Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 1484, Chapter 1480: Attilan Medical Data

The goat that was bleating strangely on the distant rooftop is gone; it was probably killed.

Outside the window, a brown bear slowly pushed the wheelchair, and the old man in the wheelchair seemed to have grown accustomed to the damp forest scent from the bear's thick fur, and the scalding breaths that could melt the thin snowflakes on his head. It was clear that Winston was putting considerable effort into this rather amusing mode of transportation, because Laura Crawford wanted him to experience the manor's renowned, highly intelligent wildlife.

Victor von Doom shrugged humanely, indicating that he knew nothing about it. He was unaware of the Sumerian god of war's entanglement with the emperor, nor why the emperor was so determined to kill it permanently. However, he was certain that this matter would have an impact on the human kingdom he and the emperor had established in the material universe. He had no intention of delving into the emperor's past transgressions; if they had any relevance, He would certainly have prepared people for it.

"How far have you explored your identity?" He toyed with the iron mask in his hand. He was no longer used to wearing this mask, but he couldn't shake off this symbol of his identity. "Don't think I don't know about time travel. Although my arcane skills aren't as advanced as yours, I can still see a destiny entangled with you. Only by experiencing that destiny can you continue on your path and become... Damn it, your soul fire burned away my eyes in the outer dimension, and now I can't see anymore."

"You know I didn't do it on purpose. If I hadn't, Milia would have been in trouble. Someone would have discovered her existence, her father and grandfather would have understood my plan, and more demons would have wanted to use her," the Emperor said. "Her blood relatives haven't awakened yet, and Milia could very well become their target. What parent would name their child Hellstorm!"

He pursed his lips, expressing his displeasure with Miria's bloodline surname.

The madwoman who married the serial killer was Milia's nominal grandmother; the superstitious man was Milia's genetic father; and the superstitious woman was Milia's genetic mother and spiritual grandfather. The blood of evil flowed into this girl, but what truly determined her future was not her genes, but the curse and talent that had haunted her since before her birth. Without proper education, this girl's instincts would crave depravity, blood, and excitement. She would become entangled in alcohol, drugs, and promiscuity, manipulating a skinning knife like a finger, her teeth stained with black blood, because the material universe could not satisfy her desires. At that time, everyone would have heard of her cruel and sadistic reputation, and she would ultimately be consumed by fire, her soul sublimated in sin, legend and fear condensed into the most terrifying demon.

This is the future as divined by the emperor.

He wouldn't allow such a thing to happen in the future, nor would He allow His enemy to gain an ally. He would grant Milia the status and abilities rightfully her bloodline, completely settling the mistakes He had made, but at the same time, the girl would survive. If this were to happen in the future, Milia would have no chance of living the comfortable life she envisioned.

The emperor could only sigh at the humanity he now possessed.

"You must be prepared to deal with the cost of time travel." Victor von Doom waved his hand.

The television screen nearby was broadcasting a report of an artillery attack on a US naval port in Yemen. Al-Qaeda immediately claimed responsibility, but the two adult men present knew the truth was different. The attack was orchestrated by their intelligence department and the Secret Guard, and they would soon receive a briefing on the mission in their office. The air defense early warning system deployed in Yugoslavia was already capable of detecting aircraft across Europe, the Atlantic Ocean in the Northern Hemisphere, and Central Asia. Only one final piece of the puzzle needed to be completed. Only then could they keep weapons of mass destruction at bay in the face of a potential global nuclear war, fulfilling the promises made by the Emperor when he conquered those peoples.

Alien invaders must never set foot on the Emperor's land and harm any human.

"None of us want the accuracy of the material universe to be destroyed; that's our ultimate goal. Our future and our past are both dead; we absolutely cannot stop." Victor von Doom took one last look out the window at the path covered with a thin layer of snow and the winter roses beneath it. The midday sun was melancholic and cold, and a gentle breeze stirred up the snowflakes that hadn't yet melted. Winston was quietly recounting his experience hunting a Bengal tiger, trying to stop the brown bear from licking his head. Laura Crawford, instead of helping, was blushing and trying to suppress her laughter.

