sound, like an old throat humming. Inside, the darkness wasn’t total; faint blue light came from mineral veins running along the walls. Veronica ran her fingers along one, fascinated. “The whole mountain’s charged.”

“you can do whatever you want” he said, scanning for threats. “I’ll block the entrance.”

He lifted a fallen slab of rock easily, placing it across the opening until only a narrow slit of air remained. The cave dimmed to a dusky blue glow.

she found a flat space near the back and sat, stretching out her arms and rolling her shoulders, mark speaks “We should ration the energy output tonight.”

She shot him a look. “You can punch air all you want. I’m meditating.”

He gave a faint grunt—, half acceptance—and settled across from her. The cave filled with the quiet sound of running air and the faint hum of the planet itself.

For a long while, neither spoke.

Then she broke the silence. “You said the land remembers your kind. What did it mean?”

Mark’s gaze flicked toward her, the light catching faint silver in his eyes. “The Viltrumites destroyed worlds. Millions. If this place is alive… maybe it saw what we did to others.”

“you or them, this world seems pre, or it could be after so how could it know about you or your kind? she said evenly.

He hesitated. “I carry them. Their blood. Their power. Their instinct.”

“Then maybe you’re the correction.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, not comforting. “Life evolves to balance what it fears.”

He looked at her longer this time, studying her profile in the glow. “You sound like someone who’s seen extinction before.”

“I’ve seen worse,” she murmured. “Civilizations that forgot why they existed.”

He leaned back against the wall. “You talk like a god.”

“I’m not one,” she said quietly. “I just remember what it feels like to think I was.”

For a time, the silence returned. The cave’s hum grew softer, rhythmic—almost like the planet’s heartbeat had slowed for them.

Eventually, she spoke again. “Tomorrow, I will scout for food. Maybe there’s vegetation, maybe small prey. If the world’s energy is stable, it can support biology.”

Mark nodded. “I’ll take altitude at dawn. You stay ground-side.”

She nodded, leaning back against the wall. “Deal.”

He turned his head slightly. “hey.”

“Mm?”

“You did well today,” he said simply.

Her lips curved “Don’t get used to me saving your life.”

“ Be serious,” he said.

He been on missions alone, been on planets with no life forms he won't admit it but he never liked those missions. So having someone trapped in a different dimension with him is not ideal but at least he can get out of his mind

Outside, the sun dipped below the clouds, and for the first time, real night fell—black, breathing, endless. In the dark, the planet pulsed once more, almost in rhythm with their hearts.

Chapter Text

When morning came, the cave walls glowed faintly gold from the world’s strange sunrise. The light didn’t pierce from one direction; it radiated from the air itself, soft and breathing, like the dawn belonged everywhere at once.

she woke first. Her instincts had never needed clocks or alarms—her body simply knew. She stretched, vertebrae cracking lightly, then rolled her shoulders and stood. The rock that covered the cave let the sunlight seep through, the half man looked like a statue with his stuff form.

Mark was already stirring, eyes opening to the faint hum in the distance. He sat up, exhaling through his nose. His chest rose and fell slowly—controlled. “You didn’t sleep much,” he said quietly.

“You either,” she countered. “You kept scanning the cave in your sleep.”

“Reflex.” He stood, brushing dust from his suit. The once-clean Viltrumite uniform looked scorched and fractured along the edges. “I don’t trust peace. It doesn’t last.”

“That sounds stupid and exhausting ,” she said, he watched her humans we're always so 'colorful with words'. “you can hear better when it's too quiet.”

Mark pressed his palm against the rock slab blocking the entrance and pushed. The stone resisted at first—gravity felt heavier here—but then gave way with a deep crack. He squinted as light spilled in more. “Dense atmosphere,” he muttered, adjusting his balance. “the drag in the air.”

He stepped outside, hovering a few feet off the ground. The lift was sluggish; it took effort to maintain height. Veronica watched him with arms crossed. “Can you still fly?”

“Barely,” he said, gritting his teeth as he rose another few feet, his hair whipping in the odd, syrupy wind. “Feels like flying through water.”

“Then walk again”

He landed with a dull thud.

They began their descent down the rocky slope. The morning air shimmered faintly, filled with the same golden particles that had glowed in the river. The jungle stretched beneath them, endless and strange, its canopy rippling like a living sea.

Veronica moved with purpose, scanning the horizon with sharp eyes. “We’ll need food that doesn’t rely on this planet’s energy network. If the ecosystem is connected, eating the wrong thing could overload our systems.”

Mark glanced at her, impressed. “You sound like a scientist.”

“I’m a survivor,” she corrected. “Big difference.”

They reached the tree line again. The trunks were thicker here, their surfaces smooth and reflective, as if grown from polished stone. Tiny lights darted between branches like fireflies made of glass. When Veronica reached out, one landed on her fingertip—it felt warm, alive, and pulsed in sync with her heartbeat.

Mark crouched beside a cluster of blue, fruit-like pods growing from a low branch. He picked one, sniffed it cautiously. The skin shimmered like oil under light. “Smells… ?”

“Don’t,” she said sharply.

He raised an eyebrow. “ is it poisonous?”

“I think.” She nodded at the pod. The fruit pulsed faintly in his hand, as if responding to the sound of her voice.

He set it down quickly. “he nodded ”

They continued on, deeper into the trees. The sound of distant water hinted at another stream or river ahead. Her feet sank into soft moss that glowed when pressed, leaving behind fading footprints.

Mark’s voice broke the silence. “You said you absorb energy. From what I’ve seen, you could take power from almost anything.”

“Almost,” she said, her tone distant. “It depends on compatibility. If the energy source fights back, I burn out. The stronger the source, the higher the risk.”

He gave her a sidelong look. “So you’ve tried absorbing Viltrumite energy before?”

She met his gaze steadily. “Once.”

“And?”

“I survived.” A faint smirk. “Barely.”

He huffed, half a laugh, half disbelief. “You must’ve been desperate.”

“I was hunting monsters who called themselves heroes,” she said softly. “Desperation was the job.”

He looked away. “Then you already know what it’s like.”

“What what’s like?”

“To hate what you are.” His voice dropped lower, rough around the edges. “To want to destroy the thing that made you.”

She stopped walking. "Aren't your people all about being proud of who they are?" The forest air thickened, pressing between them. He stays silent at that, instead she answers him “I don’t hate what I am,” she said finally. “I hate what power turns people into.”

Their eyes met—hers glowing faintly from the light reflected in the moss, his dim with exhaustion and something harder beneath it.

Then the ground trembled—not violently, but enough to make the leaves shiver.

Mark tensed. “That’s not wind.”

Veronica crouched, placing her hand flat on the earth. “It’s movement. Something big.”

Mark looked around, scanning the treeline, but saw no shapes. Only the faint distortion of air, like heat waves.

“Maybe it’s the planet,” she whispered. “Breathing again.”

Before he could respond, a low rumble echoed through the valley—like a whale’s song buried in rock. The trees swayed, leaves shifting in rhythm with the sound. The ground’s glow pulsed once… then again… and stopped.

The air stilled completely.

Veronica rose slowly. “Whatever that was… it wasn’t directed at us.”

“But it knew we were here,” Mark added.

They exchanged a look—mutual understanding, unspoken caution.
The world wasn’t just alive. It was watching.

Hours passed. They eventually found a clearing near a small stream where strange rock formations formed a natural shelter—arching stone spires woven together like ribs. Veronica began collecting the softer moss for bedding while Mark worked to widen a small alcove for cover.

“Try not to overdo it,” she said without looking up. “Your body’s still recovering from the dimensional breach.”

“What?”

“Your cells are unstable,” she replied. “Viltrumite regeneration is stuttering.”

He frowned. “You can feel that?”

“I can feel it. You radiate differently when you’re weakened.”

He says faintly. “I'm not weaken my body is adjusting ”

She stood, brushing dust from her hands. "if that's what you want to call it.”

Mark looked at her—really looked, for the first time since the got here. Beneath the armor and sharp eyes, there was something human, something tired. The lines of her face softened when she stopped pretending not to care.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was… mutual recognition.

He finally broke it. “I’ll take first watch.”

she nodded, settling near the stream. “Wake me in two hours.”

she turned her gaze toward the horizon, where the red sun hovered low. “I doubt either of us will sleep.”

And she was right.

Because even as the light dimmed and the hum of the world quieted, both of them felt it—the strange rhythm under their skin, syncing with the planet’s pulse. A world that breathed, watched, and maybe even remembered.

Chapter Text

Morning came with heat. Not gentle warmth—the kind that burned the mist away and left the air thick enough to taste. The jungle stretched in every direction, a cathedral of green and gold. Something enormous bellowed in the distance, a sound that rolled through the valley like thunder made of breath.

she knelt by the stream, The water shimmered against her skin. “Still warm,” she muttd. “Whatever’s in it, it isn’t from any world I know.”

Mark stood a few feet away, scanning the sky. His hair clung to his forehead; the air was heavier than anything he’d trained in. When he tried to rise into flight, he managed only a slow hover before gravity seemed to drag him down again. He landed with a scowl.

“Still can’t get the lift?,” she said.

I’ll adapt,” he replied. “Muscle memory adjusts faster than pride.”

That earned him a sideways look—half amusement, half annoyance—but she didn’t argue.

They left and started north, following the stream. It widened as they walked, turning into a river that carved through ridged cliffs. Trees here grew taller and thinner, their roots forming ladders over the rock. Sunlight spilled through breaks in the canopy, flashing over their skin like molten gold.

An hour in, he stopped suddenly and raised her hand. “Hear that?”

He tilted his head. The jungle was alive with chirps, hums, and distant growls, but beneath it ran a deeper rhythm—slow, steady thuds, like drumbeats in the soil.

“Footsteps,” he said.

“Big ones.”

They moved quietly, keeping low, weaving through ferns until the trees opened into a wide clearing. The ground was torn up, footprints the size of craters embedded in the dirt. Each print filled with shallow pools of water, reflecting the sky.

Mark crouched beside one. “Three claws. Long stride. Something heavy.”

Veronica scanned the perimeter. “A predator.”

Before he could reply, branches snapped across the riverbank. A long neck rose through the foliage, followed by a body covered in mottled green scales. The creature towered above them—massive, but not hunting. Its small eyes blinked lazily as it tore leaves from the treetops.

“A herbivore,” she breathed.

she exhaled. “Still huge enough to crush us.”

They watched for a moment, silent. Dozens more appeared behind it, lumbering slowly toward the water. The herd moved with surprising grace, their tails sweeping through the air like living whips.

Veronica’s eyes softened. “They’re beautiful.”

“Yeah,” Mark said quietly. “Guess dinosaurs weren’t just for history books after all.”

She gave him a quick glance. “You’ve seen worse. You sound almost happy.”

“I had read a book about them,” he said. “Before… everything.”

For a moment, the two of them simply stood there—two displaced beings watching creatures that belonged to another time. The silence that hung between them wasn’t tense for once; it felt almost peaceful.

That peace shattered with a roar.

From the ridge above, a smaller, faster predator burst through the brush—sleek, all teeth and motion. Then another. And another. A pack.

Mark’s reflexes kicked first. “Move!”

They dove behind a fallen trunk as the first of the raptors hit the ground where they’d stood, claws carving gouges in the dirt. Veronica rolled to her feet, energy sparking in her palms.

“Don’t kill them unless you have to!” Mark shouted.

“I wasn’t planning on dying either!” she fired back.

The lead raptor lunged. Mark caught it mid-air, slamming it aside with a burst of strength that cracked the trunk in half. He staggered—still not used to the planet’s pull—but recovered fast. Veronica slid under another’s strike, her movements precise, graceful, almost dance-like. She drove her glowing fist into its chest; the creature tumbled back, stunned.

The pack circled them, screeching.

“Four left,” she said.

“Make that three,” Mark grunted, kicking another away.

He launched upward—barely managing five meters before the air dragged him down—but it was enough to slam into the nearest predator from above. Dust exploded in all directions.

When the last one lunged for her back, Mark shouted a quick hey. She turned just in time to see it—and instead of dodging, stepped into the strike, absorbing the impact. Her hand flared crimson, siphoning the creature’s kinetic force and sending it hurtling backward.

The forest fell silent.

For several heartbeats, the only sound was their breathing.

Mark straightened, brushing dirt from his forearm. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, though her pulse was racing. “The herd’s moving on.”

He followed her gaze. The massive herbivores had retreated deeper into the valley, their low calls echoing like rolling thunder.

she knelt beside one of the stunned predators, studying its scaled skin. “They’re efficient hunters. Coordinated. If we stay here, they’ll come back.”

Mark nodded. “Then we move.”

They began their climb up the nearest ridge, pushing through vines and loose soil. The path was steep, and Mark used his limited flight to give her a lift over a jagged ledge. She landed lightly beside him, breathing hard.

“You’re getting better at judging your air pressure,” she noted.

“Adapting,” he said. “Like i said.”

The ridge opened into a plateau—a broad stretch of flat land with knee-high grass and broken boulders. From up here, the valley spread below them in a sea of green and gold, herds crossing rivers like veins of light.

Veronica shaded her eyes. “There,” she said, pointing toward a darker outline in the distance. “A cave. Shelter.”

Mark followed her gesture. “Looks stable enough. We can reach it.”

“Then we keep moving.”

They moved across the open plain. The heat eased, replaced by the long shadow of evening. For the first time since the portal had thrown them here, they could almost breathe normally.

When they finally reached the cliffs, Veronica spoke first. “Thank you.”

Mark blinked. “For what?”

“For not hesitating,” she said simply. “You fought like someone who didn't want me die.”

She met his eyes for a heartbeat, then turned away before it could mean more. “Don’t make a habit of it.”

“Too late.”

A faint laugh escaped her then—quiet, genuine. It faded into the sound of wind sweeping across the plateau.

Night fell fast. They built a small fire from dry brush and sat close enough to feel its warmth. Somewhere below, distant roars echoed—predators hunting under the twin moons.

she leaned back against the rock wall, eyes half-closed. “Tomorrow i’ll need food. Water we have. Shelter we can fortify.”

Mark nodded. “And maybe we can find away out of here.”

“And how will we do that?”

“we look, explore the land.”

She opened one eye. “Maybe there is no why. Maybe this is just where people like us end up.”

He considered that, then said softly, “Then we survive anyway.”

The flames flickered between them, painting their faces in gold and shadow.

Chapter Text

The morning came fast. The sky burned in copper and rose, and mist rolled through the valley like smoke from a dying fire.

Mark stood near the ledge, eyes sweeping the horizon. The dirt still held the marks of last night’s storm — clawed trees, broken ferns, and thick prints in the mud that were not theirs.

“Something big came through here,” he murmured.

“Yeah, and it didn’t look hungry enough to clean the bones,” she muttered back, rubbing her wrist where one of Cecil’s old restraint scars still lingered. “Let’s move before it decides to circle back.”

They went down the slope, silent except for the crunch of dry leaves. The world around them felt endless — trees taller than towers, rivers cutting through the land like silver veins, and distant roars echoing from somewhere far but not far enough.

“Air’s still too thick for long flight,” Mark said, glancing upward. “If I go too high, it feels like pushing through water.”

“yeah, you said that. We can keep walking” Veronica replied. She didn’t seem bothered — her stride was steady, confident. “Better for me anyway. Less chance of you dropping me again.”

He shot her a side look. “I wasn't focused.”

“sure.” — gone in the next breath as the underbrush rustled.

Both froze. The sound came again — heavier this time. Rhythmic. Deliberate.

Mark stepped forward slightly, muscles tense, scanning the trees. “That’s not wind.”

her hand rose instinctively, light sparking faintly beneath her skin

Before he could answer, the forest shook.

A shadow moved through the fog — massive, lumbering, eyes burning amber as the creature’s head broke through the vines. A dinosaur — thick-bodied, scaled, with a snout like a crocodile’s and teeth the length of her forearm.

Veronica exhaled slowly. “Great. Giant lizard. Figures.”

“Stay behind me,” Mark started, but she stepped forward. “Not happening.”

The creature roared, shaking the canopy. Birds burst upward in a frenzy, and the ground trembled under its feet.

They split — Mark darting left to draw attention, Veronica circling wide. He slammed his fists together, cracking the air like thunder to make it turn. It did, snapping its jaws where he’d been an instant earlier.

she seized the moment — sprinting along a fallen trunk, gathering light in her palms. She leapt high, landing on the creature’s flank, slamming her energy into its scales. A burst of pale fire rippled out — not enough to kill, but enough to stun.

“Move!” she shouted.

Mark didn’t need to be told twice. He caught her mid-jump as she leapt off, the two hitting the dirt in a rough slide before bolting into the deeper woods. Behind them, the beast’s roar turned to frustrated echoes, fading into the distance.

They ran until the noise was gone. Until the forest quieted.

Finally, they stopped beside a stream that glittered in the low sun. Both doubled over, catching their breath.

Veronica knelt by the water, hands shaking slightly from the energy burn. Mark crouched near her, watching.

“You handled that well,” he said, still panting. “Didn’t think you’d go straight for the head.”

“Adapt or die,” she said simply, cupping the water and taking a slow sip. “That’s the rule, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, looking around — at the forest, the sky, then back at her. “Guess it is.”

For a while, neither spoke. The world was still — the only sound was water and wind.

Then, softly, Veronica asked, “How long do you think we can last here?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed, scanning the horizon. “As long as it takes.”

She studied him for a moment — the resolve, the tired edge beneath it. Then nodded once. “Then let’s start acting like it.”

---

They spent the rest of the day gathering what they could — fruits, vines, stones for tools. Mark tested the limits of his strength in the thick air while Veronica found a small cliffside cave, hidden under twisted roots. It wasn’t much, but it was shelter.

By nightfall, the jungle glowed with soft bioluminescent light — insects and plants shimmering blue and green. Veronica sat near the cave entrance, knees drawn up, eyes half-lidded. Mark sat opposite her, back against the stone.

“Still think this place is a nightmare?” he asked.

She looked up at the stars — faint through the fog. “No,” she said quietly. “Nightmares end.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

But when the wind shifted and the sound of distant howls echoed through the valley, he moved closer — wordless, instinctive. And for once, she didn’t push him away.

The silence between them wasn’t cold anymore. It was something else — fragile, uncertain, but alive.

Chapter Text

Rain fell through the forest again. Soft this time — a mist that hung in the air instead of pouring from the sky. The fire crackled weakly near the mouth of the cave, casting warm light over the rough walls and their shadows.

It had been three days since they found this place. Three days of hunting, gathering, rationing, and listening to the heavy heartbeat of this wild world.
Three days without fighting — and somehow, that felt like progress.

Mark sat near the fire, his sleeves rolled up, sharpening a shard of stone into a crude blade. She was across from him, legs crossed, weaving damp vines into something that looked vaguely like rope.

Neither spoke for a while. They didn’t need to. Silence had become their shared language — efficient, calm, the kind that came after too much chaos.

He looked lost in thought before saying . “You ever think,” he started, voice low, “that the world’s better off without us?”

she glanced up, brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Everywhere I go, something breaks,” he said. “Cities. People. Worlds. I keep thinking I can fix things, but it just... spirals.” His jaw tightened. “Even here — I crash down, and it ruins everything around me.”

her hands stilled, fingers half-knotted in a vine. “That sounds like guilt talking.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But maybe guilt’s all I have left.”

The fire popped between them. Outside, a distant roar rolled through the valley, followed by silence again.

She finally said, “You think too much.”

He gave her a sidelong look. “And you don’t think enough.”

That earned a small smirk — the first real one he’d seen in days. “I spent most of my life hunting people who wore capes and called themselves saviors. Thinking too much got them killed.”

Mark set the stone down, expression unreadable. “You mean your world's version of me.”

Her gaze flickered to his face — not cold, just... knowing. “Yeah. Exactly like you.”

The tension held for a moment, sharp and alive — but it wasn’t anger anymore. It was something softer, an honesty they both understood.

Mark broke it first. “Angstrom thought he could fix everything too,” he said, staring into the fire. “Said he could build a better multiverse. End the chaos. He had us all convinced for a while.”

her expression shifted slightly — curiosity beneath caution. “And what happened?”

“This,” Mark said simply. “When things went wrong, when too many of us started dying, before this whole war he came to us said we were proof that power corrupts, and that we could make people see our variant true self.” His fists curled unconsciously. “I think... he hated us more than he hated what he made.”

“Sounds familiar,” she murmured.

She looked at him. “You think he’ll bring us back?”

Mark says flat “If he’s anything like the men I seen him to be, he won’t risk it. Not if it means losing control again.”

Mark’s shoulders sagged. For a moment, he looked less like a Viltrumite and more like a tired young man — one who’d lost more than he could admit.

“Then I guess it’s just us,” she said.

She tied off the last knot in the rope and tossed it toward him. “Then we make it work.”

He caught it, blinking. “You mean—?”

“I mean,” she interrupted, “we stop talking about dying here and start building like we’re staying, call it a truce .”

He stared at her — the firelight catching in her eyes, making them gleam bronze. Slowly, he nodded.

By morning, they had a plan.

---

The next few days moved differently.
They worked side by side — Mark using his flight sparingly to scout nearby cliffs, Veronica using her energy control to start small fires from gathered quartz and friction. She learned which fruits weren’t toxic by feeling and watching what the smaller dinosaurs ate. He built crude tools from bone and stone.

It wasn’t perfect — but it was order in the middle of madness.

When they worked, they didn’t argue. When they rested, they didn’t talk much. But sometimes, their silences felt almost comfortable.

One night, as Mark was patching a makeshift tarp of broad leaves, Veronica spoke quietly without looking up.
“You said Angstrom blamed you all for the war.”

He paused. “Yeah.”

Her fingers traced the dirt beside her. “You blame yourself too?”

He looked up at her, the flicker of the fire making his eyes darker. “Does it matter?”

She shrugged slightly. “Only if you plan on doing something about it.”

He didn’t answer — but when she finally glanced up, his jaw was set again, and his eyes carried something new.
Determination.
Focus.
Survival.

For the first time since they fell into this world, Veronica smiled without meaning to. It wasn’t a soft smile — it was sharp, proud, dangerous.
He saw it and couldn’t look away.

The night carried on in silence again — but now, it felt warmer.

---

By the next sunrise, the jungle mist burned away faster. The cave no longer felt like a prison. It felt like a base.
And between them, something fragile had started to grow — trust built not from comfort, but from necessity.

Neither of them said it out loud.
But both knew — this world wasn’t going to break them.

Not yet.

Chapter Text

The air smelled of wet earth and crushed fern. Dawn filtered through the canopy, painting the valley in streaks of gold and green.

Veronica squinted up at the light as she tied another strip of vine to a wooden post. “If this thing collapses, I’m blaming you.”

Mark, standing on a rock beside her, tightened the upper binding of their newly built frame — a crude shelter made from split branches and leaves. “Hey, it’s holding, isn’t it?”

“For now,” she muttered. “You said that about the last one too. Then it fell on my head.”

He looked, wiping sweat from his temple. “You heal fast.”

“That’s not the point.”

“It kind of is.”

She threw him a glare, but it was more playful than angry — the kind of look that said she’d gotten used to him being around.

They’d spent the past week pushing outward — mapping trails, gathering edible roots, and claiming a patch of high ground near a freshwater spring. It wasn’t home, but it was theirs.

she leaned on one of the posts, eyeing their handiwork. “Not bad for two people who were trying to kill each other a few days ago.”

Mark says under his breath. “You weren’t trying to kill me. You were trying to best me.”

“I was trying to survive. You just happened to be in the way.”

“Same thing,” he said, shrugging, and her lips twitched — a half-smile she didn’t bother hiding.

For a while, they worked in companionable quiet. Mark set down the last beam, testing its strength. His sleeves were rolled high, muscles flexing as he tied the last knot. Veronica caught herself watching longer than she meant to.

She looked away quickly, pretending to check the rope tension. “You missed a spot,” she said.

He didn’t look up. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

He finally glanced over, caught her smirking, and shook his head. “You’re impossible.”

“Efficient,” she corrected.

“Same thing.”

This time, she didn’t argue.

By midday, they’d finished enough to rest. Veronica sat cross-legged on the grass, sharpening one of the bone tools they’d carved. Mark crouched by the firepit, coaxing sparks with friction and focused breath.

The flame caught suddenly, leaping to life, and Veronica raised a brow. “Showoff.”

He stiffens. “I’ve had practice. We were taught how to focus oxygen flow around a heat source.”

Her expression softened slightly at the name. “you must had to train hard”

He nodded, stirring the flame absently. “Yeah. We mostly take missions alone, So we have to learn how too make shelter in five minutes flat.”

There was a pause — quiet but not cold.

“You conquered other planets too,” Veronica said. It wasn’t a question.

He hesitated. "I did". Then, after a beat, “But some wasn't stabled enough for our ruling, wouldn’t want it to fall apart while we're on it.”

her eyes dropped to the blade in her hand. “sounds exhausting .”

“It was, but .” His voice dimmed for a moment, carrying the weight of something unsaid.

The silence stretched — only the sound of fire and distant animal calls filling it.

Then a sharp snap echoed through the trees. Both froze instantly.

Mark was on his feet in seconds, eyes scanning the treeline. “Something’s close.”

she stood too, pulse steady but alert, gathering a faint shimmer of energy around her hands.

It came again — heavy footfalls, low growling.

“Behind me,” Mark said automatically.

She gave him a sharp look. “Don’t start that again—”

“Now.” His tone shifted — calm but firm, the kind of voice that didn’t ask twice.

She hesitated, then moved slightly behind him, ready to strike if needed.

The bushes rustled — and out stepped a small creature, no bigger than a large dog. Scaled, feathered, curious rather than aggressive. It blinked up at them, chirped once, and scurried past toward the stream.

Mark exhaled, shoulders relaxing. “Not exactly a threat.”

She lowered her hands, faint energy dissipating. “You overreacted.”

“Yeah, maybe. Just—” he rubbed the back of his neck, a little embarrassed. “Didn’t want anything catching you off guard.”

She blinked, surprised at his tone. It wasn’t commanding or patronizing — it was instinctive. Protective.

He gave her a stone look. “I’d rather not have to fight this planet alone.”

“Sure,” she said, “keep telling yourself that.”

He turned around, shaking his head, and the sound felt almost normal.

---

Later that evening, they sat by the fire again, the new shelter standing firm behind them. Mark leaned back on his hands, eyes on the orange horizon. Veronica sat beside him, quiet.

“Feels weird,” he said softly. “Not fighting. Not running.”

She nodded faintly. “Feels like waiting.”

“For what?”

Her gaze lingered on the horizon too. “I don’t know. Maybe our worlds to remember we’re here.”

He glanced at her, something warm in his chest. “Until then,” he said, “we keep surviving.”

She met his eyes — steady, unflinching. “Together?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yeah. Together.”

The word hung between them — heavy, fragile, and real.

For the first time since they’d fallen into this prehistoric world, neither of them felt alone.

Chapter Text

It had been three weeks since they were trapped here.
Three weeks since this forest stopped feeling like a death sentence and started feeling like a test.

Their camp had changed — no longer a rough shelter by a cave, but a raised platform of bound wood and leaves hidden high among the cliffs. The air up here was thinner, cleaner, touched by constant wind. Below, the forest swayed in endless motion — green and gold, alive with sounds both familiar and strange.

they moved like they belonged there now. Her prison uniform unkept, skin coated with sweat in the golden light of the afternoon. She had to shed the heavy fabric the uniform, wearing pieces of it ripped — lean, practical, sharp.

Mark was stronger too. The planet’s dense atmosphere had made his muscles adapt fast. Every day, he pushed higher into the sky — a few feet more, a little longer — until his lungs burned and his bones ached.

He told her he was “scouting.”
But that wasn’t the truth.

---

That morning, she woke to the sound of wind— not natural, but something heavier. She sat up, blinking through the haze, and saw Mark vanish beyond the treeline in a blur of blue and red.

Her brow furrowed. He hadn’t said where he was going.

She rose, stretching, and busied herself with gathering water from the spring below. Still, her mind lingered. He’d been distant lately — quieter, thoughtful in a way that wasn’t his usual brooding.

When he returned near dusk, sweat streaked across his jaw and his flight suit torn at the sleeve, he avoided her gaze.

“Find anything?” she asked, handing him a piece of dried fruit.

He took it with a half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Just more sky.”

She studied him. “You’re lying.”

Mark froze mid-bite. “What?”

“You always look left when you lie,” she said simply, crouching by the fire. “Don’t worry. I don’t care what you’re hiding. As long as it doesn’t get us killed.”

He hesitated, the guilt catching in his throat. “It won’t,” he said finally.

She hummed quietly, unconvinced. “Then keep it that way.”

---

That night, when she slept, he left again.
He needed to know — if he could fly high enough to pierce the planet’s upper layer, if there was anything beyond the horizon.

The higher he went, the harder it became. His body strained against the pressure. But he kept pushing. Higher. Further.

He broke through a band of clouds and saw it — faint lights, glimmering specks in the sky that weren’t stars he hopes. Something artificial maybe. Something not natural he wishes.

A signal, maybe.

His pulse raced. It was possible. Somewhere beyond this world, there were others — maybe human, maybe something else — who might have the technology to get him home.

He hovered there for a long time, torn between awe and guilt.
Then he descended, slower this time, the dense air dragging at his flight.

---

By dawn, he was back.
Veronica was already awake, sitting by the fire with her arms wrapped around her knees. She looked up as he landed, breathless and raw.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

“Didn’t want to,” she said, studying him. His hair was still damp from the upper clouds. “You went higher this time.”

He blinked. “How—”

She gestured lazily. “The burns on your sleeves. Air friction.”

He said nothing.

For a while, neither spoke. The jungle buzzed with life — low growls, distant screeches, and the hum of insects in the heat.

Finally, Veronica said quietly, “Whatever you’re doing… just remember there’s two of us here.”

Mark looked at her, the weight of her words hitting deeper than she knew. “I know,” he said softly.

But that night, when she slept again, he went back.

---

The second flight was longer. He seen the faint signal again — a glimmer of hope. But when he tried to push closer, the gravity shifted suddenly, yanking him down like a hand closing around his chest.

He barely made it back. Crashed through trees, hit the ground hard, shoulder screaming with pain.

Veronica found him before sunrise, unconscious near the riverbank.

When he woke, her eyes were cold — not angry, but hurt.

“You almost died out there,” she said, voice tight. “And for what?”

He tried to speak, but she cut him off. “You act like you can't tell me.”

“I didn’t know if it would work,” he managed. “I didn’t want to give you hope for nothing.”

She stared at him — long and silent. “You think I can’t handle disappointment?”

“That’s not— your human-”

“You think I haven’t lived with worse?” Her tone was sharp, but her eyes glistened faintly under the morning light.

He reached for her wrist. “Hey—”

She pulled away. “Don’t.”

For the first time since they’d landed, she turned her back on him and walked away.

The forest swallowed her footsteps, and Mark sat there — breathless, grounded, and feeling the weight of every secret he’d kept.

Above them, he wanted the lights in the sky to flicker — a sign, a calling, a waiting, anything.

Chapter Text

The days began to blur together after the incident.

The cave that had once been a hollow of panic and exhaustion had transformed into a fragile semblance of home. The walls bore the dark stains of soot from their makeshift torches. Ferns were woven into crude bedding. Outside, near the treeline, a ring of stones formed what passed for a hearth, its ashes a map of their quiet survival.

Mark had learned to move differently here. His strength was still unmatched, but every movement had to be measured—this planet’s dense air pushed against him like invisible water. His lungs ached after flights that once would have been effortless. But he will adapted. Every Viltrumite did, eventually.

She noticed it too—the way he grew quieter in the evenings, the faraway look in his eyes as he stared beyond the violet horizon.

They’d developed a rhythm. She gathered food—mostly roots, berries, and the occasional small reptilian creature that resembled a cross between a lizard and a bird. Mark built, lifted, carried, and sometimes—just watched.

He always seemed to be listening for something.

---

“Mark?” she asked one night, breaking the easy silence between them. The firelight flickered over his jaw, over the faint cuts that had already healed. “ What are your thinking about?.”

He didn’t look at her. “Just thinking.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“I’ll probably say it tomorrow too,” he said with a dry huff, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

The air hung heavy. The sound of rain outside echoed faintly, pattering against the stone like fingers on glass.

She studied him. “You’re not just thinking.”

He exhaled through his nose, slow and even. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

His eyes flicked up, sharp but tired. “I’m trying to make sure we’re not wasting time waiting for a miracle.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” he said, his tone clipped, “if there’s another way out of here—another civilization, a portal, something—then I’m going to find it.”

The words hit her like cold rain. “You want to go flying up there again.”

Mark didn’t deny it.

“You said the air was too dense—”

“It is.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the muscles in his forearm flexing under his skin. “But I’m getting used to it. I can’t go high for long, but… I made it past the ridge already I can-

She cut him off. “yeah the ridge, You almost died—”

He turned to her, eyes fierce for the first time in days. “it takes a lot to kill a viltrumite, a failed adapting attempt is training, not death. Your human somewhat, staying here is death I'll be alive but you won't . You just don’t want to say it out loud.”

Silence fell between them, thick as smoke. The fire crackled, throwing shadows that seemed to dance mockingly on the walls.

When he spoke again, his voice was quieter. “Angstrom was supposed to send us back when it was over.”

Her chest tightened. She hadn’t heard that name in weeks—not since the last conversation he only spoke of the man a few times but than he stopped, the man who trapped us into this prehistoric nightmare.

“He lied,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” Mark’s jaw clenched. “Or maybe he just didn’t care. Maybe this was part of it. A test. A punishment.”

She didn’t answer. She just looked at him, saw the fracture under the anger—the confusion, the exhaustion of a man used to fighting enemies, not loneliness.

---

The next few days moved slower.

They didn’t talk about his secret flights again, but the tension hummed beneath everything they did. When she brought fruit back, he’d already be gone. When he returned at dusk, she’d be pretending to sleep.

Still, the rhythm held. Shared silence by the fire. The unspoken comfort of proximity. And sometimes, when the night was quiet enough, their hands brushed while reaching for the same piece of kindling.

---

Then, one morning, she woke to find him gone again.

The cave felt emptier than it should have. She stepped outside, the air damp and heavy with mist. The jungle stretched endlessly, the distant cries of creatures echoing through the trees.

Hours passed before she saw him—a distant figure cutting through the clouds, the air thrumming faintly from the force of his flight. He was struggling, his form uneven, but he was still rising.

Her breath caught as he disappeared beyond sight.

She waited. And waited.

When he finally landed, his knees nearly buckled. She ran to him before he could brush her off.

“Mark—what happened?”

He looked pale, sweating, even though the air was cool. “i made it,” he said between ragged breaths. “But… there’s nothing up there. just sky, stars. No satellites, no stations." The lights he had faintly seen last time was some type of burning meteor but bigger and any other neighboring planet is out of sight.

She swallowed hard. “so… it's just be us.”

He turned away faintly, and something in his expression softened—a mix of defeat and resolve. “yea” he murmured. “Just us.”

She placed a hand on his arm before she could stop herself. “Then we make it work.”

He looked at her hand, then up at her face. For a long time, neither spoke. His eyes—once so sharp, so ready for war—seemed almost human again.

And for the first time since they’d been stranded, he didn’t pull away.

---

That night, the fire burned brighter than usual. The jungle’s noises felt distant. They sat side by side, close enough for the warmth of their shoulders to meet.

Mark stared into the flames, his voice low.

“I don’t think Angstrom will ever bring us back,” he admitted. “But I’m done waiting for him.”

She turned her head slightly. “What are you going to do?”

His gaze shifted faintly—tired, but real. “Whatever it takes.”

The way he said it didn’t sound like a soldier’s promise. It sounded like something else—like the quiet beginning of trust.

And as the fire cracked between them, she realized something had shifted again—not a fracture this time, but the smallest bridge.

Chapter Text

The days began to stretch in a softer way.

It wasn’t peace — not really. But something in the silence between them had changed. The cave no longer felt like a cage; it felt lived in. The marks of their hands, the warmth of fire smoke embedded in the stone — it all bore quiet witness to two souls learning how to exist again.

Mark repaired some makeshift tools they’d built from vines and thick leaves after every rainstorm. She foraged further each morning, learning which fruits didn’t burn the tongue and which roots boiled down into something edible. Sometimes she caught him watching her from afar ridge when he thought she wouldn’t notice — gaze steady, expression unreadable.

They spoke less, but the silences weren’t hostile anymore. They were heavy with presence.

---

One morning, she woke before dawn and stepped outside. The air was cool and dense, a faint blue haze clinging to the ground. When she looked up, Mark was already standing near the edge of the clearing, eyes fixed on the horizon.

He didn’t turn when she joined him.

“You’re up early,” she said softly.

He exhaled, mist leaving his lips. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Nightmares?”

He shook his head. “Just... thinking.”

She followed his gaze. The world stretched endless and prehistoric, mountains like old teeth jutting from the fog. “About what?”

“Home,” he said, and the word came out quieter than she expected. “About what’s left of it.”

She waited, giving him space.

“ I fought Angstrom before,” he said, voice low, “I didn’t think he’d still be alive he had vanish- before I could complete my mission on the rebellion, this angstrom is probably a variant. So when he appeared asking for my strength, I was confused but I didn't know he had already got others, others who had tortured his family others who had destroyed everything he knew—” His jaw tightened. “I was one of those people, so taking that deal is-"

Her voice softened. “You couldn’t have known.”

“I should have.” His fists clenched. “That’s what makes it worse. I always think if I am the strongest, that if I hit hard enough, or fly fast enough, I can be the perfect soldier.”

He turned then, meeting her eyes for the first time in days. “But I'm not, I was raised to enslaved half of me.”

Something inside her chest twisted. She wanted to reach for him, to offer the kind of comfort words couldn’t hold—but instead, she just said quietly, “Maybe this isn’t something you have to enslaved or be a soldier too.”

He looked at her for a long time. Then he nodded, slow and small, as if conceding to gravity itself.

---

Later that day, as they gathered wood and other supplies near the forest edge, he spoke again.

“You ever think about what you’d do if we never get off this rock?” he asked.

She hesitated. “Sometimes.”

“And?”

“I’d build something better than just surviving.” She smiled faintly. “A place that doesn’t feel like a wound.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “You sound like you actually believe that’s possible.”

“Don’t you?”

He huffed a short breath of laughter. “I’m not sure what I believe anymore.”

“Then start small,” she said simply. “Believe in tomorrow.”

Mark looked at her like he wanted to argue—but didn’t.

He just said, quietly, “You sound like my mom.”

That caught her off guard. “Yeah?”

He nodded. “She’d say stuff like that. When things got bad. When I was... trying too hard to be what my dad wanted.”

Something broke gently in the air between them — not pain, exactly, but memory shared like light through cracks.

---

As the sun set that night, the fire flickered gold across their faces. The dense air carried a rare stillness, the kind that made every sound feel sharper.

She sat across from him, weaving fibers together for rope. Mark was working on a spear — though they hadn’t needed one lately, he liked the act of doing. Of building.

“You ever stop moving?” she asked, half teasing.

“Not really my style,” he said with a faint grin. “Still... it’s different here. I can’t fly far, can’t fight much. Makes me feel—” He paused, searching for a word. “—human.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

He met her gaze. “Depends who you ask.”

Their eyes held for a long moment, the flames whispering between them. Then, softer, she said, “I think it suits you.”

His expression shifted — the faintest crack in his composure. For a second, he almost smiled.

Almost.

---

The next morning, she found him near the cliff again — but this time, not looking out. He was listening.

“What is it?” she asked, stepping up beside him.

He shook his head slowly. “Nothing. Just... quiet.”

“Does that bother you?”

He hesitated. “No. It’s just... strange.”

“How so?”

He glanced at her, eyes tracing the horizon. “Back home, quiet always meant something bad was coming.”

Her lips parted, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she reached out — lightly, almost uncertain — and rested a hand on his shoulder. His muscles tensed under her palm, instinctively, but then eased.

“Not everything quiet has to mean danger,” she said softly. “Sometimes it just means rest.”

He nodded once, eyes closing for a moment.

When he opened them again, the dawn light caught in the gold of his irises, softening the usual sharpness there. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

She smiled faintly. “Someone has to.”

---

As the days rolled on, they fell into rhythm again — but it was different now. Easier. The silence between them was no longer absence; it was trust in disguise.

When she laughed, he didn’t look startled anymore. When he spoke, she didn’t brace herself for anger. They shared glances that said more than either wanted to admit.

And sometimes, when the wind pressed through the trees just right, it carried the faint hum of something not yet named — not love, not yet, but wanting.

---

One night, under a blood-orange sky, Mark broke the quiet.

“I keep thinking maybe I’m not supposed to leave,” he said.

She looked up from the fire. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe this isn’t punishment. Maybe it’s... something else.” He frowned slightly, as if the thought unsettled him. “Like the universe is forcing me to stop running.”

“ What are you running from?”

He considered that, his gaze drifting toward her, then away again. “Me. Something else.”

Something about that made her chest ache — a strange, quiet warmth that scared her more than the monsters ever had.

She smiled, small and sure. “Then maybe that’s enough for now.”

He met her eyes then, and for a breath, neither of them looked away.

The fire crackled between them, painting the cave walls in soft light, and though the world outside remained wild and unknown, in that moment — it didn’t matter.

For now, they had their rhythm.
And somewhere between survival and silence, gravity had found another way to hold them.

Chapter Text

Morning broke in layers of silver mist and amber light. The dense air shimmered above the treetops; somewhere distant, something vast called out, a bass note rolling through the valley. Veronica had already slung her weapon over her shoulder when Mark emerged from the cave. His eyes still carried that wary edge he wore when he’d been thinking too much.

“Ready?” she asked.

He gave a small nod. “Let’s find something that will last us long .”

That earned a quick grin from her, and then they started down the cliff.
The forest floor was slick with dew; fern-fronds the size of sails brushed their legs as they moved. They didn’t speak for a while—there was rhythm in the quiet, their footfalls falling into pace. Mark still hated the weight of the air, how every breath felt like pushing through water, but he’d learned to move within it.

He had been using his flight every now and then, rising just above the canopy for a heartbeat so he won't lose touch to the gravity the slugged him back down at times. He had given up from flying out of the atmosphere for now, if this planets air is dense who's to say the next one isn't, for that he will find out, not now but soon and he will let her know in the moment just not when; he wasn’t ready to tell her when.

They reached a clearing where prints cut deep into the soil—three-toed, wide, recent. Veronica crouched, brushing her fingers across the impression.

“Herbivore,” she murmured. “Big. Slow.”

Mark’s mouth turned into a line. “Perfect.”

She stood and pointed toward a slope thick with vines. “Tracks lead that way. If we’re lucky, it’s still close.”

He followed, stepping lightly despite the ground trembling with distant movement. The scent of earth and green filled the air, heavy and wet. He could hear her breathing in front of him—steady, measured, alive.

It struck him that she adapted to this world better than he did.

---

They found it near a watering pit: a massive creature, somewhere between a triceratops and a rhino, skin mottled slate-gray, horns glinting like ivory in the haze. It drank slow, massive sides rising and falling.

She crouched low behind a fallen log. “We get close enough to drive it toward the ridge. Easier to finish it if it slips.”

Mark nodded. “You take the left.”

She gave him a look. “Think you can handle the right without blowing a crater?”

