Reborn as the God-Emperor in Marvel

Solomon's plan was simple and crude, lacking any great display of intelligence or subtlety. Unlike their previous encounter with the British Museum's guardian, this time, their enemies were not as formidable on the magical front. 

That said, this new opponent wasn't exactly a pushover either. They were dealing with the descendants of the Puritans who had overseen the Salem witch trials—families who had hanged innocent women centuries ago. These families still held political and economic power in Salem, a legacy of capitalist inheritance.

One of these descendants was Ricky White, a senator from Salem. 

Solomon and Wong had taken up position in a café across the street from the town hall, waiting for the politician to appear.

"This coffee tastes like boiling mud," Solomon muttered, holding a cup of coffee overloaded with milk and sugar. He had always hated coffee—no matter how much he doctored it, the taste always turned sour in his mouth.

He eyed Wong, who sat across from him at the small white table. "How many tuna sandwiches is that now? We're here to keep an eye out, not stuff our faces."

"I got my allowance yesterday, and my dad hasn't had the chance to confiscate it yet," Wong said, patting his round belly contentedly. "Of course, I'm going to take the opportunity to eat some good food. You think I like eating at the Kamar-Taj cafeteria? We all sneak over to the Hong Kong Sanctum to get some real food."

Solomon rolled his eyes. Wong, still content with his current body shape, was one of the few in Kamar-Taj who didn't seem concerned about the rigorous physical training. He firmly believed that gaining extra weight gave him the strength to endure the harsh training. At least, when he got punched in the gut, it would cushion the blow.

Being comfortable with a larger frame was one thing, but in Kamar-Taj, where asceticism was the norm, Wong was an outlier. Most were either lean or muscular, but Wong's round figure stood out—like a juicy target for all those practicing martial arts. Naturally, he often found himself on the receiving end of punches.

"So how long are we going to wait here?" Wong asked, letting out a contented burp. It was the most satisfying meal he'd had in a while, free from Hamir's strict oversight. He wasn't asking out of impatience but curiosity about whether he had time to grab more sandwiches.

"No idea," Solomon said, shaking his head.

But Solomon had patience. Politicians couldn't stay holed up forever. They had meetings, social events, and businesses to attend to. Ricky White was no exception, a product of capitalist politicking. Sooner or later, he would show up.

"If you elect me to Washington, I promise reform. I will stand by my word until my dying day," declared Ricky White on the grainy screen of the café's old television. From the background, it was clear he was speaking in front of the Salem town hall.

"I will always be Ricky White, son of Salem, fighting tirelessly for all of us…" His voice became garbled, the sound and image distorted by static on the outdated set.

As Ricky's campaign speech crackled into incomprehensibility, Solomon leaned back in his cushioned chair, watching yellowed autumn leaves skitter across the street outside. He closed his eyes, letting the ambient noise fade away—the cars, the muffled chatter—all disappearing. He could hear the drip of a leaky faucet in the café's kitchen, water droplets striking the steel sink with resonating clarity, and the faint buzzing of a fluorescent light flickering overhead.

Farther off, he picked up the sound of a radio dial clicking into place, the wet smack of a couple's kiss, and, in the distance, the chirping of birds.

"Hey, Solomon, wake up! They're coming out!" Wong's urgent shake snapped Solomon out of his meditation.

Yawning, Solomon opened his eyes. 

This, as the Ancient One had explained, was the natural progression of his saintly powers. His physical capabilities were beginning to surpass that of ordinary humans—enhanced hearing, sharper vision. These abilities would continue to develop as he aged. He wasn't a superhero, as the Ancient One had once clarified, but his body had been strengthened by magic. Still human, though to regular people, his gifts would seem extraordinary.

He had merely been meditating, not using the Astral Projection technique that he so disliked. The spell had been adapted by the Ancient One from esoteric Tibetan teachings, used mainly by Kamar-Taj sorcerers to study throughout the night without needing sleep.

