“Feel my hate, insect!”

“It’s arachnid, lady,” Spider-Man quipped as he leapt clear of the punch thrown by the albino woman in the brief black costume. The blow was so powerful that the pylon she hit buckled in a thick cloud of marble dust. “Insects have six legs. Spiders have eight. Can’t you count.”

The woman’s dead white lips peeled back to reveal a set of sharpened teeth. It was appropriate that she had fangs, given the sharp angles of her costume and the widow’s peak of jet hair that made her dead white skin seem deader. “I’ll peel that flesh from your bones for interfering with Nekra!”

She leapt upwards. Spider-Man waited until a split second before impact to leap over and behind her, arms extended to spread a fine spray of webbing at the spot of the column where Nekra would hit. There was a satisfying squish as the statuesque albino powerhouse smacked into the sticky gray patch.

Spider-Man turned to one of the customer service people, who had spent the last few minutes on the ground with arms behind her back. “Now’s the time to trip that silent alarm, I would think.”

“This is not over. I will make you a smear on my soles!” Nekra screamed, her voice muffled be a mouthful of webbing.

“Hey, Nekkie--let me get this straight,” Spider-Man shot back. “You and your monkey boy boyfriend once took over the White House, and now your barefoot self is reduced to doing a simple stick-up?”

“I’ll crush every bone in your body to a fine powder!” The woman struggled in the grayish mess. Some of the customers who were caught in the crossfire ran out, calling for help. The security guard had recovered his pistol and was training it on her.

“Thanks, Spidey,” the man in the blue uniform said.

“Glad to help,” Spider-Man replied. “Beats waiting on line at the DMV.”

A series of loud cracking noises rent the air. The guard whispered, “Oh, God,” and turned around, calling out, “Everyone out! Please--vacate the premises!”

One final, loud crack--more like a gunshot amplified a hundred times--heralded the ceiling coming down. Spider-Man’s figers flashed as he proceeded to create a wall with his webbing, his nozzle set to its thickest setting. In a matter of moments his actions, and those of Nekra, were lost in a cloud of dust and debris.

For a long moment, the bank interior was silent. Then, with a tremendous ripping sound, the wallcrawler tore his way out of his webbing. He climbed out onto the lip of the damage, his neck swiveling from side to side. His arms ached from working so hard on fashioning protection with those physically close to him.

“Is it safe?” called out the security guard from inside the web shell.

“I’m not sure....stay in there until I call for you,” he said loudly before carefully stepping forward and whispering, “Nekki....come out, come out wherever you are.”

Vol. 2 #3 - Sound And Fury

By Thomas Deja

“She was gone?”

“Yeah. Probably some form of teleportation if you ask me. Let me hold her.”

Mary Jane smiled wanly and lifted baby May off her hip, handing her carefully to Pete. He took a moment to gaze at the face of his daughter, the pressure of new developments bleeding away. He kissed the squirming little child with whisps of reddish-brown hair just now appearing on her head. His eyes locked with his wife and whispered, "I love you, MJ."

"You better mean both of us," Mary Jame replied with a wide, toothy grin.

"Always and forever," he replied. He took another moment to bask in the pleasure of being with his family. At that moment, he was aware of the note in his pocket, something he found by the door of their apartment and the threat that was contained within. He had swung by Osborn's penthouse to see a large section of the outer wall blasted away and covered with heavy plastic sheeting--at the moment, he was sure Osborn was pursuing other possible suspects, but if they proved innocent....

And what if he did find the culprit? What if he lost ? Would that really be so bad?

"As much as I'm enjoying this," MJ whsipered in his ear, "you don't want JJ fuming for long."

"Do I look as nervous as I feel?"

"More," Mary Jane told him as she reached out and gently removed their daughter from his hands. "But you've always been able to handle JJ."

"Yeah, but this is the first time we've been in a one-on-one since--"

"I know." Mary Jane leaned over and kissed Peter, her full lips lighly brushing his. "You'll do fine. Remember, tiger...no matter what happens, you've got it all."

He smiled. "I needed that."

"I know you needed that," she said with a sly laugh. "That's why you married me, Mr. Parker. I'll see you at home."

"You too. Love you."

"Love you more. Do us proud."

