Chapter 199: Peace and Quiet

[Third Person's PoV] 

"Oh my God, could you get any more pathetic?" Peter scoffed, his voice dripping with mockery. "You couldn't even secure a high-value woman like Gwen, so you went for a downgraded version—"

Before Peter could finish, Harry's fist shot toward his face with a force fueled by pure rage, but Peter caught it effortlessly, his hand stopping the blow midair. 

Harry's eyes blazed with fury, his jaw clenched as he strained against Peter's iron grip. "You can talk all the trash about me you want, but don't you *dare* talk about Lizzy that way, you son of a bitch!"

Peter snickered, his amusement evident as he twisted Harry's wrist slightly, just enough to make him flinch. Then, without warning, Peter's fist shot forward, a brutal uppercut landing squarely on Harry's jaw, sending him stumbling back. Blood trickled from the corner of Harry's mouth as he swayed on his feet, but he refused to fall.

Peter laughed, the sound cruel and condescending. "And you thought you could tell me what to do?" His tone oozed derision as Harry flicked a glance toward Lizzy, who watched the scene unfold with an amused expression, just standing in a distance as if she was enjoying a show. 

Harry, gritting his teeth, launched forward again, his movements desperate, his fists swinging wildly. But Peter was calm, his eyes sharp, and his body moved with precision, dodging every punch with minimal effort. Each missed strike only seemed to fuel Harry's frustration, while Peter's expression remained one of utter contempt.

"Pathetic," Peter muttered, his voice cold as he delivered a sharp punch to Harry's ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Harry doubled over, gasping for air. Peter couldn't resist a smirk. "I expected more from you, Harry—" he paused, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "Phttt—nope, couldn't keep a straight face."

Harry growled, his fists clenched tightly as he straightened up, his body trembling with adrenaline and pain. With renewed fury, he charged at Peter, throwing a fast right hook aimed at Peter's head. But Peter, moving with lightning speed, sidestepped the blow, his reflexes far superior. Harry followed up with a quick jab, but Peter blocked it effortlessly with his forearm.

In retaliation, Harry aimed a low kick at Peter's knee, hoping to catch him off guard, but Peter lifted his leg, avoiding the strike with ease. His counter was swift—a roundhouse kick to Harry's ribs that echoed through the room, sending Harry stumbling backward. The force of the impact made Harry grimace, but he stood his ground, determined not to show weakness.

Harry threw a barrage of punches—left jab, right cross, left hook—each aimed with intent, but Peter weaved through them like water, his movements fluid and graceful. He retaliated with a sharp jab to Harry's cheek, drawing more blood and causing Harry to stumble again.

"That all you got?" Peter taunted, his voice dripping with disdain. 

Harry, wiping the blood from his face, lunged forward with a spinning backfist. Peter caught it mid-spin, his grip solid and unyielding, and drove a knee into Harry's stomach with brutal force. Harry gasped, doubling over in pain, struggling to catch his breath.

Peter grinned, a predatory glint in his eyes. "This is getting embarrassing."

Harry, teeth clenched in frustration, threw another wild punch, this time aiming high, but Peter ducked smoothly beneath it and countered with an elbow strike to Harry's chin. The impact sent Harry reeling, his lip split wide open, blood streaming down his face.

With a roar of frustration, Harry charged again, swinging wildly, hoping to overwhelm Peter with sheer aggression. But Peter remained calm, blocking and deflecting each strike with ease, as if he could predict Harry's every move. One punch aimed at Peter's side was redirected with a simple flick of his wrist, while another aimed at Peter's head was blocked with minimal effort.

Peter smirked, his eyes gleaming with superiority as he landed a hard cross to Harry's nose. The sickening crack of bone filled the room as blood gushed from Harry's nostrils, blurring his vision. 

"Come on, Harry," Peter sneered. "You seriously thought you could take me on?"

Harry winced, trying to blink through the pain and the blood clouding his vision. He swung again, but Peter dodged, countering with a brutal combination of punches, each blow landing with bone-crushing force. Left, right, left, right—until the final uppercut sent Harry crashing to the floor, his body slamming against the ground with a sickening thud.

Peter walked over slowly, his steps deliberate, his expression one of smug satisfaction. He knelt down, grabbing Harry by the hair and pulling him up slightly. "You really thought you could win, didn't you?" His voice was low, dripping with condescension. "Pathetic."

With one last shove, Peter let go, and Harry collapsed back onto the ground, breathing heavily. Bloodied and bruised, Harry slammed his fist into the floor in frustration, his knuckles split and raw. Spitting out a mouthful of blood, he struggled to push himself to his knees, glaring at Peter's retreating back.

