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🕑 Added 2025-06-24 16:19:55 +0000 UTCChapter 1533: The Birth of Evil
Bitterness. Helplessness. A sigh of regret.
That’s life for you.
On the big screen, Peter Parker finally spills the truth through a crackling, disconnected phone. Bathed in dazzling golden sunlight, he lets out a soft breath, like a weight’s been lifted. The exhaustion etched between his brows starts to ease, and a faint smile tugs at his lips. Those clear, bright blue eyes, though—they’re heartbreaking.
It’s such a simple, unassuming scene, yet it leaves everyone in Radio City Music Hall breathless. A flood of thoughts surges through every mind in the audience.
But life? It keeps rolling on.
Peter gets an invite from Dr. Octavius to witness a big moment—the first public demo of his research breakthrough. Harry’s there too, along with reporters, colleagues, and other sponsors.
Dr. Octavius declares they’re about to make history: a safe, sustainable energy source that’ll bring cheap power to everyone.
To pull off the final step of nuclear fusion, he introduces his key assistant: four mechanical arms.
These things can handle extreme heat and magnetic forces. Strapped to his waist, they extend neural wires that snake along his spine, piercing into it with precision to connect directly to his brain. They’re an extension of him—controlled by his thoughts. Plus, they’ve got built-in AI, capable of thinking on their own to assist with the work.
Someone in the crowd raises a question right away.
“Doctor, if these arms have such advanced AI, what’s to stop them from controlling you?”
Dr. Octavius beams at the question. He points to a spot at the top of his spine, near his brain, where a clear chip sits. “That’s exactly why I developed this inhibitor chip. It protects my brain and keeps me in charge of the arms—not the other way around.”
Peter lifts his chin slightly and exhales in relief.
Of course, he thinks. The professor’s a pro. He’s got this covered. I shouldn’t have doubted him.
The key to fusion? Tritium—a super rare element. There’s only twenty-five pounds of it in the whole world. Thanks to Osborn Corp’s backing, Dr. Octavius has enough to run his experiment.
Under everyone’s watchful eyes, he operates the arms. Everything goes smoothly—they nail the fusion reaction!
A burst of energy, bright as the sun, glows in the palm of his hand.
But the joy doesn’t last.
In less than five seconds, goosebumps prick Peter’s skin. He senses it—something’s wrong. Magnets start flying toward the energy core. The fusion turns unstable, morphing into a black hole that sucks in every scrap of metal, whipping up an energy storm.
The room erupts into chaos.
Harry glances around—Peter’s gone. Everyone else bolts for the exits, but Harry doesn’t. He steps up, demanding Dr. Octavius shut it down. The doctor refuses, stubborn as ever, convinced he’s still got it under control.
Reality says otherwise.
It’s spiraling out of hand.
As Harry argues with Dr. Octavius, a massive metal cart—two people tall—gets yanked toward the storm, hurtling straight for Harry’s back.
At the last second, Spider-Man swings in, scooping Harry up and dodging disaster by a hair.
Harry stares at Spider-Man, stunned, but rage takes over fast. His face twists, baring his teeth like a feral animal.
“This changes nothing,” he snarls.
Spider-Man’s expression stays hidden behind the mask, but his neck and shoulders stiffen.
He doesn’t have time to talk. He leaps onto the wall—his webs are back, his powers too.
Dr. Octavius spots him. “What are you doing?”
Spider-Man’s blunt: “Pulling the plug.”
The doctor panics, worried Spider-Man will ruin his life’s work. He swings an arm to swat him away like a bug.
That’s when it all goes beyond saving.
It’s not just the lab’s metal—fire escapes from outside get sucked in too. Shattered glass swirls wildly in the storm. Dr. Octavius’s wife tries to snap him out of it, begging him to stop. Then a jagged shard slices her neck. She’s gone in an instant.
Dr. Octavius screams, lunging to save her. He knocks over the reactor, and a surge of electricity lashes back at him. The inhibitor chip behind his brain shatters.
It’s a disaster—a full-on catastrophe. The energy storm’s turning into a black hole.
In the clutch, Spider-Man yanks the plug, cutting the power and ending it.
The lab’s still a wreck, though.
The investors, sponsors, and media who survived are shaken to their cores. They can’t believe Dr. Octavius nearly leveled New York.
Harry had hoped this success would boost Osborn Corp, fulfilling his dad’s dreams. Now? It’s all ashes—dreams, future, plans, gone.
“…It’s all Spider-Man’s fault!” he growls through gritted teeth.
