The night sky above Manhattan glowed in shades of neon and smoke. Holographic billboards flickered against the mist, the skyline a jagged crown of steel and glass. On Earth-2818, the city never truly slept; it pulsed with the rhythm of progress, each heartbeat powered by circuits and steel.
High above the streets, clinging to the side of a building with the ease of a spider, Peter Parker crouched in silence. But this wasn't the same Peter Parker the world had once known. Beneath the red-and-blue weave of his suit, cold machinery hummed in unison with his veins. Wires braided into sinew. A red cybernetic lens replaced his left eye, constantly adjusting focal lengths. His right arm shimmered with metallic plating, nanite circuits forming panels that shifted and pulsed, waiting to reshape into a weapon at his command.
They didn't call him Spider-Man here. They called him Spider-Cyborg.
Peter exhaled, the cool night air misting inside his mask. He had been watching the West Side Yards for three hours now. Something felt wrong—his instincts, half-spider and half-machine, had been screaming at him all evening. The last time he ignored that feeling, Oscorp Tower had almost been reduced to rubble.
"Alright, Pete," he muttered to himself, the synthetic voice modulator in his mask distorting the words. "Another stakeout, another night of waiting for the world to fall apart."
Below him, the city stretched out, full of sounds that only his cybernetic sensors could parse. The whine of hovercars. The faint buzz of a distant power grid. The frantic heartbeat of a thief six blocks away. He could feel it all. Sometimes, it was overwhelming. Sometimes, it reminded him that he was no longer entirely human.
He flexed his right hand. The metal plating shifted and clicked, transforming into the muzzle of a plasma cannon before retracting again. His upgrades made him stronger, faster, more efficient. But they also made him a target.
And tonight, something was hunting him.
The air shifted. A vibration rippled through the steel beams of the skyscraper. Spider-Cyborg froze, cybernetic lens scanning. A low hum resonated—too deep, too primal to be from any machine.
Then, a voice."You smell different from the others."
Peter spun, just in time to see a massive figure step from the shadows. The man—or what looked like a man—was towering, his armor plated with bones, his eyes glowing crimson. His long staff gleamed like a scythe under the city lights.
Karn.
Peter's mind raced. He had heard rumors. Stories whispered in fragments through the Spider-Totem psychic web, visions that came to him in broken dreams. A family of predators, ancient and endless, who feasted on Spider-beings across the Multiverse.
And now one was standing right in front of him.
"Nice cosplay," Peter quipped, masking his fear with sarcasm. "Lemme guess—grim reaper convention in town?"
Karn tilted his head. His voice was low, guttural, vibrating through Peter's chest."You are not entirely flesh. Not entirely spirit. Yet you carry the totem's essence."
The lens over Peter's eye whirred, scanning the figure, but his cybernetics couldn't classify him. He wasn't human. He wasn't machine. He was… something else.
Karn raised his staff. "You will feed me well."
"Yeah, see, I get that a lot. But trust me," Peter said, standing tall, his mechanical arm reshaping into a cannon, "I'm a little hard to chew."
And then Karn struck.
The staff swung with enough force to shatter the steel beam where Peter had been crouching. Sparks and debris showered the city below as Spider-Cyborg flipped backward, firing a plasma burst from his arm. The blast tore through the air, slamming into Karn's chest.
The Inheritor barely flinched.
"Figures," Peter muttered. "Nothing's ever easy."
Karn lunged, faster than Peter expected. The staff grazed his shoulder, sending shockwaves through his cybernetic plating. Pain shot through him—not just physical, but spiritual, as though the weapon were tuned to the essence of the Spider itself.
His HUD screamed warnings: Structural damage—left shoulder plate compromised.
Peter gritted his teeth and launched his next weapon. From his back unfolded a pair of sonic emitters, rising like metallic wings. With a command, they unleashed a deafening shockwave that rippled through the air. Windows shattered across the block.
Karn staggered, roaring in pain. For the first time, Peter saw him falter.
"Yeah, didn't see that one coming, did ya?" Peter taunted, his voice strained. "Cybernetics: one. Creepy vampire cosplay: zero."
