Peter, this is your Aunt May. I know you're going through a whole lot
right now, what with your being fired and all,
and, well, I just wanted to make sure you were
okay. I really know I shouldn't be this worried, and
I'm not really. That's the thing about you, Peter.
You've always had this...this inner strength, a will that
has gotten you through so much difficulty in your life. ...
You take after Ben. This one, too, will pass, you know. Meanwhile, if you need to talk, you can just call me.
Good Night, Peter, dear. I'll call you again in the morning. BEEEEP.
That's the first thing he can recall. His face feels like .. um, hurt. There's water all over him, drooping around. He can even taste it. Literally. Why does this water taste like blood? .. Why does this water look like blood? Someone's blood. Who's blood? Someone's bleeding, someone's hurt, someone's-- oh. His blood. Right. But why? Oh. Morlun. He should be dead. He should be killed. He should be-- vampiric being. Riiight. ❝This is how it will happen. You will run. I will pursue. I do not tire. I do not grow weary. I do give up. You may get ahead, but eventually, I will catch you. Now that I have found you -- again --, I will always be able to find you. No matter where you hide. This may take hours. Days, even. In time, you will tire. And then .. you will die. ❞
He's smashed through pillars, window, several buildings. Lots'a collateral damage. His suit is teared, everything seems to be broken. His face feels numb. He recalls how he really wouldn't mind being assisted by Captain America right now. Iron Man, even. Any Avenger would do, really. Any super would be better than a half-dead, sleep-deprived Spider-Man. Maybe. ❝Hey, Morlun... You don't seem to give up. I like that. Here's something for your troubles,❞ Peter calls out, sending long streams of webbing his way. Of course, the webbing is grabbed, spun around, tumbling Spider-Man through a building .. again. Through debris, through a car, landing into a large dumpster. Ouch.
He doesn't think he's been hit that hard before, but that could be the fatigue or sleep deprivation talking. He's gone toe-to-toe with the likes of the Hulk. He has to say conscious. Has to ignore the pain. Then, he's hit. No. No. He's hit. A large crunch. All he can see is red. His own blood. He must be hurt badly. No more stupid one-liners sent out. Maybe he's dying. Maybe he's -- No. Images of Uncle Ben, Gwen Stacy, Mary Jane, and Aunt May flash in his head. He can't fail them again. He couldn't. He wouldn't. Not like this. Not. By. Him. He's been put to the test a million times over. Fought every super-villain to wear spandex and call themselves some name dorkier than Paste Pot Pete. Who the hell is this guy to challenge Peter Parker? Who does he think he is? It's no different. No different. No different. He tosses an empty car at him, then leaping at his face. Skin tearing. Knuckles breaking. Doesn't matter. No. He's finally winning. He's winning... He's -- Oh, man. He's getting up again. It's probably time for round two ... three, four, five. Six. Yeah. Six.
