Chapter 365: Radiance

Wakanda, a solitary jewel set upon the African continent, this beautiful city on land still unshed of wildness and barbarism proclaims humanity's resolve to reshape nature and forge its own home.

Wakanda's geographical environment is far from favorable; like all tropical nations, it lies in northeastern Africa, enduring year-round dry heat, its territory minuscule—even among Africa's fragmented map, it counts as a nation among the smallest.

The natural environment is poor, and the human environment is worse; several East African nations, though relatively respectable on the continent, are still overall inadequate, and the rising Wakanda has almost no interaction with its neighbors—neither in technological level nor education, they have nothing in common with their neighbors, let alone trade.

Yet Wakanda's civilization is highly advanced; the word "highly" is no exaggeration—for example, Wakanda conquered cancer many years ago, and its people enjoy the longest average lifespan on Earth; from birth, they wear monitoring bracelets that track their health, and any illness is treated free of charge.

Meanwhile, its intelligence agency is absurdly powerful, capable of standing toe-to-toe with the CIA, and even once devised a plan to defend against a planetary devourer.

Its hard technological prowess is even more impressive—it is the only nation on Earth with a fully organized fleet of spacecraft; though its fleet pales beside the Kree's and still relies on basic chemical propulsion, it remains a formidable military force within the Solar System.

Simultaneously, it is a civilization where science and magic coexist; beyond its most famous heart-shaped herb, it draws beastly power from worshiping animal deities, and its royal guard and the king's exclusive female guard both wield powers beyond ordinary humans.

These factors combined form Wakanda; to outsiders, it appears an earthly paradise rising from the African continent, and even in New York, many believe it to be heaven—thanks to its powerful intelligence agency's operational prowess, Wakanda holds a strong advantage in international public opinion.

Even setting aside political correctness, most Wakandans are deeply respected internationally, for their nation's welfare benefits are exceptional, per capita education levels absurdly high, and every world-leading university hosts Wakandan students.

Its citizens are highly educated, skilled at making friends, and actively oppose racial discrimination, earning them an excellent international reputation.

Yet this nation, portrayed in reports as a paradise, is not without troubles; only those who have personally experienced it understand Wakanda's helplessness.

Like all high-welfare nations, its political stability depends entirely on its welfare system; once benefits are reduced, unrest follows.

Worse still, Nordic high-welfare nations are unified states, but Wakanda is a tribal alliance—should similar events arise, the situation would only worsen.

"Erik… cough…" T'Challa clutched his chest, half-leaning against the wall, blood seeping between his fingers; the entire room reeked of blood, his lips turned blue, his gaze unfocused—clearly, excessive blood loss had brought him to the brink of death.

Another Black man stood before him; sunlight from the window cast his shadow over T'Challa, engulfing him like a black beast ready to devour its prey.

Erik spoke to T'Challa in Wakandan: "I was meant to be king of Wakanda! You cheated in combat, violating the honor code of Wakandan warriors!"

T'Challa's expression remained calm; he fixed his gaze on the spear in Erik's hand—the spearhead glowed with the unique sheen of vibranium, yet also bore dark energies T'Challa had never seen before.

"Erik, you have forsaken the true gods, betrayed our Black Panther deity—you have disappointed me deeply, cough…"

"You understand nothing," Erik gripped the spear tightly. "You're trapped in this tiny nation, imprisoned on this damned, incurable continent—you have no idea how vast the world is, how immense the power available to me…"

"You control vibranium, the most precious resource, yet waste it on trivial experiments—and even collaborate with those Americans! Foolish, short-sighted!"

T'Challa tilted his head back, as if to draw more oxygen; the healing power granted by the heart-shaped herb seemed suppressed by an unknown force, worsening his condition.

"You're the fool, Erik! Do you think I don't know about your little schemes? Dare you hold the weapon your father left you and swear like a true Wakandan warrior that you never allied with those evil forces—or with the Americans?"

"Shut up! What right do you have to demand that of me?! And unlike you, I fight for a greater cause…"

T'Challa's face twisted into a bitterly sarcastic expression; he fell silent, refusing to speak further to Erik. Erik, enraged by this attitude, raised the spear high.

