The Ultimate Marvel RPG Vol. 2: New World IC Thread

"Beetle acted of his own accord and will be dealt with appropriately." Van Damme snarled, his patience with the man wearing very thin. "If I had not 'Dug my claws' into American issues this day all the civillians aboard this ship would be dead and where would you be? Off shooting your toy guns at 'The Bad Guys' and hoping it will make a difference. Let me tell you Barton, it doesn't. You're insignificant in the grand scheme of things, at least Stark has power. You? You have nothing."

Doom stepped forward, putting very little distance between himself and the Ultimate.

"You fight for nothing, no one, you have nothing but the fight. I've seen men stronger than you die alone in some god forsaken country fighting for nothing. Don't be that person Barton."

 

Clint's eyes dropped, lingering on Natasha's ashen face with her eyes half closed.

"Maybe you're right Van Damme. In the grand scheme of things I'm nothing but a footnote on the pages of history," he said quietly.

He looked up, meeting the Latverian dictator in the eyes, a small smile forming on his lips.

"But I think you're more scared of me than you let on. And I'll quite happily die to stop whatever the hell it is you're doing,"

 

"That can be arranged." Doom growled, his usual calm disposition giving way to an angry soul underneath the armour. Doom's patience was wearing thin, he cursed himself for not being able to wipe the smug smile from this insects face without losing everything he'd worked for so far.

"As I have told you, time and time again, I am here to help, after that I will leave your city, you have my word."

 

"See no matter how hard you try and hide it, Van Damme, you're still a vicious little man child deep down. And I wonder how long you can keep this pretence up," Clint said, still smiling at the Latverian dictator.

"Like my old gran always said - never trust a man with cloven hooves," he said, grinning.

 

Doom snarled, this insignificant pest was pushing his luck.

"You have entered my aircraft without permission using explosives and are now insulting my person. Get off my ship Barton, this is your very last chance."

Van Damme waved a hand which brought two robotic warriors to his side.

 

"You're right," Clint said quietly "this is my last chance,"

"Clint..." Natasha rasped "What're you doing?"

Barton tried moved closer to Van Damme, but found his path blocked by the two automatons who had appeared from nowhere. An unreadable look crossed Clint's face, putting a hand behind his back to the pistol he'd sneaked off of one of the dimmer Latverian guards.

"What're these, you're Doombots?" Clint hissed.

"Barton, not like this," Tony said, looking concerned.

Clint pulled the pistol from behind him, putting the gun muzzle to Van Damme's forehead. A vice-like grip landed on his shoulder, pulling him away from the dictator. Pivoting, he pressed the gun into the robot's face and firing once. It slumped to the ground at the same time the robots on ship brought up their guns. Van Damme's bodyguards were already pulling the man into cover, protecting him with their robotic bodies. In the second's pause, Barton tried to count the number of 'doombots' on the bridge, but quickly gave it up as a bad job.

"Well ****," he muttered.

He started firing with his pistol at the same time the robots opened up with their machine guns. He tipped over the table, ducking behind it as the air filled with heated lead. He fired at the few who had an open shot at him from where he was, the force of one's fall causing it's gun to skitter across the floor. Clint grabbed the machine gun and popped up from behind his cover, spraying the bride with bullets. He made a movement towards Van Damme.

The first bullet hit him in the leg, sheer adrenaline carrying him on across the floor. Another two hits slammed into his stomach, knocking the breath out of him. Barton dropped to the floor, still firing his machine gun at the remaining Doombots. More bullets hit him and his body shuddered from the impact. A few seconds later the haze of gunfire stopped and Clint Barton fell to the ground.

 

"Cease fire!" Doom roared, shoving his way past one of his robotic gaurds and toward's Clint Barton's bullet ridden body.

Placing a metal hand on his adversaries neck Doom sighed, the man's pulse was fading quickly.

"I would've let you live in my new world Barton. You need not have thrown your life away so foolishly." Doom hissed as he watched the Ultimate take his last breath. He then rose to his feet once more, turning to the grief-stricken Black Widow and stunned Tony Stark.

