Chapter 103: One More Time - part 2

"I will first separate your soul and turn it into a spiritual astral body."

A magic circle formed in Stephen’s right hand. With his free left hand, he pointed toward the sleeping Michelle.

"And then, I will send you into her inner world."

"Her… inner world?"

"A dreamlike world that exists within her heart, born from fragments of memory and soul."

…In the end, his explanation was so abstract that I still didn’t really understand.

"Her body is alive… By tracing the link from her soul back to the inner world created by her body and brain, I will send you to the root of her soul."

"…I think I understand, somewhat."

At my words, Stephen gave a faint smile.

"That’s fine. Somewhat is enough. In the end, the logic itself isn’t what matters to you."

My eyes fell. Michelle lay there, still covered in blood, still sleeping.

"What matters is not being swallowed. Peter, you will fall into the torrent of her memories… but if you let your spirit break there—"

Stephen raised a finger.

"—then saving her won’t even be on the table. Your astral body will be destroyed, and you will die completely."

I swallowed hard without meaning to. It was just nerves… I wasn’t afraid. No, not exactly. But if I were to die for a reason like that… then I couldn’t save her. That thought was terrifying. More than death itself.

"And then, you must follow the connection to her soul, descend into Hell… and negotiate with the demon who stole it."

"…Understood."

A demon who steals souls… To negotiate with the one who took hers felt ridiculous. Her soul belongs to her, and yet, he’s treating it as though it were his own possession.

As I was thinking this, Stephen looked me straight in the eyes.

"Peter. There isn’t much time left… Are you truly ready?"

"…Yes! I’m ready, anytime."

I had already resolved myself long ago. The resolve to save her, the resolve to face danger, even the resolve to lose everything.

"…Is there anything you want to say before you go?"

He was being considerate, asking something like that. Anything I want to say? …There’s only one thing.

"…If Michelle asks about me… could you not tell her anything?"

"Why?"

"…Because she’d blame herself."

Stephen let out a breath and closed his eyes. Michelle is kind… If she knew I put myself in danger for her sake, she would blame herself. And I don’t want that. I want her to keep smiling, without being hurt by anything. Not even by herself. That’s why she doesn’t need to know.

"…Understood. I promise."

"Thank you, Stephen."

He opened his eyes and looked at me.

"…From here, I will separate your astral body and send it into her."

Stephen’s hand reached toward Michelle. At her chest, a dark, vivid-colored hole opened up. …This was the path to saving Michelle.

"…Thank you. I know I’ve asked a lot—"

"It’s fine. I don’t blame you."

Our eyes met. His face looked pained.

"Goodbye, Peter Parker. At the very least… I’ll remember you."

Stephen’s hand touched me. In that instant, everything slowed down. My body felt so light. As though I were floating… weightless, unable to tell which way was down…

And then, I was drawn into the gaping black hole.

Voices, figures.
Scenes, thoughts.
Scents, sensations.
Joy, anger, sorrow, pity, suffering, pain, envy, affection, boredom, hope, dreams, despair.

All of it blended together and crashed against me.

『…!』

No sound came out.

Falling? Rising? I couldn’t even tell which.

All I knew was that I was being drawn deeper and deeper inside.

Bit by bit, deeper and deeper.

In the pitch-dark world, shimmering fragments of color. Twisted streams of light. A torrent of memories.

A world visible even with my eyes shut, overwhelming me… and then—I saw them.

Bubbles of light, glowing in rainbow hues, floating.

I passed between them… and then.

I was swallowed by a dark, dim bubble.

---

It was a pure white room. So unnaturally white it felt poisonous, with only a bed placed inside.

I was sitting there.

I…?

No, not me. I’m me.

Remember why you came here.

I am—

『Number 13, step outside.』

Number 13. Is that… a name?

My body moved on its own, separate from my thoughts. …Something felt off about the height of my viewpoint.

My arms and legs were thin, short.

…Ah, this must be Michelle’s memory.

I—no, Michelle—was wearing plain white clothes. A simple outfit, almost like a hospital gown.

She obeyed the voice from the speaker and stepped out of the room.

Outside… several soldiers stood waiting, their faces hidden by sleek, black full-face masks. Weapons in their hands.

Michelle followed silently behind them.

Eventually, they led her into another room. The soldiers left her there.

The room’s walls were white like before… but stained with rusty red marks.

The door closed behind her. With a click, the lamp above it changed from green to red.

On the opposite wall, another door stood. It opened… and a frightened girl entered.

"…ah…"

The girl’s eyes landed on Michelle’s face, and she recoiled in fear.

『Number 13, Number 68, fight to the death.』

The voice echoed from the speaker.

