Marvel: Viral

by abcd12344321

During a fatal accident involving a runaway vehicle containing viral cargo, Peter Parker meets his end. Only to wake up in the morgue hours later with hardly any memory of his life, and a few new, abilities. The question everyone is asking is, is this really Peter, or is it the virus that consumed his body and mind, 'Apex?

4. Chapter 4

Marvel: Viral

Chapter 4: Apex vs Black Order, Part 1

…

Deadpool leaned back in the dimly lit diner booth, twirling a plastic straw in his drink as he regarded the ragtag group of mutants sitting across from him. His mask was rolled up just enough for him to sip his soda, though his scarred mouth was curled into an amused grin beneath it.

"You know," Wade said, tapping his chin with the straw, "this might be the most entertaining client meeting I've ever had, and that's saying something, considering I once got hired by a talking raccoon to assassinate a tree."

Rockslide shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Hellion, who sat beside him with his jaw wired shut and a hefty cast wrapped around his face. Hellion's muffled grumbles sounded vaguely like protests, but the wires did their job, leaving Rockslide to do the talking.

"You don't have to get cute, Wilson," Rockslide said, his gravelly voice laced with irritation. "This is a straightforward job. We're willing to pay a lot for it."

Deadpool's grin widened as he glanced at the duffel bag sitting on the table, unzipped just enough to reveal stacks of crisp bills inside. "Oh, I'm definitely listening," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But let's circle back to the part where you guys are hiring me—mercenary, hero, and taco connoisseur extraordinaire—to take out Apex. You know, the guy who ate six Hulk clones for breakfast. Is this, like, a prank? Because I don't do pranks. Unless it's April Fools, and even then, I charge double."

Hellion growled something unintelligible, gesturing furiously at Rockslide.

"He says he doesn't care about Apex's powers," Rockslide translated with a sigh. "He wants payback. The guy shattered his jaw and turned him into a laughingstock. This is about honor."

Deadpool raised a finger. "Ooooh, honor. That's a fancy word for revenge. I like it. Makes it sound classy." He took another sip of his drink, tilting his head. "But here's the thing: you're not just hiring me to take down Apex. You're hiring me to possibly, maybe, almost definitely get turned into viral spaghetti by Apex. And, call me crazy, but I'm not a fan of becoming someone's midnight snack."

Rockslide leaned forward, his stony expression hard. "We're offering three times your usual rate. And we're not asking you to kill him. Just... slow him down. Take a shot at him, get him rattled, make him bleed."

Deadpool whistled low, glancing at the duffel bag again. "Three times my rate, huh? That's a lot of chimichangas. You're really pulling out all the stops for this grudge match."

Hellion muttered something, his frustration clear, and Rockslide rolled his eyes. "He also says he's not doing this for Krakoa. This is personal."

Deadpool's grin faltered slightly, his masked face tilting as he regarded the two mutants. "Yeah, no kidding this isn't for Krakoa. Pretty sure your little paradise island wouldn't approve of a rogue hit on a guy who's already making half the world lose their collective shit."

Rockslide didn't deny it, his gaze steady. "Are you in or not?"

Deadpool tapped his straw against the rim of his glass, his gaze flicking between the duffel bag and Hellion's furious expression. "Alright, fine. I'll take the job. But I'm telling you now, if Apex decides he wants to eat me, you're all gonna owe me way more than this. And I'll haunt you. Forever."

Hellion's muffled grunt sounded vaguely like a sarcastic thank you, but Deadpool ignored it as he stood, slinging the duffel bag over his shoulder. "Okay, kiddos. Time for Uncle Wade to go play tag with a viral apocalypse. Don't wait up."

As he exited the diner, Deadpool couldn't help but mutter to himself. "Man, this guy better be worth it. Three times my rate, a pissed-off mutant, and the chance to get eaten alive? What could possibly go wrong?"

Deadpool stood in his safe house, or what passed for one, given that it was little more than a rented storage unit filled with questionable weaponry, stacks of empty pizza boxes, and a suspiciously alive potted plant. He twirled a katana in one hand while scrolling through the latest news updates on his phone with the other.

"Oh, New York, New York," he muttered, his voice carrying a singsong tone. "The city that never sleeps, except when SHIELD decides to tuck it in with a curfew and a big ol' lock on the front door."

The screen displayed live footage of the city's lockdown: checkpoints at major streets, SHIELD agents patrolling with high-tech weaponry, and drones buzzing through the air like an angry swarm of metallic bees. Roadblocks choked the avenues, armored vehicles parked like immovable monuments of authority. Every few minutes, news anchors repeated the same dire warnings: "The city is on high alert following the emergence of Apex, the viral entity formerly known as Spider-Man. SHIELD has confirmed that all bounty hunters and unauthorized combatants will be detained or neutralized."

Deadpool let out a low whistle, tossing the katana onto a pile of grenades. "They're really pulling out the big guns for this guy. Guess I'm not the only one who thinks he's terrifying."

He stepped over a landmine (real or fake, even he wasn't sure) and began inspecting his gear. His trusty katanas, a small arsenal of firearms, a grappling hook, and, because why not—a bag of marbles. "You never know when you'll need to Home Alone someone," he quipped, stuffing the bag into his utility belt.

The phone pinged with another update, and Deadpool glanced at it, snickering. "Bounties, bounties everywhere, and not a clue in sight. These schmucks really think they can take Apex down. Adorable."

He scrolled further, his grin faltering slightly when he saw the list of failed attempts: mercenaries obliterated, assassins devoured, high-tech strike teams left as smoldering wreckage. "Yikes," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. "Looks like I'll have to bring my A-game. Or, at the very least, my B-minus game."

The next screen was a SHIELD advisory, the words bold and threatening: "ANY UNAUTHORIZED ENGAGEMENT WITH APEX IS STRICTLY PROHIBITED. OFFENDERS WILL BE CONSIDERED HOSTILE COMBATANTS AND MET WITH LETHAL FORCE."

Deadpool clicked his tongue. "Aw, come on, Nicky boy. Let a guy have some fun. Besides," he said, glancing at the duffel bag of cash Hellion had provided, "I'm not doing this for free. Well, not entirely for free."

He sheathed his katanas, loaded up on ammo, and grabbed his red-and-black mask from a nearby hook. Sliding it on, he flexed his fingers and gave himself a once-over in the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. "Looking good, Wade. Handsome as ever. Now, time to crash the biggest party in New York."

As he opened the storage unit door, he was greeted by the faint hum of a SHIELD drone hovering overhead. Deadpool waved at it cheerfully. "Hi there! Just your friendly neighborhood mercenary, definitely not planning anything illegal!"

The drone beeped in warning, its sensors locking onto him. Deadpool sighed, pulling a grenade from his belt. "Fine, fine. Guess I'll take the scenic route."

With a dramatic toss of the grenade, followed by a not-so-dramatic sprint in the opposite direction, Deadpool disappeared into the maze of the city, his mind already running through potential strategies for dealing with the Apex problem.

"Sentient virus, huh?" he muttered as he dodged another drone. "I've dealt with worse. I think." He paused, glancing up at a SHIELD patrol passing overhead in a Quinjet. "On second thought, maybe this was a terrible idea."

Despite the self-doubt, Deadpool's grin was wide beneath his mask. "Terrible ideas are kind of my specialty."

Deadpool jogged around the corner, his usual carefree swagger faltering as he nearly collided with two familiar, and equally dangerous, figures: Sabretooth and Lady Deathstrike. The three mercenaries exchanged wary looks, their reputations preceding them.

"Well, well," Deadpool said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If it isn't the furry murder machine and his stabby sidekick. Fancy running into you two here. Let me guess—you're not here for brunch?"

Lady Deathstrike rolled her eyes, her claws clicking menacingly as they extended. "Keep talking, Wilson. I'll carve you up faster than your wit dries out."

"Touchy," Deadpool quipped, raising his hands in mock surrender. "But seriously, what brings you two fine specimens of homicidal artistry to New York?"

Sabretooth growled, his sharp teeth glinting as he smirked. "Same reason you're here, I'd wager. Someone's payin' big to take a shot at this Apex freak." He sniffed the air, his expression darkening slightly. "Place smells like desperation and cheap gun oil."

Deadpool cocked his head. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

Before Sabretooth could respond, his attention shifted. He sniffed again; this time more intently, he raised an eyebrow. His golden eyes scanned the group of mercenaries that had been loitering near their makeshift headquarters for the past couple of hours.

"What is it?" Lady Deathstrike asked, her claws retracting slightly as she noticed his change in demeanor.

"Somethin' ain't right," Sabretooth muttered, his voice low and rough. "One of 'em smells... off."

Deadpool blinked, glancing at the mercenaries. "Off? Like bad hygiene off? Or something more sinister? Get it? Sinister?" He chuckled at his own joke before quieting under Sabretooth's glare.

