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Chapter 8 - Chapter 8

Spider-Man swiftly stepped back as Taskmaster lunged forward, thrusting his sword with precision. The blade sliced through the air, but Spider-Man's reflexes were faster, he sidestepped just in time to avoid it.

Taskmaster pulled his sword back and swung again, this time aiming for a diagonal slash. Spider-Man shifted to the left effortlessly, dodging the attack once more.

With a roar, Taskmaster charged at him, shield raised high, attempting to bash Spider-Man while simultaneously thrusting his sword.

But Spider-Man countered with a powerful punch that struck the shield dead center. The force of the blow was immense. It sent Taskmaster flying backward, his shield shattering into pieces upon impact.

Taskmaster hit the ground hard, stunned by what had just happened. His eyes widened in disbelief as Spider-Man advanced menacingly toward him.

"You're not fighting Captain America," Spider-Man growled, his voice laced with anger. "And I'm going to make sure you regret ever coming after me."

Panicking, Taskmaster scrambled to his feet and hurled the broken remnants of his shield before pulling out an Uzi. He fired round after round, but Spider-Man weaved between the bullets with ease, his movements fluid and precise.

"What did you expect?" Spider-Man taunted, his tone dripping with confidence. "I'm superhuman. You can mimic my moves all you want, but you'll never match my speed or strength."

Taskmaster's expression turned grim. For the first time, doubt crept into his mind. How could Spider-Man be so much stronger than he'd anticipated? All the intel he'd gathered suggested otherwise.

"I'm still pissed about you cutting my web line when I was swinging," Spider-Man added coldly, narrowing the distance between them. Without hesitation, he launched himself at Taskmaster.

Realizing he was outmatched, Taskmaster decided retreat was his best option for now. As he turned to flee, however, Spider-Man shot a strand of webbing at his legs.

Though Taskmaster saw it coming, he couldn't react quickly enough to dodge it. The webbing yanked him off balance, causing him to stumble. Desperate, he twisted around and slashed at the webbing with his sword, freeing himself momentarily.

But then Spider-Man leaped high into the air, grabbing a large water tank from a nearby rooftop. Taskmaster looked up in horror as Spider-Man soared above him, the tank held firmly in both hands.

Spider-Man hurled the tank downward. It crashed onto Taskmaster with a deafening thud, pinning him beneath its weight. Water gushed out, flooding the area around them.

Spider-Man landed gracefully on the ground and glanced down at Taskmaster, who lay immobilized yet still breathing proof of his enhanced durability as a Super Soldier. Taskmaster's hand twitched weakly, a feeble attempt to fight back.

Without mercy, Spider-Man lifted the tank off him and kicked the sword away. Grabbing Taskmaster by the collar, he hoisted him into the air.

With one swift motion, he delivered a devastating blow to Taskmaster's spine, rendering him paralyzed for life, a move reminiscent of Bane breaking Batman.

When it was done, Spider-Man dropped Taskmaster unceremoniously onto the ground.

"Next time," Spider-Man spat venomously, "pick someone else to hunt."

With that, he fired a web line and swung off into the night, leaving Taskmaster broken and defeated in his wake. The city's skyline blurred around him as he moved, a shadow against the moonlit clouds.

But Spider-Man wasn't done yet. His next target: one of the crime lord's warehouses.

When he arrived, he didn't bother with stealth or subtlety. Spider-Man landed squarely in front of the main entrance, his posture tense, his fists clenched. He didn't care who saw him. He didn't care who tried to stop him.

"It's Spider-Man! Open fire!" one of the guards shouted, his voice trembling with panic.

Bullets erupted from their guns, tearing through the air, but none found their mark. Spider-Man moved like a ghost, dodging and weaving with inhuman speed. Grenades were hurled in his direction, exploding harmlessly behind him as he closed the distance.

In a flash, he shot two webs at the nearest guards, yanking them off their feet and slamming them into the wall behind him. They crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Spider-Man stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous.

"If one of you doesn't tell me where the rest of Kingpin's warehouses are, I'll make sure you never walk again," he growled.

The remaining guards hesitated, their fear palpable. They fumbled for their weapons, firing wildly, but their shots went wide. Spider-Man was a blur of motion, disarming and incapacitating them with brutal efficiency. This wasn't just a fight, it was a reckoning.

One by one, the guards fell until only a handful remained, huddled outside the warehouse. Spider-Man grabbed one by the collar, lifting him off the ground. "Talk," he demanded, his voice cold. The man stammered out the information, his face pale with terror.

With a swift punch, Spider-Man knocked him out and turned his attention to the warehouse. He doused the interior with flammable oil, the acrid smell filling the air.

Then, he grabbed a grenade from the guards' stash and hurled it inside. The explosion was deafening, flames erupting from the building as it was consumed in a fiery inferno.

Spider-Man stood back, watching the blaze with grim satisfaction. He tossed a few more grenades into the wreckage for good measure, ensuring nothing would remain. The heat from the fire washed over him, but he didn't flinch.

As the warehouse burned, Spider-Man turned and swung away into the night. He had more work to do. Kingpin's empire wouldn't destroy itself.

Next Morning,

The TV buzzed with the morning news, the anchor's voice sharp and urgent. 

"Multiple warehouses were engulfed in flames last night, and witnesses at the scene are all pointing fingers at Spider-Man," the news anchor reported. "We even have photographic evidence." 

The screen cut to a grainy image of Spider-Man standing in front of a blazing warehouse, the flames casting an ominous glow on his silhouette. 

"Could it be that the Daily Bugle is right? Is Spider-Man truly a menace?" the anchor speculated, her tone heavy with implication. 

Peter Parker sat on his couch, a mug of herbal tea in hand, watching the broadcast. He took a sip and grimaced. 

"Why is everything that's good for your body so bitter?" he muttered, downing the rest of the tea in one reluctant gulp. 

With a sigh, he got up and made his way to his home office. It was time to start his day. His mission today?

Hacking into the accounts of corrupt companies, siphoning their ill-gotten gains, and redistributing the money. Some of it would go to the people they'd scammed; the rest, well, he'd keep a cut for himself. 

But his ultimate goal was bigger. He was planning to drain every last dollar from the scamming operation and return it all to the victims. It wasn't just about stopping criminals anymore. It was about making things right. 

As he sat down at his desk, his fingers hovered over the keyboard, ready to dive into the digital shadows. Today was just another step in his quiet war against injustice.

🕸️🕸️🕸️🕷️🕸️🕸️🕸️

I have been rebirthed, and this is another try at writing a story. If you like the story so far, you can sub to my Patreon for advanced chapters. 

Right now, we're at Chapter 14. 

👉 [Patreon .com/The_Undying_One] 

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the start. See you later! 

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