The key burned in Theo's pocket.
Not literally. Though, at this point, if it had decided to set itself on fire, Theo wouldn't have been all that surprised. After everything that had happened that night—explosions, near-death experiences, and boxes transforming into keys—nothing felt out of the realm of possibility anymore. No, it was more like the damn thing had tripled in weight since he'd picked it up, as though it was actively trying to drag him down into the pavement, deeper with every step. It felt as if it had somehow become a part of him, a part of his very bones, pulling him towards something he wasn't sure he was ready for.
Across the street, Spider-Man was perched on a fire escape like a lanky gargoyle, his head tilted in that way only a guy in a skin-tight suit could get away with. His eyes were squinting down at Theo with that mix of curiosity and impatience. "So," he called out, his voice carrying the light teasing tone of someone who had already seen the world turn upside down and was just waiting for someone else to catch up, "you gonna tell me why that thing's humming, or are we just gonna keep this silent treatment going? You know, the whole 'man of mystery' act gets old real quick."
Theo grimaced, reaching into his pocket and tugging the key a little lower. "It's not humming."
Spider-Man's voice dropped into mock seriousness. "It's definitely humming."
Theo shot him a glare, but that was when it hit him—he wasn't imagining it. There was a sound, a low, barely perceptible thrum vibrating through the air. At first, he thought it was just the rumble of the subway, but it was different—more intense, like an electric current flowing through his bones, the kind that made his teeth ache. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"Told you," Spider-Man said, effortlessly dropping from the fire escape and landing beside him. "Also, side note? Your bike's looking at me."
Theo didn't even need to look to know what he meant. Strophie—his old, rusty, barely functioning bike—was standing there, a silent, half-broken witness to whatever cosmic joke was currently being played on him. The handlebars were turned slightly, and the front wheel was tilted ever so slightly like it was watching Spider-Man with an expression that could only be described as... curious. And that was enough to make Theo's stomach churn.
Oh, hell no.
Theo turned slowly, like he could pretend it wasn't happening, maybe will it to stop. "You. Stop that."
In response, Strophie's bell dinged loudly—a cheery, almost too cheerful sound for something that had barely been roadworthy in the last six months.
Spider-Man gave a slow whistle, his head tilting back toward Theo, eyes wide behind the mask. "Okay, new rule: if your bike starts developing a personality, we're calling the exorcist. And maybe a therapist. This is... uh, this is not normal."
Theo didn't have the energy to argue. Not now. Not with whatever this was unfolding around them. He was about to retort, something sarcastic about how everything in his life had been weird recently, when a sharp jerk in his pocket nearly knocked him off his feet. The key yanked him forward, pulling at him like it was a living thing, something with its own intent. It was a force, undeniable and unsettling. His stomach flipped, and he stumbled, barely managing to catch himself before crashing into the concrete.
And then—a pulse of heat. Intense enough to sear through his fingertips as he instinctively grasped the key. For a moment, it felt like his entire body was being lit on fire from the inside out, his pulse racing. The world around him... shifted.
The alley—the whole damn world around him—wavered, like a mirage caught between two dimensions. The brick walls around them blurred, rippling as if they were made of liquid stone, dissolving into pillars of white marble that gleamed with an otherworldly glow. The stench of New York's never-ending garbage fire disappeared, replaced by the sharp, mineral scent of mountain air, crisp and cold, like something untouched by time. The distant hum of traffic was drowned out by a soft, whispering breeze, carrying voices that weren't quite words, but felt like they should be.
Theo's breath caught in his chest. His vision blurred at the edges, everything twisting and contorting like the fabric of reality itself was being stretched too thin. For a moment, he could have sworn he saw a flash of something golden—a winged figure, just out of the corner of his eye. But when he blinked, it was gone.
And then, as quickly as it had come, it snapped back.
The alley returned to its usual grimy self—gray brick, garbage, the hum of the city surrounding him as though nothing had changed. Nothing at all.
Spider-Man stood frozen beside him, his body tense, his head whipping around like he was trying to process what had just happened. "Uh… Did New York just glitch?"
Theo didn't respond. His mind was too busy spinning, trying to make sense of the chaos he'd just felt. What was that? Where was he? What the hell had just happened? His fingers, still clutching the key, were shaking. It was hot—too hot, the metal almost too much to handle.
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to steady himself. This wasn't real. This couldn't be real.
But when he opened his eyes again, Spider-Man was staring at him with wide eyes, and Theo could feel the weight of his gaze without even looking. "Okay, seriously. I'm starting to think we're in one of those cosmic weird zones. That was—what even was that?"
