[3rd Person]
Raptor lunged, his new jaw configuration allowing for a wider, faster bite. He aimed for Spider-Man's web line.
Spider-Man reacted instantly, swinging away with a gasp. "Whoa! Okay, new rule! No biting! Especially not with the… the mouth knives! That's just unsanitary!"
The sight of the monstrous jaws seemed to galvanize Spider-Man. The jokes didn't stop, but they had a sharper edge, a slight tremor of genuine unease beneath them. He started using his webs differently. Not just for movement or small restraints, but thicker, faster, aimed at binding.
Raptor, fueled by desperation and the monstrous enhancement, pressed the attack. He snapped and lunged, his speed terrifying, his strength capable of tearing through metal scaffolding. Spider-Man dodged, weaved, shot webs with rapid-fire precision.
He webbed Raptor's legs together mid-pounce. Raptor tore through it with a snarl, but it slowed him for a vital second. Spider-Man webbed his arms to his sides. Raptor strained, felt the webbing stretch, then snap with a burst of strength.
"Man, you are tough to web!" Spider-Man said, sounding genuinely impressed.
Spider-Man changed tactics again. Instead of small, targeted shots, he started spraying thick webs in wide arcs. He moved around Raptor, creating a perimeter of sticky obstacles.
Raptor smashed through the webbing, but each time it clung, slowed him down, requiring a moment of brute force to break free. His enhanced strength was great, but the sheer volume and stickiness were overwhelming.
Spider-Man noticed Raptor's healing could only fix damaged tissue, not instantly clean off pounds of super-adhesive gunk. He saw his opening.
Raptor charged, jaws bared, aiming for Spider-Man who stood on a large, flat concrete slab. Spider-Man waited until the last possible second, then vaulted straight up, shooting a massive, continuous stream of webbing downwards.
The webbing hit Raptor square in the chest, then his legs, then his arms, wrapping around him faster than he could react. It wasn't just one or two strands; it was a tidal wave of sticky, elastic material, coating him head to toe.
Raptor hit the concrete slab, momentum carrying him forward, but the webbing anchored him. He thrashed, straining against the restraints, his muscles bulging, his enhanced strength pushing the elastic limits of the webbing to their breaking point. But Spider-Man kept adding more, layer upon layer, reinforcing it until Raptor was encased in a thick, rapidly hardening cocoon.
He roared, the sound muffled by the webbing, the monstrous jaws useless now that he couldn't move them freely. He felt bones groan under the strain, ligaments stretch, but the webbing held. It was too much, too fast, too pervasive. Even his healing couldn't help him escape this physical prison. His struggles weakened, becoming frantic, desperate movements within the increasingly rigid confines.
Finally, exhaustion, or maybe just the sheer futility of it, set in. Raptor lay panting on the concrete, encased from neck to ankle in thick, white webbing, stuck fast to the floor like a fly in a particularly robust web. The monstrous changes in his face began to slowly recede, his features returning to their normal, human appearance, leaving only the dull ache of strained muscles and the residual stickiness.
Spider-Man landed lightly beside him, hovering just out of reach. He gave the webbed form a gentle poke with a gloved finger.
"Well, that was... intense," Spider-Man said, his voice a little breathless, the jokes returning full force now the immediate threat was neutralized. "Seriously, the whole face-changer thing? Not cool. Did you swallow a Cuisinart? Because that's the only explanation I can think of. Or maybe you're just really committed to dental hygiene?"
Raptor didn't respond, couldn't respond beyond ragged breaths. He just stared up at the starry sky visible through the skeletal framework of the building, defeat heavy on him.
"Look, I don't know who you are, or why you thought trying to bite my face off was a good career move," Spider-Man continued, circling him. "But it's not going to work out. You've got some serious powers, though. Like, way more than your average goon. The healing? Wild. Gonna have to make a note of that. Maybe S.H.I.E.L.D. would be interested? Or just the cops with a really, really strong evidence bag."
Spider-Man paused, tilting his head. "You working for someone? You seem a little... unhappy about this whole situation. Not exactly enthusiastic about the whole 'murder Spider-Man' gig."
Raptor remained silent, the humiliation of being utterly defeated by the very person he'd been ordered to kill washing over him. But beneath the humiliation, a different feeling stirred. Relief. He had failed The Rose. But he hadn't failed himself by succeeding at an impossible, pointless murder.
The relief was immediately swallowed by a fresh wave of bone-deep terror. Failing Spider-Man meant being webbed up, maybe prison. Failing The Rose... that meant something far, far worse. The consequences awaited him, inevitable as the sunrise. This was just the intermission.
Spider-Man pulled out a comms device. "Hey, dispatch? Yeah, it's your friendly neighborhood… well, whatever you call me. Got a situation up at the construction site on 48th and Lexington. Got a guy, super strong, super fast, heals like crazy, tried to give me a makeover with his teeth. He's currently… well, he's all wrapped up. Like a late Christmas present. Send someone with extra-duty handcuffs and maybe a hazmat suit, just in case the face thing happens again. Oh, and maybe some industrial-strength webbing cleaner if you have any handy. For the building, not for me. Mostly."