The feral mutant stepped closer to the group, his nostrils flaring as he zeroed in on one mercenary near the back. The man was unremarkable at first glance, clad in standard tactical gear with a gas mask obscuring his face. But Sabretooth's eyes narrowed as he focused on the slight red sheen that flashed across the goggles' lenses.

"You," Sabretooth growled, pointing a clawed finger. "What the hell are you?"

The mercenary didn't answer. He stood perfectly still, unnaturally so, as if waiting for something.

Sabretooth's instincts screamed at him. He lunged, his claws slicing through the air—but it was already too late.

The mercenary's arms shot outward, transforming mid-motion as black and red tendrils erupted from his body. The tendrils snaked through the air with terrifying precision, impaling two other assassins before branching out like living vines. In seconds, the tendrils wrapped around the remaining mercenaries, pulling them in as they screamed and struggled.

"What the-?!" Lady Deathstrike shouted, backing up as the scene unfolded. Deadpool stood frozen, his jaw slack beneath his mask.

The tendrils constricted, breaking down the mercenaries' bodies, gear, and all. Flesh melted, bones dissolved, and weapons disintegrated into nothingness as the mass was consumed entirely. The horrifying display left only three standing: Sabretooth, Lady Deathstrike, and Deadpool.

As the last of the mercenaries vanished, the tendrils retracted back into the figure, coiling around him like snakes. His form rippled, shifting and reforming until it revealed something horribly familiar: Peter Parker, or Apex, as he was now known. The tattered hoodie, boots, and pants were unmistakable, but it was his face, or the mocking grin on it, that made the blood in their veins run cold.

Apex's red-tinged eyes glinted with amusement as he doubled over, laughing. "The look on your faces!" he exclaimed mid-laugh, his tone carrying Peter's familiar cadence but with an edge that sent chills down their spines. "Priceless!"

Deadpool, his swords halfway drawn, pointed at Apex. "Wait, wait, wait. Hold up. How long have you been standing there?"

Apex straightened, his grin widening. "Oh, you know… long enough. Hours, maybe? I lose track when I'm having fun."

Lady Deathstrike's claws extended fully, her eyes narrowing. "You were at the headquarters. With us. The whole time?"

Apex shrugged casually. "What can I say? I like to keep things interesting." His tone darkened slightly as the tendrils shifted beneath his hoodie, moving like living shadows. "Besides, I wanted to see who else was dumb enough to take a shot at me."

Sabretooth's claws flexed as he stepped forward, his growl low and menacing. "You've got guts, kid. I'll give you that. But don't think for a second you can pull this crap and walk away."

Apex didn't even blink. The moment Sabretooth stepped forward, his lips curling into a feral snarl, a loud crack split the air. The pavement beneath Apex's foot erupted as a massive spike of black and red tendrils shot upward, impaling Sabretooth through the gut with a sickening squelch.

The force lifted Sabretooth off the ground, slamming him into the wall behind him. His claws twitched as he grunted in pain, blood dripping from the jagged wound. The spike writhed, twisting slightly as if savoring the moment before holding him firmly in place.

Deadpool and Lady Deathstrike froze, their eyes wide as they processed what just happened.

"Well, that's not something you see every day," Deadpool muttered, his usual bravado faltering. He pointed at the writhing spike. "Is that... coming from your foot?"

Apex tilted his head, his crimson-tinged eyes glowing faintly. "It is," he said, his tone calm, almost conversational. He lifted his foot slightly, and the tendrils forming the spike pulsed in response, tightening their grip on Sabretooth.

Sabretooth growled, his claws scraping against the spike as he tried to pull himself free. "You little—" he hissed, but the spike twisted slightly, cutting him off with a pained grunt.

"Ah, ah," Apex said, wagging a finger. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to provoke someone who can literally reshape the ground beneath you?"

Lady Deathstrike's claws extended fully, but she didn't move. Her sharp eyes darted between Apex and Sabretooth, calculating her odds. "Let him go," she said coldly, though her voice wavered ever so slightly.

Apex turned his gaze to her, his smile widening. "Oh, I will. Eventually. But first..." His tendrils rippled beneath his hoodie, coiling and shifting as if alive. "I think we need to establish some ground rules. Like, maybe don't try to 'take a shot at me,' as you mercenaries so eloquently put it."

Deadpool stepped forward, his hands raised. "Alright, hold up, big guy. Let's not go full horror-movie-villain on us just yet. Maybe we can talk this out? No impaling, no devouring, just a nice chat between..." He hesitated. "I was gonna say 'friends,' but let's go with 'colleagues.'"

Apex glanced at Deadpool, his smile softening into something almost amused. "Colleagues, huh? That's... generous."

"Yeah, well," Deadpool said, gesturing to Sabretooth. "Not all of us can be the strong, silent, stabby type. Some of us prefer to keep things... I don't know, less perforated?"

Apex chuckled softly, the sound sending chills down their spines. With a flick of his foot, the spike retracted, pulling back into the ground and leaving Sabretooth to crumple to his knees, clutching his stomach as his healing factor kicked in.

Sabretooth shot Apex a murderous glare, blood dripping from his lips. "You're gonna regret that."

Apex tilted his head, his crimson-tinged eyes glinting with something almost playful. Instead of responding to Sabretooth's threat, his mouth stretched into a wide, unnerving grin. Rows of razor-sharp fangs gleamed in the dim light, their jagged edges unmistakably predatory.

Sabretooth's glare hardened, his claws flexing instinctively as Apex raised a hand. The black and red tendrils beneath his hoodie writhed, shifting and coiling until his fingers lengthened, darkened, and sharpened into massive, beast-like claws. They mirrored Sabretooth's own, but bigger, more monstrous—almost as if they were a grotesque parody of the real thing.

"What the hell-!" Lady Deathstrike began, but her voice trailed off as Apex's entire form began to ripple and change.

The tendrils spread across his body, his figure twisting and contorting with fluid precision. Muscle and sinew reshaped themselves, his frame bulking up until it matched Sabretooth's imposing physique. Fur sprouted from his arms and shoulders, seamlessly integrating into the transformation. His face stretched and shifted, his nose flattening and his jaw extending slightly to form a beastly snarl. His eyes gleamed a fierce amber, and his mane of wild hair completed the transformation.

In seconds, Apex was gone, replaced by what looked like an identical duplicate of Sabretooth.

Deadpool's jaw dropped beneath his mask. "Oh. My. God. There are two of you now. This is my worst nightmare." He clutched his chest dramatically. "Somebody pinch me. No, wait, don't. I don't want it to be real."

The duplicate Sabretooth grinned again, his voice emerging in a low, guttural growl. "Just so you know," he said, his tone disturbingly casual but laced with menace, "I have about 65 percent of your memories now. Thanks to the blood I consumed."

The real Sabretooth froze, his amber eyes narrowing in a mix of fury and unease. "You're bluffin'."

Apex—Sabretooth, or whatever he was now, stepped closer, his grin widening. "Am I? I could list off a few things you'd rather keep buried. Or," he said, his tone darkening, "I could show you."

Lady Deathstrike shifted her stance, her claws raised defensively, her calculating eyes darting between the two Sabretooths. "This isn't right," she muttered, her voice low but filled with unease. "That's not just copying. That's... "

The duplicate Sabretooth turned to her, his amber eyes gleaming with a mix of curiosity and amusement. "Oh, it's not just copying," he admitted, his grin turning feral. "It's more like... becoming. Every drop of blood, every cell, every memory, it's all part of me now. And let me tell you, Sabretooth here has some interesting skeletons in his closet."

The real Sabretooth lunged suddenly, his claws aiming straight for Apex's throat.

Apex didn't flinch as the real Sabretooth lunged at him, claws flashing with murderous intent. In one smooth motion, Apex's arms began to ripple, black and red tendrils coiling and reshaping as his forearms elongated and sharpened. The transformation was seamless, and within seconds, his arms had become massive, jagged blades that gleamed ominously under the dim light.

The moment Sabretooth was within range, Apex moved with terrifying speed. He swung both arms outward in a single, fluid motion, the blade-like appendages slicing clean through Sabretooth's arms at the elbows. The sound of tearing flesh and snapping bone was sickeningly loud, and Sabretooth's claws clattered uselessly to the ground.

"GAAAHH!" Sabretooth roared in agony, staggering back as blood poured from the stumps where his arms had been. His healing factor kicked in immediately, the wounds beginning to close, but the pain was evident in his snarling expression. He stumbled, his feral rage blazing in his amber eyes as he spat blood between gritted teeth. "You-!"

Before he could finish, Apex lunged forward again, his tendrils writhing as he grabbed Sabretooth's face with one massive clawed hand. With a guttural growl, Apex's other arm lashed out, the blade slicing clean through Sabretooth's lower jaw. The severed jaw hit the ground with a grotesque wet thud, leaving Sabretooth writhing in silent fury, unable to form words.

Deadpool, who had been halfway through drawing one of his katanas, froze in place. "Uh... okay. That's... new. And horrifying. Mostly horrifying."

Lady Deathstrike's usually stoic expression faltered, her eyes wide with a mix of shock and unease. "What the hell are you?" she demanded, her claws twitching as if she were debating whether to attack or retreat.

