Just thinking about the so-called "strongest spear" of the Hokage World made Peter itch for a fight.
Peter's fists were twitching; he flat-out craved a brawl.
He glanced at Dr. Connors… hesitated, then dropped the idea of asking the good doctor to jab him with a serum and serve as a sparring partner.
The man was already working overtime voluntarily; subjecting him to "corporal punishment" on top of that would be a bit much.
With that in mind, Peter simply reminded Dr. Connors to get more rest, then stepped onto his flying skateboard and left Parker Tech.
Destination… Hells Kitchen!
As everyone knows, if you're looking for punching bags—er, for justice—the best place in the Marvel Universe is Hells Kitchen.
A blue bolt of lightning slashed across the New York night sky, streaking straight toward Hells Kitchen.
It was four-thirty in the morning; dawn was still hours away, and most people were lost in dreamland.
On top of that, the NYPD had launched a major sweep only hours earlier.
Consequently, Hells Kitchen—usually a cacophony of noise—was eerily quiet.
Apart from alley cats rifling through trash and a few junkies zonked out doing zombie cosplay, no living soul walked the streets.
"Tch, did I come all this way for nothing?"
Peter grumbled inwardly as he activated his Byakugan.
In Byakugan mode, all of Hells Kitchen turned crystal-clear.
Buildings shed their outer shells, revealing interior layouts and the silhouettes of slumbering occupants.
Peter circled the district once at speed, then let out a soft exclamation.
He'd spotted something interesting.
Inside a large warehouse on the west side, two figures sat facing each other.
Two people awake at this hour wasn't odd in itself.
What was odd—what his Byakugan told him—was that both of them had… Chakra?
Curious, he drifted a little closer and studied the energy inside them.
It wasn't Chakra.
Chakra appeared pale-blue under Byakugan and coursed restlessly through every limb.
The energy in these two was a hazy white mist, perfectly still, coalesced in their dantian.
"Some kind of Ki or internal force, maybe?"
The realization perked Peter right up.
He tweaked the Byakugan's view, and the underground warehouse blossomed into vivid color.
Partly to avoid awkwardness, partly to spare his own eyes.
Full-color peeking at beauties like Gwen or Felicia was pure eye-candy.
But grandpas, grandmas, and America's trademark gender-benders? That was retina-scarring.
Normally he stuck to the black-and-white "manga mode" when peeping.
With the switch, a wizened old woman with triangular eyes and a towering man in Silver Samurai armor came into focus.
"Madam Gao and… the Silver Samurai?"
Recognition flashed across Peter's face.
Madam Gao was The Hand's mouthpiece in Hells Kitchen, a monster centuries old.
The Silver Samurai, he recalled, was one of Wolverine's nemeses; in The Wolverine the guy had been some Japanese kid Logan saved, only to steal Logan's healing factor years later to stay young.
But this Universe's Silver Samurai clearly wasn't that version.
No X-gene, and he looked barely thirty.
"Alternate-World variant, I guess," Peter mused.
Come to think of it, in eighteen years here he'd never heard a whisper about Mutants.
Probably because this World only blended Gwen-spider stuff with the MCU, so Mutants simply didn't exist.
A relief in some ways, a pity in others.
No Magneto or Professor X to deal with, but also fewer worthy opponents.
"Fate brought us together. Since you're both canon big-shots… be my sacrifice points!"
Without hesitation Peter leapt from the flying skateboard in a glorious swan-dive.
BOOM!
Lightning-wreathed in Lightning Release Chakra Mode, he smashed clean through the warehouse roof.
The sudden crash made Madam Gao and the Silver Samurai jolt upright, faces twisted in alarm.
They sprang to their feet, eyes locked on the uninvited guest.
The blinding blue arcs around Peter drew gasps of disbelief.
"What kind of monster?!" the Silver Samurai muttered in rapid Japanese, pupils shrinking.
He could feel the youth's power—wilder than any fighter he'd met back home.
Unlike the samurai, Madam Gao recognized the costume.
Her face darkened, triangular eyes glinting like a viper's.
"The Arbitrator?!" she rasped, voice heavy with long-bred authority:
"This is no place for you."
She'd read newspaper snippets about The Arbitrator, but dismissed them as American media puffery.
Beating the Green Goblin and the Lizard Monster? Pure exaggeration.
To her, this "Arbitrator" was just another Daredevil or Iron Fist—mortal flesh.
His daring intrusion merely youthful ignorance.
Then—BOOM!
Before she could finish, her vision blurred and a titanic force slammed into her.
Peter seized the old crone by the throat and plowed her ten-odd meters across the floor,
tearing a deep furrow through the concrete.
Looking down at the ashen Madam Gao, he grinned nastily and Said to her:
"Where I go is none of your damn business, hag."