Peter didn't sleep much that night but, once he did, it wasn't peaceful. He woke up to the wind howling outside, gasping and sweating, his aunt's name on his lips.
He didn't know what was making him feel worse, the guilt over having to beat up a group of unarmed, defenseless non-metas or the fact that he was going back to the serpent's nest this very evening. Ivy had been quite clear, she expected him to compete.
The previous night, after dragging himself back from the pizzeria, he had spent some time looking through the "Welcome to Gotham" pamphlet. As expected, he had found her in it, on page fifteen.
Poison Ivy, she was nicknamed. Known to be able to spread poisonous and sometimes mind altering pollen, as well as control plant life. She was considered highly dangerous when crossed, but the page noted that she tended to go after those who went against her beliefs.
She was a staunch ecologist, which he could have gotten behind hadn't she also been a confirmed murderer and terrorist. Killing for one's ideals was a line that Peter never wanted to cross himself. Death was too extreme, it was an admission of powerlessness. It wasn't the only option, in many cases, nor the best one.
Harley wasn't mentioned on the page, and she didn't have an article herself. Either she wasn't dangerous enough to warrant it, or she hadn't been active back when the pamphlet had been written.
Still, learning who he had spent the previous night with was enough to chill him to his core. Ivy was a murderer. She had been linked to several cases of poisoning, sure, always connected to major cases of corruption or environmental disasters, but killing was reprehensible either way. That was what uncle Ben and aunt May had taught him.
At least now he had an idea of how to avoid getting trapped by her poison. Although he didn't have much resistance to cold, he did have the ability to hold his breath for an unnaturally long time. Ned and him had timed it together, years ago, when he had just started developing his powers. He could easily go ten minutes without air and, with some discomfort, could extend that up to fifteen.
Considering regular humans could train themselves to last longer without air, he might also be able to do so.
That was something he would have to try, at least until he could make his first toxin-filtering suit.
Staring at the roof above him, Peter tried to find comfort in thinking about spider suits, web fluids and programming. It wasn't working, he kept shivering and being dragged back to reality whenever wind crashed against the walls of his room. It was so loud, under the roof.
His thin secondhand blanket wasn't enough to ward off most of the chill. Attic rooms weren't well insulated, and the snow piling up above the building was making the walls and ceiling as cold as ice.
Groaning, he dragged himself off of his mattress and stumbled into the small bathroom. He was awake earlier than usual, might as well take advantage of it and enjoy some hot water.
Grime and dirt pooled at his feet as he scrubbed his skin, rubbing his hands over and over again. They looked perfectly ordinary but he knew that they were strong enough to kill a grown man with a simple shove.
A flash. He remembered cracking, his elbow digging into ribs, too far, too hard. His foot making a nose explode, his hand clenching again and again as he slammed a man's face into the stone, fire roaring around them.
Peter turned the water off, kneeled down in the small shower. He was feeling nauseous.
He wanted someone, anyone, to talk to. He missed the video calls he used to have with MJ, the evenings he had spent playing games online with Ned, whispering so his aunt wouldn't catch him staying up late on a school night.
Being alone at all times wasn't good for him. The loneliness was worse than any guilt, any fear. But how could he meet anyone to befriend? He didn't exist in this world, didn't have papers, didn't go to school, didn't have coworkers or…
Right. He would be getting a coworker soon.
He blinked, noticing how cold he was starting to get, sitting like this in the shower. He wasn't feeling like himself lately, his emotions were almost impossible to control.
If only he had someone to talk to.
Maybe the new delivery driver would be around his age, maybe they could even become friends.
He didn't dare hope too much, though, not wanting to be disappointed. So far, he hadn't met anyone his age worth trusting in Gotham. That probably had something to do with the fact that most teenagers like him were in school, not walking around the worst parts of town.
Peter started drying himself off, staring into the mirror as he did so. His skin was smooth, free of any scars or bruises.
Less than a week ago, his body had been severely burned and injured. All traces of it had faded in a couple days and he looked as healthy as ever. He was lucky to have such a gift, many vigilantes probably dreamed of being able to bounce back right after they got injured.
