Marvel: Viral

Chapter 8: Splitting Headache's, Thanos and Investments

…

The chaos in the SHIELD command center was overwhelming. Agents moved rapidly between stations, barking orders and coordinating search efforts. The atmosphere was suffused with tension, amplified by the grim updates pouring in.

Nick Fury stood at the center of the storm, his expression darker than ever. He slammed a hand down on the table, glaring at the data scrolling across the screens. "How the hell did we miss that signal?! DAMN YOU SINISTER!" he growled, his voice low and lethal. "We knew Sinister was a snake, but activating the damn bombs in their heads? With that hidden signal?! You tell me how that slipped under our radar?!"

Maria Hill stepped forward, holding a tablet. "It wasn't just mutants, sir. The list includes 45 human children resurrected as part of Krakoa's deal with the humans. Sinister targeted them to prove his point."

Fury's eye narrowed. "Tell me you've got something on those frequencies to deactivate them."

"We do," Hill confirmed grimly. "But it's too late for some. The detonations started an hour ago. Most of the victims were among the more recent resurrections."

The room fell silent as the implications settled over everyone present. Fury's jaw tightened as he turned back to the monitors. "Pull up the casualty list."

The screens flickered, and names began to populate. The list was long, each entry representing a life snuffed out in a grotesque act of arrogance and cruelty. The agents surrounding Fury were visibly shaken, some averting their eyes from the names that kept appearing.

"Sir," an agent said, stepping forward hesitantly. "One of the names... it's on the list of children. The girl Emma Frost personally oversaw for resurrection."

Fury glanced sharply at the screen. The name stood out among the others, Amira Al-Farooq. Fury's scowl deepened. "Middle Eastern parents," he muttered, recalling the case. "They raised the clone as their daughter even after the truth came out because they saw that she was innocent in this. Now they've lost her again?"

Hill nodded. "They're pressing charges, sir. Not just against mutants in general who were associated with Krakoa, but specifically against Emma Frost. Other parents of the resurrected children are following suit."

As if the situation couldn't get worse, another report filtered in. Hill scanned it quickly and sighed. "Congress has caught wind of this. They're convening to discuss restarting the Sentinel program. The narrative is spinning out of control."

Fury rubbed his temple, his frustration evident. "Of course they are," he muttered. "Nothing like a good crisis to fan the flames of paranoia." He gestured toward the screen. "What about the remaining mutants and humans resurrected? What's our progress?"

Hill hesitated. "We've managed to deactivate the triggers in over two thousand individuals, but there are still tens of thousands unaccounted for. The task is monumental, sir. Tracking them all down, verifying their identities, deactivating the frequencies, it's going to take time."

"Time we don't have," Fury snapped. "And every second we waste, Sinister's point gets hammered home."

An agent approached with another update. "Sir, protests are erupting across the country. Families of the victims, mutant rights activists, anti-mutant groups—it's chaos. We're seeing an uptick in violence, especially in cities where the detonations occurred."

Fury's fist clenched, his frustration boiling over. "Get me Emma Frost on the line," he ordered. "And get a team on the ground to handle those protests. I want containment, not escalation."

Another agent interjected, her voice tense. "Sir, some of the protesters are demanding Apex intervene. They're claiming he's the only one who can stop Sinister if he's still out there."

Fury exhaled heavily, leaning on the table. "The last thing we need is Apex getting involved in this mess. He's already pissed off enough to level a city."

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of the situation suffocating. Fury looked up, his gaze sweeping across the agents. "We've got a nightmare on our hands, people. And we're running out of time to wake up from it. Start calling in every favor, every resource. I want Sinister found, every mutant tracked, and those damn bombs deactivated before we lose any more lives."

The agents scattered, the hum of activity resuming as Fury stood at the center, his expression steely. Outside the chaos of the command center, the world watched as the fallout from Krakoa's lies unraveled, and the specter of Apex loomed larger with every passing moment.

…

The night was cold, and the streets were quieter than usual. Beneath a dilapidated overpass, a small group of mutants huddled around a makeshift fire, their faces illuminated by its flickering light. Among them were Nightcrawler and Pixie, their usual vibrant spirits dulled by the weight of recent events.

Nightcrawler sat with his back against a crumbling concrete wall, his tail swaying faintly as he held Pixie close. Her head rested against his chest, and she clung to his jacket like it was the only thing keeping her grounded. Despite the warmth of the fire, Pixie trembled.

"They deactivated the bombs," Pixie murmured, her voice hollow, almost disbelieving. "But it doesn't change what's happened, does it?"

Nightcrawler sighed deeply, his golden eyes reflecting the firelight. "Nein, Megan," he said softly, his accent thicker from weariness. "It does not. The scars left behind... they'll remain long after the flames have gone out."

Pixie's wings fluttered faintly, their usual iridescent glow muted. "I never thought it would come to this," she said, her voice cracking. "We had a home, a future. Krakoa was supposed to be a dream. A sanctuary. And now we're..." She trailed off, unable to finish the thought.

"Now we're homeless," Nightcrawler finished gently, his tone tinged with bitterness. "Wandering, displaced... a shadow of what we once were."

Around them, other mutants sat in silence, their faces etched with despair. Former students, warriors, leaders—now reduced to refugees. Nightcrawler's gaze traveled across the group, his heart aching at the sight. So many of them had believed in Krakoa, in its promises of unity and safety. And now, that dream lay in ashes.

"Sinister played us all," Nightcrawler muttered, his voice low but heavy with anger. "He manipulated us, used us, until there was nothing left. And we let him."

Pixie looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "What do we do now, Kurt? How do we even begin to fix this?"

Nightcrawler hesitated, his faith shaken in ways he had never imagined possible. He wanted to offer her hope, to tell her that they would rebuild, that things would get better. But the words wouldn't come. Because deep down, he wasn't sure he believed them himself.

Instead, he wrapped his arms tighter around her, his tail curling protectively. "We survive," he said finally, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. "And we remember. So that the next time someone promises us paradise, we ask questions. We demand the truth."

Pixie nodded slowly, her tears spilling over as she buried her face against his chest. Around them, the fire crackled softly, its light a small but defiant beacon in the darkness.

…

Emma Frost stood in what remained of her once-luxurious office. The windows, usually spotless and gleaming, were now cracked and grimy. The room itself was barren, stripped of the elegance it once held. She leaned against the edge of her desk, her icy demeanor cracked but not entirely broken.

The letter from the parents of Amira Al-Farooq lay open in front of her. The words blurred together as she read them again, the accusations hitting her like physical blows.

"Murderer," one line said.
"Deceiver," another spat.
"You took our child not once, but twice."

Emma's hands tightened into fists, her knuckles white. She closed her eyes, taking a shaky breath. The weight of her failures pressed down on her, suffocating in its intensity. She had thought she could salvage something from the wreckage of Krakoa, but now it was clear—there was nothing left to save. Sinister had ensured that.

Her gaze drifted to a cracked mirror on the wall. Her reflection stared back, cold and unflinching. "This is what he wanted," she said aloud, her voice trembling despite her best efforts. "To leave us with nothing. To make us destroy ourselves."

For the first time in years, Emma felt truly powerless.

…

Pixie watched the fire dance in the barrel, She couldn't shake the image of those children's names on the casualty lists, their smiling faces burned into her mind from when they had played on Krakoa's beaches. The sound of their laughter felt like a distant memory, replaced by the screams she'd seen on the news.

"They're never going to forgive us," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the crackling fire.

Nightcrawler looked at her, his expression somber. "Who, Megan?"

