Nuclear Power Plant - Aftermath
Peter arrived at the nuclear power plant expecting a battlefield—ongoing combat, desperate resistance fighters holding the line, maybe even a chance to turn the tide with his newly-repaired Copytrix.
Instead, he found nothing.
The facility was completely abandoned. Not just empty, but evacuated—the kind of tactical withdrawal that suggested both sides had achieved their objectives and moved on to new positions.
Scorch marks scarred the pavement where Sir Ram's flames had raged. Frozen patches of ground marked where Lady Vermin had deployed her cryokinetic attacks. Scattered equipment and abandoned weapons suggested the resistance had retreated in considerable haste.
But no bodies. No prisoners being processed. No ongoing siege.
The Knights of Wundagore had already left, presumably with their captives.
"Damn it," Peter muttered, his spider-sense providing no useful tactical information about which direction anyone had gone. "Always a step behind on this planet."
He had no choice but to return to the resistance base and hope someone could provide intelligence about what had actually happened during his infiltration of the castle.
Resistance Base - Debriefing
"You're saying John was captured?" Peter asked, his voice tight with controlled worry.
Karen nodded, her expression carrying the particular exhaustion of someone who'd watched friends die and couldn't do anything to prevent it.
"Yes," she confirmed simply.
She and Brumley took turns recounting the battle—the initial ambush, Sir Ram's trap activating perfectly, the overwhelming force of enhanced beastman soldiers, John's heroic decision to stay behind while the others escaped.
Peter learned that John had been captured for two interconnected reasons: first, because he'd been covering the resistance's retreat, ensuring vehicles got away safely. Second, because he'd been wearing Peter's actual spider-suit, making him the primary target for the Knights' focused assault.
"Of course," Peter said, running one hand through his hair with frustration. "Save one person, immediately have to save another person. No time to catch your breath, no opportunity to actually plan, just constant crisis response."
He couldn't help but voice the complaint, even though he knew it was unproductive.
But at least this time, he felt more confident about the rescue operation's chances of success.
Peter glanced down at his Copytrix—now fully functional with Mad Ben's wireless receiver properly installed—and ran through his available transformations mentally. The new alien forms he'd acquired from Mad Ben's database would provide tactical options he hadn't possessed during the tower infiltration.
"As long as the High Evolutionary doesn't appear personally," Peter said aloud, his tactical mind working through scenarios, "there shouldn't be any insurmountable problems. The Four Knights are dangerous, but I can handle them now that my watch works properly."
"And who are they?" Karen asked, gesturing toward the back of the base where Star-Lord's group remained unconscious. "Your friends? Reinforcements?"
Her tone carried subtle disapproval—resistance members were clearly unhappy that Peter had brought complete outsiders to their secret headquarters so casually, without consultation or advance warning.
"Apart from the one wearing an Omnitrix," Peter said carefully, choosing his words with diplomatic precision, "the others might be reinforcements sent by my organization. Maybe. I'm honestly not certain."
He studied Star-Lord's unconscious form with mixed feelings.
Peter couldn't imagine Ben Parker—his brilliant, tactical, responsible cousin—would deliberately send these notoriously unreliable mercenaries as rescue personnel. The Guardians of the Galaxy were famous throughout Plumber networks for taking stupid risks, making terrible decisions, and generally causing more problems than they solved.
But they were also the only people connected to the Plumbers who'd arrived on Counter-Earth in the past two weeks. Which suggested they might actually be legitimate reinforcements, regardless of how improbable that seemed.
"You seem to actively dislike them," Karen observed, picking up on Peter's reluctant tone.
"You can't expect rational decision-making from idiots," Peter said with resigned helplessness. "I just hope they don't become additional people we need to rescue rather than actually providing useful assistance."
"They seemed pleasant enough when we were moving them to medical quarters," Karen offered diplomatically. "Very polite. They even brought a potted plant as a gift."
"No," Peter said quickly, holding up one hand to forestall that misunderstanding. "That's not a plant. That's Groot—he's also a person. A sentient Flora Colossus from the Taluhnia system. Calling him a 'potted plant' would be like calling you a 'talking monkey.' Technically accurate on a taxonomic level but deeply offensive."
