Post by Harry Osborn on May 19, 2007 12:52:27 GMT -5
{{I know this is long, but I thought I had a lot of ground to cover with Harry coming back to life and all so...Also...this is an introduction only. I don't intend on anyone replying to this thread, but someone really wants to...then by all means go ahead. Otherwise, I'll go and join another thread shortly.}}
Shuddering violently, the elevator ground to a halt. The doors squealed loudly as they opened, protesting against the late night operation. Cold, hard light, emanating from the elevator’s overhead bulb, gushed out into the murky darkness of the attaching corridor, scattering the shadows to the far corners of the home.
A figure slowly emerged from the severe illumination. He staggered, seemingly unsure of the dwelling’s terrain, not to mention his own strength. After a couple of hobbled steps, he collapsed in a heap onto a Victorian rug, shivering uncontrollably. He lay there for several minutes, trying to regain a state of mental composer after the experiences of his morbid last hour.
Less than an hour ago, Harry Osborn had regained consciousness within his coffin. At first of course, he had had no idea where he was or even who he was, but the flood of adrenaline racing through his body had been enough to convince him that it was high time to escape his compact prison. The dirt piled on top of the coffin’s lid was still rather loose, allowing him a speedy dig to the surface, where he was greeted by a starless sky of black.
There Harry had stood, meekly gazing upon the marble headstone resting at the head of his grave. Thoughts such as am I dead, had filtered through his mind, only to be reprimanded by other thoughts arguing, of course not. I’m standing right here.
Quiet suddenly, blinding flashes of memory had begun to impale his mind. A flash of him and his father in an embrace, followed by a flash of him holding a dagger over Spider-Man, followed by seeing Pete’s face on sitting on top of Spider-Man’s body, boy that looked weird, followed by Pete throwing some odd looking bomb in his direction. Each flash was white-hot and stung with a ferocity that of which he had never, or at least, he thought he had never experienced before.
I’ve got to get home, was all that he could think of. It had taken him nearly forty minutes to clumsily run from the cemetery to the mansion, using nothing more than back alleys and side streets. By the time he had reached his penthouse, Harry was out of what little breath and energy he had obtained since his…reawakening.
Now lying in the bleak solitude of his home, Harry allowed himself to gradually catch is breath. He was cold…freezing actually, and the damp, muddy clothing he was wearing offered no warmth to his pale skin. He frowned; there was something about the mud that he disliked, something about dirt…or sand. Shaking his unease off, he slowly willed his body into a sitting position, and scanned the hallway which he was in.
The room was pitch black, the doors to the elevator having closed minutes ago, and it was impossible to penetrate. Muscle memory told him that there was a lamp only feet away, and cautiously Harry began to scoot to his left. Reaching up, deliberately making his movements slow so as not to upset the very light he was trying to access, he felt his way until his fingers grasped a knob. Upon turning it, Harry was immediately bathed in a warm, yellowish glow.
The stark contrast of the lamps soft illumination instead of the elevators blinding glare filled him with hope, and he basked in it greedily. After some time, Harry felt strong enough to gingerly haul himself off the floor and silently made his way to the great room. The house was empty save for him, and he felt rather small within it.
Upon entering the great room, he again switched on a couple of lamps, and smiled in triumph as the nasty shadows again elongated and slithered away from the life giving light. Harry imagined the shadows sulking away, snarling and hissing at the approaching brightness.
Only…he wasn’t imagining it.
Harry froze, paralyzed with fear. Something had moved in the darker recesses of the room, something blacker than the shadows themselves. A hiss, such as an angry snake drifted to him and he glimpsed a twinkle of pearly white…a white such as teeth.
Harry blinked and when he looked again, the creature, whatever it was, was gone. Feeling braver, he walked forward and franticly searched the area in which he saw the being, but it was nowhere to be found. Having found nothing, Harry turned is back to the shadows and began to head in the direction of the light.
An oily blackness lunged at him. The warm glow of the soft lamps caused the being to shimmer, and Harry could see his reflection in the creature’s gooey skin. Its mouth opened in a wide howl, exposing a line of razor sharp teeth and its eyes were nothing but large, gaping white sockets.
Acting on instinct, Harry threw up his arms to fend off the creature. He waited tensely for the moment of impact against his body…but the impact never came. Opening his eyes, Harry saw no evidence of the being he had just seen, jumping at him from the comforting light. He squinted, and rubbed his eyes wondering if he had just hallucinated.
He jerked violently as his mind was again assaulted by strange images. It was as if his wild dash back home had kept the obscene images at bay, but now, perhaps triggered by the oily beast, they ambushed him with no mercy.
Harry fell to the floor, screaming in agony as his memories rushed back into him. He saw it all this time, from declaring his vengeance on Spider-Man at his father’s grave, to his impalement by his very own Sky Stick to dying with Pete and Mary Jane, his two best--and only friends--by his side.
