Though the supply of shells for the howitzers was limited, even a single round was enough to handle the weakening enemy offensive on the southern front. Mercenaries fight for money, private militias for arms dealers rarely fight to the death, and most terrorist organizations excel in urban combat—not open-field mountain or positional warfare, which are specialties of professional military forces. Nick Fury was pleased to see his troops gaining the upper hand, even when outnumbered. To conserve ammunition, the howitzers fired sparingly, but the steady progress was undeniable.
"Let's hope the F-22 gets here soon," Fury muttered to the agent behind him, who was busy with paperwork. "If we'd had F-22s and ground-attack missiles back in Vietnam, we would've won that war. What I need now is one big enough explosion to get us out of here so we can focus on other matters. Check in with the defenses at the north and south—make sure no one's trying to sneak in."
Both the northern and southern approaches had natural, narrow pathways leading to the outside. The southern route included a gravel road accessible to vehicles, used by the monks to bring in supplies from the Church—after all, not everyone arrived here in VTOL aircraft.
The northern route was even narrower, only accessible on foot. It led to a well and the monastery's most important relics, which were stored in the reliquary. One fork in the path led to the purification ritual site, while the other descended into the wine cellar. Fury's greatest concern was the northern path; S.H.I.E.L.D. didn't have enough manpower to defend the cliffs properly. While they had set up defenses at the northern exit, enemies could still rappel down the cliffs and bypass the fortifications to infiltrate the monastery.
Thus, he had assigned Romanoff to oversee the northern defenses. But Romanoff was a spy, not a soldier, and Fury couldn't be sure she had the experience to effectively command the stationed troops.
Captain Rogers and Solomon, on the other hand, had taken the southern route. Based on intelligence from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radio intercepts, the enemy command post was located near this path. Rogers initially planned a decapitation strike, and Fury had faith that Rogers could take down the enemy leadership. However, they encountered supernatural creatures attempting to infiltrate the monastery via the southern path, prompting Solomon to join the fray.
This left Fury relatively confident about the southern front. He didn't believe anyone could break through the combined defenses of Solomon and Rogers. He had seen what they were capable of. While Solomon lacked armor and a lance, Fury figured that if he could take down a Leviathan in New York, dispatching a few supernatural creatures would be child's play. And while Fury's prediction was correct, he hadn't anticipated what Solomon was now facing.
When the massive skeletal hound, towering three stories high, emerged, a chilling cold swept across the entire southern battlefield. It was as if winter had arrived early. Dense frost blanketed the dry gravel ground, and ghostly wails emanated from the twisted, agonized faces embedded in the creature's body. The sight alone sent shivers down the spines of everyone watching.
Solomon approached the abomination, the Vishanti Spirit Guardian behind him radiating steady pulses of positive energy. The frost melted instantly under the spirit's aura, transforming into light steam that rose into the air. The mist on the left began to dissipate, revealing the blood-red sunset casting its light across the barren desert hills. The reddish hue stained the remaining mist, creating layers of orange and crimson that resembled marmalade—except with the stench of blood.
Like marmalade, but with the stench of death, Solomon mused grimly. He licked his lips and slipped his Signet Ring back onto his finger. Undead creatures feared both positive energy and fire, and fortunately, Solomon was well-versed in both.
The skeletal hound crouched low, then lunged forward. The bones comprising its body clattered like drumbeats, and maggots and rotting flesh scattered with every movement. Its rancid stench reached Solomon before the beast itself did. Wrinkling his nose, Solomon muttered an incantation under his breath. The monstrous hound charged toward him, aiming to crush him under its decaying, corpse-constructed paws.
The Spirit Guardian leapt in front of Solomon, blocking the hound's path. The beast slammed into the Vishanti-marked shield, which radiated positive energy, and the spirit's blazing sword pierced through a gap in the hound's ribcage. The heat intensified the stench, forcing Solomon to stop chanting and step back to avoid gagging.
"Damn it, I didn't think it'd stink this bad," he muttered, spitting on the ground. "Seriously, do necromancers not care about hygiene?" Reaching into his dimensional pouch, he pulled out a wand. This time, he was determined to finish the fight quickly—and keep the rotting flesh as far away from him as possible.
"Keep your gross, decaying crap away from me!" he growled, swinging the wand forward. A bright flash erupted toward the hound's head, detonating into a fiery explosion.
"Fireball, you idiot!" Solomon shouted, covering his mouth to shield it from any stray bits of flesh or maggots. "Here's another one! And another! And another!"
With each successive blast, the skeletal hound's body crumbled further. When it attempted to flee, it fell into one of Solomon's trap spells—a pit filled with green acid. The acidic liquid began dissolving the calcium carbonate and phosphate in the creature's bones. Its leg bones softened, unable to support its massive weight, and the undead beast collapsed into the pit, writhing in agony. Finally, with one last wave of his wand, Solomon unleashed a devastating explosion, obliterating the creature into a pile of charred fragments.
"Nice explosion," Rogers said as he and the strike team emerged from cover to greet Solomon. Everyone tiptoed carefully, covering their noses to avoid inhaling the foul stench or stepping on the grotesque remains. "I don't think I've ever seen you create something so… explosive," he added. "Maybe you should consider more modern solutions."
"By modern, do you mean World War II-era tech?" Solomon quipped as he approached, the towering Spirit Guardian following closely. Its imposing presence made the other soldiers visibly uneasy. "Believe it or not, I use a smartphone. I send emails instead of using owls."
"That's actually a big step forward, isn't it?" Rogers chuckled, recalling his own struggles with technology. He still preferred button-operated phones, finding touchscreen devices unintuitive. When he first learned Solomon was a wizard, he thought, Well, at least I'm not the most outdated one here. That belief shattered when he saw Solomon using a smartphone. Laughing, Rogers said, "Come with me. Our mission isn't over yet. There are probably more supernatural creatures ahead, and I could use your help."
"Sorry, I can't leave yet." Solomon shook his head. "My maid hasn't brought me the necromancer responsible for all this. She's already engaged him—otherwise, I wouldn't have won that fight so easily. In fact, she's made an unexpected discovery."
"An unexpected discovery? What do you mean?" Rogers asked, intrigued. "Radio intel?"
"Telepathic link."
"Huh. Back in my day, the U.S. military experimented with that stuff. I always thought it was a crackpot idea."
"Stop reminiscing, Grandpa," Solomon teased, cracking a grin. "Come on, let's go see what this unexpected discovery is all about."
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