BLACK PANTHER IN: "KUELEZA [ EXPLANATIONS ]"

A gravity pulse beam lanced out, invisible, swifter than thought. A lashing, sweeping kick expertly delivered. A beam of coherent, destructive light energy spears at its target. A torrent of indigo skinned demons, eyes alight with the unholy gleam of the netherworld, their hideously grotesquely malformed skulls bearing the unmistakable stamp of Anubis, the Jackal, God of Death and Dread, sprang unceasingly to the attack. Claws rending, fangs gnashing, talons tearing.

And the gravity pulse beam, invisible, swifter than thought, was evaded with ease. The lashing sweeping kick, expertly delivered, was dismissively stepped over while a crushing kick slammed into the femur of the kicker, sending the fierce female warrior throwing the kick--a Midnight Angel, a member of the most elite of the elite Dora Milaje--hurtling into the torrent of demons. The beam of coherent, destructive light energy--a spear of sparkling scarlet power--clove the air and missed the beautiful, delicate Kenyan gourd filled with water to its very brim, perched expertly atop the crown of its target. The scarlet energy beam was fired by a formidable battle computer programmed to hit its target dead center perfect. Its aim was errorless against thousands of expertly trained warriors. But for the first time in recorded history, the prey it sought to smite smoothly slipped its laser blasts while simultaneously smiting multiple opponents at every point of the compass. The coordinated tactical genius of the most prodigious attacks of thronging, experienced demons and Midnight Angels working in tandem were brushed aside and shredded as easily as wet tissue is shredded by rampaging dinosaurs. The prey turned the tables on the would be hunters with a blizzard of flawlessly timed, smoothly delivered counters. A brutal teep kick here, an Ogun Hammer blow there, a djuru from Silat here, a locking twisting throw into a horde of onrushing attackers there, a balletic dodge in a totally unexpected direction while battering a slew of other attackers with jackhammer Muay Thai knees, elbows, forearm smashes, and bone obliterating blows at this point...a pulverizing punch to an exposed organ delivered with unfettered brutality at that point...

...all while not wasting a single drop of the precious water poised to spill from the beautiful hand crafted Kenyan gourd upon its perch on the target's skull.

"She was born for this, Our Royal Highness Queen Mother." Unmistakable admiration in a voice and from a person who is amongst the very finest of warriors of any time in any place, and from a person rarely touched by such sentiment.

"Mistress Aneka," Queen Mother Ramonda replied from the perch which she shared in The Battle Module's Command Center, "in this Module, there is no distinction of rank. Only distinction of warrior skill. Royal titles are not welcome, here."

"Then...First Battle Mistress Ramonda," Mistress Aneka, leader of the Midnight Angels, amended her statement and referred to Queen Mother Ramonda by her former title as the very first leader and creator of The Midnight Angels. "You are still first among equals."

"I am ELDEST amongst elite warriors." the Queen Mother corrected." Which doesn't make me the best of us. As you well know, Mistress Aneka. You have been my best friend for decades now."

"As you have been mine, First Battle Mistress Ramonda." And then, seeing the smiling look in her best friend's eye, Aneka corrected herself. "Ramonda." Aneka had always teased Rarmonda this way, ever since they were children. She was the only one who would dare such a thing. Not even T'Chaka would tease her so. And T'Chaka would have dared anything.

The Queen Mother and First Battle Mistress shared a smile, and for a moment they were just Aneka and Ramonda again. And that was what makes their relationship unique; that was the one thing that Ramonda shared with Aneka that she could share with nobody else.