"This is on you Stark. His death is on your hands and every other gung-ho American that likes to think they have the bigger toys. Take them to the holding cells. Dispose of Mr Barton's corpse."

 

​

Stark blinked. Of all the things in the world he had seen, this wasn't the most shocking, but it was one of the situations that had him at a loss for words and, indeed, action. In this world, that was a rare thing, to be sure.

"Let me get him back to his family, Van Damme. Like you said, he wasn't working with clearance from his superiors." Stark raised his hands calmly, palms out, "The last thing we want is for the people you have in your medical bay to become hostages or, worse yet, prisoners of war."

He lowered his hands calmly.

"The body count is at one so far, and undoubtedly rising by the second. Let Clint Barton's be the only life lost that could have been saved."

"You say you want peace, and to help?" Stark asked, doing his best not to sound condescending. "Now is the time to prove it. Give Ms. Romanova medical treatment in your extensive facilities, seal Clint's body in a bag, and let us bring him home."

 

T'Challa slashed one of the warriors across his face, causing him to howl and drop his mace.
The Panther finished him off with a quick swipe of his claws.

He had to have taken out over fifty already, but they just kept on coming from the portals. It was like an endless assembly line was on the other side just churning out these armored marauders.

As the Panther sliced a warrior open from groin to chest, the portals within his line of sight slowly began to close.

"Thank the gods", T'Challa muttered to himself as he fought his way towards a hospital.

Police officers emptied their clips at a host of onrushing warriors. Many were dropped by the bullet fire, but more still made it through. The police were not equipped for hand to hand combat, and were quickly being cut down.

The Panther ran in to save them when one of the warriors was sent soaring over his head by a mighty blow from a rather large war hammer.

T'Challa recognized the man behind the weapon, the Norse god, and member of the Ultimates, Thor.
The Black Panther waded in to protect the hero's back, grabbing a warrior by the neck and slamming him into the pavement.
A quick leg sweep brought down another armored soldier, and T'Challa finished him off with a quick slash of his claws before he even hit the ground.

"You look like you could use a hand", T'Challa stated as he smashed his fist into the nose of an attacking warrior.

 

"Maybe this is the one time Victor Van Damme is wrong, perhaps he was working under orders, as are you. Perhaps you were sent to kill me or sabotage my ship. Maybe this is an act of war."

Doom glared into Tony Stark's eyes has he spoke those last few words.

"Communications, get me General Fury and patch the converstation through to the Time Square screens. The whole world will know just who started this."

As the workers on deck began fiddling with certain controls Doom turned his back on his new found prisoners.

"Leave Bartons body here, take Stark, lock him up. Medic, how's Ms Romanov?"

"She's bandaged up sir, I've stopped the bleeding, she should be fine."

"Then she goes with Stark."

 

"Looks can be deceiving." Thor grunted as he slammed the hilt of Mjolnir into an oncoming warrior's face. He did not recognize the black suited newcomer, and as such, was vary of the man´s intentions.

"But if you really want to help." Thor roared as he slammed the sole of his boot into a faux Asgardian´s chest, sending the fake flying backwards. "I suggest you help me prevent further casualties."

A hail of bullets from the police officers sent one of the warriors staggering into one of his fellows, the two falling the to the ground riddled with lead.

"We need to get them out of here." Thor motioned towards the policemen. "Valiant as they are, too many have died here today. If we-"

Thor stopped mid-sentence. The ground seemed to rumble, the buildings shook where they stood and for a moment it felt as if they world was about to be cleaved in half. A large cloud slowly blocked the sun, moving at a snail's pace across the sky. But then, it stopped moving. Hovering directly above the two men. Slowly, Thor and the Black Panther raised their heads and looked up in the sky.



"I believe a change of plan is in order." he muttered, grasping Mjolnir tight.

 

"WOAH! That was kind of close!" Deadpool shouted as he vaulted into the air, three shurikens whizzing underneath him and hitting a brick wall.

"Oh, just stay still you little ****." Bullseye shouted, hurtling more and more projectiles at Wilson.

With impeccable style and finesse, Deadpool landed on both feet. Hands raised high in the air, he grinned. "Ta-Da! You should really change your name, my friend. Calling yourself Bullseye is false advertising."

