Chapter 9: The Red Death
"And now you're back," Madison ducked a punch, "from outer space," she grabbed the attacking wrist and twisted it, hearing it audibly snap. "I just walked in to find you here with that," she paused and drove her fist upward into the attackers nose," sad look upon you're face. I should have," she dropped to the ground and swung her leg out, tripping two at the same time," changed that stupid lock, I should have," the two fumbled and stood up again, and Madison's Spider Sense told her that one was left standing behind her. "Made you give your key," she jumped backward onto her hands as if to do a back flip, flung her feet up and kicked foreword and outward, one foot hitting each thug squarely in the face, "if I had thought for just one second," she then used the force of the blows to propel her feet up and back over her head in a continued back flip until they slammed into the face of the man behind her, "you'd be back to bother me." She changed direction to forward again, letting her feet fly back over her head and pushing off the ground with her arms to land squarely back on her feet. "Oh I will," she spun around, letting webbing fly from her wrists to cocoon the attackers. "Survive."
Clapping sounded from behind her. "Excellent," a voice purred from out of the shadows. "Precision, improvisation, accuracy . . . a near flawless performance."
Madison stayed exactly where she was but shifted her body weight slightly so she was ready to attack.
"Lacking in strength, fluidness, and speed. But all in all, not a bad show," there was a low chuckle. "Not bad at all."
Madison kept her back straight, her breathing deep and even. She knew this voice.
"But those were unworthy adversaries; dumb, clumsy thugs. To truly test someone of your skill, I think one would need a more worthy opponent."
Now Madison turned, straining her eyes into the shadows.
"Where are you?" she whispered.
"Right here," one of the shadows broke away from the others and slid to stand before her, not ten yards away. "Hello, killer."
Madison crouched down low, flexing her fingers in preparation for an attack but pausing for just a moment to allow herself a good look at him. He was lean and tall, his whole body and face covered by a black bodysuit with no apparent eyes. She briefly wondered how he could see out of the opaque black material. However, this time his outfit was different; over the black he had on close fitting armor- a breastplate covering his chest and another sheet slung over his back, with two plates on each of his arms, one fitting over the top of his biceps with the underneath of the arm covered only by the black, and the other wrapped around his entire forearm, the two separated so he could move his elbow easily. Two more pairs of plates covered each of his legs, the top one covering only his quads with the back open, and the bottom fitted snugly around the entire calf. The armor itself was a deep, polished blood red.
"I'm not playing games," she hissed. "He's not here, so I suggest you crawl back into whatever hell-hole you came from and wait for another chance to wreak havoc on Super Spider Boy, 'cause I'm not really in the mood to deal with any crap tonight."
The figure grinned beneath the mask. He knew, as she did, that she couldn't take him. Not alone. Not after the beating he had administered to Spiderman, her superior in many ways. She was smart though, he thought with a smile. She was keeping her anger in check, trying to stall him, trying to give herself and her 'partner' time to figure out a way to put an end to him. But what they didn't know was that there wasn't a way. He was, as it were, invincible. Or at least would be soon enough. So he was content to let them scheme and plan; the ending would still be the same.
Even so, he was bored. Taking one out now would be a very nice prelude to the final show.
Or maybe he wouldn't have to take her out of the game.
He snapped back to reality as he realized that she was staring at him, waiting. Leisurely he pulled out a small hidden saber from the recesses of his armor and, with a flick of the wrist, began cutting a figure eight through the heavy night air.
"I have an offer for you," he said finally, speaking so softly she had to strain to hear him. He let the blade spin faster, watching in a mesmerized way as the light danced off of it's perfectly polished silver surface.
Madison gave a derisive bark of laughter. "What could you possibly have to offer me?" The fire had gone from her eyes now as she stared at him, cool, calculating, summing him up. He got the distinct impression that, though cautious about fighting him, she wasn't really impressed. He would have to change that.
"Power," he let the word roll off of his tongue, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She gave no outward change.
Finally she raised an eyebrow. "Really? Is this the token offer of the dark side, the 'Luke I am you're Father, join me' that we heroes are always supposed to refuse? Shall I now say: 'No, because I am right, I am just, I am a hero,'" her voice was distinctly mocking.
"Yes, well, that would be something that you might say if you were the token hero. But I know that you are not," he abandoned the sword now and instead began to circle her, always staying just in the shadows. "The only reason you took this job was to hurt people, to take out your misbegotten revenge on the bully, the antagonist. That's the difference, you see. Spiderman appears to be the hero to help the little guy, the underdog. You . . . you don't give a damn about them. You just want someone to take your rage out on. And who better than the villains of this city. It's perfect. You get to do what you want with those that are considered less than innocent, and in the morning you get to slap on the title 'Hero' and feel good about what you did, because it was the bad guy you hurt, the one who deserved it. It's the intention that counts, Black Widow, because even though you both do the exact same thing, he's the hero . . . and you're not."
