Location: Earth-404 — a universe so broken, it's practically satire.
Time: Error.
There's a rule in the multiverse:
Never meet a version of yourself who didn't lose.
They're dangerous.
Untested.
Untempered.
And Peter Parker was about to break that rule hard.
Somewhere in the multiverse…
Peter stood at the edge of a collapsed timeline, staring across a gorge of floating debris: old dialogue bubbles, deleted panels, fractured canon.
Across the void stood another Peter Parker.
He wore the same suit — but it shimmered. New. Unscarred. His posture was perfect. His face was calm.
No weight behind the eyes.
This was Parker Prime.
And he was smiling.
Too much.
Peter raised a brow. "Let me guess. No Uncle Ben, no Gwen, no Aunt May dying alone?"
Parker Prime nodded politely. "That's right. I won every time."
Deadpool leaned over Peter's shoulder. "This guy's either a liar or an NFT."
Billy snorted. Even the goat looked uncomfortable.
The standoff began.
Peter stepped forward.
"I've fought monsters, gods, editorial mandates. But you — you're different."
Prime smiled. "Because I'm everything you could've been. Everything you should've been."
"No. Because you scare me."
Prime's suit shifted — like it had never been torn, never bled.
"You spend your life losing," Prime said. "And calling that growth."
Peter clenched his fists. "Loss taught me to care. You? You just coasted."
Prime took a step forward.
"I didn't need pain to be great. I rewrote the algorithm. I perfected Spider-Man."
Peter stared. "You're not perfect. You're just unearned."
Suddenly, the world snapped.
A glitch. A shift.
They weren't in Earth-404 anymore.
They were inside a story loop.
Same alley.
Same rooftop.
Same fight.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, Prime dodged Peter's web. Each time, Prime landed a punch just a little faster. A little cleaner.
No matter what Peter did — it was like fighting a YouTube tutorial.
Flashback Attack.
Prime wasn't just strong. He weaponized Peter's own memories.
Each blow triggered a flashback.
Aunt May. Gone.
Gwen. Falling.
Tony. Dying.
Even Ned, laughing in high school — now a ghost.
Peter staggered.
"You use my pain as ammo?"
Prime: "Of course. It's all you ever built."
Peter hit the ground hard.
Deadpool called out, but he was frozen — literally paused, like someone hit the spacebar on his subplot.
Billy bleated in frustration. He kicked the wall of reality, cracking it slightly.
Peter, on his knees.
Prime walked toward him.
"This is mercy, Peter. I'm the version of you the world wants."
"No. You're the version it thinks it wants."
Peter stood. Bruised. Bleeding.
"I'm the one it needs."
He changes the rules.
Peter closes his eyes.
Breathes.
Remembers the spider bite.
The laughter. The pain.
The responsibility.
And he webs his own heart. Ties the memories in place. Locks them in. Doesn't let them be used against him anymore.
Now it's just him.
And Prime.
Even.
The fight turns.
Not because Peter's stronger.
But because he's finally okay with not being perfect.
He lets Prime hit him — and rolls with it.
He dodges the moves he recognizes, because they're his.
He turns his doubt into reflex.
His regret into rhythm.
Finally, he lands a punch.
A good one.
Right in Prime's perfect jaw.
Prime staggers.
Peter follows with a takedown. Webs him up.
Hangs him off a memory ledge.
Prime struggles.
"You can't beat me. I'm you — without the baggage."
Peter crouches beside him.
"That's the problem. The baggage? That's the balance."
The loop ends.
The alley collapses into white.
Deadpool unfreezes mid-sentence: "—and that's why chimichangas shouldn't—Whoa, what did I miss?"
Billy nods at Peter approvingly.
Peter looks up.
And sees a new figure walking out of the fog.
Wearing… his old costume.
But not just his.
It's a blend of red, black, and blue.
The mask is off.
The face is Miguel O'Hara.
Spider-Man 2099.
He looks tired.
"Miguel," Peter breathes. "You're late."
Miguel nods. "And you're in deeper than you realize."
Peter looks around. "I just beat my worst self."
Miguel shakes his head.
"No, Peter. That wasn't your worst self. That was just a warning."
He tosses Peter a data-chip. Holograms flicker.
Universes. Timelines.
All burning.
"The real threat? It's not The Weaver."
Peter frowns. "Then who?"
Miguel looks him dead in the eye.
"The Author."