Renzo and Dr. Otto quickly took Peter back to the laboratory.
Their identities weren't suitable for calling an ambulance. Peter's identity being exposed was one thing—but if the criminals Spider-Man had captured went after Aunt May in revenge, the consequences would be far worse.
"What about the regeneration cradle?" Renzo asked anxiously. He had already stopped Peter's bleeding, but for some reason Peter's face had grown even paler. Faint black traces crawled beneath his skin, an unsettling sight.
"Not even close!" Otto shouted.
"There's no time—get him onto it first!" Renzo lifted Peter and placed him into the regeneration cradle. "Start the machine!"
"But—" Otto tried to argue, only to be cut off.
"Do it first! We'll talk later!"
Otto stopped arguing and activated the machine.
...
Flint chased Eddie to a remote area.
"So, you want me to be your proxy?" Eddie finally stopped after a long run, standing before a towering pine tree.
"I remember you robbed a cash transport truck not long ago. And now…" Eddie grinned wickedly, his mouth stretching unnaturally wide, filled with dense, jagged teeth like a predator's.
"I want to be a good person," Flint said seriously.
"That's a stupid reason," Eddie scoffed. "No one sticks to something that ridiculous."
Instead of attacking, Eddie withdrew his claws and slowly approached Flint, his tone turning coaxing.
"That Vision—the red-faced one—is an intruder from another universe. He wants to invade this one and take it over."
"Everything he's doing has a purpose. I don't know what he promised you, but he won't keep it."
Eddie's monstrous visage split apart, revealing his human face beneath—dark, cunning, unsettling.
"I can grant your wish," he said quietly. "But only if you follow me."
Flint fell silent for a long time. His body gradually returned to normal as he studied Eddie with suspicion.
"Why should I trust you?"
"You stood in front of me and didn't attack," Eddie replied simply.
He fully reverted to human form, his expression cold and eerie.
Patting Flint on the shoulder, he said, "Think about what I said. He hasn't fulfilled his promise, has he?"
"Hahaha!"
In an instant, Eddie was swallowed by the symbiote again and vanished into the darkness.
Flint remained where he stood, his expression conflicted.
After a while…
A storm of yellow sand surged into the distant sky.
...
"Peter!"
Renzo stared anxiously at Peter inside the chamber. An oxygen mask covered his face, while black veins pulsed beneath his skin like writhing insects.
"His body's natural healing ability is strong," Otto said, "but it's being suppressed."
"The symbiote shouldn't be able to do this."
"That's magic," Renzo said grimly. "Black magic is inhibiting his healing, preventing his injuries from recovering."
Otto worked the controls with tense focus. Though he had built the regeneration cradle himself, putting it into use before proper testing left him somewhat unfamiliar with its operation.
"A blood transfusion?" Otto suggested.
"No."
"The nanoparticles will activate upon contact," Renzo explained. "They'll establish a connection with his cells and restore the damaged tissue."
Renzo paused, thinking. "What about the symbiote? It's already inside him."
"Then there's nothing I can do," Otto said helplessly. "I can't exactly cut him open and scoop it out piece by piece."
Renzo frowned. His concern wasn't Peter's injuries—those could be healed. It was the symbiote's influence that worried him.
He had only recently removed the effects of black magic from Peter. Now the residual symbiote had taken root. Was Peter somehow attracting these things?
"The next step is rest," Otto said, pointing at the monitor. "At least for now, the symbiote isn't affecting him. It's dormant."
"I hope so…"
Renzo watched Peter through the glass, unease lingering in his eyes.
"Flint hasn't come back. Was he defeated… or did he choose not to return?"
"I don't know. Either is possible," Renzo said, forcing himself to stay calm. The appearance of portals had unsettled him, leaving his thoughts scattered.
"Once Peter stabilizes, we'll start working on a device for Flint. Just like we cured you—we'll prepare thoroughly."
Renzo moved to the workbench and began assembling equipment for Flint's treatment.
"If only the Avengers were here…"
He muttered inwardly. With them, this crisis would be trivial. Hulk alone could smash Eddie into submission.
The two resumed their work in the lab.
...
Harry stood quietly on the balcony, a glass of wine in hand, gazing into the distance.
After five days of recovery, his injuries had healed. Even the doctors were astonished—by all rights, he should have needed at least a week of hospitalization to ensure no lasting complications.
Once the old butler saw Harry had recovered, he brought him home immediately.
The wind was cold. Harry slipped on a suit jacket, gently swirling the wine in his glass, lost in thought.
Ever since leaving the hospital, a voice had echoed in his mind—one that sounded exactly like his father. He couldn't make out the words, but he could feel the anger and the temptation within it, like a whisper from hell.
Dawn was approaching.
Harry hadn't slept in three days. His handsome face showed clear exhaustion, but the voice wouldn't let him rest.
"Damn it!" Harry drained his glass and cursed.
He hurled the glass to the floor, where it shattered with a sharp crack.
"Harry… Harry…"
The voice came again. Harry was both furious and helpless. He knew it was in his head, but he couldn't stop it.
"Stop! Stop!"
He clawed at his hair, desperate to silence it—even though it sounded exactly like his father.
"Harry… remember… Peter…"
"Get out of my head!" Harry swept everything off the table, kicked over a chair, and shouted.
Then suddenly, he froze.
In the mirror, he saw his father—Norman Osborn.
Harry stared, caught between fear and longing. He didn't understand—his father had died. Why was he here? Why had he forgotten so much after waking up?
"Harry… avenge me…"
Norman's face loomed in the mirror, eyes cold and malevolent.
"No… no… you're not my father…" Harry staggered back, panic rising.
"Then what about you now?"
Norman's image shifted—becoming Harry himself.
"Peter… Peter killed my father… he is Spider-Man…"
The voice slithered into Harry's ears. He stared at his reflection in disbelief.
"Peter… what does that have to do with Peter? And Spider-Man… Spider-Man…"
Harry suddenly froze.
Fragments of memory surged back—broken, chaotic scenes replaying endlessly in his mind.
His father's corpse.
His hatred of Spider-Man.
The fight at the party.
Peter's face beneath the mask.
The flood of memories overwhelmed him. Harry collapsed to the ground, clutching his head and screaming in agony.
"Master? Master! Are you alright?"
Urgent knocking came from the door. The butler had heard the commotion and rushed upstairs.
"I'm fine!"
Harry slowly lifted his head.
A strange smile spread across his face—identical to Norman's.
"I've never felt better…"
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