Capítulo 6: 6. The Gauntlet
My dreams were rarely vivid. Most of the time, they were just a fog of half-remembered thoughts or flashes of my day. But tonight was different.
I found myself standing in a massive stone hall, its cold, silent walls rising endlessly into the darkness. The ceiling above wasn't stone; it was a vast expanse of stars and swirling galaxies, as if the universe itself had been painted across the sky. And at the far end of the hall sat a figure on a throne.
The figure's features were unclear, shrouded by a purple hood and robe that seemed to blend into the shadows around it. The throne itself was massive, carved from a dark, ancient stone, with intricate symbols etched along its surface. And although I couldn't make out the figure's face, I could feel its gaze on me, piercing and ancient.
"Peter Parker," it spoke, its voice neither male nor female, yet echoing with a power that made my very bones tremble. The voice was like a whisper and a roar all at once, timeless and chilling.
I swallowed, feeling small and vulnerable before this being. "Who…who are you?"
The figure leaned forward, and the stars overhead flickered, dimming as if the universe itself was bending to its will. "I am a witness," it replied, "one who has watched worlds rise and fall, who has seen empires crumble to dust, and gods brought to their knees."
I shivered, unable to tear my gaze away. "Why…why am I here?"
The figure's voice was soft, almost sympathetic. "Because, Peter Parker, there are great dangers ahead for your world. Gods, demons, and beings older than the universe itself are on a collision path with Earth. War will come, and with it, devastation. Your world stands at the precipice."
I took a step back, fear creeping into my veins. "And…what does that have to do with me?"
The figure tilted its head, its hood shifting to reveal only darkness beneath. "You have the potential to change the fate of the world. You stand at a crossroads, Peter. Your choices can guide you toward becoming a hero, a protector…or a tyrant, a force of destruction."
I felt my heart pounding in my chest, the weight of its words pressing down on me. "But…I don't understand. I'm just…me. How could I possibly make that kind of difference?"
"You were once destined to follow a path, a path of bravery and sacrifice, but now.There is no right or wrong path," it said, its voice growing deeper, more resonant. "Only the path you choose. The consequences of failure, however, are absolute. Death awaits those who falter."
I swallowed, glancing down, but something else tugged at my mind. "The box… I found a box. What's inside it?"
The figure's gaze seemed to sharpen, the stars overhead pulsing faintly. "Your instincts served you well not to open it. What lies within would have consumed you, turned you into a shell of what you once were."
I felt a chill creep over me, my mind racing. "Then what do I do? I need answers."
The figure's voice softened, though the power in it remained. "Only by reading the words within the book and spilling your blood upon the box will you be safe from its contents. Take this step, Peter, and you will understand."
I opened my mouth to ask another question, but the figure raised a hand, a gesture that seemed to ripple through the air, and my vision began to blur. "Remember, Peter Parker," it whispered, its voice fading like the last echoes of a distant song. "Your choices will shape the future. Choose wisely."
---
I jolted awake, a cold sweat clinging to my skin as I sat up, gasping for breath. The room was dark and silent, the shadows pressing in around me like silent watchers. My heart was racing, and I could still feel the weight of the figure's gaze, its words echoing in my mind.
My eyes drifted to the desk where the book and the box sat, untouched, waiting. The memory of the figure's warning pulsed in my mind, and I knew I couldn't ignore it. I threw off my blankets and walked over to the desk, my hands shaking slightly as I picked up the book.
The leather was rough and cracked under my fingers, the symbols on its cover faintly glimmering in the moonlight. I took a deep breath, opening the book and flipping through its pages. Most of it was written in languages I didn't understand — Latin, Greek, even symbols that looked like hieroglyphics.
My fingers traced the pages, searching for anything I could understand, until I came upon a page with a drawing that matched the box. The design was unmistakable, the intricate lines and patterns identical to the ones carved into the box. My pulse quickened as I scanned the page, trying to decipher the writing. Most of the words were indecipherable, but at the bottom of the page, I found a small note in English:
"To release its power, spill your blood upon the box."
I hesitated, the figure's warning ringing in my mind. It had told me to follow the instructions if I wanted to be safe from what lay within. My hand trembled as I reached for the pocketknife in my drawer, flicking it open with a shaky breath.
"This is insane," I muttered to myself, but I couldn't shake the sense of purpose that had settled over me. I needed answers. I needed power. And this was the only way.
I took a deep breath, pressing the blade against my palm and making a shallow cut. Pain flared as blood welled up, dripping down my fingers. I held my hand over the box, letting the blood drip onto its surface.
The moment my blood touched the box, it began to glow, the symbols etched into its surface flaring to life as if they were alive. They twisted and shifted, writhing across the metal in patterns that made my head spin. The light grew brighter, filling the room with an eerie, crimson glow.
I took a step back, watching in stunned silence as the box's lid flipped open on its own. Inside, nestled within a velvet lining, lay a crimson gauntlet, its surface smooth and gleaming like freshly spilled blood.
My hand moved as if guided by an unseen force, reaching out to touch it. The moment my fingers brushed the gauntlet, pain shot through me, white-hot and searing. It felt as if my hand were being eaten from the inside out, the agony tearing through my nerves like fire.
I tried to pull my hand away, but I couldn't. The gauntlet clung to me, its crimson surface melding with my skin, the pain intensifying with every second. I let out a choked scream, the world spinning as the room blurred around me.
And then, darkness.
---
When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the floor, the dim light of dawn filtering through the window. My head throbbed, and my body felt like it had been wrung dry. I pushed myself up slowly, my gaze falling on the box, now empty.
My hand felt strange, different. I lifted it, and as soon as I thought of it, the gauntlet appeared, covering my hand in a crimson glow. The shock of it made me gasp, and I willed it to disappear, watching as it faded from view, leaving my hand bare once more.
I staggered to the desk, opening the book again. The symbols on the pages, once incomprehensible, now made sense. The words seemed to flow naturally into my mind, as if the gauntlet itself was guiding me.
The more I read, the more the pieces fell into place. The gauntlet was an artifact, created by an ancient alchemist from a demonic realm, a master of transfiguration and forbidden magic. The book called it the Gauntlet of Kor-Vath, a soul-bound artifact that could only bond with thw soul of the one destined to weird it.
The text revealed its dark truth: the gauntlet would grant me power, imbuing me with abilities over time, but it required sustenance. Magic, blood and souls — these were its fuel. And if I used the gauntlet without feeding it, it would take its price from me, consuming me piece by piece.
As I read further, I discovered something even more unsettling. The gauntlet had the power to create other artifacts, ones described in the book. But each creation, each act of magic, would require a sacrifice — and as I grew stronger, the gauntlet's hunger would grow as well.
I slumped into my chair, the weight of the knowledge settling over me like a heavy cloak. This wasn't just an artifact; it was a curse, a dark symbiosis that would consume me if I wasn't careful. When I died, my soul would be devoured by the gauntlet, ensuring that it would live on, bound to it for eternity.
My hand trembled as I willed the gauntlet to appear again, its crimson glow casting an eerie light across my room. I could feel its power humming beneath the surface, a promise and a threat all at once.
For a moment, the weight of it all threatened to crush me. I was holding onto something dark, something that had already started to change me. But then I thought of Tony Stark, Flash, Bennett and Betty, everyone who'd ever made me feel small, helpless.
"No," I whispered to myself, clenching my fist as the gauntlet flared. "I won't be helpless anymore.
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