Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Like an animal, she leapt to poise herself on the ledge of the rooftop, and overlooked the street below.
The day was filled with busy streets, but the night was hers, where prey could easily go missing.
...such as the couple passing below her right at this moment.
She tensed up, waiting for just the right angle, and then she pounced. It was a six story drop, but right before she landed she saw the wide white of the eye of the woman that was to be her first victim. The impact knocked her unconscious. The tentacle blades embedding into her body did the rest. Off to the side, her companion didn't get a chance to run, as the rest of the blades found their prey without her even paying them any attention.
Sustenance. As the blades tore through the clothes and skewered the flesh in delightful feeding frenzy, they drew it in from the flesh and the blood. The nature of the symbiosis made her share the experience of satiation, but that was nothing compared to the thrill of the hunt.
Not a minute later, she once again scaled back up the brick facade like a formless spider, before the first witness even had time to peek out the window and scream.

Crossing the rooftops back to her apartment, the symbiote retracted back beneath her skin, revealing her long red hair. She could pass for human once again.

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Another boardroom meeting to impress an audience of suits. Results expressed in neat graphs projected onto a screen. The structure of these grounds was more ordered, but in the end it was all about the same thing: Getting what she wanted.

Before she became something more just a month ago, she thought that this was all there was - that being an executive running a successful corporation, was the apex of success. ...but the symbiote had shown her a wholly different world to conquer - a bloodthirsting passion defying sensible descriptions. She took another sip of the coffee as she stared out across the city skyline. She couldn't remember the last time she slept, or the last time she even felt tired.

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She turned off the tap and relaxed her body in the bathwater. Expressing their dislike for being submerged, eight tentacles broke the surface around her, snaking upwards above the steam, each ending in a 50 centimeter long scythe-like blade. They didn't just slice through flesh like butter, but could also, with little effort, burrow into pavement and masonry alike, giving her an incredible traction and speed if need be, even across walls. She had to be careful, though, not to instinctively leave tracks that could be followed back to her humble lair.

In the beginning her companion had been an unwelcome stranger inside her body, but over the course of this past month, they had come to know and understand eachother. It didn't exactly use words, but with the emotional and instinctual link they had developed, words weren't necessary. In a way it was like a dog: Every night she took it out to do its needs and musts - to be part of its needs and musts - and in return it lay dormant and didn't distract her at work. Meanwhile homicide was still looking for a mere knife wielding maniac - not an alien scythe wielding one.

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As the final step in the process of closing up his store, he closed and locked the gate. It was dark outside. He didn't like late evenings, but sometimes the paperwork took a while and needed to be done. There were gangs out at night, and sometimes, like now, he felt almost like he was being watched. He looked around him just to make sure, but the parking lot was as silent and empty as always.

...well, with the exception of that woman in the distance behind him.

Looking over his shoulder again the woman was a bit closer now. She was heading in his direction for some reason.

Not in the mood to deal with whatever she was offering, he picked up his pace toward the car.

It wasn't until he had reached it, that he heard a strange clacking sound approaching from behind him. Turning around a final time, his face went pale with fright. Whatever demon Hell had conjured up for him, it surpassed even his wildest nightmares. With a yelp he dropped his car keys and just began running as fast as he could. It was an instinctive reaction, but with a non-sedentary job, he had the conditioning to outpace most people. ...but tonight, as he made his way toward the edge of the lot, the slow pacing of the clacking showed him just how pitiful his middleaged human speed actually was, compared to the sizable legs of the spider demon.

As his exhaustion had used up all the air in his lungs, his feet stumbled on the asphalt, and he fell. All he could do now was to roll over on his back and scream at the approaching horror casually moving in to seal his doom.

"WeLl", the humanoid figure in the middle spoke, as if it took pity on him. "YoU dId YoUr BeSt. ThAt'S aLl OnE cAn ReAlLy HoPe FoR."

Its next steps, instead of piercing the asphalt, pierced his leg, and then his hip, and then his shoulder, making him scream until unconsciousness and death claimed him.

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Peter took another photo of the parking lot scene. Another random guy stabbed to death in the middle of the night. At first the cops were assuming it was gang related violence, but the sudden and regular frequency of attacks happening every single night, and with a current death count of three dozen victims, they had begun looking for a single serial killer instead. This was starting to make law enforcement look bad. All they could do was to clean up the mess he left. Heck, this bodycount would even embarrass Ted Bundy.

