The Holy Son in Marvel

"Hello, little doggie."

Solomon led the dog to the place where Natasha had once been, trying to get it to sniff the scent. The only reason this dog had managed to survive was that it was a mutt and not a purebred bloodhound—otherwise, Solomon would have skinned it to perform a biological tracking spell.

For this "spellcasting," Solomon had paid a modest price of two British sausages. These high-fat, emulsified meat tubes weren't particularly costly, as British sausages consist of 32.5% fat, 6.5% pork skin, 20% water, 10% breadcrumbs, 5% seasonings, colorings, and preservatives, with only 26% actual meat—mainly cartilage, head meat, trimmings, and mechanically separated scraps. 

But the dog was satisfied and eager to help Solomon. It even agreed to do more as long as there was extra butter and a bit of flea-cleaning involved. How did the arcanist know this? Kamar-Taj had a collection of druidic spells, and Solomon had a complete transcription of the ritual in his spellbook. The arcanist agreed to the stray dog's terms and named it "Jones," hoping it would lead him to his target.

Jones led the arcanist into the street, sniffing and following two ruts in the road. The arcanist frowned, reasoning that even if Natasha had been subdued by a witch, she wouldn't have been dragged through the street in broad daylight; the King's Army certainly lacked the capability for that. This raised questions about why Natasha had left the surveillance spot. Solomon leaned toward the idea that she'd left of her own accord. Natasha Romanoff wouldn't act without a good reason.

Yet, despite his musings, Solomon continued following the dog until Jones reached the courthouse entrance. Solomon was surprised to see that these Puritans had, in fact, stopped their work to gawk at the newly captured "witch" of the day. This was something the arcanist couldn't understand, as these people's minds had been taken over by ignorance and superstition, pushing rationality far out of reach. Judge Cotton Mather seized the opportunity, conducting a public trial and interrogating the "witch" in full view of everyone. If this reality were scaled up a bit, it would likely trigger a full-blown witch trial hysteria across New England, one that would only stop when it threatened even the governor's wife.

Compared to the original history, the influence of external forces had made this trial both smaller in scope and significantly more brutal. The urgency to save lives intensified with the disappearance of Tituba, which only solidified Cotton Mather's belief in the existence of witches. For Matthew Hopkins, however, the witch trials weren't merely business—they were a passion. He was particularly fond of using the "witchfinder" device—a torture instrument studded with needles and blades—to search for the devil's mark on accused witches.

Then Solomon realized something was wrong. He petted the wildly wagging Jones and thought back to his research: Matthew Hopkins should have died in 1647. It was now 1692, so this Hopkins shouldn't exist. Solomon knew that Hopkins operated around Suffolk, Essex, Norfolk, and other parts of East Anglia, not the New World.

Unless this "Matthew Hopkins" was some new character introduced by Randolph Carter, Solomon was sure he was connected to Nyarlathotep. Since Randolph would never willingly add trouble for himself, that left only the latter possibility. The arcanist urgently directed Jones to continue searching for Natasha's trail. At the courthouse, he found four witches—Bridget Bishop, Susannah Martin, Alice Parker, and Margaret Scott—locked in shackles and held in a wooden cage with spikes on top. Each time they tried to climb out, the wooden spikes would pierce them, causing bloody wounds.

The women's cries from inside the cage only earned curses from the onlookers.

The arcanist couldn't get close to the cage, as seven members of the King's Army armed with chain-fed flintlocks stood guard around it. He scanned the area, but there was no trace of Natasha. She might have followed the captured witches there, or perhaps she was also arrested by the King's Army after being enchanted. Solomon led the dog to a corner, straining to describe Natasha's appearance to Jones, then sent the dog to investigate the prisoner cart—but the results were disappointing. Natasha wasn't there. Until he found a living Natasha, no other information would qualify as good news.

Solomon helplessly patted the dog's head. Unless this dog could somehow transform into a bloodhound, he wouldn't be able to cast the spell he needed. Suddenly, a hand grabbed his arm from behind. Solomon turned around to see a bearded man in black clothes pulling him aside.

"Natasha?" Solomon asked, judging by their height comparison.

"It's me," she replied. "It's no longer safe for a woman to walk the streets. I watched you head to the surveillance spot…"

"Fck! Next time, give me a heads-up! You have no idea how worried I was about you!"

"I left a mark," Natasha said, walking ahead without looking back. "I'm a spy; I wouldn't get caught so easily."

"But I'm not a spy! I thought that was just some drunkard's scrawl. Even the dog couldn't find you. How'd you manage it?" Solomon followed Natasha into a narrow alleyway between buildings, far from the bustling crowd and barely wide enough for one person to pass. Within a day, Natasha had memorized the town's streets. She even knew some buildings better than certain locals.

"Perfume. Courtesy of SHIELD."

"Alright, so what did you find?" After making sure no one was listening, Solomon held the confused dog steady, ready to hear Natasha out.

"Matthew Hopkins…"

"I know," Solomon nodded. "He's been dead for years. This isn't him."

"I saw him teaching witchcraft to the four girls. He's a sorcerer! Do you have any sources that suggest Hopkins might not have died? I was tracking more than just the girls. I was tracking him."

Solomon was fairly certain that aside from himself and Randolph, no other male spellcasters were in town. Suddenly, he considered a chilling possibility—Nyarlathotep, with a thousand forms, could be anyone, any creature, any object, or even any natural phenomenon. If Randolph Carter hadn't explicitly written Hopkins into existence here, then Hopkins might indeed be one of Nyarlathotep's manifestations.

This thought gave Solomon a plan. He intended to ambush Hopkins on his way home rather than hunt aimlessly in the woods. If Hopkins was a manifestation of Nyarlathotep, the Oath of Victory Sword would likely destroy him, completing half of Solomon's mission.

However, there was still a pressing question: Natasha's discovery seemed too smooth. Didn't Hopkins worry that the girls would accuse him? Or did he have a way to discredit their testimony as slander?

"What are you thinking?" Natasha noticed the arcanist giving her a strange look and couldn't resist asking. But Solomon responded with a question of his own.

"What's your biggest regret?"

"Why are you asking that?" Natasha widened her eyes, puzzled. "Don't tell me a witch cursed you."

"I need proof that you're you." Solomon aimed his wand at the disguised Natasha. "Answer the question."

"You're serious?"

"Answer the question. No other words."

"Fine, I…" 

Do you see that recommendation ticket? Toss it over here! This arc is about to end, and the next storyline is ready to unfold. Or do you all want some downtime scenes?

And remember, don't skip your subscriptions; otherwise, you'll lose track of the plot… even shelving the book will lower the subscription count…

_________________________

[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! Only $5 per novel or $15 for all!!] [[email protected]/Mutter]