67: Web-Slinger
"You keep staring at him."
"What?"
Carol blinked in confusion. Turning around, she cast a questioning glance at her mother while flipping the sizzling bacon in the pan.
Martha smiled slightly, tilting her head toward the table where her husband and the young man they had brought with them were chatting animatedly.
"Your father doesn't notice, but I saw it the moment you walked in—you keep staring at him."
Carol paused, then began shaking her head vigorously, almost bristling like a cat whose tail had been stepped on.
"No, I don't!" she muttered through clenched teeth, trying to defend herself. But involuntarily, her eyes drifted back to Daniel. A blush crept up her cheeks, aware that, even though her mother was speaking quietly, he could undoubtedly hear the conversation with perfect clarity.
Seeing her embarrassment, Martha let out a soft chuckle, which only made Carol look even more mortified.
Watching the storm of emotions on her face, Martha couldn't help but feel slightly relieved.
As the woman who had raised her, she had long realized that her daughter wasn't exactly the most social butterfly. The reasons, of course, were understandable. Carol wasn't like other girls. Even so, she had always worried about how detached she seemed from everything around her.
As she grew older, it was as if Carol became more and more indifferent, living almost on autopilot—simply existing, watching the world but never entering it.
Jonathan never noticed. To her husband, the only thing that mattered was that Carol was safe. But Martha knew better, if things had continued the way they had been going, her daughter's future could've been bleak, and certainly lonely.
Thankfully, these past few months, Carol seemed to be changing. She still showed little interest in most things, but at the same time, there was a light in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
It was as if she were finally starting to truly live.
Martha had spent many nights wondering where this change had come from. She didn't like to pry too much into her daughter's privacy, so she had never tried to ask intrusive questions or thought of cornering her to find out. As long as Carol was okay and happy, she was willing to wait and let her tell her when she was ready.
Unexpectedly, it seemed the answer to her question had decided to show up on its own.
It wasn't hard to put the pieces together—she just needed to think about the timing a little. And above all, even though her daughter wore a pretty decent poker face most of the time, as a mother—and as a woman—it was fairly easy for her to notice the way Carol's eyes lit up every time she looked at the young man sitting at the table.
"When did you two meet?" she asked, unable to stop herself, causing Carol to startle. She tried to hide her sudden nervousness, but to Martha, she might as well have been an open book.
"What do you mean? This is the first time I've seen him," she said with as much seriousness as she could muster—she almost sounded convincing.
Letting out a sigh, Martha pulled the last pancake off the heat and turned off the stove.
"It must've been over six months ago... he came to town nearly a year back, maybe since January?" Martha murmured to herself, each word triggering a silent reaction from her daughter.
Looking at her stunned expression, Martha snorted, took the skillet from her hands, fished out the bacon that had almost burned, and served it onto the plates.
"You know, I was young once too. I still remember all those nights I snuck out of the house to see your father in the middle of the night," she said, and for a moment her eyes clouded over with the memory, before she shook her head and placed a hand on Carol's shoulder.
"Come on, it's time for breakfast. We can have our girl talk later," she said, giving her a meaningful look that made Carol shiver. Then she handed her two of the plates and took the other two herself, starting to walk toward the table. Carol followed automatically, her mind still processing the fact that she had just been found out.
Seeing them approach, Daniel stood up from his chair.
"Let me help," he said, stepping forward to take the plates Martha was carrying.
Soon, the table was fully set, and the four of them sat down and began to eat in peace.
Conversation was sparse at first, but little by little Daniel lightened the mood, talking about various topics with Carol's parents, filling the house with a warm and welcoming air.
Carol joined in now and then, though for the most part she remained silent, glancing sideways at her mother, her thoughts in complete disarray. Every time Daniel and Martha exchanged words, a slight tremor shook her heart.
As if she feared Martha might ask something strange—or say something.
But she didn't. The woman spoke to Daniel politely, without trying to pry or dig deeper than necessary, content to get to know him slowly.
