War Begins

The Airbus Command Center had been reactivated as the temporary command center for this operation. Ever since S.H.I.E.L.D.’s Helicarrier had been deployed before the Battle of New York, the Airbus had been temporarily retired, waiting for its next owner. The Helicarrier could not be used for this operation. Deploying it without a large-scale disaster was not something the World Security Council wanted to see, and Nick Fury had no desire to waste more words on the Council’s bureaucrats. So he brought this vertical takeoff and landing transport plane out of storage once again.

When Nick Fury returned to the Airbus, he got straight to work. Faced with mountains of paperwork, he finally remembered Agent Maria Hill’s merits. He deeply regretted not bringing that capable assistant with him and instead leaving her at Triskelion Headquarters to deal with the World Security Council’s questioning. "How is it?" he asked the medical personnel aboard the plane. "Did you find anything unusual?"

"No, sir." The doctor shook his head and removed his rubber gloves. "The Son of the Devil has no horns, no tail, not even an extra appendix. Johnny Blaze’s flesh returned to normal after he extinguished himself, but he remains unconscious. For safety reasons, I’ve injected him with a large dose of sedatives. As for the boy’s mother, Nadya, she has nothing but a few scrapes. Her emotional state is unstable, though. She keeps insisting on staying with the boy."

"If you think that’s enough to earn your high salary, then keep going."

"Blood tests are the Science Division’s responsibility. The samples have already been sent over. I’m just an emergency physician." The doctor rolled his eyes at his superior. "I only handle my area of expertise, sir. Doctors aren’t omnipotent. But I do have professional ethics. I absolutely will not prescribe you medical marijuana." With that, the highly individualistic doctor walked off, leaving Nick Fury alone in the office.

"Damn it." Nick Fury rubbed his eyes and thought of Salomon Damonet. He believed that Arcanist definitely knew something. That little bastard was probably waiting for him to ask, preferably in a low, pleading voice. Only then would Salomon Damonet reveal some tiny scrap of useless information. Perverse bastard! Nick Fury shook his head, trying to stay awake. He had not slept all night on the Quinjet so he could remain alert when Ghost Rider woke up—if he had known Johnny Blaze would sleep this soundly, he would have gotten some rest too.

That damned doctor would not even prescribe him anything!

That damned drunken priest could do nothing except give him an address!

Still, fortunately, that little bastard had reached a private agreement with him. The Inquisition behind Father Morlu was not all that mysterious. S.H.I.E.L.D. knew about it, and Kamar-Taj knew about it too. It was just that no one paid much attention to the Church’s power—compared to the former, the Inquisition did not have enough influence in secular society, and compared to the latter, the Church’s spells, or divine arts, were not even worth mentioning. That was why Salomon had suggested Nick Fury make preparations at that location to deal with the purification of the Tiefling. After the boy boarded the Quinjet, Nick Fury sent a message to a nearby base. Now, a large force was heading toward the location Father Morlu had named, taking control of the ascetics there and beginning to establish positions.

That location was also the battlefield Arcanist had chosen for the final battle against the Devil. Nick Fury could only hope Arcanist was as prepared as he was.

He did not know what this so-called purification ritual entailed. Although Nick Fury believed that professionals should handle professional matters, all supernatural activity had to take place under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s surveillance. S.H.I.E.L.D. would monitor the purification ritual from start to finish to ensure the boy was not harmed. This was Agent Melinda May’s demand. She would serve as the ritual’s supervisor.

In fact, Nick Fury had suggested taking the boy back to the United States and protecting him at a S.H.I.E.L.D. or U.S. military base. That would make it easier to deal with the Devil’s forces in the human world. But Salomon had merely given him a look. Nick Fury admitted that if the boy went to the United States, he would definitely meet no good end. Although Arcanist did not care what happened to the boy, purifying the power in his bloodline and preventing him from summoning Devils in the future was what Salomon wanted. The U.S. military would only keep stimulating the boy’s power, which ran entirely contrary to his intentions.

"Salomon Damonet is awake?" Nick Fury asked when Agent Melinda May entered the office to report. "He has spent too long on the Quinjet. If he still isn’t awake, go drag him over here and make him see me."

"He woke up a long time ago, sir. He’s cooking breakfast in the kitchen." Agent Melinda May said. "It looks like it will take him a while."

"What?" Nick Fury did not understand.

"Eggs Benedict and French toast. There’s spaghetti and meatballs too, if that isn’t enough." Agent May thought for a moment, then offered her assessment. "It tastes good."

"He’s having breakfast without inviting me? Fine, forget all that nonsense. I need Salomon Damonet now. I need to know who those Devil lackeys are." The director of S.H.I.E.L.D. clenched his fists. "I don’t know anything! I don’t know who our enemy is, I don’t know what’s at the place we’re heading to, and I don’t know what will happen if this operation fails… May, we’re fighting a war without any preparation, and that little bastard still thinks he has everything under control! F*uck! F*uck!"

