I dragged myself through my apartment door like a zombie just off the night shift. My mask was still clutched in one hand, crumpled like a used rag. The weight of the day pressed into my shoulders the moment I shut the door. Aching ribs reminded me of every close call; web-slinging left my wrists raw. Legs? Overcooked spaghetti. Another long night as New York's unpaid intern: cleaning up messes and smiling through it all, like some kind of lunatic in spandex.
I kicked off my shoes, tossed my hoodie over the back of a chair, and collapsed face-first onto the couch. For a minute, I didn't even want to move. My body screamed for sleep. My mind, though? My mind refused to stop running through the dozens of little moments from patrol—pulling a kid out of the way of a speeding cab, webbing up some idiot who thought it was smart to rob a bodega, calming down a panicked old lady whose dog had bolted into traffic. Things that didn't make the news, but mattered to the people I helped.
I sighed into the couch cushion, voice muffled. "Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, huh? More like a friendly neighborhood babysitter."
The knock came soft, almost hesitant, but enough to break through the fog of exhaustion in my skull. For a second, I thought I imagined it—just the city tugging me back outside again. But then it came again. Three times. Real. Someone is actually at my door.
Groaning, I peeled myself off the couch. Every muscle ached, as if I'd been through ten rounds with Rhino. I shuffled to the door, already bracing myself to tell whoever it was that I wasn't interested in buying whatever they were selling.
But when I opened it—
"Cindy?"
She stood in the hallway, frozen as if for hours. Her dark hair was pulled into a loose braid. She wore jeans and a sweater instead of her suit. Still, the look in her eyes was anything but casual: determination, fear, and longing tangled tightly enough to make my chest ache.
"Hey," she whispered. Her voice cracked, just a little. "We need to talk."
That tone pulled me upright in an instant. I stepped aside without a word. She slipped past me, close enough that I could still feel the warmth of her arm lingering on my skin. As she sat on the couch, she folded her hands tightly together, as if bracing herself against a tremor that might surface if she let go.
I lowered myself into the chair across from her, heart thudding way too fast for how quiet the room was. "What's going on?"
Her eyes lifted, steady but fragile. "I've been thinking. About us. About what happened… that kiss." She paused and bit her lip. "It's been over a month, but I can't stop replaying it. I keep wondering—was it too soon? Was it the pheromones? Or… was it me?"
The memory hit me like a sucker punch. We both stopped mid-swing, faces inches apart, and kissed before we could second-guess it. I told myself it was the pheromones. It was safer, easier. But the way she was looking at me now…
"Cindy…"
She shook her head quickly, eyes bright and unblinking. "Peter, I need you to listen. I've watched you these last few weeks. You've thrown yourself into the city and built something lasting. That app—The Emergency Web—is genius. People already rely on it. I saw you on patrol and wanted to talk, but…" She looked down, a humorless laugh slipping out. "I didn't have the courage. Not until now."
Her words twisted in me: warmth and ache together. She'd been fighting her battles and still thought of me.
"I want to try," she said finally, her voice cracking on the last word. "Dating. Us. Not just teammates. Not just two messed-up kids thrown together by fate. But… something real."
For a long time, I couldn't speak. My mind raced through pros and cons, pulling me between fear and longing as I weighed the risks of letting someone close. It was too soon. Reckless. We both carried scars we scarcely understood. And yet…
"Are you sure this isn't—" I began.
"No." She leaned forward sharply, cutting me off. "Look at me. Really look."
So I did. For the first time, there was no haze. No chemical pull. Just her—raw, earnest, and vulnerable in a way that hurt to see.
"You feel it?" she asked softly.
I swallowed. "Yeah. I feel… just you."
Her eyes glistened. She let out a shaky laugh. "Then don't make this harder than it has to be."
I laughed weakly and rubbed the back of my neck. "You always know how to make me feel like an idiot."
"Peter," she said gently, "not everything has to be complicated."
Maybe she was right. For once, maybe it didn't have to be complicated.
"…Okay," I breathed, my chest tight. "Let's try."
The smile that broke across her face was worth more than a hundred victories. She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe.
"I've missed this," she whispered. "Missed… you."
"I missed you too," I admitted, surprising myself with how easily the words came.
But then her expression shifted; her brows knit and lips pressed together in hesitation. "There's something else. Something bigger."
That cold knot of dread twisted in my stomach. "Bigger how?"
"I told my parents about me. About my powers."
My eyebrows shot up. "Wow. That's huge. How did they—"
"They were… supportive. But they weren't alone. They introduced me to someone. Someone who knows about what we are. Someone who claims to be able to help me. Protect me."
And just like that, the air grew heavy. I already knew where this was going.
"Cindy," I said carefully, "who is this guy?"
The voice came from behind me before she could answer. Deep, calm, almost soothing:
"No need to ask her."
I turned, heart hammering against my ribs.
A tall man stood in my living room, as if he'd always been there. His tailored suit fit snugly across his broad shoulders. Silver hair was neatly combed back. His body looked strong despite the years carved into his face. His eyes carried a strange weight—wisdom mixed with sorrow. He leaned on a cane, but it didn't hide the power coiled inside him.
