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Russell leaned back in his chair, staring at the blank card in his hand. "Alright, time to gear up. Can't keep running around like a newbie in a boss fight—naked and praying for plot armor."
Pidgeot was a solid ride, sure, but it wasn't exactly cutting-edge anymore. And his own defenses? Zilch. He'd been skating by on sheer luck and card smarts for way too long. He glanced over the materials Director Blake had hooked him up with— all silver-level stuff, potent as hell, but dripping with that grim, underworld vibe. No shock there, he thought with a smirk. Teacher's got that Death-type flair down pat. Once I hit silver, maybe I'll whip up my own spooky card.
Scrolling through the trading site on his phone, he muttered, "Symbiote, huh? That could work... or turn me into a walking horror show."
The idea was tempting: a living suit that amps up attacks and heals like a boss. But symbiotes were clingy—literally. What if it decides I'm its forever host? Trying to peel it off might end with me as the punchline in a bad breakup story. He chuckled dryly, imagining himself yelling at a gooey blob: "It's not you, it's me—wait, no, it's definitely you!"
Just as he was about to scrap the concept, his card-making philosophy kicked in. Hold up, genius. I'm overcomplicating this. Ditch the offense overload; crank up the defense and regen instead. Patch my weak spots without turning into a monster mash.
Real talk: even a full-blown canon symbiote was overkill. Baseline? Seventy tons of punch power. For reference, Kamen Rider Zi-O clocks in at a measly 8.2 tons—cute, but no match for symbiote smash. Russell grinned. "Yeah, we're going custom. Let's dial it back to 'survivable sidekick' levels."
After some furious scrolling, he snagged what he needed: Bronze-level [Mad Symbiote] (Gold), Bronze-level [Blood of Regeneration] (Gold), and Bronze-level [Battle Master] (Purple). Total damage? Nearly four million credits. "Oof," he groaned to the empty room. "That's my ramen budget for a year. Better not flake on me, you pricey pile of potential."
Minutes later, a sleek Metro Express drone buzzed at his window, dropping off the goods. Russell took a deep breath, sketching a nightmarish black-and-red figure on the blank card—twisted, mouth agape in a feral roar, like something straight out of a midnight anime binge. With a whoosh, he slipped into the mysterious space, ready to weave his tale.
[Please start compiling your story.]
In the ancient void, the dark god Knull ruled a sprawling empire of shadows. Meanwhile, the cosmic Celestials played god, sparking evolution and imposing order across the stars—stepping right on Knull's toes. War erupted. Wielding his Necrosword, Knull lopped off a Celestial's head like it was nothing. But the full pantheon? Too much. Defeated and banished to the universe's forgotten corners, Knull seethed.
Refusing to fade, he forged a mightier Necrosword from the severed head's essence. From its writhing shadow, the first symbiote was born—a parasitic force multiplier. Under Knull's iron will, symbiotes bred an unstoppable army. But parasites pick up vibes from their hosts. When Thor's thunder cracked Knull's control in a cataclysmic clash, the hive-mind snapped. Rebellion! The symbiotes sealed their creator on a world of their own flesh and scattered to the cosmos, seeking redemption for their bloody legacy.
One drifted to Blue Star, battered and near death from the endless voyage. Luck struck: it latched onto a host—a grizzled, veteran otaku holed up in his apartment fortress.
Russell smirked as he typed this out. No ripping off Venom's lore wholesale—that'd lock him into OP stats he couldn't tweak. Better to craft fresh, keep it flexible.
With the otaku's help, the symbiote clung to life. The guy dubbed it Arrogance, fitting its haughty whispers. Pumped with power, the host tested the waters. His couch-potato bod? Suddenly shattering concrete walls bare-handed. Zero fight skills? Now a combat savant, dodging and striking like a pro. Best part: Arrogance's defenses shrugged off RPG blasts like rain. And regen? Limbs regrown in a flash, though a headshot was still game over—too weak for miracles yet.
Arrogance's influence seeped in, subtly bulking the host's frame. Man and symbiote— a washed-up nerd and a dying goo-ball—hit the road, future as murky as a foggy anime cliffhanger.
"That'll do," Russell thought, wiping his brow. It was rough around the edges, like a fanfic dashed off at 3 AM, but the space never dinged him for style points. Back in reality, the card hovered, glowing faintly. He eyed it warily. "Did that actually work? I half-expected a big fat 'FAIL' stamp."
He'd braced for rejection, but nope—the custom yarn sailed through. Am I special, or is everyone pulling this off now? Flashes of those bronze cards from the exams nagged at him, but answers? Not happening. Shrugging it off, he dove into the card's stats.
IMAGE here
*[Dying Symbiote: Arrogance]*
*Rank:* Bronze
*Quality:* Gold
*Category:* Creature
*Skills:*
*[High-Speed Regeneration]:* Swiftly mends the host's non-lethal wounds. (Note: Drains mental energy—don't overdo it, or you'll nap through the apocalypse.)
*[Shape Change]:* Morphs the host's form, size, color, and texture on demand. Perfect for blending in—think chameleon mode, but edgier.
*Characteristics:*
*[Battle Master]:* Eons of scraps have honed Arrogance's skills. Even a total noob host could outbox a world champ— with flair.
*[Bronze Skin and Iron Bones]:* Tanky as hell; laughs off artillery like confetti.
*[Low-Level Physical Enhancement]:* Gradually boosts the host's body. (Current cap: Black Iron average—baby steps to beefcake.)
*Introduction:* Join the glorious evolution... or just survive the next plot twist.
*Bond:* None
No evolution path, no bond perks. And despite dumping two gold mats, it capped at gold quality—unlike his past reds from a single shiny. "Cost of originality?" Russell mused. "Or am I just rusty?"
Still, the core goodies shone: defense like a fortress, regen to bounce back from beatdowns, and that sweet body buff. Cardmakers were glass cannons without self-upgrades; one stray shockwave from a high-tier brawl, and splat. This fixed that, starting small but scaling big. Diamond-level fights? I'd be paste without this. Bet the pros have secret sauce for staying alive.
Grinning like a kid with a new toy, Russell summoned Arrogance. Black-red tendrils erupted from the card, coiling eagerly. "Alright, buddy—let's see if you're as arrogant as your name."
(End of this chapter)
THROW SOME POWERSTONES