Marcus's surprise uppercut should have been perfect.
Unfortunately, Spider-Man's uncanny sixth sense—his infamous Spider-Sense—saved him once again.
The young hero bent backward at an impossible angle, flipping several times through the air like a gymnast before landing safely a few meters away. He rubbed his chin playfully, pretending to wince.
"Yikes! That was close, man. Just a few centimeters more and you'd have ruined my beautiful jawline. That's my best feature, you know."
Marcus brushed the dust off his clothes, expressionless. "Didn't anyone ever tell you not to talk so much during a fight?"
"Oh, plenty of people," Spider-Man replied casually, stretching his neck. "Most of them are in jail now, though."
Marcus sighed. 'So, the rumors were true—Spider-Man's greatest weapon is his mouth.'
[Warning: Remaining bio-energy below 50%.]
The system prompt made Marcus's stomach twist with hunger.
Every ability—his metal transformation, his regeneration, his weapon morphing—all consumed bio-energy as fuel. If the energy ran dry, so would his life.
The real problem, however, wasn't the energy. It was Spider-Man himself.
No matter what Marcus tried, he couldn't find a way to land a decisive blow.
That cursed Spider-Sense made sneak attacks useless, slow attacks useless, even illusions or distractions useless.
Theoretically, only two methods could hurt him:
1. A massive, unavoidable attack that left Spider-Man no room to dodge.
2. An ultra-fast strike that hit before his reflexes could react.
Marcus decided to test the first option.
"Come on, metal man," Spider-Man called, already running up the side of a nearby building. "This time I'm wrapping you up and hanging you upside down!"
He intended to repeat his earlier web-cocoon trick—smart, since Marcus clearly had no ranged attacks. As long as he kept his distance, the win was guaranteed.
But Marcus knew his weakness as well as Spider-Man did.
He immediately began scaling the wall, too—but unlike the wall-crawling hero, his method was brute force.
His feet transformed into sharp, metallic hooks that stabbed into the wall like climbing picks. He used raw strength to propel himself upward, bouncing between the two buildings as chunks of brick and dust crumbled under his feet.
It wasn't elegant, but it worked.
By sheer momentum, Marcus reached the rooftop first. Then, channeling gravity and muscle power, he launched himself downward toward Spider-Man like a silver missile.
Spider-Man didn't seem concerned. In Chapter 4: The Virus Fails, he looked bored. The fight had gone on long enough for the overconfident young hero to grow careless.
"Don't waste your energy, man. You can't hit me."
"Maybe. But let's find out."
Marcus's arms shimmered, morphing into two long, silver blades. Metallic spikes sprouted from his elbows, shoulders, and knees—every joint bristling with sharp edges until he resembled a human hedgehog made of steel.
He kicked off the air with a burst of power, spinning rapidly.
The blades blurred together into a vortex of steel—an unstoppable whirling storm that sliced through the air as Marcus spun past Spider-Man in a deadly spiral.
He landed heavily, smashing into the pavement and leaving a half-meter crater beneath him. Dust rose around his figure as he straightened, breathing hard. A faint streak of blood glistened on his right shoulder.
Then came the system's message—mocking him.
[Your Blade Vortex dealt minor damage to Spider-Man (less than 1% total HP). Target is lightly bleeding.]
[Virus Touch activated. Target: Spider-Man. Zombie Virus successfully injected...]
[Warning: Host possesses mutated DNA. Virus rejected. Tissue assimilation failed. Virus entering dormant state.]
[Dormant virus will reactivate if target becomes weakened or dies.]
---
Marcus looked up. Spider-Man stood a few meters away, hand over his chest. His suit had a small tear—no longer than three centimeters—and beneath it, a shallow cut. Barely a scratch.
"Okay, okay, you got me," he admitted, still cracking jokes. "It's not serious, but wow, that stings!"
Marcus couldn't help himself. "You're a superhero. Try acting like one."
The two exchanged a tense look, yet oddly, both had begun to adapt to each other's rhythm—the deadly seriousness mixed with Spider-Man's relentless chatter.
Marcus analyzed the situation grimly.
Good news: Spider-Man could be hit. The virus had entered his body.
Bad news: The infection was dormant. It wouldn't activate unless he was near death.
Which meant there was only one way forward—Plan B.
The ultra-fast attack.
But how fast did it need to be?
Spider-Man could dodge bullets with ease. A typical handgun bullet traveled around 900 meters per second—nearly the speed of sound. So to strike him, Marcus would need to move faster than that.
Impossible with normal movement. He couldn't run fast enough, jump high enough, or swing hard enough. And with his stamina waning, even retreat was out of the question.
He either killed Spider-Man here and now—or got captured and locked away for years.
There was no third option.
As Marcus reformed his arm into a blade again, he noticed something new: the metal could extend.
The length of the blade changed freely, stretching like liquid silver whenever he willed it to—at the cost of more bio-energy.
His eyes widened slightly. That might work.
A memory flashed through his mind—an anime technique he'd seen once. A move that relied not on raw speed, but on reach and timing.
---
Spider-Man began scaling another building, clearly intending to repeat his webbing trap. It was a smart plan—Marcus would exhaust himself trying to chase him every time.
The truth was, Spider-Man barely seemed tired. His breath was steady, his movements smooth. The webbing hardly consumed his stamina.
Marcus, on the other hand, was running on fumes. His bio-energy was dwindling fast.
"This climb…" he muttered, staring upward, "is my last shot."
If he failed this time, he'd have no energy left to fight—or even run.
Everything—victory, survival, and the fate of his mission—would come down to this single strike.