Chapter 77:

[Skeith POV]

[Royal Palace, Wakanda]

[Med-bay.] I stand on the side, my arms crossed and my eyes narrowing as I watch the doctors tend to N'Jadaka's injuries. Idiot. He's letting his emotions control his actions, a dangerous flaw for someone in his position. Each wince and groan he makes as they apply the antiseptic only fuels my disdain. He's supposed to be a king, a leader, yet here he is, reduced to a pained mess because he couldn't keep his rage in check. His injuries are a testament to his recklessness, and at this rate, N'Jadaka is becoming more of a liability than an asset. We need strength, precision, and cunning, not this unpredictable volatility. I can see the concern in the eyes of the medics, their hurried movements betraying their worry about the state of their king. They should be worried. We all should be. If he doesn't get a grip on his emotions, he risks everything we've worked for. The soft hum of medical equipment and the occasional beep of monitors create a stark contrast to the chaos outside these walls. Wakanda is on the brink, and we can't afford mistakes. N'Jadaka's impulsive actions are a threat to our plans, and I'm not sure how much longer I can tolerate his recklessness. My loyalty is to CERBERUS, not to his fragile ego. If he can't see the bigger picture, then perhaps it's time for a new strategy, one that doesn't rely on his unstable leadership.

Despite not being present, I can almost hear Drake laughing. His mocking tone rings in my ears, a phantom echo that I can't shake. Drake would relish this moment, seeing N'Jadaka brought low by his own foolishness. I imagine him leaning against a wall somewhere, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips as he watches this unfold from afar. He's always found amusement in the chaos of others, particularly when it's someone like N'Jadaka, who prides himself on being untouchable. Drake would see this as a perfect example of the flaws in our current plan. He's always been more pragmatic and less tolerant of weakness. His laughter, though absent, reminds me of his often vocalized disdain for N'Jadaka's hot-headedness. I can almost see his eyes twinkling with mischief and a touch of malice, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he says, "Told you so, Skeith. This is what happens when you let a brute play king."

I can't help but feel a pang of agreement with his imaginary taunts. Drake has always been right about the importance of control and strategy. Unlike N'Jadaka, Drake thrives on precision, enjoying the thrill of the chase and the satisfaction of a well-executed plan. His laughter, though imagined, is a stark reminder of the growing divide within our ranks. The tension is palpable, and it's becoming clear that if we're to succeed, we need to reassess our reliance on N'Jadaka. The doctors continue their work, oblivious to my internal turmoil. Each stitch they place in his back feels like a stitch in the fabric of our fragile alliance. The path forward is becoming murkier, and as much as I despise admitting it, Drake's laughter is a sobering reminder that something needs to change. The mission is too important to let personal vendettas and emotional outbursts derail our progress.

[Spartan POV]

[Campsite, Wakanda]

[Tent.] The air inside the tent is cool and filled with the faint scent of canvas and earth. I push aside the flap and step in, my body still humming with the adrenaline of the mission. Before I can fully take in my surroundings, I'm met with a blur of movement and a soft, familiar presence. Wanda leaps into my arms, her hands gripping my shoulders as she plants a passionate kiss on my lips. Her warmth and the urgency in her kiss make my heart race, the tension of the mission melting away in an instant. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her closer, feeling the relief and happiness radiating from her. "You're back," she breathes against my lips, her voice a mix of elation and relief. Her eyes are shining, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she pulls back just enough to look at me. The intensity of her gaze makes my heart swell. I run a hand through her hair, brushing a stray lock behind her ear. "I'm back," I confirm, my voice low and reassuring, "Safe and sound." She sighs, resting her forehead against mine, "I was so worried. I kept thinking the worst, especially with how dangerous things have been lately."

