Chapter Text
William was alone in his single bed dorm—a lavish space gifted by his wealthy parents—surrounded by textbooks and notes, preparing for the grueling finals of his nursing degree. The hum of the television blended into the background noise, barely registering in his mind as he read over the intricacies of human anatomy for what felt like the hundredth time. His head ached, exhaustion creeping up his spine, but he couldn't afford to slack off now.
Then, something pulled him out of his fog—his best friend’s hero name.
“Invincible…”
It had barely registered until the news anchor’s strained voice and the sheer panic lacing her tone sent a bolt of unease through William’s chest. He turned his head, his eyes locking onto the screen, where live footage played out in chaotic horror. But the Mark Grayson he knew—the cheerful, careful hero—was nowhere to be seen.
Instead, a variant, a monstrous version of him, stood where Invincible should have been. Omni-Man’s colors—red and white—cloaked his body like a macabre warning. The reporter barely had time to gasp before, in a flash, she was gone. Blood splattered against the lens, and the camera jerked violently before crashing to the ground.
William’s heart slammed against his ribcage.
The moment stretched out—his breath hitched, mind racing to comprehend what he had just witnessed. But before he could process the atrocity unfolding on-screen, the entire dormitory trembled as if the earth itself had turned against them. The high-pitched wail of sirens shrieked through the air and dread pooled thick in his gut.
Instinct kicked in.
His emergency bag was already packed—it always was, because he knew—so he grabbed it alongside his phone and charger, throwing himself out of the dorm and into the frenzied chaos outside. The hallway was filled with students screaming, running for their lives, and William pushed through them, lungs burning as he hit the streets.
His hands trembled as he frantically dialed Rick Sheridan’s number. He needed to hear his voice, needed confirmation that his boyfriend- his alpha was alive.
No answer.
The call went straight to voicemail.
Desperation clawed at his throat, and he tried again.
Still nothing.
Then, the news reports flickering through every open store window confirmed his worst fear—Paris was in ruins.
The city of love had turned into a graveyard.
A twisted irony, considering Rick had begged him to come along for the trip, had posted photo after photo with some other guy, smiling like nothing in the world could touch him. William had told himself he wasn’t upset, not really. Not pissed at all.
Except now, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever hear from Rick again.
Not that William had much time to dwell on that, because if things weren’t bad enough, he knew D.A. Sinclair was still out there. And lately, Sinclair had taken an unsettling interest in him—clothes gone missing, underwear vanishing, things shifting in his dorm just slightly enough to unsettle him.
And now?
Now, all William could think about was surviving.
Surviving while the world collapsed around him.
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William’s legs screamed in protest, muscles aching from hours of running, but his mind barely registered the pain. He had lost track of time, lost track of direction—his only focus had been escaping the destruction behind him. And somehow, through sheer instinct or desperation, he had ended up here.
In front of the Grayson family home.
Mark’s childhood house.
He didn’t know if anyone would be inside—if Debbie had managed to survive, if she had fled, if she was trapped. But it was his only hope, his last refuge before exhaustion took him completely.
He swallowed, stepping up to the door, raising his hand to knock.
Then—hands, strong and firm, slid under his armpits.
The ground disappeared beneath him in an instant, and before he could even yelp, he was in the air, cradled in a bridal hold. His breath hitched, his body stiffening—every instinct telling him to fight—until his nose caught the scent.
Mark.
Not just Mark. All of them.
The air was thick with their presence, surrounding him like an unbreakable fortress. Maskless Mark held him close, his grip possessive, secure—but it was the way his face burrowed into William’s neck, inhaling deeply, that sent a shiver down his spine.
“William…” His voice was raw, aching, relief threading through the single word.
William’s heart hammered. This wasn’t his Mark.
These were variants. Not the best friend he knew.
But the way Maskless Mark clung to him—the way the others surrounded them, each watching him with piercing, unreadable eyes—made his gut twist. Made something deeper stir.
An Alpha’s presence was unmistakable, overwhelming. Suffocating. And William, an Omega, could feel it in the way his body instinctively responded to them, heat pooling in his skin, breath coming shorter than before. He shouldn’t be reacting—shouldn’t be feeling anything other than fear.
Yet… he did.
A hand brushed his cheek—Viltrumite Mark, gaze unreadable. Another hovered near his waist—Mohawk Mark, smirking like he knew something William didn’t. The scent of them, a potent mixture of dominance and longing, made his head swim.
“You ran,” Maskless Mark murmured against his skin, lips brushing his throat. “We’ve been looking for you.”
Looking for him?
William swallowed hard, feeling every nerve scream at him to run, to escape—but the way Maskless Mark held him, the way the others watched him like he was something precious, something theirs, sent an unmistakable message.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
Viltrumite Mark, standing just behind, tilted his head. His gaze was sharp, calculating. “You smell different.”
William’s stomach twisted.
They could tell.
Could tell that his scent had shifted under the stress, under the chaos. Could tell that his Omega instincts had begun responding to them—even if his rational mind rejected it.
Emperor Mark smirked, crossing his arms. “He ran all this way to us. Convenient, don’t you think?”
William opened his mouth, ready to spit something back, but Maskless Mark moved first.
His lips brushed against the sensitive skin of William’s scent gland, lingering there, and William froze.
Heat coiled inside him, betraying him, making his stomach knot so violently he felt sick.
“What—” His voice cracked, breath uneven. Wrong. This was wrong.
“Mine,” Maskless Mark whispered against his skin, the single word sending shockwaves through William’s body.
The other Marks exchanged looks. A silent conversation, a decision being made without his input.
Mohawk Mark chuckled, stepping forward. “Well, it’s not like you can run again.”
Not with all of them surrounding him.
Not when his Omega instincts whispered submission into the back of his mind.
Not when they all looked at him like he already belonged to them.