Marvel: My Symbiote System

Another week had slipped by since Ethan and Gwen's last date, during which their relationship continued to quietly strengthen.

After their adventure at the special Asian spice restaurant, Gwen had been so excited that she immediately recommended it to her family. She convinced them to try it one afternoon, and while Gwen relished every fiery bite, the rest of her family was left questioning all their life choices. The spiciness had clearly been too much for them.

Ethan didn't need to imagine the aftermath—he could almost picture the chaos that must have unfolded in their bathroom that day.

Later that evening, when he got home, Ethan shared the entire story with his own family. His parents were amused, though a little bewildered.

Luke, however, seemed to latch onto the story for a different reason. His curiosity about Gwen grew stronger, and he began pestering Ethan to invite her over for dinner.

"Bring her here. I'll cook something for her myself."

Ethan had eagerly agreed. The idea of Gwen meeting his family, especially over one of Luke's famous meals, thrilled him.

---

On Sunday morning, Ethan indulged in a rare lazy sleep-in. It wasn't that he was particularly tired; it just felt wrong to let a weekend pass without spending a little extra time under the covers.

When he finally rolled out of bed and got ready, he made his way downstairs for lunch. As always, Luke's cooking was in full swing, filling the house with an aroma so divine it could make anyone forget their manners.

Ethan ate with his usual vigor, practically burying his face in his bowl. He was mid-bite when Luke's voice broke through his focus.

"Sigh~! Another girl attacked. Man, this place is a complete mess," Luke grumbled, shaking his head as he skimmed through the newspaper.

Glancing up at his wife, Luke added with a serious expression, "Honey, you're not going anywhere alone anymore, okay? I'll pick you up every day. And no more late nights at work. It's just not safe around here."

Hana smiled warmly and nodded. "Alright, alright. I'll wait for my knight in shining armor to rescue me every day."

Ethan had long grown immune to his parents' casual displays of affection. He used to complain, but now he mostly rolled his eyes and moved on.

Curious about the story that had upset his dad, Ethan reached for the newspaper on the table and began flipping through it.

Most of the articles were dull, covering the usual day-to-day events. One story even questioned whether Ethan was a masked hero or just another vigilante criminal. He snorted at that and kept scanning the pages.

Then his eyes landed on something that made him freeze. His chest tightened as he struggled to keep his emotions in check.

[Young Girl Brutally Murdered; Suspect on the Run, Still at Large!]

The image that accompanied the article hit him like a truck. It was her—the girl… he had saved from an assault just weeks ago!

The article didn't go into too much detail, but Ethan didn't need it to. The description of the victim matched her perfectly.

What made it even worse was the suspect. The article included his photo, and Ethan instantly recognized him. It was the same thug he'd left dangling from a lamppost that night after smashing his dick.

Ethan's mind raced. He couldn't even remember the girl's name, but he did remember her face—kind, polite, and stunningly beautiful.

Images of that night came flooding back in a relentless loop: her fear as she faced the thugs, her tears of relief when it was over, and her shy smile as she thanked him.

And now, she was gone….

Her face stayed with him, haunting him. Every moment they had shared, brief as it was, played on repeat in his head like a reel he couldn't stop.

---

He wasn't even sure how he ended up back in his bedroom. Confusion, helplessness, and a deep sense of regret consumed him, dragging him down like a weight he couldn't shake off.

Lying on his bed, he stared blankly at the ceiling, his thoughts spiraling out of control.

Should he blame himself for not being good enough? Or was it time to accept that he wasn't some invincible superhero capable of preventing every tragedy?

Why had that thug been able to do this? Shouldn't the police have already taken care of him after that night?

If, back then, he'd just knocked the guy out and given him a stern warning, could this have all been avoided? If he had taken the thug to the police station instead of leaving him tied up to escape, would it have made a difference? Or worse—should he have taken justice into his own hands and ended it permanently that night?

The questions swirled in his mind, each one stabbing at him like a needle, the what-ifs piling up until they crushed him. Ethan curled up tighter under his blanket, trying to block out the noise in his own head.

He was starting to realize how naïve he'd been—not just about what it meant to do the right thing, but about the weight of the responsibilities that came with his actions.

He'd been so caught up in the thrill of playing the hero, inspired by the stories of Spider-Man, that he hadn't stopped to consider the reality. And now, reality had hit him back, hard.

Suddenly, a knock on his door broke the suffocating silence.

"Son, can I come in?"

It was Luke.

Ethan didn't respond, his throat too tight to form words. After waiting a moment, Luke pushed the door open anyway.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn so tightly that barely any light filtered through. Luke's eyes adjusted, and he could just make out Ethan's figure buried under the covers.

Luke walked over and sat down gently on the edge of the bed. His voice was soft, almost hesitant.