As the flashes subsided, he placed his grimy hand underneath his burial shirt and felt the two puncture wounds on his chest. Even with only being alive this short time, he could feel the injuries healing themselves, the skin stitching itself closed. The gas! That’s got to be what happened!
Upon finding his father’s Goblin lair, Harry had also uncovered a pamphlet of scientific notes. Within these notes, Harry had found instructions upon how to use the Human Performance Enhancer gas to strengthen himself along with directions and schematics for the numerous pieces of equipment lying within. But one of the most puzzling pieces of information contained within the notes was the fact that not only could the HPE gas cause its subject to heal faster, it could also reverse death.
Harry had dismissed this fact, rationalizing that the gas had failed to bring his father back from the grave, so why should it be different for him? Harry had gone into each and every battle knowing full well that if he should be killed, that would be the end of the line. By no means did he ever dream that the gas could work for him and bring him back from the dead but not his father.
But it had happened. Harry didn’t know why his resurrection had been a few days delayed, but he was alive again.
The white-hot pain had vanished now, and Harry was left on the great room floor, alone save for his memories. He glanced around and took in the sights of his father’s décor; the elaborate masks, the ancient vases and paintings and the antique tapestries adorning the walls. His eyes located the mural of his father, and their eyes locked.
Harry imagined his father reaching out to him, helping him to his feet. “You’ve been brought back to finish the business you started. Find Peter, and kill him.”
Kill him? Why? Harry stood straight and at attention in front of the painting, “You’re right. I need to find Peter. But not to kill him.”
Harry broke the eye contact to search the room for a sword. He located one in a display on the other side of the room and headed to it. He picked it up gingerly and cautiously tested his sword skills out by twilling it. Harry seemed to have lost no memory during his…sleep, for he was able to handle the authentic medieval specimen with practiced ease.
He turned back to his father’s mural and stalked back to it with sword in hand. “I’ve allowed you quiet enough control over my life…and over my friends.” Gripping the sword’s hilt tightly, he raised it to chest level, “That stops right now.”
With a massive swing, Harry slashed through the painting, splitting it in half. The bottom part, no longer being supported, fell to the floor with a sickening crash while the top half, with Norman’s eyes still burning holes into him, swung loosely on its hinges. It’s over.
Dropping the sword with a loud clang, Harry turned from the ruined painting and ran to the phone. He had to talk to Pete, had to explain what was happening. Punching in Pete’s number, he anxiously waited until a voice answered. “Is Peter Parker there?” The other voice, a young girl’s answered saying that Pete had left some hours ago and that she didn’t know when he would get in. After a hurried goodbye, Harry hung up and began to pace.
Pete’s probably out patrolling the city. How do I find him? Pete could be anywhere and Harry would have to cover a lot of ground to find him before the night gave way to sunrise. The answer soon appeared to him as clear as crystal. The New Goblin suit.
Harry sprinted to the Goblin lair’s entrance. Upon reaching the mirror that shrouded the gaping hole, he removed it, only to find a newly installed brick wall. Someone boarded this up?
It kind of made sense. If everyone thought he was dead, then Peter could have easily come back here and sealed the unholy entrance, forever separating it from whoever inhabited the home in the future. It wouldn’t do to have dozens of Goblins roaming around the city, and if the entrance had been left unsealed, that probably would’ve happened.
Grabbing a fire stoke, Harry broke through the mortar. In a matter of minutes, the entrance was once again opened and Harry made his way within. Everything had been left alone and nothing was out of its place. Apparently Pete had decided to let sleeping dogs lie and had decided to leave everything the way it was.
Fortunate for him.
Harry began to strip, intent on changing into the armor and going out and looking for his friend. He stopped short however, upon catching a glimpse of himself. He was covered in mud and smelled of earth. Even if the only person he came across tonight was Peter, he couldn’t reveal himself to Pete like this. It’d scare the living daylights out of him!
Cursing under his breath, Harry sprinted to the bathroom and ran a hot shower. As he stood under the shower head, he allowed the hot driblets to wash away not only the embedded dirt, but his coldness. The water soothed his crunched, stiff and freezing muscles, and by the time he stepped out, he felt like a new person. No one, not even he could have guessed that just about an hour ago he had risen from the dead.
Finally in a presentable state, Harry returned to the lair and donned his armor, making sure to pack his short-sword and boots that housed stiletto blades. Once suited up, he reached for one of the Sky Sticks and loaded it with a handful of pumpkin bombs and pikes, just in case he ran into any trouble. Last but not least, Harry applied his face mask. He was looking for Pete yes, who already knew his identity, but he couldn’t take the chance that some average Joe on the street would happen to look up and recognize a dead man.
