A/N: Hostess fruit pies...the only choice.
…
…
The Hyborian Era, roughly 138 miles from Vertanapol.
"So I notice you've been very quiet for someone who usually never pauses to let her brain run her mouth."
Jen turned to Sue, about to say something scathing, but stopped.
"See? Exactly my point. And I notice you've barely mentioned him since we got this little Frightful Four together."
She opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, then turned away to watch the scenery. It certainly was pretty, at least as seen from above. The occasional city seen from a distance, tall spires and alabaster domes and golden cupolas, or fortresses, or mountain ranges, and she hated all of it. "Haven't really had much to say. We're going there, we'll get him home, that's that. Just a standard rescue mission."
Sue leaned in. "Not a standard rescue mission, Jen. You usually don't go all close-lipped when we go to rescue Reed or any of the Avengers. Last time you were like this..."
She frowned back. "What? Oh, don't compare this to Wyatt. That was - that was ages ago."
"He never did like being the rescued one, did he? Is that what you're nervous about?"
"No!" Jen flinched as Noh-Varr and Johnny glanced back at them, and lowered her voice. "No. Not really."
Sue just kept looking at her. God, she was such a mom sometimes.
"...okay, maybe a little bit. And I've been trying not to think about Peter for a while, because I still don't know exactly what this thing with us is, or if there is an us or thing or whatever." She tied some former railing into a knot, then scrunched it into a stick figure. "I dunno. I'm...just trying not to jinx things. I tend to do that. I rush ahead, heart on my sleeve, and bam, it's mind control or the guy has his masculinity threatened by a girl who can juggle tanks, or it's some other weird thing that makes it all turn pie-shaped before the week is done."
Sue smiled at her warmly. "Jen, that's what makes you, you. Both of you. I remember when I first met regular you, you wouldn't say spit before you knew nobody hated you, and then you'd get upset and all of a sudden you were seven feet tall with a chip on your shoulder the size of Nebraska."
"I'm actually just six foot seven."
"What?"
Jen grinned. "I'm usually not seven feet tall when I hulk out. Everyone thinks I am because I kind of cheated with five inch heels the first time someone got my actual measurements. Also, the hair was huge back then. Straight perms were a godsend."
Sue frowned, not knowing exactly how to take that sudden confession. "Um, okay..."
"No, really. I've gone up and down in height over the years, but on average, six seven. Taller when I get pissed. It's a whole gamma thing. Bruce has the same problem. Did you know one of his shapes was only about five three? Ugly little guy, too. Mouth on him like Andrew Dice Clay."
Sue laughed. "Sweetie, you're giving away your age with your references."
The look of mock hurt on Jen's face was picture perfect. "What? I loved Brain Smasher, A Love Story!"
"God, that's even worse. And you're dodging the issue. I'm telling you that old Jen, either version of her, is not new Jen, and to not worry so much. You'll know what to do when it comes to it. Like always."
Jen mustered a smile, but it was a fairly brittle one. Treacherous thoughts rushed around chasing each other in the playground of her mind. One was foremost.
That's what I'm afraid of.
…
…
Vertanapol, Zamora.
"Are you mad, woman? We did not pay you draw the wizard to us, we paid you to slay him!"
Sonja pinched the bridge of her nose and wished there was no rule saying you shouldn't kill your employers. "Look, Orlov-"
"Murov."
"Whatever. You hired me to kill, and I quote, the 'foul old wizard living in the duke's palace', not Kulan Gath, the timeless monstrosity who has vexed good men and women for centuries, if not millennia. I'm not saying I won't give it a good try, but I am expecting higher pay if I succeed. Either that or you help. Now listen to my friend here, he has a plan."
The rotund merchant looked confused. "...the market jester? Why would we listen to a juggler?"
She turned to Peter and raised an eyebrow. "Juggler?"
He shrugged. "I had no money and didn't know the language. We all have to eat."
"Interesting. Now, Dernov-"
"Murov!"
"Yes, yes, in any case, my friend here can bend steel with his bare hands, leap ten times higher than anyone I have ever seen, and broke me out of Gath's personal dungeons using skills matching the sorcerer himself, so I suggest you and the other merchant's guilders listen to him, because the sorcerer will likely be here within the hour." She crossed her arms and waited.
