Chapter 1: Twisted Matrimony
Peter Parker stood at the top of the grand staircase, trying to make sense of his surroundings. The mansion seemed to go on forever, a bottomless well of countless marble-floored rooms, painted ceilings, and gilded hallways. Everywhere he looked, there was evidence of wealth and privilege, yet the grandiosity of it all felt hollow; a thin veneer of excess over a vast, empty void.
He couldn't remember how he got here, or why he had come. The last thing he could recall with any clarity was a battle – a haze of smoke and explosions lighting a night sky. It was like a dream, a distant memory that was fading with each passing second.
I'm not supposed to be here, he thought. My name is Peter Parker and I live in New York City. Where was this place? It was some kind of mansion. It was quiet, the air smelled fresh and faintly of pine. Not New York.
The battle, he thought. I was hurt. That felt right. It had been a strange battle, high in the sky above the city at night. He'd been jumping and swinging from building to building, wearing a bright costume. But that didn't make any sense.
In New York he'd been a scientist, no a journalist, no a photographer, a college student. Peter felt dizzy and gripped the railing. It creaked under his grip, the heavy wood feeling almost soft. He let go.
I'm strong, he thought. I wear a costume and jump out of windows. No that was crazy.
Maybe this was a sanitarium. It kind of felt like that. Maybe he was crazy. He looked down the staircase to the marble floored room below.
I've been here for a while, he realized. This place felt familiar. He'd woken up before too. He'd thought these thoughts, felt this panic. He felt trapped in a repeating cycle.
Then there was her. His companion. He couldn't bring a face to the image, but he knew she was there, somewhere in the mansion, connected to him in some strange, unbreakable way. He was supposed to go to her, he knew. When he was troubled he went to her and told her and then...he went back to sleep. Was that when he wanted? Yes. He was hungry for her and wanted to be with her. Why couldn't he remember her face? It kept slipping away from him. Red hair, long red hair.
He wanted to be with her and yet his memories felt so weak, confused. If he could stay maybe he could remember who he was. He was Peter Parker. He was a teacher, a student, a scientist, a photographer. He jumped out of windows. That didn't make any sense. He needed to find her. She'd explain everything.
Peter was going to find her he knew it was the right thing to do.
He descended the stairs slowly, letting his feet guide him. A somber gloom pervaded the entrance hall, its white marble walls gleaming like polished bones in the murky darkness. The air seemed to hang heavy with foreboding.
He felt a strange buzzing sensation. It meant danger. He knew that. There was something in the darkness, it seemed thicker. Then suddenly everything was still, even the darkness seemed thicker somehow. A chill crept up his spine as he felt a presence behind him.
Satana emerged from the shadows, her lithe form silhouetted in the dim light. Her cascading red hair lay over one shoulder like a silk curtain. She glided up behind him, slipping her arms around his waist.
"What troubles you, my love?" she purred.
Peter tensed, some deep instinct warning him not to reveal too much. "Just...trying to remember." He knew her name. He hadn't a moment ago. What was wrong with his memory?
She tightened her grip. "The past is of no concern. This is where you belong."
As she pressed against him, inhaling his scent, strange images flashed through Peter's mind. A red and blue suit. Buildings whipping past. The clash of fists on flesh. He saw himself, yet not himself. A hero?
"I was...someone else," he murmured.
Satana stiffened. Then she spun him around, grasping his head in her hands. Her eyes bored into his, glowing with crimson light.
"No. You are mine." She pulled him into a fierce kiss.
Satana's hands pressed into Peter's head, holding him in place. The memories faded back into the fog as he returned her embrace. Whatever he was before, it was gone. This was his world now.
The kiss seemed to go on forever, filling him with a wild sense of freedom and fear. He felt as though she was consuming him, as if his soul was trapped in a dark embrace. His head swam and his senses reeled. He could feel himself slipping away. The deeper they kissed the more disoriented he became. But he didn't want it to stop. He was dizzy with desire and the feeling of her body pressed against him. Something in him knew that this wasn't right, but he couldn't pull away. Satana was a force of nature.
Suddenly, Satana's lips parted from his. Peter panted, feeling disoriented and confused. He looked up into her intense gaze, images still flickering through his mind. Satana's eyes seemed to glow even brighter, as if she was rooting through his thoughts and memories.
"Who...who are you?" Peter asked weakly.
Satana stepped back, her arms falling away from him. "I am your wife," she said. "Your lover. Your guide."
Peter shook his head, trying to clear it. "No. I don't remember you. I don't remember any of this. Why am I here?"
Satana smiled dangerously. "You are here because you belong to me. You always have, ever since we first met. You are my Peter, trapped in your own mind. But don't worry. I'll take care of you."
Peter couldn't move, even as Satana leaned forward and kissed him again, deeper and more fiercely than before. He felt as though he was descending into a dream, surrendering himself to her embrace.
