MARVEL -BLACK SPIDERMAN

The beer bottle-shaped neon sign flickered in the dark of the night.

It resembled a fluorescent insect trap, drawing in the "flying butterflies," or drinkers, who eagerly flocked toward it.

At this late hour, there weren't many people in the bar. A few young people, dressed in avant-garde outfits, sat at a table playing cards, cans of beer scattered around them.

The jukebox blared the latest trendy song: "We are in the garden of heaven, baby, everything is perfect."

"Squeak!"

The bar door creaked open, and a striking figure walked in.

The woman, tall and radiating a deadly aura, immediately caught the attention of everyone present. Those with a taste for danger couldn't help but be drawn to her.

"A glass of whiskey," she ordered, her voice calm. "Add ice."

The bartender glanced at her, his expression a mix of reluctance and disbelief. "We close in fifteen minutes, miss."

The woman didn't flinch. "If you only have fifteen minutes, I believe that's more than enough. Just get me a shot glass, and I'll pour it myself if you prefer."

The bartender studied her for a moment before shrugging. "Fine, whatever."

He poured the whiskey, and she added ice, watching it melt as she picked up the glass and stared at it, deep in thought.

"Bourbon whiskey, Tennessee-made. If you're not satisfied, I can offer you something stronger. I can give you a drink made from old paint barrels, something that would definitely knock a donkey out cold."

The bartender, clearly trying to engage with her, offered with a smirk.

"No, no need," the woman replied in a cold tone. "It would be best if you kept quiet."

The woman was Helen, the one Peter had been thinking about. Since their encounter, she had felt something unusual happening inside her.

As she stared at the whiskey, her hand pressed against her chest, a sensation of nausea started to rise.

In the glass, amidst the whiskey's swirling foam, she thought she saw something moving—a dark, indistinct shadow shaking violently inside.

Could she be... pregnant?

Helen immediately dismissed the idea, but the thought gnawed at her. How could that be possible?

Despite her long life, she had always been alone. From her childhood, when she first awakened her powers, to the time when a demon took residence inside her body, she had never experienced such a thing.

There was a demon born within her.

When the Hand took her in, they taught her how to harness her power and become a better weapon. But they had never mentioned that another life could take root inside her body.

She could feel it now—a heartbeat that didn't belong to the demon inside her. A foreign pulse.

Peter Parker. How did he manage to do this?

Helen's mind wandered back to the black substance from earlier.

Was it... from that moment?

She extended her hand, and as if by will, a purple flower bloomed in her palm.

The plant on her left side withered almost instantly, its life force draining away as the new flower grew.

The whiskey burned as it went down, and she felt an odd numbness spread throughout her body.

Her thoughts became sluggish, as though the energy in her mind was being bound by invisible chains, dragged deeper into confusion.

"Miss, are you going to finish that glass? Or do you need to warm up first?"

A voice pulled her from her thoughts. She looked up to see a man standing beside her, smiling. His disheveled appearance—black hair greasy and matted, his skin unnaturally pale—was enough to make anyone take a second glance.

"I'm not very interested in things with dirty blood," Helen replied bluntly.

The man raised an eyebrow in surprise, unsure how to respond.

Helen nonchalantly peeled off the label from the whiskey bottle, tossing it aside. "I have a suggestion for you. You should go to the bathroom, wash your hands, and look in the mirror. You might want to wash your face, too. You're quite filthy. I can smell it. Once you're clean, maybe I'll consider speaking with you."

The man looked at her, taken aback. "Do you know who we are?"

Helen leaned back slightly and replied, "Of course. I always know every corner of this hidden world. When I came here last time, the bartender was a giant, nearly two meters tall, muscular, with tattoos covering his arms. I think his name was Gore."

The bartender froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. He knew a man named Gore, but that was years ago. He had been a child when Gore worked here. Was this woman telling the truth?

Helen ignored the bartender's stunned expression and turned her attention back to the others playing cards. "I also know that creatures like you, who thirst for blood, gather here at night."

She fixed her gaze on the man and said, "You said so yourself, Mr. Vampire."

Now fully realizing that Helen wasn't just another drunk, the man tensed. Before he could act, a sudden wave of paralysis washed over him.

Black vines erupted from Helen's body, piercing through the man's chest with terrifying precision.

A few minutes later, Helen stood in a pool of blood, wiping the red stains from her face. She looked at her hands in confusion.

Her strength seemed to have increased, her power felt different—mutated, almost.

Her hand instinctively pressed against her chest, the unsettling feeling growing stronger.

Suddenly, she fell to her knees, the thudding of her own heartbeat shaking her entire body. It felt as though something was about to break free inside her.

Meanwhile, Peter stood on a rooftop, his heart racing. An overwhelming sense of connection flooded his mind, as though something closely tied to him had emerged in his consciousness.

He could feel its presence, distant yet inexplicably close.

He lifted his head, staring into the fog-covered night. His eyes seemed to pierce through the haze, seeing something far, far away.

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