And then Mistress Aneka returned her attention to the lone warrior below them and said:

"The LMD demons are literally unceasing in number, as they are constantly created and flung into the fray until the incantation...scripted in ancient Githzerai, and encoded and scrambled by our most advanced encoding computers...is retrieved and properly read from a Metamaterial and Darkforce cloaked Chameleon Receptacle that is further shielded with Flat Dimension Tech and randomly teleported around the room according to a randomly generated constantly changing wave algorithm. It's impossible even for her senses alone to locate the receptacle. The cunning, the battle tactics, she is displaying are...magnificent. And she has to do all of this with the hand crafted Kenyan water gourd filled to the brim with water atop her head. She cannot allow the gourd to be in any way touched or even the slightest molecule of water to spill from its lip, or the exercise will end in failure for her. And yet, she is tearing through this exercise as if it's easier than laughing for her."

Aneka shook her head.

"Look at that," she commented.

Ramonda watched as the outnumbered warrior below her turned the hybrid demon fire and invisible graviton force Geyser Net trap that her opponents--smartly working in tandem, skillfully aggressing upon their lone opponent--intelligently employed, only to have their ploy turned back upon them. The lone warrior added to their discomfiture by transforming into a fist feet knees elbows and shoulder striking typhoon fiercely smashing her opposition into unconsciousness. Scores of others thronged at her from all sides as well as below and above her, seeking to impede her every move, but she never stopping her headlong charge toward the cloaked Chameleon Receptacle that she--in a synergistic, holistic display of acute senses combined with keen intellect--was somehow able to slowly but inexorably home in upon, regardless of how often and expertly it was teleported within the Battle Module. And in the midst of all this...that look in the outnumbered warrior's eye. That unconquerable spirit shining through her every stride. That unstoppable, brash pride. She knew and loved these qualities before the warrior below her was even born. And she knew from whom the warrior below her inherited such distinct qualities.

Aneka turned her eyes to the Battle Module and the spectacle of combat below. "Absolutely magnificent. She was BORN for this." Mistress Aneka reiterated. "The gravity pulse beams are calibrated to be beyond the reach of even her amazing senses. The laser beams menace her but the quasar streaks are aimed directly at the Kenyan gourd. The Dora Milaje there are Midnight Angels, fully aware of the battle plan carefully crafted by a blend of some of the keenest military minds on this and other worlds. And yet...look at her. Hammering into slumber the fell Midnight Angels. Mercilessly slaughtering the LMD demons. Dismissively eluding their demonfire. Laughing at our high tech bolts, beams, streaks, and pulse attacks. And never once even remotely at risk. Her responses to our attacks are...beautiful. I have rarely seen such cunning."

But Ramonda had known of such cunning for perhaps the most scintillating decade of her life.

And when the warrior below her hit that trademarked one hand cartwheel spring which torqued her away and untouched in a knifing oblique arc through a lattice work of brightly colored blasts, she felt her heart overflow with pride and love for this warrior. For who would dare to be brash and brilliant and cockily confident enough to dare a ricocheting acrobating cartwheel-X layout-handspring-walkover-sextuple somersalt with a gourd of water on her head as an evasive response to a coordinated, clever combo attack launched by demons, some of the finest warriors in the history of Earth, and laser beams fired by the most advanced battle computers on the planet--and pull it off without even disturbing the water inside--other than Shuri, Black Panther, reigning Queen of the Living in Wakanda? And when she came out of the gorgeous acrobatic elusive attack, never halting her constant, lissome movements, she laughed a laugh that only one other person had ever laughed before.

Who indeed would be so brash, brilliant, cockily confident, daring...and successful? There can only be one other person who would dare such a thing. Indeed, who DID such a thing FIRST. Who laughed such a laugh first. Only one person. And that person was and is the love of her life.

T'Chaka. The Great King. Her dearly departed husband.

And Shuri was ever her father's daughter.

"Look at her enter the fray, lay about her with such fierceness!" Mistress Aneka's voice was moderate in volume but filled with the admiration of one great warrior for another.

"Then the reports are true?" Ramonda asked her friend.

Aneka knew exactly what Ramonda meant.

