Peter gripped a strand of spider-silk with one hand, the other wrapped securely around Dr. Connors's unconscious form. The scientist's breathing was shallow but steady—alive, at least, despite the catastrophic injuries he'd sustained fighting Lady Ursula.
Above them, Harry's goblin glider hummed through Counter-Earth's artificial atmosphere. The Neo Goblin carried John's werewolf-transformed body while Karen clung to his armor, holding the cage containing a sedated Rocket. They formed an improvised aerial convoy, with Peter's webbing anchoring off Harry's glider to create swing points.
Behind them, Atlantis burned.
The massive geodesic dome that had sealed the industrial city was breached in a dozen places. Fires erupted throughout the factory districts, fed by chemical stockpiles and fuel reserves igniting in chain reactions. But those flames represented more than destruction—they carried the hopes of every soul yearning for freedom.
The slave uprising had succeeded beyond anyone's expectations.
Sir Ram stood atop one of Atlantis's highest towers, his multiple arms clenched in impotent fury as he watched the resistance forces escape. He wanted to pursue. Every fiber of his enhanced being demanded he chase down Spider-Man and reclaim what was rightfully his.
But he couldn't.
If the High Evolutionary discovered that his second-in-command had allowed not just a military defeat but the complete collapse of an entire industrial city, the consequences would be severe. Sir Ram had already lost Lady Ursula. He couldn't afford another failure.
So he remained, coordinating containment efforts while Peter and his team vanished into the wilderness.
Below, in the desert surrounding Atlantis's perimeter, the escaped slaves found their salvation. The moment they crossed beyond the dome's influence, the sand itself seemed to swallow them. Underground tunnels, carefully maintained by resistance scouts, led them to safety.
In those hidden warrens beneath the dunes, a few scattered survivors who'd escaped previous purges welcomed the flood of newcomers. They'd been living as subterranean refugees for years, and now their numbers had swelled dramatically. An entire underground civilization, born from the High Evolutionary's cruelty.
Dozens of kilometers away, on a rocky island that barely qualified as solid ground, Brumley and Kit waved frantically at the approaching convoy.
"About damn time!" Brumley shouted, relief evident in his voice despite the gruff delivery. "We were starting to think Sir Ram had caught you."
Peter released his webbing and landed in a crouch, carefully setting Dr. Connors down on the salvaged vehicle they'd use for the return trip. Harry's glider touched down a moment later, and Karen practically fell off, her legs trembling from adrenaline comedown.
"Did we succeed?" Karen asked uncertainly, looking at Connors's horrific injuries. His left arm was completely gone, torn off at the shoulder. Blood soaked through makeshift bandages. "Dr. Connors looks... he looks half-dead."
"It's nothing," Harry said with casual confidence that bordered on inappropriate. He dumped John's unconscious werewolf body onto the vehicle with zero ceremony, then produced a vial of glowing blue liquid from his armor's storage compartment. "Just a minor injury."
He jabbed the syringe directly into Connors's exposed ribcage.
The effect was immediate and grotesque. Wounds began closing at visible speed, granulation tissue forming and knitting together like time-lapse footage of healing. The stump of his severed arm bubbled and writhed as bone, muscle, nerve, and skin regenerated from nothing. Within thirty seconds, a completely functional new limb had grown.
Other injuries across his body sealed themselves just as rapidly. Broken ribs mended. Internal bleeding stopped. Ruptured organs repaired their damaged tissue.
"Mmm—" Connors groaned, consciousness returning. His eyes fluttered open, and he immediately tried to sit up, then thought better of it. "Still... still weak. Internal organ damage takes longer to fully repair."
"Are you alright, Doctor?" Peter knelt beside him, genuine concern in his voice.
"I'll live." Connors flexed his newly regenerated fingers experimentally. All motor functions intact. "Though I'd prefer not to lose limbs as a regular occurrence." He paused, noticing something odd. "Wait, weren't you supposed to be rescuing John Jameson? Why did you bring back a beastman?"
