Seeing Venom's grotesquely satisfied expression, Ethan couldn't help but chuckle. "Enjoy the taste," he said dryly. "Something tells me we won't get another chance like this anytime soon."
Venom gave a slow nod, its inky head forming momentarily near Ethan's shoulder. Though reluctant to admit it, the symbiote understood. Even in its violent history across the galaxy, feeding like this—openly, without interruption—was rare.
"This villa is basically empty," Ethan added, surveying the carnage around him. The bodies of Jon Harmon's lieutenants and guards were strewn everywhere. "Guess Jon ran a tight ship. Nobody escaped once they realized something was wrong. They all charged in… straight to their deaths."
He sighed as he spoke, the adrenaline fading. His enhanced senses stretched through the house, confirming no signs of life.
"Well, that also saves us a lot of trouble. Let's wrap this up."
Ethan walked toward the massive window, ready to disappear into the night. But as his eyes fell upon the ornate wine cabinet near the fireplace, he paused mid-step.
Venom's head reappeared, eyeing him suspiciously. "Wait—you wanna drink? Now? After that?" it scoffed. "That's… weird, even for you."
Ethan rolled his eyes and gave Venom a playful thump on the side of the head. "What are you talking about, drink? No, I'm thinking this whole place needs to go up in flames. Jon Harmon's little kingdom should vanish without a trace."
Extending several black tendrils from his arms, he reached into the wine cabinet and began uncorking bottles. Expensive vintage wines, likely worth tens of thousands, were uncapped and dumped across the carpet, furniture, and curtains like gasoline.
Ethan didn't drink—and he didn't care how rare the wines were. They were fuel now.
Once the villa was soaked, he knelt beside one of the bodies and began rifling through the man's jacket pockets. A moment later, he found what he was looking for: several lighters.
Click.
He flicked one open and held the flame for a second.
Then, without ceremony, he tossed the lighter to the ground.
FWOOOM.
The alcohol ignited instantly. Fire spread in a bright streak across the soaked carpet, crawling its way up velvet drapes, polished oak shelves, and leather chairs. Within moments, the entire room was ablaze.
"Okay, okay, let's go! I'm not immune to fire like you, genius!" Venom growled nervously, squirming as the heat closed in.
Ethan smirked and turned from the rising inferno. He stepped to the window and, with one fluid motion, vaulted out into the cold night air.
Though they had been blindfolded when captured earlier, Ethan's memory—and Venom's enhanced perception—had recorded every detail of the route they'd taken. He followed that mental map, dashing through alleyways and deserted streets, until he returned home.
There, inside the quiet comfort of his apartment, the tension that had gripped him for weeks finally began to melt away.
The fire hadn't just consumed a building—it had incinerated years of guilt and grief. His revenge, long deferred, had finally been completed.
Slumping onto the bed, Ethan stared up at the ceiling, exhaling deeply.
"Tomorrow," he murmured. "Tomorrow I'll take flowers to the old man. Tell him the news. That it's over."
As sleep slowly claimed him, Venom—sensing his host's sudden tranquility—gently closed the curtains and pulled a blanket over him.
After months of chaos, Ethan's life had finally returned to something resembling peace.
He had never asked for any of this. When he was reborn into this world, he had only wanted a simple life—cherish his family, stay out of trouble, and enjoy the time he'd been given.
But fate had other plans.
The killings, the vendettas, the transformation—nothing about his life was normal anymore. Venom's presence alone was a constant reminder that he could never return to the ordinary.
Still, for now, there was calm.
With a few days left before the new semester began, Ethan decided to make the most of them. He planned a short trip back to what had once been home—his original home, in another life.
He flew to the city where he had grown up, or rather, where his past self had lived. But the place had changed. In this world, it bore a different name, a different layout.
The orphanage he remembered was gone—replaced by a bustling snack street filled with food stalls and laughing children.
Ethan didn't feel disappointed. In fact, he smiled. Change was inevitable. And perhaps, in some way, this cheerful street was proof that not everything from the past had to be mourned.