I tighten my hold on her, feeling the weight of her words, "I know. But I'm here now. We're both here." The mission had been grueling, the stakes high, but moments like this make it all worthwhile. The feel of her in my arms, the taste of her kiss, the sound of her voice—all of it grounds me. Wanda's fingers trace patterns on my back, her touch soothing and intimate. "You'll always come back to me," she whispers, her voice filled with faith. "Yes," I reply, my voice steady and filled with conviction, "No matter what, I'll always find my way back to you."

We stand there for a moment, wrapped in each other's embrace, the world outside the tent momentarily forgotten. The soft murmur of the camp and the distant sounds of the Wakandan wilderness fade into the background, leaving just the two of us in our little sanctuary. I feel the steady rise and fall of Wanda's chest against mine, the rhythmic beat of her heart a comforting reminder that we've made it through another day. Subconsciously, my hand drifts down to her stomach, resting gently over the place where our future lies. The realization of the life growing inside her fills me with a sense of awe and responsibility. A smile tugs at my lips, and I press my forehead against hers, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and protection. Wanda giggles softly, a sound that is music to my ears. "It'll be a while until it starts kicking," she says, her eyes sparkling with amusement and tenderness. Her hand covers mine, and she gives it a reassuring squeeze.

"I know," I whisper, my voice thick with emotion, "But I can't help thinking about it. About what it means for us, for our future." Her expression softens, and she leans into me, her lips brushing against my cheek in a feather-light kiss. "We have time," she murmurs, "Time to figure everything out, to prepare. Right now, let's just enjoy this moment." I nod, feeling a sense of peace wash over me. The mission, the dangers, the uncertainties—they all fade into the background when I'm with her. This is our moment, our time to dream about the future we're building together. I can almost see it—the child we'll raise, the family we'll become. It's a vision that fills me with joy. Wanda's fingers continue to trace soothing patterns on my back, and I close my eyes, savoring the closeness, the intimacy of this moment. The world outside may be chaotic and uncertain, but here, in this tent, we have our own little piece of paradise. We have each other, and we have a future worth fighting for. "I love you," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "I love you more," she replies, her voice equally soft but filled with unwavering conviction. We stay like that for a while longer, wrapped in each other's embrace.

[Erik Killmonger POV]

[1 Day Later, Royal Palace, Wakanda]

[Med-bay.] After a full day of recovering from my humiliating defeat at T'Challa's hand, my veins are boiling with rage. The sterile white walls of the med-bay seem to close in on me, a constant reminder of my failure. Every breath I take is laced with the bitter taste of defeat, and each movement sends a fresh wave of pain through my battered body. But the physical pain is nothing compared to the seething fury that churns within me. I am the king of Wakanda, the rightful ruler of this powerful nation, yet here I lie, humiliated and wounded. The medics move around me with practiced efficiency, their hands gentle but their eyes filled with a mix of fear and respect. They know who I am and what I am capable of, and they tread carefully, aware that my temper is as volatile as the Vibranium that courses through this land. I can see their nervous glances and feel their hesitation, but their pity only fuels my anger. I replay the battle in my mind over and over, each misstep and miscalculation magnified in the harsh light of hindsight. T'Challa's smug face flashes before my eyes, his triumph a burning brand on my pride. How could I have let this happen? I was supposed to cement my rule, solidify my power, and reshape Wakanda in my image. Instead, here I am, laid low and humiliated.

I clench my fists, the pain in my knuckles a welcome distraction from the torment in my mind. My blood feels like molten lava, each heartbeat a drumbeat of vengeance. The medics murmur to each other in hushed tones, and I catch snippets of their conversation—words like "recovery" and "rest"—but I don't have time for rest. I don't have the luxury of recovery. Every second I spend here is a second lost in my quest to consolidate my power. In the corner of the room, a monitor beeps steadily, a mocking reminder of my current weakness. I glare at it, wishing I could crush it under my heel, but I know that such an act would be pointless. My anger needs a more productive outlet, a way to channel this fury into something that will bring me closer to my goal. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to steady the storm within. I can't afford to lose control. Not now. Not when so much is at stake. T'Challa may have won this round, but the war is far from over. I will rise from these ashes stronger, smarter, and more determined than ever.

