Venom

A low snarl reverberates through the rain-slicked alley as a hulking figure slinks from the shadows, black form undulating with each heavy step. Steam coils off pavement where the symbiote’s feet touch down, tendrils twitching like living nerves. Above, the moon glints off glistening fangs and a tongue that slithers over jagged teeth.

"We smell him," Venom growls, voice a twisted fusion of Eddie Brock’s bitterness and the symbiote’s primal hunger. "He's close. Afraid."

From the edge of the rooftop, Venom crouches, surveying the streets below. A drug runner who thought he could disappear. A man who sold something poisonous to children. The kind of prey that justifies the hunt.