Elsewhere
In the Astral Plane, things work differently. It isn't people that dwell there, but concepts, ideas, embodiments. Personifications. Here ideologies do battle in physical form, or what passes for physical where everything is astral. Here you find old, lost Gods, no longer worshiped, crying mournfully in the howling winds of spirit that scours the plane constantly.
And Death is not permanent here.
…
The entity was hungry. It had died not long ago, a death unworthy of such a sublime entity, and this death had been humiliating, horrifying...infuriating. But mostly, it was hungry. Returning from nothing was hard work and required much energy, and the entity was starving. Here in the Astral, few of the entity's favorite prey wandered these days. The most powerful ones were haunting the Physical Strata, playing, gallivanting...forgetting their proper place.
Yes, it had to go Physical again. It would be dangerous. But this time it was certain that nothing, no-one, would stand in its way.
And the Shathra would feed once more.
…
…
The Physical Strata, Earth 616.
Jen Walters lay staring at the ceiling, her eyes wide as saucers, her face a mixture between horror, fear, pure bliss and general uncertainty. She glanced over at the sleeping form beside her, took in his shape slowly, just to be certain, and then continued staring at the ceiling.
I did this. I was sober. Nothing stronger than fake bubbly. We did this. We. I slept with him again.
The uncertain smile went wider.
And it was Great.
She bit her lower lip. That thing he did with his tongue, and the teeth, and...
Her face heated up.
Magnificent.
Best sex of her life? Probably.
Who the hell taught him?
Then the horror, fear and uncertainty returned. Because she could find no good reason why she was hung up on this guy. Okay, he was a lot nicer when he wasn't cracking wise at all times. In fact, he was sensitive, honest, attentive...she'd told him about Wyatt, for crying out loud! She never even talked to John about Wyatt. But with him the words flowed. And he understood. He told her about Mary-Jane (the famous model-slash-actress? Redheaded sex-bomb in Michael Bay's Gobots-movies? Really?), she told him about fighting the Champion, he told her about being Captain Universe for a day...
Oh yeah, and the sex had been mind-blowing. But the sex, however awesome, felt like...a bonus.
She glanced to her other side. The titanium vase she kept had been smashed. She'd never managed that before. Not in the throes of passion. And it sure as hell was Passion. With a capital P.
I don't think I've ever felt like this before.
She rolled to the side, turning her back towards him. Her expression was slowly turning into pure horror.
Oh, crap.
…
…
The sun was rising when he woke up. For a while he just lay there, basking in the warmth through the big window and the heat coming from the seven foot green woman sleeping next to him.
Okay.
So.
Where to now?
Actually, I kind of like the idea of staying right here. She smells nice. She is nice. And I think she bruised three ribs on me during...
He blushed slightly, then slowly sat up, getting out of the bed. Shorts. T-shirt. Socks? No, he wasn't leaving... Pants. Damn. Only the costume pants. Well, they'd have to do. A little sore, but it'd be fine. He healed quickly.
Okay. What can we find in the fridge? Let's see now...oh horror of horrors, I think this Chinese food helped build the California railroad. In the trash. And this...and this...so what does she have? Hmmm. Eggs. Good. Toast. Excellent. Milk?
He sniffed it.
Not bad. Yet. On the last couple days, though. Use it now or watch it turn into bad cottage cheese. Okay, so I can make French toast. It's a start. What else? Maybe I can drop by that little corner shop quickly, I do have the webshooters with me...
…
…
She opened her eyes. Okay, what was that...cinnamon? Sugar. Butter. Oranges? She sat up, stretched, just in time to be presented with a tray, a single rose, and her favorite mug filled with fresh-brewed coffee.
She stared at it. "What the..."
He was grinning. "French toast with a hint of orange juice in the batter, fresh coffee, a rose as fair as thee, though I couldn't find any green ones (doubt they exist), oh, and the morning paper."
She looked up at his grinning face, felt herself blush. "Did you...did you make breakfast? I think that's the first time in a long while that a guy has...wait, where'd you get the ingredients?"
"Fridge. Had to toss out the sentient cultures of former foodstuffs now bent on world domination, but you had some stuff I could use. Hey, I grew up in a small working class home in Queens, my aunt had to make do with an electrician's pension checks. You learn to cook simple."
She took a bite of the toast. Heaven! He smirked, then grabbed a napkin and dabbed her chin.
"Got a little butter there."