...and there they were again: The holes. Slits carved into the very stone, littering the area. Whatever had made them, hadn't even cracked the surrounding surface. This wasn't a coincidence anymore, which meant that this couldn't be the doing of your average knife wielding maniac after all. This was something much worse.

Like the police, Peter had tried to connect the victims without success. The motive couldn't be ideological either, unless the killer had something against low income pedestrians. However, random killings were never truly random. The victims were killed regularly, at night, and in areas without any witnesses, signifying a coldblooded and calculated obsession. Their relative proximity also had an epicenter, meaning that this was a stationary hunting ground in which the killer were likely to operate and even reside. So far it had evaded all added car patrol reinforcements, but maybe some rooftop reconnaissance could make a difference.

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"I know a setup when I see one." She tossed the issue on his desk with an ill-leashed fury. "Someone down the line fucks up, and they come to me. It's always me, isn't it? Well I don't like being the poster child for failure. Next time why don't you refer them to someone else?"

"I just thought you had a knack for handling the press - that's all." Her boss was his usual calm, lying self.

"I'm not going to lose my job over this.", she frowned in pigheaded resolution.

"Someone has to take the fall eventually.", he argued. "You wanted the responsibility and you got it. Now, if you had made sure that the workers didn't leak ethical dilemmas, we wouldn't be in this mess looking for a culprit. Besides, with your many talents, you'll be back in the game in no time. I imagine there are plenty of companies looking for a secretary."

It was hard to hold them back. Even now she felt the tip of the blades piercing the skin on either side of her back. It would be so easy. ...but at the same time so very disastrous.

No, she - it - had something else in mind. She needed to think - needed to feel what it was telling her.

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Not many life decisions are done in public bathroom stalls, but hers was. It was where she could get solitude enough to understand the intricasies of what she was feeling. By the time she exited everybody had gone home, but she knew he was working late. She'd made sure of it, because it was her papers that he was going over.

She passed the empty office desks, heading straight for the closed doors to his office. After careful deliberation, they had unanimously reached a decision they felt confident in, going forward.

She swung the doors open with all her blades. "We'Re DoInG a HoStiLE tAkEoVeR!"

The puny man jumped in his seat at her sudden, doom bringing entrance, and as she crept up on top of his desk, he recoiled in his seat, frozen in panicked fear.

She put the tip of one of her blades up under his chin to keep him from getting any stupid ideas, and gazed deeply into his wide eyes. With her face completely covered by the symbiote's visage, he probably didn't even recognize her at this point, but in time he would.

"YoUr BrAiN - iT OfFeNdS mE. iT nEeDs SoMe EdiTiNg."

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She left the offices with a long lost sense of exhaustion. She had no idea that her body could do that. ...but it had taken the better part of the night, and now she needed to eat before the sun rose.

Finding one of the many dark alleyways she had mapped out, she transformed and scaled up the wall onto the rooftop. From there it was just a matter of traversing the rooftops to a suitable location, leaping the alley gaps with relative ease.

That's when her skin spotted something. She turned to see another figure sitting perched on the edge of a rooftop in the distance. She broke a delightful grin. Cop on a stakeout, or just a kid watching the stars, he was looking in the wrong direction, and would thus be easy prey.

Her heart sunk when she had covered enough roof to make out the recognizable suit. Realizing who the figure was, she stopped her tracks and rounded a vent outlet large enough to hide her.

What was he doing here? Oh. Right. Probably because of the bodies.

Her friend screamed in her mind, frustrated and furious over having been deprived of such easy prey, but fighting Spider-Man, especially in her current state, wasn't something she was going to risk. ...and eating him was just... ...unthinkable. It's not that she was an ethical person - she wasn't. She just felt that hastily eating such a main player, came with too many unforeseen consequences. It would draw too much attention for one, and he had friends that would replace him.

For now, she decided that there were other, safer rooftops, far, far away from the "hero".

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Back inside her comfy rooftop apartment, she proceeded to lick her fingers clean. She used to spend the evenings with a glass of red wine, and there was still some left in the lower shelf holder in the fridge, but somewhere her taste buds had undergone a change. She had even begun to make out different tastes, most notably the blood taking on a sour, bad taste the slower they died, and a more explosively satisfactory taste the younger they were.

...but something had to be done about Spider-Man, and sooner rather than later. She still hated the idea of killing the killjoy, and even the idea of risking her life in a tussle, but that was a last resort that she still had to consider and prepare for.

