Marvel: Viral

by abcd12344321

During a fatal accident involving a runaway vehicle containing viral cargo, Peter Parker meets his end. Only to wake up in the morgue hours later with hardly any memory of his life, and a few new, abilities. The question everyone is asking is, is this really Peter, or is it the virus that consumed his body and mind, 'Apex?

2. Chapter 2

Marvel: Viral

Chapter 2: New Natures and New Habits

…

The wind whipped around them as Peter and Gwen perched on the edge of a towering skyscraper, the city sprawling beneath them in a sea of lights and motion. The faint hum of traffic filled the air, punctuated by distant sirens and the occasional honk of a horn. It was a surprisingly peaceful moment, given everything that had happened.

Gwen glanced at Peter, or the thing that had once been Peter, as he sat casually on the ledge, his legs dangling over the side like he didn't have a care in the world. She had to admit, it was unnerving how calm he seemed, how easily he slipped into a semblance of his old self. For a moment, it almost felt normal.

Until he spoke.

"They're watching me, aren't they?" Peter asked, his crimson-tinged eyes not leaving the horizon.

Gwen stiffened slightly, her instincts screaming caution, but she nodded. "Yeah," she admitted. "SHIELD's been tracking your movements since… you know. You're not exactly subtle."

Peter smirked faintly, leaning back on his hands. "Good," he said, his tone laced with something she couldn't quite place. "I'd hate to think they were slacking off."

Before Gwen could respond, the sound of screeching tires cut through the air. She turned her head sharply, her enhanced vision picking up the source: a runaway armored truck barreling through the streets below, weaving dangerously through traffic. Horns blared as cars swerved out of its path, and pedestrians scattered in panic.

Gwen tensed, her body coiled to leap into action. "I've got to-."

Peter interrupted, his voice unusually soft. "So? I was a hero before? Right?" He glanced at her, his expression almost… curious. "I would stop things like this… right?"

Gwen hesitated, caught off guard by the genuine question. "Uh… yeah," she said cautiously, her eyebrow raised as she didn't know where this was going.

. "Pretty much. You'd—"

"Okay," Peter said simply, standing up in one fluid motion.

Before she could react, he stepped off the edge of the building and dove headfirst toward the street below.

"Wait!" Gwen shouted, her heart lurching as she sprinted to the edge. She watched in disbelief as Peter plummeted, his body cutting through the air like a missile. He didn't deploy tendrils, didn't spin webs—he just kept falling.

"Peter!" she called again, panic creeping into her voice as he hurtled toward the pavement below. Her mind raced, calculating how much time she had to intervene, but he was falling too fast.

Her breath caught as he hit the ground.

The impact was deafening, a concussive boom that shattered windows and sent fissures spidering out from the crater his body created. The street trembled under the force, car alarms wailing in protest as debris rained down on the surrounding area.

And then the armored truck, unable to stop in time, slammed into Peter's partially buried form.

The sound of metal crunching and twisting echoed through the street as the truck was split clean in half, the front half crumpling against Peter's unyielding body while the back half skidded to a stop several yards away. The wreckage smoked and groaned, bits of shattered glass and bent steel littering the street.

Gwen stared, her mouth agape as she leapt off the skyscraper, firing a web to slow her descent. She landed lightly on the pavement, her eyes scanning the destruction. Her heart pounded as she pushed through the swirling dust and debris, half-expecting to find a broken, mangled version of Peter at the center of the carnage.

Instead, he stood there, completely unharmed. Not a scratch on him. His hoodie was intact, his expression calm as he dusted his hands off like he'd just finished a mundane chore.

"Mission accomplished," Peter said, his tone light, almost casual.

Gwen gawked at him, her words catching in her throat. "What the hell was that?!"

Peter glanced at her, tilting his head slightly. "What? I stopped it, didn't I?" He gestured to the wreckage around him. "Truck stopped, nobody hurt. Isn't that the point?"

"You-!" Gwen stammered, pointing at the massive crater and the obliterated truck. "You didn't have to… you could've…!" She trailed off, struggling to articulate her disbelief.

Peter shrugged. "I figured this was faster." His crimson eyes glinted faintly as he turned his gaze to the stunned onlookers gathering at the edge of the scene. "Plus, it worked, didn't it?"

Gwen shook her head, her mind reeling as she stared at him. "You're insane," she muttered, though her voice lacked conviction. Deep down, she wasn't sure if she was more horrified by what he'd done, or the fact that, technically, he wasn't wrong.

The groaning drew Gwen's attention, her head snapping toward the mangled remains of the armored truck. A figure staggered out of the wreckage, clutching his head as he stumbled forward. His yellow and brown padded suit was scorched and torn, but unmistakable.

"Shocker?" Gwen muttered, her eyes narrowing. "What the hell is he doing here?"

Shocker shook his head, trying to steady himself as he groaned. "Ugh… what the…?" He looked up, his visor focusing on Peter, who stood motionless amidst the wreckage. Shocker froze.

Through his mask, his face paled.

"No. No way," he muttered, taking a step back. "You're supposed to be dead! I saw you! You were-!" His words faltered, replaced by panicked breaths. He pointed a trembling finger at Peter. "You were dead! Blown up! Impaled! You, this, what are you?!"

Peter didn't respond. He simply tilted his head slightly, his crimson-tinged eyes locking onto Shocker with an unsettling stillness.

"Stay back!" Shocker yelled, his voice rising in panic as he raised his gauntlets. "I mean it! I'll blow you to pieces!"

Gwen's instincts screamed at her to intervene, but before she could move, Shocker fired. The air filled with the deafening roar of concussive blasts as shockwaves rippled toward Peter, tearing up the ground and sending debris flying in every direction. Gwen dove behind the remains of a parked car, shielding herself from the onslaught.

Peter didn't flinch. The blasts slammed into him, each one sending ripples through his form, but he didn't budge. He just stood there, unmoving, like the shockwaves were little more than a strong breeze.

Shocker's panic grew, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he unleashed everything he had. "Why won't you go down?!" he screamed, his voice cracking. He fired again and again, his gauntlets overheating as he backed away, desperate to put distance between himself and the unrelenting figure.

Peter finally moved. Slowly, deliberately, he began walking toward Shocker, his footsteps steady and unhurried despite the chaos around him. His crimson eyes never left his target, their intensity cutting through the smoke and debris like a predator stalking its prey.

"Stay away!" Shocker shouted, his voice trembling. He fumbled at his side, pulling out a revolving grenade launcher. He fired, the grenades exploding in rapid succession around Peter. The ground erupted in fiery bursts, the force enough to shake the street, but Peter kept walking, unscathed.

Shocker's back hit the wall of a nearby building, his escape route cut off. He fired another grenade, but Peter didn't stop. He reached out, grabbing Shocker by the front of his suit and lifting him off the ground like he weighed nothing.

Shocker struggled, his hands trembling as he fired a grenade point-blank at Peter's chest. The explosion engulfed them both, but as the smoke cleared, Peter remained unharmed, his grip unyielding.

"What, what are you?!" Shocker stammered, his voice breaking.

Peter tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. Then, with horrifying slowness, his jaw began to open.

It didn't stop.

His mouth stretched impossibly wide, revealing rows upon rows of razor-sharp teeth, glistening and unnatural, spiraling deep into his maw. They looked like something out of a nightmare, more numerous and jagged than even a shark's.

Shocker screamed, his panic reaching a fever pitch as Peter leaned forward and bit down, right onto the grenade launcher.

"NO!" Shocker cried, pulling the trigger.

BOOM!

The grenade exploded inside Peter's mouth, a deafening blast that rocked the street. Shocker shielded his face as shrapnel flew everywhere, expecting to be free of the monster's grip.

But when the smoke cleared, Peter stood there, entirely unharmed. His jaw closed with a faint snap, the grenade launcher now a ruined, twisted mass of metal. He cocked his head, as if curious about the taste, before tossing Shocker to the ground like a discarded toy.

Mission accomplished, Peter turned to Gwen, his crimson eyes faintly glowing. "Was that what I was supposed to do?" he asked casually, as if nothing had happened.

Gwen emerged from her cover, her mouth slightly open, her mind racing as she tried to process what she had just seen. "I… uh…" She swallowed hard, her voice shaky. "Yeah. Sure. Let's go with that."

Peter smirked faintly, dusting his hands off. "Good." He glanced down at Shocker, who was curled into a trembling ball on the ground, muttering incoherently. "Guess he's done. Let's move."

As Peter walked away, Gwen followed hesitantly, her mind spinning with a mixture of awe and fear. Whatever Peter had become, one thing was clear: he was nothing like the hero he used to be.

…

Within minutes of the destruction, the streets were flooded with SHIELD vehicles and Avengers Quinjet transports. Armed agents secured the perimeter while civilians were ushered away from the scene. The Avengers themselves descended into the chaos, their faces a mix of confusion and concern as they took in the carnage.

Nick Fury emerged from a SHIELD transport, his coat billowing behind him as he surveyed the scene. Captain America and Iron Man were already on the ground, inspecting the massive crater that stretched across the intersection, its edges lined with shattered glass and mangled debris. The street itself was fissured like a spider's web, radiating from the spot where Peter had collided with the pavement.

Thor landed nearby, his hammer in hand, his expression grim as he took in the devastation. "What manner of being could cause such destruction with only its body?" he rumbled, his eyes narrowing as he examined the gouges in the asphalt.

Iron Man's voice crackled through his helmet's speakers as he scanned the wreckage. "The footage isn't doing this justice," he said, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "This wasn't just brute force, it was… precision. Calculated. Whatever he is, he's not just some rampaging monster."

A nearby SHIELD agent approached Fury, holding out a tablet. "Sir, you need to see this," the agent said, his voice tight with unease.

Fury took the tablet, his eye narrowing as he watched the footage. The video, captured from a civilian's phone, showed Peter's entire encounter with the runaway truck. The slow, deliberate fall from the skyscraper. The bone-rattling impact. The truck splitting in two as it smashed into his body. And then… the grenade launcher.

Fury's jaw tightened as he watched Peter stretch his mouth into a grotesque maw, biting down on the grenade launcher. The explosion lit up the screen, but as the smoke cleared, Peter was unharmed. The casual way he discarded the mangled weapon and the calmness with which he spoke to Spider-Gwen afterward were almost more unnerving than the destruction itself.

"What the hell are we looking at, Fury?" Captain America asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

Fury didn't answer immediately. Instead, he turned to the agent. "Where is he now?"

The agent pointed down the block. "Sir… he's just sitting there."

The group turned to follow the agent's gaze. At the far end of the street, amidst the chaos, Peter sat on the steps of a damaged building. His hoodie and jeans were pristine, untouched by the chaos around him. In his hands was a newspaper, which he appeared to be reading with the serene focus of someone enjoying a quiet afternoon.

For a moment, nobody spoke. The scene was so absurd, so out of place, that even the Avengers—seasoned veterans of battles against gods and monsters—didn't know how to process it.

"He's… reading?" Black Widow finally said, her voice carrying a rare note of incredulity.

"Reading," Iron Man repeated flatly. "After cleaving a truck in two and eating a grenade. Sure. Why not?"

Thor's grip on Mjolnir tightened. "This creature is unlike any foe we have faced before. Its calmness is unsettling."

Spider-Gwen, who had been standing near the crater, approached cautiously. "That's just… Peter," she said quietly, though even she sounded unsure. "I mean, sort of."

"Sort of?" Captain America echoed, his voice sharp. "He just turned a grenade launcher into a chew toy. That's not 'sort of' anything."

Fury strode forward, his expression unreadable. "Let's not lose focus," he said. "We're dealing with something we don't understand. But we need to figure out how to contain it before it decides it's done playing nice."

As the group moved toward Peter, he looked up from his newspaper, his crimson-tinged eyes glinting faintly in the sunlight. He folded the paper neatly and set it aside, leaning back casually as they approached.

"Well," he said, his tone light and almost amused, "took you long enough. What's the matter? Still trying to figure me out?"

Nobody answered immediately. The Avengers and SHIELD agents exchanged uncertain glances, the weight of what they were dealing with sinking in. For once, even Tony Stark had no quip ready. The man, or virus, before them defied explanation, logic, and reason. And that was perhaps the most terrifying part of all.

As the Avengers and SHIELD debated their next move, the air around them grew tense, thick with unspoken fear and uncertainty. Peter remained seated on the steps, seemingly uninterested in the ongoing discussion, though the faint glow in his crimson-tinged eyes suggested he was listening.

"I'm telling you," Tony Stark said, gesturing toward Peter, "whatever that thing is, we can't just sit here waiting for it to snap. We need containment."

"And what kind of 'containment' do you suggest, Stark?" Fury countered, his voice cold. "You've seen the footage. You really think a standard SHIELD cell is going to hold that?"

Before Stark could retort, the ground trembled faintly, the vibration subtle but growing stronger with each passing second. Everyone froze, their attention snapping to the street as a new group approached, mutants.

The X-Men stepped forward in formation, their presence commanding and too corrdinated.

At the center was Forge, his tech-enhanced gear gleaming in the sunlight. Hellion flanked him, his trademark scowl fixed firmly in place, while his close-knit group of friends, Dust, Rockslide, and Mercury, moved with the precision of a team ready for battle. Behind them was Rachel Summers, standing slightly apart, her expression tense but unreadable.

Gwen's heart sank. She took a step forward, her voice rising in alarm. "What are you doing here?"

Forge's expression was grim. "We've been tasked with eliminating a threat to Krakoa."

"Eliminating?!" Gwen echoed, her voice laced with disbelief. "Are you serious?! You think-!"

"Stand aside, Gwen," Forge interrupted, his tone deathly serious. "This isn't your fight."

"Like hell it isn't!" she shot back. "That's Peter!"

"No," Hellion snarled, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the calm figure seated on the steps. "That's not Peter Parker. That's a virus wearing his face. And it's the reason Krakoa is falling apart."

Mutters of agreement rippled through the group, and it became clear: they weren't here to talk. Many of the mutants held Peter responsible for Sinister's betrayal being exposed. His revelations had shaken the foundation of Krakoa, and some viewed him as a convenient scapegoat.

Rachel Summers, standing slightly apart from the others, raised her voice. "We don't have to do this. There's another way-."

"There's no other way," Forge snapped, cutting her off. He gestured to his teammates. "Proceed."

Before anyone could react, a blinding energy blast shot toward Peter, striking him square in the chest. The impact sent a shockwave through the street, scattering debris and leaving scorch marks on the pavement. The Avengers and SHIELD agents recoiled, their hands instinctively moving toward weapons, while Gwen's heart raced in panic.

Peter remained seated.

