Chapter 28: A contest of strength

Peter sighed as a speck of white ice fell into the palm of his hand. It seemed there would be no end to the constant cold. As soon as some of the snow melted, it would come back over the next evening and pile up during the night. It hadn't been so difficult to bear back when he had the Iron Spider. That suit had been perfectly insulated, it even had an emergency heating system. No such comfort now, he had to deal with his cheap clothes.

He looked up from his reddening fingers and the melting snowflake, peering around the docks for a shock of red hair but finding none. Ivy was making him wait this time, and he hadn't planned on standing still in the wind for more than a few minutes. He sighed, wishing he had thought of bringing gloves or at least a scarf. The chill wouldn't be dangerous even if he had to remain there for another hour but it was uncomfortable. He almost felt jealous of Jason, who had headed in much earlier in the evening and was probably sitting in the crowd by then. Being warm and dry seemed almost worth the disturbing looks he had gotten after his last fight. Almost.

The occasional sounds of dock workers and the odd civilian walking around was almost smothered by the rolling of the waves as they crashed against concrete and stone. He still heard all of it, of course. He couldn't turn his enhanced senses off, which had led to him listening to a great deal of music back in the days. Perhaps he could spend a bit of the money he earned tonight on a phone and a pair of earbuds. He missed swinging in between buildings to the voices of his favorite artists. He'd have to see how much he made from this, he had been moved to a higher division after all and that had to influence the payout. Perhaps it was why it started later. If that was the reason, he felt a bit annoyed that he hadn't been warned.

Of course, something like that was to be expected when dealing with Ivy. She was the type of person who would murder him without a second thought if she ever felt he was going against her interests. And if she wasn't, she surely acted the part. Harley had been almost as intimidating in her own way, no wonder the two of them were dating. Seriously, of all people he had to get entangled with it had to be these two...

He kicked a large pile of snow, watching it explode around his foot and fall back down to the ground. The worst part about the entire situation was the utter lack of entertainment. At least, in his universe, when he was in a stakeout he could get Karen to play music or a podcast to keep him entertained. He even managed to teach her to play board games with him, all of it purely through voice of course. All of that training and programming had gone to waste and he was back to having to be patient. Perhaps he could convince Jason to play phone chess with him when they went on patrol.

Minutes ticked by excruciatingly slowly, not that he was able to measure it without a watch or a screen to tell him the time. He estimated it to be almost midnight by now, and he was starting to feel hungry. He hadn't had time to grab anything from his boss' kitchen before he rushed out, not wanting to antagonize Ivy. Worst part was the man had cooked Jason and him a warm meal, not pizza for once. His friend had grabbed his, maybe he had expected it to take this long. Next time, Peter would do the same.

A crunch.

Snow.

Someone walking a few streets away from the coast. Light steps. Skittering, a hundred legs, thousands of insects.

Or a living dress of rustling leaves.

Peter took a deep breath, straightened his back, trying to remember who he was, what he had faced in the past. It wasn't too difficult but still, he felt disturbed.

Ivy intimidated him.

Her ability to control plants might be one of the coolest things he had ever seen, and he would have loved to talk to Ned about it, but her equally impressive talent with poisons and toxins gave him the creeps. He wasn't used to having to worry about those kinds of attacks. The Iron Spider used to detect toxins and gases well before they could reach him. He'd have to implement the feature into his new suit as soon as he could. He did appreciate his friend's eagerness to get him a gas mask, but it was pretty awkward to carry around and he felt the inner coat pocket he'd stuffed it in looked way too bulky to avoid suspicion. 

Of course, this being Gotham, everyone he met likely assumed he was carrying a firearm. He didn't feel like correcting them if they did, it probably kept people from bothering him.

He felt sweat run down his back as the odd mixture of footsteps and moving vegetation turned around the corner. He could see his fellow metahuman approaching in the shadows of one of the many hangars built along the docks. She wore a coat of shivering winter roots, twisted in odd, squirming shapes. He watched as it morphed into a long dress, buds sprouting flowers and leaves along the sleeves. Must be useful to be able to change your clothes like that, he thought. With how quickly his shirts were getting damaged, he would soon have to spend hours scrubbing bloodstains and fixing rips and tears to try and salvage most of them. Gotham wasn't very nice to his wardrobe.

"Good evening." Ivy greeted him, not slowing down as she walked past.

He wanted to roll his eyes but stopped himself just in time. For all he knew, she would have been able to see it and even with the gas mask, he didn't want to risk another dose of her toxins.

And so, he followed her without a word, hands shoved in his pockets. Of course, she didn't apologize for being late, leading him instead towards the now familiar path to the underground. Thick roots split the snow in front of her, breaking and pushing shards of ice away before she had to step on them. He hadn't noticed her doing this before but he had also been significantly more anxious back then. Knowing what was about to happen helped his nerves tremendously, he felt more lucid this time around. He tried to hang onto that, he would need it.

