Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

The corridor of the temple had become a standoff.

On one side stood the monks in their yellow robes, hands hanging calmly at their sides.

On the other stood Rumlow and his fully armed S.H.I.E.L.D. team.

They hadn’t gone far after bringing Johnny to the temple. The agents had simply remained nearby, taking a short rest while they waited.

Then the shouting started.

Professional instincts had sent Rumlow to investigate.

What he found had been enough to put every agent on edge.

The monks were planning to kill the boy.

Rumlow had moved immediately.

Before the monks could react, he and his team had surrounded Danny, shielding him with their bodies while raising their weapons and taking aim.

They couldn’t afford to relax for even a second.

Part of the problem was that several agents had remained behind to guard the aircraft, leaving Rumlow’s team outnumbered.

The bigger problem was that the supposedly emotionless monks were frighteningly capable.

Rumlow had personally watched Nadia, desperate to protect her son, get knocked unconscious by a single finger.

That alone might have been dismissed as a fluke.

But Moru was no pushover. The priest had put up enough of a fight that five agents had walked away with bruised faces and sore ribs. He had clearly objected to what the monks were doing too, yet they’d put him on the ground in seconds.

Even Johnny Blaze was a big, powerful man.

Two monks had simply pinched him with their fingers and left him screaming helplessly on the floor.

Rumlow recognized the technique.

He’d seen something similar during his own training. An instructor from Asia had once demonstrated a fighting style that targeted specific points on the body. Hit the right spot, and a person could lose the ability to resist almost instantly.

Rumlow had never bothered learning it properly.

For one thing, it was incredibly difficult to master.

For another, if the goal was simply to make someone stop fighting, why waste years learning where to hit pressure points when you could just kick them between the legs?

That worked every time.

Apparently, these monks had mastered the difficult version.

Which meant their close-quarters combat skills were terrifying.

If they decided to throw their lives away and rush the agents, there was no guarantee S.H.I.E.L.D. would come out ahead.

"Hand over the boy."

The temple’s leader stood at the front of the monks, seemingly unconcerned by the weapons pointed at him.

"I’m under orders to protect him," Rumlow replied without hesitation.

The leader didn’t argue.

He simply nodded.

Two monks beside him immediately stepped forward.

Rat-tat-tat!

Rumlow fired a short burst into the floor in front of them.

"That was your only warning! Stay where you are!"

The leader’s lips twitched.

After a moment, he motioned for the monks to withdraw.

He was hardly happy about it.

It wasn’t as though the temple lacked firearms. Their underground armory contained enough weapons to equip an entire company.

But what good would those weapons do?

He could kill these people, certainly.

If they were independent operators, he might even have done it.

But they were S.H.I.E.L.D. agents conducting an official operation.

If he massacred them, it wouldn’t take two days for S.H.I.E.L.D. to label the temple a terrorist organization and come back with enough firepower to wipe them out.

Neither side wanted that.

Thud.

A dull impact suddenly echoed through the corridor.

It wasn’t especially loud.

Yet everyone felt it.

For one strange instant, it seemed as though the sound had struck directly against their hearts.

Everyone turned.

Evenson was walking toward them.

He wore his ceremonial robes and carried his staff, with Claire and Melinda following behind him.

"Gentlemen..."

Evenson surveyed the standoff with a puzzled expression.

"I’m a little confused."

He tapped the ring on his left hand with his thumb.

"I was in my room... meditating."

Technically, that wasn’t a lie.

He’d been thinking.

"A moment ago, I received some rather troubling news."

His expression slowly hardened.

"A group of people decided to take another person’s life without a trial."

His thumb continued to brush against the ring.

"A group of people without legal authority decided they could execute a child who hasn’t been convicted of anything."

His gaze swept across the monks.

"What do we call that, Agent?"

The atmosphere grew heavier.

Even the monks seemed to feel an unnatural chill settling over them.

"Murder," Melinda answered coldly.

"Say that again."

Evenson raised a hand beside his ear as though he hadn’t heard her.

"Murder!"

Melinda practically shouted.