Nick Fury pounded the desk in fury.

"Your enemies are only those ordinary people." Salomon entered carrying a large plate. "Your enemies are only them. The other supernatural beings are my enemies, Kamar-Taj’s enemies. We can handle them, because we’ve been handling them for over a thousand years. This is not the first time the King of Devils has caused trouble, but his ending has always been predetermined, because fate has already been decided. Want some spaghetti? It’s the only carb staple on your plane, and these meatballs were almost expired."

"What about the Eggs Benedict?"

"There are no eggs left." Arcanist said. "I can only give you one piece of information: Mephisto’s incarnation is an ordinary person. This incarnation has no power. It only possesses some of the King of Hell’s authority, such as making contracts with people and opening the Hell Gate. According to the records of many past Devil descents, Mephisto’s incarnation always gathers followers. He has gathered many Dark Creatures to fight Kamar-Taj before, and this time is no exception—except I believe that now that humanity’s modern weapons have developed so rapidly, ordinary people will participate in this operation as well."

"Thank you for your utterly useless information, Salomon. You’ve become much smarter after sleeping on a girl’s thigh."

Salomon looked at the expressionless Agent Melinda May. "Is he always this much of a bastard?" he asked. He received no answer. Agent May merely gave him a cold glance, then left the office without looking back.

"I sent Agent May to find Father Morlu. He might know something."

"Who’s Morlu?"

"The Black priest! Damn it, you still don’t know his name?"

"Mhm. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t say. But I figured anyone who could find Johnny Blaze had some skill."

"Damn it, do you have to drink first thing in the morning?" Arcanist stared in disbelief at the priest pouring wine into his mouth. When Father Morlu picked up a cold meatball from the spaghetti with his fingers, Salomon could no longer stand it. "There are forks here, and hot black tea." Disgust showed on his face. "It’s time to sober up. We need information on the mortal enemies known to the Inquisition. Kamar-Taj does not handle that sort of thing. That’s your job."

"There are a lot." Father Morlu licked the tomato sauce from his fingers. "Tastes good. Fine, fine, I’ll get to the point—I know the armed group that attacked us, but they died yesterday. They died at the hands of your girl, mage. But the Devil’s servants certainly consist of more than just them. I’m not responsible for recording that information, but I still know some things."

The information Father Morlu provided next was enough to open Nick Fury and Salomon’s eyes. Mephisto’s forces in the human world ranged from Irish resistance fighters to Chechen militants, from African warlords to South American guerrillas, from street punks selling drugs to Mafia kingpins. Mephisto was not picky at all. As long as someone could cause trouble, he wanted them.

But they were all ordinary people, well within S.H.I.E.L.D.’s capacity to handle. "At least we can say S.H.I.E.L.D. is fighting terrorism." Nick Fury shrugged. "We can even apply for funding."

Arcanist nodded solemnly. He decided not to expose the junk food supplier, since he quite liked fried chicken himself.

"Is that all?" Nick Fury looked at Salomon. "What do you know?"

"Dark Creatures like Vampires and Werewolves are definitely Mephisto’s underlings. Chicago used to be the largest Vampire den in the United States, but we already wiped it out. Romania also has many Vampires, but they hide deep in the mountains and rarely come out to bite people. Come to think of it, a few years ago, a Kamar-Taj steward even encountered Vampires fighting Werewolves. The cause seemed to be a human girl. What the hell." Arcanist said. "And there’s the Devil Worshipping Cult—Kamar-Taj was previously purging another group of cultists, so we let the Devil Worshipping Cult slide for a while. I’ll go ask around later."

He also needed to ask what the Sorcerer Supreme was thinking. The Venerable One seemed to be plotting something; otherwise, the Sanctum stewards would not still be absent. Yet he was still in the dark, knowing nothing of her plans. That was normal. The moment the Venerable One signed a contract with Mephisto, the scheme had begun. At the very least, he had to prepare for unexpected developments—or perhaps the Sorcerer Supreme had already planned everything out and was merely waiting for the right moment.

"Sir!" Agent Melinda May rushed into the office. "Two unmarked drones are tracking us! We can’t rule out that they’re carrying missiles!"

"F*uck! How are reception preparations going?"

"Over a hundred kilometers remain. The Quinjet doesn’t have enough firepower to deal with two armed drones." Agent Melinda May glanced at the cluster in the office: a one-eyed man, a drunken drunkard, and an underage boy with fresh stubble. The corner of her mouth twitched. "I’ll handle it."

"Order the fighters to escort us. Let’s see who’s looking to die."

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