Stone hadn't anticipated such a scene. But as a man of the world—someone who had seen a lot—and one with superpowers, he managed to remain composed. He glanced at the corpses of his subordinates lying around, all dead. His eyes gleamed with fury. Clenching his fists, he turned to Peter.
"It seems we were wrong about you. You're not Peter Parker. Or at least… not the Peter Parker we used to know."
Peter grinned. "Don't bother trying to get information from me. It's pointless for a dead man."
The moment he finished speaking, Peter launched forward like an arrow from a bow, appearing in front of Stone in a flash. His fist, like a cannonball, blasted toward Stone's face with overwhelming force.
Stone's face paled in shock. He instinctively raised both hands to block the punch. But he had severely underestimated Peter's strength. When the punch landed on his arms, it felt as though he had been hit by a car.
His body flew backward uncontrollably and crashed into a brick wall with a loud boom, denting it inward from the force. The terrifying impact left Stone dizzy and unable to stand.
This was no ordinary man. Stone had taken a special serum that enhanced his body beyond normal human limits. And yet, he was defenseless against Peter. If it weren't for the serum, that punch would've killed him.
Shaking his head and trying to stand, Stone suddenly saw Peter charge forward again, this time launching a flying knee strike like a human missile. In fright, Stone rolled on the ground, barely avoiding the fatal blow.
Peter's knee didn't land on Stone, but it struck the brick wall behind him, creating a large hole with a loud crash.
Stone gasped. Had that strike hit him, he would have died instantly.
It was only then he realized—this was no longer a fight he could win. Peter wasn't someone he could deal with anymore.
His first instinct was to escape and warn his boss about this "monster."
But reality wasn't that kind. Just as he turned, Peter reappeared before him like a ghost.
Peter's expression was cold and ruthless. Stone, terrified, threw a desperate punch.
But Peter effortlessly caught it mid-air.
"This is your strength? Pathetic," Peter said with disdain.
Then he noticed Stone's fist was incredibly hot—at least 100 degrees Celsius. Enough to scald human skin easily.
But Peter was no ordinary person. After injecting himself with the Lizard serum, his body had become incredibly resilient. Not only did he possess self-healing abilities, but his skin could withstand even small-caliber bullets. A little heat didn't bother him.
Stone had hoped his heated punch would make Peter release him. But Peter didn't. He squeezed even harder.
Crack!
Stone's hand bone shattered.
"AHHH—!" A blood-curdling scream burst from Stone.
Before he could react further, Peter kicked him hard, sending him flying through the hole in the brick wall.
The hole led to another hidden room—the underground vault of the casino—filled with stacks of U.S. dollars.
Peter stepped through and was greeted by mountains of cash on the table. With a quick glance, he estimated each stack held $10,000. There were at least 400–500 stacks—four to five million dollars in total.
His eyes gleamed. Just earlier, he'd been stressing about being too poor to build his combat robots. Now, here was the solution laid out in front of him.
But money could wait. He had unfinished business.
Peter turned to Stone, who lay nearby, barely breathing.
Calmly walking over, Peter grabbed him by the neck with one hand and lifted him.
"You like giving others multiple-choice questions, right? Now it's your turn.
Option one: You answer everything I ask, and I'll make your death a little less painful.
Option two: Be stubborn, and I'll interrogate you my way. But believe me, you won't survive that."
Stone's heart sank. This scene felt humiliatingly familiar. The hunter had become the prey—and now, Peter was using his own tactics against him.
"No answer? So you've chosen option two?" Peter sneered.
"No! I choose the first!" Stone cried. His hand was shattered; the pain was unbearable. He couldn't imagine what Peter's "interrogation" would involve, but he knew he wouldn't survive it.
"Smart choice," Peter said coldly. "Tell me—why do you want that data? You're no scientist, and it's worthless to you. So someone's behind this. Who is it?"
"Connors. Your graduate professor, Dr. Curt Connors."
Peter's eyes narrowed.
Stone continued, "Connors's research was funded by the Osborn Group, but progress was slow, so they planned to pull the plug. In desperation, he injected himself with the Lizard serum—untested—and turned into a half-human, half-lizard monster. Still, he lost Osborn's funding.
