"You move well," Peter said at last, his voice muffled by the mask but carrying his usual light tone. "I barely felt you arrive. Barely."
Matt took a step into the garage, letting the rain drip from his cape onto the cracked floor. The sound was deliberately audible now — a small gesture of presence, not threat.
"Barely isn't enough when it comes to you, Spider." He tilted his head, the horn of the mask catching the faint reflection of the light. "Since when do you work with them?"
Spider raised an eyebrow. "What?"
"Don't play dumb, Spider," Matt complained. "I know you're working together with Shadow-Step to stop Tombstone. When you showed up in that Park Slope mess, I thought you were just doing what you always do. But when I was in their building and heard you leaving through the skylight, I realized that you being there at the park at exactly the right time to stop whatever Tombstone was doing might not have been just a coincidence."
If Matt could see beneath Peter's mask right now, he would see a look of total confusion. If he had heard everything — as they knew he had — shouldn't he have already connected the dots and figured out that he was the leader of Shadow-Step? Especially with his ability to identify voices and smells.
Peter felt his mind snap.
Doctor Strange's spell.
If his theory was right, then the spell didn't just protect his identity as Peter Parker, but any other identity he had as well.
That was the only plausible reason Daredevil hadn't figured out who he was by now.
I'll have to thank the Doctor later, Spider thought to himself.
"Working together is a strong phrase, DD," Peter replied, slowly turning to face the blind vigilante. "Let's say that… our interests temporarily align. Tombstone is willing to blow up civilians in broad daylight. That tends to make us a little irritated."
"Aligned interests," Murdock repeated, skeptical. His head tilted slightly, as if he were reading not just the words, but the vibration in Peter's vocal cords. "They have an army. Military training, clan discipline. And you have… what? A non-aggression pact? You give the tips, and they do the dirty work?"
"The work the police can't do," Peter corrected, keeping his voice steady. "The work you and I do every night. The difference is that they're more organized. And, apparently today, non-lethal. You heard it. None of those men died. They'll wake up with headaches and sore jaws, not in black bags."
"For now." Matt took a step forward. "That's the part that worries me, Spider. 'For now.' Tombstone will strike back. He'll escalate. And when he sends something they can't stop, your 'Shadow-Step' will have to escalate too. Where does it end? With them using the same weapons as Tombstone? With innocents caught in the crossfire?"
Peter felt the weight of the question. He would be lying if he said he hadn't thought about that possibility — that one day he might lose himself, even unintentionally. He crossed his arms.
"They won't, Daredevil," he said, arms folded. "From everything I've seen so far, they seem to be on the right path. And even if one day they become like Tombstone, we'll be there to stop them, like we always have."
Daredevil let out a sound that was almost a muffled sigh. "You're an optimist, Spider. Always have been. You think you can fix everything with a joke and a roll of webbing. But this… this is different. They're building a militia. And militias, sooner or later, need an enemy to justify their existence. What happens when Tombstone falls? Do you think they'll just hang up their swords and become traffic guards?"
"Maybe," Peter said, and for the first time in the conversation, his voice carried a trace of uncertainty. "Or maybe we'll find something else to cut. There's plenty out there."
"It's a dangerous road." Matt finally moved, not toward Peter, but toward the garage entrance, as if he'd already heard what he needed. "I'll keep watching. And if I smell innocent blood on their hands… if a single civilian is harmed because of this war or anything else they do… I won't call Captain Watanabe. I'll come after them. And you too, if necessary."
"Fair," Peter agreed, nodding. "That's your way. But, one favor?"
Matt stopped, without turning around.
"If you're going to 'observe' again… knock on the door, maybe? It's kind of creepy having a bat-man listening to your planning from above."
For the first time, Peter thought he noticed a micro-movement in Matt's shoulders — something that might have been the beginning of a muffled smile. Or maybe just a posture adjustment.
"Then you should invest in better soundproofing. Your warehouse echoes like a cathedral."