"Good evening." He replied, too late to be polite, although he hadn't meant to offend her.

It was hard not to be distracted by the ever shifting patterns of her dress or by the fight he knew was coming. The person he'd be fighting would be stronger than Orca had been, and he could still remember her teeth ripping through his skin. He had underestimated her, hadn't gone all out. But he had to find a balance in between winning and keeping the full extent of his abilities secret. It was hard to gauge how powerful the average mutan-meta was in this universe. Some seemed strong enough to take on Thanos himself and come out as the winner, others only had a few superhuman traits, as was more common from where he came from. Not only that but he had found multiple mention of magic in the old news articles he had taken to scrolling to before going to bed.

They walked down the old stairway and past the frozen waste water, down into a long corridor of grimy stones and half submerged rubble. This place had seen more than just a few people passing by, he could see impact marks on some of the walls. Yet other details he hadn't noticed the previous time. All he remembered from his last two trips to the Pits had been the sequences of turns and the directions to take, which he had memorized more out of habit than anything else. Right, go down, go up, left. It would be a maze to anyone who had never been led to it before, he could easily picture someone getting lost down there, taking hours, perhaps days to find their way back out.

The door was the same as he remembered, guarded by two armed men and barely keeping the rumble of the crowd contained. He could hear some of it if he focused, a low whisper ready to turn into a roar as soon as they stepped into the arena proper.

"Good luck in there kid." One of the guards whispered as he walked past, patting his back with an encouraging smile. "If anybody makes it out, it'll be you." He winked down at him, sounding cheerful. He even gave him a thumbs up.

Peter slowed down slightly, frowning at the man. He was being recognized as himself now, even if it was only by people connected to the fighting rink. He'd have preferred to save fame, or infamy, for later, once he put on his suit. He didn't have good experiences with the public at large, and the Mysterio disaster was still fresh. At least this time there was no fall from grace and no unscrupulous journalists to write articles about every single details of his life. 

Thoughts about his unfortunate lack of a secret identity fled from his mind as the entrance creaked open, letting in the artificial glow of distant ceiling lights and the grumbling of the waiting crowd. He had been wrong, there was no screaming.

They must have arrived in between two fights, he could smell alcohol, blood and the strong chemical scent of cleaning products overpowering them both. He stepped forward, following Ivy to the edge of the stairs. As before, he was handed a pair of shorts and a sleeveless shirt by one of the employees. This time it was a man, tall and lanky, dressed as if he was about to attend some grand ball or a fancy party. Most of the staff members he could see scattered around the arena sported the same uniform and he spotted a metallic shine on their sleeves. The buttons of their coats, he noted, were engraved with small umbrellas. This rung a bell with some of the studying he'd been forcing himself to do but he couldn't focus on it for too long, especially once his gaze landed on the cage sitting in the center of the room.

It was as large as he remembered, resting on a damaged stone floors, covered in cracks and stains. Fresh blood shone on the thick metal bars. Someone had repaired them after Orca tore them apart, although he recognized some of the damage on the ground, where rods of steel had almost impaled him. His opponent's last gambit before he had managed to beat her down. He felt Ivy walk away silently, not having spoken a word to him since she first greeted him. Being who she was, it was hard to know if she was angry at him or simply acting in character.

His eyes scanned the crowd, trying to spot his friend. He glanced over hundreds of faces, failing to recognize anyone he knew. Eyes stared back at him, whispers reached his ears. They were still calling him "pizza guy", of all things. Worse, it appeared all of them had at least heard of who he was and what he did for a living. Marco wouldn't be pleased about that and neither was he. Keeping Spider-Man's identity secret would be even harder than in his previous universe with his civilian face and his voice already so well known in the underground.

Giving up on spotting Jason, he tucked the clothes under his arm and made his way to the changing room. He had to focus on something, the noise and the smells were getting unbearable. He could feel a tension in the room, apprehension and the fever of a riled-up crowd. His hands felt cold, his throat was dry. He was still hungry, which felt completely inappropriate at this moment.

Perhaps they should think about selling food at those events, nothing like a nice warm hotdog when watching two mutants beat each other to half death.

He pushed the door open, closing it as fast as he could to give his senses some respite. It was warmer in there than it had been outside but he could still feel a deep chill. This far underground, the cold seeped in from the walls, the ceilings and the floors. He wasn't looking forward to undressing and putting on the flimsy sports shirt, as soft as it felt.

He took a few steps, regaining his bearings as his ears stopped ringing.

Then, he noticed him.

There was someone in the room with him, sitting on one of the two benches in front of the row of lockers bolted to the far wall.

Oddly, Peter began to feel uneasy. Not in a human way either but rather as a primal, animalistic instinct that told him something was wrong.

