The Holy Son in Marvel

Solomon quickly finished writing a short adventure tale in his intense, marathon-like writing style. By the time he was done, the night was deep, and Coulson took the manuscript back to his room, intending to spend the night memorizing it. Solomon, exhausted, lay down and was immediately embraced by a warm body. Natasha Romanoff, utterly unreserved, had stripped off her tactical suit and set it aside, helping Solomon with his gear as well. Solomon didn't even open his eyes, letting Natasha undress him. He was too tired to appreciate the moment—he needed deep, uninterrupted sleep to restore his energy.

"Sleep, magician," Natasha whispered. "We've got work to do tomorrow morning."

The next morning, Solomon awoke late after a full eight hours of sleep. When he opened his eyes, Natasha was already dressed, sitting nearby.

"Agent Coulson's already up. Randolph Carter left early, though we're not sure where he went. I'd advise against following him to avoid arousing suspicion," she said, summarizing the morning's events. Then, with a teasing tone, she added, "You don't act like any other teenage boy. You barely reacted when I held you. I'm starting to wonder if you're even interested in women."

Solomon smirked, feigning nonchalance. "Of course I am, Agent Romanoff. I won't deny you're very attractive, both in looks and figure. But if I lacked self-discipline, I'd never have aced my first class, and besides, I value skill over looks. Also… I have a thing for girls with abs."

"Well, thank you, Sir Damonet. And that might be true—your browsing history certainly supports it," Natasha replied, amused.

"What's wrong with liking slim anime girls?" Solomon's face flushed as he quickly defended himself. "And next time, don't check my browsing history—that's private! Anyway, what are you still doing here?"

"Maybe you should use a different device if you're concerned about privacy," Natasha said with a sly grin, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, I'm your maid for this mission. I'm here to serve my 'master' as part of the role."

"Fine, fine." Solomon rubbed his hands together, jumping out of bed and getting dressed quickly. "What's Coulson up to?"

"He took some of your gold to exchange for pennies, then headed to the tavern, hoping to gather information," Natasha replied, rolling her eyes slightly. "Seems not everyone in this pious town is particularly devout—no respectable tavern should be open in the morning."

"They demand piety from others, not from themselves. It's human nature to be lenient with oneself and harsh on others," Solomon said as he finished dressing and gathered his equipment, including the Sword of Victory. "We'll leave after Carter returns—it's only polite not to leave without saying goodbye."

"But for now, let's start our exploration and try to wrap it up before he returns," Natasha suggested, showing off some of her concealed gear strapped to her wrist. "Even without a gun, I can handle myself. I recommend conserving bullets, though; this era only has muskets."

"I have a wand, magic, and even a sword."

"Lend me the sword—I've had some training."

"Not a chance, Natasha Romanoff," Solomon replied firmly. "Only two people are worthy of wielding this sword, and you're not one of them."

---

"Nothing new," Coulson said with a sigh, returning to Carter's residence in the afternoon. He dropped into a chair in the guest room. "I've booked us three rooms at the inn for tomorrow, so maybe we can extend our search radius. What did you two find?"

"A few things." Solomon sat on the bed, the black soil from the forest still clinging to his boots. "Even with the Eye of Agamotto, I couldn't locate the source of the dark magic or any monster lairs. The entire forest is laced with dark magic, but we found a few areas where it's more concentrated… and some interesting clues."

"There's more than one clearing in the woods, and each shows signs of activity," Natasha added, now clad in local attire to cover her tactical suit. "We found fresh footprints in these areas. Some were clearly from locals' shoes, but some were barefoot. Judging from the footprints, they appear to follow a certain pattern, almost like… a dance. And based on the sizes, they're all women's footprints."

"A witches' gathering," Solomon remarked. "There really are witches in this town."

"Then Abigail might be in the clear. She hasn't left her house recently, nor did she last night," Coulson shrugged. "I ran into some of the girls we met last night and spoke with them. They were indeed performing some sort of ritual, one that Abigail taught them. Her uncle seems to know about it, and the poor girl's lunch was canceled as punishment. I snuck her a little food from the tavern, though—you two ate the extra portions I bought."

"What about the origin of the ritual?" Natasha asked. "Could it have come from Tituba? I didn't study American history; I'm Russian, remember?"

"Spot on," Coulson nodded. "The Black servant girl was punished as well before Carter left the house. Seems the locals have some strong prejudices against voodoo practices."

