Chapter 7: New Ability.
(General P.O.V)
Three weeks since Totem's debut, and Peter had just won his first house match.
Not a fake win either—this one was scripted in his favor. Quick pin. Clean finish. Crowd roaring like he was the second coming of Lucha Libre.
He didn't care much about the belt. The envelope in his duffel bag was what mattered. Rent. Groceries. A pair of pink boots for May's fourth birthday present, aware she would absolutely love them as Pink was her favorite color. Lastly, dinner date with Gwen. It had been so long since he'd taken her to someplace nice.
He was thinking through the math when he walked into the hallway behind the curtain and saw them waiting.
Gwen, holding May.
Felicia, leaning against the wall with a bored look on her face.
"You were dramatic," Gwen said with a proud grin about his match.
"And you were loud," Peter replied smoothly, sweeping a giggling May into his arms.
Felicia tilted her head. "Still can't believe you're doing this. You have multiple science degrees. You could be fixing fusion or curing cancer. Instead, you're flipping off ropes in a warehouse."
"It's temporary," Peter said. "Just until something clicks."
Felicia looked at him like she didn't buy a word of it, but she didn't press. Gwen gave him a kiss. May wanted a shoulder ride. And for a second, the world felt okay.
The next day, he was swinging across the skyline.
Midtown. Morning air still cool. City below just starting to fill up with traffic and coffee cups.
Felicia's question stuck in his head.
Why was he doing this?
Why choose a ring name and a mask over a lab or a career?
Maybe it was the control. Maybe it was having something that felt like it was his. Or maybe it was just easier to be someone else when you couldn't explain who you were anymore.
His train of thought broke when he saw the boy.
A toddler had wandered into the street. The mother screamed as a car sped up—too fast, too close.
Peter didn't think. He dove, hit the ground in a roll, scooped the kid up just as the car screeched past and clipped his foot.
The mother ran over, hugging her kid with tears in her eyes. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"
Then she looked at him.
"You're that spider guy. Spider…man!"
He blinked under the mask. The name had stuck over the few weeks as he'd been getting more and more active. Ever since he saved that couple outside the wrestling building, helping people scratched an itch he hadn't known he had.
Which is why he made it a priority to patrol the city everyday whenever he had the chance, under the guise of wrestling training at the gym to keep Gwen from asking too many questions.
Later that afternoon, he saw the bus teetering off the bridge.
No hesitation.
He webbed the axle, braced his feet against the pavement, and pulled hard. The bus stopped—but not before a steel support cable snapped loose and whipped toward him.
He had time to dodge.
His Spider Sense screamed.
But he didn't move.
Behind him, kids stared out the windows.
The cable smashed into his shoulder, slicing through the fabric and slamming him to the ground.
He held the webline anyway, gritting his teeth, forcing the bus to stay in place until responders arrived.
By the time he pulled himself onto the side of the bridge, his shoulder was bruised, his homestitched costume of a red and blue hoodie was shredded, and his mask was barely holding together.
He limped into a shadowed alley and took a long breath.
Then muttered to himself, "Yeah… time for a suit upgrade."
But a new costume would have to wait for after he'd mastered his powers to a sufficient level. So he patched up his current one with webs and left for his daily session.
-0-
A few hours later, Peter swung out of the junkyard just past sunset, sweaty, scuffed, and in a surprisingly good mood. The WWA gym had its use, but he preferred the junkyard's chaos.
The balance was off at their gym. Weights were too light. Mats too soft. Nobody was throwing fastballs at his head. In the junkyard, every training session felt like it counted.
He'd meant to head straight home, but Gwen had texted him earlier.
Gwen: "Out of milk, eggs, and diapers. Also, bread if you love us."
So, he took a detour, hit a rooftop shortcut toward his usual corner store—and then stopped.
A scream.
Short. Sharp.
Alleyway, half a block over.
He dropped down fast and silent.
There were six of them.
Tough guy uniforms: hoodies, boots, bad breath, and worse intentions. Surrounding a girl maybe eighteen. Back against the wall. Frozen.
Peter landed in the alley behind them.
"Wow," he said, cracking his neck. "Did I miss the flyer or is this Creeps Anonymous' weekly mixer?"
They turned, startled. One of them pulled a knife. Another one cracked his knuckles like it meant something.
"Who the hell are you?" one growled.
Peter webbed his mouth shut mid-sentence.
Another one charged—he got scooped up and webbed to a trash can upside-down. A third tried to flank him, only to get his hoodie yanked over his face and kicked into a shopping cart.
The fourth guy got taken out by Peter bouncing off the wall and webbing his shoes to the ground mid-swing, causing him to trip face-first into a pile of old takeout.
The last two made a show of pulling bats and tried to rush him together.
Peter sighed.
"Let me guess—street combo move? Is this where you guys shout your names in unison?"
He cartwheeled over both, webbed one guy's knees together mid-air, and used the other as a springboard to land on the fire escape.
Ten seconds later, all six were stuck together in one sticky clump—hanging upside-down from the fire escape railing like a sad chandelier of failure.
He landed next to the girl, offered her a hand.
"You okay?"
