Aboard the Quinjet, Phil Coulson turned to Ethan, his expression deadpan but his tone laced with serious inquiry. "Ethan, do you really think it's a good idea to take this child to some isolated, so-called holy place? Placing him in S.H.I.E.L.D. custody—or even handing him over to Kamar-Taj—seems significantly safer."
"When it comes to dealing with demons, the most effective countermeasure is actually the Holy Light of the Vatican," Luna chimed in. She was sitting in the co-pilot seat directly behind Ethan, casually kicking her small feet in the air. "So, taking a detour to check out their methods isn't a terrible idea."
"I also contacted the Sorcerer Supreme, and Stephen Strange agreed that heading to this monastery was the right move," Johnny Blaze added, walking over from the cargo bay. His complexion looked surprisingly healthy. It seemed that hijacking a giant industrial excavator and taking it for a joyride on the highway last night had done wonders for his stress levels. But more importantly, the genuine spring in his step came from the hope that the Ghost Rider curse currently infecting his soul was finally about to be lifted.
Standing right beside Johnny, the little boy, Danny, looked deeply unsettled. He seemed inherently afraid of the legendary monks they were about to meet, clinging tightly to the stunt rider's leather jacket. Johnny sighed, having no choice but to awkwardly pat the kid's shoulder to comfort him. Ever since witnessing the Ghost Rider absolutely obliterate the mercenaries last night, the young cambion had developed an intense, unwavering trust in Johnny.
Following the exact GPS coordinates provided by Father Moreau, the Quinjet soon initiated its vertical landing sequence in a desolate, rocky desert region of Eastern Europe. As the heavy ramp lowered and the team stepped off the plane, they were greeted by a stark sight: a group of barefoot men, clad in rough sackcloth robes, dwelling in a network of carved stone caves.
"Moreau, are you absolutely certain these people can lift the demonic curse on me?" Johnny whispered, his face falling. "They don't even have shoes." He had been expecting a glorious, towering cathedral with stained glass and vaulted ceilings. Seeing this primitive group living in dusty grottos instantly filled him with a deep sense of dread and skepticism.
"Ascetics," Luna muttered, identifying the strange men before the priest even had a chance to open his mouth. A slight, troubled frown creased her forehead. She quickly masked her expression, letting her face return to a neutral blankness, but Ethan's sharp eyes caught the subtle shift in her demeanor. He mentally filed it away.
"She is correct; they are ascetic monks," Father Moreau confirmed with a heavy, respectful sigh. "It is incredibly easy for a man's soul to get lost in the material prosperity of the secular world. Therefore, these devoted brothers voluntarily escape from modern society, choosing to hone their spiritual will in the most difficult, unforgiving environments imaginable."
By now, the ascetic monks had noticed the arrival of the S.H.I.E.L.D. team and silently gathered around them in a loose semicircle. The leader of the sect stepped forward and slowly pulled back the rough burlap hood covering his head. When he did, the team gasped. The man's entire face was densely tattooed with ancient script, and the exact same blocky, religious text was carved deeply into the skin of his bare, weathered arms.
Ethan narrowed his eyes, analyzing the atmospheric energy around the man. He could clearly detect distinct fluctuations of magical power resonating directly from those tattooed words. It was obvious that these scriptures were not just decorative ink; they served a highly specific, supernatural purpose.
Father Moreau stepped forward and exchanged a formal, silent greeting with the tattooed leader. The man offered a curt nod of acknowledgment, then turned and issued a series of rapid hand signals to the robed brothers standing behind him.
A few of the monks walked up to Ethan, Coulson, and Melinda May, offering a polite but rigid gesture of invitation toward the main caves. Simultaneously, another group of monks swiftly surrounded Nadya and Danny, smoothly separating the mother and son from the rest of the group and leading them down a completely different stone corridor.
"Please, do not worry," Father Moreau said, noticing the agents tensing up. "I admit they look a bit fierce, but they are righteous men. You are welcome to stay here for a few days and look around the compound. The desert scenery here is actually quite breathtaking at sunset." He then gestured for Johnny to follow him. The priest had sworn to help Johnny sever his contract with Mephisto, and achieving that freedom was the only thing Johnny cared about right now.
However, as they were being escorted toward the guest quarters, Luna subtly snapped her fingers. Ethan watched in fascination as light bent around them. Perfect optical and acoustic phantoms of himself and Luna seamlessly materialized out of thin air, stepping forward to follow Coulson, May, and the monks. The real Ethan and Luna immediately slipped into the shadows of an adjoining tunnel. The illusion was flawless; from beginning to end, neither the hyper-vigilant S.H.I.E.L.D. agents nor the magically enhanced ascetics noticed the switch.
"What did you sense?" Ethan whispered, keeping his voice low as he looked at Luna in the dim light of the cave.
"There is an incredibly strong, concentrated wave of Holy Light pulsating beneath us," Luna replied, her eyes tracking invisible ley lines. "It seems my previous hypothesis was entirely correct. They are hiding some very valuable artifacts in this compound." Without waiting for a response, she grabbed Ethan's sleeve and pulled him deeper into the labyrinth, heading toward an unrestricted grotto.
"By the way," Ethan asked as they navigated the dark tunnels, "when you first identified them as ascetic monks out on the tarmac, you looked like you'd just stepped in something foul. You don't like them very much?"
