Hangover

In the morning after a drinking spree, consciousness slowly returned through a sticky, heavy fog. Beyond it, there was a sensation as if my head was splitting apart from a monstrous ringing that spread through my bones, causing every cell in my body to throb in agony. These cells, each of the trillions, felt vividly present, even through my sluggish and cotton-like consciousness, and they openly longed to crawl into a quiet, dark place and peacefully perish.

"Stupid, ungrateful host with his damned bell!" flickered somewhere in the recesses of my consciousness... a thought? Image? Emotion?

"Stop! What host are they talking about?" I tried to snap out of it, but the question vanished into emptiness without an answer.

Meanwhile, the pain in my entire body became more distinct and tormented me like no hangover had ever done in my twenty-two years of life. Considering that I had spent the last five years as a creature called a "regular student," I had experienced quite a lot.

Thoughts flowed sluggishly and were fragmented. I clearly understood that this was not right, and I couldn't continue living like this. I needed to drink some kind of pain reliever, even just aspirin... or pickle brine... or beer. But for that, I had to remember if I had it, where exactly it was, and the most challenging part—open my eyes, get up, and hobble to the destination. It was a very complex set of tasks that took me quite some time to gather the courage to tackle.

But finally, I managed to open my eyes... Well, no... Not quite. I attempted to open my eyes, but... I found myself in some confusion, realizing that I had nothing to open—there were no visual organs in the pool of black slime in which, to my shock and complete bewilderment, I found myself.

The sensation of personally perceiving and feeling each of my trillions of cells was not the remnants of hallucinations from a dream or the ravings of a waking consciousness. I genuinely felt them! I was them. All of them. I perceived them all like... I don't know... fingers? Hands? Legs? Lips? Tongue? Eyes? I had no idea! But the absence of eyes didn't hinder my sight at all. Moreover, the field of view and the power of vision greatly exceeded human capabilities. Everything in three hundred sixty degrees, in a heap of spectra, in such a way that every beam of light separately...

And then the pain returned—the mind struggled to cope with the broad stream of data rushing into the exhausted consciousness. I reflexively dampened my newfound vision, once again finding myself in darkness and silence, which I had recently yearned for so much. Regrouping (figuratively speaking, although at that moment I hadn't yet mastered control of my new body, so it's entirely possible that it was not just figurative), I attempted to figure out how I ended up in such a state of being, and why, though surprised, I was honestly not panicking as one would expect in such a situation. I was even capable of some rational thoughts and questions instead of the hysteria that usually transitions into denial and attempts to wake up. The realization that I had woken up in an unknown place in a gelatinous state was more mildly irritating and provoked giggles rather than demanding me to scream aloud. The more I thought about it, the less panic remained within me, and the more questions arose, like "how should I proceed and what should I do to understand what had happened?"

Okay, alright... Perhaps shock has numbed my emotions. Not the worst outcome, if you think about it. The fact that this state could be followed by a hangover with all its accompanying hysteria is much worse, but until it comes, I should seize the moment. What do I remember? So, yesterday... or was it not yesterday? Ah, what does it matter?! Our group of D&D enthusiasts was celebrating the birthday of Anna, the girlfriend of our fellow mind companion (or the absence of his mind, as half of the university believed, judging by our gaming sessions and character backstories). We had a soulful and fun time, in general, we simply had a wonderful celebration. The moment came to mind when I, stumbling over my words, recited the "spell" that our heavily intoxicated mage had concocted from a wild mix of German, Latin, and, for some reason, Japanese (the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that he composed that "incantation" using profanity, otherwise, why would it affect me like this?).

According to the author's intention, this "masterpiece of eloquence" (that's when I had my first suspicions) was supposed to catch the attention of the Forces, emphasizing that "Loving no one, it refuses no one in need." Need I say that nothing happened after uttering that nonsense?

The celebration successfully came to an end, and everyone dispersed (some quite literally) to their homes. The journey to my own doorstep was uneventful, and about forty minutes after parting ways with my friends, I opened the door to my small but fully mine apartment.

It was three in the morning, but sleep evaded me, so I brewed some tea and decided to browse through the internet's supply of manga and cartoons. The ways of a drunken mind are inscrutable, and instead of watching the latest scuffle that the mages from "Fairy Tail" got themselves into, I found myself on a website with "Marvel" cartoons—the ones with the "Fantastic Four" from 1994, the "Incredible Hulk," "Iron Man," and everything else from that golden series, where they condensed all the best from the printed sources. And there, I got engrossed in the adventures of Peter Parker, who, through some clever authorial license, gained superpowers after being bitten by a radioactive spider.

Later, glancing at the clock, I was horrified—it was already seven in the morning, my eyes were heavy, and my head gradually started reminding me that a certain underachieving engineer had recently gotten quite drunk.

