Wakanda was not only home to some of the most advanced technology in the world, but also to a formidable tactical system. Surprise attacks—one of the most basic forms of warfare—were something even the most ordinary Wakandan warriors understood the value of. All the more so Princess Shuri, whose intellect was second to none.
If she had the ability to wield such a teleportation spell, she would have long since opened a portal behind her enemies and struck them from the rear. That was the obvious move. Which meant either the enemy could not achieve such precision…
Or—Shuri clenched her jaw—the far more unsettling possibility: they simply disdained such tactics.
The thought made her blood run cold. Not only had the enemy refused to employ a sneak attack, but they were confident enough to allow Wakanda ample time to muster its defenses, utterly convinced that no matter how well-prepared Wakanda became, it would still crumble before them.
From every angle, it was nothing short of an insult.
"Damn it," Shuri hissed, teeth grinding as she finally pieced it together. And she had to admit—if the invader truly was that mysterious man, if it really was Senju Haruto—then yes. He did have the arrogance, and the power, to back up such confidence.
But that did not mean she would stand idle.
Taking a sharp breath, Shuri strode quickly out of the command chamber, leaving it in the hands of her most trusted aides. Her orders were clear: keep a constant eye on Haruto's movements, and the instant anything shifted, report directly to her.
Her destination was obvious—her brother's coronation ritual.
Within minutes, she arrived at the ceremonial grounds. Gathered there were Zuri, the high priest; Okoye, captain of the royal guard; and W'Kabi, head of Wakanda's defense. All of them stood protectively near the still-unconscious T'Challa.
"Princess Shuri," Okoye and W'Kabi rose at once, bowing respectfully to her sudden arrival. Even Zuri, though of high standing, offered her the same courtesy, though his position also demanded her respect in return.
"He's back."
Shuri wasted no time with preamble. Her voice was low, urgent, and heavy with dread as she delivered the truth: the mysterious figure—Senju Haruto, the demon, the invader—had returned. This time not alone, but leading an army of over ten thousand. He had come to wage war.
For that reason, she believed more than ever that Wakanda needed her brother. Only T'Challa could stand as their hope.
Okoye and W'Kabi exchanged grave looks, their faces tight with shock. None of them had expected the situation to deteriorate so swiftly. For a moment, both silently wondered if Haruto had deliberately chosen this exact timing, striking while T'Challa lay vulnerable within the ritual.
But speculation changed nothing. The brutal reality was plain before them: T'Challa remained unconscious. He had only just begun the ceremony, only just undertaken the trial. This was not something that could be interrupted—or forced.
Zuri's expression darkened, his features creased with distress. He knew well the stakes. He also knew the ritual could not be broken.
"Okoye," W'Kabi said at last, drawing a deep breath. "It falls to us. We must buy him time."
Okoye gave a solemn nod. "Then that is what we'll do."
Without further debate, the two leaders turned and departed, heading directly for the front lines. Just before vanishing from Shuri's sight, Okoye paused, looking back to ask the one question gnawing at her mind.
"What of the barrier?"
It was Wakanda's pride—the great energy shield. Impenetrable, unbreakable. Even in the final battle of Infinity War, the Outriders had struggled desperately to pierce it. If not for the threat of a rear assault, that barrier alone could have culled untold numbers of the invaders.
Its power was undeniable.
And yet…
Shuri's silence was telling. She did not believe the shield would make a difference, not this time. Unless Bast herself—the Panther Goddess—intervened to cut off Haruto's magic, the barrier could not stop him.
Okoye fell into grim silence. She understood then—it wasn't that Wakanda's defenses were weak. It was that their enemy was too strong.
Meanwhile, T'Challa, though lying unconscious in the physical world, was far from resting peacefully. Within the dreamscape, guided by his late father T'Chaka, he had arrived at the realm of the Panther Goddess herself.
Bast.
A massive black panther, regal and terrible, stood before him. Her gaze bore into his very soul, unyielding and piercing.
By the time he had come this far, T'Chaka had already revealed everything he knew. And so, as he faced Bast, T'Challa's reverence was clear—but he had not come merely to bow. He had come to seek power. To demand a way to defeat Senju Haruto.
For a moment, Bast was silent, her great form towering over him. She knew far more of Haruto than either father or son could imagine. And at last, under T'Challa's insistent questioning, she spoke the truth.
"The invader's name is Haruto. He wields a magic older than Wakanda itself—older even than me. It is a White Magic, a force so ancient and powerful that even I cannot guarantee victory against him. And now… he stands already within Wakanda."
Her words struck T'Challa like a thunderclap. He had never imagined Haruto's second invasion would come so soon. Not only Haruto, but an army tens of thousands strong—bearing both advanced technology and terrifying magical power.
"Then… must we simply wait to die?" T'Challa demanded, his voice tight with desperation. His respect for Bast was unwavering—but his love for his country burned hotter still.
"There is a way," Bast said, shaking her mighty head. "Though I cannot defeat him outright, I can sever his link to the Vishanti. Without that bond, his magic will falter. I can grant you a window—a brief span in which he cannot call upon his power. If you can strike him down in that moment… Wakanda may yet be saved."
Her deep voice rumbled with conviction. She could not fathom why the so-called Sorcerer Supreme would bring his wrath here, but she would not stand by and do nothing. She loved Wakanda, and she cherished its people.
"How much time?" T'Challa pressed, his heart hammering.
"With the strength I have now," Bast replied, her golden eyes burning into his, "I can grant you five minutes. That is all. Five minutes will be your one and only chance, T'Challa."
"Five minutes…" He frowned, then slowly nodded. His voice rang with resolve. "Five minutes is enough."