"That is John," Karen said softly, sympathy evident in her tone. "The Ram transformed him."
Peter winced. He'd seen the genetic modification labs, understood what they did to failed subjects. But seeing it happen to someone he knew, someone from Earth...
"It's no big deal," Connors said with the casual confidence of an expert. He was already studying John's werewolf form with professional interest. "As long as I can analyze the reagent composition, I can reverse-engineer the formula and synthesize an antidote. Even without a sample, I can make educated guesses based on observable phenotype expression."
He sat up fully, his scientific mind already racing through possibilities. "The reagent is just for safety, since I'm not certain whether the High Evolutionary uses the same genetic templates I'm familiar with. But lupine transformation is relatively straightforward compared to reptilian enhancement. I should be able to manage."
"Then let's head back to base," Peter said. "We've got samples, prisoners rescued, and intelligence gathered. Time to regroup."
Meanwhile, at Wundagore Castle, the fall of Atlantis sent shockwaves through the High Evolutionary's inner circle.
Three of the Four Knights knelt before their creator in the castle's primary throne room. The chamber was a monument to the High Evolutionary's ego—genetic diagrams covered the walls, holographic displays showed his various "children" across Counter-Earth, and the throne itself appeared to be grown from organic material rather than constructed.
The High Evolutionary himself stood before them, and his rage was palpable.
"I gave you new powers!" His voice echoed through the chamber like thunder. "Abilities beyond anything natural evolution could produce! And you still lost to Spider-Man! Not only did you allow the destruction of an entire industrial city, but Lady Ursula is dead!"
His eyes fixed on Sir Ram with laser intensity. "You, Ram, have disappointed me greatly."
The ram knight remained kneeling, head bowed, but his mind was racing. This wasn't just anger—this was the High Evolutionary questioning their fundamental worth. Questioning whether they were failures.
"I am truly sorry, my lord," Sir Ram said, his voice carefully measured. "I bear unshirkable responsibility for this catastrophe. But please, allow me a few words of explanation."
"Speak!"
Sir Ram rose to his feet in one fluid motion and spun to face Lord Tyger, his expression transforming from contrition to accusation in an instant.
"My lord, I had successfully captured members of the resistance, including your former experimental subject 89P13—"
"What?" Genuine emotion flickered across the High Evolutionary's usually impassive features. Rocket. His oldest success. The prototype that made all other uplift possible.
Sir Ram pressed his advantage. "But somehow, information about their location reached the resistance almost immediately. They knew not just that I was in Atlantis, but the internal structure of the facility itself. Security protocols. Laboratory locations. Everything."
He let the implication hang in the air for a heartbeat.
"I suspect there's a traitor among us."
His gaze swept across his fellow Knights like a spotlight exposing guilt. Lady Vermin flinched. Lord Tyger's expression remained carefully neutral.
"Is it you, Lady Vermin?" Sir Ram's voice was sharp, accusatory. "You seem quite fond of Spider-Man. I've heard you express admiration for his abilities."
"No!" The mouse-woman's terror was obvious. Despite her enhanced combat abilities, she looked like a child caught stealing candy. "Yes, I find Spider-Man impressive, but I would never betray the High Evolutionary! Never!"
Sir Ram's lips pulled back from his teeth in something that wasn't quite a smile. "Then it must be you, Lord Tyger."
The golden-furred knight's eyes narrowed, but his voice remained steady. "That's slander, Sir Ram. You have no evidence to support such accusations."
"You're right," Sir Ram agreed readily. "I don't have direct evidence. But I can tell you something interesting—I knew the information would leak. So I prepared for it."
Lord Tyger's expression shifted fractionally. A microscopic widening of the eyes, a tension in the shoulders. Not quite surprise, but close.
"I implanted a tracking chip in that resistance fighter's body," Sir Ram continued, savoring each word. "A biological transmitter, invisible to standard scans. It will lead us directly to their hidden base. Then we'll eliminate the entire resistance in one decisive strike."
