A day in a Mohawk's life

Mohawk Mark reclined on the massive custom bed, large enough to accommodate eight people comfortably, as smoke curled from the cigarette between his lips.

His eyes wandered lazily over the seven redheaded women scattered across the silk sheets, each one a carefully selected Eve lookalike, down to the smallest details of their features.

The cosplay wasn't just in their hair color – they wore variations of Eve's costume, some more revealing than others, all designed to his exact specifications.

It had cost a fortune to find women who matched his requirements so precisely, but being Emperor of Earth and Viltrum meant money was no object.

"Get out," he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the post-coital haze that filled the imperial bedroom.

The women exchanged confused glances, some still catching their breath from the hours of activity.

"Now," he added, a hint of Viltrumite authority entering his tone.

They scrambled to comply, gathering discarded clothing and personal items with practiced efficiency.

None dared question him – they knew better than to test the patience of a being who could reduce the planet to rubble on a whim.

As the door closed behind the last of them, Mohawk Mark exhaled a long stream of smoke toward the ornate ceiling.

The cigarette – a custom blend from a planet whose name he couldn't be bothered to remember – did nothing for his Viltrumite physiology.

No nicotine rush, no calming effect. Just the ritual, the familiar motion, the momentary distraction from thoughts he'd rather avoid.

Thoughts of her. The real Eve.

"Fuck," he muttered, crushing the cigarette in his palm without flinching. The ash scattered across the sheets, joining other stains from the night's activities.

It had been five years since he'd killed her. Five years of these elaborate charades, these pathetic attempts to fill the Eve-shaped hole in his existence.

The cosplayers, the statues erected in her honor across his empire, the laws he'd passed requiring her name to be spoken with reverence – none of it helped. None of it brought her back.

He still remembered the look in her eyes when he'd done it. Not fear, not even anger. Just... disappointment.

As if she'd always known he would eventually become this – a tyrant, a conqueror, everything his father had wanted him to be.

"You were supposed to be better than this," she'd said, her final words before his hand had moved with Viltrumite speed, ending her life in an instant of misguided rage.

He hadn't meant to kill her. It was just that she wouldn't stop talking, wouldn't stop trying to "save" him from what he was becoming. Wouldn't accept that his destiny was to rule, not serve.

One moment of lost control, and she was gone forever.

Mohawk Mark rose from the bed, naked and unconcerned with his state as he moved to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking his capital city.

The metropolis sprawled beneath him, a testament to his absolute rule – buildings that would have been considered architectural marvels on the old Earth, streets free of crime not through justice but through fear, citizens who worshipped him as a living god.

All of it meaningless without her.

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, watching his breath fog the surface. "I'm sorry," he whispered, words he could never say aloud to anyone else.

The dimensional communicator chimed from his bedside table, interrupting his moment of weakness.

Mohawk Mark composed himself instantly, the vulnerability vanishing behind his customary mask of arrogant indifference.

He activated the device, and Astronaut Mark's face materialized in the holographic display.

"Progress report," Astronaut Mark stated without preamble, his expression all business. "The dimensional mapping is proceeding on schedule. We've identified seventeen potential target realities with minimal resistance capabilities."

"Boring," Mohawk Mark replied, deliberately projecting disinterest as he reached for another cigarette. "Wake me up when you find something worth conquering."

Astronaut Mark's expression tightened with barely concealed irritation. "This isn't a game. The alliance requires coordination, planning-"

"The alliance requires results," Mohawk Mark interrupted, lighting his cigarette with casual disregard. "And so far, all I'm seeing is talk."

"Perhaps if you contributed more than attitude, we'd make faster progress," Astronaut Mark shot back.

Mohawk Mark grinned, enjoying the rare display of emotion from his usually controlled counterpart. "I contribute exactly what's needed – a reality check.

You plan, Sinister schemes, Viltrumite postures, and I remind everyone that we're wasting time."

Before Astronaut Mark could respond, the hologram shifted, adding Sinister Mark to the communication. His cold eyes took in Mohawk Mark's state of undress with detached amusement.

"Am I interrupting something?" Sinister Mark asked, his tone suggesting he couldn't care less if he was.

"Just the usual – Astronaut boring me to death with details nobody cares about," Mohawk Mark replied, exhaling smoke toward the hologram.

"Those details will determine our success or failure," Astronaut Mark insisted.

