Ethan Cole stood before the mirror, staring at the monstrous reflection glaring back at him.
His form towered over two meters tall, his bulging physique encased in a slick, obsidian shell. His ghost-white eyes glowed with a predatory chill, lacking pupils, yet brimming with menace. Below them stretched a gaping maw bristling with jagged, needle-like teeth—far too many for any natural creature. His crimson tongue swayed lazily, serpentine, dripping saliva that glistened like molten silver under the pale light streaming through the window.
"You don't look very thrilled about our appearance," Venom muttered, sensing Ethan's hesitation. His voice echoed like oil sliding across steel. "But come on, don't you think we look absolutely terrifying? In a good way. Powerful. Dominant."
He let out a raspy, satisfied chuckle. "One look at us and the average thug will wet himself."
Ethan didn't argue the effectiveness. The image was intimidating, no doubt about it. But intimidation came at a price.
"This… look," he said slowly, eyes narrowing at his reflection, "makes it clear we're not human. The moment we step outside like this, we're not just vigilantes—we're monsters. Lab rats. Something to be hunted down, locked up, or worse."
"If we don't want to be dissected by some secret S.H.I.E.L.D. task force or declared a mutant threat by the government, we need to blend in. All this overflowing arrogance? We need to pull it back."
Venom was silent for a beat, then muttered reluctantly, "You really lack confidence in our superiority."
His tone was chiding, but not angry.
"Still… you're not wrong. For now, low profile. Until we're ready to show the world what we truly are."
Ethan nodded in agreement. Venom still had a flair for drama, but at least they were on the same page—for now.
Venom's head slithered out from Ethan's shoulder, serpentine and curious. "So, what's the redesign plan, stylist?"
Ethan rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he studied their shared reflection. "First, the size. Shrink it. No need to be a two-meter-tall wrecking ball all the time. Match my height—it'll make movement more agile and less conspicuous."
Venom began to comply. The body mass shrank slightly, muscles streamlining but still powerful.
"Next, that mouth," Ethan added. "Close it. All the teeth and tongue—it's… a bit much. Seal it off. Make it look like a mask."
As Venom reformed, the horrifying grin vanished beneath a smooth, armored façade. The transformation was subtle, but effective.
Ethan nodded, impressed with the new look—sleeker, more functional. But something still felt… off.
"There's still something weird about this," he muttered.
Venom groaned dramatically. "Come on—we're basically a shadow-drenched ninja tank. What could possibly be off?"
Then he said, with exaggerated sarcasm, "What do you want, red and blue spandex? Maybe some web patterns? Should I go full Spider-Man for you?"
Ethan blinked—and then it clicked.
That was it.
The color scheme. The silhouette. Even the white spider emblem stretching across his chest—it was too similar to Peter Parker's suit. Minus the brighter colors and exposed lenses, they looked like Spider-Man's terrifying twin.
"Hey—no. That emblem on the chest—I never asked for that. What's with this 'white spider' thing?" Ethan asked, narrowing his eyes and tapping his shoulder where Venom's head re-emerged.
Venom cleared his throat in mock embarrassment. "Cough… must've slipped in from subconscious memory. You did spend all night thinking about Peter Parker."
He paused, then muttered, "Besides, admit it—it looks better on us."
"Maybe," Ethan grumbled. "Spider-Man's costume does look like a kid's Halloween outfit sometimes. Too flashy. Too many colors."
"Exactly!" Venom hissed. "He's all bright and chirpy and annoying. That ridiculous 'friendly neighborhood' thing? Blech."
"Yeah," Ethan agreed, smirking. "Acts like a geek, talks like a clown."
Venom sighed mock-dramatically. "Change it again, then. No tights. Something more… practical."
Despite their banter, both knew they were on the same page now.
After several minutes of tweaks—adjusting material textures, refining the armor lines, modifying colors—they finally landed on a new design. Sleek, functional, black-on-charcoal, with subtle plating and no emblems. Something a shadow could wear and no one would notice until it was too late.
No more homage to Spider-Man. No bright colors. No webs.
Just them.
A hunter in the dark.
And the world wouldn't see them coming.
