Martial Apex

BANG! BANG! BANG!

He and Gwen dashed around a building before coming across the scene before the Obsidian Nexus Company.

A maze of broken cars, civilian and police alike lay crisscrossed before the large metal gate of the Obsidian Nexus company. The windows were shattered, and the sides were littered with bullet holes. A few corpses still sat in them, their heads popped like a watermelon, brain matter and pieces of skull coating the interior of their car. Men, women, children - it didn't matter.

Metal was indifferent.

Numerous men in black suits and masks rained down gunfire upon police officers who were pinned down behind the aforementioned cars and furiously yelling into their communication equipment in an attempt to talk over the noise.

'George?', Peter's eyes widened as he spotted a large blond man crouching behind a car in his NYPD uniform in a pool of blood. A bullet seemed to have grazed his arm, tearing his skin and bloodying his uniform, yet the concentration in his eyes hid the pain he must have been feeling. Another officer lay spread-eagled behind him, his blood coating George's boots.

Peter immediately ducked down beneath a car, pulling Gwen, who'd frozen in shock, with him.

"He's here!", Gwen frantically whispered as they crouched behind a black car with a dead woman inside. Her dried blood coated the half-open door, but he couldn't pay it any mind right now.

{I know. You take on the men. I'll take the leader.}, he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Seeing her father standing in a pool of blood must've shaken her. It'd only been four months since her debut after all.

"But he seems...strong", Gwen's voice trailed off as a screeching noise grated against their ears, deafening the loud gunfire for a short moment. Peter's eyes flicked onto the men once more.

They had crates of ammunition next to them, which they periodically used with controlled and well-trained precision. As for how they'd managed to lug such heavy objects in a short amount of time?

The answer lay in the large man with pure white skin ripping through the large metal gate like it was made of butter.

{He is. But so am I}

"...Fine. Good luck.", Gwen nodded and attempted to jump into battle, but Peter's hand held her down for just a moment longer. 

{Whatever happens, even if I look like I'm losing. Don't jump in}, Peter growled.

"What?! Wh-

{I'm far stronger than this, Gwen. I've told you. I just want to see what I can do in my Base Form. My Regeneration can heal my brain too, so I'm in no danger whatsoever}, Peter sighed. {If anything, I should be the one fearing for your safety.}

"I...just...ok fine. Yeah, I'll be careful", Gwen nodded before squeezing his hand and flipping over the car webshooters blazing. "Just don't do something stupid."

***

"Fucking bastards!", George swore as he held on to his shoulder wound as he knelt on his colleague's blood. 

The attack was as random as they came, a storm of bullets crashing into the side of their convoy, killing half the officers and injuring a good few. Their backup had been gunned down, too, but the worst part of it was that civilians were a part of the collateral damage.

BANG!BANG!BANG!

"Urgh!"

"NO!!JOHN!"

George's eyes filled with anger as another colleague got gunned down through the peppered car. Their protection was not going to hold for long.

"We need to return fire!", George yelled to his Police Officers in the back.

"We can't. We'll die!", Robert shot back, his hands still drenched in John's blood. Tears dripped down his face at the death of one of out best friends.

"We'll die if we sit on our asses", George replied, a peculiar sort of fire burning in his eyes. One of hate, spite, righteous anger and self-sacrifice. "We shoot in five seconds."

"Do it for the dead!"

"Screw it!", Robert growled, picking up his bloodied pistol.

George took a deep breath and visions of his family popped up at the sides of his vision. HIs lip trembled, but he instinctively pushed it away.

"5...4...3...2...1", he counted and the very next second, along with the other officers, stood up straight, their guns blazing.

TWIP! TWIP! TWIP!

"FUCK YO-eh?", George's roar caught in his throat as he watched numerous globs of spiderweb slam into the guns of the masked men, jamming them instantly.

That moment a partially masked man with white hair and grey eyes, who was dressed in a medieval, armoured suit leapt over the car and the row of thugs, beelining toward the superhuman leader.

"Wha-

POW!

A white blur dropped down from the sky, smashing into one of the man's jaws, sending him tumbling into his friend who was promptly dispatched by a superhumanly fast punch to the stomach.

"Time to swing into action, officers! Don't worry, I've got your backs. These thugs are about to get a lesson in 'the web of justice'!"

***

Martial Arts.

Codified arts of the most efficient methods to fight, but to many people, it was more than just self-defence. It was a journey of spiritual enlightenment - one where they found who they truly were, who they were meant to be.

But to Peter, it was merely a tool. A tool he desperately wanted and one he wished to craft within the next 3 minutes. While he fights a superhuman mafia boss who'd just ripped through a metal gate with ease.

