The Holy Son in Marvel

"You think you can steal my soul with just a mortal's body?" Solomon raised his wand, aiming it at the devil. "Mephisto, I didn't expect you to be this irrational."

"Steal? No, no, no, I never do such things." The old devil adopted a look as if he had been deeply insulted. "My job is to offer my clients the best possible future, and high-value undecided clients like you are critical investments. Just admit it, Solomon, you want that position. I want you to take the Seventh Throne too; why else would you have sent Captain America to confront my knight? Maybe it was subconscious, but you and I share the same dark nature. Deep down, you just want to see beautiful ideals torn apart right before your eyes."

The archmage raised an eyebrow, completely unsure why Mephisto would say that. Seeing Solomon's puzzled look, the old devil suddenly burst into hysterical laughter, stomping his foot and pounding his chest as he coughed.

"See, Solomon," Mephisto said with a smile, "you're not even aware of your own darkness. It's so fascinating. Oh, dear Prince of Demons, just like with human hypnosis, you need something shocking enough to put a person into a temporary trance, something like a sudden clap or snap, that overwhelms the brain and makes it receptive to new instructions. For a common man like Steve Rogers, my knight was shocking enough. His mere presence shattered everything that Rogers, that uneducated soldier, ever understood—more than even the shock of finding himself seventy years in the future. I'm certain he's already started doubting everything SHIELD has told him. So, what will you do next? Slowly dismantle his faith in America, or shake his values to the core? Either way, it's a fascinating toy, isn't it?"

"Just admit it, Solomon." Mephisto lowered his voice, placing a hand on the table and leaning in closer to Solomon. "This is all part of your darker nature. You're secretly looking forward to this. What will you reveal to Steve Rogers next? The money and documents that American financiers provided to the NC before World War II? The real origins of the eugenics movement? Or the massacres of Native Americans by Saxons? Steve Rogers is ripe to accept these truths now. I must say, you instinctively lead people toward corruption. You're a born Satan—far more capable than that fool who actually calls himself Satan."

Solomon looked at the devil leaning in and laughed. "Not a bad idea, Mephisto." The archmage had to admit that Mephisto's words aligned closely with his own plan, though his intentions differed slightly. It wasn't an overly critical scheme, but Solomon enjoyed watching Captain America search for something truly worth fighting for—not America, but something else of greater importance. Of course, if Rogers failed to establish new beliefs, complete corruption was also a possibility.

Yet the archmage believed in Steve Rogers' soul. Perhaps precisely because he was just a simple soldier, he held such pure beliefs. Sooner or later, Steve Rogers would find something worth defending; otherwise, he would never have wielded Thor's hammer. Solomon trusted that even if Mephisto personally pushed this plan, Steve Rogers would not easily succumb.

"This is your game, Solomon, and I won't take away your fun. A fully corrupted Steve Rogers' soul would indeed be highly valuable—and it's yours," Mephisto said with a wink. "Here's a bit of inside news: Satan's son and daughter have been born. They didn't get along well before, but now they could be of use to you. So, how about we strike a deal to topple that idiot from his throne?"

"Is there candy in Hell?"

"What?"

"A place without junk food can hardly be called Hell."

"I've opened a chain of junk food restaurants," the old devil said proudly. "One-third of the American population is now obese, and 18% of deaths among white people aged 40 to 85 are due to obesity. It's a small investment of mine, and I must say I have a good eye for business. Without my backing, junk food would never have taken off globally. Now, on other planets—be it in the Kree Empire, the Shi'ar Empire, or anywhere else—any race that eats will recognize my chain. This investment brings me continuous revenue year after year. It's my most profitable venture since World War II. People often imagine us as terrifying, but really, we're just businessmen. War has its way of doing things, and peace has another. A single bullet may not kill, but a pen can decide the lives of thousands. That's how Nine Hells Investments operates. I formally invite you to join us, to become one of us."

Solomon narrowed his eyes. What Mephisto wanted was essentially to oust a disobedient shareholder and place one of his own in that position. Solomon believed that Mephisto would deliver on his promises, but this was a devil—Mephisto could retract those promises at any time. Solomon was not naive enough to trust a devil's contract, and Mephisto knew this. That's why he hadn't produced a contract yet, intending instead to draft terms on the spot.

"I'm an honest devil, truly." Mephisto licked the feathered pen he had produced from nowhere and began writing terms on a blank sheet of paper. "In this business, our reputation is everything. Intimidation and coercion are outdated and only lead to client distrust. I learned this from those capitalist souls in Hell. Let me tell you, they're something else. In the last century, Hell's contract volume has only increased. Until I drained every ounce of knowledge from their souls, they kept suggesting deals. Nine Hells, I've never met such greedy people—they'd even sell the rope they'd use to hang themselves. Even Mammon isn't that stupid."

"But I never agreed to sign a contract," Solomon said, twirling his wand as he watched Mephisto's astonished expression. "Because you lack the power to enforce it, Mephisto. You can't breach the Abyss to retrieve the contract from Belial. That contract binds my soul, while your contract is meaningless until it takes effect. It's a deadlock; without that contract, nothing else matters."

"Dear King Solomon, how could you think that way?" Mephisto responded with a smile. "This is a futures contract, like human ones. We can set the execution date far enough into the future. We could fulfill it when you arrive in Hell."

"That throne, however, doesn't appeal to me much." The archmage pulled a silver key from his coat. "I have other invitations, you see."

"This is..."

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