When the Black Spider-Man realized that the flames engulfing the Human Torch were nothing more than natural fire, his plan to lure the fiery hero underground and use water-filled webs to extinguish him had seemed brilliant—almost cunning. But if the Human Torch could truly be defeated by a bit of water, then countless villains would have already drowned him long ago. It would never have come down to this.
The truth was far crueler. The Human Torch, now blazing in his Nova Burst form, radiated the heat of a miniature sun. His body emitted light so intense it turned the subterranean chamber into a blinding inferno. The heat alone caused the Venom symbiote to shriek and recoil violently, its oily surface bubbling like flesh under acid. It writhed and screamed, desperate to escape Peter Parker's body as though it were being burned alive.
"That's right, you damn parasite!" Johnny roared, advancing step by step, his molten aura growing brighter. "Give Peter back—now!"
Each movement brought the searing heat closer, and the symbiote screamed louder, the agony driving it mad. Victory was nearly within reach.
From the shadows, Marcus watched calmly, a faint smirk on his face. To the untrained eye, it seemed the Human Torch had the upper hand—but Marcus knew better. His eyes flicked to the sealed exit behind him, encased in thick, airtight black webbing, and he silently marveled at the symbiote's intelligence.
'Smart creature,' he thought. 'Too smart.'
The trap was about to spring.
As the Human Torch drew close enough for his radiant heat to sear the very air between them, the Black Spider-Man suddenly shifted—his body bulging, muscles expanding grotesquely. Within seconds, the slender form ballooned into the monstrous black giant once more.
With a guttural snarl, the creature's massive fist swung forward, smashing squarely into Johnny's jaw. The blow sent him flying across the empty reservoir, his flaming body crashing against the dry concrete floor and rolling for meters before stopping.
"You're digging your own grave!" Johnny spat defiantly, forcing himself to stand. He thought the intense heat radiating from his Nova state would burn through the creature's skin on contact. But before he could react, the black giant lunged again.
The massive foot came down like a hammer, striking his chest with a sickening crack. Blood sprayed from Johnny's mouth as he collapsed onto the scorched floor, gasping.
That was when the realization hit him like a cold wave.
The symbiote wasn't suddenly resistant to heat. He was weakening.
His flames—his very power—were fading.
He glanced around, confused. The walls weren't melting anymore. The heat shimmer had vanished from the air. Aside from the steam swirling thickly around him, there was no sign of the destructive energy his Nova Burst should have unleashed.
And then he noticed it. The suffocating heaviness in his chest. The rasp in his throat. The struggle to breathe.
He understood.
The oxygen… it's gone.
The Human Torch's power depended entirely on oxygen. And by igniting the Nova Burst in this sealed, airless chamber, he had incinerated nearly every trace of it. The firestorm that should have incinerated the entire reservoir had devoured the very air it needed to survive.
The web-sealed chamber—the lack of ventilation—this was the true trap.
The water-soaked webs had only been a distraction, a clever way to waste time while the environment turned against him. Now, surrounded by nothing but carbon dioxide and steam, Johnny's flames were no longer fire, only glowing embers clinging desperately to life.
The Black Spider-Man's plan had worked perfectly.
Desperate, Johnny tried to fight back. He turned toward the wall, intending to blast through it, to break open the reservoir and draw in fresh air—but the symbiote wouldn't give him the chance.
The black giant was already there.
Its enormous fist crashed into him again, sending him tumbling backward across the slippery concrete. His lungs burned, his strength failing. Without oxygen, the Human Torch was no longer a superhuman being of fire and plasma—just a man.
He choked and staggered, every breath more shallow than the last. The air around him was thick with suffocating vapor.
The symbiote, on the other hand, thrived in this environment. It didn't need oxygen. It didn't need air. In this enclosed hell of steam and carbon dioxide, it moved effortlessly—powerful, relentless, unstoppable.
And Marcus? He remained unaffected, standing quietly in the shadows, the scene reflected in the silver sheen of his armored faceplate. For him, oxygen was irrelevant. His transformed body required none.
Only one being in the chamber was still truly human—and he was dying.
The Black Spider-Man advanced, looming over the fallen Human Torch. With monstrous precision, the creature reached down, its thick fingers closing around Johnny's throat. The flames that once burned brighter than the sun now flickered like dying candles.
The giant squeezed.
"Peter—stop…" Johnny croaked weakly, still clinging to the hope that somewhere inside the monster, his friend could hear him.
But it was too late. The man he knew was gone.
Before the symbiote could finish crushing the life from him, a flash of white light pierced the steam-filled chamber. A blade of glowing blue energy burst through Johnny's chest from behind, the impact so sudden that the pain vanished almost instantly.
The Human Torch's body went limp.
The blade continued forward, stabbing clean through his torso and striking the Black Spider-Man squarely in the chest. The creature recoiled, letting go of Johnny's body as the weapon drove deep into its flesh.
A surge of sparks illuminated the chamber.
The attacker stepped into view—silver armor gleaming in the haze, the faint hum of repulsor servos echoing against the damp walls.
It was Marcus.
The Human Torch turned his head weakly, eyes widening in shock. "S-Stark…?" he rasped, barely able to speak. "Is… that you?"
Marcus tilted his head slightly. His voice was calm. Cold.
"You're mistaken, kid."
He twisted the blade sharply, the crackle of electricity drowning out Johnny's strangled gasp.
"I'm Whiplash."
The blade tore through his chest, shredding his heart. The light in Johnny's eyes faded instantly, and his body slumped into the shallow water below.
Marcus slowly withdrew the blade and turned away, leaving the weapon's hum echoing faintly in the cavern.
He looked down at the small communicator device still clipped to Johnny's belt—the same one he had given him earlier. The device's recorder light blinked faintly.
Perfect.
When S.H.I.E.L.D. recovered the Human Torch's remains, they'd find that recording—his dying words, believing Marcus to be Tony Stark, and Marcus's final correction.
A neat, deliberate misdirection.
A final "gift," as he called it.
One that would ensure that when the world blamed someone for Johnny Storm's death, it would not be Marcus Vale.
It would be Whiplash.
Or perhaps, to the world—Tony Stark himself.
_____
T/N:
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