A meteor streaked across the night sky, slicing diagonally until it landed near the cathedral. Its small size caused little disturbance, merely leaving a shallow crater in the ground.
Within the crater, the meteor let out a faint crack and split open. A viscous, oil-black fluid oozed out, slithering around the crater's edge twice before creeping toward the cathedral.
In the empty, dimly lit cathedral, Eddie Brock sat on a pew, rubbing his temples in anguish.
"My name is Eddie Brock, once a reporter for the Daily Bugle, now a jobless drifter living at the FEAST shelter."
"Oh, merciful Father, do you know? I used to believe in justice, in truth."
"I did the right thing, exposing General Ross's vile deeds to the public, but what did I get? I lost everything."
Eddie Brock covered his face, peering through his fingers at the statue of Christ tied to the cross, his voice trembling.
"They say you pity the suffering, that you hear the prayers of the humble."
"Then what about my prayers? Have you heard them? Why do the truly wicked sit high and mighty, while those who uphold justice are left to wallow in the mud?"
Eddie seemed to realize questioning his faith like this was improper. He lowered his head, recalling the past few days at the FEAST shelter.
"Martin Li said he could help me, but all he did was make me sit with those foolish vagrants and beggars on stupid chairs, listening to his stupid sermons."
"Hate flows through my body like poison. I need it—it's what keeps me feeling alive."
"But I'm also afraid of it… Merciful Father, can this cathedral cleanse my hatred?"
The Father on the cross offered no answers to Eddie Brock's doubts. He remained a silent statue.
"I want revenge—against the Daily Bugle, Betty Brant, General Ross, and that anonymous tipster who brought me to this ruin."
"Oh, and Martin Li, that sanctimonious liar who promised help but delivered nothing."
Eddie Brock's hatred now extended to Martin Li, convinced this was just another mockery, another lie from a hypocrite.
At that moment, creak—
With a soft sound, the cathedral's slightly ajar wooden door opened wider, and a night breeze swept in. The black fluid from the meteor flowed across the floor, winding its way toward Eddie Brock.
"I can't sleep, I can't eat, but everyone who brought me to this state still lives carefree."
Eddie Brock's face twisted in rage.
From a celebrated journalist on track for a Pulitzer to rock bottom, the crushing psychological fall shattered the faith Eddie Brock had clung to for decades.
He stopped confessing to the Father and instead spoke words that, in the Middle Ages, would have seen him burned at the stake for blasphemy.
"If the merciful Father cannot grant me justice, then I'm willing to trade my soul and everything I have for power—power to make me strong."
"Any kind of power, whether it comes from the abyss or from hell, as long as it lets me take revenge on those who abandoned me, who mocked me."
Snap!
The viscous black fluid reached Eddie Brock's feet, leaping onto him in an instant.
It was only a small puddle at first, but upon touching Eddie, it spread like metastasizing cancer cells, multiplying rapidly, creeping up from his feet.
In the blink of an eye, the black fluid enveloped Eddie's entire body except his face. Jagged, uneven fangs sprouted from his forehead and jaw, forming a monstrous maw that seemed ready to devour him.
Eddie Brock gazed at the cross, ending his prayer with one final sentence:
"This world fears power, not truth. If they've pushed me into darkness, then let the darkness consume me."
"Amen."
As his words fell, the ferocious fangs snapped shut. Eddie Brock vanished, replaced by a figure over two meters tall, with a long tongue dripping saliva, its face as ghastly as a demon escaped from hell—Venom.
"Raaargh!"
A roar, neither human nor beast, erupted from Venom's mouth. It hurled the table in front of the pew Eddie had sat on, sending it crashing into the cross.
With a shattering crash, the cross and the faith it represented were smashed to pieces. Venom leapt, bursting through the cathedral's roof, and stood atop it, howling into the sky.
The roar lasted over a minute, as if channeling Eddie's pent-up hatred.
After a moment, Venom turned its gaze toward the FEAST shelter in Queens.
It was late at night. The Daily Bugle was empty, General Ross's whereabouts were unknown, and the anonymous tipster's identity remained a mystery.
Among its many targets of hatred, Venom chose to start with Martin Li, who was likely giving a speech at the FEAST shelter.
Remote hacking couldn't breach S.H.I.E.L.D.'s internal network to trace the Stark weapons that were supposedly lost or used in training but had somehow flooded the black market.
Batman decided to infiltrate S.H.I.E.L.D., but he needed to prepare.
His target was the Adirondack Mountains in New York, home to the Pegasus Project base. Batman was analyzing every piece of data he could find on the facility.
This included public records, utility consumption, S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel schedules, garbage collection routes, building layouts, and ventilation systems.
He even conducted in-depth analyses of every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent at the base, studying their behavioral patterns and personality flaws to devise tailored strategies before infiltrating.
Beep!
As Batman burned through mental energy planning his operation, a computer in the abandoned City Hall subway station suddenly blared an alarm.
The alert came from a micro-tracker on Schulman, whom Batman had left in Queens earlier that night as bait to lure out Mister Negative.
"Schulman mentioned that when Mister Negative met him, he always maintained a 'negative energy' state."
"The micro-tracker I placed on Schulman was fitted with an energy detector, and it's now picking up abnormal energy."
"This means Mister Negative has shown up. The fish has taken the bait—it's time to reel it in."
Using energy weapons seized from that unreliable trio, modified by Schulman and empowered by Mister Negative, Batman had devised countermeasures after bringing Schulman back last night.
The moment the alarm sounded, Batman stopped his work, rushed out of the abandoned subway station, and used his grappling hook and cape to glide swiftly toward Queens.
"Mister Negative, believe me!"
"I was caught by Batman, but he's been busy with other things, and I found a chance to escape!"
In a dead-end alley near the FEAST shelter in Queens, Schulman was frantically addressing the black-and-white figure of Mister Negative.
"I didn't tell him anything about you—not a single word! And, and I even brought good news!"
Mister Negative stood before Schulman, his body radiating surging black-and-white negative energy like flames.
Looking at the terrified Schulman, Mister Negative gave a cold chuckle.
"Let's hear it. What's this good news?"
"Batman's name is Bruce!"
With his Fear Gauntlets dismantled by Batman, Schulman was unarmed, desperately using words to buy himself a chance to survive.
"That's your good news?" Mister Negative's expressionless face showed no reaction. "I have no grudge against that guy. He won't come after me, and I won't provoke him."
No sooner had Mister Negative spoken than his phone rang, jarringly out of place.
He answered it with a frown, then his expression shifted as he glanced toward the FEAST shelter.
At almost the same moment, Batman, racing toward Queens, picked up strange noises through the listening device he'd planted at the FEAST shelter.
Amid the chaotic cries for help, terrified screams, and the grating sounds of furniture being shoved, there was a roar—neither human nor beast, like a demon from hell.