Chapter 3271 - Ch: 184-193

Chapter 184: Black Mark

He stepped forward, walking toward the battlefield.

The cape swayed gently behind him, like the unfurled wings of the Grim Reaper.

"Making variants of myself feel fear—that's truly an experience I've never had before."

Just then, a green portal opened beside him.

Black-Suited Mark looked to his side with a hint of pleasant surprise.

"Don't kill them."

A voice came from within the portal.

"Those are all very useful assets."

Another Angstrom stepped out of the portal.

He seemed a bit more refined than the previous Angstrom.

His hair was meticulously combed, and his choice of clothing was more sophisticated.

But his aura was identical, as were those slightly crazed eyes.

"Besides, isn't it quite interesting to enslave yourself?"

Black Mark looked at the remains of the Angstrom he had beaten to a pulp, then at the Angstrom before him, the interest in his eyes deepening.

"Is this a clone of yours? Or have you mastered some technology that allows all your variants to share memories and superpowers?"

Angstrom laughed.

"Haha, my ability isn't that heaven-defying."

He pointed to his head.

"If I die, I'm truly dead.

If you kill me now, I will die just the same."

He paused.

"But one thing remains unchanged—obsession."

He raised his hand and pointed to his head again.

"Obsession crosses countless parallel worlds to find a new variant of me and inherits all my memories and abilities."

His voice became high-pitched.

"And up until now, all my variants inherit my will and ideals!

To erase Invincible from the Universe!"

He spread his arms as if embracing some sacred mission.

"It's like a napkin.

When the first person at the table picks up a napkin, if they pick up the one on the right, then everyone else must pick up the one on their right!"

"When I decide to destroy Invincible, then all versions of me will destroy Invincible!"

"This point has never changed!"

He laughed loudly, his expression crazed to the extreme.

Black-Suited Mark watched him, silent for a few seconds.

Then, he also smiled.

"Your mental state pleases me."

He patted Angstrom on the shoulder.

"Perhaps you can bring me a bit more amusement."

He paused, his tone becoming playful.

"Tell me about your plan; I can refrain from killing you for now."

His voice suddenly turned cold.

"Of course, if the plan doesn't satisfy me, I'll imprison your body and have you locked away for all eternity.

I have that power."

He turned around and exhaled a breath of cold air behind him.

A cold wind howled, and the temperature plummeted.

The moisture in the air condensed instantly, coalescing into a crystal-clear throne in the void.

Ice crystals spread, intertwined, and stacked upon the platform, finally forming a towering, frost-radiating Frozen Throne.

The backrest was adorned with hideous ice spikes, the armrests with cold beast heads, and the seat cushion with soft frost and snow.

Black-Suited Mark sat upon it, propping his chin with one hand, watching the one hundred and eight Mark variants still brawling above him with great interest.

"Speak."

Angstrom took a deep breath.

"Though you might not believe it, the Mark Grayson of the Prime Universe is just as powerful as you.

Perhaps even more powerful than you."

Black-Suited Mark's eyebrow twitched slightly.

"That is the reward I offer.

As long as you help me kill him, I will take you there and let you fight a life-and-death battle with such a powerhouse!"

Angstrom's voice grew more and more excited.

"How about it? You must feel lonely too, right? In your own Universe, you've slaughtered everyone capable of fighting you!"

A gleam of anticipation flickered in his eyes.

He hoped to persuade the other party.

If he agreed, he might see the two strongest Marks take each other down.

That way, he would be one step closer to his goal of wiping out all Mark Graysons!

Black-Suited Mark remained silent for a long time.

He withdrew his gaze from the brawling Mark variants and let it fall on Angstrom's face.

"Trying to use another Mark to take me down with him?"

His voice was very soft.

"This is the solution you came up with after realizing you couldn't kill me at all..."

His expression was somewhat lonely, as if he were looking at a story he had already read.

"Truly boring, Angstrom.

I will probably forget you very soon..."

Angstrom's expression became one of disbelief.

He hadn't expected that even the best reason he could devise couldn't influence Black-Suited Mark.

His lips began to tremble, his eyes reddened, and it was as if something had been drained out of him.

"Hahahahahaha!"

"Just kidding~~"

Black-Suited Mark suddenly burst into laughter.

He rose from the Frozen Throne and with a wave of his hand, the crystalline throne shattered violently.

Countless ice crystals scattered in the air, landing on his shoulders and his black cape, refracting rainbow-colored halos in the ethereal light.

He stood in that rain of ice crystals, looking like a dream or a phantom.

He threw an arm around Angstrom's shoulder, his posture as intimate as if he were hugging an old friend.

"Even though I am the strongest."

His voice carried a hint of a smile.

"I believe that among countless variations, it is highly possible for a miracle to be born!"

"Maybe there really is a Mark who can compete with me~"

He tilted his head, looking at Angstrom.

"Of course I believe you~~"

Angstrom was stunned for a moment, then he also started laughing along:

"Haha, I knew you would like this."

Black-Suited Mark joined in with a loud, unrefined laugh.

But deep in his eyes, it was cold and imperceptible.

He looked at Angstrom coldly, as if looking at a corpse.

Above them, the 108 Marks in the melee also didn't dare to truly fight due to their own hidden agendas.

They gradually stopped, hovering in mid-air, panting heavily and glaring at each other.

After hearing the laughter below, Mohawk Mark was the first to strike.

He looked down at Black-Suited Mark and cursed:

"You gloomy bastard in black clothes, what the hell are you doing down there?

If you're sick in the head, go get treated; if not, go eat shit! Who the hell are you laughing at!?"

His voice was crude and arrogant, echoing in the void.

The other Marks also joined in the jeering; some echoed him, some mocked, and some just watched coldly.

"I really am something else; my words are just so unpleasant to hear~"

Black-Suited Mark smiled helplessly.

Mohawk Mark wanted to spout more trash talk.

He opened his mouth and took a deep breath—

The next second, he could no longer see Black Mark.

The world before him began to spin.

The sky and earth swirled, upside down and inside out.

He saw his feet, his hands, and his body—splitting apart from the middle.

No, not splitting.

Being sliced.

Sliced simultaneously by countless invisible blades.

"So weak."

Black-Suited Mark's voice came from behind him.

"Weak as I was when I was eighteen~"

Mohawk Mark wanted to speak, but he no longer could.

His throat was sliced open, his vocal cords severed, his trachea cut.

He could only see the stunned looks of all the Markvariants around him, their wide-open mouths, and his own reflection in their pupils...

Turning into countless neat cubes of flesh!

Black-Suited Mark stood in place, unsullied by dust and unstained by blood.

"This is called the Way of the Butcher~~"

He smiled as he offered an explanation.

Mohawk Mark's remaining consciousness couldn't comprehend what the 'Way of the Butcher' meant.

What did the Way of the Butcher even mean?

He felt as if his entire body had been sliced...

!?

When 'Jin' and 'Che' are put together, doesn't it make the word 'Decapitate' or'Sever'?

What the opponent used on him was—Sever!

And not just one strike.

In that instant just now, he had been hit by countless strikes!

Every blade precisely sliced through the gaps in his bones, every blade perfectly avoiding vital points!

It wasn't to kill him, but to display power.

To tell everyone: I can kill you, but I choose not to.

His final thoughts collapsed violently.

Mohawk Mark turned into countless neat cubes of flesh and fell from the sky.

Black-Suited Mark looked up at all the Mark variants.

"Hello hi, all you versions of me."

His voice wasn't loud, but every word was like a nail driven into every Mark's ear.

"Because you are me, I understand your pathetic nature; I know exactly what kind of scumbags you lot are."

His gaze swept across each face; there was no arrogance in those eyes, no coldness, only something indefinable.

Was it pity, weariness, or disappointment?

"But not one of you is me; not one of you can reach my level."

He paused.

"Not a single one..."

He seemed a bit lonely as he raised his hand, fingers spread as if grasping something in the void.

All the Mark variants stepped back simultaneously.

They felt it—there were blades in that hand.

Countless invisible blades were poised and ready.

"Hahahahahaha!"

Black-Suited Mark suddenly burst into laughter and withdrew his hand.

"Just kidding, how could I possibly kill myself?"

He spread his arms as if embracing these one hundred and seven shaken versions of himself.

"Allow me to introduce myself—I am your future Master!"

"You may call me..."

He paused, his lips curling into a meaningful arc.

"Black Mark."

Chapter 185: I Am of Royal Bloodline

On the High Terrace of planet Viltrum, the wind was very strong.

The wind surged from all directions of the planet, carrying the chilling breath of the grey-white city and the heat waves rising under the star's radiance.

It converged, collided, and swirled a thousand meters in the air, forming a massive invisible vortex.

The flags at the edge of the terrace flapped loudly in the wind, embroidered with the ancient emblem of the Viltrumite Empire.

