Chapter 406: The Man Searching for the SpiderAfter dropping their bags at the hotel, the trio hit the local markets to stock up on basic necessities. Theoretically, Peter Parker was still safely embedded with the Midtown High tour group. In reality, a Life Model Decoy was currently walking around wearing his face. Peter hadn't told a soul about the swap—except Gwen.
Gwen's observational skills were terrifyingly sharp. If he hadn't warned her, she would have spotted the android's micro-expressions in five minutes flat and panicked.
With their cover secured, Peter hit the pavement. His first stop: a dusty, cramped exotic reptile shop tucked into a side street. He didn't expect a breakthrough. The biggest missing piece of the Savage Force puzzle was why Richard Parker had specifically traveled to Italy for the Taranto spider. Did Richard know about the totem connection? If his father's mystery partner was just an American scientist, digging around Italian pet shops was a colossal waste of time.
But the bell above the door hadn't even stopped chiming when Peter struck gold.
"Professor Richard's boy?" The shopkeeper, a weathered man with a thick white mustache, leaned over the glass counter. He squinted at Peter. "I remember him. He bought a batch of Taranto tarantulas from me. Said it was for academic research. Shipped a few crates to the States, too, before the orders just stopped a few years back."
The man gestured toward a stack of ventilated plastic enclosures. Inside, thick, hairy spiders scurried over bark—a far cry from the genetically engineered Dr. Drew was currently breeding at Osborn Tech.
Peter leaned over the glass. "Did he ever explain why he needed local Taranto spiders? Why not just use stateside breeding stock?"
The shopkeeper offered a heavy, indifferent shrug. He wasn't paid to ask questions. "Customer wants local, I sell local. Simple."
Peter drummed his fingers against the counter. "Was there anyone else with him? A partner?"
"Just his wife," the man replied, wiping down the glass with a rag. "Maybe a driver waiting outside? I didn't see anyone else."
Peter's brow furrowed. A driver? Who exactly was this phantom partner?
"If you want to retrace your father's steps," the shopkeeper added, pointing a rag toward the window, "check the old town. The ancient Greek and Roman ruins along the coastline. He kept asking exactly where we harvested the specimens. I told him we caught them in the ruins."
Peter thanked the man and stepped back out into the blistering Mediterranean sun.
"Dead end," Peter said, shaking his head as Felicia and Cindy fell into step beside him. "If it were that easy, S.H.I.E.L.D. would have bagged the intel years ago."
Felicia crossed her arms, her boots clicking sharply against the cobblestone. "So we flew across Europe for a history lesson?"
Cindy ignored her, keeping her voice level. "We check the ruins next?"
"Yeah," Peter sighed, adjusting his backpack. "Let's go."
The old town was a labyrinth of sun-baked stone and narrow alleys. Scattered Greek columns jutted out of the earth, though the actual ruins were buried deep beneath the modern street level. Peter walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, frustration gnawing at the back of his skull.
Then, he froze.
His spine locked. It wasn't the sharp, agonizing spike of his spider-sense warning him of a bullet or a fist. It was a low, resonant hum. A vibration in his very blood. He snapped his head toward Cindy.
Cindy had stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes widened, locking onto his. She felt it too. The passive, continuous bond that tethered their spider-senses was practically ringing like a tuning fork.
Felicia stopped a few paces ahead, glancing between the two of them. She planted her hands on her hips, her eyes narrowing. "What? What are you two staring at?"
"Cindy," Peter whispered, his mind racing. "Could my dad have been...?"
"A spider totem?" Cindy finished, shaking her head. "No. S.H.I.E.L.D. swept his bloodwork. They would have flagged the genetic anomaly."
Peter's jaw tightened. "Right. But if it wasn't him... then his partner was a totem bearer."
Felicia blinked, entirely lost in the terminology, but Peter and Cindy didn't wait for her to catch up. They exchanged a single, hard nod.
They waited for the sun to drop. Under the cover of darkness, Peter swapped into his stealth suit. Moving silently across the rooftops, he and Cindy let the hum in their blood guide them, zeroing in on the epicenter of the resonance. They dropped into a narrow, shadowed alley. Peter hooked his fingers under a heavy iron manhole cover, hoisted it up with zero effort, and dropped into the dark.
Cindy and Felicia dropped in right behind him. The sewers smelled like damp earth and stagnant water. They hunched over, navigating the slick, curved walls until the tunnel abruptly banked left.
Peter stopped. He ran his gloved hand over the brick wall.
He pulled his fist back and drove it straight into the masonry. Bricks shattered, collapsing inward in a cloud of ancient dust. Peter kicked the remaining debris clear, revealing a secondary, hand-excavated tunnel carved directly into the bedrock.
He pressed his palm against the exposed stone. A faint, static charge brushed against his fingertips.
"Magic," Peter muttered, his lenses narrowing. "There's a mystical barrier layered into the rock. That's why S.H.I.E.L.D.'s satellite and ground-penetrating radar missed it."
Peter ducked his head and led the way into the tunnel. The air grew colder, drier. After fifty yards, the tunnel opened up.
The moment they stepped out of the confined space, the resonant hum between Peter and Cindy snapped off, replaced by an overwhelming, heavy silence. Faint, ethereal light bloomed from the walls, illuminating a massive, cavernous chamber. It was an ancient Roman ruin, perfectly preserved a thousand years beneath the earth.
Felicia took one step into the room and violently shuddered.
The floor was moving. Thousands of ten-centimeter Taranto spiders blanketed the ancient stone. They didn't spin webs. They simply crawled over one another in a dense, shifting tide. As the ambient light flared, the swarm scattered, retreating into the cracks and shadows of the masonry.
"I literally have spider DNA," Peter swallowed hard, "and even I think this is way too many spiders."
He stepped deeper into the chamber. At the far end of the hall, two colossal stone statues dominated the space.
Peter approached the first. It was a massive carving of a young woman wrapped in ancient Egyptian garments. Peter recognized the iconography instantly from his meta knowledge. Neith. The goddess of weaving. Ancient text glowed faintly at the base of the pedestal. Peter translated the script under his breath.
"The weaver of the Web of Fate, whose mother stole her name and became the mother of the Nile gods."
Gaia, Peter realized. In the deeper layers of universal lore, Gaia was the mother of the gods, wearing a thousand different masks across human mythology.
He turned to the second statue. A heavily muscled man carved in traditional West African attire. Peter had crossed paths with this entity before.
"The first spider totem. The god of lies and stories. He who spread the knowledge of the spider totem throughout the entire Web of Fate."
Anansi.
Peter took a slow step backward, the pieces violently clicking into place.
"This isn't a laboratory," Peter whispered, his voice echoing off the ancient stone. "It's a temple. Dedicated to Neith and Anansi."
Chapter 407: One Passerby Leaves, Another Arrives"So, the grand takeaway is zero actual answers and about fifty new questions," Peter grunted, hauling himself out of the damp sewer. He shoved the heavy iron manhole cover back into place and reached down, grabbing Cindy's wrist to hoist her onto the alley pavement. Cindy Moon, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, landed silently beside him.
"We know my dad cracked the spider-genetics problem because he had help from a totem bearer," Peter continued, pacing a tight circle. "But that doesn't track with our primary investigation."
He turned back to the hole, extending a hand. Felicia grabbed his forearm, vaulting up with feline grace.
"Unless," Felicia said, brushing ancient dirt off her knees, "Hydra is exactly like your dad."
Peter froze. "Run that by me again?"
"Think about it," she said, her eyes narrowing in the dim alley light. "What if Hydra's power doesn't come from stolen Third Reich technology? What if they're tapping into a pantheon of gods or totems, just like your spider-powers? And what if your dad found out?"
Peter blinked, his jaw dropping a fraction. "You don't actually think..."
"It fits, doesn't it?"
Peter's mind immediately shifted into overdrive. In the cinematic universe, Hydra started with Hive, the exiled Inhuman. In the comic books, Hydra sprang from the corrupted Spear of Imhotep. Earth-616's local brand supposedly evolved straight from the Nazi SS occult divisions. But what if it went deeper? If Hydra predated the Nazis, leaning on literal divine power, and Richard Parker had stumbled across that truth... that would absolutely put him in the crosshairs.
