The alarms blared like a chorus of banshees. Red light bathed the chamber as the walls shook, warning sirens pulsing in a rhythm that meant only one thing: the Inheritors had found them.
Spider-Cyborg's new cybernetic arm hummed as it came online for the first time. He flexed the fingers—sleek, silver plates lined with glowing red energy conduits—and felt the hum of raw power coursing through it. Otto's machines had fused it seamlessly into his body, like it had always belonged there.
But even with the upgrade, dread sat heavy in his chest. He remembered Karn's staff cutting through his plating like it was nothing, remembered the way his body had nearly failed him. Now there were more of them coming.
"Positions!" Otto barked, his voice amplified across the chamber. His arrogance was replaced, for once, by urgency. The Superior Spider-Man paced with commanding authority, his metal arms spread behind him like the limbs of a predator. "They will breach in minutes. We hold the line until Spider-UK and the others arrive."
Around Peter, the Spider-Army scrambled into formation. Noir loaded a revolver with deliberate precision. Pavitr's glowing web-cables thrummed as he tested them. Six-Armed Spider-Man flexed his additional limbs, cracking his knuckles in readiness. Even Spider-Monkey crouched low, fangs bared, growling under his breath.
Anya landed beside Peter, fastening her mask. "First battle?"
Peter snorted. "Against interdimensional vampire gods? Yeah, I'd say so."
"Stick close to me," she said. "And don't let Otto get in your head."
"Too late," Peter muttered, glancing at his new arm.
The chamber doors shuddered under a massive impact. Cracks splintered through reinforced steel. The air vibrated with raw force. Then, with a deafening screech, the doors exploded inward.
And the Inheritors stepped through.
Brix led the charge—a mountain of muscle wrapped in armor of bone and sinew, his many-tailed whip coiled at his side. Bora was just behind him, her feral smile exposing sharp fangs as her long hair flowed like living shadows. Behind them came Daemos, his massive frame radiating power, electricity crackling across his gauntlets.
Peter's chest tightened. Karn had nearly killed him alone. Now three more stood before him, each radiating hunger that felt like gravity pulling at his soul.
"Children of the Web," Brix boomed, his voice shaking the ground. "You run. You hide. But the feast always finds its way."
"Spare us the monologue," Otto snapped, his voice sharp. "You face the Spider-Army now. And you will fall."
With a roar, the battle began.
Brix lashed his whip, its tails splitting midair into jagged barbed chains. They tore through consoles and pillars, forcing Pavitr and Noir to leap aside. Bora sprinted forward, her claws raking across the floor, aiming straight for Spider-Girl. Daemos unleashed a surge of electricity, the blast scattering half the Spiders into the air.
Peter dove headlong into the fray, his cybernetic arm shifting into cannon form. He fired a burst of plasma at Brix, the beam striking the Inheritor's chest. The blast seared armor and sent smoke curling upward. But just like Karn, the wound closed instantly, the flesh knitting back together.
"Persistent insect," Brix growled. His whip lashed outward, faster than Peter's sensors could track. The tails wrapped around his torso and arm, the barbs digging deep into his plating. Pain screamed through his nerves.
Peter cried out, his feet leaving the ground as Brix yanked him close. The Inheritor sneered, pressing a button on the hilt of his whip.
The barbs expanded. Spikes drove deeper into Peter's flesh. Circuits overloaded, red warnings flashing across his HUD.
"Your machine parts are fragile," Brix mocked. "They break like toys."
Peter gritted his teeth, his vision blurring with pain. His systems screamed: Warning—cybernetic arm compromised. Structural damage critical.
But before Brix could tear the limb away, Anya leapt in, her stingers glowing as she slashed across the whip. The tails snapped apart with sparks. Peter dropped heavily to the floor, gasping for air.
"On your feet, Cyborg!" Anya shouted. "We're not done yet!"
Peter forced himself upright, his new arm sparking as it shifted back into plasma mode. He aimed at Brix's face and fired point-blank. The explosion threw the Inheritor backward into the chamber wall, shattering the steel.
But Bora was already on him. She moved with predatory speed, claws slashing for his throat. Peter raised his arm just in time, the claws scraping across reinforced plating. Sparks flew, and pain shot through his shoulder.