I can already feel the beginnings of a plan taking shape, a way to turn this defeat into a stepping stone for my ultimate victory. T'Challa won't see it coming. He thinks he's safe, but he's wrong. I'll strike with a fury that will make today's defeat look like a mere skirmish. The medics finish their work and step back, their eyes still cautious, waiting for any sign of an outburst. I give them none. My anger is a weapon, and I need to keep it sharp and focused. I swing my legs over the side of the bed, wincing slightly at the pain but welcoming it as a reminder of what's at stake. "Leave me," I command, my voice cold and hard. The medics hesitate for a moment before scurrying out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I stare at my reflection in the glass of a nearby cabinet. The man staring back at me is a warrior, a king in power, a force to be reckoned with. I will solidify my rule, and when I do, the world will tremble at the name Erik Killmonger. I will ensure that Wakanda becomes the superpower it was always meant to be, and I will lead it with an iron fist. No one, not T'Challa, not anyone, will stand in my way.

At that moment, I feel Skeith's presence lurking in the room. She's always been good at hiding in the shadows, her stealthy approach both an asset and an annoyance. I can sense her judgment, her silent scrutiny, and it grates on my already frayed nerves. "This ninja gimmick is getting old," I snap, my voice slicing through the silence like a blade. There's a rustle, and then she steps out of the shadows, her eyes cold and unyielding. "And a grown-ass man throwing a temper tantrum is a pathetic look for a king," she remarks back, her tone dripping with disdain. Her words hit harder than I care to admit, and for a moment, I feel the sting of her truth. But I quickly push it aside, my anger boiling over. "What do you want, Skeith?" I growl, not in the mood for her games. She crosses her arms, her gaze unwavering. "To remind you that your anger is useless if not directed properly," she says, her voice steady, "You're acting like a child who's had his toy taken away. If you want to maintain the throne, you need to think strategically, not emotionally."

I glare at her, the intensity of my fury barely held in check, "You think I don't know that? I'm well aware of what needs to be done." "Then start acting like it," she snaps back, "You're supposed to be the king of Wakanda, not a sulking brat. Use your rage, but don't let it control you." I take a deep breath, trying to steady the storm within. Skeith is right, as much as I hate to admit it. My anger is a weapon, but only if I wield it wisely. "Fine," I mutter, my voice low and dangerous, "I'll do what needs to be done. But remember this, Skeith: doubt me again, and you'll regret it." She gives me a cold smile, unfazed by my threat, "I don't doubt you, Erik. I doubt your ability to control yourself. Prove me wrong." With that, she turns and slips back into the shadows, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I stare at the door she disappeared through, my mind racing. Skeith's words have ignited a fire within me, a burning determination to prove her wrong and to solidify my reign.

[Steve Rogers POV]

[Campsite, Wakanda]

Taking a walk, I find T'Challa a reasonable distance from the campsite. The man sits in a meditative state, his posture serene against the backdrop of the Wakandan wilderness. The trees sway gently in the evening breeze, and the sounds of the forest create a natural symphony that adds to the tranquil atmosphere. Not wanting to disturb his peace, I start to turn around, but it seems he senses my presence even before I make a sound. "I am speaking to the spirit of my ancestors," T'Challa says, his voice calm and steady. His eyes remain closed, but there is a profound sense of awareness in his demeanor. The significance of his words isn't lost on me. The connection he has with his ancestors is something deeply rooted in Wakandan culture, a spiritual bond that provides guidance and strength. It's a stark contrast to my own experiences, where I've often felt like a man out of time, disconnected from the past and struggling to find my place in the present. For a moment, I simply watch him, taking in the sight of a king communing with his lineage. T'Challa is not just a leader of a nation; he is a guardian of a legacy, a bridge between the past and the future.

