Chapter Text
The after-school sun melted over the rooftops, the afternoon sky shifting into evening with an easy, practiced grace. Queens smelled like it always did around 3pm—fried food drifting from the deli, exhaust hanging stubbornly over the street, and the faint sweetness from the bakery two blocks away.
By the time Peter reached his apartment building, the after-school crowd had already disappeared into bodegas and walk-ups. He’d split from Ned only a few minutes earlier, their conversation still echoing faintly in his ears as he stopped at the door of the two bedroom apartment he shared with Aunt May.
The moment he stepped inside, the familiar quiet wrapped around him. The apartment was empty—Aunt May must still be at work. She never was home before him nowadays. Peter dropped his backpack and instrument case onto the couch and headed straight for the TV stand. He grabbed the remote, flipped to the hunter news, and settled in with his homework spread out before him. A blank page of a notebook lay open beside it, waiting for anything noteworthy.
“This is Lois Lane coming to you live from the entrance of the Asgard dungeon…”
“Asgard?” Peter frowned. The name didn’t ring a bell. He flipped through his notebook—pages packed with every recorded dungeon from F-rank to SSS+. No Asgard. Peter never missed a dungeon update; he didn’t refresh hunter news at the same time every day and comb forums on weekends for nothing.
He reached for his multicolored Iron Man pen and started writing.
“This is a special SSS+ class dungeon that appeared only two weeks ago. Originally, entry was restricted to top battle-type hunters. However, after the Asgards initiated peaceful relations, clearance has been expanded to hunters of—”
Peter’s eyes darted between the TV and his notes, dictating new information as fast as Lois spoke.
“So now, in just thirty minutes, members from all three top guilds will make formal contact with the Asgards.”
Peter tuned out the rest, switching focus to finishing the front page of his homework. The house phone rang, but he didn’t move until he scribbled his last answer. Then he grabbed the phone.
“ASGARD!!” someone screamed on the other end, and Peter didn’t even need to hear the rest to know who it was.
“You missed it, Ned?” Peter asked, sinking back in front of the TV.
“Yes! I only caught the last few seconds!”
Ned sounded devastated. Peter flipped open his dungeon notebook again.
“Okay, so—Asgard appeared two weeks ago as an SSS-plus dungeon. Only B+ ranked hunters and above are entering, and even then it’s only adults from the top three guilds.”
He skimmed his notes.
“Ironman, Batman, Superman, Black Panther, and Captain America will be the ones to enter first—”
“Wait, Ironman?” Ned interrupted.
“Yes, Ironman.” Peter repeated.
“Why is a craftsman-type hunter entering in the first wave? Shouldn’t he be in the second?”
“Normally, yeah. But everyone knows Stark likes to be anything but reasonable. Besides, his suit is probably more than enough protection. But I don’t know why black panther is going. I know he’s capable, but nobody else from a foreign country is going. I get he’s a member of one of the top three but If the Bureau of dungeons was going to send someone, why not Wonder Woman who is actually part of the justice guild?”
“That sounds like it makes sense…you know what doesn’t make sense? The review for our test tomorrow.” Ned stated
“Uh…” Peter looked through the papers on the floor in front of him “From second period right? What questions are you having trouble with?”
Peter ended up spending the next forty minutes walking Ned through Contemporary History—specifically, the Age of Hunters.
It had started in the mid–21st century, back when the hero community was at its lowest point. The first hunters hadn’t been an American phenomenon; they’d appeared almost everywhere at once. Gates followed soon after, opening across the globe in violent bursts, and whatever came out of them forced humanity to do something it hadn’t managed in decades—work together.
Back then, heroes barely cooperated outside their own cities. Teams were rare unless you were family, or something close to it, like the X-Mansion. But the scale of the dungeons made that approach impossible. Entire states were devastated before anyone even understood what they were dealing with.
That chaos led to the creation of formal guilds—Justice, Avengers, and others like them—and eventually the Bureau of Dungeons. The idea, according to the textbooks, had come from leaders no one had expected to see on the same side of a table: Wonder Woman, Aquaman, and a handful of others whose names always showed up right before the exams.
Somewhere in the middle of the lengthy study session, his aunt came home, bringing with her the smell of antiseptic, coffee, and sanitizer.
“How long have you been on the phone?” May asked after putting her bag down. “And how long have you been sitting that close to the TV?”
“Oh—uh, not long.” Peter scooted back as May made a beeline for him. “I was just going over homework.”
May took the phone from his hand anyway. “Ned,” she said knowingly.
“…Yes, ma’am?” Peter could practically hear the nerves on the other end.
“It’s 4:45 on a Thursday. Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your club?”
There was a crash on the other line. “Crap!” Ned exclaimed.
“Language.”
“Sorry, ma’am—tell Peter I said bye!” The call ended, and Peter watched as May returned the house phone to its stand.
“That’s one,” she said, turning back to him. “Now the other.”
Peter froze, then remembered the instrument abandoned on the couch.
“No,” he groaned, dragging his hands over his face.
“Don’t ‘no’ me. You’re the one with a concert on Monday.”
“Monday’s a whole weekend away. Plus, I’ve already memorized all sixteen lines,” Peter argued.
