The Holy Son in Marvel

Over the long years, the Supreme Sorcerer had captured manifestations of Mephisto multiple times, so he knew exactly how to use this incarnation to trouble his old nemesis. The Sorcerer Supreme was more than adept at such tactics—for instance, he could use this incarnation to siphon some of Mephisto's true power or even throw it onto Heaven's Mountain, breaking the millennium-old contract between the upper and lower planes.

If he chose the latter approach, caution was necessary. The contract with Heaven involved not just Hell but also the Abyss. Several demons and devils among the seventy-two demon lords had signed it, and even certain ancient deities were involved. A sudden conflict between the upper and lower planes would be disastrous for Earth, especially with Solomon involved. The Supreme Sorcerer did not want Solomon to face the pressures from both sides until he had fully subdued the seventy-two demon lords.

"You should be resting," the Sorcerer said when Solomon returned to the training grounds. "You have class tomorrow."

"Regular school courses. Not difficult at all. Honestly, Eaton's curriculum is manageable," Solomon replied with a shrug. "Teacher, you know I'm at the top of my class, right?"

"Though I've never attended a parent-teacher conference, Athena has kept me updated on your grades. I must say, you're quite impressive in every way," the Sorcerer said, raising an eyebrow and wagging his finger. "Except for your sleep schedule."

"Can't I play a game after I finish my homework?"

"Nope!" The Sorcerer shook his head.

"I'll just play one round of Call of Duty. I promise I won't go over time..."

"Don't even think about it. You need rest. You should be fully alert when other Londoners are waking up," the Sorcerer said. "I hear you're now the teacher's disciplinary assistant."

"How does everyone know that?" Solomon was taken aback. He'd assumed this news would only spread in a small circle, but apparently even the Sorcerer was aware. "We use a whip," he added. "We can't publicly flog rule-breakers anymore, nor can we use much force, unfortunately."

"It doesn't matter; you're now an enforcer of the rules. I bet many of your classmates fear you, no matter what noble family they're from. This is good," the Sorcerer said abruptly, changing the subject. "I plan to attend your next parent-teacher conference."

"What?" Solomon was shocked, especially when the Sorcerer mentioned Athena—who had recently been aggressively inviting him out, leaving him unsure of how to decline.

"Don't worry; I have my ways. Athena and I will go together," the Sorcerer said, giving a mysterious wink. "I look forward to seeing you there, Solomon."

Faced with his teacher's "threat," Solomon had no choice but to head back to his room. Before going to bed, he texted Coulson to confirm tomorrow's meeting time and let Bayonetta and Jeanne know he'd be staying at Kamar-Taj headquarters tonight. He needed to switch time zones between London and EST, and if he didn't get to sleep soon, he'd miss everything.

"So, last night, you beat up the prince of Hell and then took on the Lord of Hell himself?" Coulson squinted as he glanced at his watch, his expression hard to describe. "Sounds... a bit incredible."

"You're still not ready to accept how bizarre the world is, no matter how many times you experience it," Solomon replied dismissively. "That's why ordinary people can't know about magic—it would drive them insane. The fact you haven't lost your mind is strange. In medieval Europe, magic was somewhat acceptable—during the Arthurian times and before. After that, Europe entered its Dark Ages."

"Prejudice, more prejudice! Those were moral codes, Solomon! You can recite the Bible, yet you don't take it seriously, do you?" Coulson sighed, then handed Solomon a taco from the bench beside him. They were seated on a bench in Central Park, and next to Coulson was a silver briefcase containing the item Solomon had requested.

Initially, Solomon wanted to stage a classic covert exchange—sitting on a bench behind Coulson, hiding his face with a newspaper. But his terrible acting, paired with the fact he couldn't read the newspaper in the dark, only made him look suspicious. So, Coulson had insisted that Solomon sit beside him and stop acting oddly.

The early spring night was still chilly, and Coulson, wearing only a light gray suit, had waited for some time as Solomon hadn't shown up or answered his phone.

"Can you even adjust to this time difference?" Coulson asked with some irritation. "Even though I'm an agent, it's already midnight. I'm no night-loving vampire. Usually, I'd be asleep by now instead of freezing in a park... I know it's 7 p.m. in London right now, but New York is a day behind. Congratulations, you gained yourself an extra day."

"What could I do?" Solomon retorted, frowning. "I have to wait until after school. I'm a high school student, you know. Not at a public school that ends at three, but at a British public school full of top brass and aristocrats. You know, I have to read the paper every morning because it's what a gentleman does! From the papers, I can even deduce people's backgrounds. Those who read The Mirror or The Guardian are all high-ranking politicians or from noble families; those who read The Times or The Financial Times are from bureaucratic or business backgrounds; and those reading Le Figaro or The Daily Telegraph are probably foreigners, possibly French. And as for The Daily Mail readers—they're quite popular in restrooms. Anyone reading The Sun, well... who wouldn't want to check out the Page Three girl?"

"Your life seems more colorful than I imagined," Coulson said, looking into Solomon's eyes with curiosity. "I thought you'd be the kind of wizard brewing potions in a cauldron."

"Now it's done in the chemistry lab, Coulson. Magic is a scientific field, objectively speaking, and we keep up with the times. Eaton has top-notch facilities; they have everything I need for alchemical preparations."

"So should I be concerned about Eaton's environmental impact? You're not just discarding waste, are you?"

"No worries. My slugs eat all the alchemical waste."

"Slugs?"

"Magic-eating slugs. I got them from Vandazar Fogg's garden. They were blue, but they're all rainbow-colored now," Solomon shrugged. "I don't know what kind of reaction the alchemical waste caused in their stomachs. Technically, it should've all lost potency by now. I'm afraid to poke them, though. They might explode—oh! I just thought of a great idea!"

"Fine, put the great idea aside," Coulson replied, taking a deep breath. He placed the silver briefcase on his lap and lifted it. A soft blue light scanned his iris, and the case unlocked. "This is what you wanted." He opened it, displaying the book. The built-in LED lights illuminated its cover.

"I hope this is the right one," Coulson said.

"The moment you got this book, you made an irreversible mistake," Solomon replied, putting down his now-cold taco. He picked up the book, leafing through it to check for a table of contents. He needed to know what spells it contained, especially if the summoning spell for Azathoth was included.

"Is something wrong?" Coulson asked.

"Not yet," the mage replied, looking up with a slight smirk. "This book's spells are dangerous. If someone wanted to doom all of humanity, learning the magic in this book would be enough. The good news is that this world has Kamar-Taj. We'll eliminate any fool who tries to use it before they can cause mass destruction—including anyone who knows about it."

"Alright," Coulson said, eyebrows raised, his receding hairline more visible. "Then, shall we work together?"

"Mm-hmm. Didn't say I agreed." Solomon stood up, taking the book and reheating his taco. "I've got other things to handle."

"What things?"

"A tea party with the ladies," Solomon replied. "My art teacher invited me, so I have to attend."

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