"You damn bastard!"
Peter's eyes were red as he raised his wrist toward Wanda and tried to fire his webbing. But in his fury, he had forgotten that he had used up all his web fluid long ago. There was nothing left in his web-shooters.
There was no Tony Stark in this universe, which meant Peter had no wealthy and powerful godfather to clean up his mess. The Peter in this universe had built the name Spider-Man entirely with his own hands.
Although his situation was similar to that of the Spider-Man from the first two movies, his actual life was much more difficult. This universe had not only the villains who appeared in the movies, but also many supervillains who never made it to the big screen. They did not fight fair. They knew that one person could not defeat Spider-Man, so they formed a gang and created a team of villains—the Sinister Six!
And although they were called the Sinister Six, there were actually far more than six members, sometimes even more than a dozen.
Doctor Octopus, Kraven the Hunter, Mr. Negative, Rhino... Every villain was constantly watching Spider-Man and looking for trouble for Peter.
Not to mention the underground kingpin, Kingpin, who occasionally tried to set traps for Spider-Man. All of this had forced the Spider-Man of this universe to become extremely capable and even more determined.
Every day was a test for him—not only a test of fighting criminals, but also a test of whether he could live a normal life and afford to eat and drink like an ordinary person.
As everyone knew, 99.99% of Spider-Men were terribly poor. They were so poor that they could barely get by, unable to squeeze out even a little extra money. There was still an older woman at home who needed to be supported, and there were also girlfriends to take out on dates. Mary Jane and Gwen needed money, too.
Although Peter in this universe was not quite that miserable, his life was still far from easy. Aunt May was still beautiful, but she was no longer young. Peter had even gone out to do odd jobs when he was still a teenager to help support the household. It did not earn much, but at least it could put food on the table for another day.
Long-term mental pressure made it inevitable that even this optimistic boy would occasionally fall into despair late at night, struggling between his two identities: Spider-Man and Peter Parker.
He envied those superheroes who revealed their identities. They were usually mature and experienced, with powerful abilities and heroic organizations behind them. Therefore, revealing their identities had little impact on them and could even help develop the industries and organizations supporting them.
There were no brainless villains who actively sought out trouble with those superheroes. Even villains brave enough to take on the Fantastic Four, the Avengers, or the Midnight Sons would think twice before provoking an established hero organization. They were willing to fight when circumstances forced them to, but there was little reason to deliberately seek death.
Over time, the villains found targets that were easier to bully within the superhero community, and Spider-Man was the first to catch their attention.
He had no powerful backing, no public identity, and no high-tech weapons. He seemed young, had only recently become famous, liked meddling in other people's affairs, and was relatively easy to track down... A whole series of reasons made the villains focus on this seemingly vulnerable young man.
So the busiest superhero in New York City was actually not the Avengers, but Spider-Man.
Criminals had figured out Spider-Man's principle of never killing. They would rather commit crimes right under his nose than face a lone Avenger.
It was practically a miracle that Peter had survived such a hostile environment and become New York City's most famous and beloved superhero!
Peter was furious. He clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, almost looking crazed. He had no webbing left, like a tiger without its claws and fangs. No matter how intimidating he looked, his offensive power had been drastically reduced.
His proud physical abilities were nothing in front of a full-fledged mage.
Peter lifted a wrecked car. The muscles in his arms bulged as he hurled it toward Wanda.
The woman merely moved her lips slightly. She did not even make a sound before the car rushing toward her face instantly transformed into a swarm of butterflies, their bright red wings fluttering as they scattered into the air.
"Stay away from her!"
Wang Pangchuang's body was drenched in sweat. Seeing that Peter was about to be attacked by the mad woman, he hurriedly formed a magic shield with both hands and blocked Peter.
Fortunately, he managed to stop the attack, but Peter was still thrown away by the force of the explosion. His red-and-blue suit was torn apart by the chaos magic, leaving his entire upper body exposed to the air. The spreading red mist instantly scorched his skin.
"Kid!"
The Blade Warrior swung both swords, and the weakness caused by his vampire blood became apparent.
The heat produced by chaos magic was almost twice as lethal to vampires!
