The Staff of Anansi felt alive in Peter's hands, warm and buzzing like it was whispering old secrets just for him. The moment he grabbed it, a rush of heat surged up his arm, and golden light spilled out, weaving intricate patterns across his skin. Runes, swirling, web-like symbols, danced over his forearm, alive and shimmering. They pulsed once, twice, then sank beneath his skin.
Peter's breath caught, and he flexed his fingers around the dark wood handle, carved with dragon-like patterns that seemed to twist under his touch, the spikes brushing his palm like they knew his grip. The silver spider's head at the top gleamed, its ruby eyes catching the vault's dim light, staring back like an old friend with too many stories to tell.
Without thinking, he gave it a flick, and the staff vanished, melting into a shimmer of gold that sank into him, the runes on his arm flickering faintly before fading. Another thought, and it was back in his hand, solid and perfectly balanced, like it had never left. He spun it, once, twice, the motion as easy as swinging through New York's skyline. It twirled over his head, flipped behind his back, and he caught it mid-spin, the staff singing through the air with a soft whistle. Peter Parker, the kid from Queens, had never touched a staff in his life, but Anansi? Anansi knew this thing like an old dance partner.
Sable tilted her head, her silver braid catching the light as a sly grin tugged at her lips, her gray eyes glinting with that sharp, playful spark. "What, it carves a tattoo on you every time you pick it up?" she teased, leaning in a bit, like she was daring him to spill more.
Peter glanced at his arm, where the runes had faded, and grinned, shaking his head. "Nah, not a tattoo," he said, his voice easy, like he was still piecing it together. "More like... It's tying itself to me." He flexed his hand, feeling the staff's hum settle deep in his chest, right where the Web of Life buzzed.
Susan stepped closer, her golden hair glowing in the vault's soft light. She reached out, her fingers brushing the spot where the runes had been, her touch light but steady.. "So, it's stuck with you for good?" she asked, her blue eyes locking onto his, soft but curious.
Peter's grin widened, that familiar mischief sparkling in his eyes, "Yup," he said, tossing a look between her and Sable. "Kinda like you two. Stuck with me forever, whether you're cool with that or not."
Susan rolled her eyes, but her smile was all warmth, like she couldn't help but love his dumb quips. "God, you're such a pain, Parker," she said, giving his shoulder a playful nudge, her laugh light and easy, like a summer breeze.
"And you're crazy about me anyway," Peter fired back, his grin stretching as he spun the staff one last time, the motion so smooth it was like he'd been doing it forever. With a quick thought, it vanished again, the golden light folding into him, leaving just a faint glow under his skin. He wiggled his fingers, marveling at how right it felt, like slipping on his web-shooters after a long day.
Odin stood by the pedestal, his single eye glinting with pride. His fur-lined cloak shifted as he stepped closer, his presence big but warm, like a storm that decided to hold off for a bit. "This is the Staff of Anansi," he said, his voice low and rich, like he was telling a story by a campfire. "You forged it in the fires of creation, tied it to the Web of Life itself. It's not just a weapon; it bends fate, boosts your power. But it has a mind of its own, Brother. It remembers you, just as I do. Use it well, like you used to."
Peter nodded, Odin's words settling over him like a warm jacket. He ran his thumb over his wrist, where the runes had glowed, feeling the staff's hum still tingling in his bones. Flashes of memories, not his, but Anansi's, flickered in his head: spinning webs under starry skies, outsmarting gods with a sly grin, weaving stories that reshaped worlds. It was a lot, but it felt right, like finding a missing piece of himself he didn't know was gone.
He turned to Odin, his grin fading into something real, something heavy with feeling. Without thinking, he stepped forward and yanked the All-Father into a rough, brotherly hug, his arms wrapping around Odin's broad shoulders. The vault seemed to go quiet, the relics' hum fading for a second as Peter's voice came out, low and thick. "Thanks, brother," he said, barely above a whisper, his throat tight. "For keeping it safe. For thinking I'd come back for it. For... not giving up on me."
