Chapter 416: Roman HolidayThey finally made it to Rome.
The Eternal City. The City of Seven Hills. It was supposed to be a place dripping with historical romance and cinematic beauty—a metropolis that could easily rival Istanbul if it were still in Greek hands. It was an atmosphere built entirely on beautiful, postcard-perfect filters.
But filters were meant to be broken.
For example, Peter and Gwen encountered three separate pickpockets just waiting in line for the Colosseum. With the local polizianowhere in sight, Peter had to settle for subtly intimidating the thieves, bending a few metal coins in his bare hands until the crooks scurried off into the alleys.
The pickpockets weren't the only reality check. They had splurged on top-tier tickets, riding a cramped elevator straight to the upper rings of the Colosseum. Peter figured the higher price tag would thin out the crowd. He was completely wrong. Looking down over the railing, they were greeted by an absolute sea of tourists.
"Wow," Gwen murmured, leaning against the ancient stone railing. She scratched the back of her head, her awe clearly warring with mild confusion. "It really feels... crowded."
The Colosseum was undeniably grand, but it was also entirely gutted. The arena floor had collapsed centuries ago, exposing the subterranean labyrinth of stone cells where gladiators and wild animals had once waited for slaughter. The remaining pillars were severely weathered, and only a small, reconstructed wooden platform existed for the swarms of tourists to stand on.
"Honestly? It's kind of a pity," Gwen said, resting her chin on her hand. "You grow up seeing all these pristine photos, imagining what a wonder this place used to be. But standing here, it just looks so much more dilapidated than it does on TV."
Peter stepped up beside her, lifting his father's old Canon camera to snap a quick profile shot of her against the ruins.
"After the Western Roman Empire fell, nobody maintained the place," Peter explained, adjusting the lens focus. "It basically became a giant, free stone quarry for the locals. A lot of the Renaissance churches were literally built using marble stripped right out of these walls. It took massive structural damage before the Vatican finally stepped in during the 17th century, declared it a holy site, and put it under protection."
Gwen slowly turned her head, giving him a flat, deeply unimpressed stare. "You go to high school. You pretend to have a corporate internship. You spend half your nights swinging around as Spider-Man. Where do you possibly find the time to memorize useless historical trivia?"
Peter lowered the camera, offering a crooked grin. "I don't know. I read a plaque once? It stuck."
He raised the camera again and clicked the shutter. Gwen let out a slow breath. The Mediterranean breeze caught her blonde hair. She looked out over the crowd, the playful annoyance draining from her shoulders.
"Hey," she started, her voice dropping. "About yesterday. I'm sorry."
Peter blinked, lowering the camera entirely.
"I didn't have any right to snap at you," Gwen continued, turning her back to the drop. "I know you were handling a classified crisis. I know that wasn't actually you on that date. I was just..." She paused, her fingers drumming an erratic rhythm against the ancient stone. "I realized that I just felt completely useless."
Peter shifted his weight. "Gwen, we've talked about this."
"I know we talked about it," Gwen shot back, glancing around to ensure nobody was within earshot. "But reaching a conclusion doesn't make it easier to live with. You put that suit on every single day. You fight people who can level city blocks."
She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "Do you want to know what the worst part is, Peter? You never tell me the truth. You never tell me how dangerous a mission is, or how terrifying the thing you're hunting actually is. I just have to sit in a hotel lobby, completely blind, wondering if you're going to die today. And I can't do a damn thing to help."
That was the root of her anger yesterday. It wasn't jealousy over an LMD dating Cindy Moon's LMD. It was the suffocating reality of her own powerlessness. The Kovacs incident had triggered latent abilities, but they were practically useless in a firefight. She was still just a baseline human. She couldn't fight a living hurricane.
If I had Carol Danvers' powers, Gwen thought bitterly, at least I wouldn't have to wait on the sidelines.
Peter leaned against the railing, his shoulders slumping. "Gwen, if you could actually fight, I'd probably lose my mind. I'd be terrified you'd throw yourself into a meat grinder just to cover my blind spot. We're wired exactly the same way. You wouldn't hold back."
"What about Cindy?" Gwen challenged. "Aren't you worried about her?"
"I am," Peter admitted quietly. "That's why I bench her. There are plenty of terrifying fights I don't call her in for, and she never even knows they happened."
Gwen opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. A helpless, hollow laugh escaped her lips. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, staring at the cracked masonry.
"You've traveled the multiverse," she said suddenly, shifting tracks. "Aside from Earth-65... aside from the universe where I got the spider-bite... what are we like in the other realities?"
Peter froze. His blood ran instantly cold. Of all the topics she could have pivoted to, this was the absolute worst.
He opened his mouth to lie, but she was staring right at him, her eyes bright and expectant. He couldn't do it. He let out a long, defeated exhale.
"From what I know?" Peter said, his voice entirely stripped of humor. "In most of the multiverse... we fall in love. And then you die."
Gwen stared at him. The breath hitched in her throat. Suddenly, his obsessive, suffocating need to keep her off the battlefield made horrifying, crystal-clear sense. She gripped the stone railing, her knuckles turning white.
"Okay," she whispered. "How? How does Gwen Stacy die?"
"The Green Goblin," Peter said, staring blankly at the ruined arena floor below. "He figures out who I am. He figures out what you mean to me. He throws you off a bridge, and..."
Peter swallowed the bile rising in his throat. He couldn't finish the sentence. Even now, the physics of that moment tore at his sanity. Did the whiplash of Spider-Man's web snap her neck? Was she already dead from the shock of the fall before the webbing even caught her? It didn't matter. The result was exactly the same.
"I promise you," Peter said, turning his head to look her dead in the eye. "That is never going to happen to you."
Gwen swallowed hard. "Because the Green Goblin is dead?"
Peter gave a single, rigid nod. He didn't know if the Goblin was truly gone. Emma Frost had scanned Norman Osborn's brain and declared the Goblin persona completely eradicated. But Emma had also warned him that the Goblin was an apex predator inside Norman's subconscious. It could simply be hiding in the dark, waiting for a moment of weakness.
Still, the AI was dismantled, and Norman was currently stable. Gwen was safe. For now.
Gwen forced a bright, entirely artificial smile. She spun around, leaning her back against the ancient marble, framing herself against the Roman skyline.
"Okay. Wow. Let's permanently skip that topic. You look like you're about to throw up."
She struck an exaggerated, touristy pose, forcing the tension out of her shoulders. "Come on, Parker. Take a few more pictures for me?"
Chapter 417: Roman Holiday 2Rome was supposed to be a five-day vacation. While half the Midtown High tour group scattered across the city to flirt with locals or wander through ancient ruins, Mary Jane Watson sat in the hotel lobby café. She pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose, took a sip of dark espresso, and hammered away at her laptop keyboard.
As a high school intern on the reporter track for the DailyBugle, she wasn't actually expected to do real fieldwork. The school was funding this trip, not the paper. But J. Jonah Jameson had a surprisingly solid core beneath his constant screaming. When Phil Urich ended up in the hospital, Jonah had personally paid his medical bills. He covered Mr. Ned's funeral expenses without a second thought. He even approved MJ's European absence, tossing her a few fluff pieces just to keep her typing.
That all changed the second Spider-Man crashed into Naples.
Jonah had immediately granted MJ full correspondent privileges. He roared through the phone so loudly she had to hold the receiver a foot away from her ear. "Is that masked menace trying to play international savior?! We've got sightings in New York, and now he's tearing up Italy? Find him, Watson! Expose whatever he's doing over there!"