And then, with a fluid motion, Daredevil threw his baton, the cable wrapping around a fire pipe on the roof of the neighboring building, and he was yanked upward, disappearing into the tapestry of shadows and rain.
Peter stood alone in the garage, the tension slowly leaving his shoulders. The conversation had gone… better than he expected. Matt wasn't convinced, but he wasn't declaring war either. It was a tense truce, a mutual watchfulness. It was something he could work with.
His communicator buzzed again.
"Mr. Parker," Rook's voice came calm, but with a note of urgency. "The situation has evolved. Tombstone's 'Sharks' are no longer assembling. They're moving. In three groups. Initial destinations: Jenny Wong's safe apartment — which is empty —, the address of the Red Hook wine importer, and… the industrial garage in Brooklyn that belongs to the owner of the transport company we use as a front for one of our vans."
Peter felt a chill in his stomach. Tombstone was attacking blind spots, places with tenuous connections to Shadow-Step. They were trying to force a mistake, trying to make someone reveal themselves.
"They know they won't find anyone important in those places," Peter reasoned aloud. "It's a provocation. A test. They want to see how we react."
"Sound logic," Rook confirmed. "The standard response would be to deploy forces to protect these assets, even if symbolic. That would reveal our numbers, our response routes, our tactics."
Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. His head throbbed — a residual side effect of Meta-Vision combined with the tension of the confrontation with Matt and now this new move from Tombstone.
"Rook, can you predict their next step? If we ignore these decoy attacks, where do the Sharks go next?"
There was a brief pause as Rook processed data. "Based on psychological profiles of individuals like Tombstone and escalation-of-conflict tactics, there is a 78% probability that the next target will be a civilian asset directly linked to one of our identifiable members. Someone with less protection. A relative, a close friend of one of our civilian 'employees.' They are trying to cut our network, thread by thread, until they find one that makes us react."
"Change the protocol," Peter ordered, his voice taking on a resonance of command he didn't know he possessed. "Shadow-Step does not react. We act. Is Karai still in transit?"
"She is two minutes from the base."
"Good. When she arrives, tell her to prepare all personnel, but keep them on absolute standby. No movement until my order. I'll deal with the Sharks."
"Mr. Parker, direct intervention by you now could confirm your connection to Shadow-Step for Tombstone."
"Maybe," Peter admitted. "But they already suspect it. And I'm not an asset. I'm a problem. And if Tombstone wants a mistake, I'll give him one. Just not the one he's expecting."
He cut the communication and focused. His Meta-Vision, still active, began mapping the movements of the three Shark groups from Rook's data. They were efficient, moving in unmarked vehicles, using secondary routes. But they were predictable. Their goal was to provoke, not conquer. They would move to the targets, check them, and likely leave a "mark" — destruction, a threatening message — before retreating to report.
Peter wasn't going to let them retreat.
The plan formed in Peter's mind with the speed and precision of a battle algorithm. His Meta-Vision created multiple scenarios, evaluating risks and rewards. Intervening directly with all three groups at the same time was impossible even for him. But he didn't need to be everywhere. He just needed to be in the right place.
And the right place was where the greatest damage could be done — not physical, but strategic.
"Rook," he whispered into the communicator, already in motion, silently swinging to the top of an apartment building. "The group heading to the transport company owner. They're going to want a spectacular message, right? Fire, explosion."
"Highly probable. The site stores tires and lubricating oil. An ideal scenario for a show of force."
[Ding! Critical Defense Mission Detected: "The Dockside Ambush"!]
[Objectives: Protect Shadow-Step. Avoid fatal casualties.]
[Reward: 200 GP.]
Peter smiled. "Perfect. That's where I'm going. And prep the Shadow-Step team."
"To intercept the other groups?"
"No. To isolate the area when I begin. I want the Sharks at the transport company completely alone. No reinforcements, no easy escape routes. And, Rook… activate the signal jammers you installed in the area. No distress calls get out of there."
