Scott adjusted his grip on the axe as he prepared to clash with Shocker one more time.
It felt weird—awkward even. He had never wielded a weapon before. Not in a real fight. The only thing close was a childhood scuffle when he was seven, and even that was just two kids awkwardly slapping and windmilling at each other until someone got bored or cried.
But now? Now he was staring down a supervillain with gauntlets that could crack walls.
Not exactly a schoolyard.
Shocker looked furious. The cut Scott left earlier might've been shallow, but the insult—the name, the axe, the cocky grin—had clearly pushed him over the edge.
"So what?" Shocker growled, stepping forward. "You think just 'cause you picked up an axe, you can beat me now? That's gotta be the stupidest thing I've ever seen." He raised his gauntlets. "Let me show you how stupid."
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.
He fired off a rapid volley of shockwaves, each blast ripping through the air in tight, crushing bursts.
But Scott didn't flinch.
He didn't try to jump or roll this time—he weaved.
He ducked under the first one, stepped sideways from the second, twisted around the third. His movements were raw but fast, almost instinctual. A twitch of the shoulders here, a shift of his footing there. He wasn't a trained fighter—but his body was fast, his reflexes sharp.
And for once… his instincts lined up just right.
He slipped through the attacks like smoke.
Before Shocker could launch another blast, Scott closed the distance—and swung the axe.
CLANG!
The blade bit into Shocker's shoulder armor, cutting through the plating on his upper arm. Sparks flew from the impact. It didn't go deep, but it was clean. The hit made Shocker recoil, staggering slightly.
"Stay still!" he snarled, trying to move back.
But Scott wasn't done.
Before Shocker could step away, Scott hooked the curved end of the axe head behind the damaged part of the suit and yanked. The motion locked Shocker in place for just a second—but a second was all Scott needed.
He let go of the axe with one hand and punched Shocker right in the face.
CRACK!
The blow smashed into his yellow mask, and a splash of red immediately bloomed around the nose. It wasn't broken—but it wasn't far off.
Shocker staggered again.
Before he could regain his footing, Scott spun into a roundhouse kick, his leg whipping out and crashing into Shocker's temple. The force of the kick made the villain stumble further—and Scott followed up with a knee straight to the face, driving it upward into his mask with a brutal crunch.
The tempo was his now.
Scott grabbed the axe again with both hands and raised it, bringing it down—not with the blade, but with the blunt side, aiming for the top of Shocker's head to knock him cold.
But this time, Shocker caught it.
With both hands clamping around the handle, he stared Scott down through the cracked lens of his mask. His voice dropped an octave, dark and unfiltered.
"I'm gonna enjoy this."
WHAM!
He slammed his fist into Scott's face. There was a burst of energy—small, not enough to launch him, but enough to make Scott's ears ring. The hit landed squarely, and even with his durability, Scott felt it like a hammer to the cheek.
Staggering, Scott barely lifted his arms before another punch came. And another. And another.
Shocker pummeled him with fast, compact strikes—each one echoing with vibration. Every time Scott tried to block, the blows knocked his arms aside. Every time he tried to swing, Shocker was already countering.
Scott gritted his teeth, taking blow after blow, frustration building.
Nothing was working.
Then—a shift. An opening. A tiny gap in Shocker's rhythm.
Scott didn't hesitate.
He jumped back, sliding across the floor and putting distance between them.
He panted hard, his face bruised, lips cut, but his grip on the axe stayed firm.
"Okay," he muttered under his breath, wiping blood from his mouth. "Note to self: don't let him get in close again."
Across the room, Shocker slowly lowered his fists, sizing him up.
The next round was about to begin.
You little shit," Shocker growled, voice low and pissed. "I didn't even go all out yet 'cause I didn't want to make too much commotion—but it's been, what, almost two minutes?" He glanced around briefly, then returned his gaze to Scott. "A hero could be nearby."
Scott blinked.
All this fighting… and it had only been a little over a minute?
"The hell?!" he muttered under his breath, panting, face bruised, sweat dripping down his neck. "It feels like I've been getting my ass kicked for ten."
