Black Panther and Killmonger

Wakanda Royal Helipad

The afterglow of the setting sun spilled across the vast grasslands of Wakanda, its golden light casting a sacred glow upon this nation hidden beneath a technological barrier. T'Challa's fighter jet slowly landed on the Royal Airstrip. The moment the hatch opened, he took a deep breath and stepped down the gangway.

Queen Ramonda and Princess Shuri had been waiting for some time, followed by the Dora Milaje, who stood in neat rows, holding Vibranium Spear and looking solemn. T'Challa's gaze immediately fell on his mother's face—her eyes were red-rimmed, and although she tried her best to maintain the dignity of the royal family, the sadness and anxiety in her eyes could not be concealed.

"Mother, Shuri." T'Challa stepped forward quickly and bowed slightly in greeting.

"My child..." Queen Ramonda's voice trembled slightly as she reached out to touch T'Challa's cheek, her fingertips icy cold. "You're finally back."

Shuri stood to the side, usually so lively, but now she was silent, only gripping the tablet tightly in her hand until her knuckles turned white.

T'Challa's heart sank.

"How is Father?" he asked in a low voice, though he had already guessed some of the answer from Queen Ramonda's expression, he still hoped to hear a different one.

Queen Ramonda took a deep breath and shook her head slightly. "He is seriously injured right now, he can only..."

Queen Ramonda covered her mouth halfway through her sentence, tears streaming down her face.

T'Challa's pupils contracted sharply, a chilling rage spreading from his spine throughout his body. But he didn't lose control; he merely closed his eyes briefly, and when he opened them again, they were calm and serene.

"Take me to see him."

Royal Medical Room

Inside the medical room, advanced Vibranium medical equipment surrounded the hospital bed, and a pale blue holographic projection displayed King T'Chaka's vital signs. His entire body was wrapped in bandages, his face was pale, and his breathing was weak.

T'Challa stood by the bedside, gazing at his father's face. From childhood to adulthood, T'Chaka had always been an unshakeable figure in his heart—powerful, wise, and majestic. But now, this guardian of Wakanda lay on a hospital bed, frail and terrifying.

"Who did this?" T'Challa's voice was soft, but it was filled with suppressed anger.

Shuri stepped forward and pulled up a holographic video. "The attack occurred during a border patrol. The enemy ambushed Father, it was..." She paused, then swiped her finger to zoom in, "Ulysses Klaue."

T'Challa's gaze was fixed on the familiar figure in the holographic projection—Ulysses Klaue, the arms dealer who had stolen Wakanda's Vibranium and disappeared for many years while being hunted down by Wakanda.

In the image, Klaue's sinister smile is faintly visible in the Kakkō.

"This doesn't make sense..." T'Challa's voice was low. "Klaue has been hiding for so many years, why would he suddenly risk attacking the King? And..."

He turned to Shuri, his eyes flashing with doubt. "Why would Father go on patrol at the border alone? This doesn't make sense."

Shuri bit her lower lip and shook her head. "We don't understand either. According to the schedule, Father was supposed to meet with the Horde elders at the palace that day."

At this moment, Queen Ramonda, who had been silent all along, suddenly spoke, "The night before... he sat in his study for a long time." Her voice was as soft as a feather falling. "When I woke up in the middle of the night, I found him not in bed. Later, I found him in the study, staring intently at the portrait of the Panther God."

T'Challa noticed his mother's fingers were unconsciously twisting together. "Did he say something?"

"He didn't say anything," Queen Ramonda recalled. "He just stared blankly at the image of the Panther God until I called his name, and then he came to his senses."

"Shuri," T'Challa suddenly spoke, "Reproduce all of Father's travel records for the week before the attack, especially the people he contacted and the documents he consulted."

Shuri quickly operated the tablet. "It's already checking... Wait!" Her fingers suddenly stopped. "What is this?"

Shuri quickly projected the images he had found into the air, where T'Chaka sat on the throne, staring blankly at a necklace in his hand.

"This..." Queen Ramonda exclaimed, "This is Royal Necklace, this... is impossible!"

Seeing his mother's distraught state, T'Challa grasped Queen Ramonda's shoulders with both hands. "Mother, what is this?"

