The wind screamed past at terminal velocity as Peter Parker clung desperately to his web-line, his body whipped through the air behind the Green Goblin's glider like a banner in a hurricane. Fifty stories below, the streets of Manhattan spread out like a circuit board, pedestrians reduced to moving specks completely unaware of the life-and-death struggle playing out above their heads.
"Let go, you bug!" the Green Goblin snarled over the howling wind, his glider performing violent aerial maneuvers designed to shake his unwanted passenger. The aircraft bucked and weaved between skyscrapers with predatory grace, sometimes climbing vertically up glass facades, other times diving into bone-jarring turns that would have pulverized a normal human.
But Peter's bio-static adhesion held firm, his enhanced grip keeping him connected to the web-line despite forces that should have torn his arm from its socket.
"Spiders are arachnids, not bug!" Peter shouted back, his voice barely audible over the wind. "Did you skip every biology class in high school?"
The correction only seemed to enrage the Green Goblin further. Through his armor's targeting systems, Mendel Stromm's eyes burned with the kind of fury that came from years of accumulated resentment finally finding an outlet. He didn't care about accuracy—he cared about eliminating the obstacles standing between him and reclaiming what he considered rightfully his.
The Osborn Group bore Norman's name, but Stromm had invested his life savings in the company during its early years. In his twisted logic, that made him the true owner, not Norman Osborn. The healing serum partnership with Primus had been the final insult—billions in potential profits that should have been his, stolen through what he convinced himself was an elaborate conspiracy.
Norman had forced him to sell his shares using "despicable tactics." The fact that Stromm had voluntarily sold during a market panic, betting against the company's recovery, was a detail his rage-fueled mind conveniently ignored. In his version of events, he was the victim of a sophisticated fraud, and everyone who had laughed at his poor timing would pay for their mockery.
The modified serum coursing through his veins whispered constant encouragement for violence, amplifying his natural resentments into homicidal obsession. He had stolen Oscorp's prototype armor and glider designs, but more importantly, he had formed an alliance that gave him resources far beyond what he could access alone.
"I'm not fighting solo like you, Spider-Man!" the Green Goblin called out with malicious glee, banking his glider toward the financial district where the real trap waited.
Several Blocks Away
Lester, better known in criminal circles as Bullseye, crouched on a rooftop with the patience of a predator, his modified rifle trained on the aerial battle unfolding across Manhattan's skyline. The weapon's scope tracked Spider-Man's erratic movement with mechanical precision, compensating for wind speed, gravitational drop, and the target's unpredictable swinging pattern.
As Wilson Fisk's most reliable enforcer, Bullseye had built his reputation on the principle that every target eventually fell—no exceptions, no survivors, no witnesses. His success rate approached mathematical perfection, a statistic that commanded both fear and premium prices in New York's underworld.
Spider-Man and his companion Daredevil had been disrupting Kingpin's operations for months, confiscating shipments and dismantling carefully constructed criminal networks. In the old days, such interference would have been met with swift and brutal retaliation. Troublemakers simply disappeared, their bodies eventually discovered in creative locations designed to send messages to other potential heroes.
But Spider-Man was different. The wall-crawler possessed reflexes and abilities that made conventional assassination attempts futile. Even coordinated gang attacks had failed to bring him down, leaving Fisk with the uncomfortable reality that his criminal empire was vulnerable to a single determined teenager in a costume.
The alliance with the Green Goblin had been a stroke of tactical genius. Stromm provided enhanced equipment and superhuman abilities, while Fisk contributed strategic planning and resources. Together, they would eliminate Spider-Man and send a clear message to anyone else considering interference with Kingpin's business interests.
Bullseye's finger tightened on the trigger as his calculations reached their conclusion. The bullet would travel three kilometers through urban air currents, thread through the gap between two office buildings, and strike Spider-Man in the head with enough force to penetrate even enhanced human skulls.
The rifle's report was barely audible over the city's ambient noise, a professional's weapon designed for stealth rather than intimidation. The bullet streaked through the air with supernatural accuracy, passing through a flock of pigeons without disturbing their flight pattern, its trajectory calculated to intersect with Spider-Man's position in exactly 2.3 seconds.