Forge didn't respond. He activated a device strapped to his wrist, and panels began to emerge from the ground around Peter. They moved with mechanical precision, interlocking to form a dome of gleaming metal that surrounded him completely. Each panel drilled into the pavement with a loud thunk, sealing the structure into place.

"It's a containment unit," Forge said, addressing his team. "Nothing can break out of it."

The street was deathly silent. The dome stood in the center of the chaos, gleaming under the sun, an unyielding structure of Forge's design. Inside, Peter—or the virus that wore his face, was unnervingly quiet. There was no sound of movement, no attempt to escape, no response at all.

It was as if he wasn't even there.

The quiet unnerved everyone. Gwen, perched near the Avengers and SHIELD, couldn't stop herself from glancing at the dome every few seconds, her instincts screaming that this was far from over. The Avengers and SHIELD agents were visibly tense, their hands hovering near weapons as they waited for… something.

Fury, his face a mask of barely contained anger, rounded on Forge. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he barked, his voice cutting through the oppressive silence. "Do you even know what's in there?! What you've just provoked?!"

Forge didn't flinch, his jaw tightening. "We're containing a threat to Krakoa and the world."

"Containing?!" Iron Man snapped, his helmet retracting to reveal a face flushed with frustration. "You don't know what you're dealing with! That thing just shrugged off grenades, shockwaves, and split a truck in two like it was tissue paper. You think your tin can is going to hold it?"

"It's not a tin can," Forge retorted, his tone icy. "It's vibranium-alloy reinforced with energy dampeners. Nothing gets out of there."

Thor's grip on Mjolnir tightened. "Your confidence may be misplaced, mutant," he said, his voice was filled with warning. "We have all seen what this creature is capable of. You would do well not to underestimate it."

"This wasn't your fight," Captain America said, his voice sharp and measured. "You came here, unprovoked, and escalated a situation that didn't need escalating."

"Unprovoked?" Hellion snarled, stepping forward. "Are you serious? That thing exposed Sinister, turned the entire world against us, and now it's walking around like it owns the place. We're doing what needs to be done!"

"Enough!" Fury barked, silencing the escalating argument. He pointed a finger at Forge and his team. "You've got no idea what you're playing with. When, not if, that thing gets out, you better hope it's in the mood to let us all live."

As if in response to Fury's words, a sudden CCCCLLLANNNGGGG! echoed from inside the dome.

The sound was deafening, a single metallic impact that reverberated through the street. Everyone froze, their heads snapping toward the dome as the noise echoed, lingering like a physical presence.

"Did you hear that?" Gwen whispered, her voice barely audible.

Before anyone could answer, another CCCCLLLANNNGGGG! erupted from the dome, this one louder and more forceful. The metal visibly buckled outward, a massive dent forming in the supposedly indestructible structure.

Forge paled. "That's… that's not possible."

Another CCCCLLLANNNGGGG! The dent grew larger, the force behind the blows enough to send tremors through the ground. The Avengers braced themselves as the street cracked beneath their feet, small fissures spreading outward from the dome.

Then came another impact, and another. Each one stronger than the last, the dome rattling violently as its structural integrity began to fail. The Avengers and SHIELD agents instinctively backed away, their eyes wide with disbelief as the unthinkable happened: the dome began to sink into the ground.

"What the hell is it doing?" Black Widow muttered, her voice tight with unease.

The dome continued to rattle and groan, each impact forcing it deeper into the pavement. Cracks spiderwebbed across the street as the dome's weight was driven downward by some unseen force.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, the pounding stopped.

The silence returned, heavier and more oppressive than before. The dome sat partially sunken into the pavement, its surface warped and dented. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the next move, but there was nothing. No sound, no movement.

Thor stepped forward cautiously, his hammer at the ready. "It is too quiet," he said, his voice a low rumble.

Fury's comm unit crackled to life. "Director Fury," a SHIELD agent's voice came through, panicked. "We've got seismic activity! Something's tunneling underground, directly beneath the containment site!"

"What?" Fury barked, his head snapping toward the dome.

As if on cue, the ground beneath the street began to tremble. A deep, guttural rumble echoed through the area, growing louder and closer with each passing second.

"He's not trying to break out," Gwen said, realization dawning in her voice. "He's going down…"

Before anyone could respond, the street erupted several yards away, a massive sinkhole tearing open the ground. Dust and debris filled the air as something moved beneath the surface, the tremors spreading outward like ripples in a pond.

Forge stared at the wreckage of his dome, his hands clenched into fists. "This… this isn't possible," he muttered, his voice trembling.

Fury shot him a withering glare. "Congratulations, genius! You just pissed it off!"

The ground beneath their feet abruptly stopped trembling, leaving an eerie silence that hung in the air like a heavy blanket. Everyone froze, their weapons and powers at the ready, eyes scanning the broken pavement. The stillness was deafening, broken only by the faint sound of settling debris. Whatever was tunneling beneath them had gone silent.

"Where is it?" Gwen whispered, her voice trembling as she backed toward the Avengers.

Fury held up a hand, signaling the team to stay alert. "Eyes on the ground," he growled. "It's not gone, it's waiting."

Before anyone could respond, the pavement near the sunken containment dome cracked and buckled. The sound was sharp and jagged, like stone being torn apart. Then, with an explosion of debris, it emerged.

The creature that wore Peter Parker's face climbed out of the ground, its body unfolding from the earth like a nightmare given form. The armored, skeletal plating glinted in the dim light, layered with segmented, chitinous plates that flexed and rippled unnaturally. Massive spider-like legs or tendrils curled and shifted behind it, the sharp points dragging grooves into the broken pavement. Red veins glowed faintly across its blackened, otherworldly form, pulsing like a heartbeat.

It had no eyes, at least, not in the traditional sense. The place where eyes should have been was instead covered by segmented, armor-like plates that shifted subtly, as though alive. The creature's jagged mouth remained closed for a moment, its expression unreadable, before Peter's voice echoed out, not from the mouth, but from the entire body, resonating as if it were coming from everywhere at once.

"Stop that."

The voice wasn't angry. It wasn't loud. But it carried a weight that made everyone freeze, the authority in its tone absolute. The creature's form rippled as if it were made of liquid and solid all at once, its jagged plates flexing and tightening, emitting faint creaks and clicks like something organic yet mechanical.

Forge took an instinctive step back, his usual confidence faltering as he stared at the thing before him. "What… is that!?" he muttered.

Thor tightened his grip on Mjolnir, his stance shifting into one of readiness. "This is no mortal construct," he said grimly. "It is beyond what any of us have faced."

Hellion's scowl was gone, replaced with wide-eyed shock. "That's not Peter Parker," he said, his voice trembling. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"

Gwen couldn't tear her eyes away, her heart pounding in her chest as she took a tentative step forward. "Peter?" she asked hesitantly, her voice cracking.

The creature turned its eyeless face toward her, the segmented plates shifting slightly in a way that almost mimicked focus. "Yes," it said, the word reverberating through the air like a low hum. Its voice was cold and steady, but there was something deeply alien about the way it carried. "I am Peter. And I am not."

Captain America stepped forward, his shield raised slightly, his eyes locked on the creature. "You need to stand down," he said with his voice carrying conviction. "We don't want to fight you."

The creature tilted its head, the motion slow and deliberate. The spider-like tendrils on its back curled slightly, their sharp points scraping against the pavement with a grating sound. "Fight?" it repeated, as though the word amused it. The segmented plates rippled again, almost imperceptibly. "There is no need for that. Unless… you make it necessary."

Fury's voice was a low growl as he addressed the X-Men, his anger barely contained. "This is on you," he snapped, his glare burning into Forge. "You provoked it, and now we're all in the crosshairs. I hope you've got a damn good plan."

Forge's hands clenched into fists, his mind racing as he tried to process what he was seeing. "I… didn't expect-."

"You didn't think," Iron Man interrupted sharply, his faceplate snapping down. "And now we're dealing with whatever that is. Good job, genius."

Rachel Summers stepped forward, her telepathic powers brushing against the creature's mind. The moment she made contact, she flinched, staggering back as if burned. "It's… it's not like anything I've ever felt," she said, her voice shaky. "It's… Peter, but it's not. It's like… there's something bigger beneath it. Something alive."

The creature's form rippled faintly, the segmented plates along its body shifting in response to Rachel's telepathic intrusion. Its head tilted slightly, almost as if in contemplation, before Peter's voice echoed out, low and resonant.

"Look… just… stop trying to provoke me—"

Before the creature could finish its sentence, a blinding blast of energy slammed into its face, the force of it sending a shockwave through the air. Dust and debris flew outward, and everyone instinctively recoiled, shielding themselves from the impact.

"Hellion, what are you doing?!" Rachel yelled, her voice filled with panic and disbelief as she stumbled backward.

Hellion stood with his arm extended, his hand glowing faintly with the residue of his telekinetic blast. His expression was wild, a mix of fear and anger as he took a step forward. "What does it look like?" he shouted, his voice trembling. "I'm taking this thing down before it gets a chance to do anything else!"

The dust began to settle, revealing the creature still standing in the same spot. Its head slowly tilted back into place, the chitinous, segmented plates around its face shifting as though flexing. The red glow from the veins coursing through its body intensified, faint wisps of energy flickering off its form.

It turned its head toward Hellion, the movement deliberate and unhurried. Its voice echoed again, but this time it was deeper, darker, and laced with an edge of something primal.

"That," it said, "was unwise."

Everyone froze. Even Hellion faltered, his bravado cracking as the creature began to move. It didn't rush or attack outright, its deliberate, methodical steps toward him were somehow infinitely more terrifying. The spider-like legs on its back unfurled, their razor-sharp points dragging across the pavement with an ominous screech.

"Hellion," Gwen whispered, her voice tight with fear. "What did you just do?"

The creature's body rippled again, the segmented plates along its chest flexing and shifting as though alive. Its voice echoed once more, reverberating through the air and sending chills down everyone's spines.

"I asked you," it said, "to stop provoking me."

Hellion's hands began to glow again, his body trembling as he prepared another blast. "Stay back!" he yelled, his voice breaking slightly. "I'm warning you, stay back!"

The creature's massive, armored form began to shift. The chitinous plates rippled and twisted, as though dissolving into liquid, the sharp, segmented edges folding in on themselves. Black and red tendrils erupted from its body, coiling tightly around it like a cocoon. The air around it shimmered faintly as the monstrous appendages on its back retracted, folding into the writhing mass of tendrils.

Within seconds, the transformation was complete. Standing where the creature had loomed moments before was Peter Parker, or at least, the familiar face he wore. His crimson-tinged eyes were gone, replaced by warm, brown irises that almost seemed… normal. His hoodie and jeans appeared pristine, untouched by the chaos around him. He dusted his hands off casually, like someone who had just finished a mundane chore.

Peter looked around at the stunned group, his gaze landing on Tony Stark, who was still standing stiffly with his helmet partially retracted. Peter tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Hey, Tony," he said, his voice light and casual, as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. "You got the time?"

The absurdity of the question took a moment to register. Tony blinked, his mouth opening slightly in disbelief before he glanced at his HUD. "It's… uh, 4:27," he said, his voice hesitant.

Peter nodded, his smile widening. "Cool, thanks. I should probably get going," he said, turning slightly as he looked off into the distance. "Aunt May's going to need help with dinner, and I promised I'd be back before five."

The group collectively froze, unsure of how to respond. Fury's hand hovered near his holster, his single eye narrowing as he tried to process what he was seeing. Gwen opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came out.

Tony finally broke the silence, his voice incredulous. "You… you're worried about dinner? After-!" He gestured wildly toward the destroyed street, the crater, and the wreckage of the containment dome. "After all this?!"

Peter looked at him, his expression genuinely confused. "Yeah," he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "I told her I'd be back to help. She's been stressed lately, and, you know… family comes first."

Rachel Summers took a cautious step forward, her eyes narrowing. "That's it?" she asked, her tone tinged with disbelief. "You're just… leaving? Like none of this happened?"

Peter turned to her, his expression softening slightly. "Look," he said, his voice calm and measured. "I didn't come here to fight. I didn't come here to cause trouble. I just want to be left alone." He glanced back at the group, his gaze lingering on Hellion for a moment before returning to Rachel. "But if you keep poking the bear, don't be surprised when it bites back."

He turned on his heel, his hands sliding into his hoodie pockets as he began to walk away. The tendrils that had engulfed his form earlier still faintly flickered across his body, a reminder of what lay beneath the surface.

"See you around," he called over his shoulder, his tone casual, almost cheerful. "Or not. Hopefully not."

The group stood in stunned silence, watching as Peter disappeared into the distance, his form blending into the cityscape. The tension in the air didn't dissipate, it lingered, heavy and oppressive, as if the street itself remembered what had just transpired.

Fury finally broke the silence, his voice low and grim. "What the hell do we do with that?"

No one had an answer. Not even Tony of Form

…

The SHIELD Helicarrier hung low over the ocean, its meeting room now a battleground of words and tempers. Nick Fury stood at the head of the table, his one eye blazing with fury. Around him sat the Avengers, Captain America, Tony Stark, Black Widow, Thor, and others, all wearing expressions ranging from anger to disbelief. Spider-Gwen leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, her face pale and drawn as she listened.

On the large screen at the far end of the room, a video call was connected to Krakoa, where several members of the Quiet Council, Emma Frost, Exodus, and Mystique, stood in the Council Chamber, their expressions varying from cold detachment to mild discomfort.

"You want to explain what the hell you were thinking?" Fury's voice was sharp enough to cut glass. He slammed a fist on the table for emphasis. "Sending Forge and his crew on a hit job against something you don't understand? Against someone you can't even confirm is a threat?"

Emma Frost's cool, unbothered expression didn't falter. "Director Fury," she began, her voice smooth and even, "this isn't SHIELD's business. What happens on Krakoa-."

"Don't," Fury interrupted, pointing a finger at the screen. "Don't even try that diplomatic bullshit with me. That thing may have come from Peter Parker, but it's not confined to your little mutant island. You brought it into our streets, our city, and nearly got a bunch of civilians killed because of your screw-up!"

"Nick's right," Captain America said, his voice calm but filled with ice. "Whatever Peter has become, he wasn't the one who escalated today. Your people made the first move."

Mystique crossed her arms, her tone defensive. "We were protecting Krakoa. Sinister's betrayal has thrown everything into chaos, and that thing is connected to him. You can't seriously believe we could sit back and do nothing."

"That thing," Gwen cut in, her voice sharp as she stepped forward, "was holding back." Her arms trembled as she pointed at the screen. "Do you even realize what could've happened if he decided not to? He wasn't trying to hurt anyone today, but you, you provoked him! You sent people after him, and for what? Revenge?"

