Archive of Our Own

Hornet is no stranger to inexplicably strange events wreaking havoc upon her life. As the child of Weaver and Wyrm, her existence was often torn between two opposed instincts. To hunt and create; to control and conquer. Having spent much of her lifetime trying to be one or the other, that she should end up the lone sentinel standing guard over a dying world, was something of a mercy in that regard. No living being, divine or otherwise, currently lived to coral her in either direction.

She was her own. Protector of Hallownest, The Gendered Child, sister and sibling; sentinel. She was content in her current path. The sorrow and anguish that had tainted her youth had not left her, but the more time passed the easier it was move forward. She had a very long life ahead of her, one much surpassing most she'd ever met, and would ever meet. To dwell for too long on that which she could not change, would be to succumb to the faults of her creator. Obsessed with a future that could never be reached, disregarding all manner of consequence in the name of a false eternity. A stasis that could not be maintained.

Hornet was not her father. Could not allow herself to be anything like the Pale King. But for all his mistakes, she too cared deeply for the ruined kingdom. For the scant few individuals that still remained. And she would do her best to protect it with every strength she possessed.

That was to say—her godly parentage often gave her insight on the oddities of this world, what to expect and how to react. But this? This was not something she understood.

It was colorful, what took her. Those able to move their shells instantaneously across the battlefield, were most often contained to the color of soul. Or in her siblings case, the color of void. The fractal patterns that crept into the edges of her mask and made her see visions of strange looking bugs, were wholly unfamiliar. Almost hard to look at, if she weren't already used to gazing upon the pure unmitigated pale light of her ancestry.

There hadn't been any warning, that she was sure of. No hastily spotted opponent nor indication of surprise from the bugs that surrounded her. In one moment she stood on solid cold stone, and the next she was flying through the air in a burst of a color and noise.

If not for the simple knowledge that she did not possess the crystal heart as her sibling did, she might think that that was what propelled her forward. But there was no evidence of rock or slightly sweet smell that came from the created material—she found herself instead barreling through the open air for a different reason.

Luckily, she was rather experienced in soaring through the air. And the very moment the world seemed to solidify around her as real and not a strange vision or dream, she was able to throw her needle forward and catch herself on some sort of large stone structure. It was not an easily landing, but she was uninjured and hadn't seemed to have lost anything in transit.

The first thing Hornet noticed as her feet touched the ground, was the light pouring in all around her. The caverns above were tall enough that she could not tell how high they reached exactly, though she could faintly note smaller pinpricks of light spanning the entirety of the sky. But the city—as it sounded like such though looked like none she had ever seen before—was brighter than the White Palace and the City of Tears in a number of impossible ways.

It was not the sort of light that reminded her of her youth. Of blurred images of those higher beings that would pick her up and cradle her in their arms. Rather it was closer to the sickly orange light of the late stages of the infection. It wasn't the exact same, for that she found herself feeling grateful—but a story stuck in her mind. One woven by the carefully precise fingers of her smallest sibling, describing their toil in ascending to the root of her lands most grievous plague.

Yellow. The light surrounding her was distinctly golden.

Hornet was not sure what to make of it. Any assumption she might try to make, would surely be done with a irrelevant dataset. Thus, she resolved herself to find a suitable hiding spot to observe this strange and mystifying land she'd found herself in.

Stranger than the lights, the buildings and the mechanical constructs that moved at speeds far faster than she could ever hope to comprehend, were the people. Hornets was not sure she could even call them bugs. They bore no masks but still had faces, one with exposed eyes and mouths that moved far more than any species she'd ever known.

Their frames were all similar to her own, with four notable limbs yet no variation that she could see. Rather, what set them apart from one another were their odd colorings, heights, and strange clothing. Most she saw bore no practical use—there were no grand sets of armor or weaponry strapped to the backs of any traveler, just pieces of cloth. Some long and thin, others bulky to provide warmth in the cold snowy climate.

Hornet herself was not immune to the chill from the near-freezing temperature, but many she saw bore tight useless coverings that left exposed patches of skin around the legs and arms. Theirs could only be used to denote status or affiliation to a group, a choice made whilst her own covering was merely a consequence of the magic that had brought her here.

It was… confusing. All of it, the variety and shapes of the people, and the sheer amount of them. The number that took refuge in this city was larger than Hallownest's entire population, even in its prime. And the houses she could find were small and stacked on top of each other, reaching sizes comparable to the palace itself.

The longer she watched, the more confused Hornet became. Nothing here was familiar. She could understand the language spoken beneath the breaths of these odd creatures, but could not read their strange language. It was not the tongue uttered by the bugs she was familiar with, but something in the back of her skull, something pale and ancient, understood what was going on around her.

A gift left by her father, she could only presume.

It quickly became evident to her, that something like an upheaval or event of sort was sweeping this grand city. It was unlike anything she was familiar with. Music did not follow like that which came with the Grimm Troupe, nor did cheering or fervent clapping. This was no joyous event nor celebration.

This city was mourning something.

As hours past and Hornet became familiar with a seemingly abandoned building she found to rest in, this fact became even more evident. Large realistic images appeared on billboards of a man much like many she had seen of this land. His visage sat next to a costumed form that held itself low to the ground, like any Deepnest inhabitant might. Only they wore the sort of bright shades of red and blue belonging to a performer.

With it came a single phrase. An impression in her mind of familiarity. Like she should know this man. As intimately as she might know her siblings, and feel their presence caress the edges of her mind.

Spider-Man.

It was a inane moniker. This being was not a spider, though she could not speak of his gender. He looked nothing like herself, nor her mother and people. It was nothing more than a title. She did not know him, and he did not know her. But—

He was dead.

These people proclaimed as such. Shouted it from rooftops and cried like he was important. A figure such as herself, known to protect this land. They revered him. And he was now gone.

A light, brighter than she'd ever seen, rose from the edges of the city and placed itself high in the sky. She could not look at it for longer than a glance for fear of burning her eyes out of her shell. It mocked her, this lands god. Held itself in the sky as it watched over this lands people—their small forms unafraid of this sight because she could only assume this was a common occurrence.

The caverns above became blue. As blue as the lake in the Resting Grounds and larger still than any body of water she'd ever seen. It was… magnificent. Glorious and all consuming. The first waking cycle she spent observing this city, her eyes hardly left the sky.

Hornet did not know what to do with the information she'd gleamed from this land. At a loss of what to do, how to fix her circumstance and find her way back to her rightful home, she felt herself falter. Unwilling to bear herself naked to the world and creep out of the dark corners of this city.

She'd been to places with unfamiliar species. Though they still held some connection to the populace she was familiar with, her weaver ancestry set her apart from others. Doubled with the godly strain in her blood, she was used to feeling out of place among a given population.

But these were not bugs. She had no frame of reference for how they might react to someone as unfamiliar as herself. And she had no idea what might happen if she were to expose herself impulsively.

Hornet was a hunter at heart. Thus she knew the worth patience brought to any chase. To wait until her prey was right in her grasp to strike was mere child's play. She'd done it a hundred times before. This unfamiliar land could not change those hard won sensibilities.

