Spider-Man Mayhem

Chapter 498: Chapter 498: Thor the Thunderer (4)

[Third Person Pov]

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, staring at the armed men who had just stormed into the family diner. The cheerful clatter of plates and low murmur of conversation died in an instant. Customers screamed and froze mid-bite. A waitress dropped her tray with a crash of porcelain. Cashiers ducked behind the register. A child began to cry somewhere near the back booths. The air thickened with the sharp scent of fear.

"Anything valuable—phones, watches, wallets—everything in the bag!" the shotgun man barked, his voice raw with adrenaline. He swept the barrel across the room. "Now!"

Peter sat relaxed in his booth, milkshake half-finished, one arm draped along the back of the seat. He raised an eyebrow. "Seriously, dude? You’re robbing a diner?" He took a slow sip, the straw making a soft, insolent sound. "Why not hit something that actually has money? Gas station down the road at least has a safe."

The shotgun man’s eyes locked on him, "And who—Spider-Man?!" Recognition flickered, then widened into pure disbelief.

"Nah, man." The pistol-wielder scoffed, waving his gun dismissively. "Spider-Man’s from New York. What’s he doing in New Mexico? Gotta be one of those cosplayers."

"Yeah," the bag-carrier added, already moving toward the nearest table. "We can’t be that unlucky."

Felicia let out a soft snicker. She was slurping the last of the caramelized foam through the straw from the drink she stole from Peter, eyes half-lidded with amusement. The shotgun man heard the sound. Confidence returned to his posture as his partners’ words sank in. He stepped closer, the weapon rising until the muzzle hovered near Felicia’s temple.

"What’s so funny, huh?" he snarled. "Phone. Wallet. Anything valuable you’ve got. Now."

Felicia simply stared at him for several long seconds, her green eyes steady and unblinking. The man mistook the silence for fear. He leaned in, breath hot and sour. "I won’t repeat myself."

She lifted her hand with unhurried grace and produced a worn leather wallet. "Will this suffice?" A small, sharp grin curved her lips as she flipped it open. "Let’s see... name: Luis Iglesias. Age: twenty-nine. Address in—"

"Wha—give me that!" Luis lunged, panic cracking his voice. Felicia let him snatch the wallet back, her grin never fading. She had lifted it cleanly from his own back pocket while he was busy threatening her.

Thor could no longer remain seated. He rose to his full height, jaw set, blue eyes cold with righteous anger. "Enough. I will not allow you to harass these good people any further."

"Sit down, pretty boy," Luis growled, face flushed with humiliation at having his name read aloud. He swung the shotgun in a vicious arc. The heavy stock cracked against Thor’s face with a sickening thud.

Pain exploded behind Thor’s eyes. He staggered, vision swimming, and collapsed back into the booth, one hand clamped over his nose. Warm wetness spilled between his fingers. When he lowered his palm, bright crimson coated the skin.

"Ughh..." The sound was half groan, half disbelief. He stared at the blood as though it belonged to someone else. He was a god—or had been. Centuries of battle, of storms and giants and the clash of Mjolnir, and he could not remember the last time a mortal had drawn his blood. The realization settled like ice in his chest: stripped of Asgard, stripped of the hammer’s power, he was flesh and bone and far more fragile than he had allowed himself to believe.

Luis loomed over the table, shotgun still raised. "If the rest of you don’t comply, I’ll do more than break a nose. You hear me? I’m tired of asking. Next person who doesn’t do exactly as they’re told doesn’t get another warning."

Peter exhaled slowly, the sound almost fond. He glanced sideways at Felicia. "Kat, my love... want to do the honors?"

"If you insist." Her grin widened, wicked and delighted. She snapped her fingers once, the sound sharp in the tense silence. "And because you asked so nicely."

The shotgun in Luis’s hands detonated with a muffled, wet *crack*. The barrel peeled open like a metal flower. Shrapnel and powder scorched his palms; he screamed, dropping the ruined weapon as blood welled between his fingers.

Chaos erupted among the remaining men.

"The fuck?!"

"Did his gun just explode?!"

"Are we sure they’re cosplayers?!"

MJ’s eyes ignited with a soft glow. The air around her shimmered. Illusionary spiders—dozens of them, black and hairy—poured across the linoleum floor and swarmed up the pistol-man’s legs. He shrieked, stomping and slapping at himself.

"Ahhh! Hell! Get them off! Get them off!"

*BANG. BANG.*

He fired wildly at the floor, bullets punching holes in the tiles while the phantom spiders only multiplied, climbing higher, covering his arms, his chest, his face. His screams turned ragged.

