With Stephanie's involvement, the investigation into the sponsor behind the Pasadena Energy Laboratory advanced far faster than if the intelligence division were handling it alone. After all, Immortal City's agents hadn't yet deeply infiltrated Congress—those kinds of blackmail operations involving lawmakers were effective only once or twice; done too often, they'd backfire.
Setting up a small nuclear reactor in a privately owned suburban lab was already highly irregular, but the fact that it passed every inspection and regulatory hurdle meant that someone with considerable power had made sure this project moved forward unhindered. If they could identify this hidden sponsor, Immortal City would finally understand just how many people the spellbook had entangled—how many had glimpsed its supernatural power and how many had already been subtly corrupted by it. Daisy Johnson, of course, had no sense of how urgent the situation truly was. She assumed the worst outcome would be a radioactive leak that contaminated all of Los Angeles, endangering tens of thousands of civilians.
Such things weren't unheard of—Daisy had read about similar incidents in S.H.I.E.L.D. files.
To prevent that scenario, she had no choice but to take more bone-regeneration drugs and opioid painkillers. Before the medication even took full effect, she was already behind the wheel, trying to catch up with the Royal Guard. But Constantine, riding a hovering jetbike, left behind only a deafening roar before disappearing into the sky. Furious, Daisy slammed her hands on the steering wheel at a red light. Maybe the medication was finally kicking in, dulling the pain enough for her to regain clarity, and she quickly recalculated the shortest route.
She was headed to the Pasadena Energy Laboratory.
Daisy had a gut feeling she would find someone she needed to see there—that all the questions would finally be answered.
But the truth was even more terrifying than she imagined. If the prophecy of the Vishanti was accurate, then even a single page from that spellbook could drive the entire planet insane and summon an Elder God to pull Earth from the fabric of reality into the Outer Dimension. The more dangerous the black magic, the lower the threshold for wielding it—often it was just a matter of meeting some obscure condition, reciting an incomprehensible incantation, and pointing in the right direction. With stakes like that, Solomon had deployed the full might of Immortal City: the Royal Guard.
And if things went south, a hydrogen bomb would be launched from the S.W.O.R.D. orbital platform and dropped directly onto Los Angeles—wiping everything clean with the most devastating force human technology could produce to preserve the Earth and the entire human race.
Solomon had not, however, delegated the entire task and stood idly by. He returned to Kamar-Taj, summoning the most powerful mystics in the sanctum to tackle the problem at its root.
"The cursed tome traces back a thousand years—to the struggle for power in Camelot, when Morgan le Fay allied with dark gods and bestowed forbidden arts. She was hunted by the Ancient One and vanished without a trace. Now, with the Ghost Rider's return and the Vishanti's prophecy, I fear the Darkhold shall resurface. This is destiny," he declared to the circle of assembled mystics—Masters Hamir, Wong, Daniel, Wu Guiyue, and others. Almost every guardian of the sanctums had arrived at the Himalayan stronghold upon his summons. These were the retainers the Ancient One had entrusted to Solomon, to ensure he could one day lead all of Kamar-Taj. Many had watched him grow up, but when it came to mission duty, they treated Solomon as a peer, not a junior.
"You are all aware of the Darkhold's corrupting power. Scattered among mortals, its pages change hearts—good becomes evil, evil becomes worse. Eradicating it to protect human minds is our utmost duty, regardless of the cost." Solomon paused, then revealed his true intent. He planned to enter the Dark Dimension and confront the woman who had once been locked in eternal conflict with the Ancient One.
The gathered stewards exchanged glances but raised no objections—they all knew Solomon was the rightful heir of Kamar-Taj and, in the Ancient One's absence, held final authority. Only Baron Mordo voiced disapproval, but his protest carried no weight. He believed Solomon was taking unnecessary risks, that the matter could wait for the Ancient One's return. Solomon actually agreed—but no one knew when the Ancient One would come back, so he had to act now.
To reassure Mordo, Solomon promised that if the infiltration failed, he would withdraw immediately. If the Ancient One returned beforehand, he would cancel the mission. He entrusted his soul's safety to all the mystics present. This act of complete trust left Mordo speechless. Embarrassed, he finally swore he would give his life to protect Solomon. The other Masters—Hamir, Daniel, Wu Guiyue—took similar oaths. Only young Wong seemed unsure.
Among them, his mystical abilities were not the strongest, and he didn't understand why he had even been summoned.
"I need a safety tether, Wong," Solomon said meaningfully. "You are my tether."
He had faced Dormammu once before, but this situation was very different.
Back then, Solomon had the Ancient One's protection. It had only been a simple astral projection—just a fragment of thought tossed into the chaotic Outer Dimension, allowing him to face Dormammu while doing homework. Even if something had gone wrong and his essence had been devoured, the worst outcome would've been a headache and a good night's sleep. But now, he needed to enter the Dark Dimension directly, without alerting Dormammu, and that meant avoiding the dread lord's gaze entirely.
That required the stewards to spend days preparing a complex ritual—carving sigils and glyphs—to ensure Solomon could traverse the Outer Dimension unnoticed and seek out Morgan le Fay's location.
Only the dark gods and Morgan herself knew how many copies of the bound Darkhold existed. Compared to the dark gods, Morgan was the lesser threat. If the Royal Guard succeeded in his mission, Solomon would take his findings and compare them against their existing records—page by page—until he could confirm that not a single fragment of the Darkhold remained in the world. This was one of Kamar-Taj's core missions. Over the centuries, every recovery and destruction of the Darkhold had been meticulously recorded. But no one had ever known exactly how many pages existed.
Despite his confident demeanor, Solomon was deeply nervous.
The Merlinian school had once sealed a fragment of Morgan le Fay's soul by sacrificing one of its own heirs. That fragment alone, amplified by ritual, was powerful enough to raise the dead across the globe. The Morgan now imprisoned in the depths of the Dark Dimension was far stronger than that shard.
After arranging the mission, Solomon hurried to the witches' apartment to clearly explain his plan to Bayonetta and Jeanne. The danger was real—and from a family perspective, they needed to know. From an operational standpoint, he needed their insight and wisdom.
"How much time do we have?" Bayonetta asked, frowning. She knew the ritual would take time to prepare and that astral projection required a specific cosmic alignment. She was asking when Solomon planned to begin.
"Thirteen days, thirteen hours, thirteen minutes, and thirteen seconds from now," he replied.
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