I Am the Spider-Man from Earth-42

"One more minute…" he whispered, each word scraped from his lungs.

Then came the sound again. Outside.

The shriek of metal claws against asphalt.

The heavy, thunderous footfalls of a beast reborn.

Scorpia wasn't done.

But neither was he.

He launched up, firing a web into the streetlight above.

His body snapped upward then forward arcing like a bullet in flight.

"Drone-Spider, engage!"

A silver orb hissed from the pack on his back.

It soared above the battlefield, scanning, glowing red.

WEAKNESS DETECTED – CORE EXPOSED, LOWER BACK.

"Perfect."

He zipped toward her behind her faster than she could react.

A blur in the shadow of her rage.

She turned—

Too late.

Peter slammed into her spine.

Both fists glowing blue with overcharged kinetic energy.

BOOOOOM!!!

Scorpia screamed mechanical systems stuttering.

Green sparks burst from her core.

Her limbs jerked and flailed like a glitching puppet.

One whip-arm crashed into a building.

Her tail twisted, lashing wildly, severing street poles.

"NO! NO!!!" she screeched—half-machine, half-madness.

Peter wasn't finished.

He grabbed a mini-bomb from his belt.

"Say goodnight, Scorpia."

He jammed it straight into her exposed core.

And then he leapt back webs firing, pulling him behind a collapsed wall.

BOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM!!!

The sky cracked as the explosion lit up the city.

Fire surged out of her core like a dying sun.

Her limbs twisted violently one tore off and spun into the rubble.

Her tail fired skyward, like the final sting of a doomed scorpion—

Then dropped.

Limp.

She collapsed.

Smoke billowed from her twitching, burning frame.

The lights in her body died, one by one.

The city fell quiet.

Peter landed in a crouch amid shattered concrete.

The Mark I suit was cooked scorched crimson now closer to black.

One shoulder torn wide open, wires exposed.

The faceplate cracked and half-burned, still glowing faintly.

His gauntlets smoked, red-hot.

And yet—he stood.

He stood.

Alone.

For a moment.

Then came footsteps.

Racing. Boots slamming the pavement.

Harry. Gwen. Mary Jane. Frank Castle. Robin.

They skidded to a halt at the edge of the battlefield.

Smoke curled around them, red light reflecting in wide eyes.

Robin stared at the wreckage of Scorpia's body then at Peter.

"Holy shit… what just happened?"

No one answered.

Because no words were enough.

Peter didn't turn.

He just stood there, breathing heavy through cracked filters a hero in the firelight that reborn in war.

..

Meanwhile Scorpia side

The wreckage smoked.

Sparks burst intermittently from what was left of Scorpia's fractured limbs.

Her body twitched. Once. Twice.

Inside the mangled suit, a single, bloodshot eye flickered open.

She couldn't feel her legs. Couldn't move her tail.

Everything hurt veins burning from the serum, mind clouded in digital static.

But she was alive. Barely.

And she stared at the fractured reflection in the shard of metal before her.

(Did I just… get defeated?)

The thought echoed. Distant. Hollow.

(No… impossible. No. NO. NO!)

Her breathing turned into a growl.

She tried to lift her arm, it trembled, dragging across the floor like dead weight.

The systems inside her armor chirped with static and red warnings.

"CORE BREACH—SYSTEMS FAILING—EVACUATION ADVISED."

She looked past the smoke.

Saw the boy in red. The cracked mask. The glowing gauntlets.

He stood there like some ghost from a dream she couldn't kill.

"Spider... man..." she choked.

Then—her eye widened.

A final prompt lit up on her internal HUD.

"FINAL PROTOCOL ENABLE: SELF-DESTRUCT."

Her finger twitched.

She grinned wild, broken, teeth bloody.

"…If I go down… I'll take you with me…"

She pressed it.

Suddenly—

Peter's Spider-Sense screamed.

A violent BUZZ rang in his skull, like a thousand needles stabbed through his brain.

"WHOA—!" he staggered back, grabbing his temple.

(Something's wrong—something's still ticking—)

His eyes snapped toward Scorpia's fallen body.

And saw it.

The glow.

The rising light from her chest—no longer green, but red.

The core.

Overcharging.

"...Self-destruct—"

Peter's breath caught in his throat.

( This isn't over. She's gonna blow. No time. No time. )

He turned his head—Harry, Gwen, Mary, Frank, Robin—

They were running toward him.

Too close.

"GET BACK!!!" Peter shouted, voice cracking as he sprinted toward them.

"MOVE!! MOVE!! SHE'S GONNA BLOW!!"

They froze for a split second—long enough for Peter's boots to ignite with Final Boost sparks.

He launched forward grabbed Harry and Mary first, yanking them toward cover.

Gwen screamed—

"PETER!"

Frank Castle, the Punisher himself, grabbed Gwen and Robin and dove behind a collapsed wall.

Peter twisted mid-air, fired his last web into the wreckage above—pulled the support beam down like a falling curtain of steel.

It crashed between them and Scorpia.

BOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!!!!!!

The world became light.

A red sun bloomed at street level—Scorpia's core detonating, molten fire spiraling out like death itself.

The blast wave hit.

Peter spun mid-air, shielded Mary and Harry with his body—his suit groaned, overloaded, scorched steel melting at the edges.

The sound was like God screaming.

Windows shattered across a four-block radius.

Cars flipped.

Rubble rained from every direction.

Peter hit the pavement, rolled once, then lay still—his chestplate cracked, the Mark I suit now smoking ruins.

His arms were still curled around Mary and Harry.

They were alive.

And he had taken the blast head-on.

"Peter—!" Gwen's voice broke as she climbed over rubble.

Frank followed, rifle raised, eyes scanning the smoke.

Mary blinked, dazed, looking down at the unmoving figure beside her.

"He… he shielded us," she whispered.

"He took all of it."

Peter's lenses flickered barely lit.

Then a cough.

A pained groan.

He rolled over slowly, armor falling off in charred flakes.

"...Still not... fireproof..."

He wheezed a laugh, despite the pain.

Mary grabbed him.

"You're insane."

"Well..." Peter smiled weakly. "Friendly neighborhood... crazy, right?"

Harry just stared—wide-eyed.

Then helped pull him to his feet.

Peter looked back at the smoking crater where Scorpia had once stood.

Nothing left but ash and molten scrap.

(She's gone. But something tells me... this isn't the end. The others will come.)

Gwen stepped beside him.

"You okay?"

Peter coughed. "Not even close."

But his eyes still burned with fire.

"But I'm still standing."

To be continue