"Yes," she confirmed. "Our Queen did indeed clash with various X-Men who'd been party to the invasion of Wakanda prior to returning home. Yes, Shuri did defeat them all. Handily. And yes, she believes that the sole reason that she did such a thing is because of The X-Men's aggression upon Wakanda, and the need to establish Wakanda's absolute intolerance for such behaviour for any reason, by any one. She did not kill anyone, despite uttering the famous phrase: "See Wakanda And Die" as the last of the X-Invaders she encountered fell before her."

"Storm?" Ramonda queried.

"Shuri did not confront her. You know already that Shuri is conflicted about Storm. She still loves her, but cannot condone her actions."

"Sam Wilson?"

"Exactly as you first suspected, Ramonda. Shuri brought Sam an improvement upon his flight harness. For all intents and purposes, there is a burgeoning spark of intense mutual attraction between Shuri and Sam."

"Which explains Rogue, doesn't it, Aneka?"

"Yes, it does explain why Shuri clashed with Rogue. Her official reason--that Rogue was part and parcel of the support group of the X-Invaders--is impeccable reasoning. Immune to legal assault, so Wakanda need not worry about any U.S. or international repercussions for Shuri's actions. And the X-Men are mutants...infinitely more reviled than Shuri will ever be by the ignorant Outworlders. In fact? Overall, the Outworlders love Shuri."

"One of their few mass examples of intelligence," Ramonda quipped. And both ladies laughed.

"But also as you and I suspected," Aneka picked up the string of her narrative, "there was another reason...the real reason...for Shuri's confrontation with Rogue."

"Yes, my sister. Rogue defeated Sam Wilson...The Falcon...and several other Avengers in direct hand to hand combat last year. And we Pantheress' are more than a little protective of the ones that we love."

Mistress Aneka nodded her head.

"Although I would characterize their relationship as more a combination of mutual respect, attraction, admiration and lust than love at this point," Mistress Aneka commented. "It IS harder for women in the Outer World to deal properly with the men of the Outer World."

"And the men of the Outer World are more than a little to blame," Queen Ramonda responded.

"Agreed." Mistress Aneka stated, and the two women shared a gesture which combined the Hi-5 and fist bump [ in Wakanda this gesture is called "nafsi uthibitisho", roughly translated as "soul affirmation", meaning someone agrees with a sentiment/position/argument all the way down to their soul ] of total solidarity with the sentiment.

The Queen Mother cast a glance at her magnificent daughter, who was at that very moment in the midst of another spectacular display of brilliant battle ferocity. The signs were all there. The invincible feline feral glow. The unfettered passion. The absolute dedication. The unquestioned faith and pride in herself and her people. The unapologetic pride and vindication and satisfaction that comes from knowing that you and you alone shielded a loved one from a danger that he was susceptible to. And Shuri didn't even fully know that she was doing such a thing. But both Ramonda and Aneka knew. Although they were not blessed to be Panthers by Bast, each of them are vastly more experienced at both life and being a woman than young Shuri is...and they would ever remain so. Shuri still had so much to learn.

But you couldn't tell that by how wise, how flawless she was in The Battle Module. She cavorted, hew about her, spun, leaped, sprang, raked, slashed and tore. She blasted half a dozen Demons with a single side kick, expertly redirected the skillful blows holds and flawlessly wielded weapons of The Midnight Angels back upon them using a cunning blend of African martial arts: Shackle Hand, Laamb Wrestling, Zulu stickfighting, Eritrean "riesy". Never did her opponent's blows come close to penetrating her cunning defense, never did her foes arise from even a single counterattack or attack that she launched. Never did the water in the Kenyan gourd perched atop her head even display the slightest ripple or marring of its perfectly placid surface, so exacting and precise were her movements. She executed a heart stoppingly dazzling, full body acrobatic contortionist elusive manuever that was somehow amazingly fluid, beautiful to behold, and sexually stimulating while being utterly combatively lethal at the same time--Oshun's Step. It is a movement from a discipline that no male Panther was ever trained in, a technique that has never ever been thwarted in battle. Legend has it that the goddess Oshun taught this technique to the first female Panther , who famously stymied the Leader of Pagan Gods with it, millenia upon millenia ago. The movement always excited a great war cry of admiration and awe and battle frenzy from all Wakandans who ever saw it, and such was the case now. All...Ramonda, Aneka, the Midnight Angels...roared their approval of Shuri's technique with a single voice, a great fierce glad thrilling shout. And she roared back at them, roared with them, springing into the fray...