"Careful, child," Exodus said coldly, stepping forward on the screen. "You have no idea what's at stake here. That… entity revealed secrets that have destabilized Krakoa's very foundation. The world is turning against us because of him."

"That's on Sinister," Tony snapped, leaning forward. "Don't pin this on Peter, or whatever's left of him. He's not the one who decided to hide bombs in your heads or mess with your cloning programs."

Emma's calm veneer cracked slightly, irritation flashing across her face. "Regardless, we have to take responsibility for the fallout. That thing-."

"Stop calling him a thing," Gwen interrupted, her voice breaking. "He's still Peter. Or at least part of him is. And he's trying to hold on to whatever humanity he has left, despite all of this."

"Humanity?" Mystique scoffed. "You call what we saw today humanity? Did you see what he did? What he's capable of? He's not Peter Parker anymore—he's something else, something dangerous."

Thor's voice cut through the heated conversation, his tone cold and commanding. "You are fortunate he chose restraint," he said, his piercing gaze fixed on the screen. "Had he unleashed his full power, your precious Forge and his companions would be no more. Perhaps Krakoa itself would have been next."

The Quiet Council members exchanged uneasy glances. Even Emma seemed to falter under the weight of Thor's words.

Fury took a step closer to the screen, his tone dangerous. "Let me make one thing clear. If that… thing decides to stop holding back, it won't just be your problem. It'll be everyone's problem. And you've already wasted the one chance you had to build any kind of trust with it."

Exodus's expression hardened. "We don't need its trust. We need it gone."

"And what's your plan for that?" Black Widow asked coolly, raising an eyebrow. "Because I guarantee you, whatever you're thinking, it's not going to work. Forge's little 'containment dome' lasted all of five minutes."

"And what if it doesn't stay restrained next time?" Fury added, his voice low and grim. "What if it decides to rip Krakoa off the map because you couldn't keep your egos in check?"

Emma finally sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Director Fury, what do you want us to do? Sit back and hope this thing doesn't tear through everything we've built?"

"Yes," Fury said bluntly. "Because you don't have a choice. If you push it again, I can promise you it won't end with just a crater in the street."

Gwen's voice was quieter but no less forceful. "You don't understand what you're dealing with. He's not trying to hurt anyone, but if you keep pushing him… you'll make him into exactly what you're afraid of."

Emma's lips tightened, her expression unreadable. The Council members exchanged glances, the weight of their decisions pressing down on all of them.

"We'll consider your… input," Emma said finally, her voice clipped. "But we won't sit idle if that thing becomes a threat."

"You already made it a threat," Fury shot back. "And don't think we're done here. This isn't just about Krakoa anymore. If you can't handle your mess, we will."

The screen went dark as the call ended, leaving the room in tense silence. Fury turned to the Avengers, his gaze sharp. "We're on borrowed time," he said. "That thing's holding back for now, but if Krakoa, or anyone else, pushes it again…"

Captain America nodded grimly. "We wont know how it'll react."

Gwen didn't say anything, her gaze distant as she thought about Peter, about the monster he'd become, and the humanity he was desperately clinging to. She could only hope they didn't lose him of Form

…

The newsroom of the Daily Bugle was chaos incarnate. Phones rang incessantly, reporters shouted over each other, and the constant clatter of keyboards filled the air. At the center of it all stood J. Jonah Jameson, cigar clenched tightly in his teeth, pacing like a caged animal as he barked orders at anyone who dared to slow down.

"Tell me we've got the footage!" Jameson bellowed, his voice cutting through the cacophony. "I don't want 'maybes' or 'almosts.' I want confirmation! Do we have it or not?!"

Betty Brant, hunched over her desk with a stack of notes and a phone tucked against her ear, nodded frantically. "We've got it, Jonah. Multiple angles. Civilians with phones, traffic cams, and even a drone feed. Everything."

Jameson's eyes lit up, though his scowl didn't waver. "Good. Get it edited and on the front page, NOW! And someone find a headline that'll sell papers! Something with oomph! None of that soft garbage!"

Robbie Robertson approached, holding a tablet displaying the raw footage. "Jonah, you're going to want to see this before we go live."

Jameson snatched the tablet out of Robbie's hands, his cigar shifting as he grumbled. "This better be worth my time, Robbie." He hit play, his eyes narrowing as the screen lit up with the first shaky footage.

The video began with the runaway armored truck barreling down the street, pedestrians screaming as it narrowly avoided collisions. Then came the moment that would dominate the headlines for days: Peter Parker, or whatever he had become, diving from the skyscraper like a human missile. The video captured his rapid descent, his body cutting through the air with terrifying precision before he slammed into the pavement with a thunderous impact.

The screen trembled as the camera caught the shockwave that followed. Windows shattered, cars were lifted off the ground, and the street cracked and splintered like a broken mirror. The crowd's gasps and screams were audible even over the distant wail of sirens.

Jameson's cigar nearly fell out of his mouth as he muttered, "Sweet Christmas…"

The video cut to another angle, this time showing the armored truck careening toward Peter's partially buried form. The footage was shaky, but it clearly captured the moment the truck collided with him, and the horrifying aftermath. The truck split in two, the front half crumpling against Peter's body while the back half skidded to a halt. Smoke and debris filled the frame as Peter stood amidst the wreckage, completely unharmed.

Another cut. This time, the footage was from a closer perspective, capturing the moment Shocker emerged from the wreckage. The confrontation unfolded with chilling clarity: Shocker's panicked blasts, Peter's calm, deliberate approach, and the monstrous transformation as Peter opened his jagged, tooth-filled mouth and bit down on the grenade launcher.

The explosion lit up the frame, the camera shaking violently before refocusing. Peter stood there, his form unscathed, his eyes glowing faintly as he discarded the ruined weapon.

The footage transitioned again, this time showing the moment Forge's containment dome was deployed. A drone had captured it from above, providing a clear view of Peter's reaction, or lack thereof. The dome's failure was recorded in excruciating detail: the dents, the deafening clangs, and finally, the moment the entire structure sank into the ground as Peter tunneled through the street.

The final clip was the most disturbing. It showed Peter emerging from the ground, his body transformed into something alien and otherworldly. The spider-like legs on his back, the chitinous, segmented armor, and the eyeless, rippling face were all captured in vivid detail. His voice, low and resonant, echoed faintly in the background as he delivered his chilling warning.

The footage ended abruptly, leaving the newsroom in stunned silence.

Jameson's hands trembled slightly as he lowered the tablet. His cigar, now forgotten, dangled loosely from his lips. "What… what the hell am I looking at?" he muttered.

Robbie sighed, crossing his arms. "That's the question, isn't it? That's Peter Parker, or something that used to be Peter Parker. And now, the whole world is going to see it."

Robbie, ever the calm counterbalance to Jameson's fiery personality, crossed his arms and sighed. "That's the question, isn't it? That's Peter Parker, or something that used to be Peter Parker. And now, the whole world is going to see it."

The room remained eerily quiet as Jameson slowly turned his gaze to Robbie, a rare flicker of doubt crossing his face. "He used to be a kid," Jameson said, almost to himself. "Just a kid with a camera, running around trying to make a buck. Now look at him. Look at this… thing."

Betty Brant, still sitting at her desk, hesitated before speaking up. "So… what do we do, Jonah? What do we run with?"

Jameson stared at her, his mouth tightening. His eyes flicked back to the tablet for a long moment before he straightened, regaining some of his composure. He pulled the cigar from his mouth, rolling it between his fingers as he started pacing again. But this time, his tone wasn't the usual bombastic roar, it was controlled, measured, and, most surprisingly, careful.

"We're going to use the footage," he said finally, his voice firm. "But we're not framing this like some tabloid trash. None of that 'Spider-Man Gone Mad!' garbage. You got that?"

Betty blinked, surprised. "Wait… are you saying we're not painting him as a monster?"

Jameson shot her a sharp look, but his tone remained even. "Betty, look at what we just saw. The guy fell out of the sky like a damn missile, split a truck in two with his face, took grenades like they were marshmallows, and tunneled through the street like it was butter. And through all of that," he jabbed a finger at the tablet, "not a single person died. Not one."

He stopped pacing and turned to address the entire newsroom, his voice rising slightly but still controlled. "Make sure to highlight that part, he only acted defensively. Every time. He didn't lash out until someone made him. He didn't hurt anyone who wasn't trying to hurt him. You hear me? We're not painting him as some kind of rampaging monster."

Betty nodded quickly, scribbling down notes. "Got it, Jonah. Focus on the restraint, the defensive actions."

Robbie raised an eyebrow. "That's… surprisingly restrained for you, Jonah."

Jameson grunted, lighting his cigar and taking a long drag. "Yeah, well, the last thing we need is to throw gasoline on this fire. You think the public's not already scared out of their minds after what Sinister pulled? Now we've got this, whatever Peter's turned into, walking around, and if we make him sound like some kind of unstoppable monster, what do you think happens next?"

He didn't wait for an answer, instead pointing at Robbie. "We highlight the facts. He didn't start the fight. He didn't hurt anyone who wasn't trying to hurt him first. Hell, he even tried to talk them down before they pushed him. We don't fan the flames, Robbie. Not this time."

Betty hesitated, then asked, "But… what if the public sees it differently anyway? What if they freak out no matter how we frame it?"

Jameson sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Then that's on them. But I'll be damned if the Bugle's the one to start a mob with pitchforks. Peter Parker—whatever he's become, used to work for us. We owe him at least this much."

The room fell silent again, the weight of Jameson's words sinking in. For once, no one argued, no one pushed back. Even the most skeptical reporters seemed to understand the gravity of the situation.

"Now get to work!" Jameson barked suddenly, his usual fire returning. "I want that footage cleaned up, analyzed, and online by the end of the hour. And don't forget the angles—humanize the kid. Show his restraint. And for God's sake, don't make him look like the damn boogeyman."

As the newsroom erupted back into activity, Robbie watched Jameson for a moment, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You've got a heart in there somewhere, Jonah," he said quietly.

Jameson scoffed, waving him off. "Don't get used to it. Now get moving before I change my mind!"

As Robbie returned to his desk and the reporters dove into their tasks, Jameson glanced back at the frozen image on the tablet. Peter's monstrous form loomed on the screen, alien and terrifying, yet somehow still familiar. Jameson exhaled a long plume of smoke, muttering under his breath.

"Please don't make me regret this, kid."Bottom of Form

…

The Council Chamber on Krakoa was thick with tension. The once-solemn atmosphere had devolved into chaos as the aftermath of Sinister's revelations continued to ripple across the island. The weight of betrayal and shattered trust loomed over the members of the Quiet Council like a storm cloud.

Emma Frost sat in her seat, her perfect composure cracked for the first time in years. She leaned on one hand, her diamond form flickering faintly as though her control was fraying. Next to her, Exodus paced furiously, his cape swishing behind him as his anger radiated off him in waves.

"I'm telling you," Exodus growled, his voice like a blade slicing through the tense air. "The vote must stand. That thing, whatever it is, poses too great a risk to Krakoa. If it decides to turn against us-."

"You're repeating yourself, Exodus," Emma snapped, her tone biting as her piercing gaze locked onto him. "We've heard your argument a dozen times already. What you haven't done is explain how attacking it unprovoked worked out the first time."

Exodus stopped pacing, turning on her with narrowed eyes. "We weren't prepared. Forge's containment was flawed. Next time-."

"There won't be a next time!" Irene Adler, also known as Destiny, interrupted, her voice calm but carrying an edge. as she adjusted her golden mask. "Not unless you want to doom us all. I've seen what happens if we push this creature further."

Her words sent a ripple through the room. Mystique, standing behind Destiny, tensed visibly. Her pale blue skin seemed darker in the dim light of the chamber, her usually sharp gaze focused downward. The tension between the two women was more than apparent.

"You're absolutely sure?" Mystique asked quietly, though her voice carried the weight of unspoken conflict.

"I've seen enough," Irene said softly, resting her hand gently on Mystique's arm. "If we push it again, there will be nothing left of Krakoa. Nothing left of anyone."

Mystique closed her eyes briefly, her jaw clenching. Her vote had been one of the deciding factors in approving the hit on Peter—or the virus wearing his face. Now, with Destiny urging her to reconsider, she found herself wavering. For Mystique, changing her stance wasn't just a matter of strategy—it was personal. She hated being wrong, but she hated the thought of Irene's visions coming true even more.

Emma raised an eyebrow, her gaze flicking between Irene and Mystique. "Well?" she asked, her voice sharp. "Are you withdrawing your vote, or are you going to let your pride drag us further into the abyss?"

Mystique opened her mouth to retort, but Irene's hand tightened on her arm. The tension between them seemed to crackle like electricity until Mystique finally let out a sharp breath, nodding once. "Fine," she muttered. "I withdraw my vote."

Exodus bristled, his anger evident. "You can't just-."

"She can," Emma interrupted coolly, her voice cutting through the air like ice. "And she just did. The vote no longer stands."

Exodus looked ready to argue further but stopped short when Magneto's booming voice filled the chamber. "Enough," he said, his tone heavy with authority. "This council is already fractured. Adding to the division will only destroy us faster."

The room fell silent, though the tension didn't abate. As the members began to shift uncomfortably, the faint sound of a distant crash echoed through the walls. Mystique stiffened, her sharp ears catching the faint rumble.

"Logan," Emma muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "He's at it again."

…

Elsewhere on Krakoa

In one of the island's makeshift taverns, Wolverine sat slumped over a table, his hand wrapped tightly around a glass of whiskey. Empty bottles and shattered glass littered the floor around him. His disheveled appearance and the dangerous glint in his eyes warned anyone nearby to steer clear.

Across the room, a younger mutant made the mistake of muttering something under his breath. Logan's ears twitched, and he turned his gaze on the boy with a growl. "You got somethin' to say, bub?"

The mutant, emboldened by his own frustration, shot back, "Yeah, maybe I do! All this 'Krakoa's a safe haven' crap? It's a lie! We're just lab rats for people like Sinister!"

Logan was out of his seat in an instant, the chair clattering to the floor. His claws extended with a sharp snikt as he grabbed the mutant by the collar and slammed him against the wall. "Say that again," Logan snarled, his voice low and dangerous.

"Logan!" Kitty Pryde's voice rang out as she phased through the wall, placing herself between Logan and the terrified mutant. "Let him go."

Logan's nostrils flared as he glared at her, but after a moment, he retracted his claws and dropped the boy unceremoniously to the ground. The mutant scrambled away, muttering curses under his breath as Kitty turned her attention to Logan.

"You need to stop," she said firmly, her voice laced with concern. "I know you're angry. We're all angry. But picking fights with everyone on the island isn't helping."

