Dusk.
The spider ghost hissed through the air on his webs, slinging towards where he knew the hunter was hidden. Hunters were not soldiers. They didn't fortify their positions, they concealed them. If the position was found, then the hunter had to be ready to deal with it.
An hour later Peter found himself in a run down part of town. Tenement houses backed up to a switching yard for the railroad. The whole neighborhood seemed a uniform dreary brown. Peter stalked along the rooftops until he found the building he was looking for.
Marvelous. It had a fire escape.
Peter crouched on the roof and thought. He should probably wait until three in the morning, when everybody should be asleep, even psychopathic hunters. However, the longer he waited the greater his chance of being discovered by some devious and unexpected trap the hunter would doubtless prepare around his lair, and if the hunter escaped Peter wasn't sure he could find him again.
Then deeper, older thoughts came to him; not with words, but with anger. Pride. This hunter would take him for a trophy. This hunter's arrogance must be schooled. This hunter must be educated about the foolishness of his pride.
Peter shook his head. "If I hurt him, scare him, maybe he'll leave me alone," Peter muttered.
Or just maybe you'll be in a position where you accidentally kill him on purpose.
Peter gritted his teeth. "Enough of this," he gritted out. "Let's just do it."
Not trusting any direct access to the apartment, Peter stole down to the end of the building and climbed down headfirst to the second floor, where the hunter's apartment was. He opened the window, and slipped inside. The lights were erratic and dim at best, so he hopped up to the ceiling and moved around them, keeping his body tight and close to the ceiling.
A tired woman opened the door to an apartment, her television blaring to her children. She closed the door. She looked like she was going to work. Peter waited for her to shuffle down the hall before he continued down the hall. Almost nine now. Should be quiet around here.
Peter rolled the mesh up off his mouth. He adjusted himself above the hunter's door, his back to the seam where wall met ceiling. He lowered his heel and bashed on the door a few times. "Landlord, open up," he said in as coarse a voice as he could manage. He rolled the mesh back down and waited, curled almost upside down, fingertips on the wall over the door.
Chain, bolt, lock. The door opened. "I am paid through—"
Peter spun down, uncurling, his legs whipping out at the hunter.
The hunter had good reflexes; he put his power into trying to slam the door, and the spider ghost was deflected and knocked inside the apartment instead of connecting with the mighty kick. They squared off.
Senses whirling, the spider ghost saw it was a two room apartment, spare and almost empty. A rack of hand to hand weapons was on one counter, and that was all the adornment in the place. The hunter stood before him, dressed in canvas pants and a t-shirt, wearing heavy boots, eyes flashing with excitement.
They did not speak. There was no need.
The spider ghost sprang, and the hunter lashed out with his fist. Peter was ready for his speed this time, and he slapped the fist aside and connected with the force of his leap carried through his forearm into the hunter's chest. The hunter flew backwards and crashed into the wall, bashing a hole in the plaster with his torso. He spun out of the way as Peter followed with a blow that carried his fist through the plaster, lathe, and plaster on the other side.
The hunter slashed out with a nasty punch that would have caught the spider ghost on the side of the head had it not been deflected.
"You caught me once," Peter said, "and I fell for it. No more." He pulled his arm free and sprang out of reach. "No more."
"Show me," whispered the hunter, his eyes bright and excited. "Show me what you can do."
A snap and a hiss; web spat out at the hunter. The hunter dove out of the way and flipped the table over, catching the next two strings on it instead of on himself.
Peter tugged on the webbing and the table jerked up through the air towards him. Peter punched it in the middle and it shattered. The hunter scooped a couple items off the floor where they had fallen from the table when it toppled.
The hunter rolled out of the way as another web zipped after him. Peter sprang towards him, caught his shoulder, and tossed him up against the wall. The hunter thudded back, and dust sifted down from the ceiling.
The spider ghost grabbed the hunter's ragged shirt and tugged him close, eye to eye.
"I did nothing to you," the spider ghost hissed. "You came after me unprovoked."
"Life is hard," the hunter said. The spider ghost shoved him back into the wall once, twice, three times. The plaster exploded outward, the lathe cracked, the lights flickered. Peter glanced away; then his senses screamed and he let go to jump back as he heard—
The whicker of a razor sharp blade leaving its sheath—
The hunter was no match for the spider ghost in raw speed, but he was not slow either. Peter heard the knife and he was ready for it.
