The clash had reached its breaking point. Sabretooth had T'Challa pinned down when a sharp metallic clattering echoed through the chamber. A group of bald women in dark armor rushed in, spears raised. They were none other than the Dora Milaje, the old king's elite guards.
For Mystique, who remained disguised as the frail old king, their arrival was an expected advantage. She had already accounted for this moment. With the surveillance device she had secretly installed on her person, everyone present could see what appeared to be T'Challa launching an unprovoked attack on his father.
The scene looked damning. The prince had not uttered a word of explanation, had not attempted a plea or warning. Instead, he had charged at the king immediately. To the guards, the act was nothing short of betrayal.
The Dora Milaje hesitated. Some sensed inconsistencies, but with such irrefutable "evidence," their duty was clear. They began to move in, preparing to restrain the prince.
"Wait!" a sharp, youthful voice rang from outside the chamber. Shuri burst into the room, her small frame pushing past the guards. Her eyes were wide with disbelief. "There must be some mistake. My brother isn't like that!"
Behind her came the queen, T'Challa's mother, unable to hold her daughter back. Her voice shook as she called out, torn between fear and confusion.
Shuri rushed forward, her words urgent. "My brother must be under control. He would never attack Father!" She had run here the moment she heard of her brother's visit to the king, intent on helping, only to find this nightmare unfolding.
The princess refused to accept what she saw. Her brother was the heir, the only son of the king. He had undergone the sacred ritual of the Heart-Shaped Herb and been entrusted with the mantle of Black Panther. He was groomed to succeed the throne. Why would he ever turn on their father?
Those present felt the same unease. T'Challa's silence was unsettling. Pinned down, his expression showed no fear or anger. Instead, it was blank, almost lifeless, as if the spirit had been drained from him. Even the relatively inexperienced guards knew of such things. Mutants existed everywhere, even in Africa, and they had heard tales of strange abilities that could dominate body and mind.
But the king, played by Mystique, looked unwavering. She smiled inwardly, her voice smooth. "Do not be deceived. No one in Magneto's Brotherhood has such powers. Mind control? Impossible. There are no mutants among us with that kind of ability."
Inwardly, Mystique mocked the suggestion. A telepath with such mastery would hardly waste their time in Magneto's Brotherhood. Those with psychic gifts could live lives of luxury if they wished. Reading minds alone could make them billionaires. They could thrive as lawyers, therapists, negotiators, or even gamblers. Why would someone with such gifts live as a hunted terrorist?
Mystique leaned into her performance. "If you think otherwise, then test him. Shuri, check if anything has been done to your brother."
Shuri, still trembling with denial, nodded. She did not take T'Challa back to her laboratory. Instead, she pulled a Kimoyo bead from her wrist. Her hands shook, but her voice was steady as she whispered, "Let me see the truth."
These beads were Wakanda's most advanced medical and diagnostic devices, entrusted to every citizen. If something had gone seriously wrong with T'Challa's body, the device should have sounded an alert already. Shuri had noticed peculiarities in his bead before, but could not explain them. Now she was determined to find the answer.
Mystique knew her position was tenuous. Had it not been for her shape-shifting powers, capable of altering even fingerprints, pupils, and blood type, she would have been exposed by Wakanda's technology long ago.
As the bead activated, T'Challa's pupils dilated unnaturally. The display flickered, scanning deeper. Shuri's version of the beads was the most advanced in Wakanda. She had modified her own to exceed the limits of vibranium-based diagnostics. Few machines in the world could rival them.
What it found should have been impossible to hide. The bead projected results, but before Shuri could interpret them fully, T'Challa's body convulsed violently. His eyes bulged, veins crawling across his forehead like dark snakes.
"Brother? What's going on? Brother!" Shuri screamed, her voice cracking.
Then came the horror. With a sickening pop followed by a thunderous crack, T'Challa's head exploded.
Blood and bone sprayed across the chamber. Fragments of skull scattered as gray matter splattered the floor. Shuri stumbled backward, covered in crimson droplets, her eyes wide with terror.
From within the ruin of T'Challa's head, several small Ultron robots burst forth. They expanded as they emerged, growing larger and larger, metallic limbs clicking into place.
The scene was beyond grotesque. Even Shin, watching with his enhanced perception, was stunned. For a moment, he doubted his senses. He turned his gaze, scanning every detail, but the truth was undeniable. T'Challa was gone. The Black Panther had been slain in the most brutal fashion.
'He didn't even have his Black Panther suit… oh, right. That necklace-based version hasn't been developed yet.'
Shin's thoughts raced. 'And what about Bast, the Panther God? Shouldn't she intervene? Or the spirits of Wakanda's ancestors? Is no one going to protect him?'
Frustration boiled in his chest. T'Challa might not have been as central to the Avengers as Stark or Rogers, but did that mean his death would simply be ignored? Would the so-called higher powers stand aside because he was not deemed important enough?
Shin clenched his fists. He was tired of seeing side characters cut down so mercilessly.
Then realization struck. The robots hadn't just crawled out of nowhere. They had grown. Expanded.
'Pym particles,' Shin thought grimly. 'Only Pym particles could cause that kind of change in size.'
His eyes narrowed, studying the robots carefully. Their heads bore insectoid shapes, like grotesque ants fashioned from steel. The design was unmistakable.
"These Ultron robots… they were made by Dr. Pym?!"
The truth clicked into place. Ultron must have stolen a fragment of Hank Pym's technology. Clearly, it had only obtained a limited amount of Pym particles, not the formula itself. These robots had been hidden inside T'Challa's skull at miniature size, expanding only when triggered.
That explained why Ultron had not deployed vast armies of micro-robots to infiltrate humanity. It wasn't a matter of imagination but of limitation. It had no way to mass-produce them. Only a handful of units existed, remnants of stolen particles.
Even Shin, hardened by countless battles, found the sight deeply unsettling. T'Challa's skull had been nothing more than an incubation chamber for Ultron's monstrosities.
For the Wakandans, the scene was devastating. Horror spread through the crowd as they realized their prince, their protector, had been murdered in such an abominable way. They did not understand Pym particles or the science behind it. To them, the only truth was that Ultron's machines had killed their heir in a spectacle of blood and ruin.
Anger boiled within their hearts, mixing with terror. Their Black Panther was dead. Their kingdom had lost its prince.
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Now available - Chapter 634: Battle of Taurus