Spider-Man and The Esper

108. Forgiveness

The green blades of grass beneath him were turning red with his blood and the rain could not wash it away. If he were any kind of lucid right now he would have thought how much of a mess he was making in his mother's grave and how much of a disrespect to his memory that was. But the blood loss was taking care of much of his bodily functions right now. He could feel his lungs filling with blood, making every breath a messy and violent cough and the tips of his fingers becoming numb and cold. Not that cold and numbness was an issue here in the graveyard in the middle of such a downpour.

His costume, or the remnants of it anyway, was sticking to his skin uncomfortably, working as makeshift bandages for the multitude of cuts, bruises and puncture wounds that covered almost every inch of his beaten body, spilling precious life onto the grave and the dirt, making the soil drink it like a blood starved vampire. Morbid and depressing, that was his death.

This was death. He was dying and he knew it. There was no getting out of this one. No daring escape, no last minute powerup, no miracle cure, no cosmic intervention, no magical mcguffin to save his life at the last second, no reinforcements and no allies to pull him out of the fire; he was completely and utterly alone.

And he was fine with that.

Except he was not fine with that.

But he really had no one else to blame but himself. He made this bed. Now he was going to sleep in it. No matter how uncomfortable and downright depressing it might be.

Who would have thought that the amazing spider man, a hero of new york, would end up becoming...this.

A criminal.

A murderer.

A monster.

I deserve this, he thinks as he goes blind in one eye due to the blood dripping into it. The rain can't wash it away. Self Loathing has always been one of his most defining traits but now it is tuned up to eleven. And with good reason. Dying really gives one perspective on all one has done in life. The good.

And the bad.

And dear god there is so much bad.

Wait, that does not sound like his thoughts.

He can see him. Standing in all his hellish glory, right in front of him, the rain going through him as if he was nothing more than an after image. His yellow eyes glowing like twin flames. Flames from hell. His red cape swishing to the wind, though he suspected that it would anyway even with no wind to support it. He was dramatic like that.

Carnage, the embodiment of chaos and evil itself, was smiling at him.

It sent a chill down his spine, even though he was plenty cold already.

It was the kind of smile you see on a father that has witnessed his son score the point that won the team the game. Or the kind of smile a father gives his son when he brings a hot date home.

The kind of smile his mother gave him.

It made him sick to his stomach. How dare him look at me like that, he thinks but does not say it. It doesn't matter anymore. He failed.

And he won.

He fell. He fell so hard. And now he is ruined. His name. His reputation. His honor. His identity. All of him is ruined. One last good deed wont change that. He knows it. Mephisto knows it, otherwise he wouldn't be here on his last moments on this earth. To remind him exactly of where he is going. Of where he sent himself over.

He can see his lips moving. He is talking to him but he can't hear him. All he can hear is a loud ringing and the sound of rain. He supposes it is a blessing, not having to hear him going on and on on how he had finally beaten him, how he is nothing compared to him, how he is going to take over the world eventually or some shit like that. Villains and their monologues. They really love the sound of their own voice.