Spider-Man: Black and Blue (AU) Chapter 23: Showdown (3)

[Third person POV] 


Damon gasped, choking as Max's fingers clamped tighter around his throat like a vice. His boots kicked uselessly in the air as Max lifted him with terrifying ease.


“I’ve already killed someone before,” Max growled, his voice a low, venomous hiss. His face was only inches away, eyes glowing with unstable rage. “What’s one more, right?”


Damon’s jaw clenched, his words strained as he forced them through grit teeth. “It makes the difference between a murderer... and a monster.”


The image of Anastasia’s face flashed through his mind—He remembered her words from earlier, during the time she stepped out and confronted Max. She mentioned Max having murdered a guard during a containment breach. 


“That guard,” Damon rasped. “The one you killed… Did you mean to do it?”


Max’s expression twisted, something flickering behind his eyes—regret, maybe, or just more fury. “What difference does it make?!” he shouted. “It doesn’t change what I’ve done!”


“It’s the difference between heaven and hell! Between redemption and ruin!” Damon shouted, summoning the last of his strength. He slammed both fists against Max’s torso.


Max inhaled sharply—and then the wind was knocked out of him in one painful burst. His vision went white with searing pain as Damon’s fists struck directly against his liver. His grip faltered.


Seizing the opportunity, Damon planted both feet against Max’s chest and kicked off with explosive force. He flipped through the air mid-fall, launching two webs past Max’s shoulders toward the rooftop behind. With a sharp yank, he pulled himself into a downward drop kick that slammed into Max’s chest. The impact was thunderous—enough to send shockwaves cracking through the rooftop beneath them.


A blinding helicopter spotlight burst into view, flooding the rooftop in white light, but Damon didn’t care. His voice echoed through the air as he stood tall, breathing heavily.


“It’s obvious you've been through hell, Max! A series of terrible events, I won't say I understand what you've been through. But this? This isn’t the way! Don’t add more to the pile! Let someone help you—”


“LOOK AT ME!!” Max roared, cutting him off as he raised a hand and fired a jagged beam of raw electricity toward Damon.


Damon instinctively leaned backward, the blast narrowly missing him as it crackled through the air and grazed the chopper. The helicopter banked hard to the side, rotors chopping the air in panic as the pilot struggled to maintain control.


With a shriek of lightning, Max blasted into the air from underneath Damon, propelled by his own energy. “You think anyone wants to help someone who looks like me?! You think they care?! I’m already a monster in their eyes!”


He became a blur—a zig-zagging bolt of light that struck. Before Damon could even prepare, Max was already there, his fist swinging toward him like a hammer wrapped in thunder.


Damon ducked, weaving and dodging with spiderlike agility, but the strikes were accelerating. Max’s attacks became faster, sharper, more erratic—each one crackling with enough energy to fry circuitry, the air warping with heat and static. His punches moved like streaks of lightning, nearly impossible to follow.


But Damon had one advantage—his Spider-Sense. It flared in the back of his mind like a beacon, warning him fractions of a second before each hit.


He blocked a strike with his palm and stepped forward, twisting his torso. With a grunt, he drove an uppercut into Max’s jaw. “And all you’re doing now is proving them right!”


Max’s head snapped back, a spray of blood flying from his mouth. He growled through gritted teeth, his body shaking with fury. Without hesitation, he tackled Damon with the force of a battering ram.


“Then so be it!” Max screamed. “I’m done talking! I don’t care anymore! I just want revenge—and I’m gonna make damn sure you stop getting in my way!”


They tumbled across the rooftop in a flurry of limbs and sparks. Then they were off again—leaping, diving, sprinting from rooftop to rooftop. Blurs of motion, flashes of blue and red trailing behind Max from the heat of his power and the arcs of his electricity.


Damon chased close behind, not giving an inch. Max’s fists became a whirlwind, each punch a blur of light and sound, crashing into Damon’s face and ribs. Sparks exploded from each blow, the static disorienting Damon’s senses, the stench of ozone filling the air.


But Damon wasn’t helpless.


His instincts sharpened. His body flowed with practiced movement, every step grounded in discipline. He raised his arms like a boxer, forearms catching the worst of the strikes. He could feel his knuckles bruising, his bones rattling—but he endured.


‘I need to end this fast, I'm becoming slower… My body is in too much pain…’ As he held his guard, he looked around quickly and saw a water tower in the vicinity, ‘That's it!’ 


With a sharp twist, he ducked under another punch and lunged forward. His fist snapped forward in a tight, surgical jab that cracked against Max’s jaw. Max reeled, stunned for just a second—enough for Damon to follow up.


Left hook, right cross, uppercut. A flurry of clean, devastating strikes. Precision over power.


And for a moment—just a moment—Max faltered.


But then he unleashed a guttural roar, and with it came a torrent of raw, unrestrained power. A beam of pure static energy erupted from his hands, tearing through the night sky like a cannon blast.


Damon leapt high into the air just in time, the force of the explosion blasting apart the rooftop tiles beneath him, sending rubble and dust hurtling in every direction. Chunks of debris rained down around him.


