Thinking it over, Ronan pulled out the controller Conqueror Kang had given him way back.
Here's the thing: you can usually tell a lot about stuff just from the surface.
Take a car. You see one that's slick, fits your vibe perfectly, and you know it'll turn heads when you roll up.
Odds are, the price tag'll make your wallet cry.
But then there's another car—average specs, average build, average look.
Congrats, the price is average too.
Sure, that's not the whole picture—just a chunk of it.
So when Ronan eyed this controller, same logic kicked in.
He'd fiddled with it a bunch since getting it—figured out the basics.
Power switch, interface, that kinda stuff.
Only hitch? Back on Earth, it flashed a "can't connect to main system" warning.
Ronan figured it'd only work back in Kang's castle.
He'd been itching to test that theory—pop back for a visit.
Problem was, back then, he wasn't this strong, and the TVA banned all magic.
Even Infinity Stones were dead there.
But now? Ronan wasn't that guy anymore.
If dark energy got shut down in the TVA too, his current raw physical stats could still solo a squad.
Still, before heading out, Ronan wanted one more ace up his sleeve.
—
Africa, Wakanda.
Sitting in a pristine, tech-packed living room, Ronan couldn't help but let out a little whoa.
He'd known Wakanda's tech was light-years ahead of the world.
But experiencing it firsthand? That's when the gap hit home.
Landing in Wakanda felt like stepping into pure African vibes—nature at its rawest.
Now? He was on the flip side.
Humanity's tech pinnacle.
T'Challa lounged on a throne-like seat, while his sister Shuri stood off to the side, eyeballing Ronan with curiosity.
To a science whiz like Shuri, magic was a shiny new toy.
Wakanda's tech could do stuff no other Earth nation could touch.
But magic? It pulled off things even Wakanda couldn't crack.
"Mr. T'Challa, I'm guessing you already know why I'm here."
"So, what's your ask?"
Ronan's goal was straightforward: vibranium.
His extra insurance.
"Mr. Ronan, I've heard about you from a lot of folks—Steve included."
"But the takes? They don't quite line up."
T'Challa studied Ronan, hands crossed on his lap, rocking full king vibes.
Post-Avengers "Civil War," he'd taken the throne—Wakanda's new ruler.
Still seemed like he was adjusting, though.
But those little moves? Definitely kingly now.
Like they say: not everyone's born a king, but those who are? They're built different.
"I don't sweat what people think of me."
"I know what I'm here to do."
Facing a fresh-minted king, Ronan switched up his tone.
Talking to royalty? Time to pull out the Eastern playbook—smooth and sharp.
"That's why Wakanda's opening its doors to you."
"Steve says your group's been guarding Earth, all low-key."
"In some ways, you're kinda like us."
T'Challa nodded, clearly cool with Ronan's answer.
Ronan mentally smirked.
Protecting Earth? No clue if Wakanda did that, but low-key? Oh, for sure.
"Forgive me for not being a Wakanda history buff—I'm only seventeen."
"Like you, I just stepped up as my group's leader. Different setup, but same gist."
Ronan's point was crystal.
You're a king, sure, but I'm Kamar-Taj's Sorcerer Supreme.
We're equals here.
So let's cut the pointless probing.
"I get it. Vibranium's been our treasure—guarded by Wakanda for generations."
"Over the years, barely a speck's slipped out."
"So, I wanna make a deal."
T'Challa twirled the ring on his finger—newly worn, a badge of the throne.
He did that whenever he was mulling something tricky—didn't even notice it himself.
"Let's hear it."
Ronan locked eyes with him.
He was curious what kind of trade Wakanda and Kamar-Taj could cook up.
"Steve says you can see the future. Stark claims you predicted a big Earth crisis coming soon."
"I wanna know—does that future include Wakanda?"
T'Challa's stare bored into Ronan as he asked, like the answer was make-or-break.
Ronan just smiled.
"Mr. T'Challa, you don't need to ask me that—you need to ask yourself."
Inside, he was rolling his eyes.
What, you think I'm a fortune-teller?
Want me to read your palm—love life and career next?
"Ask myself?"
T'Challa blinked.
"Yup."
"By putting Black Panther out there for the world to see, you had to know Wakanda's tied to it now."
"Maybe for years, you guys quietly built your tech, ignored the world's drama."
"Never flashed your gadgets—or even vibranium."
"That's why the big-shot nations didn't give a damn about you."
Ronan paused, glancing at T'Challa, shaking his head internally.
