I might have raised a pig.
Solomon thought this to himself as he watched the small black kitten.
In just one hour, the little creature had completed an entire cycle of drinking milk, using the litter box, drinking more milk, and returning to the litter box—without any assistance. Blessed by Bast's divine power, this tiny feline displayed a level of strength and liveliness far beyond others of its kind. If Solomon hadn't placed his documents high out of reach, the kitten would have shredded every last piece of parchment with its newly grown teeth—it had already grown noticeably larger. This was expected since Bast had withdrawn a portion of her divine power, meaning the kitten should naturally mature.
However, with Diana busy preparing food for the witches at home, there was no one to clean the office litter box. Solomon was too embarrassed to ask the Sisterhood or Stephanie for help, so he summoned an invisible servant to handle the task. Unexpectedly, the small black kitten could see the invisible servant and proceeded to shred each one apart with its tiny but effective claws.
He summoned another servant and carefully observed how the kitten destroyed it.
The results made Solomon reassess Bast's divine power, and he quickly arranged to trim the kitten's claws.
During the process, the tiny black kitten managed to tear through Solomon's magical defenses, leaving a few bloody scratches on his arm.
He had initially planned to let the Cheshire Cat take care of the little one, but now it was clear that this black kitten was far more formidable. The Cheshire Cat was a thirty-pound lazy ball of fluff that struggled to even catch a mouse—how could it compare? But even so, Solomon still wouldn't feel safe falling asleep near the little black cat. The Cheshire Cat, for all its laziness and mischief, was the only one he truly trusted.
The Cheshire Cat, upon seeing the gilded medal, looked utterly confused. It wasn't until Solomon dressed it in a black feline trench coat, placed the medal on its chest, and topped it off with a wide-brimmed hat that it finally understood—it was a sign of its master's love. It didn't know why, but it knew that meant tuna for dinner. And it wanted the belly cut.
Excitedly, the Cheshire Cat stuck out its tongue, only to have Solomon poke it back inside with a finger.
"You're a cat, not a dog. Stop sticking out your tongue—it's embarrassing for our household!"
Bayonetta glanced over before returning to her magazine.
She was used to her boyfriend's insanity—this was still within acceptable limits. Last time, Solomon had a custom assassin outfit and a tiny hidden blade made for the Cheshire Cat at Rodin's shop. But the cat's weight gain outpaced their expectations, and now it couldn't even zip up the outfit—its belly fat would burst the zipper. That outfit must have cost a fortune.
Bayonetta didn't care about household expenses. Solomon had assured her that he would never run out of human currency again, and he had been buying luxury items non-stop. Even her wardrobe had a magically expanded section dedicated to custom designer clothing and shoes.
This had always been their lifestyle, even before Solomon gained control of an AI. Now, it was just even more extravagant. Bayonetta had started stockpiling gold—it never lost value and was the true interstellar currency. The last time Solomon and the witches dined on Xandar, they had paid with Asgardian gold coins.
Jeanne pursed her lips in disapproval, but for the sake of Diana's prepared dinner, she held back from scolding Solomon.
This is not elegant! I am an elegant witch!
People in the future would never have guessed that the first recipient of the Golden Eagle Medal for Loyalty was a thirty-pound cat.
Even Lara Croft hadn't expected it when she came for a visit. She was trying to convince Solomon to fund her archaeological endeavors—he agreed immediately. His prophecies were tied to her, though he wasn't sure exactly how. But the glimpses of the future shown in the Cosmic Cauldron had made it clear—Lara would lead him to what he was looking for.
That was the key to solving the challenges faced in his biological research lab.
Solomon had complete confidence in this—the Cosmic Cauldron was never wrong. Observing time fragments was only a small part of its power; its true purpose was to probe the mysteries and threats of the universe. When combined with the shattered visions he received from his divination spells, he could piece together a rough picture of what was to come.
Lara Croft was crucial. Until she fulfilled her mission, she would not die.
It sounded a bit fatalistic, but Solomon believed in destiny to some extent. While combing through Kamar-Taj's archives, he finally understood why the Ancient One hadn't been surprised by what happened to him in Salem. He even discovered something closely tied to the Scarlet Witch—the true cause of Atlantis's destruction, the long-lost myths of that civilization, the evidence linking the ancient gods to another universe, and the existence of the sunken city of R'lyeh.
When he was a child, the Ancient One had told him stories about the birth of gods. So then, what exactly was the entity that had created all the gods? And why did magic in this world come with such heavy consequences?
Solomon delved deep into the dungeons of Kamar-Taj, hidden within the Himalayas, and uncovered a terrifying truth.
The massive, intricate seal, carved by early humans onto the rock walls, was still intact.
The Ancient One did not stop him from exploring but warned him never to speak of it. Not even to the future Sorcerer Supreme, Stephen Strange. That man could only learn of this when he had gained sufficient power.
"Master, what's wrong?" Wanda's voice snapped Solomon back to reality. He withdrew his hand from the Silver Key and, making sure she couldn't see, slipped it back inside his robe.
But then he hesitated.
Turning to face Wanda, he said, "Be ready. The day you leave here isn't far away."
"Really? You saw it in a prophecy?" Wanda was clearly excited, and Pietro looked just as thrilled—leaving meant saying goodbye to his endless piles of assignments.
"When will you teach me divination magic?" Wanda asked. "Am I not talented enough?"
"No, you're very talented. You're the most gifted spellcaster I've ever seen—of course, you're still a little behind me." Solomon forced a smile. "But your talent doesn't lie in divination. You'll be learning some very special magic from me next."
Wanda's eyes lit up, but Solomon's expression turned serious.
"These spells are dangerous. I will only teach you the least harmful ones." He paused before adding, "The author of the book you'll be studying was an Arab known as Abdul Alhazred—the Mad Arab."
"You're going to teach me magic from a madman?"
"No one knows whether he was mad before writing the book or if writing the book drove him insane. But one thing is certain—these spells are incredibly powerful." Solomon fixed her with a stern gaze. "Remember this, Wanda. I will be watching you. You must never break the rules of black magic—the price is more than you can afford to pay."
Solomon had seen the truth.
The Darkhold contained every spell from the Necronomicon.
Both books traced their origins to the ancient gods and a horror beyond comprehension.
Teaching Wanda spells from the Necronomicon was still better than letting her get her hands on the Darkhold itself.
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