Switching allegiances as a dark sorcerer is no easy task. If the new patron isn't of the same type, the sorcerer may find that many of their previously learned spells become unusable. For instance, a Vishanti sorcerer who defects to Dormammu would have to relearn nearly all their spells from scratch. However, Dormammu has always been generous when it comes to poaching talent from Kamar-Taj, so the process of regaining power isn't necessarily slow.
Wanda Maximoff is a natural-born dark sorcerer. What Solomon was attempting was to have her draw power from other extra-dimensional entities—such as Faltine, Fodo, Watoomb, and the Dread Keep—rather than being exclusively bound to Chthon. To that end, he left her an incantation to study. He wanted to determine whether Wanda Maximoff was truly bound to the N'Garai of the K'lay dimension, forced to draw power solely from Chthon.
If not, then other extra-dimensional entities could serve as alternative sources. Relying on a single tree to hang oneself only leads to subjugation. That's why dark sorcerers always look for loopholes in their contracts with their patrons, making clandestine deals with other entities. This pragmatic approach is also a hallmark of the Sorcerer Supreme's legacy—otherwise, Kamar-Taj's library wouldn't need so many spellbooks; a single Book of the Vishanti would suffice.
Symbolic actions hold significance—this is the foundation of ritual magic, derived from idol theory.
If Solomon and Wanda's experiment proved successful, it would mean Wanda had choices—alleviating her biggest issue at its root: the risk of indebting herself to Chthon and becoming his earthly vessel. At the same time, Solomon had to ensure she stayed far away from the Darkhold or its scattered Dark Scrolls. Reading those texts—personally written by Chthon and bound by Morgan Le Fay—meant allowing Chthon to seize the reader's soul.
For someone like the Sorcerer Supreme, Merlin, or Morgan Le Fay, reading the Darkhold wouldn't pose much of a problem. But for Wanda, its corruption would be far more dangerous than for most. Chthon would go to great lengths to place the Darkhold in her hands. Currently, someone in the magical world undoubtedly possesses a copy of the Darkhold or one of its scattered scrolls—but no one knows who. That level of artifact cannot be divined. The last vague lead came from an Agamotto crystal reading, which pinpointed Salem. However, the mysteries there were too many, the forces involved too obscure, and Solomon's experiences in that place had been anything but pleasant.
One thing was certain: anyone who possessed the Darkhold was already a pawn of Chthon and would do everything possible to get the book to Wanda. That was why Solomon had kept her away from Earth's magical community. Even the No-Doors Bar was a chaotic mix of individuals—far worse than the Leaky Cauldron in Harry Potter. You never knew which shadowy figure sitting in a corner might be the next Dark Lord.
Wanda nodded, agreeing to conduct the experiment that night. She wasn't just listening to Solomon because of his tall, striking appearance—more importantly, he had genuinely mentored both Maximoff siblings, closing the distance through careful guidance. His sincere yet effortless care had earned Wanda's unprecedented trust.
However, that trust was one-sided. Solomon's concern wasn't what Wanda believed it to be.
If things went out of control, Solomon wouldn't hesitate for a second to kill Wanda. He would feel sorrow, but he would still do it.
Solomon had mental issues. If not for the demands of living in the mundane world, he would have gone to a psychiatric institution and gotten himself diagnosed.
He didn't linger but instead headed directly to a cell in the Eternal City. Calling it a "cell" was misleading—it was more like a bedroom decorated in Renaissance style, complete with a window and fireplace. Its security was far inferior to the dungeons Solomon reserved for true threats or for imprisoning Lorelei. The person residing here simply wasn't allowed to move freely for now. Solomon had come for an open and honest conversation.
After some time recovering, Agent Victoria Hand's eyes had regained their sharpness. The stench of death had faded, her once pale and shriveled skin now restored, though her hair remained messy due to the lack of a comb in the room. She was dressed in a hospital gown Solomon had provided and sat in a high-backed chair behind the writing desk.
"I remember you tried to recruit me years ago," she glared at the mystic, "Did you foresee all of this?"
"Yes, ma'am," Solomon pulled over a chair and sat across from her. He glanced at an open book on the table, evidently taken from the bookshelf behind her. Every book in this room had been carefully screened to prevent the leakage of unnecessary information.
"I knew Hydra had infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. I also knew who the heads of the serpent were." He crossed one leg over the other, the short-heeled boot on his raised foot tapping lightly against the walnut table leg. "So, I joined Hydra first and gave them a new master."
"Hmph, magic!"
"Are you dissatisfied with my magic show?" the mystic asked in a deep voice. "Most of my magic is for battle; very little is meant for performance. Kamar-Taj follows a pragmatic school of magic—illusion and transfiguration were never our strengths."
"You know that's not what I'm talking about," Victoria Hand replied. "I know you saved my life."
"Not saved—granted," Solomon corrected. "You were already dead, Agent Hand. I simply gave you life again. Yes, I foresaw your death—that's why the Sisterhood intervened at that exact moment." He continued, "S.H.I.E.L.D. is beyond redemption. Hydra's reach extends far deeper than Nick Fury ever realized. So why not take that power and use it for the right cause?"
"Why me, Solomon?"
"Because you're ruthless enough. You understand that the mission always comes first. You are the epitome of what an agent should be," the mystic said. "I heard about how you sent two members of Coulson's team on a mission with no backup. I admire your methods—your ability to weigh losses rationally. You have a cool head… and now, the bullet has been removed."
"You're trying to fill the void left by S.H.I.E.L.D.'s collapse?"
"Oh, Agent Hand, what I'm building is nothing like S.H.I.E.L.D.—not some peripheral agency or a black-ops unit controlled by Congress. S.H.I.E.L.D. never truly faced existential threats, just minor skirmishes. What we will face is infinitely worse." His gaze darkened. "I promise you, this organization isn't about my personal ambitions—it's about ensuring the survival of human civilization and securing our dominance across the galaxy. I need you, Victoria Hand. I need your cold-hearted efficiency. I need your help. We must prepare humanity to face the terrifying future ahead."
"What exactly did you see, Solomon Damonet?" Victoria Hand met the mystic's black gemstone-like eyes without flinching. "What kind of threat could be beyond even your magic—so severe that you had to steal those three Helicarriers?"
"Helicarriers? Those are mere boats," Solomon scoffed. "We'll have far more powerful warships. Our battlefield isn't Earth—it's the galaxy." He exhaled. "As for the threats you ask about… there are many. The Kree. The Skrulls. The alien hive-minds [Note 1]. The celestial beings from the Prime Material Plane. The creations of the Celestials. The cosmic plague organisms that can even kill Celestials [Note 2]. And the demons from extra-dimensional realms. If you want, I can keep listing them—because every single one of them has already set foot on Earth."
Solomon's tone was heavy. "Agent Hand, we have no choice. S.H.I.E.L.D. was merely playing games within the confines of this planet. The burden Kamar-Taj carries is far heavier than you can imagine. In this dark universe, only war ensures survival."
[Note 1: The reason the Shield Brotherhood was founded.]
[Note 2: Symbiotes.]
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