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?

5. Chapter 5

Marvel: Viral

Chapter 5: Days of Reckoning

…

The atmosphere in the SHIELD War Room was grim. Nick Fury stood at the head of the room, his hands planted firmly on the table as the overhead monitors illuminated the faces of U.N. representatives, high-ranking U.S. officials, and his own superiors. The tension was thick, the air heavy with the weight of the conversation that was about to unfold.

"This better be good," Fury muttered, his single eye scanning the faces on the screens. "I've got enough on my plate without you all adding to it."

One of the U.N. officials, an older man with a sharp suit and a stern expression, cleared his throat. "Director Fury, the situation with Apex, Peter Parker, as he was once known, has escalated to a level that requires unprecedented classification. The United Nations, in collaboration with the United States government and various global agencies, has compiled a formal list of designations to address the threat, or the entity, he has become."

Fury's jaw tightened. "A list? You mean to tell me you've been sitting around brainstorming ways to categorize a kid who's been trying to clean up the messes you people keep throwing at him?"

The official ignored his tone and continued. "This is not just a classification for administrative purposes, Director. It's a coordinated global effort to address and manage the potential risks and implications of Apex's existence."

Another voice chimed in, this one belonging to a U.S. military general. "Director, we understand your frustrations, but you need to listen carefully. These classifications aren't just names, they're warnings."

Fury folded his arms, his expression dark. "Alright. Let's hear it."

"Bio-Organic Weapon of Mass Destruction (BOWMD-001)"

The first and most pressing designation, emphasizing Apex's destructive potential. His viral nature and the capacity to adapt and evolve place him in a category above any known weapon.

"Biological Apex Predator (BAP-001)"

A classification highlighting his ability to dominate any biological life form. His viral structure and consumption of biomass have made him an entity that is not prey but predator, even to humanity itself.

"Sentient Viral Pandemic Entity (SVPE-001)"

A designation from the World Health Organization, acknowledging his potential to replicate and spread on a global scale if unchecked.

"Global Existential Threat (GET-01)"

The U.N.'s overarching label, reserved for entities or events that could fundamentally alter or destroy civilization as we know it.

"Class Omega-Level Biological Entity (COBE-01)"

A joint classification by global intelligence agencies, placing him among the most dangerous beings on Earth, on par with catastrophic anomalies like the Phoenix Force.

"Hive-Mind Adaptive Threat (HAT-001)"

Specific to his viral intelligence and hive-mind-like control over his tendrils and consumed biomass, indicating his capacity for strategic and adaptive thinking.

"Uncontainable Sentient Weapon (USW-01)"

The U.S. military's grim acknowledgment that no known containment or suppression measures would be effective against Apex.

"Zero Tolerance Threat (ZTT-001)"

A covert directive by certain nations advocating for Apex's immediate neutralization if any opportunity arises, no matter the cost.

The U.N. official hesitated, his tone softening as he continued. "Director Fury, there's one more thing you need to be aware of. The Security Council has authorized additional measures around New York and its surrounding areas. We've made it clear that these precautions are not meant to provoke Apex but to ensure a heightened state of readiness."

Fury felt his eyebrow twitch , his fingers drumming against the table. "Precautions? What kind of precautions?"

Another monitor flickered to display a detailed map of New York, overlaid with a network of glowing points. The official gestured to the display as he explained.

Viral Sensors and Monitoring Devices:

"We're installing an array of non-intrusive viral sensors throughout New York. They'll monitor air particulates, ground traces, and other molecular signatures for signs of Apex's viral activity."

"They're sensitive enough to track his movements but won't interfere with civilian life," the official assured, though his voice carried a tinge of unease.

Enhanced Surveillance:

"Drones equipped with high-resolution cameras and thermal imaging will be deployed across key zones in New York. They'll remain at high altitudes to avoid detection, but they'll provide constant updates on Apex's location."

"This is strictly for observation," another representative added quickly. "There are no plans to engage without direct authorization."

Containment Protocols:

"Key choke points in and out of the city have been fortified with mobile response teams equipped to handle high-level threats. These units are trained to act as barriers rather than direct combatants."

Countermeasure Development:

"R teams are working on specialized containment technology," the official admitted reluctantly. "Non-lethal, we hope. But should Apex's behavior escalate beyond current levels, these measures may have to evolve."

Fury's jaw tightened as the words sank in, but he stayed silent.

Emergency Evacuation Protocols:

"Plans are in place to evacuate high-risk areas within minutes if Apex's activities intensify. This includes a city-wide alert system capable of mobilizing evacuation orders faster than any previous system."

Diplomatic Outreach:

"We're coordinating with international leaders to ensure a unified response if the situation escalates beyond New York. The aim is to avoid unilateral action from rogue states."

Fury's eye twitched as he processed the mountain of precautions. "You're building a damn grid around him," he said flatly. "How exactly do you think that's gonna go over if he notices?"

The general's face hardened. "We're not trying to provoke him. But given the scope of his capabilities, we'd be fools not to prepare."

Another official chimed in, her voice steady but grim. "We're walking a tightrope, Director. This isn't just about Apex. It's about the world watching how we handle this. If we're not prepared, the consequences could be catastrophic."

Fury let out a long breath, his gaze flicking back to the glowing map of New York. "Prepared, huh? Let me remind you of something. This isn't a hurricane or an earthquake you can plan around. This is Peter Parker, or what's left of him. You're not tracking a disaster. You're tracking a person. A person who's been pushed to the edge over and over again."

The room fell silent again, but the official added one final note. "The countermeasures are a last resort, Director. We hope we never have to use them."

Fury leaned back in his chair, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "Hope," he repeated, his voice thick with sarcasm. "You'd better pray that hope's enough. Because if you're wrong, there won't be anything left to contain."Bottom of Form

…

Elsewhere in the city that never sleeps…

The chaos on the street was reaching new heights, as Rhino rampaged through police cars, flipping them like toys and sending officers scattering. The hulking villain bellowed with laughter, his horned head swinging wildly as he bulldozed through barricades. Across from him, Kraven the Hunter crouched silently on the roof of a damaged van, his sharp eyes scanning the area. He seemed almost distracted, his usual bravado replaced with a calculating stillness.

"What's the matter, Kraven?" Mysterio asked from the safety of a nearby alley, adjusting the glowing orb of his helmet. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Kraven didn't respond. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the air, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Something felt off. The city was never this quiet during a fight like this. And then... it clicked.

From the corners of the streets and behind broken barricades, people and police officers began checking their phones. One by one, their faces paled as they read whatever alert had just gone out. Without a word, they turned and bolted, abandoning the area as quickly as they could. Officers threw down their radios, fleeing to nearby shelters and locking themselves inside. Civilians ducked into buildings, slamming doors and dragging furniture to block entrances.

Within moments, the streets were empty, a ghost town in the middle of the chaos. Even the distant hum of car engines seemed to fade away.

Mysterio turned to Kraven, his voice laced with confusion. "What the hell just happened? Why is everyone running?"

Kraven didn't answer immediately. He was staring upward now, his muscles tense like a predator sensing something far greater than itself. His sharp eyes caught movement high above, something that shouldn't have been possible. A dark figure grabbed the edge of a skyscraper midair, twisting its body with an unnatural grace. For a moment, it hung there, silhouetted against the dim city light.

And then it fell.

"Down!" Kraven barked, his voice uncharacteristically panicked as he leapt off the van.

The figure plummeted like a missile, a blur of black and red that smashed into the street with a deafening crash. The shockwave rippled outward, shattering nearby windows and sending debris flying. The crater left behind was massive, the pavement cracked and broken under the force of the impact.

The figure stood in the center of the chaos, slowly straightening. Peter Parker—or rather, Apex, wore his familiar hoodie, jeans, and combat boots. He looked entirely unassuming save for the glowing red eyes that pierced through the dust and the slight grin that barely showed off his sharp teeth.

His calm demeanor made him all the more menacing.

Rhino froze mid-charge, his massive frame stiffening as he took a hesitant step back. Even Mysterio, always ready with a quip or an illusion, was utterly silent. The deserted streets echoed with the creak of Apex's boots as he stepped forward, the smile on his face growing wider.

On a nearby rooftop, Spider-Woman and Gwen Stacy, both in costume, watched the scene unfold. Gwen leaned back slightly, her hands bracing against the rooftop as if settling in to watch a show. "What's going on?" she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Spider-Woman shook her head, her tone uneasy. "I think... they just figured out who's here."

Peter, or Apex, stopped a few feet away from Rhino, tilting his head as his grin widened further. He lifted his hands, and red and black tendrils exploded outward from his arms, writhing like living creatures. The tendrils shifted and morphed, forming into grotesque, hammer or oversized fist-like appendages that pulsed with viral energy.

Then in a sing-song voice, he cut through the silence like a knife. "Guess, who's, back?" he said slowly, the words dripping with mockery as he took another step forward.

Rhino, for all his bravado, took another step back. "This..., what? How?!"

Rhino's massive frame shifted uneasily as he glanced between Peter—or Apex—and the others. His usually booming confidence faltered as he stumbled over his words. "What... what the hell is this? This ain't Spider-Man! What happened to him?!"

Mysterio, his illusionary bravado completely gone, muttered from behind his helmet, "This... this has to be a trick. Some kind of hologram. Spider-Man doesn't... look like that. Doesn't do that."

Kraven, standing a few paces behind them, remained silent, his hand tightening on his spear. His keen eyes never left Apex, the crimson glow of Peter's eyes reflecting faintly in his own. Unlike the others, Kraven didn't need to ask. He already knew what stood before them.

Peter tilted his head slightly, the eerie glow of his eyes narrowing as his smile twisted into something darker. The hammer-like tendrils rippling from his arms pulsed, twitching with anticipation. "Why don't you tell them, Kraven?" Peter said,

laced with amusement. "Go on. Inform Mr. Hornhead and Dome-Skull about exactly who they're up against. It makes the fear so much... more exquisite."

The words sent a shiver through Mysterio, and Rhino's already tense stance became more rigid. Both villains turned to Kraven, their expressions demanding answers.

Kraven exhaled deeply, his jaw tightening as his grip on his weapon faltered for the first time in years. "This... thing you see before you," he began, his voice steady but heavy with something akin to dread, "was once Spider-Man. But now? He's essentially a living biological nightmare. A viral monstrosity that devours everything in its path. Apex."

Mysterio scoffed, though his voice trembled. "Viral monstrosity? Come on, you expect me to believe that?"

Kraven turned to him sharply, his eyes narrowing. "Do you think I would lie about this? Have you seen the news? The footage? Apex has torn through everything in his path. Clones of the Hulk. Sentinels. Mercenaries. All of them reduced to ash, devoured by the virus that now wears Spider-Man's face."

Rhino's hands balled into fists as he stared at Apex. "You're telling me this... this freak eats people?"

Peter laughed softly, the sound more unsettling than any threat. "Oh, not everyone," he said, his tone almost conversational. "Only the ones who... how should I put this... provoke me." His hammer-like tendrils shifted, morphing into long, jagged blades that shimmered with a faint sheen. "But you're welcome to test the theory yourselves."

Mysterio took a cautious step back, his illusions forgotten as fear gripped him. "We've been in prison for the last month! How were we supposed to know this is what Spider-Man turned into?!"

Rhino growled, his confusion quickly giving way to anger. "Why the hell didn't anyone tell us this before we broke out?!"

Kraven's voice cut through their panic like a blade. "Because the world is afraid. And rightfully so. Apex is no longer a man. He is a force of nature. A predator far beyond anything we've faced."

Peter—or Apex—took another step forward, his smile never fading. "See?" he said, gesturing toward Kraven with a mock bow. "There's someone who gets it."

Kraven locked eyes with Apex, his grip on his spear tightening again. "I understand what you've become, Apex. But I won't run. Not from you."

Peter chuckled, the sound deep and resonant. "Oh, Kraven. I wouldn't want you to. You, at least, make this... entertaining." His gaze flicked back to Mysterio and Rhino, his expression darkening. "As for the two of you? Well... let's see how long you last."

Rhino's chest heaved as he squared up, his anger winning out over his fear. "Fine. You want a fight? You've got one!"

Mysterio, however, took another step back. "Yeah... no. I think I'll just... stay out of this one."

Peter smiled wider, his tendrils whipping around him like living blades. "Suit yourselves. Either way, this is going to be fun."

Rhino roared as his massive fist collided with Apex's chest for the sixth time, the sound of the impact echoing through the desolate streets. Each punch was like a cannon firing, sending ripples of force through the ground, yet Apex didn't move an inch. His red and black tendrils snaked into the pavement beneath him, anchoring him firmly in place.

The seventh punch came, but before it could land, Peter's tendrils pulsed, coiling tighter into the ground. He twisted his body slightly, the motion almost lazy, and with a sudden burst of speed, he struck back.

The blow was catastrophic.

Peter's fist, or rather the tendrils that had shaped themselves into a massive, jagged hammer-like appendage, slammed into Rhino's chest. The force of the punch sent Rhino hurtling backward like a missile, his massive frame crashing through the air and slamming into a skyscraper several blocks down. The building groaned under the impact, glass and debris raining down as Rhino smashed through multiple floors before plummeting into a parked car below, crushing it under his weight.