He gave an assuring look. “I’ll try not to.”

They split, moving through the brush. She stepped like shadow; he moved with deliberate control, careful not to trigger the creature’s reflexes. When she gave the signal—a brief whistle—the world burst into motion.

Mark leapt first, slamming a branch to startle the beast. It bellowed and spun, horn swinging toward him. He ducked, pivoted, and slammed into its side with just enough strength to tip its balance. She darted in from behind, rope in hand, looping it around a leg. The creature roared, stumbling toward the ridge as planned.

It crashed halfway down the slope, rolling and thrashing until finally it lay still, chest heaving.

They waited, watching. Then she approached carefully and drove her spear through the spot beneath its jaw—quick, clean, merciful.

Mark exhaled. “That was… efficient.”

She straightened, wiping her arm with the back of her wrist. “You make a decent partner.”

“ I've been told that I’m trainable.”

She almost smirks. " I can see that.”

---

The work after was exhausting, for her at least— mark caring the carcass closer to camp, together they cut through the thick hide, separating the usable meat. They moved with silent coordination. Mark’s hands were steady but unpracticed; hers wasn't so were sure.

At one point she handed him a strip of meat to clean, their fingers brushing. Neither commented on it, but something stayed in the air after—a current neither of them acknowledged.

When they finished, he gathered wood while she set up the rack for drying the cuts. The scent of blood and smoke filled the clearing.

Mark leaned on a tree, watching her. She moved with confidence, strong but careful. He remembered moments from his youth—his mother’s hands teaching him how to hold a tool, how to listen instead of strike. Nolan would watch sometimes, silent, eyes narrowed as if love itself were inefficient.

He hadn’t thought of that in a long time.

---

“Viltrumites don’t hunt,” he said suddenly.

Veronica glanced up. “What do you do, then?”

“Conquer. We prepare resources from whoever has them.” His tone was flat, but she heard the bitter undercurrent.

“Sounds lonely.”

He shrugged. “It’s supposed to be.”

“Why?”

He hesitated. “Emotion makes you weak. That’s what I was taught. If you hesitate, someone else dies.”

Her eyes softened. “And you believed that?”

“I do, i had to,” he said quietly. “Back then, it was the only thing that made sense.”

She turned back to her work, slicing clean lines through the meat. “And now?”

He didn’t answer right away. He looked out toward the ground instead, the cave glimmering with heat. “Now there's some difference.y”

---

They roasted a few pieces that evening, the fire bright against the encroaching dark. The smell was sharp but promising. Mark sat across from her, elbows on his knees, staring into the flames.

“You ever think about home?” she asked, voice low.

“Sometimes,” he said. “But it’s not the same anymore. It never was.”

She studied him. “What do you mean?”

He poked at the fire with a stick. “My mother tried to teach me what being human meant. My father tried to erase it. They called it love, both of them, just… different kinds.” He looked up then, eyes glinting. “And me? I didn’t fit either version.”

Veronica didn’t speak for a moment. Then she said softly, “Maybe you weren’t supposed to.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Maybe you were supposed to find your own.”

The simplicity of it hit harder than he expected. He looked away, swallowing. “And what if I never do?”

“Then you keep living until you stop asking that.”

He huffed a quiet breath that almost became a laugh. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” she said, smiling faintly. “But it’s better than the alternative.”

---

They ate quietly after that. The meat was tough but warm, filling in a way roots never were. She hung the rest of the cuts near the fire, the motion automatic. Mark watched her, the curve of her shoulder in the light, the shadows of her figure bounced off the ground and walls of the cave from the flames.

For a moment, he thought about saying something—something real. About how this world, empty as it was, didn’t feel so empty anymore.

Instead, he murmured under his breath, almost too quiet to hear: “It’s worth it.”

She looked up, half-turned. “Huh?”

He blinked, caught, and raised his voice. “I said, I hope the meat’s worth it.”

That earned a short laugh from her, soft and easy. “It better be.”

The sound lingered in his chest long after the fire died down.

Three days later, the air changed.

It wasn’t sudden — not the kind of drop that screamed winter — but a creeping shift that wrapped itself around the mornings. Breath misted when they spoke. The trees, once thick and damp, had started to shed their sheen of green for dull gold. The world felt stiller.

He was the first to notice. She woke that morning with her fingers numb and her breath puffing white into the cave. When she looked across the small fire, he was already up, crouched near the entrance. He wasn’t shivering.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” she asked, voice rough with sleep.

He turned slightly. “What?”

“The cold.”

He glanced at his bare arms as if he’d just remembered he should feel it. “Not really.”

“Figures,” she muttered, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Half of you probably runs on furnace mode.”

He nod faintly at that — one of the rare ones that didn’t feel like armor. “Maybe. But it’s getting colder faster than I expected. We’ll need more wood.”

She nodded, standing with a small groan. “I’ll go with you.”

“You should stay. Warm up.”

“Mark,” she said, arching a brow. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t argue, but his eyes lingered on her hands longer than usual. Her fingertips had a faint blue hue.

---

They gathered wood through the morning, the forest quieter than usual. The thick, wet buzz of insects was gone. Even the calls of the distant beasts had softened to low echoes. The dense air seemed to hold less weight — cleaner, thinner, colder.

When they reached a fallen tree, she bent to lift a log and winced.

He caught it instantly. “Hey—what was that?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Just cold.”

He frowned, then crouched beside her. “Give me your hands.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Your hands,” he repeated, gentle but firm.

Reluctantly, she held them out. His palms closed around hers — warm, almost hot — and for a moment she forgot how to breathe. The heat spread instantly, her fingers tingling under the rush of returning blood.

He looked at her, expression unreadable. “You can’t lose circulation like that. Not here, besides shouldn't your powers be warming your hands? You used for energy fields.” He states.

She swallowed, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest from his closeness. “This world atmosphere mess with the both of us in one way or another. I’m fine.”

“You’re stubborn.”

“Takes one to know one.”

That earned her a deep stare before he let go. The warmth lingered even after.

---

Back at camp, he built the fire higher than before, feeding it constantly. The air outside whistled with a faint chill, enough to make her stay closer to the flames. She could feel him watching her between movements — subtle, protective.

By evening, the world had gone dark faster than usual, the cold creeping into the cave mouth.

“You’re not sleeping near the entrance tonight,” he said simply.

She raised a brow. “Oh? And who made you the thermostat?”

“Common sense.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head but moved her blanket anyway. When she sat down, he tossed her a rough fur he’d fashioned from one of their earlier kills.

“I told you I didn’t need—”

“—You do,” he interrupted, not looking at her as he added more wood to the fire. “You’ll thank me when you’re not frozen solid.”

She stared at him for a beat, then said quietly, “Thanks.”

He nodded once. “You’re welcome.”

---

Later, when the wind started to howl faintly outside, they sat across from each other. The firelight painted their faces in amber.

Mark had that faraway look again — the same one he got when the silence stretched too long.

“Something on your mind?” she asked.

He hesitated. “It’s strange. I don’t feel the cold, but I remember what my mom said it meant back home.”

She tilted her head. “What did it mean?”

He stared into the fire. “It meant people stayed inside. Closer. My mother used to say winter was supposed to make you remember what mattered.” A pause. “My father hated that. Said comfort made people weak.”

“ your father is a lunatic.”

He looked at her then, really looked. “ sure” he said softly. “most of my people would think like that.”

The admission hung there like breath in the air. She smiled faintly. “So not you?, Maybe you’re warming up after all.”

He looked down, under his breath, shaking his head, and his face went blank. “Don’t tell anyone.”

---

The next morning was colder still. Frost glittered faintly on the ground near the mouth of the cave — just a whisper, but real. Veronica rubbed her arms, teeth chattering slightly as she tried to restart the fire.

Mark emerged from deeper inside, carrying wood. He paused when he saw her.

“You didn’t sleep much.”

“Couldn’t get warm,” she admitted. “The fur help, but…”

He looked around, then down at his clothing — one of the few things still mostly intact from the war. Without a word, he shrugged it off and held it out.

She blinked. “Mark, you’ll freeze.”

“I won’t,” he said simply.

“I can’t—”

“You can,” he insisted, tone steady. “Just… take it.”

For a moment she wanted to argue again. Then she saw the quiet behind his eyes — not command, not pity, just care. She took it, slowly, fingers brushing his as she did.

It was warm.

He watched her out it on awkwardly. “Better?”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Better.”

He looked faintly. “Good.”

She glanced up. “What?”

He stared this time. “I said, good ”

Her laugh was quiet but real. “You’re getting predictable.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But predictable’s not so bad.”

---

That night, when the cold bit even deeper, they moved closer to the fire. He sat behind her without thinking, body heat radiating like a shield. She didn’t move away, giving a side eye.

“Warm enough?” he asked.

“Getting there,” she murmured.

They didn’t speak after that. Just sat — the fire’s glow casting long shadows on the stone walls.

For the first time, mark doesn't know what he feeling.
And for the first time since the Viltrum Empire had shaped him into something unfeeling, Mark Grayson didn’t feel hollow.

Thinking of the possibilities if they stay here he doesn't have to worry about conquering planets just conquering her, could he explore that human side his father and his people condemned weak, maybe.

Outside, the world exhaled frost. Inside, the rhythm of their breathing filled the space between heartbeats — quiet, steady, alive.

Chapter Text

The first snowfall came quietly.

It drifted down one morning without fanfare—soft flakes swirling through the treetops, vanishing when they touched the faint warmth of the ground. The air had gone brittle overnight, so cold that each breath stung her throat.

She sat wrapped in small fur, watching the world outside their cave turn pale. It wasn’t much—just a dusting—but enough to make everything look softer, slower, almost peaceful. Almost.

Mark stood near the mouth of the cave, arms crossed as his eyes followed the wind. “It’s only going to get colder,” he said finally.

She glanced up at him. “You say that like I can control it.”

“You can’t,” he said flatly, “but you can stay inside.”

Her brow furrowed. “You’re not serious.”

“I am.” He turned to her, gaze steady. “I’ll handle food from now on.”

“Mark—”

“No,” he said, voice firm but not harsh. “You’re freezing every morning, even with the fire. I’m not risking you getting sick out there.”

She opened her mouth to argue but saw the look in his eyes—the sharp edge of worry he was trying to mask with command. So she exhaled softly and nodded. “Fine. You hunt. I’ll… clean whatever you drag back.”

Something eased in his shoulders. “ agreed .”

---

The days bled together after that.

Mark would leave early, before the first trace of light, and return by afternoon with meat slung across his shoulder or caught in a makeshift net. Veronica would clean it, hands red from the cold water they used near the river’s edge, while he quietly repaired the firepit or reinforced the cave’s outer wall with thick hides to block the wind.

They didn’t talk much while they worked. But every once in a while, she’d glance at him—the way his breath fogged faintly even though the cold didn’t seem to touch him, the way his movements had become methodical, protective, deliberate.

He wasn’t just surviving anymore.
He was making sure she survived too.

---

One night, long after she’d fallen asleep, Mark rose quietly.

The fire had burned low, embers glowing like the last pulse of a dying heart. He crouched near it, feeding small sticks in one by one, then larger ones until it flared bright again. The warmth rolled through the cave, brushing over her sleeping form. She stirred, but didn’t wake.

He watched her for a long time—long enough that he caught himself memorizing the curve of her shoulder under the fur blanket, the faint twitch of her fingers as if she was dreaming.

Then he stood, slinging his spear across his back. Although he didn't need a spear ever in life it made it easier for the animals of this planet he was hunting while he realizes fighting friction is pointless his father would say just go for it, make it clean. While his mother species used weapons to take down their targets, why not mixed both knowledge together. The cold hit him instantly as he stepped outside he didn't have much clothing although the cold didn't bother him he could still feel it at times, he could imagine how it feels for her sharp as glass. His breath came out in thick clouds, and the snow crunched beneath his boots.

The world was silver and silent.

He moved through the trees with practiced precision, following faint tracks half-buried under fresh snow. His eyes scanned the horizon, senses stretched far beyond human range. Somewhere ahead, he heard movement—heavy, steady, something big.

---

Mark’s POV

The wind sliced against my face, but it barely registered.

All that mattered was the sound—the deep, guttural snort of the creature ahead. A large one, maybe twice the size of a horse. I could feel the tremor of its steps through the ground.

I waited. Listened. Moved closer.

The beast’s fur was thick, gray with white streaks that let it blend into the frost. Its horns curved backward, heavy enough to crush bone. For a moment, I just watched it graze on the frozen brush, steam curling from its nostrils.

It was strange how calm it looked. How unaware that its life was about to end.

I took a slow breath, adjusted my stance, and lunged.

The spear struck clean. The beast roared—a sound that shook the stillness—and staggered, crashing through the snow. I moved fast, finishing it before it could suffer. The silence afterward was deafening.

I stood over it, chest heaving. The smell of blood mingled with cold air.

That’s when it hit me—the thought I hadn’t wanted to face.

We’d been here for months now. The days blurred, the seasons changed, and somehow, the war, the world, everything before this felt like another life.
And through it all—through the hunger, the sleepless nights, the endless quiet—she’d been here.

Her.

She’d become the only constant. The only voice that made me not go mad it made me feel human in a weird way. When everything had change when i finally got my powers my father let it be known the planet earth was ours to conquer, that either of us would be the emperor, ruling it for the empire. Sometimes doing those moments I had wish it was the way before I got powers dad was still strict, but mom was soft, caring. whenever there was a meeting they would put on a facade, they would ask dad when would my powers come and he would take control of the narrative.

In his odd way dad would protect us from the viltrumites cruel words by taking the focus off us and our humaneness thinking about it now shows that dad could feel and love. And I can choose and not have to fake it.

It wasn’t just about keeping her alive anymore.
It was about not losing the only reason I didn't fly into the sun.

I knelt beside the beast and ran a hand across its thick pelt. “Food,” I murmured to myself. “Fur.”
But the words felt hollow. Survival was simple. It was what came after that scared me.

Because if she ever looked at me the way my enemies had again… if she ever saw me in that way again, I don't think I can take it—
I didn’t know if I’d survive that.

---

By dawn, he was hauling the carcass through the snow, breath steady, arms straining with the weight. It left a wide trail behind him—dark red against white.

When he reached the cave, he picked up the beast and flew up a little to place it close his body felt how light the air is now and even if it wasn't would he be doing this-. He stop those thoughts his mind was strangely clear.
He was doing this for her.

For once, that thought didn’t feel like a burden.

---

The sound of movement woke her.

she blinked against the pale morning light filtering into the cave. Mark’s side of the fire was empty. She sat up quickly, clutching the fur around her shoulders.

The air was icy. The world outside was quiet except for the faint drag… crunch… drag… crunch coming closer.

Heart pounding, she moved toward the cave’s entrance and pushed the heavy flap aside.

Snow blinded her for a second. Then her eyes adjusted—and she froze.

A massive creature lay collapsed just outside the cave, half-covered in frost. Its fur was thick and grey, matted with ice and blood. Mark stood above it, chest rising and falling, eyes sharp as ever.

“Mark,” she breathed. “What is that?”

He turned to her slowly, snow clinging to his hair and lashes. His expression was unreadable.

“Fur,” he said first, then added after a pause, “Food.”

The way he said it—low, deliberate—made something twist in her stomach. There was an intensity there, something he wasn’t saying.

She looked from the beast to him. “you know I can help right-”

He nodded once. “Go back inside. It’s freezing.”

“Mark—”

“Inside, please.” he said again, tone softer but final.

She hesitated, then sighed and stepped back into the cave, glancing over her shoulder as he stared at the animal with a blank face.

Inside, she got the fire going, feeding it with dry sticks until it roared back to life. She busied herself—tidying the furs, sharpening one of the knives, trying not to think about how quiet it had been.

Every few minutes, she caught herself listening for his footsteps, the scrape of his boots, the rustle of his jacket.

When he finally entered, the air shifted with him—cold and faintly metallic.

He dropped the carcass near the cave’s edge, crouching beside it. His movements were fluid, efficient. He didn’t waste a second.

“now it's my turn?” she asked quietly.

“we agreed that you'll clean it,” he said without looking up. “I’ll handle the rest, remember?.”

“Meaning?”

He glanced up then, eyes catching the firelight. “Meaning I’ll make sure we have enough for weeks. The fur can keep you warm.”

Alright he's not getting the point, and the "You", she noticed. Not us.

She almost pointed it out, but something in his face made her stop. He looked… different. Not angry. Not cold. Just distant in a way that hurt to see.

So she just nodded. “All right.”

---

They worked together through the morning.

He cut, she cleaned, and the fire crackled in steady rhythm beside them. The smell of smoke and blood mixed thick in the air. Outside, snow continued to fall, blanketing the world in silence.

At one point, she caught him glancing at her hands—the same way he had before, when she’d been freezing. His jaw tightened slightly.

“You should take a break,” he said quietly.

“I’m fine,” she replied automatically.

“Veronica.”

The way he said her name—low, steady, protective—made her chest tighten. She looked up at him, saw the exhaustion that didn’t reach his body but lingered behind his eyes.

“You didn’t sleep last night, did you?” she asked softly.

He hesitated, then shook his head once. “Didn’t need to.”

“Mark…”

He cut her off with a faint smile. “I’m fine. Just making sure we don’t freeze to death.”

“you've change.”

His smile faded, but not in a bad way. “yeah, I noticed, when you care for something-" he stopped mid way remembering his mother words not noticing Veronica stiffening

The words hit her like a pulse—quick and quiet—but she didn’t know how to respond. So she didn’t. She just lowered her gaze and kept working, heart pounding against her ribs.

---

That night, the fire burned bright again, reflecting against the snow piling outside the cave entrance. Mark sat near it, sharpening the spear while she mended one of the thicker furs into a blanket, she was thinking of making him clothes all he had on was half a uniform that looks like thin.

The wind howled faintly through the valley. Inside, it was warm.

“Mark?” she said softly after a while.

He looked up.

She hesitated. “When you said… ‘ when you care for something.’ what did you mean—”

“I meant exactly what I said.”

"But you didn't finish-"

"It's not hard to guess."

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. He held her gaze for a long moment, the air thick between them, the fire snapping softly in the silence.

Then, finally, he added, quieter, “You’re all I’ve got here. That’s not something I will take lightly.”

Her chest ached at that—not from sadness, but from something deeper. The kind of truth that lives between words.

She smiled faintly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Then I guess we’re even.”

He tilted his head. “Even?”

“You keep me alive,” she said softly. “And I make you feel like you still are.”

He didn’t respond right away, but the faintest hint of a smile touched his lips. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That sounds about right.”

---

The wind outside died down. The fire crackled.

For a long time, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore. It was full—shared.

And as she drifted to sleep beside the warmth he’d built, Mark sat awake a little longer, watching the snow fall through the cave’s mouth.

She was right.

In this strange, cold cliff—
she was the only thing reminding him that he can be human.

Chapter Text

The morning light slipped faintly through the cracks of the cave.
It was soft, almost apologetic — the kind of light that barely broke the heavy gray sky.

When Veronica blinked awake, the first thing she noticed was the empty space beside the fire.
Cold. Quiet.
Mark was gone again.

She sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, the fur blanket falling around her shoulders. “Of course,” she muttered to herself. “Off doing some weird Viltrumite ritual or something.”

Not the first time he’d disappeared at dawn, she thinks. He probably went to scout the area — she hopes, not wanting him to go hunt when they haven't finished the large beast he caught yesterday.
But she was beginning to think it was more than that.

There was a pattern to his absences now.
He’d grow quieter before leaving. Distant in a way that felt intentional — like he needed space from his own thoughts before they swallowed him whole.

She sighed and stood, pulling more fur towards her. The cold nipped at her ankles as she crossed the cave toward the small bone turned pot of the leftover stew. It had congealed overnight, but she reheated it anyway, stirring it absently while watching the smoke curl up and vanish.

The smell filled the space — warmth and smoke and something almost comforting.

Her eyes drifted toward the cave’s entrance, where the flap moved faintly in the wind. Outside, the snow was still falling, though softer now.

It had been months.
Months since she’d been sleep in a pod, forgotten in a dark cell beneath the Earth she’d once tried to save in her own, twisted way. Months since she’d thought anyone could understand her hunger — not for destruction, but for freedom.

And then came him.

Mark Grayson. Or rather, a Mark Grayson.
A version from a different world — a different set of scars.

The first time she’d seen him, he’d been fire and rage and precision. Everything about him screamed soldier. Viltrumite. A being built for conquest.

But that’s not who he’d been lately.
Not here.

He still carried himself like a weapon, but she could see the cracks now. The hesitation before he spoke. The exhaustion behind his eyes. The way his shoulders sometimes sagged when he thought she wasn’t looking.

It was like he’d spent years pretending he wasn’t human — and only now was remembering that he still was.

She smiled faintly to herself and stirred the pot.
When she’d been locked away in Site Seven, she’d overheard the guards talking — even through the layers of sedation and soundproof glass. They’d gossiped about the “Invincible” boy fighting his father. About how close he’d come to dying. About what kind of man it would take to stand against Omni-Man.

But the Mark sitting by her fire at night, sharpening his spear in silence, wasn’t that man.
He didn’t carry the same kind of righteous spark.
He carried a weight instead. One that came from never being given the choice to be righteous.

He wasn’t raised on his mother’s Earth.
That much was obvious — in the way he looked at her when she talked about small things like. As if those things were… alien to him.

And yet, despite that distance, he tried.
He tried in little ways — fixing the fire before leaving, making sure her hands didn’t shake from the cold, pretending not to notice when she caught him watching her with that quiet, unreadable stare.

She set the spoon down and sighed softly.
He’d changed.

And maybe, so had she.

---

The stew began to bubble again. She ladled a bit into a cup and took a cautious sip, grimacing. It wasn’t great, but it was hot. That was enough.

As the warmth settled into her stomach, she glanced at the pile of fur in the corner — thick pelts from the beast he’d killed the day before. He’d told her not to worry about making clothes, said he didn’t need them.
Typical.

But she’d seen the way his breath came out in visible clouds now. Even he wasn’t immune to the cold forever.

“Stubborn alien,” she muttered, dragging the furs closer.

She worked through the morning, cutting and sewing with makeshift tools — bone needles, sinew thread, her fingers numb from the effort. It was slow work, but steady.

Every stitch made her feel like she was giving something back. Something small, something human.

By the time she finished, her hands were sore, but she smiled faintly. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than nothing — a cloak lined with the softest fur, the inside trimmed so it wouldn’t chafe his neck.

She stood, shaking it out, imagining his face when he’d inevitably try to protest.

“You’ll wear it,” she rehearsed under her breath. “Or I’ll make you.”

The thought made her laugh softly to herself.

Then her gaze drifted toward the cave entrance again — toward the faint shadow of the mountain ridge beyond. Wherever he was, she hoped he wasn’t just fighting beasts again.
She hoped he wasn’t fighting himself.

---

Mark’s POV

The snow stretched endlessly in every direction.

From the cliff’s edge, the world below looked frozen in place — a white ocean, silent and unbroken except for the faint movement of trees shifting under the wind.

He sat on the edge, elbows on his knees, staring out at it all. His breath fogged faintly in front of him.

It had been snowing for days, but the cold didn’t bother him. Not much did anymore. His body had adapted, adjusted, endured.

His mind, though… that was another story.

He tilted his head back, closing his eyes. The silence pressed in on him like weight.

“I see why they look down on feelings,” he murmured to himself.

That’s what the Viltrumites always said — that emotion was weakness. Attachment, distraction, fragility. A soldier needed clarity, not compassion. A conqueror couldn’t afford empathy.

And for most of his life, he’d believed it.

But now, sitting here with snow falling against his face and a strange warmth still lingering from last night’s fire, he wasn’t so sure.

Because every time she laughed — every time Veronica looked at him like he was more than a weapon — that clarity shattered.

He dragged a hand down his face and exhaled slowly. “It’s like I don’t even know myself anymore.”

The words left his mouth like frost.

He thought about the rules drilled into him as a child — about strength, legacy, survival. About how he was supposed to be something more. Something better.
But what did that even mean anymore?

Was he better now, stranded here, living like an animal just to keep one person alive?
Or was he weaker for needing her at all?

He didn’t know.

He only knew that when he looked at her — when he saw the determination in her eyes, the spark that hadn’t died even after everything she’d been through — something inside him shifted.
Something small but impossible to ignore.

She was supposed to be a threat.
A metahuman who absorbed power, who turned on heroes, who couldn’t be trusted.

But here, in this endless winter, she wasn’t that it seems she had change too, a hero for herself — the woman who mended clothes, who teased him when he got too serious, who could make even a half-frozen cave feel like a home.

He opened his eyes again, watching the faint trail of smoke rising from their camp far below.

“She’s probably cursing me right now,” he said to no one. “Making fun of me for disappearing again.”

The thought pulled a small, tired smile to his face.

Maybe she was right to.
Maybe he was running.

But what terrified him wasn’t the idea of feeling something — it was the possibility that she’d feel it too.
Because if she did… if she ever looked at him the way he looked at her now — with that quiet, terrifying tenderness he couldn’t shake — then this strange, temporary world would start to feel permanent.

And that scared him more than dying ever had.

He clenched his jaw, forcing the thought away. “It doesn’t matter,” he told himself. “She needs me sharp. Not soft.”

But even as he said it, he knew it was already too late.

---

By the time he returned, the sun had climbed weakly over the horizon. The air had that brittle quality again — too cold to stay out for long.

Veronica looked up from the fire as he stepped in, his boots heavy with snow.

“You disappeared again,” she said without accusation.

“Yeah,” he replied quietly, shaking the snow from his hair. “Needed air.”

She gestured toward the pot. “You’re just in time. I reheated the stew. And—” she paused, reaching behind her. “Made you this.”

Mark frowned as she held up the fur cloak. “You didn’t have to.”

“Didn’t ask if I had to,” she shot back, crossing her arms. “You’re wearing it.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed — half in defeat, half in something softer. He took the cloak from her and brushed his fingers over the stitching. “You made me this?”

“Don’t sound so surprised.”

He looked up, meeting her eyes. “It’s… good.”

“Good enough to wear?”

He huffed. “Yeah. Good enough to wear.”

When he draped it over his shoulders, she caught the faintest flicker of warmth in his expression — not the cold, practiced kind she’d seen before, but something real.

“Better?” she asked.

“Warmer,” he said simply.

They shared a small, unspoken smile then — one of those rare moments where the silence between them didn’t feel like distance anymore.

Just peace.

---

That night, as the snow thickened and the fire burned low again, Veronica fell asleep first.

Mark stayed awake a little longer, sitting near the cave’s entrance. The cloak she’d made rested across his lap, heavy and warm.

Outside, the world was still white and endless. But somehow, the cold didn’t feel so empty anymore.

He looked back at her, watching the slow rise and fall of her breath.

“Maybe they were wrong,” he murmured quietly. “Maybe feeling isn’t weakness.”

The words hung in the air, fading into the crackle of the fire.

For the first time in months, Mark Grayson — the soldier, the Viltrumite — closed his eyes and allowed himself to rest.

Chapter Text

The night had deepened into that quiet, heavy silence that only snow could bring.
Outside, the wind whispered against the stone walls, soft but steady, a rhythm that had become almost familiar to Veronica. The fire in the middle of the cave had dimmed to a low amber glow, casting gold across the rough stone and the furs piled at the edges.

She stirred, half waking to the faint crackle of the firewood shifting, then fully when she realized the space beside her was cold.
Mark was awake again.

Her eyes adjusted slowly. There he was—sitting shirtless near the fire, one knee drawn up, the other stretched out, hands braced loosely on his leg as if the motion kept him tethered. The heat painted him in shades of bronze and shadow, every muscle cut in sharp relief, the faintest sheen of sweat glistening along his shoulders.

He wasn’t doing anything—just staring into the fire. But there was something in his posture that made her chest tighten. The stillness wasn’t peace; it was control.

She watched him for a while, quiet.
Then, softly:
“You should sleep.”

He didn’t turn. Didn’t even blink. His eyes flickered with the reflection of the flames when he finally said, “Can’t.”

She sighed and pushed herself up, groaning at the chill that nipped her bare shoulders before she wrapped the fur tighter around her. “I can tell.”

Padding barefoot across the stone, she came to sit beside him. They didn’t speak at first. The fire cracked once between them, the glow brushing against his jaw and cheekbones, catching in the tiny snowflakes that still clung to his hair.

After a long stretch of silence, she said softly, “You know… I’m here if you need to talk.”

He said nothing. His gaze didn’t move from the fire.

Trying to lighten the air, she added, “I mean, I’m kinda the only person here. So, lucky me, right?”

That earned her a look—sharp and unreadable. Not hostile, just… intense.
It was the kind of look that reminded her exactly who he was, what he was.

Her humor faltered, the words dying halfway between her lips. She looked down at her hands and said more quietly, “I’m just worried about you. You haven’t slept for days, Mark.”

“I don’t always need to,” he said. His tone wasn’t defensive, but firm—like he’d said it before, to himself, maybe to others.

“Oh please,” she said with a breathy laugh. “You get tired. Maybe you’re too proud to admit it, but you do.”

Still silence. Still that stare.

She scooted a little closer, the fur brushing his arm. He didn’t flinch away, though his gaze did shift down briefly—to her hand resting near his.

“Mark,” she said softer this time. “We’re friends. And friends worry about each other. It’s what people do. They try to help when someone’s… breaking.”

His jaw tensed. The word “people” seemed to strike something in him, like a nerve. He tilted his head slightly, still looking at the fire, and finally said in that low voice of his,
“I don’t have friends.”

She frowned, searching his expression.
“What do you mean you don’t—”

Before she could finish, he spoke again, slower, deliberate.
“You’re more of a mate.”

The words landed heavy between them, thick enough that the air shifted.

Veronica blinked, her mind briefly blank.
“Oh,” she said, her voice a whisper swallowed by the fire’s hiss.

Mark finally turned to look at her. His eyes weren’t cold like they usually were—they were alive, reflecting both flame and conflict. He didn’t move closer, but the space between them felt charged now, like the entire world had narrowed to that small circle of warmth.

She swallowed, unsure what to say. Her throat was tight, her heart betraying her with its sudden racing pulse.
“Mate,” she repeated softly, almost to test the sound of it.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Where I’m from, that’s… closer.”

There was no arrogance in his tone, no hint of teasing—just honesty. Heavy, stripped bare.

Veronica tucked the fur tighter around herself, partly for warmth, partly because she suddenly felt seen in a way that made her pulse trip over itself. “And what does that mean to you?” she asked.

Mark looked back at the fire, jaw tightening again. “It means… you’re the one I protect. The one I don’t let die. Even if it means I do.”

Her heart skipped. “That’s… a lot,” she said, her voice faltering between awe and disbelief.

He didn’t respond. He just kept staring at the flames like they were holding him together.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.
The snow outside thickened, the world beyond the cave turned white and quiet, and inside, the only sound was the pop of firewood and the subtle rhythm of their breathing.

She wanted to tell him it didn’t have to be like that—that survival didn’t mean solitude, that protection didn’t always have to be one-sided—but looking at him now, she realized how deep that conditioning ran. How his whole being was built around that Viltrumite code of strength, of domination, of control over vulnerability.

And yet… he stayed.
He hadn’t left her. Not once.

“You don’t have to be alone in your head all the time,” she said quietly, almost like she was speaking to the fire. “You can just… be here. With me. You don’t have to carry it all.”

He turned his head toward her slightly, that unreadable expression softening for a moment—barely, but enough for her to see it.

Then, just above a whisper, he said, “It’s not that simple.”

She nodded, accepting it without argument. “Maybe not. But I think it could be.”

Mark let out a low breath, the sound caught between frustration and release. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was something else. A tension that hummed under their skin.

Without thinking, Veronica shifted closer again until their shoulders brushed. He didn’t pull away this time.

For a second, everything stilled.
The warmth of him, the quiet flicker of firelight, the faint scent of earth and smoke—it all blended into something too intimate to name.

He glanced at her hand resting between them, then back at her face.
She caught the look and gave a tiny, crooked smile. “Guess I’m not too bad for a mate, huh?”

Mark huffed softly, a near laugh—so quiet she almost didn’t hear it.
Then, for the first time, he let the wall drop just a little. “You talk too much,” he said, but there was no bite to it.

She smiled wider, the sound of her laugh echoing gently off the stone.
“Maybe. But admit it—you’d be bored without me.”

He didn’t answer, but his lips twitched at the corners, a shadow of something human breaking through the stoicism.

After a long while, she leaned her head against his shoulder. She didn’t ask if it was okay; she just did it. The fur brushed between them, soft and warm.

He tensed—once, sharply—and then eased. His hand hovered awkwardly for a few seconds before settling gently on her leg, just above the knee, his thumb tracing an unconscious pattern against the fabric.

Neither of them said a word.

The fire burned low, the snow whispered, and the night pressed close around them.

Mark sat there, looking into the dying flames, his thoughts spiraling somewhere far away—Viltrum, his father, his mission, all of it. None of it mattered here. The longer he sat beside her, the more those ghosts felt like they were dissolving.

When he looked down, her eyes were already closed, her breathing even and soft against his shoulder.
Something inside him twisted and settled at once.

Quietly, almost reverently, he whispered,
“mine.”

Chapter Text

The light of dawn crept in the cracks through the mouth of the cave. It brushed the fur blankets, caught on the half-burnt embers, and painted everything in muted calm.

She stirred first.
Her head was still against something warm, solid—rising and falling in slow rhythm. For a split second, her sleepy mind thought she’d dreamed it all, that she’d woken in her up after fighting another "hero" and the last few months were a blur of imagination.

Then she blinked and saw the dim stone walls, the faint trails of frost edging the entrance, and the unmistakable heat of the Viltrumite beside her.

Mark.

He was still awake.

His gaze was fixed on the snow outside, the faintest glow of morning catching his eyes, turning them almost gold. His hand rested gently—hesitantly—on her arm, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hold her there.

“Did you sleep at all?” she murmured, voice low and thick from rest.

He didn’t look down. “A little.”

She shifted slightly to see his face better, searching for any sign that he was lying. He wasn’t a man who showed much, but she could always tell when he was deflecting—it showed in the smallest flick of his jaw, the way he blinked slower than usual.

“You didn’t,” she said softly. “You’ve been up all night again.”

He didn’t answer.

“Mark…” She sat up, pulling the fur around her shoulders. “You can’t keep doing that. Even you need to rest. I know you think you don’t but—”

“I was making sure it stayed warm,” he interrupted quietly. “You’d get cold if the fire went out.”

Her heart gave a tiny ache at that, one that had nothing to do with the chill.
He said it so simply, like guarding her comfort was just another duty to perform. But there was no hardness in his voice—only a strange, quiet sincerity.

“You didn’t have to do that all night.”

He looked at her then. Really looked. His eyes were a study in contrast—fierce by nature, but softened now by something new. “I didn’t mind.”

The words were short, but the meaning behind them lingered, hanging thick between them.

She looked away, trying to steady her voice. “You say things like that and make it hard to stay mad at you.”

He gave no reply, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if the concept of “mad” at him was almost amusing.

She reached for the small pot they used to heat snow for water and set it on the coals. The movement gave her something to do—something normal. But even as she moved, she could feel his gaze on her, weighty but not invasive. Curious.

“You ever… do this before?” she asked after a long moment.

“Do what?”

She gestured vaguely to the space between them, to the little camp they’d built from nothing. “This. Sitting. Talking. Sharing a space with someone.”

He was quiet for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, softly, “No.”

The honesty in it was disarming.

She looked at him again, studying his expression. He wasn’t ashamed, but there was something in his eyes that almost looked like regret—or maybe realization. “I figured,” she said gently.

“I wasn’t… raised for this,” he said after a beat. “On Viltrum, we don’t—” he paused, searching for the word. “—connect. Not like this. Not for comfort.”

“What about your mother?”

His head turned slightly, his expression tightening just a little. “She wasn’t Viltrumite.”

“That’s kind of my point,” she said softly. “She taught you something different, didn’t she?”

He didn’t answer right away. When he finally did, it was almost a whisper.
“She tried.”

She felt the faintest pull in her chest at that. He said it with the kind of tone that didn’t belong to a man who had lost someone recently—it was the tone of someone who’d buried the memory deep, maybe out of guilt, maybe because it hurt too much to keep close.

He glanced at her and caught the softness in her eyes. It startled him, almost visibly. He wasn’t used to being looked at like that.

She smiled faintly, trying to lighten it again. “Well… you’re doing fine here, for what it’s worth.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Fine?”

“Better than expected, actually,” she teased gently, pushing her hair back. “You haven’t scared me off, and you haven’t destroyed the cave. That’s progress.”

He blinked once. “You’re not scared of me?”

She shook her head. “Should I be?”

His lips parted slightly, caught off guard. “…Most people are.”

“Well,” she said, shifting closer, “I’m not most people.”

The smallest hint of something—maybe a smile, maybe just curiosity—flitted across his face before he looked back toward the floor.

For a while, they sat like that—him staring out at the horizon, her quietly stirring the warm water, both wrapped in the gentle lull of routine they’d built without even realizing it.

And somewhere in the stillness, Mark found himself listening to her breathing.
How even it was. How human.
It shouldn’t have mattered. But here, where there was no army, no command, no father’s voice in his head telling him what to be—it did.

He broke the silence first.
“I’ve been thinking.”

“Uh-oh,” she said, half-teasing. “That sounds dangerous.”

He ignored the jab. “If Angstrom really sent us here… there has to be a way back.”

Her hands stilled. “I thought you got over that?”

“ I have,” Mark said after a pause. There was bitterness there—deep, but also tired. The kind that came from realizing you’d been a weapon, not a person.

She set the pot aside and shifted closer, her tone gentle but grounded. “You’re not just that anymore.”

Mark gave a small huff of disbelief. “You think this world changes that?”

“I think you do.”

That silenced him again. He didn’t look away this time—he just stared at her, the firelight catching on the faint scar across his jaw, the one that always made him look a little more dangerous than he was.

“You keep saying things like that,” he murmured. “Like you see something I don’t.”

“Maybe I do.”

He studied her, eyes narrowing slightly as if he was trying to decode what she meant. But she didn’t elaborate. Instead, she leaned back slightly, wrapping the fur closer. “You should rest. Seriously this time. I’ll keep the fire going.”

“I don’t sleep easy.”

“Who said anything about easy?” she said, smiling faintly. “You can close your eyes without breaking the world, Mark.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then, slowly, he lay back against the cave wall beside her. He didn’t close his eyes immediately—just stared at the flickering light, the faint rise of smoke curling into the cold air.

She settled next to him, her head against his shoulder again. His body was tense at first, as if contact itself was something to be analyzed and endured. But gradually, he relaxed, exhaling through his nose in something that sounded suspiciously like surrender.

“You don’t have to stay awake for me,” she whispered.

His response was quiet, almost too low to catch. “I know.”

And yet, when she finally drifted off again, Mark’s eyes stayed open just a little longer.
He turned his head toward her, studying the way the faint light kissed her hair, the way her fingers were curled loosely near her mouth, and for the first time, he didn’t try to fight the strange, foreign feeling pressing against his ribs.

It wasn’t weakness.
It was… human.

He didn’t have a name for it yet, but he knew one thing for certain:
He didn’t want to lose it.

Later that day, the snow had stopped falling hours ago, leaving a faint silver sheen over the valley below the cave. Inside, the fire burned low, all amber glow and whispering crackle. Mark was still asleep.

Veronica stirred the pot with the wooden ladle they’d carved together weeks ago. The smell of the stew was richer this time—meat, herbs she’d gathered near the ridge, a pinch of salt from the mineral stones Mark had crushed for her. The cave finally smelled like food instead of smoke and cold air.

She glanced over her shoulder.

He was lying half on his side, one arm tucked under his head, the other resting lightly over the fur blanket. His face, always sharp and watchful when awake, looked younger now. Softer. The small lines of strain around his eyes had eased, and for once he didn’t seem ready to leap into battle at the slightest sound.

“He finally looks peaceful,” she whispered, smiling a little. “About time.”

For the first time in weeks, she let herself just watch him without of him catching her and staring back even hard. When he slept, she could see traces of him underneath all that training and restraint—the one who smirked a little at her attempts to teach him sarcasm, the one who quietly mended things around the camp without ever admitting it.

She turned back to the fire and exhaled. The air had a bite to it; even the heat from the flames wasn’t enough to keep the cave entirely warm anymore.

“Everything’s freezing,” she muttered. “Even the lake.”

The memory of the lake came back sharply—the way she used to crouch by it, rinsing her hands, feeling a brief flicker of normal life. Now it was a sheet of solid ice.

It’s a whole planet, she thought. There has to be a warm place somewhere. Maybe I can get mark to fly out and see.

She looked toward the sleeping Viltrumite again. “You could find it,” she murmured under her breath. “But would you?”

He’d told her what flying felt like here—the dense air, the resistance that dragged him down every time he tried to rise above the clouds. It was like pushing through a sea that didn’t want to let him go. He said he adapted a little, of course—he always did—but it had cost him energy and silence he never explained.

Still, the thought of asking tugged at her.

He could find it. He could see the sky. Maybe take us somewhere better.

Then she laughed softly to herself. “Too many thoughts, Banks. You’d make a terrible scout.”

She ladled a small portion of stew into a bowl, letting it cool, and leaned back against the cave wall. The light danced across the stone, across her hands, across the fur that wrapped her shoulders.

Maybe she could at least wash up a little. The air was cold, yes, but she’d grown tired of feeling like ash and smoke. The skull of a mid-sized beast sat by the wall—its thick bone perfect for heating small amounts of water. She could fill it with snow and set it close to the fire. It would take time, but it would work.

Mark usually disappeared during these small, private moments. Hunting, scouting, or simply standing outside, silent against the wind. But now he was here, stretched out only a few feet away. She smiled to herself.

“Let’s hope it stays that way,” she whispered, half teasing, half sincere.

She gathered the leftover fur strips they’d been using as makeshift towels and set them beside the fire. The snow in the skull began to melt, turning to clear water that steamed faintly in the warmth. When she bent to stir it, glancing once more at him.

Even asleep, he looked impossibly sure of himself—broad-shouldered, unbothered by the cold, a kind of living furnace. No wonder he kept his shirt off whenever they were in the cave. She’d teased him once about it, half joking that he did it to show off, but he’d just looked genuinely puzzled, like the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

She smiled again at the memory. If I said it now, I’d laugh. He’d stare, confused, and I’d have to explain sarcasm all over again.

It felt strange to realize how normal that sounded— I'll laugh, he’d stare. Like the two of them belonged in the same sentence now.

Her gaze softened. “We really made this place ours, huh?” she murmured. “For now, anyway.”

She reached for one of the rough shirts he’d left by the wall. It was stiff from dried blood and mud. He didn’t seem to care, but she did. Carefully, she dipped a cloth in the warm water and began scrubbing at the stains. The repetitive motion soothed her thoughts.

Every now and then, she looked back at him. Still asleep, but no longer tense. His breathing evened out, a faint puff of air visible in the cold.

“Guess even Viltrumites get tired,” she said softly. “Don’t worry. I got this.”

When the last of the fabric was clean and hung near the fire to dry, she sat back and stretched her arms. The faint ache of fatigue crept in, but it was the good kind—the kind that came after a day of building, creating, surviving. The kind that reminded her she was still alive.

