At 15, Peter Parker faces a harsh awakening after the tragic death of his uncle, realizing the weight of the responsibilities that come with his newfound powers. Balancing the challenges of high school, a mysterious new girl, and the shocking transf...
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"WHAT... is this?" I whisper, my voice swallowed by the chaos in front of me. The scene is pure devastation, the kind that twists your stomach and makes your heart pound.
Cars are smashed, crumpled like discarded soda cans, some flipped on their backs while others are embedded into nearby buildings like jagged puzzle pieces that don't fit. Glass shards glitter under the streetlights, scattered like confetti, but there's nothing celebratory here.
It's a massacre. Bodies—police officers, civilians—are strewn across the street, some pinned under wreckage, some slumped in grotesque, unnatural positions. Blood streaks the asphalt, its crimson stain the only color in this otherwise gray world.
I rush to the nearest body, a cop in uniform. His face is obscured by blood and broken glass, but I don't need to see his eyes to know the truth. I place trembling fingers on his neck, desperate to find a pulse, any sign of life.
Nothing.
My breath catches, a knot tightening in my throat. "Who... who could've done this?" The words hang in the air, unanswered, as if the city itself is holding its breath.
Then, everything around me goes quiet. Too quiet.
My senses sharpen in the silence, every nerve on fire. I hear everything—the steady hum of electricity through the streetlights, the faint buzz of a fly to my left, the trickle of water sliding into a sewer grate to my right. But then, my body goes cold, my spine stiffens.
Behind me.
It's instinct more than anything else that gets me moving. My senses scream behind!
Just a fraction of a second before a deafening roar fills the air. I throw myself sideways, my heart lurching as a car whistles past me, smashing into the building where I'd just stood.
Shards of brick and debris rain down as I scramble to my feet, instinctively clinging to the nearest wall, my sticky fingers gripping onto the rough surface.
I glance down, my breath heavy, heart thundering in my chest. My mind races, but I can't afford the luxury of confusion or panic—not now. Not with something—someone—out there, hurling cars like baseballs.
I stay plastered against the wall, every muscle tense, eyes scanning the wreckage below, trying to make sense of the shadow moving amidst the destruction. This isn't just some random villain causing chaos. There's intent here, there's power.
Then I see him.
He's massive, hulking in the moonlight, his muscles straining beneath torn clothing that's soaked with blood—not his, judging by the way he moves. His face, twisted in a cruel grin, gleams with the satisfaction of destruction. He stands over the broken bodies and shattered cars like a king surveying his kingdom of chaos.