The problem with being a 'flavor of the week'--whether you were an actor, artist, or notorious criminal--is that you do quickly lose your flavor. Front page headlines drift to the center, to below the fold, until they disappear completely.

Roderick Kingsley didn't mind being a Flavor of The Week. When he was arrested for being the Hobgoblin all those months ago, he was counting on being a Flavor of The Week...and when his name faded from the papers not long after Norman Osborn broke him out of jail so that Norman could defeat him, Roderick was already happily on a private island, living an idle life and drinking a sucession of drinks whilr maintaining his new hobby.

And when Osborn showed up out of nowhere, he was doing his best to maintain spin control on that very same hobby.

"And you've tried every one of his beepers?" he was asking one of his dozen assistants over his Bluetooth headset.

"Repeatedly," the assistant assured him. "The report is that he disappeared during a business arrangement, along with two of his operatives."

"Fine, fine," Roderick said with a sigh. He ran his hand through his hair. "I'll be in touch by end of day. Tell the clients Petruski is on assignment and above all, stall. I will make an appointment for temporary--"

A voice like aged scotch said from behind Roderick's hammock, "Hang up the phone, Kingsley. You have something important to discuss."

Roderick scowled and looked over his shoulder to see the one man he really wanted to avoid. Standing there so impeccably dressed that his creases could scratch glass was Norman Osborn. The industrialist turned criminal mastermind glared at him. "Ah, Norman. I'll only be a few days. Why don't you go cackling into the night."

Osborn sniffed. "Still following in my footsteps, I see."

Roderick grinned and said into the headset, "Adeline, I'll call you right back. I have a...distasteful clean-up to deal with." Once he turned off the set, he added, "You just wanted to lord it over the criminal bottom of the barrell, Norman. I am providing a serivce."

"You are proving a nuisance," Norman countered, reaching for a chaise lounge and pulling it close to Roderick's hammock. He sat down, never once breaking eye contact. "and you'll be a short lived nuisance. Why don't you tell me why you threw some pumpkin bombs into my living room the other day?"

Roderick was about to let fly with another bit of repartee when Norman's comment caused him to stop. Roderick reached for his drink, stirring it briefly. "You did take a look around you, didn't you, Norman?"

Norman sneered. "This garish little mound of dirt?"

"As if you could understand," Roderick countered and drank deeply.

"My palace in Europe was easily twice as large as this little tiki bar," Norman said, "And was four times as tasteful."

"I'll remember that when I have the native women bring me my dinner naked." He put down his drink and adjusted his position so he could face Osborn. "As much as I find you...well, reprehensible, Norman, I am perfectly content here. No extradition laws, temperate climate, beautiful women who are adverse to clothes. Why would I ever turn this paradise in just so I could travel to New York, put on that smelly Hobgoblin costume again and bomb you?"

Norman considered this. "It does seem a touch irrational--"

"And you are the irrational one, not I," Roderick pointed out before sinking back into the hammock. "I am perfectly happy working on my special project here."

"You do know that if I find out you're lying--"

"But you're not going to, Norman." Roderick closed his eyes and put his hands behind his head. "Thanks for the unpleasantries. Do try your best not to stop your assassin next time, okay?"

He took great pleasure from the sound of Norman's feet stomping in the too-white sand.

He enjoyed the way the body fell with such a meaty thump. But then, he lived for sound--quite literally.

For Ulysses Klaw, long ago, had given up his corporeal form for an existence of living sonic material. It had been so long ago that his existance as a man had become hazier and hazier until he sometimes doubted he wasn't what he was. The thought of how much more brilliant his life had become made the strange black gash of a mouth slide into something that could be construed as an abstract smile.

He felt like he should feel bad...the pile of meat slumped on the floor had been nothing more than a minor clerk in that brief period where Black Air had tried to establish itself in America. But even minor clerks could hold big secrets--and this one was at least able to direct him to another man who might helpful in locating Volume Two. And considering what Klaw was pursuing, he didn't feel bad at all.

The man who wanted Volume Two had promised him a large amount of Vibranium. That rare substance was like gold to him, and it was that more than the money that spurred Ulysses on. He was very much aware of the other operatives searching for this most unholy of grails...which meant he had to act fast....

Peter was feeling more and more worried. Here he was, a grown man with a wife and child, a man who was about to enter into an agreement that would make him very, very comfortable--and he was feeling like he was fifteen years old again.