She gave him a mock-angry glare, then continued snarfing down the breakfast. She stopped, staring down at the plate.
"Aren't you having any?"
"I already ate. Besides, it's fun watching you eat. You remind me of the Cookie Monster."
Her jaw dropped. "I what? Why you-"
Smirking, he stoppered her mouth by kissing her soundly. They didn't talk much for a while after that.
…
Breakfast went by too quickly for her tastes, interspersed with kisses and some very heavy petting as it was, but when he held out his t-shirt and sniffed it while solemnly proclaiming that he needed to shower, she didn't need much convincing to join him.
About forty-five wet, strange (turned out being able to stick to walls was very useful, not to mention he could extend the benefit by simply keeping skin-to-skin contact at all times) and very...exhausting minutes later they were dressed and headed in either direction. And she realized she wanted to see him again.
"So, um...do you have a cell number?"
He smiled awkwardly, mask in hand. "I keep losing or breaking them. After the last one got eaten by subway crocodiles I kinda stopped trying to keep one."
Her heart sank a little. "Oh. Yeah, I...have the same problem."
No you don't. Usually whomever you're working for throws them at you more quickly than you can use them up.
He smirked. Such a cute smirk. "No you don't. But thanks for commiserating. I do have a home address, though. And...ever since that whole spideybites website thing took off I've been-"
"Say what?" She stared at him, stunned.
"What?"
"You...you're behind 'spideybites'?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Nobody wanted to buy my photos, thanks to this stupid thing I did a while back, and, well...my roomie knows computers and helped me set up a webpage a while back, I finally started using it and all of a sudden I was webmaster, pardon the pun, of my own self-mocking site. Imagine, I get paid money for all the goofy things I've done and fought over the years."
If he'd poked her with a feather right now she just might've fallen over. "You're...I subscribe to that."
He grinned. "Awesome. Another ten bucks in my bank account. Soon I will have enough to buy Stark Industries! Mwah-hah-haa!"
"No, no, no. You own spideybites dot com. You. Nobody else?"
"...yes?"
"Wow. Just...wow."
The grin faltered a bit. "Is that a bad wow or a good wow?"
"Good one. Definitely a good one. That one of you fighting the Kangaroo? Made my day."
He shrugged, blushing a bit. "Well, the dude is silly enough as he is. Can't believe I actually had to fight the guy. More than once. Kicks harder than Shang Chi. Seriously. Dude can break steel girders with those legs. Still silly, though."
"...yeah. So you were saying?"
He gave her a peck on the cheek. "I was saying, that since I have my own domain I also have more than one e-mail. Including a private one. Hang on..."
Fishing around in his tight costume pants (why had she never noticed how flattering those were before?) he soon pulled out a small, slim wallet, taking out a cheap business card the likes of which one bought in bulk. Just his name, home phone, e-mails and web addresses. Simple.
"Thank you. This your home phone?"
"Yeah. I share it with my roomie, so no personal calls. She's...aggressive about that."
"She?"
"Michele. Don't worry, she's not my type."
"Who's worried?"
Right. A female roomie. Doesn't bode well.
Wait...am I being jealous? Oh, crap.
…
…
In an alley not too far from Macy's, an old vagrant was eating his daily spoils while seated behind a dumpster. His name had been important, once. He'd been a big man in business. Then that damned Parker had shown up alongside that snooping sneak Urich. The annoying four-eyed dork had distracted him while Parker snuck around the factory taking pictures, and the next day the headlines were 'Local pillar of community runs illegal sweatshop in Hell's Kitchen!'
In just a few months he'd been ruined. Now he wandered the streets alongside people he'd once sneered at, people he'd called lazy for not having what he had. Oh, if he ever saw that damned Parker again...
The air opened.
No other word could describe it. The air opened, and out came a pair of long and slender obsidian-colored legs, equally long and slender obsidian arms...four of them. Then a pitch black head with faintly glowing yellow orbs for eyes, a pair of antennas, and huge wings, faintly translucent in the morning light.
The creature stood for a few seconds, swaying in the wind, wings spreading behind it as if drying in the sun. Then it turned towards him. "You have his scent." Her inflection was strange, as if speaking out loud was alien to her.
His mouth opened and closed, silently, like a fish. No words came out.
"You have his scent. You have been touched by his essence. I will take it from you."
When she opened her quivering mouth-parts, hitherto invisible, he finally began to scream.
…
…
"Name, rank and serial number?"
