The monastery courtyard had become a war zone.
Thunderclouds churned overhead, shot through with veins of shadow and celestial energy. Lightning cracked between earth and sky. The air itself seemed alive, charged with power that made every hair stand on end.
Thor caught a stone pillar the size of a speeder mid-flight, muscles straining as he redirected its momentum. With a roar, he hurled it back at the Son hard enough to shatter it into a dozen pieces.
Anakin was ready. His hand snapped out, the Force gathering the fragments and accelerating them like a scatter-shot cannon. The improvised projectiles hammered into the Son from three angles at once.
The dark god staggered backward—
—directly into Vision's path.
The Mind Stone flared. A beam of concentrated energy struck the Son square in the chest, launching him across the courtyard. He twisted mid-flight, trying to recover, but the ground was already rushing up to meet him.
T'Challa hit him before he landed.
The Black Panther moved like poetry written in violence. He'd been sprinting the moment Vision fired, building momentum, calculating angles. His body coiled and released in a devastating spinning kick that caught the Son across the jaw with the full kinetic force of Wakanda's protector behind it.
The Son crashed into the ground hard enough to crack stone.
But gods don't stay down.
His form rippled, shifted. Flesh became membrane, arms became wings. The bat-creature launched itself skyward with a shriek that rattled teeth, massive wings beating once to gain altitude.
Then those wings snapped down with hurricane force.
T'Challa went airborne—not by choice. He twisted in mid-flight, already planning his landing, when Vision materialized beside him. Vibranium-clad fingers found purchase on the android's arm.
Vision slowed their descent, setting T'Challa down with gentle precision even as his sensors tracked the Son's next move.
The dark god dove, claws extended, aiming for Vision's exposed back—
The snap-hiss of a lightsaber igniting cut through the chaos.
Obi-Wan stepped into the Son's path, blue blade rising in a perfect Soresu deflection. Weapon met wing with a screech of energy on matter. The Son's momentum carried him past, but those wing-claws were sharper than they looked, and reinforced with dark side energy.
Obi-Wan's danger sense flared. He disengaged, leaping backward with Jedi grace as the Son's second wing carved through the space his head had occupied a heartbeat before.
Thunder announced Thor's arrival.
Mjolnir took the Son in the jaw like the fist of an angry god—which, technically, it was. The impact transformed the Son mid-flight, forcing him back into humanoid form. He tumbled through the air, hit the ground, rolled, and came up—
—with his hands already moving.
Dust rose from the shattered courtyard. Fragments of stone, particles of matter too small to see, all of it swirled toward the Son's outstretched palms. The debris condensed, compacted, rearranged itself at the molecular level.
When his hands came together, he held a scythe.
The weapon was wrong. Too dark, like it had been carved from solidified shadow. Red and black energy pulsed along its edge, hungry and cruel.
"Whoa!" Anakin threw himself into a roll as the scythe whistled overhead. "Okay, that's just excessive!"
Vision phased, letting the return swing pass harmlessly through his intangible form. "Anakin, he's outnumbered five to one. We have the advantage."
"Tell him that!" Anakin called back.
Because the Son was already moving again, reshaping his weapon even as he engaged. The scythe's blade retracted, the handle thickened. In seconds, he wielded a double-sided weapon—mace on one end, sword on the other.
The mace crashed toward Thor's skull. The God of Thunder caught it on Mjolnir, lightning crackling at the point of impact.
The sword thrust toward T'Challa's chest. The Black Panther twisted, letting Vibranium weave catch and deflect the blow, but he felt the impact resonate through his suit. Vibranium was nearly indestructible.
Nearly.
The Son was a god. His weapons could manipulate matter at the molecular level, create forces that bypassed conventional physics. Even Vibranium had limits.
The weapon spun. Each rotation generated flames—black and red fire that grew hotter and larger with every pass. When the Son slammed the mace down, the impact created a shockwave and an explosion of hungry fire that spread across the courtyard like napalm.
"How is he doing this?" Obi-Wan stood at Thor's back, lightsaber raised against the flames, genuine confusion in his voice.