Peter grinned as he leapt into the air, landing with a thunderous crash on a car roof, the vehicle crumpling beneath him. "Oh, come on, Hornhead!" he called out, his tone almost playful. "You're not done yet, are you?"

Rhino groaned, pulling himself from the wreckage, his massive hands brushing shards of metal and glass off his armor. "You're... gonna pay for that," he snarled, charging forward with renewed fury.

Peter didn't move. Instead, he crouched low, his crimson eyes glowing brighter as his tendrils writhed like serpents around him. Rhino noticed it then—something was off. The air seemed heavier, the ground beneath him trembling slightly as Peter's tendrils dug deeper into the asphalt.

"What the hell are you doing?" Rhino demanded, slowing his charge as he approached.

Peter's smile widened. "Oh, just charging up. You know, making this a little more... memorable."

Before Rhino could react, Peter's tendrils shot out like grappling hooks, wrapping around Rhino's massive body with shocking speed and precision. Rhino struggled, his incredible strength fighting against the viral appendages, but they held firm, their grip tightening like a vice.

"Let's take this to new heights," Peter said, his voice dripping with mockery. With a powerful leap, his tendrils launched them both into the air, soaring upwards of 90 feet.

Rhino's roar of anger turned to one of panic as they reached the apex of their ascent. Peter released him with a flick of his tendrils, sending Rhino plummeting toward the ground. "If it's any consolation," Peter called out as Rhino fell, "your impervious armor should blunt the fall!"

The ground shook as Rhino hit with an earth-shattering crash, the pavement cracking beneath him. Dust and debris filled the air, obscuring the impact zone for a moment before it cleared, revealing Rhino lying in the center of a newly formed crater, groaning in pain.

Peter landed gracefully nearby, crouching as his tendrils retracted. He tilted his head, his grin returning. "Still think you can keep up, Hornhead? Or do you need a timeout?"

Rhino growled, his massive arms struggling to push himself upright. "I'm... not done yet," he spat, his voice strained.

Peter, or Apex, tilted his head slightly, his grin fading into something more neutral as he watched Rhino groaning in the crater. "Nah," Peter said, his tone calm but tinged with a hint of amusement. "I'm done for now."

Rhino barely had time to register the words before Peter's arm twisted unnaturally. His elbow bent backward, and his forearm extended grotesquely, tendrils writhing and intertwining to form a massive, spiraling appendage. It began to spin, emitting a deep hum and faint popping sounds as the viral material coiled tighter and tighter, overlapping like a high-tension cable being wound to its limit.

The air grew heavy as the tendrils reached their peak, snapping taut like a spring ready to unleash devastation. The sound alone sent chills through the bystanders who dared to peek out from their barricaded shelters. On a nearby rooftop, Gwen and Jessica watched, wide-eyed, their breaths caught in their throats.

"What is he doing?" Gwen whispered, unable to tear her gaze away from the surreal display.

Jessica shook her head, her voice growing more horrified by the moment. "I don't know. But I think we're about to find out."

Peter, his crimson eyes glowing brighter, slowly reached down with his other hand and grabbed Rhino by the shoulder, forcing the massive brute to stay in place. Rhino struggled, roaring and thrashing, but Peter's grip was unrelenting, his tendrils wrapping around Rhino's arm and torso like living chains.

"Line up the shot," Peter murmured to himself, almost playfully, as his spiraling tendrils started to contract. The massive appendage began to shrink down, collapsing inward until it returned to the size of a normal arm. But the tension hadn't disappeared—it was condensed, coiled, and ready to explode with unimaginable force.

Rhino, realizing too late what was coming, snarled and struggled harder. "You... you son of a—"

Peter cut him off with a single, devastating motion.

His piston-like arm shot forward, punching Rhino square in the stomach. The force of the impact echoed like a thunderclap, and the shockwave rippled outward, shattering windows and rattling debris for blocks. Rhino's body jolted, his feet digging into the fractured pavement as his impervious armor, the very thing that had protected him for years, began to crack.

The first crack spread like a spiderweb across Rhino's chest plate, then along his shoulders, arms, and legs. In an instant, the iconic armor shattered, fragments exploding outward like shards of glass. Rhino's massive frame was left exposed, his unarmored body trembling as he staggered backward, gasping for air.

Peter stepped back, flexing his arm as the viral tendrils retracted, slithering back into his hoodie. He tilted his head, his grin returning as he watched Rhino collapse to his knees, wheezing and clutching his midsection.

"Well," Peter said. , "guess that answers what this one does." He turned his glowing eyes toward Gwen and Jessica on the rooftop, giving them a playful wave with his now-normal hand. "Hope you enjoyed the show!"

Gwen blinked, her mouth dry. "Did he... just shatter Rhino's armor? With one punch?"

Jessica nodded, equally dumbstruck. "Yeah. He did. And I think he was... testing something."

Below them, Peter crouched next to the defeated Rhino, his tone light but menacing. "Better call it a day, Hornhead. You're out of your league."

Without waiting for a response, Peter stood and walked away, his hands in his pockets as his tendrils rippled faintly beneath his hoodie. Behind him, Rhino collapsed fully, groaning as the faint sounds of sirens grew closer.

Nick Fury sat at the head of the conference table, a mountain of reports stacked in front of him. The SHIELD director looked tired, rubbing his temples as he leaned back in his chair. "This just keeps getting better and better," Fury muttered under his breath, flipping through yet another file with grim determination.

Agent Maria Hill stood beside him, a tablet in her hand as she typed furiously. "We're still calculating the exact force output of his last punch," she said, her voice clipped and professional. "But based on the data we've gathered, Apex's tendrils absorbed and redistributed the kinetic energy at levels far beyond human—and even superhuman—limits."

Across the table, Reed Richards and Tony Stark were deep in discussion, their tones bordering on argument.

"It's not just raw strength," Reed said, his voice calm but insistent. "The viral material is incredibly adaptive. It's not simply dense—it's dynamic. It adjusts its molecular structure in real time to optimize impact."

Tony leaned back in his chair, spinning a pen between his fingers. "Sure, sure, Mister Fantastic. But what's really impressive is the energy transfer. He's not just hitting things—he's channeling energy through his body, amplifying the force exponentially. That punch he landed on Rhino? That wasn't just strength. That was a controlled detonation."

Logan, seated at the far end of the table, crossed his arms and scowled. "Controlled detonation or not, he took Rhino's armor off like it was paper. You ever seen anyone do that before? 'Cause I sure as hell haven't."

Jean Grey, sitting next to Logan, glanced at the reports with a haunted expression. "It's not just the physical power that's disturbing," she said quietly. "It's the intent. He's experimenting—testing himself, pushing his limits. And he's doing it with precision."

Fury sighed heavily, tossing the report he was reading onto the table. "Agent Hill, give me the highlights. What are we looking at in terms of raw numbers?"

Hill nodded, swiping through the data on her tablet. "Based on the footage and ground analysis, Apex generated approximately 40,000 pounds of force with that punch—possibly more. The pavement absorbed some of the impact, but the shockwave alone registered on seismic sensors across the city. His tendrils... they function as an extension of his nervous system, redistributing stress and increasing efficiency."

Reed nodded, his expression grim. "And his density... it's unlike anything we've ever encountered. His viral biology allows him to compress his mass into concentrated forms, making him not only incredibly durable but also capable of delivering devastating blows."

Tony frowned, leaning forward. "And let's not forget the psychological factor. Did you see how he taunted Rhino? That wasn't just brute strength—that was dominance. He's in control of every fight he's in, and he knows it."

Fury slammed his hand on the table, drawing everyone's attention. "Which is exactly why we're having this meeting. If he's testing his limits now, what happens when he decides to stop playing around? What happens when he decides he's tired of holding back?"

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Fury's words sinking in.

Logan broke the silence, his voice gruff. "You think he's got a line he won't cross? 'Cause from what I've seen, he's already crossed plenty."

As the meeting room's atmosphere grew heavier with tension, Fury's comm device chirped. He tapped it irritably, his gaze still fixed on the table. "What now?" he muttered.

A SHIELD operative's voice crackled through the comm. "Director Fury, we've got an update on Apex. It's... unusual."

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. "Spit it out."

The operative hesitated, their voice tinged with disbelief. "Apex... he's located Kraven the Hunter. Used what we're calling 'bio-echo location'—a kind of viral scanning technique. He stood on the Empire State Building and somehow scanned the entire city, honing in on Kraven's genetic signature."

Reed sat up straighter, his interest piqued. "Bio-echo location? Fascinating. He's not just reacting to his environment—he's analyzing and cataloging it."

"More like playing predator," Logan muttered, his expression grim. "And Kraven just became his prey."

The comm continued. "Apex tracked him to a hideout in the Lower East Side. We've got field agents nearby, but... Director, Kraven's entire arsenal is being thrown at him, and it's not even slowing him down."

Fury sat back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "Patch us into the feed. Let's see how this circus act is going."

Seconds later, a screen on the wall lit up with live footage from drones circling the hideout. The room fell silent as they watched the scene unfold.

Kraven was panting, his chest heaving as he scrambled to reload a modified tranquilizer rifle. Around him, the interior of his hideout was in shambles—traps, weapons, and gadgets lay scattered, many of them destroyed. His prized trophies, including mounted heads of rare beasts, had been reduced to rubble in the chaos.

Across the room, Apex stood in eerie stillness, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. His hoodie and jeans were torn, but his unassuming appearance only added to the unsettling aura he exuded. Tendrils slithered and coiled beneath his hoodie like living shadows, their movements hypnotic.

Kraven aimed the rifle and fired. The dart struck Apex square in the chest, but it didn't even pierce his skin. Instead, the dart dissolved into the viral tendrils, absorbed like a drop of water on a sponge.

"Come on, Sergei," Peter—or Apex—said, his voice calm but dripping with mockery. "You've been dreaming about this hunt for years. Don't tell me you're out of tricks already."

Kraven growled, tossing the rifle aside and grabbing a curved blade from his belt. "You mock me, but you are no longer Spider-Man!" he shouted. "You are a monster! A mindless beast!"

Apex tilted his head, his grin widening. "Mindless? That's rich, coming from the guy who thought a dart gun would work on me." He took a step forward, his tendrils extending slightly. "But please, keep trying. It's adorable."

Kraven let out a roar and lunged, the blade flashing in the dim light as he aimed for Apex's throat. Apex didn't move until the last possible second, catching the blade between two tendrils. The metal groaned under the pressure before snapping like a twig.

Kraven staggered back, his confidence visibly crumbling. "What... are you?" he whispered, his voice trembling.

Apex spread his arms, his tendrils rippling outward like wings. "I'm what happens when you push too far, Sergei. I'm adaptation with no leash. And you?" He gestured around the room. "You're just a guy with a knife collection and a death wish."

For a moment, Kraven trembling with desperation as he clutched at the slimmest hope that the monster before him still carried some remnants of the man it once was. Apex—Peter—stood still, his crimson-tinged eyes boring into Kraven's. The room seemed to grow colder, the air heavy with unspoken tension.

For a long moment, there was nothing but silence. Apex's glowing gaze didn't waver, locking Kraven in place as though the tendrils surrounding him weren't enough of a prison. It was the stillness, the eerie calm before the storm, that made Kraven's chest tighten.

Then, Apex spoke, his voice quiet but razor-sharp. "Yep. You're right."

Kraven blinked, confusion flickering across his face.

"I am Peter," Apex continued, the tendrils around him curling tighter for emphasis. "And I won't kill you." His voice carried a weight that left no room for interpretation, no doubt that he was in full control.

Kraven exhaled shakily, the slightest hint of relief washing over him. But that relief was short-lived.

Apex leaned in, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "But don't think for a second that means you're getting off easy."

Kraven's breath hitched as Apex's smile returned, colder now, the jagged edges of his teeth visible under the dim light. "You have two options," Apex said, holding up two blade-like fingers for emphasis. "Turn yourself in... or I'll make sure you lose your sanity."

Kraven swallowed hard, his trembling hands falling to his sides. "What... what does that mean?"

Apex tilted his head, his tone almost playful. "Oh, you don't want to find out. Let's just say, I've learned a lot about what makes people... tick. And you don't want me digging through your mind. You think you've faced nightmares, Sergei?" He leaned in closer, his voice dripping with malice. "I can be your worst one."

Kraven's knees buckled slightly, his legendary composure crumbling under the weight of Apex's words. The viral entity straightened, stepping back and allowing the tendrils to retreat, giving Kraven just enough room to breathe.

"So," Apex said, his voice calm again, almost casual. "What's it gonna be?"

Kraven's hands trembled as he slowly sank to his knees, the fight draining out of him. "I'll... I'll turn myself in," he whispered,

Apex nodded, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Good choice. But just so we're clear..." He crouched down, his tendrils rippling faintly beneath his hoodie. "If I see you doing this again, Sergei? You won't just lose the hunt. You'll lose yourself."

Kraven couldn't muster a response. He simply nodded, his head hanging low as the weight of his choices bore down on him.

Satisfied, Apex stood, his form casting a shadow over the trembling hunter. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the exit, his tendrils slithering around him like living armor. As he reached the doorway, he glanced back over his shoulder, his crimson eyes glinting.