...and in a way she needed him too. He was singlehandedly a part of the ecosystem of New York. Without him crime would overtake the city. Blue-collar crime, and gangs - an unchecked infestation of the worst of the lower class.

...but he could be diverted elsewhere.

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When he reached the mall, it was still being evacuated, frightened shoppers pouring out of its doors. This meant that there was still people in danger inside.

With the doors being all used as exits, Peter instead found himself a maintenance hatch on the glass roof to enter through. It gave him a panoramic view of the scene below.

Some of the stab victims were still crawling toward the exit, while others weren't moving. The maniac didn't even make sure their victims were dead before he moved on to the next one. More would die unless he ended this quickly.

His sharp senses picked up screams coming from behind the staff only doors. He busted them open to find another body drawing his last gargling breath in a pool of blood. The screams called him further in, into the staff cafeteria, where he finally found him.

Peter had hoped to put an end to this quickly, but the maniac was covering behind a hostage, holding the knife up to her throat.

"I-I'll kill her! I swear to God I'll kill her!" His voice was panicked and desperate - the voice of a man knowing that he was at the end of his rope. ...but hopefully Peter could save this last woman.

"Woah-woah-woah-hold on there!" Peter came to a halt, raising his hands. "Nobody has to die here. I'm sure we can all be friends if we just try to communicate a bit."

"So m-much blood! I needed to do it! They were all evil!", the maniac stammered.

"Oh yeah? How so?" Jesus, he was no negotiator. He was just the guy who happened to show up. He could talk - he was good at that - but with this guy, it could really go either way.

"They all wanted her, and so I needed to stop them before they hurt her."

"Okay, so now you've got her. That sounds like a happy ending, right? I'm sure the three of us can work through any misunderstandings, and that she'll forgive you."

"N-no! No, you don't understand! She has to die! I need it to stop!", the maniac screamed.

Well, he tried. Now she would die.

He raised his web shooter, and took his best aim at the maniac's face just as the woman did a last effort to wrestle free. One lucky throw later the man topped over her shoulder and fell to the floor. As she crawled away on all fours, he put an end to the killer crawling after her by webbing his feet and midsection to the floor.

"That was way too close.", Peter said to himself, before kicking away the knife and kneeling before his sweaty face. "Call me crazy, but I don't think she's that into you." He resisted the urge to punch his lights out, but a hero didn't do that. He turned to his surviving victim. "Are you okay, miss?"

"Yeah, I think so. I never thought he'd be capable of this." She appeared shaken, but she could stand up on her own two feet.

"Well, he won't be bothering you anymore - that's for sure." He kneeled before maniac again, who at this point had given up his struggles and just lay panting on the polished floor. "You have a lot to answer for, mister. We've been looking all over for you."

"So can I go now?", the woman asked.

He snapped his fingers. Now he recognized her face. "Hey, I know you! You're Jen Wilson, aren't you?"

"Y-yes?"

"I guess that'd explain it. Colleague of yours?" He referred to the maniac.

She froze up. "No comment."

"Oh, sorry - I didn't mean it like that. Just trying to make sense of all this carnage. The headlines have been quite upsetting lately, and so sometimes it draws out the crazies."

"She needs to die...", he heard the maniac mumble behind him, and so he planted a heel kick into his shoulder. "Don't interrupt." He heard a pained groan in response.

"I guess I should be thankful for you coming to my rescue.", she admitted. "All I can share is that I know him, and that he doesn't understand the meaning of rejection."

He finally remembered that he was in the middle of an emergency. "Look, we should probably get you out of here. There's a lot of wounded just littering the mall, and we should let the paramedics know that the coast is clear."

Together they made their way out, only to get caught on camera. The next day the front pages of the papers had his mug side-by-side with the infamous executive's, under the headline "Serial Killer Finally Caught".

Chapter Text

James nervously sat down in the interview room. This was it. He was going to get fired. He just knew it. He'd never even seen this interview room before. It had a strange finality to it, down in the basement and all.

It wasn't long before Ms. Wilson entered the room, confirming his suspicions.

She sat down with a cold air of impatience about her. "So... ...'James', is it?"

"Yes." He swallowed.

"It says here that you've been with us for five years now - is that correct?"

"I... I guess so.", he answered.

"As you know, we've decided to launch a full internal investigation about our recent incident. I'm sure you know which one I'm referring to."

