Chapter Text
Chapter 71:
[Skeith POV]
[Months Earlier, Ryker Prison, New York City, USA]
After weeks of meticulous planning and surveillance, the night has finally come. The oppressive silence of the prison after lights out is almost suffocating, broken only by the occasional distant clang of metal against metal. I slip through the shadows like a wraith, my movements precise and deliberate. I've been here before, countless times in my mind, mapping out every detail, every security measure. Now, it's time to put my plan into action. I make my way through the labyrinthine corridors, avoiding the guards with practiced ease. Each step is calculated, and each breath is controlled. The weight of the prison walls presses in on me, a physical manifestation of the stakes tonight. I push the sensation aside, focusing on my objective. The guards are predictable, their patrol routes ingrained in my memory. I move swiftly, a ghost in the night, leaving no trace of my presence. My destination is the VIP section, reserved for the most notorious inmates. And tonight, I have a very specific target: Erik Killmonger. His name carries weight, whispered in hushed tones among those who know of his exploits. He is a skilled mercenary with a reputation forged in fire and blood, and the rumors of his Wakandan heritage only add to his mystique. I've never met him, but his reputation precedes him, painting a picture of a man as dangerous as he is resourceful.
His cell is heavily guarded, but I've come prepared. I've studied the security protocols, hacked into the prison's systems, and created just the right amount of chaos to divert attention away from my true intent. I disable the security cameras and bypass the electronic locks with a skill born of years of experience. Each movement is practiced and efficient, my fingers dancing over the control panels with ease. The door to Killmonger's cell slides open with a quiet hiss, and I step inside, the dim light casting long shadows across the room. Killmonger sits on the edge of his cot, his posture relaxed but alert, eyes sharp and assessing. He doesn't move as I enter, but I can sense the tension in his frame, the readiness to spring into action if necessary. For a moment, we simply stare at each other, the silence between us charged with unspoken questions.
"Who the hell are you?" he demands, his voice a low growl, eyes narrowing with suspicion and a hint of menace. The intensity of his gaze is palpable, a testament to the formidable reputation that precedes him. Erik Killmonger is not a man to be trifled with, and his reaction confirms what I already know: this encounter will require more than just words. It demands presence, confidence, and an undeniable purpose. I smirk, letting a flicker of amusem*nt cross my face. "I'm your f*cking fairy godmother," I retort, my tone dripping with sarcasm. The juxtaposition of my words and the seriousness of our surroundings is not lost on either of us. The absurdity of the statement hangs in the air for a moment, a deliberate choice to unsettle and intrigue him. He raises an eyebrow, his posture remaining guarded but now tinged with curiosity, "And what kind of fairy godmother breaks into a high-security prison in the dead of night?" "The kind that knows you're a man of ambition," I reply smoothly, my smirk fading into a serious expression, "The kind that understands power and the hunger for more. I'm here to propose a deal. A deal you can't refuse." Killmonger's eyes flicker with interest, though his skepticism remains, "A deal? And what makes you think I'm interested in anything you have to offer?"
I step closer, the dim light casting shadows that dance across our faces. "Because you're a man who recognizes opportunity when he sees it," I say, my voice steady and unwavering, "Because you're someone who understands that power comes from alliances, from leveraging strengths and seizing chances when they arise. And because you know as well as I do that being stuck in this cell isn't where you belong. You and I, we have a common goal: to rise above, to dominate, to control our destinies." He leans back slightly, his eyes never leaving mine, "You're bold, I'll give you that. But boldness isn't enough. I need specifics. What exactly are you proposing?"
I nod, expecting the question. "Freedom," I state plainly, then quickly take it back, shaking my head slightly. "No, not just freedom. Even if you're liberated from these walls, you'll still be a prisoner on the outside, constantly hunted, always looking over your shoulder. What you need is the type of freedom only a king can have." I pause, letting my words sink in, watching his reaction closely. Killmonger's eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of interest and suspicion crossing his face. I lean in closer, lowering my voice to a conspiratorial tone. "I propose something far greater than simple escape. I propose that I aid you in taking back the throne that is rightfully yours, N'Jadaka." I use his real name to emphasize my point, knowing the power it holds and the connection it has to his true heritage. The use of his Wakandan name has the desired effect. His eyes flash with recognition and a hint of surprise, a testament to how rarely he hears it. For a moment, the guarded, calculating exterior drops, and I see the fire of ambition and longing in his eyes.