Logan snorted, grabbing another bottle of whiskey and taking a long swig. "Maybe they deserve it. Maybe we all do."

Kitty frowned, her heart sinking as she looked around the nearly empty tavern. The once-thriving island felt hollow now. Mutants were leaving in droves, abandoning their new "paradise" as the full implications of Sinister's betrayal set in. Parents who had once celebrated the resurrection protocols were now grieving all over again, realizing that the children they had welcomed back weren't their children at all, but clones, imperfect reflections of what they had lost.

As Kitty left the tavern, she passed a group of mutants standing near the shoreline, bags packed, their faces grim. A child stood among them, looking up at the adults with confusion. One of the adults knelt down, whispering something to the child before gently pushing them toward the island's caregivers.

Kitty's chest tightened as she realized what was happening. They were leaving the island—and leaving their resurrected children behind.

The cracks in Krakoa's foundation were growing wider by the day, and it felt like only a matter of time before the entire island of Form

…

In the hallowed halls of Krakoa, Charles Xavier sat alone in the Council Chamber, the golden hue of Cerebro reflecting off the polished walls. His hands were clasped tightly on the table, his knuckles white as he stared down at the wood grain, as though searching for answers hidden in its surface. The weight of everything was crushing. Sinister's betrayal, the crumbling of Krakoa's ideals, the exodus of mutants, all of it bore down on him like the weight of the world.

Xavier had been the architect of resurrection, the one who had championed it as the foundation of Krakoa's immortality. Now that foundation was cracked and broken, leaving him questioning everything he had believed in.

The chamber doors creaked open, and Irene Adler, Destiny, stepped in, her movements deliberate and calm despite the tension that hung between them. Her golden mask shimmered faintly in the dim light as she moved to stand near the far end of the table. She didn't speak, simply waiting as Xavier struggled to compose himself.

"Irene," Xavier finally said, his voice heavy with weariness. He looked up, his face a mask of conflicted emotions. "Thank you for coming."

"I suspected you'd call for me," Irene replied, her voice soft but firm. "What is it, Charles?"

Xavier exhaled slowly, removing his helmet and placing it gently on the table. He met Irene's gaze, his usually unshakable confidence nowhere to be found. "This virus, the thing wearing Peter Parker's face. You've seen what it's capable of, what it claims to know. But... is it possible it was lying? That what it revealed about Sinister's plans, about the future we narrowly avoided... wasn't true?"

Irene tilted her head slightly, the question hanging in the air like a storm cloud. "You're asking if Sinister was playing some elaborate game? If this virus is simply continuing his manipulation?"

Xavier nodded, his voice growing quieter. "Yes. I need to know if what it claimed, about Hope, about the fall of Krakoa, was inevitable. Or if... if we might have a chance that it's wrong."

Irene regarded him for a long moment, her golden mask obscuring her expression. She didn't need to ask why he wanted this reassurance. Xavier was desperate. Desperate to believe that Krakoa's failures weren't entirely his fault, that he hadn't built this paradise on a foundation of lies and deceit.

"I've already checked the threads of time twice today, Charles," Irene said, her voice quieter now, laced with a weariness of her own. "But if you insist, I will look again."

Xavier nodded silently, watching as Irene took a deep breath and closed her eyes. For the third time that day, she reached out to the temporal threads that wove the tapestry of reality. The visions came quickly, flashing across her mind like shards of broken glass. She saw the past, the future, the branching timelines, all of it coalescing into a single, undeniable truth.

When Irene's eyes opened, she didn't speak immediately. She stared at Xavier, her posture stiff, as though bracing herself for the words she was about to say.

"It wasn't lying," she said at last, her voice firm but heavy with sorrow. "What it revealed was true. Sinister… he was always planning this. From the very beginning, Charles. The resurrection protocols were his backdoor, his failsafe to ensure that Krakoa would fall under his control."

Xavier's breath caught in his throat. He looked as though Irene had struck him. "But we stopped him," he said. "We uncovered his betrayal. We removed him from the Council—"

"You stopped this version of his plan," Irene interrupted, her tone sharper now. "But Sinister's influence was already woven into Krakoa's very foundation. Even without his active interference, his damage was done."

She hesitated for a moment, her hands gripping the edge of the table. "Hope Summers," she said finally. "It began with her."

"What do you mean?" Xavier asked, dread creeping into his voice.

"When Hope was... resurrected, or cloned, as we now know it, Sinister's manipulation was already in place. None of us knew. Not you, not Magneto, not even me. But she was a lynchpin in his plan. Shortly after her return, everything began to unravel."

Irene's gaze grew distant as she spoke, the threads of time replaying in her mind. "Orchis struck while we were distracted. At the Hellfire Gala, they executed their attack. Jean Grey perished, slaughtered in front of us. The island fell into chaos. Mutants turned on each other, divided by fear and betrayal. And then... we were banished."

Xavier's head dropped into his hands, his voice shaking. "Banished?"

"Through the gates," Irene confirmed, her voice heavy with sorrow. "Orchis ensured that the mutants were scattered across the world, unable to return to Krakoa. The island became a ghost of what it once was, and those left behind, those resurrected children, remained as a bitter reminder of what we had lost."

The silence that followed was deafening. Xavier sat motionless, his shoulders hunched as though the weight of Irene's words had crushed him entirely. For the first time in years, Charles Xavier looked small, fragile.

"We thought we were building paradise," he said, his voice barely audible. "We thought we were saving our people."

Irene's gaze sharpened, her voice cutting through Xavier's lament like a blade. "Don't romanticize what you built, Charles," she said, her tone cold and unyielding. "Paradise? Saving our people? You and Magneto thought you were playing gods, but you were building on lies and manipulating the world to accept them."

Xavier looked up at her, his face stricken. "Irene-."

"Don't interrupt me," she snapped, her golden mask catching the dim light. "I know the truth, Charles. About all of it. I know about Moira. About her ten resets. I know why you outlawed precognitive mutants from being resurrected, because you didn't want anyone to challenge the false reality you were creating. You didn't want anyone like me to see the threads for what they were."

Xavier's mouth opened, but the words caught in his throat. Irene pressed on, her voice unwavering and cold as steel.

"You were desperate to avoid Moira's tenth life becoming another failure, so you and Magneto made your deal with Sinister. You relied on him to build the resurrection protocols, knowing full well he couldn't be trusted. And now, we're living the consequences of your hubris."

Charles's fingers tightened on the edge of the table. "It wasn't like that," he said, his voice trembling. "We were trying to save mutantkind. We were trying to-."

"To control it," Irene interrupted harshly. "And it didn't stop there, did it? I know about the flowers. The miracle cures you sold to the humans. The ones that were supposed to heal the world, bring humanity to your side."

She took a step forward, her presence imposing as she bore down on him. "Do you know what they really are, Charles? Do you know what those miracle cures have become?"

Xavier's silence was answer enough.

"They're addictive poison," Irene said, her voice laced with venom. "The humans are reliant on them now, and Orchis has weaponized that reliance. They've taken your so-called miracle and twisted it into a tool of subjugation. Those flowers carry a berserker signal, Charles. A trigger Orchis now controls. If they activate it, the very humans you sought to protect will turn into mindless weapons, tearing each other apart."

Xavier's face paled, his composure crumbling under the weight of Irene's words. "How… how do you know this?"

Irene's laugh was bitter, devoid of humor. "Because I've seen it," she said. "In the threads of time, in the futures that stretched out before us. Futures you thought you could avoid by controlling everything around you. But you can't control the truth, Charles. Sinister wasn't the only one playing a long game. Orchis has been biding its time, waiting for the moment to strike. And when they did, you and your dream crumbled."

Xavier lowered his head into his hands, his voice shaking. "I didn't know. I didn't see…"

"You didn't want to see," Irene said sharply. "You outlawed precognitive mutants from being resurrected because you were afraid of what we might reveal. And now, look where it's brought us. The dream is dead, Charles. And it's not because of Orchis, or even Sinister. It's because you built it on a foundation of lies and manipulation."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Xavier sat motionless, his mind reeling as Irene's words cut deeper than any physical wound could. For a moment, the great Charles Xavier, the man who had envisioned a utopia for mutants, looked like nothing more than a broken man, drowning in the weight of his failures.

Irene sighed, her voice softening slightly. "The worst part, Charles, is that it didn't have to be this way. If you had trusted us, if you had been honest from the beginning… things could have been different."

Xavier's voice was hollow. Irene shook her head. "Now? We survive. We clean up the mess you made and try to salvage what little remains. But don't think for a second that we can go back to how things were. Krakoa's golden age is over, Charles. And it was over long before Sinister revealed the truth."

She turned and walked away, her golden mask catching the light one final time Irene paused just as she reached the door, her hand resting lightly on the frame. She didn't look back, but her voice carried through the chamber, low and cutting, weighted with something Charles couldn't quite name.

"I hope you've braced yourself, Charles," she said, her tone devoid of the usual sharpness, replaced by a grim finality. "Because Krakoa itself has heard the truth."

Xavier froze, his mind racing to process her words. "What?" he said, his voice faint, a shadow of the commanding presence he once held.

Irene finally turned her head, her golden mask glinting ominously in the dim light. "He's been listening, Charles. The island. Krakoa. He's heard everything, about Sinister, about the cloning, about the lies we built this sanctuary upon."

Her words sent a chill down Xavier's spine. The sentient mutant island, the very foundation of their existence, wasn't just a passive participant in their paradise, it was a living entity, always listening, always aware. And now, it knew everything.

Irene stepped fully into the doorway, her body half-turned as she delivered the final blow. "And now," she said, her voice quiet but resonant, "everyone will know."

Xavier's breath caught in his throat, the weight of her words suffocating. "You're saying-?"

"Yes," Irene interrupted, her voice unyielding. "Krakoa will tell them. All of them. The mutants who remain, those who still cling to this fractured dream, they will hear it. The island knows the truth, Charles, and it won't stay silent."

Xavier leaned back in his chair, his composure completely shattered. His mind raced with the implications. If Krakoa itself revealed the truth to the mutant populace, the fragile remains of their society would implode. The mutants who still believed in the dream, who still saw Krakoa as a sanctuary, would abandon it in droves. The dissent, the outrage, it would be uncontainable.

"How do you know this?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Irene tilted her head slightly, as if the question were beneath her. "Because I've seen it, Charles. The threads of time are clear. The moment Krakoa heard what was said here, the future changed. The island will not tolerate the lies anymore. And neither will the people."

Xavier's hands trembled as he reached for his Cerebro helmet, but he stopped short, realizing how futile the gesture was. He couldn't erase what Krakoa knew. He couldn't suppress the truth any longer.

"Irene," he said, his voice hoarse, "is there nothing we can do to stop this?"

For the first time, a hint of something softer flickered across her face, though it wasn't kindness. It was pity. "No, Charles," she said. "This is beyond your control now. Krakoa is alive, and it has made its decision. All you can do is face the consequences of the choices you made."

With that, she turned and walked out of the chamber, leaving Xavier alone in the silence, the weight of Krakoa's impending revelation pressing down on him like a tidal of Form

…

warehouse, several familiar faces gathered around a table, the grainy footage playing on a portable projector. Doctor Octopus sat at the head, his mechanical arms twitching as he reviewed the scene of Peter's dive from the skyscraper. The others, Electro, Sandman, and the Vulture, sat in tense silence, their faces illuminated by the flickering images.

"This defies every law of biology," Octavius muttered, adjusting his glasses. "He split a truck in half with his body. The structural integrity of such an impact-."

"Doc, shut up," Electro snapped, crossing his arms. "Who cares about the science? Did you see what that thing did to Shocker? Parker ain't Parker anymore. He's a monster."

The Vulture leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative. "Monster or not, he's no longer protecting the city. That means there's opportunity here, for those bold enough to seize it."

Sandman shook his head, his voice uncharacteristically cautious. "This ain't the kind of opportunity you grab, Toomes. You don't seize a hurricane. You survive it."

The conversation grew heated, their voices overlapping as they argued about what Peter's transformation meant. In the shadows of the room, a small, spider-shaped drone recorded every word, its faint red light blinking unnoticed.

…

Meanwhile, in his penthouse overlooking the city, Wilson Fisk, better known as the Kingpin, watched the same footage on a massive screen. He leaned back in his leather chair, a cigar smoldering in one hand as he swirled a glass of brandy in the other.

"Peter Parker," Fisk muttered to himself, his voice heavy with thought. "The so-called hero of New York. And now, something… more."

He took a slow sip, his eyes narrowing as the video showed Peter's monstrous transformation. "If this thing is as powerful as it seems, it could either be the greatest weapon I've ever encountered… or the greatest threat."

Fisk pressed a button on his desk, summoning one of his lieutenants. "Find it," he ordered, his tone cold and commanding. "I don't care what it takes. If it can be controlled, it will serve me. And if it can't…" He trailed off, his smirk darkening. "Then we'll make sure it doesn't serve anyone."

Meanwhile, in the sterile brilliance of Oscorp Tower, Norman Osborn paced the length of his private lab, his golden armor catching the harsh fluorescent light. The Gold Goblin mask lay discarded on a nearby console, its once menacing grin now hollow. His hands trembled slightly as he stared at the paused footage of Peter Parker's monstrous transformation displayed on a monitor. The alien visage, the eyeless plates, the writhing tendrils—it was a nightmare given form, and Norman couldn't shake the dread clawing at his chest.

"Every cell…" he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Every single cell devoured. There's nothing left of him. Nothing human."

He stopped, gripping the edge of a counter as the realization weighed on him. "You don't just fix something like this," he whispered. "You can't undo a virus that's overwritten the entire body at a cellular level."

Norman's mind raced, recalling everything he knew about virology, genetic manipulation, and organic evolution. This wasn't a disease that could be cured with a serum or suppressed with technology. This was a living, thinking entity that adapted with everything it consumed. And the footage left no doubt: Peter Parker's body had been completely overtaken. There was no going back.

The screen flickered as the footage continued to play, showing Peter ripping through Shocker's grenade launcher with his jagged mouth, the grenade exploding harmlessly within. Norman winced, his breath quickening as he remembered the reports.

Sinister. He had heard whispers through his network, Sinister had tried to manipulate the entity, to subdue it, and he had failed catastrophically. The footage of Sinister's gruesome fate was burned into Norman's mind: the tendrils, the consumption, the utter obliteration of one of the most dangerous minds on Earth.

Norman pressed his hands flat against the counter, his golden gauntlets creaking slightly as he fought to calm himself. "It's not just adapting," he said aloud, his voice tight. "It's evolving. It's learning."

He turned back to the screen, the frozen image of Peter's monstrous form staring back at him, eyeless but unrelenting. The entity wasn't just a threat—it was a nightmare that could grow stronger with every organic thing it consumed. And if Sinister had learned that the hard way, then it meant Peter, or what Peter had become, wasn't done changing.

