Today was an extraordinarily bizarre day for Sharon Carter. Just earlier, she had witnessed her boss and surveillance target walk into the same house, accompanied by an unidentified teenager. She hadn't received any prior notification of this meeting, nor did she know the boy's identity. Still, she figured that with her boss present, she could take the day off—yet she was sorely mistaken.
The old house didn't have good soundproofing, and Sharon could hear muffled arguing coming from the room her target was in. After a while, the argument subsided. Just as she thought everything had settled down, she was startled by the sound of heavy thuds, blows landing with dull force, and labored breathing. Her first thought was that both her target and her boss had been ambushed, but as the sounds dragged on, a different kind of suspicion crept into her mind. Her face flushed red as she wondered—could it be? Could the Director and Captain America have… an unhealthy relationship? And that boy—he seemed quite delicate. Could he be some sort of…
No, no, she shook her head vehemently. This was nonsense. Captain America was clearly into women—her great-aunt Peggy Carter had been his lover, after all. But why hadn't the noises stopped yet? Could it be…
The door to the room slammed open, breaking her train of thought. Through the peephole, Sharon saw Steve Rogers dragging both Nick Fury and the teenager, Solomon Damonet, by their collars. Steve resembled a crab, hauling them out of the room one in front of the other. Fury's face bore several scratch marks, and he and the boy were still hurling insults at each other, their hands flailing as they tried to claw at each other's faces. Steve looked utterly exasperated as he separated them, but their foul-mouthed tirade showed no signs of stopping. Sharon could hardly believe the teenager's refined British accent as he unleashed an impressive array of scathing, yet absurdly elegant, insults upon Fury.
If words could inflict physical harm, Nick Fury might have devolved from a primate to a hoofed mammal under Solomon's verbal assault, eventually regressing to a photosynthesizing unicellular organism. Fury, on the other hand, relied on his expertise in American slang, honed during his time on the streets, to counter with rapid-fire retorts that overwhelmed Solomon's slower cadence.
"I'm only pointing out the facts! You refuse to admit it!" Solomon snapped angrily. "But so what if you don't admit it? He has the right to think for himself!"
"You're just a goddamned sociopath! You little brat!" Fury was livid. He had prepared for countless scenarios, but Solomon always seemed to find a way to outmaneuver him. "I'm going to arrest you!" Fury shouted. "You've stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets! You little punk, you can spend two days in a cell!"
"Alright, alright, stop fighting here," Steve Rogers said, his patience almost saintly. He still had no idea how things had escalated so quickly, but by the time he realized what was happening, Fury already had scratches on his face. At least, neither had resorted to lethal measures—Fury hadn't drawn his gun, and Solomon hadn't reached for his wand.
"Hah! I wasn't even planning on using magic to teach you a lesson! You think S.H.I.E.L.D. can hold me? Do you want the Triskelion destroyed? You pathetic one-life-dice fool! Half-baked pig-headed buffoon! You're nothing but a low-tier NPC!" Solomon flailed in frustration. Held aloft by his collar like a kitten, he couldn't land even one satisfying scratch on Fury. "You've made me angry, Nick Fury!" His voice suddenly dropped, becoming chilling and sinister. "Now, I curse you… May you experience uncontrollable itching on your skin [Note 1], may every precious metal you touch turn into a worthless one [Note 2], and may you lose your agility, reduced to the state of an old man [Note 3]…"
"You little brat! You're actually cursing me?" Fury struggled to no avail, Steve still refusing to let him go. The Captain didn't know the full story, but he was certain that Solomon hadn't acted out of malice—it had to be Fury's fault for provoking him. Steve placed the fuming Solomon down and stood protectively in front of the still-grumbling Fury.
"Kid," Steve said gently, "I don't know if your curses are real or not, but Fury is very important…"
"Then he should learn his lesson! Otherwise, he'll keep trying to scheme against me. I haven't forgotten what happened with the Asgardians. This guy bends contract loopholes like a devil!" Solomon huffed, straightening his clothes indignantly. "The first two curses will take effect soon and won't last long. Fury, remember, I know black magic, and I'm exceptionally good at it. These are nothing. You haven't even seen truly terrifying dark magic yet!"