"I'm Ezekiel Sims," he said evenly. "And whether either of you realizes it yet… you've stepped into something far larger than yourselves."
My jaw went slack as confusion and apprehension washed over me. Cindy shifted uncomfortably, her posture tense—caught between awe and overwhelm as the room seemed to shrink around us.
Ezekiel stepped closer, his cane tapping once against the hardwood floor, the sound unnervingly sharp in the stillness of my apartment. His eyes—gray, sharp, ancient in a way that no ordinary man's should be—settled on me.
"Here's the big question, Peter," he said, voice low and deliberate. "Did the radiation enable the spider to give you those powers? Or was the spider trying to give you its powers before the radiation killed it? Which came first—the radiation or the power? The chicken or the egg?"
The words hit me sideways. My brain tried to sprint in six directions. "Uh… damn. I always thought the radiation was responsible. Radioactive spider, bite, boom—powers. That math made sense."
Ezekiel chuckled, but it wasn't kind. It was the laugh of someone who knew more than you ever would. He shook his head slowly.
"Oh, Peter. There's so much you don't know."
And then he began to unravel it.
He told us about the Web of Life and Destiny—a cosmic tapestry binding every spider-powered being across every universe. A divine lattice, woven by Neith the goddess and weaver, who sent her emissaries—spiders, sacred and eternal—down to Earth to choose the worthy.
"Each chosen," Ezekiel said, pacing slowly, "becomes a totem. A living embodiment of the spider. Protector. Predator. Prey. That choice connects you to the Web forever."
Cindy's hand gripped the couch cushion so tightly I thought the fabric might tear. My own chest tightened as he continued, his voice carrying the weight of old secrets.
"And as totems… You are hunted."
He stopped, eyes darkening. "By them."
"By who?" Cindy whispered.
Ezekiel's mouth curled in something that wasn't quite a smile. "The Inheritors. A family of vampiric beings who live across the multiverse. They hunt spider-totems. They feed on you. On the essence that makes you what you are. It's not food. It's not even survival. To them… It's a sport. A game. You are prey. And their most relentless predator?"
He let the silence hang before speaking the name.
"Morlun."
The room seemed to drop ten degrees.
He is the one you must fear most. I've seen him drain spider after spider—universes away, worlds apart. Distance doesn't matter. Once he catches your scent, he will hunt you until there's nothing left but ash and silence. There's no bargaining, no outrunning. When he arrives, there will be no mercy.
Cindy's breath hitched audibly. I clenched my fists, a shiver running through me. It sounded insane—but in the marrow of my bones, it felt true.
"So what," I managed, forcing my voice steady, "you want us to go underground? Hide in a bunker while the city burns?"
"Yes," Ezekiel said simply, leaning on his cane. "I can mask your scent. Cloak you. Keep you safe. The Inheritors will never find you."
Cindy glanced at me, torn, her lips pressed tight. "I thought about it. I almost agreed. But I wanted to hear what you thought first."
I exhaled and dragged a hand down my face. Hiding forever? That wasn't me. That wasn't Spider-Man. I shook my head.
Look, I believe you. The Web, the totems, Morlun. It fits. But hiding in a hole? That's not a life. And it sure as hell isn't me.
Ezekiel arched an eyebrow. "So you'd rather gamble with extinction?"
"No," I said, leaning forward. "I'd rather fight smart. If the problem is the scent, then maybe there's a solution that doesn't involve becoming a ghost. You said the longer we're active, the stronger it gets, right?"
"Yes."
"Then we need something to mask it. Block it. If Morlun and his family hunt by scent, then we cut off the scent at its source. Simple as that, allowing us to train and get stronger so that if they ever step foot here, they will find themselves taken care of."
I tapped the earpiece in my ear—a habit I'd picked up over the last few weeks. "Arachne, start combing through my blueprints. Cross-reference any information on biosignatures, frequency jammers, and scent masking. Prioritize adaptability. Alert me if you find something workable."
Arachne's voice buzzed in my ear instantly. "Acknowledged, Sir. Reviewing files now. I shall send all blueprints to your tablet and laptop."
I let out a breath. "Good. Keep me posted."
Ezekiel had been silent through the exchange, his expression unreadable. Finally, he gave a low chuckle. "You really are stubborn. Clever. But stubborn." He pointed the tip of his cane at me. "Most would run from the Inheritors. Few would dare to face them head-on."
"Yeah, well," I muttered, "running's never really been my style."
Something like approval flickered in his eyes, though it was weighed down with pity.
"Very well," he said at last. "If it is training and preparation you want… then I will see what can be arranged. But not tonight."
He straightened, every inch of him radiating quiet authority. "There are things I must prepare. Allies, I must consult. You will hear from me again soon."
"Wait—" Cindy started, but before she could finish, he was already gone. One blink, and he simply wasn't there anymore. No flash, no sound. Just vanished, like a ghost stepping back into the shadows.
The room fell into a heavy silence. Cindy's hand brushed mine, seeking warmth.
I stared at the empty space where Ezekiel had stood, his words echoing like a storm.
The Web. The Totems. The Inheritors. Morlun.
For the first time in a long time, I felt small.
And I hated it.