Karen's eyes widened with embarrassment. "Oh. I should apologize when he wakes up."
"Don't worry about it," Peter said, waving off her concern. "Groot's pretty chill about species misidentification. Comes with looking like ambulatory lumber."
He shifted topics back to immediate tactical concerns.
"When are we planning the rescue operation for John and the other captured resistance members?" Peter asked, looking between Karen and Brumley.
"Spider-Man," Brumley said with the particular patience of an experienced operative dealing with an impulsive young hero, "I know you're anxious to mount an immediate rescue. But we need accurate intelligence first. Specifically, we need to determine where John has actually been taken before we can plan an infiltration."
The old engineer's voice carried genuine care despite his gruff delivery.
Brumley had almost completely adopted both Spider-Man and John as honorary members of his extended family—treating them with the same protective instincts he showed toward Karen and the other resistance fighters.
Kit—the invisible boy whose presence was marked only by his characteristic bandages—gestured urgently with one hand, then grabbed a piece of paper and pencil to write something down.
He held up the paper for everyone to see.
A single location name: Atlantis
"It sounds like a seafood distribution center," Peter said, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I have a sister-in-law who—no wait, I mean I know a red-haired woman who can breathe underwater and communicate with marine life. If she were here, she'd probably try to establish diplomatic relations with the local ocean kingdoms."
He was thinking of Mera, the Atlantean princess Ben taken with him during his brief dimensional trip to the DC Universe.
"It has nothing to do with seafood," Karen corrected, pulling up holographic schematics of Counter-Earth's geography. "Atlantis is a major industrial city—one of the most technologically advanced manufacturing centers on the planet. Massive factory complexes, automated production lines, advanced research facilities."
"You suspect John was transported there?" Peter asked, studying the city's layout with tactical interest.
Kit nodded emphatically.
He continued writing, his bandaged hands moving with practiced speed across the paper.
Peter read the message aloud without thinking, his voice carrying across the base: "Sir Ram will not release any specimen that can be used for experimental purposes. His primary laboratory in the castle was destroyed during the last infiltration—my infiltration—so there are limited facilities where he can continue his research projects. Atlantis contains the secondary research complex with sufficient equipment for advanced genetic manipulation."
Peter paused, his brain catching up to what his mouth had been saying.
"Wait," he said slowly, looking at Kit with sudden, sharp attention. "Why are you writing this in English? I've been speaking English this entire time, and you've been understanding every word perfectly. How long have you known—"
Kit's bandaged form seemed to shrink slightly, caught in his accidental revelation.
The resistance base fell silent as everyone processed the implications.
Meanwhile - Somewhere Above New Wundagore
A group of figures moved silently through the darkness above Counter-Earth's primary city, using a combination of advanced technology and enhanced abilities to avoid beastman aerial patrols.
"Has anyone else noticed?" one voice asked with barely-contained excitement. "All those advertising billboards down there are written in English. Not some alien language, not pictographic symbols—actual, readable English."
"So what?" rumbled an enormous figure whose bulk suggested significant physical mass even in the darkness. His form was hunched, almost bestial, with posture that spoke of barely-contained predatory instincts. "The city is called New York. Of course it uses English signage. It's clearly a parallel Earth."
"Exactly right," agreed a voice accompanied by the distinctive mechanical whir of multiple articulated limbs. Four metallic tentacles moved with fluid grace behind the speaker's silhouette, their movements suggesting both serpentine flexibility and precise mechanical control.
"I'm starting to wonder if we've stumbled into another collision crisis," the tentacled figure continued, his tone carrying scientific curiosity despite the serious implications. "But this time it happened without our knowledge. Two Earths merged so seamlessly that we didn't notice the dimensional boundaries collapsing."
"The real problem," said a figure balanced on a hovering goblin glider, its distinctive shape cutting a sharp silhouette against Counter-Earth's unfamiliar constellations, "is figuring out how to actually find Peter. I saw newspaper articles about Spider-Man—the Daily had front-page coverage of his tower infiltration—but we can't exactly contact him through official channels."
