Marc Spector and Venom engage in a battle of wills in the next adventure of an epic multiversal series reimagining iconic Marvel origin stories. So many worlds, so little time. Infinite possibilities, creating infinite realities. Long have I watched Marc Spector cheat death in the name of the Egyptian god Khonshu. But . . . what if Moon Knight was subsumed by a Venom from another universe? Marc Spector is used to voices in his head. He’s used to waking up disoriented, unsure what his alters, Jake and Steven, might have been up to. He’s used to having an Egyptian god command him as Moon Knight, his avatar of justice and revenge. What he’s not used to: staring into the face of a literal out-of-body doppelgänger.  Another Marc crash-landed from an alternate reality, begging for help? Yeah, that is a new one, even for him. But before he can really process anything beyond Khonshu’s incessant alarm bells, it becomes clear this other Marc didn’t travel solo. Some kind of alien—a symbiote named Venom—casts off its current host and begins to merge with Marc, forcing Khonshu away from his chosen champion and claiming Moon Knight for its own. The formerly stark white suit that struck fear into the hearts of criminals now looms as a jet-black shadow over friends and foes alike. Marc’s lethal prowess, fueled by Venom’s penchant for violence, carves a trail of chaos as they comb through the vigilante’s torturous past.  Yet a sliver of hope remains: Finally free of Venom’s control, the other Jake and Steven regain consciousness to find themselves in a strange reality, without their Marc but with a strange bird-like god insisting that “they will do.” Desperate, lost, and running out of time, the pair make a deal: become Khonshu’s new avatar to track Venom’s path of destruction, save this universe, and just maybe figure out a way back to their own. Mike Chen is the New York Times bestselling author of Star Wars: Brotherhood , Here and Now and Then , A Quantum Love Story , and other novels, as well as Star Trek: Deep Space Nine comics. He has covered geek culture for sites such as Nerdist and The Mary Sue, and in a different life, he's covered the NHL. A member of SFWA, Mike lives in the Bay Area with his wife, daughter, and many rescue animals. Chapter 1 Marc Marc Spector looked behind him. The buzzing, inconsistent lights and grimy brick walls of the dim sewer system made it hard to tell for sure, but somewhere farther down the tunnel, a silhouette stood. Was that . . . The lights blacked out for a second before coming back, but for a flash, Marc saw it clearly, as if the desert sun shone directly on it: The imposing silhouette of a man, long cloak draped over thin limbs and staff in hand. Plus a massive bird skull for a head. Khonshu. The Egyptian god of the moon wasn’t always the best—or most sincere—ally for Marc, but given that Marc had pledged to be the Moon Knight, avatar of Khonshu, well, they helped each other out of a lot of jams. In this case, the bird skull turned his way, then Khonshu tapped his staff, causing an echo that Marc heard over his own pounding footsteps. Then the lamps flickered again and Khonshu disappeared, leaving only decaying infrastructure and skittering rats. Just the empty shadows of a sewer passage. A New York sewer passage, one that tracked right underneath Retrograde Sanitarium, where Marc had just led a daring, brutal escape: first breaking free from his cell, then recovering his things from storage and donning the Moon Knight suit, then liberating his friends from the clutches of Dr. Emmet and her oppressive guards and orderlies. And now? Underground, on the way to freedom. Sanity versus insanity. New York versus ancient Egypt. One mind versus infinite possibilities. Not that long ago, the love of Marc’s life told him that she needed to distance herself from him, from the life of violence that swarmed around him. He’d tried explaining to Marlene that the violence stemmed from the balance of everything in his head, of dealing with Steven Grant and Jake Lockley, of being pledged to serve Khonshu as the deity’s Fist. But the how and why didn’t matter to her. She’d had enough. And as he dashed forward through the damp passageway, cape billowing behind him, he considered if maybe she was right. Such was the life of Marc Spector. He never claimed it was an easy one. “There they are!” a voice yelled, cutting through the thick air. “No, no, no,” a woman’s voice said. Marc turned to see concerned lines framing the brown eyes and pursed lips of Gena Landers. Gena spun and shot a look behind Marc, her head now angled to catch shadows across her dark skin. “Frenchie, turn off the flashlight!” “Non, Gena,” hissed Jean-Paul Duchamp, Marc’s longtime associate and sometimes helicopter pilot, known by most as Frenchie. “We are in a sewer. How else could we possibly see?” “If we can’t see us, then they can’t see us,” Gena shot back. Frenchie cursed under his