Spider-Man: At breaking point

Chapter Eight: Crossing the Line

Peter’s fists were clenched so tightly that his knuckles ached. His vision blurred as he swung through the city, rage bubbling beneath the surface. The Reaper was out there, turning his world upside down. He had left more bodies in his wake—people Peter had once saved, now dead because of him.

Not because of you, Peter told himself, trying to push away the guilt. Because of him. The Reaper.

But it didn’t help.

He spotted a commotion below: two men dragging a woman into an alley. Peter’s instincts kicked in, and he dove toward the ground. His body moved on autopilot, the rage in his chest flaring up again.

The two thugs barely had time to react before Peter landed, striking one across the face with a web-covered fist. The man’s head snapped back, and he crumpled to the ground. The second thug froze, terror written across his face.

Peter didn’t stop. He lunged forward, grabbing the man by the collar and slamming him into the brick wall of the alley. The crack of the impact echoed through the narrow space.

"Who sent you?!" Peter demanded, his voice harsher than he intended.

The thug sputtered, his eyes wide with fear. "I—I don’t know, man! We were just—"

Peter slammed him against the wall again, harder this time. "Liar!"

Before he could press further, a low voice interrupted him. "That’s enough, Spider-Man."

Peter turned sharply to see Daredevil standing at the mouth of the alley, his red suit glowing under the dim streetlights. The blind vigilante’s expression was unreadable, but his posture was tense.

Peter’s grip on the thug loosened slightly, but the anger still surged through him. "Stay out of this, Daredevil," he growled, throwing the thug to the ground.

Daredevil took a cautious step forward. "You’re letting this get to you. You’ve already beaten them down. You don’t need to take it any further."

Peter’s chest heaved, his breaths labored. His fists were still shaking, but he forced himself to take a step back. Daredevil was right. He was about to cross a line—again.

But before Peter could respond, Daredevil spoke again, his tone firm. "I know things are bad, but this isn’t you. Don’t become the thing you’re trying to stop."

Peter felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He glanced down at the thug on the ground, groaning in pain, and his stomach churned. He had gone too far. Again.

Without a word, Peter shot a webline to the nearest building and swung away. Daredevil watched him go, a frown deepening on his face.

The next morning, Peter walked into the Daily Bugle with a heavy weight on his shoulders. He hadn’t slept—again. His mind was still reeling from the encounter with Daredevil, the violent outburst, and the Reaper’s growing body count.

He handed over the latest batch of photos to the editor, and as usual, the newsroom buzzed with the usual chaos. But today, there was a different energy in the air. He caught sight of the morning paper sitting on the edge of a desk, and his heart sank.

The headline screamed at him in bold letters: "SPIDER-MAN: HERO OR KILLER? IS NEW YORK’S BELOVED WALL-CRAWLER RESPONSIBLE FOR THE REAPER’S RAMPAGE?"

Peter snatched the paper up and stared at it in disbelief. His hands trembled as he skimmed the article, his stomach turning at the words. The story was accusing Spider-Man of being as responsible for the recent deaths as the Reaper, claiming he was losing control, going too far in his battles, and even implying that Spider-Man had killed some of the thugs he had fought recently.

A chill ran down Peter’s spine. Someone had seen him last night. The photos of his brutal beatdown of the thug were all over the article, painting a picture of a hero losing his grip on reality.

Just as he was absorbing the shock, Jameson’s voice boomed from across the room. "Parker! Get in here!"

Peter reluctantly walked into Jameson’s office, already bracing himself for another rant. The older man was sitting behind his desk, the morning paper spread out before him. He didn’t look angry this time—just smug.

"You see that, Parker?" Jameson said, tapping the headline with a finger. "The city’s starting to see Spider-Man for what he really is. A menace. A loose cannon."

Peter bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his cool. "What do you want me to do, Jonah?"

Jameson leaned back in his chair, a gleam in his eye. "I want you to keep getting those pictures. Real close-up shots of Spider-Man in action. The city’s hungry for it, Parker. And I know you can get just the picture we need to bury him for good."

Peter felt his heart skip a beat. There was something in Jameson’s tone—something knowing, something deliberate. Did he know? Could he know?

Peter nodded stiffly and left the office without another word. As he made his way through the buzzing newsroom, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Jameson was watching him. That he knew more than he was letting on.

The doubts, the guilt, the anger—it all swirled inside him like a storm. Peter could feel himself slipping, the Reaper’s words echoing in his mind.

You’re just like me.

And for the first time in his life, Peter wasn’t sure if he could fight his way back.