"Demons are evil!"
"And every human is a perfect little angel!"
From a conversation between a priest and a demon.
My connection to the scout cells inside people who interested me kept growing stronger. I could now determine the location of a particular beacon to within ten yards even when it was more than six miles from my main body. I was also beginning to sense the emotions of those around me. It was easiest with people carrying my cells. Scout-Symba immediately transmitted information about the hormonal composition of my interlocutor's blood, while new associative chains translated that data into emotions I could understand.
So when Spider's mild depression—Connors had hardly given him cheerful news—was joined by fear, anxiety, and despair, I knew trouble had begun. I hurriedly assumed the Nazgûl's appearance and went to the roof of the building where Harry Osborn lived. Parker appeared there often enough that finding me would not be difficult for him. Sure enough, less than an hour later Spider himself appeared before me.
"You require my help after all, Peter." My voice was calm and cold. It was not a question, but a statement.
The words clearly did not come easily to him, but he had little choice: either humble himself before me and gain a solid chance of saving his aunt, or march alone into the enemy's lair, personally entering an obvious trap with only a ghost of a chance of rescuing the elderly woman.
"Yes. I probably can't handle this alone, and I don't have the right to take that risk. Aunt May is the only family I have left. For her, I'm willing to do almost anything."
A serious declaration, especially considering WHOM he was saying it to.
"Even surrender your body and soul to me?"
The same emotionless voice.
"Yes!"
Fierce and decisive. Well. It seemed the events of the last few days had finally broken the photographer.
"I understand. Then I will help you. But everything has its price. Do not worry; I have no need of your soul or body. I was created for battle. Though combat is no longer my highest priority, even I find it difficult to oppose my instincts. Therefore, if you ever go to war against a powerful enemy, summon me to that war. This is my condition, and this will be the price of my aid. Do you agree?"
Gods, conducting a conversation in such detached, pompous language and that voice... I would rather endure another session of Connors's laboratory work. He twisted the brain less. Judging by Parker's emotions, he had developed mild cognitive dissonance—or, in normal language, a ruptured brain—and serious doubts concerning my sanity.
"Uh... all right," Peter finished uncertainly.
"Let Darkness bear witness to our covenant."
I completed the phrase and immediately realized that something was wrong. There came the sensation of an intent gaze, as though something enormous had turned its attention toward me for a moment, grunted approvingly, and returned to its affairs.
"W-what was that?"
Apparently Spider had felt it too.
"Our covenant was witnessed..."
Strange. Before Peter asked, I had been as confused as he was. Afterward, however, I possessed a clear awareness of precisely what had happened. And what had I stepped into now? Leaving aside questions whose answers I would not find anytime soon, I focused on the immediate problem.
So, what did we have?
We had a note addressed to Spider-Man, demanding that he come to settle matters at one of the abandoned warehouses in the eternally suffering district of Harlem. Even Rhino from the cartoon would have understood that they were waiting for us there. More precisely, they were waiting only for Peter. I could enter through the back and quietly steal the young man's aunt.
Spider was not delighted by the idea of serving as bait, but he could not suggest anything better. So he marched forward in the finest Hollywood tradition—'a saber against a tank'—while I used the Chameleon's cellular structure for its natural purpose, optical camouflage, and made my way through back lots toward the coveted warehouse. I really needed to replace the skin of host-me with those cells later. Why should symbiote-me have to strain itself every time?
The entrances were cleverly hidden behind holograms. Anyone unaware that an entrance existed would never have found it. But I was not human, and my senses were vastly superior. Mysterio's illusions did not present a serious obstacle. I found May Parker in the basement, surrounded by an extremely elaborate holographic system. Apparently she believed Peter had been hospitalized and that she was visiting him. Watching the old woman converse with a mannequin lying in a hospital bed was certainly interesting and educational, but my time was limited. I carefully knocked Spider's relative unconscious and left in the English manner—without saying goodbye to anyone.
It seemed those psychopaths were not entirely psychopathic after all. Rather than frighten a pensioner by simply tying her to a chair, they had constructed a fairly sophisticated deception. Most likely, the idea belonged to Octavius. Mad or not, the scientist considered Peter his student and did not wish to cause him unnecessary grief. Quite commendable.