His Adam's apple trembled—he hesitated, fearful—but then, as if struck by a thought, his expression hardened into cruelty; his arm muscles tensed, and in an instant, he thrust the spear violently downward, shouting: "Hydra!"

"Boom!!!!"

The spear was deflected by a dense surge of energy, the recoil hurling Erik backward.

T'Challa had already closed his eyes, preparing for death—when suddenly, he felt a familiar power enveloping him; he asked, puzzled: "Lord Bastet? Is it you? How…?"

He pressed his hand to his chest, struggling to rise—when a familiar voice spoke: "If I were you, I wouldn't move. Don't you think you've bled enough already, T'Challa?"

T'Challa's eyes widened. "Tony? Tony, is that you?"

As he turned his head to search for Stark's figure, a strange portal suddenly opened midair; several figures stepped out, including Stark in his armor.

But the figures emerging weren't the only ones—a shadow of a cat, or rather, a panther, emerged as well; a black panther, roughly the size of an ordinary leopard, stepped through the portal, and the moment its tail tip passed through, the portal closed.

Feeling that divine power, T'Challa coughed heavily twice. "It truly is Lord Bastet—why are you here now…?"

No one answered him, for one man in a trench coat turned to Strange and asked: "What did that man just shout? Did I hear correctly?"

"What… Hydra? Who's Hydra?" Strange was equally confused; Erik's posture had looked like he was summoning a demon, and Strange had already prepared a defensive spell—only for him to shout a slogan and collapse.

Shiler frowned, his expression grave. He told Strange: "Open a portal and bring Steve over. If Peter's around, bring him too."

Seeing Shiler's serious expression, Strange knew this was no time for jokes; he opened a portal and left immediately.

Stark turned to Erik and muttered: "... ydra? Damn it…"

Shiler gave him a look; the two spoilers instantly understood each other, and dropped the subject.

At that moment, the black panther had placed its paw on T'Challa's chest; as a dense white energy flowed into him, his complexion visibly improved.

Yet a strand of black energy still clung to the deepest wound; the panther tried several times, only dispelling part of it—the remainder clung like a malignant growth, constantly forcing the wound open.

T'Challa pressed his hand against the panther's paw and looked at Bastet: "Thank you, my lord. That's enough."

The panther's face displayed a distinctly human expression of disapproval; it seemed agitated—but this was hardly its fault.

Why these people appeared alongside Lord Bastet requires going back to when they planned to enter the Panther Dimension.

After Christmas, Nick Fury finally enjoyed rare peace; this period until early next year was one of the few times he didn't have to worry about funding—so when Shiler invited him to negotiate with the Panther God, he readily agreed, even joking that if the panther could solve next year's budget, he'd become a staunch animal rights activist.

The combination of half-Batman and Nick Fury proved remarkably effective; these two black creatures taught Lord Bastet a lesson: blackness has levels—you can be dark, but not too dark, and certainly not dark in both face and heart…

The two entered the Panther Dimension barely a moment before being ejected; Bastet, unprecedentedly, allowed people of other skin tones into his dimension—then Shiler went in…

Of course, Shiler knew saving lives was urgent; after pitching Bastet a two-hour membership package, he explained his purpose: Bastet must save T'Challa.

Fortunately, time flowed differently in Bastet's dimension—only seconds had passed in reality.

And Erik, the attacker, belonged to the villain archetype who dies from talking too much; after severely wounding T'Challa, he didn't press his advantage, instead launching into a rant—so the rescue team arrived precisely as he was about to strike.

Bastet had been studying the strand of dark energy on T'Challa's chest—when suddenly, T'Challa stood up. Bastet turned—and saw the spear, flung away by his own defensive force.

On the spear's tip glowed an ominous dark energy, its apex shimmering with strange radiance, as if dipped in poison.

Bastet walked over, sniffed the spear, and frowned in confusion—when, "thud," the newly risen T'Challa collapsed again.

"HAHAHA! He's dead! I coated this with lethal poison—no one can save him!" Erik shouted.

Stark sneered. At that moment, Bastet had already darted to T'Challa's side, pouring his strange energy into him—but soon, Bastet lowered his head, staring at his own paw.

Stark noticed Bastet's action, realized something was wrong, rushed over, knelt, and examined T'Challa.

