Pain.
That was the first thing—no, the only thing—I knew. It wasn't the fleeting sting of a cut. It wasn't the dull throb of an old wound. This pain was deeper. Primordial. A grinding ache etched into marrow and nerve, a torment lingering as if even death couldn't scrub it clean.
Death.
The word hung heavy in my mind. Memories clawed back through the fog. Fire. Smoke. Bitter plastic and ozone choked my lungs. Sparks showered like molten rain. Addison's voice—calm, detached, cruelly indifferent—narrated my end. Fatal error confirmed. Host body terminated.
My capsule had become a coffin. My masterpiece had become a pyre. And my last, broken thought had been a single word.
Marvel.
It was pathetic, wasn't it? To die clutching a dream so absurd, so naïve, that the universe itself seemed to laugh as it burned me alive. I had reached for it, clawed for it, sacrificed everything for it—and it had killed me.
And yet…
Here I was.
A groan shuddered through me as consciousness returned. Bewilderment tangled with fear, and I forced my eyes open. My chest tightened, not with lingering dread from the fire, but with a surge of awe. My breath caught in stunned disbelief, a pulse of fear quickening as my mind scrambled to process the impossible scene before me.
I was no longer in the warehouse. I was no longer anywhere that resembled Earth. I floated, suspended in an endless sea of night, weightless in a vast, merciless cosmos. I felt like nothing more than a speck of dust adrift in a hurricane. Stars glimmered at impossible distances—tiny embers burning across a canvas that stretched forever.
But it wasn't the stars that stole me.
It was the web.
A web spanned infinity itself, woven across the void like the skeleton of existence. Its threads were titanic rivers of light, each one shimmering with brilliance beyond words. Some were as thick as skyscrapers, glowing bands of energy with an alien pulse. Others were delicate, fine as strands of hair, strong enough to bind galaxies to their lattice.
The structure was alive.
It pulsed. It thrummed. It sang—not in sound, but in vibration. The resonance moved through my bones, through whatever I was now. I felt it. Each thread was plucked by unseen hands, humming with eternity's weight. Where lines intersected, energy bloomed like cosmic jewels—radiant hubs binding creation.
And it was endless.
The web stretched farther than sight, farther than imagination. It swallowed stars, wrapped around black holes, and anchored to the fabric of reality. Galaxies spun tangled within its geometry, like insects frozen in amber. The strangest thing—the strands moved. They rippled, shifted, repaired themselves, like veins pumping lifeblood through a being.
Then the movement.
At first, it was small—ripples crawling along the threads, vibrations echoing outward. Then I saw them. Billions. No, trillions. Shadows scurrying across the vast web, each one fast, purposeful, tireless. They were spiders—if such a word could even apply here. Some no larger than a man, others monstrous beyond comprehension, each working feverishly. Spinning new threads. Patching fractures. Strengthening weak points in the lattice.
The sight was terrifying, yet hypnotic. The web wasn't static—it was maintained. Built. Guarded. Alive because of them.
My heart—if I still had one—thudded.
This was no afterlife. This was no hallucination.
I had died… and awoken at the center of something vast, something woven into the bones of creation itself.
And for the first time since the flames consumed me, a thought returned.
"This place seriously reminds me of the Great Web," I whispered, voice cracking. The words barely left my lips before another voice answered.
"Well, you would be correct on that statement, as this is none other than the very Great Web in those comics you read."
I jolted, whipping around.
She was walking toward me—no, gliding. Her bare feet barely disturbed the strands beneath her. A woman, young yet timeless. Dressed in the elegance of an ancient world, her outfit was regal. Flowing linen, adorned with golden accents, each shaped like a delicate spider. Around her neck: a collar of beaten gold, inlaid with carnelian and lapis. Her skin glowed like polished bronze. Her black hair cascaded in braids adorned with beads.
But it was her eyes that transfixed me—dark as the void, sharp as blades, and filled with a depth that unsettled me. I felt both drawn in and defenseless under their eternal gaze, my own anxiety rising as I met their intensity.
I knew her.
Or at least, I recognized her.
"Neith?" I breathed, disbelief sharp in my throat.
She smiled faintly. "Correct."
I staggered back a step, nearly tripping over a glowing thread. "That's impossible. You—you're not real. You're just a character. A comic book footnote. A myth Marvel dug up for their own stories."
"Do you believe that?" she asked, her voice cool and unreadable. She lifted a hand, letting spiders crawl onto her palm, stroking them as they spun a perfect spiral of silk.
"I—" I started, then stopped. My heart hammered as I stared at her, at the endless web stretching behind her. This place was too vivid, too immense, too terrifying to be a dream.
"Is this real?" I whispered.
"As real as anything gets," she replied, gesturing wide. "The Great Web—my tapestry that holds possibility together."
My knees wobbled. I sank down onto the glowing strand beneath me, gripping it with trembling hands.
"The Great Web…" I echoed. I'd read about it. I'd seen it in comics, in shows, in fan wikis. The source of all Spider-Totems, the heart of their multiverse. A myth within a myth.
Neith's lips curled faintly. "You know about it. Good. That will save time."
Billions of spiders scurried past us, carrying threads like workers hauling beams. The sight made my skin crawl, yet I couldn't look away.
"I don't… I don't understand," I said. "How am I here? I died. My machine failed. I—I burned alive."
Her gaze softened, almost pitying. "And yet your story is not finished. The threads pulled you here, to me." She walked closer, the strands quivering beneath her steps. "When I wove the Web, I thought I was shaping a playground—a way to watch the dances of mortals unfold. I believed their choices would weave patterns of their own."
