Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 260 A Gift from Heaven (First Update)

A mental illness called paranoia was transmitted from the Sorcerer Supreme to her successor, who was completely unaware of it, and even more unaware that someone in another dimension was discussing his mental state. Perhaps some of the anomalies that Nick Fury sensed were indeed real, and Salomon Damonette desperately needed a psychiatrist, but the reality was that no one could help him return to the normal range of a normal person's mental state.

For someone as unique as him, the mental burden he carried from birth had already driven him mad, and the Sorcerer Supreme's cruel actions during his childhood further exacerbated this mental state. The Sorcerer Supreme forcibly placed a bloody reality before him, one he would never have otherwise encountered, and forced him to reap the lives of others with his own hands. Perhaps his life with the witch is gradually softening his mind, but how long it will take and whether it will have any effect are all unknown.

Oblivious to his own state of mind, Salomon was preoccupied with his journey. He had recently passed through Marduk's territory, a demon considered the patron saint of Babylonia in early human history. However, Marduk was an extremely mad demon, almost devoid of demonic traits, his personality more akin to that of a demon, leading many hellish lords to consider him insane. Since this demon was also vying for the Seventh Throne, Salomon's mere presence would make him a target. Phoenix didn't suggest Salomon rest in Marduk's territory, but instead continued on his way, finding a slightly cleaner spot to eat and rest.

Salomon had only jerky and water to eat. He could bear it during the first meal, but by the third time he put the jerky in his mouth, he wanted to return to the Prime Material Plane and find a restaurant to have a big meal.

If Salomon hadn't used magic to transform the jerky into various fruit flavors, he truly wouldn't have been able to endure it any longer. The jerky was being consumed at an increasingly rapid pace; he had taken out and tasted almost everything edible from his dimensional bag. Aside from food, Salomon had a high tolerance for other things; heat and dryness were minor issues, as he could use magic to solve them.

At least he won't let himself die of thirst.

Pegasus, however, could not tolerate such a terrible environment. The sand and dust would get stuck in its feathers and mane, and even into its nostrils, impossible to clean completely. Unable to bear it any longer, Pegasus had Salomon give it a bath after the first day of its march, cleaning the dust from its nose before returning to the Astral Plane to rest, only to be summoned again by Salomon when needed.

Eating, traveling, eating, sleeping—he spent countless days like this. Salomon only hoped that he could reach Mephisto's territory, meet other sorcerers, and then blast away the old devil's palace so he could go home and rest.

Phoenix was also a little tired, as it had been responsible for Salomon's safety along the way, and it could only rest briefly when traveling.

Fortunately, before Salomon completely lost his sense of time, he encountered the mystic who came to meet him. This old deacon seemed to be very experienced in such matters as marching through hell, whether it was passed down orally in his family or he himself had experienced it. When he met Salomon, he very familiarly took out a lot of food, and there was no dried meat among it.

"Once you break through the protective magic within Mephisto's territory, you can return to Earth." The old deacon shook his head, somewhat displeased with Salomon's pampered upbringing. However, it wasn't a major issue; it could be trained. The old deacon believed he should suggest to the Sorcerer Supreme that Salomon's endurance in harsh environments be increased, and that multiple training programs be implemented until Salomon could withstand the harsh environments of outer dimensions on his own.

"Great!" Salomon was so excited he was almost crying. He was soaking wet, with moisture dripping from his armor. This was his way of cooling down and keeping warm; otherwise, he would have died from the heat of that armor long ago.

He misses the witch terribly right now, and he doesn't care if he gets a few lashes from Bayonetta's whip!

"Let's get moving!" he said excitedly.

"Calm down, young man," the old deacon said dismissively. "Your mortal friend is still lagging behind. You'll arrive with us for the last leg of the journey, and then we experienced mages can handle the rest."

Nick Fury photographed the Hellish landscape throughout his journey, looking more like a tourist. He had experienced several battles during his military service, though those were jungle warfare, which hadn't prevented him from learning survival skills in arid regions. Therefore, compared to other arcane mages who were similarly covered in dust and grime, Nick Fury, thanks to his thorough preparation, fared relatively well in Hell. At least American military rations were more nutritious than jerky, and he didn't have to worry about mouth ulcers.

When he met Salomon, he was overjoyed, for he had encountered many things he didn't understand along the way, and the attitude of the sorcerers was even worse than Salomon's. None of them were willing to answer Nick Fury's questions: this mortal's audacity bordered on arrogance, a feeling that made the sorcerers extremely uncomfortable. Therefore, although they had promised Fury, they had no interest in answering him, and even disdained the food Fury offered.

"You look terrible," Nick Fury said, gaining the upper hand verbally before showing concern for Salomon's condition. He still insisted on wearing his black leather jacket, seemingly afraid that removing it would reveal the little alien he was controlling inside his stomach. The other arcane mages had wisely changed into more revealing clothing, while only Nick Fury and Salomon were still suffering from the discomfort of their attire.

"Yeah," Salomon replied listlessly, "Let's finish this quickly."

"Wait." A wizard approached, carrying something vaguely humanoid, interrupting the conversation. "You should listen to what he's saying." The younger wizard gestured for Nick Fury to look at the twisted, red figure. "He just came from hell, and he seems to be talking about Stark or something..."

Stark dialed a number and waited a long time, but no one answered.

He paced back and forth in frustration. After a while, he dialed another number, but no one answered that one too. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, he dialed S.H.I.E.L.D.'s office directly, only to be answered by Agent Maria Hill.

Agent Hill was powerless to help Stark in his current situation; no one knew where the terrorist had come from. Agent Hill could only tell Stark that the terrorist organization had no connection to the CIA and was not an anti-government force supported by the US government; she could provide no further information.

"Where's Nick Fury?" Stark asked impatiently. "Isn't there anyone who can provide information?"

Stark now somewhat regrets provoking the terrorist, but with Happy seriously injured and hospitalized, Stark is unwilling to lose face to the terrorist. Therefore, he can only put on a brave face in front of the media while seeking help privately.

"I don't know where Director Fury is right now," Agent Hill lied. She knew Nick Fury's location. All the agents who went through that mission signed a confidentiality agreement, not allowing them to reveal everything that happened that day. As Nick Fury's assistant, Agent Hill learned what had happened in her subsequent work, but due to the principle of secrecy, she refused to say anything.

"But I gave them my house number!"

"I suggest you accept S.H.I.E.L.D.'s protection. I will send agents to escort you and Miss Potts."

"But that also means I lost to the terrorists!"

"What exactly are you insisting on, Stark?"

I wrote this in fits and starts while I was slacking off.

(End of this chapter)