J. Jonah Jameson had that effect on people.

Especially now, when Jameson was just...staring at him.

He had just told the newspaperman about the offer made to him by Thomas Fireheart to put together a book of photographs. He explained how the book might contain photos that he had sold to the Bugle, and he would need Jonah's permission. He explained how this was a tremendous opportunity for him, and how it would assure that he'd be able to support his daughter for years to come.

"And even without the need for permissions, Mr. Jameson," Peter finished, "I wouldn't feel right doing this project without your knowledge right up front, and what I hope will be your blessing. In a..strange way...very strange...I appreciate all the guidance and support you've given me, and I would never want you to think I am turning my back on my long relationship with you and your organization."

Jonah chomped on his cigar--which, oddly enough, Peter had not seen him light for months, a possible sign that the man was trying to give up tobacco but couldn't get used to life without the feel of a stogie between his teeth--and leaned forward. "So you were laughing at me?"

"Pardon?"

Jonah stood up slowly and strode to the door. He closed and locked it before saying, "All this time since I lifted up your mask, Peter, I've been trying to figure out if all this time you were laughing at me or not. I spent nights sitting here in that char trying to decide if all the jokes and the pranks and the utter bull you pulled on me as Spider-Man was you being in character, or if you actually were laughing at me behind my back. Most nights, I would look at all you accomplished--your marriage, your child, your attempts to return to your research--and I started thinking that you were playing a part when you webbed me upside down or made cracks about my being Hitler's cousin or something. I'd look at the many times you saved my life, or Robbie's, or my son's, and I think you were actively protective of me."

"Jonah, those jokes were just blowing off steam--"

Jonah slapped his chest with one withered hand. "I'm talking here, Parker! I'm still your boss for the time being, and you will listen to me."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jameson," Peter replied, lowering his head and once more feeling the child within him cowering. "Go ahead."

"I was hoping that my confiding in you would open up that one last mystery to me...and you choose to take the opportunity to run off and sign up with a company that's coming close to killing the thing I love most in the world. Which means you really do think I'm an idiot, a caricature of a miserly boss you ridicule to get your jollies."

Peter turned to face his long-time boss. "I'm not planning on leaving The Bugle."

Jonah's face reddened. "You say that because you're afraid I'll reveal your identity, Parker! Loyalty out of fear is worthless to me."

Peter stood up. "I don't think you'd reveal my identity. I know you wouldn't sit on the story you dreamed of breaking unless you knew it would hurt someone you care about."

"Do you know what it's like," Jonah said quietly. "What it's been like?"

"I can't say I do--as proud as I am of my work, I don't bleed ink like you do, Jonah. But I know how important I must be to you for you to keep your silence like this."

Jonah raised his eyes to stare into Peter's. "You need to give it up, Parker. You've got a child now."

"Does that stop Reed Richards?"

"Reed Richards isn't swinging around the city looking for armed maniacs to beat up," Jonah countered. "He's a scientist. You're a photographer--and you could be a damn good scientist, Parker, if you could devote the time to it. You need to give it up."

Peter looked at the older man for what seemed like an eternity. In the space of a few minutes, this man he'd known almost half his adult life had changed into someone frail and scared and worried about him. He sifted through his head for an answer before saying, "It's not as easy as that."

"With all you have to live for, it should be."

"I'm not doing this out of civic duty."

"I think you paid back the debt you owed your Uncle Ben a hundredfold by now." As Peter's mouth opened in astonishment, the old newsman added, "Come now, Parker. I'm a newsman. Once I knew who you were, it didn't take all that long for me to piece together your backstory."

Before Peter could say anything more, an unholy sound pierced the air. His Spider-sense tingled, and Peter acted without thought, diving for Jonah and pulling him to the floor as the window in the newsman's office--and every window around them on either side of the street--shattered.

"What was that?" Jonah barked. Peter was already at the broken window, peering out at the site of a strange red-and-purple entity dragging what appeared to be a woman into the street by her long black hair.

Peter looked over at his boss. "J.J., I gotta--"

"Use my private washroom," Jonah said hurriedly, "And hurry."

"Thanks."

"And Parker?"

Peter looked over his shoulder.

"This conversation isn't over."

