The Holy Son in Marvel

The arcanist and Natasha emerged from the alley one after the other.

This was all part of Solomon's plan.

On the surface, he and Natasha appeared to be at odds, with lingering tension between them. (Natasha, after all, still bore a grudge over Solomon's extreme method of verifying her identity.) This performance was meant to convince Nyarlathotep that his scheme had successfully driven a wedge between them. Natasha's act was so convincing that Solomon couldn't tell if her anger was feigned or genuine—though given the bloodstains on her chest and the way she clutched at her ribs, it certainly looked like they'd had a conflict.

If Nyarlathotep was watching, then he'd be lured right into the trap the arcanist had set.

This was exactly the result Solomon wanted. Only through complete deception could he hope to fool Nyarlathotep, leading the Crawling Chaos to believe that his plan was succeeding. Only then could Solomon find an opportunity to strike. The reason he had forced Natasha into the alley earlier was to ensure Nyarlathotep couldn't discover that he had already confirmed Natasha's identity.

Solomon patted the dog's head and walked it out of town. If Matthew Hopkins was indeed an avatar of Nyarlathotep, then escaping his surveillance was paramount—Solomon was now preparing for an assassination, with Hopkins as the target.

From dawn until dusk, the witch trials continued without pause. It wasn't the judges and interrogators' reluctance to torture the accused that brought the trials to a halt but rather a shortage of gallows. Over twenty people had been arrested that day, but there weren't enough gallows to accommodate them all. According to protocol, the accused witches had to be left hanging until they rotted. Reluctantly, Cotton Mather postponed the trials and ordered the remaining prisoners to be jailed, taking precautions against any of them disappearing as Tituba had. Guards patrolled the prison constantly to ensure the remaining suspects were closely watched.

As the fervor in the town began to wane, fear replaced the initial excitement. People now worried that their neighbors, even their own family members, might be witches. Some, afraid that longstanding personal grudges might lead to accusations of consorting with the devil, began accusing others first to save themselves. Chaos spread across Salem, and as the trials proceeded, the judges and interrogators received countless more accusations.

Even though the prison was overflowing, with several suspects crammed into small cells, Cotton Mather insisted on arresting everyone accused. The ensuing turmoil gripped Salem in a state of paranoia and fear—a spectacle Nyarlathotep took pleasure in, thriving on the theater of chaos he had orchestrated.

If Nyarlathotep were watching Salem, he would see that only Natasha remained there among the outsiders. Coulson, after delivering Tituba to Randolph Carter, had set off overnight to search for the stone tower Solomon needed. Meanwhile, Solomon loitered near the edge of the Dark Forest. Unsure just how many avatars Nyarlathotep had stationed around the town, Solomon assumed that the "Dark One" and Matthew Hopkins were likely the same. Thus, he suspected that Nyarlathotep would retreat to the Dark Forest after the trials, leaving Solomon positioned right at the border between the town's peninsula and the forest on the mainland.

Near the coast, Solomon could smell the salt of the sea as he waited alone, sword in hand.

If neither Hopkins nor the Dark One appeared, it would imply either that Nyarlathotep had two avatars in Salem or that he'd used a teleportation spell to return to the forest. If that were the case, Solomon planned to head back to Salem to investigate Hopkins's residence. If he found it vacant, it would mean only one avatar remained, requiring Solomon to enter the forest and face whatever horrors Nyarlathotep had summoned.

This, at least, offered a slight relief—one less avatar meant one less threat.

One crucial point was that Solomon had never cast any teleportation spells within Salem. Though he'd deduced the nature of this reality and understood the timeline, he had refrained from using teleportation here as a strategic precaution. His caution now paid off. With teleportation available, he could quickly strike one of Nyarlathotep's avatars in Salem or the Dark Forest, ending the threat before the Crawling Chaos could react.

After a long wait with no one in sight, Solomon checked his watch and activated a scroll, casting spells on himself. He fortified himself with spells like Longstrider, Cat's Grace, and Bull's Strength, along with various protective enchantments to withstand whatever attacks he might face. Once prepared, he also unlocked his holy sigils and donned the Floating Ring, then opened a teleportation portal.

His destination was a shadowed alley in Salem, not far from Hopkins's residence. According to Natasha's intel, this alley saw little foot traffic, making it an ideal spot for the portal's discreet appearance. Without hesitation, the arcanist dashed towards Hopkins's temporary quarters, a house owned by Cotton Mather. To host this special inquisitor sent by the governor, Mather had lent out this property—better than humiliating the official by putting him up in an inn with common merchants.

Solomon charged ahead without slowing, even at the doorstep. His sword slashed through the thick, brass-bound oak door, slicing it diagonally like paper. Without missing a beat, he burst into the main hall, ignoring the alarmed butler and servants drawn by the commotion, and leapt up the carpeted stairs towards the master bedroom.

Natasha's information had proved invaluable. She had bribed Mather's maid to find out Hopkins's exact quarters. Without that tip, Solomon would never have risked this ambush. Like a runaway war vehicle, he barreled through the hall, slicing open the door to the master bedroom with his sword. With a crash, the door and part of the wall shattered as he stormed in.

The room was dimly lit by candlelight. Hopkins hadn't gone to bed yet and was still fully dressed. The eerie atmosphere made Solomon pause, gripping his sword with greater caution.

"I was wondering when you'd come." Hopkins gave an unsettling smile, as if he had anticipated Solomon's arrival all along. "An inquisitor who supposedly died in 1647 appearing here in 1692—such a blatant lure, and you took the bait. Perhaps I've overestimated you."

"You're not Nyarlathotep." A deep unease rose in Solomon's heart. He had a gnawing feeling that he'd fallen into a trap he hadn't foreseen. Solomon scowled, pointing his sword at Hopkins. "Who are you?"

"I am Nyarlathotep, and yet I am not." Hopkins raised an eyebrow. "Who do you think you've been talking to, dear?"

"You…"

"Sweetheart." Hopkins laughed hysterically, his voice contorting as his jaw opened to its maximum limit. Then, to Solomon's horror, Hopkins grasped his own cheeks and ripped his face open to allow his jaw to move freely. Hopkins showed no sign of pain; instead of blood, foul yellow pus oozed from his skin. As he moved, the pus dripped onto the floor, and fat white maggots crawled out from his flesh. His eyes quickly clouded over, yet he continued speaking, though his voice grew hoarse, as if he were drying up from within.

"Oh, poor little thing, my sweet. How pitiful you are." He laughed maniacally, saying, "Why can't Matthew Hopkins be a corpse right now? Where do you think I am? Hahahaha!"

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