Chapter Ninety-Six: The Kingdom’s Lament

The old king arrived at the Border Tribe, accompanied by the Royal Guard, T’Challa, and Shuri aboard a Wakandan airship. The Border Tribe was responsible for guarding Wakanda’s frontiers; its warriors wore blue cloaks, were renowned for their valor, and bred formidable war rhinos.

The old king was greeted by W’Kabi, the current chief of the Border Tribe.

“Your Majesty, a foreigner has captured the thief Ulysses and wishes to present him to you,” W’Kabi reported.

“Let’s go and see,” the old king replied, following W’Kabi to meet the foreigner and Ulysses.

The foreigner was cloaked in black, his figure tightly shrouded, revealing only a red face. Ulysses, tightly bound, lay discarded on the ground.

“It was you who captured Ulysses?” The old king stood before them, addressing the stranger.

“This is our king,” W’Kabi introduced him.

Upon learning that he was in the presence of the king, the foreigner immediately bowed. “So you are the king. I captured Ulysses in Africa. I heard Wakanda was searching for him, so I brought him here as an offering to Your Majesty.”

T’Challa, standing beside the king, spoke up. “Who are you? How did you find Wakanda?”

The stranger laughed. “My name is Ultron! And of course, Ulysses brought me here!” He suddenly cast off his cloak, revealing a metallic body—he was Ultron in disguise.

“Protect the king!” T’Challa shouted, startled at the name. He instantly recalled the message sent from the Avengers, as Shuri had told him.

But he was too late. Ultron’s eyes blazed with red energy, which struck the old king directly.

A tremendous explosion of red energy hurled the old king backward, along with his guards, T’Challa, and W’Kabi.

“Your Majesty!”

“Father!”

T’Challa, regaining his senses, rushed to his father’s side, cradling his battered body as tears streamed down his face. Princess Shuri ran to them, wailing in grief.

The captain of the Dora Milaje led her warriors forward, grasping their vibranium spears and charging at Ultron.

W’Kabi, too, rallied the Border Tribe’s fighters to attack.

Seeing his goal achieved, Ultron seized Ulysses by the foot and soared into the sky. With a blast of red energy from his right hand, he scattered the approaching Dora Milaje.

“Hahaha! So this is the mighty Wakanda?” With Ulysses in tow, Ultron vanished into the distance.

Border Tribe airships pursued him, but Ultron shot down three with his energy beams before disappearing without a trace.

…

All of Wakanda was plunged into mourning—the old king, T’Chaka, had been slain.

Though every force was mobilized to track Ultron and Ulysses, they found nothing. Yet the new heir, T’Challa, did not succumb to despair.

In Wakanda, death is not the end. T’Challa knew he must step forward, lead his people through this crisis, and heed the Avengers’ warning: Ultron sought vibranium, and would surely strike again.

T’Challa ordered the vibranium refinery sealed—no one was to approach.

Wakanda prepared to bid farewell to their late king. By the banks of the Wakanda River, the entire nation gathered that night to honor T’Chaka.

The king’s body was placed in the center of a great plaza, Wakandans forming a circle around him. The queen, Ramanda, held a torch and set alight the straw beneath his body; flames roared skyward, marking the commencement of the ceremony.

Massive horns sounded as the people danced around the pyre; onlookers sang traditional laments. It was Wakandan custom to celebrate the departed with song and dance.

As the dance grew livelier and the singing more impassioned, the somber mood was swept away, replaced by a jubilant celebration. Men and women alike sang and danced, filling the night with joy.

The ceremony lasted until dawn. When the flames finally died, all knelt together.

High Priest Zuri stepped forward, chanting prayers for the late king’s soul. At the end, he placed T’Chaka’s ashes in a golden urn, which was then interred among the tombs of the Black Panther kings—the funeral was complete.

Next came the choosing of a new king. As T’Chaka’s only son, T’Challa was the sole heir, but he still had to be recognized by all the tribes. If any tribe opposed his succession, they could challenge him in ritual combat—a trial of absolute fairness to decide Wakanda’s ruler.

Three days later, the coronation was held. Wakandans, dancing on boats, sailed toward the Dueling Cliffs.

The great tribal leaders arrived, their people singing on the waterfall cliffs, awaiting T’Challa’s appearance.

T’Challa arrived by Wakandan airship, bare-chested, adorned in traditional attire, his body marked with patterns of the black panther.

He stepped onto a platform by a small pool atop the cliffs, the roaring waterfall below. The queen and tribal elders awaited him there.

The queen gazed at her son with pride, confident he would be a great king.

“I, Zuri, son of Badu, present to you Prince T’Challa—the Black Panther!” the elder Zuri announced to the assembled tribes.

The Wakandans cheered as T’Challa knelt, ready for the ceremony.

“The prince will now be stripped of the power of the Black Panther,” the elder declared, offering T’Challa the purple heart-shaped herb’s antidote.

Pain distorted T’Challa’s face; dark veins spread across his skin. Gradually, the pain faded, leaving him weak—his powers gone, he was now as any other man.

“In the ritual combat, victory is won by the other’s surrender or death! Should any tribe wish to challenge for the throne, now is the time to step forward!” the elder proclaimed, and the ceremony began. T’Challa awaited his challenger.

An elderly woman in purple spoke first: “The Merchant Tribe will not challenge for the throne today!”

Beside W’Kabi, a man in blue declared, “The Border Tribe will not challenge today!”

Near Nakia, an old man in green announced, “The River Tribe will not challenge today!”

A middle-aged woman in red said, “The Mountain Tribe will not challenge today!”

The four tribes all yielded, supporting Prince T’Challa as the new king—the Black Panther.

“Is there anyone of royal blood who wishes to challenge?” the elder called out.

Suddenly, Princess Shuri raised her hand, startling all—was she challenging her own brother? The crowd erupted in laughter and boos; even the queen looked at her, bewildered by her antics.

“This ceremonial outfit is so uncomfortable! Since no one is challenging, can we just tidy up and go home?” Shuri teased.

The queen smacked her daughter, admonishing her to behave at this sacred rite. Shuri’s friends could only shake their heads at the mischievous princess.

At that moment, the cry of apes echoed from afar—the Jabari Tribe had arrived. Their bodies were marked in white, their chants rumbling like apes. Their leader strode forth to confront T’Challa.

The gathering grew tense. The Jabari were a branch of Wakanda, but they worshipped the white ape, rival to the black panther, and lived in exile on the kingdom’s cliffs.

“M’Baku, why are you here?” Zuri addressed the Jabari chief.

“It’s Challenge Day! What else?” M’Baku sneered, stepping into the pool’s center.

“We have watched you from the mountains, listened to you! And what do we see? You let a child oversee your advanced technology!” M’Baku pointed his weapon at Princess Shuri, prompting the royal guards to level their spears at him.

“She scorns tradition, and now you would entrust the throne to a prince who couldn’t even protect his father?” M’Baku challenged, standing before T’Challa with contempt.

“We do not accept this! I, M’Baku, leader of the Jabari—” He was cut off by T’Challa.

“I accept your challenge, M’Baku!” T’Challa declared.

“May the glory of Hanuman endure!” M’Baku replied, stepping back as drums thundered through the canyon.

The challenge was about to begin…