Not So Friendly Anymore

Peter lay motionless in the quiet room, the steady beeping of monitors the only sound. Wakandan technology had worked miracles, physically, he was fine, his injuries fully healed. But his mind was far from calm. Beneath his closed eyelids, his eyes darted rapidly as though chasing something unseen, trapped in a swirling maelstrom of visions and emotions he couldn't escape.

He found himself standing in an endless void, a thick fog swirling around him. Ahead, faint images shimmered into view, and before he could question them, they pulled him in.

He was kissing a woman with flaming red hair, the sunlight catching her fiery locks as it bathed them both in gold. Her arms were wrapped around him, her touch so familiar it made his heart ache. He could feel the love in that moment, the unspoken bond they shared, but the woman's name escaped him. It was as if it hovered just beyond his reach, taunting him with its absence.

The scene melted into another, and Peter now stood shoulder to shoulder with a man wielding a mighty, yet familiar hammer. The man's single eye burned with determination, his laughter deep and booming as they fought side by side on a battlefield strewn with chaos. Peter's own body moved instinctively, as though he'd done this countless times before, their teamwork seamless and natural.

"Who are you?" Peter whispered, his voice drowned out by the roar of battle.

Then came the sound of hooves, a steady, ominous rhythm that echoed like thunder. He turned and saw a rider on a flaming mammoth, its skeletal frame blazing with hellfire. The rider's head was a flaming skull, his hollow eyes locked onto Peter with an intensity that made his breath catch. There was no fear, only recognition.

It wasn't just the rider or the man with the hammer. There was more, a temple bathed in purple light, its statues glowing as if alive. Eyes from the heavens bore down on him, voices whispering in a language he didn't understand but somehow felt deep in his soul. He was in battles he had never fought, standing in places he'd never been, yet every moment felt as though it belonged to him.

"What is this?" Peter murmured. His voice echoed in the void. "Why do I feel like I've lived this?"

But the fog thickened, the visions overwhelming him. The sense of familiarity turned into something heavier, pressing on his chest. A deep voice rumbled through the haze, almost as if answering his question.

"Because you did."

Peter gasped, his body twitching faintly on the hospital bed. Somewhere, far from the haze of his mind, his fingers curled into a fist.

Peter's visions shifted once more, taking him from the battlefield to a swirling void of stars and fractured memories. A man stood before him, cloaked in tattered red, his hands weaving intricate patterns in the air. Magic danced at his fingertips, brilliant and chaotic, forming symbols Peter couldn't recognize. The man turned, his expression solemn, and Peter felt an unshakable bond, like they were comrades, brothers-in-arms. But who was he?

Before he could ask, the image dissolved, replaced by another. A towering figure emerged from the mist, his body draped in the torn remains of a Black Panther.The panther's claws hung from his shoulders like trophies, his gaze fierce and unrelenting. His aura radiated power, yet there was also a deep sadness in his eyes. Peter could feel it, like a weight in his chest.

Then came a warrior monk, her fists glowing with golden light as she struck down enemies with unmatched precision. She moved like poetry, her every step a calculated strike, and as Peter watched her, he felt a rush of admiration, and familiarity.

The final vision was of him standing beside a giant of a man, his bare chest marked with the brand of a star. The man's sheer presence commanded attention, his strength and resilience shining like a beacon. They fought together, side by side, as though they had done so for lifetimes.

Peter staggered in the void, his mind reeling. None of this made sense. These weren't his memories, were they? The emotions felt so real, yet the faces, the battles, the lives, they didn't belong to him.

"What... what is all of this?" Peter murmured. His voice was small, lost in the enormity of what he was witnessing. "Who are they? Why do I feel like I know them?"

A chill ran down his spine as he felt it, someone watching him. Turning sharply, he saw a figure flickering in the distance, barely there. As Peter moved closer, the man became clearer. He had dark skin and an aura of strength, but it was the mask he wore that caught Peter's attention.

It was unmistakable. The mask resembled Peter's original Spider-Man mask, but it was slightly different, an altered design with the lower part exposing the mouth and chin.

Peter's breath caught in his throat. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice trembling.

The figure flickered, as if struggling to remain stable, but his voice came through, weak, yet loud enough to echo in Peter's mind.

"I'm you. And you are me."

The words struck Peter like a lightning bolt. His chest tightened, his head spinning as the figure's image wavered and began to fade. The void shattered around him, pulling him back to reality.

With a sharp gasp, Peter shot up in the hospital bed, his body drenched in sweat. His heart raced as he clutched the sheets, his mind scrambling to make sense of what he had just experienced.