[Raptor]
The sticky threads held fast, stronger than steel cable, pinning me against the cold concrete pillar. A construction site at night – the perfect place for a spider, I guess. I convinced myself that this was the perfect place. Maybe I wanted to fail. The wind howled through the skeletal framework of the unfinished building, carrying dust and the faint sound of sirens in the distance.
"Alright, big guy," a voice zipped from above, light and annoyingly cheerful. It was him. The Spider. Hanging upside down from a web line, mask tilting slightly. "Time to wrap this up. Or, you know, keep you wrapped up. My puns are gold, I swear."
My chest burned. Not just from the fight, but from the raw, constant ache that lived just beneath my ribs. Trapped. Like them.
No.
I wouldn't be trapped. Not again. Not ever.
A low growl rumbled in my throat. He kept talking, some nonsense about my... costume? My powers? I barely heard him. My focus narrowed, zeroing in on the points where the webbing bit into my flesh.
I flexed my forearms, a familiar, unnatural sensation rippling under the skin. Bone shifted, elongated, sharpened. A sickening pop that only I could truly feel, followed by the smooth, hard extensions of honed bone sliding out from beneath my skin, glinting dully in the moonlight. My retractable blades.
"Whoa! Okay, that's a new look. Definitely not regulation safety gear. You know, like, cutting through... uh... my hard work?" Spider-Man's voice lost a fraction of its jocularity. Good.
With a grunt, I brought my reinforced forearms up, pressing the razor-sharp bone against the thick strands of web. It was tough, resilient stuff. But bone, especially this bone, was harder. I sawed, gritting my teeth, the web snapping and tearing with a sound like ripping canvas.
The web finally gave way with a series of pops, and I dropped heavily to the dusty floor, landing in a crouch. Pain lanced through my shoulders, my ribs screamed, but I was free. Free to fight.
"Okay, points for creativity," Spider-Man said, landing lightly a few yards away, his stance coiled and ready. "Seriously though, where'd you get those? Tax deductible?"
Jokes. Always with the jokes. Didn't he understand anything? Didn't he feel the weight of the world? The crushing finality of loss?
I lunged, my boots crunching on scattered rebar. My blades were still extended, gleaming. I swung a wide arc, aiming to cleave through him. He was a blur, dancing out of the way. A web shot zipped past my head, splattering against the pillar behind me.
"Slow down there, stabby!" he yelped. "We can talk this out, you know. Maybe get you some... help?"
Help? The word tasted like ash. Help wouldn't bring them back. Help wouldn't fill the hole in my chest. Revenge was the only thing that felt remotely like purpose now. But even that... it felt hollow, a ghost chase. What was left was this – proving I could endure. Proving that Damon Cole hadn't died with Sarah, with Lily, with Tom. That something survived, something that could fight back against the darkness that had taken everything.
He hit me then. A swift, hard kick to the side, just below my already aching ribs. I staggered back, the sound like a dry twig snapping. I dropped to one knee, gasping, the air stolen from my lungs.
"Hey! Stay down!" he said, his voice now edged with concern instead of mockery. "You're hurt, man. You're bleeding."
Bleeding? Of course I was bleeding.
A flash behind my eyes: Maya's bright, gap-toothed smile. Leo arguing fiercely about dinosaurs. Sarah's hand in mine, warm and comforting.
They're gone.
And I was here. A monster made of grief and bone, fighting a grown man in pajamas. But I was fighting.
That was it. That was the only thing that mattered. I had to keep fighting. For them. To make this monstrous existence mean something. To show them, wherever they were, that their father hadn't just curled up and died.
Pushing through the agony, I forced myself back onto my feet. My vision swam. The world felt unstable. Spider-Man looked smaller, further away.
"This isn't worth it!" he called out, his voice worried now. "Whatever this is, whatever you're doing, it's not worth your life!"
My life? What life? The Rose had taken that. All I had was this desperate, painful fight.
I focused all my remaining strength, ignoring the screaming of my body. I charged, a ragged cry tearing from my throat. Blades leading, a hurricane of pain and fury.
He dodged the first wild swing, but I was relentless, stumbling forward, swinging again, driven by nothing but memory and agony. He had to be quicker. He had to be smarter.
He was.
I saw a split-second flicker of movement, too fast to follow. A heavy impact slammed into the side of my head. Not a kick this time. Something solid, something that vibrated through my skull.
The world tilted violently. My knees buckled. The concrete rushed up to meet me.
Another image: Sarah, tucking in the kids, humming a lullaby.
I fought.
Just before the blackness swallowed me whole, I heard a faint, distant voice. Spider-Man's, maybe? It sounded... sad.
Then, nothing.