At that moment, people on the ground heard a sharp cry echo from above, drawing their attention upward.
As the shout drew nearer, onlookers glimpsed a black figure soaring overhead—vaulting from the rooftop like a slingshot-launched puppet, flung into the distance with uncanny speed and grace.
"Was that Spider-Man? Was he yelling in English? I couldn't catch a word of it," one of the bystanders muttered in confusion. A group of curious onlookers craned their necks, discussing what they'd just witnessed.
None of them realized that the voice echoing into the night had spoken in flawless Mandarin, and that the figure in black wasn't the web-slinger they were familiar with.
The mysterious silhouette vanished in a blink. Though a few had caught a blurry glimpse, they ultimately dismissed it. After all, in New York City, seeing Spider-Man swing past wasn't all that strange. Within minutes, the street returned to its usual noisy rhythm—another unexplained incident lost to the city's chaos.
Far above them, on the rooftop of a high-rise, Ethan Cole landed hard—but safely. The moment his boots touched down, he immediately seized control of his limbs, staggering slightly and growling in frustration as he glared at the squirming black mass that formed a second head over his shoulder.
"You lunatic! I just got discharged from the hospital this morning!"
Venom, unfazed by Ethan's colorful language, casually shook its inky head. "You're fine. I made sure of it. Your body is my body—why would I risk breaking my own home?"
"You said even if it shattered into pieces, you could just scoop it up again. Don't start acting like you're being considerate now."
Technically, Venom didn't have a neck or lungs, so even if Ethan spun him around like a windmill, the symbiote wouldn't feel a thing. That didn't stop Ethan from expressing his outrage.
Venom remained indifferent, its gooey face splitting into a half-smile. But Ethan's glare suddenly shifted into a smug grin, like a man who had just remembered his opponent's one fatal weakness.
"I hope you remember that little conversation we had… about chocolate," Ethan said slowly, drawing out the words like a villain unveiling a trap. "You're obsessed with it. Practically addicted."
Venom twitched, sensing danger.
"I was planning to stock up—maybe a bar a day, just to be kind. But after that death dive stunt you pulled? No more chocolate for you."
The shift was instant.
"No, no, no—wait!" Venom cried. "I was wrong! I admit it! Don't punish me like this!"
The symbiote's bluster evaporated in an instant. For all its strength, its appetite for chocolate—rich in phenethylamine and dopamine-stimulating compounds—mirrored its dependency on phenethylamine in human brains, a trait canonically confirmed in multiple Marvel comic arcs.
Seeing Venom beg so shamelessly, Ethan rolled his eyes and turned back toward the city.
Below, the lights of Midtown Manhattan formed a glowing network of orange-red streaks. Buildings shimmered with digital ads and neon signs for StarkWear, Horizon Labs, and Wakandan Imports. The nightlife hummed with more life than daylight ever allowed.
Ethan took a long, calming breath. After everything—fighting muggers, bonding with an alien parasite, nearly faceplanting off a rooftop—he finally felt a sense of peace.
Venom fell quiet. Perched like a strange second head, it peered out over the city with him, equally mesmerized by the view. The two sat there in silence, a bizarre duo—one half-man, half-symbiote, the other a faceless black creature merged with him at the soul.
Time passed.
Eventually, Ethan stood up and stretched, feeling his muscles respond with unnatural ease. The symbiote didn't just protect him—it amplified him. Strength, agility, reflexes… but also something stranger.
A sense. A warning, almost instinctual. The faint buzz he'd felt before—right before danger, before the muggers struck, before Spider-Man appeared.
It was eerily similar to Peter Parker's spider-sense. But Ethan wasn't Spider-Man, and his power came from a different source.
"We need a name for that," Ethan said.
"Spider-Sense is taken," Venom muttered.
"Then we rename it," Ethan replied. "It's ours now."
They agreed to call it Venom Warning—a fitting term for an early-alert danger signal born from a symbiotic bond, not radioactive mutation.
It was one of many new tools Ethan had to master.
And soon, the world would witness what he and Venom could truly become.
The reason why it was renamed "Venom Warning" instead of simply being called a spider-sense was to distinguish it from Venom's innate perception.
That original ability was already part of the symbiote's repertoire. Even without external threats, Venom had a subtle, ambient awareness of his surroundings—sensing heartbeats, intent, and minute environmental changes. But now, merged with Ethan, that evolved.
After familiarizing himself with the full range of abilities—enhanced reflexes, superhuman strength, agility, web-slinging, and of course, the "Venom Warning"—Ethan knew there was still one major gap to close: combat skill.
Sure, Venom had retained fragmented combat memories from past hosts—bits of Spider-Man's acrobatic finesse and Deadpool's unpredictable brutality—but skills like those weren't plug-and-play. They weren't superpowers. They were honed disciplines. Ethan had to grind them into muscle memory himself.
Luckily, Ethan wasn't starting from zero. Before the bonding, he had already trained in various martial arts and tactical defense courses. His strong mental resilience gave him a foundation to build on, allowing him to assimilate new techniques far quicker than most.
But battle instincts? There was no shortcut for that. No amount of reading, no borrowed memories, and no latent talent could substitute real combat. He'd have to earn that edge—on the streets, in the chaos, one fight at a time.
After testing his powers around the city for hours, Ethan finally made his way back home—on foot, this time. He didn't let Venom take over. No autopilot. He wanted to adapt to every aspect of the symbiosis himself. That meant grappling with the rush of sensations from his enhanced hearing and awareness, adjusting his posture mid-leap, learning to rein in the raw strength in his limbs. Everything needed conscious coordination.
The trip home took twice as long as the trip out.
Once inside, Ethan casually willed Venom to shift into a set of dark, comfortable pajamas. One of the many perks of symbiosis—no more laundry piles. The alien substance could mimic any clothing, regulate body temperature, and even provide light armor when needed.
As he sank onto his bed, Ethan's thoughts turned darker.
The memory of what had been done to him—the betrayal, the humiliation, the helplessness—ignited something deeper now. Not just rage. A hunger for justice. Or maybe revenge.
Venom approved wholeheartedly.
To him, revenge wasn't just personal—it was primal. A feast. There were so many delicious targets. Heads, brains, adrenal glands—everything that screamed vitality. Venom salivated at the thought.
He voiced this to Ethan with his usual blend of honesty and hunger, justifying the brutality as "nutritional necessity."
Ethan frowned. "Don't start that crap with me. You remember how it felt when you were just goo inside me, right? No demands, no bargaining. Why are you acting like your standards got higher the second I gave you a voice?"
Venom's tone turned defensive. "How can I go back after finally stretching my limbs? I didn't lie to you. I really do need sustenance now. Your body metabolizes energy differently. You're special—and that's a double-edged sword. I'm constantly running on fumes."
"Then eat chocolate. You like that too, right?" Ethan said sharply.
"Phenylethylamine. It's in chocolate and brains," Venom muttered. "It's the best energy source for me."
"Too bad. You're not biting people's heads off. Find another way," Ethan said, voice firm.
Venom fell silent for a moment before trying another tactic. "What if… I blurred your sensory input? You wouldn't feel anything. I'd digest everything instantly. You'd never even know."
"I'd know," Ethan growled.
"Come on, I swear on the honor of the symbiote species—"
Ethan cut him off. "What honor? You're the reason Klyntar got a bad rep in the first place. That oath means nothing unless it's made in chocolate."
That finally shut Venom up.
After a pause, he sighed—if that bubbling, low-frequency gurgle could be called a sigh—and finally relented.
"Fine," he muttered. "Chocolate it is… for now."