After ensuring the safety of the orphanage, Solomon wandered around its perimeter to confirm that all the surveillance agents had withdrawn. Once satisfied, he began casting protective spells around the area, ensuring no unauthorized individuals could sneak in. The process lasted until evening, only interrupted when his phone rang. Seeing that it was Lorna, Solomon immediately stopped his work to answer.
At first, Solomon worried she had encountered trouble, but as the girl's voice shifted from a whimper to angry, indignant chattering, the mage sighed in relief. It turned out Lorna had been mugged. Thankfully, she hadn't even needed to use her gun.
Patiently, Solomon comforted her and promised to send another $700 while reminding her that next time, she should use her gun. He lectured her about the sacred right granted by American law to protect her property, all while brushing aside minor concerns like the unregistered nature of the firearm or the possibility of her powers being seen. In an increasingly chaotic world, Lorna's personal safety was his priority—everything else, he could handle.
"If you ever come across a pedophile," he added sternly, "shoot them immediately. No hesitation. Even if it's the President of the United States."
The NYPD had better not try to cause trouble! The last time Solomon encountered them, it was for driving without a license. They'd chased him down, but fortunately, he'd escaped by hoisting his motorcycle and running. If Nick Fury had to bail him out, the embarrassment would've been unbearable.
Checking the time, Solomon prepared to leave. He walked into a secluded alley near the orphanage to open a portal back to his residence. He never cast departure spells directly at the orphanage to avoid drawing unwanted attention from prying eyes. The surrounding area had few residents, so he wasn't worried about being seen.
However, midway through casting his spell, Solomon froze. He heard a menacing breathing sound and caught a whiff of the foul stench of dark magic in the air. Clenching his hand into a fist, he stopped casting and readied himself. A moment later, he heard the sound of shattered glass and light footsteps. A dark figure crashed through a window above and lunged toward him.
With barely enough time to react, Solomon raised his right hand, summoning an orange-red shield to block the shower of broken glass and the sharp claws aiming for his flesh. The attack had come so suddenly that he didn't even get a clear look at his assailant. Regardless of who it was, attacking this close to the orphanage was an unforgivable crime. In Solomon's mind, the verdict was already clear.
Death penalty.
"Three-Headed Satan sends his regards!" the shadowy figure cackled, leaping toward Solomon again. The raspy, labored breathing echoed in the mage's ears, accompanied by the grotesque image of blood dripping from jagged fangs and claws tearing through flesh.
This time, Solomon had enough time to react. Just before the filthy claws could reach him, he vanished into a thin mist of silvery light. A split second later, he reappeared behind the dark creature and slammed the orange-red Rings of Raggadorr against its back with all his strength. Wasting no time, Solomon lunged forward as the creature fell, stomping on its limbs and shattering its cursed joints with his heel. Grabbing its misshapen head, he slammed it against the ground repeatedly until sticky, foul-smelling blood pooled across the concrete. By the time the werewolf stopped struggling, it was utterly broken, unable to fight back.
"Did Marduk send you?" Solomon growled. The term "Three-Headed Satan" was synonymous with Marduk, a devil infamous even in hell. Known for his penchant for calling himself "Satan" and his three venomous dragon heads, Marduk was so deranged that even Mephisto disliked him. Solomon couldn't fathom why Marduk's lackeys had targeted him or how they had tracked him down.
The werewolf's eyes were caked with blood, rendering it unable to open them. Yet it didn't seem to care about its impending doom. It coughed up a mouthful of blood and sneered, its expression disgusting.
"The great Three-Headed Satan knows your secrets, mage," it hissed. "You and the Lord of Lies cannot hide your schemes from him."
The Lord of Lies—another title for Mephisto.
Schemes involving Kamar-Taj and Mephisto? Solomon's thoughts immediately jumped to the contract signed in hell, where the old steward had represented the Sorcerer Supreme in striking a deal with the devil. He didn't know the specifics of the contract or the agreement between the Sorcerer Supreme and Mephisto, but it was clear that Marduk was deeply threatened by whatever was in that contract.
Solomon had assumed the matter was settled—after all, the sacred lance's display of power was a threat most hell lords couldn't bear. But now it seemed Mephisto couldn't suppress his nature. Barely after the ink on the contract had dried, the devil had betrayed his temporary allies. Using this information, Mephisto had likely manipulated the impulsive and reckless Marduk, throwing Solomon into the mix as a bargaining chip.
Infuriated, Solomon slammed the werewolf's head against the ground a few more times before deciding it was no longer worth questioning. With a swift motion, he drew a dagger and slit the creature's throat.
But something felt off. Sensing danger, Solomon immediately sprang to his feet and bolted toward the orphanage.
He ran faster and faster, leaping over trash bins and using walls as footholds to clear obstacles. With each stride, his fury fueled him further, causing bricks and concrete to crack under his steps. His previously neat shirt was now missing several buttons. Like a wildcat, he moved with raw agility, his rage focused entirely on the shadowy figure attempting to sneak into the orphanage.
Solomon leapt from mid-air, his fist sparking with energy, and struck the intruder's head. The blow was devastating. With a sickening crack, the creature's skull was crushed into its chest cavity. It didn't even have time to make a sound before its lifeless body collapsed, spraying a crimson mist onto the orphanage's white-tiled exterior. Solomon didn't pause. Ignoring the startled gasps of onlookers, he sprinted toward the next location marked by his magical alarms.
"Master," Solomon said, panting as he entered the Sorcerer Supreme's meditation room. His white shirt was stained with a chaotic mix of dark brown and deep red blotches, while pale pink streaks of blood mixed with sweat dripped from his forehead. He looked as though he'd just rolled through a blood-soaked battlefield.
His rage was barely contained. Using the most brutal methods, he had eliminated every dark magic creature that had targeted him, allowing his dagger to bathe in more blood than it had ever known. He had slit more than ten throats, fighting a diverse array of attackers. Werewolves and vampires were the most common, but he had also faced cultists with infernal bloodlines, hell-beasts, and grotesque hybrids born from unholy rituals.
The sight of those hybrids was nauseating—female cultists who had summoned lower-plane entities via blood sacrifices and carried their offspring, often dying in the process. The feral hybrids were so violent that they would tear their mothers' wombs apart to claw their way out.
In his rage, Solomon had no time to clean up the bodies, but he'd kept his head clear enough to alert the mages of Kamar-Taj. They had retrieved the corpses before the NYPD could arrive. As for the bloodstains, even Kamar-Taj couldn't fix those. Solomon planned to ask Nick Fury for help with the cleanup later. Otherwise, he'd have to manually erase the evidence from NYPD archives and biological monitoring labs.
Returning to Kamar-Taj, Solomon reported Mephisto's betrayal to the Sorcerer Supreme, only to find that the Ancient One had anticipated it all along.
"Working with Mephisto always comes with betrayal. What's there to be surprised about?" the Ancient One said, her tone calm. "But we've already gotten what we needed. Whatever Mephisto does next is irrelevant. On the contrary, Marduk's reaction tells us we've struck a nerve. His attack on you reveals his fear—fear that Kamar-Taj has uncovered his weakness. I understand your concerns, but rest assured, I contacted Athena before the attack even happened. She'll look after the children. Do you really think anyone can outmatch her?"
"Besides," the Ancient One added, slowly pouring a cup of tea for Solomon, "Athena isn't upset with you. In fact, she thinks you did quite well."
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