In Wakanda, there's a new monastery in town. In the old days, it was one of many vessels of the state-approved and state-protected Panther Cult. Now, it's the home of a new cult. Their founding mother...or, so legend has it...is Deana Thomas.

Its nuns wear red robes, with golden trim. Most are black.

Across the alley, there are Dora Milaje...out-of-uniform, and dressed like Harlem hip-hoppers.

Like Pitch Perfect, the two convents fight-rap...to Fergie's "London Bridge." Because Deana Thomas was a black Londoner, "London Bridge" is now revered as the Golden Lioness Cult's holy anthem.

From far away, some nuns of the Panther Cult look on. They're old-fashioned, of course. They only look on, shake their heads, and eventually get back to work. Alas, some of them secretly can't help but envy the nuns' and the Dora Milaje's rapping talents...

On the other side of the monastery, Azazel teleports into view. He's brought someone. Their head is black-bagged.

From out of nowhere, snake-like chains slither through the air. They latch themselves to the black-bagged, and clap him in irons. (It is a him; just to get that straight preliminarily...)

Magneto and Riptide both levitate, and hold chains like leashes, while marching the black bagged up the Wakandan palace steps. Azazel carries a Dora Milaje spear...and teleports closer to the black bagged, each time the latter advances a considerable distance. He keeps the spear pointed at the black bagged's back.

As Riptide levitates, his winds blow several objects around. It becomes a bit of a problem, after they've taken the front entrance.

For security, and because the Queen thinks it's a good idea, the guards slap power-dampening cuffs on Magneto, Azazel, and Riptide before they enter. As much as all three mutants hate being humiliated...they'd all be lying, if they said they didn't understand the Queen's need to not completely trust them.

Soon, they're all standing before the Queen. The black bagged is still in chains.

Storm's applying mascara, via a handheld mirror. Magneto can't imagine why she'd need it...until he remembers that Storm's hair is white, and requires mascara to blacken it.

"STILL not sure why she'd do that," Riptide admits, in a Latino accent. "She looks fine."

"Ah, those legs," Azazel admits, in his Austro-German accent.

At last, the Queen finishes...and sits up straight, on her court throne. "What is this," she croons, "that you'd bring me to judge? A Red Crescent member? A shaman in a white robe? A village cow transfigured into a hardened criminal? Or just a simple African human, that you would expect me to harshly judge for being (ahem,) 'the past,' as you once described them to Professor X?"

"We found him in the Congo," Riptide speaks. "He was killing the jungle."

"O?" She leans forward, and causes her diadem to materialize, from an acacia wreath around her head. She props her head up, with her arms. "And how does one, such as a man who's face I can't see beyond a black bag, kill a jungle on his own."

"One word," Magneto offers her. "Umbrakinesis."

She gives him a strange look.

Magneto sighs. "Darkness control? You're a mutant. I'm sure you've met several of our kind with that power."

"Darkness control," she asks, "or Darkforce control?"

"It might be Darkforce," Riptide admits. "But it's too early to tell. He had a sunspot, right over the Congo. Its leaves were turning brown and yellow, by the time we found him."

"We needed to call in a favor from Lightmaster," Azazel adds, "just to find him, in his own epic shadow."

At this, Storm stands. "So... You mean to tell me that...while I've trusted you to protect Africa...and make me look like a heroine to my subjects...you've been fraternizing with known Masters of Evil, behind my back?!"

"It wasn't like that," Azazel implored. "We needed him. We tried to ask Dagger, but she refused us. None of us can generate light."

She still stares.

"Look, it was just one time! We won't go back to him for anything major! We swore!" He looks around. "We all did!"

The black bagged raises his arm, and says a phrase that, in his own native Shiväisith, means "I didn't." Magneto only scoffs, and swats his arm back down.

Storm grins, and caresses her own short white hair. "THAT'S a strange language. I've visited many places in my Sweet Home Africa. I did not recognize a word that man says."

Magneto sighs, and holds up his gloved hand. "We implore you not to overreact, your Majesty. This man's face might raise a rumpus, with you." With that, he nods at Azazel, and gives him the signal.

With his devil-like tail, Azazel sticks the stinger into the black bag, with the black bagged's head, and pulls the black bag off...revealing his identity.

At this, Storm stands, and covers her mouth. "T'Challa?! My love, you're alive?!"

The man would bear strong resemblance to T'Challa...if not for pointed ears, a taller height, and a creepier build.

"This," Magneto speaks, "is what we tried to warn you about. He's not T'Challa. The name that he's given us, for himself, is Rondo. He's a svartálfr."

Storm stares at him. "What the hell does that mean?"

"He's...a dark elf, your Majesty. He's from Svartalfheim."

She still seems confused.

"Thor? Asgard? The Nine Realms? The World Tree?" He shrugs. "Greenwich? Do THOSE names sound familiar to you?"

"He's...one of Thor's?"

"We're not sure. Although based on his race, it seems likely that he knows some who are Thor's."

"Okay. What's he doing on Earth...or, MIDGARD, rather? That...IS what they call Earth over there, isn't it?"

Azazel nods, while smiling abashedly.

"We've interrogated him. He won't talk. We've already tried putting an Allspeak collar on him; that new Stark International gadget that uses Asgardian tech? He's told us his name, rank, and serial number, but nothing else."

She lifts her head. "Just out of interest, what ARE his rank and...?" She scoffs, and shakes her head. "Never mind; I'll find out on my own. How much of the Congo did he destroy?"

"Most of the northwest DRC," they reply. "We're not sure if he's permanently destroyed it, but it's hard to tell."

"I know some mutants who know plants. I'll call on some of them. Anyway, take him to the dungeons. I'll sentence him later."

The Brotherhood starts that way.

"Wait."

They stop.

The Queen loosens her top, and caresses her short white hair. She presses a button on the armrest of her throne...which causes a bunch of green lights hanging from one of the buttresses, just above, to turn yellow. (In the Wakandan royal court, yellow lights mean "I'm taking a break." Green lights mean "I'm on duty," and red lights mean "I'm off duty.")

Towards Rondo, the Queen descends. She sticks two royal fingers into the front of his pants...and with them, pulls him closer to her.

"I'LL take this one from here," she says. "We have more...intimate business, to discuss." She pinches his cheek, and slaps his face. "I am his Queen, after all. I shall punish him with the wrath of one."

Dragging him by his upper arm, the Queen hauls Rondo off to her royal chambers. The Brotherhood gapes, and releases the chains they've had on him. Rondo helplessly drags them along, as the Queen takes him high aloft, to (ahem,) "torture him."

For many moments afterwards, the Brotherhood stops and stares. It's like they can't move...

"Can," Azazel asks, "she do that?"

Magneto shrugs. "She's the fokking Queen. She can do whatever the fok she wants...like fok a dark elf who looks like T'Challa."

"Wow," Riptide admits. "You'd think she was never over T'Challa to begin with."

"Oh, I'm," Magneto nods, "sure she is. Somehow I doubt a dark elf can satisfy her in bed the same way T'Challa once did."

Riptide and Azazel both give their boss strange looks.

Magneto blinks, and shakes his head. "But who am I to know so much of Storm's welfare? She hates me just as much as the other X-Men. Anyway, we all have jobs to do. Let's go back to them."

With that, Magneto storms out of the palace, leaving Riptide and Azazel staring in his wake. Beyond, the doors slam.

"What," Azazel gapes, "on Svartalfheim has become of our Brotherhood's great fearless leader?!"

"Not sure," Riptide admits. "But I kind of like it..."