Odin's good hand clapped Peter's shoulder, strong but warm, like they'd done this a hundred times before. "You were never out of my thoughts, Brother," he said, his voice steady, full of a quiet pride that hit like a punch. "Just waiting for you to find your way back. And here you are, right where you're meant to be." His single eye shone, not with the hard edge of a king, but with the fierce loyalty of a friend who'd carried a promise through ages.
Peter eased back, just enough to look Odin in the eye, searching his face. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt whole, not just Peter Parker, not just Spider-Man, not even just Anansi, but all of it, stitched together. The Web of Life hummed stronger now, its threads buzzing with possibilities, and the staff's power felt like a spark ready to light up whatever came next.
Susan and Sable stood close, sharing a quick look, Susan's eyes soft with love and a bit of awe, Sable's sharp gaze warmed by a real, honest-to-god smile. They saw it too: the way Peter stood a little taller, the way the staff had brought back a piece of him he didn't even know he'd lost. Susan reached out, squeezing his hand, her touch pulling him back to the moment. Sable's smirk grew, a nod of respect in her eyes, like she was seeing a fighter step into his own.
"Looks damn good on you, Parker," Sable said, her voice light but with a nod of approval, her silver braid catching the light as she tilted her head.
Susan laughed, brushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear. "Yeah, but don't let it go to your head, okay? You're still our Peter."
"Always," Peter said, his grin flashing back, that old mischief dancing in his eyes as he squeezed Susan's hand. He glanced at the pedestal where the staff had sat, then back at Odin and Thor, who were watching with grins that matched his, like they'd all been waiting for this moment forever.
---
The halls of Asgard stretched wide, sunlight pouring through high golden windows. Peter walked alongside Odin, Thor, Susan, and Sable, their footsteps echoing across the polished floors. Conversation came easily, Odin speaking of realms and duties, Thor throwing in his usual bombastic commentary, Susan and Sable chiming in here and there with amused smiles.
For once, Peter felt... at ease.
But peace in Asgard rarely lasted.
From around the corner, a sharp voice cut through the air.
"Well, well. The so-called Spider-God walks the halls like he belongs here."
Loki.
He stepped into view, still looking ragged from the verbal thrashing Peter had given him at the feast. His smirk was there, but it twitched, forced, brittle.
"You think yourself clever, mortal? A trickster, perhaps? Don't delude yourself. You're nothing but a charlatan playing at divinity. A parasite wrapped in webs and shadows, desperate for approval from those who are your betters."
Thor groaned, already rubbing at his temple. "Brother..."
But Loki wasn't finished. He stalked forward, green eyes flashing, every word dripping venom.
"You are no god. No king. No legend. You are a stain, one day to be washed away and forgotten, while true gods endure."
Peter didn't flinch. He didn't frown. He didn't even blink. He just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, letting Loki spit every ounce of bile he had.
When the God of Mischief finally stopped, chest heaving from his own fury, the silence was deafening.
Peter tilted his head slightly, his voice calm, almost too calm.
"...Are you done?"
The words hit harder than any insult.
Thor barked a laugh. Sable smirked openly. Even Odin's single eye glinted with something close to approval.
Loki's mouth opened, but no sound came out. For once, the silver-tongued prince had nothing to say.
Peter stepped closer, lowering his voice just enough for Loki to hear.
"Good. Because the more time you spend trying to tear me down, the more you remind everyone just how small you really feel."
Peter's words hung in the air like a blade pressed against Loki's pride.
The Trickster's face flushed, his lips curling back into something far less elegant than a smirk.
"You dare—" Loki spat, hands trembling with fury.
Before anyone could react, green energy flared in his palms. With a furious snarl, he hurled a crackling bolt of sorcery straight at Peter.
Susan gasped, Sable's hand went instinctively to her weapon, and Thor shouted, "Brother, don't!"
