Boom!
Several black tendrils writhed violently in midair, chasing the fleeing glider with predatory precision. The Hobgoblin made a sharp miscalculation in his maneuvering—his timing just a second off—and one of the symbiote's tendrils slammed into the glider's side, piercing through its carbon alloy paneling with brutal force.
Seeing his opening, Ethan reacted instantly. The rest of the tendrils transformed into hardened spear-like tips, aiming to impale either Hobgoblin himself or the unstable glider beneath his feet.
"Dammit!" Hobgoblin snarled, jerking the glider upward into a steep climb. As he rose, he yanked several spherical orange bombs from his belt—classic Oscorp-designed pumpkin bombs, hissing with heat and flickering with timed LED detonators.
To cover his retreat, Hobgoblin hurled them wildly. And not just a few—he emptied the entire cache from his waist pouch, scattering six or seven bombs as he rocketed toward the ceiling.
Tick! Tick! Tick! Tick!
The harsh beeping grew louder with each passing second. Hobgoblin's strategy worked. The initial bomb burst mid-air behind him, unleashing a searing fireball. The flames surged outward with a blast of concussive force, causing the symbiote's tendrils to recoil instinctively. Venom, for all its aggression, was still sensitive to fire.
That fiery explosion gave Hobgoblin the altitude and space he needed to keep climbing. As more pumpkin bombs plummeted toward the museum floor, chaos reigned.
Ethan—no longer just a bystander—knew he couldn't ignore them. If even one of those bombs detonated at ground level, the blast radius would wipe out everyone still in the venue. Felicia, the civilians, the staff. And even with Venom's healing, Ethan himself wouldn't walk away from multiple direct fire-based explosions.
Snarling, he retracted his tendrils and turned his focus toward the falling explosives. The Hobgoblin was escaping, but this had become a matter of lives—dozens of them.
But Ethan wasn't worried about losing track of Hobgoblin.
"These types always come back," he muttered under his breath. "New York's full of psychos with toys and no impulse control. If not tomorrow, then next week. He'll pop up again."
After all, as Marvel's New York had proven time and again, costumed criminals—whether Goblins, Shocker, or even Tombstone—had a habit of resurfacing like roaches after rain. Spider-Man knew it. And now, Ethan did too.
Still laughing maniacally, Hobgoblin zipped out through the ceiling hole, his grotesque laughter trailing behind him like smoke. The high-pitched heeheeheehee echoed across the ruined gallery, even as his silhouette vanished into the dark night.
Ethan didn't even glance up. His eyes locked on the bombs now scattered like cursed Easter eggs across the floor—each one ticking faster, the tempo of doom quickening.
"Tch… this bastard's slick," Ethan growled, lips curling into a snarl. "Real scumbag move."
He didn't hesitate.
His enhanced reflexes kicked in, and time seemed to crawl. The countdown beep stretched like a siren underwater. One second had passed—four left before detonation.
Venom reacted in sync. Ethan fired multiple forked web-lines from both wrists. Each strand lashed out like a trained limb, latching onto individual bombs.
Simultaneously, the symbiote tendrils extended and grabbed the others, forming a living net of coordinated limbs moving faster than the human eye could track.
At second four, all seven bombs were tethered in midair, clustered by Ethan's webs and Venom's control into a tight mass.
At second three, Ethan refocused his grip, bunching all the bombs into his right hand, webbing them into a makeshift sack.
At second two, he spun in place with force, then hurled the mass upward, straight through the gaping hole in the ceiling, his symbiote-laced strength propelling the deadly payload skyward like a rocket.
At second one, the pumpkin bomb cluster soared through the open air, a blur of black and orange light streaking across the night sky, trailing faint smoke and beeping furiously.
Then—just as they cleared the upper atmosphere of the museum—
KA-BOOOOM!
A brilliant orange fireball blossomed in the clouds above, illuminating the city skyline for a split second. But within the museum below, there was no fire. No impact. Only a low boom echoing across the crumbling venue, followed by silence.
Ethan exhaled sharply and glanced down at his still-smoking hands. His body was covered in ash and soot, but there were no burns. More importantly, the civilians were safe.
"Close one," he muttered.
But even as he relaxed, Venom whispered, "Next time… we kill him."
And this time, Ethan didn't argue.
The countdown reset with a final high-pitched beep, and the clustered pumpkin bombs began to swell with unstable energy. A second later, they detonated in the air above the broken ceiling, erupting in a violent bloom of orange flame and compressed heat.
