Spider-Man: Bite of Destiny
A Spider-Man Fanfiction By Mithos
Special thanks to Chibiwise
Arc 1:Spider Rising
Chapter One:Great Power
The fluorescent lights of the NeoGen Research Facility cast an eerie glow over the long, sterile hallways. The hum of machines and the occasional hiss of pressure valves filled the air as groups of Midtown High students wandered through the facility on their school trip, guided by white-coated scientists.
Among them was Peter Parker, fifteen years old, slight of build, and perpetually burdened with an oversized backpack stuffed with notebooks and cameras. His eyes gleamed with curiosity as he scrawled notes, absorbing every bit of information about the Neo-Genic Recombinator. It was a device unlike anything he had ever seen—designed to splice traits from insects into their own genetic code. In theory, it could be used to treat genetic disorders, but in the wrong hands... well, Peter had read enough sci-fi to know how that story ended.
"Come on, Pete, you're acting like you're gonna marry this thing," Gwen Stacy teased, elbowing him. She was decked out in a band tee, ripped jeans, and a studded choker, her bleach-blonde hair cut in a shaggy style with neon-pink tips. "At least buy it dinner first."
Peter huffed. "Gwen, this could change the world. Think about it—fixing DNA defects, curing disease, even enhancing the human body. It's like something out of a comic book!"
"Right, 'cause that always goes well," Hobie Brown quipped. The athletic teen leaned casually against a wall, arms crossed over his chest. Despite his easy-going demeanor, there was a sharpness in his dark eyes. "People don't just make stuff like this for fun, mate. There's always a catch."
"Can't we just enjoy the field trip?" Harry Osborn muttered. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his designer jacket, his father's wealth reflected in his pristine sneakers and neatly styled hair. "I don't need another reason to have nightmares about my dad trying to inject himself with something."
Before Peter could respond, a loud argument caught his attention.
"Farley, you don't understand what we're dealing with!" Dr. Miles Warren's voice was strained, his graying hair a mess as he gripped Dr. Stillwell's arm. "The recombinator is unstable! We need to slow down the experiments!"
Dr. Farley Stillwell, a taller man with sharp features and a permanent scowl, yanked his arm away. "You're being overly cautious, Miles. We're on the verge of a breakthrough! The Board wants results!"
Peter's journalistic instincts kicked in. Ignoring the nagging voice in his head—one that sounded an awful lot like his Uncle Ben—he crept closer, camera ready. He ducked behind a workstation, snapping a few photos through the cluttered lab equipment.
Then, the explosion happened.
A pressure valve ruptured, sending a shockwave through the lab. Specimen tanks shattered, spilling dozens of genetically-altered insects into the air. Peter barely had time to react before he was shoved aside by Dr. Warren, hitting the cold floor with a grunt.
"Kid, get out of here!" Stillwell barked, stumbling back as flames licked the edges of the room.
Peter's heart pounded. His uncle's voice echoed in his head: With great power comes great responsibility.
He couldn't just run.
Ignoring his own fear, Peter scrambled to his feet and grabbed Stillwell's arm, dragging the dazed scientist toward the exit. But as he moved, something small and fast scurried up his sleeve.
A spider.
Not just any spider—one of the Neo-Genic subjects, pulsing with unnatural red and blue patterns along its body. Before Peter could react, he felt a sharp, piercing sting on the back of his hand.
Pain shot through him like fire in his veins. His head swam, his vision blurred. The last thing he saw before everything went dark was Gwen, Harry, and Hobie rushing toward him, their voices panicked, calling his name.
Then, the world faded away.
And Peter Parker's life changed forever.
Peter's world was fire.
His skin felt like it was peeling away, layer by layer, like acid was coursing through his veins instead of blood. Every nerve in his body screamed, yet he couldn't move, couldn't speak. His limbs trembled, and his breath came in ragged gasps.
"Peter, hey! Pete, can you hear me?" Hobie's voice cut through the haze. A rough hand shook his shoulder.
Peter's vision flickered. Hobie's face swam in and out of focus—worried eyes, furrowed brows, tension in his jaw.
"Should we get a teacher?" Hobie asked, glancing toward Harry, who was pacing nearby, phone pressed to his ear.
