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Quiet has so few of chances to inspire such terror.
Running from a group of assassins, whether they are in the height of their career or not, possessed a very competitive example for absolute horror. Trained to keep to the shadows, Venom couldn't feel safe in any setting. In clamor, in quiet, he trusted that his peers were lurking, waiting to get the sneak on him just to—
His abdomen pulled a wince from him, both hands pushing down the gash in his side with every ounce of strength he wasn't spending fleeing further humiliation from his own squad. He had been beaten up, stripped of his hood for his disgrace, and stabbed to 'finally' have shed a cowards blood for their cause. Venom had been warned enough that no one would come to save him, had he failed his team in any regard, and they had already been very outright with their displeasure in being held back.
Dead weight, they called him, and if he wasn't before he would certainly be graded that way now. Forget the bloodloss, nevermind the sick feeling he had just for the violence, how could he fail so fundamentally for such a simple, proposedly-natural part of life when there was nothing else left for him?
Venom can't stomach the scale of judgement teetering either direction in his head, not when he needed to lick his own wounds, to stop running from the inevitable. A life like his wasn't worth saving, nevermind skirting a mercy kill, why was he running? What did going on offer him?
His footsteps grew more heavy with these mounting concerns, though his labored breathing evened out, halting. Attempting to wait out the predatory stalk of his peers.
Venom stands in the street, just outside an alley. The whole town is asleep, all is still, save for a pair of strays he scouted two streets down.
Unless they were baiting him into security, he must have lost them.
He gathers the drool pooling in his mouth, a threat to be ill, spitting it out and swaying into the alley. An aptitude for stealth like his was wasted on a coward who couldnt commit to the role of an apex in his field, who couldn't take the mark as so many were keen to. Venom hit a wall in a loss of balance, letting his weight rest there as he considered the next move.
The Guild would return for him. Whether it was to finish the job in a tie to a loose end or anything else was none of his concern. It was due, and he was certain, it was coming. The man ought to just lay in it rather than scramble for a death another day. These thoughts surrender him to their full burden, his side burning while brick scratched beneath the fine fabric that made their uniform, though the pain was irrelevant, now. He rolls over slightly, just so that he can sit up straight, reflect on his last moments.
This uniform would have cost him dearly (why should a good assassin expect to weather damage?), and he might have been concerned if Venom wasn't so confident he should just let himself bleed out here. He would be lucky if they didn't strip him and leave him in the river, just another orphan lost to the streets, too weak to fight and scratch and persevere among the rest.
There was just one thing he had left, a bit of an indulgence that would bench the feeling like a charm, if only briefly. He abandons that attempt to halt the blood still seeping from his wound, breathing from his mouth as he digs into his coat, instead. A fleeced inner pocket holds a carton of cigarettes, a higher-grade label, one he could only afford for the Guild's repayment for his middling results. Just another twist of that sentiment of codependency into his side, a tight sob barely bursting from his throat.
He can't think on that, though, a cigarette crammed between his teeth is exactly the bait needed to spur some hustle; he should allow himself these last minutes to give himself one final instance of peace. To think selfishly and offer himself comfort before–
"Yo-hoo." A deep voice called from a windowsill above him. Venom's wide-eyed expression jolts up to spot a familiar, obscured face peering down at him. That inexplicably palpable gaze, obscured behind the cover of his signature mask was haunting, evoking the same sort of terror Venom had felt seeing art seeing the judgemental eyes of the seraphim as described in scripture. Of the highest order, a keeper of truths, a presence at your back, always.
It struck Venom in this, his final moments, how Zato could be considered above them, in a way. A being who needn't the aid of eyes to find you, that description aligned with Zato's mythic status in the Guild perfectly. He was of the physical realm, and he was still so untouchable.
How fitting for his personal reaper might show up the moment he attempts to ease his own nerves, lips securing over the paper on his tongue before he hears a petulant tut of divine intervention.
Zato, authoritarian as he was, didn't seek to finish off the man. Adolescence was a path that should ask patience, and even if Zato himself wasn't quite free from that phase of his life himself, he saw himself above it, as knowing better. And that cigarette between equally beautiful lips did not help that ego, not when Zato truly knew better. Would teach better.
