The abandoned warehouse at the edge of Chicago buzzed with tension as eighteen versions of Mark Grayson gathered in what had once been a manufacturing floor.
Machinery lay dormant around them, covered in dust and cobwebs - silent witnesses to the unprecedented assembly of multiverse variants.
Scarred Levy paced before them, his disfigured face twitching occasionally as he outlined his plan on a makeshift digital board.
The evil Marks watched with varying degrees of interest and skepticism, their postures and expressions as diverse as their costumes.
"Once we launch the attack," Scarred Levy explained, gesturing to a map of Chicago, "each of you will take your assigned sector. Maximum destruction, maximum terror. I want this Mark to watch as everything he loves burns to ash."
Mohawk Mark leaned against a support column, arms crossed over his chest. His distinctive hairstyle - shaved on the sides with a strip of hair down the center - matched the rebellious gleam in his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah," he drawled, examining his fingernails with exaggerated boredom. "Destroy everything, make him suffer, blah blah blah.
Can we get to the part where you open portals to whatever worlds we want? That's the only reason any of us are listening to your sad revenge fantasy."
Sinister Mark, shot Mohawk a cold glare. "Some of us actually appreciate the artistry of a well-executed vengeance," he said, his voice carrying a menacing edge.
"When I break something, I make sure it stays broken."
"Ooh, scary," Mohawk mocked, fake shivering while he did it. "Did you practice that line in the mirror this morning?"
Mustache Mark, sporting facial hair that gave him an air of Viltrumite authority, stepped between them. "This bickering is beneath us," he declared, his bearing rigid with military discipline.
"We are Viltrumites - or at least, those of us who embraced our heritage are. The rest of you are merely playing at power."
"Save the superiority complex for someone who gives a damn," Mohawk retorted. "Not all of us needed Daddy's approval to figure out which end of the universe to piss on."
Viltrumite Mark, clad in the traditional white uniform of the Empire's military elite, scoffed. "Your vulgarity only confirms your inferiority," he stated coldly. "The weak exist to serve the strong. That is the truth of the universe. And I have no interest in debating reality."
"Oh look, another one who drank the Kool-Aid," Mohawk rolled his eyes. "Did they make you recite the Viltrumite pledge before or after they fitted you for that cute little outfit?"
Omni-Mark, who had taken his father's title and costume in his reality, stepped forward. His presence commanded attention, his voice carrying the weight of someone accustomed to absolute obedience.
"Enough," he declared. "My father was a fool. He hesitated. He doubted. None of us made that mistake, which is why we're here instead of dead or imprisoned like so many other versions of ourselves."
Mark One, whose appearance most closely resembled the original Mark of this world but with subtle signs of greater experience, shook his head. "I used to think there was always a right choice. Now I know - sometimes, there's just the choice you can live with."
"Spare us the philosophy," snapped Mark Two, his costume similar to the original but with darker coloring. "Talk all you want. At the end of the day, words won't stop fists. And mine move faster than yours."
Yellow Suit Mark, wearing an old-school costume reminiscent of earlier superhero eras, sighed. "Back when I started, I thought being a hero was simple. Now? Now I know better. But at least I didn't become... this." He gestured at the assembled villainous versions of himself.
"Self-righteousness doesn't become of you as you are another me," Flaxan Mark replied, his regal bearing betraying his status as emperor of the Flaxan dimension in his reality.
"The Flaxans do not take prisoners. We take victory. And I am their greatest conquest. A conquest that I will soon bestow upon more worlds."
Bulletproof Mark, his costume reinforced with tactical armor, merely shrugged. "I don't fight for ideals. I fight to win. That's the only thing that matters in the end."
Scarf Mark, a long red scarf wrapped around his neck and lower face, remained in the shadows. "The shadows teach you things the light never will," he observed quietly. "Watch. Listen. Strike only when necessary."
Prisoner Mark, still wearing the remnants of Viltrumite prison garb, merely watched with weary eyes. "You think you've been through hell?" he muttered to no one in particular. "No. Hell is when you stop believing you'll ever make it out."
