Warnings: Father/Son incest, slash, consent issues, graphic content, dark subject matter

Disclaimers: I do not own Spiderman or Harry and Norman Osborn. All copyrights to Spiderman belong to Marvel Comics and Stan Lee, maybe even Sam Rami.

Author's Note: I appreciate reviews and comments on my work.

Prologue:

He opened the door slightly, slowly entering the room. From here, he molded into the familiar darkness he'd grown used to.

A closed door, a silent whisper, pleading, begging, whimpering; somehow the darkness masked the velocity of these crimes. That was, if they were crimes.

He'd justified the sequence of events over and over in his mind; cold, cruel thoughts racing through a carefully calculated educated mind.

At first, the screams had been cutting- the harsh sounds breaking his much needed silence.

The stresses from his life weighed down unto he felt ready to scream himself, but he never did.

Emotions like tears were wasted upon the lifeless souls of the dead.

Sometimes he wondered where the living ended and the dead began.

Life was meant for wounds, blood, tears, and sweat.

He had achieved the life he had desired when he spent each night locked up in a cellar, left with only his dreams.

Dreams offered little comfort in the dark shivering blackness, but he'd taken immense satisfaction with the reactions after his dreams turned into reality.

He never looked back, steadily building his empire from the ground up. Marriage had been a wasted journey, until he was faced with the familiar loneliness he'd grown accustomed to all his life.

That brought him back to his son, a weak and helpless creature. His son reminded him of everything he despised in himself, shattering the cold exterior he'd worked so hard to create.

His son had destroyed him, and created him.

Now, as he stands over the body of his son, he smiles. He can make out the taut white flesh in the darkness. He can almost taste the fear surrounding his son.

This is the difference between life and death, darkness and light, and everything in between.

This, he tells himself, is why he lives.