Spider-Man Reincarnated in the DC Multiverse

Chapter 10: Chapter 10: Strings of Fate



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/-\

They met in a theater with no audience.

The velvet seats had long since faded to rust-red, and the chandelier above once grand hung slightly off-kilter, crystals clinking whenever the wind crept through the broken archways. The sign outside still read "GOTHAM GRAND," but time had drained its glamour. What remained now was a hollow echo, like a memory too proud to fade.

Peter stood center stage, shifting uneasily beneath the fractured spotlight. He couldn't help but think of the countless school plays he'd been forced into always the understudy, never the lead.

"Funny place for a meeting," he said aloud.

From the shadows, a voice replied, "Magic doesn't care for boardrooms."

Peter turned.

She appeared like a shimmer between beats one moment not there, the next woven into the scene like she'd always belonged. Long black coat, fishnet tights, and a look that could quiet thunder. Her eyes glowed faintly, not with power but with knowledge.

Zatanna Zatara.

She walked with the grace of someone who'd seen through a dozen realities and still chose to keep her heels sharp.

"You're not what I expected," she said, circling him. "Most extradimensional anomalies show up with wings or curses. You came with quips."

Peter shrugged. "Force of habit."

Zatanna stopped a foot from him and lifted her hand. Her fingers moved through the air like she was threading something only she could see. When her palm settled on his chest just above the emblem Peter felt something stir.

Not pain.

Resonance.

"You're humming," she murmured.

"Excuse me?"

"Your aura. It's vibrating across planes. Not just this one. You're tethered to other versions of yourself like feedback across the multiverse."

Peter tilted his head. "And that's bad?"

She gave a half-smile. "Depends. Ever try walking in ten directions at once?"

Peter exhaled. "Yeah, every time I go to a buffet."

Zatanna's lips quirked. "You joke. That's good. Humor is a shield. But what's underneath?"

Peter hesitated.

Then: "I don't know anymore."

She turned and walked toward the stage's edge. With a flick of her hand, curtains shivered. Light warped.

The space around them… shifted.

Suddenly, they weren't in the theater anymore.

They were suspended in a sphere of layered glass, floating above a kaleidoscope of realities. Shimmering threads stretched from Peter like golden roots some frayed, others glowing. Each thread pulsed, connecting to fragments of himself in places he couldn't name. A spider swinging over Tokyo. Another standing beside Doctor Strange. One… disintegrating in the arms of Tony Stark.

Zatanna gestured. "This is your weave. Your string of fate. Or rather strings."

Peter stared, stunned silent.

Zatanna continued, her voice softer now. "Most beings live in one narrative at a time. Linear. Controlled. But you your death didn't just end your arc. It fractured you. And the energy that brought you here didn't close the loop. It tore the web wider."

Peter whispered, "So what am I now?"

She looked him dead in the eyes. "A ripple."

"A ripple?"

"A shift in the pattern. A walking contradiction. You're not just a Spider-Man from another Earth. You're becoming something new. Something the multiverse hasn't decided how to contain."

Peter swallowed. "And what does that mean for me? Long term?"

Zatanna glanced at the threads.

"Some timelines show you stabilizing. Others… unravel. If your energy keeps surging, you might start tearing holes. Dimensional friction. Collapses. Entropic feedback. You could become a threat not just to this Earth, but every Earth."

Peter turned away, sick in his gut. "So I'm a bomb."

"No," she said firmly. "You're a question. One the multiverse hasn't answered yet."

Back in the real theater, Peter sat on the stage steps, shoulders hunched.

Zatanna poured tea into a tin cup smoky, herbal and passed it to him.

He didn't drink.

"You've seen this before?" he asked.

"Not like this," she said. "Others have crossed over. But you? You're anchored here. You're evolving beyond your origin code."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like comic book talk."

"It is," she admitted. "But we're in a comic book reality. Magic has its metaphors."

He finally took a sip. Bitter, but grounding.

"So what do I do?"

Zatanna leaned back, watching the dust swirl in a shaft of light.

"You learn to control it. To balance who you were with what this world needs. Your powers are changing. Your instincts are mutating. Even your spider-sense it's not malfunctioning. It's trying to adjust to this dimension's laws."

Peter stared at his hand. "Feels like it's screaming half the time."

"It's not fear," she said. "It's warning you. Something bigger is coming."

He looked up. "You mean Luthor?"

Zatanna hesitated. "Luthor's a parasite. Calculating, dangerous, yes but limited. He sees you as a variable to control. But there are other eyes watching. Eyes older than physics."

Peter felt it in his bones the pull of something vast, like gravity beneath his thoughts.

"The multiverse is flexing," she said. "Old powers are stirring. When you fell into this world, it wasn't random. It was permitted. Or worse summoned."

Peter stood slowly. "So someone opened the door."

Zatanna rose with him. "Yes. And they're not done yet."

Before he left, she handed him something small an obsidian ring, etched with sigils he couldn't decipher.

"It'll help ground you," she said. "When the visions come."

"Visions?"

"They will. You've touched too many threads. The echoes will find you."

Peter slid it onto his middle finger. The metal pulsed once like a heartbeat and fell silent.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

Zatanna offered him a rare smile. "Don't thank me yet. The next phase is going to hurt."

As Peter swung across Gotham's skyline that night, something had shifted.

Not in the buildings. Not in the air.

In him.

He could feel it now like the city had a pulse, like he was tethered not just to this world, but to others. Every movement left an echo. Every jump, a shadow trailing behind.

He wasn't just Spider-Man anymore.

He was becoming something new.

A thread between worlds.

And whoever or whatever had pulled that thread was watching.

/-\

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