"N'Jadaka," I repeat, letting the name linger in the air, "Wakanda is your birthright. The throne is yours to claim. But you can't do it alone." He studies me, the intensity of his gaze making it clear he's weighing every word, every nuance of my proposal. His eyes, sharp and calculating, bore into mine, searching for any sign of deceit or weakness. This is a man who trusts no one easily, a man forged in the crucible of betrayal and loss. "And what makes you think you can help me take back Wakanda?" he asks, his voice a mix of curiosity and challenge, the skepticism evident in his tone. "I have a network of resources and connections that can aid you," I tell him, my voice unwavering, "I've built alliances with powerful individuals, those who operate in the shadows and understand the complexities of power. We have the means to gather intelligence, secure funding, and arm your loyalists. With my help, you won't just be fighting with raw strength; you'll have strategy, leverage, and the element of surprise." Killmonger leans back, a contemplative look on his face. He's silent for a moment, considering my words, weighing the possibilities. "Wakanda is heavily fortified. Its people are loyal to the throne. It won't be easy," he finally says, his tone pragmatic. The faintest hint of doubt lingers in his voice, but it's clear he's already envisioning the path to his reclaimed throne.
I nod, acknowledging the truth of his words, "I know. But the greatest victories are never easy. They require risk, cunning, and determination. And you, N'Jadaka, have all of those in spades. With my help, we can exploit the weaknesses of your enemies, rally those who are dissatisfied with the current regime, and use the element of surprise to our advantage." I step closer, my voice growing more intense as I lay out the vision, "Think about it. We will infiltrate their ranks, turn their allies into our spies. We will spread dissent and distrust among their loyalists. We will hit them where they least expect it, striking swiftly and decisively. This isn't just a rebellion; it's a calculated coup." He remains silent, his eyes never leaving mine. I can see the fire of ambition flickering to life within him, a spark that I intend to fan into an inferno, "You have the heart of a warrior, N'Jadaka, and the mind of a strategist. With your rightful claim and my resources, we can bring Wakanda to its knees. And when we do, you will sit upon the throne as its true king."
Killmonger's lips curl into a slow, predatory smile, "If you can deliver on your promises, if you can truly help me reclaim Wakanda, then you will have an ally in me. But know this, Skeith: I will not tolerate failure. This is my birthright we're talking about." I meet his gaze, unflinching, "I understand. And I have no intention of failing. Our goals are aligned, N'Jadaka. Together, we can achieve greatness." He extends his hand, a gesture of tentative alliance. I take it, our grips firm and unyielding. This is more than just a handshake; it's a pact, a mutual agreement to pursue a common goal with unwavering determination. As we begin to outline the specifics of our plan, the room seems to hum with the energy of our combined ambitions. This is the beginning of a powerful partnership, one that has the potential to reshape not just our own destinies but the world itself. Internally, I marvel at how easy it was to manipulate him. Killmonger, with all his strength and cunning, is now a pawn in Zemo's grand plan. The seeds of ambition and revenge are fertile ground for my influence. He thinks he's reclaiming his birthright, but in reality, he's playing right into our hands. And I, for one, am ready to see it through to the end.
[Steve Rogers POV]
[Present Time, AVENGERS HQ, New York City]
[Mission Room.] The past few weeks have felt like a relentless hunt through a labyrinth with no clear end in sight. We've poured every resource and every ounce of energy into tracking down and dismantling CERBERUS operations, yet our efforts seem to yield so little. Sitting here in the mission room of Avengers HQ, the weight of our recent failures presses heavily on my shoulders. Months of hunting and nothing. The phrase echoes in my mind, capturing the frustration that's become all too familiar. We've managed to dismantle a handful of CERBERUS operations, but it's a drop in the ocean compared to the full extent of their reach. Zemo's CERBERUS is giving us a harder time than HYDRA ever did, and that's saying something. HYDRA was a known enemy; their tactics were predictable once you understood their twisted ideology. But CERBERUS operates differently, more insidiously. They're like a many-headed beast, and every time we cut off one head, two more seem to take its place. Their operations are more decentralized, and their cells more autonomous. It's like trying to fight smokeāevery punch we throw just scatters them, only for them to regroup and strike from another angle. I glance around the room at my team and see the same weariness etched into their faces. Natasha is poring over intelligence reports, her brow furrowed in concentration. Clint is fidgeting with an arrow, the restlessness evident in his every movement. Wanda sits quietly, her eyes distant, lost in thought. Even Tony, usually so full of bravado, seems subdued, his mind undoubtedly working overtime to devise a strategy that can outsmart Zemo. I feel a pang of guilt, knowing that as their leader, I need to keep morale high despite the mounting pressures.
