The Holy Son in Marvel

Nyarlathotep, the Outer God representing chaos among the Three Pillars, delights in deceiving and seducing humanity. As an agent of madness, chaos, and destruction, he lays traps for the unwary, deriving pleasure from luring people into terror and despair until they lose their sanity. Known as the God of a Thousand Faces, he has countless avatars, using chaos, deception, and schemes as his trademark tactics.

Solomon now felt certain that Nyarlathotep was aware of his conversation with Randolph Carter, who had already informed him of the many forms of the Crawling Chaos. The arcanist also realized that if the Natasha before him hadn't been replaced, then the Matthew Hopkins who had gone to the witches' residence was undoubtedly an avatar of Nyarlathotep. This was a reminder from Nyarlathotep, planting a seed of doubt within Solomon's mind, hinting that Salem might host more than one manifestation of the Crawling Chaos, waiting to take root and grow.

The arcanist's task now was to determine whether the Natasha before him was indeed herself. If she was, then he had to ask which other entities in Salem were Nyarlathotep's avatars. Could it be Coulson? Or perhaps Judge Cotton Mather? If she wasn't Natasha, then she was one of Nyarlathotep's forms. In that case, where was the real Natasha? How would he find her? And what should he do about this Nyarlathotep avatar standing before him? Had it lied about Matthew Hopkins? Was this avatar the "Dark One," or was there more than one manifestation of Nyarlathotep in Salem?

An avalanche of questions flooded Solomon's mind in an instant. Each question seemed to spin back on the last, tangling in a knot of confusion, which, he knew, was exactly the kind of amusement Nyarlathotep enjoyed. Anyone facing him had to be extraordinarily cautious, employing every ounce of wit to unravel the deadly riddles left by the Crawling Chaos. Solomon didn't pause to ponder further. Instead, he aimed his wand at the throat of the person before him—ensuring that Natasha, or Nyarlathotep, posed no immediate threat.

"I'll tell you," Natasha—or Nyarlathotep—said. "It was a children's hospital; I set it on fire. That's my biggest regret, something I've told you before. If there is a devil in this world, then it's done its work through me."

Solomon didn't lower his wand; its tip was still charged with a bright blue glow. He hadn't really expected to get an answer by asking her that question. Even if Nyarlathotep had replaced Natasha, he couldn't confirm whether the Crawling Chaos would have her memories. Proving objectively that someone was truly themselves was a paradox, and Solomon had devised this line of questioning as a trap for a potential avatar of Nyarlathotep—a psychological game between him and the entity.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Natasha/Nyarlathotep blinked. "I've read philosophy books on identity during my downtime; it's nearly impossible to prove. And with Hume's skepticism, I'd never be able to prove it. After all, I had breakfast today, and my body's elements and cells have surely changed. What exactly are you doubting, young man?"

The philosophical response didn't mean much, as it was knowledge any spy or even Nyarlathotep could have.

"You have no idea how many people admire you," Solomon replied, attempting to steer the conversation in another direction, though his hand holding the wand remained steady. "In fact, I once painted an oil portrait of you when I was twelve."

"Oh, I didn't know you were a fan," Natasha/Nyarlathotep laughed, her face partly concealed by her fake beard. "Did you already know about SHIELD then? Wasn't the EU Young Scientists' Awards the first time we met? What did you paint me in? A bodysuit? Business attire… or lingerie?"

"I knew about you for a long time," Solomon replied, keeping his statements vague enough to apply to either Natasha or Nyarlathotep. "I painted you in a Japanese schoolgirl's uniform, a red qipao, and a lavish court dress."

Nyarlathotep was known for having countless human-like avatars. As for the Japanese schoolgirl uniform… who knew if there was an avatar named Nyaruko among Nyarlathotep's forms. Solomon decided to bring them all up at once.

"Okay~ I didn't know you were into that." Natasha/Nyarlathotep averted her eyes, appearing slightly embarrassed. But Solomon couldn't tell if it was due to the spy's natural skill or Nyarlathotep's inherent cunning.

"I just thought you'd look fitting in that outfit." Despite his repeated probing, Solomon couldn't detect any hints suggesting a connection to Nyarlathotep. He frowned, realizing he couldn't afford to spend all his time on this. If he did, he'd fall right into Nyarlathotep's trap.

He then thought of another way to verify her identity—something outside verbal reasoning. Though risky and costly, it was still a possible solution. Confident he could ensure the method's safety, Solomon took a step closer, pressing Natasha/Nyarlathotep to move further into the narrow alleyway.

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"I'm really sorry. Truly, I am." Solomon walked behind Natasha, following her through the narrow, shadowed alleyways of the town, with the dog trailing behind him. The front of Natasha's clothes was stained with dark red blood, though there were no wounds beneath. Despite his repeated apologies, Natasha refused to respond. Solomon understood; after all, she had been dead for about 50 seconds, and it was his hand that had done it.

Solomon had used this extreme method to verify her identity.

Because Nyarlathotep, when appearing in human form, can be killed by physical means. If slain, its corpse would convulse and expand before exploding, releasing a monstrous creature with long claws (or other grotesque forms) that would rise into the sky and disappear, without further harassing the killer. This was knowledge Randolph Carter had imparted to Solomon, and the arcanist had dared to risk this "test" because of a spell he knew—the Revivify, a third-circle necromancy spell. This positive-energy spell could revive a creature dead for less than a minute in a near-death state. It had cost Solomon a diamond worth six pounds of gold to cast.

With no warning, he had thrust a dagger into Natasha's heart between her ribs. Only after confirming her death by exsanguination—and seeing that her body hadn't transformed—did he resurrect her. He also used a first-circle spell, Cure Wounds, and administered a generous dose of healing potions to fully restore her health.

Solomon wasn't eager to try that test again. Not only was the method inherently risky, but it had also drained every healing potion he had stored in his dimensional bag, costing him enough to perform another revivification.

Natasha was furious that Solomon hadn't warned her in advance, not even giving her a heads-up. "I've imagined all kinds of ways I might die," she glared at Solomon, "but I didn't think it would be like that."

"You were only dead for a minute, Natasha. It's no big deal. And you're fine now, without any scars. In fact, you might even be healthier than before since I gave you some potions you didn't necessarily need. If you had any lingering issues, like illnesses—except for cancer—they're gone now." Solomon blinked. "The reason I didn't tell you was to catch you off-guard. That was the only way to ensure an accurate test. Otherwise, you might have faked death, leaving me uncertain, which would have been a worse predicament."

"I can't believe I actually died." Natasha's voice dropped. "How did you even come up with this method?"

"That's a secret you don't get to know," the arcanist shrugged. "Besides, there might be a second time, though I'll do my best to avoid it."

"That's the best news I've heard all day!" Natasha rolled her eyes. "I'm going back to the inn to wash up. Thanks to you, I'd be a walking spectacle in these clothes anywhere I go!"

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