WHAM!
Peter's spinning back kick whistled through the air—an elegant, practiced motion rooted in MMA form. His heel smashed directly into Kraven's ribs.
But the hunter didn't falter.
Kraven lunged like a beast, arms wide and low like a prowling lion, taking the hit but using its momentum. He caught Peter's leg mid-spin, slammed his shoulder into Peter's chest, and tackled him through a rusted scaffold.
CRASH!
Metal crumpled around them. Dust and sparks burst into the night.
Robin flinched.
"Okay… now it's getting serious-serious."
Quin stepped forward, eye twitching.
"You think?"
Peter coughed, back hitting concrete. His vision spun for a second—but his hands were already moving.
(He's fast… and heavier than he looks. But he left his left knee exposed—)
Peter slammed his elbow upward, cracking Kraven's chin back. The hunter snarled, blood flinging from his mouth.
Kraven grinned.
"You fight like prey… pretending to be predator."
Peter rolled back, sprung up then lunged in low.
(Fake low sweep. Switch foot. Knee to diaphragm—GO!)
KRAK!
Peter's knee connected with Kraven's gut. The air whooshed from the hunter's lungs, but he grabbed Peter's collar in response and headbutted him.
BAM!
Blood sprayed from Peter's nose. He staggered back, the world briefly ringing.
Kraven didn't wait. He charged on all fours leaping, slashing, animalistic and unrelenting.
Peter ducked beneath a slash, hooked Kraven's wrist, and flipped him over his shoulder using a modified judo throw. The hunter slammed into the pavement with a guttural snarl.
(I can't win this clean. He's feral. Enhanced.)
Peter exhaled slowly. The sound was sharp in the silence that followed the last collision. His chest rose and fell not from exhaustion, but from focus. His eyes, now sharpened into something colder, darker, locked onto the beast before him.
(No more hesitation.)
No fear. No restraint.
Just instinct. Precision.
Rage, sharpened into a weapon.
With a blur of motion, Peter launched forward again, a high feint, his shoulder twitching as if to throw a right hook.
Kraven bit the bait. He raised his arms to intercept the strike but Peter dropped instead, twisting his hips and sweeping low, his foot hooking Kraven's ankle cleanly.
THUD.
The mighty hunter's footing broke, and he stumbled mid-charge.
Before Kraven could even fully fall, Peter moved like water—fluid, coiled power unleashed in an instant.
His body snapped upright with a full-body whip—fist rising with brutal force. A clean rising uppercut launched from his legs, through his hips, up his spine, and into Kraven's jaw.
CRACK!
A shockwave rippled through the air.
Kraven's head snapped back blood and spit arcing into the night. His boots scraped back across concrete, claws skidding sparks against the rubble. But instead of collapsing…
…he laughed.
A savage grin split his bloodied face.
"YES! That's it!" he roared, eyes gleaming like fire-lit amber. "NOW—SHOW ME MORE!"
He surged forward again.
They clashed.
No wasted motion. No hesitation.
Peter ducked under the first swipe, claws hissing inches above his head. He rolled forward, planting his hands against the cracked pavement, and launched into a spinning back kick—his heel connecting with Kraven's jaw with a sharp CRACK.
Kraven stumbled, but twisted mid-fall like a wildcat, catching himself with one hand before lunging low. He tackled Peter at the waist, his shoulder a battering ram of muscle and rage, driving Peter backwards—SMASH!—into a wall. The concrete fractured behind Peter's back, dust and stone raining down like brittle ash.
"I am not prey," Peter growled, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth.
(You want brutal? Fine. Let's get brutal.)
Peter brought his forehead crashing into Kraven's brow—THUD!—a sickening crunch of bone against bone. Both men reeled. Peter's vision flickered. Kraven grinned, blood staining his teeth.
"YES," Kraven hissed, laughing. "THAT'S IT! GIVE ME MORE!"
Peter didn't hesitate. He stepped in, tight to the body, elbows sharp and compact. A brutal uppercut slammed into Kraven's ribs boom follow by a reverse elbow that snapped the hunter's head to the side. It was pure street, born of desperate alley fights and lessons beaten into him by fists and failure.
Kraven responded in kind feral, savage. He swiped low, claws tearing fabric and skin down Peter's back. Peter grunted in pain, staggered, then pivoted off his right foot and delivered a sharp elbow to Kraven's temple.
Each movement was raw and practiced. Each breath came with grit.
(Punisher taught me to kill and my gang taught me to survive dirty. Now I do both.)
Kraven lunged, fangs bared, but Peter sidestepped and caught his forearm redirecting his momentum with a judo-inspired twist before delivering a clean knee to Kraven's abdomen.
The hunter let out a sharp bark of pain buy not retreat. Never retreat.
He surged up again, slashing toward Peter's throat. Peter ducked under it, rolled, and used the momentum to land a spinning backfist, cracking across Kraven's jaw.
"You fight like you've lost everything," Kraven snarled, staggering back.
Peter stood, chest heaving, eyes wild.
"I have."
(My past life, my old world, my peace... it's all gone.)
Their boots skidded against broken glass and shattered metal. The city's ruins echoed their every blow.
Punisher's brutal precision flowed through Peter's limbs. He remembered Frank's lessons strike hard, strike fast, end it. But beneath that was the fire of a gang-born fighter who'd bled on dirty cement and never tapped out.
Kraven moved like a beast unleashed low to the ground, spring-loaded muscles and instinct over technique. His fighting style wasn't elegant. It was nature untamed, raw, unforgiving.
They circled.
Sweat dripped. Blood stained.
Then they collided again fist to claw.
Peter ducked the first strike, landed a short cross to the gut, then a sharp elbow to the neck. Kraven absorbed it and responded with a palm to the chest, followed by a brutal rake of claws down Peter's side.
"YOU ARE WORTHY!" Kraven howled.
Peter coughed, pain slicing through him.
(I don't need to be worthy. I just need to win.)
The battle continued, a furious exchange of philosophy and pain.
Each blow was more than violence. It was memory. Legacy. A declaration.
Behind them, in the fractured remains of a ruined station, the rebels held their breath.
Quin narrowed her eyes, the silver braid at her shoulder stained with dirt. Robin clenched his fists. Arlo and Tray stood side by side, tense. Even the Vipers, once arrogant in their numbers, now stood still silent. Mesmerized. Afraid.
Harry Osborn raised his rifle, eyes locked on them.
"Anyone moves... I shoot."
Frank Castle exhaled a drag of cigarette smoke, the red tip glowing like an omen. His pistol never wavered.
"Try some dumb shit… and I put you down."
The city did not move. It only watched.
And within that stillness, beast and symbol tore into each other.
Claw met fist.
Blood met dust.
And Spider-Man reborn, broken, and raging fought not just for survival, but for everything he had once lost… and everything he still had to protect.
To be continue