Since the arrival of Plumber reinforcements from across the galaxy, Earth's desperate situation had stabilized into something resembling organized chaos. Alien warriors from dozens of worlds now fought alongside human defenders, their exotic weapons and abilities creating a patchwork of resistance against Vilgax's invasion forces.
But stabilization was not victory.
The war had transformed the entire planet into a battlefield, and as always in such conflicts, it was the innocent who bore the heaviest cost. Civilians cowered in subway tunnels and reinforced basements while the sounds of space combat echoed overhead. The new car someone had saved years to afford became twisted metal under alien feet. Mortgage payments continued on houses that no longer existed, reduced to rubble by stray energy blasts.
Vilgax had been strategically precise in his cruelty. Rather than simply exterminating humanity, which would have been well within his capabilities, he orchestrated a campaign of terror designed to harvest fear on an industrial scale. His forces pursued fleeing humans like cats toying with mice, allowing escape at the last possible moment to maximize psychological trauma.
The alien warlord needed living humans to fuel his power absorption, but their quality of life was irrelevant to his purposes. Missing limbs, shattered minds, broken families, all acceptable casualties in his quest for space dominion.
Even with galactic support, the Plumbers found themselves outmatched by the sheer power of the eight Sky Hammer Messengers. These weapons, forged by Cul Borson and enhanced by Vilgax's accumulated divine power, had transformed their wielders into forces of nature that could barely be contained, let alone defeated.
Beta Ray Bill, despite his enhanced abilities and space experience, found himself being systematically dismantled by his opponent. The Sky Hammer had amplified its wielder's natural capabilities beyond anything the Korbinite warrior had previously encountered.
CRASH!
Psyphon's enhanced form drove Bill through three city blocks like a living projectile, the impact of each collision creating craters in reinforced concrete. When the Plumber champion finally came to rest, embedded in the foundation of what had once been a shopping mall, his cybernetic systems sparked with damage warnings.
"Is this the best the legendary Plumbers can offer?" Psyphon taunted, his voice carrying new harmonics of divine authority. The Sky Hammer had not just enhanced his physical capabilities, it had awakened aspects of godhood that made him almost unrecognizable from the sycophantic lieutenant he'd once been.
On a different battlefield, Steve Rogers led what remained of the active Thunderbolts in a desperate assault against another Sky Hammer wielder. The Winter Soldier had finally shaken off the fear-induced hallucinations that had paralyzed him, but his recovery had come at the cost of precious time and positioning.
Their target was the Sotoraggian mercenary trio known as Sixsix, Sevenseven, and Eighteight, bounty hunters who had been among the weakest of Vilgax's recruits until the Sky Hammers had elevated them to the level of space destroyers.
"Your pathetic strength astounds me," Sixsix declared through his suit's translation matrix, his purple armor gleaming with otherworldly energy. "Even without invoking the hammer's power, I could defeat your entire squad with ease."
The boast wasn't empty bravado. The Sotoraggian siblings were renowned mercenaries whose natural abilities had allowed them to compete with Ben 10's alien forms in previous encounters. Their advanced armor and weaponry had been cutting-edge even before divine enhancement, and their combat experience spanned multiple star systems.
Their opponents, by contrast, were aging super-soldiers and determined amateurs operating with equipment that was impressive by Earth standards but primitive by galactic measures.
"Then why don't you put down that hammer and prove it?" the Winter Soldier challenged, rolling his enhanced shoulder to work out the kinks from their previous exchange. The metal arm might have been repaired, but his tactical suit still bore the scars of countless battles.
Falcon struggled to remove his damaged flight gear, the wings that had once carried him through impossible aerial maneuvers now reduced to twisted scrap. "Can anyone give me a hand here? I'm basically a ground-bound sitting duck without these."
"You'd be better off staying in that armor," War Machine called out from where he lay trapped inside his own suit, the advanced systems locked up by enemy interference. "At least you're not completely helpless."
"That's genuinely pathetic," Falcon observed, tapping on Rhodes' helmet with one knuckle. "But don't worry, the Plumbers have enough backup gear to outfit a small army. We'll get you sorted out once we deal with tall, purple, and arrogant here."
Sixsix actually laughed at their banter, the sound carrying electronic harmonics that made it sound more like static than amusement. "Very well. You've provided adequate entertainment, so I'll grant your request."
With theatrical ceremony, he set aside the massive hammer that had transformed him from skilled mercenary into godlike destroyer. The weapon stood upright in the ruined street, its supernatural weight creating small fractures in the asphalt around its base.
"But understand," Sixsix continued, cracking his knuckles with audible pops, "this merely prolongs your suffering. Characters of your caliber present no meaningful challenge."
Steve caught the eye of each team member, conveying tactical instructions through micro-expressions and subtle gestures honed by decades of battlefield command. Their opponent had just made a critical error in judgment, the same overconfidence that had led to the downfall of countless seemingly invincible enemies.
