As the surface hangar doors slowly closed, the fluorescent lights flickered on one by one, and the entire landing bay filled with the dry, dusty air unique to abandoned facilities. Agent Coulson quickly scanned the agents who had come to greet them, but to his surprise, he didn't see the person he was looking for. "Where's Fitz?" he asked. "I brought people here to help him—these scientists need to interface with him."
"He's following a lead on the Monolith," Barbara shrugged.
Ever since Fitz had seen the footage of the Monolith swallowing Jemma Simmons, the young physicist had thrown himself into a frenzied search for anything related to it. At times, he even looked into ancient legends rather than relying on scientific analysis to understand the Monolith's properties. To many, his behavior bordered on madness—but they could understand. Leopold Fitz and Jemma Simmons, the shy couple on the verge of finally becoming official, had been cruelly torn apart. No one would take that easily.
"I need him. Tell him to be ready," Coulson said without calling out Barbara's thin cover for Fitz. Instead, he simply exchanged a look with her and Melinda May. "Right now, I'm taking our guest to see the Monolith."
He stepped aside, allowing his base personnel to see the man walking up behind him. Backlit by the harsh lights of the assault transport, all they could see was a looming, black silhouette—heavy, silent, like a drawn sword. Solomon had donned the armor forged by Malbus while still aboard the sky carrier. Made from vibranium alloys and Martian technology, it wasn't as rare as the uru-powered suit but still nearly indestructible. The armor, in baroque black accented with silver trim, bore a long, slender blood-red visor across the knight's helm and silvery wings fanning from the back. Golden eagle feathers swept down over the pauldrons, blending seamlessly into the shoulder plates. The chest bulged forward into a sharp angle at the collar, and though his legs weren't over-armored, they matched the style of medieval plate mail. The ankle joints were notably agile. The white battle robe at his waist shimmered with glowing arcane runes, pulsing with magical light. The whole suit looked less like combat gear and more like a masterwork sculpture.
It was a suit for daily warfare—not one reserved for the most terrifying foes. Stephanie had stopped bickering with Daisy Johnson and now gazed at him in silent reverence. Catherine walked at his side with pride, alongside the heavy weapons team, swearing to clear all obstacles for their lord (she had wanted to be his standard bearer, but Solomon thought such flair unnecessary for this mission).
"You're not here to start a war, Solomon," Coulson said, pointing at the beautifully ornamented black longsword at Solomon's waist, trimmed in golden laurel, and the massive gun with a golden skull relief. "You're here to do research."
"Perhaps," Solomon replied. Once clad in armor, the archmage became taciturn, as though the black steel had devoured his humanity. He now resembled a futuristic automaton wrapped in a knight's armor. "But who can say what will happen next? The world you know is just the tip of the iceberg—like children striking matches in a gas station. I don't care about your lives, but I won't tolerate the disaster that could be unleashed."
"What have you foreseen this time?" Coulson asked. Daisy Johnson clenched her jaw in frustration at Solomon's arrogance, but even she knew not to argue when he was this serious—Coulson had already told her that whenever Solomon treated something seriously, it could mean the end of the world.
"Even Jiaying?" Daisy had asked earlier, back on the sky carrier. "Even if he used those methods?"
"If he did," Coulson had nodded solemnly, "then it means sacrificing Jiaying saves lives. S.H.I.E.L.D. has made choices like that many times. Not every mission ends well. You're an agent—you'll face these choices one day, too."
"This has nothing to do with you, Coulson. Keep doing your job. The killing is ours." Solomon's words radiated confidence. He clearly didn't intend to explain much to the agents. He shut off his external speaker and switched to the squad comms—secured and encrypted, so anyone outside the channel heard only static. He instructed Stephanie to lead a team to take control of the warehouse where the Monolith was stored.
The Monolith had once belonged to the Malik family, and Solomon had come to erase any evidence connecting it to them. But he also wouldn't treat a Kree bio-weapon lightly.
All their armor suits were sealed airtight, equipped with air filtration capable of neutralizing poison gas. The Sisterhood's heavy weapons team carried flamethrowers and plasma arms, meant for wide-area damage—Solomon's countermeasure against nanoscale parasites. He would not allow even a single parasite to reach Earth. Such a bioweapon could become a cataclysmic plague.
"And one more thing," Solomon added just as Stephanie and her team, shadowed by S.H.I.E.L.D. field agents, stepped into the storage zone. "Keep your little electric boy away from them. I can't guarantee he'll survive if he makes the first move."
Research on the Monolith began immediately. Daisy Johnson and her Inhuman boyfriend had hoped to oversee the work under the pretense of security, but Stephanie's firm stance kept them far away from both the lab and the artifact. In their place stood Barbara Morse, blonde and statuesque, and her husband—well, ex-husband—Lance Hunter. A former SAS operative, Hunter was cheerful and humorous, if a bit unserious. Once he got over his initial stiffness, the British lad with the heavy London accent started joking with the physicists—mostly about the differences between British and American English. He even asked Catherine what she called "fries" back home. In any case, Hunter helped ease the trigger-tight tension in the room.
"I thought the people you brought would be like something out of a Tom Clancy novel," Solomon said, hand resting on his sword hilt. "But I like Hunter. I bet he's the kind of guy who throws punches and beer bottles at football matches."
Coulson winced a bit. "Hunter has been arrested for public brawling… but that's not really our concern right now. Why did you want Skye and Lincoln removed? I don't think it's because you hate Inhumans. Does the Monolith relate to them?"
Solomon didn't answer.
"I think limited intel sharing would help our cooperation," Coulson said. "If what's on the other side of the Monolith is hostile, we need to know."
"The Monolith is related to Inhumans—but not as tightly as you think. What we're dealing with is an alien civilization, possibly a militant faction," Solomon replied, his voice muffled behind his helmet. With a hiss of depressurizing gas, he removed it. "This is war, Coulson. Not a place for your foster daughter and her little boyfriend to play house, and certainly not a stage for the glory of human decency. I know you won't let us handle this alone—so you'd better load your gun and get your death benefits ready. A lot of people are going to die today."
(End of Chapter)
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