Peter flipped over a rooftop antenna, landing in a crouch as Adriana rocketed past him, slicing through the air like a missile.
THOOM—She pivoted in midair using her wings like a hawk diving, her gauntlets glowing red as they sparked against her wing joints.
Peter barely had time to fire a webline and swing to the next rooftop when she came crashing down where he'd just been, pulverizing the concrete.
Chunks of stone and steel sprayed outward as she shrieked, "YOU COULD HAVE SAVED HIM!"
Peter winced, twisting in midair and landing on a vertical billboard frame. "Okay, listen—I'm all for emotional catharsis, but can we please not destroy every rooftop in Manhattan?"
Adriana didn't respond. She was already rising again, wings retracting and condensing into a sharper, jet-form configuration. The turbines in her boots roared to life.
Peter's lenses widened.
"Oh no. Don't—"
She launched like a rocket, spinning into a corkscrew motion mid-air. It was a drill strike—one her grandfather never had the tech for. It was built for armor penetration.
Peter leapt off the billboard just in time.
CRACK-KRASSHH!
The entire frame detonated in a shower of glass and steel.
He rolled across the next rooftop, panting, his HUD flickering slightly from the feedback shock. "Okay. New Vulture definitely comes with extra crazy and upgraded trauma."
Adriana hovered above him, wings flared out to full extension. Her silhouette cast a twisted shadow under the moonlight. Her voice buzzed through the modulator, sharp with hate.
"I rebuilt him. Piece by piece. I upgraded his rig. I gave him a second chance—and you let him die like a dog."
Peter stood slowly, breathing hard.
"I didn't let anything happen," he said, voice calm despite the thrum in his chest. "Gerald Weston is a different kind of monster. You're Grandfather took him hostage. "
Adriana's talons curled into fists.
"I'm not here to debate the ethics of murder, Spider-Man. I'm here to show you what regret feels like."
She dove again, faster this time.
Peter anticipated it—barely. He fired twin weblines to opposite towers and yanked, slingshotting himself straight up as she carved a trench through the rooftop below.
Mid-air, he twisted, firing another line to her wing.
It hit.
"Gotcha—!"
But her armor flared with a counter-charge, burning the web off with plasma backlash. Peter's suit warned him as his gauntlet hissed from the feedback.
"Okay! Plasma-resistant next time!"
Adriana turned mid-air and slammed into him full force, both of them tumbling in a blur of red and blue.
They crashed through a water tower, sending a tidal wave across the rooftop.
Peter coughed as he tumbled out, soaked and bruised. His mask was torn slightly near the jaw. Adriana landed hard across from him, panting through rage and pain, water cascading from her wings.
"You're good," Peter muttered. "You're fast. Strong. Focused."
Adriana didn't respond. Her visor pulsed gold.
"But you're not thinking clearly."
"I'm thinking clearly enough to break every bone in your body."
Peter's stance shifted—his tone changed, sharper now.
"You're not your grandfather, Adriana. You're smarter. More dangerous. You could be something better."
She paused for a flicker of a moment. Just long enough for Peter to see it—doubt, grief, the raw weight of a soul cracking beneath its armor.
But it was gone just as fast.
"You sound just like him," she spat. "And look where that got him."
She raised her gauntlets again—
—and suddenly a voice cut in from behind her. Calm. Cold. Undeniable.
"He was weak."
Adriana froze.
Spider-Man's eyes widened. "Gerald—?"
The shadows parted near a stairwell. Gerald Weston stood beneath the glow of a rooftop lamp. Black coat soaked from the water tower, but unbothered. His eyes locked on Adriana like a scalpel ready to cut.
"You want someone to blame?" he said, stepping forward. "Then don't point your talons at Spider Your grandfather died because he thought he could threaten a predator and walk away."
"You—" Adriana snarled, voice breaking into fury.
Gerald kept walking. "You call me a monster. Fine. But if you want vengeance, you'd better commit to it."
He stopped a few feet away.
"Because I will kill you."
The wind stilled.