"Don't make me regret letting you live."

With that, Apex disappeared into the night, leaving Kraven alone in the wreckage of his ambitions, haunted by the realization that he had just faced a predator far beyond anything he could have of Form

…

In the SHIELD conference room, the atmosphere was already tense as Fury and the team finished watching the live video feed of Apex confronting Kraven. The footage had left everyone visibly shaken, but before anyone could speak, a faint tapping noise echoed through the room.

Maria Hill turned toward the window, her hand instinctively reaching for her sidearm. A shadowy form perched on the windowsill, its sharp, crimson-tinged eyes glinting in the dim light. The creature was unmistakably one of Apex's crows, its form sleek and grotesque, made entirely of writhing black and red tendrils.

Before anyone could react, the crow hopped inside, its talons clicking against the metal frame. It cocked its head, studying the room as if gauging their reactions. Then, the crow's beak opened, and a disturbingly familiar voice echoed through the room.

"Yeah... those flock of crows were real tasty…" Peter's voice, slightly distorted and carrying an unsettling echo, emerged from the creature. The crow flapped its wings once before settling itself on the edge of the conference table. "So? How much in damages did I cause?" The question came with a strange mix of genuine curiosity and an unnerving nonchalance.

The room fell silent. Fury's one good eye twitched as he processed the sight before him. Tony Stark leaned forward slightly, his face a mix of intrigue and unease, while Logan scowled, his claws reflexively twitching.

The crow's gaze fixed on Fury, who finally broke the silence. "That depends," Fury said slowly, his voice as measured as he could make it. "Are we talking about the damage you caused in your fight with Rhino, or are we including... everything else?"

The crow tilted its head again, as if considering the question. "Hmm..." It paused, its tendrils rippling faintly along its form. "Let's go with... everything else. I've been a little busy lately."

Reed Richards adjusted his glasses, his analytical mind already racing. "You're keeping track of your own actions?"

The crow let out a low, crackling noise that might have been a laugh. "Of course. I mean, I've run out of things to do while I wait for my other half to finish up his errands. We'll be reattaching soon. Ten minutes, tops."

Jean Grey flinched at the casual mention of "reattaching." She exchanged a nervous glance with Logan, whose expression had darkened even further.

"Why are you here, Apex?" Fury asked bluntly, his patience wearing thin. "You've got the whole city in a panic, and now you're sending... fragments of yourself to taunt us?"

The crow's crimson eyes gleamed as it hopped closer to Fury. "Taunting? No, no, Director Fury. This isn't taunting. This is curiosity." It flared its wings slightly, the tendrils shifting with an almost liquid grace. "After all, you've been keeping track of me so well. I figured... why not ask the experts?"

The room's tension thickened as the crow's gaze swept across the team. "So?" it pressed, its voice taking on a playful lilt. "What's the verdict? How much fun have I been having at your expense?"

Fury's jaw tightened, his fingers clenching against the edge of the table. "You want numbers? Fine. Try millions in property damage, the city on lockdown, and about a dozen rogue mercenaries you gift-wrapped for us."

The crow seemed to consider this for a moment, then emitted another crackling laugh. "Millions, huh? Not bad. Guess I'll have to try harder next time."

Tony finally spoke up, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, great. That's just what we needed to hear."

The crow turned its head toward Tony, its beak opening slightly in what could almost be mistaken for a grin. "Relax, Iron Man. I'm on my best behavior. For now."

Before anyone could respond, the crow spread its tendrils wide, its form starting to dissolve into wisps of red and black. "Well, this has been fun," it said, its voice fading as its body flew out the window. See you in ten minutes... or not. Depends on how I'm feeling."

And with that, the crow was gone, leaving behind only an eerie silence and a room full of uneasy stares.

Fury finally exhaled, slumping back in his chair. "I don't know what's worse," he muttered, "the fact that he's out there... or the fact that he's having fun."Bottom of Form

…

At the Daily Bugle, the newsroom was buzzing with the sound of ringing phones, clicking keyboards, and muffled conversations. In the center of it all, J. Jonah Jameson sat at his desk, blinking in disbelief as he stared at the document on his screen. His cigar hung limply from his mouth, forgotten, as his eyes skimmed through the report for the fifth time.

Robbie Robertson stood nearby, holding a folder with the latest photographs, but even his usual calm demeanor was showing cracks. "Jonah, you've seen the reports. You've read the titles they're giving him. What are we supposed to do with this?"

Jameson pointed a finger at the list, his voice unusually subdued. "Look at this, Robbie. Apex. Biological Weapon. Hive Mind. Viral Disaster. Damn near every label in the book, and they're still not enough! And this?" He grabbed the printed photograph from Robbie's hand, holding it up as if demanding answers. "What the hell do we call this?!"

The photo in question was a high-resolution shot taken during Apex's fight with Rhino. It showed Peter, or what Peter had become, stretching his elbow backward in an unnatural coil, his viral tendrils wrapping down the block like a grotesque spring. The second photo captured the coiling tendrils reaching their full length, while the third showed the exact moment his hammer-like appendage obliterated Rhino's impervious armor.

Jameson jabbed at the photo with his finger. "That's what? Five, maybe six feet? No, that thing stretched several city blocks, Robbie! Do you know how long that is?"

Robbie cleared his throat, tapping his pen against the folder. "Based on the rough measurements from the photos and the angles from traffic cams, his tendrils stretched back at least 1,200 feet before recoiling. The amount of force generated at that length-."

Jameson cut him off, his voice rising. "Twelve hundred feet?! You're telling me he stretched his damn arm over three football fields before breaking Rhino like a tin can?!"

Betty Brant looked up from her desk, chiming in nervously. "It's not just the length, Mr. Jameson. The reports say the amount of energy in that one punch registered on seismic sensors."

Jameson threw his hands in the air. "Of course it did! Why wouldn't it? The guy's a walking powerhouse! And now we're reporting on him like he's some kind of public service announcement?"

We report the facts, Jonah." Robbie reminded Jameson, "That's what we agreed on. No exaggerations, no spin, just the truth. People need to know what we're dealing with."

Jameson grumbled, slumping back into his chair. "The truth, huh? Here's the truth, Robbie: Spider-Man used to be a hero. A menace, sure, but a hero. And now?" He gestured at the photo again. "Now I don't know how to process this… I need more coffee."

Jameson leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as if trying to massage away the sheer disbelief. He glanced at the photo again, the grotesque image of Apex's elongated tendrils coiling down the street like a living slingshot burned into his mind. The room buzzed around him, but his voice was quieter now, almost hesitant.

"Um..." He cleared his throat, his bravado momentarily gone. "Let's just... make sure we have the right estimated distance he... stretched? I don't wanna look like an idiot if it's off."

Robbie raised an eyebrow but nodded. "We'll confirm it again, Jonah. But it's already been cross-referenced with SHIELD's data and the street surveillance cameras. It's accurate."

Jameson groaned, waving his hand dismissively. "Fine, fine. Just... triple-check it. Because if we're putting on the front page that Spider-Man—sorry, Apex—stretched his damn arm across twelve hundred feet before breaking Rhino's armor, I don't want anyone saying we exaggerated."

Betty Brant chimed in from her desk, her tone nervous but trying to lighten the mood. "Technically, it's 1,243 feet, Mr. Jameson. Give or take."

Jameson's eye twitched, and he slowly turned to her, his voice laced with exhaustion. "Betty. Please don't make this worse."

She nodded quickly and went back to her notes, leaving Jameson to stare at the photos again, shaking his head. "Twelve hundred feet..." he muttered under his breath, almost as if trying to convince himself it was real. "This guy's not just a biological nightmare. He's a damn physics problem..."

…

At Aunt May's cozy apartment, the warm scent of spaghetti sauce filled the air, mingling with the aroma of freshly baked garlic bread. Peter, or Apex, as the world now called him, stood at the stove, wearing an apron over his usual hoodie and jeans, stirring a pot of marinara sauce with practiced ease. His movements were calm, different to the chaos that seems to follow him.

At the small dining table, Aunt May sat with Gwen Stacy and Rachel Summers. The table was already set with plates, utensils, and glasses of water. Gwen leaned back slightly, eyeing the black-and-grey K-9 lounging near the couch. Its sleek, organic form was almost wolf-like, its fur glossy and its red-tinged eyes half-closed as it rested, head tilted slightly as if listening to the faint sounds from the window.

Next to the couch, a grey-striped cat stretched lazily on the armrest, its claws kneading the fabric. Its glowing red eyes betrayed its true nature, though its behavior seemed entirely normal, comfortably feline in its quiet, indifferent way. The two animals gave the cozy apartment a surreal atmosphere, their presence both comforting and unnervingly otherworldly.

"That's Peter too, isn't it?" Gwen asked, her voice a mixture of amazement and unease as she gestured toward the cat. "The crow earlier, the dog now, and the cat… how many versions of you are running around this apartment?"

Peter glanced over his shoulder as he stirred the sauce, the steam rising in curls. "Depends on the day," he replied casually. "These two "These three are on Aunt May duty. They keep her company, watch for trouble, and make sure nothing sneaks up on her. It's multitasking, Gwen."

Rachel Summers, sitting cross-legged in one of the chairs, raised an eyebrow as she leaned back slightly. "Multitasking? It's like you're running a private security firm with yourself as the entire staff. The dog hasn't even blinked since I got here."

Peter smirked, turning off the burner and plating the spaghetti with practiced precision. "The dog doesn't need to blink. It's me. They're all me." He gestured toward the K-9, which perked its ears slightly at the sound of his voice before resting its head back on its paws. "This way, May's never alone."

Aunt May chuckled softly, shaking her head as she adjusted her glasses. "Peter, I appreciate it, but you don't have to go to so much trouble."

Peter turned, his expression softening as he carried the first plate to her. "It's not trouble, May. You're my top priority. Always have been, always will be."

Gwen watched the interaction silently for a moment before turning her gaze back to the cat, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. "It's just… weird," she finally said, her voice filled with a mix of wonder and exasperation. "Knowing that cat is technically you, but it's acting like a normal pet. It's kind of hard to wrap my head around."

The cat yawned dramatically, its sharp teeth glinting faintly in the light as it stretched. It tilted its head toward Gwen, its red eyes glimmering with faint amusement. "Meow," it said in Peter's voice, the sound startling Gwen so much she nearly dropped her glass.

"Okay, that's creepy," Rachel said with a smirk, though she shifted slightly in her chair as if trying to create more distance between her and the cat. "Funny, but creepy."

Peter shrugged, placing the next plate in front of Rachel. "Creepy or not, it works. And May gets good company. Besides…" He gestured toward the K-9 and the cat. "These two keep her entertained and watch her back 24/7. What's not to love?"

Aunt May patted his hand as he set her salad in place. "They do. It's nice having them around. Keeps the apartment lively."

Peter finally sat down at the table, his demeanor relaxed as he twirled some spaghetti onto his fork. "That's all I want, her to be happy and safe."

Gwen leaned back in her chair, folding her arms as she studied him. "You're out there fighting mercenaries, tearing down Sentinels, and taking on the Black Order, and then you come home to cook spaghetti and babysit your other forms. Peter, you're… I have no worlds for that?"

Peter smirked, not missing a beat as he took a bite. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Rachel, still marveling at the sheer oddity of it all, leaned forward. "You know, for someone who can turn into a cat, a dog, or a bird whenever they feel like it, you're surprisingly normal in here."

Peter paused, glancing around the table at the three women before finally speaking. "This is the one place I can be normal. So let's eat before the spaghetti gets cold."

The room filled with quiet laughter and the clinking of utensils as they ate, the surreal nature of Peter's abilities blending seamlessly into the warmth of the apartment. Outside, the faint caw of a crow echoed near the window, the bird perched like a sentinel watching the street below. Inside, the K-9 rested its head on its paws, its sharp red eyes scanning the room, while the cat purred softly on the armrest, seemingly content in its quiet of Form

…

Wade Wilson, Deadpool, sat on the edge of a dilapidated rooftop, his feet dangling over the edge as he stared out at the neon haze of New York City. The usual chaotic symphony of the city, honking horns, shouting pedestrians, the occasional gunshot, faded into background noise, failing to distract him from the unease gnawing at his insides. Well, what was left of his insides, anyway.

He reached for his chimichanga, holding it halfway to his mouth before stopping, staring at it like it had personally offended him. The thought of eating made his stomach churn, and not because of the questionable food truck he'd gotten it from. No, it was something else entirely. He sighed and set it down next to him, leaning back on his hands.

"Alright, Wade," he muttered to himself, "time to face the music. What's eating you?" He blinked, cringing as his own words triggered a flood of unwanted memories. "Poor choice of words, buddy."

He couldn't stop his mind from wandering back to that moment. The harrowing experience that he'd been desperately trying to laugh off, to shrug away as just another Tuesday in his messed-up life. But no matter how hard he tried, the memory lingered, sharp and vivid, like the scar tissue left behind by Apex's tendrils.

He could still feel it, those red-and-black viral appendages coiling around him, pinning him to the wall like a butterfly in a collector's case. One had speared straight through his gut, twisting and writhing as it shredded his insides with agonizing precision. The other tendril had slithered down his throat, choking him, invading him, consuming him. Slowly. Methodically. Like Apex had all the time in the world to break him down, piece by piece, organ by organ.

