Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1386 Jung and Nietzsche (First Update)

Agent Coulson, leading the Google Maps employees he had met earlier, rushed into the long corridor, past the black benches, icons, and sculptures of saints lining its sides. Only after Agent Coulson "demonstrated" his weapon—capable of launching high-speed metal—did the Silicon Valley men quiet down and obediently follow him. Like molten oil, billowing black smoke rose from the three-story San Fernando Church, attracting the attention of the entire Hispanic and Latino community.

The longtime residents of this community had never seen such a strange fire. A plume of smoke rose into the sky, almost completely obscuring half the church, yet no bright flames were visible within the thick smoke. Some concerned locals had already contacted the fire department, while the human wall formed by onlookers effectively blocked Agent Coulson's evacuation route. He tried to persuade them with his badge and pistol, but no one paid him any attention; instead, they tried to film him with their phones. No agent wanted this to happen, so Agent Coulson fired an empty magazine into the air. The locals, extremely sensitive to gunfire, instantly calmed down and scattered with the screaming tourists.

Gunfights are a daily occurrence in minority communities. Murder is commonplace here, and the police department is largely indifferent. Aside from the campus police at the nearby Catholic school, there are no uniformed, armed officers maintaining order. The only entities truly concerned about this community are the insurance company that insured the San Fernando Church and the government. This current situation means the insurance company will be paying out a large sum to cover reconstruction efforts following the fire.

"You're really smart." The Google employee wasn't bothered at all by the ringing in his ears from the gunfire, or even by being hit in the head by a spent shell casing. One of the photographers in the group was still snapping away with a panoramic camera. "Now that you've evacuated the crowd, are you going to wait here for the fire department?"

"No!" Coulson shouted.

He felt he had to raise his voice, because the sound of the hot wind emanating from the San Fernando Church behind him grew louder, burning wood crashed down, and bricks crackled and collapsed. Minutes later, the sweltering air expanded rapidly, and a dense tornado, appearing out of nowhere, whipped up a slender ladder of fire that curved upwards and disappeared into the clouds. Google Maps employees, their eyes wide, used every camera they could find to record the scene. With the help of the cameras, Agent Coulson saw a blurry figure rapidly ascending within the fiery tornado.

When the fiery tornado subsided, the figure and the flames of St. Fernando Church vanished completely, as if the supernatural fire had been drained of all its oxygen and fuel. Apart from the still-heating ruins and the still-burning grass and trees, all traces of the fire disappeared. No one emerged from the charred bricks. Agent Coulson looked around, finally deciding not to wait any longer—he wouldn't wait for the local police and fire department to arrive, because many people had seen him fire into the air, and even with FBI credentials, verification was required, which would alert the newly formed S.H.I.E.L.D. under Jeffrey Mays. He couldn't explain why he was here, nor could he explain what had happened in St. Fernando Church, and he didn't want Jeffrey Mays to know about his relationship with the Emperor and Ghost Rider.

Agent Coulson felt like he was going crazy.

Although the precise double hadn't exposed him to any supernatural forces, Agent Coulson already knew the Emperor wouldn't focus his personal attention on places devoid of the supernatural. Just realizing this fact brought back hazy memories of Salem, burning his brain like acid reflux through his esophagus, searing his delicate mucous membranes and throat; his incomprehensible whispers grew increasingly frantic.

Agent Coulson took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down.

The memories of Salem haunted him, haunting his nightmares. Even the unknown effects of the GH-325 drug from the Tahiti project couldn't erase those horrific recollections. He couldn't remember what he'd done or who he'd met, but his intuition told him there was a reason for his forgetting—it was a measure taken to ensure his safety. Even so, he could still smell the stench from his memories—the stench of death.

Is it Nick Fury, or the Emperor?

Coulson didn't know, and he didn't want to know. Even though he openly possessed all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s secrets, the deeper he dug, the more he realized his own ignorance. The Emperor's warnings still echoed in his ears. Howard Stark's initial intentions in establishing S.H.I.E.L.D. weren't so pure. Although Obadiah, who had long manipulated Stark Industries, was dead, the force intending to manipulate Stark Industries and destroy Howard Stark's pure ideals hadn't disappeared. It needed to continue fighting until victory, and before that, the Emperor wouldn't allow Agent Coulson to simply face death and peace.

Agent Coulson believed the Emperor because he was someone capable of demanding respect for his pride. Analyzing the Emperor through Jungian lenses, he was a being who embodied the "dark side" of humanity, painfully drawing strength and cruelty from it. He could demand respect with a dangerous air, but in Coulson's long interactions, he rarely witnessed this. Instead, the Emperor mostly acted jokingly and helpfully—though some of the jokes were truly malicious, no one was harmed unless absolutely necessary. This behavior even carried a philosophical undertone—in Agent Coulson's mind, the Emperor was a very gentle person. Anyone in this world possessing such power would become uncontrollably arrogant and demand more respect more frequently; even without supernatural assistance, humanity itself would commit numerous atrocities.

Those who do not wish to die of thirst among men must learn to drink deeply from every cup. Those who wish to remain pure among men must know that even dirty water can be used for washing.

"Have you eaten?"

When Salomon came to his senses, he found Jeanne had pulled the high-backed chair in the dining room so close to him that their shoulders were almost touching, and a few strands of her hair were even resting on his arm. Meanwhile, Bayonetta had already dragged the boisterous, pleading Milia to the second floor for some after-dinner activities, leaving Jeanne to look after him. The white-haired witch scrutinized Salomon with a chilling gaze, then blinked, a fleeting flash of vibrant fuchsia and smoky gray eyeshadow. She slightly licked her lips, as if to wet them, but this was merely a trick to attract attention.

As a witch, she was born with the ability to use her extremely sharp advantage of beauty.

"You ate all the steaks on the table, you idiot." Joan shook her head, tucking her long, white hair behind her ear. When Salomon finally came to his senses, he saw her pointing at the empty plates on the long table, while he himself held a knife and fork, feeling his stomach bulge. "You ate two kilograms of tomahawk steak the first time you met Ceressa. This time I wanted to see how much you could eat unconsciously, and it exceeded my expectations." Joan winked mischievously. "Also, let me tell you something: Milia secretly slipped you her broccoli. Ceressa saw it, and they even argued in the restaurant."

Salomon let out a long breath.

"Five point three kilograms." Joan stood up, patted him on the shoulder, then leaned down and whispered in his ear, "You need to work harder, especially tonight."

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(End of this chapter)