"You mean to tell me that you're not coming back tonight? Instead, you're staying in some rundown hotel where the signal barely reaches three meters?"
"Are you kidding me, Falk? I'm swamped with work, and you're telling me that, just a few blocks from the S.H.I.E.L.D. building, you're taking half a day off?"
"Listen, I don't care what you're doing or what case you're investigating—when you report back to the office, I want information that justifies your little vacation!"
After ranting into the phone, a one-eyed, bald-headed man hung up without hesitation. He turned to the stunning red-haired agent, Natasha Romanoff, also known as "Black Widow."
"Guess what Phil just told me? He actually accepted an invitation from a hotel owner and plans to eat chicken with him!"
This was Nick Fury, the current director of S.H.I.E.L.D. With a black eyepatch covering one eye and a long black leather trench coat he seemed to have worn since birth, he was tall, strong, and always carried an air of relentless determination.
"If it's some exotic Vladivostok-style roasted chicken, I wouldn't say no either," Natasha quipped, her delicate features lighting up with a knowing smile. She reached for the file on the desk and flipped through it casually. "If there's nothing else, I'll head out."
"Go, go!" Fury waved her off, sighing. "Speed things up, Natasha—we're short on manpower."
As Black Widow sauntered out, her movements graceful as ever, Fury slumped into his chair. After a moment of thought, he picked up the phone again.
"Get me General Ross!"
A Crisis of Perception
While Fury wrestled with S.H.I.E.L.D.'s never-ending workload, Coulson and rookie agent Simmons found themselves facing a different kind of crisis—one that challenged their entire perception of reality.
"As you can see, I'm neither some voodoo priest with painted face markings nor an Inuit shaman. My profession revolves around guiding souls, communicating with the elements, and perceiving the universe," the man before them explained.
The aroma of roasting meat filled the small, dimly lit room, but neither Coulson nor Simmons had any appetite.
"We wield the power of fire, wind, and lightning," their host, Kaus, continued. Sparks of electricity danced between his fingers like living creatures.
"We can also use the essence of water to heal wounds that are otherwise difficult to treat."
As he spoke, a faint blue light shimmered around his hand. A scar on the back of Coulson's palm disappeared in an instant.
"And with the power of faith, we can place minor restrictions on our enemies."
A tiny wooden totem dropped onto the ground. Immediately, Coulson and Simmons felt an invisible force press down on them, as if they were suddenly carrying an immense weight. Even the smallest movements became difficult.
"Alright," Kaus said, lifting the effect of the Earth-bound Totem before gesturing toward the barbecue. "You should try some. This is a delicacy you won't find in any restaurant."
The dish in question was Roasted Land Chicken, a specialty from Azerothian cuisine.
After a long silence, Coulson reached out mechanically, taking a piece of the perfectly roasted meat.
Simmons took a cautious bite before mumbling, "Mutant?"
"Don't lump me in with the gifted," Kaus scoffed. "Mutants are born with their abilities. What I have is the result of years of study, exploration, and relentless practice. Since my earliest memories, I have never stopped learning—not for a single day."
Coulson's eyes lit up. "Are you saying that this power can be learned? That it's not something you're just born with?"
"Exactly!"
Simmons, still skeptical, studied Kaus's glowing fingertips. "Then... does that mean we can learn it too?"
"Of course," Kaus grinned, "though, typically, a priest must meet certain conditions—such as possessing noble qualities, a broad mind, extraordinary wisdom, and strong spiritual will. They are the heart of their people, the soul of their tribe..."
Simmons shot him a doubtful look, but Coulson quickly gave her a warning glance.
"So," Coulson pressed, "how did your teacher choose you as his successor? You must have been quite young at the time."
"The purity of one's soul has nothing to do with age," Kaus replied solemnly. "A demon is born with sin, but even at eighty, a man of wisdom can still possess noble virtues."
"But," he added with a smirk, "I've never actually met my teacher. He left this world before I inherited his teachings."
Coulson and Simmons exchanged glances. Both immediately thought of the mysterious former owner of the Mulgore Hotel.
"No, he's not dead," Kaus clarified, catching their expressions. "At least, I don't think he is. He might have left this planet... or perhaps even this dimension."
His words were becoming increasingly outlandish. Even Coulson, who prided himself on keeping an open mind, found it hard not to frown.
Kaus chuckled at their skepticism. "I know you don't believe me. That's fine. Let's do a test instead. If either of you can prove yourselves worthy, I won't hesitate to pass on this power."
The two agents instantly became alert. Simmons even rested a hand on her gun, her mind racing through worst-case scenarios.
They had heard of bizarre initiation rituals before—vampire "first embraces," self-immolation in certain sun-worshiping cults, and even cannibalistic rites from more extreme sects.
They watched closely as Kaus stepped into another room, returning with an ancient, thick book.
"This book contains the knowledge of how to establish contact with elemental spirits," Kaus explained, placing it before Coulson. "Earth, fire, water, air—if you can condense even the faintest spark of their essence, you pass."
Coulson flipped open the book. His confident expression faltered.
"...I can't read this," he admitted, slightly embarrassed.
Despite being proficient in multiple languages and excelling in both firearms and hand-to-hand combat, the intricate symbols and script before him were entirely foreign.
Kaus didn't seem surprised. "No problem. I'll translate."
What he held was, indeed, a genuine Elemental Tome—one of the foundational texts for shamans.
In history, every great High Priest was a leader of extraordinary character: Thrall, the Oracle Mogor, Muln Earthfury—even Ner'zhul, who later became the first Lich King, had once been a noble and respected elder.
But here?
There were no native orc clans, no Wildhammer dwarves, no tauren of Kalimdor, no Pandaren monks, and no troll tribes bound to elemental worship. Without a culture that honored the spirits, who could truly grasp the essence of shamanism?
Even Kaus himself—if he hadn't brought his profession with him when he crossed dimensions—would have never met the requirements for priesthood.
So when a flickering ball of red-hot energy suddenly sparked to life on Coulson's fingertips—
Kaus was so stunned that he nearly dropped the ancient book in his hands.
[End of Chapter 6]
I've cleaned up the grammar, improved readability, and ensured the dialogue flows naturally while maintaining the original word count and the required name changes. Let me know if you need further refinements!