Decidedly, she was content to wait. To hunt for food where she could and hide in the empty cracks of broken down homes, waiting for something to stick out. For any sort of indication of the light that had brought her here.

Hornet found herself drawn to his apparent grave. This 'Spider-Man's' memorial was a notable one. Covered in finely woven memorabilia and childishly scrawled drawings. Unmistakable from all that surrounded it. It was an open area, yes, so she did not dare approach it—but there were many dark patches of street that she was easily able to hide in.

It was not a solution to her problem, nor was it the best thing she could do possibly do to fill her time—but something in her was drawn to this place. To the image of a man she'd never met.

Perhaps this is what the Pale King felt? She'd heard tales of his foresight, of the fractured visions of the future he received that never seemed to make any sense. The images that flashed in her mind did not feel like a vision. They were not a silk-borne imprint or a distant memory. Merely images of strange looking people.

She didn't know. Had no answers nor solutions. All she had was her baser instinct. And it was telling her to stay here and watch what might happen.

When something did change, she had no words to describe what she saw. In an instant, what she thought was a grieving child murmuring soft words to the freshly carved gravestone, became something else. Something familiar.

She watched as another figure approached, one that she felt no ill intent from, approach this smaller one with a hand outstretched and then—they were thrown back. With a flash of something like the electrical pulses that came from Fog Canyon, this larger being was on the ground. Hornet felt the inclination to creep closer. One careful step after another until she was peering out at a strangely familiar looking face.

It was different from the one present on the light-emitting signs that spanned the far edges of the city. Covered in strange hairs that bore a different hue to the one she'd spent hours staring into. But it was similar. More a similar than anything else she'd gleamed from this city.

He looked like the fabled 'Spider-Man.'

Was this being a Nosk? Nothing more than a hunter who used the visage of its prey to lure in a more docile a meal? Or was he something more, something unique to this land or a closely related sibling, like the ones she'd come to love.

Hornet didn't have much time to come to a decision. In an instant the small figure began to flee from the scene with the larger in tow. They did so like a weaver might. Spinning a white thread from their non-existent shell and using it to propel themself forward.

It became a chase. One she did not dare to interrupt, but one she deigned herself to follow along all the same. Curiosity burned in her chest as she went. Trailing behind the already eye-drawing spectacle made it far easier to go undetected than it would have been sticking to the shadows and watching the crowd attentively.

They stopped at an unfamiliar brick laid building. It bore no identifying characteristics, but the smaller costumed being seemed familiar with it. Their slight frame lifted the larger 'Spider-Man' through a doorway, before a rather… poor attempt at tying him up was made.

Hornet did not interfere. The small one shook with a palpable fear and anxiety. They were a child—could be nothing else because Hornet had seen many a small being bear the brunt of her worlds turmoil. The vessels were far more sure of themself than this one. They did not seem confident or sure of the words they spoke.

The child looked afraid. And when one was small and young, new to the world and its unique terrors—what else could they be but scared? There was no parent anxiously trailing behind their spawn to ensure their safety. They were alone. So either their species did not care for their young, as many a bug did not, or they had no one.

Hornet watched. Entranced and unmoving as an interrogation took place. She listened to the frantic questioning of the smaller being, asking nonsensical questions about concepts she could barely begin to grasp.

Another world entirely. One with different gods, different people and unfamiliar technology.

Hornet did not know what to make of it. In fact, she barely had enough time to jump away from the adjacent wall before this larger otherworldly Spider-man broke free from his bindings, and threw open the window to flee from the scene. He yelled something at the small being, threw out a thread from his claw, then fell to the ground below wreathed in the strange light that had presumably brought the both of them here days before.

A shout rang out above, but Hornet could not comprehend what was spoken. Rather, her mind was focused on a different stimuli. A blinding pain shooting through her entire body and making it writhe in pain. It could have lasted days and she would not know a difference. But when she came to a face stared into her own.

A sensation. A recognizable one, but not something she regularly felt. Instinctual familiarity with the shocked being that crouched down in front of her. Then a declaration, one he spoke aloud that her thoughts echoed in unison.

"You're like me."

The empty street remained devoid of sound whilst the two fallen interlopers regained their balance. They stared at each other, Hornet with nervous trepidation and this Spider-Man with blatant shock. Then another voice, one from above.

"Uh, are you two okay? What was that and—wait wait wait—who even are you?" They stutter out as they descend rapidly down a flight of metal stairs.

When they arrive at her level, a similarly strange feeling passes between the child and her, and she watches as their face lights up in confusion and delight.

"You're another Spider-er, person, right? I don't know what you are, but you feel like me. What was that? Why were you outside and what happened to you two?" They ask in rapid-fire blurbs of speech.

"Well, I don't think my atoms are real jazzed about being in the wrong dimension. No idea about this one though." Spider-Man chokes out while pointing at her, before another wave of pain wracks her already damaged form.

By the time she's able to right herself, the two costumed individuals have begun to walk up the side of a building, engrossed in an argument that Hornet is only able to gleam pieces of. The elder one, with more folds in his skin and a noticeable limp to his step, was trying to leave, whilst the younger begged for him to stay. They gestured at her with wide motions before falling into a crouch in defeat.

Hornet readies herself to defend this child if things devolve into violence, before some of their words finally sink their way into her shell. They spoke of death. To the scale of the tragedy of Hallownest—a tomb of dead infected bugs with no conceivable method of fixing it. No solution, a plan doomed to fail, and a pit full of dead siblings.

She had no idea what had brought her to this land. Only the fragment of a memory and the distinct connection between these two beings. But this? It made her angry.

"Coward." She snarls, venom on her tongue. "You seek only to flee from the damnation of this world—knowing what would happen to it, having the ability to stop it and leaving its fate on the shoulder of this child."

Hornet sees the pretender pause in his tracks. There was tension in his shoulders, the burden of his own world surely pushing him to return there as fast as possible. But still. She saw how this world treated this other version of him. How they revered him as a hero—one who did his best to aid this city, even giving up his life in the process.

She wondered if they were the same person. One older and more hurt by his own world. Or was he someone entirely different? Merely a man who shared his face and nothing more?

That was up to him to decide, she supposed. She could not control what others did around her. It was a hard learnt lesson, only borne from watching her many loved ones accept their deaths like a second shell draped around their shoulders. One could always change, become more than what they were created to do or what they set out to make—but they had to make that decision themselves.

If this man left now, then he would become yet another obstacle in her way. She accepted that as easily as she accepted much of the information regarding this world. She had a duty to fulfill, and that was all there was to it.

Eventually, the man turned around and groaned a loud frustrated sound into his hands. He eyed the two of them—Hornet on the pavement and the child peering curiously at them, still crouched along the wall—something like resolve in his eyes.

With his decision made, the empty concessions that leave his mouth go ignored. His yelling about letting the two of them win also go ignored, as Hornet is ever the magnanimous sort.