Pixie's wings drooped further as she hugged her knees to her chest. "The world. The families. Ourselves." She bit her lip, her voice trembling. "We were supposed to be the good guys, Kurt. We were supposed to make things better."

"And we failed," Nightcrawler said quietly, his voice heavy with regret. "But we're still here. And as long as we are, we have a chance to do better."

Pixie glanced at him, the faintest glimmer of hope in her tear-streaked eyes. "Do you really believe that?"

Nightcrawler hesitated, his gaze distant. Then, finally, he nodded. "I have to," he said softly. "Because the alternative... is too much to bear."

…

The lab was quiet except for the hum of machinery and the occasional clink of equipment. Miles Morales leaned over a holographic display, his mask pulled back to reveal his exhausted face. His eyes scanned lines of data that blurred together after days of staring at them. The air around him was heavy with tension, the kind that settled in when hope was growing increasingly distant.

Reed Richards stood nearby, his elongated fingers dancing over a control panel. He paused, his face was just as exhausted.

"Miles," he began, his tone carefully measured, "we've run every simulation we can. The virus... it doesn't just adapt—it rewrites itself on a sub-atomic level. Even if we found a solution, it would become obsolete before we could implement it."

Quintin Quire, leaning against a counter with his arms crossed, snorted. "Yeah, it's like trying to punch a black hole. It just absorbs whatever we throw at it and gets stronger. Brilliant design, really, if it weren't, you know, turning your buddy into a living nightmare."

Miles clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening. "So what are you saying? That there's nothing we can do?"

Reed sighed, his usually calm demeanor cracking under the weight of the situation. "What I'm saying is that this virus operates on principles we're only beginning to understand. It doesn't just replicate—it evolves, adapting to any attempt to counter it in real-time. And it's not just in Peter's body anymore. It is Peter."

Miles turned away, his hands gripping the edge of the counter. "I get it, okay? I get that this thing's unbeatable. But Peter's still in there. He's still him. He's still... my friend."

There was a long silence before Gwen Stacy spoke up, her voice soft but steady. "Miles, he's holding on to his humanity. I know he is." She stepped closer, her gaze unwavering. "I've seen it. Rachel's seen it. Do you know she kissed him?"

Miles's head whipped around. "What?"

"She told me about it," Gwen continued, a faint smile forming on her face. "And you know what? She wasn't infected. Not even a little. Because all of him, the virus, the body, everything—has Peter's mind. His personality. His heart. None of it attacked her cells. He didn't let it."

Quintin raised an eyebrow. "Interesting. So it's not just a virus running wild, it's symbiotic, to some degree. He's in control, at least consciously."

"That's the thing," Gwen said, her voice gaining urgency. "He's fighting it to keep his baser instincts from going out of control. Every second of every day, he's fighting to stay Peter. And as long as he's doing that, there's hope."

Miles stared at her, the weight of her words sinking in. "But for how long?" he asked quietly. "How long before he can't control his viral nature anymore?"

Reed spoke again, his tone gentle but scientifically sound. "That's the question, isn't it? Peter's mind is strong—stronger than we ever realized. But the virus is a force of nature, Miles. And forces of nature don't stop."

Miles nodded, his expression resolute despite the hopelessness surrounding them. "Then I'll keep fighting for him," he said. "As long as he's holding on, I will too."

Gwen placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch reassuring. "We all will."

Quintin rolled his eyes, though there was a faint smirk on his lips. "Great. Another hero speech. Let's just hope he doesn't kiss me next. I might not be so lucky."

Despite the tension, a faint chuckle escaped Gwen. Even Reed allowed a small, knowing smile. Miles, however, stayed silent, his thoughts racing. He wouldn't stop. No matter how impossible it seemed, no matter how many simulations failed, he would find a way to help Peter. Because if Peter Parker could keep fighting this monster inside him, then Miles Morales could damn well fight alongside him.

It was then that a crow-like doppelganger flew into the lab with eerie precision, its tendril-like wings rippling and shimmering faintly as it landed on the control panel with a soft, unsettling squelch. Its glowing crimson eyes surveyed the room, shifting from one face to another, as if evaluating them. The creature tilted its head sharply to one side, an oddly human gesture that sent chills through the less familiar faces in the room.

Johnny Storm took a cautious step back, his flames flickering to life instinctively. "Okay, what the hell is that?"

Ben Grimm tensed, his rocky hands flexing. "Tell me I ain't the only one seein' this."

Gwen Stacy stepped forward, her voice calm but weary. "Relax, guys. It's one of Peter's... extensions."

Miles blinked, his head snapping toward Gwen. "Extensions?"

Reed Richards nodded, adjusting the settings on the equipment. "He's... sent these before. Think of it as a living drone, directly tied to Peter's mind. It's still him, just... not entirely."

The crow turned its glowing red gaze to Reed, then to Gwen, dipping its head slightly as if in acknowledgment. "That's one way to put it," it said, its voice smooth, articulate, and unmistakably Peter's. "But I prefer 'messenger.'"

Miles took a hesitant step forward, his heart hammering in his chest. "Peter? Is that... is that really you?"

The crow studied him for a moment, then shifted its attention back to the group. "I'm here," it said. "Or, at least, part of me is. This extension lets me share my thoughts without physically being here." Its tendrils rippled faintly, as though adjusting to its surroundings. "And I've been thinking."

Susan Storm crossed her arms, her expression both wary and curious. "About what?"

The crow paused, its gaze briefly drifting to the scanning equipment before it turned back to the group. "About this... situation," it said slowly. "I know you're working to 'cure' me." There was a faint edge of irony in its tone. "But let's be honest, none of the simulations are panning out, are they?"

Reed stiffened slightly, his fingers twitching over the keyboard. "We're doing everything we can."

"I know you are," the crow said calmly. "And I appreciate the effort. But the virus isn't something you can just... fix. It's not a disease in the traditional sense. It's something else entirely. Adaptive, subatomic, and deeply ingrained in every part of me. That's why I'm here."

The room fell silent, everyone hanging on the doppelganger's words.

"I've been thinking," it continued. "If there's no cure, and let's face it, Dr. Strange confirmed this in about a billion different scenarios, then we need to change how we approach this."

Quintin Quire crossed his arms, his voice skeptical. "And what exactly do you suggest, Mr. Walking Bioweapon?"

The crow turned its glowing eyes to Quire, its tendrils shifting faintly, like muscles tensing. "We start looking at what's possible, instead of what's ideal. Use what I am—what this virus has made me, for something more than just surviving. That's why I sent this extension."

Reed raised an eyebrow, "You want us to use you? How?"

The crow's gaze swept over them all. "I don't have all the answers," it admitted. "But I'm willing to let you take scans, run tests, analyze every inch of what this thing has done to me. I think you'll find that I'm more... versatile than you realize."

Susan frowned. "And why now? Why send this extension?"

The crow's eyes flicked to Miles, its tone softening slightly. "Because of him." It tilted its head, gesturing toward Miles with one tendril. "He hasn't given up on me. Even after everything. I thought... maybe I owe him the chance to try."

Miles stepped forward, his throat tight. "Peter... you're still in there, aren't you?"

The crow's tendrils curled faintly, almost like a shrug. "I'm here. That's all that matters."

Reed finally activated the scanning equipment, the hum of the machines breaking the tense silence. "Alright," he said, his voice resolute. "Let's get to work."

The crow perched perfectly still as the machines began their scans, but its glowing gaze never left Miles. "One more thing," it said, its voice quieter now. "If this doesn't work... if there's no cure..." It paused, the glow of its eyes dimming slightly. "I need you to know I'm not giving up. Not on myself. Not on you. Not on anyone."