"You really don't think we're done, aren't you?" Harry growled, his voice hoarse but defiant.

Peter groaned, throwing his head back in exasperation. "You seriously don't know when to quit, do you?"

Turning around, Peter saw Harry, still swaying but on his feet, clutching his side. Blood dripped from his face, but despite the beating, he wore a defiant grin. "I learned from the best," Harry said, his voice steady despite the pain.

Peter narrowed his eyes, his patience wearing thin. "You don't get it, do you? In your own head I am better than you, so that's what I am, better than you. You will never be on my level. Are you really that stupid?"

Harry wiped the blood from his nose and straightened up, his eyes locking with Peter's, filled with cold determination. "You haven't taken it back," Harry said, his voice calm yet laced with venom.

"What?" Peter scoffed, annoyed.

"What you said about Lizzy… I don't care if you're my best friend or just wearing his face. No one talks about her like that."

Peter chuckled, placing his hands on his hips. "God, you're such a sap. How does the real me even deal with you?"

Ignoring him, Harry wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, loosening his shoulders as he bounced on his feet, his eyes locked on Peter, cold and calculated. His movements were no longer wild with rage, but controlled, precise.

Peter raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling on his lips. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Loosening up," Harry said, his voice deadly serious. "Peter, I love you like a brother, but I'm going to enjoy beating the hell out of you."

Harry charged forward again, his eyes ablaze with determination. With a powerful leap, he twisted mid-air, aiming a high, devastating kick at Peter's head. Peter, calm and unbothered, pivoted smoothly, snatching Harry's leg mid-flight. Without missing a beat, he slammed Harry into the ground with a brutal force that reverberated through the floor. A grunt of pain escaped Harry, but the fire in his eyes didn't dim.

Barely a second passed before Harry kicked himself off the ground, refusing to stay down. He launched a rapid barrage of punches, strikes, and thrusts, his fists moving so fast they blurred in the air. Each strike was aimed with deadly precision, targeting Peter's jaw, ribs, and stomach. Yet Peter remained unshaken, his defenses flawless. He parried every blow effortlessly, their hands a blur of motion, the sharp crack of flesh against flesh filling the room like a symphony of battle.

The intensity of the fight escalated with each passing second. Harry's fists became relentless, pounding toward Peter with fury and desperation. But Peter, still composed and agile, dodged with the slightest of movements, sidestepping and weaving with near-perfect precision.

Peter's lips curled into a smirk just before he retaliated. His fist shot forward like lightning, a precise jab into Harry's gut. The impact folded Harry in half with a gasp of pain, and before he could recover, Peter followed up with a sharp knee to Harry's face. Blood splattered onto the floor, but Harry refused to give in. With a fierce growl, he swung again, wild but determined. Peter ducked, fluid as water, and drove a vicious elbow into Harry's ribs, making him stagger backward, wheezing from the blow.

"You're boring me, Harry," Peter sneered, his voice laced with contempt. He watched Harry stumble, eyes narrowed, his vision swimming in the wake of the pain.

Harry wiped the blood from his mouth, breathing heavily but still standing. His gaze, however, never wavered from Peter. In that moment, something ignited within him. With a roar, Harry lunged forward, swinging with every ounce of strength he had left. Peter, anticipating another easy counter, dodged—but then—

*CRACK*

Harry's right hook connected with Peter's jaw in a thunderous blow that seemed to ripple through the air. Peter's head snapped to the side, the smug expression on his face vanishing as he staggered back for the first time in the entire fight. He raised a hand to his jaw, stunned, feeling the warm trickle of blood from his split lip.

Harry stood panting, his knuckles bloodied and raw, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face despite the exhaustion and pain etched into every line of his body. His chest heaved as he locked eyes with Peter, victory gleaming in his gaze.

Peter's eyes darkened, his fury barely contained as he wiped the blood from his lip. The playful grin he'd worn all this time was gone, replaced with something far more dangerous.

"Look at that… you do bleed," Harry said with a breathless chuckle, flipping Peter the middle finger.

Harry shook his head and let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. "What the hell am I doing…"

His voice softened as he continued, unable to hold back his thoughts any longer. "Peter, I hate to admit this, but I look up to you. I'd never say it out loud because God knows what it'd do to your ego, but it's true. You've been my hero since we were kids. When my mom was dying… that was supposed to be the loneliest time of my life. But you, you made sure I wasn't alone. You stayed with me."

Peter's expression faltered for a brief second, but Harry kept going, the words tumbling out.