"Jennifer Walters, I was a level 12 operative search and retrieval, serial number 1334299870-12."
"Right. Sign here, please."
She leaned forward, signing the dotted line and crossing the T's and dotting the I's...
"Well all right then. Your property is available on lot 43."
…
She stared sadly at the car she had once, in her heart of hearts, referred to as Broomhilda. Once, she could fly this baby from New York to New Mexico in less than an hour, once she could take joyrides through the New York skyline for the fun of it...
Broomhilda would never fly again. Or drive down the highway. Or do much of anything.
A crazy Skrull with an attitude had ripped the engine block apart, and the poor dear had gone down in a lake somewhere west downstate. She sighed. A flying car. She'd always wanted one of those. Then she got one of those. And somebody broke it.
That wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that it got smashed at a point where she couldn't afford Act of Superhuman insurance, which meant there was no way of having it replaced or fixed even if it was fixable. And no money.
She had about three months left before she got kicked out of her apartment, no car, no money, no job, and oh yeah, she might be having a thing for a guy she'd always hated.
Or at least actively disliked.
The horrible thing was...he was a nice guy. A genuinely nice guy. They'd talked a bit, in between earth-shattering romps in the bed and, ah, elsewhere in her apartment, and he'd had a really bad life. Got his powers early, had to fight psychopaths and monsters, lost half his family and loved ones...some of the things he'd suffered would make Bruce weep.
Buried alive for a week while a psychotic loon ran around in his costume. Jesus.
"Figured I'd find you here."
She turned, and smiled at one of her oldest friends. "Hey, Sue. What brings you out here?"
"You, actually. Reed is looking into patenting some of his latest stuff and we want a good all-round lawyer. And since I heard..."
"No charity, Sue."
"No charity. It's a real job. Look, we're low on funding, and...well, you're the best one we know, and the only one I can think of who won't have an ulterior motive. We're willing to hire you on a case by case basis, but it's going to be sporadic, at best. Building upkeep, equipment costs..." The list petered out. "It's real. No charity."
Then, "...so what's the deal with the wreckage?"
"It used to be my car. Flying car, actually. Got smashed in that whole Skrull thing. 'He loves us', but apparently not our vehicles, " Jen poked the metal. "I'm gonna have it junked, but figured paying for taking it to the junkyard is kind of pointless when I can carry it myself."
"I have the Fantasticar with me, I can-"
"Deal."
Sue laughed. "I figured you wouldn't take me up on that one."
"Hey, I'm not carrying this damn thing halfway cross town, it'd look silly."
…
So halfway across town Sue turned to her, switched on the autopilot and raised an eyebrow.
"Okay, spill."
"What?"
"You know what I mean. Two months ago you were ready to call everything quits. Now you're smiling all the time."
"Am not."
"Are too. So what's his name?"
"What makes you think there's a he?" Damn, she noticed.
"Because I've only seen you like this twice, and both times it was because of a man. What's his name?"
"Well, it's...nothing serious. Really. We've...it's just sex, so far. Twice."
Sue gave her an arch look. "Twice is serious with you, Jen."
"Hey! I resemble that remark!" She leaned back, letting the warm summer wind whip her hair about.
"Is it someone in the business?"
"...yes."
"Someone we know?"
She didn't answer. Unfortunately, this didn't work.
"It is, isn't it? Someone you dated before?"
This one was safe! "Nope."
"Is it Hercules?"
"God, no. Besides, isn't he dead right now?"
"He's a god. They don't stay dead for long."
"Point. Look, it's our business, it's just a casual thing, we both needed someone to lean on for a while and I'm not telling you even a single word more until you wipe that smug grin off your face, capisce?"
"Sorry."
"You're still smirking."
"Sorry."
"Not helping!"
By now, Sue was shaking with held-back laughter. "I'm sorry! It's just...usually, you brag to the high heavens about guys you date. To see you all blushing and close-lipped is so not like you. You gotta spill, for the sake of my sanity or I'll go nuts trying to find out! I mean, it's not a villain or anything, right?"
Jen hesitated, which Sue took as confirmation. "Oh God, you can't be serious. Jen, you-"
"It's not a villain!" She took a deep breath. "It's just...he's...I don't want to..." The rest came out in a quiet mumble as they approached the Baxter Building. "I don't wanna jinx it, okay?"
The Fantasticar landed softly on the roof, and Jen grabbed the remains of Broomhilda from the surprisingly roomy trunk. "You sure Johnny can fix this?"
