Chapter 8: Trial of the Mind

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO THE POWER YOU HAVE STOLEN FROM MY PEOPLE."

I try to swallow, but find that my throat is too dry as I'm trying to find ways to get myself out of this, at the very least alive and hopefully with the enhancements of the Herb.

For the briefest of milliseconds, the idea of lying flashes through my brain, but the exact moment it does, Bast billows forwards in a great tsunami of smoke faster than the eye can see, and I fall to my knees, unable to draw breath or even remaining standing upright due to the feeling of thousands of tonnes of weight suddenly pressing down on every inch of my body.

I can tell that she isn't even doing anything: this is solely the effect of what I'm beginning to think is my soul being that close to the presence of a god.

So, honesty is probably the best policy here.

"No Bast, I do not." I wheeze out with the last molecules of air that had been present in my compressed lungs, the weight of her aura keeping me from taking a new breath (which a small, disconnected part of me notes is odd, considering this is my soul and thus shouldn't even need to breathe, but it's probably my mind translating whatever metaphysical force her presence is applying to my metaphysical manifestation of self. Or something).

Bast remains perfectly still for a few moments, the two glowing suns of light that represent her eyes glaring balefully down upon my hunched body from stories above me, no pity to be found. Slowly, she retreats from me, allowing her presence to lift enough for me to heave in great gulps of air, but not enough that the weight disappears completely, remaining an ever-present reminder of how precarious my position is.

"YOU SHALL NEVER BE MY CHAMPION."

"W-what… does that… mean?" I manage to gasp out, slowly steadying my breathing, though I remain bent before the Panther Goddess, trying my best not to offend her further.

"IT MEANS, PLANEWALKER, THAT THE POWER OF THE BLACK PANTHER WILL NOT BE YOURS TO CLAIM. I WILL SLAY YOU WHERE YOU STAND FOR YOUR CRIMES AGAINST WAKANDA."

Indignation threatens to well up inside me, but a gentle flex of the bands still pressing down around my chest and on my shoulder quickly disabuses me of that notion. Still, I can't let this go without some semblance of protest.

"I ate the plant! Its powers belong to me now! Why do you get a say in who is allowed to use its power and who is not?!"

"BECAUSE I AM A GODESS, TIED TO THE VERY LAND THAT GIVES THE HERB ITS POWERS. AND NOW, IT'S TIME FOR YOUR STORY TO COME TO A CLOSE."

With that, Bast rears up, a great billowing skyscraper of smoke and shadows, her purple eyes rising infinitely high, a paw as large as a suburban house raised in preparation to smite me into oblivion.

"WAIT!"

It's only after a few tense seconds (during which Bast has yet to kill me) that I hesitantly open one eye, realizing that I had been the one to yell. Quickly continuing in a waterfall of words before I can lose my nerve (or life), I try to beg the Panther Goddess.

"I can do better! I can prove myself worthy of its power! Please don't kill me!"

High up in the darkness above me, Bast tilts her head.

"YOU THINK YOU CAN PROVE YOURSELF TO BE WORTHY OF THE SAME POWERS GIFTED TO MY CHAMPIONS? AFTER ALL THAT YOU HAVE INFLICTED UPON MY CHOSEN PEOPLE? WHY SHOULD I EVEN ENTERTAIN THE THOUGHT?"

"Because…" I start off in a yell, only trail off in a whisper, as I come to a realization.

Bast was right. What reasons had I given her for her to accept my desperate plea?

Precisely zero.

Looking up at the enormous goddess that is about to erase me from existence, there's only one thing that I can think of to say.

"Because I don't want to die."

The reveal of the motivation that had dominated my new life from the moment I was reborn is enough to stay Bast's smiting hand for just a little longer, so I continue talking in a soft tone of voice.

"Ever since I woke up in this universe, that's what I've been most afraid of. And so I tried to do absolutely everything that I could in order to fight that. I've lied, I've stolen, I've killed in order to keep myself as safe from dying as I could possibly be."

I give a weak chuckle.

"And now trying to advance that goal I get killed because of it. But you know what? I'm not done yet. I don't want to die, and I'm sure as hell not just gonna keep quiet and drop dead because you want me to! Go ahead, punish me for my sins, or test my worthiness for the Herb's power and see for yourself that I earned gaining its might! But if you decide to kill me anyways, then you better make goddamned sure you get it right, because I swear I'm gonna claw my way out of the depths of whatever Hell you'll send me to, stronger than before, and then I'll come back here and kick your ass!"