Spider-Man stepped between them. "Gerald—stop."
Adriana's gauntlets flared.
Peter looked at both of them and snapped, "No. No more deaths tonight!"
Gerald didn't flinch as Adriana lunged.
Her wings snapped open, energy ripping across the rooftop in a screeching blur of red and gold. Her talons slashed down at him like scythes—each strike fast, furious, and precision-engineered to kill.
SHRANG—KLANG—CRASH!
Steel screamed. Sparks flew.
Gerald sidestepped the first blow, tilted his head as the second missed by inches, and raised a single arm to block the third.
BOOM.
Adriana's talons struck his forearm—
—and bounced off.
Her eyes widened behind the visor. The kinetic energy barely registered.
Gerald tilted his head. "That all you've got?"
He moved.
Not fast—effortless. Like gravity bent around him just enough to let him glide through her attacks.
Adriana snarled and struck again, going for his throat this time. Gerald ducked, then flicked a finger up.
CRACK.
She staggered—he hadn't hit her hard. Just precisely. A nerve point behind the wing joint.
"You've got upgraded armor," he said calmly, "but you're fighting like it's still a revenge tantrum in a Halloween costume."
"SHUT UP!"
Adriana unleashed a wing barrage—feathers fired like blades, streaking toward him in a lethal arc.
Gerald took one step forward.
BOOM—BOOM—BOOM!
The feathers slammed into the rooftop behind him. Not one touched his coat.
He was inside her guard.
CRACK.
He palm-struck her chest. Just hard enough to lift her off her feet and send her skidding back across the rooftop.
Peter dropped down between them, webs flaring from both wrists.
"Okay, enough! This ends now—both of you!"
Adriana coughed, staggering upright, rage twisting her face beneath the visor. "He killed my grandfather!"
Peter glanced back at Gerald. "And if you fight him like this, he'll kill you too!"
Gerald didn't deny it. He just looked at Peter with the faintest shrug. "She attacked first."
Peter turned on him, furious. "You're stronger than her. Smarter. You don't need to keep proving it by slapping people around like it's a game."
Gerald's expression didn't change. But there was a flicker in his eyes—brief, unreadable.
"I'm not playing, Spider-Man."
Adriana screamed again, wings flaring. "I'm not done with you!"
Peter spun. "Adriana, stop!"
But she launched.
Her wings folded into razor-thin blades. Boosters kicked, hurling her like a spear toward Gerald.
Gerald didn't move.
"Gerald, don't—!"
Peter fired a web—snagged her ankle.
Too late.
Instead of pulling her back, the tension only added torque. She twisted, using the momentum to spin mid-air—blades angled forward like a corkscrew drill aimed straight at Gerald's chest.
And Gerald…
Smirked.
He leaned forward—offering his chest to the impact like an executioner offering his neck to the axe.
CRACK—SCHNK!
Her wing-tip slammed into him—
—and stopped.
The vibrating alloy pierced his coat, tearing through the outer fabric.
But beneath?
It met flesh like forged steel.
There was a wet, meaty sound. Not of penetration—but of collision.
Adriana's scream tore through the night.
"AAAAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGHHH!!!"
The kinetic backlash traveled up her wings like a freight train. The moment the tip met the immovable wall of Gerald's body, all the momentum she built turned against her.
Her right arm bent wrong. Bone snapped at the elbow with a sickening CRACK, and her shoulder popped as the harness twisted out of alignment. Her wrist split open from the vibration recoil—blood spraying across Gerald's coat like red mist.
The left wing fared no better. The metal buckled, vibrating feathers shredding in a burst of sparks as her shoulder joint dislocated from the force of the torque.
She dropped from the air like a rag doll.
Gerald stepped aside just in time to let her slam into the rooftop.
BOOM.
She hit concrete hard. Rolled. Bounced. Skidded to a stop in a heap of red metal and flesh and blood, her body twitching involuntarily from nerve shock.
Peter landed beside her instantly, panic flooding his voice. "Adriana!"