Hornet is wrapped in an strangely tailored ball of fabric and shoved into a brightly lit building smelling of meat and congealed fat. Corralled into a corner booth so as not to be disturbed, the two strange looking beings eye her curiously as each of them receive a plate of a food that she does not recognize. The taller one gorges himself on it, mumbling to himself as both Hornet and the child poke at their own.

A grease covered hand reaches for her meal after his own is swiftly devoured, but a sharp hiss of displeasure has him yanking it back as quickly as possible.

They stare at each other, each of them assessing the other in their own way. Eventually, the silence is broken.

"So, like, what's your story supposed to be?" The disheveled, grime covered man asks her, deadpan and exhausted sounding.

She chooses to stay silent until the child repeats the question in a slightly more respectful manner, inquiring about the weapon resting against her back.

"This is my needle." She explains, removing it from its strap and setting it gently on the table. "I am a weaver—Hornet, Protector of Hallownest. I know nothing of this world, nor your kind. I was brought here in a burst of light and followed you from your spiders grave. I am aware that I am in another world, and that you have some sort of way to fix that. I know nothing more." She admits, a certain uneasiness at how wrong-footed she'd felt during their past discussion taking over.

"Oh! Do you mean you're an actual spider? Aren't they supposed to have eight legs?" The child pipes up, letting his elder take his meal and pushing his tray away in abject disgust.

Hornet nods slowly in response. "Typically. My mother did, as she is the source of the silk in my shell. My fathers pale blood is the reason for my shape."

"Oh, so you're like an actual Spider-Man? Half-spider? Cool." The small one nods enthusiastically, clearly confused but accepting regardless.

"… I suppose that is correct, but I am female, not male." Hornet feels compelled to add, finally forcing herself to take a small bite of the offered meal. It would be rude to decline, after all, as the payment she attempted to hand over in response was received with a confused look and a hasty refusal.

It was… not terrible? Not very good, but certainly not the worst meal she'd ever had. Having spent a large portion of her life in a slowly dying kingdom that had eventually begun to run out of food the longer the infection remained, she often went without it to the guarantee the survival of those she watched over. Her divine ancestry caused her need for sustenance to be quite a bit lessened compared to the average bug, so she took little issue with the matter.

"Right, well, I'm Miles and this is Peter, I think? I'm human. Me and the last Spider-Man got bit by a radioactive spider and that gave us powers, or something. Then uh, this guy called Kingpin was trying to make a portal to another dimension for some reason, and the other Peter, the dead one, got caught in it somehow. I guess that made it bring other people like him here, and that's why you're also here." The child explained in a single long-winded breath.

It made sense in an odd sort of way. Gave the reason as to why other similarly strange faces flashed through her mind at the moment she was thrown into this world. She was here because of an accident, and was not the only one stranded in this strange city.

Hornet could only nod in acceptance, watching as the older, seemingly more knowledgeable 'Peter' took no issue with his conclusion. Though it was doubtful that she'd trust anything coming from his mouth even if he did deign to chime in.

"What is your manner of address?" She asks eventually, if only to be polite before any serious discussion regarding their plan could begin.

The child looked confused for an instant before a flash of understanding crossed his face. "Uh male" he answers hastily, before his attention quickly focused in on the man who had silently watched them up until this point.

Miles proceeded to engage in a rather one-sided discussion regarding the previous Peter's wishes, and an unfilled promise of apprenticeship.

"—Look, I never agreed to teach you anything, why don't you ask the actual spider, Hornet, for help? Huh? You ever think about that?"

Miles looks towards her with a sad pleading look, and she tries not to feel bad about her near-immediate refusal.

"Child, I use my thread in tandem with my needle. I have seen no evidence of similar weaponry in this land to indicate that I might be able to teach you something of the like. I apologize, but I am not the mentor you seek."

"Wha—child? How old do you think I am?" Miles squeaks, presumably appalled by the descriptor. Considering her own circumstance, barely finished with her final molt and unwilling to lock herself away with her father in his eternal dream of the White Palace, she would have been angry to be called a child then too.

But, still.

"… young?"

Peter laughs as the conversation devolves into meaningless squabbling.

Peering over at Miles to gauge his expression revealed something similar to her own, a certain frustrated confusion, that swiftly turned to attention as their apparent goal was referenced.

"—A private technology campus in Hudson Valley, New York. You can teach me to swing on the way there—fwsh fwsh!"

"Right" Peter declared with a booming clap, slamming his hands down on the table as he made a move to leave the restaurant.

"Halt, tall one. I am unable to follow you on your current quest—" to fix something broken if she was understanding it right? "—Thus I intend to locate the others brought to this world, so that they too can be returned to their rightful homes."

"Huh? Oh right your uh, whole face deal. But what do you mean others?"

"Did you… not see a number of other faces as you were thrown into this world?"

"What—I dunno man, I wasn't really paying attention to that." Peter scoffs and shuffles his feet like a despondent pouting child. "Alright, whatever. Were you trying to ask a question?"

Hornet tries to refrain from smacking the man with the blunt side of her blade. "I merely wished to inquire if there was a place you would prefer to meet after you return."

"Right." Peter nods, blinking at her like he hadn't thought that far ahead. "Uh—do you want an address or something?"

"I cannot read the writing of this world."

"Okay but what if you just—"

It takes hours for Hornet to stumble upon their agreed location. Not counting the annoyingly long amount of time it took to both procure a paper map, identify and mark down where they were currently, as well as locate the optimal route to get there, navigating a heavily populated city whilst taking every opportunity not to be seen by any curious bystanders was an extremely difficult task.

She did not understand any of these people. The way they talked, interacted with each other, nor seemingly argued over every insignificant detail. They threw around words she could not understand and moved to different topics instantaneously without any rhyme or reason. The more time she spent here, the more irritated she was becoming.

No she did not know what a cell phone was, no she couldn't take the subway to get there because she looked nothing like a human. Yes she could assume what the function of a subway was because they had trams in her world. No they did not have cars and no she couldn't just wear a disguise, her horns were nearly impossible to conceal and she refused to force a child to pay for clothing that she would only use for the remaining duration of her stay. Yes the clumps of rock she carried with her were considered money in her world, why would any sane creature barter with flimsy pieces of cloth as their currency?!

It. It wasn't that Hornet hated these two frighteningly hyperactive beings. She had dealt with a lot of strange bugs in her lifetime, managed speaking with them a number of times, and even maintained a decent working relationship with others. There were worse people she could have been stranded in a different world with. Those that she considered her enemies, or those that would lie down, expose their soft underbelly to the world, and accept their deaths passively.

Hornet loathed the sort. But Peter and Miles were neither friend nor foe. They were collaborators. A type of creature in between all notable metrics for such a thing. She did not have to like them, but it would be foolish to work on a solution to their shared problem alone when they were so obviously trying to help.

It was just—the longer she spent with them, the more comradery was built up between the humans. And the harder it became to sit by and watch them, not feeling a sense of longing for her own companions. The siblings she had so painstakingly built up a relationship with following the eradication of The Radiance.

