Shadow Avengers, page 1
part #2 of Marvel Crisis Protocol Series
Peter Parker rubbed his bleary eyes as he ascended the subway steps into the bright daylight of early fall. As he crossed the street, a loud, repetitive clanging noise caught his attention.
Clang! Cling-clang! SHING!
“Typical Parker luck,” he muttered, pulling his mask on, the chrome-plated lenses cutting the harsh rays of the midday sun. He crept toward the ongoing sounds. When he finally got a good look at the action he paused in shock, barely able to believe what he was seeing.
Loki and Venom were engaged in an epic swordfight, if you could call it that. Loki carried a sword, but Venom wielded a broken off streetlamp. As he exchanged brutal blows with the Asgardian, black symbiotic tendrils extended from his back, holding aloft a hose that dribbled a disgusting green glop onto the ground. Its other end terminated at the Oscorp tanker truck.
Peter knew he needed to put a stop to this, but he wasn’t sure which side to take…
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First published by Aconyte Books in 2022
ISBN 978 1 83908 102 6
Ebook ISBN 978 1 83908 103 3
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Cover art by Xteve Abanto
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To Emily and Jen, with gratitude for the sanity-saving pandemic talks.
Part One
A Growing Storm
One
Eddie Brock’s stomach rumbled. He stopped in the middle of the busy New York City sidewalk and tried to remember the last time he’d eaten, eliciting annoyed glares and swear words from the pedestrians who had to go around him. He didn’t even notice. He’d been working long nights in the seedy local paper’s bullpen on a column about the club scene, and the days had melted together. He squinted up at the sun as if that might clue him in on the date. Was it really Thursday afternoon? He’d had steak and eggs at a greasy spoon on… Tuesday?
It didn’t take super-senses to pick up on the delicious smells that wafted down the street. Ever since Sal’s Pizza had opened up beneath his apartment the entire block had been coated in a miasma of scrumptiousness, an irresistible pepperoni haze of monstrous proportions. It seeped through his open windows and haunted his dreams.
His stomach growled again.
Let’s get pizza, Eddie, said his Other, its voice echoing in his mind. We’re hungry.
He almost replied aloud but cut himself off before he squeaked out more than a syllable. People got edgy when you held conversations with yourself, even in Brooklyn. If he explained that he was talking to the alien symbiote that lived inside his head, they’d shove him into a hospital bed before he could blink. He needed to hold it together, but that had gotten more difficult lately.
You also need pizza, persisted the symbiote. If you don’t take care of us, I will.
“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie muttered, but he couldn’t muster up much heat. No matter how bad things got, or how far he fell down, at least he wasn’t alone.
He went into the restaurant and bought himself a medium pepperoni from Sal, who gave him a wide smile under his slick white mustache.
“Medium pep for Brock!” he shouted towards the kitchen. “Add some extra meat to that one, because this guy looks like he might waste away from hunger!”
“Thanks,” said Eddie.
The old man squinted at him, his happy expression fading into concern.
“You OK?” he asked.
“Peachy. Why do you ask?”
“You got blood on your shirt.”
Startled, Eddie glanced down to see a gory spray across the front of his plain T-shirt. After he’d interviewed the owner of Broadway10, a hot new nightclub in a historic old theater, he’d run across a couple of guys who fancied themselves carjackers. He must have gotten a little carried away. But they’d been breathing when he left. He was almost sure of it.
They deserved it, said his Other. Hunting in our city.
But we hunted them back. It’s no different, he thought in return.
Hunting kids is bad. Hunting predators is right. And fun. You know it was fun, Eddie.
The Venom symbiote was right. He didn’t regret stepping in. But sometimes he couldn’t remember what happened when he transformed. After the carjackers, things became hazy. He’d passed out in the alleyway behind the club at some point, but he wasn’t exactly sure when or what he’d done afterwards. He didn’t like those holes in his memory. Venom didn’t understand human morality, and sometimes things went too far for Eddie’s comfort. Maybe that was why he couldn’t remember. He didn’t want to.
Sal’s rheumy eyes searched his face in worry. Eddie pasted a smile on his face. He’d never liked liars, but he’d always been a good one.
“Oh, that?” he said, laying it on thick. “You know how people are always talking about the alligators in the sewers? One of them crawled up through my toilet this morning.”
Sal relaxed, shaking his head. “That so?” he asked.
