The day began like any other. The streets near Stark Tower were teeming with paparazzi and fans hoping to snap a photo of Tony Stark soaring back to the building in his Iron Man suit. Meanwhile, Steve Rogers, fresh from his morning run, treated himself to a coffee and sandwich at a nearby café. Since Solomon had shared certain insights with him, Steve had begun dedicating time to learning about the modern world. No matter what Nick Fury said, Steve was determined to see for himself what the world had become.
It was an unremarkable day on the surface. The halls of Kamar-Taj were quiet, save for a few trainees and stewards guarding the sanctum. Most of the senior arcanists had been dispatched to various locations—East Africa, Canada, Eastern Europe, and New Mexico. The trainees were used to seeing their mentors return exhausted, collapsing into beds the moment they arrived.
Except for Solomon.
Still technically a student by age, Solomon wasn't yet eligible for sanctum duties. This allowed him the time to explore the mysteries of magic on his own—namely, working on his golems and mechanical maid. The project was far from finished. The gemstone processors required further deep learning, and the base flesh golem prototype was hideous. Solomon spent most of his time meticulously refining the maid's facial features.
"I won't comment on your hobbies, dear apprentice," said the Sorcerer Supreme, sighing as she tried to redirect Solomon's focus. As someone who had lived for over a millennium, she thought she'd seen it all, but Solomon had managed to surprise her. Seeing his blueprints, she was genuinely taken aback by her student's creativity. "But perhaps it's time… I mean, I thought the UK had proper sex education? Should I have sent you to elementary school? You'd have learned that girls can't pull guns out from under their skirts."
"But witches can. I've seen it," Solomon retorted.
"You understand the principles behind their magic. I don't see those principles applied in your designs."
"What does it matter? Constructs have ample storage space."
"I'd recommend capturing an elemental spirit instead. It would save you a lot of time," the Sorcerer Supreme suggested. "You could spend the extra time bonding with Bayonetta. You're nearly sixteen—an adult by many historical standards, and old enough to wield weapons in battle. You should also think about starting a family. When are you and Bayonetta going to have a child?"
Caught off guard by the sudden shift, Solomon blushed furiously and stammered. The topic felt far too premature for him. Bayonetta had tried to take the initiative several times, but Solomon, self-conscious about his height compared to hers, had become a master at deflecting her advances.
Before he could find a suitable excuse, a sanctum steward entered in a rush, mentioning the "Tesseract." The Sorcerer Supreme immediately stood, her expression turning serious. She grabbed Solomon's arm and led him out to the training grounds, where the sound of approaching hoofbeats echoed. Pegasus trotted over, its hooves clinking against the stone tiles. The creature, ever eager to please, licked Solomon's face as it arrived—its diet had been restricted under Athena's orders, leaving it perpetually hungry.
"Arm yourself, don your wards, and don't forget to feed the horse. It's time for you to take the stage," the Sorcerer Supreme instructed. "This conversation isn't over, by the way."
"What?" Solomon blinked in confusion.
"It's time for you to announce Camelot's presence to the world, child," she said, giving him a shove. Solomon landed on something soft—his bed. His sword, Excalibur, and his shield, Aegis, were wrapped in crimson silk nearby.
"Be ready," her voice echoed in his ears. "This is your first taste of war. And I… must pay my price."
---
Nick Fury's scratches still hadn't healed, and Solomon's curses continued to torment him with an unbearable itch. The discomfort was enough to make him want to avoid the brat for the foreseeable future. The curses weren't dangerous, but they were maddeningly effective at making his day miserable. He scratched at phantom itches, grumbling as he stepped off the helicopter that had landed in the New Mexico desert.
Agent Phil Coulson greeted him, accompanied by Maria Hill, who had also disembarked. As a representative of the World Security Council assigned to oversee S.H.I.E.L.D., Hill had both the authority and the obligation to be privy to most classified information.
They had arrived at Project Pegasus. Hill knew the facility was tied to Phase Two and the Tesseract—a key to unlocking infinite energy. This project, sanctioned by the Council, was critical to humanity's future. Until its success, clean energy from companies like Osborn or Stark Industries remained unchallenged. Hill could guess the intentions of the Rockefeller Group's investment—they were looking to undercut Stark's dominance in the energy market.
Regardless of the financiers' motives, the Tesseract's potential benefits for humanity were undeniable. Who controlled it, however, was a matter of contention. Even the Council wouldn't allow private interests to monopolize it.
The project, however, was in trouble.
An emergency broadcast blared across the facility, its amplified voice filling Hill's ears. Coupled with the roaring helicopter engines, it was almost impossible to hear Fury or Coulson without moving closer.
"Attention all personnel: evacuation orders have been confirmed. This is not a drill."
Hill noted the panicked expressions of nearby researchers. This wasn't routine. Why hadn't the base conducted drills before? Where had the budget gone? These were questions Hill mentally filed away for later. For now, the faint tremors beneath her feet were far more pressing.
She silently prayed that Fury would resolve the situation before it escalated. Her plate was already overflowing with responsibilities; she didn't need another disaster.
Following Fury and Coulson, she descended via elevator into the underground lab. The tremors, though faint, reverberated with a heavy, unsettling rhythm. Hill could only hope the facility's earthquake-resistant design lived up to its specifications. Otherwise, she'd be buried under several meters of dirt, with only insects for company.
---
Solomon had donned his robe and strapped the sheathed sword to his back. But rather than heading straight into battle, he slipped on his teleportation ring and opened a portal to Bayonetta's apartment to bring her and the other witches to safety. With New York becoming increasingly dangerous, the sanctum was the only secure place left. The Sorcerer Supreme had already summoned all available arcanists to defend it.
"I know you're capable, and the coming attacks will be trivial for you," Solomon tried to reason with the witches. "But magic isn't something that should appear in front of ordinary people."
"Then why did the Sorcerer Supreme send you to fight?" Jeanne raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.
"If I only use a sword, who'll know I'm a caster?" Solomon replied impatiently. "Please, just do this."
"And you think it's fair for you to swing a sword while we can't fire guns? I'm sure the Sorcerer Supreme never said that," Bayonetta adjusted her glasses, smiling. "Boya, have you forgotten who's the strongest in this house?"
"Of course, it's you, dear," Solomon sighed. He had urgent matters to attend to and couldn't afford to waste time arguing. As a compromise, he suggested they protect Athena's orphanage. Reluctantly, the witches agreed. Once he had escorted them to the orphanage, Solomon immediately opened another portal to the top floor of Stark Tower.
Tony Stark wasn't there—he'd likely received word and headed to the helicarrier. Solomon wasn't there to stop Loki either. It was too early for that. His mission was to retrieve the construct frame he had left in Stark's workshop. Having spent all his materials and gemstones, Solomon was now penniless—a true pauper.
"Good evening, Mr. Solomon Damonet," J.A.R.V.I.S.'s voice echoed from the speakers. "Should I notify Mr. Stark of your presence?"
"No need, J.A.R.V.I.S. Take me to the workshop. I need to retrieve my belongings. This isn't the time for further construction."
"Mr. Damonet, your artificial intelligence and materials are fascinating. She's capable of high-intensity fuzzy computation. I'd like to know where her CPU is—I'd love to study her further."
"She? Why are you assuming a gender?" Solomon frowned.
"Yes, she. She's developed a nascent awareness, like a newborn. As for her gender, I believe that's part of your design."
"Alright, J.A.R.V.I.S., enough chatter. My maid isn't here for you to ogle, you mechaphile," Solomon snapped, clapping his hands. "Take me there. My goal is to protect her."
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