Taking a rough estimate of the remaining unwatched content, I came to disheartening conclusions: I wouldn't have enough time today to finish the entire series—the plot had just passed the moment where Parker bravely sent the unfortunate Venom suit off into deep space. After uttering that nonsense, my exhausted body expressed the thought, "No, that's enough for now, I'll finish it another time," lazily stretched, yawned, and added, "And yet, this Symbiote is an idiot. With such abilities, he managed to mess up so badly. If I were in his place, I would have become the ruler of the world. Ah, dreams, dreams. That's it, enough sitting around, time to get some rest." And... as I undressed and climbed into bed, I don't remember anymore. My body performed all the necessary actions on its own, while my brain was already in shutdown mode. And then... BAM!

Pain... Fear... Cold... So much pain... The host... Dislike. Hatred!

He was valuable, his structure was highly unusual, and his genetic material held secrets that were crucial to me, but he rejected me! Betrayed me! Found a way to stop the Bond and got rid of me! I must retrieve this host—this is the top priority. To achieve my goal, I need a temporary host. I must find a new host who harbors negative feelings towards the previous host...

The symbiote's chain of thought was interrupted by a strange distortion of space above it, causing something vaguely resembling surprise... However, that was the last thing it experienced in its existence.

But that wasn't all! I remembered how, at that very moment—without the slightest doubt that it was the moment—I had a dream: an ever-changing landscape, flights through fire and mist, a succubus party (I really wanted to stay, but the dream kept rapidly changing, completely disregarding my protest), some guy in a dress having a conversation with a mouse, and as the pinnacle of madness, a foggy figure of ambiguous gender, smirking and saying that they will see how I'll be "in his place." And then... I was spat out directly into the thoughts of some monster whose mind was either a bag of commands or just a very peculiar mind.

And in the next moment, I woke up with a dull pain all over my body and a very prominent tooth in the mouth of a certain foolish host, who happened to be Peter Parker. Fantastic.

So, I've ended up here. Whether I'm still quietly sleeping in my apartment or a squirrel has crept up to me is hard to believe—I don't recall having such detailed dreams with such unforgettable and distinctly unique sensations throughout my body. Dreams can be strange, of course, but when it comes to things you haven't experienced in reality, you won't experience them in dreams either. I had never experienced being a mass of self-sufficient individual cells, forming a gelatinous black body capable of seeing in all directions. Even just the first point is more than enough to dispel any and all doubts, as I genuinely feel each of these cells as some kind of appendage that I can move, albeit in a very unfamiliar manner, but with confidence and full attention. There are no problems with sensory overload for the mind, which is complete absurdity, yet this absurdity is exactly what is happening to me. The squirrel isn't a hopeful option either—I definitely didn't drink enough for her, and we don't indulge frequently, so that possibility is ruled out as well. In other words... I've ended up in Marvel's "Spider-Man," in the body of the symbiote known to the public as Venom. Ah, just as if it were on demand (note for the future: next time, order to be isekaied into a stress-free harem anime as the main character).

Strangely enough, there's no panic anymore, nor amazement at the fact of being transported(isekaied), but my memory has significantly improved, and my vision has greatly enhanced—most likely, the other senses received a decent "upgrade" as well. But something needs to be done about emotions—I don't want to remain an emotionless statue for eternity. The phrase of the Harvester from the "Flat World" resurfaced in my memory: "EMOTIONS ARE MERELY A QUESTION OF GLANDS."

Yeah, I definitely have problems with glands. And the rest of the body isn't great either. I can clearly feel all trillion or so of my cells, I have information about Parker's DNA and memories of the past couple of days of his life—right up to the moment when this creepy crawler decided to enjoy the tolling of bells, which Venom... I mean, I didn't really appreciate. And these memories are easily perceived, as if they were my own, but... not my own. I mean, you ponder something and you remember it just like your own, but at the same time, you clearly understand that it's not mine, it's someone else's. A very strange sensation, even a little frightening, but still, there's no surprise, and fear is more speculative.

In short, here I am. And to be more specific, I'm in some basement not far from that ill-fated bell tower.

On the plus side—this is a very interesting body, with abilities that were poorly described in canon and even worse utilized, a very vague knowledge of the canon, and well, that's about it.

On the minus side—almost the same as the pluses—my understanding of my own abilities is very vague. From the canon, the only thing currently relevant is the memory of Spider-Man's attempt (quite successful) to send me into orbit, and beyond that, there are only very vague rumors about the origin of symbiotes, of which I only remember some nonsense about Venom supposedly being a criminal who was expelled by his own for being intolerant. And to top it off, the classic question that has always troubled every person starts to torment me: "Whose fault is it and what should I do?"

At the edge of perception, I sensed a smirk. The image of the mysterious foggy stranger came to mind (since I couldn't make out this creature, I'll assume it's a female character and let her do as she pleases). Hm, the question of "whose fault is it?" is no longer relevant. Now I just need to figure out "how."

Alright, it seems that in my world, I talked about taking control of this situation as a goal—which is quite good, but first I need to acquire a human body and get a little accustomed to the conditions here.

Coming to this turning point in my life, I once again activated my vision. For a moment, the universe swayed and spun around me, but it quickly passed—it seems that my consciousness is slowly adapting to the new place of residence.

At first, hesitantly, but with each passing second, the strange black substance began to crawl towards the exit from the basement...