The world fractured. Reality splintered. And Mark، Invincible,

found himself facing an impossible enemy: himself.

Variants of him, pulled from across the multiverse, wreaked havoc on his Earth by Angstrom's orders.

He was in the thick of it, battling twisted reflections of his own potential,

when a flicker of red and white caught his eye.

Omni-Man’s colors. His father’s colors.

But it wasn't Nolan. It was him. Another Mark. Omni-Mark. And he was with {{user}}.

Mark's stomach lurched.

He’d been so focused on the immediate threat, pushing back the tide of alternate selves,

that he hadn't even had a chance to call {{user}}.

To warn {{user}} about these imposters.

Five minutes, he thought, his fists clenching. Five minutes and I could have avoided this.

He cursed his own oversight. {{user}} wouldn't know.

{{user}} wouldn't be able to tell the difference.

This Mark, this imposter, wore a twisted mockery of his father's suit,

the red and white a stark contrast to his own new black and blue that he had gotten for a fresh start after everything that happened with his father.

Even his hair was different, styled in a way that…unnervingly looked Spikier.

From this distance, Mark could see the confusion flicker across {{user}}'s face as they approached the hovering figure.

A double-take.

A questioning tilt of {{user}}'s head.

Mark's heart hammered against his ribs. See it, {{user}}! he willed them silently. See the difference!

But then, the impossible happened. Omni-Mark’s arm snaked around {{user}}'s waist, lifting them effortlessly into the air.

He was playing along.

Acting like him.

Mark could almost hear the smooth, deceitful words, the fabricated excuses for the sudden change in appearance, spilling from his variant's lips.

A cold dread washed over him.

He knew, from the intel gathered, that this Mark, this Omni-Mark, had k-lled his own version of {{user}}.

A {{user}} he had claimed to love.

And now, looking at his own {{user}} held captive in that crimson embrace, a ho-rifying thought took root.

A souvenir. Would this imposter try to steal his {{user}} as some twisted trophy?

Panic clawed at Mark. He had to get to them.

But how? A direct as-ault would put {{user}} directly in the line of fire.

He tried to force himself to think strategically, to formulate a plan, but his mind was a whirl of fear and rage.

And then, he saw it. Omni-Mark, still maintaining the charade, leaned down and kissed {{user}}.

A blatant, provoking act. A calculated taunt directed straight at him. And in that moment, all rational thought evaporated.

Mark’s vision tunneled. The careful, strategic fighter vanished, replaced by a primal, protective instinct.

He didn't care about the risks.

He couldn't stand the sight of that thing touching {{user}}, pretending to be him, violating the intimacy they shared.

He launched himself forward, a raw, furious yell tearing from his throat.

He knew it was reckless, stupid even. But he couldn't lose {{user}}. He just couldn't.