The air had a slight edge to it as we wrapped up the training session, my muscles burning and eager for a change of pace. Spider-Man and I, both still catching our breath, made our way toward the museum—a towering, marble structure that glowed softly in the afternoon sunlight. The pavement beneath our feet seemed to thrum with the distant hum of traffic, a buzz in contrast to the steady rhythm of our footsteps.

As we approached the entrance, the doors slid open with a whisper, releasing a burst of cool air that smelled faintly of polished wood and old books. The sound of footsteps echoed through the lobby, the high ceilings stretching upward, vanishing into a haze of glass and steel. We exchanged a quick glance, both of us excited at the thought of the Canterlot exhibit—an exhibit we had been waiting to see for weeks.

I was scanning the room, lost in the quiet bustle of the museum's patrons, when my gaze snapped to a figure in the corner of the room. They stood just outside the shadows, their posture a touch too rigid, their face oddly familiar. My mind grasped at the memory, but it remained just out of reach, like trying to catch fog with my bare hands.

I barely noticed Spider-Man's gentle tug on my arm until he leaned in, his voice a whisper through his mask, "Let's go see it."

Nodding, I followed him toward the collection, my mind still lingering on the stranger, trying to connect the dots. We were almost there when a sharp voice cut through the air, the sound harsh against the quiet murmur of the museum.

"Sorry," the guard said, stepping into our path with a practiced nonchalance. His uniform, pressed and impeccable, caught the light as he crossed his arms. His nametag read "H. Calloway" in neat, blocky letters. The corners of his lips barely twitched as he glanced at us, his eyes cold behind his glasses. "But it's closed."

The words landed with a dull thud, the finality in his tone pulling us both to a halt. For a moment, the world felt like it had slowed, and the faint hum of the museum around us grew louder in the stillness.

I sighed, my frustration bubbling up inside me, but I didn't say anything. Instead, I simply nodded and turned, walking back with Spider-Man by my side. The smooth, cold tiles of the museum floor seemed to stretch endlessly beneath my feet as we made our way toward the exit. The moment felt heavy, like we were both resigned to the fact that whatever this place was hiding, we wouldn't be getting a glimpse of it today.

As we reached the rooftop, the sharp gust of wind greeted us, tousling our hair and sending a chill down my spine. We perched on the edge, looking out over the sprawling city below us—buildings reaching up like fingers toward the sky. The sun hung low, casting long shadows across the streets.

Then, we both froze. A group of kids, no older than twelve or thirteen, were gathered below, laughing and chatting among themselves. But it wasn't the kids that caught my attention—it was the one adult standing in the middle of them. The figure was tall, cloaked in an unsettling aura of anonymity. The way they stood, so rigid and detached from the conversation around them, felt... off. There was something wrong about the whole scene, like a quiet dissonance that didn't belong.

Spider-Man shifted next to me, his eyes narrowing behind his mask as he silently observed the group. He muttered, barely above a whisper, "That's not suspicious at all."

I met his gaze, a silent understanding passing between us. Whatever was going on, it was far from ordinary.

SCEMENREAKL

We stepped into the dimly lit exhibit, our footsteps muffled by the thick carpet beneath our feet. The kids were gathered in a tight circle around a pedestal, their faces illuminated by the flickering, magical lights swirling in the air. It was mesmerizing, a dizzying dance of color that seemed to defy the laws of reality. They gasped in awe, eyes wide, completely enraptured by the spectacle. My gaze followed theirs, drawn to the center of the display.

And then she appeared.

A figure with dark, flowing hair descended, her body seemingly weightless as she floated down from the glowing lights. Her smile was wide, too wide, and her eyes gleamed with an unnerving intensity. "Ha, look at that! The first thing I see after 100 years are kids—how nice!" Her voice was laced with something cold, too casual for the power she exuded. A shiver ran down my spine as I realized who she was. My heart clenched in recognition.

Morgan le Fay.

I tensed, my instincts screaming at me to act, to move, but I kept my hands clenched, fighting the urge to charge forward. She was dangerous—too dangerous.

