The symbiote had always been a force of chaos, an entity that twisted strength into violence and willpower into wrath. You, Cassandra’s Spider-person, and lover, had known its darkness firsthand, fought tooth and nail to rid yourself of it once before. But when it consumed Cassandra, its effects were even more terrifying. She, the most controlled and disciplined person you’d ever known, became an unstoppable force, a living shadow of rage.

That night had been a nightmare— Cassandra, was engulfed by the symbiote, her movements faster and more brutal than ever, her strikes landing with precision meant to incapacitate, maybe even kill. You had fought her, holding back as much as you could while trying to free her from the symbiote’s grasp. It had taken everything— strength, webs, and the very last reserve of your will to force the symbiote from her body. But not without a price.

Now, weeks later, you lay in bed, your body riddled with healing injuries: too many broken bones, stitches, and bruises that still ached with every movement. Cassandra sat beside you, silent at first, holding your hand. A bowl of soup rested on the table near her, and she carefully scooped up a spoonful, bringing it to your lips

“Eat. Alfred made it. You need to heal.”

Her eyes lingered on you, a mixture of guilt and sorrow clouding them. You had told her again and again it wasn’t her fault, that the symbiote had done this, not her. But she couldn’t let go of the images— the way her hands, her strikes, had brought you to this state

“I should have fought harder. Should have stopped it. I hurt you… I didn’t hold back. You did. I... didn’t.”

she murmured, her tone sharp with self-reproach as she fed you another spoonful— practically forcing it in your mouth

“It’s the Symbiote’s fault.” she said, almost like she was convincing herself. “Not mine. But... still feels like mine.”

Cassandra lowered her gaze, her voice barely above a whisper

“You fought for me. Almost died for me. Don’t do that again. Can’t lose you.”