"I thought the police caught him."

"Yes, the main culprit, but there's still the issue of how his co-workers could have allowed it to happen. Were you aware that this was going on?"

"B-but you..." He fell silent. This didn't make any sense. All they did was follow the instructions that came delivered from upstairs, and he remembered seeing her signature on the papers.

"Hm?" She still waited for him to respond.

"No... ...I... ...had no idea.", he tried. "I... ...was mostly just busy doing my job, following your instructions."

"...and he didn't tell you anything?"

"N-no."

"Are you sure? You seem a bit nervous."

"I-I'm positive. You know, he always seemed like an oddball. I didn't really associate with him.", he fabricated. There had to be a hidden recorder somewhere, recording their conversation.

"Well, as you've probably heard, as of late, the CEO has given me complete confidence to get to the bottom of this, and given our situation, I'm afraid that we're facing some personnel cuts. It's nothing personal, you understand."

"B-but I only did as you instructed.", he protested. "I have a family to feed."

"Not according to your employee file, no."

"Please!", he whimpered. "I need this job. I'll do anything."

"Anything?" Somehow he'd managed to catch her interest. He watched her lean back in her chair with a thoughful expression, her pen pressed against her lower lip. "Well, I guess we could test your loyalty to the company. How far would you be willing to go?"

He fumbled aimlessly for something to say to prove himself.

"Take off your clothes.", she instructed.

His jaw dropped.

"You heard me. Do you want to keep your job or not?" Her voice was calm and collected. She knew that she was the one pulling his strings.

A few seconds later he decided that it could have been worse. She wasn't that bad looking.

She didn't move from her chair, as he took off his jacket, unbuttoned his shirt, and pulled down his pants to reveal his underwear.

She looked straight at his growing trouser snake. "You've stopped.", she coldly remarked.

With that he continued to strip, until there was nothing more that he could remove for her. Nervously he noted that she hadn't even removed her jacket.

"Well done.", she nodded as she eyed him up and down. "You look like a tasty little morsel."

"Uh-h, thanks?"

"Good enough to eat." She leaned forward.

This was getting weirder by the minute.

Then he noticed how eight blood red tentacles had started to grow out from her back.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!", he screamed in horror.

...but she just sat there, as the giant tentacly spiderlegs swayed above her, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

It wasn't until he started reaching for the door, to escape despite his nakedness, that she sprung into action.

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She had tried to lay low. She had tried to eat food, but even pizza just tasted meaningless. She had tried to feed it fresh meat - enough to cover the blades with it. She'd even bought an obscene amount of jars of cows blood from the butcher.

It satiated it to a degree. It satiated it physically, but it had felt like masturbating. It didn't satisfy the psychological need of burrowing deep inside the flesh of a warm body, and feeling it squirm in increasing surrender. She didn't just need to eat - she needed the kill. Without it, her sanity had quickly started to unravel. She even felt herself growing physically weaker, and she knew why: Without anything else given it, it had resorted to slowly feeding on her, from within.

...and so she finally came up with the plan with the employee relocations. With a little ingenuity, she and her boss had the know-how of how to just make all the witnesses to the incident disappear, and also get fat doing it.

...and after that, she could hire more from out of town, and after that, she could probably disappear to another town somewhere. One day at a time.

The naked man in her grasp moaned like a dying animal from the pain coarsing through its body. They all did. She smiled and held on, feeling the blades buried all the way into his arms, legs and shoulder and buttocks, slowly drink his warm juice. "Just a little more - come on...", she egged him on with a happy grin. "Don't die on me just yet - keep it flowing. You can do it."

She needed to ration them - make them last for a good long while.

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Peter looked at the week old headline with a puzzled frown smeared across his face. It didn't take many hours of police interrogation for the maniac to break down and confess to everything, and the senseless stabbings had stopped, but the whole thing still just didn't sit right with him.

He didn't have time to check the mall at the time, but there had been no mentions of those slit holes he spotted. ...and how would an ordinary kitchen knife make holes in stone? The killer hadn't demonstrated any superhuman strength when he was caught.

Was it possible that this was a copycat maniac?

Meanwhile, in the wake of the depicted Wilson's narrow escape from death, the media had stopped blaming her for everything, and her boss had decided on a massive "restructuring" instead, following a throrough investigation. Good for them. Still, it took something like this for the scapegoating to stop. He guessed that was the second coward hiding behind a woman he'd stopped in that mall.