In the Air
Peter's spider-sense erupted like a fire alarm inside his skull, every nerve ending suddenly screaming warnings of imminent death. The sensation was different from his usual danger detection—more focused, more urgent, like the difference between a smoke detector and an air raid siren.
Acting on pure instinct, he yanked his head to the left just as something whistled past his ear with the smell of cordite and hot metal. Through his mask's enhanced lenses, he caught a glimpse of the copper-jacketed bullet as it continued its trajectory toward the building behind him.
Time seemed to dilate as Peter's enhanced reflexes tracked the projectile's path. The bullet struck a floor-to-ceiling window with explosive force, spider-webbing the entire glass wall before gravity took over. Thousands of razor-sharp fragments began their deadly descent toward the crowded sidewalk below.
On the Rooftop
Bullseye stared through his scope in genuine shock, his professional composure cracking for the first time in years. The shot had been perfect—wind speed calculated, target movement predicted, ballistic trajectory optimized for maximum lethality. According to every variable in his extensive experience, Spider-Man should have been dead before his body hit the pavement.
"Impossible," he whispered, automatically cycling his rifle's bolt to chamber another round. But even as he realigned his sights, doubt crept into his calculations. If Spider-Man could dodge a shot that perfect, what did that say about the wall-crawler's true capabilities?
Above the Street
Peter's expression shifted from relief to horror as he realized the consequences of the assassination attempt. The glass fragments were falling toward a crowd of pedestrians who had no idea they were about to be caught in a deadly shower of shrapnel.
Without hesitation, he released his web-line and dove toward the falling debris, his body folding into an aerodynamic profile that would let him intercept as many fragments as possible. But even as he fell, his enhanced mind calculated the physics of the situation and arrived at a terrifying conclusion: he was too far away, moving too slowly, and there were too many pieces for him to stop them all.
His spider-sense continued its frantic warning, painting a picture of imminent tragedy that he was powerless to prevent.
Below, pedestrians looked up at the sound of shattering glass, their faces registering confusion before terror as they realized what was falling toward them. Some tried to run, others simply froze, but the glass was falling too fast for human reflexes to provide any meaningful escape.
Peter's web-shooters fired in all directions, creating a spreading net of adhesive strands designed to catch as many fragments as possible. For a moment, it looked like the improvised safety net might work.
Then the Green Goblin struck.
"You can't save them all, Spider-Man!" Stromm's amplified voice carried gleeful malice as his glider's weapon systems activated. Razor-sharp projectiles launched from concealed compartments, severing Peter's web-lines with surgical precision.
The web collapsed, leaving the deadly glass shower to continue its unstoppable descent.
The Green Goblin's glider accelerated with a burst of exhaust flame, its armored prow aimed directly at Peter's unprotected back. The impact came with the force of a speeding car, the glider's reinforced nose section driving into Peter's spine and launching him skyward like a broken doll.
Peter's scream of pain echoed off the surrounding buildings as he found himself impaled on the glider's forward section, his body trapped in its aerodynamic groove while Stromm piloted the aircraft with gleeful abandon.
"Witness their death, Spider-Man!" the Green Goblin roared, his armored hands gripping Peter's head with enough force to crack bone. "See what your heroic interference has accomplished!"
"That remains to be seen!"
The voice cut through the chaos like a blade, followed immediately by a black lightning bolt that streaked down from the sky with inhuman speed. Prime descended on the scene like an avenging angel, blue electrical arcs crackling around his dark costume as he fell faster than terminal velocity should have allowed.
His trajectory carried him past both Peter and the Green Goblin in a blur of motion, but the chain weapon on his wrist uncoiled with perfect timing. The electrically charged links struck the largest glass fragment with explosive force, sending cascading arcs of energy throughout the entire debris field.
Every piece of falling glass shattered simultaneously, reduced to harmless glass dust that scattered on the wind like glittering snow. The deadly shower had been neutralized in a single, precisely calculated strike.
Prime landed on the street below in a crouch that absorbed the tremendous impact, his costume's advanced materials distributing the force across his enhanced physiology. Steam rose from his form as the electrical energy dissipated, leaving him standing in the center of a circle of sparkling glass powder.
In the Air
"Another Spider-Man?" the Green Goblin's voice cracked with surprise and growing uncertainty. His plan had accounted for one wall-crawler, not two, and this new arrival's demonstrated capabilities suggested a significant escalation in the threat level.
