Goblin's Revenge

Part One

The Molten Man had almost caught up with her a couple of times on her way over here. Fortunately, Allison Mongrain mused bitterly, she had been able to escape his clutches, since he had not been acting as though he were in control of his own actions, and therefore his movements were a little off, giving her the chance she needed to escape. Doubly fortunate, then, that she hadn't been alone - Joe "Robbie" Robertson had listened to her, and had vowed to protect her while she got her information to Peter Parker. Osborn was trying to kill her, of that she was certain. What she wasn't so certain of was why the Molten Man had become his chosen assassin; the last she'd heard, Mark Raxton had gone straight. Robbie had confirmed this for her, which only served to confuse her further. He'd caught up with them first on the docks, just after they'd disembarked from their boat from Cologne, and had been pursuing them ever since. Mongrain wasn't sure how Osborn had managed to find them so fast, but she was determined to figure it out as soon as she could. On the fly if necessary, but figure it out nonetheless.

"How much further is it to Parker's house?" she demanded through lungs that burned through sheer exhaustion and fear.

"Not long now," Robbie said, the strain finally beginning to overlay itself on his weathered features. "Five, maybe ten minutes at the most. We'll get that information to the Parkers, I promise."

"I hope so, Mr. Robertson," Mongrain replied archly. "Osborn has tampered with people's lives for too long, regardless of whether he's been in a business suit or not. I intend to see that this one wrong, at least, is rectified. Peter Parker deserves that much from me."

"We'd better get a move on, then, Miss Mongrain," Robbie said, grabbing her arm suddenly. "I think our time's running out."

He pointed down the street towards a steadily-advancing golden figure, each step it took searing the road and leaving the stink of burning tarmac hanging in the air. Mongrain turned on her heel and ran, Robbie close behind her. She could hear the sizzling of the road getting closer and closer even as she ran, and she felt a shudder of relief run through her when Robbie shouted "There! Peter's house is there!", his hand flailing wildly in order to show her where to go. She was just about to hammer on the door when she heard the Molten Man storming towards her, his outstretched hands grasping for her throat. A low growl seeped through his clenched lips as he crouched like a panther ready to spring, his muscles taut and hard. Mongrain noticed that his eyes were not on her face but rather were directed to her neck, and the locket she wore there; a gift from Norman Osborn when she had first begun to work for him as an undercover operative. Suddenly it all made sense. She unclasped the locket and threw it at the Molten Man's face.
With speed more suited to a cat, Raxton caught the locket and crushed it to powder in one searing paw. With that, the strange vacant look in his eyes vanished, he put a hand to his head, and he mumbled, "Where am I?"

Robbie stepped forwards cautiously and said, sotto voce, "You're at the Parkers'. You were following us because of that locket you just destroyed. Do you have any idea how that might have happened?"

"No," Raxton said, still sounding dazed. "I was working late at Multivex and I felt this sudden crackle of energy, or something; I'm not entirely sure. And then I woke up here. That's all I can tell you."

"Multivex... that's a subsidiary of Osborn Industries, isn't it?" Robbie said, suddenly looking like he had the measure of what was going on here.

"Yes, it is," Raxton said, placing a scorching hand on his golden chin. "Do you think Norman Osborn has something to do with this?"

"He has everything to do with this, Mr. Raxton," Mongrain snapped, her voice frayed. "I know he wanted me dead because I had outlived my usefulness to him, and he obviously thought I would be an easy target for someone as strong and invulnerable as yourself. I suspect he'll be annoyed to discover he was wrong. I have a message for Peter Parker and I have to deliver it to him. Now if you'll excuse me..." She walked up to the Parkers' front door and raised her hand to knock.

Mary Jane was tired. She had hardly been able to keep her eyes open all day, and she didn't really have any solid idea why. She could feel a restless itch that she felt unable to scratch, and it bothered her. So she had called Jill Stacy to talk the possible reasons for it over.
"Jill, what would you say if I told you that I had thought about returning to modeling?" she asked, after greeting her friend in a pleasant but exhausted way.

