Current Name Ranking:
1st Vaeris – 15 Votes (11 ScribbleHub + 4 WebNovel)
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3rd Logos – 5 Votes (5 ScribbleHub)
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Fog rolled off the East River in heavy sheets, carrying the stench of oil and old blood. Rust clung to the air like memory.
Peter crouched on the rusting arm of a crane, watching the warehouse below like a hawk circling prey.
Dock 47. Ethan's text had included coordinates and a warning.
May Parker is alive.
The words burned in Peter's mind, equal parts relief and agony. He wanted—needed—to believe Ethan. But hope was dangerous. Hope cut deep when you weren't careful.
Through the lenses of his mask, Peter zoomed in on the corrugated metal structure, tracking movement behind the dirt-streaked windows.
Twelve armed men.
Four doctors in white coats.
Two trucks parked near the loading dock.
And there, near the center of the warehouse, a gurney.
Peter's breath caught. Even from this distance, through the murky glass, he could see her.
Aunt May.
His chest tightened painfully at the sight of her silver hair, her face slack and still under the pale light of a monitor. Wires and tubes snaked around her like restraints.
"They put her in a coma," Peter murmured, barely aware he'd spoken aloud.
"Tiger?"
The soft voice in his earpiece made him flinch. MJ. She was parked three blocks away, engine idling, hidden in the fog.
"I see her," Peter said quietly. "They've got her drugged up. Monitors, IVs… this isn't a holding cell—it's a lab."
MJ's sharp intake of breath crackled through the line. "Is she… is she okay?"
"She's alive," Peter said, forcing the words out. "For now."
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken fears.
"You can't go in there looking like Spider-Man," MJ said finally.
"I know," Peter replied. "Not with Osborn's smear campaign. Not with May's life on the line."
His hand drifted to the folded fabric in his pack: black as night, smooth as flowing water.
The Dusk suit.
It wasn't just a costume. It was an idea. A predator that moved between shadows. A whisper in the criminal underworld of someone—or something—that even killers feared.
Peter's fingers tightened around the fabric.
Spider-Man was the bright light. The hopeful symbol.
But tonight didn't call for light.
Tonight demanded shadow.
"MJ," Peter said, his voice low. "If I'm not out in an hour—drive away. Don't wait for me."
"Don't say that," MJ snapped.
"I have to be ready for anything."
"Peter—"
He muted the comm before she could argue further.
The Dusk suit flowed over him like liquid night, swallowing reflection, swallowing color. It didn't shine—it devoured. Gone were Spider-Man's webs and colors. No symbol. No seams. Just darkness.
The mask's white triangular lenses were sharper than his usual rounded ones, giving his reflection a spectral, alien quality in the cracked crane glass.
He felt different in this suit. Colder. Harder.
This wasn't Peter Parker anymore. This wasn't even Spider-Man.
This was Dusk.
He slipped from the crane, the air catching on the suit's hidden gliders. He floated silently over the shipping containers below, landing without a sound on the warehouse roof.
Through a broken skylight, he peered inside.
The guards weren't alert. Lazy patrols. Fingers resting loosely on triggers.
Amateurs, Peter thought grimly. But they're still armed. One mistake and Aunt May pays for it.
He scanned the scene again, every detail locking into place like a blueprint in his mind.
Twelve armed men. Spread out. Weak points in their formation.
The doctors, on the other hand, moved with brisk efficiency around May's gurney. He could hear fragments of their conversation:
"…dosage stable…"
"…neural stasis maintained…"
"…Osborn wants her quiet until he gives the order…"
Peter's jaw tightened.
'You kept her from me. You made me bury her.'
The thought made his stomach churn.
His mind drifted, unbidden, to the funeral.
The heavy casket. The cold drizzle. MJ's hand gripping his as he tried not to collapse.
'I promised her—I'll keep you safe, Aunt May. And I failed.'
But not tonight. Tonight he wouldn't fail.
Peter flexed his fingers, feeling the subtle hum of his spider-sense. He could take them all out, one by one. Quietly. No alarms.
Dusk didn't announce himself. Dusk hunted.
His eyes flicked to May again.
And for a moment, the darkness cracked.
'Hang on, Aunt May. Just a little longer.'
Peter crouched at the edge of the skylight, every muscle coiled like a spring. Below, the guards were oblivious to the predator above them.
Time to work.
And then, with a silent exhale, he dropped into the shadows.
