Chương 269: Black Panther vs Napoleon 3 -264
T'Challa's heart sank as he watched Napoleon rise once more, seemingly unfazed by the damage inflicted. The reality of their situation hit him like a blow—this man, this monster, was beyond anything they had faced before. His father, T'Chaka, also struggled to his feet, but T'Challa could see the fatigue etched into his every movement.
"He's…healing," T'Chaka muttered, disbelief lacing his words. "How can anyone possess such power?"
Napoleon brushed a speck of dirt from his shoulder, his eyes never leaving the two Black Panthers. "Do you understand now?" he said, his voice low but carrying a chilling authority. "This isn't a battle. This is an inevitability."
T'Challa refused to back down, even though his body screamed at him to stop. He met Napoleon's gaze and stepped forward. "Nothing is inevitable," he replied, clenching his fists, claws extending from his vibranium suit. "So long as I still draw breath, I will fight you."
"Is that so?" Napoleon replied, and in an instant, he was upon them again. He moved like a blur, striking with a ferocity that left no room for error. T'Chaka barely managed to dodge to the side, but T'Challa took a direct hit to his midsection, the force sending him sprawling across the dirt.
As he lay there, the wind knocked out of him, T'Challa fought to regain his bearings. Every bone, every muscle protested as he forced himself to rise, to face this enemy who seemed untouchable. He looked up just in time to see his father leap onto Napoleon's back, using his claws to dig into the man's shoulders, trying to hold him down.
"Run, T'Challa!" T'Chaka shouted, struggling to maintain his grip. "Get out of here!"
"No!" T'Challa roared, refusing to abandon his father. He pushed past the pain and charged at Napoleon, aiming for his exposed side. Yet he quickly met resistance, the clothes, he realized they were made from Vibranium threat.
T'Challa's claws scraped uselessly against Napoleon's clothing, a revelation that sent a chill down his spine. They had known that this enemy possessed Vibranium from the beginning, but they hadn't expected that they had enough of it to make clothes, clearly they had no less then even Wakanda, and likely had plenty more weapons made from it, all their defences could then easily be overcome.
The realization struck T'Challa like a hammer blow. Vibranium—the heart of Wakanda's strength, the source of their power—was now being used against them. It wasn't just their armor or weapons that could be countered; it was their entire legacy, their history, and their sense of invulnerability.
Napoleon took advantage of T'Challa's moment of hesitation, twisting sharply and hurling T'Chaka off his back. The older man landed hard, coughing and struggling to get up, clearly reaching the limits of his endurance. Napoleon's gaze shifted back to T'Challa, and in that moment, the young king saw nothing but contempt in those eyes.
"You finally understand, don't you?" Napoleon said, his voice carrying an eerie calm. "Your kingdom has built its walls high, believing you were untouchable, believing that this precious metal of yours made you gods among men. But you are no different from any other nation that I have crushed beneath my heel."
T'Challa's anger flared, hot and blinding, and for a moment, he felt his fear melt away. "You will never break us," he spat, each word dripping with defiance. "Wakanda is not just Vibranium. It is our spirit, our people, and that is something you will never understand."
Napoleon's lips twisted into a cold smile. "Then let me show you what your spirit means to me."
He lunged at T'Challa with a speed that defied logic, and though T'Challa managed to block the first strike, the sheer force sent him skidding backward. Napoleon pressed his advantage, each blow landing harder, faster, with a precision that seemed to cut through the very air. T'Challa did everything he could to counter, but even his vibranium-enhanced suit couldn't fully absorb the impact. He could feel the bruises forming beneath the armor, his bones rattling with each hit.
Out of the corner of his eye, T'Challa saw his father struggling to rise once more. "Stay down!" T'Challa shouted, desperate to protect him. But T'Chaka refused, pushing himself up despite the agony etched into his face.
"Not while my son fights," T'Chaka growled, standing beside him. Together, they faced Napoleon, refusing to bow, refusing to be broken.
Napoleon paused for a moment, tilting his head as if considering them. "Very well," he said softly. "Then you can die together."
Before T'Challa or T'Chaka could react, Napoleon was upon them once more, a whirlwind of violence that neither could keep up with. He moved with a grace and power that felt almost supernatural, every punch and kick calculated to inflict maximum pain. T'Challa's vision blurred with each strike, the taste of blood filling his mouth, but he refused to fall.
"You are… nothing," Napoleon snarled, his voice cold and unyielding. "Just another kingdom that thought it could stand against me."
T'Challa felt his strength waning, his consciousness beginning to slip. But even as darkness crept at the edges of his vision, he heard his father's voice, clear and unwavering.
"Remember who you are," T'Chaka whispered, his hand resting on T'Challa's shoulder, lending him what little strength he had left. "You are the Black Panther. You are the king of Wakanda."
