Chapter 1
Titan was unlike anything Peter had ever imagined.
The ground crackled under their every step like sun-scorched skin. There was no wind. No rain. No birds singing. Only silence. And even that silence was heavy, oppressive.
This planet had once been inhabited, by a civilization that seemed highly advanced even. The gigantic buildings and structures were proof of this. Although they were now ruined, destroyed, relics of a time long past, collapsed arches covered in red dust, gigantic reactors that had crashed to the ground ages ago.
The sky wasn't in much better condition. It blazed a sickly yellow, not warm in the least. A bit like the color of an infected wound. The fractured moon hung up high, suspended in orbit, gaping cracks running across its surface.
It hadn't been hard to figure out that Titan wasn't a battlefield or some kind of base for their enemy, but a desolate world, what was left afterwards.
A dead world.
The air was dry, heavy and dusty, so different from what he was used to. The dust was unbearable. It never really settled down, all the more so with the strange gravity - or lack of it - of this planet.
All in all, not exactly what Peter had in mind when he imagined going into space. A far cry from the verdant worlds filled with strange and different ecosystems.
He hadn't even really had time to dwell too much on the horror of the landscape, for their enemy, the Mad Titan, had arrived shortly after them.
Thanos was... overwhelming. Not because of his size, although he was colossal, almost grotesquely massive, but because of the way he spoke, the way he held himself. Peter had watched and listened, his heightened senses helping him, as Strange held his attention. He didn't shout, his face blank despite the horrors that came out of his mouth. What had sent shivers down his spine was the icy, unshakeable certainty he'd displayed. When he spoke of killing more living beings than Peter could attempt to fathom, with such... indifference.
He spoke of death as though it were a relief. He was destroying worlds without any particular hatred, and that was the worst of it.
He was cold. Unwavering. Inflexible.
Unstoppable in his so-called purpose.
The fight had been intense, fierce but rather coordinated for their ‘team’. Although Peter had been thrown around like a rag doll more than once, he'd come through it well. Each of them had managed to defend themselves, landing blow after blow on the titan's purple skin, allowing Mantis to grab his head and freeze him with her power. This had been their chance to seize the gauntlet.
They had been so close to success. It had all come down to a few precious seconds, events having unfolded too quickly for Peter to keep up. Quill had broken down, not physically, but his rage had shattered Mantis's concentration and made everything turn upside down.
Peter and Tony had lost their grip, thrown back by the titan's strength.
A closed fist. A gleaming gauntlet. And a collapsing sky.
The moon descended upon them.
No metaphor. An actual moon. Thanos ripped it from the sky like someone plucking off a rotten fruit. Then he hurled it at them. Peter had never seen anything so... impossible. A celestial body ripped from its orbit in a matter of seconds.
The initial shock had frozen him in place. His eyes riveted on the sky to see a rain of flames and rocks pouring down.
His body had moved before his head even realized it. Instinct. Adrenalin. Webs sprang from his wrists, clinging to collapsed buildings, crushed ships, anything that could still bear weight. He swung between the flaming debris, his senses on full alert, guided by pure survival instinct. He'd managed to catch the Guardians who'd been knocked unconscious by their enemy, dodging a rock as big as a building, keeping them out of the apocalyptic rain.
Peter had glanced over after ensuring their safety, to see Tony in a shower of sparks, his repulsors burning. To see Strange bending space like a sheet of paper. Both confronting Thanos, the latter destroying everything around him, their attempts to stop him futile.
He'd felt his stomach drop when Mr. Stark had been stabbed by his own blade, and was certain his heart had been in his throat when Strange had given... handed , the Time Stone to Thanos.
He didn't think about what he did next.
Not for a second. No time to hesitate.
The world around him was pure destruction, ruins, chaos and flames, but Peter paid no attention, his gaze focused. One point, one goal. The only thing that mattered at that moment, as Mr. Stark would have wanted.
The gauntlet.
Thanos was already starting to back away, a bluish glow on his fist. He was going to escape... he was going to win .
