NOVEL WEB Chapter 15: Chapter 15: "Black Order and Venom’s Bite" (Revised)
The workshop's scorched husk settled into silence, Pepper's electric hum a fading echo as he spun the Mask in his hand, its grin glinting under a dying bulb. Her voice—"They'll catch you. I might not let them"—cut like a live wire as he slid it on, green light erupting, the zoot suit snapping into place with a defiant flare. "Time to dance with the endgame," he murmured, kicking aside twisted metal into the open night.
A primal shudder ripped through the air—not SHIELD's drones or mutant winds, but a cosmic weight buckling the street. The sky tore open, a purple slash spilling dread, and Thanos descended, his bulk a silhouette against the rift. His throne hovered, the Black Order fanning out: Ebony Maw's sly smirk, Cull Obsidian's hulking menace, Proxima Midnight's spear a cold gleam. "Your chaos festers," Thanos intoned, voice a tremor that cracked pavement. "It breeds ruin—I will purge it." Outriders spilled forth, a tide of claws and shrieks surging toward him.
The Mask's rasp sliced through his skull, wild and eager: "The crew's here, kid. Crack 'em open." "Thanos' hit squad?" he fired back, stretching an arm to weave through Proxima's spear thrust, asphalt splintering where it struck. "Masquerade—chaos doesn't kneel!" The charisma surged, a rogue wave, but Thanos' gaze stayed granite, unswayed. Maw's telekinesis gripped a truck, flinging it—he conjured a vortex of jagged green shards, shredding it mid-air, debris raining like shrapnel. Cull roared, charging—he twisted high, unleashing a pulse of chaos that slammed the brute into a storefront, glass shattering in a jagged chorus.
Proxima lunged, spear arcing—he bent fluidly, countering with a whip of green energy that lashed her back, the street quaking under her stumble. Outriders swarmed, a black flood, and a wet hiss cut the fray—tendrils lashed from above, a figure swinging down in a blur of black. Venom landed, crushing an Outrider into pulp, the white spider stark against its inky form. Eddie Brock's growl rumbled through: "We taste your chaos—rich, wild. We want more."
The Mask purred, low and hungry: "Dark feast's here, kid. Reel it in." "Venom?" he laughed, dodging Maw's next psychic barrage, a street sign crumpling behind him. "Symbiote with a hunger? I'm Masquerade—chaos is my meat!" Tendrils flared, brushing his green haze, syncing in a jagged, feral pulse. "You're a tempest," Eddie snarled, the symbiote's lust seeping through, caught in the pull. "We crave tempests." Thanos bellowed, "End them!" but he snagged a tendril, stretching them both through a wall into a rooftop hideout as Proxima's spear grazed the edge.
The hideout was a tangle of rusted pipes and peeling paint, the city's pulse a muted throb beyond. Venom slammed him against a beam, symbiote peeling back in jagged strips to bare Eddie's weathered grin—tendrils shredded his suit as lips crashed into his, a raw bite of ink and primal need. His shirt dissolved under black claws, and he gripped Venom, tugging the symbiote's edges—inky flesh parted, revealing Eddie's scarred torso, a fusion of man and monster. Eddie's breath hitched as his hands roamed—over corded muscle, sinking into the symbiote's slick, pulsing heat—fingers clawing at its living edge.
"Tempests feed," he growled, lifting Eddie with a surge. Tendrils coiled around his waist, thighs rippling with alien power, and they crashed onto a rusted table—metal groaned, bending under their force. The symbiote receded further, baring Eddie fully—scars latticed his chest, flesh quivering where black veins pulsed. His mouth traced Eddie—neck, sternum, the seam where symbiote bled into skin—coaxing a moan, a guttural snarl laced with Venom's echo. When he entered—slow, then fierce—Eddie's roar shook the air, tendrils thrashing, splintering a pipe overhead. The Mask blazed, amplifying every jolt—the molten, slick heat, the ragged gasps, the grinding rhythm as Eddie met him, untamed and ravenous.
The hideout twisted—pipes warping, walls shuddering—as Eddie surged atop him, symbiote tendrils writhing, white eyes flaring with hunger. His climax erupted like a predator's strike, Venom's howl rattling the roof, and he spilled into him, a torrent that made the Mask bellow, green sparks threading through black ooze. A seed took root, chaos and symbiote entwined, and they slumped, drenched in sweat, Eddie's weight a snarling, heaving anchor.
Eddie's grin flashed as the symbiote slithered back, half-covering him. "You're a banquet, Masquerade. We'll feast again." "Banquets need fangs," he grinned, feeling the symbiote's lingering pulse. Venom reformed, leaping through a shattered skylight—"We'll hunt with you." The Mask's voice hummed, smug and low: "Fifteen down, kid. The order's fraying."
He rose, the hideout a ruin, Thanos' forces a distant clamor. Venom's bite, Pepper's fire, Nebula's steel, Psylocke's edge, Kitty's phase, Emma's mind, Sue's shield, Gamora's blade, Rogue's touch, Carol's radiance, Mystique's fluidity, Storm's storm, Jean's fire, Wanda's magic, Natasha's steel—the world buckled beneath his chaos. Thanos loomed, SHIELD hunted, and the X-Men circled. He slid the Mask back on, grin cutting sharp. "Time to sink my teeth in deeper."