War against Wakanda 4 -256

T'Challa looked up and saw the advanced jets flying around in the air, either firing death down onto his people or dealing with the air defenses of the golden city. Between those jets was a near-endless swarm of robot-looking things.

Shuri had already scanned them and determined that they were suits like the ones Ironman and Tony Stark used. A bit of tech they, too, had looked into. But had determined that they didn't need.

Now he was feeling that it was clearly wrong to dismiss his suit; after all, while one might be easy enough to deal with given their own Vibranium, when there was a whole army of them, they were quite effective.

But what drew his eyes was a particular-looking suit, larger than the rest, and by a lot, it was also beautifully decorated rather than the more spartan black and white of the other suits. Just by seeing it he felt the image of a commanding unit being projected.

While these weren't robots, and while it was unlikely that taking down the commanding unit would case them all to fall from the sky, he was still sure that if he did deal with the commander, he should be able to hopefully force them into retreat using their leader's life.

T'Challa's eyes locked onto the massive, ornate suit that hovered ominously above the battlefield, dwarfing the smaller combatants below. Its intricate design, gleaming in the sunlight with gold and crimson accents, seemed to radiate authority. Whoever was piloting that suit wasn't just a soldier—they were leading this invasion.

He gritted his teeth as he leaped onto the side of a building, using his suit's enhanced agility to scale it quickly. As he reached the top, T'Challa stood for a moment, surveying the destruction below. His people, caught off guard and unprepared for such an assault, were fighting with everything they had, but the odds were overwhelming.

He activated his comms, reaching out to Shuri, who was still in her lab. "Shuri, I need a target scan on that large suit. The one leading this assault."

"I see it," Shuri's voice crackled through the communication bead. Her fingers flew across her interface as she quickly pulled up data on the suit. "It's more than just a command suit, T'Challa. It's a mobile fortress. I'm reading multiple weapon systems, shield generators, and a reactor core more powerful than anything I've seen. No, wait… multiple cores!"

Back in her lab, Shuri was amazed at what she saw. This suit was amazing, and even her scan could barely scratch the surface. There was no way she could interfere with its workings, and the amount of Vibranium she detected was staggering. That thing was power given form.

T'Challa's mind raced as Shuri relayed the information. A mobile fortress with multiple reactors, advanced weaponry, and shields—this was no ordinary suit. It was the linchpin of the entire assault, the invader's symbol of dominance. If he could take it down, it might give Wakanda the edge they needed to regroup and fight back.

"Multiple cores?" T'Challa muttered under his breath as he looked up at the massive suit again. He clenched his fists, determination building in his chest. "This ends now."

He took a deep breath, steadying himself as he prepared to engage the enemy commander. He launched himself from the rooftop, his Black Panther suit glowing with the stored kinetic energy from his previous movements. As he soared through the air, he aimed directly for the command suit, his claws ready to tear through its defenses.

Inside the ornate suit, Napoleon Bonaparte watched with cool detachment. His HUD displayed a real-time analysis of T'Challa's approach. The Black Panther, Wakanda's greatest warrior, was coming for him. Napoleon's lips curled into a smirk.

"So the famous Black Panther finally shows himself." Napoleon muttered to himself. "Let's see how well your legend holds up."

T'Challa landed on a nearby rooftop, barely catching his balance. His mind raced as he recalculated his approach. This was no ordinary shield—it was vibranium-based, like much of Wakanda's own defenses. Breaking through would require more than brute strength.

Napoleon's voice boomed through the external speakers of the suit, cold and commanding. "You're brave, Black Panther, but bravery alone won't save your kingdom. Wakanda's time is over."

T'Challa's eyes narrowed as he launched himself forward again, faster this time, his body a blur of motion. His enhanced reflexes allowed him to dodge the energy blasts that Napoleon fired from the suit's cannons, but he knew he couldn't keep this up forever. He needed to find a way to disable the shields.

Yet Napoleon wasn't going to make it easy for him; after all, while he had earned a nearly legendary status as a General back in his time, he had spent the past few centuries honing his own personal combat skills.

Though T'Challa couldn't possibly know that, to him he was fighting not a man, but a machine, which he had to disable. Yet, one he was struggling with even facing, much less taking down.

T'Challa's instincts sharpened as he circled around the imposing command suit, trying to find an opening in its impenetrable defenses. Each blast from Napoleon's cannons sent shockwaves through the air, forcing the Black Panther to dodge with precision and speed.

The sheer power of the suit made T'Challa realize that this wasn't a typical battle. He was facing an enemy that had anticipated Wakanda's strengths and had come prepared.