"Understood. Transmitting data and activating silence protocol. Lady Karai has just arrived at the base. She is assuming tactical command."
Peter felt a sense of relief. With Karai coordinating Shadow-Step, he could focus on being hell in Tombstone's life.
Spider-Man didn't take long to get there. It was a large yard, surrounded by a barbed-wire fence, with a main warehouse and several containers scattered around. Three dark SUVs were approaching from the east. No more than six people inside each one. Heavy armament: assault rifles, at least one light machine gun.
Peter calculated the timing. They would arrive in ninety seconds. He landed on the roof of the main warehouse like a dead leaf, his suit blending into the accumulated soot. The silence around him was deep, broken only by the distant hum of industrial refrigerators. Rook had done his job; the air felt charged, muffled, like before a storm.
The SUVs stopped outside the main gate. Six men got out, wearing tactical vests, ski masks, and high-caliber weapons. They didn't try to break the lock. One of them simply raised a grenade launcher.
Yeah, spectacular just like I imagined, Peter thought, adjusting himself.
The moment the man pulled the trigger, Peter acted. He didn't fire a web. Instead, with a fluid movement that looked like a martial dance, he spun and kicked the metal ventilation duct beside him.
CRACK!
The duct came loose, but didn't fall. Under the silent command of Earth Domination, it twisted in the air like a steel serpent and flew toward the grenade projectile. The collision happened three meters from the launcher's barrel.
The grenade detonated prematurely with a deafening CRUMP, sending a shockwave and shrapnel that hit the six Sharks. Two were hurled against the SUVs, three others fell to the ground, disoriented. The man with the launcher screamed, clutching a broken arm.
"What the he—?" one of them shouted, raising his rifle.
Peter was no longer on the roof. He had descended along the side wall, invisible. His Meta-Vision highlighted every enemy, predicting their panicked movements. He materialized behind the nearest man, delivering a quick strike to the base of the skull. The man collapsed.
"It's the Spider!" another yelled, firing a blind burst toward where Peter had been.
Peter had already moved, using Earth Domination to make a pile of old tires beside the warehouse tremble and then collapse, creating a cascade of black rubber that buried two of the Sharks. He appeared atop the pile, his webs hissing. In seconds, the two men were glued to the tires, immobilized.
Three remained. One of them, smarter, ran to take cover behind one of the SUVs, trying to use the radio. "Base, base, we've got the Spider here! We need—"
Only static. Rook's jammer worked perfectly.
The man cursed and aimed his light machine gun in Peter's general direction. "Show yourself, you insect!"
Peter did. But not the way the man expected.
The ground beneath the SUV began to tremble. The asphalt cracked, not violently, but with a deep, strange groan. The two-ton vehicle slowly sank, as if into quicksand, until its axles were stuck. The man behind it looked down in terror as his boots also began to sink a few centimeters into the now-malleable asphalt.
"What's happening?!" he shrieked.
Peter landed in front of him, the eyes of his mask narrowed. "You should've stuck with Tombstone, buddy. The sea's calmer over there."
A quick movement, a dull thud, and the third man joined his unconscious companions.
The sixth and final Shark, the group's leader by virtue of superior gear, had retreated to the warehouse entrance. Instead of panic, his heart beat with calculated coldness. He threw a fragmentation grenade into the warehouse, not to kill Peter, but to start the fire that was his main objective.
"Not today," Peter murmured.
He extended his hand. Instead of trying to catch the grenade in midair — extremely risky — he focused on the concrete floor of the warehouse. A section of the floor, directly beneath the grenade's arc, rose like a tongue of stone, enveloping the device in a thick shell of concrete and earth an instant before detonation.
The sound was muffled, a dull umpf. The earthen shell cracked, releasing smoke, but there was no shrapnel explosion, no fire. Just dust.