There was a thoughtful pause on the other end of the line, until Jill finally said "I think that would be wonderful, MJ. But don't you think you're maybe making this decision too quickly?"

   "That's just it, Jill, I'm not. I've been thinking about this for a while, ever since our baby... ever since we lost our baby. I had maternity-wear contracts then, and I fit right back into the whole scene, as if I'd never left. I think I'd have an opportunity to move on with any kind of contract, really. I certainly haven't been going anywhere with my psychology studies recently." She sighed.
   "Anyway, aren't I getting a little old for college now? I mean, shouldn't I be thinking about settling down? Getting myself a good, well-paid job while I can? Peter, he's different, I know - he wants to play boy photographer for as long as he can, and it hurts his prospects with other jobs because he's always going off to take pictures of Spider-Man - but I want something that pays well, and can give us a comfortable living. I paid for most of our stuff for a while, back in the day, but... certain things... ended that."
   She drew a sharp breath, not wanting to remember Jonathan Caesar or his mad designs on her, and how he'd managed to suck her life savings out from under her in his mad quest to own her as if she was a china doll, or, as was perhaps more likely, a particularly juicy savings bond.
   "Mary Jane, you know I'm your friend," Jill replied, "and you know I'll support you in anything that you do. I saw some of your work a while back and it was very good - I ended up buying some of the clothes you modelled, as a matter of fact - but I'd think very carefully about this before you do it. You're a wonderful model, but you're also a pretty good actress, too. Why don't you try getting some television work?"
   Mary Jane felt her mouth hang open in disbelief. "I don't believe it. Someone who watched 'Secret Hospital' and isn't a raving lunatic. Will wonders never cease?" She could see Jill's face contorting with confusion on the other end of the line and added quickly "Private joke between me and Peter. I'll explain it next time I see you, if you like."

"You better," Jill retorted. "You two and your private jokes. I think you do this just to confuse the outside world."

   "Well, that and make ourselves amused," Mary Jane said. "Which doesn't usually take much, I must admit." She remembered the original question abruptly and continued "Anyway, to tell you the truth, television doesn't really interest me. I got egged on the street for what my character was doing on screen and I don't really want to go there again."

   "Well, you don't have to be on a soap. You could always try out for a newsreader's position," Jill suggested. "I think you'd look good reading about some celebrity scandal. How about going for Entertainment Tonight?"

"Me? Read the news? I think I'd freeze." Mary Jane abruptly had a private vision of how she might react in the eyes of millions of New Yorkers. The picture wasn't favourable. "Anyway, I'd feel like I was recycling the society pages of the Daily Bugle, and we all know how badly-researched they are. They'll say anything for a story."

"I know," Jill said, a touch of laughter edging her voice. "I'm not sure I've ever read anything that was actually true in that section - do you remember the time they told us that Leonardo DiCaprio was going to be a champion for sea mammals everywhere?"

"I read that," Mary Jane replied, feeling the side of her mouth tugging itself upwards. "I think they got the wrong Leonardo. Maybe if they'd meant the Ninja Turtle, I'd have been more convinced."
She chuckled lightly and pushed a stray strand of her flame-coloured hair behind her ears. This was turning out to be a good decision, she decided. Jill was making her feel better already. Suddenly, she heard a commotion outside in the street and walked over to the front window, carrying the cordless handset with her.
"Hold on a second, Jill," she said as she did so. "I think there's something going on outside. Look, I'll call you back, okay? Thanks for talking - you really made a difference. I'll let you know what I decide. Goodbye, Jill - my love to Paul and Arthur, okay?" She pressed the "end call" button on the handset and looked out the window, to see a golden figure, whom she recognized as the Molten Man, stomping towards two other people just a little way down the street. One she recognized as Joe Robertson, but the other she had no clue about. It was a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a sour complexion. She saw the Molten Man suddenly break off his attack when he was thrown something by the woman, and then saw him wander off as if in a daze, his gait a little unsteady. The woman was just about to knock on the front door when she opened it and stepped out into the chill evening air.
   "Hello, Robbie," she said. "What brings you here? And why was the Molten Man following you?" She ignored the woman for the moment, going with the person she knew and trusted for answers for now. Walking over to him she kissed him lightly on the cheek, smelling the tang of old pipe tobacco about him and smiling at the familiarity of it.
   Robbie gestured towards the woman with one worn, weather-beaten hand. "She brings me here, Mary Jane. She said she had some important news for Peter, and it involves Norman Osborn."

