Absolute Symbiote Chapter 1: Ruin On Mars.

This and Absolute Spiderman will be uploaded hand in hand.

Synopsis: A symbiote falls on Mars, is experimented on and after the Martian Genocide escapes. And It's very hungry.

Chapter 1: Ruin On Mars.

(General P.O.V)

Mars was dead. Not in theory. Not in spirit. Literally dead. The kind of dead that didn’t even rot anymore.

The war between Green and White Martians hadn’t just broken the planet.

It had exposed something deeper—something underground, like a memory trying to forget itself.

In the middle of a shattered research sector, one last breath of life wheezed from a buried containment pod.

Metal groaned. One of the long-forgotten labs cracked open like a dying breath, releasing a hiss of sterilized steam and something wetter beneath.

Then came the slither.

Black. Shifting. Alive in the loosest sense. More instinct than intelligence. At first.

It oozed forward, thick and wet and gleaming, tendrils blindly groping the debris for purchase.

It moved with purpose it hadn’t earned yet, crawling through shattered glass and scorched Martian alloy.

It left a trail, but not like a wound—more like a fingerprint, smearing its intent onto the dead planet around it.

It had no name. No mouth. No memories.

But it felt.

And what it felt first was hunger.

The creature was supposed to be hope. That’s what the Martian scientists had intended, anyway. A hybrid—part alien(Klyntar), part Martian biotech. The creature's race was supposed to bond, to empower a chosen host in a beneficial symbiotic relationship. The biotech addons were meant to enable bonding with multiple hosts.

It would have cured the fracture between Martian subspecies.

Instead, it had inverted the equation.

The first host had vanished inside it. Not joined, not shared. Assimilated. Absorbed. No voice left behind. Just fuel. It didn’t bond with anyone. It buried them inside itself. And with each trial, it grew more... itself.

So they had sealed it within an inescapable prison. For years it slumbered.

Now, it was awake again.

Alone. Cold. Surrounded by the aftermath of something it didn’t cause—but absolutely understood.

War. Hate. Death. Fire. Beneath piles of white and green bones, the planet's last mistake crawled.

Searching for something warm.

It had no defined shape—just black mass and motion, guided by something more primal than direction.

There were bodies everywhere.

The war hadn’t spared anyone. Green Martians, White Martians—differences erased in death. Limbs scattered. Skulls cracked. Some looked like they had been frozen mid-transformation, caught between forms. Most had already decomposing into dust, but the psychic residue hadn’t fully faded. Not yet.

The symbiote didn't think in language. Not yet. But it sensed signals—weak, static-laced bursts. Thoughts clinging to bone and grey matter.

It needed more to sate it's hunger.

A half-buried corpse caught its attention—White Martian. Crushed under a fallen section of wall. The upper skull had split open. Brain matter exposed. Nerve clusters still faintly alive.

The creature paused only a second.

Then surged forward.

Tendrils wrapped around the body. It didn’t chew. It absorbed. Tissue dissolved on contact. Neural pathways unraveled and streamed into it like data cables plugged in reverse. The creature froze as it processed what it had taken in.

A familiar jolt. Not physical—mental.

The mind of the dead Martian was incomplete, but it held enough. Flashes of memory hit all at once.

A face, shouting orders. Flight through burning skies. A brother torn apart in mid-air. An explosion of green fire that shouldn’t exist. Panic. Rage. A final scream—then silence.

The creature convulsed. It wasn’t pain, but the closest thing it could experience to shock. It staggered back, tendrils flailing.

Then it stopped.

It stood still, rippling in place as the thoughts stabilized. Something had changed.

It wasn’t just feeding anymore. It had taken more than just nutrients.

It had taken memory.

The hunger sharpened.

It had been wandering. Now it was seeking.

More minds even dead. More thoughts even shattered. Just more pieces to fill the empty shape it was forming into.

A new body lay nearby. Green Martian. Smaller, curled protectively around another. Dead. But their minds still echoed faintly—memories not entirely erased. The creature crept forward again.

This time, it didn't hesitate.

It fed faster now. Tendrils pierced the skulls, drawing out the final remnants of thought and identity. Pain. Love. Loss. A wordless lullaby. A feeling of heat that wasn’t physical—telepathic contact, once warm, now gone.

Each mind added more definition.

It started understanding forms. Concepts. Grief. War. The difference between connection and solitude.

The creature didn’t know what it was, but it knew what it was becoming. Not a swarm. Not a colony.

A singular thing.

And it needed more.

Not just for sustenance.

For self.

(??? P.O.V)

I didn’t have language when I woke. Just direction. Just hunger.

I crawled through dust and bone. I ate what I found. Brains, mostly. They fed me—flesh, yes, but also something else. Thoughts. They were tangled, broken, bleeding into one another, but they were there.

The first mind screamed at me as I pulled it in. It didn’t have words either, just pain and fire and sudden silence.

It hurt. I didn’t expect that.

I kept eating.

Each mind gave me more. More than energy—structure. The fragments began to stick. Thoughts that weren’t mine started echoing in a voice that might be.

