The three Spider-Men stood in an awkward triangle, each one studying the others with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.
Peter—the youngest of them, the one from this universe—couldn't stop staring. It was like looking into mirrors that showed him at different ages, different stages of life. The resemblance was uncanny but not perfect. Same basic facial structure, same build, but worn differently by time and experience.
The other two were doing the same thing, their gazes meeting and breaking away, trying to process the impossible made real.
There was a strange pull between them, something beyond visual similarity. Like recognizing a melody you'd heard in a dream, or feeling déjà vu so strong it made your head spin. They were connected somehow, threads of the multiverse binding them together even as it kept their worlds apart.
"Spider-Man!"
The roar shattered the moment of recognition.
The Lizard—Dr. Connors, transformed into something monstrous—rose from where he'd been knocked down. His reptilian features twisted with rage, yellow eyes fixing on all three of them with equal hatred.
He didn't care which one was his Spider-Man. They all wore the costume, they all had the scent of the spider. As far as his transformed mind was concerned, they were all enemies to be torn apart.
One of the other Spider-Men—the slender one, who moved with a particular fluid grace—went absolutely still.
"Dr. Connors?" His voice cracked with shock and something deeper. Grief, maybe. Or guilt.
Peter watched the slender Spider-Man's body language shift, saw the way his shoulders tensed. This wasn't just recognition. This was history.
"You're dead," the slender Spider-Man continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "I saw you die. I was there."
The Lizard just snarled, all bestial hunger and rage.
And it wasn't just him. The man made of living electricity—Electro, Peter's HUD identified him—was also stirring, getting back to his feet despite the beating Pietro had given him. His body sparked and crackled, reforming from the dispersed energy.
The slender Spider-Man's head swiveled, taking in all the villains scattered around the battlefield. "They're all here. All of them. The ones who died, the ones I stopped..." His voice was shaking now. "How is this possible?"
Meanwhile, the third Spider-Man—broader in the shoulders, clearly the oldest of the three—was having his own crisis of recognition.
"What kind of strange enemies are these?" he muttered, turning in a slow circle to take in the chaos. His voice was deeper than Peter's, rougher around the edges. "And where am I? This looks like New York, but..."
Peter saw him squinting at the skyline, at buildings that were familiar but wrong. The Stark Tower was there, gleaming and modern. But other structures were missing or different. The architecture was right but the details were off.
Like looking at a photograph of your hometown taken fifty years ago—recognizable but alien.
The three of them were still processing when a green blur shot overhead, trailing smoke and manic laughter.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Explosions followed in the Green Goblin's wake, Dr. Otto's mechanical tentacles smashing into buildings as he gave chase.
"Green Goblin?" The oldest and slender Spider-Men said it in perfect unison, their voices overlapping.
Then they looked at each other, startled by the synchronization.
But the slender one went quiet when he saw the massive octopus-like figure pursuing the Goblin. He didn't recognize Dr. Otto—at least not in this form, not with those tentacles.
The older Spider-Man, though, kept going without pause.
"Dr. Otto?" Relief flooded his voice. "I didn't expect to see you here!"
He actually sounded happy, which confused Peter. In his experience, people with giant mechanical tentacles attached to their backs were usually bad news.
"You're okay," the older Spider-Man continued, more to himself than anyone else. "They said you were missing, maybe dead. The technology you had... people wanted it. Badly. But you're here, you're alive, that's—"
He cut himself off, staring at the Green Goblin with sudden intensity.
"But why is he here? Osborn died. I saw it happen. He tried to impale me with his glider, and it..." The older Spider-Man's hands clenched into fists. "It went through him instead."
The weight of that memory was visible in his posture.
Peter filed that information away. This version of him had seen his Green Goblin die. And judging by the pain in his voice, it hadn't been a clean or easy thing.
"Doctor!" the older Spider-Man called out, making a decision. "Let me help you!"
He shot a web-line without hesitation, the strand catching the Green Goblin's glider mid-flight. The adhesive held, and suddenly the older Peter was playing tug-of-war with a flying vehicle.
"The Green Goblin is Mr. Osborn's evil personality," he grunted, muscles straining as he pulled. "If I can stop him like I did before, maybe I can save Osborn from himself!"
Peter watched in amazement as the older Spider-Man pulled. Not just yanked or tugged—actually hauled the aircraft backwards through sheer strength. The guy's arms were corded with muscle, his stance perfect for maximum leverage.
But even with all that strength, he was still losing ground. The glider's engines were powerful, and the Green Goblin was gunning them hard. The older Peter's feet skidded across the pavement, unable to find purchase.