He tasted danger but his neck remained free of any tingling. Whatever the risk was, it was not immediate. The aura of the stranger, however, was overwhelming.

The second thing he noticed about the figure after his intimidating presence was his size. He towered over the room without needing to stand, his shoulders as large as three men's, his muscles curling thick and unnatural around every inches of his body. It reminded him of the stranger he'd chased down a few days earlier, a dark memory which wasn't helped by the sharp scent of something artificial, unnatural. It was all so similar it made his skin prickle, hairs standing on his arms and legs.

"Ah..." His opponent said, his voice almost as deep as the Bat's had been back on that rooftop. "Are you the Gamma?"

Peter didn't reply, still taking in the scene. He could see a thick metallic suitcase laying on the ground next to the man's feet and a small bag full of odd instruments next to it. Tubes and plugs, some of them still wet. He frowned, looking back up. The stranger was wearing the usual Pit fighter uniform, fabric straining to contain his bulging muscles but somehow still holding on. There were scars along his neck and limbs, round holes covered up by layers of damaged skin. As for his face...

"We're allowed to wear masks?" Peter couldn't believe it. Here he was, having shown everyone his face and powers... and he could have been hiding his identity from the very beginning! Why would Ivy lie to him about it? Was she trying to manipulate him in some way?

The man's mask stuck close to his face, highlighting a jawline that was too thick, features that were too strong, almost deformed. It hid his eyes behind two red lenses, shaped to look like a cruel frown. He looked straight at the fabric as it stretched, pulled by the smile hiding under. It was a sinister thing, with no joy and simply dark, cruel mockery behind it. It was only then that he recognized the man, not a simple thug nor a meta looking for money like he was, but one of the rogues who regularly came back to haunt Gotham. He didn't think this one had any meta abilities, beyond...

"You are not allowed to, boy. You and the rest of the crabs fighting to get to the top of Penguin's bucket." Bane replied calmly, bending down to scoop the metal suitcase in his hand. He dropped it next to him, the weight of it causing the bench he was sitting on to creak ominously. How it was holding both him and it up, Peter had no idea. "I did not come to play at fighting and parade before the crowd." The villain growled, turning the case towards him and thumbing it open. A soft green glow lit the sharp angles of his features, making him seem more like a monster than a man. "I am quite grateful for the opportunity to find powerful foes so easily, though. I have been waiting for one of your kind to face me all evening. There is nothing like testing your steel against something stronger than you are, is there not?"

The rogue lifted his head slightly after he spoke, pretending he wanted an answer to his rhetorical question.

Without breaking eye contact, Bane slipped a tube, no, a syringe out of the thick case, raising it in front of him, letting its light spread to the rest of the room.

It smelled like poison.

"Interesting formula, this one." His low voice took on a wondering tone. Peter could see a bead of sweat rolling down the man's neck, a slight shaking of the hands. Still, the criminal's voice was steady as he examined the liquid, rolling the glass tool in between his fingers, admiring it like a precious jewel. "Ace had the core of it right, it just needed to be refined." The same unnatural creases in his mask, another smile. "A man ought to use the tools at his disposal."

Satisfied with what he had seen in the glowing liquid, the large man lowered the needle towards his thigh. His fingers trembled ever so slightly but he easily pushed it into his skin, in between two bulging muscles. Instead of injecting the drug, he slowly rolled his head over to stare at the teen.

"You should get ready, boy. I don't have much patience left. You are the Gamma, are you not?"

"I am." Peter replied. He began to walk forward again, slipping his coat off. He felt the criminal shift as he neared him, tilting his head and watching him all the way to the lockers. The lenses did not blink, his breathing was so low it would have been imperceptible ton anyone but a metahuman. "Am I the first tonight?" The boy asked, storing his winter clothes as casually as he could with the weight of a murderer's gaze on his back.

"I must admit," Bane spoke, ignoring his question. The syringe, still full of the glowing poison, had not yet been pushed into his veins. "I am disappointed with the quality of the fighters here. You are the only one who really caught my interest."

"You've seen me fight before, then?"

The teen rested his back against the wall of lockers, crossing his arms in front of his chest. It was easier to keep himself calm if he pretended he was wearing his suit.

"Not in person." The rogue had not looked away from him once since he had first set eyes on him. "You see..." His finger twitched, pushing the needle in further but stopping after a fraction of a second. The liquid was still there, swirling in the glass tube. "... Powerful tools require willpower and expertise to use properly." He pressed further, once more stopping before triggering the mechanism. Peter could see more sweat forming on his neck, a rhythmic twitching of the jaw. "A fool would let himself be controlled by his own tools, become a slave to them." The lenses caught some of the green light, adding to the eeriness of the scene. Still, he spoke with little to no emotion, as if he were not moments away from injecting a dangerous chemical into his veins. "A wise man knows the right way of using his arsenal is to refine it. Control and power."