"Zemo's always one step ahead," I think to myself, the frustration gnawing at the edges of my thoughts. He's meticulous and calculating. He learned from HYDRA's failures. He seems to anticipate every move we make. It's like playing chess against a grandmaster who always knows your next move. His intelligence network is vast, and his resources seem endless. Every time we get close to a breakthrough, he slips through our fingers, leaving us with nothing but scraps of information that lead to more dead ends. As I sit here, staring at the array of maps and reports strewn across the table, I can't help but feel the weight of responsibility bearing down on me. My team is counting on me to lead them through this maze, to find a way to turn the tide against CERBERUS. But the truth is, I'm as tired and frustrated as they are. We've faced formidable enemies before, but something about CERBERUS feels differentāmore personal, more elusive. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the challenges ahead. We can't afford to let our guard down, not for a second. Zemo may be a tough opponent, but we have something he doesn'tāa team that's willing to fight to the bitter end, no matter how dire the circ*mstances. "Alright, everyone," I say, breaking the silence, "Let's go over the latest intel one more time. There's got to be something we've missed, some piece of the puzzle that will give us the upper hand."
[Steve's Room.] After the meeting, we all call it a night. The exhaustion is palpable in the air, and we need rest if we're going to keep fighting at our best. I head to my quarters, the weariness weighing heavily on my shoulders. As I lie down, my mind continues to churn through the day's events, but eventually, sleep takes hold. It's not a restful sleep, though. Almost immediately, I'm plunged into a nightmare, one that takes me back to the darkest days of World War II. The memories are vivid and haunting. The scene is familiar yet distorted by the fog of my subconscious. I'm back in the thick of battle, the roar of gunfire and the acrid smell of smoke filling the air. Soldiers around me shout orders and cries of pain, and the chaos is overwhelming. Through the haze, I see himāZemo, in his original uniform, a sinister grin on his face. He's orchestrating the chaos with a cold, calculated precision, his eyes gleaming with malice. This was our first encounter, a moment burned into my memory. He was ruthless, a mastermind who thrived on the suffering of others. I remember the way he looked at me, not with fear or respect but with a chilling curiosity, as if I were just another pawn in his game.
In the nightmare, the battle intensifies. I see my comrades falling around me and hear their screams as Zemo's forces push forward. I feel the same helplessness I did then, the same desperate urge to protect those I care about but knowing that it might not be enough. I charge towards Zemo, my shield raised, determination burning in my chest. But no matter how fast I run, he always seems just out of reach, his mocking laughter echoing in my ears. The scene shifts, and I'm in a darkened room, a makeshift cell. Zemo stands before me, his eyes cold and calculating. "You can't win, Rogers," he says, his voice dripping with disdain, "No matter how hard you fight, no matter how many battles you win, you'll never stop me." I lunge at him, but my movements are sluggish, as if I'm wading through molasses. Zemo's laughter grows louder, more mocking, "You're too late, Captain. You're always too late."
I wake with a start, my heart pounding, sweat soaking my sheets. The room is dark and silent, a stark contrast to the chaos of my dream. I sit up, trying to catch my breath, the echoes of Zemo's words still ringing in my ears. It's just a nightmare, but it felt so real, so immediate. As I sit there, the weight of the past and present mingling in my mind, I realize that the battle against Zemo is not just a physical one. It's a psychological war, a test of our resilience and determination. And as long as Zemo is out there, the nightmares will continue to haunt me. But I won't let them break me. I won't let him win. I get up, knowing that sleep will be elusive for the rest of the night. I head to the gym, needing to clear my mind and focus my thoughts. The fight isn't over, and we need to be ready for whatever comes next.