He was ready. Walking out of the lair, Harry jumped out of a window and soared over the city. The New Goblin was on the hunt, only this time, he wasn’t aiming to kill anybody.
Shuddering violently, the elevator ground to a halt. The doors squealed loudly as they opened, protesting against the late night operation. Cold, hard light, emanating from the elevator’s overhead bulb, gushed out into the murky darkness of the attaching corridor, scattering the shadows to the far corners of the home.
A figure slowly emerged from the severe illumination. He staggered, seemingly unsure of the dwelling’s terrain, not to mention his own strength. After a couple of hobbled steps, he collapsed in a heap onto a Victorian rug, shivering uncontrollably. He lay there for several minutes, trying to regain a state of mental composer after the experiences of his morbid last hour.
Less than an hour ago, Harry Osborn had regained consciousness within his coffin. At first of course, he had had no idea where he was or even who he was, but the flood of adrenaline racing through his body had been enough to convince him that it was high time to escape his compact prison. The dirt piled on top of the coffin’s lid was still rather loose, allowing him a speedy dig to the surface, where he was greeted by a starless sky of black.
There Harry had stood, meekly gazing upon the marble headstone resting at the head of his grave. Thoughts such as am I dead, had filtered through his mind, only to be reprimanded by other thoughts arguing, of course not. I’m standing right here.
Quiet suddenly, blinding flashes of memory had begun to impale his mind. A flash of him and his father in an embrace, followed by a flash of him holding a dagger over Spider-Man, followed by seeing Pete’s face on sitting on top of Spider-Man’s body, boy that looked weird, followed by Pete throwing some odd looking bomb in his direction. Each flash was white-hot and stung with a ferocity that of which he had never, or at least, he thought he had never experienced before.
I’ve got to get home, was all that he could think of. It had taken him nearly forty minutes to clumsily run from the cemetery to the mansion, using nothing more than back alleys and side streets. By the time he had reached his penthouse, Harry was out of what little breath and energy he had obtained since his…reawakening.
Now lying in the bleak solitude of his home, Harry allowed himself to gradually catch is breath. He was cold…freezing actually, and the damp, muddy clothing he was wearing offered no warmth to his pale skin. He frowned; there was something about the mud that he disliked, something about dirt…or sand. Shaking his unease off, he slowly willed his body into a sitting position, and scanned the hallway which he was in.
The room was pitch black, the doors to the elevator having closed minutes ago, and it was impossible to penetrate. Muscle memory told him that there was a lamp only feet away, and cautiously Harry began to scoot to his left. Reaching up, deliberately making his movements slow so as not to upset the very light he was trying to access, he felt his way until his fingers grasped a knob. Upon turning it, Harry was immediately bathed in a warm, yellowish glow.
The stark contrast of the lamps soft illumination instead of the elevators blinding glare filled him with hope, and he basked in it greedily. After some time, Harry felt strong enough to gingerly haul himself off the floor and silently made his way to the great room. The house was empty save for him, and he felt rather small within it.
Upon entering the great room, he again switched on a couple of lamps, and smiled in triumph as the nasty shadows again elongated and slithered away from the life giving light. Harry imagined the shadows sulking away, snarling and hissing at the approaching brightness.
Only…he wasn’t imagining it.
Harry froze, paralyzed with fear. Something had moved in the darker recesses of the room, something blacker than the shadows themselves. A hiss, such as an angry snake drifted to him and he glimpsed a twinkle of pearly white…a white such as teeth.
Harry blinked and when he looked again, the creature, whatever it was, was gone. Feeling braver, he walked forward and franticly searched the area in which he saw the being, but it was nowhere to be found. Having found nothing, Harry turned is back to the shadows and began to head in the direction of the light.
An oily blackness lunged at him. The warm glow of the soft lamps caused the being to shimmer, and Harry could see his reflection in the creature’s gooey skin. Its mouth opened in a wide howl, exposing a line of razor sharp teeth and its eyes were nothing but large, gaping white sockets.
Acting on instinct, Harry threw up his arms to fend off the creature. He waited tensely for the moment of impact against his body…but the impact never came. Opening his eyes, Harry saw no evidence of the being he had just seen, jumping at him from the comforting light. He squinted, and rubbed his eyes wondering if he had just hallucinated.
He jerked violently as his mind was again assaulted by strange images. It was as if his wild dash back home had kept the obscene images at bay, but now, perhaps triggered by the oily beast, they ambushed him with no mercy.
Harry fell to the floor, screaming in agony as his memories rushed back into him. He saw it all this time, from declaring his vengeance on Spider-Man at his father’s grave, to his impalement by his very own Sky Stick to dying with Pete and Mary Jane, his two best--and only friends--by his side.
