Norman Osborn, now the Green Goblin—the one who should terrify others—was the one startled by Batman.
Almost on instinct, the serum-amped Goblin kept his "startled" look while subtly raising an arm across his chest. In that palm, he quietly hid the short knife he'd never let go of.
He only had to wait for Batman to come within reach—then drive the blade home.
"Just as I planned!"
Behind the mask, the Goblin's lips curled. He was impatient to see the knife pierce, his target crippled, then gutted.
Excitement quickened his breath; he squeezed the hilt even tighter.
Vmm!
The instant Batman closed in midair, the blade ripped the air, stabbing hard for him.
"Everything is in my plan."
Batman's face didn't change. The moment he entered the vault and saw pumpkin bombs, long and short knives, bullets, and micro-missiles, he'd prepped to fight the Goblin.
Whether the Goblin came inside or what weapon he chose, Batman had already mapped countermeasures within seconds.
That included tapping the "bat beacon" switch in his boot the instant he heard footsteps—and popping the serrated forearm blades in advance.
At first contact there was a crisp ting! Batman's forearm blade met the knife the Goblin thought perfectly hidden, batted it aside, and a twist of the arm sent it flying.
The Goblin blinked, then lashed out with a reflexive punch.
"Judging by Norman's destruction on Oscorp B3, his durability exceeds the 'Captain America' spec I saw when I breached S.H.I.E.L.D."
"But I still need to meter my power—probe first—so I don't kill him outright."
"With Parker's tested strength plus the suit's protection, Norman's blows are within tolerance."
That was the calculus Batman made while plastered to the ceiling.
Now, as the Goblin's punch came, Batman only crossed his arms to block—instead of twisting the limb off.
Kaboom!
Batman flew back, slammed the vault wall, and cratered the concrete—half his body buried in it.
"Norman has no formal training. From his strike and the hidden blade play, he's fighting purely on serum-boosted reflexes, strength, and instinct."
Batman dropped from the wall—assessment complete.
"Heh—heh—"
A mad titter. The Goblin drove off his toes, hurtling in, another short knife flashing into his grip.
He jabbed straight for Batman's heart.
This time Batman didn't keep testing—he caught the wrist and cranked.
A man who could punch through walls and drive Batman into concrete had been massively enhanced—but Norman's build couldn't cope with Peter Parker's twenty-five tons (and up to thirty with Batman's technique).
Crack!
The Goblin's forearm snapped.
Batman didn't play macho—why brawl with "Bruce Wayne's" strength when Parker's was in hand? He optimizes for results, not sentiment.
The Goblin's grin inverted into pain. He ignored his ruined wrist and slammed a thumb on a control with his good hand.
Whip!
The green longsword stored beside the pumpkin bombs snapped to his grip. He seized the hilt; the green suit and blade lit as if current ran through them.
Retreating, he spun the sword in a roaring fan. Sloppy as it was, serum speed turned the green flashes into a seamless sphere.
Shff.
Batman's arm lifted. With a whisper from the nitrogen spring, high-pressure gas spat liquid webbing at speed—the filament cured mid-air and streaked for the Goblin.
Zzzap— the black strand hit the green arc and didn't slow it; the web seemed to vaporize.
Plap, plap.
Bats wheeling through the vault didn't know to dodge; every brush of green light knocked them from the air.
Watching the hedgehog of flashing steel, Batman frowned. With a cape he could crash the blade-screen and finish this. But tonight there was no cape—only the glider rig he'd stripped from the Spider-Slayer.
"Initiate plan two."
He threw a few black lines to occupy the Goblin, lifted his arm, and popped the wrist computer.
The Goblin's sword was cutting web to steam. He watched Batman working the keys and slipped back toward the glider in the vault—then leapt.
The board took him up cleanly. Its nose dropped three micro-missiles—not at Batman, but at the rack of pumpkin bombs behind him.
At the same time, another whine sounded at Batman's back—the Goblin's other board, the one he used outside.
It screamed in on Batman from behind; two needle-spikes snapped from the nose—two holes, guaranteed, if they struck flesh.
Front and rear converging, Batman's mind stayed cool.
"I can't dodge those missiles.
"Harry's room is close. Given the blast that killed the Smythes, the bombs will absolutely reach him."
Thwip!
A black line snapped back. Without looking, Batman nailed the incoming glider, heaved, and hurled it into the oncoming missiles.
With Parker's power, speed, and reaction—and Batman's calm—he could have dodged both missile and board.
But he's Batman. Even if Norman didn't care about blowing up his own son, Batman would not watch Harry die. He chose to intercept.
BOOM! The micro-missiles blew. Simultaneously, the Goblin carved open the vault roof and shot out on the board.
"Ha-ha-ha-ha!"
Mad laughter dwindled into the night. When Batman cleared the roofline, only the tail-fire was fading to nothing.
He'd escaped.
Batman didn't linger. He turned back into the vault.
He killed the boot beacon and looked to the bombs and weapons.
He was about to sweep them all—so Norman couldn't come back and arm up—when Harry Osborn's voice cut in:
"Father?"
Jolted awake by the fight and the blasts, Harry stood at the study shelves, staring into the vault's eerie green glow.
Thunk!
A smoke pellet arced from the vault and burst; white fog swallowed Harry.
Before he could react, Batman shot from the vault, chopped him—carefully measured—and dropped him.
When Harry came to, he crawled through the shelf to find… nothing. Only an empty room, glowing faintly green.
~~~
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