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The Parker household was quiet when Sylas slipped back through his window, landing with the grace of a cat.
He peeled off his black gear and tossed it into the Shadow Dominion's void-space, where it vanished with a whisper of shadow.
He'd barely sat down when the sound of a car pulling into the driveway reached his sharpened hearing. A second later came the familiar creak of the front door hinges.
"Back already," Sylas murmured, glancing toward the clock. "One minute. Guess that's record timing."
Downstairs, May's voice echoed from the hallway.
"You two came home together?"
Ben chuckled as he stepped in behind Peter, a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "Ran into him on the way back from work. Small world, huh?"
Peter forced a grin, still replaying the night's chaos in his mind the cage match, the thief, the gun. His nerves hadn't settled.
"Come in, come in," May said warmly, bringing out a tray of roasted chicken and vegetables. "You boys must be starving."
The family gathered at the table. Four seats Ben, May, Peter, and Sylas. Yet despite the smell of food, the air felt heavy. The conversation stumbled and died.
Ben's eyes were shadowed. Peter's hands fidgeted under the table, May looked from one to the other, puzzled.
Finally, Sylas broke the silence, his tone light and teasing. "Alright, what's going on here? Did someone fail a test or win the lottery and forget to tell me?"
Peter blinked, startled, then forced a laugh. "No, no, just tired, Oh, uh, Sylas, how'd your report go? The one Mr. Klein assigned?"
"Done. Teacher said it was my best work yet," Sylas said casually.
Ben raised an eyebrow. "Report?"
"Nothing important," Sylas said quickly. "Just school stuff."
The awkward quiet returned, Forks clinked softly against plates.
Everyone was lost in their own head. Peter wondered how to buy gifts for his family with just five hundred dollars.
Ben was silently praying that May wouldn't find out what had happened on the street and May… she could only sense the tension but had no idea why.
When the meal finally ended, everyone excused themselves early.
---
Later — Sylas's Room
Sylas was scribbling notes at his desk when Peter knocked and stepped in. He sat on the edge of the bed, looking uneasy.
"What's up?" Sylas asked without turning.
Peter hesitated. "I… might not be able to get you a birthday present after all."
Sylas looked up, curious. "Oh? What happened?"
Peter shook his head. "Doesn't matter. But don't worry I'll figure something out before the day comes. Promise."
Sylas smiled faintly and bumped his fist against Peter's. "I'll hold you to it."
Peter chuckled, already halfway out the door. "Night, man."
When the door shut, Sylas leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "Birthday gift… yeah right. Underground fight money, huh?"
He pieced it together easily. Peter's exhaustion, the bruises, the guilt. Sylas's smile faded. "So that's where you went, brother."
His expression darkened, though not from anger from curiosity. If they ripped him off, they picked the wrong Parker to cross.
---
10:00 PM
A soft knock.
"Come in," Sylas said.
The door opened to reveal Ben, The older man smiled gently. "Still awake? It's late, kiddo. You should get some sleep."
"Just finishing homework," Sylas said, closing his notebook.
Ben nodded approvingly. "Good, but don't burn yourself out. Tomorrow's a new day."
"Good night, Uncle Ben."
Ben lingered a moment, that same quiet warmth in his eyes. "Good night, Sylas Sweet dreams."
The door clicked shut.
A few seconds later, the lamp went out and the shadows stirred.
When the house fell silent, Sylas moved.
---
The Hunt
The city was alive again wind slicing past glass towers, sirens echoing in the distance. Sylas perched atop a spire, coat flapping in the night air.
The moon reflected faintly across his blade, Shadeblade, resting at his hip.
"Peter wouldn't have gone far," he muttered. "The fight ring must be local maybe within this district."
He raised a hand, summoning the black ripple of a Dominion Gate. From it, figures emerged silent, faceless silhouettes of darkness: the Shadow Dominion Ninjas.
"One hundred of you," Sylas ordered. "Fan out. Find me a ring that holds a match tonight. Look for blood, noise, or broken bones."
The figures scattered across the rooftops like ink spilled into the night.
It took three minutes.
A whisper returned through the link. "Found it."
Sylas smiled under his mask. "Good."
He dropped from the ledge and vanished into motion.
