"Hands up! Release the hostages! There's no escape—resist, and we'll wipe you all out!"
Behind a barricade of police vehicles, a squad of special officers crouched, guns leveled and ready. Bulletproof shields gleamed under the chaotic New York skyline, while a senior officer, badge heavy on his chest, blew his horn and shouted orders, drenched in sweat and trembling with tension.
The situation was dire: more than a dozen heavily armed Ten Rings terrorists had hijacked a jewelry store, holding hundreds of civilians hostage. On top of that, every terrorist had time bombs ready—one wrong move, and the neighborhood would be obliterated.
"Boom! Boom!"
The first volleys of bullets slammed against shields. Officers ducked, panic flaring in their hearts. One senior officer was quickly dragged to safety, muttering prayers under his breath.
"Haha! Trash! Try again, and see if I don't end you all!"
Inside the jewelry store, a bald Ten Rings lieutenant laughed, AK47 spitting fire. Glass shattered, bullets pinged, chaos echoing. Hostages huddled, eyes wide with panic, every heartbeat a torment.
"Boss! Bombs are ready! One tap and everything disappears!"
"Excellent!" The bald man slapped shoulders, a proud grin curling across his scarred face. "Brothers! Today, the world will tremble at Ten Rings! Press the button—are you scared?"
"Never! Ten Rings forever! Hail Mandarin!"
The terrorists cheered, eyes fixed on the controller like it was a holy relic.
He pressed the button—but…
Nothing happened. Silence. Confusion. Fear.
A flash from above—a streak of milk-white webbing shot out like homing missiles, binding the men around the bald lieutenant.
And then, the controller in his hand—snatched with a flick of Gwen's fingers before he could react.
"Where the hell did she come from? Shoot! Get it back! Help—!"
The bald man's scream was cut short as webs slammed into his face, muffling him entirely. He collapsed to the ground, thrashing blindly.
The remaining terrorists fired instinctively—but Gwen was everywhere at once, masked, agile, a whirlwind of webbing. Within seconds, most of the men were wrapped tight, some dangling from the ceiling like pendulums, utterly helpless.
"Remember this! I am Spider-Man! Bad guys don't get a second chance!"
Every terrorist was captured alive. Gwen shot her web, vaulted to a nearby rooftop, and prepared for her next target, leaving awe-struck hostages behind.
The special police rushed in, guns raised, only to stop mid-step. The jewelry store was pristine—hostages safe, villains immobilized.
"What…what just happened?" the lead officer whispered, eyes wide.
"Spider-Man saved us!" a little boy among the hostages whispered, nodding. Others followed in hurried agreement, still trying to process the miraculous rescue.
Meanwhile, Ryuuto was back in the fray.
A loud crack!—Obadiah and Whiplash's whips slammed into his decapitating knife again and again. They roared, pouring every ounce of strength into their strikes, trying to force him back.
But Ryuuto? Relaxed, almost humming. Rock Lee's data packet coursed through him, his body a perfect weapon. Whips slammed, sparks flew, yet he didn't flinch an inch.
He smirked. "Come on, is that all you've got?"
Obadiah's fury grew, Ivan Vanko's armored whips a blur—but Ryuuto's calm, confident aura radiated challenge. The fight was far from over, but one thing was clear: neither villain could dictate the pace.