The Holy Son in Marvel

"I think it's time to be honest with Agent Coulson," Natasha said, crossing her legs casually. "We tried getting back through the cave, but it didn't work. We're stuck in the same boat, with no external support. We'll need to rely on ourselves and work together. You might as well open the door and listen to what he's managed to find out."

Solomon, filled with questions, got up and opened the wooden door just a crack. Through the gap, he saw Coulson standing outside. "How did you know he'd be here?" Solomon asked Natasha as he gestured for Coulson to come in.

"I'm an agent," Natasha replied without moving from her seat. "Will you tell him, or shall I?"

"You go ahead," Solomon sighed, "I'm tired of explaining magic to people." He pulled out his wand and cast a spell to seal the door, which made Coulson pause in surprise before he nodded and waited for an explanation. Natasha briefed him quickly, laying out the basics: Solomon wasn't some enhanced human but a sorcerer, and the Salem they were in was not real history but a layered version of reality. The real townsfolk of Salem were likely asleep in their beds, oblivious to any of this.

Coulson took a few moments to process all of it. "Part of me wants to believe all of this can be explained with science," he admitted. "But right now, I think I'll take your word for it. Next chance I get, I'm going to church, if that'll help."

"It's strange," Solomon interjected. "I began pursuing Abigail Williams after she escaped from her seal, following her from New York to Salem, where I got pulled into this anomaly. I'm convinced she's the source of this distortion in reality. Have you noticed anything unusual about Abigail?"

"She seems like a perfectly normal country girl," Coulson replied, shaking his head. "She loves her town, dreams of the big city, and is devout. There's no indication she's a threat or capable of causing turmoil. If you're suggesting she's a witch, I'm not on board with that yet. Also, this place might not be reality as we know it; this Abigail could be different from the historical Abigail. And, to be fair, history didn't record any real monsters in Salem."

"What about Tituba?" Solomon asked Natasha, curious about her observations. "The servant girl was a key figure in the Salem trials and one of the first accused of witchcraft."

"She's… normal, almost too normal," Natasha replied. "Her cooking isn't anything to rave about, but she speaks highly of her household and seems content. No sign of resentment or superstitious beliefs. She actually seems like the most rational of them all."

"Are you sure?" Solomon pressed. "If she's putting on a facade, she might be fooling you. After all, she's known to practice voodoo."

"With over two hundred microexpressions for detecting lies, I'm confident," Natasha replied as she chewed on a piece of jerky. "I know how to spot a liar, kiddo—I'm the best."

"Fine, we'll go with that." Solomon nodded. "In that case, our suspicion centers on one person."

"Randolph Carter," Coulson added. "Aside from his friendliness toward us, something about him is odd. Historically, Abigail Williams was the niece of Reverend Samuel Parris, and Tituba was his household's slave, not Randolph Carter's. In fact, the historical trials may have been influenced by ergot poisoning, which causes hallucinations due to ergot alkaloids in contaminated rye. In the Middle Ages, such 'dancing plagues' were common; on July 24, 1374, villagers along the Rhine—"

"Thank you, Professor Coulson," Solomon interrupted with a wave, cutting off Coulson's historical analysis. "Historically, yes, the trials were likely fueled by ergot and the Puritans' fanaticism. However, in the original reality, Abigail Williams was indeed a witch. I sensed her magic. Here, we're dealing with a distorted reality where she might be something far worse. Any ideas? Frankly, I suggest we take the direct approach and eliminate Abigail Williams. Removing the main anomaly might reveal the rest of the plot."

"No! Absolutely not!" Coulson immediately opposed the idea. "Unless we confirm this Abigail is the cause of the anomaly, I won't condone such an approach. My duty as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is to protect civilians, not harm them, even for the 'right' outcome. This principle won't change just because we're three hundred years in the past, or because this reality supposedly won't affect ours. I won't allow it without a proper investigation—no way!"

Solomon and Natasha exchanged a look. As a mystic, Solomon knew Coulson was a lawful, principled person; unlike himself or Natasha, Coulson was motivated by genuine conviction in his work. Solomon understood this, and he didn't intend to convince Coulson otherwise, knowing that in an emergency, Coulson would ultimately make the right call.

"But keep in mind, Coulson, we might be dealing with forces beyond even my understanding," Solomon sighed. "If it comes down to it, I hope you won't stand in my way. You're a good man, Coulson, but leave this burden to me."

"I'm willing as well," Natasha added. "I can handle the weight. I'm used to it."

A heavy silence filled the room. After a long moment, Coulson's voice broke through, rough and hesitant. "You're only fifteen, Solomon Damonet. I've read your file, and I don't know what you've been through, but your actions back in Colinton showed the kind of choices you're prepared to make. Still, you're a minor. Let me handle this if it comes to that. I'll know what to do."

"Alright," Solomon agreed, nodding. "We've reached an understanding. Now, let's proceed with the investigation. I'm familiar with the name Randolph Carter—it's famous. But I can't say for sure if he's the one I think he is… Coulson, I need you to observe Carter, paying special attention to whether he mentions any unusual names, like Ulthar or Elek-Vada. If he doesn't, try bringing him a cat."

"A cat? Why?" Natasha asked, surprised. "Is he some kind of mystical Baba Yaga who needs a feline familiar?"

"If he's the Randolph Carter I'm thinking of, he's an extreme cat lover. If he confirms his identity, I'll have an idea of his purpose here," Solomon explained. "You wouldn't understand the way occultists work; magic requires deals. I… might have unknowingly inherited a debt. Or rather, a series of debts that he could be here to collect."

"You mean… this is all connected to you?" Coulson asked, curious. "What exactly do you owe?"

"I'm not sure—my soul, perhaps?" Solomon held up a ring on his left pinky. "I've accrued quite a few debts. This ring is essentially my IOU. When I die, demons will fight for my soul, and Mr. Carter will have to take his place in line behind Belial."

"So, what's the plan?" Natasha asked with a sigh. "Confirm Carter's identity, then notify all your creditors and let them fight it out for your soul?"

"Only if I'm right and he's the Carter I think he is," Solomon replied. "If he is, I'll try summoning a demon. If the directional summoning spell fails, then we'll proceed step by step. Coulson, your task is to speak with Mr. Carter and share your 'adventures.' If he isn't who I think he is, we'll need to dig deeper."

"Are you sure?" Coulson raised an eyebrow. "Even if I bend confidentiality, I can't tell him much. I certainly can't explain what a Quinjet is."

"I'll write the stories, and you'll tell them," Solomon offered, producing blank parchment and a quill from his dimensional bag. "Before I studied magic, I read the biographies of Kamar-Taj sorcerers as novels. I'll adapt them into a few tales of exploration for you. I trust you can memorize them, Agent Coulson."

"Didn't expect to be reciting stories again," Coulson muttered, tugging his tie to ease the tension. He had encountered so many extraordinary things today that he could hardly keep his cool.

"And what about you and Natasha?" Coulson asked.

"At dawn, we'll head into the town and forest to investigate further. I'll also buy Agent Romanoff some period-appropriate clothes," Solomon said. "Don't worry, I have a stash of gold. If the trials start, Natasha could easily be accused of witchcraft because of her beauty, especially since we're foreigners. Don't be surprised, Natasha—your Orthodox Church doesn't share the same zeal, but Puritans are like this. And if anyone tries to send you to the gallows, I'll handle them."

"Thanks for the thought, kid," Natasha replied with a wink. "But don't underestimate me. If you don't use magic, you wouldn't stand a chance against me."

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