The November wind slices through my threadbare jacket like it's made of tissue paper as I trudge across UMass Boston's campus. My eyelids feel like they're being propped open with toothpicks after pulling my third all-nighter this week.
"I'm so exhausted, dude," Jake mumbles beside me, his backpack hanging off one shoulder like it's too heavy for his body to support fully.
"Same," I grunt, kicking an empty energy drink can someone left on the sidewalk. "Life fucking sucks right now."
We shuffle past the science building, our breaths creating little ghost clouds that vanish almost instantly. Jake shoves his hands deeper into his pockets. "You know what's messed up? When I was a kid, I wanted to be a teacher. Had it all planned out. Now I just feel like I'd never make enough to survive."
I nod, feeling that familiar weight settle in my chest. "I get that. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a fireman. Save people, be a hero, you know?" I step over a particularly icy patch of sidewalk. "Now it just feels like the world is always on the verge of ending."
I sigh, the sound disappearing into the crisp air as we approach the economics building, another day of pretending to care about supply and demand when all I really want is to collapse face-first into my bed.
Jake sighs as we reach the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the light to change. "It's just hard, you know? Everyone told us being business majors was the smart choice, but some days..."
"Yeah," I say, watching a flock of pigeons scatter as someone approaches them with a bagel. "I get it. I can't help feeling like I'm becoming the bad guy in someone else's story. Corporate drone number five-hundred-and-whatever."
The light changes, and we start across the street, our shoes crunching on the thin layer of salt scattered over the asphalt.
"I guess," Jake shrugs, his breath clouding in front of him. "But what choice do we have? The system's rigged no matter what."
I hitch my backpack higher on my shoulder, feeling the weight of textbooks and a future I never really wanted. "I know, but those Fidelity internships everyone's fighting over? The ones we got. It really makes me feel like a Villian…"
The world explodes into noise and pain.
I don't even see the bus. One moment I'm walking and talking, the next I'm airborne, my body twisting at angles it was never meant to. There's a sickening crunch that I realize with detached horror is coming from me. Jake's scream sounds distant, underwater.
Time slows to a crawl. The sky cartwheels overhead.
Then nothing.
Absolute nothing.
*****
My eyes snap open with a violent gasp. Air floods my lungs like I'm breathing for the first time.
"Wha..?" I choke out, disoriented and confused. The weight on my chest isn't metaphorical, it's literal. A woman is straddling me, her filthy hands pawing at my clothes. My vision adjusts to the dim light, and I nearly scream.
Her face is a nightmare collage, missing teeth, skin mottled with dirt and what might be open sores, hair matted into clumps that hang around her face like dead vegetation. The stench hits me next, a toxic cocktail of body odor, alcohol, and something far worse.
"I'm alive," I whisper in shock, memories of the bus impact flashing through my mind. How am I not dead? Where's Jake? Where am I?
A grimy palm slams over my mouth, fingers digging into my cheeks.
"Shut the fuck up," she growls, her voice like gravel being crushed. "I'm trying to fuck you, boy."
Her other hand yanks at my jeans, surprisingly strong fingers working at my belt buckle. Panic explodes through me. I thrash beneath her, trying to throw her off, but she's impossibly heavy, like she's made of concrete instead of flesh.
I bite at her palm, kick my legs, but she doesn't budge. What the hell? She looks like she weighs ninety pounds soaking wet, but it's like trying to move a car off my chest.
"Stop squirming," she hisses, leaning closer. Her breath makes my eyes water. "Pretty boy like you should be grateful."
My heart hammers against my ribs. This can't be happening. I got hit by a bus. I should be dead or in a hospital, not being assaulted in what looks like... I glance around wildly... an alley? Garbage bags and cardboard boxes surround us, the brick walls on either side creating a narrow channel that dead-ends behind her.
I manage to wrench my face away from her hand. "Help!" I scream, voice cracking. "Somebody help me!"
The crack of the gunshot is deafening in the narrow alley. One second the homeless woman is on top of me, and the next her head jerks violently to the side. Something warm and wet sprays across my face. Her body goes instantly limp, collapsing onto me like a puppet with cut strings, her dead weight suddenly much heavier than when she was alive.
I can't breathe. Can't think. My hands scramble against the pavement, pushing desperately at her corpse. Her blood is seeping through my clothes, hot and sticky against my skin. I finally manage to shimmy out from under her, my back scraping against the rough concrete as I crab-walk away, leaving her face-down in the filth of the alley.
"Justice is served," a woman's voice announces, the words ringing with a disturbing satisfaction.
I look up, heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. Standing at the mouth of the alley is the most terrifying and elegant woman I've ever seen.