I left Peter's aunt at the agreed location and hurried to join the rapidly escalating clash of 'supers.' Hm. Parker was doing rather well by himself. Knowing I would look after his aunt, Peter had not entered the maze of corridors. He had remained in the warehouse's main chamber, where he possessed enough room to maneuver.
Thus I became a spectator to an amusing game called 'Catch the Spider,' in which the aforementioned Spider was winning two to zero. Chameleon and Mysterio had suffered unfortunate knockouts. I wondered whether Parker had done it or whether they had been caught by 'friendly fire.' After drawing matters out a little longer, the young man mockingly bade farewell to the enraged collection of psychopaths and vanished.
When the photographer found his aunt at the designated place, alive and perfectly healthy, his joy knew no bounds. Resisting the urge to spoil his mood was simply beyond my strength.
"Why are you so pleased? They're all alive and healthy, which means they'll want another round soon."
"What do you suggest? I can't just kill them," the young man asked unhappily.
A severe case indeed.
"Why not? It is the simplest path, and it guarantees they will cause no further trouble in the future."
I attempted to appeal to Spider's reason.
Useless. Someone had washed his brain thoroughly and thoughtfully on the subject of 'Thou shalt not kill.' Possibly even with Fairy detergent. Yes. There was still a great deal of work to be done with him. Nevertheless, the day's adventures were over. The young man hurried to take his relative home. He still had to invent a plausible explanation for how she had moved from a hospital to her own house.
Fisk, also known as Kingpin.
"You failed, Kingpin. Again!" an old man with silver hair and a piercing gaze remarked venomously. "Is crushing one little bastard who interferes with our peaceful lives truly such a difficult task for you? You're losing your touch." Silvermane continued mocking him
Fisk ground his teeth and remained silent. The failures of recent days had badly undermined his authority in the criminal world, and some were already measuring his throne against their own backsides. Kingpin glared at the old man. The former ruler of the underworld passionately desired to reclaim his pedestal, but age took its toll. He no longer possessed the strength or health to retain power.
He still had enough influence to poison the life of the current shadow ruler, however. The other magnates of organized crime continued to heed the elder's opinion. Not many could boast of reaching eighty after ruling the 'dark side' of not merely a city but nearly an entire continent with an iron fist for forty years.
'I should never have left him alive. At the time, such magnanimity seemed useful to my reputation,' Kingpin thought.
Aloud, he said something entirely different.
"Do not concern yourselves, gentlemen. The filthy arthropod will cease troubling us very soon. And if anyone is dissatisfied, perhaps he wishes to challenge me?"
Fisk swept the surrounding faces with an icy stare. The crime bosses lowered their eyes. Only Silvermane dared meet the giant in a contest of wills.
"One attempt, Fisk. We are giving you one final attempt. If you fail again, blame no one but yourself." The elder disconnected the video link. The others followed his example.
Fisk ground his teeth and struck the metal table in fury. The furniture groaned pitifully, and an impressive dent appeared in its surface.
"You want Spider destroyed, Silvermane? Excellent. I'll bury you in the same grave with him."
The king of crime pressed a button on the intercom.
"Sir?"
The same dry voice as always.
"Assemble our six. I have another job for them... and order a replacement desk."
"Yes, sir."
At the same time. Michael Morbius.
Michael flew above the city. Power filled his entire body. He could move with incredible speed. He could lift two hundred pounds without effort. Even gravity no longer held authority over him. He had become a new species, the crown of Creation, capable of living for thousands of years.
"Ha, Mayer! Who's the brainless failure now? I can crush you with a snap of my fingers. Felicia deserves someone better—me. I will give her eternal youth and Power. How could I ever have considered mere... food my rival?"
Michael understood that he now regarded most of humanity as little more than walking containers of blood. Strangely, the realization did not trouble him. The thought of blood merely made him intensely thirsty. The newborn vampire was flying above a park when he noticed a couple walking leisurely below. He dove sharply, knocked the man unconscious with one blow, and attacked the woman before she even had time to feel fear. His speed was far beyond ordinary human perception. His fangs sank into her neck, and he nearly purred with pleasure. Her blood seemed the finest drink Morbius had ever tasted. Along with the red liquid, still greater strength flowed into his body. He drank and drank until he felt the victim's heart nearly stop.
