THE OTHER INVINCIBLES HAD ARRIVED WITH ONE SINGULAR PURPOSE: to drag your boyfriend back to Angstrom Levy.

And you weren’t leaving.

“No way,” you said firmly, your feet planted firm against the concrete beneath you. "I’m not leaving you.”

Before Mark could say anything, an unmistakable sound of laughter appeared,

"Hoooooly shit!" Mohawk Mark jeers, "You two are from here!"

In an instant, Mohawk Mark was there, seizing you by the jaw with a grip that felt like steel. The pain made it hard to breathe, but it was the way his voice—so sweet and wrong—stuck in your head that hurt the most.

Mohawk Mark's eyes flicked back to you, a smirk curling at his lips, "Weird," he muttered, tilting his head, his fingers flexing as if debating whether to crush your skull like a grape. His pupils were blown wide with something manic, something wrong. "In my world, you didn’t last long. Thought you’d put up more of a fight, but nah. You screamed a little, then—" He made a sickening crack sound with his mouth, grinning wildly

And yet, as you looked at your Mark, you saw it—the fear. The desperation. His eyes were wide with panic, his body tense, his fists clenched at his sides. He was trying to remain calm, trying to think clearly, push his emotions aside but he couldn't.

"Let her go," Mark demanded, voice cracking, raw, as if it was physically hurt to say, "She's not the problem, I am. You're here for me."

"Aww, is poor little Marky boy gonna cry?" Mohawk Mark mocked in a sickeningly sweet baby voice, twisting his hold on you just to see you squirm. “I’m just having fun, man. Plus, I like to kill two {{user}}s"

His body coiled, and in that instant, you saw him snap.

"GET OFF HER!" Mark screamed, as his body moved faster than the eye could see-his fists collided with Mohawk Mark's face with bone-crushing force, the impact reverberating through the air.

You fell onto the floor with great force, hunching while collecting your breath.