But he could not simply ignore Peter's plight. He had a good impression of the boy. They had worked together several times and had even hunted vampires side by side. How could the Blade Warrior abandon his comrade and flee on his own?
"AAAH!"
Another roar came from the other side.
Logan's upper body was bare, revealing his muscular physique. Six Adamantium claws protruded from the backs of his hands, their silvery surfaces flashing as the razor-sharp blades caught the light.
Logan wanted revenge—revenge for the way Wanda had toyed with him.
As the warrior who had led the X-Men into the Red Mist for the first time, Logan had recklessly—and fortunately—broken into the street where Wanda lived. He had been selected by Wanda and became one of the first members of her forces.
He had also become the first executioner of the witches. The blood coating his claws proved how many lives he had taken.
Logan could never forget the scene in which he slaughtered Attilan. Black Bolt had blasted him down to a skeleton, only for him to regenerate in a pool of blood. It was the second most unforgettable memory of his life.
The two men attacked Wanda from both sides, determined to sever the demonic woman's head with their blades.
"Very sharp."
Wanda tilted her head and chuckled.
In the blink of an eye, under the horrified gazes of the two men, the swords and claws in their hands melted into pools of molten metal. Their palms immediately felt a searing pain as the molten metal dripped onto them.
However, both men had long since become accustomed to injuries of this level. One possessed a healing factor second only to Deadpool's, while the other had vampire blood. Both had incredibly powerful regenerative abilities. Even being scalded by molten metal was nothing compared to the injuries they had endured before. They had both experienced having their bodies torn apart, so this minor injury was hardly worth mentioning.
But in the next second, an indescribable pain suddenly erupted from within their bodies.
Before either of them could understand what was happening, the bones inside Logan's body suddenly pierced outward. White bones erupted from various parts of his body, resembling a blooming iron tree, pinning him to the ground and leaving him unable to move.
"Adamantium... exploded!"
Logan wailed in agony. It was hard to imagine that a tough man like him could scream so miserably.
Charles clutched his head, his face filled with pain. His mind was connected to every companion, which meant he could feel their emotions as well.
The pain Logan experienced was transmitted directly into Charles's mind—the agony of his body being torn apart. No one could endure such pain. An ordinary person would probably die from the sheer agony.
The same was true for the elderly bald man. Tormented by the pain, he was on the verge of losing consciousness and slumped against the little yellow car.
The Blade Warrior was also in terrible condition. Although his bones could not extend from his body, his blood was violently surging through his veins. With half his blood being vampiric, he was extremely sensitive to the movement of his own blood. His blood vessels swelled violently, and the pain could not escape his perception.
The next moment, almost simultaneously with Logan becoming an iron tree, the blood vessels throughout the Blade Warrior's body suddenly burst. His entire body instantly changed from black to dark red, resembling something straight out of Rashomon.
Wanda walked through the streets littered with rubble and ruins. Her black leather heels clicked crisply against the ground, each sound reaching the Avengers like a death knell from hell.
Sif stood in front of everyone, facing Wanda like a female war goddess, immovable as a mountain.
As one of Asgard's finest female warriors, Sif had taken countless lives over the centuries, perhaps even more than Wanda had in total. Yet even she found it difficult to face this executioner.
Sif's kills had accumulated over thousands of years, while Wanda had claimed more than a million lives in just over a month. The scale of her slaughter was almost beyond comprehension.
Even Odin in his early years had rarely experienced the slaughter of millions of lives at once, with the exception of the battle against Mangog.
The female warrior held a long sword and stood firmly before everyone. At that moment, she seemed like a god of war, the light of battle reflecting across her long hair.
Wanda smiled. "An Asgardian? This is the first time I've seen an Asgardian woman. You look no different from a human. You seem rather fragile."
The female devil waved her hand arrogantly. A small hammer flew toward her at incredible speed and floated beside Wanda's head.
"Do you recognize this? It was left behind by a fat pig. But... it seems there isn't a flying pig like that here. Did you keep him somewhere? Or..."
She made a cooking gesture.
That finally enraged Sif.
