Spider-Man. The House Of Venom

Erik Stevens had spent a considerable amount of time and money to track down Ulysses Klaue.

He had his father's old notebook, the one that derailed not just the heist but every intricate detail. The risk was huge, as both men would have been executed on the spot if they were caught. It was flawless until that bastard T’Chaka hunted him down and killed him anyway.

Erik had used some official sources to track Klaue but his handler warned him away. Klaue might have been on the FBI’s most wanted list but the CIA needed criminals like him. A good smuggler or gun runner often had ways into a country no one else had.

It was just a pity, that when Erik finally managed a meeting, he instantly hated the man.

He needed Klaue. He needed someone interested in the vibranium enough to work with a partner. But after spending not just a flight to New York but a road trip as well, the man was grating on him.

To call him rude would be an understatement. The man seemed to focus on whatever thing he felt would annoy the most, and then go on and on about it. If there was nothing he would sing, off-key, whatever song was on the radio. When Erik turned that off Klaue simply pulled out an mp3 player and began to sing along with that. If he didn't need him, Klaue would be buried along a stretch of freeway where no one would ever find the body.

⁂

Erik could feel the call as they pulled up across from the hotel. It was a dive. One of those twenty bucks a night places. Nobody would guess the most advanced nation in the world was holding a meeting within its walls. Erik knew he should join them. That his royal blood was calling him to take up the mantle of the Black Panther or die trying. His contempt and hatred were stronger. If anyone was dying today, it would not be him, and not for a promise of stolen power.

Even with added security, faked IDs and maintenance schedules folded everyone. If you looked and acted the right way, nobody said anything. Two dirty repair guys made their way into the maintenance tunnels under the building. With a few adjustments to the central air of the building, and a few well-placed canisters and the plan was in motion.

Both men nodded as they changed. It was a stealth mission from here out. Gloves and masks to protect from the paralytic gas, and knives for defence and takedowns. They both had silenced guns, but they were for emergencies only. The objective was to be as quiet as possible.

The stairwell was empty, and they could hear the main event going on in the hall. Making their way upstairs they found their target floor and the first victim.

As Erik wanted T’Chaka alive it was a dosed Dora Milaje. She was face down, paralysed by the neurotoxin, frozen reaching for her alarm pendant. Erik flipped her over, and as the mission was still stealth, slid a knife into the base of her skull.

As he left the blade buried in her brain he added a tally mark to the outside of his suit,

“So, one of those guys right?” Klaue nodded at the mark, “I gave up. Commit one genocide and it's just numbers after that.”

“It's an ancient Wakanda ritual, it's important to honour your kills,” Erik said,

“Wait, so you ritually scar yourself?” Erik nodded to answer Klaue, “Is your cock lumpy then? I mean, getting the spacing must be a nightmare, and how do you get them in the right place on your arse?”

Erik ignored him. They had work to get one with, and murdering him would be satisfying but he still needed backup

They ventured through the corridors, dispatching paralysed guards until they reached their goal. It was a steel-plated door, and both guards outside were quickly dispatched. The lock looked to be a simple key lock but Erik knew that was just a cover.

He had his dad's old royal ring. Inside was an electronic pick given to the royal family to override any lock of Wakandan origin. They might have declared him a traitor, but he was still of the Golden Tribe.

“Heh, You sure this’ll work?” Klaue asked, “I mean, the last time your dad used that was twenty-some years ago.”

“If it wouldn't, I wouldn't be using it,” answered Erik and he shook his head.

As Erik finished fiddling with the lock the steel-plated door swung open,

“Nice. Easy as cake,” Klaue said smugly.

Erik shook his head. “It's pie moron. Easy as pie.”

“Why is pie easier than cake? Cake, you just chuck everything in a bowl and mix it. Pie needs pastry, and filling. Much harder.”

Erik started to wish he had killed the man.

As they stood on either side of the door, Erik turned the handle and pushed the door.

As the large bald woman thrust her spear through the gap. Erik ducked back and fired a pistol five times through the door. Hearing the body thud. he motioned to Klaue who, as Erik took a step back keeping his pistol raised, pushed the door open with one hand. They had isolated the room, but only one guard was stupid.

As he advanced into the room he flipped the body over and fired another round into the head of the woman. His real target, however, was asleep on the bed.

“Do it," was all he said.

Klaue giggled with glee as he moved over to the sleeping man. He took a syringe from a pouch, bit off its protective cap and stabbed it into the chest of the lavishly dressed man.

Klaue paced at the bottom of the bed while Erik sat with the pistol in his lap, running a hand over his face, waiting.

Soon the old man stirred and stared at the pair, and then in great sadness at the body on the floor. “You dare?" and as he attempted to rise, Erik shook his head and tapped his hand with the pistol.

“Yeah, I dare, you don't remember me T’Chaka, but me, oh I remember you. See, fifteen years ago you forget me. Not my pop though. No, I don't think you’d forget him.”

The old man's eyes went wide, “he had a son?”