The crow's crimson eyes flickered, the faint glow pulsating in time with the hum of the machines. Its tendrils rippled slightly, curling and uncurling as if responding to a sudden shift in thought. The silence in the lab stretched as the crow's head tilted, its glowing gaze locking onto Miles with unnerving precision.

Then, it spoke, its voice quieter now, almost disbelieving. "Wait…"

The words hung in the air, and everyone froze, their attention fully on the crow. The faint ripple of its tendrils stilled as if it had just accessed a long-buried memory.

"I remember you, Miles," the crow said, its tone soft, almost reverent. "I remember… years of conversations with you."

Miles took a small step closer, his heart racing. "You do?"

The crow's head tilted the other way, the glow of its eyes brightening. "I remember… training you," it continued, its voice gaining strength. "The late nights. The talks about responsibility. About the weight of the mask we wear."

The room felt electric with the weight of the realization, everyone watching as Miles' expression shifted from shock to cautious hope.

"You taught me so much," the crow murmured, as though speaking more to itself now. "You reminded me why we do this. Why it matters." Its tendrils twitched, the movement almost hesitant. "It's not all clear, but… pieces are coming back. Faces, moments. I remember… you."

Miles felt a lump in his throat as he stepped closer to the crow, his voice trembling. "Peter… is it really you?"

The crow's crimson eyes softened, its form almost relaxing as it perched. "Yeah," it said, its tone steady. "It's me, Miles. Or, at least, what's left of me."

The lab was silent except for the hum of the scanning equipment, the weight of the moment sinking into everyone. Gwen exchanged a glance with Reed, her expression a mixture of relief and unease, while Johnny and Ben stood speechless, their tension easing just slightly.

Miles' voice broke the quiet. "You're still in there," he said, his confidence growing. "You're still Peter Parker."

The crow tilted its head again, the faintest hint of a smile in its voice as it replied. "And you're still the kid I believed in. Guess we're both still hanging on to something, huh?"

Reed cleared his throat, his hands moving swiftly over the console. "The scans are picking up something… remarkable," he muttered, his voice filled with scientific wonder. "The neural patterns, there's… there's more of him intact than I thought possible."

"Because I'm not just the virus," the crow said, its gaze unwavering on Miles. "I'm still me. At least, the parts of me that matter."

Miles' jaw tightened, his resolve hardening. "Then we'll find a way to bring all of you back."

The crow didn't respond immediately. Instead, it looked at Miles for a long moment before saying softly, "Maybe. But if we don't… I'm glad I remember you."

…

Thanos stood at the helm of his flagship, Sanctuary II, gazing out at the swirling portal his newly acquired gauntlet had torn open to the fabric of reality. The gauntlet, gleaming with malevolent purpose, bore a single stone, the Black Stone, glowing faintly, its dark surface refracting light like shards of an infinite void. Mistress Death herself had bestowed this artifact upon him, promising it could mimic and rival the power of the original Infinity Stones.

He raised his hand, the gauntlet humming with restrained power as the portal expanded. The flagship glided effortlessly through, followed closely by a fleet of warships that cast ominous shadows over the void of space. Thanos's lips curved into a faint smile as his gaze turned toward the faint blue dot in the distance—Earth.

"The bio-weapon," he mused aloud, his voice a rumbling baritone that echoed through the bridge. "This... Apex. It has intrigued Mistress Death, and now it intrigues me. It has defied natural order. Such defiance cannot go uncorrected."

The bridge crew remained silent, their heads bowed in deference to their master. Thanos's golden eyes narrowed as his flagship pierced Earth's atmosphere, the viewport filling with the sprawling skyline of New York City.

With a snap of his gauntleted fingers, a beam of energy erupted from the Black Stone, carving open a portal in the sky above Manhattan. The energy warped and twisted, and the ships of his fleet emerged one by one, their sheer size and number blotting out the sunlight. The unnatural portal crackling like a storm as terrified civilians looked up at the apocalyptic sight.

S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier, Bridge

Nick Fury stood at the center of the chaos, the S.H.I.E.L.D. command center alive with activity. Reports and alerts flashed across the monitors, agents frantically coordinating defenses as Fury scanned the scene with his one good eye.

"Director," Maria Hill called out sharply, "we've got an active incursion in New York airspace. Portal opened directly above Manhattan. Fleet size... massive."

Fury leaned over the terminal, the live feed showing the ominous portal and the ships that now hovered over the city. "Get me visuals," he barked. "Who's leading this damn parade?"

The feed zoomed in, focusing on the massive flagship at the center of the formation. Standing on the bridge, staring directly into the camera, was Thanos. The Mad Titan's expression was calm, calculating, and utterly confident. Fury's jaw tightened as the image of the Black Stone on the gauntlet came into focus.

"Is that... an Infinity Stone?" Hill whispered, leaning closer to the monitor.

"No," Fury muttered, he said. "It's something not seen before."

The screen crackled as a signal was received. Thanos's voice filled the bridge, deep and resonant, dripping with authority and menace.

"People of Earth," he began, his tone calm but with an undercurrent of being used to commanding respect. "I am Thanos as you know from my past exploits. I come not to negotiate, but to correct an imbalance."

Fury's lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze never leaving the monitor.

"I am aware of the abomination you harbor," Thanos continued. "The one you call Apex. A mockery of life and death. I have come to eradicate this pestilence."

Thanos held up the gauntlet, the Black Stone pulsing with dark energy, the individual colors of the other Infinity Stones faintly glowing in response to its power. "You have one hour to present this creature to me. If it does not reveal itself willingly, then I will do what I have always done, I will cleanse this world of half its population."

The room fell into stunned silence, the weight of Thanos's words sinking in like lead.

Hill turned to Fury, her face pale. "Director, he's serious."

"Of course he's serious," Fury snapped, his voice razor-sharp. He turned back to the monitor, his fists clenched. "Open a line to him. Now."

Moments later, Fury stood before a massive screen displaying Thanos's imposing figure. "This is Director Nick Fury of S.H.I.E.L.D.," he said, his voice steady but cold. "You don't get to just waltz in here and start making demands, Thanos."

Thanos's expression remained unchanged, though there was a flicker of amusement in his golden eyes. "You misunderstand, Director Fury. This is not a negotiation. This is an ultimatum. Either you hand over the creature, or your world will burn."

Fury's jaw tightened, his eye darting to the gauntlet. "That stone you're flaunting, none of my people recognize it. But I'll admit, it's giving off some real Infinity Stone vibes. What the hell is it?"

Thanos's lips curled into a faint smile. "This," he said, holding up the gauntlet, "is the Black Stone. A gift from Mistress Death herself. It is beyond your comprehension, as is the power I wield now. And it is the only force capable of restoring balance to the chaos your so-called Apex has unleashed."

Fury's mind raced. "You think this thing's a threat? Newsflash, Thanos, we've been dealing with it just fine without your 'help.'"

Thanos's expression darkened slightly, his eyes narrowing as he folded his hands behind his back. His tone was calm, but there was an undercurrent of authority that left no room for dismissal.

"You don't understand all the facts, Fury," Thanos said, his voice a deep rumble that resonated through the communication line. "Your perspective is limited by the bounds of this singular, fragile world you cling to. Allow me to enlighten you."

Fury arched a brow, leaning slightly forward. "Oh, by all means, enlighten me," he said, sarcasm lacing his tone.