Bane gave a last push, letting the metal bite into his flesh. The glowing toxin swirled into his body sluggishly but he did not react overtly, aside from a low grunt. His muscles, however, strained and twisted, expanding even further to give him the allure of a giant straight out of a fantasy book. The shirt he wore tore in several places, unable to stretch any further. Under the fabric, skin rolled and shook violently, shifting and changing faster than should ever have been possible. Once more, he was reminded of that night, of the chase and of the terrible sight that had welcomed him at the end of it.

"Control and power, boy." The villain's voice was distorted, raspy. "You will help me further refine this tool. A man must know what he wields so he doesn't become a slave, don't you agree?"

Peter slipped his shoes on, quickly tying them. This guy was a villain but he was also a regular human, although one empowered by the use of drugs. He pieced together what he remembered about his opponent. He had appeared more than a decade earlier and had operated in the city for several months before disappearing, beaten by the Bat. Ever few years, he would return, usually in an attempt to seize power in Gotham. He was known to reach near superhuman levels of strength and speed under the influence of extreme performance enhancers.

This shouldn't be too hard, if he only thought about their respective physical abilities. Drugs could only bring a regular human so far and Spider-Man had only ever been matched in power when facing mutants, aliens and very advanced technology. He knew how dangerous rogues were in Gotham but, inside of a fighting cage, without any guns or henchmen to distract him, he had no reason to lose. On top of that, this would be his first battle of the day, compared to the older man's streak in the Pits.

A streak he had won so easily he had just been complaining about it.

The metahuman bit his lip, scolding himself. He just had a talk with Jason about not underestimating his enemies and here he was, already falling back into that pattern. He glanced at Bane, who was calmly storing his syringe and bag of tools away in a locker, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He remembered what all those tubes and trinkets were for now. The man wore them pushed directly into his body, to keep it pumped full of drugs at all times.

This wasn't his regular formula though, was it? He'd said something about someone named "Ace" making or helping make the new version, at least before it had been refined, as he put it. The name did not ring any bell but Jason might know more about it. He filed it down into a corner of his mind, focusing back on the moment and on the fight that was quickly approaching.

The rogue had talked about refining his tools, testing his steel. And the way he had stared at that liquid, so enthralled his hands hadn't stopped shaking until he'd pushed it into his veins... It had to be a new version of his usual drug, otherwise there would be no need to test it, no reason for the reverence the man had shown it. He couldn't go by the information he had memorized about Bane. For all he knew, this compound would be twice as effective as his old one and would bring him closer to Peter's own level of strength.

It made sense. Why would a man like Bane come down to a place like this, where no name metas fought in front of a crowd for attention and money, if not to challenge himself and see the limits of his new tool? He wasn't seeing this a serious enterprise but simply as a field test. It would have been insulting, had he not known how infamous the man was.

He kept watching the giant's back as he pushed open the door, letting in the constant rumble of the crowd and a slow rush of cold air. Silently, Peter fell in line behind him, following the criminal down the steps that led to the cage and trying to ignore how loud and bright everything was. He had to get into the right mental space, remember he wasn't playing the part of a civilian but wasn't quite supposed to be as strong as his vigilante self. No sticking, he remembered. Absolutely no sticking, under any circumstances.

They stepped into the rink and, as the heavy metal doors closed behind them, he noticed the blood had been scrubbed clean, leaving behind the familiar smell of chemicals. It mixed into Bane's own unnatural scent in such a way he had to focus not to gag. Yet another issue with not being able to wear his mask: he had nothing to protect him from the sensory overload that came with his powers. It usually wasn't an issue, even when he was working at a lab, but the environment of the illegal rink and the anxiety it caused him were making him significantly more sensitive.

"Make this worth my time." Bane rasped, muscles spasming and twisting around his neck, red lenses shining with a disturbing glow, reflecting the bright lights above them. As he spoke, the crowd dimmed, disappearing into the shadows as all spotlights turned towards the cage and the two men standing at its center.

With a deep breath, Peter slipped away from his usual self and into his fighting persona. He leaned back slightly and smirked, regaining confidence in himself.

"I'm not sure you'll be able to hit me, big boy." He snarked, rising his arms in an approximation of one of the fighting stances he had been taught in the past.

"Believe me," the rogue growled, mask twitching as his skin shivered under the influence of the drugs. "I will do more than that."

And, suddenly, Bane was moving.

But it wasn't towards him.

Apparently not having watched his previous fights in person did not mean the rogue hadn't learned about his previous experiences in the Pit. He was taking a page out of Orca's book, lunging for the thick metal bars, no doubt intending to try and impale him on one of them. He wanted to keep him far, then, no doubt because he knew he only had his drugs to protect himself and was no metahuman. Peter raised an eyebrow but did not panic, instead deciding to close the distance between them before the older man had the chance to start throwing his improvised weapons. He wouldn't let the rogue set the pace of the fight and, if he wanted to attack him at a distance, the best thing to do must be to take it to close quarters.

