TWIN DEMONS by Georgia Kennedy

Author's Note

Il Diavolo means, The Devil, in Italian.

Disclaimer

This is a derivative work of fiction featuring characters copyrighted and trademarked by Marvel Characters, Inc. It is based upon: Spider-Man, copyright 2002 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved; Spider-Man 2, copyright 2004 by Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc., all rights reserved; Daredevil - Director's Cut, copyright 2004 by Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, Inc., all rights reserved; and Hulk, copyright 2003 by Universal Studios, all rights reserved. The author is not connected with nor is this work authorized by Marvel Characters, Inc., or any of the aforementioned motion picture studios. This work is intended solely for posting on Fanfiction, for the benefit and enjoyment of its intended audience. No commercial or financial benefit accrues or is intended to accrue to the author as a result of said posting. Any unauthorized copying or redistribution of this work might subject the party responsible for such unauthorized copying or redistribution to legal action by the owners of the aforementioned copyrights and trademarks.

IV

IL DIAVOLO

Their return trip took them past the abandoned Fiskcorp Tower. Peter looked at it askance. He was as shocked as anyone when billionaire businessman and philanthropist Wilson Fisk had been exposed as New York City's criminal overlord, the Kingpin. Fisk had donated millions of dollars in support of efforts to train and develop young scientists in primary and secondary schools throughout greater New York. Those donations paid for physical plant upgrades, lab equipment, textbooks, curriculum development, teacher training, and numerous other educational goods and services. Midtown High had received grants totaling in the hundreds of thousands of dollars. Several of the awards that Peter won at Midtown, including the prestigious Senior Class Science Award that was presented to him at graduation, had been paid for by those grants. Not only that, but part of Peter's scholarship to New York University had been financed by a Fiskcorp foundation. He was deeply torn over whether to return the scholarship, but after much agonizing deliberation, decided against it. He couldn't be sure whether or not those funds were connected with Fisk's criminal activities, and he really needed that money.

Still, he couldn't help but reflect soberly now how ironic it was that Peter Parker owed his education to the Kingpin of Crime.

Since Fisk's conviction, the situation had deteriorated . . . badly. At least when the Kingpin was running the syndicates, there was an organization in place to restrain his more violent enforcers. Now that organization was gone, and things were totally out of control, with every two-bit hood in the city trying to carve himself a piece of the empire. The bombings, shootings, and knifings occurred with frightening regularity, almost nightly, with no end in sight.

And not even Spider-Man could stop the carnage. The scumbags he painstakingly gift-wrapped for the police were invariably spat back into the streets by an understaffed, overworked, sometimes incompetent, and sometimes corrupt criminal justice system, only to create more mayhem. And the only thanks he ever got for his efforts were those incessant headlines from the Daily Bugle proclaiming him as the Big Apple's greatest menace.

And speaking of the Daily Bugle, just where the hell was Jameson when the Kingpin story broke anyway? On the take? No. Jameson may have been a headline-manufacturing sensation-monger and a bastard to work for, but he cared about the city and had definite opinions about what was right and what was wrong. More than that, the necessity of an independent and free press to the functioning of a democratic society was bred in his bones. It was simply not possible for J. Jonah Jameson to be a stooge for organized crime. He must have been as in the dark about Wilson Fisk as everybody else, which meant that he had been asleep at the wheel. No doubt this would raise questions in some quarters about his journalistic prowess.

The Fiskcorp Tower itself had been seized by the federal government in connection with the Kingpin's conviction on multiple counts of racketeering, conspiracy, and murder. One of the tallest buildings in Midtown Manhattan, it stood nearly a thousand feet high. Once a gleaming, ultra-modern office building boasting state-of-the art facilities and expensive art deco interior design, it was now dark and uninhabited, a colossal, silent monument to evil and extravagance. The gigantic Fiskcorp logo still hadn't been removed. Peter guessed that it would be taken down at some point, perhaps after the building had been auctioned off or sold at a government-sponsored fire sale for pennies on the dollar.

When the young couple left the Fiskcorp Tower behind and passed over Hell's Kitchen, Peter's spider-sense suddenly went off as his wonderful moment of bliss with Mary Jane was shattered by the sound of a gunshot.

