"Clang! Clang!"
The metallic resonance of the grappling hooks snapping taut echoed through the narrow street canyon. In a display of synchronized—if somewhat frantic—teamwork, both Huang Liang and Peter Parker had fired their web-shooters simultaneously. The thick, synthetic strands wrapped around the steel cables like ivory vines, anchoring the two teenagers to the Green Goblin's high-tech chariot.
Norman Osborn, however, wasn't the type to be easily reined in. Beneath his grotesque mask, his teeth were bared in a feral grin. He felt the sudden drag on his glider, the engines whining as they fought against the added weight of the two "spiders" anchoring him to the pavement.
"You want a ride? I'll give you a ride to the morgue!" Osborn roared. Instead of cutting the lines, he slammed the retraction switch.
The winch mechanism, over-engineered to haul heavy debris and armored opponents, engaged with a violent jolt. Peter Parker, caught off guard by the sheer mechanical torque, felt himself yanked off his feet. He wasn't just pulled; he was launched like a projectile toward the glider.
"Whoa, whoa! Too fast! Definitely too fast!" Peter yelled, his legs flailing in mid-air. Even in his panic, his instincts were razor-sharp. With a flick of his left wrist, he fired a secondary line toward a massive stone pillar supporting a nearby bank. The web held, and Peter used the opposing tension to swing himself into a wide arc, regaining his equilibrium just before he turned into a human pancake against the glider's hull.
Huang Liang's reaction was far more grounded—literally. The moment he felt the cable tighten, he dropped his center of gravity, his boots skidding across the asphalt as he dug in. Realizing the web-line was a liability in this tug-of-war, he let it go and transitioned into a fluid, predatory leap.
As he soared toward Peter's position, Liang grabbed the second grappling cable with his bare hands. He didn't just pull; he used his internal Qi to anchor his weight, dragging the cable down toward the street. Between Peter's swinging momentum and Liang's grounded strength, the glider began to dip dangerously, the thrusters spitting blue sparks as they struggled to stay airborne.
"Wait... what am I doing?"
The thought struck Huang Liang like a bolt of lightning. He looked at the web-shooters on his wrists and the tactical mask covering his face. In the heat of the moment, he had been fighting like a carbon copy of Peter Parker—swinging, webbing, and reacting. He was supposed to be the "Kung Fu Spider," a bridge between ancient martial arts and modern heroism. He had almost let the gadgetry overwrite his years of grueling training under Huang Wen.
He let go of the cable, his body spinning in mid-air with the grace of a falling leaf. "Let's try this the old-fashioned way," he muttered.
Landing on a street sign, Liang straightened his fingers into a sword-point. He locked his gaze on Norman Osborn's neck, specifically the gap between the helmet and the shoulder plating. Sunflower Acupuncture Point Strike Hand!
With a sharp flick of his wrist, a condensed burst of internal energy—a "Remote Acupuncture" strike—zipped through the air. It was a technique designed to paralyze the nervous system, turning a raging bull into a statue in a fraction of a second.
Thump.
The energy hit Osborn square in the cervical vertebrae. The Goblin's body jerked violently, his hands flying off the glider's flight sticks. For a heartbeat, his eyes rolled back, and he slumped forward.
"Got him!" Liang exclaimed, a wave of relief washing over him.
But the victory lasted only a second. Norman Osborn let out a guttural, wet wheeze. His body didn't freeze. Instead, he took a massive, shuddering breath, his muscles twitching under the green bodysuit. The Super Soldier Serum in his veins was screaming, its regenerative properties and altered physiology fighting off the energetic blockage.
Worse yet, the Green Goblin suit wasn't just cloth; it was a pressurized combat mesh. The suit's internal sensors detected the localized trauma and injected a stimulant directly into Osborn's bloodstream to compensate for the "nerve failure."
"What... was... that?" Osborn hissed, his voice sounding like grinding gravel. He looked around wildly, his paranoia spiking. He hadn't seen a projectile. He hadn't seen a weapon. It felt like an invisible ghost had punched him in the spine.
Is there someone else? Someone hiding in the shadows? Osborn's mind flashed back to his humiliating defeat at Hammer Industries. He was a predator, but even predators knew when they were being hunted by something bigger.
"Enough of this! I'm leaving!"
Osborn slapped a secondary override. Two serrated blades shot out from the glider's edges, slicing through the web-nets and grappling lines in a shower of sparks. The glider's turbines roared to life, pitching upward at an eighty-degree angle. He was going to vanish into the low-hanging clouds.