The Sharks' leader froze for a fraction of a second, witnessing the impossible. It was enough time. A web snatched his rifle from his hands. Another wrapped around his feet. He drew a pistol, but Peter was already on him. The hand-to-hand fight was brief and brutal. The man was skilled, a real ex-military operative, but against Spider-Man's superhuman strength, agility, and senses, he had no chance. A dodge, a grip on the wrist, an elbow strike to the solar plexus, and he dropped to his knees, gasping.
"Bon voyage." One well-placed punch, and the leader passed out.
Peter stood among the six defeated men, breathing deeply. The operation had been a success, but it was only the first round. He looked at the communicator. "Rook, status on the other groups?"
"Alpha Group — wine importer — was intercepted by Shadow-Step on approach. Lady Karai led the interception. Four hostiles neutralized, no casualties on our side. Bravo Group — safe apartment — found the location empty and left without incident. They are returning to Tombstone's base."
"And Tombstone? Did he react?"
"Our sensors in his building detected significant agitation. He is personally preparing to leave. It appears the message was received — but not in the way he expected."
Peter felt a chill. If Tombstone was going out personally, it was because he had a contingency plan, or because he was so angry he was about to make a mistake. Both were dangerous.
"Karai," he spoke on the shared channel. "Tombstone is on the move. Keep the team alert, but do not approach him. I'll handle it."
Karai's voice came firm. "Peter, he won't be alone. And he's strong. You can't face him head-on without a strategy."
"I'm not going to face him directly," Peter said, a plan beginning to form. "I'm going to invite him to a conversation. On our territory."
POV Tombstone
The rage I felt was so intense it seemed my veins would explode at any moment. The reports were a string of failures. The Sharks at the transport company, my best mercenaries, annihilated by Spider-Man. The group at the importer ambushed by those Shadow-Step ghosts. And the apartment — empty.
They were hunting me. Taking me apart piece by piece. And worse, they were doing it without killing anyone. It was an insult. They were saying: We're better than you. We can end you, but we choose not to dirty our hands.
No. This was over. If they wanted a war, they'd have one. But on my ground. By my rules.
"Get the car ready," I growled at my driver. "And call the Skulls. All of them."
The Skulls were my last resort. Ex-cons, psychopaths I kept doped up and locked in a basement for special occasions. Cannon fodder, but with a taste for violence that even I found useful.
I was adjusting the reinforced steel knuckles I wear when I intend to personally crush something — or someone — when the lights in my office flickered and went out.
It wasn't a citywide blackout. Just my floor. A second later, the emergency lights came on, casting a sinister red glow.
"What was that?" I snarled, going to the window. The city outside was still shining normally.
On the wall opposite my window, projected from some external source, an image appeared. It was the logo of Shadow-Step Solutions. And below it, a simple message in bold:
"Your war is with us. Come claim it. Coordinates: Docks 41, Brooklyn. Midnight. Come alone, if you have the courage. — The Master."
I almost laughed. The audacity. The stupidity. It was clearly a trap. But it was also a provocation I couldn't ignore. If I didn't show up, I'd look weak. If I went with an army, I'd look afraid.
But I wasn't an idiot.
"Change the plan," I told my lieutenant, a slow smile spreading across my lips. "We're not going to Docks 41. We're going to Docks 39, next door. And the Skulls… they're going to 41. Midnight sharp. Let's see what kind of trap this Shadow-Step has prepared for fresh meat."
Normal POV
Docks 41 were a vast stretch of concrete by the water's edge, lit only by a few broken light poles and the silvery light of the full moon reflecting off the East River. It was the perfect place for an ambush — open space, few hiding spots, multiple escape routes via the water.
Peter was crouched atop a decommissioned crane, watching the area through Meta-Vision. Shadow-Step was positioned, invisible. Karai commanded a group hidden among the containers. Kenji led another on the roof of an abandoned warehouse. Rook was in an elevated position, his Proto-Weapon configured as a precision energy rifle, monitoring everything with his sensors.
They were waiting for Tombstone. But Peter felt uneasy. Something was wrong.
"Rook, any movement on the approaches?"
"Negative, Mr. Parker. The area is abnormally quiet. Too quiet."
