AlienWarlord
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C446 Spider-Man
🕑 Added 2023-08-22 08:00:38 +0000 UTCAmidst the echoes of the tense argument between T’Challa and T’Chaka, ripples began to spread among the various tribes of Wakanda. Whispers of the confrontation between the King and his son and the story of Killmonger reached even the ears of those who had not witnessed it firsthand. As the news spread, murmurs of discontent swirled through the Golden Tribe, carrying with them a sense of unease about the future of the nation.
Despite T’Chaka’s wishes to remove the threat posed by Killmonger, T’Challa's resolute refusal to abandon his cousin cast a shadow over his father's efforts. Sadly, for T’Chaka, his sons actions seemed to resonate with many members of the Golden Tribe who valued family and loyalty above all else.
Seeing this, T’Chaka begrudgingly allowed Killmonger to stay within the palace walls, his mind preoccupied with the impending coronation of his son. He hoped that keeping Killmonger close might give him some semblance of control over the situation, even if it meant risking the potential for discord within his own family.
Killmonger’s crimes involving vibranium and the deaths he had caused weighed heavily on T’Chaka's mind, but to his dismay, Wakanda’s isolationist policies played in the favor of his nephew. The insular nature of Wakandan society meant that they rarely concerned themselves with the affairs of those outside their borders, making the deaths of foreigners a non-issue in the eyes of the nation.
‘And I can’t even charge him for theft, since he is a Wakandan prince… How can he not have Vibranium? Especially when he stole it from the outside world…’ T’Chaka sighed in annoyance as he watched his nephew skulk around the palace, obviously up to no good.
Amidst the backdrop of family turmoil and political machinations, the grand ceremony to crown the new King of Wakanda was set in motion. At a secluded area of the nation, surrounded by towering waterfalls and lush vegetation, representatives from every Wakandan tribe assembled. The colorful clothing they wore represented their unique heritage, creating a vibrant mosaic of tradition and unity.
Standing amidst the tribes, Peter, MJ, Lily, and the other Avengers Council members stood out in their more modern attire. Lily's curious gaze fell on Shuri, and she couldn't resist the urge to inquire. "Hey, why are we here at the waterfalls? I mean, I know it looks amazing, but why? Is your brother being crowned here?"
Shuri turned her attention to Lily with a warm smile, happy to explain. "This is where the challenge for the throne takes place. By tradition, my brother, the Black Panther, must face the challenges set forth by the leaders of the other tribes. If he succeeds, he'll become king. If not, the tribe that prevails will take the throne instead."
Interest ignited in the eyes of the Avengers Council members. What was initially anticipated as a straightforward ceremony had transformed into something far more intriguing. Their attention remained fixed on the proceedings ahead.
Suddenly, a small Wakandan ship appeared on the horizon, its presence signaling the arrival of T’Challa. Dressed in tribal shorts and adorned with panther-styled paint, T’Challa leaped gracefully from the ship, landing within the shallow pool of water at the base of the falls, holding a. spear and shield in each hand. The water barely reached past his ankles as he stood with an air of regal confidence.
As the ship retreated, the gathered crowd burst into a rhythmic chant, a hauntingly beautiful melody that seemed to reverberate through the very air itself. The song was an ode to tradition, an ancient call to honor and unity that resonated deep within the hearts of all Wakandans present.
The tension in the air was thick as a man in purple robes stepped forward, silencing the chanting with his presence alone. “I, Zuri, Son of Badu, give to you, Prince T'Challa, the Black Panther!” The Elders watch as Zuri holds up a ceremonial cup with a mysterious concoction inside.
“The Prince will now have the strength of the Black Panther stripped away!” Zuri exclaims as he turns to T’Challa and pours the solution into his open mouth.
T'Challa reacts violently, choking on the red fluid. He collapses into the water and spasms for a brief moment, his veins expanding and his muscles contracting as the poison spreads through him. But soon enough, he stops shaking and takes a few breaths, feeling the power that was once bestowed upon him disappear.
Zuri turns back to the crowd. “Damaku!”
“Damaku…” The crowd answers in unison.
“Victory in ritual combat comes by yield or death. If any tribe wishes to put forth a warrior, I now offer a path to the throne.” Zuri states, waiting patiently for their reply.
T’Challa stood before the gathered tribes, the waterfalls serving as a picturesque backdrop to the event. His eyes met those of the tribe leaders, each one representing a different facet of Wakanda's culture and heritage. As the future king, he knew that the challenges they presented would be anything but easy.
Lily, standing beside her parents, Peter and MJ, glanced at Shuri with wide eyes. "So, he has to fight one person from each tribe?"
Shuri nodded with a nervous look I her face. "Yes, but they can choose to not participate. Only one tribe chose to fight when my father was crowned king. Hopefully, my brother will have the same luck."
Peter leaned over and whispered to the Ancient One, "Looks like things are starting to get interesting.” He said as he peaked over his shoulder.
Following his gaze, the Ancient One could see Killmonger hiding behind the crowd, waiting for his opportunity. “Should we warn T’Chaka?”