This "third-world" spot? Superpowers didn't care—didn't know—so Wakanda got all that time to grow.
But now, T'Challa flashing the Black Panther card? That raised eyebrows.
How's a "backwater" like Wakanda churning out gear on par with Tony Stark's suits—maybe tougher-looking?
Didn't add up.
"So, you chose to link up with the world. That means you're in for all its crises."
"And that future crisis? It's a no-discrimination Earth smackdown."
"Hide all you want—won't dodge this one."
Ronan dropped a key nugget there.
Under the Infinity Stones' rules, no one escapes that kind of "law-level" hit.
Though, in this universe, Thanos wasn't snagging all six stones.
"I get it."
T'Challa nodded, like something clicked.
Ronan flicked his eyes between him and Shuri standing nearby.
A memory pinged.
If he recalled right, T'Challa was gonna die soon-ish, and Shuri'd take up the Black Panther mantle.
The next Panther.
If that's the case, wouldn't a kid be easier to—
Cough cough cough.
Ronan snuffed that thought fast.
Not just 'cause Shuri's smarts wouldn't fall for it—by then, it'd be too late anyway.
Ronan wasn't that guy!
"I'll give you some vibranium—just this much."
"And I'd rather you not blab about it. If we can help with anything, let me know."
T'Challa clapped his hands.
A Wakandan stepped in, holding a tray with a cup-sized container.
Ronan knew it—vibranium, the legend itself.
Hardness-wise, it's just shy of adamantium, but for defense? Top dog, thanks to its kinetic absorption.
Tony's dad, Howard Stark, cracked it: vibranium's toughness comes from its unique molecular setup—near-indestructible.
Its molecules barely budge, so it doesn't conduct heat or energy.
That's why it soaks up heat, force, whatever you throw at it.
Hence its other name: sound-absorbing steel.
That's how Steve's shield blocks physical and energy attacks.
And Steve's shield? Just a pinch of vibranium mixed into alloy.
A full vibranium shield?
Ronan couldn't even imagine it.
Too extravagant.
"This much vibranium, blended with other alloys, could make a suit like Black Panther's."
"Stark says you're into research, right?"
T'Challa nodded to the clansman, who set the vibranium in front of Ronan.
Ronan picked it up, inspecting it close.
Honestly, from the outside, you couldn't tell what made it special.
Like he'd noted, vibranium absorbs energy without passing it on.
So, if he carved runes into it—converting energy into attack or defense—could it work in the TVA?
From what he knew, the TVA's "no-magic" zone cut off magic's source.
Like a tablet that needs Wi-Fi to connect—kill the signal, no internet.
But if a phone hotspot pops up, boom, you're back online.
Wi-Fi block's useless.
Or, mod the tablet with a SIM card—bypass the rule entirely.
Ronan was already at step two.
His energy mix was weird: part Vishanti, part Dark Dimension, part self-cultivated.
Last TVA trip, Kamar-Taj spells were a no-go.
Now, he had his own juice and dark energy.
If those got cut too, he'd tap his personal stash.
And now, this backup.
He'd craft a suit, etch it with runes.
Worst case—even if his energy and the runes flopped in there?
The suit'd still give him some armor.
All this prep? One goal.
Conqueror Kang.
Or, specifically, the TVA's Conqueror Kang.
Everyone knew Kang hailed from a far-off future—tech way beyond now.
No magic, outgunned in tech—Ronan's only edge was his fists.
And his ripped, charming bod.
Cough cough cough.
Off track.
In a normal setting, Ronan reckoned he could take Kang, no sweat.
But there's not just one Kang—tons of 'em.
From memory: tech Kangs, vampire Kangs, magic Kangs.
This trip's prep? All for Kang.
The rest?
Pfft, small fry—Ronan didn't even blink at 'em.
"If I make progress with this, I'll share some with Wakanda."
"Call it thanks."
"Without spilling certain beans, of course."
Ronan eyed T'Challa, knowing he'd scored a deal.
That question T'Challa asked? Barely a question.
Yet he still coughed up this vibranium.
Since they'd tossed him goodwill, Ronan wasn't about to snub it.
"I get the rules."
"Same as Wakanda."
T'Challa smiled, sticking out his right hand.
Ronan raised a brow.
That move? Less king, more regular dude.
"Here's to a smooth partnership."
Ronan reached out, shaking his hand.
Not a bad collab partner—Ronan wouldn't mind keeping him from croaking.
Maybe down the line, when T'Challa's on death's door, he could step in.
But that? Way too early to call now.