Chapter 138: R: The Batman Event (Fifteen)

The Malun family, also known as the Heir Family, are sometimes called "Cosmic Vampires."

To understand the origins of this family, one must mention the Spider Totem.

Many may believe Spider-Man's power came from being bitten by a spider and undergoing mutation, but that is not true—Spider-Man's power is magical, stemming from the ancient Spider Totem.

Animal totems are among the most mysterious and powerful forces in the Marvel Universe, and the Spider Totem is one of its greatest exemplars; naturally, some seek to steal such immense power.

In the cosmos exist beings very similar to vampires—they traverse countless multiverses, killing all life tied to totems to absorb their power and grow stronger. These are the Malun family.

Schiller said to Nick on the phone: "I must admit, I didn't expect them to move against Spider-Man so quickly. Our little bait has caught a big fish."

"Shouldn't you be more concerned about how we're going to deal with them?"

"According to you, they can even traverse multiverses beyond human perception, and most targets under their hands are helpless. So how do you think ordinary humans can fight such powerful supernatural beings?"

"The truth is, we don't need to fight them at all."

"What do you mean?" Nick asked.

"You must realize that if the Malun family exists, there must be other similar supernatural beings—and likely many of them."

"Think about why humanity has survived safely until now. If they could truly act freely here, not just Earth, but several more solar systems would have been destroyed long ago."

"I know that well. Since the day I took office as Director of S. . . . . ., I've been paying close attention to this."

"But if the Bat God's guardian has truly descended, does that mean they've found a way to break through Earth's defenses?"

"They're nowhere near that. If they had truly found such a method, why wouldn't they just appear directly above Earth and announce to all humans that they intend to rule here?"

"Instead, they sneak around like thieves afraid of being caught, hiding behind the guise of the Bat God, forcing Earth's vampires to summon them?"

Schiller concluded: "They're not armed robbers storming a bank—they're clumsy burglars who break into ordinary homes, quietly picking locks, terrified of making a sound."

"And fortunately, the owner of this house has a bad temper—and holds grudges."

As night fell, Stark hovered above a block just before the Brooklyn Bridge; below him was a strangely shaped vehicle.

Stark pressed a button on his arm; the vehicle's armor unfolded, and a group of bizarre-looking robots stepped out.

They had four thick mechanical legs, a ring of mechanical arms above their bodies—each equipped with gear grips and hooks—and their main bodies resembled hexagonal nuts.

Steve, standing beside him, said: "These are your creations from the past few days? Are you sure these things can fight?"

"No, they're not for fighting," Stark scoffed. "You soldiers only think of combat. These are multi-purpose battlefield robots."

"So what can they do?"

"Anything you can imagine in terms of logistics."

After tonight's battle, I noticed a major problem—humanity's weakness isn't that we can't fight, or that our aim is poor, or that we're slow to dodge—it's that we waste too many personnel on logistics and maintenance.

"Moving a fallen soldier requires two strong men; they must cross the fire zone to retrieve the wounded, and if one of them gets hurt too, someone else must take their place."

"In a conventional war, this might be manageable, since the enemy is on the same level and doesn't deliberately target retreating wounded."

"But those bats are different—they fly. The moment they see someone fall or someone trying to rescue a wounded comrade, they attack them like mad."

"If we abandon the wounded, our morale plummets, and our casualties keep rising."

"I've thought about this all afternoon," Stark said, arms crossed. "This is my first time in such a war, so my mech designs have many flaws and mismatches—I've done my best to fix them quickly."

Steve heard a powerful confidence in his tone, utterly unlike his usual stubborn arrogance. At this moment, Stark—or Iron Man—was genuinely charismatic.

He was extraordinarily gifted in his field, unafraid to admit his own mistakes and weaknesses. This rigorous mindset clashed sharply with his casual demeanor, giving him a unique aura.

Stark continued: "Schiller gave me great insight—we truly need a battlefield-adaptive computational logic, ideally intelligent enough to predict these weaknesses before we even notice them, to stay one step ahead of the enemy."

"But there's no time now. We only have one day—no time for testing—so I compromised and built these robots manually."

Stark landed and patted the arm of one robot. "I won't list functions like hauling cargo or building defenses—more importantly, each carries incendiary rounds and flamethrowers. I've installed a signal button on every soldier's night-vision gear. Press it once, and it signals: 'Here is an injured vampire that can be burned.' They'll rush to the battlefield and incinerate them to ash."

