As it turned out, Sergei Kravinoff didn't exactly fit the standard New York supervillain mold. He didn't monologue about world domination, and he didn't immediately try to mount their heads above his fireplace. His public identity was that of a high-ranking Russian parliamentarian. A sitting member of the State Duma didn't need to skulk in the shadows or act like a comic-book maniac.
Instead of a fight, Kraven invited Peter and Felicia into his private study for a conversation.
The room smelled of old paper, expensive tobacco, and polished mahogany. A fire crackled in the massive stone hearth, casting dancing orange shadows across the antique bookshelves. Kraven walked over to a crystal decanter resting on a side table and unstoppered it.
"I received a heavily redacted intelligence briefing while I was still in Moscow," Kraven said, his deep, resonant voice easily filling the room. He poured a clear liquid into three heavy crystal tumblers. "The report claimed my half-brother had died in New York. And it specifically named Spider-Man as the executioner."
He turned, offering a glass to Peter and another to Felicia.
Felicia's brow furrowed beneath her mask. She shot a quick glance at Peter. Brother? she mouthed silently. She had no idea the Chameleon was related to the giant Russian currently serving them drinks.
"Your timing is quite perfect," Kraven continued, leaning back against the edge of his desk. "I already had state business to attend to in New York, so I took the opportunity to conduct my own inquiries. According to the data I gathered, Spider-Man has absolutely no record of taking lethal action against criminals."
Peter shifted his weight, the leather of his boots creaking slightly against the hardwood floor. Actually, there's Carl King, Peter thought grimly, but I'm not bringing that up.
"But you were there," Kraven said, his sharp, predatory eyes locking onto the white lenses of Peter's mask. "So you can tell me the truth. How did my brother—or perhaps you knew him better as the 'Chameleon'—actually die?"
Peter crossed his arms, keeping his posture carefully neutral. "Are you planning to avenge him?"
Kraven didn't answer immediately. He simply held out the glasses.
Peter hesitated. Beneath his skin, the black symbiote rippled, analyzing the chemical composition of the liquid through the air.
[It is not poisoned,] Venom's deep voice rumbled in Peter's mind. [It is fermented potato ethanol. High proof. Vodka.]
"I don't drink," Peter said, holding up a gloved hand. "Thank you."
"It isn't poisoned, Spider," Kraven noted, an amused glint in his eye.
"I know," Peter replied flatly. "But I'm a teenager, and straight Russian vodka is a little above my weight class."
Kraven let out a low, rumbling chuckle. He took the glass intended for Peter and kept it for himself.
Beside Peter, Felicia took her glass. Never one to back down from a challenge, she pulled her mask up just past her lips and took a confident sip. A split second later, her shoulders seized. She aggressively swallowed, her eyes watering as the sheer, unadulterated burn of the alcohol scorched a path down her throat. She quickly set the glass down on a nearby coaster, politely trying not to cough.
How does anyone drink something that tastes like literal rocket fuel? Felicia thought, her chest burning.
"As for revenge," Kraven said, seamlessly downing his glass and then tossing back Peter's rejected serving without so much as a flinch. "That depends entirely on the circumstances. My brother was a defector. He betrayed his motherland. If he was tracked down and executed by agents of the Foreign Intelligence Service, I would respect the game. If he was killed by the CIA or American law enforcement because he broke the laws of this soil, I would only wonder if he felt any remorse at the end."
Kraven set the empty crystal tumblers down. The amusement faded from his face, replaced by the cold, calculating stare of a hunter. "But... if he was murdered by a third party for money, or to silence a witness? Then I want to know exactly who pulled the trigger, and why."
Peter kept his breathing steady. If Kraven knew the Punisher had put a high-caliber round through the Chameleon's chest, Frank Castle would have a Russian super-soldier hunting him across the five boroughs. Frank could hold his own, but Peter wasn't about to initiate a gang war.
"He wasn't assassinated," Peter said carefully, sticking as close to the truth as possible without dropping names. "Dmitri disguised himself as a civilian to carry out a hit. He tried to frame someone else. The operation went sideways, and in the crossfire, Dmitri caught the bullet meant for his target. He orchestrated the chaos, and he got caught in it."
Kraven stared at Peter for a long, heavy moment. The fire popped in the hearth. Finally, Kraven gave a slow, solemn nod. He accepted the answer.
He poured himself a third glass of vodka, then turned his attention to the white-haired thief standing near the doorway. "And what of you, little cat? What is your purpose for breaking into my estate?"
