Peter Parker, clad once more in the familiar red and blue costume he first donned as a teenager, cradled the limp body of Ben Reilly in his arms. Ben’s costume was in tatters, his mask nowhere to be found. And he had just spent the past few minutes trying to clear out Norman Osborn’s pumpkin bombs from the Daily Bugle.

Peter watched in horror as the life began to fade from Ben. And his body began to decompose rapidly. A result of the cellular degeneration, a true mark that Ben was actually the clone Peter long thought himself to be.

Spider-Man’s head jerked as the familiar buzz of his spider sense stung his head. He heard that dreaded cackle and saw the Green Goblin streaking towards him on the glider. Spider-Man leapt into the air to avoid one of the pumpkin bombs, but watched in horror as it claimed Ben in his stead.

“NO!”

Spider-Man swung after the Goblin, who kept ahead of him on the glider. “Okay Osborn, this ends tonight!”

He shot a strand of webbing that stuck to the Goblin’s glider. Spider-Man pulled himself up as quickly as he could and once he was within range, he grabbed the Goblin by the back of his collar and pulled him from the glider. But when he saw the Goblin’s face, he saw it was actually someone else.

“Jackal?!”

“You’re wasting your time, Parker!” said the Jackal. “Keep on playing around up here, and pretty soon there won’t be anything left of your little ‘cousin!’”

“What are you talking about?” asked Spider-Man. “Ben’s dead, I watched him d—”

The Jackal was gone and Spider-Man found himself standing in a dark, enclosed area. He looked up and quite a distance above him was a circular opening. At his feet, he felt ash.

“Oh no…I know what this is…”

“…Peeeeter…”

A scarlet-gloved hand reached out from below the ashes and grabbed Spider-Man’s ankle. He pulled it free but watched as the hand reached further out. The hand braced itself on the ground for leverage and began to pull the rest of the body from the ground.

Ben stood there, in his Scarlet Spider costume. Or rather, what was left of it. It was torn in numerous places. In those spots. Ben’s skin was decayed and decomposed. Like that of a corpse. One of the lenses on his mask was shattered and Peter saw Ben’s eye with a shade of red and a bloodlust in there. Ben tore the lower portion of his mask off, showing that his jaw was almost completely devoid of skin and he began snarling.

“I’m not dead yet, Peter!”

“Ben, what the—?”

“I’M NOT DEAD YET!”

The zombie Scarlet Spider pounced on Spider-Man. Peter fell back, holding his arms out to defend himself. As he grappled with his zombified clone, he flipped him over, and then Peter hit his head on the hardwood floor.

“Huh?”

Peter opened his eyes. He was lying in his bedroom on the ground, his body completely wrapped up in the blue sheet. Peter quickly extracted himself from it and stood up, wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. He looked at the clock and saw it was three in the morning.

“Really, psyche…zombie clones?” he muttered. “That’s it, no more convenience store burritos after midnight.”

Peter pulled the sheet from the ground and he nearly jumped when he saw what was beneath it. The zombified head of the Scarlet Spider, looking up at him through the shattered lens.

“I need your help, Peter. You’ve got to do something!”

Peter shut his eyes and when he opened them again, the head was gone as if it had never been there. He threw the sheet around, but saw nothing. Carefully, he got on his hands and knees and slowly lowered his head to peek underneath the bed. And when he did, he found…

“*ACHOO!*”

Peter pulled away as he rubbed his nose. “Okay, no more burritos after midnight and you need to start dusting under the bed.”

CITY OF DEAD

Part I

By Dino Pollard

The Sanctum Sanctorum

The silver-plated Zippo lighter circled through Leonard Samson’s fingers. As he twirled it, his thoughts were fixed instead on his latest patient. And he fixed his gaze on the rest of the men gathered in the room with him—Daimon Hellstrom, Kyle Richmond, Rick Sheridan and, of course, Stephen Strange.

“The Sentry is missing,” said Samson. “That means we’ve got a very—very—big problem.”

“Excuse me for being completely in the dark, but just who the hell is the Sentry?” asked Kyle.

“Funny you should say that, we’re not quite sure,” said Samson.

“Huh?”

“The Sentry is what brought us all together with the exception of yourself, Richmond,” said Hellstorm. “The four of us along with Blaze and this new Hulk.”

“So what do we know about him?” asked Kyle.

“The Doc here has spent the most time with him,” said Sleepwalker.

“Unfortunately, I don’t know much. But here’s what I’ve been able to figure out from our sessions,” said Samson. “First of all, the Sentry is a being of immense power. Second, he has multiple personalities—three that I’ve seen. There’s Robert Reynolds, a paranoid, human man with crippling agoraphobia. Then there’s the Sentry, who claims to have the power of a million exploding suns and based on what we’ve seen so far, that’s not far from the truth. As the Sentry, he believes himself to be the greatest hero the world has never known.”

“Never known? What does that mean?” asked Kyle.