What I'm doing is dumb. I know that it's dumb. Suicidal, even. Who goes and yells at the goddess who was already pissed off at him to begin with? I think quite a few people honestly, when faced with imminent destruction.

There are those who would either bow their heads and take it, or wail, or pray, or remain stoically silent, or they would start raging against the heavens in their final moments.

Apparently, I belonged to that latter category.

For a moment time was stretched out into what felt like eternity, Bast's pools of purple power staring into my own eyes, nothing showing what the goddess was thinking about the tantrum I had just delivered.

Then she lowered her paw, settling on her haunches, a smoky tail the size of a freight train wrapping imperiously around her.

"YOU CHALLENGE ME… TO CHALLENGE YOU?"

It's the first and probably only time that I hear a goddess that sounds confused of all things, before I shrug off the thought and square my shoulders and lift my chin.

"You want justice for what I did in Wakanda, I want the power of the Heart-Shaped Herb. So here's what I suggest: a test. If I complete the test, you'll let me go with the power of the Heart-Shaped Herb, but if I fail it then I'll accept whatever punishment you see fit, even death."

Bast hummed in thought, the twin suns that were her eyes slowly burning in contemplation.

"I FAIL TO SEE HOW THIS WOULD BENEFIT ME PLANEWALKER. SINCE THERE IS NOTHING STOPPING ME FROM METING OUT PUNISHMENT AS I SEE FIT RIGHT NOW."

And with those words, the Panther Goddess flexes the tiniest amount of her immense power, and suddenly I'm on my knees again, the air forcibly pushed from my lungs as it feels like a hydraulic press is currently clamping down on my torso.

Right, just because she's holding off on vaporizing me on the spot doesn't mean she suddenly isn't completely pissed off anymore.

"P-point taken." I wheeze out, after which the vice-like grip on my lungs is abruptly removed, leaving me to gracelessly flop to the floor in a gasping heap.

I clearly need to up my offer.

"Those that are granted the power of the Heart-Shaped Herb are to become your champion, correct? If I complete your trials, then I shall have proven that I have what it takes to be one as well. So, after you let me go, you may give me one order to complete and I shall try to fulfil it to the best of my abilities."

The lights in Bast's eyes briefly increase in brightness, before dimming down to their usual inferno of violet power, but I know what it means: despite her rage, I've peaked her interest.

"ONE ORDER, AND I SHALL GUIDE AND STAY YOUR HAND AS I SEE FIT AS YOU ATTEMPT TO COMPLETE IT."

"Three orders, but you don't interfere."

A deep rumbling sound rattles not just the floor I'm standing on (almost sending me crashing to the ground again), it shakes the very air around us, this entire dimension reflecting Bast's annoyance.

"DO NOT FORGET, PLANEWALKER. YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO MAKE DEMANDS HERE. I AM NOT ONE TO BE BARGAINED WITH AS IF I WERE SOME COMMON MARKET WENCH PADDLING HER WARES. I HAVE DECIDED, AND YOU HAVE ONLY TO FOLLOW."

Bast doesn't shout: she doesn't need to as her point is made just fine at her normal volume. I quickly decide to follow her advice and refrain from weaselling my way through deals and clauses in order to advance my chances.

Instead, I'll just have to be content with not being turned into cosmic space-dust on the spot.

"I bow to your wisdom, oh Great Bast." I say demurely, bowing at the waist for good measure, trying to appease the angered god in front of me.

"THERE SHALL BE TWO TRIALS: ONE OF THE MIND AND ONE OF THE BODY. SUCCEED IN BOTH, AND I SHALL ALLOW YOU TO LEAVE THIS PLACE. FAIL, AND YOU WILL DIE A DEATH SO TERRIBLE, THE STARS THEMSELVES WILL SPEAK IN TERRIFIED WHISPERS OF YOUR DEMISE."

Swallowing down my primal urge to gibber in fear at the implied threat, I hesitantly straighten from by bow, though I try to maintain my submissive posture as I softly ask my question.

"When does my trial start?"

"RIGHT NOW. YOUR GUIDE HAS ALREADY ARRIVED."

I raise my eyebrows in surprise at that.

"Guide? Who's my guide?"

"Me."

Turning around in a shocked whirl at the hauntingly familiar voice behind me, I can feel the blood drain from my face as I lay eyes on my guide for the first time.

"You…" I softly whisper, completely floored.

Gazing at me with an imperious tilt to her regal head, Ramonda, former Queen Mother of Wakanda, the woman I had killed in front of her own daughter, stands before me, not a blemish on her skin.