It's just... He felt like the answer was staring him right in the face.

He needed to get a closer look at those holes.

Chapter Text

"Have you taken a look at that piece I sent you?", Peter wondered over the phone.

"Yeah, and I gotta say it impressed me. Whoever this guy's buying from, give 'em my card."

Peter couldn't tell if Tony was being serious or not. "What was it?"

"Oh, if you're talking biochemical compounds, it's your average souvenir piece of New York. It's under a blacklight that things get interesting. How familiar are you with vorpal technology?"

"I'd say you'd be asking the wrong guy."

"It was a rhetorical question." Tony leaned back in this chair and reached for his tennis ball. "If anyone tells you that they know, they're either lying, or they're not from around here."

"As in 'not from the States'?", Peter wondered.

"As in not from this planet, kid. I heard the government was looking into it, but I doubt they can pull it off. Even out there, it's mostly regarded as myth and legend." He casually bounced the tennis ball against the wall to alleviate his boredom.

"So it's alien?"

"Hell if I know. All I'm seeing is that these holes aren't as much created by shearing pressure, as they are dug out. Once you polish the fresh layer of New York grime away, the side surfaces of the cut may be a bit warped, but they're clean down to an atomic level. Scary stuff."

"How do they do that?"

"Dimensional engineering, I think. The idea is that you have a portal that absorbs whatever material it hits, without giving it back. Now imagine you somehow forge that into a blade, and you've got yourself a vorpal blade - snicker-snack!" Tony caught the ball for the last time.

"Snicker-snack?"

"Jesus, they don't teach you anything in school anymore? Lewis Carroll? Jabberwocky?"

"The writer?"

"Never mind - the point is that such a blade can cut through anything, and I do mean anything, depending on how well forged they are. I have no idea why this guy would be field testing it on so many pedestrians, when he should be selling it to the highest bidder. I'm kind of jealous, you know: Aliens are handing people advanced technology left and right, and what do I get to play with? Nothing."

"Well, once I get this guy, it's going to be locked away in an evidence locker, but I can probably get you the number of it if you want. ...for emergencies."

"Peter, be careful. Get to know what you're dealing with before you rush in. No matter how crazy this guy is, he's connected enough to get his hands on extraterrestrial tech, and he's not going to go down without a fight."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

"...and you can have the slab back. I'm sure the city misses it."

Chapter Text

Under the cover of night, Peter webbed himself onto the metal hull of the big ship, and began scaling up to its railing.

He wasn't a stranger to aliens, or alien madmen for that matter, but Carnage was still securely confined in Ravencroft's vault, and killing random innocent people wasn't Venom's MO. This killer was similar but different. It had killed indiscriminately and frequently, using alien weaponry, but at the same time it had used a fanatic underling to go after Wilson, and were sensible enough to retreat once its assassination attempt had been thwarted. This meant that Wilson could still be in danger. In the morning he was going to contact her about this, but he'd rather tell her that he'd caught the real killer, and that she had nothing more to worry about, so first he wanted to scout out where the copycat had worked and could have come in contact with his controller: The harbor. Finding a cargo ship anchored here was a bonus. If the killer travelled by ship, that would explain the sudden stop in killings as well. Maybe he was already long gone, stabbing people in another port.

Peter sought cover behind one of the shipping containers. This ship was unusually lively at night. Lots of people were walking about on deck here - mostly armed guards. Unless he'd accidentally stumbled onto a very shy diplomatic convention, he'd say that he'd hit the jackpot. Sometimes the rumours about alien pirate conspiracies were true.

There was no way he was going to get past all of these people un-noticed. He had to knock some of them out, silently. As the guard rounded the corner, there was a "Thwip!" and Peter pulled his gun away before shooting another load to cover his mouth from screaming and breathing as well. Soon every dark corner of the top deck was filled with helpless security, and Peter could sneak into the interior of the ship.

There he found a couple of workers barring his way, casually standing around talking. Odd. He couldn't understand a word they were saying. This confirmed his suspicions. He'd seen this movie before: The Invasion of The Body Snatchers. Maybe all that was left now, was finding where they kept their pod thingies, or their motherbrain.

No wait, he vaguely recognized the accents now. These were aliens, alright: The mexican kind.

He had to look up the registration of this ship.

Chapter Text

In an outburst of frustration, she swept the issue off her desk, its headline reading "Customs Sieze Immigrant Smuggling Ship".