After a short while, the merchant nodded. "Fine."
Yielding the floor to Peter, he stepped up on the nearby table in order to be heard. "All right, I need several barrels of flammable oil, enough to set half the town in flames. Also, ropes, a few strong men to help me place them, and some brave souls who aren't afraid to stand up for his home. Anyone?"
She leaned against the wall, admiring his behind while he stood there explaining his plan. Like two angry cats in a bag. For some reason he had gone for a red and blue plain sack-cloth shirt this time, most of his old clothes having been taken from them in Gath's dungeons, and had used thick black paint to make an insignia in the shape of a spider on the back of it. But the trousers were still tight and allowed her quite the view from the rear.
It was quite spectacular, really.
…
Evening was coming on by the time Kulan Gath's forces marched into Vertanapol, emerging from the nearby forest road with murder in mind. At least a tenth was too badly injured to come along, and Gath had overseen their execution in person, as a reminder to the rest of what failure meant. They were no great thinkers, but they understood fear.
He should have killed the male on sight. But he had been greedy, he had assumed the wench would not be followed by someone equal to or surpassing her prowess, and so he had changed his plans, to use the stranger in the ritual and to take the woman for himself. Now he held neither, but at least he knew where they were. His lackeys among the Picts in the forests had made certain they were not there, which left only one place within a day's travels.
In truth, Vertanapol was merely a stepping stone. A backwater duchy where he could build a power base, a place from where he could strike for the Zamoran capitol and outlying provinces, and from there to Aquilonia, Hyrkania, Stygia, and oh how sweet that would be, to watch those fools with their half-witted attempts at understanding the greater mysteries of the universe finally fall before him...especially that feeble-mind Thoth-Amon. 'Not skilled enough' indeed. Punishing him would be most satisfying.
But every journey began with a single step. This was that step.
He'd prepared. The Hyrkanian wench was crafty and skilled as a warrior, even he had heard stories of her, though perhaps not as many as the tales of that Cimmerian oaf currently plaguing the southern seas with some impractically naked pirate queen at his side.
But the stranger who had broken the two out of his grasp and had devastated his laboratory, which he would surely pay for over years of prolonged torture, that man was a mystery. Strong, quick, far too clever by half. The man had done unexpected things with the laboratory, he truly had. Something with the soap that Gath sold to nobles for dearly needed gold.
Why would anyone need soap for anything besides cleaning oneself? It wasn't even as if anyone in this time knew how to make it, he only knew because it had been part of his alchemist's training as a boy countless centuries ago in a more civilized age.
But knowing now what he hadn't then, he had been forced to go into the deepest cellars to fetch potions and unguents that he had kept hidden away for a rainy day. The unguents had limbered his ancient bones, given him some semblance of the spryness of youth, and the potions...ah, but that was to come. He would savor this moment. A first victory to pave the way for his dominion of all these nations. And the stranger with his blasted meddling would suffer such agonies as he had rarely bestowed upon anyone before.
Slow skinning, first. Yes, that would be quite satisfactory. Little strips of skin peeled away, slowly, salt poured and rubbed into the bleeding wounds. Salt was expensive here so far from the ocean, but it would be worth it. Then, perhaps, amputations. Yes. One finger joint at a time. Letting them heal before taking the next. And the next.
He smiled to himself, and one of the half-men marching beside him shied away, its bestial face screwed up in a horrified grimace.
…
Someone stood waiting for them in the middle of the street. The half-man soldiers lumbered to a stop, glancing uncertainly at each other, then their master.
The lone man smiled, and Gath recognized him. The stranger. Short, wavy brown hair, that insufferable smirk, dressed in odd, skin-tight hose of unfamiliar design, and now also a coarse red and blue sack-cloth shirt with a spider painted...on...it.
A spider.
He raised his hand imperiously, trying to keep a sudden tremor of uncertainty (not fear, never fear) from showing. "Take him."
…
From her hiding place on a roof top, Sonja watched the events unfurl below. 'Peetur', and what a strange name that was, stood calmly waiting for the sorcerer and his horde of man-beasts as if he'd invited them for drinks and entertainment.
She could hear their voices echo up from below, and couldn't help smiling.
"Take him."