Scarred Levy, sighed, annoyed at them all talking like they were in an edit or something, cleared his throat, attempting to regain control of the meeting. "If you're all quite finished with your posturing, we can-"
He was interrupted as Mohawk Mark suddenly stiffened, his eyes widening in alarm. The cocky demeanor vanished, replaced by something none of the others had seen from him before: pure, unadulterated terror.
"Fuck," Mohawk whispered, then louder: "FUCK!"
In a blur of motion, he crossed the warehouse floor, grabbed Scarred Levy by the collar, and slammed him against the wall. "Are you fucking INSANE?" he roared, spittle flying from his lips. "You didn't tell us HE was here!"
"What are you talking about?" Scarred Levy choked out, struggling against Mohawk's grip.
The other variants tensed, watching the confrontation with confusion and growing concern.
"What's gotten into you?" Sinister Mark demanded.
Mohawk turned to them, his face pale with fear. "Are your instincts as dull as your rotten brains? Don't you sense that? That overwhelming bloodlust?"
The warehouse fell silent as the other variants focused, extending their enhanced senses beyond the immediate surroundings. One by one, their expressions changed - from confusion to concern to dawning horror.
"What... is that?" Viltrumite Mark whispered, his usual confidence cracking.
Cold sweat beaded on Mohawk's forehead, running down his spine.
His hands, still gripping Levy's collar, trembled visibly - a sight so incongruous with his previous bravado that several of the other variants exchanged worried glances.
"Hey, are you okay?" Yellow Suit Mark asked, genuine concern in his voice. They might all hate or at least dislike each other, but this display was too bizarre to ignore.
"No, I'm not fucking okay," Mohawk hissed, his voice dropping to a desperate whisper. "I've sensed this spiritual signature before.
I literally had to live with that monster's shadow of death over the universe for an entire decade full of war till he was dethroned."
As the words left his mouth, the ceiling above them began to crumble. Concrete dust rained down as massive cracks spread across the warehouse roof.
The variants looked up, instinctively dropping into defensive stances.
A booming, gravelly voice echoed through the warehouse - a voice that sent shivers down the spines of even the most hardened among them.
"Stand ready for our arrival, worms."
The ceiling gave way completely, and through the gaping hole descended several figures. Conquest led the way, his scarred face twisted in a savage grin, his massive frame silhouetted against the night sky.
Behind him came others - two versions of Mark and Eve, along with Nolan in his Omni-Man uniform.
But Mohawk's terrified gaze wasn't fixed on any of them. He looked past them, to the figure floating slightly higher than the others, whose presence seemed to darken the very air around him.
"Thragg," Mohawk muttered, the name escaping his lips like a prayer of terror.
The other variants readied themselves for battle, powers activating, muscles tensing. But Mohawk's reaction was entirely different. He shook Scarred Levy with renewed fury.
"Send us back!" he roared. "Send us all the fuck back to our own dimensions! I am NOT about to eat my own heart for this crazy fucker's revenge plan in a world that apparently Thragg owns Earth! Why the FUCK didn't you tell us this earlier?"
Levy struggled in his grip, eyes wide with confusion. "Something's wrong," he gasped. "Thragg was never supposed to be here! He doesn't rule this Earth! No Viltrumite rules this Earth!"
"I don't fucking CARE!" Mohawk screamed, spittle flying from his lips. "Send us back already, or I'll-"
His words cut off abruptly as a blur of motion passed him. In his panic, Mohawk hadn't been able to focus properly on the approaching threat.
Royal Mark had already torn Scarred Levy from his grasp and pinned the dimensional traveler against the opposite wall.
"Nobody is going anywhere," Royal Mark declared, a sadistic smirk spreading across his face as he addressed all the variants, "not till you all are in pieces everywhere."
The evil variants tensed, ready for battle. Sinister Mark's hands curled into fists, a cold calculation in his eyes as he assessed the newcomers.
Viltrumite Mark assumed a combat stance that perfectly mirrored imperial training protocols. Omni-Mark's eyes began to glow with gathering energy.
Conquest, seeing Mohawk's panic and assuming he must be the leader since everyone seemed focused on his next move, launched himself forward with devastating speed.
