[Marvel: Xenomorphs] Chapter 66: The Universe Where Spider-Man Got Snapped

The sky was a murky gray, making it seem like a torrential downpour could start at any moment, yet there was no certainty. It left people hesitating—should they bring an umbrella or not?

It was like trying to predict a woman’s mood—impossible to tell whether it would rain or stay dry.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t rain, especially not heavily, because rain was something criminals loved. It could quickly wash away any traces of their crimes.

Daredevil, Matt Murdock, had just finished his daytime job and was preparing for his second shift.

As a blind man, he would have despised rainy days if not for the rigorous training he received from Stick since childhood. Through years of pushing his body to the limit, he developed a unique "biological radar" that allowed him to perceive his surroundings without sight.

Whoosh!

Daredevil skillfully climbed up to a window, carefully listening beyond the walls, trying to determine whether this place was one of Kingpin's crime dens.

He heard faint rustling sounds, accompanied by a distinct odor.

Daredevil sniffed carefully but couldn’t quite identify it—maybe spoiled tomatoes?

This must be the place.

Lately, a powerful new drug had appeared on the market, one that extended lifespan with almost no side effects. It had become an obsession for the wealthy.

Naturally, with limited supply and limitless demand, its price on the black market had skyrocketed.

The official price from Weyland Corporation was $100,000 per pill. A full treatment required seven pills—one a day for a week—to extend life by two weeks.

However, from the second treatment onward, the effectiveness dropped by 30%, and by the third course, it plummeted even further.

Yet even with diminishing returns, the demand far exceeded supply. Countless people were willing to risk everything—hiring professionals to steal, rob, con, or even assassinate for just one pill.

It had caused a surge in crime, leaving Daredevil overwhelmed. By day, he was a lawyer dealing with endless legal battles over the drug. By night, he donned his suit and wielded his baton to fight the chaos it created.

"Another crime linked to the ALIEN-1 drug
 I wonder which rich guy Kingpin’s men are targeting this time. What a nightmare."

Daredevil remained hidden, stealthily infiltrating the building.

Everyone knew that a few extra weeks of life wasn’t enough to make the big players risk everything. But this was just the first-generation drug. It was inevitable that ALIEN-2 and ALIEN-3 would follow, with stronger effects and longer lifespan extensions.

Getting their hands on the drug early meant they could study it. Reverse-engineering it would be far better than being at the mercy of Weyland Corporation.

Even if they couldn’t replicate it, just surviving a few extra weeks might be enough for those near death to hold on until the next-generation drug arrived—potentially unlocking an endless cycle of extended life.

No one would willingly give up on more time. And when violence could buy more lifespan, crime was bound to escalate.

Once Daredevil confirmed that the people inside were trading in bloodstained ALIEN-1 pills, he didn’t hesitate. He crashed through the window.

"Damn it, Daredevil! You again?!"

A throwing knife shot toward where Daredevil landed, but he had already drawn his baton and deflected it mid-air.

"Bullseye? Kingpin actually sent you? Is he dying or something? Otherwise, why would he care this much about lifespan?"

Bullseye was a towering man, his helmet marked with a bullseye symbol.

"You don’t know shit! This is business! This new market is a goldmine—way more profitable than selling weapons, people, or drugs. Right now, one pill is going for half a million dollars! And it's only going to get higher!" Bullseye spat on the ground, his face twisted in greed.

For people like him, crime was about maximizing profit. If there was a way to achieve their goals through illegal means, they would take it without hesitation.

"If you love this drug so much, why don’t you break into Weyland's lab and steal the formula? Afraid to try?" Daredevil taunted, shifting into a battle stance before lunging forward.

Within moments, he took down several gang members and engaged Bullseye in a fierce fight.

Bullseye slashed at Daredevil’s stomach. As Daredevil sidestepped, Bullseye’s wrist flicked, suddenly changing the blade’s trajectory into a horizontal cut—at the same time, he threw another hidden throwing knife.

This was Bullseye’s specialty—turning anything around him into a lethal weapon with pinpoint accuracy.

But Daredevil was familiar with his old foe’s tactics. He immediately dropped to the ground and rolled, avoiding the attack. It wasn’t graceful, but it worked.

"You think I haven't considered that? The lab's security is insane! It's way tougher than Stark Tower or Oscorp Tower."

Plenty had tried to steal the formula, but it was impossible.

