Unknownfate
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Chapter 137
🕑 Added 2025-05-24 15:45:22 +0000 UTCThe UN summit had truly gone off the rails.
It had been called to deal with Albion, to either find a way to impose sanctions on them, to starve them into submission, or to find some way of dealing with their military power and liberate the United Kingdoms.
Yet, with Arthuria showing up with Mordred, there was no way anyone dared to mention anything along those lines.
After all, Mordred looked mighty intimidating in that armour, and blood dripping down from her sword, clearly telling everyone why their guards hadn’t rushed in yet.
Mordred had earned her reputation as a mad murderer, and none dared to even breathe too loudly around her, for fear of her swinging her sword in their general direction.
The only people who could keep their heads tall were those who believed in themselves, Magneto, Fury, and Doom, though Fury was mostly just too stubborn to lower his head, while the others had the strength to back them up.
For Fury, the sight of all these world leaders sitting like obedient school children in front of their principal just further reinforced the idea that only by having superpowers on their side could they properly deal with rogue elements.
“You say that my Albion is a rogue state… but who gave you the right to decide that? Who gave you the right to decide things on behalf of humanity? You are rulers of your own nations, not mine, and certainly not earth or humanity.” I scolded the gathered people as I stood at the central podium.
What followed my words was a blanket of silence, none dared to speak, which I expected, yet still, it was just a tiny bit awkward to speak and then be ignored, even if I knew they didn’t ignore me.
“The United Nations is a platform for nations to unite, to stand together to solve problems that affect us all. It naturally has a certain level of ability to speak for humanity as a whole, as the vast majority of nations stand here together.” Finally, a voice spoke up, breaking the silence.
Immediately, countless eyes were on the person speaking up. Everyone wanted to know what brave and possibly foolish person would dare speak up against the Lion King herself.
I, too, turned my head towards them, and instantly as I saw the sign on their table, I knew who I was dealing with, and understood why they dared to speak up.
Because that elderly, dark-skinned man who spoke up was the representative and king of Wakanda.
T'Chaka his back straight, his gaze sharp and unyielding, met my eyes without a hint of fear. His voice was calm, measured, carrying the quiet strength of a man who had faced more than his fair share of gods and monsters.
“King Arthuria, while you may claim divine right, the modern world is built on cooperation, on alliances forged through mutual respect and understanding. Power alone does not grant one the right to rule.”
A low rumble of murmurs filled the room, the tension crackling like a live wire. Some leaders glanced nervously at one another, others leaned in, curious to see how I would respond to the challenge.
I had expected to be challenged; this was only natural, this was a place of debate. And while I would not yield, I still wanted them to speak up, just so I could shut them down. Remove some of the legitimacy of them acting against me.
But I had not expected the one to speak up to be the king of Wakanda. More so, I was shocked at the sheer level of hypocrisy in his words.
Power doesn’t grant the right to rule? Isn’t the whole succession in Wakanda based on combat? Isn’t that the most prominent example of power giving the right to rule?
Not to mention that his tribe or clan or whatever was in charge due to that magic herb, which gave them the power to conquer the other tribes and form a nation.
I knew they weren’t particularly happy with me, and kept a close eye on Albion, did they think I didn’t know about their spies?
I was honestly at a loss for words for a moment.
I let out a slow, amused breath, my lips curling into a faint, dangerous smile as I met T'Chaka's steady gaze. "Is that so, King of Wakanda? You would speak of alliances and mutual respect? Coming from the nation that has hoarded its technology, its knowledge, its resources, while the rest of the world bled and burned?"
T'Chaka’s eyes flashed with what seemed like both regret and disbelief at my words. Clearly, he hadn’t expected me to know about Wakanda and its secrets, and he regretted speaking up, since that resulted in me spreading those secrets.
"You claim that power alone does not grant the right to rule, yet your very throne is won through ritual combat, your leadership maintained through the mystical advantage of a plant found nowhere else in the world. Is that not power? Is that not conquest? You claim to stand for unity, yet you hide in your mountain fortress, letting the world rot while you flourish in isolation."
But he recovered quickly, straightening his back further, his gaze hardening as he met my eyes without a trace of fear. “Wakanda’s ways are our own, forged through centuries of struggle and perseverance. We chose isolation to protect our people from the greed and exploitation of the outside world, to ensure our survival and prosperity.”
I raised a brow, my smile growing sharper. “And in doing so, you abandoned those you could have helped, choosing to watch from your mountain throne as the world burned. You speak of cooperation, yet you have never truly offered it. You speak of respect, yet you hide behind your technology and secrecy, judging others from afar.”
T'Chaka’s jaw tightened, the faintest hint of a snarl slipping into his tone. “You presume much, Arthuria Pendragon. You know nothing of the burdens of my people, of the sacrifices we have made to keep our way of life.”
“Sacrifices?” I countered, stepping closer to the edge of the podium, letting my voice rise to carry over the gathered diplomats. “You mean the sacrifices of others, the cost paid by those you chose to ignore, those you left to fend for themselves while you thrived in secret.”
The room fell into a stunned, breathless silence as my words cut through the air like a blade, leaving the once-confident king visibly shaken, his composure cracking for just a moment before he forced his face back into a mask of stoic defiance.
“You want the UN to interfere in my kingdom, to decide for us? Well, why not open the borders of Wakanda? Why not share the mountain of Vibranium you hide away, the precious technology you have? Flying trains? Anti-gravity, maybe?” I pressed.
I didn’t know what kind of technology they had, but I wasn’t very interested. Others had more interest in technology than I, and they would surely be looking towards Wakanda now.