She groaned—barely conscious—her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
Blood pooled beneath her ruined gauntlet. Her right arm bent at an angle no arm should. Sparks sputtered from her ruined wing-pack, and her helmet was cracked down the center.
Gerald stood above her, brushing a speck of dust from his chest. The hole in his shirt revealed unmarred skin—faintly glowing with an unnatural sheen, like forged alloy beneath flesh.
He stared down at her like she was a curious insect that had tried to sting a tank.
"I told you," he said coldly, "you're not ready."
Peter rose slowly, stepping between them.
"She's done. Gerald. She's done."
Gerald's eyes flicked to him. Calm. Detached. Then he turned his back to both of them.
"Make sure she learns something from this," he said without stopping. "Because the next time she charges someone stronger than her with nothing but grief and scrap metal… she won't get back up."
He stepped to the edge of the rooftop—again—and this time dropped without a word.
Gone.
The wind howled in the silence that followed.
Peter knelt beside Adriana, gently turning her over as she coughed blood into her mask.
"Hey. Hey—don't talk. Just breathe. I've got you."
She was shaking, whether from pain or fury or heartbreak, even she didn't know. Her voice cracked through her cracked visor.
"I—I'm gonna kill him…"
Peter swallowed hard, steadying his breath as he kept his hand firm on her trembling shoulder.
"Not today, Adriana," he said gently. "And not like this."
"Perhaps I should kill you now?"
The words sliced through the rooftop like a blade of ice.
Peter froze.
His Spider-Sense howled. A wave of nausea twisted through his gut as he turned, already knowing what he'd see.
There he was.
Gerald Weston.
Back from the fall. Standing only a few feet away.
Unflinching. Calm. Eyes flat, voice void of emotion. Like he'd never left.
"GERALD?!" Peter yelled, jolting to his feet, stepping between him and Adriana instinctively.
"Why are you—what the hell are you doing?"
Gerald didn't answer immediately. He took a slow step forward, boots silent on the broken rooftop, like a shadow wearing flesh.
"She said she wants to kill me," Gerald said quietly. "She meant it. I believe her."
"Yeah, she's angry! Broken! She just lost someone and—"
"That's how it starts," Gerald interrupted, his voice sharp, clinical. "A vendetta. An obsession. A reason to get stronger. Then she finds new tech. Then a few bodies show up in alleys. And then, one day, she kills someone she thinks deserves it."
Peter's jaw tightened. "That's not a reason to kill her now."
Gerald's gaze didn't move. "It's the reason to consider it."
Adriana groaned behind Peter, still too weak to rise, blood staining the concrete around her. Her mask was shattered now, one eye barely visible, burning with rage and humiliation.
Peter held up both hands. Not pleading—warning.
"I'm not letting you touch her."
Gerald tilted his head.
"Then you'll stop me?"
Peter tensed. "If I have to."
A silence fell between them.
The wind pressed harder now, whipping through the space between two men who knew what the other was capable of.
Then—
Gerald moved.
A blur of motion.
Before Peter could react, Gerald's arms snapped forward and locked around him. A vice grip—crushing, inhuman. Spider-Man's arms were pinned tight to his sides, his muscles straining beneath the unforgiving pressure.
"Gerald—LET GO!!" Peter shouted, thrashing wildly, kicking, twisting, anything to get free.
Gerald didn't speak.
He simply walked—calmly, unbothered—carrying Peter like a struggling animal toward the edge of the rooftop, past shattered debris and glowing vents. They stopped at the base of a collapsed, rusted water tower.
"Damn it!" Peter growled, every tendon in his body screaming as he pushed against Gerald's grip with everything he had. No more holding back. He unleashed the full might of his enhanced strength—enough to bend steel, to stop trucks, to lift buildings.
And Gerald… didn't even flinch.
He looked down at Peter like a mechanic observing a machine malfunctioning under stress.
"Gotta say," Gerald finally spoke, voice quiet but sharp, "you possess immense strength. I felt it. The pressure in your arms. The torque in your shoulders."