Beside me, Spider-Man's hand landed on my shoulder, a firm, reassuring presence. "Easy," he murmured, his voice low and steady. His tone didn't ease the growing tension in my chest, but I nodded, trying to steady my breathing.

But just as I thought we might have a moment to figure out what to do, I heard a low, rumbling whisper in my ear. "That woman is a witch. She will tear this place down."

Venom.

I didn't need to think twice. The symbiote surged through me, taking control, and suddenly I wasn't just me anymore. My limbs felt different, faster, stronger, as Venom pushed to the forefront. Without hesitation, I lunged, leaping toward Morgan with a snarl. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she screamed, a mix of terror and fury in the same breath.

Venom's claws tore through her cloak with a savage hiss, raking through the fabric as she shrieked in pure rage. Her magic crackled in the air, sparking wildly, but we weren't about to let her get the upper hand.

Spider-Man, ever the hero, zipped into action. With a flick of his wrist, webs shot out and wrapped around the kids and Morgan, yanking them away from the chaos. "Run!" he shouted urgently, his voice sharp. The kids scrambled to obey, fear flooding their eyes, while Spider-Man darted back toward me, his focus locked on the battle at hand.

Morgan, now caught in the web, wasn't done yet. Her hands flicked, and magic began to gather in her palms—dark, swirling energy that hummed with power. We couldn't afford to let her finish whatever spell she was preparing.

Morgan's magic shot toward me like a bolt of lightning, but I was faster. With a swift movement, I ducked behind the nearest pillar, taking cover just in time. Venom surged through me, his tendrils whipping out from my back like serpents, striking the air with a force that sent a chill down my spine.

"You'll pay for that, witch," I growled, my voice low and guttural as I launched myself toward her. Venom's dark energy guided my movements, pulling me in close as I wrapped my limbs around her, pinning her to the ground. Her eyes widened in shock, but it was too late for her to react. My jaw snapped open, revealing rows of jagged, venomous teeth, and I hissed in her face, the scent of magic and fear thick in the air.

The room seemed to freeze in that moment.

"Wait, no, Y/N! You can't eat her!" Spider-Man's voice cracked with panic, his body rushing forward to stop me. But I was beyond reasoning now, driven by the symbiote's insatiable hunger.

Before either of us could blink, I had already taken what I needed—Morgan's head slipping effortlessly into my mouth. The sickening crunch of bone and flesh echoed in the space between us, and I felt the surge of power, the twisted satisfaction that came with the kill.

I winced as the taste lingered, the sensation of another life ending in my throat something I'd never fully grow used to. I'll never get used to that, I thought, the remnants of Morgan's essence still crackling in my mind. The familiar warmth of Venom inside me buzzed with a dark satisfaction.

Venom rumbled deep within me, his eyes narrowing as he turned toward Spider-Man, who stood frozen in shock, his mask scrunching in disbelief.

The silence between us was heavy, a tense stand-off that felt like an eternity. Spider-Man's posture was tense, like he was about to spring into action, but his eyes locked onto me, his expression caught between horror and disbelief. It was clear—this wasn't something he had expected.

I stared at Spider-Man, the weight of the scene still settling in my bones. The silence felt suffocating, thick with the tension between us. But before I could speak, the words felt stuck in my throat. Instead, I let out a small, reluctant sigh and muttered, "Sorry."

The guilt lingered for a second—flickering in the back of my mind—but I didn't have time to dwell on it. I could feel Venom pulling at me, urging me forward, the thrill of the hunt still fresh in my veins. Without another word, I turned sharply and sprinted toward the shattered window.

My muscles coiled, and with one powerful leap, I was airborne. The glass crunched beneath my feet as I cleared the edge, the wind rushing past me, carrying the sound of Spider-Man's voice trailing behind. The city sprawled below like a glittering maze of lights, but I was already disappearing into the shadows. The night swallowed me whole.

I vanished, blending with the darkness, my heart still racing from the encounter. The thrill of the fight still pulsed through me, but I knew I'd have to face the consequences later. For now, I was just another shadow in the night, moving faster than thought, leaving nothing but the faint echo of my departure.