by Neil Kleid
Edward screamed in his poor, pounding head.
Hithurthithurthithurt
Vermin screamed at the unconscious cop. “Now I’m hitting back!”
He whistled once, low and inviting. Slowly, tentatively, a line of wet, furry rats emerged from a nearby sewer grate and swarmed over the bleeding policeman. They weighed him down and viciously began to feed. The man opened his eyes and, realizing what was happening, started to struggle.
fitting, Vermin mused. what were we before, edward? we were small and dark and cold. we were hit and hurt and hit, yes
we were eaten alive
Atop the cruiser, staring down as the rats devoured the beaten cop, Vermin’s eyes shone like fire. Saliva oozed from his lolling tongue. He crouched low, preparing to join his brothers, pushing aside Edward’s weak-willed visions of loneliness and pain.
stop, edward! it doesn’t matter what you were before now isss what matters it matters what i am now i am verminvermin i am vermin i’m
Gunshots rang out, and tiny painful bullets tore at the right side of Vermin’s rib cage. The impact knocked him from the hood of the car, and he fell to the ground, clutching his side.
A second policeman had emerged from the nearby bodega, carrying a cup of coffee. She stepped into the light, nervously training her pistol on Vermin’s back. He twisted around to see her face.
“All right,” the policeman (policewoman, sweet smelling) said, a tremor in her voice betraying false confidence. “You just…just hold it right there…!”
Her voice such a pretty voice, Edward whined deep within Vermin’s head. Skin, so soft. So dark.
The cop stepped forward, her eyes filling with determination. Vermin grew silent, watching her carefully. Her hand shook, and he wondered whether she would pull the trigger once more (hitmehurtmehitmehurtme), wondered when to spring in her direction and take the gun away. But Edward was growing stronger now, his voice and influence beginning to take control. So Vermin simply watched and waited as the dark, soft, lovely policewoman edged closer with the gun.
“Now you call off those rats!” she cried, her voice hard and angry despite her fear. “You hear me? Call ’em off!”
Vermin sniffed and screwed up his face, ready to pounce and eat or scream and fight. But Edward stayed his hand once more. The lady cop’s lips were so full, her eyes so soft and warm…
Just like…
Vermin turned to scream at his siblings, the feeding, ravenous rats. “Go!” he shouted, “let him go!” One by one, the hungry rats reluctantly disengaged from the first policeman’s body and skittered back into the sewers on tiny, wet, bloody feet.
Then, while the lady cop was distracted by the retreating rats, Vermin swiveled around and snatched her gun away, knocking it to the pavement. Wincing from the pain of his wound, he lunged and shoved the cop against the cruiser. Then he advanced, pressing his face against hers, letting his fetid breath waft against her nose. She recoiled at the stench.
Eyes wide, full of fear, the cop stared up at the terrible face of her attacker. Vermin studied her brown eyes, searching for something so familiar that he couldn’t put it into words.
But Edward could. Just like…Peaceful memories stirred—full of happiness and warmth, of welcome and acceptance.
Memories of…
…mother.
Edward leaned down and slowly ran his tongue over the lady’s face, dragging a trail of thick mucus from chin to cheek. The cop flinched, struggling to pull away from Edward and his clumsy, uncomfortable kiss. He renewed his grip and then pulled back to stare into her face once more, cataloguing her eyes, remembering the moment.
I love you, he thought.
It was true—though, to be honest, Edward didn’t know why. He moved away from the car and padded slowly back toward the alley, into the night, leaving behind the two immobile policemen. One half-eaten, victim of Vermin’s boldness and acceptance of what he’d become; the other frozen with fear, rendered speechless by the affections of her worst nightmare.
TWELVE
NEWSPAPERS littered Sergei’s desk. He pushed aside the pages, barely reading words or headlines, scanning photos for the one he sought. He stood in the middle of the study, a robe barely cinched around his waist, allowing a bottle of South African red to breathe before filling himself a glass.
Sergei’s night had been fruitful and exhilarating, yet somewhat pointless. The longer he played among the lesser prey, defeating the already-defeated, the longer he kept himself from the true mission. And so he had returned to the townhouse to steel himself, to prepare for the next phase of the hunt—the ultimate step he must take to complete his journey and defeat the Beast.
