The tall, imposing figure of the man before them towered even above James, who was already well over six feet tall. His presence was formidable, an aura of power emanating from every movement. His body was encased in dark, black metal armor that covered most of his body, save for the joints, which were secured with leather straps and iron locks, designed to allow fluidity of movement while ensuring maximum protection. His arms bore sharp, silver hooks, like claws ready to strike, each fingertip gleaming with a deadly silvery edge.
Upon his head sat a black panther-style helmet, a menacing design with sharp, elongated leopard teeth curving both up and down around the faceguard. Beneath the helmet, his face was exposed, revealing a man with a thick beard, full lips, and piercing eyes—eyes that seemed to assess every detail, every movement, and every person before him.
"Who are you?" the armored man demanded, his voice carrying authority, his words sharp and clear in Hausa.
James, though he wasn't surprised to hear the language, remained unfazed. He was already expecting this. Thankfully, he had taken the time to learn the local dialect; English, in these parts, was still a rarity. His response was calm, though there was a trace of curiosity in his voice.
"The Lost Traveler," James replied, his eyes never leaving the man before him.
He was still interested in understanding the people of this land, in learning more about their customs, their culture, and perhaps even their struggles. This could save valuable time in his future research, after all.
The armored man regarded James with a deep, knowing gaze. Clearly, he didn't believe for a second that a mere outsider had stumbled into Wakanda by accident. This was no trivial intrusion. Wakanda was surrounded by dense, uncharted forests, and over thousands of years, the tribes had devised complex routes that led deep into their kingdom, well-guarded by traps, hidden stakes, and countless layers of protection. No one could enter without being noticed, and no outsider had successfully made their way into Wakanda in generations.
As he thought back to his youth, Azuli remembered an incident decades ago, when a group of foreign invaders had tried to breach the borders. They had come armed with strange weapons that spat fire and death, causing some damage to the local guard. In the end, however, they had been crushed—completely wiped out by the former Black Panther himself.
But this situation was different. This red-skinned demon with a long tail and a terrifying presence reminded him of the ancient stories the elders would tell, of demonic beings that roamed the grasslands, ferocious and untamable. This was no simple man before him, but something far more dangerous.
Azuli's mind clicked into place. He realized that today was shaping up to be the most dangerous day in the history of Wakanda.
With a roar, Azuli finally bellowed in Hausa, his voice commanding, "The unknown person! Get down and surrender without resistance! You will be shown mercy!"
James, unfazed by the threat, merely smiled and leaned toward Asazo. "It seems that simply arriving here is a crime, in their eyes. Whether by accident or design, it doesn't matter. Those who uncover Wakanda's secrets are branded forever, imprisoned for life. A rather presumptuous attitude, Black Panther."
Azuli's pupils constricted as he understood the meaning of James' words. The secret of Wakanda—the kingdom's hidden wonders—had been exposed. A tension filled the air.
With a fierce cry, Azuli commanded, "Dora Guard!"
At his signal, a formidable group of women, clad in vibrant red clothing and gleaming golden armor, moved with swift precision. These were the famed Dora Milaje, Wakanda's elite all-female warriors, known for their unmatched fighting skills. With spear tips glinting in the sunlight, they closed ranks, encircling James and Asazo with practiced efficiency.
The Dora Milaje had served Wakanda for generations, a symbol of the kingdom's strength. Each of them had fought and defeated the male warriors of their tribes to earn their place in this revered unit. They were more than just protectors; they were a living embodiment of Wakanda's power and pride.
Asazo's eyes flickered toward them, his gaze thoughtful. Though they were all bareheaded and fierce in their stance, he could still tell that they were women—warriors, yes, but still women. Turning to James, he asked with silent curiosity, "Why are the leaders of the tribes so protective of their women?"
James responded in a low voice, his words tinged with a hint of amusement. "In many primitive tribes, it is the women who are chosen to be personal guards or servants to the leader. It's not so different from how lions in the wild are ruled by a single male, while the females hunt and defend. In this case, however, some of these women may even ascend to become queens or princesses, solidifying political alliances between the tribes. It's a form of power consolidation."
Asazo nodded, understanding the structure more clearly now. But the moment was fleeting. With a roar, Azuli raised his claws and ordered, "Hunt them down! Strangle them!"
In an instant, the warriors formed a tight battle formation, their spears thrusting forward with deadly precision. They had no illusions about the threat before them—the red devil was an immediate danger, and the unarmed white man beside him was nothing more than a bystander.
Before anyone could act, Asazo's body blurred as black smoke billowed around him, his form flashing from one position to the next with terrifying speed. The first wave of spears slammed into the ground where he had just been, leaving only the echo of their passing. James, unfazed, casually stepped aside to avoid the incoming projectiles.
Then, Asazo struck. With a flick of his wrist, his short knife sliced through the air, carving a clean line across a warrior's throat. Blood splattered before the body crumpled, but Asazo was already gone, his form blinking into another position. He moved like a shadow, his every action a blur of violence and efficiency. Each strike was precise, each kill executed with cold precision.
The Wakandan warriors, once confident in their superiority, now found themselves stumbling in panic. The terror of the red devil—so fast, so deadly—was more than they had prepared for. Screams filled the air as comrades dropped, clutching their necks or chests, blood pooling around them. Despite their best efforts, they could not strike him.
Azuli's patience was tested. His claws lashed out, but Asazo was already gone, his teleportation leaving only confusion in his wake. Frustration gripped the Black Panther. These mere warriors were no match for this demon. He could see that the battle was slipping away from him, his soldiers losing heart, their formations crumbling.
With a roar, Azuli ordered his soldiers to retreat, signaling for his elite guards to regroup. The Dora Milaje formed a solid line, their spears thrust forward, creating an impenetrable wall around them. Asazo, still darting from place to place, had no clear way to break through their formation. He briefly paused, scanning for any weakness.
Then, his gaze shifted toward Azuli, the towering leader clad in that strange, formidable armor. Asazo had already deduced that this warrior was not just an ordinary fighter. The speed, the strength, and the sheer tenacity of Azuli made him a worthy opponent—someone who could match his abilities.
Asazo grinned, feeling the rush of excitement surge through him. This was no ordinary battle. This was the kind of challenge he lived for.
With a flash, Asazo lunged, his short knife slicing through the air, aimed directly at Azuli. But the Black Panther was quick—his claws met the knife with a resounding clash, the force of the blow reverberating through the battlefield. Asazo staggered back slightly, his knife barely leaving a mark on the armor.
Azuli's speed was astounding, his reaction time honed through years of training and experience. He attacked with a flurry of strikes, each one faster and more deadly than the last. Asazo, though formidable in his own right, was forced to backpedal, dodging and weaving as Azuli's claws came dangerously close to him.
James, watching from the sidelines, knew that Asazo was still in control, but this fight was escalating quickly. If things went wrong, he would have to intervene. But for now, he watched, studying the Black Panther's movements, calculating his next move.
The battle was far from over, and both sides were pushing their limits. But in this moment, the red devil and the Black Panther were locked in a deadly dance—each testing the other's resolve, each determined to come out on top.
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