Chapter Text
✧MM✧
The portals had closed faster than it took for regret to gnaw at the edges of Mark’s mind.
“Great! So instead of being stuck in THAT shithole, we’re stuck in THIS shithole now!”
“Shut the fuck up! I’m thinking!”
“Thinking?! Fuck you! That shit was your idea!”
“Oh-hoo, so you wanted to keep up the errand-boy business? I didn’t hear any of you complaining while you were creeping up too!”
“…Is this shouting really helping anyone right now?”
“Shut the fuck up, momma’s boy!”
“Aargh… I can’t believe this…”
“Uuh, wait, where even are we now?”
“In some other fucking dimension, you dumb motherfu–”
Mark sighed as he hovered closer to the ground, rubbing off some of the drying blood from his face. His variants were shouting, inching closer as if coming to blows soon. It was his own voice back and forth, and honestly grating.
He looked around instead.
It still looked like that place.
Sunset. Wind blew, scattered leaves crinkling against the pavement.
The house was run-down, as if it'd been abandoned, and not for long. A broken window, tire tracks on the driveway, some smeared, weeks-old blood — dark and dry and not smudged by rain yet. The whole street looked pretty much the same. Some houses had nailed boards on windows, hiding their innards.
The sky was cloudy, no gardening done, lawns overgrown, no one’s been here in a little while…
Great. Were they banished to some dead world with no people?
Sound of steps behind. Mark looked back halfway, eyes narrowed — the masked one walked with a slouch past him towards the house, as if exhausted with the arguing, or with the last three days, or with life itself.
Really, he doubted any of them really slept since this whole mess started.
Mark looked up at the group. Eight here, not counting Mark, it couldn’t be good… He figured they could barely tolerate others, much less themselves. Mark had always been good at spotting those who’d cause the most problems, poisonous people…
The wasp-like one, the one with the veil, the party-mask one, the one with the stupid Mohawk, the loud obnoxious one — arguing loudly as if that’d solve anything — the cosplayer in red and white, silently scowling and on edge, too.
The one in Viltrumite uniform hadn’t bothered to speak a word to any of them, neither during that dimensional hangout nor since — he was looking around and at the sky with a focused gaze, before speeding towards the stratosphere in an instant.
The others ignored that.
The sound of shuffling caught his attention, and Mark turned, only to see… a human? If so, that’s an inconceivably deplorable state, or, actually, a should-be-dead state, in bloody ripped clothes, and sallow skin that appeared almost rotten, with unseeing white eyes…
Wait a second there…
And oh, some more, literally crawling from the woodwork. The scenery looked awfully familiar… “Hey.” Mark greeted with a raised eyebrow, uncertain.
The shambling thing didn’t greet back, only approached, no blinking. Oh, really…? Well…
If infinite dimensions existed… there are probably some with the actual undead shuffling about.
The arguing above stopped, and Wasp landed. “Finally.” He said as he approached. “You’re going to tell me– holy fuck, is that a fucking zombie?!”
The loudmouth grimaced. “What is that?! It reeks!”
Yes… This whole place stunk vaguely of a massacre, an avenue full of corpses with their stink wafting through the air. That in itself was too familiar.
The one with the stupid Mohawk gave him a look. “You don’t know what a zombie is?! Were you raised under a rock like some heathen?” He sneered.
“I was raised in Viltrum, you insolent fuckwit!” The other spat it with pure, distilled arrogance.
“Well, that explains it–”
The shambler’s focus seemingly shifted to Wasp, and approached without preamble, a raspy gurgle sounding from its throat, slowly gaining a small amount of speed, until it reached for a bite, which Wasp let happen, raising his arm as it attempted to break skin — not managing to break through the Kevlar. “You gotta be fucking kidding me.”
Mohawk-head landed with an annoyed snarl, approaching too. “So he sent us to a goddamn zombie dimension! Great!”
Wasp grabbed it by the neck and held it, tilting his head and inspecting it with a lip curled in disgust. It didn’t react other than reaching and growling like an animal. Mindless. “Yeah. Great.” He tossed it to the ground and crushed its head.
The blood spilled abnormally, not like how human blood normally spews everywhere — it just formed a thick puddle that smelled putrid, it was rotten and dark.
Mohawk-head backed away, clamping his nose. “Oh, what the fuck…”
More crawled from crevices like bugs, and the party-mask one landed, bisecting one in a single arm swept. “Cool.” He turned to them, thumb pointing at the corpse with a smirk. “I always figured they were way more fragile than normal humans!”