But there was no time to dwell on it. Shocker looked dead serious now—and that was bad.
Scott gritted his teeth and shifted his stance.
"I don't think it's gonna matter if I go all out at this point," Shocker said.
And just like that, he launched forward.
BOOM.
He used a shockwave to propel himself straight at Scott, moving like a missile. Then came another blast—BOOM—this time shifting his direction midair. Then another. And another.
Each shockwave redirected him like a pinball, bouncing unpredictably through the air. Left. Right. Above. Behind.
Scott couldn't track it. Couldn't follow the pattern.
One moment Shocker was in front of him—the next he was slamming into him from behind, landing a punch that rattled Scott's spine. The moment Scott turned to react, another blast caught him from the side, throwing him off-balance.
He staggered.
"I can't keep up… I gotta do something—now."
He frantically looked around, barely keeping his footing between hits, and that's when his eyes landed on a pile of construction debris. Something sparked in his head.
A smile formed under his mask.
"Let's hope this works."
Scott braced himself, waiting—not dodging, but enduring. Letting Shocker come to him.
Punch after punch. Shockwave after shockwave.
The attacks were brutal. They didn't knock him across the room, but they pinned him in place, like a punching bag made of stubborn grit.
Then finally—the strike he was waiting for.
A perfectly angled blast came at him.
Scott shifted his weight, rolled with the momentum, and used the force of the shockwave to launch himself backwards—into a spin. He landed on his feet with a rough tumble, skidding across the ground, but staying upright.
Shocker didn't hesitate. He was already chasing him down, zigzagging through the air in that same unpredictable motion.
Scott forced himself to focus.
Nothing else existed now. Just the movement. The timing. The rhythm.
Shocker appeared in front of him in a blur—right fist cocked back—going for a direct punch to the face.
But Scott was ready.
He ducked the strike and in one seamless motion, brought his axe—still in hand—up and around.
CRACK!
The blade came down hard on Shocker's left shoulder, shattering through the armor with a sickening crunch. The steel split, the bone cracked, and the blade embedded itself deep into the flesh.
Shocker roared in pain.
The handle of the axe splintered—snapping off in Scott's hands—but that didn't stop him. With a growl, Scott reached forward, grabbed the edge of the torn armor near the wound, and used it as a grip point.
He pulled.
Hard.
Shocker was ripped forward, his own momentum helping the throw. Scott twisted, slammed him to the ground, and as he did, ripped a section of the front armor clean off, exposing the flesh beneath well beneath the shirt.
Shocker crashed onto his back, groaning—but he wasn't down yet. He used the shockwave to send himself away from Scott and then He scrambled to his feet, growling through the pain, his fingers brushing over the still-embedded axe blade jutting from his shoulder.
He looked at Scott.
"You struck the weak part of my shoulder… then used it to rip off my armor?" he muttered. "Okay. That was… actually kinda smart. For a nobody."
He took a step forward.
"But it won't hel—"
BANG.
BANG.
BANG.
Three gunshots rang out in the warehouse.
Shocker stumbled.
He looked down.
Three clean bullet wounds had punched through the exposed gaps in his suit. His gauntlets sparked. His legs wobbled.
He looked back up in disbelief.
Scott was standing there, his pistol back in his hand, barrel still smoking. His mask was scratched, his body bruised, his breathing heavy—but he didn't look like someone who was done yet.
Then Scott's legs gave out. He dropped onto his ass, groaning.
"Finally… it's over," he muttered. "Now all I gotta do is get up… and leave…"
But before he could even start to push himself up—
THWIP!
Something struck his gun—and his right hand—pinning them both to the ground.
"What the hell—!?"
Scott's eyes snapped to the webbing, stuck like glue across his forearm and the barrel.
Webbing?
His head whipped upward.
Standing upside down on the warehouse rafter, arms crossed, and one eye of his mask narrowing slightly in judgment—
Spider-Man.
Scott stared.
"Oh come on," he groaned.
(please check out my novel: Star Island: A Hero's path It's on Royal Road, but The first 102 chapters Are in WebNovel)