The Holy Son in Marvel

In the middle of the forest, a small clearing lay bare of bushes or trees, as if deliberately cleared or perhaps a natural formation. A small fire flickered on the dark soil, casting twisted shadows that danced wildly to the sound of a bright, melodic song. Solomon slowed his steps, carefully moving closer with his wand gripped tightly. He peeked through the bushes, observing several young girls dressed in antiquated clothing, singing as they swung branches around, seemingly performing some kind of ritual.

The mystic scanned his surroundings, ensuring they were alone in this strange place. Once satisfied, he parted the bushes and stepped into the firelight. The sudden appearance startled the girls, who quickly huddled together like frightened quail, stopping their singing.

"No need to be afraid." Solomon slipped his wand into his sleeve, keeping it within reach, ready to cast a spell at any suspicious figures in this eerie place. He softened his voice, spreading his hands to show he was unarmed. "I won't harm you... In fact, I'm just a student from London. I go to school there. Have you heard of Eton College? It's near Windsor Castle, to the west of London."

The girls exchanged glances but stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. Founded by Henry VI before the Age of Exploration, Eton College lent his story credibility.

"Listen, I..."

"I've heard of London! So, you're from one of the big cities!" one of the bolder girls interrupted. "Have you been to Boston?"

"Anne!" another girl quickly tugged at her sleeve, seemingly displeased with her boldness.

"Mary, don't worry. He doesn't look scary at all."

"But he's a stranger..."

"I haven't been to many places," Solomon replied calmly, edging closer to the fire. "New York and London are where I usually go." He mulled over how to construct a plausible story without knowing the exact year, careful to avoid any terms specific to certain eras. However, the girl's words gave him a vital clue—"mainland." That term indicated New England, and only during America's colonial era did the settlers refer to England that way. If his hunch was right, these girls were likely Puritans.

"I'm just a student... I got separated from my companions," he continued. "This is an assignment, observing the customs and ecology of the New World. It's quite challenging."

"Your clothes look strange!" the bold girl, Anne, chimed in again. "Is that the latest style in London?"

"Just adventure gear," Solomon shrugged. "You can't wear gentleman's attire while hiking over mountains, right? I just need directions to the nearest settlement. I lost my tent and supplies. If I don't find food soon, I might starve."

The girls, reassured by his young age and genteel appearance, began to relax. His rosy face, nurtured by a comfortable lifestyle, contrasted sharply with the rough faces of village boys or dockworkers, and his educated demeanor further eased their worries. Lacking life experience, they didn't detect the flaws in Solomon's story. Soon, they were chattering about their village, Salem. Smiling, Solomon handed out unwrapped candies from his dimensional pouch, offering them to the girls as he subtly gathered useful information from their conversation.

Under the spell of the sweets, these malnourished girls quickly divulged what Solomon wanted to know. First, the town had a pastor. The white church steeple Solomon had seen on the hillside belonged to a preacher named Paris, and one of the girls was his daughter.

"Hello, Elizabeth," Solomon said, patting the shy girl on the head.

Elizabeth shyly bit into her candy, letting him pat her.

"It's a shame Abigail couldn't come," Anne added, licking her candy. "Her uncle locked her up again."

"Abigail?" Solomon paused. "You have another friend?"

"From the Williams family," Anne explained. "Her uncle takes care of her."

"And... her uncle's name?" Solomon asked urgently, already beginning to guess the era.

"Mr. Carter, though his full name's something like Randolph Carter."

---

"Coulson, hurry! Don't look back! Don't look at them!" Natasha Romanoff shouted, running ahead as she and Coulson were chased by creatures with canine-like faces and clawed hands. They were humanoid in shape but bore disfigured human features, barking in high-pitched, wailing voices as they pursued.

Coulson and Natasha had fired at the creatures, but their rubbery skin absorbed much of the bullets' impact. Even after emptying their magazines, they hadn't managed to kill them all, and the horde only grew. With no other option, Natasha led Coulson into a retreat.

Leaping over bushes and stones, Natasha ran toward the sound of gunfire. She had a grim suspicion—she and Coulson were experiencing the same temporal anomaly as Solomon. In the eyes of the outside world, they'd likely vanished. She couldn't be certain if the creatures were magical in origin, but she hoped Solomon was nearby. If her hunch was correct, they'd stumbled into a magical event, and he was the expert they needed.

Though Coulson was also a field agent, Natasha's agility allowed her to maintain the lead. In the distance, they spotted a glow between the trees. Natasha picked up her pace, vaulting over low bushes into the clearing. There, she saw the person she'd been hoping to find—Solomon, standing with a group of young girls and a pistol in hand. Moments later, Coulson stumbled in, stopping to catch his breath as Solomon aimed his gun at them.

"What are you doing here?" Solomon asked, frowning. He hadn't noticed S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the area on his way to Salem.

"You disappeared," Natasha replied bluntly. "Director Fury sent us to find you. But now isn't the time for that. Have you seen those creatures?"

"We only saw some wild dogs!" Elizabeth murmured timidly. "If it weren't for Mr. Damonet..."

"Maybe the fire drew them," Anne said, now frightened. "Abigail told me we shouldn't do rituals tonight..."

"Dogs? Those aren't..." Coulson started to speak, but Solomon shot him a warning glance. Although Coulson didn't understand, he sensed the tense atmosphere and held his tongue.

"Yes, we encountered some dangerous 'wild dogs,' but I drove them off," Solomon said, emphasizing the term. He knew they weren't ordinary dogs but monsters. Yet the girls seemed convinced they were just wild dogs. This discrepancy troubled Solomon—it suggested a distortion in their perception. Until he had a better grasp of the situation, he didn't intend to challenge this view. Speaking openly of monsters would only provoke hostility from the Puritans, even if they were only children.

With a clearer understanding of the time period, Solomon decided against using magic in front of these Puritan girls. Only this way could he gain their trust and enter Salem, bringing him closer to Abigail Williams, his dangerous target.

"Do you still have ammo?" Solomon asked. "Let's escort the girls back to Salem. Don't worry; they're my friends. Although we're Catholics, not Quakers, we won't tell anyone what you've been up to."

He looked at Coulson meaningfully. "Especially since it's around the year 1692..."

As a history major, Coulson's mind raced. Solomon's subtle hints clicked into place. They were on the cusp of the Salem witch trials.

"I understand." Coulson forced a smile, bending down to address the girls. "We'll make sure you get home safely. When we arrive, could you help us find a place to stay?"

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