Thanos tilted his head slightly, ignoring Fury's insolence. "This creature you protect, this Apex, it is not merely a threat to your world. Mistress Death herself has revealed its true nature to me. It is not bound by the laws of existence as you understand them. It consumes more than the body, Fury. Anyone it devours... their very soul perishes into a viral limbo. A place where neither life nor death can touch them."

Fury's expression faltered slightly, his jaw tightening as he processed Thanos's words. The room around him was silent, every agent on the bridge frozen as they listened.

"You see now," Thanos continued, his voice steady, "why my mistress is concerned. Why she, and others who oversee the balance of existence, fear what this creature represents. Its very essence is an affront to the natural order. The Living Tribunal itself has acknowledged the danger it poses. Even the Phoenix Force—the embodiment of life, death, and rebirth, has taken notice."

As if to punctuate his words, Thanos raised the Infinity Gauntlet. The Black Stone pulsed with dark energy, and for a brief moment, the flames of the Phoenix Force ignited around it. The golden light of the fire wreathed his hand, controlled and yet searing in its intensity, casting eerie shadows across the bridge.

"Behold," Thanos said, his voice rising slightly, "the power of the Phoenix itself, channeled through this gauntlet. It is only a fraction of what this stone is capable of. Mistress Death did not bestow it upon me lightly. It is a tool to correct imbalances, to prevent forces like Apex from spreading unchecked."

The flames around the gauntlet receded, leaving the Black Stone glowing faintly, like the dying embers of a star. Fury stared at the screen, his mouth pressed into a grim line. His agents exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of Thanos's words hanging heavily in the air.

"And so," Thanos continued, his tone firm but not without a trace of finality, "you face a choice. Deliver Apex to me so that I may end this corruption, or stand aside and let me do what must be done. Refuse me, and I will do what I have always done—I will act to restore balance, by any means necessary. Even if it means cleansing this world of half its population to prevent Apex from spreading further."

Fury exhaled slowly, his gaze hardening. "You think you're the only one trying to protect this world? We've been dealing with Apex just fine without you, and we'll continue to do so. You're not some savior, Thanos. You're just another tyrant looking for an excuse to swing your hammer."

Thanos smirked faintly, his golden eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and warning. "I am not here to argue, Fury. You have an hour to decide. Either hand over the creature... or prepare to face the consequences."

The signal cut off abruptly, the screen going dark. Fury slammed his fist on the console, his jaw clenched as he barked orders to his team. "Get me the Avengers. All of them. Now."

Around him, the bridge erupted into action, but Fury's mind raced. Thanos had given them an ultimatum, and the clock was ticking.

…

heroes from every corner of New York and beyond filled the command center. Captain America stood with arms crossed, his jaw tight. Tony Stark paced back and forth, muttering calculations under his breath. Carol Danvers leaned against the wall, her expression a mix of concern and frustration. Even Rocket Raccoon had perched on a desk, muttering sarcastic remarks to Groot, while the others, Luke Cage, Jessica Jones, Spider-Woman, Squirrel Girl, and Eddie Brock as Venom, stood by, listening intently.

Nick Fury was at the center, addressing the room. "Look, people, we're not dealing with your garden-variety alien invasion. This is Thanos. And this time he's got that new infinity stone. He's demanding Apex, and if we don't comply-."

"He'll kill half the population," Tony interrupted, throwing his hands up. "We know, Fury. What's your big plan, then?"

The room erupted into voices, each hero chiming in with their own idea.

"Why don't we ambush him?" suggested Rocket. "We've taken him down before, haven't we?"

"This isn't the same Thanos," Carol snapped. "That stone he's wielding—it's on a whole other level."

"We should focus on protecting the people," Spider-Woman added. "We can't risk a fight like this spilling into the city."

Miles Morales clenched his fists. "We can't just hand Peter over. There has to be another way."

"Peter can't face him alone," Gwen Stacy argued, stepping closer to Miles. "If Thanos gets his hands on him, who knows what kind of disaster that'll unleash?"

Luke Cage rumbled, "This ain't just about Peter. This is about showing Thanos we don't bow to his threats."

The arguing grew louder, overlapping voices filling the space as the tension rose. Racheal Summers, standing quietly by Peter's side, glanced at him. His expression was unreadable as he stood there, listening to the chaos.

Suddenly, Peter, or Apex, straightened. The room fell silent as his tendrils rippled faintly, drawing all eyes to him. His crimson-tinged gaze swept across the assembled heroes before he spoke, his tone calm so much so that it was unnerving in it's own way.

"Well," Peter began, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, "if Thanos wants to fight me in a duel... it's only fair that I agree to his terms."

A collective murmur rippled through the room, shock and disbelief evident on everyone's faces. Tony Stark threw up his hands. "Are you out of your viral mind?!"

Peter didn't respond immediately. Instead, he turned his attention to Racheal, who was looking at him with wide eyes. He stepped closer to her, his tendrils calming as they retreated into his body. Without hesitation, Peter took the initiative, leaning down and kissing her. For a brief moment, the room seemed to hold its breath as Racheal kissed him back, her hands resting lightly on his chest. The connection between them was apparent in their kiss, as appose to the tension in the room.

When Peter reluctantly pulled away, his crimson eyes softened as he looked at her. "Wish me luck," he said quietly.

Racheal's voice trembled slightly, but she smiled. "You don't need it, but... good luck."

Peter stepped back, his tendrils rippling faintly once more. He addressed the room, his tone practical yet laced with a hint of his dry humor. "I'm going to board a jet to take me to Thanos's flagship. But before I go, I'd appreciate it if you all ensured that Racheal, Aunt May, and everyone else were protected—just in case."

He glanced toward the large screen showing the massive flagship hovering over the ocean. "It's over the water right now, but if that thing happens to fall, whether I win or lose, you should probably have a plan to evacuate the people. Just saying."

Captain America stepped forward. "Peter, you don't have to do this alone. We can-."

Peter solemn look silenced cap as he realized that peter hardly looked that serious after he received his condition.

"I'm doing this because it's the only way to stop him from killing half the planet. And because if anyone's going to take responsibility for this mess... it's me." His voice hardened. "Don't follow me. Don't interfere. And... make sure New York stays standing, no matter what."

With that, Peter turned and strode toward the exit, his form towering and purposeful. The room remained silent as the door closed behind him. The weight of his decision echoed in the meeting space. leaving the heroes with no choice but to trust in him, and prepare for what was to come.

…

A few minutes later on Thanos's flagship…

The arena was an imposing sight, an alien coliseum filled with jagged obsidian spikes and glowing runes etched into its surface. In the center, Thanos stood, his hulking form clad in golden armor, his double-bladed sword glinting under the ominous crimson sky. His infinity gauntlet shimmered with power, the black stone pulsing faintly like a beating heart. Around the edges of the arena, an energy shield thrummed with an otherworldly hum, sealing the battlefield and trapping his adversary inside with him.

When Peter, no, Apex, arrived, his approach was unnervingly quiet. The viral entity walked into the arena with the unhurried pace of someone utterly unconcerned by what awaited him. He didn't speak. He didn't posture. He simply stopped several yards from Thanos, his crimson-glowing eyes locking onto the Titan with an intensity that made even Thanos shift uncomfortably.

For all his arrogance and confidence, Thanos couldn't deny it, those eyes unnerved him. They weren't the eyes of Peter Parker, the man he'd studied and dismissed as just another human with gifts. These eyes were something else entirely, something that stared back at him with the depth of an endless void. A limbo. A place devoid of life or death. It wasn't fear that Thanos felt, it was something else. A chill that crawled up his spine and settled there.

"You came," Thanos said, his voice reverberating through the arena, his sword resting across his shoulder. "Impressive. Few have ever had the courage to meet me on my terms."