...as ten thousand thousand limbs from the very gullet of fell legends flailed massive, life smashing blows in blindingly fast combinations. Fatally envenomed talons sprouted in row upon row upon soul poisoning row, covering each incalculably wide, incalculably long tentacle with the promise of the most horrific of deaths for creatures of the flesh. Not even Gods would survive its immortal doom. Ten thousand thousand limbs flailed, writhed, coiled, whipped, snapped, smashed, smote, swung, lashed and bludgeoned. And ten thousand thousand limbs failed to even touch the stygian shadow flashing, flitting, speeding, arrowing, gliding, glissading into transcendentally masterful, fluid, hyperfast technique of such eye bewildering intensity that the stygian shadow blurred into invisibility, and its many movements seemed to gell into just one manuever. Otherworldly darkness blanketed all. There was no sky. No ground. No oxygen. There was only Waskulltyr, woe begotten spawn of Nidhogg The Tearer of Corpses, Heyrvangr Of The Many Limbs and Fangs, and Helblindi. Waskulltyr, whose evil nature was mated to the untold might and malicious magicks of evil Gods. Waskulltyr, distant relative of Loki, cursed and fated to guard and haunt The Treacherous Pathways leading to the only entry to The Trickster's fortress fastness.

Waskulltyr, whose gigantic form...massive beyond all mortal ken and measurement...quaked and heaved from end to end with the throes of deadly combat. No quarter given, none asked. And the stygian shadow brought cunning unbridled and lethal war to Waskulltyr, and Waskulltyr...eternally foul tempered Waskulltyr, who delighted in the unending torment and torture of others, who fed on the infinite anguished screams of the creatures he devoured until the Days of Ragnarok...Waskulltyr knew dread. Waskulltyr knew pain. Waskulltyr knew fear. For the first and last time, Waskulltyr came into the knowledge that all foes of Panthers learned...

...a Panther is unstoppable. Shuri was unstoppable. On this day, all would fall before her power. On this day, all would see she is truly an unanswerable force. And the Midnight Angels surged upon her, striking and acting as one, their technique impeccable. Their will unbreakable. And they fell before her. And the LMD demons blazed the wrath of the netherworld at her. Demon fire gored the air and sought to sear her spirit. Fangs snapped. Claws cleft. Talons tore. And they fell before her by the score. She hammered and smashed them, she was fury unbridled, she was passion unfettered, and blow after blow after blow blitzkrieged into her foes in neverending succession...

...and he was coldly calculating. No wasted motion. A single, unanswerably perfect strike at the absolutely perfect time, carefully orchestrated, perfectly manipulated, guilefully executed,artfully performed by a intellect so massive, an inner equilibrium so cool and imperturbable, as to have virtually no equal or superior. One blow, infinitely more harmful than a thousand shattering strikes lacking the infinite cunning, the highly refined, massively cultivated, gargantuan ubergenius of the shadow as it stopped at exactly the perfect spot. The single spot that not even Loki knew. And without pause, it executed a ruthlessly sagacious, impossibly accurate, strike. And the Spear of Bashenga bit deep, deep into the unknowable place, the impossible place, Waskulltyr's most secret of secret places.

