After the attack from Kingpin's men, Matt's "safe house" was definitely no longer an option.
From "safe," only the label remained.
Aron said goodbye to Daredevil and went to Queens on his own.
There, the house Matt had helped him rent was waiting.
But what he didn't expect was that right next door lived a very famous neighbor.
The Ben Parker family.
That's right.
Uncle Ben, still alive.
Which meant Peter Parker had not yet become Spider-Man. For now, he was just a regular high schooler, a modest kid with a backpack and way too polite manners.
How did Aron know?
Well... Uncle Ben was still watering flowers on the porch.
Alive and well. Simple as that.
—
The house he rented was a typical American bungalow, ground floor plus one, small garage and basement. The whole neighborhood was built in that style.
When he opened the door, he found a fully furnished home. Kitchen, living room, basic furniture, even a TV.
Of course, Aron didn't have any luggage.
Except… two fat suitcases full of cash.
You could say: nothing, except money.
"Finally, a roof over my head," he said, throwing himself onto the sofa.
Money's here. Legal identity. Roof sorted.
He could finally breathe. The first real step in the Marvel universe was made.
"Next… I need Kingpin. And his blood. A shadow demon can't be summoned without it."
He turned off his brain, turned on the TV, stretched out like a sloth and enjoyed the quiet moment.
But not even ten minutes passed.
The doorbell rang.
Aron got up, reluctantly dragging his feet to the door, opening it without much expectation.
Standing on the doorstep was a kid with a plate in hand.
Warm, still steaming. Fresh from the pan.
"Hi! I'm Peter Parker. I live next door."
"My aunt just made pancakes, so I wanted to welcome you as the new neighbor."
Peter handed him the pancake with the most sincere smile in the world.
Aron couldn't stay grumpy.
Polite, honest, warm. The kind of person who disarms you with his presence alone.
"Oh, thank you. I'm Aron. Tell your aunt thanks, this smells great."
He took the pancake and nodded with a smile. There was no way to turn away someone bringing food with warmth.
"Also... my Uncle Ben thinks it's probably inconvenient for you to cook right after moving in, so he's inviting you for dinner tonight."
"…"
Aron was speechless.
This family really lives by the old-school motto: Be good to others because it's the right thing to do.
But actually, it was quite normal.
When someone new moves into the neighborhood, especially in the suburbs, it's not uncommon for people to come by with food, conversation, invitations. Pure humanity.
Ben Parker's family was no exception.
---
As the sun set, dinner time arrived.
Aron knocked on the Parkers' door right on time. He didn't come empty-handed; he brought a bottle of red wine and a box of fine chocolates as a gesture.
The door was opened by a woman in her late thirties, still bright and cheerful in expression.
"You must be Peter Parker's aunt, I assume?"
"Thanks for the pancakes today. They were excellent."
"Don't call me aunt, I'll feel old," she laughed.
"Call me Aunt May, like Peter does."
With a smile, she invited him inside.
In the dining room, seated around the table were Peter Parker and his Uncle Ben, whom Aron had already met. With them were two others: a chubby Asian guy, obviously Peter's friend Ned Leeds, and a blonde teenage girl, Gwen Stacy.
"Hi, Aron. This is my Uncle Ben, my best friend Ned, and my friend Gwen."
Aron greeted them all with a short handshake.
Dinner soon began.
May Parker served up a full table, all homemade and freshly prepared. The atmosphere was warm, the conversation relaxed. No one followed that "don't talk at the table" rule here, people talked, laughed, and ate with joy.
Aron blended in quickly. He felt like part of the community.
—
But while Aron dined on home-cooked food and human warmth, far beyond the bounds of reality...
In the spiritual dimension known as the Soul Prison, in the heart of the demonic fortress, things were anything but peaceful.
Before a throne built of lava, the first demon ever to make a pact with Aron, N'astirh, knelt trembling. He didn't even dare raise his gaze.
From high upon the throne, a voice echoed like a blade:
"They say you were the first demon summoned through the Mordo seal. Is that true?"
N'astirh sank even lower.
That voice belonged to only one being, Belath, Lord of the Soul Prison. An entity with power close to the God Father.
"Yes… yes, master. It was all by the old ritual. Only, the name of the summoner wasn't Mordo..."
N'astirh dared not lie. He told everything.
Belath was silent.
Then a parchment fell from the height of the throne.
A ritual record.
Belath looked at the pattern. His eyes flared with red flame.
"Same seal. Same pattern. They've done it again."
He stood up.
His figure, ten times larger than N'astirh, cast the entire hall into darkness.
"Two hundred years! That's how long it's been since the mages of Kamar-Taj claimed they would never again use demonology for combat purposes!"
Two hundred years ago, Kamar-Taj used demons in real war simulations. When Belath found out, together with another Lord of Hell, he applied diplomatic pressure. The mages had to cease all summonings.
And now the same again. Only worse.
"Ancient One… you deceive and trample all agreements."
His rage boiled through the ribs of the dimension.
And while Aron peacefully ate dinner with the Parker family, the hellish lord had already issued the command:
"Open the Dimensional Gate."
Belath's eyes flared like red stars.
"This time, I'm coming to Earth in person."