WebNovels

Chapter 16 - Chapter 16: It's not a Spider, It's a Bat!

Norman Osborn wanted Spider-Man alive—but not necessarily intact.

The Spider-Slayer held his micro-missiles and advanced instead, planning to carve Spider-Man into a limbless stump with the arm-blades that had snapped out along his forearms. The four dagger-tipped claws under his armpits were there to guard against surprise attacks.

One cut told him he'd been duped—the feel was all wrong.

Before he could pull back, "Spider-Man" blew apart, the blast flinging the Slayer backward.

Zzz—

He hit the ground, and a hand clamped onto his shoulder from behind. A stun device pressed silently to the center of his back.

The last shock unit had burned out on the Squid-Man; Batman had built a new one. Against a foe sealed inside powered armor, he knew exactly what to use—concussive force, electricity, irritant gas… you'd run out of fingers counting the options.

The gel bombs might not hurt the man under the shell, but the shock wave would rattle him plenty. The jolt that followed set the suit crackling; internal circuits were already glitching.

With Plan C executed, Batman didn't linger. Before the Slayer could recover, he Bat-Clawed up into a tree.

His caution proved right. The moment he vacated the spot, blue-violet arcs flickered over the silver-gray armor.

"Oscorp hasn't cracked the super-soldier serum—there's just a normal human in there.

"But that file was very bullish on the Spider-Slayer, claiming the suit perfectly counters Spider-Man.

"That discharge we just saw is probably one of those counters."

Like a seasoned hunter shadowing prey, Batman ghosted from one tree to the next.

"They know Spider-Man regenerates, so most of the weapons on that rig are lethal—maybe even poisoned.

"I can't let those blades touch me. I'll eat a punch I could've dodged if that's what it takes.

"Without a Batsuit, avoid close quarters—unless an opening for Plan A appears."

Thinking fast, his hands moved faster. He fitted a spreader onto a canister of liquid gel and lobbed it at the Slayer.

The Slayer was already pushing himself up—the earlier blast and shock hadn't truly hurt him. As he got his feet under him, the canister arced overhead, popped open, and drenched him in gel that foamed and hardened the instant it hit air.

This batch was different from the gel in the decoy suit—no explosive property; once cured, it was rock-hard. Think body-shop putty, only it dries almost instantly.

"The brief said this is powered armor. Best case, the gel buys me three seconds. That's Plan A."

Second one: Batman slipped on Spider-Man's goggles and hurled a jar of quicklime and water he'd staged here when he chose the battleground.

Whoomph—quicklime met water, flashed hot, and belched a cloud of choking white vapor around the Slayer.

Seconds two and three: Batman held his breath and hammered the armor, blows falling like hail from ten thousand meters up. He didn't swing full power—he placed each strike to transmit force into the shell without wasting effort.

Thud-thud-thud!

Drawing on a world tour's worth of fighting arts, he pummeled nonstop. Partly to scramble the man inside with impacts; partly to map the suit's key joints.

Just as the Batsuit's weakness isn't the bare jaw but the waist, the Spider-Slayer's suit wasn't perfect. Batman found the soft spot quickly—

—the small of the back.

To avoid those possibly venom-coated blades, he had to eat a few punches; one cracked him in the eye. He didn't flinch. His assault only intensified, driving the Slayer to the edge of blackout.

Zzz!

He snagged a stashed shock unit with a webline and jammed it into the back-waist seam. Arcs danced.

A minute later—on a field prepped in advance against an opponent he'd studied—the Spider-Slayer sagged and went down for good.

The sun crawled west. By dusk the "Spider-Slayer" was stripped of armor and missing his glider; calling him by his real name, Spencer Smythe, felt more accurate.

"Spider-Man…" Spencer snarled, face twisted.

A robotics specialist at Oscorp, he'd been redirected by Ross's program from pure robotics to powered armor and gliders. When Norman spun up the Spider-Slayer project, Spencer's faith in his own work pushed him to suit up himself.

He hadn't expected to lose his debut this badly. Not only had he been helpless against "Spider-Man"—he'd been stripped of the suit to boot.

"No… not Spider-Man." He glanced around and saw the red-and-blue costume, shredded by gel charges. He also noticed the throwing blade in his own hand—shaped like…

"Damn bat!"

More tools than Spider-Man. Meaner, too. Just the lower-back shots alone—over a dozen. And Spencer didn't even know who it was or what he looked like.

He could shock, vanish and reappear, belch stinging fumes, hit like a truck…

Spencer half-suspected a vampire.

"I failed. Mr. Osborn will fire me… damn bat!"

Fear and fury surged—then a searchlight pinned him. NYPD poured in from all sides.

"Freeze! We got reports of someone trying to wreck Central Park!"

"Cuff him!"

Meanwhile, in Forest Hills, Queens, someone knocked on the door of a rowhouse.

Batman didn't know why Aunt May had sounded so grave and urgent on the phone, insisting he come home tonight. But to keep Peter Parker's identity intact, he came.

He knocked. The door opened. A tiny, white-haired woman with a face full of wrinkles spread her thin arms and hugged him tight.

"Peter! My boy, you're finally home."

"Today is your birthday. I'll bet you forgot—but this old lady didn't."

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