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Chapter 36: Coulson
🕑 Added 2025-10-07 15:54:52 +0000 UTC
Lucas realized his reaction just now had been a bit over the top, so he quietly sat back down.
Now wasn’t the right time to check his new system reward anyway.
“No need,” he said after a moment. “I wouldn’t dare step into one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s hospitals. I’m afraid if I went in, I’d never make it out alive.”
He knew full well what kind of “research enthusiasm” those S.H.I.E.L.D. scientists had.
If he really walked in there, he’d probably end up a dissected specimen before they let him leave.
Natasha just smiled faintly without denying it.
She knew those lunatics in the lab better than anyone. Even a healthy man would go insane after a round of their ‘tests.’
“So what are you going to do with Marco?” Lucas asked curiously.
He didn’t actually know much about S.H.I.E.L.D.’s methods—his only reference came from his previous life’s movies, and those mostly showed HYDRA’s brainwashing or mad experiments. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s facilities were rarely shown in detail.
“Well…” Natasha said with a teasing tone. “Standard examinations are unavoidable. If his abilities can’t be replicated, he’ll probably be detained somewhere secure. As for where exactly, that’s classified—unless, of course, you decide to join us~”
Lucas chuckled dryly. “No thanks. The last thing I want is to be at Nick Fury’s beck and call—doing whatever that bald man tells me, pretending it’s for ‘the greater good.’”
He refused instantly. He knew what S.H.I.E.L.D. really was—just HYDRA with a better PR team. No way was that a place for sane people.
Lucas also knew plenty of things about them that he hadn’t shared.
Why should he? He wasn’t some self-sacrificing saint. If S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted information, they could damn well pay for it.
When he finally returned to Devil May Cry, Skye and Gwen were already waiting anxiously by the door. Gwen was still wearing her Ghost-Spider suit.
The moment they saw him, both girls rushed forward.
“That guy named Coulson is inside,” Gwen whispered. “He says he wants to talk to you. Be careful.”
Because of her mask, her voice came out a little muffled, like someone speaking through a cold.
Lucas nodded and walked straight into the shop.
“Mr. Norman, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Agent—”
Before he could finish, Lucas cut him off.
“I know. Agent Coulson. Just call me Lucas.”
Lucas walked behind the bar, opened the fridge, and took out two servings of chestnut parfait along with a cup of Savina milk tea, setting them in front of Coulson.
“Try these. They’re house specials—you won’t find them anywhere else.”
Coulson, ever the gentleman, didn’t refuse. He scooped a small bite of the parfait and placed it in his mouth.
Instantly, the rich, nutty sweetness of chestnut spread across his tongue. The cold, creamy texture cleared his mind, leaving him strangely refreshed.
“Delicious,” he said sincerely. “Truly exquisite.”
He casually took another spoonful, then sipped the milk tea. The bold milky flavor, laced with a hint of cinnamon, filled his senses.
“Alright, Coulson,” Lucas said, leaning back slightly. “What does Fury want this time?”
By now, Skye, Gwen, and Peter had all settled on the couch nearby—though both Gwen and Peter were still suited up.
“The Director just wants to understand your abilities,” Coulson explained. “After what happened earlier, you scared the hell out of him. Actually—you scared everyone.”
Lucas didn’t bother hiding anything. “You can think of it as magic. I’m a demon hunter.”
The room fell silent.
Even Gwen, Peter, and Skye froze in disbelief.
Gwen especially—she’d grown up with Lucas, even shared a room with him before starting school—yet she’d never had a clue he could do magic.
She was practically glaring at him under the mask, though no one could see it.
“Whoa~~ Magic? That’s so freaking cool, dude!!” Peter exclaimed, circling Lucas like an overexcited puppy.
Coulson didn’t react outwardly but leaned in slightly. “So… there really is magic in this world?”
Lucas grinned. “Your Director’s listening in, right?”
Coulson nodded without hesitation.
“Good. Then I’ll make this clear once, so you don’t have to ask again.”
Lucas paused, then spoke evenly:
“My magical ability wasn’t learned—it was bestowed. I call people like me ‘Manifestors.’”
“‘Manifestors’?” Coulson echoed, curious. “And what do you mean by ‘bestowed’? Who gave it to you?”
That question clearly came straight from Fury himself. The old spymaster wanted to know if Lucas’s power could be replicated—if it could be manufactured.
“Manifestors are individuals granted immense power,” Lucas explained. “They can use magic without a medium and can summon powerful beings—creatures capable of wiping out everything in their path.”
He didn’t hide anything. His powers had already been fully revealed during the fight with Marco, after all.
“Powerful beings… like that flying creature earlier?” Coulson asked.
Lucas nodded. “That was my summon—Garuda. She controls the storm.”
Coulson nodded slowly. The memory of that apocalyptic tornado still haunted him.
“And this power of yours,” he pressed on, “you said it was granted—by whom?”
That was the question S.H.I.E.L.D. really wanted answered.
Lucas gave him a look that could only be described as Are you serious?
“By my summon, obviously. You saw me call her, didn’t you?”
Coulson blinked, thrown off by the blunt response.
“I see… Then tell me—can anyone else summon this Garuda of yours?”
And there it was—the real question. Fury wanted to know if the power could be copied.
Lucas shook his head firmly. “Of course not. At any given time, there can only be one Manifestor.”
That neatly shut down Fury’s little fantasy of mass-producing super-sorcerers.
And he wasn’t even lying—in the original lore, one Manifestor could only bond with one summon, and no two people could ever share the same one.
Back in S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Fury was surrounded by a group of specialists, all watching the live feed.
“Well?” he asked. “Did you get a read on him?”
In front of him, a projection replayed Lucas’s every word and expression.
“Director,” said an elderly psychologist, adjusting his glasses, “based on his micro-expressions and tone patterns, I’d say he’s telling the truth.”
The rest of the experts nodded in agreement.
Fury let out a low sigh. “Understood. You’re dismissed.”
The team quietly filed out of the room.
“Coulson,” Fury said after a pause, “I want to speak with him personally.”
Back at Devil May Cry, Coulson received the order through his earpiece. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black case, placing it on the bar.
“This is a comm unit,” he said. “The Director would like a word with you himself.”