Breaking through high-tech security was one thing, but dealing with an army of eyeless, screeching alien creatures? That was another. What were they supposed to do—charge in and brawl with xenomorphs?

That wouldn’t be a heist. That would be suicide.

No matter how much Kingpin offered, Bullseye wasn’t about to take that job.

"A couple million a month? Not worth my life."

"Fair enough. But I heard Weyland is openly recruiting. They’re expanding their business. You’d fit right in—it’d mean one less scumbag in the world." Daredevil tried to distract Bullseye, but it didn’t work.

The company’s job listings were making headlines. In the employee benefits section, it blatantly listed "parasitic host positions" as an option.

The sheer honesty left people speechless.

Being a xenomorph host? Disgusting.

But then again, the moment you got infected, you’d transform into something beyond human—stronger, faster, more resilient, longer-lived.

In a world where no one knew whether tomorrow or death would come first, the idea was unexpectedly popular, dominating news cycles.

Daredevil and Bullseye clashed—two master martial artists, trading over thirty blows without a clear winner.

Normally, their battle would have continued, but soon Bullseye was forced to stop.

He watched in horror as Daredevil’s baton struck with pinpoint force, shattering the metal vial containing over fifty pills.

Nearly $25 million worth of drugs—gone in seconds.

Bullseye nearly lost his mind.

He wanted to kill Daredevil.

But he had no choice. He turned and fled.

"If you had come just a little earlier or later, he wouldn’t have escaped. I worked hard to find him." Daredevil sighed, watching Bullseye disappear through the shattered window.

Erica walked in with graceful steps.

Daredevil tilted his head, sensing the presence of his ex-girlfriend from his university days. He sighed helplessly and said, "You've changed a lot. The old you would never have said something like that. What do you mean by 'becoming one of you'?"

"It's exactly as it sounds. You always like to wander around Hell's Kitchen—don't tell me you don't even understand this," Erica replied bluntly, showing him no courtesy. She was usually a very composed woman, but seeing Matt made her feel like losing her temper.

"You don’t have a strong enough body, nor do you have the kind of regeneration ability needed for these situations. Stop running around the streets like a reckless monkey. It makes me feel like I’m talking to an immature child."

"Oh my God, are you really Erica? No one's impersonating you, right? I actually heard concern for me coming from your mouth! It looks like that person treats you well—so well that even your personality has changed. The good news is, you’re still you, not some alien."

Daredevil slowly stepped back, leaning against the wall, sensing the locations of numerous Xenomorphs, ready to escape at any moment.

Erica shook her head. "You’ve misunderstood. Duncan wouldn’t be interested in someone like me," she said, her voice completely calm, as if she were discussing something unrelated to herself.

"Well, in that case, I can breathe a sigh of relief. A small fry like me doesn’t have to worry about his retaliation," Daredevil remarked. "Even if I destroyed the valuable medicine his client purchased before it got stolen."

"You don’t need to worry about that. Otherwise, why do you think I’m here? That medicine was bought by Norman Osborn. Whether he takes it himself or tries to crack its formula, he is our client. If he gets robbed in New York, we take it back."

"Wow. What an impressive level of customer service. You guys are really dedicated when it comes to business."

For a moment, Erica couldn't tell whether Matt was being sarcastic or genuinely complimenting them.

Not long after, several Xenomorphs returned, dragging along a half-dead Bullseye and casually tossing him to the ground.

"I’m willing to join the Weyland Corporation! I pledge my loyalty to Duncan! I’ve had enough of working for Kingpin!" Bullseye coughed up blood as he forced out the words. "I know Duncan is currently sending troops to fight a war in space. He needs world-class assassins like me, doesn’t he?"

Erica nodded in agreement. "Well said. Then you can wait to be transformed into a Xenomorph and sent off to an alien battlefield."

"Wait! What I meant was, I want to be a killer who doesn’t get a chestburster inside me—"

"That’s not for me to decide."

The Xenomorphs dragged Bullseye away again. Once he reached the 93rd floor of Weyland Tower, he would be reborn.

"The war in space is really that intense? Even someone like Bullseye is needed?" Daredevil asked.

Erica shook her head. "We have no choice. The number of vampires around New York is dwindling. Repurposing some lowlife criminals is just an efficient use of resources—no waste allowed."

Daredevil had no words for that.