Queen Ramonda's lips trembled slightly, "This..."

Just as Queen Ramonda was about to reveal the origin of the necklace...

A weak rustling sound suddenly came from the hospital bed. King T'Chaka's hand, covered in needle marks, was slowly rising, the monitor's ripples pulsating violently. A muffled gasp escaped his throat, his chapped lips moving with difficulty. "T... Cha... La..."

"Father!" T'Challa immediately knelt down beside the bed, cupping his father's trembling hands in his own. Shuri's holographic projection froze on the image of the throne, and only the hum of the life support device remained in the medical room.

T'Chaka struggled to open his eyelids a crack, his cloudy pupils brightening slightly the moment they met his son's face. He twitched his fingertips, gently rubbing T'Challa's cheek, as if to confirm that it was indeed flesh and blood.

"Good... good..." The old king's lips curved into a smile, every wrinkle brimming with satisfaction. "My little leopard... has finally... unleashed its claws..."

T'Challa's apple bobbed as he felt his father's hand rapidly losing its warmth. "You need to rest, until you're fully recovered—"

"Listen to me..." T'Chaka suddenly gripped his son's wrist with astonishing force. Queen Ramonda covered her mouth and took a half-step back—a sign of a final burst of energy before death.

The vital signs curves in the holographic projection began to fluctuate violently. Shuri's fingertips slid rapidly through the Void, attempting to stabilize the data. T'Chaka, however, stared intently at his son, as if trying to etch him into the depths of his pupils. "Ten years ago... when I placed the Black Panther Necklace on your finger by the waterfall... you asked me..." The old man's breathing was punctuated by intermittent howls, "Asked why a king must be alone..."

T'Challa shuddered. Memories flooded back—the day of his coronation, when he was fifteen and kneeling beside Warrior Falls, the cold Vibranium necklace pressed against his chest, and he had felt a crushing weight that made it hard to breathe.

"Now...you understand..." T'Chaka's fingers traced a cool line between his son's brows, wiping away his scalding tears. "The crown will burn flesh...but your spine...is stronger than Vibranium ..."

T'Challa was about to speak when King T'Chaka suddenly unleashed astonishing power, his hands gripping T'Chaka's head like iron pincers.

The old king suddenly sat up from his sickbed, his arms covered in needles and veins bulging, and forcefully pressed his son's forehead against his own.

"Father! Your wound—"

The monitor emitted a piercing alarm, and Shuri's exclamation mingled with Ramonda's sobs.

But T'Chaka paid no heed; his pupils contracted drastically in agony, yet still burned with an intense light.

Their foreheads touched, their skin burning hot like lava, and beads of sweat trickled down their crisscrossing wrinkles.

"The time has come, my son!" the old king roared hoarsely, each syllable dripping with bloodlust. "You will inherit the throne! Inherit the will of the Black Panther! Protect Wakanda!"

The lights in the medical room distorted into a blue vortex in T'Challa's vision, and his father's scorching breath sprayed on his face. Those words were not instructions, but sharp blades forged with the last of their life force, carving themselves into his very bones.

"I..." T'Challa's Adam's apple bobbed violently.

"Look me in the eyes!" T'Chaka suddenly roared, his nails digging almost into his son's scalp. "Son! I've made many mistakes in my life! I shut out external information, turning Wakanda into an isolated home! But I know! It's this very policy that will keep Wakanda stagnant!"

T'Chaka gasped for breath. "Wakanda's development has reached a bottleneck! Child! You and I are different! From now on, it will be you who lead Wakanda to show our strength to the world! To make Wakanda even more advanced! Even more beautiful!"

"Promise me, my child, that you will protect Wakanda with your life and make Wakanda great again!"

T'Challa's hands trembled violently as he felt his father's life slipping rapidly through his fingers. The piercing alarm of the monitor seemed far away, and all he could see was his father's pale face.

"I...I swear to you..." T'Challa's voice was broken, tears falling onto his father's hand, "In the name of the Panther God, I swear I will Consecration my life... solely for the prosperity and peace of Wakanda ..."

King T'Chaka's lips slowly curved into a smile, a smile as if a tremendous burden had been lifted. He released his grip on his son's hands and let himself fall back onto the bed. The ripples on the monitor gradually subsided, and the old man's breathing became as light as a whisper.

