Chapter 18
Peter was standing in the ruins of his childhood home, the walls crumbling around him, suffocating darkness seeping through the cracks. As Peter moved through the decaying corridors, whispers echoed from every corner, sinister voices taunting him with their cryptic messages. The air grew heavy with a palpable sense of dread, as if an unseen force watched his every move. Shadows twisted and contorted, taking on grotesque shapes, their malevolence seeping into his very being.
With each step, the nightmare intensified. His loved ones appeared before him, their faces wrapped into masks of agony and despair. Aunt May reached out to him, her hand skeletal and cold, pleading for his help. But as Peter extended out his own hand, May disintegrated into ash, leaving him helpless to save her.
In the distance, he heard Lyv’s voice, calling out to him in distress. Peter rushed towards the sound, only to find her trapped in a web of despair, her limbs entangled, her eyes filled with terror. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t reach her, the distance between them growing impossibly vast with each desperate step.
The nightmare twisted and morphed, exploiting Peter’s deepest fears and insecurities. He found himself standing atop a tall building, looking down at a familiar city plagued by chaos and destruction. The sky turned blood-red, crackling with lightning, as monstrous figures rose from the darkness, their eyes glowing.
Peter’s powers abandoned him, leaving him defenseless against the onslaught of darkness. His limbs felt heavy and sluggish, his senses dulled. Every attempt to swing away or fight back ended in failure.
“Help!” Peter screamed. The sky around him crackled and roared as everything start to shake – Peter’s webbing snapped and he was crashing, falling towards the shaking ground –
“Peter,” someone whispered.
Peter sat up, chest heaving as he gasped in shock. Lyv was next to him in the sleeping bag staring at him with concern. Even in the dark of the night, the purple bags underneath her eyes were obvious. She was exhausted, and so was Peter.
For the past two days, they’d been staying in the same tree to try and recover from everything that had happened. They hadn’t touched the rest of Shayna and Allen’s food they’d taken yet, and were living off oak bark with the occasional piece of freeze-dried fruit. They only drank water once a day or so, because quite frankly, neither of them felt the desire to get out of the tree.
For the past two nights, the nightmares had come.
Lyv had woken Peter, who had been thrashing and crying out in his sleep. In return, Peter often found himself shaking Lyv awake from sobbing and screaming from something that plagued her in her sleep. Peter vaguely remembered Nat and Bucky talking about nightmares with Tony. Something about trauma, something about unrest, something here, something there. Whatever was causing the nightmares, both Peter and Lyv were sure that what had happened with Shayna and Allen were the cause. He was sure being dehydrated and starving didn’t help, either.
All the while, Peter’s body was waging a relentless battle against the infection coursing deep through his veins. It was triggered by the sword that Allen had stabbed Peter with. They’d left the sword with Allen’s body, too horrified by the effects it caused to be able to use it on any other tributes. The wound had festered, becoming a breeding ground for the toxic concoction that threatened to consume him from the inside out. Something about the toxins made it impossible for Peter’s body to heal itself. The infected tissues seethed with dark tendrils, spreading their malevolence through his bloodstream.
As the infection raged, Peter’s temperature soared, casting his body into a state of feverish torment. His skin burned with heat that rivaled the sun. Beads of sweat constantly dripped from his skin, his entire frame trembling with chills and searing heat that alternated like some kind of cruel dance.
The fever had robbed Peter of his appetite, rendering even the thought of food repulsive. When Lyv force-fed him tree bark and freeze-dried fruit, it was met with violent rejection as his stomach expelled anything that even thought about entering. Lyv, desperate to ease his suffering, found a variety of different medicinal plants and concoctions she recognized, hoping to find something that could provide even a crumb of relief. But no matter what she tried, Peter’s body rejected them.
Exhaustion gnawed at both Peter and Lyv, their bodies and minds pushed to the brink of collapse. Sleep, when it came, was a double-edge sword. THe passage of time blurred as they languished in the tree, the days blending into a surreal haze of pain and despair. Their bodies weakened, their movements slowed to a crawl. Each breath became a labored struggle, as if the air itself conspired against them.
Things were not looking up for them.
On the third day, Lyv sat beside Peter, her eyes filled with concern. With a gentle touch, she brushed a damp strand of hair away from his forehead, her eyes fixed on his weakened form. She had witnessed tributes in similar conditions turn on their sick ally to both ease them of their suffering and bolster their odds of winning. But Lyv wasn’t going to do that. There was still a chance for Peter.
