Chapter 6: The Final Struggle
Spider-Man's reflexes were as fast as ever.
Even after being impaled, the moment his body regained control, he reacted instinctively—his hand chopping down to snap off the blade lodged in his chest. Then, with a desperate kick, he sent Marcus flying backward to create distance between them.
Both of them were at their limit. The brutal exchange had drained every ounce of their strength. The two collapsed almost simultaneously, crashing down into the alley below and hitting the ground with bone-jarring force.
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[Your Gunslinger strike dealt 574 physical damage (57% total HP). Critical hit to the heart. Target suffers from severe internal bleeding, cardiac failure, and systemic collapse.]
[Warning: Remaining bio-energy below 10%.]
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Marcus could barely stay conscious. That single supersonic thrust had consumed almost all his remaining energy—nearly ten percent in one blow.
It had worked. The attack was a direct hit, devastatingly effective. But the exhaustion afterward was overwhelming. The hunger that had gnawed at him before now turned into dizzying vertigo. His vision swam. If he so much as closed his eyes, he knew he'd pass out.
Across from him, through the haze of dust stirred by their fall, Spider-Man staggered to his feet. The broken shard of Marcus's blade was still embedded deep in his chest, the wound bleeding heavily. Each breath came in shallow, painful gasps.
He tried to speak—only for blood to bubble up his throat instead.
"Cough—hah... this is... not good..." He spat out another mouthful of blood. "Really not... good..."
He reached trembling fingers toward the embedded blade, but even the faintest touch sent fresh blood spurting out. The weapon had pierced straight through his heart. Every heartbeat drove the edge deeper, tearing his life away with every second.
Finally, he gave up, hands dropping weakly to his sides.
"I'll end your pain, spiderman—wait, what the...?"
Marcus tried to stand and finish it, but his body refused to move. He looked down—and his expression darkened.
He had fallen right beside the massive web cocoon from earlier. Layers of sticky webbing clung to his arms, his legs, even his torso. The strands held him fast, tightening with every twitch.
He was completely ensnared.
The webbing was so thick and adhesive it felt like being caught in industrial glue. Marcus could move only enough to realize how utterly trapped he was.
From across the alley, a hoarse, blood-choked laugh reached him.
"Cough... h-heh... looks like... I win after all."
So that was it.
That final kick Spider-Man had thrown—it hadn't been random. Even as the blade pierced his heart, he had aimed for the web cocoon, deliberately sending Marcus crashing into it.
Even on the brink of death, Spider-Man had kept his mind sharp enough to set a trap.
Marcus couldn't help but admit it—this hero truly lived up to his name.
Under normal circumstances, anyone caught in Spider-Man's web was finished. The tensile strength of the fibers was legendary; the adhesive power unmatched.
Breaking free was practically impossible.
You could tear your skin off trying to escape, and you still wouldn't get loose. And Marcus wasn't just stuck—he was wrapped. The webs covered him from head to toe, binding him like a fly in a spider's lair.
But Marcus Vale was no ordinary prey.
In Spider-Man's fading vision, something began to glint.
Marcus's entire body shimmered silver—his skin turning metallic, forming a thin, smooth membrane that stretched tight across his frame. Every strand of web adhered to that surface.
Then, with a sickening rip, he shed it.
The metallic layer peeled away from his body like a second skin, leaving behind a hollow, man-shaped shell stuck to the web cocoon.
The real Marcus emerged from within—reborn.
It was like watching a serpent shed its skin, emerging renewed and whole once more.
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Even through his pain, Spider-Man couldn't help himself. "What are you... the T-1000 now? Cough—that's... cheating..."
Marcus smirked faintly. "No. Just biology. I turned my skin into a metallic membrane, shed it, then regenerated new tissue underneath. Robots can't do that."
He stepped closer, his right arm reshaping into a gleaming claw once again. Each step echoed against the alley walls like a death knell.
Spider-Man could barely stay upright, his hand clutching at his chest as if he could somehow hold his heart together. The zombie virus slumbering inside him still hadn't activated—his mutant DNA continued to resist it.
Marcus didn't care. Soon, the virus wouldn't need to infect him.
Soon, Peter Parker would be nothing more than another corpse.
Mercy had no place in Marcus's world anymore.
To fulfill the system's command—to infect ninety-nine percent of humanity—he would need to kill billions. A single life, even that of a hero, meant nothing.
He raised his claw, the polished metal gleaming red in the flickering streetlight.
Spider-Man coughed weakly, muttering between ragged breaths, "Ah... figures... just another day for me... happens all the time... give me... two or three minutes... I'll think of something..."
Marcus sighed, stepping in close, ready to deliver the final strike.
The claw descended—
And at that instant, Spider-Man's willpower flared one last time.
He fired a web, the line shooting past Marcus's head and anchoring to a streetlight beyond the alley. With what strength remained, he yanked hard, his body rocketing forward and out of the alley's mouth—barely escaping the fatal blow.
He slammed into a parked car with a deafening crash, denting the door and shattering the window.
The noise drew immediate attention. Pedestrians turned, gasping at the sight of the battered superhero slumped against the car, blood dripping from his suit.
Phones came out. Cameras clicked. Some screamed. Others froze.
Spider-Man managed a shaky grin, pressing a hand to his wound.
"Hey... someone... call 911... would you?" he rasped weakly. "I've got... a little knife problem."
Moments later, Marcus emerged from the shadows of the alley.
To conceal his identity, he reshaped his face into a smooth, featureless silver mask. Under the dim lights, he looked like a faceless phantom—a living weapon.
The crowd's confusion turned to panic. People screamed and scattered like frightened birds. A few unfortunate souls caught a glimpse of the carnage inside the alley—blood, limbs, and torn flesh—and fled in horror, retching as they ran.
Marcus stopped beside the wrecked car.
He pressed one foot against Spider-Man's chest, pinning him to the dented door.
"It's over, spiderman."
Raising his claw once more, Marcus brought it down—aimed straight at Spider-Man's throat.