CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR;
should've stayed home.

A RAGING FIRE STROKES THE CORE OF HER DETERMINATION. Each step is lightweight and effortless, a steady trot forward. No turns, no distractions. Amala walks, eyes trained on the same backpack. She walks, and walks, and walks until the blasting lights of Czech Republic drown her senses clean.

She inhales the outside smell; various foods and odors make for an odd combination. It seems as though The Carnival of Lights is in full motion. Around her, people dressed in exotic outfits promenade the now vibrant streets. Some carry colorful fans, some carry glow sticks the size of a baguette, others carry giant mascots on their shoulders.

A strike of envy hits Amala square in the face; this could have been them, had Mr. Harrington had a backbone and declined the opera.

Shaking her head, Amala studies her next move. Somewhere along her journey away from the auditorium, she'd lost Peter. At first, Amala had clear eyes on him. Following him through every turn and hallway he took, she made sure her steps were lined up with his to avoid drawing noise (which proved difficult once her heels hit the marble floors). Despite any issues, she was doing great and tailing him until... she wasn't.

In the blink of an eye, he was gone. It took her completely by surprise. One moment, he was in front of her. The next, he wasn't. Amala was left baffled and borderline in hysterics. How does someone disappear from right in front of you?

That's how she got here, to the bustling streets of Prague.

Annoyed, Amala looks around.

It's not safe to be walking the streets of a foreign country alone. It's not safe to be walking the streets of a foreign country as a girl. Quiet anxiety flutters in her stomach; she should go back.

Yep, I should go back, she confirms, suddenly overwhelmed with all the people around her.

Amala turns on her heels, making a beeline for the hotel (which is just several meters away).

That's what she sets to do until something akin to smoke catches her eye.

Turning around, Amala examines a nearby fountain. Detailed beautiful in silver metal, water sprouts from its top. It flows into its basin, creating a calming noise. However, something odd is happening. Amala doesn't recall vapor being a product of water lapping against itself.

It starts off as a subtle, almost unnoticeable puff of smoke. Soon, it quickly transforms into a large cloud of steam that fully drowns everyone in its vicinity in a cloud of gray.

Freaked out, Amala's heart races. She decides she's going to go back to the hotel now and she's going to run.

She doesn't even get the chance to take a step before the whole ground shudders. Amala watches with the utmost horror as the ground starts to chip away and crack. Around her, people are taking notice, and gasps of concern turn into shrieks of terror.

Amala is stuck to her spot, unable to move from sheer shock of it all. Her heart is so loud, she can hear it in her ears. She shuts her eyes for a moment, trying to drown out everything around so she can think.

Why do I do this to myself, her mind beats itself. Why can't I just stay in my fucking place!

A shout so loud it could shatter windows snapped Amala out of her mental panic. Heat pools at her feet and she looks down.

Her vision blurs with tears.

Lava as bright as the sun seeps from the cracks in the ground. It disrupts more concrete, spilling from any crevice possible.

Amala sees red — literally and figuratively — and her knees threaten to give out.

Ignoring her body's urge to collapse, Amala's legs finally make a move. She breaks out into a run and her feet struggle to dodge bits of overridden concrete.

She makes it about ten feet when the earth shakes again. Amala turns around and sees the magma start to slither upwards, swallowing the metal details of the fountain.

She watches with perplexed horror as it melts into itself and materializes into a new form.

Déjà vu smacks her head off clean.

The lava... it has a face. And it looks just like the water monster from Venice.

Not again, her mind begs.

But it's already too late.

The body of magma leaps into action, smashing whatever is in sight. It sets cars and buildings on fire, demolishing anything in its path.

Amala keeps on running. Not once does she turn back — she can't afford to. Turning back would mean stalling and stalling would mean death. Death is not an option.

Her mind goes into survival mode and she surveys the city around her. She needs to take cover somewhere far enough where that thing won't hurt her. Somewhere underground or perhaps rural — the strange fire monster shouldn't wander too far when it has a city at its mercy.

Perhaps the experience of almost being drowned alive by a water monster has served her well, she thinks bitterly.

The hotel is just meters away and if she's quick enough, she can make it there in a couple seconds. However, the earthquake — or whatever it was — has shattered most of the concrete leading up to it. Magma spills between the crevices. The path is useless.

A large boulder shoots past her and crashes into a building, sending smoke and rubble flying. She ducks as best as she can and barely misses its collision.

Amala runs in the other direction, having no choice.

All around her, people are screaming and scrambling to take cover. She shares their feelings; the fear in her body is immeasurable. In Venice, when chaos broke out, Amala had her friends to rely on. Akira and Ned were with her the whole time and had helped her when she was hurt. Now, she's all alone and if she falls... she won't be getting up.

After dodging through people and jumping over street holes, she nears what would the midst of the carnival.

A giant Ferris wheel stands in the middle, surrounded by burnt down stalls. People seem to still be stuck in the Ferris wheel and the sight shakes Amala to her core. 

Desperate to rid herself of the image, she shakes her head and looks around. It's a large, empty expanse — meaning it's dangerous to be this out in the open. Through an alley way, a door seems to be open though.