He shouldn't let his powers go to waste. He would be careful. He would show Marco and Ivy that he could survive Gotham. It wasn't like he was planning to do it forever, anyways. As soon as he and Harley had enough money to accomplish what they needed to, he would stop.
First of all, he needed to find a computer. Without it, he couldn't research the materials available to him, nor order anything, once he got his hand on a pre-payed credit card-assuming they existed in this universe-. Christmas being right around the corner, there would be plenty of used laptops to grab in every secondhand store. That and likely many other useful things.
It was a bit odd to think he would soon be able to afford every piece of equipment he needed to make his new suits, especially after having struggled so hard to get what he already had.
Peter didn't feel like going out in the cold before he had to, but he didn't feel like working or reading either. After getting dressed and eating rice off of an old pizza box -he needed to get some proper plates-, he ended up sitting down on his freezing ceiling, radio on.
"-fident that only a few explosives are left in town, most likely underground. Once again, police asked citizens not to try and disarm any device on their own and instead contact the proper authorities."
Not in the mood for yet another set of gloomy Gotham news, Peter bent back, reaching out with his left arm and unsticking himself from the ceiling. He landed on his hand easily, lowering himself to his feet with a little flip.
It was fun to move like that. He missed having the city as his playground to run, jump and swing around in.
Soon. He would get that feeling back soon. He was going to get the money for it, after all. The only other thing he needed now was hard work.
He switched the station to a music only one and jumped back up to the ceiling, sticking to it with the tip of his fingers. He swung around for a bit, playing with his powers as safely as he could in the small space, before stopping and closing his eyes.
He took a deep breath, closed his mouth.
He had some free time, might as well try to use it for some of that breathing practice.
oOo
Breathing practice was boring.
Unfortunately for Peter, he was so preoccupied by the upcoming fight that he didn't have the motivation to do anything else. As such, he spent the afternoon bored out of his mind, walking up and down his walls. The good thing with snowy windows were that they completely hid whatever he was doing inside of his apartment. Not that anyone would see him either way, as they were connected to the roof, but still.
Darkness fell and, soon enough, it was time for him to head out. Gotham was very different that night when he jumped out of his window to land on the soft snow covering the roof. Even there, in the Bowery, people hung lights on their windows and doors, making the streets glitter with a distinctively festive mood.
He could smell food cooking from inside the buildings around him, hear people chatting. It was as if, for one evening, the break-out and everything it entailed had been forgotten.
Peter ached for that kind of normalcy. Holidays with his loved ones, gifts and well wishes, all things he had taken for granted as he grew up, all things he had now lost.
How gloomy.
Snow stuck to his damaged sneakers and scuffed pants when he walked but he tried to ignore it. He wouldn't be wearing them for the fight anyway.
Climbing and running through the blizzard, Peter wondered what kind of meta he would have to face. He hadn't fought any super powered villain yet in this world, and the one battle he had been involved with had not turned out well for anyone there. Hopefully, with the setting being more controlled, nothing bad would happen that night. He wasn't even going to be the only one fighting, this was an exhibition after all.
Maybe he should try to stick around after his turn in the cage, attempt to glean more information by watching meta criminals fight. He wasn't sure Ivy would let him, though. She had been very insistent on leaving as early as possible the previous night, and had no reason to act differently that day.
The docks were almost empty, a few look-outs from various gangs and industrial groups the only souls walking along the bay. Even criminals had holidays, it seemed.
Ivy was waiting for him where she had told him to meet her earlier, wearing a brand new dress that appeared to be made of plants rather than fabric. It moved across her skin in small, intricate patterns, flowers burgeoning and fading in the span of a few seconds.
"That's amazing." He whispered, before he could stop himself.
To his surprise, it earned him a small smile from the woman. It was then that he noticed the small box she had in her hand. It wasn't wrapped, only a simple cardboard cube. He was extremely confused when she handed it to him.
"This is a test." She informed him flatly. "Take good care of her."
Hesitantly, Peter grabbed the offered box and peeked inside. Snuggled there, inside of a pot that seemed slightly to big for it, was a little plant.
"Is this… for…" He snapped his mouth shut before the question could leave his lips. Now was not a good time to get poisoned.
"She is from the Haworthia family. They are relatively easy to take care of. Do not overwater her."
