[ Borderlands, Wakanda ]
It wasn't immediately clear to Daisy how the mercenary band had come to be such a chaotic mosaic of hired guns, misfits, and outright psychopaths. Viper, as far as she knew, used to have more finesse. But now? The group shambling through the edge of Wakanda's jungle looked like a rejected audition line for a violent reality TV show.
In Daisy's opinion, only Batroc and his immediate squad had any business being called professionals. The rest? Unruly cannon fodder. She'd seen better coordination in a kindergarten food fight.
Still, her attention was instantly yanked to the end of the line, where a singular presence trudged forward like a walking earthquake.
He was huge. Not large—huge. Nearly three meters tall, built like a sculpted tank that had swallowed a second tank for breakfast. Clad in crimson half-armor and a round red helmet that made him look like a medieval meat grinder, the man's sheer bulk depressed the ground beneath his feet with each step, sending subtle tremors through the earth.
Daisy's brows lifted. "Juggernaut? In Wakanda? You've got to be kidding me."
Cain Marko, the so-called Juggernaut, wasn't just some walking slab of meat. While often mistaken for a mutant, his true power hailed from the Crimson Cosmos—bestowed by the demon Cyttorak. There was a time when he could stare down the Living Tribunal without flinching. He had faded since then, sure, but he was still a beast who could shrug off an Infinity Stone tantrum like rain off steel.
"Now that," Daisy muttered to no one, "is a weight class above my pay grade."
She evaluated the odds. Batroc alone was enough to give someone like Captain America a workout. Add Juggernaut to the mix, and T'Challa—young, relatively green, and still full of noble ideals—was effectively facing a tag team made of an evil Steve Rogers and a budget Hulk.
If it had been the older, battle-hardened Black Panther of the future? Maybe. But this version of T'Challa hadn't yet learned when to smile and when to stab. She couldn't count on him winning.
"I'll go with you," Daisy said simply, her voice carrying no room for argument. Her gaze rested on Juggernaut. "Look at him. You don't get that kind of body mass on tofu and optimism."
Daisy had a rough plan about whether to steal the heart-shaped herb or let the Wakandan Royal Family give it to her. She was originally worried that Batroc was not strong enough, but now Juggernaut came at the right time.
T'Challa hesitated, then gave a solemn nod. No grand declarations, no 'stay behind, I'll handle this.' Just quiet understanding. One of his better traits.
Storm, meanwhile, trailed close behind. Her position in Wakanda was… complicated. Not quite royalty, not quite an outsider. The queen had her own plans—namely marrying her niece to T'Challa to continue the political status of her tribe in the entire country. Storm, however, didn't play well with power-grabby mother figures. She is the deputy captain of X-Men and also has her own pride. And she sure as hell wasn't about to nod politely to her would-be mother-in-law's lectures on etiquette. She won't be a submissive daughter-in-law to her future mother-in-law? That's a dream!
When she saw T'Challa and Daisy head out, Storm didn't ask who they were facing. She just followed.
The trio boarded one of Wakanda's sleek magnetic trams, joined by a contingent of Dora Milaje whose bald heads gleamed under the sun like polished judgment. The tram hummed to life and cut a silent path through the lush greenery toward the intruders' last known location.
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[ Some Time Later ]
The mercenaries, for their part, were a confused mess. Most of them had signed on thinking they'd loot some old tombs, smuggle gold or ivory, maybe scare off a few local militias. Not stumble into a hidden civilization with a high-tech city in the mountains with force fields, tech that made Stark Industries look like IKEA.
They didn't even know Wakanda had seen them. The leaders were arguing—no surprise there.
The Americans wanted to bail and report in. The Russians wanted to loot something before leaving. Batroc? Batroc had enough brains for all of them. He wanted to pull back, regroup, and return with overwhelming force.
As usual, his voice carried weight. When he spoke, others shut up. His experience was too valuable to ignore.
That's when one of their scouts whispered through the comms. Just two words:
"Enemies incoming."
Batroc reacted instantly. His eyes, cold and calculating, scanned the tree line. He guessed the direction of the ambush with unnerving accuracy. His mercenary instincts were second to none.
And then Black Panther struck.
T'Challa leapt from the trees, claws bared, dispatching a lookout with surgical precision. He and Batroc locked eyes just before the first strike.
Batroc kicked.
T'Challa dodged with a sidestep, but Batroc was already on the move, legs a blur of motion. His fighting style was tight, rhythmic, precise. A lethal dance honed in brutal back alleys and shadowy battlefields.
Black Panther also strikes several time in succession while relying on his Vibranium suit to block the Batroc's powerful side kick.
Then T'Challa attacked with his sharp vibranium claws.
Although Batroc didn't know what vibranium was, he wasn't stupid enough to use his flesh and blood to fight against the cold metal claws. But he had his own unique way of deflecting attacks like this by his footwork techniques.
Batroc didn't slow. His footwork flowed—unorthodox, unpredictable, almost hypnotic that made Black Panther almost dizzy.
T'Challa was unsettled by Batroc's technique. Batroc speed was just that of an ordinary person. He was much more physically fit than Batroc. But Batroc relied on a combination of footwork from many diciplines.
While dodging the black panther's claw attacks, Batroc did not stop attacking.
Being kicked a few times was not a big injury for Black Panther, who was covered in vibranium, but he couldn't afford to lose face. His originally dark and solemn battle suit was left with a few gray footprints. No matter how you looked at it, this was an insult to him. It would have been fine if no one was watching, but his girlfriend and Dora Milaje were there.
This made Black Panther feel a little embarrassed, and he stopped dodging Bartok's kicks and instead tried to take down this guy as quickly as possible.
Every kick was a distraction and an assault. Batroc thought. I didn't need to match his strength. I just needed to only exhaust him.
These two were striking at each other in fast speed that why the other mercenaries had taken a moment to finally react. Bartok had a high reputation in the mercenary camp, so they didn't dare to shoot him secretly. Many of them took out melee daggers and sticks and stepped forward to help Batroc in fight.
Thats when the mercenary grunts finally noticed the storm of bodies moving around them.
"Kill!" one of the Dora Milaje roared as she burst into the fray, spear gleaming.
The female guards moved in disciplined clusters—two on offense, one on defense. Their combined formations shredded the enemy line. Makeshift weapons and disorganized charges were no match for practiced, elegant violence.
Storm's white hair whipped as she called upon the weather. Her eyes turned a ghostly white as she ascended into the air, wind gathering like a vortex. Dark clouds rolled in with eerie speed, and rain began to pour in sheets.
She floated above the battlefield like judgment incarnate.
Storm's flying ability left Daisy speechless. It was completely powered by the wind!
Lightning flashed.
The mercs didn't stand a chance. They slipped on the mud, soaked and shivering. The Wakandans, used to the elements and born of the land, barely flinched.
Daisy, meanwhile, was soaked. Her blouse clung to her like a second skin, and she wasn't thrilled about it.
"Oh good," she muttered, flinging a drenched strand of hair from her face. "The one time I don't wear waterproof mascara."
She took down two mercs with surgical precision—veering away from lethal strikes to appear peace-loving—and retreated under a tree, letting the Dora Milaje handle the bulk.
Storm, high above, showing her power sent more lightning bolts through a cluster of mercenaries.
The mercenaries could not avoid the lightning and fell to the ground one after another.
As the tide turned, more Dora Milaje moved to assist T'Challa in his duel.
Batroc snarled but held his ground. He was many things, but not a coward.
But then the earth rumbled.
Juggernaut was coming.
To Be Continued...
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