Deadpool shuddered, wrapping his arms around himself. He was used to pain, hell, he thrived on it, but that? That was different. That wasn't just physical; it was something deeper, something primal. He'd felt powerless, violated, like he was staring into the abyss and the abyss was staring back… and laughing.

He glanced down at his torso, where his costume still bore faint scorch marks from the encounter. His healing factor had taken care of the worst of it, but the phantom sensations remained. The creeping, crawling feeling of Apex's tendrils tearing through him. The sound of his own heartbeat growing fainter as his body tried, and failed, to fight back.

And that grin. That smug, detached grin that Apex had worn the entire time. Like it was all a game, and Wade was just a particularly amusing piece on the board.

"Jesus," Wade muttered, running a hand over his masked face. "Get a grip, Wilson. You're Deadpool, remember? Merc with a Mouth, unkillable badass, king of bad jokes and questionable life choices. You don't get freaked out by viral nightmare monsters with Peter Parker's face."

Except he did. And it wasn't just the memory of what Apex had done to him, it was the knowledge that Apex could do it again. Anytime. Anywhere. And there wasn't a damn thing Wade could do to stop him.

He shook his head, trying to chase away the paranoia creeping up his spine. "C'mon, man, it's not like he's out there right now, hunting you down or anything. He's got bigger fish to fry. You're small potatoes. Hell, you're not even on the menu anymore. Probably."

But the thought didn't comfort him. If anything, it made the knot in his stomach tighten. Apex wasn't just some random bad guy Wade could stab, shoot, or blow up. He was something else entirely, something smarter, faster, stronger. Something hungry.

Wade glanced down at the chimichanga again, suddenly feeling sick. He shoved it off the edge of the rooftop, watching it splat on the pavement below. "Lost my appetite," he muttered.

For the first time in as long as he could remember, Deadpool felt... vulnerable. Exposed. Like no amount of jokes or quips or fourth-wall-breaking shenanigans could save him if Apex decided to come back for round two. And that realization, more than the pain, more than the humiliation, was what truly unsettled him.

He stood up, adjusting his katanas as he prepared to leave. "Note to self: stay out of Apex's way," he muttered. "Let the big guys handle that one. I'm just the comic relief, right? Right."

But even as he swung away into the night, the nagging paranoia lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind. Because deep down, Wade knew the truth: Apex didn't just haunt his nightmares. Apex was his nightmare. And no amount of humor could change that.

…

Wade Wilson swung through the city, his usual banter subdued as the events of the past few days weighed on him. But his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden explosion that rocked the air. The sound was deafening, and a fiery plume erupted from a high-rise apartment building just ahead.

His heart sank when he recognized it. Aunt May's building.

"Holy-!" Wade started, but his words were cut off by the blaring of sirens in the distance. He swung closer, the chaos of smoke, flames, and shouting residents filling his senses. Firefighters and paramedics were already rushing into the building, their expressions grim as they prepared for the worst.

On the ground, a stretcher emerged from the smoke-filled lobby, paramedics carefully carrying Aunt May. Her frail body was bruised, blood staining her side as an oxygen mask covered her face. Beside her, Rachel Summers gripped her arm tightly, blood dripping from a gash on her head. Gwen Stacy stumbled after them, her face pale and her eyes wide with horror.

Wade dropped to the ground, watching in stunned silence as Peter, or Apex, appeared out of nowhere, his viral tendrils coiling protectively around Aunt May's stretcher. Peter's expression was unlike anything Wade had ever seen before: a deadly calm masking a storm of fury beneath.

Peter stayed by Aunt May's side as she was loaded into the ambulance, his red eyes glowing faintly. He gently brushed her hair back, murmuring something too soft for anyone to hear. But as soon as the ambulance doors closed, his demeanor changed. He straightened, his glowing eyes scanning the crowd that had partially formed around the scene.

A deathly silence fell over the street as Apex turned. His gaze was sharp, his posture predatory as his tendrils rippled like restless shadows around him. The crowd instinctively stepped back, a collective unease sweeping through them.

And then, he saw him.

Hellion.

Peter's gaze locked onto the mutant, whose face twisted into a sneer, but it was short-lived. Hellion froze as Apex began stalking toward him, his movements deliberate and terrifyingly calm. Before anyone could react, Peter reached out, grabbing Hellion by the collar and slamming him into the wall with a sickening crack. The impact left a crater in the brickwork, and Hellion winced in pain as Peter's tendrils coiled around his body like a cage.

"What. Did. You. Do?!" Peter roared, his voice reverberating with a guttural, inhuman edge. The sound was enough to make the nearby onlookers scatter, their fear more than apparent at this point.

Hellion coughed, his bravado faltering under the weight of Peter's fury. "I-I didn't—"

"Don't lie to me!" Peter bellowed, his glowing red eyes narrowing. His tendrils tightened, making Hellion gasp for air. "You fired that missile! You tried to kill her!"

Hellion's mouth opened to protest, but before he could speak, Rachel's voice rang out behind them, sharp and full of realization. "Peter! Wait!"

Peter didn't loosen his grip but turned his head slightly toward her. Rachel was staring at Hellion's hand, her eyes widening as she stepped closer. "He's holding a control mechanism. It's the kind that operates a missile via radio frequency."

The color drained from Gwen's face as she looked at the device in Hellion's hand. "You're telling me... he fired that at Aunt May's apartment?"

Hellion's face twisted in panic as Rachel snatched the device from his trembling hand. She held it up, her voice shaking with barely controlled rage. "He's the one, Peter. He fired the missile."

Peter's expression darkened further, his tendrils constricting around Hellion with a sickening creak of bone and armor. "You." His voice was a low, venomous growl, the calm before an inevitable storm. "You tried to kill her. You put her in that ambulance. Why?"

Hellion stammered, sweat pouring down his face. "I-I was trying to send a message! She's your weak link! I thought-!"

Peter's face turned deathly still as Hellion's stammered excuse hung in the air. The faint glow of his crimson eyes burned brighter, casting eerie shadows across his features. His scowl deepened, his lips parting slightly to reveal the jagged, sharp teeth hidden behind them. For a long, excruciating moment, he said nothing, letting the weight of his silence press down on everyone around him.

Then, with a voice so low it felt like a death knell, he spoke. "I'm going to eat you now."

Hellion froze, his face draining of all color as Peter leaned closer, his tone chillingly casual. "Goodbye, Hellion."

Without waiting for a response, Peter slammed him into the pavement with a sickening crunch, the force cracking the ground beneath them. Hellion cried out in pain, but it was short-lived. Tendrils erupted from Peter's arms and back like a grotesque explosion, their movements impossibly fast and precise as they coiled around Hellion's limbs, torso, and head. The writhing appendages acted with terrifying intent, catching every droplet of blood that escaped Hellion's battered body as Peter brought him down again—harder this time.

The pavement cracked further, forming a small crater as Peter raised Hellion again, his tendrils pulling him like a marionette. Hellion's attempts to struggle were futile, his arms and legs pinned as Peter slammed him down once more, the impact echoing through the street. Each strike was deliberate, brutal, and merciless, the ground beneath them trembling with every blow.

The tendrils tightened their grip, slithering across Hellion's body, tearing at flesh and consuming it piece by agonizing piece. Hellion's screams were muffled as a mass of tendrils wrapped around his face, silencing him completely. The organic appendages pulsed and rippled as they worked, breaking him down cell by cell.

Rachel and Gwen could only watch in stunned horror, frozen in place as Peter's relentless assault continued. The streetlights flickered, their light reflecting off the slick, black tendrils as they devoured Hellion's body. His blood, his bones, even the faintest trace of his existence was consumed, absorbed into Peter's viral form. Every last piece of him vanished into the writhing mass of tendrils.

By the time Peter stood, the air was silent, save for the faint crackle of the damaged pavement beneath his feet. The crater left behind was small but deep, a haunting reminder of what had just transpired. The tendrils slowly retracted into Peter's body, leaving his arms and back clear once more. His glowing eyes scanned the area, lingering for a moment on Rachel and Gwen.

Peter tilted his head slightly, his jagged smile returning as he spoke, his voice eerily calm. "Weak link, huh?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "Not anymore."

Rachel, her hands trembling, took a step forward, her voice barely being heard by herself. "Peter... what did you just do?"

Peter turned to her fully, his expression unreadable. "I dealt with a real bad dude," he said simply. "And now, he's gone."

Gwen took a shaky step back, her voice trembling. "Gone? You... you didn't just kill him, Peter. You... you consumed him."

Peter's smile faded slightly, his tone cold and detached. "He made his choice. I made mine."

Without another word, Peter turned away, his tendrils rippling faintly beneath his hoodie as he stalked off into the night, leaving Rachel and Gwen to stare at the empty crater in stunned silence. The faint echoes of sirens in the distance were the only sound, a chilling reminder of the destruction that had just unfolded.

…

Nick Fury stood at the head of the room, his face grim and his one good eye staring down at the group of mutants gathered before him. Jean Grey, Logan, Scott Summers, Storm, Magneto, and Kurt Wagner had been called in under the highest level of urgency. The tension in the room was only growing , the air heavy with unspoken questions as Fury paced in front of them, a file in hand.

When he finally spoke, his voice was sharp, cutting through the silence like a blade. "I'm not going to mince words with you," Fury began, his tone clipped and unyielding. "You all know why you're here. Hellion is dead. And he's dead because one of your own, one of Krakoa's, took it upon himself to do something so reckless, so stupid, that it cost him his life. And it almost cost the life of someone else."

Jean's eyes suddenly felt like dinnerplates, her hands trembling slightly. "Hellion is dead? What are you talking about? What happened?"

Fury slammed the file down on the table, opening it to reveal damning photos: images of Aunt May's ruined apartment building, the missile's debris, and the crater where Hellion had met his grisly fate. "He fired a missile," Fury said bluntly, his voice growing colder with each word. "At an apartment building. At an apartment where Peter Parker's aunt lives. That missile damn near killed her, she's in critical condition as we speak, fighting for her life."

Storm's eyes widened, her usually serene expression cracking under the weight of the revelation. "Hellion... did that? He fired a missile at an innocent woman's home?"

Fury pointed at her sharply. "Yes. He did. And he had the control device in his hand when Apex, Peter, found him. You see, Parker isn't the same man you all used to know. He's a walking viral entity now, a hive mind that's trying its best to keep itself together. But even he has limits."

Logan growled low in his throat, his claws itching to unsheathe. "What the hell does that mean, Fury? Just spit it out."

Fury leaned forward, his gaze hard as steel. "It means Apex didn't kill Hellion. He ate him. Consumed him. Tore him apart with his tendrils, absorbed him down to the last molecule. There's nothing left of him, not even a trace of DNA."

The room fell silent, the weight of Fury's words sinking in. Kurt lowered his head, his face a mask of sorrow. "Mein Gott... Julian. He was one of ours."

"And he's dead because you couldn't control him," Fury snapped, his anger barely restrained. "You let a kid with a grudge and a superiority complex run loose, and he decided to take a shot at Apex by going after his weakest link, an old woman. Do you have any idea how monumentally stupid that was? How dangerous?"

Magneto's expression was unreadable, his piercing gaze fixed on Fury. "You blame us, Director. But tell me, what did you do to contain Apex? To prevent this escalation?"

Fury turned on Magneto, his voice rising. "Don't you dare try to shift the blame, Erik! This isn't about containment, it's about responsibility. Hellion was your responsibility! He was part of your society, your utopia! And instead of reining him in, you let him roam free with a missile launcher and a death wish!"

Scott stepped forward, his voice tight with barely contained anger. "You think we wanted this? You think any of us would condone something like this? Hellion was reckless, yes, but he didn't deserve-."

"He didn't deserve what?!" Fury cut him off, his voice cold. "To be eaten alive?! Maybe not! But Apex didn't fire that missile. Apex didn't try to kill an innocent woman. Hellion did. And now he's paid the price for his actions. That blood is on all of your hands."

Jean's voice broke through, trembling . "What about Aunt May? You said she's in critical condition... is she going to be okay?"

Fury sighed heavily, his expression softening just slightly. "She's stable for now, but it's touch and go. She's tougher than she looks, but this..." He gestured to the photos again. "This wasn't just an accident. It was a deliberate attack, and she might not survive it."

Storm closed her eyes, her hands clenched into fists. "This is a tragedy. Hellion's actions were unforgivable, but this... this is beyond anything we could have imagined."

Fury's gaze swept across the group, his tone unrelenting. "You need to clean up your mess. Because Apex isn't going to forget this. He's not going to let it go. Right now, he's focused on Aunt May, but if anything happens to her... if she doesn't make it..." He let the words hang in the air, the unspoken threat clear.

Logan stood abruptly, his claws extending with a snikt. "If you think we're gonna let this go unaddressed, you're wrong. Hellion screwed up, big time, but this thing with Parker? It's spiraling outta control. We need to stop this before it gets worse."

Nick Fury's phone buzzed on the table, cutting through the tense silence in the room. He glanced at the screen and saw Maria Hill's name. His stomach sank—calls like this were never good.

"Talk to me, Hill," Fury said, answering the call as he paced to the side of the room.

