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Spider-Man Mayham (AU) Chapter 311: Sons of Satannish (4)
🕑 Added 2025-06-01 17:05:35 +0000 UTC[Third Person's PoV]
“Look, I understand your rage—” Spider-Man began, exhaling heavily as he took in the sight before him. The man standing opposite him was not merely a villain—he was someone betrayed by a justice system that had turned a blind eye, someone who had found solace in the darkness of Satanism when the world had offered him nothing else.
“You don’t understand shit!” Adrian snarled, his voice seething with venom. His eyes burned with fury as he pointed a trembling finger at the wall-crawler. “I don’t want your damn heroic lecture! I stopped caring about right and wrong the day I realized no one else gave a damn either! The only thing that matters now is that Lord Satannish walks this Earth once again! Everything and everyone can rot in hell for all I care—and when He returns, that’s exactly where you’ll all be going!”
Peter rolled his head back in frustration, releasing a groan as his shoulders slumped. “You do realize you’re dooming yourself too—”
“Hahahahahaha!!” Adrian cackled, his laughter wild and unhinged, echoing across the graves. “That’s where you’re wrong, web-head. We won’t perish when he arrives. We’re chosen, recognized as his sons—his loyal disciples! And when we finally summon him into this realm, he will reward his most faithful with glory beyond your wildest comprehension!”
The deranged gleam in Adrian’s eyes intensified. Blood vessels bulged, turning his sclera a grotesque red. He grit his teeth in unfiltered hatred, not just at Peter’s words, but at the look the hero was giving him.
Spider-Man’s eyes were hidden behind his mask, but the expressive lenses did their job well. They conveyed a quiet sorrow, a deep, painful pity that cut through Adrian far worse than any blade could have.
“DON’T YOU DARE PITY ME!!” Adrian roared, his voice trembling with fury. His fist ignited in a blaze of mystical fire. With a guttural cry, he lunged forward and swung it directly at Spider-Man’s face.
Peter didn’t dodge. He let the hit land, allowing the flaming punch to crash against his jaw. His head jerked with the impact, flames engulfing his face as a cloud of residual orange smoke burst outward.
When the smoke cleared, Spider-Man calmly turned his head back, the faint glow of blue mystical weblines flickering across the contours of his mask. He casually rubbed his chin, wincing slightly before muttering, “There. Now I don’t have to feel bad about knocking you out.”
“Wha—” Adrian started to say, confused.
But before the word even fully escaped his mouth, Peter’s hand blurred in motion. A single, precise blow slammed directly into Adrian’s jaw—mirroring the spot Peter had just been struck.
The sound was like a firecracker going off. Adrian felt his brain start to rattle inside his skull, the impact scrambling his thoughts. Darkness crept at the edges of his vision as consciousness began to slip away.
‘No... it can’t end like this,’ he thought weakly, despair flooding his mind. ‘Lord Satannish…’
Blood seeped from his mouth, spilling past his lips in thick, wet streams. His head slumped forward as he lost the battle against the encroaching blackness. His crimson robes became stained with his own lifeblood.
Peter let out a sigh, pushing himself up with a palm against his thigh. His eyes scanned the cemetery and landed on Harry, who was still busy with the last conscious cultist. Harry had turned his baton into a staff and now used it to press down on the writhing figure beneath him.
The cultist’s body convulsed violently as arcs of electricity surged through him, his limbs spasming in unnatural jerks.
Harry lifted the staff, then pressed it down again, and again, and again. He repeated the process a few more times until the man finally fell limp, unconscious and twitching faintly.
Spinning the staff expertly, Harry rested it across his shoulders and began walking toward Peter, arms draped lazily over each end. “That’s everyone,” he muttered, breathless. “I think. That definitely could’ve gone smoother.”
“Tell me about it,” Peter grumbled, brushing soot and ash from his suit. “I’ll round them up so you can deliver them to the Ancient One.”
With a flick of his wrists, Peter summoned two azure magic circles in his palms. From them, eldritch threads burst forth, weaving through the graveyard like glowing serpents. The mystical tendrils sought out the unconscious cultists, wrapping securely around them one by one, binding them with unbreakable magical coils.
Lifting his hands, Peter levitated the bundled cultists into the air. Their limp bodies hovered, swaying gently like marionettes on invisible strings.
A mischievous grin spread across Peter’s face. “Hey... you think I could put on a play with them?”
Harry blinked in confusion as he asked, “What?”
Peter cleared his throat and made one of the floating cultists bounce dramatically. “Oh Romeo, Romeo, where art thou Romeo?” he declared, mimicking a dramatic stage actor.
He manipulated another cultist’s body, swinging it low to the ground with exaggerated movements. “I am here, Juliet, my love!” he cried, making the man’s head wobble as if in adoration.
Harry burst into laughter, doubling over as he let his staff fall from his shoulders. “Bahahaha! Stop! Stop! Hahaha—come on! The Ancient One is gonna kill us if she found us goofing around like this, hahaha” He said waving his hand towards Peter.
Peter smiled as he brought the cultists together, securing them with the tendrils. “There, they shouldn't be able to break free from that” He said, dusting his hands.
…
When Adrian Toomes opened his eyes, he expected one of two outcomes: waking up in a hospital bed, restrained and bandaged… or in a cold, sterile jail cell with handcuffs biting into his wrists.
Instead, he was greeted by fire—endless fire. It surrounded him like an ocean of living flame, searing through flesh, bone, and soul alike. The heat wasn’t just physical; it was spiritual, a suffocating inferno that clawed at his very essence.
And before him sat a demon—a being so utterly beyond comprehension that Adrian instinctively collapsed to his knees.