“That’s not saying much.” Mark muttered.
Wasp sighed, sharp and impatient. “Sure. Like paper instead of butter. Still doesn’t serve any purpose.”
“Fuck this,” The veiled one shouted, throwing up his arms. “I’m outta here!” And he left in an instant.
Party-Mask ‘aah’ed, stepping back. “Holy shit, look at this, dude!” He laughed at the still crawling bisected corpse, its guts spilled out not thwarting its ceaseless advances, biting the man’s leg and failing to draw blood. “Exactly like the movies!” The variant seemed to find this funny, lifting his leg and watching it try to hold on.
Omni-Boy pinched the bridge of his nose. “We should sort this out and think of a plan. I’m sure there’s a way back.”
Party-Mask kicked it, breaking skin and flinging the head like a soccer ball off into some backyard, and only then the body stopped. “Aww, man.”
“And how are we even supposed to find a way back?!” The loud dipshit suddenly snapped, arms crossed, his volume seemingly perpetually hiked up by default.
“I don’t know! But we can rest for a bit here in case Angstrom opens the portal back up. Then we can search for something useful.” Hands on hips, even now copying someone else… “These things don’t seem sentient, so it’s best to just get rid of them before it gets annoying. It looks like they’ll just swarm closer unless they’re dead for real.”
“The head!” Party-Mask said as he grabbed another, ripping head off. “They don’t stop unless it’s the head, oh, wow– no, wait, it’s still going!”
“It’s not the head!” Mohawk-head shouted. “It’s the brain, idiot! Always the brain!”
Party-Mask lifted the head, tossing it up and down. “Does it feel any pain, though?” He ripped an ear to test his theory, only to look disappointed when it didn’t expression the desired result.
“Well, clean-up should be a breeze then.” Omni-Boy said.
“Uh-huuuh, nothing better to do right now, I guess.” He tossed the head aside with a theatrical sigh, turning to other approaching bodies.
In the meantime it took to exchange words, many had gotten closer, but they were still slower than any human, and smelled of rot. Mark suddenly wanted a shower. Was there water running? A warm shower sounded real nice right about now…
If it’s anything like any post-apoc zombie comic book, the answer was no.
“Aah, sure, whatever, good luck with that.” Mohawk-head waved it off, hovering towards the house.
“I don’t want this rancid blood on me.” The wannabe-prince said — again, loudly — before flying off to another house, separate from the one.
Wasp rubbed his face with a growl under his breath. “Fine. I don’t want these stinking Zs biting me when I’m trying to get some damn shut-eye.”
Omni-Boy landed on the ground as well. “And you?” He crossed his arms at Mark.
The sight annoyed Mark to no end, but the creeping exhaustion extinguished whatever energy red-and-white over here sparked. “I guess I’ll help…”
“Hey, hey, who the fuck put you in charge?!” Wasp shouted, approaching Omni-Boy, dragging a half-torn struggling body.
“I did, because your shouting and screeching will get us nowhere. Any other questions?”
“Listen here, bitch–”
Mark walked away from that, leaving them to argue.
He had no illusions when it came to ‘finding a way back’, much less of Angstrom returning to get them. Why would he? There’s an infinite number of dimensions, and an infinite number of Invincibles to fish for. Why toss them somewhere they could return from and kill him? Why pick them up again after they showed willingness to betray him? Why not just find other Invincibles with too little to lose who’d be willing to go along with his stupid schemes?
They were exiled to a world that was likely too dead, to a place there’s no escape from. To some interdimensional graveyard to rot with the dead.
These things were easy to terminate, a light blow to the head and they were done. Rotten, they fell apart with less effort than it took for humans, paper rather than butter, just as noted.
That crazy shit-kid was having fun, at least, trying increasingly brutal methods of dismemberment and giggling — tearing and slashing, limb by limb, spine straight out to check if they still moved.
To Mark, taking care of them was akin to a mindless, repetitive job, something that could be done quickly while thinking about other things, and that’s something Mark was used to.
While at it, Mark was wondering if the numbness in him would fade, if, at some point, he’d snap into a fit of panic at the obvious fact that he was completely and utterly stuck here. Maybe forever.
Regret lingered.
Life choices.
Paths taken.
William…
Loss…
His father…
Dead to him…
Mom…
Pain…
Numbness.
