The negotiation team filed out of the palace chamber and boarded the waiting S.H.I.E.L.D. transport craft on the plaza. Engines roared, and the aircraft lifted off vertically.
After Alexander Pierce gave a terse briefing, he immediately issued the order: full evacuation.
The generals of the joint forces, though stunned, wasted no time. Orders rippled outward. Every soldier and agent stationed in Wakanda received the command on their comms—retreat, immediately.
The S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives hesitated only a moment, then turned and withdrew.
The soldiers didn't ask questions. They weren't paid to. Orders were orders.
Soon, along the Wakanda River, where the United Nations forces and Wakandan troops faced one another across the banks, the sudden about-face was noticed.
First suspicion.
Then confusion.
And then—
"They're retreating! We've won?"
"What? We won?"
"The Council surrendered?"
"Victory!"
"For Wakanda!"
"Glory!"
In an instant, shouts of triumph erupted along the river. The front-line Wakandan soldiers, watching the enemy march away, broke into cheers.
When the news traveled back through the ranks, more voices joined in. And as the sound rolled into the capital itself, the entire city erupted in celebration.
"We won!"
"Bast bless us!"
"We've driven out the thieves who coveted our land!"
"Victory!"
"For Wakanda!"
"Glory!"
In the capital streets, the River Tribe began to dance wildly, their shells and scales clattering. Their people had bled the most during Hell-Hulk's rampage and the UN advance. Now, they wept with joy.
The Mining Tribe cheered as well. They had long seen vibranium as life itself; they had lost countless warriors in night raids against UN camps. Now they believed their struggle vindicated.
All through the capital, tribesmen howled like apes, their cries echoing off the stone walls.
Inside the palace, the chiefs gathered around T'Challa. Word of the retreat reached them.
The chiefs looked at one another, bewildered. They hadn't even started formal negotiations. Yet the enemy had left?
"Perhaps they realized our resolve."
"Yes, they feared us."
"Our vibranium weapons are supreme!"
"They must have been shaken by our unity!"
"Glory to Wakanda!"
The chamber filled with laughter and cheers once more.
Only T'Challa sat silent on his throne, wearing the Black Panther's habit, lips tight. He had been educated in London; he was not so easily swept into foolish joy.
Then—
The commander of the Dora Milaje entered, her vibranium spear in hand. She ignored the celebrating chiefs, went straight to the king, and whispered: "The New York operation failed."
T'Challa's head snapped up.
A breath. A sharp step. He rose from the throne, striding past the cheering chiefs with his commander, and entered the war room.
The palace operations chamber buzzed with activity. Holographic projections showed UN troops marching in retreat.
Suddenly, alarms blared.
"Detecting extreme energy surge—closing fast!"
"Running match."
"Confirmed. Hawk… updating data!"
"Hawk Phoenix. New York native. Last signal detected… Wakanda."
"We have a lock on his current position."
"Show it!"
The feed switched to orbital surveillance. A stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. satellite had caught him.
The room fell silent.
T'Challa's heart froze. He turned and strode outside.
There—
High above, beyond the clouds, Hawk hovered. Silent. Unmoved. A god watching from heaven.
T'Challa clenched his jaw until blood filled his mouth. His voice tore from his throat:
"Hawk!!"
…
In the stratosphere, Hawk stirred. His gaze flicked down, finding the lone figure glaring up at him.
"Oh. This savage looks fierce."
"Did I kill your father, or was it your kingdom I destroyed?"
"Never mind. Doesn't matter."
He looked away, uninterested. One more man who hated him. There were many. Compared to Mephisto himself, what weight did this one carry?
The time had come.
Wakanda's funeral was due.
Behind him, fiery wings spread. The Phoenix Cloth—gleaming gold in the fire, though in truth no more than bronze—wrapped around his frame.
He had the Black Phoenix Surplice now, of course. But for Wakanda? The bronze would do.
Below, T'Challa's fury boiled as Hawk dismissed him with a glance. Rage shook his bones—until he saw the Phoenix Cloth ignite. Until realization struck.
The UN withdrawal. The timing. The thirty minutes.
His blood ran cold.
"Raise the vibranium shield!" T'Challa shouted, voice breaking. "Recall all tribes to the capital! Now!"
…
(End of Chapter)
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