"Wait, it didn't work?" Huang Liang stood frozen on the street sign, his mask hiding a look of pure shock. In his world, the Sunflower Point Strike was the ultimate trump card. He'd seen his Master use it to silence monsters and men alike. To see a villain—an "ugly" one at that—simply shrug it off and keep moving was a blow to his martial confidence.
"He's getting away! Liang, stop daydreaming!" Peter shouted.
Peter didn't have the luxury of a mid-life crisis over martial arts techniques. He swung from a nearby office building, his web-line snapping tight as he chased the rising glider.
Huang Liang snapped out of it. "Right! No more games!"
He didn't use a web this time. Instead, he channeled his Qi into his legs, activating the "Footprints Without Leaving a Trace" movement technique. He became a blur of motion, running vertically up the side of a glass skyscraper, his feet barely touching the surface as he defied gravity through sheer speed and internal power.
The glider hadn't reached its cruising altitude yet. It was still weaving between the lower tiers of the New York skyline. Peter fired four successive webs, creating a "cradle" that snagged the glider's tail fins, dragging it back toward a rooftop.
Before Osborn could cut the lines again, a dark blur descended from the sky. Huang Liang had reached the apex of his run and leaped from the building, dropping like a meteor.
"Get down here!" Liang roared, landing squarely on the back of the glider.
He didn't use a point strike this time. He balled his hand into a heavy fist and delivered a straight punch fueled by the Eight Extremities Fist style.
BOOM!
The impact sounded like a sledgehammer hitting an anvil. The shock-absorbing tech in Osborn's suit screamed, but the physical force was too much. The Green Goblin was sent spiraling off his perch, crashing through a row of wooden crates on a construction scaffolding before hitting the pavement with a bone-crunching thud.
"Yeah! That's how we do it!" Peter cheered, landing on the edge of the scaffolding. He quickly fired a massive web-glob, cocooning the glider so it couldn't be remotely recalled.
Down on the street, the citizens of New York—who had been hiding behind cars and trash cans—slowly began to emerge. Seeing the terrifying "Green Demon" sprawled on the ground, defeated by two teenagers in spandex, the fear turned into a wave of euphoric relief.
"They did it!" someone yelled.
"Go Spiders!"
The applause started small but grew into a deafening roar. People were whistling, clapping, and recording the scene on their phones.
Peter Parker was in heaven. This was exactly what he had dreamed of when he first put on the mask. The validation, the fame, the feeling of being a hero that everyone loved. He stood tall, waving his hands like a politician on election night.
"Thank you! Thank you, New York!" Peter shouted, his voice cracking with joy. "I'm Spider-Man! And this guy over here—the one who punches like a truck—that's Kung Fu Spider! We're your friendly neighborhood duo! Tips are appreciated, but we settle for smiles!"
Huang Liang, however, wasn't smiling. He was staring at the pile of debris where Osborn had fallen. Something felt wrong. The adrenaline was fading, and his Master's teachings were echoing in his head: 'A tiger is most dangerous when it is wounded.'
"Peter, stop it! He's not out!" Liang warned, but his voice was drowned out by the cheering crowd.
Suddenly, Peter's world changed. The "Spider-Sense"—that buzzing, electric tingle at the base of his skull—went from a hum to a deafening siren. His hair stood on end, and a cold shiver raced down his spine.
He looked down. Norman Osborn wasn't unconscious. He was kneeling in the shadows of the crates, his eyes glowing with a manic, murderous light. In his hand was a small, spherical device that hummed with a sinister orange glow. A Pumpkin Bomb.
"Die... you... children!" Osborn spat. He didn't throw it at them; he aimed it directly at the crowd of civilians who were busy cheering for their new heroes.
Time seemed to dilate. In Peter's hyper-accelerated perception, he could see the tiny mechanical gears of the bomb spinning. He could see the spark of the ignition. He could see the terrified faces of the people who didn't realize they were about to be vaporized.
"NO!" Peter lunged, his body stretching to its limit, but he was too far. The bomb was already leaving Osborn's hand.
Wait.
A soft, calm voice whispered directly into Peter's ear, as if the speaker was standing right behind him, despite the roaring wind.
"Next time, finish the job before you start the victory lap, kid."
It was Huang Wen's voice.
The Pumpkin Bomb, which should have turned the street into an inferno, suddenly... flickered. It didn't explode. It didn't even fall. In mid-air, the orange glow turned into a soft, golden light. The solid metal of the bomb dissolved into a cloud of shimmering gold particles, like dust motes dancing in a sunbeam.
POP.
High above the city, a tiny, harmless firework went off. A single "Bang" that sounded more like a party popper than a military-grade explosive.