Chapter Twenty
"Oh my God, this pie is incredible!" Chloe raved, taking another bite. She, Clark Kent, and Peter Parker were currently sitting in the kitchen of the small Queens home of Peter's Aunt May, enjoying a freshly baked homemade apple pie. Aunt May had gone up to bed, leaving Peter and his friends to themselves, only after expressing her concern and dismay at the cuts and bruises Peter was currently sporting. Peter had insisted he got them in a mosh pit at a concert he'd gone to with Clark and Chloe, but this did little to comfort his aunt.
"Your mom may make the best chocolate chip cookies, but no one beats Aunt May's apple pie," Peter said to Clark with a smile.
"Maybe we should get my mom and your aunt together for a bake-off," Clark said with a laugh.
"I think the only winners in that contest would be our stomachs," Peter replied, taking another bite of pie. "I have to be careful, though. I have to fit into those tights… a superhero with a gut isn't going to scare anyone!" They all laughed.
"So, I have a question," Chloe said. "After everything that Clark did while he was under the control of that Eradicator thing, Nick Fury just let you guys walk out of there?"
"Well, there was the fact that Clark basically saved everyone's lives by taking out the Hulk," Peter said. "But, even besides that, Fury had bigger things to deal with, like the fact that half the Triskelion was destroyed. By the time everyone else regained consciousness, he was already on the phone calling in some damage control unit to come repair the place."
"Plus they had to worry about tracking down the Hulk," Clark added. "That thing's still out there somewhere."
"I'm just glad everybody was okay," Peter said. "I wasn't sure everyone was coming out of that alive."
"Any regrets about not being Ultimates any more?" Chloe asked.
"Eh, not really," Peter shrugged. "It was kind of fun while it lasted I guess, running around with the big guys. I don't think Spider-Man's really a 'team' kinda guy though. What about you, Clark?"
"Not really my cup of tea, either," Clark agreed. "I'm just more worried about what I did while I was under the influence of the Eradicator."
"Um… you did some pretty wild stuff, I'm not gonna lie to you," Peter said. "You totally kicked the asses of three major super villains in like, two seconds. It was pretty sweet. Oh yeah, and Clark… why didn't you tell me that you can fly?!"
Clark was quick to shake his head dismissively. "I can't fly," he said. "That must have just been the Eradicator's influence."
Chloe waved her fork in the air. "Uh, sorry Clark, but I have to cry foul on that one," she said. "What about the time that you, as Kal-El, flew after Lex's airplane to get that Kryptonian stone? And you told me before that you once woke up hovering above your bed. And what about the time you dreamed you were flying, and woke up in the middle of Route 8?"
Peter raised an eyebrow. Clark squirmed a little in his seat, playing with his fork.
"Clark," Chloe said, leaning forward. "What if it's not that you can't fly… what if you're just afraid to?"
. . . . . .
Deep within the frozen arctic, the beast known as the Hulk lumbered into the Fortress of Solitude. He was growing tired, weary. His rage had subsided long ago, and the Eradicator's will inside of him was the only thing keeping him from reverting back to his human form. The journey here had been a long one, but he had finally arrived. The Hulk trudged to the center of the Fortress, then collapsed to his knees. The energy essence of the Eradicator left his body, radiating out and becoming absorbed into the Fortress itself. Almost instantly, the Hulk reverted back to Doctor Banner.
Banner looked around, unable to believe his eyes. He was in a place unlike anything he'd ever seen. His fascination was undermined by the fact that he was freezing cold, being in the middle of the arctic without a shirt on. He wasn't sure if he was hallucinating or not, but he began to hear disembodied voices speaking to one another.
"Jor-El," one voice spoke. "I have failed to complete my mission."
"No. You have done well, Eradicator," a second voice said. "Your true role in Kal-El's destiny has yet to be revealed. Here, in the Fortress of Solitude, you will be reborn, and take on a new form. When the time is right, your purpose will be revealed." There was a pause, and then the voice continued. "Eradicator, who is this human you have brought to the Fortress?"
"Do not be deceived by his appearance, Jor-El," the first voice replied. "This human is one of the most powerful beings on this planet. His physical strength has no upper limit that I can detect."
"Very well," the other voice said. "He may then be useful to us in the future. Rest now, Eradicator. All will be revealed in time."
Banner felt the frigid cold slowly fading away, and was quickly overtaken by a feeling of warmth. A bright light filled the Fortress, engulfing him. For a moment, he felt completely weightless, unable to see, hear, or sense anything at all. Then, an instant later, he was somewhere else entirely. A cave, with strange, alien-looking hieroglyphics on the walls. He was in utter shock at what had just taken place, trying to comprehend it.
It was only then that he realized he'd been holding something in his hand this entire time. He looked down and saw that he was holding a metal cylinder, engraved with similar markings to the ones on the walls of the cave.
