An unprecedented, suffocating blackout had swallowed Brooklyn.
Kingpin's collider had drained nearly the entire local power grid before it finally shorted out. Now, the only illumination came from the strobing red and blue lights of the NYPD cruisers forming a massive perimeter around the abandoned subway station. The Sinister Six of Earth-700 were being hauled out in heavy-duty restraints, one by one.
"Alchemax's stock is going to absolutely tank by morning," the blond Peter Parker said, leaning against the edge of a rooftop billboard. "Hopefully, Willie actually learns a lesson this time."
The older Spider-Man let out a long, exhausted sigh. He turned around, looked at Peter and Miguel, and suddenly threw his arms wide, wrapping them both in a massive, crushing hug.
Peter went entirely rigid. He patted the older Spider-Man's shoulder awkwardly. On his other side, Miguel stood like a stone monolith, his arms pinned flat against his sides, looking like he wanted to be anywhere else in the multiverse.
The blond Peter finally stepped back, clapping them both on the shoulders.
"I have to go," Miguel said, his synthesized voice flat. He stepped away, bringing up the holographic interface on his gauntlet. "I've been running new calculations on the Canon Event geometry. One absolute conclusion: the existence of alternate realities cannot substitute for a native counterpart. We can assist you, but we cannot replace you. Your universe is your responsibility."
Miguel punched a sequence of coordinates into his wrist. "As for the Spider-Alliance... I can easily modify my transit programming for mass production. But if we are going to establish a coordinated network, we need a secure baseline. A primary universe we can actually control."
Miguel crossed his massive arms. He hadn't found a reality stable enough to serve as a fortress yet.
"Hey," Peter raised a hand. "Could I get one of those watches? Tearing holes in the fabric of reality with my bare hands is cool, but I get lost pretty easily in the Web."
Miguel looked at him. He didn't immediately say no. "It would be difficult," Miguel admitted, his crimson lenses narrowing. "You originate from Earth-616. Your reality barrier is the thickest in the entire structural model. It sits at the absolute center of the Web. I'm not entirely sure my standard transit tech could punch through it smoothly."
Peter's brain violently short-circuited. He stared at the towering futuristic Spider-Man for three solid seconds.
"Wait," Peter choked out. "What did you just say my designation was?"
"616," Miguel said slowly, lowering his wrist. "Why?"
Peter opened his mouth, but no words came out.
616. It was the holy grail of comic book nerd lore. Sony had tried to label their cinematic multiverse 616B and 1610B. The MCU had a whole chaotic timeline debate where the TVA called the main timeline 616. But in the actual, definitive Marvel Comics architecture? Earth-616 was the Prime Universe.
He wasn't just a Spider-Man. He was the main continuity.
"It's nothing," Peter mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. He didn't even know if being the prime variant was good news or a guaranteed death sentence.
Miguel didn't press the issue. He reached into his subspace pocket and pulled out the plastic terrarium containing the glitching Universe 42 spider. He had to deliver it to the correct universe before the timeline fractured any further.
Miguel tapped his watch. An orange, hexagonal portal sliced open the air. He stepped through without another word, vanishing instantly.
Peter stepped up to the edge of the roof. He closed his eyes, found the specific resonant hum of his home universe, and grabbed the empty air. He pulled hard. The dimensional fabric tore open, spilling chaotic colors across the Brooklyn rooftop.
He gave the blond Peter a two-finger salute, stepped through the rift, and let the portal snap shut behind him.
The blond Peter stood alone on the dark rooftop. He scratched the back of his neck. "Sometimes I really wish I had a cooler exit."
Entering the Web of Fate felt completely different this time.
Peter drifted through the infinite, kaleidoscopic void. Madame Web's cryptic warnings finally made sense. He could physically feel the sprawling, interconnected architecture of the multiverse. It was a massive, infinite spiderweb. He could feel the heavy, gravitational pull of his own universe drawing him in, anchored deep in the very center of the construct.
He followed the tether.
In the Baxter Building laboratory on Earth-616, the massive transit gateway flared with blinding light. A jagged spatial rift tore open above the platform.
Peter stepped out onto the metal grating and pulled his mask off, gasping for the familiar, slightly polluted air of New York City.
"Welcome back, Spider-Man."
