Ethan Cole fell into silence as he processed Venom's words. He had long suspected that his unusual spiritual strength played a role in his compatibility with the symbiote, but he couldn't quite grasp the full picture. There was still a missing link—something deeper.
Seeing Ethan deep in thought, Venom took the initiative to continue explaining, its tone uncharacteristically patient.
"This change," it said, "is the result of an interaction between your consciousness and my inherent biological abilities."
"My species—the Klyntar—naturally enhances the host's physiology. We strengthen muscles, reflexes, endurance, speed. And in hosts with unique traits, I can even replicate certain genetic abilities, like when I copied Spider-Man's wall-crawling, agility, and web-based movement."
"In fact, thanks to that bond with Peter Parker, I now possess the ability to grant my host all of Spider-Man's powers—and even push them beyond Parker's original level, depending on the host's physical and mental adaptability."
"Ordinarily, though," Venom continued, pacing slowly along the hospital floor, "all those enhancements disappear when I leave a host. Once the bond ends, they return to being normal humans—no powers, no upgrades. The gift vanishes."
Venom turned back to face Ethan, its pale white eyes gleaming with an intensity that was almost emotional.
"But you… you're different."
"There's something in your subconscious. Normally, it wouldn't be able to manifest physically. But because of the pressure it felt from bonding with me—this unfamiliar presence—your subconscious mind instinctively began using my abilities. Not in a way that drains me, but in a way that internalizes them."
"Your body is evolving, adapting, absorbing my enhancements. Not borrowing them—adopting them. Even while I'm passive, your subconscious continues to integrate my traits into your biology."
Venom's voice dropped to a murmur. "That's why your physical capabilities are gradually improving. Your endurance, reflexes, even your cognitive speed—it's all rising. And it won't stop as long as I remain bonded to you."
"And here's the kicker," Venom added, his voice now trembling with excitement. "The stronger you get, the more energy I can draw from you—without harming you. The more energy I get, the more I grow. And the more I grow, the stronger you become in return."
Ethan's eyes widened with realization. The pieces finally clicked into place. It was a symbiotic feedback loop, a cycle where both the host and symbiote grew more powerful in tandem. Each strengthening the other in a seamless spiral of mutual evolution.
To put it crudely, Ethan thought, it was like climbing an endless staircase by jumping on your own shoulders—impossible in theory, but somehow real in practice.
"So that's why you're so hyped," Ethan muttered.
Venom grinned wide, his jagged maw splitting across his face in a feral smile. "Exactly. You and I—we're not just compatible. We're optimal. The perfect match."
"We're going to be the strongest of them all. You will surpass every other human, and I will become the most powerful symbiote in existence!"
"One day," Venom declared with primal pride, "the name Venom will echo across the stars!"
But Ethan's expression remained somber, his excitement dampened by the burning weight still in his chest.
"All of that… it sounds incredible," he said quietly. "But right now, I don't care about being the strongest in the universe."
"What I want is to find the person responsible for my grandfather's death—and make him pay."
His fists clenched unconsciously as he spoke, and his voice trembled with barely restrained emotion.
"I thought that being reborn into this world meant I'd get a second chance at a peaceful, happy life. I didn't expect to lose the only family I had left so cruelly."
Images of his grandfather flashed in his mind—the old man's raspy laughter, his gruff discipline, his unwavering warmth. The sting of grief swelled again in his chest. He turned to the hospital window, blinking back tears as he stared into the heavy night sky.
Venom, sensing the change in his host's emotions, didn't continue its power-fueled monologue. Instead, it moved closer, its voice low and steady.
"They'll regret ever crossing your path," it whispered. "That… I promise."
After several days of recovery, Ethan finally completed the discharge procedures at the hospital. The attending doctor, though reluctant, couldn't argue with the clean bill of health on Ethan's latest physical exam.
"You're recovering faster than anyone I've seen," the doctor muttered, still surprised. "Just make sure to rest. Maybe take a vacation. Get away from the city for a while."
Ethan gave a polite nod, but his thoughts were already elsewhere.
Rest? Maybe later. For now, there was someone out there who needed to pay.
After returning home, the emptiness of the apartment pressed down on Ethan Cole like a weighted blanket. The silence was deafening. Without the warm, commanding voice of his grandfather echoing through the rooms, the place felt hollow and lifeless.