Madison stared at him, shocked. Was she really . . . could it be . . . she shook her head. No, no, this couldn't be true, couldn't be true, couldn't be . . .
Rage and frustration clouded her thinking. She hated having anybody get one up on her, and all she could think was that he was right, he was so right, and she hated him all the more for it.
Rage overtook her as she let out all of the pent up feelings she had been holding in for weeks. And then she leapt, fists poised and ready, not caring about the danger, she just wanted to take him down, even if she had to go down with him.
She saw the glistening end of the sword in front of her and knew that it was too late to turn, to late to change direction, to stop.
A red and blue clad figure caught her in mid-jump, snatching her from the air to fly overhead and land on a rooftop.
Madison tumbled unceremoniously to the ground and sprung up again, but Spiderman was already in front of her.
"What were you doing back there?" he snapped, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to look at him. "Were you trying to get yourself killed? 'Cause you were doing a pretty good job of it."
She stared at him in silence.
He released her shoulders but stood facing her, his shoulders slumped. "God, what is with you? I can't work with you if every time I turn around your jumping into some situation that . . . " he paused as his Spider Sense went off, and he noticed that Madison's posture had changed slightly, her eyes wide in shock. Except she wasn't looking at him, she was looking behind him.
"What the hell...?" Madison began, backing up a step.
Spiderman spun around, and what he saw made his stomach lurch with bitter memories.
The man was floating just above the roof of the building, and he was riding . . .
'Oh, God,' Spiderman thought. 'It's the glider. It's Osborne's glider.'
"Surprised to see me?" the figure atop of it taunted, his armor gleaming in the darkness.
Spiderman frowned. He wanted desperately to ask where in God's name the villain acquired the machine, but refrained himself. Instead, he shouted over the whine of the engine: "Who are you? What do you want?"
The figure laughed demonically. "That's a surprise." He did a double flip off of the glider to face them, twin sabers in his hands.
Suddenly Madison was behind him and, with a quick nod from Spiderman, aimed her heel and kicked him straight in the back. Caught unawares, the man stumbled forward, only to be caught in a headlock by Spiderman himself.
"So," the hero commented conversationally, "do you have a name?"
The man slammed his elbow into Spiderman's stomach with enough force to leave him gasping for air, and slipped out of harms way. "No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous," he quoted jeeringly.
Spiderman knew immediately what he was talking about; it had been part of one of his college courses, but to his surprise, Black Widow answered first.
"Edgar Allan Poe's 'The Masque of the Red Death,'" she said without even giving herself time to think.
The man nodded. "Very good. I think it's fitting, don't you?"
Black Widow snarled and crouched down, catlike, and prepared to attack. Spiderman followed suit.
Then something unexpected happened. The man, Red Death, faltered. He swayed slightly, holding onto the side of the glider for balance. Making a quick decision, he flipped into the air and landed squarely atop of it, sliding his feet with a click. Both Black Widow and Spiderman charged him, only to turn and run the other way as what appeared to be a small missile became visible from underneath the glider.
"Blood was its Avatar and its seal --the redness and the horror of blood," he quoted as the missile discharged. "And there will be blood, Spiderman, I can assure you of that! You will pay for the blood that you have spilled! You will pay for my pain!" And with that the missile descended.
Neither of them had even run so fast in their life. Leaping to the edge of the building, they swung web lines and, without even waiting to see if they attached, pushed off of the edge. Luckily both hooked onto a building across the street, and they were halfway there, in mid-swing, when the abandoned warehouse they were just atop of exploded.
The duo stared across the street at the flames, shocked. Finally, with a little shrug, Spiderman turned to Black Widow.
"Don't you have a date tonight?" he asked pointedly.
Madison smacked herself in the head. "Damnit! Yeah, hold on," she rummaged through her belt and came up with a watch. Clicking the top button to make it glow, she stared at it in undisguised shock. "Shit! I'm late, I gotta go." She turned to him. "You OK?"
"Yeah," he said, something nagging at the back of his head. "Yeah, you go on ahead."
"See you at work tomorrow," and with that she was off, slinging through the streets. A few seconds later a distinct thud was heard, accompanied by an "ow", but she was back in the air a second later.
Pulling off his mask, Peter sank down onto the ledge, his mind troubled. He knew that voice, knew it so well, and the voice that he knew had a motive, an ability, a reason to become this horrible apparition.
But no. Peter pushed that thought out of his mind. He wouldn't believe it. It couldn't be.
It couldn't be.
Could it?
"And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death," he quoted softly into the night air. He smiled bitterly.
In his mind, in the deepest recesses of his soul, he knew who the Red Death was.
But he would not admit it to his heart.
xxxx
Oh woe is me, when you don't review . . .