Peter shook his head, noticing that T’Chaka seemed to be peaking over his shoulder as well. “I think he already knows.”
Meanwhile, Killmonger watched the proceedings with a mixture of interest and calculation. He had his own plans for this ceremony, but patience was key.
As the ceremony was underway, T’Challa turned his attention to the first tribe leader of the merchant tribe, who stepped forward with an ornate spear in hand. The crowd fell silent, anticipation hanging heavy in the air. The tribe leader spoke with a voice that carried authority, addressing T’Challa directly. "The Merchant Tribe will not challenge today!"
Next, the Border, River, and Mining Tribes stepped up one by one and spoke the same words, refusing to challenge the future King. Seeing this, T’Challa seemed to relax as a smile adorned his face. His people accepted him fully, which was rare for this type of ceremony.
Only one person didn’t look happy about this turn of events. ‘What a bunch of f*cking cowards…’ Killmonger clicked his tongue in annoyance.
Just as the atmosphere started turning friendly, a distant rumble caught everyone's attention. Heads turned toward the entrance of the ceremonial area, where a group of figures emerged from the lush forest. Their arrival was accompanied by the deep, resounding rhythm of heavy drums, the beats echoing like the heartbeat of Wakanda itself.
It was the Jabari tribe, known for their reclusive nature and their reverence for the old ways. Their imposing leader, M'Baku, stood at the forefront, his presence commanding attention as he stepped forward with purpose. The Jabari wore fur-trimmed attire and carried large wooden staffs, their imposing figures and primal aura setting them apart from the other tribes.
As they marched, their chants intensified, a thunderous roar that sent vibrations through the ground itself. The onlookers watched in awe as the Jabari approached the pool, their imposing figures forming a circle around T’Challa. The other tribes exchanged glances, a mixture of intrigue and concern etched on their faces.
T’Challa's gaze met M'Baku's, their eyes locking in a silent exchange that spoke volumes. The challenge was unmistakable. The Jabari were not content to merely observe, they intended to contest the throne.
A hushed murmur of uncertainty rippled through the gathered tribes. The rules dictated that any tribe could challenge the current Black Panther for the throne, but few expected the Jabari to show up. The fact that they had come all the way from their mountainous domain to participate spoke volumes about the gravity of their intent.
M'Baku's deep voice resonated as he raised his arms, his commanding presence filling the air. "I, M'Baku of the Jabari, challenge T’Challa, the current Black Panther, for the throne of Wakanda!"
T’Challa's expression remained steady, his pride and resolve unwavering. He stepped forward, facing M'Baku with the regal demeanor expected of a king. "I accept your challenge."
“Kick his a*s brother!” Shuri exclaimed, receiving a disapproving look from her parents.
“Yeah! Kick his a*s!” Lily joined her, shocking many of the Wakandans.
The tension in the air was palpable as the two leaders stood before one another, the ceremonial area now transformed into an arena of tradition and legacy. The drumbeats continued, punctuating each heartbeat of the gathered onlookers.
As the ceremonial drums reached a feverish crescendo, M'Baku and T’Challa moved to the center of the pool, the symbolic battleground where their fates would be determined. The challenge had been made, and now it was time to fight.
The two combatants circled each other, their movements graceful and precise. T’Challa's training and instincts guided him, allowing him to anticipate his opponent's every move. As the tribe leader lunged forward, T’Challa sidestepped and countered with a fluid strike of his own.
The combat was a dance of agility and skill, the clash of weapons reverberating through the air. T’Challa's movements were like a flowing river, adapting to every shift in the battle. But M’Baku fought like an angry bear, powering through like a ravenous monster.
After almost thirty minutes I’d fighting, With a well-timed maneuver, T’Challa managed to disarm his opponent, his spear skimming across the water before falling off of the nearby waterfall cliff.
T’Challa held his spear to his opponents throat. “Yield!” He commanded.
“…” M’Baku paused for a moment, fists tightened as he contemplated his options. “Fine… You won this time.”
The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as T’Challa emerged victorious, his demeanor composed but his eyes alight with triumph. M’Baku acknowledged T’Challa's prowess with a respectful nod, then stepped back and prepared to leave alongside his tribe. After all, they didn’t care about what happened next.
Shuri bounced in excitement, showing just how happy she was for her brothers victory. Even her parents, who had to put up a calm and regal appearance, could barely contain their emotions.
Zuri steps up once again and speaks the words that T’Chaka was dreading. “Is there any member of royal blood who wishes to challenge for the throne?”
Shuri smirked and raised her hand, enjoying a collective gasp from the entire gathering. “This corset is really uncomfortable. So could we all just wrap it up and go home?
Sighing in relief, her mother swatted her upside the head, as the many elders in attendance groan in annoyance. Though the many young Wakandans amongst them could be heard laughing at her little joke.
And this would be a picturesque, happy ending for T’Challa’s Kingship ceremony, but sadly, not everything can be so easy.
Peter, The Ancient One, and T’Chaka watched as Killmonger pushed through the crowd and dropped into the pool. “Prince N’Jadaka of the Golden Tribe challenges Prince T’Challa for the throne!”
A/N: 1900 words :)