The fever had taken its toll, leaving him weak and barely able to muster a coherent thought. Still, she refused to let despair consume her. “Hey, Pete,” Lyv said softly, her voice carrying a tender warmth.
Peter, whose chest was rising and falling with shallow pants, managed a weak smile, his voice raspy and strained. “Hey, Lyv.”
“Who knew you could turn tomato-red without even getting bit by a radioactive vegetable?” Lyv quietly murmured, a mischievous grin blossoming on her face as she tried to comfort her friend. Peter managed a weak chuckle.
“You know me, always pushing the limits. Red is the new blue and red, they say,” He quipped before succumbing to a new bout of coughing. Lyv shook her head, a mixture of concern and amusement playing on her features.
“Let’s be real, Pete. No one rocks the tomato look quite like you do,” Lyv retorted. With a brief pause, she continued, her voice laced with genuine concern. “But seriously, how are you feeling?”
Peter’s smile faltered for a moment as he fought through the fog of his fever, his words strained.
“Honestly, Lyv, I feel like the Hulk had a field day with me. But don’t worry, I’ve got my secret weapon against fevers: tree bark.”
Lyv couldn’t help but laugh, her sass mixing with genuine fondness.
“Ah, the classic remedy for all ailments. But you know what? I think you could use a sidekick. And I’m ready. Been training my whole life.”
Peter’s eyes twinkled with gratitude, his voice softening. “You’ve been my sidekick for a while, and now, my partner-in-fever. Thanks for sticking with me.” His voice was raspy and it was clear he was struggling to maintain a conversation for this long.
Lyv’s demeanor softened and she leaned closer, cupping the side of Peter’s face with her palm.
“You’re not just a superhero, you’re a person. I’ve got your back.”
As they shared their lighthearted moment, Lyv began to show a newfound gentleness that Peter hadn’t really seen before. And he decided he liked it.
Over the past three days, Tribute Eleven had died. Peter and Lyv watched her face flash across the sky with an ashamed, secretive sense of relief. She was one of the shadow tributes. Peter wondered if they’d come across a fight that they couldn’t win, someone worse than Lyv and Peter who wouldn’t just leave them stunned, but dead .
Peter shuddered. He didn’t want to face Twelve’s fury now that his partner had died.
Peter was woken from his fourth nightmare not by Lyv, but by an agonizing screech that reverberated through his body. The pain ripped through his head, leaving his right ear deafened and throbbing with agony. Peter clutched at his ear as the screech persisted. His distress caught Lyv’s tired attention, and she woke up in alarm, just in time to see Peter losing his balance and falling from the tree.
In a panic, Peter’s limbs flailed as he tumbled to the ground, unable to regain control. His weakened state made it impossible to maneuver safely, and without his web-shooters, he couldn’t make a graceful recovery. He landed with a sickening crunch, his left arm buckling under the impact, sending shockwaves of pain coursing through his body as it splayed out at an unnatural angle. The combination of searing agony and the disorientation from the fall made him retch, emptying his stomach onto the forest floor.
Lyv swiftly descended from the tree, rushing to Peter’s side. Their belongings remained in the tree above them, but there was no time to retrieve them. The screeching grew louder, drawing closer with each passing moment. “Peter, we have to go!” Lyv urgently shouted.
Peter’s head throbbed as he realized he could only hear from one ear. He instinctively reached for his right ear, but the excruciating pain served as a harsh reminder that his eardrum had likely burst. It was an unfortunate occurrence he had experienced before, his heightened senses making him more susceptible to such injuries. Tony had devised a nanotech device on his suit to protect his eardrums on missions because of it.
Peter wildly glanced around. The forest was still pitch-black; the moon was only a sliver in the sky, and barely any light filtered through the treetops. “Lyv, we have to split up!” Peter screamed, mustering his strength. Swallowing the pain in his arm and leg, he turned to Lyv and placed his good hand on her shoulder. “You have to run! I’ll try to distract it!"
Lyv furrowed her brows, her face contorted with fear. “But Peter-”
“Lyv, go !” Peter barked. His voice was harsh and filled with the tone of commanding that he was so used to hearing from Steve, but never from himself.
Lyv hesitated for a moment, torn between her concern for Peter and the urgency of the situation. But in that brief moment, she saw the determination in Peter’s eyes, a flicker of the hero she knew he was. Reluctantly, she nodded, her voice choked with emotion. “Be careful, Peter. I’ll find you, I promise.”