She missed them in small ways. In how she would occasionally turn her head in any given conversation to check in on them. The comforting weight of Hollow looming behind her, standing as if to protect her despite her utter insistence that she could do so herself. And the occasional poke of horns against her side from Ghost who reveled in proving that they were finally growing properly.

Hornet wanted to return home. But she was unable to accomplish that feat until her collaborators returned, and even then until she determined if her guess regarding the house she was searching for was right.

There was no guarantee that there was any sort of connection between the other Spider-changed individuals and Peter. But considering the fact that the remaining one seemed to be a close copy of the one from this world, then that meant there was a chance that some of the others might share traits with him. She herself was a vastly different person than either men, but the possibility wasn't necessarily something that should be disregarded.

Hence, her request of allowing Peter to choose where they would meet. If their worlds were as similar as she was assuming they were, then Peter would chose a reasonably safe location that the two of them bore a shared relation to. Thus, if she were a slightly altered version of this worlds 'Spider-Man,' then they might too assume that this location existed, and it too was safe.

Hornet felt confident in this plan. Sure enough that she did not approach with her needle already raised.

It was a small building, at least compared to the variety of others taking up every inch of available space in this 'New York City.' The neighborhood itself was vastly more spaced out than the ones surrounding the grave she was determined to stay close to. But the house was similar to the ones surrounding, the only indication of it being her desired location, being the numbers Peter had painstakingly underlined on a spot on the map she had no inclination to visit.

Hornet had been told to knock politely, so that was what she did.

The individual who answered the door was distinctly older than the two humans she'd previously conversed with. The wrinkles covering ones face tended to be a good indication of age, but hair the color of silk was a feature she was unfamiliar with.

Hornet introduced herself, and this being did the same—giving the name she expected to hear with an oddly amused expression on her face.

"Another dimension?" May Parker asks with no preamble, to which Hornet finds herself appreciating. A bluntness not often found in this strange world was a comfort in more ways than one.

"Yes. I assume I am not the first to approach you?" Hornet confirms, stepping through the doorway.

"Not even close." And the older woman laughs, leading Hornet through a comfortable looking house, across a well maintained garden, until they reached a nondescript box shaped structure.

Hornet is unsurprised to see it light up and reveal the ever familiar symbol of this worlds Spider-Man, but the shift from pale white to dark red renders her slightly confused. Having been shown the curious device that artificially produced silk in this world, and the widespread use of technologies she could never have conceived of back home, something as small as a light shouldn't have surprised her.

But it did. The sheer amount of colors that seemed to fill this world was something she found herself unused to. How they managed it, a shift with no discernible cause, Hornet was left unknowing.

"Can I… ask what you are?" May Parker asks as they step into the elevator.

Hornet gives a neutral sort of shrug. "Our differences in species matters little to me. But for the sake of clarity, my mother was a weaver—a spider elevated to higher consciousness—and my father a wyrm."

"Ah" May Parker remarks with a blank expression as the elevator reaches its destination, and the full expanse of the previous Peters laboratory is revealed. It is, in a strange way, similar to her fathers. Yet still somehow entirely distinct. Technology in various stages of the creation process littered every available surface. Except there existed nothing that looked particularly like weaponry. No disassembled Kingsmould nor drone devoid of soul.

Merely many a collection of smaller devices, and a section of what she can only assume are spider-themed vehicles.

Hornet takes a few moments to admire all that this worlds functional version of herself has built. As much as it is strange and unnerving, she finds a certain beauty in it. That it is living and growing in such a way so starkly different than that of her home. These people, struggling as they were to accomplish their various daily goals, did not fear where their next meal would come from. Don't feel the sting of mourning as another section of their beloved nation falls to forces out of their control.

Perhaps in the future, destruction will be brought to this world in a similar fashion as it had to her own. But at least now, in this current day and age—human beings flourished.

The wall of suits, though, she finds almost unnervingly vain. It is reminiscent of the early days she spent toddling around the White Palace on all fours, dutifully trailed after by the various palace workers, and only occasionally a member of the Five Great Knights. It wasn't necessarily such a bad thing to have excess of what one needed to survive. She'd even count those who managed to live comfortably in the days following Hallownest's demise lucky for their ingenuity.

But there existed a group of people, those who hid themselves away in the higher enclaves of both the City of Tears and the White Palace, who had everything, and were always in possession of such. Who hid away when things on the side of their lavish furnishings took a turn for the worst, and gorged themselves on the supplies they'd horded away from all the rest.

In the end, one group survived merely because they were born lucky, and found the right hiding spot. And the other died alone, barricaded inside of their homes with their riches in tact, because fate did not allow them the same privilege.

Having a large collection of tools used to help this city, it wasn't a bad thing. Hornet knew that. Knew if the kingdom she lived in was still plentiful and full of resources, she would have done much the same in his position.

But, she wasn't. And she had spent quite a long time alone scavenging for resources in the same way her ancestors might have. So. This sight—it was a hard thing to stomach. No matter how hard she tried to look upon it without expectation, longing, or even anger.

May Parker pulls her attention away from the glass displays eventually. She is unaware how long exactly she has spent staring, but from the examining look the older woman throws her way, it was a noticeable amount. She looks like she wants to further inquire about her silence, but a small noise from above brings both of their lines of sight upwards.

In a matter of seconds, three figures have dropped down from the ceiling and introduced themselves. Each are noticeably different looking than the people of this world. The smallest drifting through the air, blurred and stretchy as if unaffected by the natural rules of this plane of existence; the youngest looking one bright and colorful, but moving jerkily, almost erratic; the tallest, a single monotone color and followed by a gust of wind coming from no discernible source.

They land in front of a bulletin board made of silk, with pictures of odd looking individuals pinned to it in a seemingly random pattern. Introductions are made, and a number of things are suddenly made clear to Hornet. That she is so obviously different from them, is the one she latches onto the quickest.

Each of them, in their own special way, bore a connection to the Peter of this world. Whether it be name, circumstance or some strange combination of the two. They all knew to come to his aunt, or at least figured out a way to track her down and come to the same result.

She was not like them. As far as Hornet could tell, there were two obvious factors that indicated a connection between their odd group. That she was part spider, and that she bore the weight of responsibility upon her shoulders.

It was more obvious to see in those in front of her, than it had been in the older Peter. His attempt to flee and handle this problem on his own was not a mark of cowardice, rather one borne from solitude. From the single surety that he was the best in the world to fix the mistake that had brought him here.

She did not regret her comment. Could see the fear in Miles small body as he begged the man to stay, even as he claimed to be guilting the other into joining their cause. Hornet would not allow the mans carefree visage to harm one who did not deserve to be thrown into this conflict. Not a child. Not Miles.

Learning to trust another after being alone for so long, it was a special thing. Hard to accomplish and even harder to maintain. It was something she had worked on, in the days before arriving here. Living with her siblings—with another individual for the first time in a very long time—was a challenge. Coming to know them. To learn about them, and learn to communicate with them properly. It was oh so very hard, but more rewarding than she could ever hope to put into words.

