Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 584 The Chamber of Souls (First Update! Stop letting the book sit unfinished!)

This mansion in San Juan, Puerto Rico, is built high up in the city and boasts excellent ventilation. A cool breeze flows gently through the corridors, preventing the house from feeling stuffy even in summer. Coupled with the blooming flowers in the garden, this is a scene that every tourist to Puerto Rico will enjoy.

Agent Coulson watched as Whitehall's head was shrouded in a sinister black mist. The once cool breeze suddenly turned bone-chilling, a cold that penetrated to the marrow and froze the soul. He saw the still-warm head suddenly open its eyes, which were covered with a sickly, iron-gray veil, and then take a long breath.

Salomont deliberately preserved Whitehall's vocal cords and larynx so that he could speak again, but this purely rational decision only made the scene before Agent Coulson seem even more horrifying—he saw Whitehall's trachea moving in and out of his severed neck like a blood-red worm, as if he were still alive. The dripping blood quickly turned dark red, like the putrid, viscous mucus of congealed blood.

With hoarse, weak breathing and the constant bubbling and bursting of thick, bloody foam, Whitehall seemed to regain consciousness. His voice was incredibly distant and weak, like a candle in a storm. Salomon clenched one hand tightly, as if he held Whitehall's soul in his grasp.

The sorcerer uttered blasphemous words softly, causing the severed head to emit a silent scream. Whitehall's soul refused to submit, but even death could not free him from Salomon's grasp; terrifying magic targeting the soul was unleashed from Salomon's hand. After a brief "interrogation," the sorcerer revealed a satisfied smile.

"May, don't shoot!" Coulson shouted to his partner. To be honest, Salomon's current performance was so terrifying that any sane SHIELD agent would immediately list him as the most dangerous and shoot without hesitation.

Although the spell was cast in a very short time, the sheer terror of the scene surpassed that of any horror movie on the market. Agent Coulson didn't want his partner and Salomon to get hurt; based on past cases, Salomon was unlikely to show mercy to anyone who attacked him.

"He's asking Whitehall for information!" Agent Coulson wiped his forehead, being very careful not to touch his hairline. "I know it sounds gruesome, but he's really helping us. He's talking to a dead man."

"Where is Skye? Why is he here?" Melinda May asked coldly, lowering her gun, shifting her weight to her back foot, her hips and legs poised for a strike. Salomon's location was definitely not in the plan, so where did this guy come from? Her agent instincts made her think involuntarily.

She suspected Agent Coulson might be under a spell, but the current situation wasn't conclusive enough to prove it. Although she had lowered her gun, she could still unleash a powerful, advancing punch if necessary—at such close range, a fist was far more effective than a pistol. Her reflexes and strength were enough to strike a vital spot and kill within a single punch.

She glanced at Salomon's stance and cautiously moved to a blind spot in his line of sight.

“This is a long story, and now is not the time to talk about it.” Agent Coulson didn’t mention the embarrassing striptease invitation. “He said it would be over soon, and then we’d know where Skye is being held.” Only then did Agent Coulson relax slightly, turning to look at the unconscious Jensen. “Is there any information to share now?”

Salomon didn't answer; his focused concentration wasn't easily broken. During this process, the caster wouldn't pay much attention to their surroundings; after all, magic requires maximum concentration, a mandatory course for any caster. Wanda Maximoff practiced this course every morning. Salomon's schedule for her was based on the curriculum of a magic university in another world. As the city of the renowned Seven Sisters, this course guaranteed a high success rate for its casters.

After a long while, Whitehall, now only a head, finally shut his mouth.

"The obelisk was taken underground." Salomon looked puzzled, not understanding why Whitehall's soul was like this. "What does this mean?"

"Oh, so what did Whitehall say?" As a high-ranking member of the Sorority, Catherine had the authority to know about Hydra. She wasn't surprised that an old Nazi who had survived to this day had died, and she didn't even care about Hydra's power. No one could threaten the Sorority and the Immortal City, because her monarch was here.