   Mary Jane felt her heart skip a beat in abject horror. Why couldn't he leave Peter alone? Why had he come screaming back from the grave, like so many other old foes, in search of bloody vengeance? It was difficult for her to understand how Peter was still sane in the face of Norman's mad vendetta - in the face of the man who had murdered his first real true love. Still, whatever news this woman had for Peter, she would hear it as well. She didn't want to be kept out of the loop where Osborn was concerned; that much she had learned through bitter experience. "Well, ma'am -"

"Allison," the woman corrected her. "My name is Allison Mongrain."

"Well, Miss Mongrain, "MJ said, feeling her teeth gritting slightly, "perhaps you'd better come in. Whatever news you had for Peter, you can tell me."

"Why?" Mongrain demanded icily. "Why should I trust you?"

"Because I'm Peter's wife. That's all the reason you should need," MJ replied, a flash of steely determination in her glare causing Mongrain to reconsider and step in side the small dwelling.

"I'll wait outside," Robbie said as she did so. "Whatever Allison has for you concerns the two of you and nobody else. I won't intrude."

"Don't be silly, Robbie, come inside - you'll freeze out here," Mary Jane said, ushering him in and offering him a seat in the kitchen. "I'll just be in the lounge with Allison. Call if you need anything, okay?"

Robbie smiled and sat himself down in the kitchen, poring over the day's edition of the Daily Bugle with gusto.

Once she was satisfied Robbie was okay, MJ directed Mongrain to the lounge and said "Make yourself comfortable," in a markedly more clipped tone than she had used with Robbie.

"I detect a slight hostility towards me," Mongrain said, stating the obvious. "Why is that?"

"If you knew what Norman Osborn's done to my husband, you'd be hostile to you as well," Mary Jane snapped coldly. "Anyone who can work for that man is beyond my understanding. He's evil, and it's a wonder the world hasn't noticed it yet."

Mongrain smiled thinly. "It took me a while to realize that fact, I admit that, Mrs. Parker. But I have, and I've made it my business to come here to tell you something very important - so important that Osborn was willing to kill me for it."

"Well?" Mary Jane demanded impatiently. "What do you want to tell me?"

"He has your child," Mongrain said bluntly. Mary Jane felt her eyes, and the tears came so freely after that, she wondered if she would drown in them.

"It is time." Norman Osborn's sonorous, commanding voice stated what the participants in the Gathering of Five ceremony had been waiting to hear.
It was time to decide which of the five assembled - Norman himself, the unknown girl Martha (or "Mattie", as she insisted she be called) Franklin, Morris Maxwell, Doctor Greg Herd and Madame Web - would get the gifts of power, madness, death, immortality and knowledge. Each of the five possessed one piece of a circle of stone (with Norman possessing the central spindle around which the stones would be placed) that hummed with iridescent power, singing their crazed song louder and louder as the shards were brought closer together.
The five gathered around a central stone plinth, clad in flowing red robes, and held their shards up high. Arcing energy crackled around them, touching skin and hair with no apparent ill-effects. Osborn felt his dreams of ultimate power drawing ever closer. The fools he had gathered to take part in the ceremony were pawns at best, sacrificial lambs at worst. He would see that they were all got rid of when he had attained his goal. Immortality or knowledge would mean nothing; they would all fall before him and his gift of power. The gifts of madness and death would be their own rewards, of course.
The five stood around the plinth, ready with their shards, the energy coalescing around them as the shards were brought ever closer together.