"I do regret this, woman...really, I do. But the man you are dating could lead me to Volume Two. And I will do anything to obtain it first."

The woman twisted in the grip of Kaw's one fully functioning hand. She was covered in dust and silt, and had experienced a number of microcuts from where the glass the villian had shattered with his energy blast had rained down upon her. "What are you talking about???"

Klaw continued to drag her forward into the street. "Have you ever ashed Mr. Fenchurch what he did before coming to America?"

The woman turned onto her side and kicked Klaw as hard as she could with one bare foot. She instantly yelped as her foot hit the solidified sound of Klaw's body, breaking one of her toes and sending sharp pains up her leg. In the distance, the Master of Sound could hear sirens.

Bringing his sonic horn to the woman's kneecap, he said, "We must leave now. If you continue to be obsteperous, I will take off a limb."

The fear in the woman's eyes turned to puzzlement as a mass of webbing clogged the somic horn. Klaw turned in the direction of the webs to see the red and blue figure of Spider-Man swooping down.

"That's some pick-up line you got there, buddy," the wenslinger snapped as he bounced off the nearby building and barrelled into the bizarre energy being. "It ever work for you?"

The alarm sounded. She stepped away from the stove and entered her workshop. Stepping over the various cables and wires that littered the room, undecorated and ugly in its crumbling exposed brick appearance, she made her way to the monitor. She flicked the monitor's switch and waited a moment for the device to warm up.

When she studied the display, a beatific smile developed on her soft face.

"Gotcha, lover," she said and turned to the large, vaguely humanoid-shaped object mounted on a harnass. The item was headless, but a helmet lay on a small cart next to it.

Still grinning, she began to strap herself in.

Spider-Man drove Klaw to the ground and nimbly leapt up. The impact had apparently dislodged the woman's hair from his grip, and Peter silently thanked God that he could dispense with the cleverness. He straddled Klaw and started pummelling him. "Leave!"

The woman stood up unsteadily. Her arms flailed wildly until she steadied herself on the side of a dairy truck. Klaw smashed Spidey in the face with his gleaming sonic horn. Spider-Man's torso and head snapped back, giving the Master of Sound enough time to drive his knee into the webslinger's sternum. Klaw rolled, dislodging the briefly unsettled hero off him.

"Wow....you sure are a bit on the hard side...," Spider-Man gasped as he struggled to catch his breath.

"I have faced down the Fantastic Four, little man," Klaw said, letting fly with a sonic blast that Spidey just barely got out of the way off. "You will be little more than an annoyance."

"You know what would be an annoyance? You singing 'Winchester Cathedral' with that thing."As Spider-Man hit the ground, he rolled and shot both web-shooters. Thick gobs of webbing wrapped itself around Klaw's horn and up his arm. The Master of Sound snarled. Spider-Man looked briefly at the woman who had seemed to be the object of the sonic being's attention. "Didn't I tell you to run?"

"To your left!" the woman cried out mere seconds before Peter's spider-sense began tingling. He ducked away just as Klaw charged. Peter lept up as the crimson and violet menace passed and put all his energy into a drop kick that sent the man stumbling. The webslinger landed nimbly on the ground and let fly with his webs again, now attaching the already gummed up horn arm to his shoulder.

"I can do this all day, Noisy," Peter said conversationally. "I hope I can at least get the Notre Dame Fight Song out of you."

Klaw turned. The air around him began to shimmer as a muffled whine grew in pitch. Suddenly, Peter's webs were torn asunder by Klaw's sonic horn. "Are you quite finished?" he roared and fired a beam directly at Peter.

Peter summersaulted out of the way. "How about 'Go Super-Chargers? Fear Da Tigers? Meet The Mets?"

The Master of Sound laid down a barrage of closely positioned sonic beams. Spider-Man danced through them nimbly, each leap bringing him closer to the villian. All the while, thoughts raced through his head about sonics and what he could do to shut Klaw down.

"I will have what I came for, Spider-Man!" Klaw proclaimed. "I will have Volume Two!"

Spidey spun in the air and esecuted a roundhouse kick that drove the Klaw backwards. "Eh, tried Volume One. no great shakes."

What the Hell is he talking about? Peter asked himself. His hands flashed out, webs attaching themselves to either side of the street. Peter rose high in the air and twisted, turning end over end until his feet were secured in the weblines.

