Father and Son

The Black Panther crouched low in the grass of an open plain, muscles rippling beneath his back. His eyes fixed on a herd of antelope dozens of yards ahead. With each careful step, he crept closer by inches, his breathing perfectly controlled. The antelope grazed leisurely, unaware of the danger approaching.

After a long while, the Black Panther's patient approach finally brought him within striking distance of his target. Whoosh! He sprang forward, covering the last dozen yards in an instant. The antelope had no chance to react. His claws sank deep into its flesh, knocking it helplessly to the ground, and his powerful jaws clamped around its neck.

The antelope's hind legs kicked involuntarily. Gradually, even its final spasms ceased.

"Can you tell what happened, T'Chaka?" asked a burly Black man beside him. He wore a leopard-head headdress and a hide skirt, his upper body bare. He and the little boy were both lying low on the hillside.

"Um, the Black Panther was too fast!"

The boy tilted his head and pondered for a moment, seeming to have reached a rather pleasing conclusion.

The man shook his head and ruffled the boy's fine, curly hair. Then he said, stern and serious, "You must be patient! Don't rush into an attack. Wait until everything is in your favor, then strike in one decisive move, giving your opponent no chance to fight back."

He stood and spoke kindly, yet solemnly. "This is the first lesson in the way of the hunt that your father has to teach you, my son."

The little Black boy named T'Chaka gazed up at his towering father with eyes full of reverence. The light in them was like that of a worshipper gazing at a statue of the Panther God Bast during a ceremony.

The man turned and headed into the dense forest. T'Chaka hurried after him barefoot, moving with remarkable agility and speed.

He darted back and forth beside his father and asked, puzzled, "But Father, warriors like you, blessed by the Panther God, can't be harmed by anything in the vast forest or open plains—not by the eagles in the sky, the lions on land, or the crocodiles in the water. Nothing within sight of Wakanda's people can hurt you even a little. With such strength, do you still need patience to hunt?"

The man shook his head helplessly and instructed his son, "The world is enormous. How vast can the land within sight really be? As Wakanda's protector and the Panther God's warrior, our duty is to protect this land, our Sacred Mountain, and our people."

He smiled and patted his son's head, speaking with a hint of pride. "Besides, before I received the Panther God's blessing, I had already defeated everyone in the tribe and conquered the forest and plains. I didn't do it with gifted strength alone."

The two figures, one large and one small, emerged from the forest. Two spear-wielding warriors who had appeared from nowhere stood on either side of the path. They clenched their fists, crossed their arms over their chests, and bowed their heads to the man.

Beyond them, a vast, lush plain opened up. A broad, clear river flowed through it, and clusters of strangely primitive buildings stood scattered at the foot of the mountain. On its towering slopes, a colossal statue of the Black Panther was still under construction, with hundreds of craftsmen hammering and carving its details.

Men drove horses and rhinos across the plains, while fierce women trained with spears. T'Chaka stared at this land for a moment, stunned, then took off running after his father.

"Woo-hoo!"

Compared with the Mediterranean, that jewel-like sea, Azazel preferred the vast expanse of the Indian Ocean, which made him feel as if his sense of space had expanded immensely. They had been traveling through the Red Sea for four or five days. The entertainment on board was limited to the same few activities, but he still loved this free-fall game and never seemed to tire of it.

Pfft!

Azazel teleported thousands of meters into the air again. The weather was beautiful, with not a cloud in the sky. The blue sea and sky were his playground. He relaxed completely as he plummeted through the air, whooping with delight at the thrilling sensation of his rapid descent.

"Yee-haw! Whoa!"

Each time he was about to hit the surface of the sea, Azazel teleported back into the sky and started all over again, playing back and forth.

On deck, James lounged in the sun beneath a broad-brimmed hat, sipping rum with ice as he read a book behind his sunglasses.

He smacked his lips and nodded in satisfaction.

Rum just tasted better at sea.

"Dad! Come on, give it a try! I'll take you flying!" Azazel shouted as he fell through the air. With a puff of smoke, he appeared beside James. Wearing blue shorts and a brightly patterned shirt, he leaned over excitedly.

James pushed up his sunglasses and gave him a disdainful, half-hearted look. "Do you know how ugly red skin looks with a green shirt?"

"Huh? Does it? I think it looks great. Remus and the others all say I look amazing!" Azazel exclaimed in surprise, glancing down. He turned around to check out his clothes, then suddenly grinned slyly.

"Come on, Dad, give it a try. It's a real thrill!" Azazel's tail swished excitedly in circles. For some reason, creatures with tails seemed especially prone to giving away their feelings with them.

James didn't even look up. "What would you know about thrills? Going up and down like that is boring. You—hey! What are you doing?"

Pfft!

Ignoring James, Azazel put an arm around his father's shoulder and teleported them high into the air on the other side of the ship, much higher than the spot where he had been playing.

Pfft! Pfft! Azazel slyly teleported away and watched James begin his rapid free fall. He cackled with delight, pleased with himself. He wanted to see his dad make a fool of himself for once and fall right into the water. Even if he got punished, it would be worth it.

An ordinary person falling into the sea from nearly ten thousand meters would be smashed into a bloody pulp. But for James, it was no different from jumping into a swimming pool from the edge.

James fell headfirst with his arms crossed, resigned to his fate. He had already figured out the brat's plan and was considering how to deal with him.

The air roared past his ears as he plummeted. James fell for a little over two minutes, and he was about to hit the water. Azazel pressed his fists to his mouth, waiting eagerly for the big moment.

Boom!

A huge column of water erupted, but instantly turned to mist, as though vaporized by intense heat. James held his arms out at his sides and hovered in midair, power surging around him with a high-pitched hum. The force of the air whipped his hair upward, and he hung there more than a meter above the sea, the water beneath his feet continually steaming into vapor.

Azazel stared, dumbfounded, as James slowly floated back to the deck, dry and refreshed. The family's armed guards standing along one side of the deck looked shaken. They pressed their fists to their chests and bowed their heads solemnly.

"D-Dad, you can fly now!" Azazel ran over with a cheeky grin, acting as if he hadn't done anything.

James replied thoughtfully, "Not yet. For now, I can only manage something like hovering. What I'll be able to do later... remains to be seen."

Azazel stood to one side, pretending to be deep in thought as he lowered his head. Then James's voice rang out from farther away: "You're grounded in the hold for twelve hours of meditation. You can't come out until the time's up. I'll know if you teleport."

His wails echoed across the ship. In a dozen or so hours, they would be docking.