The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft golden glow over the room. The air was quiet, save for the slow, steady rhythm of breathing.
Peter lay on his back, the sheets loosely draped over his waist, his chest bare and rising gently with each breath. His arm was wrapped protectively around Susan, who rested against him, her head nestled on his chest. A contented smile played on her lips, her golden hair spilling across his skin like silk. The warmth of his body, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her ear, it was comforting, grounding.
Their clothes lay scattered across the floor, forgotten remnants of the night before. The room smelled faintly of sweat and something sweeter, something intimate. Susan stirred slightly, sighing softly in her sleep as she pressed herself closer, fingers tracing light patterns across Peter's side.
For now, in this quiet moment, there was only peace.
Peter's eyes slowly fluttered open, adjusting to the soft morning light streaming through the windows. His body felt warm, comfortably heavy, and as his senses fully awakened, he became aware of the gentle weight against his chest.
Susan.
His gaze drifted down, taking in the sight of her nestled against him, her golden hair cascading over his bare skin. She looked so peaceful, so at ease, her breathing slow and steady. There was no tension in her face, no worry creasing her brows, just pure, unguarded serenity.
Peter had seen Susan Storm in many different ways, furious in battle, determined in crisis, heartbroken in grief, but this? This was different. This was intimate. Beautiful.
He carefully reached up, brushing a few strands of hair away from her face, his fingers barely grazing her skin. She murmured softly in her sleep, nuzzling closer into his warmth, and Peter felt something tighten in his chest.
She was happy. Content. And in this moment, so was he.
Peter sighed, feeling the warmth of Susan's body pressed against his. His arm instinctively tightened around her, pulling her just a little closer. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he was at peace. No battles, no blood, no anger, just warmth and silence.
The rhythm of Susan's breathing, slow and steady, was almost hypnotic. Peter let himself relax, sinking into the mattress as the weight of exhaustion pulled him back under. His eyelids grew heavy, his mind slipping into the depths of sleep.
Then the world shifted.
The scent of fresh grass filled his lungs, and he felt the sun's warmth against his skin. But it wasn't the New York skyline above him, it was an endless blue sky, dotted with drifting clouds. Peter realized he was lying on his back in a vast, open field. The grass was soft beneath him, swaying gently in the breeze.
His hands twitched, and that's when he noticed, his skin was darker, richer, like burnished bronze. His body felt different, like it wasn't entirely his own. Yet, at the same time, it was.
A rustling beside him made him turn his head.
Lying next to him, resting comfortably against his chest, was a woman with flaming red hair. Her vibrant locks spilled over his skin like fire, catching the golden sunlight. Her face was peaceful, her breathing slow and even, just like Susan's had been moments ago.
Peter didn't move. He didn't need to.
A voice, deep and knowing, drifted through the air like a whisper on the wind.
"This brings me back."
Peter knew that voice.
Anansi.
He didn't speak, didn't react. He simply let the vision wash over him as his consciousness drifted back into sleep.
---
Peter stirred, slowly blinking awake as the remnants of his vision faded into the back of his mind. The warmth of Susan's body still lingered against his skin, her soft breaths tickling his chest. She was still asleep, completely at ease, her head nestled against him with a content expression.
A small smile tugged at Peter's lips. She looked so peaceful, more peaceful than he'd seen her in years. He didn't want to wake her, so he carefully shifted, slipping out from under the blankets. He moved with practiced ease, making sure not to disturb her as he stood up.
His clothes were still scattered across the floor from the night before. He grabbed his pants and shirt, quickly getting dressed in silence. Once he was fully clothed, he cast one last glance at Susan, who murmured something unintelligible in her sleep but didn't wake.
Satisfied that she was still resting, Peter quietly stepped out of the room.
The castle halls were silent, save for the faint hum of Doombots patrolling the corridors. He had a long day ahead, his first lesson under Doom was set to begin soon, and he needed something to eat before dealing with the Latverian monarch's inevitable arrogance.
As he made his way toward the dining hall, he turned a corner, only to come face-to-face with Sable.
She was leaning against the stone wall, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. Her sharp silver eyes studied him knowingly.
"Good morning, Peter," she greeted smoothly. Then, with an unmistakable edge of amusement, she added, "Did you enjoy Susan last night?"
Peter froze mid-step, his brain stalling for a moment. Then, slowly, he exhaled through his nose and gave her a flat look.
"...Really?"
Sable's smirk widened as she pushed off the wall and stepped closer to Peter. Before he could say another word, she cupped the back of his head and pulled him into a kiss.
Peter, caught off guard for only a second, quickly returned it. Her lips moved against his with familiar confidence, her fingers threading through his hair as she deepened the kiss.
