(The following is a nonprofit work of fanfiction and is outside of the original canon. All names, characters, businesses, places, events, and/or incidents of any kind depicted within this story are being used for entertainment purposes only.)

(The Loud House and all related characters were created by Chris Savino and all rights belong to Nickelodeon. Spider-Man and all related characters were created by Stan Lee and Steve Ditko and all rights belong to Disney)

- Issue #10 -

With Great Power

The Loud family stared at the television screen in complete awe, unable to believe what they all had just witnessed. A deafening silence was all that filled the living room, until one of them had finally decided to break the ice with a loud sound.

"YOO-HOO!" Lynn bellowed, raising her arms up into the air in exhilaration. "Best! Show! Evah!" Rita chuckled, shaking her head at the whole thing.

"Guess he really does whatever a spider can," the Loud mother commented.

"I'll say!" Luna said excitedly. "Did you guys see him swinging around the theater like that?! That was so awesome!"

"Yeah!" Lynn added. "I can't believe he was able to easily lift Crusher Hogan up with his bare hands! And Crusher is one of my favorite wrestlers!"

"And the way he was crawling up the walls and ceiling!" Lana spoke with a grin. "Just absolutely amazing." The ten-year-old mechanic turned to face her twin sister and looked at her expectantly. Lola, stilling sitting close to her father's feet, crossed her arms against her chest, a little frown on pageant queen's face.

"Okay, I'll admit," she said, rolling her eyes. "That was pretty good." Lana shot her fist up into the air, and muttered, "Yes!"

"Huwway few Spidey-Man!" Lily cheered in her mother's arms, giggling adorably and clapping her little hands. Lisa Loud looked at the television screen in wonderment.

"Hmmm..." the eight-year-old child prodigy hummed, rubbing her chin. "I do say that I find this Spider-Man character to be quite a fascinating subject. One of these days, I must study him and find out how is it that he has such wonderous abilities, how he is able to actually crawl on walls and generate webbing from his own wrists. Truly, this is one interesting specimen I would give anything to meet in person."

"It's too bad Linky's not here to watch with us," Leni said, feeling quite bad that her little brother was not at home with them. Upon hearing that, Lynn Sr. stood up from the coach and stretched his limbs and back out.

"Speaking of which..." the family patriarch muttered as he grabbed his keys that rested on the top of the moved coffee table.

"Where are you going, Dad?" Lori asked curiously. Lynn Sr. turned to his first-born daughter.

"I promised Lincoln I'd pick him up from the downtown library by eight o'clock," he stated as he grabbed his brown leather coat, hanging on the coat rack next to the front door. "He should be finished with the last bits of his homework by this point."

"Couldn't he have taken the bus instead?" Luan Loud wondered. "I mean, it would save you the effort, Dad." For a second, Lynn Sr. stopped and then contemplated what his comedian for a daughter told him before deciding to brush such a notion off.

"Nah," the father said just as he opened the front door. "I think he would appreciate it more if his old man came and got him. And besides, the last thing I want him to do is come back home by himself in the dark. Royal Woods these days is not exactly safe like it use to be when I was a kid. Well, I'll see you guys later."

"Bye, Dad!" Lynn called out, not taking her eyes off the television screen. "Drive safely!" But right at the moment the father had closed the door behind him with a click, a terrible chill had run past through Lucy. A chill that made her heart thump loudly in her chest and a cold shiver ran down her entire spine. It was so terrible that it had caused her to shudder openly. Luna noticed this and she eyed her sister with concern.

"You okay there, Lucy?" she asked. This brought the attention of the entire family and they all looked at her curiously. Lucy rubbed both of her arms and her breathing became labored and short.

"I..., I-I don't know," the twelve-year-old goth girl muttered, hands shaking with fear. "I just... I just got this very strange feeling at the bottom of my very soul..."

"W-What kind of feeling?" Leni asked, becoming a little bit scared herself from Lucy's unusually darker tone. Yes, it was dark, but it was not in a good way, like how her little sister always liked it.

"I just don't know, Leni," she uttered distressingly. "All I know is that... that... I-I have a feeling s-something very terrible is about to happen soon. At this very night. I don't know what it is, but it's scaring me." The way Lucy had said that last sentence told the family something very surprising. Lucy did enjoy the feeling of terror or if she was the one doing the scaring.

It was always an exhilarated feeling for her. But this was vastly different. This was a kind of scare that did not at all feel good to her, not even a little bit. It was serious. So serious that it almost made her want to cry and be held securely in the loving arms of her family. She gandered her hair-covered eyes over to the front door again, and realization had finally dawned on her. She quickly got up and ran for the door and flung it open as wise as she could make it.

