T'Chaka took a deep, steadying breath, visibly composing himself before speaking with the careful dignity of a monarch swallowing his pride.
"Friends, I can empathize with a pregnant individual needing to supplement their nutrition," he said, his tone carrying genuine understanding despite the absurdity of the situation. "Believe me, I do. But if this consumption continues at its current exponential rate, Wakanda's millennia-old foundation—our strategic reserves, our economic security—will be completely destroyed within a week."
He spread his hands in a gesture of desperate reasonableness.
"I'm not saying Ben can't eat vibranium. I'm not even saying he can't eat our vibranium. But at least... could he perhaps lower his standards slightly? Consume other rare metals? Titanium? Tungsten?"
T'Chaka's voice carried a hint of pleading now.
"Even anti-metal would be acceptable! That Antarctic variant is less useful for most applications anyway!"
Seeing a king of his stature being this humble, this openly desperate, struck everyone in the conference room.
Norman Osborn responded quickly, his voice firm with commitment.
"I completely understand your position, Mr. T'Chaka. We will stop Ben. You have my word."
Privately, Norman felt genuine guilt about the entire situation.
After all, the person with the single largest vibranium stockpile in the entire world was Ben Parker himself—and a substantial portion of that reserve had originally come from Wakanda through various legitimate acquisitions over the years.
It was genuinely unreasonable for the richest person in vibranium to ignore his own vast reserves and instead raid someone else's national treasury.
Especially when that "someone else" was supposed to be a friend and ally.
"H.A.M.M.E.R. and Primus Technologies will fully compensate Wakanda for all vibranium losses," Norman offered immediately. "Full market value, plus twenty percent for the inconvenience."
"That's completely unnecessary," T'Chaka said, relief flooding his features just from hearing Norman commit to stopping Ben.
He waved away the compensation offer.
"Truly. I'm not being stingy about the metal itself. One percent of our ore vein represents a significant quantity, yes, but the actual strategic loss is negligible. The remaining ninety-nine percent is sufficient to last until Wakanda's eventual collapse as a civilization—whether that's centuries or millennia from now."
His expression softened into something approaching genuine warmth.
"As long as you stop the consumption, consider everything Ben has already eaten to be our gift for him. Traditional present from an uncle to a newborn."
The casual generosity left several people momentarily speechless.
That's what it meant to be a king.
A single wave of his hand, dispensing wealth that would bankrupt nations.
In the current global market, one gram of vibranium cost approximately ten thousand dollars. Although prices had decreased somewhat in recent years due to larger supplies entering circulation—mostly from Ben's Antarctic mining operations—the metal remained extraordinarily valuable.
What Ben had consumed represented at least three hundred tons.
That was three hundred million grams.
At ten thousand dollars per gram...
"Wow," Peter Parker said faintly, his brain struggling to process the astronomical mathematics. "Suddenly I don't think having alien babies sounds so bad."
Three trillion dollars.
As a gift.
For one baby.
"Don't be ridiculous," Norman snapped, reaching out to slap Peter on the back of his head. "That wealth is worthless once it's metabolized in a digestive system. You can't exactly extract refined vibranium from alien excrement."
He pointed toward the holographic display showing Wakanda's mine.
"Now stop gawking and get moving. We need to act immediately. Peter, this operation will probably rely heavily on you."
He was referring to Peter's replica Omnitrix and the fact that Peter could potentially relate to Big Chill's biological imperatives better than anyone else.
The assembled strike team consisted of seven members:
Peter Parker (Spider-Man), William Baker (Sandman), T'Challa (Black Panther), Dr. Curt Connors (Lizard), Harry Osborn (Neo Goblin), James "Bucky" Barnes (Winter Soldier), and Flash Thompson (Agent Venom).
During the Inheritor crisis, Venom had nearly died protecting Peter from Morlun's predatory assault. The symbiote had been in a regenerative coma for weeks afterward.
Upon finally waking, Venom had immediately sought out Flash Thompson again, resuming their partnership with renewed dedication.
Looma was explicitly forbidden from participating—Norman feared she might actively defend Ben rather than help restrain him.
Felicia had volunteered to assist, but Norman, deeply suspicious that she'd betray the mission the moment things got difficult, assigned her to "guard duty" with Looma instead.
Which really meant keeping both of them away from the operation.
"We're the Magnificent Seven!" Peter announced excitedly, striking a dramatic pose.
The prospect of gathering a team of heroes specifically to confront Ben Parker gave him a strange, giddy feeling. They'd fought alongside Ben countless times, but fighting against him—even for good reasons—felt surreal.
"Harry, we've never beaten Ben at video games," Peter continued, grinning at his best friend. "This time we're definitely going to win!"
"You guys are way too optimistic," Sandman muttered, his sandy features arranged into a distinctly unenthusiastic expression.