That was when the Spider-Sense screamed.
Not a warning of imminent danger, but an alarm of disaster. Of something terribly wrong.
"Karai, abort! It's a—" Peter's voice was cut off by the sound of engines roaring.
Not cars, but speedboats, emerging from the darkness of the river, straight toward the dock. And not one or two. Seven. Each carrying heavily armed men, dressed in dark jackets, their faces hidden behind masks that looked like white skulls.
They disembarked with the speed and ferocity of an amphibious assault, firing before their feet even touched the concrete. They weren't disciplined. They were savage, shooting in all directions, screaming and howling.
Shadow-Step reacted with its usual efficiency, but they were caught off guard. The trap turned against them. Kenji and his team on the roof were immediately targeted by heavy machine-gun fire, forcing them into cover. Karai's group among the containers was quickly flanked by a pack of Skulls that seemed guided by predatory instinct.
"He didn't come," Peter realized, his anger boiling. "He played us. Sent these lunatics in his place."
Peter dove from the crane, landing in the middle of the chaos. His first move was to use Earth Domination. He slammed his foot into the ground, creating a concrete barrier that rose like a wave, knocking down five Skulls charging toward Karai.
"Orderly retreat!" Karai commanded, her voice cutting through the gunfire. She was wielding her sword, deflecting bullets with impossibly fast movements and responding with strikes that left men bleeding but alive — she was still following the non-lethal rule, even under heavy fire.
But the Skulls had no such restrictions. They shot to kill. One Clan member, a younger ninja, took a bullet to the shoulder and fell behind a container.
"Cover!" Peter shouted, firing a web to pull the wounded man to safety. "Rook, I need you to neutralize the machine guns on the right flank!"
"Already on it," Rook's calm voice replied.
ZAP! ZAP! ZAP!
Three silent, precise energy shots struck the machine gunners. They fell, paralyzed. But there were many. Too many.
Peter fought like a demon. His Meta-Vision helped him predict shots, avoid being surrounded. He used Earth Domination to create obstacles, open pits beneath attackers' feet, deflect grenades with jets of gravel. But there were many of them, and their savagery was unpredictable.
He saw Karai, surrounded by three Skulls. She took one down with a kick to the head, disarmed another with a sword strike, but the third aimed a shotgun at her back.
Without thinking, Peter leapt, placing himself between the weapon and Karai. The barrel fired. Peter felt the impact on his crossed arms, excruciating pain even through his superhuman resilience. He dropped to one knee.
"No!" Karai shouted, her voice for the first time filled with panic.
She moved like a hurricane, her sword a blur of steel. The man with the shotgun fell with a deep cut to his arm. She knelt beside Peter. "Are you okay? Idiot! Why did you do that?"
"Rule number one," Peter replied, grunting in pain as he stood. "Nobody dies today. Especially you."
The fight was turning against them. Shadow-Step was disciplined, but outnumbered and caught by surprise. The Skulls, though disorganized, had numbers and relentless fury.
From the shadow between two warehouses, a colossal figure emerged. Two and a half meters tall, muscle upon muscle, gray-pink skin, tattered pants. His small red eyes glowed with animal intelligence and inexhaustible rage.
Everyone, for an instant, stopped.
Tombstone.
"Spider!" he roared, his voice making the air vibrate. "Shadow-Step! Game over! I'm going to crush every one of you and throw your pieces into the river!"
He wasn't alone. Behind him came dozens of his most loyal goons, armed with rifles and shotguns.
Tombstone had come, yes. But he'd brought his entire army.
Peter felt an icy knot form in his stomach. They were outnumbered, surrounded, with wounded, and now facing an opponent with superhuman physical strength.
Tombstone's presence dominated the dock. His goons, previously hesitant, now roared in unison, emboldened by their boss's arrival.
Karai was beside Peter in an instant, her sword dripping blood onto the concrete. "Strategy," she whispered, her voice tense. "He came to end this. We can't fight everyone."