Apex turned his gaze to her, his crimson-tinged eyes glinting with something that was almost... amusement. "I told you," he said, his voice calm yet dripping with menace. "I'm whatever I need to be."

He turned back to Sabretooth, who was still writhing on the ground, blood pooling beneath him as his healing factor fought to restore his mutilated body. Apex crouched down, his blade-arms retracting into tendrils that coiled around his form like serpents. He tilted his head, studying Sabretooth like a predator watching wounded prey.

"Here's the thing, Victor," Apex said, his voice low and almost conversational. "You're a survivor. I get that. But you really need to learn when to stay down." He leaned closer, his crimson eyes glowing faintly. "Consider this... a warning."

With that, Apex stood, the tendrils slithering back into his hoodie as his form returned to its familiar, almost casual appearance. He stepped over Sabretooth without another glance, his boots splashing through the blood as he turned his attention to Lady Deathstrike and Deadpool.

"So," he said, his tone light and almost cheerful. "Anyone else want to try their luck?"

…

The SHIELD Briefing Room - Early Morning

Logan entered the room alongside Gabby, Laura, and Daken. Despite the early hour, everyone was on edge. Nick Fury stood at the head of the table, his usual stern expression replaced with something heavier. Around him sat Thor, Captain America, Natasha Romanoff, and a few other key players. The weight of what they were about to divulge to them was apparent in their postures, and it was clear this wasn't going to be a routine update.

"I'll cut straight to it," Fury began, his voice deathly serious and grim. "Last night, Apex, or Peter, or whatever the hell we're calling him, was attacked."

Logan's eyebrows shot up at that already dreading what he's about to hear. "Attacked by who?"

"Sabretooth, Lady Deathstrike and Wade Wilson aka Deadpool." Nick said before continuing.

Fury pressed another button on the console, and a video clip began playing on the holographic screen. The room fell silent as Apex, or Peter, or whatever he had become, appeared on the screen. The setting was a dimly lit alley, a reporter standing cautiously a few feet away with a microphone trembling in her hand. Apex leaned casually against a wall, his crimson-tinged eyes glowing faintly in the low light.

His expression was unsettling, calm, detached, and disturbingly curious. The virus wearing Peter's face.

"I just have to ask," the reporter stammered, her voice trembling, "why... why did you go to such extremes? Tearing off limbs, pinning Deadpool like that, wasn't there another way?"

Apex tilted his head slightly, his gaze unfocused as though he were contemplating her words for the first time. Then he smiled, a slow, unsettling curve of his lips.

"Here's the thing," he said, his voice smooth but chillingly devoid of emotion. "Would you have preferred I took their severed limbs and impaled them with those instead?"

The reporter froze, her eyes wide as Apex's words hung in the air. He wasn't joking. He didn't laugh or smirk. He stared directly at her, his expression disturbingly neutral, as if the suggestion were a simple matter of fact.

The video froze on his face, that blank, detached stare glaring down at the room.

Logan sat motionless, his jaw clenched tightly as a chill ran down his spine. He'd faced countless monsters in his life, but there was something uniquely horrifying about this. It wasn't just the violence, Logan had seen plenty of that, it was the way Apex spoke about it. So casual. So clinical. Like a child discussing a science experiment gone wrong.

Thor gripped Mjolnir, his knuckles white. "This... this is not the voice of a man," he said, his tone grim. "It is the voice of something far removed from humanity."

Natasha crossed her arms, her expression unreadable but her posture tense. "He's detached. He doesn't see them as people. That's what's dangerous."

Fury sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It's worse than that. He's not detached because he's a monster. He's detached because he doesn't know any better. Whatever part of Peter Parker is still in there... it's buried under layers of instinct, survival, and... whatever the hell this virus is."

Daken broke the silence, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Well, that's comforting. We're dealing with a walking bio-weapon who's playing with his food."

Logan shot him a glare, but he couldn't argue. The truth was written all over Fury's face, in the blank stare on the frozen video, and in the unease that filled the room.

Fury gestured to one of the holograms, showing Lady Deathstrike's battered form. Her mechanical arms were missing, wires and exposed circuits sparking as she lay in the dirt. "Lady Deathstrike, for starters. She went after him hard and fast. Problem is, Apex went harder."

Laura's eyes narrowed, her gaze fixed on the image. "What did he do?"

Fury's jaw tightened. "Ripped her arms off. Clean off. And not just that—he crushed the joints so thoroughly that there's nothing left to reattach. She's alive, but she's... out of commission. Permanently."

Gabby's face paled, her usually cheerful demeanor vanishing. "That's... a lot," she murmured.

"It gets worse," Fury said, switching to another hologram. This one showed Deadpool pinned to a wall, one of Apex's tendrils protruding from his gut, holding him in place. Another tendril was lodged in Deadpool's open mouth, his body limp but visibly alive.

Daken let out a low whistle. "Huh. Guess Wade had a bad night."

Fury didn't share the humor. "Deadpool intervened, and Apex responded... decisively. Pinning him to the wall wasn't enough—he shoved a tendril down Wade's throat. Didn't kill him, of course, but he didn't hold back, either. Wade's still recovering."

Logan clenched his fists, his claws threatening to unsheathe as his jaw tightened. "And Sabretooth?" he growled, his voice sharp.

Fury's expression darkened further. Another hologram replaced the previous ones, showing Sabretooth lying in a pool of blood. His arms were partially healed, but his legs were missing from the knees down. The stumps looked jagged, as if they'd been torn rather than cut.

"He wouldn't back down," Fury said simply. "Even after Apex pinned Wade and tore Deathstrike apart, Victor thought he could push his luck. Apex... dealt with him."

Thor's hammer hummed faintly as the god of thunder adjusted his grip, his voice heavy. "Tearing his legs off was not a mere act of defense. That is fury given form."

"Fury?" Logan snapped, turning to Thor. "You're callin' it fury? What the hell do you call this circus, then? Everyone's takin' shots at the kid, and he's just givin' back what he's gettin'."

Fury slammed his hand on the table, silencing the room. "This isn't a debate, Logan. I don't care how we got here, what matters is what happens next."

Natasha spoke up, her voice calm but laced with concern. "Apex isn't just defending himself anymore. He's escalating. The damage he's causing, it's deliberate.

As Logan turned back to the screen, his claws instinctively flexed. "What the hell are we gonna do about him?" he asked, his voice low but steady.

Fury shook his head. "That's what we're trying to figure out, Logan. But one thing's for damn sure, we're running out of time."

As Logan rose from his chair, Fury's voice cut through the room like a blade, stopping him in his tracks.

"Logan," Fury said, his tone low but carrying an unmistakable edge. "Before you go, there's one more thing you need to hear."

Logan turned, his eyes narrowing as he saw the grim look on Fury's face. "What now?"

Fury leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. "Since Apex consumed a significant amount of Victor Creed's blood, and Deadpool's organs, he's got more than just their memories floating around in his system."

Logan's eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you talkin' about?"

Fury straightened, his gaze hard. "I mean he's not just carrying their blood. He's carrying pieces of them. Abilities, voices, appearances, he can mimic them to some extent. Hell, at one point, he turned into Creed. Full-on, perfect imitation, right down to the claws and fangs. And then, as you know..." Fury gestured to the hologram of Sabretooth, still writhing in pain. "He cleaved Victor's arms clean off."

The room fell silent as Logan absorbed the weight of Fury's words. His jaw tightened, and his claws twitched involuntarily. "You're tellin' me he's walkin' around with pieces of Creed and Wade in his system? That he can turn into 'em? Use their powers?"

"Not just their powers," Fury said, his voice grim. "Their memories, too. That means he knows things only Victor and Wade would know. Secrets, strategies, weaknesses. And if he decides to use those against us, there's not much we can do to stop him."

Logan exhaled sharply, his hand flexing as if he were itching for a fight. "That... thing's got Creed and Wade, not to mention hellion and sinister, and who knows the fuck else he consumed this past week or so, inside him, twisted up with whatever's left of Parker. What the hell am I supposed to do with that, Fury?"

Fury leaned back in his chair, his expression heavy. "I don't have an answer for you, Logan. I just thought you should know what we're dealing with. Apex isn't just evolving, he's learning. Every fight, every person he touches, every drop of blood he absorbs... he's becoming some kind of amalgamation of everyone he's ever consumed from or partially consumed. And that something scares the hell out of me."

Logan didn't respond immediately. He stared at Fury for a long moment, his face unreadable. Then, without another word, he turned and left the room, his boots echoing against the floor as he disappeared down the corridor.

Fury sighed, rubbing his temples as he muttered under his breath, "Good luck digesting that, Logan. You're gonna need it."

…

In containment wing, Logan's boots echoed against the polished floor. The air was stale, carrying the faint metallic tang of blood and antiseptic. He stopped at the reinforced observation window to Victor Creed's cell, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles cracked.