T'Challa nodded, forcing himself to focus, to gather every last ounce of strength he had. He met Napoleon's gaze one final time, his eyes blazing with defiance. "I am T'Challa, son of T'Chaka," he said, his voice unwavering, "and you will not defeat us."
Summoning the last reserves of his suit's energy, T'Challa channeled all of its power into one final, desperate attack. His body glowed with kinetic energy, and with a roar that echoed across the battlefield,
What was about to be the final showdown between the protectors of Wakanda and the conquer of Europe was suddenly interrupted by someone shooting T'Challa in the side, not enough to hurt him, but he was sent flying once more, collapsing near his father.
T'Challa lay on the ground, dazed and gasping for air. His vision swam, and pain lanced through his side where the blast had struck him. He forced himself to lift his head, trying to make sense of what had just happened. His father, T'Chaka, was on his hands and knees, his face etched with a mix of exhaustion and concern as he glanced over at his son.
"Who…?" T'Challa struggled to ask, his voice barely a whisper.
Napoleon remained standing, his expression one of annoyance rather than shock. He looked toward the source of the blast, and a new figure emerged from the smoke. It was a Foundation soldier, clad in a sleek, black exoskeleton suit.
"What reason do you have to interfere?" Napoleon asked, his voice filled with displeasure at having his fight interrupted like that.
T'Challa and T'Chaka hadn't forgotten about the army of enemies surrounding them. but after having seen that they seemed to be unlikely to interfere, they had decided to not pay them attention, or more like they just couldn't afford to not give Napoleon their full attention.
"Sorry to interrupt your fun, sir, but we have made an unexpected discovery: SCP-963 has been discovered within Wakanda." The man saluted and gave his report.
Napoleon's eyes narrowed, the frustration clear in his expression, but there was something else there too—curiosity, perhaps even intrigue. "SCP-963?" he echoed, his voice losing some of its earlier rage. "The amulet?"
The soldier nodded. "Yes, sir. Dr Bright has confirmed his identity."
Disappointment flashed briefly through Napoleon's eyes, SCP-963 was highly valuable, the ability to gain not just immortality but the ability to endlessly clone oneself was something none could turn down.
And as far as he was aware, even the O5 council had only been able to make one working copy. If he could get his hand on the unbound amulet, he might attempt to use it on himself, but since Jack Bright was here, that clearly wasn't possible.
Napoleon's frustration was evident, his fists clenching for a moment before he relaxed, a cold calculation returning to his gaze. "So, the good doctor has decided to make an appearance," he muttered under his breath, his tone tinged with annoyance.
"Should we prioritize his extraction?" the soldier asked, awaiting further instructions.
Napoleon glanced back at the two Black Panthers, who were still struggling to regain their footing, their bodies battered and bruised but their spirit unbroken. He seemed to consider his options. "No, just keep an eye on him, its not like there is any risk of him dying, we continue the mission, keep SCP-499 safe while exterminating Wakanda."
Napoleon's words struck T'Challa like a dagger. "Exterminating Wakanda?" The horror of what was happening finally set in. This wasn't just a battle. This wasn't just an invasion. It was an attempt to wipe his people, his culture, his entire world, from existence.
"You can't do this," T'Challa gasped, forcing himself to his feet despite the pain, blood dripping from his lips. "You can't just… wipe us out."
Napoleon turned back to him, his expression cold and unfeeling. "It's not personal," he said simply. "It's about ensuring humanity's survival, no matter the cost."
"Your survival is not our destruction!" T'Chaka roared, rising to stand beside his son, his eyes burning with defiance. "We will not let you destroy us. We will not be erased."
Napoleon stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. "You already are," he said softly, the coldness in his tone sending a chill down T'Challa's spine. "You just don't realize it yet."
T'Challa, shaking with fury, took a step forward. "If you think we will fall easily," he spat, "then you know nothing of Wakanda."
Napoleon gave a slight, almost pitying smile. "Then prove me wrong," he said. And with that, he turned away, leaving T'Challa and T'Chaka to the surrounding chaos as the Foundation soldiers began advancing on their position.
The two Black Panthers stood back-to-back, facing the encroaching army. They had no illusions about their chances. They were outnumbered, outgunned, and outmatched. But they were still standing. And as long as they stood, Wakanda still lived.
"For Wakanda," T'Challa whispered, his voice low but unwavering.
"For Wakanda," T'Chaka echoed, his gaze steely and unyielding.
Together, father and son launched themselves into battle one more time, fighting with everything they had, knowing that they were all that stood between their homeland and annihilation. Even as exhaustion and pain threatened to drag them down, they refused to give in, drawing strength from each other, from their ancestors, and from the spirit of Wakanda itself.
And as long as they could still fight, Wakanda would never be truly defeated.
A/N
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