However, Peter still underestimated the immense force behind his fall. Although the friction against the glass slowed him down significantly, it wasn't enough to halt his momentum. With a final jolt, he plummeted the last few feet, crashing through a tree branch before landing with a solid thud on the ground.
"Bang!" The noise startled Ethan, who was in class at Empire State University.
He'd just finished Professor Curt Connors' molecular biology lecture, stretching out his arms with a yawn. It had been a challenging session, but Ethan had absorbed some useful information—especially regarding gene stability during high-stress mutation events, a topic he and Venom found personally relevant.
As he packed his notes, something flashed outside the window—a figure falling rapidly, smashing through a branch before hitting the concrete.
Ethan's eyes widened. What the hell? Did someone just jump?
Panicking, he rushed to the window and looked down. The figure was already moving—painfully, but alive. His eyes narrowed as the red and blue costume came into view. Spider-Man.
"Wait… is that Peter Parker?" Ethan muttered. He recognized the stance, the lean frame, and even the awkward way he was trying to stand back up.
"Are you okay?" Ethan called down instinctively.
Peter, clutching his lower back, groaned and looked up. Seeing his classmate leaning out the window—Ethan, the quiet guy from Advanced Biochemistry—he froze for a moment.
"Oh, hey!" Peter called back, trying to play it off. "I'm good! Just had a minor disagreement with a guy on a hoverboard. He bailed… again. Typical New York day, right?"
He forced a grin, masking the searing pain radiating through his spine. "Anyway, stay in school, don't do drugs, and don't hang out of windows—you might fall."
And with that, he limped off toward an alley, trying his best to maintain some superhero dignity.
Ethan raised a brow, watching him shuffle away. "He's definitely in pain. I could see his back twitching from here."
Venom's voice chuckled inside his mind, low and amused. "Bang. That must've hurt. Not as much as when your spine broke on that rooftop, though."
Ethan's expression twisted. "Wow. Thanks for the PTSD flashback. Really helpful."
"Next time, maybe don't dive off a building to save a cat."
"I told you I thought it was a baby!" Ethan hissed under his breath. "And you're the one who forgot to block the nerve feedback!"
"I was repairing your ribs. Multitasking isn't easy when you're fighting six guys and freefalling."
Ethan rolled his eyes and shouldered his bag, walking toward the exit. "Anyway, whatever just happened out there clearly wasn't normal. Did you sense anything else? Symbiote interference, tech signatures, radiation?"
"No symbiotes. But I picked up Oscorp-grade energy residue and something else… familiar. Hover-tech, stolen Stark components, and unstable explosives. Someone's trying to imitate the Goblin."
"Great," Ethan muttered. "Another psycho in New York. Can't wait."
Meanwhile, high above Midtown Manhattan in the Oscorp Tower, Norman Osborn stood alone in his private R&D lab. The room buzzed with low-frequency hums from the lab's power core. Massive containment chambers lined the walls, most of them storing experimental gear and chemical agents restricted even by military standards.
He stared at the floor, arms crossed behind his back, a storm of thoughts running through his mind. He wasn't here to work on formulas today. He was waiting.
With a hiss of compressed air, a panel in the ceiling slid open. A shadow descended, landing awkwardly on the steel floor—one wing of his glider sparking, his armor scorched.
The so-called "Evil Ghost" dismounted, pulling off his damaged helmet. His eyes burned with rage and exhaustion.
"You failed," Norman said coldly, not even bothering to turn.
The villain snarled. "Spider-Man showed up. Again. And that other kid—he's stronger than you said."
Norman finally turned, eyes narrowing. "The symbiote host?"
"He didn't show up, but I felt… something. Like he was nearby."
Norman's jaw tightened. "That would be Ethan. He's learning to control it faster than we projected. That makes things complicated."
The Ghost flinched. "You said Parker would be alone."
"I said Parker would be the bait," Norman corrected. "You were supposed to test the tech, draw him out, and observe how he reacts under pressure. Instead, you brought attention to Oscorp and botched the mission."
The Ghost's fists clenched. "He's faster now. Stronger. Smarter."
Norman moved closer, his voice like ice. "Then next time, adapt. You want to earn the rest of your payment? You bring me results. That means Spider-Man and Ethan. Alive."
"Why not dead?"
Norman's eyes glinted. "Because I want to study what makes them tick. Their blood. Their power. If I can understand their mutations, I can replicate them—or destroy them."
The Ghost hesitated, then gave a nod. "Give me new gear. More firepower."
