New York. 23:35
[Ding! Welcome to the Gacha system! Daily login reward available.]
[Login reward! One hundred Gacha Points (GP) have been added to your total.]
[Gacha System] [Level 1]
[GP: 100]
[Missions]
[Gacha Roll]
[GP: Gacha Points, used to purchase Gachas]
[Missions: Complete missions to earn GP and use them in the Gacha Roll.]
[Gacha Roll: Use GP to purchase Gacha.]
[There are five tiers in the lottery:
Iron Rank Lottery: One draw for 10 GP. (You can obtain Iron Rank skills and characters, as well as basic necessity items.)
Bronze Rank Lottery: One draw for 200 GP. (You can obtain Bronze Rank skills, characters, and items.)
Silver Rank Lottery: One draw for 500 GP. (You can obtain Silver Rank skills, characters, and items.)
Gold Rank Lottery: One draw for 1,000 GP. (You can obtain Gold Rank skills, characters, and artifacts.)
Stellar Classification Lottery: One draw for 5,000 GP. (You can obtain Universe/Multiverse-level skills, items, and characters, and/or a 100% chance to obtain Gold Classification characters.)]
[The lottery also features a compensation mechanism: a character card is guaranteed every ten draws!]
[The host may use the system solely with their mind, without the need for tactile commands! Though such commands are also an option.]
[The system requests that the host not tell anyone about its existence; otherwise, it will automatically disconnect from the host!]
[Information on how to properly use the system will be inserted into the host's mind within the next five seconds. Enjoy!]
On top of a building on a rainy night, Peter Parker—also known as Spider-Man—stared at a floating, translucent screen in front of him with his best poker face.
That screen had actually appeared to him a few weeks earlier, asking whether he would like to integrate the system into his soul. At first, he refused, but the screen kept appearing the next day, no matter how many times Peter said no. It eventually became a battle of attrition, each waiting for the other to give in.
Initially, Peter had refused for obvious reasons: a strange floating screen claiming it wanted to integrate into his soul in some kind of bizarre symbiosis was not exactly appealing.
He also thought it might be some strange trap set by one of his villains who had discovered his identity—though he dismissed that idea a few days later. If that were the case, they would have already done something by now.
Now, Peter was tired of the stalemate and decided to accept. If something bad came of it, he would just face it head-on, as he always had. Yes, it was a bit outside of what he would normally do in a situation this strange, but he felt like he had no other options.
Besides, apparently only he could see the system, since one day the screen appeared while he was out on the street and no one else seemed to notice.
"Well… I guess this is the time when I should test this, right?" Webhead put a hand to his chin as he thought. "With one hundred points I can do ten Iron-level rolls. Should I spend everything now or let some GP accumulate once I start getting missions?"
He didn't take long to reach a conclusion. 'System, give me five Iron Rank rolls, please,' Spider asked in his mind.
He only hoped his Parker luck wouldn't get in the way… too much.
[Ding! Of course! Good luck with the results!]
[Lottery results:
Basic medical kit (if you're on a trail and scrape your knee, there's a bandage) x1
Infinite canteen (defective; takes five minutes to refill water and never fills completely) x1
Kunai (it cuts) x1
Persuasion skill (it becomes easier to get people to listen to what you have to say)
Foot Clan member (extremely dangerous ninjas to ordinary people and soldiers. To those who really matter? Cannon fodder) x50]
[Attention! Items and characters will always be automatically transferred to the host's personal inventory after being obtained. Time does not pass inside the inventory, so the host need not worry about items spoiling. Skills will be automatically integrated into the host's consciousness.]
[Attention! All abilities have a proficiency rank. You can increase the rank through continuous use of the ability, by mastering it naturally, or with certain lottery items. The ranks are as follows:
Novice
Intermediate
Veteran
Professional
Expert
Prodigy
Monster
Demoniac
Semi-Divine
Divine
Some skills are limited to a certain proficiency level. The better the skill, the higher its rank limit.]
Peter sighed as he looked at the screen. For a first pull, it wasn't bad—the canteen and the skill were pretty good, though he admitted he was more concerned about the Foot Clan members. Who were they, anyway? Some rival of the Hand or something like that? And how did this even work? How could the system offer living beings as rewards? Did they accept it, or were they forced? Peter couldn't see how any of this made sense.
[Ding! Answering the host's questions: the system does not take the character themselves, but rather their essence. It captures it, clones it, adds extreme and infinite loyalty to the host, along with some artificially fabricated memories to create a deep bond, and places it in the system as a possible drop.]