"And now you're back," Madison ducked a punch, "from outer space," she grabbed the attacking wrist and twisted it, hearing it audibly snap. "I just walked in to find you here with that," she paused and drove her fist upward into the attackers nose," sad look upon you're face. I should have," she dropped to the ground and swung her leg out, tripping two at the same time," changed that stupid lock, I should have," the two fumbled and stood up again, and Madison's Spider Sense told her that one was left standing behind her. "Made you give your key," she jumped backward onto her hands as if to do a back flip, flung her feet up and kicked foreword and outward, one foot hitting each thug squarely in the face, "if I had thought for just one second," she then used the force of the blows to propel her feet up and back over her head in a continued back flip until they slammed into the face of the man behind her, "you'd be back to bother me." She changed direction to forward again, letting her feet fly back over her head and pushing off the ground with her arms to land squarely back on her feet. "Oh I will," she spun around, letting webbing fly from her wrists to cocoon the attackers. "Survive."
Clapping sounded from behind her. "Excellent," a voice purred from out of the shadows. "Precision, improvisation, accuracy . . . a near flawless performance."
Madison stayed exactly where she was but shifted her body weight slightly so she was ready to attack.
"Lacking in strength, fluidness, and speed. But all in all, not a bad show," there was a low chuckle. "Not bad at all."
Madison kept her back straight, her breathing deep and even. She knew this voice.
"But those were unworthy adversaries; dumb, clumsy thugs. To truly test someone of your skill, I think one would need a more worthy opponent."
Now Madison turned, straining her eyes into the shadows.
"Where are you?" she whispered.
"Right here," one of the shadows broke away from the others and slid to stand before her, not ten yards away. "Hello, killer."
Madison crouched down low, flexing her fingers in preparation for an attack but pausing for just a moment to allow herself a good look at him. He was lean and tall, his whole body and face covered by a black bodysuit with no apparent eyes. She briefly wondered how he could see out of the opaque black material. However, this time his outfit was different; over the black he had on close fitting armor- a breastplate covering his chest and another sheet slung over his back, with two plates on each of his arms, one fitting over the top of his biceps with the underneath of the arm covered only by the black, and the other wrapped around his entire forearm, the two separated so he could move his elbow easily. Two more pairs of plates covered each of his legs, the top one covering only his quads with the back open, and the bottom fitted snugly around the entire calf. The armor itself was a deep, polished blood red.
"I'm not playing games," she hissed. "He's not here, so I suggest you crawl back into whatever hell-hole you came from and wait for another chance to wreak havoc on Super Spider Boy, 'cause I'm not really in the mood to deal with any crap tonight."
The figure grinned beneath the mask. He knew, as she did, that she couldn't take him. Not alone. Not after the beating he had administered to Spiderman, her superior in many ways. She was smart though, he thought with a smile. She was keeping her anger in check, trying to stall him, trying to give herself and her 'partner' time to figure out a way to put an end to him. But what they didn't know was that there wasn't a way. He was, as it were, invincible. Or at least would be soon enough. So he was content to let them scheme and plan; the ending would still be the same.
Even so, he was bored. Taking one out now would be a very nice prelude to the final show.
Or maybe he wouldn't have to take her out of the game.
He snapped back to reality as he realized that she was staring at him, waiting. Leisurely he pulled out a small hidden saber from the recesses of his armor and, with a flick of the wrist, began cutting a figure eight through the heavy night air.
"I have an offer for you," he said finally, speaking so softly she had to strain to hear him. He let the blade spin faster, watching in a mesmerized way as the light danced off of it's perfectly polished silver surface.
Madison gave a derisive bark of laughter. "What could you possibly have to offer me?" The fire had gone from her eyes now as she stared at him, cool, calculating, summing him up. He got the distinct impression that, though cautious about fighting him, she wasn't really impressed. He would have to change that.
"Power," he let the word roll off of his tongue, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She gave no outward change.
Finally she raised an eyebrow. "Really? Is this the token offer of the dark side, the 'Luke I am you're Father, join me' that we heroes are always supposed to refuse? Shall I now say: 'No, because I am right, I am just, I am a hero,'" her voice was distinctly mocking.
"Yes, well, that would be something that you might say if you were the token hero. But I know that you are not," he abandoned the sword now and instead began to circle her, always staying just in the shadows. "The only reason you took this job was to hurt people, to take out your misbegotten revenge on the bully, the antagonist. That's the difference, you see. Spiderman appears to be the hero to help the little guy, the underdog. You . . . you don't give a damn about them. You just want someone to take your rage out on. And who better than the villains of this city. It's perfect. You get to do what you want with those that are considered less than innocent, and in the morning you get to slap on the title 'Hero' and feel good about what you did, because it was the bad guy you hurt, the one who deserved it. It's the intention that counts, Black Widow, because even though you both do the exact same thing, he's the hero . . . and you're not."