"I think I'll start clearing part of the land soon. I want to make a small garden and see if I can grow some vegetables for my meals," Daniel said when the conversation drifted toward his farm, sharing briefly some of the ideas he'd been considering.
It wasn't anything too elaborate, just a simple project to keep himself entertained in his free time.
Upon hearing this, Martha lit up. A crafty glint sparked in her eyes, and without wasting a second, she spoke quickly.
"If you want, Carol and I can give you a hand. The two of us made a pretty big garden when she was younger—almost all the vegetables we eat these days come from there."
Before Daniel could try to accept or decline, Martha gently nudged her daughter's side with her elbow, and though still numb from the recent events, Carol's mind was quick to catch on to what her mother was trying to do.
Throwing her a quick, grateful glance, Carol had to hold back the smile that threatened to spill from her lips.
This was a great opportunity! One that would mean she no longer had to keep using Chloe as a cover, and that would let her see Daniel without having to do it in secret.
"I'd love to help!" she almost shouted, speaking a little too fast and with more enthusiasm than she should have.
Jonathan raised an eyebrow, and Martha almost facepalmed.
Feeling their stares, Carol blushed slightly, realizing her mistake.
Daniel, who witnessed the whole interaction as a kind of 'outside observer,' almost burst out laughing.
Fortunately, he managed to hold it in.
"If that's the case, then I'll bother both of you," he said as politely as he could, seeing no reason to turn down Martha's offer.
This time, Carol didn't say another word—she just nodded before turning her gaze down to her plate, as if it had suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room.
Aside from that small incident, the rest of breakfast went by without interruption and soon came to an end.
"Thank you for the meal—it was delicious. Your pancakes have definitely been the best I've ever had, Mrs. Kent," Daniel said, beginning to say goodbye. Even though he would've liked to stay a little longer, he still had things to take care of before the pain in his body became intense enough to hinder his normal movement.
"I'm glad to hear you liked them. Maybe you can come have breakfast with us again another day," Martha replied with a warm smile, and beside her, Jonathan nodded.
"That's right. You're welcome anytime, son—there's always room for one more at this table."
"I might just take you up on that offer," Daniel smiled, then turned to the silent Carol and gave her a polite nod.
"It was a pleasure meeting you too"
Hearing him speak to her in such a distant tone almost made Carol frown. Even so, she couldn't do anything but nod and say goodbye in the same manner.
After all, even if her mother already suspected something, her father didn't—and she preferred to keep it that way.
With the goodbyes said, Daniel left the house and began walking back to his farm.
Before he completely stepped off the Kent property, he glanced over his shoulder and met Carol's gaze, who was watching him through one of the windows.
Seeing her serious expression, Daniel couldn't help but wink at her. The girl's eyes widened in surprise, and her face lit up instantly, the blush rising all the way to her ears.
It was way too easy to tease her.
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The first thing you should do when you're about to fall into a spiral of pain—one that will undoubtedly incapacitate you and, very likely, make you lash out at everything around you—is to find a place where that outburst can't cause any harm.
Unfortunately, Earth doesn't offer many such places. And although the Fortress was a tempting option, Daniel preferred not to break or damage anything inside it.
It was a relief, then, that his options weren't limited to the planet. In retrospect, the place he should have considered from the beginning was, without a doubt, the cold emptiness of outer space.
Nothing to break. No one to hurt. And, most importantly, no air that could carry his future and possible gut-wrenching screams to the ears of any unfortunate soul.
But he was getting ahead of himself—the moment when the situation inside his body would worsen to the point of needing to leave Earth was still several hours away. For now, his condition remained stable enough, and he had to make use of it.
Upon returning to his farm, he quickly grabbed his suit and put it on, taking off toward the skies shortly after.
This time, his patrol was more symbolic than effective. He didn't look to do anything strenuous or complicated—just to remind the world, and the criminals, that he was still there.
