Venom washed the dishes with inhuman speed and precision, outclassing even top-tier dishwashers. Multiple tendrils scrubbed, rinsed, and dried simultaneously, while the sink itself was manipulated into a controlled flow system. Within twenty minutes, the entire kitchen gleamed like new.
Ethan prepared tea—more accurately, a barrel of tea. He poured two servings: one in a normal mug for himself, and the other in a thermos-sized container for Venom. The two settled onto the couch in the living room, casually sipping while watching the morning news.
As expected, the day's headlines were once again filled with coverage of Spider-Man. The Daily Bugle, in particular, went into overdrive. The screen displayed J. Jonah Jameson pacing behind his desk, barking accusations at full volume.
"I swear that mustached lunatic has a personal vendetta," Venom muttered with a growl. "Back when I was still stuck with Parker, he hounded us every day. I don't think Jameson sleeps unless he's written three editorials smearing Spider-Man."
Ethan took a slow sip of his tea, unfazed. "To the Bugle, Spidey's their daily subscription magnet. Sensationalism sells. Why report truth when fear gets more clicks?"
Venom grunted, narrowing his eyes as Jameson yelled something about Spider-Man colluding with aliens. Ironic.
But even as they bantered, a disturbance rippled at the edge of Venom's awareness.
A malicious presence was approaching.
Outside, a shadowy figure crept toward the residence, moving with controlled stealth. To most, he might go unnoticed—but not to Venom. The symbiote's sensory range detected the spike in adrenaline, the shallow breathing, and the stink of violent intent.
"We've got company," Venom said in their mental link, his tone darkening.
Ethan, instantly aware through their bond, closed his eyes and visualized the scene through Venom's shared perception. A lone man, armed and cautious, was slipping through the side gate.
"Tch. We haven't even found Paul Mark yet, and already his dogs are coming to the door," Ethan said coldly.
"Hehehe… I get dibs on his skull this time," Venom growled, licking his fangs with relish.
Black liquid slithered across Ethan's body, transforming him into the sleek, powerful hybrid form. Initially, his body swelled into a towering two-meter behemoth—but then he halted.
"No need to go full monster. Too much cleanup," Ethan muttered, condensing into a more compact form.
This state was what he'd come to call The Hidden One. Unlike his usual towering Venom form, this version retained human proportions but with all the strength and agility of the symbiote. It was faster, leaner, and far more intimidating in the right light.
"He's nearing the porch. Hand's on his holster. He's planning to breach and fire if he sees you inside," Venom reported calmly.
Through their bond, Ethan now saw everything—shared vision, shared senses. The man outside was named Roy Jones, one of Paul Mark's mid-level enforcers. The guy was infamous in underworld circles for his loud mouth, bad luck, and misplaced confidence.
"Let him in," Ethan whispered. "I'll give him a personal welcome."
He slipped silently into a corner of the room, melding with the shadows cast by drawn curtains. Hidden. Waiting.
Roy Jones crouched near the door, his fingers lightly brushing the pistol at his hip. From behind the curtain, he'd seen the flicker of a television and heard voices just minutes ago. He was confident the target—Ethan—was inside.
"Who the hell keeps curtains drawn in the morning? Asians and their weird customs," Roy muttered under his breath. If it weren't for the drapes, he could've just sniped the guy through the window.
But now he had to go in.
As he crept up the porch steps, he paused—something had changed. The television had gone silent. Footsteps echoed from inside, followed by a soft door closing, and then… running water. A shower?
Roy grinned. "Perfect."
He pulled a small lockpick set from his pocket and worked the door silently. Within seconds, the lock clicked, and he slipped inside like a thief.
The house was quiet. The living room was dimly lit, curtains drawn, furniture neatly arranged. A faint scent of tea still lingered in the air. Roy's eyes scanned the hallway and found the source of the water—behind the bathroom door.
He crept forward, step by cautious step, the grip on his pistol tightening with anticipation.
He didn't know that the man he'd come to kill was no longer human—and that The Hidden One was already behind him, watching.
It was likely because Ethan lived alone that the bathroom door wasn't fully closed—just slightly ajar, as if inviting trouble. That worked perfectly for Roy Jones. He wouldn't have to make a sound by opening it; he could just slide in and pull the trigger.
The bathroom was fogged with steam. A faint stream of water dripped continuously in the background. The shower was obscured behind a half-drawn curtain.
Without hesitation, Roy yanked it open and raised his pistol—ready to fire.
But there was nothing. No one. Just water pattering onto empty tile.
Before the realization could register, a powerful hand emerged from the shadows behind him and clamped around his neck like a vice. With inhuman strength, it hoisted him up and slammed him into the tiled wall.
The hooded figure before him—face obscured in darkness, form lean but crackling with unnatural energy—stood silently, exuding lethal intent. Panic flooded Roy's brain.
He twisted his wrist, firing blindly at the figure choking him.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Even with the silencer, the shots echoed like thunder in the small bathroom.
The bullets didn't land.
Instead, they vanished—absorbed into the creature's mass as if swallowed whole.
"The taste of this powder…" Venom's voice rumbled in Ethan's mind with amused disgust, "…reminds me of devil peppers in those greasy burritos you got last week."
Before Roy could fire the last round, Ethan's arm surged with black tendrils, snapping his wrist and dislocating his shoulder with a sickening crack.
Roy's mouth opened to scream, but Ethan's palm clamped down hard, muffling any sound. His grip was as cold as it was final.
"What a surprise, delivered right to my door," Ethan rasped, his voice low, metallic, and distorted. "And here I thought I'd need to hunt for you myself."
He leaned closer, letting his voice drop into a dangerous murmur.
"Now, I'm going to ask you some questions. If you make even one sound that's not an answer… I'll break another bone. Two of your major joints are already gone. Let's see how many more you're willing to gamble with. Understand?"
Roy nodded rapidly, eyes wide with terror. This wasn't just a hit gone wrong—this was something entirely outside his league. Another masked freak, like Spider-Man, but darker… hungrier.
Over the next five minutes, Roy answered every question—names, safehouses, orders, Paul Mark's current movement patterns. He talked fast and didn't hold anything back. His survival instinct kicked into overdrive.
"I told you everything—everything I know!" he pleaded, voice shaking. "I won't say a word about this, I swear! I'll disappear—take a boat this afternoon and leave the country for good. I'll vanish. You'll never hear from me again."
Ethan's face remained unreadable beneath the darkness of the hood and shadow.
"I said I wouldn't hurt you," he said quietly. "And I meant it."
Roy's eyes lit up with a flicker of hope.
"But…"
Ethan tilted his head slightly.
"…I never said he wouldn't."
Before Roy could speak, Ethan's head began to part at the seams. A gaping maw split open vertically, razor-sharp teeth glinting with saliva. From the darkness emerged a long, twisting tongue and the monstrous grin of Venom.
"Thanks for the meal," Venom hissed gleefully.
Roy screamed—but it was already too late. With a sickening crunch, Venom devoured his head in a single bite. The body collapsed limply as the symbiote expanded, swallowing it whole before even a drop of blood could stain the tile.
Moments later, Ethan stood alone in the now-silent bathroom, adjusting the curtain as if nothing had happened.