My reflexes, which were honed to the limit and enhanced by the cognitive stimulants, triggered before my consciousness could even register the threat. What followed the prick in my neck was abnormal. It was poison.
The same instant that the nerve endings sent the pain signal to my brain, my hand didn't even need to rip the dart from my neck. I gave a mental command, and it vanished into my inventory. Simultaneously, I directed my consciousness inward. I felt the foreign substance begin to spread through my carotid artery, carrying an icy numbness with it. The "Iron Blood" skill worked flawlessly. A metallic taste appeared in my mouth, and the infected blood under the skin on my neck instantly condensed, transforming into a solid, inert clot of metal, trapping the poison inside itself. With another command, this toxic fragment also went into my inventory.
The world, which had begun to lose its focus for a split second, became sharp again. But I could feel... This was only a reprieve. I bolted into the nearest alley, into the saving shadow between two buildings. No one followed me. The predator was cautious.
With a mental effort, the Chimera's protective garment enveloped my body. Both the suit and the mask locked into place, cutting off the city's noise. In parallel, I noted my condition, hoping that I had expelled all of the crap from my system. It was relatively normal for the current situation: my pulse was elevated, and my adrenaline levels were off the charts. I inhaled a double dose through the respirator: a muscle stimulant and the "Apex Predator" serum. An icy discharge tore through my veins, burning away the remnants of the numbness and accelerating my thoughts to the limit. Inside the Chimera's protective shell, I finally felt safe.
The plasma wings unfolded silently, and I rose smoothly, without any jerks, to the roof of the nearest ten-story building. There, they immediately folded behind my back into a sort of protective shield, and I, dropping to one knee, began to study the street.
My mind, enhanced by the amulet, worked like a supercomputer. I searched for anomalies. An adrenaline spike that caused an excessive physical manifestation in a passerby. An unnatural vehicle trajectory. A person on a neighboring roof.
Nothing.
The street was living its ordinary, everyday life. No one stood out from the general rhythm. No one even looked up. Whoever the attacker was, he was operating under ghost protocols: he had struck and then immediately dissolved.
The question was: who?
The CIA? Probably. After two failed attempts at "soft" contact from Elena, they might have moved on to more decisive measures. Kingpin? It was unlikely. It was too crude for his current shadow status. A third party? Competitors who had found my Proteus stuck in their craw? There were too many options, but one thing was clear: they didn't want to kill me. They wanted to capture me.
I pulled the dart from my inventory. It had no unique markings. It was a standard, mass-produced sample that you could buy at any weapons market. It was useless. Then, I extracted the chunk of my solidified blood. It was warm, and I still intuitively felt it; I could change its form. There were no strange impurities or nanoparticles. So, the poison wasn't anything exotic. It was most likely a lethal dose of a fast-acting neuroparalytic sedative.
Enough of this. Passive waiting was the path to the grave. Standing on a roof meant being a convenient target.
I returned the evidence to my inventory and shot into the sky. I needed to get to the Base. There was a lab there, and equipment. There, I could study both the dart and the poison's composition in my blood. Maybe it would give me some kind of lead.
Flying turned out to be... unexpectedly pleasant. The suit completely negated any discomfort. There was no roar of wind in the ears, and no air resistance. It was just smooth, controlled gliding on wings of pure plasma, with the daytime city rushing by below me. I was a black comet in the sky over Manhattan. Yes, I had probably lit up every possible radar, but that didn't matter now. Let S.H.I.E.L.D. cover for me. We would test how interested they were in our "partnership."
After ten minutes of flight, the outline of the familiar shipyard appeared on the horizon. And there was the inconspicuous warehouse, beneath which lay my only truly safe place. My sanctuary.
Camouflage. How desperately I needed it.
I zigzagged among the warehouse buildings, making sure that I had shaken off any possible "tail," and I landed smoothly on the platform in front of my shelter. There was silence. Only the wind chased dust across the abandoned shipyard. I looked around and, confirming the absence of any onlookers, I was about to give the mental command to remove the suit and put it into my inventory. But at that moment, something inside me, my instinct, my paranoia, the predator serum, howled in agony.
Instead of deactivation, I gave a different command. A sharp, maximum impulse for takeoff.
It was just in time.
The warehouse, my current base, my fortress, exploded. It didn't just explode; it flew apart into atoms in a fireball that roared skyward with an eardrum-shattering force. Despite the distance, it reached me. The shockwave slammed into my back like an invisible train. The suit's systems screamed, I physically felt an unpleasant interference, and coughing blood into my mask, I lost control of my flight for several agonizing seconds.
That instant was enough.
From out of nowhere, a heavy steel net crashed down on me. Thousands of volts pierced the armor, making my whole body shudder in one painful convulsion.
My consciousness worked on autopilot, and the combat protocol was launched: Stimulants. Inhale. Blood. Accelerate, burn the pain. Glove. Inventory. Net. Touch, ignore the shocks. Inventory. Glove. Return.
