Meanwhile, Jameson looked down at Spider-Man still in his arms like a disappointed father at a report card full of Cs.
"Look at you." His voice dripped with the Jameson contempt Peter had been hearing for years. "Beaten up. Costume torn. Pathetic form. I knew I couldn't trust you to handle even a burglary properly. What do you even do all day, Bug? Besides waste the city's money and my time?"
"Jonah," Peter said, surprised to find warmth in his chest that wasn't internal bleeding. "You came? What are you doing here? Don't tell me you actually came for me?" His voice got softer. "Underneath all that bluster and yelling and the editorials about how I'm a menace... there really is love in there, isn't there?"
Jameson's face went through several colors, red, purple, maybe ultraviolet, colors that probably had names Peter didn't know.
"Love?!" Jameson's voice could've shattered glass. "LOVE?!"
He dropped Peter.
Just opened his arms and let him fall.
"ACK!" Peter plummeted twenty feet, flailing like a cat that miscalculated a jump, until a web-line snagged his chest. Gwen caught him, swung him to relatively safe landing on floating debris.
"I DON'T LOVE YOU, YOU MASKED MENACE!" Jameson screamed from above, veins popping in his forehead that looked medically concerning. "I have a PATENT on hating you! I will invest FORTY YEARS of editorial rage into your existence! I have spent DECADES perfecting my contempt! If anyone's going to destroy you, it's ME! Not some knock-off abstract concept in a skirt who thinks he's special because he's got a fancy title!"
Sire Hate, who'd been ignoring them, turned toward the shouting and grey and red energy pulsed with irritation.
"Who," Sire Hate rumbled like an avalanche with personal grievances, "is this mortal? His voice is... irritating."
Jameson slowly turned in air, deliberate and theatrical.
He cracked his knuckles, which sounded like a gunshot even in the war arena.
"Hey, UGLY!" Jameson pointed at Sire Hate like calling him out for a parking violation. "I don't know who you are, don't care what concept you embody, but you're stepping on MY turf! Nobody hates Spider-Man except J. Jonah Jameson! It's in my CONTRACT! My MISSION STATEMENT! I have TRADEMARKED my loathing!"
"I am Sire Hate," the entity boomed, grey energy channeling into his fists like dark lightning. "I am the void between stars. I am the bile in creation's throat. I am the—"
"I DON'T CARE!" Jameson roared over him, cutting off what was probably an impressive speech.
He launched forward.
What followed wasn't a fight, it was violence set to the soundtrack of forty years of pent-up editorial rage, high blood pressure, and missed deadlines.
Jameson hit Sire Hate's chest with a flying tackle that would've made pro wrestlers weep and the impact created a shockwave that rippled across the arena, sound like a nuclear warhead going off inside a bell.
BOOM.
Sire Hate stumbled backward, actually stumbled, feet carving trenches in arena floor and his eyes widened behind grey energy. "This power... where does it come from? Pain? Grief? Did someone kill your loved ones? Did I destroy your homeworld passing by?"
"IT COMES FROM DEADLINES!" Jameson screamed, driving his fist into Sire Hate's jaw and the punch connected with a crack like thunder splitting sky. "IT COMES FROM INCOMPETENT FREELANCERS!"
Another punch, to the ribs, and Sire Hate's armor cracked with a sound like reality giving up.
"IT COMES FROM CITY COUNCIL MEETINGS THAT RUN THREE HOURS LONG!"
Third punch and a tooth flew out, size of a minivan, trailing grey energy like a comet.
"IT COMES FROM PARKER BEING ABSENT WHEN HE NEEDS TO BE HERE TAKING PICTURES! AGAIN!"
Mistress Love had dragged herself over to where Peter and Gwen stood, mouth hanging open, clutching Peter's arm with glowing fingers, watching with the horrified fascination usually reserved for natural disasters.
"By the One Above All," she whispered, voice trembling. "I've never seen such hate, so pure and focused, like staring into a furnace of spite burning since the Big Bang." She turned to Peter, eyes wide. "What has this human endured? What unspoken tragedy forged this?"
Peter's facepalm sounded loud even over the battle.
"He runs a newspaper, ma'am." Peter's voice was muffled by his hand. "And he really hates that I wear a mask instead of giving him photo credit."
"A newspaper?" Mistress Love's voice went up. "This hatred comes from JOURNALISM?!"
"Also, I'm sometimes late with photos," Peter added weakly.
"Sometimes?" Gwen stared at him.
In the sky, Sire Hate tried to regain control, grabbed Jameson's head with both hands, grey energy pouring from palms directly into Jameson's skull and his eyes glowed red with power that could unravel minds.
"FOOL!" Sire Hate's voice shook the arena. "I am Hate itself! I will drain you dry! Give me your malice, your spite, your loathing! I'll consume it all and become—"
Jameson laughed.