Peter, still trapped in the glider's nose cone, felt his spirits lift despite the pain radiating through his back. His spider-sense had been screaming warnings not just about the sniper, but about incoming assistance. He wanted to shout Ben's name in relief, but maintained operational security even under duress.
On the Street
Ben examined his hands as the last electrical arcs faded from his fingertips, frustrated by the limitations of his current form. The Old Power of Sakaar flowed most freely when he assumed his natural human state, but it remained accessible through his Duskwraith form—albeit in greatly reduced capacity.
"Three seconds of enhanced speed," he muttered to himself, calculating the energy expenditure. "Better than nothing, but nowhere near optimal efficiency."
The power would regenerate given time, but for now he would have to rely on more conventional abilities. He looked up at the aerial battle above, where Peter was struggling to free himself from the Green Goblin's glider while avoiding the various weapons systems built into the aircraft.
Peter managed to break free with a desperate twist, launching himself away from the glider with a burst of web-fluid that carried him to a relatively safe landing on a nearby fire escape.
"When did you get back?" Peter called out as he swung down to street level, his voice tight with pain but filled with obvious relief.
"Just arrived in the city," Ben replied, his voice carrying the kind of edge that suggested serious violence was about to occur. "You can call me Prime, by the way."
"Good call on the name change," Peter said, automatically falling into their established tactical dynamic. "Want to team up on this psychopath?"
But Ben was already shaking his head, his attention focused on something beyond the immediate battle. "There's a sniper positioned approximately four blocks northeast—probably the one who took that shot at you. Handle him while I deal with our flying Halloween reject."
Peter nodded without question. He had learned to trust Ben's tactical instincts, and dividing their efforts would prevent either opponent from receiving backup during the fight.
As Spider-Man swung away toward Bullseye's position, the street cleared of bystanders with remarkable speed. New Yorkers had developed finely tuned survival instincts when it came to superhuman conflicts, and the sight of two costumed figures preparing for battle sent civilians scurrying for cover behind cars, into buildings, and generally anywhere that offered protection from collateral damage.
Prime and the Green Goblin faced each other across the empty street, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows between the skyscrapers. Unlike Spider-Man, who had been fighting Stromm for weeks and developed a sense of the man's tactics and limitations, Ben was an unknown quantity—a factor that clearly made the Green Goblin nervous.
"I wasn't aware New York had acquired a Black Spider," Stromm said, his voice carrying forced bravado as his glider's sensors analyzed the new threat. "Tell me, dark Spider-Man, what's your agenda here? Surely you're not naive enough to believe in saving the world?"
Even through the Green Goblin's grotesque mask, Ben could sense the sneer behind the words. But rather than anger, he felt only a cold assessment of the tactical situation. Sometimes the gap in capability was so vast that emotional responses became irrelevant.
"I'm not as merciful as Spider-Man," Ben said simply, the chains on his wrists beginning to glow with residual electrical energy. "Green Goblin."
The casual dismissal in his tone was more insulting than any elaborate threat could have been.
"What did you say?" Stromm's voice cracked with rage as his carefully maintained psychological control shattered. His hand moved to his glider's weapon systems, launching three pumpkin bombs in a wild spray designed to saturate the area with explosive force.
The detonations lit up the street like the surface of the sun, sending debris flying in all directions as windows shattered for blocks around. Smoke and flame billowed skyward, temporarily obscuring the battlefield in a roiling cloud of destruction.
But before the echoes had finished reverberating off the surrounding buildings, a dark shape burst through the flames like a hunting predator. Prime's enhanced physiology had protected him from the worst of the blast, and his momentum carried him directly toward the Green Goblin's hovering position.
Ben's strike was surgical in its precision—a palm thrust that carried tons of focused force directly toward Stromm's head. The impact twisted the Green Goblin's helmet with a grinding screech of tortured metal, the man inside crying out as his inner ear was scrambled by the rotational force.
Before Stromm could recover his balance, armored fingers closed around his mask and hauled him off his glider entirely. The aircraft, suddenly deprived of its pilot's weight and control input, began an uncontrolled spiral toward the street below.
"I said," Ben's voice carried the kind of quiet menace that made threats unnecessary, "I'm gonna put some dirt in your eye."
The reference was lost on Stromm, but the promise of violence came through with perfect clarity.