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Chapter 112: The Light and the Kill
🕑 Added 2025-10-30 13:41:54 +0000 UTCThe rooftop vanished beneath Peter’s feet as he and Norman plunged through the darkness. The wind screamed in his ears, the goblin serum clutched in one hand, Norman’s limp body tangled in the other.
But then came the glider.
A shriek of metal and fire burst from above. The Goblin’s death had triggered a failsafe. The glider, its sensors wired to his vitals, exploded mid-air—its twisted AI registering Norman’s flatline as permission to enact a final act of spite.
The shockwave hit like a hammer.
Peter’s grip slipped. The serum flew from his fingers, tumbling into the chaos of falling debris. Sparks and fire rained around him. His head rang. Instinct kicked in—he fired a web to the closest shard of wall, missed. Another shot—too much smoke. He couldn't see. His hand throbbed. The serum tumbled out of reach, its green glow diminishing in the blackness.
And then, a streak of silver light tore through the sky.
Amy.
She dropped like a comet, her body haloed in divine radiance. With one arm she snatched the vial mid-air, the other locking around Peter’s waist. He twisted in the grip, gasping, barely holding on to Norman’s body with a webline wrapped around the wrist.
Together, they descended. Not crashing—landing.
Amy’s feet touched down in front of Oscorp’s grand entrance, the pavement cracking beneath her. Peter hit the ground hard but rolled with the impact, Norman’s body dragging behind.
The front of the building looked like a warzone.
Glass shattered. Doors bent inward. Felicia stood alone, bruised and bloodied, keeping the goblinized agents at bay. Her claws gleamed, her hair wild, her back to the door as she fended them off with flawless precision. Every move was desperate but deliberate—buying time, hoping against hope that Peter would stop the madness above.
Then she saw the light.
Amy stepped forward, cradling the serum. Her eyes glowed with the power of Nut, the Egyptian goddess of the sky. Her voice rang with a timbre not entirely her own. “It’s time.”
Felicia turned, lowering her arms in disbelief. “Last time I saw you, you were glowing red, and now you’re flying.”
“Yeah,” Amy said, her voice soft, but layered with something ancient and vast. “I do that now.”
She held the serum up, letting it catch the dying sunlight.
Then she whispered, “Astral Radiance.”
The light expanded. Not a beam. Not a flash.
A pulse.
The energy swept through the plaza like a gentle wave, luminous and warm, pushing through everyone. Soon, when the light touched those whose mind had been twisted by the Goblin serum. One by one, the goblinized agents stopped moving. Their growls died. Their eyes cleared. Uniforms tattered, faces confused—they fell to their knees, clutching their heads, coughing like they’d just awoken from a nightmare.
Felicia lowered her guard, blinking into the light. “What the hell?”
Amy turned, just a girl again, shaking and flushed from the exertion. “I think that’s everyone who was infected.”
Peter knelt beside Norman’s body. The old man’s face was still locked in a snarl of hatred, but the madness had faded. The Goblin was gone.
Felicia knelt beside Peter, brushing his bloody hair back. “You okay?”
“Been better,” he muttered, wincing. “Ribs feel like soup. You?”
She smirked. “I’m not the one who fell off a skyscraper.”
Amy handed Peter the intact serum. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help more.”
Peter looked at her, pride and awe mixing on his face. “No, you did good, Amy. Without your help, all these people would have suffered for days before we could have helped them.”
She smiled back, wide and relieved, and then sat on the curb, clearly overwhelmed. The light had taken something out of her.
Felicia grabbed Peter’s shoulder and asked, “What happened up there?”
Peter sighed, “I don’t know, I beat him, and was getting the goblin serum, when he suddenly charged at me and I heard two gun shots.”
Felicia pulled out a comm. “Damn, this won’t look good. Ethan, can you hear me? It’s done. Norman’s dead, and we don’t know who did it. The girl from the demon thing lit up like a star and saved the day. What’s next?”
Ethan’s voice crackled in. “For now, get out of there. The police, S.H.E.I.L.D., and a whole bunch of other agencies are on their way there. You three get off the grid for now. Head for your laundromat hideout.”
Peter stood slowly. “He’s really gone this time.”
Felicia nodded. “I know you’re in shock, Peter, but we need to go now. I know you feel bad.”
“No,” Peter said, looking out over the skyline. “Maybe it’s for the best.”
Miles away, the city still buzzed with residual panic. Sirens. Reports. The cleanup would take weeks. The trauma, longer.
And yet, in the shadow of all this, a woman walked unnoticed.
She wore jeans, a weathered jacket, a baseball cap pulled low. On her back, a guitar case, heavy and sealed with magnetic locks. She stepped off a low rooftop and landed without sound.
No one batted an eye.
She crossed into a crowd, melted into it.
When she looked up, her face briefly caught a beam of streetlight.
Delilah.
She moved through the press of people until she reached a quiet alley. There, she ducked into a safe house. Inside, the space was secure. The safe house had already been furnished when she first got here, and she hadn’t gone out much to stay under the Roses’ radar. So the house hadn’t changed much and looked a little tacky to her.
She pulled out her phone and dialed a number.
It rang twice.
“Luc?” she said, her voice cool and amused.
“Yes, Fiore,” Ethan’s voice replied in his French alias. “Is it done?”
“Two shots,” she said. “Head. Heart. Just like you asked. The Green Goblin’s dead.”
A pause. “Good.”
She walked over to the window, looking out at the blinking city lights. “What now?”
“Now we lie low and build secretly,” Luc said. “New York is ripe for the taking. With Osborn’s little rampage, the government will crack down on New York, making it difficult for criminal organizations to operate normally. It’s the perfect time to build your empire.”
She smiled faintly. “Thought you’d say that.”
“Lay low. I’ll contact you soon.”
The line clicked dead.
Delilah pocketed the phone and turned on the television. The city was in turmoil.
She unzipped the guitar case.
Inside, polished and pristine, lay a sniper rifle.
She exhaled and whispered to herself, “Time to get to work.”
Peter sat atop the laundromat roof, bandaged and sore, watching Oscorp Tower from a distance. Below, he could see the media swarming in the distance. Drones buzzing. Cops cordoning off the area.
Amy was downstairs resting, as the cleansing wave had taken a lot out of her. Felicia sat a few next to Peter, cross-legged, watching the stars.
“You think they’ll ever know?” she asked.
“What really happened?” Peter shook his head. “No. They’ll probably think I killed him. I bet a million tomorrow, Jameson will report that I’m a killer.”
Felicia nodded slowly. “He tried to get you to kill him.”
Peter looked down. “He tried.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No,” Peter said, smiling just a little. “I didn’t.”
“So, you won out in the end, so don’t think for a second that this is your fault.”
“I know it’s not, but I still find it hard to accept he died right in front of me.”