But even as he spoke, Karn straightened. His body healed instantly, cracks in his armor sealing as though time itself bent to his will. His crimson eyes burned brighter.
Peter's heart sank. "Oh, that's just unfair."
And then Karn charged again.
Karn's charge was like being hit by a collapsing building. The Inheritor slammed into Peter with brutal force, sending him crashing through the wall of the skyscraper. Concrete and glass rained as they tumbled into an empty office floor, cubicles exploding into splinters.
Peter groaned, dragging himself up from the debris, his cybernetic eye flickering with static.
"Great. First a vampire, now I'm paying for property damage. Guess I'll add that to the list of things I can't afford."
Karn stepped through the rubble, calm as a predator. His voice rumbled, every syllable dripping with hunger."You carry the Web's essence, machine-child. Your spirit may be fractured, but it sings to me all the same."
"Yeah, about that," Peter shot back, his right arm reshaping into a triple-barreled blaster. "I don't sing. But I do scream."
He fired a burst of plasma, each shot searing through the air. The room lit up with red and gold flares. Karn dodged the first, blocked the second with his staff, and took the third to the shoulder. Flesh sizzled and smoke rose—but again, the wound closed instantly.
Peter cursed under his breath. His weapons were slowing the Inheritor, but not stopping him. Every second spent fighting was another second closer to running out of tricks.
Karn raised his staff, the blade gleaming with an eerie blue energy. "You are not strong enough. None of you are. My family feasts, and your kind scatters like insects."
Something about the way he said my family made Peter's stomach turn. He wasn't just some random monster—there were more of them.
He didn't have time to dwell. Karn struck, the staff swinging down like a guillotine. Peter's reflexes saved him by inches. His arm morphed into a blade, parrying the strike. Sparks flew as steel met steel, the shockwave rattling his cybernetic implants.
"You've got serious boundary issues!" Peter grunted, shoving Karn back with all the strength his cybernetics could muster. His sonic emitters unfolded again, humming as they charged for another blast.
But Karn was ready. The Inheritor swung his staff wide, striking the emitters before they could fire. The devices shattered, sparks raining like dying fireworks.
Peter staggered, his ears ringing. His best weapon was gone.
"Adaptation is futile," Karn said, stalking closer. "The Web of Life and Destiny has woven your end."
"Yeah, well," Peter muttered, wincing as he forced his damaged systems to stabilize, "I've been hearing that since high school. And guess what? Still alive."
He fired a web-line, yanking himself across the room. Karn pursued instantly, smashing through walls as if they were paper.
Peter vaulted over desks, ducked under swinging blows, and fired plasma bursts behind him. He knew he couldn't win this fight outright—but maybe he could stall. Maybe he could figure out what this thing wanted.
And then Karn's staff caught him across the back.
Pain erupted. Peter's vision went white as he crashed into the far wall. His systems blared: Damage critical. Exoskeleton integrity 47%.
Karn loomed, raising the staff for a killing strike. "Do not fear. Your essence will strengthen me, and through me, my family."
Peter spat blood inside his mask. His hands shook. He was outmatched—completely, utterly outmatched.
But he wasn't out of ideas. Not yet.
"Alright, Tin Man," Peter rasped. "Let's see how you like feedback."
His cybernetic lens flickered. With a thought, he rerouted all remaining power into his plasma arm. The plating hissed, glowing white-hot. His systems screamed warnings, heat climbing to catastrophic levels.
Karn sneered. "Desperation."
"Exactly," Peter whispered. And fired.
The blast wasn't a focused shot this time—it was an overload. A roaring explosion of energy that engulfed the entire floor in searing light. Windows shattered outward, flames licking the sky.
Karn was thrown back, his armor charred, smoke curling off his frame. He roared in fury. For the first time, Peter saw him stumble.
But the victory was short-lived. The backlash ripped through Peter's systems, his cybernetic arm blown half apart, circuitry sparking wildly. He collapsed, coughing, his HUD shutting down in a cascade of errors.
"Critical overload," his systems droned. "Power reserves depleted."
Peter lay on the floor, struggling to move. Karn staggered upright, his wounds already closing, his staff crackling with renewed power.
