Sara’s reminder made Evenson realize he’d committed the sort of mistake that only happened when someone overthought a problem.
A soul engine didn’t have an ignition key.
Why would it?
All it required was a small pulse of the user’s own magic to activate.
Simple.
Elegant.
And, in his opinion, far more secure than fingerprints, retinal scanners, or any other anti-theft system Earth had invented.
Evenson rested one hand on the steering wheel and let a thread of fel-infused mana flow into it.
The soul engine awakened instantly.
A deep vibration spread through the chassis as the new powerplant came alive.
"It works!"
He slapped the steering wheel with both hands and flashed Sara a triumphant grin.
"Hop in."
"I’m taking you for a drive."
Sara floated lightly into the passenger seat before giving him a skeptical look.
"...We’re not getting arrested again, are we?"
She hadn’t forgotten their last outing.
That little adventure had ended with both of them in police custody until Phil Coulson arrived to smooth everything over.
"I guarantee it."
Evenson pulled a pair of sunglasses from the glove compartment and slipped them on with theatrical flair.
They were one of his recent engineering practice projects.
Nuclear Deathstrike Goggles.
Their only practical function was making him look cool.
"This time," he declared confidently, "my paperwork is in order."
Three days after his car had been destroyed, Melinda had personally delivered everything.
Driver’s license.
Registration.
Insurance.
The whole package.
S.H.I.E.L.D. had even volunteered to cover the insurance premiums, given Evenson’s current financial situation.
Thinking about it still irritated him.
Three days earlier would’ve been nice.
If he’d had insurance before the Abomination reduced his car to scrap, he could have afforded proper repairs instead of hiding in his basement reinventing automotive engineering.
The newly christened Black Scythe Vanguard rolled smoothly out of the garage.
The moment it reached the street, Evenson grinned.
"Black Scythe Vanguard..."
He pressed the accelerator.
"Move out!"
The car surged forward.
Sara immediately turned toward the window, silently pretending she wasn’t associated with the man behind the wheel.
After a few minutes, however, she noticed the speedometer climbing higher and higher.
"...You’re speeding."
"So?"
"You won’t get a ticket?"
"I told you."
Evenson looked utterly unconcerned.
"I have the proper credentials now."
Sara frowned.
"There’s a license that lets you ignore speed limits?"
She’d lived on Earth for several years and had never heard of such a thing.
The car certainly didn’t resemble an ambulance or a fire truck.
Evenson smiled the smile of a man about to abuse bureaucracy.
"Of course."
"A S.H.I.E.L.D. ID."
After agreeing to become one of Nick Fury’s consultants, he’d shamelessly insisted on receiving official identification.
Fury hadn’t objected.
As far as the director was concerned, the badge merely confirmed Evenson’s status as a Special Consultant.
Anyone familiar with S.H.I.E.L.D.’s organizational structure knew consultants possessed virtually no clearance or command authority.
Useful.
Respectable.
Mostly administrative.
But ordinary traffic officers didn’t know that.
Imagine the situation.
A patrol officer spots an unusually stylish sports car flying down the highway.
He pulls it over.
Walks up to the driver’s window.
Before he can even ask for registration, the driver calmly hands over an identification wallet.
Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division.
S.H.I.E.L.D.
Special Consultant.
Then the driver, wearing an absurdly intimidating pair of black sunglasses, simply says in a perfectly flat voice:
"Official business."
Would the officer really write a speeding ticket?
Probably not.
Nick Fury almost certainly never imagined S.H.I.E.L.D. credentials would one day become Evenson’s universal traffic exemption.
By the time they left the city limits behind, Evenson no longer held back.
The accelerator sank farther.
The speedometer climbed past two hundred kilometers per hour.
The soul engine barely seemed to notice.
There was still plenty of power left.
"Oh, this thing’s incredible."
The acceleration pinned him against the seat, but after several minutes he frowned.
"...Something’s missing."
A soul engine generated power by converting souls directly into energy.
There were no explosions.
No pistons.
No roaring combustion.
After the concealment runes filtered away the agonized screams normally produced during soul conversion, all that remained was a smooth electric hum.
The Black Scythe Vanguard sounded less like a muscle car...
...and more like a luxury electric vehicle.
It was, admittedly, a tiny disappointment.
The thunderous growl of an internal combustion engine possessed a certain romance all its own.
Still...
Nothing was perfect.
He certainly wasn’t about to install speakers that played fake engine noises.
Back at S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters, Nick Fury had just finished another mountain of paperwork and was preparing to grab a late-night meal when an agent monitoring Evenson called in.
"Director."
"Richter’s car has been repaired."
Fury looked up.
"Already?"
The vehicle had practically been totaled.
Repairing it in less than two weeks seemed impossible, especially considering Evenson had started with little more than raw materials.
"I’m certain, sir."
"He’s already taken it out for a drive."
Fury leaned back thoughtfully.
Some kind of arcane engineering?
He wasn’t even sure what category to file that under anymore.
"Did your team follow him?"
The agent hesitated.
"Sir, it’s nearly midnight."
"He drove out onto the rural highways."
"Any surveillance would have been obvious."
"And if he noticed us..."
The explanation was reasonable.
Sparse traffic made covert pursuit nearly impossible, especially when Evenson already recognized every vehicle assigned to watch him.
Fury nodded.
"You made the right call."
He rubbed his tired eyes.
The Hulk incident still hadn’t finished causing headaches.
Publicly, the situation had stabilized.
The government had suppressed most of the truth, reassured civilians, and gradually calmed public panic.
Internally...
It was chaos.
Arguments.
Blame.
Political maneuvering.
Power struggles.
Someone had even proposed rewriting the entire incident.
According to that version, the Hulk would become the villain, while Emil Blonsky, the Abomination, would be remembered as the heroic soldier who sacrificed himself to save innocent lives.
Fury had nearly flipped the conference table.
He’d made his position unmistakably clear.
"From today onward, the Hulk is under S.H.I.E.L.D.’s protection."
"Anyone who wants to make him the scapegoat can argue with me."
Thanks largely to Evenson’s actions during the incident, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s reputation had emerged unusually clean.
Those with skeletons in their own closets quickly decided Fury’s opinion deserved... careful consideration.
Which was bureaucratic language for Fine. You win.
After a moment of silence, Fury made another decision.
"Pull the surveillance team."
"There’s no point continuing."
Evenson was officially affiliated with S.H.I.E.L.D. now.
Ending the surveillance was both practical and a gesture of trust.
"Yes, sir."
The agent sounded almost relieved.
The assignment had become increasingly uncomfortable.
Watching a warlock every day wasn’t good for anyone’s stress levels.
"Before you leave..."
Fury began.
The agents collectively tensed.
"...Actually."
He changed his mind.
"I’ll tell him myself."
An hour later, after maintaining two hundred kilometers per hour almost the entire way, Evenson steered off the highway and onto an empty stretch of wilderness.
Only after putting several kilometers between himself and the nearest road did he finally stop.
"This should do."
He climbed out of the Black Scythe Vanguard.
Sara followed.
Evenson immediately began weaving spells.
One after another, the demons he’d left behind to watch the shop answered his summons, materializing around them.
"Time to get to work."
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