Several hours later, Banner was walking down a quiet country road, now wearing a tattered jacket and some sneakers that he'd picked out of someone's trash. He had learned that he was now, somehow, in a Kansas town called Smallville. He had no idea how he'd gotten there, or if what he had seen in that crystal fortress was real or some kind of hallucination. The only thing that he knew was real was the metal cylinder that he had crammed awkwardly into the jacket pocket, half of it still sticking out.
He stuck out his thumb at a passing car, but it didn't even slow down. Banner considered his options. He could go back to New York, return to the Ultimates, let them lock him up and monitor him again. Or, he could strike out on his own, remain in hiding, and try to find a cure himself.
Maybe, he thought to himself, he would look up an old colleague of his who might be willing to help him.
. . . . . .
Doctor Leonard Samson sat in his office at Ravencroft Sanitarium. Seated across from him was Harry Osborn, who had just recently been readmitted to the facility's care.
"It's good to see you again, Harry," Leonard said. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine," Harry said, absently. He was feeling intense withdrawal from the Goblin formula and was doped up on sedatives to keep him from having a relapse.
"Harry, before we begin today's session, I need to discuss something with you," Doctor Samson said. "Your previous stay with us ended prematurely, when you were transferred to Ryker's Island Prison."
"I know," Harry said, annoyed. "You declared me a threat to society and beyond all hope."
"No, Harry, I didn't," Samson replied. "That transfer request didn't come from me. It was authorized by an Alastair Smythe, a man who was temporarily acting as director of this facility. We've since learned that Smythe was an associate of Wilson Fisk, the man known as the 'Kingpin of Crime.' Are you familiar with Wilson Fisk, Harry?"
Harry was stunned. The fog that he was in from the sedatives lifted for a moment. Fisk had gotten Harry transferred to Ryker's, then got himself transferred into the cell across from Harry. He'd been behind it all from the beginning. He'd planned the whole damn thing. All so Fisk could get his revenge on… what was his name? Matt Murdock? Harry was just a pawn in Fisk's game. For a moment, Harry could hear the Goblin in his head, laughing at him.
"Harry?" Samson asked.
"Yes," Harry replied, quickly. "Yes, I know who Wilson Fisk is." Harry rubbed his hand over his face in frustration. "In fact, if you let me make a phone call, I think I can help you catch him."
. . . . . .
Elsewhere.
"Looks like your little Sinister Six didn't work out quite like ya planned, Mister Fisk," Bullseye said, peering through the scope of a sniper rifle. "I tried ta tell ya I was the only bloke ya'd need to take out Murdock."
Bullseye and Wilson Fisk stood on a rooftop overlooking the offices of Nelson and Murdock, attorneys at law. Bullseye currently had the sniper rifle pointed at the front door of the building. Fisk casually smoked a cigar.
"You told me that once before," Fisk said, exhaling smoke. "I ended up in prison and you ended up in traction."
"That was before we knew who the Devil really was," Bullseye reminded him. "Now that we know he's just some damn blind lawyer durin' the day, this'll be child's play."
Just then Matt Murdock and his law partner, Franklin "Foggy" Nelson, walked out the front door of the building. Matt had one hand placed on Foggy's shoulder for guidance, and in the other hand he held his cane, sweeping it from side to side slowly as he walked.
Fisk took a slow drag on the cigar. "Here we go," he said quietly, savoring the moment.
Bullseye, in a spontaneous act of drama, swung the sniper rifle away and pointed it down the street. "All right," Bullseye said. "I can bank the bullet off that brick wall, off the signpost, between the old ladies crossin' the street, off the fender of the station wagon, through the open window of the school bus and straight between Murdock's eyes."
"This is no time for theatrics, Bullseye," Fisk declared. "Just put the damn bullet through his skull."
Bullseye sighed. "No one appreciates art anymore," he said, swinging the sniper rifle back into place. He once again pointed it at Murdock, getting the lawyer's forehead directly in his sights.
Suddenly, the gun was snagged away by a webline. A blast of impact webbing knocked Bullseye down, a second bound his hands, and a third blast covered his mouth. The cigar fell out of Fisk's mouth as another webline snared his feet, pulling them out from under him and landing him flat on his back. More webbing quickly bound his hands. Spider-Man did a backflip in the air and landed between them triumphantly.
"Greetings, space monkeys!" he yelled. "I thought the skinhead look was going out of style, but you two wear it well!"
"Spider-Man," Fisk hissed, trying to sit up. "You don't know what you've just done. You've made yourself a powerful enemy today. A very powerful enemy!"
"Take a number, slappy," Spidey said, giving Fisk a smack on the back of his head. "A lot of people say that to me, and it never lives up to the hype!" The sound of police sirens filled the air. "Oh, did I mention I called the cops? Your cell at Ryker's is probably still warm. I bet all the guys will be glad to see you again. Hey, is it true what they say about dropping the soap?"