Bullseye simply smiled and looked down at Deadpool's legs, which were completely riddled with shurikens. "Oh. Crap."

Like a bullet, Bullseye shot off towards Wade, who quickly yanked all the projectiles from his thighs and sent them flying back at the assassin, who dodged and weaved through the lot. The two man crashed together, both of them flying to the ground with a heavy thud. Bullseye's hands found Wilson's throat and closed in tight, his face inches away from Wade's.

"I'm going to enjoy seeing the lights go out you ****er." he grunted with a sick sense of pleasure.

"M...M...M-Mint?" Wade brought his knee up to Bullseye's groin. Bullseye loosened his grip on Deadpool's neck as he grunted in pain, and Wade immediately punched him in the side of the head.

"I was wondering when Normie was going to give me the 'boot', so to speak." Wade called over to Bullseye, who was slowly standing up. "I guessed it'd be during this little show, which is why I sent Fury and my pals over at SHIELD all the information about the Thunderbolts. Your identities, everything."

Bullseye roared in anger, but Wade just kept on smiling. "Guess I won't be needing this anymore." he decided, ripping his Ronin mask off to reveal his Deadpool one underneath.

With alarming speed he had presented two katans from behind his back. "Batter up."

 

When Victor van Damme appeared in the skies of New York City and declared himself a saviour, Steve Rogers was not in battle alongside his teammates. Instead, he was charging through the streets, his long coat rippling out behind him as he slipped through the panicked hordes and darted towards his apartment building. He had not been on active duty very much since the deaths of Bucky and Gail; their brutal murders had left him with no tangible connection to his past, had shaken him to the very core and blurred his moral sensibilities. He had acted in ways that he regretted, the tragedy driving him to uncharacteristic outbursts that could have done more damage had he not taken a brief leave of absence. As it was, he had hurt Betty when she had only been trying to help. He had signed off for a little while to clear his head and make sure that nothing like that would happen again.

But the choice had been taken out of his hands. He had been dining out in a small cafe a few blocks away from his apartment when news of the Asgardian invasion - and then van Damme's untimely arrival - had sent the customers into a frenzy. Word of the impending doom spread quickly, and Steve had barely made it to the door before a mass panic was running riot through the streets. What would normally have been a five-minute journey from the cafe to his building became a ten-minute obstacle course, and he was feeling the sharp sting of sweat even as he sprinted into his home and yanked open the doors to his wardrobe. It took him mercifully less time to discard his clothes and pull on attire that was more suited to the emergency that faced them. With a final pull, his face mask was tightly down in place. He hefted his iconic shield onto his back.

"Breaktime's over."

His boots thumped against the floor as he ran towards the wall-length window and launched himself through it. His muscles strained as he caught onto the next building's fire escape and used the momentum from the swing to carry himself onto another rooftop. Even then he didn't stop, rolling forward and leaping along -- until a hulking green figure caught his attention. Unstrapping his shield and swinging it down onto his arm, he descended the small building he had been dashing across and dropped down into a small alleyway before striding into the beast's path. He was not alone. Thor, a mystery man dressed in black, and a legion of Asgardian warriors had also sought out the dragon-like monster for one reason or another.



"Thor! I don't suppose you know what this thing is...?" he shouted across the sounds of battle.​

 

"Steven!" Thor called back. "Apparently, Norman Osborn didn't think an army of fake Asgardians was quite exciting enough."

Thor took off into the air, narrowly dodging a swipe of the beast's massive hand. A group of Asgardian archers had arrived and begun setting their sights on the flying God of Thunder. "What say we have this taken care of by dinner time?" he called with a smile to Captain America, someone who he very much considered a friend.

Which made the memory of Steven's action against him even more bitter.

"For Midgard!" Thor roared as he dived in towards the towering monster, raising Mjolnir high and slamming it into the beast's snout.

 

T'Challa watched in awe as the massive creature touched down, the ground shaking like an earthquake.

Many civilians turned to flee as the beast let out a bellowing roar that shattered nearby windows.

Captain America arrived on the scene as T'Challa never took his eyes off the monster as he brain worked in over time, trying to formulate a plan.