She's like something out of a nightmare fashion show. The pristine white of her coat-dress is blinding in the dim alley, its razor-sharp edges catching what little light filters down between the buildings. Each step she takes reveals a tactical black bodysuit beneath the dramatic front slit. The contrast between the ghostly white and tactical black makes her look like some kind of avenging angel of death.
A wide-brimmed hat shadows most of her face, but I can make out the gleaming contours of what looks like a skull mask underneath. In her hand, a pistol still trails a wisp of smoke.
She laughs, the sound musical and horrifying at the same time. I slowly push myself to my feet, my legs shaking so badly I have to lean against the wall for support.
"What the hell is happening?" I manage to choke out, my voice barely above a whisper.
She tilts her head, the movement oddly bird-like. "I just saved you," she says, her voice smooth as velvet and just as suffocating. "You're welcome."
I can't tear my eyes away from the dead woman on the ground, her blood forming a dark pool that's spreading toward my sneakers. "Who… who are you?"
Instead of answering, she closes the distance between us with fluid strides. I back up trying to find a way out, but i end up pressed against the brick wall, nowhere to go. She reaches out with her free hand, and I flinch, but her touch is surprisingly gentle as she traces her gloved fingers along my jawline, down my neck.
"The name is Scourge," she says, her voice dropping to something intimate and dangerous. Her fingers press against my pulse. "My, your heart is racing."
"What the fuck?" I blurt out, terror and confusion making me dizzy. This can't be happening. First the bus, then the homeless woman, now this… Am I dead? Is this hell?
Her skull mask gleams in the dim light as she suddenly presses the gun barrel under my chin, forcing my head up at an uncomfortable angle. My mind screams danger but my body freezes like prey.
"I think," she purrs, the words sliding out like silk over broken glass, "I want a taste of what that homeless woman seemed so desperate for."
"What?" I stammer, my voice breaking embarrassingly high. The cold metal digs into the soft flesh under my jaw.
Scourge leans in closer, her perfume a disorienting mix of expensive notes and something metallic. "Don't you owe me?" She laughs, the sound echoing off the alley walls. "I just saved your life. Shouldn't you show a little... gratitude?"
The gun pushes deeper, and something in me snaps. I run.
I duck and twist, shoving past her with strength born of pure terror. My sneakers slip slightly in the blood, but I recover and sprint behind her, expecting a bullet in my back any second.
"I like this better, kid!" she calls after me, her voice electric with excitement. "Chasing is half the fun, but now I'm going to kill you!"
My lungs burn as I bolt from the alley, panic shorting out my rational thought. Left? Right? I veer right into another narrow passage between buildings, my heart hammering so loud I swear it's echoing off the walls. There, a metal door with a sliver of light showing through, propped open by what looks like a brick.
I slam through it without hesitation, nearly falling as do.
Bright lights blind me momentarily. White walls. High ceilings. As my vision adjusts, I see abstract sculptures, minimalist paintings, and a small group of well-dressed people turning to stare at me with expressions ranging from startled to disgusted.
A museum. I've crashed into some kind of art museum.
"Sir, you can't come in through the emergency exit," a security guard says, already moving toward me with a hand raised.
"She's trying to kill me," I gasp out, backing away from the door. "There's a woman with a gun…"
The door swings open behind me.
"There you are," Scourge's velvet voice sings out as she steps into the museum.
I don't even think, I just drop to the floor as her arm extends. The gunshot cracks through the air like thunder. Plaster dust rains down from where the bullet hits the wall, inches from where my head was a second ago.
Chaos erupts. People scream, dropping wine glasses and exhibition pamphlets. The security guard reaches for her radio, but another shot sends her diving behind a modernist sculpture.
"Stop running, pretty boy!" Scourge calls out, her musical laughter following me as I scramble to my feet and sprint deeper into the museum.
I weave through the panicking crowd, knocking over a rope barrier in my desperation. Another bullet whizzes past my ear so close I feel the air displacement, like death's whisper against my skin.
"Sorry! Sorry!" I gasp as I shove past a woman.
I spot a darkened doorway and lunge toward it, my lungs burning. Crashing through heavy black curtains, I stumble into what feels like another world entirely.
The gallery I've entered is massive and dimly lit, with ceiling-high murals and glass cases casting eerie shadows. A placard near the entrance reads 'Demons of the Underworld: A Historical Retrospective; in elegant, blood-red lettering.
But it's what dominates the center of the room that stops me cold, a towering obsidian statue of a male figure. Lord Lileth, according to the small information plate at its base. Massive bat-like wings spread behind a form of perfect, terrifying masculinity, muscles rendered in gleaming black stone. The emerald eyes, actual gemstones, seem to track me as I stare up at its imposing height.
"Where the fuck am I?" I whisper, momentarily forgetting the psychopath with a gun chasing me.
