Father and Son

The Black Panther crouched low in the tall grass of the wilderness, the muscles on its back rippling with every movement. Its eyes were fixed intently on a herd of antelope a few dozen meters ahead, its paws shifting inch by inch as it crept closer, imperceptible to the world. It kept its scent perfectly contained; the antelope grazed on the green grass, completely unaware of the approaching danger.

After a long while, the Black Panther's patient approach finally brought it to its target. Swish! With a sudden pounce, the ten-meter gap vanished in an instant. The targeted antelope had no chance to react before the panther's claws sank deep into its flesh. It was pinned down helplessly, and a moment later, the panther's blood-stained jaws clamped firmly onto its neck.

The antelope's hind legs kicked involuntarily, until eventually, even the final tremors ceased.

"What did you see, T'Chaka?" a sturdy Black man wearing a leopard-head fur cap, bare-chested and clad in a fur skirt, asked the young boy crouching on the slope beside him.

"Uh... the Black Panther is so fast!"

The little boy tilted his head, pondering for a moment, and seemed to have reached a delightful conclusion.

The man shook his head, rubbed the boy's soft, curly hair, and said with solemn seriousness: "You must have patience! Do not be in a hurry to attack. Only when all conditions are at their most favorable should you strike in one blow, leaving the opponent no chance to resist."

He stood up and said, both kindly and majestically: "This is the first lesson of the hunt that your father will teach you, my son."

The young Black boy named T'Chaka looked at his towering father with eyes full of reverence, the light in them mirroring the way people looked at the giant statue of the panther god Bast during rituals.

The man turned and walked toward the dense forest, and T'Chaka followed quickly on bare feet, moving with extraordinary agility and grace.

He swayed beside his father, asking in confusion: "But Father, as a warrior blessed by the panther god like you, whether it is the vast jungle or the expansive plains, the eagle in the sky, the lion on land, or the crocodile in the water—there is nothing in all the lands visible to the people of Wakanda that can harm you in the slightest. Does such power still require patient hunting?"

The man shook his head helplessly, instructing his son: "The world is too big; how vast can that which is visible to the eye truly be? Therefore, as the protectors of Wakanda and warriors of the panther god, what we must do is guard this land, and guard our sacred mountain and our people."

He smiled and patted his son's small head, adding with a touch of pride: "Besides, before I received the blessing of the panther god, I had already fought across the entire tribe and conquered the jungles and plains. It wasn't just by relying on the power bestowed upon me."

The two figures, one large and one small, gradually emerged from the dense forest. Two warriors holding spears, who had appeared from nowhere, stood on either side. They clenched their fists, crossed their arms over their chests, and bowed their heads in salute to the man.

Behind them, a vast, lush plain opened up. A wide, clear river flowed through it, and houses and buildings of unique, primitive styles were scattered at the foot of the mountain. On the towering peak, a giant statue of a black panther was still under construction, with hundreds of craftsmen hammering and carving the details.

On the plains, there were men herding horses and rhinoceroses, and fierce women practicing with spears. T'Chaka stared at this land, stunned for a moment, before kicking up his heels and running to catch up with his father.

"Woo-hoo!"

Compared to the delicate, gem-like sea of the Mediterranean, Azazel preferred the expansive, space-defying vistas of the Indian Ocean. He had been traveling from the Red Sea for four or five days now. Although the entertainment options on the ship were repetitive, he still loved this method of free-falling and never grew tired of it.

Pop!

Azazel teleported again to an altitude of several thousand meters. The weather was beautiful, cloudless, and the blue sea and sky were his playground. Azazel fell freely, his body completely relaxed in the air. The thrill of the rapid descent made him cheer uncontrollably.

"Yahoo! Whoo!"

Every time he was about to hit the surface of the sea, Azazel would teleport again, flashing back up to the high altitude, playing back and forth.

On the deck, James wore a wide-brimmed hat, soaking up the sun while sipping rum with ice cubes and reading a book behind his sunglasses.

He smacked his lips and nodded in satisfaction.

Out at sea, rum was always the most flavorful drink.

"Dad! Come on, try it with me, I'll take you for a flight!" Azazel shouted from mid-air. With a puff of smoke, he flashed beside James. He was wearing blue trunks and a colorful, gaudy shirt, leaning in with excitement.

James pushed up his sunglasses, gave him a look of disdain, and said distractedly: "Do you know how ugly a red complexion looks with a green shirt?"

"Ah! Does it? I think it's great! Remus and the others all say I look fantastic!" Azazel looked down, surprised. He spun around to check his outfit, then suddenly smiled slyly.

"Dad, come on, give it a try, it's really exciting!" Azazel's tail twitched with excitement. For some reason, creatures with tails always found it easy to let their tails betray their emotions.

James didn't even look up, saying dismissively: "What do you know about excitement? Going up and down, isn't it boring? You—hey! What are you doing?"

Pop!

Ignoring James's words, Azazel placed a hand on his father's shoulder and teleported him to a high altitude on the other side, much higher than where he had been playing earlier.

Pop! Pop! With two sounds, Azazel cunningly flashed away, watching as James began a high-speed freefall. He cackled as if he had succeeded, intending to see his old man make a fool of himself by dropping into the water. Even if he were to be punished later, it would be worth it.

For an ordinary person, falling into the water from nearly ten thousand meters would result in being smashed into a pulp, but for James, it was no different than jumping into a pool from the edge.

James fell head-first, arms crossed, looking helpless. He had already figured out the brat's scheme and was calculating how to deal with him.

The air rushing past his ears whistled loudly. James had been falling for about two minutes and was about to hit the water. Azazel pressed his fist to his mouth in excitement, waiting for the spectacular scene.

BOOM!

A massive spray of water exploded high into the air, but it instantly vaporized as if evaporated by intense heat. James held his arms slightly out to his sides, hovering in mid-air. His inner energy surged, emitting a high-frequency hum. His hair was blown upward by the air pressure, and he remained suspended a meter above the sea, the water beneath him constantly being turned into mist.

Azazel stared, dumbfounded, as James slowly hovered back onto the deck, his clothes dry and fresh. The family guards standing on the side of the deck looked on in shock; they pressed their fists to their chests and bowed their heads in reverence.

"D-Dad, you can fly!" Azazel ran over, acting cheeky as if he hadn't done anything at all.

James replied thoughtfully: "Not yet. I can only manage something like hovering for now. As for the future... it's hard to say."

Azazel stood to the side, pretending to be deep in thought and playing dumb, only to hear James say from a distance: "You are grounded in the cargo hold for twelve hours of meditation. You are not allowed to come out until the time is up. I will know if you teleport."

Wails echoed across the ship. In another dozen hours or so, the ship would reach the shore.