Sergei stopped, his hand hovering over a headline. The words leapt off the page—CANNIBAL KILLER CLAIMS FIFTH VICTIM—yet no photograph accompanied the piece. Sergei smiled and tore the paper from his desk, crumpling it in his hand. He stalked out of the study and headed to the rear of the townhouse, back toward his sanctum, the bottle of wine all but forgotten.
Calmly, he swept aside a curtain and moved to the table where he kept his herbs and potions. There, beneath an already-lit pair of braziers, sat a small iron cage containing a single, frightened field mouse. A hunting knife rested near the cage, blade unsheathed and reflecting the light of the flames. Sergei set aside the crumpled newspaper to pick up the knife.
He stared down at the mouse, watching it squeak and scramble about the confines of its prison. The fact that the newspaper article included no photo of the cannibal killer didn’t affect Sergei’s plan in the least. The Hunter already knew his prey, could identify it in a heartbeat. Smiling, he lifted the knife and brought it down between the bars, missing the mouse’s tail by a hair’s breadth. The knife tip struck the bottom of the cage.
Tonight.
Sergei’s smile widened in anticipation as he tried again. He stabbed at the cage with determined focus, toying with the mouse, chuckling under his breath. He’d read the papers, heard about the missing women, understood the test before him—the test that would bring Sergei face-to-face with an altogether different beast. Not the Spider itself, but one of its failures. As Kraven, as the Hunter, Sergei had known and even broken bread with several of the Spider’s adversaries, each one an animal or beast with its own nature and rules. The rhinoceros. The octopus. The vulture, the lizard, and more. Each had faced the Spider, and each had been defeated.
And then there had been the goblin. Two goblins, in fact—one older and green, far more dangerous than any of the Spider’s other foes; the other orange and black, mysterious, cunning and disruptive. Sergei had originally targeted the Hobgoblin—the orange one— for the next part of the plan, but circumstances had conspired against him, and another hunter took what had rightfully belonged to Kraven. Osborn and Leeds, both dead, could serve no further purpose. They had been the foes the Spider could never best. Now only one other remained, one other creature the Spider had needed help to cage. And when Sergei caged it by himself, he would finally prove himself without rival and regain his family’s honor.
I feel the herbs, he thought, letting his mind wander away on the threads of destiny. I feel the roots and potions spreading wide my mind. The blade descended once more, striking deep into the cage; the mouse squealed and ran for safety. I feel them reaching out to touch destiny.
Sergei stabbed idly at the mouse, penning it into a corner. With his free hand, he spread out the crumpled article, letting the words spring up and into his eyes as if floating in the air above the desk.
The newspaper calls him—calls it—the Cannibal Killer. But I know it by name, for I am the Hunter and know all beasts intimately.
Stab. The mouse jerked left, nose twitching with fear.
I know you, rat. I am inside you…Vermin.
Can you hear my call?
Stab. The mouse jumped back; the squeaking intensified.
Do not resist. Allow destiny to take our hands and draw us closer together…
Sergei pu
lled back his hand, dangling the executioner’s blade above his prey, and glared down at the poor, terrified rodent. He felt no pity, no mercy. Kraven the Hunter hardened his heart.
I understand now that there must be a test, a final line to cross. A final madness to embrace. Only when I have tested myself, crossed that line and embraced the madness, will my victory over Spider-Man be complete. My honor restored.
Sergei lowered his weapon, placing it back down on the table. The mouse watched intently, its eyes following Sergei as he gripped both sides of the metal cage, lifting it from the table. He carried the cage to the far wall, balancing it in one hand as the other pushed open a window. He stared into the cage, eyeing the scared little mouse.
You are my test, Vermin. My fire of purification. Do not fear me, or fear my coming. Love me, for I intend to bless you with pain, with blood and with sorrow.
Kraven smiled sadly and shoved the cage out the window, sending it crashing down to the curb below. Four floors down, the cage opened and the mouse was thrown, smashing against a nearby car, possibly killed by the impact. Sergei barely noticed, didn’t care. He removed his robe, dropping it to the floor. Then he stepped out onto the ledge, holding both hands against the open windows for support.
