Previously on Only One Left: "H-how did-" he wheezed, but was unable to finish the sentence.

"Hello Spider-Man," Norman Osborn grinned. "We meet at last,"

"Hello Spider-Man," Norman Osborn grinned. "We meet at last,"

For one long minute, all Peter could do was stare. His vision was still slightly impaired with the cracking dent in his mask lenses, so maybe he was seeing things. Did Otto get a make-over within the hours Peter's been away? Or did Harry slip something into one of the hotdogs they got from a vendor on the street? Because, if he was seeing right, then Norman Osborn was sitting in the middle of the Big Room, in Peter's chair, looking so out of place with his spiffy suit and gelled hair that Peter's first thought was that it couldn't possibly be true. Norman never came down to the Basement with all his high-tech, leather padded comfort at the top to keep him company. Which couldn't - shouldn't - be possible, at all, in the slightest because this was his literal worst nightmare, and Otto continuously told him as a kid that nightmares were just like dreams and only occurred through REM sleep when the brain was most active. They couldn't manifest into a living thing.

Yet, there he sat, legs crossed casually, with a bit of the chair fluff sticking to a pant-leg where the cushion had been torn. The already chilled environment seemed to drop lower, to the point that those cold blue eyes seemed almost warm and froze the mingled jumble of letters clogging Peter's throat. Before his brain could come up with a game plan that didn't involve him screaming "PANIC" and busting his body shape into a wall, his spider-sense ripped across his skull and down his spine, and he barely had time to skitter back as 3 figures emerged from the shadows around the room. Thundra's monstrous boots thumped heavily onto the concrete, spreading small cracks under her foot. Her grin was mad and eager, as she lazily swung her giant spiked ball from its chain as if it was as light as a bouncy ball. Claw stepped out behind Peter, making him scramble away, arms outstretched and already aimed for Peter's chest. Wizard was the last, almost melting out of the shadows as he hovered a few feet off the ground to the right of Norman, arms crossed, and already looking incredibly pleased with himself. Any damage to their costumes from their fight the other day was gone, but the vengeful gleam had the teen believing that they hadn't forgiven him just yet.

Peter, on the other hand, felt like he might throw back up that hotdog. He's never done well with direct confrontation, from SHIELD, villains, or rogue heroes, it gave him anxiety. And right about now, he was feeling very anxious, and suddenly he was extremely thankful for his mask, despite the rest of his costume being replaced by jeans and a t-shirt. He didn't like being boxed in, especially by this lot. How did the Frightful Four escape SHIELD anyway? He and those other heroes beat them, which meant they should definitely be sitting in a cell right about now. Didn't Fury know they're still out on the streets? Was it not his job to lock them away? Well, good job then. Thanks a lot.

Norman leaned forward in his chair, chin coming down to rest pleasantly on his hands. His head cocked to the side, just a small tilt that hinted a thought. "I was under the impression that you talked a lot," he mused, and Peter realized he'd been staring silently for minutes now, "or, at least that's what the media says. My employee's here have reported you're knack for talking as well, but maybe I've been misinformed."

Peter swallowed so hard, he was sure they heard it. Every scenario, every day-dream of finally knocking the haughty look from Norman's face became a naive childs' balloon popped by a bully, that now lay deflated on the ground as a hopeless rubbery scrap. To Peter, it was like finally seeing the monster after countless nights of strange noises under the bed and feeling eyes on you in the dark. He felt paralyzed.

Norman's eyes never left him but roamed over his body, and Peter was under the impression that he was a prized animal the world-renowned hunter finally snagged, and stepped back. Klaw shifted with him and moved forward, prompting Peter to move closer to the monster by firing up his weaponized gauntlets. Peter's fingers twitched, rubbing against his palm, while his eyes snapped across the room.

Now that the initial shock was fading, questions and panic pushed to the forefront of his mind, and he said the first thing that came to mind, "Where's Otto?"

Norman's eyebrows quirked, as if wondering why that would be the first thing Peter says. "So, you do speak. Maybe my reports weren't falsely put. As for Otto, well," his eyes took on a colder, humorous tinge, "you don't need to worry about him anymore."

It was haughty and cliche enough that in any other circumstances Peter might've cringed, but those words felt like ice down his back, and his whole body flushed cold. He fists curled inward, his knuckles hurt from the chill, but he glared behind the warped image of Norman's face. "What - what did you do to him? If - if you hurt him I swear-"

Norman cut him off with a phlegmatic gesture, "I don't think you should be worrying about that right now," he cooly reminded. "There are much more pressing matters at hand," and stood up, pulling lightly on his jacket to straighten out the creases. "Let's talk, Spider-Man," then he stepped forward.

Peter jumped back by instinct, but Klaw wasn't having any of that and swung out, barely clipping Peter's shoulder when the teen tried to dodge. Thundra took an eager step forward, fingers tightening on the chain, and Wizard's tech hummed louder as he got closer, but Norman held them all back with a simple lift of his palm.