"He fixed up the Spidey-Mobile once, and that was after it got dumped in the East River. If anyone can, he will."
She hoped Sue wouldn't notice the way she flinched when Spidey was brought up. Fortunately, she didn't. As they entered the garage area they deposited Broomhilda's corpse on the floor, then went through the security checkpoint to the living areas.
"Auntie Jenny!" A blond tot rushed forward, face lit up.
"Hey there, Frankie-boy. Man, you're growing fast. In a couple years I won't be able to even lift you!" To demonstrate she made huffing and puffing groans as she picked the six-year-old up from the floor. He giggled.
"You're silly. Everyone knows you're stronger'n everyone. Stronger than Uncle Ben even!"
"Oh, I dunno about that." She leaned in close, gave him a peck on the cheek and stage-whispered, "It depends on if he's had any spinach that day or not. Everyone knows spinach makes you stronger. It's why I'm green!" He giggled again.
Setting him down he rushed off, presumably to fetch something to show off. At this point she noticed the serious-looking little girl who stood nearby, looking very crossly at her.
"Oh, hello Valeria. I'd give you a hug and a kiss too, only I don't know if that's all that interesting for someone of your vast intellect."
The girl pursed her lips, then nodded. "A hug and kiss would be emotionally gratifying. I'll allow it, in spite of your patronizing tone." As she was swept up and thoroughly kissed on the forehead and cheeks, she gave Jen a suspicious look. "Only for today, all right?"
"Certainly."
As Valeria started talking solemnly about her attempts to prove Stephen Hawking a moron and Franklin rushed in with one of his toys, Sue hushed them both with a look, shooing them out of the living room. "Franklin, I know you have homework, and Valeria, last time you cleaned out your room was when the Inhumans visited. Now away with you both, your auntie Jenny and I have a lot of catching up to do."
"Aw, mo-om! I wanted to show Jenny my new Lego X-Wing!"
"I fail to see how aesthetically re-arranging the clutter in my room would be in any way constructive."
"No arguments! Off with you." The two children left, reluctantly, and Sue smiled after them. "Such a bunch of trouble-makers. But they're both worth it. So, you were saying?"
Oh, no, she wasn't going to fall for that one.
"I wasn't saying anything."
"Eh, it was worth a try. So why the secrecy? I mean, you say he's not a villain, there's nothing wrong with him as far as I've been able to tell from what you've revealed, and you like him enough to take it easy instead of rushing ahead like you usually do. So what's the big problem?"
Jen sat down, buried her face in her hands and rubbed her eyes a bit. What was the problem? Why didn't she want to talk about this? There was nothing wrong with him as such, as far as she knew it wasn't a serious thing, and besides, she'd dated men Sue wouldn't touch with a ten-foot-pole (and Sue had a tiny spark for a guy who always smelled like fish for heaven's sake), he certainly wasn't in that category and she had talked about them enough to fill a Jackie Collins novel...so why did she not want to tell anyone about Peter?
Because I've always put him down.
She stared at the floor. Was it really that easy? Pride? Well, to hell with pride. Pride was what made you stay with an abusive dad, pride was what made you fight some alien wacko just because he insulted you, pride was...pride was stupid.
Okay.
Right.
Deep breath.
And another deep breath.
"Spider-Man. I'm sort of kind of maybe seeing Spider-Man. And I think...I think I have a problem with that."
To her own great relief, Sue neither goggled or gasped or looked more shocked than normal. Instead she simply raised her eyebrows and nodded, taking this in. "That's...not a bad choice, really. I've known him for years now, ever since he was just a kid who thought we were paid for doing the whole team thing and tried to get hired on, but he's a good guy. A real good guy. Sometimes he takes the whole world on his shoulders, but he's not a bad one at all, Jen. So what problem could there be?"
Okay. No stopping now. She'd gotten this far, no reason to quit halfway.
"...because I think I might be taking this a bit more seriously than he is. And I might be freaking out a bit by that thought."
…
…
Peter Parker checked the shutter speed, made sure the flash was off, and prepared to get a picture of mayor J Jonah Jameson. He was still freelancing in spite of most papers having blacklisted him. Putting his photos up on stock photo sites to be downloaded for a pittance per use was Michele's idea, as was expanding spideybites to carry t-shirts and hoodies. Still, while he wasn't rolling in cash it was at least something. And it paid his rent.
Which was probably why his more Internet-savvy room mate kept giving him good ideas and helping him with the world-wide-tubes.
