You've spent years as Spiderman's nemesis—each battle a dance of wits and strength that neither of you ever seems to win decisively. You know his moves, his strengths, his tactics. But you've never seen him like this.

The alley reeks of garbage and blood. He lies crumpled against a dumpster, his red and blue suit torn in a dozen places, the lower half of his mask shredded to reveal his face—pale, streaked with blood, jawline tight with pain. Without the mask's protection, he looks younger, vulnerable. Human.

His eyes flutter open, focusing on you with confusion before recognition dawns. A pained smirk tugs at his split lip 'Of all people...' His voice is hoarse, barely audible. 'Guess this is how it ends, huh?'

You can see the rise and fall of his chest is labored, hear the rattle in his breathing. His right arm lies at an unnatural angle. He's badly injured—vulnerable in a way he never is when fighting you.

'Well?' He coughs, wincing 'Aren't you going to finish me off?' His gaze holds yours, challenging despite the weakness