Sorcerer in the Marvel Universe

After repairing the membrane around Coulson’s memories, Mephisto immediately returned to the bar he’d recently opened in Los Angeles.

The place wasn’t officially open yet, but that hadn’t stopped him from making excellent use of it. He’d left several beautiful women waiting for him for quite a while, and he spent the rest of the night making up for lost time.

By morning, he’d apparently unlocked several difficult personal achievements, along with a few that didn’t exist until he decided they did.

Seven times in one night.

One hour.

Mephisto emerged from the bedroom wearing nothing but a loose purple silk robe, barefoot and wearing the satisfied expression of a man who had just conquered an unusually challenging dungeon.

He wandered over to the bar, lit a cigarette, and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

After taking a drink, he looked around the empty establishment.

"Hmm. I think it’s time I hired a bartender."

The bar had only recently been purchased and renovated. Its health permit, fire inspection, business license, and assorted other paperwork were still being processed. Mephisto had quietly applied a little supernatural pressure to ensure everything moved through the system as quickly as possible, but until the paperwork was complete, the bar couldn’t officially open.

For now, he was the entire staff.

Owner, bartender, and only customer.

A remarkably efficient operation.

As he poured himself a second glass, the silver ring on his right ring finger suddenly moved.

The serpent engraved across its surface seemed to come alive.

It slithered around the ring twice before raising its head and flicking out its tongue. The two ruby eyes embedded in its head began glowing with an eerie red light.

Mephisto didn’t seem particularly impressed.

He set down the bottle and took another sip.

"I told you. No need to thank me, Nahash."

The serpent’s eyes flickered twice.

Mephisto took that as an answer.

"It really wasn’t difficult."

He lazily swirled the whiskey in his glass.

"Whether we’re talking about the contract you made with that demon sorcerer or the one I just signed with S.H.I.E.L.D., the terms are straightforward. Coulson’s soul has to be returned intact. Hell can’t interfere with his life or death from now on, and his soul can’t be used to threaten anyone else."

He paused.

"But they seem to have forgotten one little detail."

A smug smile spread across his face.

"Nowhere in the contract does it say that you have to leave his body."

Mephisto chuckled.

"Anything outside the contract is fair game. That’s the trick I invented. They copied it a few times, and somehow they still managed to overlook something this obvious."

The little silver serpent bobbed its head, its ruby eyes glowing brightly as though praising Mephisto’s cleverness.

Mephisto slowly lowered his glass.

Then he held up his right hand and stared directly at the tiny snake.

"Of course, that means you owe me a favor."

The serpent nodded.

"I’ll collect when I find something worth asking for."

Another nod.

Mephisto frowned.

"Use your words."

The serpent’s head drooped.

After a moment, it reluctantly lifted itself again.

A rough, raspy voice came from its tiny mouth.

"Deal."

"Deal."

Mephisto finally looked satisfied and lowered his hand.

"Since I might need you again someday, I’ll give you a little warning. Just like I told Coulson, be careful."

His expression became more serious.

"Don’t break that membrane."

"That membrane isn’t only covering Coulson’s original memories. It’s also concealing your presence from him. That’s why you’ve been able to take control of his body once or twice without him realizing anything is wrong."

He took another sip.

"But if you control him too many times, or if he suffers some sufficiently powerful shock, the membrane could break."

Mephisto’s eyes narrowed.

"If that happens, he’ll be able to sense you whenever you take control. He’ll know you’re there, and he’ll fight you."

He shrugged.

"I don’t believe an ordinary human could actually overpower you, but if Coulson realizes something strange is happening, it’ll create unnecessary complications."

The little serpent flicked its tongue, acknowledging the warning.

Then it dropped from the ring.

Its body curled around the silver band once more, and the life seemed to drain from it. Within seconds, it had returned to being nothing more than a beautifully carved serpent engraved into the metal.

Mephisto stared at the ring.

"What should I have you do for me, Nahash?"

He rotated his glass between his fingers, considering how best to make use of the favor he had just earned.

Then his eyes narrowed slightly.

A woman’s silhouette flashed through his mind.

A slow smile appeared.

"Actually..."

He took another drink.

"Why don’t you find me some things belonging to her?"

Mephisto’s smile widened.

"With your current identity, that should be very convenient."

Whatever Mephisto was planning would have to wait.

High above the clouds, aboard the aircraft carrying them toward New York, Evenson and Nick Fury were having a considerably less pleasant conversation.

"Absolutely not!"

Fury pointed at Evenson with enough force to make the gesture feel like an official accusation.

"I don’t care that you’re supposed to be visiting someone. You’re going to the home of a very powerful man, and you’re going there on a mission. If you show up dressed like that, I’ll be embarrassed for you."

Evenson looked down at himself.

His shirt had once been blue.

After enough washing, it had faded to something approaching white. The fabric was covered in wrinkles.

Below it was a pair of fitted casual trousers.

He looked back at Fury.

"What’s wrong with it?"

"Everything."

"I think it looks fine."

Fury stared at him.

Evenson shrugged.

He wasn’t actually fashion-blind, nor was he naturally careless about his appearance.

He simply remembered an old story.

In the Three Kingdoms era, the legendary warrior Gareth Kane had been defeated and captured by Richard Caldwell. Caldwell admired Kane’s loyalty and extraordinary martial ability, and he went to considerable lengths to win him over.

Gold when he rode.

Silver when he dismounted.

Feasts every few days.

And then one day, Caldwell noticed that Kane’s clothes had become worn and shabby.

So he had skilled craftsmen make him an expensive new outfit.

Apparently, the entire ensemble was an impressive shade of emerald green.

Especially the hat.

Evenson paused.

"...You know what? I think I just figured out why Gareth refused to join Richard."

He dismissed the thought.

That wasn’t the important part.

The important part was the strategy.

If he showed up at Gideon Malick’s house dressed like this, Malick would immediately realize that Evenson desperately needed better clothes.

And if Malick needed something from him badly enough, surely the man would understand the hint.

At that point, a respectable Italian suit made from hand-tailored wool would practically be a matter of basic hospitality.

It was a flawless plan.

Which was why Evenson refused to change.

"I’m poor. You know that."

Fury gave him a long, deeply skeptical look.

"I can’t afford expensive clothes. Besides, you said I’m going there on a mission. That’s official business, isn’t it?"

Evenson spread his hands.

"So if you want me to look respectable, shouldn’t S.H.I.E.L.D. reimburse me?"

"You..."

Fury rubbed his forehead.

"You claim you’re poor?"

"Extremely."

Fury looked like he was struggling between laughter and exasperation.

"You really expect me to believe that?"

"Of course."

"I’ve known you for how long?"

Fury started ticking the evidence off on his fingers.

"That one-year salary advance you took? I never even asked you to pay it back."

Evenson’s expression remained completely innocent.

"And when you worked as a consultant for Tony Stark, that two-hundred-thousand-dollar salary? I was the one who talked him into paying you."

Evenson looked away.

Fury continued.

"And then, just recently, I have absolutely no idea what you said to Melinda, but somehow she actually approved your five-figure disability compensation."

He leaned closer.

"So, kid, answer me one question."

Fury narrowed his eye.

"Are you actually poor..."

He paused.

"...or are you just cheap?"

Evenson considered the question carefully.

He decided there was probably no winning answer.

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