165. Necessary Monsters. (Patreon)

Peter POV:

The corridors leading to the holding cells were quiet. Too quiet, considering the multiversal destruction we’d just prevented. The hum of the Helicarrier’s engines thrummed beneath my boots like a massive heartbeat. Cold, metallic, indifferent.

I preferred it that way.

The security lock recognized my biometric signature and slid the reinforced door aside, revealing the compact containment chamber where Jonathan Ohnn, the former Spot was now prisoner.

His white, blotched form was gone. The siphon had drained every last drop of dimensional energy from him until he was nothing more than a pale, frail man in a containment jumpsuit, shackled to the floor. His limbs trembled involuntarily. Sweat clung to his forehead. His eyes were hollow, exhausted, defeated and they lifted the moment I stepped inside.

“P-Peter,” he rasped. His voice cracked from dehydration and fear. “No, Spider-Man. I… I don’t know what happened. I didn’t mean... I never meant... thank you. Thank you for...”

His gratitude didn’t matter.

He needed to die.

Before he could finish, my plasma sword ignited with a sharp shhhk. A line of green fire illuminated his face. Surprise, then horror, then nothing as I swung in one clean, practiced motion.

His head separated from his body before the thought of survival could even reach his synapses.

I exhaled once. Calm. Methodical. "I'm not Spider-Man." I told the corpse.

The room smelled of scorched air and vaporized flesh.

I sheathed the blade and knelt just long enough to collect the blood and tissue sample into a sealed vial. It hissed as it snapped into stasis.

“Clanker.” I said, standing.

“Yes, Commander?” Clanker replied through the ceiling speakers.

“Execute Protocol Solstice. Sanitize the cell.”

“Acknowledged.”

I stepped out of the room as the door sealed shut behind me. Through the viewing slit, I saw the first flicker of orange light before the entire chamber erupted into a roaring column of superheated plasma. A furnace designed to reduce even enhanced organic matter to sterile vapor.

The screams never came. Ohnn couldn’t scream anymore.

Good.

He had been too dangerous to leave alive.

When the light finally dimmed, I turned away and walked toward the secondary containment wing.

Time for the harder part.

---

The spider people Miguel had brought with him Doppelganger, Parkedcar, Malala Windsor, Spider-Canada, Monkey, Spider Wolf and Julia Carpenter were all confined in one large reinforced chamber. Each of them restrained with Vibranium-S shackles strong enough to hold the enraged Hulk for ten seconds.

Clanker had LYLA isolated in a secure terminal, her avatar flickering in a frustrated digital box like a trapped firefly.

The moment I stepped in, every head turned.

Spider-Wolf snarled.

Malala glared daggers.

Spider-Monkey rattled his restraints.

Julia sat stiff, controlled but pale.

Malala lifted her chin. “So? What now? You gonna gloat?”

“No,” I said flatly. “I’m going to tell you exactly what happened. No half truths, no personal narration.”

Their expressions shifted. From irritation to confusion.

I continued.

“Miguel O’Hara attempted to breach the Dimensional Siphon during the extraction process. If he’d succeeded... even briefly... the resulting feedback would’ve caused a dimensional implosion. Not just here. Across the entire multiverse.”

Silence.

The weight settled like a physical thing.

“Miguel knew the risks.” I said. “He did it anyway. All because he felt that he was right and everyone else was wrong.”

Julia whispered, “…He wouldn’t.”

“He did.” My voice hardened. “And Gwendolyn stopped him. If she hadn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting there in restraints. You’d be atoms scattered across a dead cosmic void.”

Spider-Canada swallowed audibly.

Doppelganger curled inward, eyes dimming.

Malala shook her head slowly. “Then where is Miguel now?”

There was a long stretch of silence.

“He’s dead.” I finally said.

Spider-Wolf let out a low growl of disbelief.

Peter-Parkedcar closed his eyes.

Even LYLA’s avatar froze mid-glitch.

I didn’t bother softening the next part.

“It’s unfortunate. Tragic. But it was necessary. And nothing we do can change that.”

Some of them looked furious. Some devastated. Some lost.

None of them argued.

After a moment, I stepped out, letting the security door slide shut between us.

The others were waiting in the corridor.

Hobie leaned against the wall, hands in pockets, foot tapping.

Peni stood stiffly, chin trembling just enough to notice.

Porker twirled his mallet anxiously.

Noir’s mask was expressionless.

Peter B. held Mayday close, her baby goggles reflecting the hallway lights.

Pavitr whispered a prayer under his breath.

Gwen shifted uneasily.

And Margo’s visor dimmed with worry.

Peter B. stepped forward first.

“How’s Gwendolyn?” He asked gently.

Every eye turned to me. Their eyes radiated concern, guilt and hope.

I let out a slow breath.

“She’s… coping.” I said. “She pushed past the guilt, at least. But it’ll take time. Miguel was her first kill.”

The hallway stayed silent a beat longer.

“But she’s strong,” I continued, more firmly now. “Stronger than she gives herself credit for. She’ll pull through. I know it.”

Gwen nodded quietly.

Hobie clicked his tongue. “Good. Hate seein’ the gal lookin’ like the world’s gone bleedin’ grey.”

Peni exhaled shakily. “I’m glad she’s not alone.”

“She never will be.” I said.

And as I looked at them. This mismatched cluster of spider-heroes who chose to stand with us. I felt something shift within me.

A quiet resolve.

A shared burden.

A future we might actually survive.

The multiverse had come dangerously close to ending today.

But we were still here.

And we weren’t done yet.