So Peter moved.
No meticulous plan in mind. No strategy. Just one last desperate move. He leapt into the air, propelled by a web that snapped against a broken column.
He came down on the titan with a violent kick, sending him staggering, before grabbing hold of the only thing he could find. His fingers closed on the warm gold of the gauntlet. He grabbed with all his might, planted his soles against Thanos's forearm, and pulled.
He ignored Thanos's look of hatred, applying more strength. He winced as a burning pain began to engulf his arms, as if every nerve were charred from the inside out. His head exploded in pain, Peter forcing himself to swallow a cry and hold on.
Images sprang up. Voices. Shards of memories that weren't his.
A young woman with green skin. A dagger. Tears. Her blood dripping onto the stone.
A field of ashes. A creaking, abandoned swing.
An overturned hourglass.
Familiar faces melted like wax - Aunt May, MJ, Ned.
A child's silhouette, alone on a rock, bathed in orange light.
Dying stars, fading as quickly as others were born in an explosion of light.
The echo of laughter. Not his. Not Thanos'.
A silent galaxy.
A universe in pain.
Peter screamed .
And the real world snapped back, all too abruptly, as Thanos hurled him through the air with a brutal backhand.
Peter felt something break in his body before he released the gauntlet. He was thrown backwards as if he weighed nothing, crashing through a collapsed arch before smashing into an already crumbling wall.
Breathless, he couldn't get up, watching in horror as his enemy disappeared and Quill tried, as Peter had just done, to make one last frantic strike. Dull pain. Black spots in his vision. He didn't know what was up, what was down. Just that it was still burning. His hands were shaking. His legs, too. And the taste of iron in his mouth made him want to puke.
He tried to get up from the floor but fell back almost immediately. His voice was a hoarse whisper, not knowing to whom he was speaking. Perhaps Mr. Stark, apologizing for having failed. “I was going to... get it...”
But he hadn't.
And Thanos had won that battle.
🕷 🕷 🕷
No one dared to speak in the minutes that followed the titan's departure. He opened his mouth to ask what they were supposed to do now, but the words died in his throat.
Mantis was vanishing.
Literally. Before Quill's eyes, she turned to dust, dark particles swept by a breeze coming from nowhere. The look of astonishment on her face didn't even have time to turn to fear.
Then it was Drax. His arm disappeared as if the world no longer needed him. He looked up, stunned, almost curious, calling to his friend one last time.
Peter didn't move. His brain refused to understand what he was witnessing.
Quill staggered back, shocked. “Oh, man...” he sighed, before following the others into nothingness.
And Peter...
He couldn't breathe.
His panic was mixed with something else, a burning pain in his chest, spreading throughout his body. His senses were panicking, every nerve screaming in alarm. He staggered back, put a hand against his chest, where the pain was beating like a second heart.
He didn't even hear what the wizard said to Tony, closing his eyes in pain, no air entering his lungs.
“Mr. Stark?” His voice was but a breath, barely louder than a whisper.
Tony turned around. And his eyes widened.
Peter lowered his.
His fingers were fading.
“I-I don't feel so good,” He stumbled forward, catching Tony reflexively. He clutched at him, feeling his strength leave him, something drawing him inexorably toward... he didn't even know how to describe it.
The world became a blur, a kaleidoscope of colors pulsing before his eyes. The edges of his vision pulsed, saturated with light and dizziness.
“You're alright.” Tony said gently, even though Peter knew he was lying, his panic evident on his tired face.
He could feel himself slipping away, even though it was as if every atom inside him was rebelling, refusing to be tied to the rest. He could almost feel his body splintering, molecule after molecule, struggling to keep its shape, to stay here, with Tony.
“I don't want to die.” he wept and begged, his voice a pathetic mess, clinging desperately to his mentor.
He couldn't feel his arms anymore, and knew his legs had begun to disappear, swept away by a force beyond their comprehension, driven by Thanos's insane wish.
“Peter? Hey. Pete, stay with me.”