Hope.
All led to this.
Nothing.
Nothing at all.
Nothing to show for it.
So much for that shit…
All that useless crap…
Mark stopped as his heel cut through soft flesh, limp body hitting the ground with a wet smack. His eyes unfocused.
The laughing and arguing around him seemed to grow louder, intertwining with white noise. The pavement was dark as the sun started to dip, darker as decayed blood spread, the wind blew, leaves, one which landed on the rot, infected, withering — and he felt a grating jitter, in both body and mind.
Mark glanced back at the house. His house in another reality. Where his mom waited forever for him to return…
He needed to fly, he needed silence, and he needed… to be alone.
As soon as that thought hit, he flew.
Towards anywhere but here.
✧VM✧
Mark reached past the blue, and past ozone, stopping at the peaceful layer between planet and space, then looked below.
Northeast region of the western continent, that’s where he was — where those immature, rogue variants unworthy of the uniform were likely still quarreling. Pointless.
Having demarked his previous location, he scanned the surroundings, searching for something useful. If Viltrum was present in this quadrant, there would be a base somewhere up here. Or on the moon at the very least.
Mark narrowed his eyes at one such structure, and flew towards it. But it’s a common satellite — too fragile and too human, not Viltrum’s. He broke it in half in frustration.
He flew around the orbit, eyes sharp for any sign of an actual civilization keeping an eye on this planet, and eventually found something, definitely human judging by the frail structure, unlikely to survive impact from anything bigger than his fist. Archaic and barely passable for a space-faring construct.
If that at all.
He hovered over a module, the window round on the convex structure, with a human male inside. The man turned from the screen, eyes widening, freezing like a scared animal — Mark dug both hands into the glass, piercing and spreading open the metal, ignoring the punch of air that hit as pressure inside crashed, carrying out the sound of alarms blaring.
He grabbed the human by the neck as the vacuum yanked him closer, then flew back to the atmosphere — ten to twenty, maybe thirty seconds before the human would be useless…
The space turned blue, air resistance slowing him down, and he hovered still, holding the human by the forearm instead, letting him breathe and recover for a minute.
The human blinked, coughing and grimacing, barely conscious as he turned bleary eyes to Mark — skin discolored, bloody nose and ears, red eyes, barely a few seconds in space and already on death’s door. Weak.
“You’ll answer a few questions for me.” Mark stated.
“…W-What…?” The human wheezed, limp, but alive.
Mark waited another thirty seconds, eyes narrowing.
“You’ll answer. a few questions. for me.” Mark repeated, slower, through gritted teeth.
More awake and aware, the human looked down and then back at him, panting.
“Were you in contact with a command center while in your station?” Mark kept his tone clear, audible, and firm. “Answer me, or I’ll end the lives of your companions still left up there.” If any were left alive in that pathetic excuse for a space station.
The human looked at him in the eye, gulping — both due to dryness and fright. “…No… No contact…”
“Why?”
“I-I don’t– We’re not sure, t-they told us to–” He grimaced as if struck by sudden pain in the head. “To hold on… until further notice…”
“When?”
“…Weeks ago…”
Weeks? “Nothing since?”
“N-No…” The human appeared faint, dripping blood from the nose.
Mark’s brows furrowed faintly and he looked back at the planet. Total loss of this sort of contact likely meant a graver emergency that compromised the upper echelons of a society.
“What’s the date?”
“…” It took a moment for the human to process the question. “October… 31st…” He rasped.
“Year.”
“…20…10…”
He clicked his tongue and dropped the human, averting his eyes from the split-second panic and flying back to space too fast to hear any screaming.
Time to skip the elimination process and go straight to the moon. If there was no base there, then… Mark shot towards the Moon as fast as he could, the vastness of space compressing as he gained speed, reaching the surface within minutes, and landing with a new crater, blowing dust everywhere. He waved it off to clear his vision and observed the lunar region.
Nothing. Not even a sign that anyone besides the humans were ever around.
Disappointment clawed at the edges of his senses, before he took off to the dark side of the moon, just to make sure.
Nothing.
With a scowl, he turned to fly back to Earth, eyes wide.
So, no Viltrum here… at all… if ever.
Mark just needed to send out a signal, then. Surely…
Reaching the atmosphere, he took a deep breath, rubbing the ice from his eyelashes.