Reed Richards was standing at the primary control console, his arms stretched ten feet across the room to calibrate three different monitors simultaneously. His neck snapped back into normal proportions as he turned to face the platform.
"You were gone for exactly seven hours," Reed said, his eyes darting across the incoming measurement. "However, according to the isotopic decay on your suit, you experienced roughly seven days of localized time. Fascinating. Time dilation across parallel realities is inconsistent, or perhaps the transit through the interstitial void itself causes temporal drag..."
Seven hours? Peter grinned, practically vibrating with relief. Yes! I didn't even miss first period!
Peter looked around the lab. Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, and Hank Pym were gone.
Over in the corner, sitting quietly on a high-tech diagnostic bed, was Cindy Moon. She was wearing her civilian clothes, reading a dog-eared AP Biology textbook. She didn't have her mask on.
Peter jumped down from the platform. "Hey. Thanks for anchoring me."
Cindy looked up from her textbook. She blinked, her expression perfectly blank. She hadn't actually done anything except sit in a chair for seven hours.
"Spider-Man," Reed interrupted, practically vibrating with scientific excitement. "If you don't mind, I would love to run some detailed cellular diagnostics. The ambient multiverse radiation on your suit is—"
Peter let out a long, heavy sigh. "Sure, Professor Richards. Just make it quick. I am ridiculously tired."
It took three hours. By the time Peter was finally cleared to leave the Baxter Building, the sun was rising over Manhattan. He fired a web and swung toward Queens, leaving a highly caffeinated Reed Richards alone in his laboratory.
"This is incredible," Reed muttered to himself, his fingers flying across his holographic keyboards. "If I compile this transit data, I might be able to broadcast a localized tachyon signal into the immediate multiverse. A handshake protocol."
He hit the execute key. The massive satellite array on the roof of the Baxter Building fired a silent, invisible pulse out into the infinite web of realities.
Reed held his breath.
Ten seconds later, a terminal beeped.
Reed lunged toward the screen. Someone had received the handshake. And they had sent an identical ping back. Text scrolled across the bottom of his monitor. A friendly, algorithmic introduction from a 'Mr. Fantastic' on a parallel Earth.
"I knew it," Reed whispered, a triumphant smile spreading across his face. "Every version of myself across the multiverse inherently yearns for scientific collaboration."
Earth-2149.
A jagged bolt of lightning violently illuminated the bleeding, crimson sky.
The man standing over the rusted interdimensional transceiver terminated the connection.
He didn't have lips.
The skin around his mouth had completely rotted away, exposing a permanent, jagged grin of stained, cracked teeth. Only the milky, jaundiced whites of his eyes remained in their sunken sockets. His blue Fantastic Four uniform was shredded and caked in weeks of dried, black blood.
Zombie Reed Richards stepped away from the console.
He looked at his family. Sue, Ben, and Johnny were gathered in the shadows of the ruined laboratory. All of them reeked of necrotic flesh and slaughter.
"While the others are out there tearing each other apart for a pitiful scrap of rancid meat," Reed rasped, his vocal cords scraping wetly against his rotting throat, "they have no idea what we just found."
Zombie Reed licked his exposed teeth. During the brief transmission with his Earth-616 counterpart, he could almost smell it through the data-stream. The intoxicating, metallic aroma of a living world.
"A planet teeming with fresh faces," Reed growled, his jaw clicking out of place. "A planet that belongs entirely to us."
Outside the crumbling, shattered windows of the Baxter Building, New York City was a slaughterhouse. The superheroes who had once protected this world were now rabid, starving monsters, sprinting through the ruined streets, hunting down the last terrified remnants of humanity. Hell had already consumed this earth.
And now, they had the coordinates to another one.
PS: Marvel Fun Fact (The Zombie Reality)
The universe teased at the end of this chapter is Earth-2149, the setting of the infamous Marvel Zombies comic run (written by The Walking Dead creator Robert Kirkman). In this reality, a localized virus infects the superhero population, but it doesn't turn them into mindless walkers. They retain all of their intelligence, powers, and personalities—they are just driven by an agonizing, uncontrollable hunger for human flesh. The Zombie Fantastic Four were the ones who originally figured out how to breach the multiverse just to find more food. Earth-616 is officially on the menu.
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