The term "godslaying" once meant sacrilege and an impossible feat.
But in recent years, the term had taken on new meanings—"killing an Asgardian" or "killing an alien from an advanced civilization." Thanks to Solomon and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s guidance, most people today believed that the gods of history were actually extraterrestrial beings who had descended upon Earth. The Vatican, of course, claimed that Jesus was definitely not an alien, nor was God some alien who created humanity. But that didn't stop the "ancient alien theory" from spreading among religious lunatics, who still believed the Earth was flat, surrounded by ice walls, and functioned as an experimental ground for various alien species. When Solomon learned that the theories of these religious fools had once again "evolved," he was both amused and exasperated. Somehow, these idiots had stumbled onto the truth—that aliens had, in fact, conducted experiments on Earth.
But compared to the issue of the Inhumans on the moon in Attilan, the imminent resurrection of the Feathered Serpent was a far more pressing problem.
This operation wouldn't be like the Battle of Finbowent, where only the Eternal City took action to fulfill certain objectives. This time, most of the magi of Kamar-Taj would be deployed, with many stewards wrapping up their assignments to prepare for the mission. Still, Solomon was not satisfied. He was used to being fully prepared, so he informed his apprentice—Wanda Maximoff, not yet the Scarlet Witch—about the coming battle.
"Are you ready to take the potion?" the Magus asked softly.
In Wanda's apartment alchemy lab stood many modern chemical instruments—all gifts from Solomon, who had provided them along with the apartment itself. Though Solomon hadn't taught her much directly, Wanda's progress far outstripped her earlier period of blind experimentation. Her later adult education had only reinforced the importance of systematic training—Kamar-Taj's true strength over other schools was not its spell repertoire, but its complete foundation. Elemental theory, planar theory, soul theory—everything a spellcaster needed for future study of unfamiliar magic. Not to mention that Solomon occasionally stuffed the library with dense, dull tomes.
The room's lights were off, and the orange-red afterglow of the sunset slowly faded beneath the shadow of the curtains. In Manhattan, such afterglow was priceless; sunlight had long been stolen from the lower buildings, and only those in high-rise apartments could enjoy it. The witch studied the translucent red potion in her test tube, her expression solemn.
"Pietro is going on a mission," Wanda said, frowning. "The Avengers are taking him along. I don't feel good about it."
"If you're trying to adjust your menstrual cycle, just take birth control pills. As far as I know, your alchemy still isn't up to par with pharmaceutical companies." Solomon's remark earned him a playful swat from Wanda. She laughed. She liked that he remembered her cycle.
"You're right. I also think the formula I found in that old book is a bit unreliable. I bought it at the Doorless Bar. Supposedly, it's one of the last of its kind on New York's magical black market." She glanced at her mentor, tucking her long reddish-brown hair behind her ear. People had already started calling her the Scarlet Witch—not because of her attire, but because of the color of her magic: that blood-red chaos energy so intense it took one's breath away. In fact, she'd seen Solomon use similarly colored spells before, and without exception, they were dangerous black magic.
"Don't worry. I didn't tell them we were connected. If they knew you were my teacher, they probably wouldn't have even sold me the book."
"I knew those people were involved with black-market dark magic items." Solomon flipped through the book Wanda had brought out.
It had a brown leather cover, copper straps, and handwritten script—likely dating from the Golden Dawn era. For several centuries prior, all of Europe had been steeped in occultism, with many charlatans writing books and boasting of their powers in hopes of gaining aristocratic patrons. Kamar-Taj had once turned a blind eye to the magical black market because much of that dark magic couldn't actually elicit a response from extradimensional entities. But now Solomon was purging the black market because some of those dangerous rituals would eventually receive a response.
They didn't require professional magical knowledge—just performing the ritual as written was enough.
The more terrifying the black magic, the fewer components it required. Often one didn't even need to know who or what was being invoked to gain power. For instance, summoning the blind idiot god Azathoth required almost no steps—just the ability to read the incantation aloud. Fortunately, Wanda's book didn't contain anything like that. Solomon could confidently say this alchemical potion likely wouldn't work at all—the rest of the book was unreliable, full of errors he spotted instantly as he flipped through it.
This was a common flaw in grimoires from that era, nothing surprising.
"I came to invite you on a mission, Wanda," Solomon said, closing the book. He was about to elaborate when Wanda raised her hand to interrupt him.
"I want to be fully involved—not like last time, stuck in New York with no idea what happened in Kazakhstan."
"I agree. Last time I left you behind because you weren't yet ready for front-line battle. But this time is different," Solomon nodded. "I need you to study the flora and fauna of the South American rainforest."
"This mission is in South America?" Wanda frowned and set the potion aside. Like Solomon, she also had a bright blue spell-eating slug to dispose of alchemical waste. Judging by the multicolored creature squirming in its flask, Wanda had been practicing alchemy quite a bit lately.
"Is there anything in South America tied to magic?"
"Oh, plenty, dear. We could take a look at some Mayan pyramids. But first, we need to stop by the Doorless Bar."
Wanda jumped up. "It's not because of this book, is it?" she asked anxiously.
"I'm not that petty, Wanda. This book doesn't warrant invoking the Kamar-Taj edicts," Solomon said, shaking his head as he picked up the coat hanging on the rack. "I've invited a mage familiar with South America to meet with us. He might have clues."
This contact was provided by Daniel Drum, one of the Sanctum's guardians—a distant relative of the person in question.
The Drum brothers—better known as Doctor Voodoo—were not pure-blooded Latinos, nor had they studied at Kamar-Taj. Their magic came from inherited family traditions—a mixture of Voodoo, Haitian lore, and Mayan myth, passed down orally through ballads and tales. Their magic specialized in curses, poisons, and spirits—formidable in combat compared to other schools. However, due to Kamar-Taj's influence, many of the darker and more malicious rituals in their tradition had been removed, as they posed dangers not just to others but to the caster as well. Apparently, due to the cost of magic, the Drum family saw twin births as a bad omen in their prophecies—yet the Drum brothers had survived together until now, and there was hope for their continued survival.
That was the wish of the old Magus Daniel—every member of the Drum family wanted to break the curse.
Solomon wrote a letter to the Drum brothers, inviting them to meet at the Doorless Bar.
He wanted to ask them in detail—about the Feathered Serpent.
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