The snow outside reflected a pale blue glow through the cave’s entrance. She drew the fur tighter around her shoulders, leaned against the wall, and let herself imagine the kind of warmth she hadn’t felt in months. Not from the fire. From company.

She looked toward Mark one last time before letting her eyes drift shut.
“I see why you don’t sleep easy,” she whispered. “This world’s too quiet.”

Her voice faded into the soft hum of the wind, the crackle of flame, the sound of breathing—two rhythms, different but shared.

Outside, flakes began to fall again, settling gently over the frozen ground. Inside, for the first time in weeks, the cave felt like a home.

Chapter Text

By the time Mark woke, the sun was already bleeding into the horizon—a dull red sinking behind the jagged cliffs. The fire had burned low, casting the cave in shifting orange and gold. He blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the dim light.

The first thing he noticed was that everything looked different.

The clothes he’d left crumpled by the wall were neatly folded and clean. The tools they’d been using to carve spears were stacked in careful rows along the wall. Even the furs that once lay scattered across the floor were arranged in a rough but deliberate order.

It didn’t feel like a camp anymore. It felt… lived in.

His gaze immediately searched for her.

Veronica sat cross-legged near the fire, a strip of fur in her hands. She was sewing something—small, focused movements, the kind that made her brow furrow. When she noticed his eyes on her, she looked up and gave a short, half-tired smile.

“Finally,” she said, voice soft but teasing. “You’ve been asleep for hours.”

Mark shifted upright, blinking the haze from his vision. His shoulders stiffened automatically before he forced them to ease.
“Yeah.”

She looked away, pointing toward the fire with her chin. “I made stew earlier, but it probably needs reheating.”

“Thanks,” he murmured. His voice came out rougher than he expected.

Instead of sitting beside her, he rose and walked toward the cleaned pile of clothes. Veronica watched him, one eyebrow lifting slightly in confusion.

He picked up the folded shirt—the one she’d spent so long scrubbing—and turned toward the cave mouth.

“Don’t get that dirty!” she called after him.

He almost smiled. Almost. The corner of his mouth twitched as he stepped outside.

The wind met him instantly, colder now that the day was fading. He walked a short distance away from the cave, shoe's crunching against the frost-hardened ground, before tilting his chin upward. The air stung as he lifted off, slow and heavy at first, then smoother once he broke through the first layer of thin clouds.

The world below stretched into stillness—white ridges, black stone, a thousand miles of quiet.

He landed a few minutes later on a narrow ledge halfway up the mountain. The rock face bore faint carvings—marks etched in uneven rows.

He stepped closer, tracing one with his fingers.

The grooves were worn, smoothed by wind and snow, but he knew each one by memory. They formed a pattern only he could read: a calendar of days since that day. Since Angstrom. Since the fight that had ripped through everything he thought he understood.

Seven months.

He exhaled, breath fogging in the cold air. His hand pressed against the stone.

“Seven months,” he muttered quietly to himself. “And I’m still here.”

His birthday had passed yesterday. He hadn’t meant to remember—but the number was carved into him as much as the markings on the wall.

He is now 22, Back home his mother used to light a single candle each year, no matter how old he got. She called it a silent tradition. Said it was for him—to mark another year of growing, of learning.

And she would tell a story for what that age mean if he lived on earth, he kept quiet about it but he liked when she told about it.

He could almost hear her voice again.

> “I want him to remember the small ages,” she’d said once, when his father scoffed at the idea.
“Viltrumites age slowly. You’re wasting sentiment,” Nolan had told her.
“Then let me waste it,” she’d answered with a smile. “He should know what it feels like to be human too.”

Mark’s throat tightened. He rested his forehead against the cold stone, eyes closing. The chill bit through his skin, grounding him.

He stayed like that for a long moment—just breathing, listening to the wind rush past the ledge, the world turning quiet again.

A soft ache tugged at his chest.

He wasn’t sure if it was from missing home, or from realizing that even if he found a way back, it wouldn’t be the same.

Night had come softly.
The snow outside glowed blue in the moonlight, pale flakes drifting like dust through the open sky. The wind whispered low, brushing against the cave mouth as if testing its warmth.

Veronica stirred the pot, watching the stew reheat over the fire she’d. The scent of cooked meat and herbs filled the air again, a small comfort in the deep cold. Every few minutes she glanced toward the entrance, waiting for the sound of his boots or the heavy drop of wings.

When he finally returned, it wasn’t with the steady confidence she was used to.
He landed quietly—too quietly. His steps were heavy, deliberate.
Something about the way he entered made her sit up straight.

“You were gone a while,” she said softly. Her voice carried over the crackle of fire. “I was starting to think you got lost.”

He didn’t answer at first, just took in the sight of her—the firelight catching the curve of her cheek, the soft fur draped over her shoulders, the bowl waiting beside her. His eyes lingered longer than usual before dropping to the flames.

“Didn’t mean to stay out that long,” he muttered finally, voice low and distant.

She studied him carefully. The air around him was different—colder than the wind outside. His jaw was tight, his eyes somewhere far away even as he stood a few feet from her.

“Hey.”
Her tone gentled. “You okay?”

He didn’t look up. “Yeah. Just… needed to think.”

“About?” she pressed.

Mark’s mouth twitched like he might answer, but the words stayed buried. Instead, he lowered himself to sit beside her. The fire popped between them. She handed him a bowl of reheated stew, and he took it silently, staring into it as though the surface might reveal something.

They ate quietly.
The only sounds were the scrape of spoons and the soft rush of wind outside the cave.

When they finished, she set her bowl down and wrapped her arms around her knees. “You’ve been quieter lately,” she said after a while. “Even for you.”

He gave a short breath— with a half sigh. “Guess I’ve had things on my mind.”

“You always do,” she said, a small smile forming. “You just don’t let anyone in.”

Mark looked at her then. Really looked at her. The faint light danced across her face, and something in his chest shifted—an ache, or maybe warmth, he couldn’t name. His voice came out rougher than he expected.

“I’m not used to having anyone around to talk to anymore.”

She tilted her head, eyes soft. “You’ve got me now.”

He blinked slowly, as if testing the words for weight.
She reached over, brushing his arm just lightly. “You don’t have to be alone in your head all the time, Mark.”

He didn’t pull away. The heat from her hand seeped through his skin, strange and grounding all at once. His heartbeat picked up—steady, deliberate, but heavier than before.

Her voice softened further, barely above a whisper. “Whatever it is that’s eating at you… you can share it. You don’t always have to hold the world up by yourself.”

He met her gaze then, and for a long moment, the air between them stilled.
It wasn’t firelight or cold or survival. It was just them—two people pulled together by circumstance, holding onto something they didn’t fully understand.

She leaned in slightly, instinct more than thought.
His eyes flicked down, then up again—searching, hesitant.

And before either could second-guess it, their lips met.

It wasn’t practiced. It wasn’t careful.
It was quiet and uncertain—like a breath shared, the world holding still around them.

When they broke apart, he froze.
Her pupils were wide; his breath came shallow.

Mark stared at her, eyes flicking between her lips and the fire. For a split second, he thought he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears—hard, relentless. But the sound grew louder, sharper.

“I…” he started, voice low and unsteady. “I hear something.”

Her brows furrowed. “Mark—?”

He was already standing, muscles tense, scanning the cave entrance like prey sensing movement. He couldn’t tell if it was danger or just his own pulse—his heart hammering against everything inside him.

Too many feelings. Too much noise.

“I’ll check outside,” he said quickly, stepping away from her.

Before she could stop him, he was gone—disappearing into the cold night air with a rush of snow and wind, leaving only the fading echo of the warmth of what they’d just shared.

Veronica stared at the empty cave mouth for a long time, the fire crackling behind her.
Her fingers lifted to her lips—still tingling, still unsure whether what just happened was a mistake, or the beginning of something neither of them could run from anymore.

Chapter Text

The cold hit harder outside.
The air was dense enough to taste—frozen and thick, every breath a drag against his lungs. Mark stood a few steps from the cave mouth, hands braced on his knees, trying to steady the rhythm that pounded through his body.

It wasn’t danger.
It wasn’t the wind.
It was him.

His pulse echoed like a drum inside his ears, loud enough to drown out thought. It rattled his bones, crawled up his throat, made his skin too tight. He looked up toward the pale-blue moons overhead, their light falling soft across the snow. He’d fought entire armies without breaking stride, but this—this strange, simple feeling—unraveled him.

Love, fear, instinct. He didn’t know the difference right now.

Mark straightened, dragging a hand through his hair, staring at the frost building on his breath. “What is that,” he muttered, the question more to the night than to himself. “Why—why does it feel like this?”

For a while, he just stood there, chest rising and falling, the noise in his head slowly fading into the quiet hum of the planet around him. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing into rhythm, the soldier in him trying to regain order, discipline—anything to make sense of it.

Then he heard footsteps. Soft, cautious ones crunching through the snow.

Her.

She stepped out from the cave wrapped in fur, firelight from behind her casting her silhouette against the snow. The look on her face wasn’t anger or confusion—it was something gentler, unsure.

She hesitated, arms crossed against the cold. “I didn’t—”

“It wasn’t a threat,” Mark cut in too quickly, voice rough.
He turned toward her, his cheeks a shade darker than the cold could explain. “I thought I heard something, but—” he exhaled sharply, eyes narrowing at the ground. “It wasn’t that.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but her. “My heart was beating too fast. I… I heard it through my own head.”

For a second, there was silence.
Then, she laughed—soft but sudden, like a spark.

He blinked, looking up.
Her shoulders shook lightly, eyes half-lidded with amusement. “Oh, that’s it?” she said, still giggling under her breath. “I thought it was something serious.”

Mark froze. Every instinct screamed to either run or vanish. “It felt serious,” he said stiffly, a little too defensive.

Her laughter quieted, a smile still lingering as she stepped closer. “I know. It’s okay.”

He looked at her then, really looked—how the snowflakes caught on her, how her breath fogged in the air between them. The distance closed slowly as she approached, her eyes searching his for something he couldn’t hide this time.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” she said softly. “You’re allowed to feel things, Mark.”

He swallowed hard, muscles tensing against a truth that felt too heavy to accept. “That’s not what we’re built for.”

Her hand reached out, resting lightly against his arm. “Maybe not. But you’re not just what you were built for.”

Her words sank into him like warmth seeping through cold metal. His gaze lowered to her hand—small, steady, alive. He didn’t move away this time. He couldn’t.

Her eyes softened as she tilted her head slightly, still close enough for him to feel her breath. “See?” she said, almost teasing. “Not so bad.”

Mark’s chest rose in a slow inhale, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself just… be. No mission. No control. No armor. Just the quiet between their heartbeats and the snow falling around them.

He gave a faint exhale that could almost be a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

She smiled, stepping back with that small victory glinting in her eyes. “And you’re bad at running from people.”

Mark’s lips twitched, but he didn’t deny it. The wind moved between them gently, as if even the planet itself was careful not to break the fragile peace that had formed there.

For now, that was enough.

They turned back toward the cave together, the warmth ahead flickering in welcome.
Inside the fire blaze as she moved towards him, "know you're new to this, so I'll ask this time."

He can start to hear his heart again, this time it's slow but loud he decided not to speak to answer her so he nods instead.

Her eyes met his—locked in a moment so still it felt like a dream .

She slid off her fur and set beside him instead, their thighs now touching.

The silence between them changed—thickened.

His thighs still clothed. She grabbed his shirt, fingers curling into the fur, and she pulled him to her.

"Can i-"

His eyes dropped—just for a second.

She watched him.

He stammered.
“yes… yeah,” he murmured, gaze flicking to her lips, then away.

The kiss wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t shy.

Her mouth moved like she was trying to undo him, and it worked. His breath hitched. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan into her mouth.

She could feel it.

So could he

Her nails grazed down his chest through the fur. She swung a leg over, straddling his lap without hesitation, settling on him like she knew he’d let her.

He did. Immediately.

Their hips aligned.

He let out the softest sound, like he didn’t know what to do with the pressure, the closeness—the want.

She kissed him again, slower this time, lips parting deliberately against his. Mark trembled.

He’d never been kissed. Let alone touched... like this. And gods, her —

Her thighs still bracketing his hips. His hands hovering like he didn’t know where to rest them, not wanting to break the spell

Hearts hammering, lips trembling as they pulled off his clothes.

Chest heaving. Sweat clinging to his skin from the fire. Fur tangled around his legs. And —
“Tell me if it’s too much.”

“It’s not,” he gasped. “It’s—you—you’re .”

Her mouth met his.

And he shattered.

His hands fisted digging into the ground. Body trembling. Words—muttered, gasped, moaned—

He was hard. twitching. aching.

Her hands slid back into his hair, tilting his head back slightly, and her lips on his neck .

It was hungry. Soft lips, hard kiss. Mark made a sound— restrained, wrecked and helpless—and his hands found her waist like instinct.

She pulled back

“I want to taste you.”

Not hearing anything but his heart, her heart as she slid his bottoms down and then

her mouth wrapped around him. He was gone.

Soft moans. Whispers. His fist created a hole in the ground.

She moaned against him, the vibration making him buck into her mouth, hand pressed to his lips to stifle the needy sound that tore out of him.

And he came, it was quick—chest heaving, hips trembling, whispering her name —she kissed his hip and looked up at him with heat still burning behind her eyes.

“I’m not done.”

She climbed back into his lap. Slid the rest of her own coverings down and Sank onto him slowly with a sigh that ended him.

Mark clutched her hips, overwhelmed, wrecked. “Oh—. You…”

“Tell me.”
She says forehead to his

“You” he trying to say words but stops, looking deep into her eyes hypnotized

She kissed his mouth this time. Slow. Deep. Sweet.

And she rode him—slow, intense, grounding—he said things he didn’t even process.

“—don’t stop—fuc—i—so good—”

He was babbling. Beautifully.

Up and down onto his lap, skin burning, wet heat sliding against his—

He choked out, helpless. He gripped her hips, rocked up into her, her name on his lips

Her breath caught at his sounds.

She didn’t slow down. But her grip tightened on his shoulders, his hips on her hips.

Overwhelmed he takes control unintentionally pushing up into her faster he can feel her clenching on him, he trying to continue but it's getting harder.

She grabs both of his shoulders and holds him as his speed gets too fast to keep up with.

She clenches one more time before she feels him

They came together—loud, messy, trembling.

And he leans back with her clinging onto his chest, his fingers laced with hers without thinking.

In the mist of trying to catch his breath everything goes black.

Chapter Text

She woke to warmth.
Real warmth—not the weak flicker of firelight or the scratch of fur against her skin, but solid heat pressed behind her back, steady and rhythmic.

It took her a second to realize why.

Mark’s arm was around her waist, the heavy weight of it keeping her anchored against his chest. His breathing was slow, deep, almost meditative. For once, his body wasn’t tense like a coiled wire. She blinked the sleep from her eyes and smiled faintly, the corner of her lips curling as she felt the slow rise and fall of his chest against her.

It was the warmest she’d felt since the world froze.

When she shifted slightly, he stirred—half awake already, his senses trained to wake at the slightest movement. His eyes opened, soft gold catching the faint morning light.

“Morning,” she murmured, teasing lacing her voice as she reached up and brushed her fingers across his cheek. “Best sleep?.”

A heated gaze flickered on his face, rare and unguarded. “The best,” he echoed, voice low, still heavy with sleep. Then, without warning, he tightened his grip and pulled her into a bear hug.

She let out a startled laugh. “Mark—can’t—breathe—”

He sniffs against her neck, and she felt the quiet rumble of it in his chest. For a second, it was easy to forget the cold outside, the danger, even the weight of the unknown planet pressing around them.

When he finally loosened his hold, she groaned playfully and sat up. “Okay, I have to make the stew,” she said, trying to wriggle out of the layers of fur.

Her stomach betrayed her with a low growl.

Mark raised an eyebrow, half amused, half guilty. “How about I make it?” he offered. His voice cracked slightly on the last word.

She turned toward him slowly, one brow arched. “You? Don’t make me laugh.”

He smirked, tugging her gently back toward him. “I’ve watched you make it.”

There was something different in his tone—deeper, a shade more confident—and it made her heart skip before she could stop it.

“Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes, though her lips betrayed a faint smile. “I’m not in the mood to cook anyway.”

---

The cave filled with the faint sounds of movement—Mark sorting through dried meat and herbs, Veronica watching from the furs as the smell of smoke and spice started to fill the air.

He wasn’t half bad. He moved with quiet precision, less like someone cooking and more like someone executing a mission. Still, there was something oddly tender in how careful he was not to burn anything.

She leaned her chin into her palm, eyes flicking toward their dwindling supplies. “We’re running low,” she said absently, reaching into the bag beside her.

He glanced back. “On what?”

“ Everything, well not meat of course.” She sighed, brushing her fingers over the small pouch of dried berries. “We can stretch it, but not forever.”

Her gaze drifted to the cave entrance—the world outside painted silver-blue beneath snow and sky. This can’t be the only part of the planet that’s like this, she thought.

Out loud, she mused, “You know… this area got cold, it probably has an area that has warmth too. I'm pretty sure we are on the part that has seasons. There’s gotta be a place where it’s warmer—maybe a coast, maybe even a island.”

Mark looked up from the stew. “A island?”

She nodded, smiling at the thought. “Yeah. Maybe water that isn’t frozen solid. Maybe different fruit trees, or fish. Just… something different. It’d be nice to see what this world actually has to offer instead of just caves and cliffs.”

When she didn’t hear a response, she glanced back.

He was watching her. The playfulness in her tone faded as she caught his expression—guarded, distant again.

“Mark?” she asked softly.

He blinked once and looked down, breaking the eye contact. “I see.”

His voice was quieter now, almost unreadable. He stirred the pot once, then went still, his entire frame seeming to pull inward. The energy between them shifted—like something closing off.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked, confused.

He didn’t answer, only offered her a faint nod as if to end the conversation. His shoulders were tense again, his jaw tight. The silence stretched.

She frowned, studying him for a moment before turning her eyes back to the fire. Maybe he just didn’t like the idea. Or maybe—she didn’t finish the thought.

She didn’t see the quiet resolve forming behind his eyes.

---

Mark’s POV

She wants warmth.
She wants something more than this frozen cave, this survival loop we’ve fallen into.

She deserves that.

Mark’s gaze flicked to her—still sitting near the fire, arms wrapped around her knees, her face lit by the faint orange glow. She didn’t know it, but every time she spoke of hope, of wanting more, something in him ached in a way battle wounds never could.

He turned his head toward the cave mouth, where the horizon cut clean against the clouds.

If there’s warmth somewhere on this planet, I’ll find it.
If she wants an island, I’ll bring her there.

It wasn’t a mission. It wasn’t an order.
It was a promise.

He looked back at her once more, quietly memorizing the way she sat—soft and alive against a world of ice. Then, without another word, he rose to his feet and walked toward the entrance, his breath steaming in the cold.

Tomorrow, he thought. I’ll start searching.

Chapter Text

Mark’s POV

She wants warmth.
He can’t fault her for that. This world has been nothing but cold since they landed here—biting winds, short days, and long nights filled with silence that echoes too loud in his head. Still, the thought that she might want to be somewhere else leaves a small, unnameable sting in his chest.

He doesn’t understand it fully. But he feels it.

“I’ll go look,” he says quietly, trying to keep his tone neutral.
Veronica studies him, brows pinched like she can sense the shift in his mood. “You don’t have to right away—”
“I’ll be quick,” he interrupts, already turning toward the mouth of the cave. The light from outside paints his shoulders in silver, his outline sharp and otherworldly for a moment before he steps out.

He takes off fast. The air hits him cold, the clouds hanging low like bruises over the horizon. He pushes through them, scanning the lands below—forests blanketed in frost, jagged mountains slicing through fog. He doesn’t stop until the chill fades from his bones and the air grows heavier, warmer.

A stretch of deep blue spreads beneath him. Water. And beyond it—a coastline glowing gold beneath an unfamiliar sun.
He hovers there, breath hitching. It’s beautiful. Alive.

He knows immediately this is what she was hoping for.

And the thought—I found it for her—fills his chest with an odd kind of pride.

When he returns hours later, the sky above their cave is dimming again. What would take him an hour to fly across a planet took hours in this world but he'll do it as many times if he must. He lands quietly. She’s sitting near the fire, stirring what’s left of the stew. The sight of her, relaxed in the firelight, pulls at something deep in him.

“I found it,” he says simply.
She blinks, looking up. “You did?”
He nods, kneeling beside her. “Far south. Warmer air, water everywhere. Feels…alive.”
She smiles, genuine and bright, and something in him aches with relief. “That sounds perfect,” she says softly.

The silence that follows isn’t heavy—it hums, warm and new.

She reaches out, resting her hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

He looks at her hand, then up at her. The firelight flickers across her face, and he feels his heart pound again—too loud, too strong. He thinks about the sound of it the night before, how it startled him. Now it’s back, but he doesn’t want to run this time.

He just breathes her in.

“You keep doing that,” she teases, smiling faintly.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like you’re trying to solve me.”
He huffs a quiet laugh. “Maybe I am.”

Her smile softens, the fire crackling between them. For a moment, it feels like the cold outside doesn’t exist anymore.

She looked at him with a heated gaze " we should get a move on either tomorrow or the next she says as she comes closer to him, he follows her form with a deep breath he grabs her waist so fast she chuckles a little before she placed a kiss on his lips.

A shudder wracked his entire frame. He surged forward, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was nothing like she’d imagined.

It wasn’t gentle. It was devouring. He kissed her like a man starved, his tongue sweeping into her mouth sloppy with no technique with a desperate heat that made her moan into him.

Her hands slid down his neck, over of his chest, feeling the thunderous beat of his heart under her palm. It was a frantic rhythm, so at odds with his controlled public persona.

She broke the kiss, pushing him down onto the fur. He went willingly, his body a compliant weight. She straddled his hips, feeling the hard, hot length of him pressed against her center. She leaned down, her lips at his ear. “I want to feel you again, mark.”
His hands came to her hips, his grip firm. “yes… right, now.”

That was all the permission she needed. She rocked against him, a slow, grinding motion that made him throw his head back, a raw, guttural sound tearing from his throat. His eyes screwed shut, every muscle in his abdomen clenching. God, he’s beautiful like this, she thought, he was undressed before she could blink unraveling just from this.

She made quick work of her own clothes, peeling away the layers until she was just as bare as he was. The sight of her above him made his breathing falter. His gaze was a physical caress, hot and worshipful, traveling over her breasts, her stomach, the junction of her thighs.

“Look at me,” she commanded, and his brown eyes snapped back to hers, wide and dark with need.
She guided him to her entrance, the broad head of his cock pressing against her wetness. She sank down onto him in one slow, inexorable motion, taking every impossible inch. He was so fucking hard, stretching her, filling her completely. A sharp, pleasurable burn gave way to a deep, aching fullness that made her see stars.

“oh, wait,” he choked out, his hands gripping her thighs, his knuckles white. “You feel… you’re so…”
“yes,” she breathed, starting to move, a slow roll of her hips. “Now be good for me. Be good and let me fuck you.”

She set a punishing rhythm, riding him with all her strength, each downward stroke driving a broken moan from his lips. His composure was gone, shattered into a million pieces. His hips bucked up to meet her thrusts, his body moving on instinct. The sounds he made were filthy, unrestrained—gasping, pleading, wordless cries of pleasure.

She leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest, and changed the angle. His reaction was instantaneous. A broken cry was torn from his throat, his eyes rolling back. “Right there!, right there, don’t stop!”
“mark” she purred, driving into that spot again and again, watching him come completely apart beneath her. “come inside me”
“Yes! I’m gonna—” His warning was a strangled gasp. His whole body went rigid, seizing up beneath her. His cock pulsed deep inside her, and she felt the hot, sudden rush of his release, wave after wave of it, flooding her.

His moan was long and deep, a sound of pure, unadulterated ecstasy that seemed to shake the very foundations of the cave. He collapsed back onto the fur, spent, his chest heaving.

She stayed seated on him, feeling his warmth inside her, feeling the aftershocks that still trembled through his powerful limbs. She ran a hand through his damp curls. He was ruined, beautifully wrecked, and completely hers.

Chapter Text

Morning —

When She wakes, the fire’s embers are low, and the air already feels sharper, colder than usual. Mark’s shadow moves at the edge of the cave—quiet, deliberate. He’s packing what little they have into bundles made from thick hide and woven cord.

“You’re really fast about this,” she says, voice groggy as she sits up.

He glances over his shoulder. His hair is a little messy, his expression unreadable but focused. “You said you wanted somewhere warmer,” he replies simply, cinching a pack closed.

She smiles faintly, rubbing her eyes. “I didn’t think you’d go full mission mode on me.”
“Didn’t want to waste time,” he says, tone almost shy.

He sets down another bundle, then moves to check the straps on the fur cloak she made. She notices how his movements are precise—almost too careful. Like he’s trying not to think about anything but the task.

“Hey,” she says softly, and he pauses. “You okay?”

He hesitates. Then nods. “Just thinking.”

“About?”
He meets her gaze, and for a second she catches something raw in his eyes—something he can’t name and she can’t quite read. “Making sure it’s safe,” he says finally.

That’s not all of it, she knows. But she doesn’t press. Instead, she stands and starts to help him, folding their spare furs, tying up the jars of dried herbs. They work in silence for a while—comfortable, rhythmic. The kind of silence that’s grown between them without awkwardness now.

When everything’s packed, she straightens and stretches. “So,” she says, “how do we do this? You flying me again?”

Mark looks her over—like he’s checking her weight in his mind, making sure she’ll fit against him without strain. “Yeah,” he says. “Hold tight this time. It’s a long flight.”

She snorts. “I did last time.”
“You squirmed,” he says, mouth twitching.
“I was cold,” she fires back.

That earns her a small laugh—one of the rare, warm ones that reach his eyes. She grins, savoring it.

As they step outside, the early sun cuts through the mist, pale gold over the frozen valley. Veronica takes one last look at the cave that’s kept them alive. For all the cold, it’s been theirs—a strange kind of home.

“Ready?” he asks.

She nods, stepping closer. “Let’s find our paradise,” she says with a smirk.

Mark crouches, and she climbs into his arms, her heartbeat steady against his chest. They lift into the sky, she feels the world drop away beneath them—ice and stone giving way to open air and sunlight.

They fly toward the horizon—toward warmth, toward the
unknown.

Cold air cuts around them as they rise higher, the wind sharp and biting at her cheeks. Veronica tucks closer against Mark’s chest, trying to keep warm. His heartbeat thunders steady beneath her ear—a sound she’s starting to find comforting.

They’ve been flying for hours. The mountains below shift into rolling plains, the icy white fading into dull brown and then hints of green. The air changes too—less brutal, carrying the faint scent of earth instead of frozen stone.

“How much farther?” she yells over the wind.

Mark glances down, then up at the horizon. “Not far. I can feel the temperature shifting.”

She smiles against his chest. “You can feel temperature shifts now?”
He huffs out something close to a laugh. “I always could.”

She looks down, air whipping in her face, and her stomach flips—not from fear, but from the sheer height, the speed, the fact that the only thing between her and the sky is him.

She tilts her head to look up at him. “You’ve gotten better at this.”
“I told you,” he says. “I adapt.”

Something about the way he says it makes her think of more than just flying.

Minutes stretch. The sun climbs higher. When the wind softens, she feels the first wave of warmth—subtle but unmistakable. “Mark,” she says, excitement creeping in her voice, “it’s warmer!”

He nods, curving his head slightly. “Told you.”

Below them, patches of green spread wider. She can see glimmers of water—streams, maybe even small lakes. Not frozen. Her eyes widen. “There,” she points. “Near those cliffs—it looks perfect!”

He dips lower, angling to slow their descent. Warm air rushes up around them, thick and humid compared to the icy heights they left behind. Her ears pop as they drop altitude, and her laughter spills out freely this time.

When they land, the ground is soft under her boots—moss and soil instead of frost. A low hum of insects fills the air. She spins once, arms open. “Oh my god, it’s alive down here!”

Mark watches her quietly, his chest rising and falling slower now. “It’ll do,” he says.

She walks over and nudges his arm. “Admit it. I was right to ask.”
“You were,” he concedes. “You usually are.”

Her smile softens at that. For a long moment, they just stand there, letting the sunlight touch their faces.

“Let’s set up camp here,” she says finally. “We’ll make something real this time—no more freezing every night.”
He nods. “I’ll get materials. You pick the spot.”

As he turns to lift off again, she catches herself watching him longer than she means to—watching the way his body moves, the faint glint of light off his eyes before he disappears into the sky.

Something in her chest tightens, warm and happiness.

Mark’s POV

The jungle air was heavy—thick with heat, alive with noise. Mark moved through it with a quiet focus, arms full of long branches and slabs of bark from fallen trees. Each step pressed into the damp soil. The humidity clung to the air.

He lifted his head when a shadow crossed over him. Reflex. His muscles tensed as his eyes tracked the movement above the canopy—something large gliding against the sun. A creature—birdlike, but not quite. Massive wings, scaled legs, a tail that flicked as it soared.

Right. He almost forgot.
This world have beasts.

The thing circled once, letting out a shrill cry that echoed through the trees before banking toward the distant cliffs. Mark followed its movement until it vanished, then exhaled through his nose. His hand tightened on the branch he held.

He wasn’t worried about Veronica. She could take care of herself. She’d proven that over and over. But something in him—it stirred anyway. That deep, primal urge that said: protect her.

He didn’t like how instinctive it felt.

By the time he broke back through the treeline into their clearing, the air around their chosen camp shimmered faintly with heat. Veronica was kneeling near the rocky incline, palms pressed to the ground, small sparks of light rippling from her fingertips.

She turned when she heard him, her curls sticking slightly to her neck from the humidity. “You’re back fast,” she said, eyes bright.

“Didn’t finish,” he replied, setting down the materials. “Something’s flying nearby. Big. Be on the lookout.”

Veronica arched a brow, half-grinning. “Big like… dinner big? Or big like run-for-your-life big?”

“Big like don’t test it, but nothing I can't handle” he said simply.

She hummed, standing and dusting off her hands. “Noted.”

He looked around at the spot she’d chosen—higher ground, shaded but not dark, overlooking the lush stretch of green below. Smart. He didn’t have to say it. She already knew.

Then he noticed the faint glow still radiating from her palms. “You’re using your powers again.”

“Yeah,” she said, looking down at her hands. “Had to keep them tied down when it was cold. Took too much energy keeping my body warm, but now…” Her fingers flexed, and the light pulsed in response, golden threads spiraling between them. “Now I can breathe again.”

He watched the energy twist and flicker, curious despite himself. “Feels different?”

“Feels alive again,” she said softly, then looked up at him. “Like the planet woke me up too.”

He nodded once, though something in his chest tightened again—something he didn’t want to name.

“Come on,” she said, brushing past him to grab some of the wood he’d brought. “If we’re going to live like jungle royalty, we’ll need shade, fire, and something resembling a roof.”

He followed, watching her every move without realizing he was doing it.
The pulse in his chest came back again, faint but steady.
That urge—the one that said keep her safe—hadn’t faded at all.

Chapter Text

The ground was hot enough to make the air shimmer. Every step sank slightly into the soft soil, leaves sticking to her ankles. She dragged a bundle of vines toward the half-formed frame Mark was putting together. He’d already stacked the thicker branches in a neat pattern, all clean angles and purpose.

“You sure you’re not secretly an architect?” she teased, tossing the vines down beside him.

Mark grunted—not quite an answer, but close enough. He tied one end of a vine and pulled it taut, the muscle in his arms flexing as he bent the branch into place. The structure creaked but held.

She crouched beside him. “You know, I could’ve done that.”

He gave her a side glance, short and flat. “You said you wanted it to stay up.”

“Wow,” she said, half laughing, “you’ve been hanging around me too long. That was sarcasm.”

A flicker of something—almost a smirk—crossed his face before disappearing again. He moved back, testing the tension of the frame, while she started weaving the vines through.

They worked in silence for a while. The jungle wasn’t quiet, but it felt… peaceful. The hum of insects, the distant call of animals, the wind moving through trees taller than any city tower she’d ever seen.

When she finally looked up, he was already watching her.

“What?” she asked, brushing a leaf off her arm.

“Nothing.” He went back to work, pulling a long branch into place.

She didn’t push. She could feel it though—something different in him. The old stiffness was still there, but less like stone and more like something he hadn’t figured out how to relax. He’d changed. The quiet wasn’t cold anymore; it was just… him thinking.

“You know,” she said, sitting back and wiping sweat from her forehead, “we’re not doing bad for two people stranded on a dinosaur planet.”

He looked over, brow raised. “That what you’re calling it now?”

“You got a better name?”

He paused. “No.”

“Then dinosaur planet it is.”

She smiled when he didn’t argue.

Mark stepped away from the half-built shelter and looked up through the treetops. The light bled orange through the canopy, the last of the day filtering over them. Sweat and dirt streaked his skin, his jaw shadowed with stubble. He looked every bit like what he was—someone built for survival—but for the first time, there was something human in his expression too.

He turned back toward her, handing her one of the larger fronds. “Use this. It’ll cover the top better.”

She took it from him, brushing her hand against his fingers by accident. He looked at her hoping she can read his thoughts—a fraction of a second was all he needed, but enough.

“Thanks,” she said, not paying attention to his puppy eyed stare.

He nodded once, eyes flicking away.

By the time the sun dropped, their shelter looked like something alive—woven vines, heavy fronds, and bark layered to block the wind. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt like home.

Veronica leaned against one of the posts, breathing hard. “Not bad,” she said, smiling at him. “You might just be good at this domestic thing.”

Mark crossed his arms, looking at their work. “You talk a lot for someone who didn’t help with the roof.”

She gasped. “Excuse me?”

He smiled again, just enough for her to catch it before he turned away to gather the leftover supplies.

She followed him a few steps closer, shaking her head. “You’re lucky you’re strong, because I’d bend you for that one.”

He stopped mid-step, glanced back over his shoulder, and said low, “You could try again.”

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then she laughed, tension easing again as she picked up another armful of leaves.

The morning light filtered through the gaps in the leaves, scattering golden shapes across the shelter walls. Warm air rolled in with the scent of wet earth and fruit. For the first time in weeks, Veronica didn’t wake to shivers.

She stretched out beneath the woven roof, her limbs slow and heavy from sleep. The steady rhythm of breath nearby drew her attention—Mark, already awake but still lying down, his eyes half open and fixed somewhere beyond the shelter entrance.

“You didn’t sleep long, did you?” she murmured, sitting up.

He glanced at her. “Didn’t need to.”

“You always say that,” she teased softly. “But I think you just like to watch the sunrise.”

His eyes shifted toward the opening again, the corner of his mouth twitching faintly. “It’s quiet then.”

She smiled, watching the way the light touched his face. His expression was calm, almost at ease, but she could sense the constant hum behind it—the mind that never fully stopped moving.

“Breakfast?” she asked, shaking the dust from her hands.

He nodded and pushed himself up, She gathered a few fruits from their stash, slicing them open while he went to check the fire pit. The smell of smoke rose again, mixing with the sweetness of the fruit.

It was strange how normal it all felt now.

Weeks ago, their lives had been nothing but chaos—cold, hunger, fighting to breathe in a world that didn’t want them. Now, there was rhythm. They met in the middle without ever saying they had to.

“You still want me to find an island?” he asked, his voice quiet as he knelt by the fire.

She looked up, surprised he brought it up first. “Uhm. Sure, here is nice, so it's not an issue or any- .”

He cuts in, not looking at her. “I’ll find it.”

“mark i—”

“I know,” he said, cutting her off gently. “I just will.”

She studied him for a moment, the lines of his shoulders shifting in the sunlight. There was something protective in his tone—something new.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

He turned, meeting her gaze for a brief second before standing. “You’ll see it soon.”

The way he said it made her chest tighten. He wasn’t promising for comfort—he meant it.

---

Mark’s POV

He could hear her humming faintly behind him as he stepped outside. The sound was small but real—.

He moved through the brush, testing the air. The jungle’s heat pressed down heavier now, but it didn’t bother him. Not like the cold had bothered her.

Every motion she made—cooking, fixing, tending to things—reminded him that she’d adapted differently. She wasn’t built to dominate the world like a Viltrumite; she was built to live with it.

And yet, she was surviving just as well as he was. Maybe better.

Mark crouched beside a thick root and pulled a few long vines loose. They’d need more for reinforcement when the wind came through again. But his hands stilled when he noticed movement above him—a shape gliding through the air.

A large bird, its wingspan enormous, caught the light. The creature circled once before vanishing into the canopy.

He followed its path with his eyes, feeling that same instinct tighten in his chest. Not fear—something older. The urge to protect.

He forced himself to focus on the vines, bundling them together. She could handle herself. He knew that. But that didn’t stop the thought from repeating anyway. He wondered if his father ever felt like this behind his strict exterior.

---

By the time he returned, Veronica had the stew reheated and two wooden cups filled with fruit juice she’d pressed herself.

She glanced up, brow arched. “You were gone a while.”

“Just checking the perimeter,” he said, setting the vines down. “Didn’t finish scouting. There’s movement above still— just those big birds-

She nodded, unconcerned. “I’ll be fine.” cutting him off, he gets more and more protective each day.

“I know,” he said, quieter. Then, after a pause: “But be careful anyway.”

Her smile softened, small and genuine. “Always am.”

He sat across from her, watching her stir the stew, the fire crackling low between them. For a long moment, neither spoke.

The jungle buzzed around them, alive and unknowable—but for now, it felt like theirs.

Chapter Text

The air was always heavy here. Thick with humidity that clung to their skin, with the soft buzz of life that never stopped. Even the quiet had a pulse in this jungle. Morning came with no need for clocks — only the deep amber spill of light through the canopy and the soft rustle of creatures waking, in the months they been here they had got used to it, better than the quiet cold they had got away from.

Even mark had grown used to it. The rhythm, the heat, the silence between them. For months it had been only the two of them — surviving, hunting, building, sleeping. At first the silence was a threat. Then it became comfort. Now, it was something else entirely — something stretched thin.

He stood near the stream that ran close to their shelter, crouched by the water, washing blood from his hands. The metallic scent still clung to him from the hunt earlier. The creature he’d brought down — one of the larger reptilian grazers — would’ve lasted them weeks. It was supposed to, at least. But Veronica’s appetite had changed.

At first, he’d teased her about it — watching her devour portions bigger than his, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, grinning when he called her “feral.” Now the joke didn’t land. The food disappeared faster, and so did her energy.

She slept longer. Her skin glowed but she has signs of sickness. He remember when his mother got sick she called it a cold but due to the medicine they had it didn't last more than 2 days. But this, this is different. Her mood — unpredictable.

He stared at his reflection in the stream, the wild tangle of his hair, the sharper line of his face. Months here had hardened him, but what gnawed at him wasn’t survival anymore. It was her.

Behind him, a soft sound — a groan. He turned immediately.

Veronica stood barefoot at the entrance of their shelter, wrapped in one of the makeshift blankets they’d stitched from animal hide. Her expression hated but faintly amused when she caught him watching.

“You’re doing that look again,” she said, voice rough. “The one that says you’re about to tell me how to breathe properly.”

He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. “You should be resting.”

“I’ve been resting. For two days.” She stepped toward him, wobbling a little as she moved down the uneven slope. “If I rest any longer, I’ll start growing moss.”

He didn’t smile. “You’re sick.”

“it was bad meat, and environmental changes.”

“We've been here for a while now.” His tone carried that sharp edge — the one he only used when he was trying to keep fear out of it.

She sighed, dropping to sit beside the stream, dipping her hands into the cool water. Her fingertips trembled slightly, but she ignored it. “It’s just bad meat, Mark. You said yourself those birds could’ve been carrying something.”

“I said they could’ve, not that you definitely—”

She cut him off with a look. “You think I don’t notice how you watch me now? Like I’m one of those animals you study before you shoot it.”

That hit deeper than she probably meant it to.

Mark’s jaw tightened. He sat across from her, elbows on his knees. The distance between them felt wider than the stream.

“You’ve been… different,” he said quietly. “I know you can handle yourself. But you’re not okay. You can’t keep pretending it’s nothing.”

“And what exactly am I supposed to do about it?” she asked, not unkindly, but tired. “Go to the pharmacy? Call a medic?”

He didn’t answer. He just looked at her, the muscle in his jaw flexing once.

They stayed like that, locked in silence, until a bird’s call broke the tension.

---

Later, when the sun began its climb to the top of the sky, Mark worked on repairing one of the shelters — a task that had once been theirs together. Veronica usually talked while they worked: sarcastic comments, theories about what kind of animals would evolve into, questions about his past that he never fully answered. Now she sat in the shade, quiet, watching.

She hated being still. Hated feeling fragile.

Her powers had been off since the sickness started — she could still feel the hum of energy under her skin, but every time she tried to use it, it turned sluggish, like trying to light a fire underwater.

And the hunger.

That was the strangest part. Her body demanded more — food, rest, warmth — as if something inside her was feeding on it faster than she could supply. She didn’t tell Mark that part. She couldn’t.

He was already too careful, too watchful.

When she glanced up again, he was staring at her, pretending not to be. He’d been doing that for days — working with one eye on her like she might vanish if he blinked too long.

She wanted to tell him to stop. To stop hovering. To stop treating her like she’d break. But the truth was… she liked knowing he cared that much. It made her feel tethered.

Still, something about the way he looked at her now was different — cautious, like he was calculating something.

“Mark,” she said finally, voice soft but cutting through the hum of insects. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were scared of me.”

He froze for half a second, then straightened, brushing dust off his hands. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He turned toward her fully this time, eyes unreadable. “I’m not scared of you. I’m scared for you.”

That should’ve calmed her, but it didn’t.

She stood, slower than she wanted to, and crossed to him. The closer she got, the more she saw how much he’d changed too — leaner, rougher, eyes darker than she remembered. Survival had carved something new into him.

“You don’t have to fix everything,” she murmured, reaching out to touch his face. “I’m not dying.”

He caught her wrist gently, lowering it. “I don’t know what’s happening to you. That’s the problem.”

She smiled faintly, the kind of smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Then maybe stop watching for it and start trusting that I’ll be fine.”

He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But instinct didn’t care about reason.

---

That night, he woke to the sound of her breathing. Shallow. Uneven.

The fire outside their shelter had burned low, casting the space in flickering red light. Veronica was curled beside him, her skin damp with sweat, her body trembling. He reached for her, pressing a hand to her shoulder — too warm.

“Hey” he whispered, shaking her lightly.

Her eyes opened, slow and unfocused. “I’m fine,” she rasped.

“You’re burning up.”

“It’s just a fever. Go back to sleep.”

He didn’t.

He sat up, pressing a damp cloth to her forehead — as if something so simple could help. The whole time, his mind ran in circles: what did this to her? Was it the bird meat? Some toxin? A mutation?

Her hand caught his wrist suddenly, weak but firm. “You’re doing it again,” she murmured. “Looking like the world’s ending.”

He met her gaze — glassy but sharp beneath the fever. “It feels like it might if you don’t get better.”

Something in his voice cracked then. Something he’d been holding in since the first day she’d gotten sick.

Her grip loosened. “You worry too much.”

“You scare me too much,” he said, almost to himself.

That shut her up.

She stared at him for a long moment, eyes searching his face, before whispering, “You weren’t supposed to care this much, Mark.”

“Too late for that.”