The creature was gargantuan, towering over the burning realm like a god of ruin. Its monstrous, green form was twisted and unnatural. Four immense horns curled from its head like the crowned branches of a blasphemous tree. Two faces leered at Adrian—one embedded in its massive, skull-like head, and the other disturbingly placed in the demon’s stomach, both wearing unreadable expressions of ancient malice.
Adrian didn’t need an introduction. He already knew. Deep in his soul—bonded through rituals, symbols, and blood—he recognized this realm for what it was:
Hell.
And this was one of its dominions, ruled by none other than the archfiend himself—Satannish.
Adrian collapsed fully, bowing so low his forehead scraped the scorched, cracked ground. His voice trembled with reverence and dread.
“This lowly servant greets the Great Lord Satannish the Supreme!”
Satannish said nothing. He simply stared. Both faces—one smirking, one blank—watched Adrian with the eerie stillness of a predator examining prey.
Adrian, sweating despite the blazing heat, dared to continue. “We… we failed you, my Lord. I failed you. We were stopped—by Spider-Man and another! If not for their interference, we would have completed the ritual as commanded! I beg your forgiveness, oh Supreme One!”
A growl rumbled from the demon—not from its primary mouth, but from the second one, the one nestled in its gut. The sound reverberated through the very air, through Adrian’s bones, and deep into the realm itself.
“You desire something, mortal…” came the stomach’s voice—a graveling, dissonant tone that sounded like an avalanche of corpses.
“Speak. You dare call yourself my son, so do not waste my time with groveling. Ask what you came to ask.”
Adrian’s fingernails dug into the molten earth. “I… I seek power! Grant me strength, Supreme One—real power—and I will bring those insects to their knees. I will destroy them for daring to defy you! Their power is formidable… which means their souls must be even greater. They would make fine offerings—richer than anything we’ve provided before.”
Satannish’s eyes narrowed, his vast form shifting slightly. “And if I grant you this strength… what do I receive in return?”
“Everything!” Adrian cried, his desperation overtaking his fear. “Even my soul! I offer it freely—use me as your vessel, and I will not rest until your will is fulfilled!”
Satannish’s lips curled into a monstrous grin—an expression of twisted amusement. Mortals were always so eager to sell what they believed was worthless. But they never truly understood the cost until it was far too late.
Still… it was a worthy gamble.
If Adrian succeeded, Satannish would gain a foothold in the mortal realm. And if he failed… well, Satannish would have a soul to devour and torment for eternity.
“Very well,” the demon rumbled, raising a colossal, clawed hand. “I accept. But mark this: if you fail again, your end shall be anything but merciful.”
A pillar of green hellfire erupted from the ground and engulfed Adrian, his screams turning into laughter as his flesh melted, then reformed—stronger, darker, corrupted.
“I WILL NOT FAIL YOU!” he howled, his voice echoing across dimensions.
---
Back on Earth…
“Look, I even added a little ribbon,” Peter said with a satisfied grin, gesturing toward the unconscious cultists. The eldritch threads wrapping them had formed an enormous, sparkly bow. “Do you think the Ancient One will appreciate the gift?”
Harry snorted. “I can already imagine her rolling her eyes— Hmm hmm hm”
But his words grew distant—at least to Peter. The world began to slow, the ambient sound dimming into a low, eerie ring that rattled through his skull. A shimmering, distorted line wavered above his head, like a ripple in space itself. The hair on his arms stood on end as his spidey-sense warned him of an incoming danger.
Peter’s lenses narrowed as every nerve in his body screamed at him. Something wasn’t right.
“Dude…?” Harry said cautiously, eyes narrowing. “What’s wrong? You’re freaking me out.”
Peter didn’t respond.
His head snapped like a whip, turning sharply toward Adrian’s seemingly unconscious body.
Then—Adrian’s eyes opened.
But they were no longer human.
They blazed with raw hellfire, twin infernos that glared with rage. Adrian opened his mouth—and let loose a scream.
But it wasn’t a normal scream. It was a shockwave, a sonic attack layered with demonic energy that exploded outward like a bomb.
Peter didn’t think—he moved. In a blur of instinct and lightning, he dove forward, slamming into Harry and dragging him to the ground just in time.
The sonic blast carved a devastating arc through the earth behind them, ripping through soil and stone like tissue paper. Gravestones shattered.
Blood red and green feathers started to erupt violently from Adrian’s skin, piercing through like knives as his body convulsed and twisted. His spine cracked audibly, stretching upward as his limbs elongated into razor-edged talons. His scream morphed into a screech—inhuman, primal, demonic.
His flesh sizzled and tore, revealing molten veins glowing beneath. Saliva bubbled and dripped from his forming, contorting beak, melting the dirt where it landed—hell-lava, viscous and alive with malevolent energy.
From his back, two massive wings exploded outward, red and metallic, each feather shaped like a dagger, gleaming with infernal power. The wings stretched wide, spanning nearly the width of an 18-wheeler, the wind they stirred ripping the air apart.
The eldritch whips binding him writhed like serpents, as though in pain, before snapping apart one by one with echoing cracks. Magic fizzled in the air, unable to contain whatever force now radiated from Adrian’s warped form.
Then—BOOM.
A shockwave erupted from the point of transformation, sending every cultist flying in all directions like leaves in a hurricane. Headstones shattered, graves split open,. The ground beneath Adrian blackened, smoking, as though Hell itself had kissed the earth.
The demon-vulture took a single step forward, the ground cracking beneath its talons. Flames bled from its wings. Hellfire poured from its nostrils. It looked directly at Peter—and smiled.
Comments
Green223
A Vulture created from Demonic magic is interesting compared to the usual Vulture who is just a guy with advanced tech he built
Nazarickk
Thanks for the chapter