And Waskulltyr's gargantuan form convulsed and spasmed. Its life liquids bubbled forth in gouts of astral fluid, lit from within by lambent, horrible orange and maroon lights. And Waskulltyr's single eye--the Secret Eye, the size of a moon, the size of a planet, opened at last. And Waskulltyr saw the shadow make a single gorgeous movement, an enchanter's gesture, and speak not with its voice...which could not carry in the space of souls...but instead with its secret spirit. "Kale Roho za Ptah na Atum, " spoke the shadow, " Miungu kubwa iliyobeba roho ya Ptah; Yeye wa nguvu isiyo na mipaka! Sikia wimbo takatifu wa kichawi wa Ausar. Kama Ausette akiimba zaburi, Tunauliza Baraka Zake. Tunaomba hekima Yake, ulinzi Wake, mwongozo wake. Tunaomba atubariki kwa nguvu Yake kubwa ya kuokoa roho hizi kutoka kwa mauti mabaya yanayosababishwa na yule mwovu ambaye hula mioyo na roho ... Wallskulltyr. Baast Tunakutia moyo. Hakuna kiumbe anayeweza kujificha kutoka kwa macho yako, ambayo huboa vizuizi vyote. Vivuli vyote. Giza lote. Chui wako mweusi aliyechaguliwa, Mfalme wako wa wafu, mtawala wako wa siri, anakuombea Wewe upe uhuru wa roho hizi zisizo na hatia na nzuri. Chui wako mweusi aliyeteuliwa anawasilisha ombi lake kwako, nguvu ya Baast, na anakuuliza uwape watu hawa wasio na hatia uhuru wao na uwape nguvu ya kulipiza kisasi kwa mkandamizaji; roho mbaya na yenye kuchukiza inayoitwa Wallskultyr. " ...."

And the tens of thousands of souls that Waskulltyr feasted upon, tormented, raped and ruined and made most wretched, were rejuvenated. They were redeemed. And Waskulltyr's being quailed, as his power weakened immeasurably. And these souls were gifted again with their full power. And they visited their full wrath upon Waskulltyr, repaying him in full for the aeons and aeons of torment he inflicted upon them...

...and Shuri plucked the scroll from the Chameleon Receptacle. Leaping passed thronging demons. Slashing through surging demons. Soaring over reaching demons. Flashing by demons who were ever a few critical degrees off with their strikes, a few moments too late or too soon with their blows, a few moments too late or too soon with their reactions and actions. And she arched backwards--again, not even remotely disturbing the gourd of water--battered shattered and slaughtered the demons with a berserker rage, her claws reaping a harvest of blood and mangled flesh. She was a maddened predator, a rampaging carnivore amongst prey too stupid and too slow to flee her wrath. With a last massive two handed upward raking 360 degree spinning claw attack opening up two score demons from pelvis to throat...their entrails falling about her in a precipitation of organs, blood and death...Shuri cleared the space she needed, bought the time she sought.

Mistress Aneka and the Queen Mother watched, not missing even the slightest detail. All knew that Shuri would now have to match wits with the 165 bit encryption code that changed 1000 times per minute. A single failure would result in the Githzerai incantation being teleported away, and the ordeal restarted yet again.

But Shuri was already ahead of her enemies, having read and adapted to her oppositions' battle plans beautifully. Even before she finished her raking 360 degree spinning claw attack, she'd already freed the Githzerai scroll and was reading--flawlessly--from its script. And the ancient words of power flung the LMD demons back into their "demon dimensions" via "portals" that were 'summoned" by the Githzerai incantation.

As Mistress Aneka said...Shuri was BORN for this. And the Queen Mother thrilled with pride and love for her daughter.

...and even as the tens of thousands of redeemed souls finished with him, TChalla pierced Waskulltyr with the final, fatal blow in the only spot and in the only manner that Waskulltyr was susceptible to. And Waskulltyr knew that this creature...this Wakandan King, this Black Panther...was unlike any other creature that it knew about or knew of. This flesh trash carried the mandate of great heroes, the grace of great Kings, the fate of immortals. This creature jousted with the impossible and smote it down. This creature matched wits with the unknowable and revealed that which was hidden to all others. This creature handled and surmounted unanswerable challenges as one BORN for such tasks.