Peter B. Parker did not seem the sort to trust others. Thus he bore his responsibility on his own, and suffered the consequences.

Hornet understood him, though she was hard-pressed to say that she liked him. Respected him yes, but not much more.

SP//dr, Spider-Ham, and Spider-Noir, seemed to have at least one other person on their side. A place to set down the burden on their shoulder, and remind themselves that their life did not begin and end with their duty.

Such a hard thing it was to manage. It had taken her lifetimes to get to the same place. And yet—these three did it far quicker than she had done.

Hornet was tempted to let out chuckle at the thought. But her musings only served to indicate to the others around her, that she had neglected to introduce herself. It was an oversight on her part—the way this world left her feeling unbalanced changed the way she reacted to things. She'd been here long enough that she should really have begun to adapt to it's strange idiosyncrasies.

But alas, she was not a higher being. Not perfect nor powerful enough to obscure any mistake she might make. Nothing more than the lone daughter of a weaver, borne from a political bargain.

"I am Hornet, protector of Hallownest and daughter to Herrah the Beast and our former Pale King." She begins, expanding on her heritage openly for perhaps the first time since she was very small. It mattered little here—her titles and claim to a throne these people had no knowledge of. Hornet thought she was owed a small bit of mysticism and dramatics for once. She was after all, the daughter of a very arrogant god.

"For decades I watched over my kingdom as it slowly fell to the infection, despite my fathers efforts to put in place a prolonged period of stasis. Many years after he fled his broken land and ceased to exist, a vessel he'd left for dead atop a pile of my other siblings, appeared to fight the infection at its core. I aided them in their objective to ascend to the pantheon of the gods, and now I remain, a sister as one of my few remaining titles."

And one she was proud of. They had accomplished the impossible, after all, and she loved them dearly for it.

"Huh." The one cloaked in shadow chokes out, looking down at her with pinched hollowed out eyes.

"Wait, so you're from some sort ancient empire with kings and gods? And is that your real name or your hero one?" The small one, even smaller than Miles was, asks with a wide-eyed expression.

"That is correct and… it is my only name?"

"Are ya some sort of mutant or uh, is that what everyone looks like where you're from?" The shadowed one speaks with a drawl unlike any other she has heard from this world, as well as her own.

"My outward appearance is somewhat common amongst the bugs of Hallownest." Hornet is able to rebuff smoothly.

"Bugs? Golly gee this world must look mighty strange ya." The one with the closest shape to what she is used to finally steps forward. Their voice is strange—almost jovial, which makes it incredibly hard to tell if their concern came from an honest place.

"It is an adjustment, but nothing I am incapable of handling." She remarks amicably, eyeing each of her onlookers warily despite her ultimate desire to make them her allies.

It had taken Hornet years to reign in her more aggressive behaviors outside of battle, having learned the hard way that those outside of Deeptnest did not call her a terror all throughout her childhood as a loving gesture. As sparingly as the various palace retainers took to speaking behind her back, murmurs had a tendency of echoing in the White Palace. That sort of thing compounded, made her angrier some days and subdued others.

These days, she wasn't quite sure which group she found herself closest to. But regardless, the feeling of holding oneself back was one she was intimately familiar with. Control, in other words.

These people, they crowded around her whilst shouting out inane questions and comments about her life and physiology. It soon became overwhelming and Hornet found herself unable to speak. Unable to provide a satisfactory answer beyond drawing her nail and preparing to slam it against the ground to make a resounding clang—

But something stops her. Something that halts every bit of movement in the once excitable space.

That sensation, the one that had followed her since the moment of her arrival. That all encompassing pain that whites out her vision and sends her careening towards the floor. It takes all of them, in its greed. And the chorus of screams that echo throughout the enclosed chamber is horrifying. A naturally occurring shriek from the abyss.

It has happened many a time since her arrival in this world. Each more disorientating than the last. She is used to pain. Intimately familiar with scratches gained from battle and the internal sort that came from surviving the destruction of her kingdom. This force which brings her to her knees is a special one. All consuming down to the small hairs that line the tips of her claws and allow her to cling to most surfaces. It is a burning sort of ache, one that manages to shock the nervous system into a state such that it cannot determine whether the invading source is hot or cold.

It is also killing her, slowly. Most likely slower than any of the other travelers, but still surely accomplishing it all the same. The paleness that lived in her body numbed this feeling, but it, like everything in this world, had its limits. And if such a thing could not prevent a god from dying, then she had no doubt that she would die a mortal death like all the rest.

Looking around at the wayward souls that shared a connection with herself, Hornet knew that they too are aware of this inevitability. Their fear of it is hidden valiantly, but they are all intimate with such a thing. The crushing weight of the knowledge that they are running out of time.

Hornet falls and no sound beyond heavy breathing can be heard throughout the room for quite some time.

"You seem to be somewhat removed from this world—not a Parker or something similar. I'm curious, how exactly did you make your way here in the first place?" May Parker asks her in the silence that follows the attack on their essence.

"I was not alone. Soon after I arrived here, I stumbled upon another individual from another world. We made contact with one who was aware of the source of the anomaly that brought us here in the first place. They departed to learn more about this event, whilst I stayed behind to look for other survivors." Hornet pauses, thinking for a moment before continuing on. "He was close to the Peter of this world, older as I understood it."

May Parker acknowledges her words with a nod.

"Well, enlighten us then, what are we looking at?"

"Something called a collider and… a goober?" Hornet repeats the word with obvious trepidation. She makes eye contact with the shadowed being only momentarily, before the small one takes it upon herself to explain. It is a complication process, but not necessarily a subject she cannot grasp the basics of.

They begin to discuss the topic of their return following this explanation. They speak of allowing Miles, the child new to his powers and the responsibility placed on his shoulders, stay behind as they are sent home. They are unaware of who he is and his involvement in the coming scenario, merely the fact that he gave his aid to a familiar hero.

Hornet stays silent as they speak. Not for the first time in her life, unsure of how she might change the incoming scenario into something better, something more likely to work and harm the least amount of people.

May Parker stares at her as she remains quiet in this discussion. Her expression is as contemplative as always—knowing, like a parent aware of a child's scheme but blind to the exact method of the ruse. To the small little details that allowed it work in the first place.

She too, says nothing. Most likely conscious of the fact this individual bound to this world alone, was not given a name. Had no connection to any prior event that she was aware of, yet was spoken with relation to the various spider-changed individuals.

"So all we have to do wait for them to get back, then we get this guy. Sound good?" The bug-shaped one chirps almost cheerfully.

Affirmations and cheers erupt all around, when a chime rings out across the room—startling each of its inhabitants.

May Parker ascends with the elevator, and the once close in proximity group scatters throughout the sparsely lit space. They wait in the rafters, all crouched low in the same stance as if preparing for a fight.

Hornet draws her needle in turn.

They watch as four figures re-enter the laboratory. Three are familiar, but one veiled in a hood of a white is not. Hornet remains still all the same. She can only hold herself back from scoffing the longer each of the newcomers gawk at their surroundings without noticing the ambush hiding in their midst.