Theo didn't know how to answer. How could he? He wasn't even sure what that had been. All he knew was that the key was still in his hand, and the hum had returned, louder now, pressing against his mind.
The key slid into empty air—and turned.
For a breathless moment, nothing happened. The hallway behind them stayed still, dim, and ordinary. Then—click. A sound too soft to be physical, more like a note in a different register of reality. The air rippled outward from the key in Theo's hand, distorting the space before him. Light fractured. Geometry folded.
The world tore open.
A doorway appeared, swinging inward on silent, invisible hinges. It wasn't made of wood or steel or anything that obeyed the rules of physics. It was simply there—an aperture of deep shadow and candlelight that hadn't existed a second ago.
Beyond it: a corridor that defied logic.
Vaulted ceilings arched high above, disappearing into hazy darkness. Torch sconces lined the walls at regular intervals, but their flames didn't flicker like fire. They floated—motionless, suspended mid-dance. The corridor stretched on and on, further than seemed possible, the perspective bending unnaturally if Theo tried to focus on a single vanishing point.
Dozens of doors lined either side. Each was made of a different material—obsidian, bone, bronze, something that looked like weathered bark—and every one bore a distinct emblem carved or branded into its surface. A winged helm. A serpent wrapped around a staff. Three torches, each flame perfectly still.
The air was heavy with the scent of ozone and something older—dusty parchment, iron, and lavender gone sharp with age. Magic clung to everything like static, humming under the stone beneath their feet, lacing through the breath Theo hadn't realized he'd been holding.
Spider-Man's voice broke the silence. "Okay. That's new."
Theo didn't answer. He was too busy trying to make sense of the space around him. Every part of his mind screamed that this wasn't real—but it felt real. Too vivid. Too present. The longer he stood here, the more it pressed in on him, whispering wrongness into his bones.
This can't be real, he thought.
A voice answered him, soft as smoke and cold as winter wind.
"Isn't it?"
He turned toward the sound—and saw her.
She stood at the far end of the corridor, half-shrouded in flickering shadow. The torchlight couldn't decide what to do with her face. One moment, it was placid and ageless. The next, it shifted—smiling, then solemn, then utterly blank. Three expressions cycled through a single visage, like layers of reality overlapping. Her hair moved on its own, a slow tide of shadow and starlight. Her eyes—six of them, two per face—gleamed gold, silver, and black, all locked on him.
She stepped forward. Her feet didn't quite touch the floor. Her cloak trailed behind her like ink poured over water.
"I am Hecate," she said, and her voice wasn't just one—it was many. Not loud, but deep. Like the sound of wind through catacombs. Like waves rolling under an eclipsed moon. "Lady of the Crossroads. Guardian of thresholds. Goddess of magic and the moon. You hold my key, Theo Vale. You opened my door."
Theo blinked. "I'm sorry—what?"
"I said—"
"I heard what you said. I just… seriously?" He looked her up and down, resisting the urge to step back. "You expect me to believe you're the Hecate? From Greek mythology?"
The goddess tilted her head, all three expressions flickering in sequence. "Belief is not required. Only awareness."
"Right." Theo crossed his arms, despite the key burning hotter in his coat pocket. "Look, you've got the creepy shadow thing down, and I'm definitely out of my depth here, but I'm not buying the whole 'Olympian goddess' routine. You're probably just—"
Spider-Man raised a hand, cutting him off. "Okay, hold up. Gotta stop you right there." He turned to Theo. "You do realize I've been to space with a literal Norse god, right? Like, Thor exists. I've seen him fly. I've seen his hammer talk. So maybe let's not rule out the ancient deities just yet?"
Theo stared at him.
"What?" Spider-Man shrugged. "I've learned to keep an open mind. Also, she's got way too many eyes for a normal illusion."
"Thank you, little spider," Hecate said, her attention still pinned to Theo. "Your realm plays at science and dismisses myth, but the boundaries are thin. Truth bleeds through. And I…" Her six eyes narrowed. "…am awake."
Theo's mouth had gone dry. The key in his pocket pulsed—no longer just hot, but alive, resonating with her presence. Like it recognized her.
"What do you want?" he asked quietly.
Hecate stepped closer. Her voice dropped into something colder.
"You carry my key," she said. "You opened my door. Now, you answer my question."
Shadows spilled outward from her feet, coiling like smoke. Her three faces regarded him with equal weight and judgment.
"Who do you serve?"
Theo shook his head. "I don't serve anyone."