"Madame Web," Osborn said slowly, "place your shard on the plinth." He wanted Web out of the equation as soon as possible - to have her gain ultimate power was a possibility he did not want to see come to pass. He watched her stumble up to the plinth and raise her shard high, the energy around them making the tip of the stone a focal point, crackling ever stronger as she lowered it into position on the top of the plinth. As she did so she was blown backwards, seemingly by a bolt of lightning. Her old body flew backwards and Greg Herd had to dive to save her from breaking her spine as she landed. Osborn did not have time to see that, though - all he could see was a black mass of roiling, churning energy above the central plinth.

"What's going on?" he demanded of Maxwell, whose face had gone as white as a sheet in a matter of seconds. "What's happening?"

"The Gathering has failed," Maxwell said in a hushed, horrified tone. "The spell has gone wrong. Madame Web must have had doubt in her heart. The forces that govern the spell knew that, the instant she put her shard down, and they're angry. Two of us will pay the price for what we have brought about, the same as if the Gathering had gone smoothly, but the remaining three will be left with nothing!" His bald head was swathed in sweat, and his voice shook with fear.

"Is there any way to stop it?" Osborn said hurriedly.

Maxwell shook his head. "No," he breathed. "Two of us will die, and the spirits will find us even if we leave this place. We could survive for another day, at most, but two of us must die soon to please the spirits."

"No," Osborn said quietly, in a voice that rose to a shriek as he screamed "No! I was so close!" He had to duck as another bolt of searing energy arced towards him and slammed into the wall behind his head, leaving a rough-hewn hole with flames licking at its edges. When he felt confident enough to look up again he saw that the girl, Mattie, had been caught in one of the beams.
She screamed in agony as she was hoisted off her feet and hung suspended five feet in the air. The smell of burning flesh hit Osborn's nostrils and made him want to vomit, but, like a rabbit caught in headlights, he found himself unable to stop watching. Eventually, the girl was thrown back to earth, her limbs gone limp and her skin burnt away, to reveal scorched muscle and charred bone. Osborn knew that she was dead the moment she hit the ground, coming to rest in a crumpled, mangled heap. He had seen many dead bodies in his time, so he knew to recognize the signs.
Suddenly, another horrible scream from behind him made him spin quickly on one heel. To his surprise, it looked like the spirits had chosen Maxwell to be their second victim. Like the girl, he hung in the air, twitching and thrashing as his flesh was seared away and his life force drained. Osborn was not sorry to see him die - he was simply glad it was not him.
The notorious Osborn luck seemed to be holding again, even when it came to being chosen for death by supernatural entities. He felt his lips twitch into a triumphant smile as the room returned to its usual calm, the spirits appeased - at least for now. In the center of the room, the plinth stood scorched and blackened, the shards cracked and useless, their energy expended and their power drained. Osborn howled with rage, his fists clenching and unclenching of their own accord. There would be no second chances at this, it seemed. His great scheme had been thwarted by sheer bad luck. Someone would pay for this.

That someone would be Spider-Man.

Before he could do anything else, however, the mobile phone he had left on the desk in the corner of the room went off, its shrill call distracting him from his present train of thought. Snatching it up in a fury, he snapped "Yes?" in a cursory tone.

"Mr. Osborn?" said a cautious voice on the other end of the line. "The Brotherhood of Scrier salutes you, my lord. We are your servants for life. Our blood is yours to spill –"

"Enough!" Osborn snarled. "Give me some good news, boy, or I will spill that blood more quickly than you would care for."

