The matter of Mephisto's progeny hadn't disrupted Solomon's schedule too much. Both tracking Ghost Rider and locating the unidentified half-demon would take time. The Sorcerer Supreme clearly knew more than he let on, but his disciples had long accepted that he always had a plan. Under the Sorcerer Supreme's millennia of guidance, Kamar-Taj had never faced a crisis beyond repair, and this time would be no exception.
Solomon, taking his "diarrhea-stricken senior's" advice, descended the mountain to interact with the local Tibetan villagers. Many sorcerers learned basic herbal medicine before signing contracts with the Vishanti, as acts of goodwill increased their chances of forming a pact (acts of good, regardless of intention, were still considered good by the Vishanti). Thus, most sorcerers had participated in such charitable tasks before officially joining Kamar-Taj, though Solomon was an exception. His unexpected contract meant he hadn't done much work outside the temple. Yet when he appeared in Kamar-Taj's simple gray robes, he was immediately recognized.
Solomon forced a smile, bracing himself for an onslaught of butter tea. His senior wasn't exaggerating—the locals' earnest hospitality was overwhelming.
"Boya, you look terrible," Bayonetta teased, sniffing as her gray eyes sparkled with curiosity. She knew the location of Kamar-Taj and detected the faint scent of sheep's wool and grease clinging to Solomon's robes. Spotting a few grayish wool fibers on his hem, she had a good idea of what had happened but wanted to see if Solomon would admit it.
Nearby, Dana, the homunculus, stood holding a set of soft cotton pajamas, ready to assist Solomon in changing his clothes. His expression wasn't merely "bad"—it was a peculiar mix of shame and satisfaction, like a golden retriever that had devoured a whole sausage in one gulp. He wasn't food poisoned, but the effects of the butter tea had been far too… effective, leaving him in a state of humiliation. Returning to Kamar-Taj, he'd been greeted by his senior's mocking gaze. None of his stored potions had helped, forcing him to buy medicine from a remote clinic—at a fraction of the cost of any U.S. pharmacy, though his insurance wasn't valid there anyway.
"Nothing," Solomon replied, as expected, refusing to answer Bayonetta's question. He raised his arms feebly, allowing Dana to help him change. Although he had largely recovered and his physique enabled rapid healing, all he wanted now was to collapse somewhere soft and sleep. Bayonetta's lap proved to be the perfect option. As he lay on her lap, the witch idly played with his hair and poked his cheeks, her teasing unrelenting.
"Where's Jeanne?" Solomon asked with closed eyes. "I haven't seen her today."
"She went to a spa with your foster mother," Bayonetta replied, frowning slightly at Athena's selective invitation. She recalled Jeanne blushing furiously and avoiding eye contact after receiving Athena's call. Venting her frustration, Bayonetta poked Solomon's cheek again. However, the mage remained content, basking in the comfort of her lap, his thoughts of training Dana pushed aside. In a rare moment of lucidity, he asked, "And the Cheshire Cat?"
"It went to the spa too. It insisted."
"The cat with cucumber slices on its eyes?" Solomon imagined the ridiculous sight of the pampered Cheshire Cat. "I hope the spa has pet cleaning services. That cat seems to enjoy life more than any of us, dear."
"Boya, have you forgotten why the Cheshire Cat was neutered?" Bayonetta twisted his ear lightly. "Don't end up like that, okay?"
Dana, standing nearby, tilted her head in confusion.
Human relationships are so complicated. I must accelerate my learning process.
"Ahem," Solomon said, trying to maintain his dignity as Dana's creator, though such authority hardly existed. Surface appearances mattered. Now they stood in Stark Industries' top-floor laboratory, Tony Stark's private workspace. Solomon was here to teach Dana skills she needed to protect him.
"Everything's here," Stark announced, directing his robotic arm assistant, Dum-E, to deliver the equipment. "Old stock I hadn't cleared out yet—perfect timing. We've got an assortment of light firearms, and the shooting range is ready. Honestly, Solomon, don't you want a handgun? I can arrange the permits."
"I don't have the time to train with firearms," Solomon replied, pointing at a humanoid metal target 10 meters away. The uneven surface bore dents and scratches—Stark often used it to test Iron Man suit weaponry. Lately, Stark had acquired a surplus of Chitauri remnants, reverse-engineering their technology to accelerate the evolution of his armor. Consequently, the shooting range saw frequent use.
Solomon extended his finger, conjuring a precise flame that struck the target's bullseye. Aside from the minor flare of residual flames, his aim was flawless. He spread his hands toward Stark, indicating his lack of need for a handgun. Stark had to admit, the kid was annoyingly talented.
"Alright, miss, pick any weapon you like," Stark said, gesturing for Dana to explore the weapon crates. Inside were everything from semi-automatics to fully automatic firearms, all custom-modified by Stark himself. The collection included experimental high-tech gear like micro-missiles from Stark's Iron Man arsenal, which had been approved for release by Pepper Potts.
"I think the micro-missiles could be mounted on those constructs," Solomon said, pointing at two incomplete constructs lying near the range. Unlike his earlier models, these didn't rely on wands for power but were fueled directly by Solomon's stored magic. Their offensive capabilities needed enhancement.
"Weren't those for your homunculus?" Stark frowned. He had previously reviewed Dana's specs—while her reaction time wasn't extraordinary, her alchemical skeleton granted her immense strength, capable of lifting a heavy jeep. With her firepower, Dana alone could suppress an entire platoon.
Yet Solomon seemed unsatisfied. Though Dana's magical core allowed her to adjust trajectories and firing stances with precision, Solomon wasn't aiming for a frontline combatant. He wanted a protector. "Remember my order? I paid in gold," Solomon reminded Stark. "These weapons will do for now, but I intend for that item to be her main weapon."
"That thing was for your other constructs, wasn't it?" Stark's eyes widened. "It's overkill. Jarvis, has Solomon Damonet's order been completed?"
"Yes, sir. However, those weapons aren't designed for human-sized beings."
"We all know that," Stark replied. "Bring it over, Jarvis. Let's get the tests done. And Solomon, once we're done, hop on your bike—I'm taking you somewhere. Somewhere you can experience normal life for a change."
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