"Do they speak back?" I ask softly, my voice barely more than a whisper, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment. The question is genuine, born from a place of curiosity and respect. T'Challa slowly opens his eyes and turns to look at me, a small, thoughtful smile on his lips, "In a way, yes. Their wisdom, their experiences, they are all with me. It is not so much hearing their voices, but feeling their presence, their guidance." He gestures for me to sit beside him, and I oblige, lowering myself to the ground with a sigh. "That must be comforting," I say, gazing out at the horizon where the sun is beginning its descent, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple, "Having that connection." "It is," he replies, his tone contemplative, "But it is also a reminder of the immense responsibility I bear. To honor their legacy, to protect our people, and to lead with the same wisdom and courage they did."

I nod, understanding all too well the burden of leadership and the constant struggle to live up to those who came before us, "You're doing a good job, T'Challa. Your ancestors would be proud." He smiles, but there's a shadow of doubt in his eyes, "Thank you, Steve. But there are times when I question if I am making the right choices. If I am truly the king Wakanda needs." "We all have those doubts," I assure him, my voice firm, "But the fact that you care so deeply, that you seek wisdom from your ancestors, shows that you are the right person for the job. You have a good heart, and you fight for what's right." T'Challa takes a deep breath, closing his eyes once more, "Your words mean a lot, my friend. We face many challenges, but with allies like you, I know we can overcome them." We sit there in silence for a while, side by side, two leaders finding a moment of peace.

[Erik Killmonger POV]

[Days Later, Royal Palace, Wakanda]

[Throne Room.] The ornate doors of the throne room swing open with a weighty creak, revealing the assembled elders and tribe leaders of Wakanda. Their faces are a tapestry of skepticism, curiosity, and respect, reflecting the diverse opinions they hold about my reign. As I stride into the room, my heart pounds with a sense of purpose and determination. Today is the day I set my plan into action—no more waiting, no more hesitation. The time to strike is now. I take my place on the throne, its cool vibranium surface grounding me at the moment. The elders and leaders, draped in their traditional garb, stand in a semicircle before me, their eyes fixed on my every move. The air is thick with anticipation and unspoken questions. I let the silence stretch for a moment, allowing the weight of my presence to settle over them. "Thank you for coming," I begin, my voice steady and commanding, "We stand at a pivotal moment in Wakanda's history. For too long, our nation has hidden in the shadows, watching as the world outside crumbles. It is time for us to take our rightful place on the global stage, to lead and to conquer."

Murmurs ripple through the room, a mix of agreement and dissent. I raise a hand to silence them, my gaze unwavering. "I have seen the suffering beyond our borders. I have witnessed oppression and injustice. We have the power to change it, to bring justice and equality to those who have been denied it for so long." I see some of the elders nodding, their eyes alight with understanding. Others remain skeptical, their brows furrowed in concern. I expected this. Change is never easy, especially for those who have lived their entire lives under a different philosophy. But I am not here to ask for permission—I am here to lead. "Our resources, our technology—they are the keys to a new world order," I continue, leaning forward in my seat, "We can no longer afford to sit idly by. We must act, and we must act now. The time to strike is upon us." The room falls into a tense silence, the gravity of my words sinking in. I rise from the throne, stepping down to stand among them, "I have a plan, a vision for Wakanda's future. But I cannot do it alone. I need each and every one of you to stand with me, to support this cause. Together, we will be unstoppable."

I meet their eyes one by one, my gaze firm and unyielding, "Will you join me in this fight? Will you help me bring about a new era for Wakanda and the world?" There is a moment of hesitation, a collective breath held in anticipation. Then, one by one, they begin to nod, their expressions shifting from doubt to resolve. The tide is turning in my favor, and I can feel the momentum building. As the elders and tribe leaders pledge their support, I know that this is only the beginning. The path ahead is fraught with challenges, but I am ready. With Wakanda united behind me, nothing can stand in our way. The time to strike is now, and I will not rest until we have achieved our rightful place as leaders of a new world order. The more gullible among them buy into my vision, their eyes reflecting a mix of awe and fear. Good. Fear is a useful tool. I'll need their loyalty as we move forward, and if lies and deceit are what it takes to secure it, then so be it. For too long, Wakanda has hidden its power. Now, under my rule, we will unleash it upon the world. And I will use any means necessary to ensure our dominance.