Silence fell again — the heavy kind that holds too many words unsaid.

She shifted closer, her head against his shoulder. “You’re stuck with me, you know.”

He let out a shaky laugh, brushing sweat from her face. “That was never the problem.”

Outside, the jungle sang its strange, endless song. Inside, he stayed awake long after she drifted off, watching her chest rise and fall, counting each breath like it was borrowed.

And beneath the quiet, something dark and unfamiliar twisted in his gut — not fear this time, but recognition. Whatever was happening to her wasn’t ordinary.

He just didn’t know yet what it meant.

Chapter Text

Mark had never liked counting time.

It made things feel heavier, slower. But somewhere in the back of his mind, the numbers stayed anyway. Eleven months. That’s how long it had been since they’d first got trapped here, first learned the rhythm of this place, first stopped seeing each other as enemies. Eleven months since he’d started keeping track of her breathing without meaning to.

Now, the rhythm was off.

He’d been watching her again — though he tried not to. It wasn’t the kind of watching he used for predators or the pulse of danger beyond the trees. This was closer, quieter. The kind that came with worry he couldn’t switch off.

She was different.

The Girl he’d met here had been sharp-edged and unshakable, eyes full of defiance even when covered in bruises, voice steady when she told him what she thought. The Veronica he’d come to know over the past months laughed at him when he tried to ration food, argued about sleeping schedules, and called him “mission control” whenever he got too serious.

But the one lying half-curled in their shelter now? She cried because he brought the wrong fruit.

Mark sat beside her now, the firelight crawling over his hands as he peeled the last bit of skin off a root vegetable. He could still see the moment in his head — her turning, holding the fruit he’d picked, her expression flickering from surprise to confusion to tears. He’d stood frozen, knife in hand, utterly lost.

He tried to push the thought out of his head. She’s sick. That’s all.

He’d told himself that a hundred times.

“Humans are emotional pests.” The words echoed from memory — sharp, clinical, belonging to a voice that no longer had power here. It had been drilled into him once: emotion clouds judgment, emotion leads to ruin. But when he looked at her, trembling and red-eyed, the phrase turned to ash.

She’s not weak, he thought. She’s just… different.

He reached for the damp cloth beside the fire and pressed it gently to her forehead. Her skin had cooled but she complained that she was still hot, but her breathing was uneven, caught between sleep and awareness.

Mark’s fingers lingered longer than they should’ve. He hated how unfamiliar this felt — he accepted that he had change but caring too much, worrying too much. He could almost feel it cracking something in him.

Even his father acted a little different when it was just them around especially towards his mother. He implied the noticable difference once, to his father.

Father stated that "humans are emotional investments" he said coldly before turning "even you before you were to get your powers, going hard on you would have caused stagnation"

And than turned towards him fully "one thing very different about humans, their emotions and health runs side by side, of course their too primal to remember that.

He rose quietly, pacing near the shelter entrance. Outside, the night hummed with life — insects, small reptiles, the distant cry of something winged. He scanned the jungle automatically, but his mind wasn’t on defense. It was on her.

The Girl he knew wouldn’t have cried over fruit. Wouldn’t have looked at him with glassy eyes and whispered that she was sorry for being a burden. Wouldn’t have flinched when he brushed a hand over her face, as if she didn’t recognize him for a heartbeat.

Something was wrong. Something deeper than illness.

He sat down again, elbows on his knees, running his hand through his hair. He tried to list symptoms like a mission report:

Elevated body temperature — fluctuating.

Emotional volatility — increasing.

Sleep cycles — irregular.

Physical appetite — high, then none.

Energy readings — unstable.

But none of it explained why she sometimes stared off for minutes at a time, or why her eyes seemed to shimmer faintly in low light.

Mark glanced at her again. She was half-awake now, murmuring something incoherent. He leaned closer, but the words slipped away, lost between breaths.

“Just sick,” he muttered again.

If he said it enough times, maybe he’d believe it.

---

Veronica

When she woke, her head felt stuffed with fog.

The ceiling of the shelter swayed lazily in her vision, the dim light of dawn breaking through the cracks. Her throat was dry, her body heavy. She groaned, turning onto her side — and froze when she saw him sitting there, staring at her like he’d been awake all night.

Mark.

He had that look again. The one that made her chest ache a little — tight-lipped, brows drawn, eyes soft even when his mouth wasn’t.

“I’m alive,” she croaked.

He didn’t smile. “You worried me yesterday.”

Veronica blinked slowly, trying to piece it together. Then it hit her — the fruit.

“Oh god,” she whispered, covering her face with her hands. “The fruit.”

He tilted his head slightly, confused.

She couldn’t stop herself — a weak laugh bubbled up, half-hysterical, half-embarrassed. “I cried,” she said through her fingers. “Because you brought the wrong fruit.”

He didn’t answer right away, just gave her that unreadable look. “You were upset.”

“Mark, I was sobbing. Over fruit.”

He stared. “You’re sick.”

“I think I’m losing my mind.”

For a second, his lips twitched — not quite a smile, more like something caught between relief and disbelief. She could tell he wanted to say something reassuring, something logical, but logic never helped her when her emotions were spinning like this.

She sighed, sitting up slowly, the blanket slipping down her shoulders. “You look like you’ve been awake all night.”

“I was.”

“Of course you were.” She smiled faintly. “Mission control never sleeps.”

He almost smiled back this time — almost. “You were burning up again.”

“it was hot.”

He gave her a skeptical glance. “You said that last time too.”

“Yeah, but this time I mean it.” She leaned back against the wall of the shelter, letting her hair fall loose around her face. Her limbs still felt heavy, but her mind was clearer — clearer enough to see how much tension lived in his body lately.

He looked like a coil pulled too tight, ready to snap.

She softened a little. “Mark.”

He looked up.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “For yesterday. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I just… I can’t seem to control it. One minute I’m fine, and the next—”

“Tears,” he finished for her.

She chuckled, cheeks warm. “Yeah. That.”

His gaze softened, but only slightly. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Maybe not. But I don’t like scaring you.”

“You didn’t scare me.”

“Liar.”

He didn’t deny it that time.

Something in her chest loosened. The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable — it just was, humming softly between them like the steady beat of the jungle outside.

She studied him for a moment, how his hands never stilled even when he wasn’t doing anything, the way his jaw worked when he was thinking too hard. He’d changed too. Obviously, faint but visible. His hair had grown longer, wilder. He looked more… real somehow.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

He hesitated, eyes flicking to hers. “That maybe it wasn’t the meat.”

Her stomach turned. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been off for weeks. Before you ate it.”

She frowned, trying to think back — but her memory blurred. The days all melted together lately. The warmth, the exhaustion, the strange waves of energy that left her trembling.

He saw her confusion and leaned forward. “I’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, like a promise.

“I’m not dying,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“Then stop looking at me like I am.”

His jaw tightened again, but he didn’t argue.

---

Mark

He’d gone back to the stream later, when she’d finally fallen asleep again. The water ran clear over his hands as he rinsed the fruit — the right fruit this time — and stared down at his reflection.

He hated not knowing. He’d always been the one with the answers, the one who fixed things, controlled outcomes. Now, every instinct he had screamed that something was happening inside her, something beyond sickness.

And the worst part? A small part of him was afraid it was his fault.

Maybe something in a jungle had changed her. Maybe that bird he’d hunted months ago carried something neither of them could fight. Maybe the constant exposure to whatever energy pulsed through this jungle was affecting her differently than him.

He looked back toward their shelter — her silhouette faint in the morning light.

He could still remember the first time she laughed at him — really laughed. He’d told her the wrong name for a plant, and she wouldn’t let it go for days. She’d made this place feel less like exile and more like something that could almost be a life.

Now that laughter sounded distant.

He crouched, scooping a handful of water and letting it fall through his fingers. His chest felt tight again — that same pressure he’d been fighting for months, the one that came when she was too close or when she smiled without realizing.

He thought he understood what it was now.

It wasn’t weakness. It wasn’t distraction. It was what the old voices used to warn him about — emotion.

He smiled faintly to himself, almost bitter. “Pest,” he murmured under his breath. “Guess they were right.”

But even as he said it, he knew he didn’t mean it.

---

later on

When he came back, she was pretending to be asleep.

She could feel him set something down beside her — the soft rustle of leaves, the faint thud of fruit. His movements were careful, measured, but there was always that energy beneath them — like he didn’t quite know what to do with his hands when he wasn’t fighting something.

He paused beside her, just long enough for her to feel his gaze again.

I’m okay, she wanted to tell him. I’m not going anywhere.

But her throat caught before she could say anything, and she just listened to the sound of his breathing instead — steady, grounding, familiar.

This world had changed them both, she thought. But maybe it wasn’t all bad. Maybe this — the fear, the tenderness, the quiet — was what survival looked like after all.

Chapter Text

Weeks passed, and Mark was still trying to find rhythm again.

He’d tried to convince himself that things were back to normal. The strange shifts in her energy had slowed. Her laughter had come back — soft, genuine, almost hesitant, like she didn’t quite trust it yet.

But Mark couldn’t shake the feeling that something underneath was still wrong.

He’d spent every dawn for the last few weeks testing small samples — soil, meat, the strange purple moss that grew on the trunks. He couldn’t explain why he kept doing it. Maybe because he needed something to blame. He would slice small samples from another big bird the same creature they’d hunted a while ago that she claims had bad meat, he had them prep in different ways to watch for decay, waiting for patterns, discoloration, any sign of infection.

Nothing.

The readings were the same as the day he took them. This planet was stable — breathable, livable, predictable.

So why did she still feel like a mystery he couldn’t solve?

He sat now on the edge of the jungle clearing, the air dense and warm around him, trying to focus on anything but the thoughts clawing at his mind. The distant hum of creatures lulled him into a light rhythm as he cleaned the knife with careful precision.

He’d learned to adapt to the noise here. But lately, it was harder. The noise pressed against his head like static, making him hyper-aware of every shift, every sound — and especially of her.

He looked up when he heard her approaching.

Veronica was walking toward him, a strip of dried meat in her hand, her expression calm for once. There was a softness to her movements, an easy rhythm that made his chest ease for the first time in days.

the sun brush against her shoulders, catching the filtered sunlight. She looked… peaceful.

He felt something in his chest unclench — a quiet relief, fragile but real.

Then he froze.

For a second, he thought he heard something. A sound buried under the normal noises of the jungle, faint and irregular. It made him lean forward without realizing it, eyes narrowing, listening closer — not with his ears, but with the sharpened senses that came from decades of conditioning.

Her heart.

Its rhythm was steady, calm. But underneath it, something faint. Something else.

He went still, his mind splitting into a dozen quiet calculations. It wasn’t an echo — not quite. It was slower, softer, as if there was another faint thump beneath hers.

Impossible.

She sat beside him, not noticing his stiffness. He felt the shift of air when she moved — the warmth of her skin brushing faintly against his arm — and then that scent.

Sweet. Always sweet. But now it was mixed with something heavier, grounding, alive in a way that stirred his instincts until his throat tightened.

He forced his jaw to unclench. His hand twitched on his knee.

“Something wrong?” she asked, breaking into his thoughts.

“No,” he said too quickly.

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t push. She just bit into the dried meat, looked out at the jungle, and sighed like she was content.

Mark stayed quiet. His mind, however, was racing.

He waited until nightfall to let himself think about it again.

Veronica had fallen asleep against him, her breathing even, her head resting on his arm. He stayed still for a long time, staring into the fire until the coals began to dim. The jungle whispered beyond their shelter, a soft lull of insects and faraway birds.

He should’ve felt tired, but sleep didn’t come. Not anymore.

He could hear it again.

The faint sound. Not hers — not quite. It came from her, yes, but separate, just barely overlapping with her pulse. It was steady now, rhythmic, faint but distinct.

He leaned closer, breath held, focusing.

Thump.

His own heartbeat stuttered in response.

He tried to steady it — to separate the sound from the pounding in his own ears — but the harder he listened, the more his own body responded, syncing, thundering. His pulse raced so hard that for a moment he couldn’t tell which one belonged to him anymore.

He tore himself away, standing abruptly, nearly tripping over one of the furs.

Outside, the night air hit him like a shock. He dragged a hand through his hair and stared up at the canopy, chest heaving.

It wasn’t possible. There was no logical explanation for it. He’d tested everything — the air, the soil, the food. Nothing should’ve changed her physiology like that.

So what was it?

He tried to analyze, to make sense of it. Maybe her body was adapting differently to this planet’s atmosphere. Maybe the meat had done something after all. Maybe it was a parasite — no, too stable for that. Maybe—

His thoughts broke apart.

The truth was simpler. He didn’t know.

He stood there until dawn crept through the treetops, the faint gold light scattering over the leaves. When he finally went back inside, she was still asleep, curled into the furs with one hand over her stomach.

He looked at that hand longer than he meant to.

---

Veronica

The next morning, she noticed it right away.

He was off again.

Mark was always a little quiet, but this was different. His movements were sharper, distracted — like someone who’d started to walk toward a goal and forgot what it was halfway there. He’d pick something up, stare at it for too long, then set it down again. His eyes flickered toward her every few minutes, but he never said anything.

She squinted at him, chewing a piece of fruit slowly.

“Okay,” she said finally, waving a hand in front of his face. “Hello? You don’t hear me?”

He blinked and turned his head sharply, like waking from a dream. “Sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was jus—”

She leaned forward. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“The zoning-out thing. You only do that when you’re thinking too hard, or when you’re about to drag some giant animal carcass back here.”

He looked away, mouth twitching. “Neither.”

“So what, then?” she pressed.

Mark hesitated. He could feel her eyes on him, studying, waiting. Every instinct screamed at him to deflect, to keep it to himself until he was sure.

“I was listening,” he said finally.

“For what?”

He stayed silent.

Her brows furrowed, a mix of confusion and mild irritation. “Mark,” she said slowly, “if you tell me there’s something out there, I swear I’m not eating the fruit again.”

He couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him — quiet, almost foreign. It startled her enough that her eyes softened.

“I’m not sick,” he said.

“Didn’t say you were. But you’re acting like you inhaled too much smoke last night.”

He smiled faintly, a rare expression that almost didn’t fit his face. “I’m fine.”

“Sure.” She took the fruit he passed her, still suspicious but willing to drop it for now. “You know, one day, I’m going to actually believe you when you say that.”

He didn’t answer.

Her teasing faded when she realized he wasn’t eating. He was just watching her again, eyes darting between her face and something else — lower, like he was tracking her movements without meaning to.

“What?” she asked, half-defensive. “Do I have something on me?”

He shook his head quickly, looking away. “No.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“…Listening.”

That word again.

She stared at him for a long moment, then sighed. “You’re weird.”

He glanced back at her, a flicker of something — maybe guilt — in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I know.”

---

Mark

He didn’t mean to keep it from her. But how did he even explain it?

He’d been trained to observe patterns, to detect the slightest variations in sound, in breathing, in blood flow. His senses were too sharp to ignore what he’d heard.

But the implications… he couldn’t accept them.

He sat near the edge of the stream that evening, staring at his reflection again. His hands rested on his knees, open, tense.

If he wasn’t mistaken — and he rarely was — then what he’d heard inside her wasn’t an echo or a parasite. It was a rhythm, steady, separate.

Alive.

He clenched his fists. The thought made no sense. Not here, not under these conditions. He tried to reason it out, count back the months, the patterns, the timing — but his mind spun itself into silence.

He’d faced death countless times. He’d destroyed worlds. But this? This made him feel something he didn’t have a name for.

Fear, maybe.

Not of danger — but of change.

He looked back toward the shelter where she's at, her silhouette faint against the glowing light inside. He didn’t know how to tell her what he thought. He wasn’t even sure he believed it himself.

But that sound — that faint, second heartbeat — refused to leave his mind.

Chapter Text

Veronica’s POV

Her fingers brushed against the bottom of the woven basket, searching for the dried fruit she was sure she’d left there. Instead, her fingertips met something soft—familiar. She frowned, digging deeper until she pulled up the small strip of fur.

She froze.
Her throat went dry.
The strip was something she used every month for her cycles—until she hadn’t needed it.

Her mind went blank for a few heartbeats, then the realization began to unspool like a fuse catching light.
Wait... no. No, that can’t—
Her breathing quickened, chest tight. She’d been so focused on survival, on keeping warm, on staying sane with Mark, that she hadn’t even noticed her body’s quiet rebellion.

Her vision went distant.
The fur strip felt heavy, heavier than anything she’d ever held.

From outside, Mark heard the sudden spike of her heartbeat.
It was sharp, panicked—he could feel it through the air, the rhythm of her pulse syncing briefly with his own. Without thinking, he was at the doorway, his large frame filling it like a shadow.

“hey?” he called softly, voice laced with alertness.

When she didn’t answer, he crossed the space in two strides. His eyes, those impossible soft brown eyes, scanned her. Her chest was rising too fast. She looked… startled, lost even.

He placed a cautious hand on her shoulder.
“You alright? I hear your hea—”

Her eyes darted up, wide. “Y-yeah! I just—remembered something.”

He studied her. She was lying. He could see it. Her pupils were too dilated, her breath uneven. His instincts screamed to dig deeper, he would want her tell him everything especially when she is ill, but the last time he’d pushed her while she was upset, she’d gone silent for days.

“Remembered something?” he asked slowly.

Before he could press further, she moved—quick, nervous energy flooding her limbs. “I just ran out of my favorite fruit!” she blurted, forcing a smile. “You know, the—uh—the red ones with the little black seeds.”

He tilted his head, skeptical. Then, as if some internal switch flipped, his expression shifted from suspicion to determination, remembering when she cried because he messed up, not wanting to see the hurt, not fully understanding the emotions. “Right. I’ll get them.”

Before she could even open her mouth, he was gone—darting out into the jungle with that impossible speed that gave her whiplash now, even when she's gotten used to, so many times she saw it but now it's different.

The hut was silent again. The only sound was the faint echo of the wind through the woven walls and the pounding of her heart still trying to calm.

Veronica let out a slow, shaky breath.
She looked down at the strip of fur still clenched in her hand.

“...How could I miss those signs?” she whispered to herself. Her voice sounded strange in the quiet, smaller somehow. 'I’m pregnant.'

The words felt unreal—like they belonged to someone else.
She sank to the floor, legs weak beneath her.

Images flashed through her head:
Her crying over fruit. The sudden cravings. The bone-deep fatigue. The way her powers had dulled, her body redirecting everything inward. She thought it was from moving from one environment to the next so her body had to adjust. The meat. A strange illness.

But it wasn’t.
It was life.

Her hand went to her stomach almost instinctively. There was no noticable bump yet, but somehow she could feel it forming and the presence—a subtle hum under her palm,
Tears welled up in her eyes, but not from sadness or fear. It was something beyond that—an ache so deep it felt overwhelming.

“Do I tell him?” she whispered aloud.

The question hung there. The air felt heavy.
Mark wasn’t exactly… gentle with emotional things. He cared, but he was also bred for control, for logic. The word pregnant would short-circuit everything in that rigid brain of his.

She imagined his face—jaw tightening, eyes darting, confusion flooding in before he masked it with that soldier-still stare.

“Yeah, no,” she muttered to herself, wiping her cheek. “He’d probably think it’s a disease before a baby.”

Her laugh came out half-hysterical.
“I’ll tell him,” she said softer this time, like a promise to herself. “But not now. I’ll wait till I can… prove it. Till I can feel sure.”

She tucked the fur back into the basket, covering it with dried leaves.
Outside, she could hear faint movement—the rustle of branches, the distant whoosh of air. Mark, moving through the trees, tracking fruit like it was a mission.

Her chest tightened again.
“He’s going to make a terrible dad,” she said under her breath, smiling through her tears. “But maybe… a good one, too.”

---

Mark’s POV

He ran faster than sound through the underbrush, but his thoughts kept tripping over themselves.

That look on her face. The lie. The fear. He replayed it again and again, analyzing every flicker of her expression like a code he couldn’t crack.

Was it the sickness again, she would tell me?
No, her pulse wasn’t fever-fast. It was different—shocked, emotional.

His hand flexed around the fruit he’d found. He’d grabbed too many, of course, a pile overflowing in his arms. If it kept her from looking that pale again, he’d bring a forest of them.

Still, something gnawed at him.
She wasn’t herself. The woman he’d survived with for nearly a year—the one who scolded him for breaking baskets, who snorted when he tried to make jokes—was steady, sharp, resilient.
This new Veronica was… softer, somehow. Too soft.

When he returned, he saw her sitting outside, staring into the trees like they were whispering secrets. She smiled faintly when she saw him, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

He crouched in front of her, laying the fruit between them.
Her hand brushed his for just a second, and that strange, warm thrum filled his chest again—the same one he’d been hearing faintly for weeks. The one behind her own heartbeat.

He almost asked her about it right then.
Almost told her he’d been staying awake listening for it.
But something told him not to.

So instead, he said the only thing he could manage:
“You like these.”

She smiled, and for a fleeting moment, everything felt normal again.

---

Later That Night

The fire crackled low, painting soft gold across the hut walls.
Veronica was asleep beside him, curled close, her breath even.

Mark lay awake. Again.

That second heartbeat was there—faint, rhythmic, like the echo of a drum deep in a cavern. It wasn’t hers. It wasn’t his. He could feel it like a vibration in the air.

He turned on his side, watching her. His hand hovered over her stomach without touching.

There.
The faintest pulse of something new.

His mind raced through possibilities.
Some kind of infection? Parasitic contamination? No—he’d scanned her dozens of times, her vitals were fine.

He swallowed hard. His chest ached. There was no protocol for this—no training in his entire existence that could explain it.

And yet, something in him knew.
Something primal, something that wasn’t taught but felt.

He stayed like that for a long time, just listening.
Trying to name the sound.

---

Veronica’s POV

She stirred in the middle of the night, half-waking to find him still beside her, still tense. His eyes were open, wide in the dark. Watching. Listening.

“You okay?” she whispered groggily.

He blinked, almost like she’d startled him. Then he forced a small nod.
“Yeah. Go back to sleep.”

She reached over and touched his face.
“can I help you go to sleep,” she murmured.

Mark didn’t answer. His eyes flicked down to her stomach, just for a moment—too quick for her to catch.

She smiled when his eyes met hers and he nods she gets up
And he lay there, still and silent, heart pounding. She lifts up to straddle him and began to grind against him, her folds wet with desire. Marks was rock hard, and he couldn't help but moan with pleasure.

She pulled off her crafted gown. Mark couldn't help but stare, his eyes filled with lust, forgetting all his previous concerns. She leaned forward, taking his lips before he stuck his tongue into her mouth.

He lifts them upright slides his hands in-between her legs to reach into his pants to pull his hard on out, she grabs his hand helping guiding inside of her. They both gasped as he felt her warm, wet slit envelop him.

She began to ride him, her hips moving in a steady rhythm. Mark moaned with pleasure, his hands gripping her hips as she moved up and down.

Their bodies moved together in perfect harmony, their moans and gasps filling the room. Mark felt himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his balls tightening with pleasure.

She could feel it too. She could feel mark's dick swelling inside of her, ready to explode. She leaned down, gripping his shoulders as he takes slight control.

He's going hard and fast again she's trying to catch up as the feeling invades her senses she puts her face in his neck "I can't-,. I - I love yo-" He froze, hearing it right, but that was too much that was all it took. Mark's orgasm ripped through him, his dick pulsing inside of her as he filled her with his seed. She moaned with pleasure, shaking her own orgasm crashing over her.

With that he holds her close before falling backwards.

Chapter Text

Morning

Veronica’s POV

The morning came with that lazy kind of light — soft, golden, slipping between the leaves like it was too shy to be seen. I blinked awake to the slow rhythm of Mark’s breathing beside me. For a moment, it almost felt like nothing was wrong, like the past day hadn’t been filled with questions I was too afraid to ask.

He was already awake, of course. He always was.
Mark didn’t sleep so much as he shut down in short cycles, his mind never really resting. His hand rested against the fur blanket, fingers tapping idly, head slightly tilted like he was already lost in thought.

I turned on my side, just looking at him. He didn’t notice right away, too deep in that calm, focused silence of his. His jaw had relaxed — that rare, peaceful kind of stillness that only happened when he forgot to act like a soldier.

Something in me softened.
I could stay in that moment forever, watching him.
But then the reminder hit me like a pulse through my own chest — 'you have to tell him'.

I sighed quietly, rolling onto my back. So many thoughts were bouncing in my head, bumping into each other, scattering before they could form into words.
How do you even say something like this to someone like him?

Every time I got close — every time the words I might be pregnant reached the edge of my tongue — something else came out. Something stupid, like are you hungry? or you missed a spot when you were fixing the roof.

It wasn’t fear of him exactly… it was fear of what it would do to him. He lived in the world like everything could be managed, studied, solved. A baby wasn’t a problem to solve — it was chaos, it was life, and Mark didn’t do well with those kinds of unknowns.

I turned to look at him again.
He caught my gaze this time. His lips twitched — almost a smile. “Morning,” he said, voice low and even.

“Morning,” I murmured back, forcing a faint grin.
The air between us was calm, but fragile. Like glass.

Maybe… maybe I could ease into it.
I didn’t need to tell him everything right away. Maybe I could start with something small — something that would open the door to him seeing more for us.

Something about us.

---

Mark’s POV

She was quiet today. Too quiet.

Veronica wasn’t the type to hold her tongue when something was on her mind. Usually, I could count on her to fill silence with chatter, or questions, or laughter at my failed attempts at humor.
But this morning… she was softer. Distant in a way that made my chest ache without understanding why.

Her pulse fluttered under her skin like wings, and I found myself tuning into it before I realized I was doing it. It had become a habit — listening to her heartbeat like a compass, a sign that things were still safe.

Except… it wasn’t steady.
It skipped. Rose. Dropped.

She was thinking about something heavy.
Something she didn’t want to tell me.

By midday, I decided we’d eat early. Maybe food would make it easier for her to relax — or maybe it would give me a chance to figure out what she was hiding.

I’d hunted one of her favorite animals that morning — tender, easy to cook, the kind that always made her hum quietly when she ate. She didn’t hum this time, though. Just stared at the fire, poking at the meat with a small stick, lost in her own head.

The silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavy.
I could feel her trying to say something.

Then, she looked up at me suddenly. Her pulse jumped.
“I know you don’t like talking about this,” she said, voice quiet but firm. “But can you tell me — well, not all of it — but how you were raised?”

I blinked.
That was not what I expected.

Her eyes flicked away immediately, nervous. Her hands twisted in her lap.
I placed the food down carefully. My stomach turned cold.

This couldn’t be what she’d been wrestling with all morning. There had to be something more behind the question — there always was with her.

Still, I saw the effort she was making, the way her shoulders tightened like she was stepping into something vulnerable. So, if this was the door she wanted to open, I would walk through it.

Even if it hurt.

I cleared my throat, staring at the fire.
“I was raised…” The words came out rougher than I meant. I stopped, adjusted, and tried again. “Differently.”

"You could say that again" she says trying to light the conversation.

I paused for a long moment. The flames danced in her eyes. She didn’t look away this time.
“The early days with my mother weren’t so bad,” I continued slowly. “She… cared. Or, I think she did. But once my powers developed, things changed.”

I drew in a deep breath, jaw tightening.
“My father had to make sure I was made to be… efficient. Perfect. Obedient.”

Veronica’s expression softened, her fingers gripping her knees.
I almost stopped there, but once the door cracked open, the rest spilled out whether I wanted it to or not.

“Emotions were treated as… contamination. A threat to control. Especially towards the Viltrumite empire.”

Her brows furrowed, and I could see the questions lining up behind her eyes.
“So, you weren’t allowed to… feel?” she asked carefully.

I gave a small, humorless laugh. “Not unless it made us stronger. Compassion, love, even curiosity — those were distractions. Weaknesses that could be exploited. We were trained to suppress them, to erase them if we had to.”

Her lips parted slightly. “That sounds… lonely.”

“It was,” I admitted, surprising myself. "I was trained under conquest for a while" she looked at me confused “ one of the strongest viltrumites known to the empire"

"That's his name?" she whispers

I nod "I remember him saying I was lucky to get one,.... A name. Saying he was a victim to his own success. And that one day if I conquer and complete many missions that maybe my name will be forgotten and I too will be known for/ as the conquer" he says stiffly

"I took notice that even my own people only talked to him when it was needed, they too kept a certain distance."

"The ongoing missions away from what little I knew or the small weird custom my mother had, I started to feel... I guess it by myself."

"He told me i might have a distant urge out there, but that just means I was succeeding"

“But you didn’t realize it was loneliness until you had something to compare it to.”

Her gaze softened further. “Like now.”

That quiet statement hit harder than it should have.
I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because she was right. I’d been feeling things — strange, unstoppable things — ever since she came into my orbit. And now, those feelings had spread through every corner of my mind like roots breaking through old stone.

---

Veronica’s POV

He was opening up. Really opening up. I didn’t want to interrupt, afraid if I breathed too loud he might shut down again.

But seeing him like that — shoulders drawn tight, words sharp and careful — hurt in a way I didn’t expect. He always carried himself like someone unbreakable, someone born to be in control, but now I could see all the fractures under the armor.

And the worst part was that I understood him more than I wanted to admit. I’d learned to shut off too — not in the same way, but close enough. You survive long enough in chaos, you start confusing numbness with strength.

He finally looked up, meeting my eyes again. There was something raw there.
“I didn’t think about it much until here,” he said quietly. “You’ve made me… think. About things that don’t have answers.”

I smiled faintly, heart twisting. “You make it sound like that’s a bad thing.”

He tilted his head, studying me the way he always did when he was trying to decode something. “It’s not bad,” he said eventually. “It’s just… new.”

New.
That word hung in the air between us — heavier than it should’ve been.

New feelings. New fears. New life.

I pressed my palms together, forcing myself to speak before I chickened out again. “Mark, I—”

His gaze sharpened instantly, all focus on me.
I swallowed hard, pulse jumping so fast I knew he could hear it.

“Never mind,” I blurted, looking away. “Just—thank you. For telling me.”

Coward.
I wanted to hit myself for that one.

But he nodded once, a quiet acceptance in his eyes. “Anytime,” he said softly.

He leaned back, stretching his arms a little, the tension fading from his shoulders. I could see a small piece of peace settle over him, the kind that only came after saying something you’d buried for too long.

And maybe that was enough for now.
Maybe today wasn’t the day for my secret.

Because the way he looked at me — gentle, curious, a little less guarded — told me that we were both still learning how to be together, in our own broken ways.

---

Mark’s POV

When she thanked me, something shifted.

I didn’t realize how heavy those memories were until I let them out. And now that they were gone, I could breathe easier — even if just a little.

I caught her staring at me again as the fire dimmed. Her eyes were softer than before, her heartbeat steady but full, like the sound of waves. I didn’t ask what she’d been holding back. I’d learned that if something mattered, she’d tell me when she was ready.

Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the question wasn’t just curiosity.
She was hiding something — something personal, maybe even painful.

But for now, she smiled. And that was enough.

---

Veronica’s POV

As dusk painted the sky, I watched him stoke the fire, his hands moving slow and deliberate. The same hands that could break stone if he wanted to, now being careful not to crush a stick.

The man who once saw emotion as weakness was sitting there trying to understand it, for me.

I reached for his hand without thinking. He blinked, then let me take it. His fingers were rough, — but his grip was careful, almost tender.

“Thank you,” I whispered again, this time meaning more than just his story.

He nodded once, eyes holding mine longer than usual. “You’re welcome.”

I smiled, heart swelling with something too big to hide anymore.
Soon, I’d tell him everything.

But now, I just leaned against him, and for the first time in a long while, I let myself feel safe.

Chapter Text

The next day passed quieter than either expected. The air felt alive hummed low and drowsy around the clearing, birds droning faintly beyond the treeline. Smoke from the fire pit twisted upward in lazy ribbons, carrying the smell of char. Veronica sat on a fallen log with her knees pulled up, chin resting on them. Mark was nearby, kneeling as he cleaned the remainder of the meat from the hunt, methodical in the way he sliced, rinsed, and set things aside to dry.

It should have felt peaceful.
But it didn’t.

A strange silence sat between them. Not uncomfortable, exactly — just thick. Like both of them were aware of something rising beneath the quiet, but neither could find the words to call it out.

Veronica’s eyes lingered on him. There was something unreadable in his face again — that distant composure he slipped into when his mind was somewhere else entirely.

He was careful, though. Every movement was softer, slower. He’d been that way since the talk last night. Like he was afraid of startling her.

And she appreciated it, truly. But it also made her chest ache. Because it reminded her that behind his strength, his power, his impossible control — he was still trying to learn how to just exist around her without the shadow of what he was raised to be pressing in.

---

She exhaled quietly and finally broke the silence.
“Can I ask you something?”

Mark looked up briefly from what he was doing, his dark eyes meeting hers. “You always can.”

She hesitated, her throat tightening before she spoke. “Do… Viltrumites have kids easily?”

He blinked. The knife in his hand stilled mid-slice.
The question caught him so completely off guard he almost looked humanly awkward for a moment — that flicker of surprise, confusion, something deeper.

He set the knife down. “Why do you ask that?”

She shrugged, but it was the kind of shrug that said I’ve been thinking about this for hours. “I don’t know. Just… curious. You’re always talking about strength and legacy. I figured your people would value, you know, continuing the line.”

Mark gave a slow nod, then exhaled through his nose. “They do. But… it’s not that simple.”

He leaned back slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes on the dirt. “I was the youngest. The only one of my generation, actually. My father once told me that for a long time, the Empire controlled how many children were born. Who could have them. Everything had to be… calculated.”

Her brows pulled together. “Calculated?”

“Compatibility. Bloodline strength. They paired people based on what would make the strongest offspring. Not love. Not choice.” His tone was calm but edged with something sharp. “When I asked him why, he said the Empire had to pick the best compatibility, and that with humans…” He paused, glancing at her. “It would only ever be for pure-blooded Viltrumites.”

Veronica frowned. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Mark turned back to the slab of meat, his expression tightening. “It means I didn’t get the next phase of my mission to know those details.”

The words came out clipped, almost defensive — a reflex, like muscle memory. He kept cleaning, his jaw locked.

But Veronica wasn’t satisfied. Her mind was spinning with implications she didn’t want to fully name. “So, what — you don’t think they wanted hybrids like you?”

His hand stilled again. For a long time, he didn’t answer.
When he finally did, his voice was low. “No. They didn’t.”

Her stomach dropped a little at the bluntness. The air between them shifted — thicker, heavier.

Mark straightened, wiping his hands on the cloth beside him. “My father told me I was a test. A demonstration. That if I failed, the Empire would never try again.”

There it was — the quiet tremor beneath the words. Not anger. Not even sadness. Just something hollow that had been buried too long.

Veronica swallowed. “That’s not fair.”

He looked up at her again, his expression unreadable. “Fairness doesn’t exist where conquest is the goal.”

That silenced her.

The fire crackled softly. A breeze passed, stirring her hair.

---

She tried to think of something else to say, but before she could — something strange hit her nose. A scent.

It was faint at first, then strong enough to make her flinch slightly.

The meat.
She didn’t know why, but suddenly the smell of it — that raw metallic tang mixed with smoke — hit her like a wave. Her stomach flipped. Her pulse spiked.

Mark noticed immediately. His eyes narrowed, head tilting slightly. “ are you-”

She blinked rapidly, forcing a smile. “I—uh, I’m fine. Just… it smells stronger than usual.”

But her breathing gave her away. He could hear it, even before she realized she was panting lightly. Her pupils dilated; the faintest sheen of sweat broke along her temples.

Mark’s instincts flared instantly — not predatory, but protective. He was beside her in a heartbeat, one hand at her back, the other steady on her arm.

“You’re not fine.”

She tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. “I’m—really, it’s just the smell—”

“hey.”
His tone was low, stern, almost command-like — but gentler than it used to be.

Her body betrayed her before she could insist again. Her skin felt too warm, her heartbeat too loud. She couldn’t focus. It wasn’t panic, exactly — just heat. A strange flush crawling beneath her skin that made her want to press closer to something solid.

“I don’t— I don’t know what’s—”

Mark didn’t hesitate. He scooped her up in his arms, her legs instinctively curling toward him as her head dropped against his shoulder.

“Hey—!”

“You’re overheating,” he said, already carrying her back toward the shelter. His voice was calm, but his pulse — the one she could hear through his chest — betrayed the flicker of concern.

“It’s fine,” she murmured weakly, trying to sound casual. “Maybe I just—stood up too fast or something.”

He glanced down at her, unimpressed. “You were sitting.”

“…Then I stood up in my mind,” she muttered faintly, and he almost smiled despite himself.

Still, he didn’t set her down until they were inside. He laid her gently on the bed, kneeling beside her. His hand brushed her forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“It’s not—”

He gave her a look that stopped her mid-sentence. “Don’t say it’s nothing again.”

Her eyes darted away. “Fine. Then it’s something that’s also nothing important.”

“Hey.”

She sighed and sank back against the bedding, cheeks flushed. “I told you, it’s probably just my body being weird, okay? Maybe it’s that fruit we ate. Or the air here. Or—”

“Or the fact that this happened last time the symptoms started,” he interrupted quietly.

That made her pause. Her breath caught slightly.

He was right.
The last time her body had started reacting this way — the racing heart, the heat, the sudden sensory overload — it had been the beginning of….

Her thoughts scrambled. “That’s different. That was— that was emotional.”

Mark raised a brow. “And this isn’t?”

She stared at him. The intensity in his eyes was too much. It wasn’t accusation — it was understanding. Recognition. Like he knew something she didn’t want to admit.

Her chest rose and fell too fast. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know what’s happening before I do.”

“Maybe I do,” he said softly, leaning a little closer.

She swallowed hard, then turned her face away. “You always think you do.”

He didn’t push. He simply stayed there, silent, close enough that she could feel the faint warmth of him radiating through the space between them. His presence steadied her pulse a little — not completely, but enough.

After a moment, she spoke again, voice quieter now. “You ever think about having kids?”

That froze him. Completely.

His gaze dropped to her, expression shifting through half a dozen things before settling on confusion again. “That’s… a strange follow-up question.”

“I know.” She rubbed her temple. “It’s just— if your people treated emotions like contamination, what would they think about creating life? About something that messy?”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes flicked to the floor, then back to her. “I don’t think they think about it that way at all. To them, a child isn’t life. It’s legacy. A soldier to inherit a cause.”

“And what about you?”

He hesitated, muscles in his jaw tightening.

“I never thought about it.”

She frowned. “Never?”

He shook his head slowly. “Never had the space to. Everything I did was about surviving, proving, fighting. Children never fit into that. They were just… variables.”

She exhaled softly. “That’s kind of sad.”

“Maybe.” He met her gaze again. “But if you’re asking if I’d ever want them — I don’t know. I don’t know what kind of world I could bring them into. What kind of father I’d be.”

Something softened in her expression. She reached up, her fingers brushing his wrist lightly. “Probably better than the one you had.”

He looked at her hand against his skin —human, warm — and his throat worked once before he murmured, “That’s not a high bar.”

She smiled faintly. “Still counts.”

For a while, they just stayed like that — neither talking nor moving much. The air between them eased again, quiet and oddly intimate. The storm in her body began to calm; the trembling slowed.

Eventually, she leaned her head against his arm. “Sorry for asking heavy things lately. I just keep thinking too much.”

He huffed softly, the sound almost fond. “Thinking too much is better than not thinking at all.”

“Depends on what you’re thinking about.”

He turned slightly, meeting her eyes again. “Then maybe you should tell me.”

She smiled tiredly, curling closer. “Maybe later. Right now, I just need to stop feeling like I’m on fire.”

He gave a quiet hum in response, one hand brushing along her shoulder gently. “Then rest. I’ll keep the fire low.”

---

The hours slipped by after that. The meat cooled, untouched. The sound of the forest filled the silence again — rustling leaves, soft hums of distant wildlife.

Mark stayed close. Not hovering, but near enough that if she stirred, his shadow would shift with her. His thoughts were tangled — not just about what she’d asked, but what her body seemed to be doing.

Every time she moved, he could hear her pulse — fast, fluctuating, unpredictable. Something about it made him uneasy, but he didn’t know if it was worry or instinct.

When she finally fell asleep, he exhaled, leaning back against the wall beside her. His eyes drifted to the sky through the narrow window slit.

He thought of his father again — of the way he’d once spoken of human fragility with disdain. And yet here he was, watching over one, heart twisting at every breath she took.

He didn’t understand it. But he didn’t want it to stop.

Chapter Text

The air was thick that night—heavy, almost wet with heat. The jungle outside hummed its midnight song, low and deep, while the firelight flickered faintly against the walls of their shelter.

Mark sat half-awake, half-alert, his body still but his mind in motion. He had learned long ago that rest and safety were not the same thing. Even now—after nearly a year on this planet, after everything—they weren’t.

She stirred beside him. Her skin was damp, her breathing uneven. The tiny sound of distress—barely a whimper—pulled him instantly upright. He turned, his expression sharp, instincts snapping to life before reason caught up.

“her?” he said quietly, reaching out.

She blinked, disoriented, before curling forward, clutching her middle. The fire’s glow painted the tears streaking down her cheeks. “It’s happening again,” she whispered, voice breaking. “It’s worse this time.”

Mark froze. For weeks, he had watched her fluctuate between exhaustion, appetite, and nausea. He had hunted differently, cooked differently—tried everything differently—to help her stabilize. But now, seeing her body tremble and her face twist in pain, something in him uncoiled.

He moved beside her, gathering her into his arms.
“Breathe,” he said, his tone quiet but firm, almost command-like. “Just breathe, for me.”

She tried. Gods, she tried. But the sound that came out of her chest wasn’t breath—it was a sob. “I can’t keep pretending it’s nothing—”

Mark tensed. “Pretending what?”

Her eyes met his. Firelight swam across them, trembling and bright. She swallowed hard, trying to form the words. “You have to promise you won’t… react. Just—listen.”

That alone told him it wasn’t good. But he nodded anyway. Slowly.

“I’m not sick, Mark.”
He blinked, confusion overtaking the alertness in his face. “Then—what—”

“I’m going to have a baby.”
He looked up at her "wha-"

"I'm pregnant."

The words dropped like a stone between them—fast, heavy, and final.
For a long moment, Mark didn’t move. His chest barely rose. The sound of the fire seemed to fade until there was nothing but the distant rumble of his heartbeat in his ears.

“Pregnant,” he echoed, more breath than voice.

She nodded, tears spilling again, but softer this time—like a release. “I didn’t want to tell you until I was sure. I kept denying it because… I didn’t know how you’d take it. You’ve been watching me like I was fragile, and I didn’t—”

Mark stood abruptly. Too fast.
The motion startled her.

He took a step away, hand dragging through his hair as if he could pull the thought out physically. His breath hitched once. “That’s not,” he muttered. “You’re sick. I’m—” He stopped, words knotting.

“Going to be a father?” she finished quietly.

He turned, eyes flashing with something raw—fear, confusion, guilt. “We don’t—We weren’t designed for—” He broke off, pressing a hand against his temple, like trying to block something. “i was made to conquer, not—”

“Not love?” she said, voice trembling but steady enough to cut through.

He looked at her then, really looked. The woman who had stood by him, fought beside him, slept in his arms through the coldest months. Her face was tousled, her eyes swollen from tears, but there was strength in her gaze that made him feel small.