Creed lay on the cot inside, his massive frame looking pitifully diminished. His legs were stumps below the knees, crudely bandaged, and his jaw hung loosely, twitching as his body struggled to reform. He gurgled and spat, the sickening sounds of his regeneration echoing in the otherwise silent cell.

For a long moment, Logan just stared, his eyes locked on Creed's mangled state. The sight should've filled him with satisfaction, after all the carnage and hatred between them, seeing Creed like this should've felt like a victory. But it didn't. Instead, a deep, sickening revulsion churned in his gut, like a dark weight he couldn't shake.

He took a step back, his breathing uneven. The reports he'd read earlier seemed to flash before his eyes.

Forty people. Apex had consumed forty people. Not just killed them, but taken them, their cells, their memories, their selves. It wasn't just the six Hulk clones or Hellion's blood or Creed's limbs. There were mercenaries, assassins, soldiers, every last one of them "bad dudes," sure. But they were still people.

And now they were inside Peter Parker—or whatever Apex was now—fused into some grotesque amalgamation. A swirling mess of personalities, memories, and twisted consciousnesses.

Logan ran a hand down his face, his claws itching beneath the surface. His stomach turned as he remembered Apex's words from the interview, Would you prefer I took their severed limbs and impaled them instead? The detached, almost childlike tone of it made his skin crawl. How the hell had Parker turned into this?

He glanced back at Creed, who gurgled something incomprehensible, his bloodshot eyes rolling in their sockets. Logan clenched his jaw, but the revulsion only deepened. It wasn't just the state Creed was in, it was the sick realization that pieces of Creed were now part of Apex. Along with Deadpool. Along with Sinister. Along with everyone else he'd consumed.

It was unnatural. Wrong.

And above all else… vile.

Logan pressed his forehead against the glass, his breath fogging it slightly. What the hell are we dealing with here? he thought. The reports played over and over in his head like a broken record that refused to stop. The descriptions of Apex's abilities, his growing power, his detachment from humanity, it was all too much. And now, knowing that Apex could mimic anyone he consumed, that he could turn into Creed at will? It made Logan's skin crawl.

A flicker of movement from Creed's cell drew his attention. The feral mutant had managed to sit up, his half-healed jaw twitching as he tried to speak. Blood dribbled from his mangled mouth as he let out a guttural sound that might've been a laugh, or a sob. Either way it sounded like it was a mix of both.

Logan turned away, his stomach twisting. He stormed out of the containment wing, his mind spiraling as he replayed every piece of information Fury had given him. Forty people. Apex could turn into any one of them, mimic their voices, their movements, their skills, or in Creed's, Hellions, Sinister's or Wade's case, their abilities for all they know.

He wasn't just a person anymore, he was a walking nightmare, a composite of every soul he'd taken.

The hallway felt too narrow, too suffocating. Logan's claws unsheathed involuntarily, scraping against the walls as he clenched his fists. He couldn't shake the images from his mind: the six Hulk clones torn apart, the mercenaries disintegrated, Creed's bloodied stumps, and Apex's blank, crimson-tinged eyes staring back at him with that detached, almost curious expression.

"What the hell are we supposed to do with this?" Logan muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with anger, and something else. Fear.

For the first time in a long time, Logan felt truly paranoid. Apex wasn't just a threat to the world, he was a threat to everything Logan believed in. To the people he cared about. To himself. And the worst part? Logan had no idea how to stop him. Or if he even could.

Logan rounded the corner of the SHIELD facility, his boots scuffing faintly against the tile. He was still lost in his thoughts, the weight of the reports and his spiraling paranoia clouding his mind. But as he glanced up, he stopped dead in his tracks.

There, at the far end of the corridor, stood Apex—or Peter, or whatever he was now—and Rachel Summers. The sight was... unexpected. For a moment, Logan's instincts kicked in, his claws itching to extend, but something in the scene gave him pause.

Rachel stood close to Apex, her red hair catching the soft overhead light as she tilted her head, a curious expression on her face. Apex's hand—or what should have been his hand—was extended toward her. The familiar red and black tendrils that made up his body had formed a vague semblance of fingers, their organic texture shimmering faintly. Logan bristled as Apex gently brushed back a strand of Rachel's hair with those blade-like fingers, the action surprisingly delicate for something so inherently dangerous.

"You're not afraid," Apex said softly, his voice calm but carrying that eerie, detached undertone.

Rachel shook her head, her green eyes studying the tendrils. "Should I be?" she asked, her tone lighter than Logan expected. "They're... fascinating. Alien, but fascinating."

Logan's jaw tightened, his instincts screaming at him to intervene, but he stayed put, watching intently. Apex let out a faint hum, as if considering her words.

"They're just... me," he said after a moment, holding his hand steady as Rachel reached out. Her fingers brushed against the tendrils, and Logan stiffened, expecting the writhing mass to lash out, to react violently. But it didn't. The tendrils remained still, static, behaving as if they were nothing more than flesh and bone.

Rachel traced the edges of his blade-like fingers, her touch cautious but not fearful. "They're warm," she murmured, her voice laced with wonder. "I thought they'd feel cold or metallic."

Apex tilted his head, his crimson-tinged eyes watching her with a mix of curiosity and something else Logan couldn't quite place. "They're not separate from me. They're... just how I am now. Adaptable. Useful. But they don't have to hurt anyone unless I choose to."

Rachel nodded, her fingers lingering on the smooth, shifting surface of the tendrils. "And yet... they could." She glanced up at him, her expression contemplative. "It's a choice you have to make every time, isn't it?"

Apex was silent for a moment, his gaze locked on her face. "Yes," he said finally. "Every time."

Logan felt his claws begin to extend, his fists clenched at his sides. The sight of Rachel so close to him, touching him, trusting him, it twisted something inside him. But at the same time, he couldn't deny the strange serenity of the interaction. The Apex he'd seen in reports, tearing people apart and consuming them, wasn't the one standing here now. This version of him was... almost human.

Rachel smiled faintly, her hand dropping back to her side. "You're more in control than you think," she said softly, her voice steady. "You're not just the virus. There's more to you than that."

Apex's eyes softened, the faint crimson glow dimming slightly. "I hope you're right," he said.

Logan's stomach churned as he stepped back, retreating silently before either of them noticed him. He didn't know what unnerved him more: the tenderness of the exchange or the fact that, for the first time, he saw something in Apex that wasn't entirely monstrous. Something that might've been... Peter of Form

…

The Children of Thanos had arrived, their imposing forms stepping through the smoking remnants of the atmosphere. Proxima Midnight, her glaive shimmering faintly with an otherworldly hue, surveyed the tense streets of New York City from the shadows. Behind her, Corvus Glaive and Ebony Maw moved with their usual air of superiority, flanking the lumbering Cull Obsidian, whose heavy steps made the ground tremble.

But something was wrong.

As the Black Order moved closer to one of SHIELD's heavily guarded checkpoints, they noticed it immediately: fear. Not directed at them. Not the wide-eyed panic or desperate defiance they were accustomed to inspiring, but something far worse. The kind of fear that made people shrink into themselves, their eyes darting nervously at every shadow.

Even the heavily armed SHIELD agents stationed at the barricade seemed unusually on edge. Their fingers twitched near their triggers, their gazes flickering between one another as if to ensure they weren't alone. One of them visibly flinched when Proxima Midnight's shadow stretched toward him, his pulse audible in the silence.

Proxima tilted her head, her eyes narrowing as her gaze swept the street. "What is this?" she asked, her voice sharp. "Where is the resistance? The defiance?"

Corvus Glaive grinned faintly. "Perhaps they've finally accepted their doom," he said, though there was no certainty in his tone.

Ebony Maw stepped forward, his long fingers brushing against his chin as his pale lips twisted into a frown. "No," he said softly, his voice laced with curiosity. "This isn't submission. It's dread. And not of us."

The checkpoint guards stiffened as Cull Obsidian stepped closer, his massive frame towering over them. "Something spooked these ants," he rumbled, his voice deep and guttural. "I don't like it."

The Black Order continued through the checkpoint without resistance, their sheer presence opening the way. But as they passed, Ebony Maw leaned toward one of the guards, his voice like silk. "Tell me," he whispered, "what has you trembling so?"

The guard swallowed hard, his face pale. He stammered a response, his voice was shakey as he eyed every civilian and even his own men warily whenever the passed. "It's not you. It's... it's Apex."

The name hung in the air like a curse, and for the first time, Ebony Maw's composure faltered. He straightened, turning to Proxima Midnight. "Apex? The one we've heard so much about lately, yes?"

Proxima's eyes narrowed further. "The Weapon we've heard about from our contacts?"

"A creature," another guard blurted, unable to contain himself. "It's not human anymore. Not Spider-Man anymore. It's... everywhere. Watching. Hunting."

The Black Order exchanged glances, unease rippling through their ranks. They were accustomed to fear, but not fear this... specific. This personal. And the way the guards spoke of this Apex, it wasn't just an enemy. It was a force of nature.