A star pierced by a sharp sword fluttered in the wind like burning wings.

Mark stood in the center of the terrace, wearing the red cloak exclusive to the Grand Regent.

The cloak wasn't made of ordinary fabric but woven from metallic fibers unique to Viltrum; it weighed over fifty kilograms yet could drift with the wind like clouds or mist.

A ring of snow-white fur was inlaid at the collar—the fur of a North Pole Giant Beast, shimmering with a soft silver light under the sun.

The fur encircled his neck, making his young face appear even more handsome, majestic, and peerless.

On the plaza below, there was a sea of people.

Those Hybrids, those pure-blood Viltrumites, and those vassal races gathered from every corner of the galaxy were all assembled on this grey-white plaza at this moment.

They raised their hands high, jumping and cheering, their faces overflowing with brilliant smiles.

Their voices converged into a torrent, breaking through the sky and echoing in the starry sky of Viltrum.

"Grand Regent! Grand Regent!"

"It's Viltrum's new Emperor!"

"He's a hybrid!"

"He's the strongest Viltrumite!"

Mark spread his arms as if accepting the cheers of the world.

His red cloak flapped fiercely in the wind, his black hair flew, and a faint smile played on the corner of his mouth.

Sunlight poured down from the star, plating him with a golden edge, making him look like a god stepping out of myth.

He walked to the front of the stage, where a silver-white microphone stand stood.

It wasn't an ordinary microphone, but an amplification device forged with Viltrumite technology, capable of transmitting sound clearly to every corner of the planet.

Mark reached out and lightly tapped the microphone.

"Tap, tap, tap."

The crisp sound rang across the field, drowning out all the cheers.

The people on the plaza gradually quieted down.

They looked up at the figure in the red cloak, their eyes sparkling with the light of expectation.

The new Emperor's first decree... what would it be?

To conquer new star systems?

To start a new war?

To announce the great revival of the Viltrumite Empire?

They couldn't wait.

They yearned for their new Emperor to lead them to become bigger and stronger, creating new glory.

Mark cleared his throat.

"Um... well... that is..."

His voice wasn't loud, but every word reached the ears of everyone present clearly.

On the plaza, all was silent.

People held their breath, waiting for that sacred moment.

"I'm announcing something!"

Mark raised his right hand high above his head.

"And that is, starting from now, I abdicate!"

"Wow! The Grand Regent has abdicated! Abdi...cated?"

Someone murmured to themselves, their voice exceptionally clear in the silence.

"Wow, abdicated, abdicated..."

The cheers gradually weakened, like a chicken being strangled.

Everyone's expression shifted from original fanaticism to stiffness, as if someone had pressed the pause button. Quiet.

Deathly quiet.

The wind howled on the terrace, making the cloak flap, but there wasn't a single sound from the plaza.

People stood with mouths agape and eyes wide, their expressions turning from fanaticism to stiffness, from stiffness to confusion, and from confusion to...

Incredulity!

Huh?

My Emperor is gone?

Mark ignored the stunned faces on the plaza.

He turned his head and looked at General Craig standing on one side of the terrace.

As another powerhouse holding high authority in the Viltrumite Empire, General Craig was clearly the most suitable to speak now.

His bald head glinted coldly in the sunlight, and the few remaining strands of grey-white hair were blown every which way by the wind, like the last few stalks of withered grass in a desert.

His expression was complex, filled with shock and helplessness...

But Craig didn't speak.

Because at this moment, there was someone even more embarrassed on the terrace.

Nolan.

He was being held up by two Viltrumite Warriors, one on each side, suspended in mid-air with his feet off the ground, in a pathetic posture.

His face was written with refusal, resistance, and a total loss of hope.

He hadn't expected that he, the old father, would actually be set up by Mark.

How could you, you little brat, even scheme against your own dad?

The matter started from yesterday.

Yesterday, the results of Mark's blood test came out.

When the lead Scientist of the Medical Team tremblingly handed the report to Thragg.

The expression on that old face was even more spectacular than when he saw Mark defeat the Grand Regent.

"Royal bloodline... it's actually the royal bloodline!"

Thragg's voice was trembling, his hands were trembling, and his beard was trembling.

He looked up, and the look he gave Nolan was as if he had seen a long-lost father—no, someone even closer than a father.

After all, during the Adult Trial back then, Thragg had single-handedly taken down both of his parents!

Smashing his dad's head against a wall and tearing open his mom's chest were basic operations.

Our great Viltrumites are just that filial!

Those not stronger than me have no right to be my father!

I'm the damn father!

"Nolan Grayson, you are actually a direct descendant of the Late Emperor Argall!"

Nolan was stunned.

He looked down at his hands, then at Thragg, then back at his hands.

"Me?"

"You!"

"Really?"

"Absolutely certain! There is a unique marker of the Late Emperor Argall in your genetic sequence!"

"That is a Mark passed down through generations of the Viltrumite royal family; it cannot be forged or replicated!"

Nolan was silent for a long time.

Then he looked up at Mark.

His son was standing nearby with arms crossed, a "I knew it all along" smile on his face.

"You knew all along?"

Nolan asked.

"Just found out a moment ago."

Mark answered.

"I'm a member of the royal family now?"

"You bet, absolute imperial legitimacy. Probably no other royal members left besides us father and son."

Nolan was speechless.

The news quickly spread to all pure-blood Viltrumites.

General Craig came, Thula came, and Lucan struggled to crawl up from his hospital bed.

"As expected of the offspring of the great Late EmperorArgall!"

Thragg's voice was full of excitement.

"Only the royal bloodline could produce such a powerful Viltrumite variant like Mark Grayson!"

Everyone knelt on one knee, saluting Nolan.

That was the highest specification of etiquette in the Viltrumite Empire, used only when welcoming members of the royal family.

"Welcome back to the Empire, Prince Nolan!"

Chapter 186: Succession of the New Emperor

Nolan stood there, looking at his fellow countrymen kneeling before him.

He looked at the comrades who had once fought by his side, and at the elders who were older and more experienced than him.

At this moment, they were all kneeling before him.

His emotions were complex.

And it was at this moment that Mark made a suggestion.

"Let my father succeed to the throne."

His voice was gentle and sincere, as if he were stating something perfectly normal.

"He is the true royal bloodline, the legitimate heir to the Viltrumite Empire.

I am just a hybrid, an accident, someone who shouldn't be on the throne."

Everyone looked at each other in surprise.

"But... Your Majesty," General Craig said, carefully weighing his words, "your strength is the greatest.

Viltrum's tradition is that the strong are respected. Since you defeated the Grand Regent, you are the new King."

"Exactly, exactly," Thula chimed in. "And although you are a hybrid, your power, your wisdom, and your charisma far surpass any pureblood!

You are the most suitable ruler."

Mark smiled.

He didn't refute them, didn't argue, and didn't use words to convince anyone else.

He simply walked toward Nolan step by step, a kind and amiable smile on his face.

Nolan sensed that something was wrong.

"Mark, listen to me..."

"Hmm?"

"This throne really isn't suitable for me..."

"Oh?"

"I've been on Earth for so many years, I'm no longer familiar with the Empire's political affairs..."

"And then?"

"And you are the strongest..."

Nolan hadn't even finished speaking.

Mark's fist had already swung over.

"Daidaikalasa!"

Mark gave a low shout and delivered a 'filial' punch!

This is the filial piety of our great Viltrum!

Boom—!

That punch landed squarely on Nolan's abdomen. The force wasn't massive, but it was enough to make a Viltrumite double over.

Nolan smashed heavily into the wall.

His mouth hung wide open, his eyes bulged, and his whole body curled up like a cooked shrimp.

Damn, you brat, you really didn't hold back.

Mark withdrew his fist, maintained his amiable smile, and looked at the other pureblood Viltrumites.

"Shall we discuss this again?"

His voice was still gentle.

General Craig glanced at Nolan, who had been punched into the wall, embedded in it, and was currently struggling to climb down.

Then he looked at Mark's smiling face.

He felt a strange power.

That power was called—following one's heart (cowardice).

Yes, everything I am doing now is not out of fear of a strongman's pressure.

Mark is the strongest, right?

Mark is of royal blood, right?

Then whatever he says is the truth.

Agreed, agreed, agreed!

For a moment, there was total harmony between ruler and subjects!

It was comparable to the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove after they had ingested Five Minerals Powder.

One person suddenly started smithing iron, while another stood naked, claiming the entire world was his underwear!

It was pure joy, unrestrained and wild!

Except for the old father, who was smashed into the wall so hard he could barely be pried loose.

At this moment, on the High Terrace.

Nolan was flanked by two Viltrumite warriors.

His clothes were meticulously arranged.

Even his strands of hair had been straightened one by one by a group of Viltrumites using their super-vision.