Thor grinned, showing teeth. "Celestial beings, Jedi. They exist beyond mortal limitations." Mjolnir hummed in his grip, gathering charge. "They can reshape reality itself, given enough will."
"Great," Anakin muttered, throwing up a Force barrier around himself and T'Challa. The flames crashed against invisible walls, seeking weakness, finding none. "So how do we beat him?"
"Hit him harder than he hits us." Thor's grin widened. He raised Mjolnir skyward. Lightning answered, a column of pure electrical fury that he channeled through his hammer directly at the Son.
The dark god's scream was satisfying.
He hunched over, wings curling protectively, smoke rising from scorched flesh. For just a moment, he was vulnerable.
The flames died.
Anakin and T'Challa burst from cover, already moving to capitalize on the opening.
But the Son was far from finished. He leaped skyward, weapon still blazing, spinning like a dark star. His trajectory carried him toward the nearest target—
Obi-Wan raised his lightsaber, settling into a defensive stance.
The weapons met with a sound like a thunderclap. The Jedi Master's feet skidded backward across stone, leaving shallow furrows. His arms trembled from the impact, but his guard held.
Vision dove from above, Mind Stone already firing. The beam caught the Son full in the face.
He fell backward, landed in a crouch, started to rise—
"Incoming!"
Peter's voice rang out cheerfully across the battlefield. A web-line caught the Son across the torso, pinning his arms. Then Peter himself flew in feet-first, both legs extended in a devastating drop-kick that had all his momentum behind it.
The Son went flying.
Ahsoka dropped from the sky like a meteor, lightsabers ignited, the Daughter descending beside her with equal grace. Together they struck, combining their Force push into a single overwhelming wave of power.
The Son crashed into the monastery wall hard enough to embed himself in the stone.
He tore free with a roar that shook the foundations.
"Ah, dear sister!" The Son's voice dripped venom. "Have you come to witness the final moments of these insects?"
The Daughter's expression was pain given form. "No, brother. I've come to end your madness." She stepped forward, one hand extended in supplication. "Please. It's not too late. Come back to us."
"Your words," the Son spat, "mean nothing."
His hands thrust forward. The lightning and shadow matter swirling around him lunged at the Daughter like living serpents—
And veered away at the last instant, slamming into Mjolnir instead.
Thor stood between the Daughter and her brother, hammer raised, expression carved from stone. "Did you forget?" His voice was thunder made words. "I am the God of Thunder."
The Son's face twisted with rage. He launched himself skyward, weapon transforming again, becoming a massive blade crackling with red and black energy. The swing came down with enough force to split the earth.
Everyone scattered. Rolling, leaping, phasing—whatever it took to avoid being bisected. But the blade didn't stop at one swing. More manifested, tearing into reality from nothingness itself, a storm of cutting edges that forced them all into desperate defense.
"He's never fought this hard before!" Peter called out, web-swinging between deadly arcs.
The young Avenger fired web-lines at the Son, trying to bind him, slow him down, create an opening. The webs stuck—briefly—before the Son's blade carved through them like tissue paper.
But Peter hadn't been trying to hold him.
The web-lines went taut. The Son felt himself being pulled, yanked forward by—
No. Wait.
Peter was the one moving. The webs retracted with incredible force, launching him at the Son like a missile. At the last possible second, Peter twisted, both legs swinging around in a helicopter kick that caught the dark god across the temple.
The Son's retaliatory swing would have taken Peter's head off.
Peter bent backward in an impossible arch, the blade passing millimeters from his face, and landed in a perfect backflip.
He came up in a fighting stance—and that's when things got weird.
Long, sinuous tendrils erupted from his black suit. They moved like living things, whipping through the air with predatory intent. At range, they lashed at the Son like barbed whips. Up close, they coalesced, hardened, became a blade that met the Son's weapon in a shower of sparks.
Peter stared at his own arm.
"Okay, when did I learn to do this?" His voice cracked with shock and—was that excitement? "This is so cool!"
Ahsoka sprinted toward him, lightsabers lowered. "Peter, was that your suit?" Her eyes were wide, montrals twitching as she watched the black material writhe and shift across his frame like it was alive.