The other robber never got the chance to react. The empty duffel bag in his hands twisted, elongated, scales blooming across its surface. In the space of a heartbeat the fabric became a massive boa constrictor, coils already tightening around his torso and arms. He gasped, the air driven from his lungs as the serpent squeezed. His face purpled; his free hand clawed uselessly at the living rope that pinned him.

Peter moved the instant the rest of the robbers still standing recovered enough to raise a weapon. A single webshot was fired from his wrist, thick and adhesive, slamming into Luis’s chest. The force yanked the man clean off his feet and slammed him into the far wall with a heavy *thud*. Webbing blossomed across his torso, pinning arms and legs in a large web before he could even scream.

A second shot followed in the same breath. The web line ricocheted off a metal support beam, snapped around a corner, and cracked against the temple of the pistol-man still flailing at phantom spiders. His eyes rolled back; he crumpled in a heap, unconscious before he hit the floor.

The remaining guns clicked uselessly. Triggers jammed. Hammers refused to fall. Peter tilted his head, twin fingers raised like pistols, and grinned beneath the mask.

"Ándale, wey!" he called out, voice bright with pure mischief. He punctuated the words with exaggerated *pew-pew* sounds while a rapid-fire barrage of webbing shot at the rest of the robbers, trapping them from shoulders to ankles in seconds.

From the far side of the table, Aria let out a dramatic pout, arms crossed. "Aww, man. I wanted to do something too."

Peter dropped back into his seat with a satisfied little bounce, already reaching for what remained of his drink. "There’s a getaway driver waiting outside. Have fun."

"Yippee!" Aria’s pout vanished. She vaulted over the table in a blur, phased straight through the plate-glass window without so much as a ripple, and vanished into the parking lot. A short burst of muffled gunfire and the sound of thrashing followed. Moments later she phased back inside, dragging a struggling man by the collar. His mouth, wrists, and ankles were already sealed in neat white webbing. She dropped him unceremoniously beside his partners.

Peter twisted in his seat and shot a thumbs-up toward the counter. "Margaret, do us a favor and call the police to pick these guys up, yeah?"

The older woman behind the register stared at the pile of immobilized criminals, one hand still pressed to her chest. "Ah... yeah. Sure..." Her voice was thin with residual shock, but she reached for the phone with steady fingers.

Around the diner, the frozen silence broke. Customers began to rise, some clapping, others murmuring thanks with wide, grateful eyes. A few of the braver ones edged closer once they realized the people at the corner booth were not cosplayers at all. Shy requests for photos floated through the air.

"Margaret," Felicia called, raising her empty glass with theatrical flair, "can I have another one, please?"

The waitress managed a weary smile. "Certainly. It’s on the house."

"Yes!" Felicia pumped a fist, shameless. "I love free stuff. Being a superhero is awesome."

Across the table, Jane had already slid into the seat beside Thor, pressing a stack of napkins to his swollen, purple nose. A bad cut still seeped blood along the bridge. "Hold on," she murmured, "I’ll see if they’ve got a first-aid kit."

"There’s no need." Peter leaned forward, hands hovering just above the injury. "That was pretty reckless of you. Brave, no doubt—but still reckless." Soft azure light flickered between his palms as he channeled chi into the wound. The cut knit itself closed, the swelling easing under the gentle flow of energy. "You have to remember you aren’t a god anymore. Being mortal means being careful. Even the littlest things can kill you here."

Thor’s expression remained tight, and it had nothing to do with the physical pain, but at the wound at his pride.. "I apologize, Man of Spiders... and thank you." The words came low, heavy with the weight of his own perceived weakness.

"Don’t be." Peter’s voice softened. "You were trying to do the right thing. No one can fault you for that."

Thor’s fists clenched on the tabletop. "I am in need of my hammer. I am nothing without it."

Peter began to smile underneath his mask, resisting the urge to snicker. "If you’re nothing without it, maybe you shouldn’t have it. Maybe that’s the lesson Odin’s trying to teach you."

Thor shook his head, frustration flashing across his face. "You don’t understand. I have to find it. I know it is out there somewhere."

Felicia accepted the fresh milkshake that arrived with a cheerful little cheer, then spoke around the straw. "We know where it is."

MJ reached over without hesitation and plucked the bright red cherry from the top of Felicia’s drink. "Yeah. Our friends were sent to guard it."

"Wha—hey! You thief!" Felicia protested, pouting, while MJ only smirked and popped the cherry into her mouth.

Thor’s gaze swept across the group, hope and urgency colliding in his eyes. "Then please... you have to take me there. I must have my hammer returned to me."

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