He completely missed the pepper spray in the hunter's other hand. It hissed loose, beading on the mesh mask.
Agony erupted through Peter as his hyper-alert senses explored the effects of the pepper spray saturating his mask.
He took a few quick steps back, gripping his face and howling. Where was the hunter, where was the hunter, close by—
The spider ghost forgot all about the pepper spray as ten inches of razor knife rammed into his gut; Peter thought he could feel the blade's tip scratch against his spine. Not pressing his advantage, the hunter tore the knife free; sure enough, the back of the blade was serrated. Peter stopped screaming, bounded back, slapping against the wall and gripping his gut, beyond screaming.
must not pass out must not pass out must not pass out
Peter grabbed the mesh on his face and tore it off, throwing it away. He was already recovering from the spray; the mesh had stopped almost all of it. He gasped in agony, feeling his organs shift, the raw screaming pain of a severe gut wound. Time. Need time.
"Impressive," the hunter rumbled. "But you are losing blood. Shall we finish this here?" His slow Russian accent gave extra menace to his words.
Heavy footsteps in the hall. A figure at the door.
"Dammit, Kraven, there goes your deposit—"
Landlord.
The spider ghost spun web out that hit the door and slapped it shut, then more that sealed it with a glob of adhesive. "Just between us," he gasped hoarsely. "Just us." He felt blood soaking his mesh, trickling down his legs, running down the wall. Can't keep bleeding or—
Can't keep bleeding.
The spider ghost sprang at the hunter, shoving him, hard. The hunter slammed out through the closed window, taking some of the frame with him, and bashed into the fire escape. He rolled to his feet and slid down the fire escape. Peter's shoulders sagged. This guy was tougher than he looked, for a normal man.
Oh yeah. Insanity. Helps tremendously with durability.
Peter tore some mesh off his torso and pinched the three inch wide gash shut with his fingers. He sprayed a sticky glob of web over the wound, sealing in most of the blood. It had to hold. It had to. Then he crawled along the wall towards the fire escape. Upon reaching it, he saw the hunter clear the fence around the rail yard like an Olympic athlete. Peter controlled his fall down the fire escape, and he walked to the fence and clambered over.
Must end this tonight.
There, in the shadow of the boxcar, stood the hunter. Waiting for him.
"You know," the hunter said in his slow voice, "I had a more elaborate hunt arranged, since you are the first of your kind I will hunt. You were going to help me refine my technique. You are too clever for that, so you force us to, how you say, cut to the chase. Which is also fine." He smiled, his teeth pink with blood. Reached into a pocket in his pants.
Pulled out brass knuckles.
His smile widened.
Peter felt a wave of raw pain course through him, draining his strength; he felt his knees weaken, and he leaned back on the fence. Tired; he was so tired.
The hunter came towards him.
The spider ghost took over. Web shot out and slapped into the hunter's foot; he stumbled, off balance, as the spider ghost scuttled low across the ground to where he was. The hunter cut his boot out of the web in time for the spider ghost to slam a blow into his shoulder as he spun to evade. Flipping in the air, he crashed into the metal side of a boxcar and dropped to the ground. His knife glittered as it spun out of his hand, clattering to the ground somewhere in the maze of rails.
The wind howled through the rail yard, rattling the fence in its sudden force. Rain; the spider ghost scented rain on the wind.
A fine night for flying.
The spider ghost flung web at a boxcar and was tugged by its elastic length towards the car; he slapped onto it and crawled over the top, every move steeped in liquid fire pain that coursed through his belly. Good. More boxcars. He hid.
Listened.
Crunch of boots on gravel.
"Please do not go so soon," came the slow Russian voice. "This was always my favorite part of the hunt; tracking the wounded predator to where it goes to ground, where it has nothing to lose and is pushed to its limit by hate." The hunter slowly and carefully walked between the boxcars, where visibility was low and the ambush was inevitable. He was careful in his recklessness.
"I feel you nearby, spider ghost. I feel your blood, your energy, running from you." The hunter's eyes probed the dark spaces, and he was careful to constantly look up. "There is no shame in your fear. You are in a tight corner now. I will find you and I will kill you."
