Asazuo scowled as he stared at the massive, pulsating ore of vibranium that his father had arranged for him to transport. It glowed faintly under the dim mine lighting, humming with energy. At that moment, he fully grasped the real reason behind his trip.
"I mean, Dad, couldn't Remus just bring a team and move all of this?" The red-skinned mutant tried once more to argue, though deep down, he knew his father's decision was final.
James, standing with arms crossed, considered the suggestion for a moment before shaking his head. His voice was firm as he explained, "There are too many natives here, son. If Remus and his people come in, what do you expect them to do—kill everyone? Even if we wanted to move that much vibranium out of here, there's no infrastructure to support transport vehicles. But most importantly, there are too many eyes and ears. The 'wolves' are our own, but a workforce filled with Wakandan miners and Kenyan laborers? They're a liability. I have no intention of letting the outside world catch wind of what's buried here."
His sharp gaze bore into Asazuo, a hint of impatience creeping into his voice. "Use this as an opportunity to push yourself. Less complaining, more working."
Asazuo let out a deep sigh, then placed both hands on the enormous chunk of vibranium, his fingers pressing against the cool, dense surface. His tail flicked in annoyance before—poof!—he vanished.
A fraction of a second later…
BOOM!
"F—! Damn it!"
Remus barely dodged as a massive slab of vibranium suddenly materialized in front of him, slamming into the ground inches away. His heart pounded in his chest as he stumbled back, glaring at Asazuo, who reappeared a few feet away, panting heavily.
"Clean it up. Cover it. Get to work," Asazuo grumbled, his breath still uneven.
Remus huffed but chuckled, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah. You know, one of these days, your reckless teleporting is gonna kill someone." Despite his words, there was an ease between them—years of shared struggles and camaraderie had made them more like brothers than allies.
Asazuo didn't reply. Instead, he took another deep breath before flickering in and out of existence again, carrying yet another load. His task was relentless—teleporting tons of unprocessed vibranium and purified ingots, each glowing with an ethereal blue light, across distances of more than ten kilometers. Again and again, he repeated the cycle, his muscles straining under the sheer weight each time.
James observed silently from a distance, his calculating mind noting Asazuo's limits. Exploitation ran deep in his veins—perhaps it was just the nature of those who wield power.
Still in the depths of the vibranium mine, James took slow, deliberate steps, admiring the scale of what lay before him. The vibranium meteorite that had struck Wakanda centuries ago must have been colossal. The space carved within the mountain was vast, the mineral density staggering. He estimated that this single deposit held over a billion tons of vibranium—an unimaginable fortune in the right hands.
The mineral itself was strange, emanating an energy that warped the air around it. Its radiation had also given birth to the legendary heart-shaped herb, the source of Wakanda's greatest warriors. Kneeling, James pried open a small vibranium container and carefully uprooted a handful of the glowing plants, placing them inside with precision.
Meanwhile, Asazuo had made dozens of trips. He was visibly exhausted now—his tail limp, his breath ragged. Each step was sluggish, his body crying out for rest.
"That's enough for now," James finally said, nodding approvingly. "If we need more, we'll come back later."
The words were a relief. Asazuo practically collapsed onto the rocky floor, letting out a long breath, his limbs heavy. After a moment of stillness, his golden eyes flickered with thought. He sat up, smoke curling around him as he vanished—then reappeared mere seconds later, holding a black panther-shaped helmet.
"Figured I should bring a souvenir," he said, grinning.
James raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.
"It's just the helmet," Asazuo clarified quickly, seeing his father's expression. "That panther's already as good as dead."
James didn't seem to care. His focus remained on the heart-shaped herbs in the box. Asazuo moved closer, watching him.
"Father," he hesitated before asking, "is that panther… like us?"
James didn't answer immediately. He lifted one of the glowing leaves between his fingers, studying it with mild curiosity before finally responding.
"He relies on the power of this plant," was all he said.
That was enough for now. Without another word, James turned away, giving one last glance at the vast vibranium deposits before issuing the command.
"Let's go."
With a crackling burst of black smoke, the two figures vanished, leaving only a mess of displaced rock and faintly smoldering ashes behind.
---
Wakanda, Royal Palace
"Father…"
The young T'Chaka lay against his father's bedside, his small frame wracked with quiet sobs. His mother, Nanali, stood stiffly beside him, her face blank, her hands steady as she and the royal priests applied healing herbs to Azuli's swollen, necrotic wounds.
Three days had passed, and the once-mighty Panther King remained deathly weak. He had barely clung to life, but whether he would ever awaken remained a question only the gods could answer.
Nanali's lips were drawn into a tight line, her eyes bloodshot. Yet, she had not shed a single tear. She was the princess of Wakanda, a warrior, the leader of the Dora Milaje. She could not afford the luxury of grief.
"T'Chaka," she finally spoke, her voice hoarse but firm. "Do you understand what must be done?"
The boy, barely past childhood, clenched his fists, his tear-streaked face contorted with rage. "I want revenge."
SMACK!
Nanali's palm struck her son across the face. Before he could react, she hit him again. The force made his vision blur, his body trembling in shock.
She swallowed the lump in her throat before whispering, "Swear to me, swear on your father's soul, that you will never seek vengeance on that devil."
T'Chaka's breath hitched. His mother had never begged for anything—not once. Yet now, her voice wavered, her hands gripping his shoulders as though he might slip away from her forever.
Tears still clinging to his lashes, the boy slowly raised a fist to his chest and swore.
"I, T'Chaka, of the Golden Tribe, son of Azuli the Black Panther, swear upon the souls of my father and mother… I will never seek revenge against the red-skinned devil who came to Wakanda. If I break this vow, may their spirits never find peace in the embrace of Bast and Sekhmet."
The room fell silent. The promise was made.
---
Years Later…
Azuli's younger brother ascended the throne in his place. But unrest grew. The Jabari tribe, long at odds with the Golden Tribe, challenged the succession, blaming the royal family for Wakanda's greatest failure. Tradition demanded combat. Weakened from their losses, the royal family had no choice but to accept.
The new king fought honorably but was defeated. And so, Wakanda's throne changed hands.
As the new regime settled, a young T'Chaka packed his belongings, preparing to leave his homeland.
"You're still young," Nanali whispered, watching him. "Wait a few more years."
"You said the same thing two years ago, Mother," he replied gently.
She did not argue. She had already lost too much.
And so, Wakanda's future warriors left their sheltered home, seeking to learn the world beyond their borders. A new era had begun.
But in the shadows, the pain of that bloodstained night still lingered.
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