"Good...very good..." T'Chaka's voice was almost inaudible, yet miraculously it echoed throughout the entire medical room. "I declare... T'Challa ...to inherit the throne..."

Queen Ramonda stumbled and fell to the bedside, Shuri's tablet fell to the ground with a 'thud'. The members of Dora Milaje all knelt down in unison, the sound of metal spears striking the ground like a solemn death knell.

"And..." the old king's pupils began to dilate, but a smile remained on his lips, "He has gained... the qualification... to consume the Heart-Shaped Herb ..."

As the last syllable faded into the air, the monitor emitted a long, drawn-out beep. The vital signs on the holographic projection transformed into a straight green line, stretching infinitely into T'Challa's blurred vision.

"Father?" he called softly, his trembling fingers touching his father's still-warm cheek. "Father!"

Suppressed sobs erupted from the medical room. Queen Ramonda pressed her forehead against her husband's chest, her shoulders heaving violently. Shuri bit her lip tightly, oblivious to the blood dripping from her chin.

T'Challa slowly straightened up, tears streaming down his face. He reached out and touched his father's face; as his fingertips touched the gradually cooling skin, an unprecedented power surged from the depths of his bones.

"In the name of the Panther God," his voice no longer trembled, each word as hard as Vibranium, "I, T'Challa Ukanda, hereby swear."

The sobbing in the medical room stopped abruptly. Everyone looked up at the young prince, his back straight. Sunlight streamed through the French windows, casting a golden glow on his figure.

"I will carry on my father's legacy and protect every inch of Wakanda." T'Challa turned to his mother, reaching out to wipe the tears from her face. "I will find the murderer of my father and let his soul rest in peace."

Queen Ramonda gazed at her son's suddenly mature face, and for a moment she seemed to see a young T'Chaka standing before her. Trembling, she reached out and removed the royal necklace from T'Chaka's neck, then solemnly placed it in T'Challa's palm.

"My child..." her voice was as soft as a sigh, "The future of Wakanda ... is in your hands."

T'Challa gripped the necklace tightly, the Vibranium edges piercing his palm. Blood dripped through his fingers, blooming like red plum blossoms on the white floor tiles. He turned to face the window, where the Wakanda plains in the afterglow of the setting sun resembled burning gold.

"Prepare for the Heart-Shaped Herb ceremony," he calmly commanded, his words carrying a kingly authority. "At dawn tomorrow, I will formally inherit the power of the Black Panther."

Shuri wiped away her tears, quickly picked up the tablet, and began operating it. The members of Dora Milaje responded in unison, and the metal spears struck the ground again, producing a deafening roar.

T'Challa took one last look at his father's peaceful face and gently covered that familiar face with a white sheet. When he looked up again, the tears in his eyes had dried, replaced by a resolute light like Vibranium.

"For Wakanda," he murmured, turning and walking toward Warrior Falls. The setting sun cast a long shadow of him, like a Black Panther poised to pounce.

Middle East - Unknown Village

The scorching sun beat down on the barren land. Ulysses Klaue Earth Flow the village's dirt road, followed by a group of laughing and joking mercenaries. They had just completed a deal, their pockets stuffed with cash, and the excitement of alcohol and victory made them shove each other recklessly.

"Hey, boss!" a burly mercenary, brandishing a bottle of liquor, shouted drunkenly, "We've struck it rich this time! Are we going to have endless Vibranium from now on?"

Klaue grinned, revealing a mouthful of gold teeth. "Of course, I—"

Before he could finish speaking, a mercenary in charge of communications quickly stepped forward and whispered a few words in his ear.

Klaue's smile froze instantly.

"Fux!" he suddenly roared, turning around and kicking over the oil drum beside him. "Get the hell out of here! Now!"

The mercenaries were stunned by the sudden roar, and their drunkenness instantly sobered up. They looked at each other, but no one dared to ask a question, and they scattered like birds.

With a grim face, Klaue strode toward a mud house deep in the village. He pushed the door open roughly, the wooden door slamming against the wall with a dull thud.

The room was dimly lit, and a tall figure was facing the doorway, wiping a Vibranium dagger with his head down. The man had dreadlocks, the ends of which were carefully braided into sharp shapes, like a cheetah baring its fangs.