He was one of the least willing participants in this operation.
The other two reluctant members were Bucky Barnes and Flash Thompson—or more specifically, the Venom symbiote inhabiting Flash's body.
Flash himself was fine with the mission. Professional. Dedicated.
But Venom was behaving like a mouse confronted by a particularly large, predatory cat.
The symbiote's fear of Ben Parker was absolute and instinctual.
"Isn't Norman Osborn overestimating us just a little?" Bucky asked, examining his tactical knife and sidearm with obvious skepticism.
His expression clearly communicated: Me? Fight Ben Parker? With a KNIFE?
"Don't worry too much," Peter said, his analytical mind already working through their strategic advantages. "According to Looma's explanation, Ben shouldn't be able to transform into other alien forms right now."
He pulled up a holographic display showing Necrofriggian reproductive biology.
"What's controlling his actions is the maternal instinct of Necrofriggian —that's the proper name for the species, by the way. This instinct is hardcoded into Big Chill's genetic structure. If Ben switches to a different transformation, these biological imperatives will immediately disappear."
Peter's hands gestured as he explained.
"So if we can force him to change forms, we've essentially succeeded in stopping the vibranium consumption. Mission accomplished."
"Let's hope everything proceeds smoothly," T'Challa said, his tone carrying the weight of someone who'd learned not to trust optimistic battle plans.
He gestured toward the entrance of the mining complex visible in the distance.
"The main shaft entrance is just ahead. Green Goblin, watch your flight path—there are unstable rock formations throughout the upper tunnels."
"Don't worry about me," Harry said confidently, his Neo Goblin armor's propulsion systems already warming up. "I've got this."
WakandaPrimary Vibranium MineDeep Shaft Access
Harry Osborn descended into the mine's depths, his glider's anti-gravity generators keeping him stable as he navigated through the expansive underground cavern system.
The vibranium mine was extraordinarily spacious—the mountain itself, infused throughout with vibranium's unique molecular structure, possessed structural integrity far exceeding normal geology. There was virtually no risk of collapse even with extensive excavation.
The walls glittered with faint purple luminescence where vibranium veins ran close to the surface.
Harry maneuvered expertly, his glider carrying him through the tunnel system with practiced ease. He dodged support columns, navigated around equipment, banking left and right with the fluid grace that came from months of flight training.
His armor's AI helpfully marked obstacles before he reached them, projected trajectories appearing in his heads-up display.
Within minutes, he spotted his target.
Big Chill was systematically consuming a massive section of exposed vibranium ore, his translucent wings folded against his back as he worked.
The alien's mandibles crushed through the supposedly indestructible metal with disturbing ease, each bite sending metallic grinding sounds echoing through the cavern.
"Ben, don't blame me for this!" Harry called out, grinning mischievously despite his nervousness.
He activated his armor's sonic weapons, flinging several disc-shaped resonators at Big Chill like frisbees.
The devices spun through the air, emitting high-frequency sonic pulses designed to disorient and incapacitate.
WHOOSH!
Big Chill's body jolted violently, his form flickering as though experiencing intense pain.
Yes! Harry thought triumphantly. Got him!
But then the mine itself reacted far more dramatically.
The unmined vibranium veins throughout the cavern—tons upon tons of the metal embedded in the surrounding rock—sensed the sonic vibrations propagating through the space.
Their unique molecular structure activated its primary property: kinetic energy absorption.
Every sound wave, every vibration, every pulse of sonic energy was instantly absorbed and dissipated by the vibranium's lattice structure.
The sonic weapons' effectiveness dropped to zero.
Big Chill immediately recovered, his translucent form solidifying as he turned to face Harry with compound eyes that suddenly looked far less docile.
Then the alien's figure became ethereal, fading from physical reality as he phased into another dimension.
It was at that exact moment that Peter and T'Challa's voices finally crackled through Harry's comm system:
"Harry, don't use sonic weapons! Vibranium absorbs sound waves! It'll neutralize—"
"You should have led with that—AHHH!"
Harry's panicked shout cut off as a clawed hand reached out from the empty air, materializing from the phase-shifted dimension to grab his throat.
Before Harry could activate his armor's countermeasures, Big Chill slammed him directly into the cavern wall.
But the expected impact pain didn't arrive.
Instead, Harry felt a bizarre sensation of wrongness—as though his body was occupying space it shouldn't, existing in a state that violated fundamental physics.
Big Chill had used his phasing ability to trap Harry inside the solid rock itself, his body partially merged with the mountain.
Unable to move. Unable to escape. Held perfectly in place.
And probably because some fragment of Ben's subconscious remained active beneath the reproductive instincts, Big Chill hadn't gone for a killing blow. The alien had carefully transferred the rock overlapping with Harry's body into the phase dimension as well, preventing the catastrophic molecular collision that should have occurred.
