The Holy Son in Marvel

What exactly was this figure before him—Mardough Hopkins? Was it an undead creature, or merely a manipulated corpse? Nyarlathotep seemed to have gained the upper hand in this conspiracy, mockingly taunting Solomon for falling into the trap laid out for him.

Solomon had no time to dwell on it. He swung his longsword, severing Mardough Hopkins' neck. Though Hopkins' body collapsed, immobilized on the ground, his half-rotted, foul-smelling head continued muttering nonsense. Nyarlathotep, realizing the corpse wouldn't last long, seized the final moments to disorient the mage with his words.

"Ah, sweetheart." Nyarlathotep's raspy middle-aged voice oozed mockery. "I know how much you despise your own weakness—your inability to save your friends. Isn't it sad? Don't you desperately want to go to them?"

The Crawling Chaos's scheme was effective. Even though Solomon split Mardough Hopkins' head down the middle with his sword, finally silencing him, the multitude of mysteries left behind were now firmly lodged in Solomon's mind. Where was Nyarlathotep? Were Coulson and Natasha in danger? If Nyarlathotep really had targeted them, who would be his next victim? And how could Solomon track down Nyarlathotep's incarnation?

Solomon strode out of the manor, seizing the moment before the king's soldiers arrived. He cast a teleportation spell, gripping his sword as he stepped cautiously through the portal. Inside Natasha's room (formerly Tituba's), Solomon found no sign of her. He frowned, scanning the surroundings—spent bullet casings, bullet holes, a small dark bloodstain, and the trampled remains of a rat. The door was ajar, and the window open. He noticed no footprints on the windowsill, but there were traces of footsteps by the doorway, both male and female.

This place was no longer safe. Likely, Natasha's gunfire had drawn attention, and now many people probably knew what had transpired here. But where was she now? Had she been taken, or had she managed to escape? Not wanting to waste time, Solomon decided to first confirm the safety of another person.

Casting another spell, Solomon teleported to Pryce Farm. The livestock and poultry here had already been taken by the king's soldiers. The place seemed deserted and dark, but Solomon managed to find Coulson hiding in the basement—exactly as Solomon had advised, to avoid traversing the dark forest at night. The Pryces used this basement for storage, and though it was a bit damp, it served as a decent temporary safehouse.

But Coulson wasn't the only one there—he was accompanied by the stray dog, Jones. Solomon had arranged for Jones to be here before heading off to fight. By the time Coulson arrived, the dog had become his sole companion during the long, dull hours of waiting, and the two got along quite well.

"I've named him," Coulson said.

"Jones," Solomon interrupted, stopping Coulson mid-sentence. "I know him. But that's not the point—there are some things you need to know." Solomon recounted the events he'd witnessed at Mardough Hopkins' manor, and both Coulson and Jones listened intently (though Solomon couldn't quite understand why the dog was giving such a human-like look of concentration).

"She'll be fine," Coulson said calmly once Solomon finished. "Agent Romanoff is one of the best. After the attack, she may have moved herself to safety. I think your target should be that mastermind behind all this. Once he's dealt with, we'll be free to leave, and she'll show up in the real world as you described. We can look for her then."

As Coulson finished, Jones wagged his tail and started barking, trying to get Solomon and Coulson's attention. He darted to a corner of the basement, scratching at the ground. Solomon walked over and found half of a rat with a human-like face, half-buried in the dirt. He suspected Jones had eaten the other half. "Woof!" Jones wagged his tail, jumping up to try to lick Solomon's face. Solomon gently pushed the dog back.

"Good work," Solomon said, though part of his spell effect had worn off, leaving him unable to understand animals anymore. He patted Jones on the head. "But I don't eat rats, and you shouldn't either—who knows if this thing is poisonous."

"Woof!" Jones let out a disgruntled sneeze, plopping down with his paws stretched in front, giving Solomon a look of disdain.

"I don't think he's inviting you to eat it," Coulson observed. Using a stick, he examined the half-eaten rat and Jones's teeth. "The bite marks are shallow—he probably snapped it accidentally. I think he wants to show you something."

"Really?" Solomon eyed the dog. "If that's the case, bark twice. If not, bark once."

"Woof-woof..."

"What was that?" Solomon shrugged and took out his spellbook. "I'll assume you have a purpose, then. Fine, I'll cast a spell—no, there's no butter left. And no, the rest isn't for you; it's my spell component. What? A bath? Now is hardly the time! You say you can lead us to that rat's owner? Are you serious? After Natasha sprayed perfume, you lost track of her; I've never seen such a useless dog."

"Woof!"

"All right, I apologize. You're the most useful dog I've ever met," Solomon sighed. "I promise to give you a bath after this. What? You want more? Beef? Fine, I'll get you some."

"You're talking to him," Coulson pointed out, watching as Jones nipped at Solomon's hand. "I mean, all I hear is barking. How are you getting so much meaning out of it?"

"Magic." Solomon held back the irritated dog. "Jones isn't happy because you lumped him in with the usual 'stupid dogs.'"

"Okay…" Coulson blinked. "Should I apologize?"

"Yes, or Jones will never forgive you."

"Right. This really is the strangest dog I've ever met."

"There's something else." Solomon turned to Coulson. "The stone tower."

"I found it," Coulson replied. "In the eastern fields not far from here. It looks like an old stone tower, probably left by Native Americans. There were some wall carvings on it, but they're faded, and the tower itself is crumbling. I went to the village, got tools, and built the altar according to your design—but I must say, this can't stay a secret for long. Some of the villagers think I'm performing some ritual, not just studying local customs, and I doubt they'll buy that for much longer."

"We're almost out of time. Most people in Salem likely know of Mardough Hopkins' death by now. I didn't hide my face during the attack, so soon the king's men will start hunting outsiders and suspected witches. They'll probably attribute Hopkins' half-rotted corpse to witchcraft. We need to act fast. Tonight, the witch trials won't stop, and this place may not be safe anymore. Coulson, how much ammunition do you have left? Let's go, Jones—lead the way."

"Tonight, I'm going to kill him."

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