And even then, as he was dying, Peter felt ashamed. Guilty to inflict this on Mr. Stark, who would believe that he had failed and that Peter had died because of him. But he was also relieved to see that the older man didn't seem to be suffering the same fate as him.
He apologized one last time, before his body stopped fighting and he was swept away, like the others before him.
Like half the universe had been.
🕷 🕷 🕷
Peter was not feeling well per se, but for once, there was nothing in his head, no thoughts. Just emptiness.
Silence.
A dense, absolute silence, almost alien, his senses blurred.
He's suspended, without really being aware of anything other than the blankness in his head.
His body was floating. Heavy. Too heavy. He was certain something was wrong, but the idea refused to settle. It slipped away, like a thought caught in his fingertips, then forgotten in a second.
The last thing he remembered was the confrontation with Thanos and his use of the stones... the way his body had turned to dust. But he wasn't dust now, or at least he didn't think he was.
It didn’t make him feel much better.
He slowly became aware of the timid prickles running up his skin. Faint shivers. Tiny shocks coursing through his neck, legs and arms. The water, or rather something resembling it, pressed against him from all sides. A significant thickness, even for his exhausted senses.
His eyelids were shut. Heavily. As if he'd been asleep for ages, a bit like a bear coming out of hibernation like he'd seen in documentaries when he was a kid. He didn't know if he was still dreaming.
He suddenly realized something quite important, wondering how he'd even missed it so far.
He was completely immersed and unable to breathe.
His eyes snapped open.
All around him was green. Bright and toxic. Green and shifting, like a murky emerald sea. What surrounded him, and which was definitely not water, enveloped him, a heavy, unsettling embrace.
Peter inhaled reflexively, which turned out to be a very bad thing to do, and the liquid seeped in, cold and thick, burning him. It flooded his throat, tore at his lungs. Panicked, his heart began to race, pounding in his chest.
His muscles refused to move at first, numb, as if rusty. But the terror was stronger. It breathed something into his veins. A raw energy, a self-preservation drive, similar to the one that pushed him to fight super-villains with all his might.
His palms met a cold, rock-smooth wall. His arms rose in an effort far greater than he had expected, pushing him a little closer to the top. The viscous liquid stuck to his skin, slowing his movements. Eventually, he reached the surface, and if his body could, he was sure he would have wept with relief.
He burst out of the liquid, spitting, suffocating, falling to his knees out of the pool. The floor was hard and rough, a gruesome pain in contact with his skin, his shaking arms clutching at the edge. He became aware of the foul smell of the room around him. The sickening green vapor made his stomach turn. He bent in half, his body wracked by a cough that tore at his throat. A thick liquid, a mixture of water and acid, escaped from his lungs. He thought he was vomiting up his very life.
Then, after a few seconds, his lungs finally filled with the air he needed, breathing blissfully.
Peter lay there on the floor for... he didn't know how long. His hair, drenched, stuck to his forehead. He slowly realized that he was almost completely naked, wearing only boxers, his damp skin making him shiver. Everything hurt. His skin burned. His joints screamed. His brain was still spinning in slow motion, like an old hard drive, the kind he so liked to repair and recycle in his spare time.
He finally looked up, trying to take in where he might be. Although he was plunged into semi-darkness, he manages to catch a glimpse of an almost circular room, with various scientific devices scattered around the room's corners. But no one was there. Which was technically a good thing, as Peter was in no state to defend himself against any threat at the moment.
The pit behind him was still pulsing faintly. That awful green liquid with the supernatural sheen rippling on its surface. He shivered and looked away, hugging himself tightly.
He was...
He was dead.
And yet, here he was. Half-naked, shivering, on his knees in an underground room bathed in toxic light, with no idea where he was or how he'd ended up here.
He was disoriented. Exhausted. And a little terrified too.
There was only so much a kid like him could take before he broke down. He was just a New York teenager after all, even if he was one endowed with powers.
One thing was certain, Peter was a long way from Titan.