Her heart sank deeply into her chest when she saw that her father and Vanzilla had already gone.

Back at the theater...

Lincoln, still in his costume but holding his mask in his left hand, sat there on the folding wooden chair inside his dressing room, staring at his own blue-eyed reflection. A proud smile had curled up on his lightly freckled face, revealing his chipped tooth. His eyes drifted downward to the large money bag that rested on top of the desk, and his smile grew even bigger than before. It all seemed to have happened so fast. Gone by in a fast blur.

Just one moment ago, he was out there performing on the stage in front of a live audience, and then the next, the three judges had declared him the winner of the four-thousand-dollar prize money. The last thing Lincoln remembered was seeing a hailstorm of confetti falling down from the ceiling everywhere in the theater, and the people reaching out to shake his hand or get an autograph. Not to mention that there were a couple of folks claiming to be tv producers and wanting to get a closer look at him.

Lincoln would also never forget one particular moment which had happened just a few moments ago, right before he entered into his dressing room, the prize money in his hands. He heard a voice call his name – Spider-Man's name, of course – and he felt a finger tap a couple of times on his shoulder. Lincoln turned around and saw standing before him a grown man in his mid-thirties, sporting long blonde hair that was tied into a ponytail.

The outfit he was wearing just screamed the 1980s, not that it was a bad thing, of course; his suit consisted of an all-white linen blazer and pants, and he wore a neon-pink button-up shirt underneath. Clamped to his left wrist was a gold-plated Rolex wristwatch, which was a huge indication that this man was very rich. The black sunglasses that covered his eyes helped in completing the entire look. Even through his mask, Lincoln could easily smell the highly expensive, cologne-like aftershave that fermented off of this guy.

The teen swore this man appeared like he came straight from the set of Miami Vice. Don Johnson just called. He wants his white linen suit and shades back. Lincoln thought jokingly.

"Nice to meet you, Spider-Man," he said confidently in a New York accent, firmly grasping Lincoln's right hand to shake it. "Listen, I'd like to have a moment of your time, if that's alright with you." Lincoln nodded approvingly.

"Good. My name is Sullivan Edwards, I'm a tv producer from Los Angeles. I was right out there in the audience, and I was watching the whole thing. And I gotta tell you, I have never seen such a terrific performance in my entire life before." Lincoln smiled under his mask.

"Well, I'm very glad that you enjoyed the show, Mr. Edwards," the Loud teen said to the man. "So, what can I help you with?" The television producer smiled big, revealing his perfect set of pearly-white teeth.

"You can start by giving me the opportunity to make you an offer I don't think you can refuse," he said to the teen. "Son, I'm offering you the chance of a lifetime, to make it big out there in the world. With that act of yours, I can make you a star." That seemed to have caught Lincoln's full attention. He could not have misheard him because the last time he checked; his sense of hearing had been dialed all the way up to eleven since after that genetically altered spider had bitten him.

"Really?!" the fifteen-year-old Loud boy asked, clapping his hands together, excitement taking over. "Y-You can actually do that?!" Mr. Edwards nodded his head.

"And then some, kid," he declared. "Heck, I'll even make you a fortune. Give you ten—no, twenty times more dough than the four thousand dollars you just won out there." Lincoln stared at the man, practically speechless.

"Mr. Edwards," he muttered in a stunned tone. "I-I really don't know what to say about this. You seriously can do that for me?" Sullivan Edwards nodded his head again.

"Kiddo, with my connections back in Hollywood, I'll make you an even bigger star than Rip Hardcore himself," the producer proclaimed, as he reached deeply into his coat pocket. "Here's my card. It'll have my number and everything. You don't have to decide right now, just give it a think over until the next couple of days, 'kay?"

Mr. Edwards pulled out his business card and placed it within Lincoln's gloved hands. The teen looked at it, seeing that it had the man's full name displayed on the front in that Copperplate Gothic style of font as well as his personal phone number and the company he worked with. Lincoln could not believe this was actually happening right before his very eyes. He was finally going to become famous. Somebody, pinch me! I've gotta be dreaming this up right now!

"Gee, thanks, Mr. Edwards," the Loud boy said gratefully, barely holding it together to contain his excitement. The producer gestured with a simple wink.

"No problem, kid," he said, before turning away and walking down the concrete hallway. Quick as a flash, he turned back around as if he had just remembered something, which he did. "One last thing! Keep the mask angle—it's great showmanship! And it gives you the right touch of mystery! I'll see you around, kid!" And with that, the tv producer disappeared into the other room in the hallway. Once after he was done reminiscing, Lincoln remained seated in his wooden folding chair in his dressing room. He could not believe that actually happened.

