The moment Peter felt gravity reclaiming his body, every instinct inside him screamed.
The city blurred around him.
Wind battered his face.
Streetlights stretched into streaks of gold and white as he plummeted toward the pavement below.
“Okay, okay, okay—this is bad!”
His voice cracked despite himself.
The faulty Web of Destiny launcher on his right wrist remained completely unresponsive.
No matter how many times he pulled the trigger, nothing happened.
Peter’s stomach dropped even faster than the rest of him.
Then he reacted.
His left arm shot outward.
Unlike its unreliable partner, the launcher on his left wrist still functioned.
A strand of webbing exploded from the device.
Unfortunately, panic and precision rarely worked together.
The anchor point he’d intended to target was on his right side.
Now, using only his left launcher, that angle was impossible.
There was no time to think.
No time to calculate.
No time to choose carefully.
Peter simply fired.
Splat!
The web connected.
The solid tension traveling through the line felt like the sweetest sensation imaginable.
Relief flooded through him.
“Yes!”
For one glorious second, everything seemed under control.
Then reality immediately ruined it.
“Oh no.”
The angle was terrible.
Instead of creating a smooth swing, the web yanked his body sideways like a wrecking ball.
The world spun.
A speeding car rushed beneath him.
Much too close.
Peter’s eyes widened.
“That’s a car!”
His body twisted violently.
Both hands grabbed the webline.
Every muscle in his abdomen tightened.
His entire torso folded nearly in half as he desperately altered his trajectory.
Whoosh!
A gust of air swept beneath him.
Peter felt something brush his backside.
Metal.
Cold metal.
His suit had nearly scraped the roof of the moving vehicle.
“That was way too close!”
The driver below never even realized how narrowly disaster had been avoided.
The web continued carrying him upward.
Momentum pushed him toward the highest point of the swing.
Then momentum ran out.
And Peter became a projectile.
Crash!
His shoulder slammed into the corner of a residential building’s third floor.
Pain exploded through his body.
Before he could recover—
Bang!
He bounced onto a rusted fire escape.
The metal staircase groaned beneath the impact.
Then he rolled again.
And again.
Until gravity finally kicked him off the edge.
Thud!
Peter landed flat on his back in the alley below.
Silence followed.
For three whole seconds.
Then—
“Ow…”
Peter stared at the night sky.
“My back…”
Every vertebra felt like it had personally declared war on him.
His spider-enhanced physiology immediately began repairing the damage.
Still, something felt different.
This body’s mutation wasn’t fully developed yet.
It hadn’t reached the same level as the Spider-Man he was familiar with.
His healing factor worked.
His strength existed.
But both remained incomplete.
The impact had temporarily disrupted everything.
Peter groaned.
“Buddy, I apologize.”
He spoke quietly to the other consciousness sharing the body.
The original Peter.
“This one isn’t my fault.”
His head tilted slightly.
“Seriously, who builds a web launcher that decides to retire mid-swing?”
No response came.
Of course.
Peter still didn’t fully understand what had happened after crossing universes.
Was he possessing another Spider-Man?
Fusing with him?
Sharing the same body?
Nobody had handed him an instruction manual.
Still.
An apology couldn’t hurt.
Footsteps echoed through the alley.
Several pairs.
Fast.
Deliberate.
Peter’s eyes narrowed.
His Spider-Sense pulsed weakly.
Not danger.
Attention.
Someone was approaching.
Four figures emerged from the shadows.
Each carried a white hockey mask.
Each wore dark clothing.
Metal pipes.
Steel rods.
Improvised weapons.
Not exactly subtle.
One of them pulled the mask over his face.
The others followed.
The leader laughed.
“Call the boss.”
Another man nodded.
“Tell him we found the masked freak.”
Peter blinked.
“…Masked freak?”
The leader stepped closer.
Moonlight reflected off the mask’s blank face.
He pointed at Peter.
Peter slowly sat up.
Pain shot through his spine.
“Depends.”
The thug tilted his head.
“Depends on what?”
Peter shrugged.
“Are you charging admission for this interrogation?”
The man snorted.
“Funny.”
He spun the metal pipe in his hand.
“You’re not looking so special now.”
Peter’s enhanced vision analyzed them immediately.
Street gang.
Poor coordination.
Average physique.
Minimal combat training.
Normally, they wouldn’t pose a threat.
Normally.
Unfortunately, Peter was currently held together by stubbornness and spider DNA.
The leader raised his pipe.
“Get him.”
Four men surged forward.
The beating began.
Boots.
Fists.
Metal.
Pain erupted from every direction.
Peter curled slightly to protect vital areas.
For the moment, he couldn’t properly fight back.
His body needed time.
Just a little more time.
Internally, he calculated.
If his healing capacity was one hundred percent…
Normally all of it would be repairing his damaged spine.
Thirty seconds.
Maybe less.
But now?
Every new injury demanded resources.
Cuts.
Bruises.
Internal strain.
The healing process was splitting itself apart.
Which meant recovery was slowing down.
A dangerous situation.