"You have spirit," Karn admitted, his voice low, grudging. "But spirit is not enough."
Peter tried to lift his ruined arm. It twitched, then fell limp. His lens flickered. His body screamed for rest.
This was it.
And then—
A flash of light. A portal tore open in the air behind Karn, swirling with colors Peter didn't recognize. Out of it leapt a figure in black and white armor, striking Karn across the face with a staff of her own.
Karn hissed, spinning to meet the newcomer. Peter blinked through the haze, his damaged lens struggling to focus. The figure stood tall, her mask adorned with sharp edges, her body language fierce.
Another Spider.
"Get up, Cyborg," she barked. "We don't have time to let you die."
Peter coughed, dragging himself upright. "Who the hell—"
"Names later," she snapped, firing a web-line that glowed with dimensional energy. "Unless you want to be dinner, move!"
Karn roared, charging again. But before he could strike, the Spider yanked Peter through the glowing portal.
The world twisted, colors warping, reality folding in on itself. Peter felt his stomach lurch, his circuits scream, his soul stretched thin.
And then—
They were gone.
The fall through the portal was like tumbling through a storm of fractured glass. Peter's body twisted as dimensions rippled around him—worlds flashing past in fragments. He glimpsed New Yorks that were not his own: one blanketed in eternal night, another with neon highways spiraling into the clouds, another crawling with spider-creatures he couldn't begin to name.
His cybernetic systems screamed in error, unable to process the dimensional stress. Circuits sparked inside his chest as if the machine inside him wanted to tear free.
Then, with a final lurch, the chaos stopped.
Peter slammed into metal flooring, coughing violently as his mask's filters tried to clear the air. He groaned, clutching at the remains of his ruined arm.
"Dimensional travel," he rasped. "Zero out of ten stars. Would not recommend."
"Save the reviews," the woman snapped. She landed beside him with practiced grace, the dimensional portal sealing shut behind her. Her mask peeled back, revealing sharp brown eyes and a shock of black hair tied back in a quick braid. "You're lucky I found you when I did."
Peter's cybernetic lens flickered back online, scanning her face. "Okay, mystery Spider-lady, start talking. Who are you, why did you just kidnap me through a kaleidoscope, and why was bone-armor Grim Reaper trying to eat me?"
She crossed her arms, unimpressed. "Name's Anya Corazon. Spider-Girl, Earth-616. That thing back there? Karn. He and his family are called the Inheritors."
Peter froze. The name echoed like poison. Family. "Yeah, he mentioned that. Real charming dinner guests."
"You don't get it." Anya's tone hardened. "They're not just predators. They're ancient, unstoppable. They feed on people like us—Spider-Totems. Across every universe."
Peter blinked behind his mask. "Wait, back up. Spider-what?"
"Spider-Totems. Every Spider-Man, Spider-Woman, Spider-whatever across the Multiverse is connected to the Web of Life and Destiny. We're not random accidents—we're… chosen. Living nodes in the pattern."
Peter let out a strained laugh, sitting up slowly. "Chosen? Lady, I didn't even get chosen for prom, and now you're telling me I'm some cosmic bug snack?"
Anya's glare could've burned through steel. "You think I'm joking? Karn's family has already killed dozens like us. Whole worlds left without their Spider. And now they're hunting you."
Peter went quiet. His mind buzzed, half with panic, half with defiance. Hunted. Again. Because of what I am.
He clenched his ruined cybernetic arm. Sparks sputtered from the severed plating.
"Funny thing," he muttered. "That guy back there… he didn't say I was Spider enough. Said I wasn't real."
Anya's expression shifted—sympathy, but only for a heartbeat. Then she crouched in front of him. "Doesn't matter what he thinks. If you've got the Web in you, you're part of this war. And trust me—your upgrades? They make you more valuable, not less."
Peter studied her eyes. Strong. Certain. The kind of certainty he hadn't felt in himself for a long time.
He sighed, leaning his head back against the cold metal wall. "So what, you just scoop me up and throw me into this war of yours? I've got a city. People who depend on me. If those boneheads come back—"
"They won't," Anya cut in. "The Inheritors only hunt Spiders. Your world is safe—at least until they've finished with us."
