Chapter 87
The waiting dragged on.
One minute passed. Two. Five. Ten. Thirty.
His legs had gone completely numb, like dead logs beneath him. But Peter, deep in meditation, did not despair. Not yet. He waited. It was the only thing he could do.
Well, that and an offer. Silently, he projected his proposal into the vibrating air of the room. I am here. I am ready. I am the perfect vessel.
An hour passed. Silence. Only the faint hum of the metaphysical energy surrounding him.
Then two hours passed.
A cold, sticky awareness seeped slowly through the barriers of his meditation. Doubt. What if John had been wrong? What if Peter wasn't perfect? What if he was simply ordinary?
No. He couldn't think that way. It was a test. Yes, exactly. A test of his will, his resolve. He needed to wait. He was prepared to wait as long as it took.
Five hours passed. Hunger cramped his stomach, but he ignored it.
Ten hours passed. His consciousness began to drift.
Twenty hours passed.
Time lost all meaning. It stretched into an infinite, viscous substance. He could not let himself break his meditation. The fatigue suppressants, dammit. Why had he not thought to take one before this interview began? It would happen, wouldn't it? It had to.
His thoughts had long since dissolved into chaotic, disjointed fragments. Fear. Hopelessness. Failure. He was aware of his own total failure, once again. Yes, he and John had lost. The plan had not worked. He could not do it. He had let everyone down. Again.
Twenty-four hours passed. A full day. He had sat in this cramped little closet for an entire day, calling out into the emptiness.
Peter held on for another three hours of physical and mental agony. Then his consciousness simply switched off. In the last fleeting moments, a desperate thought flashed through his mind. If this really was some kind of final trial, then right now, everything would be decided.
Nothing was decided.
He woke to soft light and the familiar smell of antiseptic. He was in a hospital room. Aunt May sat beside him, her face drawn with worry. She lit up with an encouraging smile when he opened his eyes.
Peter took stock of his body. Emptiness. Nothing had changed. Not at all. He was the same ordinary, weak Peter Parker he had always been.
A perfect vessel. John had had too high an opinion of him. He was what he had always been. A nerd. A geek. A bookworm. A weakling. A nobody. He had let everyone down again. He had let himself down most of all. A bitter lump rose in his throat.
"Your friend said you worked yourself to exhaustion in the lab." Aunt May shook her head, adjusting his pillow. "But fortunately, nothing serious. The doctor said they should discharge you today."
A friend. John. Yes, now he could truly call him that. After everything John had done for him. And him? So what had he managed to do? He came up with a couple of ideas, and he'd already grown proud of himself. He had fancied himself some kind of scientific guru. Meanwhile, John had been quietly saving the world from damn Nazi terrorists.
It was interesting. Would John be disappointed in him now? Would he consider him useless?
After being discharged from the hospital a few hours later, Peter headed straight for Thompson Corp. He needed to talk to John. He needed to discuss the next steps, if there were any at all.
He found John in the engineering lab. He was absorbed in a suit.
Peter froze in the doorway. This was not merely armor. This was a work of art. White and gold, with smooth, predatory lines of futuristic design. It radiated power. An incredible, concentrated danger that made Peter's breath hitch. The air in the lab had grown dense and heavy.
John held the suit's golden gauntlet, eyes closed, performing some invisible, metaphysical manipulation. The energy around him pulsed. Three minutes later, he finished. He carefully set the gauntlet, which Peter was certain cost more than a military jet's budget, on the lab table. Only then did he notice Peter, frozen in the doorway.
"Oh, you're finally awake!" John gave him his usual, slightly sardonic smile, and that smile made Peter feel a little better. "I got a bit carried away here. Don't hold it against me for not sending a car." He nodded at the suit components laid out around him. "The corporate AI isn't ready yet. Personal enhancement is the priority right now. Just in case a nimble shinobi bastard from Hydra's remnants figures out who orchestrated the recent purge."
"Y-yeah... um... I can see that. You don't need to worry about me." Peter finally managed to take a step forward, unable to take his eyes off the suit. "What... what is that? Why does it feel so..." He hesitated, searching for the word. "Imposing?"
"Oh?" John raised an eyebrow in surprise. He looked at the suit, then back at Peter. But this time, he had a different expression, scrutinizing and piercing. It sent a chill down Peter's spine. "That's interesting."
