The Sanctum Sanctorum had seen many disturbances—interdimensional breaches, magical explosions, eldritch intrusions—but tonight it groaned under a pressure that wasn't physical. The air felt uncertain, as if even time hesitated to continue.
Doctor Stephen Strange stood in his library, flipping through grimoires that hadn't been touched since the first Celestial convergence. Each spell, each ancient ward, gave the same result:
Amon could not be defined.
"He's neither bound by the past nor predicted by the future," Strange muttered, his fingers tightening around the Eye of Agamotto—now inert, the Time Stone gone. "He is… an error."
"An Error and a Door," came Wong's voice, entering the chamber with Peter and Miles in tow.
Strange glanced at the two young men, noting the tension in their shoulders and the wariness in their eyes. Peter looked like he hadn't slept in days. Miles looked like he hadn't blinded his eyes in hours—refusing to draw anything more in fear it would reveal things he wasn't ready to see.
"You said Amon's messing with dreams," Miles began. "But I'm not dreaming anymore. Not when I see him while I'm awake."
"Same," Peter said. "He's always there. In the corner of my eye. Watching."
Strange narrowed his eyes. "Then he's testing you. That means you're part of his game. The question is—why?"
Meanwhile – The Mirror Priest's Pilgrimage
The Mirror Priest knelt before a twisted altar made of rusted subway rails and shattered reflections.
Behind him, his followers were changing. No longer merely obsessed—some had begun to mimic Amon's appearance: top hats, twisted smiles, glass shards stitched into their robes.
He held up the Mirror of First Lies—an artifact gifted by Amon himself, a warped lens through which truth lost its footing.
"Tonight," the Priest whispered, "we reflect the Web. We tear the Spiders from their illusions."
He poured a drop of his own blood on the glass. The mirror shuddered.
And miles away, Peter Parker screamed in his sleep.
The Ritual Begins
That night, Miles and Peter both received the same vision.
They stood on opposite sides of a grand chessboard floating in an endless void. On one side, pieces shaped like Spider-Men, Avengers, and sorcerers. On the other—Amon, sitting in a throne carved from truth itself, surrounded by pawns with mirrored faces.
"You are players," he said softly. "But not kings."
Peter clenched his fists. "Why are you doing this?"
Amon's monocle glinted. "Because the board is too boring without disorder."
He reached forward and moved a knight. Instantly, Peter's body flinched—his arm actually jerking in the real world.
"You see?" Amon whispered. "I can touch you, even now."
Miles reached for his mask, but it crumbled in his hands.
"No more hiding," Amon said. "Show me who you really are."
Kamar-Taj's Countermove
Back in the real world, Strange had seen enough.
He began forming a circle of interlocking sigils. "We need to isolate the Spider-Mindscape from Amon's influence."
Wong frowned. "That won't hold him for long."
"It doesn't have to. Just long enough to pull them out before they break."
The chamber shook. Reality squealed like warped metal.
"Too late," Illya Strange said from the doorway, eyes wide. "He's already reached into the Astral Web."
Strange turned to Peter. "Brace yourself."
He pressed his hands to Peter's temples—and the world sundered.
The Web Between Realities
Peter opened his eyes to find himself in the Web of Life and Destiny—a place he'd only visited in dreams.
The glowing threads connected all Spider-Totems across all realities.
And now, many of those threads were… twitching.
From the darkness crawled entities with Amon's grin.
"Even here?" Peter whispered.
A hand touched his shoulder.
It was Miles, eyes glowing slightly with purple and red. "He's weaving himself into the Web. If he takes control of this place…"
"We all fall," Peter finished.
Amon's Gambit
In a chamber lined with cascading mirrors and perpetually unfolding staircases, Amon was playing chess with himself—and winning.
A piece shaped like Wanda melted into glass. Another shaped like Tony Stark shattered.
He looked at a rook shaped like Strange and whispered, "Your turn."
Suddenly, the ceiling parted, and Stephen Strange himself stepped into Amon's domain.
"You've made a mess of my universe," Strange said calmly, hovering midair.
Amon stood, tipping his hat. "Oh? I'm just repurposing the mess you left behind."
Strange summoned a dozen eldritch circles, golden and humming.
Amon responded by lifting his cane.
"Let's see," he mused, "what breaks first—the spell, or the sorcerer?"
Clash of Realities
What followed wasn't a battle—it was a debate through destruction.
Each strike of Strange's spells was countered by Amon altering the laws they were based on. A banishment circle collapsed in on itself as Amon rewrote its runes mid-cast. A time rewind spell accelerated into entropy.
"You're fighting fire with fog," Amon teased. "And fog never burns."
Strange snarled. "You're playing with forces even Dormammu feared."
Amon smiled wider. "Because Dormammu feared meaninglessness. I embrace it."
He struck Strange with a cane tap—not physical, but conceptual.
Strange was briefly forgotten by the room.
Only Wong's cry anchored him back into existence.
Back in the Web
Miles held the collapsing strands of the Web, struggling to keep them from tangling into Amon's mirror-weave.
"I can't hold it!" he yelled.
Peter glanced around. "Where are the others? Gwen? Noir? 2099?"
A voice answered from above: "Here."
The Spider-Verse responded. Dozens of Spider-Totems surged forward, drawn by the tremor of distortion.
The Web fought back.
For the first time, Amon flinched.
Chapter Close – Amon's Smile Returns
As the tide turned, Amon calmly walked out of the shattered space, bowing once to Strange.
"Well played," he said. "Round one ends. But chaos… is patient."
He vanished in a blink, leaving Strange suspended in a half-broken mirror dimension.
Back at the Sanctum, Peter awoke on the floor, panting.
"Is it over?" he asked.
Strange glanced toward the open portal. "No. He's just relocated."
Miles looked down at his hands, which were still slightly glowing.
"And we're not done either."