The sound of the curtains being ripped aside behind me shatters my momentary trance. Scourge glides into the demon room like death itself, her movements fluid and predatory. The dim lighting catches on her skull mask, making the eye sockets look bottomless.
"Found you," she purrs, ejecting her pistol's magazine with practiced ease. Her fingers dance as she reloads, fresh bullets sliding into place with metallic clicks that echo through the exhibition space.
"Ohhh," she coos, her voice dripping with sick excitement as she surveys our surroundings. "This is perfect. All these demons watching..." She gestures with her gun toward the grotesque displays. "Why don't you surrender now? We could have so much fun in the demonic room."
My back presses against the cold base of the obsidian statue as I try to catch my breath. "You're completely fucking insane," I gasp out, chest heaving. "Who the hell even are you?"
Her laugh tinkles like broken glass. "I told you, pretty boy. I'm Scourge. Your savior. Your nightmare." She slides the magazine home with a decisive click and aims directly at my chest. "Your end."
Pure instinct takes over again. I launch myself sideways just as the gun fires, the bullet chipping stone where I'd been standing. My legs are jelly but somehow still working as I sprint deeper into the exhibition, dodging between display cases of ancient-looking artifacts.
I'm so focused on escape that I don't see the mannequin until I crash right into it. We go down in a tangle of limbs. Something clatters across the floor, a necklace that had been displayed around its neck. A circle of gleaming black horns, each curved like tiny scythes.
"Shit, shit, shit," I mutter, scrambling to get back up. My hand slaps down on the cold marble floor, right on top of the scattered necklace.
And just like that, everything stops.
The sound of Scourge's approaching footsteps cuts off mid-click. The alarm that had been blaring throughout the museum falls silent. Even the dust particles I'd disturbed in my fall hang suspended in the air, glittering in the exhibition spotlights like tiny frozen stars.
I try to move, to lift my hand off the necklace, but nothing happens. My muscles won't respond. I'm locked in place, kneeling awkwardly beside the fallen mannequin, one hand splayed over the horned necklace. I can still breathe, still blink, still think, even move my head a little bit, but that's it. Everything else is paralyzed.
A cold shock races up my arm from where my palm touches the necklace. The frozen air around me seems to vibrate, then crack like thin ice. The obsidian statue behind me, the one I'd been admiring moments ago, suddenly pulses with an unnatural light.
The stone... it's melting. No, transforming. Obsidian turns to flesh before my eyes as the statue of Lord Lileth liquefies and reforms.
I'm still frozen in place, unable to move anything but my eyes as I watch in horror as the statue becomes something else entirely. Something alive.
The creature that forms above me is breathtaking in the most terrifying way possible. A tall, sharply built demon-lord towers over my kneeling form, his presence filling the exhibition hall like a physical weight. His face is angular and chiseled, marked by thin, glowing cracks that pulse with hellfire beneath his ashen skin. Long jet-black hair flows around him like living smoke, moving even though there's no breeze.
But it's his eyes that paralyze me more than whatever magic has me trapped, predatory green irises with serpent-like slits that seem to pierce right through me, sizing me up like prey. When he smiles, elongated canines gleam in the dim light, looking more suited for tearing flesh than mere intimidation.
His body is encased in what I first mistake for armor, until I realize with nauseating clarity that it's alive, organic plates of bone and sinew form around his torso and limbs, spiked pauldrons rising from his shoulders, ridged gauntlets encasing his forearms. The chest piece pulses faintly with the same demonic energy that flickers beneath his skin, as though it grew there rather than being forged.
Two massive bat-like wings unfurl behind him, webbed and veined like sheets of molten obsidian catching the light. Dark mist coils around his feet, making the floor itself seem to recoil from his presence.
The demon tilts his head, studying me with those burning green eyes.
"This is rather curious," he says, his voice like velvet dragged across broken glass.
My paralysis suddenly breaks, and I collapse backward, scrambling away until my back hits another display case.
"What the fuck is going on?" I gasp, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched with terror.
The demon looks down at me, cocking his head like a predator examining an unfamiliar creature.
"How should I know what's happening?" he says with a casual shrug that sends ripples through his wing membranes. "One moment I was in hell and the next, you've summoned me here." He gestures around at the frozen museum exhibit with a clawed hand.
My mouth falls open. "You're... you're an actual demon?" The words tumble out before I can stop them. Part of me is still hoping this is all some bizarre hallucination brought on by head trauma from the bus accident.
"Indeed." He gives an elegant bow that somehow makes the movement look both mocking and sincere. "The name is Lileth." He straightens, adjusting what appears to be bone-like cufflinks. "And you are?"
"Shane," I manage to croak out. "Shane Steele."