Mark exhaled sharply and crouched down, elbows on his knees, head hanging low. “I don’t even know what I feel right now.”

She shifted closer, hesitant. “Then start with what you do know.”

His head lifted, and she saw his eyes—burning, conflicted, vulnerable in a way she’d never seen. “I know I hear two heartbeats when I’m near you.”
Her breath caught.

“I thought I was imagining it. Thought something was wrong with me. But it’s real.” He looked down at his trembling hands, frowning as though they betrayed him. “That sound—it’s… it’s not supposed to be possible.”

Veronica’s throat tightened. She reached out, her palm resting gently over his hand. “Well, it happened.”

He stared at their joined hands—his much larger and foreign, hers small but grounding. The warmth of her touch seeped through, disarming the cold precision in his chest.

Finally, he looked at her again. “Are you scared?”

“Yes,” she said honestly. “But not of you.”

That hit something deep. His jaw tensed, his throat bobbed with the weight of emotion. “I don’t know what kind of life it’ll have… with me as a father.”

She smiled faintly through tears. “Maybe not the one your father imagined. But definitely better.”

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes softened—hesitant, careful—before he leaned closer, cupping the side of her face. The gesture was slow, reverent. His thumb brushed the trail of her tears.

“When I first landed here,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “I thought surviving here without a purpose without a mission, that it was the hardest thing I’d ever do.”
He paused, his gaze lowering to her stomach before lifting again. “Now I think… this might be.”

Her lips parted in quiet awe—half laughter, half cry. “You’ll figure it out.”

Mark’s hand lingered, then he bent forward, pressing his forehead against hers. Their breaths mingled—unsteady, warm, real. The fire popped behind them, filling the silence that followed.

She didn't say the word “love,” but it was there—between the pulse of her heartbeat and the second, smaller one he could hear faintly beneath.

He finally exhaled, his voice softer than she’d ever heard it.
“Then we protect them. Whatever happens.”

She smiled weakly, her tears finally stilling. “Together.”

“Together,” he repeated.

For once, the word didn’t sound foreign on his tongue.

The night was louder than usual.
Every chirp and rustle outside the shelter felt amplified against the silence in Mark’s head. The fire had burned down to embers, the orange glow painting faint lines across the cave walls and her sleeping form.

She slept deeply now, one hand resting lightly over her stomach. Her breathing was slow—peaceful. The kind of peace that Mark could never quite find.

He sat at the cave entrance, knees drawn up, his eyes fixed on the stars beyond the canopy. They were different here. Wrong, somehow. The constellations didn’t mean anything to him. No reference points. No north. No home.

Home.
The word felt like a lie now.
Wasn’t home supposed to be safe?
He had never known that kind of safety—not from his father, not from his kind.

A low exhale escaped him. He pressed his palms against his eyes. “A baby.” The word still felt strange on his tongue, alien and fragile all at once. He could still feel the faint echo of that second heartbeat in his ears.

A part of him—one trained, drilled, engineered—kept whispering that this was wrong. That a Viltrumite’s purpose was conquest, not creation. That attachment was a weakness, emotions a liability.

But another part—smaller, human, stubborn—kept saying her name.

That part of him remembered the way her laughter warmed the cave during storms, the way she slept curled close during cold nights, the way she looked at him like he wasn’t a weapon but a man.

He dragged a hand down his face, whispering to no one, “What are you doing to me?”

His thoughts betrayed him, flicking to his father. Nolan would’ve seen this as failure. An infection. He could almost hear the man’s voice, deep and commanding:
You’re a Viltrumite, Mark. You don’t love. You lead.

Mark clenched his jaw until it ached. He wanted to tear that voice out of his head.

Because the truth was—
He...he love her.

The realization hit him like a punch. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, trying to breathe through it. It wasn’t the clean, victorious kind of love he’d seen in human stories. It was messy, terrifying, disorienting. It burned and healed at the same time.

He looked back toward the sleeping woman behind him.
Her face softened in dreams. Her hand still rested over the life growing inside her. His. Theirs.

Something inside him broke open quietly. Not in pain—just in surrender.

“I don’t know how to be this,” he whispered to the night. “A father. A… person.”

No answer came, just the hum of the jungle.

He stayed there for a long time, until the first hints of morning touched the horizon. The stars faded one by one, and for the first time in months, he felt something shift inside him—not power, not rage, but resolve.

He turned back toward her sleeping figure and said softly, as if to the air:
“I won’t be him.”

The words hung there, steady and firm.
A promise.

Chapter Text

Mark had barely slept.
He could feel exhaustion behind his eyes, like static humming under his skull, but his mind refused to let go. Every time his body tried to fall into rest, his brain repeated the same phrase in different ways.

I’m going to be a father.
She’s carrying my child.
There’s life growing because of me.

He had died in battle before, torn through atmospheres, fought armies—and yet none of that had ever made him feel so terrified.

The early light slanted weakly through, touching the cracks of their home in gold . She was still asleep, curled on her side beneath layers of furs, her breathing deep and steady.
He could see the faint flutter at her throat when she exhaled. So small. So human.
And yet, that small body held something far stronger than he could ever comprehend.

He moved quietly, careful not to wake her. His strength made every movement deliberate—his fingers flexed cautiously, his weight shifted slow. It felt strange to handle everything as if the air itself might bruise her. But this morning, he was patient.

He reignited the fire first. The embers were almost out, but a bit of dry moss caught the spark easily. Soon warmth crawled back through the space, licking at the edges of the morning chill. He watched the orange reflection sway across the walls and thought about how, not so long ago, fire only meant destruction to him. Now it meant safety.

She stirred once, a quiet sound escaping her lips. His head turned immediately, instinct sharper than he liked to admit. When she only sighed and shifted, he released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

He stood and stepped outside. The air hit him—warm and thick with the humidity of the jungle. Mist curled off the leaves, birds screamed overhead. Everything on this planet seemed bigger, heavier, louder than his head.
Still, this world had become theirs in some quiet, accidental way.

Mark wasn’t hunting today. Not for food, not for defense. He was looking for something softer—material to make her more comfortable.

He found broad leaves slick with water-resistant coating, vines that twisted like rope, and moss that smelled clean and earthy. It wasn’t much, but his arms filled quickly.
He caught himself thinking, she’ll like this one, and shook his head. Since when did he care what moss smelled like?

He realized, almost with a jolt, that he was nesting.
The word sounded ridiculous, almost laughable. Viltrumites didn’t nest—they conquered, they built fortresses, not comfort.

His father would have sneered at him for even thinking it.
But Nolan wasn’t here. And for once, that absence didn’t ache—it felt freeing.

He imagined making her a better place to sleep—something softer, safer. Somewhere their child could exist without feeling an inch of the hard ground beneath them.
Their child.

The phrase hit him every time like gravity. He could tear mountains in half, fly through molten skies, but this—this was what made his hands tremble.

By the time he returned, Veronica was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. Her whole looking like she just got out of battle, messy and human and beautiful, knowing the only battle she had was wild sleep.

“You’ve been gone a while,” she murmured, voice still raspy with sleep.

He set the bundle of vines and moss down beside the fire. “Needed to make things better.”

Her head tilted. “For what?”

He hesitated, eyes dropping. “For you. For… both of you.”

A small smile curved her lips. “You don’t have to do all this, you know.”

“I do,” he said simply.

He couldn’t explain why, only that the need ran deep, almost primal. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was both.

He started working with focus—braiding the vines together, flattening the moss with his palms. Veronica watched him for a while, quiet amusement flickering in her eyes.

After several minutes, she said softly, “You’ve been thinking a lot.”

He froze mid-motion. “Why do you say that?”

“Because you look like you’re fighting someone in your head.”

He gave a small, humorless smile. “Maybe I am.”

“And are you winning?” she teased.

He looked up, meeting her gaze across the flicker of the fire. “Not sure yet.”

She laughed, and the sound filled the cave like sunlight piercing through clouds.

He worked until the sun climbed high. His creation wasn’t perfect—the edges uneven, moss clumped awkwardly—but it was softer than what she was laying on previously. It looked like care.

When Veronica came over, she touched the bedding and blinked. “You did this?”

He nodded once, unsure how to respond.

“It’s… really nice, Mark.”

He shrugged, pretending indifference. Inside, something fragile and bright stirred.

---

Later, she napped again, and Mark stepped outside. The cliff stretched before him, endless green breaking into clouds. The humid air pressed against his skin, heavy but grounding.

He thought about his father. About the empire. About what they would think if they could see him now.
They would call it corruption.
Contamination.
A soldier turned soft.

He flexed his hands. The strength still thrummed there, the old violence sleeping just beneath the surface. He could still destroy everything he built in seconds.
But when he turned and saw her silhouette glowing faintly from firelight inside that dark urge went quiet.

He didn’t want to destroy anymore.
He wanted to protect.

That realization alone terrified him.

Viltrumites didn’t protect—they commanded. They didn’t nurture—they expanded. To care was to compromise.

But here, no one was watching. No empire. No orders.
Maybe that meant he could choose differently.

---

When he went back inside, “You keep standing out there,” she said, voice soft. “You okay?”

He nodded automatically. Then, after a second, he shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

She smiled faintly, leaning back on her hands. “Neither do I.”

He sat beside her, close enough to feel the brush of her arm. The silence stretched—not awkward, but full.

“I was trained,” he said finally, voice low. “To see attachment as weakness. To see care as corruption. When my father trained me, he told me that emotions were dangerous. They made soldiers hesitate.”

Her brow furrowed gently. “Do you still believe that?”

He looked down at his calloused hands. “No. But it’s hard to forget something that’s been carved into you.”
He exhaled slowly, half laughing at himself. “Now I’m not sure what I believe.”

Her fingers brushed his wrist—light, grounding. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know everything right now.”

He turned his hand, catching hers. Her pulse beat steady under his thumb. “I don’t want to lose this,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“You won’t.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“No,” she said softly, “but we can make sure of it. Together.”

Their foreheads touched, and for a moment, the rest of the world disappeared.

---

That night, she slept again while he stayed awake. He sat beside her, watching the soft rise and fall of her chest.

His hand hovered over her stomach.
There it was again—that faint rhythm beneath hers. A second heartbeat, small and unsteady, but real.

He wondered what it would look like—what it would be. Would it have her eyes? His strength? Would it survive this planet?

He didn’t know how to be a father. He didn’t know if he could be one. But as he sat there, staring into the fire, something shifted inside him. The old programming, the sharp edges of his upbringing—they bent.

He whispered so softly it was almost thought instead of speech.
“I’ll protect you. Both of you.”

He repeated it again until the fire dimmed, until his voice broke into silence.

---

Morning light spilled into the cave. Veronica stirred, turning toward him with that sleepy half-smile he’d started to crave. “You didn’t sleep again,” she murmured.

He shook his head. “Didn’t need to.”

She propped herself up on an elbow. “You do, you are worrying too much.”

“Maybe.” His face twitched. “But I have a reason now.”

Her laughter filled the space again, softer this time. He hadn’t realized how much he needed that sound until he heard it.

He wasn’t good at this—at gentleness, at life without conflict—but for the first time in his existence, he wanted to learn. Not because of orders. Not for victory. But for them.

For the small heartbeat beneath her own.

For the quiet between worlds where, somehow, he had found peace.

Chapter Text

1 week after, “You should probably get some sleep. You’ve been up all night.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t,” she said, voice firm in that soft way she had. “You can’t protect us if you’re exhausted.”

That word—us—hit him with quiet force. He glanced down at her, at the faint curve of her stomach beneath her shirt.
Us.
He exhaled and gave a short nod. “Alright.”

She smiled at his surrender, her eyes closing again. “Good. Try to rest a little.”

---

He did, somewhat. The world slowed enough for him to relax but he always woke again, the light had shifted golden through the trees. Veronica was still there beside him, her breathing steady, her face peaceful.

He watched her for a long moment, feeling something rise in his chest that was too big for language.
He reached out and stopped halfway—his hand hovering just above her stomach. He didn’t touch, just felt. The faint rhythm he’d learned to recognize pulsed there, soft and steady beneath hers.

That tiny sound—life within life—felt like something sacred. Something he’d never been taught to understand.

He was never prepared him for this—for the quiet tenderness that could undo everything he thought he knew about strength.

Mark closed his eyes. The old instincts were still there—the sharp edge of command, the hunger for control—but they didn’t fit anymore. They couldn’t coexist with this gentleness growing inside him.

---

She stirred slightly, maybe half-awake, and her fingers brushed his arm as if she’d heard him. Her touch was feather-light but grounding, pulling him back from the swirl of thought.

As night fell and the forest began its chorus of sounds, his eyes close. Her warmth pressed faintly against him watching him to make sure he is actually asleep.

2 weeks later he's back on it, not sleeping and she knows it.

Mark’s POV

He hadn’t slept again, well naps here and there but not enough to where she would approve for it.

Not really.

Her breathing had slowed hours ago, soft and even, while he lay there with his eyes open, staring at the shifting shadows that moved across their walls. The jungle hummed around them, a low steady rhythm that should’ve been comforting. But his mind wouldn’t let him stop counting—her breaths, the faint flutter of her heart, the barely-there echo of another pulse beneath it.

Two heartbeats.
He still couldn’t get used to it.

His chest felt too small to hold what was inside it.

He’d spent half the night trying to make this new responsibility normal, thinking in terms he understood—order, structure, efficiency. There were rules to everything, even survival. But there was no manual for this. No training for what to do when you realize someone’s life is growing because of you.

Viltrumites didn’t raise children. They bred soldiers.
Yet here he was, worrying about how warm she was, whether the fire needed more wood, if the fruit he found was too acidic for her stomach.

He hated how small that made him feel—how uncertain.

When dawn finally came, he slipped outside quietly. The air was thick and heavy with the scent of rain. Their shelter was perched high on a slope above the jungle floor, safe from most predators and floods, but the wind still carried a wet bite through the trees. He took in a slow breath, exhaled through his nose, and set to work.

He needed something to do.

If he stood still too long, the thoughts came rushing back.

He started organizing the supplies—drying meat, sharpening the bones they used as tools, arranging fruit into baskets so she wouldn’t have to strain herself reaching for them. It was all mechanical, all distraction. Each motion gave his hands something to answer to.

But even while working, his ears stayed tuned to her heartbeat inside the shelter.

He didn’t mean to. His body just… did it. As if his instincts no longer belonged to the empire that made him, but to this small, growing circle of life he’d found himself in.

By midmorning, she woke. She stepped outside barefoot, eyes half-lidded from sleep. He froze halfway through stacking wood.

“Morning,” she mumbled, rubbing her face. Her voice was low, from rest.
He felt something soften in his chest just seeing her like that—unguarded, human.

“You should’ve slept longer,” he said.

“So should you,” she countered, voice still groggy but sharp enough to land.

He almost smiled at that.

“I was… making sure everything was ready.”

“For what?” she asked, squinting at him.

He hesitated. “In case you needed something.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly. “You mean in case we needed something.”
He nodded without arguing.

She sighed, brushing hair from her face. “You don’t have to do everything yourself, Mark.”

He wanted to tell her that he did—that it was the only way he knew how to keep her safe—but the words caught somewhere behind his teeth. She’d been so patient with him already. She didn’t need another excuse.

Instead, he just said, “Go eat. I’ll be there soon.”

She gave him a look, half fond, half exasperated. “Don’t take too long.”

---

He didn’t. But when he sat beside her to eat, he barely touched his share. His mind was elsewhere again—running through patterns, observations, calculations that meant nothing but gave him a false sense of control.

How long was human gestation? Eight, nine months? Would that even apply here? What if the environment changed something? What if—

“Mark,” she said softly.

He blinked and looked at her. She was watching him carefully, a small crease forming between her brows.

“You’re thinking too loud.”

He let out a small breath of a laugh. “Sorry.”

“What’s going on in there?” she asked, tilting her head. “You’ve been stuck in your head all morning.”

“I’m trying to… prepare,” he admitted, eyes dropping to his hands. “I don’t want to make a mistake.”

“By… thinking yourself into one?” she teased lightly.

He looked up at her, frowning. “It’s not funny.”

“I know it’s not,” she said gently, “but you’re acting like you’re about to go to war.”

“In a way, I am.”

She blinked. “What?”

He looked down again. “With myself.”

There was a long silence after that—broken only by the distant hum of insects and the occasional rustle from the canopy. She didn’t press him, and he was grateful for that. Still, her eyes lingered on him, soft and searching.

---

The day dragged on quietly.
She sat weaving new straps for carrying baskets, humming under her breath. Mark watched her from where he stood near the edge of their camp. Every so often, she’d glance up, catch him staring, and smile just enough to make him look away.

He tried not to think about how much that smile meant to him.

He busied himself with smaller repairs—checking the shelter walls for leaks, patching gaps with thick leaves and resin. Each time he came back, Veronica tried to get him to rest.

“You’re running yourself down again,” she said that evening, folding her arms as she stood behind him.

He didn’t turn around. “I’m fine.”

“You haven’t sat down in hours.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Mark.” Her tone had changed—no longer teasing, but steady. Grounded. “You still trying to protect us when you are tired.”

He signed, that human manipulation again, she said that to him last time it worked a little.

He turned slowly, meeting her eyes. The firelight flickered across her face, catching the faint sheen of sweat along her hairline. She looked so sure, even when her body was clearly tired. He envied that strength.

“I’m not tired,” he lied.

She smiled softly, stepping closer. “Then you won’t mind resting next to me.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but she’d already turned, settling down near the fire, patting the spot beside her. He stared for a long moment before finally giving in, lowering himself to the ground.

The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was filled with breathing, the soft crackle of flame, the faint song of the jungle outside.
He hadn’t realized how much he missed quiet that didn’t come from isolation, but from presence.

After a while, she spoke again—her voice low, thoughtful. “You know, when you first got here, you barely said five words a day.”

“I remember.”

“And now look at you,” she teased lightly. “Talking about… war within yourself.”

He let out a sound that could’ve been a laugh or a sigh. “I guess I’ve changed.”

“You have,” she said softly, turning her head toward him. “For the better.”

He didn’t answer. He just watched the way her eyes reflected the firelight—the same color as the embers themselves. Warm. Unyielding. Alive.

---

When she finally fell asleep, Mark stayed awake again, but this time he didn’t move.
Her hand had slipped across his chest somewhere in the quiet. Her breathing had evened out. He could feel the steady pulse through her wrist—hers and another, lighter one. The sound was mesmerizing.

He used to think life was only about strength.
Now he wasn’t sure what strength even meant anymore.

He could level mountains, tear through steel, fly through the cold vacuum of space—but he couldn’t understand how something so small could make him feel more fragile than he ever had before.

The child wasn’t even here yet, and already he was terrified. Not of failure, but of not knowing what it meant to care right. To protect right. To love right.

He thought about his father again, about that cold certainty that had guided him his whole life: “Weakness spreads faster than disease.”
But sitting there, with she pressed close and the faint echo of new life within her, he thought maybe weakness wasn’t what he’d been told.

Maybe it was just another word for connection.

And connection—this soft, painful, incredible thing—wasn’t weakness at all.

It was the reason he was still alive.

---

The rain started sometime before dawn, gentle at first, then steadier. Mark adjusted the coverings, checked for leaks, then finally—finally—let himself lie down again.

Veronica stirred when he settled beside her, eyes fluttering open for a moment. “You’re still up?”

“Not anymore,” he murmured.

She smiled drowsily, pressing her hand to his chest. “Good. You finally realized you need sleep.”

He exhaled slowly, something close to laughter slipping out. “Apparently.”

“Go back to sleep, Mark,” she said softly. “once the baby is here you going to wish you used this time for rest.

Her words echoed in his chest long after her breathing evened out again.

He would remember that.

And somewhere between the sound of rain and her heartbeat, Mark Grayson—soldier, survivor, soon-to-be father—he slept.

But his instincts were right something was coming and that will always put him on edge for readiness.

Angstrom’s POV

The silence of the lab was broken only by the hum of machinery rebuilding flesh. The regeneration tank hissed open, spilling mist into the air as Angstrom Levy stepped out—half-man, half-memory. His reflection shimmered faintly in the fractured glass across the room.

He still looked at his arm fully metal, mostly. It still crawled like faint lightning under his skin, glowing faintly with residual dimensional energy. His breath came out ragged, uneven.

“Back again,” he muttered to himself. His voice had the strange echo of a man who’d lived too many lives at once. “Back… but not alone.”

He tapped a console. He needed to get his marks back: interdimensional coordinates, variant logs, half-corrupted footage. He found them, his brow twitching when he reached the empty desert.

That’s where he’d sent them—his Invincibles, an army of Marks. Each one trained differently, broken differently, but all of them can be loyal for a cost at times.

He looked torn bodies. His army had turned on each other. They hadn’t ponder at the punishment he gave them. They’d consumed it, consumed each other.

A single twitch ran down his jaw. “Pathetic.”

For a long moment, he just stood there, eyes dark with thought.

The hum of the machines seemed to sync with his pulse.

Then, slowly, he smiled.
He remember there's still one

He tapped in a command, locating the trace of the dimension. The coordinates were faint but still there—anchored in memory, not matter.

“Not all were failures.”

He accessed another portal, but what he say was not the warrior, He watched the flicker of the boy and the woman beside him, a quick frame before the portal collapsed. He remembered that one—fighting each other before he sent them off.

But now look at them,.... maybe I could used this to keep him in order.

That one had potential.

Angstrom leaned. “You’re different, aren’t you?”

“Good,” he said softly. “Because I can work with different.”

The machine beside him pulsed, constructing new stabilizers, redesigned from the wreckage of his last failure. His mind flicked through a hundred possible futures, all threading into one: rebuild, recollect, control.

His voice dropped, calm, cold:
“I gave you freedom. This time, I’ll give you purpose.”

The portal flared to life, its light flickering violently against his face. The reflection made him look like something not quite human anymore.

He stepped closer, eyes burning with focus.
“Let’s go see how much you’ve changed, Mark Grayson.”

And with that, the room split open in a blinding surge of dimensional energy—Angstrom stepping through to find his lost creation.

Chapter Text

Mark’s POV

Time had begun to slip by differently.
Days were still measured by the rise of the twin suns and the call of the valley birds, but it all blended now — a rhythm that belonged not to battle, not to training, but to something far more human.

She was showing. To the point when she stood and stretched, the faint curve beneath her hand made his chest twist in a way he couldn’t quite name.

He had stopped trying to name things.

There were no words in the Viltrumite language for moments like this — the quiet hum of contentment, the weightless ache of awe.

Instead of patrols and drills, his mornings were spent repairing, building, gathering.
He made tools that weren’t needed, carved things that had no purpose other than to keep his hands moving. It was strange… this urge to make rather than destroy.

Sometimes he’d catch himself humming. The sound startled him every time.

Veronica had been right — her advice echoing from that first night after she told him the truth.

> “You can’t protect us if you’re tired,” she had said, her fingers tracing his jaw, her tone firm but soft. “You’re not built to carry everything alone. You’ll break before you bend.”

And she was right.
When he started listening to her, sleep came easier. His body healed. His temper eased. It was almost unnatural — how calm felt foreign to him.

Now, he was… here. Existing in ways he’d never been allowed to.

He watched her move through the morning light, the way her hum filled the air like a heartbeat. She’d started to talk to the baby, sometimes unconsciously, voice soft, melodic.

He found himself listening, memorizing each word as though it were a code to a new universe.

---

Veronica’s POV

Mark had changed.

At first, she didn’t notice it in the big ways — not in his words, or even in how he touched her. It was in the smaller details: the way he slowed down when he reached for her hand, the way he didn’t always rush to solve or fix.

The man who once carried the weight of an empire now stopped mid-task just to listen to birds.

Sometimes she caught him staring at the horizon, expression unreadable but peaceful. Other times, he’d sit beside her and just breathe, no armor between them, no mask of control.

She’d tease him for being restless, and he’d give her that half-smile — the one that looked a little confused, like he couldn’t quite believe she was teasing him at all.

She had never thought she’d see him like this.
Not gentle. Not hesitant. But real.

It wasn’t that his Viltrumite side had faded — it was still there, in his posture, his strength, his bursts of instinctive protectiveness — but now it had softened at the edges. Like metal forged to something new.

Sometimes she felt him watching her when he thought she wasn’t looking, his gaze heavy but not possessive — more like reverence.

She smiled to herself. He’s learning what peace feels like.

---

Mark’s POV

By midday, the air was thick with warmth. Veronica sat in the shade, weaving something from the vines he’d gathered weeks ago.

He came up behind her quietly. “You shouldn’t be lifting so much.”

“I’m not lifting,” she said, smirking without turning. “I’m crafting.”

He frowned. “Still.”

“Mark.” Her voice softened, teasing. “You’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Hovering.”

He sighed, crouching beside her. “I don’t mean to.”

“I know,” she said, fingers brushing his arm. “That’s what makes it sweet.”

Sweet. The word felt foreign, but he didn’t argue.

He sat with her for a while, watching the pattern take shape. The vines twisted together like strands of light, forming something delicate, almost ceremonial.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A carrier,” she said, smiling faintly. “For when the baby comes. I used to see them when I was little. Mothers would wear them on their backs.”

He blinked. “That’s… smart.”

“It’s simple,” she said, pausing. “But simple’s not bad.”

He looked at her hands, at how careful they were. Human hands. Mortal hands.
Hands that had touched him, tamed him, remade him.

Something inside him whispered: you’re not your father.

He didn’t say it aloud, but he thought it again and again, as though repetition could carve it into truth.

---

That night, Veronica was the one who found him outside.
The sky was bruised with color — purple bleeding into red — and he was standing shirtless, the air humming faintly with power.

“You’re thinking?” she said gently, coming up behind him.

He didn’t turn. “I don’t want to hurt you. Or them.”

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” She stepped closer, laying her palm against his back. “You already learned how to stop fighting everything. That’s half the battle.”

He let out a breath, long and uneven. “I don’t know how to be… a father. My people didn’t teach that.”

Veronica smiled sadly. “Neither did mine. You learn by doing.”

He turned then, finally meeting her gaze. “And if I fail?”

She reached up, cupping his jaw. “Then you try again. That’s what love is.”

Love. Another human word that didn’t exist in his old language.

He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes. “You make it sound easy.”

“It’s not,” she said softly. “But it’s worth it.”

---

Veronica’s POV

When he came back to bed later, she pretended to be asleep just to feel him settle beside her.
He was always careful now — moving slow, almost reverent. His arm came around her, hand instinctively resting over her stomach.

His warmth grounded her. The baby stirred faintly, a flutter, and she smiled.

Mark had started talking to their child, sometimes unconsciously, low murmurs that vibrated against her skin. She never interrupted. Those were his moments.

Sometimes, when she caught him unguarded, he looked almost… human.

And it was beautiful.

---

Mark’s POV

Weeks passed.
Her stomach grew more. The world seemed quieter.

He’d built them a home — not a fortress, but something living, breathing. Walls made of woven reeds, a roof through like threads of gold.

He’d even carved symbols into the beams above their bed — patterns from his world, remade into something gentler.

Veronica had laughed when she saw them. “You’re doing that again.”

“I’m preparing,” he corrected, though he couldn’t stop the small smile.

For once, the word didn’t sound defensive. It sounded… proud.

---

Sometimes, at night, he’d wake to the sound of her breathing and realize — this was peace. Not silence, not submission. Just… peace.

He’d thought strength came from conquest.
Now he knew it came from stillness.

When he watched her sleep, he realized something else too — something quiet but absolute.
He wasn’t afraid anymore.

---

Veronica’s POV

She woke one morning to find him outside again, but this time he wasn’t brooding. He was flying — slow loops across the sky, controlled, graceful. Not as a warrior. Just a man testing the air.

When he landed, his hair messy from wind and his chest still rising with effort, she grinned. “You look… happy.”

“I am,” he said simply.

“What changed?”

He walked toward her, eyes bright with something almost boyish. “You were right.”

“About what?”

“About resting. About letting go.” He placed a hand over her stomach, gentle. “About this.”

Her laughter came out soft and tearful. “You’re learning fast.”

He shrugged. “I have a good teacher.”

---

Later, when dusk fell, they lay together in the quiet.

She spoke first. “What do you think they’ll be like?”

He smiled faintly. “Stubborn. Loud. Probably strong.”

“So… like you.”

“Like us,” he corrected.

Her fingers brushed his chest. “You ever think your father would’ve understood this?”

He was silent for a long moment. “No. But that’s the point.”

She nodded. “Then you’ve already done better.”

He didn’t respond, just kissed her, holding her as the stars blinked awake above them.

For the first time since he was born, Mark Grayson didn’t feel like he was preparing for war.
He was preparing for life, but that all crashed down once he seen the green glow appear.

The river had become their border between peace and memory. Every morning it whispered the same gentle rhythm against the stones — a lullaby of safety.

Until it didn’t.

A tear opened in the air, slicing through the quiet like a wound.
The scent of ozone flooded the clearing. The fish fled, the birds scattered.
And out stepped Angstrom Levy.

The faint hum of the portal behind him cast an unnatural light over the bank — a sickly, shifting green.

Mark felt it before he saw it. The air pressure changed, his instincts sharpened to a knife’s edge. In the fraction of a second it took for Angstrom’s boot to touch the grass, Mark was already moving — body pivoted, Veronica pulled behind him, every muscle ready for war.

Angstrom raised a brow, amused. “Give a man a world and see if he becomes king. Give a warrior peace…” He smiled thinly, “…and see if he destroys.”

Mark’s voice came low, dangerous. “Angstrom.”

The name alone carried enough threat to make the air vibrate.

Angstrom only smirked. “Love what you’ve done with the place, Mark. Rustic. Peaceful. Almost human.” His gaze slid past Mark to Veronica. “And domestic, apparently.”

Mark’s jaw flexed. “Don’t.”

“Relax,” Angstrom said, lifting his hands as though in peace. “I just came to talk. We still have unfinished business.”

Mark rose into the air, hovering just enough to remind him that this was not a man to corner. “The job was done when you sent me to another dimension in the middle of a mission.”

Angstrom gave a soft laugh. “Sorry about that. PTSD, you know how it is. But you can blame the others. You were running late, and some of your variants started turning on me.”

“Not my problem,” Mark growled. “Use them to finish your mission.”

Angstrom’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable. “Can’t. They tore each other apart, literally. Which brings me to why I’m here.”

He bent casually, plucking one of the fruits from the woven basket near the riverbank. He turned it over in his hand, examining it like a curiosity.

“we need to go and some new replacements.”

Mark’s boots hit the ground with a solid thud. “We don’t need to do anything.” His tone sharpened, cold as iron. “You do whatever you want, but I’m not leaving.”

Angstrom looked up, unbothered. “You misunderstand. This isn’t a negotiation.”

He tossed the fruit up, caught it again with a flick of his wrist. “You know, I went through dozens of worlds, retrieving every Mark Grayson who lost everything. Cold. Ruthless. Unpredictable. The kind of men who burn civilizations to ashes just to see who notices.”

He sighed dramatically. “But You’re the anomaly too. The one who found peace and decided to stay.”

Mark’s voice came low. “And that bothers you why?”

Angstrom’s eyes gleamed. “Because peace ruins potential.”

---

Veronica’s POV

The energy in the air was electric — humming so intensely it made her skin prickle.
Mark stood like stone, his body angled protectively in front of her, but she could see the tightness in his shoulders. The restraint.

This man was — or whatever — he wasn’t ordinary. The way he’d stepped out of that glowing wound in space made her stomach twist.

Was this Angstrom, the one who sent us here,the one mark worked beside

“Mark,” she whispered. “What’s happening?”

He didn’t answer, only tilted his head slightly — a silent warning to stay back.

Angstrom smiled wider, sensing her fear. “Oh, she hasn't realized yet”

Mark’s fists clenched. “Leave her out of this.”

“Relax,” Angstrom said smoothly, spreading his hands. “I’m not here to hurt her. I just find it fascinating. You, of all people, choosing to play house. You could have been anything. But here you are, living like a farmer, But we both know the deal."

He glanced at Veronica again, his tone dripping with mock warmth. “Congratulations, by the way. I can see it — a little Viltrumite child will be crawling around soon.”

her breath hitched. Mark moved so fast she barely saw him blur forward, stopping an inch from Angstrom, heat radiating off his skin.

“Leave, and don’t make me say that again.”

Angstrom didn’t flinch. “Hit me, and I’ll open ten portals at once. You’ll never know which one takes me… or which one opens right into this little paradise you’ve built.”

Mark’s jaw tightened, muscles trembling with restraint. “You touch this place, and I’ll end you before you blink.”

“I believe you,” Angstrom said softly. “But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You think small now. You think like a man in love.”

His gaze turned colder. “But you were made to think like a god.”

---

Mark’s POV

It took everything in him not to crush the man where he stood.
His mind screamed for control. His instincts — his father’s voice buried deep — told him to end the threat now. But Veronica’s pulse behind him reminded him why he couldn’t.

He forced himself to speak evenly. “You came here to recruit me. You’re wasting your time.”

Angstrom shrugged. “Recruit, borrow, drag — the word doesn’t matter. You know I can’t let you stay here.”

Mark stepped closer, eyes flaring. “Try.”

For a second, the air cracked — energy building between them like static.

Angstrom tilted his head, unfazed. “Still quick to anger. I was hoping that part hadn’t gone soft.”

He lifted a hand and a small, pulsing rift appeared beside him — a window showing a thousand possible worlds, flickering like shattered glass.

“You see, Mark,” he said calmly, “some versions of you never found peace. Some still crave purpose. And the multiverse is fracturing without the Viltrumite strength to stabilize it.”

Mark’s reply came like a growl. “You mean without someone to fight your wars.”

Angstrom smiled. “Call it what you want. You could save worlds. Millions of lives.”

“I have lives to protect here,” Mark snapped.

The word here came out like a vow.

Angstrom’s smile vanished. “You think small.”

“No,” Mark said, voice rising. “I think free.”

---

The ground trembled slightly under Mark’s power. Pebbles rattled, the river rippled outward from his feet.

Angstrom chuckled low. “Ah, there he is — the soldier underneath the softness. I was starting to think love really did change you.”

Mark moved.

The world blurred. One heartbeat he was standing still — the next, Angstrom was flung backward, crashing through a tree.

The sound split the quiet valley.

Before Mark could close the distance between them again, the portal surged, pulling light and air inward. Angstrom stepped backward into it, his grin the last thing to vanish.

“I’ll be back,” he said, his voice stretching across the distortion.

And then he was gone.
The portal sealed with a crack of sound that made the river jump from its bed, and the world fell silent.

Mark landed hard, the earth fracturing under his feet. He stood still, chest heaving, jaw locked.

Behind him, Veronica came forward, “Mark…”

He turned, his eyes still bright with leftover fury — but the moment he saw her, the glow faded.
He reached out, brushing her arm. “are you hurt ?”

She shook her head, still trying to breathe evenly. “No. It just scared me.”

He nodded once, then turned his gaze to the horizon — to where the air still shimmered faintly from the portal’s residue.
“Then it starts again,” he muttered under his breath.

“Mark—”

“I won’t let him come near you,” he said, voice flat and dangerous. “I don’t care how many worlds he’s been through. He won’t touch this one.”

Veronica stepped closer, laying a hand against his chest. His heart was still hammering. “We’ll deal with it,” she whispered. “Together.”

For a moment, he closed his eyes — the tension in him wavering, almost breaking. Then he drew in a slow breath. “He’s not going to stop.”

“Neither will you,” she said simply.

He looked at her then, really looked — at the quiet strength that had anchored him through everything, the faint curve of her stomach, the small tremor in her hand that she tried to hide.

He took her hand and pressed it against his heart. “Not this time,” he said. “He won’t take me away again.”

Above them, clouds gathered — faint streaks of energy still bleeding from where the rift had opened.
For the first time in months, the peace they’d built felt fragile.
But under that, deeper than the fear, something sharper stirred — resolve.

Whatever Angstrom wanted…
Mark knew what he’d protect it against.

Chapter Text

The days had begun to blur, each one pulled taut with the quiet hum of anticipation. The home had changed — no longer the soft space they had carved out from scratch.
Now its filled with the hum of Mark’s energy weaving through every beam like invisible armor. He barely slept.

Mark paced across the room now, movements sharp, restless. The air crackled with the strain of his thoughts — with the storm that hadn’t yet come.

Veronica watched him from where she sat, her hand absently tracing the curve of her stomach.

The faint pulse beneath her palm reminded her of everything that was at stake.

“What will we do?” she finally asked, tried of holding her emotions tried of seeing him waiting voice trembling between strength and fear. “We can’t just—”

He stopped.
The sound of her voice cut through the static in his mind.

In a breath, he was kneeling before her, eyes soft but burning — a mix of human exhaustion and something far greater. His gaze dropped to her hand, then rose again to meet hers.

“I will protect this,” he said, the words low, steady, almost reverent.

It wasn’t a promise. It was a vow — the kind that sank into the very fabric of reality.

Veronica blinked, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “You can’t be everywhere, Mark. You can’t always stop what’s coming.”

“I can try.”

He said it like a vow, not a hope.

She could feel the tension in his fingers—the restrained power beneath his calm. He wasn’t the same man who used to disappear into guilt and silence after every fight.

Something had changed. Maybe it was her voice that had finally cut through to him weeks ago, when she’d forced him to sleep, to eat, to breathe.

Maybe it was the small life growing between them that had given him reason to root himself here. Whatever it was, he was still a soldier in spirit—but now his war had meaning.

“You’ve already done enough,” she whispered, reaching up to brush her thumb along his jaw. “You’ve built this place into something stronger than I thought possible. But I need you—really need you—not just to defend us. I need you to live with us.”

His eyes softened, and the tension in his shoulders faltered. “I am living,” he murmured, though even he didn’t sound convinced.

“No.” she shook her head. “You’re waiting. And that’s not the same thing.”

For a long moment, silence filled the room. Only the faint hum of the generator and the soft rustle of night outside framed them.

Then, quietly, Mark lowered his forehead to her belly. She felt the warmth of his breath through the fabric of her shirt. “You’re right,” he said against her skin. “I’ve been waiting for the next attack instead of being here. With you. With—” He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. “With both of you.”

Veronica smiled faintly, resting her hand on his head. “Then start now.”

He stayed like that for a while—kneeling before her, breathing her in, grounding himself in the quiet heartbeat that wasn’t his own. The moment stretched, fragile but real.

When he finally stood, there was a shift in him. The same determination remained, but it wasn’t hard-edged anymore. It was steady. Controlled.

She tilted her head. “You’re done?”

“For tonight,” he said. Then he looked at her with something like peace behind his eyes. “You are right. I need to calm my mind I can't think straight than how am I supposed to figure this out.”

Her laugh was soft but warm. “That’s what I’ve been saying.”

Mark moved back toward her, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. “Then I guess I should start listening.”

She chuckled against his shoulder as he carried her toward the bedroom, the faint smell of rain drifting through.

When they reached to lay down, he set her down gently, For a while, he just looked at her—at the life they had carved out of chaos, at the soft rise and fall of her chest, at the small world that had become everything.

As he lay down beside her, Veronica reached out and found his hand in the dark. “You feel calmer,” she whispered.

“I am,” he said. Then, after a pause, “Because I finally understand what I need to do.”

Outside, the night deepened. The reinforced walls stood strong, his mind silent but ready. Somewhere far beyond the stars, the storm of Angstrom’s vengeance was still brewing—but for now, the home was still.

And for the first in weeks, so was Mark.

Angstrom:

He moved from his central station to the outer platform, where the reality fabric shimmered like the surface of disturbed water. Each ripple was a doorway — a slice between versions of existence. Angstrom had learned to step between them like a man crossing rooms.

He opened one now.

The tear split soundlessly, showing a glimpse of another world. A different Earth.

Here, the sky was darker, the cities abandoned, skyscrapers collapsed under ash. A storm rolled endlessly on the horizon. And there — in the middle of it — another Mark.

This one was older, his suit torn, one arm missing below the elbow. His face was hollow with loss, his eyes flat as glass. He knelt beside something small — a grave.

Angstrom watched him quietly. This was one of the Marks who had refused him. The ones who’d believed they could atone through suffering.

Pathetic.

He stepped through the portal without hesitation.

The world’s air was thick and metallic. Ash crunched under his boots as he approached the kneeling figure.

The one-armed Mark didn’t look up. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Neither should you,” Angstrom said. “But we both make bad habits of impossible things.”

Mark’s jaw flexed. “What do you want?”

“I want you to see,” Angstrom replied. “There’s another you out there. One who survived. One who found peace.”

That made Mark glance up at him, eyes narrowed. “Peace? There’s no such thing. Not for us.”

Angstrom’s smile was faint. “That’s what I told myself once.”

He crouched down, meeting the man’s hollow gaze. “But he did it. He built something. He has someone who believes in him. A human woman.”

Mark’s brow furrowed. “So what?”

“So,” Angstrom said softly, “what if you could have that too? What if I could give it to you?”

The silence stretched between them, long and taut.

Then Mark rose, his voice low and controlled. “You’re lying.”

Angstrom didn’t answer. He simply reached out a hand, and a shimmering window of a portal in the air beside them — showing the quiet life beside the river, her with her feet brushing aside the small flow while Mark sliced and cleaned fruit.

The broken Mark inhaled sharply.

“You did this?” he whispered.

“yes but,” Angstrom said. “He did. But I can show you where he failed.”

Mark tore his gaze away. “Why?”

“Because,” Angstrom said, his tone almost reverent, “I need him to break. And only you can make him do it.”

---

Later, back in his own dimensional nexus, Angstrom sat before the pulsing lattice again. His mind thrummed with new calculations.

He began to input the sequence. “You thought the last test was about power,” he murmured to himself. “we will be back on track when mark(s) realized they are pure distraction."

The room brightened as the rift expanded, its edges glowing like the surface of a sun. His hands trembled slightly. It had been years since he’d felt this alive.

He thought back to what his other selves had once accused him of — playing god.

Maybe they were right.

But gods created for glory. Angstrom created for proof.

And he was going to prove, once and for all, that even heroes are just one decision away from monstrosity and the ones who are monsters can't become heroes.

He input the final command, and across the rift — in the quiet home by the river — the air began to hum.

A new portal formed, unseen in the dark.

Inside it, a silhouette stepped forward. The one-armed Mark.

His expression unreadable.

Angstrom watched from across worlds, whispering through the link. “Go ahead,” he said softly. “Show him what happens when peace meets its reflection.”

The rift closed, leaving only silence in its wake.

Angstrom exhaled slowly, the faintest smile curling across his lips.

“Let’s see,” he said, “which version survives.”

Chapter Text

Two months passed in an almost fragile kind of peace.

The days softened, no longer marked by the clang of metal or the constant whir of scanners. Mark had relaxed—if only a little.

The tension that once lived behind his eyes had eased into something steadier, quieter. He laughed more, though it was never loud; it came like the sun breaking through clouds, tentative but real.

He turns around and see the very person who calmed him, she had grown fuller, the gentle swell of her pregnancy now impossible to ignore. Every morning, she woke to the subtle movement beneath her ribs—a reminder of what they were building, and why the world felt worth keeping together

Mark still kept the perimeter active, but he no longer paced like a caged animal.

Sometimes she’d find him outside at dusk, sitting on the ground steps, elbows on his knees, watching the light fade from the sky. He looked human then—less like a soldier, more like a man trying to remember what peace felt like.