The first guard didn't even have time to scream.
A black shape dropped from the rafters, soundless as a falling shadow. A gloved hand clamped over his mouth, and a forearm pressed hard against his windpipe until his struggles slowed.
Peter eased the unconscious man down and melted back into the beams above.
One down. Eleven to go.
This wasn't the way Spider-Man fought. No quips, no webbing them to lampposts with a note for the cops. This was surgical, merciless.
This was Dusk.
The second man spotted a faint movement in the dark and turned, finger tightening on his trigger.
"Who's there?"
Peter dropped behind him, a sharp strike to the base of the skull knocking him out cold. He caught the rifle and body before they hit the floor and tucked them silently behind a crate.
Two.
Every takedown was deliberate. Peter worked like a predator, his spider-sense guiding his steps, his breathing steady.
He dragged bodies into the shadows, out of sight.
They can't see me coming. Not yet.
As he moved, Peter's thoughts spiraled.
'They kept her in a coma. They let me grieve at a grave with nothing inside it. Norman…'
He wanted to kill Osborn for this. The thought scared him.
Not tonight, he told himself. Tonight's about May.
By the time the last guard crumpled to the floor, the warehouse had fallen into an eerie silence. Only the steady beep of May's heart monitor broke it.
The doctors hadn't noticed yet. They were too busy muttering about "maintaining stasis integrity" and "compliance protocols."
Peter's blood boiled.
He landed soundlessly behind them.
"Who's there?!" one of them yelped, spinning around.
A shadow surged forward.
Peter grabbed the man by the collar and slammed him into the nearest wall, the crack echoing like gunfire.
"Wake her up," Peter rasped, the voice modulator twisting his words into a deep, distorted growl.
The other doctors froze, wide-eyed with terror.
"Do you have any idea who you're messing with?" one demanded, trying for bravado.
Peter's fist lashed out, catching him across the jaw. The man crumpled, unconscious.
"Do you?" Peter hissed, his white lenses narrowing like a predator's glare.
"Do it," Peter growled, shoving a syringe into a doctor's trembling hands.
The man injected the counteragent into the IV line, muttering under his breath.
On the gurney, Aunt May stirred. Her eyelids fluttered weakly.
"P…Peter?" she whispered hoarsely.
The sound cut through him like a blade.
He wanted to rip off the mask, to let her see his face, but he couldn't—not now.
"Shhh," Peter said, forcing his voice softer. "I'm here to help."
Her eyes opened, unfocused and afraid. When they met his white lenses, she saw a monster made of her grief—and screamed.
Peter flinched.
"Easy," he said quickly. "I'm not here to hurt you."
"Who…who are you?"
"Your nephew's wife paid me to bring you home," Peter said. "Stay quiet until we're safe."
"M-Mary Jane?"
The sound of his name almost shattered him.
"Yes," Peter said gruffly. "I'll get you to her soon."
The last conscious doctor bolted toward a console.
Peter's spider-sense flared. He moved in a blur, catching the man by the wrist.
"Don't," Peter growled.
"You're insane! Osborn will—"
Peter's fist slammed into the console, shattering it.
"Tell Osborn Dusk was here," Peter said, his voice cold as the void, "This isn't his city anymore. If I find out you didn't deliver my message, then I'll come back for you next."
The man nodded frantically, eyes wide with terror.
Peter scooped May into his arms as gently as he could.
"Hold on," he murmured.
"Where…where are you taking me?" she whispered weakly.
"To your nephew's wife."
"P-Peter?"
Peter's chest ached.
"You'll see them soon," he promised.
With that, he vanished into the shadows, gliding silently through the warehouse like smoke.
MJ's car sat parked far down the road. She jumped out as Peter approached, Aunt May cradled in his arms.
"She's stable, but she's heavily drugged, so she passed out," Peter said, his voice still the distorted rasp of Dusk.
MJ's eyes glistened. "And you?"
Peter hesitated, the mask hiding his turmoil.
"I'm fine."
"You're lying."
Peter didn't respond. He laid May carefully in the back seat, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.
"Get her home. Keep her safe. I'll be back soon."
"Where are you going?" MJ asked.
Peter stepped back, letting the darkness swallow him.
"Dusk isn't done yet," he said, voice fading into fog. The night swallowed him whole—and the light didn't follow.
And then he was gone.
'I couldn't save you earlier, May. But I will now. I swear it.'