"Phoenix, how many devils do you think there are down there?" Solomon asked as he sat astride Pegasus, looking down from a cliff at the swarming horde of creatures below. Clad in full silver armor, the Holy Sword and its scabbard secured on his back, Solomon's figure radiated the presence of a knight out of myth. Phoenix, perched on Pegasus's head—a spot it particularly enjoyed—tilted its head to get a better view. Pegasus, for its part, didn't mind Phoenix's antics. In fact, the two had a peculiar camaraderie and even shared whiskey on occasion.
"My Lord, too many," Phoenix replied, its voice calm but wary. "I suggest we avoid them and leave before we're spotted."
It was the second day of Solomon's journey into Hell, and the second day since he had entered through the Hell Gate in Europe. He had no desire to recall the events of the day he left; just the thought of the witches' piercing glares made him certain that his eventual return home would be anything but peaceful. To avoid the looming storm at home, Solomon had hastily volunteered for Kamar-Taj's first mission in the escalating conflict with Hell. After all, he reasoned, he'd have to go sooner or later, so why not now? At least this way, he could dodge the domestic confrontation. He knew Bayonetta's strikes were merciless and painful, and resistance was futile—he'd just have to wait until her anger subsided.
The expedition into Hell was led by the veteran elder sorcerers of Kamar-Taj. Without the direct involvement of the Ancient One, these elder sorcerers could at best disrupt the operations of Mephisto's mid-level devils, causing chaos but not delivering a decisive blow. The real game-changer was Solomon, armed with the Holy Lance and Holy Sword, weapons capable of tilting the balance of power.
However, Hell's core territories were heavily fortified against teleportation spells, protected by powerful wards that only the most potent spellcasters could breach. The elder stewards lacked the strength to force an entry directly. This meant the Kamar-Taj forces had no choice but to march on foot. To ensure their safety, the Ancient One had instructed Solomon to act independently, to stealthily maneuver around enemy forces and create a safer path for the main Kamar-Taj contingent.
Meanwhile, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s role in the operation had concluded. Danny and his mother, Nadia, were now under Kamar-Taj's guardianship to ensure that Danny would not tap into the devil's bloodline running through his veins. Nick Fury, however, had made an audacious request—to accompany the sorcerers into Hell itself. His reasoning, though reckless, was sincere: he wanted to understand Hell and the existential threats it posed to humanity. The elder stewards, though skeptical of his survival prospects, allowed Fury to tag along, making it clear they would not be responsible for his safety.
As for Solomon, his guide in Hell was none other than Phoenix, the 37th Demon of the Ars Goetia. Without Phoenix, Solomon—completely unfamiliar with Hell's terrain—would have had no chance of finding the Kamar-Taj expedition.
Because the mission specifically targeted Mephisto, Phoenix couldn't bring along the ten legions of devils it commanded. If it did, the operation would be perceived as an attack on all of Hell, potentially uniting the other Hell lords with Mephisto. Devilish unity was a rare and laughable thing, but Hell lords were notoriously territorial. Should Kamar-Taj's sorcerers march through their domains, most would turn a blind eye to the intrusion, delighted at the prospect of Mephisto being humiliated. Some might even subtly aid the sorcerers. However, the moment an outsider brought chaos to their lands, they would respond with force. To isolate Mephisto, Solomon had no choice but to travel deep into Hell with only Pegasus and Phoenix as his companions.
Pegasus snorted loudly, nearly dislodging Phoenix from its perch. The celestial steed was visibly agitated by Hell's noxious air, thick with the stench of sulfur and perpetually tainted by a heat so oppressive it felt as if the very air could catch fire. Sudden gusts of wind carried the acrid scent of volcanic ash, mingling with the distant echoes of tormented wails.
Long-term exposure to Hell's environment was dangerous for mortals, leading to poisoning or illness. Solomon hadn't dared remove his helmet since arriving, only taking brief respites in the slightly more hospitable territories of certain Hell lords where the heat and toxicity were less intense. It was in those rare moments that he could remove his helmet to wipe away sweat and dust.
Now, however, he was certain he reeked of sweat and filth. The Endure Elements spell had been effective at first, but after traversing some of Hell's harsher regions—like molten lava pits—it had started to fail. Solomon had been forced to rely on his helmet to shield himself from the suffocating atmosphere.
Hell's expanse was infinite. Phoenix had carefully chosen a location for Solomon's initial teleportation that was hidden from the prying eyes of the Hell lords. From there, the journey to Mephisto's domain was still a long one, and they had to avoid various infernal creatures to conserve their strength.
It was a grueling march, and Solomon could only hope they reached their destination before his supplies ran out. Otherwise, he'd have no choice but to slink back to the Material Plane and rejoin the Kamar-Taj expedition—an outcome that carried less shame than pain. After all, Bayonetta's mischievous sense of justice was something he'd rather avoid experiencing firsthand. He wasn't even sure the concept of a safe word would work with her.
In the endless fields of flowers within Avalon stood a towering spire. At its summit, a grand balcony overlooked the magical realm. Two figures occupied the balcony, one of whom was intently observing Solomon's march through Hell.
"You really sent your heir into Hell itself? You must know how tempting the Seventh Throne would be for him," the white-bearded man remarked with a sly smile. "What if he actually claims it? Are you prepared to deal with another battle like the one at the Sword Barricade?"
"How many times are you going to bring that up?" The Sorcerer Supreme scowled at Merlin, her tone laced with irritation. Not even the honey cakes baked by the fairies could soften her mood when it came to this infuriating man. As one of the architects of Camelot's tragic downfall, Merlin had long been the subject of her resentment.
"He won't take the throne, at least not now," she said firmly. "Solomon is a good boy, obedient and well-meaning, though his interests can be… peculiar. For him, taking the throne of Satan would mean permanent entrapment—unless the other Hell lords took it first, forcing him to act to protect the Material Plane."
"Doesn't he remind you of yourself?" Merlin's smile remained unshaken by her dismissive response. "The same grand ideals, the same extraordinary talent and power, even the same stubbornness. It's as if your disciple is modeling himself after you, intentionally or not. He's perfect—too perfect. Every action he takes aligns with your vision for him. It's as though you molded him from clay to be the ideal successor."
The Sorcerer Supreme knew Merlin wasn't wrong. Solomon's personality, though not entirely her design, had undeniably been shaped by Kamar-Taj and her teachings. He was, in many ways, the spitting image of King Arthur—a shining paragon of hope and duty. This was precisely why she had adopted him: he was the perfect candidate to take up her mantle and defend Earth.
Yet as the plan unfolded, the Ancient One found herself increasingly troubled by her own methods. It was why she had encouraged Solomon to engage with the witches and the mundane world—to humanize him, to ensure he remained more than just a tool, unlike Arthur before him.
Merlin, with his vast experience and insight, saw the same pattern repeating itself. After all, he had been the one to craft Arthur as a tool of destiny. The process was all too familiar: instill ideals, hone skills, and single-mindedly direct the individual toward fulfilling a grand vision. The result was always the same—an unyielding fixation, a loss of humanity. Fortunately, the Ancient One's softened approach and the witches' influence had tempered Solomon's rigidity. For now.
"Your Majesty, you're full of contradictions," Merlin said, his voice tinged with amusement. "What do you really want him to become?"
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