When he was escorted to the front of the stage, everyone's eyes fell upon him.

Not because he looked disheveled, but because he was the direct descendant of the late Emperor Argall and the legitimate heir to the throne of the Viltrumite Empire.

General Craig took a deep breath and stepped forward.

He took out an ancient scroll from his robes. It was the Code of the Viltrumite Empire, woven from the hardest metallic threads in the Universe, enduring for ten thousand years without decay.

The scroll unfurled, covered in dense, ancient characters. Each character was laser-engraved, shimmering with a golden light under the sun.

General Craig cleared his throat and began to read.

"Viltrumite Holy Scripture, Chapter of Imperial Succession, Section 17, Article 32."

His voice became solemn and serious, like a bell tolling from ancient times.

"In all matters of Viltrumite succession, bloodline must come first.

The late Emperor Argall Grayson was the founding monarch of the Empire. His bloodline passes down through the generations, never to be broken.

Anyone who holds the late Emperor's genetic marker, no matter where they are or what they have experienced, is a legitimate heir to the throne."

His gaze swept over everyone present, finally landing on Nolan.

"Through rigorous testing by the Imperial Medical Academy's team of Chief Scientists, it has been confirmed that Nolan Grayson's genetic sequence contains the unique marker of the late Emperor Argall.

This marker cannot be forged or replicated; it is the sole proof of royal blood."

He paused, his voice rising even higher.

"Therefore, according to the Viltrumite Holy Scripture, Nolan Grayson is the legitimate heir to the Empire's throne. His imperial authority supersedes all powers of regency, proxy, or temporary governance."

General Craig's reading continued, but his gaze turned toward Mark.

"Furthermore, according to the Viltrumite Holy Scripture, Chapter of Imperial Succession, Section 23, Article 7—a member of the royal family has the right to renounce their succession rights, provided it is approved by more than half of the Imperial Council of Elders.

And the direct blood relatives of the one renouncing shall have priority succession rights."

He closed the scroll and held it high.

"Mark Grayson, as the direct offspring of Nolan Grayson, and having been tested to also contain the late Emperor's genetic marker, originally held priority succession rights.

However, he has voluntarily renounced the throne and recommended his father, Nolan Grayson, for succession."

His voice became as loud as a ringing bell.

"The Imperial Council of Elders—after deliberation, has passed this unanimously!"

"This is hereby! Proclaimed!"

General Craig tucked the scroll back into his robes, turned around to face the thousands of people in the plaza, and raised his hands high.

"From this day forward, there is no more Grand Regent! There is only the legitimate successor of the Argallbloodline, the legitimate pureblood Emperor of Viltrum—Nolan Grayson!"

Nolan was brought to the front of the stage.

Beneath his feet were grey-white stone slabs, above his head was the light of the star, and before him were thousands of cheering people.

Behind him, Thragg led all the pureblood Viltrumites in dropping to one knee. Their movements were perfectly synchronized, like a field of flattened wheat.

"Welcome, Your Majesty, to the throne!"

Thragg's voice was old but powerful, echoing in the wind.

"From this day forward, there is no more Grand Regent! There is only the legitimate successor of the Argallbloodline, the legitimate pureblood Emperor of Viltrum—Nolan Grayson!"

Mark stood beside Nolan, reached out, and unfastened the red cloak from his own shoulders.

The cloak was heavy, with fifty kilograms of metallic fiber pressing on his shoulders, but his movements were light and slow, as if completing a sacred ritual.

He unfurled the cloak, the red fabric spreading out in the wind like a burning banner.

The snow-white fur at the collar trembled slightly, as if waiting for its new Master.

Mark walked behind Nolan and draped the cloak over his shoulders.

Then he leaned down, close to Nolan's ear, and whispered:

"Father, it's getting cold. Put on an extra layer."

The voice was very light and soft, like the tenderness Nolan used to show when tucking him in as a child.

Nolan's body trembled slightly.

He turned his head and looked at his son.

That young face was inches away, and his own reflection was mirrored in those black eyes.

There was no calculation in those eyes, no smugness, only a pure, clean light, like that of a child.

"You..."

Nolan opened his mouth but didn't know what to say.

Mark had already taken a step back and then—dropped to one knee.

He knelt before Nolan, bowed his head, and placed his right hand over his heart in a standard Viltrumite salute of a subject.

"Welcome, Your Majesty, to the throne."

His voice was clear and firm.

Behind him, Thragg, Craig, Thula, Lucan, Anissa—all the pureblood Viltrumites—all dropped to one knee.

"Welcome, Your Majesty, to the throne!"

And behind them, the Hybrids, the vassal races, and the people who had come from every corner of the galaxy—all dropped to one knee.

"Welcome, Your Majesty, to the throne!"

The sound was like a tsunami, like a landslide, like the most magnificent wave in the long river of time.

It poured down from the High Terrace, swept through the entire grey-white city, and surged toward the infinite starry sky.

Nolan stood there, the red cloak snapping behind him.

He looked down at the subjects kneeling before him, at the bowed heads, and at the raised arms.

His gaze finally fell on Mark.

His son, kneeling at the very front, with his head bowed the lowest.

Nolan took a deep breath.

"Sigh."

"You... you all have truly made things difficult for me!"

His voice wasn't loud, but every Viltrumite present heard it.

They looked up and saw the new Emperor's wry smile.

They saw his face gilded by the sunlight and the red cloak snapping in the wind.

And then, they laughed.

Forcing their own Emperor to become Emperor—they were likely the only batch in the long history of Viltrumite successions to ever do so.

In the plaza, those of Viltrumite blood and the vassal races.

After a period of being stunned, they finally sorted out exactly what had happened.

Anyway, the Emperor had become the true Emperor, no longer a Grand Regent, but of pure and legitimate royal blood!

This was a good thing!

Our Emperor had not only returned, but he was also pureblood and legitimate!

All at once, the crowd raised their hands again, jumping up and down with bright smiles on their faces.

"Your Majesty!"

"We love and respect you!!!"

The cheers broke through the clouds and echoed for a long time in the starry sky of Viltrum.

Nolan stood on the terrace, looking at the cheering crowd, the waving arms, and the bright smiles.

The corners of his mouth curled up, and finally, he couldn't help but laugh as well.

He reached out and waved to the crowd.

Then he turned his head and looked at Mark.

Mark was still kneeling on the ground with his head bowed.

"Rise, my Crown Prince."

Nolan joked.

Mark looked up at his father.

Those black eyes were now filled with laughter.

"As you command, Father Emperor!"

"Hahahahahahaha!"

The new Emperor of Viltrum was so amused by his son that he laughed on stage without any regard for his image.

Father and son stood on the terrace, shoulder to shoulder, looking down at the ocean of cheering people.

Chapter 188: Immortal Resurrected

Global Defense Agency, Underground Medical Sector.

Pale lights shone on the alloy walls, reflecting a cold, sharp luster.

The air was thick with the scent of disinfectant and various biological agents, blending into an instinctively unsettling odor unique to hospitals and morgues.

At the end of the corridor, a heavy alloy door remained tightly shut, imprinted with a red cross. Beside it hung a plaque: "Biohazard Level: Maximum. Unauthorized Entry Forbidden."

Cisal stood outside the door, hands thrust into his trench coat pockets, expressionless.

Behind him, Donald held a tablet, rapidly scrolling through data on the screen.

"How long has it been?" Cisal asked.

"It has been forty-seven days since he was brought in," Donald replied without looking up.

Cisal fell silent for a moment before pushing the door open.

The medical room was large, spanning two hundred square meters, with a row of transparent Life-support Pods arranged in the center.

But at this moment, only the one at the very back was lit.

Pale blue nutrient fluid flowed slowly within the pod, and a human body was suspended beneath the surface.

No, not "a body."

It was many fragments meticulously pieced together.

Immortal.

The former Captain of the Global Guardians, an undying being who had lived for thousands of years, and one of Earth's most powerful heroes.

At this moment, he looked like a piece of shattered porcelain, glued back together piece by piece by researchers using nanowire and biological adhesive.

There were hundreds of cracks across his body, each one marking a spot where Nolan Grayson's hand-blade had cleaved through.

Neck, chest, abdomen, limbs—every joint had been shredded, every inch of muscle torn apart.

But while the power of a Viltrumite was lethal, Immortal's self-healing ability was equally astonishing.

His body was like a resilient old tree that had been chopped down; it would sprout anew from the roots.

"When will he recover?" Cisal walked to the Life-support Pod, looking at that pale face through the glass.

The chief researcher was a balding middle-aged man in a crumpled white lab coat, who pushed up his thick glasses.

"It should be today.

His physical body has completed its healing; all that remains is the recovery of his consciousness."

"Consciousness?"

"Yes.

He has lived for too long, from humanity's primitive era until now.

Tens of thousands of years of memories are piled in his brain, and every death and resurrection causes a memory collapse.