“He claims that in order to contain the Void, he had to erase all memory of his existence. So he used his powers on such a massive scale to not only alter the memories of everyone on the planet, but to also alter any sort of historical evidence,” said Samson.

“That’s not even possible.” Kyle looked to Strange. “…is it?”

The Sorcerer Supreme maintained his silence, keeping his gaze on Samson. He didn’t even turn his eyes to acknowledge Richmond’s question.

“I don’t know if it’s possible but I’m leaning towards no. That’s more power than I doubt any of us have ever seen before,” said Samson. “But the Sentry believes it and that’s all that matters at the moment.”

“Don’t forget the third personality,” said Sleepwalker. “The one that almost killed us.”

“Right. Like I said, the Sentry believes himself to be the world’s greatest hero. And the world’s greatest hero needs the world’s greatest villain—which is his third personality. A powerful force of darkness called the Void.”

“And now he’s missing,” said Sleepwalker. “Also, speaking of Blaze and the Hulk, where the hell are they?”

“After Siberia, the Ghost Rider just left,” said Hellstorm.

“And the Hulk? Whoever he is?”

“Once he heard the Sentry was missing, he said something about going hunting and jumped,” said Samson. “That means we’ve got two very powerful, very unstable men running around unchecked. So what do we do?”

“We have another problem as well,” said Strange, finally speaking up.

“What’s that?” asked Sleepwalker.

“You’re about to find out.”

“Umm…hi?”

The Defenders turned. Crawling on the ceiling from the door to the foyer and clad from head to toe in red and blue was Spider-Man. He looked from each of the gathered people in the room, suddenly wondering just what he was doing here in the first place.

“Hey…umm…I’m Spider-Man and…uhh…well, I’m here to see Doctor Strange,” he said. And then, under his breath, added, “why does this feel like the beginning of a horror film?”

“I’ve been expecting you, Spider-Man. Come in,” said Strange.

“Oh…the creepy wizard has been expecting me. That makes me feel better,” said Spider-Man. “…y’know, except…not at all.”

“What do you want, insect?” asked Hellstorm. “We’re a little busy now.”

“Someone’s cheery in the morning,” muttered Spider-Man. “Look, I’ve been having some strange dreams lately… Dreams about my clone. My dead clone. Except he wasn’t dead, he was still alive…kind of. And he—”

“You disturb us because you had a bad dream?” asked Hellstorm.

“One time during finals, I had a burrito from 7-11 before I went to sleep, felt like I had an acid trip,” said Sleepwalker.

“Yeah…I thought the same thing,” said Spider-Man. “But then when I woke up, I saw him there. Like, there there.”

“Were you hallucinating?” asked Samson. “You’ve gone up against quite a few people who have that ability.”

“No, this wasn’t a hallucination and it wasn’t some sort of Mysterio trick, this was real,” said Spider-Man. “Real as in really freaking creepy, okay?”

“He’s right,” said Doctor Strange. “There are some disturbances in the realm of the dead, where the Scarlet Spider resides. I think an investigation is necessary.”

“Really? Wow, thanks Doc, I don’t know how—”

“I will put you in touch with a man who can serve as your guide,” said Doctor Strange.

“Oh…you mean you’re not…?”

“No, there are more pressing issues I must deal with,” said Doctor Strange.

“You mean searching for the Sentry and the Hulk,” said Samson.

“The Hulk? But I saw on TV—” began Spider-Man.

“Different Hulk,” said Samson.

“Oh…that sucks,” said Spider-Man.

“Jericho Drumm knows those lands, he can serve as your guide,” said Doctor Strange.

“Wait, you mean you’re teaming me up with Brother Voodoo?” asked Spider-Man. “Look, I appreciate the thought and all, and even though you’re a pretty creepy guy in your own right, that guy’s ten times creepier. He’s like what would happen if Christopher Walken and Christopher Lee had a creepy love child.”

“I’ll go with,” said Hellstorm. “If this deals with the dead, I have a feeling Hell may be affected also.”

“Oh this just keeps getting better and better…” muttered Spider-Man.

“Richmond should come, too,” said Hellstorm.

Kyle looked shocked. “I don’t remember raising any hands.”

“What will you do against the Sentry and the Hulk, annoy them to death?” asked Hellstorm.

“Hey, now just wait a—”

“I’m sorry, Kyle. But Daimon’s right,” said Doctor Strange. “You won’t be effective if things escalate between the Sentry and the Hulk. But you could be very effective in this case.”

Hellstorm offered a sly grin at Richmond.

“So the rest of us will go after the Sentry and the Hulk, I’m guessing?” asked Sleepwalker.

“Give me some time to try and locate them and then we leave,” said Doctor Strange. “Daimon, you should take Spider-Man and Nighthawk to New Orleans immediately.”

“Of course,” said Hellstorm as a flaming portal tore open in the middle of the room. Spider-Man looked through it uneasily and then turned to Hellstorm. “I don’t remember the Big Easy having flaming pits and demons whipping chained humans.”

