Spider-Man. The House Of Venom

“If you want to win then fight like it,” Hades yelled at Huntress as she ducked under another swing. Huntress was getting tired and it was showing.

As she ducked she tensed and drove a fist into her stomach. Huntress staggered back and snarled. She pounced forwards, bringing her fist round to return the favour. As Hades lifted an arm to block it, Huntress spun and followed it with a kick to her midsection. Turning and absorbing the blow with her hands, Hades was pushed back, “Good, good. Again,” but Huntress lifted a hand and her symbskin mask slipped back and she shook her head.

With both hands on her knees, she panted and coughed, “Enough, can’t.” Taking deep breaths she knew she had no more stamina to continue fighting. Sweat dripped from her face, and her chest and limbs burned from the constant fighting.

Ignoring her Hades stepped forwards and kicked her legs out from under her. She then straddled her and pinned her arms over her head. “Will your enemies give you time to take a breath?” Felicia glared at her, “They will wait until you are tired and kill you.” She leant back and a symbskin sword extended from her arm and slid down to Felicia’s throat. “And now you are dead.”

Tutting and standing, the sword slid back into her armour. Elektra morphed back into the normal t-shirt and tight pants she normally wore.

Felicia lay spread eagle on Elektra’s dojo floor, staring at the tiled ceiling. Huffing in deep breaths she knew she wasn’t good enough. Compared to the others she was a genius, but compared to Elektra she was a blind amateur. Compared to Peter, she was nothing.

“Felicia, you are too soft. We have only been training for six hours and you are this tired? What happened to the endless stamina, are you not Enhanced? Do you not possess powers over and above what Huntress provides you?” As she lifted, unscrewed and handed her a bottle of water, Felicia snatched it angrily and huffed.

“Compared to you, no,” she snapped and sat on the floor with the bottle pressed to her forehead. "I'm a thief, not a fighter. Even with Huntress, I have limits."

“And yet we have been training for just as long. I remember your father bringing you to the dojo and we would play before fighting. So?” and as she took a bottle of her own, she sat next to Felicia and took a sip, “What happened?”

Felicia huffed and leaned back, lying on the floor with her hand over her face, “I don’t know. Things.”

Elektra laughed, “A boy you mean. Don’t think I can’t smell him on you, even if Huntress devours him you are still thick with his scent.”

Felicia huffed, “So? Don’t think I can't smell that lawyer on you either, plus he stinks of formula. I didn’t realise what Peter meant until I met Matt.” Felicia retorted, her relationship with Peter gave her strength. The reason she was fighting like this was for Peter.

She tutted to herself. For Peter, not Gwen, and she felt a little bad. I’ll make it up to her.

“And yet, here we are, you lying on the floor, pouting and me, sitting next to you, kissing your booboos. Like a little child.”

Felicia shot up straight, “Oh fuck off. I almost lost three people I care about. I need this to get better, not to get a fucking lecture.”

Elektra laughed and rubbed her hand on her shoulder. “But a lecture is what you need as well, come stand.”

As she stood she helped the groaning Felicia up off the hardwood floor of her training dojo. “You are not focused. You are not calm, I will not repeat your father’s words, as we both know we never listened, but I will repeat my own. There is no emotion, only peace, there is no ignorance, only knowledge.”

Felicia looked at her, “That’s the Jedi code. What the hell Ele?”

With a surprised look, Elektra burst out laughing. “You finally watched the movies then?” Felicia glared at her. “Your father was never one for, what did he call them? Pointless trivialities. I am glad you finally got someone to sit and watch them with. They are good yes?” and Felicia shrugged,

“First three were a bit wooden, maybe cut out some of the, what? No. No reciting the Jedi code as training bullshit. What gives? Wait? Did you steal all your lessons from movies?”

Elektra took a swig of water and shrugged. “Only good movies.” She laughed as Felicia gave her an incredulous look and shook her head,

“I don’t believe it, really?” and as Elektra shrugged “Really. Fucking unbelievable.”

“I have the Eye of the Tiger next if you want to listen, Rocky, a very good movie.” As Felicia burst out laughing Eletrka joined in. The pair standing in the middle of the training room shared a moment of lightness. “But even if you push yourself, you know you will never reach him. Unless you train like him, you will never match him."

