Chapter 11: The Past (5)

One day later.

The tunnels had gone quiet.

The city, though wounded and burned, was no longer screaming.

The evacuation had saved thousands, but at a heavy cost and in that silence, a name still echoed in the hearts of those who had fled.

Peter.

In the dim light of a refugee tunnel, under the ruins of Chicago, Harry Osborn sat uprighthis injuries still healing, his eyes red but burning with purpose.

He stared at the flickering wall lamp, fists clenched.

"Let's go back…" he muttered.

"…Peter might still be alive."

Across from him, Gwen Stacy zipped her jacket, already strapping on gear.

"Yeah. That's a good idea."

She gave a tired, broken smile.

"Let's go."

Mary Jane stood slower.

She held Harry's coat in one hand, a battered photograph in the other of a rooftop, three teens, and a day before the world went to hell.

Her voice cracked through her quiet whisper:

"Peter… don't die on us."

At the end of the tunnel, leaning against a support beam and wrapping his bandaged shoulder, Frank Castle growled in approval.

He stood with a wince, strapping on a sidearm and tightening his vest.

"Then let's move. We don't leave our own behind."

A few steps behind him, six rebel soldiers waited.

Tired. Armed. Ready.

Frank turned to them, stone-eyed.

"You six. Stay here."

"Protect the civilians. Until I return... you're the wall."

The six exchanged glances.

No words were needed.

They nodded together, sharp and solemn.

One raised his fist in silent salute.

And then they moved.

Gwen with her rifle.

Harry with a flashlight and a desperate hope.

Mary Jane with silence and heartbreak.

And Frank Castle, the Punisher, dragging a limp leg but with a gun in each hand.

Back to the surface.

Back to the ruin.

Back to where the smoke had risen, and the hero had fallen.

Because sometimes...

Heroes don't die in explosions.

They wait to be found.

..

The surface was a graveyard of steel.

Collapsed buildings leaned into one another like dying giants. The skeleton of the Goblin Mech lay scattered in scorched pieces across the city block, still steaming from yesterday's inferno.

Everything was still.

Silent.

But not empty.

Frank Castle stepped onto the cracked pavement first, limping through the blast zone. His eyes scanned the ground trained, sharp, haunted.

Behind him, Gwen, Mary, and Harry followed carefully, each step crunching on broken glass and ash.

The crater ahead of them was massive—a hollowed-out wound in the heart of Chicago.

And at its edges…

The bodies.

Frank paused then knelt beside a familiar shape. A melted plasma detonator. Burned cloth. A shattered rifle.

His jaw locked.

"The rebels…" he muttered, voice dry as gravel.

"They didn't make it."

Gwen placed her hand on one of the charred armor plates, reading the faded insignia.

She closed her eyes. "They bought him time."

Mary turned her face away.

Tears began to fall before she even realized they'd started.

Then—

A voice tore through the silence.

"PETER!!!"

It was Harry.

He had run ahead faster than any of them.

He was down in the crater, stumbling over scorched rubble.

And there among twisted metal, blackened stone, and blood—

He found him.

Peter Parker.

Face pale. Burnt uniform torn to shreds.

Covered in ash and dried blood.

Still. Unmoving.

Harry dropped to his knees, skidding beside him.

"PETER!!!"

He grabbed his shoulders, lifted his upper body with trembling hands.

"Peter—wake up! Wake up!!"

He pressed a hand to Peter's chest—

No heartbeat.

No rise.

No breath.

"No… no no no—don't do this, man."

Harry's voice cracked into a scream.

"NO! NO!!"

"You idiot—why would you stay?!"

He shook him gently, then desperately, sobbing now.

"We—we were supposed to fix this together—!"

Mary reached them next, fell to her knees.

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

Only her hands trembled as she brushed Peter's blood-matted hair.

"Peter…"

Gwen stood frozen just a step behind them, eyes wide, unable to move. Her breath hitched like a caught sob that refused to leave.

Even Frank, hardened and cold, looked down

And turned his eyes away.

The wind blew gently.

Ash swirled in the air.

And Peter Parker… lay in silence.

"No—Peter isn't dead yet!"

Harry's voice cut through the smog like a blade.

He shoved debris aside, knelt lower over Peter's lifeless body, and started pressing against his chest, tears streaming down his face.

"We need to do CPR!"

He looked back, wild-eyed. "NOW!"

Mary, eyes wet and trembling, moved beside him without hesitation.

She leaned down, lips against Peter's

Breath.

She gave him air again and again

Her hands shaking, her heart hammering in her chest.

"Please, Peter…"

"Don't leave us."

Harry kept pushing.

"Come on, man—just breathe…"

"Goddamnit, Pete, just breathe—"

He pressed harder, rhythm shaky but desperate.

"You said we'd live together—see the peace together—"

"You liar… you stupid, selfless idiot—"

He cried openly now, mouth twisted in pain.

"Please don't do this… not you… not after everything…"

Behind them, Gwen stood frozen, both hands clamped over her mouth. Her knees buckled, and she dropped beside them, grabbing Peter's limp hand.

She sobbed silently.

His skin was still warm.

But lifeless.

Frank Castle stood still feet planted in the ash of war, hand pressed to his ribs, voice cold and final.

He'd buried too many brothers to mistake the signs.

"It's no use, kid…"

His words were steady.

Not cruel just true.

"He's gone."

"NO!!"

Harry roared, the sound ripping from his chest like something animal—raw and cracked and falling apart.

He slammed both fists into Peter's lifeless chest.

"GODDAMNIT!!!"

"YOU PROMISED ME!!"

He collapsed forward, resting his forehead against Peter's.

The tears wouldn't stop.

His voice dropped to a whisper, hoarse and broken.

"Peter… Peter, please…"

"Come back. Just come back."

But the body beneath him did not stir.

There was no twitch.

No spark.

No breath.

Peter Parker was dead.

Mary fell to her knees beside them, covering her mouth as she wept.

Her hands reached for Peter's but they were cold now.

Her voice cracked like shattered glass.

"No… no, please…"

"Peter—"

"I never got to say—"

She couldn't even finish.

Gwen, pale and silent, stood in shock.

She had screamed in her soul a hundred times already—but now?

Now there was nothing left to scream.

She only reached down and held his hand.

Soft.

Still.

The sun rose slowly over the ruins of Chicago.

Smoke drifted across the buildings.

Somewhere, the world continued.

But in this crater—

The war had taken its final price.

A boy who never wanted to be a hero.

A rebel who fought for a city that forgot hope.

A friend who stood between fire and death.

Peter Parker.

Gone.

Harry sobbed into his shoulder.

Mary wept beside him.

Gwen gripped his fingers like letting go would shatter her.

Even Frank Castle lowered his head and closed his eyes.

For a soldier.

For a kid.

For a symbol.

..

And far away…

In a hidden place…

Someone watched the sky crack with grief.

Someone whispered:

"Tsk. We're too late… Peter died here. Now there is no Spider-Man in this world."

The old man narrowed his eyes and said

"Chris, you fool… we can just send him."

Chris said "I guess your right"

To be continue