Marvel Magic Case Files

Chapter 962 Deformation and Transformation (Second Update)

The Quinjet is S.H.I.E.L.D.'s primary transport vehicle. Its highly modular design allows the Quinjet to cover a wide range of functions, from transport to fire support, integrating lightweight personnel and cargo transport, firepower assault, supersonic flight, vertical takeoff and landing, and even exoatmospheric flight. As physicists and mechanics at S.H.I.E.L.D., Leopold Fitz and Mike were well aware of how robust the Quinjet's armor plates were. Apart from the turbojet engine and jet engine at the rear, the heavily armored Quinjet could withstand a considerable amount of firepower. Yet, this reliable transport vehicle was now swaying and floating, surrounded by a layer of crimson, amorphous light, like a transparent, deep red mist.

Before Fitz and Mike could figure out what was happening, the Quinjet's armor plates groaned horribly under the immense force. The sturdy alloy began to dent, the folded wings bent at a destructive angle, the tail jet engines and fuel lines were violently expelled, and the nose armor glass shattered into white snowflakes, making the entire Quinjet look like a crushed soda can. Sparks and fuel ignition followed one after another, but these incidents were completely enveloped by the crimson energy, and Fitz and Mike, standing near the Quinjet, felt nothing.

However, the changes weren't singular. Besides the deformation caused by external forces, the Quinjet also underwent another terrifying transformation from the inside out, a change even more perplexing. The engines, churning with flames, and indeed the entire aircraft, didn't simply compress into a thin sheet of metal. Instead, they transformed within the flames—transformation, not deformation—after being baptized by the flames, the nose extending from the fuselage began to elongate and split, forming a lizard-like head and neck. That malevolent head emitted orange-red flames, attempting to roar upwards, but was quickly pulled back by the crimson energy. The landing gear gradually twisted and then sharpened, the black rubber tires transforming into the blackened skin of metal claws under the intense heat; the folding wings began to fold from their fixed roots, then elongated and became thinner, the energy lines flowing with liquid flames ruptured and then extended in an incomprehensible way, finally re-integrating into the wings as if becoming the blood vessels of a living creature.

This transformation seemed to breathe life into the beast; its transformed wings struggled against the external forces, stretching out with all their might, while its black claws clawed wildly in the air. The crimson energy enveloping the aircraft resisted this change, and the transforming plane resembled a giant creature being strangled to death. After about three to four minutes, the crimson energy seemed to grow impatient, gradually increasing its force until the steel creature formed from the Quinjet was compressed into a car-sized metal block, much like the compressors in a junkyard. Only when the dim light faded and gravity remembered that it still carried the Quinjet did the compressed, expanding air finally release.

Like an explosion appearing out of nowhere, the smell of fuel and sulfur, accompanied by the shockwave, instantly spread to a radius of 100 meters. Even before the explosion, Mike had pulled Fitz to hide. They hid far away, behind a row of green metal trash cans about 30 meters from the Quinjet—the shockwave had pushed the trash cans against the wall. If Mike hadn't desperately shielded Fitz from the trash cans, the much weaker Fitz would likely have been badly crushed, suffering broken ribs and pulmonary hemorrhage, requiring hospitalization.

Although they avoided the initial shockwave of the explosion, they couldn't escape the ringing in their ears, the acrid black smoke, and the smell of sulfur. While they didn't know what had happened, the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents knew that their primary task in dealing with mysterious phenomena was to protect themselves, and then try to find out who was behind it. After creating some distance, they discovered that they weren't the only ones there—a woman in a red leather jacket with long red hair was standing not far away. She held a long staff that gleamed with a metallic sheen, topped with a huge snake skull, and her hands were surrounded by a similarly colored crimson glow.

"My God, how many superhumans are we going to run into today?!" Mike said irritably. "We already have two behind us! Isn't that enough?"

"Wait, Mike, I think I know her!" Fitz swallowed hard. "Gemma told me about the fanfiction she's been reading lately, about the Avengers. Daisy is often paired with Black Widow, but it's not really a mainstream pairing..."

"What is that?"

"Character pairing, a Japanese term. In short, besides Black Widow, there's Wanda Maximoff. Red leather suit, deep red hair, red energy—it all matches up. This is the one called the Scarlet Witch," Fitz continued. "She fought Ultron with the Avengers in Sokovia, remember?"

"Oh, I remember now! So, the Avengers are also paying attention to this?"

"No, Mike! Did you see Wanda Maximov at Tony Stark's press conference?" Leopold Fitz's expression was complicated. "The final outcome of Sokovia remains highly classified. It's said that someone moved the city that flew away, and Coulson believes that person could very well be Wanda Maximov, or worse, because Salomon was also there. If she's here, coupled with the markings we saw on that person's power armor, it's very likely that Salomon has his eye on this place as well. Although I'm grateful that he brought Gemma and me back from outer space, we all know his style."

"Shit! Are you sure?"

“I’m not sure!” Fitz said in a low voice. “That’s why we told Coulson it wasn’t that new director. I don’t trust the guy that congressman sent; we all know there are Hydra agents in Congress. If Salomon finds out someone else knows his identity, and Hydra comes after him again—especially if those people know Salomon killed Alexander Pierce—I can’t guarantee what he’ll do to maintain secrecy. You know, he has nuclear weapons!”

"Have you ever considered using a nuclear weapon?" Bayonetta raised an eyebrow and asked curiously.

"To be honest, I have considered it." Salomon nodded, placing the teacup on the magic floating saucer. "But I've decided to try my own method first."

Ever since Salomon told her and Joan of Arc about his adventure plans, the three of them moved from the witch's apartment to a manor in Oxfordshire, isolating themselves from all outside contact and beginning preparations for the witches' long ritual. They wandered around the vast manor in loose silk nightgowns. Witches didn't like to tie their nightgowns, preferring to expose their beautiful figures to the sunlight. Even during afternoon walks in the woods, they didn't like to wear outdoor clothing; the bright sunlight filtering through the branches made them almost transparently beautiful, like forest fairies from a fairy tale.

Bayonetta's favorite thing is picnics.

Behind the manor lay a dense forest, in the center of which was a large clearing covered with meticulously manicured grass. Bayonetta loved to bring a wicker basket and a soft cotton cloth as a picnic table on sunny afternoons, and Salomon would always take her by the hand. They would spread out a picnic blanket and enjoy afternoon tea in the warm, but not intense, sunlight, after which Bayonetta would invite him to share some pleasure on the picnic blanket. It wouldn't be until evening, when the sky was filled with stars, that Salomon would carry the limp Bayonetta back to the manor, where he would clean the lovely witch of the traces of their pleasure in their magnificent bathroom before preparing dinner.

After dinner, it was another pleasant time.

These days were so wonderful that Salomon sometimes forgot he had an adventure to go on.

Please vote for me!

(End of this chapter)