Peter's heart pounded wildly, sharp pains shooting through his chest. A wave of nausea surged up his throat, and he clutched his chest, dropping to one knee.

He had planned for this moment for so long, but he never imagined Gwen would be the one bitten by the spider.

In his memories from his past life, Gwen Stacy was the girl who fell from the bell tower, slipping through Spider-Man's grasp. She became Peter Parker's eternal regret, his unreachable dream. But now, Gwen had become Spider-Man instead!

What was this? Were the flaps of his own butterfly wings finally causing a tornado storm?

Peter gasped for breath, gripping his chest tightly. His heart raced, and his senses sharpened to a painful degree, making everything around him feel as if time had come to a standstill. The air thickened, and each breath grew more laborious.

The threat of the parasitic alien embryo inside him wrapped around his thoughts like a vice, suffocating him. His original plan had been to use the mutated genes to assimilate the alien embryos once he became Spider-Man. Or, he could use Spider-Man's enhanced strength to crush or remove the alien embryo forcefully. This way, even if he suffered heavy bleeding or organ damage, Spider-Man's healing ability would keep him alive.

But now, with Gwen Stacy becoming Spider-Man instead, did that mean he was destined to be the "childhood friend" sacrificed for the cause?

Clenching his fists, Peter pressed them against the ground, feeling as though the creature inside him might burst through his chest at any moment. The true shadow of death loomed over him, and panic clawed at his mind.

*No, it can't end like this!*

Staggering to his feet, Peter forced himself to calm down. There was still time to fix things.

Meanwhile, Harry Osborn, captured by the Vulture and dragged through the air, gritted his teeth against the pain. Struggling to breathe, he demanded, "Who are you?!"

The Vulture held him tightly as they soared above the buildings. "I'm someone your father should have never crossed," he replied coldly. "How does it feel, Osborn boy, experiencing my flying technology?"

With the wind roaring in his ears, Harry gasped, "You should be talking to my father, not taking me!"

The Vulture sneered. "Your father is a ruthless man who will do anything to get what he wants. He stole my flying technology, and now, he's going to pay for it."

Realizing that he was caught in the crossfire of his father's conflicts, Harry's mind raced. The altitude and the rush of air made him feel dizzy. He shut his eyes, fighting the urge to faint. "What do you want?" he shouted, his voice barely audible over the wind.

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"Your father will have to negotiate with me. He needs to pay the price and make everyone understand that he stole my work," the Vulture responded, his voice filled with a vengeful edge.

Harry groaned inwardly at his bad luck. "Look, I think you'd have better luck negotiating with my father instead of taking me hostage!"

The Vulture's gaze turned colder. "We both know what your father is like. To make him yield, sometimes you need to take extreme measures. He taught me that lesson himself."

"Fine, I get it. You're a scavenger—just like my father," Harry muttered bitterly.

The Vulture glanced down at him, a wicked gleam in his eye. "You're right, kid. They call me the Vulture."

Before Harry could respond, the Vulture released his grip, sending Harry plummeting through the air.

As he fell, Harry's scream tore through the sky. The wind whipped at his face, and the terrifying realization that he might soon become a splattered mess below filled his mind.

But then, with a sudden lurch, the Vulture swooped down and caught him again, halting his descent.

The Vulture tightened his grip on Harry's shoulders, flying higher once more. "This is what happens if your father refuses to cooperate. I thought I'd give you a preview."

Harry, now thoroughly shaken, couldn't muster a response. All he could do was pray that his father, despite his flaws, wouldn't let this madman drop him to his death.

Back at Osborn Industries, Norman Osborn stood in a lab, scrutinizing cell tissue samples displayed on a large screen.

"How is he?" Norman asked the lead scientist, referring to the condition of a human test subject.

"Not good, sir," the scientist replied, adjusting his lab coat. "The reagent is slowly killing him."

Norman's frown deepened. The "Human Enhancement Reagents" project was in the critical phase of human trials, but the results were disappointing. "Will he die?" he pressed.

"Yes, sir. His blood counts are dangerously abnormal. We need to conduct further research and gather more test samples."

"Thank you, doctor. You can take a break," Norman replied curtly. Once the doctor left, he instructed his team, "Make sure those bodies are disposed of. Leave no trace."

"Yes, sir," his subordinates replied.

Norman left the lab and headed to his office. He walked over to a bookshelf and pulled out a hidden lever. The bookshelf shifted with a mechanical click, revealing a dark green suit of armor.

The armor's surface gleamed with a metallic finish, radiating power. It was a prototype from his attempts to replicate Toomes' flying technology. Folding his arms, Norman studied the unfinished suit, deep in thought. Just then, his phone rang.

Norman's face darkened as he listened to the report from his men. He quickly turned on the TV, which displayed footage from the New York Museum of Natural History.

The newscaster reported, "A strange incident occurred today at the New York Museum of Natural History during a radioactive science exhibition. A man dressed as a bird-like creature broke in and abducted a student from Midtown High School."

A blurry image of the "bird-man" flashed across the screen. Norman's eyes widened in recognition—it was Adrian Toomes.

"Damn it!" he cursed, slamming his fist into the television screen.

With a spark and a burst of smoke, the screen went black, shattered by his outburst. He grabbed his phone again, quickly calling his team.

"What does that bald-headed fool want?" he demanded.

"He wants an apology, sir," one of his men replied.

Norman's expression twisted with fury. "Tell him there's no chance. Osborn will never apologize. If he wants a fight, he'll get one! He's starting a war!"

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