[Third Person Pov]
The rain hammered down in sheets, steam rising from the impact craters. Lightning still flickered somewhere in the distance, but the real storm had already passed—leaving only the wreckage, the acrid smell of scorched metal, and a group of soaked heroes trying to make sense of what had just happened.
Harry spun in a tight circle, escrima sticks still raised, green eyes scanning every shadow, "Okay, who the heck was that?!" His voice cut through the downpour, sharp with residual adrenaline. "And why the hell was he so strong?"
Aria dropped from the sky in a controlled glide, boots splashing into a wide puddle. Water streamed off her hair and the edges of her armor. "From what he said—and putting together everything I managed to catch—that was Victor von Doom." She straightened herself. "King of a small monarchy in Eastern Europe called Latveria."
Peter helped Thor up from the crater from where the shockwave had pushed him. The larger man was steady on his feet but looked hollowed out, one hand still unconsciously reaching for the empty space at his side where Mjolnir should have been. "That wasn't really him, though," Peter said, voice raised over the rain. "That was a robot. A Doombot. An advanced piece of technology sure—but still just a machine wearing his face."
A collective "What?!" erupted from the group.
Felicia shoved wet white hair out of her eyes, claws still partially extended, disbelief written all over her face. "Bullshit. There's no way we just got our asses handed to us by a preprogrammed toaster in a metal suit."
"We didn't lose," Peter corrected, wiping rain and grime from his lenses. "He—it—managed to escape. That's not the same thing." He glanced at the sky as if the Doombot might still be hovering up there somewhere, then back at the team. "Doesn't make it feel any better, though."
Hulk stood a short distance away, massive green fists slowly unclenching. The ground under his feet was cracked in a perfect circle from where he'd landed. He looked down at his hands like they'd personally betrayed him. "Is Hulk not needed to smash anymore?" The disappointment in that low rumble was almost tragic. "I barely smashed anything. Lame."
Lizzy stepped up beside him and gave his forearm a firm, reassuring pat—her hand looking comically small against the green muscle. "Sorry, big guy. Next time, okay? You still helped a lot."
Thor's voice was quieter than any of them had ever heard it. He stared at the empty air where his hammer should have been, rain tracing paths down the lines of his face. "My hammer…" The words came out almost broken. "To think I would lose it to the hands of such a villain. Perhaps… perhaps I truly am no longer worthy to wield it."
Peter moved closer, one hand settling on the god's broad shoulder. "Don't spiral just yet, big guy. We're getting it back. You and Mjolnir are gonna be reunited like the world's most dramatic couple after a very bad breakup. Promise."
Thor managed a weak, grateful nod. "Thank you, Man of Spiders. Still… without my hammer I am little more than a burden to this team."
Peter didn't bother arguing further. He just gave the shoulder another solid squeeze and let the rain fill the silence for a moment. Words weren't going to fix the hollow look in Thor's eyes. Only getting the hammer back would.
Harry approached through the downpour, water streaming off his jacket. "Fury's calling us in."
---
The briefing room felt almost too bright after the storm. The team stood dripping on the metal floor in various states of irritation while Nick Fury stared them down with that single, unimpressed eye.
"You seriously let him get away." It wasn't a question.
Peter raised both hands in a classic defensive gesture. "Whoa, ease up on the judgmental death-stare one-eye willy. First of all, it's not like we have zero idea where he is. Second—need I remind you this is your fortress? If anyone 'let' a Doombot waltz in and swipe Asgardian hardware, that would be the guy running security around here."
Aria stepped forward, arms crossed. "And the hammer belongs to Thor. If anyone has the right to be furious that it's gone, it's him."
Fury's expression didn't soften. He clasped his hands behind his back and paced a slow half-circle in front of them. "I don't care whose name is engraved on the side. What I care about is the fact that a man whose last name is literally *Doom* currently possesses a weapon capable of leveling cities. Tell me one person in this room who feels safer knowing that."
Gwen leaned against the railing, arms folded, still damp from the rain. "He's not wrong. That thing set off every single one of our spider-senses the second it appeared. Whatever Doom's planning, it's bad news on a global scale."
"But we're not without options," Aria cut in before the mood could sink any lower. She pulled up a holographic display from her wrist interface, data cascading across the air in blue light. "Thanks to the power of the internet and a few less-than-legal database dives, I dug up something useful. When Victor von Doom was younger, he briefly attended Empire State University."
Felicia raised an eyebrow. "And how exactly does knowing he's a college dropout help us right now?"
"It's not the attendance that matters," Aria said. "It's who he attended with. Reed Richards and Ben Grimm were both there the same year. Same classes. Same dorm building for a stretch, if the old records are accurate."
MJ, leaning lightly against Gwen's side, let out a low whistle. "So if anyone on the planet knows the real Victor von Doom it would be those two. And even if they don't have useful dirt, getting the Fantastic Four involved still puts us in a much better position."