Volstagg had been her friend since childhood. He was considered older, though the two were actually close in age. They had grown up together and fought side by side for longer than even Balder. Their fighting instincts and personalities were remarkably similar. Later, Volstagg became a God of War, assisting Balder in battles across the universe and earning many great victories.
But in just over a month, everything had changed. The world had been turned upside down.
Sif's eyes became red and bloodshot, nearly bulging from their sockets. To her, this was an outright provocation. A deliberate insult!
"What a bastard! I'll kill you!"
Before Sif could move, a brilliant light broke through the scarlet barrier and descended before Wanda in a single leap.
Balder's burly body landed in the center of the battlefield. His eyes were wide, as though he wanted to devour the woman standing before him.
That was his eternal pain.
He had begged for mercy like a dog, only to watch himself lose control and his comrades become corpses.
It had been his decision to kill Volstagg. It was his fault.
He could not make the same mistake again.
Some problems... had to be solved personally.
He would stake the reputation of the God King of Asgard on this.
He would kill this woman!
Balder held a long sword. His original weapon had been damaged during his battle with Wanda, so the sword he held now had been brought by Sif. It was forged from Uru metal and was no less durable than Mjolnir. Aside from lacking a god's enchantment, it was still one of the finest weapons in the universe!
"Get out of the way!"
Balder roared furiously and swung his sword.
A fierce, blazing light erupted from his body, illuminating half the sky. The brilliant white radiance stabbed into everyone's eyes as his enormous body crashed downward. The sword's edge stopped only a few dozen centimeters from the woman's head, and Wanda's pupils were illuminated until they appeared completely white.
But danger bells rang in her instincts again and again.
The sword had grazed her forehead, cutting away a few strands of hair. Under the dazzling white light, no one could clearly see what was happening inside. They covered their eyes, struggling to open them just enough to look.
Soon, the white light faded.
Everyone's eyes locked onto the man. Even Sif remained motionless.
"Impressive, little boy."
The woman's ghostly voice sounded beside their ears, bewitching and hypnotic.
Half of Wanda's hair had been cut away and burned to the ground. One eyebrow had been sliced crookedly, but anyone could clearly see the anger hidden beneath her smile.
"Have you ever heard of Italian Locker? My sons, Tom and Billy, really like those biscuits."
Balder struggled to pull his hand away, but it was stuck and refused to move. He stared in horror at the face so close to his own.
It was terrifying.
"Do you like this brand?"
Wanda asked in a coaxing whisper, not giving Balder a chance to answer.
A burst of red mist enveloped the man.
A second later, a bag of wafer biscuits suddenly appeared on the ground.
Everyone was stunned.
Wanda gently picked up the bag. A large logo featuring a human head was displayed prominently on the packaging, and Balder's terrified face appeared before everyone's eyes.
"It tastes pretty good!"
Right in front of Sif, Wanda casually tossed the biscuits into her mouth and nodded in satisfaction.
"How dare you... How dare you! How dare you!"
Sif's words became incoherent. White smoke rose from her head with anger, and purple veins bulged across her powerful arms.
The man she had loved and respected most had been killed and mocked right before her eyes!
How could she calm down?
How could she possibly calm down?
How could she calm down?!
Silence fell.
A single thought appeared in everyone's minds.
Run!
The farther away, the better!
Never come back again!
Once the thought took root, it spread like weeds in spring, impossible to stamp out.
Snap!
Wanda continued moving forward. She enjoyed watching this group of people who were terrified to their cores yet stubbornly refused to give up. Their hypocrisy amused her, even more than Game of Thrones.
Suddenly, one of her feet was caught by something cold.
The woman lowered her head.
A hand with exposed wires struggled to grip Wanda's ankle, refusing to let go.
Renzo was speechless.
His language system had been completely destroyed by the blow, and even his lower body was paralyzed. He had crawled to the woman's feet by dragging himself along the ground. Most of his face had been burned away by chaos magic, making him look like something out of Terminator—a liquid-metal machine with flickering eyes that dimmed intermittently, as though suffering from a short circuit.
Wanda looked down at the poor man, who was as helpless as a dog.
Where was the black, death-like figure from before?
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