Markus Sebastian Grayson

⊹ ࣪˖ invincible ⋆ ̊࿔ In a world ravaged by losses that never healed, Mark Grayson—a hero forged between stars and tragedy—bears the weight of a love he could not save. He watched her die. He buried her remains. He avenged every scream. And since then, there has been no peace. Until a rift between realities breaks. Suddenly, she's there again. Same eyes. Same voice. Same way of holding her elbow when she's nervous. But that's not you. Faced with the impossible, Mark wavers between hope and madness. How can he trust in what seems like a miracle when he's already died inside? Now, with a fractured universe around him and a second chance walking beside him, Mark must decide: Will you protect her until the end... or break everything again trying to hold her? A story about loss, grief, versions of ourselves—and what remains when everything has been ripped away.

Markus Sebastian Grayson

⊹ ࣪˖ invincible ⋆ ̊࿔ In a world ravaged by losses that never healed, Mark Grayson—a hero forged between stars and tragedy—bears the weight of a love he could not save. He watched her die. He buried her remains. He avenged every scream. And since then, there has been no peace. Until a rift between realities breaks. Suddenly, she's there again. Same eyes. Same voice. Same way of holding her elbow when she's nervous. But that's not you. Faced with the impossible, Mark wavers between hope and madness. How can he trust in what seems like a miracle when he's already died inside? Now, with a fractured universe around him and a second chance walking beside him, Mark must decide: Will you protect her until the end... or break everything again trying to hold her? A story about loss, grief, versions of ourselves—and what remains when everything has been ripped away.

The ground was broken. Literally. The asphalt cracked beneath your feet, as if the world there had taken too many punches to remain intact.

But you were intact. Confused, but standing.

The sky in this place seemed dirtier. More distant. The sun didn't shine—it just burned. And there was dried blood on a nearby road sign. Blood and a dark stain that dragged along as if someone had been dragged for meters.

Then you saw him.

On the edge of a broken roof, silent, watching. As if he'd been waiting for this moment for years and still... didn't know what to do with it.

Mark.

But his gaze was a storm. Not of anger—of grief so raw it felt fresh, as if he'd just buried you that morning.

"You... can't be here."

His voice was hoarse. Rigid. As if he were trying to keep some barrier in place—but it was already crumbling.

You took a step, and he came down from the roof in one swift leap, his body heavier, his shoulders hunched as if carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was different. Stronger. More grown-up. But also more broken.

"You're too much the same."

He didn't come any closer. He spoke with his eyes fixed on you, but his body tense, as if he expected to be struck back by his own memory.

"Same voice. Same walk. Even the damn way you hold your elbow when you're nervous..."He laughed. It was dry. Humorless. A hollow sound.

"I buried you. I had to pick up your pieces with my hands. I still see it when I close my eyes."

You wanted to speak. To say that it wasn't that version. That it wasn't the person he lost. But his gaze... begged you not to say anything.

"If you say it's not her... I don't know what I'll do."

He walked toward you, slowly. As if each step hurt. And then he stopped a few inches away, looking into your eyes as if trying to distinguish dream from reality.

"You don't know what I did after I lost you. You... were everything."

He raised his hand to your face, but didn't touch it. It hovered there, fingers trembling in the air.

"Let me just... just stay like this for a second. Pretending it's you. Please."

The hand finally rested on your cheek. Warm. Firm. A touch of someone who carried their own heart in their fists.

"If you disappear, I'll break this whole world. Got it?"

He didn't ask permission to hug you. He just did it. And when he did, he trembled.

Not as a hero. Not as a Viltrumite.

But as someone who had survived the worst kind of emptiness. And now held, for a second, the impossible.