The torches dimmed. The air grew thick, like the corridor had taken a breath and refused to let it out.
"Liar."
The word echoed through the corridor, rattling the stones, reverberating in Theo's ribs. Her smile turned sharp.
"All couriers serve something," she said. "A cause. A master. A purpose. Even if they do not know it. Even if they pretend otherwise."
Spider-Man muttered under his breath, "Seriously, if you've got a secret boss with a flaming crown, now would be a really good time to come clean."
Theo didn't look at him. His fingers curled into fists, trying to ignore the rising heat radiating from the key, now searing against his thigh through his coat.
"I deliver packages," he said, voice firm. "That's it."
Hecate's laughter rolled down the corridor like thunder on the edge of a storm. "And what do you think gods are, Theo Vale?" she asked. "Deliverers. Bearers of meaning. Messengers of fate." She stepped so close he could see the flicker of galaxies in her eyes. "You are more like us than you know."
The key surged in Theo's grip, a violent jolt of heat racing up his arm—and then the light hit. It didn't shine so much as detonate, flaring behind his eyes and swallowing the world in an instant. Everything around him—the corridor, the torches, the weight of Spider-Man's stare—was stripped away, replaced by an endless, blinding white.
It wasn't just brightness. It was obliteration. Color, sound, orientation—all erased in the blink of an eye. The light was searing and silent and infinite, pressing in on him from every direction like a vice made of nothing. He couldn't tell if he was falling or floating, couldn't feel the ground beneath his feet because there was no ground anymore. No walls. No air.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't see. Couldn't think. Just white. Just the key.
And the key burned. It wasn't heat anymore—it was something deeper, more alive. A pressure that pulsed against his ribs, vibrating in his bones like it was trying to carve something out of him. It was a beacon. A tether. The only thing anchoring him to anything at all.
Theo opened his mouth to speak, to scream, to demand something—but the sound died before it left his throat. The light wasn't just around him. It was inside him now, filling every crevice like it was searching for something. And whatever it found—it liked it.
Or maybe it hated it.
He didn't know.
He only knew the key was pulling him somewhere—and that whatever waited on the other side of this light was ancient, watching, and very, very real.
The light vanished like someone yanked a plug from the sun.
One blink and Theo was back in the alley—crumpled on the asphalt, lungs burning, head spinning. Concrete dug into his palms, sharp and real and blessedly boring. For a second, he wasn't sure if he'd imagined the whole thing.
Then he looked up.
Strophie was still there, leaning innocently against the wall like she hadn't just helped open a rift in the space-time continuum. A bike. Just a normal, two-wheeled, totally non-demonic bike. Right.
Spider-Man knelt in front of him, both hands braced on Theo's shoulders like he was about to start CPR. His mask was scrunched in concern. "Dude. Seriously. Say something. You just went full Windows XP shutdown for like a minute."
Theo opened his mouth. No words came out.
"She was here," he finally croaked, the sentence dry and cracked like it had been dragged through sandpaper on the way out.
Spider-Man tilted his head. "She who?" Then, before Theo could respond, realization hit. "Wait—Hecate? As in Greek goddess, patron of crossroads, spooky shadow-trio, owns way too many dogs?"
Theo nodded.
He didn't even want to. The gesture just happened, like it bypassed his brain entirely.
Spider-Man sat back on his heels and let out a slow breath, like he was trying to exhale the entire situation out of his system. "Cool. Super chill. Love that for us. So to recap: you've got a magic key, your bike might be sentient, and now a literal goddess has entered the chat. What are you gonna tell me next? Your mailbox leads to Narnia?"
Theo didn't respond. He was staring at his hand.
His fingers still tingled like static. Right in the center of his palm, where the key had burned hottest, a symbol had appeared—faint, golden, and very much not normal. It looked like a foot with wings. Almost cartoonish. Like something out of a logo.
Or a myth.
"What is that?" Spider-Man asked, leaning closer. "Wait—don't tell me. Let me guess. 'Congratulations, you've been marked by an ancient pantheon. Your first quest begins Tuesday. Bring snacks.'"
Theo didn't laugh. Couldn't. The mark pulsed faintly under his skin like it had a heartbeat of its own. "It's not real," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "It can't be real. Gods aren't—this isn't how the world works."
Spider-Man shrugged. "Yeah, well, Thor's real. I've seen him toss lightning like it's a party trick and argue with a vending machine. So if thunder-daddy's walking around with enchanted hammers, I'm not ruling out Team Olympus."
