Marvel's Iron Lady

Fisk pushed the oversized desk in front of him, causing his custom chair to slide back, creating space for him to stand up.

A man of his size—much larger than the average person—could never fit in a regular office chair. Fortunately, money solves most problems, and Franklin bills are always universal—thus, Fisk had this extra-large, custom-built chair.

"I must say, I didn't expect you to make it this far. You've certainly opened my eyes, Spider-Man," Fisk remarked, turning to face the partition behind his desk and pressing a button on the remote in his hand.

"But your foolish behavior, running all the way here to your death, will end now."

As he pressed the button, a glass barrier slid down, partitioning the room. Many wealthy individuals, especially those with significant assets, install security measures in their offices. As New York's underground crime lord, Wilson Fisk was no exception—in fact, his security was far more excessive than most.

The barrier that descended was a double-layered bulletproof glass, tinted a pale yellow, imported from China, known for its superior quality over Western-made glass. This glass wall completely separated Fisk and Peter, as if placing them in two entirely different worlds.

Peter watched everything unfold, and under his mask, his expression turned curious. There was no exit through the partition; it simply trapped Fisk on the other side. What was he planning?

Fisk, however, turned his attention away from Spider-Man, pressing another button on his remote. The sound of machinery filled the room as the four crystal pillars in the hall began to disassemble.

The columns split in two, revealing hidden mechanisms inside—heavy machine guns. More precisely, these were mechanized turrets, each equipped with twin M61 Vulcan cannons.

Yes, M61 Vulcan cannons—six-barreled rotary guns, each earning the title "Fire of the Gods." A total of eight Vulcan cannons, their barrels long and imposing, were positioned inside four turrets. Each turret had six barrels per gun, totaling forty-eight deadly barrels, all aimed at Spider-Man.

If Peter so much as flinched, a wave of bullets would tear him apart in an instant.

"Oh, crap... why didn't I investigate this before rushing in?" Peter muttered under his breath, sweat forming on his brow as he eyed the gun turrets surrounding him.

For any ordinary person—or even a heavily armored tank—this setup would be devastating. To deal with him, or perhaps just to deal with enemies in general, Fisk had gone to such extreme lengths?

As the red lights on the turrets blinked, tracking his movement, Peter knew the Vulcan cannons were beginning to spin. His Spider-Sense screamed, warning him of the danger.

Perhaps anyone else would've been shredded on the spot, but Peter wasn't just anyone.

Thanks to his mutated spider genes, Peter had extraordinary reflexes. In an instant, two strands of webbing shot out from his wrists, pulling him to the ceiling just before the bullets could rain down. Hanging upside down, Peter rapidly devised a plan, both hands firing webbing.

A flood of sticky webbing splattered onto the closest turret, clogging its barrels. Spider silk was not only incredibly adhesive but also quick to dry, effectively sealing the turret's guns.

"Their setup is intimidating, but in the end, it's just regular machine guns. Good for scaring kids," Peter quipped as he swung behind the disabled turret.

The other three turrets immediately locked onto his new position, but the one Peter had webbed up blocked the incoming gunfire.

In less than a second, the webbed-up turret was shredded by the fire from the others, but Peter had already moved on. Using the same tactic, he disabled two more turrets, leaving only one operational.

Finally, Peter shot out more webbing, wrapping it around the last turret. With a burst of strength, he yanked it out of the pillar and spun it through the air, swinging it directly toward the glass partition that separated him from Fisk.

The turret slammed into the glass with a resounding crash, creating a spiderweb of cracks across its surface, but the glass didn't shatter.

"Is this glass imported from Italy or something?" Peter muttered, impressed by its durability.

With a sigh, Peter shook his head in disappointment. Then, without missing a beat, he fired two more webs, attaching them to either side of the glass wall.

"Spider-Man, what do you think you're doing?" Fisk shouted.

Peter didn't respond. Instead, he pulled the webs tight, took several steps back, and then launched himself forward with a forceful kick.

His body spun in mid-air like a missile, and with one swift kick, he shattered the glass barrier. However, before Peter could react, Fisk, seething with anger, was already prepared. His massive body, as solid as a mountain, was the result of specialized training—training that had been further enhanced by the Hand.

Fisk's punch collided with Peter as he kicked through the glass, sending Spider-Man flying several meters across the room. Fisk stepped out from behind the broken glass, lifting his heavy desk with ease and hurling it at Peter.