"What the hell is happening to me?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of his own ragged breathing.

---

Peter stepped out of the hospital room, the quiet hum of Wakandan technology filling the air. His thoughts were still muddled, echoes of the strange visions lingering in his mind like whispers from a forgotten dream. As he rounded a corner, he nearly collided with T'Challa.

"Ah, you're awake," T'Challa said, his tone calm yet edged with curiosity. "How are you feeling?"

Peter offered a faint smile, his hand brushing his temple. "I've been better, but I'm okay. Just trying to wrap my head around everything that's happened."

T'Challa studied him for a moment, his sharp eyes piercing through Peter's casual demeanor. "Good. You're tougher than most, Parker."

Peter chuckled, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk. "Takes one to know one. By the way, what's the deal with Klaw?"

T'Challa's lips curved into a sly grin. "Let's just say Shuri and I have been... creatively expressing our displeasure with his actions. He's regretting every decision that brought him to Wakanda, I assure you."

Peter chuckled lightly, nodding in approval. The two men stood in silence for a moment, a shared understanding passing between them.

Breaking the quiet, T'Challa asked, "Do you know what happened back there? That golden light, what was it?"

Peter's expression turned serious as he shook his head. "I have no idea. It wasn't something I did intentionally, if that's what you're asking. But..." He hesitated, unsure if he should reveal what he'd been experiencing. Finally, he sighed. "I've been having these dreams, visions, I guess. Battles, faces, people I've never met but feel like I know. It's like I was there... but I wasn't."

T'Challa's brows furrowed in thought. "When the golden glow surrounded you, the panther statues in the Temple of Bast began to glow purple. And when I returned, the priests spoke of visions. They claim Bast herself appeared, as if she recognized you."

Peter blinked, stunned. "Bast? Recognized me? How's that even possible?"

T'Challa clasped a hand on Peter's shoulder. "That's what we're going to find out. Come with me."

---

Priest Sanctuary

The two men entered the priest sanctuary, where the air was thick with the scent of burning herbs and the low hum of prayer. Several priests were gathered, their voices weaving together in a melodic chant. One of the older priests noticed T'Challa and approached, bowing deeply.

"Your Majesty," the priest greeted, his voice weathered but steady. "What brings you here?"

T'Challa gestured to Peter. "My friend here... We believe he may be connected to the revelation you experienced earlier."

The priest's eyes widened in astonishment as he turned to Peter. "Is this true? Were you the one who brought forth the light of Bast?"

Peter hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him. "I... I don't know. I used some kind of power in the temple, something I didn't even know I had. And I've been seeing things, visions of places and people I've never known. I don't understand any of it."

The priest nodded thoughtfully and then motioned for them to follow him. They walked deeper into the sanctuary where the priests worshiped the gods of Wakanda. The air grew heavier with the scent of incense, and the walls were adorned with carved reliefs of Bast, Sekhmet, and other deities, each glowing faintly in the dim light. Peter followed T'Challa, his footsteps echoing in the hallowed space as they passed groups of priests in quiet prayer.

Eventually, the priest stopped in front of a smaller, less prominent altar tucked away in a corner of the room. The carvings here were different. The centerpiece was a spider's web etched into the stone, with a massive spider at its center, its legs blending seamlessly into patterns that mirrored the design of Wakandan tribal art.

"This," the priest said, gesturing to the altar, "is the Altar of Anansi, the Spider God. It is not one of our main sanctuaries, as Anansi is a more... elusive figure in Wakandan lore. However, in light of recent events, we believe this altar has become significant once more."

Peter's eyes were drawn to the intricate details of the spider's web. It seemed to pulse faintly, as if alive. He stepped closer, hesitating. "You're saying this has something to do with me?"

The priest inclined his head. "Yes. When Bast's statues glowed, we also noticed a resonance here, at this very altar. Anansi's altar, dormant for ages, seemed to awaken as if it were responding to your presence. It was then we discovered this."

He reached behind the altar and carefully retrieved an object. In his hands was a necklace, its beads shimmering in hues of gold and purple. A pendant at its center bore the shape of a spider, its legs extending outward like rays of light.

"This necklace," the priest continued, "was said to be a gift from Bast to Anansi, a symbol of their connection and shared purpose. If you truly are tied to Anansi, this artifact may provide answers."

Peter stared at the necklace, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. "And what happens if I put it on?"

The priest's expression was calm but serious. "We believe it will reveal the truth. If Anansi has returned through you, the necklace will respond. If not, nothing will happen. The choice is yours, young one."