"The Puritans will continue to despise outsiders and unfamiliar beliefs, no surprise there," Solomon sighed. "So it seems the town does have witches, but neither Abigail nor Tituba is responsible. Those rituals last night were useless—they had no trace of magic whatsoever."

"Exactly. Perhaps these witches are the reason for the anomaly we're trapped in. Solomon, let's move on from Abigail and Tituba—they're not the ones behind this," Coulson said optimistically. "We don't know who the witches are yet, but we'll find them and solve this. I've also discovered reports of missing children in the town—non-white children. It's possible that these disappearances are linked to the witches. As for Carter, we might learn more tonight, but first, there's another pressing matter."

"What is it?" Solomon asked.

"The Salem witch trials," Coulson replied. "They've begun. I heard rumors at the tavern: one of the affected is Mary Walcott, the Putnam family's servant. Reverend Parris is already at her house performing an exorcism, but it's not working. I swore to protect the innocent, and that includes now."

---

Things didn't go as Coulson had hoped. By dusk, a trembling Mary Walcott had confessed to her activities in the forest and implicated Tituba, the Black servant from Carter's household, as the one who taught her the rituals.

Superstition and fervor spread through the town like wildfire.

The fanatical townsfolk gathered with torches, led by the Putnam family, and marched toward Carter's house. Coulson pushed Tituba inside, instructing her to stay with Abigail while he and Natasha stood guard. Coulson alone stood at the door, blocking the residents from storming in. He didn't want to hurt anyone, so he leaned his back against the door, holding them off as best he could.

No matter what he said, the crowd refused to listen. They dismissed him as an outsider, and Anne Putnam's parents even threatened to throw torches at him if he didn't move.

Coulson took a deep breath. "No." He drew his gun. "Don't even think about it."

"What do you think Coulson will do?" Solomon asked, watching Natasha as she held the trembling Tituba and Abigail. "Ever face a situation like this on a mission?"

"Plenty," Natasha replied. "But we had guns, lots of them, plus high-tech gear and sometimes even a Quinjet."

"If it gets worse, I'll protect Agent Coulson," Solomon said. "I won't kill anyone… just break a few bones if necessary."

"Don't worry, Tituba." Abigail whispered, standing on tiptoe to reassure the older girl. "Mr. Coulson's a very skilled scholar. He'll convince them, and the maid will protect you."

Tituba didn't reply, only clutching her arms and curling up in Natasha's hold.

"Listen to me!" Coulson shouted, his voice rising over the crowd. "Calm down! You have no right to do this!"

"It's the will of God! She summoned the devil!" The crowd, faces twisted with rage, waved their torches. "Get out of the way, Londoner! This isn't London—go back to your ship's cabin!"

"What's going on here?" Randolph Carter pushed through the crowd, and his presence seemed to calm them somewhat. Unlike Coulson, Carter held significant influence in the town, not only because of his position at the seminary in Boston but also because he was regarded as a local wise man whose opinions many respected.

"I thought yesterday's incident was just childish mischief," Mr. Putnam said, "but this morning, my servant Mary fell ill, thrashing as if she had a fever. She even screamed and tried to strangle Reverend Parris."

"Her strength was unnatural, nothing like a young girl's," Reverend Parris added, "almost as if she were possessed by the devil! And then we found this under her bed."

Parris held up a crude wooden doll. "It's a tool used by witches for cursing!"

"My daughter confessed," Mr. Putnam continued. "Tituba made it!"

Coulson glanced at Anne Putnam, who was hiding behind her father, looking horrified. "I had no idea!" she cried, her voice almost hysterical. Even

 in the torchlight, her face was pale. "That thing is terrifying; it's a tool for witchcraft!"

"But Anne and her friends took it themselves!" Abigail muttered angrily from behind the door. "It was all their idea…"

Solomon glanced at Abigail, who was still shrouded in mystery. Was this the same girl who had escaped Balthazar's seal? If not, where was that Abigail, and what was the truth about this one?

Randolph Carter opened the door, allowing Tituba to come out, much to Coulson's dismay. As Solomon blocked his way, Carter leaned in and whispered something that only Solomon could hear—a phrase that caught the young mystic completely off guard.

"I'm updating so frequently… shouldn't I be getting some votes? I wonder if anyone has caught on to who's really behind this…"

___________________

Read Ahead

[email protected]/Mutter