The group continued their aerial reconnaissance, discussing possibilities and tactical approaches in the casual shorthand of people who'd worked together for years.
But one large man remained conspicuously silent, his massive frame tensed with some internal conflict.
"Flash," Harry Osborn called out, his voice carrying concern beneath the Neo Goblin helmet. "Why are you so quiet? You're usually the first one making terrible jokes during missions."
Flash Thompson hesitated visibly before responding.
"Venom has an impression of this planet," Flash finally said, his voice carrying the particular unease of someone sharing disturbing information from an alien consciousness merged with his own nervous system.
"Has he been here before?" Dr. Connors asked, his scientific curiosity immediately engaged.
"No," Flash said slowly. "It's from the symbiote hive mind—collective genetic memory shared across the entire Klyntar species. According to Venom's inherited memories, some ancient race left parasitic symbiote spores on this planet millions of years ago."
Flash paused, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to explain.
"They're designed to spread explosively," he continued, "like biological cluster munitions. The spores detonate across an entire planetary surface, then parasitize and control every sapient being simultaneously. Complete population subjugation within hours."
"That's an absolutely terrifying bioweapon," Harry said, his glider wobbling slightly as he processed the implications.
Venom suddenly manifested—his characteristic white-marked black form emerging from Flash's shoulder like living tar, grinning with far too many teeth.
"If this were before I joined the Plumbers," Venom said cheerfully, his voice carrying manic enthusiasm, "I would have definitely tried deploying those spores! Controlling an entire planet? My god, I could eat as many brains as I wanted! Unlimited buffet!"
"You can only eat pig brains now," Flash emphasized firmly, his voice carrying the particular exhaustion of someone who'd had this argument many times. "Ethically-sourced pig brains from properly-run farms. No human consumption, no sapient species consumption, absolutely no brain-eating sprees."
"Of course, of course," Venom said with exaggerated innocence. "I'm not stupid. If I actually tried something like that, I wouldn't get to be a comfortable semi-retired local boss for more than a few days before Ben Parker personally showed up to kick my ass."
The symbiote's grin somehow widened further.
"Besides," Venom added, "pig brains are actually quite delicious when properly prepared. Very underrated cuisine."
"Alright, enough idle chatter," Dr. Otto Octavius interrupted, his mechanical tentacles twitching with impatience. "Let's focus on the actual mission. We need to locate Peter, extract him from whatever situation he's gotten himself into, and return to Earth before the temporal distortion creates additional complications."
His tone carried the particular irritation of a brilliant scientist forced to waste time on rescue operations when he could be conducting research.
Dr. Connors, however, seemed genuinely enchanted by Counter-Earth's unique characteristics.
"Look at this place," he said, his voice carrying scientific wonder. "An entire planet where animals have been uplifted to human-level intelligence. If my Lizard serum project had succeeded on Earth, our world might look exactly like this—multiple sapient species coexisting, shared civilization built on genetic diversity rather than single-species dominance."
"They are completely different scenarios," Otto said sharply, his tentacles gesturing with mechanical precision for emphasis. "This represents human intervention in animal evolution—external manipulation by a superior intelligence. Your project was attempting to reverse human evolution, devolving sapiens into primitive reptilian forms. The ethical implications are entirely opposite."
"By the way," Venom suddenly interjected, his voice carrying casual certainty, "I know where to find Peter."
Everyone immediately focused on the symbiote.
"Where?" Harry demanded.
"A stinky sewer system," Venom said with obvious distaste. "The collective hive memory shows recent Klyntar activity in underground tunnels beneath this city. Which means either there are other symbiotes here, or Peter encountered some and left a psychic trail we can follow."
"Then that's our destination," Otto said decisively.
Wundagore Castle - Confrontation
Sir Ram stormed through the castle's corridors with barely-contained fury, his four arms clenched into fists, flames beginning to manifest around his body as his rage translated into involuntary pyrokinetic discharge.
Behind him, beastman soldiers dragged John Jameson—still wearing Peter's spider-suit, now somewhat worse for wear—along with several resistance fighters frozen solid by Lady Vermin's cryokinetic attacks during the battle.
The frozen prisoners looked like grotesque ice sculptures, their expressions of terror preserved in crystalline detail.