"Not even a dinner first? Flowers? Jewelry? Diamonds are a spider's best friend you know! Whoop, sorry, my bad, didn't know that wall was so solid. Oh, no, I'm so terribly sorry, didn't mean to grab you by the feet and- whoa, whoa, getting a bit personal there! Am I trying to stab any of you? No? Then why d'you all have to go and pull swords? Is that any way to treat your friendly neighborhood spider-man?"
The man was single-handedly holding off a full dozen of the beast-men, but she knew it couldn't last. Not when Gath had hundreds of them with him. Even so, it was quite amusing to watch him leap off their heads and sending them into nearby walls, grabbing one by the feet to use as an improvised flail, throwing them about like rag dolls. Strong though they were, they were no match for his strength. Or speed.
But just as Peetur seemed to be wearing down, he suddenly turned and fled down the street, followed closely by the half-men, roaring at their immanent victory. Gath followed.
She smiled. "All right, boys, the moment he's around the corner."
…
The small square was devoid of people, or even torches. Gath frowned. Something was off about all of this. Where were the people of the city, what was...wait, wasn't this area mostly abandoned, given up by the populace and held by beggars and thieves? Where were they?
A hiss in the air made him look up, and his eyes, reinvigorated and sharp, caught the trails of a multitude of arrows with their tips covered in rags and set to fire. But they were far too high in the air to be aimed at his men, so what-
The first arrows struck into the open, broken windows behind him and with a massive roar the entire house exploded, sending cascades of burning oil into the street behind them. Hidden, oil-soaked sheets of sailcloth beneath the dirt streets caught fire as well, a wall of fire erupting behind them.
Half-men were many things, strong, resilient, brave to the point of stupidity, but even they shrieked in fear as more fire and explosions tore apart entire buildings, trapping Gath and the soldiers in an increasingly blazing inferno.
Kulan Gath smiled. So, the fool thought to trap him? Well, he would find that his wolf trap had caught a dragon.
The potion tasted vile, burning his throat as it went down into his belly. Within seconds, he felt the changes start to take him. Blood of a greater wyrm of Vanaheim, gall of a Stygian tomb crawler, spit of a summoned elder demon, all prepared and boiled in a fire using Kothian sulfur. He would pay for this later in pain and withered limbs, but it would be well worth it.
Tossing the vial aside, he stepped forth and waited.
…
"What's he waiting for?"
Sonja glanced at Morlov or whatever his name was and frowned. "I don't know."
He opened his mouth to ask something else, but as he did a dark red and blue blur soared past them on a thin line of glittering silk.
…
His first punch landed like a freight train with the full momentum and speed at his disposal. Peter felt something crack in his face even as the world flickered into blackness and light and the world spun all around him, and then he struck the nearby wall hard enough to knock a few decades of whitewash off in a cloud of white dust. He let out a braying groan as the air left his lungs explosively, and slid down the wall to the ground.
He shook the stars out of his head and winced at the stab of pain this caused. "Owww..."
Where the hell did the old man get that punch from? He hadn't gotten hit like that since...since Morlun. The times he remembered vaguely meeting Gath before the sorcerer had been frail, depending on his magic to deal out pain, but this...was kind of unprecedented.
Long, bony fingers grabbed his hair and lifted him to his feet, and then that hideous face was mere inches away, cadaverous breath and strange, dark, golden reptile's eyes staring at him. "Why do you wear the emblem of the spider?"
Oh, man, don't hand me lines like that...
"...because they were all out of shirts with monarch butterflies..."
There was a brief sense of intense pain in his scalp and then weightlessness followed by the impact of the wall. "I asked a question. Answer me and your death may be shortened."
"Promise? Because your breath alone is fatal. I can show you how to make Tic-Tacs, or toothpa-"
Another brutal slam into the wall interrupted that joke. No sense of humor, either, then. "Why do you wear it? Are you allied with the Followers of the Spider-God? Yezud is mere weeks away by wagon, is that where you are from?"
He grinned at the old monster. "Heyyy, I know you...didn't you play right field for the Yankees?"
Gath smirked and dug into his scalp even more, his long, jagged fingernails tearing at the skin. But as he pulled Peter away from the wall to slam him into it yet again, Peter raised both hands and let the webbing fly.
