Absolute Spiderman Chapter 13.

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Chapter 13: Weavers of Life part 1/2.

(General P.O.V)

Peter’s death changed everything.

The moment his body fell limp, every Helion across New York shrieked in unison. Their voices wove together into a victorious howl that shook glass and rattled steel. The sky darkened as flocks of them circled the skyscraper, their wings beating in rhythm with Kingpin’s triumphant laughter.

Fisk, drunk on the moment, spread his arms wide. Then he lowered his gaze back to the rooftop and the corpse lying before him. His grin widened.

“Finally,” he rasped, bending down, his massive frame trembling with eagerness as he reached for Peter’s body. His prize was close. With the Absolute Totem ripped from Parker’s soul, Mephisto would seize what no HellLord ever had—control over the very web that bound all life together.

But before his fingers closed around Peter, the air cracked.

A circle of orange fire opened beneath the body and swallowed it whole.

“NO!” Fisk bellowed, his voice breaking with fury.

Behind him, space cracked, widening into a tear, and from it stepped Stephen Strange. His cloak whipped in the wind, eyes burning with authority as the mirror dimension collapsed shut behind him.

“Wilson Fisk,” Strange said, voice cutting through the chaos. “Spider-Man is not Earth’s only protector. Cease this madness—or face destruction at the hands of the Sorcerer Supreme.”

Fisk sneered.

“Ah, so you’re him. The surgeon with broken hands who turned himself into a magician. You’ll soon learn what your little parlor tricks mean in front of true power.”

He slammed his fists together and unleashed a torrent of hellfire that ripped outward in a circle.

Strange’s hands blurred through sigils. With a flick, the inferno unraveled into a swirl of glowing butterflies, scattering harmlessly into the night. His voice hardened.

“You will pay for Wong’s death.”

Kingpin only grinned wider. He raised a hand, and the Helions shrieked again before diving at Strange in a storm of claws and fire.

The rooftop erupted into chaos. Spells flared against wings and fangs. Shields cracked. The sheer numbers pushed Strange back step by step, even as more demons poured down from the widening portal.

Fisk laughed through the storm.

“Fool! You could have taken the cane, sealed the portal, ended this! But no—you chose to save a corpse.”

Inside the Quinjet, silence clashed with the chaos outside.

Gwen sat frozen, staring at Peter’s lifeless body stretched across the floor, after being vomited out of a portal. Her chest heaved, but no breath seemed to reach her lungs.

Behind her, Felicia clutched little May, who had cried herself into an exhausted sleep. Felicia’s eyes brimmed, tears slipping silently down her face as she rocked the child in her arms.

The Quinjet jerked suddenly, swerving to avoid the stray arcs of magic and fire ripping the sky apart. Gwen stumbled forward, catching herself on Peter’s chest. Her hands trembled as her fingers curled into his torn suit.

“This can’t be happening,” she whispered. Her voice cracked, almost breaking. “This can’t…”

Yet the ghastly hole through her husband's chest said otherwise.

Felicia knelt beside her, laying a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Gwen…” she said softly, “I’m so sorry. He—”

“No!” Gwen snapped, her grief turning to fire. She slammed her fist down onto Peter’s chest. The impact cracked something glassy in his pocket.

Black liquid seeped out, glistening unnaturally as it spread across the wound.

Felicia’s eyes went wide.

“Gwen—stop! Don’t touch that!”

Blood welled in Gwen’s hand from the broken glass, but she didn’t care. She hit him again. And again. Her voice broke with every word.

“He can’t be dead! He can’t be gone! He’s not—he’s not—”

She finally collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest.

The SHIELD agents at the rear moved, uncertain, but Felicia shook her head sharply, holding them back.

Then Gwen’s broken voice rose one last time, raw and pleading.

“Please… anyone listening. Bring him back to me. Bring him back to May.”

The black liquid stirred. It squirmed across Peter’s chest, gathering at the gaping wound.

Every eye in the Quinjet locked on it.

Then Peter’s AI spoke, voice calm and clinical.

(Second Life Protocol engaged. Please step back, Mrs. Parker.)

Gasps filled the cabin.

The black liquid surged outward, stretching into tendrils that crawled across Peter’s body. In seconds, it enveloped him whole, a living armor swallowing every inch of skin and fabric.

Felicia threw out a hand, stopping the nearest agent who aimed his rifle.

“No one shoots,” she ordered. “Not a damn soul fires on him.”

And all they could do was watch as the symbiote sealed Peter Parker inside its embrace.

-0-

Peter drifted in darkness.

There was no pain. No heartbeat. Just the suffocating weight of nothing.

He exhaled into the void, a hollow laugh slipping out of him.

“Great. Dead. Just perfect.”

He thought about Gwen and felt a pang sharp enough to hurt even here. She’d kill him for this—for breaking the promise they made to grow old together. And May… little May… His chest tightened. He’d never get to see her grow up. That regret hit harder than Fisk’s punch ever had, threatening to drown his soul in sorrow.

“I just… wish I could see them one last time,” he whispered, voice trembling. “No matter the price.”

And that’s when he heard it.

A voice. Female, soft but resonant, warm yet alien, echoing inside his head.

“Your wish is within reach… if you accept your destiny as the Absolute Totem. Stop resisting, stop defying your purpose.”

Peter froze. The offer tugged at every corner of his heart. Temptation burned through him. To see Gwen again. To hold May one more time. To make up for leaving.

For a moment, he almost said yes.

Then he clenched his fists.

“No,” he muttered. “I’d rather stay dead than live as a slave to that system.”