Norman's eyes flicked to a shelf of vials and prototypes, his own creations from his years as the Green Goblin. His hands twitched toward them instinctively, but he hesitated, his resolve faltering.

"What's the point?" he muttered. "You can't fight a virus with bombs. You can't reason with it. And you certainly can't control it."

For the first time in years, Norman Osborn felt powerless. The Goblin persona, the manic force that had once driven him to madness, no longer whispered in his mind. It was gone, replaced by the cold reality of his own limitations. He was the Gold Goblin now, a man seeking redemption, but no amount of gold could shield him from the grim truth staring him in the face.

"I thought I'd seen monsters," he said quietly to himself, pacing again. "I've been one. But this… this one is far worse, and I made it without even knowing!"

He paused, his gaze drifting back to the footage. Peter, or the entity wearing his face, had torn through steel and concrete like paper, shrugged off explosions, and tunneled through the ground with unnerving ease. But what haunted Norman most was the intelligence behind those actions. It wasn't mindless destruction. It was calculated, deliberate.

And worse, it had spoken.

Norman clenched his fists, his golden armor gleaming as he turned away from the screen. He couldn't dwell on fear. Not now. If there was even a chance of stopping this thing, he had to find it. But deep down, the sinking realization gripped him: there might not be a way to stop it.

It wasn't just Peter Parker's humanity that had been consumed. It was his very existence. The virus had taken everything, leaving behind something more powerful—and more dangerous, than anyone could comprehend.

Norman exhaled shakily, running a hand over his face. "If I can't stop it," he murmured, "then I'll make damn sure it doesn't spread."

But even as he said the words, doubt lingered in his mind. Could he really do anything? Or was it already too late?

…

Eddie Brock stood atop a weathered rooftop overlooking the glittering chaos of New York City. The faint hum of distant sirens reached his ears as he adjusted his footing on the ledge. The Venom symbiote coiled around him like a restless serpent, black tendrils flicking out sporadically, its agitation clear.

"That… thing," the symbiote growled, its voice echoing inside Eddie's mind. "It is not Parker. Not anymore."

Eddie didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on the faint glow of police lights a few blocks away. He'd seen the footage, the same horrifying displays of power and transformation that were now spreading through the criminal underworld like wildfire. Peter Parker had always been different, quirky, self-sacrificing, annoyingly righteous, but this? This wasn't the Parker he remembered.

"It's still him," Eddie finally said, his voice low and conflicted. "Or at least, part of him."

The symbiote hissed, its tone almost fearful. "No. We smell it, Eddie. It is unnatural even by our standards. It is… wrong. A corruption. A hunger. It devours, consumes, replaces, adapts, becomes, enhances, and repeats."

Eddie shifted, leaning back against a rusted air conditioning unit as he crossed his arms. "And what are we supposed to do about it? Huh? We've been called a monster plenty of times, haven't we? What makes this different?"

The symbiote's voice grew sharper, more insistent. "This is not the same. This is a predator, Eddie. It evolves. If it consumes again, it will grow stronger. If it consumes us, it will gain even more powers, abilities and forms!"

The symbiote coiled tighter around Eddie's arms, its tendrils flickering nervously. It almost seemed to hesitate, as though debating whether to speak. Finally, its voice came, softer now, but no less intense, echoing in Eddie's mind like the rumble of distant thunder.

"It reminds us of him," the symbiote hissed, its tone laced with unease. "Of Knull."

Eddie froze, the name alone enough to send a jolt through him. His breath caught as he leaned against the ledge, his knuckles whitening. "Knull? Are you serious? That's the last thing I want to hear right now."

The symbiote rippled across his body, forming protective layers around his chest and shoulders. "Not the same," it said cautiously, "but… familiar. The threads, the whispers—it is like Knull's void, but it does not come from darkness. It is alive in a way he never was."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Eddie asked, his voice rising slightly as he tried to mask his growing apprehension.

The symbiote shifted, its tone turning grave. "Knull was singular. A mind of the abyss. This… thing, this entity, it is not one. It is many. A colony, a swarm. Viral organisms working as one. Each part connected to the whole, a hive mind that adapts. It consumes, it evolves, and with every piece of organic material it takes, it grows stronger."

Eddie exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple as the weight of the symbiote's words settled in. "So, what? It's like a smarter version of Knull's symbiotes? A hive instead of a singular will?"

The tendrils flicked outward, the symbiote's voice growing quieter, almost as if it were afraid to speak the next words. "It has potential. Potential that is still unfolding. Still adapting. If it consumes the right host… the right power…" It trailed off, its hesitation unsettling.

"Spit it out," Eddie demanded, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "What are you trying to say?"

The symbiote's voice dropped to a whisper, resonating with a deep, primal fear Eddie had never heard before. "It can consume us."

Eddie's blood ran cold. He pushed off the ledge, his pacing quickening as he processed what the symbiote had just said. "You're kidding," he muttered, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his uncertainty. "You're saying that thing, whatever Parker's turned into, could eat you?"

"Yes," the symbiote said simply. "If it chooses to."

Eddie stopped in his tracks, his fists clenching at his sides. "How the hell is that even possible? You're a symbiote, you bond, you adapt. You're not… consumable."

The symbiote shuddered, its mass rippling across his body like disturbed water. "This entity is not like us. It does not bond. It replaces. It devours. If it were to consume us, it would gain everything, our strength, our memories, our knowledge. And it would not stop."

Eddie's jaw tightened, his mind racing. The thought of something more dangerous than Knull, more adaptive than the symbiotes, was almost too much to comprehend. "So, what do we do?" he asked, his voice low. "If it's that dangerous, how do we stop it?"

The symbiote hesitated again, its unease was there. "We don't let it find us. We stay ahead of it, learn its patterns, its weaknesses. But Eddie…" The voice grew darker, tinged with a grim inevitability. "If it finds us, if it decides we are its prey…"

Eddie finished the thought for it, his voice a mix of anger and fear. "Then it's game over."

The symbiote didn't respond. It didn't need to. The air between them was heavy with an unspoken understanding. Whatever Peter Parker had become, it wasn't just a monster, it was a threat unlike anything they had faced before. And if it truly could consume them, then Eddie and Venom were running out of options.

Eddie's fists unclenched as he looked out over the city again, the faint glow of streetlights casting shadows on his face. "We need to move," he said, despite the fear gnawing at his resolve. "Find it first. Figure out what it wants. Maybe, just maybe, we can stop it before this gets any worse."

The symbiote coiled around him, forming a protective shell. "We must be ready," it said, its voice grim. "Because when it finds us, it will not hesitate. And we may be its next meal."

With that, Eddie leapt into the night, the symbiote flaring out like wings as they disappeared into the shadows. Above them, the faint, echoing sound of something monstrous rippled through the city, a reminder that their time was running of Form

…

Herman Schultz, better known to the world as the Shocker, sat hunched in a dimly lit corner of his hideout, his fingers twitching nervously as he stared at the flickering TV screen. The room was a mess, strewn with crumpled fast-food wrappers, empty liquor bottles, and the shattered remains of a coffee mug he'd thrown in frustration hours earlier.

The footage played on a loop: Peter Parker, or whatever was left of him, taking a grenade to the face with that jagged, alien mouth. Herman flinched every time it reached that moment, the explosion lighting up the screen before Peter emerged unscathed, his monstrous form rippling with sickening ease.

"He's not human," Herman muttered under his breath, his voice shaky. He leaned forward, his hands gripping the edge of the table so tightly that his knuckles turned white. "He can't be human."

The Shocker had seen plenty in his time. Superheroes with godlike powers, villains wielding impossible technology, he'd even crossed paths with symbiotes. But this? This was something else entirely. Something wrong.

"He was dead," Herman said to himself, louder this time, as if saying it aloud would make it more believable. "I saw it. Blown up. Impaled. There's no way he could've—"

The image of Peter's monstrous transformation flashed across the screen again, cutting him off. Herman recoiled, knocking over an empty bottle as he pushed himself back in his chair. He grabbed at his hair, his breathing uneven.

"This isn't happening," he whispered. "This isn't real. It can't be."

But it was real. He'd been there. He'd felt the shockwave when Peter slammed into the ground like a meteor. He'd watched as the monster shrugged off his blasts like they were nothing. And worst of all, he'd seen those eyes, or the lack of them. The jagged, eyeless face that turned toward him, those rows of impossibly sharp teeth splitting open in a grin that was burned into his nightmares.

"Why me?" Herman muttered, rubbing his temples. "Why the hell did I have to be there? Why didn't I just stay home?"

He reached for the bottle of whiskey on the table, but his hands were shaking so badly that he knocked it over instead. The amber liquid spilled across the wood, dripping onto the floor as Herman cursed under his breath.

"Focus, Schultz," he told himself, slapping his cheeks lightly. "You're still alive. You got out. You're okay."

But he didn't feel okay. Every shadow in the room seemed to move, every faint sound making him jump. He couldn't shake the feeling that Peter, or whatever he'd become, was watching him, waiting for the right moment to strike.

"They're all saying it's Parker," Herman muttered, his voice trembling as he paced the room. "But that ain't Parker. Not anymore. Parker wouldn't…" He trailed off, his mind replaying the moment Peter bit down on the grenade launcher. The explosion had done nothing but illuminate the monster's jagged teeth before it discarded the weapon like trash.

Herman shuddered, running a hand through his hair. "He's not a man anymore. He's a… a thing."

The Shocker's gauntlets sat on the table, glowing faintly with residual energy. They were freshly upgraded, the best he'd ever built, and yet they felt useless. What good were they against something that could eat a grenade and walk away smiling?

"He's gonna come for me," Herman whispered, his paranoia bubbling to the surface. "He's gonna find me, and he's gonna-."

He froze, his eyes darting toward the window. The faint sound of creaking metal reached his ears, and his heart began to race. He scrambled to his feet, grabbing his gauntlets and slipping them on with trembling hands.

"Stay calm, Schultz," he muttered, his voice shaking. "It's just the wind. It's just-."

A faint tapping sound echoed through the room, and Herman spun around, his gauntlets sparking to life as he aimed them wildly. "Who's there?!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "I swear, if you come any closer, I'll-."

Nothing. The room was silent except for the hum of his gauntlets and the sound of his own ragged breathing. He backed into a corner, his eyes darting around as he tried to convince himself that he was alone.

But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that Peter was out there, waiting. Watching.

Herman slumped against the wall, his gauntlets still humming as he muttered to himself. "I'm not going down like this," he said, his voice filled with a mix of fear and desperation. "I'm not gonna let that freak get me. Not again."

He looked down at his gauntlets, his fingers tightening around the controls. "Next time, I'm ready. Next time, I'll take him down."

Herman's rant was interrupted by a faint, almost imperceptible sound, a soft thud near the window. He froze, his breath hitching as his eyes darted toward the source. The pale moonlight illuminated a small, dark shape perched on the windowsill. For a long moment, Herman didn't move, his heart pounding as his eyes adjusted to the sight.

It was a cat. A black one, with streaks of gray marring its fur like scars. It sat there silently, staring at him with unblinking eyes, its tail flicking lazily. The tension in Herman's chest loosened slightly, and he let out a shaky breath, laughing nervously.

"Oh, for crying out loud," he muttered, lowering his gauntlets. "It's just a damn cat. I'm losing my mind."

The cat hopped down from the windowsill, padding across the room with the kind of deliberate indifference only cats could muster. It stopped a few feet in front of Herman, sitting down and staring at him again, its yellow eyes gleaming in the dim light.

"What're you lookin' at?" Herman asked, his voice still trembling slightly. "You come to mock me too, huh? Bet you're having a grand old time watching me fall apart."

The cat tilted its head, its gaze unrelenting. Herman shook his head, chuckling to himself as he sank back into the recliner. "A damn cat. That's what's got me jumpin' out of my skin. Maybe I am losing it."

He rubbed his face with his hands, his laugh turning bitter. "What's next? You gonna start talking to me, too?"

The room fell silent for a moment, and then the cat spoke.

"It's perfectly understandable," it said, its voice calm and measured. "I'd be paranoid too if I were you, after what you've been through."

Herman's blood ran cold. His breath hitched as his hands dropped to his sides, his wide eyes locking onto the cat. "No… no, no, no," he muttered, his voice trembling. "This isn't real. I'm hearing things."

The cat tilted its head again, almost amused. "Oh, it's real," it said. "But I get it. You've had a rough time."

Herman scrambled to his feet, his gauntlets sparking to life as he aimed them at the cat. "Stay back!" he shouted, his voice cracking. "I swear, I'll blast you to-."

Before he could finish, the cat began to change. Its sleek fur rippled and stretched, black and red tendrils erupting from its body as it grew. The creature contorted and twisted, limbs forming and reforming until it stood upright. Within moments, the feline shape was gone, replaced by Peter, or rather, the thing that now called itself Peter Parker.

The tendrils rippled across its form, settling into a shape eerily reminiscent of Peter's old frame. Its face, still void of eyes, turned toward Herman. "Yeah," it said, its voice casual as it gestured vaguely toward itself. "Turns out I can do this now. Mimic things. Pretty neat, right?"

Herman's legs buckled, and he stumbled back, colliding with the wall as his gauntlets sputtered weakly. "You… you're not real," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're not real!"

Peter, or the virus wearing his face, tilted its head, the motion almost human but just unnatural enough to be unsettling. "Oh, I'm very real," it said, its tone laced with a faint edge of amusement. "Real enough to stand here and have this little chat."

Herman's hands trembled as he tried to steady his gauntlets, the faint hum of their energy the only sound in the room. "W-what do you want from me?" he croaked.

The creature glanced around the room, its head moving with an almost birdlike precision. "Honestly?" it said, shrugging. "Nothing. I was curious. I wanted to see how you were holding up after, you know… everything."

It gestured vaguely, as though referencing their earlier encounter.

Herman pressed himself harder against the wall, sweat pouring down his face. "You're… you're a monster," he said, his voice trembling. "You're not Parker. You're not even human."

The creature's form rippled slightly, the tendrils on its back shifting like liquid. "You're right," it said calmly. "I'm not Peter Parker. Not completely. But I remember him. Enough of him to feel… something. Enough to wonder."

"Wonder what?" Herman demanded, his voice rising with desperation.

The creature stepped closer, its movements smooth and deliberate. "If I'm still him at all," it said, its voice dropping to a near whisper. "If there's anything left in here that isn't just… this."

The tension in the room hung thick as the creature before Herman shifted into Peter Parker's familiar, unassuming form. The hoodie, the jeans, the boots it was all there, like a ghost pulled from memory. But the way it moved, the way it tilted its head, was just wrong enough to keep the terror crawling up Herman's spine.