It had been that way for a month.

Almost enough to make them believe the danger was a bad dream

Almost.

---

The first sign came quietly.

Mark was out by the field when it happened, when a low vibration pulsed through the air. It was faint—so faint he thought it was the wind at first. But then the hum deepened, spreading through the ground like static through a wire.

He froze.

His head lifted toward the horizon. The air shimmered—not with light, but distortion, like heat warping the edges of the world. His pulse kicked up instantly.

“Veronica,” he whispered.

The distortion rippled again, splitting the horizon for a breathless instant. And through it—he saw something step out.

Someone.

Mark’s first thought was that it was an illusion. A trick of Angstrom’s rifts. But then the figure straightened, and the shape was too familiar. Broad shoulders. The red insignia glinting faintly in the sun. The unmistakable curve of his own silhouette.

Another him.

The air went cold.

---

By the time she looked up, Mark was already standing between her and the open field, his stance taut, his expression unreadable.

“Mark?” she called, one hand braced on the doorframe. “What’s—”

“Stay inside.”

His tone wasn’t loud, but it carried an edge that made her stop mid-step.

Then she saw it—the figure in the distance.

Her heart dropped.

It was him. And yet… not.

This version of Mark walked differently—calm, deliberate, like he didn’t carry the same weight. His uniform was pristine, unmarred by battle or soil. His eyes—when they met theirs across the distance—were calm in a way that chilled her.

“Don’t move,” Mark muttered, his jaw tight.

The second Mark stopped about twenty feet away, the shimmer of the rift closing behind him. He smiled. It was small, knowing. “You’ve done well for yourself,” he said, voice almost identical. “ looks like you found peace.”

Mark’s fists clenched. “What is this?”

“An offer,” the other replied easily. “From Angstrom.”

Her breath caught, but she said nothing.

The other Mark’s gaze flicked briefly toward her, then down to the curve of her stomach. Something like curiosity—no, pity—passed through his expression. “He sent me because I understand you. Because I am you. In another world, I made different choices. Better ones.”

Mark took a step forward, heat flaring behind his eyes. “You’re a puppet. Whatever he’s promised, it’s a lie.”

The alternate’s smile didn’t fade. “Funny. That’s what I thought before I saw the truth.”

Mark didn’t respond—he moved. One second he was there, the next, air cracked around him as he shot forward. But his double anticipated it perfectly. Their collision sent a shockwave across the clearing, the impact throwing dirt and debris into the air.

The two of them were a blur of motion—identical strength, identical precision. Veronica could barely follow it, could only hear the crash of fists, the grunt of impact, the shatter of metal as one of the drones exploded nearby.

It was like watching mirrors fight.

Finally, they broke apart, both hovering midair, breathing hard.

“You can’t win against yourself,” the other said, calm again, blood at the corner of his mouth. “Because I know what you’ll do before you do it.”

Mark wiped the blood from his lip, his glare unwavering. “You’re not me.”

“Not anymore.”

He dropped back toward the ground with a grace that almost seemed choreographed. “You don’t belong here, Mark. You’re clinging to something that was never meant for us. You think this life will save you? That she will?”

Mark’s teeth gritted, but before he could answer, Veronica’s voice rang out—clear and firm.

“She already did.”

The alternate’s eyes flicked toward her, sharp and curious again. But before he could speak, Mark moved—faster than before, his fist catching his double square across the jaw. The hit sent the other Mark spiraling backward through a half-finished section of fencing.

By the time the dust cleared, he was gone—folded back through another rift, the echo of his laughter hanging in the air.

---

Mark didn’t move for several seconds. His chest rose and fell slowly, his gaze fixed on the fading distortion. The air smelled of ozone and scorched soil.

When he finally turned back to her, she was already walking toward him, barefoot on the grass.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away. His eyes were distant, haunted. “He sent him,” he said finally. “Every move. Every thought.”

She reached for his hand. “And yet you didn’t become him.”

He looked down at her then—the faint smear of dirt on her cheek, the quiet strength in her stance—and some of the tension broke. “Angstrom’s not just trying to kill me,” he murmured. “He’s trying to make me doubt what I am.”

“Then don’t let him.”

She said it simply, as if it were easy. But somehow, it grounded him.

Mark squeezed her hand, then looked back at the horizon, where the rift had closed. “This isn’t over. He’s getting smarter.”

“Then we will too,” Veronica said. “Together.”

Mark looked at her for a long time, something fierce and fragile flickering in his chest.

“Together,” he echoed.

Angstrom: his eyes twitched. The scar along his temple pulsed faintly, a reminder of what the Variant had done to him — what he’d done to himself. The experiments, the collapses, the merging of minds that nearly annihilated his consciousness. He could still feel them in there sometimes — the faint echo of his other selves, murmuring half-finished thoughts.

We warned you… You went too far…

He smiled thinly. “Far is where progress begins.”

A ripple passed through the projection field, one of the grids glowing brighter. He tapped it. The image stabilized, revealing the Mark he’d recently deployed — leaner, colder, his eyes stripped of all hesitation. The soldier.

Angstrom tilted his head, studying the frozen expression. “You did well,” he said softly, replaying the memory of the confrontation on the river’s edge. “You rattled him.”

But something in his tone shifted — not satisfaction. Curiosity.

He replayed the sequence again — Mark’s attack, the double’s deflection, her voice cutting through the chaos. Angstrom’s jaw tightened at that moment.

Her voice.

The sound of it had changed everything for him it seems.

It wasn’t power that had driven the original Mark to win that exchange. It was her — the anomaly. The human variable.

Angstrom leaned back, eyes narrowing. “So that’s your anchor, huh?” The variant muttered. “Love.”

The word came out like a foreign language, bitter and sharp.

He’d seen what love did to people across worlds. It diluted them. Broke their purpose. It made gods turn into caretakers and conquerors into fools. And yet… it fascinated him.

“Why her?” he whispered, more to the infinite silence than to any version of himself.

Chapter Text

Two weeks passed.

The air itself had changed. Even the river outside their home — once constant, soothing — sounded heavier somehow, as though carrying the weight of whatever pressed down on them.

She felt it first in the silence.

Mark had grown quieter than usual — not the brooding kind of quiet, but a hollow stillness that unsettled her. He didn’t eat much. He barely slept.

His movements were mechanical, efficient, like a man whose mind had gone somewhere far away and left only muscle memory behind.

He’d stopped trying to mimic her human patterns for comfort. Stopped teasing her when she complained about the heat or the mosquitos. Stopped even pretending to rest beside her at night.

She watched him from afar sometimes, the way his shoulders rose and fell with deliberate control as he stared into the distance. There was always something behind his eyes — calculation, tension, fear he refused to name.

She tried to reach him, in small ways. She left his favorite fruit out by the fire, brushed his arm when she passed, whispered a few soft things when she thought he might be half-awake.

Nothing worked.

Tonight was no different.

The fire burned low, painting the surrounding area a gold and red. Mark sat near it, elbows on his knees, staring at his hands. The veins beneath his skin looked sharper in the dim light — the living reminder of what he was made of.

She sighed quietly, folding a shirt that had dried by the line outside. The fabric was warm from the evening sun, and she was about to hang it when a sudden, strong hand caught her wrist.

She turned, startled.

Mark stood behind her, his face unreadable. For a heartbeat, neither spoke. His grip wasn’t harsh — just firm, trembling slightly. Then he pulled her into him.

The movement was sudden, desperate.

He buried his face against her shoulder, holding her so tight she could feel his pulse through his chest. It wasn’t the controlled, even rhythm of before — it thundered, frantic and raw.

She froze for a moment, then wrapped her arms around him. “Mark…” she whispered, voice muffled against him.

He didn’t answer at first. Just breathed her in like he’d been underwater for days. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and rough.

“I have a plan.”

She leaned back slightly, searching his eyes. “A plan for what?”

“For when he comes back.” His gaze didn’t waver. “Angstrom. He will return. I can feel it.”

Her throat tightened. She’d suspected it too — she could sense the unease, the way Mark’s body always turned toward the horizon like he was waiting for something to appear.

“What kind of plan?” she asked.

He hesitated. “A risky one.”

“Define risky.”

He exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Last time, I reacted. I let instinct lead. This time, I’m setting the ground first. If he tries to come through again, I can predict the dimensional rip point — use it against him.”

She frowned. “You’re talking about using his own portal?”

“Exactly.” He crouched near the fire, tracing the dirt with his finger. “He needs a stable anchor to open a gate that far from his frequency. The last time, he used this place because it’s where I exist. But if I adjust the energy around it — just enough — I can distort the reentry.”

“Mark,” she said softly, “you sound like you’re setting a trap.”

“That’s because I am.”

She crossed her arms, eyes narrowing. “You don’t even know if you’ll survive that.”

He looked up, meeting her gaze with calm certainty. “I don’t plan to die.”

“That’s not the same as saying you won’t.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them again, filled only by the soft crackle of the fire. Then he rose and stepped closer, his hand cupping her cheek.

“I know you’re scared,” he said. “But this is the only way. If I don’t stop him, he’ll never stop coming. Not for me. Not for you. Not for…” His hand shifted slightly, his eyes flicking to her stomach. “…them.”

Her breath hitched.

He always said them with such reverence — as though the word itself required gentleness.

“Mark,” she whispered, covering his hand with hers. “You can’t protect us if you destroy yourself doing it.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s what you said last time. And you were right.”

“Then—”

“I’m not ignoring that,” he cut in softly. “I’ll be careful. Smarter this time.”

She earched his face, trying to find the man who’d once believed peace was possible. But what she saw now wasn’t just determination — it was burden. Heavy and old.

“I hate when you get like this,” she murmured.

“Like what?”

“Like you’ve already decided the ending.”

Mark froze. The words hit deeper than she meant them to. He’d been telling himself for weeks that this was the only way, that it was logic and survival — but somewhere in that quiet, he’d already pictured the worst.

But this plan is a lie the real one will cause her stress so he will wait until the last minute for her to hear.

She could see it in his eyes.

So she did the only thing she could — she reached up, pulled his head down, and pressed her forehead against his.

“You’re not alone in this,” she said. “You don’t get to shut me out.”

He closed his eyes, the tension in his shoulders easing for the first time in days. “You shouldn’t have to be part of this.”

“Too late,” she whispered. “We’re already a team, remember?”

That made him laugh quietly — a sound small but real.

He kissed her forehead, a promise without words. “It’s going to work,” he said again, like repetition could make it true. “I know it will.”

---

That night, for the first time in weeks, Mark actually tried to sleep.

He lay beside her, his arm draped protectively over her waist. The sound of her breathing steadied something in him. For a while, the world seemed simple again, the stars faintly blinking through the cracks of the ceiling, her heartbeat slow and sure against his.

He almost believed they’d make it through untouched.

Until she stirred.

At first, it was just a quiet sound — a small exhale that turned into a strained breath. Then came another, sharper.

Mark’s eyes snapped open. He was upright in an instant, instincts fully awake.

“hey?”

She winced, hand gripping his arm. “Mark…”

He was by her side before she could speak again, his senses scanning her pulse, her breathing, the heat radiating from her skin. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

A soft cry escaped her as she shifted. “I think—” she stopped, catching her breath, “it’s starting too soon.”

For a second, the words didn’t register. Then his chest went cold.

“Too soon?” he echoed.

She nodded weakly, her other hand clutching his arm. “It’s not— it’s not time yet.”

Panic flared through him. “How long?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice trembled, but she tried to smile through it, brave even now. “Not long enough for the baby to come safely.”

Mark’s vision blurred with black. His mind snapped into focus — every calculation, every possible outcome. He had been planning for the next confrontation, not this.

He knelt beside her, his hand cradling her head as she winced again. “You’re going to be okay,” he said, voice steady despite the chaos inside. “I’ll make sure of it.”

She tried to laugh but only managed a pained breath. “You can’t— control— everything.”

He looked at her, his jaw tightening. “Watch me.”

She reached up, gripping his wrist, forcing him to look at her. “Mark—listen.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers again, eyes shut tight. “I will. But right here, I need to make sure you both live.”

“Mark…”

“I have to finish what I started,” he whispered. “The plan. It’ll keep you safe. I’ll be right back.”

Her eyes widened. “What— no, Mark, wait—”

But he was already gone in a blink — the air bending where he once stood, leaving only the echo of his voice and the fading warmth of his touch.

She sat there, trembling, holding her stomach as another wave of pain rolled through. She tried to steady her breathing, whispering the words he always said to her in return.

“We’ll be okay,” she murmured to the empty air. “Just come back.”

The night outside deepened, somewhere beyond the horizon.

Chapter Text

The night was unnervingly still. Only the faint hum of the river broke through the silence. Mark floated a few feet above the ground, his body taut with restless energy.

The wind carried a faint metallic tang — electricity rippling subtly from his skin. He’d been standing guard like this for hours, every sense tuned to the smallest vibration.

He knew it was there. Watching. Recording. Angstrom’s technology always had that faint, sour signature — a distortion in the air like the space itself was holding its breath.

Mark’s voice cut through the darkness, quiet but sharp.
“I know you’re here.”

His eyes flicked toward the trees, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “You can stop pretending. I’m not in the mood for games.”

Silence.

Then, softer — almost human — his tone changed.
“I want to speak.” He inhaled slowly, steadying himself. “To both of you.”

A few seconds stretched like eternity. The faint hum grew louder, then space rippled before him — folding and bending until a portal burned open, emerald light casting warped shadows over the grass.

From it stepped Angstrom Levy, calm and composed as ever, followed closely by a variant of Mark — older, leaner, one arm gone from the elbow down, the other hand curled into a weary fist.

Angstrom smiled faintly, head tilting.
“Well,” he said, voice laced with mock curiosity, “finally realized this is too much for you?”

Mark’s eyes stayed on the ground for a beat, then lifted slowly to meet his. “No,” he said simply. His tone carried no anger, only conviction. “This is enough.”

Angstrom’s brow arched. “Enough?”

Mark nodded once. “You know that. That’s why you keep trying to prevent it.”

A low chuckle rumbled from Angstrom’s throat. “Prevent what, exactly?”

“The peace that shouldn’t exist,” Mark said, voice quiet but steady. “You think if we stop fighting, everything we’ve done becomes meaningless. You can’t stand that the war ends here — that I’ve chosen something different.”

Angstrom’s expression sharpened — the faintest crack in his composure. “You think this is peace?” He gestured vaguely toward the horizon. “Hiding away in a broken world, pretending you’re not what you are? You call that peace?”

Mark exhaled, looking away for a moment toward the distant glow of their home.
“She’s carrying my child,” he said softly. “That’s peace enough.”

The variant Mark — the one-armed one — looked between them, his face flickering with a mix of recognition and bitterness.

Angstrom’s eyes narrowed slightly, assessing, then softening into a cold smile. “And what exactly do you expect me to do with that information?”

Mark stepped forward, his shadow stretching long in the portal’s light.
“You’ll take us back,” he said simply.

Angstrom blinked, caught off guard by the calmness in his tone. “Excuse me?”

“You’ll take us both back,” Mark repeated, his gaze unwavering. “She’ll gather supplies — enough to make sure what we’ve built here survives. And you’ll bring us back when my mission’s done.”

Angstrom’s smirk faltered. “Your mission?”

Mark nodded once, crossing his arms. “You still want your chaos. You still want a Mark that’ll make your other versions tremble.” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “Fine. I’ll give it to you. I’ll go back to that world — the hero Mark’s world — and turn it upside down again. But only once. When it’s done, you bring us back here.”

The silence that followed was electric. Even the wind seemed to pause.

Angstrom’s gaze slid sideways to the variant, who gave a slight shrug — a gesture that said he means it.

Then, Angstrom’s grin returned, slow and gleaming with satisfaction. “Oh,” he murmured, “so this isn’t a negotiation. It’s a deal.”

Mark didn’t move. “It’s a solution.”

Angstrom tilted his head, studying him. “You surprise me, Grayson. You always do.” His fingers flexed, and the portal pulsed brighter — the edges rippling with anticipation. “Done.”

Mark’s expression hardened. “You break your word, and I’ll find you in every universe you crawl to.”

Angstrom chuckled, eyes gleaming. “Then I suppose I’ll have to keep it.”

The portal shimmered, its glow spilling over Mark’s face — a strange light that made him look like both the man he was and the weapon he’d been trained to be. He didn’t turn around to look at their home, but he felt it — the faint pulse of warmth behind him. Her heartbeat. The life inside her.

As Angstrom prepared the coordinates, Mark clenched his fists once, then loosened them. This was the only way to keep them safe — to end it before it ever reached her.

And as the portal flared open, he took one last breath of their air — the scent of earth and river and quiet — before stepping forward into the storm once more.

The air felt heavy that afternoon, the kind that made her pulse echo too loud in her ears.

She stood by the edge of their home, one hand braced over the curve of her stomach, the other gripping the wooden railing Mark had reinforced weeks ago. And now she hasn't seen him since last night.

Her breathing was steady — practiced — but she could feel it again: the shift. Something deep in the air had changed, almost like space had inhaled and hadn’t exhaled yet.

She turned slowly, her heartbeat quickening. And then she saw him.

Angstrom Levy stood not far behind her, the faint hum of energy radiating off him like static before a lightning strike.

Her voice came out a whisper. “You…”

He smiled pleasantly, as though they were simply neighbors meeting in a garden. “Oh, don’t mind me,” he said, straightening the sleeve of his coat. “I’m just here to finish the deal.”

Her brow furrowed. “What deal?”

Angstrom chuckled softly — the sound cold and low, echoing with too many versions of itself. “He didn’t tell you?”

She stepped back slightly, instincts rising. “Tell me what?”

“That we’re taking you back,” he said simply. “To your world.”

Her breath hitched. “Wh–what? No. No, you can’t—”

But the words barely escaped before a surge of green light burst open around them.

“Wait!” she shouted, shielding her eyes. “Stop!”

Her voice was swallowed by the sound of the portal ripping open, space bending until the ground beneath her vanished. In the blink of an eye, the soft sounds of the river and wind were gone — replaced by the shriek of alarms, crackling fire, and the distant screams of chaos.

She stumbled forward, clutching her stomach, eyes wide as she took in the scene.

They were on top of a crumbling building — the skeletal remains of a city she once called home. Smoke blackened the sky, the air thick with ash. Across the skyline, explosions burned through towers, and far above, a blur of red and blue light tore through the clouds.

Mark.

Angstrom’s voice was calm, almost conversational. “He really got to work, didn’t he?”

Veronica turned on him, her voice shaking but fierce. “Why? Why make him do this again?”

He smiled faintly. “It’s in his nature.”

“I don’t care,” she snapped, stepping closer despite her trembling legs. “I’m not a hero here — by all means, I’m not even supposed to be here. But you—”

Before she could finish, a sudden boom tore through the sky. The building trembled beneath them as something crashed several blocks away. A wave of heat rolled over the rooftop, scattering dust and debris.

Angstrom glanced upward, his tone almost proud. “Ah. Speak of the devil.”

A blur streaked down from the clouds — white covered in blood cutting through the smoke, faster than thought. In a flash, Mark landed before them, the rooftop cracking under the impact.

He was covered in blood. His hair was matted, uniform torn at the shoulder, eyes blazing with something between fury and despair.

Veronica’s breath caught in her throat. “Mark…”

He looked at her — just looked — and all the walls inside him seemed to crumble.

In two steps, he was there.

His arms wrapped around her before she could even react, crushing her against him. The smell of blood, smoke, and burnt metal clung to him, but underneath it, he was still him. Still warm. Still real.

Her hands trembled against his chest. “You— are alright” she whispered, voice breaking.

He pressed his face into her shoulder, breathing her in. “I told you I’d have a plan”

Behind them, Angstrom adjusted the collar of his coat, voice faintly amused. “Touching. Though, I must say, f you is more… sentimental than I expected.”

Mark turned his head just enough to look at him, his eyes burning like molten gold. “You broke the deal.”

Angstrom’s smirk widened. “I prefer to think of it as accelerating it. You didn’t specify when she’d be returned.”

“You had no right,” Mark growled, his voice low, the air vibrating with it.

Angstrom folded his hands behind his back. “I have every right. You made the mistake of thinking you could bend reality around sentiment. You’re a Viltrumite, Mark. You don’t get to retire.”

Mark moved so fast the air screamed. In the span of a heartbeat, his hand was around Angstrom’s throat, lifting him clean off the ground.

Veronica gasped, stepping forward. “Mark, don’t—”

Angstrom’s expression didn’t waver. “Do it,” he rasped, the portal energy already crackling in his eyes. “You’ll only make more of me.”

Mark’s grip tightened — then loosened.

He dropped him.

Angstrom staggered but caught himself, straightening his coat again like nothing had happened. “You can’t stop what’s coming, Grayson. You can delay it, perhaps. But not stop it.”

Mark turned to her, his voice gentler now, though it carried an exhaustion that cut deep. “Get behind me.”

She didn’t move — not yet. “Mark, what is this? What happened here?”

His jaw flexed. “I tried to end it.”

“And?”

His gaze flicked toward the sky where smoke swirled over the city, faint shapes darting through the clouds — heroes flying with someone who looked too much like him.

“I did,” he said quietly. “But not soon enough.”

Angstrom opened another portal behind him, its edges rippling with unstable light. “You’ll see soon enough, girl. The universe doesn’t forgive experiments like him.”

“Don’t—” Mark started, stepping forward.

But Angstrom was already gone. The portal snapped shut, the air falling heavy and still again.

“Mark,” she whispered, voice rough, “we need to—”

He lifted a hand slightly — not to silence her, but to listen. His head tilted, eyes narrowing.
Something was wrong.

The pressure in the air changed again, sharper this time. Reality itself seemed to twist in front of them — the same eerie hum of dimensional energy that had dragged her here moments ago.

A new portal opened.
Right in front of him.

Green light flared outward, forcing her to squint. “Mark—”

He stepped forward, shielding her with his body, every muscle tense. “Stay behind me,” he ordered, voice low.

From the portal stepped… him.

The one-armed Mark Grayson stood across the rooftop, half-silhouetted by the swirling light behind him. His face was streaked with old blood, his expression unreadable — calm, even. His remaining arm was tense at his side, fist clenched so hard it trembled.

Her breath caught. She could feel her Mark’s confusion ripple through the air like heat.

“Angstrom,” her Mark said coldly, not taking his eyes off the variant. “What is this?”

But no one answered.

The one-armed Mark took a slow step forward. “It’s over,” he said simply, his voice deeper, heavier. “You can stop fighting now.”

Her Mark frowned. “You’re lying.”

The other smiled faintly. “Maybe. But you’ll want to see what comes next.”

Her Mark’s instincts flared. He hovered just off the ground ready for anything. She felt it too — the subtle change in air pressure before an explosion.

Then, the impossible happened.

The one-armed Mark dropped his guard and opened his arms.

An embrace.

“What the hell—” her Mark muttered, eyes narrowing in confusion.

Her hand reached toward him, desperate. “Mark, wait—”

But he hesitated only for a heartbeat — just long enough for that other version of him to move.

The one-armed Mark’s expression softened almost imperceptibly before hardening again. And then, with a sudden, terrifying burst of strength, his remaining hand shot forward — gripping the front of her Mark’s uniform.

Before Mark could react, before he could even tense, the portal behind the other one expanded. The energy roared to life, pulling at everything around them — the wind, the dust, even the fire.

“No!” she screamed, the sound ripping from her throat as the air around them shattered.

Her Mark’s eyes went wide as he was yanked forward, both versions colliding into the glowing vortex. His last glance was over his shoulder — right at her.
Just a flash of gold and heartbreak.

Then he was gone.

The portal snapped shut like a door slamming on reality itself, leaving nothing but the hum of collapsing energy.

Veronica staggered forward, reaching the edge of the rooftop where he’d just stood.
Empty.
Gone.

Her voice broke, “Mark…?”

Silence answered her — except for the crackling of distant fires and the roar of engines somewhere above.

She looked up, chest heaving. Shapes were cutting through the smoke — flying.

Her eyes widened as one of them came into view: dark blue suit, black insignia, the same familiar person
Invincible.
The original one.

Her pulse hammered. The irony cut deep enough to ache.

“Hey!” a voice called from above — one of the heroes, maybe Atom Eve or bulletproof it was hard to tell through the smoke. “There’s someone on the roof!”

Veronica’s feet shifted backward automatically. She didn’t know what to do — didn’t even know what she could do. The air still shimmered faintly where the portal had been, like a wound that refused to close.

Below, the building moaned, metal bending under its own weight. She had seconds before it would collapse.

“Ma’am! Don’t move!” someone shouted, closer now. “We’ll get you down!”

Her eyes flicked toward the direction her Mark had vanished, her hand pressing over her stomach.
Her voice came out a whisper only the wind could hear: “Please be okay…”

Then she turned and ran.

The heroes’ shouts echoed behind her as she ducked beneath a collapsing beam, slipping into the shadowed stairwell. Smoke clawed at her lungs, but she didn’t stop — not until the sound of their voices was swallowed by the chaos below.

Outside, high above the city, Invincible hovered where she had stood moments before, scanning the ruins. He frowned, eyes narrowing.

Why is she running?

Chapter Text

Cecil’s voice still echoed through his earpiece when Mark hit the coordinates.
The city stretched below him, the skyline bent and blackened from the last attack. Buildings groaned under the weight of smoke and damage. Every few seconds, the air rippled — faint waves of green distortion that twisted his vision before fading again.

“This is definitely dimensional,” he muttered. “You were right.”

“Wasn’t guessing,” Cecil’s voice crackled in response. “Sensors picked up residual Angstrom energy signatures. Be careful, mark— if he’s here, he’s learned from the last time.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Yeah. He always does.”

He hovered lower, scanning the streets. That’s when he saw her.

Through the haze and drifting ash, a lone figure stumbled across a collapsed rooftop. Her movements were erratic — panic and exhaustion in every step. Then he noticed the roundness of her midsection, the clear strain in her breathing.

She was pregnant.

Mark felt a jolt of alarm. “Cecil— I’ve got a civilian up here. Looks injured or scared out of her mind.”

“Get her down before she falls,” Cecil replied. “Don’t engage until we know who we’re dealing with.”

“Copy.”

Mark dove.

Wind tore past him as he descended, slowing at the last second so he didn’t startle her. “Hey! Hey, stop— you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

She flinched at his voice, spinning around too fast, her footing slipping on loose gravel. Her eyes were wide, glassy—pure fear.

“Back up!” she shouted, one hand clutching her stomach protectively.

“Ma’am, it’s okay, I’m not here to hurt you—”

“Don’t come closer!”

Her voice cracked with something deeper than fear. Mark could feel it: the tremor of someone running not just from danger, but from everything.

When she tried to bolt again, he moved instinctively. In a blur, he was in front of her, catching her just as her knees buckled. “Whoa—easy, easy.”

She struggled in his arms, nails digging into his suit, muttering something under her breath — words he couldn’t make out over the noise of collapsing debris.

“Eve,” he said into his comm. “I need you here. Now.”

A pink flare split the smoke seconds later as Atom Eve appeared, eyes darting from him to the frightened woman in his grip. “What’s going on?”

“She’s panicking. I think she’s gonna hurt herself or—”

Eve nodded and swept her hand outward. Solid pink constructs shimmered around the woman’s arms and legs, forming soft restraints that glowed like warm glass.

“Hey,” Mark said gently, keeping his tone even. “We’re not gonna hurt you, alright? We just want to make sure you’re safe.”

Her breathing slowed a little, though her eyes still darted everywhere—like she was looking for something—or someone—just beyond the smoke.

Then she finally spoke. “Let me go. Please. I was just scared.”

Eve glanced at Mark. He shook his head slightly. “We can’t do that yet.”

Before either of them could ask anything else, a low hum broke through the static. The comm channel crackled once—then Cecil’s voice came sharp, controlled:

“Don’t let her go.”

Mark frowned. “Cecil?”

And then he heard it—footsteps, boots on scorched metal. He turned just as the portal distortion flickered again, revealing the faint outline of a GDA transport shimmer.

Cecil stepped out, trench coat fluttering, a tablet in one hand. His expression was unreadable as he scanned the woman.

“Well,” he said slowly, “it looks like it’s gon—”
He froze. His eyes narrowed.
“Miss Banks.”

The woman’s entire body went still.

Cecil let out a dry laugh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “We’ve been looking for you for a year. You vanished after the last variant breach. Broke out of containment, if I remember right.”

The heroes turned to her in confusion. Eve looked from one to the other. “You know her?”

Veronica Banks didn’t answer. Her eyes dropped to the ground, the faintest tremor in her hands.

Cecil’s expression hardened as he noticed the swell beneath her shirt. “Oh,” he said, voice low but cutting. “Is that why you’ve been MIA? Not because you suddenly turned over a new leaf, but because you were busy instead of cleaning up the mess you made.”

“Cecil,” Mark warned, stepping forward, “what are you talking about?”

Cecil didn’t look at him. “Take her in, boys.”

Two black-ops GDA soldiers appeared from the transport, their armor reflecting the pale green residue from the portal. They moved fast, trained.

Mark frowned and turned to Cecil. “Hold on—what do you mean, take her in? She’s pregnant.”

Cecil’s gaze remained fixed on Veronica. “She’s also a Class-S metahuman who broke containment during a cross-dimensional incursion. We assumed she was dead until now.”

Mark blinked, thrown. “Dead?”

“Last time we saw her, she was fighting one of the variant Graysons,” Cecil said. “No corpse was recovered. We figured she was vaporized or escaped. Looks like it was the latter.”

He stepped forward, lowering his voice. “She’s dangerous, Mark. Her power signature nearly fried our systems during the last breach. You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”

Mark turned back to Veronica. She hadn’t moved. Her head hung low, her hair half-shadowing her face. When she looked up at him, there was a kind of quiet sorrow in her eyes—one that made his stomach twist.

She didn’t deny it.

Didn’t say a word.

The soldiers moved in, guiding her gently but firmly toward the waiting transport. Eve hesitated, looking at Mark for permission. He couldn’t meet her eyes.

Cecil exhaled smoke from his e-cig, staring out over the ruined skyline. “Yeah,” he muttered finally, “ex-prisoner, meta-class anomaly. Escaped during a variant invasion. Thought she died fighting one of them. Guess I was wrong.”

Mark’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “What happens to her now?”

Cecil didn’t answer right away. His eyes tracked the city—the wreckage, the chaos still burning below.

“She goes back into containment,” he said at last. “Until we figure out how she survived and how she’s tied to this mess.”

He turned toward the edge of the building, his voice dropping lower. “If Angstrom’s here, that woman might be our only link.”

Mark followed his gaze. The firelight reflected in his eyes, fractured and tired.

“Yeah,” he said quietly, almost to himself. “Feels like everyone’s coming back.”

Viltrumite Mark’s POV

The pull of the portal tore through his atoms like fire. He caught the one-armed variant’s wrist, twisting, using raw force to throw him off. The other Mark hit the ground hard, gritting his teeth as his body healed in ragged flashes of light.

“What did you do?” Mark demanded, eyes snapping toward Angstrom, whose calm face flickered under the pulsing glow of his machine.

“I returned her to her world,” Angstrom said evenly, his voice almost bored, “just as I will return you to yours.”

“That wasn’t the deal.”
Mark’s voice cracked like thunder, vibrating the air between them. His chest heaved as his mind clawed through disbelief—Veronica, gone? Just sent away like some bargaining chip?

Angstrom smiled that detached, cruel smile. “The original deal, my dear Mark, was that I help you conquer dimensions—not keep you chained to a pet.”

“Don’t call her that.”
The roar ripped out of his throat before he even realized it. The ground trembled beneath the force of his rage. “You lied again. I helped you. I cleaned your mess. I trusted you!”

“Ah,” Angstrom said, tapping the device on his wrist, “and that was your first mistake.”

The green light expanded—blinding, spinning—and the next thing Mark knew, the portal yanked him down into an endless rush of sound and pain. He hit the ground with enough force to shatter steel.

When he looked up…

He was home.

But not the home he had built with Her.
Not the quiet river, not the sunlight through leaves.

No—this was the Empire. The real Viltrumite world.

The air was cold and sharp, thick with the metallic scent of war. Towers of black and silver pierced the clouds, and red banners hung like veins across the horizon. He could hear the endless hum of the planetary engines—the same sound that haunted his childhood.

And above him… the shadow of the flagship.

“Grayson.”
A voice like a blade.

He turned, seeing a familiar face—General Korr, one of his father’s oldest allies. A man carved from iron, draped in Viltrumite insignia.

“You’ve been gone a long time,” Korr said, eyeing him up and down. “Your absence raised questions.”

Mark’s jaw tightened.

“By who?” Mark’s voice lowered, dangerous.

Korr’s lips twitched in a cruel smirk.
“By your court, by the empire, by your father of course.”

Mark’s breath stilled. He glanced toward the banners again—only this time he saw the emblem etched in gold: crest.

His father’s.

But the name written beneath it wasn’t Nolan Grayson.

It was Markus Grayson.

His name.

And for the first time since Angstrom’s betrayal, Mark felt a deeper horror crawl through him.

what?…
He was the Emperor.

Chapter Text

The room was too bright.
Too white.
Too sterile.

It buzzed faintly, that constant electric hum that made her skin crawl. The fluorescent lights overhead didn’t flicker—they hummed, like they were watching. She sat there, wrists cuffed to a metal table slick with cold condensation, heartbeat pounding in her throat.

A mirror faced her. Two-way glass. She knew the drill. She’d been on the other side before—watching others break, watching them confess. She wasn’t going to give them the same satisfaction.

Her hands trembled slightly as she pressed them to the table. The bulge under her shirt made her stomach twist harder than the cuffs did.

The door slid open with a mechanical hiss.

Cecil walked in first—foot tapping the floor softly, the smell of burnt cigars trailing behind him like a warning. Atom Eve followed, red hair pulled back, eyes sharp with suspicion and something else… pity, maybe.

Cecil leaned forward on the cane. “Well, Miss Banks,” he drawled, voice calm but laced with iron, “you’ve been a ghost for almost a year. Care to tell me how a wanted fugitive from the Global Defense Agency disappears off-planet without leaving a trace?”

She didn’t answer. Just kept her gaze locked on the table.

“C’mon,” Cecil prodded, tapping his fingers. “You show up in the middle of a dimensional surge, city half on fire, lookin’ like you crawled outta a war zone, and I’m supposed to believe you just stumbled here?”

Eve crossed her arms. “You were terrified when Mark found you,” she said quietly. “You ran from help, where were you going to go?”

Her throat tightened. Her eyes stung—but she forced the tears back down.

If she told them—if she said anything—
What would they do to her, she's not a regular civilian but a criminal.
If she told them… it would only make things worse.

Cecil sighed when she didn’t speak. He circled slowly, clicking against the floor. “You know, when people disappear through Angstrom’s portals, they don’t usually make it back in one piece. So forgive me if I’m curious how you managed it.”

She finally looked up, eyes narrowing, He knows.
“I survived,” she said flatly. “That’s all that matters.”

Eve’s expression softened a little. “Hey, if you’re in danger, we can help you.”

Her heart ached at that—because the kindness in Eve’s voice wasn’t fake. It reminded her of a time before she ran, before Mark, before all of this. But she couldn’t let that warmth slip past her guard.

“You can’t,” she said simply.

Cecil raised a brow. “That so?”

She met his gaze. “ I do not need your help.”

He studied her for a moment, reading her like a machine scans for cracks. Then his eyes drifted—just slightly—to her abdomen. He didn’t say anything, but the flicker of knowing what was there.

He straightened. “You’ll stay here under observation until further notice. You so much as sneeze wrong, you’ll have a team of guards in your room.”

He turned for the door, then stopped, glancing over his shoulder. “And Miss Banks—if you’re thinkin’ of running again, remember: wherever you’ve been, wherever you think you belong—this world’s got eyes everywhere.”

When they left, the silence came back like a fog.

She slumped forward, breath trembling. One hand drifted protectively over her stomach.

“Hold on,” she whispered softly. “Just a little longer.”

The cameras in the corners whirred softly as they refocused.
But she didn’t look up.
She couldn’t.

Because if she did—if she let herself feel—the truth might slip through her lips.

And she couldn’t risk that.
Not when Mark, her mark was gone.
Not when everything depended on her silence.

-

Cecil shut the door with a click, exhaling a long, tired breath. The hum of the fluorescent lights in the hall faded behind him, replaced by the steady beep of monitors and the low chatter of the GDA control floor.

Eve stood across the desk, arms crossed, frown etched deep into her features. “You saw her,” she said. “She’s terrified, Cecil. Whatever she went through—whatever world she was in—she’s not the same person you filed as ‘unstable threat.’”

Cecil set his notes aside and pulled up the holographic readouts from her medical scan. A projection flickered above the desk — wanted fugitive, visibly pregnant, vitals steady but fluctuating slightly.

“She’s not Terrified eve.” he said quietly. “She’s cornered. There’s a difference.”

Eve’s eyes softened, then hardened again. “And your solution is to keep her locked up like an animal?”

Cecil gave her a look. “She’s a fugitive, Eve. Escaped during the multiversal incident. We don’t know what she brought back with her — for all we know, the kid could be half god, half time bomb.”

Eve shot him a glare. “You sound like Robot.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. He simply tapped a few more commands, bringing up footage from the city roof — Mark (her Mark) being pulled through the portal, Angstrom’s readings still active for seconds afterward.

“Look at that,” Cecil muttered. “She didn’t just fall back through. Something — someone — sent her.”

Eve stepped closer, watching the feed. “You think it was him? Angstrom?”

Cecil nodded once. “That bastard’s still meddling. And now he’s got two Viltrumites tangled in his experiments. If Veronica was with one of them… well, you can guess the rest.”

Eve folded her arms tighter. “Then we need to find a way to separate her from all of this before it explodes in our faces.”

He gave a small, humorless smile. “That’s the plan, sweetheart. But don’t get too cozy. You start trusting her too soon, and we might end up on the wrong side of a Viltrumite tantrum.”

She turned for the door, muttering under her breath. “You always think you can contain everything.”

Cecil called after her. “No. I just plan for when we can’t.”

---

Later That Night —

The walls never slept. The hum of security systems was constant — a pulse, a reminder. But she’d learned how to quiet her mind beneath noise.

She sat cross-legged on the narrow bed, the pale blue light from the corridor spilling through the small window in the door. She could feel the faint flutter beneath her palm — that delicate rhythm that didn’t belong to her alone anymore.

She whispered softly, “You’re safe for now. I promise.”

But the promise didn’t taste right on her tongue. Not in this place. Not surrounded by eyes and walls.

She exhaled, gaze tracing the ceiling — the small lines where the panels met, where wires hid behind layers of insulation. Her energy had been unpredictable lately, pulsing in strange bursts since her return. Being back in her world — its gravity, its density — made her body hum differently.

She could feel the systems monitoring her, faint signatures flickering against her skin like heat against glass.

A quiet realization bloomed in her mind.
They thought she was powerless.
That being trapped in a GDA cell would keep her still.

But she wasn’t the same woman who left this world.

Closing her eyes, Veronica drew in a deep breath — slow, steady, grounding herself in the rhythm of her heartbeat and the faint second pulse under her palm. She began to map the energy currents in the room — the sensors, the faint metallic echoes in the air ducts.

She found it. A frequency — faint, but there.

Her lips parted. “Good.”

If she could keep it steady for a few days, she could mask her energy signature.
Maybe even fool the scans long enough to slip through.

She needed to find him.
She needed to find angstrom before they did.

Her hand tightened over her stomach. “Just a little longer,” she whispered. “Then we run again.”

Outside her cell, one of the guards glanced at the feed. Everything looked normal.
Veronica sat perfectly still. Calm. Compliant.

But her eyes were open now — glowing faintly, just for a moment, before the light dimmed back into the quiet dark.

-
Eve’s POV

Something about her didn’t add up.

Eve had been replaying the same mental image since the night they’d brought her in — the look on her face when she realized where she was. Not confusion, not fear.
Recognition.

The way her eyes darted to the corners of the room, to the GDA cameras like she already knew where every one of them was. The way her hands — shaking but steady — had immediately gone to her stomach, protective and instinctive.

Pregnant.
Alone.
And somehow alive after a year off the grid.

Eve leaned against the concrete wall outside the observation chamber. The hum of the lights overhead was too loud in the silence. Inside the glass enclosure, she sat on the narrow bunk, staring at nothing. A soft orange light bathed her face, making the exhaustion in her eyes look deeper.

Cecil had called it “containment,” but to Eve it felt like a cage.

Footsteps came from behind her — the familiar cadence of boots she’d memorized years ago.

“Still here?”
Mark’s voice, low and worn.

Eve didn’t turn right away. “You ever get that feeling,” she murmured, “where something’s just… off, but you can’t explain why?”

He sighed, moving to stand beside her. Through the glass, Veronica shifted on the cot, whispering something under her breath.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “All the time.”

“She’s not what Cecil says she is,” Eve said, folding her arms. “He called her a fugitive, but that doesn’t line up with the files I pulled. She was in GDA custody, sure — some kind of metahuman anomaly case — but she never hurt civilians. Mostly meta humans who could protect themselves Half her record is redacted.”

Mark frowned. “You checked?”

“I know a little but I also check,” Eve said flatly. “Especially now when we’re locking up a pregnant woman in a glass box.”

Mark rubbed the back of his neck. “Cecil says she’s dangerous.”

“Cecil says everyone is dangerous if they don’t listen to him,” Eve snapped, then softened her tone. “Look, I’ve been watching her. She’s scared, not scheming. Every time the guards move too close, she flinches. You don’t fake that kind of fear.”

Mark didn’t reply right away. His jaw flexed, eyes still fixed on the cell. “You think she’s hiding something?”

“I think she’s surviving something.”

That got his attention.

Eve turned, lowering her voice. “When we first brought her in, I felt it — her energy signature. It’s strong, but strange. Layered. There’s other trace markers in it.”

Mark’s head whipped toward her. “Wait — what?”

“Exactly,” Eve said. “Not fully, but there’s something. Maybe genetic contamination, maybe exposure. Whatever it is, it’s not from this Earth.”

He stepped closer to the glass, studying Veronica again — the slow rhythm of her breathing, the protective way her hand rested on her stomach. “You think she’s was turned into some type of lab rat”

Eve’s silence was her answer.

Mark exhaled through his nose. “Angstrom.”

The name hit the air like static.

“I don’t know,” Eve said carefully. “But she appeared right when the dimensional readings spiked again. Cecil’s pretending he doesn’t see the connection, but you know him — he’s already running blood tests behind the scenes.”

Mark’s gaze hardened. “And the baby?”

Eve hesitated. “… Cecil didn't give me much, but we know it happened in a different world .”

The words hung heavy between them.

He pressed a hand to the glass, watching her through the reflection of his own face. “If she really was stuck somewhere else… if Angstrom had her…”

“Then we have no idea what she’s been through,” Eve finished for him.

---

Hours later, the observation room was empty except for the low hum of machines. Eve sat at one of the consoles, scrolling through encrypted reports. The files Cecil hadn’t meant for her to see.
She’d broken into enough databases to know what to look for — pattern codes, energy frequency signatures, cross-dimensional residue.

And there it was.
One scan result stood out from the rest — a spike of anomalous energy in the same spectrum as Angstrom’s portals, embedded in the air molecules near her capture site.