But our boss—Kingpin—took interest. He offered to fund Connors. In return, Connors asked Kingpin to find your research data. That's the truth. We're just pawns—it wasn't our call."
Peter's rage surged. He'd suspected Connors, but hearing it confirmed made his blood boil.
He slammed Stone to the floor, then stomped on his face.
"Not your fault? You think being an accomplice is less vile than the mastermind?" he growled. "Why did you kill Aunt May? She was 70! What threat was she to you?"
"It was an accident! I just told them to get the data—I never ordered them to kill your family. Please! I'm sorry! Forgive me!"
BANG!
Before Stone could say more, Peter shot him in the head.
"Forgive you? That's God's job. Mine is to send you to meet Him."
Stone had outlived his usefulness.
Peter tossed the pistol aside and sat at the room's computer terminal. This wasn't just a vault—it was also the casino's surveillance hub. Peter used his expert hacking skills to access the system and delete all the footage.
Once that was done, he found two large leather suitcases in a cabinet—standard equipment for moving money out of the vault.
According to logs, the casino staff transported this money every morning, laundering it through various shell companies. That meant the money couldn't be traced. Even if they wanted to report it, they wouldn't dare involve the police.
Peter had no guilt. He swept the five million dollars into the two cases.
Then he calmly carried the heavy suitcases out through the casino's private back door. No one stopped him—everyone who could had already been dealt with.
He was clearly robbing the place, but his steps were steady and his demeanor confident—like a gentleman, not a criminal.
It wasn't until half an hour later that the vault staff discovered what had happened. Panic spread through New York's criminal underworld. That night, chaos reigned.
But the man who had triggered it all—Peter—was safe at home.
He stored the money securely, then removed the waterproof gloves he'd been wearing. After washing them, he threw them into the fireplace and burned them. He had worn them to avoid leaving fingerprints.
From the moment the gang broke into his home, Peter had planned everything. He wasn't strong enough yet, so every move had to be careful—walking on thin ice. That's the only way to survive in the Marvel Universe.
After disposing of the gloves, he went upstairs and showered, scrubbing away any traces of evidence. By the time he finished, it was already 7:00 p.m.
Looking at the clock, he sighed.
He had promised Gwen he'd attend her performance at 7. Now it was too late. He wouldn't make it.
It was the first time a woman had invited him out, and he blew it.
"Guess I'm destined to be a bachelor forever," he muttered.
He changed into clean clothes—but noticed something odd. His previously loose shirt was now tight.
He had grown—at least 10 centimeters. Most of his old clothes didn't fit.
Dressed in a way-too-small outfit, he looked like a clown. There was no way he'd show up to Gwen's show like this.
Since he was already late, he decided not to rush. Gwen wasn't his girlfriend. It wasn't the end of the world.
He didn't want to be the old Peter Parker anymore—the one who always sacrificed himself for others.
So he walked into a mall near Broadway and picked out a stylish, reasonably priced black suit.
After changing into it at the store, he tossed his old clothes away. He wasn't just discarding fabric—he was shedding his former timid, self-sacrificing self.
Now, he looked like a tall, dark, handsome playboy with an evil charm.
The blonde sales assistant stared in awe.
"Sir, you look incredible in that suit. Women will be throwing themselves at you," she said.
"Really? Thanks," Peter replied with a smirk.
The saleswoman winked. "If you buy it… who knows what else you might get?"
"Oh? Do I get a free saleswoman with the suit now?"
"Just a special offer—for you only."
"How tempting. How much?"
"For both? The suit is $600, and I'm only $300."
Peter nodded, pulled out a wad of cash, and tucked it into her collar—squeezing lightly. "I'll take the suit. The rest is your tip."
Then he swaggered toward the door.
The saleswoman followed, stunned. "Wait, sir! That's it? No… follow-up?"
Peter turned. "Next time. The almanac says tonight's not good for cultivation."
"???"
Completely baffled by the cryptic answer, she looked down to count the cash.
It was only $600.
She'd been groped—and scammed.
"Damn it! That guy's broke!" she shouted.
But by then, Peter was long gone.