When the others decide to drop down from the ceiling, Hornet does so quietly. She stalks around the edges of the room so that she appears behind them, standing there with her shoulders squared like she'd been there all along. It frightens them, if only long enough to cause them to jump and nothing more.

This new group repeats their well told tales whilst the first of those she met delivers their own.

Hornet watches, almost in slow-motion, as their eyes turn to Miles—standing the furthest away from the group, almost as if to disguise himself amongst the chaos.

She watches as he introduces himself, stuttered and bolstered by the eldest Peter, seeming smaller than all the rest. Those ill-fitting pieces of clothing that drape over his shoulders do nothing to help him, and she sees the moment the other spider-changed individuals eyes droop.

It is hard to watch the interrogation. Hard for a multitude of reasons, even when she herself aids in it. Adds her own remark that does nothing more than make the child's body shake even more.

Hornet tries to wait until the rest have finished speaking, offering only her words as she crouches in front of him. A final addition where his mind is left so obviously scattered due their rapid-fire assault.

"Many will attempt to halt your path if you intent to act as we would—claiming yourself as a protector of this city. You are young now—physically less capable than all of us, but that is to be expected. The question you need to ask yourself, is how far are you willing to go on this crusade? Will you die for this cause? Or heed it only when the mood strikes you?"

Her question receives no answer, and she finds the resolve to continue.

"If your conviction is strong enough, then power borne from resolve will come in time. Ours in this world is limited. Thus, we need to know if are ready to shoulder this burden before we drop it upon you. You need to make a choice, Miles."

It. It is not enough. Or too much, rather. Too much to put on another as young as he.

Miles runs, and nobody tries to stop him.

Hornet couldn't accurately claim that she'd been betrayed once before. Hurt—yes, by loved ones and enemies both. But the nearest she'd ever come to that harrowing feeling, would be the instance in which both her father and step-mother decided to abandon the world they created and ruined in equal measure.

Except, she hadn't been deceived in any way.

She had known what they would do, days, weeks, even months in advance. Could feel it in the cold looks thrown her way and the slow creeping re-emergence of that which they doomed so many to seal away. Even felt, if only a small amount and for the briefest moment in time, happy that she had been asked to come with him.

But where her surprise at the exact time and day came, theirs at her immediate refusal was all but moot. Her father had known what her decision would be—had asked it with such a tired disposition that it made such a thing so frighteningly obvious.

She had been hurt by it, but not surprised. Because she had never known her father well enough to want to fight for their relationship. Not enough to try to convince him to stay or make an honorable last stand against the deity he'd vilified and all but thrown away. There hadn't been a fight that had taken place, no tearful arguments or thoughtful last words.

The Pale King had merely wished her good luck. And she hadn't done a thing to stop it. How could she, when she knew it was a pointless endeavor? Begging—the shameful action of someone weak and frail who could not do anything else—was beneath her.

It is not empathy Hornet feels when Miles returns. Those around her, all of the spider-changed people she bore a innate connection with, their faces spoke of greater experience with the subject that she could truly comprehend. All she could give him was a base commiseration. That she had been hurt was a given. That she understood he was in a depth of pain as well, another fact.

The fight that ensues is not an easy one. Being forced to swing her needle in such a tight space while dodging attacks from multiple foes and weaving in-between her scattered teammates—it isn't a battlefield that Hornet is entirely familiar with. So used to wide open caverns with high walls she could perch herself upon as she was. She persists, naturally, despite the hardship—but she is able to acknowledges that this is a skill she should improve on, once returned to her rightful home.

Hornet tries to stick close to Miles. Another difficult task to manage, but not an impossible one once he finds himself cornered and chased by a lone haunting figure. She does not have to be told his name to understand who he is. Fear can be a subtle thing, if one knows how to identify it. No one look of it is entirely the same, despite the obvious similarities. But there are small consistencies, though, in posture and behavior.

Miles keeps his eyes on his uncle as he approaches. Divides his focus equally between checking behind him and running away. It does nothing to help him. Only allows his attacker to advance further and further until Hornet finally gets in range to throw her needle in a perfectly straight line.

She aims for his legs, a courtesy extended to Miles and Miles alone.

Her attack sends him reeling forward—allows Miles to slide down the partially collapsed roof, and stagger away. It does not stop the Prowler, as she sees only torn armor and no blood. He levels her with an empty look, pausing for only a moment before he continues to hunt his terrified nephew down with all the resolve and focus of a well seasoned hunter.

Hornet is quick to give chase.

Their scuffle takes them several houses down from May Parker's humble lodgings. It is a frantic chase, one embodied by both relatives who stubbornly continued on for entirely opposite motivations. And one that is ended due to that focus.

The Prowler corners his prey in a narrow alleyway and stalks forward with his eyes trained on one singular target. Hornet sees the opportunity for what it is, and seizes the moment. She lets her natural silk run open and wild around her, and catches this man in the blast. She intends not to overly hurt him—would not kill this child's family member in front of him unless there were truly no other option. But refraining from harm altogether would do nothing but put both of their lives in danger. She is incapable of doing nothing in this moment.

When The Prowler comes to his senses, there is a needle pointed at his throat. Miles stands behind Hornet, clutching the newly remade 'goober' in both hands as his eyes remain stubbornly glued on his uncle. She waits there as the child catches his breath, only looking over once he has calmed down enough to be able to deduce the meaning of the nod she aims towards the boys family member.

'What do you want me to do with him?' She asks without asking.

"I don't—he's—Please don't—"

"I won't."

"I don't know what to do." Miles pleads, in such a way that he is not truly addressing her anymore.

"This is your foe, child, not mine. I cannot tell you what to do." Hornet gently reminds, glancing back at him to convey the importance of her words.

The Prowler's slanted eyes dart between them, almost imperceptively if it weren't for her learned ability to detect the micro-expressions of the unmoving masks of those she calls her siblings. Hornet can still hear fighting not far from here. She is aware they have a limited amount of time to stand here talking. She is unaware if Miles realizes it as well.

Hornet stays silent, eyes darting back again as the child wilts underneath the pressure of this choice.

It is, evidently, a mistake to have waited.

The Prowler uses her distraction to bring up a claw against her blade, preventing it from even coming close enough to his neck to make contact, and tearing it away from her grip. His eyes finally stop on her admittedly less intimidating form, as he makes the decision to lunge at her as she attempts to retrieve her weapon.

They are both thrown to the ground, and Hornet scrambles to gain the upper-ground amidst the shuffle. She hisses and growls without regard for any of the lessons passed down by her many teachers. There is no honor in this. No deeply ingrained politeness or the idle joy of a rewarding spar. It is a struggle, one where she is forced to dodge attacks and strike back with nothing more than her feet and claws.

It is interrupted by a shout. One that causes the both of them to freeze—but The Prowler especially so. He is thrown back by this voice, and pinned to the ground despite the lack of the impact. His eyes are wide, terrified if she had to guess.