MJ rubbed her eyes, fighting off the lingering jet lag. "Why Europe?" she muttered, scrolling through Italian news feeds.
According to the local New York stringers, Spider-Man was still occasionally popping up back home. Either the guy had cracked cloning technology, or he caught a transatlantic flight in a massive hurry. She cross-referenced the attacks. A freak sandstorm swallowing the plaza in Lisbon. A blinding light anomaly in Madrid. A full-blown elemental warzone in Naples.
Every single disaster lined up perfectly with the Midtown High itinerary.
They weren't random attacks. The monsters were following the tour group.
She tapped her fingernail against her chin. Why? Was a teacher the target? A student? She groaned, leaning back in her chair. The trail was dead. If Peter Parker were here, he'd probably have a working theory in five minutes. He was a science nerd, sure, but he was also sharp—good enough to help the Detective Club figure out the Shocker's motives back in New York.
A heavy thud echoed across the café.
MJ jumped, pushing her chair back. A girl had collapsed near the pastry counter, her shoulder slamming into a wooden table on the way down. MJ rushed over, hooking an arm under the girl's elbow to hoist her up.
She recognized the face instantly. It was Jessica Miriam Drew, a high school senior and the president of the Midtown High Detective Agency.
MJ guided Jessica into the chair opposite her laptop. "Are you okay, senior?"
Jessica pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead, taking a slow, shaky breath. "I'm fine. Just a sudden wave of weakness." She blinked, her dark eyes focusing on her rescuer. "Wait. You're Mary Jane. From the rock club. You're the lead singer of the Mary Janes, right?"
MJ raised an eyebrow. "You know me?"
"I'm a friend of Peter Parker's," MJ replied, leaning against the table. "I know who you are, Jessica. But how did you know about my band?"
"Photographic cataloging," Jessica said, her breathing finally steadying. She flagged down a waiter and ordered a coffee. "I memorize public student registries. I also know you're interning for the DailyBugle. Judging by the frantic typing, I'm guessing you're trying to crack the Spider-Man story."
Jessica leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. "Hitting a wall?"
MJ let out a frustrated breath. "A brick wall. I know those monsters are following our tour group, but I can't figure out the motive."
Jessica's expression didn't shift, but her mind raced. She knew exactly what the motive was. Spider-Man was a Midtown High student. The monsters were hunting him.
Jessica had run the exact same operating-hours analysis that the Scorpion had used. Spider-Man's patrol gaps aligned perfectly with a high school bell schedule. Cross-reference that with his height, his ties to the Osborn Tech Expo, and her father Jonathan Drew's classified genetic research at Osborn Technologies, and the suspect list shrank to single digits. She was incredibly close to exposing the hero's identity.
But she had stopped digging. Her father had explicitly warned her not to interfere with Spider-Man. More importantly, her illness was getting worse. Despite her father's desperate attempts to engineer a cure, Jessica's physical strength was failing her. If she ended up paralyzed, knowing Spider-Man's secret would only make her a target and a burden. She fully intended to bury the investigation.
Now, MJ was dangerously close to stumbling onto the truth.
Jessica picked up her coffee cup, offering MJ a faint, completely disarming smile. "Do you want some help?"
MJ's eyes lit up. "Really? That would be amazing."
"No problem at all," Jessica said smoothly. She took a sip of her espresso, fully prepared to steer the DailyBugle's finest intern completely off a cliff.
Chapter 418: Roman Holiday 3The next day, Peter and Cindy hit another major Roman landmark: the Pantheon. It wasn't a date. It was strict, off-the-books reconnaissance. And thankfully, the area was currently devoid of raging elemental monsters.
The current Pantheon had been rebuilt by the Roman Emperor Hadrian around 125 AD. Because the Vatican converted it into the Church of St. Mary and the Martyrs in the 7th century, it miraculously escaped the brutal scavenging that gutted the Colosseum. It had been repaired, maintained, and perfectly preserved through the Middle Ages.
However, the towering statues of the Roman pantheon that once lined the rotunda had long since vanished. Only Christian icons and saints remained in the alcoves.
"Rome had a habit of aggressively incorporating the myths of conquered territories into their own belief system," Peter murmured, keeping his voice below the echo of the tourist crowds. "They patched the gaps in their pantheon with stolen gods. Theoretically, an Egyptian deity could have been worshipped here in secret."
Cindy gave a short, tight nod. As a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative trained to observe and gather data, she already knew the historical context. That was exactly why they were here. They needed to find out if this ancient structure harbored a subterranean temple dedicated to Neith and Anansi, similar to the one they had found in Taranto.
It turned out to be neither.
Their spider-senses did register a faint, rhythmic thrumming beneath the marble floor, but it was incredibly weak. It lacked the overwhelming spiritual gravity of the Taranto ruins.
Peter tapped his chin, stepping behind a massive marble pillar to break his line of sight with the tourists. He sat cross-legged on the floor. Drawing on his mystic training, he pushed his consciousness out of his physical body. His astral form separated from his flesh, dropping effortlessly through the solid stone floor into the dark earth below.
He found the target almost immediately.
Buried directly beneath the Pantheon was another Pantheon. An older, darker, mirrored structure. There were no magical barriers protecting this one. Instead, Peter floated through a debris field of modern, rusted equipment. It bore the heavy, brutalist design markers of either Hydra or the Third Reich. The machinery was completely destroyed, and the access tunnels were caved in with tons of blasted rubble.
Hydra had been here. And they had aggressively buried whatever they found.
Peter snapped his astral form back into his body. He gasped, his eyes flying open. He pushed himself off the floor and quickly briefed Cindy.
"It's a dead end for now," Peter whispered, dusting off his jeans. "But the main chamber down there isn't fully collapsed. I still have a Sling Ring. We can just cut a portal straight into the room."
The lack of oxygen down there was a minor tactical hurdle, but nothing a sustained portal or a couple of requisitioned SCUBA tanks couldn't fix. They just had to wait for Steve Rogers and Logan to finish their detour and link up with them in Rome. They couldn't hit a buried Hydra site without heavy backup.
Until then, they were officially on standby.
"So," Peter said, gesturing vaguely at the towering columns. "You have any particular tourist traps you want to hit?"
Cindy held up her printed admission ticket. "We paid for these. Let's at least finish looking at the actual Pantheon."
They walked toward the center of the rotunda, craning their necks to stare up at the architectural marvel. The massive, unreinforced concrete dome stretched over forty meters across. At the very apex, the oculus—a massive, unglazed skylight—poured brilliant Mediterranean sun directly onto the marble floor. During the summer solstice, that beam of light perfectly struck the entrance, framing the Roman emperor in divine radiance.
Cindy stared up at the open sky. "Have you ever heard the theory that a massive chunk of Roman history was entirely fabricated just to give Western civilization a longer, more prestigious timeline?"
Peter blinked, his head whipping toward her. "Wait, what?"
Cindy let a rare, genuine laugh slip past her usual stoic S.H.I.E.L.D. protocol. "You know, the kind of historical fabrication that claims Napoleon spent three years in Egypt, supposedly fighting a massive war, but actually built dozens of pyramids and the entire Valley of the Kings? And then he supposedly went back to France, reigned as Emperor for a decade, but somehow couldn't manage to finish building the Arc de Triomphe?"
Peter stared at her. "Is that a real conspiracy theory?"
