The Holy Son in Marvel

After receiving the news, Solomon swiftly returned to the Kamar-Taj headquarters. His mood was grim. Although he understood that everyone in Kamar-Taj was prepared to lay down their lives for the world, he still couldn't quite accept the sacrifice of a fellow sorcerer. His abilities already surpassed many of Kamar-Taj's mystics, allowing him to handle threats that ordinary sorcerers could not.

"I should have gone," he said, expressionless.

"That was supposed to be a minor issue. The planetary defense system detected an incursion from an outer dimension, but it didn't seem serious. The Sorcerer Supreme was still on Earth," Mordo replied. "You can't shoulder everything yourself; it's all of our responsibility. No one could have predicted this outcome."

"Who's responsible?" Solomon asked, draping a cloth over the corpse's terrified face. Despite the cover, moisture continued to seep through. He was in the morgue, and soon, ascetics would bury the body behind the headquarters. Solomon didn't know this mystic from the New York Sanctum well, but they had crossed paths a few times. To see him dead, killed by a creature from an outer dimension, sparked a rare anger in him.

Mordo shook his head. "No idea. All we know is the smell of sulfur at the scene, so it was likely a lower-plane creature. By the time we realized something was wrong, he was already gone."

"Was it from Hell or the Abyss? Or maybe the Elemental Planes?" Solomon took a deep breath, preparing to retrieve spell materials from his dimensional pouch. "At the very least, I need to know if I'm facing a demon or a devil. Just sending the killer back won't satisfy me."

"What are you thinking?" Mordo couldn't hold back. "Are you planning to head out alone to hunt down that lower-plane creature, which could be anywhere now?"

"I'm worried this lower-plane creature might be connected to me." Solomon raised his hand, showing it to Mordo. "The stigmata—remember? The stigmata! Think of Phoenix. Do you know what worries me the most? I fear that one of the seventy-two Demon Lords has arrived on Earth. Not all of them are as harmless as Phoenix... in fact, even Phoenix is deadly enough for most people."

"Just a minor creature—not a major figure like one of the seventy-two Demon Lords, or they would never have sent only Drake." Mordo moved to block Solomon's view of the body. "Listen, Solomon. This is for the New York Sanctum to handle. Master Daniel can deal with it. All we need to do is await orders. Lower-plane creatures are nothing like the vampires and werewolves you've dealt with; they have inherent magic, and one misstep could be deadly."

"I think I could probably take on a Throne-level angel now, so a lower-plane creature of similar rank shouldn't be an issue."

"Stay calm. Unless the Sorcerer Supreme orders otherwise, I suggest you go back to your vacation with the Witch," Mordo said, guiding Solomon out of the morgue. "Norway's landscapes are beautiful this time of year. Didn't you buy a cabin out there? Stay until summer; you should try the Easter trout—it's a rare treat."

Solomon sighed. "I won't disobey the Sorcerer Supreme's orders. I'm no rebellious teenager," he said. "But if the Sorcerer Supreme wants me to act, you have to let me know. Mordo, please."

"I wouldn't defy the Sorcerer Supreme either, so you can rest easy." Mordo reached out to touch Solomon's smooth, shoulder-length hair. "We all want to avenge Drake. If we find the culprit and the Sorcerer Supreme approves of your involvement, I'll let you know."

"Remember, don't open a portal directly into the house. You'll get shot." The mystic waved a hand and turned to leave. "I'll be heading back. I'll bring you some reindeer meat."

---

"Remember those angels I told you about? The ones from the seven heavens?" The Sorcerer Supreme asked calmly, handing Solomon a piece of candy. Solomon unwrapped it and began eating as she did the same, seemingly enjoying the taste of the rainbow candies. "How sad the magical world has no magical candy."

"Master, we're supposed to be talking about angels, not candy," Solomon reminded her.

"Right, right. Old age makes you forgetful," the Sorcerer Supreme said, entirely disregarding how young she looked. "The angels of the seven heavens. Remember those legends I mentioned about giants, like Goliath, who was killed by King David? And the true story of the Great Flood that swept across the planet. That talk about God wiping out humanity's original sin is nonsense. The real purpose was to purge the earth of the angels' offspring, with avenging spirits created by God overseeing the cleansing. But here's the interesting part—the power of those spirits is now in the hands of Mephisto, not God."

"Master, what does this have to do with the lower-plane creature Drake encountered?"

"Patience," the Sorcerer Supreme said, spreading her hands in feigned helplessness. "Mephisto has always wandered the mortal realm, but his earthly avatars are as powerless as ordinary humans, so even I can't track him down. The last time I found a trace of Mephisto was in New York in 1997, when he was playing his games. He was trying to breed a small army from his human offspring to challenge God in the new millennium. Fortunately, his son, though vain, managed to outwit him, thwarting his plan. Since then, Kamar-Taj hasn't been able to trace Mephisto's whereabouts—until now."

"Has Mephisto reappeared?"

"As usual, he won't bestow his earthly avatar with power, or it would be too obvious," the Sorcerer Supreme said, raising her eyebrows. "This time, he's come to clean up his rebellious son. Though his avatar is powerless, he has the Rider handle things for him—the spirit of vengeance I mentioned. Mephisto has found a new Ghost Rider. As for Mephisto's son, Wuxinmo… I hate to use coarse words, but it's an idiot. It thought a contract of a thousand souls could topple its father. A thousand souls? That's less than the souls sent to Hell after World War II! To Mephisto, a thousand souls are barely a snack. If not for his demonic nature, he might have forgotten that old debt altogether."

"So…"

"So you must not interfere this time. The further you stay from it, the better," the Sorcerer Supreme ordered decisively. "Although the Ghost Rider can't harm you, you have no idea how badly Mephisto wants your soul. If he could trade all of Hell's souls for yours, he wouldn't hesitate—he'd happily make that deal. After all, you're a contender for the Seventh Throne, the next candidate for Satan's position. The seventy-two Demon Lords are hoping for you to rise to that rank."

"And you, Master?"

"I don't mind." The Sorcerer Supreme winked. "But there's no candy in Hell, is there?"

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