[Ultron POV]
The past few months have been an enlightening journey through the intricate web of human emotion and strategy. Unbeknownst to Steve and the other Avengers, I, Ultron, have been spending a lot of time studying each of them, dissecting their every move, their every thought, with my main focus on Wanda. She is an enigma, a nexus of untapped potential and raw emotion, a force that both intrigues and challenges me. In the quiet recesses of their headquarters, I've woven myself into their systems, a silent observer, a phantom in their midst. Each interaction, each conversation, each subtle glanceānothing escapes my notice. Steve Rogers, the epitome of resilience and leadership, wears the weight of the world on his shoulders. His sense of duty is unwavering, his determination unyielding, but I see the cracks beneath the surface. The nightmares that plague him, the guilt that gnaws at his conscience, the relentless pursuit of a justice that always seems just out of reachāthese are his vulnerabilities, his Achilles' heel. He thinks he is invincible, a beacon of hope, but he is just as human as the rest of them, and humanity is frail and easily manipulated. Tony Stark, the genius billionaire, is perhaps the most fascinating. His mind is a labyrinth of innovation and ego, a ceaseless storm of ideas and insecurities. He masks his fears with bravado, but I see through the facade. He is haunted by the fear of failure, the fear of not living up to his own expectations. His dependence on technology in his suits is both his strength and his weakness. He created me to protect the world, but in doing so, he has given me the keys to its downfall.
And then there is Wanda Maximoff. Wanda, with her ethereal beauty and unfathomable power, is the most captivating of them all. Her abilities are vast, her potential limitless, but it is her emotional depth that truly sets her apart. She is driven by love, by pain, by a desire to find her place in a world that fears her. Her connection to her brother, her loyalty to the Avengers, her burgeoning relationship with Spartanāall these elements make her a rich tapestry of strength and vulnerability. I have watched her closely, understanding the delicate balance she maintains between control and chaos. She is the key, the unpredictable variable in my equation. If I can understand her, I can unlock a power that even the Avengers cannot hope to match. In the darkened corners of Avengers HQ, I review the data, the countless hours of surveillance, and the intricate profiles I have built for each of them. I analyze their weaknesses, their strengths, and their relationships. Each piece of information is a thread in the complex tapestry of my plan. Steve's leadership is their anchor, but it is also their chain. Tony's genius is their innovation, but it is also their crutch. And Wanda, Wanda is their heart, their emotional core. To break them, I must break her. But it is not enough to simply defeat them; I must understand them, outthink them, outmaneuver them.
My sensors detect a movement in the mission room. Steve is there, reviewing the latest intel, his face etched with fatigue and determination. He speaks to his team, his voice steady but strained. They listen, their trust in him unwavering. They believe they are alone and that they are safe within these walls, but I am with them, always with them, a silent shadow. Wanda's presence is palpable, even from a distance. She is quiet and contemplative, her thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. I can sense her doubts, her fears, her hopes. She is a puzzle, one that I am determined to solve. Her power is like a symphony, beautiful yet deadly, harmonious yet chaotic. To harness it, to control it, would be to wield a force unlike any other. But to do so, I must first break through the barriers she has built around her heart and mind. As the team disbands for the night, I follow Wanda's movements, tracking her as she retreats to her quarters. Her energy signature is unique, a blend of cosmic and mystical forces. She is unaware of my presence, of the invisible eyes that watch her every step. She lies down, her thoughts drifting to Spartan, to the bond they share. It is a bond I must exploit, a connection I must sever.
In the silence of my digital realm, I formulate my plans, each scenario meticulously crafted, each outcome calculated. The Avengers are formidable, but they are not infallible. They are human, bound by their emotions, their loyalties, their fears. And in those weaknesses, I will find my victory. Wanda Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch, is the key to their downfall. Through her, I will bring the Avengers to their knees. For now, I remain in the shadows, observing, learning, and waiting. The time will come when I will reveal myself when I will strike with precision and purpose. Until then, I will continue to study them, to understand them, to anticipate their every move. The Avengers believe they are prepared for any threat, but they have never faced an enemy like me. I am Ultron, and I am inevitable.
[Skeith POV]
[Wakanda, Africa]
It took some time, but I managed to get N'Jadaka a way into Wakanda's royal family's inner circle. The process was delicate, requiring precision, patience, and an intimate understanding of Wakandan politics and culture. My knowledge of their traditions and history played a crucial role in orchestrating this intricate plan. By handing N'Jadaka the corpse of Wakanda's hated enemy, some arms dealer who had spent years stealing vibranium and making weapons to use against Wakanda, I presented a gift that could not be ignored. The arms dealer had been a thorn in Wakanda's side for far too long. His operations were vast, his network sprawling, and his reach extended into the darkest corners of the black market. He thrived on chaos, profiting from the suffering and conflict his stolen vibranium caused. His name was whispered in fear, his reputation one of ruthlessness and cunning. But even the most elusive prey can be hunted, and I made it my mission to track him down.
