Kingpin stood in the dimly lit boxing gym, his massive frame towering over the heavy punching bag.
With a grunt, he launched a powerful straight punch, his fist tearing through the bag with a sickening rip. The force of the blow created a gaping hole, sending the bag collapsing to the floor in a heap of shredded leather and sand.
"Taskmaster failed?" Kingpin growled, his voice low and menacing as he wiped his knuckles with a towel.
"Yes, sir," his assistant replied, standing stiffly a few feet away. "The ambulance found him paralyzed on a rooftop. It seems Spider-Man got the better of him."
Kingpin's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. "A skilled human isn't enough to stop him, then. Find someone else. Anyone. I don't care who it is just make sure they can finish the job."
The assistant nodded curtly and turned on his heel, exiting the gym without another word.
Once outside, he pulled out his phone and began scrolling through a list of names individuals who had crossed paths with Spider-Man before. He needed someone capable, someone ruthless.
Meanwhile, deep in the basement of Peter Parker's modest home, Peter was pushing himself to his limits.
The hum of high-tech machinery filled the room as he strained against the shoulder press machine, beads of sweat rolling down his face. With a final grunt, he completed his set and slumped back, reaching for a water bottle.
"I need to up the weight on this thing," Peter muttered to himself, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. "I've maxed it out."
After catching his breath, he stood and made his way to his workshop. The door slid open automatically as he approached, revealing a room filled with blinking monitors, robotic arms, and half-finished gadgets.
Peter's eyes immediately went to the computer screen, where a progress bar inched forward at a glacial pace.
"Ugh, why is this taking so long?" he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice.
He turned to look at the advanced suit being meticulously assembled by robotic arms. Each arm moved with precision, welding, stitching, and calibrating the high-tech fabric.
Peter crossed his arms, watching the process with impatience. He knew the suit would be worth the wait, but time wasn't exactly on his side.
Peter sighed, running a hand through his messy hair as he grabbed his keys and headed out the door. Cooking was the last thing on his mind tonight.
He slid into his car, the engine sputtering to life, and pulled onto the dimly lit streets of the city. The usual hum of traffic surrounded him, a comforting monotony he'd grown used to. But that comfort shattered in an instant.
A deafening roar tore through the air as a flying car. Yes, a *flying car* blazed past him, missing his hood by inches.
Peter's heart leapt into his throat as he swerved, barely keeping control. "What the hell?!" he shouted, his voice drowned out by the chaos unfolding around him.
The city, once bustling with life, had descended into madness. People screamed, cars screeched to a halt, and the skyline was lit with flashes of destruction.
And then he saw it, two colossal figures crashing into the middle of the road like meteors. The ground shook violently, sending cracks spiderwebbing through the asphalt.
It was the Hulk, his emerald skin glistening with sweat and rage, locked in a brutal brawl with the Juggernaut, whose crimson armor gleamed ominously under the streetlights.
Every punch they threw sent shockwaves through the air, shattering windows and uprooting concrete.
"Motherfucker!" Peter slammed his hands on the wheel, his mind racing. "Why the hell are Hulk and Juggernaut fighting *here*?!"
Without thinking, he yanked the steering wheel, spinning the car around in a desperate attempt to flee. His foot slammed on the accelerator, the engine whining as he sped away. But the chaos followed him.
In his rearview mirror, he saw the aftermath of their battle, chunks of rubble, cars, motorcycles, and entire sections of the road being hurled into the air like toys.
Peter's heart pounded as he swerved, dodging debris with every ounce of skill he had. But luck wasn't on his side. A car, flung like a projectile, landed directly in his path. He barely had time to brace himself before impact.
The explosion was deafening. His car flipped, metal screeching as it crumpled like paper. The world spun in a blur of fire and smoke, and for a moment, everything went black.
When the smoke cleared, Peter crawled out of the wreckage, his body screaming in pain. Blood trickled down his temple, and shards of metal were embedded in his side.
He coughed, his lungs burning, and stumbled to his feet. Miraculously, nothing vital had been hit but he wasn't Spider-Man right now. He was just Peter Parker, bleeding and broken.
