Chapter Six: Web of Decisions

It began with a buzz in the back of Peter Parker's skull—a wrongness that Spider-Sense couldn't fully explain. He'd been swinging through Queens just after dusk, the sky awash in golden orange. Then, mid-arc above a neighborhood deli, the city around him seemed to pulse, as though the world had blinked.

The deli vanished. The skyline twisted like a Rubik's Cube. His web-line fizzled into static light.

Peter crashed through an illusionary billboard and landed with a roll on something that looked and felt like asphalt, but shimmered like a digital mirage. He leapt to his feet, eyes wide.

"Okay, this isn't Queens."

The sky above him was no longer sky. It was a luminous ceiling of shifting binary code. The streets, empty and distorted, glitched with every step he took. Street lamps floated in the air like balloons. Skyscrapers leaned sideways like dominoes. The world around him was a surreal mosaic of real and unreal—a game.

He knew this sensation. Sam had told him.

"Welcome, Player Three," came a familiar voice. Silken. Mocking. Amused. "Spider-Man. Friendly neighborhood hero. Empath. Genius. Prankster. The perfect contestant for tonight's dilemma."

Peter looked up. The Fieldmaster descended from the sky, lounging midair like a lazy king of unreality. His black-and-white coat shimmered with roulette wheels and chessboard patterns. His belt clinked with dice. The floating tome beside him opened and displayed a glowing red title: Web of Decisions.

"Where am I?" Peter asked.

"The Field," the Fieldmaster answered. "A realm of challenge, choice, and consequence. Your predecessors left a mark, especially the last one. Mischievous fellow."

Peter blinked. "Wait. Loki was here?"

"Player Two," the Fieldmaster confirmed. "You're Player Three. And your game is about choices."

The world around them shifted. Buildings collapsed into flat tiles. Roads coiled into spirals. And five glowing doorways rose before him, each with a name:

MJ. Ned. May. Norman. A Child.

"Choose one to save," said the Fieldmaster. "Only one per round. Others will fall."

Peter froze.

"Wait—what?"

"Simple game. Complicated mind. You can only pick one door. The rest vanish. Some doors lead to illusions. Some, to real people. Choose correctly, win the stage. Choose wrongly—"

The doors shimmered threateningly.

"You're testing me," Peter said. "You expect me to treat this like binary. Win or lose. Right or wrong."

"That is the spirit of the Field," the Fieldmaster said with a grin. "Shall we begin?"

Peter stepped toward the doors. His hand hovered over May, then drifted to The Child.

His breath caught. "I can't not choose..."

He closed his eyes and picked MJ.

The others vanished. Screams echoed in the void—real or not, he couldn't tell.

Behind the MJ door was a puzzle room. Crumbling platforms. A ticking clock. A shadow version of the Green Goblin chasing them. It wasn't just MJ in peril—it was his ability to remain calm under pressure.

He leapt over chasms, using his webs to redirect tiles midair. The Goblin's laughter echoed louder with every second. He threw his weight sideways and triggered a chain reaction that flipped the tiles in a new direction—revealing a switch just in time.

MJ vanished in a soft glow.

"Stage cleared."

The Fieldmaster applauded. "A clean save."

Peter gritted his teeth. "That felt real."

The new set of doors rose. This time:

Kraven. Flash. A Baby. Aunt May. Yourself.

"Only one?"

"Always."

Peter hesitated. Flash? He's a jerk but he's not evil.

The timer ticked. With shaking hands, Peter chose Aunt May.

Inside, the puzzle was emotional. A hologram of May pleaded with him to abandon the level and turn back. "You've done enough," she said. "Let someone else carry the burden."

Peter nearly stepped out.

But something in him clicked. It wasn't her voice. Not quite.

He webbed the wall behind her and revealed a hidden switch. The illusion dissolved into static. The exit opened.

"Very clever," the Fieldmaster purred. "Instinct over sentiment."

Peter frowned. "You were trying to break me."

"I was trying to see you."

Stage Three: Sacrifice

Now the doors were fewer.

Ned. MJ. Yourself. A Stranger.

Peter groaned. "This again?"

He tried to stall. Ran toward both Ned and MJ. The Field buzzed—error.

He had to choose. The moment he hesitated too long, a trap door opened.

He fell.

He awoke in a white void, disoriented. Something important missing.

"What—what did you take?"

The Fieldmaster appeared, unusually quiet.

"A memory."

A vision of Uncle Ben flickered and was gone. Peter gasped. "No. No, give it back."

"Finish the game. Prove you deserve it."

Peter wept. For the first time, truly shaken.

The last level was a blank corridor. At the far end, a version of himself waited. Tired. Angry. Mocking.

"You think saving everyone makes you right," the mirror-Spidey sneered. "You think you're better because you care."

Peter clenched his fists. "No. I think I'm human."

They fought. Webs, fists, words. And when he had the upper hand, Peter didn't strike. He let go.

"I'm done playing by your rules," he told the Fieldmaster.

The corridor cracked. The Field shuddered.

"So you see," the Fieldmaster whispered. "Not every situation is meant to be won."

"But every moment can be chosen," Peter said.

Peter stood alone. The Field faded. A coin floated into his hand.

"What do you wish for, Player Three?"

Peter thought.

"I want to understand people before it's too late."

The Fieldmaster smiled.

"Empathy, then. Excellent choice."

A warm pulse ran through him. His Spider-Sense felt different—tuned not just to danger, but to intent. Fear. Rage. Sadness.

He awoke atop a Brooklyn rooftop, breathing hard.

In his hand, the coin shimmered—then vanished.

Behind the veil, the Fieldmaster watched. Dice spinning. Pages turning.

"Three pieces moved. Let us see what the fourth brings."

End of Chapter Six.