"I want to know about the Super-Soldier Serum," Felicia demanded, completely ignoring his hospitality. She stepped forward, her green eyes piercing. "The serum flowing through your veins. Was it entirely developed by the Soviet Union, or did you steal the formula?"
Kraven's grip tightened slightly on his glass. "That is classified state intelligence, miss. If I may be so bold, even if you were officially carrying a badge for the United States government, I could not tell you."
He took a slow sip, his eyes tracking Felicia's rigid posture. "However, I do know of a specific American operative. A thief. He once attempted to infiltrate our borders and steal the missing Super-Soldier prototypes from my country. Unfortunately for him, he failed."
Felicia's jaw clenched. Peter winced beneath his mask. Kraven was practically holding up a neon sign pointing out the connection between the original Black Cat and Felicia.
"He failed to steal it from the Soviet Union," Felicia corrected, her voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. "Because he didn't hit a facility in Russia. He stole it from a black site in Hungary."
Kraven's brow furrowed. The glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
During the Cold War, Hungary had been a Soviet satellite state, but the Russian high command would never have stored their most prized, cutting-edge biological weapons in a proxy nation. The logistics didn't make sense. It was a glaring historical anomaly, and Kraven immediately filed the detail away in his mind.
"Interesting," Kraven murmured, setting the glass down. He turned back to Peter. "I understand the thief's motivation for trespassing. But what about you, Spider-Man? What reason does an Avenger have for invading a private citizen's home?"
"I saw you at the Fisk Museum of Natural Art a couple of nights ago," Peter explained, leaning against the back of a leather armchair. "I was running an operation on Kingpin's black-market supply lines. Then, S.H.I.E.L.D. decrypted some files linking your family tree to the Chameleon. I figured you might be here for blood. I wanted to scout the perimeter and make sure you weren't prepping for a war."
Kraven nodded, respecting the tactical foresight. If Peter truly viewed him as an enemy, they would be fighting in the dirt right now, not drinking in the study.
"So," Peter asked, tilting his head. "If you aren't here to avenge Dmitri, why are you in America?"
Kraven turned toward the crackling fireplace, the orange light reflecting off his broad features. "A fraction of my visit was to confirm Dmitri's fate. But the bulk of my presence here is for my work, my children, and my country."
He looked back at Peter. "I came here for you. More precisely, I came here for the Avengers."
Peter blinked. "The Avengers?"
"In this modern era, gods, monsters, and super-powered individuals are commonplace," Kraven explained, his voice taking on the practiced cadence of a politician. "And every nation requires a leash to hold them. Your Avengers have formed the most devastatingly powerful paramilitary organization since the Second World War. Do you have any concept of the geopolitical shockwave that created?"
Kraven stepped away from the fire, pacing slowly across the Persian rug. "Overnight, the United States possessed a team capable of toppling entire governments. Then, S.H.I.E.L.D. began consolidating secondary strike forces. This level of concentrated power terrified the global community. Now, every nation with a shred of global influence is scrambling to manufacture their own equivalent of the Avengers."
Kraven began ticking them off on his thick fingers. "The great Eastern power in China is currently assembling the Ascendants initiative. My own people in Russia are laying the groundwork for the Winter Guard. Even the British have fast-tracked a classified project they call Excalibur. A global arms race has begun, Spider, and the weapons wear capes."
"Wait, hold on," Peter interrupted, holding his hands up. "The Avengers aren't an American military asset. We don't answer to the Pentagon. We're an independent team."
"Try telling that to the United Nations and see who believes you," Kraven scoffed, a cynical smile touching his lips. "Captain America wears your flag. Iron Man funded your defense department. You operate out of the heart of New York City. The world views you as an American sword, Spider-Man, regardless of what press releases you publish."
Kraven crossed his arms. "I came to New York with one solitary purpose: to observe the Avengers. To decipher how your ecosystem functions, how you maintain operational control over gods, and what strategies my own country can replicate for the Winter Guard."
Peter listened, his enhanced brain processing the geopolitical nightmare Kraven had just laid out. But amidst the tension, a sudden, brilliant spark of inspiration hit him. He could defuse the Russian super-soldier, satisfy Kraven's political curiosity, and keep him entirely out of the criminal underworld in one move.
"You know, Kraven," Peter said, stepping away from the armchair and standing tall. "I have a suggestion. One that might mutually satisfy both our agendas."
Kraven raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
Peter smiled beneath the mask. "How would you like a personal, VIP tour of Avengers Tower?"
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