Otherwise, Harry's body would have exploded from the atomic-level interference.
One down.
Big Chill turned his attention toward the other intruders, preparing to phase them into solid matter as well.
But T'Challa moved first.
The Black Panther leaped with enhanced strength, his vibranium-weave suit absorbing and redirecting kinetic energy. His arms trembled as he struck the wall where Harry was trapped, unleashing a precisely calculated shockwave.
The stored kinetic energy released in a controlled burst.
CRACK!
The mountain section trapping Harry shattered like glass, fragments of rock scattering across the cavern floor.
Simultaneously, Peter Parker threw several small devices—barely larger than coins—scattering them throughout the mining chamber in a carefully calculated pattern.
The devices activated instantly, their surfaces glowing with purple-white energy.
Big Chill's figure, which had already begun fading into the phase dimension again, suddenly snapped back into physical reality.
The alien looked confused, his compound eyes darting around as he attempted to phase again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, the dimensional shift was rejected, his body forced to remain in normal space-time.
"What's happening to him?" T'Challa asked with genuine surprise, helping Harry extract himself from the rubble. "Did he eat something that disagreed with him?"
"No, actually," Peter explained, unable to keep the pride from his voice. "Ben anticipated the possibility of losing control during the reproductive cycle. So he created these devices in advance, just in case."
He gestured toward the glowing discs scattered around the chamber.
"They use technology adapted from a psychic alien species—the Psycholeopterrans, I think they're called? Anyway, Ben reverse-engineered their dimensional perception abilities and converted them into a phase-space suppression field."
Peter's hands moved animatedly as he elaborated.
"The devices create overlapping fields that essentially 'lock' the local dimensional boundaries. Nothing can phase in or out while they're active. We're all trapped in normal space-time."
"Lucky we have this technology," Bucky Barnes commented, emerging from cover with his weapons ready. "Otherwise Big Chill's phasing abilities would be completely insurmountable for us."
"We literally have to rely on his own inventions to fight him," Dr. Connors observed, his voice carrying philosophical resignation. "The gap between people is vast. But the gap between geniuses? That chasm is even wider."
His expression was rueful.
"Your so-called 'genius' is merely the threshold to reach his level. The bare minimum entry requirement."
Even Connors's own dinosaur transformation—his enhanced Lizard form that granted him superhuman strength and regeneration—was only stable and controllable thanks to Ben's genetic modifications.
Without that intervention, Dr. Connors would have remained a mindless monster.
As he spoke, his body began changing.
His frame expanded dramatically, muscles bulging as his spine lengthened. His oversized white laboratory coat—specially designed with elastic properties—stretched to accommodate his increasing mass.
Within seconds, he'd transformed into his full Lizard form—a towering reptilian humanoid standing nearly nine feet tall. His eyes, positioned between fierce and grotesque facial features, gave him the appearance of a dinosaur cosplaying as a research scientist.
His white coat flapped around his massive frame like a cape.
At this moment, Connors intended to use overwhelming physical power to subdue Big Chill and prevent further vibranium consumption.
THUMP!
His powerful digitigrade legs compressed like springs, storing energy before releasing in an explosive burst.
Connors launched himself forward with devastating force, the ground cracking beneath his takeoff point. His massive clawed hands extended toward Big Chill, attempting to grapple the alien and pin him in place.
However, before the Lizard could close even half the distance, Big Chill's mouth opened wide.
A gust of supercooled air erupted from the alien's maw—not merely cold, but apocalyptically frigid. The temperature plummeted so rapidly that moisture in the air instantly crystallized, creating a visible fog bank.
This wasn't normal winter cold.
This was Ice Age cold. The kind of temperatures that had once buried entire continents under glaciers.
The sudden temperature drop hit Dr. Connors like a physical wall.
His reptilian body—cold-blooded by nature, dependent on external heat sources for metabolic function—immediately began shutting down. His movements became sluggish, his enhanced strength diminishing as cellular processes slowed.
His momentum carried him forward another few feet before he collapsed, his body locking up like a frozen statue.
"Connors!" Sandman shouted, his sandy form surging forward.
William Baker attempted to conjure a protective wall of compacted sand particles, positioning the barrier to shield Connors from the continued blast of arctic air.
But Big Chill's cryogenic breath was far too intense.
The temperature was low enough to freeze nitrogen solid—to create crystalline structures from atmospheric gases that normally existed only as invisible air.
The sand wall froze solid in seconds, individual grains locked together by ice.
Then the cold penetrated through the barrier, reaching Sandman's distributed consciousness.
Within moments, both Sandman and the Lizard had been transformed into ice sculptures—perfectly preserved, completely immobile, their bodies encased in foot-thick layers of crystalline ice.