She wouldn't allow Winston to continue serving. He was too old and needed a rest.

Victor von Doom shook his head, and then his phantom burst and vanished like a soap bubble, leaving no trace. He still had a lot of work to do. With the Emperor having delegated all authority to him, he had to handle many domestic affairs, and the transfer of officials between different regions to promote integration also took up a lot of his time. "He's actually envious," the Emperor whispered in Milia's ear, lowering his head. "Damn it, should I bring his little lover back?"

The girl looked up and stared at him with her big eyes.

She kissed him without warning, then continued trying to beat him with the sponge training sword. Salomon smiled. "I didn't expect you to understand anyway. Let lovely Diana take care of you; I'm off to war. War doesn't wait, and some unfortunate soul is waiting to be chopped to pieces... You'll like the beach, Milia; it'll be helpful for your architecture lessons. You'll have to chop some unfortunate soul to pieces someday, and I'm sure Joan of Arc would be happy to teach you how, otherwise she'd be clamoring to become a teacher."

He had considered buying a large ranch in Texas, a sparsely populated area that would be helpful for concealing his tracks and educating his children. He wanted Milia to be a warrior who could shoot, draw a bow, and wield a sword. A strong, healthy-looking country girl, rather than a middle-class Los Angeles woman who needed to deliberately tan and went to the gym for photos rather than to work out, was clearly a better fit for a girl destined to cut off her enemies' heads.

This is not a difficult task. He can install a portal in the house and travel freely between Oxfordshire and the American countryside farm, maintaining a high quality of life while possessing the physique of a laborer. Crossing space is not a problem for him, and connecting the two houses with magic is even less of a problem. Milia can receive proper training in both mind and body. The witch's only objection is that she believes the same ability does not need to be expressed in this way. Fishing in the river and hunting wild animals do not need to be on Milia's to-do list.

They wouldn't mind being farmers, but only if they didn't discard any of their extravagant jewelry. Just wait and see; sooner or later they'll be adorning their saddles and rifles with jewels. Moreover, witches absolutely cannot tolerate lower standards of personal hygiene. They can't stand dusty, manure-strewn environments, just as they can't stand children's tears and cockroaches. Their usual solution to such problems is to shoot—shooting without reason to see if they can eliminate what they hate.

"Do you like cows, Milia? Do you like eating them? We might be eating delicious beef from our own cattle in the future. I'll prepare a big enough stable there to raise horses for grazing," he said. "You'd better build up some muscle, son, because you'll be in charge of shoveling manure in the stables from now on."

"What are you talking about again! Are you sure Milia can understand you?" Bayonetta stood with her hands on her hips, her fingertips hooking the trigger guard of her pistol. Dina, walking ahead of her, steadily carried a tray, pushing open the study door with one hand. The spirit in the glittering crystal bottle swayed only slightly. The android expertly replaced another identical crystal bottle in the study, replenishing the brandy her master had finished yesterday. The black-haired witch brandished her pistol, while Jeanne, standing not far away, twirled her longsword with flourishes. "Come here, girl, your shooting lesson is about to begin…shooting first, Jeanne. Close combat will have to wait until before dinner." She glanced at the powder-blue sponge sword. "It seems she's not ready for training yet."

Milia's smile vanished, and within seconds she transformed into a docile girl, ceasing her wild waving. She looked up at Salomon, but he simply shook his head, indicating his inability to help. Compared to Salomon's indulgence, Bayonetta and Jeanne's strict discipline and stern attitude frightened her somewhat, but Salomon believed it was necessary. Milia needed to understand the consequences of using force and that she couldn't point a gun at others or stab people with a dagger. This was a safety lesson that needed to be taken seriously, and he would fully endorse any educational measures taken by Bayonetta and Jeanne. They had agreed from the beginning that he would not question or interfere with the witch's teaching methods in any way.

