Spider-Man: Black and Blue (AU) Chapter 35: Vs. The Vulture (End)

[Third Person Pov]

Damon swung through the air, momentum whipping through his body as he flicked his wrists toward Adrian, firing a series of web-shots that latched onto the Vulture’s wings and pinned them against the dented ventilation system.

As Damon dropped down toward him, Adrian let out a guttural snarl and extended his taloned feet, sharp claws gleaming as they shot toward Spider-Man’s chest, aiming to impale him.

Damon’s spider-sense flared like an electric pulse through his nerves. He sucked in his stomach with an audible gasp and fired another web-line at the floor. The line caught, and Damon yanked himself aside just in time. The claws grazed his midsection, slicing through his suit.

He hit the rooftop and rolled, skidding across gravel before stopping in a low crouch, one hand over his stomach where his suit was torn. He winced, sucking in a breath.

“Dude! Watch the suit! We just had it remade!” Richard’s voice crackled through the comms, his tone full of offense.

“Yeah, thanks for your concern for your best friend, I'm touched” Damon muttered under his breath, sarcasm dripping through his tone.

Adrian’s thrusters roared back to life, bright green flames flaring from the engines as he tore against the webbing that bound him. With a sharp motion, he sliced through the remaining strands using the razor edges of his wings and shot upward in a spiral, shaking off the debris.

Damon, meanwhile, wrapped a quick band of webbing around his waist to stop the bleeding. “You know,” he said to himself, “a normal person would go to therapy after this.”

“You’ve ruined everything!” Adrian’s voice thundered from above, warped by fury and the mechanical echo of his helmet. “If I can’t have my revenge on Norman—then I’ll take it out on you!”

“Let’s dance, bird brain~” Damon taunted, lowering into a stance. One hand beckoned mockingly while the other stayed hidden behind his back.

Adrian dove, a blur of green metal and rage. Damon leapt backward off the edge of the rooftop, free-falling for a heartbeat before launching a web and swinging away, the two of them clashing in midair once again—light, motion, and chaos twisting through the skyline.

High above, Norman stood on a nearby rooftop, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He watched the aerial duel with a calculating gaze. The way Adrian moved—the thruster output, the acceleration bursts, the unstable wing oscillations—all of it was being memorized. His eyes darted between them, trying to track the relentless choreography: Adrian’s speed versus Spider-Man’s agility.

Damon swung around a corner and fired a webline across the street to the opposite wall. Adrian followed immediately—only to slam face-first into the hidden web trap Damon had left behind. The impact sent him tumbling through the air.

“Gotcha!” Damon shouted, descending from above. He hooked a line to Adrian’s chest plate, used the momentum to spin, and hurled him towards a building. The Vulture crashed headfirst through the wall of an apartment building, plaster and dust exploding outward.

The couple inside screamed, while Damon entered through the opening after Adrian and apologized, “Sorry, coming through, I'm sure insurance will patch that up in a jiffy”

Damon tackled Adrian across the living room, right through the coffee table and straight through the opposite window, “There's nothing wrong with getting larger windooows!!” Damon's shout echoed as he fell with the Vulture.

Which was followed by an explosion as the car they landed on erupted into flames and shrapnel. The couple stayed huddled together, horrified expression painting their faces, they slowly walked near towards the opening before flinching and dropping back as Adrian's figure surrounded in fire and smoke spiraled upwards with Damon clinging behind him letting out a loud Super Mario-like yell, “WAAAAAAAHH!!”

Adrian spun wildly, trying to shake him loose, rising above the buildings. Damon swung around his body, fired webs that wrapped around his wings, and yanked them shut around Adrian’s frame. The Vulture sputtered in midair, engines whining as he tried to break free.

“Oh no you don’t!” Damon said, firing another web and spinning around Adrian in tight, rapid circles. His movement turned into a blur—one continuous motion as layers upon layers of webbing cocooned the struggling villain.

“LET. ME. GO!!” Adrian roared, his body trembling, every muscle straining against the sticky prison. His thrusters flickered, the power choking out as he hung motionless above the city skyline.

Damon slowed his spin, flipped midair, and launched a line that brought him face-to-face with Adrian. He landed against the cocoon with one hand and touched the cracked helmet. Through the shattered lens, Adrian’s wild, bloodshot eye glared back. Damon’s own eyes beneath his mask shimmered faintly, light dancing within them as he scanned the suit’s mechanisms.

Through the glow, he could see it—the neural signal pulsing from Adrian’s brain to the mechanical wings, the synchronization frequency that kept the entire system functional.

“Whoa…” Damon breathed out. “So this is how you’re controlling your suit—mental feedback signals, huh? That’s actually pretty awesome.”

“Yes,” Adrian hissed, his jaw tight. “Now take your grubby hands off of it!” He jerked his head violently.

“Sorry, you know me and my stinky fingers,” Damon said as he yanked the cracked helmet free from Adrian’s head. He held it up in mock fascination before it slipped from his grasp. “Whoops—guess it slipped.”