Sometimes, that was all it took to make people feel safe… and right now, it was all he could offer them.
The thought irritated him—knowing that he could do more, that he should do more, but being unable to, annoyed him more than he expected.
Although his initial motivations for becoming a hero hadn't been entirely altruistic, his desire to help people and the world was genuine.
Even if, sometimes, he failed spectacularly in the attempt.
Feeling his brow furrow, Daniel came to a stop and landed atop a tall building.
Despite having told himself countless times that it was impossible to save everyone, the weight of not having been able to save Reed or Doctor Storm still rested on his shoulders as a persistent reminder of his failure—a weight he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to free himself from.
"I don't have time to feel sorry for myself," he scolded inwardly, his gaze falling involuntarily on a building in the distance.
The Sanctum Sanctorum.
The name wasn't new, but it felt like it was. All the memories he recovered over time felt like that—it was strange, but at this point he had gotten used to it.
Daniel stared at the building for several seconds before looking away. Though a part of him wanted to fly straight there, barge through the doors and demand answers, the more rational side of him reminded him that picking a fight in his current state was complete stupidity.
'Not like I could win even if I were in better shape,' he thought with a hint of self-mockery.
Even if he had grown stronger, Daniel wasn't arrogant enough to think he even stood a chance against the Sorcerer Supreme.
At least not now—maybe in a few months or years, when his best trick wasn't just hitting fast and hard.
'Problems I'll solve in the future… probably'
Taking off into the sky once more, Daniel decided he had patrolled enough. It was time to check on Susan and Johnny. He also needed to visit Ben—he didn't want the kid to get frustrated and bolt.
He had promised to help him, and he would. One way or another.
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Somewhere else in New York, in a house in Queens...
"It's ready…" Peter murmured, staring at the small metal capsule no bigger than a fingernail between his fingers. It was a bit rough, made with recycled metal and hand-soldered. Even so, it looked fairly decent... at least to him.
"All right, attempt number ten. Let's hope this one works." licking his dry lips, Peter proceeded to take a previously prepared syringe, filled with an opaque gray substance. Inserting the needle precisely into a small valve at the base of the capsule, he began to press down, quickly emptying all of its contents.
The first part was done. Now all that remained was to repeat the process with another syringe. This time, the liquid inside wasn't gray, but a pale white, almost transparent. Just like the previous one, it was quickly emptied into the same capsule, filling it completely.
As he withdrew the needle, Peter hesitated for a moment before shaking his arm vigorously, mixing the two substances inside the capsule until they fused into one.
If the capsule had been transparent, it would have revealed how the fluid inside was slowly transforming into a pure, uniform, and slightly glowing white.
Peter narrowed his eyes and held the capsule as far away from his face as possible, waiting... waiting to see if, like in the nine previous attempts, it would explode and spray its contents all over the room.
If the new chemical compound he'd created didn't self-degrade over time, Peter had no idea how he would've cleaned up that mess.
Almost a full minute of tension passed before Peter could relax and bring his hand closer to examine the tiny object.
"It worked!" he nearly shouted in excitement, a smile lighting up his face.
Trying to contain his enthusiasm, Peter walked over to his desk and looked at the device he'd been working on for the past few days. At a glance, it looked like a mix between a watch and a thick bracelet, with a small 'antenna' on top and a protruding button at its end.
It was still a prototype, rough in several ways but theoretically functional. With steady hands, he inserted the capsule into the special compartment he had designed for it. It snapped into place with a small click. Then, without hesitation, he strapped the device to his right wrist, making sure the band was tightly fastened.
The button at the tip of the antenna ended up positioned right in the center of his palm.
"A little bulky," he thought as he examined his invention, already imagining several ways to improve it.
Peter fell silent for a moment, his eyes wandering around the room until they landed on one of his collectible figures, sitting atop his wardrobe.
'You'll do,' he thought, choosing the figure as the target to test his invention on.