Peter tilted his head slightly, as if studying him. "Courage?" he said, his tone calm, almost detached. "No. Curiosity. I wanted to see if this... duel of yours would actually work."

Thanos narrowed his eyes. He wasn't used to being talked to this way, certainly not by someone he considered an inferior. But he dismissed it as bravado. Soon, this Apex would understand the magnitude of the mistake he had made by facing him.

Without a word, Thanos raised the gauntlet, the black stone flaring to life. The ground beneath them trembled as a pulse of dark energy erupted toward Peter, the force powerful enough to vaporize anything in its path. Thanos smirked. He expected resistance, but he knew the power of his enhanced gauntlet. This fight would be short-lived.

The blast hit Peter squarely, enveloping him in a cascade of raw energy. The ground cracked and scorched beneath him, and for a moment, Thanos allowed himself a small, satisfied grin. But as the dust cleared, his smirk faltered.

Peter, or what remained of him, was still standing. His veins glowed faintly, bright red tendrils of energy coursing through his viral mass like molten lava. His body convulsed slightly, but not in pain, in something else. Something worse.

Thanos frowned. "Impossible."

Peter raised a hand, examining it as if he were conducting a casual experiment. "Huh," he muttered, his voice laced with a faint trace of amusement. "That was... interesting." He looked back at Thanos, his glowing veins pulsing brighter. "I think you just made things worse for yourself."

Thanos's gauntlet flickered, and his gaze dropped to the black stone. The light had dimmed slightly. No, it wasn't dimming, it was being drained. Peter's viral form was absorbing the energy, feeding on it, as though the attack had only served to strengthen him.

"What... are you?" Thanos growled, his voice tinged with rare uncertainty.

Peter didn't answer. Instead, his glowing veins began to pulse faster, the light growing brighter with each passing second. His body trembled, his tendrils slithering wildly as if barely containing the energy coursing through him. The ground beneath him cracked and buckled, heat radiating off his form.

Thanos barely had time to react before it happened. Peter erupted like a miniature nuclear device, a massive shockwave of red-and-black energy exploding outward. The arena trembled violently as a mushroom cloud of viral power scorched the air, the heat so intense that the very stone of the coliseum began to melt.

Thanos was launched backward, his massive form crashing into the energy shield with enough force to shatter part of it. He groaned, smoke rising from his armor as he struggled to his feet, his sword clattering to the ground.

When the smoke cleared, Thanos's eyes widened in disbelief. At the center of the blast zone, where Peter had been, a writhing mass of red and black tendrils coalesced, slowly reforming into a solid shape. Piece by piece, the viral entity rebuilt itself, the tendrils snapping into place like living puzzle pieces. Within moments, Peter stood there once again, entirely intact, his crimson eyes glowing brighter than ever.

"You were saying?" Peter asked, his voice calm, as if he hadn't just obliterated half the arena.

Thanos's grip tightened on his gauntlet, his jaw clenching. For the first time in centuries, the Mad Titan felt something he had long forgotten.

Genuine terror.

Thanos gritted his teeth, rising unsteadily to his feet. His armor was scorched and cracked, and his gauntlet sparked faintly, its once-imposing glow reduced to intermittent flickers. Peter, or Apex, stood in the epicenter of the devastation, his form radiating an otherworldly energy that seemed to warp the air around him. The arena was a wasteland, molten stone dripping from shattered walls, the heat distorting the space like a mirage.

Peter tilted his head, his crimson eyes locking onto Thanos. "You're afraid," he said, his tone soft yet cutting. "I can see it. I can feel it."

Thanos summoned his sword, the massive blade trembling slightly as he gripped it with both hands. His posture was defensive now, his usual arrogance replaced by a calculating desperation. "You're nothing but a parasite," he spat, though his voice lacked its usual conviction. "You cannot hope to match me."

Peter smirked faintly, his body trembling with the residual energy he had absorbed. "You still don't get it, do you?" His right arm began to morph, the black and red tendrils twisting and snapping into place until it formed a massive hammer-fist. The glowing veins within the appendage pulsed ominously as he raised it, the very air around it vibrating with raw power. "You're fighting a literal talking virus…"

Thanos roared, charging forward with his blade raised high. He swung with all his might, the blade carving through the air toward Peter's head. But Peter moved like a blur, his hammer-fist slamming into the blade with a force that shattered it into a thousand shards. The shockwave from the impact sent Thanos staggering backward, his footing unsteady.

Before he could recover, Peter's other arm shifted into a grotesque scythe, its jagged edges gleaming as it sliced through the air. Thanos barely managed to raise the gauntlet in defense, the scythe scraping against it with a screech that reverberated across the arena. Sparks flew as the clash forced Thanos to his knees.

Peter didn't let up. His tendrils lashed out, wrapping around Thanos's arms and legs, hoisting the Mad Titan into the air. With a casual flick of his wrist, Peter slammed Thanos into the ground, the impact creating a crater beneath him. The tendrils lifted him again, only to repeat the motion, over and over, each slam more brutal than the last.

Thanos growled, channeling the power of the gauntlet into a desperate counterattack. A blast of pure cosmic energy erupted from his hand, engulfing Peter in a blinding explosion. The arena shuddered, the heat from the blast melting what little remained of the stone beneath their feet.

But when the light faded, Peter was still standing, his form glowing even brighter than before. He flexed his arms, the tendrils shifting and twisting as if feeding off the energy. "You're just giving me more to work with," he said, almost bored. His left arm morphed again, this time forming a chainsaw-like appendage that roared to life with an ear-piercing screech.

He lunged at Thanos, the chainsaw tearing through the remnants of the Titan's armor. Sparks and shrapnel flew as Thanos roared in pain, his once-impenetrable defenses reduced to scraps. Peter's hammer-fist came next, slamming into Thanos's chest and sending him skidding across the ground.

The arena began to collapse, the weight of the battle too much for its structure to bear. Stone pillars crumbled, and the energy shield around the battlefield flickered, struggling to contain the sheer force of their clash.

Thanos, bloodied and battered, staggered to his feet. He hurled his broken sword at Peter, the blade spinning through the air like a last-ditch effort. But Peter swatted it away effortlessly with his hammer-fist, the weapon clattering uselessly to the ground.

"You're done," Peter said, his voice cold and final. He lunged forward, his hammer-fist slamming into Thanos with enough force to shatter the remnants of his armor. The impact sent the Mad Titan crashing into the crumbling arena wall, the structure collapsing around him.

As the dust settled, Peter stood amidst the destruction, his form unscathed. He glanced at Thanos's battered figure, his crimson eyes glowing with a quiet intensity. "This is your last chance," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Walk away, or I'll make sure you don't get back up."

The battle raged on for forty grueling minutes, each second an escalating symphony of violence that reshaped the arena into an apocalyptic wasteland. The once-pristine coliseum had become a molten, cratered battlefield, glowing with the aftermath of relentless energy blasts, shrapnel, and viral tendrils tearing through everything in their path.

Thanos was a force of nature, wielding the modified Infinity Gauntlet with a mastery that had felled entire civilizations. Each stone, channeled through the Black Stone, unleashed devastation unparalleled—blasts of raw cosmic energy, gravitational distortions, and searing flames imbued with the essence of the Phoenix Force. Every attack was an attempt to end this abomination before him.

Yet, each time Apex fell, he rose again.

Thanos launched himself at Apex, swinging his massive blade with the strength of a god. The sword cut through Peter's torso, splitting him cleanly in half. For a moment, it seemed like victory. Peter's upper half dropped to the ground with a wet thud, the lower half crumpling shortly after.