He also noticed a few Xenomorphs using their razor-sharp claws to carefully pick up the scattered medicine from the ground. If someone from Osborn Industries saw this, they’d probably be quite pleased.

Rumors said Norman Osborn hadn’t appeared in public for a long time. People suspected he was suffering from a health issue. Maybe it wasn’t just baseless speculation—perhaps he really needed this medicine to stay alive.

"Before you get too suspicious of me, I have some unfortunate news for you," Erica said. "Stick became a vampire. He’s now being hunted by Blade, Captain America, and the others."

His and Erica’s martial arts master had turned into a vampire?

"Because he was about to die of old age? To extend his lifespan?" Daredevil couldn’t help but ask.

But turning into a vampire—how was that any different from joining the Eternals a few days ago?

Vampires were Duncan’s favorite hosts. Once New York ran out of them, Duncan would surely target vampires in other parts of the world.

"I’m not sure. I only know one thing—he must be killed. He deserves to die with dignity, not as a monster who survives by drinking human blood." Erica's voice was ice-cold. That was the greatest mercy she could offer Stick.

"What about the Chaste, the organization he led?"

"It was disbanded two days ago. Most of its members were either hunted down or absorbed by the Hand."

Daredevil was silent for a long time. The news was too shocking. His mind went blank.

He watched as Erica turned and left with the Xenomorphs. After hesitating for a moment, he followed, walking alongside several of the terrifying yet brutally efficient creatures. The experience was deeply unsettling.

Walking beside Xenomorphs—and not getting attacked by them?

"Where is Stick now?" Daredevil tensed up, staying on high alert. He had heard that Xenomorphs were highly organized and disciplined creatures, but that didn’t stop his instincts from keeping his guard up.

The Xenomorphs didn’t even glance at him, as if he didn’t exist.

"He’s in New York, searching for a sorcerer."

"A sorcerer? Why would Stick be looking for one?"

"There are two possibilities. If he’s searching for a dark sorcerer, he’s probably trying to use dark magic to rid himself of his vampire bloodline. If he’s looking for a Kamar-Taj sorcerer, then he’s likely seeking an audience with the Sorcerer Supreme. According to reliable intel, Stick was once taught by the Ancient One in his youth," Erica said without turning her head.

Daredevil was even more confused.

Kamar-Taj? The Ancient One? He had never heard of either.

By the time they arrived at Weyland Tower, Daredevil had only just begun to grasp the existence of this hidden world of supreme magic users.

He stood at the entrance of the tower, tilting his head up, sensing his surroundings and picking up even the subtlest details in the air. He couldn’t see, but his heightened senses revealed more than sight ever could.

What he felt was surprising—this entire building was constructed from extremely expensive materials, thick and sturdy. He had heard rumors that Magneto himself had overseen its construction. Now he was inclined to believe them.

What truly made Daredevil hesitate, though, was that he sensed no negativity here. This place was spotlessly clean, orderly, and well-maintained.

It was hard to reconcile that with the words "Duncan" and "Xenomorphs."

He also noticed ordinary people coming and going from the tower, discussing business matters—medication sales, to be precise.

"Why did you stop?" Erica asked. "Most people think of Weyland Tower as a monster’s lair. But in reality, it’s an advanced architectural marvel with breathtaking views. Even its green space is among the best in New York."

With that, she stepped up the stairs and entered through the main entrance.

After a long hesitation, Daredevil followed.

They took the elevator straight up to the 13th floor.

Some of the ordinary people who entered the building for business seemed to adapt to this place better than he did.

He made his way to the conference room on the thirteenth floor, where two people were engaged in conversation.

Daredevil finally met the master of this place.

His first instinct was to use his radar-like ability to perceive Duncan. However, the moment he did, it felt as if he had crashed into an impenetrable wall of steel. Every nerve in his body screamed in unease. In the next instant, the barrier ahead transformed into a black hole, carrying a mind-devouring force that threatened to swallow his entire consciousness.

Yet, upon closer inspection, nothing had actually happened.

“Well then, Mr. Duncan, it’s an honor to meet you. I bring my father’s regards. You are truly a genius and a generous man.”

“Of course. I always have been. If you’re willing to join the Weyland Group, you’ll experience my generosity firsthand. What do you think, Harry?”

Harry Osborn’s expression stiffened. His words had been half genuine, half polite, but Duncan had responded in an entirely unexpected way—extending an invitation to join him outright.

