The sorcerers from Kamar-Taj departed through a portal, leaving behind a group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents who could only watch in envy. Coulson, however, remained on edge, worried the demons might return to target them again.
If the enemy were humans, even magic-wielding ones, Coulson wouldn't be fazed—modern technology surpassed mystics in both firepower and accessibility. But this time, it wasn't a human threat. A high-ranking demon had its eye on John Wick, and that meant taking him to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s New York base could risk a full-blown massacre.
Unbeknownst to Coulson, it wasn't just the Kamar-Taj sorcerers pursuing the skeletal demon—Mephisto himself had quietly tagged along, hoping to track down Mammon and the Lance of Longinus that had somehow entered Earth.
Still unaware that he was temporarily safe, Coulson wrestled with the decision. Even if he wanted to hand John Wick off, he lacked the authority to do so. More importantly, the fourteen surviving agents—after the battle—wouldn't allow it.
These men had seen John summon Holy Light with their own eyes. They'd heard him say the power came from Archangel Gabriel. Add the jaw-dropping magic of the sorcerers, and it wasn't hard to imagine that every one of these agents now firmly believed in Heaven.
Every single one hoped that sticking close to Gabriel's chosen one would earn them a ticket upstairs when the time came.
As they finished retrieving the thirty-something fallen comrades, the survivors subtly kept their eyes on Coulson. It didn't take him long to figure out their thoughts.
They wanted to recruit John Wick into S.H.I.E.L.D. and build a new department focused exclusively on demonic threats.
The move made strategic sense: avenge the dead, defend the homeland. And in terms of personal gain? A new division meant promotions, resources, and funding.
Understanding the mood, Coulson approached John, who was checking for wounded. He knelt beside a fallen agent, closing his eyes with his hand.
"That's Jason," Coulson said solemnly. "Thirty-two years old. Father of two."
He pointed to another. "Robert. Not married. But he's been with the same woman for four years."
Once he had John's full attention, he continued. "That's Hunter, Gerald, Hack, McCoff, and Freig. They all got the call just a few hours ago—just to come meet you."
"'Meet'?" John echoed, his expression pained and thoughtful.
Coulson shrugged. "With your background, and now these powers, we had to prepare for the worst. But in the end… the supposed 'unstable element' became the one we stood back-to-back with in battle."
Seeing John frown, Coulson quickly added, lowering his voice, "At the very least—when it comes to fighting demons—we are allies, aren't we, John?"
"…Yes. We're allies."
John's ice-cold demeanor finally thawed. "These men died protecting me. I owe them vengeance—and their families my protection."
He straightened up and solemnly bowed his head in prayer. Then, after a long silence, he said, "Let's go meet this boss of yours."
As police and backup S.H.I.E.L.D. units swarmed the area, Coulson and John, along with the survivors, boarded two helicopters bound for S.H.I.E.L.D.'s New York headquarters.
Meanwhile, far from the chaos, the Ancient One—who had just told the Kamar-Taj sorcerers to leave John Wick be—sent a message to Heimdall in Asgard:
"Tell William Devonshire to clean up the mess he started."
After dismissing the messenger, William sipped his wine and smirked. Didn't the Ancient One say she had no ties to Asgard? And now she's messaging Heimdall directly? Hypocrite.
Knock knock knock.
The knock pulled him from his thoughts. A quick mental scan revealed who it was, and with a flick of his will, the door opened.
Odin entered in casual wear, holding a box.
"This is the jewelry you requested, made from Adamantium."
William opened the box to find a block of metal and six pairs of ear studs—one red and five pink, each about the size of a soybean.
Odin explained, "The dwarven craftsmen say Adamantium's best soul-shielding effect comes when it's implanted in the body. That's why we made them into earrings. The leftover metal—you can use later for weapons or something else."
"Thanks. We're even for that Blood Orchid business."
He stowed the box in his storage space, nodded at Odin, and vanished via teleportation, reappearing at his London estate.
As for Iosef Tarasov? William left him to rot in Asgard's magical prison until the three days were up.
Once home, Sunday quickly debriefed him on all recent events.
Later, at lunch, William personally placed the red diamond earrings on his mother, Lena, and gifted a pink pair each to Abigail and the others.
During the meal, Jesse, glowing with excitement, brought out her treasured gourd and poured a full liter of wine into a decanter.
Watching the modest, palm-sized gourd pour endlessly, William immediately realized it had spatial storage capabilities.
He took a glass from Jesse, sniffed the wine, and asked, "How much wine does it hold?"
Leaning on his shoulder, Jesse grinned. "No idea. Nysa and I already poured in a hundred bottles of this year's Margaux vintage, and it's still not full."
"If she hadn't noticed that the wine was absorbing some kind of mysterious energy, we'd have emptied the whole wine cellar into it."
A hundred bottles was about 72 kilograms of liquid. William wasn't surprised. He had already sensed a faint natural energy in the gourd.
Taking a sip, he felt a warm sensation bloom in his stomach.
Holding the gourd, he quietly examined it and realized—days had passed, and the natural energy inside hadn't diminished. In fact, it was still slowly absorbing ambient energy from Earth.
Smiling, he kissed Jesse on the cheek. "If you've got time, try filling it up completely. I want to see how much it really holds."
"By myself? No way!" She swatted his arm, snatched the gourd back, and returned to her seat—prompting laughter from the others.
After lunch, William finally asked Sunday, "Where's John Wick now?"
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