[Spartan POV]

[Campsite, Wakanda]

[Spartan's Tent.] I'm abruptly jolted awake from my sleep when Karai bursts into my tent, her presence immediately filling the small space with a sense of urgency. "Command center now," she barks, her voice cutting through the lingering haze of my dreams. By her tone, it's not a request. The look in her eyes tells me everything I need to know—something serious is going down. I quickly throw off the thin blanket covering me and swing my legs over the side of the cot. My body moves on autopilot as I grab my gear, pulling on my boots and strapping on my vest. The cool night air seeps into the tent, a stark contrast to the adrenaline beginning to surge through my veins. Karai stands impatiently at the entrance, her silhouette illuminated by the dim light of the camp outside. She's already fully geared up, her stance tense and ready for action. As I finish securing my equipment, I can feel the weight of the situation pressing down on me, sharpening my focus. Without another word, I follow her out into the night. The camp is a hive of activity, soldiers and operatives moving with purpose, their faces grim and determined. The distant hum of generators and the occasional barked command add to the tense atmosphere. The command center is only a short distance away, but the gravity of what awaits us makes the walk feel like an eternity. As we approach the command center, my mind races with possibilities. What could have happened to warrant such an intense response? A breach in our perimeter? A critical development in our mission? I push the thoughts aside, knowing that I will get the answers soon enough.

[Command Center.] Karai and I exchange a brief, knowing glance before stepping inside. The harsh fluorescent lights and the low hum of electronics greet us, along with the sight of our team gathered around a large tactical map. Faces turn towards us, and I can see the same questions mirrored in their eyes. I take a seat next to Wanda, who gives me a quick, reassuring squeeze on my arm. The warmth of her touch is a small comfort. Soon after, Cap and T'Challa enter the command center, their expressions grave. The room falls silent as they make their way to the front. Cap's voice, steady and authoritative, cut through the tension like a knife, "The situation has escalated." The weight of his words hangs in the air, and I can feel a collective tightening of nerves. Cap points to the tactical map, where new markers and lines have been added since the last briefing. "We've received intel that confirms our worst fears," he continues, his eyes scanning the room, making sure he has everyone's full attention, "Killmonger is planning a major global offensive." A murmur ripples through the room, but T'Challa raises a hand to silence it, "Killmonger aims to start a war with the whole world. If he succeeds the consequences will be catastrophic."

The room is silent again as everyone absorbs the gravity of the situation. I can see the gears turning in their minds, each of us thinking about our roles in the coming conflict. Cap turns to me and Karai, his eyes sharp, "Spartan, Karai, we need you on the front lines. Your expertise and combat skills will be crucial in the initial engagements." I nod, feeling a surge of adrenaline and responsibility. "We're ready," I reply, my voice steady. Karai echoes my sentiment with a firm nod. Cap then addresses the rest of the team, outlining the strategy and assigning roles. The plan is complex, involving coordinated strikes and defensive maneuvers designed to counter Killmonger's forces. As the briefing continues, I steal a glance at Wanda. Her face is a mask of calm determination, but I can see the concern in her eyes. I squeeze her hand briefly, a silent promise that we'll get through this together. The mission ahead is daunting, but we've faced impossible odds before. With Cap's strategy in place and our team's combined strength, I know we stand a fighting chance.