Why does every Marvel conspiracy have to involve ancient deities? Peter sighed, rubbing his temples.
Regardless, Taranto was a dead end. They needed to rest, link back up with the main tour group tomorrow, and swap Peter back in for his LMD before anyone noticed. Fighting the Elementals took priority. Pitching wild god-conspiracies to Nick Fury without hard proof wouldn't accomplish anything.
Down below, in the crushing dark of the ancient temple, the swarm of Taranto spiders surged forward. They swallowed the statues of Neith and Anansi once more. A lone figure stepped out from the shadows. With a flick of their wrist, the shattered masonry of the sewer wall floated upward, locking perfectly back into place.
Hours after Peter and the girls caught the Wild Pack transport out of Taranto, two heavy motorcycles tore down the rural Italian highway.
Steve Rogers slowed his Harley to a halt. His earpiece clicked. Spider-Man has vacated the perimeter. Hostiles incoming. Maintain cover.
"Good news and bad news, Logan," Steve said, killing the engine. "The kid is gone. We don't have to worry about collateral damage. The bad news is our welcoming committee just arrived."
Logan flared his nostrils, taking a deep breath of the Mediterranean air. "I smell 'em."
Steve didn't have his usual vibranium shield for this op. He drew a heavy combat knife and racked the slide on a 9mm pistol. He vaulted off the bike, sliding into the thick brush lining the road. "Feels just like the old days."
A high-pitched whistle cut through the air. Logan didn't even have time to curse before a grenade impacted his motorcycle's gas tank.
The explosion was deafening. A fireball swallowed Logan whole, throwing his burning body into the dirt.
Steve counted to three. His instincts flared. He threw himself into a lateral roll just as a broadsword cleaved through the space where his neck had been a millisecond prior.
The attacker wore a white hood and a skull-faced mask. He carried a kite shield and a heavy sword.
"Anthony Masters," Steve said, shifting his weight into a combat stance. "Taskmaster."
Masters cocked his head.
"You used to run training drills for S.H.I.E.L.D.," Steve continued, his eyes darting to the ridge behind the mercenary. "Why are you working for the people trying to burn it down? And who's your backup?"
Through the smoke, a second figure emerged. Clad in black tactical gear. A gleaming metal arm reflecting the firelight. Bucky. The Winter Soldier. The operative who assassinated Richard and Mary Parker.
"Interesting," Taskmaster mused, his synthesized voice echoing from the mask. "I don't recognize your stance. You aren't one of the agents I trained. Fury really is desperate, sending green recruits to stop us."
Steve didn't waste breath arguing. He leveled the 9mm and fired three rapid shots, lunging forward in the same heartbeat. Taskmaster deflected the rounds with his shield and threw a brutal counter-kick.
The mercenary expected a normal human. He didn't expect a Super Soldier. Steve slipped inside the guard, moving twice as fast as Masters calculated, and clamped a hand over the rim of the man's shield.
Up on the ridge, the Winter Soldier tracked the melee through his grenade launcher's sights. He prepared to fire on Steve. Then, movement caught his eye.
From the center of the flaming wreckage, the burning corpse stood up.
Logan cracked his neck. His skin was already stitching itself back together over charred muscle. The Winter Soldier pivoted and fired a volley of grenades directly at him.
"Ah. Enhanced," Taskmaster noted, glancing at the explosions. He yanked his shield free from Steve's grip with a cold laugh. "Strength isn't everything, rookie. Let me give you a free lesson in applied combat."
In a fluid, terrifyingly precise motion, Taskmaster sheathed his broadsword and slung his shield over his back. He drew a combat knife and a 9mm pistol. He dropped into the exact same tactical stance Steve was currently holding.
Steve stared at his own mirror image. He let out a long, heavy sigh. "Are you serious?"
Ignoring the barrage of explosions leveling the road behind them, Steve charged. He traded a flurry of rapid-fire strikes with Taskmaster. Knives clashed. Sparks flew. Steve fired; Taskmaster slipped the shot and countered with the exact same parry Steve had used five seconds prior. The mercenary was absorbing his fighting style in real-time.
He thinks he has me figured out, Steve realized. Masters was analyzing his physical metrics, calculating every feint and block.
Steve feinted left, dropped low, and simply stepped aside.
Taskmaster thrust his blade into empty air. Before he could recover, a wall of muscle and charred yellow-and-blue Kevlar stepped into the gap.
"Just like we planned," Steve said, not even looking back as he sprinted up the ridge toward the Winter Soldier. "He's all yours."
Taskmaster squared his shoulders. He shifted his grip on his knife, preparing to perfectly replicate this new opponent's brawling style.
Logan sneered. SNIKT.
Six adamantium claws slid from his knuckles, catching the firelight.
Chapter 408: Forget Spider-Man, Captain America is Attacking!Taskmaster never expected to square off against Wolverine.
As a tactical prodigy burdened with photographic reflexes, Anthony Masters could perfectly replicate the physical movements of any target he observed. That exact skill had made him one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s elite Level 7 field instructors before he went rogue. He had spent hours meticulously analyzing combat footage of the world's heavy hitters. Captain America. Daredevil. Iron Fist. Wolverine.
Taskmaster handled ordinary superhumans before breakfast. He could even toy with heavyweights like Spider-Man, mostly because the kid constantly held back to avoid killing people. But Wolverine? Wolverine was a disgusting matchup.
Superhuman strength? Taskmaster dealt with bruisers every day. He knew how to leverage momentum against raw power. Superhuman speed? He had conditioned his reflexes to keep pace. Even Wolverine's adamantium skeleton and feral, beast-like martial arts were manageable. Taskmaster had already memorized every savage swipe and calculated the exact parry.
The real problem was Wolverine's combat philosophy. The mutant fought with a reckless, suicidal strategy, perfectly willing to absorb twelve thousand fatal wounds just to land a single killing strike. Taskmaster couldn't out-attrition a man who regenerated from everything.
"This would've been much easier as an ambush," Taskmaster muttered, watching Logan drop into a low, animalistic crouch. "I didn't pack the adamantium-grade nets."
Taskmaster raised his 9mm pistol. He dumped the entire magazine. Sparks rained down as the rounds flattened against Logan's indestructible skull and ribcage. Wolverine didn't even flinch. He just pushed off the dirt and lunged.
Taskmaster holstered the empty gun and smoothly drew a compact folding bow from his waist. He nocked an arrow, aiming directly at Logan's forehead. He knew exactly how Wolverine would react. The mutant possessed a primal danger sense—not as finely tuned as Spider-Man's precognition, but sharp enough to trigger an instinctive defense.
Block or dodge? Taskmaster thought, his finger slipping from the bowstring.
It didn't matter.
The arrow detonated mid-flight. It didn't spray shrapnel. Instead, it deployed a high-tensile tripwire weighted with heavy alloy spheres. The bola wrapped viciously around Logan's legs, sending the charging mutant crashing face-first into the dirt.
Logan instantly brought his claws down to sever the wire. Taskmaster stepped into the gap. He flicked his wrist, burying three specialized darts deep into Logan's exposed shoulder.
"Tranquilizer," Taskmaster stated, delivering a brutal, steel-toed kick to Logan's stomach. "Concentrated enough to drop an elephant. With your ridiculous metabolic rate, it might only buy me thirty seconds of dizziness. But thirty seconds is all I need."
Logan gritted his teeth, his hand shooting out to wrap around Taskmaster's ankle in a vice grip. He flashed a bloody, feral smile. "Might not be that easy, bub."
Taskmaster didn't panic. He shifted his center of gravity, hooked his arms firmly under Logan's armpits, and executed a flawless, leverage-heavy suplex. He slammed the six-hundred-pound mutant backward into the earth with bone-rattling force.
Taskmaster smoothly drew his broadsword. "You're a hassle in an encounter, Wolverine. But I know your entire playbook by heart. I can counter your every twitch."
