The thought of the so-called "Strongest Spear" from the shinobi world set Peter's battle spirit ablaze. His hands were itching; he was practically craving a fight.
He glanced at Dr. Connors... and hesitated. He ultimately abandoned the idea of injecting the doctor with a serum just to turn him into a sparring partner.
The man was already a voluntary workaholic; "corporal punishment" for employees was a bit much, even for Peter.
With a few quick instructions for Connors to get some sleep, Peter stepped onto his Glider and rocketed out of Parker Tech.
Destination: Hell's Kitchen.
In the Marvel world, if you're looking for a punching bag—er, a place to uphold justice—Hell's Kitchen is the premier choice. A streak of blue lightning split the New York night, heading straight for the city's underbelly.
It was 4:30 AM. The pre-dawn chill held most of the city in its sleep, and thanks to the NYPD's massive sweep earlier that night, the usually raucous streets were eerily still.
Aside from stray cats scavenging trash and the occasional vagrant cosplaying a zombie after a bad trip, the area looked deserted.
Tch. Don't tell me I'm going to strike out tonight, Peter thought.
He activated his Byakugan. The world turned transparent. Buildings were stripped to their skeletons, revealing structural beams and the heat signatures of sleeping residents. Peter circled the Kitchen once and suddenly let out a soft "Huh?"
He had found something very interesting.
In a large warehouse on the west side, two figures were sitting opposite each other. People being awake at this hour wasn't strange, but in Peter's vision, these two had... energy in their bodies?
He drifted closer, narrowing his focus. It wasn't Chakra. Under the Byakugan, Chakra appeared as a flowing light-blue stream moving through the tenketsu. This energy was a hazy white mist, stationary and concentrated in their lower abdomens.
Internal power?
Peter perked up. He adjusted the Byakugan's "True Color" mode to bring the interior of the warehouse into vivid focus.
"He usually used black-and-white X-ray to keep things simple and focused, but for high-priority targets, he made an exception."
Within his sights stood a withered, sharp-eyed old crone and a towering man clad in shimmering silver samurai armor.
"Madame Gao and... Silver Samurai?"
Peter's eyes gleamed with recognition. Madame Gao was the head of the Hand in Hell's Kitchen, a monster who had lived for centuries.
Silver Samurai, meanwhile, was usually Wolverine's nemesis. In this universe, however, the man didn't seem to possess an X-Gene. He looked to be in his late thirties or early forties.
Likely a variant, Peter mused. In eighteen years in this world, he hadn't heard a peep about mutants. It seemed this reality only merged the Spider-Verse and the MCU, leaving the X-Men out of the equation.
While he felt a slight relief at not having to deal with broken mechanics like Magneto or Professor X, he also felt a twinge of disappointment. Without mutants, the list of opponents who could actually provide a "Satisfying Battle" was getting short.
"Meeting is fate! Since you're both named characters in the original lore... You can be my sacrifice points!"
Without a second thought, Peter leapt from the Glider in a magnificent Leap of Faith.
BOOM!
Wreathed in his Lightning Style Chakra Mode, his body punched through the warehouse roof like a kinetic strike. Dust and debris rained down as he landed, cratering the floor.
The sudden intrusion sent Gao and the Samurai into a frenzy. They lunged to their feet, staring at the uninvited guest with masks of disbelief.
"What kind of monster is this?!" Silver Samurai barked. He could feel the energy radiating from this youth; it was more violent than anything he'd encountered.
Madame Gao, however, recognized the "Arbiter" persona. Her face darkened until it looked like stone, her venomous eyes flickering with cold light.
"The Arbiter?!" she croaked, her voice carrying the weight of centuries. "This is not a place for you!"
Gao had seen the headlines about the "hero" who beat the Green Goblin and the Lizard.
But as an old-school traditionalist who viewed American media as a factory of lies, she assumed he was just another mortal vigilante like Daredevil or Iron Fist.
In her eyes, he was just a child who didn't know the height of the heavens.
BOOM!
Before her sentence could even finish, her vision blurred. A terrifying, unstoppable force slammed into her.
Peter's hand clamped around the old woman's neck like a vice. He didn't just hit her—he dragged her across the concrete floor for fifteen meters, plowing a deep trench through the warehouse foundation.
Looking down at the pale, gasping Madame Gao, Peter bared his teeth in a predatory grin. He spoke in flawless, razor-sharp Mandarin:
"Where I go is my business, you old Grandma. Who gave you permission to talk back to me?"
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