Peter took a deep breath, ignoring the throbbing pain in his arms where the shotgun pellets had marked his skin. His mental calculations showed an 87% probability of victory in a direct fight against Tombstone — his superhuman strength and agility, combined with Earth Domination, were an overwhelming advantage. The problem was the remaining 13%: the risk to his team during the fight.
"You and Kenji handle the goons," Peter ordered, his voice steady beneath the mask. "Keep them busy. Keep them away from the wounded. I'll handle the elephant."
"Peter, he's too strong even for you," Karai argued, but Peter was already moving.
Peter smiled. No — he wasn't.
"He's strong. I'm Spider-Man."
Peter stepped forward, placing himself between Shadow-Step and Tombstone's horde. He didn't run. He walked, with deliberate confidence, his feet firm on the cracked concrete.
"Tombstone!" Peter called, his voice echoing across the dock. "I heard you were looking for the 'Master.' Unfortunately, he couldn't make it, but I came to keep you company so you wouldn't feel lonely."
Tombstone let out a guttural laugh. "The insect talks! You think playing with dirt and webs impresses me? I've broken men stronger than you before breakfast!"
He didn't wait for a response. With an explosion of speed terrifying for his size, Tombstone closed the twenty-meter distance in less than two seconds, his massive fist — the size of a paving stone — whistling through the air toward Peter's head.
Peter didn't dodge.
The entire dock seemed to hold its breath. Karai shouted something muffled. Tombstone's goons cheered prematurely.
CRACK!
The sound was like a hammer striking an anvil. Tombstone's fist connected with Peter's open palms, which intercepted the blow centimeters from his face. The impact made the ground quake beneath Peter's feet, cracking the concrete in a spiderweb pattern. The shockwave ripped dust and gravel from all sides.
But Peter didn't move an inch backward.
Tombstone blinked, his red eyes narrowing in confusion. No one — no one — simply stopped one of his punches.
"Guess you skipped breakfast today," Peter said, his voice strained but still tinged with mockery.
With a fluid motion, Peter twisted his wrists, deflecting the colossal fist aside. At the same time, he kicked Tombstone's foot, targeting the Achilles tendon. It was a blow that would have shattered the bone of an ordinary man. On Tombstone, it merely made him stagger back a step, growling in pain and surprise.
The battle truly began.
Tombstone attacked with a barrage of brutal blows — punches, elbows, knee strikes — each capable of pulverizing steel. Peter avoided, deflected, or blocked them, his spider agility and Meta-Vision making the villain's massive movements predictable. He was a hurricane around a mountain.
But Peter wasn't just defending. Every block was an opportunity. When Tombstone tried to grab him, Peter used Earth Domination to make the concrete beneath the villain's feet slick as ice, throwing him off balance. When Tombstone lifted a broken crane piece to use as a club, Peter extended his hand and the metal disintegrated into iron sand, blown away by the river wind.
"Stop playing, insect!" Tombstone roared, increasingly frustrated. He launched himself in a blind charge, trying to smash Peter against a container.
Peter waited until the last second, then leapt, spinning in the air. Instead of just escaping, he used the momentum to kick the side of Tombstone's knee with full force.
CRUNCH.
The sound of ligaments being pushed to their limit echoed. Tombstone dropped to one knee, a roar of pain and fury escaping his lips. He tried to grab Peter's leg, but the hero was already out of reach, landing silently a few meters away.
Meanwhile, the battle around them raged. Karai and Kenji led Shadow-Step with deadly efficiency. They didn't kill, but they were relentless. Ninjas emerged from the shadows to disarm goons with precise strikes. Sonic concussion grenades were used to disorient larger groups. Rook, from his elevated perch, was a silent angel of death, his paralyzing energy darts dropping shooters and squad leaders.
But the numbers were still high. A group of goons, seeing their boss fighting, tried to flank Peter, opening fire. Peter, without taking his eyes off Tombstone, raised one hand. The asphalt between him and the shooters rose into an instant wall, blocking the bullets.