She nodded fast, still wide-eyed. "Y-Yeah. Thank you, Spider—"
His Spider Sense detonated in the back of his skull.
He barely turned before the bolt hit.
A flash of blue. A burn in his chest. His vision whitewashed for half a second as he was blasted off his feet and into the alley wall, ribs slamming against brick.
Pain lanced through him.
Static buzzed around the edge of his vision, the blurry figure of the girl running away.
A voice echoed through the alley, slow and theatrical.
🎵 "The itsy bitsy spider climbed up the power line...
Down came the voltage—now let's see if he fries…" 🎵
Peter groaned, trying to get to his feet, heart pounding. His fingers trailed over the burnhole on his costume.
"I just fixed this man...come on."
Through the haze, a figure crackled into view, blue electricity crawling up his arms, eyes glowing with manic energy.
Electro. A supervillain that had been terrorizing the city for a few months before suddenly disappearing. Peter had been wondering when he'd come across his first powered criminal.
"And now," Electro said with a grin, "we make some music, little Spider. Oooh I been wanting this!"
Peter realized it too late.
This wasn't a random mugging.
It was bait.
He walked straight into a trap.
The second bolt hit the ground inches from his head.
He rolled out of the way just before it exploded, concrete chunks slicing across his arms. Pain burned, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.
Electro was already airborne, riding an arc of lightning like a surfer on a storm.
Peter fired a web to the fire escape, yanked himself up, and launched onto a rooftop across the alley.
"Run all you want!" Electro shouted, hurling another blast. "I'll light you up, bug boy!"
The rooftop behind Peter blew apart.
He kept moving.
This wasn't a fight. It was survival. Spider Sense warned him yes, but his reaction speed barely helped against pure electricity.
No plan. No suit armor. Just instincts, adrenaline, and whatever advantage the city could give him.
He swung low, skimming traffic, dipping under overpasses and leaping over buses. Each blast from Electro shattered windows and left scorched holes in the street. Civilians screamed, running in every direction.
Peter flipped onto a delivery truck, fired two weblines to streetlamps, and slingshotted himself into an abandoned scaffolding zone.
"C'mon," he breathed, ducking under metal pipes. "Think."
He grabbed a length of rebar and flung it at a transformer as Electro closed in. The resulting burst of sparks temporarily blinded the villain, giving Peter seconds—just seconds—to relocate.
He led Electro to a construction site.
Heaving. Burned. Sweating through his torn mask.
Electro landed on a beam above him, grinning through static, quicker than expected.
"You're fast," the villain said, "but not faster than me."
Then he dropped the charge.
'Too close to dodge...'
Peter's body locked up—pure voltage coursing through him. The blast picked him up and slammed him into a steel column. His vision narrowed to tunnel-black. Muscles seized. His heart stuttered and his heavy breaths had turned to pants.
This was it.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't breathe.
But something inside him—deep, buried in his bones—pushed back.
A heat pulsed from his palms.
Buzzing.
Building.
Then—
Discharge.
Golden streaks of energy erupted from Peter's trembling hands, slamming into Electro midair.
Electric met something else—not lightning, hardly as powerful. No this was bio-electricity. A pulse that cracked the air with a high-pitched snap.
Electro screamed, blown back through a pile of steel and into a generator box, which exploded in a surge of sparks.
Peter collapsed to one knee, smoke rising off his back.
He looked down at his hands.
They were glowing faintly gold.
With streaks of radiant raw energy.
{UNLOCKED TRAIT: VENOM BLAST}
{DESCRIPTION: BIO-ELECTRICAL DISCHARGE. IMPACT RANGE: SHORT}
No time to celebrate.
The battle wasn't over.
A few blocks away, Electro staggered to his feet, bleeding from the mouth but still laughing. "That all you got?"
Then he grabbed a nearby cop by the throat.
The man had been helping clear civilians.
Electro held him up like a shield, energy gathering again.
"J- just let him go. It's me you want."
Peter stood across the street, exhausted from unleashing his new ability. No plan forming fast enough.
Then a shot rang out.
Foam bullets slammed into Electro's back—two, three, four in rapid succession.
He turned just in time to see a figure step out from behind a crashed squad car.
Black leather.
White hair.
Sharp grin.
Agent Black Cat.
"Back off, Sparky," she said. "You're not the only one who plays dirty."
Electro hissed, about to retaliate.
Peter didn't give him the chance.
He moved on instinct.
Webbed the cop free, lunged forward—and fired the new charge. Less chaotic, more focused.
Venom Blast.
Point-blank.
The blast detonated like a grenade of gold-blue light, ripping through Electro's chest and sending him flying into a lamp post, which exploded on impact.
A shockwave took out half the street. Power lines snapped. Cars rocked. Storefront glass shattered in a wide ring of destruction.
When the light cleared, Electro was unconscious.
Peter stood in the crater, hands shaking, breath ragged, heart hammering through what felt like a cracked rib.
Agent Black Cat stepped beside him.
"Nice hit, Spidey." she said.
He didn't answer.
He just stared at his palms, the glow fading slowly.
Whatever that was—it came from him.
And he had no idea how much more of it there was.