The GP-7 shot through the city, lights blurring into streaks of color. Spider-Man pushed the machine harder, the engine a steady thrum beneath him. He scanned the skyline, searching for anything out of place.
Something's wrong.
A low pressure built behind his eyes, a vague sense of unease. It wasn't the sharp, tingling bite of his spider-sense yet, just a dull, persistent ache. Like a distant storm brewing. He hated this part, the waiting for the shoe to drop.
He wove through traffic, the GP-7 responding to his every thought, a red and blue bullet. His enhanced vision picked out every detail of the urban sprawl, but nothing stood out as a clear threat. Just the normal, busy hum of Tokyo.
Come on, give me something.
The pressure tightened, a knot in his gut. It felt wrong, heavy, but offered no direction, no target. Just a growing sense of dread. He clenched his jaw, frustrated by the lack of clarity. He needed a beacon, a signal.
Then it hit him.
A sharp, brutal jolt behind his eyes, a spike of pure pain that made him gasp. It was like a siren screaming directly into his brain, overwhelming and undeniable. The vague pressure snapped into focus.
That's it!
The signal was crude, a blunt instrument, but powerful. It pulled him away from the city's neon glow, towards the darker mass of the distant mountains. He didn't hesitate.
He veered the GP-7, the tires squealing softly as the car carved a sharp arc, leaving the cityscape behind. The vehicle responded instantly, a seamless extension of his will. The mountains, dark and imposing, grew larger with every passing second.
The pain intensified with each kilometer, a relentless throb that confirmed his direction. He was heading straight for the source of the danger. No more guessing.
It's out there. And it's big.
The GP-7's speedometer climbed, the engine roaring its agreement. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles white against the black and red suit. He had a target now, and a growing sense of what he would find.
The GP-7's engine sighed, cooling metal clicking in the night. Spider-Man had ditched it behind a cluster of thick pines, cloaked by shadows. The air grew colder, sharper, as he left the road.
He found a foothold on a rough rock face. His fingers, still new to the suit's tactile sensitivity, gripped the stone like glue. The wall-crawling felt natural, an instinct taking over.
He pulled himself up, muscles flexing, and then launched into the trees. Web fluid shot from his wrist, a thin white line against the dark. He swung through the canopy, a blur of red and black. The branches whipped past, leaves brushing his suit.
This is faster.
The pressure in his head intensified. A constant throb, growing more insistent with each leap. It was a hammer against the inside of his skull, pushing him deeper into the mountain's heart. He was moving fast, but it felt like he wasn't fast enough.
What are they doing out here?
He landed silently on a thick branch, the wood creaking only slightly under his weight. Below, the ground dropped away into a steep ravine. He peered through the leaves, scanning the darkness. The air tasted metallic, like ozone.
He pushed off again, another web shot, another silent swing. The trees thinned out, giving way to sparser growth. He could hear something now, a low hum that vibrated through the ground.
I need to get closer.
He dropped to the forest floor, landing with a soft thump. The hum grew louder, more distinct. It wasn't natural. It was mechanical, powerful. And then he saw it.
He broke through the last line of trees.
Floodlights blazed, cutting harsh white paths through the night. Below, in a carved-out clearing, stood the Iron Cross Army. Not just a few Ninders, but dozens of them, like black ants swarming.
In the center of the clearing, something massive stood. Three towering structures, sleek and dark, pointed towards the sky. Missiles. Real ones, ready to launch. They gleamed under the artificial light.
Tokyo.
The thought hit him like a physical blow. They weren't just stealing parts anymore. This was it.
Amazoness stood before a control panel, her silver hair a bright streak. Her crimson eyes were fixed on a digital display, a countdown ticking down in harsh red numbers. Her posture was straight, confident.
She's going to launch them.
A cold, hard knot tightened in his gut. His father's face flashed in his mind. The rage he'd felt then, the raw need for vengeance, surged. This was why he was here. This was why he wore the suit.
Amazoness's voice, a low purr, reached him even from this distance.
"My Lord Professor Monster," she said, her voice clear. "Preparations are complete. Tokyo will soon be nothing more than ash."
Ash.
She lifted a hand, long metallic fingers poised over the console. The red numbers on the display burned bright.
Not on my watch.
He launched himself from the tree line, a dark shape against the floodlights. The training Garia forced on him kicked in. He moved fast, a blur of motion. His intent was simple: stop her.
The Ninders below reacted, plasma rifles snapping up. But they were too slow. He was already airborne, a web line extending.
He landed with a thump, right in the middle of the clearing.
"I am the Emissary from Hell, Spider-Man!"
Amazoness spun around, her silver hair whipping. Her crimson eyes widened for a split second. A flicker of surprise.
"Spider-Man?" she asked, a low, questioning growl.
Her eyes narrowed. Recognition, cold and sharp, dawned. She knew his name. She knew what he was.
"You took my father," he said. The words tasted like acid on his tongue. "You destroyed Garia's world. Now you pay."
This is for you, Dad. For Garia.
His fists clenched. The rage was a hot, driving force, sharper now, more focused. He would make them pay.
Amazoness just stood there, her eyes fixed on him. Not on the Ninders, not on the missiles, but on him. A chill ran down his spine, a cold sensation that cut through the heat of his anger.
"You wear the mark of Garia," she said, her voice a low, throaty purr. "The Spider. I had believed that ancient pest had finally withered into dust."
Her lips curled into a smirk, but her eyes, those glowing crimson orbs, held a new, calculating glint. It wasn't just disdain now. There was something else, a flash of genuine, cold surprise.
"A survivor," she whispered, almost to herself. "Impossible."
She looked him over, head to toe, as if dissecting him with her gaze. Her posture shifted, a subtle tightening of her frame, like a predator assessing new prey.
"I am Amazoness, field commander of the Iron Cross Army," she announced, her voice gaining a metallic edge. "And you, little spider, are an inconvenience."
Inconvenience?
He shook his head, the anger bubbling up again, hot and raw. He wasn't some bug to be brushed aside.
"My father died because of you," he said, his voice hard. "Garia's world was destroyed by your kind."
His gaze swept over the towering missiles, then back to her. The thought of Tokyo, of his mother, of his friends, burned in his mind.
"You won't bomb Tokyo," he declared, each word a stone. "Not while I'm here."
He planted his feet, ready. The spider-sense thrummed, a constant, low vibration, warning him of the many threats around him. He could feel the eyes of every Ninder, every weapon aimed.
He was outnumbered, surrounded, and standing before a woman who saw him as an annoyance. Good.
Let them underestimate me.
Amazoness laughed then, a low, mocking sound that echoed in the clearing. It sent another shiver down his back, but this time, it was from anticipation.
"Such grand words from a mere boy," she taunted. "You speak of vengeance and protection, yet you stand alone against the might of the Iron Cross."
She gestured to the Ninders. They tightened their circle, plasma rifles humming, vibro-blades extended. Their red visors glowed.
"This world will fall," she continued, her voice rising. "Just as Planet Spider fell. You cannot stop the inevitable."
He looked at the Ninders, then at Amazoness. He didn't care about their numbers. He cared about the missiles. He cared about Tokyo.
"Watch me," he said, his voice low, a promise.
He flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar sticky sensation of his web-shooters. He had to take out the missiles first. Then, her.
The Ninders surged forward.
***
Advance Chapters on patreon.com/Najicablitz.
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