The vortex finally evaporated. Standing before me, in full height, was him.
The first thing that caught my eye was that he was taller. Seven feet, at least. The classic red-and-blue suit, familiar since childhood from comics and movies, looked... wrong.
The fabric wasn't just worn by time; it was covered in layers of caked-on dirt and unknown slime, through which an absolute, impenetrable darkness peeked out.
The large white lenses of the mask were cloudy, cracked, and stared at me with bone-chilling indifference. Yet, even in this state, it took only a moment to recognize the legend.
The most popular superhero on Earth.
Mother-f***ing Spider-Man.
It was shock. Pure, concentrated shock. The dream of every boy on the planet—to one day meet their idol—had come true in the most unimaginable way. My heart felt ready to leap out of my chest.
Then came the realization. The euphoria evaporated, replaced by a primal terror.
The suit wasn't just hanging on him. Beneath the fabric, there was a continuous, chaotic movement.
Thousands, tens of thousands of tiny bumps swelled and fell.
Here and there, through the tears in the suit, slight, rough shifts appeared—as if a living, swarming mass was trying to take the shape of a human body but constantly failing.
My otaku instincts, honed by hundreds of comics, gave me the answer instantly. My body froze, refusing to obey. Every muscle locked in a spasm of fear.
"Where are we?"
The voice—that voice. It didn't come from a throat. It was a rustling crackle, the creaking of hundreds of joints, a dry hiss resembling the sound of thousands of tiny legs scurrying over dry leaves.
The sounds layered upon each other, creating a disgusting cacophony that instantly proved my theory. Cold drops of sweat began to form on my forehead and trickle down my back.
"You... You're Spider-Man? Aren't you?"
The entity occupying the hero's body tightened its fist. The fabric of the glove stretched, revealing a swarming blackness within. Slowly, with an unnatural, jerky grace, it began to approach me.
"Where are we? Answer."
Again, that eerie, multi-voiced whisper vibrating in the very air. Fear seemed to paralyze me. So, it means the summoned characters have their own minds, their own wills, and control their own actions—this is very distressing.
"Listen, Bro..."
my voice broke.
"I don't exactly know how to answer... But... if there's anything left in you... even a drop of Spider-Man... the people here need your help, you understand? We are in a terrible place. A truly terrible one. And I summoned you here... So. I need your help. And not just me. Please... You're a Hero, right? Help me. Help this world."
It was stupid. Insanely stupid. I had laid all my cards on the table, completely revealing my vulnerability. I stood before a creature that could tear me to pieces in a fraction of a second and begged for help.
If this "Man of Spiders" attacked me, I likely wouldn't even notice myself dying.
Spiders-Man stopped. A long, agonizing pause followed. And then, after a few endless seconds, he slowly sat down on the ground.
Crossing his legs in a strange, almost meditative pose and resting one of his hands on his knee, he made a sharp, abrupt jerk of his head, commanding me to sit beside him.
"Speak. We are listening."
"A-alright, here's the deal..."
I don't know why I sat down. I don't know why I started telling him my story at all, from the moment of my absurd rebirth in this cursed world until the very moment when, in desperation, I summoned him.
I only hid the fact that I had been isekai'd into this world. Could I have tried to deceive him? No. Of course not.
This isn't just Spider-Man. This is f***ing Spiders-Man. A being that emerged after thousands of living, radioactive spiders ate Peter Parker alive, absorbing his consciousness, his memory, and his powers.
His level of Spider-Sense is the level of thousands of minds. He saw through me immediately. He can likely even see slightly into the future, similar to the strongest versions of Spider-Man.
How could an ordinary person like me even hope to deceive him?
And besides... he was somehow much calmer. Eerie, wrong, but... calm. He didn't seem intent on eating me... at least for now.
A heavy silence hung between us.
"So, we are in a world of magic where demons have attacked humans? Like in an anime?"
This time his response was much clearer. Before, his voice had been hideous, as if radio interference mixed with the grinding of bones was preventing him from speaking.
"What is your plan?"
I raised a trembling hand and pointed in the right direction through the thick undergrowth.
"That way, there's a fortress city. It's protected by powerful barriers. Моmy main goal was to reach that place, and then... we'll see. The plan was simple: don't die."
Spiders-Man slowly rose from his spot. The swarm within him shifted, making his silhouette sharper, almost athletic.
He slightly squinted his cracked lenses, staring in the indicated direction. Then, without a single word of warning, he grabbed me by the collar of my clothes.
Instantly, we took flight. It wasn't like the smooth flight I was used to in movies. It was a sharp, powerful jolt.
The legendary webbing—thick, gray, and unnaturally sticky—shot from his wrist, latched onto a branch of a giant tree, and pulled us upward.
Fortunately, the local flora matched everything else: trees hundreds of meters high with canopies blocking the sky allowed him to perform the same tricks as in a metropolis.
My body, though it felt weak, was trained and enhanced by serums. In my old world, I would have been a super-soldier.
The whistle of the wind in my ears, the dizzying height, and a kaleidoscope of giant leaves and branches.
"And how long can you do this?"
I asked when we paused for a second on the top of another massive oak.
"How long can you... well... jump?"
"Until We grow hungry, We can fight."
Now, that was truly terrifying.
"Until WE grow hungry."
Images of that swarm consuming Peter Parker flashed in my head.
What if the spider... I mean, this legion of spiders, gets hungry mid-flight? They'll eat me before we even land! I tried not to think about food anymore.
Suddenly, Spiders-Man stopped abruptly on one of the branches. The lenses of his mask narrowed. He didn't say a word, but I felt tension ripple through his body.
He began to dive. Straight down toward the forest floor. And then, he hit the ground.