John stepped closer, his eyes scanning Peter.
"You definitely haven't gained any spider powers. The hospital data is accurate, and I can see there's no connection to the Web. But you, you felt the energy of the Absolute Chimera?" John's voice dropped. It became more contemplative. This was the moment he began formulating his theories, retreating into himself. Peter knew that look. He wore it himself sometimes. He stood still, all ears.
"I suppose that through calibration of the soul and prolonged meditation, you may have developed some form of spiritual intuition. A limited form, perhaps. Could this be considered a variation of Spider-Sense? No, the mechanism is different. You're not interacting with the Web. So it really is pure Spirit. Pure metaphysics. Fascinating. It seems that in this world, literally anyone can become a mage. I'll need to look into that sometime."
"A mage?!" Peter practically jumped. In his soul, recently hollowed out by failure, a tiny, bright spark of hope flared to life. Magic. That was also a path to power.
"Theoretically." John shook his head, dampening his enthusiasm. "But it's slow. Inefficient. And there's no guarantee you'd succeed. A completely different path. It would require a different aptitude. Don't forget we have other ways to become stronger, ones that are much faster and far more reliable."
The hope faded just as quickly as it had flared. Peter nodded dejectedly.
"Right. The super-soldier serum. Based on reptilian DNA." He already knew where John was going with this. That was Plan B he'd rejected in favor of his chance to become Spider-Man. "It's just... magic... it sounded..."
"I know." John nodded, unexpectedly serious. "I want to crack it myself. But I'm afraid a certain someone might not appreciate that. So I'm waiting for the right moment."
Peter nodded again. He felt a strange kinship with this near-omnipotent man over their shared, unspoken fears.
"I waited too. I waited for a very long time in that closet." He finally said what had been sitting on his chest like a stone since he'd woken up. "I waited for twenty-seven hours. But I'm sorry, John. Apparently I'd make a terrible Spider-Man, since no one ever came."
"Hey." John walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. "This isn't your fault. The odds were never that great to begin with. I'd already inflated them to fifty-fifty for motivation. In reality, it was probably more like ninety to ten, not in our favor. Just understand that when it comes to making contact with an entity of that caliber, it's impossible to predict anything. Their motives, their goals, their methods, they're all beyond our comprehension. Who are we to seriously attempt to understand divine logic? We're just mortals who've been lucky enough to learn a little more about the universe."
"Still..." Peter looked at his useless hands. "It stings. I feel cheated."
"I agree. It's frustrating." John nodded. "But as they say, that's no reason to give up. If you still want the power, if you're ready..."
"I do!" Peter exclaimed, sharper than he'd expected, even from himself. He wanted it. He wanted the power, the kind of power he'd deliberately rejected for the Web's sake. But the Web hadn't even given him a chance. No dialogue. No trial. Just silence. Just emptiness. So it didn't need him. And if that was the case, then...
"Then I can offer you two options," John continued, seeing the flash of resolve in his eyes. "The first option is the super soldier serum I mentioned earlier. Naturally, we'll refine it. Make it better, cleaner. The second option is Extremis. That's what I have right now."
And John explained it. He explained about Extremis. The nanobots would rewrite his DNA. It would provide incredible regeneration, superhuman strength, and thermogenesis. The possibilities this virus would grant him were vast. And the price would be steep. He would practically cease to be human. He would become something greater. Or perhaps something lesser. Not a machine, but something close to it.
Peter listened, and the more John described it, the more his decision solidified.
"I..." He paused, weighing everything one last time. "Let's go with the super soldier serum."
Thermogenesis and immortality were impressive, sure. But it was too much. Too far from who he was. Besides, the greater the power, the greater the responsibility. He didn't need power to rule the world. He just wanted to protect his family. He wanted to become strong enough that no one could hurt them. He probably wouldn't even do the costumed hero thing. He'd just stay nearby. He would be an invisible shield.
"Good choice." John nodded, clearly pleased. "Take a look at my genetic library for now. I compiled it while creating Extremis. It has a complete breakdown of Eric's blood. Combined with reptilian DNA, it creates a solid synergy between regeneration and heightened senses. See what you can adapt for yourself. I'll come by in a couple of hours to help with the synthesis."
