"A resident called the police, reporting constant noise from a neighbor's house... Someone was mugged on the street by two armed robbers..."
The S.H.I.E.L.D. director and the sorcerer stood on the outskirts of town, surveying the sparse lights scattered across the settlement. In contrast to Fury's focused demeanor as he leaned against a black jeep, flipping through a tablet in search of clues, Solomon sat lazily on horseback, exuding an air of indifference.
"Okay, stop. I didn't have you tap into police reports to sift through trivial nonsense like this," Solomon said, glaring disdainfully at Fury's widened eyes. "Armed robbery in the U.S. is hardly unusual, is it? We're here to find that hellish entity, not play neighborhood watch. That's not my job."
"Devils are in the details, Solomon," Fury replied, shaking his head. "Piecing together the relevant information from a sea of clues is a critical skill for an agent. You're still too green. I recommended you join the S.H.I.E.L.D. Academy precisely for this reason. You need to learn the ropes instead of playing house in your aristocratic bubble."
"Do you expect every agent to be Sherlock Holmes? I happen to know a Sherlock Holmes—or rather, three of them from two versions," Solomon retorted. "You think my time at that so-called aristocratic school was wasted, but I'll have you know it provided the stability I needed to master magic. Adventure isn't a luxury I can afford."
"Sherlock Holmes, Britain's most famous private detective? I didn't know you had connections with him."
"No, I don't. I was just making a point."
"Alright, then it's this one!" Fury approached, handing the tablet to Solomon atop the horse. "I guarantee this isn't some hysterical middle-aged woman reporting a haunted toaster. The local police escalated this case, and we need to handle it before the FBI swoops in. You don't want too many civilian casualties, do you?"
"I wouldn't mind, if necessary," Solomon replied, unsettling Fury with his nonchalant tone as he scanned the report. "Ha! Tentacles emerging from flames to drag someone into a kitchen stove? If that's not the work of a hellish creature, I don't know what is."
"This is our demon, then?"
"Not all beings from hell are demons," Solomon corrected as he returned the tablet. "Infernal energies can bleed into other planes—like the elemental or dream realms. These dimensions aren't completely isolated. For instance, in the spirit realm, demons constantly hunt souls. That's a sight you won't encounter on Earth, though, because we've cleansed its spirit realm. Of course, this has left many souls adrift, unable to move on until they finally find their eternal resting place. In other words, your so-called ghost stories might all be true. The Roman Catholic Church makes €5 billion annually in Italy from exorcisms, but most of their clergy are inept. The bulk of the work is handled by Kamar-Taj, and we don't even charge."
"So, we're dealing with a dream entity tainted by hellish powers?" Fury asked. "How difficult will it be to handle?"
"Not particularly." Solomon activated a scroll inscribed with spells to shield against fire damage. "Being touched by hellfire is no laughing matter. The hard part isn't dealing with the creature itself," he added, his tone darkening, "but the fact that the King of Hell has sent an avatar to the mortal world. It's hard not to see a connection."
"Motherfer! What else are you hiding from me?" Fury's face paled as he broke into a cold sweat. "The King of Hell is on Earth?!"
"What good would it do to tell you? You can't handle it anyway," Solomon said, glancing dismissively at Fury's bald head. "Now, stop wasting time. Let's head to the scene."
---
"Welcome, Agent Phil Coulson," a young officer in a long-sleeved jacket said, eyeing Fury's leather-clad figure and Solomon's red robes with skepticism. Despite his doubts, the urgency of the situation and their credentials convinced him to cooperate.
"And this is…?"
"Agent John Constantine," Solomon said, shaking the officer's hand. "Forgive my attire. I was at a costume party earlier. This is an emergency, and the only gear I had handy were these sunglasses."
"I hope you didn't forget your gun. This one won't go down easily," the officer said, letting the wardrobe slide. When he turned away, Solomon lowered his head and winked at Fury through the gap in his sunglasses—a subtle magical signal. Without it, even with their credentials, the officer would likely have demanded to verify their identities with the FBI.
"Didn't you already apprehend the lunatic?" Fury interjected.
"Lunatic? We're not sure if he's the lunatic or if we are," the young officer replied as he led them to his superior. "His roommate went missing, we found a pile of ash in the kitchen, and he started raving about flames devouring his roommate. No clue if he's on drugs or just crazy."
"Damn junkies."
"The drug test results aren't in yet, but I'd bet good money he's high. What's odd is that we found his roommate's DNA in the kitchen—a piece of flesh, complete with skin and a tattoo. Maybe the guy's story isn't so far-fetched. His detainment time is nearly up, and we have no solid evidence. You've got limited time to question him."
Using fake credentials and the "charm human" spell, Fury and Solomon quickly dealt with the local police and entered the interrogation room. One look at the suspect told Solomon all he needed to know—Fury's instincts had been right. The man was pale, trembling, and drenched in sweat. A glass of water, likely provided by the police to prevent dehydration, sat empty on the table.
Before Fury could assume his usual interrogator role, Solomon approached the suspect. Grabbing the man's yellowed curls with a gloved hand, he leaned in, sniffing closely.
"Sulfur," Solomon said, releasing the man's hair. "It's him."
"What do you mean, 'it's him'?" the suspect cried, wide-eyed with terror. "What are you talking about? Where's my lawyer?"
Ignoring him, Solomon turned to Fury. "We need to make him dream to force that thing out."
"Hang on. I'll get tech on it," Fury said, fiddling with his phone. He signaled Solomon to mimic flipping through files at the table. Moments later, he raised the device, showing that S.H.I.E.L.D. technicians had looped the security footage in the interrogation room.
"Do your thing."
"What are you doing?" the suspect shouted in panic. Before he could move, a single rose petal fell from Solomon's hand, and everything went black for him.
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