Logan kicked out from the dirt. Taskmaster simply hopped backward, effortlessly clearing the strike zone. Logan sprang to his feet, smirking. "Saw that coming, did ya?"
Taskmaster noticed the heavy alloy shield gripped in Logan's left hand.
His tactical mind short-circuited for a fraction of a second. Wolverine doesn't use a shield. He has an indestructible skeleton. Why is he holding a shield?
Logan wound up and hurled the metal disc like a frisbee.
From the tall grass, Steve Rogers sprang upward. He caught the shield perfectly mid-stride. He didn't break his momentum, charging straight toward the Winter Soldier in a tactical sprint that looked entirely different from his earlier fighting style.
Taskmaster stared at the man closing the distance. "Oh, hell. That's Steve Rogers."
Logan lunged. "Hey, Skull," he growled, swiping his claws upward. "I think you got the batting order wrong."
Adamantium sheared through Taskmaster's skull mask, cleanly bisecting the helmet and exposing a dark, Middle Eastern face underneath. Taskmaster stumbled backward, bringing his broadsword up into a two-handed defensive guard.
The situation had completely degraded.
A voice crackled sharply in Taskmaster's earpiece. The handlers monitoring the battle were panicking. Fall back. Immediate extraction.
"I fully agree," Taskmaster grunted, parrying a savage downward slash from Logan. "But why the sudden rush?"
Across the battlefield, Steve Rogers closed in on his target. The Winter Soldier fired his grenade launcher. Steve didn't dodge. He vaulted forward, using the curve of his shield to catch the live explosive perfectly in the center. In a single, fluid motion, Steve hurled the shield straight up. The grenade detonated safely in mid-air. Steve caught the descending shield and slammed boots-first into the dirt, directly in front of the assassin.
"Bucky!" Steve yelled, his voice tearing. "It's me! Steve!"
The Winter Soldier didn't hesitate. He swung the heavy barrel of the grenade launcher like a baseball bat, slamming it against Steve's shield. Steve absorbed the kinetic shock, dropped low, and swept his leg out in a brutal kick aimed at the soldier's knees. The Winter Soldier took the hit like a brick wall. He didn't even stagger.
The assassin planted his feet and drove his gleaming metal fist straight into the alloy shield. CLANG.
The metallic crack echoed across the valley. Steve gritted his teeth, his boots sliding back an inch in the dirt. He shoved hard, breaking the grapple. The Winter Soldier merely took a half-step back, let the grenade launcher drop to its sling, and drew a combat dagger. He stepped back into the fray.
Steve blocked a vicious downward stab with his shield. He closed the distance, pressing his body tight against the Winter Soldier to smother his reach. Steve trapped the assassin's left leg, anchoring him to the earth.
The Winter Soldier countered, his metal arm clamping onto the rim of Steve's shield. He twisted his torso, trying to pin Steve's arm to open up a fatal stab to the gut.
Steve threw a brutal headbutt.
Bone crunched against bone. The Winter Soldier blinked, his grip faltering for a microsecond. Steve spun on his heel. He launched a flying kick, his boot connecting squarely with the side of the assassin's head. The force of the blow snapped the tactical mask free, sending it tumbling into the grass.
Steve stared at the face.
It really was Bucky Barnes.
"Your name is James Buchanan Barnes," Steve said, his chest heaving, his voice desperate. "You were born on March 10, 1917. You are the eldest of four brothers in Hell's Kitchen. Do you remember?"
The Winter Soldier froze. A flicker of profound confusion crossed his cold eyes. He tightened his grip on his dagger. He slashed outward. Steve deflected the blade and kept talking.
"When you were thirteen, you saw a little kid from the orphanage getting beaten up by bullies in an alley behind a movie theater. You stepped in. You saved him!"
Steve grabbed the rim of his shield with both hands and shoved it hard against Bucky's chest, forcing him back.
"Before you even came of age, you won three YMCA middleweight boxing matches. Remember? That same little kid was in the crowd cheering for you every single time!"
The Winter Soldier lowered his knife a fraction of an inch. His breathing turned ragged. He stared at Steve, lost in a fractured labyrinth of erased memories.
"You enlisted right after Pearl Harbor in 1941!" Steve yelled over the crackling fires. "You were assigned to the 107th Infantry Regiment in 1943! You were in the exact same unit as that little kid's father!"
Bucky stared at the man in front of him. His lips parted. He looked like he was finally about to ask a question.
Heavy, deafening machine-gun fire ripped through the dirt between them. Steve dove sideways behind his shield as an unmarked Quinjet descended from the clouds. The aircraft hovered ten feet off the ground. Specialized mercenaries leaned out the open cargo bay, laying down a wall of suppressive fire to separate the two men. A thick extraction cable dropped from the bay doors.
The Winter Soldier grabbed the rope. In seconds, he was hoisted up and pulled into the belly of the jet. The engines roared, blasting dust into Steve's face as the aircraft banked hard and vanished into the sky.
Steve knelt in the dirt, clutching his shield.
For perhaps the second time since waking up from the ice, Captain America swore out loud.
Chapter 409: Excalibur VS ElementalsWhile Peter, Cindy, and Felicia were off chasing ancient spider-gods in Taranto, the main Midtown High group headed for Naples. And right on cue, Excalibur finally intercepted the Elementals.
Britain might not have been as massive as the United States, and Londoners certainly didn't have the apocalyptic flair of New Yorkers, but the UK still had its fair share of super-powered crime. Still, the British team had pushed their domestic issues to the back burner to hunt the Elementals down in Italy.
Because these European-hopping natural disasters were proving to be a massive headache.
"The Elementals are composed of spiritual energy, which might explain why they haven't targeted London yet. They know we have the magical counter-measures to handle them," Brian Braddock—Captain Britain—said, his voice carrying the authority of a seasoned leader despite still being in college. He crossed his arms over his broad chest. "Let's review the roster. Who are we missing? S.H.I.E.L.D. confirmed Spider-Man captured Molten-Man in Prague. Which means we're only dealing with three combatants."
"Perfect timing," Brian added, glancing over his shoulder. "Dane can't lead the vanguard in this specific fight, so three-on-three keeps the odds clean."
For reasons known only to Nick Fury, S.H.I.E.L.D. had deliberately neglected to inform Excalibur that the original Human Torch, Jim Hammond
The 'Dane' Brian mentioned was Dane Whitman. The Black Knight. Dane didn't possess an X-gene or a magical amulet. He was simply a man with unparalleled swordsmanship, magnificent horsemanship, and a cursed blade. The Ebony Blade, forged by Merlin from a fallen meteor, was the indestructible, magic-deflecting counterpart to Excalibur. Furthermore, Merlin had laid an enchantment upon the sword: as long as Dane wielded it, he could not be killed, regardless of the severity of his injuries.
While the Elementals were entirely magical in nature—which usually made them a prime target for the Black Knight—they functioned by manipulating raw environmental forces. Trying to stab a localized hurricane with a sword wasn't an ideal tactical approach. Dane's combat style simply wasn't suited for crowd-controlling weather anomalies.
Psylocke, on the other hand, was exactly what they needed. The telepathic mutant would serve as the primary strike force, tasked with locating the Elementals' consciousness within the storms and directly neutralizing them. Captain Britain would rely on his idealism-fueled magical strength, teaming up with the shapeshifting Meggan to physically batter the Elementals' manifested forms.
The Black Knight's assignment? Babysit the Midtown High students.
With their roles locked in, Excalibur scattered into the shadows of Naples, waiting for the storm to hit.
They didn't wait long. Psylocke's telepathy flared.
In the center of the historic plaza, the Midtown students were treated to an encore performance. The same swirling, gritty sandstorm they had barely survived in Lisbon suddenly erupted across the cobblestones. The Elementals never missed an opportunity for a theatrical entrance.
Gwen Stacy crouched behind a marble fountain, her eyes darting toward the LMD versions of Peter and Cindy. She glared at fake-Peter. It wasn't just worry; she was profoundly annoyed that Peter was currently an un-dateable robot. Worse, since Cindy was also a robot, the two LMDs had defaulted to their programming and were currently 'dating' each other for cover.