But Peter didn't move.
The blast slammed into him, a roar of emerald fire filling the hall, only to vanish as the golden runes beneath Peter's skin flickered to life. The staff appeared in his grip, summoned as naturally as breathing, its silver spider-head glinting in the light.
He swatted the fading remnants of Loki's spell aside with a lazy flick, as if brushing away cobwebs.
"Cute," Peter said flatly.
Loki snarled again, conjuring dagger after dagger of solid magic, hurling them in a storm. Peter spun his staff with impossible precision, the acrobatic grace of the Spider and the divine weight of Anansi moving as one. Every blade shattered harmlessly, sparks raining across the golden floor.
When the barrage ended, Peter advanced. Slowly. Calmly. Each step echoed like a drumbeat of inevitability.
"Do you really want to do this, Loki?" he asked, his tone not mocking but... tired. "Because all I see is a child throwing tantrums while his family watches."
The words cut deeper than any weapon.
Loki, panting from his wasted effort, lunged with a dagger in hand, only for Peter to twist, staff spinning. In one seamless motion, Peter disarmed him, the dagger clattering uselessly to the ground.
And then Peter's staff was at Loki's throat.
The hall fell silent.
Peter leaned in, eyes glowing faint gold. "I'll ask again... are you done?"
Loki's eyes widened at the staff at his throat, pride and fury warring inside him. For a heartbeat, it looked like he might yield.
Then, with a hiss, he twisted away, vanishing in a shimmer of green light only to reappear several feet back. His hands flared with power once more, a vortex of sickly emerald sorcery spiraling to life between his palms.
"I will not be mocked by some mortal insect!" Loki shrieked, his voice cracking under his own rage. "You are nothing compared to me!"
He hurled the storm of magic, a torrent meant to pulverize, scorch, and annihilate. The hall shook, golden pillars quivering from the force of his fury.
Peter's shoulders sagged, and for the first time, his smirk faded into something else, disappointment.
He turned his head slightly toward Odin, voice calm and almost apologetic.
"...Forgive me, brother. But I think your son needs to be taught some respect."
Odin's single eye glimmered with something between resignation and approval. He did not speak. He simply watched.
Peter turned back to Loki, his staff spinning in a blur of motion as the runes across his skin ignited once more. The torrent of Loki's magic slammed forward, and Peter walked through it.
The spells shattered against his spinning staff, golden energy eating away at Loki's green fire like dry leaves in a blaze. With every step Peter took, the younger god's face grew paler, his rage faltering as the futility of his efforts became clear.
"You just don't get it, do you?" Peter said, his voice low, each word echoing through the hall. "This isn't about power. It's about control. And right now, you've got none."
He vaulted forward, impossibly quick, staff cracking down against the floor beside Loki's head with a thunderous BOOM. The impact sent a spiderweb of fractures racing across the marble, Loki tumbling back, eyes wide in panic.
Peter pressed the staff to his chest, pinning him against a pillar. Loki squirmed, spitting curses, but the weight of the staff and the glow of the runes made it useless.
Peter leaned close, his voice sharp as a blade, "You want respect? Then earn it. Because all I see is a boy with too much power and no idea how small he really is."
The words burned hotter than any spell.
Behind him, Thor stepped forward, face torn between shame and anger at his brother, but Odin lifted a hand to stop him.
"This lesson..." Odin said softly, "is long overdue."
Loki's breath came fast and shallow, rage warring with fear as Peter's staff pinned him to the pillar. His pride screamed at him not to falter, not to bend, not before the All-Father, Thor, and these Midgardian women.
"Release me!" he snarled, magic sparking around his fingers. "You think your tricks frighten me? I am Loki! I am sorcery itself!"
Peter tilted his head, almost pitying. "You think this is sorcery?"
The runes across his arms blazed gold, and suddenly the air shifted, heavy, ancient, alive. Loki froze, his own magic faltering as something older than Asgard itself stirred in Peter's voice.