“Yep. I wrestled it down, stuck my feet inside, and made it into a pair of boots right on the spot. It must have nicked me, though.”
Sal leaned forward over the edge of the counter to cast a significant look at his feet, which were encased in battered boots of the non-alligator type. He arched one eloquent eyebrow. Eddie shrugged.
“They didn’t go with this outfit,” he said.
Chuckling, the old man fetched his pizza and handed it over. “Guess you need your calories, if you’re gonna be fighting ’gators. Here you go. You take care.”
“Thanks.”
The bell jingled as Eddie pushed through the door, glancing at the time. If he ate quickly, he could catch a nap before he had to work on that column. He pulled out one perfect slice, drooping under the weight of the cheese, and stuffed the end into his mouth.
Heaven, Eddie, said Venom.
“You got that right,” he muttered.
He chewed, closing his eyes in blissful appreciation. His gustatory delight carried him across the street, where he was narrowly missed by a crosstown bus. He skirted the honking vehicle and continued down the sidewalk, chowing down steadily as he went. He was halfway through a second slice when his blissful food-coma-in-the-making was interrupted by the sight of Loki Laufeyson behind the wheel of an Oscorp chemical truck.
He stopped in his tracks, frowning. Dread filled him. The Asgardian did not belong on the streets of New York City, and he definitely didn’t belong behind the wheel of one of Norman Osborn’s vehicles. Eddie didn’t like the implied idea of a partnership between the two of them one bit. As he stared, the cheese slid off his half-eaten slice of pizza and splatted onto the ground, unnoticed.
Eddie made it a habit to keep on top of the local action. Reporting and lethal protecting were both easier when he knew the current players.
The Oscorp truck only put him more on edge. Norman Osborn was bad news, and Eddie loathed him almost as much as he did Peter Parker. Maybe Loki had just swiped the first truck he’d seen, but Eddie had been around the block too many times to believe in coincidence. He crammed the rest of the crust into his mouth without noticing the absence of toppings, tucked the pizza box under his arm, and followed the truck. He dodged through masses of pedestrians, losing himself in their numbers, keeping a careful eye on the vehicle lest he lose it in the dense city traffic.
Loki maneuvered down the street, past rows of cars parked bumper to bumper, before backing into a narrow alleyway between an auto body shop and a shuttered electronics repair place. The space was so tight that the side mirrors nearly scraped the brick on either side, but he guided the vehicle with supernatural precision. Eddie craned his neck as he strolled on by, but he couldn’t stand at the mouth of the alley and rubberneck without Loki spotting him. He’d have to take another approach.
To do that, he would need to transform. To merge with his Other. To become Venom.
The mere thought of it sent adrenaline coursing through his veins. If he could, he would bond with his symbiote all of the time, riding high on the sense of common purpose and the strength their merger lent him. But turning into Venom sometimes left him with holes in his memory and blood on his hands. He tried to tell himself that the blood belonged to someone who had deserved it. Sometimes he even believed it.
But he needed the symbiote, whether he liked it or not, and he reveled in the power that flowed through him when they merged.
He relaxed the iron-clad hold he kept on himself, allowing the symbiote to ascend. Alien biomass seeped from his pores, chilly tendrils creeping over his skin like he was drowning in a pool of cold slime. At first, the transformation had overwhelmed him. But now he welcomed the sensation. The symbiote merged its body with his, building slabs of muscle on top of his already substantial frame. Slick pseudopods closed over his face, stretching his mouth into a giant maw. His teeth lengthened, growing to razor points.
The transformation didn’t hurt a bit. In fact, it felt great.
He looked around for a proper vantage point. The auto repair building stood about five stories tall, with dark, shuttered windows flanked by rusted air conditioners. The other building on the opposite side of the alley was short enough that he might be spotted looking over the edge. That made the decision easy. A quick flick of his wrist sent a stream of symbiote-generated webbing to the top of the taller building. He swung up to the top of the building before he could attract attention. Underneath his arm, the pizza shifted in its box, but that couldn’t be helped. A scrambled pizza was better than none at all.
When he reached the roof, he set the box down carefully atop a vent pipe. Hopefully the curious pigeons would hold off long enough for him to figure out what mischief Loki was up to.