Sir Ram found Lord Tyger in one of the castle's strategic planning chambers, calmly reviewing holographic tactical displays as if nothing significant had happened.
"Your Majesty Lord Tyger," Sir Ram said, his voice dripping with sarcasm on the honorific title, "where is Spider-Man? The real Spider-Man?"
Lord Tyger looked up from his displays with carefully-maintained neutral expression.
"Isn't he right there in your custody?" Lord Tyger asked mildly, gesturing toward John's restrained form.
"This is a FAKE!" Sir Ram roared, his four hands seizing John's spider-suit and attempting to tear it off with brute force.
But the nanotechnology suit resisted his efforts, the molecular structure automatically reinforcing itself against physical damage. The more Sir Ram pulled, the more the material compensated, maintaining its integrity through sophisticated adaptive algorithms.
Frustrated beyond reason, Sir Ram slammed John bodily against the stone floor with enough force to crack the ancient masonry.
"He has no superpowers at all!" Sir Ram snarled, electricity crackling across his horns as his rage intensified. "No enhanced strength, no wall-crawling adhesion, no spider-sense danger detection! It's all an elaborate deception!"
"Is that so?" Lord Tyger said, his voice remaining calm despite the escalating tension. "It seems Spider-Man is either exceptionally cunning or perhaps genuinely cowardly. Maybe his previous encounter with you traumatized him enough that he sent a decoy rather than facing you directly again."
Lord Tyger's expression remained completely unchanged, his acting skills honed through years of political maneuvering.
"You and I both know Spider-Man wouldn't do that," Sir Ram said, his voice dropping to dangerous quiet.
He stepped closer to Lord Tyger, his superior height and bulk creating an obvious physical threat.
"So let me propose an alternate theory," Sir Ram continued, his tone carrying accusation. "If this Spider-Man at the nuclear plant was a decoy, where was the real Spider-Man during that operation? What was he actually doing while we were chasing his double?"
Lord Tyger felt a cold spike of fear pierce through his carefully-maintained composure, but his expression betrayed nothing.
"Then you should interrogate the decoy," Lord Tyger suggested calmly. "Ask 'Spider-Man' where his employer is. Use your preferred interrogation techniques."
"Enough games, Lord Tyger!" Sir Ram roared, his entire body beginning to enlarge as his genetic enhancements activated involuntarily under emotional stress. "Stop playing diplomatic word games! You dare swear in the name of the High Evolutionary—swear on your loyalty to our creator—that you've never encountered Spider-Man? That you haven't seen him since the nuclear plant operation?"
He glared at Lord Tyger with barely-contained murderous intent, his body continuing to grow larger and hotter. Flames began manifesting across his skin, his pupils literally burning with internal fire that seemed ready to incinerate the traitorous feline where he stood.
"I told you I've never seen him!" Lord Tyger shouted back, his own body responding to the threat.
Even as guilt for his deception ate at his conscience, Lord Tyger's combat instincts took over. The lightning-bolt marking between his eyebrows transformed into a glowing trident, intense electrical currents erupting around his body in defensive patterns. His golden fur stood on end, each hair crackling with stored charge.
The two Knights faced each other across the chamber, both transformed into their enhanced combat forms, both radiating enough destructive potential to level significant portions of the castle.
The tension was explosive—literally, given their pyrokinetic and electrical abilities.
Lady Vermin watched the confrontation with growing bewilderment, her tiny rodent face cycling through confusion and concern.
"Gentlemen, please," she said, her small voice somehow carrying authority despite her diminutive size. "If the High Evolutionary discovered we were fighting amongst ourselves—engaging in internecine conflict rather than unified purpose—he would be deeply disappointed in all of us."
But even invoking their creator's name couldn't defuse Sir Ram's rage.
"If the High Evolutionary knew I had identified and eliminated a traitor to our cause," Sir Ram said coldly, his four hands beginning to glow with accumulated heat, "he would be proud of my loyalty. He would reward me for protecting our mission from internal sabotage."
The threat was unmistakable.
Lord Tyger was being accused of treason, and Sir Ram was preparing to execute judgment.