Peter released the staff with one hand, raising his palm. With no words, no incantation, he simply wove.
Threads of golden light unraveled from nowhere, crawling across the hall like living silk. They tangled around Loki's wrists, his ankles, his throat, not chains, not ropes, but webs. They glimmered with starlight, each strand humming with a resonance older than Yggdrasil itself.
Loki gasped, struggling, but the harder he fought, the tighter they clung, the more they pulled at his essence itself. It wasn't his body being bound. It was his soul.
"What... what is this?" Loki rasped, panic breaking through his arrogance.
Peter's eyes glowed brighter. "This is what magic looked like before your kind learned to steal scraps of it. Before Asgard. Before Midgard. Before you."
With a flick of Peter's wrist, the webs jerked Loki upright like a puppet. His limbs flailed uselessly as Peter casually walked circles around him, staff tapping against the floor in a steady rhythm.
"You call yourself the God of Mischief," Peter continued, voice sharp but steady. "But I was weaving chaos into the fabric of creation before the word 'mischief' even existed. You've spent lifetimes practicing spells, and I wrote the songs your spells still try to imitate."
Loki's face flushed with humiliation as Peter gave the webs another tug. They flung him forward, landing him on his knees in the center of the hall.
The Trickster God, kneeling.
Gasps rippled through the guards. Thor looked away in shame. Even Susan and Sable, who had seen Peter at his darkest, felt a shiver at the sight.
Peter leaned down, voice dropping to a whisper meant to cut Loki deeper than any blade.
"Next time you bare your fangs at me, boy... remember who spun the web you're caught in."
And with that, he released him. The glowing threads dissolved into golden dust, scattering across the air like fireflies.
Loki collapsed forward, trembling, his magic completely snuffed out, not by force, but by the sheer weight of power he couldn't even comprehend.
The silence was suffocating. Even Thor's mighty chest was tight with the weight of it.
Peter finally looked toward Odin, expression unreadable. "You'll forgive me, brother. I don't usually make a show of things. But some lessons only stick when taught in public."
Odin, instead of anger, let out a booming laugh, rich and thunderous. "By the Norns, brother, you've reminded my son of his place better than I ever could."
Thor grimaced, torn between loyalty to his brother and respect for the man who had just dismantled him. Sable and Susan exchanged glances, not of fear, but awe.
And Loki... Loki stayed on the floor, his magic snuffed out, his pride crushed. His glare was poisonous, but behind it, humiliation festered like an open wound.
---
From the darkness between the stars, where no light dared crawl and no prayers could ever reach, something ancient shifted.
A shiver ran through the void as a presence, forgotten by most and prayed against by few, stirred from its long, bitter slumber.
The being's thoughts were venom, seeping out like poison into the fabric of space.
There it is... that wretched thread... that cursed web...
For eons, silence had been its prison. But now, in the shimmering echoes of power radiating from Asgard, it recognized a signature it loathed, one who had once interfered, who had once bound him.
An enemy draped in the pretense of creation, claiming dominion over patterns and fates.
A god.
The being's lips curled back, teeth bared in hate so pure it made the void tremble. Gods, he spat within his thoughts. Arrogant parasites. Claiming rule over mortals, over life, over death. Singing of justice, weaving lies of destiny. It was for this arrogance they had to fall. All of them.
And now, he was back. The Weaver. The Trickster. The Spider. Anansi.
The rage that tore through him was volcanic, like chains breaking all at once. The void cracked with his awakening, shadows writhing as if eager to serve. His hand closed around the familiar weight of the All-Black, the Necrosword, its hunger vibrating in unison with his own.
"Yes..." he whispered, his voice like knives dragged across bone. "I feel him. I smell him. Laughing in Asgard. Sitting at the tables of kings as if the universe is his web to weave."
He raised the sword, its black blade gleaming without light.
"This is why all gods must die."
And with that oath, Gorr the God Butcher moved.
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