The voice went quiet. Then it asked gently, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Peter snapped, irritation flaring. “Don’t push this. It didn’t work last time, it won’t work now. I’ve made my choice.”

A pause. Then the voice pressed again, sharper this time.

“Not even for your family?”

Peter bit down hard, trembling. His voice broke when he answered.

“I’m doing this for them. They’re better off with a memory of me… than a version twisted and exploited by that system.”

Silence stretched. Then, for the first time, the voice sounded almost… surprised.

“Every other Peter Parker across the Multiverse would have given anything—sacrificed anything—for their loved ones. But you…” The voice softened. “Perhaps this is what makes you different. What makes you… special.”

Peter blinked.

“Very well, Peter Parker. You have earned the admiration of the Web itself. Now… reach out, my champion… and become… truly Absolute.”

-0-

On the rooftop, Strange screamed against his bonds. Hellfire chains lashed from his own shadows, pinning him to the cracked stone. His cloak writhed in defiance but was pinned by Helions tearing at its edges.

Fisk approached with slow, heavy steps. His face was alight with triumph.

“Hand over Parker’s corpse, Sorcerer. Do that, and I will grant you a merciful death.”

Strange lifted his head, his voice icy.

“How long will you hide, Mephisto? How long will you let your underling play at king?”

Fisk stiffened. “Underling—?!”

A deeper shadow peeled off the ground behind him. From it stepped Mephisto, dressed immaculately in a blood-red pinstripe suit. His smirk cut like a blade.

“Silence, underling.”

The word struck like a hammer. Fisk collapsed to his knees, chains of command binding him tighter than hellfire.

The cane sustaining the portal tore free of the rooftop and flew to Mephisto’s hand. He twirled it lazily before fixing his eyes on Strange.

“If you want to bargain,” he said smoothly, “let us lay our cards on the table.”

He pointed upward.

The sky shook as something massive pulled itself through the portal. Demons poured around it, countless and shrieking, but towering above them all was a monstrous purple behemoth, the size of a skyscraper.

Mephisto spread his arms, his grin widening.

“Soon, my Behemoth Army will emerge. Imagine a hundred thousand King Kongs unleashed upon your Earth—all because the Sorcerer Supreme was too stubborn to admit defeat. Make no mistake, Strange… I have already won. Whether there’s anything left standing will be decided by your answer. Give me Parker’s body… or watch the world burn.”

Strange chuckled softly, though his eyes were cold.

“I can almost pity you, Mephisto. That hunger for a power you neither comprehend… nor will ever possess.”

Mephisto’s smile curdled. In his palm appeared a crystal, glowing red. Inside writhed a screaming soul—burning, writhing, consumed by flame.

“Careful, magician,” Mephisto sneered. “A human soul can only endure so much hellfire before it is devoured completely. Do you really want Wong’s fate sealed by your arrogance?”

Strange’s voice dropped to ice.

“You’ve made two errors, Mephisto.”

He leaned forward, eyes sharp as blades.

“The first was assuming death could stop someone as stubborn as Peter Parker.”

In that instant, the sky split open in a burst of pure white light. From the Quinjet in the distance, the Absolute Totem’s lifeforce pulsed into existence like a second sun.

Mephisto’s grin vanished. His face twisted with rage.

“No… Impossible!” His voice cracked as the realization hit. “I don’t know how you resurrected him, Strange, but you’ve only made it easier. My underlings will rip the Totem from him, sooner or later.”

The swarm of Helions screeched, thousands chasing after the Quinjet.

On the ground, Fisk paled, terror etched into every line of his face. Peter Parker—alive? That unfeeling monster was back...? The thought alone shattered his composure and he started mumbling in terror while rocking on his heels.

Mephisto’s fury burned hotter at the sight of it. "Get a grip you moron! A mere bug has you trembling? Ridiculous!"

Just as he was about to start kicking Fisk in frustration, Strange interrupted.

“Your second error,” he said without falter, “was assuming I’d face a Hell Lord unprepared.”

The air between them cracked. Reality splintered into a rift.

"You know, I've heard just about enough from- " Mephisto turned too late.

Through the rift roared a flaming motorcycle. The Ghost Rider tore out of the mirror dimension, hellfire trailing behind him, burning the Helions holding Strange into gray dust.

"MEPHISTO! YOUR ASS IS MINE!"

In a single, furious charge, he slammed into Mephisto, engulfing him in fire as the bike ripped off the rooftop and rode through the air itself—straight toward the behemoth clawing through the portal.

Mephisto shrieked as his essence sizzled and blackened under the Rider’s flames.

“Damn you to Hell, Sorcerer!”

And then the Hell Lord’s scream burned away into nothing. Strange stared at the soul crystal that had fallen out of Mephisto's hands.

"Wong..." He muttered, clambering to get it when...Fisk's hand curled around the soul crystal.

Strange looked up, only to eat a beam of hellfire unleashed from the Cane in Fisk's hand. The sorcerer ragdolled across the floor before slamming onto the side of a wall.

Breathing heavily, Fisk rose, body igniting in hellflame once more.

"You, Parker, Mephisto. Everyone...will pay for underestimating the Kingpin of New York!"

With a cruel grin, Fisk intended to burn the soul crystal to nothing, and Strange despite all his spells, knew he wouldn't stop him in time. Which is why he poured all his hope into someone else.

"Come on kid..."

"FIIISSSKK!!" Peter's voice rang out from afar, filled with fury and the promise of retribution.

Fisk stiffened. And Strange smiled. The Absolute Spiderman was back for round 2.