Solomon, however, had nothing but disdain for it. Sleeping should be done properly, without complicating things with magic.

Kamar-Taj's library also contained other such techniques for those interested, like Zhang Boduan's Soul Travel. But few, if any, bothered to learn them. Despite the enticing promise of extending life through soul cultivation, the time commitment was too great and clashed with Kamar-Taj's more practical philosophy.

Following Wong's gaze, Solomon looked out the window. There, just outside the glass, Ricky White was walking out of the town hall, arm-in-arm with his secretary Gloria, both heading toward a black sedan parked nearby.

"Wait. Don't interrupt my spell," Solomon muttered as he pulled his hand back and began whispering an incantation.

Salem wasn't a large town, and its streets were similarly narrow. Most of the buildings had cold, gray-black exteriors, giving the town a somber, muted atmosphere. It seemed the locals preferred a quieter way of life, uninterested in expanding into a bustling city.

The café was close enough to the town hall for Solomon to cast a spell within range.

Wong watched as Solomon pointed his finger, and in an instant, Ricky White and his secretary stumbled and fell to the ground. 

When Wong looked closer, he gasped in disbelief.

"You… you pulled his pants down! What kind of magic is that?" Wong's eyes widened in shock as he turned to Solomon.

"It's Pantsing," Solomon replied coolly.

The spell was a simple trick that many apprentices on Golarion would use to play pranks on each other. But seasoned wizards kept it in their repertoire for good reason. No matter how well you buckled a belt or fastened suspenders, if the spell targeted you, your pants would fall to your ankles. And unless you were ready to fight in your underwear, even legendary warriors would find themselves tripping over their own trousers.

Who wouldn't trip over their pants once they fell?

Ricky White scrambled to his feet, red-faced and flustered, while his black-suited bodyguards moved quickly to shield him from the crowd's view. After all, a senator publicly losing his pants wasn't exactly good publicity.

"Alright, we can move in now," Solomon said, standing up and making his way toward their target, muttering another spell under his breath.

One by one, the bodyguards bent down as their own pants dropped to their ankles, eliciting gasps from onlookers. The scene quickly drew the attention of curious tourists, and Solomon and Wong hurriedly pushed through the crowd toward Ricky White.

As the bodyguards fumbled to pull up their pants and block the cameras of paparazzi, they were further hindered by the quick-footed reporters who stepped on their pants legs, preventing them from moving.

Solomon weaved his way through the crowd, casting spells as he went. The reactions and movements of those around him slowed as his magic took effect. He raised a hand above his head, scattering golden dust over the gathered crowd.

"Close your eyes," Solomon whispered to Wong, just before a blinding flash of light filled the square. Onlookers instinctively squeezed their eyes shut, and some even teared up from the intensity of the light.

"Quick! It's the one with the pink gemstone!" Solomon urged.

---

Spell References:

Pantsing

- School: Transmutation; Level: Bard 0, Sorcerer/Wizard 0

- Casting Time: 1 standard action

- Components: V (verbal), S (somatic)

- Range: Close (25 ft. + 5 ft./2 levels)

- Target: One creature wearing pants

- Duration: Instantaneous

- Saving Throw: Will negates; Spell Resistance: Yes

- You cause the target's pants to fall around their ankles. Belts or suspenders cannot prevent this, though armor that covers the legs, such as full plate, can negate the effect.

Pause

- School: Enchantment (Compulsion); Level: Bard 0, Sorcerer/Wizard 0

- Casting Time: 1 immediate action

- Components: V (verbal), S (somatic)

- Range: Close (25 ft. + 5 ft./2 levels)

- Target: One creature

- Duration: Instantaneous

- Saving Throw: Will negates; Spell Resistance: Yes

- This spell briefly slows the target's reaction time, imposing a -4 penalty to initiative (minimum initiative 0). If the target has already acted in the round, this spell does not grant an extra action. Their new initiative applies in the following round.

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