In the stairwell, Peter Parker's figure melted into shadow beneath the dim emergency light.
"Bang—!"
The steel pipe struck a tentacle with a sharp whoosh, denting the blue-gray flesh and causing it to burst open, spewing foul-smelling yellow-green fluid.
Peter immediately spun and retreated. The massive tentacle thrashed wildly in pain, smashing the fire extinguisher beside it.
"Puff! Tink! Tink…"
Glass shards exploded outward—but Peter was already airborne, flipping midair and delivering a whip-fast kick to another lunging tentacle!
"Bang—!"
A sickening crunch echoed through the stairwell as the tentacle flew several meters backward, its steel-piercing maw shattered.
"Rrrroooaaarrr—!!"
The creature shrieked—a high-pitched, guttural hiss—and its remaining tentacles slammed the floor in frenzy, shaking the entire structure.
Peter landed hard, chest heaving, his tattered shirt soaked with sweat. He muttered through gritted teeth:
"You guys are so ugly—how do you even reproduce this much?! Don't you feel disgusted doing it?"
As if stung by his words, six tentacles lashed out at once from every direction. Peter's pupils snapped shut—his spider-sense screaming in alarm.
"Swish!"
The first tentacle speared toward his face. He jerked his head aside just in time; jagged teeth raked his cheek, leaving a crimson trail.
"BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!"
The second tentacle swept sideways with terrifying force, demolishing the corridor in its path. Peter dangled upside down from the bulkhead, barely out of reach.
Twisting his waist midair, he drove the steel pipe downward like a javelin! The 1.3-meter rod plunged clean through the writhing limb.
"Puff… puff… puff…"
Before he could land, another tentacle struck from behind—but Peter moved as if he had eyes in the back of his head. Hanging by one hand, he coiled his legs like springs and lashed out—
"Boom—!"
The kick sent the tentacle reeling. Seizing the opening, Peter executed a flawless backflip and landed steady on his feet. With a flick of his wrist, he spun the steel pipe into a sharp, elegant flourish—like a gunslinger twirling his revolver.
"Looks like you're just like—"
He never finished.
A tentacle erupted from the shadows, coiling around his right ankle like a giant python!
"Damn it!"
A brutal yank wrenched him skyward. He arced through the air like a hammer on a chain—and crashed headfirst into the steel bulkhead.
"BOOM—!!"
A human-shaped crater bloomed in the metal, spiderweb cracks radiating from the impact point. Peter lay embedded in the dent, coughing up a mouthful of blood.
Agony seared through him—as if he'd been hit by a semi-truck. His chest and left arm burned with sharp, stabbing pain; dislocation or fracture, maybe both.
He spat blood and groaned:
"Ugh… Okay, fine—I shouldn't have insulted you. But seriously… even if I back down, do you really not enjoy a good scolding?"
Through blurred vision, he saw a dozen tentacles fan out like a grotesque peacock, their maws gaping wide. Slimy threads stretched between rows of jagged teeth, glistening with viscous drool.
"Hey—seriously!" he wheezed. "This is a bit much. But before you eat me… could you please brush your teeth first? This—"
"FLAMES—BURN!!"
A cold, commanding shout cut through the chaos from the stairs below.
The next second, Peter Parker felt as if the entire world had been dyed a searing red!
"BOOM! BOOM! BOOM—!!"
A black-and-red firebird with a wingspan exceeding ten meters erupted from below, soaring into the sky. The air twisted and exploded in its wake.
"Swish!!!!"
Tentacles closest to the creature were instantly vaporized—leaving not even a trace of ash. Those farther away twitched violently under the unbearable heat, their skin blackening, peeling away to reveal charred muscle beneath.
"Bang!!"
The colossal flaming bird surged forward, effortlessly piercing through multiple decks of the cruise ship before detonating in a brilliant cascade of fire across the night sky.
Peter Parker stood frozen, eyes dull, lips trembling—but no words came out. His expression was oddly vacant, as if his mind were stuck on a half-formed thought: "You smoke on the balcony—half of it's carried off by the wind, the other half… also by the wind. The more you think about it afterward, the angrier you get… until you start having a seizure."
He stared up at the gaping hole above, the afterimage of that apocalyptic fire still burning in his eyes.
That wasn't technology. It wasn't mutation, either. It was something older—purer.
"Can you still move?"
A cold male voice snapped him back to reality. From the corner of the stairwell, a red-haired man ascended the scorched steps.
Faint flames still flickered at the hem of his black-and-red windbreaker, and the greatsword in his hand radiated a suffocating wave of heat.
Peter shuddered, wrenched himself free from the sunken bulkhead, and landed steadily on his feet. Nervously, he replied:
"Of course! Hey—were you also a passenger on the Argo? I don't think I've seen you before… Did you just create that giant flaming bird?"
Now that the immediate danger had passed, Peter's curiosity surged, and he began chattering like an overeager child. But Diluc offered no answer. He merely said, voice icy:
"Shut up and follow."
Without another word, he turned and strode down the corridor, his windbreaker billowing behind him like a cape of flame.
Peter hurried after him, a whirlwind of questions choking his throat—but Diluc's imposing aura kept them locked inside. All he could do was trail behind, frustration etched across his face.
---
Meanwhile, elsewhere on the ship—
Harry Osborn panted heavily, dragging his exhausted legs through the labyrinthine corridors.
Gwen Stacy followed close behind, while Kate moved cautiously in their wake. They'd originally aimed for the stairs leading to the twelfth deck, but in the chaos, they'd taken a wrong turn.
Suddenly, Gwen stopped, grabbing both Harry and Kate by the arms.
"Wait… listen!"
They fell silent. In the distance, the muffled crash of waves against the hull echoed—but beneath it, something else: a wet, sticky squelching sound.
Exchanging uneasy glances, the three pushed open a pair of ornate double doors carved with dolphin motifs.
"Ugh… God…"
The stench that rolled out hit them like a physical blow, forcing them to stagger backward.
The Argo's grand viewing hall—once a luxurious palace hosting thousands for carnival revelry—had been transformed into a grotesque sacrificial altar.
Thousands of corpses lay arranged in eerie concentric circles, stacked from the entrance all the way to the thirty-meter-high dome.
Bones and flesh had been crushed and reshaped by some unfathomable force, forming a ten-meter-tall obelisk of meat and sinew. Its surface writhed with glistening mucus threads that pulsed like veins.
The crystal chandelier lay shattered atop the mound of bodies—not reflecting light, but the dull, coagulated red of dried blood.
Tears streamed down Kate's face as she whispered hoarsely:
"Blasphemy… unforgivable…"
Harry Osborn nodded mechanically, his gaze locked on the center of the hall—where an indescribable mass of flesh sat pulsing. Over thirty meters in diameter, its surface throbbed with gray, vein-like vessels.
Hundreds of tentacles of varying thickness extended from its bulk: some dragged fresh corpses into the chamber, while others slowly retracted into the fleshy core.
Then, with a sickening lurch, a main tentacle—thick as a tanker truck—rose into the air. At its tip, a cross-shaped maw split open and vomited a massive glob of half-dissolved flesh and fat.
"Clatter…"
Chunks of meat and bone rained onto the pile below—and were instantly swallowed by writhing mucus, absorbed into the ever-growing horror.
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