The Battle of Azazel

The man was tall, standing even taller than James, who was over 190 centimeters.

He wore dark, semi-covered metal armor; aside from the joints connected by leather and iron plating, most of his body was well-protected.

His arms featured sharp, hooked spikes, and his fingertips were tipped with silver-white blades.

He wore a helmet styled after the jaws of a black panther, with four thick, sharp fangs arranged vertically. His face was exposed, revealing a beard, thick lips, and a sharp, piercing gaze.

"Who are you people!" the armored man asked in Hausa.

Thank heavens, James hadn't expected anyone here to speak English; being able to communicate in Hausa was enough.

"Lost travelers."

He responded calmly. James was still very interested in communicating with the locals; if he could save time on future research, that would be for the best.

The man took a deep look at Azazel. He certainly didn't believe this was an accidental intrusion by ordinary outsiders.

Wakanda was surrounded by dense forests. Over thousands of years, through the efforts of generations of tribes, they had not only laid out bizarre and hard-to-find paths into the true heart of Wakanda but also deployed countless traps and hidden outposts.

Decades ago, when he was still a youth, the kingdom had encountered a group of premeditated white intruders. They had only circled the periphery, and the moment they touched the path leading inside, they were captured by the border guards.

Those people had carried many gunpowder weapons called guns, which had caused some casualties among the warriors. In the end, his father, the previous Black Panther, had stepped in and crushed those who dared to resist.

Most importantly, this red-skinned, tail-bearing, ferocious-looking monster was identical to the demons described in the legends of the grasslands.

Azzuri suddenly realized with a jolt that today might very well be the most dangerous day in the history of Wakanda.

"Unknown intruders, get down and surrender, and you may be granted a path to live," Azzuri finally roared, testing them in Hausa.

"They are telling you to wait for death."

James smiled and said this to Azazel, then turned to the panther-armored man with a playful tone.

"So, is it a crime just to arrive here? No matter the reason, anyone who discovers the secrets of Wakanda must be branded and imprisoned forever. Black Panther, you are all far too arrogant."

Azzuri's pupils constricted. The words of the human man made him realize that the secret of Wakanda had already leaked out.

"Dora Milaje!"

The Black Panther king shouted, and a team of elite women wielding refined spears quickly stepped forward, surrounding the two men. They wore red robes and gold armor, holding their spears level, crouching slightly with grim expressions.

The Dora Milaje were the most formidable warriors in all of Wakanda since ancient times. Every king of Wakanda had a group of all-female bodyguards known as the "Dora," who were skilled in various weapons and selected from the major tribes of Wakanda.

To become a member of the guard, a woman had to defeat all the male warriors of the tribes. Despite being mortal, these women achieved such combat prowess through immense innate talent, overcoming the vast physical disparity between the sexes.

Azazel looked at the female guards surrounding them. Although they were bald and fierce-looking, he could still distinguish their gender. He looked at James with a strange expression, silently questioning him.

"Primitive tribes select women from various places to offer to their leader, becoming his bodyguards or servants. It is like a lion pride where there is only one male lion, while the females do the daily hunting. These women may also become royal consorts, so in a sense, this is also a means of marriage alliance for the major tribes to consolidate their political standing."

James explained calmly. On the other side, the Black Panther Azzuri felt he could no longer let this human speak to the demon in a language he didn't understand, and he roared: "Surround and slaughter!"

Whoosh! Whoosh!

The team in front formed a battle formation, shoulder to shoulder, shrinking the circle. The warriors on the perimeter threw their javelins directly at Azazel.

All the Wakandan warriors and the Black Panther king himself naturally regarded this red devil as the most dangerous enemy. As for the unarmed white man beside him, he was likely just the devil's servant.

Without waiting for orders, Azazel cackled sharply. Instantly, black smoke rose. A dozen javelins thudded into the grass, and James moved his feet casually, dodging the few that flew toward him.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

Azazel flashed into mid-air, then suddenly appeared behind a man who had lost his target in a panic. His short blade sliced cleanly across the man's throat. Before blood could even spray, he teleported to another spot.

Across the entire battlefield, one could almost see Azazel's figure flickering everywhere at once. At times he used his short blade to slit throats; at others, he used both hands and his tail, the sharp tail-spike piercing through the necks of his enemies.

The tribal warriors spun around in panic. The Wakandan soldiers, already filled with fear of the demonic image, gradually lost their morale and order, falling into chaos.

They kept seeing their comrades fall to the ground, clutching their throats or chests after a burst of black smoke, yet no matter how desperately they swung their weapons, they couldn't touch the devil at all. Their spirits began to break, and they screamed, forgetting even the most basic defenses.

Azzuri watched the flickering red devil, his fingers curling as he extended his sharp claws. He lunged several times, attempting to grab the demon, but failed each time.

He realized that keeping these ordinary tribal warriors here would only add to the chaos and lead to meaningless casualties.

The Black Panther roared an order. The warriors of the various tribes scattered quickly. The elite Dora Milaje gathered in small groups, back-to-back, holding their spears and accurately thrusting at the flashing red devil. They quickly stabilized their formation, no longer giving Azazel an easy chance to kill.

Azazel looked at the elite female guard, who had found a way to respond and formed a hedgehog-like defense, and realized it was becoming troublesome. He then set his sights on the sturdy, tall tribal leader in the strange armor.

His previous attacks and pursuits had taught Azazel that this guy's speed and strength were by no means those of an ordinary human.

Clang! Clang! Clatter!

Azazel flashed forward. His short blades slashed across the armored man several times, but they had no effect at all.

The armor was extremely sturdy, and the force of his strikes felt strange; his short blades couldn't even leave a single scratch. Moreover, the man's reactions were lightning-fast, and he had to maintain high concentration to dodge his counterattacks.

Seeing Azazel take the initiative to engage the Black Panther, James's expression turned serious. He prepared to intervene if things went south, watching the Black Panther's combat reactions closely to evaluate his strength.

Azzuri attacked the flickering red devil frantically, his panther claws creating afterimages. He moved with agility and grace, leaping and pouncing in an attempt to catch the elusive, bizarre figure.

Since the union of the eighteen original tribes in ancient times, Wakanda had never had so many warriors injured by outsiders, nor had they ever been beaten so miserably. Furious, his eyes bloodshot, he struck with claw after claw. The keen senses brought by the Black Panther's power allowed him to gradually track the trajectory of the opponent's teleportation.

Bang!

Azazel crossed his two blades to block his chest but was sent flying by a pounce. He flashed in mid-air and returned to James's side. The two short blades, made of top-tier materials and craftsmanship, had been snapped into pieces by the panther claws, leaving him with only the hilts. His clothes on his chest were shredded, and his skin was oozing blood.

The Black Panther Azzuri could withstand the red devil's attacks without a scratch, but Azazel couldn't afford a single mistake. If he hadn't practiced unique combat techniques with his father since childhood and possessed sufficiently fast reflexes, his heart would have been pierced through by now.