Aiming his arm toward it, he pressed the button in his palm twice in quick succession with his middle and ring fingers.
Immediately, the device's mechanism activated and, in an instant, a thin white line shot out from his wrist, hitting its target with precision.
"Hahaha!" Peter couldn't help but laugh. The feeling of seeing something you've worked so hard on finally pay off was always incredible—especially considering he'd spent half his savings on it.
With a small and gentle tug, he made the action figure fly out of its place and land in his hand.
"With this, does it mean I can now call myself a real spider?" he wondered with amusement, before putting the figure back in its place.
These past few days as an aspiring hero had been a challenge in more than one sense. Peter had managed to overcome most of the problems that came his way with a good dose of cleverness and improvised creativity. Even so, the more time he spent on the streets, the more aware he became of some of his shortcomings.
The biggest one, without a doubt, was his lack of options for dealing with distant targets, which often forced him to come up with all sorts of strategies to make up for it.
It's not easy to save a hostage when they've got a gun pointed at their face with the barrel less than a centimeter away—or a knife pressed to their throat.
That's why Peter had been thinking, searching for a solution—and finally finding it.
Webs! Something that, in retrospect, should have been obvious from the start.
Well, even if it seemed obvious, creating it wasn't nearly as simple. Fortunately, Peter had a bit of a scientist in him; he just needed the right motivation and a path to follow, and he could do amazing things.
The artificial web in his hands was solid proof of that. Holding the thin white strand with both hands, Peter pulled on the ends, testing its resistance.
"It's tougher than steel," he thought in amazement. Of course, he had theorized about its capabilities while developing the chemical formula, but it's one thing to see it on paper and something else entirely to prove it in practice.
He kept applying pressure, his muscles tensing slightly, until—with a snap—the strand broke. To an outside observer, it might not have looked impressive, but it was important to know that Peter now possessed tremendous strength.
Getting him to even strain himself—even just a little—was something not even the hardest steel he had found to test his new strength had managed to do.
Peter tested his web-shooter for several more minutes, getting used to its use, jotting down what felt uncomfortable, and thinking of possible solutions.
By the end, he had filled more than six pages of notes in his notebook, and before he realized it, the sunset was peeking through his window.
'Almost time,' he thought, feeling a growing impatience. Ever since he gained his powers, his energy had been constantly at its peak. No matter what he did—it was like he couldn't get tired. Even when he spent the whole night in alleyways, helping people or kicking some criminal's ass.
His need for sleep seemed to have faded, though not completely. He wasn't a perpetual motion machine—he still needed to rest, preferably two or three hours. But the simple fact that he could function on so little sleep already felt incredible enough.
Something less incredible was the change in his appetite. According to the calculations he'd made over the past few days, his caloric needs had tripled, turning him into a full-blown glutton.
Luckily for him, his body didn't seem to care whether those calories came from healthy meals or junk food. Still, he'd started considering the idea of getting a part-time job soon—he didn't want to add more financial pressure on his aunt and uncle.
'Maybe I can try loading stuff,' He had seen a flyer from a nearby moving company—they were hiring people to help load trucks. With his new physical abilities, that should be a piece of cake.
He tried to think of more things, to occupy his restless mind, but as the seconds kept passing, his impatience increased. In the end, his leg began to shake up and down, and he had to force it to stop so he wouldn't accidentally break the floor.
'Screw it'
Standing up, Peter went to his closet and pulled out an old red backpack he had hidden beneath piles of clothes. He stuffed his newly made web-shooter into it, slung it over his shoulder, and left his room, making sure to shut the door securely behind him.
With quick steps, he came down from the second floor and saw his Uncle Ben finishing up painting one of the walls that had recently been repaired. His aunt wasn't home; she had gone to visit a friend who had just moved into the neighborhood.
"I'm going to visit Jessica," he lied, a small pang of guilt hitting him, and his uncle turned to him, raising an eyebrow when he heard it.
"At this hour? It's almost dinner time."