The Shocker swallowed hard, trying to steady himself as he pressed harder against the wall. His eyes darted to his sparking gauntlets, then back to the creature's unsettlingly casual expression.

"Look," the creature said, scratching the back of its neck awkwardly, "I know this is probably, uh… weird for you. But I really didn't come here to freak you out. Actually…" It gestured toward the window. "I brought beverages."

Herman blinked, his brain struggling to process what it had just said. "Beverages?" he echoed.

"Yeah," the creature said, reaching one arm back toward the windowsill. Its arm stretched unnaturally, tendrils rippling as it extended farther than any human limb should. Herman bit back a yelp as it grabbed a small plastic bag dangling from the sill and pulled it back into the room.

It held up the bag, revealing two cans of soda inside. "I thought, you know, this might be more comfortable if we had drinks," it said, offering Herman a can. "Here. It's cold."

Herman stared at the can like it might explode in his face. His hands shook as he hesitated, but the creature's steady gaze left him feeling like refusing wasn't an option. Slowly, reluctantly, he reached out and took the soda, his fingers brushing against the chilled aluminum.

"Thanks?" he muttered, his voice trembling.

The creature sat cross-legged on the floor, its movements smooth but somehow not quite human, and cracked open its own soda. It took a sip, looking oddly contemplative as it swirled the can in its hand. "So, uh," it began, its tone casual, "what's it like? Having flesh, I mean."

Herman nearly choked on the sip of soda he hadn't meant to take. "W-what?!" he stammered, staring at the creature with wide, panicked eyes.

"Flesh," it repeated, gesturing vaguely toward him. "Skin. Organs. That kind of stuff. What's it like? I mean, is it uncomfortable? Fragile? I've been wondering."

Herman blinked, his jaw working as he tried to form words. "I, I don't know. It's… normal, I guess?" His voice cracked as he added, "Why the hell are you asking me this?"

The creature shrugged, its gaze distant. "I don't have any, obviously. Not anymore, anyway. I'm just curious." It tapped its chest lightly, its tone turning almost wistful. "This isn't… real, you know? Just something I put together. A memory of what it felt like to look like this."

Herman stared, his heart racing as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple. The soda can in his hand felt ice-cold against his skin, but his palms were clammy. "You don't… have skin?" he asked hesitantly, unsure why he was engaging in this surreal conversation.

The creature shook its head. "Nope. Or organs, or bones. It's all biomass now, tendrils, mostly. But it works. I don't get tired. I don't have to eat, well, not in the traditional sense." Its gaze flicked back to Herman, a faint glimmer of curiosity in its expression. "That reminds me. What's it like to sleep?"

"Sleep?" Herman echoed, his voice a shaky whisper.

"Yeah," the creature said, leaning forward slightly. "I don't have to do that anymore, either. No dreams, no rest, no time spent unconscious. What's that like? Is it… annoying? Or peaceful?"

Herman stared at it, his breath hitching as a cold sweat broke out across his brow. "I, I don't know, man," he stammered. "It's just something you do. You get tired, you sleep. That's it."

The creature tilted its head, its expression thoughtful. "Tired," it murmured, as though testing the word. "I don't really get tired anymore, either. I guess that's kind of convenient, but it makes you wonder, doesn't it? How much of what we do, what we need, is just… built into us?"

Herman felt his knees weaken, his legs trembling as he leaned harder against the wall. "You're freaking me out," he blurted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

The creature blinked, an oddly human gesture, and leaned back slightly, its expression shifting into something almost apologetic. "Sorry," it said, holding up its hands. "I'm not trying to. I just… don't have anyone else to ask about this kind of stuff."

Herman's heart pounded as he stared at the creature, its face so disconcertingly familiar yet entirely alien. He wanted to run, to scream, to do anything but sit there talking to this thing that wore Peter Parker's face like a mask. But his legs felt like lead, and his voice caught in his throat.

The creature sighed, glancing at the soda can in its hand. "I guess I'll leave you alone," it said, standing in a fluid motion that sent another shiver down Herman's spine. "But hey, thanks for the chat."

It turned toward the window, the bag of sodas still dangling from its other hand. Before it leapt out, it paused and looked back at Herman, its eyeless face tilting slightly. "You should probably clean yourself up," it said casually, its tone oddly kind. "You, uh… wet yourself."

And with that, it was gone, leaving Herman to slide to the floor, trembling as he stared at the empty window. The soda can rolled out of his hand, forgotten, as the reality of what had just happened sank in.

For the first time in his life, Herman Schultz felt truly, utterly of Form

…

Nick Fury sat in his dimly lit office, his single eye scanning the damage reports on his tablet. The fallout from earlier that day, Peter Parker burrowing through the streets after Forge's botched containment attempt, was nothing short of catastrophic. Entire blocks of infrastructure were destabilized, forcing emergency crews to work around the clock. Repairs would take weeks, possibly months, and the city wasn't even close to understanding what it had witnessed. Fury sighed, rubbing his temples as his tablet buzzed with yet another notification.

The message on the screen made him pause.

Subject: Herman Schultz (Shocker) has turned himself in. Requests a meeting.

Fury raised an eyebrow.

, and he tapped the screen to bring up the details. Schultz had escaped custody after the chaos downtown, yet now he was voluntarily returning, and demanding maximum confinement after speaking with Fury.

"Paranoid bastard," Fury muttered, tapping his earpiece. "Get him ready. I'm on my way."

The stark, fluorescent-lit room was silent except for the faint hum of the overhead lights. Herman Schultz sat at the metal table, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. His face was pale, beads of sweat forming on his brow despite the cool temperature. The door creaked open, and Fury stepped inside, his expression unreadable as he closed the door behind him.

"Schultz," Fury said, his tone flat. "You've got some nerve, turning yourself in and asking for a meeting. So, talk."

Herman looked up, his eyes bloodshot and darting nervously around the room. "Thanks for, uh, seeing me," he stammered, his voice trembling. "I… I didn't know who else to tell."

Fury crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "Get to the point. What happened?"

Herman swallowed hard, his throat dry. "It's him," he said finally, or rather, croaked out.

"That… thing. Parker. Or whatever the hell he's calling himself now."

Fury's eye narrowed. "You saw him?"

"Yeah," Herman said, his hands shaking as he clasped them tighter. "He… he came to my place. Late last night."

Fury's posture stiffened, and he took a step closer to the table. "What did he want?"

Herman let out a shaky laugh, running a trembling hand through his hair. "To talk, apparently! He just showed up, out of nowhere! I heard something at the window, and there he was. But not as himself… as a goddamn cat!"

Fury's eyebrows felt like dinnerplates as if Herman just grew a second head.

"A cat?"

"Yeah!" Herman exclaimed, his voice rising. "A black one! With gray streaks! I thought I was losing my mind, but then he started talking, and-." He broke off, burying his face in his hands. "You're not gonna believe this…"

"Try me," Fury said, his tone indicated he was dreading the paperwork that would follow this but he was focused.

Herman looked up; his eyes wild. "He changed. Right in front of me. One second he's a cat, and then he's standing there, looking like Parker. Perfectly normal, well, as normal as a guy like him can look. He told me he can… manipulate his mass or biomass or whatever the hell he calls it."

Fury's jaw tightened. "Go on."

Herman's breath quickened, and he clutched the edge of the table as if to steady himself. "He talked to me. Like we were old friends. Brought drinks. Soda, for Christ's sake!" He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "I sat there, sipping a soda, while that thing wearing Parker's face asked me what it's like to have skin! Skin! Like it was some kind of… science experiment!"

Fury's expression remained neutral, but his mind was racing. "And you're sure it was him?"

"Positive," Herman said, his voice trembling. "The way he moved, the way he talked… it was Parker. But at the same time, it wasn't. He's… he's not human anymore, Fury. He's something worse, far worse!"

Fury leaned forward, his hands on the table. "Did he threaten you?"

Herman hesitated, his hands twitching. "No," he admitted. "That's the worst part. He didn't hurt me, didn't even try to. Just sat there asking questions, about what it's like to sleep, or be tired, or… you know, normal human stuff." His voice cracked. "But that's the thing! He doesn't have to threaten me! He could've killed me any second without me even knowing! The way he just… appeared, and then changed, and then left like it was nothing…"

Fury straightened, his expression grim. "What else?"

Herman's breathing quickened, and he gripped the table harder. "He's not just strong, Fury. He's smart. He can turn into animals, people, probably anything he damn well pleases. And he's still learning, still evolving. I don't know what he wants, but whatever it is, he's already miles ahead of us."

Fury stared at Herman for a long moment, his face unreadable. "So, you turned yourself in because you're scared."

"Terrified," Herman said bluntly. "I don't know what he's planning, and I don't wanna be around when he decides to stop playing nice. Lock me up, throw away the key, I don't care. Just… keep him away from me."

Fury pushed off the table, turning toward the door. "We'll see what we can do."

As he reached the door, Herman called out, his voice shaking. "Fury."

Fury paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

"If he finds me again…" Herman's voice cracked. "I don't think I'll survive it."

…

The hallway of Aunt May's modest apartment building was eerily quiet, the faint hum of an overhead light the only sound breaking the silence. Hellion stood with his arms crossed, his posture tense as he leaned against the wall. Beside him was one of his closest allies, Rockslide, a towering mutant with a body of living stone who loomed imposingly by the door.

Rachel Summers had just arrived, her expression tight with urgency as she approached the duo. "Hellion, don't do this," she said franticly, "You have no idea what you're dealing with."

Hellion scoffed, his green telekinetic aura briefly flaring around his hands. "I know exactly what I'm dealing with," he shot back. "That thing isn't Parker anymore, and it's a threat to all of us. If Xavier won't handle it, someone has to."

Rockslide grunted in agreement, his stone fingers flexing as he glanced at the closed apartment door. "It's not like we're here to hurt the old lady. We're just sending a message. Letting that thing know we're watching."

Rachel's jaw tightened. "This is intimidation is what it is!"

Before anyone could respond, a faint clicking sound echoed down the hallway. The trio turned, their attention drawn to a medium-sized black and gray dog walking toward them. Its coat was patchy, streaked with darker shades that seemed almost unnatural under the flickering hallway light. The dog's red-tinged eyes fixed on the group as it stopped a few feet away, sitting calmly in the center of the hallway.

Hellion raised an eyebrow. "What the hell is a mutt doing in here?"

Rachel frowned, her telepathic senses brushing against the creature's mind. She recoiled slightly, her breath hitching. "Wait… something's not right-."

Before she could finish, the dog tilted its head, its gaze unflinching as it spoke. "I warned you to stop provoking me."

The voice was calm and measured, yet unmistakable. It was Peter's voice.

Hellion froze, his cocky smirk faltering as the dog began to change. Black and red tendrils slithered across its body like living snakes, coiling and shifting as the creature stood upright. Its limbs elongated, the sinewy mass of tendrils forming humanoid proportions. Its head morphed, the canine features stretching and twisting until they reshaped into something eerily human. Within moments, the dog was gone, replaced by a tall, unmistakable figure with a face that was unmistakably Peter Parker's.

By the time the transformation was complete, the dog was gone. Standing in its place was Peter Parker, or rather, the thing he had become.

To the untrained eye, he looked almost normal: the familiar frame, the casual hoodie and jeans, the boyish, angular face. But something about him was unmistakably wrong. His movements were too smooth, too deliberate, and his crimson-tinged eyes burned with a sharpness that made Hellion take a cautious step back.

Peter crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. "I warned you," he said, his voice calm but with an edge that cut through the tension in the hallway like a knife. "But you just don't listen, do you?"

Hellion glanced at Rachel, his bravado momentarily shaken. "What the hell is this, Summers?" he muttered. "What am I looking at?"

Rachel didn't answer immediately, her telepathic senses brushing against Peter's mind. She winced, her hand instinctively going to her temple as if she'd touched a live wire. "It's… it's him," she said finally, her voice trembling. "It's Peter."

"Bullshit," Hellion snapped, his aura flaring around his hands. "That's not Parker. That's-."

Hellion didn't get the chance to finish his sentence.

Peter moved faster than anyone could react, his fist snapping forward like a bullet. The sickening crunch of bone echoed through the hallway as Peter's punch connected with Hellion's face, dislocating and shattering the entire left side of his jaw. Teeth flew in every direction, a few landing with faint clicks on the tiled floor as Hellion's head snapped back.

The impact launched him down the hallway, his body hitting the floor with a heavy thud and skidding several feet before coming to a stop. Hellion lay there, coughing and spitting blood, his hands clutching at his mangled face as he groaned in pain.

Rachel's eyes widened in horror, and even Rockslide took a step back, his stony form grinding as he moved. The hallway was eerily quiet except for Hellion's muffled groans, blood pooling beneath him.

Peter straightened, his crimson-tinged eyes narrowing as he shook out his hand like the punch had been nothing. "Keep it up," he said, his voice cold and dripping with menace. "See how well it turns out for you when I decide to do something far worse the final time."

Rachel stepped forward, her hands raised cautiously. "Peter, stop," she said, her voice trembling. "You don't have to do this."

Peter turned his gaze to her, and for a moment, something almost human flickered in his expression. His eyes softened slightly, the crimson glow dimming. "No," he said quietly, his voice steadier now. "I didn't have to do that. But maybe it'll make him think twice next time."

He glanced down the hallway at Hellion, who was struggling to push himself up on his elbows, his bloodied face twisted in agony. "Next time, he might not get back up," Peter added, his tone colder now.

Rockslide clenched his fists, stepping in front of Rachel protectively. "You didn't have to go that far," he growled.

Peter tilted his head slightly, his tendrils shifting faintly beneath his hoodie. "Didn't I?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying an undertone that made Rockslide falter.

Rachel's breath caught as her eyes darted to Peter's hand. The blood from Hellion's shattered jaw—splattered across his knuckles—was moving. It trickled along the surface of his skin, defying gravity, until it was absorbed entirely into his body. The faint red veins beneath his tendrils pulsed as if energized, and Rachel's horror deepened.

"What the…?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Before anyone could process what was happening, Peter's form began to ripple. The subtle movement of the tendrils beneath his hoodie became more pronounced, spreading across his body as his very shape began to shift. His limbs lengthened slightly, his posture adjusting, and in seconds, he wasn't Peter anymore.

He was Hellion.

A perfect duplicate, down to the telekinetic aura faintly glowing around his hands. Even the fractured jaw from the real Hellion was mirrored for a moment before it reset itself with a sickening crack, the mimic form perfect and intact.