"You son of a bitch," Fisk snarled. "I'll get out again, and when I do-"
Spider-Man fired another blast of webbing over Fisk's mouth.
"Yeah, well, I'd love to stay and chat, but, I've got things to do. Hasta la vista!"
Spider-Man leapt to the edge of the roof and jumped off, swinging away on another webline. It was lucky, he thought to himself, that Harry Osborn had called him as Peter Parker, asking him to tell Spider-Man that Fisk and Bullseye would be after a guy named Matt Murdock. Now that all the bad guys were back where they belonged, maybe he could finally get some rest. Mary Jane was coming back from her out of town modeling shoot that afternoon, and they were going to get dinner at their favorite Italian restaurant. It had been weeks since he'd seen her, and he'd been counting down the days until she came home.
So why then, he wondered, couldn't he stop thinking about Chloe Sullivan…?
. . . . . .
That night, Clark Kent had a dream. He was back on Krypton again, just as he had been in the vision that the Eradicator had given him. The dream was just as vivid and lucid as the vision had been. Clark was back outside the Great Hall, just as he'd been before. Once again, he could hear voices inside speaking Kryptonian. He walked toward them again, entering the Great Hall, only this time everything didn't fade away. He continued into the hall, amazed by the sheer size and majesty of it.
Inside the hall, he found an assembly of the council of elders. They all wore white robes, each with a unique symbol or crest on them. One symbol Clark recognized immediately. It was a pentagon with what looked like a letter S inside. He also recognized the voice of the man wearing it. It was his father, Jor-El.
"My friends, you know me to be neither rash nor impulsive," Jor-El said to the others. "I'm not given to wild, unsupported statements. And I tell you that we must evacuate this planet immediately."
Clark walked into the middle of the assembly. He found that he could move among the elders undetected, as they could neither see nor hear him. Clark watched in disbelief as the other members of the council debated against Jor-El's statements.
"I don't question your data," one woman said. "The facts are undeniable. It's your conclusions we find unsupportable."
"This planet will explode within thirty days, if not sooner," Jor-El insisted.
"I tell you, Krypton is simply shifting its orbit," the woman replied.
Clark walked up to Jor-El and stood beside him. It was the first time he'd ever seen his father's face. Up until now, Jor-El had only been a voice speaking to him in the caves of the Fortress. Clark reached out and gently touched his father's hand. He could feel its warmth, although Jor-El could not feel Clark.
"Jor-El, be reasonable," another member of the council said.
"My friend, I've never been otherwise," Jor-El replied, sadly. "This madness is yours."
"This discussion is terminated," a man at the head of the council declared. "The decision of the council is final."
Clark could see the pain and sorrow in Jor-El's face. He knew that Krypton was doomed, and no one would listen to him. For the first time, Clark began to see Jor-El in a different light. Like Clark, Jor-El wanted to save the world. Only he was never able to.
Clark woke up back in his own bed at home in Smallville. He felt more refreshed and rested than he had in a long time. Had the dream been something left behind by the Eradicator? A parting gift of some kind? Clark wasn't sure, but if it was, despite all the trouble the Eradicator had put him through, he couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for what he'd just been able to experience.
He was wide awake now, even though it was the middle of the night. Unable to get back to sleep, he got up and went downstairs. He looked out the kitchen window. It was a gorgeous night out, calm and cool and peaceful. He slipped on his sneakers and a jacket and went outside.
Standing in the middle of the field behind their house, Clark took in a deep breath of the fresh country air. A few days in the smog of New York City made him appreciate the clean air in Smallville even more. He closed his eyes and spread his arms out wide, taking in the feeling of being home, being on the farm, just being alive.
He thought to himself, as the gentle breeze blew across his face, how lucky he was to have the life that he did. Though he had lost his father recently, Jonathan Kent had taught him so much before he passed away, and he had been loved greatly all his life. He still had a mother who cared for him and would give anything for him. And he had a wonderful group of friends. Chloe, who had raced off to New York after him in a heartbeat just to make sure he was okay. Lana, who, despite their rocky history, had always had a bond with him and a special place in his heart. And Peter Parker, who shared a great secret with him. He and Peter knew, maybe better than anyone else in the world, what it truly meant to have great power, and the responsibility that came with it.
Clark thought about what Chloe had said to him at Peter's aunt's house. What if it's not that you can't fly, she had said. What if you're just afraid to?
Clark had had a fear of heights ever since he could remember. Maybe it came from falling out of the sky in a tiny rocket when he was just a baby. Whatever the reason, what if Chloe was right? What if his own limitations were not real, but imagined? What if he was capable of more than he ever let himself realize?
He opened his eyes and looked down.
To his own astonishment and delight, he was floating about four feet off the ground.