Miles Morales: New Spider Chapter 32. (Patreon)

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Peter sat at the edge of the rooftop, wearing his upgraded red and blue suit. It wasn’t the old hoodie version, but a full costume resembling the Amazing Spider-Man. I had provided him with graphite fabrics, electronics, and tools to help him design it, but I didn't build it for him. Why? Because Peter is brilliant in his own right, with his own ambitions. His suit should reflect that—his creativity, his personality.

I approached him quietly, activating my stealth mode. The first time we met, our spider senses had "greeted" each other with an almost instinctual handshake. Now, I tiptoed near, making no sound. When I got close enough, I yelled, “BOO!”

Peter screamed, leaping off the building’s edge before sticking to the side with his hand. He climbed back up, eyes wide.

“Dude, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” he panted.

“Heh, gets you every time,” I chuckled, sitting down next to him. My helmet retracted into a half-mask, and I pulled a paper bag from my pack.

His eyes lit up. “Is that what I think it is?”

I slowly reached into the bag, maintaining eye contact just to tease him.

“Come on, Arc, I’m starving!”

With a grin, I handed him a hotdog. “Hi, Starving. I’m Dad.”

He groaned, mid-bite. “Ugh, again with the dad jokes.”

“They’re funny,” I insisted.

“No, they’re not. And you’re not even a dad!”

I rolled my eyes. “Like you’re one to talk. Your jokes are so bad they call you the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man.”

Peter laughed, shaking his head. “You’re the worst.”

“So, how’s your patrol been?” I asked, biting into my own hotdog.

Peter launched into his report. “Well, I saved a cat from a tree, helped an old lady cross the street, found a lost dog…” He went on and on, spinning tales of minor heroic acts. I couldn’t help but laugh. He was like a younger brother, and moments like these made me forget the weight we carried as heroes.

When he finally finished, I stood up and stretched. “Sounds like you’ve had a busy night. It’s getting late.”

I reached into my pack and pulled out a small case filled with electrical components and chemicals, tossing it to him. “Think fast, Spidey.”

He caught it, eyeing the contents. “What’s this?”

“Some materials to build a new web shooter. The chemicals will help you with different web compositions. Get creative.”

“Arc, can’t you just build one for me?” Peter asked, glancing at my gauntlets.

“Nope,” I replied firmly. “You’re a hero, not a slacker. You need to understand your tech inside and out. It’s the only way to be ready for anything.”

Peter’s nerdy side kicked in as he inspected the components, a grin spreading across his face. “Thanks, man!”

I slipped back into stealth mode, disappearing from view.

“How does he do that?” I heard him mutter as I left.

---

The crisp morning air brushed against my face as I soared over the meadows and valleys. A tide of white moved below me as shepherds herded their sheep across the slopes, and flocks of birds occasionally crossed my path.

I landed softly in a meadow just outside a small village, retracting my tentacles as Klaue collapsed to his knees. He was paralyzed, my venom still coursing through his system, leaving him unable to move or even blink. I took a deep breath, turning toward the village when I saw a group of men approaching—two on horseback and the rest on foot. They wore traditional blue and red African garb, their faces adorned with tribal markings. The border guards of Wakanda.

The leader, his English thick with an accent, pointed at Klaue. “What is this? And who are you?”

“Who I am doesn’t matter,” I said calmly, pulling the sack off Klaue’s head. The sight of him sent a ripple of tension through the group. “But this man… this is Ulysses Klaue.”

Their reactions were instant. Klaue was the man responsible for causing untold suffering in Wakanda, and here he was, finally captured.

“You will follow us to our leaders. They will decide his fate,” the leader said, nodding to his men.

I slung Klaue over my shoulder and looked at the nearest rider. “Hey, mind if I get a lift?”

The man stared at me, his expression unreadable, before he finally said, “Yes.”

Huh. Guess asking nicely does work sometimes.

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Wakanda was more breathtaking than I’d ever imagined. The city was a perfect blend of nature and technology—buildings covered in lush greenery, hover rails zipping through the streets, and people casually interacting with holograms projected from their kimoyo beads. This place was a tech paradise. But even among all the marvels, the Royal Palace stood out, its architecture a testament to Wakanda’s greatness.

As I walked up the palace steps, flanked by the stoic Dora Milaje, I felt the weight of their stares. These women were Wakanda’s elite, and their presence was almost as intimidating as their spears.

Inside, King T’Chaka sat on his throne, with a young T’Challa standing beside him. The royal family and their advisors watched as I brought Klaue before them. The criminal still stumbled, his mind scrambled from the venom and memory purges I’d subjected him to.

T’Chaka’s gaze hardened as he stepped forward. “Klaue… after all these years, you have finally been captured. Judgment will be passed for your crimes against my people.”

He turned to me, his expression softening. “You have done Wakanda a great service. You have my gratitude.”

I retracted my mask fully and shook his offered hand. “The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty.”

I slung the duffle bag off my back and placed it on the floor, the guards tensing as I did so. I slowly unzipped it and pulled out a canister of vibranium. The room erupted in gasps.

“You recovered the stolen vibranium?” T’Chaka asked.

“Yes,” I confirmed, though I hadn’t returned all of it. Call it a little bonus for my efforts.

“You have done what we could not for thirty years,” T’Chaka said solemnly. “You have brought back what was stolen from us.”

T’Challa, his gaze sharp, spoke up. “Who are you, truly? We know what you are called, but who are you?”

I hesitated briefly, then collapsed my mask entirely. “I’m Miles Morales.”

A young voice chimed in from the side. “Miles Morales! Boy genius, inventor, and prodigy!” It was Shuri, her kimoyo beads projecting a hologram of my face and various inventions.

I smirked. “Well, that was fast.”

T’Challa’s gaze remained suspicious. “What are your motives for helping us?”

“Motives?” I raised an eyebrow. “I’m helping you, and you think I have ulterior motives? Smart king-to-be.”

I paused for a moment, considering how much to reveal. “Actually, I’m here because of Bast. I saw her in a vision. I need answers, and she’s my best shot.”

That caught their attention.

“I also need something from you,” I added. “My parents. I need them to stay here, in Wakanda. They’re not safe where they are, and I can’t afford to lose them.”

T’Chaka studied me for a moment before nodding. “You are a good son. We will grant your family Wakandan citizenship. It is the least we can do for what you have done.”

I blinked, genuinely surprised. That was more than I had expected.

“You have done a great service for my people,” T’Chaka said, placing a hand on my shoulder as he led me deeper into the palace.