Not So Friendly Anymore

Chapter 44: Awakening

Peter woke to nothing.

No sound.

No wind.

No heartbeat in his ears.

Just black.

Black as far as the eye could see, above, below, behind, ahead. Not the black of a room with the lights off. Not the black of space with stars pricked through it. This was absolute. The kind of black that made you question whether your eyes were even open.

He tried to blink.

Felt the motion, but saw nothing change.

He lifted a hand in front of his face.
Nothing.

No outline. No shadow. No faint glow from the runes that usually lived under his skin. His fingers might as well have been air.

Panic tried to crawl up his throat, but it felt distant, like it belonged to someone else. His body was heavy. Not injury-heavy. Not tired-heavy. Just... absent. Like gravity had forgotten how much he weighed and decided on zero.

He tried to speak.

"Susan?"

The word didn't echo.

It didn't even leave his mouth properly. It died right there on his tongue, swallowed by the black.

"Sable?"

Same thing.

Nothing came back.

He pushed himself up, or thought he did. There was no floor to push against, no sense of up or down. He floated, or maybe he was still lying down. Hard to tell when the universe refused to give him a single reference point.

His mind raced, trying to piece it together.

The last thing he remembered was the blade.

Cold metal punching through his back.

Gorr's voice was soft and tired.

You saved the city. But you couldn't save yourself.

Then pain.

Bright, white-hot, everywhere at once.

Then... this.

The Void?

No.

The Void he'd sealed Gorr in had screamed. It had hunger. It had edges.

This place had none of those things.

This was quieter. Cleaner. Emptier.

He tried to summon the staff.

Nothing happened.

He reached for the Web of Life, the golden threads that usually hummed inside his chest like a second heartbeat.
Silence.

He felt for Anansi, the old trickster, the weaver, the part of him that always had a quip, always had a plan.

Even that felt far away, like a voice calling from the bottom of a very deep well.

For the first time in years, maybe ever, Peter Parker felt truly small.

He closed his eyes.

Opened them again.

Still black.

"Okay," he whispered to the nothing.
"This is new."

No answer.

He tried again, louder.

"Hello?"

The word vanished the instant it left his mouth.

He laughed once, short, dry, more breath than sound.