Ebony Maw's frown deepened as he considered the implications. "Interesting," he murmured. "Perhaps this world has more surprises than we anticipated."

Cull Obsidian growled low in his throat, his fingers flexing. "Let it come. I'll crush it."

Proxima Midnight's grip on her glaive tightened, her sharp gaze scanning the shadows. "Don't be so eager, brother. It seems we are not the hunters here."

And somewhere in the distance, a flicker of movement caught her eye. A dark shape darting through the shadows, silent and impossibly fast. It was there for a moment, then gone.

A shiver ran down her of Form

The soldiers stationed at the checkpoint flinched as their comms crackled to life. The voice that came through was calm, detached, but unmistakable, Peter Parker's, or rather Apex's.

"If you want my advice," the voice said with eerie calm, "I'd retreat to a safe distance. I'm going to engage them after a little chat in about... twenty seconds."

The soldier holding the radio visibly paled. His voice shook as he barked out orders. "Clear the area! Get the civilians out, now! Move it, move it!"

The guards scrambled, herding the remaining civilians away as fast as they could. People ran, their fear overwhelming.

Doors slammed, shutters closed, and the streets and checkpoints fell eerily silent, save for the distant sounds of fading footsteps.

In the center of it all, the Black Order stood in the open, unmoving. Proxima Midnight's grip tightened on her glaive as she glanced around, her sharp eyes narrowing at the sudden evacuation.

"What's happening?" Corvus Glaive muttered, his voice carrying an edge and sharp. "Why are they running?"

Ebony Maw raised a hand, gesturing for silence. His pale lips curled into a faint frown. "Listen."

Through the now-empty streets, the radio crackled again, and Apex's voice came through once more.

"Ten."

A chill ran down Proxima's spine. She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the rooftops, the alleys, the empty doorways. The countdown wasn't just for the soldiers—it was for them.

"Nine."

The tension grew thick, and even Cull Obsidian shifted uneasily, his massive fists flexing.

"Eight."

Proxima's eyes darted toward Ebony Maw, her voice sharp. "Do you feel it?"

"Seven," the voice on the comms continued, unbothered, unhurried.

Ebony Maw's lips pressed into a thin line. "Oh, I feel it," he said softly, his gaze fixed on the shadows.

"Six."

Corvus growled low in his throat. "He's toying with us."

"Five."

By now, every door and window in sight was shut tight. The street was utterly abandoned, a ghost town save for the Black Order.

"Four."

Proxima Midnight spun her glaive, her muscles coiled like a spring. "He's close."

"Three."

The silence was deafening. Even the sound of the wind seemed to hold its breath.

"Two."

Ebony Maw glanced upward, his eyes scanning the sky. His frown deepened as his lips moved wordlessly, his thoughts racing.

"One."

For a moment, the world stood still.

Then something massive collided with the pavement next to them, landing with such force that the ground cracked and buckled under its weight. A shockwave rippled outward, sending debris flying and rattling nearby windows. The noise was deafening, the impact shaking the very air around them like a miniature earthquake.

The Black Order staggered slightly, their ears ringing. When the dust settled and the tremors ceased, they saw him.

Peter Parker, or what had once been Peter Parker, stood in the center of the crater, perfectly calm and utterly unassuming. His hoodie and jeans were pristine, his boots planted firmly on the cracked asphalt. He looked entirely normal, save for his crimson-tinged eyes, which glinted with an otherworldly light.

He straightened, dusting himself off with a casual air before looking at them with a slow, growing smile. It wasn't filled with malice, nor was it cruel, it was something far more unnerving. It was the grin of a child on Christmas morning, unwrapping a shiny new toy.

"Well," Peter said, his voice breaking the silence with child-like glee. "This is going to be fun."Bottom of Form

…

Ebony Maw stepped forward, his elegant movements calm and deliberate, even as the air around him grew heavy with tension. His sharp, calculating eyes locked onto Peter—or Apex, as he was now known. The viral entity stood in the crater he had created, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his hoodie. His crimson-tinged eyes glowed faintly, his unsettling smile still lingering.

"My master," Maw began, his voice silky and measured, "sends his regards. He has been watching your... endeavors with great interest. It is not often someone of your... unique capabilities catches his eye."

Peter tilted his head slightly, his smile never faltering. "You don't say?"

Maw took another step closer, undeterred by the subtle rippling of red and black tendrils beneath Peter's hoodie. "Indeed. Thanos, the Great Titan, recognizes power when he sees it. And you, Apex... you are power incarnate."

Behind him, Proxima Midnight gripped her glaive tightly, her eyes never leaving Peter. There was something wrong, something deeply, profoundly wrong. The Spider-Man she had fought before had always radiated a sense of purpose, of conviction. This... thing was different. Its presence was cold, predatory. It wasn't a hero; it was something else entirely.

Peter's gaze shifted to her for a brief moment, and she felt her stomach twist. It wasn't the look of recognition she expected, it was as though he were sizing her up, calculating. Like a wolf observing potential prey. She gritted her teeth, her instincts screaming at her to move, to act, to do something, but she held her ground.

Ebony Maw continued, unaware of the unease radiating from his comrades. "My master offers you an opportunity, Apex. Join him. Stand beside the Black Order and the Great Titan himself. Together, you could reshape the universe. No longer confined to this insignificant planet, you would have the cosmos at your feet."

Peter didn't respond immediately. He shifted slightly, stepping out of the crater with deliberate ease. The ground under his boots cracked faintly, his movements far too fluid for something bound by muscle and bone. He approached Maw, his smile fading just enough to expose a hint of the jagged rows of teeth that lay hidden behind his otherwise human features.

"And if I say no?" Peter asked, his voice calm but carrying an edge that made Proxima Midnight's grip tighten further.

Maw's expression remained placid. "I would advise against that, of course. But should you refuse, my master would view you as an obstacle rather than an ally. And we, as his loyal servants, would be tasked with removing you."

Peter stopped just a few feet away from Maw, tilting his head as if considering the offer. His tendrils rippled faintly under his hoodie, a subtle, almost imperceptible motion that sent a chill down Proxima's spine. She could feel it now, the weight of his presence pressing against her senses. It wasn't just power, it was hunger.

"You're... interesting," Peter said finally, his crimson eyes locking onto Maw. "I mean, I've dealt with a lot of people who think they're scary. But you..." He leaned slightly closer, his smile widening. "You don't scare me."

Maw's composure wavered for the briefest moment as Peter's tendrils slid out from under his hoodie, moving like serpents. They didn't lash out; they simply hovered, writhing in the air, as though they were testing the space around them.

Behind Maw, Corvus Glaive and Cull Obsidian exchanged uneasy glances. Even they could feel it now, that oppressive, otherworldly presence. Proxima Midnight took a step back despite herself, her instincts screaming louder with each passing second. She had faced gods and monsters before, but this... this was something that felt all consuming… and far worse.

Peter's smile faded completely, leaving only his glowing eyes and the faint flicker of his tendrils. "Tell your boss," he said, his voice lowering to a near-growl, "that I don't play well with others. And if he wants a piece of me..." His smile returned, sharper now, jagged teeth glinting in the dim light. "He'd better bring his A-game."

The tendrils snapped back into his body, and he took a step back, his movements unnervingly smooth. Proxima Midnight exhaled a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her glaive lowering slightly as she tried to steady her trembling hands.

Peter's smile turned feral as his tongue, now a grotesque red-and-black tendril, slid across his sharp teeth. His voice, deep and distorted, echoed through the street as his words rumbled like thunder. "Of course... you did go through all the trouble of showing up here... so?" He paused, his glowing crimson eyes locking onto the Black Order. "Hit me. Let's do this thing!"

His words ended in a hiss that reverberated through the pavement. His entire form seemed to vibrate with an otherworldly energy as his arms shifted, transforming into jagged, blade-like tendrils. Before the Black Order could react, Peter slammed the tendrils into the ground, the concrete shattering with a deafening crack.

From the impact zone, black and red tendrils erupted, darting through the ground like a swarm of serpents. They tore through the street, heading straight for the Black Order. Proxima Midnight barely moved in time, her instincts saving her as the ground beneath her feet erupted into jagged spikes. Corvus Glaive leapt backward, his blade slicing through one of the tendrils, but it only reformed and lashed out again.

Ebony Maw levitated off the ground, his hands raised to block the oncoming swarm with a telekinetic shield. Cull Obsidian roared, swinging his massive hammer to crush the writhing tendrils, but they swarmed around him like a tidal wave, wrapping around his weapon and wrenching it from his grip.

Peter, or Apex, laughed as he yanked his tendrils back, the ground groaning in protest. "Come on, is that the best you've got? I expected more from Thanos' lapdogs!" His voice dripped with mockery, the words cutting deeper than any weapon.

Proxima Midnight lunged forward, her glaive gleaming as she aimed for his chest. Peter sidestepped with inhuman speed, the wind from her swing barely ruffling his hoodie. His tendrils lashed out from his back like thick, flap-like wings, lined with rows of jagged teeth. One of the tendrils snapped forward, clamping onto her arm and wrenching her backward.

