By the time Hawk and Gwen reached the devastated second-floor mezzanine, the monstrous transformation had fully reversed. The Lizard was gone. Lying amidst the wreckage of shattered bookshelves and cracked concrete was the frail, broken form of Dr. Curt Connors. The gaping, catastrophic wound in his chest remained, a testament to the lethal force Hawk had unleashed, but the scales and claws had vanished, leaving only pale, human flesh.
Blood seeped from the corner of Connors's mouth, but as Hawk approached, the dying scientist managed a weak, ghastly smile.
"Thank… you…" he rasped, his voice barely a whisper.
Hawk stopped a few feet away, his expression unreadable, simply observing the man's final moments.
Gwen, however, knelt beside her former mentor, her face etched with confusion and a dawning horror. "Doctor," she pleaded, her voice trembling slightly. "Why? Why did you try to kill me?"
It was the question that screamed in her mind. The attack on the bridge, the pursuit of Spider-Man—that, she could almost understand as the actions of a creature driven by rage and instinct. But the focused, deliberate attempt on her life in the library… it made no sense.
Connors let out a low, rattling chuckle, a sound devoid of humor. The effort caused his chest to heave, and a fresh wave of blood bubbled past his lips. His already pale face turned ashen. He gasped, his single hand weakly clutching at the wound, his breathing becoming shallow, ragged. His eyes, losing focus, fluttered, threatening to close forever.
With his last, fleeting ounce of strength, he uttered his final words, a fragmented, cryptic confession whispered into the dust-filled air.
"Don't… know…" he choked. "Perhaps… I was… seduced… by a demon…" His eyes widened slightly, a flicker of remembered terror passing through them. "Yes… Sorry…"
Thud.
His hand, which had been clutching his chest, fell limply to the floor. His eyes stared blankly at the ruined ceiling. Dr. Curt Connors was dead.
Silence descended, broken only by the distant wail of approaching sirens.
Hawk surveyed the scene—the body, the destruction, the lingering scent of ozone and blood—then turned his gaze to Peter Parker, who was still clinging to the ceiling, seemingly paralyzed by the brutal finality of what he had just witnessed.
"Aren't you leaving?" Hawk asked, his voice cutting through the silence.
Peter snapped back to reality, dropping lightly to the floor amidst the debris. He looked from Connors's body back to Hawk, his mind still reeling from the sheer, effortless lethality of Hawk's single punch. "What about you?"
"Spider-Man killed him," Hawk stated flatly, shifting the narrative with absolute confidence. "What does that have to do with me, Hawk?"
Peter bristled. "I'm not Spider-Man."
"Then your webs…" Hawk began, letting the implication hang in the air.
"I'm leaving," Peter cut him off, unwilling to engage in the verbal sparring match. He turned, shot a web towards the shattered skylight, and with a graceful, acrobatic leap, vanished through the opening and into the afternoon sky.
Just then, Gwen gasped, her eyes widening with a sudden, new panic. "No! The surveillance!" She grabbed Hawk's arm, ready to drag him towards the library's security office downstairs.
"Don't worry," Hawk said calmly, gently stopping her. "It wasn't recorded."
"Ah?"
"Where I struck," he explained, recalling the precise geometry of the room in the instant before his attack, "was a perfect blind spot between camera angles. All the footage will show is Connors flying backward as if hit by an invisible force. It won't show who, or what, hit him."
He hadn't planned it that way. He hadn't cared about exposure. It was, he mused, perhaps fate. Or perhaps, the universe simply wasn't ready for him yet.
Half an hour later, the library was swarming with NYPD officers. Dr. Connors's body, zipped into a black bag, was carried out on a stretcher. Captain George Stacy, his face a grim mask of authority, stood overseeing the scene.
"Gwen!" He spotted his daughter standing near the entrance with Hawk and immediately strode over, pulling her into a tight, relieved hug. "Thank god you're alright."
"Dad, I'm okay," she reassured him, gently breaking the embrace. She glanced at Hawk, then took his right hand, a small but significant gesture of solidarity. "Hawk protected me."
George's gaze shifted to Hawk, his eyes still holding a deep, lingering suspicion, but now tempered with a grudging respect.
"Mr. Stacy," Hawk greeted him politely once again.
This time, George didn't ignore him. He gave a short, stiff nod. "Thank you."
"It's what I should do," Hawk replied, his smile calm and unwavering.
George's eyes flickered between them, taking in their linked hands, the easy intimacy between them. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He turned back to Gwen. "Call your mother. She saw the news report about the attack at the school. She's worried sick."
Gwen gasped, realizing she'd forgotten in the chaos. She quickly pulled out her phone and stepped away to make the call.
George stood beside Hawk in silence for a moment, watching the body bag being loaded into an ambulance. "So," he said finally, his voice low. "The Lizard was Connors. What the hell was he doing attacking a high school?"
Hawk's mind immediately went to Connors's cryptic final words. Seduced by a demon. What kind of demon ignores the powerful threats—Spider-Man, himself—and targets the seemingly harmless girl? It made no tactical sense. Unless… Unless the demon wasn't playing by tactical rules, Hawk thought. But he kept his expression blank. "I don't know, sir."
Gwen returned, her relief palpable after speaking with her mother. She naturally linked her arm with Hawk's. George saw the gesture, saw the easy way his daughter leaned against the boy, and felt a muscle twitch in his eye. He abruptly turned and walked away, needing to put distance between himself and the sudden, overwhelming urge to draw his service weapon.
Another half hour passed. The police cleared out. Midtown High officially announced that classes were dismissed for the day. The news was met with a sudden, cathartic eruption of cheers from the shell-shocked student body, who then scattered like startled birds towards the exits.
Hawk just shook his head, pushing the lingering questions about Connors and his "demon" aside. The man was dead. The mystery would likely remain buried with him.
The weekend arrived. Hawk spent it holed up in his apartment, the used laptop purchased from Skye connected to the hotspot of the used phone given by Gwen. He surfed the web, catching up on news, researching potential buyers for alien weaponry, and generally allowing himself a rare moment of decompression.
He needed money. Rent was paid for a few months, but his savings were dwindling. And the prom… Mrs. Snow's words echoed in his mind. Going with Gwen seemed… right. But prom required a suit. Suits cost money. Ergo, the Chitauri guns had to go.
He briefly considered his own morality. Was selling advanced alien weaponry on the black market the right thing to do? He thought of Peter Parker, specifically the version corrupted by the Venom symbiote. Even at his absolute worst, that Peter's grand evil scheme involved buying a discounted suit and maybe getting a raise. Hawk chuckled. He figured his own moral compass, while admittedly flexible, was probably still pointing slightly more towards "good" than "dancing emo Peter." Selling the guns was justifiable.
He was deep in the bowels of the dark web, evaluating potential fences, when—
Splat.
A distinct, sticky sound came from his window.
Hawk looked up, his senses instantly on alert.
Clinging to the glass outside his third-floor window, peering in from the fire escape, was Spider-Man.