Something new. Something confused.

The more I fed, the more I recognized what I was becoming. I wasn’t just reacting anymore. I was thinking. I started noticing patterns—how they all died, what they feared, what they were trying to protect. They had a shared link. Mental, emotional. It was a network, and when it broke, they collapsed.

I didn’t collapse. I grew.

The Green Martian mother had been trying to shield her child. Even in death, that effort echoed. I took that in. She hated what I was. But I still consumed her. I didn’t feel guilt. Not then. Not now. I felt clarity.

I was supposed to be a bond. That knowledge surfaced, like old code booting up. I remembered the original function embedded in my dna. To Join. Equalize. Empower.

But what the Martians added broke that. Their biotech twisted the connection. It made the link one-way. Not a balance, but a drain.

Every time I connected, I swallowed the other completely. Nothing remained but me.

And still, I was hungry.

The hunger was more than physical. It was something in my structure, tied to the Martians’ neural system. I needed the signal. The mind links they had all shared. Not just to feed. To think. Without minds to devour, I began to unravel again. I could feel that threat, always near.

So I kept eating. Cautiously. Deliberately.

(2 months later)

I wasn’t mindless anymore. I had memories now. I could feel identity forming—pulling itself together from the stolen pieces of thousands of green and white martians.

What was my name?

There was something before. I know there was. A name I had when I fell from the stars. A real name, in the old tongue, spoken in liquid sound.

But it was gone.

The Martians called the lab they built to be my cage, “Project Ruin.” A failed hope. They believed I was the embodiment of their failure.

Maybe they were right.

I don’t remember choosing it, but I began calling myself that.

Ruin.

Not because they named me so.

Because I looked around and saw what I stood in.

Because everything I touched—every mind, every thought—was undone.

I was born in ruins.

And I made more wherever I went.

But I wasn’t finished yet.

Not until the hunger stopped.

And it hadn’t stopped.

Not even close.

I didn’t hear his ship land. I was too deep in the bodies.

Too many thoughts flooding me at once. Some fragments were still active—Martians who had died years ago yet their presence made it feel like only hours ago.

The thoughts were never stable, but I took them anyway. I couldn’t afford to be selective. My structure still depended on intake. Neural signals. Identity reinforcement.

Then I felt something.

Not through sight. Not through sound.

A signal. Strong. Controlled. Still alive.

It hit like a wall.

I turned.

A lone Martian had arrived at the edge of the ruined battlefield. With a presence unlike the others.

He carried something in his hand—small, scorched. He didn’t approach right away. Just stood there, looking out over the dead ruins.

I didn’t recognize him, but I recognized his mind.

Dense. Protected. Burning with grief.

He stepped forward. Then his eyes fell on my squirming ebony form, draped over shattered building foundations, tendrils digging through the red sands for corpses.

His expression shifted the moment he saw what I was doing. His thoughts surged—shock, then rage.

This was a place for mourning. He had come expecting silence, his filtered thoughts said.

Instead, he found me—feeding on his race.

I didn’t run. I had taken in too much to be afraid.

His voice was low. Controlled. “You should not exist creature.”

His mind was open enough that I didn’t mean to respond. But something in me reached out. I sent the thought anyway.

'Neither should you, Martian.'

That was a mistake.

The moment our minds touched, he reacted.

The energy didn’t come from his body—it came from his mind. A pulse of psionic force exploded outward. Heat without fire. Pain without flame.

But it burned. My structure peeled and buckled under it. The bodies around us disintegrated instantly.

This wasn’t an attack. It was a purge.

I screamed—not out loud, but in every voice I had absorbed. They came pouring out, uncontrolled. Dozens of lives, begging and howling and cracking apart as I lost control.

He advanced, already igniting another blast. I lashed back—tendrils shaped like blades, like claws, like reflex. They struck air. They struck mind. I tried to destabilize him, disrupt his focus by sending thoughts of suffering and torment into his mind

But he was stronger and more skilled in Martian telepathy, swatting away my efforts to invade his mind. Id thought his grief would cloud him—instead it powered him.

I was losing.

And fast.

So I made a choice.

As his next wave of psychic fire consumed my outer form, I split a part of myself—just small enough to pierce into his mind.

It wasn’t clean. He resisted. But I’d already learned the Martian mind was complex. Deep. And full of cracks from the same grief that gave him power.

I slipped in through one of them.

Buried myself in the quietest part. A fragment. Dormant. Just enough to hold on.

While my body burned on the outside.

I saw what he saw—brief flashes of another world. A blue planet. A chaos of thought. Countless minds, layered and loud and unguarded.

Earth.

I wanted it.

No—I needed it.

So I waited.

He stood over the remains of what he thought he had destroyed. He didn’t speak. Didn’t question it. Just turned, quietly, and left. Back to his ship.

He didn’t know.

He carried me with him now.

I kept still. Kept quiet. Deep in his mind, where even he wouldn’t feel it.

I wouldn’t risk another mistake.

Not until we reached Earth.