He did not use his full speed, keeping half of it in reserve for a surprise if the fight did not go as he intended. As such, he had time to see the frame of the cage bend and tear as the giant heaved with a grunt, tearing off a large portion of it and picking a rod as tall as he was from the wreck. 

He would have no time to throw it, Peter was already on him. Staying low to the ground, he crouched and swung a leg at the taller man, aiming to knock him off balance, testing the waters for now. Unsurprisingly, Bane dodged it easily. Rather unfortunately, the teen's neck started tingling.

"Idiot!" Bane roared.

Then, he swung the rod directly at him, aiming down at his head with enough strength to crush his skull.

It was only the warning given by his Spider sense that allowed the metahuman to roll to the side, barely dodging the expert strike. The rogue did not stop, however, bringing the improvised weapon back in a swift arc, this time targeting his exposed back. He was faster than the regular human, past the limits of even a world class athlete's physic. Peter had to throw himself to the ground again, using his hands to spring away from the man, cursing mentally when Bane immediately followed after him. The way he wielded the staff betrayed many years of expertise and every hit was precisely aimed and swift enough that he knew it would hurt him if he didn't manage to dodge it in time. It might not incapacitate him, but it would definitely be extremely painful.

Clearly, this had never been intended to be a long range battle. Instead, he was beginning to think he had been lured in and this was exactly what his opponent had been planning. He was bridging the gap between their respective abilities by using a weapon that gave his blows more strength and greater reach. More than that, the way he was swinging it made it almost impossible for Peter to find an opening in his defense. The metal rod swirled around in his hands, fluid as water, strong as steel. The ground shattered with each strike that missed but, as he fell into a rhythm of dodging and stepping aside or back, he found himself analyzing his enemy. He had underestimated him, obviously, but there was still ways for him to win.

Bane was more experienced, older and more adept at fighting. He had a weapon that could potentially kill him if it hit his head. He could heal from many things but a shattered skull was not one of them. Of course, it might not have enough power behind it to fully destroy his brain but he didn't feel like putting that theory to the test. For that matter, he had no idea if he could survive a direct blow through the heart, which made it yet another area of his body he had to keep protected. The giant was about twice as fast as a human at peak potential, and likely three times stronger, if the small craters he left on the floor were any indication. On top of that, he had greater reach even without his weapon, and he had the potential to get more rods from the ground behind him, if he got the opportunity to grab one of them.

Worse, he was deliberately trying to push Peter towards one of the walls of the cage, likely to try and corner him there. Knowing that did not make it any easier to avoid, unfortunately, and every move of the staff was powerful enough that he had no choice but ducking away from it.

Yet... There was a way for him to win.

The older man was strong, as strong as a metahuman in fact, but not enough to rival him. His speed was inferior as well, although that mattered little with the staff in the equation. Still, he could use it to his advantage. There was also the fact that, so far, he had only been dodging. A direct blow would hurt him. With this kind of super strength, it might even crack one of his bones if it smacked him hard enough but he didn't have to block it directly to take Bane by surprise.

He kept on rolling and jumping away from the assaults, pretending he was not aware that they were now getting dangerously close to the cage's wall, waiting for the right moment to act. Bane was moving like a well oiled machine, fluid, graceful and incredibly powerful. No two attacks were alike and he was able to both aim at different parts of his body and keep himself protected with a constant barrage of blows. Peter gritted his teeth, waiting for his opportunity. It came in a thrust aimed directly at his chest, the kind that would sheer through his ribs and lungs with the power behind it. The kind that could easily kill him.

Instead of rolling, he stepped aside slightly and, in a burst of speed past anything he'd shown that night, he reached out and grabbed the weapon as it barely missed him. His hands closed around it and he tensed his muscles, tugging as hard as he could. The rod immediately stopped, still for only an instant before he managed to rip it away from Bane's hand. Immediately, he pushed it back in, hitting the man square in the chest with the blunt end of the staff, sending him stumbling a few feet back.

He couldn't slow down now, he had to keep going at full speed before the rogue regained his bearing. Yet, he did not want to kill him.

Without a second thought, he dropped the weapon and surged forward. Bane had already begun to raise his arms to protect his chest and head but his lower body was still exposed. Peter bent down, hands on the ground, turned his body and aimed a vicious kick at one of the rogue's knees, one of the rare areas of his body not completely engulfed by spasming, twitching muscles. It connected with a loud crack. He followed it up with a second blow, this time aiming upwards with his other leg, still using his arms to balance himself on the ground.

Something caught his leg. A hand.