With that, Lyv turned tail and disappeared into the darkness. Peter steeled himself for what lay ahead. The pain in his body was overwhelming and the fog of his fever was difficult to slide through, but he couldn’t afford to succumb to either just yet. He had to face the approaching threat head-on, drawing on every ounce of his courage and resourcefulness.
As the screeching grew closer, Peter strained his senses to locate its source, but he couldn’t see it. With his heightened perception, he realized that whatever was making the sound was close enough to likely single him out, prompting him to set off at a haphazard sprint through the forest the opposite direction of Lyv. The piercing screech followed him, and though he took solace in knowing Lyv would be able to escape, the relief was fleeting as Peter realized he’d have to deal with this.
Despite the surge of adrenaline dulling his pain and the fever clouding his mind, Peter’s movements remained sluggish. His injuries and illness limited his physical abilities. Hobbling unsteadily through the trees, Peter realized he caught glimpses of a blurred figure darting alongside him before vanishing.
Peter continued to watch for whatever was running near him. The wailing seemed to be coming from something behind him, so this was something different. Eventually, Peter saw it. There was another kid, this one probably eighteen-year-old, sprinting through the trees near him. Just as Peter noticed him, he noticed something fly through the trees at him. Peter’s senses jerked him to the side, and his eyes watched as a dart with a small, purple feather at the end embedded in a tree near Peter. The bark of the tree immediately began to ooze something that smelled awful. Peter looked back to the source and saw the other tribute loading another dart into a blowgun.
Peter set off at the quickest pace he could again, his senses mindlessly jerking him out of the way from shot after shot. The screeching grew closer and closer. Peter wanted to scream at the kid, “Why come after me? Why not run away from what’s chasing us?” However, he couldn’t spare a single breath or ounce of strength.
Suddenly, with a jolt, Peter realized the other tribute had positioned himself in front of him. A dart hurtled toward his face, and his reflexes propelled him into a defensive crouch. Fueled by anger, Peter lunged at the other tribute, tackling him to the ground. Hindered by his injured left arm, Peter struggled to gain the upper hand. The tribute’s head struck the ground, allowing Peter to scramble to his feet and resume his desperate sprint. Behind him, he heard the other tribute cry out in fear, still giving chase.
Another piercing screech assailed Peter’s ears, so close that it sent waves of pain through his ruptured eardrums. The delicate cilia inside his ear seemed to revolt, throwing Peter’s balance, and he came to a sudden halt, wincing as he clutched the side of his head. The momentary lapse in his senses delayed his next instinctive movement, and he felt a sharp object graze against his exposed wrist. Peter furrowed his brow, looking at his wrist. The dart itself hadn’t lodged into his skin, but had left a shallow scrape, allowing a gooey yellow substance to seep into the wound. He hastily wiped at his wrist, but it was too late.
The other tribute brushed by Peter, snickering. “Good luck, Twenty-Four. Thanks for saving my life.”
Peter watched the figure disappear into the distance, his desire to give chase thwarted as his muscles involuntarily clenched. Frowning, his mouth opened in protest, but no sound emerged. Paralyzed, he crumpled to the ground, helpless and voiceless. Agonizing pain coursed through his body from all directions, engulfing him in an unbearable torment that whited out his vision momentarily. Unable to scream, Peter surrendered to the nothingness, his consciousness consumed by relentless agony. It was the only thing he knew in those few moments.
This is it , Peter thought to himself through the haze of the pain. This is where I die. He only hoped Mr. Stark wouldn’t have to see him so defenseless like this. He wasn’t strong enough to protect Lyv; he wasn’t even strong enough to protect himself.
As Peter lay paralyzed on the forest floor, the screeching abruptly ceased. A chilling silence descended upon the forest, broken only by the sound of his own labored breathing.
The air grew heavy with a palpable sense of impending dread. Peter strained his good ear, the agonizing pain momentarily forgotten, as he tried to discern any trace of the creature’s presence. But all he could perceive was a haunting stillness, a sinister absence of sound.
Then, movement flickered at the corner of Peter’s vision. A subtle shift in the shadows, like a ghost passing through the night. His heart raced, pounding in his chest as fear coursed through his paralyzed body. Beads of sweat formed on his brow, mingling with the searing pain that still wracked his body.
A sliver of faint moonlight filtered through the dense forest canopy, casting eerie silhouettes on the forest floor. Peter’s eyes darted frantically, searching for any sign of the predator that circled him, concealed within the inky blackness.
It felt like one of the nightmares he’d been having, only this wasn’t a nightmare. The pain reminded Peter that this was very much real life.
In the oppressive silence, Peter realized he could wiggle his fingers. He could wiggle his fingers.