"How…"

"Bast guides the souls of the Wakandans that have passed on to the Green Veld, where they are free forever. I asked to wait before entering the blessed Djalia, since I had unfinished business that needed to be concluded first."

The look she sends me makes it clear just what (or rather, who) she means with 'unfinished business'.

"LET THE FIRST TRIAL COMMENCE."

And with those words, reality itself stretches and heaves, and with a spinning blur of colours and motion, while remaining perfectly still, the dark savannah we had been standing in had suddenly been replaced with a burnt out pier, the Panther Goddess herself nowhere to be seen, Ramonda standing next to me.

Briefly the disorientation gets to me, making me lose my footing (while the Queen's clothes aren't even ruffled) but the scenery quickly grabs my attention, since I recognize this charred husk, despite the vague, shadowy look everything has, showing that we are still in the Astral Realm, only viewing a different time and place.

It's where I ambushed Killian.

"What is this? What are you trying to show me?" I ask suspiciously, glancing back over my shoulder at Ramonda, who merely inclines her head towards the side.

Following her gaze, I only now spot the emergency workers that are bustling around on the pier, all of them covered in soot, with exhausted expressions on their faces.

Most of them are currently busy with placing body bags on stretchers.

"Would you look at this one? Both her spine and face are gone Jacob. Gone. What kind of monster does that kinda thing?"

Turning around I watch as two guys in medical overalls are busy extracting the remains of the berserker woman from the twisted base of the fallen crane I had smashed her into.

"I don't know Jerry." The man answered, his tone wearied, his posture tired.

"You know how we found her: whatever kind of monster did this to her, I'm betting she ain't exactly an angel herself neither. Just be glad those freaks are killing off each other on piers rather than in neighbourhoods. Less chance of you dyin' that way."

With a grunt and a heave, the corpse is finally freed from the destroyed metal and placed in a body bag nearby. As the elder Jacob starts zipping up the bag, Jerry straightens up, stretching his back as he looks down on his partner.

"That's harsh man. Real harsh."

Jacob only pauses in his work in order to give Jerry a raised eyebrow, before he frowns, motioning his partner to help him lift the bag.

"Right, I forgot. You weren't there for the clean-up in Harlem."

With a heave, the bagged woman is placed on a stretcher, and as they make their way towards the ambulances on the other end of the pier, Jerry looks over his shoulder at the elder man.

"Why? That bad?"

"You ain't even know the half of it kid. Two freaks, tearing up the streets in the meanest slugfest of the century. Two days later, and we're still finding body parts in the rubble and car wrecks. Sure, Army got its hands burned for the mess, but that's too little too late. I had to bandage more scrapes and cuts in those 48 eight hours than nearly 40 years on the job."

Jerry seems to take his partner's words into consideration, before Jacob gives his final two cents.

"Mark my words kid. World's changing, with freaks crawlin' up outta the woodwork everywhere, and the little guy is the one that gets hurt for it. Guys like us, ordinary folk? All we can do is sit tight, wait for hell to blow over and then pick up the pieces."

And with those words they turn a corner and are out of my sight.

"What an interesting word choice. Monster. Freak. How does that make you feel, I wonder, to know those are the words people think of when they look upon your works?"

I growl at the cool voice of the Queen of Wakanda, whirling around to face her.

"What the hell is this? Is this supposed to be some sort of guilt-trip or something? Killian was going to betray me and if left to his own devices would commit acts of terror on these people, and that woman nearly killed me! So if you're expecting me to feel sorry for them, then you can guess again, Your Highness. Only thing I feel is satisfaction at getting them, before they could get me."

Ramonda doesn't even bat an eyelash at my rant, simple crossing her arms, her emotion schooled into an impenetrable mask of calm.

"Yes, I had somewhat suspected you might feel this way. But what about the people in their lives? No person is truly alone in this world, Mr. McCole, not even those villains. What happens to those who remain behind, after you've torn their loved ones from their life? Let's find out."

"Wai-!"

Before I can finish my sentence, the kaleidoscope of dizzying colours is back again, and with a stumble we come to a stop in a rundown neighbourhood, graffiti covering the walls with windows boarded up and litter filling the street.

As I hear South-African being spoken, I think I know where we are. My suspicions are confirmed when the corrugated sheet that is serving as a door in one of the decrepit houses is thrown open, a child no more than twelve storming out, his clothes dirtied and his face gaunt.

Following him out is a wailing woman who I assume to be his mother.

"Please! My boy, don't do this! We can find another way, any way, just not this! Please Axel, don't go to that man!"

"And do what!?" the child rears around, screaming, though I can see the tear tracks on his face.