"Yeah—911? There was an explosion at NeoGen. One of our classmates—yeah, he's breathing, but—just send someone!" Harry barked into his phone, his usual cool, controlled demeanor cracking under the stress.
Meanwhile, Gwen had bolted from the scene, her mind racing. Uncle Miles. He can fix this. He has to fix this.
Dr. Miles Warren was one of the smartest geneticists she knew—she idolized him. Ever since she was a kid, she had hung on to his every word about molecular biology and genetic sequencing. If anyone could help Peter, it was him.
She found him in his office, frantically stuffing papers into a briefcase. His face was pale, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Uncle Miles!" Gwen skidded to a stop, gripping the doorframe. "You have to come quick! Peter—he got bitten by one of the specimens, and he's really sick!"
Dr. Warren froze. His eyes darted toward her, then to his research notes, then back again. For a moment, something unreadable flickered across his face—was it... fear?
"Bitten?" he repeated. "By which specimen?"
"I—how should I know?! One of the spiders!" Gwen waved her hands frantically. "He needs help! The recombinator did something to them, right? You can fix this!"
But Dr. Warren didn't move. His fingers clenched the strap of his briefcase. "Gwen... you need to listen to me very carefully. Do not tell anyone else about this."
Gwen's stomach twisted. "What? What are you talking about?"
"This research—Stillwell and I, we were—" He hesitated, lowering his voice. "No one was supposed to be exposed yet. If the Board finds out, they'll shut everything down. Peter's... condition might be temporary. We can observe him, but we can't alert outside authorities."
Gwen took a step back, horror creeping into her expression. "You're kidding, right? You're seriously more worried about your research than helping him?"
Warren ran a hand down his face, sighing. "Gwen, you don't understand—"
"Yeah, I don't understand!" she snapped. "Because the uncle I looked up to wouldn't just leave a kid to suffer!"
With that, she turned and bolted back down the hallway, heart pounding in her ears.
Back with the others, Hobie gritted his teeth, keeping a firm grip on Peter's shoulders. "Come on, man, stay with me."
Peter groaned weakly, his head rolling to the side. The fever was getting worse. His skin was slick with sweat, his face burning hot.
Hobie had seen bad situations before—his older cousins had gotten into rough fights back in his neighborhood—but this? This was different.
Then, Peter's eyes shot open.
They weren't brown anymore.
For a split second, his irises glowed a deep, unnatural red.
Hobie jerked back in shock. "What the hell—"
Then, just as quickly, the red faded, leaving Peter gasping for breath.
Harry, still on the phone, turned just in time to see it. His face went pale. "What... was that?"
Hobie didn't have an answer.
But something was very wrong.
And Peter Parker was at the center of it.
His body was shutting down, or at least that's what it felt like. His heartbeat pounded in his skull, his muscles ached like they were being pulled apart and stitched back together at the same time. Every breath was like dragging air through burning coals.
He barely registered the voices around him—Hobie gripping his shoulders, Harry's frantic phone call, the echoing clatter of Gwen's boots sprinting back into the room.
"Move!" Gwen skidded to her knees beside Peter, brushing Hobie's hands away and pressing the back of her hand to Peter's forehead. "Holy—he's burning up!"
"No kidding," Hobie muttered, still shaken by whatever that red-eye moment had been.
Harry was still on the phone, growing increasingly agitated. "I said we need an ambulance! The explosion was small, but our friend is seriously—what do you mean they're handling a 'higher priority' emergency?!" He pulled the phone away and glared at the screen before cursing under his breath.
"They're not coming," he muttered, stuffing the phone back into his pocket.
"What do you mean 'they're not coming'?!" Gwen snapped, her hands shaking as she looked at Peter, whose breathing was erratic.
"They said there's a bigger incident in the city—some big fight involving the Hulk or something—so we're on the back burner."
Hobie scowled. "So, what? We just sit here and hope he doesn't die?!"
Peter groaned weakly, his fingers twitching against the floor. His body suddenly arched, his back lifting as if an invisible force had yanked him upward. Gwen barely caught his arm before he collapsed again.
"Okay, no, I'm not waiting around," she said, determination flashing in her eyes. "We're getting him out of here—now."
"But where do we even take him?" Harry asked, frowning.
Gwen hesitated. She didn't want to go back to her uncle after what he said—but what other choice did they have?