"You—"
Lord Tyger surged to his feet, the movement so sudden it was almost a confession of guilt by itself.
"Pathetic," Sir Ram said with genuine satisfaction.
The High Evolutionary raised one hand, and an invisible force slammed down on Lord Tyger like a physical weight. The golden tiger collapsed back to his knees, the throne room's floor cracking under the pressure.
"So you're the failure," the High Evolutionary said, studying Lord Tyger like a specimen under a microscope. His tone held more curiosity than anger now. "Perhaps I added too much human genetic material to your template. Made you too... empathetic."
He gestured dismissively. "Take him away."
Four beastman soldiers entered immediately, clearly having been waiting outside for exactly this scenario. They grabbed Lord Tyger by his arms and began dragging him toward the holding cells.
Sir Ram dropped back to his knees, though his expression held poorly concealed triumph. "My lord, in my opinion, Lord Tyger should be executed immediately. His betrayal cannot—"
"Don't presume that this absolves you of your sins, Ram." The High Evolutionary's gaze cut back to the ram knight, cold and clinical. "You still failed in your primary objective."
"I understand, my lord. I take full responsibility for Lady Ursula's death—"
"I don't care who died!" The High Evolutionary's roar shook the chamber, causing Lady Vermin to cower. "I only care about 89P13!"
He crossed the distance between them in three long strides, grabbed Sir Ram by the collar, and lifted him off the ground with one hand. Enhanced strength—far beyond what he'd demonstrated before the wireless receiver's acquisition.
Sir Ram felt genuine fear for the first time in years. His creator had become stronger. Much stronger.
It's all because of that receiver, Sir Ram thought, equal parts jealous and calculating. If I could obtain Spider-Man's watch, his complete Omnitrix...
The rebellious thought must have shown in his eyes, because the High Evolutionary's grip tightened.
"I'm sorry, my lord," Sir Ram gasped. "I thought... I thought I shouldn't disturb you with minor operational details—"
"Minor?" The High Evolutionary threw him to the floor with enough force to crack tiles. "I don't need you to interpret my priorities, Ram. But fortunately, you still have an opportunity to redeem yourself."
Sir Ram scrambled back to his knees, head bowed. "Anything, my lord."
"Use your tracking chip. Find the resistance base. Eliminate every last rebel." The High Evolutionary's voice dropped to something cold and dangerous. "And bring me Spider-Man, 89P13, and that dinosaur-man. Alive. I want to study what makes them so effective against my children."
"Yes, my lord. It will be done."
Back at the resistance base, hidden in the sewer networks beneath New Wundagore, Dr. Connors worked with practiced efficiency.
He'd set up a makeshift laboratory using salvaged equipment and materials stolen from beastman facilities over months of operations. Test tubes lined a rickety shelf. A centrifuge salvaged from a medical center hummed quietly. Beakers and syringes lay organized on a clean cloth.
Connors mixed compounds with the confidence of someone who'd spent decades perfecting genetic serums. Blue liquid combined with green, producing a faintly glowing amber substance. He drew it into a syringe and approached John's unconscious werewolf form.
"This should work," he muttered, more to himself than anyone watching. "Lupine genetic modification, appears to be based on forced expression of dormant mammalian traits rather than true xenotransplantation. Relatively simple to suppress with the right enzyme blockers and genetic reset triggers."
He injected the serum directly into John's arm.
The transformation was immediate and dramatic. The thick white fur began to recede, shrinking back into John's skin like it was being rewound. His elongated muzzle compressed back into a human face. Claws retracted, bones shifted, muscle mass decreased. Within thirty seconds, John Jameson looked completely human again.
His eyes fluttered open. "Ugh... what... where am I?"
He sat up slowly, rubbing his head and wincing at phantom aches. Then his brain caught up with his eyes.
"Wait. Dr. Connors? And Harry Osborn?" John's gaze swept across the assembled team—Peter in his spider-suit, Karen looking exhausted but triumphant, Flash in his Venom form lurking in the corner. "You're reinforcements from the Plumbers?"