"Watch you and Nikki starve!? Dad's not gonna come back mom, and I ain't sitting around waiting to die too! I'm gonna join up with Declan's group, Ethan and Luke already joined so you can't stop me!"

And with that, the boy runs off, bare feet slapping against broken cobblestones, leaving his sobbing mother to fall against the doorframe of her hovel, sliding down to her knees in grief.

Behind her, a four year old girl, wearing a tattered, worn down sundress hesitantly approaches her mother, laying a tiny hand upon her arm.

"Mamma? Where's Askel goin'?"

With a cry of pain, the bereaved widower (and I know, deep down in my gut, who is responsible for that) throws her arms around her remaining child in a desperate hug, her body wracked with sobs.

At first I wonder why nobody is reacting at the drama unfolding before me, but it just takes one look at the downcast expressions, those haunted eyes, those too-thin bodies, and I have my answer.

This has become the norm for these people.

"Well, Mr. McCole. What has this woman done against you, that she deserves such a fate?" Ramonda asks as she steps up next to me, but I don't move, my expression sombre as I keep my eyes fixed on the crying mother and daughter in front of me.

It takes a while for me to answer, but when I do, I deliver it in measured, thoughtful tones.

"She doesn't. Nobody deserves this. But you're mistaken if you think this is my fault. Her husband was a criminal, assaulting and robbing people while armed with a submachine gun. There was never a way their tale wasn't going to end this way: they're a product of the world they live in."

The Queen tilts her head a bit at that, giving me a sidelong look.

"And yet, with all that power that you have hoarded for yourself in your hunger for yet more power, haven't you had the means to change that world? Preventing such a tragedy from happening in the first place?"

At that I turn towards her, my face drawn in rage.

"Don't you dare give me that crap! How long has Wakanda sat on its advanced technology? How many cures were withheld from the rest of the world? How many wars could have been prevented? How many lives, over thousands of years, could have been saved had Wakanda not decided to retreat into the shadows, hiding underneath the safety of their force-field, closing its eyes to the pain of the world?!"

The Queen rears back as if slapped, before her nostrils widen in fury, a fire exploding in her eyes (in the figural sense, not the literal Extremis-version), but as she opens her mouth she seems to think on my words, and slowly deflates, gazing at the now softly sniffling mother with a drawn expression on her face.

"Perhaps our ancestors were wrong to hide our nation; perhaps it takes far more than just a single person or even a country to change the world. It would take everyone working together towards a better tomorrow, in order to make sure that such a pain-filled world shall become a thing of the past. Wouldn't you agree?"

Both of us remain silent as the mother, now with no more tears to shed, shakily stands up, lifting her sleeping daughter in her arms, shuffling back inside the small home.

"Perhaps. The world isn't so easily healed, not even with the legendary powers of Vibranium." I concede.

"But there is one thing where you are wrong, Mr. McCole. You assume you bear no guilt to this woman's hurt, because that is simply the world she lives in. But what about those who do not live in such a world, who believe that such pain is not something that they should ever had to live with?"

Before I can ask what she means, the scenery blurs by once again, but this time I managed to resist the breakneck speeds a bit better, and other than missing a step when we arrive, I've come out reasonably unruffled.

The Queen of course still emits an air of regal perfection, not a single hair out of place.

We have arrived in a graveyard, and a little bit further down the gravel path I can see a small group of people clustered around a hole in the ground, a coffin covered in flowers resting above it.

The sight of people in military dress-uniforms clues me into who is most likely inside the coffin.

Not waiting for Ramonda I make my way towards the group, and a picture of a smiling young man in army fatigues confirms my suspicion.

It's the guy who I stabbed in the throat with his own knife.

The moment flashes before my eyes, replaying the scuffle, the mad grab for the blade, and then blood spattering across the visor of my helmet.

One man steps forwards and with a choked voice tries to speak a few words, his face filled with grief and with a sudden start I realize I'm looking at the Frank Castle from 2011, before his family is killed and he is shot in the head and flat lined for a few seconds, before coming back to life, being literally too angry to die.

"Tom was, uhh. Tom was a real good kind of guy. You know? The kind of guy that didn't hesitate in having your back. That was Tom, that was."

As Frank tries to work through the eulogy, I let my eyes roam across the assembled people, seeing the woman and children in tears, while the men try to remain stoic, some of them having tear tracks on their faces.

I can hear Ramonda step up beside me, can feel her eyes on me, so I answer her question before she even gets the chance to ask it.