Standing before a man who was at least 2.5 meters tall and radiated an ever-present aura of impending violence, Harry felt a chill run down his spine.

“Hahaha, look at your face! It’s just a joke. Norman would never allow his son to join another company,” Duncan said with a laugh, patting Harry on the shoulder.

Harry forced a polite smile, but inwardly, he thought: This isn’t just about switching companies. This could mean changing species altogether.

Elektra tossed a batch of recovered pharmaceuticals to Harry, who caught them in a hurry before quickly leaving.

Duncan watched him go and murmured, “It seems Norman’s condition is dire. The rumors are true—he must be close to death. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have sent his heir to negotiate with me.”

Elektra asked, “What do they want to collaborate on? Are they after the Xenomorph secretions? That’s non-negotiable—you’ve made that clear. Besides, as two biotech companies, we’re bound to clash sooner or later.”

“Of course. Anything related to the Xenomorphs is off the table. I’m thinking of something else entirely.”

Duncan found the situation fascinating.

This universe had Oscorp. It had a dying Green Goblin. But no Spider-Man.

With just a few leading questions, Harry had unknowingly revealed information he considered trivial. He probably hadn’t even realized why Duncan was so interested in his high school years. According to Harry, during a school-organized biology exhibition, Peter Parker had gone missing. Shortly after, news of his death broke.

This revelation took Duncan by surprise. He alone understood how unusual this was.

Even if Peter Parker were still just a little kid in this universe, it wouldn’t matter. Even if he were middle-aged, an old Spider-Man, that would be fine too.

But for Spider-Man to have died before ever making his debut—especially just as Norman Osborn was nearing death? That was entirely unexpected.

“I’ve spent months stabilizing things, only to discover this just as I was about to establish my intelligence network
 But how did Peter Parker die? Did he get bitten by a radioactive spider and fail to survive the venom? Or is the Spider-Man of this universe actually Aunt May or Uncle Ben?”

It was entirely possible. Duncan still didn’t know the numerical designation of this universe.

Even if someone suddenly appeared one day and told him this was a Cancerverse—that everything in this world was spiraling into a Lovecraftian nightmare—he would accept it and begin studying parasitic evolution accordingly.

A true survivor never complains about their environment. Duncan relished a challenge.

“What are you thinking about? I haven’t seen you this focused in a long time. Not even when we faced the Eternals,” Elektra said, waving a hand in front of his face, curiosity written all over her expression.

Duncan lifted his head. “Don’t tell Druig about this. If he finds out, he’ll think I’ve had some grand revelation again and will stop at nothing to track me down and demand to know what new truths I’ve uncovered.”

Druig?

Daredevil took note of the name. Based on what he knew about Duncan’s faction, there was a high likelihood that this referred to the Eternal who had famously betrayed his own kind.

Lately, the internet had been flooded with analyses about Druig’s defection. Yet, no matter how people theorized, they all seemed to arrive at the same conclusion:

Duncan was remarkable.

And so, they, too, wished to follow such an extraordinary man. If they could be his followers without getting chest-bursted or sent to the battlefield, that would be ideal.

Damn it. This was starting to look like the early days of some twisted cult. Young and naive fanatics earnestly envisioned their version of Duncan and prayed to him, hoping to reap all the benefits without bearing any of the burdens.

“Matt Murdock. The righteous guardian of Hell’s Kitchen. A blind lawyer who fights for the poor. Welcome.”

Duncan wasn’t a bloodthirsty brute. He carried himself like an approachable leader.

Daredevil turned his gaze toward Elektra, his meaning clear: You told him?

“I didn’t say a word. But if he wanted to know about you, it wouldn’t be difficult,” Elektra shrugged. After all, the Xenomorph embedded in her chest allowed Duncan to perceive her every action.

“You’re quite famous. And you used to be Elektra’s lover. It would be harder not to notice you,” Duncan said with a smile, shaking Daredevil’s hand as if they were two ordinary people meeting for a casual chat.

If not for the Xenomorphs acting as security around them, it might have actually felt that way.

“Thank you for taking care of Elektra, sir. At least you kept her out of The Hand’s grasp—that’s not a good place to be,” Daredevil said.

“In my ranks, you can be sure of one thing: I do not treat my trusted subordinates as mere tools. But for certain people
 I will go to great lengths to capture them and squeeze every last drop of value from them—as tools.”