Felicia shuddered. She knew Peter pushed himself beyond what a normal person would. Fighting injured, fighting blind was not normal.

"He was called Stick, a joke I once thought. No carrot, only Stick. He trained me like I trained Peter. I can if you wish."

Felicia shook her head. She loved him, and she felt at peace when she was with him, but she knew she never wanted to be like that.

Seeing the conflicted look on her face, Elektra moved over and rested a hand on her shoulder. "You are allowing too much to burden you. He is still the boy you used to write to me about. Even then, you liked him."

Felicia glared at her, "Did not."

Elektra laughed, "Oh you did kitten. It broke my heart when my darling fell for a boy."

Felicia snorted, "Didn't hear you." but she stopped when Elekrta scowled at her.

"I know who I am Felicia. Do you?"

"Getting there," Felicia replied as she took a swig of her water. "You need to apologise. Just cause he doesn't like it that way, doesn't mean you get to be pissy with him."

“Fine. I will apologise to him. So stop with the pouting.” As Elektra took the water bottle from Felicia she returned them to the cooler, “but first, we fight. And no slacking off, fat lazy American. I see how much you eat at lunch.”

Felicia raised an eyebrow. “Fat lazy American huh? And where is the Greek tub I saw eating a whole gyro and salad as, what did you call it, a snack?”

Elektra tutted, "And where exactly is all my baklava?" Felicia only responded with a look of disinterest and a small shrug. "If I win, you pay for dinner?"

That got her attention, as they could both eat. Dinner would be several hundred dollars, especially with Elektra's tastes. As they readied themselves, the pair grinned at each other, and training began once more.

⁂

Frank had watched the dojo for a while now. It took some digging to find out who owned it, shell company after shell company made it hard, but not impossible. Whoever was at the top of the food chain after Fisk disappeared spent time here. It was either some weird sex dungeon or a training room, but even Frank wasn’t stupid enough to take this place on.

Eventually, he compiled a thick dossier on it and he knew Elektra Natchios owned it and trained there. After a few weeks on stake out, he now knew two things. Elektra knew how to fight, and she really needed to buy curtains. She was toned, as was the other one, but Frank only cared about how they fought. What they did after didn't interest him.

Fuck, he had thought to himself, if she’s mixed up in this then I can kiss this lead goodbye.

He had also heard the name Thomas Hardy mentioned. If it was his daughter, he figured she wouldn’t have had his wife and daughter killed. The word on the grapevine was the Black Cats were helping, and so far, only scum bags had come back as pig chow. Thieves don’t kill, but he still needed to be sure.

As he sat on the edge of the roof he let the cool breeze waft away the smoke from his cigar. He normally wouldn't smoke on a stakeout, but he wanted to announce he was here. A large cigar, stinking and bright in the dark suited that just fine.

As he waited and watched the pair sparring, impressed by not just their speed but their stamina. He had been here almost a month and they had fought for all that time and only now one of them was tired.

As he took more notes he spotted a figure, clad all in black approaching. It thought was silent, but his voice sounded out in the quiet dark. “You know, This was a simple recon mission. I never expected to find one of you pyjama-wearing fucks.” As he flicked the cigar away the black figure's face split and a maw of jagged teeth hissed at him.

As long blades extended from his fingers. Frank could only stare. “Well, that’s new,” he said, drawing a large calibre handgun and firing off a round at the creature. “Bulletproof though? Maybe not” as he watched it crumple to the ground.

As he walked over he kept his gun trained on the man, or whatever it was. As he nudged it with a steel toe-capped boot it rolled and sprang up, “yup, not bulletproof.” He fired off two more rounds. Armour still had bleed-through, and the flesh underneath would bruise and split.

The creature ducked under them and almost glided forwards. It screeched as it lashed out with a claw and caught the man across the chest, slashing open his Skull motif t-shirt. The armour underneath now wore three long gashes from the creature's attack. He raised the gun once more and fired off a few rounds, knowing he would be unable to hit something that fast. Frank was just waiting for the right time. A combat knife slid from its sheath, was held, hidden behind his back, ready and waiting for its next strike.