"Those three soldiers… they knew the life they chose, knew the risks involved. They might not have known they were going up against Blonsky as he was, but they were there at Cornwell University: they knew what gamma-monsters are capable of. I didn't want to kill them, but that's the reality of a fight."

Inclining her head to what appears to be Tom's wife, the Wakandan Queen's tone is colder than ice.

"I wonder what she would say to that. Or what anyone currently standing here would say."

I know what at least one of them will say: nothing at all.

Frank would just put a bullet between my eyes.

I remain silent as the music starts and the coffin with the soldier whose neck I slit is slowly lowered to the ground. It somehow feels wrong, watching that happen. Like the poor man is punished for dying, and gets trapped inside a box and buried in a dark, wet hole in the ground as a result.

Right then and there, I decide that if I do bite it (either by failing these challenges, or later down the road by Thanos-snap or Hulk-smash), then I'll ask to not be buried. Put my body in a pod and shoot it into the sun or something.

As the dull thuds of earth being thrown onto the coffin continue to drone on, I think to myself that I really don't care what happens to me during my quest for Omnipotence.

As long as it isn't this.

As the last shovel of dirt is thrown onto the fresh burial mound, Tom's wife has apparently used up all of her strength, falling into her chair with a soft, chocked up gasp. Frank is there, awkwardly gripping her shoulder, before glaring at where his Army buddy is now entombed, waiting to rot away while his family has to find a way to go on without him in their lives.

"We're gonna catch him Mary. The bastard that did this, he ain't getting away with it. Not with this. You hear me, Mary? Not with this he ain't." Frank murmurs to the woman, but she's completely unresponsive, hollow eyes fixed on the resting place of her husband.

The man that I took from her.

"Well, Mr. McCole. Where is your defence now?"

This time the silence stretches the longest of all since the Queen has taken me on this Christmas Carol rip off, but she refuses to break the silence, forcing me to work through my thoughts and emotions, to examine facets of my being that I had been comfortable with pushing away and out of sight.

It was torture, and I started to understand why Bast thought merely revisiting the people I had killed would suffice as the first trial.

Nobody likes being confronted with the worse sides of themselves.

"I stand by what I said. The man died in battle, knowing when he signed up that that would be a possibility. It's unfortunate that he died fighting me, and if I could do it over I would probably have done things differently, but the fact remained that he died and I got away with what I needed."

I believe in the words I tell her, but they feel hollow, even to my own ears.

Turning away from the grieving widow and fuming Hank, I look at Ramonda, my face lined with the weight of the decisions I have made now resting on my conscious.

"We're done here. Take me to the next one."

I almost expect the scene of our next location. We're standing in the Palace Hall in the Golden City of Wakanda. The hall isn't as crowded as when I, Erik and Klaue were led before T'Chaka, only about a dozen people standing in front of the throne.

And sitting on the throne, clad in royal robes and with burning eyes, sits Killmonger.

While I'm not surprised that Killmonger won his fight with T'Challa (the Herb puts a person on par with an Erskine-supersoldier. Extremis puts a person on par with an Iron Man suit) I am somewhat surprised that the rest of the Wakandans didn't kill Erik on the spot after winning his fight.

These people really adhere to their traditions.

There are several people standing in front of Erik's throne, and from what I can make out of their muttered dialogue, I think that they have some sort of advisory role, and they seem to discuss the distribution of Vibranium, as well as production levels within Wakanda.

A man I don't recognize is standing next to Erik, holding a hushed conversation with him, though since I'm currently on a different plane than them I simply walk up to the pair unseen.

"Another operative lost, Your Highness, in China this time. Apparently one of ours got into a fight with a Loyalist War Dog and they both blew their cover, so Hong Kong came in and killed them both in a massive shoot-out."

Killmonger growls deep in his chest, and smoke starts to come from his robes at his increased anger.

"How many War Dogs does that make?"

"Fifteen Your Highness. It appears that your cousin has managed to make contact with several groups of War Dogs while we were still containing the damage to the city, and intends to wage a guerrilla war against your reign."

Letting out a deep breath of air (hot enough to force the advisor to back away a few steps), Erik folds his hands underneath his chain, a thoughtful frown on his face as he considers his options.

"And the status within Wakanda?"

"We have the power, my lord, as we control both the military and the mining and production operations. The outer tribes bow to your victory over your cousin and recognize you as leader of the Golden Tribe, but within the city… the former king, may Bast guide his soul, was much beloved, Your Highness. Of course, the reveal of his crimes has done much to correct that, but people's hearts are not so easily swayed."

"Do we need to fear a revolt?"