On those words, the redhead turned away and headed towards the stairs leading to the sewers. It took Peter a few seconds to get over the strange interaction, staring helplessly at the small plant in his hands, before he ran after her.
They followed the same path they had the previous day. He tried to calm his nerves by focusing on remembering the way ahead. Left turn, right turn, right turn, climb up a ladder, now go down a slope.
The door again. They were there.
His breathing had calmed a bit but he still felt anxious. He couldn't hear the crowd yet, but his skin could feel the vibrations coming from the loud cheering. A large bang managed to pass the two iron doors between them and the arena.
The fighting had already started of course. This time around, every single person in that cage would be a meta, like him.
Important people would be there, too. More so than the ones he'd seen the night before. He wished he had spent more of his afternoon memorizing the rogues' faces but what he knew would have to suffice.
Ivy knocked at the door, he counted every hit of her knuckle on the cold iron. One. One-Two. One. One-Two-Three-Four. One-Two.
Focusing on information instead of emotions helped him deal with his anxiety, separating himself from what was happening to Peter and trying to think of it as a Spider-Man mission.
Except he didn't have a mask.
It was too late to go back. He knew it. His hands squeezed into fists, the only way to stop them from shaking. Fighting another meta with his face visible to all… He wouldn't be able to restrain his strength, everyone would see how dangerous he could be.
It was nerve-wracking.
As Spider-Man, it was fun to play with his powers and do tricks. As Peter, however, it went against everything he had tried to accomplish these past few years.
Old habits were hard to break, especially when he didn't really even want to break them.
He still dreamed of going to school, getting a job and a house. He still believed in it. That wouldn't happen if it became known that he was a meta, and one involved in dangerous criminal activities, on top of that.
Ivy led him past the first gate into the dry stone corridor. Lights had been added on the wall, this time stripes of red cutting accros the harsh ceiling and walls. The ground had been covered by a plush, black carped.
Peter gulped. Just how important were the people coming to this event? Most of the previous day's audience had been younger street criminals, the kind he would see at night while delivering orders. This was looking a bit more extra than that.
The guards in front of the second gate did not ask any questions this time. They were the same as the two from before, and they greeted them with a nod, stepping aside to let them through.
His stomach churned, thinking that he was now known by face among a part of the underworld. Would he really be able to go back to a normal life after that?
The noise slammed into him as the door opened fully, louder than ever before. Alcohol, smoke and other various smells mixed together, before being overpowered by another scent: blood.
The arena was darker than it had been the previous night, spotlights shining on the cage alone. Several strips of red LED tape decorated the walls, creating patterns in the darkness. What a strange way to celebrate the holiday… it was in character for Gotham, though.
In the cage, two metas were fighting. One of them, he could recognize, especially since he had read about him before. Seeing a picture online, however, didn't compare to witnessing it in real life.
In a way, Killer Croc looked a lot like the lizard man he had fought and eventually cured with his alternate selves a couple weeks ago. He was a lot bigger, though, perhaps eight or nine feet tall, and his teeth looked much longer.
Sharper, too.
He was facing a strange creature, humanoid but winged and wrinkled, with large claws instead of fingers. The strange being stayed to the top of the cage, away from Croc's reach. The tension between them was so thick Peter could taste it.
It was something primal, he knew. His DNA had been modified by the bite and his instincts had changed with it, even outside of the Spider Sense. He could smell emotions and sense fear in people, like a predator hunting for prey.
Spiders were tiny hunters, but their instincts remained the ones of a killer. Prowling, setting traps, killing, eating.
And, right now, Peter could feel the presence of several other metas such as him. Croc, surprisingly, wasn't one. His appearance must come from something other than an actual animal then…
The creature he was fighting, though…
Peter barely noticed Ivy leaving him to climb towards the VIP lounge, focusing on the fight and not on his surroundings. The flying hybrid was attempting a dive attack, going for Croc's eyes with its claws, mouth wide open, showing off long, glistening white fangs.
The bigger meta, however, saw him coming, shielding his face with an arm that was five times as wide as Peter's thigh. The claws scrapped away at the green scales covering it, barely managing to chip its surface.
