Spider-Man Reincarnated in the DC Multiverse

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Rain fell in manic rhythm across Gotham's East End, washing grime down brick walls and pooling in neon-tinted gutters. Thunder cracked without warning, its echo rattling fire escapes like brittle bones.

Peter crouched on the edge of an old broadcasting tower, suit soaked, lenses fogged. His mind hadn't stopped spinning since Arkham.

A few hours earlier, he'd watched it burn from a rooftop one of the Joker's "gifts" to the world, according to Batman. The asylum was already back under control, but Joker was gone, loose again in the city.

Because of me, Peter thought.

He'd seen the chaos firsthand. The twisted laughter. The trail of blood and laughter etched into every corner of the asylum. He'd felt it echo inside him.

And for the first time in a long time, he hadn't just wanted to stop the villain.

He'd wanted to hurt him.

Oracle's voice buzzed in his ear.

"East Quarter. Burnside Bank. Joker's people. Hostage standoff. Batman's tied up intercepting a toxin shipment near the Narrows. He's asked if you can respond."

Peter didn't hesitate.

"I'm already on the move."

By the time he reached the scene, the GCPD had formed a shaky perimeter around the block. Civilians were huddled near patrol cars. Flashing lights painted the street red and blue. The atmosphere was thick with tension, but no one was firing.

Peter slipped behind the cordon, scaling the side of a weather-beaten building across from the bank.

Inside, chaos danced.

He could see the gunmen four of them, all wearing cracked porcelain masks, unnervingly still between moments of twitchy laughter. The hostages were bound, gagged, seated in two neat rows.

And then Joker.

Standing on a table like it was his stage, arms wide, a pistol in one hand and a stick of chewing gum in the other. His suit was a warped carnival of green and violet, soaked in rain and ash. His makeup had half-run, revealing pale skin beneath, stretched tight over sharp cheekbones and a smile that cut like a broken bottle.

Peter whispered, "Got eyes on the clown. He's got civilians. Looks like he's performing."

Oracle replied dryly, "Then let's not give him an encore."

Peter crashed through the window on the second story, a slingshot of momentum and webs. Glass shattered. Alarms shrieked. Chaos unfurled like a whip.

One thug spun. Peter kicked the weapon from his hands, webbed him to a marble column before the others could react.

He hit the floor, rolling between pews of scattered hostages, scooping two into a burst-web and yanking them to cover.

Two more shots rang out. One bullet grazed his thigh; the other hit his shoulder, absorbed by reinforced padding. He snarled, twisted, disarmed another goon with a quick snap of webbing and then…

Everything stopped.

Because Joker was clapping.

Slowly.

"Oh, bravo!" he cackled. "Really. Theatrics. Acrobatics. Punching my guys before they've even had a chance to monologue! You're rude, you know that?"

Peter stood. "Let them go."

The Joker hopped down from the table, face tilting in that too-fluid, too-playful way. His eyes like green whirlpools narrowed.

"Ohhh… you must be the spider-thing I've been hearing about. Creepy crawler from the other side of the mirror. New clown in town."

Peter said nothing.

"You know," Joker added, stepping closer, "when I first heard about you, I thought, 'Finally! Someone fun.' But then I read your file. Peter Parker. Tragic. Heroic. Noble. Predictable." He spat the last word. "What a letdown."

Peter's fingers twitched.

Joker's voice dipped low. "Let me ask you something… how's Aunt May doing?"

The temperature in Peter's blood dropped like lead.

"Oops," Joker whispered, circling him. "Was that too soon? You know, I've read about you. Back in your world, you've danced with devils. Fought gods. Lost friends. Buried love. So much grief delicious, rich grief. And here you are, still clinging to rules."

He leaned in, voice like a scalpel. "But rules don't work in Gotham. You should know that."

Peter grabbed him.

Fast.

The motion was brutal, graceless. He slammed Joker into a nearby pillar, cracking stone. The clown howled with laughter, not pain.

"YES!" Joker gasped. "There it is!"

Peter's grip tightened. The world blurred.

"I could snap your neck," he said quietly.

"You won't." Joker beamed. "Because you're still pretending it's a game you can win."

Peter's fist hovered above Joker's throat.

Then the laughter changed.

It wasn't just the Joker anymore it was the sound of a hundred voices behind Peter, all those he couldn't save, couldn't protect. The night Ben died. Gwen's fall. May's last breath. Every failure. Every hesitation.

His muscles tensed.

His vision went red.

But then a whisper in his mind.

"With great power..."

He let go.

Joker hit the ground hard, sputtering into a wheezing chuckle.

Peter turned, webbed the final thug into unconsciousness, and walked toward the hostages. They stared at him some with gratitude, others with fear.

He didn't blame them.

Later, high above the city, Peter crouched on the gargoyle of Gotham Cathedral. The rain had stopped, but the streets still wept.

Batman appeared behind him, silent as a breath.

"He baited you," the Dark Knight said.

Peter didn't look back. "Yeah. He's good at that."

"You almost gave him what he wanted."

Peter closed his eyes. "I know."

Silence passed between them.

Then Batman said, "Gotham will push you. It'll whisper that your rage is righteous. That your pain deserves release. That justice means blood."

Peter opened his eyes. "And what do you whisper back?"

Batman's voice was steel. "We don't kill. Because once we do, the line blurs. And Gotham stops whispering."

Peter looked out at the city. "Back in my world… I've lost so much. I thought coming here meant starting over. But the pain followed me."

"It always will," Batman said. "But how you use it that's what defines you."

Peter stood. Shoulders straighter. Heart steadier.

"I'm not him," he said. "I never will be."

"No," Batman replied. "But if you're staying here, you'll need to decide what kind of legend you want to become."

Far below, the Joker sat in a reinforced transport van, shackled and humming an off-key lullaby. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

A guard asked, "Was it worth it?"

Joker smiled through broken teeth.

"Oh, it's only just beginning."

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If you wish to read more or simply support me than check out my Patreon at

" https://www.patreon.com/Its_Zack/ "

You can Get Access to 3 More Chapters OR 7 More Chapters if you want.