I landed after him, though much less gracefully. "Thud!"—the sound of my serum-enhanced heavy carcass hitting the dirt could probably be heard in another part of the forest. I bit my tongue and struggled to my feet, brushing off the dirt.
And then, they appeared. A group of people.
They stood in a small clearing surrounded by thick bushes. All were dressed in long, richly decorated Zhanpao—traditional cultivator robes.
A man led the group. A tall, unnaturally pale young man with long black hair gathered in an intricate style.
He wore a crow-black robe, so dark it seemed not to reflect light but to actively absorb the colors around it.
In his hands, he held a bundle of chains. But these weren't ordinary metal chains. They were woven from a type of energy, a dark, pulsating flame.
Bound to these chains like cattle were several other cultivators. These captives were dressed in bright sect garments, but their condition was horrific.
Some were missing arms (the wounds crudely cauterized), others had one eye gouged out, and many were covered in terrible burns and traces of torture. They were living corpses, stripped of their will and Qi.
"Greetings, travelers!!!"
The man shouted loudly at us, raising one of his hands shrouded in dark flame and waving affectedly. A smile full of feigned friendliness bloomed on his face.
Everything clicked in my head instantly. This was a demonic cultivator. A being who had sold his soul, his humanity, and all his moral principles to demons to gain Great Power—a traitor to his kind.
"Well then,"
he continued, his voice oily and repulsive,
"I suppose you've already guessed who I am. So, you must be wondering what I intend to do?"
"You see, I am going to replenish my collection of lambs. I need strong bodies and souls to sacrifice to the great demonic legions that have already manifested in this pathetic world."
With perverse relish, the demonic cultivator began to state his goals, enjoying our (as he thought) helplessness.
I felt fear rising in my throat again, but I forced myself to speak. Spiders-Man stood motionless behind my back.
"Listen to me,"
I said to him, trying to keep my voice steady to buy time and let the Spider assess the situation.
"Do you really believe they'll let you go when the demons arrive?"
"Dude, they will never accept you into the fold of the demonic legion as an equal! Wake up! You're human. To them, you're just cattle like everyone else. They'll kill you just like the ones you're trying to sacrifice, whether you like it or not."
The smile on his face grew even wider.
"Fool! We, the demonic cultivators, have hidden like rats in holes for millennia, waiting for the hour of reckoning. And that hour has come!"
"Even if I fail to swear loyalty to the demonic legion and become one of them, I will gladly destroy as many humans as I can in the end! I will ruin hundreds of souls, destroy thousands of dreams, and drown this world in blood! You wouldn't understand, you worthles—"
"We are curious: who is this?"
The voice of Spiders-Man, once again a rustling crackle of a thousand insects, tactlessly interrupted the chuunibyou-syndrome monologue of this cultivator.
Spiders-Man, standing behind me, slowly and with a kind of bored indifference, raised his hand and pointed a finger at the cultivator.
In an instant, the smile on the cultivator's face vanished. His gaze became sharp as a razor, and the aura of Darkness around him thickened.
His hand with the storage ring snapped straight. The ring on his finger glowed with a dark-purple, ominous light, and in a bright flash of unholy energy, a massive sword appeared before him.
It was a gargantuan sword made of polished black bone. It was 5-6 meters tall, with a wide blade and a hilt decorated with Dark runes.
In the center of the sword, in an eye socket, was a massive, living, rotating yellow eye with a slit pupil. The aura of this weapon was overwhelming. This cultivator had already reached the First Evolution of the Dao.
This was bad. Very, very, very bad. How does this keep happening? Why is my luck always this rotten?! Why me?!
"You are not cultivators..."
the demonic cultivator hissed, his voice turning icy and full of contempt. He inspected us closely.
"Though that lanky oaf..."
he nodded at me,
"has a developed, enhanced body, he is no cultivator. There is no Qi in him."
"And you..."
he turned his gaze to Spiders-Man,
"you with the long tongue and the ridiculous rags, you are no different from an ordinary human. Not even a drop of Qi comes from you. You are a non-entity. I've wasted my time on you."
With a slight, barely perceptible movement of two fingers, the Bone Sword flew out of the ground where it stood and began to hover in the air above him. With another flick of his fingers, the tip of the giant weapon was pointed straight at us.
"Prepare for deat—"
Silence. Absolute, complete, ringing silence that lasted only a fraction of a second. And then, a sickening, wet sound rang out.
All I saw was a massive, crimson fountain of blood spraying upward, drenching the cultivator's black robes and the grass around him.
Spiders-Man had vanished from his spot. I am not exaggerating. This wasn't just speed; it felt like teleportation. Nothing was visible: no flash, no movement, not even a blur.
One moment, Spiders-Man was standing beside me, his swarm stirring beneath the suit. The next, he was in the exact same pose, standing dozens of meters ahead, already behind the demonic cultivator's back.
The cultivator's body, full of life just a second ago, slowly slumped to its knees. The fountain of blood continued to pour from the stump of his neck, painting everything in red.
And the head of the demonic cultivator was in the hands of Spiders-Man. He held it by the hair, gripping it in his hand.
Only now did it sink in. It dawned on me what had happened.
Spiders-Man, at an incredible, unimaginable speed, using only his physical strength, had crossed the distance and simply ripped his head off with pure power.
Damn. I had forgotten... I had forgotten just how strong Spiders-Man is. He's one of Marvel's strongest heroes, after all.
But this monster, composed of thousands of radioactive spiders and possessing no moral restrictions, no prohibitions, no "thou shalt not kill," was even stronger.
He was a killing machine that had just swatted a First Evolution Dao cultivator like a pesky fly.
Spiders-Man slowly turned his head toward me. The lenses of his mask were cloudy and impenetrable. He opened his hand, and the cultivator's head rolled onto the grass. The rustling inside the suit grew louder.
"We are tired of this. Die."