"Not unless they receive an outside backer, my lord. The return of your cousin, or one of those foreign dogs that have been sniffing around our borders. But for now, your reign is secure as King. There are quite a few people who have always viewed Wakanda's retreat from the world as a mistake. We are eager for you to lead us out of the darkness and take our rightful place upon the world-stage."

As Ramonda walks past me, my attention is dragged away from the fruits of my labour, following the Queen's stricken gaze and my eyes land on a furious looking Shuri who is hiding in the shadows at the back of the hall.

As Erik desperately tries to consolidate his power in a land which apparently thought that a duel for the throne was a legitimate way of succession, Shuri merely turns around and runs out of the Hall, feet slapping against the tiles with tears streaming down her face.

Ramonda immediately follows her daughter, not sparing anyone else (including me) a second glance, and with some idea of what's about to come, I follow the Queen through her Palace, passing both flurries of activity and passageways that are completely abandoned.

It takes nearly fifteen minutes of walking, during which neither one of us has spoken so much as a word, before we arrive at a room in what I'm guessing is the wing housing the living quarters of the Golden Tribe.

Without breaking her stride, Ramonda walks straight through the closed door, the ebony wood rippling slightly as she does, but otherwise showing no effect. After a second of hesitation I clench my jaw, close my eyes, and step through the door as well.

When I open my eyes again, I'm confronted with what I expected to see.

A crying Shuri, who is running around her room in a whirlwind of hurried movements, stuffing a large back-pack to the brim with various odds and ends whose functions I cannot even begin to guess at.

While Shuri sobs as she grabs a photo picturing her family with shaking hands, I turn towards the Queen, who is displaying the first sign of emotion during my entire trial, her lip quivering and a single tear rolling down her face.

This time she doesn't ask me a question, and I allow her the small comfort of silence as we look on as her little girl runs to her sheets and starts ripping them up.

It's clear: we're looking at a break-out.

Shuri's escape is even impressive on some level, since she managed to get out of her room and down two floors before she gets spotted by a guard, who sounds the alarm. I suspect that Shuri knows the palace like the back of her hand though, because even with her vision blurred by tears, she manages to evade patrols by hiding in all kinds of nooks and crannies that I hadn't even realized were there.

She even uses three secret passage ways on her mad dash out of the Palace.

After nearly twenty minutes of following the fleeing child, me and Ramonda having no trouble keeping up with her daughter, Shuri finally managed to escape the Palace by using a barely used service corridor which opened out at the back of the complex.

From there she abandoned all stealth and just sprinted towards the treeline, hiding in its underbrush even as Killmonger's guards were still turning the Palace upside down.

After her successful escape, me and Ramonda kept following the little girl for the next two days, and during that time, the Queen hadn't once taken her eyes of her daughter that she could never hold in her arms again.

It was on the third day that happened what I assumed the Queen had intended to show me all along, though she had dropped us in early, probably not being able to control herself wanting to see more of her daughter one last time.

Because on the third day, Shuri fell into a trap.

It was even such a ridiculous movie-trap as well, the one where a character steps on a hidden mechanism and suddenly they find themselves strung up in a net like the world's weirdest piñata.

Ramonda stiffened when her daughter was hoisted in the air, screaming in fear and shock as she went, but the Queen actually growled and bared her teeth when a familiar figure stepped out from the underbrush.

"Well well. What do we have here?" Ulysses Klaue asks with a grin as he looks at the Wakandan princess.

"Let me go!" Shuri cries, but it just makes Klaue laugh, which in turn causes Ramonda to clench her fists.

"Now, why would I go and do something like that, little girl?" the arms dealer asks, scratching the beard that has been growing since his flight from the Wakandan capital.

Briefly Shuri is silenced, before her eyes flash across Klaue's outfit, the bags under his eyes, the way his pants are loose around his hips, his chapped lips. Then she grins triumphantly.

"Because I can show you the way out."

Klaue narrows his eyes in suspicion, slowly approaching his catch, his remaining hand resting on the machete he has hanging in his belt.

"What you mean with that girl?"

"You're lost aren't you?"

Klaue growls at the question, but it just causes Shuri's smile to grow even wider.

"You are, aren't you?"

"Oh give me a break, kind, it's been thirty years since the last time I had to run away from Wakanda, and I didn't exactly had the time to take in the scenery then." Klaue mutters annoyed, but Shuri doesn't seem to even care she's pissing off a world class criminal that currently has her captured.

"But I do know the way! I know all the ways into and out of Wakanda! You cut me down and take me with you, and I'll lead you away from here."