All of it.
He didn't have much web-fluid left in the shooters, this was true. Still, it was enough to turn the sorcerer's ugly mug into a giant Q-tip end. As Gath gave a muffled shout and let go in order to tear it off, Peter grabbed onto the wall behind him with both hands splayed, felt them stick, and pulled with all his might.
The wall collapsed forward, dust and mortar and several tons of bricks, but not before Peter leaped sideways desperately, bouncing off the ground with the balls of his hands to flip over and land on a nearby wall.
It was a gamble, really. If Gath was that fast and strong, odds were he was that resilient too. Sure enough, mere moments later the collapsed wall erupted from below as the sorcerer stood, furious, tearing most of the webbing away from his face. His golden eyes were shot through with furious red, now, and an imperious hand reached out. A single word was spoken and...nothing happened. Gath looked confused for a moment, then cursed in yet another language.
"Oh, right, no magic, huh? Wow, that must really suck. Well, your loss, my gain. By the way, you look really snazzy with a web hat." Peter barely dodged the huge chunk of wall that shattered on the wall where he'd been sitting. "What? I was giving you a compliment! Don't be so bashful!"
"Be silent! Accursed insect!"
"Arachnid, not insect. A lot of people make that mis- whup!" He only barely dodged the infuriated sorcerer making a wild leap for him. It got him thinking, even as his head seemed wrapped in cellophane and someone kept ringing bells in his skull. That first hit must have taken more out of him than he thought. But the thing that had him thinking was Gath's newfound moves.
Gath was a sorcerer. He cast spells. Sonja had told him the man had only a fraction of his old power, and Gath had been real insistent on that ritual thing he'd been yammering on about before. SO. The ritual was his way of regaining strength, but that was apparently not a problem. Unless he meant magical strength, in which case they'd all be borked. In the past...uh, future...whatever, Gath had been dependent on the amulet that allowed him to incarnate himself in people. Only, he didn't have his amulet on. So that was yet to come...and meant Gath didn't have that weakness yet. Taking the amulet wouldn't take him out, so to speak.
And yet, killing wasn't an option. Oh, sure, Sonja said the man could take a lot more punishment than a human being. He was a remnant of a bygone era even now, after all. But Peter had never willingly killed before, and sure as hellfire wasn't going to start now. Not to mention what that might do to the timeline. If he did, he might end up returning to a totally weird future where everyone was a monkey.
Heh. Monkeys.
But he couldn't keep...wait, that was it!
Gath hadn't been this strong before. He was now. Since he allegedly had no ready access to magic... Alchemy. Alchemy! A...a potion or serum of some sort. Temporary boost to his system. Wouldn't last him forever, and was probably wreaking right mayhem with the man's internal organs. So if he could just keep Gath going for a while...
...more easily said than done when you took into account the probable skull fracture and concussion and - ow - the aching ribcage that suggested a few more fractures.
Cartwheeling to the side he dodged another blow, and now the old sorcerer had grabbed a sword from one of his knocked-out men. Gath paused only to stab the fallen half-man through the throat, probably killing it instantly.
Something snapped in Peter.
Yes, they were monstrous. Yes, they were brutal killers. But nobody deserved that. Nobody.
Somehow he managed to not only dodge the swipe at his gut made by Gath, he also managed to connect with the man's jaw with a foot. Or, as he liked to call it;
"Foot-in-face technique!" Who said he'd learned nothing from Danny or Shang?
The sorcerer staggered back, only to get an elbow to the solar plexus, followed by a roundhouse punch that spun him right round like a record baby... "Elbow-to-gut style! Fist-in-face punch!"
Whooo. That last roundhouse wreaked havoc with his concussion. The whole world began to spin, and the ringing in his ears blended with the tingling of his spider-sense until he had no clue which way was up or down.
He heard from somewhere far, far away a grating of metal against packed dirt, footsteps, and then that vile, gnarled claw-like hand in his hair yet again, grabbing him from a prone position and raising him to his knees.
"Pathetic. I was going to torture you, but now I see it would be useless."
"Blaaaargh." A stream of vomit burst out onto the sorcerer's silk robes and sandaled feet, causing Gath to hiss and leap back, still holding Peter by the hair.