“Yeah, fuck you. These t-shirts ain’t cheap you know,” he taunted it. He didn't care that much, but each one destroyed meant less money to buy ammo. It hissed once more and dived forwards. This time Frank stepped back and met its hand with the knife, slicing at its palm.

It hissed in pain and pulled its arm back as the black inky skin peeled away from its hand. Fresh blood dripped down from the slash.

“Bullets not so good but knives yeah, good.” As he holstered the handgun he drew out another large survival knife. “Figured as much. John was an accident but right before that, he got in a good shot, stunned but no real damage. Figured slashing was better. Maybe try blunt and see if those bones break just as easily.”

As he raised both knives in front of his chest, the creature paced back and forth. Its orders were only to kill the women, the man was an unknown. It watched not just him but the building behind him as well.

“Hmm, home? Or a less-than-friendly visit?” All he got in reply was a hiss.

⁂

Frank was not having a good time right now. While the creature was vulnerable to his slashing, it was also fast and slippery. Twice now it had gotten him a good blow across the chest. Even the fine kevlar weave with chainmail underneath was scored from its attacks. He had gotten a few good hits in as well, and blood, or something, dripped from a slash across one of its arms.

“Look, give it up. Tell your boss I want the names of anyone involved in the Central Park murders, alright?” Lowering the knife a small amount he waited to see if the creature would respond.

As it hissed once more it ran forwards and as Frank brought one knife up to defend, this time it let him stab it. The knife penetrated deep into the creature's arm and it grabbed hold of him, crushing him in a bearhug,

“Kill me,” it hissed weakly, and Frank responded with a head butt. As he pushed it away, he stabbed out and caught the creature in the chest with his second knife. Even as it staggered back it roared and hissed at him, pulling the knife free and throwing it to one side.

“Well, shit,” Frank said. He had heard about that as well. Weird metal collars on suicidal idiots. Strange tech that made Stark look like a kid's toy manufacturer. Someone was making slaves, and Frank figured he just found one. Another lead, another point of attack.

He had managed to get a copy of the police reports. Not just from John's death but the supermarket as well. There was a thin thread connecting Venom to everything. If this was one of his, he would need to know how to take one down. Everyone was toting new fancy hardware, but Frank had to use what he had. He knew that their armour was bulletproof, making them harder to hurt, but not impossible. He had spent hours sharpening the blade of his knife. He bought and honed obsidian to make sure it cut anything they might be wearing. He didn't care it was brittle, it was a natural flechette and would leave a reminder not to fuck with him.

The knife had gone straight in and yet whatever this was still stood, no blood, no sign of weakness. Sure the blade had gone in, but into what? The creature still paced and Frank knew he had to switch to more unconventional tactics.

“Come on then,” he roared at it. As it skated forwards once more, Frank twirled and let it run past him. He pulled out and sprayed the creature with a strong-smelling liquid. As it was doused it shook itself, but Frank shook his head.

“Homemade napalm,” and striking a match, he tossed the lit flame at the creature. He watched as it burst into a bright white flame as the propellant caught and ignited the magnesium. The creature screamed as it went up in flames. It rolled on the roof, trying to extinguish the fire but Frank knew it was futile. It struggled to lift itself and fled screaming across the rooftops.

As Frank watched he pulled out a fresh cigar and lit it with a match. “Yeah, you run motherfucker. You tell them The Punisher’s coming for ‘em.” As he went back to watching the dojo, he sat on the edge of the roof and smoked his cigar. The monster wasn't his target, at least not for now.

⁂

Frank gathered his tools. He had a lead now. Whoever was behind the Central Park massacre was interested in Elektra Natchios. He nodded at a good night's work when he heard a strangled scream behind him.

He looked down and saw a bloodbath. Something, or from the pattern, someone had exploded in the alley. There were fragments of red and black fabric everywhere. Not to mention blood, lots and lots of blood.

Climbing down the fire escape he toed the pair of swords, ignoring them, and sneered at the crap pistols he found.

If the material was blue, he might have thought this was Spider-Man, the mask was similar enough, but not black. He shrugged. They weren’t on his list, so he didn’t care. He did pause though, and as he lifted the belt of the corpse he heard a small tinny voice

“Body Slide By One.”