No, wait, no need to rush. It’s possible the human, Angstrom, would open the portal again to retrieve them, it’s very possible, this was perhaps punishment for the betrayal — he shouldn’t have underestimated the man.
He replayed the whole chain of events in his mind again as he flew back to the original location. Shame burned as alternatives and ways of avoiding this situation brew before his mind-eye, he should’ve been faster, less weak.
The word rang, made him seethe. This was what happened to the weak. Everything from now on was a consequence of weakness and well-deserved.
Pathetic.
✧FM✧
Mark hadn’t stepped foot in this house since that day.
He stopped by the door, it swung, creaking on its hinges more than he remembered. The décor was different, but strangely, not quite unfamiliar.
The couches were in the same place, but were slightly different and a different color. The rug was about the same size, but different. The coffee table wasn’t glass, though that wooden duck was still there. Some paintings were the same, one in particular with Korean characters Mark remembered asking about once.
Everything was just… slightly off in some shade or manner.
Mark pulled up the mask, breathing deep. There was no familiar smell, it was off by too much of a margin. Something cracked beneath his boot, and he looked down at a picture frame, its glass against the ground. He crouched, fingers hesitating before lifting it to see, prepared for a memory to slap him back.
His mom’s familiar smile greeted him, along with an unfamiliar man, dark hair brushed back, darker skin, not his father — and no child in sight. No Mark.
He stood and left the frame faced down on a slightly shorter table where pictures of his family usually were.
There were none of those here.
Slowly, he headed upstairs, hearing the wooden stairs creaking instead of polished metal — it was metal, after Mark broke it by accident with his new powers.
The differences made things bearable, actually.
His room…
Half-finished cream paint on the walls, some simple birds artistically depicted, some cardboard boxes closed but unsealed, two desks with computers, paperwork, some with his mom’s familiar handwriting, a fountain pen he distinctively remembered her using…
And a lone crib that looked new, no sheets set, just there, against the wall.
Mark stared, his mouth felt dry and he swallowed; his hand rested on the crib’s wooden fence, he glanced around the room again, wincing when he heard a slight crack, hand retreating.
He took a deep breath to steady himself and crawled out the window, sitting on the roof outside, where he snatched the mask completely off, his hair lingering just above his eyes; he rubbed his jaw, unshaved hair prickling against his gloved fingers — now this was the most familiar sensation to him, the feel of roof tiles, even the slight clink sound of ceramic, and he brought his knees close, resting his chin down.
The backyard had a pool, covered by a tarp, it occupied the space once used for baseball practice with dad after school, when the sun was already down because it was the only time of the day neither were busy with school or hero work.
And mom watching from the kitchen window, her smile soft, before coming out to call them for dinner when it was ready…
The smell of her food… the warmth of her hugs… the taste of peace and love and happiness all rolled up in memory…
Never to be felt again.
Ever.
Again.
Wherever this version of his mom went… he hoped she was alright. And happy. Was she? He wondered if he could find her… He wasn’t a very good tracker… and who knows how long it’s been since she left…
Mark sighed, hiding his face completely. Like always.
✦✦✦
Steps, grass and gravel crunching slightly, he winced and adjusted his backpack, looking around the area.
This had to be the dumbest fucking thing he’d ever done, he should’ve waited ‘till morning, he was so going to die out here…! But Eric had to trust himself on this, waiting until morning was also just as likely to get him killed with those people…
He looked around the backyard, it’s a neighborhood, looked fairly empty, not all windows he could see were boarded up, so it’s possible people just left instead of hunkering down, which meant… there could be some canned food, or a bottle of water here and there.
Maybe even water still flowing in the pipes.
He approached a house with an open wooden door, swinging lightly with the wind. It was getting dark, so he quickly swung his flashlight inside to check for those creatures.
He heard some guys calling them ‘walkers’.
None that he could see here, and he briefly shone a light into corners, snapping his fingers a few times and listening for any sound… None.
He quietly strafed inside, trying to close the door behind, but the hinge was broken. Nevermind, he’s just here to check the fridge and cupboards. He shone the light just to check where things were again, before going from memory and feeling by hand.
A can! Jackpot? Nevermind, he’d check the label later, taking off his backpack to shove it inside and continuing his search. His heart was loud, he felt anxious — the darkness, probably, humans weren’t made to be in the dark…
Laughter, somewhere. Eric turned immediately, freezing in place, eyes wide.
Outside.