That plane would have to wait as the Panther saw a young woman fall as she tried to get away from the beast. The dragon raised it's massive foot high into the air as T'Challa bolted off.

The beast brought it's foot down, intending to crush the woman, but T'Challa made it just in time. The Black Panther leaped at the woman, grabbing her, and tumbling out of the way as the colossal foot slammed into the concrete.

"Are you all right?"

The woman weakly nodded her head, her eyes wide in horror and shock.

"Then go!"

The woman ran off, and T'Challa saw a massive shadow cover him. The Panther barely got out of the way as the dragon's fist came crashing down where he once stood.

"Damnation", T'Challa cursed as he leaped onto the dragon's arm, running up towards his face as the mighty Thor shouted his battle cry and slammed his hammer into the beast's nose.

The dragon roared in pain from the Thunderer's blow as the Panther scaled up to the creature's shoulder.

"Next time", T'Challa spoke as he leaped up onto the dragon's snout as the monster snapped at him.
"I'm bringing my grenades."

The Panther threw a trio of throwing daggers into the eye of the dragon before leaping off and down the dragon's back.

The beast roared and thrashed, and T'Challa was thrown off the dragon's back, crashing hard into the roof of a parked SUV on the street below.

 

​

Stark luched sideways as his arm was grabbed by one of Doom's mechanical servants. The robot led him to a nearby elevator. Natasha, too, was led to the transport, right behind Stark. The billionaire pressed a button on his watch, sending a high-frequency sonic pulse that would be the only thing the Doombots receivers could register.

"You got a knife on you?" Stark whispered to Natasha, almost silently. He knew that he only had a few moments before the elevator arrived.

"Of course." She said, as if offended, "It won't do any good against the--"

"Cut me. Anywhere there might be a good vein. I'd prefer it if the blazer wasn't ruined, but sacrifices have to be made."

She stared at him, dumbfounded.

"When the elevator stops at wherever we're going, cut me." Stark said, then, as to her motivation for actually doing so, he said, "Blame me for Clint's death or something. I don't care, just get me bleeding."

"I do not understand." She muttered.

"Listen, Goddamnit." Stark hissed, his voice low. "This isn't a tall order. Just get me bleeding. Is that too much to ask?"

Her steely stare was the only answer he needed, and he nodded to her as they entered the elevator, deactivating the sonic pulse on his watch. Their company in the elevator, Doombots, didn't speak. Instead, they stood there, silent. As if on cue, the elevator doors opened and Natasha's arm lurched towards her belt, snatching up a knife. Stark's eyes opened, and he did his best to look like he was trying to defend himself. Natasha's blade slid across his neck, though he wasn't expecting the wound to go so deep.

"This is all your fault." Natasha said with a snarl and clenched teeth, spinning the blade again, and heaving it across his cheek. Stark gripped his throat, amazed at what was happening. He knew that Natasha was putting on a good show, but he couldn't help but wonder if a part of her truly did blame him for what had happened to Clint.

Blood sprayed across the elevator, coating the Doombots and control panel. Stark fell to the ground, barely able to gurgle the request that the robots not open fire. They obeyed, merely grabbing Natasha, who now wore a look of confusion and worry.

Another robot pulled itself past the ones escorting Romanova and began attending to Stark.

"Tell Van Damme: She is not to be harmed." He gasped, before finally blacking out.

 

This is bad.

I throw myself up through the buildings, ascending as quickly as I can. I bounce from a brick wall, slamming my feet into a goon's face here, and another's crotch there. They fall from their rooftop perches with ease. Of course, dozens upon dozens of them simply pour out of the portals that have been sprouting up. I fire a webline skywards and somehow manage to find a clear path up the skyscrapers.

THWIP!

​

On so many various levels, this is bad.

Where are these things even coming from? News reports and speculation in the media cites Asgard. Some folks are even blaming Thor. That seems a bit... convenient, though, doesn't it? I mean... I've talked to Thor. He's crazy. Off the reservation, completely deranged. But he's never seemed violent. Plus, this Asgardian attack on the eve of Norman Osborn's heroic revolution?

It seems a little... scripted.

