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Spiderman: Second Chance

Fire_Boy_5319
7
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The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Synopsis
A blend of supernatural stuff with modern themes with a protagnist who is trying his best to save the world.

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Chapter 1 - Second Chance

Chapter 1

-Unknown P.O.V-

"Is this how it ends?"

Sand and debris landed on my face, stinging my already dry eyes through the torn part of my mask. It should have bothered me, but now? I couldn't care less.

"After all my efforts..." My voice rasped, dry and brittle like the air around me.

"No," I corrected myself, glancing back at the graves of my friends, "after all our efforts."

Hopelessness weighed on me as the sun loomed unnaturally large in the sky, edging closer with every passing moment. The heat intensified, and I could feel the ground beneath me starting to soften, liquefying under the unbearable temperature. My costume began to disintegrate, and the webs I had woven to stabilize the ruins of the building melted away. Everything was unraveling.

I chuckled weakly. "Using Celsius now, huh? Guess Brighton really did rub off on me."

None of it mattered anymore.

I took a deep breath, the searing air scorching my lungs, and removed my mask. The heat pressed against my bare skin, but I ignored it. I turned to face the graves one last time, each name carved with trembling hands, a testimony to their lives and sacrifices:

Steven "Steve" Rogers,

Natalia Alianovna "Natasha" Romanova,

Harry 'Daddy Issues' Osborn,

Felicia 'Furry' Hardy.

We had survived so much together: wars, cosmic threats, interdimensional nightmares. And yet, it was humanity—us—that ended the world. The irony wasn't lost on me.

After the nuclear war, hope was a rare commodity. We clung to it as best we could, wandering through the scorched earth in search of survivors. Steve was the glue that held us together, his unwavering optimism keeping us moving when all I saw were ashes and shadows.

I had tried everything: radio signals, smoke flares, anything to reach someone… anyone. But there was only silence. Then we found the tent.

At first, it seemed like salvation. Steve's face lit up with hope as we approached, but my senses screamed otherwise. The stench of decay was undeniable. I didn't say anything, not wanting to shatter their fragile optimism. As we got closer, one by one, they realized the truth. Even Steve fell to his knees.

Inside, we found a journal—a final confession from a military man who had chronicled the events that led to this apocalypse. He'd taken his own life with a pistol we later kept. The journal explained everything: North Korea's missiles, America's retaliation, the chain reaction of global destruction. Every nation followed suit, a cascade of annihilation. The earthquakes that followed ripped the world apart, yet somehow the atmosphere hadn't ignited completely. A miracle, or maybe a curse.

The earthquakes came every few hours, each one a reminder that Earth itself was dying. My spider sense never stopped screaming at me to leave—to escape the planet entirely. But how could I tell them that? How could I admit that the only chance of survival was something impossible?

We tried to make the best of it, sharing stories and finding fleeting moments of laughter in our bleak reality. But it didn't last. Natasha was the first to go. She passed quietly in her sleep, her body succumbing to the radiation coursing through all of us. She'd been showing signs for days, but none of us wanted to face it.

Felicia went next, her departure just as sudden and cruel. Then Harry, whose enhancements couldn't shield him from the inevitable. Steve held on the longest. Even as his body failed, he tried to comfort me, his words faltering through the pain.

They all left me. Alone.

I buried them with trembling hands, marking each grave with what little I had left. Two weeks. That's all it's been, yet it feels like an eternity.

"We survived Dormammu," I muttered, staring at the blazing sun, "and Galactus. And for what? To die like this?"

The irony cut deep. Humanity's greatest enemies weren't gods or monsters. They were ourselves.

I turned to their graves, my voice cracking as I spoke. "Steve, you were a symbol of hope. I always admired you, but in the end, I just wanted to call you my friend."

"Natasha, you always surprised me. Even at a hundred, you fought harder than anyone."

"Harry, we should've talked more in school. Maybe things would've been different."

"Felicia… Cat… I wish we'd had more time to figure things out."

The weight of their absence crushed me. I didn't want to go on anymore. What was the point? The Earth was falling apart, the sun devouring us inch by inch. I didn't want to fight anymore.

I picked up the pistol, the same one from the tent. It was hot to the touch, but I didn't care. I pressed it to the side of my head, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

For the first time in weeks, my spider sense went silent.

'I'm sorry, Steve. I'm not as strong as you.'

Bang!

-Peter Parker's POV-

Pain. Sharp and blinding, stabbing through my skull. Then nothing.

Darkness.

I opened my eyes and stumbled forward, my head spinning. When I looked up, my reflection stared back at me from a mirror.

A boy. Eleven years old.

"What the hell…"

-Continuing Peter Parker's POV-

"How is this possible?" I spoke in a childish voice. It felt strange, almost alien, hearing myself like this again.

Somehow… by some miracle, I had returned to the time when I was 12. Or rather, my consciousness had traveled back. I stared at my reflection, a scrawny kid with thick glasses and a mop of messy hair.

"Damn, I really was the definition of a nerd," I muttered, pinching myself to confirm this wasn't a dream. The sharp sting was real.

"Is this some kind of undiscovered power within me?" I wondered aloud. The spider that bit me was always a mystery, but time travel? That seemed impossible. If it wasn't me, then who or what had done this? And why?

If someone had the power to send me back, why not save the world outright? Was it beyond their ability, or was there some other reason? Was I the only one sent back?

I booted up my old computer and searched for anything about Steve, or anyone else I knew. Nothing seemed different. There were no signs that they'd returned like I had.

"Why me?" I muttered, leaning back in the creaky chair. "Was it because I lived the longest? But Hulk could've survived too. Maybe even Wolverine… unless the mutant catastrophe got him."

My mind raced with possibilities. "Am I even in my own timeline? If I stop the end of the world, then I wouldn't be sent back. But if I'm not sent back, the world ends again."

Paradoxes piled on top of each other. "Fuck…" I muttered, rubbing my temples. "Is this even my world?"

The thought hit me like a punch to the gut. If this wasn't my timeline, were the people I loved the same? Were they truly them?

Slap! I smacked myself, hard, forcing the spiraling thoughts to stop. "No, it doesn't matter. Whether this is my world or not, I'm going to save it."

Determination hardened within me. "And maybe… maybe this whole future was just a dream. A really long, awful dream."

Was that coping? Probably. But it didn't matter.

Sleep was out of the question. I stayed up, jotting down everything I could remember about the events that led to the apocalypse: key moments, dates, causes, effects. My hand cramped from writing, and my thoughts felt slower, less sharp than they used to be. My senses were dulled, too. No enhanced reflexes. No spider sense.

It sucked. Being normal again… it was frustrating. After living as an enhanced human for so long, being back in this scrawny, hormone-driven body was maddening.

But there was a silver lining. I didn't need to waste time studying. I already knew everything I needed to about school. Instead, I could focus on what mattered: getting stronger and richer. If I wanted to save the world, I'd need both.