But still—most of the seats were empty.
“Why aren’t they coming?” Fiona asked from the front row, where she sat next to Franklin. There was frustration in her voice.
“It’s Morbius’ fault,” Franklin said angrily. “The last time people attended one of these battles, too many were killed. It’s causing any newcomers to shy away.” As the fight raged below, he sat back and wracked his brain. They needed to do more… to up the stakes.
At the climax of the battle, as the larger monster snapped a half dozen of his accomplice’s external bones, an idea came to Franklin. It seemed risky as hell. Dangerous.
Perhaps even insane.
He smiled.
* * *
“YOU KNOW, you really should do something about that skin condition. Exfoliating every night might help with those blotchy red spots.” Spider-Man leapt out of the way as Carnage’s razor-sharp tendrils snaked out, tearing out huge gouges of the massive tree to which the web-slinger had just been clinging.
“Stand still, bug!” the symbiote and his host screamed, pulsing with hatred.
It was two o’clock in the morning in the middle of Central Park. No one was around to witness their savage battle. Spider-Man had tracked Carnage to this otherwise-peaceful part of the city and had hoped a surprise attack would result in a quick victory.
So much for that.
“You know, I used to get in trouble in third grade for never sitting still,” the web-slinger quipped. “If only Mrs. Willicker could see me n—argh!”
In the undulating shadows, he had failed to notice two of Carnage’s tendrils, which snaked around his chest, squeezing tightly and almost snapping several of the wall-crawler’s ribs. In a desperate attempt to regain his breath, he flexed, but Carnage was incredibly strong—even these small, slithering parts of him.
“If you… wanted a hug…” Spider-Man gasped, “you should have just… said so!” Carnage stalked closer, his fingers transforming into deadly claws.
“You won’t be joking once I disembowel you.”
“Heh… you… you said ‘bowel’.”
As Carnage slashed toward Spider-Man’s face, the web-slinger tensed his powerful legs and leapt over his opponent’s head, twisting as he did so, causing the tendrils to wrap around Carnage’s neck. Carnage tried to apply further pressure, but only succeeded in choking himself. Reluctantly, Carnage released his grip, and the two tendrils coiled back up into his black-and-red body.
He leveled a sharp finger at his enemy.
“I look forward to ripping you apart piece by piece, tearing you to shreds with my teeth.”
“Just make sure you floss when you’re done, Carnie!”
Carnage screamed in rage and lunged with inhuman speed, barreling into Spider-Man too fast for the wall-crawler’s spider-sense to warn him and knocking the breath out of the already-winded super hero. Carnage battered him with blow after blow until he stopped moving.
Spider-Man was barely breathing.
Central Park was still and silent.
* * *
“FINALLY!” CARNAGE screamed to the heavens. He had dreamed of this day. The infuriating wall-crawler, unconscious at his feet. One focused blow would obliterate the spider from existence. He thought about removing the hero’s mask, discovering who it was beneath the thin layer of fabric, but decided against it.
What did it matter? He was about to die, regardless.
“Goodbye, bug.” Carnage’s tendrils formed into a battering ram of deadly spikes, and he held it in front of Spider-Man for the briefest of moments. “I wish I could say it’s been a pleasure.”
He drew back to land the killing blow, then hesitated as he heard a strange whoosh. There was a sudden stinging pain in his chest. He looked down and saw a small dart sticking out.
“What the h—?”
A group of seven figures burst from the shadows. His head was spinning, and they tackled him before he could react, grabbing his arms and legs, two of them immobilizing the spiked limb.
What was in that dart?!
Carnage lashed out at his attackers, but they were incredibly fast. Their movements seemed coordinated with a military level of efficiency, though none of them appeared to be carrying weapons of any sort.
He’d been an idiot… letting his moment of triumph over Spider-Man distract him. That would never happen again. He would take care of these new assailants, and then there would be a reckoning. Their deaths would be quick, but painful.