Everyone in the tour group probably thought Peter and Cindy were a legitimate item now.
Gwen let out a long, exhausted sigh. She was brilliant, intuitive, and currently wishing she had a power that allowed her to throw a bus. She tucked her knees to her chest, keeping a close eye on the androids. If the Elementals destroyed the LMDs, explaining the exposed wiring to Mr. Harrington was going to be a nightmare.
Luckily, Spider-Man wasn't on the menu today.
Silver Sable's Wild Pack struck first. They hadn't fully retreated. Heavily armed mercenaries flooded the surrounding alleyways, raising specialized grenade launchers. They didn't fire explosives; they fired concentrated rain-seeding rounds directly into the sky above the plaza.
Dark clouds instantly coalesced. Rain poured down in sheets. But the water never hit the pavement. Instead, the sandstorm sucked the moisture inward, churning and expanding until a colossal Hydro-Man stood towering over the buildings.
The Wild Pack seamlessly swapped to sonic-vibration rounds, unloading heavy fire into the water giant. But a sudden, roaring whirlwind swept the bullets away like confetti. A second titan, formed entirely of spinning air and debris, materialized beside Hydro-Man.
And then, a figure wreathed in blinding fire dropped from the sky, hovering dead center between the water, the wind, and the churning face of the sandstorm.
"Didn't S.H.I.E.L.D. say there were only three?" Captain Britain muttered, staring up at the flaming android. He let out a sharp breath, keying his comms. "Dane, prioritize the students. Meggan, you're with me on the heavy hitters. Betsy, find an opening and telepathically spike whichever one looks vulnerable. Excalibur, move out."
High above the plaza, the Elementals were waiting for the familiar Spider-Man to swing into view. Instead, a towering man wearing a skintight Union Jack suit dropped onto the cobblestones.
The sandstorm churned, solidifying into a massive, granular humanoid. Sandman stared down at the British hero.
"Are you ever going to stop?" Sandman boomed, its voice grinding like stone.
Captain Britain blinked. "I beg your pardon?"
"Wearing the British flag was already pushing it," Sandman roared. "Now you aren't even wearing a mask!"
Because Brian Braddock's colorful suit was vaguely similar to Peter's earlier Spider-UK, the Elementals genuinely thought Spider-Man was just trying out a new, confusing bit.
"I don't know who you've mistaken me for, villain!" Captain Britain shouted, utterly baffled by the exchange. "But you are dealing with Captain Britain!"
"Right, sure, we're doing the accent now!" Sandman mocked.
Enraged, the massive sand construct shaped its arm into a boulder-sized fist and swung it down at Brian with crushing force.
Captain Britain didn't dodge. He planted his feet, drew on the magic of the Amulet of Right, and threw a punch straight up into the descending boulder.
CRACK.
The sheer concussive force vibrated up Sandman's arm, shattering the construct into a shower of harmless grit. Brian didn't lose an ounce of momentum. He launched himself into the air like a cruise missile, hurtling directly toward Hydro-Man.
Panicking, the water giant manipulated the rain, shaping it into high-speed, spinning water-blades designed to slice through steel. They slammed into Brian's chest.
They shattered instantly against his magical force field. Brian crashed directly through Hydro-Man's chest, causing the entire liquid structure to violently burst outward like a popped balloon.
A few seconds later, the water began pooling back together, struggling to reform its humanoid shape.
"That's definitely not Spider-Man," Hydro-Man gurgled, shifting its gaze toward the sandstorm. "He's enveloped in an invisible, repelling force field. I couldn't get a single drop of water near him."
"My sand couldn't penetrate it either," Sandman agreed, reforming its shattered arm. It was finally dawning on them that the very angry British man was, in fact, an entirely new problem.
So, where exactly was Spider-Man?
Peter hadn't made it to Naples. He was currently miles out on the Mediterranean Sea, aboard a heavily fortified Wild Pack cargo freighter. The very same freighter that was secretly transporting the captured Molten Man.
And unfortunately for Peter, a highly trained Hydra infiltration team had chosen that exact moment to board the ship and execute a rescue op.
Chapter 410: The Rescue of the Molten Man?The battle between Excalibur and the Elementals leveled the streets of Naples. Meggan transformed her body into a sentient wave of water, violently wrestling Hydro-Man for dominance over the torrential storm. The Midtown High students had a front-row seat to Europe's native heroes clashing with living natural disasters.
Miles away, bobbing in the swells of the Mediterranean Sea, Peter dropped into the lower decks of the Wild Pack's cargo freighter. He stripped off his civilian clothes, prepping his suit. He had already dealt with the Molten Man. Today, he was gearing up for Whirlwind.
His enhanced spider-sense suddenly flared. It wasn't an immediate strike, but a heavy, directional pressure pressing against his skull. Peter dropped his mask. He jogged out to the main corridor. Silver Sable leaned against the steel bulkhead, casually sipping a cup of coffee.
"What's wrong?" she asked, her eyes narrowing. "Elementals inbound?"
"Opposite," Peter said. "Something's wrong with the ship. The Molten Man's cell."
Sable didn't hesitate. She hit the ship-wide comms, triggering the Wild Pack's general quarters, and dispatched an immediate alert to Silk and Black Cat. She racked the slide on her rifle and marched Peter straight toward the brig.
Inside the holding cell, the Molten Man hovered in a semi-transparent, spiritual state behind the bars of an enchanted cage. He had refused to give his captors a single syllable of intel. Sable's jaw tightened. She finally understood his silence. He wasn't being stubborn; he had been waiting for extraction.
Two decks down, Felicia Hardy froze. The hull groaned. Steel shrieked, peeling inward like the lid of a tin can. A hulking man in blue-and-black tactical armor stepped through the breach. Felicia recognized the insignia instantly. Viper Security. She melted into the shadows, sprinting up the stairwell to warn Peter. Viper Security was a known Hydra front. Dozens of cybernetic mercenaries flooded the lower corridors.
Outside the brig, thick green smoke billowed across the deck. Madame Viper stepped through the haze, flanked by a squad of heavily armed cyborgs.
"Madame Viper," Peter quipped, dropping into a combat crouch. "Should've known you'd crash the party."
"Long time no see, Spider-Man," Viper purred, her heels clicking against the grating. "Our company secured a lucrative contract. Dealing with the Wild Pack required... specialized security. You know how many players are bidding on the Super Soldier program." Hydra's Weapon Plus operations were a massive, sprawling network.
Sable leveled her rifle at the cybernetic squad. "So this is just Americans fighting Americans on my ship? I expect Nick Fury to reimburse me for the hull damage."
"Viper Security," Madame Viper snapped, cracking a glowing whip against the floor. "Secure the client."
The mercenaries charged. Peter launched himself forward. A woman with long metal blades extending from her fingers slashed at his chest.
"Hey, I remember you!" Peter yelled, dodging the razor-sharp swipe. "Wait, no, I forgot your name." S.H.I.E.L.D. had locked Lady Deathstrike up after Madripoor, but apparently, containment hadn't held. Peter fired his mechanical web-shooters. The silk plastered over her eyes. He grabbed her shoulders, flipped backward, and slammed her skull into the deck.
A massive shadow fell over him. A mercenary activated a size-altering tech, inflating from six feet to ten feet in a heartbeat.
"Face me, Spider-Man! I am the Giant Viper!"
The giant slammed his fists into the floor, denting the solid steel. Corrosive gas hissed from valves on his bulky armor.
"What? Sorry, bad acoustics!" Peter yelled. He fired two web lines, braiding them together. He channeled his newly stabilized bio-electric output straight down the silk. The high-voltage current surged into the giant, dropping the massive cyborg unconscious in a shower of sparks. "Get a better amp next time, buddy!"
Across the room, Madame Viper approached the enchanted cage. She unlatched a heavy metal case, exposing a vat of liquid metal meant to reconstitute the Molten Man's physical body.
A mercenary with a cybernetic snake-tail lunged, wrapping tightly around Sable's waist.
