The Holy Son in Marvel

Nyarlathotep, in human form, can be killed by physical means. However, after dying in this form, the corpse begins to tremble and expand, eventually exploding, giving birth to a massive, clawed monster. This repugnant creature rises from the shattered corpse and ascends into the sky, ultimately vanishing without further disturbing its killer.

Much like the Chaos Core Messenger's primary duty, this monster exists solely to inform Nyarlathotep's true form of the events here. Even though Nyarlathotep's human-form avatars are rarely killed, if it does happen, the main entity will likely send another avatar to continue its games. But Solomon has no intention of attracting the main body's attention, so he must stop the creature.

"What? Cough!" The Dark One lifted his head, straining to look at Solomon. Even on the verge of death, a mocking smirk clung to his face. "It's useless. 'I' already know. You have no idea how many avatars I have… In fact, none of them know but the main form. Hahaha, don't think you can escape the game of the Chaos Core Messenger. There's no exit button here. Solomon Damonet, I admire your ruthlessness, but I'm no monster. You understand me; I'm just here for fun. By the way, that woman's soul is now in Coulson's body—I swapped their souls! Quite amusing, isn't it? The only way to fix it is to perform the spell yourself, which I'm sure Randolph Carter must have provided to you, right?"

Solomon frowned. Randolph Carter had indeed transcribed a spell called "Soul Transfer" into his grimoire—a sinister spell that could extract a soul from a living body and place it into another. However, learning and casting such a spell would permanently drain his sanity and willpower. Randolph had also advised Solomon not to perform too many such spells in a short period.

Though other methods existed, they would have to wait until he returned to Kamar-Taj.

"Perhaps," Solomon said, twisting the sword hilt in his hand. "Now, tell me—who betrayed you? Do you have allies? Tell me!"

"I refuse!" The Dark One showed no concern for the pain, now seizing the opportunity to taunt Solomon. "You think you've won? In reality, you haven't, my sweet. You walked right into my trap, but you don't even know it yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think I would tell you?" The Dark One slowly raised his bloodied hand. "We'll meet again. Ah, how I despise this magic. That wretched Cthugha…"

As he finished speaking, a cluster of shimmering lights enveloped him, like a cloak of radiant stars. These points of light emitted intense heat, igniting the fallen leaves on the ground instantly. The surging hot air swept through the entire forest like a violent gust. Solomon and Coulson retreated to avoid getting scorched by the heat. Holding his sword, Solomon made sure to carry Coulson's body, while Coulson managed to scoop up the heroic stray dog and hurriedly ran with it.

The Dark One ascended higher, like a rising eastern star, bringing a long-lost light to the dark forest. But this light was not of hope; it embodied the cruelest death. Solomon and Coulson sprinted with all their might, the heat chasing them. Every American elm in its path burst into flames instantly. Nyarlathotep's spell far exceeded any mortal's comprehension. Had Solomon wielded an ordinary weapon instead of the Sword of Oath Victory, it would have melted into molten iron.

Then, with a loud explosion in the sky, the starlight vanished, and a monstrous creature appeared in the air. Lit by the forest fire below, Solomon caught a clear glimpse of the monster. It was a creature with dark, fleshy wings. It lacked a head and body in the conventional sense, appearing instead as a cluster of massive black tentacles that formed its limbs. Its lower body consisted of arthropod-like claws of varying lengths, each claw covered with dark, scale-like patterns. Surrounding its head were writhing black tentacles that emitted a faint red glow from their hidden depths.

When Solomon saw the monster, it was as though he glimpsed the enormous, writhing mass in the void—the ultimate presence from the deepest chaos. Echoing throughout were low, rhythmic thuds and hollow, hoarse flute sounds. Invisible horrors accompanied the monotonous melody, dancing wildly. Then, he heard laughter—first a mocking chuckle, then a cascade of insane laughter. Solomon lost all sense of place and purpose, his mind in disarray, unable to comprehend the scene before him.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was a human hand, filling Solomon with a surge of joy that dispelled all illusions, bringing him back to reality.

