Peter bolted for the gym exit, but before he could reach the door, he skidded to a halt. Toby was already there, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed.
"How... when did you—?" Peter gasped.
There was only one way out of the sub-basement. Peter had run as fast as his new legs could carry him, yet Toby had somehow beaten him to the punch without Peter even seeing him move.
The answer was simple: experience. While Peter had taken the stairs and the floor, Toby had taken the ceiling. Why run like a human when you can crawl like a god? Real spiders don't bother with hallways; they take the most direct route across the architecture.
Toby looked at Peter with a half-smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Running, Pete?"
"From the time we were kids, whenever Ben and May sent me to catch you, have you ever managed to get away?"
"Accept your fate. No matter how much power you find, your big brother is still your big brother. Now, stand still and take your medicine. It's time for a crash course."
Toby tossed two metallic bracers toward Peter. Peter caught them out of the air, looking confused. "What are these?"
"Web-shooters," Toby explained. "Wrist-mounted. The trigger is in the palm. They're tools to help you move and fight. Consider them training wheels."
Peter's eyes lit up. "Oh! Like the stuff you used to fix my sink this morning? I was wondering how you did that!"
Toby raised an eyebrow and wagged a finger. "No. Those are for 'baby spiders' like you. I don't need toys."
Toby had designed the mechanical shooters, but he personally found them beneath him. In his mind, external tech was a liability. It could jam, run out of fluid, or break. But the organic silk produced by his own body? As long as he believed in his own strength, that line would never snap.
Peter snapped the shooters onto his wrists. A mischievous glint entered his eyes. Without warning, he raised his hand and fired a strand of webbing directly at Toby!
Since it was his first time, his aim was... optimistic. He had intended to snag Toby's feet to trip him up so he could make another run for it. Instead, the web-fluid veered off course and went straight for Toby's face.
"Holy crap! Sorry!" Peter yelled, instinctively throwing his hands over his head.
Toby didn't even flinch. He simply tilted his head a fraction of an inch, letting the webbing whistle past his ear. But the playful atmosphere vanished. Toby reached into his pocket and pulled out his mask.
The Toxic Spider had entered the room.
"So, instead of begging for mercy, you've decided to issue a challenge?" Toby's voice was lower now, muffled by the fabric and laced with a terrifying edge of excitement.
Since his reincarnation, Toby's opponents had been ordinary thugs. Fighting them was like crushing ants—boring and repetitive. But now? Peter was a Spider-Man. Finally, he had a punching bag that could actually take a hit.
Toby dropped into a predatory crouch, fingers curled like claws. He didn't wait for Peter to apologize. He lunged.
Peter's Spider-Sense screamed, but his reflexes were still "human-speed." Before he could even raise his arms, Toby was inside his guard. An upward palm strike slammed into Peter's solar plexus.
The force was immense. Peter was launched off the floor, soaring upward until he slammed into the ten-foot ceiling.
In the middle of the pain, Peter's instincts took over. He pressed his hands against the ceiling to brace for the fall, but he didn't fall. He stayed there, "stuck" to the concrete like a fly on flypaper.
"Our power doesn't come from 'ancestors,' Peter," Toby said from below, standing tall and watching his cousin dangle. "It comes from the spider. We have their proportional strength, their precognition, and the microscopic hairs on our skin that let us treat any surface like flat ground."
"Oh, so that's how—GAH!"
Peter nodded, only to feel a strand of webbing stick to his chest. With a tug that would have snapped a normal man's ribs, Toby yanked him off the ceiling and delivered a mid-air kick that sent Peter tumbling across the gym floor.
Peter groaned, gasping for air as he scrambled back to his feet, clutching his chest. "Coz! Seriously! It's just training! You're definitely overdoing it because of that web I shot at you earlier!"
Toby held up three fingers.
"One: If I were 'overdoing it,' you wouldn't be able to stand up right now."
"Two: You're too easily distracted. In the field, that's a death sentence."
"Three: You're absolutely right. I am being petty. And I'm not done yet."
"So, little spider... ready for Round Two?"
Peter immediately threw up his hands in a frantic surrender. "I am definitely not ready—mmpf!"
A glob of webbing hit Peter square in the mouth, silencing him mid-sentence.
Toby's eyes crinkled behind the mask. "I lied. I don't care if you're ready."
The basement gym became a theater of chaos. For the next hour, Peter's screams echoed through the reinforced walls.
But the beating wasn't in vain. Under the crushing pressure of Toby's combat rhythm, Peter was forced to master his abilities in record time. He learned to trust his senses, to stick to walls instinctively, and to move in three dimensions.
However, Peter wasn't the only one gaining something.
Toby felt it. That dark premonition he'd had earlier—that he could "gain" something from dominating Peter—became a reality.
As Peter collapsed, exhausted and unable to crawl, a surge of power flooded Toby's system. It wasn't a new ability; it was a stack. Every ounce of Peter's newly acquired spider-strength, speed, and sensory acuity had been mirrored and added to Toby's own. If Toby was twice as strong as Peter before, he was now three times as strong. His reflexes were sharper, his "danger tingle" more vivid.
So that's how it works, Toby thought, looking down at his trembling hands. I don't just lead the spiders. I consume their potential.
He wasn't just a Spider-Man anymore. He was a Hive-Alpha.