Location: Earth-616-Z (The Genetic Abyss)
Time: Fluid. Corrupted.
Most things in Peter's life stayed buried for good reason.
Ben Reilly. The Jackal. The Clone Saga.
A tangled, aching mess of who am I and what if I'm not real.
But one thing from that mess never died.
Not really.
They called it Spidercide.
A clone.
A weapon.
A twisted experiment brewed from Peter's DNA, programmed without boundaries, empathy, or purpose.
He had all of Peter's memories, none of Peter's soul.
He was rage wrapped in red and black.
He was Peter Parker if the worst days won.
And now?
He was loose.
Peter, Miguel, Deadpool, and Billy emerged into Earth-616-Z — a broken clone-world leaking mutagen into its own timeline like blood from an old wound.
They didn't find Spidercide.
Spidercide found them.
The sky cracked like plastic.
A voice slithered down from the clouds.
"Look at you. Still pretending to be a hero."
Peter spun, webs at the ready.
And there he was.
Towering. Rippling. Face like Peter's, but stretched by madness.
Spidercide grinned — teeth too many, eyes too bright.
Deadpool tilted his head. "That you? Or a mid-2000s Hot Topic fever dream?"
Spidercide ignored him.
He was staring at Peter.
"I remember every second," he whispered. "The fights. The fear. The wasted potential. You could've been a god."
Peter flinched. Not visibly, but deep.
Spidercide walked forward, dragging a trail of clone-goo behind him.
"You didn't kill me. You just let me rot in forgotten canon. But I remember."
The Fight Begins.
Peter lunged first — classic aerial swing, two webs, fast spiral.
Spidercide caught him midair and morphed — his arms splitting into spikes, becoming liquid, becoming rage.
Peter hit the ground hard.
Miguel shouted, "He's not just a clone. He's a narrative remnant. Pure plot infection."
Deadpool ducked a flying limb. "So we punch him or copyright-infringe him?"
Billy bleated. A yes, somehow.
Spidercide attacked with memories.
Literally.
He formed weapons from Peter's past — Aunt May's hospital bed turned into a bladed whip. Gwen's falling form became a trap that triggered guilt on contact.
Peter dodged, barely.
He tried to talk.
"You're not me!"
Spidercide's voice was pure acid.
"I'm the part of you that never got therapy."
Deadpool threw a grenade labeled BAD WRITING. It exploded in exposition.
Didn't slow Spidercide down.
Miguel activated his chrono-claws, slashing at Spidercide's timeline threads.
Spidercide laughed.
"I'm beyond retcon now."
Peter gets desperate.
He uses the Hyperquill.
Tries to freeze Spidercide in sentence-form.
"Spidercide hesitated—"
But Spidercide just eats the words.
Literally.
Consumes the line and absorbs it, twisting.
"You can't edit what's already broken, Peter."
Peter stumbles back.
This isn't just a clone.
This is trauma with teeth.
Turning Point.
Peter realizes something.
He can't beat Spidercide with webs.
Or gadgets.
Or even power.
Because Spidercide is made from all the unprocessed pain.
And Peter's been running from that for too long.
He stops.
Lowers his arms.
Breathes.
And speaks.
"I'm sorry."
Spidercide pauses.
Peter steps forward.
"I'm sorry you were born of confusion. Of fear. Of me trying to be someone I wasn't ready to be."
Spidercide twitches. "What is this? Pity?"
"No," Peter says. "It's ownership. I created you. Not with science. With silence. With all the moments I didn't ask for help."
Spidercide falters.
Because for the first time, someone's not trying to kill him.
They're talking to him.
Peter reaches out.
Offers his hand.
"You don't have to be the worst part of me anymore."
Spidercide's body flickers.
Shakes.
Melts down into a boy.
Just a kid.
Just another Peter.
Crying.
Peter kneels and holds him.
And that version — the violent echo — finally dissolves.
Not from death.
From being heard.
Aftermath.
Earth-616-Z begins to stabilize.
Miguel scans the area.
"Residual damage… declining. Whatever you did, it worked."
Peter stands.
Wipes his face.
"It wasn't about stopping him. It was about facing him."
Deadpool walks over and claps Peter on the back. "That was the single weirdest therapy session I've ever witnessed."
Billy headbutts Peter gently.
Miguel nods. "You're evolving."
Peter looks down at the Hyperquill.
Still glowing.
Still writing.
And for once… writing doesn't feel like control.
It feels like choice.
But before they can rest, Miguel's wrist scanner blares.
A ripple tears through space.
A message blinks into existence:
"MULTIVERSE DESTABILIZATION IN: 72 HOURS."
"CODE NAME: REBOOT PRIME."
Peter turns to the others.
"Looks like we're not done yet."