"Loneliness is our greatest enemy, Wanda," Solomon said solemnly.
He raised his finger, and a slice of cream cake floated through a portal, landing gently on a tray. Then came a fruit cake, followed by a brownie, each one emerging like train cars, dancing as they settled into their delicate little plates. Candles of various colors and beautifully wrapped candies followed. Flowers bloomed across the stained walls, rusted pipes gleamed as if newly polished, and the cold, pale lighting turned into a warm amber glow. The ruined cell was now awash with the aura of a fairytale.
He had used illusion magic to build a virtual kingdom of dreams.
"But with dessert, none of that matters!" the arcanist said playfully, winking as he lifted a finely painted enamel teapot.
It was the night before the Avengers were scheduled to launch their assault, the day after their reconnaissance ended and the attack date was finalized. Solomon had no interest in helping them plan their tactics. Even though the Ancient One had requested he ensure the scepter be returned to Asgard, he had no intention of partaking in what he considered a boring, unnecessary battle.
"There's no class today—you've already learned everything you needed to, and also some things you weren't supposed to. No more spell reciting, Wanda. It's time to enjoy," he said.
Wanda was ecstatic. She saw hope for vengeance—she would soon confront the people who had taken her parents' lives, eye to eye.
But more importantly, more thrilling than revenge itself, was that she saw a peaceful life waving at her from the horizon.
She grinned foolishly and rambled about opening a clothing store, sending her brother to college. Or perhaps learning how to bake cakes—possibly inspired by the magical sweets now surrounding her. She spoke dreamily among the desserts and candles, though Pietro seemed utterly uninterested. He listlessly jabbed his fork into the cream, stabbing it so hard it lodged in the cake and refused to budge. Again and again, until the cake let out a faint groan and he finally cut off a piece and chewed it without enthusiasm.
Ever since Wanda had received Solomon's message that the Avengers would be attacking soon, she'd been talking about the future nonstop. Since he couldn't leap to the top of the castle and shout his emotions at the starry night sky, he was left with only one outlet—abusing the food.
A cunning brownie tried to bribe Pietro with a blunt-rolled joint it had pulled from its own belly, promising it would spare itself from torture. But Solomon was quicker and snatched the joint away, flattening the brownie with a single slap on the plate.
These sweets had been made by the Scottish Aisazhon pixies in Solomon's apartment. To do so, he had enlarged their bodies, sacrificed all the poisonous mushroom juice from his alchemy lab, just so they could create food fit for human proportions.
The adorable pixies in floral skirts danced around first, then chattered their way into a bargain with Solomon: from that day forward, all the cat fur shed by the Cheshire Cat would belong to the Aisazhon pixies. They planned to knit a few sweaters before the winter solstice—a dangerous time of year.
The only problem with using fairy magic to make food was that it came with a fairy's love for chaos. As beautiful as the treats looked, they were just as mischievous. A group of Hokkaido cheesecake soldiers was currently having a shootout with cheese-made pistols. With every shot fired, their mass shrank—each blast brought them closer to their end, but they fought with glee regardless.
Solomon saw through the unease haunting the Maximoff twins.
Yes, vengeance was close—but how could they be certain they would succeed?
The sweets were meant to comfort them, to sweeten their nerves, to briefly distract them from the looming battle.
"Will you be fighting alongside us against the Avengers, teacher?" Wanda asked. Pietro perked up at that. They longed for their mentor's affirmation.
But Solomon disappointed them with a firm shake of the head.
Wanda's face fell, the magic of the cakes fading as if sugar no longer had meaning.
"That's your battle. I have no right to interfere," Solomon said softly, his tone as gentle as ever. "I have more important things to do."
"What could be more fun than beating up Americans?" Pietro asked, genuinely confused.
"A lot," Solomon replied, locking eyes with him. "The world is vast. It's not just one castle, one cell, or one country."
Though the twins were older than Solomon, he always carried the air of someone wiser.
"This world faces threats—real enemies that never stop moving forward," he continued, spreading his arms as if widening their worldview. "There are always things to kill, always people to save. Compared to the innocent lives that will be lost tomorrow, your revenge is insignificant."
"That's... pretty hurtful, teacher," Wanda said, frowning.
"It's the truth," Solomon replied. "Once your revenge is complete, you'll have to face the real world. Especially you, Wanda. Fate has tangled your thread with a terrible enemy. What awaits you is far worse than tomorrow."
"So you're saying tomorrow's revenge will be easy?" Pietro asked.
"Yes. Finish your cake and go to bed," Solomon said, rising from his chair. "And brush your teeth."
"Brush your teeth, then get some sleep," the boy muttered after being dismissed.
He walked to the washroom and brushed his teeth as ordered, though the sting from his freshly cleaned wounds made sleep impossible.
In just half a year, his body had grown rapidly, far beyond his peers. So had his experiences.
Just minutes ago, he had been breathing the scorching, toxic air of an alien planet, hunting massive stingrays that migrated through red deserts with his crackling spear. Then, in a flash, his prey had been cleaved in two, its stinking blood soaking him and the corrupted sands.
He growled in frustration, until he saw his master—at which point all the rage of stolen prey turned into joy.
"By Earth standard time, you have a battle tomorrow," Solomon told him bluntly.
The boy looked at him eagerly.
Solomon blinked, then smiled. "Was the alien stingray tasty?"
"I saw burn marks—locals traded you spices and stingray hides from over a hundred kilometers away."
"Not very. Tasted like waste products. Probably to reduce water loss. But I got full marks in Professor Maya Hansen's biology class," the boy said with a grin. His voice was deeper than six months ago, his buzzcut filled with dust. "They're nice, just... the spices wouldn't suit average Earthlings," he added. "I didn't go to the big cities. Outsiders aren't welcome. The locals only use gestures, no speech."
"Given your surgery's not yet complete, what you've accomplished in a week is excellent," Solomon said, weighing the fishbone spear the boy had crafted through trade and hunting. "This is a fine throwing weapon."
"I prefer the explosive blaster," the boy admitted sheepishly. "I had help—it's nothing. Just put this species on the list of aliens that might coexist with humanity. I want that list to be longer."
"And if they won't?"
"I know. I'll kill them myself."
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Fairy Tail: Igneel's Eldest Son (Chapter 256)
I Am Thalos, Odin's Older Brother (Chapter 336)
Reborn in America's Anti-Terror Unit (Chapter 542)
Solomon in Marvel (Chapter 924)
Becoming the Wealthiest Tycoon on the Planet (Chapter 1284)
Surgical Fruit in the American Comics Universe (Chapter 1289)
American Detective: From TV Rookie to Seasoned Cop (Chapter 1316)
American TV Writer (Chapter 1402)
I Am Hades, The Supreme GOD of the Underworld! (Chapter 570)
Reborn as Humanity's Emperor Across the Multiverse (Chapter 660)
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