Peter grinned, his voice playful but dripping with malice. "Gotta be faster than that!" With a flick of his wrist, he hurled her into a nearby car, the impact caving in the vehicle's roof as she groaned in pain.

Cull Obsidian charged, his massive frame barreling toward Peter like a freight train. But Peter stood his ground, his tendrils rooting him to the spot as he braced himself. Cull swung a fist the size of a boulder, but Peter caught it with his bare hands—or rather, his blade-like tendrils, which had reformed into a twisted gauntlet.

The ground beneath them cracked as Peter pushed back against Cull's strength. "Big guy, huh? Let's see how far you can fly!" With a roar, Peter swung Cull off his feet, his tendrils coiling around the titan's massive body and hurling him into the side of a building. The structure groaned as Cull smashed through the wall, disappearing into the rubble.

Above, Ebony Maw hovered, his hands weaving intricate gestures as debris and shards of metal rose into the air. He launched them at Peter like a swarm of razor-sharp missiles. Peter's tendrils exploded outward, forming a spinning shield that deflected the projectiles with ease. The sound of metal clashing against organic armor echoed through the street.

"Oh, telekinesis? Fancy," Peter taunted, leaping into the air with unnatural agility. His tendrils latched onto the side of a nearby building, and with a terrifying burst of speed, he launched himself downward. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the street as he slammed into Ebony Maw, sending the telekinetic sprawling to the ground.

Proxima Midnight recovered, her glaive glowing with deadly energy as she flanked him. "Enough!" she snarled, her strikes swift and precise. But Peter anticipated her every move, his body twisting and dodging as if he were toying with her. One of his tendrils snaked around her weapon, yanking it from her grasp before slamming her to the ground again.

"I'm disappointed," Peter said, his voice almost purring. "I thought you'd at least make me break a sweat."

As Corvus Glaive joined the fray, his blade aiming for Peter's head, Peter's tendrils shot outward, catching the weapon mid-swing. With a twist, he shattered the blade into pieces, his tendrils coiling around Corvus and flinging him into Proxima.

Peter stood tall amidst the chaos, his form wreathed in writhing tendrils that lashed out like living creatures. His glowing red eyes locked onto the Black Order, a grin stretching across his face. "Go ahead," he said, spreading his arms wide.

Peter's, or Apex's, grin grew wider, almost unhinged, as he crouched low and slammed his tendril-covered hands into the cracked pavement. With a terrifying display of strength, he ripped a massive chunk of asphalt from the street, easily the size of a city bus. His muscles rippled, and his tendrils coiled around the slab like living chains as he leapt into the air with inhuman speed.

Proxima Midnight and Corvus Glaive barely had time to react before the massive chunk of asphalt came crashing down toward them. They scattered just in time, the impact shaking the street like an earthquake and sending debris flying in every direction. Dust clouded the air, but Apex didn't wait for it to settle. With a snarl, he punched clean through the massive chunk of debris, sending shards of asphalt flying as he burst through, his tendrils lashing out in every direction.

"Okay," Apex growled, his voice echoing with a deep, inhuman rumble. "Fun times over."

Before anyone could react, he shot forward like a missile, his tendrils latching onto the street for leverage. In a blur of speed, he reached Cull Obsidian, who had just regained his footing, and grabbed him by the head with his tendril-covered hand. With a guttural roar, Apex slammed the massive titan face-first into the pavement, creating a crater that spider-webbed out across the street. The sheer force of the impact shook nearby buildings, and Cull Obsidian groaned as he struggled to rise from the wreckage.

Apex straightened, his tendrils writhing with energy, but before he could finish the job, Proxima Midnight struck. Her glowing glaive cleaved through the air with deadly precision, slicing straight through Apex's head and down his torso. The blade glowed with energy as it split him from crown to gut, severing him completely in two.

Proxima Midnight staggered back, her breath ragged as she pulled her blade free. Her eyes darted between the two halves of Apex's body, her instincts screaming that something wasn't right. The pieces of his bisected form oozed black and red tendrils, the grotesque mass writhing and slithering as if alive.

And then, horrifyingly, the tendrils began to reconnect. They slithered and coiled around each other, knitting the severed halves together as Apex's liquified form rippled and shifted. The mass reformed, reshaping itself back into the familiar, twisted shape of Peter Parker, or whatever he had become. Within seconds, he was whole again, standing upright as if nothing had happened.

"Boo," Apex whispered, his glowing crimson eyes locking onto Proxima Midnight. His grin returned, wicked and sharp, and his voice carried a dark amusement that sent chills down her spine.

Proxima stumbled back, her grip tightening on her glaive as fear, not something she often felt, crept into her chest. She yanked her weapon free, but Apex made no move to stop her. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, watching her with the curiosity of a predator studying its prey.

"Go on," Apex said, his tone almost playful. "Take your best shot. I'm curious how long you'll last before you realize it doesn't matter." His tendrils rippled menacingly, spreading out around him like a living shadow as he began to advance.

Proxima Midnight's instincts screamed at her to retreat, but her pride held her ground. Beside her, Corvus Glaive and Ebony Maw exchanged uneasy glances. For the first time, they weren't sure if they could win this fight or even survive it.

Apex turned his back to the Black Order, walking over to an abandoned military Humvee half-buried in rubble. His movements were slow, deliberate, almost casual, as if he had all the time in the world. The Black Order watched him warily, their weapons raised but trembling slightly in their hands.

Proxima Midnight glanced at Corvus Glaive, her voice low but sharp. "What's he doing?"

"I don't know," Corvus muttered, his grip tightening on his broken blade. "But whatever it is, it's not good."

Apex crouched at the Humvee, rummaging through the back with an almost unsettling ease. He pushed aside scattered ammo crates and supplies until he pulled out a weapon with a faint metallic clink—a revolving grenade launcher. He straightened, the weapon gleaming faintly in the dim light as he turned it over in his hands, inspecting it.

"Oh, this'll do nicely," Apex murmured to himself, his voice laced with amusement. He opened the chamber and began loading grenades one by one, his red-tinged eyes flicking to the Black Order as he spoke. "You have... six seconds to run or teleport away."

The Black Order froze.

"Six seconds," Apex repeated, his tone dropping into a chillingly calm register. "Before this gets really messy."

He took one grenade and shoved it into the chamber. The sound of it clicking into place echoed across the battlefield. Then, as if for dramatic effect, he began counting down, his voice steady, cold, and filled with the kind of malice that sent chills down their spines.

"Six," he said, his crimson eyes locking onto Ebony Maw, who visibly flinched.

Apex's tendrils shifted, slithering down his arms and forming a massive clump around his right hand. The tendrils tightened, coiling into a grotesque, knotted mass that resembled oversized brass knuckles. With a sickening squelch, Apex pressed one of the grenades into the front of the tendril mass, embedding it like a deadly ornament.

"Five," he continued, his grin widening as he loaded another grenade into his hand-tendrils. Proxima Midnight's breath hitched, her instincts screaming at her to run, but her feet felt glued to the ground.

Corvus Glaive took a cautious step back, his voice tense. "Proxima—"

"Four," Apex said, ignoring him as he loaded another grenade, his motions unnervingly slow and methodical. His tendrils pulsed with energy, the grenades glinting ominously as they sat embedded in the writhing mass.

"This is insane," Proxima hissed, her glaive trembling in her grip. "If even one of us gets hit by that—"

"It'll be a death wish," Ebony Maw interrupted, his usually composed voice trembling slightly. "We need to leave. Now."

"Three," Apex said, his voice gaining a singsong quality that made the countdown even more terrifying. Another grenade clicked into place, his tendrils writhing in anticipation. By now, the Black Order was visibly shaken, their usual confidence crumbling under the weight of Apex's sheer unpredictability.

Proxima Midnight grabbed Corvus by the arm, her pride finally giving way to survival instinct. "We're leaving. Now."

"Two," Apex continued, his grin stretching into something inhuman, jagged teeth flashing as he loaded the fifth grenade. The ground beneath him seemed to shiver, his aura radiating an overwhelming sense of danger.

The Black Order didn't wait for "one." With a hiss of desperation, Ebony Maw raised his hands, his telekinetic energy engulfing the group as he prepared to teleport them away.

"One," Apex said, his voice dropping to a low growl as he slammed the final grenade into his tendril-mass fist. His crimson eyes glowed brighter, and he took a single step toward them, his tendrils bristling with energy.

The Black Order disappeared in a flash of light, their retreat almost frantic.

Apex tilted his head, watching the empty space where they had stood. Slowly, he flexed his tendril-covered hand, the grenades embedded within it glinting faintly. "Guess they made the smart choice," he muttered, his voice tinged with amusement. "Shame. I was looking forward to seeing what this could do." He let out a low chuckle, the sound carrying through the desolate battlefield like a predator savoring the hunt.