When they finally pulled away, Peter rested his forehead against hers, exhaling softly. He searched her eyes, his voice quieter now. "Are you really sure about this? About... sharing me?"
Sable raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering in her gaze. "After what you did with Susan last night, don't you think it's a little late to second-guess yourself?"
Peter instantly turned red, groaning as he ran a hand down his face. "Okay, okay, fair point."
Sable chuckled and kissed his cheek before stepping back. "Relax, Peter. I wouldn't have brought it up if I wasn't certain. And after seeing how much she cares about you? I stand by what I said. You deserve as much happiness as possible."
Peter let out a breath, nodding slowly. "Thanks, Sable."
She smirked again before glancing down the hall. "Franklin and Valeria are still asleep. So you don't have to worry about any awkward questions yet."
Peter sighed in relief. "Good. I don't think I have the brainpower to deal with that before breakfast."
Sable chuckled, looping her arm around his as they started walking toward the dining hall. "Come on, then. You've got a long day ahead of you with Doom, and you're going to need your strength."
---
After finishing breakfast, Peter made his way through the grand halls of Doom's castle, his footsteps echoing against the stone floors. Latveria's architecture was as imposing as its ruler, vast, intricate, and filled with an eerie sense of power that seemed to hum in the air.
As he reached the grand chamber where Doom had instructed him to meet, the massive iron doors opened on their own with a low groan. Inside, Victor von Doom sat upon an ornate throne-like chair, flanked by burning torches that cast flickering shadows across the room.
Peter stepped forward and sat on the floor before him, crossing his legs. "Alright, Doom. Let's get started."
Doom studied him in silence for a moment before he finally spoke, his voice steady and commanding. "Magic is not simply energy to be wielded, Parker. It is the fundamental force that binds the unseen, the intangible. To understand it, one must grasp its origin, not in the world around us, but within."
He raised a gauntleted hand and tapped his chest. "Every being capable of wielding magic possesses a core, a wellspring of mystical potential deep within them. It is this core that allows one to shape reality, to bend the laws of nature in ways the uninitiated deem impossible."
Peter listened intently, his fingers idly tapping against his knee. "So, it's not just learning spells. It's about tapping into something inside of me?"
Doom inclined his head slightly. "Correct. But accessing your core is no simple task. It requires discipline, knowledge, and above all... will."
Peter frowned slightly. "And I take it you're going to teach me how to find it?"
Doom's eyes gleamed behind his mask. "That is the first step. But whether you succeed depends entirely on you."
Doom's voice carried through the chamber like a solemn hymn, his words deliberate and precise. "Magic is not an art one can simply stumble into, Parker. It is a discipline, a force of will imposed upon reality itself. Those without conviction, without purpose, will find themselves consumed by it rather than wielding it."
Peter nodded, absorbing every word. "So, it's about control. Not just power, but understanding how to shape it."
Doom's gaze remained firm. "Precisely. The greatest mistake of lesser sorcerers is their reliance on incantations alone. Words are merely a conduit, a tool to guide one's intent. True mastery comes from within."
With a flick of his wrist, Doom conjured a small orb of crackling green energy above his palm. "Magic manifests differently for each practitioner. Some channel their strength through artifacts, others through gestures or spoken commands. You must determine what resonates with you."
Peter watched the energy pulse and shift, feeling the raw force it emitted. "And how do I start?"
Doom waved his hand, and from the shadows, a Doombot approached, carrying a large, leather-bound tome. The bot extended it toward Peter, and as he took it, the sheer weight of the book surprised him. The cover bore no title, only intricate golden engravings that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
"This grimoire contains foundational spells, basic incantations, wards, and defensive techniques. You will study them, commit them to memory, and master them with efficiency. I expect no less."
Peter ran a hand over the ancient pages, his eyes scanning the complex symbols and notations. "Alright, let's see what I can do."
Doom watched him with quiet amusement. "Do not assume this will be easy, Parker. Magic requires patience and discipline, traits you have struggled with in the past."
Peter smirked slightly. "Guess I'll just have to prove you wrong, then."
Doom inclined his head ever so slightly, his version of approval. "Then we shall see how quickly you learn."
---
Peter sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor of Doom's study, the ancient grimoire open in front of him. His brow furrowed as he traced the symbols on the page, muttering the incantation under his breath. Across from him, a small metal chalice sat motionless on the table.
He exhaled slowly, focusing his will. With a flick of his fingers, he whispered the spell. The chalice wobbled, then, ever so slightly, it lifted off the surface.
Peter grinned. "Well, would you look at that."