But before Thanos could catch his breath, the severed top half began to writhe. Red-and-black tendrils burst from the stump, latching onto the ground. The lower half responded, extending similar tendrils that slithered and crawled toward their counterpart. They pulled together, snapping into place like a grotesque puzzle piece. Within seconds, Apex was whole again.

"Nice try," Peter taunted, his voice laced with venom. His crimson eyes gleamed, his lips curling into a faint smirk as if mocking Thanos's effort. "You'll need to do better."

Thanos roared in frustration, raising the gauntlet high. The Black Stone flared, channeling the combined might of the Infinity Stones once more. A blinding beam of Phoenix-infused fire erupted from his palm, the flames roaring like a solar storm as they engulfed Apex. The heat was unbearable, melting the very stone beneath their feet, turning the battlefield into a molten sea of lava.

For a moment, it seemed like it was working. Apex's form burned, his tendrils writhing in agony as the fire consumed him. Thanos gritted his teeth, pouring more power into the blast. "Burn, you pestilence!" he snarled, his voice echoing through the arena.

But then, something horrifying happened. The flames didn't destroy Apex—they fueled him. His viral form absorbed the Phoenix's fire, his veins glowing brighter and brighter until his entire body was alight with the stolen energy. His tendrils thickened, their edges hardening into razor-sharp blades, and his molten form became fireproof, a walking inferno of viral destruction.

The firestorm ended with a crack as the Black Stone dimmed, the Phoenix's power expended. Thanos stared in disbelief as Peter emerged from the flames, unharmed and more terrifying than ever. "You're just making me stronger," Peter said, his voice cold, devoid of emotion. He flexed his hands, the glowing veins pulsing brighter as the ground cracked beneath him. "You can't win this."

Thanos's jaw clenched, his armor battered and smoking. He raised the gauntlet again, but the stones flickered weakly. He pushed the Black Stone to its limit, attempting to channel its combined might one final time.

A crack splintered through the air. The Black Stone fractured, its surface splintering like glass as it expelled the last of its power. The glowing runes on the gauntlet faded, and the stones dulled. Thanos looked at the gauntlet in disbelief, his weapon rendered useless.

"No..." he muttered, his voice trembling with uncharacteristic fear.

Peter tilted his head, watching with unsettling calm as the gauntlet's power sputtered out. "Looks like you're out of tricks," he said, his tone almost pitying. He began to walk toward Thanos, each step deliberate, the ground trembling beneath his weight.

Thanos lunged, swinging his blade with desperate fury. Peter responded by morphing his arm into a massive hammer-fist, meeting the blade mid-swing. The impact shattered the weapon, sending shards flying across the battlefield. Thanos staggered back, his defenses crumbling.

"You're done," Peter said coldly. His hammer-fist morphed into a scythe, slicing through Thanos's armor with terrifying precision. Each strike was brutal, relentless, leaving the Mad Titan bloodied and gasping for breath.

The arena groaned under the strain of their battle, the collapsing structure a testament to the sheer brutality of the fight. Thanos managed to land a few hits, slicing through Peter's torso with his remaining strength. But each time, Peter's viral form regenerated, his body reassembling itself with horrifying efficiency.

The final blow came with a deafening roar. Peter's tendrils wrapped around Thanos, lifting him into the air. The viral entity reared back, his scythe-arm transforming into a massive hammer-fist once more. With a sickening crack, Peter slammed Thanos into the ground, the force of the impact shattering the arena floor and sending shockwaves through the collapsing coliseum.

Thanos lay there, broken and battered, his gauntlet shattered, his armor in ruins. Smoke rose from his battered form, and for the first time, the Mad Titan looked defeated.

Peter stood over him, his crimson eyes glowing like embers. "You wanted a duel," he said softly, his voice cutting through the chaos like a knife. "Now you got one."

Peter's hammer-fist morphed back into a normal hand—or at least, as normal as his viral mass allowed. He stood over Thanos, his expression unreadable, his glowing crimson eyes dimming slightly. For a moment, there was only silence, broken only by the faint groans of the Mad Titan as he lay battered on the shattered stonework, too weakened to rise.

Peter exhaled, his gaze flicking down to Thanos. "This isn't satisfying," he muttered, almost to himself. "This... this just feels sad." He turned, his back to Thanos, his tendrils curling and retreating into his form as he began to walk away.

Thanos groaned, his head shifting slightly to watch Peter's retreating figure. The once-proud conqueror, the scourge of the cosmos, was now reduced to a broken heap. Peter didn't look back, his steps steady, each one echoing through the ruined arena.

Reaching the edge of the collapsed coliseum, Peter glanced up at the shimmering energy shield surrounding the battlefield. Beyond it, the Black Order watched in stunned silence, their expressions ranging from fear to disbelief. Peter raised a hand and knocked on the translucent barrier, the sound echoing sharply in the quiet.

"Uh... excuse me," Peter said, his tone almost casual. "Does this mean I can go home now? I mean... he challenged me to a duel, and it looks like it's over. Unless he wants round two, but honestly..." He glanced over his shoulder at Thanos, who groaned weakly. "...I don't think he's up for it."

The Black Order exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to respond. Peter tilted his head, his glowing eyes narrowing slightly. "Also, if we're done here, maybe you should... you know, take your ships and leave? I've got things to do before tonight." He tapped the shield again, his tone almost playful. "Dinner plans, you know how it is."

Corvus Glaive stepped forward, his voice strained. "You... you dare mock us?"

Peter shrugged. "I mean... kind of?" He gestured to the destroyed arena, the broken figure of Thanos behind him. "Let's be real here, you guys dragged me out for this. I showed up, and... well, you can see how it went."

Proxima Midnight clenched her fists, her gaze darting between Peter and Thanos. "You're lucky he spared you as long as he did."

Peter chuckled, shaking his head. "Spared me? Lady, he threw everything he had at me, including that weird Phoenix power, and look how that turned out." He leaned closer to the shield, his voice dropping to quieter tone. "Spoiler alert—it didn't work."

The Black Order looked uneasy, their confidence shaken as Peter's tendrils rippled faintly, his form shifting as though it were barely contained. "So," Peter continued, straightening up, "you can drop the shield, pack up your toys, and leave. Or..." His tone darkened slightly, the faint glow of his eyes intensifying. "We can keep going. Your call."

The Black Order hesitated, their eyes shifting toward Thanos, who lay motionless on the ground, his breathing labored. The weight of their leader's defeat was blatantly apparent, and even they knew the battle was lost.

Finally, Ebony Maw stepped forward, his voice calm but strained. "Very well," he said, raising a hand. "You may leave. But know this, should Thanos choose to pursue this, we are not obligated to stop him."

Peter rolled that around for a moment then nodded, "Sure thing…" he muttered as the energy shield dissolved around him. Without another word, he turned and began walking back towards the hangar bay where his jet was located.

As the shattered arena grew quiet, the last thing they heard was Peter's faint voice, muttering to himself, "Dinner plans... maybe I'll get meatloaf."

…

The jet touched down on the landing platform outside S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mobile command center with a smooth hum, its sleek form gleaming under the fading sunlight. Nick Fury stood with his arms crossed, flanked by the gathered Avengers, Guardians of the Galaxy, and other assorted heroes. Their eyes were fixed on the jet, not knowing what would emerge.

The hangar ramp lowered with a hydraulic hiss, and out stepped Peter—or Apex, as some had come to call him. His form was steady, his crimson eyes glowing faintly as he descended the ramp with an almost casual gait. Behind him, Thanos's flagship and its fleet were already retreating into the void of space, their engines glowing like distant stars.

