Asgard slept beneath a bruised, restless sky, its golden spires shrouded in a twilight that felt too heavy, too ominous. The air was unnaturally still, as if the world itself held its breath, waiting for the axe to fall. Far above, the auroras twisted uneasily, their usual shimmering greens and blues bleeding into violent streaks of gold and crimson, the color of blood spilled in ancient wars long forgotten by mortals but etched into the bones of gods. The storm hadn't broken yet, but its shadow loomed, a pressure that pressed against the skin and made the heart race. Thunder rumbled faintly in the distance, a low growl that promised chaos.
Peter Parker stood alone on one of Asgard's golden balconies, the city sprawling below him like a dream forged in starlight. The Staff of Anansi rested loosely in his hand, its dark wood warm against his palm, its silver spider's head glinting faintly in the dim light, ruby eyes watching the horizon as if it, too, sensed what was coming. The staff's power hummed in time with his pulse, a steady rhythm that grounded him even as his mind churned. He hadn't slept, couldn't. The memory of the Void clung to him like damp fog, those endless, screaming echoes that weren't meant for mortal ears, the cold that clawed at the soul, the weight of sealing away something that should never have existed. Gorr, the God Butcher, was still out there, somewhere beyond the edges of reality, and Peter could feel him, a shadow stirring in the dark.
Behind him, soft footsteps broke the silence, two pairs, familiar and deliberate. Susan Storm and Silver Sable. He didn't turn, but his spider-sense tingled faintly, not with danger but with the warmth of their presence, a quiet anchor in the storm brewing inside him.
Susan reached him first, her arms slipping around his waist from behind, her cheek pressing gently between his shoulder blades. Her warmth seeped through his tunic, a contrast to the chill of the night air. "You've been out here for hours," she murmured, her voice soft but laced with worry, her breath warm against his back. "You didn't even come to bed, Peter."
Sable stepped up beside him, her arms crossed, her silver hair stirring in the faint breeze that carried the scent of ozone and distant rain. Her gray eyes flicked to the horizon, then to him, sharp and knowing. "You're worried," she said, her voice quieter than usual, stripped of her usual edge. "And not just about Gorr."
Peter exhaled through his nose, his breath misting in the cold, a small cloud that vanished as quickly as it formed. "You can tell?" he asked, his tone light but carrying a weight he couldn't quite hide.
Sable's lips curved into a small, knowing smirk, the kind that said she'd memorized every twitch of his face. "I've learned your tells, Parker," she said, her voice teasing but soft, like she was letting him in on a secret they both already knew.
He let out a small huff, not quite a laugh but close enough, the sound breaking the tension just a little. "Yeah, well, you both have," he admitted, his eyes still fixed on the horizon, where the clouds were beginning to churn, dark and heavy with promise.
For a moment, they stood there together, the three of them wrapped in the quiet of the balcony. No words, just the low hum of Asgard's magic in the air, the soft rustle of the wind, and the distant rumble of thunder. Susan's arms stayed around him, her presence steady, while Sable leaned against the balcony's edge, her gaze scanning the sky like a soldier waiting for the first arrow to fly.
Finally, Peter broke the silence, his voice low, almost a whisper, as if speaking too loudly might summon the storm faster. "When I sealed him in the Void... I thought that was it. I thought I'd saved the universe, locked him away for good. But I should've known better." He paused, his jaw tightening as he stared at the blood-red auroras. "Things like Gorr don't die. They wait. They remember. And they come back meaner."
Susan's arms tightened around him, her cheek still pressed against his back, but she lifted her head slightly, her voice steady despite the worry in it. "And you think he remembers you," she said, not a question but a statement, like she could feel the truth of it in his bones.
Peter turned his gaze to the horizon, where thunderclouds were gathering, darker now, swirling with a fury that felt personal. "Oh, he remembers," he said, his voice hard, edged with a certainty that sent a chill down his spine. "He'll come for me first. He'll want to finish what he started, make me pay for locking him away. For daring to stand in his way."
Sable's frown deepened, her arms uncrossing as she pushed off the balcony's edge, her silver braid catching the faint light. "Then we prepare," she said, her tone all business, the mercenary in her kicking in, already mapping out strategies in her head. "We don't wait for him to make the first move."
Peter glanced at her, one brow quirking despite the weight in his chest. "You sound like Doom," he said, a flicker of his usual humor breaking through.
Sable's smirk returned, faint but real, her gray eyes glinting with a spark of defiance. "Take it as a compliment," she shot back, her voice dry but warm, like she was daring him to argue.
Susan stepped around to face him, her hand brushing over his chest, right where the faint golden runes of the Staff of Anansi glowed beneath his skin, a subtle shimmer that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. Her blue eyes locked onto his, fierce and unwavering. "You're not alone this time, Peter," she said, her voice soft but unyielding, like a promise carved in stone. "You don't have to carry this by yourself. Not anymore."