Seeking to focus, Carnage tried to get his body and the symbiote to respond to his mental commands. He managed to lash out with a tendril, which caught one of the men in the shoulder, splitting it open in a bloody burst. The man fell to the ground, biting down on a scream, and Carnage chuckled inwardly.
“I’m going to enjoy feasting on your innards!” he yelled, gaining a grip on another of his attackers and throwing her across the clearing. Two down, five to go, but more and more he was struggling to concentrate. He screamed with frustration as he picked up two of his attackers and smashed them together. They fell together at his feet.
Three left.
He whirled to face them but was shocked to discover himself staring instead at a small man with glasses and a quixotic smile on his face. For a moment, Carnage thought he was seeing things.
“Who… who are you su... supposed to be?” he slurred, blinking several times, trying to keep his balance. He’d been so close to killing Spider-Man, and now he was face to face with the least imposing adversary he could have imagined.
“Hello,” the little man said. “I’m Franklin Lattimer, and I’m sorry to drop in like this. It looks as if we interrupted a very big moment for you.”
“Bite me,” Carnage growled. “I’m going to sh-shove those glasses where the sun don’t shine!” He moved forward and could literally taste the fear that radiated from the man despite his confident words. He’d probably assumed the seven thugs would do the dirty work, that he wouldn’t need to show his stupid face.
Oh, how wrong the little worm was.
Still, Carnage found himself having more and more trouble concentrating. Whatever was working its way through his system, it was strong as hell. The three remaining thugs had flanked him, yet Carnage didn’t take his eyes off of the man who appeared to hold their leashes. It was the smile. It was infuriating.
The world began to tilt, but Carnage lunged forward, a trio of tendrils snaking out from his body and puncturing the three figures simultaneously. They collapsed with little more than a gurgling sound. But he wanted to kill this “Franklin Lattimer” with his bare hands. The little man had earned that honor for leading this little band, for interrupting Carnage’s long-desired murder of Spider-Man.
To his surprise, Franklin stood his ground.
He was brave. Or stupid. Or both.
Just as Carnage’s claws were poised to tear the man’s head from his body, Franklin’s hand appeared out of nowhere and plunged a syringe directly into Carnage’s neck. Instantly, more chemicals went rushing through his system, and again he cursed himself for being the idiot. Franklin had wanted Carnage to attack, had wanted him to come in close for the kill.
It was kind of brilliant, really.
Carnage collapsed to the ground, unable to feel his arms or legs, his tendrils flowing back to his body. He tried to speak, but couldn’t find his voice. The little man knelt down and gently caressed his head, as if he was a beloved pet who was being put to sleep.
“Shhh,” Franklin said. “It’s alright. Don’t fight it.”
This dude is creepy, Carnage thought. He managed to turn his head and found himself staring at the still-unconscious form of Spider-Man.
He had been so close… so close…
* * *
FRANKLIN AND Fiona stood over Carnage’s unmoving body.
They had pumped him full of enough modified sedative to keep a rhinoceros unconscious and affixed an updated version of the control collar to his neck, but they were still ner
vous. The Extractors were lying on medical beds in other parts of the lab, recovering from their encounter with the deadly symbiote. Most of their wounds were serious, and Fiona could do little more than stop the bleeding and stitch them up. It wasn’t pretty, but at least they were likely to survive.
“Even asleep he looks dangerous,” Fiona said quietly, admiringly.
“I suppose,” Franklin responded, a tinge of jealousy in his voice.
Fiona reached out and touched Carnage’s arm. His skin, or whatever it was, reacted to the contact, oozing over her fingers. Yet she didn’t jerk back.
“That is so… fascinating,” she murmured. She withdrew her hand and placed it against Franklin’s cheek. “Feel how warm.”
He placed his own hand against her face and smiled. “We’ve got an arena to fill.”
“More monsters to make,” Fiona confirmed.
* * *
CARNAGE AWOKE with a start.