"He said a lot." Salomon walked up the cold, slippery rock steps. "But nobody knows if Whitehall is lying, so his head was handed over to the biological lab. They will perform an emergency dissection of Whitehall's head, using the latest analytical technology to repeatedly search his brain to ensure that all the information is true. Whitehall can die, but his knowledge cannot be wasted."

"My lord, please do not act alone from now on," Catherine said. "According to the rules set by Tita, you must have security forces with you. She has drawn up a complete duty roster, detailing the combat plans of the mortal army and the Sisterhood, as well as contingency plans for various situations. You can no longer wander around recklessly; there are many people in this world who want you dead!"

"Tsk!" Salomon clicked his tongue.

Catherine had given up on counting kills. Headcount was meaningless to the undead; their souls already belonged to the Divine Source. Given armor, reborn, mindless undead soldiers could return to the battlefield. Even Jacob couldn't say how much weaponry he'd stockpiled a thousand years ago, and all that preparation had become today's trouble.

Whether Salomon came or not, the Sisterhood continued its steady progress. However, the Lost City, which was nearly completed, was simply too vast, and Jacob had long anticipated that the city would be attacked. Therefore, he designed numerous firing tunnels, secret passages, hidden troop caves, and isolated bridges spanning cliffs. This forced the Sisterhood to repeatedly clear areas, excavating everything possible to ensure that no undead remained, and to retain manpower and automated machine gun turrets to guard key transportation routes.

Meanwhile, Jacob's people also joined the movement. The arrival of the Immortal City gave them hope of reclaiming their city with their own hands.

Salomon and the Sisterhood fighters went to the location marked by Jacob where the [Divine Source] was stored.

Laura had wanted to come too, but Salomon persuaded her to go back, citing the extreme danger. Unlike the combatants in the rear, they advanced relentlessly, without stopping or any intention of gradually clearing out the enemy. A canister of Greek fire thrown at the Sisterhood remained suspended in mid-air; the arcane mage didn't even bother to look back. He waved his hand listlessly, and the burning compound flew back along its trajectory, exploding on the frozen tower.

Immediately afterward, arrows burning with azure flames rained down from the dilapidated towers and houses, and Salomon and his party were unsurprisingly ambushed. The sorcerer cleanly and swiftly drew his wand to retaliate, using explosions and storms to clear away everything in their path. Under this fierce onslaught, millennia-old ice melted and collapsed, the kinetic energy of the falling debris smashing through meticulously constructed stone buildings and bronze statues.

Jacob poured all the wealth he had collected along the way into the construction of this city, leaving nothing for himself. It's easy to imagine how radiant this white city would be on sunny days, how beautiful the artistic clock towers, the spires of sages and craftsmen, and the people within would be. The inhabitants would be surrounded by magnificent bells and solemn hymns, immersed in an ocean of knowledge and reason. This would be an earthly kingdom, where all things beautiful reside. However, what lay before them was a ruined city—collapsed pillars, icicles crawling on stone walls, and exquisite murals and vaulted ceilings covered in soot. The undead legion relentlessly ravaged these crystallizations of art and wisdom, like a goat chewing on an oil painting. They even used catapults to attack Salomon; a violent rain of fire descended from the mountaintop. Salomon only had time to cast a spell with an extremely long cast time to protect the Sisterhood, unable to save the exquisite works of art around him.

The towering city built against the mountain is now shrouded in ash and dust.

They stood in the circular lecture hall atop the mountain, its dome yet to be completed, all the pillars covered in ice, stained with grayish-white cigarette ash like indelible marks. Further up lay a place known as the Chamber of Souls, the final destination, where the gift from the future Salomon to his present self was kept—the [Divine Source] was not the only gift.

However, blocking their path were hundreds of undead soldiers clad in full armor.

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(End of this chapter)