"You'll get it," Norman said, turning to a nearby console. "I've been working on something new. Something that will make your glider look like a child's toy."
The Ghost raised an eyebrow. "And what about the police? SHIELD?"
"Leave them to me. Just make sure your next move isn't another public embarrassment. I don't pay for failures."
"You screwed up, Evil Ghost. This is not what we agreed on," Norman Osborn said coldly, standing rigidly as the figure on the glider hovered just inside the open ceiling hatch of the Oscorp R&D lab.
Evil Ghost gave a twisted smile, eyes glowing behind his armored mask. His voice was laced with mockery as he replied, "No, no, no, Norman. This one's not on me. You never mentioned Spider-Man would crash the party. Without him, Wilson Fisk would've been splattered on the pavement like a pancake."
He leaned on the hovercraft, completely unfazed. "I can finish the job. But next time, the price doubles."
Norman narrowed his eyes. His patience, like the tension in the room, was razor-thin. "You're negotiating? With me?" he said in a low, dangerous voice. "Everything you are, everything you wield—that glider, the suit, the weapons—all of it comes from me. Strip that away, and you're nothing but a petty criminal with delusions of grandeur. Just another washed-up Midtown misfit who couldn't cut it."
He stepped over to a massive screen at the center of the lab and tapped a control pad. Instantly, a series of images appeared—surveillance stills, arrest reports, identity logs, personal records that had long been buried.
Norman turned his head slightly, just enough to glare at the masked figure. "Don't forget who I am. Don't forget what I have on you. One word, and your face is all over every agency database from SHIELD to Interpol."
Evil Ghost's smile faltered slightly. He didn't respond, but his silence spoke volumes. Behind the mask, his jaw tightened.
Norman took a step closer, speaking with venom. "What's the matter? Thinking of killing me? Go ahead. These files are set to auto-send. If I don't input the kill code every 72 hours, they're released. To the Daily Bugle, NYPD, and—most importantly—Fisk."
He paused. "So do it. Take the shot. Let's see how far you get."
A tense silence filled the lab. The Evil Ghost stared, unmoving, red lenses locked on Osborn. Then, he abruptly laughed—a dry, mechanical chuckle that echoed through the chamber.
"Heh heh heh… Okay, Mr. Osborn. You win." He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'll find another chance to deal with the big guy. Clean. Quiet."
Norman's lips curled into a victorious smirk. "Good. That's the tone we agreed on. You get stronger toys, and I get problems solved. Mutual success."
Evil Ghost tilted his head. "Oh, definitely. But you do realize, after this failed attempt, Fisk will double his security. And now there's the wall-crawling nuisance to deal with."
Norman nodded slowly. "The Spider."
"Yeah. And he's more than a nuisance," Evil Ghost said seriously. "I've fought him before. Today, I almost couldn't shake him. The kid's getting faster—sharper. If the fight hadn't been in such an open zone, I might not have made it out."
"So what are you saying?" Osborn asked, eyes narrowing.
The masked man leaned forward slightly on his glider. "I'm saying the equipment you gave me—it's outdated. Barely enough to keep up with Spider-Man, let alone that weird kid who's been poking around the university. I need gear that'll give me the edge."
Norman went silent, processing the words. He turned back toward the console, running simulations and glancing at blueprints—glider upgrades, EMP mines, next-gen explosive arc disks. Everything on the table was dangerous. Illegal. Perfect.
"I'll make the improvements," he said at last. "You'll have upgraded armor, improved propulsion, and plasma cutters calibrated to break through webbing instantly. But this doesn't change the deal. You finish the job. No more failures."
Evil Ghost gave another low, amused chuckle. "Of course, Mr. Osborn. I won't let my real face come to light. I'll play nice… for now."
He pivoted the glider and rose through the ceiling's hatch. With a sharp burst of afterburners, he disappeared into the Manhattan night.
Norman Osborn watched him vanish, the steel panel sliding shut overhead. He remained still for a few moments, deep in thought.
Things were moving faster than he liked.
Spider-Man was growing stronger. That meant the serum was stabilizing in Parker's bloodstream—a discovery that could prove useful for his next phase.
And then there was the anomaly: Ethan. He was still under the radar, still blending in. But Norman had seen the footage—the symbiote bonding during the Midtown Incident, the enhanced healing, the anomalous readings Oscorp satellites picked up during his clash near the East River.
The boy wasn't ordinary. And if his powers continued to evolve, he'd soon be more than a wildcard.
He'd be a threat.
Norman's fingers tapped the console slowly, methodically.
It was time to accelerate the timeline.