Peter nodded and headed to the biochemistry lab. He felt the familiar excitement of research stirring in him again. With an NZT tablet, the process moved quickly. He immersed himself in complex formulas, selected the ideal gene combination, and adapted the serum to his own biology. He eliminated every theoretical risk.
When John arrived two hours later, Peter already had a finished prototype.
"Think it over one more time," John cautioned, looking at the auto-injector in Peter's hands, filled with a greenish liquid. "The Web might take offense at this. Permanently."
"Judging by yesterday, it wasn't interested in me to begin with," Peter sighed. "So yes. My mind is made up."
"Well then..." John's lips curved into a faint smirk. "Don't worry. You'll still find someone who appreciates you for who you are. All right, go ahead and inject yourself. I'll monitor you. If you do turn into a creepy giant lizard, I promise to be gentle when I catch you."
"That's impossible in any scenario, even the worst hypothetical one! I checked everything!" Peter protested.
"I know." John shrugged. "I'm just cheering you on."
Peter exhaled, pushing away stray thoughts. He took the injector. His hands weren't shaking. That only happened in moments of absolute certainty. He recalled what he'd decided in that room. He needed to take his fate into his own hands. This was his step. His choice.
He gave himself a single nod and decisively injected the serum into his thigh.
Cold. An icy wave spread from the injection site, instantly flooding through his veins and numbing his entire body. His breath seized. The edges of the world began to darken. An expected effect, given the reptilian cold-bloodedness. But still a terrifying one.
"You'll be on a drip for anywhere from a few hours to a few days." He heard John's voice through the ringing in his ears. John was already calling the S.H.I.E.L.D. paramedics on a secure line. "After that, you'll be able to claim you've been reborn."
S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't need them to know..." Peter rasped. Speaking was unbearably difficult. The serum had already begun restructuring him, and with every passing second, things got worse.
"We do, Pete. We do." John shook his head. "There's no equipment here to sustain your vital functions at this level of transformation. Ordering and setting it up would take too long. Every minute counts."
"Khaah. Fine." That was the last thing Peter managed to breathe out, conceding that John was right.
Then the merciful darkness took him.
There was an awakening. Again, a sterile white hospital room. This time, somewhere deep inside a S.H.I.E.L.D. base.
Aunt May wasn't there. Neither was John. Instead, a grim agent in dark, unmarked clothing sat silently beside the bed, watching the readouts on the monitors, watching him, without looking away.
Peter carefully listened to himself. He tuned into the changes in his body. The emptiness he had felt after the failure in the Resonance Room was gone. In its place was a quiet, deep hum of power permeating every cell. He could feel his muscles. They were as hard as steel cables. He could feel his blood moving through his veins. It moved faster and cleaner. He had finally crossed the line separating him from them. From the strong. Now he was strong too.
"How much time has passed?" he asked. His voice came out strangely level and deep. He lifted his head carefully. No pain. No dizziness. Not the slightest discomfort. Only a sensation of incredible lightness and readiness to act.
"Four hours and twenty-seven minutes," the agent answered indifferently, pressing a button on the small communicator at his belt.
A minute later, a S.H.I.E.L.D. medical team entered the room. The full examination flowed seamlessly into testing his new physical capabilities on the base's underground training range.
Everyone was already there. John was there. Director Fury, observing him with an unreadable expression, tracking his every movement closely. And Gwen, too, was standing beside John, smiling and saying something quietly to him.
How could he hear them? He was a superhuman now. Peter focused on his hearing out of curiosity. The hum of ventilation. The drone of lights. Distant footsteps in the corridor. And their voices, clear and sharp despite being roughly forty meters away.
"Are your parents invited to the wedding?" Gwen was asking.
Peter choked. A wedding? Whose wedding? With whom?! Judging by the way John was looking at Gwen, could it be?! That fast?!
"No," John shook his head. His voice was quiet, but Peter heard every word. "I don't have any. And I don't consider my adoptive parents my parents."
"Oh. I'm sorry," Gwen's voice softened.
"It's fine," John reassured her, putting an arm around her shoulders. "These things happen." "And you, Pete," he said, suddenly raising his head and looking directly at Peter, "Stop eavesdropping. Come on, show us what you've got."
Peter flushed deep red, shaking himself out of his trance. He nodded and began the tests.
