Peter's Point of View
The room was silent, the thick plastic sheeting on the floor muffling even the smallest sounds. The dim light of the equipment room cast twisted shadows across the walls, amplifying the unsettling atmosphere. My heart beat steadily as I looked down at Flash, lying helpless and bound at the center of the makeshift ritual circle. Fear was etched deep in his eyes, but his mouth was gagged tight, silencing any last pleas he might have wanted to make.
With a deep breath, I tightened my grip on the butcher knife I'd sharpened for this moment. The blade gleamed, catching the faint light as I raised it, and without hesitation, I pressed it against Flash's arm, cutting a deep, precise line from his wrist to his forearm. He writhed in pain, his muffled screams filling the room, but there was no escape. Blood seeped from the wound, dark and thick, pooling in the small ceramic bowl I'd placed next to him.
The sight of his blood, of the life force pouring from him, sent a cold thrill down my spine. This was it—the start of something irreversible.
I set the bowl aside, filled to the brim with Flash's blood, and turned to the crow resting in a small cage on the floor. The bird was restless, its eyes darting around, feathers ruffled in nervous anticipation. I reached down, gently cradling it in my hands. Its body went still, as if sensing what was about to come.
I took a steadying breath, allowing the darkness within me to flow through my veins, calling on the Gauntlet of Kor-Vath. In an instant, the ancient artifact materialized over my hand, its dark metal gleaming with an unnatural, eerie red glow. The crow seemed to fall into a trance, its eyes wide and unblinking, mesmerized by the crimson light emanating from the gauntlet.
With my other hand, I lifted the bowl, letting the blood pour over the crow's black feathers, drenching it in the thick, crimson liquid. The bird didn't move, didn't resist; it merely sat there, frozen, waiting.
Closing my eyes, I raised the crow above Flash, who lay bound and helpless beneath me. I focused all my willpower, all my intent, channeling it through the gauntlet, willing it to reshape reality to my desire. The words of the ancient ritual echoed in my mind, blending with the voice that had whispered in my head ever since I'd first touched the gauntlet. It wasn't just an object—it was a conduit, a bridge between my thoughts and the forces I now sought to command.
'Nothing can be gained without first paying the equivalent price.'
The words whispered through my mind, a reminder, a warning. But I pushed them aside, that voice of caution, that faint spark of morality. Those were just lies society forced on us, designed to keep people docile, obedient, and weak. Flash wouldn't have hesitated if he had this power. If he had a chance to turn the tables, he wouldn't pity me, wouldn't think twice about stepping on me. Why should I?
The transformation began slowly. I could feel the power building, the air thickening with a heavy energy that pressed down on everything, making it harder to breathe. Flash's body convulsed, his face twisting in sheer agony, his skin paling as his life force was siphoned from him, drawn out bit by bit. His eyes bulged, his veins standing out beneath his skin, dark and grotesque, as if every ounce of life was being drained from him.
At the same time, the crow in my hand started to change. Its body stiffened, elongating, feathers merging into a solid mass, color draining away until it was a pale, almost ivory hue. I watched, fascinated, as the crow's form twisted and morphed, the blade taking shape within my grasp. One end sharpened into a deadly point, while the other rounded into a smooth handle. The transformation was almost hypnotic, a grotesque beauty in the way life was reshaped, molded into something new.
As the last shreds of Flash's life were drawn into the blade, he was barely recognizable. His once-vibrant skin was now gray and shriveled, his eyes sunken and hollow, lips pulled back in a silent scream. He looked… mummified, yet he was still alive, barely clinging to whatever was left of his existence. The gauntlet wasn't finished with him yet. I felt it pulling, draining, consuming every last drop of essence, until finally, with a faint exhale, Flash disintegrated into dust.
And in that moment, the gauntlet pulsed with power, surging through me, filling me with a strength that was both exhilarating and terrifying. I felt invincible, like I could tear the world apart if I so desired.
The blade—the Sanguineista Dagger—vanished, absorbed into the gauntlet, yet I could feel it there, like an extension of my will, waiting for me to call upon it whenever I needed it.
I looked down at the small pile of ash that was all that remained of Flash Thompson, feeling a mix of satisfaction and dread. The cost had been paid, and I was ready to wield this power.
---
Gwen Stacy's Point of View
The roar of the crowd still echoed in my ears as I walked off the stage, breathless but buzzing with adrenaline. Our first show had gone better than I could've hoped. I could barely believe it—people actually liked us, clapping, cheering, calling for an encore. It was surreal.
As I stepped offstage, a familiar face caught my eye, standing at the back of the crowd, clapping slowly but with a genuine smile on his face. My dad. Captain George Stacy, the eternal skeptic, the pragmatist, always the one with a realistic view of life. I hadn't even known he'd come, but there he was, a proud glint in his eye.
"Dad!" I called out, weaving through the lingering crowd to reach him.
He chuckled, giving me a quick, approving nod. "You're really something up there, kid," he said, his voice warm with pride. "I'll admit, you have talent. But don't think this means you can drop out of high school to go on tour or something. You're finishing college first."
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop the smile that broke across my face. "Yes, sir. Promise."
Just then, Mary Jane bounded over, pulling me into a tight hug. "Gwen, that was awesome! Seriously, you killed it out there!" She turned, grinning at my dad. "Captain Stacy, any chance Gwen can come over? We're throwing an after-party at my place. Felicia and Liz are coming too."
My dad looked down at me, one eyebrow raised, but he was already relenting. "Fine, but it's already past midnight. I'll drop you off and be back to pick you up by 3 a.m. No excuses, Gwen."
"Thanks, Dad!" I hugged him, feeling like a little kid again, grateful for his support.
As I turned to follow Mary Jane and the others, my eyes drifted over the crowd, and there, on the other side, was Peter. He was standing by himself, watching, a slight smile on his face. I didn't think he'd come, but seeing him made me feel strangely happy. I gave him a wave, and he waved back, his expression softening for a moment. I almost called out to him, wanting him to join us, but just as quickly as I'd spotted him, he disappeared into the crowd, vanishing like a shadow.
"Come on, Gwen!" Mary Jane called, tugging my arm as we headed for the exit.
I took one last look over my shoulder, half-expecting to see Peter again, but he was gone. Still, something about that brief moment lingered with me, an odd feeling I couldn't quite place.
Author Note- Hi guys, a new writing style I'm trying from my other Fan-fic. If you like it so far, please leave a review.
With a final glance at the crowd, I turned back to my friends, letting the excitement of the night carry me away as we left the party.