"I'm afraid that isn't possible as yet, my lord," the Scrier said nervously. "I have information from the surveillance network regarding Allison Mongrain."

Osborn grit his teeth and wiped his brow of the sweat that had finally begun to accumulate there with a silken handkerchief. That damnable Mongrain woman was turning out to be more of a thorn in his side than he had originally anticipated. "Well, boy?"

"Mongrain has... she has..."

Osborn felt his temper slip, finally. "Damn you, tell me what she has done, or I will cut it out of your worthless hide myself!"

"She has given the Parkers the information you sought to keep from them. The Molten Man gambit was a failure. Mongrain and the Bugle man, Joe Robertson, they found the tracking device and destroyed it. The Molten Man is no longer under our control, and we suspect he may be coming to exact his revenge."

Greg Herd watched Osborn's mad raging and swallowed nervously. This was turning ugly in a hurry, he thought. He was lucky that whatever had happened had not happened to him. He was lucky to be alive - which was more than could be said for either the Franklin girl or the old man Maxwell. He supposed he should count himself lucky on that account, but what would become of Annie now? She was hanging onto a thread as it was, and if Osborn should choose to cut off the medical care that she was receiving out of spite or malice, what would he do
then? What would she do?
Oh, Annie, I'm so sorry. I did this for you, and I failed you.
In his arms, Madame Web stirred, coughing blood out onto her aged lips. Herd looked down and saw that the old woman's face was wracked with pain. He realized that she was probably bleeding internally, and she would need medical attention herself sooner rather than later. Which meant that he was her only hope.
Stumbling to his feet with Web in his arms, he moved towards the door quickly and silently. With Osborn occupied on the phone, Herd was confident that he wouldn't notice the two of them leaving. He was certainly angry and self-absorbed enough right now. Not wanting to miss his chance, and unwilling to be around Osborn for at least the immediate future, Herd ran quickly towards the elevator to the ground floor, Madame Web moaning and shifting in his arms. He quieted her and pushed the button to call the elevator and leave Osborn to his madness.
And not a moment too soon, he thought.

Peter Parker, also known as the Amazing Spider-Man, swung into cover a little way from his home in Forest Hills, in order that he might change from his garish red-and-blue costume into the civvies he carried in a web-sack on his back. With practiced ease he slipped from one life to the other, leaving the pressures of both behind for the moment. He was tired, as he imagined his wife was as well, after a long day. He did not think, however, that she had had to deal with a couple dozen muggers and ungrateful muggees. His jaw still ached from where a confused old lady had walloped him across the face with her handbag, which, he was convinced, had had a brick glued to the insides. It had been one of those days, he concluded, that made him wonder if he ought to hang up his tights and wave a white flag. Sometimes the general public could hit harder than Doctor Octopus. He rubbed his mouth with a hand and felt the swelling protest angrily. He tried not to keep probing it with his tongue as he walked towards his house, whistling a little tune as he did so. Knocking on the front door with a jaunty five raps and then another two, spaced a few seconds apart, he got ready to greet the light of his life. The face that greeted him looked like his wife's but it was glistening with new and dried tears, and looked raw from being wiped with a handkerchief so often.

"Hey, babe, what's wrong?" Peter asked softly, holding out his arms for his wife and gently enfolding her to hold her close.

"Oh, Peter, it's been so crazy today," Mary Jane sobbed. "Robbie came here with some woman called Allison Mongrain, and she -" She broke off, sobbing.

"She what, MJ?" Peter asked, frowning. "What did she do?"

"She told me our daughter was alive," Mary Jane said, wiping her red, swollen eyes with her hand. "She told me May was alive. Our baby, Peter!"

Peter frowned again. "Why is this bad news? If our daughter is alive we should go to her. I don't see what could be so awful -"

"She said she used to work for Norman Osborn," MJ said, her voice cracking. "She said that he has May. She said he was holding her at his hunting lodge in the woods."
Peter's face twisted into a snarl. Osborn. It didn't surprise him. Norman loved to do these kinds of things. Other people's lives were just a sick game to him. Peter's life in particular.

