Solomon in Marvel

Jeanne d'Arc exuded an air of supreme confidence as she fixed her ice-cold gaze on the person sitting across from her. The intensity of her look could freeze boiling water, reducing her opponent to an insignificant insect in her eyes. She lifted a martini glass from the table, took a slow sip, and let out a quiet, disdainful hum.

Her long white hair was styled in an elegant updo, and golden filigree earrings dangled, swaying gently with her movements. Her long, graceful legs rested unapologetically on the black glass table, the red-soled high heels casually dangling from her toes. Seated on the luxurious, oversized sofa, Jeanne embodied elegance and superiority. She had ordered an apple martini, just like Bayonetta.

Meanwhile, Solomon squinted defiantly, refusing to back down. He set his iced rum back on the sofa's armrest and leaned forward, extending his hand towards the cards on the table. Jeanne pushed one card forward with her thumb. Solomon tried to bypass it, reaching for another card, but Jeanne held her hand firmly over the deck, refusing to let him take anything.

The tension mounted as the two superhuman beings silently fought over the enchanted deck made from demon bones. They each subtly applied mind-reading spells, which clashed in their gaze like golden and violet sparks. The air shimmered with an intense magical aura, a byproduct of their unrelenting struggle.

Rodin glanced over from the bar to ensure things hadn't escalated, then calmly resumed stroking the Cheshire cat in his arms.

Bayonetta, watching from the sidelines, gave Solomon a playful wink and a subtle hint. Jeanne, sensing the pressure, finally relented and pushed the same card forward again. Solomon sighed in defeat and took the card. Jeanne exhaled softly and returned to her regal posture.

"You lost!" she announced triumphantly. "Since Dina isn't here, it's your turn to do the dishes. No magic allowed!"

"Fine, fine," Solomon muttered, sinking back into the sofa and taking a sip of his now-diluted rum. It wasn't the first time he'd washed dishes, after all.

"By the way, my dear," Bayonetta chimed in, "you still haven't told us where you sent Dina. Your maid has been awfully busy lately. Jeanne accidentally ate a Hawaiian pizza last time. She nearly flipped the entire living room."

"That was you, Cereza!" Jeanne snapped defensively. "I'm not even Italian!"

"Whatever you say." Bayonetta chuckled, giving a mischievous whistle. "So, what's Dina up to this time, Boya?"

"I sent Dina and a squad of Sisters to procure military supplies," Solomon explained without hesitation. "They should currently be in Ukraine, negotiating with some officers. Though I imagine they'll be bringing back more than just weapons."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Some girls," Solomon said matter-of-factly, shrugging. He had previously informed the Sisterhood's leadership that there were limits to how many androids he would create. While it was possible to mass-produce them using aether particles, their souls would remain permanently tethered to his own, and the reserve bodies in the stasis pods were strictly for reviving fallen Sisters. This was his promise of eternal life to them.

However, if the Sisterhood were to continue growing, they would need to recruit and train ordinary humans who could be enhanced later.

Eastern Europe, torn apart by the fall of the Soviet Union and the Balkan wars, had become a breeding ground for human trafficking and exploitation. Armed gangs, smugglers, and pimps preyed on vulnerable girls from conflict zones and impoverished regions, selling them into slavery in Western Europe. In countries like Romania, Ukraine, Moldova, Kosovo, Bosnia, and even Russia, young women were routinely deceived with false promises of modeling contracts or a better life—only to be trapped in horrific circumstances.

Rather than face a fate of prostitution, disease, abuse, and eventual death, these girls were now being given an alternative: join the Sisterhood and undergo rigorous training and augmentation. Solomon had made it clear to Dina that all rescued women, regardless of their condition, should be brought back. Those who were unwilling to join the Sisterhood, or were too old or physically impaired, could still find work and dignity within the Eternal City.

With Solomon's approval, nearly all available Sisters deployed aboard newly-built stealth aircraft. Their mission was clear: negotiate with Russian and Albanian mafias—but with unrestricted permission to engage in violence if necessary. Heavy weapons, including explosives, were authorized for use, and they were prepared for urban warfare. Mercy was not an option.

After completing the mission in Eastern Europe, Dina would also coordinate a sweep of New York's human trafficking networks based on intelligence provided by Elijah.

"You're doing good work," Rodin remarked, stepping out from behind the bar. "Honestly, I thought you'd be as stiff as those other mystics. When you asked Enzo for details on those traffickers, I thought you were getting into the slave trade yourself. My bad. How about a drink on the house?"

"You're a demon—why the sudden generosity?"

"Demon? Hell no—I'm a fallen angel!" Rodin rolled his eyes, though his shades hid the gesture.

"I can't intervene directly. It would violate the Ancient One's decrees," Solomon sighed. "I'm still a member of Kamar-Taj. I don't have the authority to personally save those girls—but the Sisterhood does. Once they reach the Eternal City, they'll have the right to live as human beings."

"Boya, you're a good kid. I knew I wasn't wrong about you."

"Thanks," Solomon muttered, patting the hilts of his short and long swords. "Besides, it's been a while since I had a good fight."

"Count me in!" Jeanne exclaimed, retracting her long legs and slapping her cards down on the table. She was thrilled by Solomon's words. "But I'm not tagging along with your maids. I want to go somewhere they haven't!" The white-haired witch beamed with excitement. "And don't get the wrong idea—I just need some exercise! You're still washing the dishes, though!"

The aircraft's cargo bay door opened to a roaring windstorm, but it failed to penetrate the Sisters' armor. The frigid gusts merely rustled their crimson cloaks. Deep red synthetic eyes, shielded behind resin glass, gazed down at the buildings below.

Nearby, a group of frightened, malnourished girls huddled together, wrapped in safety straps and filthy blankets. The Sisters paid them little attention for now, awaiting further orders from Dina.

A separate aircraft carrying personnel for cleaning, disinfection, and medical screening was en route. Until then, direct contact with the rescued girls was restricted. However, the Sisters distributed food and clean water to them. The girls were emotionally fragile, having escaped from hellish conditions. Under the blood-red glare of the Sisters' helmets, they dared not cry aloud.

"Ma'am, did you say Master authorized heavy weaponry?" Tita's voice crackled through her helmet's comms. She addressed Dina, who stood with her back to her. "I feel like using field artillery in the outskirts of a city might be overkill."

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