She was standing less than half a meter away from him.

Are you deaf?

"Yes. Murder."

Evenson gave her a sideways glance.

Do you mind? I’m trying to make an entrance here.

He turned his attention back to the monks.

"You all know what happens to murderers, don’t you?"

The monks began to gather together.

Something about Evenson’s tone had put them on edge.

"What happens to a murderer?"

Evenson slowly raised his left hand.

"Execution."

The ring on his finger began to glow with Shadow magic.

The monks collapsed almost simultaneously.

They clutched their heads and writhed across the floor as unimaginable pain tore through their minds.

Their screams echoed through the corridor.

Evenson watched them carefully.

Apparently, the Naaru hadn’t blessed these monks after all.

His area-of-effect spell had encountered almost no resistance.

Only the temple leader remained somewhat functional.

He was down on one knee, muttering a spell beneath his breath.

Compared with the others, he stood out immediately.

So this man actually had some power.

But it wasn’t coming from a Naaru.

"Stop!"

The leader finally finished his incantation.

The pain eased enough for him to breathe.

He looked up at Evenson with something approaching desperation.

"Please. Stop."

He sounded as though he wanted to point out that, technically, they had only committed attempted murder.

And the country they were in had abolished the death penalty anyway.

Instead, he forced himself to explain.

"As long as the boy lives, the power will remain within him. The danger will never end."

His breathing was ragged.

"He has to die. I was simply making the correct choice."

"The correct choice?"

Evenson gave a quiet, humorless laugh.

"So your correct choice was to commit murder in front of S.H.I.E.L.D. officers?"

"Murder?"

The leader shook his head.

"Is he even human? Can the spawn of a demon really be considered a human being?"

"Hmm."

Evenson rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

Then he looked toward Melinda.

"Does the law have anything to say about that?"

Melinda shook her head.

Apparently, nobody had ever bothered writing legislation about whether the child of a demon possessed human rights.

Perhaps anyone seriously interested in debating the subject had already realized that working in government wasn’t the career for them.

Evenson turned toward Claire.

"What about the magical community?"

"The Sorcerer Supreme’s word is law."

Claire shrugged.

"But I don’t think she’s ever issued regulations concerning demonic children."

She thought about it.

"I could ask."

"Never mind."

Evenson waved the suggestion away.

He turned back toward the temple leader.

For several long seconds, he simply stared at him.

Then he smiled.

Snap.

He snapped his fingers.

The Shadow magic vanished.

The monks were free of the spell.

They were in no condition to stand, however. Most could do little more than lie on the floor and gasp for breath.

"Well."

Evenson turned away.

"If there’s no law governing the situation, then..."

He paused.

"Fall back."

Melinda stared at him in confusion.

Then something clicked.

A faint, cold smile appeared on her face.

She said nothing.

The other agents immediately followed Evenson’s order, lowering their weapons and preparing to leave.

The temple leader watched them go.

Relief began to creep into his expression.

Then Evenson stopped.

"One more thing."

He turned around.

"You used the boy to remove Johnny’s curse, didn’t you?"

The leader’s expression tightened.

"If Ghost Rider’s power is temporarily inside the boy, then when he dies, where does that power go?"

Evenson tilted his head.

"What happens to the power he already possessed, too?"

The leader had been quietly celebrating the fact that he’d somehow managed to convince this walking catastrophe to leave.

Now Evenson had turned around.

For one horrible moment, he thought the man had changed his mind.

Then he heard the question.

Relief returned.

Unfortunately, his answer was less pleasant.

"There’s nothing more we can do."

He clenched his jaw.

"The power will inevitably return to Mephisto."

His voice was bitter.

"But that cannot be helped."

"Understood."

Evenson nodded.

Then he turned and walked away without another word.

They were nearly back at the aircraft when he lowered his voice and spoke to Melinda and Claire.

"’The correct choice.’"

He snorted.

"They’re practically begging to die."

He glanced back toward the temple.

"Tomorrow is the winter solstice. If those idiots survive today, I’ll eat my own spellbook."

...

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