“For example
 Bullseye?”

A chill ran down Daredevil’s spine. Once again, he was reminded of the fundamental difference between people like himself and people like Duncan—the complete and utter disregard for human life when necessary.

Duncan poured him a glass of water. “Here, have this. I don’t like tea, coffee, or soft drinks. And I haven’t hired enough staff to pour drinks yet.”

Daredevil touched the glass. It was scalding hot. Then he heard Duncan casually down the boiling water in one gulp.

He fell silent.

Xenomorphs were terrifying. He didn’t belong here.

“Sir, forgive my bluntness, but I don’t understand why someone of your status would allow Elektra to bring me here,” Daredevil finally asked.

Duncan gave him a curious look. “You were brought here by Elektra. Naturally, she is responsible for everything you do and say. I have no need to interfere.”

"What do you think this place is? A concentration camp? An inquisition tribunal? Do you think I eradicate everything that happens without my permission? Don’t be ridiculous. If I had that kind of time, I’d rather spend it contemplating more meaningful things—like which god I can take down next, or which interdimensional demon is worth eliminating."

Duncan seriously pointed out Daredevil’s mistake.

What kind of conversation was this? Daredevil felt that his own experience was too shallow—he had absolutely no common ground with someone like Duncan. They weren’t even speaking on the same wavelength.

Gods? Demons?

Even Elektra felt embarrassed for her ex-boyfriend. But there was nothing she could do—those who hadn't joined this faction, who hadn’t been parasitized by the Xenomorphs, simply couldn’t comprehend many of the things that went on here.

Druig had defected the moment he sensed the depths of Duncan’s mind. That wasn’t just some irrational impulse—it was entirely in line with Druig’s naturally fanatical tendencies and idealistic beliefs.

Duncan continued, "I know you’re looking for your mentor, Stick, and that you want to eliminate him. Don’t get me wrong—I have no interest in Stick himself. He’s not worth my personal attention. But I am interested in the people behind him."

"What do you need me to do?"

"If I go through Stick to find this so-called Sorcerer Supreme, will she actually meet me?"

"Of course not. Which is why I have no intention of meeting her in person."

Duncan pointed at Elektra, and Daredevil immediately understood.

Using a Xenomorph as an intermediary—very clever.

Daredevil made a mental note of this. He had just learned another critical piece of information about Xenomorphs: they could serve as a form of wireless communication.

What a grim joke. He wondered if Kamar-Taj had WiFi.

Daredevil was tempted to ask how Duncan knew that Stick had once trained under the Ancient One. But after some thought, he decided against it.

Elektra took the initiative to explain, "There are many sorcerers in this world. Aside from dark sorcerers, the vast majority come from Kamar-Taj. Most of them learn a spell or two and then return to the mortal world. Kamar-Taj never stops them from leaving."

So, in this world, the existence of Kamar-Taj wasn’t exactly a top-secret matter. Many ordinary people probably talked about it in passing—maybe even dismissed it as the boasts of third-rate magicians.

But finding the location of Kamar-Taj? Now that was a different issue. Even former disciples who had left couldn’t disclose that information.

Duncan pondered his next move. He needed to find a way to talk to the Ancient One—at least to confirm what was really going on in this universe.

He couldn’t remain passive forever. He hated being passive.

Of course, there was a real possibility that the Ancient One would consider him a threat. Given the immense power he had accumulated, it was theoretically part of Earth’s strength, but at this point, it had already begun to disrupt the planet’s stability.

That was why he had continuously sent forces to fight alongside the Asgardians. It was a path he could always abandon if necessary.

Even if conflict became inevitable, Duncan assessed the forces he had at his disposal. After careful consideration, he concluded that while a battle against the Ancient One wasn’t unwinnable, it would be extremely risky. There were too many unknown variables. It wasn’t a fight he wanted to pick unless absolutely necessary.

"Let’s see... Ancient One, are you male or female in this universe? If you’re the female version, that’s fine. But if it’s the male, Yao, that means more trouble. I’ll have to make more careful preparations for the future and revise my development plans accordingly."

Once he confirmed this with the Ancient One, it would be time to shift his focus beyond Earth.

At the very least, he needed to resolve the Asgard situation.

They owed him a debt—twice as much as he had expected.

It was time to collect. After everything he had done for Asgard, they had better repay him properly.