Peter glanced at T'Challa, who gave him an encouraging nod. "Whatever this is, Peter, you don't have to face it alone."

Taking a deep breath, Peter reached out and took the necklace. As soon as his fingers brushed the beads, he felt a warmth radiate from it, almost like it was alive. Hesitantly, he slipped it over his head.

The moment the necklace settled on his chest, Peter's eyes glowed gold, just as they had in the temple before. At the same time, the spider carvings on the altar began to shimmer, and the faint glow spread across the room. The statues of Bast in the sanctuary lit up with a deep, regal purple.

A feminine voice echoed through the chamber, warm and commanding. "It's so good to have you back."

Peter, his voice layered with a tone that wasn't entirely his own, responded, "It's good to be back, old friend."

The glowing light faded, and Peter staggered, catching himself on the altar as his own voice returned. He looked around, wide-eyed, as the priests fell to their knees in awe, crying out praises to Anansi.

T'Challa placed a steadying hand on Peter's shoulder, his own expression a mix of astonishment and intrigue. "Well, my friend," he said softly, "it seems the gods have plans for you."

---

T'Challa led Peter deep into the Wakandan forest, their journey marked by silence and the occasional rustle of leaves. As they walked, Peter felt a strange tension building within him, as though the forest itself was alive, watching him. Finally, they reached a clearing where an ancient temple stood, its structure partially reclaimed by nature but still emanating an aura of power and reverence.

The temple's centerpiece was a massive spider symbol etched into the stone above the entrance. Its intricate design seemed to shimmer faintly, as if it was alive. Peter froze, staring up at it, a deep sense of déjà vu washing over him. It felt like he'd been here before, yet he knew that was impossible.

"This is the Temple of Anansi," T'Challa said, his tone solemn. "Few have ever set foot inside. It was long thought abandoned, but now it calls to you. Whatever answers you seek, they may lie within."

Peter nodded, his eyes never leaving the giant spider symbol. The weight of what was happening bore down on him, but he couldn't ignore the pull he felt toward the temple. He began to climb the ancient stairs, each step resonating with a strange sense of purpose.

At the top, just before the entrance, Peter paused and turned to T'Challa, who stood at the base of the stairs, watching him. "You're not coming?" Peter asked, his voice carrying a note of uncertainty.

T'Challa shook his head. "This is your journey to make, Peter. The temple has called to you, not me. I will be here when you return."

Peter hesitated but eventually nodded, understanding the unspoken weight behind T'Challa's words. "Alright," he said, his voice steady. "I'll see you soon."

As Peter stepped inside, the heavy stone doors groaned shut behind him, sealing him in. The air was thick and ancient, carrying a scent of earth and time. The temple was dimly lit, but the walls glowed faintly, revealing carvings and murals depicting battles and events that stirred something deep within Peter.

He stopped at one mural depicting a massive figure with a flaming skull astride a mammoth, leading an army against what looked like demonic creatures. Another showed a man wielding a hammer with lightning bursting from the sky, standing alongside a warrior monk with glowing fists. Each image filled Peter with an inexplicable nostalgia.

"Why does all of this feel so familiar?" he muttered, his voice echoing softly.

The further he walked, the more vivid the murals became. At the center of the temple, he entered a grand chamber dominated by a throne. The throne itself was a masterpiece, seemingly woven from stone and metal to resemble a spider's web. Around the room, golden effigies of webs shimmered faintly.

As Peter stepped into the chamber, the entire room came alive. The effigies began to glow a brilliant gold, and the carvings seemed to move, as if the stories etched into them were replaying in real time.

From the throne, a figure began to materialize, a ghostly presence that solidified into the same man Peter had seen in his visions. His dark skin gleamed faintly in the golden light, and his lower face was exposed beneath a mask resembling Peter's original Spider-Man design.

The figure leaned forward in the throne, a warm, almost mischievous smile spreading across his face. "It's good to finally meet you properly, Peter Parker," Anansi said, his voice carrying a resonance that filled the chamber. "I've been waiting for this moment for a very long time."

Peter's hands curled into fists, his unease evident. "What have you done to me?" he demanded, his voice sharp but laced with confusion. "Why am I seeing things that feel like memories but aren't mine?"

Anansi tilted his head, his smile never fading. "As I said in your dreams, Peter, you are me, and I am you."

Peter frowned, his brows furrowing. "That doesn't make any sense. What do you mean by that?"