It took a moment for his eyes to focus; when they finally did, he was staring at a floor made up of packed dirt. Something was attached to his neck, his brain felt like it was stuffed full of cotton, and his entire body ached. Wherever he was, it smelled of mold and mustiness, as if he was underground.
With increased consciousness came an insane rage as the memories from Central Park came rushing back in. He had Spider-Man, was an instant from caving in his skull in a delicious explosion of gore. Then came the seven assailants, and the little man with his stupid smile and damn needle.
Someone is going to die today.
Carnage leapt to his feet and took in his surroundings. It was a huge open area, indoors, surrounded by concrete walls. Beyond them, everything fell into shadow, but there appeared to be a lot of people gathered as an audience. There was an excited murmuring that increased as soon as he was upright.
He turned in a circle, taking it all in, giggling. Were these people for real? Did they think this pathetic arena could hold him? One leap and he would have a smorgasbord of victims to kill, offering some solace for his lost web-slinger. He tensed, and just as he was about to spring, his eyes landed on the little man from Central Park.
“Franklin Lattimer!” he shouted, and a grin spread across his face, teeth growing and extending outward. “I was hoping I’d see you again!”
The little man was wearing a suit, and there was a woman sitting next to him. She grinned confidently and placed her hand on his arm. This was something Carnage might be able to exploit. Even if Lattimer didn’t fear for his own life, he might balk at seeing her entrails spread out on the ground.
“I don’t know what you think is gonna happen down here,” Carnage continued, “but let me tell you… you’re gonna die long before I do.” Tendrils began to snake out of his body, waving in the air, and his fingers transformed into razors. He was ready for some sweet, sweet vengeance.
As he watched, however, Lattimer smiled that infuriating smile and removed a small device from inside his suit jacket. He gently pressed a button.
The device around Carnage’s neck buzzed, and an unbearable burst of pain radiated outward, sending him writhing back down onto the packed dirt. Simultaneously he laughed and screamed in pain. He had never felt anything quite like it.
He begrudgingly began to admire Franklin Lattimer.
The pain subsided, and Carnage lurched back to his feet. As he did, the people in the audience began clapping. They were applauding Franklin, he realized—this was all some sort of show, and apparently Carnage was the star.
Nope. Screw that. Not having it.
He reached up to tear the device off of his neck. At that moment, however, he heard the grinding of rusty hinges as two huge doors on either side of the arena began to lumber open. The crowd above Carnage roared.
A half-dozen creatures emerged, three from each side, a motley crew of fangs and talons and grotesque muscles. Each wore a similar collar, and a couple of them began attacking each other. Then they screeched and began to claw at the devices, one of them falling to its knees. When they stopped squirming, they focused their attention on the figure at the center of it all.
Carnage.
“Heh—”
Then the creatures were upon him. Within an instant, he was being bitten and clawed from all sides, yet through it all he could hear the roar of the crowd. Once again, he silently saluted his captor. This had to be one hell of a show for those in the bleachers.
Forming his right arm into a scythe, he lashed out, catching one of the creatures—a huge hairy mass with a pair of bloodshot eyes—right in the stomach. The creature fell back, blood shooting like a geyser from the wound, then rolled up into a bleeding ball and stopped moving.
Multiple tendrils shot out of Carnage’s sides and wrapped around two of his other attackers, lifting them up and throwing them to opposite sides of the arena. They struck the wall with bone-jarring impacts, but quickly recovered. It didn’t matter—he just needed a minute to clear his head and catch his breath.
These odds weren’t great, but he’d faced worse.
A tall, sinewy monster with an elongated head and six eyes bit down on one of the tentacles and ground its oversized teeth, tearing the tendril in half. Pain radiated up Carnage’s arm; in response, he lashed out at the tall creature with his scythe and nearly took the monster’s head off. It fell in a heap next to its shorter, hairier brethren, blood shooting out of its cleaved neck.