Hill's voice was grave, her words clipped with urgency. "Director... it's bad. Aunt May's condition just worsened. She had to be resuscitated—her heart stopped. They've put her on life support."

Fury's jaw clenched, his hand tightening around the phone. "Damn it."

"There's more," Hill added. Her voice dropped slightly, almost as if she didn't want to say the next part. "Peter's here. At the hospital. He knows."

Fury's entire body tensed. "What do you mean, 'he knows'?"

Hill paused before continuing. "He wants to speak to you... and he specifically asked for it to be on speaker phone. He said everyone in that room needed to hear what he has to say."

Fury's eye flicked toward the gathered mutants, who were watching him with varying expressions of worry and suspicion. "This day just keeps getting better," he muttered under his breath. He took a deep breath and tapped the speakerphone button. "You're on, Parker."

The line crackled for a moment before a voice came through. It was calm, almost unnervingly so, but there was an edge of icy fury beneath the surface. "Scott. Jean. Logan. Kurt. Magneto. Storm." Peter—or Apex—spoke slowly, deliberately, ensuring every word carried its weight.

The gathered group exchanged uneasy glances, their names hanging heavy in the air.

Peter continued, his voice dropping to an almost guttural calm. "I want you to know... I'm coming for your island. And I'm coming for you."

The phone went dead, the finality of the click sending a chill through the room.

Logan was the first to break the silence, his claws extending with a sharp snikt. "The hell does that mean? He's comin' for us? For Krakoa?"

Jean's face had gone pale, her hand clutching the edge of the table. "He's serious!? He's going to war?!"

Scott crossed his arms, his face a mask of worry. "It's more than that. He's not just angry—he's methodical. He's planning something."

Magneto, ever composed, leaned forward, his gaze sharp and calculating. "He's not merely planning. He's declaring war."

Storm shook her head, her voice trembling slightly. "This isn't just about Hellion anymore. This is about what he's becoming. What we've let him become."

Fury slammed his fist on the table, silencing the room. "You all better figure out what the hell you're gonna do about it. Because if Apex comes for Krakoa... no one's gonna be able to stop him. Not you, not me, not anyone."Bottom of Form

…

On the idyllic island of Krakoa, the air carried a sense of unease that had been growing in recent weeks. Irene Adler, also known as Destiny, sat in a quiet corner of the council chamber, her milky-white eyes staring into a void that only she could see. Her usually serene demeanor was gone, replaced by a trembling hand clutching the edge of the table.

Mystique, standing nearby, immediately noticed her wife's sudden stiffness. "Irene?" she asked cautiously, stepping closer. "What is it? What do you see?"

Irene didn't respond right away. Her breathing was shallow, and her other hand pressed against her chest as if she were trying to steady her racing heart. Mystique crouched beside her, her sharp gaze narrowing with concern. "Irene," she repeated, her tone was clearer now. "Talk to me."

Finally, Irene took a shaky breath, her voice was strained. "We need to leave. Now."

Mystique blinked, caught off guard by the sheer fear in Irene's voice. "Leave? Leave where? What are you talking about?"

Irene turned her sightless eyes toward Mystique, her expression grim. "Krakoa. We need to leave Krakoa. All of us. As many mutants as we can gather. It's... it's bad, Raven. Real bad."

Mystique raised an eyebrow , her usual sharpness softening slightly at the genuine terror radiating from Irene. "What do you mean 'bad'? What's coming?"

Irene's hand reached out, clutching Mystique's arm. "He's coming," she said, her voice shaking. "Apex. Peter. Whatever he's become, it's not just him anymore. It's the storm he's bringing with him. The destruction. The reckoning. If we stay here, Raven, there won't be anything left of Krakoa."

Mystique's jaw tightened, her mind racing. She knew better than to question Irene's visions, but the idea of abandoning Krakoa, the mutant haven they had fought so hard for, felt impossible. "You're sure?" she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Irene nodded solemnly. "I've seen it. The fires. The screams. The tendrils. Nothing can stop him. He's not coming to negotiate. He's coming to make us pay."

Mystique stood, her expression hardening. She turned to the council chamber doors, her voice cold and commanding. "Then we don't have time to waste. We're evacuating as many as we can, as fast as we can. If what you're saying is true, Irene, we've got a fight we can't win."

Irene remained seated, her hands still trembling as she whispered to herself, "It's already too late for some of us."

…

Later that day, the council members chambers of Krakoa was in turmoil, the kind that weighed heavy on every shoulder and made the walls seem closer than they were. Irene Adler, Destiny, sat at the head of the table, her fingers interlocked and her gaze vacant, lost in the myriad futures she had seen. Around her, the Quiet Council was anything but quiet.

Xavier's voice rang out, in spite of being on everyone's notice due to his past actions. "Abandoning Krakoa is not an option. This is our sanctuary, the pinnacle of what we've built together. Running away now would unravel everything."

Exodus nodded in agreement, his tone full of righteous conviction. "Fleeing would be a betrayal of our ideals. We've faced extinction before, and we've risen above it every time. Why should this be any different?"

Sebastian Shaw leaned back in his chair, a smug grin playing across his lips. "If some of us want to run, let them. More power for those who stay and prove their worth."

Emma Frost rolled her eyes, her tone icy. "This isn't about worth, Shaw. This is about survival. Do you even hear yourselves? This isn't an external threat we can bargain with or fight off. It's Apex. And he doesn't care about our ideals or your precious power struggles."

Kitty Pryde slammed her hand on the table, her face flushed with anger. "She's right! We've seen what Apex is capable of, what Peter has become. He's not the Spider-Man we used to know. He's something else entirely, and staying here makes us sitting ducks!"

The arguments escalated, voices clashing in a cacophony of fear, denial, and desperation. Logan stood in the corner, his arms crossed, his expression grim as he exchanged a glance with Jean Grey. Magneto sat silently, his eyes locked on Xavier, his jaw tight with frustration.

"Enough!" Irene's voice cut through the noise like a blade, sharp and commanding. She stood abruptly, her movements decisive and deliberate. The room fell silent as every eye turned to her.

"I'm done," she said, her tone quiet but filled with finality. "I hereby wash my hands clean of Krakoa and the folly that has consumed it."

Xavier's eyes widened, his voice soft with disbelief. "Irene... you can't mean that."

"I do," she snapped, turning her unseeing gaze toward him. "You, Charles, have led us down this path. You've preached unity while sowing division. You've built a haven that is now a gilded cage. And because of your hubris, because of all our hubris, mutant-kind has lost its credibility."

Her words echoed like a death knell, cutting deeper than any weapon. She turned her head slightly, as if scanning the room despite her blindness.

"I've seen it," she continued, her voice trembling slightly. "In every future that stems from this moment, we fade into obscurity. And if we're not careful, we'll all be on the menu for Apex. That thing that wears Peter Parker's face... it is not a man. It is hunger. Endless, insatiable hunger. And almost everyone in this room loses someone to it. Consumed. Mind, body, and soul."

A shiver ran through the council as her words sank in. Even Exodus, unyielding in his faith, seemed momentarily shaken. Magneto's hands tightened into fists, his helmeted head bowing slightly as he processed the gravity of her prophecy.

Logan stepped forward, his gravelly voice breaking the silence. "Irene... what do you want us to do?"

Irene turned to him, her face softening. "I've told you what I see. The choice is yours. But mark my words: staying here will only end in devastation."

Jean reached out telepathically, brushing against Irene's thoughts. What she saw made her gasp audibly, her hand flying to her mouth. "She's right," Jean said. "If we stay... we're not just risking Krakoa. We're risking our lives."

Irene turned away from the table, her voice echoing one last time as she moved toward the exit. "You can stay and fight, or you can leave and survive. But whatever you choose, know this: Apex is coming. And when he does, he will not stop until he's taken everything."

The door closed behind her, leaving the Quiet Council in stunned silence, the weight of her prophecy pressing down on them like an iron shroud."

The atmosphere on Krakoa was somber, the once vibrant and bustling haven now eerily quiet. The massive population that had called the island home, nearly a quarter million mutants—had dwindled to a mere sixty. The exodus had started with whispers of doubt but had turned into a flood as the truth about Krakoa unraveled. The lies surrounding resurrection, Sinister's betrayals, and the devastating revelation of his planted bombs in their minds were the final straws.

An hour after Irene Adler and Mystique had departed, the full scope of the abandonment became clear. The lush greenery and organic structures stood as haunting reminders of what Krakoa had once been: a sanctuary, a dream, a symbol of unity. But now, it was a shell of its former self.

Logan stood at the edge of one of the many natural bridges, staring out at the ocean with a cigarette between his fingers. Behind him, Jean Grey, Magneto, and a few remaining members of the Quiet Council were gathered, their faces etched with varying degrees of guilt, sorrow, and anger. The silence was suffocating.

"They're all gone," Logan muttered, exhaling a plume of smoke. "Fled, scattered. Hell, can't blame 'em after everything that's come to light."

Jean crossed her armsBottom of Form. "It's not just the lies, Logan. It's the fear. Apex... Peter... whatever he's become. They know he's coming. Irene was right, there's no saving this place now."

Magneto's helmet gleamed faintly in the dim light, his posture rigid. "Krakoa was built on trust, and that trust has been shattered. Without it, we are nothing. We have failed."

From the shadows, Exodus spoke, his voice filled with stubborn defiance. "They are cowards, all of them. Running from what they should stand and fight against. Apex is not a god—he can be defeated."

Kitty Pryde turned sharply toward him, her face flushed with anger. "Defeated? You think this is about just one fight? Open your eyes, Exodus. This isn't about one battle. This is about survival, and we're losing on every front."

The few remaining mutants who hadn't joined the discussion were quietly packing their belongings, their movements mechanical. The air of defeat was written all over their postures.

At the transport bay, Irene and Mystique stood side by side, their presence commanding but tinged with weariness. Irene's blind gaze scanned the horizon, as if seeing a future no one else could comprehend. Mystique, ever composed, addressed the few gathered to see them off.

"Krakoa has failed," Mystique said bluntly, her voice carrying across the space. "We will not sugarcoat it. But failure doesn't mean the end. Irene and I are leaving, and we will work with SHIELD to salvage what little credibility mutants have left. For those who choose to stay, I hope you understand the weight of what's coming."

Irene's voice was quieter, almost mournful. "The future isn't set, but I've seen enough to know this: those who cling to this island are clinging to a grave. I urge you to think carefully about where you place your hope."

The transport hummed to life as they boarded, their departure a final symbol of Krakoa's collapse. Watching them leave, Jean felt a pang of sorrow so deep it left her breathless. "They're right," she said softly. "This is the end."

…

The tension on Krakoa was suffocating. The remaining mutants gathered in small clusters, their expressions grim as they silently braced for whatever was coming. The air was unnaturally still, the island's usual vibrancy replaced with an oppressive quiet that gnawed at their nerves.

And then... it wasn't quiet anymore.

A sound echoed from the shore, a low, wet sloshing through the waves of water parting. Those who looked toward the water froze in place as a figure emerged from the ocean, his slow, deliberate steps crunching against the sand. Apex, Peter Parker, rose from the depths, his hoodie and the rest of him surprisingly dry since it technically was the same viral material as the rest of him, his crimson-tinged eyes glowing faintly against the twilight. He looked like a wraith, a creature of vengeance forged from rage and viral power.

His expression was cold, a mask of calm fury as his blade-like arms extended with a grotesque slither into the familiar form of a jagged giant combat knife that went down to his feet and the point that curved backwards at the elbow up to the shoulder. The jagged edges gleamed menacingly, their red and black tendrils writhing with latent energy.

"So," Apex said, his voice echoing unnaturally, carrying across the silent crowd. "Who wants to get eviscerated first?"

Jean Grey's heart stopped. She stared at him, her mind racing as she tried to process what she was seeing. Her telepathic senses recoiled at the chaos emanating from his thoughts, countless voices, fragments of memories, Hellions, Victor Creed's, Wade Wilson's, a bit of Lady Deathstrike's, and at least forty hitmen and assassins that were already messed up in the head not to mention five more that were pretty recent, all of which were of various backgrounds, with finally Peter-Parker's personality at the core, mean, pissed off, and aggressive with an insatiable hunger at its core hardwired into it, and a storm of unfathomable rage all saying the same thing, thinking the same things, retribution. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, as Apex's gaze locked onto hers.

"Jean," he said slowly, his tone dripping with feigned warmth. He took a step closer, the ground beneath his feet cracking slightly under the weight of his presence. "It's been a while. How's life treating you? Oh, wait... I already know."

Before Jean could react, Logan roared, charging at Apex with his claws extended. "Back off, Parker!"

Apex didn't even flinch. With a casual motion, he caught Logan mid-leap, one tendril wrapping around his torso like a vice. With a flick of his arm, he hurled Logan into a nearby tree, the impact splintering the trunk as Logan's body crumpled to the ground.

"Logan," Apex said, his tone almost playful. "You really should know better by now."

Logan groaned, shaking off the impact and lunging again. Apex sidestepped effortlessly, grabbing Logan by the face and slamming him into a boulder with a sickening crack. The force rattled Logan's brain, leaving him momentarily dazed.