"Our timeline has accelerated," Sinister Mark cut in, ignoring their bickering. "Sukuna appears to be growing impatient. His recent communications suggest he's developing his own strategies independent of our alliance."

This caught Mohawk Mark's attention, though he was careful not to show it. "Smart move. Trust no one, especially not us."

"It complicates matters," Astronaut Mark noted, his tactical mind already recalculating. "If he's operating with separate objectives-"

"It means he's planning to betray us," Sinister Mark finished, his expression darkening. "Or at least preparing for the possibility that we might betray him."

"Shocking," Mohawk Mark drawled sarcastically. "The ancient curse king doesn't trust a bunch of alternate versions of the same megalomaniac. Who could have predicted?"

"This isn't a joke," Astronaut Mark snapped.

"No, it's fucking politics," Mohawk Mark retorted, his casual facade slipping momentarily. "Everyone's positioning, everyone's planning their betrayal. It's why I hate working with others."

"Yet here you are," Sinister Mark observed with a thin smile. "Curious, isn't it?"

Mohawk Mark didn't rise to the bait. The truth was, he needed this alliance – not just for the power it promised, but for the possibility it represented.

Somewhere in the infinite multiverse, there had to be another Eve. One who would understand him, accept him as he was. One he could protect from himself.

"We need contingencies," Astronaut Mark said, breaking the tense silence. "If Sukuna turns against us-"

"We'll have the firepower to handle it," Sinister Mark stated confidently. "Between the three of us and Viltrumite Mark, we can contain any threat he might pose."

Mohawk Mark said nothing, keeping his own thoughts to himself. While his counterparts discussed strategies and contingencies, his mind was working on a different angle entirely.

The Emperor – that self-righteous version of himself who had conquered seventeen galaxies – represented both a threat and an opportunity. His obsession with Megumi made him unpredictable, potentially dangerous, but also potentially useful.

If things went south with this alliance – and Mohawk Mark was certain they eventually would – having the Emperor as a backup ally could be the difference between victory and defeat.

But he'd keep that card close to his chest for now. No need to let Astronaut and Sinister know he was developing his own contingency plans.

The communication ended shortly after, leaving Mohawk Mark alone once more in his imperial chambers. He stared at the space where the hologram had been, his mind racing with calculations and contingencies of his own.

He trusted his counterparts about as far as he could throw a planet – which, while considerable, wasn't nearly far enough.

Astronaut Mark's tactical genius made him unpredictable, Sinister Mark's cruelty made him dangerous, and Viltrumite Mark's imperial ambitions made him a competitor rather than an ally.

And Sukuna... Sukuna was the wild card. Mohawk Mark had seen enough during the dimensional merger to know that underestimating him would be a fatal mistake.

No, he needed his own plan – one that didn't rely on the goodwill or loyalty of beings as duplicitous as himself.

The thought that had been forming in his mind since the dimensional merger continued to develop. The original Mark, the one Levy had such a hate-boner for, represented an opportunity.

Unlike the rest of them, he hadn't yet been corrupted by absolute power. He still had principles, still believed in concepts like redemption and second chances.

After all, if he could forgive Nolan – a father who had lied to him his entire life and nearly beaten him to death – then perhaps he could be convinced to aid someone like Mohawk Mark, whose crimes in the original's reality were relatively minor by comparison.

And then there was the Thragg situation. Mohawk Mark's path to power had been different from the Emperor's – he hadn't needed to defeat Thragg in single combat.

Instead, he had discovered and leveraged his direct lineage to Argall, the greatest of all Viltrumite rulers.

That revelation had turned the Viltrumite Empire against Thragg, with Conquest himself leading the charge to depose the Grand Regent in favor of Argall's true heir.

It hadn't been easy – Thragg was still the strongest Viltrumite alive – but with the entire empire against him, his defeat had been inevitable.

If Mohawk Mark could deliver this information to the original Mark and the Emperor – proof of their true heritage as Argall's descendants – it would put them in his debt.

A card to be played when the alliance inevitably fractured.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Enter," he called, not bothering to cover himself.

Conquest stepped into the room, his massive frame filling the doorway.

Unlike the Conquest from the original timeline, this version had become Mohawk Mark's right hand, his most loyal general.

The bond between them went beyond mere duty – Conquest had been Argall's closest friend, and in Mohawk Mark, he saw echoes of the greatest leader the Viltrumite Empire had ever known.