A kick landed against his ribs.
Another struck his shoulder.
Peter winced.
“Ow.”
A pipe smacked against his leg.
“Ow.”
A fist connected with his jaw.
“Seriously?”
Another punch.
“Is this really the best you’ve got?”
The thugs paused.
The leader frowned.
“Someone said he talks too much.”
“He definitely talks too much.”
Another thug laughed.
“I’ve got an idea.”
The leader looked over.
“What?”
The thug pointed toward a mountain of black garbage bags stacked beside a brick wall.
A cruel grin spread beneath his mask.
“Throw him in the trash.”
The others immediately laughed.
Peter sighed dramatically.
“Wow.”
Nobody listened.
Three men grabbed him.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three!”
They launched him through the air.
Thump!
Peter disappeared into the garbage pile.
Trash bags burst beneath him.
The smell hit instantly.
His eyes watered.
“Oh.”
He looked around.
“This actually feels surprisingly familiar.”
The thugs approached again.
“What are you laughing at?”
Peter grinned.
“Nothing.”
He sat up slightly.
“Just thinking that New York’s sanitation department deserves a raise.”
His body suddenly felt lighter.
Better.
The healing process was accelerating.
Twenty seconds.
Maybe less.
Good.
Very good.
Peter raised his left wrist.
A strand of web shot upward.
Splat!
The web attached to the wall above.
A moment later Peter launched himself upward.
The thugs froze.
“What?”
Using his wall-crawling ability, Peter climbed several meters up the brick surface.
Then stopped.
Hanging effortlessly.
Like a spider.
The leader cursed.
“Get down here!”
Peter tilted his head.
“You know…”
He crossed his arms.
“I have a question.”
Nobody answered.
They simply glared.
Peter continued anyway.
“Why the masks?”
The leader frowned.
“What?”
“The hockey masks.”
“You guys trying to bring back retro fashion?”
Nobody spoke.
Peter sighed.
“Seriously.”
He gestured dramatically.
“Jason called.”
The thugs exchanged confused looks.
“He wants his entire wardrobe back.”
The leader’s patience snapped.
“Shut up!”
Peter smiled wider.
“The Friday the 13th look is ancient.”
The pipe-wielding thug stepped forward.
“You got guts talking like that.”
“Actually,” Peter said thoughtfully, “that’s mostly spider DNA.”
The leader pointed upward.
“If you’re so tough, come down here!”
The alley fell silent.
Even the thugs seemed surprised by the challenge.
Then Peter nodded.
“Sure.”
Everyone froze.
“…What?”
Peter released the wall.
And dropped.
The gang members stared.
For a brief moment, nobody moved.
Nobody expected him to actually do it.
Peter landed smoothly.
Crack.
His neck stretched.
His shoulders rolled.
The final traces of stiffness vanished.
The healing process was complete.
The leader finally recovered.
“You actually came down?”
Peter smiled.
“I listen when people give advice.”
The smile slowly widened.
“Unlike you guys.”
Then he moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
The first thug never saw the punch.
Bang!
His mask shattered.
The man collapsed instantly.
The second thug raised his pipe.
Peter caught it.
Snapped it in half.
Then drove an elbow into the man’s stomach.
Boom!
The thug folded like paper.
The third rushed forward.
Peter sidestepped.
A casual backhand sent him spinning across the alley.
Crash!
He slammed into a dumpster.
Only the leader remained.
For one brief second, terror filled the man’s eyes.
Peter waved cheerfully.
“Hi.”
Then punched him.
Bang!
The leader hit the ground.
Silence returned.
Four bodies.
Four seconds.
Fight over.
Peter dusted off his gloves.
“There.”
He nodded proudly.
“Much better.”
The unconscious thugs lay scattered around the alley.
Peter fired several strands of webbing.
One by one, he wrapped them tightly.
Wrists.
Ankles.
Torso.
Then he connected all four together.
More webbing.
Even more webbing.
Until they resembled a giant cocoon.
Or perhaps something less flattering.
Peter stepped back to admire his work.
A satisfied smile appeared beneath the mask.
“Perfect.”
He pointed proudly.
“Now that’s modern fashion.”
The bound criminals looked remarkably similar to pigs prepared for transport.
Peter nodded.
“A timeless classic.”
Then his expression slowly changed.
Because something felt wrong.
Very wrong.
His Spider-Sense activated again.
Not a mild warning.
Not caution.
A full alarm.
Buzz!
Every nerve in his body tightened.
The sensation was far stronger than before.
Peter’s smile vanished.
His eyes scanned the darkness.
The alley suddenly felt colder.
Quieter.
The unconscious gang members no longer mattered.
Because someone else was nearby.
Someone dangerous.
Someone watching.
A shadow shifted atop a distant rooftop.
Peter looked up.
And for the briefest moment—
Two glowing eyes stared back at him from the darkness.
Watching.
Waiting.
Hunting.
Peter’s heartbeat quickened.
Because deep inside his instincts…
He knew.
The real encounter of tonight had only just begun.