Peter clenched his jaw, sweat soaking the fabric of his mask.
"Then why…" Gerald continued, tone edged with something between disdain and curiosity, "…do you always hold back? Why let yourself get beaten, bruised, humiliated by people you could crush?"
Peter spat, "Because I'm not like you."
Gerald's eyes narrowed. "No. You're not. That's the problem."
With a sudden grind of metal, Gerald reached out and tore a length of steel piping from the remains of the water tower. The screech of bending iron rang out across the rooftop. In one fluid motion, he wrapped the pipe around Spider-Man's limbs—twice, three times—until Peter was bound in a crumpled, makeshift cage of metal, arms pinned tight to his sides, legs tangled.
Peter thrashed harder. "Gerald!! What the hell is this?!"
"Containment," Gerald said calmly. "So you'll stop jumping between logic and emotion long enough to listen."
He leaned in close, face expressionless.
"You need to stop pretending your mercy is always the right answer. One day, it won't be."
Peter's chest heaved. "And you need to stop thinking every problem has a body count attached."
Gerald stood back, arms crossed, letting the silence fall again. The steel creaked under Peter's strain, but held.
"You think you're helping her," Gerald said, glancing toward Adriana's motionless form in the distance. "But she'll come back. Broken things always do. And they come back worse."
Peter stared up at him through narrowed lenses, rage simmering beneath the surface.
"She's not a problem to be eliminated."
"She's a risk," Gerald snapped, a rare edge slicing through his usually detached tone. "And you're too sentimental to see it."
"You—" Peter started, rage boiling to the surface—
"I won't kill her," Gerald said flatly, cutting him off without looking.
Then he moved.
Like a guillotine in motion, he advanced toward Adriana again—silent, sure, and terrifying in his restraint.
Peter's bindings creaked and groaned, the steel straining as he fought against it, heart pounding. "Gerald, NO!"
Adriana was trying to crawl—barely.
Her left hand, the only limb not shattered or mangled, dragged across the rooftop. Blood streaked beneath her glove, each inch a desperate plea to survive.
She didn't get far.
Gerald's shadow swallowed her again. He loomed, eyes cold, face unreadable.
"No more vengeances," he said. Like a sentence.
Peter thrashed harder. "She's done! She can't even stand! Gerald, STOP!"
Gerald didn't flinch.
He raised his boot.
CRUNCH.
Adriana's scream cut through the night like metal tearing. Her armor caved beneath Gerald's foot, her leg folding inward with a sickening snap. The joint shattered, bone splitting skin. Blood sprayed in a violent arc, spattering Gerald's coat.
Her back arched off the rooftop—then slammed back down, body convulsing.
"STOP!" Peter roared, voice raw. "You're going to kill her!"
Gerald turned his head slowly. Just once.
"No," he said, almost softly. "If I wanted her dead, she'd already be a stain on the skyline."
He looked down at her.
Trembling. Broken. Barely conscious. Trying—still—to push herself upright through sheer will and rage.
"This," he said, "is education."
Then, without pause—
CRACK.
Her other leg collapsed under his heel, bone splintering outward through torn metal and flesh. Adriana didn't even scream this time—just a hoarse, rasping noise, her throat too raw to make sound.
Her wingpack sparked and hissed, the fractured plating twitching like broken insect wings.
Peter was silent—stricken. Helpless.
Gerald knelt beside her.
His voice lowered to something almost tender—almost.
"Now you understand. Rage isn't strength. Grief isn't purpose. You brought a blade of sorrow to a war you didn't understand. And all you found was someone who didn't care."
He stood.
Adriana couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Just stared at the sky with wide, unseeing eyes, blood leaking from her mouth.
Gerald looked down at her one last time, then turned to Peter.
"Spider-Man," he said calmly, brushing crimson from his sleeve as though it were dust, "I already contacted S.H.I.E.L.D. They're en route—with the best trauma medics money and global clearance can provide."
His tone made it sound more like logistics than mercy.