…Michelle began walking toward the girl. Bare, unshod feet pattered softly on the floor.

"W-wait!"

Even when the girl cried out to stop her, Michelle didn’t halt.

Step by step, closing in.

"Stop, let’s stop this…!"

Closer. Closer.

"Please, it hurts… it’s scary…!"

Closer still… and then.

Before Michelle could move her hand, the girl’s hand shot out first.

Michelle stepped back, putting distance between them. A dull silver gleam flashed before her eyes.

A fork. Metal.

She had hidden it away, and now she lashed out with it.

"What… what? Is it wrong to hide something like this…?"

Michelle said nothing.

"You— you were gonna kill me first! Say something!"

She said nothing.

Driven by panic, the girl thrust the fork in her hand toward Michelle.

Michelle deflected it with her hand, seized her wrist.

A small, sharp crack.

The sound of a joint breaking.

"Ah—"

Before the girl could even cry out, Michelle’s fist slammed into her neck. She kicked at her legs, broke her stance, and then struck her face.

Blood spattered.

"St—stop—!"

Michelle tore the fork from the girl’s hand, her fingers already discolored red and black. And then… she drove it toward the girl’s eye—

Stop.

The words almost slipped from me. But no sound came out.

No one could hear me.

Blood sprayed.

Screams rang out.

"No—no! It hurts!"

Michelle didn’t stop.

She methodically broke the girl’s body down. Soon the girl said nothing at all, only trembled.

『Number 13, kill.』

And Michelle… strangled the girl’s neck—

And snapped it.

---

The next memory I saw must have been from much later. Michelle’s limbs had grown longer, and she already had that slightly inhuman strength I’d come to know.

Michelle’s nails were being torn out.

Even as I experienced it through her, agony shot through me. I couldn’t cry out, my voice would not come—but it was pain so sharp I wanted to scream.

Michelle was strapped to a metal chair.

『Number 13, no abnormalities. Continue pain-tolerance training.』

The voice echoed from a speaker as a man in black clothes gripped her nail with pliers.

A searing agony, the kind that made the brain feel as though it were burning.

The kind of pain that could make you lose consciousness if you let your guard down for even a moment.

…But still, she endured.

Michelle had lived through this… that’s why, that’s why, that’s why I had to endure too.

It hurt.

It was unbearable.

It made me sick.

All kinds of negative emotions filled my chest.

Michelle made no sound. Her face didn’t even twitch. She simply absorbed that storm of malice and agony in silence.

This was something that had already happened. I couldn’t change it.

All I could do was re-experience the same torment Michelle had once felt.

Endure.

It’s all right. I can endure it.

No matter how close I come to breaking… I have to save her.

So I won’t lose.

Because this was the pain she endured… I can endure it too.

---

The next memory I saw was… a sight drenched in red.

She tore apart what looked like a researcher with a knife, ripping them into pieces.

She killed many.

Those who fled, those who resisted, those who begged for their lives.

She killed them.

Through the mask she wore, she could smell the stench of blood.

This was some kind of laboratory… underground.
The door that should have been the exit had been bent out of shape by Michel, making it impossible to leave.

With no escape, she killed everyone.

She wandered forward, aimless… even when they fired at her, even when they struck back, she closed the distance without hesitation and stabbed them to death.

Avoiding vital spots, she kept pushing through—injured again and again… yet she killed.

Her wounded body would heal within minutes.
She… healed fast.

Kill, kill, kill.

She killed more than she could count on both hands… then Michel suddenly glanced at the desk.

There was… a newspaper.
It must have belonged to one of the dead researchers… half of it was ruined by spilled coffee, unreadable.

But the top half, with the Avengers article, was intact.
Michel stopped moving and stared at it.

Michel, who until now had shown no trace of emotion… was reading the newspaper intently.

"...Captain America."

She picked it up and looked at the picture.

"Iron Man, Thor, Hulk."

The face she made, I couldn’t see. Not from here, not as the one sharing her experience.

"Black Widow, Hawkeye…"

But I could sense it—just faintly—the feeling of her lips softening.
That was the very first time I felt it: the moment she tried to smile.

Amid a room drenched in blood and guts, Michel… found hope.

---

The next thing I saw was a worn-down apartment room.

Away from the white chamber… it seemed she had finally gained time for herself.

Every morning, she bought a newspaper… and, sometimes, killed people.

If a magazine or newspaper cover featured heroes, she bought it without hesitation and brought it home.
She lined them up on a bookshelf… which soon became completely full.

She cut out only the hero-related articles from the magazines and newspapers… pasted them onto blank sheets.
Bound them in a binder, discarded the rest.

…She was making a scrapbook.
She caressed it fondly… and stored it on the shelf.

