Inheritance of Night

Live from the Edge

"We're following a breaking situation atop the Empire State Building—Spider-Man is locked in combat with an unidentified, armored assailant—"

The news chopper's camera shuddered, wind buffeting the lens. Two figures collided above the city: one in red and blue, swinging on webs; the other, monstrous and green, slicing through the air on a razor-edged glider, bombs and drones swirling around him.

"Correction—witnesses describe the attacker as a 'goblin-like creature' in high-tech armor."

On the street, a crowd clustered outside a corner electronics store, faces lit by the flickering wall of TV screens.

"That's Spider-Man," a woman murmured.

"But who's that guy?" a boy asked, pointing upward.

The feed caught a third figure—a blur of black and swirling smoke, darting through shattered glass and fire. He vanished and reappeared mid-air, catching a falling woman, then flickered again, pulling a man from debris.

"There—another masked figure. Dressed in black, teleporting—he's rescuing civilians from the upper floors. A second vigilante is on scene, assisting in rescue efforts."

The crowd's confusion and awe grew, whispers rippling as the spectacle unfolded.

Every jump drained me further.

Teleporting, lifting, running—the exhaustion was crushing, heavier than the armor on my back.

I helped Brian clear debris from a young woman pinned by a steel beam. Her breaths were shallow, eyes wide with fear. He nodded thanks, motioning for another to help her down the stairs.

Screams echoed. The building groaned. Concrete cracked.

Then I saw her—a little girl, maybe six, clutching a broken railing, platform beneath her gone. She slipped.

I ran. Sprint. Leap.

Dive.

Shadow curled around me—darkness blooming in a sudden, swirling burst, like ink dissolving in water. The world blurred at the edges, sound muffled, as I vanished from one spot and reappeared in another, the air rippling with a faint, sulfurous haze.

I caught her—tiny, shaking in my arms.

Focused. Blinked.

Teleport.

We reappeared at ground level, the momentum of the dive carrying us into a crouched landing—one knee down, fist to the pavement, cloak rippling, the girl safe in my grasp.

Gasps. Silence.

Dozens of onlookers stared, cameras raised, news crews mid-sentence. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath.

I stood, checking her over. "You okay?"

She nodded, wide-eyed.

I set her down gently. She ran to the crowd.

A ripple of cheers and shouts broke out, some people clapping, others just staring in disbelief. I vanished again, the shadows curling and swallowing me in a flash of swirling darkness.

Spider-Man ducked beneath a spinning blade, boots scraping steel as he launched himself at the Goblin.

The Goblin twisted, laughter echoing, one clawed gauntlet swatting a web aside before hurling a pumpkin bomb. Spider-Man spiraled around it, landing on a battered ventilation unit, firing two more lines.

"You always scream before the punch, you know that?" Spider-Man called, flipping over the next swipe.

"I scream because brilliance must roar," Goblin snarled, diving forward.

They clashed, tangled in metal and momentum. The glider hissed, slicing through the air. Spider-Man dodged, but his movements slowed—blood seeping from a cut across his ribs, shoulder throbbing, web fluid running low.

Goblin pressed in, grinning wide.

"Clever. Adaptive. But you're still just a boy with string."

"And you're still just a middle-aged lizard with a superiority complex," Spidey shot back, swinging upward for space.

The city's lights flickered below, sirens wailing in the distance, the fight teetering on the edge of disaster.

I reappeared on the roof, the world snapping back into focus with a rush of cold air and a faint, smoky afterimage.

Spider-Man staggered, left arm limp, blood trickling from his hairline.

Goblin swung his glider, unleashing another drone. I lashed out—a tendril of shadow slicing through it mid-flight.

Spidey glanced at me, breathing hard.

"About time you came back."

"Got held up," I said.

We moved together—Spider-Man leaping high, webbing onto a girder; me going low, shadows curling as I punched a steel beam upward into Goblin's path.

He smashed through, reeled. I teleported behind him—darkness swirling like smoke in my wake.

My fist shot out, sharp and sudden—a punch to the face that snapped his head sideways.

Goblin staggered, breath hitching, eyes wide with shock.

Spider-Man followed with a kick to the chest, driving him backward.

Goblin tumbled, glider stabilizing, but he looked… off. He staggered, blinking, breath ragged.

"What...?" he muttered, almost to himself.

His face twisted—not rage, but recognition. We were adapting, tag-teaming, reading his rhythm. Overpowering him.

He said something under his breath and shot upward, vanishing into the clouds above Manhattan.

We stood still, the city roaring below.

Spider-Man and I sat side-by-side on the battered ledge, the building still tilting. Sirens wailed below, helicopters circled above. The wind whipped around us, cold and sharp, carrying the scent of smoke and rain.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

He finally looked over, pulling his mask halfway up, pressing a bruise on his jaw.

I stared out across the city—lights flickering, chaos simmering below. Everything hurt: ribs, head, legs, soul.

I exhaled, the wind stinging my face.

"I hate this goddamn city."

Spider-Man laughed, voice rough. "Yeah. Welcome to New York."

A distant siren wailed, echoing through the night. For a moment, I wondered what would come next—what new threat, what new cost. But for now, we just sat, battered and breathing, on the edge of the world.