Fire Rains
Peter opened his eyes.
Almost immediately he noticed he was cuffed. He felt the cool metal on his skin of both his wrists. Then he felt the coarse leather straps on his ankles, binding him.
He could feel everything around him. Every single living thing around, human or not, was on his radar. From the smallest bacteria to the tallest trees. Everything was at his fingertips.
Was this what it was like to be in full control?
Peter looked at the white hospital room, eyes focusing on the pasty walls. He could sense twenty or so soldiers on the other side. Each and everyone of them stacked with weapons. One person he couldn’t sense was Fury. He wasn’t behind the wall, waiting for him. He was letting his people handle him.
“He was one of the Agents we sent to find him.”
His fist curls with trembling white knuckles. Of course he would hide. That bastard was the reason he was here in cuffs. He was scared.
The dark train of thought was new. Never had he thought or felt so bitterly about a being. Yet the thought of Fury and Shield made curl. He was a hero. He was just surrounded by a world of villains.
“My gem…” Skull had been at his side the entire time, lingering. Alas unable to help without direct order or impending doom. He too looked moved by his masters shift. No longer did he look like the frightened child he had to protect instead a strong passionate being took his place.
“Do it.”
Red Skull couldn’t help but smirk. Finally, a worthy master.
-
Strange gasps, thrusted out of his state of state.
His body falls down, clutching his chest. Books he had been looking through fell to the ground. A well trained user of the mystic arts was thrown back by the change.
He was too late.
From the books, he hated to admit that he found himself searching for another answer. One that would solve the universe’s problem without death. He didn’t want to admit that this whole killing the boy facade was just that. A facade. He wasn’t sure if he could. His stupid humanity loved to get in the way.
But now, Parker was gone. His being gone. Now all he could sense was the surge of a being he couldn’t identify. It’s power taking on a new face.
Oh god.
Peter walked out of the hospital room, shreds of his binding scattered on the floor. His bare feet touched the cool tiles, hardly flinching. He moved like a robot, unable to do any wrong.
It felt rejuvenating.
No pitiful emotions to play him like a cord. That part of him was gone. No longer could he feel the blood that stained his hands. It was like a huge burn lifted after he finally became one.
The moment he stepped out of the room he was greeted with dead bodies. Lifeless corpses. Scattered around like a warpath. At the center, his protector.
At the end, Skull. He looked pleased with his work. If he hadn’t looked so gastly, he’d say the phantom was grinning.
Sirens wailed in the background, piercing through halls. Red lights blinking.
“Don’t move!” Soldiers pile from the halls, each armed with their own sniper. They seemed dead focused on him, their hearts pounding.
Peter slowly turns around, his feet shifting. His face neutral, yet holding a sinister undertone. His eyes studying the soldiers.
“I said don’t move!”
Peter is caught between the barrel of the gun, eyeing its holder with almost curiosity. Of the two men, the one off to the side was terrified. Their guns tremble in their hands.
Peter begins to raise his hand, eyeing both men when a shot rings out. Nothing could prepare the trigger happy soldier for what happens next.
The bullet is stopped midair. It’s presence defeated gravity by a landslide. To add to the sight, a red mist holds it, surrounding it.
“I always hated guns.”
The bullet falls, clicking onto the ground. Before another shot could be fired, the barrel to the gun is crushed, metal bending as if an extreme force wielded it. All while Peter’s hand mimicked the motion, his hand waving simulating crushing an apple. The soldier is called by the will of the hand, his feet dragged as his body is pulled into Peter’s grip.
The teens palm clutched around the man’s neck, studying his face.
Gagging, the man is forced still as purple like cracks formed across his neck that sprouted from the hand that held him.
“You’ve hurt so many people,” Peter tells him, reading through this man’s history by just a look into his memories. “That gun has killed so many. Yet you still walk.”
The soldier couldn’t scream as his lungs wouldn’t let him. He was forced to his knees, left staring at the face of the teen in front of him.
“Scum like you exist while others suffer,” Peter hisses. “These impurities must be purged.”
Starting with you.
The man became dust. Torn from his sad existence like a leaf in the wind. No longer could he hurt another. His eyes wander, meeting the metal walls.
His reflection.
Unlike anything before, now his eyes held the galaxy. Change from the boring brown that he had been born with.
Eyes lift away, meeting the second soldier.
He had been paralyzed in fear, watching as his teammate was demolished. Peter kept his gaze on him, quickly flicking the gun out of his hands when he moved to raise it.
He read through him. His life, his memories, his being-it was pure. Unlike the one he just got rid of. He had done nothing other than wear a terrible suit.
“Runand don’t come back,” Peter tells him.
Like a dog, the soldier bolts, following orders. He didn’t want to test the mercy he had just been given.
“My gem, we must go. I’m afraid more of them are coming.”
Blink.
They were coming to stop him. It was almost laughable. Yet the laugh doesn’t happen. Instead he fires a bolt of energy straight into the vent.
Then there was fire.
Tony Stark watched the flames raise, ash sprouting from the sky. Nobody could prepare him for the sight.
Chaos rang around yet none of it stoped him from worrying about the center of it.
Oh Peter…
What have you done?