“Still,” May sighed, “I don’t want you rotting away in here without doing anything productive.”
She glanced around their moderately sized apartment, and whatever her eyes landed on made her brighten.
“We could go on a walk instead!”
Peter looked at the unfinished homework scattered in front of the TV. He should work on it—but it had been a long time since he’d gone on a walk with his aunt.
“Sure,” Peter agreed.
As May grabbed her coat, Peter stood—and felt that familiar, uneasy pull in his chest. The same one he always got when something big was about to happen.
He shook it off and followed her anyway.
The evening air hit Peter the moment they stepped outside, cool and sharp enough to clear his head. The apartment building’s door shut behind them with a dull click, cutting off the hum of the TV and the weight of unfinished homework.
May tucked her hands into her coat pockets as they started down the sidewalk. The street was busier than usual—people lingering outside, phones in hand, conversations hushed but constant. Someone laughed too loudly. Someone else argued about dungeon clearance odds like they were talking about the weather. A couple passed them, laughing over something dumb. A dog strained against its leash, tail wagging like it had somewhere important to be. Someone watered their plants from a second-story window, droplets catching the light as they fell.
“This is nice,” May said.
“Yeah,” Peter agreed. And it was.
They stopped at a corner bakery that was semi full. The lights inside were warm, the windows fogged. May tapped the glass, pointing out a tray of pastries Peter liked, and promised—maybe—to bring some home tomorrow if he practiced without complaining.
Peter grinned. “That’s not fair.”
“I think it is,” she said, smiling back.
They crossed the street when the light changed, surrounded by strangers who all moved together without thinking about it. For a moment, it felt like nothing in the world existed beyond the sound of footsteps and the quiet rhythm of the city settling in for the night.
The park was still crowded when they entered.
Kids ran past with glowing bracelets snapped around their wrists, a group of college students sprawled across the grass arguing about music, joggers weaving through it all with practiced ease. Someone strummed a guitar near the fountain, the notes drifting lazily through the air.
May slowed, smiling. “We should ”
Peter nodded, already relaxing again as they stepped onto the paved path.
Then the ground shuddered.
Not enough to knock anyone over—just a brief, uneasy vibration underfoot. The kind that made conversations falter for half a second before resuming.
A few people laughed it off.
“Subway again,” someone muttered.
Peter felt it differently. Not stronger—just… wrong, like the earth hadn’t meant to move that way.
Before he could say anything, the birds exploded into the air.
A whole flock tore free from the trees at once, wings beating frantically as they scattered in every direction. Feathers drifted down, slow and harmless-looking.
The air shifted.
It wasn’t wind. It was pressure—like the park had taken a breath and forgotten how to let it out.
The guitar stopped.
Someone near the fountain frowned. “Does it feel… weird to anyone else?”
The ground cracked.
Sound vanished for a heartbeat, replaced by a low, hollow groan that came from beneath them. The paved path split open in a jagged line, stone lifting and folding in on itself as light—too bright, too deep—poured out.
People screamed.
A circle of space collapsed inward, reality tearing like paper as something vast and golden forced its way through. Ancient runes burned into the air, spinning wildly as the dungeon gate fully tore open.
Peter’s hand closed around May’s wrist on instinct.
Around them, the park dissolved into chaos—people running, falling, shouting names—but all Peter could see was the gate. The crowd surged away from the gate all at once.
Someone slammed into Peter’s shoulder, nearly knocking him off his feet. He tightened his grip on May’s wrist, turning to shield her—
The ground lurched again.
This time it wasn’t a tremor. It was a pull.
The light spilling from the gate deepened, turning heavy, like gravity had decided to lean in one direction only. People screamed as the air dragged at them, shoes scraping uselessly against the path.
“May!” Peter shouted.
“I’ve got you!” she yelled back, fingers locked around his sleeve.
A man tripped near the fountain and vanished the moment he crossed the glowing edge—no flash, no sound. Just gone.
Peter’s stomach dropped.
“No—no, no—” He dug his heels in, heart hammering, but the pull only grew stronger. The park warped at the edges of his vision, colors stretching, bending toward the gate.
Someone’s hand slipped from his grasp.
May stumbled.
Peter yanked her back just as the path beneath them shattered completely, the stone giving way like it had never been solid at all. The world tilted, the sky tearing into impossible shapes as the gate surged outward.
For one terrifying second, Peter thought he might lose her.
Then the light swallowed them both.
The park vanished.
Sound came back all at once—wind roaring in his ears as they fell, weightless and spinning. Peter wrapped his arms around May on instinct, holding on like that alone could keep them together.
The light snapped shut behind them.
They hit the ground hard.
Peter gasped, lungs burning, the air thick and unfamiliar. Stone stretched out beneath him instead of pavement, the sky above replaced by a vast, glowing ceiling etched with runes that pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat.
May groaned beside him.
“May,” Peter said urgently, scrambling to her side. “May—are you okay?”
She blinked, dazed but conscious, and nodded once. “I think so.”
Peter looked around, dread pooling in his chest as the truth settled in.
They weren’t in the park anymore.
They were inside a dungeon.