Terrifying and manic, the laugh of a man who'd spent decades building up resentment about everything from parking meters to bagel prices and was finally getting to share.
"You want my hate?!" Jameson's grin was unhinged, mustache bristling with glee. "TAKE IT! TAKE THE ULCERS! TAKE THE ANTACIDS I EAT LIKE CANDY! TAKE EVERY HOA MEETING WHERE THEY ARGUED ABOUT NONSENSE FOR FOUR HOURS! MOTHERFUCKER DO ME A FAVOR AND TAKE MY WIFE!!"
Sire Hate's eyes widened and his grip on Jameson's head loosened.
"TAKE THE FACT THAT THE BAGEL PLACE RAN OUT OF SCHMEAR THIS MORNING!" Jameson was shouting, really getting into it. "TAKE THE PRINTER THAT JAMS EVERY TUESDAY! TAKE THE FACT THAT PARKER BROUGHT ME FIFTEEN BLURRY PHOTOS LAST WEEK AND HAD THE AUDACITY TO ASK FOR A RAISE!"
Sire Hate began convulsing, grey energy leaked from his eyes, his mouth, pouring out like he was overflowing. "Too much... too... too PETTY! Too SPECIFIC! How can you hate so many small things this intensely?!"
"BECAUSE I'M J. JONAH JAMESON!" The man's voice could've powered a city. "I'VE PERFECTED THE ART OF BEING ANGRY ABOUT EVERYTHING! YOU THINK YOU'RE HATE?! I'VE BEEN HATING THINGS SINCE I WAS BORN! I BET YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE OPINIONS ABOUT TRAFFIC PATTERNS!"
The entity was shaking now, grey energy crackling off in uncontrolled bursts. "The volume... the specificity... this isn't cosmic hatred, this is... HUMAN pettiness condensed into..."
"FORTY YEARS OF NEWSPAPER DEADLINES!" Jameson grabbed Sire Hate by the collar, pulled him close. "YOU'RE A MENACE TO THE UNIVERSE! AND I! WANT! PICTURES!"
He delivered a final double-fisted hammer blow to Sire Hate's head.
CRACK-BOOM!
The sound was reality breaking, just a little, just enough to make a point.
Sire Hate collapsed like a puppet with cut strings and his form began dissolving into harmless grey mist, dissipating on arena breeze, cosmic energy unraveling into nothing.
Silence fell.
Jameson floated down, landed in front of Peter and Gwen, feet touched arena floor with a soft thump and he straightened his tie, somehow wearing it over his super-suit because even cosmic power couldn't make Jameson dress casually.
He looked at his fist, then at the rapidly dissolving god, back at his fist.
"Hmph." Jameson's mustache twitched with satisfaction. "Not a true hater, just an amateur. Sad!"
Bat flew back over, carrying Celestial armor in his mouth like a prize frisbee and his tail wagged so hard his entire back half wiggled. Little red cape fluttered heroically.
Jameson patted the dog's head with genuine affection. "Good boy, Bat. Who's a good boy? You are! Yes you are! You're a better reporter than Parker ever was, and you can't even use a camera!"
Sire Hate's voice came one last time as he faded, weak and defeated. "I... dub thee... the Biggest Hater..."
Jameson ignored him completely, already zipping through air toward Peter, who had half a second to brace before Jameson was hovering inches from his face.
"Don't think this changes ANYTHING, wall-crawler!" Jameson jabbed a finger into Peter's chest hard enough to hurt through the suit. "I saved you so I can BLAME you for this! And I'm charging you for airfare to this dimension! Expect the invoice MONDAY! With INTEREST! You're DONE! You hear me, wall crawler?! DONE!"
He flew off before Peter could respond, cape billowing dramatically, and Bat followed, still carrying his Celestial armor trophy, leaving Peter and Gwen standing in the aftermath.
Peter watched Jameson grab a Frost Giant and suplex it into arena floor with technique that suggested he'd been watching WWE.
"We won," Peter said weakly, slumping against Gwen. "But at what cost?"
"I think..." Gwen chuckled, helping him stay upright. "I think he actually likes you. In his own weird, deeply unhealthy way."
"No." Peter watched Jameson deliver a flying elbow drop to a demon. "No, Gwen. He doesn't like me. He just hates everyone else slightly more, and I'm gonna have nightmares about tomorrow's headlines."
"Oh, I can see it now." Gwen was laughing. "'SPIDER-MAN TOO LAZY TO FIGHT GOD, FORCES SENIOR CITIZEN TO DO IT FOR HIM.'"
Peter groaned, long and suffering. "Please don't give him ideas. He's got enough already."
Somewhere across the arena, Jameson was telling Shi'ar warriors their formation was terrible and they should be ashamed.
Bat was peeing on a defeated Celestial's leg.
And Peter Parker, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, decided some battles you just couldn't win.
This was one of them.
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