"Idiot." Bane repeated, tightening his grip.

Still, this was something Peter had expected and he immediately tightened his chest, wanting to take the man by surprise and-

He was flying through the air.

Bane had thrown him.

He crashed into the cage hard enough to push all of the air out of his lungs, leaving him coughing and gasping. He almost stuck to the metal rods to gain his bearings but remembered just in time he was not supposed to be using that side of his powers. Instead, he slid down to the ground, a dozen or so feet below, and landed in a crouch, feeling his back burn and ache, no doubt a mess of cuts and bruises. On the other side of the rink, Bane was bending down, picking up the abandoned staff. Despite the damage done to his knee, he did not appear to be in any pain and moved as fluidly as ever.

He doesn't feel pain. Peter realized. No matter how hard I hit him, it isn't going to bother him until I can knock him out.

That must be one of the drug's intended effects. Not only did it make the man stronger, it also rendered him almost impossible to intimidate or knock down. There would be no stopping this fight until one of them was incapacitated. It would make for a good show, no doubt, but it made his self imposed task of not killing anyone much harder. He had to find the balance in between beating the man to unconsciousness and outright slaughtering him.

Even then, he also had to be wary. By now, Bane was prowling towards him, staff in his left hand, red lenses glowing maliciously. The teen stood slowly, knowing he wouldn't be able to use the same strategy again. There would be no more thrusting, no more attacks that left his opponent open to this kind of retaliation. He had to find another way to dispose of the weapon.

They walked towards each other slowly, muscles tense.

They met in the center of the cage once more and moved at the same time, one with drug enhanced reflexes and the expertise of decades of high level combat, the other with a burst of extreme speed and strength, impossible to attain even with the most powerful of substances. Peter ignored the swipe that was coming for his ribs, pushing with all the power his legs could give him and aiming for the giant's midsection.

The blow struck the air, a breath too slow to reach him and he managed to hit the rogue's chest. Immediately, he planted his feet on the ground and pushed as hard as he could. This time he did manage to push the man off balance and forced him to the ground, pining him down with a hand on his throat, using his superior strength to keep him still. He bore down with his other fist, striking at Bane's jaw as hard as he could without fearing accidentally killing him. One blow. Two. Three.

The staff clanked as it hit the ground but, even as he felt a surge of relief wash over him, his neck began to tingle. Cursing, he looked around, trying to find the source of the danger. Not seeing anything, he tried to jump back, only for his body to hit a colossal arm, bent to wrap around him. Before he knew it, he was the one trapped on the giant's chest and Bane did not waste one second, squeezing as hard as he could. Peter felt his bones ache, his muscles protest, and he tensed, pushing out, struggling to free himself.

He was the stronger of the two and, as such, he managed to break out of the deadly embrace, chest hurting and back on fire. He took a few steps back, frowning. This was a ridiculous mistake for him to make, he'd have to ask Jason to teach him more about fighting on the ground.

Despite the punches he had taken to his face, Bane straightened up fluidly, picking his weapon back up and rolling his head, cracking his neck lazily. He did not appear in pain yet the mask outlined several unnatural twists in his jaw. It was broken in several places and the white parts of the fabric where quickly turning scarlet as blood dripped down to his chest. Between that and the cracked ribs he must have gotten from that earlier punch, it was a miracle the rogue was still able to move. How potent was that drug? Was it always this efficient or was the new version that much more powerful?

"Tough one, aren't you?" The criminal slurred. "Tough but untrained."

"Am I really doing that poorly?" Peter shrugged, falling into what he hoped was an acceptable stance. Bane shook his head in reply, crimson seeping down his neck and chest, dripping to the ground as he placed the metal rod before him.

The teen couldn't help but feel a little bit frustrated at the situation. He was the stronger of the two, despite his lack of experience compared to the rogue. This should be an easy win for him but he had gotten tricked a few times now. Worse, he was letting his fear of causing an accidental death influence the way he was fighting. He was still pulling his punches somewhat. Jason was right, he was limiting himself more than he should.

"You are doing quite well." The villain replied, his voice muffled and distorted by the wounds he had suffered. "But not well enough."

"You just won't stay down, will you?"

There was no need for the rogue to answer. They both knew the question was purely rhetorical.

Instead, the blur of motion and metal resumed its lethal dance, staff flying through the air in swift, precise arcs, barely missing him as he dodged.

He did not roll or jump, simply side stepping, turning or bending out of the way. There was no point pretending he was letting himself be lured towards the edge of the cage, no point holding back on his speed. His Spider sense warned him ahead of any feints or tricks and, as long as he gave himself enough space to react, he was fast enough to avoid being struck. The blows could not reach him and he knew he could keep on going like this for quite some time. There had been occasions where he had to keep on running, swinging and fighting for hours on end and, although it could occasionally make him slightly out of breath, he had yet to reach the limits of his stamina. Keeping cool was the most important thing in those situations, panicking would make him think he was tiring, would slow him down and potentially doom him.

