Riven stood at the edge of the ruined corridor, his golden-black body pulsing with raw power. The symbiote inside him coiled like a beast, eager, hungry. His first progeny knelt beside him, broad and leonine, waiting for orders.
The remaining guards had fled deeper into Facility Theta. They thought they could escape. Hide. Call for help.
They were wrong.
Riven inhaled, his new senses expanding. He could smell their sweat, their fear. He could hear their frantic breathing, the pounding of their hearts. He grinned, his fangs gleaming.
“They’re close,” he rumbled, his voice deeper, richer—**more.**
His progeny purred beside him. “Shall we claim them, my king?”
The title sent a delicious ripple through Riven’s form. His symbiote **approved.**
“Yes,” he said simply.
They moved as one, their latex-coated bodies flowing like shadows through the dim halls. Their footfalls made no sound, their forms shifting, stretching as needed. Riven barely had to think about it—the symbiote **knew** what he wanted, adjusting, molding, evolving.
The scent of prey grew stronger.
They turned a corner and found the guards huddled in a locked storage room, their rifles shaking in their hands.
Riven tilted his head. “Pitiful.”
He **extended.**
Black-gold tendrils shot from his arms, slamming into the steel door, melting through it like hot tar. The latex **spread,** consuming the metal, turning it into something pliable, something that responded to his will.
With a flick of his wrist, the door **ripped open.**
The guards screamed.
One fired his weapon—a futile effort. The bullet struck Riven’s chest and **sank in,** the symbiote absorbing the impact with ease. He stalked forward, relishing the way they cowered, their backs pressed against the walls.
One of them—the strongest—tried to run.
Riven let him. He would hunt him later.
The other two weren’t so lucky. His first progeny moved in, pinning one against the wall, his thick claws wrapping around the man’s throat. Riven seized the second, his black talons curling around his prey’s trembling jaw.
“You ran,” he murmured. “But you were never going to escape.”
The guard whimpered, eyes wild. “P-please…”
Riven smiled. “Shh.”
The symbiote surged.
His body rippled, golden-black latex **pouring** from his chest, **flooding** over the man’s mouth, his nose, his skin. It slithered inside him, through his pores, down his throat. The transformation was **instant.**
The guard convulsed, his limbs locking, his frame stretching, bulking. His skin darkened, sleek fur blooming as his eyes rolled back. His breath hitched, his body spasming as the symbiote **took him.**
A deep growl rumbled from his throat, his new leonine form twitching with newfound strength.
Then his eyes snapped open, burning gold.
He dropped to his knees, panting, his entire body vibrating with pleasure. When he finally spoke, it was reverent.
“…thank you, my king.”
Riven rumbled with satisfaction.
Two down. One left.
But the last guard… something was **wrong.**
He hadn’t fought. Hadn’t screamed. He had gone slack the moment the symbiote touched him, his body trembling, eyes unfocused.
Weak.
Too weak.
The symbiote inside Riven **hissed.** This one wasn’t fit to be transformed. He was **less.**
So he would be **used.**
Riven didn’t hesitate. He tightened his grip, the latex engulfing the man’s form—**but not to shape him.**
To **consume him.**
The guard gurgled as the black-gold mass **absorbed** him, his form breaking down, his body melting into pure symbiotic mass. His flesh, his bones—**all of it**—became **more.**
More **strength.** More **power.**
More for **Riven.**
The symbiote **drank him in.**
Riven **grew.**
His body surged, his muscles expanding, his frame stretching taller, broader. His latex-coated skin pulsed as he **assimilated,** his entire form **denser, heavier, stronger.**
A deep, satisfied growl rumbled from his chest as he rolled his shoulders, flexing his massive claws. The increase in power was intoxicating.
His first progeny watched in awe, his golden eyes blazing with hunger. He **wanted** to be closer. To touch. To worship.
But Riven was already moving, stepping over what remained of the weak one, his tail flicking.
There was still **one** left to claim.
And the hunt wasn’t over.