Peter flipped over the row of masked men and dashed toward the large albino man, hoping to land the first blow, but it was in vain.

Perhaps it was the sudden halt of the gunfire that warned Tombstone of his advance, or it was just intuition. Either way, the man turned the moment Peter landed.

"Who're you?", he snarled as he watched the man with white hair and skin - one just as pale as his was, dash toward him with tremendous speed. 

Tombstone stood at around 6'1 which made him an inch taller than Peter, but the strength he exuded didn't feel right. It was far,far more than Peter expected.

WHOOSH!

HIs eyes widened when the white fist that barreled toward him possessed far more strength than even himself. The sheer speed that it cut through the air was frightening - sure, to his evolved brain it might as well have been a punch in slow motion, but his slow body couldn't keep up. 

His Danger Sense flared in his mind, informing him of where the punch would land but he couldn't get out of the way in time.

BANG!

CRACK!

It smashed into his hastily put-together guard, snapping his arm with a sickening crack, making his bone sticking out of his forearm.

'Since when was Tombstone this strong?'

'Alternate universe shenanigans', he mentally sighed, retreating a few steps, the blood trailing down his black costume slowly breaking down into microparticles.

"What are you?", Tombstone frowned as Peter's hand pieced itself back together with surprising speed. The bone connected back together with a satisfying click while the wound grew back cell by cell - like a coat of paint. It was as though somebody had reversed time on that specific part of his body.

"Some kind of freak?"

Peter didn't bother replying as he had already zoned out whatever his opponent was yapping about while his suit repaired itself. If he didn't want to resort to Form II or his psychic ability, he had to figure out how to even the playing field.

If he extrapolated the punch he'd just received, Tombstone could exert strength of around 15 tons and a possessed speed that exceeded his, which was an immense upgrade from his comic counterpart.

He took a deep breath through the mask before exhaling. His brain whirred to life as his concentration was stretched to its limits, the world practically stopping before him as his mind worked, attempting to eke out a feasible plan.

How could he beat somebody who was stronger, faster and more well-trained?

BANG!

CRACK!

His ribs cracked as a perfectly executed punch slammed into his torso, sending him skidding back but his eyes stayed locked on his opponent as his body quickly stitched itself back together, drinking in every single thing. Tombstone's posture, the mechanism of the punch, the speed.

'This is easier than I thought', he grinned as he ate a kick from an annoyed Tombstone, his torn shoulder muscles clicking back together, as though taunting his opponent. Tombstone threw haymaker after haymaker, but all Peter saw was numbers.

Technically, everything was numbers, and like any self-respecting biologist, he was well-versed in mathematics as it was essential to understand and practice Ecology. It was where biologists prepared mathematical models for relationships between complex ecosystems. The sheer complexity and number of variables in the models would make an amateur mathematician palpitate with trepidation.

Human Behavioural patterns could also be easily predicted via mathematical models, given that most of its foundation was based in Genetics as evidenced by the Snow-Drift Game, Ultimatum Game, Bargaining Game and other large human experiments. It could be concluded that human behaviour did not differ much from chimpanzees - quite a heartening thought.

Thus, Game theory, in crude terms - the study of behaviour, could be theoretically used to predict the choices an opponent would make by simply analysing subconscious psychological patterns in most sapient beings. Of course, it wasn't that simple, else everyone would be doing it.

The point he was making was that if everything could be broken down into numbers, the very same numbers could be manipulated and studied to not only point out recurring trends but also to predict such trends.

Thus, he was currently constructing an equation to perfectly predict and counter Tombstone, but it was as hard as it sounded. Everything was either a constant or a variable, with independent or dependent variations. Moreover, he highly doubted whether it would be perfect, perhaps just highly accurate.

Tombstone possessed four limbs - A Constant.

BANG!

CRACK!

His chest caved in but filled back out in an instant.

Strength - A Limited Variable

BANG!

CRACK!

Reach - A Limited Variable.

BOOM!

CRACK!

Speed - A Limited Variable.

BANG!

CRACK!

Skill - A Constant.

POW!

CRACK!

***

"JUST DIE, ALREADY!", Tombstone bellowed, spittle spraying from his large mouth. The masked man was the embodiment of a cockroach. No matter how much he broke him, he would get back up. Break his hand? It'd heal in an instant. Break his leg? He'll attack with the other one. He'd even tried to run past him - to the Obsidian building, but the masked man would block his path.

With his tattered clothing and the broken earth under their feet, anybody would think that it was he who was getting beaten by the masked man - after all, his opponent looked practically untouched.

He took a deep breath and looked to the side, his heart immediately jumping to his throat.