XXXXXXXXXX

Maybe the Kingpin thing was a mistake, Matt Murdock was beginning to think as he vaulted over the rooftops of Hell's Kitchen in his Daredevil attire. Until recently, he'd allowed himself to feel a little bit of pride in what he'd accomplished—bringing down the most powerful organized crime figure in history. The man responsible for the death of his father and hundreds of others, the man who had hired that evil bastard Bullseye to murder his lover, Elektra, was locked away in a federal prison upstate, awaiting execution for crimes too numerous to list. Justice had been served.

But in his single-minded quest for that justice, Matt now realized that he hadn't stopped to consider the law of unintended consequences. With Fisk's conviction, the syndicates that maintained order and discipline throughout the underworld came crashing down. Now, hoods who once answered to the Kingpin were building their own empires on the corpses of their rivals. They roamed the streets with impunity, terrorizing those who could not defend themselves, in their homes, in their businesses, even in their churches. But not in the Kitchen, he vowed silently. Not in his neighborhood. He would leave it to Spider-Man and the police worry about the rest of the city. He would do his utmost to make sure that Hell's Kitchen remained a safe haven for all who lived and worked there.

But it wasn't easy. What was the point of putting these criminals through the justice system if they were going to end up back out on the streets in a few months? Matt was beginning to feel like an overworked fire fighter. He knew all too well the weaknesses of that system, but there was little he could do other than keep his clients away from its maw.

Suddenly, he heard the scream of a man being assaulted. He was able to make out three or four assailants. He heard the victim cry out, "No, no more, Torpedo, please! I'll have the money tomorrow, I swear!" In no time flat, he'd found the alley where the assault was taking place. It was near the intersection of 58th Street and Tenth Avenue, seven blocks away from where he first heard the victim's shouts.

He knew Torpedo well. He used to be one of the Kingpin's low-level enforcers, but was now freelancing. A lousy punk trying to make a name for himself at some innocent's expense, just like the rest of them, Matt thought in disgust as he zeroed in on his target. Torpedo and his three associates were ganging up on a middle-aged mom-and-pop jewelry shop owner who was scarcely able to put up any resistance.

Unfortunately, Matt lost the element of surprise when he landed with a clang on a fire escape directly above the hoods. When they spotted him, they dropped their victim and ran frantically out onto Tenth Avenue, toward a warehouse at the nearby intersection. In desperation, Torpedo fired his pistol at Matt, but the cowled crusader anticipated the bullet's trajectory and got out of the way in an instant. Then he once again took to the rooftops, leaping over alleys as easily as Spider-Man. By the time the punks had reached the intersection, he was already waiting for them.

XXXXXXXXXX

The shot startled Mary Jane, who jumped despite being restrained by Peter's webbing. Oh man! Peter groaned inwardly, can't we have a respite for just one night? The shot apparently came from the vicinity of the intersection at Tenth Avenue and 58th Street, over which they had just passed. A four-story warehouse occupied the southeast corner of that intersection. On top of the warehouse was another Emma Rose Parfumerie billboard that featured the forty-foot picture of Mary Jane. The picture-side of the board was well lit from a series of lights at its base. It was totally dark on the back side.

Peter found himself in a dilemma. The last thing he ever wanted to do was expose Mary Jane to danger. But, on the other hand, he could not just fly by and do nothing while shots were being fired. People's lives might be imperiled, and that was the one imperative that took precedence over everything else, including Mary Jane's comfort. Costume or no, he decided that he would act if circumstances demanded.

Peter landed on the lips of Mary Jane's image and climbed rapidly to the top of the billboard. With their combined eight limbs, the two of them could have easily been mistaken for a giant spider. Peter carefully vaulted over to the back side and found a horizontal support for him and Mary Jane to stand on. The vantage point gave them a clear view of the intersection. Had they not been concealed by the shadows, anyone looking in their direction would have seen two pairs of eyes peering over the top of the billboard— a brown-haired man's and a red-haired woman's.