The final image reflected in the mirror was that of a formidable figure cloaked in shadow, a hood draped low over the head. From beneath that hood, a pair of pale, predatory eyes pierced outward—cold, unblinking, and unnaturally bright, as if they'd swallowed all surrounding light and refused to give it back. The rest of the face was swallowed in darkness, giving the impression of a creature born of the void.
The material cloaking the figure was born of the symbiote—dense, organic, shifting. Not skintight like Peter Parker's spandex suit, nor casual like everyday clothes. It conformed to movement with eerie synchronicity, accentuating every ripple of muscle without restraining motion. The suit seemed alive, breathing with Ethan's every flex and breath.
This, they decided, would be the standard form moving forward—sleek, low-profile, and tailored for utility. The monstrous form with fangs and claws would be reserved for special occasions.
"Yeah… sure, it's not as jaw-droppingly terrifying as our debut look," Venom mused, inspecting their reflection with faint pride, "but this? This is refined chaos. Sleek. Efficient. Deadly."
He let out a small chuckle, then added with venomous contempt, "And infinitely better than Spider-Man's tacky red and blue onesie."
Ethan smirked. "Honestly? Based on how he moves—somersaults, wall-running, air acrobatics—tights do make sense for Peter. Unless they're made from some sort of stretch-weave composite, there'd be tearing all over. We almost went that route ourselves a few minutes ago."
"But that's where we outshine him," he continued, running a hand along his arm. "Our suit isn't made of fabric. It's reactive bio-mass. It's armor and second skin in one. And black? It's clean. It's efficient. It's invisible in the dark."
"Exactly," Venom replied, folding back into the hood with a pleased hum. "Function meets fashion. We're finally in sync."
Without another word, Ethan stepped out the front door, slipping into the night like a wraith. He let Venom gradually assume more control, allowing his body to adapt to the surge of strength and otherworldly abilities coursing through his veins.
Thwip! A line of symbiotic webbing fired from his wrist, latching onto the steel beam of a high-rise several blocks away. With a powerful lunge, he launched himself into the air, rocketing forward like a missile.
He soared across the skyline and landed halfway up the building, adhering to the vertical surface with ease. His body was now parallel to the ground, feet suctioned to the glass. He took a few experimental steps upward, then broke into a full sprint. The wind tore at him as he accelerated up the wall like a predator chasing prey.
Reaching the rooftop in seconds, he stepped off the ledge and launched himself high into the night air.
"Yo hoo!" he cried out, unable to suppress the surge of childlike exhilaration. For a moment, he was weightless, silhouetted against the moon like a dark comet. Then, gravity reclaimed him, and he began his plummet.
Wind howled past his ears. The city's heartbeat roared beneath him—traffic, chatter, sirens—all rushing up to meet him. He felt every thread of air bending around his body, slicing between buildings like a thrown dagger.
"We're getting too close to the ground!" Ethan shouted, the excitement in his voice giving way to panic. "We're not slowing down!"
Venom remained disturbingly calm—too calm.
Instead of deploying another web or slowing descent, the symbiote adjusted their posture into an aerodynamic dive, accelerating even more.
"Hahaha! Don't be such a coward. I'm here, aren't I? Even if you go splat into fifty pieces, I'll sew you right back up!"
"What the hell, Venom?!" Ethan roared. "Did you seriously just say 'even if I go splat'?! What does that even mean?! That's not comforting!"
The pavement was now a blur of headlights and pedestrians. If he hit at this speed, there'd be nothing left but a crater and some very traumatized civilians.
Venom, of course, was thoroughly enjoying the chaos.
"Relax, Ethan. This is just a trust fall—with style."
And then…
Ethan finally snapped.
"AAAAHHHH!!! Venom! What the hell—Wǒ Cào! You're gonna kill us, you lunatic!"
His scream echoed between the buildings like a banshee's cry. Below, people on the sidewalk glanced up, startled, catching only a glimpse of a black blur falling from the heavens like divine judgment.
And yet, through all the panic, somewhere deep inside, Ethan felt it: the thrill, the liberation, the untamed freedom.
This was only the beginning.