He gazed down at the business card still held in his hand. He grinned big. This settled it. Tomorrow, after school was over, he was going to call Mr. Edwards and try to get a tv show deal with him. And then after that, fame, fortune, and Hollywood would follow suit. With this in thought, Lincoln put his mask back on, grabbed his four-thousand-dollar prize money, and headed outside of his dressing room. Stalking down the concrete corridor, he clutched onto the money bag to his side, and muttered a few words of excitement under his breath.

But then, as he made it almost halfway to the express elevator ahead of him, he suddenly became alert when the loud sound of the door located at the far opposite end of the corridor behind him had burst open. Lincoln swiftly turned around and he saw a man dressed almost in black, and a small canvas bag slung over his brown leather jacket. The man looked like he was at least close to his early thirties, had a head of brown hair that was clearly dyed a platinum blonde. Adorned on his head was a brown leather Irish cap.

And lastly, held in the man's left hand was an object that glistened off from the hallway lights. Lincoln quickly realized that the object was actually a gun. More specifically, a nickel-plated Beretta 92 pistol. Bursting through the same door were two more people. Lincoln saw the gold-colored badges on their chests and realized that they were security guards. One was an older male, a little bit heavyset and out of shape and his hair was gray. The other guard was a younger-looking man, more fit and nimble with red hair and light freckles.

"Stop that guy!" the older guard shouted, his voice echoing across the concrete-made corridor. "He broke in without clearance!" Right away, Lincoln realized that he was witnessing two guards chasing after what was clearly a thief trying to make his escape from the longarm of the law. And the thief was racing head on towards Lincoln's direction. And behind the Loud teen, the elevator door had slid wide open.

"Hey, you in the costume! Grab him!" the younger guard shouted at Lincoln. "If he makes it to the elevator, he'll get away."

However, what the guard had gotten was the total opposite of what he had wanted. So instead, not wanting to get involved in this situation, and believing that this was not at all his problem to begin with, Lincoln casually stepped to the side and did absolutely nothing, allowing the armed robber to zoom right passed him. The thief continued to dash head on through the hallway and he made it into the elevator.

The robber glanced back at Lincoln with an appreciative smile and he tipped his leather cap as a gesture of thanks, right before the elevator door slid completely shut. Within a heartbeat of the door closing, the younger security guard slammed his hands at the elevator door and then he uttered a cuss word in frustration, while the older and out-of-shape guard stood closely in front of Lincoln, trying to catch his breath. He looked up at the teen with a not-so-happy frown.

"What the heck's wrong with you, kid?!" he chastised the teen in between breaths. "Why did you let him go?!"

"Yeah, why didn't you stop him?!" added the younger guard, approaching the Loud teen with a flustered countenance. Lincoln merely shrugged his shoulders.

"Hey, sorry, guys. I'm a tv star, not a cop," he stated to the guards. "And besides, isn't it kind of your job to catch criminals and stuff?"

"You heard us cry for help, didn't you?!" grunted the older guard.

"You could have at least maybe trip him or hold him for just a minute!" the younger guard said, pointing a finger at Lincoln's chest. Lincoln sneered underneath his mask at the guard as he swatted his hand away from him. He was so not in the mood to hear this right now.

"Pfft, and risk the possibility of getting shot and lose my chance at becoming famous? Not on your life, bub," he said to the two of them in an indifferent tone. "And also, maybe if you guys laid off the donuts and coffee and hit the gym once in a while, you would have no problem at all with being able to catch the bad guys." The older guard growled under his breath, annoyed at the fact that this young punk was acting quite too big for his own britches.

"Why, I outta—" But he was cut off when Lincoln rose his hand up at his face as a means to get him to keep him from finishing his sentence.

"Save your breath, pal," the teen grunted, before turning around and walking off to the elevator. "Now, if you both will excuse me, I've got other more important things to worry about right now, like trying to get a possible tv show deal with a bigshot producer from Hollywood." All the two guards could do was stay where they were, wordlessly staring at Lincoln as he stepped into the now empty express elevator. The older guard glared at him and then shook his head.

"Kids have no respect these days." he muttered scornfully. Lincoln he rolled his eyes beneath his aviator goggles.

"Says you, boomer." he muttered under his breath.

"Come on, boss," the younger guard said to his superior. "If we hustle it now, we could still catch the guy at the lobby."

And with that, the two security guards ran back for the opposite door and disappeared right out of sight from where they originally came from. Lincoln shook his head and frowned. Why should he have gotten involved anyway? It was not like it was his problem or anything. Now that he was becoming a celebrity in the entertainment circuit, nothing else was his problem anymore. Not Chandler McCann, not the toils of high school, not his sisters overshadowing him, nothing. No problems whatsoever.

