Peter's astral fist connected with the Molten Man's jaw, and for the first time since his transformation, Mark Raxton felt real, sharp pain. As a scientist, he'd spent his life behind a terminal, not in the trenches. He didn't know how to handle being the one getting punched.
But as the blows rained down, he realized something. He understood why Spider-Man was ignoring the others. Raxton wasn't flesh and blood anymore. His body was high-temperature, liquid metal. It was a hell of a weapon, sure, but it was also his biggest design flaw. Metal solidified when exposed to rapid cooling.
If he can drop my temperature, he can lock me up, Raxton realized, his metallic form sluggish under Peter's relentless assault.
The Wild Pack had captured a Molten Man construct once before, but the spirit—the actual consciousness—had simply fled, leading to a resurrection. This time? Peter wasn't playing that game.
He's targeting my physical state to box in my soul, Raxton thought, his eyes glowing with molten fury. He thinks I'm his greatest enemy because I can burn him to a crisp!
"I'm not someone to be trifled with, Spider-Man!"
Raxton roared, his body temperature spiking. The surface of his black, metallic skin began to warp, cracking open to reveal an incandescent, white-hot core. The heat output was astronomical.
Silvija immediately shrieked for an evacuation. "Emergency retreat! Clear the area!"
Venom and Cindy didn't wait to be told twice. They scattered, dragging the rest of the Wild Pack team toward the perimeter.
The Molten Man lunged for the retreating symbiote, but the Spectral Spider-Man intercepted him, driving a fist into his chest to pin him in place. It was a stalemate. The Molten Man's heat was absolute, his form liquefying, but Peter's astral form held firm, anchored by the Web of Fate.
Peter realized the danger immediately. [Venom, get clear!] he sent, his spirit form surging to drag the astral projection of the Molten Man higher, soaring thousands of feet into the night sky.
Raxton had achieved his goal.
As the heat refracted the light against the cold night air, a second, miniature sun bloomed over Madrid.
The temperature spike was instantaneous. Moisture in the air evaporated into steam. Particles of sand melted into glass. The swirling winds of the Cyclone Elemental were extinguished by the sheer thermal expansion. Crimson light bathed the entire capital.
The Molten Man wanted to howl in triumph, but his body had reached its limit. The explosion of raw, high-intensity heat shredded his own metallic shell.
The fire cleared, leaving only a cloudless, star-drenched sky.
But the heat lingered, radiating down onto the pavement below. At the Royal Institute of Madrid, Spider-Man's physical body lay limp on the ground, the symbiote having long since retreated into his pores. Within a hundred-meter radius, every blade of grass and every stray insect had been flash-dried into dust.
The liquid metal molecules, scattered and superheated, slowly began to drip and coalesce back into a viscous, tar-like shape. The Molten Man landed on the ground, his form black and sluggish, still glowing with a dull, residual heat. He was certain he'd won. He had seen Spider-Man's body collapse. The symbiote couldn't handle that level of thermal radiation; Peter had been forced to eject to survive.
He marched toward the prone form of Spider-Man, a smug, heat-warped grin spreading across his face.
"In the end, I won," Raxton rasped, his metallic voice bubbling. "Neither you nor that parasite could handle the heat of a new sun."
He raised a glowing red palm, ready to crush Spider-Man's skull.
"Crimson Bands of Cyttorak."
The voice didn't come from the body on the ground. It came from the air itself.
A web of jagged, blood-red magical chains erupted from Peter's chest, lashing out and binding Raxton's spirit in an unbreakable iron grip. Simultaneously, black symbiote tentacles whipped out from behind Peter's back. They weren't attacking—they were holding pressurized liquid nitrogen canisters.
HISS.
A freezing, sub-zero mist engulfed the Molten Man. His viscous body solidified instantly, locking him into a statue of frozen, brittle slag.
Peter stood up. He dusted off his suit, looking perfectly fine.
"If we'd known your specific research parameters, we could've calculated the exact explosion yield for a heavy metal of your mass," Peter said calmly. "The reason I flew you to that altitude wasn't because I'm a bad pilot. It was because I needed you to think you'd actually hit your kill-switch."
Peter watched the liquid nitrogen continue to hiss against the metal. He took a deep, steadying breath, then yanked on the crimson chains, pulling the spirit—a balding man in his forties—right out of the cooling metal shell.
Peter shrugged. "Besides, I don't need to be in spirit form to scrap with you. I'm just a novice sorcerer, but I've learned a few tricks. I needed you to think I was tethered to that astral form so you'd lower your guard."
"Also," Peter added, "you're right. You are a massive headache. The heat and the sonics are hell on the symbiote. But hey, at least we caught one."
Peter gestured toward the horizon. "By the way? Your teammates? They've all ditched you."
Inside the Royal Institute, Silvija Sablinova stood by the reinforced windows, watching Spider-Silk and Black Cat weld a mobile containment unit shut. She turned to them, her expression a cocktail of confusion and professional hostility.
"Are you absolutely certain that cage will hold a Molten Man?" she asked.
"I have no idea," Felicia said, wiping her hands on a rag and flashing a grin. "But you have to trust Spider-Man. He's a bona fide magician, after all."
Cindy Moon just nodded, sensing Peter's location with pinpoint accuracy. She didn't say a word.
Silvija stared at the makeshift prison, feeling a strange mix of powerlessness and grudging respect. She had spent five months fighting these things, and she still didn't have a clear answer. What kind of organization turned human beings into living, magical entities?
Maybe, Silvija thought, only magic really can fight magic.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGaruda
You'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~