[Also, do not worry, host. All artificial memories are created following your personality, values, feelings, and reasoning—nothing that would tarnish your image! If you wish, when you summon the characters, I can transmit the artificial memories to your brain so you can see whether they are to your liking.]
"… Oh, I—I mean, yeah, you can do that, I guess…" Peter said awkwardly, surprised by the explanation.
The system didn't kidnap people—it practically cloned them and implanted false memories about Peter into their heads… He didn't like that. It reminded him of Kaine and Ben, and all the existential crises they went through—and still go through. That wasn't something anyone deserved.
Clones. Artificial memories. Absolute loyalty.
All of it left a bitter taste in his mouth.
"This… none of this is exactly reassuring," he muttered, rubbing a hand over his mask as if he could wipe the discomfort away. "But it doesn't really look like I have a choice now, does it?"
Sure, he could always pretend they didn't exist and avoid dealing with the problem altogether—but he couldn't do that. To Peter, it felt like he'd be denying someone the chance to live.
"Let's look on the bright side. Kaine managed to have a halfway decent life, and Ben… well, he died," Spider commented to himself. "But that doesn't mean these guys can't build a good life for themselves!"
Okay, maybe he was being a little too optimistic—but hey, negativity never helped anyone.
"System, how do I bring the Foot Clan people here?"
[Ding! To bring a character to this location, simply think or say the character's name, followed by the word 'come.']
"Hm, simpler than I thought," Webhead commented. "Alright then… Foot Clan members, come."
The air around Peter seemed to ripple.
There was no explosion, no dramatic flash—which almost made him more nervous. Space simply… gave way, as if someone had pulled back an invisible curtain.
One by one, bodies began to appear on the rooftop.
Silent. Precise. Far too organized to be improvised.
Fifty human figures automatically knelt, forming perfect rows. All wore black ninja outfits, light armor bearing the symbol of a foot on their arms and backs, masks covering their faces with only their eyes visible—cold, alert, alive.
Very alive.
Peter froze. "...…"
Okay. This definitely wasn't in the Spider-Man manual.
The moment he was about to say something, the fifty ninjas rose as if they were a single organism. The movement was so fluid there wasn't a single sound of fabric brushing against fabric. They placed their right hands over their chests and bowed their heads in unison.
"We are at your command, Master Parker," they said in a monotone voice, yet filled with a reverence that sent a chill down Peter's spine.
[Ding! Artificial memories being transmitted…]
Before Peter could process what he was seeing, a flood of images and sensations hit his brain. It wasn't painful, but it was strange—like watching a movie at 10x speed inside his mind.
He saw flashes of himself saving these men from a fire in a desolate area months ago. Saw himself offering them a "second chance" away from crime. Saw moments where he supposedly trained and fed them. Memories of gratitude, life debts, loyalty forged in fire.
Peter shook his head, trying to separate what was real from what the system had just "installed."
"Okay, okay… that was something, for sure," he said, looking at the ninjas. "Uh, hi guys, how's it going? Hope so. Listen, I'm not exactly a 'Master.' You can call me… Spider. Or just 'Hey, you.'"
One of the ninjas, who seemed to be the leader of the small squad, stepped forward.
"To us, you are the one who gave us purpose. Your enemies are our enemies. Your orders are our law."
Peter let out a deep sigh, feeling the weight of responsibility increase dramatically. He had just gained a personal squad of super-lethal assassin ninjas. Of all the crap he'd been through, this was definitely the most random so far.
"Now, look—" he was interrupted by a sudden voice over his communicator.
Spider-Man, Spider-Man, are you there? The Lethal Legion has escaped from prison and is heading toward the Meatpacking District. We need your help!
"Damn it, now!?" Spider cursed. "I'm on my way, Cap!"
"Did something happen, my lord?" the ninja leader asked once again.
"There was a prison break. I need to get there fast." Webhead quickly turned to the ninjas, his mind racing—he couldn't just leave them there. "You're coming with me. You'll act as support—get civilians out of the danger zone and take them somewhere safe."
"As you command," they bowed slightly, preparing for action.
The rain intensified. Heavy drops struck the concrete rooftop as Peter leapt from the edge, feeling that old, familiar thrill before action. The communicator crackled again with voices in the background—besides Cap, Wolverine, Red Falcon, and Red Hulk were already there.
As he swung toward the Meatpacking District, his body moving through the air with the ease of someone who'd done this for years, he briefly thought the ninjas would be left behind—until he noticed shadows moving across nearby buildings.