"Mr. Carter, thank you for your help," Solomon said, struggling to stay conscious. "Where's Coulson?"

"Don't worry." Randolph Carter's voice was soft. "You need rest. As for Agents Romanoff and Coulson, I'll take care of them."

"Nyarlathotep…"

"He's gone," Randolph said, "gone for good. You need to rest. The ritual from here on out, we will complete together."

———

When Solomon awoke, he found himself in a guest room at Randolph Carter's residence. It was early morning, but rather than birdsong, the noise of angry shouting filled the air outside. The mage rubbed his eyes, rose from the bed, and grabbed the Sword of Oath Victory at his side. Quietly parting the thin curtains, he saw soldiers from the King's army escorting groups of prisoners down the street, while the bystanders hurled curses at them.

The bizarre phenomena from the Dark One's death had attracted considerable attention. Under the light of the massive fire that lit half the sky, many had seen the gigantic creature, but few had the luck Solomon had in recovering his sanity with help.

The Puritans, already lacking much rationality, had their remaining sanity shattered after witnessing the monster. The town's turmoil had not ceased from last night through the morning; many people had plunged into madness. The symptoms varied: some grew even more zealous in their faith, seeing everyone as tainted by demons and pleading for divine salvation; others retreated into fantasy, escaping their miserable reality. Some fared worse, paralyzed by fear and hallucinations. To them, the townsfolk weren't the living but walking corpses.

Numerous murders took place overnight, and with the inquisitor dead, Judge Cotton Mather frantically deployed all the King's soldiers to arrest offenders across town. Yet this did little to stem the spread of madness. In this chaos, superstition deepened—many believed that these were witches' reprisals, and the arrested were either controlled by witchcraft or had long been associated with witches, succumbing completely only last night.

There was no place left undisturbed in Salem. Randolph Carter's residence was one of the few remaining safe places. After washing up, Solomon went downstairs with his sword, finding Carter waiting in the living room.

"You're awake." Carter put down his newspaper and motioned for Tituba to bring Solomon breakfast. "Things are grim outside. Please bear with it."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Carter. I also wanted to ask…"

"Agents Coulson and Romanoff are fine; they're still asleep. The Chaos Core Messenger switched their souls, but after returning here, I reversed it. They need time to recover. As for your dog… I believe it's in the garden, happily gnawing on a bone." Randolph said with a smile. "I hear you found the stone tower. I've been there before, but after the reset, the altar I built vanished. It's a good place for the ritual. You may rest here today, wait for Coulson and Romanoff to wake up, and then we can proceed."

"Actually, I have another question, Mr. Carter," Solomon hesitated, then continued. "What about Abigail? I still don't fully understand… why did she mutate?"

Randolph looked at Solomon. "She's just a twelve-year-old girl," he said. "What she did—the things you've read about in history books—she indeed did them. But you can't imagine the mental pressure she endured afterward. And you know what happens when someone is completely crushed. Abigail was imprisoned by that sorcerer for over three centuries in a dark, silent place. It's hard to believe anyone could emerge mentally unscathed."

"What I mean is… why did the Lord of Doors leave an heir in this world?" Solomon shook his head. "It doesn't make sense."

"That's because it's within your ability to understand. In truth, the great Ancient Immortal didn't leave a descendant here. This world's Abigail is merely one possibility of her existence," Randolph explained. "The Abigail that should have existed isn't here, not yet born. What we need to do is help her return to her father, so that the Abigail from the other world can eventually come into being."

"It's difficult to grasp—a reversal of causality."

"Yes, it's challenging for you to understand now," Randolph acknowledged. "But you are unique. Your future begins now, creating infinite possibilities that even this universe cannot contain. That's why you must pass through that door, to witness all of your potential, to elevate yourself, and ultimately, to grasp the answers at the end of time. This is one possible path of your fate."

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