In Stark Tower, Loki couldn't believe what he was seeing.
A Leviathan had just crashed with a deafening boom that shook entire city blocks.
Even from the height of the tower, he felt the tremor through the soles of his boots. Debris scattered. Dust clouds spiraled upward. Civilians and Chitauri alike turned their heads toward the aftermath.
And there—standing atop the Leviathan's corpse like some crimson specter of death—was him.
That… thing in black and red.
Loki's brow furrowed.
This wasn't one of Thor's brutish companions. Nor one of Fury's pawns. The figure was lean, silent, and radiating a controlled, feral energy that didn't belong to a mortal.
A strange hum buzzed faintly in Loki's ears as he focused on the masked man.
It wasn't magic. Not Asgardian. Not alien.
It was… something else. Something old and wild and entirely unnatural.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Who are you?" he muttered, voice laced with growing irritation.
This was no mere man.
Loki raised the scepter and tapped its edge against the railing, commanding a nearby unit of Chitauri to investigate.
"Bring me his head."
They leapt from their gliders without hesitation—but something told Loki it wouldn't matter.
Below, Spider-Man had already vanished in a blur of movement.
One second standing still.
The next, mid-air—tearing through another Leviathan like a storm made flesh.
Loki clenched the scepter tighter.
For the first time since this invasion began…
He felt unease.
Not fear.
Not yet.
But something was changing.
Something he hadn't accounted for.
---
In the battlefield, after destroying another Leviathan, Peter didn't stop—he moved like a predator through the ruined city.
Utilizing his new organic webbing, he soared through the sky so fast, it was almost like flying.
He killed every Chitauri he encountered.
He showed them no mercy.
With each punch, a Chitauri would fall. Not two, not three—just one punch was enough.
He didn't know to what extent his strength had grown, but he knew one thing—it was enough. At least, for now.
His muscles no longer burned from strain—they thrived in motion.
Jumping into the middle of a squad that had just gunned down a group of civilians, he disarmed them and moved into close combat.
Their movements looked like they were in slow motion. A video playing at 0.5x speed—maybe less.
One Chitauri tried to punch him.
Pow!
Peter was hit in the chest.
The others behind it surged forward, trying to capitalize.
But before they could act—
Thwack!
The Chitauri that landed the punch now had a hole clean through its torso. It collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.
The others paused—confused.
Before they could react—
Pow!
A powerful kick sent them flying. By the time they hit the ground, they were already dead.
Peter stood over the corpses, breathing steady.
His little experiment had worked.
He didn't jump into danger for no reason—he wanted to test his durability.
With reflexes faster than thought, nearly instinctual now, he could've dodged that punch easily.
But he didn't.
He wanted to feel it.
And what he felt… was barely anything. A dull pressure. Like a soft punch through a padded vest.
His skin absorbed the blunt force. His bones—reinforced—shrugged off the blow.
Sure, even before the transformation, he could've tanked a hit like that.
But now?
He didn't even flinch.
---
Still not done, Peter turned toward another cluster of Chitauri marching from a crumbling bank.
Ten of them. All armed.
Perfect.
He landed in their midst like a meteor.
They raised their weapons, ready to fire.
Peter didn't move. Arms slightly outstretched.
"Go on," he muttered behind the mask. "Let's see what you've got."
They didn't hesitate. They weren't built to hesitate.
Zap!
Plasma blasts tore through the air.
One hit his chest. Another almost struck his face, but he dodge by turning his face a little to the right, even if he was testing his endurance, taking a hit to the face is not something he would want.
After he doged the shot that was going to his face, a third one hit his shoulder.
Peter didn't move.
Smoke built up. More blasts. Five… six… seven...
Then silence.
They reloaded.
And Peter still stood there.
Unharmed. Unimpressed.
He rolled his neck.
"Disappointing."
He moved—and they never got the chance to fire again.
---
As Peter looked over his body to check for any damage, he paused.
His gaze traveled down to where the plasma had struck his chest—
And he froze.
His fists clenched.
His voice echoed with sudden horror.
"F-Fuck! No… no no no…"
He dropped to one knee, staring at the damage.
"How could I have missed that?!"
In the rush, in the thrill of testing his power—he had forgotten something crucial.
"My CLOTHES!!!"
Burnt. Torn. Holes everywhere.
His mask was fine, thankfully. But the rest?
His new powers were impressive.
But his gear? Not so much.
For all the bioengineered upgrades, for all the muscle and improved reflexes…
He was still wearing fabric.
And it had paid the price.
While he was mourning the destruction of his clothes, another cluster of Chitauri found him.
Seeing an easy target lying before them, they didn't think twice.
Pew!
Pew! Pew!
They all started firing—with the incredible aim of a Star Wars stormtrooper.
The majority of their blasts missed the target entirely. After a few failed shots, one lucky guy finally managed to hit the target.
Peter, who was still mourning the loss of his clothes, slowly turned his head toward the being that had struck him.
Anger filled his eyes.
"You... you will pay for that!!"
He launched himself at the Chitauri who had fired the shot, moving at a tremendous speed.
All his attackers could see was a black blur—and before they could even process what was happening—
Thwack!!
Pow!
Bam!
Pow! x3
An enraged Peter jumped into the middle of the Chitauri group. First, he launched a brutal attack at the one who had hit him, sending the enemy flying through the air with a powerful kick to the skull.
The Chitauri's skull shattered from the sheer force of the concentrated strike. Their helmets were little more than decorations at that point, completely useless against Peter's power.
After killing his attacker with a powerful upper kick, he moved quickly and with precision toward the rest of the enemies, throwing punches, delivering kicks, and even using his new organic webbing to swing them around like ragdolls.