xXx
Peter sat in his cell, waiting for it. He knew precisely what it would take to leave through the window. Nothing held him here but self restraint. He wondered how much longer that would be true.
He had wondered about a great many things. He had little else to do.
He was startled by a fwip sound. Glancing over that the barred windows, he saw a black tendril wrapped around one. Fwip fwip fwip fwip. More tendrils, wrapping around the other bars. With a sudden rasping jerk, the bars tore out of the wall. Peter sprang to his feet as two black-clad hands whipped up and grasped the window frame.
Adrenaline blazed through his system as he caught a whiff of himself. He stared, frozen, at the black-clad fingertips. They shifted, and merciless claws slid out of the tips. In a sudden burst of strength, half the wall tore away. Peter caught only the faintest glimpse of a figure dropping away outside the prison as a hellish giggle hung in the air.
The door at the end of the cell block banged open, running feet approached.
Peter realized if he stayed, they might not believe he didn't do it. He might be moved somewhere more secure. He couldn't think of a way that he could spin this to his advantage. "No," Peter muttered through gritted teeth. He sprang out of the shattered wall and dropped.
As he fell, he caught a glimpse of a lightless figure tossing something like web, swinging into deeper shadow.
"What the hell was that!" Peter demanded of his senses.
They had picked nothing up. Chilled and heated by fear and rage, Peter fired a web strand and slung over the street, whipping into the same alley his mysterious benefactor had taken.
Wind thrilled through Peter as he slung down the alley, springing and firing web, moving dangerously fast as his prison clothes whirled and flapped on him and the wind whistled across his wide-open eyes.
"Work with me," he hissed between his teeth. "What are we chasing?!"
His spider ghost was silent. Fearful.
"Alright," Peter snapped. "This time I'm going to go sort it out with or without you."
The chase whirled up to the rooftops as Peter saw a silhouette that looked remarkably like him go arcing up out of the alley on a strand, whistling through the sky to land on a cornice. The figure turned to look at him, huge pale eyes reflecting the streetlights. It puffed a breath out, and the steam wreathed its head. Peter thought he caught a glimpse of light reflected from teeth. Then it whirled and sprang away, lithe and frightening.
Peter wondered if that's what he looked like to others as he followed.
His flimsy shoes long gone, Peter sprang and whirled over the rooftops, ducking around air conditioning units and chimneys, leaping over streets and lower rooftops, led and taunted by the shadow of his shadow. His clothes weren't able to take the strain; he lost a sleeve from the shirt, the cuff of the other sleeve was ripped to tatters, his pants frayed from the knees down as he scrabbled, dashed, and sprang over the restless city.
Peter didn't feel the wind. He didn't notice the cold. His raw hands and feet didn't register pain. The thing he chased left no trace. He knew if he lost it he wouldn't be able to find it again.
He would not lose it.
Peter poured on fresh determination and speed, whirling and whipping over the city like a man possessed. Too long without exercising, without practicing. He pushed further, shot thinner threads, moved with unholy and inhuman speed. Nothing would stop him. Nothing.
The street lamps below flashed by, the traffic flowed with the arterial pulse of the city. In the distance, sirens started. Even their helicopters could not catch Peter now. Nothing could. Except possibly the shadow he pursued.
Then, as abruptly as the chase had begun, it was over. Peter whirled up to the rooftop of a warehouse and landed with his muscles coiled to spring. He skidded to a halt. Standing on the roof of the warehouse, dimly lit by the clouds reflecting the light of the city, the inky shadow stood. Its chest heaved with exertion as it stood turned away from Peter, head cocked to the side, unnaturally aware.
The figure was inky black, light did not reflect from it. Its surface had an oily sheen that Peter's senses couldn't lock onto. Peter caught his breath for a moment, waiting to see what his shadow would do.
"I feel like Peter Pan," he said lamely. "Chasing his shadow. What the hell are you?"
Show me what you have, hissed the shadow.
Peter fired out webbing, spakking it right onto the dark figure. He tugged on the strands, but they slid right off the frictionless black. The shadow's shoulders bounced with a chuckle. It turned to face him. He saw the luminosity of its eyes. He saw its teeth; they were as long as fingers, black, translucent in the permanent twilight over New York City.
"Okay, you've seen Aliens just one time too many. Or lots of times too many. Care to tango?"
The shadow pounced at him, and Peter spun to the side as inch long claws naturally protruded from the mobile flesh of the shadow, lashing through the air with passionate savagery. Peter whirled out of the way and bounded back, seriously rattled. He bounced up and caught on the side of a chimney.
"Come on," he muttered. "Help me out here!" His senses picked out the creature he fought as a blind spot, as nothing, not even an emptiness. They simply refused to register that peculiar inky surface.
Peter was fighting by sight and sound alone. The hairs raised on the back of his neck as the creature chuckled.
Chicken? hissed the figure in an unnatural voice. Yes. You must taste like chicken.