"Even Spider-Man wouldn't be safe in this mess," he muttered, his voice trembling as he limped away from the wreckage. His legs felt like lead, each step a battle against the pain radiating through his body.
The streets were a war zone. People ran in every direction, their faces twisted in terror. A child screamed for their mother.
A man tripped and fell, only to be yanked back to his feet by a stranger. The air was thick with panic, the kind that made your chest tighten and your breath come in short, frantic gasps.
Peter's vision blurred as he staggered forward, his mind racing. 'I don't want to die,' he thought, the words repeating like a mantra.
He'd faced death before, but never like this never as just a man, powerless and vulnerable.
A bitter smile tugged at his lips. 'So, this is what it feels like to be scared,' he realized. For all his powers, all his heroics, he was just as fragile as anyone else in this moment. The thought was almost laughable, if it weren't so terrifying.
He kept walking, one painful step at a time, his eyes scanning the chaos for any sign of help. The hope that someone anyone would come to the rescue flickered weakly in his chest.
But deep down, he knew better. In a world where gods and monsters clashed in the streets, hope was a luxury few could afford.
His consciousness flickered like a dying flame as he stumbled forward. Every step felt heavier, his vision blurring at the edges. He wanted to save them, he *had* to save them but his body betrayed him, his strength slipping away with each labored breath.
'Is this the end?' The thought crossed his mind, strangely calm amidst the chaos. A faint smile tugged at his lips as his legs gave out, and the world spun into darkness. Peter collapsed, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud.
...
Brooklyn Medical Center
The sterile hum of machines filled the room, their rhythmic beeps the only sound breaking the silence. Peter lay motionless in the hospital bed, his body wrapped in bandages, his face pale and still.
Tubes and wires snaked around him, connecting him to the life-sustaining devices that kept him tethered to the world.
At his side sat Aunt May, her hands clutching his, her eyes red and swollen from hours of tears. Her voice trembled as she whispered, "Please, Peter... wake up. You can't leave me. Not like this."
Beside her, Mary Jane stood, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as if holding herself together. Her gaze flickered between Peter's face and the door, her mind racing.
She wasn't just worried about him, she was terrified. What if someone discovered who he really was? What if the world found out the truth while he lay here, helpless?
☠️💩L⚫🔴⚫☠️💩L
💥 DEADPOOL'S TOTALLY AWESOME (AND WAY BETTER) VERSION OF YOUR PROMO 💥
WADE WILSON HERE, BABY! 🎭✨
So, the "captain" (who sounds like a discount Chris Pratt knockoff) was trying to hype you up for Chapter 17. BORING. Let's be real, you didn't click on this for his monotone drone. You clicked because you saw MY NAME and thought, "Oh heck yes, this is about to get INTERESTING."
And you're ABSOLUTELY RIGHT.
🔥 WHY AM I HERE?
1. I'm in Chapter 17 (because the author finally realized their story needed more spandex-clad chaos).
2. You deserve better than some generic "thanks for reading" sign-off. Yawn.
3. I do what I want. (Also, Disney can't stop me. Try it, Mouse. 🐭⚔️)
🚨 WHAT YOU'RE GETTING INTO
- Explosions? Obviously.
- Fourth-wall breaks? Duh.
- Awkwardly timed chimichanga references? …Maybe.
- A story so good, it'll make Netflix beg for the rights? Okay, that's on the author, not me. But STILL.
⚡ HOW TO SUPPORT THIS MADNESS
👉 [Patreon..com/The_Undying_One] (Because even I can't live on memes alone… Wait, can I?)
SEE YOU IN THE NEXT CHAPTER, YOU BEAUTIFUL PSYCHOPATHS.
💥 BOOM. (That was me dropping the mic.) 🎤💣
(P.S. If this doesn't get more Patrons, I'm blaming you, "Captain Oblivious.")
💥 DEADPOOL'S ACTUALLY HONEST AUTHOR'S NOTE (UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE) 💥
AN: Sorry for the delay, Deadpool's dialogue is a nightmare to write.
DN: *Gasp* Rude! (┛◉Д◉)┛彡┻━┻ But fine, bye nerds!
BOTH (kinda): PEACE OUT, SUCKERS! ✌️ (But seriously, go read Chapter 17.)