In the pitch-black night, Peter Parker hurried out of the Oscorp Building. To avoid being caught on camera, he took a back road home today.
Although this path was secluded, it led through a small grove outside the city—adding half an hour to his journey compared to his usual route.
Just as he entered the grove, preparing to continue home...
Suddenly, a crimson light flared in the sky. Before he could even react, a massive space shuttle crashed nearby.
The shuttle slammed into the earth, triggering a violent explosion. The resulting shockwave engulfed him instantly—like a tidal wave of force.
He was blasted backward before he could understand what was happening. Shards of rock and splintered wood tore through his body.
He collapsed to the ground, barely conscious, on the verge of death.
But at that moment, a black, viscous substance surged from the wreckage—and with lightning speed, it crawled onto his face.
Peter, already grievously wounded and slipping toward oblivion, felt the wet, slick mass cling to him. He stared blankly into the darkness, awaiting the end.
His mind raced. Fragments of memory flashed before him like scenes from a film.
The faces of his parents—long blurred by time—reappeared. He remembered being bullied in elementary school, taunted as a "bastard with no parents."
More painful recollections followed: the relentless teasing in junior high, the sneering ridicule in high school for being a "country bumpkin."
The flood of memories ignited fury in his chest. Though near death, Peter clenched his fists. His eyes burned red with rage and resentment.
"No… I can't die like this," he muttered hoarsely. "I still have so much to do. I want to live—I need to live!"
A fierce will to survive blazed in his eyes—and with it, he somehow pushed himself upright.
Just then, a smooth, mocking voice echoed inside his mind.
"Oh, poor Peter Parker… You really do have a strong will."
"With a willpower like yours, you shouldn't have suffered such a miserable life."
"But it doesn't matter now. You've got me. I can make you stand tall. I can give you everything you've ever wanted."
"Who… who's talking to me?" Peter gasped, startled. He whipped his head around—but saw nothing.
The voice returned, amused. "Don't bother looking. I'm inside you now. I am you—and you are me. From this moment on, we're inseparable."
"Inside me? What… what are you? What do you want?" Peter's voice trembled, his face pale with terror.
"I am an all-powerful symbiote. Call me Venom. As for what I want—that's up to you."
"Kill those bastards who bullied you. Devour those snobbish scum. Or win the heart of your beloved Gwen… and place her in—"
"Shut up! Don't you dare mention Gwen! I won't let anyone lay a hand on her—not even myself!"
"Ohhh, you're fierce! I like that."
"Can't even handle your own desires? Is this some kind of platonic, self-righteous love? You're incredibly naive… stupid, even."
Peter's breath hitched. "You… you said you could make me stronger. Is that true?"
"Of course. Haven't you noticed? Your body's already healing. In your old state, you'd be dead by now."
Upon hearing Venom's words, Peter finally realized something was wrong. Just moments ago, he had been disoriented and certain he was about to die.
Yet now, he found himself speaking to the voice in his head with surprising energy—completely free of pain.
Even more astonishing, his body, which had been severely damaged by the explosion, was healing at a rate visible to the naked eye. In the blink of an eye, every wound caused by flying pebbles and splintered wood vanished. It felt as though none of it had ever happened—as if it were all just a dream.
But the raging fire nearby was a constant reminder: this was all too real.
At that moment, Peter suddenly remembered what he wanted most.
He turned to his severed arm, a flicker of hope in his eyes, and said, "I want to grow a new right arm. Can you do that?"
"Grow an arm back? You're really asking for trouble! That's impossible—I'm not a god!"
"Can't you do it?" Peter's voice dropped in disappointment.
But before his despair could settle in, Venom grinned wickedly.
"I can't regenerate your arm—but I can become your new one. And trust me, this arm of mine is far stronger than your original."
As Venom spoke, it surged forward, reshaping itself into a sleek, black limb and seamlessly attaching to Peter's stump.
The new arm was nearly identical to his old one—save for its inky black color—and Peter could control it just as naturally, as if it had always been his.
Overjoyed, Peter instinctively clenched his fist. A surge of raw, unfamiliar power coiled in his palm, so intense it made him feel—as absurd as it sounded—as though he could shatter the earth with a single punch.
And honestly, that wasn't entirely delusional. In its normal state, Venom's strength capped at a staggering 70 tons—enough to overpower most superheroes on the planet. Even the Hulk could only rival it when enraged. And given Venom's unique ability to parasitize other organisms, a fight with the Hulk would be grueling, even for him.
"Is this what it feels like to become stronger?" Peter whispered in awe. "This is amazing! Maybe I can be a superhero—just like Gwen!"
"WTF?!" Venom bellowed. "With a cheat code as powerful as me, you want to be some goody-two-shoes superhero? Are you kidding me?!"
"Have you forgotten the ones who bullied you? The ones who mocked and humiliated you? Don't you want to kill them?"
Venom's voice dripped with contempt. The very idea of heroism disgusted him.
At the mention of his past tormentors, Peter's expression darkened. Hatred flared in his eyes.
"Those bastards… Not a single one of them will get away. I'll kill them all."
"Hehehe… That's what I like to hear," Venom crooned. "Kill them. Then eat their heads. I want to feast on so many heads!"
Suddenly, Venom's acute senses caught the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Oh? A whole platter of delicious morsels is heading this way," he purred. "Looks like I'm in for a feast today."
Without hesitation, Venom seized control of Peter's body, revealing its full form: a hulking black monster bristling with muscl
e and rows of razor-sharp teeth. It lunged toward the source of the footsteps—fast, silent, and ravenous.
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