“Got you,” she whispered.

“Got what?”

Eve jumped. Mark was behind her again — quiet, unreadable.

She gestured at the monitor. “Dimensional residue. Angstrom’s, I’m sure of it.”

Mark leaned over her shoulder. “So she was brought here.”

“Yeah. Question is — by who’s choice?”

They looked at each other for a moment, the air thick with unspoken worry.

“Mark,” Eve said slowly, “you’ve fought versions of yourself before. Variants. If there’s even a chance this woman is connected to one of them…”

He straightened, his face hardening with quiet dread. “Then he’s still alive.”

“Or worse,” she said softly, “he’s planning something bigger.”

Mark didn’t respond. He just stood there, staring at the faint reflection of Veronica behind the glass — the way she traced patterns on her stomach, her lips moving as if speaking to someone only she could hear.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “Keep this between us. Cecil doesn’t need to know yet.”

Eve nodded. “You think she’s dangerous?”

Mark shook his head once. “No. I think she’s confused. And if Angstrom’s involved again…” His fists clenched, and a faint tremor ran through the floor. “Then she’s not the threat. She’s the warning.”

---

Later that night, Eve stood on the roof of the GDA facility. The stars were dim through the pollution, but she could still make out the shimmer of the Earth’s upper atmosphere — faint echoes of the last dimensional breach still hanging like ghosts.

She felt it again — that strange, rippling energy in the air. It was subtle, like an aftertaste of something cosmic.

Her comm buzzed. Cecil’s voice, sharp and tired. “You’re still up there?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she said.

“Neither could I. You keep an eye on our guest tomorrow. If she starts showing any signs of… instability, you let me know. Quietly.”

“Instability?” Eve repeated.

“She’s carrying a wildcard,” Cecil said bluntly. “And if there’s one thing I hate, it’s surprises.”

The line went dead.

Eve stared out over the city — the hum of drones, the faint glow of lightning over the horizon — and thought of her trembling hands, the pulse of power in her veins, and the way she kept glancing toward the window like she was waiting for someone.

Eve’s stomach turned.

She didn’t believe in coincidences anymore.

---

Inside her cell, she lay awake, eyes open to the ceiling. Her fingers traced faint symbols against the fabric of her blanket — marks no one else would recognize.
A whisper, barely audible, left her lips.

“Hold on, Mark. Just hold on.”

She turned her face toward the small reinforced window, thinking about the faintest shimmer of green light pulsed once — then vanished.

And miles away, on another world ruled by steel and blood, someone heard it.

Chapter Text

The air was thin here. Metallic. Familiar.
Mark blinked hard, forcing his vision to focus through the Viltrumite capital’s atmosphere. The sound of boots and the sharp hiss of the wind returned all at once.

He hovered above the old citadel, once his post before he’d taking angstroms deal, but he knew that they won't see it his way. They will see this as he abandoned the empire’s command. Below, towers of black steel rose from the planet’s crust, and the distant shape of training rings glimmered under the light of suns. His chest tightened—not with awe, but with rage.

He turned sharply, eyes scanning for the green shimmer of a portal—nothing. Just the silence of his own breath and the static of his comm implant long since deactivated.

His fists clenched. Every nerve in his body screamed for something to hit.

General korr stares at him waiting for him to explain himself.

Atom Eve’s POV)

It had been three days since the GDA locked her away. Three days since Eve had seen the look in her eyes — not defiance, not guilt… but something rawer. Fear. And beneath that, a kind of loyalty she couldn’t explain.

Eve sat in the observation room above Veronica’s containment cell, elbows on her knees, staring through the glass as the woman slept on the cot. Her stomach visibly rounding, one arm draped protectively across it.

Cecil’s words echoed: “Don’t get soft, Eve. She’s dangerous, variant or not.”

But that wasn’t what haunted her. It was the way she had looked at her earlier that day, when Eve had brought food down. The subtle glint of thankfulness —.

Eve leaned back and pinched her temple.
“This doesn’t feel right.”

She heard the door hiss open behind her. Mark walked in — the good one, her Mark. His costume was still torn from a fight earlier, and there was a tired frown sitting between his brows.

“You’re still watching her?” he asked.

Eve crossed her arms. “You don’t think it’s strange? no one can tell me where exactly she’s been.”

Mark sighed and walked closer to the glass, eyes narrowing on Veronica.
“She was gone because she didn’t want to be found idk, but we know she's working with angstrom-

Eve turned sharply toward him. “You don’t know that.”

He looked at her — and for a second, she caught something flicker across his expression. Unease. Maybe pity. Maybe something deeper.

They stood there in silence, staring down at each other.

Finally, Eve said quietly, “When I was with her earlier, she muttered something in her sleep — ‘he’ll come back for us.’ Us, Mark. That wasn’t just a promise… it sounded like certainty.”

Mark exhaled slowly, crossing his arms. “Then maybe she’s not the victim you think she is.”

Eve looked back through the glass again, and her heart twisted. “Or maybe she’s the bait.”

---

Viltrumite mark pov

The words still didn't make sense at first.
Not even to him.

Markus Grayson. Emperor.

The letters carved into the steel banners gleamed like mockery in the light.
His name—the same one his father once said you can be seen as Earth’s savior or destroyer—now branded across a planet soaked in conquest.

He stared at it for too long.
Long enough for General Korr to tilt his head, studying him like a weapon that had been left in the dirt too long.

“Don't look surprised,” Korr said. “You should be proud. Your campaign reshaped the southern colonies, crushed the resistance at Keplar’s Edge. You united sectors even your father hesitated to tame.”

Mark blinked. “You’re talking like—”
“Like you haven’t been gone?” Korr interrupted. “Records show otherwise. You led the last purge yourself. Then you vanished.”

Mark’s pulse thundered in his ears. The memories didn’t exist—not his, anyway. They belonged to this version of him.
Another Mark. Another monster molded by the empire.

He glanced down at his hands, half expecting them to be bloodied.
Was this what Angstrom wanted him to see? To remind him of what he could’ve been?

Korr’s communicator pinged sharply. The general turned away, speaking low into it—too quiet for human ears, but not for him.
“—confirmed sighting, send word to High Command. Emperor Grayson has returned.”

That was all Mark needed to hear.

In a blur, he was gone.
The air cracked around him as he shot skyward, past the fortress spires and the clouds that smelled like ionized metal. The cold bit at his skin as the planet’s curvature rolled beneath him.

He flew until the noise faded, until he could breathe again.

He found a ridge near the equator—one of the few places left untouched by architecture. There, he landed. Dust curled around his boots.

He looked at the horizon. The empire stretched in all directions: planetary rings of warships, outposts, colonies.
And somewhere above it all… his father.

His father.
Still here. Still ruling—or maybe hiding behind the ghost of a son who had become exactly what he wanted.

Mark clenched his fists.
He had to find him before the Viltrumites did—before they realized this Mark wasn’t their emperor.

Because once they did, there’d be no explaining it.
There’d be execution. Or worse—subjugation.

He needed answers.
And he needed his father.

---

By the time night fell, Mark had reached the old citadel.
It stood at the edge of the capital, built into the remains of a mountain. The sky glowed red with the reflection of the planet’s shield barrier—a sunless, war-born twilight.

Inside, the air smelled like burnt ozone and oil.
He could hear the hum of life-support reactors, the distant sound of drills. Everything here was sharp, militaristic—an echo of Viltrumite discipline.

He pushed through the heavy doors.
And froze.

There was someone already waiting inside.

An older man.
Broad-shouldered. Cloaked in armor of burnished silver and crimson. The sigil of the empire burned across his chest.

“Nolan,” Mark breathed.

His father turned slowly, his expression unreadable. His beard was longer now, but his eyes—those sharp, endless eyes—hadn’t softened a bit.

“Mark,” his father said, his tone level. “So it’s true.”

Mark took a step forward. “I’m not—”
“Not him?” Nolan interrupted. “I know. I knew the moment I heard your landing.”

That sent a chill through him.

“Angstrom Levy,” his mark said, looking toward the stars through the window. “He’s a man. Pulling threads from realities he doesn’t understand." "My mark killed the man your describing. Yet he's alive for you. You’re another one of his mistakes, aren’t you?”

Mark swallowed hard. “He sent me here after—after taking her.”

Nolan’s jaw flexed. “Her?”
“my mate,” Mark said quietly. “He sent her back to her world. He said the deal was over.”

Something passed through Nolan’s gaze—brief, almost human. “You’ve grown soft.”

“I’ve grown different,” Mark shot back.

His father turned, eyes narrowing. “Different doesn’t survive here. The Empire will come for you, and when they do, they won’t ask which Mark you are. You wear their crest, their armor, their face. You’ll die for their crimes.”

“Then help me stop it,” Mark said.

Nolan looked at him for a long time. The silence stretched until it hurt.
Finally, he said, “You shouldn’t have come back.”

Mark’s temper flared. “I didn’t choose to!”

Their voices cracked like thunder against the walls.

Nolan’s hand twitched, just once—a reflex, old instinct from years of command.
But he didn’t move to strike. Instead, he looked tired. Ancient.

“If you want to live,” Nolan said finally, “you’ll need to play the part until we find a way to send you home. Until then… you’re Emperor Grayson, I could kill you myself.... but I have lived long enough to understand the power of perception.”

Mark stared. “You’re serious?”

“Completely.” His father’s voice was hard now. “The Empire’s eyes are already on you. Pretend to be him—or they’ll tear you apart before you can blink.”

Mark exhaled shakily, rubbing a hand over his face. “And you? What are you going to do?”

Nolan’s gaze drifted toward the banners above. “I’m going to make sure the empire doesn’t realize there’s two of you alive.”

He turned away.
“Tomorrow, you will wear the crown.”

Mark watched his father disappear down the corridor.
He looked up at the Viltrumite crest blazing above him—his name carved into its steel heart.

And for the first time since landing on this world, Mark wasn’t sure who the enemy really was anymore—Angstrom Levy, or the reflection of himself this empire still worshiped.

Chapter Text

One week later

Everything was quiet.
Too quiet.

She sat on the edge of the narrow cot, hands folded against the faint swell of her stomach. The lights in the containment room never dimmed—always humming, always sterile. The GDA didn’t believe in comfort, only control.

She hadn’t seen daylight since the day they brought her in.
Cameras tracked her every move. Even the air tasted filtered, like it had been scrubbed of life before reaching her lungs.

Eve had come by twice.
Once to ask questions—gentle but rehearsed.

She was kind, in that distant way people are when they’re trying not to get attached.

Cecil had come by, too—but he didn’t ask questions. He observed. His eyes behind that glass wall, flickering with calculation.

She had said little since. She knew better.
The less she said, the safer she was.

For her.
For the baby.
For him.

Mark.

Her chest tightened at the thought of him. Every night since her capture, she thought of him— wondering where angstrom sent him, knowing that he's changed hopefully not to his world.

She had to assume the worst and still move like he was alive.

The guards changed every six hours. She’d already learned their names from overheard chatter—Davis, Kim, Morales. Davis was the talker. Morales checked her food. Kim pretended she wasn’t there.

She was learning their routines, their weaknesses.
That was step one.

Step two was waiting.

---

That night, after another round of “monitoring,” Eve and Cecil stood outside the reinforced window overlooking her cell.

“She hasn’t said a word about where she’s been,” Eve said, arms folded. “Just small talk, nothing about the last year, nothing about… him.”

Cecil exhaled through his nose. “And you think she’s lying?”

“I think she’s hiding,” Eve said. “Her heart rate spikes every time anyone mentions other dimensions. You saw the readings.”

Cecil stared through the glass at her sitting perfectly still under the light, tracing her thumb over her wrist like she was counting time.
“She’s smart. Dangerous. And now she’s—”
“Pregnant,” Eve finished sharply. “so ease up on her, there's not much she can do”

He nodded once, eyes narrowing. “We keep her in the medical wing until delivery. After that, she gets transferred to high-security.”

Eve frowned. “That will be to soon- she's not that much of a threat .”

“She is a threat,” Cecil said. “Every time we’ve encountered her it's been unpredictable. And this? She survived a year off the grid with a Viltrumite. You don’t do that without learning how to play the game.”

Eve looked at him sharply. “So what—she’s just another project now?”

Cecil’s silence was answer enough.

She shook her head. “You’re making a mistake. She’s not just some weapon you can lock up.”

Cecil’s voice hardened. “Then tell me what she is.”

Eve didn’t answer.

Through the glass, she looked up—straight at them.
Her expression calm. Almost knowing.

Cecil blinked. “Can she see us?”

Eve’s mouth parted slightly. “No. The window’s—”

She turned her head to the side. Just faintly. Then looked away.

Eve stepped back. “We need to move her. She’s reading us somehow.”

“Good,” Cecil said, already turning. “Maybe she’ll give us something useful before she realizes we’re the ones watching her.”

---

Hours later, the hallways fell quiet again. The lights dimmed just enough to blur the corners.

She lay still on the bed, eyes open.
Her fingers brushed the curve of her stomach.

“They think they’re watching me,” she whispered.
“But I’m watching them.”

A faint hum of energy shimmered beneath her skin—the smallest flex of her suppressed ability. Most of it, but not all.

Somewhere deep in the facility, lights flickered. Cameras glitched.

It was small, brief, and gone before the system could flag it.
But she felt it.

Her power was heavy in this condition but still useful surly but
Slowly.

And when it did—when she had enough—
She would leave.

No matter which world he was trapped in.

—

The capital room felt wrong.

Too sharp. Too bright.
Every surface gleamed with the same cold pride that marked everything the Viltrumites built—beauty meant to intimidate, not comfort.

Mark stood on the balcony overlooking the empire’s capital city, a world of silver spires stretching as far as his eyes could see.
Even the sky looked heavy here—dark violet, streaked with the glow of distant suns.

He had got a message from General Korr:
“You’ve returned, Grayson. Emperor Thragg will want to see you.”

That meeting had happened the next day.
If Mark was honest, it still haunted him.

Thragg hadn’t attacked him.
He hadn’t punished him either.
He’d simply looked at Mark with that impossible calm—like studying a weapon whose blade he’d already tested before.

“You are Viltrumite,” Thragg had said. “You survived, war, betrayal. You’ve seen weakness and lived. That makes you valuable.”

Then he’d ordered him to complete and continue his command of the Earth Divisionm

He hadn’t refused. Not yet.
Because refusal here meant death—or worse, being used as an example.

And he still didn’t know what happened to her.

That uncertainty was the only thing that kept him from burning the entire world to ash.

---

“Markus.”
The voice came from behind him—General Korr again, bowing slightly as he approached.
“Your audience with the council begins in fifteen minutes.”

Mark didn’t turn around. “Tell them I’ll be there.”

Korr voice turns cold, then added, “Word of your return has spread across the outer colonies. Many of our kind see it as a sign. The son of the great Nolan Grayson has come back. They believe your time away was... divine preparation.”

Mark almost laughed. “Divine. Right.”

He’d seen divinity.
He’d seen what blind faith in bloodlines did.

Korr looked, “Your father’s location was last recorded on the edge of the Athenian belt. If you wish to contact him again, the channels remain open.”

That made Mark finally turn. “You think I don’t know that?”

Korr testing him. “Just a reminder.”

He knows not to see his father again not because he's being watched by other soldiers but-...

Because of Thragg. If might be watching—and he was—any communication could be traced.
And he would know the truth .

“I’ll speak to him again when I’m ready,” Mark said, keeping his voice flat.

Korr nodded once and left.

---

When the door sealed shut, Mark’s hands balled into fists. The faint crack of metal echoed as the balcony railing dented beneath his grip.

He didn’t need a council.
He didn’t need another speech about Viltrumite destiny.

He needed a way out.

He closed his eyes, letting his breathing slow. He tried to feel the faint tug—the invisible thread that used to pulse when she was near, the quiet hum in his chest that wasn’t just memory.

Nothing.
Just that vast silence again.

But he refused to believe she was gone.
He could almost feel her thinking. Moving. Plotting.

“She’s okay.” he murmured. “I know you are.”

Somewhere beyond the stars, he could imagine her voice—steady and defiant.

His eyes opened again, burning brighter now. The reflection in the glass wasn’t the lost young soldier once was. It was something harder. Sharper.

If Thragg wanted an Emperor, he’d play along.
For now.

But he’d use every resource, every detail, every scrap of this empire—
to tear open the barrier between worlds and find his way back to her.

And when he did—
no one, human or Viltrumite, would keep them apart again.

Chapter Text

The lights in the containment room never dimmed.

They hummed overhead in a sterile, endless rhythm that made time blur together — day and night dissolving into one cold stretch of white noise and questions.

She had counted exactly forty-two hours since Cecil and Atom Eve had left her alone.
Forty-two hours since she’d stopped pretending to peaceful and started listening again — to the footsteps outside her door, the vents, the quiet pulse of the machines monitoring her vitals.

She’d learned their schedule, the rotation of the guards, the way Eve’s energy would flicker faintly through the walls whenever she passed by.
But none of that mattered when the first cramp hit.

It started low — a dull ache in her back, the kind she’d been feeling for weeks.
Then another rolled through her stomach like a wave.
Deeper this time. Sharper.

She froze, both hands gripping the edge of the metal cot.

No, no, not yet… please, not yet.

She’d been careful. She’d kept still. She’d done everything she could to stay under the radar.
But the stress, the fear, the confinement — it was catching up with her.

Her breath came out ragged. The next contraction hit harder, forcing a strangled sound from her throat. She bit her knuckle to keep quiet.

The monitors chirped in protest — one of them picking up the spike in her heart rate.

“Shit.” She whispered it like a prayer, dragging herself off the cot.
Her legs felt weak, trembling under the weight of the next wave.

The door’s lock hissed open before she could think.

Two GDA medics rushed in, followed by a soldier.
And behind them — Cecil.
Of course.

He didn’t even look surprised. Just tired. “Thought this might happen.”

“Don’t you dare—” Veronica started, but another contraction cut her off, bending her over with a gasp.

Cecil’s tone stayed flat, almost bored. “You should’ve told us earlier. We could’ve moved you to a controlled unit.”

“I’m not some lab rat for you to—”

“Relax, Miss Banks.” He motioned to the medics. “We’re not trying to hurt you. Just make sure you and… the baby are stable.”

Her glare could’ve cut glass. “Don’t say it like that.”

Cecil didn’t answer. He turned to one of the guards. “Get Eve. She’ll need to be here.”

The door closed again, leaving Veronica surrounded by sterile white and people who thought they understood her.

But they didn’t.
They didn’t know what it meant for his child to be born here — in this world, in this reality.

Every nerve in her body screamed that something was wrong.
That she wasn’t supposed to be here anymore.

Her hand trembled as she pressed it against her stomach, trying to steady her breathing.

“Hang in there, baby,” she whispered. “we will all be together soon.”

And even though she had no way of knowing — no proof, no sign —
somewhere deep inside, she felt him.

Like a heat under her skin.
Like gravity itself remembering her name.

The contractions came again, stronger now.
And this time, she didn’t try to fight them.

If the universe wanted to break, let it.
She’d already survived worse.

The door hissed open again, light spilling across the floor.
Eve stepped inside before the medics could clear the way, her energy humming faintly in the stale air.

She looked like she hadn’t slept in days — hair pulled back, eyes sharp, her entire presence coiled with tension.

“Cecil,” she said quietly, “you said it was urgent.”

Cecil motioned toward the cot. “See for yourself.”

She was half-sitting, half-curled against the headboard, sweat beading across her forehead. Her breathing came in shallow bursts. The monitors at her side flickered erratically — not because they were malfunctioning, but because the energy around her kept shifting.

Eve felt it immediately.
Every atom in the room was… restless.

The air vibrated in a way she couldn’t explain — like the space itself was resisting what was happening inside it.

“What’s wrong with her?” Eve asked, already moving closer.

“Contractions,” Cecil said. “Premature she's about 7,8 months. So that’s not the concern.”

Eve shot him a look. “Then what is the concern?”

Cecil’s gaze lingered on her stomach before answering.
“The child.”

That made Eve pause. “when did it start?.”

“Not too long ago less than 2 hours,” Cecil replied flatly. “The scans show irregular atomic signatures we can’t classify. The DNA is… evolving. Constantly.”

Eve frowned, energy crackling faintly around her palms as she reached out — not to touch her, but to feel the structure of her molecules.

What she sensed made her stomach twist.
It wasn’t just human. And it wasn’t just Viltrumite either.
It was something in between — unstable, self-correcting, as though reality itself was compensating for the mix.

“You want me to fix her?” Eve asked quietly.

“Not fix,” Cecil corrected. “Stabilize. Your ability to reconstruct atomic matter makes you the only one qualified to handle something like this. If that baby’s energy output spikes, it could rewrite the molecular field around her — or worse, tear open a dimensional seam.”

Eve frowned deeply. “You think she’s a bomb.”

“I think,” Cecil said, his voice cool and unreadable, “that we’re dealing with an anomaly born of two universes. If it survives, I want it monitored. If it doesn’t…”
He trailed off.

Eve glared at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Do your job, Eve.”

She ignored him and turned to her, whose eyes were glassy but alert.
“You’re not going to hurt me, are you?” she asked, voice low, cautious.

Eve shook her head. “No. I’m here to help you and the baby. But I need you to trust me.”

She speaks again hesitated, then nodded weakly. “I don’t have a choice, do I?”

Eve knelt beside the cot, resting a glowing hand just above her abdomen.
The light softened to a warm pulse, synchronizing with the rhythm of the baby’s heartbeat.

Almost instantly, the tension in the room shifted.
The air steadied. The hum in the walls dulled.

Cecil watched the monitors level out, his hands clasped behind his back. “Good. Keep it that way.”

Eve ignored him again.
Her focus was locked on her— or more precisely, the space around her.

There was something moving in the background noise of the atoms.
A resonance.
Like a faint echo that didn’t belong to this reality.

For a split second, she saw it — a shimmer in the air near the far wall, faintly purple, fading as soon as she noticed.

Her heart skipped. “Cecil…?”

“I see it,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t lose concentration. That could be residual dimensional interference from her coming in and out of angstroms portal.”

Eve’s mind raced. “You think this is one of his plans?”

“I think,” Cecil said, “that Angstrom not done with our mark yet. And if there’s even a chance that connection is active…”
He turned toward the glass observation wall, watching the readouts spike again.
“…then we have a potential breach we can’t contain.”

She grip tightened on the sheets. “there is no plan. This was an accident,” she hissed. “He doesn’t care about my child to make this a ploy.”

Eve’s eyes softened. “Maybe not. But something tells me he’ll be back.”

She turned away, biting down hard as another contraction hit.

Eve’s energy brightened, steadying her, helping her breathe through the pain.

For the first time in hours, she didn’t feel trapped.
She felt connected.

Somewhere — through the layers of worlds, through the static of dimensions — something inside her pulsed in response.

And though neither Cecil nor Eve could explain it, they both saw the same impossible flicker:

The faintest trace of purple light, blooming inside her pulse.

Chapter Text

---

Later That Night — Cecil & Eve

The observation lights dimmed to half-brightness, humming softly above the glass-sealed cell.

She slept in uneven breaths, one arm protectively curved over her stomach. The medical monitors pulsed in steady rhythm now—no more distortions, no more flickering surges.

Cecil lingered on the other side of the glass, hands in his pockets, his reflection layered over her sleeping form like a ghost.

Eve walked up beside him, arms crossed, the faint pink glow from her powers still fading around her fingers.

“She’s stable,” Eve said quietly. “At least for now.”

Cecil gave a short nod. “Good work.”

“That’s not what you really care about, though, is it?” Eve’s tone was flat. “You had me come in because you think this baby can do something for you.”

He didn’t deny it. “When you rebuilt Chicago, you altered matter on a molecular level—stabilized it down to the atomic bond. You know better than anyone what happens when two incompatible structures try to share one reality.”

Eve turned to face him fully. “You think her pregnancy could tear open a dimension.”

“I think,” Cecil said, eyes still fixed on the glass, “it already has.”

She frowned. “Explain.”

He nodded toward the corner where the sensors still glowed faintly green. “That shimmer earlier—it wasn’t residual energy. It matched Angstrom Levy’s multiversal frequency within a 0.3 variance. That means something in her—either her biology or the child—is still connected to his dimensional network.”

“So what? You’re planning to track it like a beacon?”

He didn’t look at her. “If I can trace that signal, we can locate every universe Angstrom’s tampered with. Every Mark Grayson he’s weaponized. We could end this before it spreads again.”

Eve stared at him in disbelief. “You’re talking about using a pregnant woman and her unborn child as a dimensional compass.”

Cecil finally turned, his voice cool and measured. “I’m talking about survival. We’ve lost agents, cities, and entire worlds to these variants. If this connection gives us a way to stop that, I’m not ignoring it.”

She stepped closer, anger edging her voice. “She’s a person, Cecil. Not a lab experiment. That baby didn’t ask to be born between worlds.”

“None of us asked for this,” he said, his tone hardening. “But I don’t have the luxury of moral high ground when the stakes are this high.”

Eve shook her head, disgusted. “You never do.”

She turned to leave, but his voice stopped her at the door.

“Eve.”

She looked back.

“Keep her alive,” Cecil said. “Whatever it takes. If that child is our only bridge to finding Angstrom… we can’t afford to lose it.”

The door slid shut behind her, sealing the words inside the sterile air.

---

— That Same Night

The lights dimmed to red for night cycle. Veronica stirred awake, the echo of voices still fresh in her mind—she had heard enough.

They thought she was asleep.
They thought she couldn’t hear through the glass.
They were wrong.

Her fingers pressed against her stomach, feeling the faint flutter of movement within.

“They’re not using us,” she whispered to the dark. “We’re getting out of here.”

She looked toward the ceiling vent, then to the camera in the corner—calculating, measuring. Her mind was sharp despite the exhaustion.

Cecil might have locked her in a cell.
But he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

Not anymore.

Mark’s POV

He cut through the clouds like a blade. Below him stretched the world his mother once called home—Earth, remade in the image of Viltrum.

It was beautiful in the way a scar can be—shining, orderly, and lifeless beneath its perfection. Cities gleamed with silver architecture that reached for the sky, and banners bearing his insignia fluttered on every major tower. The world ran on obedience. No crime. No war. No dissent.

No freedom.

He hovered above what used to be Chicago. Now it was Citadel-01, the Empire’s capital on Earth. From here, every command he gave echoed across continents.

And yet, as he looked down, all he could think about was how quiet it was. No laughter. No traffic. Just the hum of machinery and the ever-present red patrol lights that swept across the sky like mechanical hawks.

When he landed, the guards knelt immediately. “My Emperor,” they said in unison.

He didn’t acknowledge them. His boots struck the marble floor, each step echoing in the hall like a pulse. The air was clean—too clean—and the scent of sterilized perfection made him sick.

He reached the end of the corridor, where the grand window overlooked the planet he’d conquered. The view was supposed to make him proud. It didn’t.

It only reminded him how much he had lost.

---

---

General Korr entered, standing at attention. “The Council awaits your orders. The new generation of soldiers has completed their initiation.”

Mark turned slightly. “And the human recruits?”

Korr face turned to stone. “Still… resistant. Some continue to reject genetic integration. Their bodies fail under the process.”

Mark’s expression didn’t change, but his stomach tightened. “Dispose of the remains quietly. I don’t want the population questioning stability.”

Korr nodded before leaving.

When the door closed, the silence returned, heavy and absolute.

Mark pressed his palm against the glass, looking down at the city again. They called him Emperor. They obeyed his word. But he knew better—he wasn’t free.

He was trapped in the structure his father had once built and he’d only continued out of necessity. Every order he gave was another chain linking him to the empire’s control.

And in all that silence… he heard her voice again. .

You can’t protect anyone if you don’t rest. Her words, from months ago, drifted through his mind.

He’d taken her advice then. Now, he couldn’t afford to.

---

---

Later that night, he stood in the palace’s lower chambers—a place few dared to enter. The holographic star maps floated around him, filled with coordinates of every Viltrumite-controlled system.

But his focus wasn’t on them. It was on one glowing mark—an unstable frequency at the very edge of the chart.

Her world.

He didn’t need Angstrom’s tech to know it. He could feel it in his bones. That gravitational pull—an echo from another reality that refused to fade.

He clenched his fists, his reflection flickering in the light of the hologram. he whispered her name under his breath, the sound barely audible in the hollow chamber.

He turned toward the central console, activating a restricted channel. “Bring me everything we recovered from the Levy experiments. Now.”

A nervous officer’s voice came through the comm. “My lord… those are forbidden archives. They were sealed after you killed him and his rebellion.”

Mark’s voice dropped to a dangerous calm. “Then unseal them.”

There was silence. Then: “Yes, my Emperor.”

He ended the transmission, staring at the dim holographic glow again.

If Angstrom could cross worlds to steal from him, then Mark would learn to do the same. Not to conquer. Not to rule.

To find her.

---

---

And somewhere across the infinite dark between worlds— Mark felt the faintest spark stir inside his chest.

Chapter Text

The Grand room was silent except for the hum of the containment field that guarded its outer walls.

Beyond the glass, the buildings stood tall, no more human chaos this is an imitation of peace— symbol of the Empire’s dominion.

Inside, that light fell over a man sitting on the edge of his seat, not as a ruler in ceremony, but as someone quietly drowning in his own silence.

Mark Grayson — Emperor of Earth under the Viltrumite banner — sat without a crown. Yet unmistakably sovereign. The cape draped across one shoulder, torn slightly near the clasp. The Viltrumite crest shimmered faintly against the metallic plating of the floor.

The room itself was vast, every surface a reminder of Thragg’s influence — functional, cold, without a single trace of humanity left in its design.

He hadn’t spoken in hours, but the holographic projections around him told their own story — planetary reports, troop mobilizations, resource exports… and beneath them, something else. A flickering schematic buried under encrypted layers. A design for a bridge that wasn’t meant to exist.

A low chime announced a visitor.

General Korr stepped through the threshold, uniform gleaming under the white light. His presence carried the stillness of a blade — sharp, deliberate, and merciless.

“Emperor” he said, bowing slightly.
Mark barely glanced up. “General.”

Korr’s posture was straight as a needle, every movement echoing precision.

“The Empire grows impatient. Your last reports have been… inconsistent.” His tone was respectful, but it cut like a scalpel. “Grand Regent Thragg requests an update on your dimensional research — the one you claimed would strengthen the Empire’s reach.”

Mark didn’t look up from the blue glow of the schematics. “It’s being contained.”

“Contained,” Korr repeated, the word heavy with skepticism. “Containment or concealment, Emperor Grayson? There is a difference.”

That made Mark’s jaw tighten. He raised his eyes, meeting Korr’s cold stare — brown meeting gray.

“It’s being contained,” he replied coolly. “You’ll tell Thragg I’ve made progress. The Empire doesn’t want another which caused me to disappear from my duties like last tim.”

“Careful how you talk to me, emperor. You forget who's stopping Thragg from wiping this planet out.”

Mark didn’t flinch. But his chin lifted, subtly defiant. “I forget nothing. Nor does the Empire. Which is why Thragg allows me to govern this world —

"Exactly not isolate yourself with… human relics and research that contradicts your station.”

That last word — human — was bait.
Mark didn’t take it. He simply leaned back, the faintest smirk ghosting across his lips. “You’ve delivered your message. Now deliver mine: I’ll report progress when there’s progress. Tell Thragg patience is a virtue, even for gods.”

The silence that followed was electric.
Korr finally inclined his head. “As you wish.”
He turned sharply, boots clicking against steel, but paused at the door. “The Council will not tolerate stagnation much longer. You were bred to expand, not linger.”

The door hissed closed behind him.

For a long moment, Mark didn’t move. Then, slowly, he exhaled — a breath that trembled despite the strength of his frame.

The holographic schematics shifted again, revealing the deeper layer he’d hidden even from Korr’s prying sensors. The lines of energy converged into a single word glowing at the center of the projection: Bridgepoint.

> “He’s right, you know,” came a voice from the shadows.

Dr. Lysa Tran stepped forward, coat half-buttoned, streaked with oil and blood from a project that had long stopped being legal.
Once a member of the human resistance, she’d been one of the few who hadn’t been executed after the Empire’s takeover — not because of loyalty, but usefulness. Her gift was her mind, and Mark had found a way to put it to better use than Thragg ever could.

“— They’ll notice eventually. You’re trying to build a bridge, not a weapon.”

Mark didn’t look at her. “They can. Won’t change what I’m doing.”

Lysa crossed her arms. “Let me guess — you’re not doing this for the Empire.”

Mark turned then, the ghost of humanity in his expression breaking through the hardened stare. “I’m not doing it for them.”

He walked toward the edge of the hologram, watching the streams of energy arc and collapse in midair — infinite versions of the same universe, flickering like dying stars.
“I’m trying to build a way back.”

Lysa hesitated. “…To who.”

"To her” he answer, but he stopped himself from saying more His silence was answer enough.

“You realize what you’re saying,” she pressed, stepping closer. “Even if this works — and that’s a massive if — locating the right dimensional frequency is like throwing a stone through infinity and hoping it lands in the same river twice.”

Mark’s jaw set. “Then I’ll keep throwing stones until it does.”

He turned back to the control board, hands working with the precision of both scientist and soldier. Wires lit under his touch. Every movement deliberate.
Lysa watched him, a grim sort of pity softening her face. “You’re not the same man who conquered Earth.”

He gave a bitter half-smile. “No.”

The air between them buzzed with the hum of unstable energy.
Outside, the empire moved in perfect synchrony, planets falling in line under Viltrumite command — but down here, beneath the perfect machinery of order, a single emperor was breaking every rule written by his bloodline.

---

Hours later —

The lab beneath the throne room glowed with cold light. Rows of containment pods hummed, filled with liquid energy drawn from the empire’s reactors.
Dr. Tran’s assistants — silent, augmented humans marked with imperial seals — moved efficiently under her direction.

Mark stood at the heart of it all, watching as the first simulation began.

A shimmer opened above the platform — the beginnings of a tear.
Not large enough to step through. Not yet stable. But real.

Lysa’s monitors spiked red. “That’s as far as it goes before overload!”

“Hold it.” Mark’s voice was low, sharp. He adjusted the primary resonance manually, ignoring the heat flaring through the console. “I said hold it.”

“Sir, the feedback—!”

The portal surged — a wave of blinding light, a roar of vacuum pressure — and then collapsed into nothing, leaving scorch marks across the floor.
Smoke filled the air.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Lysa coughed, pulling her goggles off. “You could’ve killed us.”

Mark wiped ash from his jaw, unfazed. “But it worked.”

She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “It failed.”

“It opened,” he said quietly. “That’s enough.”

And in his eyes — behind the exhaustion and fury — there was something else. Hope.

---

Later that night

Korr’s report reached Thragg before dawn.

> “He grows restless,” Korr’s voice transmitted through the hololink. “The Emperor hides something under the guise of scientific development. I request permission to investigate further.”

Thragg’s expression remained impassive, carved from violence. “No. Let him move.”

“My lord?”

“If Grayson falters, the Empire learns. If he succeeds, the Empire takes.”
The faintest hint of a smirk. “Either way, his actions serve us.”

The line cut.

---

Mark stared at the stars outside the observation deck — his world, his prison. Every night it was the same: the red light of conquered suns casting his reflection in the glass.
He thought of her. The sound of her voice. The promise he’d made before everything collapsed.

He didn’t know if she was alive. But he felt her — faintly, like a vibration in the bones, an echo across dimensions.

And somewhere, he knew, she was staring at a different sky, trapped just as he was.
Both prisoners — one of the Empire, one of the GDA — caught between worlds that demanded their loyalty while denying their freedom.

He clenched his fists, the glass fracturing slightly under his grip.
No crown. No council. No empire.
Just a man who refused to let the universe keep them apart.

> “I’m coming for you,” he whispered to the stars.

And beneath the throne room, the machine pulsed once — faintly — as if it heard him.

Chapter Text

He needed his mind to be in the silence.

The vast marble expanse stretched outward like a frozen sea, a cool breeze swaying from unseen vents. No council lingered to whisper their approval. There was only Mark — sovereign of a planet that never truly belonged to him — sitting in the half-light with his thoughts folded inward.

The empire called it progress. He called it exile.

Every flicker of the holographic screens before him was a heartbeat of stolen time. The schematics filled the air around his throne — blue and white lines intersecting, shifting, whispering equations that no Viltrumite should ever touch. His fingers hovered over the interface like a conductor about to summon a forbidden symphony.

Somewhere below, he could hear the hum of machinery from the under-labs — the pulse of his secret work.

Dr. Lysa Tran would already be there, calibrating the device. Her team of augmented humans — silent, pale-eyed remnants of Earth’s resistance — moved under her command with precision born from fear. Every day they rebuilt the bridge piece by piece, chasing something they didn’t understand but obeyed without question.

And tonight, they would try again.

---

The door to the lab sealed behind him with a hiss that echoed too loud in the hollow space. He didn’t need to give orders; they’d been given hours ago.
Lysa turned briefly, her face drawn in cold light. “Power reserves at full. The core’s stabilized, for now. If this fails, it won’t just blow the grid — it’ll light up the Empire’s sensors across three systems.”

Mark said nothing. He only nodded once.

He moved to the control platform, the hum of the generators deepening under his weight. The containment rings were already spinning, refracting light like oil on water. A thin ribbon of energy formed between them — unstable, trembling, alive.

Lysa watched him. “If this works—”

“It will.” His voice carried the certainty of a man who had nothing left to lose.

She didn’t argue.

He keyed in the last sequence, the same one that had nearly killed them before. Every number burned into his memory like a scar. Every calculation tuned to something he could no longer explain through logic alone. The machine responded with a rising whine, panels glowing brighter until the room shimmered with the pressure of creation itself.

> “Initiating Phase Resonance.”

The AI’s voice echoed through the lab, mechanical and calm.
Static rippled across the air, making every hair on his body rise. The lights dimmed, red emergency strips flaring to life. Lysa barked orders, her assistants adjusting the field stabilizers, their fingers trembling over the controls.

Mark stood at the heart of it all, staring into the forming light.

It wasn’t just a portal. It wasn’t just physics.
It was the feeling of something remembering him.

---

The hum deepened into a vibration — through the floor, through his chest, through the marrow of his bones. The pressure became unbearable, as though the world itself was inhaling and waiting to exhale.

And then, he felt it.

Not sight.
Not sound.
Presence.

A pull like gravity, invisible but absolute.
Something — someone — was out there.

It wasn’t just data. It was alive.

The resonance shifted, the readings spiking across Lysa’s screens. She shouted something, but he didn’t hear it. His mind drowned in the pulse now echoing through every nerve. It was heat and ache and memory colliding at once.

A heartbeat. Not his. Not anyone in this room. But something familiar something Human.

It struck like a shock through his veins — the soft, rhythmic surge of another life. The same rhythm that had once slept beside him, laughed with him, fought him. And beneath it, a lot noticeable now small and distinct,— smaller, fragile, perfectly synchronized.

Two pulses.

One calling, one answering.

He staggered forward, the light refracting over his armor, his throat burning with words he didn’t dare say aloud. His vision blurred; not from pain, but recognition.

She was okay. He didn’t know how he knew — only that the universe itself had whispered it to him.

> She’s there.

The thought struck like thunder.

---

Lysa’s voice broke through the roar. “Field collapse in five seconds—!”

Mark didn’t move. He stared into the heart of the machine as it convulsed, colors bending and bleeding into one another, forming impossible shapes. Space folded like fabric — flickering, straining — then snapped back into itself.

The explosion wasn’t fire. It was sound. A shattering note that cut through the marrow of reality and then vanished, leaving only a smear of black smoke and the stench of ozone.

Sparks rained down from the ceiling. A few of Lysa’s assistants collapsed, blood trickling from their ears. The alarms screamed, but Mark didn’t flinch.

He was still staring at the scorch mark on the floor where the portal had been — the place that had called back.

His hands were trembling.

---

Lysa stumbled toward him, coughing through the smoke. “You— you nearly killed us again—!”

“They are there,” he whispered.

“What?”

He turned to her, eyes burning. “I found her. I felt them.”

Lysa froze, the anger draining from her face. She looked back at the shattered machinery. “That’s impossible. There was no full breach. The energy couldn’t have transferred across dimensions.”

“It wasn’t a breach,” Mark said quietly. “It was a them.”

He stepped closer to the console, replaying the readings — frequencies, oscillations, patterns that repeated like heartbeats in digital form. “Look. It matched the same pulse sequence from our last test, but this time… it harmonized.”

Lysa frowned. “Harmonized with what?”

Mark’s lips curved into something sharp, almost dangerous. “With my-.”

---

Above the lab, the empire turned in its sleep — fleets orbiting distant worlds, soldiers training under the banner of a perfection they didn’t question. To them, their emperor was unshakable. But beneath that throne, he was tearing open creation just to feel her one more time.

He paced before the smoldering ruin of his device, every step controlled, methodical, masking the chaos beneath his skin.

Lysa followed, still shaken. “You understand what this means, don’t you? If the Empire learns what you are truly doing —”

“They won’t.”

“They will,” she pressed. “General Korr’s already suspicious. He’s watching everything that leaves this facility. You think Thragg doesn’t have eyes on you?”

Mark finally turned, and the look in his eyes silenced her. “Let him watch. Let them all watch. As long as they believe I’m building it for them, I have time.”

Lysa hesitated. “And if you run out of time?”

He looked back at the burned floor — the faint, glowing crack left behind by the resonance. It pulsed, once, like a heartbeat. His answer was quiet, steady.

“Then I make more.”

---

Hours later, the report traveled through encrypted channels, climbing through layers of the empire’s surveillance network until it reached a single throne lightyears away.

General Korr’s voice was sharp, clipped.

> “The Emperor’s latest experiment resulted in an unauthorized energy discharge. Containment failed. I believe he’s concealing secondary objectives.”

Thragg leaned back, gaze unreadable.

> “And yet he still produces results.”

“My lord, he’s building something he won’t share.”

Thragg smiled faintly.

> “Good. That means it’s worth taking.”

---

Mark stood alone again — the throne room dark except for the distant gleam of starlight filtering through the glass. He hadn’t moved in hours. His reflection stared back at him: tired, bloodied at the knuckles, eyes too old for his own face.

In the silence, the universe whispered back what he already knew — that she was out there and he can reach her without angstrom.

He could feel it now even without the machine — faint, but constant. The echo.

A rhythm that didn’t belong to this world.

He closed his eyes and remembered what that second pulse. Faint. Unyielding.

He whispered into the dark, barely breathing.

The name hung in the air like a confession.

And miles beneath his feet, buried in the lab’s smoking ruins, one of the cracked conduits flickered to life — just once. The faint blue shimmer pulsed twice, perfectly synchronized with something unseen far beyond the stars.

Two heartbeats.
One bridge.
A promise neither world could silence.

---

In the GDA’s underground complex, far away in another universe, Cecil’s technicians scrambled over their monitors.

“Sir, we’ve got a surge — same frequency as before!”

Cecil leaned away from watching her and eve in the monitor room, eyes narrowing. “Where?”

“Everywhere,” the tech said. “It’s like something on the other side answered.”

Cecil didn’t move for a long moment. Then, quietly, he said, “Lock onto it.”

And in that moment — across impossible distances, across fractured worlds — the same pulse beat once more.

The emperor and the exile, each chained by their world, connected by the one thing neither could destroy.

