"What do you want?" Nick Fury asked. "Is the legacy of S.H.I.E.L.D. not enough to fill your belly?"
"I've already ordered all my forces to stand by, but it's far from enough." Solomon ignored the former S.H.I.E.L.D. director's sarcasm. Even facing the man himself, he felt no shame about seizing massive amounts of S.H.I.E.L.D. assets. Compared to letting those strategic resources be repurposed for yet another round of arms races or become bargaining chips for world governments, used to fuel humanity's internal conflicts, at least he could put them toward the true safety of the species. "I want you to use the hidden power you've been hoarding, Nick Fury," he said. "Play a few of your cards—I don't believe for a second you don't have them. Otherwise, you wouldn't have come down from that secret orbital space station all by yourself."
"What did you see this time? Right now, I'm just a broke, half-blind drifter. You still think I'm the man who once pulled strings around the world?" Nick Fury's one eye fixed firmly on the arcanist. "I'm retired, Solomon. I can't even afford lunch."
"My missiles are already targeting the orbital station you built, Nick Fury." Solomon waved his hand dismissively, completely uninterested in Fury's attempts to conceal secrets. "A grand ambition, trying to interfere in galactic affairs through that platform. But I can only tell you this—it's one of the dumbest ideas in the world. You're just accelerating humanity's extinction. But that's not today's concern. Don't try hiding anything from me. I know that station barely has orbital defenses. Now is the time to trade the lives of your loyal Skrulls for the lives of humans. I'd say that's a pretty fair deal. After all, those green-skinned bugs aren't worth more than us, are they?"
Nick Fury didn't doubt Solomon's military power for a second. He knew exactly how much Solomon had gained from the Hydra uprising. And more than that, he believed Solomon had developed his own shadow forces in secret. Whether Solomon's "missiles" were real or not didn't matter—an RPG-7 paired with teleportation was a strategic weapon all by itself.
"You still haven't answered my question, Solomon. What did your prophecy show you? What's Ultron going to do?"
He tapped his own blind eye, suppressing the unease of exposing another secret. This kind of nervousness only arose when facing Solomon. No one else in the world could call out his secrets so precisely.
Magic. Damn magic again.
"In dealing with Ultron, I stand with the Avengers."
"That's it?" Fury narrowed his eye. If Solomon needed to help the Avengers, then this disaster would be no smaller than the Battle of New York—perhaps even one that threatened the end of human civilization. He recalled every instance Solomon had stepped in personally: extradimensional gods, demon invasions, alien fleets...
He sighed, arms crossed. "Just that?"
"Yes. That's all."
A black-cloaked stranger walked through the war-torn streets of Sokovia.
He had no name—only a numeric designation—because he had yet to earn one. He stepped over the shattered cobblestones, weaving between hastily erected tents and buzzing white lights. He carefully avoided the tangled wires, rusted tires, and cars that hadn't passed inspection in decades. He stayed clear of anyone who might try to talk to him. Though the last wave of destruction had ended years ago, the city hadn't recovered. The stench of gunpowder still hung heavy in the air. Ruins remained unrepaired. It was as if war had never left.
And yet, he couldn't help but marvel at humanity's resilience.
Even though their faces were pale from malnutrition, their clothes faded and stretched thin from being passed down through multiple owners, people still gathered together to share what little warmth they had. His facial analysis training told him this was just making the best of misery. The pile of shattered beer bottles he stepped around said as much. But what struck him harder was the corruption—any beauty in the human condition was as fragile as frost-bitten blossoms.
He had reviewed the UN's aid reports. All aid had been delivered to the local government. If it had truly reached the people, there wouldn't be so many starving children on the streets.
He understood why.
The current government had been set up years ago, following a meaningless rebellion and a rigged democratic election. Backed by the United States, it created a bloated, inefficient administration. If not for that, Baron Strucker would never have been welcomed as he was. Compared to the comprador elite controlled by the Americans, even Hydra had seemed merciful. Especially after the local authorities unleashed secret police to hunt down mountain guerrillas in a reign of terror.
After ousting the weak government, Strucker had provided jobs, feeding people who would otherwise have starved. In the face of hunger, morals and ideology meant nothing. "A full granary teaches courtesy; a full stomach teaches honor." The boy repeated the ancient wisdom his master had taught him. These lessons came from civilizations long gone, passed down by Solomon himself. He understood that to the locals, the Avengers—who had shouted about "liberating Sokovia" while killing the only man who kept them fed—were the real villains. Survival was the only justice.
"And the only justice humanity will know in the future," he murmured, expressionless as he observed the ruined streets. His mind, chemically and magically conditioned, bore no excess emotion. Endless hypnotic programming had forged his will into steel. He could calmly face horrors that would make most people collapse. Even the bleakest of futures didn't shake him.
He darted through tight alleyways, climbing walls with agility that came from more than just training. His light exosuit creaked at the joints as he scaled interconnected rooftops. It was hard to believe this was a nine-year-old boy under the cloak—especially one carrying several kilos of gear.
Through a secretive form of genetic alchemy known to only a few, the boy had grown taller and stronger than his age. His second heart and enhanced muscle system had formed while he slept in the biotank. His brain and nervous system had been modified. Implanted glands kept him energized through long battles. His training allowed him to survive in wilderness or city alike.
More surgeries awaited—ones that would otherwise take decades. But with time-magic acceleration, Solomon could complete them within years.
If he failed to adapt during this phase, no one would remember his name.
He planned to find an abandoned building to shelter in tonight, then inspect his gear before the battle began.
That wouldn't be difficult.
Here, the scent of death was everywhere.
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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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