And the undisputed, undefeated Lord of the Wakandas glared down upon Waskulltyr, his eyes blazing with the pure naked fierceness, the incalculable cunning, the immeasurable force, the feral beauty, the endless lethality, the infinite mystery of the panther. And TChalla came close to Waskulltyr’s flesh, stared deeply into his eye, so Waskulltyr might truly know and never deny who his conqueror was. Who the victor must ever be in whatever conflict that pit the two against each other. One moment passed, with the two foes forming a perfect tableau for a frozen second. Behold: Waskulltyr felled, his powerful frame being wracked and slowly torn apart by the huge strength in his knotted, spasming, seizing astral tentacles, the pain a veritable sea of lava seething in his soul. His astral life spilling from its rent being like solar flares of the soul, slashing the impenetrable night of The Treacherous Pathways with dark iridescence. Illuminating TChalla's form with the lightnings of its dying throes. They formed for a petrified instant in time the perfect snap shot, the timeless tableau between them; one shuddering, convulsing, rent, leaking its very soul into the ether, utterly vanquished, totally defeated. The other standing, commanding, dominant; utterly victorious. Fate Herself has decreed that their conflict must end and shall ever end thusly.

And the Panthers—seeing what they sought in their foes' eyes, which is the damning, dawning realization of their total defeat at the hands of the Wakandan monarchs—uttered one word. One spoke the word from his very soul in his implacably calm, erudite, utterly ruthless voice. The other roared from the unfathomed depths of her heart the exultant, unconquerable roar of the predatory Panther. The Deadliest of the Species.

"AMANDLA!!"

With one word, they acknowledged their kinship and similarity. With one word, they were joined in victory. With one word, they underscored their perpetual differences.

Queen Mother Ramonda and Aneka exulted with their Queen Ruler.

"Tsakar Dare Malã'iku [ "Midnight Angels" ], " Shuri, The Deadliest of The Species, roared to her faithful. "For too long have the enemies of Wakanda moved with impunity. Threatening our great land with their perfidiousness. Sullying the world with their evil. No more! TO...NIIGGHHHT!! Your Queen bares the Claws of The Panther. TO...NIIIIGHT!! Your Queen will sink her fangs into the throats of those who dare to raise arms against us!! TO...NIIIIGHHT! The Black Panther will show the rest of the world that the Fangs of Wakanda are lethal, and ever ready to rend Her foes into bloody meat."

She paused. Glared at her audience. Saw that each and every one of them were the very embodiment of eagerness for combat. Good.

"Mokotare," she uttered. And immediately hisses from the Midnight Angles filled the room. Mokotare...[ pronounced Moe-Ko-Tar-Ray ]...was a lawless camp erected by the refugees from the ramifications of a combination of civil wars from other Afrikan countries. Mokotare was a festering ground of starvation and fear and anger. Desperation and despair. Rape gangs comprised of Mokotare residents routinely pillaged the boys and girls, men and women of Mokotare.

"Our sisters, children, and mates are subjected to torture and rape, every hour of every day in Mokotare!" Shuri let her fury shine, and the hissing Dora Milaje absorbed and threw back her fury. "Western and Eastern powers exploit this horrible happenstance...which they manipulated into being...in order to place their spies near our borders. Our sister, one of the Adepts of Agayu, found and punished one of their agents...the mutant psychopath known as Sabertooth...upon the outskirts of Mokotare. He was preparing to ravage the unwary. Until she brought down swift and fierce justice upon him!" Another roar of approval from the Dora Milaje.

"Sharpen your swords, sisters!! Gird yourselves. For your Queen goes hunting. Mokotare, Atlantis, Lemuria, and Latveria shall learn what all enemies have learned. Wakaaanda!! Is NOT to be trifled with. All those who transgress against us, shall suffer unimaginable consequences. We shall remind the world...DUBI WAKANDA DA MUTU!!! [ "SEE WAKANDA AND DIE!! ]"