They were practically running along the walls. Silent, fast, using hooks, cables, and precise bursts of momentum, moving like black specters between the buildings. Peter blinked a few times behind his mask lenses.
"…Okay, that's actually really cool," he couldn't help but say. He'd seen members of the Hand do the same thing before, but usually he was too busy punching them to pay attention.
As he neared the Meatpacking District, the sound of explosions and the glow of energy lights began to dominate the scene. The Lethal Legion wasn't messing around. He could see Absorbing Man, glowing radioactive green, fighting—getting pummeled by—Red Hulk, while Whirlwind fled from Captain America and Red Falcon, who were in pursuit.
Living Laser and Grim Reaper seemed to be effectively contained by Iron Man and Wolverine; he probably wouldn't be much help there.
[Ding! Mission detected!]
[Objective: Assist in the containment of at least one member of the Lethal Legion.]
[Reward: 20 GP per successful containment.]
Peter glanced at the floating notification blinking in the corner of his vision, momentarily blocking Living Laser's smoke trail.
"Twenty GP per head? Is the system generous, or am I getting paid below minimum wage again?" he muttered, firing a web at a crane to gain altitude.
He landed atop a meat warehouse, with the fifty Foot Clan ninjas landing behind him, scattered and crouched like shadows fused with the darkness.
"Listen," Peter whispered, pointing to the chaos below. "See that guy with the giant scythe and the other one who looks like a human lantern? Ignore them for now. Your focus is the people in the surrounding buildings. Whirlwind is creating air vacuums that are shattering windows. Get every civilian out of the danger zone and move them three blocks away, behind the police barricade. And try not to, you know… scare anyone to death with that 80s-movie-villain look."
"Your will is our directive, Master," the leader replied, and with a hand gesture, the group split into ten squads of five, disappearing into alleys and windows with an efficiency that would've impressed Black Widow.
Peter took a deep breath. Time for action.
Captain America was on the ground, using his motorcycle to chase Whirlwind. The villain was spinning at an insane speed, tearing up asphalt and streetlights.
"Hey, Windy! Anyone ever tell you that giant-blender look is out of style?" Spider-Man shouted, diving from the warehouse.
"Spider-Man! Get out of the way if you don't want to be shredded!" Whirlwind snarled, increasing his rotation.
"Cap! On three?" Peter shouted over the comms.
"Roger that, Spidey! Make the spin!" Rogers replied, stopping his bike and bracing himself.
Peter fired two reinforced web lines at opposite streetlights, creating a massive slingshot. He launched himself backward, stretching the webs to their limit.
"One… two… THREE!"
Peter released, flying like a projectile straight into the center of the tornado. Mid-flight, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye: three Foot Clan ninjas were on the rooftop of a nearby building. Instead of just rescuing civilians, they had set up a silent trap, launching thin steel cables—almost invisible in the rain—across Whirlwind's potential retreat path.
'They're anticipating his movement?' Peter thought.
Spider-Man struck the center of the vortex with a two-foot kick, using his proportional spider strength to destabilize Whirlwind's balance. The villain staggered, thrown off his axis.
"Now, Cap!"
Captain America hurled his shield. The vibranium disk ricocheted off a metal crate and slammed into Whirlwind's back just as he tried to regain balance. Stunned, the villain stumbled—straight into the web of steel cables the ninjas had set.
Whirlwind was ensnared, the cables locking his wrist-mounted armor and preventing him from spinning.
"What is this?! Where did this come from?!" the villain shouted, struggling uselessly.
Peter wasted no time, unleashing a massive blast of webbing, sealing the villain against a building wall like a giant cocoon.
[Ding! Objective complete! Lethal Legion member: Whirlwind captured.]
[Reward: 20 GP added.]
[Current total: 70 GP.]
"Nice work, Spidey," the Captain said, retrieving his shield and eyeing the steel cables still gleaming under the lightning. "That trap… was that you?"
Peter rubbed the back of his neck, feeling sweat mix with rain inside his mask. "Let's just say I brought along a few… interns. They're good with logistics."
Steve raised an eyebrow. "Well, maybe you can introduce us to your interns later, once this is over." He turned. "Now, how are the others doing, Sam? Sam…?"
"Hmm, wasn't Red Falcon with you?"
"Yes, he was," Cap replied with a frown.
"Sam? Respond!" the Captain called again, his voice rising an octave. The silence on the radio was broken only by static and the distant sound of twisting metal.
Peter felt his Spider-Sense tingle at the base of his skull. It wasn't immediate danger aimed at him, but a warning that something was wrong on the battlefield.