It's like... a hard drive reaching capacity and then having new data forced onto it; the old data gets overwritten or scrambled."

Cisal frowned.

"What does he remember now?"

The researcher gave a bitter smile.

"We aren't certain.

But judging by the activity patterns of his brain waves, his memories are in a state of extreme chaos.

He remembers 'Omni-Man' and he remembers 'Invincible,' but as for who killed him and why he wants to kill whom—those logical connections are completely jumbled."

"To what extent?"

"He might believe Omni-Man was killed by Invincible, or he might think Invincible was killed by Omni-Man.

In short, in his current cognition, both of them are his enemies."

Cisal fell silent.

He looked up at the calm face within the nutrient fluid.

Immortal's eyes were closed, his lips tightly pressed together. The cracks on his face were almost invisible now, leaving only faint pink scars.

"No matter what he remembers when he wakes up," Cisal said softly, "we need him.

Earth needs him."

The researcher did not reply.

At that moment, the lights of the Life-support Podsuddenly began to flicker.

The pale blue nutrient fluid churned violently, and bubbles rose frantically from the bottom.

The temperature inside the pod spiked rapidly, and the alarm emitted a piercing screech.

"He's waking up!" the researcher cried out.

Cisal took a step back, his hand already reaching into his trench coat pocket to grip the energy gun.

BOOM—!!!

The pod door exploded outward.

Nutrient fluid poured out like a waterfall, spreading across the medical room floor into a pale blue lake.

A naked figure lunged out from the pod, muscles bulging and scarred, but his eyes—those eyes were wide open.

Immortal suspended himself in mid-air, gasping for breath.

His gaze swept across the medical room, over the panicked researchers, past Cisal, and finally landed on his own hands.

He clenched his fists, then released them.

Clenched, then released.

"I..." His voice was hoarse and deep, like an echo coming from a distant cave.

"I remember... I remember he killed me."

"Who?" Cisal asked.

Immortal did not answer.

In his eyes, memories were spinning like a revolving lantern—no, not spinning, but collapsing.

Tens of thousands of years of memories piled in his mind like a mountain range torn apart by an earthquake, layers of rock displaced, broken, and overturned.

He saw himself wielding a stone axe in a primitive tribe, saw himself dueling in the Roman Colosseum, saw himself charging on the battlefields of World War II.

Then, all the images were torn apart by a red figure.

Omni-Man.

Nolan Grayson.

The moment that hand-blade cleaved his throat, that cold, sharp, irresistible power was etched into the deepest part of his soul.

But there was another figure.

A younger, stronger, more terrifying figure.

Invincible.

Mark Grayson.

Who killed him?

Was it Omni-Man?

Was it Invincible?

Or both of them together?

"Ah... AAAAAHHH..."

Immortal clutched his head, groaning in agony.

Those memories cut through his consciousness like shards of glass, each piece possessing a jagged edge.

His body began to tremble, muscles tensing, veins bulging.

"Doesn't matter—all must die!"

He let out a furious roar and kicked off the ground, shooting through the ceiling like a cannonball!

Concrete fragments scattered, steel bars twisted and snapped, and the medical room lights instantly went out.

Cisal stood amidst the ruins, looking up at the hole.

The night wind poured in through the opening, carrying the scent of the city.

"Donald."

"Sir."

"Notify everyone. Immortal has lost control.

And—"

He paused.

"Notify Invincible."

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Earth.

Black Mark hovered over New York, looking down at the lights of ten thousand homes.

This was the Earth of the Prime Universe.

He had traveled through countless parallel worlds and seen countless versions of this blue planet.

Some he had already destroyed, some he had conquered, and some were still struggling for breath.

But at this moment, the Earth beneath his feet—was alive.

The streets were bustling with traffic, skyscrapers were ablaze with lights, and billboards flickered with colorful glows.

People were drinking in bars, watching movies in theaters, making love in beds.

They were laughing, crying, arguing, and embracing.

They were living.

Chapter 188: The Stubborn Rock and the Vine Demon

Black Mark took a deep breath.

The air smelled of car exhaust, the oily smoke of barbecue stalls, and the fragrance of green grass in the park.

These scents blended together, forming a familiar yet strange scent of "the human world."

"It really is full of life."

He murmured to himself, his voice scattered by the night wind.

In his world, Earth had long since become a Dead Star.

No lights, no sound, no life.

Only gray-white ruins and dust filling the sky.

Occasionally, he would return to that Dead Star, sit atop the wreckage of the tallest building, look at the perpetually gloomy sky, and recall his past life.

Those memories were already very blurred, like photos soaked in water, colors faded away, leaving only outlines.

He thought of Debbie.

His mother.

The woman who was accidentally killed by Omni-Manwhen he was very young.

He didn't even remember her face, her voice, or what she looked like when she smiled.

He only knew that he was an abandoned child casually tossed onto Earth by Omni-Man—because Omni-Manbelieved he hadn't inherited any Viltrum blood and was a piece of trash.

Trash.

This word had run through his entire childhood.

He drifted from place to place, from one foster home to another, from one street to another.

He didn't have enough to eat or wear; he was beaten and mocked.

He had no friends, no relatives, no sense of belonging.

Until he was eighteen, his abilities awakened.

He killed Omni-Man.

At that moment, he felt no pleasure of revenge, no relief of liberation, only an emptiness.

A massive, boundless emptiness.

Because he found that even after killing that man, his mother wouldn't come back.

His childhood wouldn't start over either.

"How ridiculous."

Black Mark shook his head, his lips curling into a self-deprecating arc.

"It's been so long, and yet I'm still thinking about this."

He pulled a green stone from his pocket.

Kryptonite.

That was a trophy he had once snatched from the DC Universe.

During that crossing, he descended upon an Earth that didn't have a Superman yet—perhaps the Superman of that time was still young and hadn't put on the cape.

In short, he killed half of the humans on that Earth, snatched all the Kryptonite, and absorbed it all to strengthen his body.

He discovered that Kryptonite could increase his strength and helped him awaken Heat Vision and Bio-field.

Those abilities didn't originally belong to Viltrumites, but the radiation of the Kryptonite produced a wonderful resonance with his Smart Atoms, giving birth to brand-new powers.

Just as he was preparing to completely conquer that world, a group of Superheroes in tights rushed out.

He couldn't remember their names—some wore masks, some wore capes, some could fly, and some could run.

They gave their all, using every means possible to try and stop him.

He annihilated them all.

But the energy impact of the final blow was too powerful, tearing through space and sweeping him into a temporal turbulence.

He drifted in the endless void for an unknown amount of time, finally crashing into another world.

That was an ancient world.

No technology, no industry, no city lights.

Only continuous mountain ranges, endless forests, and creatures that only existed in legends.

There were foxes with nine tails dancing under the moonlight, winged snakes weaving through the clouds, and giants hundreds of feet tall walking on the Earth.

The colors of that world were more vivid than anywhere else, the air was filled with the scent of spiritual energy, and every river flowed with the power of life.

He stayed there for many years.

He killed countless mythical creatures—beings known as "Demonic Beasts," "Spirits," and "Deities."

He used their blood to water a Taisui, letting that Taisui grow, expand, and mutate in the blood.

Finally, that Taisui turned into a blood-red mass of flesh that throbbed like a heart, emitting a suffocating aura of the origin of life.

Blood Tai Sui.

Before devouring the Blood Tai Sui, he encountered two beings that stood in his way.

A Stubborn Rock, which had absorbed the essence of the sun and moon for tens of thousands of years, was incredibly hard and indestructible.

A Vine Demon, whose roots spread across the entire mountain range and whose vines were like snakes, capable of sensing all changes between heaven and Earth.

He defeated the Stubborn Rock and comprehended a power from its core—the Way of the Butcher.

That wasn't simple speed or power, but compressing the concept of "slashing" to the extreme, delivering countless strikes in an instant, each one precisely cutting the opponent's weakest joints.

He severed the Vine Demon and comprehended another power from its remains—Unity of Heaven and Man.

That wasn't a harmony of merging with nature, but placing his own will above heaven and Earth, making wind, rain, thunder, and lightning his weapons, and making gravity, repulsion, and mass obey his command.

With these two abilities, he successfully accommodated the Blood Tai Sui and obtained an Immortal body.

From then on, his body no longer aged, no longer fell ill, and could no longer be destroyed by any external force.

Even if torn to pieces, his consciousness would reconsolidate; even if burned to ashes, his cells would be reborn from the ashes.

He fought his way out of that world.

Successfully returning to his own Universe.

Until today, he came to this Prime Universe.

Black Mark crushed the Kryptonite, the powder falling from between his fingers and scattering in the night wind.

He took a deep breath, inhaling the green powder into his nasal cavity.