The world can go hang itself for all I care, he thought to himself, holding the money bag close to his side. So, from now on, I'm going to be looking out for number one—that being me, and me alone. From the left-side pocket of his blue track pants, he drew Sullivan Edwards' business card and examined it one last time before putting it back away. Lincoln smiled proudly, knowing that his luck had finally changed for the better.

Truly, he was going to remember this amazing day for the rest of his entire life.

Several minutes later...

Lincoln made a jog for it all the way through the downtown area, traveling to the direction of the Royal Woods Library, which was a few blocks east away from the theater. Dressed in his civilian clothes, his backpack hanging from behind his shoulders, he realized he was running late, and that alone made him a bit nervous. His initial plan was to try and return to the library early enough before his dad would get there to pick him up, to make it seem like he had just got done doing some leftover homework. Truth be told, he did not have any homework to do at all, and he needed an excuse to get closer to the theater without raising any suspicions.

However, he had stuck around the theater a bit longer than he originally intended and knowing that caused him to imagine the worse possible scene should his father see him approaching Vanzilla from any other direction that wasn't the library entrance. Lincoln could not decide which one was worse, his dad becoming disappointed that he lied and went someplace else instead or him getting grounded with no television, no video games, or having Clyde and his friends come over for the weekends. Or the much worse case scenario; all of the above.

Should have thought that one through, Linc. So much for being the Man with the Plan.

Lincoln closed his eyes tightly, not at all looking forward to those two likely things happening on a single night tonight. He exhaled rather defeatedly under his breath. Well, if it was going to happen, then it was going to happen, and he would have no other choice but to take his punishment like a man, whether he liked it or not. Better to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission, he reckoned. Finally, after a few blocks of walking, he made it to the parking lot of the Royal Woods Library.

Thankfully, much to his relief, Vanzilla could not be seen anywhere within the vicinity, which meant that his dad wasn't here to pick him up yet. But then, he took note of something from the corner of his left eye. Located near the sidewalk, at the opposite side of the parking lot from the library, a large number of people were gathering around one spot. It became much weirder when he noticed a couple of police cruisers that were parked closely around the area.

Whatever happened looked mighty serious.

Lincoln looked around, trying to get a good beat on wherever Vanzilla was parked. How strange. His father should have been here by now. Wasn't this where he was supposed to pick him up? Lincoln's eyes drifted to his wristwatch. It was already half passed eight o'clock. Where the heck was he? Surely he couldn't have forgotten about his own son, could he?. Lincoln tried to think rationally about the situation. Maybe his dad had come across traffic and was becoming late himself?

Two more police vehicles suddenly raced pass the area, sirens wailing loudly, and they both drove off and disappeared into the darkened streets. Lincoln's furrowed eyes drifted back to the still gathering circle of people near the sidewalk. Now, a sense of curiosity was beginning to take hold of him. But then, that curiosity increased ten-fold when a scary thought came to his mind. The police, his dad having not shown up yet, the distant wailing siren of an approaching ambulance.

A gnawing and uneasy feeling started to grow within the pit of his stomach. This had to be a coincidence. There was no way that this was all connected. No possible way at all. With caution, Lincoln went right over to the crowd until he now found himself moving passed the outer perimeter of the surrounding onlookers. As he got much closer, all the while gently shoving aside some of the people out of his way, his heart began to race even faster.

Don't let it be what I think it's gonna be, he mentally prayed, as a pounding started to throb at his head. Please, God in Heaven! I'm begging You! Don't let me find what I think I'm about to find! As he finally reached near the inner circle of the gathering crowd, that same gnawing feeling grew further within him when he saw the very thing everybody was gawking at, the very thing he was hoping not to find.

What he saw before him was a seemingly dead body of a grown man lying down on the concrete floor of the street, a growing puddle of blood oozing out onto the pavement. The hand was placed above a terribly bloody wound located closely to the chest area of his brown leather coat. The chest was slowly rising and deflating in small yet painful-looking huffs. This was a clear indication that this poor schmuck was still alive.

But then, Lincoln's eyes drifted over to the man's face. The very second he had done so, his blood instantly ran cold throughout his entire body. The Loud teen stood there frozen, staring wide-eyed in complete shock, feeling his soul being torn cruelly into two pieces. His heart thumped fiercely against his chest, and his whole body began to shake like a leaf. No... No...! It can't be... It's...! I-It's...!