He inched his head to the side, letting the end of a swipe miss him by an hair's width, turned his hips to avoid the following slice and side stepped a downward cut that would have taken him in the chin had he not moved. He couldn't read anything in the older man's movement but his speed was far greater, and it would have allowed him to react just in time even without his Spider sense. Still, he couldn't allow himself to fall into a predictable rhythm. Jason had taken great pains to explain how dangerous that mistake could be only a few hours prior. He wondered if his friend was watching him right now, and if he was, what he was thinking about. He hoped he wasn't making a fool out of himself. He knew he could win this fight, he just had to take Bane down for good.

He kicked upwards as he dodged a tight swipe, hitting the metal with the sole of his shoe, pushing it violently to the side. For a fraction of a second, his opponent was wide open to his blows and he took advantage of it, stepping forward and smashing a fist into his ribcage. Layers of muscles softened his blow but it was powerful enough to lift the giant off his feet. He leaped back before he could be grabbed, choosing to resume his careful dodging and ducking, attempting to stay as close to the center of the rink as he possibly could.

Death by a thousand cuts, that might be what he had to resort to. He could get into close range for short bursts of time, pushing his speed to the limit to step inwards and leave before Bane had a chance to stop him. It wasn't a very glorious way of fighting but then this wasn't a very glorious arena or a very glorious city for that matter. If it worked, he had to try it.

He turned a sidestep into a forward lunge, twisting and turning and burrowing his elbow deep into the other man's plexus. He felt his arm being swallowed by a twisting mass of muscles and skin and he tore away, barely avoiding a brutal smash from the rod. The metal bar hit with such strength that the ground under them exploded, shards of stones flying up around them, some scraping at his exposed ankles. Dust stained his shoes, his clothes. There was anger behind that attack. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who was beginning to get frustrated.

"Losing patience, big guy?" He teased, making sure his voice was as mocking as he could make it.

Bane's mask twitched as his face contorted in anger. Peter smelled fury, hatred and a burning desire to hurt. He understood it. He was a no-name metahuman with what appeared to be very basic abilities yet here he was holding his own against a famous rogue. Not only that, he had managed to hit him several times and was now openly taunting him, humiliating him in front of his peers. This could work in his favor, though, especially as the drug worked its way through the man's brain. Enraging him would lead him to make mistakes. It might also cause him to become a more serious enemy of his but, in that moment, he did not think about that aspect of his strategy. He simply had to see the fight through without ending a life and without showcasing his most memorable power.

For a moment, the staff came much faster, much stronger and much more violently. He was forced to take a few steps back as he dodged the onslaught. Still, he could see his attitude was having the desired effect. One of the many blows had been a thrust, which Bane had been avoiding after that first time. He played up the part of the irreverent kid by plastering a bright smile on his face and wagging his eyebrows. It worked and his opponent roared with anger, striking at him with a brutal push of his staff, aimed straight at his head.

Now who's the fool? Peter thought, raising both of his hands and catching the weapon before it hit him. The shock of it stopping so suddenly made Bane's arms shake with effort. The giant strained, pushing, putting his weight on the staff to try and make him drop it but the boy did not step back. Just as he had done before, he ripped it free and swirled it in his own hands. He was not planning on using it though, he was done playing that game. He had to create a battlefield he could win on easily and having the rod there would be a disadvantage.

He threw the metal bar away. It hit the walls of the cage and dropped down, rolling on the ground behind him. Bane growled, sounding more a beast than a man, and resumed his assault, this time using his fists and legs to try and bring him down. Without the length of metal, however, Peter easily stopped the blows, blocking them with his hands and forearms, sometimes taking them straight on, not flinching when a massive fist bore down on his shoulders or smashed against his chest.

As another punch came for his nose, he jumped up. For most of the fight, he had used his agility and speed to dodge everything that came at him yet he had avoided showcasing any of his more spectacular moves. This was another thing in his favor and he planned on using it to his advantage. He rested his feet on Bane's extended arm, who still going for a strike, too slow to disengage, too human to register what was happening. Without a swirling staff between the two of them, there was nothing stopping Peter from going all out.

He pushed down on the arm, jumping forward straight for his opponent's head. His forehead hit the mask with a loud crunch, breaking the nose hiding behind it. As he did so, he reached down and tightened his hands on the rogue's upper arms, digging into the massive muscles so hard his fingers broke the skin and warm blood seeped onto his palms. Grabbing on with all that he had, he brought both of his feet up and hit the man straight in the chin. He did not use all of his power, of course, but he did put much more strength behind the blow than he would for a regular criminal. Fluidly, he hopped over the rogue's head and landed in a crouch behind him, slamming his feet into the giant's ankles and breaking both of them in one go.