"Yeah," Cindy said, a faint smile touching the corners of her mouth. "There's an actual book published after he died called The Non-Existence of Napoleon. It argued his entire life was a solar myth fabricated by the ruling dynasty. It's a fun read."
They drifted through the rest of the rotunda, pausing to look at the Renaissance tombs. Raphael was buried here. They stood quietly in front of the master painter's sarcophagus for a minute before finally stepping back out into the sunlit piazza.
Cindy stopped by the fountain. She tilted her head back, letting the sunlight hit her face.
"I was just thinking," Cindy said, her voice dropping. "If it wasn't for that radioactive spider at the Osborn Tech Expo, we probably never would have met."
She turned to look at Peter, her dark eyes locking onto his. "I never really knew what I wanted to do with my life. Maybe I still don't. S.H.I.E.L.D. pulled me in, and I just... followed orders. I do what Fury asks me to do. Sometimes I trick myself into thinking that's fine."
Peter shifted his weight. He recognized the tone. It was the exact same crushing sense of aimlessness Gwen had vented about back at the Colosseum. Cindy didn't have a grand crusade. She was just surviving her own powers.
"So," Cindy said, stepping a fraction of an inch closer. "It's been a while. Has your answer changed?"
"My answer to what?" Peter asked, his pulse kicking up slightly.
"Why you put the mask on. Why you became Spider-Man. Do you do it just because you have the power? Or is it something else?"
Peter rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't entirely sure what he had told her the last time they had this conversation on the roof of the Osborn building. He decided to deflect. "When you're out there, shooting web, saving people... how does it make you feel? Do you feel satisfied?"
Cindy held his gaze. "When I'm with you."
Peter choked on his next breath. "Oh. Uh." He scrambled for words, his hands gesturing awkwardly. "Okay. Wow. That... might not fix the root of the problem, Cindy."
He dropped his hands, forcing himself to hold her stare. "Look, if you're going to keep putting the suit on, you have to feel something for the job itself. You don't need a grand, noble mission statement from day one. You just need to figure out if this path actually fits who you are. And if it doesn't... you're allowed to walk away."
Cindy's eyes widened slightly. "Give up?"
"If you aren't built for this, you can stop," Peter said firmly. "S.H.I.E.L.D. can't force you. Nobody can. You're free to choose." He offered a small, crooked smile. "I can't give you a magic answer. All I can do is stay by your side and help you figure it out. That's it."
The rigid tension in Cindy's shoulders finally broke. She let out a soft, genuine laugh.
"That's enough," Cindy said, bumping her shoulder against his. "Thanks for being here."
Chapter 419: Roman Holiday 4The greatest perk of being a world-class thief was that amateur pickpockets were essentially just walking ATMs.
Felicia Hardy strolled through the sun-baked Roman plaza, adjusting her sunglasses. Two local grifters had bumped her shoulder near the Trevi Fountain an hour ago. She had not only kept her own wallet secure but had elegantly relieved them of their daily haul in the exact same motion. Finders keepers.
The downside to her profession, however, was the constant, suffocating surveillance.
Felicia paused at a street-side vendor, her manicured fingers trailing over a rack of cheap jewelry. She didn't look over her shoulder. "You're wearing a heavy overcoat over full tactical Kevlar in an eighty-degree Mediterranean summer. Are you incapable of sweating, or do you just enjoy the misery?"
Silvija stepped out of the shadow of a canvas awning.
"My strength comes from discipline, not a chemical cocktail," Silvija said, her voice a flat, unbothered line. "That is why I don't waste time playing tourist. When you recognize the power gap between yourself and the enemy, you train to close it. If you spent half as much time running combat drills as you do shopping, you wouldn't have been entirely useless against the Viper Gang on the freighter."
Ouch. Felicia offered a razor-sharp, entirely fake smile. She picked up a small, polished obsidian cat pendant from the display rack. "I'm a specialist, darling. Nobody hires the safecracker to act as a frontline meat shield."
"Then why did you inject yourself with the Super Soldier Serum?" Silvija asked.
Felicia's thumb stopped tracing the smooth surface of the cat pendant. Her pulse didn't spike. She kept her face an absolute void. Revenge for Walter Hardy. She wasn't going to share that with a Symkarian mercenary.
"I guess we all have our hobbies," Felicia deflected smoothly. "What about you? You dedicate your entire existence to the Wild Pack. No private life, no friends. What gets you out of bed? The paycheck?"
Silvija didn't blink. "Revenge."
Felicia genuinely hadn't expected that. She turned around.
"When I was fifteen, my mother was assassinated," Silvija stated, her tone chillingly detached. "My father was running European operations against superhuman syndicates. Human trafficking. Augmented bio-weapons. The Wild Pack wiped out their network. In retaliation, a hit squad breached our home. They targeted my mother and me. I barely survived."
Silvija reached up, twisting a strand of her striking silver hair around her gloved finger. "I was born blonde. It turned silver that night. It isn't dye."
"So you skipped prom and became a mercenary," Felicia murmured.
"I forced my father to train me," Silvija corrected. "As long as I couldn't protect myself, I was a liability. A liability gets him killed. I refused to let him divide his attention to keep me breathing."
Silvija stepped closer, her icy blue gaze locking onto Felicia. "That is why I became a soldier who specializes in hunting superhumans. And it is why I didn't inject myself with captured serums. I refuse to become the very monsters who murdered my mother. I don't care if you mask-wearers play hero for money, fame, or some twisted sense of altruism. But remember this: the Wild Pack exists for one reason. We are humanity's countermeasure against gods and freaks. I am always watching you."
Felicia exhaled a quiet breath, genuinely unsettled by the raw, unblinking intensity radiating off the girl. She forced a smirk, trying to lighten the crushing atmosphere. "So. Literally zero private life. What happens when the hit list is empty? What do you do when the vengeance is over?"
Silvija didn't even hesitate. "I plan to enroll in university."
Felicia actually choked on a laugh. The answer was so profoundly, boringly normal that it gave her whiplash. Before she could recover, Silvija pivoted.
"And you? What is your plan once your revenge is complete?"
"I never said I wanted revenge," Felicia lied smoothly.
"Then explain the serum," Silvija countered instantly.
Felicia turned away, dropping a few crumpled Euro notes onto the vendor's counter for the pendant. She walked down the cobblestone street. Silvija matched her pace, step for step.
"Why are you tailing me?" Felicia finally asked, keeping her eyes forward.
"To ensure you don't poke your nose into places S.H.I.E.L.D. wants kept dark. Nick Fury doesn't trust you. He ordered me to act as a localized babysitter."
Felicia rolled her eyes. Fury. The man thought he could micromanage the entire globe from a folding chair. She glanced sideways at Silvija, a dangerous, thrilling idea clicking into place.
"Does that not strike you as incredibly suspicious?" Felicia asked, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "Fury is actively trying to blindfold us. Maybe we should go see exactly what his little Boy Scout strike teams are digging up."
"Do not underestimate the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.," Silvija warned, her hand resting near the concealed holster beneath her coat. "He is ruthless."
No kidding, Felicia thought. She stopped walking, turning fully to face the mercenary. She dropped the playful thief persona entirely.
"What if whatever Fury is hiding connects to your mother's assassination?" Felicia asked.
"You have zero evidence of that."