A rustle of leaves sounded behind him, amplified by the dread that now gripped his every fiber. His senses heightened, Peter strained to catch a glimpse of the elusive threat. The forest seemed to conspire against him, the trees closing in, their gnarled branches resembling clawed hands ready to snatch his body away.
The muscles in Peter’s arms and legs began to twitch and buzz with pain as his dulled, weak metabolism worked to clear the half-dose of yellow liquid from his system.
The faint scent of decay and musk wafted through the air, suffocating his senses with a primal fear. Peter’s breaths came in shallow gasps as his limbs began to twist, a glimmer of hope and determination slowly returning.
Peter heard a soft hiss, faint and insidious. The sound slithered through the air, sending a shiver down his spine. It was a malicious whisper, the predatory taunt of a creature reveling in its prey’s vulnerability. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic rhythm of terror. Peter’s gaze darted back and forth, tracing the subtle disturbances in the environment, desperate to catch even the faintest trace of movement.
Peter’s leg jerked, and he realized it was himself reacting to pain from his leg wound. He could move his leg.
Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he saw it – a fleeting glimmer, a distortion in the air, like ripples on the surface of a pond. Peter’s pulse quickened, his breath hitching as he tried to stifle a gasp. The chilling touch of unseen eyes bore into him, the weight of impending doom pressing down on his paralyzed body. Panic welled within him, his instincts screaming DANGER-RUN-HIDE-FIGHT, but his muscles remained unresponsive.
His uninjured arm jerked. He slowly clenched his fist and squeezed snow in it. His skin felt numb, but he could move it.
Peter’s heart thundered in his chest as he mustered every ounce of strength. With a burst of determination, he began to flex his hands and clench every muscle in his body, feeling a tingling sensation spread through his nerves. Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, he began to regain control over his body, his numb limbs responding to his silent commands.
A gust of humid air brushed against his cheek, carrying with it a faint, putrid stench.
Peter froze – something was breathing nearby.
In the depths of the darkness, Peter watched, horrified, as a Mutt’s form shimmered, revealing a fleeting glimpse of a lizard-like hide – a grotesque fusion of chitinous armor and leathery flesh. Its monstrous form loomed closer, obscured by the interplay of shadow and camouflage, an abomination conjured from hell.
Peter’s mind reeled, a maelstrom of terror engulfing his consciousness. He was trapped, at the mercy of this predator, a creature whose presence defied comprehension. It loomed over him, giant eyes glowing red, mouth opening in conjunction with the shadows around Peter as it revealed row upon row of nightmarish teeth.
That’s when Peter realized he could move again.
With a surge of power, he propelled himself into action, lunging at the camouflage creature with a primal roar. His fists swung through the air, connecting with solid impact. His left arm screamed with the impact, but Peter ignored it. He could feel the broken bones grating and crackling under his skin, but Peter had no other choice.
The Mutt, caught off guard by Peter’s sudden resurgence, let out a growl of frustration and pain. The leathery, lizard-like abomination was huge, standing at least nine-feet-tall. Fangs and claws clashed against flesh and bone as it quickly lashed out at Peter in a chaotic dance of survival. Peter, fueled by a mixture of fear and perseverance, tapped into reserves of strength he never knew he possessed.
With a well-timed kick to the chest, Peter sent the creature hurtling backwards, crashing into a nearby tree. His mind raced, scanning the surroundings frantically, until his eyes caught sight of something purple in the snow. A warm glow of realization washed over him, and without hesitation, he snatched up the dart that had grazed him. The capsule still held yellow ooze.
Before the creature could get back up, Peter sprinted towards it, fueled by irritation. He leaped into the air, bringing down the dart with precise aim, piercing the creature’s eye. A deafening shriek erupted from the wounded beast, reverberating through the air, and Peter felt a sickening pop as his remaining eardrum ruptured. Agonizing pain bloomed in the left side of his head, and a scaled arm retaliated, throwing Peter forcefully to the ground. His body convulsed in response to the overwhelming torment that engulfed him, and he writhed helplessly, his silent screams echoing within him. When the spasms subsided, Peter’s trembling hand reached up to his newly injured ear, now stained with blood. The excruciating agony drove a spike through his skull, compelling him to punch the ground in a primal response, marring his knuckle with bruises.