His assistant reminds him Spider-Man saved his life, but to Harry, that’s an insult—a taunt. The man who killed his father keeping him alive? It’s torture worse than death.
His handsome face warps into something dark and ugly.
No one could’ve guessed the real horror was still coming.
In the hospital, the OR’s prepped. Doctors and nurses gear up to remove the mechanical arms fused to Dr. Octavius’s spine. But those arms—with their own consciousness, now hijacking his mind—aren’t about to let that happen.
Nicholas suddenly remembers: Sam Raimi. Horror movie director.
And here, Raimi leans into it hard.
The pacing, editing, sound, framing—it’s a masterclass in dread. No cheap jump scares needed. The air’s thick with death, seeping into your skin, stopping your heart. The audience is pinned to their seats, paralyzed.
In just two minutes, Raimi crafts a classic horror scene—top-tier terror from a master filmmaker.
Bodies litter the floor. No gushing blood required—just chaos and an overwhelming sense of fear.
Dr. Octavius comes to, looking around. Realizing what he’s done, despair and panic flood his soul. He drops to his knees, roaring in fury and agony.
A surgical light crashes down, casting an eerie blue glow from below. The four arms rise with his scream, stretching upward like something out of Alien.
“No!”
And in that moment—amid death and terror—Doctor Octopus is born.
Chapter 1534: Doctor Octopus
Peter Parker nearly gets fired—again. He couldn’t snap a photo of Spider-Man or capture Professor Octavius looking like some kind of monster.
Luckily, the newspaper editor’s son is an astronaut, and tonight, there’s a fancy gala at the planetarium in his honor. The editor needs a photographer, and that gig tosses Peter a lifeline.
Too bad his request for an advance to help Aunt May gets shot down.
After leaving the hospital, Professor Octavius stumbles back to his lab in a daze—
The entire row of buildings is wrecked, half of it sunk into the Hudson River. Only a chunk of rubble pokes out above the water. Everything he’s worked for, gone.
Standing in the ruins, Octavius has a brief moment of clarity. He realizes how dangerous his research is—it should all sink to the bottom, him and those mechanical arms included.
But a voice stops him.
Octavius freezes, suddenly aware that the inhibitor chip is shattered. It’s the AI in his mechanical arms talking to him.
“Start over?”
“No, Peter was right. I got it wrong.”
He glares at the arms, muttering to himself, but that flicker of reason vanishes fast. Greed, pride, and ambition gobble it up. In a flash, his eyes turn bloodshot, brimming with menace.
“I couldn’t have been wrong!”
“The fusion worked, didn’t it? We just need to rebuild—make a bigger shield. We need cash.”
“Rob a bank? No, no, I can’t break the law.”
“Right—real crime would be failing to finish my grand vision!”
“We’ll do it right here. Solar power in the palm of my hand—no one can stop us! No one!”
And just like that, Doctor Octopus is born.
Since he couldn’t get that advance, Peter can’t help Aunt May with the loan. So, they head to the bank together, hoping to use Uncle Ben’s life insurance as collateral.
No dice. The bank turns them down.
Their situation’s a mess—too risky for a second loan. The bank doesn’t trust they can pay it back.
At the counter, Peter and Aunt May are stumped.
Meanwhile, at the vault door, Doctor Octopus is taking a shortcut.
He’s not exactly subtle about it. In broad daylight, with everyone watching, he rips the vault open and starts looting.
Chaos erupts.
In the rush, Peter can’t stick with Aunt May. He bolts, ducks into a hidden spot, and transforms into Spider-Man to face off with Doc Ock.
For a while, Spider-Man has the upper hand. His quick, nimble moves make Doc Ock look clumsy. The doctor’s stuck swinging those arms from a distance, unable to land a real hit. Spider-Man’s flipping and swinging between attacks leave him scrambling.
Then, at the worst moment, the webbing fails again.
“Oh, no,” Spider-Man groans.
Doc Ock doesn’t know what’s up, but he seizes the chance. One of his arms hurls a sack of coins, nailing Spider-Man and knocking him down.
Without missing a beat, Doc Ock’s four arms pin him—two lock around his waist, two clamp his head. Those massive hands engulf Spider-Man’s skull like it’s a melon, ready to crush it with a squeeze.
Cornered, Spider-Man’s powers kick back in. At the last second, he gets an idea. He shoots webs to either side, snagging heavy counters, and yanks them in a pincer move.