She crouched, her face level with mine. Her eyes bore into me, ancient and unyielding.
"But your world…" She tilted her head. "Your world never danced."
I blinked. "What?"
"Do you know of anchor beings?"
The question stunned me—but I did. My brain, fogged with awe and fear, lit up with recognition. "Yeah. I mean—yeah, I've heard the term. It was in that Deadpool and Wolverine movie that came out a couple of years ago. Anchor beings… the central figures. The souls that stabilize a world, give it weight, let it exist as more than a drifting possibility."
Neith nodded, her braids swaying gently. "Correct. In every true world, there is an anchor. A fulcrum around which myth and magic, gods and monsters, can gather."
She straightened, her voice carrying like silk across stone. "Your world has none. Every choice that could have birthed heroes, every spark that could have ignited myths… was never taken. The Web holds countless Earths, infinite variations. But your world? The stories you adored? They never lived. They could only exist as shadows. As fiction."
Her words struck me like a knife—shame and confusion churned in my stomach, leaving me raw and unsteady.
"So… that's why," I muttered. "That's why my world has no magic. No gods walking among us. No Spider-Man swinging through New York. Because… we never had an anchor being."
Neith inclined her head. "Exactly."
I laughed, but it came out broken, desperate. "So that's it. My whole life—all the comics, the movies, the shows—they were just echoes? Fictions of worlds that actually exist?"
"Yes."
I ran a hand through my hair, trembling. Part of me wanted to scream. Part of me wanted to fall to my knees in gratitude. This was more than I had ever dreamed of knowing.
She began walking, her linen robes trailing across the strand. "Follow."
I scrambled to my feet, my legs shaky as I hurried after her. Billions of spiders parted before us like a tide.
"For ages, I let the spiders weave," Neith said. "I watched, wandered, played. But eventually—" she gave me a level look, "everyone has to grow up. Even gods."
Her words echoed in my chest.
We reached a junction in the web, where threads the size of highways knotted together. Energy pulsed through them like veins of starlight. She turned to face me, her expression unreadable.
"You made a wish," she said.
My throat tightened. "What wish?"
Her smile turned razor sharp. "To have a real world. To be Peter Parker."
I froze. My heart slammed against my ribs.
"You mean… you'll grant it?"
Neith didn't blink. "Yes. Earth-616-A needs a Peter Parker. There's an opening."
"Six-one-six-A…" I whispered. The designation rolled off my tongue like forbidden fruit.
"Peter Parker won't make it in that world. The bite's too much—he dies before his story starts."
I swallowed hard, anxiety radiating through me at the full weight of her words. My hands trembled, each possible future flickering through my mind in fear and hope.
"If you wish to live as Spider-Man, the path is open. But you must earn it."
"How?" My voice cracked.
Her smile widened, dark and dazzling. "By surviving the bite."
My breath caught.
"What—what's different about this spider?" I asked, fear and excitement warring inside me.
Neith raised her hand. A single spider crawled onto her palm, small yet shimmering with colors that bent reality—black, crimson, and something deeper, something indescribable. Its presence radiated power that made my skin prickle.
"This spider is the most deadly I have ever sent," she said. "Its venom would kill any ordinary mortal. But if you endure it… If you survive its bite… it will grant you gifts no other Spider-Man has ever known. You will be unique. One of a kind."
My mouth went dry. My mind screamed at me to run, but my heart—my heart knew the answer before I spoke.
I clenched my fists, meeting her gaze.
"No doubt about it. Bring it on, Spider Goddess."
Her laughter was soft, melodic, and dangerous. She lifted her hand, letting the spider scurry onto a thread that connected to the endless web.
"Then good luck," she said, her voice echoing like the toll of a divine bell.
🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷🕷
I woke up choking. My lungs convulsed like they were filled with smoke, and I hacked so hard I thought my ribs might snap. Something metallic coated my tongue, bitter and sharp, as I spat into my sleeve. The pounding in my skull felt like someone was splitting it open with a crowbar.
And then the smell hit me—stale bus air mixed with too much deodorizer and the faint tang of bleach. Not my warehouse. Not the capsule. Not the comforting hum of processors and monitors surrounding me.
I blinked against sunlight slanting through grimy bus windows. A bus. A school bus.
"What the—" I muttered, struggling upright, my body feeling wrong—too light, too small, like I was wearing someone else's skin.
A dull thunk smacked the back of my head.
"Sleepy, Parker?"
The voice dripped with smugness. I turned to see a blonde kid with a wide grin, his arm draped over a red-haired girl who giggled at his every word. He was broad-shouldered, golden boy handsome, the kind of guy who thought the world bent just for him.
"Flash," I breathed before I could stop myself.
He smirked wider, tossing a look back at his entourage. "Well, look who decided to rejoin the land of the living! Parker, you didn't even make it through the homeroom without almost dying? Guess nerds can't handle breakfast."
The girl rolled her eyes, though there was amusement dancing in them. "Leave him alone, Flash."
"MJ, c'mon," he drawled. "Don't act like you don't enjoy the show."
Their laughter blurred in my ears. My mind was spinning, my pulse thundering. Parker. Peter Parker. The name wasn't just being said—it was being aimed at me.
I grabbed the back of the seat in front of me, knuckles white, trying to steady myself. My heart hammered against my ribs because the impossible was becoming terrifyingly clear.
This was it.
My one chance to become Spider-Man. This was not the game that I had built; this was real, and if I was going to prove myself, even if it meant going through intense pain.