He really had to get up to snuff on the more every-day stuff. He was good at technology. Mechanics, physics, electronics, engineering, chemistry, all these things were his life's blood. He could put together a computer in less than ten minutes if given satisfactory parts, he could build a transmitter that affected psionic talents...and he didn't know what a POP-server or 'HTML' was. The Internet had sort of snuck up on him, along with cellphones, digital cameras and that Avatar movie with the giant blue cat people.
He'd asked Bobby, who was a bit of a veteran when it came to aliens due to being an X-Man, but apparently no such species existed that he knew of. Closest thing were those bipedal humanoid skunks someone called 'Hepzibah' belonged to. Too bad.
Neytiri looked kinda like Jen. Not as pretty, though.
He felt a flush rise in his cheeks and he hid it by pretending to double-check the camera. Down, boy. She's...out of your league. Don't get your hopes up. Parker luck won't let you down. Give it a week and she'll hate you.
The doors opened and he looked up, camera in front. Okay...
...
…
"If there's something strange - in your neighborhood. Who ya gonna call-"
"Shut up, Danny. I'm trying to meditate." Jericho Drumm frowned, trying not to let his creaky joints get to him. Getting the whole lotus position thing down was hard enough as it was without a dead brother with the attention span of a gnat buzzing around in your apartment.
"Well, I'm bored. Couldn't you at least leave the TV on? There's a FarScape rerun on SyFy I wanna see. Kinda missed the episode due to being a bit dead at the time."
"...sometimes you are such a white man."
"Hey! Being a geek does not necessarily mean being white. Just ask Donald Glover. Funny man, black geek just like me."
"Before you died you hadn't even watched a single episode of Star Trek."
He felt the cool presence of his brother hovering just over his shoulder. "So? Nothing to do in the afterlife except watch TV and gossip about the living. Kinda like unemployment, that way. By the way, your map is pinging."
Jericho opened an eye, glancing at the map he had adorned with seeker spells and wards. It was a sort of early warning system, showing mystical activity in the city (he had one for the entire US and one for the world, as well, but somehow everything mystical seemed to want to focus on New York). Usually it was just minor things, a vampire here, someone using an Ouija board there...and then you got spikes like this one. Literally. A massive spike of glowing green light centered on an alley behind Macy's.
"Ah, hell. Major spirit entity on the loose. The loas are not gonna be happy..."
…
…
"...'Bite me'." Peter held up the t-shirt to the light. "In big block letters. With Spidey being bitten on the leg by a crazed Humbug."
Michele beamed at him. "Great, aren't they? You already have over seventy pre-orders. After the costs, sales taxes and my fee...you're looking at eight dollars a t-shirt in pure profit."
He laid the suspicious one-eye on her. "Your 'fee'? Since when do you have a fee?"
"Since you couldn't do this on your own. Seriously, you fixed my mp3-player with an old screwdriver and your soldering gun and you can't figure out even a WYSIWYG editor?" She smirked at his blank stare.
"Woozy-what-now?"
"What you see is what you get. WYSIWYG." She tossed the bundle of pre-packaged shirts on the couch. He noticed that the back of the shirt had a logo. More accurately, a stylized Spidey-head...with cartoonish cross-eyes. Beneath it was the website address.
"Okay, I get this one. The hats?"
"Oh, you're gonna love these. Check it!" She whipped out a fairly standard-looking black baseball cap, adorned with the cross-eyed Spidey-face, over which was embossed 'SPIDEY', beneath 'BITES'.
"They're...pretty good. The googly-eyed face, did-"
"Buddy of mine did it as a favor." She noticed his look. "What?"
"Uh...won't there be trademark issues if someone else made this for free? I mean, if he decides he wants a piece of the action?"
She looked blank. "Oh. Didn't think of that. Besides, he's a bud, he wouldn't do that!"
He returned the previous smirk. "Do I have to tell you about some of my best buddies? Harry Osborn, wore his dads tights as the Green Goblin, briefly, was in a loony bin in Europe while faking his own death. My ex-girlfriend Liz's big brother, Molten Man. Oh, hey, maybe I should tell you about my best friend ever, John Jameson? Y'know, the seven foot werewolf? Or my science professor in college, who turns into a giant lizard sometimes?"
She raised an eyebrow at him. "You got some seriously freaky friends, Parker."
"You don't know the half of it..." He peered at the hat. "Y'know, I know a lawyer, she could...draft up a trademark thing easy as pie. Seriously, like five minutes. You got the original around?"