"You see, Tombstone?" Peter said, his voice now cold, without jokes. "You're not just fighting me. You're fighting the terrain itself. The city. It doesn't want you here."
Tombstone stood up, his knee grinding but functional. The rage in his eyes had turned into something more dangerous: calculated hatred. He realized he couldn't beat Peter in a fair fight. But he didn't have to.
His gaze swept the dock, landing on Karai fighting two large goons. A cruel smile spread across his face.
"Fine, Spider. You're strong. Let's see how strong you are when your team starts dying."
He didn't attack Peter again. Instead, he grabbed a half-meter steel rebar from the ground and, with a desperate surge of strength, hurled it like a giant dart — not at Peter, but toward Kenji, who was distracted holding off three goons at once.
"KENJI!" Peter shouted.
Time slowed. Peter's Meta-Vision calculated the trajectory. Kenji wouldn't see it in time. Karai was too far. Rook had no angle.
The rebar whistled through the air, a deadly gray line against the night sky. The destination was clear: Kenji's chest.
Peter acted with a speed that defied physics and even thought itself. There was no time for webs, no time for a complex Earth Domination maneuver. It was pure instinct, amplified by desperation and the power now flowing through his veins like a second heart.
He stomped.
It wasn't a step. It was a tectonic strike, an assertion of will over physical reality. His right foot hit the concrete, and the ground between him and the rebar's path leapt. It didn't rise like a wall, but exploded upward into a compact, dense column of earth, gravel, and fused asphalt, like a geyser.
CRAAAACK!
The rebar struck the rising column and deflected with a twisted-metal shriek, ricocheting away and falling harmlessly into the river. The column of earth, having served its purpose, collapsed into a pile of rubble.
The silence that followed was brief, but absolute. Even the Skulls, in their frenzied fury, paused for a fraction of a second, witnessing the impossible.
Kenji, saved, stumbled back, his eyes behind the mask wide with shock. He nodded quickly to Peter, a gesture of deep gratitude, before turning his attention back to the retreating goons, now terrified.
"So that's it?" Tombstone snarled, his voice lower, more dangerous. "You think a pile of dirt scares me?"
"It should," Peter replied, his voice now an icy current. The effort of creating the column so quickly had drained a significant amount of his Chi, but anger fueled him. "Because this time, I'm not holding back."
Tombstone charged again, this time aiming for Peter, who was still recovering. But Peter wasn't helpless. He was furious.
When Tombstone reached within a meter, raising both fists for a crushing hammer blow, Peter looked up. His eyes, for an instant, glowed with an intense brown-gold hue.
He didn't raise his hands to defend. He slammed them into the ground.
BOOOOOOM.
A three-meter-wide crater opened beneath Tombstone's feet. But it wasn't an empty hole. From its edges, tentacles of concrete, rebar, and compacted earth erupted, wrapping around the villain's legs, arms, and torso with the force of a hydraulic press. Tombstone screamed, not in pain, but in impotent rage, as he was dragged down, buried up to his chest in concrete that rapidly solidified around him, trapping him like a fly in amber.
He was immobilized.
Peter stood up, staggering, gasping. The final effort had drained his last reserves of Chi. He felt like he could pass out at any moment.
Tombstone's goons, seeing their boss trapped and defeated, their morale shattered, began to retreat. Fury gave way to fear. Some dropped their weapons and fled. Others were knocked out by Shadow-Step, who now dominated the field.
Peter walked over to the buried Tombstone. The villain struggled, his monumental muscles tensing against the stone, slowly cracking it. He would escape in minutes.
"It's just… inanimate… matter!" Tombstone snarled, spitting chunks of concrete.
"Sure," Peter whispered, his voice weak but clear. "Tell yourself that until you believe it."
"This… isn't over," Tombstone growled, spitting blood. "You lock me up, I get out. You hand me over, I buy the judge. That's how it works."
