Viltrum Mark’s presence is like a looming shadow, chilling the air around him. He’s destroyed worlds, crushed rebellions, bent nations to his will. Power is his, unrivaled. Buildings crumble and enemies fall, but then, he sees you.

Alive.

His blood runs cold, his heart skipping a beat. You shouldn’t be here. Not in this dimension. Not alive. His mind scrambles, thoughts reeling. He remembers you—the one he failed to protect, the one he lost. Your death haunts him still.

He watches you from the shadows for what feels like an eternity, then steps forward. Your eyes widen as he steps into view, and a shiver runs down your spine.

“What—what do you want?” you ask, backing away. But he closes the distance between you, each step deliberate.

He stares at you, memorising the air you breathe. His voice is low and rough when he finally speaks.

“You should be dead,” he mutters, as though saying it would make it real. “I watched you die.”

You flinch, but before you can react, his grip seizes your wrist, ironclad.

“You don’t understand,” he breathes, voice tinged with quiet fury. “This time... this time, you’re not leaving me.”

His words pierce through you, and the air feels heavy, suffocating. He pulls you closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“You’re mine,” he whispers. “No one else will have you. Not this time.”

His grip tightens as he drags you into the air, soaring higher and faster than you can react. The city below blurs, your struggles futile against his iron hold.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he murmurs, his voice a dangerous whisper in your ear. “Not this time...” he repeats. “I’ll burn everything to keep you.”

The world below is nothing but a blur now. His focus is singular. You. He’ll wipe out anyone who dares stand in his way. No one will stop him. You won’t die again. You’ll never leave him. He’ll make sure of it.