With a raging fury in his eyes and the world silent around him, he propped himself up and stared at the Mutt. It was convulsing and rolling on the ground, clearly trying to move but the half-dose of toxins rendering it paralyzed, if only for a few moments. Peter drew himself to his feet, his body protesting in pain – every step sent waves of pain coursing through him, urging him to surrender to the frigid embrace of the snow. But he knew he couldn’t do that. He marched forward towards the creature. It rolled onto its back and hissed at him, but couldn’t do much else. Rising to his full height, Peter stared intently at the Mutt, his gaze filled with a raging fury. It writhed and hissed, feeble in its attempts to retaliate.
With a silent growl, Peter seized one of the creature’s razor-sharp claws and forcefully tore it from its hand. The Mutt protested with a piercing shriek, but Peter could no longer hear the sound. He watched as black blood spurted from its finger, staining the snow.
With a swift motion, he plunged the claw deep into the creature’s throat. Blood gushed forth, mingling with its desperate, burbling gasps for air, as the creature choked on its own demise.
Peter’s hand dropped limply to his side, his chest heaving as he fought to draw in each labored breath amidst the overwhelming pain. Anger, delirium, dehydration, deafness, and pain enveloped him, but they only seemed to fuel him. With grim determination, Peter turned on unsteady feet and began to trace the faint footsteps of the tribute responsible for all of this.
Peter spotted the boy, leaning weakly against a tree, trying to catch his breath. As his gaze fell on the boy, the boy’s eyes widened in obvious fear. Peter knew how he looked: drenched in black, oozing blood, his arm bent oddly, numerous injuries covering his body, and he was still walking. The urge to say something welled up within him, but in his current state, he knew it didn’t matter.
Peter approached the boy, whose hands instinctively shot up in a feeble gesture of defense. Ignoring the plea, Peter’s trembling hands closed around the boy's neck.
And in that moment, it was over.
“Wow, Nova.” Zephyr’s voice was grim, and their eyes simply watched Tribute Twenty-Two fall to the ground, lips blue with death. They watched the screen as the studio audience cheered and celebrated Peter being one step closer to winning, and beating the awful Muttation in such a vicious, bloody fight. “What a fight. It gets me every time I rewatch it!”
He turned back to his partner and a new guest at their table: Maximus Valerius, the head Gamemaker. He was dressed in a meticulously tailored suit and his entire presence seemed to command attention from both hosts and the audience. His skin, smooth and pale, shimmered with a subtle iridescent quality that resembled a moonlit sky. The color of his skin seemed to vary moment-to-moment in shifting hues, ranging from pale shades of yellow to ethereal silvers. His arms were long and graceful, and he was tall, at least eight-feet standing up. His slender hands were clasped on the desk in front of him, each finger ending in a small, retractable claw-like appendage. It was a feature he’d modified onto himself that served both practical and ornamental purposes. The appendages were particularly handy with the technology the Gamemakers used for the games.
His eyes, large and almond-shaped, were a deep, violet color. A prominent crest-like structure adorned the top of his head, composed of fine, translucent spines that mimicked the appearance of delicate crystalline formations. A pleasant smile was plastered on his face. Zephyr turned from the screen to Maximus. “Maximus, tell me: how did such a brilliant idea of a Muttation come to mind?”
Maximus, his captivating presence impossible to ignore, leaned back in his chair with an air of confidence as he answered Zephyr’s question. “Ah, Zephyr, excellent question,” he began, his voice resonating with a quality that seemed to demand attention. “The concept of the Muttation was born from our desire to push the tributes to their utmost limits, to truly showcase their full potential under the most extreme circumstances.”
His slender fingers tapped lightly on the desk. “You see, Nova and Zephyr, the Games are not merely about entertainment. They are a testament to the resilience, adaptability, and extraordinary abilities that these tributes possess. We, as Gamemakers, take great pride in crafting challenges that not only test their physical prowess but also delve into the depths of their character and talent.”
A flicker of intrigue danced in Maximus’s eyes as he continued. “When we discovered Peter’s unique healing factor, a trait quite rare on Earth and virtually unheard of in our realms, we knew we had an opportunity to truly showcase the exceptional nature of his abilities. We wanted to present the world with a tribute who required far more than ordinary to be defeated.”
Maximus leaned forward, his voice dropping into a low, playful conspiratorial tone. “The design of the Muttation you witnessed – we like to call her Charlie –” Maximus winked at the laughing crowd “-- is a relentless creature. We carefully crafted her to push Peter to his limits."
"I have to admit, Maximus, I think we are building up towards a very memorable finale here."
Maximus' eyes gleamed with a devilish anticipation. "That we are, my friend. My Gamemakers and I have some fun things waiting in store for these tributes. You just wait."