"Have you ever been afraid?" echoed a faint voice. The hunter stopped, ears working, his attention and focus fierce and intense.
"Only once," the hunter said, changing the tack of his search. "Only once."
"So what happened?" echoed the voice from a different direction. The hunter smiled.
"I was in the Democratic Republic of the Congo," the hunter said. "I was hunting, and I had shot a water buffalo. It went into the tall grass, and I followed. I found what was left of it, spider ghost, and something had utterly destroyed it. Whatever ate it had jaws bigger than your body," the hunter said as he worked his way around a car, homing in on his prey. "So I followed it, seeing I had a bigger and better creature to hunt. That's is when I felt the Beast for the first time," he said, eyes bright in the darkness. "I was eighteen."
"I probably wasn't even born," came the voice, the wind carrying it. The hunter smiled brutally, lowering himself and continuing along his course.
"No, you weren't," the hunter said. "In the darkness of the depths of the jungle, alone, I caught the Beast and found that it was no animal after all. We fought. I lost. But it was pleased with me, and gifted me as no mortal hunter has ever been gifted. I smell your blood, spider ghost."
"You are an amazing hunter, I'll give you that," came the voice, this time from another direction. "Why me?"
"You are the beginning of my true destiny," the hunter said. "I was not made to be wasted on mere animals when such demons as you stalk the world."
"Oh, then we can end this right now," the spider ghost's voice reverberated in the sudden stiff wind. "I'm one of the good guys."
"Are you?" the hunter asked, his face cruel. "For now, perhaps. But you are dangerous, my friend, and powerful. I will kill you."
The hunter spun and lashed out, even as the spider ghost punched at him. The brass knuckles crashed into the spider ghost's knuckles with a dull crunch, and the spider ghost gasped and whirled away as the hunter's face suddenly paled.
The spider ghost reeled back and leaned against the side of the box car, chest heaving with gasps, and the hunter dragged the dented brass knuckles off his trembling fingers and shifted them onto his other hand.
Nothing to be said. The hunter moved first.
He swung with his weighted fist and the spider ghost easily deflected the blow, but did not see the steel toed boot whipping up and thudding into his groin, jolting his gut wound. He staggered, and the hunter smashed a blow home on the side of his head with the knuckles. So big; the hunter was a big man loaded with muscle. Right now, normal muscle was doing the job.
The spider ghost whipped out with superhuman speed and punched the hunter in the gut, the force blasting him off his feet and through the air. The hunter slammed into a box car at an angle and rebounded, slapping down on the gravel and sliding. He lay curled, struggling to straighten, as the spider ghost shook his head to clear it.
Thunder rolled through the sky, echoed by the blast of a train horn approaching. The spider ghost closed in on the hunter. Reached for him.
The hunter rolled over suddenly, his foot lashing out and snapping the steel toed boot sideways into the spider ghost's knee. The spider ghost stumbled, and the hunter rolled forward and whipped out with the knuckles, catching him in the same knee, directly on the cap. The leg flew back, leaving the spider ghost unbalanced for a moment. The hunter reached for him.
Unbalanced was not enough for the spider ghost; he bounded up on his good leg, into the air, flipping, twisting, and came down ten feet away. The hunter was up and charging, unexpectedly fast as he launched through the air. A hasty backhand caught him in the shoulder and knocked him away, so he plowed into the gravel again. He rolled and came to his feet facing the spider ghost, bleeding.
The ground trembled as the coal train rumbled nearer.
"I was going to use traps," the hunter gasped, chest heaving, blood trickling from a dozen cuts. "I was going to use tricks and strategy to get close. All along, though, this is what I wanted. What I longed for. Face to face. I want to beat you, spider ghost. You are my prize."
"This..." rasped the spider ghost. "This aint no cracker jacks box..." That's all he could manage.
The spider ghost was fading fast. Time to finish it while it could still end in victory. He sprang.
Caught the hunter, they tumbled to the ground, in a quick motion the hunter jabbed his stiff thumb into the spider ghost's windpipe. In that moment of distraction, the hunter pushed the spider ghost up with one hand and smashed a calculated blow across his left eye socket. The spider ghost's head snapped back, and the hunter squirmed for position to land a knee blow in the torn gut.