"Vile insect! For that insult I will raise your spirit from the dead to torment it eternally! Have you any last words?"
The world was dimming, spinning, and it occurred to Peter that the concussion might be really bad. He hadn't been this bad up since that time he tried to fight Doc Ock while poisoned.
But the world stopped spinning, all of a sudden. Just briefly. But long enough for him to gather up the very last dregs of consciousness and willpower.
"Y-yeah. I d-do." He balled up his fist. "I have a date. And you...can go straight to hell!"
He wasn't sure exactly how he managed it, but somehow he was pushing off the ground with both legs and sending a downright nasty uppercut into the unprepared sorcerer's jaw. The sound was very much like bashing a snare drum with a big rock, then nigh-instantaneously a dull clok as Gath's teeth met violently.
Staggering to his feet he was actually able to see Gath sailing through the air only to hit an old watchtower by the city walls, bouncing off of it and a rooftop below before finally landing on the ground unceremoniously.
He spit, trying to get the taste of saliva, blood and vomit out of his mouth. Swaying, he made his way towards the downed sorcerer, curling his fists up and trying very hard to ignore the way everything was going double, quadruple or more every time he took another step. His nose felt clogged, so he reached up to wipe only to get a handful of blood on his fingers.
"Oh. This is bad." Dizziness, nausea, explosive nosebleed, double vision...yeah, he was in trouble. He needed a few weeks of bed-rest. Possibly more. But Gath was getting up, and nobody here could do this.
A single cough brought him to his knees, and he had to stand up again before continuing, which was easier said than done since for some reason the world had decided to go all liquid on him. Gath was getting up...this was important. Why was it important? Whoa, why was it daylight already? No, it was still dark. Now daylight again. Oh, right. Head injury. Heh.
Something in the back of his head was screaming at him. Someone. Jen? No. Sonja? No, not her either. A guy. Why was a guy screaming in his head?
Wait.
Get up!
He knew that voice. Like an older, raspier, smooth-talking version of himself. Fred Tatasciore meets James Earl Jones meets Will Friedle. Wow, he was such a dork for knowing half those names.
"...Ezekiel?"
Get up, you idiot!
Like a puppet on strings he stood, his legs quivering. Raising his head he saw a blur rushing towards him, something long and metallic in one hand, roaring with the rage of madness.
A song played in his head. It had been a favorite of Felicia's. Something with this British group called Sneaker something. She liked the band, before they ditched the female lead singer at least, and had played their big breakthrough CD repeatedly when they...well, not that it was anyone else's beeswax when she played it or what they were doing at the time, but...the whole CD had stuck in his head for months after, and then he'd forgotten about it. Strange, the things your memory dredged up in times of stress.
Spin, spin, sugar...
As good an idea as any. Peter spun around, the world spinning even more, then fell over as the furious sorcerer continued past, tripped on the half-man he'd stabbed to death and staggered into the burning building behind him.
If not for the horrifying shriek of pain that burst out shortly afterwards, it might even have been funny.
He watched, while prone on the ground and unable to move, as the flames grew higher and a vaguely humanoid shape twirled and flailed madly about in the midst of them, shrieking, howling in agony. Peter tried to get up, wanted to do something, anything, but in the end, everything turned black.
…
…
His mouth was dry and tasted like a sewer. He knew this because he'd been down in sewers way too often, and sometimes, well, sometimes you just couldn't close your mouth fast enough.
Moving turned out to be troublesome. Oh, he could do it, but the first time he felt himself run hot and cold and then turned on his side to throw up noisily on the floor next to the bed.
Bed? Oh, right. He was in a bed. First time in days. He was clean, too. And naked. Someone had taken the time to undress him and clean him up. God, he hoped it wasn't done by women. But going by the society they had here...probably.
Well, darn it.
A girl with huge, awe-struck eyes rushed in with mop and wooden bucket, cleaned up the mess, then left a small tin tub next to the bed, probably for if he should worship Ulrik the Troll again. He tried talking to her, but all he could muster was a few croaking noises, and she blushed furiously and bobbed a curtsy every single time he even opened his mouth., so finally he stopped trying.
There was a small pitcher of water and an earthenware mug on the table next to him, and he sipped a little before passing right out again.