"And why would a little girly like you be so desperate as to be willing to come along with a vicious thief like meself in order to run away from her comfy life in the palace, eh?" Klaue asks mockingly, though I can see the gleam of interest in his eyes as he's suddenly presented with the option of having a guide out of this endless jungle.

At the man's question, Shuri's lip starts wavering, while tears start welling up in her eyes. Furiously wiping her sleeve across her face, the 11-year old haltingly answers the arms dealer.

"There's nothing there for me. Killmonger almost killed by brother until my dad threw himself on that creep… and then my brother had to go and run, father was begging him to, even as he was holding down Killmonger… A-and then, K-Killmonger killed him… And I didn't even see it, because this, t-this monsterkidnapped me and mom! And he… and he… he k-killed her too. I lost… everything." The little girl softly says, her speech interrupted by hiccups and sobs.

Klaue is remarkably silent throughout it all, though I can almost see the gears in his head whirring away at top speed. Then apparently having settled on a course, he grabs the machete and in a single swing-

"NO!"

-slams it through the rope that had been holding up the net Shuri had been caught in, letting her fall to the forest floor with a squawk.

I glance at Ramonda from the corner of my eye, seeing her arms outstretched as if to stop Klaue's swing, before she slowly lowers them, her attention completely focused on her daughter, who has freed herself from the tangles of the net that covered her, standing in front of Klaue in torn clothes, with twigs in her hair and mud caked on her face.

For a moment there's silence in the small clearing, before Klaue bends down on one knee, his tone softer than I had ever imagined the criminal even capable of.

"That monster. The monster that took you and your mamma? He took something from me as well."

"What?"

Lifting the stump of his arm, Klaue gives a chuckle at the girl's wide-eyed look of shock.

"He took my arm, threatening to take even more if I didn't give him all of my treasure. It took me thirty years to gather it all and then one night, that monster walks in and takes my arm and my treasure. But…"

"But…?" Shuri asks, having fallen for Klaue's sob story hook, line and sinker, causing the criminal to show yellowed teeth in a vicious grin.

"But I think we can help each other. You see, kind, you know all of the passages into and out of Wakanda, but how much do you know about the rest of the world? Not much, I imagine."

Fire sparks in Shuri's eyes, and the girl places her tiny fists on her hips.

"I know lots! I know all the names of all the countries and places!"

"Bah, that's just boring school stuff! But do you know the real parts of the world? Where all the real borders are? Which area is claimed by which Cartel? Where crime ends, and government begins?"

At that, Shuri gives a hesitant shake, and Klaue gives an indulgent smile, though I can see the ruthlessness in his eyes as he keeps up his act.

"The world out there is dangerous, kind. But I can help you. Keep you safe. All I need, is one thing, just this tiny little thing, why it's not even worth mentioning really…"

"What is it? What do you need?"

At Shuri's question, Klaue glances around with exaggerated motions, before leaning in a little bit closer, giving her a come-hither motion, and the naïve Princes leans in as well.

"Access. I need access to Wakanda, or at the very least its tech."

Almost reflexively a frown settles on Shuri's face, but Klaue immediately straightens, brushing the little girl off as he turns around, one hand rubbing his neck as he muses out loud.

"Ach, what am I saying. There's no way a little girl like you could help me with that. After all, I need it for a secret, a very big secret, and little girls really wouldn't be able to help me with it…"

Indignation flashes in Shuri's eyes at the dismissal, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Sure I can help! I'm the smartest person I know! Tell me your secret! Tell me!"

Half-turning with lidded eyes, Klaue lets out smile at the fuming child.

"Oh, I was going to try and kill that monster."

Giving a theatrical sigh while Shuri's eyes widen in shock, Klaue turns his back on her again, shaking his head in defeat.

"But I can't kill him with what I have now. No, no, that wouldn't work at all. To kill a monster that dangerous, well, that would require some really powerful weapons. Weapons like, say Wakanda has perhaps? But it's no use, obviously you can't help me, and without your knowledge of Wakanda I'll never be able to get it. Ah well, I guess I just have to give up and let the monster go-"

"NO!"

From where we're standing, me and Ramonda can see the cruel smile from on the criminals face, before he schools it into a wondering, innocent expression, turning back around to face the murderous looking eleven-year-old.

"No? What 'no'?"

"I won't let him get away. I'm gonna kill him." Shuri hisses, and I can tell that the sheer anger and conviction in the child's tone takes even Klaue off guard, though he barely lets it show.