The already-damaged ceiling gave a long, metallic groan, warping visibly. Steel supports quivered from the blast, and a few sections of reinforced panels crumbled at the edges. Smoke filled the space in thick waves, and for a moment, it looked like the whole upper level of the museum might collapse under the strain.
This second explosion was stronger than the last—far stronger. Pumpkin bombs designed by Oscorp weren't just for show; their payload could melt pavement and rupture cars. And this blast had been meant to erase everything below it.
Cracks spread outward like veins from the impact point, racing across the already torn opening in the ceiling. The remaining support beams wavered with disturbing creaks, raising real fear in the crowd that the entire structure might come crashing down.
Screams filled the air as civilians dove toward the walls, ducking beneath fractured exhibits and fallen columns. Emergency lights flickered as smoke alarms began blaring. But when the crowd dared to look back toward the center of the chaos…
…the black-clad figure who'd been standing there seconds ago—Ethan—had vanished.
No trace of the man with the symbiote. No echo. No shape in the smoke.
In a far-off corner of the venue, where shadows cloaked shattered displays, Felicia Hardy's lashes fluttered open.
Her vision was blurry, and her head throbbed. But when her eyes focused on the high, cracked ceiling above her and the smoke filtering down through the massive hole… recognition dawned. She gasped, suddenly alert.
Her body moved on instinct—seeking warmth, safety—and she immediately gripped Ethan's arm beside her. Apparently, she had been resting against him without realizing it.
"Easy," Ethan said gently, his voice low but steady. "It's okay, Felicia. He's gone."
Felicia's breath caught, then slowly released. She turned her head, eyes scanning the carnage around them—medics rushing in with stretchers, police officers barking into radios, rubble still tumbling from cracks above. The chaos was real, but the threat had passed.
And Hobgoblin—whoever he really was—had escaped.
"God, that scared the hell out of me," Felicia murmured, pressing her hand to her chest. She blinked rapidly, then turned to Ethan with a puzzled look. "Wait… why did I black out?"
Ethan gave a quiet sigh. "A beam cracked from the blast. It knocked loose a slab of concrete that hit the floor and bounced a plank of wood up. You were just in the wrong spot at the wrong time."
Felicia blinked. "A… plank of wood?"
He nodded, feigning guilt. "I panicked when I saw you collapse. Thought maybe… I'd lost you."
Felicia softened, leaning against him slightly. "Hey. You pulled me out of the blast zone. If you hadn't, I might not have woken up at all. You saved me, Leon."
Her tone was warm—grateful.
"Thanks," she added, quieter.
But Ethan's stomach twisted.
Everything he'd said was a lie. There had been no wood plank, no ricochet.
The truth was, when Hobgoblin started dropping pumpkin bombs left and right, Ethan knew Venom would have to go all out. With Felicia standing nearby, too close to see what he was about to become, he made the hard choice. Venom extended a thin, precise tendril and struck her behind the head—knocking her out quickly and quietly.
It hadn't harmed her… but the guilt lingered.
Necessary, Venom murmured in his mind. She would've gotten in the way. We couldn't protect her and fight.
"I had to make a call," Ethan thought silently. "But still…"
Felicia leaned closer, unaware of the truth.
They stayed hidden behind a shattered statue for a few minutes longer before a pair of officers approached. Ethan and Felicia gave basic statements, careful to avoid any mention of Venom's presence or the truth of what really went down. Ethan played the part of the bystander. Felicia—still dazed—just wanted to leave.
Once cleared, Felicia offered Ethan a ride. On the way, the atmosphere in the car was quieter, but not heavy. Just thoughtful.
"God, I swear… weirdos like this only show up in New York," Felicia said while driving, eyes flicking to the rearview. "He could've just robbed the place and left. But no—he wears a mask, rides a glider, and throws flaming pumpkin bombs."
"That's Hobgoblin for you," Ethan replied, watching raindrops slide down the window. "Drama queen with access to stolen Oscorp tech."
Felicia snorted. "And of course, he gives himself some cheesy villain name. Hobgoblin. What's next? The Holiday Hag?"
Ethan smirked but said nothing.
She glanced sideways. "You're weirdly quiet."
"Just thinking," Ethan said. "Maybe it's not New York that's weird. Maybe it's the world. Maybe the cracks are just easier to see here."
Felicia gave him a sideways look. "Okay, Confucius."
He grinned. "Maybe I caught something from today's lunatic."
Felicia rolled her eyes with a smile. "Yeah, secondhand crazy."
And just like that, the air between them lightened again—if only for a moment.
Join my Patreon to read advance 30+ chapters
patreon.com/BLAQ_