The corridor was a mess.
Lizard shook his head and pushed himself up from the rubble.
A sharp throb in its jawbone and the metallic tang of blood in its mouth confirmed one thing: this wasn't a hallucination.
The boy in the hat hadn't moved an inch. One second, he'd been about to finish Lizard off—the next, he'd been blasted backward by a force so sudden and violent it sent bricks flying like shrapnel.
Across the debris-strewn hallway, something shifted in the pile of shattered masonry.
Peter Parker had already suited up as Spider-Man—but right now, things were going about as well as a web-fluid refill during a rainstorm.
Several ribs? Probably cracked. Maybe broken. Not that he had time to care. He'd seen what happened.
The power Joren—had just unleashed was nothing like the controlled burst he'd used against those thugs in the alley. This was raw. Brutal. Unfiltered.
Ignoring the searing pain, Peter vaulted over a fallen beam and landed beside Joren, adrenaline drowning out his injuries.
He couldn't help but yell toward the dazed, hulking figure of Lizard a few yards away:
"Hey, Dr. Connors! You trip over something… invisible? Or just your own ego?"
Classic Spider-Man. And classic bait.
The Lizard's eyes snapped wide. Being swatted aside by someone he considered prey was humiliation enough—but now this other runt, this wisecracking bug in red-and-blue spandex, was laughing at him too?
"ROAR—!"
The sound rattled the remaining glass in the walls. Lizard dropped onto all fours, muscles coiling like springs. His massive, scaled body became a green blur as he lunged—not at Peter, but straight at both of them.
Faster. Stronger. Furious.
"Jojo—watch out!" Peter shouted, already bracing to intercept the charge with his own body.
But Joren didn't flinch.
He just tugged the brim of his hat down a fraction.
Yale yale…
This was never going to end.
The Star Platinum reappeared.
And this time, it wasn't holding back.
The towering blue-violet specter crouched slightly—then drove a devastating uppercut straight into the soft underbelly of the Lizard's abdomen.
"BANG!"
The impact echoed like a cannon shot. Even Peter—mid-leap, pain screaming through his ribs—saw the scales dent inward, collapsing under the force.
Lizard's body folded mid-air into a grotesque "C," his forward momentum violently reversed into a soaring upward arc. His roar choked off into a strangled whimper.
Inside, every organ must've slammed against his spine.
Silence—brief, shocked—followed the crash of his body hitting the far wall.
But this was only the beginning.
Just as Lizard's body reached the apex of its arc—poised to plummet back down under gravity's pull—
Star Platinum's sharp blue eyes locked onto the airborne target.
It swung its fists.
"Ora! Ora! Ora! Ora! Ora! Ora! Ora! Ora! Ora!"
Peter stared, utterly dumbfounded.
The Lizard—flung skyward moments ago—was now being pummeled midair by some invisible, berserk boxer.
Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!
Dense, percussive blows echoed through the shattered corridor.
Lizard's massive body jerked, twisted, and spun uncontrollably in the air.
Twitching. Rolling. Helpless.
Across its tough, green scales, fresh fist-shaped dents bloomed like bruises—chest to gut, shoulders to thighs.
Invisible fists hammered every inch of its form in a relentless storm.
Peter couldn't see Star Platinum.
All he knew was that the Lizard was trapped—suspended by an impossible force, battered by a hurricane of unseen strikes.
That's not something that should exist in this world!
Amid the thunder of impacts, Peter heard it: the sickening snap-crack of breaking bones.
Lizard didn't even scream anymore.
It had no idea what was hitting it—only that it couldn't stop.
"Eora!"
With a final, earth-shaking roar, Star Platinum drove one last punch straight into Lizard's left cheek.
The frenzy ceased instantly.
The Stand vanished.
Lizard—now riddled with deep, overlapping fist marks—shot backward like a cannonball and crashed onto the floor with a heavy, final thud.
The transformation reversed.
Where the monstrous Lizard had been, now lay Dr. Curt Connors—unconscious, human again, and missing his right arm.
Silence reclaimed the corridor.
Only Peter's ragged breathing remained.
Slowly, stiffly, he turned his head toward Joren beside him.
The other boy stood motionless, hands in his pockets, as if nothing extraordinary had just happened.
In the distance, sirens wailed—growing louder, closer.
The police were arriving.
Joren bent down, retrieved his fallen backpack, and slung it over his shoulder. Then he turned to leave.
"Wait!" Peter finally found his voice, shaking off the shock.
"The cops are here! We need to get out of here—find somewhere to run!"
Joren paused.
He glanced back at Peter, expression cool and unreadable.
"Why would I run?" he said calmly. "That was Spider-Man tearing up the school. What does that have to do with me, Joren Joestar?"
Without another word, he walked toward the stairwell and disappeared around the corner.
Peter stood alone in the wreckage—Dr. Connors unconscious at his feet.
He looked down at his own torn, web-splattered suit… then at his gloved hands.
His shoulders slumped.
…Guess I'm the only one left to clean up this mess.