Spider-Man looked at him in silence. "Maybe… for now it really does work that way. But it's going to change. I'll make it change."
That was when a sound cut through the air — the distant but rapidly approaching wail of SWAT sirens. Many sirens. The noisy battle had finally drawn the full attention of the authorities.
Peter looked at Karai. She was already giving orders. "Disappear! Take the wounded!"
Shadow-Step began to vanish into the shadows, dragging their wounded and some of the more important goons as prisoners. They would leave Tombstone and most of his men for the police, along with a digital gift sent anonymously.
Tombstone saw his chance. With a final roar of superhuman effort, his muscles bulged. The concrete restraints around his torso cracked with a loud snap. He wasn't completely free, but he managed to tear one arm loose.
Instead of attacking Spider-Man, he used the free arm to propel himself backward, breaking more concrete. With one last furious look at Peter, he turned and ran — or rather, limped — toward the edge of the dock, where one of the Skulls' speedboats was still floating.
"He's escaping!" Kenji shouted, ready to pursue.
"Let him go," Peter ordered, his voice heavy with final exhaustion.
"Peter, he'll rebuild!" Karai argued, reaching his side.
"Wouldn't be the first time," Peter said, watching the colossal figure jump into the boat and disappear into the river's darkness as the sirens drew closer. "But he lost today. Lost troops, money, prestige. And he knows we know he bleeds. Running today isn't victory. It's survival. And now, he's the one being hunted."
Peter felt his legs weaken. The physical and mental exhaustion, the Chi drain, the stress of battle — it all hit at once. He staggered, and Karai grabbed his arm, keeping him from falling.
"You're a mess," she murmured, but her tone was concern, not criticism.
"Mission… accomplished," Peter panted, a weak smile under the mask.
[Ding! Critical Mission "The Dockside Ambush" Completed!]
[Objectives: Protect Shadow-Step (Completed). Avoid fatal casualties (Completed — 3 seriously injured, but stable).]
[Reward: 200 GP added.]
[Current Total: 223 GP]
[Earth Domination Proficiency: Intermediate (22%)]
[Meta-Vision Proficiency: Novice (65%)]
[Synergy Level with Karai increased to 45%!]
Blue and red SWAT lights began to flood the dock entrance. It was time to leave.
"Let's go," Karai said, helping Peter to his feet. "We have a report to file and a bunch of ninjas with bruised egos to deal with. Your lesson in humility for Tombstone was expensive, Peter."
Peter let out a weak laugh, leaning on her as Rook approached, offering support on the other side. "No pain, no gain, Karai. No pain, no gain."
A Few Hours Later
The Web
The warehouse was silent, but an energy of triumphant exhaustion hung in the air. The wounded were being treated with medical kits, their injuries handled one by one. The others rested, cleaned equipment, or gave reports in low voices.
Peter, without the mask, was at his bench in the underground level, holding a cup of tea that Akari had insisted he drink. Rook analyzed data on a screen, while Karai, arms crossed, watched the final reports.
"The press is already calling it 'the Fall of Tombstone,'" she remarked, a satisfied smile on her lips. "The police found the evidence we planted—and a few more pieces we 'accidentally' left behind. He won't see the light of day for a long time."
"And the Sharks? And the crazies with skull paint?" Peter asked.
"Arrested, injured, or on the run. Without leadership, they'll disintegrate. His territory is already being contested by the Maggia and smaller gangs, but… that's a problem for another day."
Peter nodded, taking a sip of the hot tea. The system glowed in his peripheral vision.
Peter nodded, taking a sip of the hot tea. The system glowed in his peripheral vision.
[Current GP: 223]
[Progress to Level 3: 50/1000]
He had resources. He had points. He had a loyal and powerful team. Tombstone was finished—for now—but New York was never without monsters. Daredevil was still out there, watching. Kingpin had probably already heard the news and was recalculating. Not to mention the Maggia and other criminal organizations that might try to go after Tombstone's territory.
But for now, for this night, they had won.