With a snap of his fingers, Anansi filled the room with golden light. The web effigies surrounding them glowed brighter, and Peter suddenly found himself surrounded by visions. Scenes played out before him, vivid and overwhelming, showing a group of extraordinary figures battling monsters, forging alliances, and shaping the world.

"Let me explain," Anansi said, his tone gentle yet commanding. "When I ascended to godhood, I became part of a group, a family, really, of protectors. Together, we safeguarded this world millions of years ago, before your history books even began."

He gestured toward a vision of a sorcerer in a tattered cloak, his hands glowing with magical power. "The sorcerer you see there is Agamotto, the first of his kind, a master of the mystic arts."

Another figure appeared, a man wielding a hammer crackling with lightning. "This is Odin, father of Thor, my dearest friend and ally. He and I were like brothers."

The vision shifted to a flaming-skulled man riding a mammoth, his chains glowing with hellfire. "That is the first Ghost Rider, a warrior of vengeance who walked alongside us."

A serene yet imposing panther loomed next a savage yet noble warrior. "Bast, the Panther Goddess, and her chosen champion, Bashenga, the first Black Panther. They were our guiding light."

The scene moved to a gentle giant with a glowing sigil of a star on his chest. "The one you see here is Starbrand, a being of unmatched strength and wisdom. I always saw him as a little brother."

Next came a monk with glowing fists, her movements sharp and precise. "This is the first Iron Fist, a rival and a friend who could challenge even me."

Finally, the vision settled on a beautiful woman with flaming red hair, her presence radiant and commanding. Anansi's expression softened. "And that... is Phal'kon. My light, my beloved. She was my heart, and her strength was unmatched."

Peter stared, overwhelmed. "You were... like the original Avengers," he whispered, piecing it together.

"Precisely," Anansi said, his smile tinged with nostalgia. "We were the guardians of this planet before the world knew heroes. But our time was cut short."

The vision shifted, becoming darker. A sinister figure emerged, surrounded by flames, his grin wicked and malevolent. Peter's stomach dropped as realization hit.

"Mephisto," Peter whispered, his voice trembling with anger and recognition.

Anansi nodded grimly. "He envied my power. As the god of the Web of Life and Fate, I held dominion over the destinies of everyone and everything in the multiverse. He wanted that power for himself. And so, he plotted to take it from me."

The scenes played out: betrayals, battles, and Anansi being gravely wounded. "He tricked me, Peter. He orchestrated events to weaken me, to force me into surrender. I could not let him take the Web. So, in my final moments, I made a choice."

Anansi locked eyes with Peter, his expression serious. "I killed myself, scattering my essence to ensure Mephisto couldn't claim the Web of Life. My soul was reborn into a new one, a soul similar to my own. That soul is you, Peter Parker."

Peter staggered back, his eyes wide. "You're saying... I'm your reincarnation?"

"Yes," Anansi said simply. "You are me, reborn, carrying a fragment of my power and memories. And if Mephisto knows, every torment he's inflicted upon you has been a desperate attempt to keep you from awakening. If he doesn't know..." Anansi chuckled, "then he's simply being his usual petty self."

"Petty?" Peter asked, raising an eyebrow.

Anansi smirked. "I bested him at every turn. Even when the odds were against me, I beat him blind. He hated me for it, and I'm certain he despises you for the same reason."

Peter couldn't help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation momentarily cutting through the tension. Anansi joined in, their shared humor breaking the ice.

The laughter faded, and Peter's expression grew serious again. "What now? What am I supposed to do with all of this?"

Anansi stepped closer, placing a hand on Peter's shoulder. "Now, you must train. You need to understand magic, for it is the key to unlocking your godly power. The more you embrace who you are, the easier it will be for us to merge and become one. Only then will you be ready to face what's coming."

Peter nodded, determination settling in his chest. "Alright, then. Let's get started."

Anansi's smile faded into something softer, almost apologetic. "I wish I could guide you further, Peter, but I am too weak to help you directly. My power is still tied to you, and until you grow strong enough to wield it fully, I cannot intervene."

Peter absorbed the words, a mixture of disappointment and determination crossing his face. "So if you can't teach me, who can?"

Anansi's eyes glinted knowingly. "That, my friend, is for you to decide. The path of magic is vast, and there are those in this world who can help you, if you're willing to seek them out."

Peter nodded solemnly. "Then I'll find someone. Whatever it takes."

Anansi gave him one last approving look before the golden glow in the room dimmed, leaving Peter alone in the chamber. As he exited the temple, the massive stone doors creaked open, and he found T'Challa waiting patiently at the base of the steps.