Then she opened the closet… put on a black suit.
Slipped on her red helmet-like mask… and went out to kill again.

Day after day after day, this continued.
Whether it was Christmas, Easter, snow, or rain, it didn’t matter what the day was.

She would drift outside… and kill.

Leaving behind countless corpses… she picked up the morning paper.

Drinking coffee so sweet with sugar it seemed impossible she could still taste it… she read.

Then suddenly, her hand froze.

"Ah…"

What was there… was a man in red and blue tights.

An article about when he caught the master of disguise, "Chameleon."
…The first truly dangerous villain I had ever caught, with incredible abilities.

The paper made it a major headline… and Michel saw it.

"...Spider-Man."

She whispered the name… and the newspaper became damp.
It wasn’t from a roof leak… which meant, this was—her own…

Wiping her eyes, Michel cut into the page with scissors.
Her hand trembled slightly.

She pasted the article onto clean paper… placed it into a new binder.
It was a scrapbook unlike the others, dedicated just to him.

She gazed at it in silence.
From the edge of her vision I shared, I caught her face reflected faintly in a mirror.

…She was smiling.
She had never smiled once before… and yet, just from looking at a newspaper article… just from learning of Spider-Man’s existence, she smiled.

It was like a single ray of light piercing into the murk of her darkened, clouded emotions.

---

I don’t know how many memories I relived.

Most of them were filled with pain… yet, at times, Michel found joy.

Her anchor… was me.
Her admiration for Spider-Man.

…It made me feel a little embarrassed.
But at the same time, I was happy.
And I was sad.

She kept falling, twisting, drowning… and I had to hurry, I had to save her.

Yet within her memories… I couldn’t tell what I should hold onto, which path to follow to reach her…

And then—

I felt like I was being called.

A voice.

But it wasn’t Michel’s voice.

A white light stretched forward…

No—those were threads.

It pulled me in… and lifted me up.

『This way!』

Who was that?
…My voice.

Why my voice?
The figure was…

A man in a red mask.
…Spider-Man.

Me?

But it wasn’t the nanomachine suit I wore now.
It was the fabric, handmade classic suit I had worn for years.

Red and blue, with black webbing—Spider-Man.
The old version of me was pulling me up.

Who?
No, it’s me.

But why me?

I was pulled closer… and suddenly, I slipped into another memory.
A dim… blood-red world.

"Wait, this is… huh?"

My voice came out.
Puzzled, I touched my neck—Spider-Man was gone.

…That must have been Michel’s image of Spider-Man.
He was taller than me, for one.
Unlike the handmade suit I made, there weren’t any loose threads.

Even the voice… sounded more dignified.
Probably an idealized version of me.

…I’m really not that cool, Michel.

And this place… doesn’t feel like memory anymore.
Darkness spreads endlessly.
A sour, acrid smell.

Underfoot… soft.
Like I was stepping on flesh.

…No. It was flesh.

Human flesh.

The ground was piled high with corpses, making the floor itself.

And I recognized them.
These bodies… I’d seen them before.

The researchers Michel killed.
The girl from training at the Organization.
The cops who got in her way.

…And that one?
Mysterio.

A man in a purple suit, too.

I frowned.

"…What a sick sense of interior design."

Feeling the squishy texture beneath my feet, I kept walking.
Where to?

I didn’t know.
But somehow… Spider-Sense was pulling me in this direction.

There was a powerful malice ahead.

That must be—

『Welcome, Peter Parker.』

The one they call Demon.

The darkness parted… the sky dyed red.
The color of blood.

…Peter Parker, huh.

"Wow, I guess I’m kind of a celebrity, huh?"

I didn’t let my guard down.
Instead, I put on an act—showing I wasn’t afraid, tossing out a quip while I took stock of the situation.

『Oh yes, you’re quite the celebrity…』

A man with blood-red skin… cloaked in a crimson mantle.
Easily three meters tall.
Two pointed ears, sharp fangs… and eyes without pupils, nothing but swollen bloodshot whites.

Exactly how I’d imagine a demon.

"I see. So do you want my autograph or—"

『That is not why you are here. Am I wrong, Peter Parker?』

My attempt at humor was shot down… leaving me momentarily speechless.
I could feel it—the uncanny dread radiating from this demon.

Spider-Sense was still blaring nonstop.
My instincts screamed: Run. Get out now.

But… I didn’t.

"…I want you to return the soul you stole."

I had to save Michel.

『…A person’s fate is decided by the smallest of things. A tiny stumble can cost a life. That woman was the same. Sooner or later… wouldn’t it be better for her to die at a time when she could do so without regret?』

"…I don’t understand a word you’re saying."

