Zzzzt—zzzt.
Under the continuous surge of electricity coursing through his body, more than half of Max Dillon's flesh had turned to charred carbon. He lay stiff on the floor, completely motionless.
His chest rose and fell faintly. He was still breathing, but it was clear he didn't have long.
Professor Miles Warren had a bloody hole torn in his neck where Morbius had bitten him. His body was draped across a lab table, everything below the waist bent at a grotesque angle, his chest cavity practically caved in.
His internal organs had been pulverized by Morbius's monstrous strength moments earlier; now, every time he opened his mouth, pink foam flecked with blood bubbled out.
Harry Osborn wasn't faring any better. At that moment, Morbius had him by the shoulder with one hand, Harry's neck twisted to the side while the vampire sank his fangs into the boy's carotid artery and drank greedily.
As the blood drained rapidly from Harry's body, his struggles grew weaker and weaker until, finally, his arms fell limp at his sides.
"Morbius…"
Just as Harry Osborn was about to be completely exsanguinated, a frail voice called out.
Professor Warren.
At this point, Morbius's skin had turned ash-gray, his long hair hanging in wild tangles over his shoulders. His eyes glowed crimson, his nose had collapsed inward into a bat-like snout, and his ears had lengthened into sharp, pointed flaps—just like a bat's.
Hearing Warren's feeble call, Morbius froze. He turned toward the professor with a dazed expression.
"Warren?" Morbius muttered. With a wet thud, he dropped Harry Osborn like a used rag.
He stared at the laboratory that had been wrecked in the blink of an eye—at Max Dillon, charred black; at Professor Warren, folded in half; at Harry, lying motionless.
Only then did the full realization of what he'd done crash over him. But the thick scent of blood hanging in the air eroded what little reason he had left. Once again, he snatched Harry off the floor.
The instant Morbius opened his jaws to bite down, every hair on his body stood on end. A prickling numbness raced across his skin.
Crackle—crackle…
As though he'd stepped into the heart of an electrostatic field, Morbius whipped toward the source of the sound.
There, the completely blackened, carbonized body of Max Dillon began to move.
Large flakes of charred flesh peeled away from his skin, but beneath them wasn't the pink of normal human tissue.
It was gold.
Before Morbius could process it, Max Dillon's eyes snapped open. Seeing the disheveled, bat-like creature in front of him, he instinctively raised one hand.
CRACK!
A bolt of golden electricity erupted from Max's palm, exploding against Morbius's chest in a burst of sparks and flame.
"What the hell was that?!" Max stared at his own hand in shock.
All he could see was a roiling sphere of condensed golden current dancing above his palm.
He looked around—and realized the world was no longer the same.
Max Dillon could now see the rivers of electricity flowing inside the walls. His body felt weightless, as if he could take flight at any moment.
"RROOOAAAR!"
Enraged by the attack, Morbius flung Harry aside once more and charged at Max on all fours like a feral beast, fangs bared.
But before he could close the distance, Max swung his arm again. Another golden bolt slammed into Morbius and hurled him backward.
"What did you people do to me?!" Max shouted, stepping forward.
The only answer he got was Morbius lunging from the side again.
"Get OFF!"
Max roared, but this time he couldn't push the vampire back. A sudden wave of weakness crashed over him. When he clapped his hands together, only a few feeble golden sparks sputtered out—and then Morbius tackled him to the ground.
ZZZZZZT!
The moment Morbius pinned him, the residual current on Max's body surged wildly, electrocuting the vampire and filling the air with the stench of burning flesh.
At first Max could still fight back a little, but as his stored charge rapidly depleted, he began to feel the searing pain of Morbius's claws raking across his skin.
Pain blanked his mind. On pure instinct, Max grabbed a severed power cable lying nearby and jammed it against his own body.
The instant fresh electricity poured in, strength flooded back into him. With a heave, he sent Morbius flying.
But he still couldn't summon the same overwhelming golden lightning as before.
Max glanced at the circuits hidden inside the walls. Something clicked.
Ignoring Morbius entirely, he strode to the nearest wall and punched straight through it.
Crash!
Concrete shattered. Max ripped out the thick bundle of cables inside, snapped them, and gripped the live ends in each hand.
ZZZZZT!
In a single heartbeat, every light on the entire twentieth floor went dark. Experimental equipment died. Monitors winked out. Only the emergency alarm lights bathed the room in pulsing red.
Then the twenty-first floor went black. Then the nineteenth. Twenty-second. Eighteenth…
With the twentieth floor as ground zero, the entire Oscorp Tower suffered a total blackout.
Elevators froze mid-shaft. Ongoing experiments failed catastrophically. Employees staring at suddenly blank screens fumbled for their phones in the darkness.
BEEP! BEEP!
Emergency sirens wailed, the shrill noise stabbing into Morbius's hypersensitive ears.
He clutched his head, the sound driving him into a frenzy.
Yet when he looked at Max Dillon—now wreathed in crackling golden lightning—he didn't attack again. Instead he spun, crashed through the nearest window, and vanished into the night.
A few seconds later, Max stepped up to the shattered pane. Hesitantly, he lifted one foot and set it out into open air.
His foot didn't fall.
He floated there, perfectly stable.
A wild grin spread across his face. He tried the other foot—still suspended. Then, by sheer will and the manipulation of current, he began to glide through the air.
Realizing what he'd become, Max Dillon didn't hesitate any longer. His body dissolved into a streak of golden lightning and shot into the sky, gone in an instant.
Inside Oscorp Tower, panic reigned.
Some scientists scrambled to safely abort experiments. Others pried open elevator doors to rescue trapped passengers. A few tried frantically to call 911 on dying phone batteries. Most just stood around in stunned confusion.
No one thought to check the twentieth-floor laboratory.
As the minutes ticked by, Miles Warren's and Harry Osborn's breathing grew shallower and shallower.
Nearly ten minutes later, Harry suddenly jolted awake from his unconsciousness.
He stared at the ruined lab—at the devastation surrounding him—and remembered everything that had just happened.
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