"A magic barrier, huh?"
Senju Haruto felt the power of White Magic vanish from within him in an instant, as if it had been ripped away without warning.
"They're trying to cut off my source of magic, then let T'Challa explode with everything he has to decide the outcome?"
He had to admit, Bast's plan was a clever one.
If their roles had been reversed, Haruto wouldn't have come up with a better way to try and defeat himself either.
But even without White Magic, Haruto still commanded Black Magic, Chaos Magic, and the triple mastery of Ice and Fire.
Since they believed sealing his magic would be enough to win, he decided to give them that chance.
With that thought, Haruto deliberately abandoned the use of any kind of magic.
Even without the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme, his current self stood above the Sage of Six Paths.
The Six Paths Yin and Yang forces erupted from Haruto's body, transforming his very being.
His hair, once black, bleached to white and grew wildly. In just a few breaths, it had lengthened all the way down to his feet.
T'Challa and Bast's eyes went wide in shock.
Especially Bast—she couldn't make sense of what she was witnessing.
She had severed Haruto's connection to the Vishanti with her special barrier. By all logic, he shouldn't have been able to use any magic at all.
And yet this power…
It was unlike anything she had ever known.
"Is it Black Magic?" Bast swallowed hard. "No… this doesn't belong to any school of magic."
"What is this?!"
Her understanding of the world was collapsing before her eyes.
This man—wasn't he supposed to be the Sorcerer Supreme? Wasn't his power meant to be White Magic?
What on earth was happening?
T'Challa's face mirrored Bast's shock—bewildered, disbelieving, utterly shaken.
But like arrows nocked to a bowstring, neither T'Challa nor Bast could retreat now. They had no way out.
Confronted with this incomprehensible power, the only choice left to them was to grit their teeth and charge forward.
Behind Haruto, the orbs of Truth-Seeking floated into being one after another. A black staff manifested out of nothingness in his hand.
Boom!
T'Challa's fist crashed against Haruto's staff.
The impact sent a shockwave rippling outward.
Haruto, of course, stood untouched.
T'Challa, on the other hand, was hurled through the air like a cut kite, slamming into the ground and tumbling across it in a broken heap before finally skidding to a stop.
Haruto gazed at the fallen T'Challa without rushing to finish him off.
Once-proud prince of Wakanda—in Haruto's eyes, he looked no different from a beaten stray dog.
Neither his vibranium suit nor Bast's divine power could stand against him now.
Even without using the magic he'd earned in the Marvel world, his Six Paths power eclipsed them completely.
After all, Bast was only a war goddess of the Egyptian pantheon—hardly comparable to the main deities of Haruto's own.
T'Challa gasped for air, forcing himself up on shaking arms.
Instinctively, he lifted his head—and froze at what he saw.
He had expected that last clash to at least stagger Haruto. Even if Haruto hadn't been thrown back, he should have been forced to retreat a few steps.
But the reality was cruel.
Haruto hadn't budged an inch. He just stood there, composed, looking down at him.
No pursuit. No opportunistic strike.
Only that calm, detached gaze.
As if T'Challa's power wasn't worth acknowledging as a threat at all.
And truly—who would see a force that couldn't harm them as a danger?
That sight shook T'Challa's confidence to its core.
He had believed that as long as he stood his ground, as long as Bast fought at his side, they could rid Wakanda of this demon.
But the truth was a merciless blow.
Could he really win?
Hope slipped further from his grasp.
Still… thanks to the vibranium suit's kinetic absorption, the impact hadn't actually injured him.
"T'Challa."
Bast's voice echoed in his mind.
She knew as well as he did how dire this had become for Wakanda. But they had no choice left except to fight with everything they had.
To make him understand that, she opened his heart to the voices of the people.
Screams. Cries of pain. Roars of anger.
A flood of sounds poured into his mind through Bast's divine power.
And with them came emotions—raw and overwhelming.
They surged through T'Challa.
Yet… instead of making him falter, instead of filling him with fear, they ignited something else.
Though despair and helplessness dominated, beneath them burned hope and trust.
Unshakable trust.
The people believed in him.
They believed that he, together with Bast, could defeat Senju Haruto.
For Wakanda had stood tall for thousands of years.
No disaster, no calamity had ever broken it.
That faith, that unyielding trust, reignited T'Challa's spirit.
He would not—could not—lose.
"Haruto!!"
Fueled by his people's voices, T'Challa surged forward, his aura blazing, each stride more powerful than the last.
His speed built and built until he was nearly upon Haruto, ready to strike a fatal blow.
But…
Haruto wasn't some villain in a story. He had no interest in wasting time boasting about his power, no desire to demand submission or beg for Wakanda's throne.
He wasn't one to prattle on until his enemies found an opening.
He wasn't that kind of fool.
So when T'Challa charged, Haruto merely lifted a finger. The Truth-Seeking Orbs behind him shot forward like bullets.
"Vibranium does absorb kinetic energy," Haruto said, "but it is far from invincible."
Even as he spoke, three of the orbs slammed into T'Challa.
Just as Haruto expected, the vibranium suit could not withstand their force.
In less than a breath, the orbs tore through it.
And through T'Challa's body with it.
His abdomen. His left chest. Half his right skull. Pierced clean through.
T'Challa—
died a brutal death.