Not So Friendly Anymore

Chapter 41: After the Rain

Smoke drifted through the shattered streets of Asgard in slow, lazy spirals, curling up from cracked cobblestones and twisted metal where berserkers had met their end. Molten gold from the realm's enchanted architecture pooled in shallow craters, hissing faintly as it cooled alongside thick, hardening rivers of black tar that had once been living darkness. The air still carried the sharp tang of ozone and something fouler, like burnt rot and old blood. The Einherjar stood scattered across the bridge and rooftops, their gleaming armor dulled with soot, weapons lowered, chests heaving. No one cheered. No one spoke. They just stared at the devastation and at the man standing quietly in the middle of it.

Peter stood at the center of the ruined bridge, the Staff of Anansi planted lightly against the stone like it was nothing more than a walking stick. The blinding glow in his eyes had finally dimmed back to the familiar brown, though faint gold still flickered beneath his skin whenever his pulse jumped. The enormous crack in the sky had sealed itself without a sound, the last threads of the Great Web slipping away into unseen dimensions. The colossal golden spider was gone, vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving only the memory of its hundreds of cosmic eyes and the lingering, bone-deep fear it had etched into every soul that had seen it.

But the fear it had inspired remained.

Susan was the first to move.

She crossed the battlefield slowly, boots crunching over cooling debris and shattered glass, stepping carefully around puddles of black that still twitched faintly. When she reached him, her hands came up to his chest, palms flat over his heart, feeling the steady thump like she needed physical proof he was still real, still here, still Peter. Her fingers trembled just slightly.

"You okay?" she asked quietly, voice barely above the wind.

Peter managed a weak breath of a laugh, the sound rough around the edges. "Define 'okay.'"

Sable arrived a moment later, moving with that same predator's grace even when she wasn't fighting. She scanned him head to toe like a battlefield medic disguised as a queen, no blood, no torn suit, no visible wounds. That alone unsettled her more than if he'd been half-dead and bleeding out.

"You scared the hell out of everyone," she said, arms folding, one brow arched in that way that said she was trying to stay calm and mostly failing.
Peter glanced around, taking in the stunned faces.

Thor stood frozen near the edge of the bridge, Mjolnir hanging loosely at his side, his usual thunder muted. His blue eyes were locked on Peter with something close to awe, maybe even a little fear. The Einherjar were openly staring now, some with mouths still parted, others gripping their weapons like they weren't sure whether to kneel or run. Even Odin had not yet moved from his place above the ruins on the broken steps, one hand resting heavily on Gungnir, his single eye unreadable, ancient, measuring.

Peter exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah... I get that a lot lately."
Silence settled again, thick and heavy, broken only by the distant crackle of cooling metal and the low moan of wind through broken spires.

Odin finally descended the shattered steps, each footfall deliberate, the sound of his boots on stone carrying across the quiet like a slow drumbeat.

The Allfather stopped a few paces from Peter, studying him with a gaze that had measured empires, judged gods, and seen the birth and death of stars.

"The berserkers were a herald," Odin said at last, his voice low, steady, but carrying the weight of certainty. "He sends his shadow ahead of him. Tests the walls. Breaks the spirit before the blade ever falls."

Peter nodded, eyes on the horizon where the sky still looked bruised. "That's his style. Probe the defenses. Make us bleed fear before we bleed.

Thor stepped forward, finding his voice again, though it came out rougher than usual. "Then we rally. All armies. Every god. Every realm—"