The docks rattled with Roughhouse's muffled bellows beneath the collapsed container, but Peter barely registered the sound. His focus was locked on the pale monster dragging himself upright from the dented gantry. Bloodscream's eyes glowed a faint, hungry red in the dark, and his lips curled back to reveal teeth far too sharp to be human.
Peter set his stance, jacket sleeves flexing as he tapped the discs tucked against his forearms. Don't let him touch you. That's the only rule.
Bloodscream hissed, shoulders rolling with unnatural ease. "Your blood burns. I will taste it."
"Sorry," Ricochet drawled, pitching his voice into that fast-talking crook persona. "But I'm not on the menu tonight."
The vampire lunged.
Claws scythed through the air where Peter's throat had been a heartbeat earlier. He dropped low, rolling across oil-stained planks, and came up spinning a disc into his palm. With a snap of his wrist, it pinged off a steel girder, then banked hard, clipping Bloodscream's temple with a metallic crack.
The pale figure staggered, but didn't falter. His grin widened, too many teeth flashing in the shadows, and he rushed again—faster than most eyes could follow.
Spider-sense screamed. Peter twisted, jacket sleeve shredding open as talons grazed the fabric but missed skin by inches.
Bloodscream laughed, cold and hollow. "You run—but you bleed all the same."
Peter backflipped off a container wall, hurling two more discs mid-air. One rebounded off a lamppost, the other skimmed the asphalt. They converged on Bloodscream's chest, striking from opposite sides. The monster jerked, ribs cracking—but before Peter could breathe, the flesh knitted itself smooth again.
'Heals like Wolverine. Fantastic.'
Bloodscream crouched low, claws shrieking sparks from the steel dock as he surged forward. Peter vaulted upward, feet planting briefly on a crane strut. The vampire followed with an inhuman leap, slashing for his ankles. Peter sprang off, flipping over his head, and flung another disc down. It struck between the shoulder blades, knocking Bloodscream headlong into a stack of crates that burst into splinters.
Peter landed, ready—but Bloodscream was already crawling free, his body twisting unnaturally. His jaw stretched, teeth lengthening, claws extending into full talons. Eyes burned crimson in the night.
"You will not leave this dock alive."
Peter forced a grin into Ricochet's persona. "Yeah? Gotta work on your material, Nosferatu. Very Saturday matinee."
The blur came again. Peter barely reacted in time, firing two adhesive discs point-blank. They exploded across Bloodscream's hands again, cocooning the claws in sticky foam. For half a second, the monster hissed, trapped.
Then muscles bulged like knotted cables. The adhesive shredded, spraying gluey chunks across the pier.
Seconds. That's all it buys.
Bloodscream ripped a railing from the dock and hurled it like a spear. Peter ducked, the steel bar missing his head by inches and embedding in a container wall with a boom that rattled his teeth.
Peter countered with a sharp flick—another disc caromed off a crate, struck Bloodscream's knee, then rebounded into his jaw. The monster lurched, snarling, but wounds faded instantly.
He couldn't win trading blows. Peter knew it. Every strike that should've put a man down for the count barely staggered this thing. His strength and stamina weren't infinite, while Bloodscream seemed to never tire, never slow.
The vampire blurred forward, swiping in a frenzy. Peter dodged by a hair, flipping onto a stack of cargo. He kicked downward, boot connecting with Bloodscream's chin, then flipped back out of reach.
Bloodscream howled and slashed sideways. Claws carved through the steel container wall like it was paper, shearing sparks into the night.
"Yeah, great," Peter muttered, ducking behind a post. "Super claws. I get it."
He hurled two discs in quick succession—one low, bouncing off the ground into the vampire's chest, the other ricocheting off a crane's chain to smash into his face. Bloodscream stumbled, growling, but his flesh already smoothed.
Peter snatched up a steel pole, bracing as claws raked against it inches from his chest. Sparks flew, metal shrieking under pressure. With a desperate shove, he twisted, driving the bar into Bloodscream's gut. The monster staggered—but smiled as if amused.
Peter hurled another disc, this one slamming into the crane winch. It exploded in sparks. The cables snapped with an ear-splitting shriek, and the crane arm toppled. The heavy structure came down across Bloodscream's back, smashing him flat against the dock.
Dust billowed, steel groaning.
Peter sagged against a post, chest heaving. "And they say crime doesn't pay."
For a moment, silence. Then the wreckage shifted. Slowly, impossibly, Bloodscream pushed upward, muscles bulging with stolen vitality. Cables strained, metal shrieked, and inch by inch, he rose.
Peter's stomach sank. "Of course. Nothing's ever easy."
Peter didn't wait. He seized the steel beam beside him, swung with every ounce of strength, and cracked it across Bloodscream's skull.
The creature crashed to the dock, spasming, then went still—stunned, for now.
Peter staggered back, chest heaving, sweat dripping inside the mask. His discs were gone. His arms burned. But Bloodscream wasn't moving.
"Stay down," he muttered. "Please."
His comm buzzed. Ethan's voice came cool and steady. "Nicely done. Hopefully, he'll stay stunned for a few minutes. Long enough to call the authorities."
Ricochet pulled the mask aside just enough to breathe. "These guys are too much for regular cops. They'll never hold him."
"Correct," Ethan said. "Call Fury. SHIELD has containment protocols for superhumans."
Peter froze. "Fury? You want me to hand my new identity straight into his hands?"
"He'll collect the two, not you," Ethan replied. "Make the call as Spider-Man, then walk away. I'll scrub every trace of surveillance. No one will tie Ricochet back to you."
Peter hesitated, looking at Bloodscream twitching on the dock, Roughhouse still roaring beneath the container. "Fury's not the kind of guy to forget a new mask. He'll keep Ricochet on file. And someday he'll use that against me."
"That's possible," Ethan said smoothly. "But less dangerous than letting those two vanish back into the underworld. Do it. Then relax—I'll handle the cleanup. Trust me."
Peter rubbed his face beneath the mask, a bitter laugh escaping. "Fine. You're a capable and scary kid, you know that?"
On the other end, Ethan chuckled. "Scary works. But don't forget—we're on the same side."
Peter sighed, pulled his phone, and dialed.