[Third Person Pov]
As everyone agreed to help Marko retrieve his daughter, Peter glanced over at Aria with a raised brow. He didn't even need to say a word—Aria already understood exactly what he wanted.
"I already have a pinpoint on where she is," she said calmly, giving a reassuring nod as if this was nothing more than a routine task.
"What? Already?" Marko blurted out, eyes wide. He looked both stunned and a little skeptical that they could track down his daughter so quickly. A hint of hope flickered behind his normally hardened expression.
"We have a satellite," Peter said matter-of-factly, rubbing his nails along his chest and blowing on them in a smug little display, "among other tools and resources."
"That's… cool," Marko admitted, though the stress in his voice made the word come out strained. "Then let's get going already. I want to see that my little girl is okay." His fist clenched tightly, knuckles pale, his entire body vibrating with anxious determination.
Peter nodded and turned to Nightwing and Firestar. "While we go and rescue his daughter, you two are going to make sure Martin—and any of his goons that he dragged along for his little cruise trip—are detained."
Harry raised both arms toward the sky and nodded in acknowledgment just as Lizzy blasted upward in a trail of fire. She caught his outstretched hands, and the two of them shot into the air, streaking off into the distance like a comet with a passenger.
Meanwhile, Aria sent Peter the exact coordinates of where Keemia was being held. With a swipe of his fingers, a portal blossomed open in front of them—circular, shimmering, and humming like a living doorway. Aria stepped through first with steady confidence. Peter, Marko, and the rest followed right behind.
Marko hesitated only for a second before ducking under the rim of the portal. He emerged on the other side and instinctively looked around, checking the space before him and then glancing back at the beach disappearing behind them as the portal sealed shut.
"Now that's one convenient way to get around…" Marko muttered, still a little thrown off by the instantaneous travel.
He took in their surroundings and realized they were standing on the rooftop of a building. Curious, he walked toward the edge and peered down at the rundown apartment complex across from them.
"Woah… an apartment. Isn't that creative," Felicia said in a slow, sarcastic drawl. She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Like this isn't the tenth—no, maybe the twentieth—apartment we've found criminals hiding in? You'd think people could come up with more creative villain real estate."
Marko didn't miss a beat. "The apartments are cheap due to their low quality. They can hold a lot of people without drawing attention, and the landlords barely maintain the place, so it's obvious nobody checks up on them often. Makes it the perfect location to do business."
Everyone turned to stare at him. Even Felicia blinked in mild surprise.
"…Noted," she mumbled after a second, shrugging with an expression that clearly meant Fair point.
Peter clapped his hands once. "Alright. You can cripple, maim, and suffocate people until they're unconscious—BUT no killing. That's where I draw the line."
Marko's body began to crumble into sand, grains swirling around him like a miniature sandstorm. "Whatever. I just want my daughter back. Everything else is irrelevant." His form collapsed into a steady stream, gliding through the air toward the front entrance of the building.
"I should've asked this earlier," Peter said, watching the sand slip through the door's cracks, "but everyone inside is involved in this, right?"
Aria closed her eyes as her vision lit up with cascading data. She scanned the entire building effortlessly—every room, every heartbeat, every record. Faces and criminal files appeared before her like tabs opening on a screen. In less than a second, she had it all sorted.
She gave a thumbs-up. "All involved. All have arrest records. And after a deeper analysis… they also appear to be laundering money."
"Good. Makes things easier then." Peter leapt across the street in a single sweeping motion, arms spread wide as he crashed through a window, shattering it dramatically upon entry.
He landed in a crouch in the center of a stairwell. A second later, a new portal opened beside him, and the girls stepped through casually, all giving him varying shades of unimpressed looks.
"That was completely unnecessary," Gwen sighed, shaking her head at him.
MJ lifted her foot as the shards of glass crunched beneath it. "Seems like a waste of perfectly good glass," she muttered.
Peter ignored the commentary entirely, pointed forward with theatrical flair, and declared,
"Onwards!"
Sand began to seep into the apartment like an invading tide, pouring through every crack and sliver of space beneath the door. As Marko—Sandman—entered in particulate form, his silhouette briefly took shape, only to explode outward again in a violent wave.
