Marvel: I'm a Symbiote - Symbiote 0249: Destruction

# WIFE-CHASING“Honey, let’s make a deal.”“What deal?”“From this day forward, I will take care of you the rest of your life while you take care of the rest of me!”“Dream on!”[Sweet conversation of a couple]Four years ago, she left angrily while she was pregnant.Four years later…“Hey, I can see that you are having bad luck, and you get frustrated easily. Sir, you need a wife. My mom is single. Would you like to date her?”The chaste CEO gazed at the mini version of him before him with his dark eyes. He said nothing and brought the child and the mother home.

He became a teacher at the best magic academy in the empire.
….For being mistaken for someone else.

Baek Yigang is a son of the Baek Clan, one of the seven great clans of Zhongyuan. Afflicted with the Taiyin Qi Blockage, he is cursed with a shortened lifespan and the inability to collect internal energy. He had been peacefully spending the rest of his days indoors when he was ambushed by a group of masked people. During the ambush, he lost his servant who was like a sister to him. Chased by the attackers, Baek Yigang escaped through a secret underground path. When he came across a blocked path, he decided he’d at least die fighting and picked up a rusted sword that was stuck in the ground…

war, blood, and betrayal carved him into something else. A legend. A killer. A mercenary whose name struck fear into both criminals and so-called heroes alike.But now, the world had changed. Lines blurred between right and wrong, between justice and vengeance. Should he step into the light, wear the mask of a hero, and fight for a cause greater than himself? Or should he embrace the darkness that had always been his home, a place where morality was just another illusion?“Don’t box me in with your shallow ideas of good and evil,” he muttered, his voice calm but edged with danger. “I do what I want, when I want.”The air was thick with tension as he moved like a shadow through the dimly lit room. The writer had no time to react—one moment, he was scribbling nonsense about legends and myths; the next, a cold barrel pressed against the back of his head.The figure smirked beneath his mask, eyes gleaming with something between amusement and menace.“You wanna write fiction?” he whispered. “Then let me show you how real legends are made.”A single gunshot shattered the silence.As the writer’s body slumped over the desk, the man holstered his weapon, stepping into the faint glow of a flickering neon light.“It’s that simple,” he said, his voice unwavering. “I’m Deathstroke.”