"Calm down, calm down," Nick Fury muttered, covering his face with both hands. His voice, muffled and heavy, hinted at deep frustration. Anyone listening could easily imagine the exasperated expression behind his fingers.
"Your reaction is over the top, Solomon. Maybe you really need a therapist," Fury sighed, letting his hands fall to the desk. "This is politics—a game of constant compromise and probing. You can't just throw down ultimatums; that's not how the rules work. Don't give me that look—I'm just relaying what my superiors told me. But I do think you're being overly sensitive."
Taking a deep breath, Fury continued, "Right now, you should be heading to Stark's farewell dinner. S.H.I.E.L.D. has already handed over the Tesseract to Thor. I made sure he returned to Asgard before the World Security Council even had time to react. Otherwise, we'd be stuck in endless bureaucracy again. And don't worry—I haven't revealed any of your information. The contract you made ensures that magic and your identity can't be mentioned together."
"This isn't about whether you shared my information, Fury," Solomon replied, seated casually in front of the director's desk. Despite Fury's attempt to diffuse the tension, Solomon was fully geared up. His outfit wasn't his usual knightly armor, which had been sent to Balthazar and Dave of the Merlin Order for maintenance after the Battle of New York. Instead, Solomon wore his older battle gear: black mage robes, a red sanctified cloak, twin blades strapped to his sides, enchanted boots, vampire gloves, a dimensional pouch, a scroll case, and a staff.
Even without the armor or Excalibur, Fury didn't underestimate the mage. He'd seen Solomon combine magic and close combat into deadly techniques. And there was always the possibility that his Phoenix familiar lingered nearby, waiting. Fury thought it a miracle that Solomon hadn't already stormed into the Triskelion in dragon form.
"Magic," Solomon began, propping his feet on Fury's desk. "It's an intensely personal thing. Only Kamar-Taj mages share their knowledge with one another. Other traditions don't even know what their peers are studying. Magic isn't something you can force—it's a talent. Either you have it, or you don't. I've told you this before: if someone is meant for Kamar-Taj, they'll find their way there. It's not something you can recruit for."
"This is just a predictable reaction from politicians, Solomon. Pierce only wants cooperation, not conflict. S.H.I.E.L.D. is willing to shoulder the responsibility for safeguarding the magical world—we're all working for humanity."
Leaning forward, Solomon planted his feet back on the floor and rested his hands on the desk. "Imagine this," he began, his tone icy. "You're running through a forest, wearing a leaf skirt, spear in hand. You're looking for lunch and dinner so you don't starve tonight. Then, you see a rabbit. But the moment you blink, it disappears. Driven by hunger, you chase it, ignoring the thorns cutting your skin, the apples ready to fall from the trees, and even the burrs sticking to your clothes. All you can think about is roasted rabbit—maybe with some onions you dug up earlier."
Fury frowned. "What's the point of this story?"
"You follow the rabbit into a deep, dark cave. Your fantasies of roasted meat cloud your judgment. But inside the cave, you find something else: a bear, fresh out of hibernation. It's hungrier than you are, and now it has lunch and dinner in one."
"You're saying S.H.I.E.L.D. is acting like a reckless savage when it comes to magic?" Fury asked. "That it's a vicious cycle: Kamar-Taj won't teach us, so we stay ignorant of magic's dangers."
"You've understood part of it, but not all," Solomon said, slamming his hand on the metal desk. The impact left a faint dent. His tone was sharp, his anger barely restrained. "My point is, this forest already has an owner! It belongs to the Sorcerer Supreme. Every rabbit, every apple, every stream, every tree—even every pile of crap—has an owner! Only savages don't know who rules the land they're trespassing on. Only you ignorant savages would stumble through the forest, waking the bears! Maybe you'll escape, but what about the hunters? The woodcutters? The villagers on the edge of the forest? What is the lord supposed to do? Of course, they'll send soldiers to hunt the beast. And while those soldiers die, you savages will go back to your carefree, naked lives! Do you understand now?"
"I understand," Fury said calmly, unfazed by Solomon's outburst. "You're saying S.H.I.E.L.D. is likely to stir up trouble in the magical world."
"Exactly!" Solomon growled. "How many times have I warned you about this? When Agent Coulson stole from my library, I let it slide, but I still gave you a warning. And I know you scanned the remnants of the Book of Eibon into your electronic archives. So tell me, Fury—how many people have gone insane? Don't act like I didn't know. It was deliberate!"
Fury's eyes narrowed, his body stiffening.
"That attack on your base? It wasn't some enemy force—it was me. Every single person there died by my hand. But clearly, that wasn't enough of a lesson for you. Now you've come to me with this stupid proposal. So, tell me—whose life will it take this time to make you understand?"
Fury shut his eyes, haunted by memories of the base's gruesome aftermath. The blood, the stench of decay, the soldiers who tore their own flesh apart, the researchers who painted grotesque symbols on the walls with their own entrails. The surveillance footage of the incident played vividly in his mind: the rapid spread of madness, the sheer horror.
When the base went silent, Fury had sent agents to investigate, but they found no survivors. The power was cut, and all the data drives had been burned beyond recovery. Only the isolated surveillance system yielded any information. Fury had assumed it was an attack by some unknown adversary. Now, hearing Solomon's words, he realized the truth.
The screams from that footage echoed in his ears as he covered his face once more, drowning in guilt.
"We all have to take responsibility for our actions," Solomon said, his tone softening as his anger subsided. "No gods are coming to save us. They don't care about us. I've warned you about the Book of Eibon. I've warned you about the Tesseract. How many times will you dabble in dangerous magic, Fury? I understand your mistrust—you're a spy. But your reckless experiments in areas beyond your expertise have crossed the line. This isn't the first time, and I doubt it'll be the last. I used to think no one could replace you, but now I see you cause more problems than you solve."
Solomon rose, drawing one of his twin blades with deliberate slowness.
"I'm here to deliver your judgment."
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