Two creatures on either side of him backed off in unison, perhaps realizing this wouldn’t be as easy as they expected. A moment later they both howled and clawed at their necks, and Carnage surmised that Franklin was leaning on that little button of his. He chuckled, but it was short-lived as the two monsters leapt at him faster than he thought possible.
One was covered in oozing flesh; its fatty skin engulfed Carnage’s lower half, tripping him up, while the other monster—its skin crystalline and reflective—wrapped long fingers around Carnage’s throat and began to squeeze.
Both creatures pressed their attack. He fell to the ground and glimpsed the other two monsters running back from where he had thrown them. As black spots danced in front of his eyes, Carnage wondered whether he was fated to die on this dirt ground.
No.
Cackling, he focused on one of the creatures that was barreling toward him. Its cracked skin was rock-like and looked incredibly hard, as if it was made entirely of concrete. A smile slithered onto Carnage’s face.
“You know what they say about glass houses!”
As the pressure on his neck increased and the blob creature continued to engulf him, he sent out as many tendrils as possible. They wrapped around the concrete monster and lifted it off of its feet, plate-like eyes widening in surprise. Carnage used all his strength to pull it through the air until it smashed into the crystalline creature, shattering it into a thousand pieces and sending what must have been diamond-hard shards into the concrete monster. It fell writhing to the ground. All around it the shards vibrated.
Two more down.
The blob had risen past Carnage’s waist now and was squeezing his ribs, making it hard for him to breathe. The crowd’s bellowing grew louder and louder. Carnage made eye contact with Franklin, who nodded approvingly. Sucking in as much oxygen as he could, Carnage laughed and shoved his hands into the blob as it covered Carnage’s chest, approaching his face, then engulfing him completely.
All was blackness and silence.
Then Carnage slashed out with two scythes and a dozen sharpened tendrils, all at once. The blob exploded outward. Fatty goo splattered a section of the audience, sending them fleeing, while the rest laughed and cheered at the sight.
And they say I’m a monster…
Carnage stood and faced off with his final opponent, chuckling as he did so. Despite everything, he was having the time of his life. The creature in front of him was huge, with dark-green scales on its upper half and arms that ended in deadly looking claws. Its bottom half showcased muscular, hair-covered legs with massive hooves that
dug into the dirt as it sprinted toward its opponent.
“You seem nice,” Carnage said, then the thing reached him, slicing him across the chest. The crowd cheered its approval. The beast was unreasonably fast and sliced Carnage three more times before he could even register what was happening.
Not sure how much more damage he could take, Carnage quickly reached out, even though it gave the creature even more of an opportunity to slash at him with its deadly claws. He grabbed one of its arms and used all of his waning strength to hurl it into the air, then leapt up after it.
Once again, both hands became scythes.
As the creature fell back down toward him, its limbs pinwheeling, Carnage screamed and lashed out, slicing the monster into three separate pieces, raining blood and gore and body parts all over the arena.
The audience went silent as Carnage landed in a crouch. He slowly stood to his full height and locked eyes with Franklin as the crowd erupted, its applause louder than ever. Grinning wildly, he began to walk slowly, inexorably across the arena toward where Franklin was sitting with his lady friend. Franklin raised the device and shook his head. “Don’t do it,” the little man’s eyes said.
All around, the audience tensed, poised to head toward the shadowy exits.
“Not gonna happen, Frankie-boy!” Carnage shouted. Still silent, the audience looked to the master of ceremonies, pleading with their eyes for him to hit the button. Which he did. Pain lanced out, but Carnage ignored it, leaping up and climbing the tall wall. He reached the top in seconds and hopped over the barbed wire, landing right in front of Franklin—who was pressing the button as hard as he could.
“You’re going to break that if you’re not careful.” Carnage did his best to pretend the pain wasn’t bothering him even though it was. A lot.
The audience scattered.
Carnage reached out and delicately plucked the device out of Franklin’s hand, silently thankful when the pain abruptly stopped. Then he popped it in his mouth and ate it, chewing slowly while staring at Lattimer.
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