"You reek of machine," Bora hissed, her glowing eyes boring into his. "A half-thing. A mockery of the totem."
"Yeah, well," Peter gasped, forcing his arm to shift into a blade, "this mockery bites back."
He slashed upward, the blade grazing her cheek. Black ichor spilled, hissing as it hit the floor. Bora shrieked, staggering back.
Across the chamber, Daemos unleashed another wave of electricity, his booming laughter shaking the walls. Noir fired his revolver, each shot sparking off Daemos' armor. Six-Armed Spider-Man leapt onto his back, punching wildly, only to be flung across the room like a ragdoll.
Peter's systems picked up Daemos' power build-up. His arm vibrated, warning him of the next surge. He shouted to the others, "Cover your circuits—he's about to fry us!"
Too late. The blast ripped through the chamber like a thunderstorm unleashed indoors. Consoles exploded. Machinery melted. Pavitr screamed as the surge burned through his webs. Even Otto was forced back, his metal limbs sparking.
Peter dropped to his knees, his new arm locking up under the overload. The stench of ozone filled the air.
Daemos stepped forward, grinning. "Strong. Clever. But not true. You, machine-Spider, are nothing but a lie. You do not sing to the Web. You do not belong."
The words cut deeper than the electricity. For a moment, Peter almost believed him. Almost.
But then Anya pulled him up, her hand gripping his shoulder. "Don't listen. You are one of us. Prove it."
Peter's jaw clenched. He rerouted power, forcing his arm back online. Sparks rained as he overrode Otto's safety protocols. The plasma cannon roared to life, brighter than ever.
"Hey, Frankenstein!" Peter shouted at Daemos, leveling his arm. "This lie's about to hurt like hell."
He fired.
The blast wasn't a clean shot—it was a surge, unstable and wild, fueled by his rage. It slammed into Daemos' chest, exploding across the chamber. For a heartbeat, the Inheritor actually staggered. Smoke curled from his armor. His grin faltered.
The Spider-Army rallied. Pavitr hurled energy webs, binding Brix's arms. Noir and Ashley rained fire from above. Anya leapt at Bora, blades flashing.
Peter kept firing, each blast of plasma chipping away at Daemos' smug invincibility. For the first time, he thought—maybe, just maybe—they could hold.
Then Daemos roared, his eyes blazing. Lightning surged across his body, brighter and deadlier than before. He lunged straight for Peter.
The impact was cataclysmic. Electricity tore through Peter's systems, frying circuits, searing nerves. He screamed, his body convulsing. His vision went white, his HUD collapsing into static.
Daemos leaned close, his voice a cruel whisper. "You are not real. And now, you are nothing."
The world went dark.
When Peter awoke, he was on the floor of a different chamber. His chest burned, every breath agony. The glow of unfamiliar lights filled his vision. Around him, the Spider-Army regrouped, battered but alive. Anya sat nearby, her mask cracked, her face streaked with ash.
"You died," she said quietly. "Daemos killed you."
Peter swallowed hard. His systems hummed faintly, flickering back online. He flexed his arm—damaged, but still there.
"How… how am I—"
"Otto pulled you through a portal at the last second," she said. "Brought you here. Another base. You've got… maybe one more shot in you."
Peter closed his eyes, the weight of her words settling heavy. He remembered Daemos' laughter, his dismissal, his certainty that Peter was no true Spider.
And yet—he was still here.
Broken. Scarred. Machine and man.
Alive.
Peter sat up slowly, his lens glowing faintly as it refocused. He looked at Anya, then at the others—Pavitr nursing burns, Noir reloading with shaking hands, Otto furiously recalibrating machines.
"Alright," Peter rasped, his voice hoarse but steady. "If these things think I don't belong, then I'm going to make them choke on it."
Anya smirked faintly, despite the exhaustion in her eyes. "That's the spirit."
Peter clenched his new arm into a fist, the glow intensifying. "Next time, they're not taking me down. Not Karn. Not Brix. Not Daemos. Nobody."
Outside, alarms echoed again—another breach. The war wasn't over. Not even close.
And Spider-Cyborg was ready.