Rockslide took a stumbling step backward, his stony features twisting into something that could only be described as fear. "What the hell?" he muttered, his deep voice laced with disbelief.

Rachel's heart raced, her telepathic senses recoiling as Peter—or the virus masquerading as Hellion—fixed his glowing crimson eyes on Rockslide. "You think I went too far?" Peter's voice emerged, laced with venom. "Let me show you how far I could really go."

As he spoke, the illusion shattered. The mimicry of Hellion's face peeled backward like shedding skin, tendrils splitting and retracting to reveal something monstrous beneath. Rows upon rows of jagged, uneven teeth extended outward, forming a grotesque, gaping maw. The tendrils that made up his tongue writhed and lashed within the cavern of his mouth, dripping with viscous black liquid.

A guttural hiss emanated from the creature as it stepped closer, its jagged maw twisting into a horrifying semblance of a grin. "Do you still think I didn't go far enough?" it growled, its voice warped and distorted, layered with a low, inhuman rumble that reverberated through the hallway.

Rockslide froze, his massive form trembling as his instincts screamed at him to run. Rachel, her mind racing, reached out telepathically to calm Peter—or whatever this was. But the moment her powers brushed against him, she felt a wall of chaos: countless minds, voices, and sensations coiling and writhing like a nest of serpents. She gasped and staggered back, clutching her head.

"Stop," she said, her voice breaking. "Peter, stop. Please."

The creature turned its head toward her, its jagged teeth clicking together in an unnerving rhythm. The crimson glow in its eyeless sockets dimmed slightly, and for a fleeting moment, it almost looked… remorseful.

"Don't push me again," Peter said, his voice returning to something closer to human, though still layered with that unnatural echo. His face began to reform, the tendrils knitting themselves back into the familiar features of Peter Parker. His body shrank and shifted, the monstrous visage giving way to the hoodie-clad figure they had first encountered.

Rockslide didn't move, his fists still clenched as Peter turned away, his shoulders tense. "I don't want this," Peter said quietly, his voice carrying a note of exhaustion. "But if you keep testing me, you'll force me to become the thing you're afraid I already am."

Peter stopped mid-step, his back still turned to the group, his form barely stabilized as faint tendrils rippled under the surface of his hoodie. The silence in the hallway was suffocating, broken only by the shallow breathing of Rockslide and the muffled groans of Hellion.

Then, Peter spoke, his voice quiet but sharp enough to pierce the tension like a blade.

"One more thing." He turned his head slightly, just enough for Rachel to see the faint crimson glow in his eyes, a lingering trace of the monstrous form he had just shed. "Lay off Rachel Summers."

Rachel blinked, her confusion breaking through her fear. "What?"

Peter turned fully now, crossing his arms as he tilted his head slightly. His gaze locked onto Rockslide, though his words were meant for all of them. "Stop picking on her. I hate that."

Rockslide shifted uneasily, his massive form grinding as he struggled to find words. "We weren't—"

"Yes, you were," Peter interrupted, his tone as sharp as a scalpel. "I've seen it. I've heard it. And it pisses me off."

Rachel stared at him, her mind a swirl of confusion and disbelief. "Why do you care?" she asked cautiously, her voice trembling.

Peter's expression softened slightly, his eyes losing some of their edge. For a moment, he looked almost human again, almost like the Peter Parker she remembered.

Peter's gaze flicked toward Rachel, his expression softening in a way that felt almost disarming, given everything that had just transpired. His voice lowered, taking on a quieter, more measured tone. "I saw it."

Rachel frowned, her confusion mingling with the lingering fear in her chest. "Saw what?"

Peter's arms dropped to his sides, his fingers flexing slightly as though he were testing the limits of his own form. "The moment Hellion and his buddies threatened to kill you on Krakoa," he said simply, his words carrying a weight that made Rachel's heart sink.

Her breath hitched as the memory surfaced—a moment she had tried to bury, to move past, yet it lingered in the back of her mind like a scar. The standoff, the tension, the searing humiliation of feeling outnumbered and betrayed by those she once thought of as allies.

"How…" Rachel's voice wavered as she took an involuntary step back. "How do you know about that?"

Peter's expression didn't change. If anything, it darkened slightly, as though he were remembering something distasteful. "I told you," he said, his tone even. "I absorbed some of Hellion's blood."

Rachel's eyes widened in realization. "You… you have his memories?"

Peter nodded, his gaze steady. "Bits and pieces. Enough to know he's been running his mouth a lot longer than today. Enough to know he's been making your life hell."

Rachel looked down, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. She hadn't expected this, hadn't expected anyone, let alone Peter, to care about what had happened to her. "And that's why you-."

"Warned him?" Peter interrupted, his voice hardening again as he glanced at the groaning form of Hellion further down the hallway. "Yeah. Because I'm not going to let it happen again. Not to you, not to anyone."

Rachel stared at him, her emotions a chaotic storm of gratitude, confusion, and fear. "You… you didn't have to do that," she said softly.

Peter's lips curved into the faintest hint of a bitter smile. "No," he said, his voice quiet but serious. "But I wanted to."

Rockslide shifted uncomfortably, his rocky form grinding as he took a half-step toward Rachel. "You're saying you just… stole his memories?" he asked, his voice heavy with suspicion.

Peter turned his gaze to Rockslide, his expression unreadable. "I didn't steal anything," he replied. "It's just… how I work now. Blood, biomass, whatever you want to call it, it's more than physical. It contains memories to some varying degrees."

Rachel took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "And… what else do you know?" she asked hesitantly.

Peter's eyes softened again, and he shook his head. "Enough," he said simply. "But that's not the point."

"What is the point, then?" Rachel pressed, her voice growing steadier.

Peter exhaled, the tension in his posture easing slightly. "The point is," he said, his tone almost weary, "I've seen enough of Hellion's thoughts to know he's been hurting you for a long time. And I'm telling you now, it stops. Because if it doesn't…"

He didn't finish the sentence, but the faint ripple of tendrils beneath his skin spoke volumes.

Rachel stood frozen, her mind racing as she tried to process everything. Hellion's muffled groans filled the silence, punctuated by the occasional drip of blood onto the floor. Rockslide didn't say a word, his gaze darting between Rachel and Peter.

Finally, Peter turned toward the stairwell, his voice softening as he spoke over his shoulder. "Take care of yourself, Rachel."

And with that, he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Rachel and Rockslide alone in the oppressive stillness of the hallway.

…Bottom of Form

The lab was a hive of activity, an intricate dance of cutting-edge technology and some of the brightest minds on Earth. Reed Richards stood at the center of the chaos that he was focused on, his elongated fingers darting across a series of holographic screens. Around him, members of the Avengers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and T'Challa, watched intently, their expressions tense as they awaited the results.

"Okay, everyone," Reed said, his voice calm despite the enormity of what they were dealing with. "I've compiled the data from the scans we took earlier. What we're looking at isn't just unprecedented, it's almost unfathomable."

Tony Stark crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow "Unfathomable? Coming from you, that's terrifying. What exactly are we dealing with here?"

Reed adjusted a few settings on the holographic display, zooming in on an image of Peter's cellular structure. "At first glance, this appeared to be a highly advanced, adaptable virus. But when we delved deeper, far deeper than conventional scans typically allow, we found something extraordinary."

The image zoomed further, showing a representation of Peter's viral structure at a subatomic level. The tendrils that made up his form weren't merely organic, they were composed of particles so small they existed on the edge of quantum phenomena.

"This virus isn't operating at the cellular level," Reed explained, his tone growing more serious. "It's operating at the subatomic level, or potentially smaller. It's not just hijacking Peter's body; it's rewriting reality on a scale we've never encountered."

Bruce Banner leaned in closer, his scientific curiosity overcoming his unease. "Are you saying this thing functions at the quantum level?"

"Exactly," Reed confirmed, gesturing to a new display. It showed a model of the virus in action, its tendrils weaving through Peter's molecular structure and disassembling, reassembling, and manipulating matter as it went. "It's not just adapting to its host, it's evolving its host. Every interaction with organic matter gives it more material to process and more data to store. That's how it's able to replicate and transform so seamlessly."

T'Challa's expression was grim as he studied the display. "This explains its ability to absorb mass and replicate abilities. But why is it limited to Peter's form? Why hasn't it consumed everything around it?"

Reed hesitated, his fingers pausing mid-motion. "That's where things get more troubling. The virus appears to have some form of intelligence. It's not just adapting randomly, it's deliberate. Controlled. And it's tied to Peter's mind."

Bruce nodded slowly, piecing the puzzle together. "That explains why it hasn't gone completely rogue. Peter's consciousness, what's left of it, must be acting as a kind of regulator."

"Or a prison," Tony interjected, his tone grim. "This thing could be keeping Peter's mind around because it needs it to anchor itself. But if it ever decides it doesn't need him anymore…"

Reed nodded, his expression somber. "It could act independently. And given its abilities at the subatomic level, it could theoretically rewrite reality itself. Imagine a virus that doesn't just infect individuals, it could restructure environments, ecosystems, even entire planets."

T'Challa's voice was steady but heavy with concern. "If it's operating at this scale, how do we fight it?"

Reed brought up another set of data, this time showing energy fluctuations within the virus. "This is where things get even stranger. We detected energy readings consistent with quantum entanglement, suggesting that this virus doesn't just exist in one place. Parts of it might be linked across space and time."

Tony's jaw tightened. "You're saying this thing isn't just here. It could have counterparts in other dimensions, or even the multiverse."

Reed nodded. "That's a possibility we have to consider. But there's another layer to this. When we analyzed the scans from earlier today, we found traces of something… familiar."

Bruce leaned closer. "Familiar how?"

Reed hesitated, then pulled up another screen showing a side-by-side comparison of the virus's quantum structure and another energy signature. "It's faint, but there's a resemblance to something we've encountered before, the Negative Zone."

The room fell silent. T'Challa's expression darkened, while Tony muttered a curse under his breath.

"You're saying this thing has a connection to the Negative Zone?" Bruce asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

"It's possible," Reed admitted. "Or at the very least, it operates on similar principles. The subatomic structure, the energy signatures, it's all eerily reminiscent of the quantum phenomena we've studied there. But this virus is far more advanced than anything we've encountered in the Negative Zone."

Tony ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "So, let me get this straight: we're dealing with a virus that can rewrite reality, might have links to the Negative Zone, and is anchored to Peter Parker's mind, which, by the way, isn't exactly the most stable foundation right now."

"Essentially, yes," Reed said simply.

T'Challa stepped forward, his tone decisive. "Then our priority must be containment. If Peter's mind is the key to controlling this virus, we need to ensure it remains intact, and that the virus doesn't evolve beyond him."

Reed nodded. "Agreed. But containment won't be easy. This virus is unlike anything we've ever faced. It's not just a threat to Peter, it's a threat to the fabric of reality itself."

As the weight of Reed's words sank in, the room grew tense. The assembled heroes exchanged grim looks, each realizing the enormity of the challenge ahead.

Bruce broke the silence. "If we can't contain it, what's our fallback plan?"

Reed's expression turned grim. "There might not be one. This isn't just a virus, Bruce. It's evolution personified. And it's only just begun."Bottom of Form

Reed Richards tapped a series of controls on his console, bringing up a holographic model of Peter Parker's current form. The diagram displayed Peter's body, overlaid with energy readings and structural analyses gathered from earlier scans. The data constantly shifted, attempting to adjust to Peter's evolving biology.

Reed's face was tight with concentration as he studied the results, his elongated fingers deftly manipulating the display. "This is… extraordinary," he muttered, his voice carrying a mix of awe and concern.

Tony Stark leaned in, his arms crossed. "Extraordinary how? Give us the numbers, Reed."

Reed adjusted the display, zooming in on a model of Peter's molecular structure. "Peter's density is unlike anything I've ever encountered. His body is composed almost entirely of hyper-dense viral tendrils, which are capable of rearranging themselves at will. Right now, his estimated density is approximately ten times greater than any known organic material."

Bruce Banner's eyebrows shot up. "Ten times? That's… that's in the range of certain metals. Are you saying he's as dense as tungsten?"

Reed nodded, his expression grim. "At the very least. And what's more alarming is that this density isn't static. He can manipulate it at will, condensing or expanding his biomass as needed. This allows him to maintain his human shape while packing incredible mass into a relatively small volume."

T'Challa folded his arms, his analytical mind already piecing together the implications. "How does this translate to his strength?"

Reed sighed, pulling up another chart that displayed estimates based on their scans. "Given his current density and the structural integrity of his viral tendrils, Peter's strength is already immense. Conservatively, he's capable of lifting 300 tons in his current state."

The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of the revelation sank in. Tony broke the silence, his tone laced with disbelief. "Three hundred tons? That's-."

"Just the beginning," Reed interrupted, his voice steady but serious. "That figure is based on his current biomass. But remember, his strength scales exponentially with each absorption. If he absorbs enough organic material to triple his biomass, his strength would theoretically increase to 900 tons."

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck, his face pale. "And if he does that again?"

Reed nodded grimly. "It would triple again. His strength potential is effectively limitless, constrained only by the amount of material he consumes and how much he chooses to condense his biomass."

T'Challa's voice was calm but tense. "And what happens if he reaches a critical mass? If he consumes too much?"

Reed hesitated, the weight of the question evident in his expression. "If Peter were to lose control—or worse, if the virus decided to override his will entirely, his density could theoretically collapse under its own weight. The resulting energy release would be… catastrophic."

"How catastrophic are we talking?" Tony asked, his tone sharp.

Reed's gaze was steady. "If his entire biomass were to destabilize and release the stored energy, it could rival a large-scale nuclear detonation. Perhaps even greater, depending on how much material he's absorbed."

Bruce exhaled, his hands gripping the edge of the table. "We're not just dealing with a superhuman here. We're dealing with a walking, talking WMD."

Tony shook his head, pacing the room. "And his strength isn't even the scariest part. If he keeps absorbing mass and evolving, we won't just be dealing with someone who can lift mountains. He'll be a force of nature, a biological singularity."

Reed nodded, pulling up the holographic model again. "And don't forget: his strength isn't just physical. The density of his tendrils means they're nearly impervious to damage. Conventional weapons will be ineffective. His ability to manipulate his form gives him an unparalleled adaptability."

T'Challa's voice cut through the tension. "We need a plan. If Peter's strength and density continue to increase, containment may become impossible."

Reed glanced at the gathered heroes, his expression heavy with concern. "We don't just need a plan. We need to understand how much of Peter is still in control. Because if he isn't…" He paused, his voice trailing off. "...then we may be facing something we can't stop."

…

The room was tense as the gathered minds of the Avengers, the Fantastic Four, and SHIELD poured over the latest data on Peter Parker—or whatever he had become. The silence was broken by the sharp chime of Nick Fury's communicator. He answered with a curt swipe, his single eye narrowing as he listened to the incoming report.

