Chapter 358: The Witch's Gift

The great Allfather was devouring his breakfast at the table. After a bout of feasting in true Asgardian style, he licked his fingers and leaned back with a satisfied belch. However, before he could rest, the door to the shelter was abruptly pushed open. A young man in an ornate crimson robe entered, leading a group of plainly dressed, equally youthful individuals.

Their intimidating presence was immediately halted by the shelter volunteers. The leader, noticing the tension, offered an embarrassed smile and scanned the room before locking eyes on his target. He wasn't some street punk seeking money from the shelter; his luxurious attire alone proved that. The volunteers, recognizing this, refrained from grabbing shotguns to meet the intruders. After a round of negotiation, persuasion, and a touch of enchanted speech combined with monetary compensation, Solomon finally managed to leave with the Allfather, who had been scrubbed clean by the volunteers.

"Where are you taking me?" The Allfather clung tightly to a crumpled napkin, unwilling to let go.

Though the Allfather's mind was clouded, his power remained intact. The mystics from Kamar-Taj maintained a cautious distance, ensuring they weren't accidentally reduced to pulp should the Allfather swing his arm in distress. Only Solomon dared approach him, speaking in a gentle, coaxing tone. Simultaneously, he sent a message to Queen Frigga, updating her on the situation.

After handling this chaotic affair, Solomon dismissed the owls and snakes of New York that had assisted in the search. Their efforts had made it possible to locate the Allfather, though it had taken an entire night. Still, the successful outcome was undeniable, and not even the Sanctum wardens emerging soon from the interdimensional rift could fault their work.

Solomon decided he was done with this matter. Once the Allfather was delivered to Queen Frigga, he returned home. From there, it would be Frigga's responsibility to resolve the situation. Asgard's agreement with the Sorcerer Supreme was already in place, leaving Solomon free to enjoy a brief respite and the prospect of attending university.

Athena had another gift for him.

"A university student needs their own car," she said. Solomon initially assumed it would be a modest sedan, but he had forgotten Olympus's innate fondness for extravagance. With a casual wave of her hand, Athena summoned an Aston Martin from her garage. Sitting in the driver's seat was little Lorna, her excitement palpable as she relished the opportunity to illegally drive.

"Take Lorna for a spin around New York," Athena instructed, offloading babysitting duties onto Solomon. "And get a feel for the car while you're at it. You'll need to rent a proper house in Oxford next—one with a garage. In fact, I've already found one! £215 a week, complete with a private bathroom and an oven."

[Note: This is a real rental price, but it typically wouldn't include a garage, and most international students wouldn't choose such housing.]

"I want baked sweet pancakes!" Lorna chimed in, joining the excitement.

"Whatever makes you happy," Solomon muttered, rolling his eyes. As always, he would comply with Athena's controlling tendencies. Yet even after making these demands, his adoptive mother remained unsatisfied. "Next, you'll need to pick up your girlfriend. While I don't particularly like her, I must admit that ordinary people aren't suitable for you," Athena declared. "She has a gift for you."

"I have a gift for you."

Bayonetta tugged Solomon by the collar, dragging him into the bedroom. The room bore the witch's signature opulent style, dominated by a centuries-old four-poster bed with deep red silk drapes embroidered in gold. Its grandeur rivaled that of a masterpiece.

Within the shadowy confines of the canopy, dimmed by the crimson curtains, Solomon found himself immobilized. He could feel Bayonetta's breath, her perfume saturating the air.

"Just like we used to," the witch murmured, planting a kiss on his cheek. Her firm, elegant legs pinned him in place. Solomon's heart raced, his face turning scarlet. His mouth went dry, as if his tongue were scraping against sandpaper, and his lungs felt like they were on fire.

"Re-Really? But Jeanne—"

"Don't worry about her. Your dear mother sent her off," Bayonetta replied with a playful wink. "For the next five hours, it's just us in this room. Boya, this is your coming-of-age gift. Oh, are you blushing? How adorable, my sweet little kitten~"

Like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, mist rose as sunlight refracted through water droplets. A priestess clad in translucent silks embroidered with golden prayers and sacred symbols descended the steps, the faint orange glow of the sunset illuminating her as it pierced the fog. A sacrificial bull, led by slaves, was brought before her. With a solemn prayer, the priestess slit its throat, letting the blood cascade down her arms and onto the shadowed statue of the goddess.

The priestess stepped from the shaded staircase, anointing the foreheads of her followers with the bull's blood. Sharing in divine joy and glory, she became the embodiment of her deity. She raised the banner of ecstasy, her flushed cheeks glowing with a sacred light. Even the clouds above turned crimson, reflecting her radiance. Her thick, cascading hair swayed gently, a black ocean stirred by the breeze.

Representing the goddess Biquis, she gripped her followers' hands, merging Solomon's emotions—his joy and anger—into the lake's waters. Through her prayers, she painted hymns to Biquis upon Saba's barren lands, dancing to the Yoruban goddesses' songs. "Praise Sheba," she said. "Praise the goddess of desire and ecstasy, praise Biquis. She is the mother of Ethiopia's King Menelik I, the queen adorned with spices and gold, craving all of you, Solomon."

"This is truly…" Solomon sighed, unable to say more.

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