"Maybe I do," Felicia said, stepping into Silvija's personal space. "My father was murdered while tracking black-market super-soldier serums through Europe. I am here to find the people who ordered the hit. Coincidentally, I know exactly how to slip past S.H.I.E.L.D.'s surveillance net. So... what if our targets overlap?"
Felicia casually tossed the little obsidian cat pendant through the air.
Silvija caught it effortlessly, her fist closing around the polished stone.
"Interested in going on an adventure?" Felicia grinned.
Chapter 420: The Ancient Pantheon"Good evening, Peter."
Captain America stepped into the flickering golden light of the mystical portal. He wore the dark, utilitarian stealth suit from his S.H.I.E.L.D. strike-team days. Logan flanked him, clad in a tactical gray-and-black X-Men uniform. The sight of the two veterans geared up for war made the hair on Peter's arms stand up. Hydra was getting uncomfortably close.
"Evening, Cap," Peter said. He shifted his weight, glancing between the two men. "I heard you made contact with the Winter Soldier in Taranto. Was it really him?"
Steve's jaw tightened. The muscles in his neck jumped. "Yes. I'm certain it's Bucky."
The silence that followed was heavy. Peter knew the history. Bucky Barnes was Steve's oldest friend. But the Winter Soldier was a Hydra ghost story—the exact same ghost story Nick Fury confirmed had assassinated Richard and Mary Parker.
Steve broke the silence, his voice steady. "I am going to end this the right way, Peter. When he regains his right mind, I will stand by him. But I will also make sure he faces a courtroom. If I know Bucky, he'll want to take responsibility for the blood on his ledger. Probably more than he actually owes."
"Let's put a pin in that for now, Cap," Peter said gently. He gestured to the sparking orange gateway. "I've had the portal open for a solid twenty minutes. The subterranean air down there should be fully cycled and breathable now. Let's go."
As Peter led the two super-soldiers through the gateway, Silver Sable hung back in the Roman alleyway. She turned her icy blue gaze to Felicia Hardy.
"Well?" Sable asked, her hand resting near her holstered sidearm. "Do you have a way inside?"
"I don't need one," the Black Cat purred, leaning gracefully against the brick wall. "I'm already certain of what they're hunting. Sometimes you don't need to pick the lock; you just need to read the blueprints." Felicia offered a sharp, gleaming smile. "Take a seat, Sable. I'll tell you exactly what kind of nightmare we're walking into."
Peter stepped through the portal, his boots crunching against ancient, dust-choked marble. Steve and Logan followed, their eyes scanning the massive subterranean chamber. Cindy had been here earlier, rigging industrial LED strips along the crumbling pillars to beat back the crushing darkness.
"Have you ever been to Rome, Cap?" Peter asked, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling.
Steve ran a gloved hand over a cracked stone altar. "Once. June 4, 1944. The liberation of Rome. I was clearing out a Hydra special operations unit and securing a beachhead for the Allies." Steve looked up at the towering, shadowed dome. "I never knew this was down here."
"Nobody does," Peter said. "This is the real Pantheon. The one up top is just the public lobby. Cindy and I swept this place. It's a localized nexus."
The chamber was staggering. Rome had a habit of absorbing the deities of every culture they conquered. The alcoves weren't just filled with Roman and Greek marble. There were weathered effigies of Egyptian pharaohs, Sumerian idols, and West African spirits. Peter even spotted a crude carving of Thor, flanked by Shinto shrines and blood-stained Aztec monoliths.
It was a literal pantheon of the world's gods, collected and buried in the dark.
Steve's eyes narrowed. He pointed to a massive, empty dais in the absolute center of the room. The stone was scarred by heavy machinery tracks.
"What was sitting there?" Steve asked.
"The originals," Peter replied, walking toward the empty pedestal. "The Elder Gods. They predate human mythology. We're talking Gaia, Oshtur, Chthon, and Set. Some of the gods in these other alcoves are basically their grandkids."
Peter pointed to the drag marks on the floor. "Hydra took them. They ripped the central idols right out of the bedrock."
When Peter and Cindy had explored the spider-temple in Taranto, the statues of Neith and Anansi had practically hummed with spiritual energy. This room felt hollow. Castrated. The localized magical resonance had been severed the moment Hydra extracted the Elder God statues.
"But why?" Logan grunted, his claws half-extended in a reflexive twitch. "What does Hydra want with a bunch of dusty rocks?"
Steve didn't look surprised. "The Führer himself was obsessed with the occult; it's the only reason Hydra secured its initial foothold in the Third Reich. The Red Skull was a fanatic. He believed magic was just science we didn't understand yet. He used the Cosmic Cube to power his war machine. It makes sense his successors would hunt for older, darker power sources."
"It's worse than that," Peter said, crossing his arms. "If they're tapping into the Elder Gods, we have a massive problem. Oshtur represents white magic. Gaia is the life-bringer. But Chthon is the literal author of dark magic. And Set? Set was the first entity to cannibalize his own family. He's the original demon god."
Peter locked eyes with Steve. "If Hydra is treating Set as their patron saint, this isn't a geopolitical turf war anymore. They're trying to trigger an apocalypse."
Logan cocked his head, sizing the kid up. "You know an awful lot about ancient demonology, bub. Where'd you pick that up? High school history class?"
"A little bit of tutoring from Doctor Strange," Peter quipped. He pointed to an empty alcove near the back. "And personal experience. That spot used to hold Anansi, the West African spider god. I bumped into him during a joyride through the multiverse."
Steve and Logan exchanged a loaded glance.
"Right," Steve said, shifting into command mode. "All our current field intel points to Budapest. If Hydra excavated this temple, they likely transported the relics to a secure stronghold. Logan and I will head for Hungary and locate the primary site."
Steve clapped a hand on Peter's shoulder. "You stick to the itinerary. Keep playing the decoy for the Mysterio operation. We'll rendezvous in Budapest."
"You don't need me to tag along and punch some Nazis?" Peter asked.
"No," Steve said, a grim smile touching his face. "Fury seems entirely convinced the Elementals are going to keep you plenty busy."
Chapter 421: Departure, Venice!"So, the itinerary is set: we hit Venice first, charter a boat to Athens, and then fly out to Budapest."
Felicia Hardy was sprawled across the train seat, feigning interest in a travel guide. She glanced up, her voice dripping with boredom. "What a miserable route. Can't we just ditch Athens and go straight to Budapest? I'm here for the scenery, not the layovers."
"Don't look at me," Peter said, not bothering to glance up from his own book. "The school board planned this, not the tour guide."
Jessica Drew, who had been staring blankly at the blur of Italian countryside, suddenly swiveled toward Felicia. "What are you actually looking at?"
"A travel guide. I can't look at a screen or a book while the train is moving—it makes me want to hurl," Felicia said, tossing the booklet aside. She narrowed her eyes at Jessica. "Why the sudden interest?"
"I'm asking you seriously," Jessica said, her tone sharpening. "Based on the logistics—Spider-Man's activity windows, his build, his general movement patterns—he has to be a student. A student in our specific tour group. I'm close to nailing down his height and weight. Once I do that, the rest is just simple elimination."
Felicia felt a migraine forming behind her eyes. Great. She understood exactly why Nick Fury had forced Spider-Man into such a distinct, high-profile costume change—it was supposed to throw everyone off the scent. But apparently, S.H.I.E.L.D. logic and high school detectives were two very different beasts.
"How did you reach that conclusion?" Felicia asked, her tone carefully neutral.