"DAD!" Lincoln bellowed. Desperate, he tried to lunge himself forward to the center of the crowded circle, to reach for the body of his own father. However, one of the police officers, an Asian American woman in her early thirties, was there and tried to hold him off. Lincoln saw the nametag on the left side of her chest, and it had read, "Y. Watanabe".

"Whoa, hang on there, kid!" Watanabe said, bracing herself against the teen's struggle to break free from her grasp.

"No, you don't understand!" Lincoln cried out, trying to push her aside. "That's my dad!"

Next to officer Watanabe was another cop, a grown African American man that was about a few inches taller than her. His name tag read, "J. Davis". He too tried to keep the white-haired teen restrained along with his partner. Using his spider-strength, Lincoln easily shoved the two cops aside, leaving them dumbfounded by the fact that a mere teen could easily take on two highly trained enforcers of the law.

Lincoln quickly moved over to his dying father, kneeling down beside him. He shook his head disbelievingly, his breathing becoming labored, and his throat started to tighten around itself. He felt the entirety of his body quivering with emotional turmoil. He could not believe what he was seeing. How? When? How did…? He can't be dead. He just can't be. Lincoln turned swiftly around to face the female officer.

"What happened?" he asked officer Watanabe. "How did this happen? Who did this?" The policewoman faced her partner with a grimaced frown before turned back to Lincoln.

"There was a carjacker," she explained. "He shot him in the chest." Lincoln looked back down at his dad, cradling his head up in his arms.

"Dad!" he cried out, tears now falling down from his face. "Dad, wake up! Please, wake up! It's me! Lincoln!" From hearing the sound of his son's voice, Lynn Sr.'s watery eyes slowly but struggled to open. He tried to pinpoint the location of the voice that had spoken to him just now until his gaze had come upon the sight of his own son.

"L-Lincoln...?" he uttered weakly, a small smile forming on his face. Lincoln smiled back at him, tears continuing to drip down his face, two of them landing on Lynn Sr.'s right cheek.

"It's okay, Dad!" he said to him, a small hitch caught in his voice. "You're gonna be okay! An ambulance is coming! We'll get you through this!" But only to Lincoln's growing dismay, Lynn Sr. frowned at this information and then struggled to shake his head left and right. This told the male Loud teen that no, his dad was not going to make it at all. The Loud father lifted his bloody hand up at Lincoln, and the teen took it and held it tightly with as much love and tenderness he could give.

"I love you, Dad!" Lincoln whimpered, with a hard sniffle. The man looked at his son straight in the eyes and then whispered very softly into the boy's ear the very last words that he would ever use again.

"I-I... l-love... you..., son..."

Right after he finished uttering those words, Lynn Loud Sr. took his one final breath. He closed his dying eyes, his head slowly slumped back against Lincoln's hand that held him up, and his heaving chest had stopped moving. Lincoln's blue eyes shrunk into small dots. His bottom lip quivered almost uncontrollably as a massive wave of emotions began to wash over his heart. Slowly and carefully, he let go of his father's hand and it fell limply against his bloody chest. Lincoln grabbed his shoulder and gently shook it.

"Dad! Wake up!" he cried desperately, shaking him further. "Dad, please! Please, wake up! WAKE UP! DON'T YOU DIE ON ME LIKE THIS! DAAAAD!"

It was at this moment Lincoln knew that his entire world had come burning down into a piling hill of ashes. One of the very worst of his childhood fears had actually come true in the most terrible way he never once thought possible. Feeling so hopeless, Lincoln cradled his father's head in his arms, as fresh and sorrowful tears streamed down his face, his heart and body now completely stricken with an incomprehensible sense of pain and grief.

All the spectators in the crowd could do was just stare at this display in complete silence, finally understanding that they had just witness a beloved father die in his son's arms. It was a dreadful feeling. No doubt about it. No child, be they young or old, should ever have to lose a parent to something as terrible as this. In the midst of his ugly crying, Lincoln could not help but overhear officer Davis speak to his partner.

"Hey, Yuri," he said to her. "They've found the carjacker. He's hold up inside the old acme warehouse at the waterfront of Lake Eddy."

"Good work, Jeff," she said to the officer, nodding at him.

Upon hearing this new information, Lincoln felt something take over his entire body, his sense of grief becoming replaced with another kind of feeling. A feeling that burned fiercely in his guts. His shoulders now quivered with a newly discovered primal sense of indescribable rage and unforgivingly burning hatred. The hatred for the one that had done this awful deed. A hatred which continued to rise up like the flames of an out-of-control blazing wildfire, deliberately refusing to be put out.

A low predatory growl escaped from his lips.

I've got to go! he thought angerly, slowly rising up from the floor to his feet. I've got to get him!