"I'll grab something on the way. I just… want to see her." That, at least, wasn't a lie.
Ben stayed silent for a moment before nodding in understanding.
"Alright, but don't come back too late."
Peter smiled, gave him a strong hug, and walked out of the house. In no time, he had put enough distance behind him and, making sure no one was watching, stepped into a narrow, dark alleyway.
'Time for action.'
He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment, letting a slight tingling sensation run through his body. Then, a ripple passed through him from head to toe. Almost miraculously, his figure began to fade into the air, and where he had just been standing… now there seemed to be nothing at all.
Camouflage—or invisibility, if you preferred to call it that—Peter had discovered this ability by accident one night when he came home too late and almost got caught by his aunt.
He still had some trouble activating it, and if he moved too abruptly or lost focus, his body would become visible again without him being able to control it. But even with those limitations, it had become one of his best tricks—super useful for catching criminals by surprise.
Peter stretched a bit, going through some basic movements just to make sure his camouflage was holding steady.Then, he began to climb one of the alley walls, walking up the side as easily as if he were on solid ground.
When he reached the top of the building, he didn't stop there. Instead, he kept jumping from rooftop to rooftop until he reached the tallest building in Queens. Only then did he deactivate his camouflage and open his backpack, pulling out his 'suit' and web-shooter.
Changing didn't take him long, and soon he was ready to try the idea that had made him so impatient to hit the streets.
Standing on the edge of the building, Peter finished adjusting the shooter on his wrist and looked down at the ground, where the pedestrians and cars almost looked like ants.
If this didn't work, the fall might hurt a little—but he felt confident. The web had already proven strong enough. Now he just needed to get moving.
Clapping his hands together, Peter launched himself into the void without a hint of hesitation, his body gliding through the air with ease. Only when he was halfway through the fall did he aim his arm toward another building and press his fingers against his palm. A thin, fast white line shot out from his wrist and latched firmly onto a wall.
With his hand gripping the web tightly, Peter pulled, causing his body to swing through the air.
"Wooohoooo!" he shouted, ecstatic, unable to contain the excitement. With astonishing ease, he began to move between buildings in maneuvers that would have left even the best acrobats speechless.
Even though he only had one web-shooter, Peter managed to master its use with relative ease—much of it thanks to a subconscious instinct that had come with his powers, but for the most part, his best moves that night came from the practical application of precise mathematical calculations.
Thinking of all those classmates in high school who always said math would never be useful in real life, Peter couldn't help but wish they could see him now… especially his teacher, who always defended the subject as something that could actually be useful in day-to-day life.
And just like that, before he realized it, he had left the familiar streets of Queens behind, traveling through the city like never before and reaching entirely new places.
Finally, his rapid journey came to a stop when a tingling—a sensation that had become increasingly familiar—began to pulse at the back of his head.
Landing on a five-story apartment building, Peter checked the street signs to figure out where he was.
'Hell's Kitchen?' He had never visited the neighborhood before, but he had certainly heard all kinds of stories about the crime that brewed there.
'Looks like it's hero time!'
Letting himself be guided by his incredible super sixth sense—which he had cleverly chosen to call his 'spider-sense' Peter swung down and landed near the docks by the Hudson River.
'Something's wrong.'
His earlier excitement faded as he felt his spider-sense hit him hard. It didn't throw him off too much—nowhere near the way it had when Graviton attacked the East Coast—but it was still far more intense than any warning he'd experienced when facing armed criminals.
And that alone was enough to be worrisome. Anything more dangerous than a gun could mean facing something he wasn't sure he was ready for.
Monsters.
Not much was known about them, but reports of their appearances in different parts of the world had been growing more frequent lately.
Peter had seen some footage on the news: bullets bouncing effortlessly off their bodies, claws capable of tearing through steel, and blows so powerful they could break concrete as if it were glass.
