Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 388 The Israel of Nazareth (First Update)

"If you're driving down the street and the police pull over, you know what to do, right? Put your hands where the police can see you, don't argue with them, and get their permission for everything, understand? Whether you're a fucking nigger like me or not, you have to do this because it's the law! The law is meant to be obeyed! Repeat after me, obey the law!" Nick Fury waved his arms excitedly, shouting into the phone. The beautiful and capable Agent Maria Hill feared her boss's remaining eyeball would explode from his rage, and he'd die a swift and decisive death in his office.

She wasn't worried about Nick Fury's health; she was just worried that no one would sign the documents she brought.

This is official business, S.H.I.E.L.D. official business. Nick Fury isn't someone who signs things off casually. In the minds of some low-level S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, the mysterious director's office is home to a monster that devours paper documents. This monster, with its filthy, blind eyes like those of an abandoned factory with dusty windows, ensures that every letter of every document in Trisking Wing headquarters is projected onto its retina at least once, even the hand sanitizer recipe in the restroom.

"Hey, you didn't wash your hands, the director will arrest you." Junior agents (especially men) would gruffly threaten their colleagues like this. Agent Maria Hill had been to the men's restroom a few times (because an agent hadn't submitted his paperwork, so she barged in), and she knew how unsightly those men were, especially at the urinals. Only those exceptionally confident in their genitals were allowed to squeeze next to others; otherwise, men always maintained a tacit distance to avoid embarrassment.

Of course, even the most confident male agents wouldn't dare boast in front of her, fearing her icy gaze might leave them with a psychological scar. "That's it?" Her eyes were the enemy of all male agents. "You dare to show off something like that?"

"I know it's hot, and I'm wearing a leather jacket! Listen, you little brat, if your car gets towed for illegal parking, you fucking pay up and drive it away. Don't you understand? As long as you're on American soil, you have to obey American laws! Whether you have fucking magic or not!" Nick Fury continued yelling, his blind eye not open, but Agent Maria Hill felt it was about to pop out.

"Don't even think about it! Salomon Damonette, don't even think about it!" Sweat beaded on the bald forehead of the monster that devoured the paper documents. "S.H.I.E.L.D. always obeys the law. S.H.I.E.L.D. is not above the law! I'm not giving you any of these prisoners, not even if they're about to be on the electric chair! Understand? And don't even think about going to Guantanamo and grabbing someone randomly! Unless you want to get shot!"

The director of S.H.I.E.L.D. was silent for a moment. Agent Maria Hill couldn't hear what was being said on the other end of the phone; she intended to put down the documents and wait for Nick Fury to call her before coming in. But Nick Fury waved her away, signaling her to stay—although she was a supervisor sent by the World Security Council, Nick Fury trusted her.

This gesture signified that Fury wanted her to access this information—information about Salomon Damonette. This information held the same level of secrecy as Thor's, but in some cases, it was even higher than that of other Avengers. This was solely due to Salomon Damonette's performance in New York and his magic; Salomon Damonette was currently the most powerful sorcerer known and the most enigmatic Avenger.

No, Salomon Damonette never participated in the Avengers program; the public believed he was an Avenger simply because he appeared in New York.

That initial excitement vanished in an instant, and Nick Fury adopted a very persuasive tone.

"I know, I know, I saw it with my own eyes. But this is different! Very different! A lone superhero is one thing, but a whole horde of armored super soldiers following behind is another. I know your capabilities; you can certainly create something far more powerful than super soldiers, but that's not allowed. If you do, S.H.I.E.L.D. will receive a mission from the White House to eliminate you, do you understand?"

"The White House and the United Nations don't care who your soldiers are pointing their guns at; they only know you have the ability to threaten them. Do you know how panicked those officials were after Thor arrived on Earth with his Asgardian soldiers? If I hadn't persuaded them, those fat pigs would have even wanted to go to war with Asgard. You're different from the Asgardians; you're on Earth, you don't have the Bifrost. The CIA, FIB, NSA, and other intelligence organizations will all want you dead. You'll be at odds with all of America's intelligence agencies, and they'll ruin your favorite peaceful life. Hey, you're going to college, aren't you? They'll make sure you can't even go to college; they'll make you a wanted criminal."

Another conversation ensued, one that Maria Hill couldn't quite make out, and Nick Fury's helpless expression was clear to everyone. Unfortunately, the person on the other end of the line couldn't see it.

"Oh ho, I know what you're thinking. You want to take a sword and storm the White House, right? Kid, listen up. The American administrative system isn't entirely dispensable. I understand the power-money and power-sex deals in politics better than you do. You kill one bureaucrat, and another will take his place. You can't shake things up at all... Okay, there are cowardly pigs everywhere, but you have to admit, even if you resolve this, your life will still be affected. Isn't that the last thing you want—special forces storming into your apartment?"

"Listen up, kid. You were lucky the last time the CIA drug cartel in New York City didn't bother you. The CIA dropped that lead not because of you, but because the FBI traced it back to them, because I got help from someone. You have no idea how horrific those slick-back, slick-haired gentlemen are—they disembowel dead American soldiers, gut them, stuff them with drugs, and smuggle them back home. They treat soldiers like animals to be slaughtered. Do you think these people are your type? Do you think they're afraid of death? You're as innocent as a little rabbit compared to them; they're thugs. Even so, do you know how many people S.H.I.E.L.D. agents kill near your apartment every day just to keep you alive?"

"I wanted to take a shortcut, Nick Fury," Salomon said sleepily, leaning against the bed, phone in hand. Bayonetta's fingers were gently tracing the scars on his body. They were gifts left to him by Malekith, the Dark Elf King, and Hela, the Goddess of Death. Even with magical healing, the faint scars were inevitably left on his body. There were horrible puncture wounds on his abdomen and shoulder, and several circular scars about the size of coins on his chest and side. These scars would gradually fade with time and the application of alchemical potions, but for now, they stubbornly remained on his young, muscular body.

This made the witch very obsessed.

Only what Yog-Sothoth left him would not fade; it was the Lord of the Gate's favor, and Salomon had no right to refuse. It was an incredibly powerful spell; according to Randolph Carter's notes, its range was half a mile. Salomon didn't know what price he had paid, or if he had already paid the price at the end of his destiny, that the just Lord of the Gate, the ancient immortal, would bestow this power upon him.

He had to put in a lot of mental effort to read that book in order to find out this information.

"The CIA's atrocities in the Middle East are well-documented. Since you won't provide me with that force, I'll go find it myself," Salomon said casually. "I'll bring those orphans out of the CIA-backed al-Qaeda, give them a high-quality education, and then use them as test subjects. I'll let them know who destroyed their homes, and I'll promise them a chance for revenge. Is that what you want? You know what kind of support I'll get if I reveal my identity, if I go to Emmaus (the site of Jesus' ascension)?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, and Salomon could sense the heavy atmosphere on the other end, like the dark clouds of a London afternoon.

He continued, "The Jewish lobbying groups that bribe American politicians will immediately side with me after I perform the magic, calling it a miracle. I know it isn't, and they know it isn't, but they'll pretend it is. And then there are the Haredis, who yearn for the Messiah, who will believe I am of pure Abrahamic blood, a Hebrew, and they will long to send their children to my side, longing for me to lead them to the revival of Israel. Note, not the Israel supported by the Americans, you know what I mean, the Israel of Jacob, the Israel of David, the Israel of Solomon."

"You fucking...you don't want another 9/11, do you?"

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)