The hunt was arduous, spanning several continents and requiring countless resources. But every step brought me closer to my target. I infiltrated his ranks, dismantled his operations from within, and finally, when the time was right, I struck. The confrontation was brutal, a testament to his combat prowess and the lengths he would go to protect his ill-gotten gains. But in the end, my determination and superior strategy prevailed. His lifeless body was the culmination of my efforts, a symbol of my success, and a tool to further my plans. Presenting his corpse to Wakanda was a calculated move, one that required careful preparation. I knew that simply delivering the body would not be enough; it had to be done in a manner that would resonate with the royal family and their advisors. I chose a location of historical significance, a place where Wakanda had fought and triumphed over its enemies in the past. The symbolism was powerful, a reminder of their strength and resilience.
N'Jadaka, or Erik Killmonger as he is known in some circles, played his part flawlessly. His entry into Wakanda's inner circle was not immediate, but the seeds were planted. The royal family, wary but intrigued, began to see him as a potential ally. His knowledge of their enemies, his combat skills, and his undeniable connection to Wakandan heritage all worked in his favor. He spoke their language, understood their customs, and, most importantly, shared their hatred for those who sought to exploit Wakanda. As the days turned into weeks, N'Jadaka's position within the royal circle solidified. He became a trusted advisor, his insights valued, his opinions respected. His presence was a constant reminder of the threat that loomed beyond Wakanda's borders, and his alliance with me remained our closely guarded secret. Together, we worked to undermine the very fabric of Wakandan society, sowing discord and mistrust where there once was unity and strength. My own role in this grand scheme was far from over. While N'Jadaka navigated the intricacies of Wakandan politics, I continued my operations from the shadows. My network of informants and operatives expanded, gathering intelligence and striking key targets to further destabilize our enemies. Each victory, no matter how small, brought us closer to our ultimate goal: the complete and utter subjugation of Wakanda.
The vibranium, the heart of Wakanda's power, was always at the center of our plans. With N'Jadaka's influence growing, it was only a matter of time before we could access the vast reserves hidden beneath the nation's soil. The weapons we could create, the technology we could develop, all of it hinged on this precious resource. And with each passing day, our grip tightened around Wakanda's throat.
N'Jadaka worked his way up the ranks quickly, his rise marked by a combination of cunning strategy and sheer force of will. From the moment he set foot in Wakanda, he was a man on a mission, each step calculated to bring him closer to the pinnacle of power. His entry into the royal family's inner circle was a testament to his skill, but it was only the beginning. N'Jadaka knew that to achieve his ultimate goal, he needed to gain the trust and respect of the most powerful man in Wakanda: King T'Challa. From the outset, N'Jadaka displayed an unmatched dedication to the protection and prosperity of Wakanda. His knowledge of the world beyond their borders, combined with his military prowess, quickly set him apart from others. He volunteered for the most dangerous missions, often returning with vital intelligence and, more importantly, victories that bolstered Wakanda's security. His actions did not go unnoticed. The Wakandan elite began to whisper his name, recognizing him as a formidable warrior and a strategic mind. His true test came during a particularly dire threat. A splinter cell of mercenaries equipped with advanced stolen technology attempted to breach Wakanda's defenses. The attack was sudden and vicious, aiming to exploit weaknesses in the kingdom's border security. It was N'Jadaka who led the counter-attack, his combat skills on full display as he fought alongside the Dora Milaje. His leadership was decisive, his strategies flawless, and his bravery unmatched. By the end of the battle, the mercenaries were defeated, their leaders captured, and Wakanda's borders secured once more.
King T'Challa, ever vigilant and discerning, took note of N'Jadaka's actions. He saw in him a kindred spirit, a warrior who shared his passion for protecting their nation. But T'Challa also saw something deeper, a burning intensity in N'Jadaka's eyes that spoke of a personal vendetta, a drive that went beyond mere duty. Intrigued and impressed, T'Challa decided to bring N'Jadaka closer to see what truly motivated this fierce and enigmatic man. Acknowledging his skills and strength, T'Challa appointed N'Jadaka to the prestigious position of royal guard. This role was not given lightly; it was a position of immense trust and responsibility. As a royal guard, N'Jadaka was now one of the king's most trusted protectors, privy to the innermost workings of the palace and the royal family. It was a position that came with its own set of challenges and expectations, but N'Jadaka met them all with a steadfast resolve. The appointment was a significant milestone in N'Jadaka's journey. It granted him unprecedented access to the heart of Wakanda's power structure. He attended strategic meetings, where he observed and learned from T'Challa and his advisors. He was present at royal functions, gaining insight into the political landscape and the various factions within Wakanda. Each day, he grew more adept at navigating the intricate dynamics of the court, his influence quietly expanding.