Peter looked up Tenth Avenue and Mary Jane followed his gaze. The street was deserted, except for four tough-looking types who were running in their direction. But they did not appear to be chasing anybody. They were running from someone . . . or something. One of them was carrying a pistol that appeared to be out of bullets. He could hear them shouting. He was unable to make out what most of them were saying, but the one with the gun appeared to be screaming, "Oh God! No!"

It was Mary Jane who directed Peter's attention to the source of their fright. It, or rather he, was crouching on a fire escape jutting out from the building across the intersection. He was dressed in a tight-fitting jumpsuit that appeared to made of red leather. Boots and gloves completed the outfit. His face was hidden by a cowl. At their distance, neither Peter nor Mary Jane were able to make out any significant details, other than what looked like a pair of horns protruding from the man's forehead. On his right thigh rested a holster. It contained two objects that looked like clubs, but they could not be sure.

"My God," whispered Mary Jane, trying to keep her fear in check. "Who the hell is that?"

"Daredevil," Peter answered, awestruck. There were rumors about Daredevil long before Spider-Man appeared on the scene. Rumors, but no proof. Because no photographs or videos were ever taken, none of the eyewitnesses who claimed to have seen Daredevil were taken seriously by the police or the media. Daredevil was just another urban legend as far as they and the public were concerned. What puzzled Peter was why the appearance of Spider-Man did not bolster claims about Daredevil in the public's mind. In fact, it seemed to have had the opposite effect. What ever press coverage there was of Daredevil disappeared right after the Bugle began tracking Spider-Man.

But none of that was relevant now. As far as Mary Jane and Peter were concerned, they had all the proof they needed. Despite the cold, they watched in silent fascination from the top of the billboard as Daredevil swan-dived off the fire escape, did a double somersault and landed upright on in the middle of the street. Without missing a beat, he unsheathed his two clubs and snapped them together so that they became one long club. He hurled it at the punk with the gun. His aim was perfect. The impact shattered the punk's hand as it knocked the weapon clear. The punk screamed in pain as the others, realizing that an attack was imminent, attempted to defend themselves. They were either brave or foolhardy depending on their audience's perspective. As the only two members of the audience, Peter and Mary Jane were thinking the latter.

They were right. Daredevil was all over the punks in a matter of seconds. Using a brand of martial arts that Peter had never seen before, Daredevil unloaded an arsenal of punches, kicks and chops that sent the punks flying off in different directions. It was over almost before it started. Daredevil grabbed the punk who had the gun, heaved him up by his jacket and glared into his face. "Consider this your final warning!" he growled, loud enough for Peter and Mary Jane to hear him clearly. "If I ever see your ass in Hell's Kitchen again, I'll be the last thing your eyes ever see. You GOT it?" And with that, he hurled the punk to the pavement. As soon as the punk staggered to his feet, he and his compatriots scurried away toward the shadows like rats seeking the protection of the dark. Two of them were limping. All of them were bleeding.

Stupefied, Mary Jane stared at the red apparition standing in the middle of the intersection. Unlike Spider-Man, who managed to keep his sense of humor while in action, this Daredevil had a deadly serious demeanor, and there was a streak of brutality about him that really unnerved her.

"Looks like you've got some competition there, Tiger!" she whispered.

"Maybe," Peter said, his voice tinged with admiration. "Or maybe an ally."

Suddenly, Peter's spider-sense started to tingle at a low level. Daredevil was staring straight at them. Mary Jane felt a thrill of fear, but relaxed, remembering who was with her.

Peter was shocked. They had to be at least a hundred yards from where Daredevil was standing, and they were whispering to each other. How could he have possibly heard them from that distance?

"Uh-oh, he sees us Pete!" Mary Jane said anxiously.

Although Peter was sure that Mary Jane was not in any danger, he did not want her near combat zones, and he certainly didn't want to give her any reason to change her mind about him. He felt it best that he get her home as soon as possible.

"Okay," he ordered. "Let's get out of here." He immediately fired a webline and the two of them were airborne again.

But Daredevil had not made any aggressive moves in their direction. He obviously did not consider them a threat. As Peter and M.J. swung away from the billboard, they heard a shout from behind: "Hey lady! I'm not the bad guy!"