"You're going to have to beat me," Peter said unsteadily. "Fear won't do it for you." He dropped from the side of the chimney down to the roof and he stood, ready.
The shadow stalked towards him, claws flexing, teeth glittering with an odd saliva. Peter realized that was what he was smelling. Then the creature flung its hands out towards him. From the backs of the hands, tendrils of the suit shot out, whirling through the air as though they were living web.
Peter dove to the side, shocked to his core with revulsion at the thought of being touched by that material. He gritted his teeth. Had to be done. He bounded off the wall, rolled in low, and popped up with a punch.
The shadow had already flung itself back out of the way of his blow, and a kick caught him as it sprang away. Peter slid back a few feet on the roofing, the gravel digging into his bare feet.
He scooped up a handful of gravel and started flicking it, piece by piece, hard enough to dent metal. The shadow laughed, a throaty evil sound, as it caught the bits of stone that came at it.
"I'm just going to have to beat you down, and I don't want to," Peter said clearly. "Who and what are you? Maybe we can work something out."
I am the shadow that cast your ghost, whispered the evil slithering voice of the shadow. It's time you learned your place, Peter Parker.
"Is this a Nazi thing?" Peter asked uncertainly. "I hate those Nazi things."
The figure pounced again, and this time Peter stood his ground.
The first flurry of blows whirled at him, shadow on shadow, and he couldn't pick out the details. His reflexes relied on his senses, and they deserted him. The first, second, third blow he knocked awry. The kick caught him in the knee, and then a punch cracked across his jaw. The thing unleashed an unholy hiss as its claws slashed at him and he ducked and rolled back. The claws tore through shirt, left beads of blood on his skin.
"Okay," Peter said, tearing the shirt off. "Okay. You want to dance? Let's dance." His eyes glittered with fury as he stood in tattered pants, his corded ripped torso rippling with muscle in the chill night. Blood speckled his pants. He hopped at the shadow and landed skidding sideways, throwing gravel at the figure with his feet. As bloody gravel sprayed, Peter popped up and whirled into a kick that caught the flinching shadow in the side of the head. It spun around, slammed off the wall, darted in at him snarling.
Cold rage blazed in Peter. He slapped its claws out of the way as he spun, planting his elbow in the back of its head with all the force he could command. He was going to put this thing down, one way or another. That blow would have punched a dent into steel plating, but the figure rolled with it, knocked forward into a somersault and popping up spinning in the air.
Peter sprang into the air, and the shadow fired a tendril at the roof and yanked down to get out of the way as Peter sailed overhead. Peter skidded to a halt by the edge of the roof.
The monster grinned at him, showing off its shimmering teeth. Then it turned and dashed for the opposite end of the warehouse. Peter followed at top speed.
Launching into the air with a tremendous leap, the creature cleared the four lanes of traffic below and sailed through a plate glass window in a department store. Peter followed, but he fired a web that tugged him off course so he punched through a window further along the side of the building.
The shadow glanced over at him as he bashed through the safety glass and landed rolling. It had been poised to tear at him as he came through the same window it had used, and it did not expect to be flanked. He smiled, traces of cuts across his body and face.
"Now you've done it," he said. He sprang over the perfume counter; behind it was a chair. He snatched the chair and spun, flinging it. The shadow spatted out a tendril that yanked the chair out of the way, but Peter was already charging with the cash register in one hand and a handful of perfume bottles in the other.
It hopped to the side, but Peter flung the bottles with all his strength at the floor by the creature. They shattered, spraying the shadow with shards of glass and splashes of reeking fragrance. As it darted out of the way and accidentally plowed into a rack of shirts, Peter flexed as hard as he could, firing the cash register at the scrabbling shadow like a pitcher throws a fastball.
With a resounding bang, the register snapped into the shadow. It tore loose of the shirt rack and was punched through a discount rack and the shelves of jeans; the shelf flew over backwards and cloth was everywhere as the shadow scrabbled out of the way, Peter hot on its trail holding a shirt rack.
Peter took a moment to yank the hanger wheel off the rack, and now he had a metal pole about five feet long. He twirled it once, and bounded over onto the mess of shirts and jeans.
"I can smell you now," he said, his voice cold. "I don't think hide-go-seek is going to be fun for you anymore." He paused as scrabbling echoed to him from the dim recesses of the Ladies Wear. "I've fought my inner spider ghost before," he said. "Compared to that battle, this is cake. Nothing new. So do you want to come out here and be mastered, or are you going to make me chase you?"
What do you mean, me chase you? the shadow snarled. Peter Parker can't come back from that jail break. By now they know what you are, or at least what you are not.
"That's true," Peter said with a nod. "I'll sort that out later. Enough about me. What about you? Who are you? WHAT are you?"
We are better, the voice hissed. Peter spun in time to deflect the coat rack that hissed through the air at him, banging it with the pole to knock it aside. The strength of the shadow still shocked him. And he was also a bit unsettled that the cash register hadn't ended the fight.