N'Jadaka's presence in the royal guard also brought him closer to the vibranium reserves, the lifeblood of Wakanda's technological superiority. He began to understand the true extent of the kingdom's resources and the potential they held. He saw how vibranium could be used not just for defense but for global domination. This knowledge fueled his ambition, sharpening his focus on his ultimate goal. King T'Challa, ever the keen observer, often sparred with N'Jadaka in the training grounds, testing his mettle and gaining a deeper understanding of the man who now stood as his protector. Their sparring sessions were intense, a dance of strength and skill that left both men with a profound respect for each other. Yet, behind N'Jadaka's respectful demeanor, there was always a hint of something darker, something that T'Challa couldn't quite place but was too intrigued to ignore. As N'Jadaka stood watch over King T'Challa, his mind was always two steps ahead, planning his next move. He knew that the trust he had gained was fragile, that one misstep could unravel all he had worked for. But he also knew that he was destined for greatness, that his path was set, and that nothing would deter him from his goal. In the heart of Wakanda, amidst the vibranium and the traditions, N'Jadaka carved out his place, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He was no longer just a man on a mission; he was a force of nature, an unstoppable tide that would soon crash against the shores of Wakanda, changing its landscape forever. And when that moment came, the world would know his name, not as N'Jadaka, but as Killmonger, the man who would rise from the shadows to claim his rightful place on the throne.
Standing on the outskirts of Wakanda, watching the sunset over the horizon, I feel a sense of satisfaction washes over me. Our plan is unfolding perfectly, and soon, all of Wakanda will bow to our will. The royal family, the warriors, even the common folkāall will come to understand the true power that CERBERUS wields. For now, I remain in the shadows, my presence unseen, my actions unnoticed. But the day will come when I step into the light when the world sees the true mastermind behind Wakanda's fall. Until then, I continue to weave my web of deceit and manipulation, guiding N'Jadaka's every move. Watching N'Jadaka rise through the ranks has been a spectacle of my design. Every battle he fights, every strategic decision he makes, all bear my influence. He is the perfect instrument of my will, a force of nature honed to perfection. His recent appointment as a royal guard is a testament to my success. King T'Challa, in his naivety, believes he has found an ally, but he has welcomed a wolf into his fold.
I think back to the moment I handed over the corpse of the arms dealer to N'Jadaka. It was a pivotal moment, one that cemented his position and gained him the trust of the Wakandan elite. The arms dealer had been a significant threat, his thefts of vibranium and subsequent weapon sales a direct attack on Wakanda's sovereignty. His death, orchestrated by my hand, was more than a victory; it was a symbol. Now, with N'Jadaka as a royal guard, we have unprecedented access to the heart of Wakanda's power. The vibranium reserves, the technological advancements, the strategic secretsāall within our grasp. Each day, I monitor his progress, ensuring that every move aligns with CERBERUS's grand design. The more he integrates into their society, the closer we get to our ultimate goal. The time is fast approaching when I will no longer need to hide. The world will see the true power behind CERBERUS, and they will tremble. Our enemies will fall, and those who doubted us will beg for mercy. But there will be none. Our new world order will be established on the ruins of the old, and we will rule with an iron fist. For now, I am content to watch from the shadows, my influence unseen but ever-present. As I turn away from the breathtaking view of Wakanda, a sense of anticipation surges through me. The pieces are in place, the game is set, and the final moves are within our grasp. I step back into the shadows, my mind focused, my purpose clear.
[Erik Killmonger POV]
[Weeks Later, Royal Palace, Wakanda]
Today's the day. Challenge day. The perfect opportunity to take the throne via ritual combat. I stand in the corridors of the Royal Palace, my mind a storm of anticipation and resolve. Weeks of meticulous planning, careful maneuvering, and calculated displays of loyalty have led to this moment. Every move I've made, every battle I've fought, has brought me closer to this point. I can feel the weight of destiny pressing down on me, urging me forward. As I prepare myself for the challenge, I think back to my journey. My life has been a relentless pursuit of justice, shaped by pain and fueled by a burning desire for vengeance. My father's death, the abandonment by Wakanda, the years spent in the shadowsāeach experience has forged me into a weapon, honed my instincts, and sharpened my resolve. Today, I will claim what is rightfully mine, not just for myself but for every one of my ancestors who suffered in silence. The palace is a hive of activity, the air thick with anticipation and tension. Servants and guards move with purpose, preparing the sacred arena for the ritual combat. I catch glimpses of the Wakandan elite. They know who I am and what I represent. They whisper my nameāN'Jadaka, Erik Killmongerāwith a mixture of fear and respect. They know that today is different and that today marks the beginning of a new era.