"Emperor," Conquest acknowledged with a slight bow. "The Rigellian delegation has arrived. They await your pleasure in the throne room."

Mohawk Mark nodded, finally moving to dress himself. "Let them wait. It builds character."

Conquest's lips twitched in what might have been amusement. "As you wish. There is also the matter of the rebellion on Proxima Centauri."

"Crush it," Mohawk Mark said dismissively, pulling on his distinctive costume. "Make an example of their leaders. The usual."

"With respect, Emperor, this rebellion is different," Conquest cautioned. "They've somehow acquired weapons capable of harming Viltrumites. Three of our soldiers were killed in the initial uprising."

This caught Mohawk Mark's attention. He paused in adjusting his costume, fixing Conquest with a sharp look. "Weapons that can kill Viltrumites? That's... interesting."

"Concerning," Conquest corrected. "If such technology spreads-"

"It won't," Mohawk Mark interrupted. "Because we're going to take it for ourselves." A smile spread across his face – the kind that made even hardened generals like Conquest uneasy.

"In fact, I think I'll handle this personally. It's been too long since I've had a good fight."

"As you wish, Emperor," Conquest replied, though concern remained evident in his expression. "Shall I prepare your ship?"

"No need," Mohawk Mark said, moving to the window. "I could use the exercise."

With casual strength, he pushed open the window and stepped out into the open air, hovering briefly as he oriented himself toward the stars.

Proxima Centauri was close by astronomical standards – a quick jaunt for someone who could fly at faster-than-light speeds.

"Emperor," Conquest called after him. "The Rigellians-"

"Tell them I'm dealing with urgent imperial business," Mohawk Mark replied without looking back. "And have someone clean up this room. It's a mess."

Without waiting for a response, he shot upward, breaking the sound barrier in an instant as he accelerated toward space.

The familiar rush of flight – the one thing that still brought him uncomplicated joy – momentarily pushed aside his darker thoughts.

As Earth dwindled behind him and the blackness of space enveloped his form, Mohawk Mark allowed himself a moment of honesty.

This alliance with his variants and Sukuna was a means to an end – nothing more. If it succeeded, he might find what he was looking for across the multiverse. If it failed, he had contingencies.

And if those contingencies failed... well, there was always Plan B: find the original Mark, convince him of their shared heritage, and use that connection to gain access to the Emperor and Sukuna.

Not out of any sense of kinship or loyalty, but because together, those three represented the only force in the multiverse that might stand against whatever Sinister, Astronaut, and Viltrumite Mark were truly planning.

Plus, he thought with grim amusement as he accelerated beyond light speed, if anyone in the multiverse had a spare Eve they might be willing to part with, it would be one of them, since they aren't the loving type ( Sinister, Astronaut, and Viltrumite).

That is if the fuckers didn't kill her in their worlds too.

The stars blurred around him as he flew toward Proxima Centauri, toward violence that might momentarily quiet the guilt that haunted him day and night.

Toward a distraction from the emptiness that no amount of power, conquest, or lookalikes could ever fill.

Toward the next step in a plan that even he wasn't sure would work – but it was all he had.

That, and the lingering hope that somewhere in the infinite multiverse, there was an Eve who could love the monster he had become.

A yandere Eve with her own plans to possess him would be a nightmare he had to steer clear of though, he thought with a shiver.

A yandere with molecular manipulation powers? That was an end-of-reality scenario he wanted no part of.

He still couldn't understand how that Sukuna guy could handle a Eve like that - how the fuck did he control her? Was his dick that mindblowing or something?

He shook his head, deciding he really didn't want to go down that rabbit hole - those two are insane - even by his standards, and he'd rather steer as clear from them as possible, even in his own head.

Thank God, Levy told him that about them, otherwise he wouldn't know what hit him.

As he left his solar system behind, Mohawk Mark allowed himself one final thought before focusing on the coming battle:

in a multiverse of infinite possibilities, the only constant seemed to be that every version of Mark Grayson was, in one way or another, completely batshit crazy.

And he wouldn't have it any other fucking way.

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(Author note: Hello everyone! I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! 

So, do tell me how you found this chapter focused on Mohawk Mark? He's basically one of my favourite because he's really funny to write. I can be as vulgar as I want, when normally I hold my tongue a lot.

Well, I hope to see you all later,

Bye!)