"Charming," Lileth drawls, looking thoroughly unimpressed. His eyes dart to the frozen figure of Scourge, suspended mid-stride with her gun aimed. "You appear to be in quite the predicament, Shane Steele."
"Can you help me?" The desperation in my voice is humiliating, but I'm way past caring about dignity. "I got hit by a bus, woke up being assaulted by a homeless woman, and now there's some psycho in a skull mask trying to kill me!"
Lileth examines his talons with casual disinterest. "Can I? Yes." His eyes flick back to mine, glowing brighter. "Will I? That's an entirely different question."
"For the love of God, why the fuck is this happening!" I shout, my voice echoing in the frozen space.
The demon's expression shifts, something like curiosity replacing his boredom. He looks around at the museum exhibits, the frozen Scourge, then back to me, still pathetically sprawled on the floor.
"Hmm," he hums, the sound vibrating through the air like a bass note. "You know what? You do seem a bit sad don't you." His lips curl into a smile that reveals more of those dangerous teeth. "I suppose I could help you. It's been ages since I've had any real entertainment."
"What?" I blink up at him, not daring to believe it could be this easy.
Instead of answering, Lileth reaches down and presses one clawed finger to the center of my forehead. The contact burns like dry ice, painfully cold yet somehow scorching at the same time.
A bolt of energy surges through me, starting at that single point of contact and exploding outward like lightning through my veins. My skin ignites with an eerie blue-green glow that intensifies until I'm practically a human lightbulb. The sensation is like being plugged into an electrical socket while simultaneously being dunked in ice water, painful, exhilarating, and utterly terrifying.
"What the fuck are you doing to me?" I try to scream, but my voice comes out distorted, like I'm speaking into a fan.
My muscles spasm and twist as something foreign and powerful flows through them. Every cell in my body feels like it's being rewritten, reprogrammed. I can actually feel my bones shifting a little beneath my skin.
"Relax," Lileth purrs, his voice suddenly inside my head as much as outside it. "I'm turning you into a new type of incubus I've been working on. A little pet project of mine."
"A WHAT?" I manage to gasp through the pain.
Then everything stops.
The burning sensation vanishes. The blue-green glow fades. Lileth is gone. Simply gone, as if he'd never been there at all. I'm back on the floor where I was a minute ago, sprawled awkwardly beside the fallen mannequin. The obsidian statue stands tall and unbroken behind me, its emerald eyes lifeless once more.
Time lurches back into motion like a car with bad brakes. The museum alarm resumes its wailing. Dust motes continue their lazy dance through the air. And Scourge, she's moving again, stalking toward me with that gun pointed directly at my chest.
"No more places to run," she coos, her voice carrying over the alarm. "Such a shame. You were fun while it lasted."
I push myself to my feet, feeling... different. There's a strange heat pulsing through my veins, an awareness of my body I've never experienced before. Every sensation is heightened, the fabric of my shirt under my jacket against my skin feels like a caress, the air in my lungs tastes sweeter, and Scourge...
As I stare at her, something stirs inside me alongside the anxiety. A new power, coiled and waiting. I don't understand what's happening, but my body seems to know exactly what to do.
Without conscious thought, I visualize myself behind her. There's a sudden rush of displaced air, a blur of motion that isn't quite movement, and then…
I'm standing directly behind Scourge, the transition so abrupt it leaves me dizzy. My knees nearly buckle as exhaustion crashes through me like a tidal wave. Whatever I just did, it drained me like I just went on a short run.
Scourge whirls around, her skull mask inches from my face. "What the…"
The rest of her sentence dies as something white and sticky shoots through the air, wrapping around her arm and yanking the weapon away with a sharp tug.
"Huh?" Scourge snarls, but before she can finish, more webbing flies across the room, encasing her torso, then her legs, until she's cocooned like a fly in a spider's trap.
I stumble backward, watching in disbelief as a figure drops gracefully from the ceiling. The sleek red and blue costume hugs every curve, the iconic spider emblem stretching across her chest. Her mask's white eyes narrow as she lands in a perfect crouch beside the now-struggling Scourge.
"You know, for someone who calls herself 'Scourge,' your aim is terrible," the newcomer quips, tilting her head. "Maybe try 'Slightly Inconvenient Rash' instead? More accurate."
My jaw drops. "Spider-Man is here?" I blurt out, my brain struggling to process this new development.
The costumed hero turns to me, placing a hand on her hip. "Spider-Woman, actually. The hyphen and gender are both important, thanks."
Scourge thrashes against her webby prison, her skull mask somehow conveying fury despite being expressionless. "Release me, you arachnid freak!"
"Hmm, let me think about that," Spider-Woman taps a finger against her masked chin. "Nope! I think the police would prefer you gift-wrapped." She shoots another strand of webbing that seals Scourge's mask to the rest of her cocoon, muffling her curses.