Mid-air, Damon shot a webline at Max, the silk snapping taut as he yanked the man upward with him. With a twist of his hips, he spun mid-flight and launched his foot into Max’s chest, sending him careening across the rooftop.


Max tumbled violently before landing a few feet away from the base of a large water tower. He rolled to a stop, groaning as he smashed his fist into the rooftop in frustration. “Damn it!” he barked, teeth clenched and voice raw.


Damon landed in front of him, panting heavily. “I'm sorry, Max,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I don’t know everything that happened to you… I don’t understand it all. But I will try to get you the help you need.”


Without waiting for a response, Damon fired a webline past Max and latched onto the massive wooden water tank overhead. Max turned to look just in time to see Damon latch onto the structure—his eyes widening as realization struck.


With a powerful tug, Damon ripped the container free using every ounce of his superhuman strength.


“Wait—!” Max shouted, raising his arms as the shadow of the water tower engulfed him, shooting a blast of lightning and electricity to try and stop it. 


The tank ruptured mid-air, exploding into wooden fragments—and a tidal wave of cold water came crashing down.


“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!” Max screamed in agony as the water hit him.


His lightning surged uncontrollably, the energy in his body spasming and discharging erratically in all directions. Bolts of electricity burst outward, arcing wildly through the water like flailing limbs, frying the very air around him.


Before the wave could reach him, Damon launched a web and zipped to the metallic frame of the now-empty tower, perching out of reach as the chaos unfolded below.


Max dropped to one knee, then the other, and finally collapsed forward. What remained was no longer the monstrous figure he had been moments ago. Now, lying motionless in the puddle, was a glowing man encased in a containment suit. His skin—if it could still be called that—was partially see-through, revealing flickers of dim, sputtering electricity pulsing within his fragile, translucent frame.


Damon, meanwhile, clung to the metal supports, gasping for air. His body was on fire with pain. His suit, once sleek and clean, was now blackened with scorch marks and stained with blood. Gashes ran across his arms, legs, and chest. His back was exposed, the fabric completely burned away, revealing blistering, bloodied skin.


He winced, clutching his ribs, “Yeah… that’s definitely broken,” he muttered through clenched teeth.


Bringing a shaking hand to his ear, he tapped his communicator. “Rich… do you read me?” Static. Nothing. He sighed, defeated. “Damn it…”


Still, he pressed forward. He shot a line of webbing toward Max and slowly pulled the unconscious figure out of the puddle. Damon used layer after layer of thick webbing to encase Max in a cocoon, then hoisted him over his shoulders with a grunt.


His legs were like jelly, trembling with every step as he leapt from the tower and carefully descended to the street level. The pain was becoming unbearable. Every heartbeat felt like a spike driven through his body. But he refused to stop.


Below, the police were still huddled around their barricade, unsure of how to proceed. Debris had scattered the area, the rooftops above still smoking from the destruction. Officers barked orders back and forth, forming lines, raising weapons.


“LOOK!” one of them shouted, pointing to the sky.


All eyes turned. Their guns went up as Damon landed in the center of the chaos, staggering forward with Max slung over his back. His entire body sagged with exhaustion.


“Hold your fire!!” a voice barked.


Anastasia stepped through the police men that were securing them, her voice fierce and commanding. “While you were twiddling your thumbs trying to make a decision, he was up there actually doing something. He handled it.”


“But—” one officer started.


“He’s not a threat!” Anastasia snapped. “He’s the damn hero.”


The eyes of every officer turned to their captain, who stood near the front of the barricade. His jaw tightened as he looked toward Spider-Man—toward Damon, who now stood bathed in the beams of every helicopter spotlight, their lights catching on the blood, burns, and shredded fabric of his suit.


“Stand down,” the captain said grimly. One by one, the officers lowered their weapons.


Damon trudged forward under the heavy glare of a dozen lights, his breaths ragged and shallow. Each step was a battle in itself. When he reached them, he gently laid Max down before the barricade.


Anastasia rushed forward, pushing through the officers to reach him.


“Spider-Man!” she called—but before she could say more, he collapsed.


She caught him quickly, cradling his torso as he slumped forward, barely conscious, her hands on his chest, more specifically on the spider symbol that appeared cut. His breathing was labored, wheezing in and out.


“Are you alright—?” Anastasia asked with concern, after all in such a short amount of time he had saved her more than once. 


“Help him,” Damon croaked. 


“What?” Anastasia asked, stunned. “You’re the one who’s—!”


“He needs help,” Damon whispered, his voice cracking under the strain. “So… please… help him.”


Anastasia stared at him in disbelief. She looked him over—his injuries were worse than anything she’d seen in years. His skin was charred, bleeding, barely holding together. He could barely speak, let alone stand.


“Look at yourself!” she exclaimed, her voice wavering with emotion. “You’re dying! This isn’t the time to worry about him! You need a hospital—now!”


“Just make sure…” Damon wheezed, his strength beginning to fade. “Make sure he gets help…”


Anastasia closed her eyes tightly and let out a long sigh. She looked down at Max, then back at the broken hero in her arms.


“You’re insane,” she muttered. “But… I’ll see what I can do.”


“Thank you…” Damon whispered, his voice barely audible as he finally allowed himself to relax.