Apex tilted his head, the faint light catching on the grenades embedded in the writhing tendrils that made up his "brass knuckles." Something caught his eye, a faint inconsistency that made him pause. He plucked one grenade from the mass, inspecting it closely. His crimson-tinged eyes flickered with realization as he twisted it in his hand.

"No primer?" he muttered to himself, his voice carrying a faint edge of incredulity. He turned the grenade over a few more times, confirming his suspicion before a low, guttural laugh escaped his throat. The laugh built slowly, reverberating through the street until it turned into a full-throated cackle. He dropped the grenade back into the tendrils and let the harmless explosives tumble to the ground with a clatter.

Apex doubled over, clutching his sides as his laughter grew louder, unrestrained and almost maniacal. "Harmless!" he wheezed, his voice echoing through the empty streets. "I did all of that... with harmless grenades?!"

The scene was broadcast live across New York City, the cameras still rolling as Apex laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world. The feed cut between Apex's hysterical form and the scattered remnants of the Black Order's brief battle, highlighting the sheer absurdity of the moment.

In a SHIELD monitoring room, Logan stood frozen, his hands gripping the edge of a table as he watched the broadcast. The laughter echoed through the speakers, drowning out the murmured conversations of agents scrambling for updates. His stomach churned, a cold, sinking feeling twisting in his gut.

"That son of a-!" Logan's words caught in his throat as he watched Apex casually kick one of the harmless grenades into the street like a soccer ball. The creature—no, the thing—continued laughing, a sound that made Logan's claws itch to come out. It wasn't just the laughter; it was the entire display. The ease, the confidence, the sheer mockery of everything they had ever seen from Peter Parker.

Logan pushed himself away from the table, pacing as his mind raced. His chest felt tight, his instincts screaming at him to do something, anything, to stop the sickening display. "This ain't right," he muttered, his voice low and sharp. "This... is pure insanity in it's raw form!"

Across the room, Laura and Gabby watched in silence, their expressions a mix of shock and unease. Gabby glanced up at Logan, her voice small. "He's... he's not even trying to hide it anymore. He's enjoying this."

Logan's jaw clenched, his teeth grinding audibly as he forced himself to keep watching. Every second of Apex's laughter felt like a punch to his gut, a reminder of just how far Peter, or whatever was left of him, had fallen. And then the camera panned back to Apex, who finally straightened up, wiping a tear from his glowing crimson eye.

"Well, guess that was a waste of effort," Apex said to the camera, still grinning. He gestured to the street, the damaged buildings, and the lingering chaos. "But hey, I had fun. Let's do this again sometime."

Logan slammed his fist onto the table, the sound reverberating through the room. "This ain't a joke!" he roared, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "Doesn't he see what he's doin'? What he's turnin' into?"

No one answered him, the room silent except for the faint hum of the monitors and the echo of Apex's laughter still ringing in their ears. For Logan, the display wasn't just horrifying, it was personal. This wasn't the Peter Parker he knew. This was something else entirely, something that made even his hardened stomach churn.

…

Half way across the city…

Mary Jane sat frozen on the couch, her hands clasped tightly around a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. The flickering light of the television illuminated her face, pale and drawn, as the sound of Apex's maniacal laughter echoed through the room. Her eyes were locked on the screen, unblinking, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

Paul stood nearby, one hand on the back of the couch, his other gripping the remote like it was a lifeline. "What the hell..." he muttered, his voice breaking the heavy silence in the room. "What the actual hell was that?"

Mary Jane finally blinked, her lips trembling as she tried to form words. "He's... he's laughing," she whispered, her voice shaky and thin. "After all that... after everything... he's laughing."

The footage on the screen shifted, showing Apex inspecting the grenade and then casually kicking it away, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. His laughter, distorted and unnatural, seemed to seep into the room, making Mary Jane shudder. She set her tea down with trembling hands and stood, pacing as her chest tightened.

"This isn't him," she said suddenly, her voice cracking. She turned to Paul, her expression desperate. "This can't be him, Paul. Peter wouldn't, he couldn't, do this."

Paul opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, unsure of what to say. He ran a hand through his hair, his own discomfort evident. "I... I don't know, MJ. I don't know what to tell you. That thing, whoever or whatever it is, it's not Peter anymore. It can't be."

Mary Jane stopped pacing, her hands clutching her arms as if trying to keep herself together. "But it looks like him. And that voice..." She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "It's his voice. Even the way he talks, the way he moves, it's still him, isn't it?"

Paul hesitated before shaking his head. "I don't think so," he said softly. "Not really. Whatever's left of Peter... if there's anything left... it's buried under that." He gestured toward the screen, where Apex's mocking grin filled the frame. "That's not a person, MJ. That's... a monster."

Mary Jane's breathing quickened as the weight of his words settled over her. She turned back to the TV, where the camera lingered on Apex, his crimson eyes glowing as he stood amidst the chaos. "But I knew him," she said, almost to herself. "I knew him. He was kind, and brave, and... and this isn't fair."

Paul placed a hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away, her frustration boiling over. "It's not fair!" she shouted, tears streaming down her face. "He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to... to die and come back as this, this thing!"

Paul stepped back, his own unease growing. "MJ, maybe you need to sit down-."

"No!" she snapped, her voice trembling with anger and grief. "I don't need to sit down. I need answers. I need someone to tell me how this happened and why no one did anything to stop it!"

She turned back to the screen, her eyes fixed on Apex as he made his final mocking comment to the camera, his grin wide and feral. The broadcast ended, cutting back to the news anchor, who looked as pale and shaken as everyone else. Mary Jane collapsed onto the couch, burying her face in her hands as she sobbed.

Paul sat down beside her, unsure of what to do. He hesitated before placing a tentative hand on her back. "MJ," he said softly, "you have to let him go. Whatever Peter Parker was... he's gone now."

Mary Jane didn't respond, her shoulders shaking as the weight of the reality crashed down on her. In that moment, all she could hear was Apex's laughter echoing in her mind, a cruel and haunting reminder of what Peter had become.

…

Later that Day: Fury's Office

The SHIELD facility buzzed with its usual efficiency, agents moving with purpose, their faces set in grim determination. But in the heart of it all, Nick Fury was not dealing with classified missions or alien threats. Instead, he faced Mary Jane Watson, who stood in his office, her arms crossed and her gaze burning with determination.

"I'm not leaving until you give me answers," Mary Jane said firmly, her voice sharp. "What is this virus? Where did it come from? Who's responsible for turning Peter into... into that?"

Fury leaned back in his chair, his one good eye narrowing as he measured her. He'd faced down gods, aliens, and interdimensional threats, but there was something about Mary Jane's resolve that made him hesitate. He let out a deep sigh, rubbing his temples before responding.

"This isn't a simple matter, Miss Watson," Fury began, his tone weary. "What's happened to Parker, Apex, isn't something we fully understand yet."

Mary Jane stepped closer, her hands slamming on his desk. "Then explain what you do understand!" she demanded. "Don't give me the runaround. Peter was my, he is my-." Her voice broke slightly, but she quickly steeled herself. "I deserve to know the truth."

He tapped a code into the keypad, the lock releasing with a faint hiss. From within, he retrieved a small, reinforced case and set it on the desk between them.

Mary Jane leaned forward, her heart pounding as she stared at the case. Fury opened it slowly, revealing... nothing. The reinforced glass chamber inside was cracked, shattered from the inside out. Whatever had been contained there was long gone.

"What... what is this?" Mary Jane asked, her voice tinged with confusion and growing dread.

Fury exhaled sharply, leaning against the desk. "This was the origin of the virus," he said grimly, pointing at the shattered vial inside. "It was supposed to be secure. Untouchable. A bio-weapon that was recovered recently from a Goblin lab. But during that explosion at the armored transport the one where Peter was impaled, this vial broke."

Mary Jane's eyes widened as she processed his words. "You mean it... it got out?"

Fury nodded. "Every last microscopic particle of it. The virus was designed to attach itself to a host immediately, to infect and assimilate on a molecular level. And when Peter was impaled, the virus found him. Every last piece of it latched onto him, consuming his body, every cell, every strand of DNA, until there was nothing left of the Peter Parker we knew."

Mary Jane staggered back slightly, her hand gripping the edge of the desk for support. "So you're telling me... the explosion wasn't just an accident? It was the virus escaping... and it chose Peter?"

Fury's face hardened, his single eye boring into her. "It didn't choose him. It didn't have to. The virus was created to latch onto the first viable host it encountered. And in that moment, Peter was the one who bled. He was the one exposed. The virus didn't care who he was, it just did what it was made to do."

Her voice trembled as she spoke. "So that thing out there, the thing wearing Peter's face, it's not even him anymore, is it?"

Fury didn't answer right away. He closed the case with a heavy clunk and locked it before turning back to her. "The virus consumed Peter, body and soul. But somehow, part of him is still in there, enough to remember pieces of his life, enough to keep the thing in check most of the time. But make no mistake, Miss Watson: Apex isn't just Peter Parker anymore. It's Peter... and the virus. They're one and the same now."

Mary Jane shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "How could this happen? How could SHIELD let something like this exist in the first place?"