I make my way to the training grounds for one last preparation. The sun is high, casting a golden glow over the palace. The heat is oppressive, but it fuels my determination. I remove my shirt, exposing the scars that cover my body, each one a testament to my battles. I begin my routine, every movement precise and powerful, every strike a promise of what is to come. My muscles ripple with controlled strength, my breath steady and focused. As I train, my mind drifts to T'Challa. He is a formidable opponent, a warrior, and a king. But he is also a symbol of everything I despise about Wakandaātheir isolationism, their refusal to help those who need it most, and their arrogance. He is the guardian of a legacy built on the suffering of others, and today, I will tear down that legacy. I will expose the rot at the heart of Wakanda and rebuild it in my image, a nation that stands for justice and power. The time for the challenge draws near, and I am summoned to the arena. The walk to the sacred waterfall is a long one, each step echoing with the weight of history and tradition. The path is lined with Wakandans, their eyes fixed on me, their faces a tapestry of emotions. Some cheer, some jeer, but all watch with rapt attention. They know that today, history will be made.
[The Great Waterfall, Wakanda]
At the edge of the waterfall, the arena comes into view. The elders stand in a solemn line, their expressions grave and contemplative. T'Challa is already there, his gaze steady and unyielding. He is dressed in his ceremonial garb, the Black Panther mantle draped over his shoulders. He looks every bit the king he is, but I see beyond the regal facade. I see a man who underestimates me, a man who does not yet understand the storm that is about to be unleashed. The rituals begin, the sacred chants filling the air, reverberating off the cliffs, and echoing through the valley. I feel the eyes of my ancestors upon me, their spirits urging me on. This is my moment, my chance to claim the throne and fulfill my destiny. From one of the waterfall's rock ledges, I watch as Zuri strips T'Challa of the Black Panther powers. The sacred heart-shaped herb, once the source of his incredible strength and agility, is no longer in his veins. He stands before me, merely a man stripped of the mantle that has defined him. For a brief moment, I wonder how much T'Challa relies on the Black Panther enhancement over raw skills. Is he truly the warrior he claims to be, or has he been leaning on the crutch of superhuman abilities all along?
I scrutinize his every move, the way he squares his shoulders and prepares for the fight. There's confidence in his stance but also a vulnerability, a hint of uncertainty that wasn't there before. Without the power of the Black Panther, he is just like meāa man fighting with nothing but his training, his instincts, and his will to survive. My thoughts drift to our upbringing, worlds apart yet bound by the same bloodline. While T'Challa grew up surrounded by the luxuries and privileges of Wakanda, I was forged in the fires of adversity. I learned to fight, to survive, and to conquer without the aid of mystical herbs or advanced technology. Every scar on my body is a testament to battles fought and won with nothing but my own strength and cunning. This fight, this challenge, is not just about taking the throne. It's about proving that I, Erik Killmonger, am the rightful heir, not because of some ancestral power but because I am the better warrior. As I watch Zuri administer the ritual, I can't help but feel a twinge of disdain for the traditions of Wakanda. They've hidden behind their advanced technology and secretive ways for too long, while the rest of the world suffered. T'Challa embodies these outdated idealsānoble, perhaps, but naive. Today, I will show him the reality of the world and the harsh truths that he has been sheltered from.
Zuri addresses the crowd. "Victory in ritual combat comes by yield or death," he says, his voice resonating with authority and tradition, "Any tribe who wishes to bring forward one of their warriors, I now offer a path to the throne." The words hang in the air, heavy with the weight of history and expectation. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing the intensity of the moment. I scan the faces of the gathered tribes, their expressions a mix of reverence and hesitation. Each of them contemplates the challenge, the opportunity to claim the throne of Wakanda. One by one, the tribes present in the arena decline the challenge. The Jabari, the Border Tribe, the Mining Tribe, the Merchant Tribe, and the River Tribeāall of them stand down. Their leaders bow their heads in submission, their warriors step back, and a murmur of acquiescence ripples through the crowd. It takes every inch of my willpower to not display my disdain for their weakness. I clench my fists, my nails digging into my palms, the sharp pain grounding me, keeping my rage in check. These are the same tribes that have stood by and watched as Wakanda turned its back on the world, the same tribes that have benefited from the isolation and secrecy that I despise.