Jessica laid out her findings: the activity spikes, the lack of sightings during school hours, the physical stature. Felicia just nodded along, doing her best not to groan. At least the "Europe mission" cover story held water; Spider-Man had conveniently reappeared in New York right on schedule, claiming he'd been on an emergency assignment across the pond. It was a perfect, ironclad excuse.
"He's an Avenger, Jessica," Felicia said, gesturing vaguely at the window. "Finding a double—or a decoy—would be a five-minute favor from Iron Man. You're looking for a ghost. You don't honestly think he's some freshman like Flash Thompson, do you?"
Jessica didn't buy it. She watched Felicia with the cold, predatory focus of a hawk. It was obvious: Felicia knew exactly who Spider-Man was. The only question now was how to pry the name out of her.
Or, Jessica thought, maybe I just find him myself. But is it worth the heat? Wouldn't that just complicate things for him?
She was spiraling, and the effort was making her dizzy. Her mystery illness was worsening by the day. Her father kept promising a cure, but Jessica was a realist; she knew her expiration date was looming. If she ended up paralyzed or worse, digging into Spider-Man's secret would only add a massive, lethal target to his back.
Fine, she decided. Secret investigation only. And I quit the second I can't walk.
Meanwhile, Peter sat alone in a different carriage, staring blankly at his phone.
With Whirlwind and the Molten Man dead, the Elementals had vanished. But the lull felt wrong. Nick Fury had warned him that they'd come hunting, but Peter couldn't shake the unease. Even with two heavy hitters down, the original Human Torch—Jim Hammond—was still out there. And if the Elementals were smart, they'd realize they weren't capturing Peter; they were just getting themselves executed by Viper's magic.
Would they really be stupid enough to try again?
He'd tried to call Strange, but the Sorcerer Supreme was off the grid. All he could do was hope Captain Britain could crack the magical seal behind the Elementals' curse.
"If they really want a rematch," Peter muttered to himself, "Venice is a hell of a place for it. Unlimited water, immortal Elementals... as long as I don't trap their spirits, they're just going to keep popping back up."
He started to run the simulations. Did Hydra really have no backup plan?
Deep within the bowels of a secret facility, Arnim Zola stood over a vat of bubbling, synthetic fluid.
"Perfect, Mr. Bench," Zola chirped.
The entity known as Hydro-Man was being fundamentally altered. It wasn't his spirit body they were touching—it was the very nature of the water he controlled. Zola had synthesized a unique, heavy-water compound designed specifically to bypass the Wild Pack's vibration-based containment technology.
Hydro-Man, still swirling in his liquid form, looked at the vat with skepticism. "That's it? This is supposed to be magical?"
"If you don't believe me, feel free to submerge yourself," Zola retorted.
"That's not what I'm worried about," Hydro-Man sighed, his voice splashing against the walls. "If I go up against Spider-Man, I'm going to need to summon a full-scale tsunami. How is this tiny bit of magic juice supposed to be enough?"
Zola groaned. Dealing with a glorified puddle was exhausting. "Mr. Bench, do you understand how atoms work? If you pour a glass of water into the ocean, eventually, every drop of that ocean becomes infused with the properties of your mixture. You control the water; you just need to accelerate the distribution."
Hydro-Man nodded, though he still looked uneasy. "Fine. But what about the mental end of things? Spider-Man uses magic—he's got the weird spider-sense and the sorcery. How do I stop that?"
"Madame Viper is preparing a specialized mind-control ward for you," Zola said. "Spider-Man won't see it coming the first time. Or the second. By the time he realizes what's happening, you'll have already drowned him."
Right. "Already drowned him." Sure.
Hydro-Man gave a hollow, bubbling laugh. He'd taken this gig for the payday, but he was starting to realize that no amount of money was going to matter if he was dead.
Time to pivot, he thought, glancing at the Sandman's containment tank across the room. If I'm making a break for it, I'm taking Sandman with me. He's the only one who knows how to survive this insanity.
Chapter 422: Let's Take a PictureVenice sat on a shallow lagoon four kilometers off the Italian coast. It was a sprawling network of one hundred and eighteen small islands stitched together by four hundred bridges. With over a hundred and seventy waterways replacing standard roads, boats were the only reliable transit.
It was breathtaking. It was also a tourist trap of biblical proportions.
The Venetian Republic's medieval glory had faded, leaving behind a permanent population of barely sixty thousand locals. They were entirely drowned out by the three million tourists flooding the streets annually. Finding an actual native Venetian felt like a scavenger hunt.
Peter stood in the center of St. Mark's Square, peering through the viewfinder of his father's old Canon film camera. This was the beating heart of Venice. It housed St. Mark's Basilica, the Doge's Palace, and roughly ten thousand incredibly aggressive pigeons. Renaissance cosplayers mingled with street musicians. For a photography enthusiast, it was an absolute goldmine.
Click. Whir.
He caught Cindy sitting on an iron chair outside the Plaza Cafe. A dozen pigeons pecked at the cobblestones around her boots. One flapped its wings, launching into the air right as Peter snapped the shot. Perfect framing.
"I thought you'd be out on a boat with Jessica," Peter said, lowering the camera.
Felicia Hardy leaned against a stone pillar nearby, looking thoroughly unamused. "Turns out I get violently seasick. So, I'm standing on solid ground." She crossed her arms. "Besides, Jessica is operating on a terrifying amount of manic energy. She wants to see everything. She wants to touch every brick. I can't keep up with that level of frantic tourism."
Peter understood exactly what Felicia meant. Jessica Drew was racing a ticking clock. Her mysterious illness was aggressive. If she didn't travel and see the world now, she likely believed she'd never get another chance.
Peter wasn't worried. He knew her canonical destiny. Dr. Jonathan Drew would eventually finalize his Savage Force spider-serum. He would inject his daughter to save her life, and Jessica Drew would become Spider-Woman. She was going to survive. Felicia, however, didn't have the benefit of multiverse foresight. She was just watching her friend deteriorate.
Peter kept that knowledge strictly to himself. Letting Felicia worry kept her grounded. It kept her anchored to her friends instead of spiraling completely into her lethal vendetta against her father's killers.
"Speaking of Jessica," Felicia said, her tone dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "She basically has your entire profile mapped out. She knows Spider-Man is a Midtown High student on this trip. Worse, Mary Jane Watson is digging into the same timeline for the DailyBugle. I fed them some heavily doctored false leads, but your operational security is currently garbage. You should have swapped aliases for this deployment."
Peter adjusted the focus ring on the lens. It was a valid tactical concern. But Peter had been studying under Doctor Strange. He was currently modifying a localized Kamar-Taj cognitive spell. It wasn't a catastrophic, reality-breaking mind wipe. It was a subtle perception filter. It effectively made people subconsciously dismiss the connection between events.
The world would still know Spider-Man fought Elementals in Europe. They just wouldn't care enough to connect the dots. The human brain would simply glaze over the anomaly. Peter wasn't losing sleep over it.
"Noted. Thanks for running interference," Peter said. He brought the camera back up, aiming at a guy dressed as a plague doctor. "Speaking of you and Jessica. I still don't get the dynamic. You two are polar opposites. And you completely froze up when you saw Dr. Drew's spider-modification files at Osborn Tech."
Peter snapped the photo, winding the film lever. "That doesn't exactly scream 'casual high school friendship'."
Felicia stiffened. Her jaw locked. She stared at the basilica, entirely unresponsive.
Peter lowered the camera. He didn't push.