Doom, standing behind him with arms crossed, observed in silence. Peter, emboldened by his small success, reached out his hand and willed the cup to float higher. It rose another inch before his concentration slipped, and the chalice clattered back onto the table.
Doom let out a low hum. "Acceptable. You display an aptitude for telekinesis, though your execution is still rudimentary."
Peter cracked his knuckles. "Hey, baby steps, Vic."
Doom merely gestured toward the grimoire. "Continue."
Peter turned the page, scanning over the next spell, a basic conjuration of fire. He rolled his shoulders and muttered the incantation, holding out his palm. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a sharp breath, a tiny flame flickered to life at his fingertips.
His grin widened. "Nice."
He turned his hand, watching the flame dance in his palm. With a thought, he willed it to grow slightly larger before snuffing it out. He repeated the spell, faster this time, the fire appearing with ease.
Peter continued practicing, his confidence growing with each successful spell. The telekinesis became smoother, the fire conjuration more controlled. It was exhilarating, feeling the magic flow through him like an extension of his own strength.
Doom watched in silence, arms still crossed over his chest. After several minutes, he finally spoke. "You learn quickly, Parker. Quicker than most."
Peter smirked, glancing at him. "Quicker than you did?" he asked, his tone teasing.
Doom's head tilted slightly, and though his iron mask revealed no emotion, there was a weight to his next words. "Let's not get carried away now."
Peter chuckled but got the message. Still, the fact that even Doom acknowledged his rapid progress only fueled his determination. He turned back to the grimoire, ready for the next challenge.
He furrowed his brows in concentration as he extended his hand, focusing on the incantation written on the page. With a slow, deliberate breath, he spoke the words, feeling the energy swirl within him. A flickering flame sparked to life in his palm, small but steady.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. He was getting the hang of this.
Encouraged, he turned the page and attempted another spell, one that involved levitating multiple objects at once. He raised his hand again, this time willing several loose quills and books around the room to rise into the air. At first, they barely moved, wobbling unsteadily as if fighting against his will. He gritted his teeth, pushed harder—
The objects shot upward too quickly, spinning wildly before dropping back down with a loud clatter.
Peter let out a sharp breath, suddenly feeling lightheaded. His vision blurred slightly as an intense wave of exhaustion washed over him. His breathing grew labored, and a deep, bone-weary fatigue settled into his muscles. He barely had time to react before a violent cough wracked his chest, forcing him to brace himself with one hand against the floor.
Doom, who had been watching silently, stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Peter's shoulder. "Your exhaustion is natural," he said. "You are only now tapping into your magical core. Your body is unaccustomed to this strain. Like any muscle, your core will strengthen with use, but for now, you must pace yourself."
Peter, still panting, nodded weakly. "Sorry for running out of steam so quickly."
Doom merely gestured toward the window. Peter turned his head, and his eyes widened in shock. The sun was already beginning to set, casting long shadows over the castle walls.
"You were so focused on your training that you failed to notice the passage of time," Doom stated. "That level of dedication is expected from my students, and I am pleased to see you possess it."
Peter blinked, absorbing the backhanded praise. He hadn't even realized how deeply engrossed he'd been. "Guess magic has a way of pulling you in, huh?"
Doom gave a slight nod before turning to leave. "Rest. We will continue tomorrow."
As Doom reached the door, Peter hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Hey, Doom, out of curiosity, how did you know I was Spider-Man?"
Doom paused, then turned back to face him. "I have always found your incessant chatter irritating, but I could not deny your dedication to protecting the innocent. When that suddenly changed, and you began calling yourself the 'Superior Spider-Man,' I was... intrigued. In a brief moment of curiosity, I investigated the cause of your transformation."
Peter narrowed his eyes. "And?"
Doom folded his arms. "It did not take much effort to uncover the truth. Otto Octavius never possessed the subtlety for deception on such a scale. Once I deduced that he had swapped bodies with you, the rest was merely a matter of logic."
Doom's mask tilted slightly, as if studying Peter. "You were once a struggling photographer, known for being the only one capable of capturing images of Spider-Man. Then, almost overnight, you became a multi-billionaire, established a company that swiftly surpassed Oscorp, and equipped Spider-Man with cutting-edge technology. The answer was obvious."
Peter let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "And here I thought I was doing a decent job keeping my identity secret."
"If anything, I am surprised no one else has pieced it together." Doom's voice carried a hint of disdain. "Stark, Richards, Pym, so many self-proclaimed geniuses, yet not one of them saw what was right in front of them."
Peter exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, well... let's just say people have a habit of seeing what they want to see."
Doom regarded him for a moment longer before turning away once more. "Rest well, Parker. You will need your strength."
And with that, he left Peter alone with his thoughts.
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