"Their flamethrower systems are intelligently controlled, ensuring fires won't spread—far superior to manual operation."

"More importantly, their movement method."

As he spoke, the robot beside Stark retracted its mechanical arms into its hexagonal body, transforming into a nut-like shape, then hovering into the air.

Stark looked up at it and said: "So far, I haven't seen any evidence these vampires can disrupt magnetic fields. Thus, these machines can use magnetic levitation for extremely rapid movement."

"Once positioned above a wounded soldier, the lower mechanical arms will lift the soldier, encase them within the robot's body, and fly them back."

"Rebirth in the Age of Storms"

"The mech contains some emergency medical supplies and a small amount of healing serum—you know, the ones Connors developed. Not enough, probably, but enough to keep critical casualties alive until they reach the hospital."

"That's already excellent," Steve said, walking over to examine the hovering hexagonal nut. "War always costs lives—it's just a matter of how many. But saving even one more is better."

"Are you going to recount your glorious battlefield days again?"

Steve shrugged. "Nah. Since you did well this time, I'll spare you the lecture."

"So you've been doing this on purpose all along!" Stark glared angrily.

Steve spread his hands. "I used this trick on your father. But you've improved—you can endure it for over five minutes now."

When Peter arrived, he saw Stark gripping Steve's collar. He rushed over to separate them. Stark shook his arm and glanced at Peter: "What happened to your suit? Why is it so black?"

Peter shook his head. Seeing Peter distracted, Stark asked: "Hey, kid, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"I don't know," Peter said, pained. "My heart is racing, my Spider-Sense is ringing nonstop, but I can't find the source of danger. I feel awful."

Seeing Peter wasn't joking, Stark stepped forward and patted his shoulder. "I think you need to rest."

"You're not even an adult—you've been fighting nonstop for over twenty hours. This isn't sustainable," Steve added.

Peter looked irritated. "Don't bother me. I know what I need to do. I'm staying here—I'll wipe out every one of those disgusting monsters!"

"Your mental state is off…" Stark began, but Steve stopped him.

Peter sat down against a vehicle tire. Steve crouched beside him, looking into his eyes. "We're not trying to interfere, but as your elder—I'm definitely your elder—I'm worried about you, Peter…"

"If you feel you can still hold on, stay. But you've already done enough—even heroic."

Peter frowned, closed his eyes. "Sorry. I don't know what's wrong—I just feel restless, unsettled…"

"Schiller will be here soon. Talk to him. Maybe a psychologist can help with these symptoms."

"Schiller's coming here? Why? This is a battlefield! He'll be in danger!"

Stark and Steve exchanged glances—they realized Peter genuinely believed Schiller had no special powers, that he was just an ordinary person needing protection.

By the time night fully fell, three defensive lines were fully set up. With Stark's special logistics robots, the front was built rapidly and solidly—far better than expected.

A manor in the rear became the temporary command center. Schiller sat on the second floor; Peter sat across from him, pressing his forehead. "I feel terrible, Doctor. I keep sensing something terrible is about to happen—but I can't find the source…"

"Is your Spider-Sense warning you?"

"Yes. It's hard to explain—it's a feeling. Normally, my Spider-Sense shows me visual images of danger, even controls my body's movements."

"But now, I see nothing. Even when I focus, I find nothing—but it keeps humming, faint but constant…"

"Because you've always treated it as a passive ability. Have you ever considered you could control it actively?"

"Actively control it? I've tried before, but no matter how hard I focus, it never activates."

"That's because you weren't under real danger then—short-term states can't be sustained. But now is the perfect chance. Since your Spider-Sense is already active, try to command it…"

Peter closed his eyes, trying to focus—but his Spider-Sense was like a constantly plucked string, disrupting his thoughts, scattering his concentration.

Venom said: "Empty your mind. I can help you."

Peter forced his thoughts to clear, thinking of nothing. Slowly, a black haze spread in his consciousness—and then, a fleeting image flashed.

Schiller saw Peter leap up from his chair with a sharp gasp, his face filled with terror. "I saw…"

"Calm down, Peter. What did you see?"

Peter, panicked, told Schiller: "I saw Mr. Stark fall from a tall building… no armor… and he hit the ground…"

Peter's eyes were red, near tears. His voice cracked, trembling: "I saw… he died."

————Extra Notes————

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