His massive fist aimed directly for Mohawk's face.
To everyone's surprise, Mohawk didn't counter-attack. Instead, he dodged with a desperate maneuver, flying past Conquest and up through the hole in the ceiling.
Rather than fleeing, however, he did something that froze everyone in place.
He dropped to one knee in mid-air before Thragg, head bowed, in a posture of absolute submission.
"Please," Mohawk pleaded, his voice stripped of all its former cockiness. "Emperor Thragg, I surrender. Completely."
The warehouse fell silent. Every eye turned toward Thragg, waiting for his response.
The Emperor regarded the kneeling variant with an expression of mild curiosity, his massive arms crossed over his chest, the Battle Beast coat rippling slightly in the night breeze.
"Curious," Thragg's deep voice rumbled through the silence. "Why does one with such strength not wish to fight? Surely one nearing Conquest in might would have more will. One does not gain such strength by being a coward."
Despite his terror, Mohawk bristled slightly at the accusation. "With all due fucking - I mean, with all due respect, Emperor," he managed, struggling to keep his language in check, "knowing when to pick your battles isn't cowardice. I know better than anyone how strong you are."
Thragg's interest visibly deepened. "How so? Do you know me in your universe?"
Mohawk hesitantly nodded, still not daring to meet Thragg's gaze directly. "I've seen you fight. Comparing us fighting you is like comparing a human child against a Viltrumite officer." He swallowed hard. "No, perhaps the difference is even bigger."
Thragg studied him for a moment, his penetrating gaze seeming to see through Mohawk's very soul. "Such fear cannot come merely from witnessing battle. How have you come upon this knowledge?"
Cold sweat ran down Mohawk's back as those piercing eyes bore into him from above. He knew lying would be futile - something about Thragg's gaze made him certain the Emperor would detect any deception instantly.
"There was... a war," Mohawk admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "In my universe, between the Viltrum Empire and... and our Thragg. It lasted a decade. Eventually, Thragg died, and I, as Argall's last descendant, was crowned Emperor."
"WHAT?!" Conquest roared, his scarred face contorting with fury. "How DARE you speak such absurdity! How could the Viltrum Empire ever betray their Lord, their true Emperor Thragg?"
Mohawk ignored Conquest's outburst, his attention fixed solely on Thragg, who regarded him with a calculating expression.
"Explain," Thragg commanded simply.
"In my universe," Mohawk began hesitantly, "our Thragg was... unstable. More so than you, Emperor. He-"
"How did you defeat him?" Original Mark interrupted, unable to contain his curiosity.
Mohawk fell silent, clearly reluctant to continue until Thragg nodded slightly.
"I too am curious about this," the Emperor stated.
Mohawk took a deep breath. "The war lasted nearly an entire decade. It was the entire Viltrum Empire, Earth, and the Coalition against Thragg alone." His voice grew quieter.
"I, as the descendant of Argall with a pure bloodline, went to the Flaxan dimension where time moves faster. I... impregnated many women there, and had hundreds of children that grew up quickly in the accelerated time flow.
This gave us a nearly unending army of Viltrumites to throw against Thragg."
The horror of what he was describing began to dawn on everyone present.
"But even then," Mohawk continued, his voice hollow, "Thragg was too powerful. He could kill any Viltrumite with a single hit.
We fought him for a decade until he finally died of exhaustion, but the cost..." He closed his eyes briefly. "Trillions upon trillions dead. Entire galaxies reduced to ash."
A stunned silence followed this revelation. Original Mark and Eve exchanged horrified glances. Royal Mark unconsciously reached for Royal Eve's hand, squeezing it tightly.
Nolan's face had gone pale, while Conquest's expression showed a mixture of disbelief and grudging respect.
Amanda and Roberta shared a knowing look. They had always understood Thragg's power intellectually, but hearing it confirmed from someone who had witnessed its full extent was sobering.
"And I can sense," Mohawk added, his voice shaking slightly, "that you're even stronger than our Thragg was. I don't know by how much, but I can feel it. Perhaps at least a dozen times stronger." He shook his head.
