Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

The moment Evenson first saw the temple’s leader, he noticed the scripture tattooed across the man’s face.

They weren’t decorative.

They weren’t simply marks of devotion or some elaborate display of asceticism.

They were magical runes.

That alone wasn’t particularly strange. This sect clearly possessed supernatural power, so there was nothing unusual about its leader inscribing mystical scripture onto his own body.

Besides, Evenson couldn’t recognize the writing.

But magical runes weren’t really about the language used to write them. They were expressions of the caster’s intent. With sufficient magical understanding, you didn’t need to recognize a single letter to understand what a rune meant. Even a punctuation mark could carry meaning.

Which was why Evenson found something very strange after studying the tattoos for a while.

Most of them were useless.

Redundant.

Filler.

Only a handful of symbols, along with a short passage less than four inches long, actually carried any magical function.

It was camouflage.

Someone had buried the genuinely powerful runes beneath a mountain of meaningless text, making them difficult to identify.

Once Evenson isolated the functional symbols, however, he recognized the magic.

He’d used something very similar before.

A concealment spell.

There was just one crucial difference.

His version concealed his own magical presence from the outside world.

This version concealed the outside world’s magical influence from the person using it.

Evenson temporarily reproduced the extracted symbols on his own hand.

The discomfort he’d been experiencing vanished almost immediately.

He then drew the same symbols across Melinda’s back.

Her weakness disappeared just as quickly.

That confirmed his theory.

And that made things interesting.

The leader of this temple had carved magical runes into his own body for the express purpose of protecting himself from the temple’s supposedly holy aura.

More importantly, the style of the spell was strikingly familiar.

It was almost identical to the concealment magic Evenson had obtained from Mephisto the last time they’d dealt with each other.

Which meant there was really only one possible answer.

He knew exactly whose servant this temple leader was.

No wonder this sect had reacted so quickly.

Mephisto hadn’t merely passed them a hint.

He had given them direct orders.

Evenson was still turning that over in his head when Moru suddenly came running over.

Perhaps returning to his own territory had restored his courage.

Perhaps the temple’s magical atmosphere had given him a boost.

Whatever the reason, the timid man from earlier had vanished. Moru now swaggered over as though he’d remembered that he actually had a spine.

"Where’s Johnny?" he asked. "We need to honor our agreement and remove the Ghost Rider curse from him."

"You people seem awfully concerned about Ghost Rider."

Evenson glanced sideways at him, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Moru looked confused by the response.

Then he thought about everything Johnny had done during the journey and immediately understood.

"You’re right. He didn’t exactly contribute much. If anything, he caused us plenty of trouble. But we still have to honor our agreement."

"Was that your leader’s decision?"

"Yes."

Moru nodded.

Evenson nodded back.

"By the way, does every leader of your church tattoo themselves with that much scripture?"

"I don’t know."

Moru was clearly puzzled by the sudden question, but assumed Evenson was simply curious.

"As far as I know, the first few leaders didn’t. At some point, though, every leader started covering themselves in those inscriptions."

He gave a halfhearted laugh.

"Maybe it’s their way of showing they’re different from ordinary people. Like a king wearing clothes commoners aren’t allowed to wear."

"Makes sense."

Evenson smiled as though his curiosity had been satisfied.

"The temple’s leader certainly isn’t like an ordinary monk."

"About Johnny?"

Seeing Evenson in a good mood, Moru brought the subject up again.

Evenson waved a hand.

"Rumlow, go get Johnny. Assuming the poor bastard has thawed out by now."

Johnny had spent five hours hanging from the aircraft’s tail by a steel chain.

He’d been frozen solid.

Moru was about to leave with Rumlow when Evenson suddenly called after him.

"Wait."

Moru turned, confused.

Evenson pointed toward a mural on the wall.

"One last question. What’s that supposed to be?"

They were currently standing in what could generously be called a reception room.

A place like this naturally had religious artwork on its walls.

But apparently determined to showcase the sect’s austere philosophy, the temple had avoided bright colors and elaborate craftsmanship. Some of the murals weren’t even properly painted. They were nothing more than abstract lines carved directly into the stone.

One particular mural had caught Evenson’s attention.

Its geometric patterns gave him a strange sense of familiarity.

Moru glanced back at it.

"An angel."

"An angel’s armor?"

Evenson couldn’t see anything resembling a humanoid figure in the design.

But if it was supposed to depict a piece of angelic armor, something assembled like a set of mystical battle armor, then perhaps it made sense.

"No."

Moru shook his head.

"That’s the angel. Not its armor."

"Oh."

Evenson nodded, dismissing him with a small gesture.

Moru left.

Evenson remained in front of the mural, studying it.

"Not quite the kind of angel you remember, is it?"

Claire approached from behind him.

She wore a smug little smile.

The expression practically screamed, Go ahead. Ask me.

Evenson looked at her eager face and smiled fondly.

"You’re right."

He turned toward her.

"So, can you explain it?"

"Of course."

Claire immediately brightened.

"I got perfect scores every time we studied this at Kamar-Taj."

She cleared her throat and launched into her explanation.

"First, the familiar image of an angel with wings didn’t become popular until the Renaissance. And even then, it borrowed heavily from the Greek depiction of Cupid."

"But the earliest descriptions of angels don’t look like that at all."

"Angels were spirits. They had no fixed physical form and no gender. Take the descriptions of the archangel Michael, the heavenly commander. He’s described as having a million faces and a million mouths, with tongues speaking a million different languages."

Claire lowered her voice, clearly enjoying herself.

"Someone like you should understand what that description actually means."

Evenson studied the mural.

"An energy being."

He thought it through.

"And it communicates through something resembling a psychic connection."

A million faces meant no fixed physical form.

A million mouths speaking a million languages meant it could communicate with countless people simultaneously without being limited by language.

That wasn’t physical speech.

It was mental communication.

"Exactly."

Claire nodded.

"Angels can’t truly be killed. After passing through the cycle of rebirth, they return through the goodness and light of the world."

She shrugged.

"Energy beings are difficult to kill. Even if you disperse one, eventually the energy gathers itself back together."

Evenson raised an eyebrow.

He was about to tell her that Azeroth had more elemental beings than anyone could count, and plenty of warriors had solved the problem by hitting them with an axe.

Then his expression changed.

He turned sharply toward the mural.

Azeroth.

Energy beings.

Light.

Rebirth.

His face went pale.

No.

Could the energy permeating this place really be...

Holy Light?

And the angel depicted on the wall...

Could it be a...

Naaru?

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