Venom Graphic Novels Novels & Stories

"Romantic? I'm the type who never lets a slight go unanswered. "I'm actually curious to see how long Trevin, with his empty pockets, and his now-paralyzed Wren, can keep the flame alive." … "Paralyzed?" Edward's confused gaze met mine, and I could not help but chuckle as I pulled him down to sit and began to explain. "The night Trevin was detoxifying Wren, the two of them became intimate and went too far, causing them to miss the best chance to treat her legs. Now she's paralyzed. Without that emergency serum, she might not have made it at all."

Vincenzo Dante Volvok: The day started as peacefully as a mobster’s life could—emails, vodka, and occasionally wondering why I hadn’t burned my enemies to ash yet. I decided to work from my study, avoiding the circus that is the office. My peace was interrupted, however, by the thought of Venom. Venom. My ever-reliable right-hand man had asked for one day off. Reasonable. What wasn’t reasonable? The fact that one day turned into three, without so much as a call, text, or smoke signal.

When he got to where I was, he held out the tool for me to see clearly "Please." I continued struggling against the bindings desperately. When he reached out to grab my arm, I suddenly froze, closing my eyes and turning my face away. "You Thompsons have heartlessly killed so many of our kind. You killed even those who never killed a human for centuries. You've tortured us and hunted us like Prey." Venom dripped from his voice. The darkness in his eyes intensified as he trailed the knife over my skin teasingly. I couldn't stop trembling in utter terror.

Shades of red, brown and black diademed the canvas, yet not getting mixed together, as if they harboured misogyny. The form became more vivid as the lifeless colours brought life in the painting. And then, like a gentle stroke of a fine paintbrush on the canvas, an obnoxiously metallic smell of blood wafted in my nostrils. Blood! The colours swirled and turned into something more vivid. I could see the form clearly now. I scrunched up my nose as the smell of fresh blood became more intense, almost unbearable. I walked to the figure through the blur and hollow, my instinct telling me to stop.

I lifted her upright slightly, cradling her against myself, but her body sagged limply, another cough sending crimson down the front of her underclothes. And then I saw it. Around the faint red punctures, her skin had begun to discolor-a purplish hue spreading slowly outward like ink bleeding through paper. The tips of her fingers, too, had already darkened, her hand twitching faintly in his grasp. It all came together in a sickening flash of realization. The Purple Venom Viper. My blood ran cold. I had only heard stories-the serpent said to live deep in forbidden groves, its bite so venomous it could turn flesh to ash within hours. Victims rarely survived unless treated immediately.

She took out a gun and aimed it at his head. She was about to pull the trigger when a flash of purple whizzed past her and she doubled over to the ground. "Violet!" the scarlet speedster spoke as the other speedster was then standing next to him and helping him up. Violet and Crimson—the two speedsters that Carol had identified back at Carter•Labs and it turned out that the speedster killer had caught up to them. "I'm guessing the plutonium's safe since we are all still standing?" said Crimson to Violet.

VENOM was awakened by the birds' synchronized chirping and the crowing of the morning rooster. As soon as he opened his eyes, his body jerked up and his hands ruffled his short hair. "Shit!" he muttered in a croaked voice and looked around his studio-style cabin.

The illusion my venom created was always tailored to the victim’s fears or the immediate surroundings, a seamless patch over the torn fabric of their reality. Checking one last time to ensure we were truly alone, I made my move. My speed was a blur, a gust of wind. Her scream was a choked gasp as I dragged her into the nearest alleyway, my fangs sinking deep into the warm, pliant skin of her jugular. My venom entered her as her blood glided, hot and soothing, over my tongue and down my throat. It was a balm, extinguishing the fire of my need. The first taste was always the most potent—a dizzying rush of life, of fleeting human emotions: sorrow, panic, and beneath it all, a resilient flicker

he murmured to himself, his eyes gleaming with sinister intent. *** Venom's frown deepened as he rode and the haunting images replayed in his mind. He hated remembering those memories, yet they clung to him like shadows, tormenting him with relentless nightmares every night. His chest heaved with anger, his wolf pacing restlessly just under his skin. SIXTEEN YEARS AGO A ten-year-old Venom walked home from school, a wide smile on his face. He had earned the highest grade in class and couldn’t wait to share the news with his parents. They would be so proud—and he was sure they'd finally get him the bicycle they'd promised.

"You're pretty damn lucky! I set a venomous snake on you and even took your antivenom, but you still didn't die! "Why won't you just die? Die already! Die!"