"Ethan, I can see something's been eating at you. Why don't you tell me what's going on? You don't have to figure it all out on your own. I might not have the perfect advice, but sometimes just saying things out loud can make them a little easier to deal with. You know your mom and I are worried about you, right?"

He paused, his eyes lingering on the faint outline of his son beneath the blanket.

"Listen, no matter what happens, we're here for you. Your mom and I—your family—we'll always have your back. You don't have to carry everything alone. If something's wrong, talk to us. Let us help."

For a moment, the room fell silent again, except for the quiet rhythm of their breathing.

Then, from beneath the covers, Ethan's voice came out dry and muffled.

"What if there was something I could've done back then, but I didn't? Not because I couldn't…but because I didn't think it was that big of a deal. And now…something awful has happened. Something so awful it can't be undone or fixed. What am I supposed to do with that?"

Luke didn't say anything right away. He didn't push for details or ask for an explanation. Instead, he sat quietly, letting Ethan's words sink in.

The stillness in the room felt heavy, but not uncomfortable. Just the sound of their breathing filled the space as Luke carefully thought about how to respond.

After a moment, Luke broke the silence. His voice was calm but carried a weight of sincerity.

"Ethan, I don't know all the details, but I can see that regret is eating you alive right now. And I get it—regret can be brutal. But here's the thing: what's done is done. You can't go back and change the past, no matter how much you want to. The only thing you have control over is yourself."

He paused, resting his chin in his palm, his expression thoughtful yet serious.

"You have to let this experience teach you something. Let the consequences you're facing now stay with you as a reminder. So the next time you're in a situation like this, give it everything you've got. If you know you've done your absolute best, even if things don't turn out perfectly, you won't have to live with regret."

Luke's words hung in the air, and the room fell silent again. He didn't press Ethan for a response, knowing his son needed time to process. He simply stayed there, patient and steady, a quiet pillar of support.

After a while, Ethan finally shifted under the blanket. Slowly, he emerged, his eyes still red and weary but filled with a newfound resolve. He looked at Luke and spoke, his voice hoarse but firm.

"Thank you. I think…I know what I need to do now."

Hearing this, Luke exhaled in relief, a small smile breaking through his serious expression.

"Good. That's all I wanted to hear. But remember, Ethan—if you ever feel like this again, come talk to us. Don't bottle it up. Your mom and I are always here for you."

He reached over and patted Ethan's head gently, a gesture of reassurance, before getting up to leave. "I'll let your mom know you're okay," he added, closing the door softly behind him.

Left alone, Ethan stood and walked over to the mirror. He stared at his reflection for a long moment, his gaze sharp and unflinching. Something had shifted within him—a clarity he hadn't had before.

He finally understood the path he had chosen. Along with it came responsibilities he couldn't ignore and consequences he had to face head-on.

Gone were the childish fantasies of being a comic-book hero. Reality had stripped them away, leaving behind a harsh, unvarnished truth: this wasn't a movie. This wasn't a game. And there were no do-overs.

In movies, superheroes could afford to follow strict moral codes. They could let villains go, believing in second chances or waiting for the system to work. They could fight the same enemies over and over again, as if those battles had no real stakes.

But reality wasn't forgiving like that.

If Ethan had dealt with Bill that night, Miya might still be alive. That single failure, that choice to hold back, had led to an innocent life being lost. The weight of that truth was crushing.

Growth, Ethan realized, rarely came without pain. And his growth had come at a price—a life that could never be brought back.

Since he had chosen this path—chosen to stand against crime—he had to take on the full responsibility of his actions. He couldn't afford half-measures or naïve thinking anymore. This wasn't about glory or recognition. It was about justice. True justice.

The law had its limits. There were loopholes and cracks where people like Bill slipped through, and that was why masked vigilantes existed. They weren't bound by the constraints of the system—they existed to fill the gaps, to ensure that justice was served when the system fell short.

Ethan clenched his fists, his resolve solidifying. To walk this path meant accepting the burden of making choices others couldn't.

---

In the dim glow of his bedroom, Ethan pulled on his black cloak, his hood shrouding his face in shadow. His mask, with its hollow white eyes, glowed faintly in the darkness, giving him an otherworldly, almost spectral appearance.

He stared at his reflection in the mirror, a figure that no longer resembled the Ethan from before. He was something new, something darker.

In his heart, he made a vow. His voice, low and filled with an icy determination, whispered through the room.

"From this moment on, I am the specter of vengeance. I will make those who escape justice tremble in fear."

His lips curled into a twisted smile that could freeze blood, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity.

"Bill, you bitch. Just you wait. I'll make sure you experience a hell so cruel, every soul who's ever suffered at the hands of scum like you will beg for mercy on your behalf."