Chapter 7: The Past (1)

 Hi everyone,

Please forgive me for posting this, but I'm really at a breaking point. I'm a college student doing everything I can to stay afloat, but things have become too much. With exams coming up, daily expenses piling up, and no safety net to fall back on… I honestly don't know what to do anymore.

I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't truly desperate. If there's any way you could help even just a small amount it would mean more to me than I can ever express.

Landbank Account: 1746 3587 72(Please… anything helps. Even just a few dollar.)

I know everyone has their own battles, and I don't want to be a burden. But if you've ever believed in me or my writing, or if you've ever been in a place like this… I hope you'll understand why I'm asking.

Even just sharing this post is a huge help. Thank you for reading this. I'll keep doing my best, even when it's hard.

From someone who's just trying to keep goingThank you, truly. 🙏

...

One Year Ago – Earth-42

Ash floated in the air like falling snow.

Black smoke curled into the gray sky above the ruins of Chicago

hollow skeletons. Roads were cracked open like wounds. The city's heart had stopped beating long ago.

Peter Parker stood in silence his clothes torn, dirt smeared on his face, and his eyes heavy with unspoken weight.

Ahead of him, standing beneath the twisted remains of what was once a monument to peace, Harry Osborn and Mary Watson stood close, her hand gently brushing dust from Harry's cheek.

They laughed. Just a little. Just enough to remind Peter of what he could never have.

Behind him, Gwen Stacy leaned on the rail of the half-broken bridge.

"You still love her?" Gwen asked quietly.

Peter didn't look back.

He kept his gaze fixed on the couple ahead.

"Don't talk nonsense," he said, his voice low, rough. "Who said I love her... I just love looking at them."

Gwen tilted her head. There was a sadness in her smile.

"If you say so."

Peter's fists clenched inside his tattered sleeves.

(I don't have the right to love her.)

His gaze shifted from Mary and Harry… to the city beyond them.

Burnt. Broken. Beaten.

Everything they once knew… gone.

A distant voice cracked through the comms. "We've reached Zone 9. No survivors yet."

Peter activated his own device. Static. Then a familiar voice.

"What the hell…" Harry said, stepping over the rubble. "Did Dad… do this?"

A tall, tired man in soldier armor approached. Francis DeWitt, second-in-command of the Rebel Front.

He surveyed the carnage with grim eyes.

"It looks like it," Francis replied, kicking aside a twisted drone carcass.

He turned and addressed the scattered rebel soldiers behind him. "Everyone—spread out. Look for survivors. We can't leave anyone behind."

The moment was tense. The silence was too loud.

Then… laughter.

High-pitched. Echoing. Unnatural.

"Heheheh… HAHAHAHA!"

One of the younger rebel soldiers froze, panic in his eyes.

"Who is that?"

A low screech followed. Then metal slashed against metal. From behind a half-demolished structure emerged a figure cloaked in green and shadows.

Eyes glowing. Face twisted. Teeth grinning behind a cracked chrome mask.

Peter's voice turned to steel.

"It's the Green Goblin."

From behind the fractured walls of a collapsed apartment building, the laughter grew louder echoing like a scream trapped in a bottle.

The shadows twisted, and then

he emerged.

Cloaked in scorched green armor, jagged and mismatched like war-forged junk metal. His mask a grotesque grin of steel and scorched ceramic—cracked down the cheek.

And behind those glowing yellow eyes, nothing human remained.

He crouched low, almost animalistic, inhaling deeply through mechanical vents.

Then he exhaled—

"Peek-a-boo, Harry..."

"Did you miss me?"

Harry froze.

His breath hitched. His eyes locked onto the demon before him.

Peter stepped forward, silently blocking Gwen and Mary with one arm.

The Goblin slowly straightened his back, his body trembling with unstable energy. Spikes shifted across his shoulders like twitching bones.

Harry gritted his teeth. "Dad!! STOP THIS MADNESS!!"

The Goblin tilted his head.

"Oh… little junior wants his dad."

He let the word drip with venom.

"Do you miss family dinners? Sunday yacht rides? Birthday cakes with poison in 'em?"

He leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

"Because I miss the screaming."

Then, without warning he roared.

FWOOOSH!!

A torrent of fire burst from his mouth—unnatural, chemical, acidic. Like a living flamethrower erupting from his lungs.

"TAKE THIS!!"

Flames surged toward the rebel squad.

Peter shoved Gwen and Mary down—

Harry leapt to the side—

Francis barked orders—

"EVASIVE!! TAKE COVER!!"

A wall of heat engulfed the area. Cars exploded. The air was fire.

Peter's world slowed.

(Why do you always kill innocent people…)

The question never left his mind.

And yet the answer always came the same way—

With blood.

Peter's boots skidded on the cracked pavement.

He dropped to one knee, aimed his pulse rifle through the veil of fire and smoke—hands steady despite the roar in his ears.

"Take this, fucker."

He pulled the trigger.

BRRRRRRTTT!!

A rapid burst of plasma rounds lit up the inferno. Each shot cut through the smoke like tracer beams, striking the Green Goblin's armored chest and shoulder sparks exploding off twisted metal.

The Goblin staggered back, screeching metal grinding as he slid across the scorched concrete.

But he didn't fall.

He laughed.

A broken, glitching laugh like a corrupted recording of a once-human voice.

"Ohhh, Petey... You're still pretending you're the hero?"

The Goblin raised his arm and launched a cluster of micro-bombs, shaped like burning jack-o'-lanterns. They spun wildly, shrieking through the air.

Peter's eyes widened.

"INCOMING!!"

He grabbed Harry and shoved him down.

BOOM—BOOM—BOOM!!