[Outside.] Outside, the night air is cool and bracing, a sharp contrast to the tense atmosphere buzzing around the camp. Under the pale light of the moon and the flickering glow of lanterns, we prepare for the mission ahead. The camp, once a place of quiet camaraderie and planning, has transformed into a bustling hive of activity. Soldiers are checking their gear, operatives are discussing last-minute strategies, and the hum of anticipation is almost palpable. As I secure the last of my equipment and do a final check on my weapons, I notice Karai, a few steps away, engaged in a different but equally crucial task. Karai is handing out passports and green cards to a group of Wakandan villagers who have stuck with us since the beginning of this mission. These villagers, our silent allies, have provided invaluable support and local knowledge, risking their lives alongside us. The sight of Karai meticulously ensuring each document is in order strikes a chord deep within me. These papers are their lifeline, a way out if things go bad—a stark reminder of the gravity of what we're about to undertake.

I watch as she moves with purpose. Each villager steps forward, gratitude and anxiety etched into their features as they accept the documents. Karai's voice is calm and reassuring, offering a brief word or a nod to each one. It's a side of her that not many get to see—her compassion and commitment to protecting those who cannot protect themselves. This mission isn't just about the grand battles and the strategic victories; it's about the people whose lives hang in the balance. As I stand there, I can't help but reflect on the journey that brought us here. These villagers, once strangers, have become an integral part of our mission. Their resilience and courage in the face of danger have been nothing short of inspiring. Karai finishes handing out the last of the documents and makes her way back to me. There's a brief moment of understanding as our eyes meet—no words are needed. We both know what's at stake and what needs to be done. She nods, a silent affirmation that we're ready. The camp is a flurry of final preparations. I see Wanda across the way, deep in conversation with Natasha, their expressions mirroring the intensity of the moment. Cap and T'Challa are near the command center, going over the tactical map one last time.

As we gather for the final briefing, the villagers slowly disperse, clutching their new identities tightly. Their departure is a poignant reminder of the stakes involved. We assemble in a tight circle, Cap's voice cutting through the night as he outlines the final details of our plan. Each word is measured, and each instruction is clear. There's no room for error. We know our roles, our positions, and our contingencies. The mission is set, and there's a palpable sense of unity among us. We're ready to face whatever comes next, knowing that our success or failure will ripple far beyond this night. Moving into our assigned positions, I take one last look at the camp. The faces of the villagers and the resolve of my teammates fill me with a deep sense of purpose. We are not just fighting a war; we are defending a way of life, protecting the innocent, and standing against tyranny.

[Royal Palace, Wakanda]

Sneaking through the capital city of Wakanda, the streets are eerily empty, bathed in the soft, ghostly glow of street lamps. The usual vibrancy and bustle of the city are conspicuously absent, leaving a haunting stillness in its wake. Each step we take echoes off the buildings, a stark reminder of the tension that grips the air. The absence of civilians is a slight blessing; we don't have to worry about innocent people getting caught in the crossfire of this impending fight. As we move stealthily through the deserted avenues, my senses are heightened. Every shadow seems to shift, and every distant sound is amplified, making me hyper-aware of our surroundings. The empty streets, devoid of life, are a chilling contrast to the thriving, bustling city I've come to know. It's as if the very soul of Wakanda is holding its breath, waiting for the storm to break. We navigate through the narrow alleys and hidden pathways, our movements synchronized and silent. The royal palace looms in the distance, its majestic architecture silhouetted against the night sky. The grandeur of the palace, usually a symbol of Wakanda's strength and unity, now seems imposing and foreboding. The weight of what lies ahead presses down on us, but there is no room for hesitation.

Karai, ever vigilant, takes point, her keen eyes scanning for any signs of movement. I follow closely. We pass by market squares and residential areas, places that should be filled with the sounds of laughter, conversation, and life. Instead, there is only silence, a stark reminder of the threat we face. We pause at the edge of a plaza, the palace gates visible just ahead. Karai signals for a halt, her hand raised in a silent command. We gather in the shadows, our breaths quiet and controlled. She motions for a quick strategy check. In the stillness, I take a moment to steady myself. The mission ahead is fraught with danger, but it is also a chance to strike a decisive blow against Killmonger. The absence of civilians in the city means we can focus all our efforts on the enemy without the distraction of protecting innocents. It's a small mercy in the chaos of war and one we will take full advantage of. Karai gives the signal to move, and we proceed. The palace gates draw nearer with each step, the path ahead clear but fraught with the unknown.