Theo dragged a hand through his hair. It felt damp. Cold sweat. He tried to pull in a breath, but it hitched halfway down his throat.
This wasn't how the world worked.
Except it was working this way now.
And just when he thought it couldn't get weirder—
A voice. Whisper-soft. Cold. Unmistakably close.
"Run, Theo."
He froze. Whipped around. No one there.
Just the alley. Just Strophie. Just Spider-Man, who was now standing and doing that casual crouch-perch thing that somehow made him look both relaxed and extremely ready to web-launch someone in the face.
Theo swallowed hard. "Did you hear—?"
"Nope," Spider-Man said quickly. "And I don't want to. Your weird magic key nonsense is already giving me agita."
Theo stood on shaky legs, every muscle in his body buzzing like a struck tuning fork. "I think it's warning me."
"Cool. Great. Nothing ominous about that. Did it at least say what you should be running from?"
Theo's answer came in the form of a low boom—distant at first, like thunder rolling from a very bad direction.
Then the ground shuddered.
Car alarms blared. Lights flickered. Somewhere behind them, the city roared like it had just remembered it was alive and very, very angry.
Theo looked down at the key still clutched in his hand.
It pulsed once.
And then the world exploded.
A streak of green fire tore through the sky like a comet, a fierce, crackling arc of power that sent shockwaves rippling through the alley. The explosion blasted the air with an earth-shattering boom, debris raining down from above, sending shattered glass and bricks in every direction. Theo barely had time to process it before Spider-Man yanked him off his feet, throwing a web at a fire escape to pull them both out of harm's way.
They landed on the rusted metal platform with a clatter. Spider-Man groaned. "Okay, new plan: run like hell and scream when it's safe. Got it?"
Theo didn't need convincing. He was already moving, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
The alleyway sped by like a blur, the world a smear of light and color. His legs seemed to move faster than they should have—blurring beneath him, propelling him forward with unnatural speed. The key, tucked against his chest, seemed to pulse in rhythm with his heart, hot and insistent. It was almost like it was pulling him along, urging him faster, farther.
Behind them, the green fire swirled like a cloud, twisting into a figure. It was tall, wreathed in the shimmering glow of flames, a presence that felt ancient and dangerous.
Loki.
The god's voice rang out, smooth and mocking, like a melody wrapped in poison. "Ah, the messenger's son!" Loki called, his words dripping with amusement. "How swift you are! You must have your father's blood."
Theo's heart skipped a beat, his mind scrambling for an explanation. Messenger's son? What the hell was that supposed to mean? He didn't even know what that was about. He kept running, pushing his legs harder, faster, trying to ignore the unsettling way his chest tightened, as if the key itself was aware of something.
He wasn't about to stop. Not with Loki hot on his heels.
But then, he hit a wall.
Theo slid to a stop, his shoes screeching against the pavement as he realized he'd run into a dead-end alley. The narrow walls loomed on either side, trapping him with nowhere to go.
Spider-Man landed beside him, out of breath but still grinning like a maniac. "Well, great. This is exactly where I wanted to be." He looked around. "Y'know, for a quick getaway, we're really killing the vibe here."
Before Theo could respond, Loki appeared, stepping out of the shadows with an eerie, fluid motion. One moment, he wasn't there—and the next, he was, leaning casually against the brick wall as though he'd been there all along. His grin was wide, almost too wide, as he surveyed them with amusement in his glowing eyes. His form flickered, shifting like a mirage, his features subtly changing in the torchlight—a face now young and serene, now ancient and cracked, then something else entirely. Every blink felt like reality was bending around him.
"Now, now," Loki said, his voice like silk, "no need to rush. We're all friends here, aren't we?" He raised an eyebrow and snapped his fingers.
A burst of green light exploded around them, filling the alley with an overwhelming flood of images. Faces. Places. Cities. Monsters. All of it flashing by in a chaotic whirlpool, as though the very fabric of the world was unraveling.
Theo's eyes widened. He was dizzy, his vision swimming with impossible illusions. What the hell is happening?
Spider-Man shot a web at Loki's face, but Loki caught it in midair with an elegant flick of his wrist, unraveling it like it was made of paper. "Adorable," he said, unamused, as he casually tossed the strands of webbing aside like they were nothing.
Theo tried to focus, but his breath was ragged, his pulse quickening. Loki's illusions were suffocating him. The world felt unstable, warped—each breath was a struggle, like the air itself had changed. The weight of the key against his chest was unbearable, its heat pressing into him like a warning.
