For advanced/Early chapters : patreon.com/KlausXD
At the Osborn Manor, the air was thick with a tension that even the high-tech filters couldn't scrub away. Gwen Stacy paced the length of the grand hall, her footsteps echoing sharply against the polished marble. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes darting toward the lab entrance every few seconds.
Harry Osborn, leaning against a fluted pillar, finally broke the silence. "Gwen, if you keep this up, you're going to wear a trench into the floor. Sit down and wait for the signal."
Gwen stopped mid-stride and shot Harry a look of pure exasperation. "Peter is going into the lion's den alone. He's facing Karn and my world's worst nightmare simultaneously. How can you expect me to sit still?"
Harry shrugged, his confidence in Peter bordering on absolute. "Look, Peter's mind operates on a level that makes the rest of us look like we're playing with blocks. He wouldn't have gone if he wasn't three steps ahead of them. Besides, did you see the hardware he packed? His life isn't in danger. He told us to stay back because Karn would track our 'Spider-signatures' like a lighthouse. If we go, we're just a liability."
The logic finally began to penetrate Gwen's anxiety. She sank into a plush velvet chair, her hands clenched in her lap, silently praying for the boy who was currently redefining what it meant to be a hero.
Betrayal in the Depths
In the subterranean gloom of the subway base, Norman Osborn was making final adjustments to his diffusion tanks. He was a man obsessed with legacy, and his "game" was nearly ready to begin. Beside him, Karn waited with a predator's stillness, though his patience was fraying.
"Where is Marko?" Karn hissed, his energy claws twitching. "I've been in this sunless pit for a day. If he doesn't bring the 'delicacies' soon, I'll start with you."
Just as the threat hung in the air, a violent vortex of sand swept through the ventilation shafts, coalescing into the form of Flint Marko. Norman's manic grin vanished the moment he saw Sandman's empty hands.
"Mr. Marko!" Norman's voice rose to a sharp, vibrato edge. "Where are the women?"
"I couldn't find them," Sandman replied, his voice as dry as the desert. "Spider-Man must have moved them. I searched every inch of the house. They're gone."
Karn stood up abruptly, a white mist of life energy beginning to bleed from his skin. "You're lying. My senses are fine. Those two Spiders haven't left their manor all day."
The realization hit Norman like a physical blow. He slammed his Green Goblin helmet onto his head, his eyes burning with green fire. "Betrayal! You dare turn against me, Marko?!"
Norman launched a flurry of Pumpkin Bombs while Karn lunged with glowing claws. Sandman didn't even try to fight back. "For my daughter," he whispered, "I'd betray the entire world."
His body dissolved into a sandstorm, but instead of fleeing, he surged toward the exits. Within seconds, massive walls of reinforced sand blocked every passage, fusing with the surrounding earth to turn the base into an inescapable tomb.
The March of the Terminators
As the dust settled, the main sand wall began to writhe. A tall, terrifying figure squeezed through the shifting grains—but it wasn't human.
It was a robot, over two meters tall, its chassis a skeletal frame of reinforced titanium. Its head was a metallic skull, its eye sockets glowing with twin pinpricks of malevolent red light. It carried a heavy Vulcan cannon and a thick belt of ammunition draped over its shoulder like a shroud.
Even Norman Osborn was momentarily stunned. This machine looked more like a villain than he did.
This was the T-600 Terminator, a design Peter had adapted from the memories of a cinematic future. Lacking the sophisticated skin of later models, the T-600 was a "cannon fodder" unit: thick-skinned, single-minded, and devastatingly armed.
The machine raised its Vulcan cannon. Da! Da! Da!
A torrent of lead and fire erupted from the barrel, the blue flames lighting up the dark station. Karn, caught off guard, was hammered by the kinetic force. He was forced to expend a massive amount of life energy to form an energy shield just to stay upright.
"Insects!" Karn roared, lunging into the first wave of T-600s. His claws tore through the metal skeletons with ease, but for every machine he dismantled, three more stepped through the sand walls.
The Commander's View
Five hundred meters away, Peter sat in a darkened corner of an adjacent tunnel, watching the carnage via Deep Blue's projected 3D feed.
"Well done, Deep Blue," Peter muttered, patting his gauntlet. "Building this legion using Osborn's own automated factories while he was distracted... that was the masterstroke."
Deep Blue responded with a digital smiley face. By utilizing only 10% of its multiversal processing power and the local raw materials of the Osborn Group, the AI had constructed a small, secret army in a matter of hours.
Peter's core talent, Mechanical Limit Breaker (Level A), allowed him to bridge the gap between his complex designs and the local manufacturing limits. He wasn't just a hero anymore; he was a commander. And the game Norman Osborn thought he was playing had just been flipped on its head.
If you like it, please give power stones.