"Of course I don't," Luna scoffed softly. "Unless you are a blind zealot of the Holy Light, nobody likes these guys. Honestly, even moderate believers of the faith tend to avoid them because they are dangerously paranoid and completely uncompromising."
She continued explaining as they walked. "Ascetics attempt to temper their spiritual will through extreme abstinence and self-mutilation. They are ruthlessly strict with themselves, endlessly pursuing an impossible purity of belief. The problem is, they demand that exact same flawless purity from everyone else, often enforcing it in incredibly cruel ways. Historically speaking, most of the inquisitors who ran the religious arbitration offices and witch trials were hand-picked from sects exactly like this one."
"So, we're basically dealing with armed fanatics," Ethan noted, a flash of surprise and concern crossing his face. It made perfect sense now. Normal, well-adjusted believers didn't carve protective scriptures into their own flesh. "If they are that strictly devoted to purging evil, how exactly do you think they are going to deal with Danny? He literally is the Son of the Devil."
"Don't worry too much about it right now. We will find out their true intentions by tomorrow at the latest," Luna said dismissively, her attention already shifting. They had stepped into a massive, cavernous chamber. She walked straight up to the ancient, vivid murals painted across the stone walls.
The mural was breathtaking. It depicted a thick bank of golden clouds being pushed aside to reveal a divine realm. A grand staircase made of solid gold extended from the heavens all the way down to the scorched earth. Descending these stairs was a brilliant, faceless ball of golden light. Above it all, partially obscured by the painted clouds, loomed a gargantuan, authoritative hand. At the bottom of the mural, primitive human beings were depicted kneeling in the dirt, worshipping and praying to the descending light.
"What exactly is that golden ball of light supposed to represent?" Ethan asked curiously, stepping closer to inspect the pigment.
"It is an angel, obviously. Judging by the specific iconography in this mural, it is likely the exact same entity currently trapped inside Johnny's body," Luna stated factually. Seeing Ethan's raised eyebrow, she added, "Don't look so surprised. True angels are purely energetic lifeforms. They don't have wings or halos; they can shift their frequency to appear in any shape they desire, so long as they have the will to do so."
"Well, the texts do mention that angels have no true gender and no physical entity," Ethan reasoned, looking up at the top of the painting. "So, whose giant hand is that pulling the strings behind the angel? Please don't tell me we're looking at the literal God."
"Why is that so strange to accept?" Luna nodded, her gaze fixed on the mural. "Yes, that hand belongs to Jehovah, the God of the Abrahamic faiths."
"Wait, so there is an actual, omnipotent God in this universe? Not just some ancient, overpowered Meta-human or alien claiming the title?" Ethan became deeply interested, his scientific curiosity thoroughly piqued by the revelation.
"It is a mix. Some of the deities worshipped throughout history were indeed self-proclaimed fakes, usually ancient Meta-humans pretending to be divine. But others are very real," Luna explained. Having existed on Earth for over eight thousand years as an Atlantean royal, her historical knowledge was absolute. "The most obvious example of a real one operating today is Odin, the current Lord of the Nine Realms."
"These pantheons have been causing trouble on Earth for millennia," Luna continued. "Their raw strength is still far behind that of the true cosmic creator gods, but their egos refuse to let them place themselves on the same level as mortals. Therefore, they created the title of 'All-Father' or 'Sky-Father' to elevate their status. But structurally, in fact, beings like Odin are just vastly stronger demigods."
"If that's the case, why do so many of these high-tier demigods keep coming to Earth?" Ethan pressed, his paranoia flaring up. "Is there some specific resource or artifact buried on this planet that attracts them?"
"Of course there is. We are the ones who attracted them," Luna said simply. She pointed a finger at Ethan, and then pointed back at herself.
"You must not forget that Earth is essentially an ancient experimental base for the Celestials, the true space gods. Human beings—and Metas—are the results of their genetic experiments. These various demigods flock to Earth simply to see if our unique genetic potential is profitable to them. However, because they are utterly terrified of the Celestials returning, these localized demigods dare not interfere too directly with Earth's overall civilization.
"Consider Odin's methods," she added. "He was ruthless enough to unify the Nine Realms, forcibly pull Earth into his protective territory, and violently drive away all the rival demigods. Yet, even he never dared to actually station Asgardian troops here and carry out a military occupation. Do you think the other seven realms enjoy the same hands-off treatment as Earth? Absolutely not. Odin is relentless in his plundering and violent suppression of those other worlds."
"So, the only reason Earth's civilization has managed to maintain its independence until today is because we are the protected property of cosmic gods who treat us like lab rats," Ethan summarized, a bitter trace of sadness and anger flashing in his eyes.
"That is simply the harsh law of civilization in the wider universe. It is a brutal jungle where the strong prey upon the weak," Luna said, her voice turning cold. "And there is certainly no need to feel any gratitude toward those creator gods. After all, scientists do not expect thanks from the white mice they plan to dissect."
A dark memory flashed in Luna's mind—the horrific destruction of Atlantis. When her father, the King of the Deviants, had fallen to his knees before the towering Celestials to beg for mercy and forgiveness, the cosmic giants had offered only a chilling, apathetic understatement before wiping them from the face of the planet:
"We destroy you; what does that have to do with you?"
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Word count: 2018
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