The desk, made from solid wood and weighing at least seven or eight hundred pounds, flew through the air as if it were weightless, showcasing the terrifying strength of Wilson Fisk's mountainous frame.

Was Peter really going to catch that flying desk with his face? Of course not—who'd be stupid enough to catch a desk with their face?

Peter fired two webs at the desk, catching it in mid-air and swinging it around twice before hurling it back at Fisk. But Fisk, undeterred, charged forward and shattered the desk with his massive body.

"You're too weak, Spider-Man. Too soft. You'll never achieve anything like this," Fisk taunted.

"Oh, is that so? I'm just trying not to kill you, because then I'd be a superhero turned murderer," Peter retorted.

With that, he fired dozens of webs in rapid succession, enveloping Fisk in layer upon layer of sticky white webbing, pinning him in place. Peter launched himself forward with another web, preparing to deliver a powerful right hook.

But before Peter's punch could land, Fisk had already torn through the webs, freeing himself. Although his attacks were slow, Fisk had impeccable timing, waiting for Peter to come to him. Just before Peter's punch connected, Fisk threw a heavy punch of his own, sending Peter reeling.

Grabbing Peter by the arm, Fisk hoisted him into the air and hurled him across the room like a rag doll. Peter crashed through the wall, smashing into the storage room that separated Fisk's office from the meeting hall.

Peter landed on the thick water pipes in the storage room, dazed and disoriented from the impact. The pipes, fortunately, didn't burst since the lower-level pipes had already been damaged in the earlier explosions.

Seeing Fisk approaching again, his massive fist aimed at Peter, the young hero rolled out of the way at the last second, abandoning all pretense of dignity.

Fisk's punch, which could easily break through walls, slammed into the water pipe, piercing through it entirely. The punch served as a grim reminder of Fisk's immense strength and his deep hatred for Spider-Man.

The two had clashed countless times over the years, locked in a seemingly endless battle between life and death. Now that Fisk had the chance to finish Spider-Man off, he wasn't going to hold back.

Meanwhile, Stark, still casually descending the staircase, seemed entirely unfazed by the chaos unfolding above her.

Fisk pulled his hand from the broken pipe and grabbed Peter by his torn-up suit. With one mighty swing, he threw Peter into the opposite wall, creating yet another person-shaped hole in the plaster.

Peter, now battered and bruised, tumbled back into the meeting hall, landing near the fake cops he had webbed to the floor earlier.

The thugs watched in shock as their boss sent Spider-Man flying. Peter knew he couldn't afford to lose now, but neither could Fisk.

Despite Spider-Man's superhuman strength, it was difficult to land any meaningful hits on Fisk. Fisk's massive, muscular frame made him resemble a runaway freight train, constantly barreling forward.

His muscles not only provided him with incredible power but also acted as a natural armor, making it nearly impossible for Peter to hurt him. No matter how Peter struck, Fisk seemed unfazed, relentlessly pressing the attack.

After a few more minutes of fighting, Peter's suit was in tatters, riddled with tears and holes from the relentless barrage of punches. Panting heavily, he knelt on the ground, only to be grabbed by Fisk once more.

Fisk slammed Peter into the ground, shattering the glass floor beneath them. Peter lay in the rubble as Fisk loomed over him, raising both fists for a final, crushing blow aimed at Peter's chest.

If that punch landed, Peter knew he'd be lucky to escape with just a few broken ribs.

With no time to think, Peter twisted his body at the last second, avoiding the blow. But the glass floor wasn't so lucky. Fisk's punch shattered it completely, sending both of them plummeting through the broken ceiling.

The two combatants fell several floors, exchanging blows mid-air as they smashed through the various sky bridges connecting the building's central atrium.

As they neared the bottom, Peter realized he could easily save himself with his webbing—but what about Fisk?

At the last moment, Peter shot a webline around Fisk, suspending him from the ceiling of the building's ground floor. This stopped Fisk from crashing to the ground, ensuring he didn't die from the fall.

Peter, battered and bloodied, slowly lowered himself on his webbing, hanging upside down in front of Fisk.

"So... you look pretty stuck. Should we kiss, old pal?" Peter teased, panting from exhaustion.

Just then, the NYPD stormed into the building, weapons drawn, ready to take Fisk into custody. Smiling, Peter swung himself away, leaving Fisk hanging helplessly from the ceiling.

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