His hand shot out, web-line catching a street lamp. He wrapped the strand around the metal pole multiple times, using it as an anchor point.
The lamp bent under the strain, metal groaning.
"That's not going to hold," Peter muttered.
Rustle.
The sound came from everywhere and nowhere. Sand on the ground began to move, flowing like water instead of granular particles. The grains gathered, swirled, consolidated into something with mass and purpose.
A figure rose from the street itself—massive, imposing, made entirely of compacted sand.
"I'll help you, Spider-Man."
The voice came from the sand-construct, deep and resonant. As Peter watched, the features became clearer: a man's face, weathered and kind despite the inhuman medium. A body shaped from millions of sand grains holding together through some power Peter couldn't identify.
The Sandman.
A massive arm—easily six feet long and proportionally thick—extended from the sand-figure's shoulder. It reached out and grabbed the web-line the older Peter was holding, adding its strength to the effort.
Together, they began to pull the glider back down.
"Flint?" The older Spider-Man's face broke into a genuine smile, visible even through his mask. "You're here too?"
"Long time no see!" Sandman replied, his sandy features shifting into something like a grin. "Though I gotta say, the three Peters thing is new even for me."
They pulled in tandem, Peter's superhuman strength combined with Sandman's tremendous mass. The glider's descent accelerated, the Green Goblin's laughter turning to curses.
Peter—the youngest, from this universe—stood watching the scene with growing confusion.
Everyone had someone to fight. The older Peter had the Green Goblin and Dr. Otto's chase. The slender Peter was facing down the Lizard. Pietro was still trading blows with Electro.
And Peter? He had... nothing. No opponent, no clear role in this chaos.
He hated feeling useless.
His eyes tracked across the battlefield, analyzing threats and priorities the way his training had taught him. The Lizard was dangerous but occupied. The Green Goblin was being handled. That left—
Electro.
The man made of living lightning was the most problematic opponent here. Pietro kept trying to land hits, using his incredible speed to strike from impossible angles. But every punch, every kick, just passed through Electro's body like he wasn't even there.
The only time Electro solidified was when he attacked, gathering his energy into a stable form long enough to throw lightning. Then he'd disperse again, untouchable.
It was the perfect defense against a speedster.
"Pietro!" Peter called out, making his decision. "Let me help you!"
He ran toward the fight, web-shooters at the ready. Pietro might not be able to hurt Electro alone, but maybe with two of them working together...
At the Avengers Compound, Steve Rogers watched the battle unfold on multiple monitor feeds.
The new arrivals—clearly from parallel universes based on their reactions—were handling themselves well. The villains were powerful, but not overwhelmingly so. Nothing the enhanced humans couldn't handle.
More importantly, the fight was contained to an industrial area. No civilians in immediate danger, plenty of open space for collateral damage.
Steve made a tactical decision.
"Everyone, hold position," he said into the comms. "Let them work it out. These people seem capable."
Tony's voice came back skeptical. "You sure? Because I count at least six superhuman combatants out there."
"None of whom are attacking civilians or causing widespread destruction," Steve countered. "If this is a parallel universe situation like Strange warned about, we need to see how they interact. Observe before we commit."
"I hate it when you're reasonable," Tony muttered.
But Steve wasn't leaving them completely unsupported. "Wanda, move in. Stay close enough to intervene if things go wrong."
"Understood," Wanda's voice came back immediately.
Wanda's hands glowed with crimson energy, lifting her body into the air. She flew toward the battle zone, chaos magic swirling around her in visible waves.
"How are you doing?" Her voice echoed telepathically in Pietro and young Peter's minds. "Do you need me to resolve this?"
Both of them responded instantly, their thoughts clear despite the ongoing fight.
"Give us a little more time," Pietro thought back, dodging another lightning bolt. "This Electro guy is tricky, but his power isn't anything compared to Thor's."
Peter's thoughts added context. "His body phase-shifts to avoid attacks. But he has to solidify to generate electricity. If we can time it right..."
Wanda watched them work. After months of training, both young heroes moved with practiced efficiency. They were testing Electro, learning his patterns, waiting for the right moment.
And she could see it working.
Electro's attacks were becoming more frequent, more desperate. Each time he solidified to throw lightning, he stayed corporeal just a fraction longer. The energy reserves that let him phase-shift were depleting.
Pietro's fist connected—just barely—with Electro's jaw during one of those solid moments. The electrical being stumbled, shocked that the hit had landed.
Peter followed up immediately, web-lines snaring Electro's arms during the millisecond of confusion.
"Got you!" Peter yanked hard, pulling Electro off-balance.
But the villain was learning too. Instead of fighting the webs, he sent a pulse of electricity through them—enough to make Peter yelp and release his grip, though the nano-suit absorbed most of the charge.
