Crack!
With a sickening snap of bone, the previously arrogant mugger's neck twisted at an unnatural angle. He slumped to the ground, the light fading from his eyes instantly.
Peter glanced back down the alley. The woman he had just "saved" was already long gone, having vanished into the night without a word of thanks.
Hah, so much for gratitude, he scoffed internally. He looked down at the corpse. After a moment's hesitation, he reached into the man's pocket, pulled out a cheap lighter, and set the man's jacket ablaze.
Since this had been a spur-of-the-moment intervention, he wasn't wearing a suit or gloves. He had likely left fingerprints on the man's throat and clothes. He had no intention of letting a stray forensic lead cause trouble for Uncle Ben and Aunt May.
As the flames began to lick at the fabric, Peter felt remarkably calm. There was no overwhelming wave of guilt or nausea.
Why should there be? This was a man who had pulled a trigger on him without blinking. Eliminating him wasn't murder; it was public service.
Peter wasn't like the "pajama-wearing toddlers" of other parallel universes who clung to a "no-kill" rule. As someone with a soul from a different world, he understood a simple truth: Kindness to an enemy is cruelty to yourself.
In the original stories, the various Peter Parkers showed mercy over and over. And the result? The villains never truly repented.
They were caught, bailed out by rich benefactors, or broke out of prison, only to return and make life hell for Aunt May, Gwen, or Mary Jane.
Peter admired the classic Spider-Man's bravery, but he didn't subscribe to his moral code. If being a hero meant letting monsters live to bite another day, he'd rather be an anti-hero. Like Venom, or perhaps even a "Homelander" with a conscience.
Forgiving them is God's job, Peter thought as he turned away. My job is to arrange the meeting.
As he walked, Peter began a mental post-game analysis of the skirmish.
First: Preparation. He needed a disguise. He couldn't risk the police or a future supervillain identifying him. His civilian life had to remain untouchable.
Second: Experience. Tonight's "fight" was a wake-up call. Having power and knowing how to use it were two different things.
He had physical stats that eclipsed his opponent, yet he almost got taken out by a single "peanut" of lead. It was embarrassing. He needed systematic, high-efficiency combat training to leverage his biological advantages.
Third: Equipment. No matter how high your "Kung Fu," you still fear the "kitchen knife." He was far from immortal.
A handgun might not kill him now, but what about a Barrett .50 cal? A mortar? Alien energy weapons? He needed gear—something like Cap's shield, Wolverine's Adamantium, or Stark's plating.
Fortunately, he had a solution for these gaps. He pulled up his internal display.
[Sacrifice Points: 3,000]
It was time to make those points work for him.
Meanwhile, on the rooftop of Midtown High...
A slender figure landed as lightly as a white cat. Gwen pulled back her hood, her face etched with confusion and anxiety. She scanned the area, but the rooftop was silent under the moonlight, save for the whistling wind.
The heart-pounding sensation—the feeling that she was about to lose something vital—had vanished the moment she arrived. Her Spider-Sense had gone dormant.
"How can this be?" she muttered, feeling like a fool. She searched the campus, checking every corner, even crouching low to look for signs of a struggle. Nothing. No footprints, no web fluid, no signs of a fight.
Dejected, Gwen sat on the edge of the roof, her long legs dangling over the side. The night breeze caught her blonde hair, making her look small and solitary. After sitting there until the security guard below started yawning, she finally gave up.
Maybe I'm just bad at controlling this power, she thought. A false alarm?
She pulled her hood back up and began her trek home, leaping between the buildings of the "Big Apple." This time, without the alarm of her Spider-Sense, she took in the view. But as she watched the "steel jungle" below, she didn't see beauty—she saw crime.
In the ten minutes it took to get home, she stopped no less than six robberies and assaults. The experience made her think of her father, George Stacy.
She used to think he didn't care enough, but now she realized what he faced every night. He was guarding the city with nothing but his own flesh and blood.
And now, she had power far beyond his.
I can do more, she realized. I HAVE to do more.
After quietly slipping back through her bedroom window, Gwen sat at her desk and turned on the lamp. She pulled out a sheet of paper and colored pencils.
Within minutes, several sketches of a sleek, white-hooded hero appeared on the page.
Next to the costume designs, she began sketching complex mechanical devices. If she had the abilities of a spider, she needed to be able to spin a web.
She began conceptualizing a device that could fire high-tensile synthetic webbing.
The birth of Ghost-Spider was officially in its countdown.
Peter had changed his own fate, but he had unintentionally nudged Gwen toward her destiny as a hero.
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