For a moment, no one spoke. , the weight of the unknown pressing down on them all. Finally, Rocket broke the silence, his curiosity—and lack of tact—winning out.

"Well?" Rocket blurted, his voice cutting through the quiet. "What happened in there? Did you, like... melt his face off or something?"

Peter stopped at the bottom of the ramp, his tendrils rippling faintly under his surface like restless shadows. He glanced at Rocket, then at the others, his expression unreadable. "What happened?" he echoed, his voice calm, almost detached. "I... bludgeoned him."

The group exchanged uncertain glances, waiting for him to elaborate. Peter tilted his head slightly, his gaze distant as if recalling the events. "I knocked him out. He was groaning by the end of it. It was..." He paused, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. "Kind of sad."

"Sad?" Carol Danvers asked, raising an eyebrow. "You're saying you felt bad for Thanos?"

Peter shrugged faintly, his tone matter-of-fact. "Yeah. I mean, the guy threw everything he had at me—stones, powers, his sword, you name it. And for what? To get tossed around like a rag doll? By the time I was done, he looked... pathetic. So I left him there."

Rocket's jaw dropped. "You left him? Just like that?"

"Yeah," Peter replied, his tone flat. "I didn't see the point in finishing him off. Besides," he added with a faint smirk, "he's probably rethinking a few life choices right now."

Fury's one eye narrowed as he stepped forward, his voice sharp. "You're telling me you didn't finish the job? Thanos is still alive?"

Peter turned to Fury, his expression cool and unyielding. "Would you have wanted me to? Because I can go back if you really feel strongly about it."

Fury opened his mouth to respond but stopped, his jaw tightening. He knew better than to challenge Peter in this state.

Gamora crossed her arms, her gaze sharp. "You're gambling that he won't just come back for round two."

Peter reached into his writhing mass of tendrils, his expression remaining calm as he extracted a folded piece of paper-like material. It glowed faintly with a strange, alien energy, its texture resembling a hybrid of parchment and organic fiber. He held it out for Fury to take, his crimson eyes glinting faintly in the dim light.

"This," Peter said, his voice even, "is the official galactic document. Signed by Thanos himself. I thought you might appreciate some... closure."

Fury stepped forward, cautiously taking the document from Peter's hand. The material felt alive, pulsing faintly with an otherworldly warmth. He unfolded it, and the heroes crowded closer to get a look. The document was written in an elegant script that shifted between languages as they read, translating itself to suit the reader's understanding.

…

GALACTIC TERMS OF NON-ENGAGEMENT

By the authority of the galactic powers and under the observation of Mistress Death, let it be known that:

I, Thanos, the Mad Titan, hereby renounce any future engagements or hostilities against the inhabitants of the planet designated "Earth."

The entity known as Apex, or Peter Parker, is acknowledged as an adversary beyond my current capabilities. I do not wish to encounter this... abomination again.

Any attempt to engage Earth or its denizens further would be an unnecessary waste of resources and pride. The matter is hereby concluded.

I, Thanos, swear upon my honor and my mistress 'Mistress Death' that I shall not return to this miserable rock under penalty of disgrace and destruction.

Signed begrudgingly and under duress,

Thanos, the Mad Titan

…

Gamora's gaze lingered on the document, her sharp green features illuminated by the faint glow of its alien energy. She exhaled softly, almost to herself, before speaking in a low, measured tone.

"My father may be many things," she said quietly, her voice carrying weight. "but a liar is not one of them. Once he gives his word, he keeps it." Her amber eyes flicked to the others, her expression unwavering. "His honor demands it."

Everyone fell silent at her words, the weight of her statement settling heavily on the group. For all the atrocities Thanos had committed, for all the destruction he had wrought, the one undeniable truth was his adherence to his own twisted code of honor.

Rocket shifted uncomfortably, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, that's... reassuring, I guess. If you call 'not murdering us again' honorable."

Carol's jaw tightened, her skepticism giving way to reluctant acceptance. "Guess we'll just have to take your word for it."

Gamora didn't respond, her gaze dropping back to the document. For a brief moment, her thoughts seemed far away, as if grappling with the conflict of what her father was... and what he wasn't.

…

Later that night at the mutant homeless encampment…

Rachel Summers sat on a weathered bench beside a glowing fire pit, her arms crossed as she exchanged quiet words with Gwen Stacy and Jean Grey. The mutant encampment nestled deep within the shadowed alleys of New York was no longer as bleak as it had once been. What had been a collection of makeshift shelters and tattered tarps had now transformed into temporary housing and comfort. Peter, or Apex as the world still hesitated to call him, had made certain of that.

"Can you believe it?" Gwen said, running a hand through her blonde hair, her voice low but tinged with amazement. "A billion-dollar building. Bought outright. No rent, no strings attached. Just... handed to them."

Jean folded her arms, leaning back against the bench. "He's making moves no one expected. This isn't just about charity; he's trying to give them dignity." She sighed, her gaze drifting to the newly constructed apartment building that now stood like a beacon near the edge of the camp. "It's still strange to think that he's doing all this. After everything he's been through."

Rachel smiled faintly, her gaze fixed on the building as well. "It was my idea to have him check in on them. He didn't need much convincing, honestly. He acts like it's just business, but…" She hesitated, her expression softening. "You can tell he cares. It's in the little things he does."

Jean nodded thoughtfully. "Like those meals. Did you hear about what he's been feeding them? Actual fresh food. No processed junk."

"And beds," Gwen added with a grin. "Real beds. Some of them haven't had one of those in a while, some have been homeless even before the Krakoan debacle.

Rachel nodded. "Seventeen operatives. They were holed up in a hideout outside the city, plotting how to get to him. Turns out, their ringleader wasn't just an arms trafficker—he was the kind of guy who had half the world looking for him. Shield. Interpol. The FBI. You name it."

Gwen's eyes widened. "Wait, how much were they worth? Altogether?"

Rachel smirked. "Get this: the combined bounties on their heads, between the arms trafficker, his thirteen henchmen, and the rest of the hitmen, added up to just over $1.8 billion."

Gwen let out a low whistle. "Holy... That's insane."

Jean shook her head, her lips curving into a wry smile. "Leave it to Peter to turn a den of mercenaries into a billion-dollar windfall. And then use it to house mutants."

Rachel's expression grew more thoughtful as she leaned back again. "He even negotiated a deal with the ringleader. Promised him decent meals and a bed while in custody. Peter might be a viral bio-weapon of mass destruction, but he still has a sense of fairness."

"Fairness?" Gwen asked, raising an eyebrow. "He tossed seventeen people to the authorities, some of whom were armed traffickers and killers."

Rachel shrugged. "Yeah, but they're alive. That's saying something."

Jean chuckled softly, shaking her head. "It's more than they deserve."

As they spoke, a few mutants passed by, many of them nodding in gratitude toward Rachel, Gwen, and Jean. The encampment was alive with quiet murmurs of relief and thanks, a stark contrast to the fear and bitterness that had hung over it before. Groups of mutants, led by figures like Magneto, Polaris, Wanda, and Quicksilver, had found a semblance of hope again.

A younger mutant approached their group hesitantly, clutching a small plate of food. "Rachel Summers?" he asked, his voice nervous.

Rachel turned, her expression softening. "That's me."

The boy hesitated, then managed a small smile. "Tell him... Tell Peter that we're grateful. For everything. We were scared of him at first, but now… He's given us something we haven't had in a long time. A future."

Rachel's smile widened as she nodded. "I'll let him know."

