[Third Person Pov]
Peter casually tossed the ball toward Lizzy with a flick of his wrist, a crooked grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You serve… and make it hot."
Lizzy caught the ball without even looking at it, twirling it around her fingers over and over in a blur. "Oh, trust me," she said, her grin widening into something borderline mischievous, "that is my specialty after all." She sauntered toward the backline, planting her feet firmly in the sand as she settled into her serving stance.
As she continued to spin the ball, tiny sparks began flicking off her fingertips. A heartbeat later, flame swirled to life, coiling around the ball in layers until it was no longer a ball at all but a blazing sphere of bright, crackling fire. Heat shimmered in the air. Lizzy giggled—a bubbly, chaotic sound—and tossed the fireball straight up.
She crouched low like a spring being compressed and shouted, "As Pitbull once said—!" Lizzy launched herself skyward, hair whipping back from the force, and with a strike that echoed like a cannon blast, she slapped the ball and screamed, "Fireball!!"
"I got it!!" MJ yelled as she sprinted forward, heels digging through the sand. A psychic construct shimmered to life in her grasp, forming into a glowing bat. She jumped and swung with a clean, practiced motion; the bat connected with the flaming orb, bending it in midair before launching it back across the net. And just like that, their super-powered beach volleyball match officially began.
From that point on it was chaos—fun, loud, high-velocity chaos. Everyone was shouting "I got it!" at the same time as they darted around the court. The ball whipped back and forth at speeds that would've turned a normal human into paste, yet for them, it was barely a warm-up.
A streak of roaring fire shot across from Gwen's side, the flames tearing through the air like a miniature comet. Lizzy, reacting on instinct, summoned her suit's gauntlets with a flash of light and braced herself. The impact reverberated through her forearms, but she managed to save the shot, deflecting it upward in a sharp rebound.
It ricocheted directly toward Harry, whose hypermotility had him moving before anyone else even registered the ball's new flight path. With lightning-fast precision, he set the ball up toward Peter—who had already anticipated the trajectory thanks to a flicker of spider-sense.
Harry's set landed perfectly at Peter's feet. Peter launched himself backward in a smooth, acrobatic arc, performing a full bicycle kick that sent the ball rocketing over the net. Sand exploded outward from the force, showering Felicia and Gwen just as they dove simultaneously to try and save it.
When the sand cloud settled, the ball sat steaming inside a small crater, smoke curling upward like it had just crash-landed from orbit.
"Damn it!" Felicia hissed, slamming her fist into the sand. Gwen, panting beside her, nodded in shared frustration.
Aria blew her whistle with a crisp tweet and lifted her arm toward Peter's side. "Point to Team A!"
"Yay!!" the three cheered as they came together for a triumphant three-way high five.
"Oh no, that's not happening again," Felicia growled, pushing herself to her feet. Her eyes sharpened into feline slits as her pupils narrowed, her expression shifting into something predatory. "Let me serve…"
A Cheshire-cat grin stretched across her face, fangs glinting as she tossed the ball once and punched it with enough force to leave a shockwave. The ball screamed over the court.
"I got it!" Harry shouted, leaping in front of it—
"Eh—!?" he yelped as the ball dodged him, curving unnaturally midair before dropping straight down at his feet like it had decided gravity applied only when convenient.
Aria immediately blew her whistle. "Point to Peter's harem!!"
"We did NOT agree to that name!!" all three shouted in perfect synchronization, faces full of indignation.
Felicia only smirked. Since she'd scored on the serve, she was given another. She took several steps back, kicked off the ground into a running start, then vaulted into the air. She tossed the ball up and struck it with a powerful overhead slam.
As the hit connected, a gust of wind burst outward from her, swirling around the ball and guiding it on a twisting, erratic path that veered sharply away from Harry's reach.
Lizzy dove for it next, sand spraying under her slipstream, but the wind carried the ball right above her fingertips. And finally—
Peter lunged, stretching out an arm in one last desperate attempt to keep the play alive.
Before it could drop completely, snikt! Peter's wrist blade shot out with impeccable timing. He slid beneath the descending ball, the blade slipping just underneath it and flicking upward. The ball bounced into the air, wobbling but still very much alive.
Lizzy didn't miss a beat. She launched herself over Peter's torso like a madwoman on a sacred mission, hands outstretched. She twisted in midair, setting the ball back over her shoulder for Harry. Harry, now bursting with all the stored kinetic energy he'd accumulated from sprinting back and forth, leapt high and spiked the ball with terrifying force.
MJ rushed forward with a psychic tennis racket she'd conjured seconds ago, but the moment it touched the ball—CRACK!—the construct shattered into shimmering fragments, overwhelmed by the chi-infused, kinetic-powered strike.
Gwen dove next, hand reaching desperately, but the ball hit her at an awkward angle and slammed into the net with enough force to make it tremble like it was about to collapse. Aria blew her whistle sharply.
"Point goes to Team A!"
Peter, Harry, and Lizzy immediately broke into a celebratory conga line. Peter led it with exaggerated salsa motions, humming, "Dun-dun-dun-dun-dun DUN!" They froze in a dramatic pose… then repeated the entire sequence.
Gwen, MJ, and Felicia stared at them with identical deadpan expressions, their patience already stretched thin.
"They're getting on my nerves…" Gwen muttered flatly.
"Agreed," MJ replied in the same monotone.
Felicia only nodded, eyes twitching.
Peter's team continued laughing among themselves before jogging back into formation. As the next round began, all six players locked in. The ball flew back and forth at an escalating pace—gaining speed, force, momentum—until the air itself hummed with pressure.
