"What the hell…?"
Peter came to an abrupt halt midair.
In the video still playing before him, Nick Fury was struggling, his movements growing weaker by the second. Behind him, a grotesque face slowly came into view—alien, unmistakably not of Earth.
But that wasn't what shocked Peter the most.
Nick Fury… was dead?
Just like that?
The legendary "Motherf—" director, master of schemes and hidden plans… gone in an instant?
No grand twist, no backup plan revealed—just a clean, brutal death.
It was so sudden, so absurd, that even Peter couldn't help but feel caught off guard.
…
Still, the shock only lasted a moment.
He quickly understood—
Things had already gone far beyond his expectations.
Since arriving in this world, he had stirred up far too many ripples. Each action, each decision had shifted the course of events.
According to the butterfly effect—
The world was no longer following any familiar path.
"Alice, lock onto the location. I want to see exactly what the hell is going on."
Without hesitation, Peter surged forward again, wings flaring as he shot through the sky like a streak of light.
New York and Washington, D.C. were both on the East Coast. Even by car, the distance was only a few hours.
For Peter?
It was nothing.
Moments later, he arrived at the coordinates.
Boom!
Like a meteor crashing to earth, Peter descended with overwhelming force. Twin wings flared behind him, his armored figure radiating power and presence.
The moment he landed—
Every pair of eyes turned toward him.
Peter, however, was already scanning the scene.
The area was chaotic, clearly the aftermath of a violent confrontation.
…
To his right—
A group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stood on high alert. Leading them was a striking, cold-faced woman with commanding presence.
Maria Hill.
Fury's right hand.
A Level 10 agent.
…
To his left—
Two figures stood beside Fury's fallen body.
One of them—
Sona.
Peter recognized her instantly.
The other was a sharp-eyed man carrying a collapsible compound bow—his stance more like a warrior than a spy.
Clint Barton.
Hawkeye.
And directly in front of him—
The source of everything.
At the forefront stood a tall, slender man clad in ornate armor, crowned with a massive golden horned helmet.
There was no need to ask.
Only one person in the universe dressed like that.
Loki.
Behind him stood the true killer.
The being from the video.
Up close, it looked even more unnatural—its body hunched like an insect, limbs twisted and gaunt, skin like withered bark. Though it had facial features, their arrangement was disturbingly alien.
Among everyone present—
It was the calmest.
The most shaken, however…
Was Loki.
"It's you!"
The moment he saw the Spider Armor, Loki's pupils shrank violently. His expression twisted—shock, fury, fear… all colliding at once.
"You know him?" the creature behind him rasped, its voice like grinding stone.
Loki didn't answer.
His gaze remained locked on Peter.
Memories surged.
That day.
The crushing defeat.
Facing both him and Thor alone—and losing.
Thor left on the brink of death.
Odin forced to intervene.
And Loki himself…
Cast out into the cosmos.
Fear.
Rage.
Humiliation.
All of it exploded within him.
Peter, sensing the surge of hostility, merely smiled beneath his mask.
Not because of Loki—
Not entirely.
But because of what Loki held in his hand.
The Scepter.
The Mind Stone.
Loki raised it.
The Infinity Stone embedded within shimmered with terrifying power. As both an artifact and a conduit for magic, it amplified his already formidable abilities to an astonishing degree.
"Die!"
A blinding beam of energy erupted from the scepter's tip.
Magic surged violently around him, distorting the very air. As one of the most powerful sorcerers in Asgard—indeed, in all the Nine Realms—Loki's true strength was far beyond what most had ever witnessed.
With the scepter enhancing him—
His power soared even higher.
The air trembled.
The spell took form.
And its target—
Was Peter.
The man who had humiliated him.
Broken him.
Driven him into exile.
"Hmph."
Peter's voice rang out, calm and mocking.
"So the lesson last time wasn't enough? Asgardian trash… aside from that old man, what gives you the right to act arrogant in front of me?"
Before the words had fully faded—
He moved.
A fist tore through the night.
Speed and power fused into one.
The air ignited around it, friction turning force into flame.
Then—
It struck.
A single punch—
Colliding head-on with Loki's devastating magical blast.
…
For a brief moment—
The sky lit up like fireworks.
And then—
The magic shattered.
Gone.
As if it had never existed.
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T/N:
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