A cool power spread from his lungs to his entire body, his Smart Atoms began to activate, and solar particles began to circulate.

"Mmm..."

He let out a satisfied sigh.

Then, he sensed an aura.

From a distance, from the direction of the city, a powerful lifeform was approaching at an incredible speed.

That aura was filled with anger, chaos, and killing intent.

Black Mark turned his head and looked in that direction.

"Oh?"

Immortal burst out from the clouds.

His body had fully recovered, his muscles were full, his skin was smooth, and those cracks had completely disappeared.

His eyes were a burning red, not because of Heat Vision, but because of anger.

That anger had no clear target, no specific reason, only a vague, uncontrollable impulse—to kill.

To kill everyone he remembered.

In his field of vision, a figure appeared.

A black combat suit, a black cape, a black mask.

That figure floated in mid-air, his posture composed, as if he were looking at the scenery from his own balcony.

Immortal did not hesitate.

He accelerated his dive, fists clenched, with the sound of breaking wind, with killing intent, and with all the power he had accumulated over tens of thousands of years—smashing toward that black figure!

"Bang—!!!"

The fist hit empty air.

Black Mark disappeared.

No, not disappeared, he had sidestepped.

His movement was fast to the extreme, so fast that Immortal's retina had no time to capture it, so fast that the air didn't even have time to produce resistance.

As he dodged, a hand had already reached out.

Fingers pressed together, a hand blade.

Slash.

"Pfft—!!!"

Immortal's right arm was severed at the shoulder.

Blood gushed out, turning into a mist of blood in the night wind.

The severed arm tumbled a few times in the air, then fell, disappearing into the city lights.

Immortal was stunned.

He looked down at where his arm had been, at the clean cut, and at the gushing blood.

"You..."

Before he could finish his sentence.

The second slash.

The left arm was severed.

The third slash.

Both legs were severed at the knees.

Immortal fell from the sky like a wooden stake with its limbs chopped off.

His body was still twitching during the fall, still struggling, still trying to use his remaining consciousness to understand what had happened.

Black Mark watched him fall, watched him crash onto the rooftop of a building below, watched him lie there as blood poured from his stumps, staining a large area of the concrete floor red.

Black Mark slowly descended, walked to Immortal's side, and looked down at him.

"It's you again." Black Mark's voice carried a hint of helplessness, a hint of weariness.

In his memory, Omni-Man—no, this Immortal, was already very difficult to kill.

He had killed him many times.

Every time, this old fogey would revive from death, with chaotic memories and vague hatred, rushing at him again.

The first time, he tore Immortal to pieces.

The second time, he burned Immortal to ashes.

The third time, he threw Immortal into space.

But every time, this guy would come back.

An Immortal body really was an Immortal body.

As long as there was still the breath of life on this planet, he would recover from death.

Finally, out of helplessness, Black Mark threw him into the sun.

The core of a star, tens of millions of degrees of high temperature, enough to melt everything, enough to evaporate everything, enough to make any living being completely disappear.

Immortal never came out of that star again.

But that was his world.

In this world, this was the first time Immortal was being killed.

Black Mark crouched down, looking at that pale, blood-stained face.

"Don't revive anymore."

He said softly.

Then, his hand blade fell.

Immortal's head rolled away, bouncing twice on the concrete floor before stopping next to a drainage ditch.

His eyes were still open, pupils dilated, and a hint of resentment still hung at the corner of his mouth.

Black Mark stood up and shook the blood off his hand.

He looked up, toward the distant city, toward the lights that were still on.

"Earth... it really is lively."

He said in a low voice.

Chapter 189: You Are Not Mark

As Debbie pushed open the front door carrying two large bags full of groceries, the evening sun was casting long, slanted shadows across the living room floor.

Under the warm golden light, the air carried a gentle, domestic scent of a home well-lived in.

She had just finished a most ordinary shopping trip.

As a former mortal of Earth and now the partner of a Viltrumite,

she had long since grown accustomed to this life that blended the surreal with the mundane.

Nolan and Mark were out on another mission.

In the vast house, only she and Maeve remained.

Maeve was walking out of the kitchen, wearing a plain-colored apron.

Standing at 1.8 meters tall, her figure was lithe and athletic.

The muscle definition honed by long-term combat did not appear coarse; instead, it possessed a powerful aesthetic beauty.

After her secondary evolution of superpowers,

her basic physical attributes were no longer inferior to those of a pure-blooded Viltrumite.

Her explosive power, endurance, and self-healing abilities had all reached a terrifying level.

If she let her appetite loose, devouring an entire cow for dinner would be an easy feat for her.

However, since there were no major wars or life-and-death struggles right now,

she only needed to maintain her basic energy consumption.

Therefore, dinner didn't need to be that extravagant.

Four or five thick-cut steaks were enough to sustain her for the entire night.

"You're back, Auntie Debbie."

Maeve stepped forward and naturally took the shopping bags from her hands.

The age gap between them was only a little over a decade.

Though they were technically mother-and-daughter-in-law, they interacted more like sisters who shared everything.

There was no distance, no restraint—only a sense of steady mutual reliance.

"Yes, I happened to buy that sauce you like on the way."

Debbie smiled and ruffled Maeve's hair.

"Any news from Mark and Nolan?"

Maeve put the ingredients in the kitchen and turned back, shaking her head.

"Not yet. The situation must be quite tricky."

"But given their strength, it shouldn't take them too long to return."

Debbie nodded and didn't ask further.

She was long used to her family members rushing off to battle at any moment.

From the day she married Nolan,

to the moment she watched Mark grow step-by-step into the Invincible,

she understood that peaceful days were always fleeting.

The Universe was too vast, and the dangers were too many.

All she could do was guard this home well,

waiting for them to return safely.

The two walked into the kitchen side-by-side.

The sound of running water, the clinking of knives, and the sizzling of steaks in the pan

interwove into a gentle symphony of domestic life.

Maeve's movements were clean and efficient.

Her control of strength was precise to the extreme; even chopping vegetables had a pleasingly fluid grace.

Debbie helped out on the side, chatting idly.

The conversation circled around, eventually landing back on the father and son.

"I wonder how long it will take them to return this time."

Debbie sighed softly.

"Nolan is fine; he's experienced and steady."

"But Mark... that boy is still too impulsive sometimes."

Hearing this, Maeve's lips unconsciously curved into a gentle arc.

At the mention of Mark, her eyes, which usually held a sharp edge, instantly softened.

It was a tenderness reserved solely for her lover.

"He's grown up, Auntie Debbie."

"He's no longer that reckless boy who only knew how to act impulsively."

"Now, he is responsible, measured, and strong enough."

"We just need to wait here quietly for him to come back."

Debbie saw the undisguised love in Maeve's eyes.

A wave of warmth rose in her heart as well.

She truly liked this girl.

Strong, brave, loyal, and completely devoted to Mark.

It was that boy's blessing to have her as his partner.

"True. When they return, we can all have a warm meal together."

Debbie said softly, her eyes full of anticipation for the family reunion.

Just then,

an abrupt knock on the door suddenly rang out.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The rhythm was steady and unhurried,

sounding exceptionally clear in the quiet house.

Debbie was slightly startled.

At this time, who could it be?

Could Mark have come back early?

As soon as this thought popped up, a smile instantly blossomed on her face.

All her worries vanished in an instant.

"It must be Mark!"

She said as she walked quickly toward the door.

The joy and tenderness in her voice were almost overflowing.

Maeve also stopped her movements,

a hint of anticipation flashing in her eyes as well.

She too wanted to see her lover sooner.

Debbie reached out to the doorknob and gave it a gentle twist.

The door swung open.

Standing at the door was indeed Mark.

Dressed in his signature black combat suit, his tall and athletic figure was clearly defined.

His face was handsome, and the contours of his brow and eyes were exactly the same as her son's.

Debbie almost blurted out,

"Mark, you're back."

She instinctively reached out, wanting to give the young man before her a warm hug.

It was a mother's most primal reaction to a returning son.

But just a moment before her hand could touch his chest,

Debbie's movements suddenly froze.

Her hand, suspended in mid-air, remained fixed in place,

trembling slightly.

The smile on her face faded at a visible speed,

replaced by a coldness and alertness that came from the depths of her soul.

She looked up, staring fixedly at the 'Mark' before her.

In those eyes that were always filled with tenderness, there was now only solemnity and detachment.

She spoke slowly, her voice as light as a breeze,

yet carrying an unquestionable certainty.

"No."

"You are not Mark."

As those four words fell,

the air instantly froze.

Time seemed to stand still at this moment.

Hearing this, Black Mark at the door narrowed his eyes slightly.

The expression on his face didn't change in the slightest,

remaining that same peaceful and harmless look.

He even looked a bit innocent and aggrieved, as only a youth could.

He tilted his head, his tone relaxed as if he were joking.

"What are you saying, Mom?"

