"Why the hell didn't anyone tell me about this?"
"You had clearance to view that information," Agent Hill said with a shrug. "You just never bothered to look at it, did you?"
"You know I'm a busy guy. Running a company—okay, maybe Pepper and Friday do most of the work, but that doesn't mean I contribute nothing. I still have to lobby in Washington, deal with bureaucrats," Stark took a deep breath, feeling like his heart was about to punch through his ribcage. "Do you realize what Solomon would do with a nuke? Can't we negotiate with him, talk him down like we did with Ukraine?"
"I've got Solomon's intelligence profile right here. Want me to read it out? Let me save you the trouble—he's not an idiot, Stark. He's smarter than you," Hill rolled her eyes again. As the Avengers' operations chief, she not only coordinated logistics but also kept a watchful eye on their ever-unpredictable members, offering Congress and the White House some modicum of assurance, just like she did when SHIELD was still standing.
"We still don't know exactly why Solomon would threaten Coulson with nukes, but they've known each other for years. If he's willing to kill an old friend to stop something, that means he's seen intel that's horrifying. We should trust his judgment."
"I didn't think you'd say that. I thought you hated the guy. Is that some kind of professional psychological assessment?"
"It's a direct evaluation from Nick Fury. Whether or not I like him is irrelevant," Hill didn't hide that she still kept in touch with Fury. Though she told Congress she had no ties to him anymore, reality was another story. "Fury trusts Solomon's judgment. He believes Solomon can set aside personal feelings to make decisions that benefit humanity as a whole. He said long ago: Solomon is just like him."
"Just as cold-blooded and willing to do whatever it takes to win?"
"Trust me, that's a compliment in their world."
"Shit... I'm starting to think Solomon's involved with the whole New York mess too." Stark stroked the stubble on his chin, instructing Friday to pull up all building damage timelines and geolocation data that coincided with the air crash. "Agent Hill, I need you to grant me full access to today's surveillance across New York City. Let Friday run facial recognition. We might spot a familiar face or two."
——————————
A stinging sensation, like thin fingers, brushed against Solomon's and Bayonetta's minds, trying to drive searing nails into their souls. The air was scorching, like heat shimmering above asphalt, and they were surrounded by countless enemies. Yet neither the magus nor the witch showed any sign of fear. Solomon put on his helmet, and the crimson lenses lit up, scanning and tagging every foe with flawless precision.
Even if an angel tried to flank him, his armor's detection system would alert him.
Bayonetta fired first, then spun around, gunning down enemies behind her.
Solomon stepped into the gap she left. He threw a punch that shattered the marble face of the lower angel of Tolerance. Then, from under his left arm, his explosive gun burst to life. With its rapid-fire power, it smashed through the arm of a centaur-like lower archangel of Glory. Solomon didn't pursue. Instead, he switched directions. Just as the wounded archangel thought it had spotted an opening and lunged forward with a spear, Bayonetta's blade sliced it in half from top to bottom.
Bayonetta's combat was a dance of elegance, a spinning dagger with endless grace. Solomon's was the opposite—like a warhammer, he crushed everything in his path. With his holy sword and explosive rounds, he shielded Bayonetta from attacks she would've otherwise had to dodge. In turn, she used the openings he created to strike with deadly precision. Spin, strike, advance. Their senses were linked—they saw what the other saw, reacted as one.
Within a few heartbeats, they changed tactics again.
The witch pulled Solomon into Witch Time, a spell of hyper-awareness that froze their enemies in motion like insects in amber. Solomon didn't hesitate. His blazing holy sword carved through weapons and armor with impossible speed. Meanwhile, Bayonetta pulled a heavy machine gun from her hair and riddled the largest archangel of Knowledge with rounds. When Witch Time ended, the enemies around them erupted in geysers of rosemary-scented blood. Bayonetta dropped the machine gun, leapt off Solomon's armor, and cleanly decapitated the critically wounded foe with dual blades. Solomon fired his jetpack and drove his holy sword into the head of the angel whose skull was fused to a greatsword.
From above, a serpentine seraph dove, slamming its massive metallic claws down toward them.
An orange-red shield suddenly flared into existence, blocking the attack with a deafening crack. Sparks exploded like a firework. Bayonetta turned, blew Solomon a kiss, and leapt off the flaming shield onto the seraph's head. Solomon vaulted in the other direction, killing the one-armed mid-rank angel of Faith with his sword, then fired up his jetpack to follow Bayonetta. But instead of attacking the seraph's head, he cast a spell on its limbs—Crimson Bands of Cyttorak. Scarlet ribbons from a dimensional rift coiled around the massive seraph, binding it tightly. Solomon dragged it away to keep its claws and fangs from reaching Bayonetta. The alien energy scorched deep burns into the seraph's gleaming red-and-white ceramic skin, inflicting unbearable agony.
The seraph clawed the air, then took off, carrying both Solomon and Bayonetta upward.
But altitude was never an obstacle to their battle. Solomon turned off his jetpack and switched to flight magic. Bayonetta leapt from the seraph's fractured head, her bare back unfurling black-purple wings tinged with blue at the tips. She chanted in Enochian, and a massive hand formed from her black hair stretched from a summoning circle.
Solomon recognized it immediately—gray-blue skin, crimson-tipped nails—it was Madame Butterfly.
The demoness emerged halfway through the rift, clenched her colossal fists, and pounded the seraph's serpentine skull with blows that cracked its ceramic shell. The golden ornaments embedded in its hide twisted and sank into raw flesh. Perhaps deciding this wasn't brutal enough, Madame Butterfly grabbed the seraph's metallic claws, yanked it close, and headbutted its snout until it caved in. Even as her summon neared its time limit, the demoness gleefully tore off the seraph's claws and swung its long body around like a child playing with a new toy.
"Next time remind me never to say anything bad about Madame Butterfly," Solomon said to Bayonetta as they watched the stunned seraph spiral toward the ground. The witch clung tightly to his neck, just like when they'd first arrived in Noahduun. He reengaged his jetpack, diving at fighter jet speed to pursue the falling enemy. They had to be sure it died.
"Don't worry, little boy."
The witch giggled. The screaming wind didn't muffle her thoughts—Solomon could feel her blood boiling, adrenaline spiking. She was itching to do something very... inappropriate for public spaces.
"Madame Butterfly really likes you. I promise."
(End of Chapter)
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