"MJ," he said slowly, kissing his wife on the forehead and holding her tight, "you know I have to find out if this is a lie or not, don't you?"

MJ pulled away from him suddenly, gasping, a hand over her mouth. Her eyes glistened with fresh tears.

"Oh, Peter, no," she said. "No. May is dead. I know that she's dead. I felt her die. I carried her inside of me for nine months and I felt her life end. Don't torture me any more. God, please, Peter, don't do this to me. Don't do this to yourself!"

"I have to, MJ," Peter said firmly. "I lost Gwen to Osborn; I won't lose what we created together. We made a life - we had a little girl, for God's sake - and I won't let Osborn take that away from me. Not again."

MJ crossed her arms, lowering her head. "I see what this is all about," she said slowly. "This isn't about May at all. This is about Gwen and Osborn, isn't it? You're after revenge."

Peter was mortified. "How dare you say that? I loved Gwen, and I loved May - I mean I love May - and I want Osborn to pay for what he's done to them both. Osborn has to pay for this, don't you see?"

"No, Peter, I don't see," MJ said sadly. "Can't you just leave this one alone? Don't give Osborn the satisfaction of getting to you - he wants you to go to him. May is dead. I don't know how to say it any other way. I loved our daughter too, with all my heart and more, but I know that she's gone. Please, Peter, I want you here with me. I need you. You're my husband; please, Peter, just hold me. Just... hold me."

Peter felt his heart breaking. "I will, MJ, after I've brought our daughter back to us. We'll be a family again, I promise. I love you, Mary Jane. More than I ever have. But I have to go." He kissed her softly and then turned towards the front door. "I'll call you when I have her, MJ - I promise you that, too. I love you."

He heard the door slam emphatically behind him and he wondered if this was the right thing to do.
Tell me this is right, Uncle Ben. Tell me this is right. Wait a second... I don't need to know if this is right - of course it is! Osborn has my daughter; an innocent child. I won't let him poison her like he did Harry. I hope I make you proud, Uncle Ben. I just hope my marriage stands up to it.

Mary Jane Watson Parker looked up to the night sky, and picked out the light somewhere on the constellation of Orion that she and Peter had deemed "their star". It flickered unblinkingly, as brightly as it had always done, but somehow - - somehow its light didn't seem as bright, or as warm, as it had done when Peter had been there to cradle her in his arms. Oh, Peter... I hope you know what you're doing.

Norman Osborn screamed and threw his phone across the room, where it shattered against the wall, propelled there at speed by his enhanced strength.

"Idiots!" he howled. "Fools!" It is time to act, he decided. But it will not be the Scriers who fight for me this day. Today the Goblin strikes. For the last time.

He strode across the room, sidestepping the corpses and making a beeline for a closet on the south wall. From it he drew a case and a duffel bag. Flipping the lid of the case he drew out a grinning gargoyle face and several pieces of machinery. Deftly, he assembled the pieces until the familiar shape of the Goblin Glider lay on the floor, its engine humming ready for the chase.
From the duffel bag, he drew a purple and green horror that had been absent from the skies too often recently. It was time for the Green Goblin - the real Green Goblin - to carve his bloody furrow across the city again, and it was time for Peter Parker to feel the full wrath of the Goblin once more.
Osborn threw off the heavy red robe, and the shirt and trousers he had been wearing beneath it. Systematically, he drew on the Goblin like a second skin - first the tunic and hobnailed boots, then the gloves with their deadly sparkle blasters concealed in the fingertips, and finally the grinning Halloween mask that completed his transformation from Norman Osborn into Spider-Man's worst nightmare. Through the Goblin's red eyes, he saw the world as if it were doused in blood.

Spider-Man's blood.

Parker's blood.

He dies tonight.
Tonight.