Actually, now that I think about it, 'bad' seems to almost be too positive. 'cause when you leave the house without your wallet and want to buy a hot dog on the street but, doggone it, you haven't got any cash... that's bad. When the guy who almost killed your girlfriend, destroyed the life of your best friend, and has killed dozens of people, has, all of a sudden, broken out of prison, gained media attention, and has developed a team of super-goons masquerading about as heroes, thats really bad.

When the guy who almost killed your girlfriend, destroyed the life of your best friend, and has killed dozens of people, has, all of a sudden,broken out of prison, gained media attention, and developed a team of super-goons masquerading about as heroes, and a powermad dictator has his airship-o'-death parked over the center of the city like a stalking vulture, that's borderline disastrous.

So I guess that that means you have to create a whole new word for when the guy who almost killed your girlfriend, destroyed the life of your best friend, and has killed dozens of people, has, all of a sudden,broken out of prison, gained media attention, and developed a team of super-goons masquerading about as heroes, a powermad dictator has his airship- o'-death parked over the center of the city like a stalking vulture, and, in the middle of it all, a dragon appears and starts taking down buildings like dominos...

Well... there's really no other way to put it, is there?

"Ho... ly... ****."

I'm standing here, watching Thor and Captain America attacking it, pulverizing it. Thor cries something out and sends himself soaring at the beast's snout. On a rooftop opposite of me, six or seven archers materialize.

"Guess again, super-goons!" I say, springing off of the rooftop. I take them all out with a single, well-placed kick.

I glance down at Captain America, then back up to Thor, nodding solemly.

If they need my help, I'll give it. But, for now, I'm on a one-way train to Osborn-ville.​

 

Warren's mind floats aimlessly from thought to disjointed thought. Memories drift by in odd orders as if stitched together by some demented madman.

Fallen....

Certain memories burn the brightest and also fade the quickest. One of which constantly return to his mind's eye, the night he proposed to Ali. Warren can almost feel the sun on his face as he drops to one knee. The warm rays grow in intensity until he can smell the pungent scent of burning flesh. Warren screams as hes' ripped from his thoughts and dropped into reality. Panic sets in as Warren tries to open his eyes and realizes that his eye lids were burned shut.

"Ah your awake! I had hoped that you'll be conscious for this. Oh and before you say anything sorry about the charred face. Guess I didn't wait long enough for that mask to cool."

Fallen chuckles as Warren instinctively jerks his head around.

"Where...where am I?!"

"Thats' not important little brother. You should worry about whats coming."

Warren tries to block out the pain as he tracks his brother's voice as it moves behind him.

"I should warn you. This is gonna hurt......"

Cold claws seize Warren's wings and pulls. The sounds of tearing flesh and the young mutant's screams echo off the walls. The Fallen takes grim pleasure as he slowly tears away flesh and bone. With one final snap the hollow bones break separating the wings from the body. Fallen tosses the bloody wings aside and reaches for the blowtorch sitting on the table beside him. Warren slowly goes into shock as he feels his blood pooling around his feet. Fallen lets out a disturbing giggle and takes the blowtorch to his brother's back. Minutes pass and Fallen sets the blowtorch down. Satisfied with his Brother's pulse The Fallen takes a step back and inspects the cauterized flesh.

"Well its no Picasso but I like it. I'm sure dear old dad would be proud."

Fallen stuffs the discarded wings into a trash bag, cleans up the blood, and quickly applies his disguise before hitting the button on the intercom. Clearing his throat Fallen throws on his best impersonation of his brother.

"Docter Rao could you please come lab number three?"

<Yes sir.>

Dr. Rao enters the lab just as Fallen exits the holding cell.

"I apologize sir if I had known you were here I ...."

She trails off when she spots the chained mutant.

"Oh my god."

Fallen smiles slightly.

"Meet your first test subject."

"But why the..."

"I'm sorry Docter but I have a press conference in five minutes. I'll answer any questions you have later. Right now I need to get ready. For your own safety I suggest you keep the mask and collar on our guest. Hes' a very dangerous mutant."

Before the confused doctor could say anything The Fallen exits the lab.

"Oh!'