Amala doesn't give it a second though and immediately races to it.

Her knees feel weak, her heart is sore and her breaths are labored. She's exhausted from head to toe and her back aches under the pressure. Thankfully, adrenaline allows her to push through, but the pain is all the same.

She barely makes it to the door before the fire monster stomps into the open area. She practically throws herself into the door, tripping and landing right on her back.

Sharp pain shoots into her spine and Amala cries out.

Still, her nerves settle by a single percent, as the thought of having taken cover washes over her mind.

She's not safe, per se, but she's not in immediate danger, either. That's enough for now.

Her break is short-lived though, because moments later a bright green strobe blinds the alleyway. She can see it through the door; a beam so green it hurts, lights up the entire wall.

Something about it strikes a cord of familiarity and Amala is reminded of the mysterious hero from Venice. She hadn't seen him in person but she knew he was green and his name was Mysterio, according to news broadcasters.

She shouldn't look. No, it's far too dangerous and downright stupid. But her curiosity itches furiously.

She sighs, oh, fuck it. I'm already in trouble.

Peaking slightly, Amala's eyes struggle to understand the brightness. Two beams of verdant gush out of someone's arms. They're wearing a cape and what seems to be a bubble around their head. They fly around and blast that green light into the fire monster.

Someone else is there, too, she realizes. Clad in a tight, black fabric, they jump above the monster and land on a light pole. Something about their movements reminds Amala off a certain hero in red and blue but she silences that thought immediately. Everything seems to remind her of him and Peter and it needs to stop.

Amala isn't too sure of what's happening but she supposes it's going well with how little damage the monster seems to be causing. Both beings — or heroes — take their hits on that thing of fire, whether it be shooting it with light or throwing boulders into it.

Her hands remain in an iron-grip against the doorway. She fears if she moves just an inch, she will be exposed to danger. However, seconds later, she realizes she may be alright and extends her head just a bit out of the door.

Something bright and silver flies through her peripheral.

Amala stumbles back from shock, back into the doorway and onto the floor. Dust covers her hands and she cries out in pain, again.

She gathers herself as best as she can and takes a look at whatever it is that landed besides her. On the concrete, a metal object of sorts lays sprawled on the ground. It's an odd shape and it circuits once, then twice, before it fizzles out.

Outside, chaos still reigns and the sound of fire and molten lava drown the city.

In another — unsurprisingly — stupid decision, Amala decides to look at the object upon closer inspection. So, in what is a not-so wise choice, the raven extends her left hand and grabs the object, reeling back into the comforts of darkness.

Immediately, her arm hisses with pain and she drops the object. It clammers to the floor and she yelps. She looks at her hand; her skin is dark, dark red and it burns. 

She looks back to the metal piece, her eyes stinging with new tears.

"Fuck!" She curses, her body shaking with pain.

Her hand throbs without control and she can almost feel her heartbeat through it.

Idiot, she chastises herself. 

Why would she grab a metal object that's been in the vicinity of fire? The answer is beyond her strained mind.

Tears fall down her cheeks in a steady downpour. It hurts so much. Everything hurts so much. Her head, her back, her legs, her hand and her heart; it all cracks, and cracks, and cracks.

Amala rocks her body back and forth, trying to cradle her mind into some form of coherency.

Why does she do this to herself? Why can't she just stay put? What has she become? She'd been so keen on respecting Spider-man's identity, so set on making sure it never got out — even to her. But now, it's like all that effort is gone. All she's been doing lately is violating the one unspoken promise they had.

Putting the pieces together off of a series of bad cover-ups is one thing, but chasing her culprit through Prague is something else entirely!

Amala feels shame bubble somewhere beneath all her physical pain. She should know better and her very ignorance led her here: stranded in the middle of a city, alone and hurt. She has no one to blame but herself.

Her eyes water even more and the first loud sob of the night shakes the empty room. Adrenaline is long gone and all that is left is fear.

Her eyes open and she stairs out into the alleyway. Sounds of fighting can still be heard and Amala shrinks at the noise.

When does it end? When does it end? Her mind chants.

Closing her eyes, Amala turns away from the street.

One, two, three, she inhales. Four, five, six, she exhales. Over and over until her heart has space to breath and the room doesn't quiver with every sob.

Amala opens her eyes and blinks back a couple of tears. Her gaze lands on that metal object again, its surface almost taunting for another touch. She doesn't dare touch it, but something catches her eye.

Scooting an inch closer, Amala looks at the object once more. Something else is on it... something white. Amidst the darkness, little can be seen. However, from whatever light spills from the alleyway, the raven can see some sort of white film on its silver surface. It looks sticky, almost. Like some sort of goo or paste.

Amala scoots even closer and squints her eyes at the object.

Her heart catches in her throat.

They look like webs.

— END OF CHAPTER 24 —

[ note ]
i changed Amala's
age from 17 to 16
since Peter was 16
in far from home!

so if she's 17 anywhere
pls lmk so i can edit it!

anyways :) hope you
enjoyed this chap!
thank you for the
support <3

see you soon,

pearl <3