The Holy Son in Marvel

Solomon set off with Coulson by his side. He wasn't about to leave an ordinary man like Coulson on his own; Coulson's bullets would barely handle a few ghouls, let alone if Nyarlathotep sent a shantak bird to attack him. As they followed Jones southward toward the dark forest, Solomon cast a "Darkvision" spell on Coulson, ensuring he wouldn't fall behind. "This is better than night-vision goggles," Coulson remarked.

The stray dog Jones led them into the depths of the forest, head low and focused, sniffing the trail. Solomon could feel an even heavier aura of foreign magic upon entering the forest. He took out the Eye of Agamotto's crystal, keeping a vigilant watch on its images to make sure nothing monstrous would catch them off guard. He was responsible for Coulson's safety as well as his own this time.

"How many times have you been here?" Coulson asked, gripping his handgun as he scanned the gnarled, shadowy trees. He took a deep breath, following his S.H.I.E.L.D. training to steady his hands and suppress his fear. But he couldn't help worrying about Solomon. "Aren't you scared?"

"Of course," Solomon replied. Though he couldn't see Coulson's face, he could tell Coulson was recalling his own nightmares.

"Anyone would feel fear facing such things," the mage explained. "Humans are far from supreme beings. This world, other worlds—there are countless worlds where humans are scarcely developed, and our brains are nowhere near sophisticated enough to fully grasp the universe. Fear before the unknown is natural because, after all, what we're dealing with now is a god."

"A god?" Coulson was intrigued. "You mean gods really exist? I always thought of gods as something like Thor—just another kind of alien. After seeing magic, I began to wonder if they were real, but…"

"The Aesir's origins do have some divine aspects. I've studied the genealogies of Earth's pantheons. The Aesir trace their lineage back to divine roots, but calling them 'gods' is a stretch. Besides them, I've seen an immortal god die—killed by a demon." Solomon kicked aside a fallen branch and tossed Jones a treat as a reward for his bravery, talking to calm Coulson's wandering mind. "The all-knowing, omnipotent god you're thinking of does exist, but not quite in the way you imagine. If such gods are all-knowing and all-powerful, what meaning would humans hold for them? Would you care about ants worshipping you? Would you be pleased if they brought you insect limbs and ant larvae as offerings? No, and the gap between humans and gods is even wider than that between us and ants."

"You used the plural!" Coulson sounded a little shaken, his voice rising. "There's more than one of these all-powerful gods?"

"I don't know how many there are, but I do know this: they're beyond human understanding," Solomon said. "Their wisdom is unfathomable. And we're up against one of the worst of them. If other gods find humanity insignificant, this one is the opposite—He's fascinated by us. Like a curious child, he delights in scalding anthills, dismembering ants, and crushing them for sport. But his methods are far more sophisticated. This local witch coven? He founded it. The chaos and fear in this town are all His doing."

"That sounds… dangerous."

"Yes, but it's my duty," Solomon nodded, giving a casual swing of his longsword in front of Coulson. "Whether as a disciple of Kamar-Taj or the wielder of this sword, I stand to defend Earth and its people. Keeping beings from higher and lower planes away from Earth and humanity is Kamar-Taj's responsibility, and ensuring Earth's safety is the job of Gaia's emissary."

Coulson fell silent, processing this new knowledge, and Solomon grew more alert as they ventured deeper into the dark forest. It was disturbingly quiet tonight—no ghouls, ogres, shambling corpses, or shantak birds in sight. It was as if all of Nyarlathotep's servants had called it a night and gone home. But that was impossible. Gods are worse than the cruelest of masters; their servants don't get breaks, and they certainly don't get to quit unless it's by death.

Well, perhaps those masters have their own way of instilling fear.

But Solomon's vigilance didn't waver. Jones led the way, Solomon walked behind him, and Coulson brought up the rear, tense and on edge. He wanted to say something to break the eerie silence of the forest, but he couldn't be sure his voice wouldn't tremble—this forest was too unnerving, its very atmosphere unsettling.

Eventually, Jones led them to the old witch gathering site. The bonfire's remains were still there, a heap of scorched wood, though it had been abandoned. The king's soldiers had already combed through the area, but found nothing, and no one dared sift through the charred logs.

"What are we looking for here?" Coulson couldn't help but ask. "There's nothing here."

"Exactly—that's what's strange," Solomon said, warily scanning the area. He stowed the crystal back in his dimensional pouch, keeping his other hand on his sword hilt. "Last time I was here, this forest was downright welcoming. In fact, the monster bodies I left here before are gone."

Suddenly, Jones barked at something, sprinting toward it without looking back. Solomon called for him to stop, but Jones didn't listen. Coulson checked his gun's safety, following Solomon cautiously toward the sound. Both men were tense, prepared to strike at the slightest hint of danger. Rounding a cluster of low black shrubs, they found Jones standing in the pale moonlight, wagging his tail furiously.

When he saw Solomon, Jones barked even more excitedly, his barks too loud in the stillness of the forest. Solomon quickly motioned for him to quiet down. As they moved closer, they saw Jones hadn't been alone. He'd already uncovered something, pulling aside fallen leaves to reveal a slumped figure hidden in a hollow beneath the debris.

"Agent Romanoff?" Coulson's eyes widened, and he started forward to rescue the unconscious Natasha, but Solomon held him back. Solomon knew this could easily be one of Nyarlathotep's tricks, meant to sow distrust between them. He was sure Nyarlathotep knew about his method of verifying Natasha's identity, and he couldn't repeat it—he no longer had the diamond necessary for another resurrection spell. This was why Nyarlathotep might have left her here, knowing Solomon had nothing left to gamble with.

"That might not be Natasha," Solomon cautioned. "It could be something else entirely. If our target transformed into her, my magic might not detect it—it wouldn't be a disguise, but rather a complete transformation. He has a knack for appearing as people close to us, to erode our trust in each other, feeding on the resulting chaos."

"Woof!"

"What, you're saying this is Natasha?" Solomon eyed Jones. "Are you sure?"

"Woof!"

"Perfume? Don't be absurd; she washed up—there's no way there'd be perfume left."

"Woof," Jones insisted, with a frustrated sneeze.

"You're certain?" Solomon was skeptical of Jones's assurance.

Coulson, sensing Solomon's hesitation, patted his shoulder. "Look, I've got a girlfriend—I know for sure this is Agent Romanoff. Don't worry too much. Nyarlathotep would expect us to doubt everything; if He wanted us divided, just leaving Romanoff here would be enough to mess with our heads."

"So maybe He's counting on that and lying here in disguise," Solomon replied, pointing his sword at Natasha. "Waiting for us to let our guard down so He can ambush us."

"Or maybe He anticipated we'd think that way and decided to leave the real Agent Romanoff here," Coulson countered, resting a hand on Solomon's. "You're letting fear cloud your judgment. Without proper training, it's hard to suppress fear, and fear can lead to all kinds of irrational actions."

Solomon sighed. Dealing with Nyarlathotep always meant deception and confusion, and he was almost growing accustomed to it. "Fine, let's figure out what level of deception we're on." He looked at Jones. "Jones, wake her up."

"Who's there?"

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