"I was always a little jealous of you," Harry admitted, his voice raw. "You had this way of making everyone laugh, of brightening up a room. I wanted that… I envied that. And then, of course, you got superpowers on top of it. You got to be the hero, and I… I was just the sick best friend."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his every movement. "When you found out my dad might have killed your parents, you still chose to be my friend… I don't think I could have done that. You're such a good friend, Peter, sometimes I wonder if I even deserve it. What do I bring to this friendship? Money? You've got your own damn business. Brains? You've always been the smartest guy in the room. The funny one? That's you too."

He exhaled deeply, shoulders slumping. "But I guess that's the thing about friendship, right? You do things for your friends without expecting anything in return. For you, that's just… natural."

With a tired laugh, Harry shook his head. "God, listen to me. This is so embarrassing. But yeah, that's the gist of it. I put you on a pedestal, Peter, and that's probably why I've had all these insecurities. It's stupid, now that I say it out loud."

Peter, his figure blurring, gave a genuine smirk, his voice softening. "You finally get it, huh. All Insecurities are stupid when you really think about them. You just needed the chance to realize that."

As Peter faded, Harry rolled his eyes with a fond chuckle. "Always gotta have the last word, don't you?"

Harry collapsed onto the ground, lying spread-eagle as he gazed up at the emptiness above him, the weight of his confessions finally lifted from his chest.

"Lizzy..." Harry called softly, his voice echoing through the vast, white expanse around him. He gazed up, his expression softened as he called to her. "I won't lie, I used to love Gwen. Especially when we were kids. When my mom was in the hospital, she was there for me. I appreciated her company... I remember one time, she gave me a book on environmental science, so I could understand my mom's work better, so that I could understand my mother better."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he recalled the memory, warmth filling his chest.

"But when I found out she and Peter started dating..." Harry paused, his eyes darkening slightly, "I felt guilty. I mean, Peter was my best friend. It shouldn't have bothered me, but it did. I guess I still carry a bit of that guilt. Maybe that's why you're here." His voice dropped a bit, as if speaking more to himself than anyone else.

He exhaled deeply, shaking his head. "But, I know I'm way over Gwen. She wasn't really my type—personality-wise, at least." A chuckle escaped him. "She's... too uptight, too smart for me. No offense to her, of course. Not that you're not smart," he added, glancing at Lizzy with a playful smirk, "but I like a girl who's a bit more free-spirited, maybe a little ditzy... and well, there's no better girl for me than you."

Harry then chuckled, "As the blonde hair thing… I just really have a type, heh" 

Lizzy's smile widened, her eyes twinkling as she gave him a playful wink. Then, just like that, she began to fade, leaving only her smile behind.

Harry sighed deeply, letting his gaze fall back to the endless white void around him. He sat upright, cracking his neck slightly. "Alright... come out, Dad."

A heavy silence hung in the air before a gruff voice responded. "Like I said, I'm not your father—"

"Cut the crap," Harry interrupted sharply, his face hardening as he sensed the presence behind him. Slowly, Norman Osborn's figure emerged from the shadows, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. Harry didn't flinch. "You are my father, and whether I like it or not, I'm your son. As much as I want to turn my back and let you suffer the consequences of your actions... we're family." His voice was firm, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

Norman scoffed, dismissive as always, but Harry wasn't done. "You might not deserve my help," he continued, "but I'm not going to abandon you. Apart from being your son,  I'm also a hero, which makes me twice as responsible for you. Even though the world might give up on you, even though everyone else believes you can't be saved... I will prove them wrong." His eyes narrowed, locking onto his father's fading form. "Just wait, old man. I promise, I'll help you through this."

Norman's sneer remained, but Harry could see the subtle shift in his expression—a glimmer of something almost... softened. Perhaps even regretful. As Norman's figure slowly began to fade away, the faintest hint of a smile appeared on his lips before he vanished completely.

The silence that followed was heavy and profound. Harry let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping as he finally allowed himself to relax. He leaned back, lying on the ground with his arms spread wide, staring up at the vast emptiness.

"Finally..." he muttered, closing his eyes, "some peace and quiet."

Unbeknownst to Harry, as his eyes fluttered shut, a soft white glow began to pulse around his body. It was subtle at first, like a gentle mist escaping from his pores. Slowly, the glow intensified, enveloping him in a serene aura, his wounds quietly knitting themselves back together as the light bathed him.

---

Meanwhile, in the real world, those watching Harry from the outside could see the miraculous transformation unfolding. The room was still, but a faint glow surrounded Harry's body as he sat cross-legged in a meditative pose. His breathing was deep and steady, 

The Ancient One, observing from a distance, smiled knowingly. "It seems your friend has finally found his inner peace," she said softly, her voice filled with calm wisdom. "He has unlocked his chi."

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