Strength. Speed. Reflexes. Regeneration. Everything was incredible. He bent steel bars with ease. He dodged training drones as if he could see their attacks before they even came. Scratches from an awkward maneuver healed over right before his eyes. In raw physical power, he now clearly surpassed Gwen. In regeneration, he surpassed her by an order of magnitude.
Yes, he was still weaker than John or that walking embodiment of might, Hyperion. But what he had received was intoxicating. It was a feeling of absolute freedom and control over his own body. Unlike anything he had ever experienced.
He was elated and genuinely happy. After the tests concluded, he approached John.
"John... thank you. Thank you for this chance."
"We're among friends. We'll settle up later," John said simply with a nod. "By the way, you're invited to our wedding. Gwen's and mine."
"That... fast?" Peter murmured, still not quite believing it. "You've known each other for less than a month."
"All the best things in life happen fast, Pete." John smiled and shrugged.
Peter just nodded at a loss. Something resembling wistfulness stirred inside him. He was happy for them, truly. But he wanted to find the right one too.
Oh well. No time for reflection. It was time to go home.
"Parker." Fury walked up to him, his gaze heavy and appraising. "I understand your drive for power. But know this: from this moment on, you are not simply a student. You are an asset. An asset that belongs to all of humanity. And if something global threatens this world, remember that your family lives in that same world."
"Y-yes, Director." Peter's voice betrayed him with a slight tremor under that gaze. There it was. That very responsibility Uncle Ben had always talked about. It had arrived. Uninvited but inevitable.
Peter came home to their small apartment in Queens and found Uncle Ben and Aunt May alive and well, only slightly worried about his absence. Peter finally let out a breath of relief. Life was sorting itself out.
"Peter? What happened?" Uncle Ben set down his newspaper and looked at him seriously. "Why do you..." He stopped, studying his nephew carefully. "You look like you haven't left the gym in six months."
"Oh..." Peter smacked his palm against his forehead. He had completely overlooked this. The physical changes. Neither John nor Fury had warned him about this, which meant they had given him the green light.
Peter had to explain it. Almost everything.
He told them about Uncle Ben's miraculous recovery, linked to an experimental treatment now being adopted even by S.H.I.E.L.D., which had revealed itself to the world. He described his own participation in the project, how he had gained his powers, and that he'd done it to protect them. He spoke of their now completely safe and comfortable future. His words came haltingly but sincerely as he tried to ease their shock, opening up fully to his family. Naturally, he omitted any details connected to John's name, Hydra, or S.H.I.E.L.D. Their secrets were their secrets, and Peter knew how to keep one.
Aunt May gasped and fretted, relief and fear tangling together inside her. Uncle Ben was silent for a long time, processing what he had heard. Finally, he stood up, walked over to Peter, and placed a hand on his shoulder. His gaze was serious but full of love.
"A power..." he said thoughtfully, as if tasting the word. "Do you remember what old Ben Parker always used to tell you, Pete?"
"Yes, Uncle. I remember." Peter nodded, feeling everything tighten within him with a sense of foreboding. "With great power comes great responsibility." "I understand."
And at that very moment, the sky split open. Not a metaphor. A literal split.
The sky died first.
The light of day vanished and did not return. The sun did not simply disappear behind the clouds. It went out, as if someone had flipped a switch. The sky darkened, but this was not night. Night was still far away. This was a living, oily, writhing darkness. An abyss torn open over the world. It enveloped the planet. It enveloped New York.
From that darkness, drops began to fall. Not rain: drops of living, twisting darkness. They fell on the streets. On the cars. On the people. Wherever the darkness touched a person, it began to consume them. To assimilate them. People screamed, but not for long. Then they became the darkness. Monsters. Dark, shapeless creatures with burning eyes. They lunged at others, infecting them. The infected lunged at the next. A chain reaction of nightmares.
Peter stood at the window of his apartment, frozen in horror. His new, enhanced hearing picked up a symphony of chaos. Screams of pain dissolved into inhuman roars. The shriek of tearing metal echoed. Distant explosions rang out. What was happening? Why? How could he stop this?
This was not a zombie apocalypse. This was something far worse. It was far more hopeless.
And then it happened: the thing that broke him completely.