"Easy," he said, lips turning up, "he hasn't done anything yet. There's still a chance he can come out of this room unscathed," Peter was under the impression that the last part was aimed toward him.

"Now," Norman knit his fingers together, right over his stomach, like a businessman ready to propose a new deal. "I know it's been a long day, so here's my proposition. Come with me peacefully, Spider-Man, and I won't have to send the Frightful Four after you again."

"Not the Frightful Four with only three of them," Peter couldn't help but mutter and said three all scowled. Wizard turned sharply to Norman, waiting for his next orders to attack, but Norman shook his head at him.

"Let me rephrase that," the CEO decided, taking the liberty of another step, "come with me peacefully, and I won't hurt Otto Octavius."

That Peter couldn't respond to. All the fear he thought he was capable of increased tenfold and utterly crushed his chances of breathing normally. It was one thing if he was in danger, but it was another thing if it was Otto's life on the line. He felt the panic come back, a tinge of hysteria. He was alone in the dark, calling for his family when there was no family to hear. It was claustrophobic. The walls were definitely getting bigger, pressing down on him, holding him in. Just the thought of his Godfather alone and broken, left Peter ready to give Norman all of his compliance wrapped up and topped with a pretty pink bow.

What would he do to Otto? What has he already done to him? Did he Torture him? Lock him up? Take away his mechanical arms? Peter couldn't even stomach the idea of Otto lying helpless on the floor with his technicals ripped from his back and torn beyond use. He needed those arms. They're his only way of function, without him he couldn't even move.

Norman's smile grew when Peter's shoulders fell.

"I'll - I'll go with you," the teen relinquished soberly. Norman's fingers re-knit behind his back, his satisfaction a smug, evident beacon on his face. He knew it was only a matter of bringing up the boys last family to tear him down. In fact, he was almost too easy. However, the beacon dulled when Peter added, "But I want to see Otto first,"

The fault in the man's demeanor was slight, but Peter caught it before it had the chance to disappear. His anxiety sky-rocketed and he shifted his feet, sensing the change in Norman.

The thought was small, yet hopeful. Does Norman even have Otto?

A rush of adrenaline tipped relief crashed Peter's systems, both putting his heart at ease and filling the rest of him up with fizzy energy, like all his blood had been replaced with a can of soda. His eyes rapidly crawled the walls, finding the quickest exit point to be just over Thundra's shoulder, closest to where his room resided. Peter wasn't going to allow himself to be duped. If there was a chance that Norman didn't have Otto, then he had to take it. Otto wouldn't want him to throw himself in Norman's lap without any prove. Still, a large part of him wanted to submit anyway because what if. What if Norman did have Otto? What if he really did hurt his godfather? Peter couldn't live with himself knowing that Otto had been hurt in any way because of him.

But still, escaping gave Peter a chance to come back and save him. Norman wouldn't really kill one of the brightest minds of his company just to get to him, would he? No - oddly enough, that didn't seem like Norman. For however long Peter had hung in the shadows, watching this CEO terrorize his only family, instant execution just didn't seem like his kind of thing. He seemed more like the sadistic kind of person to drag it out with blackmail, threats, bribery, and, as a final card, death. Norman wouldn't get rid of Otto because he was the only means of getting to Peter. As bad as it made him feel, Peter hoped that was the case. There was still a chance to get Otto back alive if it were.

But, first things first, he needed to get out of there.

Norman sensed his sudden attitude change too, and gestured to his lackeys, "Get him!"

The Frightful Three wasted no time, and lunged forward intent and eagerly. Thundra was the quickest and swiped at him with her lead ball. Peter jumped, and she took out a table of beakers and Erlenmeyer flasks instead. Sticking to the ceiling, he quickly crawled across the cement roofing, heading back toward his room. Klaw, however, aimed his arm and shot a sharp wall of sound that slammed cracks into the concrete where Peter would've been if he hadn't moved in the last second. Peter's spider-sense buzzed again as Wizard flew up next to him, hands out and glowing.

"Sorry Spider-Man, but we've got a score to settle with you," the horseshoe mustache doting villain, who didn't sound sorry at all, said. He took out two of his anti-gravity disks and Peter backed up, recalling his unpleasant encounter with them. There was no way he was getting himself stuck in that mess again. Heck, if it hadn't been for those SHIELD heroes, he probably wouldn't have gotten out of it at all.

"Sorry," Peter snipped back, jumping down onto one of the huge generators by the wall, "my Godfather said I'm not allowed to play with anti-gravity devices anymore. Maybe when I'm older you can hit me up though, kay."