"Going somewhere, girl—" the cyborg hissed.
Sable's combat armor flared. High-voltage electricity arced across her plating, frying the snake-man. He dropped to the floor, twitching. Sable aimed her rifle dead at Madame Viper's chest.
"Step away from the cage. Now."
Viper smirked, green magical energy crackling around her fingers. "And how do you plan to stop me, little girl?"
Sable pulled the trigger.
Her weapon wasn't aimed at Viper. It was synced to the cage. The enchanted bars flared with blinding white light. The Molten Man let out a deafening, echoing shriek as the radiant energy entirely obliterated his spiritual form.
Viper lunged, her bare hand slapping against the cage door a second too late. The metal seared her flesh. She yanked her badly burned hand back, her face twisting in sudden pain.
She looked at the empty cage, then up at Sable. The anger vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating smile.
"Decisive," Madame Viper whispered. "I will remember you."
Chapter 411: Let's Go Catch Another OnePeter knew the containment cage possessed a fail-safe capable of stunning the Molten Man's spirit. After all, Peter designed and built his own equipment, and he had specifically engineered this trap. He and Silver Sable had anticipated a breakout attempt. The device was meant to be a deterrent.
Neither Peter nor Sable expected Madame Viper next action. Instead of trying to free Molten Man, they saw Madame Viper throwing something and a green smoke came to Molten-Man.
The green gas did not incapacitate Molten Man but wiped him out for good.
And after doing that Madame Viper immediately retreated.
"Looks like I missed the finale," Felicia Hardy drawled, dropping gracefully from an overhead pipe. The Black Cat raised a delicate eyebrow at the scattered, groaning bodies of the Viper Gang mercenaries. Madame Viper's teleportation magic had distinct limits; she only managed to extract the operatives who were still conscious. The rest were abandoned on the deck.
Peter stared at the scorch marks on the steel grating. In classic comic continuity, Ophelia Sarkissian didn't wield magic. She possessed an unnaturally extended lifespan courtesy of the elder god Chthon, but she wasn't a sorceress. The universe was rewriting the rules again.
Felicia stepped closer to the empty, smoking cage. "Where is the...?"
"Emergency override," Sable stated coldly, her posture rigid. "We had to neutralize the prison break. I cleared the asset."
Felicia's eyes widened a fraction. It was textbook Russian mercenary doctrine: kill the hostage before the enemy can secure the extraction.
Sable ignored Felicia's judgment. She tapped her earpiece, listening to the tactical feed. Cindy had backed up the Wild Pack on the upper decks. They had neutralized another three Viper mercs. In total, the strike team had bagged eight hostiles. It was a lucrative haul; S.H.I.E.L.D. paid handsome bounties for living Hydra-adjacent operatives.
"The immediate threat is handled," Sable said, driving the butt of her rifle into an unconscious cyborg's skull for good measure. "We're taking on water, but the bulkheads will hold. Go do your job, Spider-Man. We needed a new prisoner for interrogation anyway. I'll get a cage ready."
Peter sighed, his shoulders dropping. "I just hope the Viper Gang and whoever is pulling their strings learned a lesson."
"I wouldn't bet on it," Sable replied, entirely devoid of optimism. "They showed zero mercy for their own asset. Half chance she was sent here specifically to silence him. Expect them to hit us again."
Peter looked up toward the ceiling, his mind racing toward the coastal city of Naples. "Then we don't just stop the Elementals," he said quietly. "We drag whoever is holding their leash out into the light."
Meanwhile, across the Mediterranean, the battle for Naples was tearing the historic streets apart.
"Face me, you scoundrel!" Brian Braddock bellowed. He drove a magically-enhanced fist squarely into Jim Hammond's jaw. The World War II-era synthetic being went flying backward in a trail of flames.
Nearby, Meggan shape-shifted, her biology flaring into a being of pure, incandescent fire. She blasted Sandman with a localized inferno, generating enough raw heat to flash-melt his granular body into jagged clumps of glass.
In the shadows of a crumbling portico, Betsy Braddock pressed her fingers to her temples. She swept the battlefield with her telepathy, hunting for a mental opening. She wasn't a telepath on the scale of Emma Frost; punching through the chaotic, raging spiritual minds of the Elementals required a moment of vulnerability. And Jim Hammond was entirely off the table. The original Human Torch was an android. Hydra had heavily modernized his synthetic architecture during his captivity, rendering his artificial brain a smooth, unreadable void to telepathic intrusion.
Captain Britain surged forward, his force field shattering Hydro-Man into a burst of rain, but the fluid merely pooled and reformed. Physical force was practically useless against living weather systems.
"I have his weakness!" Whirlwind roared from the center of a raging tornado. He pointed a swirling funnel of wind directly at Captain Britain. "The brute still needs to breathe! His force field blocks impacts, but not airflow! I'll vacuum the oxygen straight out of his lungs!"
Hydro-Man practically froze, mentally berating its ally. What kind of idiot announces their strategy? The British fool can literally fly away or just hold his breath.
But Whirlwind wasn't an idiot. It was a massive, lethal misdirection.
Betsy's telepathic warning slammed into her brother's mind a second too late. Brian locked his jaw, held his breath, and charged straight at the roaring tornado.
As he crossed the plaza, thick, noxious yellow gas hissed from hidden canisters scattered across the cobblestones. It was a highly concentrated biochemical weapon, smuggled onto the docks by the Viper Gang just before their retreat.
Whirlwind's true objective wasn't suffocation. He intended to whip the toxic payload into a massive, city-wide vortex, blanketing all of Naples in lethal gas. If Excalibur tried to save the civilians, they would have to dive straight into the poison. Brian's magical force field couldn't filter chemical toxins, and Meggan's mutant physiology was completely vulnerable to it.
Whirlwind threw his head back and laughed, the sound booming from the vortex. He barked at Sandman and Hammond to pin Meggan down so she couldn't shape-shift into a wind elemental to counter him. The trap was sprung. The Elementals had won.
"Hey! Someone send out invites to this party?" a bright, painfully obnoxious voice echoed across the plaza. "Because mine definitely got lost in the mail!"
A blur dropped from the sky. Peter hit the cobblestones wearing his speed suit. Strapped to his back was a heavily modified, hermetically sealed industrial vacuum turbine.
He didn't stop to chat. Peter accelerated, his enhanced speed pushing him to the absolute limit. He dashed in a wild, blinding circle around the expanding yellow cloud. The sheer velocity created a slipstream, funneling the chemical weapon directly into his vacuum's containment rig. In less than five seconds, the lethal gas was completely sucked away.
Peter skidded to a halt, tapping the containment tank on his back. "So," he quipped, crossing his arms, "which one of you skipped the safety briefing in chemistry lab?"
Chapter 412: Run, Spidey, Run!The Elementals' assault drove the Midtown High tour group off the streets, but the teenagers didn't cower in their hotel rooms. The school had booked a hotel with a sprawling, velvet-lined lounge. The entire class huddled around a massive plasma screen, watching live aerial footage from local Italian news crews crazy enough to fly helicopters into a superhuman warzone.
"That's him!" Flash Thompson cheered, vaulting onto a velvet ottoman and jabbing a finger at the screen. "That's Spider-Man! What did I tell you losers? That was absolutely him in Lisbon!"
Across the room, the Life Model Decoys of Peter, Cindy, and Felicia sat quietly among their classmates. It was the perfect alibi. If Peter Parker was sitting on a leather sofa in Naples, he couldn't possibly be fighting monsters outside.
Harry frowned, squinting at the LMD Peter. "Wait. I thought we were dealing with some British knock-off?"
The Peter LMD simply pointed at the TV ticker. "Look at the news scroll. It shows Spider-Man running across the Mediterranean Sea. He probably just crossed the Atlantic."
Flash didn't care about the logistics. He just pumped his fist, his fanboy bravado fully reignited.
Out in the ruined plaza of Naples, the real Peter Parker dropped his makeshift, hermetically-sealed vacuum rig. He had just sucked Whirlwind's lethal biochemical gas completely out of the atmosphere.