Caught off guard, Doc Ock tosses Spider-Man aside, instinctively smashing the counter flying from the right. But as he turns, the left one slams into him full-force, blasting him through the bank doors and into a taxi parked outside.
In a blink, Doc Ock’s surrounded—
Spider-Man’s relentless, and NYPD swoops in from both sides. It’s a madhouse.
Doc Ock grabs a hostage from the crowd—it’s Aunt May, trying to slip away—and struts off like he owns the place.
No ordinary escape for him!
Instead of bolting down the main road, he uses his arms to scale the walls, wrecking his way up New York’s steel jungle. The NYPD’s regular joes spot him but can’t do a thing. Only one guy can.
Spider-Man!
He shows up on Doc Ock’s escape route, ready to save Aunt May.
Doc Ock flashes a wicked grin and “accidentally” lets an arm slip, dropping Aunt May from the heights.
Spider-Man fires a web to catch her, but there’s no time to find a safe spot to set her down. In a panic, Aunt May hooks her umbrella handle onto a gargoyle jutting from the building, dangling midair.
Doc Ock and Spider-Man tangle up, trading blows. They flip and slug it out along the building’s side until neither can hold on. In a mutual crash-and-burn, they plummet—
Silence.
Radio City Music Hall goes dead quiet—so still you’d think the sound system’s busted. No wind, no fists landing, no background score. Nothing.
Everything stops as they free-fall, still swinging at each other with gritted teeth.
Until Spider-Man slams straight into Doc Ock.
Thud.
A muffled smack.
Next second, they crash through a glass window, tumbling into a room. The shattering sound explodes in your ears.
Boom!
The whole audience at Radio City is glued to their seats, holding their breath, brains on pause, gaping at the scene.
From outside to inside, back to outside—they’re locked in a death grip. Finally, Doc Ock finds an opening and slams Spider-Man’s face, sending him flying across the street. He smashes through windows and walls, vanishing into rubble.
Aunt May’s still hanging, her strength fading. She slips, falling—
Ten centimeters.
Her feet hit a ledge. Turns out, it’s not a sheer drop—just a half-meter platform. She’s safe, and her heart drops back into her chest.
But the relief lasts half a second. Gravity’s tossed aside again—
Doc Ock, after shaking off Spider-Man, grabs Aunt May as a hostage.
“You stick your nose where it doesn’t belong—this old lady’s life is on you!”
He’s baiting Spider-Man, who uses the walls as leverage, firing webs to slingshot himself forward. Doc Ock’s ready, though—one arm sprouts a spike, primed for a sneak attack.
Aunt May catches it all, unimpressed, her face sour.
A low chuckle ripples through Radio City Music Hall.
Then, this silver-haired grandma grabs her umbrella and whacks Doc Ock square on the head—
If this weren’t a theater, Nicholas would’ve jumped up, clapping and cheering for Aunt May!
Chapter 1535: Words Left Unsaid
In the face of danger, it’s not about compromising or giving up—it’s about standing tall and confronting evil head-on.
Not just Uncle Ben, but Aunt May too. They’ve both led by example, shaping Peter Parker into the person he is today.
Whack!
Out of nowhere, Aunt May smacks Doctor Octopus with her umbrella handle. The sharp tip veers off course, missing its mark. Spider-Man seizes the moment, regaining control.
Doctor Octopus doesn’t hesitate—he hurls Aunt May right back.
One second, the theater’s cheering for Aunt May, shouting praise for her gutsy move.
The next, everyone’s frozen, watching in horror as she plummets from the sky.
Gasp!
The whole crowd sucks in a collective breath, eyes locked on her free fall.
Doctor Octopus’s ruthless, cold-blooded cruelty leaves everyone stunned.
Spider-Man doesn’t spare a second for Doc Ock. He dives after her like a swimmer off the block, rocketing downward at full speed. Both hands shoot webs, snagging Aunt May mid-air. He pulls her tight against his chest, swinging his left hand free to fire another web, turning them into a pendulum as he swings between towering skyscrapers.
The NYPD opens fire on Doctor Octopus, but they’re stuck on the ground, craning their necks upward. He escapes unscathed, scaling the building’s outer wall like it’s nothing.
Luckily, Spider-Man lands safely with Aunt May in tow.
She’s wide-eyed, catching her breath. “Guess I misjudged you.”
He tilts his head with a playful grin. “Yeah, we sure showed him, huh?”
Aunt May blinks. “We?”
Peter freezes. He might’ve just slipped up—maybe even put her in more danger. He clams up, says nothing more, and bolts off in a hurry.
