Marvel's Shendu: Dominating the Multiverse

Chapter 162 New York Without Avengers

Along with Captain America, Black Widow, Hawkeye, and Hulk, the entire Avengers were wiped out fourteen years ago. The news reports at the time described it as an "uncontrollable attack by an alien force," while the government's official narrative was an alien invasion. The Battle of New York did indeed occur, but the outcome was different from what everyone expected.

There was no victory banquet, no triumphant return of heroes.

Peter Parker was three years old that year and doesn't remember much. He watched those old videos and news reports online as he grew up, but for him, the Avengers were history, not reality. For this generation of young people in New York, superheroes are a concept that has ended.

Until Peter himself was bitten by a spider.

The Lord ordered another cup of coffee. He had plenty of patience.

Parker returned an hour and forty minutes later.

As he turned back from the street corner, the boy's gait was different from before. He instinctively protected his left rib area, probably from being punched while on patrol or falling somewhere. His super healing ability was taking effect, but Parker himself wasn't quite sure just how fast he was recovering.

He went into the building.

The Holy Lord put down the money and stood up.

Reaching the opposite building, the main entrance's iron gate was the kind that required a button to open. The Holy Lord didn't press it. He reached out and pushed. The latch deformed under his force, emitting a soft metallic sound, and the door opened.

Go upstairs.

Fourth floor. Second room on the right.

The doormat at the entrance read "Welcome," but half of the English letters had faded, leaving only "Welc." The Lord stood before the door for two seconds, without making any preparatory movements. He raised his hand and knocked. Three times.

There was movement inside the door; the footsteps were light but quick. Even super-sensory individuals maintain this reaction speed at home; it's instinct, not habit.

The door opened.

Parker stood behind the door wrapped in a blanket, clearly to cover up the fact that he hadn't had time to take off his Spider-Man "suit" completely. His hair was wet, and there was a chafing abrasion on his left cheek that was already healing.

"Hi," Parker said. His tone was a mixture of instinctive wariness towards strangers and the basic politeness a Queens kid would show to a visitor: "Who are you looking for?"

"you."

"—Me?" Parker's hand gripped the doorframe tightly, the angle of his knuckles betraying his intention to slam the door shut at any moment. "You've mistaken me for someone else, I don't—"

"Peter Parker. Attends Midtown Tech High School, GPA 3.97. The only thing dragging down your GPA is PE, but three months ago you started climbing walls four times faster. Ben Parker is your uncle, and your aunt May Parker now works the night shift at a fast food restaurant. Your allergens include peanuts, but that allergy cleared up after you were bitten by a spider."

No sooner had the Lord finished speaking than Peter slammed the door shut, but the door didn't close properly, and the Lord's foot got stuck in the crack.

"take it easy."

"Who are you?" Parker stared at him through the crack in the door, his voice low but trembling violently. "How do you know all this? Are you a stalker? I can call the police—"

"You won't call the police. Because when the police come, you'll have to explain why you have a homemade bodysuit and a wrist device that shoots spider silk in your closet. The core formula for that device was made from supplies in the school's chemistry lab, which technically counts as theft, although the amount is too small to be worth pursuing."

Parker shut his mouth.

A few minutes later the door opened.

Parker stood in the doorway, the blanket already on the floor. Underneath, he wore his homemade red and blue battle suit, the zipper half-open, revealing a faded science competition T-shirt.

"Who are you?" Parker asked again. This time, he wasn't trembling.

The Holy Lord did not answer the question. He walked in, and Parker instinctively stepped back to make way. The boy's body reacted noticeably as the Holy Lord passed by; his spider-sense was flashing a warning, and Parker felt a tingling sensation in the back of his head, but the level of threat was beyond the range of his spider-sense's detection.

Parker has never experienced this feeling.

Previously, when encountering an armed robber on the street, the spider-sensor's warning was a short beep. This person's warning triggered an entire system overload. It wasn't telling you to hide; it was telling you there was nowhere to hide.

Parker swallowed hard.

The Holy Lord glanced at the apartment's layout. A one-bedroom apartment, ridiculously small. The living room doubled as the dining room and Parker's work desk. A pile of draft chemical equations and two used spider silk launchers lay scattered on the table.

"The spider silk isn't strong enough," the Holy Lord said, pointing to something on the table. "Your current formula uses polycyanoacrylate as a base, which is elastic but has a very low load-bearing capacity. With your weight and the inertia from swinging, the maximum load is only about 400 kilograms. If you had to catch a car, the silk would break."

Parker opened his mouth.

"You—you understand this?"

"Sit down."

Parker didn't sit.

"You still haven't told me who you are."

"Someone who has plans for you." The Holy Lord sat down in the only chair that wasn't piled with anything. "How well do you understand your own abilities?"

Parker's defenses began to crack. This was his weakness; he desperately wanted to understand what was happening to him. For three months, he had no one to confide in. He couldn't talk to Aunt May, he couldn't talk to his friends at school, and he could only process all his confusion and fear in front of the bathroom mirror.

Now suddenly someone appears, who knows all his secrets, not here to capture him, and can even see the problem with the spider silk formula.

Parker eventually sat down.

It wasn't because of trust, but because his legs went weak. The spider-sense signal was so strong that his knees automatically made a cushioning motion, making it look like he obediently sat down on the sofa.

The Holy Lord picked up the spider silk projectile from the table and examined it. The workmanship was rough, the solder joints uneven, and in several places hot glue was used instead of solder. However, the core design concept was clear; for a seventeen-year-old high school student to create something like this using scraps from the school lab, his intelligence was certainly not an issue.

How long do you go out each night?

"Two—two or three hours." Parker's eyes were fixed on the transmitter in the Lord's hand, afraid that he would break it.

"Patrol area?"

"Queens. Sometimes I'll go to Brooklyn."

"What have you encountered?"

"Robbery, car theft, and once domestic violence. Last week, a guy pointed a gun at a convenience store owner, so I went down from the ceiling and glued his gun to the wall."

The Lord placed the transmitter back on the table. Parker visibly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Your limit isn't catching thieves."

"I know," Parker said, then added, "I don't know where my ceiling is."

"So you need someone to tell you."

Parker didn't reply. His words struck a nerve, and his expression faltered for a brief moment.

The Holy Lord stood up.

"Go to school tomorrow. Attend classes as usual, do homework as usual, and eat lunch as usual."

"and then?"

"Then you will see me."

Parker paused, startled. "I saw you? Where?"

The Lord had reached the door. He opened it and glanced back at Parker.

"Your school."