Power of Hercules in MCU - Chapter 14
Chapter 14: The Unconventional Cure
Rudra was deep in a meditative trance, attempting to chart the intricate pathways of his own internal energy flow as dictated by the Hercules Method, when the sound pierced his concentration. It wasn’t loud – a faint, desperate series of thumps against his apartment door, followed by a slumping sound, almost too soft to hear. But his senses, honed by 28 levels of rigorous training, were preternaturally acute. His parents were long asleep in their room down the hall; the rest of the apartment was dark and silent. This was an anomaly.
He rose from his cross-legged position on the floor, his movements fluid and silent. The Hercules Method panel glowed faintly in his vision, a constant reminder of his altered state. He approached the door, his senses on high alert. He could hear ragged, shallow breathing on the other side, smell the faint, metallic tang of blood mixed with something else… something acrid and wrong.
He peered through the peephole. The hallway was dimly lit, but he could make out a figure slumped against his door, a splash of white fabric, blonde hair disheveled. His heart gave a sudden, hard jolt.
He unlocked and opened the door.
Gwen Stacy – or rather, a battered, barely recognizable version of her – practically fell into his arms. She was no longer wearing the full Ghost-Spider hood and mask he’d seen in news reports, but remnants of the distinctive white suit were visible beneath a torn civilian jacket she must have thrown on. Her face was pale, bruised, streaked with grime and sweat. A dark stain was spreading on her left thigh. She was trembling uncontrollably, her eyes half-closed, unfocused.
“Gwen?” Rudra said, his voice carefully calibrated to sound shocked, surprised, as if he were merely finding his injured classmate at his door. Internally, his mind was racing, connecting her appearance to the news of Ghost-Spider, the Scorpion, the agony sting. He knew, with a chilling certainty, what this likely was. “Oh my god, Gwen, what happened to you? Are you okay?”
Her eyes flickered open, trying to focus on him. “Rudra…” she whispered, her voice a raw, broken thread. “Help… me…” And then her eyes rolled back, her body going limp in his arms, her head lolling against his shoulder.
He quickly maneuvered her inside, his enhanced strength making her almost weightless, and silently closed and locked the door. He couldn’t risk taking her to the main living area. His parents…
His bedroom was the only option. It was small, but it was private. He carried her there, his mind a whirlwind of calculations and grim possibilities, and gently laid her on his narrow bed.
She was moaning softly now, her body wracked with tremors, her face contorted in an agony that was horrifying to behold even in her semi-conscious state. He could see the tear in her jeans on her left thigh, the fabric around it dark and damp. The metallic scent of blood was stronger here, mingled with that strange, venomous odor.
“Gwen, stay with me,” he murmured, though he wasn’t sure if she could hear him. He needed to see the extent of the damage, the nature of the poison he suspected.
He activated his Enhanced Vision.
The sight that greeted him made his breath catch in his throat. Beneath the surface of her skin, around the jagged, twin puncture wounds on her thigh that were the undeniable signature of the Scorpion, a virulent, blackish-purple neurotoxin pulsed like a malevolent entity. It spread in insidious, glowing tendrils through her bloodstream, coiling around nerve pathways, causing them to light up with an almost unbearable intensity in his vision. He could see the agony, see how it was attacking her nervous system directly, a relentless, escalating assault. It was spreading fast, a creeping tide of liquid fire.
He knew, with absolute certainty, that if he didn’t act immediately, she would die, or worse, suffer irreparable neurological damage before the pain drove her to the brink of madness and self-destruction, just as the news reports had described for the Scorpion’s other victims.
His mind raced. A hospital was out. They wouldn’t understand this. Her secret would be exposed. He had no anti-venom, no advanced medical equipment. All he had was his knowledge, his burgeoning abilities from the Hercules Method, and a desperate, clawing need to save her.
He remembered the panel’s description of the Method: “unparalleled control over one’s own biological and energetic systems.” And with Level 28, his own vitality and understanding of the body were significantly enhanced. He thought of ancient healing arts, of pressure points, of ways to influence the body’s energy and perhaps slow the toxin’s advance.
Using his Enhanced Vision, he could clearly see the major nerve clusters and meridians in her leg that were being overwhelmed by the toxin. He identified several key points, junctions where he might be able to temporarily disrupt the flow of pain signals or slightly impede the venom’s spread.
“Hold on, Gwen,” he whispered, his voice tight with concentration.
He gently moved her leg, his fingers probing, then pressing firmly onto a specific point just above her knee. He channeled a minute amount of his own internal energy, a technique he was only just beginning to understand through the Hercules Method, focusing it into the pressure.