[Palace Ground.] Unlike the eerie stillness of the capital city, the palace grounds are a hive of activity. The stark contrast is immediately evident as we approach, the once silent night now filled with the sounds of a military operation in full swing. An entire military force moves with precision and urgency, their figures silhouetted against the backdrop of the grand palace. Soldiers are loading vibranium weapons onto various crafts, their movements efficient and methodical. The air is thick with tension, the hum of engines and the clatter of equipment creating a cacophony that drowns out the quiet of the surrounding city. I crouch behind a low wall, my eyes scanning the scene before us. The sight of so many weapons, all destined to fuel Killmonger's war, sends a chill down my spine. Each ship being loaded represents a potential disaster, a weapon that could turn the tide against us in a catastrophic way. My mind races, calculating the odds, the risks, the potential fallout. The thought of even one of those ships escaping fills me with a sense of dread. "If one of those ships makes it out of here, we're fucked," I say, my voice barely above a whisper but laden with urgency. Karai crouches beside me and nods in grim agreement. Her eyes are fixed on the loading process, her expression hard and focused. We both know the stakes; this is a critical moment, a chance to stop a significant part of Killmonger's plan before it can be fully realized.

The palace grounds are a labyrinth of activity. Soldiers move in coordinated groups, each with a specific task. I can see technicians working furiously, ensuring that the weapons are secured and ready for transport. The sheer scale of the operation is daunting, but we've faced worse odds before. My mind sharpens, focusing on the task at hand. We need to disrupt this operation, and we need to do it fast. Karai signals for us to move, and we slink through the shadows, keeping low and silent. The palace's ornate architecture provides ample cover, its pillars, and arches casting long shadows in the dim light. We make our way closer, inching towards the heart of the activity. The smell of fuel and metal fills the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the palace gardens. We reach a vantage point overlooking the main loading area. From here, the full scope of the operation is laid out before us. Crafts of various sizes are being prepped, their sleek forms bristling with vibranium weaponry. Soldiers are everywhere. I spot a central command post, a small hub of activity where officers are directing the operation. The plan takes shape in my mind—a coordinated strike to disable the crafts and disrupt the loading process, buying us the time we need to call in reinforcements. We move in.

Karai and I charge the command post. Rifles at the aim, we sprint across the open ground. The command post is a flurry of activity; officers are focused on their monitors and communication devices, oblivious to the approaching danger. We move swiftly, our footsteps muffled by the soft earth beneath us. The element of surprise is on our side, and we intend to make the most of it. With practiced precision, we take aim and fire the stun-bolts from our rifles, finding their marks with unerring accuracy. The officers drop one by one, their bodies crumpling to the ground, incapacitated but unharmed. Breaching the entrance, the interior of the command post comes into full view. The harsh fluorescent lights cast stark shadows across the room, highlighting the rows of monitors and communication equipment. Desks are strewn with maps, tactical plans, and urgent dispatches, the remnants of a well-coordinated operation now thrown into disarray. The officers we stunned lay motionless, their uniforms a stark contrast against the utilitarian gray of the command center. Clearing the room methodically, we check for any remaining threats. Karai moves with lethal grace, her eyes scanning every corner, her rifle ready for any surprises. I cover her back, my senses on high alert.