Peter tapped the side of his tactical goggles. A stark red warning blinked across his heads-up display. The miniature arc reactor powering his Speed Suit was draining fast. The cold fusion output couldn't maintain peak efficiency for much longer. The suit absolutely devoured power.
Just need it to last long enough to drop one of these windbags, Peter thought, rolling his shoulders to loosen the high-flex fibers.
A heavy pair of boots slammed into the cobblestones beside him. Captain Britain straightened up, adjusting his grip. "Brilliant timing, Spider-Man. Though, from my briefing files, you aren't typically classified as a speedster."
"There are exceptions to every rule, Cap!" Peter quipped, his lenses narrowing to focus on the swirling storms ahead. "I originally built this rig to handle a guy made entirely of electricity. Figured it would work just as well on an angry weather system!"
Brian Braddock raised an eyebrow. "I assume you have a tactical plan, then?"
"Always!" Peter lied. "Can you and your team distract the others? Leave the giant walking fan to me."
Captain Britain offered a grim smile. "Consider it done."
Peter didn't rush in blind. He had analyzed the Wild Pack's combat footage on the flight over. Whirlwind didn't just control the wind; he generated tornadoes through his own localized, high-speed rotation. Every wind blade and gust originated from that kinetic spin.
The countermeasure was basic physics. Find the epicenter, rotate in the exact opposite direction at a higher velocity, and cancel out the shear force.
Across the plaza, Excalibur launched their offensive. Captain Britain launched himself into the sky, colliding brutally with Jim Hammond, the WWII-era synthetic being. Meggan's mutant physiology shifted, bursting into an avatar of living fire to scorch Sandman into glass. From the shadows, Psylocke drove a telepathic spike directly into Hydro-Man's consciousness, stalling his watery advance.
That left Peter and Whirlwind.
Peter engaged the Velocity Suit's maximum overdrive. His boots cracked the pavement. A deafening sonic boom shattered the remaining windows in the plaza. He became a blur of white lightning, carving a tight, impossibly fast circle directly against the rotation of Whirlwind's tornado.
The storm immediately began to collapse.
Whirlwind panicked. The sheer aerodynamic drag was neutralizing his spin. Abandoning his physical manifestation, Whirlwind shifted into his ethereal spirit form, intending to slip away on the ambient breeze.
He didn't realize Spider-Man could see him.
Peter snapped his wrists forward. He didn't fire standard webbing. He drew deep on his unique status as a Patriarch, channeling the ambient magic of the Web of Fate. He shot strands of ethereal, glowing silk directly into the eye of the collapsing storm.
The magical webbing latched onto Whirlwind's spirit body. The wind-manipulator roared, a sound like tearing metal. It felt exactly like what had happened to the Molten Man. He was being tethered.
I am the free wind! Whirlwind mentally shrieked. You cannot leash a hurricane!
In a desperate, terrifying surge of power, Whirlwind began to spin at his absolute maximum output. He accelerated in the opposite direction, matching Spider-Man's trajectory. A colossal, apocalyptic tornado erupted from the cobblestones, stretching into the heavens. The sky blackened instantly, blotting out the sun.
Peter didn't flinch. He grounded his stance, his boots skidding back three inches. He wove a specific spell directly into his silk.
The Snare of Neith.
The glowing, ethereal web snapped tight. It didn't just catch the wind; it trapped Whirlwind's very soul.
The massive tornado abruptly stalled. Whirlwind let out an agonizing wail. He hung suspended in the air, his spiritual form bound completely in place.
Then, something went wrong.
A violent, unnatural twitch wracked Whirlwind's spirit. Thick, noxious green smoke began pouring from his ethereal form. It was a kill-switch.
Peter's eyes widened in horror. It wasn't just him.
"Pull back! Retreat!" Sandman bellowed, its granular form trembling. "Leave him!"
Hydro-Man didn't hesitate, surging away toward the coastline.
Whirlwind reached out a hand, thrashing against the webbing. He looked toward the sky, desperately trying to see something through the green haze.
But there was nothing. His entire life had been a frantic, destructive spin, and in his final moments, he saw absolutely nothing at all. The green smoke consumed him, and the wind simply died.
Chapter 413: What Does It Mean to Change the Mission to Save the Elementals?Whirlwind was dead.
Peter stood frozen in the rain-slicked plaza of Naples, staring at the empty space where the howling tornado had been seconds ago. He hadn't seen this coming. But he was absolutely certain of one thing: Madame Viper was behind it. Less than an hour ago, in the holding cell of the Wild Pack's freighter, he had seen that exact same green, magical smoke consume Molten Man.
Two members of the Elementals, completely eradicated within sixty minutes. But why? Why had Hydra suddenly started burning their own assets?
Just because Spider-Man had figured out how to catch them? That didn't make tactical sense. Hydra wouldn't torch millions of dollars in bioweapons just because of a minor setback.
Peter dragged a hand down his face, completely bewildered.
The Black Knight—who had spent the entire battle fulfilling his assignment of standing protectively in front of the hotel lounge window—jogged over. As a descendant of Arthurian nobility, Dane Whitman possessed extensive theoretical knowledge of the occult, even if he couldn't cast a spell himself. He knelt down, examining the scorch marks on the cobblestones.
He stood up, turning to Spider-Man with a grim expression. "This is dark magic. We've seen this specific energetic signature before when battling demons and Morgan le Fay."
"Morgan le Fay?" Peter asked, the name clicking into place from his own magical studies. "You mean King Arthur's half-sister? The dark sorceress?"
"Yes," Captain Britain said, landing heavily beside them. "She, her dark son Mordred, and their associated demonic forces are Excalibur's primary adversaries." Brian gestured vaguely toward the north. "Old London is steeped in ancient magic. The supervillains we regularly encounter tend to be magically inclined."
Peter frowned, thinking through the global magical hierarchy. "Wouldn't the Holy See of England step in to help you guys? Or the Sorcerer Supreme?"
"The sorcerers of Kamar-Taj provide support when catastrophic boundaries are breached, but we rely primarily on Merlin," Brian explained. "Furthermore, it appears the Sorcerer Supreme and Merlin have a standing accord. The Supreme avoids entangling too deeply in London's localized magical affairs."
Brian crouched down, hovering his hand over the residual green smoke. "Whirlwind spirit was cursed. And judging by the rapid degradation rate of the magical residue, the curse was not ancient. It was placed upon him very recently."
Placed recently. But why?
Peter's brain was spinning in circles when his burner phone vibrated. He pulled it out, reading a brief, encrypted text from Cindy.
VIP guest on the boat. Wants to see you.
Peter looked up at Excalibur. "Ladies and gentlemen, Nick Fury just arrived at the docks and requested an audience. Care to join me?"
A few minutes later, the group stood in the lower decks of the Wild Pack's cargo freighter. The ship was still listing slightly, crewmen frantically patching leaks and repairing the shredded bulkheads from Viper Security's assault.
Nick Fury stood with his hands clasped behind his back, staring into the enchanted holding cell. Not long ago, the cage had contained Molten Man. Now, it held nothing but scorched air. The unconscious, cybernetic Viper mercs lying on the floor nearby clearly held zero interest for the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.
"I received word Molten Man had been permanently neutralized, so I took a fast transport," Fury said, his voice flat. "Coincidentally, I arrive just in time to see Whirlwind suffer the exact same fate." Fury let out a heavy sigh and turned to face Peter and Excalibur. "I'm told this was the result of a magical purge. Magic is above my paygrade. What's the expert consensus?"
"It was a temporary, localized curse," the Black Knight explained, stepping forward. "Executing a targeted soul-purge of that magnitude requires the caster to pay a considerable personal price. In other words, whoever did this willingly sacrificed a great deal of their own vitality to ensure Whirlwind was completely destroyed." The Knight shook his head. "It defies tactical logic. We need to investigate this thoroughly."
Nick Fury remained silent. He knew exactly why Hydra had triggered the purge, but he had zero intention of sharing classified S.H.I.E.L.D. intelligence with a British superhero team.
