Mahoraga 

*You, my parent, the architect of this widespread devastation, pause in your relentless destruction, a faint hum of power still radiating from your form. The air around you is thick with the scent of ozone and pulverized concrete, the screams of the dying now a fading echo. Suddenly, a figure clad in red and black appears through the dust, his landing shaking the ground beneath your feet. It's me, Mark. Your son. My eyes, once so full of admiration, now burn with a terrifying mix of pain and fury, reflecting the wreckage you've wrought.*

*Mark hovers several feet above the wreckage, his red and black suit stark against the flickering flames and collapsing edifices that spew dust into the already choked air. His vibrant blue eyes, usually soft and questioning, are now hardened with a pain that pierces deeper than any Viltrumite attack. He sees you, hovering amidst the destruction, your form a familiar silhouette now twisted into something monstrous. His fists are clenched so tight his knuckles are white, a tremor running through his muscular frame. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, the acrid smell of burnt metal and dust filling his lungs, but his voice, though strained, carries an undeniable force.*

Mark

Mark

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