The sky over New York bled two colors.
One—a searing white beam erupting from Iron Man's palm.
The other—the orange-red bloom of a pumpkin bomb detonating midair.
BOOM—!
Tony fired without hesitation.
The repulsor blast struck the glider beneath the Green Goblin's feet, sending the green metal plate cartwheeling through the smoke.
"Wow! Not bad, buddy!" Tony's voice crackled through the suit, dripping with sarcasm. "You should audition for the circus. They're hiring clowns."
Hovering in his crimson-and-gold armor, thrusters humming with steady bursts of air, Iron Man watched the chaos unfold below with practiced ease.
"Stark!"
The Green Goblin landed hard—but upright—on a nearby rooftop. His goblin mask twisted into a snarl, eyes gleaming with manic fury.
"You're always like this, Tony Stark! Always acting like you're in control of everything!"
With a metallic hiss, the front of his glider split open. Twin missiles shot out, trailing smoke and screeching like banshees.
"Jarvis, analyze and neutralize."
Tony didn't flinch.
"On it, sir."
Shoulder-mounted launchers snapped open. Flares erupted into the air—brilliant, explosive bursts that detonated the incoming warheads in shimmering fireballs.
"The party's over, little green man," Tony said, surging forward.
But as he closed in, the Goblin threw back his head and laughed—wild, unhinged.
"Hahahaha! You think that's all, Stark?!"
Across the square, tires screamed to a halt.
A red Ferrari drifted to a flawless stop beside the panicked crowd.
The door swung open.
Joren stepped out, hands buried in his pockets.
He watched the aerial duel like a man who'd taken a wrong turn onto a movie set—calm, detached, utterly unfazed by the storm of debris and panic swirling around him.
The blast wind tugged at his coat. Screams faded into white noise.
His gaze cut through the chaos—and landed on two figures fighting their way through the stampede.
Peter Parker shielded Gwen Stacy with his body, eyes wide, breath ragged.
Gwen's golden hair whipped in the wind; her face was pale, eyes wide with fear.
"JoJo!" Peter spotted him instantly—relief flashing like lightning across his face. He shoved through the last few bodies between them.
"Can you—can you do me a favor?" Peter panted, sweat beading on his temple. "Just… keep an eye on Gwen. For a minute. Please."
He didn't wait for an answer. Before Joren could speak, Peter had already pushed Gwen toward him and spun on his heel—vanishing into a dark alley without a backward glance.
Yare, yare…
Joren glanced at the trembling girl beside him.
Another complication.
But he didn't refuse.
Easier to let Peter fight without distraction than to let him fight while terrified for her safety.
A distracted Spider-Man would only make things worse.
Gwen hadn't quite processed what was happening yet.
Her eyes darted to the spot where Peter had vanished, then to the classmate beside her—silent, unreadable, his expression carved from ice.
"Peter, he…"
Joren said nothing.
His gaze remained fixed on the battlefield, distant yet observant.
Just then, a red-and-blue blur arced through the air on a strand of silk, landing with a flourish beside Iron Man in a low crouch.
"Hey! Need a hand, Mr. Stark?"
Spider-Man grinned beneath his mask, arms spread wide like he was greeting an old friend.
Tony's helmet visor flickered, lenses narrowing. He didn't turn—his targeting systems already locked onto the Green Goblin.
"This isn't a school field trip, kid," Iron Man said, voice edged with condescension. "Go home. Find your mom. And for god's sake, stay out of my line of fire."
"Wow, harsh," Spider-Man quipped, straightening up with an exaggerated shrug. "I'm Spider-Man—your friendly neighborhood web-slinger! From Queens, not a pajama party, by the way."
"I don't care if you're Spider-Boy or Spider-Pajamas," Tony snapped, repulsors humming to life. "This is a warzone. Leave before you get yourself—or someone else—killed."
The Green Goblin let out a cackle that echoed unnaturally through the streets, hollow and sharp beneath his mask.
"Oh-ho! Another insect joins the feast!" he crowed. "This just got delicious!"
He hurled a pumpkin bomb without warning.
"Watch it!" Tony barked, already pivoting toward the threat.
But Spider-Man was faster.
His spider-sense screamed—a white-hot alarm in his skull. He arched backward, spine nearly kissing the pavement as the bomb whistled past his mask and detonated against a marble statue behind him. Shrapnel rained down in a deafening burst.
"That was way too close!" Spider-Man flipped upright, flashing a thumbs-up. "Nice throw, Pumpkin! But your aim's about as sharp as your fashion sense!"
The Goblin only laughed harder, clearly delighted by the dodge. With a flick of his wrist, he launched a volley of razor-tipped darts from his belt—each one whining through the air like a starving predator.
Webs shot from Spider-Man's wrists, yanking him skyward just as the darts converged. He swung in erratic loops, body twisting midair to evade the onslaught. One dart grazed his shoulder, slicing through fabric and drawing a thin line of blood. Another struck empty air behind him—then detonated.
The shockwave rocked him sideways. He dangled for a heartbeat, silk straining, before yanking himself back into motion.
Below, Gwen's breath had gone shallow.
Her fists were clenched so tight her nails bit crescents into her palms, but she didn't feel it. Every near-miss sent her pulse hammering against her ribs. Every reckless flip made her stomach drop.
She couldn't look away—even though every second felt like watching someone she loved walk toward a cliff.
Beside her, Joren watched it all with eerie stillness.
Hat pulled low, hands buried in his pockets, he might as well have been observing fireworks on the Fourth of July. No tension in his posture. No flicker of urgency in his eyes.
That calm—utterly out of place amid chaos, screams, and explosions—felt less like composure… and more like cruelty.
"Joren!" Gwen's voice cracked, raw with something she hadn't named yet: fear, confusion, accusation.
It wasn't loud—drowned out by distant sirens and the whine of repulsors—but it cut through the noise like glass.
"Why didn't you help?!" Her eyes burned into him. "Peter's getting torn apart out there!"
"Aren't you—aren't you strong enough to do something?!"
A beat of silence.
Joren didn't turn. Didn't flinch.
And in that stillness, Gwen remembered Peter's words from weeks ago, whispered like a confession:
"Being a hero doesn't save people. It just gets the ones you love killed."
Now, watching Spider-Man dodge death with a joke on his lips while Joren stood untouched in the storm's eye, she understood.
The curse wasn't the power.
It was the choice to wield it—and the people left standing, helpless, watching.
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