173. Fire With No Soul. (Patreon)

Peter POV:

Mysterium was a beautiful lie.

That was the thought circling my mind as I stood beside the Celestial Forge, sleeves rolled up, fingers dancing through holographic lattices. Atomic structures unfolded and refolded at my command. Hexagonal Kirbon bonds bending, collapsing, reasserting themselves into impossible configurations. Kirbons screamed softly as they were condensed, coerced into something denser, purer, obedient.

Mysterium wasn’t just metal.

It was near perfect.

I twisted a lattice node and watched the structure realign, stronger, quieter. Perfect.

Then the lab chimed.

Not the forge.

It was Clanker.

“Sir. Incoming visitor request. Aldrich Killian of A.I.M. accompanied by one Eric Savin. He claims to have a business proposition.”

My hands stilled.

Killian.

The name scraped against the back of my skull like a bad memory that didn’t belong to me but should. I exhaled slowly.

“Clanker,” I said, eyes still on the shifting atoms, “contact Pepper Potts. Ask if Killian’s already approached her.”

“Acknowledged.”

“And track Harry.”

There was a fractional pause.

“May I ask why, sir?”

“You don’t need to,” I replied quietly. “But you already know.”

Harry Osborn wasn’t the kind of man who accepted half-measures when death had once sat in his bloodstream. Turning off the curse wouldn’t be enough. He’d want it gone. Completely.

“And Clanker,” I added, finally stepping back from the forge. “Pull everything you can on A.I.M.”

“Already in progress.”

Good.

I stripped off my lab coat, traded it for casual clothes and slipped into one of the hidden passages threaded through the facility like veins beneath skin. The NY facility was a city pretending to be a building. Doors shifted. Walls breathed. Elevators hid inside boilers.

By the time I stepped into my office, Frank Castle was already there.

He stood beside the door like an execution waiting for paperwork. Encased in MJOLNIR Mk. VII G variant armor, reactor humming low, posture relaxed in the way only predators ever were.

Across my desk sat Aldrich Killian.

Swaggering. Smiling.

Beside him stood Eric Savin, silent, eyes sharp, posture too perfect. Soldier. Enhanced. Burning from the inside out.

“Mr. Parker,” Killian said cheerfully, spreading his hands. “I must say, the rumors don’t do this place justice.”

I didn’t smile.

“Frank,” I said calmly, “why don’t you wait outside with Mr. Savin.”

Frank tilted his helmet slightly toward Savin. “Lucky you.”

Savin’s jaw tightened but he followed. The door sealed behind them with a soft hiss.

Killian chuckled. “You know, I’ve been told I should be afraid right now.”

I pointed down.

He blinked. Looked.

“…I’m sorry?”

“You’re standing on a pit trap.” I said. “Shit-covered spikes. Vibranium-S tips. Pressure-triggered.”

Killian laughed. Short, nervous. “You’re joking.”

I met his eyes.

I wasn’t.

Slowly, carefully, he stepped back until I nodded. Only then did he breathe again.

“Sit,” I said, gesturing to the visitor’s chair in front of my desk.

He did, reclaiming his swagger like a man pulling on a favorite coat.

“I’ll be brief,” Killian began. “Extremis is the future. Not soldiers. Not armor. Humanity itself upgraded. Regeneration. Strength. Evolution.”

He leaned forward. “Imagine your Spartans. Fatal wounds erased in seconds. No downtime. No losses.”

I sighed.

A hologram bloomed between us. DNA rendered in burning red and gold, pulsing like veins filled with molten metal.

“Eric Savin's bio scan. We do it to everyone who enters. It's mentioned in the waiver you signed.” I said.

Killian’s smile faltered.

“Your success rate is thirty percent,” I continued evenly. “Which tells me two things. One: Extremis is incomplete. Two: You rushed it.”

He raised his hands. “Guilty. That’s why I’m here. Your expertise in biomedicine, genetic manipulation is unparalleled. Maybe Wakanda comes close.”

I shook my head.

“Extremis has no purpose,” I said. “The pyrotechnics are theatrics. Fire is loud. Unstable. It doesn’t fit my doctrine.”

I looked him dead in the eye. “My Spartans don’t burn.”

With a flick of my fingers, Savin’s scan dissolved into nothing.

Killian swallowed.

“Well,” He said carefully, standing. “Then I suppose I wish you luck.”

“Likewise.” I replied.

He left without another word.

The moment the door sealed, Clanker chimed again.

“Sir. Miss Potts confirms Killian approached her with the same proposal. She declined due to excessive weaponization potential.”

“Figures.” I muttered.

“Additionally, I have completed preliminary intrusion into A.I.M. servers.”

The data that followed made my blood run cold.

I tapped my comm. “Clanker, patch me through to Pepper.”

Pepper answered instantly. “Peter?”

“Don’t move,” I said. “I don’t have time to explain. A Wraith is en route. Get on it. You’re going somewhere safe.”

“…Peter?”

“Please.”

A beat. “Okay.”

I cut the call and turned back to the forge.

“Mysterium synthesis?”

“Complete.” Clanker sounded almost proud. “Alloy achieved: sixty-five percent Mysterium, twenty percent Uru, fifteen percent Vibranium-S. Fabrication has begun per archived Spider Society schematics.”

Three silhouettes rose on my display.

War Helios Pattern Mk. III.

Archangel of the Web Mk. II.

Iron Man Armour Model 72.

“Assembler vats estimate two hours for completion.”

I stared out the reinforced windows, the city spread beneath me like a sleeping beast.

“All Spartan IVs get heat-resistant armor.” I said. “Squad commanders and above receive YGGDRASIL Mk. I.”

“Understood.”

Fire had no soul and I wasn’t about to let it touch what I’d built.