Peter blitzed forward, trailing crackling lightning behind him as he slapped the ball. The impact rippled across its surface like a shockwave… but instead of shooting across the court, the ball froze completely. No momentum. No gravity. No motion. Suspended in perfect stillness.
MJ hopped up, gently booped it with one finger, and sent it drifting over the net. Peter reacted on instinct and kicked, but the ball curved harmlessly out of bounds.
His shoulders slumped instantly as his teammates patted him in consolation. Meanwhile, MJ and the others erupted into triumphant cheers.
Peter glanced across the net—only to catch Gwen staring straight at him. She slowly stuck both middle fingers in her mouth, popped them out with exaggerated flair, and smirked.
"Wow!!" Peter barked, half outraged, half amused.
Aria's whistle shrieked. "Perform another act of unsportsmanlike conduct and you'll receive a penalty!" she warned, eyes narrowed.
Gwen raised her hands in mock surrender, though the smug grin on her face didn't budge an inch.
The match resumed—and immediately dissolved into chaos: flashing lights, bursts of energy, mini explosions, shockwaves shaking the surrounding sand. The court looked more like a battleground than a beach.
When MJ served next, the ball arced high and Peter soared upward to spike it. But instead of flying over the net, the ball stuck to his palm with an unmistakable thwip. He bounced his hand up and down—boing, boing—but the ball refused to detach, yo-yoing annoyingly on the strands of webbing that covered the ball.
Aria blew the whistle so hard her face went red. "Ball hogging! Point to Peter's Harem!" she declared, pointing emphatically toward the girls.
"Okay, that's cheap," Peter deadpanned, staring at the stubborn webbing still glued to the ball.
MJ swept her hair back in a smug, slow-motion toss—like she was in a shampoo commercial—and said, "As you told Gwen, Tiger: work smarter, not harder. Babe, I really should thank you for the idea." She even winked, twisting the knife.
Peter rolled his eyes, sparks crackled around his fingertips before erupting in a small static shockwave that snapped the webbing apart. The moment the ball was free, chaos resumed.
Everyone sprinted around like maniacs—possessed, unhinged, and committed to winning this ridiculous game like their lives depended on it. Every serve, every return, every spike grew more dangerous and spectacular as time went on.
Gwen encased the ball in jagged glaciers of ice and swirling snow, making it look like a frozen meteor. MJ countered with psychic constructs of absolutely anything she felt like: a dinosaur tail that whipped the ball into orbit, a sizzling frying pan that sent it ricocheting with a comedic SPANG, a monstrous claw that grabbed and yeeted it across the court, and at one point—a bazooka. A full-on, glowing, psychic bazooka she shoulder-fired like she was reenacting an action movie.
Lizzy, meanwhile, launched the ball as if it were a comet. Fire swirled around her in ribbons, the balls she spiked streaking through the air like meteor showers. Peter used his super speed and electrical bursts to nearly break the sound barrier with each spike, the air cracking around him. His shots slammed down like artillery shells.
By now, sweat drenched all of them. What used to be a beach volleyball court was now a battlefield. Smoke drifted from small craters left by explosive hits. Blackened scorch marks scarred the sand. Some patches of sand had melted into jagged glass plates. The entire area looked like a superhero warzone disguised as a sports arena.
The score was tied—match point. The deciding round. The ball zipped back and forth at blinding speed as everyone entered a collective flow state. They refused to let gravity, exhaustion, physics, or common sense stop them. The final rally had already lasted over thirty minutes.
Harry spike-punched the ball so hard it left a visible pressure ring in the air. MJ returned it by slamming it with a massive psychic spider leg, the construct leaving a ripple of purple energy behind.
Peter and Gwen sprinted toward the ball at the exact same moment, identical murder-hungry focus in their eyes. They both jumped—and both their feet collided with the ball simultaneously.
Their struggle froze the world.
Both of them roared, muscles straining, sweat flicking off in arcs, each trying to overpower the other.
"I refuse to lose!!" Gwen snarled, face fierce and determined.
"That makes both of us!" Peter shouted back, his own aura crackling with electric fury.
Their teams erupted behind them:
"You got this, Gwen!! Kick his butt!!"
"You BETTER not drop it, Pete!!"
Veins popped. Teeth clenched. Sparks and frost clashed around them. Then—
Gwen smirked, eyes glinting wickedly. "…If you let me win, I'll let you do butt stuff—"
"PETE, DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE—!!" Harry screamed.
"Aaahhh! Oh nooooo!!!" Peter bellowed, instantly crumpling as if her words had physically disarmed him. The force of Gwen's kick overtook him, sending him flying back. He crashed into the sand with the ball, rolling dramatically. "Ahhh—she bested me!"
Aria blew her whistle so hard she nearly passed out. "GAME! SET! MATCH! The winners of this Beach Volleyball tournament are none other than PETER'S HAREM!!"
"WOOOOOOOOAAAAAAHHHH!!" the girls shrieked in triumph, tackling each other into a celebratory group hug, rolling in the sand like victorious warriors.
Meanwhile, Peter lay on the ground staring up at the sky, chest rising and falling. Harry and Lizzy slowly stepped into view above him, their silhouettes blocking the sun. Their eyes glowed with vengeance—cold, merciless, judge-and-executioner energy.
Peter slapped a dramatic hand over his forehead. "Sorry guys… she was just so strong… there was nothing I could do…"
Both Harry and Lizzy raised their fists, knuckles cracking like gunshots.
"Oh no—wait—guys—guys let's talk about this—!"
They leapt on him.
"ARGHH!! AAHH!! ARHHH!! I'M SORRY!!" Peter screamed like he was being dismembered, his cries echoing across the beach.
A stark contrast to the girls on the other side of the court—still rolling, laughing, and celebrating their explosive victory.
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