"A guy can dream," he muttered. He bounded along the trajectory of the coat rack, his scalp prickling with suspense as his eyes darted through the shadows, hypertense and waiting for the hit from out of nowhere. The scent of perfume got stronger as he reached the escalators.
He stopped short as he reached the top of the escalator. There was a puddle of perfume, shed from the shadow effortlessly. Peter realized that he was supposed to stand there looking at the perfume for a second. He threw himself back—
Too late. The shadow sprang from behind him, claws slashing. Peter felt them whip through the muscles of his arm like tissue paper, dig out a gouge along his back. He couldn't correct his jump, he crashed against a clothing rack and went down in a pile of fabric.
With a throaty snarl, the creature followed up on its advantage, tearing down at him. He kicked at it and missed, the shadow plunged its claws down into the clothes as Peter squirmed evasively.
Peter twisted up to the side on one knee in time to stop the backhand the shadow flung at him with his unprepared jaw. He sailed through the air, dark lights exploding in his vision, and he hit the railing of the balcony with the small of his back and toppled over.
On the way down, he managed to fire web to the underside of the escalator and swing a bit to slow his fall, sliding along the floor on the level below where he had been hit. His back stung, his cheek was numb, he was laced with fire where the claws had torn him. Peter managed a kippup and wished he hadn't as his blood surged.
Instinctively, he knew the creature had followed him down. As he looked around, he realized he was between home appliances and hardware.
"Damn," he breathed.
The shadows behind him swelled and deepened, and Peter slid out of the way, squaring off with them.
Then he saw the Shroud, and from inside, Tandy and Mary Jane were disgorged to land on their feet on the linoleum thoroughfare of the department store.
Tandy's Eye glittered, the circular glowing mark like a tattoo around her eye. Her face was set in determination and disapproval as she gestured, and Light flared past Peter, who turned from it.
As he turned from the Light, it picked out in sharp relief the shadow that had been silently dashing towards him.
An inhuman squeal of rage, shock, and pain swarmed out of the shadow, and its surface rippled and began to peel back. It stopped immediately and sprang away from the searing, merciless, revealing Light. Tandy rushed to Peter's side, her fist clenched with Light playing around it in a nimbus of power. The Shroud drifted behind them, and Mary Jane stood next to Peter.
"Thank God you're okay, Peter," she said breathlessly.
"More or less okay," Peter managed. "This is the first time I can remember having a bunch of my friends show up mid freak-fight."
"Here," Mary Jane said, handing him a packet of his mesh. "I thought you might want this."
"Hot damn but you're a beautiful woman," Peter said, quickly stripping to his underwear and sliding the mesh over his skin. "I can't tell you how much better this is."
"It is kind of cold outside, you know," she said, trying a smile.
"They wouldn't give me a coat," Peter shrugged. He blinked. "You're awfully dressed up for a rescue," he said as he looked between her black dress and Tandy's white dress.
"It's Harry," Mary Jane said quickly. "Harry is the thing you're fighting. I think it's got something to do with the darkstone. When I looked into his eyes, I saw that same look I see when I look into yours, you know, when you're, uh, busy. Doing this stuff. I knew I had to find out more."
"Hang on," Peter said, blinking. "I'm in jail, and you're going out with Harry? Dressed like that?" He looked alarmed.
"Dammit, Peter, you have to make everything difficult," Mary Jane said in exasperation. She took a deep breath. "Peter Parker, will you marry me?"
He blinked, totally slack jawed. "Uh?" he said.
"You're the best man I've ever known," she said steadily. "You're a hero, Peter. I want that for myself for the rest of our lives. There's never been a doubt, not since I got to know the real you, that you're the man for me. You make me feel loved. I was going to have you meet the folks first," she said with a shrug, "but what the hell. What do you say, Parker? Will you marry me?"
Tandy and Tyrone exchanged a startled look. Tandy grinned.
A smile grew on Peter's face. "Yes," he said. "You bet I'll marry you. I would have married you a year ago." His smile grew into a full bore grin. "Hoo," he said. "We're gonna get married."
He pulled her into a hug, and she kissed him passionately. Then she pulled back, scowling.
"Dammit, Peter, I hate it when you get a bloody mouth."
"Well I didn't do it on purpose," he said, trying to be testy and just failing with the swell of joy that filled him. "I'm gonna get married to Mary Jane!" he said to Tandy and Tyrone, who grinned back at him.
"I wanted to do it like this," she said to him seriously. "So there's never any doubt in your mind that I know exactly what I'm getting into."
Peter blinked again, and nodded. "Speaking of which," he said. "Tandy, Tyrone, guard this woman with your lives. I gotta go have a heart to heart with Osborn."
He sprang off into the shadows as he pulled his mask down. Tandy sighed romantically, then looked at Mary Jane.
"You have some blood on you, dear," she noted.
"That's okay," Mary Jane said. "I'm never going to wash this dress again. This is the dress I proposed to him in." She smiled dreamily.
"She's got it bad," the Shroud noted.
They vacated the premises.