"Eric," Klaue's voice was laced with suppressed anger, "Where's the Vibranium you promised?!"

Eric slowly raised his head, expressionless, his sharp eyes fixed on Klaue. "Klaue, Vibranium will come. I will go to Wakanda and seize the throne. Then, all the Vibranium in Wakanda will belong to me."

"What do you mean?!" Klaue stormed up to Eric, furious. "You damn bastard! You promised to pay me Vibranium after I attacked T'Chaka! And now? You're writing a bad check?!"

Eric slowly stood up, the dim light in the room casting his shadow on the earthen wall, like a cheetah about to pounce.

"Klaue," his voice was low and rough, like sandpaper scraping, "What did you just call me?"

Klaue then realized his slip of the tongue, but alcohol and anger made him stubborn: "I said you're a damn—"

A cold glint flashed.

Klaue suddenly felt a chill in his throat. He instinctively raised his hand to touch his neck, his fingertips touching warm liquid. His eyes widened in disbelief as he stared at his hand covered in blood.

"You... you..." His voice trailed off like a leaky bellows, and he staggered back two steps, crashing into the wall.

Eric flicked the blood off his dagger, his gaze as cold as if he were looking at livestock awaiting slaughter. "I will defeat T'Challa in the traditional challenge for the throne of Wakanda, a ritual that allows any member of royal blood to initiate a duel."

Klaue slid down the wall and sat on the floor, his hands futilely clutching his bleeding throat. His lips moved, but he could only make a 'hoarse' sound.

"You think I can't get in?" Eric crouched down, his eyes fixed on Klaue's dilated pupils. "My father is Prince N'Jobu, T'Chaka's younger brother. I have the blood of royalty flowing in my veins."

Klaue was speechless, but Eric continued unhurriedly, "As for you... you will be my passport to Wakanda."

He stood up, looking down at Klaue's life slipping away. "Thank you for helping me get rid of T'Chaka. In return, I'll let you die a quick death."

A final flicker of fear crossed Klaue's eyes. Eric raised his foot, his military boot slamming heavily onto Crow's throat.

A crisp 'snap' sounded.

Eric turned around expressionlessly and sat back down. Suddenly, the air behind him distorted slightly, and a white figure emerged from the darkness, its long robe flowing like water, spotless.

The woman stepped forward slowly, her toes lightly touching the ground without making a sound. She bent down, her slender fingers gently touching Eric's temple, the tips gleaming with a faint blue light.

"Well done, Eric." Her voice was ethereal, devoid of any humanity. "Klaue's death will be your stepping stone to the throne."

Eric's eyes gradually changed under the light; his pupils disappeared, the whites of his eyes expanded, and finally turned into a chaotic pale white. His lips trembled slightly, and his voice was no longer his own, but some kind of manipulated whisper, "... Wakanda... the throne..."

The woman smiled with satisfaction, a faint light shimmering at her fingertips. "Next, you will travel to Wakanda and challenge T'Challa at Warrior Falls. You will give it your all and, during the ritual, kill T'Challa."

Eric made a muffled response from his throat, like some kind of manipulated puppet.

"Then..." the woman's voice suddenly lowered, carrying a seductive power, "You must, as the new king, initiate a meeting with the Arbitrators."

Eric's body trembled slightly.

"Lure Chen Tian to Wakanda..." The woman's fingertips lightly traced Eric's forehead, leaving a barely perceptible blue line. "Once he sets foot on that land, Lord Thanos's plan will be half complete."

Eric's lips moved mechanically. "... Thanos... my lord..."

The woman withdrew her finger, and the light dissipated. She straightened up, her robes gleaming coldly in the dim light. "Remember, Eric, your loyalty will be rewarded."

She took a step back, her figure gradually blurring, as if about to merge into the darkness. "Lord Thanos never mistreats his followers."

As soon as she finished speaking, her figure vanished completely, leaving only a faint chill.

Eric stood there, the paleness in his eyes gradually fading, his pupils refocusing. He blinked, as if he had just woken from a dream, but a cold force had already taken root deep within his consciousness.

(The Killmonger's name in the movie is Eric Stevens, as previously stated.)