Destroying a source of such exquisite blood seemed wasteful. Better to wait until it filled again and repeat the experience. Reluctantly tearing himself away, he carefully lowered her onto the grass. The wounds on her neck closed almost instantly, leaving only two tiny scarred points. Sated, the bloodsucker rose into the sky once more, intoxicated by power and impunity.
Blade would arrive in three days.
Walter Mayer.
I returned home near dawn. What a stubborn idiot with his damned democratic values. He might as well have started lecturing me about nonresistance to evil through violence. Damn it. How was I supposed to turn him into a normal person? Why did I need to do that?
First, canon. I did not want Parker breaking his neck prematurely. Too many interesting people would eventually gather around him, but with his current approach he would get himself killed long before the main events began. This was no cartoon. People here could genuinely die or be crippled. And I had no desire to pull Parker out of the cesspit every time. I had not signed up to be his nanny. At least I had extracted a promise that he would invite me to the 'Secret Wars.' Peter did not yet suspect how much fun awaited him in the not-so-distant future. Unfortunately, I would still have to deal with the Sinister Six's attempts to murder the unfortunate mutant.
The cells inside Michael were also reporting that his roof had already slid away, meaning the ranks of the hemoglobin-dependent had gained another member. I needed to retrieve my scouts and evaluate his genetic material.
Fine. Six psychopaths would not remain in one place for long, so searching for them made little sense. They would appear on their own. That meant I should collect Morbius's blood. With those thoughts, I rapidly ate another sandwich. The sooner we found a housekeeper, the better. I was tired of choking down dry food.
Then I went to the university. Disappointment awaited me. The vampire had declined to appear that day. Rumors were already spreading around the campus about an attack on a pair of students. No one had identified the attacker, but whispers concerning two small scars on the young woman's neck said plenty.
The disappointments did not end there. Felicia had left the city for a few days, citing urgent business, so I sat alone during lectures. That did nothing to improve my mood.
Curt drove the final nail into the coffin of my love for humanity and compassion toward my fellow man by forcing me to grade student papers. His justification was that I was his assistant, so I should assist. The crafty lizard-faced bastard then escaped in an excellent mood to join his wife, having sent his son to sleep at a friend's house under some dubious pretext.
Some people had all the luck. By the time I finished grading the papers, dusk had already fallen. I passionately desired the beginning of hostilities. The irritation accumulated throughout the day demanded release.
And yes! It happened! My sharpened hearing caught the sounds of explosions and sustained gunfire. Had Kingpin decided to bury Silvermane? Most likely. I vaguely remembered such an event in canon. I hurried toward the battle. Beautiful. Hm. It seemed Kingpin had earned his nickname not merely through his size, but through his manner of doing business.
Kidnapping a rival and executing him publicly to warn remaining enemies against excessive insolence was understandable and logical. But why launch a full assault on a building with gunfire and explosions when quieter and more efficient methods existed? Or was I missing something?
Meanwhile, Spider made a dramatic appearance and began fighting Kingpin's hired six. I hurriedly transformed into the Nazgûl and went to save one interesting old man. Just in time. The aforementioned old man had been thrown from a helicopter. Unlike the cartoon, there was no cable attached to him. Silvermane would have become a stain on the pavement, but I caught him before he gained a velocity incompatible with life and quickly disappeared among the buildings.
"I don't know who you are, but thank you very much," the former ruler of the underworld began.
"Who I am is irrelevant," I answered in a quiet voice as devoid of emotion as ever. "What matters is what I can offer you, mortal."
The man tensed.
"And what would that be?"
"You thirst for revenge. I feel it in your soul. But more than revenge, you desire the return of your former greatness—the return of your youth. I can grant that desire."
"And what will you demand in exchange?" Before me now stood not a kindly old man, but a predator prepared to spring. "My soul?"
I smiled beneath the mask. Why was everyone so eager to sell me souls?
"Your soul? Why would I purchase what already belongs to me? Or do you hope to enter Heaven after death? It is much simpler. Blood. Not ordinary blood. I am interested in the blood of altered beings—mutants, werewolves, call them what you wish. For every sample of blood from a new such creature, you will grow three years younger. The more species you provide, the younger you will become... and the longer you will live. As a small demonstration..."