"Asgardians? What Asgardians? Fury, what aren't you telling me?" Steve interjected, but no one answered him.
"And the last curse? Am I supposed to avoid spinning wheels for the rest of my life?" Fury growled, calming down somewhat but still visibly irritated.
"Hah, the last curse… You'll see. If the first two don't activate, the third will. And that one's permanent. Don't think I'll lift it for you."
"Then I'll find a psychic!"
"A powerless psychic can't break it, and a capable one wouldn't dare. Think about that next time you try to scheme against me!"
"Alright, alright, let's calm down. If you both promise not to fight, we'll go back inside and talk, okay?"
"Have you ever counted how many agents have died because of you? You belong in a mental institution!" Fury snapped. "You're a menace to society! Damn it, why am I so itchy… Undo the curse, now!"
"This is your punishment! And by the way, it was your people who ambushed me on my way to school!" Solomon fired back, his anger reigniting. "And you don't even have the guts to admit it!"
Steve Rogers' eyes widened in disbelief. "You sent a strike team after a kid?" he demanded, glaring at Fury. "Is this how you operate?"
"See? That's America for you! Crude and illogical! This country is far from civilized!" Solomon sneered.
"I didn't! Damn it! How many times do I have to say it? I explicitly ordered no lethal weapons!" Fury retorted. "I only wanted them to find you and arrange a meeting! And S.H.I.E.L.D. is an international organization—it doesn't belong to the USA!"
"Do you really believe that? How much funding have you taken from the USA? Were bullets your version of a meeting request? If I weren't capable, I'd already be dead! Don't think I don't have a score to settle with you!"
"Alright, let's all calm down… Kid… please…" Steve said, exasperated, as the argument spiraled into trivial topics, including who had eaten more popcorn.
Covering his face, Steve sighed deeply. Whatever. As long as they didn't start punching each other again.
Today was truly an extraordinary day for Sharon Carter, in every sense of the word. She couldn't believe her boss could brawl like a street thug. Keeping this absurd secret would be agonizing, so she decided to confide in her great-aunt Peggy.
---
"I'm such a fool. Truly," Solomon muttered, slumped on a sofa. The fat cat on his lap mimicked his sigh dramatically. "I should've just destroyed S.H.I.E.L.D., wiped out the Triskelion with Oath of Victory. It would've saved me so much trouble."
"Wait, you punched Nick Fury?" Tony Stark asked, intrigued enough to abandon his work and hear the story. He tossed Solomon a bag of ice for his bloodied knuckles. "Tell me, how did that bastard react when you clocked him?"
"Oh, he screamed like crazy! That bastard! I bet he's itching so much he wants to tear his skin off!"
"How'd you pull it off?"
"Curses, of course, Stark." Having gained the Sorcerer Supreme's permission, Solomon had grown bolder. He'd gone to Captain America explicitly to stir things up, curious to see how an American hero who didn't share American ideals would react.
The solution? A boxing match under Steve Rogers' supervision, where neither side could use anything beyond their fists. Thanks to years of training and the strength granted by his stigmatic liberation, Solomon's victory was swift and decisive.
"Now he's basically Snow White!" Solomon declared.
---
Notes on the Curses:
1. Itch Curse:
Necromancy (Curse) [UM]
Level: Sorcerer/Wizard 1
Target experiences intermittent, unbearable itching. Without using a move action to scratch, they suffer a -1 penalty to attacks, saving throws, skill checks, and ability checks.
2. Kalithrad's Nightmare:
Transmutation (Curse) [UM]
Temporarily curses the target, causing any coin of higher value than copper touched by them to turn into copper. Affected coins revert back only with Remove Curse or similar magic.
3. Curse of the Cat:
Necromancy
Level: Cleric 2, Sorcerer/Wizard 2
The target suffers a -4 penalty to
Dexterity. Effects can only be removed by Dispel Magic, Remove Curse, or Wish.
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