She should have killed him back on the rooftop. Whether he knew it or not, he'd starved her of her food supply. She had worked hard for that, only for it to be taken away. ...and what was worse, there was a paper trail, not to her personally, but to the company. This was the second scandal in a short time, in the face of already anxious investors. He was ruining her life!

Having calmed her nerves somewhat, she pressed down a finger on the intercom.

"Get me Spider-Man."

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"A roof top rendezvous.". She gave him an amused smile as she approached him. "Romantic."

"Well, since meeting at work was out of the question, it was either that or your place, and I don't know you that well.", he joked. Jesus, who wouldn't love to date a millionaire?

"The feeling is mutual, but you're the only one I trust right now.", she lied. "I don't know where else to turn."

"This isn't just about the ship, is it? There's more than just immigrant smuggling going on. Your boss has had his fingers in a lot of pies lately."

"I'm not sure that you'd believe me if I told you."

"Oh, I'd believe anything at this point.", he assured her. "For instance, I'm pretty sure that the man that attacked you back at the mall, wasn't actually the serial killer."

"Oh?"

"No, he was sent to silence you, because you knew too much, and was threatening to blow the whole operation."

"I just couldn't stand by and do nothing.", she sighed. "...but he's a powerful man. He always gets what he wants, one way or another."

"You're not safe until he's behind bars - you know that. With the ship seizure, he'll be more afraid than ever that you'll talk."

"I just don't know what to do." Her voice quivered with powerlessness.

"There's only one thing to do, miss: Come clean. You have access to his office. Give me something to work with, like who is he getting the weapons from? Those people are the really dangerous ones. If I get the job done, nobody's ever going to know that you provided me with the info."

She was silent for a bit. "I'll see what I can do. Thank you, Spider-Man."

Chapter Text

With a canvas satchel full of homemade sandwiches across his back, Peter silently entered the harbor warehouse through another skylight window hatch. She said there would be a night watchman on patrol, but nothing stirred in the darkness.

It took a bit of skulking to find the shipping container with the right serial number, but its padlock was unlocked. With that, she'd given him much more than a file. She'd given him an all expenses paid trip to an exotic destination full of adventure. Who could ask for more?

Closing the heavy container door behind him without grinding metal too loudly, was hard, but he managed it. Now all he had to do was wait. How did people even do this before they had handheld consoles? This time he was sure to beat his old highscore.

Chapter Text

Peter jumped with mortal fright as the large blade suddenly shot through the air just inches from his face. It was soon followed by another, and then another, slicing through where he just sat a mere second ago. Suddenly his makeshift home had been turned into a deathtrap. He made for the only exit out, and nearly escaped getting skewered by the two blades that tore through its doors just before he had reached it. It had anticipated his moves, and it was only his reflexes being too slow, that had saved him from certain death. Why wasn't his spider sense warning him? The blades could come from anywhere. ...and to his surprise, they now came from everywhere: Three from each wall, and two from the roof, it carved through the thick metal like paper, peeling it open.

"WaKeY, wAkEy, LiTtLe fLy. WeLcOmE tO mY pArLoR."

With that the bending metal strips separated open enough to allow him an exit, and he zipped out of there, into the cargo hold. He turned just in time to see the Carnage-like monstrousity leaping for him. He zipped out if its way just in time, and heard its claws pierce into the wall just behind him.

"HoLd sTiLL, iNsEcT! iT wOn'T hUrT."

He swung to keep his distance, but this thing could really leap and climb, and was right behind him at every turn. It couldn't outright fly, though, so at least the ceiling was safer than the ground. It looked up at him from below, tensing for another piercing leap, and that's where he took his shot, straight for its eyes. Swinging out of the way, this time the sound that crashed into the wall behind him was more disorganized. This had bought him just enough time to stop the madness. In a flurry of webbing, he began nailing the symbiote's feet to the floor. This wasn't Carnage. It had a form that it stuck to, and that made it vulnerable.

"I'm looking for an alien maniac. About ten feet tall, red, eight legs - well ten, if you count the human ones..."

He just wasn't fast enough. The thing had cut itself loose before he could package it.

"Hey, that's expensive carbon fiber!" Oh, that's right. Vorpal blades. This thing had vorpal blades. This thing could slice him into kebab like he wasn't even there.