Raising his shield, the aging Captain America led the charge with the same unwavering determination that had carried him through decades of impossible odds.
Osborn Tower
Explosions rocked the upper floors of Osborn Tower as a deadly game of cat-and-mouse played out among the corporate offices and research laboratories. Scorching air waves filled the confined spaces, making breathing difficult and movement treacherous.
"I told you we should have run!" Venom's distressed voice echoed from within Flash Thompson's enhanced form as they scrambled through corridors filled with smoke and debris.
Originally, Flash had wanted to assist Beta Ray Bill in his space-level battle, but even Venom's enhanced capabilities couldn't match the raw power being thrown around in that conflict. Faced with the reality of their limitations, the symbiote had suggested a tactical retreat to gather additional allies.
Flash, driven by his determination to prove himself as a hero, had reluctantly agreed to find backup rather than charge headlong into certain death. His first thought had been Harry Osborn, whose heroic Green Goblin persona had fought alongside Spider-Man in previous battles.
He hadn't expected to find Harry transformed into something far more dangerous than any villain they'd previously faced.
The Osborn heir's memory had been twisted by Vilgax's fear-based powers, replacing reality with a nightmare version of events where his friends had betrayed him and his father had died in agony. Worse, despite his confused mental state, Harry retained perfect recall of every tactical weakness the symbiotes possessed.
Sonic weapons and incendiary devices filled the air around them as Harry's Green Goblin glider provided superior mobility and firepower. Each attack was precisely calculated to exploit Venom's known vulnerabilities, forcing Flash into an increasingly desperate defensive retreat.
"You got lucky last time, Spider-Man," Harry called out, his voice carrying the cold satisfaction of someone finally achieving long-sought revenge. "But there's no escape this time."
"I'm not Spider-Man!" Flash shouted back, though his protest lacked conviction.
His current appearance did nothing to support his claim. Venom's presence had transformed him into something that resembled a significantly more muscular version of the wall-crawler, complete with the characteristic web-slinging abilities and spider-sense. To an observer, especially one whose perceptions had been deliberately distorted, the resemblance was unmistakable.
Harry's response was to scatter a handful of sonic grenades like seeds, their payloads designed to detonate in sequence and create overlapping fields of disruptive sound waves. The infrasonic pulses struck Venom like physical blows, causing the symbiote's molecular structure to destabilize and writhe like liquid metal in a chaotic magnetic field.
But sonic weapons, while painful, could only incapacitate the symbiote temporarily. For permanent damage, Harry would need to rely on the other half of his arsenal.
"Go to hell, Spider-Man!" he snarled, priming a series of incendiary pumpkin bombs with the kind of focused hatred that only came from perceived betrayal.
"Did someone mention my name?"
A web-line snaked through the smoke-filled air with mechanical precision, attaching to the armed explosives and yanking them away from their intended target. The bombs sailed back toward their originator like returning boomerangs, their timers already counting down toward detonation.
BOOM!
The explosion shook the entire floor, scattering debris and creating enough chaos for Flash to escape the sonic weapons' overlapping fields. Through the settling dust came the familiar red-and-blue figure that had inspired Flash's transformation into a hero.
"Venom!" Spider-man's voice carried a mixture of relief and confusion. "You're alive! I thought Ultron had killed. Why didn't you contact me? And who is..." He gestured toward the enhanced form that Flash now wore.
Peter's expression behind his mask showed the kind of hurt that came from seeing a close friend with someone new. The situation felt uncomfortably like walking in on an ex-girlfriend with her new boyfriend.
"My new partner," Venom said with deliberate smugness. "I got tired of your constant moral lectures, Peter Parker. This one actually appreciates my capabilities."
"Uh, no, that's not, " Flash started to protest, then caught himself. "I mean, superheroes don't need to reveal their identities in public. The mask is essential because it represents our commitment to selfless service, just like you, Spider-Man."
Peter blinked in surprise. "What?"
"You're my idol," Flash continued, his voice carrying genuine reverence. "Watching you fight for people who couldn't defend themselves, never asking for recognition or reward, that's what inspired me to become a better person. To try to make a difference."
The sincerity in Flash's voice caught Peter completely off-guard. He'd been prepared to deliver a lecture about the practical necessity of secret identities, but faced with such earnest admiration, the explanation seemed almost cynical.
"Actually, I wear a mask because..." Peter started, then stopped himself. The truth was that Ben had insisted on secrecy as a protective measure, but that reasoning belonged to a different time when they'd been trying to avoid government attention. "Okay, you know what? You're right. The mystery is part of the heroic ideal."
"Since you're new to this," Peter continued, warming to his role as mentor, "you should come up with a good code name before someone else gives you a bad one. Trust me on this, J. Jonah Jameson spent years calling me 'the Menace' in print, and that kind of reputation is hard to shake."
"Agent Venom," Flash said immediately. "I've always wanted to be a spy."
"I might be able to introduce you to some people," Peter replied, dropping into a combat stance as movement stirred in the smoke ahead of them. "But right now, we need to deal with our immediate problem."