T'Challa studied Peter's expression and nodded, sensing the gravity of what had transpired. "What did you learn?"

Peter took a deep breath and recounted everything Anansi had told him, the reincarnation, the Web of Life, Mephisto's schemes, and the need for him to train in magic.

T'Challa listened intently, his brow furrowing in thought. "It seems your journey has become even more complex, my friend. But you will not walk it alone."

Peter managed a small smile at the king's words. "Thanks, T'Challa. That means a lot. Now, what's next?"

T'Challa gestured for Peter to follow him as they walked back toward the Wakandan capital. "We have recovered a flash drive from Klaw's belongings. Shuri believes it contains vital information that could lead us to the Red Skull's location. However, decrypting it will take time, even for her."

Peter nodded in understanding. "Take all the time you need. In the meantime, Parker Industries will provide whatever resources Wakanda needs to rebuild after this mess." He extended his hand to T'Challa, who clasped it firmly.

"Your generosity will not be forgotten," T'Challa said, a faint smile touching his lips.

---

Time Skip

The Avengers and Peter had left Wakanda behind, each returning to their respective missions with the knowledge that the battle ahead would only grow more challenging. Peter, now back at Parker Industries headquarters, found himself in one of the quiet conference rooms, seated across from Susan Storm, Silver Sable, Franklin, and Valeria Richards.

The air was heavy with the gravity of what he had just shared. Peter recounted every detail of his time in Wakanda, the revelations about Anansi, the web of fate, his reincarnation, and the growing shadow of Mephisto looming over everything. He spoke about the temple, the visions of battles long past, and the weight of the responsibility now laid on his shoulders.

When he finally finished, the room fell into silence. Susan leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly, while Valeria and Franklin exchanged wide-eyed glances. Sable, ever the pragmatist, was the first to speak.

"So, who are you going to get to teach you magic?" she asked, her tone sharp but not unkind. She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her piercing gaze locked on Peter. "Strange?"

Peter let out a dry chuckle and shook his head. "Not a chance," he replied, his tone laced with humor, though his expression betrayed a hint of bitterness. "Even if I asked him, Strange would probably slam the door in my face."

"Why?" Valeria asked, her curiosity piqued. "You're Spider-Man. He'd help you."

Peter raised an eyebrow at her. "Val, sweetie, I don't think you've met Strange. The guy's... complicated. As a Master of the Mystic Arts, he had to have known it wasn't me in my body during the whole Superior Spider-Man fiasco. Otto was running around with my life, and Strange didn't say a damn thing. Either he didn't care enough to step in, or he decided it wasn't 'his problem.'" Peter's tone grew sharper as he continued.

"And let's not forget," he added, leaning back in his chair, "he's part of Stark's little Illuminati boy band, the secret council of geniuses who think they can play God with the rest of us mortals. That alone makes it hard for me to trust him. I've had enough of people like that deciding what's 'for the greater good' while they leave the rest of us in the dark."

He shook his head, his frustration evident. "So no, Strange isn't an option. Not for me."

Susan frowned slightly. "Then who else could possibly teach you? Magic isn't exactly something you can pick up from a YouTube tutorial, Peter."

Peter smirked, appreciating her attempt at levity despite the situation. He turned his attention to Valeria, who was watching him closely, her brilliant mind already piecing things together.

"Well?" Valeria pressed, tilting her head. "If not Strange, then who?"

Peter leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as a knowing smile spread across his face. He let the anticipation hang in the air for a moment before finally speaking.

"Your godfather," he said, his tone both confident and resigned.

---

Latveria

The jet soared through the skies, slicing through thick clouds as it approached Latveria. The towering peaks of the Carpathian Mountains loomed ahead, encircling the sovereign nation like an impenetrable fortress. Inside the jet, Peter sat by the window, his gaze fixed on the distant outline of Doomstadt, its iconic spires piercing the horizon.

Beside him, Susan, Sable, Franklin, and Valeria sat in silence, the weight of the impending meeting settling heavily over them.

As the jet descended onto the pristine runway, the unmistakable figure of Doctor Doom came into view. Clad in his signature green cloak and gleaming armor, he stood at the head of a line of Doombots, their metallic forms reflecting the golden light of the setting sun. The wind tugged at his cloak, but Doom remained as still as a statue, his presence alone exuding power and command.

The hatch of the jet hissed open, and Peter was the first to step out. His boots met the polished surface of the runway with purpose as he strode forward, his eyes locking with Doom's.

"Hello, Victor," Peter said, his voice steady and calm as he closed the distance between them. "It's been a while."

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