Slashing didn't work well against Croc, he noted. This was good for him, as he mostly relied on blunt force while fighting. He would have to try it out himself, though.
The hybrid tried to fly away from its opponent before it could be grabbed. Instead of using his hands, though, Croc reached upwards with his head, opening a mouth that was full of several rows of sharp, dangerous fangs.
Peter grimaced as the teeth sunk into the creature's ankle. The hybrid howled in pain, shrill and unpleasant. Next to him, he could hear some audience members curse.
Right.
He was supposed to be fighting soon, too.
Trying to calm his nerves once again, he looked across the hidden arena. The people present tonight looked older and with nicer clothes than the ones from the previous day. He could see weapons, clean and new for the most part, on display next to many of them. Some didn't even look to be part of the criminal world, dressed like upstanding citizens with suits and ties.
As for the alcove he had noticed earlier, it was hard for him to see it from where he was as it was situated right above the entrance. He'd have to talk to the book lady and go get changed to get an excuse to switch to the other side of the room.
He could see her further down on the stairs leading to the cage, holding the same notebook as before. She was wearing a full body suit, two-toned pink and black, an attire he could see on some other spectators around the arena, despite the lack of light. Her hair was tied in a tight, precise bun.
Tonight was indeed a big deal, all of those mobsters were dressing up like they were going to a gala.
Peter started climbing down the stairs towards her. A loud booming noise, however, made him stop in his tracks.
Inside of the cage, Croc had grabbed the winged hybrid by the throat and had slammed him against the ground, shattering the stone around them. The man let go of his hold, raising his fist and pummeling his prone opponent again and again.
Peter's neck started tingling, soft and distant.
On the ground, broken and bloodied, the creature slowly lifted its head under the unrelenting assault.
It opened its mouth.
And then it screamed.
The sound bounced off the stone walls of the underground arena, magnified by the space, echoing in Peter's head. It was one of the worst sounds he had ever heard, making him grab his temples and yell out in agony. His ears felt like they were burning, his body was shaking violently.
He slammed his hands on his ears, pressing down as hard as he could. It was useless, the scream was still ringing, leaving the hybrid's broken maw in a long wail. Tears started coming up to Peter's eyes, his stomach rolled.
He was vaguely aware of the crowd around him cursing and groaning, of the smell of puke and bile. Several people collapsed next to him.
The shrill, suddenly, was covered up by a howl. Anger. Rage.
"SHUT UP!" Croc roared, grabbing the creature by its throat and squeezing until the sound stopped. Silence, precious silence soothed Peter's mind like a balm. He staggered, somehow managing to stay on his feet.
His vision cleared to the picture of the giant meta throwing the hybrid on the shattered stone ground and digging one of his feet in its ribcage, bringing it back, then stomping again.
"SHUT UP!" The giant was still screaming, well after the hybrid has lost consciousness. "SHUT UP!" His eyes were wild, furious.
It took a while for Peter to regain his bearings. The criminals around him struggled back to their feet, some of them clapping.
"Show him Croc!" The bookkeeping lady cheered, rubbing at her temples with her free hand.
Croc roared in pleasure, obviously enjoying the positive attention from the crowd and resumed his merciless beating. A rumble of approval spread through the seats as more and more people managed to stand back up and get back to watching the show.
His ears ringing uncomfortably, Peter stumbled down the few steps between him and the suit-wearing woman. She noticed him quickly, flashing him a smile. There was a glint of excitement and rage in her eyes that disturbed him greatly.
The people who worked for these kinds of shows were obviously not the most trustworthy… or stable.
"Oh yes, you're the Pizza Guy." She beamed at him. "Good luck tonight, you're going after them."
She sounded distant, as if she was coming from behind a waterfall, or a wall. His mind was still ringing with the echoing wail.
Her breath smelled of something chemical, and her pupils looked too small for her to be completely sober. From the behavior of those around them, Peter knew that she wasn't the only one under the influence that night.
"Oh. Right." She laughed awkwardly, "Prize money is five grand." She leaned in and whispered : "I don't think you're going to win, though."
She giggled after saying this, as if it had been a particularly funny joke. Peter narrowed his eyes at her. He might look like a regular teenager, especially out of costume, but he had faced stronger people than what this place could throw at him.