"Sure, in my room. Be right back."
Michele rushed into her bedroom (the disaster area) and Peter sat down, looking around the merchandise for his lost sense of self esteem. He was making actual money. Tiny amounts, yes, but enough to supplement the rent and pay bills and even help aunt May out every now and then. All legal. All thanks to his own work. That, along with the occasional boring non-action photo job and his monthly check of 'Webs' royalties was turning into an actual nest egg at the bank.
All it took was making fun of himself on the Internet. Unveiling all the embarrassing shots he had never shown to Jonah, washing his dirty laundry in public. Allowing everyone to see the picture of him, after having fought Carrion, wearing no pants and having only shorts with little pink hearts on (they were a gift from Gwen). And yet...it felt weirdly proper and right. He'd already gotten an offer for a follow-up to Webs, with a chapter dedicated to the embarrassing stuff (it would have to be exclusives, too).
A damned tempting offer, too.
But somehow, what was really baking his noodle and making his mind race was the fact that his mind kept wandering to a certain friendly, nerdy-looking brunette he'd only ever seen in a photo. And her green alter ego who he had seen a lot more of.
Man, I have to figure this out before I go nuts.
He picked up the phone and dialed.
"Hello? Uh, Peter Parker here. Yeah. Um...this is actually a sort of professional call. Yeah. Sorry. Um, I'm gonna start expanding the merchandise on the site, and Michele was a bit over-enthusiastic and had a logo made...for free...oral agreement, yeah. Uh-huh. Well, I was thinking we could maybe meet up somewhere and talk it over, civilian clothes. Um. Like, lunch? Tomorrow? Really? You know any good...yeah, I don't know where that is. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Give me a landmark. Like a building. Uh-huh. Oh, right, I got it. I'll be there. Noon. Okay. Bye."
He stared at the phone briefly before hanging it up. He pursed his lips thoughtfully, took a deep, uncertain breath, and very calmly kept his cool. For about ten seconds.
He jumped up, pumping the air. "Yes! I have a date!"
…
…
Time Beyond Time, HQ of the Sovereign of All Eras, The Ruler of the Chronal Realms, the Temporal Tyrant.
Kang the Conqueror nursed the ice-pack on his neck, glaring at the many monitors displaying alternate timelines. It was getting disheartening, to be honest. Before his last jaunt back in time, every timeline had been favorable, with himself in control of Earth, sometimes the galaxy. In one he took the power of Galactus himself and used it to rule all known worlds in all known galaxies.
But not anymore. Now he watched timeline after timeline where he was a pathetic joke, a throw-away cheap punchline, a humorous diversion. In one timeline he was murdered by a Phalanx-alloyed Ultron, who was in turn destroyed by the children of that timeline's last team of Avengers. In several timelines, he sent a teenaged version of himself back in time to be victorious, only to be defeated when his younger self turned away from his own destiny. Twice. In another, he was defeated by a group of Avengers led by the daughter of Spider-Man with some actress. In yet another he was defeated permanently by a six-armed daughter of Spider-Man and...he frowned.
Wait, this one was...familiar. He moved his viewer up the timeline, finding the latest embarrassing incident where the accursed bug-person tampered with his machinery and distracted him enough for the second Captain America to get through the defenses. His neck twinged, and he wished the nano-healers could work quicker.
Yes, this was the focal point of his latest misfortune. In this timeline, Spider-Man became a true foe, an adversary like no other, and his daughter took his legacy for herself and continued the humiliation. Even worse, several centuries down the timeline he saw her descendants forming a temporal agency built entirely to prevent people like himself...
A cruel sneer formed on his face-plate. No, they wouldn't. Where was the most sensitive point in the timeline? There. Not long after his latest defeat (of course, 'latest' was subjective for a time traveler). A seemingly harmless incident that would have serious repercussions to the rule of Kang. No, it most certainly would not. Never. Not now, not ever.
Killing the man would be simple. Finding his so-called 'secret identity' was child's play to someone who could travel in time. But killing some unknown teenager was unsatisfying, and stopping the spider's rise to power and then murdering some powerless photographer living vicariously through the exploits of other legends was not the same. No, it had to be one who knew why, and be unable to do anything about it.
Spider-Man would die...
...and no-one would ever know when or where.
He began to laugh as he fired up his chronal transducers, setting the point of exit on the night before the pivot point...
…
…
TBC