As the flashes subsided, he placed his grimy hand underneath his burial shirt and felt the two puncture wounds on his chest. Even with only being alive this short time, he could feel the injuries healing themselves, the skin stitching itself closed. The gas! That’s got to be what happened!
Upon finding his father’s Goblin lair, Harry had also uncovered a pamphlet of scientific notes. Within these notes, Harry had found instructions upon how to use the Human Performance Enhancer gas to strengthen himself along with directions and schematics for the numerous pieces of equipment lying within. But one of the most puzzling pieces of information contained within the notes was the fact that not only could the HPE gas cause its subject to heal faster, it could also reverse death.
Harry had dismissed this fact, rationalizing that the gas had failed to bring his father back from the grave, so why should it be different for him? Harry had gone into each and every battle knowing full well that if he should be killed, that would be the end of the line. By no means did he ever dream that the gas could work for him and bring him back from the dead but not his father.
But it had happened. Harry didn’t know why his resurrection had been a few days delayed, but he was alive again.
The white-hot pain had vanished now, and Harry was left on the great room floor, alone save for his memories. He glanced around and took in the sights of his father’s décor; the elaborate masks, the ancient vases and paintings and the antique tapestries adorning the walls. His eyes located the mural of his father, and their eyes locked.
Harry imagined his father reaching out to him, helping him to his feet. “You’ve been brought back to finish the business you started. Find Peter, and kill him.”
Kill him? Why? Harry stood straight and at attention in front of the painting, “You’re right. I need to find Peter. But not to kill him.”
Harry broke the eye contact to search the room for a sword. He located one in a display on the other side of the room and headed to it. He picked it up gingerly and cautiously tested his sword skills out by twilling it. Harry seemed to have lost no memory during his…sleep, for he was able to handle the authentic medieval specimen with practiced ease.
He turned back to his father’s mural and stalked back to it with sword in hand. “I’ve allowed you quiet enough control over my life…and over my friends.” Gripping the sword’s hilt tightly, he raised it to chest level, “That stops right now.”
With a massive swing, Harry slashed through the painting, splitting it in half. The bottom part, no longer being supported, fell to the floor with a sickening crash while the top half, with Norman’s eyes still burning holes into him, swung loosely on its hinges. It’s over.
Dropping the sword with a loud clang, Harry turned from the ruined painting and ran to the phone. He had to talk to Pete, had to explain what was happening. Punching in Pete’s number, he anxiously waited until a voice answered. “Is Peter Parker there?” The other voice, a young girl’s answered saying that Pete had left some hours ago and that she didn’t know when he would get in. After a hurried goodbye, Harry hung up and began to pace.
Pete’s probably out patrolling the city. How do I find him? Pete could be anywhere and Harry would have to cover a lot of ground to find him before the night gave way to sunrise. The answer soon appeared to him as clear as crystal. The New Goblin suit.
Harry sprinted to the Goblin lair’s entrance. Upon reaching the mirror that shrouded the gaping hole, he removed it, only to find a newly installed brick wall. Someone boarded this up?
It kind of made sense. If everyone thought he was dead, then Peter could have easily come back here and sealed the unholy entrance, forever separating it from whoever inhabited the home in the future. It wouldn’t do to have dozens of Goblins roaming around the city, and if the entrance had been left unsealed, that probably would’ve happened.
Grabbing a fire stoke, Harry broke through the mortar. In a matter of minutes, the entrance was once again opened and Harry made his way within. Everything had been left alone and nothing was out of its place. Apparently Pete had decided to let sleeping dogs lie and had decided to leave everything the way it was.
Fortunate for him.
Harry began to strip, intent on changing into the armor and going out and looking for his friend. He stopped short however, upon catching a glimpse of himself. He was covered in mud and smelled of earth. Even if the only person he came across tonight was Peter, he couldn’t reveal himself to Pete like this. It’d scare the living daylights out of him!
Cursing under his breath, Harry sprinted to the bathroom and ran a hot shower. As he stood under the shower head, he allowed the hot driblets to wash away not only the embedded dirt, but his coldness. The water soothed his crunched, stiff and freezing muscles, and by the time he stepped out, he felt like a new person. No one, not even he could have guessed that just about an hour ago he had risen from the dead.
Finally in a presentable state, Harry returned to the lair and donned his armor, making sure to pack his short-sword and boots that housed stiletto blades. Once suited up, he reached for one of the Sky Sticks and loaded it with a handful of pumpkin bombs and pikes, just in case he ran into any trouble. Last but not least, Harry applied his face mask. He was looking for Pete yes, who already knew his identity, but he couldn’t take the chance that some average Joe on the street would happen to look up and recognize a dead man.
He was ready. Walking out of the lair, Harry jumped out of a window and soared over the city. The New Goblin was on the hunt, only this time, he wasn’t aiming to kill anybody.