Harry emerged from the debris cloud like an avenging angel, his Green Goblin armor scorched but fully functional. The explosion had only served to fuel his rage rather than disable him.
"Peter Parker!" Harry's voice carried years of accumulated bitterness and pain. "How dare you show your face to me again! This time I'm going to kill you properly!"
"Harry, we need to talk," Peter said, his tone shifting from confident to pleading. "You're my friend. We can work this out."
He'd come here specifically to help Harry, carrying a carefully formulated antidote that he and Dr. Connors had developed to counter fear-based mental manipulation. But administering it would require getting close enough to inject Harry with the compound, a challenging prospect when his friend was actively trying to murder him.
"Friend?" Harry's laugh was bitter and sharp. "A friend who stood by and watched my father die without lifting a finger to help?"
"Harry, your memory is wrong," Peter insisted, dodging a barrage of micro-missiles while trying to maintain verbal contact. "Remember, Ben cured your family's genetic disease. Your father is alive and well. He's running H.A.M.M.E.R. as the director of Earth's Plumber operations."
The correction only intensified Harry's fury. The idea that Peter would mock his grief by claiming his father was still alive represented a level of cruelty that Harry's twisted memories couldn't forgive.
"My father trusted you!" Harry screamed, hurling another wave of explosives with reckless abandon. "He believed in you and Ben! And how did you repay that trust? You stole his company! You used Osborn resources to build your disgusting Primus Technologies!"
"Wait, what?" Flash and Venom both stopped their evasive maneuvers, staring at Harry in confusion.
"Is this kid completely insane?" Venom asked, his head emerging from Flash's shoulder to get a better look at their attacker.
"His memory has been altered," Peter explained, contorting through a series of aerial gymnastics to avoid the incoming ordnance. "Vilgax's power feeds on fear and distorts perception. Harry's experiencing a version of reality where everything he values has been corrupted or destroyed."
"Memory problems?" Flash perked up with interest. "Maybe we can help with that. Venom helped restore my memories after I suffered brain damage."
"No chance," Venom said dismissively. "Your situation was different, I was repairing physical trauma and accessing suppressed information. This is active psychological manipulation by a space-level entity. Much more complicated."
"It's okay," Peter said, his voice filled with determination despite the desperate circumstances. "Memory can be changed, but reality is stubborn. Once Harry sees proof that contradicts his false memories, the cognitive dissonance should break through the manipulation."
As he spoke, Peter was already activating his Plumber communication badge, hoping to establish contact with the orbital station where Norman Osborn coordinated Earth's defenses.
"I just need to get Norman on the comm to prove he's still alive, and then, AH!"
Peter's words cut off in a scream of agony as he suddenly folded in mid-air, his body contorting around some invisible source of pain. He fell toward the rooftop below like a bird with its wings clipped, his spider-sense providing no warning of whatever was affecting him.
Flash immediately went into a diving rescue, his enhanced reflexes and Venom's web-slinging abilities allowing him to match Peter's falling trajectory.
They landed hard on the building's roof, Peter immediately curling into a fetal position as waves of pain radiated from his spine. "My back," he gasped, his face pale and sweating beneath his mask. "Something's wrong with my back."
Flash knelt beside him, his enhanced vision picking up disturbing details that normal sight would have missed. "Peter, there's something moving under your suit. It looks like... bumps? Or growths?"
The bulges were small but clearly visible, creating uneven ridges along Peter's spine that seemed to shift and writhe with a life of their own.
"I'm not turning into a spider monster, am I?" Peter asked, panic creeping into his voice despite his attempts to stay calm.
He'd been worried about potential side effects from the experimental serum Dr. Connors had prepared. The good doctor had assured him that the formula was based on Ben's original research, but given Connors' own struggles with unwanted transformation, Peter's concerns had never been entirely laid to rest.
"I knew that lizard guy was unreliable," Peter forcing himself to stand despite the continuing pain. He couldn't afford to show weakness in front of Flash, who looked up to him as a role model.
"I'm fine," he lied, activating his communication device with hands that shook only slightly. "Just keep Harry busy while I contact Norman."
"Plumber Orbital Station, this is Spider-Man," he spoke into the badge, his voice steady despite the internal chaos. "Please respond. Repeat, this is Spider-Man requesting immediate communication with Director Osborn."
Silence stretched across the communication channel as Peter repeated his request several times, each iteration carrying more desperation than the last.
Unknown to Peter, his calls for help were falling into a void of chaos aboard the Plumber orbital platform. Norman Osborn, the man whose voice could have instantly resolved Harry's memory crisis, was fighting for his life against one of the eight Sky Hammer Messengers.
Sevenseven had breached the station's defenses with contemptuous ease, his enhanced abilities allowing him to tear through advanced security systems like tissue paper. The Sotoraggian bounty hunter's natural skills, combined with divine enhancement, had transformed him into a force that even the station's complement of experienced Plumbers couldn't contain.