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Time rewinds a few minutes.
Peter pushed the woman in the wheelchair along the corridor toward the ward.
"Can I know your name?"
"Peter Parker."
Peter glanced down at the old woman in the wheelchair and said, "I thought you were really a fortune teller who could figure out my name."
"Of course, but are you sure that's your name?"
The old woman raised her head and smiled at him.
Peter hesitated for a moment but replied without changing his expression: "That's my name."
"Hm, a name doesn't mean much. Perhaps I shouldn't concern myself with it."
The woman quickly dropped the subject of Peter's name, placing her hands on the armrests of the wheelchair.
"Mr. Parker, do you think I'm a fortune teller?"
"Aren't you?"
Peter responded calmly: "Tarot cards, palm reading... I even know people who use tea leaves for divination. For example, if tea leaves stand up in the cup today, they predict guests will come."
"You're amusing, Mr. Parker," she replied with a smile.
She took out a pair of sunglasses and put them on as they passed through a sunny area in the corridor.
"Apologies, my eyes aren't well, and they've become more sensitive to bright light."
She took the initiative to explain her sunglasses to Peter.
"You can call me Mrs. Weber, or Cassandra, if that makes me sound younger."
With her sunglasses on, she talked even more.
"Mr. Parker, I understand the methods of divination you mentioned—the beautiful cards, the secrets in palm lines. But I think those are all gimmicks, really."
She paused, then continued: "People who believe in fate often think there are specific methods and rules, and they believe that everyone with the ability to peer into destiny follows the same constraints."
Peter listened, nodded, and asked, "That makes sense. So what method does Mrs. Weber use to peer into fate?"
Mrs. Weber signaled Peter to stop pushing the wheelchair. She asked him to come closer and said, "Would you like to try, Mr. Parker?"
"Of course."
Peter nodded. Though he was once an atheist, his experiences—like time travel—had changed his perspective. Plus, the Marvel world he found himself in was full of magic and incredible powers.
He was curious to see how this mysterious Mrs. Weber would predict his fate.
"What do I need to do, Mrs. Weber?"
"Just give me your hand."
She gestured for Peter's hand, and after hesitating briefly, he extended his left hand to her.
Peter couldn't see Mrs. Weber's expression under her sunglasses, but he noticed her expression turn more serious the moment she touched his hand.
"Strange," she said softly, her voice full of age. "Strange, I can't see the end of your life. I can't see death. It's as if you're outside the flow of time and fate, without any constraints."
Her grip on Peter's hand tightened, her expression becoming more ferocious. Veins bulged on her hands as her confusion grew.
Peter, half-crouched in front of Mrs. Weber, saw his reflection in her sunglasses. The dark lenses were like whirlpools, trying to draw him in.
Staring at his reflection, Peter felt dizzy. His consciousness blurred, and the world around him shifted.
The bustling hospital corridor vanished, replaced by an endless, desolate space.
Before him lay a dark sky and burning ruins. The city was reduced to rubble, and smoke filled the air. The Statue of Liberty had collapsed, leaving only its base burning in flames. Everything in sight was ruined and dead.
A loud boom echoed as the ground cracked under an attack, sending shockwaves through the air. Dust and debris rained down as something landed nearby.
Through the smoke, Peter saw a figure—a familiar one.
It was himself, or rather, a more mature version of himself.
No, more appropriately, it was a more mature Peter Parker. His entire body was clad in a black uniform, accented with white stripes, exuding a chilling aura. He was helmetless and bent down to pick up a familiar glove from the ruins.
It was the Infinity Gauntlet, covered in dust and dirt, retrieved from a crumbled wall. He slowly slipped it onto his right hand.
As soon as he wore it, countless roars erupted from all around.
Aliens of various shapes and sizes emerged from the wreckage of the city, exuding strange, terrifying auras. From a distance, they rushed toward him, forming dark waves, like an ocean closing in.
A suffocating, terrifying atmosphere blanketed the city like a dark cloud.
Then, just as suddenly, the vision vanished, ebbing away like a tide.
The city and the alien army disappeared, and Peter found himself back in the hospital corridor. The clamor of people returned to his ears.
He was back in reality.
Mrs. Weber let go of his hand abruptly and collapsed back into her wheelchair, gasping for breath. Her face, once calm, now bore a look of shock.
"That... that..."
She tried to speak, but a violent coughing fit overtook her.
"Cough, cough, cough... How... how is this possible? You..."
She removed her sunglasses, her cloudy eyes filled with disbelief.
"It looks like my future doesn't bode well. What did you see, Mrs. Weber?"
Peter, standing in front of her, was surprised by what he'd witnessed, but quickly hid his emotions, pretending he'd seen nothing.
"You... there's a monster living in your heart, Peter."
Mrs. Weber's voice was no longer calm. She clutched her chest, staring at Peter.
"I saw the ruins of the world's end and heard the footsteps of death approaching. You... you are the hand of death!"
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