Yet Napoleon was merely playing with his prey. After all, even if T'Challa was enhanced, how could he possibly hope to dodge the shots from la Révolution. No, he was only still unhurt because Napoleon wanted to fully crush the very spirit of his enemy.

T'Challa's heart raced as he continued to dodge Napoleon's relentless onslaught. The massive suit's firepower was unlike anything he'd ever faced. His mind raced, searching for any advantage, any weakness in the seemingly impenetrable mobile fortress. But with every passing second, he only grew more helpless in the face of this monster of technology.

T'Challa needed to find a way to turn the tide—and fast.

As another volley of energy blasts thundered past him, T'Challa leaped high into the air, twisting in mid-flight to avoid a shot that would have disintegrated him on impact. His claws scraped the edge of a building as he vaulted to the next rooftop, his kinetic energy building within his suit.

The familiar glow of purple vibranium energy surged through him, and he knew it was time to make a move.

"Shuri," T'Challa shouted into his comms as he ducked behind a damaged wall for cover. "Tell me there's something we can use against him!"

Shuri's voice was tight with urgency, but also filled with frustration. "His suit is beyond anything I've ever seen. There's no standard weakness I can exploit from here. It's practically invulnerable with that shield."

"Then I just have to get him out of it." He replied back, a plan, a bad one quickly forming in his mind.

T'Challa crouched behind the wall, his pulse pounding in his ears as he formulated his desperate plan. It wasn't about breaking through the suit's impenetrable defenses anymore—it was about forcing Napoleon out of it. If the Black Panther couldn't destroy the mobile fortress, then he would outmaneuver it.

"Shuri," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around him. "I'm going to force him out of that suit."

Shuri's silence lasted a beat longer than usual, her disbelief clear through the comms. "T'Challa, you can't be serious. You can't fight that thing head-on. It's suicide!"

"I don't have a choice," T'Challa responded firmly. "Wakanda doesn't have time for a safer plan."

----------------

The Foundation's assault wasn't just against the Golden City, Birnin Zana. No, all parts of the kingdom were facing their assault. After all, the Foundation wasn't there to defeat the Wakanda but to utterly annihilate them.

As such, every tribe was faced with their own assault teams, thousands of units raining death down from above, and homes, civilians, and entire villages were bombed into ruin.

The devastation was everywhere. Wakanda, once a symbol of strength, unity, and isolation, was being torn apart by an enemy that seemed unstoppable. The River Tribe, the Mining Tribe, and even the Jabari in their mountainous isolation were under siege.

 Explosions rocked the earth, and the skies were filled with swarms of enemy aircraft, hovering ominously like vultures over the decimated villages. Each tribe, scattered and caught off-guard, struggled to defend their homes with everything they had, but the onslaught was relentless.

The Jabari warriors, known for their raw strength and rejection of vibranium technology, were forced into a position they had never faced before. M'Baku, their imposing leader, stood at the frontlines, his warriors wielding their massive clubs and spears, enhanced with their own primitive, but powerful, technology. But even their famed strength was proving ineffective against the aerial might of the Foundation.

A Foundation jet zoomed overhead, dropping precision bombs onto the snowy peaks of the Jabari land. M'Baku roared, smashing through Foundation soldiers on the ground, but even he knew they were being overwhelmed.

"This is not a fight of strength," M'Baku muttered to his warriors, glancing up at the sky where the aircraft dominated. "This is slaughter from the heavens."

The River Tribe was faring no better. They had always been skilled at using Wakanda's waterways to their advantage, but the Foundation had disabled many of their transport systems with surgical strikes. Their once proud fleet of river ships and submarines now sat smoldering or sinking in the debris-filled rivers.

People were panicking everywhere, fleeing and dying in the streets. One particularly foolish man wasn't just fleeing, he decided to waste some time collecting his valuables, not wanting to flee without at least some of his wealth.

Yet he was at least smart enough to hurry about it, throwing everything he could into a small sack, taking only the most valuable things to not be burdened under any extra weight.

He reached under his bed and pulled out a box filled with jewelry, things passed down in his family for generations. Yet rather than take the entire box, he just picked up the things inside, stuffing it in his pockets when his sack was filled. Within the box there was a large ornate amulet.

Approximately 15 centimeters in circumference, made from white gold with 13 brilliant-cut diamonds surrounding a large oval-cut ruby with a starburst pattern. He didn't have time to study it; he just reached out to grab it, yet the moment his skin touched it, he froze.

A/N

If you want to read up to 10 chapters ahead or even get the chance to pick what SCPs get summoned, or just support me, visit my p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m / SCPsystem