The spider ghost's head snapped back down and caught the hunter square in the forehead, knocking his head back to rebound against the gravel. For a moment the hunter lost focus, maybe lost consciousness. The spider ghost rolled to his feet and hauled him up.
Humanity burned clean in the cleansing fire of agony, the spider ghost was ready to finish this. The spider ghost was shorter than the hunter, but in a burst of strength he lifted him up off his feet. He spat on the hunter, and drew back for the killing blow.
The hunter rallied, and kicked the spider ghost's wounded knee with all the strength he could muster. Letting out a hoarse gasp of pain, the spider ghost let go, and the hunter smashed a blow across his face with both hands laced into a single mighty fist. The spider ghost was airborne, flipping, landing on its feet.
The hunter stooped and raked a handful of gravel into his fist, flinging it at the spider ghost, who raised his hands but did not dodge—
Did not notice the fist weight also thrown until it whirled between his fingers and smacked into his forehead; he reeled.
Consciousness was mostly gone when he launched himself in a fury at his tormentor; his move caught the hunter by surprise. He blasted into the hunter with his shoulder, and the hunter was lifted off his feet and sent flying through the air. He smacked down on the railroad ties in front of the incoming coal train. Made clumsy by pain, he rolled to the side and off as the train let loose an earsplitting blast, then it raced between the hunter and the hunted.
On a good night, the spider ghost would vault over the train and pursue his quarry.
Tonight he was glad to crawl away.
The first fistfuls of rain spattered down over the city.
xXx
The car pulled up to the curb next to the pay phone; the receiver was clacking against the plexiglass side of the booth, slowly twisting upside down on its cord. The car door opened, and the Doctor stepped out. He adjusted his collar against the wind, and glanced up and down the deserted street with his keen sight.
He moved to the phone, standing in its light, and looked around.
"Doc," came a whisper. The Doctor looked to the side and saw the blood slowly trickle down the side of the booth. He stepped back and looked up into the pale face and deadened eyes of Peter Parker.
Doctor Strange caught him as he toppled off the top of the phone booth. He lowered the crippled man to the sidewalk, then stood and shrugged off his coat.
"Keep life in him," he whispered to his coat as it was wrapped around the young man, "at least until I get him home."
xXx
"Am I dead?" Peter meant to ask, unwilling to find out if he was able to open his eyes or not. What he actually said was "gnuh?"
"Lie still," came a voice from very far away. Peter wasn't sure if he heard it or imagined it, but he knew who it belonged to.
"Strange," he thought to himself.
"I am here," the voice came to him silently.
"I'm in a lot of pain," Peter thought.
"I can ease that, or you can heal," Strange thought. "The pain brings healing with it."
"Thank you for coming for me," Peter thought.
Silence.
"You can open your eyes," Strange said aloud.
Peter opened one of his eyes, the other was swollen shut. Sunlight poured in the window. He found himself on a comfortable bed in a sparsely furnished room.
"You are in my home, and very fortunate to be alive, Mister Parker," Strange said. "I had to operate, but I believe you'll pull through. I also put four teeth back in their sockets; fortunately they were still in your mouth when I found you. I fixed the cracked ones. I think you'll be able to chew in a few days, if your jaw mends."
"My knee?" Peter managed.
Strange shrugged. "You'll probably be able to walk again, due to your unique physiology, but I can't promise full function. Maybe, maybe not. It wasn't fully healed from another experience; looked like a tearing wrench."
"Yeah," Peter said. "That knee has a bulls-eye painted on it, I think. How about my..." he gestured vaguely at his abdomen, "guts?"
Strange watched him for a moment. "You very nearly died," he said quietly. "I've repaired what I can. Your body has to do the rest."
Peter closed his eyes and tried to sense what time it was. His senses had completely lost the rhythm of his heartbeat, and did not know. "What time is it?" he asked, his voice hoarse and torn.
"Just after noon," Strange said. "You aren't ready for food, but I'll see if I can find something to re-hydrate you after your extensive blood loss." He smiled, his face saturnine. "Don't go anywhere until I get back," he said, and he was gone.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Peter whispered. "Can we reschedule our apartment hunt?" and an emotion welled up in him that he could not identify. "Gwen... what am I going to tell Gwen?" He slept a few moments later.