“Oh-hooo, look at him go, duuude! Hahahaaa!” Plus some other kind of sound he couldn’t place… Wet and dull.
Dude sounded pretty happy. That couldn’t be good these days. Only crazy people were happy in a world like this.
Crazy people kill people.
Eric remained crouched as he approached the front window, kinda dirty, clouding sight a little. He gripped the strap of his backpack, eyes narrowing as he tried to spot whoever was making all that racket. It had to be attracting those walker-things, Eric probably had to leave soon…
He saw them, creatures, walkers, a few heading towards the sound, and then a strange man in… a leotard? In bright yellow, blue, and black, with solid-looking boots and a weird mask — carrying a decapitated head.
Definitely an insane person. Great.
Eric took a second to see if he’d come his way, raising an eyebrow as the man twisted like a baseball player about to throw a ball — muscle rippling underneath the fabric — it flew like a bullet, exploding against another body that fell apart on impact, splashing everywhere.
“Aaaand scooore!” Dark blood rained for a second. The man stood with hands on his hips. “Heh.” The smirk faded as the walker approached. “Man, this is starting to get boring, actually.”
Eric stayed frozen, hand loose on the strap — the man grabbed the walker’s head and shoulder, ripping head and spine out without effort, blood spilling out like sand from a ripped sack.
No. Not a man. Not a person. Not–
Dark eyes turned his way.
Eric gasped and lowered his head so fast, panting as nausea hit, heart drumming, shaking — what the fuck did he see?! What the fuck was that?! What the fuck–fuck–fuck–!
He stayed frozen still and prayed to a deity he never believed in.
Only his heart thundered in his head for a moment, before steps sounded closer, as in slow-motion in his head, panic growing as he tried to control his breathing.
Sweat dripped from his face, he could hear it hitting the floor.
Silence.
Seconds passed with no sound, no steps, not even breathing near. Only chirping crickets, his rapid heart and his breathing.
Eric gulped, then slowly lifted his head to look…
Masked wide-eyes and a manic smirk just on the other side of the glass, close, leaning on the sill, sharp canines like a predator. “Lookie here, an actual living human…”
Staring frozen, hairs stood on end behind his neck and on his arms, before instinct kicked in and Eric pushed off the ground to run the other way–
Glass broke and something that felt like a metal crane gripped his neck, pulling, dull pain struck in multiple places as the world spun for seconds and his back hit the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of him, the back of his head throbbing.
Eric coughed and choked, his vision spinning, darkening around the edges. The night sky faded and appeared again as steps approached.
The man stood tall with a smirk above him, holding a walker head by the bloody spine, then crouched. “What’s up, dude?” He waved the head with its clacking teeth close, and Eric attempted to crawl away with a cry of panic. “What? What’s wrong? It’s just a head!” The mean leaned closer with a cruel laugh.
“N-No, no, no…!” Eric pleaded, his legs uncooperative, vision swimming, it’s so hard to think! “No bite, please, please…!”
The manic man gripped Eric’s head, trapping him against the pavement, it felt like someone standing on his head, making him gasp in pain. “You’re scared of a little bite, dude? Is that so?! Huuuh?!” He inched the head closer and closer to Eric’s eye and no matter what he did to move, his head remained glue in place — he began to heave, about to scream–
“What the fuck are you doing?” The man said with a lower, simmering tone–
Except his smirk disappeared and he looked up. “Huh?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself, dipshit.”
“Ooh, see, I found an actual human.” The man said with cheer as he stood, tossing the head aside. It hit the ground with a wet thud.
Eric was surrounded by remains, all torn apart, as if mauled by some rabid animal; blood, limbs, viscera and bone everywhere.
He curled up, looking at the second person — another in similarly bizarre clothes, in yellow and black with a fucking cape, and menacing dark goggles that hid his eyes entirely.
“Huh, so they exist after all. Nice.” Eric’s neck was grabbed again, and he felt himself being dragged. “C’mon, Soldier-Boy is back. We may as well confirm some info with this one too.”
“Aww, man, c’mon, I was gonna play around for a bit! These other guys are boring!”
The caped one stopped, turning back with a vicious smirk. “Take him from me if you want to, then.”
“…Hngh…”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He continued walking.
The dullness was fading, the pain growing every second as he was dragged like he’s weightless, barely able to breathe with the gloved claws squeezing his neck. Eric closed his eyes, wet with despair, feeling like a small dog.
At the whim of monsters.