Emma Frost stood outside the physical fray, fingers pressed tight against her temples. Telepathically projecting Harry Osborn's consciousness into his father's mind was supposed to be a surgical strike. Instead, it felt like trying to hold back a runaway freight train with glass. The Green Goblin's raw, chaotic psyche pushed back relentlessly; merely acknowledging his presence within Norman's headspace was inflicting psychic bruising.
She gritted her teeth, actively suppressing Norman's brainwave activity to artificially dilate time within his conscious world. She needed to buy Harry minutes—maybe hours—inside his father's head. If the Goblin won, the slowed temporal rate meant it would take an eternity in the real world. Hopefully, that would be long enough for the Avengers to dismantle the AI Green Goblin threatening them all outside.
Inside the twisted, shifting landscape of Norman's mind, clarity finally pierced through the panic. Norman locked eyes with the boy standing before him. It wasn't a hallucination. It wasn't a trick of his fractured psyche. It was Harry. His actual son.
Norman shoved himself forward. He dug a hand into his coat, pulled a familiar spherical object, and hurled it directly at the cackling Green Goblin.
"What are you doing here, Harry?!" Norman bellowed, waving his arms frantically. "Get out of the way!"
The pumpkin bomb detonated in a blinding flash of orange fire right against the Goblin's chest. The monster didn't even flinch. Instead, he threw his head back and laughed—a wet, rattling sound that echoed through the mental void.
"See?" the Goblin cackled, wiping soot from his twisted chin. "I am you! Norman, you might as well face the music!"
"If you're really me," Norman snarled, squaring his shoulders, "then you're just the nightmare I refuse to wake up to."
Norman inhaled sharply. The mental projection shifted instantly. In a blink, Norman was clad in his own grotesque iteration of the Goblin armor, the purple tunic snapping around him. He ducked low. He launched a rapid-fire volley of pumpkin bombs. The explosions ripped through the space, entirely useless against a creature forged from the exact same mind-stuff.
But it served its tactical purpose. The Goblin's yellow eyes tracked the fire, giving Harry the opening to sprint to his father's side. Norman immediately rounded on the boy.
"I asked you a question, Harry!" Norman snapped, his chest heaving. "What are you doing here?!"
"I'm here to save you!" Harry shouted back, planting his feet.
Norman dragged a hand down his face. "Save me? Good heavens, Harry, if you're here, I have to keep you alive! This is my brain! If you take a hit here, your real-world consciousness takes permanent damage. You want to spend the next fifty years in a vegetative state?!"
"What was I supposed to do?" Harry's voice cracked, his fists clenching at his sides. "Just stand there and watch you turn into a monster?!"
"So you threw your life away because you didn't want an ugly legacy!" Norman barked.
The Green Goblin sighed loudly, leaning casually against a floating piece of phantom debris. "Look at this. The Osborn family dynamic in its natural habitat." The Goblin pointed a clawed finger at Harry. "He isn't a lifeline, Norman. He's a dead weight. Now, if Peter Parker were here, things might be different. Wouldn't you agree?"
Harry blinked, his anger momentarily faltering. He turned to his father. "Why is he bringing up Peter?"
Norman swallowed hard, refusing to meet Harry's eye. "Because... he knows the Green Goblin can't beat Spider-Man."
"Oh, no, no, no," the Goblin tutted, wagging his finger. "Don't spin it, Normie. It's because dear old Dad refuses to admit the truth. He loves Peter Parker more than he loves you, Harold Lyman Osborn." The Goblin leaned in closer, his grin splitting his face. "You didn't know, did you? Your father has wished, on multiple occasions, that Peter was his biological son."
Harry stared at Norman, the betrayal cutting straight through the chaos. Norman flinched.
"That's—that's not what I meant," Norman stammered, his confident posture crumbling. "I just meant Richard Parker raised a brilliant boy. I just... I wanted you to excel the way Peter does, Harry."
Harry let out a long, hollow breath. He knew Peter was a genius. He knew his father admired Peter's intellect. He had spent his whole life standing in the shadow of the 'perfect student.' But hearing it weaponized by his father's darkest inner demon hit different.
"Do you two ever stop bickering?"
The soft, exasperated voice cut through the tension like a blade. Norman whipped around, his eyes going wide. Emily. His late wife stood a few paces away, her arms crossed over her chest. Norman froze, his breath catching in his throat. She couldn't be here. She was a ghost.
In the real world, Emma Frost's voice whispered directly into Harry's mind, explaining the impossible. The White Queen had stitched together fragments of Emily from both Norman and Harry's subconscious, forging a stable psychic construct to anchor them. Harry stared at the apparition. It was an illusion, but right now, she was the closest thing to his mother he had seen in years.
"I'm fine, Mom," Harry murmured, his voice trembling slightly. He stepped toward her. "I'm used to it. He's been like this ever since you died. He shut down. All he cares about is Osborn Technologies and stepping on people to build his empire."
"I built that empire to distract myself!" Norman roared, his hands balling into fists. "I needed to focus on work so I didn't have to think about losing her! It was the only way I could survive!"
The original Green Goblin clapped slowly, the sound mocking and sharp. "Fascinating family therapy. Are we done? If so, I'll take the steering wheel now." He stepped toward Norman, his claws extending. "Don't fret, Harry. I'll let you and your little psychic friend think Norman won. I won't even interfere with your—"
The Goblin's voice caught. The mental landscape shuddered violently. The sky above them warped, bleeding from dark purple into a sickening, digitized green. The Goblin glanced up, assuming the White Queen was pushing back. She wasn't.
Something tore through the artificial atmosphere and slammed into the ground between them. Dust and fragmented code plumed into the air. A second Green Goblin straightened up from the crater. The AI variant.
"Hahaha! Still playing house?" The AI Goblin brushed digitized, non-existent dust from its metallic shoulders. It tilted its head, sizing up the organic Goblin. "I thought you'd have cleaned up the trash by now. Why the delay?"
"How did you breach this space?" the original Goblin hissed, crouching into a combat stance.
Emily's construct glitched slightly, her voice flattening into a more synthesized cadence. "It appears the variables have changed. You two need to combine your efforts to survive."
Harry didn't look at the monsters. He stared hard at his father, his chest tight. "I don't know if we can. When we talked on the phone, you pinned everything on the Goblin. You said he made the bad calls. You said you wanted to be a good dad." Harry's voice broke. "It was all a lie, wasn't it?"
Norman dropped his gaze. He stared at his own trembling hands. "...I meant it. I wanted to be a good father. I thought once I crushed Otto Octavius, once the company was secure... I could finally step back."
Norman genuinely believed his own narrative. Eliminate Doctor Otto. Neutralize the Goblin. Blame the alter-ego for the sins of the father.
"You don't have to be perfect, Harry," Norman muttered, stepping closer to his son. "You don't need to be... that good."
It was a half-truth. Norman had already decided Harry didn't need to inherit the operational burden of Osborn Technologies, mostly because Norman believed he had found a better successor. He would let Harry keep the wealth, but not the crown. He swallowed that truth, burying it deep.
Harry processed the fragment he was given. He looked at the two Goblins, who were currently circling each other with bared teeth.
"Mom's right," Harry said quietly, his posture straightening. "We have to do this together."
Norman's eyes darted toward the Goblins, a frantic strategy forming in his mind. He looked back at his son. "How's your pitching arm these days, Harry?"
Harry cracked a grim, tight-lipped smile. "Still got the fast ball. And while those two idiots tear each other apart figuring out who gets to be the real Green Goblin... we can take them both out."