"You aren't even going to interrogate me?" Felicia finally muttered.
"I'm incredibly curious," Peter replied, capping the lens. "But prying isn't going to make you talk. You'll spill it when you want to."
Felicia let out a long, frustrated exhale. She slumped back against the pillar.
"Fine," Felicia grumbled, her guard slipping just a fraction. "Freshman year. My dad had been gone for a while. Money was tight, so I ended up at Midtown High. I didn't know why he died. I just found his old safecracking gear. I was angry. I thought... I thought acting out made me cool."
Peter leaned against the cafe railing. "Let me guess. Grand larceny?"
"I was fifteen, Parker. I wasn't pulling casino heists," Felicia scoffed. "I swiped cash out of rich kids' lockers. I used the money to buy cheap booze. I genuinely thought I was untouchable."
Felicia cracked a dry, humorless smile. "Then club recruitment week rolled around. I walked past the Detective Agency booth. Jessica took one look at me, pointed a finger, and verbally dissected my entire morning. She deduced exactly how much I drank the night before just from my posture and the scuff marks on my shoes."
"Her social skills definitely lack a filter," Peter noted.
"She has zero emotional intelligence," Felicia agreed. "I was furious. But then the paranoia hit. If this random senior could figure out I was drinking just by looking at me, how long until she deduced I was the one robbing the locker rooms?"
The fear of getting caught and disappointing her mother had terrified her. Felicia joined the Detective Club purely for self-preservation. She wanted to learn Jessica's deductive methods so she could reverse-engineer them into counter-surveillance techniques. She learned how to hide her tracks by understanding how a detective thinks.
That tactical shift changed everything. Using those new skills, Felicia started digging into the strange blueprints and gear her father had left behind. She pieced the clues together.
"If I hadn't met Jessica, I would have spent my entire life believing my dad was just some deadbeat who abandoned us," Felicia said softly. The defensive edge completely vanished from her voice. "I have to thank her for that."
Felicia offered a small, stunningly genuine smile.
Click.
Felicia blinked, startled by the mechanical snap of the shutter.
Peter lowered the Canon, returning her smile. "That's a good look on you, Hardy. Keep it."
Chapter 423: Hydro-Man AttackWhile Peter and Felicia lingered in St. Mark's Square, Jessica Drew sat near the bow of a wooden gondola, drifting through the labyrinthine canals of Venice. The ancient, sun-baked buildings rising from the water hadn't been renovated in decades, but the air still felt infinitely more refreshing than the dust-choked streets of Lisbon.
Jessica leaned back against the cushioned seat, forcing her rigid shoulders to drop. Her condition was deteriorating. The mysterious, progressive muscle atrophy had flared up severely over the last few days. Her grip occasionally failed; her legs randomly gave out. It hadn't entirely crippled her daily routine yet, so she was determined to soak in every ounce of Europe while her body still allowed it.
She lifted her phone, framing a shot of a weathered stone bridge. Her hands trembled slightly. She snapped the picture anyway.
Lowering the screen, Jessica reviewed the image. She frowned. Thick, frothing white watermarks scarred the surface of the canal in the background. She looked over the side of the boat. The actual water was churning. Several distinct, pale wakes were cutting through the murky green depths.
"Excuse me, sir," Jessica called out, turning to the gondolier steering from the stern. "What's making those white streaks?"
"Just fish, signorina," the gondolier replied lazily, adjusting his long oar. "You see them sometimes."
Jessica tracked the streaks. They were accelerating. They weren't meandering like wildlife; they were converging, darting against the current at an absurd, terrifying velocity.
Those aren't fish.
"Stop!" Jessica shouted, her voice echoing sharply off the stone walls. "No, wait, don't stop! Turn the boat around! Get us to the shore right now!"
The other students on the gondola jumped, startled by her sudden outburst.
"Turn it around!" Jessica screamed, gripping the wooden railing as her knuckles went white. "There's something under the water!"
She was a second too late.
The white streaks slammed together beneath the surface. The canal erupted. A colossal, towering behemoth composed entirely of churning water burst into the open air. It loomed over the screaming tourists, its featureless liquid face swiveling toward the crowds.
"SPIDER-MAN!" Hydro-Man roared, his voice sounding like a crashing tidal wave. He swung a massive, liquid fist, instantly capsizing two nearby gondolas and sending ordinary civilians plummeting into the canal.
A few blocks away, Peter Parker's head snapped up.
He lowered his camera. Felicia immediately stiffened beside him. Peter frowned, waiting for the familiar, needle-like prickle at the base of his skull. Nothing. His enhanced spider-sense remained entirely dormant.
"No warning," Peter muttered, his eyes narrowing. "It's not an ambush. It's a lure."
"Jessica is still out on the water," Felicia said, her voice dropping its usual playful lilt.
"I'm going after her," Peter said, stepping backward into the fleeing crowd. "I need you to prep the containment bomb I brought. It's in my hotel room. You know exactly where my bag is."
Felicia crossed her arms, annoyed. "I don't have a key to your room, Parker."
"You don't need a key," Peter deadpanned, turning on his heel.
Felicia let out a long, theatrical sigh, rolling her eyes toward the Venetian sky before sprinting in the opposite direction.
Peter slipped against the tide of panicking tourists, ducking into a narrow, shadowed alleyway. He stripped off his civilian clothes in three seconds flat, webbing his jeans and t-shirt high up against the underside of a terracotta roof.
He was flying solo today. The symbiote was still completely incapacitated. The brutal, searing heat from the Molten Man fight had severely drained the alien, forcing Peter to leave it dormant in his hotel room to recover. He pulled the sleek, black fabric of his stealth suit over his shoulders, sealing the mask.
Peter fired a web line, launching himself over the rooftops and diving straight toward the canals.
Tourists were thrashing in the water. Peter didn't hesitate. He swung low, firing rapid, precision webs. He snagged three floundering civilians, yanking them out of the current and depositing them onto the cobblestone walkways. He shot another line, sticking it to the hull of an overturned gondola, and hauled the entire wooden boat toward the stone steps.
Hydro-Man noticed the black blur immediately. The massive Hydro-Man shifted, pulling thousands of gallons from the canal to reassemble his towering form. He reared back, preparing to strike.
Peter didn't give him the opening. He released his web, utilizing his enhanced speed and agility to vault directly over the creature's massive shoulder.
"Morning, Morris!" Peter yelled, landing lightly on a brick chimney. "What brings you to Venice? Honestly, a giant puddle vacationing in a city made of water feels a little redundant, don't you think?"
Hydro-Man bellowed, swinging a massive watery hammer. Peter backflipped off the chimney, letting the strike demolish the brickwork. He twisted mid-air, scanning the canal. More students were struggling to stay afloat.
The deafening roar of rotor blades suddenly drowned out the screaming.
A sleek, black assault helicopter belonging to the Wild Pack banked sharply over the rooftops, hovering directly in front of the elemental. Silvija sat in the pilot's seat. Her silver hair whipped around her face. She locked her eyes on the towering water monster, her expression dead serious. She squeezed the firing trigger.
Capture him or kill him, Silvija thought grimly. Either way, we're putting another Elemental in the ground.
While Silvija provided heavy covering fire, Peter swung frantically from bridge to bridge. He shot lines of structural, protein-based spider-silk, pasting them to drowning tourists and violently hauling them out of the canal. He dropped them unceremoniously onto the pavement. Several soaked, terrified civilians immediately started shouting curses at him for the rough handling.