Fallen steps back into the door frame.

"Could you get someone to take that trash bag to my new apartment please?"

 

Cap shot a reluctant grin at Thor, feeling a twinge of guilt as he watched his fellow Ultimate drive Mjolnir forward. The incident in Norway flashed through his mind and threatened to intensify the emotions, but he cast the unnecessary thoughts aside and instead charged towards the stalking dragon. He gritted his teeth and drew back his gloved fist - but the creature's mindless rampage prevented him from delivering the blow with a fierce wing swipe that sent him hurtling back into a car windscreen. Cursing under his breath, his frustration only increased when he saw Spider-Man dropping down from above. The last thing he needed was to have to micromanage a novice in the field, but his power set would be undoubtedly useful here.

"We could use you if you're willing to help, but don't get in our way," he said sternly, before hauling himself back to his feet and hurling his shield upwards. It looked like a random toss, but in actuality, his accuracy was completely present as it ricocheted off a buildingside and slammed into the dragon's eye. The monster responded with a roar of agony even as Cap snatched his falling weapon out of the air.

 

"Uggh", T'Challa groaned as he propped himself up on what once the hood of the SUV. The vibranium in the armor absorbed the impact of the fall, but it still felt like he had knocked something out of place.

Doesn't matter, he thought.
Worry about it later. Right now we have a dragon to take down.

The Panther hopped off of the vehicle just in time to see the Captain's soaring shield slam into the monster's other eye.

"Interesting", T'Challa said as he watched the now blind behemoth thrash wildly.

Looking across the street, T'Challa saw a fire hydrant. Looking to his left, the Panther saw another. And just a few blocks down, another.
Looking up to the sky, he saw the clouds darken as Thor, lightning crackling across Mjolnir, smashed the dragon in the throat, almost toppling it backwards.

"Yes", T'Challa said as the idea came to him, "that might just work."

Rushing from hydrant to hydrant, the Panther slashed them open so that they began to gush water into the street.

Looking around, he saw no civilians in the area. It was now or never.

Moving towards Captain America, T'Challa stopped the hero before he could attack again.

"Wait", T'Challa called out as he held up his hands.
"I've got an idea how to stop the creature. First, we need to knock the beast onto it's back into the flooded streets."

 

​

Tony Stark awoke violently, vomiting blood once again. The entire scenario was all a bit too familiar for his liking. Dying had become less of a fear and more of a passtime for the billionaire. Clutching his healed throat, he looked around, finding himself in Van Damme's infirmary. Van Damme himself stood in the corner, arms folded.

Plucking the monitors and patches off of his body, Stark rose to his feet.

"General Fury is probably wondering where three of his lapdogs are." He said, matter-of-factly, "I'm going to go. Whether or not Natasha comes with me is a question solely of your mercy."

 

Blacky McCoolCostume might have a point. If the Dragon gets on his back, he might be too top-heavy to actually pick himself up. And, if he's not, then I'm sure that Blackbeard there has another plan all together.

I leap off of the building once all of the archers are dealt with and fire a webline, just before I slam into the ground, I pull the line tight and soar between Captain America and the other guy.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything!" I say with a grin, as I slip right between them.

I perch myself on a lamppost and fire webbing at the beast's ankles or... whatever the name is for the joint on a dragon that connects his foot to his leg.

TWHIP!

I drain at least three full cartridges from each webshooter, coating both of his ankles in a net of webfluid. He strains, trying to snap whatever substance has made his legs immobile.

"Now what?" I call to Captain America.

Yes... the Captain America!

I squeal aloud.
​

 

Cap met the stranger's porposed strategy with a brisk nod of approval before his mind set about racing to form a method of accomplishing it. He was well versed in the pressure points on a human body, but their opponent was obviosly far from human; he was unsure if adapted versions of his usual techniques would work on what was essentially a giant dragon. If it wasn't so threatening, it would almost be laughable. The soldier was just about to aim for the back of its knees before Spider-Man enveloped its mammoth ankles in swathes of webbing.

"Now what?"