"Cap, look up!" Peter pointed.
High above, between the heavy clouds, Redwing—Sam's pet falcon drone—was flying over them.
Steve's eyes widened slightly. "…He wants us to follow him. He must know where Falcon is." Cap rushed to his bike.
"Then let's move," Peter said.
Redwing sped ahead, with Spider and Cap not far behind. It didn't take long for them to reach the docks, where Redwing stopped and hovered over a cargo ship.
"Skreeee."
"Good work, Redwing," Cap thanked him before Peter grabbed him and leapt silently onto the ship.
"Watch our backs," Peter whispered to two ninjas following him as Cap moved down into the ship.
Steve didn't take long to find Sam. He was inside a capsule filled with green liquid, tubes connected all over his body.
"Stay calm, Falcon… I'll get you out of there."
A cold, decisive voice cut through the air. "You won't."
Captain America turned. Behind him stood Cable, half his body consumed by the techno-organic virus that had plagued him since childhood.
Captain America stepped forward. "Cable? What's going on here?"
The mutant didn't lower his weapon. Instead, he adjusted his aim directly at Cap's head. "Listen carefully. If you break the glass of that tank, you'll trigger a C4 charge that will kill Falcon. And it'll definitely take you out too."
"I can see you're hurt. Put the gun down and I'll get you the help you need. The Avengers will—"
"Wrong," Cable interrupted—but before he could pull the trigger, the gun was yanked from his hands by a web.
Cable recovered from the kick with a tactical roll, coming to a kneel as his cybernetic eye glowed pulsing yellow, analyzing Peter's movement patterns.
"You're fast, Spider-Man," Cable growled. "But you're fighting a war that's already been lost."
"Since when do you talk in clichés?" Peter shot back, firing two web lines at Cable's shoulders to restrain him—but the mutant activated a short-range electromagnetic pulse that disintegrated the webs before they even touched his skin.
Steve Rogers stood up, wiping blood from his lip, shield already back in hand.
"I'll handle him. You deal with the bomb!"
As Captain America charged Cable in a flurry of shield strikes and close-quarters combat that felt like payback for their earlier fight, Peter leapt toward the base of the tank where Sam Wilson was submerged. The C4 display blinked an ominous red: 01:45.
Grabbing the kunai he'd gotten from the Gacha, Webhead trusted his Spider-Sense, bringing the blade close to each wire.
Red? Danger.
Blue? Danger.
Yellow? Danger.
Black? Safe.
He quickly cut the black wire, disarming the bomb. At the same time, Sam woke up, bursting out of the tank with a grim expression.
"Time for payback," he said, charging toward Cable and the Captain.
"Master." The whispered voice came from behind.
Peter nearly jumped out of his skin. The two Foot Clan ninjas appeared at his side. One was holding a person—a gray-skinned, unconscious mutant—by the shirt.
He was gray, no taller than 5'3", and looked like one of those 80s movie aliens.
"Reinforcements from both the Avengers and our brothers will arrive shortly," the ninja said, turning to the unconscious mutant. "We found this one hiding in the shadows. He appeared to be waiting for an opportunity to assist the man you call Cable."
Peter blinked twice, processing the sight of the unconscious mutant being held like an empty sack of potatoes. Gray skin, almost silver under the dim ship lights, large bulbous eyes closed, bald elongated head… yeah, he had no idea who that was.
Peter turned his thoughts back to Cable, and why he was doing all this. The guy might not be friendly, but there was never any doubt he was a hero.
Peter knew a bit of his story from conversations with Logan, and one thing always stood out—his love for his daughter, Hope. Maybe this had something to do with her. If so, then maybe only she could pull him out of this state.
But now wasn't the time to dwell on it. "…Let's help Cap and Falcon until the others arrive." The two ninjas nodded, advancing with him and leaving the unconscious Blakesmith behind.
Cable's POV
I gritted my teeth. The techno-organic virus—by now covering at least 80% of my body—made every movement agony. A cold burning sensation, a constant presence that demanded immense focus just to keep from being consumed, as I traded blows with the living legend that is Steve Rogers.
I twisted, parrying the impact of the shield with my metal arm. The sound of metal against vibranium echoed through the ship's hold like a funeral bell. If I were honest with myself, I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to hurt Sam Wilson or fight the greatest symbol of hope of the 20th century. But I had seen the future. I had seen the ashes. To save Hope, to ensure that tomorrow even exists, the Avengers had to be neutralized.