That was it, he realized. Fighting without his suit and webs was throwing him off but, even without them, he knew he was strong. As gruesome as Croc's rampage was, as strong as his blows looked, Peter knew that Spider-Man could take him down.
Now, he just needed to prove to himself that good ol' Peter could do that too. Obviously, he wouldn't be fighting Croc but…
Wait a minute.
The lady had said the price was…
Five thousands?
His mouth dried up, heart missing a beat. This was money beyond what he had dared to expect. With that amount, added to the cash he already had, he would be able to get a computer, materials, tools, chemicals, clothes…
He shook his head, amazed, then headed to the opposite side of the arena. There was so much money to be made in a place like this, it was honestly terrifying.
The ruthless assault kept going on inside the cage, the hybrid miraculously still breathing despite most of the bones in its body being broken. Enhanced healing perhaps? He had to walk past the scene to get to the other side of the arena. People there were still groaning on the ground, holding their ears.
He hurried to the changing room door but didn't push it when he reached it. Instead, he looked straight at the VIP area, hoping they were too distracted by the fight to notice him staring.
There were significantly more people than before standing there, some of them chatting, most of them watching the massacre. His eyes flickered from unknown face to unknown face, until he settled on one he recognized.
He breathed out slowly.
Short, overweight, with a cane and a sneer on his face. He had seen him before in pictures but hadn't expected to ever meet him face to face.
Oswald Cobblepot, The Penguin, one of the most powerful crime lords in Gotham had come that night. And, next to him, Peter could see Ivy, looking down at him with a slight smirk.
What are you waiting for? Her eyes seemed to say. Go and make us some money.
He needed to find a way to sneak a camera in, take a shot of Cobblepot next to all these other crimin-
His neck itched. He felt like he was being watched.
Further left from the Penguin, still inside the VIP lounge, the old man he had noticed the previous day was staring at him. He was mostly hidden in shadows but Peter could recognize his stark white hair and posture.
This night, he was wearing a body armor without a helmet. Black and orange, half of it melted into the darkness while the other part reflected the few lights around him, glowing slightly red.
Peter shivered, taking a step back. The old man had one of the most threatening auras he had ever felt, unsettling him to his core.
He backed away into the changing room, disturbed. He kept walking away from the door once he had closed it, not daring to turn his back to it, captivated by the stranger's presence.
"Look where you're going, brat!" A rumbling voice growled behind him.
He jumped, turning around as fast as he could.
What he saw was one of the oddest creatures he had ever laid eyes on.
Her body visibly feminine, another human-animal hybrid was standing behind him, towering over the room, so tall she almost reached the ceiling. Her skin looked thick and slippery, simple white and black patterns spread across her muscular arms, legs and chest.
As for her face…
She was a killer-whale.
She was a woman with the head of a killer-whale.
Not only that, as she looked down at him he could see the sharp teeth inside of her… mouth? Oh why did he have to be aware of the facts that orcas had one of if not the strongest bites among all sea mammals?
With enough luck, she would be a bit less powerful than her ocean-bound cousins. He didn't really want to find out, though. He was reminded of Croc's fangs digging into the hybrid's ankle.
"S-sorry ma'am" He let out, unable to tear his gaze away from her head. She had a fin at the back of it. A fin.
The humongous lady narrowed her eyes at him, cracking her massive knuckles.
"Are you the one I'm supposed to fight?"
Her voice was low and deep, more inhuman than masculine as she seemed to drag the sounds from a different set of vocal chords than what regular humans had access to.
"Y-yeah." He was distracted by the way her muscles moved under her skin. It looked odd, shapes all different than what he was used to.
"Tch." She shook her head. "Easy money."
He stepped aside as she headed out of the changing room, the mandatory sports clothes tight on her. She hadn't bothered with shoes, her body too large for this kind of apparel.
Peter watched her go silently, frantically trying to remember anything he knew about killer-whales other than their agressive tendencies and incredible strength. They were fast, for marine animals. Not nearly as fast as him, but still much faster than a regular human.
He visited the bathroom adjoined to the locker room, washing his face with cold water and staring at himself in the sink mirror, which had not been broken. He looked like himself, same hair, same nose, same mouth.