Peter ignored them. He didn't have the luxury of gentle customer service.
He spotted the final target. Jessica Drew was thrashing wildly in the center of the canal. Her muscle atrophy was betraying her; she couldn't keep her head above the churning waves. She reached a desperate hand up toward the black-suited hero swinging overhead.
Peter didn't reach for her hand. He let go of his web, diving headfirst into the freezing water.
He broke the surface, wrapped a reinforced arm securely around her waist, and fired a web-line straight up at a stone archway. The winch violently retracted, hauling them both out of the canal. Peter landed smoothly on the bridge, setting Jessica gently on her feet.
Jessica gasped, violently coughing up water. "Spider-Man? I... I thought you were going to grab my hand!"
"And dislocate your shoulder? No thanks, Miss," Peter quipped, his white lenses narrowing. "Make sure you don't skip swimming lessons next semester. Could save your life."
"I'm an excellent swimmer," Jessica wheezed, her legs shaking as she clung to the stone railing. "I just... I couldn't find my strength." She wiped the wet hair out of her eyes, finally registering his tactical black armor. "Oh. New uniform?"
"European business trips demand a different wardrobe," Peter said smoothly. He took a half-step back, checking her posture. "Can you walk? I've got a giant leaky faucet to deal with."
Before Jessica could force out another breathless thank you, Peter was gone, launching himself back into the sky.
His earpiece clicked. "Kinetic rounds are completely ineffective, Spider-Man," Silvija reported from the gunship, banking hard to avoid a massive geyser. "The bullets are passing straight through him."
"All civilians extracted from the water," Cindy Moon's calm, concise voice chimed in over the S.H.I.E.L.D. comms.
Peter swung in a wide arc, landing squarely on the slanted roof of an old clock tower. A second later, Cindy dropped silently onto the tiles beside him, clad in her red-and-black Silk uniform.
Peter stared down at the roaring, shifting mass of Hydro-Man. He cracked his knuckles.
"Alright," Peter said. "Let's see how much heat this guy can take before he evaporates."
Chapter 424: Scientific Ninjutsu—Explosive Electrolysis!The absolute best perk of being a master thief was never having to worry about being robbed. You were the apex predator of petty theft.
Felicia Hardy knelt on the floor of Peter's hotel room, aggressively rummaging through his surprisingly neat suitcase. Peter had told her he prepped specialized bombs to deal with Hydro-Man. They had to be in here.
Her fingers brushed against a padded internal pocket. She pulled out two identical, sleek metal cylinders. She turned them over in her palms. No labels. No warning stickers. Was one for Hydro-Man and the other for something else entirely?
"A little color-coding wouldn't kill you, Parker," she muttered.
She needed a second opinion. She turned toward the desk. A small, specialized glass containment jar sat near the lamp. Inside, a puddle of black, gelatinous sludge shifted weakly. The symbiote was still severely drained from its brutal encounter with the Molten Man, but it was conscious.
Felicia tapped the glass. "Hey. Your name is Venom, right?"
The black sludge shivered.
Felicia held up the two metal tubes. "Which one of these is the payload for the giant walking puddle?"
A tiny, razor-thin black tendril extended from the sludge. It tapped the glass directly in front of the two tubes in her left hand. Then, the tip of the tendril curled into a surprisingly perfect 'OK' sign.
"Good boy," Felicia smirked. "Sorry I can't take you out to play today. You wouldn't be much help against a tidal wave anyway. Rest up."
She pocketed the tubes, zipped the suitcase, and slipped out the door. She moved silently down the hallway, narrowly dodging a cluster of Midtown High students arguing over a map near the elevator bank. She pulled up her hood and vanished into the stairwell.
Meanwhile, the canals of Venice were boiling.
Spider-Man and Silk darted across the terracotta rooftops, coordinating their strikes alongside the Wild Pack's heavy assault helicopters. Silvija hovered her gunship low over the churning water. Standard high-frequency sonic disruptors were entirely useless. She switched to cryogenic munitions.
A volley of freezing missiles slammed into Hydro-Man's chest. The colossal Hydro-Man flash-froze into a solid block of ice.
A second later, the ice shattered. Hydro-Man simply drew thousands of gallons of fresh water straight from the Venetian canals—which fed directly into the Adriatic Sea—and instantly rebuilt his towering form. Ammunition was completely irrelevant against an enemy with an infinite supply of ammunition.
Silvija gripped the flight stick, her eyes narrowing at the tactical monitors. "There's something wrong with his structural cohesion," she broadcasted over the comms. "He's not just water. He's spiked the local canals with some kind of chemical thickening agent. A localized hydro-gel. It's keeping his form stable against the freezing impacts."
Peter swung under a stone bridge, his black stealth suit blending perfectly with the deep shadows. He landed on a wooden mooring post. He fired two web lines, braiding them together into a thick cord. He channeled his newly stabilized bio-electric output straight down the silk.
The high-voltage whip cracked like thunder. It lashed across Hydro-Man's chest. Searing steam hissed into the air. The bio-electricity hit hard, but the gel-thickened water insulated the monster's core.
"I have everything I need right here, Spider-Man!" Hydro-Man roared, his liquid form swelling to the height of a three-story building. "I am going to drown you in this miserable city!"
Hydro-Man threw a massive, liquid haymaker.
Peter didn't blink. He backflipped off the wooden post. Mid-air, he fired a webline at an empty, drifting gondola. He used his momentum to rip the boat out of the water and hurled it directly into Hydro-Man's face. The heavy wood splintered against the elemental's dense jaw, exploding into a massive splash of spray.
Miles away, sitting in a dark subterranean bunker, Hydra operatives monitored the chaotic feed. They noted a glaring tactical detail: Spider-Man wasn't wearing the symbiote. He was wearing his black stealth suit. He was vulnerable.
Hydro-Man prepared to summon a tidal wave to crush the surrounding piazza.
A sleek shadow dropped onto the rooftop behind Peter. Felicia tossed the two metal tubes through the air. Peter snatched them out of the sky without looking.
"How exactly do you detonate those?" Felicia yelled over the roaring water. "I don't see a pull-ring!"
"I'm the detonator!" Peter shouted back. He tapped his earpiece. "Sable! Order the Wild Pack to cease fire immediately! I'm going in!"
"Are you insane?" Silvija's voice crackled through the comms. "The cryo-rounds are the only things slowing him down! If you dive in there, he'll crush you into paste!"
"Trust me!" Peter yelled. He turned his masked face toward Cindy. "Silk! Get ready to yank me out on my mark!"
Cindy didn't argue. Thanks to her unique spider-sense, she could passively track Peter's exact location, distance, and physical state at all times. If he gave the signal, she wouldn't miss. She locked her stance on the edge of the roof, readying her wrists.
Peter fired two web-lines to opposite sides of the canal. He pulled backward, stretching the high-tensile silk to its absolute limit. He released his grip.
He launched himself like a human cannonball directly into the center of Hydro-Man's chest.
He plunged into the freezing, pressurized water. The crushing force was immediate. Peter brought his fists together, violently crushing the two metal tubes. A highly volatile, experimental chemical catalyst spilled into the rushing water.
Peter unleashed his bio-electric field.
Blinding white lightning erupted from his stealth suit. He didn't just shock the water. He used his suit's amplified external speakers to vibrate a message directly into the surrounding fluid, hammering the soundwaves straight into Hydro-Man's consciousness.