"You seek to take sanctuary in the sky, you fool?" Klaw asked just as one of his beams severed the right line. Spider-Man found himself falling to Earth on a wide arc.

"No...I seek to have an idiot bad guy do exactly what I expected him to do so I...can...do...." Spidey said as he swung closer and closer to Klaw....

"This!"

With gritted teeth, Spidey reached out and grabbed the horn with both hands and yanked with all his might. The network of black slashed that served as a face for Klaw twisted in what looked like fear as the horn strained, then detached from his body. A noise like the roaring of a hurricaine filled Spider-Man's ears as he rose up in the sky, the horn tucked under one arm and his other arm spinning a webline. Glancing down, he saw the sound energy that made up Klaw's body rushing towards him. In seconds, it would enter the horn, and most likely do so by going through him. Peter braced for the impact...

And was just as surprised as the rush of crackling, crimson energy and the horn itself sparkled, shimmered and disappeared completely.

Norman Osborne threw his keys on the table, took off his jacket, and swore in the most inappropriate manner.

He was nowhere nearer to discovering who was the guilty party. And he wanted to be, desperately...he wanted to discover their identity so he could take his time torturing them until they lost all hope--before Norman killed them, of course.

He loosened his tie as he passed by the heavy sheets of plastic that sealed the damaged area of his penthouse while the contractors put everything back together again. The man he paid him to make his home right again told him it would be done in a month; Norman countered by whispering how it would be done in two weeks...and if it wasn't, he was planning on taking a finger from the man's son for every day it was late.

As much as he hated Roderick Kingsley for poaching his identity, Norman had to admit that he believed the man. Granted, Kingsley's activities had the potential to interfere with his own plans--but he was right, there was no reason for the Hobgoblin to fly again. Which meant someone else...

Norman stood stock still. Something was moving on the other side of the plastic.

He moved carefully to the desk, keeping his eye on the shadow on the other side. Slowly, Norman removed the gun--he always made sure he was within feet of a gun no matter where he was in his home--and pulled back the hammer. The shadow grew and Norman could see that it was definitely humanoid, large and powerful with a frame that could blot out the sun.

"Whoever you are," Norman called out, "You are trespassing."

There was a second where he heard the shape on the other side of the plastic take a painful, shuddering breath. "You seek the men who tried to kill you, Mr. Osborne," a voice said that sounded like it had been scarred and scorched with acid. "I want to find them as well."

"And why," Norman asked, raising his gun to aim for the figure's head. "should I believe that you are on my side?"

"Because if I wanted to kill you," the voice on the other side pointed out. "You would be dead. :Like the Grim Hunter. Like Doctor Octopus."

"Octavius is not dead."

The shadow shifted. "He was when I was finished. You need me, Osborne. You need my help."

"You need Kaine."

Spider-Man lit down next to the young woman. She appeared shaken up, her long black hair in disarray, her dusty clothes dishevelled. Peter took her arm and led her toward the building. "Do you know what that was about, ma'am?"

"He...it's so far away," she muttered.

Great, she's in shock, Peter thought. He took one hand and guided her head until she was looking right at him. "Klaw had mentioned something called Volume Two. Do you know what he was talking about?"

Looking directly at Spidey seemed to calm her. Her free hand strayed to her head as she smoothed her hair. "He...he mentioned something about my fiance'...something--Look out!"

Peter wouldn't question why his spider sense didn't warn him until well after the impact that drove him into the building. He would not make notice of the whisps of greenish-grey smoke...because he was too busy trying to make sense of the figure that hovered above him.

It was female, voluptuous and curvy, with a cascade of honey blonde curls escaping from its helmet. The color scheme was a strange urban camo potpourri of white, grey and blue, with a strange nobby texture, but the sihlouette made no sense. Two serpentine arms snaked from her hips, weaving themselves around the stylized wings and the blunt, segmented tail. Her boots ended in sharp metal spikes, and the cuffs on both her gloves--which ended in long, curved claws--seemed to exude a steady stream of mist. Her helmet resembled nothing so much as a stylized astronaut's helmet, and he could tell from behind the frosted glass that she seemed to be smiling.

"You do know what a Chimera is, don't you, Spider-Man?" she asked before one of those arms telescoped towards him, triple-pronged claws snapping.

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