"I am Mark."

"I just finished my business and came back. I'm exhausted."

His voice, his tone, his demeanor—

every part was imitated perfectly.

It was almost enough to pass for the real thing.

But Debbie was as if her most sensitive nerve had been touched.

She suddenly took a step back.

Almost instinctively, she extended an arm, firmly shielding Maeve behind her.

That movement was firm and resolute—

the most primitive posture of a mother protecting her family.

"I said, you are not!"

Debbie's voice suddenly rose.

It carried an imperceptible tremor, yet it was incredibly forceful.

"You are definitely not my son!"

Maeve, shielded behind her, also furrowed her brows tightly now.

She didn't speak,

but her sharp eyes had already scanned the person before her from head to toe.

As the partner who spent every day and night with Mark,

she knew her lover better than anyone else.

She knew his height, his build, and every subtle movement he made.

She knew his scent, his temperament, and every look in his eyes when his emotions fluctuated.

Chapter 190: That's Right, I'm Not Mark

The person in front of her, although possessing an identical face...

Was slightly shorter than the real Mark.

There were also subtle differences in his physique.

More importantly, it was the temperament.

The real Mark, however powerful, always had gentleness and kindness hidden in the depths of his eyes.

He carried a passion for the world and a deep cherishing of his family.

But this person before her...

Deep in his eyes lay an unmelting coldness, indifference, and dead silence.

It was a detached apathy that looked down upon all living things.

It was the cruelty that settled after one's hands were stained with blood.

Just by standing there...

He gave off a suffocating sense of pressure.

Mei's heart instantly sank to the bottom.

She was one hundred percent certain.

The person before her was absolutely not her Mark.

He was an impostor.

An invader from an unknown land.

"The appearance is similar, the voice is similar, even the way of speaking is similar."

Debbie slowly reached out from the dining table beside her, groping for a sharp steak knife.

She gripped it tightly in her hand, the tip pointing forward, aimed at Black Mark at the door.

Her arm trembled slightly due to tension.

She was just an ordinary person.

No superpowers, no great strength.

In the face of an existence of this level, the steak knife in her hand was no different from a twig.

But she did not back down.

Behind her was Mei.

The child she regarded as her own daughter.

She had to stand at the very front.

"But my soul denies it."

Debbie's voice was calm, yet it carried a power that pierced through the heart.

"You are not my son."

"Get out."

A single word, cold and resolute.

There was no room for negotiation.

Black Mark stood at the doorway.

For the first time, a change appeared in his expression.

He just stood there, quietly looking at Debbie.

He didn't speak for a long time.

His entire being fell into a deathly silence.

It was as if he were pinned to the spot by those certain words.

The atmosphere was so oppressive it made it hard to breathe.

After a long while.

He suddenly gave a self-deprecating laugh.

The laugh was very light, very faint.

But it hid an unspeakable sorrow and loneliness.

Like the loneliness accumulated over countless years, quietly revealed at this moment.

"So..."

"Would my mother have been such a good person?"

He whispered softly.

The desolation in his tone was almost overflowing.

That belonged to the him from the parallel world.

A gentleness and favoritism he had never possessed.

The next second.

That faint trace of sorrow vanished instantly.

The expression on Black Mark's face suddenly turned cold.

The temperature disappeared, the warmth dissipated.

Only bone-chilling coldness and indifference remained.

He no longer pretended.

Nor did he explain further.

"That's right."

"I am not your son."

He admitted it frankly.

His tone was as flat as if he were discussing an insignificant trifle.

"I'm just a guy from a parallel world."

"In my world..."

"I personally wiped out all the Superhumans on Earth."

"And along the way, I killed all the Viltrumites."

He spoke nonchalantly.

As if recounting a most ordinary occurrence.

"Among them was my father, Nolan Grayson."

As soon as these words were spoken...

Debbie's face instantly turned deathly pale.

Her whole body shook, as if struck by lightning.

She nearly lost her grip on the steak knife.

Nolan.

That was her husband.

The man who had accompanied her for half her life.

Even if it was a version from a parallel world...

Hearing that her'son' had personally killed his father...

Still caused her an unspeakable shock and chill in her heart.

Even a vicious tiger does not eat its cubs.

But this person before her...

Could actually strike down his own biological father.

To what extent had his heart become cold and hard?

Before Debbie could recover from her shock...

Mei moved.

Without any hesitation.

Without a moment's delay.

The moment she heard the other party had slaughtered Viltrumites and killed Nolan...

The last shred of hope in Mei's heart vanished completely.

In its place was a towering rage and murderous intent.

Her speed was pushed to the limit.

With a flash, she instantly broke through the air's resistance.

Leaving behind only a blurred silver afterimage.

Above her palm, a Silver Longsword composed of pure energy instantly condensed.

The light was brilliant, its edge unparalleled.

It was the ultimate manifestation of her superpower.

Enough to easily tear through a Viltrumite's body.

Enough to sever hardened alloys and armor.

This strike concentrated all her strength and fury.

Aiming straight for Black Mark's throat.

Fast, ruthless, and precise.

No flashy movements.

A pure killing move.

But faced with this thunderous strike...

Black Mark merely tilted his body slightly.

There wasn't a trace of panic on his face.

He didn't even look directly at Mei.

He simply swung a casual hand-blade strike.

An invisible slash instantly erupted.

Bang!

A sharp crack echoed.

The Silver Longsword in Mei's hand shattered upon impact.

It crumbled inch by inch, turning into a sky full of light fragments.

Immediately following...

A sharp gust of wind brushed past Mei's cheek.

A sting of pain was instantly transmitted.

She instinctively turned her head.

But she was still a step too late.

A thin, long bloody gash appeared on her cheek.

A few drops of bright red blood slowly seeped out, sliding down her smooth skin.

It was a shocking sight.

Mei didn't even knit her brows.

As if she couldn't feel the pain.

She reached out and casually wiped away the blood on her cheek.

The movement was crisp and decisive.

Without the slightest pause.

The next moment.

Her right leg suddenly rose.

Muscles tightened instantly, power pouring into it.

With a whistle that tore through the air...

A powerful whip-kick slammed toward Black Mark's head.

This kick concentrated all her explosive power.

Enough to shatter steel and heavily injure a strong enemy.

Black Mark slightly raised his hand.

He blocked the strike nonchalantly.

Palm collided with the shadow of the leg.

There was no Earth-shattering roar.

Only a dull thud of impact.

Mei felt as though she had kicked a block of Ten-thousand-year-old Profound Ice.

Hard, cold, and immovable.

The counter-force caused a wave of numbness to spread through her leg.

Black Mark lowered his eyes, looking at her calmly.

His tone carried a hint of judgment and indifference.

"You're strong."

"Stronger than the vast majority of Superhumans I've encountered before."

"Even a cut above an ordinary Viltrumite."

"But..."

His tone shifted.

His contempt was unconcealed.

"That's all it is."

The moment the words fell...

Black Mark moved.

He casually waved a single hand.

Another invisible, Blood-colored Slash.

The speed was so fast Mei had no time to react.

Pfft.

A soft sound.

The slash landed precisely on Mei's shoulder and neck.

The sharp force instantly severed most of the nerves controlling her movement.

Intense pain swept through her body like a tide.

Mei let out a muffled groan.

A mouthful of blood was suddenly coughed out, splashing onto the floor.

Her body could no longer support itself.

Her legs gave way, and she knelt directly on the ground.

Half of her body instantly lost sensation.

She could only barely prop herself up with one hand to keep from collapsing completely.

Black Mark looked down at her from above.

His tone was calm, devoid of any emotion.

"Your recovery power is very strong."

"I can tell from how quickly the wound on your cheek stopped bleeding."

"So an injury of this degree is just a minor one for you."

"Don't force me to kill you."

His gaze slowly swept over Debbie behind Mei.

His tone was indifferent, yet it carried a fatal threat.

"There is an ordinary person behind you."

"If I fail to hold back my strength, you should be very clear about the consequences."

These words accurately struck Mei's weakness.

Chapter 191: Dinner Tastes Great

She had originally intended to launch another desperate sneak attack.

Her movements froze instantly, her bracelet slowly lowering, her eyes filled with resentment and anger.

Yet she could only forcefully suppress the fighting spirit in her heart.

She couldn't be impulsive; Debbie was still behind her.

A normal person without any ability to resist—if she attacked again, Black Mark would definitely not hold back.

When that happened, the first to be hurt would surely be Debbie.

She couldn't afford to gamble, nor did she dare to.

She could only endure for the moment.

Seeing her settle down, Black Mark showed no sign of triumph on his face.

He turned his gaze back to Debbie, his expression miraculously softening a few degrees, even becoming what could be called sincere.

"I actually came here this time just to protect you."

"Whether you believe it or not."