Because T'Challa had dark skin, his skin condition was invisible; Stark activated his armor's arm device, inserting a probe into T'Challa's body, then activated a scanner.

The scanner activated—JARVIS issued an alert: "Warning! Warning! Critical condition. Unknown toxin under analysis… unable to decode…"

"Collect blood for analysis."

"Analyzing… no results." JARVIS explained: "Data indicates this is not any known human toxin. Composition unknown. Analysis blocked by mysterious force. Higher-power equipment may be required…"

At that moment, JARVIS issued two more alerts: "Immediate treatment required—subject may die instantly…"

Stark slammed his fist into the floor, rose, and reached to pull out the energy core in his chest—to replace it with a higher-power core to forcibly decode the toxin.

Then Bastet flicked his tail—T'Challa vanished. Then, with one paw strike to the ground, the group returned to his dimension. Shiler glanced around and asked Bastet: "Did you freeze time here?"

Bastet growled, then walked to T'Challa's side; his panther face wore an expression strikingly human in its thoughtfulness.

"Looks like another mystery of the occult," Stark tilted his head. Shiler said to him: "You heard what that man shouted, right? …Hydra."

Stark turned, gazing into the distance—endless grasslands stretched out; a primal horn echoed from afar, ancient light and shadow rolling before his eyes.

Stark's voice grew low, like wind skimming the wilderness: "Even above the universe, there is no omniscience. Yet in countless stories I've witnessed, this name is raised again and again—like a cancer clinging to Earth."

"I never asked you this before—I assumed your chosen stance meant you already had an answer. But now I must ask: did you see your parents'…?"

"I saw them." Stark answered directly for the first time. "Not just my parents—when multiple stories reached their ends, tens of thousands of parents died in an instant."

Stark's voice grew heavier, like wind whispering across the wasteland.

"They left no fortune, no inheritance, no means of survival—simply vanished without a trace."

Stark stared blankly, as if recalling those scenes. "No last words, no belongings, no cause of death recorded—no one explained to those children why their parents were gone…"

Stark squinted against the blinding grassland sunlight; his vision blurred. "It sounds absurd—but those tragedies are what stopped me."

"At the moment I was about to become the sole survivor, I saw the truth of Howard's death—I wanted to freeze that state and destroy everyone involved. I knew—if I did, no one could escape…"

"But then, the endings of those stories flooded my mind, shattering my momentary rage—I was overcome with despair."

Stark closed his eyes; deep creases formed between his brows, his expression pained.

"To feel, in an instant, layer upon layer of infinite, irreversible tragedy—nearly broke me."

"So you chose…"

"No." Stark took another deep breath; his chest rose, then stilled. "Do you remember the questions you asked JARVIS—and me—before?"

"In that moment of choice, I asked myself: what would Howard have done if he saw this?"

"He was a complete bastard—not a good father. But he would have done anything to stop this." Stark spoke through clenched teeth.

"This is who we are. This is Stark."

Shiler looked into Stark's eyes and saw a unique light there—unlike other superheroes, it held no humility, no purity, no kindness—only near-arrogant pride.

Shiler patted his shoulder. "If Stark could witness all this and remain unmoved, adding another straw to humanity's civil war, then he wouldn't be Stark."

"But you could think differently," Shiler added, fulfilling his duty. "You've faced the same situation. The war was started by the military—you were just a weapons dealer. Even if arms dealers profit from war, that's not you. Yet in the end, all blame fell on you."

"As I said when you shut down your weapons division: don't blame the gun. If you must judge the gun, first eliminate the one holding it—otherwise, how do you know he won't turn it on you again?"

Shiler's gaze fell on T'Challa, unconscious and dying. Stark followed his eyes; his gaze deepened. "Perhaps… you're right."

"Now they've fired again—right before my eyes. I nearly lost another important friend…"

Stark turned and walked toward the portal they'd entered through. As he walked, he said: "This taught me one thing—if I don't act, their bullets are endless."

In this fabricated grassland, light was always blinding, reflecting brilliantly off Stark's armor—but Shiler preferred to believe it was Stark himself glowing, because of his innate sense of mission and responsibility.

And because of the extraordinary radiance forged in these heroes from all ordinary joys, sorrows, anger, and love.

————Extra Notes————

The major event is over—but not quite finished.