I took the old man's hand and covered the entire limb in a layer of my cells. One minute of accelerated restoration, and instead of a dry, wrinkled claw, Silvermane's astonished eyes beheld the hand of a healthy young man, free of wrinkles and age spots.
"When you find samples that may interest me, contact me. I will remain in this city for a while yet. It is... entertaining."
With those words, I stepped through a window, leaving the astonished old man on the stairwell landing. Meanwhile, Parker had successfully set Scorpion against Doctor Octopus. Rhino had rammed his head into an air intake on the roof and was now attempting to extract the trapped extremity.
A prototype Tesla trooper known in the Marvel world as Shocker was creeping up behind him. Grinning happily, I slipped into combat mode.
Targets: several sources of unique genetic material.
Mission: extract material for study.
Priority: high.
Multiple obstacles to mission completion detected.
Threat level: low.
Ignore? Negative.
Destroy? Negative.
Disable? Confirmed.
Secondary objective: protect ally.
Priority: medium.
Commence execution.
The tall figure in the dark robe exploded into motion. A blow of monstrous force swept the astonished Shocker aside and dragged him several yards across the roof. The man in the yellow suit went still and made no attempt to rise. Mysterio hid behind illusions. The stranger walked directly through one of the false images. The last thing the illusionist saw before losing consciousness was the robed figure's rapid lunge. Rhino was still trying to pull his head free of the twisted metal structure when he felt a series of painful but tolerable blows.
Attack ineffective.
Change of form required for improved material extraction.
Execute alteration?
Confirmed.
The leather glove on one hand became a plate gauntlet decorated with sharp, slightly curved claws. One strike—and the man-rhinoceros roared in pain.
Genetic material acquired.
Danger!
The dark figure leapt aside. A flexible tail tipped with a stinger struck the place where the Nazgûl had stood a moment earlier. Without allowing the opponent time for a second attack, the black-robed creature drove the claws of its gauntlets into Scorpion's tail. The chitinous monster snapped the appendage and his opponent flew toward the edge of the roof, leaving deep scratches along the mutant limb.
Genetic material collected.
Primary objective complete.
Ally has evacuated.
Secondary objective complete.
All assigned objectives fulfilled.
I emerged from combat mode. Oh. They had thrown me toward the edge of the roof. How convenient. Spider had slipped away during the confusion. It seemed time to follow his example. As I reached the edge, I activated camouflage and hurried away from the scene. Yes. Combat mode truly was something else. No doubts. No distractions. Only movement toward a clearly defined objective and instant reaction to every change in circumstances.
I had worked rather well today. I had obtained several interesting genetic samples and prevented Peter from breaking his neck. Most importantly, I had forced Kingpin to leave Spider alone for a while. Silvermane had survived, and Fisk would certainly not be forgiven for that. A war in the criminal underworld was beginning. All I needed to do was observe the situation occasionally and make slight corrections. Life was becoming riskier and more dangerous, acquiring new colors—and I liked it. The role of a demon had also proven extremely entertaining. But what had that sensation of another's gaze been?
Silvermane.
The old man was thoughtful. He sat in his office at the base, repeatedly opening and closing his youthful hand and comparing it with the other, still dry and aged. He had already undergone numerous examinations: X-rays, blood tests, skin samples. Every doctor had stared in astonishment. Only one question showed in their eyes. How?
The X-ray indicated a bone age of approximately twenty-five. The other tests produced results centered around the same number. At last, the former king of organized crime made his decision. He reached for the telephone and dialed a number.
"Alex? Yes, this is Silvermane. Kingpin crossed the line. Yes—war. And one more thing. Gather every scrap of information you can about a certain Professor Xavier's school for gifted youngsters..."
Michael Morbius.
That night, the vampire once again flew through the surrounding city, searching for another victim. But something felt wrong.
'Strange. This morning I was almost another person—weak and foolish. I tried to understand what was happening to my body. What difference does it make? My Power is growing. Perhaps it is time to offer Felicia a place as my queen.'
The bloodsucker flew toward Hardy's penthouse, but the young woman was not there. No matter. Sooner or later she would return. He now possessed eternity and had no need to hurry. In the meantime, why not have a bite to eat?
Blade would arrive in two days.