When she turns, Miles has removed his mask. He holds an arm outstretched towards them, as if to pacify them or prepare to dive into the fray himself and join. There is something in his face, an emotion Hornet cannot recognize because as much as she has learned about this strange world, the expressions of human beings often still allude her. It is easy to rely on context, but difficult to parse certain emotions out when not in a one-on-one setting.

Miles begs them to stop, and she hears a gasp as a name leave his uncles throat. They stare at each other, unblinking even when both masks are removed and they remain in the same tense ready-to-move positions for nearly a minute.

"No—oh god no, no, no, no, no—" Miles' uncle utters in horror beneath his breath, taking a large step back from the both of them. Hornet moves closer to the child, readying herself to stand in front of him if things were to devolve into chaos once more. The man—not The Prowler in this moment but something much, much worse—his eyes track her movement, and something like a shudder wracks his tall frame.

"I wouldn't. Miles, god I'm so sorry. I never wanted you to—" he begs in one moment before turning his head sharply to the right in the next. Hornet can a hear a quiet voice, tinny as if the person speaking was very far away. It is something in his ear, she sees, something presumably connecting him to the man who brought her here in the first place.

"You need to go." He instructs with a tone bordering on a shout. Rather predictably, Miles declines, stubborn child that he is—but it does nothing to dissuade the mind of a man who has already made his choice.

The Prowler, seconds before pulling on his mask once more, turns to his half crouched nephew with an expression akin to guilt. It is not that, not exactly, more-so the expression of someone who knows they are about to do something very stupid, but cannot force themself to do anything else.

And Hornet watches as he runs towards the chaos. She is too late to do anything to stop him, try as she might to match his speed without throwing her clawline out and impaling him where he stood.

Aaron Davis approaches, closer and closer until he reaches the large shouldered form that is his boss. He lunges, and Miles scream fills the heavy air.

When loud wailing sounds begin to fill the street accompanied by bright red and blue light, Hornet barely bats an eye. She does not notice when Miles disappears, merely notes that one moment there is body watching the fight in abject horror, and the next, there is nothing. She assumes he has done he was told whilst doing her best to knock this 'Kingpin' out. She does not see the body be pulled away amongst the chaos. And she does not see the child break.

It is better this way, Hornet tells herself in the moments before she leaves this world entirely. Eyeing the child that no longer stands as such, as he uses the words and actions of those who did very little to prepare him for this fate, to prove that he is every bit as brave and stubborn as the best of them.

Better, because in those quiet and dull moments she spends with her siblings in the days to come, she will wonder if it was her fault. Her interference that somehow made this man think it was okay leave his nephew with her, while he decided it did not matter if he lived or died.

Hours later, Hornet watched as Miles struggled, bound and tied down as he was, after the other spider-changed travelers had long since gone.

She observes as a realization hits him—his own helplessness thrown right into his face in far more of a visceral manner than ever before. She sees him crumple in on himself in defeat, and it is only then when she too makes her escape.

The way that each of them stared each other, listening in on the conversation as the eldest of their human number delivered a speech that managed to harm everyone in its immediate vicinity—was a uniquely heartbreaking sensation. They have all faced this, individually and without the interference of those they were intimately aware of as better than themselves. It is not easy for any one of them, not a relief nor release of a burden.

It hurts. Because each of them want to care. Want this burden not to have fallen on another child's shoulders. Would want Miles to choose this life, and not have it dropped on top of him and ensured by the death of his loved one. It was a selfish desire. To change the past when to dwell on such a thing would be to waste away the present.

Hornet is not an exception to this burden. Rather, this isn't even the first time she's been forced to test another. She tries not to think about it—facing down those few number of vessels that came before the little ghost. She had always known what they were, what they intended to do, and the consequence of their failure. Another few decades of peace before the Temple of the Black Egg bore fault lines once more.

She never reveled in it, nor let herself grieve those lost lives. How could she? She hadn't known them. Only feared the chaos they might bring. She no had to right to mourn them as their murderer.

But this, it had to be done. Miles could not come back from this stronger without that push. Would never achieve anything he wanted to achieve without that crucial development of internal motivation. Drive, in other words—the drive to see this through to the end. And to save his city where these world weary warrior would be forced to leave it behind. To continue on, afterwards, and take up the mantel left empty by the death of his predecessor. The unwilling martyr and crux of what brought them here in the first place.

It is not quite a struggle to leave, but what comes after is. The wanton hoping that this will be enough to build something new, and not break what never was.

Does she wait in the wreckage of May Parker's home? Offer up aid in the event that this gamble is justified? Or will that only discourage him, stop him from making something for himself that is entirely his own.

If she were in a different position, watching this conflict play out whilst merely sitting on the outskirts and observing—she might think it funny. How everything she fought for seemed to always resemble a dilemma by the end.

Hornet has been here barely a week and she is already attached to this child. Despite the looming inevitability that she will never return, and likely never know for sure what will happen once she's gone. It is ridiculous, alarmingly so.

It makes her want to hug her siblings. Tightly, even if they begin to complain.

There is only one thing she can think to do before she meets up with others. A rather simple task, if one intended to look upon her with lame regard. One that required precision despite its simple creation. To weave something so small could be considered second nature, to one such as herself. But still it required care.

A charm. And a simple one, at that. Something easily able to pin onto a cloak—or 'jacket' as they were called here. An unobtrusive sort of thing that couldn't be torn away in the midst of battle, nor reduced to dust if one applied too much pressure. One without an intention greater than 'to aid.' Because Hornet did not know this world. Could not accurately guess at the threats Miles might face in the future. Thus, she could only hope that it would shape itself into something he needed, rather than what she thought he might want.

She leaves it with May Parker, saying a more personal goodbye than what was uttered in the moments proceeding their past conflict. They do not know each other, but they do respect one another. And that is enough to earn the woman a personalized message, if nothing else than that she reminded her of the past. Not one specific person, but a feeling. A memory of being loved and cared for, taught to hunt and love in equal measure.

As she goes, Hornet can't help but ruminate on the fact that this one is not a sad goodbye. Merely the acknowledgement of passing by one another. That all things in life were temporary, but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing. To care for something, if only for a small amount time, was to do so knowing that one would be hurt by it. And there was a certain beauty in that, though Hornet was no artist to depict it nor poet to describe it.

All she could do was feel it, then let it go.

Hornet meets up with rest of her spider-changed allies after the light has left the sky, and each of them discuss how they intend to enter the building housing the collider capable of returning them home. They ask after her once they exit one of the cities many strange looking vehicles, unsurprised to see her waiting for them atop a nearby building. The semi-annoyed look she aims at them at their insistence to use this specific mode of transportation when they are perfectly capable of swinging their way here, goes ignored.

"There was something I had to see to before I left." Hornet responds vaguely, as it is really none of their business.

Each of them nervously eyes the surrounding crowd, fully aware of the destruction likely to emerge from this location in the coming hours, though the number of people does nothing to dissuade them from moving closer. They perch atop a skylight revealing a banquet underway beneath them. The fact that each of the servants are masked as a tribute to the hero murdered by the benefits benefactor, is somewhat of a lucky coincidence.

