With a slight shrug of his shoulders, Peter detached the mechanical wings from his back. Under Alice's control, they hovered silently in midair.
Then—
He stepped forward.
In that instant, a terrifying aura erupted from him, sweeping across the battlefield like a storm.
Six months of relentless training…
Would finally be put to the test.
A golden blade tore through space, appearing soundlessly behind him.
Peter shifted half a meter sideways as if he had already anticipated it. His hand shot out, gripping the middle of the weapon with absolute precision.
His gaze locked onto its owner—
Corvus Glaive.
Thanos' most lethal assassin.
"Foolish."
Stealth and assassination were Corvus' domain. In the original timeline, he had nearly crippled Vision—one of the Avengers' strongest combatants—with a single strike.
But Peter…
Was not Vision.
He was stronger.
And more importantly—
He had Spider-Sense.
Peter's right leg rose, poised to deliver a devastating kick straight into Corvus' chest. If it landed, the outcome was obvious—
Death.
Or something close to it.
But then—
A sharp tearing sound split the air.
Peter immediately withdrew his attack, twisting his body mid-motion as another blade streaked toward his back.
At the same time, Corvus abandoned his weapon without hesitation, retreating instantly.
Peter glanced sideways.
A towering blue-skinned woman stood there, nearly two meters tall, gripping a double-ended spear, her eyes locked onto him like a predator.
Proxima Midnight.
Corvus' wife.
A member of the Black Order.
Where one appeared—
The other was never far behind.
…
Peter's attention lingered briefly on the weapons in their hands.
Both the golden blade and the spear were no ordinary arms. They carried a strange, almost unnatural quality—something beyond conventional materials or technology.
Even his Spider Armor, built with Earth's most advanced tech, couldn't withstand them.
Even his telekinetic defenses—
Would struggle.
…
Otherwise…
How could Vision—whose body was made of vibranium—have been nearly crippled in a single strike?
"Who are you?" Corvus spoke, his tone sharp but controlled. "We serve the great Titan, Thanos. We seek only a stone—something far beyond your understanding. If you step aside, we will leave immediately… and spare them."
A calculated offer.
A reasonable one, even.
To most people, it might have worked.
After all—
They were clearly extraterrestrial.
An unknown threat.
Risking everything over a single artifact didn't seem worth it.
But Peter…
Knew exactly who they were.
"I think I'll try anyway."
His voice was calm.
Almost casual.
His eyes flicked briefly toward Hill and the agents, then toward Sona behind him.
She gave a small nod.
…
Then—
She pulled open the zipper at her chest just slightly and retrieved a small instrument, still warm against her skin.
She raised it to her lips.
Whistle—!
A sharp, piercing note rang out.
An invisible force surged through Peter's body.
And he moved.
From ten times gravity…
To twenty…
To fifty.
Though Peter lacked Goku's martial lineage or inherited techniques, his growth had been far more explosive.
Before, without his armor, his combat power was barely noteworthy. Much of his strength had come from telekinesis and technological enhancements.
But now—
After months of brutal training—
His physical body alone had reached a terrifying level.
To the onlookers—
Peter turned his head.
Lifted his right foot.
Stepped forward.
Then—
He disappeared.
A golden blade materialized midair—
And pierced straight through Corvus Glaive's chest.
Only then did Peter's afterimage begin to fade.
Not just the eye—
Even the air itself—
Could not track him.
With Sona's amplification, his speed had surpassed perception itself.
Corvus' body froze.
Blood spilled.
In the comics, his true essence lay within his weapon. As long as the blade remained intact, he could not truly die.
But now—
That very blade was in Peter's hand.
Twisting it—
Blood sprayed violently as Peter tore it free.
Before Proxima could even react—
The blade flashed again.
A single strike.
And she fell.
Silence.
The battlefield froze.
Two corpses lay on the ground.
Peter turned slowly.
His gaze fell upon a fading illusion in the distance.
Loki.
Gone.
Of course.
The God of Mischief never stayed for a losing fight.
Three against one—
And in the blink of an eye—
Two were dead.
Loki had made the only smart choice he could.
Run.
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T/N:
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