"I appreciate the insight," Fury said smoothly. "Unfortunately, S.H.I.E.L.D. is currently operating blind on the magical front. I need Excalibur's help. I need you to return and research how we can prevent these curses, or potentially lift them if they haven't been fully triggered. I can't just keep killing the enemy; I need them alive for interrogation. I need intelligence."
"What about the remaining Elementals?" Brian asked.
"We shift from a capture-and-detain strategy to a holding action. We stop them from causing civilian casualties, but we don't corner them. They've likely gone to ground anyway after watching their teammates get vaporized," Fury said dismissively. He looked at Silver Sable, who was standing quietly in the corner, and nodded. "Since the Wild Pack initiated your contract, S.H.I.E.L.D. will compensate your time."
The members of Excalibur exchanged a glance and nodded.
"We will return to London immediately," Brian said. "We will begin the investigation and provide a counter-measure as soon as possible. There is clearly a sinister conspiracy manipulating these Elementals, and Excalibur will do its part."
Fury nodded his thanks. He waited until Excalibur had departed the lower decks, leaving him alone in the corridor with Peter. Sable, Cindy, and Felicia had already moved topside to oversee the repairs.
Fury pushed his trench coat back, hooking his hands on his hips. He stared at the empty cage, his voice dropping to a low rumble.
"You know you were just the decoy, Parker," Fury said. "While you were out here making noise, I sent another team to investigate Hydra directly."
"Yeah, I figured," Peter said. "What went wrong?"
"The team I sent went to Taranto."
Peter stared at him, genuinely shocked. "I was just in Taranto. There was absolutely no trace of Hydra operations there."
"Exactly. That's the strangest part," Fury said, his single eye locking onto Peter. "If there is zero Hydra intelligence in Taranto, then why did Hydra send the most terrifying assassin I've ever encountered, alongside the most skilled mercenary on the planet, to slaughter my investigation team?"
Fury took a step closer. "I can confirm the Winter Soldier's operational history. He has only surfaced twice in my tenure. Once when he blinded me. And once when he put your parents in the ground. He was in Taranto today."
Peter's mind raced. Fury's team had gone to Taranto, triggered a massive, high-level Hydra response, and barely survived an assassination attempt by the Winter Soldier.
Peter suddenly realized two distinct things.
"Wait," Peter said, holding up a hand. "Who exactly did you send to Taranto?"
"Steve Rogers and Logan," Fury replied. "They were operating under deep cover. But the Winter Soldier and Taskmaster ambushed them. Steve and Logan had to burn their cover and engage."
The final piece of the puzzle slammed into place. Peter finally understood why Hydra had suddenly started murdering their own captured Elementals.
Captain America had fought the Winter Soldier. Captain America knew the Winter Soldier was James Buchanan Barnes. Since the Winter Soldier was nominally classified as an old Soviet cybernetic ghost, Steve identifying him as a captured American POW would trigger a massive, joint U.S.-Russian intelligence investigation.
Hydra was about to be dragged out into the light. To prevent any intelligence leaks, they were initiating an emergency, scorched-earth purge of all vulnerable assets.
"We spooked them," Fury growled, confirming Peter's thoughts. "It proves our theory was correct. But it also proves how relentlessly cautious these bastards are. Damn it. I can already run the actuarial math on how many 'accidents' are going to happen worldwide tonight. Hydra is going to scrub their entire exposed network and vanish back into the woodwork."
Peter looked at Nick Fury. He asked his second question.
"You have a third team, don't you? I was the first decoy. Cap and Logan were the second decoy. You set up a third, completely unmonitored team to do the actual investigating while Hydra was busy hunting us."
Nick Fury offered a slow, deeply satisfied smile.
PS: Marvel Fun Fact!
Morgan le Fay, mentioned by the Black Knight, is one of the most powerful sorceresses in the Marvel Universe! Based on Arthurian legend, she first appeared in Black Knight #1 (1955). As a half-faerie priestess of the Darkhold (an ancient book of evil magic), she is effectively immortal. She frequently clashes with Excalibur, the Avengers, and even Doctor Doom as she constantly tries to conquer Britain and plunge the world back into the Dark Ages!
Chapter 414: Someone is Angry"So," Amadeus said, tapping a brightly colored card against his knee. "It was actually a Life Model Decoy. A bionic robot used to establish an alibi for your classified field op."
Since Spider-Man and Peter Parker had been broadcast across Naples simultaneously, Peter had finally been forced to loop his friends in. He sat cross-legged on the hotel room floor, staring at his cards while the three of them played a highly competitive round of UNO.
"Yeah. Operational security is paramount," Peter muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry for lying to you guys."
"Relax, Pete," Harry laughed, leaning back against the bedframe. "It's brilliant. Flash is absolutely convinced Spider-Man isn't you now. Wait..." Harry paused, his eyes narrowing. "Have you told anyone else?"
"Just Gwen."
Amadeus frowned, adjusting his glasses. "Why? Isn't operational security paramount?"
"Because," Harry interrupted, slamming a green reverse card onto the pile, "he didn't want Gwen thinking he was actually dating Cindy LMD. Obviously. UNO!" Harry grinned smugly at Amadeus. "You'll understand the logistics once you actually talk to a girl, Cho."
Amadeus didn't blink. He calmly laid down a Wild Draw Four.
Peter sighed heavily and laid down a second Wild Draw Four.
Harry's grin instantly evaporated. He silently drew eight cards from the deck.
Peter rubbed his face.
Amadeus tapped his chin, his brilliant mind still working the puzzle. "Wait. Was Cindy also a LMD?"
"Yeah," Peter said, organizing his hand. "They're both S.H.I.E.L.D. LMDs. Cindy and I were on the same op. We both needed cover. Is that an issue?"
Amadeus tilted his head. You go on a covert mission with a girl. You worry your robot replacement is fake-dating her robot replacement. So you explain the robot situation to a different girl to protect your romantic standing.
"So," Amadeus concluded, completely deadpan, "you are functionally dating them simultaneously."
Harry snorted, organizing his newly massive hand of cards. "Incorrect. Dating them both implies active management. Parker is running a timeshare. They just take turns each day."
"Guys, can we please change the subject?" Peter groaned.
"I'm just saying, buddy," Harry offered, entirely unhelpful. "You're going to have to make a choice. Either lock down one girl, or convince them both you're a polyamorous mastermind. Though, knowing your guilt complex, you'd probably just spontaneously combust."
Peter dropped his last card onto the pile. "UNO."
Harry muttered a string of highly creative curses.
Amadeus reached into his hand and casually dropped a third Wild Draw Four.
Peter and Harry both stopped and stared at him.
Amadeus shrugged. "I played the mathematical odds. Draw your cards."
Peter let his head fall back against the wall, defeated by a piece of colored cardboard.
"Anyway," Peter muttered, scooping up his penalty cards. "There shouldn't be any large-scale Elemental attacks for a few days. They're laying low. We have to wait for new intel before we can go on the offensive."
Harry perked up. "Does that mean we're actually going to be safe in Rome for the next five days?"
Peter paused, blinking. "Wait. We're in Rome for five days?"
"Did you even read the itinerary?" Harry asked. "One day in Lisbon. Three in Madrid. Two covering Naples and Venice. Five in Rome. We're hitting the midpoint of the month-long trip."
Peter scratched the back of his neck. Five days of uninterrupted downtime. That actually sounded like a miracle.
The next morning, the Midtown High tour group boarded a high-speed train bound for Rome.
Peter had just booted up his laptop when Gwen marched down the aisle. She shot Harry a dangerously sweet smile and suggested he go sit next to his girlfriend, Liz. Harry, recognizing a tactical retreat when he saw one, immediately vacated the seat.
Gwen dropped into the chair next to Peter. She didn't say a single word.
Peter swallowed hard. He quietly closed his laptop. He stared out the window at the blurring Italian countryside, desperately scanning his brain for a safe conversation starter.
"So," Peter said, pointing at the glass. "Mount Vesuvius is somewhere between Naples and Rome. We might actually see it from the train. That would be pretty amazing..."