---
The building was nondescript a half-abandoned gym with neon signs barely flickering. The smell of sweat, beer, and smoke still clung to the air.
Sylas stepped through the door, cloaked in shadow.
"Here to wrestle?" The bouncer by the entrance asked, half-asleep. He pointed lazily toward a corridor. "Sign-ups down that way."
Sylas nodded, wordless, and followed the path. Inside a cramped office sat four men counting cash.
The one in the middle looked up, squinting. "Sorry, kid, registration's closed for the night."
Sylas didn't answer. He stepped closer, letting his tone drop to a dangerous calm. "There was a robbery here earlier, wasn't there?"
The men stiffened.
The leader's face twitched. "Who the hell are you?"
"Someone asking nicely before I stop asking nicely," Sylas said.
The man's hand darted to the drawer, yanking out a handgun. "Get out before I—"
He never finished.
A whisper of steel, a flash of motion, and his gun hand was gone. Blood spattered the desk.
He screamed, clutching the stump.
The other three bolted for cover as the door burst open and a dozen security thugs rushed in, weapons raised.
Sylas sheathed his blade.
"Good," he said softly. "Makes this faster."
They charged, He met them head-on.
It wasn't a fight. It was an execution.
In under sixty seconds, the room was a wreck of groaning bodies. Sylas hadn't killed them yet, but he'd made sure they'd think twice before standing again.
Then—
Bang!
A gunshot cracked through the air. Sylas tilted his head an inch, The bullet whizzed past his ear.
The bleeding manager, pale and shaking, had fired with his remaining hand.
Sylas turned, eyes cold. "Should've played dead."
He unsheathed Shadeblade in one smooth arc. The blade sang a sharp, clean tone before it buried itself in the man's chest.
The scream died in his throat, He fell, eyes glassy with disbelief.
The other three cowered in a corner, trembling.
Sylas wiped the blade and glanced at the table, stacks of money, and a few envelopes. He counted quickly. "Four thousand, five hundred. Guess that's what they owed him."
He sheathed the blade and walked toward the exit. "Consider the debt settled."
One of the men whispered, "H-he only took the money?"
Another broke into a shaky laugh. "God bless whoever he is. We're alive!"
None of them knew the truth that the "demon" who'd spared them was the same boy who'd eaten dinner an hour earlier at a quiet Queens home.
---
Outside, Sylas found a street corner phone booth. He picked up the receiver and dialed a familiar number.
Ring… ring… ring…~
"Hello?" May's gentle voice answered. "Who is this?"
"Good evening," Sylas said, disguising his tone through the mask's modulator. "May I speak with Peter Parker?"
May frowned. The voice sounded… strange. "Peter? Someone's calling for you!"
Peter came downstairs, hair messy, wearing his nightshirt. He rubbed his eyes. "Who'd be calling this late?"
"Not sure," May said, handing him the phone.
Peter took it. "Hello?"
A pause. Then the altered voice replied:
"I'm calling from the underground wrestling venue. Just wanted to let you know we're… returning something that belongs to you."
Peter's heart skipped. "What? Who is this? How do you even know my—"
"Four thousand five hundred dollars. It's in an envelope. Check your mailbox tomorrow."
"Wait—"
Click, The line went dead.
Peter stared at the phone, pulse racing. They knew his name, his house, his family. He'd used fake info at the match how could they possibly know where to find him?
May tilted her head. "Everything alright, dear?"
Peter forced a shaky smile. "Yeah. Just… a new friend from school. Weird sense of humor."
May chuckled softly. "Well, tell your friend to call earlier next time. Go on, get some sleep."
Peter nodded and slipped away, though his thoughts wouldn't quiet.
---
The Quiet Gift
Outside, Sylas stood before the Parker mailbox, the envelope of cash in his hand. Inside was every cent the fight organizers had stolen.
He dropped it in, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth.
"Debt paid," he whispered. "Sleep well, brother."
"Sigh~, At least you will have a good life in this universe."
The shadows around him stirred, forming a thin mist before sinking back into the pavement.
He glanced at the stars once more. "Guess even shadows can do one good thing a night."
Then he turned and vanished into the dark leaving only the whisper of wind, and the silent gleam of justice returned.
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