His eyes, though, were colder.
He really needed to find some company. Interacting only with his boss, delivery clients and high ranking criminals was not doing anything good to his personality or mental health.
Peter changed into the night's uniform. The black shorts were still there but the shirts had been switched for white ones. His stomach rolled when he realized it was probably so the audience could see any injury more easily.
The sneakers slipped on without any struggle, perfectly fitting his feet. Lucky. Hopefully, that was a good sign for the rest of the night.
He stored Ivy's plant and his day clothes into one of the lockers and, after another trip to the bathroom to drench his face in cold sink water, opened the door.
Peter stepped back into the arena, heart thundering.
The killer-whale woman was already stepping into the cage, sneering at the broken body of the winged creature, rasping weak, dying breaths, sprawled on the stone. She snarled and grabbed the back of its head.
She swung and, without any apparent effort, sent the large hybrid flying away from the fighting area. It crashed in front of the first row of seats, to the excitement of the crowd.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN" The speakers announced: "HERE FOR THE SECOND TIME THIS YEAR, READY TO TEAR THE COMPETITION APART, I GIVE YOU… ORCA!"
Orca smirked as the audience chanted her name, raising one of her fists into the air. She seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the event.
Peter started walking, back straight, eyes staring ahead, straight towards the cage. Adrenaline flooded into his veins, making him feel awake, alert.
This time, he would actually have to be careful. This orca lady could definitely be dangerous, especially with those teeth of hers. He would have to use his speed to his advantage, try to take her down before she got her fangs on him.
"AND NOW JOINING HER INTO THE CAGE, SOME OF YOU MAY RECOGNIZE HIM… IT'S THEEEE PIZZA GUY! WILL HE DO IT AGAIN TONIGHT LADIES AND GENTLEMEN?"
Orca snorted. "Pizza guy?" She taunted him as he stepped into the ring. "Is that your power, shrimp?"
"Guess you'll see." Peter smirked, now ready for the fight. He had to trust in his skills and abilities. He had faced stronger foes.
Even without his suit, he could do it.
So, he forgot the crowd and the villains watching and began circling Orca, walking with his hands to his sides. The door closed with a clang and, soon, the hybrid woman followed him in his pacing.
They circled each other, neither of them ready to make the first move yet. The crowd has quieted, waiting and watching. Tension was at its peak.
Then, with a roar, Orca leaped in his direction, feet thundering on the ground, sending bits of gravel and rocks fly with every step. She picked up speed as she approached, mouth wide open, arms ready to strike.
Before she could reach him, Peter jumped into the air, timing it so his feet ended up above her face by the time she got to where he was standing. He used her forehead as a springing board, pushing as hard as he could as he jumped behind her.
Not knowing how effective the maneuver had been, he slammed his hands on the ground, vaulting and twisting in the air to land in a crouch, facing his opponent's back. To his surprise, she didn't seem to have been affected by his blow at all, turning her head to look at him, rage burning behind her glare.
"Brat…" she growled.
"Fish!" Peter replied, his tongue getting ahead of his brain now that he was getting into the fight. His Spider-Man mannerism were coming back.
No sticking, he reminded himself.
They sprung towards each other at the same time, Orca yelling in anger as she charged, Peter staying silent as he pounced, jumping up in the air, bringing his foot back for a spinning kick.
Reading his intention, the meta woman stopped in her tracks, feet skidding, digging into the stone. She raised her arms up just in time to block his foot. He hadn't put all of his strength behind it, only about a fourth of it, and she took the blow without flinching, the impact rippling on the surface of her skin.
"That's kinda cool." Peter informed her, pushing away from her arms before she could try to grab him.
He landed a few feet back and had to immediately duck to the ground to avoid a massive fist, shortly followed by a low kick, which he managed to dodge by leaping and rolling.
For a while, Orca kept attacking, forcing Peter to keep backing away, ducking and sidestepping her blows. Eventually, his back hit the side of the cage. He bit his lips. He would have to time this properly.
Seeing that he was backed against the metal bars, the killer-whale barked out a satisfied laugh and brought her left arm back, ready to put all of her strength into a single punch.
Oh boy. He definitely did not want to be hit by that.
