"A feast of slaughter?"
Locke frowned slightly as the system prompt settled in his mind, the phrasing alone enough to make him pause. Carnage wasn't supposed to exist yet—not like this. In the original trajectory, that thing only split off much later, and even then, it came from a very specific chain of events tied to Eddie Brock and Spider-Man's symbiote.
But now it was already here.
"And already starving," Locke muttered under his breath, piecing it together quickly. "So this is the butterfly effect."
He didn't hesitate for long. Whatever had changed, it didn't matter nearly as much as the opportunity sitting right in front of him. Carnage, even in a weakened state, was still one of the most dangerous symbiotes in existence.
And more importantly, it was a power source waiting to be cultivated.
Helping it now—when it was weak, hunted, and desperate—would yield far more than stepping in later when it had already grown into a monster no one could control.
"Bullseye, huh…"
Locke's eyes narrowed slightly as the name surfaced. In the world of crime, Bullseye wasn't just another hired killer. He was one of the most lethal weapons under Kingpin, a man who had walked away from fights that should've killed him dozens of times.
Arson, murder, robbery—there wasn't a line he hadn't crossed.
And somehow, he kept surviving, clinging to life like something rotten that refused to decay.
"Not this time," Locke said quietly, his expression flattening. "I'm not playing that game."
His body blurred the next second, vanishing from the street as he shot forward at high speed, heading straight toward the mission marker.
A few blocks away, inside a dim, abandoned factory, the air was thick with smoke and the smell of burning metal.
"Bang!!!"
The explosion ripped through the silence, flames briefly illuminating the shattered interior before settling into a low, flickering glow. From the dust and debris, a figure stepped forward slowly, his movements calm, almost casual.
Bullseye.
His face was cold, but the grin spreading across it was anything but sane. His eyes locked onto the corner of the room, where something small and twisted clung to the shadows.
"Run," he said softly, tilting his head. "Why aren't you running, huh?"
His voice sharpened instantly, turning cruel. "You've got the guts to mess with my people, but now you're just going to sit there and shake?"
He raised his gun without hesitation.
"Let me teach you something you won't forget."
Gunfire erupted in rapid bursts, the sound echoing violently through the factory. Each shot tore into the fragile mass in the corner, and with every impact, a shrill, distorted scream filled the air.
Carnage.
In its current state, it was barely more than a starving organism, its body thin and unstable, struggling just to hold itself together. Against normal people, it would've been a nightmare.
But against Bullseye?
It was nothing more than a target.
Bullseye wasn't just accurate—he was terrifyingly efficient. His physical conditioning alone put him close to super-soldier levels, and combined with his reflexes, combat instincts, and precision, he could dismantle entire squads without breaking a sweat.
On top of that, Carnage had already been tampered with. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s interference had left it malnourished from the start, its growth stunted before it ever had a chance to stabilize.
That was the only reason it was being beaten down so easily.
As the gunfire slowed, several men in black suits approached from behind, stopping a few steps away from Bullseye and standing there respectfully.
"Put-put-put."
The sound of suppressed footsteps barely registered as Bullseye kept his eyes on Carnage, his finger still resting lightly on the trigger. "Everything handled?" he asked without turning around.
"It's done," one of the men replied quickly. "There was one holdout. Refused to leave, kept talking about fighting evil to the end."
Bullseye's lips curled faintly. "And?"
"We dealt with him. He put up a fight, but he still ended up on his knees."
"That so?" Bullseye chuckled under his breath. "Then cut his compensation."
The men hesitated for a split second.
"The original offer was a hundred thousand," Bullseye continued, almost lazily. "Give him five."
The statement hung in the air like a bad joke.
Even the men behind him exchanged glances, their confusion barely concealed. The land they were clearing was worth millions, and now the payout had been slashed to almost nothing.
But no one questioned it.
After all, Bullseye answered to Kingpin. And that alone made arguing a dangerous mistake.
"We'll take care of it immediately," they said, turning to leave without another word.
They didn't get far.
The first scream cut through the factory like a blade.
"Monster…!"
Another followed, louder, more desperate. "What the hell is that—?!"
Something wet and violent echoed in the distance, followed by a tearing sound that didn't belong to anything human.
Bullseye's expression shifted slightly, a crease forming between his brows.
"Masked vigilantes?" he muttered, recalling the recent reports spreading through Hell's Kitchen. A red-clad figure had been making waves lately, disrupting operations and picking fights with anyone who crossed a line.
That was part of the reason he'd been sent out in the first place—to clean things up.
"Bang!!"
The factory doors slammed open violently.
The same men who had just left stumbled back inside, their faces pale, their movements frantic. One of them tripped and hit the ground hard, scrambling forward on his hands and knees as if something was right behind him.
"Monster… monster… monster…"
His voice broke as he repeated the word over and over, his body shaking uncontrollably.
Then he stopped.
Not by choice.
Something dragged him backward into the darkness.
There was no struggle, no time to react—just a sudden pull, as if the shadows themselves had reached out and claimed him.
For a brief moment, Bullseye caught a glimpse of it.
A hand.
Massive. Distorted. Wrong.
And then—
An eye opened on its surface.
Empty.
Dead.
Filled with something that didn't belong in the living world.
The hand emerged fully the next second, its grotesque shape illuminated by the flickering light. Purple energy pulsed faintly across its surface, the skin layered with something hard and reflective, while strands of raw, dripping flesh hung from its edges.
It was a nightmare given form.
Even Bullseye, who had seen more than his share of horrors, froze for just a fraction of a second.
That was all Carnage needed.
The weakened symbiote snapped back into motion, forcing its unstable body together and launching itself toward the nearest window. It didn't care what had just arrived.
It only cared about escaping.
Closer.
Closer—
The glass shattered as it burst through, the open night waiting just beyond.
"Whoosh!"
A hand shot out of nowhere and caught it mid-air.
Not gently.
Firmly.
Like grabbing something that had no right to escape.
Carnage twisted violently, its body writhing and stretching in every direction as it tried to break free. But the grip didn't budge. It held the symbiote in place like it weighed nothing at all.
Bullseye looked up slowly.
Locke stood there, one hand raised, holding the struggling mass with casual ease. His expression was calm, almost amused, as if the thing thrashing in his grip wasn't one of the most dangerous organisms on the planet.
Bullseye's instincts screamed at him immediately.
This wasn't a fight he could take lightly.
The grotesque arm behind the newcomer only made things worse.
"Maybe… we can talk," Bullseye said, forcing a thin smile onto his face, his voice carefully controlled.
Locke glanced at him, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
"Sure," he said. "If you live long enough to finish the conversation."
He tilted his head slightly, then gestured lazily toward the massive hand looming behind him.
"Go on," he added. "Susanoo."
Bullseye's expression changed instantly.
.....
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