Explosions ripped through the ground, flinging dust, fire, and shrapnel in every direction.

Rebel soldiers screamed. Some were thrown. Some didn't get up.

Gwen cried out, shielding Mary as debris rained.

Frank barked into his radio. "WE NEED EVAC—NOW!!"

Peter coughed, blood in his throat.

(He's too strong… this isn't a villain anymore—it's a monster.)

But still, Peter rose.

He limped forward, gripping the rifle tighter.

His knuckles white.

His eyes locked on the twisted shadow of the man who once built Oscorp.

The man who once promised Harry the world.

Now reduced to fire and madness.

"I don't care if you're his dad," Peter growled.

"You're not walking out of here."

"Peter, wait!!" Harry yelled, stumbling forward, gripping his scorched arm.

"We agreed to help him. Remember? You remember that promise!"

Peter froze.

His breath was heavy, shoulders rising and falling beneath his torn jacket. The pulse rifle trembled slightly in his hands not from fear, but from the war inside him.

He didn't turn around yet.

Smoke billowed between them, glowing embers dancing in the air like falling fireflies.

"Yeah..." Peter finally muttered, his voice rough.

"I remember."

He turned his head just slightly, just enough for Harry to see the pain in his eyes.

"We swore we'd try to save him. That we'd pull him back."

He paused.

Then his grip tightened.

"But the way I see it now..."

He turned fully, pointing the rifle again at the figure rising from the smoke.

The Green Goblin laughed, his armored mask cracked more now, revealing warped skin beneath. Flames danced across his back like wings.

Peter's voice dropped low.

"Your father… is no more."

Harry shook his head, eyes wild.

"No! That's not true! He's still in there—I saw it, Peter. Just yesterday, he hesitated when he saw me! You saw it too!"

Peter's jaw clenched.

"He hesitated, yeah. Right before he blew up a hospital."

Harry's breath caught.

Behind them, Francis and the rebels regrouped, dragging wounded behind cover. Gwen was pressing a cloth against Mary's bleeding arm, whispering comfort through clenched teeth.

The Goblin stood tall now silent, watching them.

For just a moment… he didn't attack.

Peter didn't lower his weapon.

"We tried, Harry."

"You tried. I tried. He didn't."

"So if I have to be the one to pull the trigger—"

"—to put an end to the monster that wears your father's face..."

"Then I will."

The Green Goblin tilted his head, hands lowered, fire simmering around his gauntlets. His voice came slow… low… venomous.

"Aw... the boys are fighting again. Just like old times."

His laughter slithered out, distorted by the mask's voice modulator.

"Remember, Peter? The science fair in ninth grade? You made some prototype. Harry cried when he didn't win."

He turned, eyes flickering behind the lens.

"And Harry… remember your tenth birthday?"

"You begged me to come. 'Please, Dad, don't miss it.'"

He leaned forward.

"I missed it anyway."

"Because I was busy… killing someone's parents."

Harry's breath stopped.

Peter growled under his breath, muscles tight, rifle trembling.

"Shut up."

But the Goblin wasn't finished.

"Mary..." he purred, eyes drifting to her behind the rubble.

"Still playing nurse, hmm?"

"You know, Pete, I thought you would've ended up with her."

"But you always freeze when it matters most."

Peter stepped forward

"I said shut your damn mouth!"

Then—a soft voice cut through it all.

"Peter... Harry..."

Mary Watson's voice, hoarse, barely above the crackle of flames.

She was kneeling behind Gwen, one hand pressed to her bleeding side.

"Don't… don't let him win like this..."

"Don't become like him."

Peter looked back.

Harry's eyes welled with tears. Hands shaking.

He stepped toward Peter, desperate. "We can still fix this. Peter, please—"

But Goblin's growl deepened.

"There is nothing left to fix."

And then—

"Because I already won."

A click.

A pumpkin bomb dropped from his wrist launcher landing just beside Peter's foot.

Eyes wide.

"MOVE!"

BOOOOOOOM!

A violent explosion rocked the battlefield sending them all flying.

Smoke choked the air.

The explosion had torn a crater in the ground—rubble and flame littered the field like fallen stars.

Peter groaned, coughing through blood as he dragged himself from the debris. His ribs burned. One arm hung limp. His visor was cracked, and his rifle sparked beside him—damaged, but usable.

He turned his head—

Mary lay slumped beside Gwen, her arm blackened, body barely conscious.

Harry was crawling toward her, blood trickling down his forehead. "Mary… Mary, stay with me—!"

Peter's heart pounded.

(I couldn't protect them again...)

He turned. Standing over the ledge, unharmed but furious, was Frank—armor scorched, his skull emblem marked across his bullet-riddled vest like death itself.

The Punisher of this world.

Frank cocked his heavy plasma cannon and growled:

"Let's go."

"Let's kill this son of a bitch."

Peter stood, shoulders shaking, and nodded.

He was done hesitating.

But then—

"No!" Harry shouted.

His voice cracked.

He stumbled to his feet, arm outstretched toward Peter.

"You can't—he's still in there! He's still my dad!"

Peter stopped.

He turned to Harry… and their eyes locked.

Harry's were wide, desperate, pleading.

Peter's flickered with something else—guilt. Pain. Resolve.

A long silence stretched between them, heavy as the ruins around them.

Then Peter muttered, jaw clenched:

"Tsk."

He looked away.

(Forgive me, Harry...)

He picked up his rifle, slung it over his shoulder, and started walking toward the flames.

Frank followed, gun in hand, voice low.

"Time to end this nightmare."

And behind them, the Green Goblin's laughter returned—low, gurgling, wild.

"Come on then, boys…"

"Let's finish this family reunion."

To be continue