Then, Peter moved.
Not just a sluggish roll of his head—his entire body snapped upright in a way that shouldn't have been possible, his eyes flashing that eerie, deep red again before fading back to brown. He sucked in a sharp breath and suddenly…
He didn't look sick anymore.
No more sweating, no more pained groaning. He looked... fine.
The three of them stared at him in stunned silence.
Peter blinked. "...What?"
"You—you were dying, man!" Hobie exclaimed. "Like, twenty seconds ago!"
Peter furrowed his brows. He did remember being in agony, his body feeling like it was tearing itself apart—but now? The pain was gone. In fact, he felt... good. Better than he ever had.
He lifted his hands, flexing his fingers. His entire body felt lighter, like he was bursting with energy that had been locked away for years.
Gwen reached out, pressing her palm against his forehead again. "Your fever's gone," she muttered in disbelief.
"This doesn't make sense," Harry said, his analytical mind struggling to piece together what had just happened. "People don't just recover like that—especially not from whatever that was."
Peter looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. There was something... off. He felt different.
Hobie squinted at him. "Bro… I hate to say it, but you just did something real freaky a second ago."
Peter hesitated. "Freaky how?"
"You sat up like you were possessed, and your eyes? They went all demon mode for a second," Hobie said, making vague jazz hands.
Peter paled. "What?"
Harry crossed his arms. "That spider—it wasn't normal. It was one of the altered specimens. If it bit you, then maybe… I don't know. Maybe something happened to you."
Peter exhaled, shaking his head. "That's ridiculous, I—"
Then, suddenly, he heard something.
A buzzing—no, chattering. From across the room.
His head turned instinctively, his eyes locking onto a single spider—one of the surviving Neo-Genic specimens—dangling from a cracked containment tank.
And the second he focused on it, he understood it.
Not like words—he wasn't hearing thoughts or anything—but on some instinctive level, he knew where it was going to move, felt the tension in its legs before it skittered away.
His stomach lurched. What the hell?
Gwen saw the look on his face. "Pete?"
Peter shook his head quickly. "Nothing, I just—just dizzy." He forced a weak chuckle. "Y'know, from almost dying."
But he wasn't fooling anyone.
Harry was already deep in thought, gears turning in his head. "If that spider changed something in you, we need to figure out how. We should take you to a doctor—"
"No." Peter cut in fast—too fast. The last thing he wanted was to be treated like some kind of experiment. "I mean—let's just... wait. See if anything else happens."
"Yeah, that doesn't sound ominous at all," Hobie muttered.
Gwen was still watching Peter closely, studying him. "Fine. But if you start, I don't know, shedding your skin or something, we're getting you help, got it?"
Peter nodded quickly, despite the unease gnawing at his stomach.
Because the truth was… something had changed.
And he wasn't sure he wanted to know what that meant.
The bus ride home was suffocating.
Peter sat pressed against the window, staring at his reflection. His mind raced, replaying everything over and over—the explosion, the bite, the fever, the pain, and then... the impossible recovery.
He clenched his hands into fists. They felt... different. Stronger. Every movement was sharper, more precise. Even now, he could hear the hum of the bus's engine, the murmur of conversations behind him, the soft tap-tap of Gwen's fingers drumming against her knee two rows back. Sounds he shouldn't have been able to pick out, but they were there.
What did that spider do to me?
Across the aisle, Hobie was watching him, arms folded. Harry sat beside him, scrolling through his phone, no doubt trying to find something—anything—to explain what had happened.
Gwen, meanwhile, had been unusually quiet. She sat behind Peter, legs pulled up onto her seat, absentmindedly chewing on her bottom lip—her telltale I'm-thinking-way-too-hard-about-this face.
Peter sighed, leaning his forehead against the cool window. His senses were on overdrive, and it was starting to give him a headache.
"Alright, spill." Gwen's voice cut through the low bus chatter.
Peter turned slightly. "Spill what?"
"Don't give me that." Gwen leaned forward, resting her chin on the seat in front of her. "You're acting weird. And not your usual 'geeky-lost-in-thought' weird—like, 'I might be mutating into something from a horror movie' weird."
Peter hesitated. He wanted to say nothing's wrong, but that was a lie.
