As Shuri attempts to disarm the mercenary, Killmonger manages to get ahold of his spear. Before she can react, he slashes her right gauntlet with so much force she nearly stumbles. Shuri recovers quickly and raises her left arm to shoot, but Killmonger catches her fist with ease. He crushes the second gauntlet in a matter of seconds, rendering them both useless. For a moment, Shuri tries in vain to fire another blast before her arm is yanked back powerfully. She has a spilt second to be grateful for the broken gauntlets protecting her from the vicious grip on her wrist — until she feels an even more excruciating pain like nothing she’s ever felt before.
The sharp blade of N’Jadaka’s spear digging into her skin.
Shuri screams in agony as the vibranium metal slices through her flesh, ripping her open. She feels blood trickling down her arm where Killmonger cut her, the pain so severe tears prick the back of her eyes.
But Killmonger wasn’t finished.
Shuri feels her neck nearly snap when the side of his fist connects with her face, the whiplash and impact from the blow knocking her to the ground. Black stars explode in her vision, a large bruise beginning to form just beneath her eye. Shuri feels the world collapsing onto her as Killmonger tightly snatches a handful of her braids and yanks her head back, an involuntary whimper escaping her throat. Claws brandished, Killmonger climbs on top of her and holds the spear up to her throat, the silver steel stained crimson with blood. Her blood.
“What’s up, Princess?” the assassin sneers.
Their eyes meet, and Shuri has never been more terrified in her life. But she refuses to give this monster the satisfaction of relishing her fear. Ignoring the pain in her temple, Shuri looks up and glares into those dark brown eyes that are disturbingly all too similar to her own.
“You’ll never be a true king.” she snarls, voice filled with contempt.
Shuri would never forget the look of pure hatred Killmonger gives her before the mask reappears over his face. The brief glimpse of his teeth bared in rage as he raises the broken spear to finish the job — to kill her? Hurt her more? It didn’t matter. Shuri was already afraid, already bruised and bleeding.
What she doesn’t realize until many years later, after her visit to the ancestral plain is that — when she looks down at the long jagged scar on her arm — the fear Shuri felt since that day wasn’t of the sharp claws or even the blood stained blade.
It was the way looking into N’Jadaka’s eyes felt like looking in a mirror.