The Holy Son in Marvel

"Are you serious?" Coulson asked, then quickly tapped his own forehead, realizing his mistake. "My bad. I should've remembered who I was talking to. So all those sulfur-poisoned Hell's Angels gangsters were killed by that hellish stowaway? I suppose that's a bit ironic. Do you need any help? Like... holy water from a church? Or maybe a priest before you head out?"

Solomon shot Coulson a look, as if he were an idiot. Coulson, however, didn't notice his blunder. "We don't need a priest," the mage replied. "And anyway, the Roman Church doesn't have holy water anymore. Neither does the Eastern Orthodox, the Protestants, and definitely not the Anglicans. As for the Mormons… ugh, I'd say they'd be dead before the devil even got to them. So, when are you sending someone in?"

"You mean for Ghost Rider?" Coulson gestured to the monitor, looking a bit puzzled. "Do you need us to block him now? Captain America's already preparing to head out, but you might have to wait a bit."

"No, I'm talking about the Mormons. When are you sending agents to deal with them?"

"Okay~ wasn't expecting that quick of a topic shift," Coulson said, rolling his eyes and casting a pleading look at Agent Victoria Hand, who was standing silently in front of several monitors. Hand, however, didn't even glance his way. Fury had expressly forbidden her from engaging with Solomon, so she treated him like air, choosing not to interfere as long as he didn't obstruct operations. Realizing he wouldn't get any help, Coulson forced a strained smile.

"We don't kill Mormons," he said, putting on his best fake smile. "We believe in religious freedom, unless, of course, they break the law. Besides, American Mormons gave up polygamy long ago…"

"Well, you'd better hurry up. SHIELD is a global organization, isn't it? Every moment, somewhere in the world, more little Mormons are born. I heard of one Mormon who married over a hundred wives…"

"OK, OK, let's focus on the task at hand," Coulson said, frantically waving his hand in front of Solomon to bring him back to the present. "We're only concerned about Ghost Rider right now, and the strange deaths, like people drowning on dry roads. We're just trying to figure out which of these incidents are the hell stowaway's doing."

"Relax, Coulson. The rogue elemental creature has already been caught," Solomon said, dropping the tangent. He pointed to a report on his tablet. "The creature is currently held in a stone-walled pool; it's not getting out. But it's just a minion. The hell stowaway is still out there."

"Anything else?"

"That… well, I'm afraid that's our business," the mage said, waving dismissively. "We'll handle that infernal stowaway. If he's lucky, he'll get sent back to Hell to face his father's punishment. If he's not, his final destination will be my operating table—not yours. Take me out of here, Coulson; this base's underground maze is way too convoluted."

Coulson blinked, having expected Solomon to teleport out. Seeing his confusion, Solomon explained he didn't want to waste his energy. "Why use magic when I can burn someone else's gas?"

"You want me to drop you downtown?" Coulson asked, leading him to the underground garage. "You've met Laura, right? This here is a Corvette C2. Don't let the vintage look fool you; she's special. But don't ask me why—I'm not telling."

"Is this revenge for my mysterious behavior?" Solomon opened the passenger door and sat down. "I know how special a flying car is, but my horse can fly too, so I'm not that impressed."

"Fine, no more showing off around you," Coulson said with a dramatic eye-roll as he pulled the car out of the garage. "So, want to grab a taco? I know a good spot."

"Sure. I'm so tired of Lancastrian royal cuisine. You wouldn't believe it, but the British can't cook. They even leave pork undercooked and call it 'retro.'" Solomon looked around as they left the underground lot. Earlier, he'd come in a jeep and couldn't make out the location. But now, sitting in the red convertible, he could see clearly—this was a military base. Not far away, armed U.S. soldiers patrolled the perimeter.

That explained it. No wonder Coulson had been fine with Solomon coming here by car; SHIELD had just borrowed a military base. This wasn't one of SHIELD's secure facilities, but likely a temporary arrangement for the case. As they drove out, Houston's lights glowed in the evening chill of early spring.

"Any nice restaurant recommendations, Agent Coulson? I mean somewhere a bit upscale."

"Got a date planned?" Coulson glanced over at him. "Guess you're about that age. But, if I'm not mistaken, Eton's an all-boys school."

"No, it's for an apology," the mage replied, shaking his head. "To Agent Romanoff."

"Finally, I can ask—what happened in Salem? My clearance doesn't let me in on much." Coulson gestured at his own head. "Somehow, I've forgotten bits myself. If you don't mind, could you share some things I am allowed to know—like what happened with Romanoff?"

"That's temporary insanity fallout; don't worry, you're fine now." Solomon reassured him. "As for Agent Romanoff… she was dead for about fifty seconds. And I'm the one who did it."

"What?" Coulson hit the brakes, stunned. "What do you mean she was dead for fifty seconds? And—you killed her? Why?"

"Her heart was pierced," Solomon replied, waving it off. "I had to be sure she wasn't some kind of disguised monster. Don't worry, no aftereffects—she's even healthier than before."

"No, I mean… she came back from the dead?"

"That's right." Solomon's gaze was inscrutable. "With no external injuries, she was dead for less than a minute. It's like emergency medicine. Everyone's probably been through something like that at least once in their lives… sort of."

"Not exactly a common occurrence, Solomon." Coulson pressed the gas pedal, turning toward the city. He grew silent, Solomon's words stirring memories of the "Project TAHITI" under his oversight.

The project aimed to regenerate cells, a secret measure by Fury to allow Avengers to survive near-death situations. But there was a problem: the process inflicted intense pain, and every revived agent exhibited signs of mental instability.

"Does coming back hurt?" Coulson asked after a while, his tone somber. He couldn't forget the madness in the eyes of those agents who'd been brought back. He feared Romanoff might suffer the same fate.

"By the time Romanoff regained consciousness, her wound was healed, and there wasn't even a scar," Solomon replied. "So, pain? No, I doubt it. But I still killed her, didn't I? Just ask if she has some free time; I'd like to treat her to dinner. Hopefully, she won't shoot me next time we meet."

"Alright." Coulson sighed. "Every time I see you, you hit me with another mind-blowing revelation, and I'm left reeling. Might as well spill everything now—can't take any more surprises. And don't worry, I'm a stable driver; just got a bit caught off guard earlier."

"Uh… Captain America has a crush on Peggy Carter's niece?"

And just like that, Coulson steered the car straight into the roadside ditch.

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