Spider-Man swung gracefully through the city skyline, his webs carrying him from one building to the next. But suddenly, his momentum was interrupted as his webline snapped, cut cleanly by something unseen.
He quickly fired another web, aiming for a nearby skyscraper, but it too was severed mid-air. A third attempt met the same fate, leaving Spider-Man no choice but to drop to the ground. He landed hard, tucking into a roll to absorb the impact and narrowly avoiding a face-first collision.
"What the hell?" Spider-Man muttered, his voice tinged with shock and frustration. He glanced around, scanning the area for any sign of what or who had cut his webs. Confused, he inspected his web shooters, tapping them lightly. "They're working fine. So what's going on?"
The pedestrians around him exchanged puzzled looks, equally baffled by the sudden interruption. Spider-Man scratched his head beneath his mask, his spider-sense tingling faintly but offering no clear answers.
Unbeknownst to him, the culprit was far removed from the scene. Bullseye, the infamous marksman, had positioned himself kilometers away, hidden in the shadows.
With pinpoint accuracy, he had been targeting Spider-Man's webs, testing the hero's reflexes and patience. A sly grin spread across Bullseye's face as he watched through a high-powered telescope. This was only the beginning.
Spider-Man sighed, shaking off the confusion. He fired another webline, and this time, it held. Relieved, he resumed his patrol, swinging through the city with renewed caution.
It wasn't long before he stumbled upon a crime in progress, a chaotic shootout between two rival gangs. Without hesitation, he dropped into the fray, disarming and incapacitating the criminals with swift, precise strikes.
"I'm still one of the good guys," Spider-Man quipped as he snapped a thug's wrist, eliciting a pained yelp. He stood over the groaning men, his voice firm but laced with exasperation. "Listen up! Next time I catch you pulling this nonsense, I won't be so gentle. Get your act together, make better choices, and stop being walking stereotypes."
As he swung away, one of the defeated criminals muttered bitterly, "What does he know? He's probably never struggled a day in his life." The others grumbled in agreement, their resentment simmering.
But Spider-Man's focus was already elsewhere. Mid-swing, his webline was cut again, sending him into a controlled fall. This time, he was ready. He landed gracefully, his senses on high alert. His eyes darted across the rooftops, searching for the source of the attack.
"Who's doing this?" he muttered under his breath. The precision of the cuts was unmistakable, each one calculated, each one deliberate. A realization dawned on him. "Bullseye," he whispered, his jaw tightening.
The thought sent a chill down his spine. If Bullseye was targeting him, it wasn't just a random encounter. This was personal. Spider-Man knew he couldn't risk leading the assassin back to his home or revealing his identity. The stakes were too high.
Annoyed and on edge, Spider-Man decided to lay low for a while. He ducked into a nearby diner, still in full costume, and ordered a quick meal. Taking off the suit wasn't an option not with Bullseye lurking somewhere in the shadows.
Meanwhile, kilometers away, Bullseye adjusted his telescope, his sharp eyes tracking Spider-Man's every move. "Just as I thought," he murmured to himself. "His reflexes are sharp, and his senses give him an edge. This won't be as easy as taking down the others."
Bullseye leaned back, a smirk playing on his lips. He was already devising a plan to outmaneuver Spider-Man's heightened awareness. This was a game of cat and mouse, and Bullseye was determined to come out on top.
As Spider-Man swung through the city, his day was a mix of stopping petty crimes, enjoying the occasional slice of pizza, and taking in the breathtaking views of New York from above. But his peaceful rhythm was constantly interrupted by one persistent thorn in his side: Bullseye.
The relentless villain seemed to have made it his mission to hurl objects at Spider-Man whenever he was in sight ranging from random debris to perfectly aimed projectiles. It had reached a point of maddening annoyance.
'Should I ask for help?' Spider-Man thought to himself, his patience wearing thin. He muttered under his breath, "Yeah, why not?"
With a graceful swing, Spider-Man made his way to Bleeker Street, landing in front of a peculiar, unassuming building. He knocked on the door and called out, "Doctor Strange, I need your help!"
From a distance, Bullseye watched, his sharp eyes narrowing in confusion. 'Whose house is this?' he wondered. He stayed hidden, observing as the door in front of Spider-Man creaked open on its own. Spider-Man stepped inside, and the door closed behind him as if by magic.
"Is this his home?" Bullseye muttered to himself, a sly grin forming on his face. "I'll have to take a closer look later." He made a mental note to investigate the place once Spider-Man was gone.
Meanwhile, inside the Sanctum Sanctorum, Spider-Man found himself in a world of mystical wonders. The air was thick with the scent of ancient books and incense.