They tore out of the black, churning sky. They were gigantic, unimaginable dragons of darkness. Each one was the size of a skyscraper. Their silhouettes were barely visible against the sky, but their presence pressed down on everything, cracking reality itself. They opened their maws and breathed on the city, not fire but thick, living torrents of that same darkness. The torrents began to drown entire city blocks, swallowing the buildings, the cars, and the people, turning everything into a single, dark, writhing landscape of horror.
Uncle Ben! Aunt May! Peter broke free of his paralysis.
He scooped them both up. His new strength let him carry them without the slightest effort. He smashed through the window and launched himself into the air. He scrambled up the walls of the buildings, dodging the drops of darkness. He carried his loved ones higher and higher. He climbed to the roof of the tallest skyscraper in the area, hoping the darkness would not reach them here.
From here, he watched his city die. He watched his world die.
John. Gwen. Hyperion. Fury. Anyone. Where were they all?! A part of his mind, that same part that had sat for twenty‑seven hours in an empty room, knew the answer. But he did not want to believe it. He could not believe it.
The whole world. Could this really be how it would end? So sudden. So senseless. So wrong.
The darkness crept toward the base of the skyscraper. It climbed slowly, consuming floor after floor. Then it stopped. The whole world already belonged to it. The whole world had been lost, without even understanding that a war had begun. Peter harbored no illusions. There would be no salvation.
And when a figure stepped silently from the dark haze that materialized directly before him on the rooftop, Peter understood that this was the end.
A tall, unnaturally pale man with long, billowing white hair. Clad in black armor that looked as if it had been forged from the night itself. On his chest writhed a symbol. A spiral, blood‑red spider. In his right hand, he held a sword of the same color. The blade was alive. Fluid. Like the darkness itself.
This man was not a man. He was a god. Or a devil. A being capable of destroying the planet with a snap of his fingers. Peter had no doubt about it. But he had chosen a different path. A demonstrative execution. An execution for the one who had dared to interfere with what was ordained. For the one who had dared to deceive the Web.
"So... I...," Peter heard his own voice, a quiet, broken whisper. "With my own hands, I destroyed this world."
He had wanted to become a hero to protect them. Instead, he had brought this down upon them. His and John's gamble had turned into a nightmare of universal scale.
"Yes." A voice came, not from outside, but from directly inside his head. The voice was unfamiliar, young and surprisingly playful, almost cheerful. It clearly did not belong to the dark entity standing before them.
"Knull does not like being played with, Peter," the voice continued, casually dropping the name of the God of Darkness. "This world is doomed. This is the end. Finis. But..."
The voice grew more serious.
"You are a perfect vessel. You have caught His personal interest. And I was too late to stop you from connecting to the Web in another way; nevertheless, I can pull you out of here. Right now."
Peter felt his soul hanging over the edge of an abyss.
"You will receive true power. The power of the Web you've been craving. It will allow you to one day face Him, for real. To avenge this world."
There was a pause. The voice hardened.
"But I can only save you. Your family. They're part of this Universe. They will die here. Will you die with them, or will you get out without them? It is your choice to make."
It was a choice.
Would he abandon everything he held dear? Would he deliberately leave Uncle Ben and Aunt May to die in this hell of darkness just to save himself? Would he do it for some great purpose? Would he become a hero at the cost of their lives?
Or would he refuse it? Refuse the power, the future, the revenge, and the status of a vessel? Stay here? Hold his loved ones in the final seconds of their lives? Meet death alongside them? Not as a hero. But as Peter Parker. As a nephew. As a son.
The choice was obvious. It had never been simpler.
Without hesitating for a second, Peter turned his back on the God of Darkness and the voice in his head. He held Uncle Ben and Aunt May in a tight, fierce embrace. He pulled them close. They were crying, but they wrapped their arms around him in return.
Peter squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his face into his uncle's shoulder. He was ready. He only hoped it would be quick.
Forgive me, John. It looks like we got in over our heads.
That was his last thought before he slipped into the all-consuming darkness.
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"Chapters on Patreon progress: Currently at;
1. Harry Potter: Satan? Nah, Just My Family Crest = CHAPTER 198
2.Marvel: Cosmic Forger of Infinity = CHAPTER 133
3.Harry Potter: Beyond Good and Evil in the Wizarding World = CHAPTER 195
4.Harry Potter: Reborn as Draco Black = CHAPTER 60
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