…
Next time he woke up, there was a small group of people standing in the small room, looking quite agitated. He overheard the quietly upset whispers from those standing at the rear, and recognized the town merchant's guild leader and Sonja at the front.
"...should be dead!"
"...should not be possible, and yet he breathes!"
Sonja smirked at him. It looked like she'd taken the time to get cleaned up, too, because her hair wasn't the greasy mess it had been last he saw her. "Welcome back to the land of the living."
"Oh. Hey. Huh. The spell is still working. Weird."
She shrugged. "The local merchant guild wanted to thank you, with gold, but I'm not sure you'd want it."
"Uh, no, thanks. Not really. You can have it." He looked about the room, and saw a man seated in the corner, writing on a parchment scroll with a long goose-feather quill. "Who's that?"
"Town scribe. He's writing about the reign of Kulan Gath right now, a warning to future generations. He'll put it all on tablets later, for long-term storage."
Future generations...
"Huh. Okay. So...what happened? I was a bit out of it at the very last."
She glanced at the merchants. "Well, after Gath caught fire and turned to ashes, we rounded up the last half-men, the ones who didn't escape. They're actually quite docile without their master's influence, so we put them to work in the fields until we feel it's safe to let them go on their way. As for Gath, well..."
"Dead?"
She barked a laugh. "Ha! Him, dead? That'll be the day. He's a sorcerer, they always find some way to return. Usually worse than before. We found no traces of him in the burnt out building, just some shreds of his robes, so most likely he either escaped somehow or...well, like I said, sorcerer. They're worse than cockroaches."
The guild leader held out a familiar sight. "Er, we found this near the inn where the sorcerer's guards first attacked you. We think it might belong to you?"
Peter grinned, even though doing so made his face ache. "My bag! Awesome. I thought I'd lost it..."
"Yes. Er. We'll...we'll be on our way, then. Yes. Thank you."
They left in single file, all but Sonja and the scribe. He waited for a while, then turned to the scribe. "Uh, could I borrow that scroll for a moment? Thanks..."
…
The platform lowered itself in the town square where the biosignature claimed Peter was, and Jen leaped off even before it had landed properly. People were running screaming at the sight of her, and a few guards unslung long halberds, aiming them at the quartet in a vaguely threatening way.
None of them spoke a language they could recognize. Time for some basic sign language.
"Hey! Hey! Calm down! We're looking for a man, about yea high", she measured Peter's height in the air with one hand, "spider emblem on his chest", made a crawling gesture with her fingers against the fabric of her suit, "sticks to walls and can jump hella high."
She finished by pantomiming a pair of legs with middle and index finger, miming a great jump from her upper arm ending by landing and 'sticking' to her vertical bicep.
Noh-Varr snickered. "Oh, yes, that'll help. I'm sure they all understood that."
"Shut up."
A few of the more overzealous guards tried a lunge towards them, but Jen caught the halberd and snapped it into tiny pieces, ending by crumbling the pig-iron head into a lump. Johnny set himself ablaze, just in case, and Sue shoved the crowd back with a force-field, just in case it came to a fight.
...for some reason this was amazingly impressive to them all, and finally a man with a big, golden chain around his neck made his way up to them. He drew himself up, then gabbled in his foreign language at great length. The non-plussed stare Jen returned to him was probably not what he was expecting.
Finally he looked around and then in an exaggerated way, much like the way some people did when talking to foreigners like they were just hard of hearing, said a single, very recognizable word. Mangled though it was. "Pee-tur?"
Jen grinned. "Yes! Peter! Where?"
…
Farak the scribe was exiting the inn, still a bit confused. He carried the scrolls, including the ones that had been, ah, tampered with. 'Nancy'. What kind of name was that?
As he pushed open the half-door to the inn, a hysterically upset tavern maid came running from the direction of the town square. "Gods! They are gods! They have come for their own!"
"What? Calm yourself Yelana, what is the matter?"
She swallowed, her face red with excitement and exertion. "They came upon a flying carpet from the sky itself, and they wish to speak with the lord of spiders! They knew his name, Peetur!"
Farak frowned. "...'Peetur'? He told me his name was Nancy! Nancy Raygann."
"Whatever! Quick, maybe we can get another glimpse of them!"