Standing before him was a middle-aged man with streaks of white in his hair, dressed in a blue tunic and a flowing red cloak. It was none other than the Sorcerer Supreme himself Doctor Stephen Strange.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Dr. Strange said with a faint smile, his voice carrying an air of calm authority. "What brings you here, Spider-Man?"
"I need your help," Spider-Man replied, his voice tinged with exhaustion.
"Help? From me?" Dr. Strange raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with dry humor. "Well, you've come to the right place. But let's get one thing straight: I don't deal with 'minor inconveniences.' This had better be worth my time."
"Fuck me, then," Spider-Man muttered under his breath.
Dr. Strange sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Alright, out with it. What do you need?"
"Someone's been following me, and I can't shake him off," Spider-Man explained. "But since you don't deal with 'minor inconveniences,' can I just hang out here for a while?"
Dr. Strange crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips. "Let me get this straight. Someone's tailing you, and your solution is to hide in the most magically fortified building in New York? Smart move. Fine, you can stay but don't make a habit of it."
"Come on, Doc, you're the only person I could think of who could help. Thanks, though," Spider-Man said, his gratitude genuine.
"Alright, no need to lay it on so thick," Dr. Strange replied, his tone softening. "You can stay. Just... try not to make a habit of showing up unannounced. And for the record, you're welcome."
Spider-Man pulled off his mask, revealing the tired face of Peter Parker. He took a deep breath and slumped onto the floor. "I'm exhausted," he admitted.
Dr. Strange tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "How long has this person been following you?"
Peter thought for a moment, counting the hours. "About... nine hours."
"Nine hours?" Dr. Strange's eyebrows shot up, a hint of admiration in his voice. "That's... impressive. You're lucky I don't let just anyone crash here. There's a room upstairs. Don't touch anything, and for the love of the Vishanti, take off those webshooters before you ruin the sheets."
"Thanks," Peter said, standing up and stretching. "Do you have any spare clothes? I don't feel great wearing this suit anymore."
"Spare clothes?" Dr. Strange chuckled. "This isn't a department store, Spider-Man. But fine, I think I have an old robe lying around. Try not to trip over it. It's not exactly designed for acrobatics."
Peter nodded and made his way upstairs to the room Dr. Strange had pointed out. After a quick shower, he changed into the robe and collapsed onto the bed.
For the first time in what felt like forever, he allowed himself to relax. The weight of his long patrol and the relentless pursuit of Bullseye finally caught up with him. Within moments, Peter was fast asleep.
...
"Let's see who's following him," Dr. Strange murmured, his voice low and contemplative. With a swift motion, he cast an observation spell, his fingers weaving intricate patterns in the air. In an instant, the magical energy revealed the presence of Peter's watcher.
It was Bullseye.
Dr. Strange let out a weary sigh. He owed Peter a favor. After all, the young web-slinger had come to his aid in the past. Repaying that debt was non-negotiable.
With a determined glint in his eyes, the Sorcerer Supreme began conjuring another spell. Beneath Bullseye's feet, a glowing portal materialized, its edges crackling with arcane energy. Before the assassin could react, he was yanked through the void and deposited unceremoniously into the same room as Dr. Strange.
Bullseye staggered, his sharp instincts momentarily overwhelmed by the sudden teleportation. But before he could regain his footing or reach for a weapon, Dr. Strange's magic lashed out like a living thing, binding him in ethereal chains. The assassin struggled, but the bonds held firm, their glow intensifying with every movement.
Dr. Strange wasted no time. Without a word of interrogation, he extended his hand, his fingers glowing as he delved into Bullseye's mind.
The spell allowed him to sift through the assassin's memories like pages in a book, and it didn't take long to uncover the identity of Bullseye's employer.
The revelation barely registered on Dr. Strange's face; his expression remained as stoic as ever. Bullseye, after all, was merely a pawn in a larger game.
With a dismissive wave of his hand, Dr. Strange opened another portal. A gateway to a dimension where time itself stood still. Bullseye's protests were cut short as he was hurled into the void, his fate sealed for the foreseeable future.
Turning his attention back to the matter at hand, Dr. Strange made his way to Peter's room. He found the young hero asleep, his face peaceful and untroubled.
The Sorcerer Supreme paused, a rare softness flickering in his eyes. Peter had been through enough lately, and the weight of his responsibilities was never far away.
"Rest well," Dr. Strange whispered, his voice barely audible. With a final glance, he stepped back into the shadows, leaving Peter to his well-deserved slumber.
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I have been rebirthed, and this is another try at writing a story. If you like the story so far, you can sub to my Patreon for advanced chapters.
Right now, we're at Chapter 8.
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Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the start. See you later!