Fury's expression darkened further, his jaw tightening. "Because we didn't know what we were dealing with. By the time we recovered this virus, it was already a weapon. The Goblin made sure of that.

Fury's expression darkened further, his jaw tightening. "Because we didn't know what we were dealing with. By the time we recovered this virus, it was already a weapon. And here's the kicker—it wasn't Norman Osborn who created it, not entirely."

Mary Jane blinked, her tear-filled eyes narrowing. "What do you mean? If it wasn't him, then who?"

Fury sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if the weight of the entire situation was pressing down on him. "Norman didn't even know what this thing was. He didn't create it consciously. The Goblin—his darker side—did. That thing inside him? The Goblin wasn't just a split personality. It was something else entirely. And it had plans."

Mary Jane took a step forward, confusion and anger bubbling in her voice. "But Norman Osborn was the Goblin! He had to have known!"

Fury shook his head grimly. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But by the time we intercepted the virus, Norman didn't remember making it. According to our intel, it was created during one of his... episodes. The Goblin did the work, compiled the research, synthesized the virus, and sealed it away. And Norman? He had no idea it even existed."

Mary Jane's voice was sharp, her hands curling into fists. "So, what, he was just walking around with this thing like a ticking time bomb? What was he planning to do with it?"

Fury leaned back against his desk, his gaze fixed on her. "Norman—or rather, the Goblin—wasn't planning to use it himself. The virus was being transported to a private site for analysis. The plan was to study it, see what it was capable of, and then destroy it. At least, that's what the records we recovered say."

"Destroy it?" Mary Jane spat bitterly. "That worked out great, didn't it?"

Fury didn't flinch at her sarcasm. "The transport was attacked before it could reach the lab. We don't know who tipped off the attackers, but the virus was recovered and eventually ended up in New York and then. But then…" He paused, his voice trailing off.

"The explosion," Mary Jane finished for him, her voice hollow. "The explosion with the armored vehicle. When Peter was... impaled."

Fury nodded slowly. "That's when the containment broke. That's when the virus found its host. Every trace of it, every microscopic particle, latched onto Peter. And now, here we are."

Mary Jane stared at him, her face pale. "So the Goblin created this thing, Norman didn't even know, and now it's... it's Peter. It's inside him. It is him."

Fury's expression softened slightly, though the steel in his voice remained. "That's the long and short of it, Miss Watson. And if you want someone to blame, blame the Goblin. Blame whatever that thing was that lived inside Norman Osborn. Because Peter... Apex... he's the one paying the price for all of it now."

Mary Jane staggered back, her breathing unsteady. The weight of the truth was crushing, but Fury didn't look away. He stood there, letting her process the reality of what had happened, knowing that no words could ease the devastation on her of Form

Mary Jane staggered backward, her legs wobbling as if they might give out at any moment. Fury instinctively reached out to steady her, but she waved him off weakly, her hand trembling as she stumbled toward the nearest chair. She collapsed into it, her fingers gripping the edges as if anchoring herself to reality.

Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling unevenly. Her gaze remained fixed on the floor, unblinking, as her mind replayed the flood of memories she had tried so hard to push away. After a long, suffocating silence, she finally spoke, her voice barely audible.

"I should have listened to Gwen," she whispered, the words trembling with guilt and regret. "She called me that day... when he was in the hospital. She wanted to tell me something, but I... I didn't want to hear it. I thought... I thought it was just another lecture, another reminder of how I'd moved on."

Her hands clenched into fists, her knuckles white as tears welled in her eyes. "Instead, he died... alone. He died, and I wasn't there for him. I should have been there." Her voice cracked, and she let out a shaky breath, her head bowing as tears finally spilled over.

Fury watched her, his expression grim but not unsympathetic. He remained silent, giving her space to process, even as his own mind churned with thoughts of everything Peter, Apex, had endured and the chaos left in his wake.

Mary Jane wiped at her tears with trembling fingers, her voice rising with desperation. "I should've listened. I should've been there. Maybe... maybe if I'd been there, he wouldn't have-." Her voice broke entirely, and she pressed her hands to her face, muffling a sob.

The weight of her regret was overwhelming, filling the room like a storm cloud. Fury leaned against his desk, his own voice subdued as he finally spoke.

"Miss Watson," he said carefully, his tone measured, "there's no way you could have known what was going to happen. No one could. Not Gwen, not me, not even Peter himself. The virus was... inevitable."

Mary Jane looked up at him, her tear-streaked face filled with raw emotion. "But he wasn't. He wasn't inevitable. He was... Peter. He was him. And now... now he's gone, and all that's left is..." She trailed off, unable to finish, her voice choking on the enormity of the truth.

Fury nodded solemnly, his single eye heavy with the burden of knowing. "You're not wrong," he said quietly. "Peter Parker, the kid you knew... he's gone. What's left is something else. Something that's fighting to hold onto what he was. But it's still in there. I've seen glimpses of it."

Mary Jane shook her head. "But for how long?"

Neither of them had an answer. The room fell silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on both of them as Mary Jane stared blankly at the floor, lost in the depths of her guilt and sorrow.

…

Elsewhere, in a concealed hydra base…

The cold hum of machinery filling the air as monitors displayed the aftermath of their latest attempt to capture Apex. The 50th attempt, to be exact. Footage of their operatives, some dismembered, others restrained in grotesque, tendril-woven bindings, played on a loop across every screen. A red-tinged figure, Apex, loomed in every frame, his expression one of calculated indifference or, worse, faint amusement.

Red Skull stood at the head of the room, his crimson visage twisted in a mask of pure, seething rage. His hands clenched into fists behind his back as his subordinates stood silently, heads bowed, too terrified to meet his gaze. The room felt like it was on the brink of explosion.

"This... mockery," Red Skull hissed, trembling with fury, "has gone on long enough."

One of the operatives, trembling visibly, stepped forward. "Mein Herr... it is not just our forces. Every organization, AIM, the Hand, even Latveria, has failed to retrieve a viable sample. His capabilities... they're-."

"Enough!" Red Skull's voice thundered, silencing the man instantly. He turned, his piercing gaze fixed on the subordinate with such intensity that the man took an involuntary step back. "You think I do not understand the situation? You think I do not know what he is capable of?"

He gestured sharply at the monitors, where Apex was shown casually hurling an entire Hydra tank into a mountainside, the wreckage exploding in a fiery bloom. "He is an abomination! A creature that defies the natural order, a virus that consumes and adapts to anything in its path! And yet," he snarled, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper, "you have all failed. Again. And again. And again!"

Another screen flickered to life, showing footage of Apex tearing through a Hydra strike team. His tendrils lashed out like whips, disarming soldiers and snapping weapons like twigs. One unfortunate operative was hoisted into the air, his screams muffled as the virus wrapped around him and consumed him entirely. The final frame froze on Apex's face, his eyes glowing like embers, his mouth twisted into a monstrous grin.

Red Skull slammed his fist into the console, the metal denting beneath his strength. "Do you see that smile? That mockery? He is laughing at us. He is making a joke of Hydra!"

Another subordinate hesitated before speaking, his voice shaky. "Perhaps... we should reevaluate our approach. A direct confrontation may no longer be viable-."

Red Skull rounded on him, his voice a venomous growl. "You think I need your cowardly suggestions? No. I will not bow to this... thing. He is not invincible. He is not a god. He is a virus, and all viruses can be eradicated."

He turned back to the monitors, his mind racing with plans of vengeance. "If he thinks he can humiliate Hydra, if he believes he can mock me..." His lips curled into a snarl, his red skull seeming even darker under the dim light. "Then I will show him the true meaning of fear. He will know what it means to defy Hydra."

The room was silent, the weight of his words settling over everyone. For a moment, no one dared move or speak, each afraid to incur Red Skull's wrath. Finally, one brave soul asked, "And... how do we proceed, Herr Skull?"

Red Skull's grin returned, but this time it was cold, calculated, and devoid of any amusement. "We will not rely on blunt instruments anymore. We will not send armies for him to slaughter. No... if Apex wishes to face the might of Hydra, then we shall bring him the might of Hydra. Prepare the Omega Directive. Bring me Zola's contingency projects. And... notify our allies. If we are to kill a monster, then we will need something far worse."

As the Hydra agents scrambled to carry out his orders, the monitors flickered once more. A live feed from a Hydra facility played, a base Apex had visited only hours ago. The remains of vehicles and soldiers lay scattered like broken toys, but one figure stood amidst the carnage: Apex himself. He stared directly into the camera, his crimson eyes glowing as if he knew Red Skull was watching.

Then, Apex smiled and spoke directly into the lens, his voice calm but dripping with mockery. "50 tries, huh? I'm flattered. Really. But if you want my advice... maybe try something new next time. I'm starting to get bored."

The feed cut to static.

Red Skull's roar of rage echoed through the facility, a sound of pure fury and humiliation. Hydra's war against Apex had just become personal, and Red Skull would stop at nothing to see it end.