Tonight, he repeated to his unseen prey, waiting out in the darkness.
“Tonight,” Sergei growled, grinning in anticipation of the hunt to come. Rivulets of rain coursed down his body.
Tonight I prove myself the superior Beast. And then Kraven shall be the Hunter…no more.
THIRTEEN
THAT noise.
Again, the noise in the darkness.
(kraKOOM)
I don’t like it.
“Leave me alone.”
Edward twisted and turned, splashing in the sludge, running down long, dark corridors. He tried to hide, tried to flee, but the sound followed wherever he went. He didn’t know where it came from—it wasn’t Vermin, didn’t growl insults and anger inside his mind. He just wanted to be left alone, left to hide back down in the dark, back in the wet and cold, where he had come to be at peace.
To be away from the thunder, and especially the crawly man.
The Sssspider-Man.
(tonight)
Edward wheeled around, looking for the source of the voice. That wasn’t Vermin. Someone else had whispered in the darkness. He covered his face, swiveled and turned, batting at the unseen presence. “No, leave me alone. Go away!”
he’ssss coming, Vermin hissed, wheedling and warning in Edward’s ear.
“No! No, I’m home now…I’m safe now!”
Edward’s night had been riddled with dreams of warmth, of mother, of soft women and welcoming voices. But then the Spider-Man had come, the bad man, calling to Edward and chasing him through the night. Surrounded by his little ratty friends, back home in the wet cold where he belonged, Edward had hoped to hide from the Hunter’s wide, white eyes, from his terrible thunder and horrible voice.
Vermin had hated the idea. He’d come so far, grown so bold. No noise or dream, he said, should destroy his plan to conquer their fears.
(tonight)
Edward whirled around. He wanted to scream and shout, to fight and claw the voice that haunted him, the bad man stalking him from the darkness.
it’s sssspider-man. you know it, so do i
“Shut up.”
The noise. Edward heard it again, but this time it wasn’t thunder or a deep, thrumming voice. This time, the noise was much closer—and much wetter.
Edward could hear splashing noises coming down one of the tunnels. Ripples appeared in the sewage at his feet.
“Oh, no.” Dumbfounded, he glanced around wildly, trying to see who it was
(sssspider-man)
and from which direction it might be coming. It hadn’t been a dream. It was real; the bad man was real. And he was coming.
The splashing stopped. Edward brought his fingers up to his chin. “Maybe…maybe he left?”
Without warning, a hand emerged from the darkness and grabbed Edward’s throat in a viselike grip. Edward choked and pulled away. He splashed back with great, clumsy steps, squealing with fear.
Spider-Man stepped out into the dim light of Edward’s home, the large reservoir in which he made his lair. Spider-Man crouched low and flexed his fingers, thin black webs undulating against the bright crimson of his gloves. His large white eyes stared blankly at Edward. Edward struggled to his feet, pulling himself up and out of the sludge to face his enemy.
“Hello, Vermin,” Spider-Man said. “Remember me?”
Vermin howled inside Edward’s head. yessss.
“Ssss…ssspider-Man,” Edward replied, tentative and frightened.
“Remember the last time we met, Vermin? Do you recall how you almost defeated me?”
Edward nodded twice, his head bobbing up and down. “Yessss.”
Spider-Man shifted his stance, planting his feet in the liquid and cracking his knuckles. “But I defeated you, didn’t I?”
no! Vermin screamed. not fair! you weren’t alone—
“—you had Captain Flag with you,” Edward finished, “and you…”
“Didn’t I?” Spider-Man repeated.
Edward’s eyes narrowed, and Vermin breathed exultantly inside his mind. “You weren’t alone!”
Edward growled and propelled himself up and out of the water, bounding atop Spider-Man with claws raised and teeth bared. Spider-Man grabbed Edward’s left hand and twisted away, flinging him back down into the sludge.
“That’s right, Vermin,” Spider-Man said in his smug voice. “I wasn’t alone. I had help!”
