Absolute King Chapter 27.

Chapter 27: The Weight Of Loss.

-0-

The air still crackled faintly with the remnants of battle. Smoke drifted in thin, uneven curls, rising from what little was left of the cyborgs. The ground was charred, the smell of ozone and metal still sharp in everyone’s nose. Batman and the others stood quietly after they had landed the plane om the outskirts of the island, staring at the aftermath.

They had known Mark was powerful all their research, all their prior missions had hinted at it,but this… this was beyond any of their expectations.

The entire army of cyborgs was gone. Wiped away in seconds. No struggle. No drawn out fight. Just… gone.

And then there was him.

The man clad in gold armor standing behind Mark, his presence radiating an authority that made even seasoned heroes instinctively hold their breath. The portal that shimmered behind him looked almost liquid water like frozen in mid-motion, its glow reflecting off the metal ruins around them.

No one dared speak.

Only the wind whispered through the wreckage as if afraid to disturb what had just occurred.

A few moments later, the team regrouped and escaped the island, they had barely made it out if it were not for Mark. The ride back was silent. Even Constantine didn’t dare to speak.

When they returned to the mainland, Batman immediately flew back to Santa Prisca with the League to investigate. But when he and the others arrived, the island was… empty. Too empty. Not even a trace of Lady Shiva or her men remained. Not a footprint. Not a single heat signature. It was as if the entire incident had been erased-swallowed by the sea.

And then...the morgue.

Time seemed to slow there.

Mark stood in front of his father’s lifeless body. The light above flickered faintly, reflecting off the cold metallic surface of the table. The air was sterile, heavy with the faint scent of disinfectant.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t even blink for a long moment.

The mission had been a success. The cyborg project had been destroyed. But victory felt meaningless, a hollow echo against the weight of loss.

His hands trembled slightly as he looked at his father. The man who had sacrificed himself to save him, which was supposed to be the other way around. The man whose life had been the anchor that tied his family together.

And now… that anchor was gone.

Mark’s thoughts drifted to his mother, waiting at home, unaware. He imagined her face when she heard the news, imagined the way her hands might fall still, the way her breath might catch before the tears came. He dreaded that moment more than anything.

And beneath that dread… was guilt.

Deep, unrelenting guilt.

In his previous life, he had been alone. A loner by choice cutting himself off from others by walls he built himself. And yet, when he was reborn into this new world, into this new body, he had inherited someone else’s family. Someone else’s life. Someone else’s love.

And he had promised to himself, to the host whose life he’d taken over that he would protect them as a way of takin responsibility for him.

But he hadn’t.

Not this time.

A quiet fury built inside him, a storm coiling beneath the surface.

His thoughts began to sharpen, narrow. He wanted to hurt the people behind Project C-2. Wanted to burn everything that had taken his father away.

He wanted Lex Luthor to pay.

He wanted the Light to fall.

The plans formed easily in his mind- too easily. A path laid with blood and retribution.

But before the storm could consume him, a voice broke the silence.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

Mark turned.

Bruce Wayne stood near the doorway, silent, composed, his sharp eyes reading him like an open book. The billionaire’s black suit looked almost out of place in the cold room, but his presence carried a quiet gravity that fit perfectly here.

Bruce stepped closer, his voice steady but heavy like someone speaking from experience.

“You’ll start to blame yourself,” he said quietly. “You’ll think about revenge. You’ll tell yourself that making them suffer will fix the pain. But it won’t.”

Mark looked at him, his jaw tightening.

“The guilt,” Bruce continued, “never goes away. You just learn to live with it. The only thing you can do now is move forward.”

There was no softness in his tone, no empty comfort. But in his eyes behind the stoic mask there was pain. Deep, old pain. The kind that never truly left. Mark wondered how even endured such pain and darkness for so long.

He swallowed hard, his anger trembling but softening. He didn’t speak because he felt he didn’t need to.

Bruce nodded once. “Your mother’s been informed. Go home. Stay with her for a while.”

And that was all.

-0-

The house felt different the moment he stepped in.

It was too quiet.

The air seemed heavier, the walls colder. But from the kitchen, he heard something unexpected, a humming.

A soft, steady tune.

He followed the sound.

His mother was there, standing by the counter, wearing her apron, her movements automatic and precise. She was preparing lasagna- his father’s favorite. The oven light glowed warmly, the smell rich and comforting.

“Mark,” she said with a faint smile. “You’re back. I made some lasagna. Sit down I’ll serve you.”

Her voice was calm, maybe too calm. To anyone else, it might have sounded normal. But Mark could hear it,that small crack beneath her tone, the faint tremor trying to stay hidden.

They sat together at the table, the meal untouched for a while.

Then she spoke again, her hands trembling slightly as she clutched her fork.

“He always loved this,” she said softly. “Even when he wasn’t home… I’d still make it. Just in case. I thought that maybe if I kept doing it, he’d walk through that door again.”

Her words began to break. “But now… now he’s really gone. And no matter how much I try to pretend, it hurts.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent at first, then freely.

Mark reached out, wrapping his arms around her. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t need to.

He just held her tight, steady, silent.

He wanted to cry too, but the tears wouldn’t come. So he sat there, letting her sob into his shoulder, the weight of everything pressing down on them both.

Days passed slowly.

The funeral came and went under gray skies. His father’s friends gathered. The Titans stood in solemn silence. Even members of the Justice League attended.

But when Mark saw him among the crowd,the coiling serpent Lex Luthor something inside him burned.

Luthor’s words were polished, rehearsed. He spoke of loss and respect and legacy. But to Mark, every syllable was poison.

He clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened.

He could feel his power begging to surge.

He could have ended it right there.

But he didn’t.

He held it in.

Barely.

Later, in his room, the world was silent again. The only sound was the faint hum of his chat group in his head as a notification lit up the chat screen.

[Artoria: Sorry for your loss, Mark. It was a tragedy.]

One message turned into many.

[Ozymandias: Who would’ve thought that snake would show up. I’d have carved him up and hung his head in my palace.]

[Gilgamesh: Hmph. That mongrel deserves punishment. Give me an hour I’ll end him and the Light both.]

[Iskandar: No need to be quick about it. I say torture until they beg the gods for mercy.]

[Solomon: And you call yourselves kings. How barbaric. You think only of vengeance.]

[Gilgamesh: Watch your tongue, sorcerer.]

[Iskandar: Hah! Let the gods judge them through blood.]

[Solomon: Mark, listen to me. Revenge won’t bring peace. It will only take you further away from who you are.]

[Ozymandias: As much as I despise his calm tone, I agree with the King of Magic. You’d best think carefully.]

Mark stared at the messages for a long while. The voices of kings ancient, proud, powerful all pulling him in different directions.

He closed the chat.

The room was quiet again.

His reflection in the window looked back at him tired, distant, uncertain.

And for the first time since it all began, Mark didn’t know what he would do next.

The grief remained. The anger lingered. The silence pressed on.

But for now, he sat there alone in the dim light trying to breathe through the ache.

Trying to move forward.