The sequence took two seconds. I came to, breaking free of the paralyzing grip. But the bastard, whoever he was, wasn't slowing down. Smoke grenades exploded around me, blinding my view, and they were followed by flashbangs. Another net came from above! The enemy was above! Which meant that I needed to break through to him.
The decision was made. Ignoring the sensory overload and the ache in every cell, I shot vertically upward. I had to get out of this smoke screen. Assess the situation. See the enemy.
I burst into the clear sky and immediately spotted him.
He was sitting on a silent flying platform, fifty meters above the explosion's epicenter. He was a muscular brunette, clad in wild animal hides. His body was covered in strange, ornate tattoos, and a wild, insane grin was playing on his face. Despite my helmet, I felt our gazes meet. He felt it, too. His grin widened, transforming into a predatory snarl.
Then, he stood up and casually stepped off the platform.
He fell toward me, and I had a split second to react. I jerked to the left, moving off of his trajectory. But then, the patterns on his legs flashed with a bright, emerald light. He pushed off. He pushed off from the air itself. It was as if he had stepped on an invisible step. He changed his trajectory and, like a meteor striking a satellite, crashed into me.
We tangled into a knot in the air. His grip was inhuman. I could hear the protective plates of my suit protesting with squeaks. The tattoos on his arms flashed crimson, and he, releasing a guttural roar, began to shred my armor with his bare fingers.
"Bastard!" I snarled, putting all of my fury into the strike.
Kraven, and this bastard could be no one else, only became more excited. With a disgusting crunch, he tore an entire plate from the Proteus.
I regrouped, accelerated my blood to the limit, reinforcing my body beneath the armor. I grabbed his arm and activated the vibro-glove at maximum power. It was a concentrated sonic strike, capable of turning steel to dust, and I directed it straight at him. I expected his arm to explode into a bloody mist.
But the damn tattoos flashed with a molten gold color, absorbing all of the power from my attack. It went nowhere. There wasn't even a single scratch on his skin. How the hell was this possible?!
I struck again. And again. I changed modes, frequencies. The result was the same: a flash of light and a complete absorption of the damage. In response, I got unrestrained, Homeric laughter. He was enjoying this. He was reveling in my helplessness. In his eyes, there burned the primal ecstasy of a hunter who had cornered another interesting piece of prey.
Kraven's fingers were like steel hooks. Gripping my glove, he began to pull it toward himself with an animal roar, ripping it from its mountings. The screech of protesting metal grated on my ears. To be safe, I dematerialized the glove into my inventory and immediately countered. Three blades of Iron Blood burst from the skin of my hands and forearms. I struck.
There was a vile, squealing sound of metal sliding against something that was indestructible.
I struck at his arms, his body, his neck. With each useless blow, with each spark that was struck from my own metal, I felt a burning rage give way to an icy helplessness.
What could I do?! Use the wings for an attack? In close combat in the air, that would be suicide. I would risk losing my maneuverability and plummeting down to the ground with this maniac. That was unacceptable. The stimulants? They were already burning in my blood, searing my nervous system. The inventory? Throw Rhino's suit at him? That would be too slow and impractical. The car with the vampires? Maybe that would break his grip, but this bastard... he was too dangerous to give him even the slightest chance to escape. He needed to be finished. Here and now.
The Iron Blood didn't work. From my active skills... I had Strange Science. Damn it! I should have created not a scalpel and a dragonfly, but a five-foot cudgel of pure spiritual energy!
But I did have a scalpel. And this was my only chance.
A crude, desperate plan instantly matured in my head. Once again doubling over from Kraven's crushing blow to my torso, I materialized the Iron Blood scalpel in my hand. And I began my game.
I slashed at his neck with desperation in my eyes. It was useless. Then, the scalpel on my hand flowed, transforming into a wide knife. I struck. It was a failure again. The knife elongated into a curved kukri. Then it became a short dagger. And then it changed back into a scalpel. I was a cornered animal, frantically cycling through my weapons in a final, hopeless attempt.
I was in despair. And I felt that Kraven felt it. Like an experienced predator, he read my body language, he analyzed my hormonal profile. And thanks to the NZT, I played this role perfectly. Come on, you bastard. Look at me. I'm scared. I'm broken. Swallow the bait.
His next blow was even stronger. I felt a rib crack with a crunch. There was a hellish pain. But with the pain came an opening. It was a split second between his strike and the next one.
I used it.
At the very moment when the Iron Blood scalpel was still touching his neck, I materialized, from the "blueprint" in my soul, its exact copy: the Spirit Scalpel. It appeared precisely beneath the physical blade, hidden by it as if it were in a sheath. I gave a mental impulse, and the Iron Blood blade retracted a couple of millimeters, exposing the bluish, otherworldly glow of the spiritual blade. I made a light, almost weightless movement of my wrist.