"Director Fury, we've got a situation," came the voice on the other end, tight with urgency. "It's about Hellion."

Fury's jaw tightened. "What now?" he growled.

The voice hesitated before continuing. "Hellion's in the medbay. He's… well, he's not doing great. The medics are working on stabilizing him, but his jaw is completely shattered. We're talking multiple fractures and nearly every tooth on the left side of his mouth is gone."

Bruce Banner glanced up from the holographic display, his expression shifting from concern to disbelief. "Shattered jaw?" he murmured, half to himself.

Fury's frown deepened. "You're telling me that Hellion—a mutant with telekinetic powers strong enough to lift a truck—got his jaw shattered? By Parker?"

The voice on the other end stammered. "Y-yes, sir. According to witnesses, Parker—uh, the entity—struck him with a single punch. Sent him flying down a hallway. The kid didn't stand a chance."

"Witnesses?" Fury repeated, his voice icy. "You mean Rockslide and Summers, don't you?"

"Yes, sir. And… there's more."

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. "Spit it out."

"Rockslide and Hellion were apparently trying to intimidate Peter's aunt at her apartment. Rockslide didn't engage directly, but Hellion… well, he started it."

The room fell silent, the air growing heavier with the weight of the revelation. Tony Stark set down his coffee mug with a grimace, while T'Challa's jaw tightened. Reed Richards exchanged a glance with Bruce Banner, both of them sensing Fury's mounting fury.

"Let me get this straight," Fury said, his tone slow and dangerous. "Two mutants from Krakoa—one of whom is now sporting a shattered jaw, thought it would be a good idea to provoke that thing while harassing a civilian?"

"Yes, sir," the voice confirmed. "From what we can tell, Peter was… defending his aunt. He only attacked after Hellion tried to make the first move."

Fury slammed a hand on the table, the sound echoing in the room. "Idiots!" he barked. "Do these mutants not understand the concept of, 'not provoking the monster'?"

Reed cleared his throat cautiously. "Nick, I don't think they fully comprehend what they're dealing with."

"No, they don't," Fury snapped, pacing back and forth. "And now one of them is missing half his damn jaw because of it."

T'Challa folded his arms once again as he processed this. "The question is, what do we do about this? If Peter was provoked, it's understandable that he defended himself. But the fact that he could inflict that level of damage with a single strike…"

"He's holding back," Bruce interjected, his tone grave. "If he wasn't, Hellion wouldn't just have a shattered jaw. He'd be dead."

Fury's glare swept across the room. "And what happens when Peter decides not to hold back anymore? What happens when another genius mutant decides to poke the bear?"

Tony leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "What I'm hearing is, we've got two problems. One: Peter Parker is a walking WMD. Two: some of Krakoa's brightest thought it'd be a good idea to throw rocks at him."

Fury pointed a finger at the communicator. "Get me Krakoa on the line," he barked. "I want an explanation for this stunt, and I want it now."

Reed raised a hand, his voice measured. "Nick, while you're right to be upset, this might be an opportunity."

"An opportunity?" Fury snapped, turning on him.

Reed nodded, pulling up the holographic model of Peter's evolving form. "Hellion's injuries give us a clear data point. We've just seen how much force Peter can exert under restraint. If we analyze the aftermath, trajectory, bone density scans, structural analysis, we can better understand his limits. It might help us figure out how to contain him if things escalate."

Fury stared at Reed for a long moment, his jaw clenching. Finally, he exhaled sharply. "Fine. But someone's still getting chewed out for this. Get Krakoa on the line, and let's get to work before one of those idiots provokes him again."

…

Later, in the SHIELD communications room…

Monitors glowing with the flickering image of Krakoa's Quiet Council representatives. The faces on the screen were tense, their expressions ranging from barely restrained anger to visible unease. Nick Fury stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his eye narrowing as he stared them down.

"Let me get this straight," Fury began, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. "Not only do you send a couple of your mutants to harass an old woman, but you've been sitting on some very interesting information about what Xavier's been up to. Care to explain before I start putting sanctions on your little island paradise?"

The council exchanged uneasy glances before Emma Frost, her cool demeanor cracked just enough to betray her frustration, stepped forward. "Director Fury," she began, her voice measured but tinged with steel, "what happened with Hellion and Rockslide was not sanctioned by the Quiet Council. It was an impulsive and reckless act by two individuals, and believe me, they will face the consequences."

"Oh, I'm sure," Fury replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But reckless or not, it's a pattern with you people. Provoke the wrong thing and act shocked when it blows up in your face—literally, in this case. Hellion's lucky he didn't end up in a morgue."

Magneto, his expression stern, leaned forward. "Do not presume to lecture us, Fury. You don't understand the gravity of what we're dealing with."

"Try me," Fury shot back. "Because from where I'm standing, you've got plenty to answer for. Starting with why you let this little stunt happen in the first place. And while we're at it, what's this I hear about Xavier and Krakoa itself keeping secrets?"

Silence fell over the council. Irene Adler, seated slightly apart from the others, finally broke it with a sigh. "We're dealing with a great many revelations, Director Fury," she said, her voice carrying a weary edge. "More than you might believe."

"Try me," Fury repeated, his patience wearing thin.

Irene nodded, steeling herself. "Very well. You're already aware of Sinister's betrayal and the… disturbing revelations that came with it. But what you don't know is how deep it goes. Charles Xavier, in his desperation to ensure mutantkind's survival, made choices—choices that have now come back to haunt us."

Fury's eye narrowed further, his jaw tightening. "What kind of choices?"

Irene looked to Xavier, whose usually composed face was pale and drawn. He opened his mouth to speak but faltered, prompting Irene to continue. "Krakoa itself has been listening," she said. "The island is sentient, and it has heard every conversation, every secret we've tried to keep buried. Including what Xavier has done to ensure resurrection."

"Resurrection," Fury repeated, his tone cold. "You mean the cloning process Sinister corrupted."

Emma flinched but didn't deny it. "Yes. And it's worse than you think. Krakoa itself revealed to us, moments before this call, that Charles-."

"I made decisions that I thought were necessary," Xavier interrupted, his voice cracking slightly. "Decisions to safeguard mutantkind."

"Decisions like outlawing the resurrection of precognitive mutants," Irene added sharply, her golden eyes piercing him. "Because you knew they would uncover the truth."

"What truth?" Fury demanded.

"It wasn't that simple," Xavier said, his voice almost pleading. "We believed we were giving them a second chance—a way to move forward."

Irene cut him off. "And you allowed the production of Krakoan flowers, miracle cures that are nothing more than addictive poisons Orchis now controls."

The silence that followed was deafening. Fury's expression darkened as he absorbed the enormity of what he was hearing. "So, let me get this straight," he said slowly. "You've got an island that's eavesdropping on you, miracle drugs that are ticking time bombs, and a 'resurrection' system that's been lying to everyone, including the people it was supposed to help?"

Xavier looked down, unable to meet Fury's gaze. Magneto's jaw tightened, and Emma crossed her arms, her icy composure barely holding.

"And on top of that," Fury continued, his voice rising, "you've got mutants running around unsupervised, pulling stunts like this Hellion nonsense? You're lucky Peter Parker didn't flatten all three of them."

The tension in the room thickened as Nick Fury's words hung in the air, his accusations cutting through the fragile alliance like a blade. The Quiet Council members exchanged uneasy glances, but it was Irene Adler who finally broke the silence. Her golden eyes narrowed, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere.

"Director Fury," she said, her tone cold and unflinching, "you don't even know the half of it."

Fury raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed as he fixed her with a sharp gaze. "I'm listening."

Irene turned her piercing stare toward Xavier, whose face had gone pale, his usual calm shattered. Her voice grew steadier, carrying the weight of what she was about to reveal. "Charles has been withholding something far more damning than Krakoa's sentience or the flaws in resurrection. He's been using someone—a mutant whose existence itself has rewritten the course of history. Someone whose powers are beyond comprehension."

Xavier flinched, his hands clenching into fists. "Irene, don't—"

"You don't get to silence me anymore, Charles," Irene snapped, her voice rising with uncharacteristic fury. "This needs to come to light."

Fury's eye narrowed further, his patience visibly wearing thin. "Spit it out, Adler. Who are we talking about?"

Irene's gaze never left Xavier as she spoke. "Moira MacTaggert."

Emma and Magneto stiffened, their postures betraying their discomfort. Fury frowned. "MacTaggert? Isn't she-?"

"A mutant," Irene interrupted. "One whose power isn't flashy or destructive, but it is far more dangerous. Every time Moira dies, her life resets. Everything, her memories, her knowledge, everything she's experienced, is carried over into the next timeline. She has lived through nine lives already. This… this is her tenth."

Fury's expression darkened. "Her life resets? You mean she's rewriting reality every time she kicks the bucket?"

"Precisely," Irene confirmed, her voice bitter. "And Charles has known about it from the beginning. He's been using her resets, her knowledge of past lives, to build Krakoa—to craft this so-called mutant utopia."

Xavier finally found his voice, though it was shaky and defensive. "We weren't trying to manipulate anyone. We were trying to break the cycle—to avoid the destruction of mutantkind."

"By lying to everyone?" Irene shot back. "By playing god with people's lives? You've known all along that Krakoa's foundation was built on sand. Moira's knowledge gave you an edge, but it was never perfect. And now it's all falling apart."

Fury's jaw tightened, his voice low and dangerous. "So, you've been banking on this woman's 'resets' to keep your little experiment afloat. But what happens when she dies again? What happens if this is her last life?"

Xavier didn't respond, his silence more damning than any words could have been. Magneto's usually commanding presence seemed diminished, and even Emma Frost struggled to maintain her icy composure.

Irene's tone grew colder as she pressed on. "You don't understand the full scope of what you've unleashed, Fury. Every reset, Moira has tried something new. Alliances with humans, separation from them, alliances with machines, and none of it worked. Mutants always lose. Always."

The weight of her words settled heavily over the room. Fury's gaze was unwavering as he addressed Xavier. "You've been playing chess with the entire world, hoping that MacTaggert's resets would give you a winning move. And now you've got a viral entity running loose in New York, mutants on the verge of rebellion, and Orchis pulling the strings from the shadows. Tell me, Charles, what's your next brilliant plan?"

Xavier's shoulders slumped, the weight of his decisions finally breaking through his usual stoic facade. "I… I don't know," he admitted quietly, his voice barely audible.

Fury let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "That's what I thought. You've been playing with fire for decades, and now the whole damn world is burning. And here I thought Sinister was the worst thing you had to deal with."

Irene's expression softened, but only slightly. "Moira's resets were meant to save us," she said, her voice quieter now. "But instead, they've only perpetuated the same cycles of destruction. And now, we're facing something entirely new, something that no amount of resets can prepare us for."

She leaned forward, her golden eyes locking onto Fury's. "This virus, this entity that calls itself Peter Parker, wasn't in any of Moira's lives. It's an anomaly. A wild card. And for once, we're flying blind."

Fury exhaled slowly, his gaze hard and unyielding. "Then you'd better hope this Parker thing is as interested in self-control as it seems to be. Because if it isn't…" He let the threat hang in the air, unspoken but fully understood.

The room fell into an uneasy silence, the weight of Irene's revelations pressing down on everyone. Krakoa's golden age was crumbling, and the cracks were only growing of Form

The Quiet Council froze just then as a familiar yet unsettling voice echoed behind them.

"Umm… I found Moira," Peter, or the viral entity that wore his face, announced casually.

The council turned in unison, their collective tension spiking as Peter stepped into view. His form was unnervingly calm, the hood of his sweatshirt pulled up, and his crimson-tinged eyes glinting faintly. He stood just inside the grand chamber, dragging someone behind him. With an almost careless motion, he tossed a bound and thrashing figure to the ground in front of the council. The figure groaned, writhing against the tendrils that held her in place.

"Hi," Peter said, raising a hand in a half-hearted wave, his tone eerily casual given the situation.

The council was too stunned to speak at first. It was Emma Frost who found her voice first, her icy tone betraying her disbelief. "Peter," she began slowly, her eyes narrowing, "what… is this?"

Peter tilted his head innocently. "I found Moira," he repeated, gesturing to the woman on the floor. "She was trying to get to her so-called mutant cure. You know, the one she was planning on releasing early? So I, uh, injected her with it. Figured it'd save everyone some trouble."

The council erupted in a mix of gasps and shouts. Xavier's voice cut through the commotion, sharp and panicked. "You what?!"

Peter shrugged nonchalantly, his expression unreadable. "Don't worry. It's not lethal or anything. I made sure to adjust the dose, she'll live. Probably."

Moira, her face pale and twisted with rage, spat at him. "You insolent monster! Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

Peter leaned down slightly, his expression darkening just enough to be unsettling. "Yeah," he said, his voice quieter but dripping with menace. "I stopped you from playing god again."

Magneto stepped forward, his magnetic aura humming faintly. "How did you even get here?" he demanded. "You're supposed to be in New York."

Peter straightened, his posture relaxed but his presence imposing. "Oh, I swam," he said casually, his crimson-tinged eyes sweeping over the council. "Took me a few minutes, tops."

"You swam?" Emma repeated incredulously. "Across the Atlantic?"

"Yep," Peter confirmed, popping the "p" with unsettling cheerfulness. "Turns out, after consuming that version of Sinister a while back, I picked up a few of his… suspicions. He had a hunch about Moira and her little cure plan. So, I figured I'd do a little investigating. And, well, here we are." He gestured to Moira, still thrashing against her bindings. "You're welcome, by the way."

Irene Adler, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, her golden eyes fixed on Peter. "You're telling us you swam across an ocean, infiltrated Krakoa, and apprehended Moira MacTaggert, all on a hunch?"

Peter nodded, his grin widening slightly. "Pretty much."

"Why?" Xavier asked, his voice trembling. "Why would you involve yourself in this?"

Peter's expression shifted slightly, a flicker of something human, almost pained, crossing his face. "Because I've seen enough of what people like her can do," he said quietly. "And because… I'm still figuring out what the hell I am. But if I can stop someone like her from ruining everything, then maybe I'm not completely… dead, I guess?"

The room fell silent, the weight of Peter's words settling over the council like a heavy blanket. Moira, still bound, glared daggers at him, but her thrashing had slowed as if she realized the futility of her struggle.

"So," Peter said after a moment, clapping his hands together. "What's next? Do I get a medal, or are we going to pretend this never happened?"

The council exchanged uneasy glances, none of them entirely sure how to respond to the entity standing before them. In that moment, Peter wasn't just a threat or an anomaly, he was a wild card, and they all knew it.