T'Chaka's jaw clenched for a brief moment before he spoke again, his tone sharper now, a thin layer of anger seeping into his words. “And what of you, Arthuria? What of your Albion? You surround yourself with those of questionable character,
With mutants and warriors known for their destruction. What of Magneto? Is he not a conqueror? Do you intend to create a kingdom of the enhanced, a realm of superhumans, to dominate the rest of us?”
He leaned forward slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Will you build an empire of those who consider themselves superior to the rest of humanity? Will you gather an army of the gifted, the powerful, to enforce your will?”
Once more, attention was back on me, his words stroking their fears, yet I knew he was far from out of the fire. Plenty of intelligent people inside the room were suddenly very interested in this seemingly unremarkable little African nation.
I met his gaze, letting a low, dangerous chuckle slip past my lips, the sound carrying through the silent chamber like the crack of a distant storm.
“Is that what you all fear?” I asked, looking around the room. “That I will gather those with strength, with power, those you hurt, hunt, and prosecute, the innocent mutants who face fates worse than death in your secret labs? Why fear that? Unless you know what you do is wrong, and that they have every right to want revenge… You fear I will give them the chance to take it.”
I took a slow, deliberate step forward, my armored boots ringing sharply against the polished marble of the UN floor, the sound echoing in the vast hall, demanding attention.
“You speak of alliances, of cooperation, but what you truly mean is control. You wish to shackle me, to bind my kingdom with treaties and sanctions, to strip me of my strength so that I become just another voice in this crowded hall. You wish for Albion to bend the knee, to fall in line, to accept your rule.”
I paused, letting the weight of my words sink in, feeling the tension coil tighter in the air.
“But if you insist on the right to interfere in my kingdom, then should I not have the same right to interfere in yours? If you demand that I open my borders, disarm my knights, and bow my head, then what should I demand of you in return?”
I turned my eyes back to T’Chaka, a slow, predatory smile spreading across my lips.
“Should I march my armies into Wakanda, to ensure you are not harboring weapons of mass destruction? Should I demand that you share your technology, your vibranium, your so-called ‘peaceful’ isolation with the rest of the world? Should I demand that your borders be thrown open, that your secrets be laid bare?”
I leaned in, my voice dropping to a low, almost mocking tone.
“Or would you prefer I turn my gaze toward those other kingdoms that hide behind closed borders, that hoard power while preaching peace? Perhaps I should send my knights to every corner of the world, to ensure that no one is hiding something they ought not to.”
I straightened, spreading my arms wide, my armor glinting in the harsh UN lights, the faint blue glow of my eyes burning with challenge.
“Tell me, world leaders, would you welcome my knights at your borders? Would you allow me to walk your streets, to inspect your armies, to sit in judgment over your people as you now presume to do to mine?”
Silence. Utter, choking silence.
I saw a few of the representatives shift uncomfortably in their seats, a flicker of fear passing through the eyes of even the boldest among them. Fury’s single eye narrowed, his jaw tightening.
I took a breath, letting the stillness stretch just a moment longer, before delivering my final blow.
“If you wish to make demands of a king, then you should be prepared to have those demands turned back upon you. I will not be judged by those who have no right to judge me. I am Arthuria Pendragon, King of Albion, and I will not be made to kneel.”
The silence that followed my declaration hung thick in the air, the tension so palpable it felt like the very walls of the chamber were straining under its weight. No one moved, no one dared breathe too loudly, the weight of my words settling over them like the shadow of a coming storm.
And then, a sharp, clear sound shattered the stillness.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
It echoed through the hall, each clap a ringing challenge, a declaration of defiance that cut through the fear and uncertainty like a blade.
Slowly, deliberately, a figure rose from his seat, dressed in a finely tailored black suit, the sharp lines and dark fabric giving him an air of quiet, controlled menace. Victor von Doom, ruler of Latveria, a man still young yet already steeped in the shadows of ambition, stood tall and unbending as he brought his hands together in slow, deliberate applause.
The eyes of the assembly turned toward him, some with confusion, others with fear, and a few with dawning understanding.
“Well spoken, King Arthuria,” Doom said, his voice a deep, rich baritone that carried effortlessly through the vast chamber, dripping with arrogance and absolute confidence. “Truly, you have reminded these men and women of something they have forgotten in their comfortable chairs and air-conditioned offices – that power is not a matter of paperwork and procedures, but of will, of strength, of unbreakable resolve.”
He took a step forward, his polished leather shoes striking the marble with a crisp, deliberate ring, his posture straight and imperious, his dark eyes glittering with intensity.
“I, too, have grown weary of this farce,” Doom continued, his tone rising, his words growing sharper with each sentence. “Of this pretense that the United Nations has the right to dictate the terms of freedom to sovereign nations, that it can shackle those who would rise above mediocrity, that it can demand fealty from those it neither feeds nor protects.”
He swept his gaze over the gathered leaders, his eyes cold and calculating, the slightest hint of a smile playing at his lips, as if he found their discomfort amusing.
“Latveria stands with Albion,” Doom declared, his voice rising to a thunderous crescendo. “From this day forth, my nation, too, will stand alone, free from the hypocritical dictates of this broken assembly. We shall decide our own fate, choose our own path, and answer to no one but ourselves.”
He straightened, adjusting the cuffs of his suit jacket with a smooth, controlled motion, his fingers precise and unhurried, as if this declaration was nothing more than a routine formality, a simple matter of state.
“I declare Latveria free of the United Nations. My people shall bow to no foreign king, no council of cowards, no distant throne. We are a sovereign people, a mighty nation, and we shall carve our destiny with iron and fire.”
For a moment, the chamber was still once more, the air crackling with the intensity of Doom’s words, the sheer audacity of his declaration.
And in the background of the mummers of disbelief, I heard one muffled ‘mother fucker.’