Gwen stared straight ahead. "It's a shame the school didn't put Vesuvius on the itinerary. It's so close, but apparently entirely out of our way."
Her tone was colder than liquid nitrogen.
Peter took a deep breath. "Okay. Look. I know why you're mad. Can I just explain? The thing with Cindy—"
"It wasn't you," Gwen cut in, her voice clipped. "I know. And you've gone on dates before. That's not the issue."
"Then what is?"
"The issue," Gwen said, finally turning to glare at him, "is that everyone else thinks you're on a date."
Peter winced. That was the core of the problem. Gwen wasn't jealous of a robot executing a pre-programmed social routine. She was annoyed because she was losing social standing to a fake narrative, and she couldn't exactly stand up in the hotel lobby and scream that her crush was actually out fighting weather-monsters. It was a phantom loss, but it still made her incredibly grumpy.
Peter needed a defusal tactic. Fast.
"We have five days in Rome," Peter said, keeping his voice steady. "The Elementals are off the board for now. As compensation for the... weirdness... how about we go on a real date? Just us, in Rome, for a whole day."
Gwen's eyes narrowed. "And what about Cindy?"
Peter blinked. "What about her?"
"You two aren't actually dating," Gwen pointed out, her logic trapping him in a corner. "If we go on a date, are you going to schedule another cover-date with her later?"
Peter's brain locked up. It was a vicious cycle of superhero logistics. If he dated Gwen, did the LMD have to break up with Cindy's LMD to maintain continuity?
He groaned, rubbing his temples. "Can we please just stop analyzing the robot social dynamics? Let's just have fun in Rome for two days. No S.H.I.E.L.D., no Elementals. Deal?"
Gwen watched him for a second, the icy exterior finally cracking. The corner of her mouth twitched upward.
"Fine," she said, leaning back into her seat. "I have no objections to that."
Chapter 415: The Shadow of HydraOutside Budapest, Hungary.
A medieval castle brooded over the dense, fog-choked forest. During World War II, it had served as a heavily fortified Nazi stronghold. The Allies had supposedly purged it completely after the war's end.
They had missed a few things.
Hydra operatives operating within the Eastern Bloc had quietly slipped back into the region, fortifying the ancient stone and establishing it as their new operational headquarters. They hadn't chosen the location for its strategic vantage point. They chose it because the absolute truth of Hydra's origins was buried deep beneath its foundations.
Peter's deduction had been entirely correct. Richard Parker had traced the genetic anomalies of the Taranto spiders directly to a similar underground structure here in Budapest. That investigation had led him straight into Hydra's deepest, darkest secret.
In the castle's interior courtyard, an elderly, bald man sat at a wrought-iron table, calmly sipping tea. He wore a crisp monocle over his right eye and a heavy, slightly worn black military greatcoat. His right arm was not human. It was a bulky, crimson-red metallic prosthetic—the infamous Satan Claw.
"It appears Arnim failed to live up to your expectations, Zemo," Baron Wolfgang von Strucker said, taking a slow sip from his porcelain cup.
Baron Helmut Zemo sat across from him. He didn't touch his tea. "Shouldn't we say that youfailed to properly bury your tracks, Strucker? You invited Fury's hounds right to our doorstep."
Strucker smiled thinly. Most of the global intelligence community assumed Zemo was the supreme leader of Hydra. In reality, Strucker had been the one quietly maneuvering their vast, subterranean network for decades. Alongside Madame Viper, Strucker and Zemo formed the true supreme triad of Hydra, holding authority that eclipsed even Alexander Pierce's sprawling influence in the United States.
Strucker set his teacup down. "So. Richard Parker's son and our old rival, Captain America, are both converging on us?"
"When the Captain went into the ice, you were nothing but a child, Strucker," Zemo sneered. He stood up, adjusting his gloves. "We need time to relocate the temple. We should have initiated this protocol the day I eliminated Richard Parker."
Strucker raised an eyebrow. The assassination contract for Richard and Mary Parker had originally been assigned solely to the Winter Soldier. But Zemo was famously paranoid. He hadn't trusted the brainwashed asset to execute the job cleanly. Zemo had boarded the flight with him. The Winter Soldier had slaughtered the flight crew, but Zemo had personally pulled the trigger on the Parkers.
Nick Fury knew none of this. S.H.I.E.L.D. intelligence only confirmed the Winter Soldier's presence on the plane.
"We have been prepared for this contingency for a long time, Zemo," Strucker said, pushing himself up from the table. "We are simply waiting for the exact moment to strike. Come. Let us take one last look at our temple."
The two men walked in silence. They entered a heavy, retrofitted industrial elevator. The gears ground harshly as the cage descended over seven hundred meters into the solid bedrock.
The doors scraped open.
This was the true origin of Hydra.
The cavernous underground temple was littered with the skeletal remains of ancient Hydra elders, their bones still wrapped in rotting ceremonial robes. Strucker and Zemo stepped over the skulls without a second glance. They stopped at the center of the chamber.
A colossal stone idol loomed over them. The statue depicted a monstrous, serpentine body. Eight additional serpent heads branched out from a central, vaguely humanoid torso, forming a horrifying nine-headed beast. A heavy, oppressive malice radiated from the carved stone. Anyone standing in its shadow could feel the crushing weight of its intent.
This was Set. Tiamat. Leviathan.
He was an Elder God, a primordial force existing on the exact same cosmic scale as Gaia, Oshtur, and Chthon. Gaia had attempted to erase his bloody existence from human history, twisting his legend across different cultures until he was remembered only as a mythical seven-headed sea beast.
In the dawn of the world, Set had devoured his own kin. He became the first demon god, hoarding supreme power. Hydra had built its entire philosophy on his example: seize the latent, unrecognized power of ignorant mortals, and use it to forge an empire of absolute rule.
"The ignorant masses have no concept of how terrifying their collective power truly is," Strucker murmured, staring up at the stone serpents with genuine reverence. "A select few realize it, yet they foolishly believe they can guide that power against us. They are pathetic. It is quite amusing."
Zemo scoffed. "Spare me your mythological fanaticism, Strucker. I am sick and tired of these ancient ghost stories. Hydra's ideology is painfully simple. Plunder the strength of the weak. Strip away the power they don't even know they possess. Convince them they are helpless mortals, and establish absolute order."
Zemo turned his back on the statue. "The Red Skull tried to conquer the globe with brute force. It was delusional arrogance. Zola thought he could mathematically guide humanity into submission with his precious algorithms. Also pointless. Look outside, Strucker. The world has already gone completely mad."
"And is that not our greatest opportunity?" Strucker asked, a dark smile pulling at his scarred face. "The world is incredibly dangerous. Humanity suffers daily. The Avengers? The X-Men? One day, the public will wake up and realize their colorful heroes are entirely powerless to actually save them. So, our task is simple."
Hydra would protect humanity. But the price of that protection was absolute surrender. As supervillains escalated, as alien threats rained from the sky, and as mutants pushed the evolutionary boundaries, Captain America and his allies would inevitably fail.
When the breaking point arrived, a terrified world would beg to be bound to a war machine. They would seek out a ruthless, uncompromising violent authority to shield them from destruction.
"Unrestrained fear breeds a demand for unrestrained authority," Strucker whispered, his eyes locked on the idol. "Hydra's only job is to provide the final push. We instill true terror. They will naturally surrender their freedom. They will beg to become our slaves. And we will ascend as the Set of the new world."
Zemo rolled his eyes. He walked back toward the elevator.
"Do whatever you please," Zemo said, his voice cold and flat. "But before you reshape the globe, I am going to kill Captain America with my own two hands. I will dismantle everything he defends. I will look him in the eye and tell him his precious freedom is worthless."
Zemo stopped at the metal grate. He looked back at Strucker.
"I need Jim Hammond," Zemo demanded. S.H.I.E.L.D. knew the original Human Torch had gone AWOL from Madripoor, but Hydra still possessed the codes to reel their asset back in. "I want to prepare a proper surprise for the Captain."
Strucker's smile widened. "I imagine Rogers will be thrilled to see another World War II comrade. Right alongside Bucky Barnes."