The Holy Son in Marvel

Solomon tilted his head, eyeing Nick Fury. He hadn't expected Fury to be so cooperative this time—almost suspiciously so. Knowing Fury was not the kind of man to let things slide without assurance, Solomon guessed he might have some leverage… or perhaps he'd already uncovered key information from their last mission?

The sorcerer recalled Coulson's fascination with Randolph Carter's bookshelf and the sequence of them boarding the carriage. Solomon had been the first to get on, followed by Coulson and Natasha. For a short moment, Solomon had no idea what Coulson had been up to. This realization sharpened his gaze.

"How much did you see?" he asked directly. "How much did Coulson take?"

Fury looked at Solomon, perplexed, as orange-red sparks flickered in the sorcerer's hands. "What are you talking about?" Fury asked. "Don't you think you owe me an explanation?"

"You agents—always good at sneaking around, but it's me left to clean up the mess." Solomon's expression turned serious. "Hand it over, Nick Fury, or I'll pull the answer straight from your mind."

"Hey, calm down, Solomon." Fury pushed his chair back, gliding a bit away. "You'd better explain yourself. If what you're talking about is dangerous, I might actually be able to help."

"How many books did Coulson take from that strange place?" Solomon summoned Phoenix, which gripped Fury's collar with its powerful claws. The director, an ordinary man, could hardly resist a creature of demonic strength. "And how much of it did you read? I need to know—not just to keep you from going insane, but to prevent any fool from summoning an evil god."

"Agent Coulson didn't give me anything!" Fury raised his voice. "I'll admit, I've gathered magical intel, but after the last mission, Coulson didn't hand me a single thing. Now, get your bird to let me down!"

Unmoved by Fury's protest, Solomon wasn't inclined to take his word at face value. He stepped closer, placing his wand at Fury's temple, and cast a "Memory Code" spell. Instantly, a glowing, smoky strand of energy was drawn from Fury's mind. This spell allowed the caster to extract specific memories, thoughts, or information from the subject's mind, to be examined at will. Unlike mind-reading spells, Memory Code was precise; mentioning Coulson and the last mission would bring related memories to the surface, ready for Solomon's extraction.

"Motherfck!" Fury struggled, but Phoenix's razor-sharp beak hovered menacingly in front of his only eye, ready to strike.

With a wave, Solomon signaled Phoenix to release him. Fury's face soured, clearly displeased by the sorcerer's invasive methods, though he could do nothing but glare. "You can tell me yourself, or I can keep looking," Solomon said, placing the extracted memory into a vial. "I don't know what you know, so I'll keep searching until I find what I need. I know what kind of man you are, Fury. It's way too suspicious that you're letting this slide so easily."

"I'm only following your advice, Solomon," Fury retorted, annoyed. "You've stressed the dangers of magic time and again, and I've seen it firsthand. I know when to leave things to the professionals—I'm not some clueless congressman or cabinet minister!"

"Oh really? Because in my experience, you hardly ever take advice." Solomon smirked. "When did you become so agreeable?"

"I've always been reasonable," Fury raised his voice. "Don't you trust me at all, Solomon Damonet?"

"Actually, I've changed my name. Now I'm Solomon Messiah Damonet Pendragon—or Solomon Messiah Pendragon Damonet. I haven't decided on the last name yet."

"Oh, so now you're King Arthur? Going from Jewish to Celtic?" Fury's breaths grew heavier, his irritation plain. "Forget the damn name. I want to know what happened in Salem! Do you know what Coulson said? Three hundred years! Romanoff said the same! If I hadn't confirmed they hadn't lost their minds, do you think I'd let you off like this?"

"So, what do you actually know?" Solomon took a seat again, pulling Phoenix onto his lap. The large bird seemed to enjoy being held, nuzzling insistently into his chest like a cat, much to Solomon's amusement.

"Nothing!" Fury yelled. "Just 'three hundred years!' 'Elder god!'"

"If this office weren't soundproof, people would think you've lost it too," Solomon said with a dismissive wave. "Yes, the three-hundred-year time gap is real, but it wasn't really Salem three hundred years ago. It was a snippet of time."

"Who did it? Where is he now?" Fury, finally calming down, took a deep breath and settled back in his chair. "Coulson and Romanoff only know so much. This is magic; Kamar-Taj should know, right?"

"Randolph Carter isn't human, or rather, he once was, but he's transcended." The sorcerer glanced at Fury through Phoenix's golden-red feathers. "Your agents definitely mentioned his name to you, so drop the games. Randolph Carter has left this universe with Abigail Williams."

"Where did they go?"

"To the ultimate abyss in another universe."

"Does it have anything to do with that silver key around your neck?"

"That's none of your concern." Solomon narrowed his eyes. Fury, the ultimate spy, could connect even the smallest dots.

"And I've also seen Kamar-Taj sorcerers recently in Africa and Canada…"

"Whoa, stop right there," Solomon cut him off. "That's our business, and don't expect any handouts. Anyone besides me or the Supreme Sorcerer who reads unedited magic texts about elder gods has only one path: madness. And I'll make sure to put them out of their misery. Even if it were you, I'd end your suffering—and not even Captain America could stop me."

"So, you found out?"

"I've known for a while."

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