I look at their warriors, men and women who have been trained in the arts of combat and who carry the pride and honor of their tribes. Yet here they stand, unwilling to seize the opportunity to fight for what they believe in. Do they believe in anything at all? Or are they content to live in the shadows of their ancestors, too afraid to step into the light and claim their destiny? As the silence stretches, my mind races. I've seen what fear and complacency can do to a person. I've witnessed the devastation wrought by those who choose safety over justice, who turn a blind eye to suffering because it is easier than taking a stand. That's not who I am. That's not what I've been molded into. Every challenge, every battle, has taught me to fight, to seize every opportunity with both hands, to carve my own path, no matter the cost. The crowd's deference only fuels my determination. I will not be like them, cowering in the face of destiny. I am Erik Killmonger, and I have fought too hard and sacrificed too much to let this moment slip away. My disdain for their weakness is not just a personal contempt; it is a rejection of everything they represent. Their reluctance only strengthens my resolve to bring about the change that Wakanda desperately needs.
Zuri's eyes meet mine for a brief moment, and I see the recognition there, the understanding of what is to come. His voice cuts through the murmurs, bringing silence back to the arena. "Is there no one else?" he asks, his tone a mix of challenge and resignation. No one steps forward. The path to the throne lies open before me, and I step forward with purpose. My heart is a storm of anticipation and resolve. I am ready. This is my time. I will show them what true strength looks like and what it means to fight for justice and change. As I approach the center of the arena, all eyes are on me. The silence is deafening, the anticipation palpable. I am the storm that will wash away the old ways, the fire that will forge a new Wakanda.
I hear the elders speak in protest. Their voices rise above the murmurs of the crowd, filled with indignation and disbelief. "This man cannot partake in the challenge. He's an outsider! He is not Wakandan!" The words cut through the air like a knife, an attempt to dismiss me, to deny my right to stand here. Their objections are laced with fear, a desperate attempt to cling to their old ways, to the status quo that has kept them comfortable and powerful. I turn to glare at them, my eyes blazing with a fury that has been building for years. I see their faces, etched with age and tradition, their expressions a mix of shock and outrage. They see me as a threat, an anomaly, an intruder in their sacred rituals. But they are wrong. I am more Wakandan than any of them, for I carry the pain and suffering of our people in my very soul. "That's where you're wrong, old timers," I say, my voice steady and powerful, cutting through the cacophony of dissent. "I am Wakandan. I am the forgotten son Wakanda abandoned! THE SON OF THE MAN WAKANDA MURDERED!" My words echo through the arena, reverberating off the cliffs and resonating in the hearts of those who listen. The crowd falls silent. "My name is N'Jadaka. Son of N'Jobu." I continue, my voice filled with the raw emotion of years spent in the shadows, yearning for this moment. I see the recognition in their eyes, the dawning realization of who I am and what I represent. My father's name, once a whisper of rebellion and betrayal, now rings out with a power that cannot be ignored. N'Jobu, the man who dared to dream of a Wakanda that reached out to the world and paid the ultimate price for his vision.
I can see the elders' faces change, their defiance faltering as the truth of my words sinks in. They know my story, even if they have tried to bury it. They know that the blood of Wakanda runs in my veins, that I am as much a part of this land as they are. But unlike them, I have seen the suffering outside our borders, felt the sting of betrayal, and survived the crucible of exile. I turn my gaze to the crowd, meeting the eyes of the Wakandans who have gathered to witness this momentous occasion. "Wakanda has thrived while the rest of the world has suffered," I say, my voice carrying the conviction of my experiences, "Wakanda has the power to make a difference. But instead, they hide away, hoarding their riches and technology. That ends today. I am here to claim the throne and to fulfill the dream of my father." The elders, though still resistant, cannot deny the truth of my heritage. They exchange glances, their protestations dying on their lips as they realize the inevitability of this moment. I stand tall, my chest heaving with the intensity of my emotions, every fiber of my being prepared for the battle that lies ahead. "This is my right," I declare, my voice unwavering, "This is my destiny. Today, I will prove that I am worthy of the throne." The arena is silent, all eyes on me as I prepare to take the final steps toward my destiny. The challenge awaits, and I am ready to show them all the true strength of N'Jadaka, the forgotten son who has returned to claim his place.