From there, Ethan and Venom traveled to Bashu.
He had been toying with an idea for weeks—and now, he wanted to test it.
Roasted brains.
Venom had been dreaming about it ever since he first heard the term. And when the first serving of spicy, sizzling brain flower entered its metaphorical stomach, it let out a guttural, gleeful howl.
One serving turned into ten.
Then twenty.
By the time they were done, locals whispered about the masked man who devoured two hundred plates of roasted brain in a single night.
A legend was born in Bashu—and the symbiote was more than happy to be its subject.
Ethan, who had already boarded the plane back to New York, naturally didn't know what was unfolding back at the Harmon estate. Right now, he was still grumbling over Venom's bottomless appetite—an appetite that nearly wiped out his travel budget. If he hadn't intervened, Venom might have gone on to devour another two hundred servings of roasted brains without the slightest remorse.
And yet, when it came to finances, Ethan wasn't actually strapped for cash. Back when he was working at Old York's pizza shop, the old man had been far from poor. Even when the food was mediocre and business was sluggish, Old York still managed to keep the restaurant afloat with ease.
Later, after they improved the recipe and refined their operations, the pizzeria's reputation climbed. Business boomed, and the cash flow improved drastically. Both Ethan and Old York were naturally frugal people. They rarely spent on luxuries, choosing instead to quietly accumulate savings over the years. With both of them contributing, a significant amount of wealth gradually built up—more than enough to act as liquid capital now.
This return trip to China wasn't just a nostalgic vacation. Ethan also used it as a chance to implement long-considered plans. Relying on knowledge retained from his previous life, he identified several promising startups and invested in them before their value exploded. These weren't just hopeful shots in the dark—they were well-calculated moves in fields like AI, clean energy, and digital payments that would define the next decade.
Naturally, he didn't limit himself to Chinese markets. While overseas, he also quietly injected capital into several key companies across Europe and the U.S. Leveraging the future insights embedded in his memory, he was able to use modest investments to stake claims in high-yield growth.
But investment was just the beginning.
Ethan wasn't content with simply being a passive shareholder. He wanted something of his own—something he could shape from the ground up. A company, a vision, a legacy.
He already had a name in mind: Zero Industry.
There was no profound meaning behind it. He simply liked the number "0." It represented a clean start, a foundation from which anything could be built.
Ethan's long-term goal was to rival corporate giants like Stark Industries—a powerhouse known for pioneering cutting-edge defense and tech. He didn't expect to compete with Tony Stark overnight, but laying the foundation now was critical. What he lacked in scale, he made up for in flexibility, focus, and funding.
Most researchers had to grovel for grants or seek positions at firms like Oscorp, Hammer Tech, or Stark Industries, where innovation was often slowed by corporate politics. Not Ethan. He had the capital to bankroll his own ideas and didn't need permission to experiment. He could build in silence, at his own pace.
And with Venom at his side, there were few things he couldn't get done quietly.
Instead of trying to climb someone else's corporate ladder, Ethan was building his own.
He started with two sectors he understood best: communication technology and biotech. These weren't just arbitrary choices—they were strategic. With enough capital and understanding of market trends, they offered both innovation potential and high return on investment.
Through a series of low-key acquisitions, he picked up several struggling companies with strong research but poor management. These were businesses with powerful patents, brilliant scientists—but no capital or vision. Ethan consolidated them under two branches of Zero Industry, one focused on advanced telecommunications, the other on regenerative medicine and biotech.
These subsidiaries would become the twin engines driving Zero Industry forward.
By the time school was about to start again, Ethan had finalized the basic structure of his tech empire. It wasn't operational yet—not in full. The research needed time. But the foundation was solid. His private labs were under construction, his scientists were hired, and his own experimental designs were underway.
From energy-efficient processors to neural regeneration implants, Ethan had already sketched out several game-changing innovations. Some were inspired by his previous life. Others were born from the unique fusion of Earth's science and alien symbiote biology.
He knew it was only a matter of time before these ideas took shape. And when they did, Zero Industry wouldn't just enter the market—it would dominate it.