To Mary Jane, it sounded as if Daredevil wanted to reassure her. She was utterly amazed that he could detect her fear from so great a distance. Amazement abruptly gave way to realization—that Daredevil and Spider-Man were on the same side, and that neither she nor Peter had anything to fear from him.

As for Peter, he began to think that Daredevil was the only other person in the world who could truly understand him. He was already beginning to feel a sense of kinship with the man. And he hoped that Daredevil would feel the same way.

XXXXXXXXXX

Matt was about to leave the scene when he heard voices coming from the direction of the large billboard across the intersection. He looked up toward the billboard. His enhanced senses enabled him to perceive the presence of a male and a female. They were hidden behind the billboard and concealed in the shadows, but he was able to make out radar-like images of the tops of their heads. Apparently, they had witnessed the show he'd just put on. Had he been able to actually see the picture on the billboard, he might have recognized the woman from the Emma Rose advertisements.

Who were these people? Cops? Journalists? How could they have gotten up there without him being aware of it? He was about to vault up to them and ask what they were doing up there. But then they started talking, and he was able to hear their conversation as clearly as if he were standing in between them.

Woman: "Looks like you've got some competition there, Tiger!"

Man: "Maybe. Or maybe an ally."

Woman: "Uh-oh, he sees us Pete!"

Man: "Okay. Let's get out of here."

That conversation told him that they were not connected with the punks he'd just busted up, and were therefore not a threat. He could that tell he must have scared the woman because he was able to perceive a surge in her heartbeat. He could also detect something in the man's voice patterns that gave the impression of. . . admiration.

He wanted to let them know that he would not hurt them, but before he could move, the man fired some kind of bungee cord and the two of them swung out and disappeared over the rooftops. As they took off, Matt shouted after the woman, "Hey lady! I'm not the bad guy!" He wondered if she even heard him as he turned his attention to Torpedo's victim. He would help the man home, or get medical help if he was seriously injured.

And as Matt Murdock made his way back to the alley, it suddenly hit him who the man hiding behind the billboard must be. His companion, probably his girlfriend, called him "Pete." But it was Spider-Man. Of that he was absolutely sure. That bungee cord he was swinging from was the give-away. It had to be his webbing.

He knew very little about Spider-Man since he neither read tabloids nor watched television. From what he'd heard, the man apparently had tremendous strength and agility, and used his unique gifts to try and make the world a better place, whether by incapacitating bad guys or pulling people out of burning tenements. And Spider-Man was looking for an ally? Well, why not. Matt could definitely use the help. New York City was being over-run by the Kingpin's former underlings.

Like Peter, Matt also needed someone to talk to, someone who could understand his double-life, his twilight existence, his need to keep secrets from close friends like Foggy Nelson, his law partner. Spider-Man was perhaps the only other person in the world to whom he could relate on a fundamental level. After all, they were probably hewn from the same slab of granite. Perhaps one day they would meet.

And Matt was absolutely sure that Spider-Man was the victim of bad press. Foggy, an avid reader of the tabloids, consistently complained that the Daily Bugle had the wrong angle on Spider-Man. That wasn't surprising, since the Bugle had completely missed the Kingpin story. Matt wondered if Jonah Jameson railed on Spider-Man in order to deflect attention from his own less-than-stellar performance as a journalist.

Fortunately for Matt, the press's focus on Spider-Man drew the public's attention away from Daredevil, which left him free to operate without being under a reporter's spotlight, and nearly always gave him the advantage in confrontations with thugs. Even Foggy had stopped badgering him about Daredevil.

It wasn't such a big mystery as to why Daredevil was able to remain in the shadows. Unlike Spider-Man, he only came out at night, which made it extremely difficult to be seen, let alone photographed. And also, unlike Spider-Man, he had a friend in the press, a legendary, tough-as-nails crime reporter named Ben Urich—the same Ben Urich who won the Pulitzer Prize for his Kingpin exposé—the same Ben Urich who promised to keep his secret.

And, unbeknownst to Matt Murdock, the same Ben Urich who had lunch with Peter Parker every Wednesday.