Solomon had repeatedly emphasized that he had no interest in the tangled mess between S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra. Helping Agent Victoria Hand was merely an act of kindness—he couldn't bear to see a capable agent die. Agent Coulson, of course, didn't believe a word of it. He knew Solomon had used the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. to expand his influence, seizing assets that once belonged to the organization. This was the first time Coulson had seen the mage since the Hydra uprising and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s collapse. From what little intel he had from surviving agents, he knew Solomon had helped suppress the Hydra coup and retaken the Helicarrier's command center. Whatever his motives, Solomon had saved many good agents—and for that alone, Coulson owed him thanks.
"You really are kind, Agent Coulson. The glow of human virtue on you is blinding," Solomon said with a smirk as he leisurely pushed open the parlor doors and strolled out, completely unconcerned about being shot. "Have you talked to Agent Hill? More precisely, have you spoken with Nick Fury?"
He held his breath as he stepped over a puddle of blood and flesh, then asked in a deliberately rough, nasal tone, "Did Fury ever mention the deal we made?"
"No," Coulson replied, his gaze fixed on the mutilated body of an armed guard. The heavy stench of blood and foul black ichor filled the hall. The man's throat had been torn out, unmistakably by some kind of animal. Remembering the shadows he had seen earlier, Coulson was sure this was Solomon's doing.
Terrifying magic. Unnatural magic. Coulson couldn't imagine anyone being able to defend against such an attack—it was the most unpredictable and devastating assassination method he'd ever witnessed. Slowly, he began to believe Solomon. The mage hadn't sided with Whitehall—in fact, he'd been ready to kill him.
"What kind of deal?" Coulson asked. "And... I'm sorry for doubting your intentions."
"No worries. We've got bigger problems. Fury and I struck an agreement about the aliens—specifically, the Skrulls. He promised to pull them off Earth… I know you know about that, even if you don't know the full picture. The Skrulls—those shape-shifting aliens Captain Marvel's been chasing. Fury's been using them in secret all these years. But some of them got too deep into their roles… one even fell in love with a human. They had a child. Don't ask me about cross-species reproduction—Skrulls, humans, and Kree are all products of the same genetic engineering experiment. No reproductive isolation is expected."
"So what do you want to do? And what happened to the hybrid?"
"Not good. In Skrull mythology, Earth is their promised land. Their place of rebirth. I need your help to find the Skrulls still hiding on Earth. Those shape-shifting worms have no right to taint this sacred planet," Solomon said. "Oh—and look who we have here. Dr. Whitehall, may I ask why you're pointing that gun at me?"
"My esteemed guest, apologies—things got a bit chaotic," Dr. Whitehall replied politely, in his thick German accent, though the muzzle of his pistol remained trained on the mage at the top of the stairs. Behind him, two armed guards leveled their assault rifles at Coulson. "For instance, this S.H.I.E.L.D. agent beside you. Perhaps he can explain the situation. Honestly, I thought you'd be arriving with a full security escort, Augustus."
"Augustus? He doesn't know your identity?" Coulson asked, puzzled. "Why that name?"
"Of course he doesn't. I'm operating under a Hydra cover. A pseudonym is only natural," Solomon whispered with a grin. Then he snapped his fingers.
The shadows of the mansion writhed to life. Distant growls echoed, and a moment later, several inky black hounds—creatures that seemed to be made of oil and hatred—grew from the darkness. Their crimson eyes gleamed, and their throats gurgled with raw malice. They darted through the air too fast to follow. Before the guards could even aim, the shadow-hounds burst from beneath their feet, tearing open their throats before vanishing back into the dark.
"Well. Seems you've got some interesting tricks," Whitehall said, slowly raising his hands. "Perhaps we can renegotiate, as long as you—"
He didn't finish.
From around the corner, a figure lunged at him, slamming him to the ground. Solomon clearly heard Whitehall's skull crack against the marble floor. The man who tackled him radiated madness—his breath was foul, his sweat pungent, his blood vessels bulged, and his heartbeat thundered like a war drum. His eyes were wide, not even blinking as sweat poured into them.
Fueled by hatred, he moved with inhuman speed, fists crashing into Whitehall's face. Screaming, weeping, snarling—he bit into Whitehall's face, teeth crunching through flesh.
Coulson rushed over, gun raised. "Let him go! Johnson! Let go! Solomon—help me here!"
"He's mine!" the man growled, his mouth drenched in blood. He chewed something, and as Whitehall let out a wet, gurgling scream, it became clear—he had bitten off the old Nazi's nose. Mr. Johnson wore a brown, outdated suit, like a traditional professor or doctor. But now his face was pure madness. His bloodshot eyes bulged, his veins pulsed with rage. He looked like poison boiling in human form.
"He's mine!" he screamed again, flailing at Coulson.
Solomon placed a hand on Johnson's shoulder. "Sorry, I don't know what happened here—but I need this man's brain intact."
Johnson flinched at the mage's sudden appearance and shoved him back with surprising strength.
"Back off! Last warning!" Coulson shouted, closing in with his gun. "I don't want to shoot. You're Skye's father."
"Her name is Daisy! Daisy Johnson!"
"Calm down, Mr. Johnson! Calm down!"
"You know I can't calm down, Coulson!" Johnson bared his teeth in a bloody grin. "He killed my wife. He dissected her alive. I found her in a dump. I stitched her back together… piece by piece… Do I not deserve vengeance? And your S.H.I.E.L.D… You took my daughter from me…"
He swung wildly, trying to fend off those preventing his revenge.
As Johnson lost control, Solomon made his move. With speed too fast to follow, he struck Johnson square in the jaw, dropping him cold.
But as Solomon knelt beside Whitehall, he realized the damage was worse than expected. A broken rib had pierced the man's lung, and the profuse nosebleed had flooded his chest cavity. The Nazi was drowning in his own blood, gasping helplessly.
"He's not going to make it," Coulson said grimly.
"Then I'll make use of him." Solomon pulled a small knife from his belt and, with practiced precision, severed Whitehall's head at the base of the neck. He worked fast—Coulson had no time to react before Solomon held the head aloft. Then he cast a preservation spell to stabilize its current condition. He turned to Coulson.
"Keep anyone from interfering."
"What… what are you going to do?" Coulson stammered, shaken by the gruesome scene. He'd seen death before—but never a decapitation like this.
"Catch his soul," Solomon said, holding up his bloodstained hands. "Even the dead must speak."
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Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 256)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 336)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 542)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 924)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1284)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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