Aria's expression sharpened with absolute certainty. "They know him. I'm sure of it. There's a reason Doom's time at ESU was so short. He was involved in some highly illegal experiments that quite literally blew up in his face. The official story is that Reed saved his life. The papers at the time called it a tragic accident. I have a feeling the full version is a lot messier."
Harry gave his escrima stick a slow, thoughtful spin, the motion almost meditative. "Then we go straight to the source. Get the real story from the horse's mouth—Reed Richards himself."
"Huh—hold on a minute." Felicia's voice cut through the quiet of the briefing room. She turned in a slow circle, green eyes narrowing as she scanned every around the room.
The others followed her gaze, expressions shifting from mild curiosity to genuine confusion.
"Where's Spidey?" she asked, frowning. "He was literally standing right here a few seconds ago."
No one had an answer. Not a single one of them had felt the telltale shift of air or the faint thrum of his presence leaving. He had simply… vanished. One moment he was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, the next he was gone, as if the corridor itself had swallowed him whole.
---
Elsewhere, several steps ahead of everyone, Peter walked alone.
Hands tucked casually into the pockets of his suit, he moved with easy, silent grace. Soft, off-key whistling drifted from behind the mask—an old, aimless tune that somehow made the long, dimly lit corridor feel eerie.
Then came the sound.
Click.
Click.
Click.
Heels on metal plating. Measured. Deliberate. Close.
To anyone else the corridor would have remained silent. To Peter the footsteps rang clear as a bell. His spider-sense flared sharp and sudden across the back of his skull, a cold electric warning racing down his spine.
He stopped walking.
The clicking did not.
A presence drifted past his left shoulder, close enough that he could feel the faint displacement of air. Without turning his head, Peter simply extended one arm out to the side, palm open, and spoke to the empty space.
"I can see you, you know."
A beat of startled silence.
Then a woman's voice—older, smooth, laced with distant amusement—answered from thin air beside him.
"What? Are you serious? Can you actually?"
Peter's mouth curved into a sly grin beneath the mask. He rubbed the back of his head with exaggerated awkwardness and started walking again as if no one was actually there, laughter already bubbling up.
"Hahaha—man, I always wanted to say that when I was alone in a room. Imagine it actually worked? Talk about scary."
The invisible woman stared at his retreating back for a long moment. A soft, incredulous whisper floated after him.
"I honestly almost fell for it. What an idiot. Who even thinks to do that?"
She decided she had wasted enough time and moved to glide past him once more.
Peter's foot shot out sideways without warning.
The invisible figure tripped hard. There was a sharp, undignified yelp, a heavy *thud*, and then the magic illusion shattered like glass.
A tall woman in elegant dark green and black sprawled face-first on the metal floor with a loud, echoing bang.
Peter's cheeks puffed out behind the mask. Both hands flew up to cover his mouth as he fought—and failed—to hold back the laugh.
"Phhttt—! Oh my god, I'm so sorry! I only meant to trip you, not make you eat the floor!"
Lady Loki remained face-down for a second longer, entire body trembling with pure, unrestrained fury. Emerald light began to seep from her skin like smoke.
Peter took a cautious step closer, still half-laughing even as genuine concern slipped into his voice. "Bahaha—are you okay?!"
She rose in one fluid, furious motion. Twin daggers of green energy flared into existence in her hands. Without another word she launched herself at him.
"Woah—lady! I said it was an accident!" Peter twisted sideways, weaving between the first two vicious swipes. "I already apologized!"
"You stupid mortal," she snarled, voice dripping venom. The daggers flew from her hands like bullets; more appeared in the air around her, hovering and spinning. "Apologize with your life, then! How dare such a low-life embarrass and humiliate a goddess!"
Peter flipped off the wall, twisted mid-air, and landed light on his feet as another volley of blades sliced through the space he had just occupied. "Holy shit—you're actually a girl? What the fuck?!"
The revelation only seemed to enrage her further. Dozens of spectral daggers materialized in a glittering arc, all aimed at his heart.
Peter's response was instantaneous. A set of metal bone claws erupted from the back of his hand with a sharp *snikt*. He moved in a blur, deflecting the incoming projectiles with supernatural speed that made even Lady Loki's eyes widen in genuine surprise.
She closed the distance in a flash of green magic, aiming a precise thrust at his ribs. Peter caught her wrist mid-strike, twisted her arm behind her back in one smooth motion, and drove her forward until her chest and cheek were pressed hard against the cold metal wall.
He held her there firmly but carefully, one knee pinning her legs so she couldn't kick free.
"I said I was sorry," he sighed, voice low and exasperated right beside her ear. "It was an honest-to-god accident. I didn't mean to make you fall flat on your face. How many times do I have to apologize?"
Lady Loki strained against his grip, muscles coiling with power that should have been more than enough to break free. Instead she found herself locked in place, breathing hard, cheek crushed to the wall. The realization hit her like a second humiliation: the mortal she had dismissed was stronger than he looked. Much stronger.
All she could do was heave against the unyielding hold, emerald eyes burning with equal parts fury and reluctant, dawning realization of his strength.
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