"Agent Coulson, I need you to talk to Solomon Damonet."
Midway through the flight of the S.H.I.E.L.D. bus, Phil Coulson received this directive from his superior, Maria Hill, over the communications system. Before he could respond, Hill elaborated:
"This is a direct order from Director Fury." Her tone was calm and professional, as always. "It will not be logged in the official records. You'll also have the support of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s internal psychology experts. They'll analyze the target's mental state and provide guidance for your conversation."
"May I ask why?" Coulson didn't protest; he understood that orders were orders. Fury delegating this task to Hill meant that the director had more pressing matters to handle. Coulson's role was clear: follow through.
"You'll receive a classified file shortly," Hill explained while working at her terminal. The file included transcripts of Solomon's conversation with Steve Rogers, intelligence analyses of that discussion, and an assessment of Solomon's mental state. The document would only be accessible with Coulson's clearance. Additionally, it contained a list of psychologists who would assist Coulson.
Notably, the file omitted any mention of Solomon's identity as the Son of God.
"That kid's as tight-lipped as I am when it comes to secrets," Fury had said during his briefing with Hill, a grin spreading across his face as he crunched on a bag of Doritos. "He doesn't want his 'Son of God' status to get out. Solomon has spent all this time preaching the value of science to me. He sees magic as a privilege of the few and views science as the only viable path for humanity. If he were to announce his divine identity, it would mean acknowledging God's existence, legitimizing religion, and, by extension, affirming magic. That's something he absolutely does not want."
"Then what should we do?" Hill asked. "Doesn't he stand to gain something from this identity?"
"Keep the controversy contained to the smallest possible scope," Fury instructed. "Since he doesn't want it revealed, we won't reveal it. Otherwise, given the current state of the world, we'll see even more bloodshed in the Middle East." Fury leaned back in his plush chair. "He doesn't care about those things. Don't paint him as worse than he is. He and I—we're the same type of person. I respect that."
The same type of person? Hill suppressed an incredulous smirk. There couldn't be a more damning comparison for someone outside a spy agency. She kept the thought to herself, though. Fury would have likely laughed himself breathless if he'd known what she was thinking.
Solomon Damonet was no harmless civilian. Kamar-Taj, the organization he represented, was effectively the executioner of other-dimensional entities, the enforcer of the mystical world. Still, Maria Hill couldn't help but view Solomon as a "nonviolent civilian," likely due to his age. His youthful appearance made him seem more akin to S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy students than a seasoned warrior who had faced alien invasions.
"You know I have other priorities, ma'am," Coulson sighed, feeling the mounting pressure. Solomon's erratic behavior was already disrupting his workload. "The situation at Havenworth Federal Prison ties directly to the Centipede Project and that mysterious clairvoyant figure. I don't have the time or energy to focus on Solomon Damonet's mental state." He rubbed the back of his head, silently lamenting the accelerated retreat of his hairline since joining S.H.I.E.L.D. It seemed like working with Solomon only made the process faster.
"I'd like to at least keep my appearance intact until retirement," Coulson muttered, adding, "I haven't even opened that file yet. You can take it back."
"You should review it," Hill countered. "You're one of the few agents Solomon takes seriously. Didn't you recently work together on that ghost case? He might even have intel on this so-called 'clairvoyant.' It's possible they're a sorcerer—Solomon has displayed prophetic abilities before, after all. He could be invaluable to your current mission."
"That does make sense," Coulson admitted, nodding slightly. "But I've already made progress. I've tracked down Peterson and uncovered leads. I don't think Solomon's help is necessary at the moment."
"Let's prioritize your current mission for now," Hill relented. "But once the clairvoyant is in custody, schedule a meeting with Solomon. That's a direct order."
"From Fury himself?"
"Yes."
"Understood, ma'am."
Meanwhile, Athena lounged on a sofa in Solomon's apartment, her golden hair cascading lazily over her shoulders. An empty wine glass rested in her hand, its rim stained with the remnants of red wine, and the floor around her was littered with empty bottles. The alcohol wouldn't intoxicate a goddess, but she enjoyed watching Solomon fuss over her post-drinking messes.
It was a little game she played—a family jest of sorts. Athena would often reward Solomon's dutiful tidying with a sweet kiss, much to his chagrin.
At home, Athena's attire was as casual as her demeanor. Her pure white nightgown had slipped down to her waist, and she made no effort to adjust it. She didn't mind Solomon's gaze lingering on her; cultural norms dictated otherwise, but she considered her body a masterpiece. Her well-defined muscles and full bosom were her pride, and she saw no reason to hide them.
"Men accumulate belly fat as they age; women store it in their thighs and hips," Athena quipped, gesturing toward her toned abdomen. Her words, slurred slightly by wine, carried the easy confidence of a divine being. "But you don't need to worry about that, Solomon. You're not mortal. Since you're above mortal concerns, why not share your troubles with me? Wisdom is my domain, after all."
"It's nothing major, just some persistent issues," Solomon replied, shaking his head as he swept up the mess on the floor.
ROOT's abrupt departure hadn't surprised him—it was in line with the AI's nature. However, her sudden exit wasn't the only problem. Shaw had gone missing too, adding another layer of complexity.
Recently, a vigilante calling himself The Punisher had been targeting criminal gangs in New York, particularly Irish immigrant crime syndicates. Although this had little to do with Solomon initially, Shaw had drunkenly mentioned that Reese had crossed paths with The Punisher—and not on friendly terms.
"She said Reese took a bullet but didn't complain," Solomon muttered as he worked. "He knows the Punisher only kills those who deserve it. Still, neither Reese nor Finch approve of his methods."
Shaw, however, seemed fascinated. "I kind of like the guy," she had admitted over drinks. "At least his methods are straightforward. Since Elijah went to prison, the New York underworld hasn't been this quiet in ages. Every thug's afraid of ending up on the Punisher's list. Oh, by the way, pass me that bottle—it's your treat!"
Now, with Shaw missing, Solomon couldn't ignore the situation any longer. The Punisher might be involved, but either way, he had to investigate.
"Once this is sorted," Solomon sighed, "I'll finally be free to head to the Middle East."
[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! Only $5 per novel or $15 for all!!] [[email protected]/Mutter]
[+50 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]
[+5 Reviews = +1 Extra Chapter]