Satisfied that the immediate threat is neutralized, I reach into my pack and pull out an explosive charge. The device is small but powerful, designed to cripple the command center and sow further chaos among our enemies. Karai watches my back as I approach the central console, my hands moving quickly to set the charge. The countdown timer blinks to life, its red digits a stark reminder of the ticking clock we now face. "Five minutes," I say, my voice calm but urgent. Karai nods, understanding the gravity of the situation. We need to be clear of the blast radius well before the timer hits zero. With the charge in place, we make our way to the exit, our steps quick and deliberate. Stepping out into the open air, the command post looms behind us, a silent sentinel of the chaos we've set in motion. The palace grounds are eerily quiet, the soldiers and operatives around us still unaware of the impending explosion. We move with purpose, blending into the shadows as we make our way to a safe distance. I steal a glance at the command post, its silhouette stark against the night sky. The countdown in my mind matches the one on the explosive charge. Then, with a sudden, deafening roar, the explosion rips through the night. The command post erupts in a fireball, debris, and smoke billowing into the sky. The shockwave sends a ripple through the palace grounds, the force of the blast knocking over equipment and sending soldiers sprawling. The stillness of the night is shattered. In the aftermath of the explosion, the palace grounds are thrown into chaos. Soldiers scramble to regroup, their once-coordinated efforts now a frantic scramble. The command structure is crippled, and the once orderly operation is now a scene of confusion and disarray.

Using the moment of chaos to our advantage, I tap the comlink nestled in my ear, my voice low and urgent as I call in the other Avengers and rebel forces. The explosion from the command post has thrown Killmonger's troops into disarray, and we need to act quickly. "This is Spartan," I whisper, keeping my tone steady despite the adrenaline, "The command post is down. I repeat, the command post is down. Avengers and rebel forces, move in now." The comlink crackles to life, and I hear Steve's calm, authoritative voice, "Copy that, Spartan. We're on our way. Hold your position until we arrive." I switch frequencies to relay the situation to Okoye, the fierce leader of the Dora Milaje who has been coordinating the resistance. "Okoye, the command post is neutralized. Initiate the attack plan. We need to capitalize." Her response is quick, "Understood, Spartan. Our forces are mobilizing. We'll join you shortly." With the calls made, I take a deep breath, feeling a renewed sense of resolve. The explosion has done its part, and now it's up to us to keep the pressure on Killmonger's forces.

The palace grounds, once a scene of calm preparation, are now a battlefield of confusion. Soldiers scramble to their feet, shouting orders and trying to regroup. The disarray is our advantage, and we need to exploit it fully. "We need to take out those weapon crafts before they can mobilize," Karai says. I nod, agreeing with her assessment, "We split up. You take the left flank, and I'll handle the right. We need to disable as many of those crafts as possible before they can launch." Karai gives me a quick nod. "Stay safe," she says, a brief moment of camaraderie before we dive back into the fray. "You too," I reply, gripping her shoulder briefly before we part ways. Moving towards the right flank, the palace's grand architecture offers a mix of cover and concealment. I approach the first craft, a sleek vehicle bristling with vibranium weaponry. A few soldiers are attempting to board it, unaware of my presence. I take a deep breath, steadying my aim, and fire off a series of stun-bolts. The soldiers drop, their bodies hitting the ground with dull thuds. Moving quickly, I plant an explosive charge on the craft's engine, setting the timer for a short delay. The craft is now a ticking time bomb, its potential for destruction neutralized. I move on to the next target.

In the distance, I can see Karai on the left flank, moving with speed and precision. The crafts are being disabled one by one, each explosion adding to the chaos and confusion among Killmonger's forces. The air is filled with the sounds of destruction. As I continue my sabotage, I hear the faint but unmistakable sound of approaching aircraft. I look up to see the Quinjet, its sleek form cutting through the night sky, flanked by smaller, more agile crafts piloted by the rebel forces. The Avengers and our allies have arrived. The Quinjet lands and the ramp lowers to reveal Steve, Natasha, and the rest of the team. They move with purpose. Steve raises his shield, his eyes scanning the battlefield as he takes in the situation. "Good work, Spartan," he says, his voice carrying over the din of the battlefield, "Let's finish this." With the Avengers and the rebel forces joining the fray, the tide of battle begins to turn.