His speed, thankfully, was much greater than hers and he threw himself down as her fist shot through the air. A loud clang, followed by creaking, sounded behind him. Orca howled.
Perfect. Now was the time to strike.
Staying low to the ground, Peter planted his palms on the stone and launched one of his feet to the woman's stomach, now not bothering with holding his strength back.
His kick connected with a loud THWACK, making Orca grunt and bend over slightly. Her left hand was bruised and swollen, the bars she had accidentally hit were bent, several of them inches away from falling apart completely.
She had incredible strength and resilience but that was something he could use against her. He smiled. He was starting to figure her out. This kind of fight wasn't so different than what he was used to!
Then, he felt something close on his foot, still buried in her chest. White hot pain blinded him, blades of fire crept up as-
Peter kicked Orca's head with all of his might, making her release his foot before she could apply the full force of her bite to it. He groaned as it hit the stone with a wet thump, blood spilling onto the ground.
Well, now he understood what the winged meta felt when Croc started munching on him.
"Holy crap." He breathed out. "You're not joking around."
He used his god legs and arms to push himself away from her and from the damaged iron bars, back towards the center of the cage. His injured foot was leaving droplets of blood behind as he stumbled backwards. Then, it started to itch.
His healing kicked in, faster than it had been during the Firefly fight, thanks to the regular meals he was now eating. The wounds would still take a few hours, perhaps days to completely disappear, but he should be able to use it -although with significant pain- in a couple of minutes.
"You're a tough one, little shrimp." Orca sneered, holding her chest. Her face was starting to swell where Peter had jumped on her. The impact must have made her bite down on her own fangs as one of her teeth had fallen from her mouth, leaving a black, bloody gap behind.
With a roar, she shot towards the metal bar, grabbing them with both her good hand and her bad one and tugging.
"How is that allowed?!" Peter complained, watching in horror as she tore off a large portion of the cage's walls, then dislodged a first metal bar, weighing it in her hand.
"Less talking, shrimp." She laughed. "More dodging!"
She threw the first of the bars at him. It tore through the air at amazing speeds and Peter barely had the time to jump to the side before it rammed into the ground, bits of rocks flying everywhere as it dug several inches into the ground.
Oh that was bad.
He thought quickly, ideas racing through his brain. He couldn't jump up, that would only make him vulnerable to a second shot, and he didn't have his webs to change direction mid-air. He had to stay low.
That would make him more vulnerable to Orca's close quarter attacks, with how much larger than him she was, but it was better than to get impaled by a metal bar.
Speaking off.
Another rod was shot at him, forcing him to keep moving to the left as it was immediately followed by another one. How many of them did she grab from the wall?
Another throw later and he was getting dangerously close to the left end of the cage. Orca still had several rods in her hand, though, and she was getting ready to shoot again.
This is a stupid idea, his brain screamed at him as, impulsively, he started sprinting towards her, a half-baked plan forming in his mind.
Rarely did he let himself reach his full speed due to how damaging it could be for everything and everyone around him. His strength was only magnified by velocity, which could quickly become extremely dangerous. This time, though, he would have to do it if he wanted to survive this frankly foolish move.
Orca barked out a laugh and let go of another rod, obviously thinking she had goaded him into a trap. However, if he timed everything right, this should be the only one she would have the time to throw before…
Peter pushed down, a burst of pain punishing him for his foolishness as his injured foot protested. Ignoring it, he jumped, still going at full speed. His bleeding foot brushed the cold surface of the bar as he barely dodged it. The stone where he had been standing exploded as the weapon stabbed through it.
He was moving so fast that everything was a blur. The only thing he could see clearly was Orca, getting closer and closer every moment. She was moving in slow motion from his perspective, reaching down to grab another improvised weapon, still smirking. She wasn't able to see how fast he was moving, her brain hadn't processed the information yet.
Peter's knee crashed right above her mouth into what served as her nose. He immediately followed it up with a punch to side of her face, keeping on digging it in even after the initial impact.
This time, the shock was too much for Orca's skin to absorb, she was sent flying, slamming through the hole she had made into the wall, the broken ends of several bars digging into her back. She howled in pain.
