Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 583 Even the Dead Have to Speak (Second Update)

Salomon repeatedly stated that he had no interest in the love-hate relationship between S.H.I.E.L.D. and Hydra, and that he helped Agent Victoria Hand simply because he couldn't bear to see such excellent agents die. Agent Coulson, of course, didn't believe such nonsense. He knew that Salomon had taken advantage of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s collapse to expand his power and seize much of what originally belonged to S.H.I.E.L.D. This was the first time he had seen a sorcerer since the Hydra rebellion and the disbandment of S.H.I.E.L.D. He had heard from surviving S.H.I.E.L.D. agents how Salomon had suppressed the Hydra rebellion and reclaimed the S.H.I.E.L.D. carrier command center. Regardless of Salomon's motives, he had saved the lives of many excellent agents, and for that alone, Agent Coulson deserved his gratitude.

"You're truly kind, Agent Coulson. The beauty of humanity shines through you, almost blindingly so." Salomon pushed open the drawing room door and walked out casually, seemingly unconcerned about being shot. "Have you spoken with Agent Hill? To be precise, have you spoken with Nick Fury?" He held his breath, skipping over a pool of blood and bits of flesh, and asked in a thick, nasal voice that seemed to whittle wood, "Has Nick Fury told you about the deal we made?"

"No." Agent Coulson grinned as he looked at the armed man lying on the ground. The strong stench of blood and filthy black blood were everywhere. The unfortunate man's throat had been ripped open; the wound was clearly inflicted by some kind of animal. Recalling the shadow he had seen earlier, he was certain it was Salomon's doing.

Terrifying magic, bizarre magic—Agent Coulson didn't believe anyone in the world could withstand such a sudden and terrifying attack. It was arguably the most difficult assassination method in the world to defend against. Coulson gradually came to believe Salomon's words; he hadn't colluded with Whitehall. On the contrary, he was ready to kill this Hydra agent at any moment.

"What deal?" he asked. "Also, I'm sorry to question your stance."

"It's alright, business is important. Nick Fury and I have reached an agreement regarding the aliens. He agreed to remove the Skrulls from Earth... I know you know about this, though not the whole story. The Skrulls are the shapeshifting aliens that Carol Danvers is hunting. Nick Fury has been secretly using the Skrulls for years, but unfortunately, some Skrulls have become too involved and developed feelings for humans. A Skrull-human hybrid was born. Don't ask me about reproductive isolation; Skrulls and humans are products of the same genetic engineering, as are the Kree. The lack of reproductive isolation is normal."

"What do you want to do? And how's that mixed-race guy doing?"

“Not good. In Skrull mythology, Earth is the land of their rebirth. So I need your help to find the Skrulls still hiding on Earth; those amoebas are unworthy to defile the sacred Earth,” Salomon said. “Oh, I think we’ve found our target. Mr. Whitehall, why are you pointing a gun at me?”

"My esteemed guest, I apologize for the commotion," Dr. Whitehall said politely in German-accented English, but his gun remained pointed at the arcane mage standing on the steps. Behind him, two armed men with assault rifles were aimed at Agent Coulson. "Agent Coulson, for example, beside you, I think he can explain all this. To be honest, I thought you'd bring a whole host of armed men, Augustus."

"Augustus? Doesn't he know who you are?" Coulson asked. "Why that name?"

"Of course not, I'm operating under Hydra's name now, using a pseudonym is normal," Salomon said softly. He smiled, then snapped his fingers, and the shadows of the mansion immediately began to ripple. The barking grew louder as several dark, murky creatures, resembling black sludge, emerged from the shadows. They had crimson eyes, and their throats boiled with unimaginable malice. They leaped through the shadows, moving too fast to be seen. Before the two armed men beside Whitehall could even aim at the two monsters, two shadow hounds leaped from the shadows beneath their feet, cleanly tearing open their throats before vanishing again.

"It seems you possess some hidden talents," Dr. Whitehall said with a smile, raising his hands. "Perhaps we can talk, provided you..."

Before he could finish speaking, a figure pounced from around the corner and slammed Whitehall to the ground. Salomon could even hear the sound of Whitehall's head hitting the floor. The man exuded an aura of madness, his foul saliva dripping freely. His veins bulged, and his heart pounded like a deafening war drum. His eyes were wide open, and even the hot sweat dripping from his forehead couldn't make him close them.

He erupted with astonishing hatred, slamming his fist into Whitehall's face with lightning speed. He roared, tears and sweat streaming down his face, biting Whitehall's terrified expression with his teeth.

Agent Coulson rushed over. He pointed his gun at the crazed man. "Let him go! Jason!" Coulson yelled. "Let him go! Salomon, come help!"

"No! He's mine!" Jason looked up. His face was covered in blood, and he was chewing something. Beneath him, Whitehall screamed in agony as the old Nazi's nose was bitten off, bubbling with deep red blood. Mr. Jason was a man in an old-fashioned brown suit, looking like a staid university professor or doctor. But at this moment, there was no trace of reason on his face; madness filled his veins, and his bloodshot eyes almost bulged out of their sockets, as if a scalding poison was burning his heart.

"He's mine!" he shouted irrationally, waving his arms and trying to shoo Coulson away. "I'll make him pay with his blood!"

Salomon placed his hand on the crazed man's shoulder. "I'm sorry, I don't know what happened, but this person's brain can't be damaged." The arcane mage, who had appeared silently, startled him, and the crazed man instinctively shoved Salomon. Only then did Salomon realize that this man was much stronger than the average person.

"Let him go! This is the final warning!" Coulson shouted, raising his gun and approaching. "I don't want to kill you; you're Skye's father."

"Her name is Daisy! Daisy Jason!"

"Calm down! Mr. Jason, calm down!"

"You know I can't stay calm, Coulson!" Mr. Jensen grinned, his mouth stained with blood. "He killed my wife, dissected her alive. I found her in the junkyard, and I pieced her back together bit by bit with needle and thread... Don't I deserve revenge? And you, S.H.I.E.L.D.... you took my daughter away..."

He waved frantically, trying to drive away the two people who were standing in his way of revenge.

Seeing the man grow increasingly frenzied, Salomon no longer hesitated. He stepped forward and, with a speed too fast for a normal person to see, delivered a powerful punch to Mr. Jensen's chin. However, by the time he reached Dr. Whitehall, he found the old Nazi in dire straits—broken ribs pierced his lungs, and nasal bleeding was causing copious amounts of blood to flood his shattered chest. He was nearly drowning in his own blood. Now he was helplessly spitting out blood bubbles, but it was clear to anyone with eyes that he wouldn't live much longer.

"He won't live much longer," Agent Coulson said regretfully.

"Make the most of it." Salomon drew a small knife from his waist and skillfully severed Whitehall's head along the vertebrae. His movements were swift; Coulson didn't even have time to stop him before Salomon held Whitehall's head in his hand. He then cast a spell to fix Whitehall's head in its current state. At the same time, he instructed Agent Coulson to intercept anyone who might disturb him.

"What are you going to do?" Coulson asked in surprise, startled by the brutality. He had seen dead people before, but this was the first time he had witnessed a decapitation.

"Seize Whitehall's soul." Salomon stretched out his blood-stained hands. "Even the dead must speak."

Please vote! I spent over 250 yuan on medicine for my cat today; he inexplicably got ear mites. No wonder he woke me up at 5 AM and I found him; he's got a knack for tormenting people.

(End of this chapter)