“You’ve obviously been to the wrong parties, web-slinger,” said Nighthawk.

“My portals are linked through Hell,” said Daimon. “You’ll only be there for a moment.”

Spider-Man sighed. “The fun never stops at Casa de Strange.”

The Caro Institute

One of the guards flew across the room, striking the wall just as the door beside it slid open. Two men stood in the doorway—one was older with a graying beard and long hair and the other taller and younger, his head completely bare. Both were dressed in fine, black suits and wore round sunglasses and both had their hands in the pockets of their trousers. Neither man seemed the least bit disturbed by the scene before them.

“Why Mr. Moore, I do believe our little Valkyrie has woken up,” said the bald man.

“You would seem to be correct, Mr. Grant,” said the older man.

Samantha Parrington, clad in the uniform she wore at the mental institution, had broken free from her bonds. And now, she was in the process of fighting off no less than six guards who tried to restrain her. She kicked one of them and the momentum slammed him against the roof. Mr. Grant and Mr. Moore simply followed his rapid ascent and descent with their gaze, not even slightly surprised.

“I daresay Mr. White would not be pleased with these events,” said Mr. Grant.

Mr. Moore shook his head solemnly. “I fear you may be correct, Mr. Grant. Frightfully sorry to ask, but would you mind terribly calming her down?”

Mr. Grant offered a slight smile. “How generous of you to offer, Mr. Moore. It would be my esteemed pleasure to have a word with our little Valkyrie.”

As he stepped closer to Parrington, Mr. Grant’s right hand rose from his pocket and went to his sunglasses. The guards were now all scattered on the floor around her and Parrington fixed her gaze to the bald man. Her eyes burned with hatred and if he had given her the chance, the Valkyrie would have torn his head from his shoulders.

But he didn’t.

“Ms. Parrington, if you would be so kind as to look into my eyes…” Mr. Grant slowly raised his sunglasses. His eye sockets were completely void, but there was something else inside. Something that caused Samantha Parrington’s world to turn upside down. Everything became inverted, with colors bleeding from the walls. The Valkyrie couldn’t tell if she was falling or flying. She could find no basis of reality after staring into that deep void.

Within seconds, the Valkyrie had retreated and Samantha Parrington sat in a corner curled into a little ball. Weeping.

Mr. Grant lowered the sunglasses and looked at the guards who lay around the room. “Now, whatsoever shall we do with these fine gents?”

“Oh, you needn’t worry about them, Mr. Grant,” said Mr. Moore, a mischievous grin playing on his face. “I’m feeling a might peckish at the moment.”

“You are quite the disturbing individual if I may say so, Mr. Moore.”

“You are too kind, Mr. Grant.”

New Orleans

A flaming tear opened on the streets of the Big Easy, which Hellstorm, Nighthawk and Spider-Man emerged from. Once they set foot onto the street, Spider-Man keeled over slightly, clutching his stomach.

“Okay…so that was Hell…” he said. “Can we…never do that again? Like, ever?”

“Hmph, weak-kneed mortal,” muttered Hellstorm, his trident in hand. “Come, we have work to do.”

Nighthawk placed his hand on Spider-Man’s back, patting it a little. “It’s tough to deal with, I know. First time I went through Hell, I had nightmares for a year.”

“Alright, I think my stomach is back in place now,” said Spider-Man, standing upright. “So, let’s go meet the other scary magic man.”

They rose the steps to Jericho Drumm’s home and before they reached the door, it swung open. Brother Voodoo stood before them, already dressed in his familiar look, a skull painted over his face.

“What took you so long?” he asked. “Been waitin’ for you since I got Strange’s message. C’mon in.”

He left the door, leading the way inside to a large room. On the floor was a symbol of some kind painted red and candles lit around it with incense burning. Brother Voodoo handed each of the three men a small sack attached to a long cord.

“What’s this?” asked Nighthawk.

“Gris-gris, wear them around your necks, they’ll protect you while we’re there,” he said.

Spider-Man raised it to his nose and instantly pulled it away. “Damn, what’s in these things?”

Brother Voodoo smiled. “Don’t think you wanna know. Now everyone sit at a different point.”

He led by example, laying his staff across his lap. The other three men sat at different points Brother Voodoo designated with a simple gesture.

“Close your eyes,” he said. As they did, he began chanting. Spider-Man couldn’t make out a single word and he noticed the incense became stronger. The flames on the candles flickered from a non-existent wind. The temperature in the room dropped dramatically. The incense soon became overpowering and finally, the candles all blew out.

Brother Voodoo opened his eyes first and rose. “It’s done.”

Spider-Man looked around and saw that, other than the candles being blown out, nothing had changed. “…I don’t think it worked, Rob Zombie. Nothing’s changed, we’re still in your place.”

Brother Voodoo walked over to the wall. He placed his hand on it and it suddenly fell down. Past the wall was definitely not New Orleans. Instead, it was some sort of barren wasteland with dark red skies and black clouds.

“Welcome to the realm of the dead, my friends.”