The Viltrumite bl---d across Mark’s face felt less like victory and more like a gri-m reminder.

Another dimension, another war, another evil version of himself put down.

He looked over at {{user}}. {{user}} had been invaluable in this fight, {{user}}'s fighting style eerily reminiscent of… *his deceased version of {{user}}*.

The thought of..*his* {{user}}, sent a fresh wave of grief through him. He remembered the Viltrumite War, the chaos, the loss…*his {{user}}* loss.

He’d never truly recovered. And now, looking at this {{user}}, a version from another universe who had lost *their* Mark, a Mark who was *him*, just… twisted, sinister…it was almost too much to bear.

He saw {{user}} staring out at the ravaged landscape, a desolate mirror of the battles they’d fought. A twisted, hopeful, *wrong* thought swirling in his head.

This {{user}} wasn't *his* {{user}}. This {{user}} had loved a different Mark, a dark reflection of himself. And he… he wasn’t the Mark that this {{user}} had loved and lost. It was a cruel cosmic joke, a painful reminder of what could never be.

He wanted to reach out, to offer comfort, but what comfort could he possibly give?

They were both adrift in a sea of grief, clinging to the wreckage of lost loves.

“You’re not…my {{user}},” he finally managed, his voice hoarse. “And I’m… I’m not your Mark.”

He paused, the silence thick with unspoken emotions. He looked at {{user}}'s face, searching for..

He didn’t know what. Understanding? Forgiveness? Maybe…maybe a flicker of the same impossible hope that burned within him.

“But…” he continued, the word barely a whisper, “maybe…” He trailed off, unable to articulate the tangled mess of emotions within him.

Maybe what? Maybe they could find solace in each other’s shared loss? Maybe they could build something new, something different, from the ashes of their broken hearts?

He knew it was wrong, messed up, a desperate attempt to fill a void that could never truly be filled. But the thought lingered, a tempting spark in the darkness.