Hope.

Continuation point •1|2

“How’s our patient, Eve?”

Chapter Text

The contractions came harder this time. Not like the sporadic tugs she’d felt over the past few weeks these were deep, rolling through her body like tremors before an earthquake.

Her hands gripped the edge of the medical cot, sweat beading along her forehead. The sterile lights above her blurred as pain carved through her abdomen again.

She tried to breathe like Eve told her to in through the nose, out through the mouth — but the air in this room always felt too clean, too artificial. It smelled like bleach and recycled air, not life.

She shifted, another wave building. “Something’s wrong,” she hissed.

Across the room, Eve glanced up from the array of monitors. The pink glow around her fingertips flared slightly as she stepped closer. “Your vitals are stable,” she said softly. “The baby’s heartbeat is steady.”

“Then why—” Veronica winced, gripping her stomach. The air around her pulsed faintly, a flicker of light rippling just beneath her skin subtle, but unmistakable. “That,” she gasped. “Why does it do that?”

Eve hesitated. “Because it’s not just you reacting anymore. Whatever’s linking you to… it’s active again.”

Her breath caught. She didn’t need to ask who that was. She could feel it faintly at first, then clearer as the pain surged again. It wasn’t just physical. It was energetic. Like something pulling her from a place beyond walls and steel and rules.

The walls of the GDA facility felt thinner somehow, the lights flickering once before stabilizing.

“Breathe,” Eve said again, but even she sounded distracted now, her eyes darting toward the monitors.

They were flickering rhythmic pulses in the data streams, matching the baby’s heartbeat. But there was another signal woven through it. Something foreign.

“Eve?” her voice was strained. “What is it?”

Eve didn’t answer right away. The readouts were impossible two signatures phasing in and out of each other, one belonging to Veronica’s physiology… the other to something off-world. Familiar, but impossible.

Her stomach twisted. “Cecil’s not going to like this.”

Her exhaled shakily, her muscles tightening again. “You think I care what he likes?”

Eve looked at her then really looked at her and for a moment, she wasn’t seeing a “subject,” or a fugitive, or some anomaly. She was seeing a woman caught between worlds, trying to hold herself together while everyone else decided what she was worth.

Another contraction hit. She doubled forward, gripping the sheets, gasping. “I can’t I can’t do this here”

“You’re not in labor,” Eve said quickly, her hands glowing brighter. “Your body’s responding to an external stimulus.”

“Then stop it!”

“I’m trying!”

The light from Eve’s palms intensified as she pushed her energy forward, reconstructing the molecular instability surrounding Veronica’s abdomen. The distortion fought back invisible waves shuddering through the air, knocking equipment loose.

She screamed as her body arched off the cot, the pulse peaking and for one moment, she saw him.

Not with her eyes. Not with her mind. But through the current that had always existed between them two halves of one fracture in time.

Mark.

He was there, somewhere far away, standing before a machine that burned blue and white. His jaw clenched, eyes glowing like molten metal, refusing to stop even as everything shook around him.

And in that second he felt her too.

The energy snapped like a whip through the space between them, and both flinched from the force.

She gasped, clutching her stomach as Eve’s light enveloped her completely. “Stay with me,” Eve whispered. “Stay here.”

The distortion rippled one last surge — before the air fell still again.

The monitors steadied. The lights returned to normal.

Herbreath came in ragged pulls, her body trembling from the aftershock. Eve stood back, panting slightly, a sheen of sweat on her forehead.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Finally, she whispered, “He’s trying to find me.”

Eve didn’t deny it. The readings spoke for themselves.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “But however he’s doing it… it’s starting to tear our world in half.”

She lay back, staring up at the ceiling. The thought should’ve comforted her knowing he was still fighting, still reaching for her but all it did was twist her heart tighter. Because if he was trying to break through dimensions again, then he was risking everything.

She turned her head toward Eve, voice soft but urgent. “Don’t let him find me.”

Eve frowned. “What?”

“I don’t want him walking into whatever trap Cecil’s building. You know he will. He’ll tear through everything to get here.”

Eve’s lips parted ready to argue but she stopped. Because she knew she was right.

The intercom buzzed suddenly, Cecil’s voice cutting through the still air.

Continuation point •2|2

> “How’s our patient, Eve?”

Eve sighed, pressing the comm. “Stable. For now.”

> “For now,” Cecil repeated, his tone unreadable. “Meet me in the observation wing. Bring the latest readings.”

The line went dead.

Eve glanced back at her. “Try to rest. I’ll be back soon.”

She nodded, eyes distant, one hand still resting protectively over her stomach. The faint hum in the air hadn’t vanished completely like static on a radio between worlds.

When the door slid shut, she whispered into the quiet:
“I’ll find you instead.”

---

Eve’s POV

Cecil was already waiting when she arrived in the observation wing, leaning against the glass that overlooked the containment floor. He had a cigarette between his fingers, though it was long extinguished he never actually lit them anymore. Habit.

Eve dropped the tablet of readings onto the console. “You were right,” she said flatly. “Something in her — or the baby is tethered to the same frequency Angstrom used. It’s reacting to a specific dimensional pulse.”

Cecil turned, his eyes narrowing. “How specific?”

Eve crossed her arms. “Specific enough that if I didn’t know better, I’d say someone on the other side was calling her.”

He took the data pad and scanned it, his jaw tightening with every line. “He’s building something,” he muttered. “Has to be.”

“You mean Mark.”

He didn’t look up. “The variant, yes.”

“You keep calling him that like he’s not a person.”

“He’s a weapon. Designed by bloodline, trained by empire, and forged by Levy’s tampering. Don’t confuse the packaging with the content.”

Eve’s hands glowed faintly again, pink light reflecting off the glass. “And what about her? The ‘content’ you’ve got locked in that cell? She’s carrying his child, Cecil. That makes this more than just data.”

Cecil sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “You think I don’t know that? You think I like this?” He gestured to the lab below. “We’re surrounded by the corpses of every failed attempt to control what Angstrom unleashed. If that baby gives us a chance to track the coordinates he’s operating from, I’ll take it.”

“And if it kills her?”

He met her gaze evenly. “Then the baby better live.”

The words hung in the air cold, clinical, final.

Eve’s glow dimmed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m realistic.”

She turned away, staring through the glass at the lower floor. She lay still beneath the pale lights, her expression softened only by exhaustion.

Eve’s voice dropped. “You think you can keep using people like this and not have it come back to you?”

Cecil pocketed the tablet. “Everything comes back eventually. The trick is surviving long enough to see it.”

He started to walk away, but Eve stopped him. “What happens when he finds her?”

Cecil paused at the door. “Then let’s hope he does it on our terms.”

When he was gone, Eve stood alone in the half-dark, the hum of the containment systems whispering through the walls.

She stared at the data feed again, the pulse readings aligning across two separate coordinate grids one Earth-bound, one far, far beyond.

And in that pattern, she saw something no one else would’ve noticed. The frequencies weren’t random. They were syncing. Slowly. Like two hearts finding the same rhythm across impossible distance.

“Damn it, Mark,” she whispered.

Because if what she suspected was true if the baby’s energy and Mark’s machine were harmonizing then sooner or later, that connection would stabilize into something real.

A bridge.

And once that happened, no containment cell on Earth would hold what came through.

Chapter Text

He stood there, in the lab long after the last echo of the collapsed machine faded from his skin. His hands still shook not from fear, not from exhaustion but from the imprint of what had pressed against him through the breach.

Two pulses.

One steady.
One small.

Both impossibly there.

It haunted him , the way the resonance had locked onto something real, something breathing, something his.

When he finally moved, it wasn’t back toward lysa or the engineers waiting for orders.

His feet carried him somewhere deeper.

To the one place the Empire never bothered to inspect it because they didn’t care about it.

A sealed corridor hidden behind one of the throne’s structural pillars. To any other Viltrumite it looked like dead architecture. Static. Decorative.

But not to him.

He laid his palm flat against the cold panel. There was a faint click, then a full-body vibration. The metal warmed under his touch, reading him.

The door slid open.

A breath of stale, untouched air rushed out cold, dust-thick, tinged with something metallic. No lights flicked on. No surveillance nodes buzzed awake. The Empire hadn’t walked these halls.

Perfect.

Mark stepped inside.

The corridor swallowed him, long, narrow, silent. He didn’t need lights; his senses adjusted instantly. Dust floated like slow-moving snowflakes through the darkness, settling on abandoned tools, sealed crates, old conduits that had long since gone dead.

He moved deeper.

His footsteps didn’t echo. The silence was too thick, too absolute, like the whole hallway had been waiting for someone to breathe life back into it.

And at the end…
A door.

Not metal.
Not steel.

Glass reinforced and tinted black. He could smell the old sterilization chemicals behind it, faint like a memory washed thin by time.

He pressed his hand to the scanner.

This door hesitated, as if remembering what it was built to guard. Then reluctantly it unlocked.

The lights inside hummed awake one by one. Pale strips overhead flickered through dust before stabilizing into a dim, sickly glow.

A forgotten sub-lab.

Empty.
Silent.
Preserved under neglect.

But on the far wall… something pulsed.

A containment field dormant, but intact. The frame around it was cracked and scorched, as if someone had once pushed it beyond its limit. But it still held a faint shimmer, like a ghost that refused to die.

Mark stepped closer.

Energy clung to the surface like condensation, rolling and shifting under invisible tension. The kind of energy his machine had generated but without collapsing, without destabilizing, without detonating outward like a dying star.

This one was steady.

This one was controlled.

This one

His breath left his lungs.

> This one won’t collapse.

He wasn’t guessing.

He wasn’t hoping.

He knew.

Because the moment he approached, something inside that dormant field shifted a faint vibration that struck the exact same spot in his chest the resonance had hit earlier.

A pulse.

A response.

Like the field recognized the echo inside him.

Not his heartbeat.

Hers.

And layered within it…

their child.

He felt it. As real as breath. As sharp as gravity. A steady rhythm synced to the thing shimmering behind the glass.

A stable point of resonance.

Not theoretical. Not engineered.

Natural.

The machine hadn’t created the connection it had found it. Or been pulled into it.

His pulse sped up, breath shallow but controlled.

He stood in front of the containment frame like a man facing the first miracle of his life.

Lysa couldn’t calculate this.
The Empire couldn’t detect it.
No scientist, no device, no empire structure could replicate it.

Because the stabilizing factor wasn’t mechanical.

It was alive.

Her heartbeat.
Their child’s heartbeat.
The echo that had reached across dimensions and punched straight through his armor, his skin, his bones, his soul.

He touched the shimmering field.

It responded.

Not violently.
Not erratically.

It aligned with him perfectly.

A deep, silent realization carved itself through his chest:

“ This is the anchor.
This is the point.
This… is the way back to them."

For the first time since he’d lost them, Mark Grayson felt something he hadn’t allowed himself in years.

Not rage.
Not desperation.

Certainty.

He stepped back, eyes locked on the field.

But now?

Now this forgotten sub-lab was the most important place in all the worlds.

MARK THE SUB-LAB BENEATH THE EMPIRE

The next hours moved without sound.

Mark didn’t leave the forgotten room immediately. He stood there, hand still hovering inches from the shimmering containment field, feeling it pulse — faint but constant like fingers brushing against the inside of his ribs.

He exhaled slowly.

It didn’t fade.

It didn’t distort.

It held.

A stable point of resonance… alive on both ends.

He stepped back at last, turning toward the abandoned terminals. Their screens were dead, their wiring half-rotted, but the structure was intact. With the right power rerouting

He could bring this entire sub-lab online without the Empire detecting a thing.

Mark cracked his knuckles, a sharp controlled gesture, and got to work.

---

SILENCE, STATIC… THEN LIFE

He tore open a panel in the wall with one hand. The metal screeched softly, then gave way. Behind it were conduits unregistered lines no one had touched, running beneath the palace like veins beneath skin.

He scanned them.

Power dormant.
But still there.
Still connected to the old grid before Thragg had upgraded the most things here with viltrumite tech, but not some of this.

Perfect.

He redirected the flow, fingers working quickly over the filament-thin wiring. Every spark shot small flares of white across the dark, reflecting off metal and dust.

Then ... a hum.

Soft at first.

Then growing.

The overhead lights flickered brighter.

The terminals beside him booted up in slow, glitching waves, static rolling across the screens before stabilizing into faded interfaces.

Mark dusted off the nearest console and sat.

It felt wrong to sit.
Viltrumites didn’t build sitting down.
Viltrumites didn’t create.
They conquered.

But he wasn’t working as their emperor now.

He was working as a man trying to get his home.

He typed in the old admin override one he’d found in the archive . The system hesitated, then blinked:

ACCESS GRANTED

The sub-lab awakened.

Pumps breathed air for the first time in decades.
Coolant tubes pulsed like arteries.
The containment field brightened, stabilizing with a clear, smooth vibration.

Mark inhaled sharply.

The resonance sharpened too.
Turning toward him.
Reaching.

Like two frequencies beginning to tune to each other.

He closed his eyes and let it sweep through him in waves.
It didn’t hurt.
It anchored.

A quiet certainty formed again:

> She’s waiting
The baby is fine.
They’re reaching for him.

He swallowed hard, jaw tightening not in rage, but in something deeper, more dangerous.

Resolve.

---

REBUILDING THE IMPOSSIBLE

He moved through the lab like a force of nature trapped in human shape fast but precise, hands steady despite the riot going on inside his chest.

He tore old cables from their housing, rewired new ones, scavenged from the main throne-room prototype. Every adjustment strengthened the dormant containment frame.

Every improvement drew the resonance tighter.

More distinct.

Less echo, more heartbeat.

At one point he staggered.

Not from exhaustion but from the intensity of it.

Two pulses.

Clear. Close.
So close he could almost No.
Not almost.

He was feeling her.
Truly feeling her.

Not imagination.
Not grief.

Resonance.

It came in soft waves: warmth under the sternum, a faint summoning pulling from deep inside him, like a tether buried in bone.

His breath left him in a slow exhale.

He pressed a palm to the containment frame again.

It brightened under his touch brighter than before.

---

THE FIRST SIGN OF TROUBLE

Hours passed.
Maybe more.

Here in the dark, time didn’t exist.

But eventually

A faint tremor ran through the lab.

Not mechanical.
Not structural.

Energetic.

He turned sharply, scanning.

The readings on the nearest terminal spiked with jagged red arcs before smoothing back into normal levels.

Mark frowned.

The resonance had… stretched.
Reached further.
As if pulled from her side.

A contraction.

He didn’t need human biology explained to him.

He’d felt the rhythm change.

And the moment it shifted, his machine reacted as if someone had pressed a hand against the other side of a door.

He gripped the console.

There was no fear in him.

Just fire.

> We’re close.
Closer than the Empire will ever understand.

He straightened, turning back to the field now glowing steady, alive, awake.

The baby’s heartbeat spiked again faint, but unmistakably there.

Mark’s chest tightened with something primal, possessive, protective.

Viltrumites didn’t have instinctual bonds.

But he did.

With them.

With her.

And now?
Now he had a path the Empire could never calculate.

A resonance they couldn’t track.
A connection they didn’t know existed.

He stepped back, jaw clenching.

Tomorrow he would expand the frame.
Tomorrow he would build the stabilizer harness.
Tomorrow he would begin the next stage.

But tonight

He placed a hand on the shimmering field.

The energy curved toward him, warm and certain.

He whispered, barely audible:

“Hold on. I’m coming.”

Chapter Text

GDA —COMMAND OPERATIONS

The alarms didn’t blare.
They whispered.

A soft, crystalline chime the one reserved for dimensional breaches.

Cecil looked up from his desk in the observation deck above the lab, paper of the last report between his fingers, as one of the technicians stiffened.

“Uh… sir?”
The tech’s voice cracked.

Cecil didn’t blink. “Talk to me.”

“Something something on the Variant side just stabilized.”

Instant silence.

Every monitor in the command room flickered, then focused into smooth, razor-thin readings. A green thread of data pulsed across the main screen, steady, uninterrupted.

Not an echo.
Not a distortion.

A match.

Cecil leaned forward. “Quantum variance?”

“Zero-point one four, climbing sir, that’s impossible.”

“Not anymore,” Cecil murmured.

The tech swallowed. “Sir… this isn’t a resonance. It’s-.”

Cecil straightened slowly, smoothing his coat, expression tightening with grim calculation.

“Prep the anchors,” he ordered. “And increase surveillance on the girl.”

A beat.

All the lights in the room dimmed and refocused, screens snapping into a synchronized grid forming a single cohesive dimensional map.

Cecil exhaled once, barely audible.

“It’s begun.”

---

MEDICAL CONTAINMENT —

The moment the tech screamed upstairs—

Her body seized.

Not violently.
Not painfully.
At first just… pulled.

Her breath stuttered.

“hey.” Her voice was a rasp. “Something something’s happening”

Eve was at her side instantly, one hand glowing faintly pink as she scanned Veronica’s abdomen, medical readings unfolding in shimmering hexagonal panels around them.

And then

A spike.

Bright. Gold.
A wave of energy slammed through Eve’s palm, through her body, through the air itself, rattling the light fixtures.

Eve gasped involuntarily.
It felt like being hit with a cosmic heartbeat.

Not hers.
the baby’s.

And his.

“No,” Eve whispered, eyes widening. “No, that that wasn’t a flare.”

Her hand shot out, gripping Eve’s wrist with trembling fingers.

“I felt him,” she whispered hoarsely. “I felt him he’s... he’s doing something different-”

Another surge hit her mid-sentence.

This time her body folded forward with a deep, involuntary groan lower, rawer.

Eve froze.
That wasn’t energy.

That was contraction.

Her scanners confirmed it an instant later the readings spiking into sharp, rhythmic waves.

“Oh God,” Eve breathed. “It’s happening. You’re going into labor.”

She clutched her stomach, eyes squeezing shut as another contraction tore through her.

“Eve”
Her voice strained, cracking.
“Something changed. The connection t’s not echoing anymore. He’s he’s holding onto m—”

The lights in the medical bay flickered violently, turning every shadow into fractured geometry.

Eve grabbed her shoulders, grounding her.

“This isn’t just labor,” Eve whispered.
“cecil we need to move.”

---

SUB-LAB BELOW

Mark did nothing.

He didn’t breathe.

He didn’t move.

He only listened.

Because the machine the new core inside the forgotten sub-lab began to hum with a tone he had never heard before.

Low. Pure.
A vibration that resonated straight through his sternum, tightening his throat.

He turned slowly, eyes locked on the containment frame.

The energy inside it sharpened the blur turned into a line, a pulse, a living frequency vibrating with purpose.

Then it snapped.
Not breaking aligning.

Mark inhaled sharply.
His heart stuttered once.

“Oh,” he whispered.
Barely a sound.
Barely a breath.

There she was.

There they were.

The resonance wasn’t reaching anymore.

It was returning.

Meeting him halfway.

Mark stepped forward, hand trembling genuinely trembling before he pressed his palm to the containment surface.

It didn’t push back this time.

It held him.

Locked onto him.

A connection anchored across infinite space.

He felt her panic.
Her breath.
Her fear.
Her strength.
And beneath it—

The baby.

Smaller. Faster.
The heartbeat pulsing like a second sun.

Then everything inside the resonance convulsed.

A contraction.

Mark’s eyes widened, breath leaving him in a raw, instinctive gasp.

“wait,” he whispered, voice cracking for the first time since childhood.
“not now.”

He steadied himself, jaw locking into cold resolve.

The Empire thought he was building a weapon.
Thragg thought it would be useful.
Korr thought he was hiding weakness.

They had no idea.

He reached for the core module and clicked it into place.

The field snapped into a clean, circular outline stable, unyielding, precise.

This was no longer an experiment.

This was a door.

A door he now knew exactly how to open.

---

THREE WORLDS ONE MOMENT

In the GDA, technicians scrambled as dimensional maps aligned for the first time in recorded history.

In the medical bay, Eve held Veronica as contractions surged through her, the energy in the room crackling like a storm.

In the hidden sub-lab, Mark tightened the stabilizer clamps, eyes burning with a fire the Empire had no name for.

The universe held its breath.

And then—

She screamed.

Her water broke.

Chapter Text

12 HOURS LATER

The contractions hadn’t stopped.

They hadn’t even eased.

They had grown sharper slicing through her body in waves that made her grip the bed rails until her knuckles gave it a dent. Her sweat-slick cheeks, breath coming in broken shudders as another contraction built beneath her ribs.

“I” Her voice cracked into a strangled sound. “It’s, it’s getting worse.”

Eve was already at her side, fingers glowing with a soft pink shimmer as she scanned the energy fluctuations rolling through her abdomen. The readings spiked, dipped, then surged upward again in a jagged, unstable pattern.

These weren’t normal labor readings. These were dimensional harmonics woven into contractions.

Eve’s eyes flicked to the monitors, then back to Veronica.

“It’s the lock,” Eve whispered.
Her voice trembled.
She hated that it trembled.

“It tightened again.”

She whimpered a sound Eve had never heard from her before.

“I know,” she whispered back. “I- I feel him.”

Another wave struck, stealing her breath.

Eve caught her shoulders. “Stay with me. Hey.... look at me stay with me.”

But her’s eyes had already glassed over.

She wasn’t slipping away.

She was reaching.

---

GDA COMMAND OPS — SAME MOMENT

On the screens above, the dimensional grid had changed.

Not a flicker. Not a pulse.

A full structural shift.

The once-chaotic dispersion patterns had tightened into a narrow, lattice-like network converging on a single point the baby’s energy signature.

A lock. A tether. A coordinate.

Cecil stood with both hands on the rail of the observation deck, staring at the synchronized display that should not exist.

The tech beside him swallowed hard.

“Sir… the variance is down to zero point zero six.”

Cecil didn’t move.

“Sir- that’s— that’s below theoretical levels-”

“And yet here we are,” Cecil murmured.

Another tech turned in his chair.
“Nobody’s ever documented a maternal-fetal energy synch like this. The readings between the woman and the… Variant infant they’re behaving like”

“A pair of matched quantum anchors,” Cecil finished.

The tech nodded shakily.
“Yes, sir.”

Cecil’s jaw ticked.

Matched anchors.
A closed circuit.
A dyad.

Which meant one thing:

The Variant wasn’t reacting anymore.

He was tracking.

Cecil’s voice dropped into something cold, precise, and unbearably calm:

“Prep the stabilizers and lock the medical bay. No unauthorized personnel in or out.”
He glanced at the dimensional map again.
“And inform me the second the signature spikes again.”

Every tech froze.

Because they all knew what that meant.

The next spike wouldn’t be a signal.

It would be a breach.

---

SUB-LAB

Mark had slept.

Not long. Not deeply. Not peacefully.

But enough.

He stepped back into the forgotten sub-lab with steady hands and a clear head the faint ache in his bones the only reminder of the last twelve hours.

The core sat humming on its containment stand, its spherical interior flickering with a steady, faint pulse through.

Not chaos. Not distortion.

Alignment.

Mark felt the pull before he even touched it.

It wasn’t violent now.
It wasn’t overwhelming.

It was familiar.

Like a subtle pressure against his sternum.
Like knuckles tapping from across eternity.

He stood in front of the containment field, breathing slowly as he reached his hand out.

The moment his palm touched the surface

The core’s light sharpened.

A pulse answered him.

A contraction.

Mark inhaled sharply, jaw tightening.
“Twelve hours and you’re still fighting,” he whispered to the unseen point of resonance.

His eyes narrowed.

“She’s in labor.”

And he felt the truth of that statement like a blade.

The spike of pain.
The breathless panic behind it.
The strain.
The fear—

But also the fire.

His woman was stubborn.
Strong.
Fierce.

And she was doing this alone.

His nostrils flared as he exhaled.

Not for much longer.

Mark turned to the workbench and picked up the stabilizer core he’d spent the last day refining a device built from buried Viltrumite tech Lysa had unearthed and the illegal metahuman energy cells she’d smuggled.

Good.

He locked the core into place.

The machine brightened, humming with a resonance he couldn’t have engineered on his own.

He didn’t have to.

It was aligning with her.

With them.

He checked the readings his breath steadied.

“No more waiting,” he murmured.
“This one holds.”

It wasn’t arrogance.
It wasn’t hope.

It was fact.

Because he wasn’t building blind anymore.

He had her heartbeat.

He had the baby’s.

A matched frequency.

A point in infinity that wasn’t drifting anymore — it was ready.

Mark rested his hand on the containment field again.

“I’m coming,” he whispered.

His eyes darkened.

“And nothing in this universe or theirs is strong enough to stop me.”

The machine pulsed once in answer.

A perfect, synchronized echo.

Chapter Text

The machine pulsed again
once,
twice

Each pulse tightened the circular outline of the stabilizer ring, smoothing it from a turbulent blur into a perfect, razor-sharp circle suspended in the air.

A doorway.

A real doorway.

Mark took one breath.

Then another.

Each one steadier than he deserved to feel.

The light inside the ring shimmered, resonating in the exact frequency he had chased for months
the heartbeat
and the echo
and the pull
of the only two beings in the multiverse he still loved.

The closer he stepped, the louder that resonance thrummed, vibrating through the bones of his forearms and teeth.

Just one more calibration one more stabilizer lock

And then he could go to them.

He could cross that shimmering surface and finally, finally tear his way back into the world where she gasped in pain and fear, where their baby’s heartbeat pounded like a golden sun inside her, where

He reached forward, fingers brushing the humming air

And then the light changed.

Not gold.

Not silver-blue.

Not the red-white flash of overload.

Green.

A sickening, poisonous green that hissed across the stabilizer ring like acid through silk.

Mark froze.

The hum in the room shifted pitch
from resonance
to warning.

The smell hit next: burnt ozone mixed with something sharp and metallic. The stabilizer ring’s energy twisted, contorting like a spine forced out of alignment. The whole field buckled inward.

“NO”

He jumped back as the core shrieked in protest, the once-harmonic energy collapsing into jagged spikes of fractured geometry.

A shape appeared inside the green screen.

Long limbs.
Scarred face.
Flickering outline.

Then a foot stepped out.

Then a hand.

Then teethgnarled and stretched into a monstrous grin

Angstrom Levy stepped through the half-collapsed dimensional ring like he was stepping out of a warm shower.

Mark’s breath left him in a single, lethal exhale.

“…You.”

Angstrom’s voice rolled out in a lazy drawl, dripping satisfaction.

“You think you’re the only one who felt that?”

His eyes glowing a brilliant venomous green flicked to the machine, then to Mark, then to the pulsing energy still echoing faintly from the stabilizer core.

“The only one who sensed that beautiful little burst of energy?”

He adjusted his robe, the movement casual, obscene.

“That child’s heartbeat rang through thousands of universes.”

Mark’s fist tightened so hard he felt bone crack.

Angstrom laughed softly.

“Tsk. Tsk.
And here I thought you’d be proud.
You’ve created something truly remarkable.”

Mark moved
a blur of killing intent, faster than any human eye could follow
but the machine surged between them, throwing out a burst of warped spatial distortion that forced him backward in a violent shockwave.

Mark slammed into the far wall, absorbing the hit with a grunt.

The distortion crackled around Angstrom like a protective dome. He held up a trembling hand, shaking from the feedback

“Careful, Grayson.
Break this core, and your little family has no door.”

His grin widened, splitting scar tissue.

“I, however…”
He flicked his fingers, demonstrating the faint green sparks clinging to them.
“…don’t need it.”

Mark rose, breathing hard.
Slow.
Controlled.
Each inhale a battle for restraint.

“You broke the deal,” he said, each word dredged from something deep and feral in his chest. “So I’m allowed to have other things outside of this.”

Angstrom’s head tilted, still smiling.
The green light made him look carved out of poison.

“You trapped me in a different dimension,” Mark continued. “I built something with it. A life. A world. People.”

“Yes,” Angstrom said simply. “You did.”

“You came back. You destroyed it. And you trapped me here.”

Angstrom exhaled through his teeth in faux sympathy.

“Mark. Mark. Mark.”
He approached the humming green distortion where the stabilizer ring still sputtered.
“This is the dimension we agreed on.”

Mark growled low, dangerous.

“Not like this.”

Angstrom grinned wider.

“Maybe.
Maybe not.
But it doesn’t matter.”

The air twisted again green tendrils of dimensional energy curling around Angstrom’s fingers like affectionate snakes.

“You completed your mission for me.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed.
“I didn’t receive my full benefits.”

Angstrom laughed, shaking his head.

“Oh, but you did. are you not a emperor and a fully respected soldier?”
His smile sharpened.

Mark’s jaw locked.

“That is not for my benefit” he repeated

“Oh, but it benefited me, Mark.
It benefited me beautifully.”

And then the air in the room shifted.

Not the machine.

Not Angstrom.

The resonance.

Mark felt it
sharp
and hot
and terrifyingly clear.

A contraction.
Hers.
Like a lightning bolt through his sternum.

He staggered back, hand grabbing the edge of the console.

Angstrom noticed instantly.

“Oho,” he breathed, eyes widening in delight.
“So that’s what I felt.”

Mark shoved the console aside, stepping forward again.

“I’m warning you”

“Oh, don’t,” Angstrom whispered.
“Don’t threaten me.
I didn’t come here to hurt her.”

Mark paused.

Not because he believed him.

But because Angstrom leaned closer to the machine, and the stabilizer ring responded—tightening, sharpening.

Angstrom’s fingers hovered inches from the energy field.

“I came,” Angstrom said softly,
“to watch what you’ll do.”

His smile faded into something colder.
Sharper.

“There is something inside that woman. Something inside that baby. Something unprecedented. Even my variants didn’t predict this.”

Mark’s heartbeat thudded painfully in his ears.

“You felt it,” Angstrom murmured.
“You felt it even before the machine activated.”

Mark said nothing.

Angstrom’s grin returned.

“Your child is an anomaly.”

Mark lunged

but Angstrom vanished through a flicker of green distortion and reappeared behind him.

Too fast.
Too practiced.
Too confident.

“That's why I’m here, Mark.”

Mark turned slowly, eyes burning.

“To take them?” he asked, voice a lethal whisper.

Angstrom chuckled.
“Oh no.
No, no, no.”

He leaned in, voice dropping lower.

“I came to see what YOU will become…
when the universe gives you something new to lose.”

Mark saw red.

He moved
fast enough to vaporize sound
but Angstrom flicked his wrist and the stabilizer ring exploded with green energy, trapping them both in a cyclone of dimensional instability.

“STOP BREAKING MY MACHINE!” Mark roared.

“STOP PRETENDING IT WAS EVER YOURS!” Angstrom screamed back.

And then
everything
went
silent.

A pulse rippled through the room.

Not green.

Not gold.

Not silver.

Red.

Mark felt it like a spear through his ribs.

Veronica.

Screaming.

Another contraction stronger
closer
desperate

His breath caught, chest caving inward.

Not again.
He wasn’t losing anyone again.
Not her.
Not the baby.
Not this time

Angstrom’s expression shifted.

Not mocking.
Not amused.

Curious.

“Oh,” he whispered.
“So that’s what she sounds like to you.”

Mark stepped forward, voice shaking.

“If you go near her”

Angstrom raised a hand.

“For once, Mark… shut up.”

The green light dimmed.
Just slightly.

Angstrom looked to the stabilizer ring.
Then back to Mark.

“I didn’t cause that.”

Mark’s jaw clenched.

“I know.”

He hadn’t expected that answer.

Angstrom sighed dramatically.
“You know… you are truly exhausting to watch.”

“Then stop watching.”

“Oh, I can’t. Not now.”
His eyes gleamed.
“That resonance wasn’t just a contraction. That was a dimensional pulse.”

Mark’s heart slammed harder.

No.

Not now.
Not during labor.

“She’s destabilizing,” Angstrom whispered.
“Both of them are.”

The ring flickered wildly.
Green
Gold
Green
Blue

Angstrom stepped back, fascinated.

“Oh, this is fascinating.
The energy is crossing dimensions involuntarily. That means”

“SHUT UP!” Mark roared.

The walls trembled.
The stabilizer ring sparked.
The sub-lab lights exploded overhead.

Angstrom blinked.

“…well.”

Mark stood there, chest heaving, fists bald from where he’d crushed the steel rail of the console.

Angstrom looked at him thoughtfully.

“You really do love her.”

Mark said nothing.

Angstrom tilted his head.

“…interesting.”

He took one step back toward the swirling green distortions.

Mark tensed.

“You’re leaving?”

Angstrom smiled thinly.

“Oh, Mark.
I’m not leaving.”

The stabilizer ring flickered again—
gold trying to regain dominance
green clinging like poison.

“I’m going to watch.”

Mark lunged—
but Angstrom slipped away again, vanishing into a burst of green light.

Not gone.
Not fully.
Mark knew the difference now.

This wasn’t retreat.

This was observation.

Angstrom was stalking the resonance.
Stalking her.
Stalking the baby.

Waiting to see what the anomaly would become.

The green light receded

And the blue light surged back, brighter, stronger, pulsing like a second heartbeat against Mark’s spine.

He gasped
the connection hitting him full force.

Her scream tore through his mind.
The baby’s heartbeat stuttered

Then surged again.

He felt them.
Both.

His knees nearly buckled.

“Oh God,” he whispered, gripping the console.
“I’m coming. I’m coming hold on”

He slammed the stabilizers back into alignment, sweat dripping from his brow, fingers flying across the control interface with a speed that blurred.

The ring brightened.
Gold consuming blue.
Bit by bit.
Beat by beat.

He could fix this.
He could get through.
He could

The resonance spiked.

A scream
hers
and then

A second sound.

A thin, sharp cry.

Mark froze.

The world stopped.

Everything in him stopped.

He whispered, voice breaking apart

“…the baby?”

Another cry.

Higher.

Clearer.

Echoing through space like a star’s first breath.

Mark’s entire soul lurched forward, chest collapsing inward like a dying star.

“Oh my God,” he whispered.
“Oh my God, that’s, that’s-”

He didn’t realize he had fallen to his knees until the console lights reflected in the tears hitting the floor.

The stabilizer ring glowed gold.

No green.

No distortion.

Just one path.

One direction.

One door.

Mark rose slowly, hands trembling as he stabilized the last lock.

And then

Behind him

A voice whispered from the corner of the room.

Not Angstrom.

Thragg.

“Emperor Grayson,” Thragg said calmly.
“Why is your stabilizer tuned to a dimensional signature?”

Mark didn’t turn.

He didn’t breathe.

He only stared at the blue light before him.

His doorway.

His family.

His chance.

Thragg’s footsteps echoed behind him.

“Explain yourself.”

Mark straightened.

Wiped the blood from his jaw.

And said

“…No.”

Then he stepped toward the blue light.

Toward her.

Toward the baby.

Toward everything worth killing for.

Chapter Text

The air didn’t ripple.

It split.

A vertical arc of blue tore itself into existence at the center of the room clean, bright, surgical like someone had cut reality open with a blade made of lightning.

For one frozen heartbeat, everyone stared.

Eve.
The doctors.
Two armed GDA guards.
Cecil behind the glass above them.
She on the bed, soaked in sweat, trembling, breath caught between a scream and a sob.

And then

Mark stepped through.

Not stumbling.
Not falling.
Not phasing.

Just appearing, mid-stride, like he had always belonged there.

His clothes were ragged.
His eyes were bloodshot, fever-bright.
His hands still hummed with the energy of the machine he’d built with his bare hands.

But none of that mattered.

Because the second he saw her
the second he saw her curled forward, clutching her abdomen, tears streaking her face

his entire body broke into motion.

“hey-”
His voice cracked, rawer than anything she’d ever heard from him.

The room detonated into chaos.

Doctors screamed.
A guard panicked and fired.
Eve snapped her hand up, shielding them in a shimmering pink barrier.
Cecil barked orders through the intercom.

And she-

She sobbed, not from fear-

from relief.

“Mark, Mark. you’re-” Her breath ripped out with another contraction. “you’re here-”

He reached her, dropping to his knees beside the bed so fast the mattress jolted. His hands cupped her face, his forehead pressed to hers, breath shaking.

“I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.”
Every word trembled.
He felt her pain like it was crawling under his skin, like every contraction was punching into his own ribs.

Her fingers fisted into his shirt.
She gasped, moaning through clenched teeth.

“I can’t I can’t, something’s wrong-”

“No.” Mark swallowed hard. “You’re not alone anymore. I’m not- I’m not leaving you again.”

He kissed her forehead, her cheek, her temple, desperate touches that said everything he couldn’t speak.

Eve was already moving, scanning, shouting for tools.

Cecil’s voice roared overhead:

“Stabilize her! Get ready-she’s crowning-”

“Hold fire"

But she wasn’t hearing any of it.

She was hearing him.

The only heartbeat in the room anchored to hers.

The father of her child, after weeks of nightmares, uncertainty, captivity-
finally here.

And then

The tension in her body changed.

Went still.

A stillness so profound Mark’s breath stopped.

Eve froze mid-motion.
The doctors stuttered into silence.
Even Cecil’s voice cut out.

She sucked in a thin, shaking inhale

and the child slid free into the doctor’s waiting hands.

A small, slick, gasping miracle.

Wrapped in blood and

but in a faint shimmer of purple light.

The room fell into a hush so complete it felt like the universe had taken a knee.

The doctor lifted the baby, stunned, whispering

“Oh… my God.”

Mark’s chest broke open.

His hands flew to the baby direction
His eyes filled instantly.
A man who had fought armies, slaughtered tyrants, survived annihilation

fell apart at the sight of something so small.

He reached, hands trembling like a leaf in a storm.

And the baby

opened its eyes.

Brown with tears and a cry so loud.
Pulsing with the same resonance that had called to him across dimensions.

His breath hitched so hard he almost choked.

“That’s” His voice was barely sound. “that’s our baby.”

She cried, laughter and pain tangled together, reaching weakly for the child.

Mark leaned in, ignoring the guards slowly surrounding him, emotion shaking every bone in his body.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “We did it. You did it. I’m here now. I swear, I swear I’ll never-”

A noise cut him off.

A deep, mechanical whine.
A low vibration that made the metal fixtures tremble.

Mark’s head snapped up.

The blue arc behind him

The guards turned their fire to the blue light

Eve stood up “Cecil what's happening"

"Eve get out of there."

“but the baby-"

He turned to an agent "get mark here now"

the one he’d stepped through

was supposed to be closing.

Instead it flickered.

Buckled.

Stretched wide again.

“No…” he breathed. “No, no it shouldn’t”

The portal expanded like a lung filling with breath.

Eve backed up.

Guards aimed their weapons.

Cecil cursed through clenched teeth.

She clutched the baby instinctively, fear spiking through her exhausted body.

And then

Thragg stepped through.

He arrived without sound.

A shape of white and red and absolute ruin.

His boots hit the floor with a weight that cracked the tiles.
His cape tolled behind him like a funeral banner.
His expression was carved from something older and colder than stone.

The air itself recoiled.

Mark’s world shrank into a pinpoint.

“…No.”
Barely a whisper.
Barely a breath.

Thragg’s eyes traveled the room lazily, like a predator scanning a nest.

Eve.
The guards.
The blood.
The infant in her arms.

And then finally

Mark.

There was no surprise in Thragg’s expression.

Only disgust.

Only disappointment.

“ pathetic ”

The word was judgment, accusation, and sentence all at once.

The doctors scattered.
The guards opened fire in blind terror.

Thragg didn’t even raise a hand.

He simply moved.

Bullets disintegrated on contact with his skin.
The shockwave of his motion threw every human in the room off their feet.
Monitors shattered.
Medical equipment exploded against the walls.

She curled around the baby, screaming as the wind force lifted the bed.

Mark launched himself in front of her, catching the entire blast across his back, teeth bared as the force sliced into his muscles.

Thragg paused.

Eyed the tableau
a Viltrumite shielding a human woman and a newborn.

A slow, poisonous look of disgusting spread across his face.

“A child.”
He said it like a slur.
“Here. In this fragile little world.”

Mark’s pulse hammered so violently he could barely hear.

“don’t-”

“Is this,” Thragg interrupted, voice dripping disdain, “why you abandoned the Empire? Why you disappeared like a coward? To breed weakness?”

Mark didn’t think.

He attacked.

A blur of fury and terror and pure instinct.

The collision rattled the entire wing of the facility.
The wall behind Thragg dented like foil.
Concrete cracked like thin ice beneath their feet.

Thragg didn’t budge.

He caught Mark by the throat and slammed him into the opposite wall with bone-breaking force.

“You disappoint me,” he said almost gently.

Mark roared, breaking free, slamming both fists into Thragg’s ribs.

The sound was like a sonic boom.

mark winced

the smallest tightening around his eyes—

Mark barely had time to process it.

And Thragg attacked.

No restraint.
No tactical play.
No testing.

This wasn’t conquest.

This was punishment.

Thragg slammed Mark into the floor so hard the shockwave threw Veronica’s bed into Eve’s arms. Eve skidded across the room, shielding the baby with both arms, her powers flickering unstable.

Mark’s ribs cracked.
His vision blurred.
Thragg’s fist came down

Mark caught it

barely

his forearm screaming under the pressure.

“STAY AWAY FROM THEM!”

Thragg didn’t even glance at the mother and child.

“They are already dead,” he said simply. “Once I finish you.”

He shoved Mark down, grinding him into the fractured tile.

She screamed his name.

Something in Mark snapped.

A surge of purple resonance burst from her hands
the same pulse that had aligned worlds
but now twisted with terror, instinct, love, and rage.

Thragg staggered half a step.

Not far.
Not enough.
But it was something.

Mark lunged, eyes blazing, strength spiking beyond anything he’d ever accessed.

He drove Thragg back with a barrage of blows
each one shaking the supports of the building,
each one fueled by the singular terror of losing everything.

Thragg finally blocked, forearm raised, eyes narrowing.

“That energy…”
A flicker of something like interest.
“…is not yours.”

His gaze slid to Veronica.

To the baby.

And for the first time

Thragg’s expression changed.

“your weakness” Thragg said softly. “will end here.”

He stepped toward the newborn.

Mark saw red.

“You go near them i swear- I swear I’ll-”

“You will do nothing,” Thragg snapped, grabbing Mark by the jaw and hurling him like debris through a bank of monitors.

Sparks showered.
Cecil shielded his face behind reinforced glass.

behind Thragg-

Mark, the Mark of this world crashed through the ceiling like a meteor, landing between Thragg and the bed.

Thragg turned, genuinely surprised.

“ Donald deploy the drones! Now!”

A dozen armored drones flooded the room, firing concentrated beams.

Thragg sliced through them with his bare hands.

The floor was becoming a graveyard of twisted metal.

Eve stood over Veronica and the baby, arms shaking, shields flickering.

“MARK!” she screamed. “We can’t....we can’t hold him.”

Thragg charged.

Both Marks collided with him together

a shockwave of Viltrumite force so violent the walls buckled outward.

Thragg’s eyes widened

for the first time in years

a hit.

someone was able to actually hit him.

Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

“You-”
He snarled, glaring between the two Marks.
“are beneath me.”

He slammed both fists outward, sending both Marks crashing into through the building and outside.

another portal opened.

green.

A faint, shimmering distortion
like a window being watched instead of used.

Angstrom Levy’s face flickered into view, fractured and multiplied, smiling with infinite satisfaction.

His voice slid like oil:

> “Good.
Die together, why have two invincibles fight each other when their Superior can just end them both.”

The portal snapped shut.