Your support gives me strength! Power Stones are cool, but your follow hits different—it keeps me going! XD
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Chapter Twenty-Four: The Meeting with Peter Parker
Daniel woke in an instant, as if his body had decided for him.
The air was clear and the morning's chill slipped through a window that had been left half-closed during the night.
He rose quickly and lightly; the exhaustion that had weighed him down yesterday was gone.
He ran a hand over his shoulder and ribs and found only a faint memory of bruises—bruises that could have left him bedridden if Doran's Shield had not remained active through the night.
His healing rate was slow, true, but the steady hours had been enough to return his body almost to itself—as if the night itself had worked with him.
He washed his face with cold water and stared at the mirror for a moment: calm skin, eyes still carrying the alertness of a fighter but clearer today.
He smiled slightly.
"A new day... and hopefully fewer chaotic tasks," he murmured.
There was no time for culinary art in the kitchen.
He made a simple breakfast: two eggs, a slice of toasted bread, a small pat of butter, and a strong black coffee without sugar.
He sat at the small wooden table, light flowing across the quiet surface, and ate slowly.
This time he was not thinking of fighting but of writing.
In his other life—before templates and powers—the pen had been his greatest weapon.
He still felt, when holding it, a sensation that no blow could match.
After breakfast he took his notebook, opened a fresh page, and began to jot ideas for his novel.
The pen moved smoothly across the paper, as if his mind had been waiting for this quiet to empty itself.
A sip of coffee, a new sentence, a short pause to reflect.
These small moments were his true sanctuary.
The phone rang and cut the silence.
Matt's name lit the screen.
He answered with a calm tone: "Hello."
Matt's voice came, sharp and businesslike: "We have a meeting now—Daredevil and some collaborators. We're discussing the plan to strike Fisk. We need you there."
Daniel brushed the remaining ink from his pen with his finger and said without hesitation: "I'm busy today. Continue your meeting and send me a summary of what's decided."
He added in a steady voice: "If you truly need me, call immediately. I'll be ready."
A short silence, then Matt replied: "All right… I'll send the details later."
Daniel closed the call and put the phone aside.
He returned to his work.
Three hours later he rose from his chair, glanced at his notebook, and closed it gently.
He put on a simple shirt and a light coat.
He left his apartment with measured steps.
The cold air touched his face and the sun shone in the sky.
He hailed a cab—let's visit Queens for a while.
On a wet street in Queens, the sky was heavy with harsh clouds and a fine rain narrowed the view and mirrored the lamp lights on the slick pavement.
Empty seats in the median, traffic barriers swallowing the echo of passing cars—there Daniel sat, his back slightly curved, watching the street with a steady eye.
The template he had activated that night was Lee Sin; although his clothes looked odd, he wore an overcoat to avoid suspicion.
After defeating Frank Castle and a few street thugs on the way, Daniel had reached level two and unlocked his E ability.
He sat now, waiting and sensing everything around him with his heightened senses.
The air carried the smell of rain and damp grass, and then the scene unfolded before him:
An old man walked slowly, carrying a small bag, like a relic from another time.
His face was pure, his steps measured—he did not know the roughness the city lived by.
One step behind him, two young men hurried; the sound of their feet was quick, as if they were rehearsing a theft and planning an escape.
Their eyes were tense; everything in them vibrated with the thrill and haste of action.
Daniel watched the scene evolve as if it were an old clip replaying inside his head: the small closed shop—its faded colors like a painting—an abrupt forced opening of the door, the metallic clatter.
Every move they made bore the recklessness of haste; time chased them into error.
Suddenly, from behind the shop's corner one of them burst out, jittery with nerves, shouting in excitement: "Hurry! Let's go!"
The other advanced angrily.
After they had finished looting the store and shouted "Come on, come on," the two rushed toward their nearby car.
In that moment another elderly man appeared—his features deeply marked by the neighborhood's kindness; his voice called to the boys or gently scolded them: "Son, don't do this. Don't steal the shop. If you get caught, your life will be over…"
The simple words ignited something in one of them; but the other thief's eyes flashed with childish fury.
They were both seated in the car, but the old man's leaning on the cart blocked their path.
The angry thief drew a pistol and began to threaten the old man: "Move away from the cart, old man, or I'll shoot."
The first thief, affected by the old man's words, protested to his partner, "We said no blood. Lower the gun."
Yet with the first thief's tension and dwindling patience, and without much thought—a shot rang out and carried a harsh echo.
The moment froze.
The whistle of the bullet cut the air, and a beat before the word "bullet" could be spoken, Daniel moved—not like a hesitant man but like a true pulse of chi.
He opened his W ability, and primal waves of energy sprang from the soles of his feet outward: short, harmonious pulses, like threads of wind spinning about him.
Chi condensed in a pale sheath around his ankles and he surged in a straight line, speed as if the ground itself pushed him forward and laid a path for his dash.
He reached the old man in a heartbeat.
A pale white shield manifested spontaneously—not a solid material but an energy filter, a ring of chi wrapping the old man and Daniel together, absorbing the bullet's impact and dispersing it like a distant whisper.
The white shield around the old man faded after the bullet struck him.
Daniel grabbed the old man's body and pulled him a little away from the cart.
The criminals stood stunned; fear and unease turned abruptly to awe.
The one who had fired, after seeing the old man removed from the cart, decided to flee.
They bolted to their small car, the engine roaring, and slammed the accelerator as if the world weren't big enough.
Their escape was rough—wheels spat water across the curb, red lights slashing the street.
What the thieves did not notice was another shadow walking on the nearby sidewalk—a teenager in a simple coat, wandering aimlessly but nearby.
Peter was there, a faint pulse in his senses, though he hadn't yet registered that anything unusual had passed near him.
He heard the gunshots and rushed toward the scene, his heart pounding, his steps quick.
When he arrived he saw his uncle leaning against another man.
Questions poured from his mouth before he could gather them: "Are you—are you okay, Uncle Ben? Were you shot?"
His voice choked between fear and the urge to help.
The old man, in a voice that rang with a mixture of calm and gratitude, answered slowly, still surprised by Peter's presence: "I'm… fine… and thank you."
Then he raised his eyes to the man beside him: "Son, who are you? How did you do that?"
His trembling hands searched for an explanation for the miracle.
Daniel spoke in a soft voice that carried no hint of pride: "I was just in the right place."
Then he looked at Peter, who was still trying to make sense of what he saw—especially since Peter's spider-sense had not signaled that the man standing by his uncle was ordinary, as if the chi around Daniel had awakened a thread of caution.
"You okay?" Daniel asked after he sensed Peter's intense stare at him.
Peter hurried forward and steadied his uncle instead of the stranger.
His eyes never left his uncle, then he turned to Daniel with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity: "What happened here?"
The words tumbled out with the awkward politeness of a curious young man.
Peter did not hear anything strange at that moment; his spider-sense did not detect any additional danger.
The old man, regaining his breath, took Daniel's hand weakly yet earnestly: "Thank you, son. I don't know how to repay you, but you saved my life."
He added with teary eyes, "Come home with me—let me make you a cup of coffee and feed you. It's the least I can do."
It was a simple, sincere invitation from an old man.
Daniel looked at Peter with mild amusement as the boy oscillated between alarm and gratitude, and then decided to accept.
"All right. I'll accept the invitation," Daniel said quietly.