Harry, without looking up from his phone, spoke. "I ran a search on genetic mutations from radiation exposure—there's nothing that even remotely matches what happened to you."
Hobie raised a brow. "So, what? We got ourselves a superhero origin story now?"
Peter let out a nervous laugh, but deep down, the thought unsettled him.
"I just—" He rubbed his temples. "Everything feels different. It's like… I don't know how to explain it. Like I'm aware of things I wasn't before. Sounds, movements, even the way people are breathing."
Gwen frowned. "That's not normal."
"Yeah, no kidding," Peter muttered.
"Maybe we should tell a teacher," Harry said, his voice measured but firm. "Or a doctor. Whatever happened to you—"
Peter shot him a look. "No. No hospitals. No government labs. I don't want to end up strapped to a table while some guys in hazmat suits poke at me."
"Okay, paranoid," Hobie muttered, but he didn't entirely disagree.
Peter exhaled sharply. "Look, I just need some time to figure this out. If something bad happens—like, actual bad—then we'll do something. But for now? I just... I need to think."
The three of them exchanged glances, clearly unconvinced.
Gwen sighed, crossing her arms. "Fine. But I'm keeping an eye on you, Parker."
That night, Peter barely slept.
His body was buzzing—not with anxiety, but with energy. Every time he closed his eyes, he felt like he was falling and would jolt awake before he hit the ground.
At some point, frustrated and restless, he got up, pacing his room.
His foot hit the edge of his desk—except instead of stubbing his toe, he flipped forward, landing in a crouch on the ceiling.
Peter froze.
His stomach flipped, heart hammering against his ribs. He stared down—down—at his room, his bed, his desk, all beneath him.
And he was sticking to the ceiling.
"...Oh. Oh no."
Peter shifted, and instinctively, his hands gripped the ceiling. It wasn't glue or suction—it was just... natural. Like flexing a muscle he hadn't known existed.
Very, very carefully, he twisted his body and dropped—landing smoothly on the floor like it was nothing.
He swallowed hard.
This was real.
His hands were shaking, his breath coming faster. What else could he do?
Cautiously, he reached toward the wall—pressed his palm against it—and climbed.
His fingers and toes gripped effortlessly, allowing him to scale the wall as if he'd been doing it his whole life.
When he reached the ceiling again, he let out a breathless laugh.
"I can't tell them."
Because if this was happening to him now… what else was he capable of?
And deep down, Peter wasn't sure if he wanted to know.
Knock-knock.
"Pete? Hey, Pete—you okay in there?"
Peter froze halfway down the wall, arms and legs stuck to the side like a twisted shadow puppet. His heart skipped, then slammed in his chest.
Uncle Ben's voice was low and steady, but Peter knew that tone. The Marine Dad tone. Concern, wrapped up in careful calm.
He glanced around his room. His desk chair was tipped over, and a stack of physics textbooks had fallen off the shelf when he panicked and flipped earlier.
"Y-Yeah! I'm fine, Uncle Ben!" Peter called out, a little too loud.
There was a beat of silence.
"You sure? I heard a loud thud. Thought maybe the roof finally caved in from all those science projects you've got stashed up there."
Peter forced a chuckle, crawling back down the wall until his feet hit the floor again. His body moved with inhuman grace—like it wanted to stick to things. Like it was learning along with him.
"I, uh… just dropped some books! Sorry!"
"Alright," Uncle Ben replied after a moment. "Just… y'know. If something's wrong, you can talk to me, Peter. You know that, right?"
Peter looked at the door. He saw his uncle's silhouette through the gap at the bottom. He could hear his steady breathing, the way his weight shifted slightly from his bad knee—a war injury that acted up in the rain.
That was the kind of man Uncle Ben was. Strong, patient, a little tired—but always there.
Peter opened his mouth to say something. He wanted to spill everything: the bite, the ceiling, the way he could hear everything, feel everything, cling to walls like some kind of arachnid freak.
But then he stopped.
How could he explain any of it without sounding crazy? Without risking being taken away, studied, locked up—maybe even hurting Uncle Ben and Aunt May if anyone came looking?
"I know, Uncle Ben," Peter finally said. "Thanks."
Another pause. Then Ben's voice softened. "Alright. Try to get some rest, kiddo. I'll tell May not to bug you about dinner, but don't make a habit of skipping meals. Even geniuses need to eat."