Everything seemed to blur into dreamlike images, red hair, black eyes, a tangle of limbs, red lips, heat, warmth, pressure, glowing red eyes. No that was wrong. Eyes didn't glow red, but sometimes they did. He felt dizzy and weak, like he'd been drugged. Then darkness.
Peter woke in a big bed. A huge luxurious bed-soft and wonderful. He was staring at a ceiling, high and decorated, and lined with intricate moldings aside scrollwork. But what stood out to Peter the most was an elaborate fresco painted over the entirety of the ceiling. It was huge and grand, and covered the whole ceiling of the large room. Winged creatures, angels, fighting. It was depicting the war in heaven, he thought. It was wrong somehow, but he couldn't figure out why. The artwork was of a very high quality. The angels being forced out of heaven seemed very noble and heroic. The other angels were muted and vague. The whole scene was done in angry reds and blacks. Very creepy indeed, he decided.
He felt great. Drained but deeply relaxed and with a pleasant ache to his muscles. He'd been loved hard, he recognized the symptoms. He rolled over and looked at the cause.
Satana Hellstrom lay snuggled up in bedding and lying on a very thick pillow, sleeping soundly. She somehow managed to look beautiful in the early morning light, her red hair a wild tangle about her, and even the little drool in the corner of her mouth somehow adorable.
Peter looked at her and felt lost. He loved her so much, it was like a torrent. He wanted to protect her, to cradle her and keep her safe. He didn't know where they were or how they'd gotten there, but he loved her desperately.
He started to reach for her, to wake her up, but froze. Would her eyes be black or red? Black... actually a very deep shade of brown - he knew that. He liked staring into them and trying to see the brown, but no matter what they always looked black; obsidian and mysterious. No, she did not have glowing red eyes - that was crazy.
He hesitated, but eventually pulled his hand away. The bedroom was large and at the far end were double glass doors that opened onto a balcony. Quietly, he slipped out of bed and found his pajama pants on the floor. He crossed the room and stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the estate. Before him was a vast landscape of immaculate gardens, stables, parkland, a magnificent lake with a boathouse, and in the distance, a lush forest. It was magnificently opulent and completely unfamiliar.
He kept looking around, searching for something familiar; however, he ended up staring down at his left hand. There he noticed a glint of metal - a wedding ring with mysterious runes engraved around its band - words in an ancient language he had never seen before. He had no memory of a wedding or where he'd gotten a wedding ring. Satana had said she was his wife.
The ring was plain and unadorned, just a simple gold band etched with intricate markings. It fit perfectly on his finger. As he touched it, he noticed faint callouses on his ring finger. He must have been wearing the ring for a while.
He heard Satana's footsteps behind him. "What's wrong, my love? Does our home no longer please you?"
Peter turned to regard her carefully. "It's beautiful, but..." He hesitated. "I feel something is missing."
Satana's eyes flashed. She glided closer, trailing a slender finger down his chest. "I can give you anything you desire. All you need do is asking." He noticed that she too wore a matching wedding band on her finger.
Her touch stirred conflicting emotions in him, both allure and unease. Peter gently grasped her hand. "What I really want is the truth. Of who I was, and how I came to be here. With you."
Hurt flickered across Satana's face before her expression hardened. She wrenched her hand away.
"You know all you need to know. I plucked you from darkness and made you my consort. You owe your new life to me!"
She stormed back inside, leaving Peter alone on the balcony. He stared out at the horizon, where the morning sun painted the sky in hues of pink and rose. The beauty of this place was undeniable, but it felt strange.
Peter followed Satana inside, where she stood with her back to him, gazing into the flickering flames of the grand fireplace. He approached cautiously, not wanting to provoke her temper.
"Satana, I'm grateful for all you've given me," he began gently. "But I can't ignore this feeling that parts of myself are missing. Memories, a history. Things you seem unwilling to share."
She whirled around, eyes ablaze. "You dare question me?" Flames leapt in the fireplace behind her. "I am Satana, daughter of the Devil himself! I could reduce you to ashes with a glance!"
Peter stood his ground. "But you won't. I know enough to see you're not as dark as you pretend." He stepped closer, meeting her fiery gaze. "There's light in you too. That's why I love you."
Satana faltered, some of the fury leaving her eyes. She turned away. "You speak boldly for one in your position."
"It's who I am," Peter said. "I've always been stubborn." He smiled. "Funny that I remember that."
He moved closer until she was forced to look at him again. Her dark eyes regarded him warily. Peter reached out and gently grasped the ruby pendant hanging around her neck. It glowed softly at his touch.
"This holds answers, doesn't it?" he asked. "You had me stare into it. It made me forget."