Quick-thinking, useful in a fight, and respectful of the chain of command. The wallcrawler could make a decent Ultimate yet. "Now, Spider-Man, you pull! And I'll do what I can to get it off balance..." He somersaulted to Thor's side and gestured to the dragon's pointed head. "A hand, Thor? Think of me as an oversized bullet."

 

I crane my neck upwards to the point where my muscles strain. Yeah, I know. That's how tall this guy is. I looked straight up, even bent my back a little bit, and my spider-powered neck felt a twinge of pain. Of course, my stomach feels awful when I see just what's looming over me, anyway.

Peter Parker's Bucket List
By: 5 year old Peter Parker

[x] Meet a superhero.
[x]Save a pretty girl from a badguy.
[ ] Build a lightsaber.
[ ] Learn to ride a bike
[x] Meet a dragon
[ ] Conquer dragon

Captain America, the guy who pretty much defeated the Nazis, just told me to pull Puff, here, off balance. I have problems picking up a VW Bug on a good day and, here, guy wants me to pull the feet out from under a 12-story dragon.

YeahNo.

"Cap, that ain't gonna work!" I call to him, referring to the order he gave me. "He's too big, and puberty and I haven't exactly been acquainted for very long."

That's partly true. I mean, I've only had hair down the--

As Spider-Man, one of the best things I've got going for me is my speed. When you match that with my agility, I can pretty much take out anyone when it's a fair fight. A 360 foot tall dragon isn't exactly someone I could take in 12 rounds at the Belagio. What people forget is that, while I've got a certain degree of super-strength, it's reflexes that help me get the upper hand.

All I need to do now is think of a way to put them to work against this ginormo-lizard. Or, maybe he's a reptile. Amphibian?

I spring off of the lamppost. My trick with the webbing on his ankles has given the big guy cause to be interested in me, and the fact that he's following me with his snout is proof enough of his desire to tear me limb from limb.

I whip around, swinging to face his back.

"This is going to be so gross." I groan. With a flick of the wrist, I release the webline and sprint up his back. I scale it quickly, dodging his flailing arms. If his regeneration is anything like the stuff Doc Connors has been working with, we've only got about a minute until his eyes expel the projectiles and heal.

I fire dozens of weblines from his shoulders to the walls of surrounding buildings. From the spikes in his back to the street. I coat his body in tendrils that link him to the street, rooting him in place. I see Malcom X's fire hydrants, spurting water out. My gaze goes to Thor next. If we're thinking along the same wavelength (which I hope we are), the amount of water those three lone hydrants are firing wont nearly be enough.

From my vantage point on the dragon's shoulder, now moving much more slowly since it has about 25 weblines rooting it to the building opposite it, I spot a water tower. Firing a pair of weblines onto it's top, I leap down, swing in a low arch, and plant myself on the wall leading to the street beneath the tower. Heaving downwards, I begin to rip the tower free of its mountings. It tumbles downwards, slamming into the rooftop, and cracking open, pouring water over the beast's side. I repeat the process with a tower on the other side.

I glance up and see a S.H.I.E.L.D. chopper swinging in, just over the animal's head. Not only are the making it almost impossible for Captain America and Thor to do what they need to, but they're putting their own lives in danger just by being here. I fire a webline next to my left foot, then my right. I leap off of the dragon, hold tight, and fall downwards until the lines go taught. I hold them for a split second more, and they start retracting, sending me skywards. I release, and snap my arms backwards, like a rocket.

I grab the landing strut of the chopper and backflip in. Immediately, my Spider-Sense flares and I hear the sounds of bullets being loaded into chambers. At least 10 soldiers are packed into this thing.

"Wait!" I say, throwing my arms up. I go to say something like, "Get this damn thing out of here!" or "What the hell do you think you're doing, soldiers?!"

"Get your ass off of my goddamned chopper!" One of the more decorated soldiers says, grabbing me by the collar. He tries to shove me backwards, back through the open doorway I vaulted through, but I simply stick to the ground.

"I'm putting the 'Spider' back in 'Spider-Man.'" I point to my feet, still firmly in place.

I fire a ball of webbing at his mouth, "You need to be quiet. Now."

It's not the most badass thing I could've said, but with the webball, it's enough to shut them up.

