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Mark shuffled past his front door, a grim expression on his face. After promptly shutting the door and setting his school bag aside, he took a deep exhale before leaning against the oak door. He locked his gaze on his mother, typing away at the kitchen island.
He trudged towards her anxiously; it felt like his stomach was doing summersaults in constant rotation.
Debbie noticed her son's apprehension, raising a quizzical brow. “Is something wrong, Mark?”
“The Flaxens attacked again, but Dad went into one of their portals,” he muttered, turning away ashamed.
“Oh. So he’ll be late for dinner?”
He was taken aback by his mom’s indifference. Sensing his confusion, Debbie elaborated.
“I was worried before because I’ve never seen your father so badly hurt, but taking on aliens in another dimension? That’s just Tuesday," she said, shrugging her shoulders before returning her focus to her computer screen.
“I’m sure he’s explaining nicely why they should leave us alone.”
Omni watched the portal close behind him, his eyes narrowing at the lesser beings. “You don’t seem to understand. Earth isn’t yours to conquer.”
Turning on his heel, he marched up the stairs into his room. Seance Dog and other comic characters stood gracefully on his walls.
With splashes of memorabilia stacked amongst them. Flopping on his twin-sized bed.
Muscles knot and become tense, decompressing upon impact with the soft mattress. Staring absentmindedly at his nude ceiling, his thoughts were moving 100 miles per second.
Specifically centring on the mysterious girl who had helped not only him but the other heroes with the invasion.
‘Was she a new upcoming hero? Unlikely, you saw the way she killed them, ruthless.’
Shivering at the memory:'Was she a villain then, and if so, what would she gain from helping them? From healing him—’
*Rustle
A faint rustling rattled the room. Tearing him from his overbearing thoughts. Perking up from his bed warily, his gaze roamed across his room.
*Rustle
There it was again. Mark saw a flicker of gold in his peripheral vision and turned his head towards his red school bag by his desk.
He cautiously took tentative steps toward it, inspecting the bag as it fussed and rattled. As if something was trying to escape.
He went down on one knee before his bag, hesitantly grasping the cool silver zipper. ‘Alright, just open it, Mark. What’s the worst that could happen?’