…
"...will you cut that out?"
"Oh, come on, one for the road. It's the least you owe me!"
"I said no the first time, now - hey, hey, personal space!"
"Oh, don't be such a killjoy. Just a little, I promise I don't bite. Much."
The door swung inwards, and Jen had to duck her head to avoid hitting the door frame. Nothing had really prepared her for the sight within, though.
Peter was trying to hold on to his blankets while a statuesque, curvaceous and athletic redhead with a deep tan all over her scantily clad body was trying to pull them away. His face was red with embarrassment, while hers was rapt with a highly indecent expression. As Jen entered, the redhead turned around, saw her, then looked up, and up and up...
...funny, the ceiling hadn't been that close a moment ago...
The redhead's mouth dropped open. "Bloody hells, it's a troll!"
"Who the hell are you calling troll, you little-"
"Jen! Help!"
The redhead looked at Jen, then back to Pete, then back to Jen, then smirked. Before either of them could react, she let go of the blankets and, while Peter was distracted, leaned in to-
Oh no she don't!
Her scalp pushed hard against the wooden ceiling, and Jen had to hunch slightly to keep from breaking through it. In a single step she was there, lifting the little bitch off the bed by the hair and pulling her over to the door, ignoring the spitting and cursing from the woman who was desperately hanging onto her hair with both hands. Leaning in close, she whispered a single, furious, "Get your own."
Then Jen shoved her outside unceremoniously, closing the door behind her. There were a few angry thumps from outside, then Sue's frosty tones could be heard and Johnny sounding highly amused by it all, after which the thumps stopped.
She didn't care.
He was alive. And safe. And here. Right in front of her. "...Peter."
Her voice didn't just break did it? No, no it didn't. Phew.
"Jen. Hi. You know, I just texted you guys, I had no clue you were already in the area."
She frowned. "Texted?"
"Yeah. Some scribe was writing something about the whole...never mind. How did you find...how did you even get...man. Hey, gorgeous. You sure are a sight for sore eyes."
Her heart made a little funny flip in her chest, but she played it cool, even though her cheeks were a bit warm. "Yeah, well, you look like hell."
He shrugged, then winced. "Yeah. From what I can tell I have a severe concussion, possibly a skull fracture, broken ribs...I may have to sue someone."
"Well, I am a lawyer..." She tried to make it all casual-sounding. Why the hell was she feeling all warm in her gut?
"So you are. Hey, wanna know what happened here? Believe me, it's like right out of a movie with The Rock, only without the buttrock soundtrack..."
…
…
The five gods left the city of Vertanapol at dawn the following day, their flying carpet chariot rising on a pillar of light and wind. Moments later they had risen too high to be seen, and in a flash of bright light they disappeared, as if through a door into the heavens themselves.
Though only the warrior known as Sonja understood their language, and though they tried repeatedly to claim they were not gods, the Zamoran people of the city knew better. Was not the man who had helped free them a spider lord in the flesh? Did he not carry the symbol of the spider god?
It was a bit confusing that he had given more than one name, of course. The name Peetur, odd in itself, or the name Nansi, even stranger. But he was added to the names of those who carried the trickster banner, those who followed the spider-god and were ascended to godhood, and so it was that the many spider cults of Zamora gained another, dedicated to Nansi the Laughing God.
In time, Kushite travelers adopted the faith, carrying it with them back to their heated lands in the south, where they built great temples to their interpretation of Him and eventually made him their own god.
And in time, the mysterious tablet carrying a message of the ages, carved by Farak the scribe after the written original by the spider god himself, found its way into the hands of a young, bitter doctor studying magic in lands where the old ways were still kept.
And in time and again after that, the spider-god was finally visited in his temple by the one who had, by chance and accident, long ago brought his name far from Zamora into lands untouched by the cataclysms and war ravaging the lands of what had once been the Hyperborean era.
…
As for Peter Parker, he was out cold, firmly strapped into a seat while Noh-Varr stood, piloting the time platform back to their own era. Sue glanced back once and noticed Jen had fallen asleep, resting her head on his with her hand grasping his. Their fingers intertwined.
She smiled.
"What?"
Sue turned to Johnny. "Hm?"
"Seriously, what's with the smile?"
"Oh, nothing."
…
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