The other mutants sprang into action, launching attacks from all sides. Magneto hurled chunks of metal, Storm summoned lightning, and Scott's optic blasts tore through the air. But Apex ignored them all, his tendrils deflecting the attacks with ease. He leapt upward, his movements fluid and precise, landing inside the Council Chambers sixty feet away.

Logan, bruised but relentless, charged after him, claws glinting in the dim light. Apex turned slowly, his crimson eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

"It's fascinating," Apex said, his voice calm and reflective. He gestured to the room around them with his blade-like arms. "How you cling to power. This island, your council, your so-called unity. But you yourself..." He stepped closer to Logan, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "You're powerless. Aren't you, clone of Logan?"

Logan snarled, his rage boiling over. "Shut your mouth!" he roared, lunging again with everything he had.

Apex smirked, sidestepping the attack effortlessly. His tendrils snapped out, grabbing Logan mid-air and slamming him into the ground. "You're predictable," Apex said, his tone dripping with condescension. "But I'll admit... you're entertaining."

The remaining mutants stood frozen, horrified by the brutal display. Jean's hands trembled as she reached out telepathically, trying desperately to find a shred of the Peter Parker they once knew. But all she found was chaos, a storm of rage and sorrow that drowned out everything else.

As Apex loomed over Logan, his blade arms retracting slightly, he tilted his head. "I'm not here to kill you," he said, his voice almost contemplative. "Not yet, anyway. But I want you to remember this moment. I want all of you to remember what happens when you underestimate me."

Logan growled, struggling to his feet, his claws at the ready. "You're not gettin' away with this, Parker!"

Apex grinned, his tendrils slithering ominously as he turned toward the others. "Oh, I'm counting on it," he said, his voice dripping with dark amusement.

…

Minutes later…

The tension on Krakoa grew with every passing minute. The once vibrant island now echoed with the sounds of the defeated: grunts of effort, groans of pain, and the occasional scream as Apex systematically restrained every mutant on the island. Each one was hoisted into the air by tendrils that extended from his back, their glowing red-and-black mass writhing with eerie precision.

10 Minutes In…

Apex moved like a specter, his tendrils snatching mutants mid-attack and hoisting them into the air with humiliating ease. Magneto's helmet clattered to the ground as Apex yanked it off with a casual flick, binding the master of magnetism with coils of viral material. Storm summoned lightning, but Apex's tendrils absorbed the energy, redirecting it harmlessly into the ground.

Logan lunged again and again, only to be swatted aside like an insect. "C'mon, Logan," Apex said mockingly, his tone dripping with amusement. "I thought you'd be more creative by now."

20 Minutes In…

The Council Chambers were a mess, their grand table overturned, chairs shattered. Apex perched lazily on the ruined remains of the council table, watching as the mutants scrambled to free themselves from his viral restraints. He barely exerted any effort as he bound Jean Grey, Scott Summers, and even Magneto, securing them in an embarrassingly effortless display.

"Still trying?" Apex asked, his tone mocking. "You're just making it easier for me to keep score."

30 Minutes In…

By now, the mutants were exhausted. Apex stood in front of the tree-face of Krakoa itself, the restrained mutants arranged in a semicircle, propped up by tendrils that connected to Apex's back. The viral extensions pulsed ominously, their faint glow illuminating the clearing slightly.

"I don't want you to miss the show," Apex said, his voice calm but menacing. "It's a moment of reckoning, after all."

1 Hour In…

Apex had Sebastian Shaw pinned to the ground, forcing the proud mutant to kneel as he addressed the others. "Sebastian here thought he could keep his head down and ride this out when he tried escaping through the gate," Apex said with a slight menace to his voice. "But I've got something special planned."

Shaw snarled but said nothing, his arrogance replaced with barely-contained terror. Apex leaned in, his glowing eyes inches from Shaw's face. "You're going to see things a little differently from now on."

With horrifying precision, Apex extended a tendril tipped with jagged claws, gouging out both of Shaw's eyes. Shaw's screams echoed across the clearing, silenced only when Apex shoved a tendril over his mouth.

2 Hours In…

Exodus, restrained but still defiant, shouted at Apex. "You think you're a god, monster?! Go fuck yourself!"

Apex tilted his head, his expression unreadable. "Oh, Exodus... I'm no god, and you shouldn't have said that."

He turned to the massive tree-face of Krakoa, raking his claws across its surface. Splinters and bark rained down as Apex tore off a jagged chunk of wood from a branch. Without a word, he turned back to Exodus and impaled him on the branch, driving it upward through his torso. Exodus let out a startled yelp, forced to stand in place as the wood held him upright.

"Let's see how holy you feel now with your miracle plants," Apex said coldly.

3 Hours In…

Apex moved to Charles Xavier, who remained bound but tried to maintain a composed demeanor. "You," Apex said, his tone dripping with disdain. "You're the one who started all this. Your lies, your schemes... you've brought nothing but ruin, not that I have any qualms of what I'm about to do, which is why, I'm going to enjoy this."

Xavier tried to speak, but Apex silenced him with a tendril. "No more speeches, Charles. Just consequences."

With horrifying precision, Apex tore off Xavier's legs, the sickening sound of bone and sinew snapping echoing through the clearing. Xavier's scream was cut short as he collapsed, blood pooling beneath him. Apex leaned in close. "Now you'll remember the humility you once had."

Finally, Apex turned to Krakoa itself. The tree-face loomed over him, its ancient presence now a symbol of a failed nation. Apex's arm shifted, morphing into a massive axe blade that glinted menacingly in the dim light.

"Timberrrrr!", Apex said with mock enthusiasm, bringing the axe down in a brutal swing. The first strike sent cracks rippling through the ancient bark. With each successive blow, the tree groaned and splintered, until finally, with a thunderous crash, Krakoa's face toppled, falling to the ground in a heap.

Apex stood over the fallen tree, his tendrils retracting as he surveyed his work. "And that," he said calmly, "is how you bring a nation to its knees."

…

Kurt Wagner, Nightcrawler, struggled against the viral tendrils that held him tight. His muscles strained, but the organic bonds didn't budge, constricting him like unyielding iron. He tried to teleport, his usual escape from dire situations, but the tendrils emitted a faint, pulsing energy that disrupted his abilities. He could barely move, and even his voice was a strangled whisper.

His golden eyes were wide with horror as he watched the scene unfold. The sight of Exodus impaled on the jagged branch, his once-arrogant demeanor replaced by raw agony, made Kurt's stomach churn. He looked away but couldn't avoid the sound of Xavier's screams as Apex tore his legs off, the sickening crunch of bone and sinew reverberating in his ears.

"Mein Gott," Kurt whispered, his voice trembling. "This is... this is madness..."

Apex turned briefly, his glowing red eyes catching Kurt's, as if sensing his despair. For a moment, the viral entity paused, tilting his head as if contemplating something. Kurt felt his heart seize, a cold dread creeping through his body as Apex's gaze lingered.

"You're quiet," Apex said, his voice calm, almost curious. "No clever quips? No desperate prayers? I expected more from the priest."

Kurt swallowed hard, trying to summon his courage. "Peter..." he managed, his voice barely audible. "This isn't who you are. You-."

Apex cut him off with a sharp laugh, the sound echoing through the clearing. "Who I am?" he repeated mockingly. "That's funny coming from you, Kurt. Tell me, who are you? The swashbuckling hero? The devout man of faith? Or just another pawn in Xavier's little game?"

Kurt flinched at the words, his mind racing as he tried to reconcile the Peter Parker he once knew with the monstrous entity standing before him. His heart ached, not just for the atrocities being committed but for the realization that the friend they had lost might truly be gone.

"This isn't about me," Kurt said quietly, his voice trembling but steady. "It's about what you're becoming."

Apex's glowing crimson eyes narrowed, his tendrils shifting ominously as Kurt's words hung in the air. For a moment, the viral entity stood still, the silence between them oppressive, broken only by the faint rustle of the writhing organic matter that composed his body.

Suddenly, Peter, or what was left of him, spoke, his voice cold and sharp, carrying an edge of unrestrained fury. "Tell me, Kurt," he began, his tone deceptively calm, "how could I possibly 'not' be angry?"

Kurt opened his mouth to respond, but Peter didn't let him.

"Hellion," Apex spat, the name dripping with venom. "He fired a goddamn missile into my aunt's apartment. My aunt! The one person who stood by me, no matter what! He nearly killed her! Do you know where she is now?! She's lying in a damned hospital bed, hooked up to machines after they had to stop the bleeding, fighting for her life after what was supposed to be a peaceful dinner amongst the chaos of our lives!"

Apex's tendrils tightened around the mutants they held like thick iron bars, the viral matter pulsing with a sinister rhythm. Kurt winced as the pressure increased slightly, his breathing growing more labored.

"And you-." Apex turned his gaze back to Kurt, his jagged teeth glinting faintly as he bared them in a snarl. "You want to tell me about faith? About redemption? About what I'm becoming when your 'people', keep doing this shit time and time again, thinking your so much more, 'Superior'!?"

Kurt tried to summon a response, anything to diffuse the escalating tension, but Peter's voice rose, drowning him out.

"I 'am' angry!", Apex roared, his voice echoing through the clearing. "And I have every right to be! That little coward put her in the line of fire just to get to me. He made his choice, and he paid for it."

He leaned closer to Kurt, his glowing eyes boring into him. "So tell me, priest, if someone took everything from you like they've just done to me, everything that mattered, and left it bleeding out in a hospital bed, what would 'you' do?"

Kurt's heart raced, his mind spinning as he struggled to reconcile the raging entity before him with the Peter Parker he once knew but deep down he knew, they brought this on themselves, they pushed him time and time again. "Peter," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Revenge won't bring her back. It won't-."

"Spare me the sermon," Apex interrupted, his voice a low growl. "This isn't about revenge. This is about justice. It's about making sure no one else ever dares to cross that line again from this shithole island."

He straightened, his tendrils slackening slightly, though the tension in the air remained suffocating. "You can keep your moral high ground, Kurt. I don't need it. Because unlike the rest of you, I don't hide behind excuses and lies in this new state I've found myself in."

Apex's glowing red eyes surveyed the scene, his jagged blade-arms retracting slowly as the viral tendrils coiled back into his body with an unsettling slither. The restrained mutants trembled, their expressions a mixture of fear, despair, and disbelief.

"As much as I would just love to continue," Apex began, his voice eerily calm, almost casual, "I've made my point."

He turned slowly, his gaze sweeping over the subdued mutants and the remnants of Krakoa's council. His smirk returned, cold and detached. "I've got places to be, things to do... so..." He paused, letting the silence hang for a moment before finishing, "Goodbye. And I pray that you don't provoke me again."

With that, Apex moved toward the nearest wall of the council chamber. Without breaking stride, he reared back and hurled himself forward, his body shifting mid-motion into a writhing mass of tendrils. The wall exploded outward as he tore through it, the sound of splintering wood and crumbling stone reverberating through the hollow silence of the island.

The restrained mutants watched in stunned silence as Apex disappeared into the forest, the crashing sound of trees snapping under his momentum echoing behind him. His form blurred through the undergrowth until he reached the island's edge. Without hesitation, Apex launched himself into the water, his body dissolving into a swarm of tendrils that darted through the waves like an otherworldly creature.

The mutants were left in a state of devastation. Jean Grey collapsed to her knees, her hands trembling as she tried to process the horror she had just witnessed. Logan's claws retracted as he leaned heavily against a shattered tree, his face pale and unreadable. Storm clenched her fists, tears streaking her face as the storm she had summoned earlier dissipated into the stillness.

The only sound came from Exodus, still impaled on the jagged branch, groaning weakly in pain as blood trickled down his armor. Magneto's shoulders slumped, his once-proud posture reduced to defeat. Kurt hung his head, his golden eyes filled with anguish.

"He's gone," Logan muttered, his voice rough and low. "For now."

"But at what cost?" Jean whispered, her voice breaking as she looked around at the ruins of Krakoa's council and the battered remains of her people. "What have we done?"

No one answered. The sobs of the remaining mutants and the faint sound of Exodus's ragged breaths filled the air as they were left to confront the weight of their failures. Krakoa had fallen, its last defenders broken, not by the world's enemies, but by a force they had unwittingly unleashed because they could not control their people. Apex was gone, heading back to New York, but his shadow loomed over the island, a haunting reminder of the full consequences of their actions.

…

The room was filled with analysts, operatives, and commanding officers all poring over the reports and video feeds coming in from Krakoa. A holographic projection of the island displayed its once-thriving ecosystem now marred with destruction, its central tree-face of Krakoa severed and toppled like a fallen monument.

Nick Fury stood at the head of the room, his expression grim as Agent Hill delivered the latest updates.

"Sebastian Shaw is blinded for life. Xavier's back in a wheelchair, his legs irreparably destroyed. Exodus... well, he's recovering from the impalement, but it's slow that tree branch went up to his gut… As for the island..." She paused, glancing at the hologram. "The biological connection between Krakoa's tree-face and the rest of the island has been severed for the time being. It's effectively dead, Director."

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "And Apex? Where is he now?"

Hill tapped on her tablet, pulling up a satellite feed. The image zoomed in on New York's skyline, where Apex had been tracked emerging from the water. He moved through the city with unsettling ease, blending into the crowd despite his towering presence.