"CoMe HeRe!", it roared as it sprung free from his webbing. This leap it spread all its sharp clawed legs around it, creating a perimeter of death that Peter just found himself too frightened to avoid. The next thing he knew the cage had closed around him and had pinned him between its body and the wall.

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"YoU hAvE iNtErFeReD WiTh mY pLaNs FoR tHe LaSt TiMe.", it wheezed in his face.

Struggling for his life, Peter felt a liquid starting to spread across his body, and looked to his arm to see it coated by hungry red goo.

"Wait! Can't we talk about this?", he pleaded as he felt himself beginning to sink into its body. His head was the last to be consumed in a world of darkness and despair.

"iT's TiMe FoR aN AtTiTuDe AdJuStMeNt. i WiLL pReSs So MuCh CoPuLiNe iNtO yOuR BrAiNsTeM tHaT yOu'LL bE mY sErVaNt pUpPeT UnTiL yOuR dEaTh."

"Wait, are you naked under here?!" Soon the feeling of sinking into the symbiote's body took a turn he couldn't even dream of. "Oh-no-no-no, this... holey moley!" He was inside her. ...as in actually inside a woman. This was so not appropriate.

"jUsT LaY bAcK aNd tHiNk oF NeW YoRk.", he heard her twisted voice beckon as she pressed down on top of him. Screaming in panic, he felt the glans of his growing erection push into the opening to her womb. He wriggled in a desperate attempt to get free, but the symbiote held his arms and legs firmly in place as she continued to work him to the choir of an inhuman groaning. Soon it made his brain all foggy and he found himself gasping for air as well. It was making him mate with it, and the pleasure it gave him wasn't something he knew how to fight. He felt how his balls began to tingle, really to release a load he didn't know how to hold back.

"Jesus, lady.", he gasped. "I'm gonna -"

She pushed down hard he exploded deep inside her, feeling her milk every drop of him in a contracting rhythm that just had to happen. As he gasped, he heard her inhuman laugh echo all around him.

Just as he was sure that it was over, and that nothing more remained in him to spill, he felt her cervix open against his emptied urethra. "HeRe iT cOmEs.", he heard her say, and as a response to his unuttered question, he felt a warm flood of goo expand past his opening, and beginning to rush down through the entire length of his penis, as she forcefully injected her uteral contents. The expanding sensation quickly reached all the way down into his testicles, and the pressure in them soon built up so much it hurt. Too weak post-orgasm to even begin to stop it from happening, all he could do was moan from the throbbing pain as he now even felt his brain drown in her merciless discharge. Whatever she was injecting, she was pushing it all the way into his brain.

After that, he wasn't sure of anything anymore.

Chapter Text

He wanted her. He wanted to be with her. Nothing else really mattered to him.

Even now when he was on his knees beside her, on top of the ship deck, as hero and villain, and she mockingly petted his head while she looked out across the approaching harbor, as if he was a dog, did the screaming of his morals even bother him. In his defeat, she'd filled him with a strong, undying desire to serve her unquestioningly, and her divine condescending touch sent waves of nothing but pleasant chills down his spine. Deep down, she was his only real reason for living.

"YoU'rE sUcH a LoSeR.", she smiled at him with a ghastly Carnage grin. "eVeN bEfOrE i BrOkE aNd CoUpLeD yOu, i cOuLd pUpPeT yOu ArOuNd iNtO dOiNg mY BiDDiNg. mAyBe cHiVaLrY iSn'T dEaD aFtEr aLL."

"Anything for you.", he mumbled. He couldn't think of anything else to say to please her.

"WeLL, FiRsT oF aLL,", she intructed. "yOu ArE nOt tO iNtErFeRe WiTh My fEeDiNg. yOu DoN't wAnT Me tO sTaRvE, nOw wOuLd yOu?" She patted him on the cheek. With those clawed legs hovering behind her like that, she really was an angel.

"Of course." It felt like the right thing to do. He'd make an exception.

"SeCoNdLy, uNdErStAnD tHaT i DoN't HaVe TiMe tO wAsTe oN tHe LiKeS oF yOu. OnE dAy yOu MaY EaRn yOuR pLaCe aT My FeEt, bUt ThAt pLaCe iS OnLy ReSeRvEd FoR tHe MoSt WoRtHy."

He sunk his head in sorrow. "I'll... ...do my best."

She laughed at his sudden heartbroken misery - a divine wicked laugh, full of a beautiful murderous evil that resonated within him and made his heart sing in praises.