『That was the polite answer. I see the future, you know… If that woman lives, she will spread misery, wound herself, and bring only misfortune, loss, pain, despair, grief… Things I greatly enjoy.』

"…So what’s your point?"

At my words, the red demon before me laughed.
No—he sneered.

『You refuse to understand. Or perhaps… you simply don’t want to?』

"…Spare me the speeches. I came here to take her soul back."

『I know. I am omniscient.』

The demon opened his hand. A faint, glowing mist floated there.
…That must be Michel’s soul.

『Michel Jane… the soul you call by that name is here.』

"…Take mine in exchange—"

『Denied.』

He looked down at me with a deranged grin.

『I abandoned such bargains centuries ago. The flavor of a soul boasting of its noble sacrifice… how vilely bland it is.』

At some point, a throne of human bones had appeared, and the demon now sat upon it.

『There is no amusement in that.』

"…Then what do you want—"

『What I desire is something far greater than a single, paltry soul. Something sweeter, unattainable by stealing one soul at a time… That is why I took the woman’s.』

I frowned.
…So Michel’s soul wasn’t the goal.
He lured me here, stole it to bait me into a bigger trade.

『What I want is something that gives you joy. The heart you need to stand tall. Your memories. Your very being. Your wishes. Your love.』

His crimson finger leveled at me.

『And I want to trample it.』

In this silent hell, there was no wind.
Time itself felt subjective.

So it seemed I stayed quiet for a long while.
But at last, with resolve, I nodded.

"All right."

『…Hm?』

"Name your conditions. Tell me what you want."

The demon’s grin stretched wider.

『What I take is not something you possess.』

He snapped his fingers.
A sound like thunder cracked.

『I will erase your traces from the world. Everything you’ve built will vanish.』

"…You mean—"

『No one will remember you. Your name, your face—stripped from every mark and memory.』

"…Wouldn’t that cause contradictions—"

『Impossible. Like a stollen cake cut down the middle… the halves close seamlessly. No contradiction. Everyone, even the world itself, will believe it always was so.』

With a manic grin, the demon’s gaze pierced me.

『So… what will you do, Peter Parker? Your love, your fame… everything you’ve built—』

"Fine. Just tell me how."

I nodded. For a moment, the demon looked almost surprised.

『…Kuku… ku… Such a swift reply. Do you not grasp the gravity of this?』

"No, I get it…"

I shook my head.

Losing isn’t scary.
I’ve been losing all my life.

I lost people I loved.
This time, it’s my turn to be lost.

At least it isn’t my life.
There’s nothing to be afraid of.

Gwen, Ned, Harry, Mr. Stark, Aunt May… Michel.
Even if I’m forgotten—if they can live on, that’s enough.

『Magnificent self-sacrifice. Which makes ruining it… the finest entertainment.』

The demon raised both hands high.
The white soul he held floated up into the air—and vanished.

"Michel…!"

『Do not fret. I have returned her soul to her body… she will awaken soon enough.』

I exhaled in relief.

『A demon is faithful to its contracts… I especially so.』

From his hands burst red lightning. It spiraled outward, encircling both him and me, crackling with sound.

『My name is Mephisto. King of Demons. By this contract, I shall twist the world you loved and strove to protect.』

The light coiled into countless rings.

Circles etched with patterns even greater and more intricate than the magic sigils Stephen once conjured.

As I stared, the demon—Mephisto—spoke.

『Ah, yes. Peter Parker?』

"…What? Hurry up, would you?"

Someone once said never to heed a devil’s whisper.
So I knew—I shouldn’t be listening.

『To the contract just now, I shall grant a concession… as it stands, I am taking a bit too much.』

"What are you talking abou—"

『So, I’ll allow one exception. Yes… just one. One person alone shall be spared from this rewriting of reality.』

It was an unexpected offer.
I gasped.

…Just one.
One person who won’t forget me.

『Well then… who will it be?』

Faces flashed through my mind.
So many people.

Who?

Who should it be…?

Mephisto laughed, clearly savoring my struggle.
Ah, that’s right. He said he loved human suffering. This was only another way to twist the knife.

It made me sick.

"I’ve decided."

After agonizing over it, one face came to mind.

『Hm.』

"Don’t erase their memory of me."

I spoke a single name.

At my answer, Mephisto’s lips curved into a pleased smile.

『Fufu… kukuku… Truly, you are a man of endless self-sacrifice, Peter Parker.』

The light around us flared, illuminating hell itself.

『The bargain is sealed.』

Slowly, the light bled away, vision swallowed in darkness.

I couldn’t tell whether my eyes were open or shut, as a force pulled me down, down…

Into the black.