As the boy walked away, Gwen crossed her arms, her gaze drifting back to the building. "He's definitely left an impression. Not just here, either. The news about him warding off Thanos? It's everywhere."

Jean frowned slightly. "And with that comes more attention. I just hope he knows what he's doing."

Rachel's gaze turned distant as she looked toward the fire. "He knows. Peter's always known what he's doing. Even when the world doubted him."

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, the glow of the fire flickering across their faces. Around them, the camp stirred with muted activity, the warmth of hope spreading through its residents. Despite the unease and uncertainty that lingered in the air, one thing was certain: Peter Parker, Apex or not, had changed everything for them.

…

The makeshift mutant encampment was alive with muted activity under the setting sun. A few fires crackled in metal barrels, providing warmth for those huddled around them. Rachel Summers, Gwen Stacy, and several others were seated near one of the central spots, quietly discussing the latest developments in their chaotic lives. They weren't expecting much in the way of excitement tonight.

That was until Peter, or Apex, as the world knew him now, strolled in, casually brushing dust off his jacket. His crimson eyes glowed faintly in the low light, and his tendrils rippled lazily under his skin as he approached the group. He looked unusually... relaxed. Almost smug.

Rachel caught his expression first, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "You're in a good mood. What happened? Save a puppy? Stop another hit squad?"

Peter raised a brow at her, smirking faintly. "Funny you should ask. Actually, it was three jobs this time."

Gwen sat forward, her spider-sense tingling faintly at the way Peter was phrasing things. "Three? What kind of jobs are we talking about here?"

Peter took his time, sitting down on an overturned crate before addressing the group, his voice calm, almost too casual. "Well... let's see. First, I took care of a couple of gangs who were operating in the New York area from South America, smuggling drugs. Two big ones. Forty members in one gang, thirty-seven in the other."

Rachel blinked, her head tilting. "You... took out two entire gangs?"

He held up a hand. "Relax. I didn't kill anyone. Just rounded them all up and handed them over to the proper authorities. But here's the fun part—their leaders? They were high-priority bounties. Really high priority. One was worth $286,459,000, the other $250,122,000. And that's not counting the smaller bounties on their henchmen. Total take from that job came to..." He paused for dramatic effect. "$1,287,670,450.00."

Gwen's jaw dropped. "Wait... what?! That's just the first job?"

Peter nodded, his smirk widening. "Second job was a bit closer to home. Russian Spetsnaz operatives, sixteen of them, staking out the hospital where Aunt May is recovering." His tone darkened briefly, but he continued. "Turns out they were pretty high-value themselves. Espionage, assassinations, illegal infiltration... some real nasty stuff. Their combined bounties added up to $452,007,000.00."

Rachel stared at him, her expression torn between awe and disbelief. "You're serious. That's... that's insane."

"I know, right?" Peter said, shrugging. "But wait, there's more."

Gwen leaned forward, her hands gripping her knees. "There's no way this gets crazier."

Peter chuckled darkly. "Oh, it does. Third job was... unique. A suicide bomber packing modified Stark tech. You wouldn't believe how many governments wanted this guy taken out alive. His bounty list? Let's just say it spanned at least a dozen countries, all competing to pay the most. Grand total? $6,023,549,080.00."

The group fell silent, the staggering numbers settling over them like a physical weight.

"You're telling me," Rachel began slowly, "that in the span of, what, a few days, you made..."

Peter finished for her. "$7,763,226,530.00. Give or take a few cents."

Gwen gawked at him. "That's... that's not just money. That's a freakin' GDP!"

Peter shrugged again, unbothered. "Well, when you're dealing with international criminals, terrorists, and assassins, the bounties tend to stack up. Plus, I've been pretty busy."

Rachel narrowed her eyes at him, though her lips quirked in a faint smile. "And what, exactly, are you planning to do with all that money, Mr. Billionaire?"

Peter paused for a moment, gesturing toward a towering building down the street where dozens of mutants were milling about, moving boxes and belongings into their new homes. The building gleamed under the city lights, its modest yet modern design a stark contrast to the dilapidated structures around it.

"That," Peter said simply, his tone soft, the building that the mutants have started moving into as you probably know by now, but there's more." Rachel and Gwen followed his gaze, their eyes widening as they took in the scene. The mutants were visibly relieved, some smiling for the first time in what felt like ages. Children ran through the lobby with laughter, their footsteps echoing against the polished floors.

"I paid for that building outright," Peter continued. "Enough to house every mutant who was struggling out here. Full kitchens, real beds, heat, and running water. No frills, just the basics to give them dignity again."

Gwen's voice was quiet, almost reverent. "That's... incredible, Peter."

Peter shrugged, the faintest flicker of a smile crossing his face. "It's not just about them, though. There's more."

He turned back to the group, his crimson eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. "First, I paid off Aunt May's hospital bills. Every cent. Plus, I covered the repair costs for her apartment—enough to bring it back to how it was before the missile incident. That one was personal."

Rachel's lips quirked in a faint smile. "Of course it was."

"Second," Peter went on, "I donated a hefty chunk to charities focused on cancer research and children's hospitals. They're doing good work, and I figured they could use the boost."

Gwen's eyebrows shot up. "How hefty are we talking?"

"Couple hundred million," Peter said offhandedly. "Spread across a few places."

Rachel and Gwen exchanged wide-eyed glances, but Peter wasn't done.

"Third, I set up investments for the city, funds the government can tap into in case the infrastructure takes another hit during one of my... adventures." He grimaced faintly at the term. "It's a contingency plan. Damage is inevitable, but recovery doesn't have to be a nightmare."

"Fourth," he added, "animal shelters. Every one I could find in the city. Full funding for the next decade. Food, medical care, adoption drives—you name it."

Gwen blinked. "Animal shelters? That's... really sweet."

Peter shrugged again. "Some of them were almost out of resources. Figured it was worth it."

"Fifth, universities. Scholarships, grants, new programs. Focused on the sciences, medicine, and engineering. If people are smarter, maybe they won't have to deal with messes like mine in the future."

Rachel tilted her head, her expression softening. "That's thoughtful."

"Sixth, orphanages," Peter continued, his tone growing quieter. "Especially for mutant kids—the ones whose parents gave them up when they found out resurrection wasn't real. Some of them are here in this building. I've covered their housing, medical expenses, and schooling. They didn't ask for any of this. They deserve better."

The mention of the mutant children hung heavily in the air. Rachel's gaze dropped, memories of Krakoa's lies and the fallout that followed flashing through her mind. Gwen looked away, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"And seventh," Peter said, his voice turning reflective, "I've started setting up a broader network. Not just in New York, but globally. A safety net for people who get left behind. Mutants, humans... anyone who needs help."

For a moment, the group was silent, the weight of his words and actions settling over them. Finally, Rachel stepped forward, as she smiled at him. "Peter... you've done more for people than most of us ever could. You should be proud."

Peter tilted his head slightly, his glowing eyes meeting hers. "It's not about pride," he said softly. "It's about fixing what's broken. I've been a part of a lot of destruction... this is my way of trying to balance the scales."

Gwen smiled faintly. "Well, you're doing a damn good job of it."

Peter gave a small, almost sheepish nod before his tendrils rippled faintly, a sign he was ready to move on. "Anyway... I've got more errands to run. Dinner plans tonight—can't miss those."

Rachel smiled, her voice teasing. "Meatloaf?"

"Always," Peter replied with a rare grin before turning and walking toward the building where Aunt May was recovering. The group watched him go, their expressions a mix of admiration, and gratitude.

Deep down he was still peter, no matter what anyone thought.