Miles Morales: New Spider Chapter 17.

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I ripped the mask from my face with my good arm, letting the fresh air rush in through the half-mask still clinging to my skin. My lungs expanded gratefully as I straightened up, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. My arm hung limp and useless, but I quickly wrapped it in webs for support, feeling the tension pulling at the break.

With a slow breath, I took stock of my situation. Most of my utility belt was trashed. All I had left were a handful of explosive pellets, a few smoke bombs, and the lethal line. Web cartridges? Flattened. Microbots? Destroyed. And my full mask? Completely wrecked, leaving half of my face exposed to the world.

I tossed smoke bombs in a wide arc, creating a thick, swirling mist. It wouldn’t last long in the open air, but it gave me a few precious seconds. I activated my camouflage and slipped into the shadows.

The Goblin had just torn through the webs binding its feet and was scanning the area, searching for me. Perfect.

I leaped onto its back, my good arm crackling with bioelectricity as I slammed a punch into its neck. The shock sent waves of electricity through its nervous system, eliciting a tortured scream.

"ARGHHH!" it roared.

Without hesitation, I shoved a fistful of explosive pellets into its gaping mouth and sealed it shut with a web shot. A muffled explosion followed, smoke billowing from its nostrils. The creature clutched its throat, ignoring me entirely.

"Big mistake."

I focused, channeling my chi into my venom strike. My arm crackled with silver and yellow sparks, the friction sounding like a thousand birds chirping. **Chidori** flashed in my mind, and I couldn't help but smirk.

With everything I had, I lunged forward and slammed my fist into the Goblin’s solar plexus. The impact sent it flying, but it stood back up like nothing had happened. Then, the sparks on its skin started dancing, intensifying. It dropped to the ground, convulsing violently.

"AARGHH!"

The Goblin's form began shifting, reverting back into Norman Osborn.

I grabbed a wrecked car door with my left hand and hurled another smoke bomb to obscure us from the cameras. Leaping onto him, I slammed the door repeatedly into his body until he was halfway human again. Tossing the door aside, I clenched my right fist and hammered punches into his face until his nose caved under the force.

"Sl… slower… s-slowly," he muttered, barely coherent.

I stopped. My fists trembled as something heavy lodged itself in my throat. I couldn't continue. Not like this.

Then, pain. "GhaAAGH!" I groaned as Norman stabbed me.

The sharp metal from the broken car door had found its way into my abdomen, and I could hear the distant gasps of onlookers. The webbed vest I wore had stopped it from impaling me entirely, but the wound still burned.

Weak and dazed, Norman couldn't push the metal deeper, not after the venom strike had destabilized his Goblin form. 'Finish what you started,' I thought. This was the lesson.

"Thank you," I whispered, thinking of all the times I could’ve died had it not been for today.

I punched him again, dislodging his grip on the metal shard. Smoke poured around us, hiding our battle from the world. Wrapping my hand around his throat, I focused another Chi-enhanced venom strike, sending sparks racing over his bare skin. He screamed as his flesh began to burn.

Grabbing one of his horns, I snapped it with a knee strike and plunged it into his chest, aiming for the heart.

"No more chances," I muttered, watching his body convulse.

The smoke concealed what came next. As I dropped the last of the explosive pellets into his smoldering form, I underestimated the force of the blast. It sent me hurtling backward, slamming into a tree, the metal shard ripping free from my abdomen. Blood poured from the wound, but I sealed it quickly with a web shot.

Looking at what remained of Norman Osborn—ashes, scattered bones—I activated my camo, grabbing my mask and gear. I moved past the reporters, who frantically turned their cameras, trying to find me.

In a secluded spot, I retrieved the genuine Oz Formula. I had stashed it before launching the car at the Goblin. My left hand was slightly better, so I wall-crawled to a higher vantage point, extending my webbing and swinging home.

I uploaded the evidence I had on Oscorp, sending the rest to Jennifer. She tried to talk about my condition, but I brushed her off. I had barely managed to get through all of this. I wasn’t in the mood to chat.

By the time I got home, I was nearly bled out. My body healed fast, but I still had to disinfect the wound. Holding a bottle of alcohol in one hand and my web shooter in the other, I braced myself.

"Till I collapse, I'm..." Eminem blasted from the speakers, hyping me up. But when the alcohol hit, the pain was overwhelming. "ARGHHH!" The music was drowned out by my scream as I quickly webbed the wound shut.

I collapsed, drifting off to sleep on the floor.

When I woke, I was stuck to the ceiling. I must’ve done it subconsciously. Ever since the bite, I found comfort sleeping on ceilings. When my parents weren’t home, I’d make a web hammock. With them traveling, it had become my go-to spot.

After a shower and cleaning up my wrecked suit, I retrieved the rest of my items from the utility belt. There was work to be done. Winter was approaching, and the Harlem event had left many homeless. Some of the money I’d taken from Oscorp had been funneled into shelters and NGOs. They provided the essentials—food, clothing, a roof.

Donations went to orphanages too. A store's worth of toys was shipped anonymously. It wasn’t Christmas, but that didn’t matter. If I had my own company, I could make a bigger difference, but for now, I’d help those already doing the right thing.

Back in my lab, I worked on combining the super serum with the Oz Formula, raising its success rate to 45%. The new mixture glowed faintly blue, and after running it through the system, I was ready. I cleaned and sterilized the lab, setting up the automated injector and securing the mouthguard in place.

As the countdown began and the straps closed around my arms, I braced myself.

When I woke, the straps were torn, still hanging from my arms. I sat up, immediately noticing I was taller. Seven inches taller. From 4'7" to 5'4", just like that.

I wasn’t even a teenager yet. How was I going to explain this to my mom? Maybe a protein invention at camp? Or I could blame it on genetics—my uncle Aaron was 6'6". I’d figure it out later.

But as I looked at myself in the mirror, something else caught my attention. Dried blood stained my cheeks—tears of blood. New. Must’ve been a rip in my tear ducts. My muscles had grown too, though not by much.

I snapped the straps off easily, feeling the increase in strength. The laptop confirmed what I already knew—my muscles, bones, and organs had all undergone serious enhancement. My mind felt sharper too, clearer.

Still, something nagged at me. Something I was forgetting. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

"Let’s leave it for now," I muttered.

Clenching my fists, I struck a pose. "Looking good, Jr. America," I grinned, alternating between stances.

But then—pain.

I gasped as two sharp, rod-like structures slowly pierced through the skin of my wrists, dripping blood from their tips.

"What the hell?"