"My wrist hurts," Milia said, pouting as she raised her hand.

"That's only a .22 caliber, girl. I didn't see you cry out in pain when you swung the sword." He turned to Bayonetta. "Would you mind if we watched your teaching session?"

Salomon gently patted Diana's shoulder, simultaneously deleting the email from Mycroft Holmes. The bald Englishman was arrogant like a high elf from a fantasy story; inexplicably arrogant. If it weren't for the knife to his throat and the severing of a blood vessel, this cabinet secretary seemed unaware that he wasn't immortal, and that absolute violence could destroy all rules built on class and money. Mycroft Holmes never grasped that his enemy sought to overthrow the world order and establish one adapted to the future; he was still using his own experience to assess the Emperor's cause.

"Here's a bottle of brandy. We can finish it while Milia practices shooting, provided she doesn't shoot at us. Dear Diana, let me carry this tray. Please go to the kitchen and get some roast meat for me to take to the indoor shooting range. It's too boring with just spirits... Of course, there's also ice-cold beer. Spirits alone aren't very good either. You're very thoughtful."

The two witches raised their eyebrows and looked at him meaningfully.

"Your plans are going to fall through," Joan said. "Constantine is waiting for you outside; looks like he has something to say to you. Grab my hand, you little dove. Don't frown; your wrist is perfectly fine. Don't try to slack off." Milia grabbed Joan's hand with a distressed expression and was dragged straight out of the study, glancing back repeatedly, hoping her doting master would come to her rescue. But until she was dragged around the corner and completely out of sight, the man remained standing motionless in front of his desk. The only thing that brought Milia any comfort was that her chubby Cheshire Cat came over to watch the commotion, only to be grabbed by its front paw and dragged away by the witches. Constantine, clad in golden power armor, stood silently to the side, waiting until the girl and the witches left before entering the room to face the emperor.

How bad was it?

“Not so bad, my lord,” Constantine said. “Mycroft Holmes has yielded.”

"You know I don't want to hear this, and it's to be expected." He waved his hand, signaling the invisible servant to pour him and Constantine a glass of wine. "The fact that you're here means there's been a problem with the war preparations in the material world. Or is it worse? Like, that alien robot at the Lighthouse base suddenly went berserk, so you had to kill it?"

"I haven't killed anyone recently, my lord."

"I'm pretty sure they didn't forget to add a touch of humor when they modified you," the Emperor said with a smile. "Was it a mission to the US naval port in Yemen?"

"Yes, my lord. Amon has found relevant documents that confirm that several nuclear submarines are patrolling near the Red Sea, posing a potential threat to cut off oil trade routes between Yugoslavia and the Middle East. It is highly likely that action will be taken during the Regent's visit to the Middle East, as Middle Eastern countries refuse to comply with sanctions imposed by European countries."

"That's not too bad. Anything else?"

"Of the three assassins released to the Attilan base on the far side of the moon, one has completely lost contact. It's possible the Inhumans have discovered our intentions, because the signal transmitters and monitors the assassins installed didn't capture any useful information, most likely because they're implementing information control," Constantine said. "However, we still managed to obtain some intelligence through Attilan's information network."

Constantine presented a medical record belonging to a leader of several Inhuman factions in Attilan, known as the Matriarch. This hideous creature was hairless, with skin as rough as a shark's, and a hard, fleshy crest atop its long, narrow skull. Many other creatures shared similar appearances. Within Attilan, Inhumans with such striking genetic mutations held a high status, as Attilan society considered their shedding of the human form a symbol of nobility.

"These organisms show signs of genetic modification," Constantine said. "The same genetic markers are present throughout the entire lineage."

"See, even mutants have social classes," the Emperor shrugged. "But this also shows that the risks we take in attacking Attilan will yield worthwhile results."

(End of this chapter)