Edward raked his claws against the hero’s back, tearing apart his costume. Spider-Man reached down to grip Edward’s arms and throw him once again.
“Alone I could have never defeated you,” Spider-Man continued. “Do you understand, Vermin?”
Edward roared, spittle flying from his fangs, eyes red and glazed with anger. Spider-Man bellowed his question once more: “Do you understand?”
Edward kicked out with his left foot, catching Spider-Man against the chest and sending him stumbling back against the sewer wall.
“Yesssssss!” Edward screamed, letting Vermin speak for him. He pulled himself back to his feet, ready to tear Spider-Man apart with his teeth.
Edward lunged, slashing at the wall-crawler with his right hand, but the agile vigilante grabbed a low-hanging pipe and swung himself up over the blow. Edward’s claws missed, scraping against the solid wall.
Spider-Man kicked back with his right leg, striking Edward’s throat, knocking his breath away. Edward staggered but quickly recovered and sank his fangs deep into his enemy’s heel.
“No!” Spider-Man cried.
Edward would not let go. The hero flexed once and tore out a pipe, swinging it around to connect with Edward’s jaw. “No!” he shouted again. He pulled away his wounded foot, flipping around in the brackish liquid as Edward fell to the ground.
They circled each other, two beasts filled with anger and pain, preparing to come together with force and abandon. Edward knew that Spider-Man could not defeat him alone, not here in his home. He readied himself to tear away the hero’s face, to eat it— mask and all.
Spider-Man didn’t say a word. He simply stared at Edward with those blank, unsettling eyes. Then a deep rumble emerged from his chest, an animalistic growl that pushed Edward to the edge.
They sprang at the same time, roaring in unison and clawing for position. Edward scratched and fought, but Spider-Man had a weight advantage (had he always been this large?) and shoved Edward back. He forced Edward down with a forearm to the throat, employing a type of wrestling move that Edward had never before seen.
Stunned, Edward did his best to push the spider off. But the larger man drove a fist into his face. Edward turned and bit Spider-Man’s arm, drawing blood. He clutched at the front of Spider-Man’s costume, but the wall-crawler swept Edward’s hand away and thrust both fists into
his face, knocking out some teeth and wounding an eye.
Edward had already lost the advantage. Now he could do nothing but sit there and take it, despite Vermin’s screaming.
The thunder sounded up above, accompanied by the distant sound of jungle drums, paired in symphony with descending blows and breaking bones.
(TONIGHT)
Again the voice, filling Edward’s ears. The voice of the Spider. The sound of defeat.
(kraKOOM)
I don’t like it. I don’t like to be hit and hurt
tough luck, edward. you should have listened to me all along. should have stayed up above, where we were strong.
Edward tried to twist away, to flee, weakly splashing in the water. But the noise was too loud, like a train rushing through his battered ears. The last thing he heard before blacking out was the sound of Vermin’s pained, disgusted complaining in his head.
FOURTEEN
EXUBERANT and overjoyed, Sergei laughed as he rained down countless blows on Vermin’s grotesque head. This thing—this animal—had dared sully the Spider with its filthy teeth and lips. Sergei refused to allow such a gross offense to go unpunished.
Pummeling with all his might, Sergei gave himself over to the fury, pouring all of his coiled, white-hot rage into both fists and out through the knuckles into his enemy’s skull. He refused to let up, would never stop, not until he’d succeeded and knocked his foe unconscious.
He could never have defeated you, Sergei repeated to himself as he brutally fractured Vermin’s jaw.
But I can. Dishonored Father. Sainted Mother. Stained honor. Yet still, I can.
Howling unintelligibly, his strained voice echoing along the corridors, Sergei landed six more bone-shattering punches, splattering blood and demolishing Vermin’s teeth. Sergei stepped back and stood up, allowing himself to take several breaths. A freight train of drug-induced adrenaline washed over his chest, up his throat and through his skull, and then down his spine. It receded with a hollow whistle as Vermin uttered one last strangled, choking sob and settled back into the toxic fluid. The sewer water washed over Vermin’s prone, immobile body, filling his mouth and nose, covering his closed, bruised eyes.