Most of the time, Defiant was the one to deal with them and eliminate the threat. Some, the less powerful ones, were taken down by well-equipped armed forces.
But even the weakest one on record had required a dozen heavily armed agents to confront it.
Just the thought that he might run into that kind of enemy made a wave of nervousness hit him—but that was all. It didn't paralyze him, didn't make him falter. Well... maybe it made him hesitate a little, but only for a brief moment, because in the very next second, he crushed that doubt from his mind!
If he truly wanted to be a hero, to help others, to save lives—then he couldn't back down now.
Letting the air escape from his lungs, Peter activated his camouflage. He vanished from sight in an instant and began to move cautiously. In no time, he ventured deeper into the docks, toward a series of large warehouses from which the sound—growing clearer—of a fight reached his ears.
Peter was just beginning to think about how to get inside when the enormous doors of one of the warehouses suddenly burst open, catching him completely by surprise. In disbelief, he watched a body get flung out, soar through the air for a few seconds, crash heavily to the ground, and roll several meters before coming to a stop.
An impact like that would have been lethal for any ordinary person. But, surprisingly, the one who had taken the hit needed only a second to get back on his feet, pushing himself off the ground with his hands and landing firmly on his legs.
Now that he could see him more clearly, Peter noticed it was a man dressed entirely in black, from head to toe. Even his face was covered, with no visible openings for eyes, mouth, or nose. He almost looked like a shadow—a silhouette that could easily blend into the night.
He also seemed rattled. His breathing was heavy, ragged, and a closer look revealed glowing embers—shaped vaguely like a fist—burned into his abdomen.
Almost as soon as he was back on his feet, the man assumed a combat stance. The reason for this move became obvious when more than a dozen figures dressed like ninjas came sprinting out from inside the warehouse.
'Okay… none of them look like monsters,' Peter thought as he watched the group. Each of them carried a different type of melee weapon, and judging by their movements, it was clear they knew how to use them. Still, none of them triggered any alarms in his mind… at least not until a final figure appeared—one that made his spider-sense flare up with much greater intensity.
The first thing he noticed was that she seemed to be the only woman in the group. The second was that, although her outfit was similar to the others', it also had clear differences: her attire was more elaborate, with marked details in deep red and gold.
The third… was that her fists were glowing. Not metaphorically, but literally. They gleamed as if made of incandescent fire, vibrating with an energy that subtly distorted the air around them.
As the group began to surround the man in black, forming a circle, the woman walked forward with slow steps until she stood in front of him, only three meters apart.
"I'm surprised. Although I'd heard how tough you were, I didn't expect you to withstand my blow. Now I understand why The Hand had to run away from you with their tail between their legs," the woman said, with a faintly mocking tone at the end. Her voice, marked by a light accent Peter couldn't quite place, echoed through the silence that had until then filled the place.
"Who are you?" the man asked in a deep voice, prompting a faint smile from the woman.
"Does it matter? All you need to know is that this is the end of the line. Your recent actions have made you a thorn in our side that must be removed—no matter the cost. But today I'm feeling especially generous, so if you surrender to me, I might show you some mercy."
Her words, dripping with false kindness, made the man growl and clench his fists audibly.
"How kind… but I'll have to refuse," he replied through gritted teeth.
The woman let out a brief sigh, almost of pity, before shrugging and drawing two long, sharp daggers from her hips. The metal of their blades began to heat up upon contact with her hands, glowing a deep orange-red.
"In that case, I'll give you a quick death!" With that sinister declaration ringing in the air, the woman launched forward in a blur of speed that would be nearly impossible for the human eye to follow.
Peter knew he couldn't stay still any longer.
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Note:
First of all, I think it's clear that an apology is in order—more than two weeks without posting a chapter… I'm sorry!
I wish I had a great excuse, but I don't, so all I can do is bow my head and ask for forgiveness!
Remember that You can already find the next chapter of this story on Patreon ( patreon.com/EmmaCruzader ) All the support received is appreciated ;D