Peter landed in a crouch, breath starting to speed up ever so slightly. This was a challenge, not a massacre. Better in every single way than the last fight he had been through.
"Fucking… brat…" Orca groaned, tearing herself away from the broken rods. Blood dripped down her back and shoulders, pooling at her feet. It looked darker than the usual human red, but flew out just as easily.
Peter shakily got to his feet, clenching his teeth as a spike of pain shot through his leg. His enhanced healing was struggling to keep up with his pace. He had to end this soon before his foot gave out.
He started backing up as Orca began moving forward, foam and blood dripping between her teeth. She prowled closer, hands clenching into fists then relaxing, over and over again.
She hunched her shoulder, preparing for a charge. Thankfully, Peter had backed away far enough to grab what he had been aiming for. He reached back, fingers closing against cool metal and, with one strong tug, pulled the rod out of the ground where it had stayed planted, ever since Orca threw it at him.
"Insolent pest." The woman cursed. "This stick won't help you."
"Just watch me!" He shot back, clenching it in his hands, trying to stay steady on his feet. Pain was still coursing through his lower body, making it hard to focus.
His opponent picked up her pace, running towards him like a bull seeing red. He counted her steps in his head, trying to find the perfect moment to move away.
Her mouth opened, spit dripping and flying away as she kept getting faster and faster. She would be on him in less than a second.
She lunged at him, arms coming around his body to stop him from dodging, shoulders hunching to stop any jumping attempt. With no other choice, Peter swung the rod in between them, raising it parallel to the ground, in front of his face. Hopefully, it would hold.
Her teeth collided with it, biting down full force. He had to try and push her back, as, even if her teeth were now wrapped around the metal, she was still towering over him, attempting to push him to the ground, where she could stomp him out.
He groaned in pain, the weight too much for his injured leg, which was now shaking violently. He couldn't hold this position, not with his foot in this state.
Struck by a flash of inspiration, Peter suddenly let go of the rod, leaping forward, towards the woman's stomach.
Orca, not expecting this move, stumbled, falling right into his arms as he wrapped them around her body. He squeezed.
Then, heaving and panting, he lifted the squirming meta into the air. He went as far up as he could before slamming her body into the stone ground, damaging it even further. Several holes were spread around the arena, traces from this fight and the others that had come before.
Not wanting the woman to get back up, Peter bent down and swiped the bar that had saved his life, starting when he noticed that several glistening white teeth had stayed stuck to it, some of them cracked and shattered.
He shook his head, turning back to Orca. Painfully, he limped over to her head, kicking her down as she tried to get back up.
"Stay down." He warned her. "Or I hit you in the head."
Her only response was to shoot one of her large hands towards his legs, which he easily batted away with his improvised weapon. She then attempted to prop herself up and bite him but, before she could, he followed through with his threat.
The metal bit into her cheek with a thump that echoed throughout the arena, overpowering the crowd's maddening cheers. She moaned in pain, crashing back to the ground and shaking violently.
Slowly, Peter put the end of the rod on her fin.
"Stay down." He repeated.
And she did.
For a moment, everything was silent, people taking in what had just happened. Then, as Peter stumbled away, dragging the bent metal bar with him, the room exploded into noise.
"THE PIZZA GUY DID IT AGAIN!" The speakers yelled, over the frantic crowd. "HE DID IT AGAIN!"
This felt a lot more like victory than the last fight he had been through, he thought gladly. He didn't care for the cheers, but he did feel like he had earned the prize money.
He was starting to smile, excited about being finally able to work on the sewing part of his suits when his neck began itching.
Frowning, he followed his instincts and turned his head, raising his eyes towards the VIP lounge.
All chatter there had ceased.
In stark contrast to the rest of the audience, which was cheering and laughing, the crowd gathered in the alcove had fallen silent, somberly looking over towards the cage.
Most of them, he realized, were staring at him.
The itching heightened, turning into a full-blown tingling like he hadn't felt since he arrived to Gotham.
Marco was right, he thought, this was a terrible idea.
Behind The Penguin, who was stroking his chin while observing him, the old man was still there, staring with just as much intensity as he had before.
This, he thought, is what prey must feel when it's being hunted.
It was terrifying.