Absolute Spider-Man Chapter 11: Sorcerers, Demons and Burning Skulls.

Chapter 11: Sorcerers, Demons and Burning Skulls.

(General P.O.V)

The air above Fisk Tower was chaos.

Orange rings of fire bloomed in the air, folding open into portals.

From them and onto the roof, stepped Stephen Strange and a dozen sorcerers, their robes snapping in the hot wind.

Wong took one look at the swarm of leathery wings pouring from the massive rift above the skyscraper and muttered, “This is a shit fest.”

“They’re Helions,” Strange said, voice clipped. “Lesser demons. Thank the Vishanti for small mercies.” He didn’t stop moving, already gesturing to the nearest pair of adepts. “Form a containment field around the building. No one leaves—human or demon.”

Below, the windows of the penthouse exploded outward. Glass rained into the streets as a figure tangled in snarling, clawed bodies came spinning through the air.

Spider-Man.

Strange’s eyes followed the fall. “Wong—you have the field. I’ll handle something else.”

“What, you’re going to go—” Wong started, but Strange was already stepping into a portal.

Peter was still falling.

He'd been on his way to the top floor, when he was rudely intercepted by these things. And now, the Helions were everywhere—biting, clawing, shrieking in his ears. His fists cracked into one jaw, his heel snapped into another’s ribs. He felt one latch onto his shoulder and rip away the straps holding his rigged emp canon.

“Get—off—” He slammed both feet into its chest, kicking it away just as he was about to hit the ground.

Then a portal opened beneath him and swallowed his body before impact.

He landed hard—boots scraping across concrete—rolled, and came up in a crouch. His head whipped left, right.

No demons. Though, his danger sense buzzed at a constant low.

Instead, a tall man with a clean moustache and a deep blue cloak stood with hands behind his back, watching him.

“I’m Doctor Stephen Strange,” the man said evenly. “Sorcerer Supreme.”

Peter blinked, catching his breath. “Come again…?”

“I just told you,” Strange replied, gaze dropping briefly to Peter’s hands. “By the way—impressive stingers.”

Peter frowned, following the look—and froze.

Two sharp, steaming black spikes jutted from his palms, glistening faintly in the rooftop light. That was...new. The blinking icon at the edge of his vision suggested he'd unlocked a new skill. He left it for later as he imagined pulling the stingers back in and they retracted.

Peter raised his head, taking in the man’s flowing cloak and stern expression. “You don’t really look like a doctor.”

Strange’s mouth twitched. “These days, I’m more of a gatekeeper. Making sure unwanted visitors from other realms don’t wander into Earth.”

“Uh-huh… and how exactly do you—”

A high-pitched shriek cut him off. A Helion dove for Strange, claws spread wide.

Before Peter could move, a glowing orange, scalpel-shaped blade of Eldritch energy flashed through the air, cleaving the demon clean in two. Its body evaporated into black smoke.

“With sorcery,” Strange said, flicking the weapon away as it dissolved into sparks. “Or magic. Keep up."

He rose into the air, cloak flaring, and streaked toward the writhing swarm spilling from the portal above Fisk Tower. Runes burned in his hands, exploding outward in arcs of searing light that sliced wings, shattered horns, and sent Helions shrieking back toward the sky.

Peter took the ground route—leaping rooftops, snapping web lines, yanking terrified civilians out of claw range before vaulting to the next building.

A wall of green flame from Strange’s spells incinerated a cluster of demons overhead before the sorcerer dropped down beside him on the street.

“My people can handle the Helions,” Strange said. “You need to close the portal before something bigger comes through.”

Peter looked up at the blazing tear in the sky. “And how exactly am I supposed to do that? This doesn’t look like science. Science I can do.”

Strange turned toward the far end of the street, scanning the horizon. “You’ll figure it out. But you need to leave now—before he arrives.”

Peter followed his gaze, squinting—then stiffened. “Is that a skull on a burning Harley?!”

Strange’s voice dropped, grim. “Proper name is the Ghost Rider. Spirit of Vengeance. He’s here to cause more trouble than good.”

“Right,” Peter said quickly. “You handle Face-Off with Bone Guy. I’ll take out Kingpin. I’ve got a score to settle with that fat bastard.”

Before he could fire a web, Strange stepped into his path and tossed something small and metallic. Peter caught it—a ring with twin golden bands.

“It’s a sling ring,” Strange said. “It’ll come in handy...later. And be careful—Kingpin won’t be alone. His backer is the King of Hell himself… Mephisto.”

That didn't sound good.

Peter tightened his grip on the ring. “Great. No pressure.”