"Did you know," Peter's voice boomed through the boiling water, "that if you pour a single cup of liquid into the sea, eventually every drop of the ocean will contain those original molecules?"
Peter pushed the bio-electric output to its absolute maximum. The electric current acted as an aggressive accelerant, violently diffusing the chemical catalyst throughout Hydro-Man's entire gelatinous structure.
"Let's see how you handle rapid molecular diffusion!"
The chemical reaction triggered instantly. The high-energy catalyst—liberated from a heavily restricted Baxter Building laboratory—reacted with the intense bio-electric current. It initiated a catastrophic, instantaneous electrolysis.
Hydro-Man's watery body was violently ripped apart at the molecular level, separating into pure hydrogen and oxygen gas.
Hydro-Man's control slipped. The pressure dropped.
Peter punched his way through the surface of the monster's chest, gasping for air. "Now!"
A thick line of natural spider-silk slapped against Peter's shoulder. Cindy violently yanked backward. Peter went flying out of the water, sailing through the air toward the clock tower.
A stray arc of bio-electricity ignited the newly formed hydrogen gas.
The canal detonated.
A massive, concussive explosion rocked Venice. A blinding fireball flashed over the waterway, instantly vaporizing the remaining liquid of Hydro-Man. A scalding rain of steam and harmless droplets showered down across the cobblestones.
Felicia stared at the empty canal, her jaw slightly slack. "What the hell did you just do?"
"Basic electrolysis," Peter panted, landing heavily on the roof tiles. "I used a high-energy catalyst from the Baxter Building. Combined with my electric output, it ripped the water molecules apart. H2O becomes hydrogen and oxygen. Hydrogen goes boom."
Silvija's gunship banked hard, hovering over the steam-choked canal. The side door slid open. She aimed her heavy rifle at the water, searching for a target.
"Stand down, Sable!" Peter yelled, holding up a hand. "It's over! We won!"
"Won?" Silvija shouted back. "He's just scattered! He'll reform!"
"No, he won't," Peter said, pointing down at the water.
Floating in the center of the debris field was a large, splintered wooden door torn from one of the sunken gondolas. Carved deeply into the wet wood—etched with frantic, high-pressure water jets just seconds before the explosion—was a desperate message.
HYDRO-MAN AND SANDMAN WILL SURRENDER. GUARANTEE OUR SAFETY.
Chapter 425: Who Would Surrender Without Conditions?The idea of massive, city-leveling elemental monsters unconditionally surrendering sounded like a bad joke, but to Peter, it made terrifying tactical sense.
Hydra viewed the Elementals as disposable hardware. The second the Molten Man and Whirlwind risked capture, Madame Viper had purged them from existence without hesitation. Sandman and Hydro-Man knew their expiration dates were looming. They would only defect if S.H.I.E.L.D. could guarantee their survival—specifically, immunity from Hydra's mystical kill-switch.
"I guarantee these bastards are trying to play us," Silvija said, pacing the concrete floor of the Wild Pack's temporary Venetian safe house. "They'll demand extradition to the United States. Or a trial in Western Europe. They'll try to trade low-level operational intel for full pardons and witness protection."
She crossed her arms, her tactical jacket shifting with the movement. The Wild Pack had captured enough global terrorists to know the routine. Extradite them to a European nation without the death penalty, and the villains would live out their days in a cushy cell. The Elementals were worse; their spiritual nature made them nearly impossible to hold in standard containment. Left in a standard prison, they would inevitably breach containment and flatten a city.
Felicia Hardy leaned against a shipping crate, casually tossing a silver coin between her knuckles. "So, what's your official recommendation?"
"Military tribunal, rapid interrogation, and summary execution," Silvija stated, her voice dead flat. "We dig a hole and bury them. And since they don't have physical corpses, we save time on the digging."
Peter blinked. "That... definitely doesn't hold up in a court of law."
"Which is exactly why my top recommendation is to just shoot them while resisting arrest," Silvija shot back, her jaw tight.
She scowled, staring down at the floorboards. Despite not entirely understanding how the Black Cat managed to bypass S.H.I.E.L.D. surveillance so easily, Silvija had pieced together the core of Felicia's history. The people who had murdered Felicia's father and the hit squad that killed Silvija's mother were undeniably tied to the same shadowy syndicate. Hydra.
The realization that this parasitic organization had successfully infiltrated global administrative institutions sent a cold spike down Silvija's spine. Worse, the Wild Pack was primarily comprised of high-paid ex-special forces mercenaries. Loyalty was often directly tied to the highest bidder. Silvija couldn't even guarantee her own ranks were clean.
"Well, international law isn't exactly our jurisdiction right now," Peter started, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "We just need to leave the heavy lifting to Fu—"
Peter froze. His spider-sense didn't flare, but the heavy, rhythmic thud of combat boots echoed in the corridor.
Silvija's hand dropped instantly to her holstered sidearm. She traded a sharp glance with Peter.
"Let me guess," Peter sighed, dropping his stance. "Nick Fury?"
"You win the prize, Spidey," a gravelly voice echoed.
The heavy steel door swung open. Nick Fury stepped into the safe house, a lit cigar clamped between his teeth. He shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his black leather trench coat, his single eye sweeping over the assembled teenagers. "What's with the stares? You look like you're waiting for me to hand out the answer key to your AP Physics final."
"Wait, do you have the answer key?" Peter asked deadpan.
Fury ignored the quip, exhaling a thick cloud of gray smoke. "If you want, I can skip you straight to a university graduate program. Don't tell me you actually want to sit for exams."
Fury stepped fully into the room, pulling a secure datapad from his coat. "First things first. Your Midtown High travel itinerary just got an abrupt update. Tomorrow morning, you'll be informed that the Athens leg of the trip has been canceled due to 'logistical errors.' Your tour group is being re-routed directly to Budapest."
Peter's eyes widened. Fury was aggressively baiting the hook. Hydra assumed Spider-Man's European "vacation" was the center of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s operation. By suddenly altering the schedule, Fury was forcing Hydra to scramble their surveillance networks and relocate their ambush teams. It wouldn't dismantle the syndicate, but it would severely disrupt their operational tempo.
"Second," Fury continued, taking another drag of his cigar. "We've acquired intelligence that guarantees our short-term survival, but we need to run down the clock. We need to measure exactly how much leverage these Elementals actually hold. I don't need the granular details yet. I just need the scope of their intel."
He pointed the glowing tip of his cigar squarely at Peter's chest. "Spider-Man. You're handling the negotiation."
Peter pointed to himself. "Me? Why me?"
"Because they requested you," Fury grunted. "You're the one who figured out how to trap them. You're the face of their immediate problem. Tell them limited pardons, plea agreements, and witness protection are all on the table—provided they bleed out intel of sufficient value. Make them feel important. Make them think they hold the winning hand."
Peter processed the tactical logic. The Elementals—and the desperate Hydra handlers sweating bullets behind them—believed they possessed a golden ticket to S.H.I.E.L.D. protection. S.H.I.E.L.D. just needed to lean into that delusion.
"Wait," Peter said, tilting his head. "This whole negotiation... it's just a stall tactic. You don't actually think Hydro-Man is going to successfully surrender, do you?"
A low, dark chuckle rumbled in Fury's chest. He dropped his cigar, crushing the cherry under his heavy combat boot.
"Don't spell everything out in the open, Spider-Man," Fury said, a dangerous glint in his remaining eye. "You always have to maintain a little bit of mystery."