"We can't win against you. And I'd really rather not die."
He looked up at Thragg, desperation evident in his eyes. "You being here, with two versions of Mark and Eve, must mean you're from another reality as well, having a way to travel between them. Probably with your own Angstrom under your control."
His voice took on a pleading, bargaining tone. "I can be of use to you, Emperor.
My Empire might not be as strong as yours, but a universe that willingly submits, granting more manpower and resources, is better than having to conquer one and gain control over it.
I can do anything you order. I already have control over my own universe."
Everyone waited breathlessly for Thragg's response. The Emperor's expression remained impassive as he considered Mohawk's offer. The silence stretched until it became almost unbearable.
Finally, Thragg spoke. "I can accept your proposal," he stated, causing Mohawk's face to light up with relief. "But on one condition."
"Anything, Emperor," Mohawk replied eagerly.
"You must kill at least two other variants of yourself that are not allied with me," Thragg declared. "If you do this, I will accept your proposal."
Mohawk's relief transformed into savage joy. He rose with Thragg's permission, cracking his neck to the side, ready to prove his loyalty. The other evil variants gritted their teeth in rage at this betrayal.
"As for the rest of you," Thragg continued, addressing the assembled evil Marks, "I will give you a chance as well.
Choose the strongest among you, and they may engage in one-on-one combat with my Mark, Nolan, and Conquest. If they can defeat them, I will spare those who, like Mohawk, submit to me."
The evil variants exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them. Despite their differences and antagonism, they recognized the gravity of the situation.
After a tense moment, they nodded in agreement, allowing Sinister, Viltrumite, and Omni to step forward as their champions.
"Take your battles to uninhabited areas," Thragg commanded. "If there are civilian casualties, I will kill you all for wasting my resources."
The six designated fighters paired off: Omni-Mark against Nolan, Sinister against Royal Mark, and Conquest against Viltrumite Mark.
"This is going to be fun," Conquest growled, a savage grin on his face as he sized up his opponent. "Let's see if you're worthy of that uniform, boy."
"I earned this uniform, unlike you, who only brutchered weaklings," Viltrumite Mark replied coldly, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face.
"You look like somebody that talks a really big game, but surely you understand that you're about to become a stain on the landscape," Royal Mark taunted Sinister
(he really has taken Thragg's advice to heart, instilling terror into the enemy before the battle to make them make mistakes), who merely smiled - a cold, calculating expression.
"Talk all you want. The difference between us," Sinister replied, "is that rather than talk I hit, and when I hit something, I make sure it stays down."
Nolan and Omni-Mark faced each other, a strange mirror image - one who had chosen to protect Earth, and one who had chosen to conquer it alongside his father.
"I'm curious what made you like this?" Nolan questioned.
"You," Omni-Mark corrected. "You and your cowardice. It is why I have chosen to be what you would have become if you hadn't been a coward."
With these final exchanges, the three pairs shot upward, streaking across the night sky toward different directions, each seeking an appropriate battleground for their confrontation.
As they departed, Amanda huffed in disappointment. "Come one! This doesn't give me a chance to test my new strength," she complained, flexing her green-tinged fingers.
Thragg's gaze softened imperceptibly as he looked at her. "You'll have plenty of opportunities in the future," he assured her. "For now, this is more... interesting."
The remaining evil variants watched this exchange with confusion and growing dread, readying themselves for battle against Mohawk.
The night had only just begun, and blood would soon paint the sky across Chicago as the Invincible War entered its first true battle.
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(Author note: Phew... This was really fucking difficult. Having 18 Marks to write is insane I'm telling you. Especially having to take note of their backstories, speech patterns, etc.
Also, how did you like Royal Mark's one liners. He really has taken to heart, Thragg's (terror? aura?) farming advice.
I did my research about the Marks, but if there are differences, just take it as AU, cause I really can't be bothered to research more, it was a bit of a headache.
BTW, before anyone says anything, Mohawk Mark's story, I made myself, since there is very little known about his backstory from what I researched. And I like Mohawk Mark, so yeah.
Well, I hope you all enjoyed the chapter, and I hope to see you all later,
Bye!)