"There's a blinded dragon down there that's about to be taken out by a frozen super-soldier and a thunder god by way of an enormous lightning bolt. This helicopter is getting in the way of that." I shout over the roar of the chopper blades. "I'm not talking about the King Arthur dragon, either. I'm talking Ming Dynasty China dragon; the kind that fought giant tigers and won."

I lean forward into the cockpit.

"Get this thing out of here, man!"

With a pivot, I prepare to leap back down to the street when I see the pillars of smoke. Not just from where this dragon is, but from across the city. Everywhere I look, there's another piece of destruction, another fingerprint of whoever is responsible for this. As if I even have to ask. This stinks of Norman Osborn. It's got his footprint all over it. I know his brand of destruction, his style of chaos. As I look out over the city, I just know. Call it instinct, call it fate, call it whatever you want. But, I just know. Norman Osborn did this, and he'll pay for it. He's turned New York City into an inferno at too high a price. And, worst of all, I think he's lost control of it. I don't think this is what was his vision of today. I think he was supposed to be the hero. Instead, he's Pandora, and he's opened his box one too many times.

I'm two steps from Hell, and Norman Osborn is to blame.

I step out of the helicopter, heading straight for the ground. With a single firing of webbing, I perch myself on a building and stare at Captain America and Thor.

"Now or never." I call.
​

 

Hours Ago

"Dammit," Clint said, snapping his phone shut "Stark hung up,"

"You think he's turned?" Natasha asked as she pulled her covert ops kit on.

"Not a chance," her lover replied "He may be an idiot, but even he isn't stupid enough to turn on Fury,"

He opened a small metal case with the SHIELD emblem on the front and pulled out a syringe with a purple liquid in it.

"And what is that?" Natasha asked with a raised eyebrow. Clint grinned.

"You think Van Damme's just going to give us a guided tour around his helicarrier? This thing should supply my brain with oxygen for an hour after my heart stops, and then sends an electro-chemical impulse around my body, basically restarting me. I may lose a few IQ points, but who's counting," he said happily.

"You're planning to die?" Natasha asked exasperated.

"Something like that," he said, jabbing the needle into his arm.

Now

Clint opened his eyes, took in his surroundings and quickly closed them again. He was on a gurney, or some kind of metal trolley, being wheeled along a corridor by one of the Latverian soldiers. A throbbing in his legs and chest told him where the bullets had hit him. He'd tried to avoid any major arteries, but well, in order to die, first one had to take the fatal shot. But what was odd, and rather alarming, was that the bullets had been extracted and the wounds sewn up.

"Doctor Santini," the soldier said as the gurney entered a small room filled with innocuous machinery "Lord Van Damme says you can use this as your first test subject,"

"Hmm? Oh yes, well, put him on the slab and we'll open him up and have a look around," a man with an italian accent said, obviously Doctor Santini.

Clint stayed very still as the two men lifted him up and moved him over to a metal slab in the middle of the room. Doctor Santini made some interested noises as he examined Clint's body.

"Hmm...well I'll have to replace the heart naturally, and make some additions to the brain function, and we can have a working model within a few hours. After that, it's all a matter of what augmentations to add to it. Yes, yes...tell Mr. Van Damme that he can have a working prototype by nightfall," Doctor Santini said, in a dispassionate tone that sent chills down Clint's spine.

There was the snap of the soldiers boots coming together as he saluted, and then the sound of him turning and walking away. Clint opened his eyes. The doctor had turned around and was readying a variety of saws and drills for use. He noted, with distaste, that some of them were covered in what looked horribley like dried blood. Silently as he could, Clint slid off of the operating table and made his way over to the doctor. He grabbed him by the throat and slammed him against the wall.

"Keep quiet, Doc," he warned.

"Mr. Barton, you're not dead," Santini said, sounding genuinely excited.

"Not anymore," Clint muttered, taking a sharp knife from the table.

"And what was death like?" Santini asked.

"Trippy," he answered icily, slicing the doctor's neck open.

He grabbed a gun from the doctor's pocket and slipped it into his holster, wiping the blood on the knife off on the man's lab coat. He paused for a second as though he was trying to remember something.

"Now, what next,"