Peter looked between them, Susan, with her golden hair and steady heart, and Sable, with her silver braid and iron will, two women who'd stood by him through hell and back, battle-hardened and beautiful in their own ways. His jaw tightened, a flicker of emotion crossing his eyes, raw and unguarded for just a heartbeat before he masked it with a crooked grin. "I know," he said softly, his voice thick with something he didn't often let show. "And that's exactly why I'm scared."
The doors behind them creaked open, heavy and slow, breaking the moment. Thor stepped out onto the balcony, already clad in his golden armor, Mjolnir gripped in one hand, its runes glowing faintly. His usual boisterous grin was gone, replaced by a grim set to his jaw, his blue eyes shadowed by the weight of what was to come. "Father summons us," he said, his voice low, lacking its usual thunder. "He would speak of the coming war."
Peter nodded, his grip on the staff tightening for a moment before he turned away from the horizon, the blood-red auroras still twisting in the sky. "Then let's not him waiting," he said, his tone steady but carrying an edge, like a blade being sharpened.
They followed Thor through the gilded halls of Asgard, their footsteps echoing in the vast, silent corridors. The palace, usually alive with the clatter of feasts, the strum of lutes, and the laughter of warriors, felt hushed now, watchful, as if it, too, sensed the storm brewing. The golden walls seemed to dim, the tapestries of heroic battles flickering in the torchlight, their colors muted under the weight of what was to come. Susan walked close to Peter, her hand brushing his arm, while Sable kept pace on his other side, her eyes scanning every shadow, every corner, as if Gorr might step out of the dark at any moment.
The war chamber was a stark contrast to the rest of the palace, its walls lined with weapons and trophies of battles long past, swords embedded in stone, shields cracked by the blows of giants, banners stained with the blood of foes. At the center stood a massive table carved from a single piece of obsidian, its surface etched with a map of the Nine Realms, glowing faintly with runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. Odin was already there, armored in gold and black, his fur-lined cloak replaced by a mantle of war, his spear Gungnir resting at his side, its tip glinting with a light that seemed to cut through the gloom. Behind him, massive windows framed the horizon, where lightning coiled through blackened clouds, jagged and restless, like a beast pacing its cage.
Odin looked up as they entered, his single eye glimmering with a faint, eerie light, like he could see beyond the veil of reality itself. "He's coming," he said simply, his voice a low rumble that seemed to shake the very stones of the chamber.
Peter nodded, his grip on the staff steady, its hum a quiet reassurance. "I know," he said, his voice calm but carrying a weight that matched Odin's, like he'd already accepted what was coming.
Thor slammed Mjolnir onto the table, the impact sending a ripple through the obsidian map, the runes flaring briefly. "Then let him come!" he roared, his voice bursting with defiance, his eyes blazing with the fire of a warrior born for battle. "Asgard has faced worse than this Butcher! We'll crush him and drink to his defeat!"
Odin's gaze turned to his son, weary but proud, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "And yet," he said, his voice heavy with the memory of countless wars, "few foes have carved their names into the bones of gods like Gorr the God Butcher. His blade hungers, and his hatred burns colder than the void itself."
He turned to Peter, the weight of centuries in his stare, his single eye piercing through to the heart of the man and the god within. "You sealed him once, old friend," he said, his voice softer now, but no less heavy. "You and I both know this time, it will not be so simple. He's had time to fester, to grow stronger in the dark."
Peter's grip on the staff tightened, the dragon-like carvings pressing into his palm, the silver spider's head glinting as if urging him on. "Then I'll make sure it's final," he said, his voice low, steady, but with a fire that burned in his chest, the same fire that had carried him through every battle, every loss, every impossible odd.
Odin's smile widened, that old warrior's grin breaking through, fierce and familiar, like a spark from a fire that had never truly gone out. "There's the fire I remember," he said, his voice warm with pride, his eye glinting with the certainty of a brother who'd fought beside him across eons.
Sable and Susan stood close behind Peter, their presence a quiet strength. They exchanged a glance, Susan's blue eyes steady with resolve, Sable's gray ones sharp with focus, both of them feeling the tension in the air, the weight of something massive about to crash down. Susan's hand rested lightly on Peter's arm, her touch a reminder that he wasn't facing this alone. Sable's fingers brushed the hilt of a dagger at her belt, her posture ready, like she was already calculating how to take down a god-killer.
Outside, thunder rolled again, closer now, a deep, bone-rattling growl that seemed to shake the palace itself. The lightning flared, illuminating the war chamber in stark white for a split second, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. And for just a moment, Peter felt it, a presence, cold and vengeful, rising from the dark. Familiar. Unrelenting. Hungry.
Gorr was near.
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