"He's back in New York. No hostile actions so far, but..." Hill hesitated, her tone uneasy. "Director, this was more than just an attack. This was a message of the worst kind."

Fury's gaze snapped to her. "What kind of message?"

Hill took a deep breath. "He didn't just dismantle Krakoa's leadership—he humiliated them. He restrained their most powerful mutants like playthings, left them broken, and completely destroyed their central power symbol. It wasn't just an attack on their bodies, sir. It was psychological warfare. He made sure they knew they were powerless against him."

Fury stared at the hologram for a long moment before speaking. "And now the whole world knows it too. Every enemy Krakoa ever had is watching this and taking notes. Their so-called mutant paradise isn't just compromised, it's gone."

Another analyst chimed in nervously. "Director, should we be concerned about Apex turning his attention to us? This level of power, if he decides to escalate-?"

Fury cut him off with a raised hand. "He's not escalating, yet. Right now, he's focused on protecting his aunt. There's no need to pursue it."

One of the techs hesitated before speaking. "Sir, there's... something else. The footage from Krakoa, it's spreading online. Social media, news outlets, even underground networks. People are calling him unstoppable. A force of nature. Some are even..." She trailed off, unsure how to phrase it.

Fury braced himself, "Some are what?"

"They're calling him... a god. Or a devil. Depends on who you ask."

The room fell silent as Fury processed the weight of her words. His voice was low and steady when he finally spoke. "A god, huh? No. He's something worse."

The room tensed further as Fury continued. "We've just witnessed a full-scale humiliation of an entire nation, a mutant nation, no less. And he did it with surgical precision. Krakoa's leaders are broken, their credibility is gone, and their people are scattering like rats from a sinking ship. Apex didn't just defeat them; he dismantled everything they stood for."

Hill glanced at the reports in her hand. "And what about SHIELD, sir? How do we position ourselves in this?"

Fury's one eye locked onto her. "We don't. Not yet. Right now, Apex is showing us what happens when you cross him. Krakoa was a warning, not just to the mutants but to the whole damn world. We need to watch, learn, and for now, stay the hell out of his way."

The room buzzed with quiet murmurs as the weight of Fury's words settled over the team. The destruction of Krakoa was more than just a blow to the mutant nation—it was a chilling reminder of the power Apex wielded and the chaos he could unleash if provoked. Fury turned back to the hologram, his expression unreadable but his mind racing.

"Keep tabs on him," he ordered finally. "Track his every move. And pray to God—or whatever you believe in, that we never end up in his crosshairs."

…

Apex, or Peter Parker as he was once known, stepped quietly into Aunt May's hospital room. The steady beeping of the heart monitor and the soft hum of medical equipment filled the air. The warm glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the space.

SHIELD agents stood silently outside the door, their presence a constant reminder of the fragility of the peace that Peter's visit offered. Inside, a black cat with grey streaks curled at the foot of Aunt May's bed, its crimson eyes glowing faintly as it kept a vigilant watch. Nearby, the K9 dog with similarly glowing eyes sat alert by the door, its gaze scanning the room methodically. Both were extensions of Peter, silent guardians to ensure Aunt May was never alone.

Peter sank into the chair by the bedside, his movements heavy and deliberate. His crimson eyes dimmed slightly as he took in Aunt May's frail form, hooked up to machines that worked tirelessly to keep her alive. His hands trembled as he reached out to adjust the blanket covering her, his jagged tendrils retreating into his arms to avoid causing any harm.

The K9 dog padded over, its voice carrying Peter's familiar cadence as it spoke softly in peter's voice. "She's been asking about you. Well? The 'you', you… and not one of us who is… also, you"

The cat stretched, yawning before chiming in with a lighter tone also in peter's voice. "We've been keeping her company. Don't worry. She's in good hands."

Peter gave a faint nod, his throat tightening as he fought back the storm of emotions within him. He leaned forward, burying his face in his trembling hands. The weight of everything, Krakoa, Hellion, the destruction he had wrought, and the fragility of Aunt May's condition, threatened to overwhelm him. His shoulders shook as he tried to steady himself, the tendrils beneath his hoodie writhing faintly before settling into familiar skin.

Rachel Summers stood in the doorway, her telepathic senses brushing against the whirlwind of turmoil radiating from Peter. She hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should intrude, but the sight of his trembling form drew her forward. Quietly, she crossed the room and pulled up a chair next to him.

Rachel didn't say anything. She simply sat beside him, her presence steady and grounding. Slowly, she reached out and placed a gentle hand on his back, feeling the warmth radiating through his hoodie. She braced herself for the usual unease of his form shifting beneath her touch, but it didn't come. Instead, he remained still, letting her hand rest there as if drawing comfort from her presence.

Peter's voice broke the silence, muffled and raw. "I don't know if I'm helping her... or just making it worse. Everywhere I go... I bring destruction. And now she's paying for it."

Rachel didn't respond immediately. She simply rubbed small circles on his back, letting the steady motion speak where words couldn't. Finally, she whispered, "You're here, Peter. That's what matters. You're fighting for her, for the part of you that's still... you."

Peter's hands slowly lowered from his face, though he didn't look at her. "I'm not even sure what's left of me anymore," he admitted.

Rachel leaned closer, her voice soft. "You're here. You came back to her. That means there's still something left. Hold onto that."

The room settled into a calm quiet, the weight of Peter's anguish slightly eased by Rachel's presence. The K9 dog rested its head on Aunt May's bedside, and the cat purred softly, the quiet moments a fragile solace amidst the chaos.

…

The Fantastic Four sat in their headquarters' conference room, a mix of shock, disbelief, and unease written all over their faces.

Reed Richards leaned forward at the head of the table, poring over the latest reports from SHIELD. Beside him, Sue Storm rubbed her temples, trying to process the gravity of what she was reading. Ben Grimm stood with his arms crossed, his stony eyebrows raised in quite a shock, while Johnny Storm sat slumped in his chair, his jaw slightly agape as he reread one particular line.

"Wait, wait, wait," Johnny said, holding up a hand to halt the conversation. "You're telling me... he impaled Exodus on the butt with a tree branch? Like, actually impaled him?"

Ben let out a low whistle, shaking his head. "That's one way to take somebody down, but jeez, ain't that a bit much? Even for Parker?"

Reed sighed, his hands steepled in front of him as he stared at the holographic display of Krakoa's aftermath. "It's not just that, Johnny. Apex, Peter, didn't just attack Exodus. He systematically dismantled the mutant leadership. Impaling Exodus was only the beginning."

Johnny blinked again, leaning back in his chair. "Okay, but seriously, a tree branch? That's... creative, I guess? I mean, I knew Spidey could be a little brutal, but this?"

Sue finally spoke, her voice tense. "It's not creative, Johnny—it's horrifying. Do you even understand what this means? Peter isn't just angry; he's gone. Whatever humanity was left in him is... it's slipping away."

"Slipping?" Ben rumbled, his deep voice carrying a note of worry. "From what I'm readin', he's already gone over the edge. Taking Xavier's legs, gouging out Shaw's eyes, and chopping down that big ol' tree... He's sendin' a message, and it ain't a friendly one."

Johnny rubbed the back of his neck, still caught between disbelief and morbid fascination. "Yeah, but, like... why a tree branch? He could've used his tendrils or... I dunno, something more virus-y."

"Johnny, focus," Sue snapped, glaring at her brother. "This isn't a joke. People are dying. Mutants are fleeing Krakoa because they're terrified of him."

Reed finally looked up, his expression grave. "What concerns me most isn't the brutality of his actions. It's the precision. Apex didn't act out of blind rage, this was calculated. He's testing limits, both his and theirs. And he's showing no hesitation in crossing lines."

Johnny gave an uneasy laugh, trying to break the tension. "Well, you can't say he doesn't know how to make an impression."

Sue's glare deepened. "Johnny..."

"Alright, alright!" Johnny raised his hands in surrender. "I get it, this is bad. Really bad."

Reed's voice cut through the room with finality. "This isn't just bad. This is a wake-up call. Apex isn't Spider-Man anymore. He's something else entirely. And if we don't figure out a way to deal with him, we might all end up like Krakoa."

Ben grunted, his stony hands clenching into fists. "Yeah, but dealin' with him ain't exactly simple, Stretch. You've seen the reports, he ain't just tough. He's damn near unstoppable."

Reed nodded, his jaw tightening. "Which is why we need to approach this carefully. If Apex feels cornered, there's no telling what he'll do."

The room fell silent as the weight of Reed's words sank in. Johnny finally exhaled, shaking his head. "Man... I never thought I'd say this about Peter, but... I think I'm scared of him."

The Fantastic Four exchanged uneasy glances, the gravity of the situation finally settling over them like a storm cloud. For the first time, they weren't sure if even they could stop what was already happening to the of Form

…

The bridge of Thanos's massive warship was quiet save for the faint hum of energy coursing through the vessel. The Mad Titan sat on his throne, a towering and ominous figure framed by the swirling void of space. His piercing gaze was fixed on the holographic projections in front of him, each one displaying footage from Earth, footage of Apex, or as Thanos preferred to think of him, an enigma.

Corvus Glaive, his once-proud general, lay unconscious in one image, his shattered glaive lying beside him. The blade, once thought indestructible, capable of slicing through atoms themselves, now lay in pieces. Another projection displayed Proxima Midnight, her usual confidence replaced by unease as she recounted her encounter with the viral entity. Cull Obsidian's crushed armor and Ebony Maw's trembling account added to the tableau of failure.

Thanos leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand as he studied the destruction wrought by this being. Apex hadn't just fought his Black Order, he had humiliated them. The tactical precision, the overwhelming force, the sheer audacity... it intrigued the Mad Titan in a way few things had.

"This creature," Thanos mused, his voice a deep rumble that sent chills through the room, "this Apex... he is no mere anomaly."

The hologram shifted, now showing intercepted SHIELD reports. Data scrolled rapidly across the projection, detailing Apex's viral biology and the devastation it could unleash. The words "planet-sized organisms," "pathogenic expansion," and "universal extinction potential" flashed across the screen.

Thanos's lieutenants stood silent, sensing his reflective mood. He gestured, and the image changed again, this time, it displayed a simulation of what the virus could do if it were to spread unchecked. The numbers were staggering: billions dead in weeks, trillions within months, and entire galaxies consumed within years.

The projection zoomed out, showing a visual of entire star systems overtaken by the viral pathogen, their organic and inorganic matter assimilated into a singular, monstrous mass.

Thanos's lips curved into a faint smile. "Fascinating, and apocalyptic in equal measure," he murmured.

Proxima Midnight, her usual composure faltering, finally spoke. "My lord, this... Apex. He is unlike anything we have faced before. He wields power not just through brute force, but through... adaptation. It's as though he evolves with every encounter."

"And he shattered my glaive," Corvus added bitterly, his voice laced with frustration. "No creature has ever done that. No weapon, no force in the cosmos... until now."

Thanos raised a hand, silencing him. "Do not mistake your failure for weakness, Corvus. This being is not merely strong, it is... purposeful."

Ebony Maw, standing at a cautious distance, spoke up next. "My lord, SHIELD's reports suggest that Apex's potential is limitless. If left unchecked, this virus could replicate across planets, creating entities of unimaginable scale. The casualties..." He hesitated. "They are incalculable."

Thanos's smile widened slightly, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of curiosity and something darker. "And yet, it does not spread mindlessly. It could have, but it hasn't. Why?"

Ebony Maw bowed his head. "Perhaps, my lord, it is because Apex retains some... fragment of its original host, Peter Parker. The virus and the man are intertwined, creating a unique entity."

"An entity of rage and control," Thanos mused, leaning back in his throne. "How curious."

The holograms shifted again, showing Apex tearing through mercenaries left and right, , crushing Rhino's impervious armor, and using the shattered glaive of Corvus as a weapon to impale a mercenary. Thanos watched with unwavering focus as Apex dismantled his enemies with brutal efficiency, his tendrils pulsing with a grotesque, almost artistic precision.

"He is more than a man," Thanos finally said, his voice low and contemplative. "And more than a virus. He is evolution incarnate. A force of nature, raw and untamed."

The Mad Titan rose from his throne, towering over his lieutenants as he gazed at the holograms. "The question is not whether we can destroy him. The question is... should we?"

The room fell silent, the weight of Thanos's words hanging in the air.

"My lord," Proxima began cautiously, "if this... Apex were to spread, the consequences would be catastrophic. Even you must see-."

Thanos raised a hand, silencing her again. "I see everything, Proxima. The potential for devastation, yes. But also the potential for understanding."

He turned to face the swirling expanse of space outside the viewport. "Apex is not merely a threat, it is a possibility. A being capable of reshaping existence itself, consuming and transforming all it touches. Such a force cannot be ignored. It must be tested."

Corvus stepped forward, his pride wounded but his loyalty unwavering. "What would you have us do, my lord?"

"We will-."

A sudden chill filled the air, and the room dimmed as an otherworldly presence made itself known. Shadows twisted unnaturally, and the temperature dropped, causing even Thanos's loyal Black Order to shift uneasily. Then, from the void, Mistress Death materialized, her ethereal form both terrifying and captivating.

