Parker sighed.
It was that kind of sigh—deep, bone-heavy, the type that didn't just leak out of your lungs but dragged pieces of your soul with it. He felt the weight now. Not just emotionally, but cosmically. Like his entire damn spine was holding up an invisible planet. He knew this feeling—it was the "you fucked up big-time and now you gotta fix it" type of vibe.
And the worst part? It was earned. Because this? This was on him. He had been the idiot who thought threatening the gods like it was a casual Tuesday flex was a good idea.
The same gods who probably cried into their silk robes after being ratioed by a mortal who they found out the start of his background was as large as their entire existence and beyond and went snitching to the first eldritch horror they could find. Now this world—his world—was dangling over a pit of multiversal hellfire because they didn't know how to hold their tiny-ass divine willies in check.