All things considered, their infiltration goes perfectly. Concealing herself with the small Peni Parker inside of her robotic construct was a tight fit, but entirely doable if they both folded themselves in the correct shape. It is only slightly demeaning that her clearly sentient companion is being used to prop up a table, but Hornet has certainly been in worse situations. Namely ones relating to the imminent death of those she claims as her family, and those involving the sickly orange substance that once filled her home with terror and anguish. The infection was a hard thing to stamp, much less clean off of clothing and muck out of corpses.

Following a brief delay from the eldest Peter amongst them, they descend down a starkly lit elevator in relative peace. It is not a reprieve from the stress of the situation, merely a delay to an inevitability.

When they arrive in the room containing the collider, Hornet cannot help but stare at it curiously. She hadn't held much in the way of expectations regarding this mysterious device, but it is surprising all the same. Bigger than the Black Egg but so much brighter than anything she'd seen up until now. Yes, her entry into this word was wreathed in such a sight, but having it trail behind her as she was sent soaring through the sky was nothing in comparison to viewing it on solid ground, with no visual or mental inhibitors.

She hadn't thought Hallownest to have been lacking in anything a week prior to her impromptu trip. It was grand in it's limelight, but still hauntingly beautiful in its destruction. Yet nothing like this. Colors were not as vibrant in her world, she was coming to realize. They were hers and she loved them for their familiarity, but nothing there compared to this.

Was this was bugs felt when looking up at her father? Mesmerized by the unfamiliar strikingness of his bold pale light? If so, she could almost excuse them for their worship. But she could never devote herself to a source of light. Those opposing forces had spelled the end of most she held dear to her heart. She couldn't stare for long. Resolved herself not to repeat the mistake of so many others.

It was a hand that shook her out of her reverie, one belonging to the aptly named Spider-Noir. He too stared at this sight with wonder in his eyes. And she understood all at once, that he'd come from a place with no color to speak of. They shared in this experience, as brief as it was, without moving or speaking. Simply taking it all in.

Then, he nodded at her, and turned back towards the rest of the group. Hornet followed silently, crawling along the roof with the rest of them as they watched Peter B. Parker search for the panel in the ceiling that would put an end to all of this. They distanced themselves from him, before each of their heads turned in unison to react to the approaching mob of soldiers.

As with each of the fights that took place in this world, things quickly devolved into chaos. Battered by gunfire on all sides, blinded by the light reflected all throughout the wide open room, and defending themselves aganist the familiar enemies that attacked May Parker's home not a day previously, Hornet fought defensively. Doing her best to weave in-between her allies in order to guard the man attempting send her home.

It is not a sudden change that focuses her attention to a specific point amidst the tangled mass of the white cloaked individual's vines. There is no trick of the light or audible indication of something. Rather, her intuition tells her to look when she might otherwise keep her eyes glued to the ensuing conflict.

And then, it happens.

Miles arrives at the scene in a fiery blaze of splendor and glory. He is cloaked in wholly unfamiliar garb, but one recognizable as the symbol of this and many other world's Spider-Man. He has made it into something original, a comfortable shell covering his shoulders like the armor it should be and not the costume it once was.

His stance and stature is confident as he punches the one restraining Peter B. Parker, and they speak amicably with one another once he lands. He does not appear angry, instead focused on the task at hand like a true warrior.

Hornet would feel pride in the boy, if she at all deserved to.

Each of them are restrained as the portal below begins to shake and grow and expand outwards, shooting out structures that are reminiscent of the architecture of this world, though distorted and crushed together. And it is only when a force of gravity stronger than she has felt before pulls her towards the center mass, that she wrenches out of the vines grasp, and is forced to dodge and weave through the veritable obstacle course.

Hornet lands farther away from the rest, near the young Peni Parker as a human with the lower half of a very large bug attempts to force their way into her battered shell. She shoots forth a clawline, aimed at the soft exposed back of this creature, but it is too late to stop the destruction of the child's metal companion. Her enemy falls forward and an anvil falls perfectly atop their unprotected head.

She leaves the Spider-Ham to handle the rest, and approaches the collapsed machine cautiously. Peni sits inside, visibly distraught, and Hornet holds out a hand. A look of pure and utter hatred flashes across her face—an expression easily deciphered even despite her loose understanding of such a thing—and the child quickly tugs herself up.

In an instant her head turns, reaching below to grasp the severed limb of her cherished creation, and use it to strike that hated individual out of the air with more force that Hornet thought the girl capable of. They are knocked unconscious, and the girl is left frozen in place. Face utterly blank but aimed directly at her ruined friend.

There is nothing Hornet can do or say to console her now, not when they are so close to the end. She stands behind her instead, along with the Spider-Ham and Spider-Noir, as they watch her retrieve the small body of a true spider from the wreckage. She is different from those Hornet is familiar with, but still close to what she could find lurking in the depths of Deepnest.

Eventually, Spider-Noir takes the girls hand in his, and the four of them ascend upwards towards Miles—who has gained control of the machine—together as one.

They do not part as such. Individually, the smallest of the group going first, they say their goodbyes to one other. All solemn in their heartfelt emotion, but not outright mournful. They may not see each other ever again, and they may never know if any will live to see another day, but at least for now they are alive. And that means something to them. Has to mean something to Hornet because despite their obvious differences and clashing personalities, she finds herself having cared for each of these individuals. She may not have if they'd met in her world, in a different circumstance where they were not forced to take up a similar role and act for the same reason.

But fate has proclaimed that they did meet. And in the coming decades, when Hornet will surely find herself outliving many of those she would come to care for—she knows that this is something she will remember. Will surely force it into her memory through repeated retellings to her bedraggled siblings.

She relays as such to Miles and Peter B. Parker, the two individuals she first met after stumbling into this world, it having taken just a bit longer to search for the world she'd come from than the others that had come before.

"I have enjoyed my time in this world, despite the circumstance that lead me here. In such a short time I've become endeared to your strange mannerisms and particulars, that I find myself hesitating to leave despite my intense desire to return home. I believe… that I will miss you all, deeply. All of you." And she nods silently to herself. "Farewell."

As Hornet takes the plunge downwards, the colors of her world begin to surround her in a familiar hazy embrace that reminds her of her childhood. There in the surrounding area is the presence of the void that has become a welcome sight in the days following the death of The Radiance. And as she lands, not particularly gracefully but not quite violently, she comes to in the arms of those most familiar to her. Ghost and Hollow, looking worried despite their unmoving faces, who loom over her and clutch at her arms as if to let go would be to allow her to drift off again.

It is more comforting than she can put into words.

That they bear the same eternal nature as herself, Hornet finds herself grateful that she may never have to mourn these two. All of them close in ilk to the gods themselves. It is a mercy. That despite the horror of their creation, they live now. Happy and alive. Stubborn and playful. Willful beyond all reasonable doubt.

Hornet embraces the two of them, and prepares herself to tell quite a long story.