The Aftermath

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Dimly, between gasping breaths and white-hot pain burning across his hands and knees, Peter registers that he is probably losing this fight right now.

It's unfortunate, really; he'd started off strong, even with his foot raw and struggling to support his weight. For all the planning Li seems to have done to keep himself out of the spotlight, it didn't seem like he had any contingencies for what to do if he actually got caught.

He was pale. Skinny, too, as if the weeks spent living on the run had drained everything he had left in him. He'd been just as unprepared for a fight. It really shouldn't have been hard to beat him.

Peter blames the diffusers. It's unfair, really— none of his enemies ever seem to get stuck in situations like this, where the environment itself seems against him. He's always fighting in their element, creating plans to get around the obstacles preventing him from winning. Just once, it'd be cool for Li or Shocker to be the ones out of their element.

But, no. Never. Nada. Li swings a sword at his head— the force of the energy crackling around it buzzing just above him when he dives for the floor— and sinks right into a fuse box. Electricity splits through the room, sparking the oil left inside the diffuser, and BOOM. Explosion.

And of course, it had to be peppermint.

So, with his skin burning like it's on fire— and it might be, really— and his throat so tight he can't suck in a full breath of air, he isnt exactly fighting at his best.

Li jabs the sword at him again. He barely manages to flop out of the way, the blunt end grazing against his shoulder and snapping it backward.

"You aren't going to stop me this time, Spider-Man." Li is shaking, swaying in his stance. He's barely upright himself. "This isn't like Octavius. You can't stop him."

Him?

He yanks the sword up like a baseball bat. It glints in the firelight, oranges and blues dancing across the surface.

Peter rolls. He isn't so lucky this time. The blade sinks into his thigh. The burning on his skin shoots down his leg, into the bone. It drags across his flesh as Li pulls the blade out.

The world tilts dangerously, darkening at the edges of his vision.

Something thuds downstairs.

"Spider-Man!" Yuri's voice rings through the building. A second set of footsteps follows close behind her's.

So, Yuri and Murad are here too now. Shit.

Jamming his palms into the floor, Peter tries to pull himself to his feet, but between the broken ankle on one leg, the giant gash in the other, and the persistent feeling that he's breathing through a straw, it doesn't go very well. He doesn't accomplish anything except slamming into the ground headfirst, barely biting back a scream.

Stars are glittering through the smoke. He hadn't been in here that long, had he?

Li's power flickers. For a moment, he looks just as scared as Peter. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."

Peter's ears are ringing. He strains to hear Yuri and Murad, sprinting up the stairs.

There's nothing else he can do.

The door flies open.

And the world goes black.

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He wakes up to the smell of bleach, sharp and sterile. It smells a little like instant mashed potatoes, too, which means he's probably in the hospital.

He bolts upright— or, tries to, anyway— and his head swims, the world going from black to white as he sits up too fast.

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