"Oh yeah, one who watched you murder him for what? Some stupid metal, some heist gone wrong. You know, I grew up hearing about this great nation, Wakanda," Erik said. He had practised this speech. “In class, I hear all these things, slavery, debt nations, and famines and I wonder, what the fuck did Wakanda do to help? Why did the most powerful nation on Earth sit back and watch? You know I got my lip busted a few times for asking about that, didn't know better, taught me to be tough though."

“We had to, there,” T’Chaka began but Erik interrupted him.

He shook his head, “Nah, that's a child's way of looking at it. See, I grew up and I read, I learned, yeah, human history is full of shit like that, but I get it. Once I started I got it. Britain, Germany, America, and Russia. They would have drowned Africa in blood to get to Wakanda. Slavery would've been a picnic compared to what Stalin or Hitler would have done. So nah, it was the best choice, if a shit one, but what I don't get is my dad. See, you preach peace, tolerance, and my dad, he makes one mistake, one stupid mistake and he dies for it." Erik pointed the pistol at Klaue and fired, hitting him in the chest.

“You shithead,” was all Klaue said, as he collapsed on the ground. He wheezed as his lifeblood leaked from his body, unable to unholster his own pistol.

“Yeah, fuck you too,” and Erik fired two into the back of his head. “And one down. I can't forgive you. You took my dad, you took my life. Wakanda? I don't give a shit about Wakanda or being a Prince. I got a good deal going on. Shit, I make more money in one job than most people see-” but he was interrupted.

The dying king of Wakanda had thrown a dagger, slipping it out from his sleeve and it hit Erik squarely in the chest.

“Save the speeches. If you defeat my son, then you may brag.”

As the poison injected by Klaue finally took the old Man, Erik too collapsed, the world turning black.

⁂

“Yeah, I ain't impressed with this voodoo shit yah feel me," Erik said to the darkness. "I know you're there, ain't no use in hiding when I can feel you, test me if you want but you won't get nothing. I don't care about your war, I only care about me."

And if we offer you what you want?

"What I want is lying six feet away from me dead, decomposing into the shit that he is. I got what I wanted, there ain't nothin' you can offer me."

Power.

“Shit, I got power. I got money and power. I got Shield and the CIA, I got all sorts of weird groups after me. Power? Offer something better or you ain't got shit.”

Not like this,

Erik felt the rush go through him. His muscles tightened and his body swelled, more than any steroid could offer him. His senses sharpened, and even in the dark, he could see the shape as it prowled back and forth. its yellow eyes glinting behind the shadows.

“Nah, not worth it. I saw the files, what that Goblin shit did. Hell, that coulda been me in the suit, getting my ass shot off, “

DO NOT COMPARE US TO THAT FAKE!

Erik flinched as the voice roared in his head, screaming in pain as his being shuddered in its power,

We stalked the deserts while your ancestors shat and ate it. We walked this Earth as it grew and we were the first here. We are its protectors, its lifeblood, and Wakanda is its heart. We offer you eternity, we offer you everything and you refuse US! A war, a war to end life on this world is approaching, and you, your money, and your guns will be nothing in its wake. You will die, bleeding and crying in your own filth like the pathetic animal you are. We have everything for you, just take it. Take it and become our champion, become our avatar and maybe, maybe you will survive.

“Shit, hard sell huh, and what if I do? You got a quest for me, go slay some mythical bullshit or something,”

The voice rumbled, no, survive, we need you as much as you need us, survive is all we ask.

“Fine, fine, then hit me. Cosmic power go!” Eric said, laughing. “Hey, can I get like uh a cool power suit, you know like on the cartoons? If you got the Black Panther then what the hell am I?”

You be our avatar of death Erik Killmonger. Come now, we got work to do.

With that Erik and the shadow disappeared.

⁂

Erik woke in a dark room, a softly glowing lamp sat in one corner of a bare room. There was nothing but the lamp and the bed.

“Welcome to Wakanda Mr Stevens. Or well, maybe I should call you N’Jadaka. My prince in exile.”

Erik could hear the gravelly voice of someone large in the room with him, but he couldn't see him.

“I am M’Baku, Chieftain of the White Gorilla tribe. We thank you for ridding us of one of our obstacles, and we repaid this by saving your life. Removing a large knife from your chest was no easy task.”

Erik sat up and winced as he felt stitches and bandages pul, “So what? I still got out.”

“No, you were dying in a pool of your own blood, so, now you work for me.”

Erik snorted, “Yeah, I got my own plan, and my own gig, I refuse.”

He clenched his fists and grit his teeth as the pain flooded through him. At his chest, where the knife had entered a fire of hot agony radiated out,

“A simple implant, tied to the nerves in your chest. Simulating the agony of heart failure, one which we can make look very very real. Make no mistake Mr Stevens. You now work for me, and our goals are not so far apart either way.”

You owe us Kilmonger, and we will take payment in blood. If it is yours, we do not care.