Sam Wilson, now recovered, dove from the upper beams with his wings spread—a red-and-silver blur. I tried to aim, but I was stopped.
Two black shapes emerged from the shadows, almost invisible. One slid along the floor, throwing a chain that wrapped around my leg, while the other fired shurikens that forced me to raise a psionic shield. I felt my already unstable energy being rapidly drained.
I frowned. They were with Spider-Man, which made no sense. There was no record in my timeline of Spider-Man having subordinates—let alone ninjas under his command.
My vision began to fail. The edges of my sight darkened as the virus exploited every ounce of stress to claim more of my flesh. But I still remembered why I was here.
I can still smell it. The scent of ozone and burnt flesh that permeated the future I'd just escaped with Blaquesmith's help. A place where the sun was a myth behind clouds of radioactive ash. In that dystopian timeline, the X-Men weren't just a memory—they were a warning of what happens when the world's greatest heroes decide what's best for it.
The Avengers, in their arrogance of maintaining order, had turned against mutants. And Hope… my daughter, had been erased before she could fulfill her destiny as a messiah. I didn't just see a race fall; I saw the end of hope. So if I have to bring down every Avenger to stop that from happening, I will.
"You… don't understand…" I growled, my voice distorted, metallic. "You are a… threat."
I didn't have much time. The virus was winning the war for my body. Sixteen hours, maybe less.
"You're delirious, Nathan!" Captain America charged again, his shield slicing through the air.
Suddenly, the ship's hull shook violently. The roar of jet thrusters and a deafening bellow announced more trouble.
BOOM!
The steel wall was torn open like aluminum foil. The impact sent everyone flying. Iron Man entered in a spiral of fire, repulsors already charging. Beside him, a mass of red muscle and pure rage landed like a meteor—Red Hulk. And leaping from the shadows with adamantium claws extended, Wolverine snarled, ready for blood.
"Party's over, Summers!" Stark's voice boomed through the helmet. "Surrender now and maybe I won't ask the big guy here to turn you into a crushed soda can."
I looked around. I was surrounded. Spider-Man, Falcon, and the Captain ahead. Stark, Red Hulk, and Logan flanking. And on the beams above, the silhouettes of fifty ninjas, ready to dive like crows upon their prey.
"Logan…" I murmured, struggling to stand and locking eyes with my old friend. "They're going to kill them. They're going to kill Hope. You know what they're capable of when they decide we're too dangerous."
Wolverine hesitated for a fraction of a second, claws gleaming under the emergency lights.
"Cable, Hope is alive. What you're doing is insane."
"He's right, son."
That voice…
Normal POV
Two figures burst onto the ship. The first was a young woman with fiery red hair and expressive green eyes, wearing green-and-gold battle armor—Hope Summers. Beside her stood Scott Summers, not taking his eyes off Cable for a second.
"Hope…?" Nathan Summers' voice cracked with a mix of surprise and fear as he saw his daughter.
"Dad, you're alive!" Hope ran toward him, ignoring the danger, ignoring the virus consuming his body. She hugged him tightly, and for a moment, time seemed to stop inside that ship. "Blaquesmith brought us. He told us what you did… you need to stop. This is wrong."
'Please, listen to this girl', Spider prayed in his thoughts.
"I thought I'd lost you," Scott said, stepping closer. "There wasn't a day… a moment… when my life wasn't affected by what I thought was your death. But if your return comes with this kind of madness…"
"Scott, you need to believe me," Cable insisted, his voice now a hoarse whisper as Hope held him tightly. "Everything you fought for… every cause… every sacrifice… it'll all be for nothing."
"It won't be," Cyclops replied firmly.
"No one can understand… truly understand… until it's your responsibility," Cable said, staring at Scott. "Everything I did… I did for Hope."
"Stop!" Hope shouted, placing herself between her father and grandfather. "It's always been like this with you two. Deciding what's best for me. I'm not a little girl anymore. What happens next is my decision."
'This is better than a Mexican soap opera', Spider couldn't help but comment in his mind.
Nathan didn't look well. He was breathing heavily, every breath tearing at his chest. The techno-organic virus… Hope still held him, and for a moment, he just wanted to surrender to his daughter's embrace.
"Captain," Scott called. "As you can see from my son's condition, he's no longer a threat to you or anyone else. I'd like to take my son."
Wolverine growled. "He's a time traveler. What's stopping him from attacking us again?"
"Despite what Cable may think, the Avengers have nothing against Hope or the X-Men," Steve said calmly. "You can take him. On one condition. All these weapons—and the ship—belong to the Avengers."
"…Agreed."