Adrian’s eyes widened. “YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!” he roared, his voice full of fury and disbelief as he watched the helmet plummet through the clouds. The piece of tech glinted for a moment in the city-light before it crashed against a distant rooftop, exploding into scattered shards of metal and circuitry.

Damon shrugged. “Lies. You don’t have any proof of that,” he said, trying—and failing—to hide the mischievous grin in his voice.

“You idiot!” Adrian bellowed, moving his trapped arms frantically as his thrusters began to sputter. “Without the helmet, I can’t tell the suit to keep us airborne!”

“Ohhh…” Damon’s eyes widened beneath his mask. “That… sounds like a you problem.”

Before Adrian could retort, the suit’s engines failed completely. The pair dropped like stones.

“AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!” Adrian screamed as they spiraled through the night sky. The city lights reflected off his armor in frantic flashes as they plummeted. Wind tore past them, howling in their ears.

“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!” Damon shouted between fits of laughter, his voice echoing out against the wind. “Delta down! I repeat, Delta down!”

“You crazy bastard—SAVE ME!!” Adrian screamed, thrashing his limbs uselessly.

“Relax, I got you!” Damon said, flipping in midair to straddle Adrian’s back like a deranged rodeo rider. He locked his legs around the Vulture’s waist and grabbed hold of his shoulders, steering him downward.

With both hands, Damon fired web-lines at the surrounding buildings, strings stretching outward in crisscrossing arcs of silver. He swung them around, connecting beam after beam until a massive web formed between two buildings below—glistening like a spider’s trampoline suspended above the city streets.

“Wheeeeeeeeeee!!” Damon whooped, leaping off Adrian at the last second.

Both of them slammed into the web. The impact stretched the fibers tight, then rebounded, sending the two of them bouncing up and down like ragdolls caught in an oversized hammock. The tension absorbed most of the fall, leaving only bruised egos and frayed nerves.

Damon let out a delighted laugh, lying on his back as the web rocked gently. “That was so much fun,” he said, voice breathless with excitement. “We should totally do that again sometime.”

Adrian—now wrapped from neck to ankle in webbing—was trembling, his dignity nonexistent. Hanging there upside down, he looked far more like spider prey than a predatory bird. “What is seriously wrong with you?” he croaked, tears of frustration welling in his eyes.

Below, a crowd had gathered. People pointed, phones flashing as they recorded the bizarre sight above them—Spider-Man laughing manically while the Vulture hung cocooned in webbing like a trophy.

---

Once the chaos had died down. Red and blue lights reflected off nearby buildings as agents swarmed the scene. Adrian was being loaded into the back of an FBI van, still wrapped tight in layers of webbing. His head hung low, shoulders slumped in defeat.

He didn’t look up—not even when Damon and Norman stood watching from the sidewalk. “Just… please,” Adrian muttered hoarsely to one of the officers, “get me as far away from that maniac as possible.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

Damon waved lazily, then turned toward Norman with a wide grin, raising his hand for a high five. “I call that another successful day in the life of Spider-Man, don’t you think?”

Norman’s gaze was flat, unimpressed. “I appreciate your help,” he said dryly, producing a familiar object from behind his back. “Here’s your hat.”

He handed over Damon’s cowboy hat and walked away toward his waiting limo, muttering something under his breath.

Damon pouted, placing the hat back on his head. “So ungrateful,” he mumbled, tipping it with exaggerated flair before saluting the nearby agents. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he fired a web and swung back into the night.

---

As Damon soared between the glittering skyscrapers, Richard’s voice came through his earpiece. “Check the hat for a tracker.”

“What?” Damon blinked, swinging upside down for a moment as if to make sure he’d heard right.

“It’s superheroing 101,” Richard replied, tone sharp. “Always double-check anything someone gives you—especially rich people. They love slipping in trackers or listening devices. Cunning, resourceful, and paranoid. A bad combo.”

“Oh, come on, R—”

“Don’t say my name,” Richard interrupted quickly. “Just check.”

Damon sighed dramatically. “You sure are paranoid.”

He landed on a nearby rooftop and took off the hat, turning it in his hands. His eyes flickered faintly as he activated his special vision, scanning the material. The world tinted blue as he used his X-ray vision.

“See? Nothing here—wait…” He froze. Between the inner folds of the brim, a small blinking device pulsed faintly. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Told you,” Richard said smugly.

“What would I do without you?” Damon asked, crushing the tiny tracker between his fingers before tossing the hat off the roof.

“Probably laze around doing nothing,” Richard scoffed.

“Sounds about right,” Damon said, laughing as he leapt into the air and swung off once more, the city wind whistling around him.

---

Meanwhile, inside the sleek interior of a black limo, Norman Osborn sat with his laptop open. On the screen, a red dot traced Damon’s movement through the city—swinging, spinning, flipping in every direction—until suddenly, it stopped.

The screen flashed: Signal Lost.

Norman’s brow furrowed. He tapped a few keys, refreshed the feed, and when it didn’t return, he clicked his tongue in irritation.

“Well,” he murmured, leaning back in his seat with a faint smirk, “looks like he’s more attentive than I thought.”

He closed the laptop with a soft click. “He’s not as stupid as he makes himself out to be… Must be an act—so people underestimate him.”