Gwen arched her back, a choked cry escaping her lips, then, almost imperceptibly, the violent tremors wracking her body seemed to lessen by a fraction. Her breathing, though still ragged, became a hair less frantic.
He moved to another point, then another, working his way up her thigh, his Enhanced Vision guiding his every touch, showing him the subtle shifts in the venom’s aggressive spread, the slight dimming of the agonizing glow in her nerves as he applied pressure. It was like trying to build a temporary dam against a raging flood. It was providing some relief, a momentary easing of her torment, but he could see it was not enough. The toxin was too potent, too pervasive. It was still advancing, still consuming her.
He needed to get it out.
The thought, when it first surfaced, was horrifying in its primitiveness, its desperation.
Suction. To draw the poison out of the wound with his own mouth.
His mind recoiled. The risks were enormous. He would inevitably ingest some of the venom. He had no idea what it would do to him, even with his enhanced physiology. The Hercules Method promised resilience, but this was a toxin specifically designed to cause unimaginable agony, to break down biological systems. And the intimacy of the act, pressing his mouth to her injured thigh… it was a line he hadn’t imagined crossing.
But then he looked at Gwen’s face, her features contorted even in her near-unconsciousness, a single tear tracing a path through the grime on her cheek. He saw the dark tendrils of the poison in his Enhanced Vision, inching closer to her core, threatening to overwhelm her completely. The alternative – to watch her suffer and die, or be driven to a pain-induced madness – was unthinkable. His brief encounter with her, their awkward pact, the shared secret of that morning, had forged a strange, undeniable connection. He couldn’t just let her perish.
His Level 28 vitality, his burgeoning immortality… what was it worth if he stood by and did nothing? Perhaps his enhanced system could fight off a diluted amount of the poison. It was a desperate gamble, but it was the only one he had left.
“Alright, Gwen,” he murmured, more to himself than to her, his decision made. “This is going to be… unconventional.”
He gently, carefully, tore the fabric of her jeans wider around the wound, exposing the angry, inflamed puncture marks more clearly. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his own nerves. He could feel the faint, acrid scent of the venom even from here. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing his will, then leaned down.
He pressed his lips over the twin wounds, creating a seal, and began to draw, a steady, powerful suction. The taste that filled his mouth was vile, a horrifying cocktail of blood, metallic tang, and an indescribable bitterness that burned his tongue and throat. He could feel the poison, malevolent ichor being drawn from her tissues into his mouth.
He pulled back, spitting the corrupted saliva into a wastebasket he’d dragged closer. His throat burned, and a wave of dizziness washed over him. He could already feel a faint, tingling numbness spreading from his mouth, a disturbing echo of the agony he was trying to save Gwen from.
He ignored it, leaned down, and repeated the process. Again, and again. Each time, he drew out more of the dark venom, spitting it away, fighting back his own body’s revulsion. He could see, through his Enhanced Vision, the concentration of the toxin around the wound site slowly, painstakingly, decreasing. The angry, inflamed glow in her nerves began to recede slightly from the immediate area.
He lost track of time, focused only on the grim task, on Gwen’s shallow breathing, on the diminishing darkness of the venom he drew out. His own head was beginning to throb, a strange, fiery ache spreading behind his eyes. His mouth and throat felt raw, scorched. He could feel his own heart rate accelerating, his body already beginning to fight the portion of the toxin he had inevitably ingested.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he could draw out no more of the dark fluid, only blood tinged faintly with the remaining poison. He looked at Gwen. The violent tremors had subsided. Her breathing was deeper, more regular, though still too shallow. The agonizing contortion of her features had eased into a semblance of exhausted, pain-ridden sleep. The vibrant, angry glow of the toxin in her system, as seen by his Enhanced Vision, had significantly diminished, though tendrils of it still snaked through her bloodstream, a lingering threat.
He had gotten a significant portion out. Maybe, just maybe, enough.
He slumped back, his own body now trembling with a mixture of exhaustion and the early effects of the poison. His head spun, and a wave of nausea hit him. He had saved her from the brink, but the battle was far from over. A small, insidious amount of the Scorpion’s venom now resided in both their systems.
He looked at Gwen’s unconscious form, her blonde hair matted with sweat, her face pale but no longer twisted in that unbearable agony. He had crossed a profound line tonight, not just in using his powers, but in the desperate intimacy of his actions. Their fates, already strangely linked by a morning of shared secrets, were now bound even tighter by a shared poison.
He was exhausted, physically and emotionally drained, and now, he too was compromised. But Gwen was alive. For now, that was all that mattered. He just had to hope that their enhanced bodies, hers from a spider, his from a legendary method, could fight off the remnants of the nightmare they had both narrowly survived.