Peter smiled faintly. "Got it."
He listened to the slow shuffle of footsteps as Uncle Ben walked away. When the floor creaked at the end of the hallway, Peter finally exhaled and sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his sweaty hair.
He looked down at his fingers.
Still trembling.
Still... sticking to the comforter.
"Okay," he whispered to himself. "This is happening."
He turned toward his computer, the screen still glowing faintly with his half-written science blog post about insect genome mapping. It felt like a lifetime ago.
If he really had powers now…
Wasn't there a responsibility that came with that?
Peter didn't know how—but he felt it.
Something had changed.
And nothing would ever be the same again.
Every time he closed his eyes, the burning sensation in his veins flared up again like a wildfire under his skin. He could hear the ticking of the old wall clock in the hallway, could feel the vibrations of the refrigerator humming downstairs, and every now and then he would get so anxious he'd accidentally cling to the ceiling or the side of his desk again.
His body wasn't just healing—it was transforming.
When morning came, he hadn't really decided what he was going to do about it. But one thing was certain: he couldn't keep this to himself forever.
Midtown High – Next Day
Peter walked through the doors with his hood up, head down. His whole body felt… different. His posture, his reflexes, even his eyesight was clearer. It was like the world had gone from grainy VHS to ultra HD overnight.
Gwen spotted him first, sitting on the front steps before homeroom, her boots kicked up on a bench as she scrolled through something on her phone. Her beat-up leather jacket had a few new patches—one of them a stylized black widow spider.
She looked up. "Whoa. There he is. The radioactive wonder-boy."
Peter blinked. "Wait—you know?"
Gwen hopped to her feet and gave him a light punch on the arm. "You got bit by a glowing super-spider, Pete. You think I wasn't gonna find out? Hobie told me what happened after I went to find my uncle. He's… kinda weird now, by the way. Creepy, almost."
Peter tensed. "Dr. Warren? What do you mean?"
She frowned. "He was cold. Dismissive. Like he didn't even care you got hurt. He was more worried about the data that got scrambled in the explosion."
"Classic corporate science," came Harry's voice as he walked up beside them, rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Dad says guys like Warren and Stillwell are always one bad press conference away from being replaced. If Peter had died, it probably would've been framed as a 'procedural setback.'"
"Thanks for the pep talk, Harry," Peter muttered.
Then Hobie arrived, spinning a basketball on his fingertip, his sketchpad under one arm. "Yo, bug boy. You look like you didn't sleep. Also? You still owe me for almost getting fried yesterday."
I saved Dr. Stillwell," Peter shot back, half-smiling.
"And I saved you from face-planting into a cabinet. So we're even." Hobie grinned, though his eyes were serious underneath. "But… you good, man? You've been through a lot."
Peter hesitated. He looked around at the three of them—Gwen, tough-as-nails punk genius; Harry, anxious but loyal to a fault; and Hobie, the street-smart artist-athlete with a heart of gold.
They weren't just classmates.
They were his friends.
And for the first time since the bite, Peter didn't feel totally alone.
"I… I think I'm changing," he admitted quietly. "Not just physically. Like, I feel like I can do things I couldn't before. Hear things. See things. I climbed the wall, Gwen. My ceiling has scratches on it. It's like… it's like my body isn't mine anymore."
"You think you're turning into a spider?" Harry asked, half-joking "It was probably just a bad dream caused by the fever."
Peter didn't laugh.
"I don't know. Maybe."
The bell rang.
They started toward the school entrance, but Gwen pulled Peter aside for a second, her eyes narrowing.
"Listen. If Warren and Stillwell were hiding something—something big—and now you're part of it? We'll figure it out. Together."
Peter nodded slowly.
"Yeah," he said. "I think we'll have to."
Later That Night
In the dim light of his room, Peter stared at his reflection. He flexed his fingers, then placed them on the wall.
They stuck.
Effortlessly.
"With great power…" he murmured, Uncle Ben's words echoing somewhere in the back of his mind.
Then he pulled a red hoodie from the closet and reached for some duct tape and old goggles from his project bin.
He wasn't ready to tell the world yet.
But maybe… just maybe… he was ready to test this.
To be continued