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Black Panther Scenepack
The night sky over Wakanda shimmered with a constellation of violet threads—traces of the nation’s vast vibranium fields humming beneath the earth. On the edge of a cliff overlooking the Golden City, T’Challa, the Black Panther, stood still as a statue. His suit, sleek and dark, absorbed the moonlight, while the kinetic patterns etched within it pulsed slowly, like the heartbeat of a king preparing for battle.
Wakanda slept peacefully below, unaware of the storm that brewed in the distant borderlands. T’Challa could feel it—not just through reports from the Dora Milaje or Shuri’s surveillance feeds, but in something deeper, older. The instincts of the Panther Goddess, Bast, whispered through his veins.
A soft rustle behind him. Okoye stepped forward, spear glinting under the stars. “My king,” she said, bowing slightly. “The intruders are approaching the outer fields. A small group, but highly equipped.”
T’Challa nodded. “Foreign mercenaries seeking vibranium again?”
“Most likely,” Okoye said with a faint smirk. “They seem confident. I look forward to correcting them.”
T’Challa’s own smile was small but warm. “Tonight, I will go alone. Tell the others to fall back and guard the city.”
Okoye hesitated for a fraction of a second—long enough to reveal her concern, and short enough to show her trust. “As you command.”
When she was gone, T’Challa leapt from the cliff, landing silently against the hillside. Without a sound, he sprinted into the forest, each stride smooth and powerful. The suit enhanced his every movement, but the grace came from him alone. He ran as both king and hunter, a shadow gliding between trees.
It didn’t take long to find the intruders. They had set up near a vibranium outcrop, their machines drilling quietly into the soil. The mercenaries wore combat exosuits and carried weapons glowing with stolen tech. Their leader barked orders through a helmet amplifying his voice.
“Move faster! We’re not leaving empty-handed. The buyer wants raw ore.”
T’Challa stepped into the clearing.
“You come to steal from my land,” he said calmly. “This is your first mistake.”
The mercenaries spun toward him. One raised a rifle and fired a burst of energy shots. When the smoke cleared, T’Challa stood unchanged, the kinetic energy absorbed into his suit, purple light rippling across it like lightning caught in a web.
“Your second mistake,” he said, “was thinking Wakanda is unguarded.”
With a single movement he released the stored energy, slamming a shockwave into the attackers. The ground cracked beneath them as they tumbled back. A few tried to regain their footing, but the Black Panther was already among them—silent, precise, unstoppable.
He swept one attacker’s legs, dodged another’s blade, then struck with a palm glowing bright with vibranium feedback. Sparks flew. Metal buckled. Their advanced exosuits might as well have been paper.
One mercenary threw down his weapon and tried to flee. T’Challa sprinted after him, scaling a rock face in two strides before landing in front of the terrified man.
“Wakanda will share with the world on our own terms,” T’Challa said. “Not through fear. Not through theft. Remember that.”
The man nodded frantically and bolted into the trees.
When the last machine was dismantled, T’Challa stood alone again, the forest returning to its natural rhythm around him. Crickets sang. The wind carried the scent of wildflowers. Peace—hard-won, fragile—settled over the clearing.
Shuri’s voice crackled through his earpiece. “Brother, I’m tracking your vitals. You finished already? Honestly, sometimes you don’t even give me time to enjoy monitoring your battles.”
T’Challa chuckled softly. “The threat was small. Wakanda is safe.”
“For now,” Shuri teased. “Come home. Mother says there’s a council meeting. And she wants you present, not prowling around in the dark.”
“I will return,” he said.
He looked once more over his homeland—beautiful, powerful, hidden yet hopeful.
A king.
A protector.
The Black Panther.
He turned toward the Golden City, running with the certainty of a leader who carried both the weight and the pride of a nation on his shoulders.
