For a long time, I just stood there, staring out of the window, my breath fogging faintly against the glass.
The city stretched before me, alive with thousands of lights, cars crawling like fireflies along the streets below. Stark Tower gleamed in the distance, its name burning proudly against the night sky. My phone still lay on the floor where I'd dropped it, Peter Parker's message burned into my mind.
Spider-Man existed. Iron Man flew in the skies. The Avengers were about to form.
And I… I was here.
My hands trembled as I lifted them, staring at the faint glow of the symbol etched into my wrist. The mark pulsed quietly, like it was alive, like the bow itself was waiting just beneath my skin. The golden earrings weighed gently on my ears, cool yet constant, as if reminding me of the promise they carried.
Kavach and Kundal.
My chest tightened.
I had asked for them. I had been granted them. But I didn't truly understand. Not yet.
How unbreakable were they? How powerful was this regeneration that was promised?
I had to know.
I turned from the window, scanning the room. My gaze landed on the nightstand. A fruit knife rested neatly beside a half-empty plate of apples.
I hesitated.
The idea of cutting myself on purpose sent a chill crawling up my spine. But if I was really going to survive in this world—this Marvel world of gods, aliens, and monsters—then I needed to know exactly what my body was capable of.
I reached for the knife.
Its handle felt smooth against my palm. I held it up, watching the blade catch the light. My throat bobbed as I swallowed hard.
"Just a small cut," I muttered under my breath.
I pressed the blade lightly against my forearm. For a second, nothing. Then I pushed harder.
A sharp sting. Red welled up instantly, a thin line of blood trailing down my skin.
I flinched—then froze.
Before my eyes, the wound closed. The blood retracted, the cut sealed, the skin smoothed over until there was nothing left. No scar. No mark. No sign it had ever happened.
It took less than a heartbeat.
My breath caught. My pulse raced.
I did it again—this time deeper. I dragged the blade across with force, enough that in my old body, I would have screamed.
The pain came, hot and sharp—then vanished instantly.
The wound sealed shut before the knife even left my skin.
My eyes widened.
I pressed harder, desperate now, almost frantic. Again and again, I cut into my arm, my hand, my palm. Each time the blade sliced, blood welled up for a fraction of a second before being pulled back, the flesh knitting itself together instantly.
No mark. No weakness. No hesitation.
I staggered back, the knife clattering to the floor. My chest rose and fell rapidly, my breaths shallow.
Regeneration. Absolute.
I looked down at myself, at the golden earrings gleaming faintly against the light. The Kavach and Kundal weren't just ornaments. They were living shields, protecting every cell, every fiber of me.
I wasn't just hard to kill.
I was unkillable.
The realization sent a thrill through me, hot and electric.
I grabbed the lighter from the desk drawer—a cheap thing, silver with a faint flicker of fuel. I flicked it on, the flame burning small but steady. My hand hovered above it, trembling.
Then I lowered it into the fire.
The flame licked across my skin. I winced at the heat—but my flesh didn't burn. My skin reddened for a second, then returned to normal. The Kavach and Kundal pulsed faintly, golden light shimmering once before fading again.
I turned off the lighter, staring at my hand.
Unburned. Untouched. Perfect.
I couldn't help it. A laugh escaped me. Soft at first, then louder, raw, almost hysterical. I clutched my face, my shoulders shaking.
Me. Ansh Agrawal. Orphan. Nobody. A boy who had nothing but books.
Now I was standing in the Marvel world with immortality strapped to my body and a divine bow etched into my soul.
My laughter faded slowly. My breaths steadied. My eyes drifted back toward the window.
Marvel.
The word itself felt heavy now. This wasn't just fiction anymore. This was a world of heroes and monsters, of gods and tyrants. A world where the sky could split open tomorrow, and aliens could rain down on New York.
And the date—December 29, 2011.
The Battle of New York was close. Very close.
I clenched my fists.
If I was going to survive here, I couldn't just rely on my gifts blindly. I had to be smart. Careful. Prepared. My regeneration might make me immortal, but that didn't mean I could afford recklessness. This world was full of things that could shatter planets.
My gaze fell back to the phone lying on the floor. I picked it up slowly, my thumb brushing against the screen. Peter Parker's message stared back at me.
Peter Parker.
Spider-Man.
For a moment, I just stood there, frozen. The memory fusion from earlier echoed in my mind. School. Teachers. Assignments. My parallel self's life had been simple—at least until now.
Tomorrow, I had to go to school. Peter had reminded me.
It was surreal. One part of me had just tested my body's immortality with knives and fire. The other part of me was expected to show up in class and hand in homework.
I exhaled slowly, sinking back onto the bed.
The golden earrings glimmered faintly in the mirror across the room. The symbol on my wrist pulsed once, then faded back to silence.
Tomorrow, I'd face Peter Parker.
And soon after… the entire Marvel universe.