Another blast from Klaw sent him jumping from the wall, flipping onto a lab table where Thundra struck out at him again, then back onto the ceiling. This time, though, Thundra was waiting for him. Instead of aiming at him, her chain-linked ball hit the wall under his feet and crumpled it like it was made of clay. The wall erupted into a cascade of mortar and cement that brought Peter down with it.

On the ground, he coughed up cement dust, feeling a twinge of panic when it clung to his throat. He shifted, but the pile of rubble setting up home on his back felt like a bag bowling balls on his spine. Thundra's boot stomped next to his face, and the monstrous ball crashed heavily next to it, crushing a mound of cement bricks into fine powder. As irrelevant as it was, the lyrics to "Wrecking Ball" came to mind. Peter found it incredibly distracting given the circumstances.

"Give up Spider," she sneered, curling the chain in her hand. "There is nowhere to run, and no one to save you."

Peter groaned, propping himself up on his arms, and tilted his head up to look at her, "Whatever you say, Miley Cyrus," hefting the weight on his back, he shrugged off the should-be-bowling balls and lunged at her, "I won't run!"

He tackled her stomach, spending them sprawling across the floor in a heap, with her wrecking ball rolling in the opposite direction. Thundra wasn't as deterred as he wanted her to be though. She twisted both their bodies, so he was the one to hit the floor and she was the one on top. His arms were pinned beneath her thighs within an instant, and her hand clamped over his neck.

"Maybe I should crush your throat in," she growled, grip tightening as Peter gasped for air. "I think that'd solve our talking problem," Wizard and Klaw stepped behind her, peering over her shoulder making no move to stop her. If anything, they looked like a couple of spectators enjoying the show. Or a group of pals cheering her on.

Peter gasped hoarsely behind her thick fingers, feeling the pain in his throat, head, and chest expand outward. Desperation kicks in and he jerked to move his arms, but they were stuck tight. Panic hit him and he kicked out with his legs, trying futily to gain leverage with his legs, and with the traction in his feet he did for a second. Then both Klaw and Wizard kicked his legs out and stepped on them to keep him down, going as far as to hold them down so he couldn't kick out. He couldn't breathe, he could feel his face swelling. His head felt ready to explode. He tried moving his neck, but her fingers were stuck tight. Heart hammering, he struggled anyway, writhing and twisting with everything he had to get her off. But moving didn't make a difference.

Fear hit him, and it hit him hard. His gasps came out strained and choked, and he could feel a strange peace begin to spread over his limbs as they fell numb to his asphyxiation. This is it, he realized. Thundra was going to kill him. She was going to crush his throat in, just as she said she would. She didn't care whether he lived or died, and neither did the rest of her team. In fact, they looked eager to watch.

But then, through his heart pounding in his ear, someone cleared their throat. Off to the side, Norman's blurry shifted lightly. His voice came across the room, cool and unmoved.

"Alive," is what he said, "I need him alive."

Thundra growled something unpleasant, face twisting into dark, disgusted shadows. Her grip tightened despite Norman's orders, and Peter feared that she wasn't going to let go. Then, her face pinched, and she tore her hand away. Instantly, Peter gasped and coughed, lungs convulsing as they frantically struggled to regain oxygen. His throat felt sore and stripped raw, and it hurt to breathe almost as much as it hurt to be strangled. But Thundra didn't get up, settling her weight on his chest which made breathing no easier.

"Fine," she spat, curling a fist into the cloth of his t-shirt and lifting her fist, "I'll keep him alive," behind her, Klaw and Wizard moved forward, eager and excited. Wizard held up an anti-gravity disk pinched between two fingers, grin wide and unnerving.

"Let's have a little fun then,"

Still, they all glanced over at Norman like kids getting permission from a chaperone.

"Just make sure he's actually unconscious this time," he said and leaned back in the chair.

The three villains turned back to their prey.

Annnd Peter doesn't look to be in a good place. But, then again, is he ever in a good place when I write him?

Dude, I think I need to write something airy and fluffy soon. The angst is getting to me.

Anywho, I want to start doing a writing schedule to get myself updating more and practicing my writing! I will, from now on, update every Sunday night/Monday. (Tuesday at the latest and Sunday morning at the earliest).

However, I have more than one account, thus I will be taking turns on those updates. So I guess, technically, it'll be an update every two weeks, unless you want to follow my other account (which is Percy Jackson based) which is: BornFromAshes (for Wattpadders), X-Gon-Give-It (for AO3 users), and AshedPheonixFeathers (for users). (Follow it now, cause I hardly ever tell people my other accounts). Why I don't have them all to be the same name, I don't know.

So, yeah, if you like Percy Jackson stories, you can follow those accounts, but all my Marvel/Spider-Man is generally written here.

Anyway, thanks for the patience for this story. I know, it's been a long time. However, this story will be coming to a close soon, so I'm excited about that!

Till next Sunday/Monday Chilladas!

~ Peace, I'm out!