Satana stepped back defensively, the pendant slipping from his fingers. "I did what was needed to keep you here, to keep you safe!" Her voice dropped to a pained whisper. "You have no idea what I sacrificed for us..."
Peter felt a twinge of guilt seeing her distress. But his need for the truth was greater.
"Then help me understand," he implored. "Please, Satana. No more secrets."
She searched his face for a long moment. Finally, her shoulders sagged in resignation.
"Very well," she relented. "I will show you." Satana straightened, regaining her composure. With a wave of her hand, the ruby pendant rose into the air between them, glowing brightly. Peter watched as fiery tendrils emerged from it, weaving together to form images in the air.
He saw glimpses of himself as Spider-Man, swinging through a chaotic city, battling strange creatures. There were flashes of a massive fight, creatures pouring from a portal in the sky over Manhattan. It was scary but exhilarating at the same time. He saw his alternate self beaten down, overwhelmed. Suddenly he remembered it, the pain of the beating and sense of loss at having failed his city. He'd thought he was going to die, but worse was thinking about the people he'd failed to protect.
The images shifted, showing Satana finding his broken body in an alley. She tended to his wounds, rage in her eyes at his plight.
"After your defeat, I brought you here to heal," Satana explained. "I vowed no further harm would come to you in the mortal realm."
The scenes changed again. Satana confronting demonic creatures, fighting to close the portal. Peter realized she had finished his battle and saved the city.
The pendant's glow faded and it drifted back around Satana's neck. She watched Peter closely, awaiting his reaction.
He met her gaze. "You did this...for me?"
She gave a single nod, her expression unreadable.
Peter stepped closer and embraced her. After a moment, she returned it fiercely.
"Thank you for showing me that," he whispered.
Satana said nothing, holding onto him as if she would never let go. It felt like part of the truth, and he loved her. It was enough for now.
Peter stepped out into the courtyard, breathing in the cool morning air. Dew glistened on the manicured hedges and marble statues that dotted the grounds. He nodded to the groundskeepers as they began their work for the day.
One of the younger servants, a boy named Thomas, brought Peter's horse around from the stables. The white stallion whinnied and pawed at the ground, ready for its daily ride.
"Good morning, Mr. Parker," Thomas said, handing Peter the reins. "Off for your usual ride?"
"I think so, yes," Peter replied as he swung himself up into the saddle. "The western trails along the lake."
Thomas nodded, waved, and went back to the stables. Soon they were trotting down the tree-lined path away from the mansion, the sunlight dappling through the branches.
Peter inhaled deeply, feeling tension leave his shoulders. Out here on horseback, away from the opulence of the mansion, he could almost pretend he was back home in New York. A simpler life.
Was it home though? This place felt more real with each passing day. The mansion, the servants, his wife...they were his life now.
Peter reached down and patted his horse. He was going for his usual morning ride. That thought had a strange sense of unreality. He was...well...working class. Very working class. Morning ride indeed. It was nice though.
Up ahead, the path opened up to reveal the glittering blue expanse of Fire Lake. Peter urged his horse faster, breaking into a gallop along the lakeshore. The wind whipped through his hair as he raced ahead.
For a few perfect moments, Peter's mind quieted and he felt free.
Peter slowed his horse to a walk as he reached a shady grove along the shoreline. Dismounting, he led the animal to the water's edge to drink.
As he gazed out across the serene lake, fleeting images flashed through his mind - brief glimpses of swinging between skyscrapers, spinning webs. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold onto the memories before they slipped away.
"Spider-Man..." he murmured. "I remember that."
But the more he grasped at the threads, the more they frayed. This lavish new life as Peter Parker felt so real, while his past as a superhero seemed hazy and dreamlike.
Had he really been Spider-Man? Or was it some figment of his imagination?
Peter opened his eyes with a deep sigh, banishing the thoughts from his head. The past didn't matter anymore; Satana had taught him that. Still...
He crouched down and jumped up. He flew up at least thirty feet, and even felt a flicker of fear when he started to fall. He jumped again and somersaulted on his way down.
Therefore, he had been Spider-Man. Was Spider-Man. Satana wanted him to drop all that. But she had enemies too, didn't she? He had forgotten so much. But the enemies didn't stop coming. That he remembered. He needed to practice, to stay sharp, especially since his memory was so fuzzy. After all, he had a wife to protect now.
He glanced down at his wedding band. Those peculiar symbols etched onto its surface looked somewhat familiar. He remembered an old friend, a doctor, who studied such signs and symbols. He could almost make out the man's face - dark graying hair, moustache, older. Maybe he could help.
The horse whinnied and Peter mounted up again, turning his horse back toward the mansion where his wife awaited.
Peter loved Satana. He didn't know how or why, or even when they'd met. But he loved her and would protect her. That unfortunately meant getting his memories back and making her angry.