The New Yorkers on the street who saw it all? They’re with Aunt May now—finally warming up to Spider-Man. A few girls chase after him, screaming his name, but none of them can make him stop.
He’s got work to do. This afternoon, he’s shooting a banquet for the newspaper.
He needs the gig—both he and Aunt May could use the cash.
The banquet’s a whirlwind of fancy suits, clinking glasses, and high-society chatter. Peter’s dressed up too, but he’s all business, working the room with his camera.
Then he spots Harry at the bar, drowning himself in booze. Peter sets his work aside and steps in to stop him.
Harry’s a mess, sunk deep in his own gloom.
He’d pinned his hopes on Dr. Octavius bringing him fame and fortune. Instead, it’s a disaster—his name’s mud, Osborn Corp’s in shambles, and everyone’s running scared.
And then there’s Spider-Man.
The fact that Spider-Man saved his life? It’s eating him alive. He can’t even hate the guy with all his heart anymore.
Peter tries to comfort him, but words feel useless. All the feel-good platitudes and pep talks sound hollow against real pain.
“Harry, we’re here. We’ve always been here,” Peter says, locking eyes with him. His blue gaze flickers with struggle but holds steady.
Harry pauses. For a split second, his eyes soften—like the old Harry’s peeking through, fragile, lonely, lost.
But it doesn’t last. Just as Peter’s about to say more, the newspaper editor barges in, yanking Peter away and leaving Harry stranded.
Harry stares at Peter’s retreating back, a bitter glint in his eyes. He downs his drink in one gulp.
When the banquet kicks into gear, the main event steps up: the editor’s son, John Jameson, now a pilot, strides into the spotlight with his girlfriend—Mary Jane.
Peter’s rooted to the spot, staring at her all dolled up.
The room erupts in applause, but Peter’s the odd one out. He tilts his head up, eyes glued to her. For him, time hits pause while everyone else keeps moving.
During a break, he catches Mary Jane alone and tries to apologize. This time, though, she draws a line.
“I don’t even know you anymore.”
“I can’t keep holding onto you—it hurts too much.”
“John, my boyfriend, he’s seen my play five times. Harry’s seen it twice. Aunt May came once.”
“My sick mom dragged herself out of bed to see it. Even my dad showed up—ha, just to hit me up for cash backstage.”
“But you—the one who’s always cared, who pushed me to chase my dreams—you couldn’t make it to an eight o’clock curtain. After all these years, you’re just an empty seat to me.”
Her voice cracks with heartbreak and desperation. She looks at Peter, aching, but this time she finds the strength to turn and walk away, leaving him behind for good.
Peter watches her go, words caught in his throat. He wrestles with himself, but everything stays stuck. He waits silently as she pours it all out, then stares at her fading figure. He takes half a step forward—then stops, frozen in place.
Those clear eyes shimmer with pain and conflict. His thin frame looks like it could snap in the wind.
But it’s not over yet.
Harry tracks Peter down, his pent-up rage boiling over.
“You’re loyal to Spider-Man, not your best friend. That pisses me off.”
“He killed my father, and you defend him!”
“Don’t act like my friend. You stole Mary Jane from me. You stole my father’s love. You watched him die and still won’t give up that freak.”
“Isn’t that right?”
Harry swings, landing a solid punch on Peter’s face.
Peter takes it, staring back with sorrow pooling in his eyes. Explanations dance on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows them down.
Harry waits, daring him to speak.
Nothing comes. It drives him wild. “Isn’t that right, huh? Brother?”
Another fist slams into Peter’s jaw.
Panting, heartbroken, Harry glares at him. He wants to say more but can’t. He turns and storms off, agony trailing behind him.
Up on stage, John’s oblivious to the drama. Beaming, he announces, “My girlfriend Mary Jane just said yes to my proposal!”
The room explodes in cheers.
Peter stands there, lifeless. His eyes are dull—no spark, no color. Even the pain and struggle have faded, like his soul’s checked out.
He lifts his camera, hiding his face, aims it at Mary Jane and John, and snaps the shot.
Radio City Music Hall falls silent. It’s not just sadness—it’s beyond that. A helpless, wistful ache crashes into a tangle of contradictions, pushed to the edge.
If they were Peter Parker, what would they do?
Their minds… blank. The tugging, the hurt, the struggle—it’s suffocating, clamping their mouths shut.
Who’d have thought a superhero movie could rip your heart out like this? That it could bottle up the angst, confusion, and emptiness of youth?