Venom stood out in the his class withinthe Guild, of a different breed than his peers that were scored and allegedly sat at his level. He could feel the terror of his subordinate below him, frozen in fear despite the carefree disposition he himself maintained, so he laughs, the sound boisterous in the silent night.
"What do you think you're doing with that?" Zato asks, pointing directly to the offending roll. Venom swallows the swell in his throat, a gore hand reaching for the thing before Zato holds a hand up, a halt. "There isn't a point in covering it up. Just tell me, what does the smoke help when you're bleeding out?"
"... I-it... no, it does not, help." Venom's reply is deliberate, slow, ashamed. He wishes his voice didn't so obviously warble, sounding even more spineless for the man. "When I'm alone, I have simply always... found a smoke, comforting." He pauses, "I figured this wouldn't have done me in any further than..."
Zato's smile breaks, just a tad. It is more idle now, simply an accessory as he props his head up on a fist propped up against the sill. "You were going to bleed out here, then? How inconsiderate, as an extension of the Assassin's Guild. Are you not satisfied, have we not been generous enough?"
The idea has Venom pushing himself to get up and face the man, but he can't stand, not yet. He lunges forward and can barely shift his weight, landing back against the wall with a grunt, trying again, failing again, and Zato only watches. Tears sting at his eyes, but Venom can hardly focus on that, more panicked for the disgrace he's cast on what he's been given, the chances hes been offered.
"... I'm... sorry, sorry, I," His voice is difficult to project, his lips barely able to hold that cigarette he was so attached to before. Zato reaches for it easily, but he can't reach, his hand lingering there. Venom blinks away some of his tears and somewhere, somehow, in that brief instance, Zato's fingers have plucked the thing from his mouth. He doesn't have any ground to question him on, but his expression is one of confusion, fear, regret as Zato repeatedly swings it between a pinch of his fingers.
"I noticed." He graciously imparts, "Yet I'm not interested in any apologies, nor simpering. I'm here to iron that sort of smut out, if you would lend an ear."
Venom stops breathing. Zato stood straight, tall, dignified after taking a young man's cigarette, and he simply can't imagine his superior doing anything other than putting himself out of his misery, asserting the power over those who wouldn't obey the order they kept.
"This might shock you, but your team truly lost you out here." Zato offers him, finally giving the man some leniency and leaning against that windowsill. The cigarette stays low, looming as bait mere inches from Venom's head, "A lad bleeding out, hunched over, gave those ranked his equals a challenge. While it could be said they are fools for not being able to locate you..." Venom watches, astonished as that cigarette he had wound up between those perfect teeth, "and they are," A starkly gruff tone breaks that smooth, buttery analog in a way that sends a shiver down his spine, when he notices Zato's free hand emerge with a carton that matched his own, "I think it is worth rewarding the one clever enough to pull it off, instead. A celebration for your own talent."
His heart is racing shamelessly, mouth moving in a want to respond, but he doesn't have the words. This moment should last as long as Zato would speak to him, this bliss an indulgence unrivaled, and Zato laughs softly in the space he's left to fill alone. "It's a bit disheartening that you would be swindled so soon after I just spoke so highly of you. Are your senses so dull you haven't noticed?"
Venom's hands desperately paw at his own coat, breath catching as he notices his carton gone. In Zato's hand, and he draws his legs up slightly, flustered like a schoolgirl as his lacking blood cell count settled in on his nervous system. He could pass out, only Zato's laugh grew louder, one hand flicking open the carton, plucking another cigarette from its supply and letting the remainder drop to the windowsill. Venom doesn't hear it land.
"L-Lord Zato," He can only address him, not even self-sure enough to grovel and apologize more, whatever Venom could do, his Lord deserved better. Zato must be bored, or nearing it, and he was—suddenly feeling that little drag of dry paper against his lips, breathing out and accepting the gesture blindly. Zato gifted him back his property, despite it all.