(Peter's P.O.V)

Running straight up a skyscraper was one thing.

Doing it while swarms of screaming demons hurled fire at me was another.

Every move was instinct and reflex—web, sting, dodge, repeat. The stingers punched through Helion hides, bursting them into ash mid-screech. It didn’t matter. More spilled out of the portal above like a busted hornet’s nest from hell.

One of them opened its maw and spat a column of green flame. My spider-sense flared hot and I dove sideways, palms sticking to the glass, sliding horizontal across the building’s face. Heat licked past where my head had been a second ago.

There—metal from my earlier fight with the Kingpin six. A bent beam jutting from the glass. I snapped a web to it, yanked hard, and the thing came screaming down through the swarm. The impact smashed a cluster of Helions into dust. I used the line’s recoil like a Slingshot, hurling the beam back upward, cleaving through another pack before it vanished into the burning rift.

Somewhere above, a news chopper hovered. I could imagine what they were seeing—a guy in black and green playing racquetball with demons on a skyscraper. I just hoped Gwen and May weren’t watching.

I webbed the underside of the chopper, swung over its belly, and used the momentum to land clean on the rooftop.

The first thing that hit me wasn’t the heat—it was the smell. Burnt flesh and coppery blood. My boots splashed in it before I even registered the shapes on the ground. Bodies. Torn apart. Charred. All in orange-and-yellow robes… Strange’s people.

I swallowed hard and forced my eyes forward. Two figures remained—one on his knees, clutching the raw stump where an arm used to be. Asian guy. The other… massive. White suit stretched over a frame that could block a doorway. Wilson Fisk. Kingpin.

Wong spat blood onto Fisk’s polished shoe. “Do it… you soulless traitor.”

Fisk glanced down at the mark on his shoe, brow twitching. Then his hand—already slick with blood—wrapped around Wong’s head. He was about to crush it.

I didn’t think. I moved.

My punch caught him clean on the jaw, the shock traveling up my arm even as he was launched backward. He hit the staircase door hard enough to tear it from the frame and tumbled down the dark stairwell.

I planted myself between Wong and the stairs, eyes locked on the shadowed opening. Without looking away, I fired a quick line to Wong’s bleeding stump, sealing it tight.

“Thank you,” he gritted out, “but where is Stephen? We need him.”

“Dealing with Ghost Rider,” I said. “He sent me.”

“Vishanti help us then,” Wong muttered. “For we are doomed.”

My gaze swept the rooftop. In the center, floating above the cracked concrete, was the source of the problem: a cane wreathed in blue fire, head shaped around a glowing core. Dozens of Helions wheeled in tight circles around it like vultures protecting a carcass.

“Mayday,” I subvocalized. “Any life signs near the cane?”

Negative, my helpful ai chirped in my ear.

I took a step toward it. “You’re injured. I can—”

“I stay,” Wong interrupted, forcing himself upright. “We’ll need each other to close the portal.”

I was about to argue when a hiss cut the air. Chains, glowing red-hot and trailing flames, whipped past me and coiled around Wong. He was yanked toward the stairwell.

Not happening. I shot webs to his chest, bracing with both hands. The pull almost ripped my arms from their sockets. My feet dragged grooves in the rooftop. Whoever was on the other end was stronger than me—and that didn’t happen often. Danger sense was also steadily amping up.

“Hold on! I’ll—”

“Forget me!” Wong shouted over the roar of fire. “Close the portal!”

“No!” I dug in harder.

Then the heat spiked. Hellfire surged along the chains, straight into my webs. They snapped, melting away in the same instant Wong’s entire body combusted. There was no scream—just ash blowing out of the coils.

I froze for half a heartbeat. Horror and fury locked my chest.

A laugh rose from the stairwell. Slow footsteps followed, heavy and deliberate.

“So,” a voice rumbled, “you’re the bug that’s been messing up my operation?”

Every nerve in my body lit up. Spider-sense screamed. I took one step back as Fisk stepped into the open, not a scratch on him from the punch before.

This wasn’t just Fisk or Kingpin anymore. His skin was gone in patches, exposing muscle and scorched bone beneath.

Hellfire burned in the pits of his eyes. Wrapped around his wrists were chains tipped with hooks, dragging along the rooftop, sparking on concrete.

Someone got an upgrade; exhibiting uncanny powers similar to the Ghost Rider dude, Strange stayed behind to stop.

Danger sense insisted run. Fear echoed the sentiment.

I didn’t.

I met his gaze. “And you’re Wilson Fisk. The Kingpin.”

My fists clenched, with resurging anger. “You and I have a problem, buddy. And you just made it worse.”