Loki smirked, and with a snap of his fingers, the illusions vanished. The alley was suddenly too real again, the shadows too dark, the silence too heavy. Loki's presence lingered like smoke in the air.
"You don't even know what you're carrying, do you?" Loki said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Typical. Gods love their little tests, don't they?"
Theo blinked, his mind still reeling. His throat felt dry. "What do you want?"
Loki's grin widened, showing sharp teeth. "Oh, Theo. I don't want anything." He took a step forward, a cruel glint in his eye. "Help' is such a mortal word. Let's say… I'm adjusting the narrative."
Theo didn't know whether to laugh or scream. "Help?" he repeated. "You just tried to blow us up!"
Loki waved a dismissive hand. "Details, details." He reached into his coat and tossed something toward Theo. It was small, a glint of metal catching the dim light. Theo caught it instinctively.
It was a coin, a tarnished, violet token that burned cold against his skin. He turned it over in his hand, examining it, but it looked... wrong. The edges were jagged, and the surface felt warped, almost like it had been burned.
He stared at it, his heart racing. "What is this?"
Loki's voice was almost a whisper. "Proof," he said softly, his gaze flickering to the coin in Theo's hand. "Proof that not everything is as it seems. Not all fathers are as they appear."
Theo's mind spun. Fathers? He thought the only parental figure he had was his mom. And now, Loki was saying something about fathers?
"What do you mean by that?" Theo asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.
Loki chuckled, that unsettling smile never leaving his lips. "Ask yourself, Theo Vale," he said, his voice low, dangerous. "Why would a god hide a son?" He stepped closer, his form flickering in and out of focus like a mirage. "And why give him a key to doors that shouldn't be opened?"
Theo's stomach turned. His hand was shaking around the coin.
Loki winked. "I'll be watching."
Before Theo could respond, the god vanished—just like that. No sound. No flash. He was simply gone, as though he had never been there.
Theo stared at the spot where he had been, the air still heavy with the echo of Loki's presence. Spider-Man cleared his throat beside him.
"Okay, that was... something," Spider-Man muttered, his voice tight. "But, um, any clue why he thinks you're some 'messenger's son'? Because I'm really confused now."
Theo couldn't answer. His hand closed tightly around the coin, his thoughts whirling in a storm of confusion and fear.
The god of mischief—Loki—had dropped a bombshell, and now Theo couldn't shake the feeling that his whole life had just been turned upside down.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
A chest waited on Theo's doorstep at dawn—no markings, no postage, just a wooden box the size of a shoebox, its hinges crusted with salt-crystals that glittered like crushed bone. Morning light bent around it, as if afraid to touch the surface.
Spider-Man dropped from the fire escape, having kept look out for possible divinity, lenses dilating. "Dude. That thing's giving me 'cursed Amazon delivery' vibes. Was shipping free or did you pay in, like, souls?"
Theo's fingers twitched. The air thickened with the scent of lightning-struck soil and spoiled honey—Hecate's key burning a hole through his bag.
A sound from inside the chest. Not a groan.
A laugh, warped and layered—Theo's own voice, twisted with something older.
Spider-Man's web-shooters hissed. "Nope. Nope. We're FedEx-ing that thing to the bottom of the Hudson—"
Theo's hand moved against his will, palm slapping onto the lid. The wood shuddered, pulse-like, under his touch.
Then the chest unmade itself.
Not an explosion—an unraveling. Darkness spilled out in liquid ropes, snaking around Theo's legs, weightless and hungry. The shadows didn't blot out the light; they ate it.
And from the void, it stepped forward.
The doppelgänger wore Theo's face like a bad taxidermy job—skin stretched too tight at the temples, one iris shattered into three. Its smile split further with each step, lips peeling back to reveal teeth like shards of obsidian.
"Took you long enough," it said, its voice a funhouse mirror of Theo's own.
Spider-Man's web passed through its chest like smoke. "Cool! So we're in the 'useless superpowers' phase of the horror movie. Classic."
The thing ignored him, leaning into Theo's space. Up close, its pores oozed a thin, gold fluid—godly ichor or infection, Theo couldn't tell. Its breath was pomegranates left to rot in a crypt, sweet decay layered over the iron stench of a butcher's floor.
"You know," it whispered. The words vibrated in Theo's molars. "You've always known what you are."
Its finger—too long, too jointed—tapped Theo's chest. Right over the key.
The world shattered.
Somewhere far away, in a sanctum on Bleecker Street, Doctor Strange's teacup cracked in half. The steaming tea pooled into the shape of a winged helm—then boiled away, leaving only a violet stain the color of Loki's coin.