"I'm done with this!" Electro's voice crackled with distortion. His body flared with brilliant light, forcing Pietro and Peter to shield their eyes.
When the glare faded, Electro was booking it—converting his entire form into pure electricity and shooting toward the nearest power cable like a man possessed.
"He's running!" Pietro started to give chase.
But Wanda was faster.
Snap.
The power cable Electro was heading for severed cleanly, cut by invisible force. Crimson energy wrapped around both the cable and the electrical being simultaneously, binding them in place.
Electro struggled, lightning arcing wildly. But Wanda's magic held firm, contracting like a fist until the villain couldn't move at all.
"You're made entirely of electricity?" Wanda floated closer, studying Electro with professional interest. "That's... actually pretty rare. I've only seen one other person who could convert themselves into pure energy."
She was thinking of Marcus, obviously. His Void form could shift into states that weren't quite matter, weren't quite energy, but something in between.
"Fortunately, you're nowhere near as strong as Mr. Marcus," Wanda continued, tightening her magical grip. "Otherwise I'd have no idea how to contain you."
Her voice wasn't loud—just a casual observation spoken aloud.
But everyone on the battlefield heard it anyway. Enhanced senses and supernatural awareness made privacy difficult in superhuman brawls.
The name stopped several people mid-action.
The older Spider-Man looked up sharply, the Green Goblin now thoroughly wrapped in webbing at his feet. "Marcus? You're talking about Marcus?"
Dr. Otto, who'd recovered his stolen experimental data during the chaos, turned with obvious interest. His mechanical tentacles shifted, responding to his agitation.
Even Sandman—Flint—reformed closer to Wanda, his sandy features showing surprise and something like hope.
Older Peter brought his captured Green Goblin over, landing near Wanda with practiced ease. "The mysterious and powerful Marcus? That Marcus?"
Wanda blinked, suddenly the center of attention from three strangers who apparently knew the name. "He's definitely powerful and relatively mysterious, but... I'm not sure if we're talking about the same person."
She knew about parallel universes now, thanks to Doctor Strange's briefing. Maybe these people had their own version of Marcus in their worlds. Maybe there were multiple Marcus analogs across the multiverse, just like there were multiple Spider-Men.
The slender Spider-Man joined them, dragging an unconscious Dr. Connors behind him with web-lines. The Lizard had reverted partially during the fight, now looking more human than reptile.
"Who's Marcus?" the slender Peter asked, genuine confusion in his voice. "I've never heard that name before."
The question made everyone pause.
Three people from parallel worlds, but only two knew about Marcus? That didn't track with the "every universe has a version of you" logic Strange had explained.
Before anyone could theorize further, a new voice cut through the confusion.
"Long time no see, Peter. Dr. Otto."
Everyone looked up.
Marcus descended from above with casual grace, as if he'd been lounging on a cloud and just decided to drop by. His landing was silent despite the height, no impact crater or dramatic entrance—just suddenly there, like he'd always been standing in that spot.
"Mr. Marcus?" Wanda's eyes widened in surprise.
"Ha! I knew it!" The older Peter laughed, actually laughed, like seeing Marcus was the best thing to happen all day. "I knew you'd be here somewhere!"
There was real affection in his voice, the kind you reserved for mentors or teachers who'd changed your life.
Dr. Otto's mechanical tentacles relaxed their aggressive posture. "Marcus. It's been some time." His tone was respectful, almost reverent. "I'd hoped to speak with you again about those theoretical applications we discussed."
Marcus smiled at both of them, that subtle expression that suggested he was genuinely pleased. "Of course it's me. Though I have to admit, I didn't expect to see you two in this universe. The multiverse really is falling apart, isn't it?"
He looked at the older Peter critically, seeing changes the young man might not even recognize himself. "You've grown. Stronger, more confident. The training stuck."
"I've had a lot of practice," strong Peter admitted. "More than I wanted, honestly. But your lessons... they saved my life more than once."
"Good." Marcus turned to Dr. Otto. "And you've refined the tentacle interface. I can see the improvements from here—better neural integration, faster response time. Nice work."
Dr. Otto actually looked pleased by the praise.
But not everyone was having a reunion.
Sandman—Flint—stepped forward abruptly, his sandy form rippling with emotion. "Mr. Marcus, I need to ask you something. It's important."
Marcus regarded him calmly. "Go ahead."
"I want you to turn me back into a normal person." The words came out in a rush, desperate and sincere. "I want to live with my daughter. Really live with her, not just visit from a distance. I can't even hug her without worrying I'll fall apart or hurt her with this..." He gestured at his body. "This curse."