Shin wasn't aware of all the hidden intricacies surrounding Wakanda's throne, but even without understanding the finer details, he could tell there was something very wrong with this version of T'Challa. The Black Panther standing in the palace hall was most likely being controlled by Ultron.
The situation was layered with deception. On one side, Black Panther T'Challa was compromised by external control. On the other hand, the king sitting on the throne was not the true ruler of Wakanda, but Mystique in disguise. Each played a role in this dangerous drama, and each carried their own agenda.
After a few terse exchanges, T'Challa finally spoke, his voice carrying tension.
"Father, I have something I'd like to discuss with you alone."
Mystique, cloaked in the guise of the old Wakandan king, felt a jolt of wariness. "Alone with me," he had said. To her seasoned instincts, it sounded suspiciously like a prelude to confrontation. She knew T'Challa was no fool. If Ultron controlled him, then the machines behind his eyes would be pushing toward some hidden agenda.
Mystique had been in Wakanda long enough to understand its traditions. The Black Panther, chosen by ritual and empowered by the heart-shaped herb, carried strength that rivaled enhanced soldiers like Captain America. Even if T'Challa was under some form of control, the physical danger he posed was undeniable.
Mystique's own combat ability was limited. While her shapeshifting had allowed her to impersonate generals, kings, and diplomats across the world, her physical abilities only placed her slightly above a trained soldier. Seven or eight ordinary men, she can confront while an enhanced warrior, far less likely.
Still, Mystique never relied on raw strength alone. Her survival came from preparation. Smiling calmly in her disguise, she gave a small nod of acceptance to her "son's" request, all while secretly pressing a switch hidden beneath her wrist.
On the surface, the two appeared to be stepping aside for a private talk, but Shin, watching from a distance with his enhanced perception, had already seen through the façade. Several mutants loyal to Magneto, Sabretooth among them, slipped into the palace halls, positioning themselves like shadows waiting to strike.
Mystique might not match T'Challa in hand-to-hand combat, but she was still a seasoned assassin and spy. The robes and bulk of the false king concealed a small arsenal. Cold steel and vibranium-modified firearms were strapped beneath the regal attire, ready to unleash at a moment's notice.
From Shin's perspective, Ultron's ploy seemed unnecessary. With machines as small as the sesame-seed-sized robots he had detected in T'Challa's brain, wouldn't it be simpler to deploy them across Wakanda's leadership and control the nation outright?
But reality was more complicated. Earth's technology wasn't capable of producing such miniature, sophisticated machines en masse. The only reason these even existed was because of the shrinking power of Pym Particles. Ultron had scavenged what little remained of them, shrinking his drones into sub-cellular infiltrators.
Yet Pym Particles were finite. Without the formula itself, Ultron's supply dwindled with each use. At this point, only a handful remained, and most had been spent securing control of T'Challa. Even now, Ultron balanced the risk of depleting them completely.
Shin realized the implications. If Ultron ever mastered full-scale use of Pym Particles combined with artificial intelligence, humanity would stand no chance. Imagine an endless swarm of robots, smaller than ants, infiltrating human bodies, controlling governments, and setting off nuclear arsenals. Earth would collapse in days, no matter how many superheroes existed.
In the world of comics, heroes always managed to resist. But in real terms, Ultron's technology would leave even the most powerful nations defenseless. Shin tightened his fists. He could not allow Ultron to gain such dominance.
Meanwhile, inside the throne room, the confrontation escalated.
Without another word, Black Panther lunged toward the false king. His movements were fluid, efficient, and deadly—too efficient for someone under free will. It was Ultron guiding his body, aiming to subdue Mystique and prepare her for infiltration.
The robots in T'Challa's head were already primed. Once he made contact, they intended to leap into the disguised king's mind, seize control, and expand Ultron's influence further. With both "father" and "son" under his thrall, Wakanda would be Ultron's.
But Mystique wasn't so easily cornered. In a single fluid motion, the old king's bulky frame leapt backward with an agility no real monarch of his age could possibly possess. She landed with catlike grace, pulling free a concealed weapon in the same instant.
"Guards! Guards, come and protect me! T'Challa has gone mad!" Mystique bellowed in the old king's voice, every tone convincing to the untrained ear.
Ultron, from within T'Challa's mind, reeled. This wasn't how the scenario was supposed to play out. The king was supposed to be slow, weak, and pliable. Yet this figure moved like a predator in disguise, wielding hidden tools with deadly precision.
Before Ultron could reassess, Mystique unleashed a vibranium-powered sidearm. A beam of concentrated energy shot across the hall, slicing into T'Challa's leg. The blast seared through flesh and muscle, forcing the Black Panther into a limp.
Though T'Challa's body was hardened by the heart-shaped herb, pain suppressed by Ultron's programming, the damage to his mobility was undeniable. His enhanced healing would take days to repair such a wound. For now, his speed was crippled.
Mystique didn't waste the advantage. She darted across the chamber, still maintaining the guise of the king, calling for help at every step. The two circled the palace halls in a deadly dance—one fighting for dominance, the other for survival.
Then the doors burst open with a thunderous rumble.
Sabretooth stormed in first, towering and wild, his claws gleaming in the dim light. His eyes locked instantly on T'Challa, recognizing prey that needed subduing.
Ultron hesitated for a fraction of a second. Sabretooth? In Wakanda? Shouldn't the guards rushing to aid the king be Wakandan warriors? Why was a white mutant leading the charge?
The incongruity flickered across Ultron's borrowed mind. If he were truly T'Challa, memories of Wakanda's traditions would have made the deception glaringly obvious. But Ultron was a machine, borrowing scraps of consciousness, unable to truly grasp human subtleties. The strangeness registered, but he lacked the instinct to question it.
Sabretooth wasted no time. He lunged at the limping Black Panther, claws slashing, hands grabbing with brutal force.
Normally, T'Challa in his prime, even without his vibranium suit, could hold his ground for a time against Sabretooth. His agility and precision were formidable. Over time, however, Sabretooth's healing factor and raw ferocity would tip the scales in his favor.
But this was not T'Challa at his best. With one leg crippled and Ultron's control making his movements fractionally delayed, his defenses faltered. In just two brutal exchanges, Sabretooth had him pinned to the palace floor.
The Black Panther, symbol of Wakanda, lay helpless under the weight of Magneto's savage lieutenant.
And above them, the drama of Ultron's hidden schemes, Mystique's deception, and Wakanda's fragile future loomed ever larger.
*******************************
If you would like to gain early access, you can join me at www.patre on.com/bookbattalion
Now available - Chapter 626: Shin Makes a Move