The Holy Son in Marvel

"What do you mean?" Agent Romanoff asked.

Solomon glanced at the others moving further down the road, then sighed and quickly explained his "sheet of paper and cube" analogy to Natasha. She caught on fast.

"The cross-sections each of us observe are unique because different events are happening simultaneously, and together, these cross-sections create a cube—the underlying reality of our universe," Solomon explained. "You and Agent Coulson entered the cave, right? Everything strange happening here originates there. That cave is a portal. When we exited, we stepped into a distorted slice of reality from three hundred years ago. Imagine a cube, but with a cylindrical segment in its middle. We're trapped in that cylindrical cross-section—a time anomaly I call an 'Abnormality Field' layered over reality. To restore things, we either need to leave or eliminate the anomaly's source."

"On what basis?" Natasha walked alongside him, keeping an eye on Coulson and the group of girls ahead. Coulson had learned to tread carefully and was now chatting skillfully, sharing tales that captivated his young audience.

"The creatures we encountered… they don't belong to this world," Solomon said. "They're ghouls, but not from this universe."

"Monsters with birth certificates?" Natasha smirked. "Even if they had them, I didn't see any ID stamped on their foreheads. I know magic is your thing, but your theory still lacks evidence."

"Until I run a test, that's true." Solomon planned to test his theory by attempting a portal spell to New York. If the portal failed to open, it would confirm his theory of a warped cross-section covering Salem—a disconnected layer over reality. And even if it did open, it likely wouldn't let them return to their original time-space layer. However, if it did work, they might have a much larger problem. Solomon preferred it not to open; that would make this an issue solvable by the Oath of the Sword.

"And besides," he continued, "there's something strange in this magical aura that I first sensed years ago."

"The year you robbed Senator White?" Natasha eyed the ring on Solomon's finger. "You traded for that ring with an outfit just like this one, so at least you didn't lose out."

"Ha, I'm beginning to believe in fate," Solomon chuckled ruefully. "I don't believe in destiny as a fixed reality, but I am the new length and width of my cross-section. Still, finding this ring in Salem years ago… maybe I was meant to come here. If White's ancestor appears with this pink diamond ring, that'll disprove my theory."

Is it the Vishanti? Or the Eternal Gods? Solomon didn't know who had pushed him into this situation, but he felt sure that the Ancient One had foreseen his safe return; otherwise, she would have handled this herself. If anyone in the world cared for him, she was certainly among them.

"Then we'd better pick up the pace and not fall behind, Mystic."

"And be careful with what you say, my 'purchased Russian maid.' You don't understand the zeal of Puritans in this era. They believe firmly in witchcraft and magic… which is, in fact, real. But they also believe in every vile superstition born of their tortured minds. They search for signs of the devil in every place and thing, thinking him the cause of all problems and misfortunes. Every soul here lives in fear of Hell and curses—a truly miserable bunch..."

"If devils do exist..." Natasha hesitated. "Then one has already accomplished what he wanted through my own hands. I have a lot of blood debts that can never be repaid."

"Why bring that up now?"

"Because I know your secret—magic. You've never hidden it from me." Natasha winked with a half-smile. "Now, you know mine. Fair enough?"

"I get it… but our hands might be stained again in this case," Solomon said, lowering his gaze. "I won't regret it, and I hope you won't either. Watch Abigail closely. As an agent, you can tell if she's lying. My orders are to kill her if it will end this anomaly, and I will do it."

"If Abigail's innocent, Coulson won't stand for it," Natasha replied. "He's a good man, a truly good one."

"Then I'll do whatever it takes to fix this."

---

As they approached the village, Abigail's uncle appeared at the end of the path. "I've been looking for you, Abigail." He was a stern-looking man in a beige coat, his shirt collar and tie impeccably neat, suggesting a meticulous personality. His dark hair was slicked back, his brows sharp, and his thin lips pressed firmly together.

"Uncle!" Abigail said as she bid farewell to her friends and introduced the strangers. "This is Mr. Coulson, a scholar from London. And this is his student, Sir Damonet. And this is… the maid! Mr. Coulson, this is my uncle."

"Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Coulson." Randolph Carter greeted Coulson and Solomon, shaking Coulson's hand. "I'm also a scholar, a theology professor in Boston, though I dabble in history. It seems you have a knack for educating the young; they're quite taken with you."

"I shared some stories from other continents," Coulson replied, slipping into character. "Adventures I've had over the years, nothing too grand, but worth a listen."

"I imagine we'll have much to discuss." Randolph Carter smiled slightly. "I have a bottle of whiskey from the mainland. Perhaps we could share it while you stay here tonight. It's not easy to find decent lodging in Salem, but you're welcome at my home if you don't mind."

Randolph's invitation raised a few eyebrows. Solomon had already been cautious, but even the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents found his friendliness unusual. In 17th-century New England, a warm welcome to three strangers was suspiciously generous.

"Thank you for your hospitality," Coulson replied, seizing the opportunity. If Abigail was truly the root of the crisis, being nearby would allow them to observe her closely, and they had another target of interest in her uncle. "We'll head to the inn in the morning."

"I'll have Tituba prepare a meal for you to ease your fatigue from the journey. And, Mr. Coulson, if you have time after dinner, we could discuss your adventures."

"An honor, Mr. Carter."

---

"Well, damn! It's not opening!" Solomon grumbled, pulling off the Sling Ring as he sat on the guest bed. He didn't know whether to be relieved or frustrated—the only portal that opened was within this warped time cross-section. More precisely, it only connected two points within Salem, between this very room and another spot in the anomaly.

Across the room, Natasha Romanoff lay against a pillow, her legs stretched out as she munched on snacks from Solomon's stash.

Food in Salem was modest. New England was under pressure from Dutch colonists in New Netherland, Spaniards to the south, the French in New France to the northwest, and clashed frequently with native tribes. Most supplies came through the port, though most ships chose Boston over the smaller harbor here. Most who arrived in Salem were fresh colonists from England.

Randolph Carter had only provided meals for Coulson and Solomon, leaving Natasha with a servant's rations. After dinner, Coulson retired, citing travel fatigue, while Natasha was originally assigned to a room with the servant, Tituba. She quickly created an excuse, however, painting Solomon as a man accustomed to constant care, even while sleeping.

She then persuaded Solomon to share his supplies, claiming she hadn't had enough to eat—information Solomon was certain she'd gleaned from Nick Fury. Seated on the bed, Solomon pondered. It was likely the anomaly had physical boundaries, yet he didn't need to explore to know they couldn't escape. Whatever magical forces or expanding boundaries were at play, they would be trapped until the event was resolved.

But not all news was bad. Within this anomaly, nothing would affect reality outside. If his theory held, Salem's residents in 2010 were perfectly fine; they simply couldn't perceive the anomaly, separated by a fragile, impenetrable layer of reality.

"Now's the time for your skills, maid." Solomon smirked, filling Natasha in on the situation. "Identify the source of this incident, and let's… take care of it." 

---

___________________

Read Ahead

[email protected]/Mutter