He didn't linger long. The quiet gnawed at him, and his chest tightened with the aching void of loss. Needing a distraction, he grabbed his keys and drove to the family's pizzeria.
Despite everything, the shop was still bustling. The aroma of cheese, basil, and freshly baked dough filled the air. Familiar customers came and went with easy smiles and full bellies. Business, as always, was booming.
But something was missing.
Behind the counter, in the kitchen, at the front of the house—there was no longer the presence of the fiery old man who had once ruled the place with loud orders and a gruff heart of gold.
Ethan's grandfather.
Still, thanks to Ethan's streamlined system of inventory management, automated sales tracking, and his meticulous staff training protocols, the place ran smoothly even in his absence. As long as the books were checked and quality control was maintained, the shop would endure.
That didn't stop the emptiness from settling into Ethan's bones.
After making sure everything was in order, Ethan left the pizzeria and returned home. Though his heart ached at the memories saturating every inch of the apartment, this was still his home—his last anchor in this world.
Sensing Ethan's quiet grief, Venom began to chatter idly in his mind, trying to divert his attention.
"Hey," Venom said casually, voice rumbling like gravel soaked in oil, "Peter Parker was your classmate, right? Didn't you ever notice how strange that guy was? He's been sneaking around rooftops in red tights since high school."
Ethan blinked at the sudden shift in conversation. The mention of Peter Parker pulled him out of the gloom.
Now that he thought about it, Peter had always been a bit… eccentric. Quiet. Awkward. A top student with a razor-sharp mind, but socially out of sync.
"We didn't talk much," Ethan admitted. "He was more of the dorky science kid type. Didn't hang out with many people. But yeah, he was always late to everything."
"I used to think he just lost track of time in the lab or reading some tech journal… but now that I know who he really was, it makes a lot more sense."
He chuckled quietly.
"Probably spent more time chasing muggers than doing homework."
Venom laughed—an ugly, hoarse rasp that somehow still sounded amused. "You have no idea. That guy barely had time to eat. When I was bonded with him… maybe ninety percent of his meals were eaten crouched on the ledge of some skyscraper."
"Hot dogs. Pizza. Occasionally cold Chinese takeout."
Ethan raised an eyebrow. "That sounds miserable."
"The funniest moment?" Venom said with a snort. "He once got halfway through a hot dog before spotting a robbery two blocks down. Webbed the hot dog to the rooftop and swung off. Came back five minutes later—pigeons and sparrows had devoured it. Not a crumb left."
That mental image hit Ethan like a punchline. A fully suited Spider-Man staring down at the shredded remains of his lunch while pigeons waddled away smugly—it was ridiculous and oddly humanizing.
He laughed aloud, a real, sudden sound that echoed through the apartment.
Venom, sensing he'd struck the right chord, kept going, layering embarrassing stories from his time with Parker. Embarrassment, flaws, and all—anything to keep Ethan's mind away from grief.
As night fell, Ethan finished tying up the day's small chores and stood in front of the tall floor mirror in his bedroom. His heart pounded—not with fear, but anticipation.
Tonight was the first true test.
He and Venom had agreed to wait for nightfall before attempting full synchronization—where Ethan would allow the symbiote to fully manifest and test their potential in real time.
He exhaled slowly. "Let's do this."
In the next moment, something black and viscous oozed from the pores of his skin. Like ink in water, it slithered up his arms and across his chest, encasing his body. The texture was cold, smooth, and alive. It rippled and flexed over his limbs like a second skin.
Within seconds, Ethan had transformed.
He now stood over two meters tall. His muscles bulged with unnatural mass. The creature in the mirror was terrifying—a dark titan with jagged white eyes and a bestial grin full of needle-like teeth.
Ethan stared at his reflection. The mirror image was monstrous. Alien.
"…No way I can go outside looking like this," he muttered. "I'd be on the government's watchlist in five minutes."
"They'd try to dissect you," Venom replied, still coiled tightly around his nervous system. "Slice you open and study you like a frog. And I don't like being studied."
Ethan sighed. "We're going to have to figure out a way to scale it back. Blend in. Something more… street level."
Venom's form receded slightly, the outer features softening, reshaping. The monstrous grin dimmed. The eyes narrowed.
"A disguise. Not a declaration," Ethan mused aloud. "At least until we find the people responsible."
Venom agreed silently.
Because tonight wasn't about showmanship.
It was about preparation.