Debbie's hand holding the steak knife still didn't loosen; she stared intently at Black Mark, her mind racing.

Fear, anger, and worry—all sorts of emotions were intertwined.

But she forced herself to calm down; the more critical the moment, the less she could afford to panic.

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady.

"If you really are the Mark from another world..."

"Then we can talk."

"I believe my son is good by nature."

"Even if it's the you from a parallel world, I'm willing to believe there's still a sliver of kindness in your heart."

"Don't do things you'll regret."

"And don't hurt Maeve."

She was using her own way to soothe the dangerous presence before her.

Using a mother's tenderness, she tried to awaken the last bit of warmth in his heart.

Black Mark looked at her.

He looked at this woman who chose to believe in him without reservation.

Deep in his eyes, a very faint trace of complexity flickered.

"So gentle."

"To think you're willing to believe in me like this."

He sighed softly.

His tone carried a hint of melancholy.

"Unfortunately, I've long since reached the point of no return. My nature is what it is; it can't be changed."

"Besides, looking across countless parallel Universes, someone like the Mark Grayson of the Prime Universe is actually one of a kind."

He paused, his tone returning to calm once more.

"Don't worry."

"I really didn't come to hurt you."

"Soon, a group of lunatics will come, trying to destroy Earth at all costs."

"I wouldn't want someone like you to die at the hands of those lunatics."

Having said that, Black Mark ignored the standoff at the door and walked straight toward the dining table inside the house.

His gaze swept over the tempting-colored steak and thick soup on the table.

The corners of his mouth curled slightly.

"The dishes today look really good."

He acted as naturally as if he were back in his own home.

He then turned his head and greeted the pale-faced Debbie.

"Sit down, let's eat together."

Seeing this, Maeve immediately wanted to shout a rebuke.

But as soon as she moved...

Black Mark casually raised his hand, his fingertips forming a few strange hand seals.

Those were minor spells he had learned while traveling through the heavens and venturing into the world of the Classic of Mountains and Seas.

They weren't particularly powerful, but they were useful enough.

The next second...

Several invisible ropes appeared out of thin air, instantly wrapping around Maeve's body.

They bound her firmly in place, making her unable to move.

Then, another flash of light appeared.

It sealed her lips, preventing her from making any sound.

Maeve struggled violently, her eyes full of fury and anxiety.

But it was to no avail.

She could only watch helplessly as Black Mark sat at the head of the dining table.

Debbie stood in place, her whole body cold.

She looked at the bound Maeve, then at the nonchalant Black Mark.

Her heart was filled with a sense of powerlessness.

She had no capital to resist and could only let the other party have his way.

Black Mark acted as if he didn't see her struggle and pain.

He spoke to himself, his tone casual.

"I smell an aura on her similar to mine."

"I can see that the Prime Universe version of me has a very deep relationship with her."

He looked at Debbie, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"Are they husband and wife?"

Debbie was silent for a moment, then slowly nodded.

Her voice was dry and low.

"Yes."

"She is my daughter-in-law."

Hearing this, Black Mark's eyes lit up slightly.

He actually began to clap, his movements light and carrying a trace of genuine envy.

"Not bad."

"The me in this Universe is living quite well."

"Both parents alive, a harmonious family, and such a beautiful, fiery partner."

"It's truly enviable."

After his lament, he said no more and picked up the knife and fork.

He began to enjoy the dinner on the table.

The sound of the cutlery cutting the steak was exceptionally clear in the quiet room.

The meat was tender and juicy.

Black Mark ate very intently, sighing softly as he ate.

"The taste is really good."

"It suits my palate better than any ingredients I've eaten in countless worlds."

He seemed to be truly enjoying a long-awaited family dinner.

After a few bites, he looked up at Debbie, who was still standing in place.

He picked up the serving spoon and ladled a bowl of steaming meat soup for her.

He also picked up a thick piece of steak and placed it in her bowl.

"Eat some; it's good for your body."

"You can't go without eating."

Debbie looked at the food in the bowl with no appetite; her heart was filled only with endless oppression and fear.

She shook her head and didn't move.

The smile on Black Mark's face slowly faded.

He put down the knife and fork, his tone flat yet carrying an irresistible pressure.

"If you don't eat..."

"I'll kill her."

He tilted his chin, indicating Maeve, who was tied up nearby.

A single, light sentence.

Yet it was like the heaviest of shackles, locking down all of Debbie's resistance.

Debbie trembled all over.

She looked at Maeve's anxious eyes and, in the end, could only close her eyes in helplessness.

She silently picked up the utensils and, bite by bite, mechanically sent food into her mouth.

It tasted like wax.

Seeing her eat obediently, the smile returned to Black Mark's face.

That smile was very gentle, even carrying a hint of satisfaction.

"Eat more."

"It's better to eat more."

As he spoke, he added more soup and meat to Debbie's bowl.

He himself continued to tear into the steak in large mouthfuls.

He ate with great relish, a look of enjoyment on his face.

It was as if the scene before him truly was a warm moment of maternal love and filial piety, a family reunion.

This scene was bizarre to the extreme.

A tyrant who slaughtered worlds, a demon who personally killed his own father...

Was at this moment playing the role of a well-behaved and sensible son, enjoying the family warmth he had never possessed in his life.

The meal ended in a bizarre and oppressive atmosphere.

Black Mark wiped the corners of his mouth with satisfaction, his entire being seemingly completely relaxed.

He leaned lazily against the back of the chair, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

The house was silent.

Only Maeve's faint struggling sounds and Debbie's suppressed breathing could be heard.

No one dared to speak, and no one could speak.

Chapter 192: Come With Me

An unexpected scene unfolded.

The eyes of Black Mark, who had always been cold, indifferent, and decisive in slaughter, actually began to redden bit by bit.

Two lines of clear tears slid down from the corners of his eyes without warning.

Those were tears of extreme loneliness.

The sorrow of longing for warmth but never obtaining it in a lifetime.

The loneliness of possessing the Myriad Realms, yet lacking a single home.

He didn't make a sound.

He just wept quietly, like a child who had been lost for too long.

A moment later, the tears were instantly evaporated by the high heat within his body.

Not a single trace remained.

Black Mark restrained all his vulnerability once more, returning to the elegant and cold Black Mark.

He slowly stood up and straightened his black combat suit.

Then, he reached out a hand toward Debbie, his posture elegant and his tone calm.

"Come with me."

"Including this partner of the Prime Universe Mark."

"I will take you to an absolutely safe place."

"The Earth that follows..."

"...will turn into a living hell. If you stay, there is only death."

...

"Everyone, this truly is a refreshing morning!"

On television screens, a young face appeared on every channel across the world.

It wasn't a broadcast or a hack; it was an existence that transcended technology.

His face appeared simultaneously on all frequencies, all signals, and all screens, as if the television signal itself were an extension of him.

It was a young Asian man wearing a long black trench coat.

The trench coat's tailoring was sharp, and the fabric was a matte black that took on a cold texture under the studio lights.

A delicate sapphire was pinned to his cuff; it flashed before the camera like a cold, open eye.

His smile was gentle, as if greeting an old friend.

"My current mood is just as refreshing as putting on new underwear for the New Year and walking onto a brand-new street with a fresh atmosphere!"

His tone was lighthearted, carrying a chilling kind of pleasure.

If one ignored the two terrified television hosts beside him.

The two hosts, a man and a woman, were currently covered in cold sweat.

The male host's lips were trembling slightly, but he was still trying to maintain a professional smile, which looked more like a toothache on camera.

The female host's eyes were wide, her pupils constricted, and the whites of her eyes were bloodshot.

She didn't dare look at the camera, nor did she dare look at the man beside her.

She just stared dead ahead at the teleprompter, but there was nothing on it.

Just moments ago, the instant this man appeared, all the staff members had died.

Not knocked down, not subdued, but—dead.

The director had collapsed at the mixing console, bleeding from all seven facial orifices.

The cameraman was slumped behind his camera, his neck twisted at an impossible angle.

The lighting technician was curled up in a corner, without any external injuries, but his eyes had lost their luster.

In the entire studio, aside from the two hosts, there was only a dead silence.

The recording equipment was still running, the red lights were still flashing, and the lenses were faithfully recording it all.

"Oh, look at my memory, I completely forgot the main business."

Black Mark seemed to suddenly remember something, patting his head helplessly with a face full of annoyance.

The movement was too natural, too casual, like an office worker who had forgotten his keys.

"Come, broadcast the upcoming weather."

He elegantly extended his hand, inviting the two hosts to continue their work.

The gesture was as composed as a gentleman inviting a lady to dance at a banquet.

The male host took a deep breath.

His throat was trembling, but he still opened his mouth.

The voice squeezed out of his throat with an imperceptible tremor, but every word was clear, standard, and without a stutter.