His men were in the process of being locked up and stuffed in functioning police vehicles while swarms of men in SWAT gear surrounded the entire building. Ambulances sat at the very back, taking in injured or dead police officers while the sound of Police Helicopters grew increasingly loud, indicating their arrival.

The worst part was that Ghost-Spider sat on top of one of the relatively untouched walls. Did she and the man collaborate this attack? If so why didn't she join the man in fighting him? Why was she refusing to intervene? Why was she so intently watching his 'fight'.

It was infuriating - to be rendered helpless before so many people. To have so much power, but to face a man who would just get back up after facing the brunt of it.

They were staring at him.

Mocking him.

Watching his useless struggle like a show.

Like a game.

Like a circus.

One where he was the clown, dancing to a tune for their amusement.

[ Put your hands up and get on your knees! ], the police yelled through a loudspeaker, but the blood rushing through his ears drowned that out.

"YOU! YOU'RE DEAD!", Tombstone bellowed at the masked man who continued his blank stare, seemingly unaware of the deadly punch.

***

Peter's brain continued to perform calculations at a tremendous speed, building equation after equation.

Those that failed were discarded while those that showed some form of success were built upon. It was akin to evolution - in a way.

One that was purely mental, but did that mean that the equation was alive?

A thought for another time.

"YOU! YOU'RE DEAD!", Tombstone bellowed and dashed forward.

'One last factor', Peter thought, sighing to himself. It was the core of the equation and one that made probability a certainty. He took a deep breath and added 'Danger Sense' to the equation which made a psychological click in his mind, as though something had finally slid into place.

CLICK!

WHOOSH!

"Eh?", Tombstone lost his balance as his punch went through empty air for the very first time, making him overextend. He stumbled forward for a bit and looked behind him to find the masked man staring back at him.

"You dodged it?", he asked in confusion before his face split into a large grin. "Couldn't keep that cockroach ability for long, could you?"

Peter merely stared back. He'd inputted data, and his equation had given him an output.

[ Upper Right Kick ]

WHOOSH!

Tombstone's eyes widened as his next attack met air once more.

"What the fu-

BOOM!

A tremendous force slammed into his liver, sending him tumbling to the side.

'I need to work on my technique', Peter thought dryly. 'Eh, practice makes perfect, I guess."

"RAAHHH!!!"

[ Right Hook ]

Peter slipped under the punch before it reached him, before twisting his ankle and hips, releasing a perfect punch.

BANG!

His fist dug into Tombstone's stomach, sending shockwaves through his impenetrable skin.

"What?!", Tombstone spluttered, his eyes narrowing at feeling pain for the first time in a long time.

[ Uppercut ]

POW!

[ Lower Left Kick ]

BOOM!

Peter moved before he moved.

BOOM!

Punched before he punched.

BOOM! 

Kicked before he kicked.

His punches began to accumulate as he broke down the raging superhuman into numbers - unravelling the seemingly unpredictable flurry of blows while countering them with attacks of his own. His equation was complete, and he was finally using his evolved brain to the fullest since his evolution. It felt freeing - akin to stretching an unused muscle after a long while.

BANG!

POW!

BOOM!

His superhuman punches were akin to small bombs - blowing away the dirt underneath their feet, the force generated by them ignoring the impenetrable skin, forming blisters and cracking bones. His dance with Tombstone continued as his familiarity with fighting increased with every second, transitioning from punching and kicking to elbows and throws. 

BANG!

CRACK!

"Arrghhh!!!"

An incredulous and disbelieving Tombstone fell to his knees at a perfectly timed liver shot as blood rolled down his nose. His broken arms dangled uselessly to the side as he attempted to catch his breath.

"H-how?!", he gurgled as his dreaded opponent loomed over him, but the only answer he got was a knee to the face.

"Urgh!", he coughed as he fell to the ground, spotting a helicopter above - one that was quickly obscured by that damn mask.

"Who are yo-urk!", His breath caught in his throat as the masked man's hand grabbed his neck, pressing him into the dirt and crushing his oesophagus.

"I-urk...ggrrgh...", he began to slur and gurgle as his airflow was completely cut off. His vision slowly began to fade as the masked face drew closer. He didn't know whether it was a hallucination, but those grey eyes transitioned into a deep, abyssal black.

{Remember the bullying you went through as a child? You deserved it you marbled piece of shit}, an animalistic growl filled his ears.

"...rhghhrh...urk"

His pupils trembled in fear and confusion as those black eyes stared into his own. They seemed to suck him in.

They were the abyss, and he blinked.

***

.

.

.

Homage to 'Martial Unity' for the idea. I added the Game Theory and such, but it is mostly inspired by that novel. Go check it out - it's lovely.