Madison stared at him, shocked. Was she really . . . could it be . . . she shook her head. No, no, this couldn't be true, couldn't be true, couldn't be . . .
Rage and frustration clouded her thinking. She hated having anybody get one up on her, and all she could think was that he was right, he was so right, and she hated him all the more for it.
Rage overtook her as she let out all of the pent up feelings she had been holding in for weeks. And then she leapt, fists poised and ready, not caring about the danger, she just wanted to take him down, even if she had to go down with him.
She saw the glistening end of the sword in front of her and knew that it was too late to turn, to late to change direction, to stop.
A red and blue clad figure caught her in mid-jump, snatching her from the air to fly overhead and land on a rooftop.
Madison tumbled unceremoniously to the ground and sprung up again, but Spiderman was already in front of her.
"What were you doing back there?" he snapped, grabbing her shoulders and forcing her to look at him. "Were you trying to get yourself killed? 'Cause you were doing a pretty good job of it."
She stared at him in silence.
He released her shoulders but stood facing her, his shoulders slumped. "God, what is with you? I can't work with you if every time I turn around your jumping into some situation that . . . " he paused as his Spider Sense went off, and he noticed that Madison's posture had changed slightly, her eyes wide in shock. Except she wasn't looking at him, she was looking behind him.
"What the hell...?" Madison began, backing up a step.
Spiderman spun around, and what he saw made his stomach lurch with bitter memories.
The man was floating just above the roof of the building, and he was riding . . .
'Oh, God,' Spiderman thought. 'It's the glider. It's Osborne's glider.'
"Surprised to see me?" the figure atop of it taunted, his armor gleaming in the darkness.
Spiderman frowned. He wanted desperately to ask where in God's name the villain acquired the machine, but refrained himself. Instead, he shouted over the whine of the engine: "Who are you? What do you want?"
The figure laughed demonically. "That's a surprise." He did a double flip off of the glider to face them, twin sabers in his hands.
Suddenly Madison was behind him and, with a quick nod from Spiderman, aimed her heel and kicked him straight in the back. Caught unawares, the man stumbled forward, only to be caught in a headlock by Spiderman himself.
"So," the hero commented conversationally, "do you have a name?"
The man slammed his elbow into Spiderman's stomach with enough force to leave him gasping for air, and slipped out of harms way. "No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous," he quoted jeeringly.
Spiderman knew immediately what he was talking about; it had been part of one of his college courses, but to his surprise, Black Widow answered first.
"Edgar Allan Poe's 'The Masque of the Red Death,'" she said without even giving herself time to think.
The man nodded. "Very good. I think it's fitting, don't you?"
Black Widow snarled and crouched down, catlike, and prepared to attack. Spiderman followed suit.
Then something unexpected happened. The man, Red Death, faltered. He swayed slightly, holding onto the side of the glider for balance. Making a quick decision, he flipped into the air and landed squarely atop of it, sliding his feet with a click. Both Black Widow and Spiderman charged him, only to turn and run the other way as what appeared to be a small missile became visible from underneath the glider.
"Blood was its Avatar and its seal --the redness and the horror of blood," he quoted as the missile discharged. "And there will be blood, Spiderman, I can assure you of that! You will pay for the blood that you have spilled! You will pay for my pain!" And with that the missile descended.
Neither of them had even run so fast in their life. Leaping to the edge of the building, they swung web lines and, without even waiting to see if they attached, pushed off of the edge. Luckily both hooked onto a building across the street, and they were halfway there, in mid-swing, when the abandoned warehouse they were just atop of exploded.
The duo stared across the street at the flames, shocked. Finally, with a little shrug, Spiderman turned to Black Widow.
"Don't you have a date tonight?" he asked pointedly.
Madison smacked herself in the head. "Damnit! Yeah, hold on," she rummaged through her belt and came up with a watch. Clicking the top button to make it glow, she stared at it in undisguised shock. "Shit! I'm late, I gotta go." She turned to him. "You OK?"
"Yeah," he said, something nagging at the back of his head. "Yeah, you go on ahead."
"See you at work tomorrow," and with that she was off, slinging through the streets. A few seconds later a distinct thud was heard, accompanied by an "ow", but she was back in the air a second later.
Pulling off his mask, Peter sank down onto the ledge, his mind troubled. He knew that voice, knew it so well, and the voice that he knew had a motive, an ability, a reason to become this horrible apparition.
But no. Peter pushed that thought out of his mind. He wouldn't believe it. It couldn't be.
It couldn't be.
Could it?
"And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red Death," he quoted softly into the night air. He smiled bitterly.
In his mind, in the deepest recesses of his soul, he knew who the Red Death was.
But he would not admit it to his heart.
xxxx
Oh woe is me, when you don't review . . .