Max ran.
Not toward safety—but away from everything else.
Away from people. Away from buildings. Away from anything that could turn into collateral damage.
It was nighttime in New York, which meant the streets were still alive—cars, late-night shops, scattered pedestrians. Too many lives. Too many chances for something to go horribly wrong.
And he could feel it.
His skin—
Boiling.
"Shit—!"
Max stumbled, gripping his arm as heat surged beneath his flesh like molten metal trying to break free. His veins glowed faintly under his skin, cracks of orange light spreading like fractures.
He needed somewhere empty.
Now.
His eyes locked onto a nearby building.
A museum.
Closed for the night.
"Perfect…"
He didn't hesitate.
"Fuck it—things might break, but no one dies," Max muttered through clenched teeth.
He slammed into the side entrance, forcing it open with far more strength than he should have had. The alarm immediately blared to life—but he didn't care.
Didn't even hear it properly.
Pain drowned everything out.
He staggered inside, barely registering the displays around him—ancient artifacts, glass cases, historical relics—
And then—
His eyes caught it.
A sword.
Resting in a secured display.
"…You've gotta be kidding me," he breathed.
Excalibur.
Or at least… a replica.
He hoped it was a replica.
Because the last thing this world needed was Ghost Rider running around with something like that.
"Yeah… no," Max muttered.
Then his body broke.
His flesh ignited.
Not metaphorically.
Not figuratively.
Actually ignited.
Flames erupted beneath his skin, his muscles spasming as heat tore through him—but at the same time—
Something else answered.
A cold, black liquid spread across his body, seeping from beneath his skin like ink through paper.
"…What the hell—"
The symbiote.
He'd been infected.
And now—
It was fighting back.
Fire and darkness clashed violently within him.
The hellfire burned.
The symbiote healed.
The symbiote consumed.
The fire refused.
Max screamed as the two forces tore through him, his body caught in the middle like a battlefield.
It felt like hours.
It was seconds.
Sirens wailed outside, growing louder—but Max couldn't focus. Couldn't think. Couldn't do anything except endure.
The heat pouring off him began to warp the room. Glass cracked. Metal bent. Displays melted into useless slag.
The sprinkler system activated, drenching everything—
But it didn't help.
If anything, the steam made it worse.
Then—
Something snapped.
Tendrils exploded outward from Max's body.
Black. Burning. Alive.
They tore through the room, ripping apart walls, shattering displays, punching through the building itself as they lashed outward into the night.
Outside, police cars screeched to a halt. Firefighters rushed in, shouting over each other as they tried to make sense of the destruction.
No Spider-Man.
No hero.
Just chaos.
Inside—
The tendrils suddenly froze.
Then began to pull inward.
They twisted together, wrapping around Max's body, forming something massive—
A cocoon.
A pulsing, burning pod of black and red energy.
In front of it—
The sword.
Excalibur's display had shattered, the blade now resting just inches away.
The pod shrank.
Compressed.
Condensed.
Until—
It unraveled.
Revealing a figure.
Tall.
Armored.
A body clad in dark, obsidian-like plating, cracks of hellfire glowing between the seams. Flames flickered from within, breathing through the armor like something alive.
On the chest—
A symbol.
A spider.
Max stood there, unmoving.
"…Huh."
His voice came out steady.
Controlled.
He blinked once.
Then twice.
"…I'm… in control?"
No voice in his head.
No spirit clawing for dominance.
No symbiote whispering.
Nothing.
Just him.
"…They canceled each other out?" he muttered.
Carefully, he took a step forward.
Then another.
There was a slight delay.
Not much—but enough to notice.
Like his body was syncing with something new.
His gaze shifted to the sword.
"…Right."
He reached down and grabbed it.
The moment his hand touched the hilt, black biomass surged over it instantly, swallowing the blade whole. It dissolved into his arm, absorbed completely.
Max blinked.
"…Damn. That was Excalibur," he said flatly. "Well… at least it didn't have the sheath."
He flexed his hand once, feeling the weapon settle somewhere inside him.
"…Guess that's mine now."
Sirens were getting closer.
He turned toward the broken wall—
And froze.
There.
At the edge of his vision.
A figure.
Watching.
Black suit.
Slim frame.
Blending into the shadows like she belonged there.
"…You're not supposed to be here," Max muttered.
A black Spider—no.
Spider-woman.
Wrong universe.
Wrong timing.
Something was off.
Max didn't stick around to figure it out.
"Yeah, no—I'm out."
He fired a strand of black biomass from his arm—something between a web and a tendril—and launched himself out of the building.
Behind him, chaos reigned. Police, fire crews, debris—
No one could follow him through that mess.
Getting back to his apartment was harder.
Not because of distance.
Because of control.
His body felt… different.
Layered.
Like armor formed from the symbiote, reinforced by hellfire. Every movement required thought. Precision.
But it worked.
Eventually.
Max landed silently on his balcony, exhaling as he stepped inside.
"…Alright."
He focused.
Change back.
The armor shifted instantly, melting away into his skin as the flames died down. Within seconds, he stood there in his normal form.
Human.
Stable.
"…Okay. That's… really useful."
Full control.
At least for now.
He leaned against the wall, his mind racing.
Power.
He had power now.
A lot of it.
But—
Alice was still gone.
His expression darkened.
"…Mephisto said he couldn't find her soul," Max muttered.
And that bothered him more than anything.
Because Mephisto didn't lie.
He twisted.
Manipulated.
Left out details.
But he didn't outright lie.
Which meant—
"…Her soul isn't where it's supposed to be."
Max's eyes sharpened.
Two possibilities.
Either someone took it.
Or—
"…She's still out there."
Alive.
Somehow.
Max pushed himself off the wall, his fists clenching.
"…Yeah."
That was enough.
Power. Mystery. A target.
For the first time since her death—
Max had direction.
"And I'm going to find out which."