The room fell into an unnatural silence as she strode forward, her tattered cloak flowing behind her, her skeletal visage partially obscured by a faint veil. Even Thanos, the most fearless being in the cosmos, straightened slightly, his expression unreadable.

"Thanos," Mistress Death intoned, her voice echoing as if from the abyss itself. "Your fascination with this Apex is not misplaced, but your understanding of the threat he poses is incomplete."

The Black Order exchanged uneasy glances, their usual arrogance replaced by trepidation. None dared to interrupt as Mistress Death's hollow eyes swept over them, her presence weighing heavily on their souls.

"What threat?" Thanos asked, his tone calm but his curiosity piqued. "He is powerful, yes, but no more so than the many I have faced and conquered."

Mistress Death tilted her head slightly, the faintest hint of sorrow flickering across her spectral features. "You are mistaken, Titan. Apex is unlike any force you have encountered. He is not merely a being of destruction, he is consumption incarnate. Every soul he devours is lost, forever cast into a viral limbo beyond my reach."

This revelation caused a ripple of unease among the Black Order. Proxima Midnight's hand tightened around her glaive, and Ebony Maw's usually smug expression faltered.

"Impossible," Thanos said, though his tone betrayed a hint of doubt. "No soul escapes your grasp. You are death itself."

Mistress Death's gaze bore into him, her voice colder than the void. "And yet, here we are. Those consumed by Apex are erased, their essence stripped away and absorbed into the virus itself. They do not ascend, nor do they descend. They simply cease to exist."

Thanos's expression darkened as he considered her words. "A being capable of destroying the soul itself," he murmured, his intrigue tempered by a rare note of unease. "This... changes things."

"It changes everything," Mistress Death replied. "This entity is a threat not just to life, but to the balance of existence itself. The Phoenix Force and the Living Tribunal have convened, recognizing the gravity of this scourge. Together, we have created a means to destroy him."

She raised her bony hand, and from the void, a small pedestal of blackened stone materialized before her. Resting atop it was a gauntlet, its design eerily reminiscent of the fabled Infinity Gauntlet. Its surface gleamed with a dark metallic sheen, and six hollowed sockets pulsed faintly with a strange energy.

"This is your weapon, Thanos," Mistress Death said, her voice tinged with finality. "A gauntlet forged to mimic the power of the Infinity Stones without requiring them. It channels the collective will of the Phoenix Force, the Tribunal, and myself. With it, you will be able to confront Apex on equal footing."

The Black Order stared at the gauntlet in stunned silence. Corvus Glaive's lips parted as if to speak, but he quickly thought better of it. Even Thanos seemed momentarily taken aback, his gaze lingering on the gauntlet.

"You expect me to wield this?" he asked, his voice quiet but laced with curiosity. "To serve as your instrument?"

Mistress Death stepped closer, her presence filling the room with an unearthly chill. "You are the only one capable, Thanos. Your ambition, your strength, your resolve, they make you uniquely suited to this task. But know this: this is not a battle for conquest or glory. This is a battle for existence itself. Apex cannot be reasoned with. He cannot be contained. He can only be eradicated."

Thanos reached out slowly, his massive hand hovering over the gauntlet. For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze flickering to Mistress Death. "And what becomes of me, should I succeed?"

Mistress Death's answer was simple, her tone devoid of emotion. "You will do what must be done, as you always have. Beyond that, your fate is your own."

With that, Thanos placed the gauntlet onto his hand. The moment it settled, a surge of dark energy coursed through him, causing the Black Order to recoil slightly.

The sockets on the gauntlet flared to life, glowing with a sinister, otherworldly light.

Thanos clenched his fist, feeling the immense power coursing through him. "So be it," he said, his voice a mixture of determination and curiosity. "If this Apex is truly the threat you claim, then I will confront him."

Mistress Death stepped back, her form beginning to fade into the shadows. "Do not underestimate him, Thanos. He is unlike any foe you have faced."

As she vanished, the warship's lights returned to normal, but the oppressive weight of her presence lingered. Thanos gazed at the gauntlet on his hand, a faint smile forming on his face, "Curious," he said softly, turning to face the stars. "Apex... let us see if you are worthy of this much attention."Bottom of Form

…

The dying light of the day filtered through the cracked windows of the X-Men's treehouse in New York, casting an eerie glow on its withering vines and wilting leaves. The once-thriving connection to Krakoa was severed, and the treehouse, like the mutants themselves, was a husk of what it once represented. The scent of decay lingered in the air, a painful reminder of their fall.

Jean Grey stood in the living area, arms crossed tightly, her expression a mixture of exhaustion and frustration. Scott Summers paced in front of her, his movements sharp and erratic, his fists clenching and unclenching as anger radiated off him.

"We've lost everything, Jean!" Scott spat, his voice rising with each word. "The council, the island, our unity, everything we built is gone! And for what? Because we couldn't keep it together?! Because we couldn't control our own people?!"

Jean's jaw tightened, her emerald eyes narrowing. "Control? That's your takeaway? We didn't lose everything because of lack of control, Scott. We lost it because we forgot who we were supposed to be. We became everything we fought against."

Scott turned on her, his voice a low growl. "Don't you dare. Don't you sit there and try to pin this on some abstract moral failure! This was sabotage! Hellion, Sinister, even Xaiver, they're the ones who tore us apart, not us!"

Jean took a step forward, her anger flaring. "You really believe that?! You think this is just on them?! Wake up, Scott! We put those people in power! We let Sinister run unchecked! We let Hellion's hatred fester! And why?! Because we thought we were better than them. Because we believed that mutants were better than humans. Guess what? We're not!"

Scott slammed his fist into the wall, creating a jagged hole in the wooden surface. The tree groaned under the impact, shedding brittle leaves onto the floor. He pointed at Jean, his voice trembling with frustration. "You don't get it, Jean. We had a chance, a real chance, to be something more, and we blew it! Now look at us! We're living in a dying treehouse in the middle of New York, hiding from the humans who are waiting for us to screw up again."

Jean's eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her voice didn't falter. "No, Scott. You don't get it. We didn't just lose the island. We lost the trust of every person who ever believed in us. Humans and mutants alike. Irene was right, we've lost all credibility. We're not the heroes we used to be. We're just... broken."

Scott stared at her for a long moment, his face a mask of anger and despair. Finally, he shook his head and turned away, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair. "I can't do this right now," he muttered.

"Where are you going?" Jean asked, her tone softer but demanding an answer.

Scott hesitated at the door, his hand on the frame. "Out. For a drink. Don't wait up."

With that, he left, the door closing behind him with a hollow thud.

Jean stood alone in the dim light of the treehouse, her body trembling as the weight of their argument sank in. She sank onto the worn couch, burying her face in her hands as her tears finally fell. The words of Irene Adler echoed in her mind, haunting and unrelenting:

"Mutant-kind has lost all its credibility, and in doing so, we've been fated to fade into obscurity."

Jean's gaze drifted to the window, where the once-vibrant tree now stood as a skeletal reminder of what Krakoa used to be. The dead branches clawed at the sky, their brittle leaves fluttering to the ground with every faint breeze. She couldn't shake the image of Krakoa's tree-face, severed and defeated, nor the memory of Apex's cold, mocking gaze as he humiliated them in front of their entire community.

Deep down, Jean knew the truth. This wasn't just about Hellion or Sinister or Apex. This was their collective failure, their hubris, their arrogance, their inability to see the cracks forming beneath their feet until it was too late.

And now, as she sat alone in the dying treehouse, she wondered if there was anything left to salvage. Or if they were destined to fade into history as just another failed experiment in of Form

…

Scott Summers staggered slightly as he walked down the dimly lit street, the effects of too many drinks dulling his senses and sharpening his irritability. His clothes were disheveled, his visor slightly askew, and his movements unsteady. The night air was crisp, but it did little to clear his fogged mind as he grumbled under his breath about everything that had gone wrong.

He stopped when he heard faint voices coming from the park. His bleary eyes focused on the familiar figures of Rachel Summers and Gwen Stacy, seated on a bench under a streetlamp. They were chatting, their voices light and conversational. He narrowed his eyes, leaning against a nearby tree to eavesdrop.

Rachel sat with her legs crossed, a rare smile on her face as she listened to Gwen recount something with animated gestures. Gwen giggled, shaking her head. "I swear, you should've seen the look on Rhino's face when Peter sent him flying across the city. Classic!"

Rachel chuckled softly. "He does have a flair for the dramatic."

Scott's stomach churned. They were talking about Peter Parker, Apex, the same being who had humiliated and terrorized them not long ago. His fists clenched as he continued to listen, curiosity keeping him rooted in place despite his irritation.

Gwen leaned closer to Rachel, her voice teasing. "Admit it, you've been looking at him differently lately."

Rachel's smile faltered slightly, her cheeks flushing. "What are you talking about?"

Gwen grinned knowingly. "Come on, Rachel. I've seen the way you've looked at him. You're falling for him, aren't you?"

Rachel's expression shifted, her initial protest dying on her lips. She looked down at her hands, her voice quieter now. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, please," Gwen pressed, laughing lightly. "Don't try to deny it. You're smitten. The tough guy act, the whole 'dark and mysterious' vibe he's got going on, not to mention how ridiculously powerful he is now. I get it."

Rachel hesitated, her silence more telling than any words. She finally sighed, running a hand through her hair. "It's not like that... not exactly. I just... I don't know. There's something about him. Something familiar, but... different."

Scott froze, his heart pounding in his chest. Falling for him? His mind reeled as he tried to process what he had just heard. Anger and disbelief boiled within him, his drunken haze making it harder to control his emotions. Rachel, his daughter, even if she was from an alternate timeline, was falling for Peter Parker, the same entity that had brought them to their knees.

His grip on the tree tightened as he stepped back, his breathing uneven. He felt like the ground was shifting beneath him, his world cracking even further apart. Without thinking, he turned and stumbled away, his thoughts a chaotic mess.

"Falling for him..." he muttered under his breath, the words stinging like a fresh wound. His head throbbed, and for the first time in years, Scott Summers felt truly undefinable of Form

…

The Ghost Rider, a spirit of vengeance bound to mortal flesh, had been silent for days, his flame-wreathed skull hidden beneath the shadows of his hood. Whether it was Johnny Blaze, Robbie Reyes, or another host, the Rider shared one purpose: to mete out justice to those who deserved it. But now, that purpose was clouded, tangled in a web of conflicting emotions.

The Rider had watched.

He had watched through the firelit eyes of his host, observing the viral entity known as Apex tear through the X-Men, dismantling their island, their pride, and their unity. He had seen the videos, shared across every corner of social media, showing not just destruction, but humiliation. The raw, almost theatrical display of dominance was unlike anything the Rider had witnessed before. And what unsettled him most wasn't the power Apex wielded, nor the chaos he sowed.

It was the glee.

The Rider could feel it radiating through the screens, an almost overwhelming delight in every act of torment, every cruel display. Apex didn't just fight, he toyed, mocked, and broke his enemies, not just physically but emotionally. It wasn't vengeance, and it wasn't justice.

It was indulgence.

And that was what gnawed at the spirit of vengeance, twisting its normally unwavering sense of purpose. The Ghost Rider didn't act lightly; every target was judged, every punishment earned. But Apex... Apex was an anomaly. He was a victim, a man consumed by forces beyond his control, molded into something monstrous. Yet he wielded his new form with relish, crossing lines that even the Rider couldn't ignore.

In the quiet darkness of a forgotten church, the Rider's host paced back and forth, his human voice breaking the silence. "What are you waiting for?" Johnny Blaze growled, frustration evident in his tone. "You've seen what he's done. You've seen the pain he's caused. Why are you holding back?"

The flames of the Rider flickered faintly, its voice low and rumbling, echoing like a storm within Blaze's mind. "Because he is not purely guilty."

Blaze slammed his fist against the stone wall, his patience wearing thin. "Not guilty? Did you miss the part where he tore apart Krakoa like it was a damn toy set? Or how he ripped Xavier's legs off and impaled Exodus on a tree? How is that not guilt?"

"Pain does not absolve him," the Rider replied, the flames growing brighter for a moment. "But neither does his vengeance. He is a creature of rage, yes, but also of sorrow. He seeks balance, even as he destroys."

Blaze sneered, shaking his head. "Balance? You're kidding yourself if you think that's what he's after. He's enjoying it, Rider. Every scream, every drop of blood, he's reveling in it. You've seen the way he moves, the way he laughs. This isn't about justice."

The Rider didn't respond immediately. It wasn't denial, it was deliberation. Apex was a contradiction, a being whose actions defied easy categorization. He had the rage of a victim and the cruelty of a predator, the instincts of a hero twisted into something unrecognizable.

Finally, the Rider's voice rumbled through the silence. "I will watch. I will weigh his soul. And when the time comes, if he is found wanting, he will face judgment."

Blaze stared into the flickering flames of the Rider's presence, his frustration tempered by a grudging respect for the spirit's patience. "Fine," he muttered, his voice heavy. "But don't wait too long. Because if he's allowed to keep this up, there won't be anything left to judge."

The Rider's flames flared one last time, casting eerie shadows across the walls of the church. "Justice is not hasty, Johnny Blaze. But when it comes... it is absolute."