"The weather across the globe will be cloudless; it is a rare and beautiful day, everyone can enjoy a wonderful day."

He finished the complete news broadcast perfectly, without a single hitch.

As he finished the last word, his shoulders slumped slightly, as if he had set down a thousand-pound burden.

"Clap, clap, clap..."

Black Mark clapped from the side.

The applause was unhurried, beat by beat, sounding exceptionally crisp in the empty studio.

"What an excellent mindset."

His gaze fell on the male host's face, his black eyes filled with sincere admiration.

"Just moments ago, I killed almost all of his companions—except for this female host."

He paused, the smile at the corner of his mouth deepening.

"And yet he could still rely on his extremely high professional quality to complete the full reading. Everyone, let us give a round of applause for this male host."

He clapped properly, his posture composed, like a guest at a charity gala cheering for an award winner.

Then, he looked at the female host on the side.

"May I ask, where is your accompaniment? Where is your broadcast?"

The female host's lips were trembling; her throat felt as if it were blocked by something, and she couldn't make a single sound.

Black Mark's smile gradually faded.

"How truly disappointing."

"A qualified news hosting program should be a pairing of man and woman, full of layers."

"You have ruined that layering; you have disappointed me."

His voice became calm, as calm as a pool of stagnant water.

"Such a refreshing morning, marred by your failure."

Having said that, Black Mark helplessly waved a hand toward the female host.

Invisible ripples rose in the air—no sound, no light, no warning.

The female host's eyes were still open, her mouth still agape, her expression still frozen in that moment of terror—and then, her head fell to the floor.

"Thud."

A dull sound.

The head bounced once on the floor, rolled next to the control desk, hit the metal table leg, and stopped.

Those eyes were still open, the pupils reflecting the pale lights of the studio.

A massive amount of blood gushed from the severed neck like a sudden red fountain.

Black Mark waved his hand, and the blood condensed in the air, turning into countless tiny droplets.

They suspended in mid-air, dense and packed, like red raindrops frozen in time.

Then, he withdrew his hand.

The blood droplets fell.

"Patter, patter, patter, patter—"

Countless blood droplets smashed onto the floor, the control desk, and the camera, dyeing the entire frame pink.

The audience in front of their screens could only see a hazy red, like looking at the world through a glass covered in blood mist.

"Now then, it is my turn to broadcast the news."

Black Mark's voice came from that pink image, still gentle, still composed.

"Starting now, one hundred and eight Invincible Young Heroes will appear all over the world to carry out indiscriminate destruction."

He paused.

"There is no need for concern; we are not the Invincible of your world, but a group of Invincible Young Heroes from other worlds."

"In our worlds, every single one of us has destroyed Earth."

He smiled.

"So, on this cloudless day, enjoy yourselves! While you feel the disaster, pray that your Invincible returns quickly!"

Black Mark stood up and smilingly turned off the television program.

The screen turned to static.

Chapter 193: Go, Cecil!

In the studio, only Black Mark and the male host remained.

The male host knelt on the ground, trembling.

His professionalism saved his life, but his soul had shattered into dust the moment the woman's head hit the ground.

His lips were still moving, as if muttering something.

Perhaps it was a prayer, perhaps a dying wish, or perhaps just an unconscious spasm.

Black Mark didn't look at him.

Just then, a blue light illuminated behind him.

It wasn't lightning, nor a lamp, but a steady, rotating halo that spread like ripples on water.

At the center of the halo, a figure was forming.

Black suit, white shirt, no tie.

The right half of his face was covered in a large area of skin grafts, with only his chin retaining its original skin.

His gaze was sharp and cold, the kind of sharpness seen countless times on the battlefield, and personally inflicted countless times.

Cecil.

Director of the Global Defense Agency.

He appeared out of thin air in the television studio, standing in a pool of blood, expressionless.

"What exactly are you here for?"

His voice was flat, as if asking a question to which he already knew the answer.

Black Mark turned around and looked at him.

There was no surprise, no tension in those black eyes, only a faint, gentle warmth, as if seeing an old friend.

"I'm just here to destroy the world."

He said it softly, as if saying, "It's truly a pleasure to meet you."

Cecil's brow furrowed slightly, but soon relaxed.

He had seen too many madmen, heard too much mad talk.

But this madman—this madman who looked exactly like Mark Grayson—had the ability to turn mad talk into reality.

"Try to stop me, Cecil."

Black Mark stood with his hands in his trench coat pockets, his posture as leisurely as if taking a stroll in a park.

"In my world, you didn't succeed.

Perhaps in this world, you can do it?"

Cecil didn't speak.

He just raised his hand and waved it gently.

The air behind him began to warp.

Portals unfolded behind him, not one or two, but dozens, hundreds—blue light gates densely arranged in the void, like some supernatural Hive.

In each portal, figures were coalescing.

Reanimates.

Those who had died, those who were torn apart by Nolan Grayson on the night of the Global Guardians' demise.

Those heroes who sacrificed themselves in various disasters...

Cecil used technology that even Viltrumites couldn't imagine.

He modified their remains, implanted control chips, injected energy cores, and brought them back to their feet.

They were weaker than in life, but they had no fear, no hesitation, no pain.

They were immortal soldiers, silent blades, Cecil's last line of defense for this world.

The first to emerge from the portal was a woman in ancient Roman armor.

Her bronze armor was covered in ancient runes, her helmet obscured most of her face, revealing only a pair of hollow, pupil-less white eyes.

She held a long spear, its tip gleaming coldly in the light.

Her steps were steady and powerful, each one treading in the blood, splashing tiny droplets.

War Woman.

Then came a man in a red bodysuit.

His figure was slender, his muscles defined, and his face was covered by a full mask, revealing only two equally hollow eyes.

His hands trembled slightly, not from fear, but because his superpower—super speed—surged wildly within him, keeping his muscles perpetually on the verge of eruption.

Beneath his feet, fine ripples appeared on the surface of the blood, a sign that his speed was already affecting the surrounding air.

Red Rush.

Finally, a green, humanoid lizard-like figure.

His skin was dark green, covered in fine scales, his head flat and hairless, his two eyes large and round, with vertical slit pupils.

His fingers were long and webbed, and he had a pair of folded membrane wings on his back.

He hovered half a meter off the ground, his feet not touching, as if supported by some invisible force.

Martian Man.

The three core members of the Global Guardians, after being killed by Omni-Man, were brought back from deathby Cecil—in another form.

"Oh?"

Black Mark's eyes widened, a smile spreading across his face.

The smile was not one of fear or tension, but a pure, genuine surprise.

"Are they the Global Guardians?"

He tilted his head, examining the three figures as if admiring a work of art.

"In my world, my scum of a father killed them, so I didn't get a chance to kill them myself."

He stretched out his hand, lightly tapping the air with his fingertip.

"Are you here to make up for my regret, Cecil?"

"Whether it's making up for regret, you decide."

Cecil pouted.

He clapped his hands again.

More portals opened.

More Resurrected emerged from the gates—some in bodysuits, some in armor, some bare-handed, some wielding weapons.

Some were heroes, some were villains, some were ordinary people.

But at this moment, they had only one identity—Cecil's soldiers.

Their eyes were hollow, without pupils, without light, only a void of White.

Their movements were uniform, like puppets controlled by the same string.

They stood in the studio, in the corridor, in the square outside the building, densely packed, layer upon layer, extending from the ground to the sky.

"Although these Resurrected are weak,"

Cecil's voice was calm.

"That's only relative to Viltrumites.

As long as there are enough of them, they can always delay your actions."

His gaze swept past Black Mark and landed on the three core Resurrected.

"They can even create opportunities for them."

Black Mark looked at the dense figures, at their hollow eyes, at their expressionless faces.

He was silent for a moment, then smiled.

"Interesting."

He said.

Meanwhile, at the Global Defense Agency's Teen Teambase.

This was a huge underground space in the city, with a high dome, stark white lights, and gray alloy panels on all four walls.

The air was filled with a faint smell of engine oil and the cold scent of metal.

Normally, it was filled with the sounds of young heroes playing and training, but today, it was as quiet as a tomb.

Everyone was present.

Atom Eve Eve stood at the front of the team, her battle suit red and blue, clinging to her slender body, her hair tied in a neat ponytail, revealing a delicate yet determined face.

Her hands hung naturally at her sides, faint atomic light flickering in her palms.

Beast Girl stood beside her.

She looked only thirteen or fourteen, with brown hair tied in two buns, wearing a loose training suit with buttons straining tightly across her chest.

Not because she was fat, but because her body was ready to transform at any moment.

Her eyes were large and amber, burning with a fighting spirit unsuited for her age.

Rex, The Bomber, leaned against the wall, hands in his pockets, chewing gum.

His hair was messy, and he wore a "I haven't woken up yet" expression, but his eyes were bright—the alertness of a hunter before prey appears.