The next morning — Midtown High School, New York.
Damian walked into the classroom, rubbing his lower back with an expression that screamed, "Last night's escapades were… intense."
"Z! Something terrible has happened!"
The moment he stepped through the door, Peter Parker's voice hit him—laced with shock and indignation.
It was like watching a weary ox, dreaming of greener pastures and sprinting toward a better life, only to swing open the barn door and find Old Man Wang next door sprinting too—with his wife slung over his shoulder.
(Think of Peter Parker and Bruce Wayne: two iconic heroes from Marvel and DC, both famously played by actors.)
Damian reached out and solemnly patted Peter's shoulder.
"Peter… I'm so sorry. I'm sure Uncle Ben's spirit wouldn't want to see his family drowning in sorrow like this.
It's precisely because life is so fragile that I hope you understand: life is a whirlwind… a well lined with thorns! We—"
But before he could finish, Peter slapped him in frustration and roared:
"Shut up! Uncle Ben is fine!"
"Then why are you yelling like the world's ending?!" Damian snapped back, clutching his stinging cheek. "Do you have any idea how much that hurts?!"
Peter felt a sharp twinge—not in his balls or anus (T/N: that part made no sense)—but in his patience. He gritted his teeth.
"Look at what you just said, man! If you'd said anything sensible, you wouldn't have said that! You—"
Realizing he'd messed up, Damian cut him off before he could spiral further.
"Uh… right! Weren't you saying something terrible happened? What's going on? Why are you so worked up?"
That did the trick. Peter's expression shifted instantly—from fury to eager excitement.
"Do you remember the church near my house? The one Uncle Ben used to go to for prayer?"
Damian feigned thoughtfulness, then nodded slowly.
"Ohhh—yeah! The Church of Our Lady of the Assumption! The priests were super welcoming… until I was thirteen. After I turned fifteen, I never went back.
What happened to it?!"
Peter's eyes widened. He threw his hands up dramatically.
"It's gone! Vanished overnight—poof! Not even the foundation's left! Just… a massive crater!
If I hadn't walked past it yesterday after school and seen it standing perfectly fine, I'd think I was hallucinating!
That church was over 7,000 square feet! Even if they demolished it, it couldn't disappear that fast!
Do you think… an alien UFO sucked it up? Like in the movies?!"
Damian just said "Oh," shrugged, and walked to his seat, slinging his backpack down.
Peter gaped. "Don't you have any reaction? Shock? Fear? Anything?"
Damian waved a hand dismissively. "What's so surprising? It's just another supernatural incident. We've seen weirder."
"Have we?!"
"Dude—remember the Argonaut's sea monster? Or that giant robot that fell from 30,000 feet and walked away unscathed?
Tell me—what part of that can be explained by current science, technology, or even basic logic? Forget physics—metaphysics struggles with it!"
Peter fell silent. After a long pause, he murmured under his breath:
"…Does the God of Christianity actually exist?"
Damian tilted his head, thought for a moment, and then said thoughtfully,
"I don't know whether God exists or not, but I think Allah in Islam should be real."
As soon as these words were spoken, several religious students frowned and glanced over, as if they wanted to say something but hesitated.
A pretty, bespectacled girl turned around and looked at Damian with a displeased expression. "Why do you doubt the reality of God yet believe Allah is real?!"
Hearing this, Damian glanced at her and replied calmly,
"If Allah isn't real, then why did the universe begin with the Big Bang?"
"…"
Peter Parker held his forehead with one hand, pointed at the door with the other, and said with a headache,
"Get out of here with your hellish joke."
—
In the early morning, sunlight shone on the massive circular crater in Brooklyn—nearly one kilometer in diameter. The jagged edges of its rim showed it had endured an impact of unimaginable force.
Twelve black SUVs bearing the S.H.I.E.L.D. eagle emblem formed a perimeter around the site, while agents in chemical protective suits deployed quantum fluctuation detectors.
"Director, the residual gamma-ray levels here exceed the standard by 470 times. But strangely, this radiation doesn't match any known spectrum," a technician reported, pushing up his goggles as the Geiger counter in his hand emitted rapid beeps.
Nick Fury squatted down and lightly touched the crystallized rock at the crater's edge with his specially gloved fingers.
"Have the sample team collect this vitrified material. Maintain Level Three containment—this could be a product of a new form of elemental transmutation."
He pointed to the green-glowing crystal layer along the cross-section and issued orders to his team.
Three hovering drones buzzed to life, their onboard mass spectrometers scanning the crater's depths.
From the communicator came the voice of Fitz, a S.H.I.E.L.D. trainee investigator:
"Oh my God! The crater floor has a perfect spherical curvature, and its surface hardness reaches Mohs 9. That would require at least 20 million megajoules of energy released instantaneously—"
"Director!"
Another agent suddenly shouted. A holographic projection before him displayed anomalous weather data.
"Satellite records show an anticyclone-like phenomenon here last night lasting 37 seconds, with peak wind speeds reaching… this can't be right. The instrument reads 6,892 meters per second!"
Nick Fury frowned at the data on the holographic display and turned toward the media helicopters beginning to gather down the road.
"Understood. Back up the data, encrypt it, and transmit it to Stark Industries for cross-verification.
May! Garriott! Tighten air traffic control. I don't want this morning's New York Times headline to read: 'Aliens Attack Queens.'"
A few hundred meters away, Johnny Blaze's Harley roared past the blockade perimeter.
As he passed a large ochre-colored boulder embedded in the roadside, the pupils beneath his helmet contracted sharply.
Images flashed through his mind like a kaleidoscope: the burning church, the roaring rock giant, the figure tearing through the night sky.
He slammed on the brakes, his knuckles whitening beneath his leather gloves.
"Sir, you can't stop here!" a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent called out.
Johnny shook his head, twi
sted the throttle, and sped away.
But no one noticed that every puddle he passed began to boil strangely.
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