"I'll forgive it tonight if you listen. I have plans that could bring the Assassin's Guild even higher than ever before." The blond's fingers drag against Venom's lips, his entire head follows the motion to keep the contact as long as he may, "Not everyone will be skilled enough to stand beside me. What I want is a hand who I can trust to serve me, to help me achieve what I need without question, to the letter."
Venom isn't even focused on where his Lord's hands are going anymore, eyes trained on the blind that Zato wore, heart soaring like there were eyes that returned his stare regardless. Zato's cigarette is lit, he takes a deep inhale, a motion that Venom watches religiously.
He doesn't think he'll forget the swell of that man's chest, the easy rise of a careful breath, the slack of his shoulders as he frees it. Venom swears the smoke smells even more cloying than ever, attempts to sit up straighter for it, and Zato gives a more mischevious giggle.
"Speak."
"Thank you," Venom appeased him with no hesitation, to which he nods, taking another deep inhale of the cigarette, turning to the side quickly, feigning stoicism. The one bleeding out on the street worried, briefly, but Zato's following coughing fit seems to just be... likely from him not being used to smoking.
It doesn't weigh the moment down for the pair, though. Zato is primed and on his pedestal, and Venom is seated in the alley below, as each believes he ought to be. The blond can face Venom like it never happened, taking a deep breath of clean air, his hair a halo that framed his face in an isolating manner as he spoke down to his disciple, flicking away the ash from it.
Stray remnants ghost past Venom's cheek, he can't bring himself to flinch away, a subtle twitch in his cheek the only reaction it gets before its burnt out and blown away.
"You are of very few who I am willing to entrust with more than mere grunt work, based on your doggedness here. To be capable of it."
Venom shivers, nods his head, and Zato leans down. The man is confused for an instant, but one of Zato's hands slings those long, ethereal locks over one shoulder, himself descending further, further, and Venom just keeps himself still, awaiting instruction.
Zato is fine with a puppet, though, as he isn't alone in maneuvering the man beneath him. "All I ask of your meek self is absolute, undying loyalty," Something Venom doesn't understand, doesn't have the presence of mind to even acknowledge, shifts impossibly between him and the dirty stone he landed on, lifting him to draw closer to Zato's offered torch.
His heart raced, the creeping rise generous in allowing their proximity, the shifting upsetting his wound anyway. Venom sighs in pain despite wanting so dearly to not disrupt the moment, yet an extended hand from Zato curls fingers under his chin, inspires him to tilt his head up and meet the ends of their cigarettes sooner despite the gut-churning pain in his abdomen.
He can't help the moan it rips from him, nor his pitifully human hand that goes to press his wound closed again, but his angle to reach his Lord wouldn't let up. This lacking contact feeling more intimate than a kiss might, he thinks. He had never been kissed before, either, he feels like it should pale to whatever this is.
That light catches too soon, Zato rising as soon as it does and leaving Venom to grunt and fall back against the wall. The shifting floor seems to be more kind, for whatever reason, letting him slide down so that he could finally relish in the comfort of tobacco settling along his system, muscles relaxing. "I'll have a choice, now." Zato spoke up, taking a very punctual hit before blowing it graciously right above where Venom was slumped over. His eyes close, breath sucked in the smoke blankets him, taking in the attention, consumed by it. "You can be left to wallow, if you please. Be relieved of the fight that it is to live and make change in our world, or you can stand up and cooperate with the Guild again. With me."
"Please." Venom can barely make out, eyes fighting to even crack open to look at Zato, "Allow me to... serve you, Lord Zato."
Zato's smile takes on a sickly genuine edge, arms crossing to look down at Venom with what he can hopelessly interpret as something other than base fondness. "Very well. I'll welcome you to my side, Venom."
Venom's hand rose weakly to fold inelegantly over his own mouth, pinching his cigarette and drawing it out with a euphoric exhale. "So, allow me to take these off your hands." His Lord smiles gently when he pockets the wayside carton, and it was spoken so carelessly, so certainly, that Venom only blinks, right before his hand slowly sunk to his chest. With a flick of his wrist, the cigarette is thrown to the side, landing somewhere to be forgotten.
"I will be... wholly yours, Lord Zato."