A thin, scarlet line of blood appeared on Kraven's muscular neck.
He froze. There was shock, bewilderment in his bestial eyes. He didn't even have time to comprehend what had happened when I, putting all of my remaining strength into the movement, drove the scalpel into his neck up to the hilt. Then, I dematerialized the iron one and immediately created another spiritual one, driving it in nearby.
The hunter's grip weakened. The stunned expression changed into a grimace of fury, and then... I saw it. Fear. It was a primal, animal fear of a predator who had suddenly become the prey.
He detached himself from me, trying to push off and escape. But I didn't let him fall. Who knows what kind of regeneration he was capable of? I grabbed his chin with my remaining intact gloved hand and again activated the most powerful vibration mode, directing it straight into his head. The golden tattoos flashed, absorbing the strike. That wasn't surprising. But that was exactly what I needed. I needed his defensive mechanism to be active and to distract him.
While his body was instinctively fighting the vibrations, my other hand continued its bloody work. I materialized scalpel after scalpel, turning his neck into a bloody mess. I felt muscles tearing and vertebrae crunching. At some point, there was a deafening pop. The golden tattoos, flashing one last time, died forever.
And Kraven's head, now deprived of its protection, exploded, showering me with a hot, bloody mist, bone fragments, and brain matter. A vile, fetid smell penetrated even through the respirator's filters.
I hovered in the air, covered in his remains. The adrenaline receded, leaving behind a ringing silence and a deep, all-consuming fatigue.
"Finally." I exhaled with relief, removing Kraven's headless body to my inventory.
Hovering over the smoking ruins, I flew to Kraven's flying platform. It was a high-tech hybrid of a jetski and a combat glider on a magnetic cushion. It was a valuable trophy. And it was important evidence. I sent it to my inventory without any hesitation.
Then, I descended to the ground and, finding a deserted area, materialized the black Land Cruiser with the vampires. I didn't even bother to check on them or interact with them. It was long past time to get rid of this baggage that was occupying a valuable slot. I left the car there, among the debris. If they managed to escape, good for them. And if they didn't... well, let the city services deal with it.
I shot into the sky like a rocket, finally giving free rein to the fury that was boiling inside of me. This wasn't a hot fury, but a cold, searing one. The Base. My only real sanctuary. A lab with equipment and reagents that were worth millions of dollars. The place that had been entrusted to me by Blade. It was gone. It was just a crater now.
And who was responsible? Was it some global supervillain? No. It was just Kraven the Hunter. A "minor villain" from the comics who, in reality, had turned out to be something immeasurably greater. He was a madman who hadn't been scared by either the Daywalker's name or by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s tacit dominance in this city.
And his powers... What the hell was that? Was it Chi? Was it blood magic? Was it technology? The tattoos changed color and gave him different effects. Green meant supernatural mobility. Crimson meant monstrous attack power. Gold meant absolute defense. Were there other colors? A chill ran down my spine at the thought that I could have found out on my own hide. If his goal had been to kill, and not to capture... I wouldn't be flying over this city anymore.
That was exactly what had saved my life. My entire previous gallery of encountered metas, the Marked One, Tombstone, the clowns in costumes like Shocker and Rhino, they were all children compared to him. Kraven possessed the impenetrable skin of a Luke Cage and the strength of at least a mid-tier super-soldier, and it was all multiplied by bestial instincts and decades of hunting experience.
How had he found the Base? That information doesn't just lie on the road. Obviously, his employer was someone very, very important.
I began to mentally run through the options. The Soviets? Kraven, Sergei Kravinoff, was Russian. He was a colorful character that this universe's paranoid KGB couldn't have missed. The motive: my Proteus. The probability: high.
S.H.I.E.L.D. or the CIA? I ruled them out. It contradicted their recent contact and their methods. Kingpin? It was possible. But the style was too direct, too loud for a Fisk who was playing "dead man." The probability was medium. Shadow organizations? Hydra, the Hand, the Hellfire Club... These could very well have hired someone like Kraven. They were unpredictable variables.
Guessing was pointless. It could have been anyone. The main thing was that the bastard was dead. But his employers weren't. And now that their hunter had fallen, would they act more subtly? Or, on the contrary, would they send someone even stronger?
And then, a cold, nauseating thought struck me. Now that I had proven that I could handle a direct attack, their next target wouldn't be me.
It would be those who were dear to me.
I didn't have that many attachments. But the ones I did have were my Achilles' heel.
My hands pulled the ordinary smartphone from my inventory. My fingers dialed Peter's number. The rings sounded. One. Two. Three. Four. They were long, agonizing, like hammer blows on my nerves. Five. And then there was a disconnection.
"Damn it!"
I stopped hovering in the air. My body, clad in the suit, became a rocket that was aimed at one single point on the city map. It was aimed toward the Parker household in Queens.
//==============//