vncnus Chapter 299 Only One Uncle Ben
Chapter 299 Only One Uncle Ben
Chapter 298 The Only Uncle Ben
Cold Dew continues its journey.
He continued walking toward his most valued goal, his steps neither hurried nor slow, his hands in his pockets, his gaze sweeping through the crowd in the hall.
Then, he paused for a moment halfway there.
He took two steps back.
He tilted his head and looked at the Spider-Man who was leaning against a pillar and seemed to be vomiting.
The man's body was hunched over like a shrimp, one hand supporting him on a pillar, the other hand clutching his stomach, his shoulders shrugging as he looked to be in great pain.
"Wow—" Hanlu tilted her head, a hint of surprise flashing in her eyes. "Excuse me—are you Uncle Ben?"
His voice wasn't loud, but in the noisy hall, his words were like a pebble thrown into a calm lake.
Several Spider-Men nearby turned their heads, their gazes falling on that person, before turning back as if nothing had happened. Clearly, they were used to it.
The man slowly raised his head.
He wore a half-face mask, revealing only the lower half of his face.
His lips were somewhat pale, and there was still a trace of vomit residue at the corner of his mouth.
His eyes—those tired, slightly puffy eyes, eyes full of stories—looked at Hanlu, and then he nodded slightly.
He was too used to that kind of gaze.
As one of the more famous Spider-Men in the entire multiverse—compared to those Spider-Men like Peter Parker who died as "Uncle Ben," he directly sacrificed his own child to become Spider-Man.
As a result, when he first arrived, every Spider-Man who heard of him would run over to talk to him, shake his hand, and cry their hearts out.
In a way, he was also the team's psychologist, having accepted the care and concern from these countless "nephews".
"Okay—okay, no problem." Ben Parker's voice was hoarse and weak, as if squeezed from deep in his throat. "I'm not feeling well right now, but I am indeed Ben Parker. You can tell me anything, but could you wait a moment?"
As he spoke, he was holding his stomach with one hand and his brow was slightly furrowed; he looked genuinely uncomfortable.
I don't know if I ate something I shouldn't have, or if I was tricked by some strange food from some universe.
"Okay, okay." Hanlu nodded quickly, then took out her phone from her pocket. "Please let me take a picture."
Ben Parker remained silent.
He simply made a gesture—two fingers forming a V, but the V was weak and feeble, the fingers not fully extended, like a sapling about to wither.
He managed a forced smile, but it was full of exhaustion and helplessness.
Hanlu also unceremoniously raised her camera, pointed it at the person next to her, and gave an OK sign.
"Click" 6
Another freshly taken photo.
"Thank you very much." Hanlu put away her phone and bowed slightly to Ben Parker. "But now I have to go save my world."
He turned around, with a touch of tragic grandeur reminiscent of the line "The wind howls, the Yi River is cold," and strode forward. His back looked heroic and spirited, like a lone hero about to go to battle.
Ben Parker stood there, feeling completely bewildered as to what the other person was doing.
But he still smiled and expressed his goodwill, then watched that strange figure disappear into the crowd.
Then-
He watched as Hanlu pinned a Spider-Man dressed in a typical British uniform against the wall.
!!!
Dude, are you really that irritable?
The air in the hall seemed to freeze instantly.
The Spider-Men stared wide-eyed at the extremely violent figure.
That Spider-Man in the British uniform—
Wearing a well-tailored dark grey suit jacket over a white shirt and dark tie, and a spider mask that partially obscured his face, he looked like a white-collar worker just off work in the City of London.
But at this moment, Han Lu was choking him with one hand, lifting him up with his back against the wall and his feet off the ground.
Even the British Spider-Man himself was baffled.
His eyes were wide open through the lens of his mask, and his hands instinctively grabbed the hand that Hanlu was using to strangle him, but that hand was as solid as iron and did not budge.
He made a muffled, confused "gurgling" sound in his throat, wondering if he had ever offended the friend in front of him.
"Everyone—everyone—everyone—"
'
Hanlu's voice suddenly rose, carrying a theatrical quality like that of a stage actor.
He raised his other hand high, fingers spread, as if making a gesture to appease the audience.
His gaze swept over the Spider-Men who had stopped what they were doing and were staring at him, a big, almost excessively bright smile on his lips.
"Please be quiet, please be quiet! I assure you, everything I'm doing now is to save more people!"
His voice echoed in the hall, sincere and passionate.
"But now—I want to have a good chat with an old friend."
He turned his head, looked at the British Spider-Man he had pinned to the wall, and blinked.
"What?" The British Spider-Man's voice came from behind the mask, carrying a pure London accent, each syllable tinged with confusion, "Do I recognize you?"
If you could see his eyebrows, they would be furrowed into a huge question mark.
Hanlu did not reply.
He just smiled.
The next moment—the two of them disappeared from the venue.
There was no light, no sound, and no special effects. It was like the TV had been turned off; one second the two people were there, and the next second only an empty wall remained.
Only a faint, barely perceptible ripple in the air proves that something did indeed happen there.
Miguel stood at a distance, looking at the empty spot, feeling a terrible headache coming on.
His temples were throbbing, his back teeth were grinding together, and his fingers were unconsciously clenched so tightly that the hangnails at his knuckles almost dug into his palms.
His brows were furrowed into a tight knot, and his dark red eyes were filled with helplessness.
But it seems that—the other party has left, which might be good news, isn't it?
His shoulders relaxed slightly, and his clenched fists slowly loosened.
Although he wasn't sure if the other party would come to his cosmic trial again, it didn't stop him from adding two more layers of film to his multi-dimensional cosmic trial barrier.
Although he knew very well that for someone, that film might be just like plastic wrap, something that could be torn off easily.
But at least—it gives me peace of mind.
"Uh—" a young Spider-Man leaned closer to another Spider-Man and asked in a low voice, "Do they know each other?"
"I don't know." The Spider-Man being asked shrugged, his white lenses on his mask squinting slightly. "Maybe."
"Should we go help?"
"Let's see what the boss has to say."
Both Spider-Men looked at Miguel at the same time.
Miguel stood there, expressionless. He said nothing and did nothing.
He simply turned around silently, walked to his control console, picked up a cup of coffee that had gone cold, took a sip, and continued to look at the fluctuating data on the screen.
The good news is that most Spider-Men are peace-loving.
And they accepted Miguel's leadership, after all, he was already considered a very qualified leader.
He is cold, meticulous, and conservative, and he has also successfully saved Spider-Man from many parts of the world.
So everyone is on his side.
But seeing that their leader left without saying a word, everyone went back to how things were at the beginning.
Go do what you're supposed to do.
The Tyrannosaurus Rex Spider-Man lay back down in his spot and continued gnawing on the large chicken leg he hadn't finished eating.
Gwen jumped onto a beam, hung upside down, and started chatting with a female Spider-Man wearing a pink hoodie.
Ben Parker, holding onto a pillar, slowly sat down on the ground, looking up at the ceiling, lost in thought.
Takuya Yamashiro was surrounded by several young Spider-Men, who were showing off their rope and web-shooting devices.
The hall became lively, noisy, and chaotic again.
It was as if nothing had happened.
Miguel stood on the command platform, his gaze passing through the crowd and landing on the empty wall.
He tapped a few times on the keyboard and brought up a surveillance video.
There was nothing on the screen—no residual energy, no spatial fluctuations, and no trace to be found.
His brows furrowed even more.
"Who are you?" he whispered, so softly that only he could hear it. "What do you want?"
No one answered him.
Only the noise in the hall surged in like a tide, then receded.