Before Peter could formulate an answer—because honestly, he didn't have one—the Son's shriek cut through the battlefield.
"You THIEF!" The dark god's fury was incandescent. He abandoned all other opponents, charging directly at Peter and Ahsoka. "Where did you get that symbiote?!"
"Symbiote?" Peter backpedaled, tendrils whipping out to parry the Son's strikes. "You mean this black goo thing?"
"What's going on?" Peter muttered to himself, still trying to process—
Pain exploded through his arm.
He'd forgotten, just for a second, that he was in combat. The Son's claws raked across his forearm, cutting through suit and skin. Peter gasped, stumbling backward.
"Stay away from him!"
Ahsoka's Force push hit like a battering ram. The Son flew backward, airborne for three full seconds before crashing into rubble. She positioned herself between Peter and the threat, both sabers raised in a protective stance.
Neither of them noticed the faint white light flickering in her left palm.
Peter recovered quickly, his usual bravado returning. "Hey, uh, ghost-dude!" He called out to the Son. "Just want to point out—your tower's security? Terrible. Like, really bad. I'm pretty sure I could've walked in with a marching band and nobody would've noticed."
The Son's eyes went black, voids where pupils should be. "How dare you." He appeared in front of Peter in a blink, one hand closing around the young hero's throat, lifting him off the ground. Their faces were inches apart. "You have no idea what you've taken, Earthling."
But Peter Parker was no ordinary teenager.
His fist came up with all the force his enhanced strength could muster. The impact on the Son's jaw sounded like a bell being struck—deep, resonant, wrong.
The Son's grip loosened. Just for a moment.
Peter drove his knee into the dark god's stomach, twisted free, and—
The Son hurled him bodily across the courtyard.
Peter's trajectory carried him toward the monastery wall. At this speed, at this angle, the impact would—
Four tendrils erupted from his back, thick and strong as steel cables. They punched into the wall, absorbed the momentum, held him suspended three meters from a fatal collision.
Peter's white lenses narrowed behind his mask. When he spoke, all humor was gone.
"Okay. Now I'm taking this seriously."
The tendrils retracted with violent speed. Peter shot forward like a human cannonball, knees driving toward the Son's face with enough force to shatter bone.
"Peter!" Obi-Wan's voice was sharp, commanding. "What did you take from the Son's tower?" He watched the symbiote writhe across the young hero's frame, every Jedi instinct screaming warnings. "What is that thing?"
"Later, Obi-Wan!" Anakin called out, already moving. He, Ahsoka, and Vision converged on the Son from three angles, coordinating their assault without needing words.
The Son tumbled through the air, arrested his momentum with a thought, and spread his arms wide.
Matter answered his call. Dust, stone, shadow, light—all of it began to orbit him, building, gathering, preparing for something catastrophic.
Thor struck first. Mjolnir blazed with lightning as he charged, god meeting god in a thunderous clash. They traded blows too fast to track, power meeting power, until the Son pivoted at the last instant and backhanded Thor with enough force to send even the Asgardian flying.
Anakin was next. The Son's gathered matter coalesced into a sword—gleaming, terrible, eager. Lightsaber met dark-side blade in a cascade of sparks. Anakin pushed, poured his strength into the defense, but the Son's power was immense.
The blue blade went flying from Anakin's grip.
Clawed fingers caught the hem of Anakin's robes, hauled him close.
"Fool," the Son hissed. "If you had joined me, we could have saved this galaxy. Brought true balance to the Force."
Anakin met his gaze, lips curling in a sardonic smile. "Join you? Get trapped here forever like you?" He actually laughed. "Thanks, but I'll pass."
Rage flooded the Son's features.
Sith lightning erupted from his body in a sphere of purple-white agony. Anakin flew backward, trailing smoke, crashing into the rubble of his earlier impact.
"Master!"
"Anakin!"
Multiple voices shouted in alarm. Several figures moved to help, to reach him, to pull him from danger—
The Son raised both hands.
Lightning detonated outward in a perfect dome. It didn't dissipate—it held, crackling and writhing, a barrier of pure electrical fury that surrounded a twenty-meter radius with the Son at its center.
Anyone who came close would be torn apart.