The moment the fully-formed Susanoo loomed over the soil of Wakanda, T'Chaka's emotions became a storm he could no longer contain.
This was, without question, the greatest calamity Wakanda had ever faced.
And worst of all, T'Chaka had no idea how to defeat the enemy before him.
The sand soldiers summoned by Senju Haruto advanced in perfect unison, their ranks steady and merciless. Worse still, they possessed terrifying regenerative powers. Even Wakanda's ultimate trump card—the vibranium technology—was proving useless against these suddenly appearing foes.
In desperation, T'Chaka commanded the warriors on the outermost line to spread their vibranium cloaks wide, forming a barrier against the sand soldiers, while every other unit concentrated fire on Haruto's Susanoo.
But these summoned sand soldiers were not merely physical beings.
Their attacks weren't ordinary strikes.
Each soldier carried a long, spear-like weapon, brimming with the divine power of Horus. When their spears pierced through, they effortlessly slipped past the defense of vibranium cloaks and struck directly at the soul.
Though these blows left no wound on the flesh, the pain was far worse—raw, soul-deep agony.
A suffocating fear spread across the battlefield.
Against such enemies, there was no way to fight back.
Maybe, given enough time, enough intelligence, they could devise a strategy.
But as things stood, the lack of information and the sheer disparity in power made this battle hopelessly one-sided.
T'Chaka could hear his people's screams, the cries of pain, the thud of bodies collapsing onto the ground.
"Invaders!"
The despair growing in him threatened to swallow his heart whole. Throwing his head back, he let out a beast-like roar toward Haruto, then seized Okoye's arm.
"Find T'Challa. Tell him he must inherit my throne."
T'Chaka's tone was calm, yet final.
Okoye froze, staring at him in shock. The meaning behind those words was unmistakable—her king, T'Chaka, intended to die here.
He had already chosen not to survive this battle.
"Your Majesty!"
As captain of the Dora Milaje, Okoye could not accept such a fate. Rage and helplessness gnawed at her chest. She was supposed to be the King's shield, and yet here she stood, powerless.
What kind of guardian was she if she could not even protect her sovereign?
She wanted to stay.
Even if she could not lead the King to safety, at the very least she could die at his side on the battlefield.
But T'Chaka gave her no chance.
At this moment, he felt power surging through his body, flowing up from the very soil of Wakanda itself.
His senses, his strength, his speed—every part of him was amplified.
This was the protection of Bast, the Panther God.
It was also a reminder of the choice he had to make as king.
There are only two kinds of leaders in this world.
One says: "Go, my people, fight for me!"
The other says: "Come, my people, fight with me!"
And T'Chaka would never be the first kind.
The veins in his arm bulged as he drew upon every ounce of explosive strength.
Okoye's eyes went wide. She wanted to resist, but before she could, her body was flung through the air in a long arc. She sailed past the sand soldiers at the perimeter before hitting the ground hard, rolling over and over until she finally came to a stop.
Had she been an ordinary woman, the fall alone would have left her crippled, if not dead.
But vibranium's protective technology absorbed the impact at the last instant, leaving her shaken but unscathed.
Still, she was now cut off. There was no way back to the King's side.
The black mass of sand soldiers had already closed the path, sealing every entrance like a wall of iron.
Okoye stared at the grim scene, her chest rising and falling.
If she stayed, she would only die in vain.
Better to fight, to find help, to bring salvation back.
"Your Majesty, I will return with reinforcements!" she shouted with all her strength before turning and sprinting into the distance.
She had to rally the other tribal leaders.
She had to find W'Kabi. His war rhinos, armored with vibranium, could smash through the sand soldiers' blockade.
"Your Majesty… wait for me," Okoye swore silently. "I will come back. Wakanda cannot lose T'Chaka."
On the battlefield, T'Chaka turned again to face the towering Susanoo, his jaw set.
Even though Haruto stood silently within, unmoving, T'Chaka refused to wait.
These sand soldiers weren't human. They were magical constructs.
If he could cut down their summoner—if he could kill Senju Haruto—then all of this might vanish.
It was only a desperate theory, but it was the only chance he had left.
"Out of my way!"
His voice, infused with Bast's divine power, thundered across the battlefield.
The Wakandan warriors froze, eyes wide.
"Your Majesty! You must escape!" another Dora Milaje rushed to his side, shouting with urgency.
She believed that if they all pushed together in one direction, sacrificing their lives if necessary, perhaps they could clear a path for their King to retreat.
"No."
T'Chaka shook his head firmly. His command, backed by his authority as King, brooked no argument.
Seeing his resolve unshaken, the Dora Milaje exchanged looks, then nodded one by one.
They followed him without hesitation.
"What are you doing?" T'Chaka asked, startled by their sudden unity.
"To make sure Your Majesty succeeds in your feat!" one of them answered, her voice ringing with steel.
In that moment, they all cast aside fear of death.
There was only one thought left in their hearts: succeed—or die.
T'Chaka gave a slow, satisfied nod, memorizing each of their faces, their names.
Perhaps he would fall here today.
But their spirit would endure. Their sacrifice would be remembered.
Every one of them was a true hero.
They deserved to be honored.
"Then let us go."
Without another word, T'Chaka charged forward, his legs carrying him like the wind. In a single bound, he leapt onto Susanoo's foot, gripping the cracks in its colossal armor.
High above, Senju Haruto stood at the crown of the towering figure.
To reach him, Susanoo itself had to fall.
T'Chaka tightened his grip with one hand, raising the other in a chopping motion.
At once, the Dora Milaje understood. Following his lead, they too began climbing upward.
T'Chaka cast his eyes toward Susanoo's knee, his target clear.