Far below him, the truck door slammed. He leaned over the edge of the building to take stock of the situation just in time to see a giant metallic dumpster flying straight toward his head. He threw himself to the side, dodging instinctively. The trash receptacle scraped along his bicep, but the symbiote easily absorbed the damage. The dumpster landed with a deafening clang just a few short feet behind him, scattering flecks of dirty green paint and bits of rusted metal. As it rolled to a noisy stop, it knocked the pizza box down, narrowly missing the pipe, and squashed the pizza beneath its bulk. The box crunched flat, emitting one last gasp of delectable pepperoni steam.
Venom threw his head back, screeching in fury.
“That was mine!” he yelled.
In lieu of an answer, a lamppost came hurtling towards him, borne aloft by an eerie greenish glow, wires trailing from the bottom where it had been ripped from the street. A swing of one mighty arm sent it careening off to one side. The magic user couldn’t keep this up forever. Either he’d have to move out into the street in search of more things to throw, or confront Venom hand-to-hand. The sound of rapid footsteps suggested the latter. But the Asgardian didn’t appear. It sounded like he was retreating down the alleyway. Hoping to hide behind the truck, perhaps? It wouldn’t help.
With a shriek of challenge, Venom stepped off the edge of the building, using a web to slow his descent. Still, when he landed at the end of the alleyway, it sounded like a bomb had gone off. His feet crunched into the pavement, his alien musculature easily absorbing the shock. In the distance, a car alarm went off, bleating like a frightened animal. Somewhere nearby, a window slammed as the people inside washed their hands of whatever was happening in the alleyway. The residents of this rough neighborhood tended to keep to themselves when stuff went down. They wouldn’t interfere.
From a spot near the back of the truck, Loki stopped to stare. The Asgardian had frozen in place, a long, flexible hose held in one hand. The other end of the hose had been hooked up to the tanker truck in preparation to pour out its contents. Loki’s green eyes glittered as he took in Venom’s black, glistening form.
“Well, aren’t you a sight?” he said.
“Drop the hose,” Venom ordered.
Loki arched an aristocratic brow, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a smile.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Or you’ll make me?” He paused for a moment before shaking his head. “I don’t suppose it matters either way. I’m quite delighted to acquiesce.”
He released the hose. The end bounced twice, and then landed in the open sewer grate at his feet. Loki held his hands out, making a show of how harmless he was without the oh-so-dangerous hose.
“There,” he said. “I can be a reasonable man. Can you not be a reasonable… creature as well?”
Eddie wasn’t sure what to make of him, but the symbiote had no problems deciding. It didn’t like being called a creature. As a result, it didn’t care for Loki one bit, and it had a default reaction to things it disliked.
Kill, Eddie? the symbiote asked, speaking mind-to-mind.
At least this time it was asking. Sometimes it ordered.
We need more information, Eddie thought back. Not yet.
A glowing green glob of something that could only be described as toxic waste spat from the end of the hose. Loki glanced down at it with an expression of surprise too extreme to be real.
“Oh dear,” he said. “That might be a problem.”
Another spurt of goop came out. Then it began to flood into the sewer like a polluted river flowing into the sea. Eddie didn’t like that one bit. Loki plus Oscorp plus a surreptitious dump site didn’t add up to anything good. Maybe the water treatment plants would filter this stuff out, but he couldn’t chance it. No one poisoned the water in his town without paying the price. He’d beat Loki’s face in and then sell the story of the plot he’d foiled to the highest bidder. This time, he’d have proof, so the big papers wouldn’t be able to write him off as a nutjob again.
“I think you have a problem. That problem is me,” he said, the symbiote twisting his voice until it sounded like iron nails on a chalkboard.
But Loki’s smile merely widened. He pressed his hands together and bowed as if saluting an opponent. As he did so, a glass pendant about the size of a quarter swung to and fro, dangling from a golden chain slung around his neck. Inside the pendant, the same glowing liquid sloshed around.
If he’d been able to think, Eddie wouldn’t have been reassured by this strange behavior, but he was beyond rationality. His mind merged more deeply with the symbiote, and they both had one singular goal: they would pummel Loki Laufeyson into a bloody pulp.
He shrieked a challenge as Loki straightened, pulling a sword from thin air. Mystical runes covered the hilt, and the bronze blade glistened in the midday sun. The Asgardian fell into an easy swordsman’s crouch, the blade held at the ready. Either he wasn’t afraid of the monstrosity looming over him, or he did a great job of hiding it.
“Come, my friend,” he said. “I’d like to introduce you to the weapon of my ancestors. This is Laevateinn.”