Bane howled, falling to his knees and twisting back to reach for him, massive hands twisted into claws. It was an easy attack to dodge. Peter simply stepped back and kicked at the extended limb. Another crack. Another sinister crunch.

This was more than an humiliation, he realized, feeling cold.

This was a massacre.

Without a weapon to make the fight more even, there was simply no way for Bane to beat him. He might be more experienced but he was weaker, slower.

He was simply more human, even with the drugs.

"Forfeit." Peter said, pretending to be calm and collected despite his heart racing so fast it hurt.

Having the fight end that way would be too easy, however, and the rogue simply snarled at him, blood and drool foaming and dripping through the mask, launching at him, crawling and trying to grab his legs, drag him to the ground with him. The teen stomped down on the extended hand, crushing the remaining fingers. He had to hit the man again and again, breaking more of his bones, pretending he didn't hear the chanting of the crowd, didn't feel the excitement, the frenzy that surrounded him. This had not been the expected outcome of the encounter and it was an absolutely brutal ending to an already violent fight. He wanted to scream. Instead, he struck once more.

It took several minutes for Bane's body to be shattered enough that he couldn't fight back, reduced to twitching and cursing pitifully, unable to lift anything but his head.

Peter's arms were splattered with blood up to his elbow, it came out of the man in slow trickles, from blood vessels that had burst under the strain of the enormous muscles. The adult's skin was painted blue and black with bruises, his limbs twisted and resting unnaturally on the stained ground.

Bane was a monster, he had read of his crimes, knew he had murdered countless innocents, destroyed lives...

But he still felt unsettled. It was so much easier to get rid of his enemies by wrapping them in webs, it kept his hands clean.

His hands...

They shone red and dripped with a blood that wasn't his. He wanted to scrub them clean but, instead he had to wait until the announcer screamed out his victory, roaring his nickname over the screeches of the frantic crowd. He felt stares from all sides, could hear whispers and shouts, incredulity and excitement everywhere around him. He had not been expected to survive, even less win, yet there he was, having ended the match by utterly crushing, humiliating his opponent. He had a feeling this was, somehow, a bad thing.

Worse, he had most definitely made an enemy today. He didn't know how well the rogue would be able to recover from their confrontation, he had broken at least a dozen of the man's bones while he beat him to the ground. If he did, however, get back to the streets, Peter knew Bane wouldn't let this kind of humiliation slip. He'd have to regain his standing somehow, and that likely meant he would try to get his revenge. He wasn't particularly afraid of the criminal, he knew he could beat him after all, but he was no longer alone. Jason was there too and he didn't want his new friend to become involved in such a chaotic situation.

He sighed, wiping his bloody hands on his shirt, turned around and-

His neck began to tingle.

He tensed, looking over the roaring crowd, up at the balcony, where all eyes seemed to be stuck on him. He recognized many faces, some of which he had never seen at the Pits before. He couldn't tear his gaze away from the silhouettes of the infamous crime lords. He was right. His Spider sense confirmed it. Beating Bane had been a very bad thing, not only because he had antagonized a dangerous criminal but because he was now being reevaluated as a threat. Did Ivy intend for him to die on the rink? Did she expect him to win? Did she even know who he would face that night? He could see her watching him silently, arms crossed, in front of the line of underworld personalities.

He was playing with fire, interacting with her. As soon as he got out, he had to make it clear there wouldn't be any more fighting from him. Surely, she had gotten enough money by now. On top of that, he was almost certain she must have other ways of making money, perhaps she sponsored other young metas, it would explain why nobody had been surprised to see her introducing him.

Either way, his Spider sense made it clear. Those people were dangerous, enough that he was risking his life simply by standing there, staring up at them.

He began to make his way out of the cage, slowly at first, then faster. He was almost out of the rink and headed towards the stairs when something shifted.

The room exploded in a dark, thick cloud of smoke.

His eyes began to sting and water, he started coughing.

Through it all, his neck tingled, screaming at him to bolt.

Perhaps the crime bosses had not been the main threat after all.

Around him, people started screaming.

Notes:

He'll be fine.

At first I didn't want to do Bane because Peter is way more powerful than him...

But then this is MCU Spidey with little formal fighting training and Mr. Steroids put a little extra in his venom today.

Still, even with just a little more training on fighting without his tools and without his usual aerial style, Peter would have been able to fold him easily. It would only really work rn, before he gets trained up by J-boy. Needless to say, Bane without venom would get destroyed in an instant, so for story purposes, he's in the struggling phase of his relationship with it.

Anyways I rewrote this like three times. Some of the other villains I wrote in the scene before I settled on Bane will appear either during the ending arc or in the sequel.

I'm more busy irl rn but this remains my priority fic so don't worry im not planning on putting it on hiatus or anything.