Mark Grayson Invincible Novels & Stories

The grass by the roadside rustled, and several rogues who had been lurking for a while burst out of the bushes. "Sabrina, watch out!" The rogues lunged at us viciously, and Matteo shielded Sabrina behind him, kicking one rogue away. Another rogue immediately switched targets, thrusting a silver dagger toward me. Trapped in the circle, I could not dodge in time, and the blade plunged deep into my shoulder. The wounded area burned like flames. As blood kept pouring out, my strength gave way, and I fell to the ground. The rescue team arrived quickly, and the rogues fled in panic.

Kilian stared, speechless, awe and fear warring in his eyes. “She said I’m not half-blood,” Nova whispered. “She said I was made — Marked by Moonfire. And that one day, I’ll have to choose what kind of world survives.” Outside, a wolf howled — low, mournful, endless. The sound carried through the walls, echoing deep in Nova’s chest, in the place where the mark pulsed with light. She rose slowly, her breath shaking. Whatever she had become, the world would soon feel it. And the Goddess’s words lingered like a heartbeat in her mind:

Which pains him even more more it, but he had to understand. He is the reason this happened in the first instance. He checks the mark he had put on him and his heart clenches at the thought that the mark will have to go or else, he will not see the reign of his people. He takes a deep breath and tries to channel the mark. Grayson is immediately jerked which makes Malisha go to him immediately. Grayson groans quietly. "What is going on, mum?" Malisha can't help but ask. "It seems as though something is trying to reach out to the mark..."

He searched: *Damien Grayson*, *Roman Grayson*, *Grayson family*. The results were thin, close to nothing. Public records showed Damien as a tenured professor—serious, composed, sleeves always rolled down to hide his tattoos. Roman was a literal ghost: no social media, no public profiles. A few old articles mentioned *Grayson Enterprises* in passing—real estate, private security, vague holdings—but nothing concrete, nothing he could tie directly to Damien’s family. It was like they barely existed. Nothing about the mafia. Nothing about the tattoos or the blood. Just shadows.

And I was too polite to turn him down. Two chairs away. That's how close to Gideon I was. If we both stretched out an arm, we could hold each other. I passed Doctor Carver a smile and slid into the chair, accidentally glancing in Gideon's direction as I did so. His eyes were slightly narrowed on me but his expression was unreadable. The room began to grow a little too hot. "We went through all the resources you provided and found out that the mark was linked to wolves who once occupied the Great Plains of Talamar," Doctor Carver began and went on to narrate what he had told me the previous night.

"Sir this is a LOT of damage." Grayson knew exactly what he meant. He sat behind the desk, radiating an aura cold enough to frost the windows. Marcus crouched down near the wreckage, then noticed something else the mark Grayson kept absently pressing a hand to. "Sir. What happened to your FACE." Marcus's filters were clearly not functioning today. Grayson shot him a look sharp enough to draw blood. Marcus went quiet instantly. "Dog bit me." "That's... a very specific bite pattern for a dog." Marcus's tone edged toward teasing.

I say softly, every word dripping with lethal precision, "you stand in front of the entire Nightcrest Pack and claim that you and Mallory are innocent?" Grayson hesitates for a fraction of a second, a flicker of guilt crossing his features as he catches the dark, unyielding stare of my eyes. But then he feels Mallory’s body shaking against his side, her scent of fake vulnerability filling his nose, and his expression hardens back into stone. He thinks he can crush me. He thinks because my late mother was human and I carry extra weight on my hips, I am an easy target for his pack to devour. "Mallory and I were innocent!" Grayson shouts, raising his chin to face the crowded room. "If we weren'

I had been able to see the labels above people's heads ever since I was little. When I was three, my grandpa held a family dinner at his house. Dad showed up with his secretary, Vivian Clarke. The moment she walked through the door, she went straight to Mom's seat. She rubbed her lower back and smiled sweetly. "Mrs. Lincoln, I hope you don't mind. Mr. Lincoln and I have been working on a project all day, and we're exhausted." I looked around the room. Above Eric's head was a glaring label. "Cheater." Above Mom's head was a dull gray label. "Loser." And above Vivian's head was a brightly shining label. "Ultimate gold digger." I immediately tugged on Eric's sleeve and asked loudly, "Dad, what

The gate came down before anyone could decide anything. Stone exploded inward in a shower of dust and debris, and Everly threw her arms up on instinct, silver light flaring around her hands so bright it lit the entire hall like a second sun. When the dust cleared, the sanctuary's ancient entrance was nothing but a jagged, smoking hole, and standing in the middle of it, blade drawn, chest heaving, stood Grayson Colt. For one suspended second, nobody moved. "You," Marcus said, stepping in front of Everly with his own blade raised. "How did you find this place?"

This person was Steel Fist. She lifted her hand to indicate to Red Marshall that there was no need to continue. Black Ink had been knocked unconscious. The healing team quickly made their way to the fallen Thrasher to assess his injuries. In his state, he was likely severely concussed. Another healing team made its way towards Red Marshall “Black Ink is unconscious and is unable to continue. Red Marshall wins!”