That didn't comfort him. Not at all.
The doors at the far end of the chamber hissed open. A figure strode through, armored, with a red-and-black suit Peter recognized instantly—though it was… wrong.
"Wait a sec," Peter muttered. "That's—me?"
The man's mask split to reveal the sharp, calculating face of Otto Octavius.
"Not you," Otto said smoothly. "A better you."
Peter's stomach sank. Doctor Octopus. In my body?
Otto ignored the look on his face. "You must be Earth-2818's specimen. The so-called 'Spider-Cyborg.'" He smirked, eyes lingering on the ruined machinery jutting from Peter's shoulder. "Crude modifications, but effective enough. Fascinating."
"Wow," Peter said, raising a brow. "Nothing like being judged by the guy who stole my face."
"Your sarcasm won't mask your incompetence," Otto snapped. "You barely survived Karn. Left to your own devices, you'd already be dead. Fortunately, my Spider-Army operates with efficiency."
"Spider-Army?" Peter repeated.
The room lit up as figures stepped forward from the shadows—more Spiders than he'd ever imagined. Pavitr Prabhakar in his sleek red suit. Noir with his trench coat and fedora. A hulking, mutated Six-Armed Spider-Man. Even a monkey in a Spider-suit scratching at his mask.
Peter's cybernetic lens flickered, scanning them all. Variations of himself. Infinite reflections. He felt dizzy.
"Welcome to the war," Otto declared. "You are no longer Spider-Man of Manhattan. You are a soldier. And you will obey."
Peter bristled. "Yeah, see, that's not really my thing. I don't do 'obey.' I do 'figure it out and save people.'"
"Your ego blinds you," Otto said coldly. "But perhaps I can give you incentive."
With a wave of his hand, one of the Spiders—Ashley Barton, the battle-scarred Spider-Girl—tossed something to Peter. His ruined cybernetic arm clattered to the floor at his feet.
Peter stared. Then back at Otto.
"You tore my city apart," Otto said, "upgraded its machines, rebuilt yourself into a weapon. Crude. Inefficient. But I can make you better."
Peter's chest tightened. His instincts screamed not to trust Otto—but his broken systems ached for repair.
Anya leaned in, whispering, "He's arrogant, but he's the reason we've survived this long. Play along."
Peter exhaled, staring at the severed arm at his feet.
"Fine," he muttered. "Do your worst."
Hours blurred. Sparks and welding flares lit the dark chamber as Otto and his machines worked. Peter sat strapped to a chair, metal arms of the lab dissecting his damaged prosthetic. His nerves burned as new circuits fused into flesh.
When it was done, he flexed his new arm—and froze. It wasn't just stronger. It was… smarter. Data flowed directly into his mind: signals from the Web itself, streams of information stretching across time and space. He could feel the future, fragmented, like whispers at the edge of hearing.
"Good," Otto said, his voice dripping satisfaction. "With this, you can infiltrate the databases of 2099 without detection. You'll find us safe havens. Routes the Inheritors cannot predict."
Peter flexed his hand again, the new arm gleaming with red energy lines. His reflection in the steel wall looked alien. More machine than man.
"Congratulations," Otto said coldly. "You are now truly Spider-Cyborg."
Later, as the Spider-Army gathered, Peter stood apart. His thoughts spiraled, heavy as the machinery in his chest.
Anya approached, her voice softer now. "You okay?"
Peter chuckled bitterly. "Define okay. I just got drafted into a multiversal war, upgraded by my worst enemy, and apparently I'm a buffet item for immortal vampires. Oh, and one of them told me I'm not a real Spider. So yeah. Totally peachy."
Anya studied him. "You are a Spider. Doesn't matter what they say. You fight, you bleed, you protect. That's what makes us who we are."
Peter met her gaze, surprised by the certainty there.
Then alarms blared. Red lights pulsed. A voice shouted from across the chamber: "They've found us!"
The Inheritors were here.
Peter's new arm hummed to life, energy surging through his circuits. For the first time, he felt the weight of the war pressing down on him—and the faint, terrifying possibility that Karn was right.
Maybe he wasn't a real Spider.
But real or not… he was ready to fight.