The door hinges shrieked as sand blasted them apart. A choking cloud of grit surged into the living room, swallowing couch cushions, beer cans, and startled men who had been lounging moments earlier.
"What the hell?!"
"It's the Sandman!!"
"AAAH—someone call the boss!"
Panic erupted. Men scrambled to their feet, fumbling for guns, firing wildly at the incoming torrent of sand. The bullets vanished into the storm, absorbed like pebbles thrown into the ocean. The sand pushed forward with merciless pressure, whirling around limbs and torsos, lifting bodies clean off the ground.
Some men slammed against the ceiling. Others crashed into walls. A few screamed as their arms bent at wrong angles, snapping from the pressure before the sand abruptly withdrew, leaving them moaning on the floor.
Similar scenes played out throughout the entire complex. Doors exploded inward one after another, followed by gunshots, screams, and the unmistakable sound of bones hitting hollow drywall.
Marko solidified halfway up the staircase. Sand streamed up the rusting stairwell, slithering up his legs, joining his form with eerie precision. With every upward step, his features grew clearer—his jawline forming, his cheekbones sharpening, his green-striped shirt stitching itself into place grain by grain. A final gust of sand swept across his face, reforming the eye he had been missing.
He rolled his neck; a metallic clatter followed as dozens of spent bullets dropped out of his torso and tinkled down the steps behind him.
By the time he reached the upper floors, the hallway was a ruin. Doors hung off their hinges. Bodies lay scattered like broken mannequins. Guns had been split, bent, or crushed into scrap metal. Several of the unconscious were dangling in thick layers of webbing plastered across the walls.
Peter shimmered into view as he dropped his invisibility, clinging to the wall just beside Marko. "Top floor," he said, crawling sideways with ease, "last door at the end of the corridor."
Marko nodded once—sharp, silent—and picked up his pace. Spider-Man followed, scuttling up beside him.
On every floor they passed, other members of the spider-family came into view: Gwen, MJ, Felicia, Aria. They clung to ceilings and walls like an infestation, clearing rooms with silent efficiency. Each level echoed with muffled thuds, crashes, and short-lived shouts of pain. After each sweep, they regrouped and ascended, converging with Marko as he neared the final stretch.
By the time he stepped onto the top floor—the only one untouched—the atmosphere felt colder, heavier. The dim flickering lights cast long shadows down the hallway, giving the impression of a horror scene. Sandman advanced alone down the narrow corridor as the spider-family crawled around him, slipping into the remaining rooms like a swarm. Impacts, crashes, and strangled grunts sounded off behind him before each hero reemerged, clinging to the walls like silent sentinels.
The eeriness of it all—the low lights, the shattered doors, the scuttling silhouettes—only intensified the tension.
Marko's right fist morphed, swelling into a heavy sand mallet. With one devastating swing, he smashed the final door clean off its hinges; the mangled wood skidded across the floor with a deafening thud.
Inside, the sight froze him.
Keemia stood trembling in the corner, her ankles chained to a metal ring bolted into the floor. The chain jingled sharply as she shifted, fear making her knees buckle. A goon stood behind her, holding a gun to her head—his hands shaking so badly the barrel wobbled.
Her eyes widened. "D-Daddy… help…" she whimpered, tears streaming freely down her cheeks.
"Don't move!" the goon screamed, voice cracking. "I swear—one more step and I'll blow her head off! I'll—"
He didn't finish.
He could a hand suddenly behind his skull—gloved, silent, and impossibly fast. The man stiffened instantly as electricity surged through him. His scream broke into a distorted gargle.
At the same time, his gun disintegrated into a dozen clean slices, each fragment clattering harmlessly to the ground.
"ARRRGHHH!" His eyes rolled back, knees buckling, and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
The moment he hit the floor, Keemia lunged forward with a sob. "Daddy!!"
"Keemia!" Marko dropped to one knee and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against his chest. His usually rough expression softened into something fragile—something desperate and relieved all at once.
Spider-Man deactivated his invisibility beside them, dusting off his hands casually with a proud little nod.
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