"Really? My what a coincidence! But no, no, no, I can't let a little girl try and kill that monster! I used to be a criminal, but I'm not evil! No, you cannot help me-"

"Yes I can! I'll lead you in and out of Wakanda, so you can get what you need to kill him. But I have one condition." Shuri demands and Klaue gives an indulgent chuckle, victory shining in his eyes.

"What's your condition then kind?"

Shuri surprises all adults present when she fearlessly walks up to the arms dealer and pokes him in the chest with her tiny finger.

"You help me get stronger. The best teachers. The best weapons. I'm good with inventing, so you promise to get me what I need for it. And when you track down the monster that killed mom, you'll take me with you."

Klaue is silent at the Princess' declaration, and I can see some measure of respect rise within him as he stares at the amount of determination the little girl is displaying. After a few tense seconds, he gives a reluctant nod, holding out a grimy hand for Shuri to shake.

"Deal."

There's no hesitation as Shuri slips her hand in Klaue's bigger one, her grip firm and steady.

"Deal."

And with a shake of their hands, Klaue straightens and turns away from the little girl and walks slowly into the underbrush.

"Well? You coming? The monster isn't going to wait for us to show up and kill it you know?"

"Wait, I'm coming, I'm coming!" Shuri calls after the arms dealer, picking up her dirtied back-pack and running off after him.

"You know, I should walk in front. I'm the one who knows the way after all." The girl's voice drifts back to me and Ramonda, Klaue giving a rumbling answer we can't make out, though Shuri's indignant squeak reaches us clearly.

And then the clearing is still and silent.

For about a second.

Then Ramonda whirls around, slapping me across the face.

As I rub my dimly stinging cheek (absently noting that, like with the visuals of my Astral Projection, this sensation to seemed to come from very far away in an angle that hurts to think about) the Queen Mother stands in front of me, her entire form trembling with rage.

"And what excuse do you have for this?! How will you rationalize throwing my country in disarray? How can you possibly justify driving my daughter in the arms of such a disgusting thief?"

I wait with answering the irate Queen until she's managed to collect herself a bit, though the anger doesn't fade from her eyes.

"I needed to know what your people knew about Vibranium. Howard Stark was one of the smartest people of his time, and all that he managed to do with the Vibranium he had on hand was turn it into a Frisbee."

Granted, that Frisbee had gone on to become the most iconic weapon both in this universe and my old one, but still.

"I'm not in this to save the planet, Your Highness, but neither do I want to end up standing amongst its ashes. My entry into your country would either result in Erik's immediate death, in which case I would have to run like hell. If he was allowed within ten feet of your husband however, then either he would kill him or be killed. Either way he would provide ample distraction and he has. Him actually managing to claim the throne is not something I had expected, but that is a result of your customs and traditions, not a fault of my own."

Clearly the Queen isn't convinced by my arguments if her flaring nostrils are anything to go by, so I try a different approach.

"Think of it this way. After consolidating his powerbase, Killmonger will most likely try to expand: there's no better way for a ruler to become popular than having a couple of victories under his belt. Now, I have no idea how much he'll end up conquering and honestly I don't much care, but I can guarantee that the living conditions within his borders will be vastly better than they are currently in those areas. But with the rise of Wakanda comes a rise of tech-levels in those countries, while an increase in the length of her borders means more and more people slipping through the cracks, taking technology back to their own people to reverse-engineer. As a whole, the development of the world will increase."

"At what cost? Global conflict on a scale that we have only seen twice before? How much blood must be spilt before the 'positives' of your plan become reality for those other than yourself?" the Queen spits at me, and though I struggle to put my answer in words, I can feel my conviction growing as I reflect on all that I have done in this universe.

"There has never been advancement in this world that hasn't been achieved at the expense of someone else. That's just the Law of Equal Exchange. And I will advance myself further and further at the expense of whoever stands in my way. And when all is said and done, and I stand victorious above the broken bodies of the most terrible evils in this dimension? Then Earth shall have the greatest champion in the entire goddamned universe. That's their positive, your Highness."

The Queen draws back at my answer, a disapproving look on her face, but I merely feel confidence as my answer truly sinks in with me.

I had been so focused on gathering personal power that I had lost sight of any long-term goals. I was going to need a purpose beyond becoming omnipotent, or within months of actually achieving that level of power I'd probably try to blow my own brains out in order to try and alleviate the boredom.

The likes of the Collector and the Grandmaster had possibly only survived since the beginning of the universe by being consumed by their obsession to the point it governed every moment of their immortal lives.

Becoming a champion to Earth seemed like as good a way as any to spend the rest of my infinite time in this universe.

I feel something click (it's hard to put into words, but there's definitely something shifting in the metaphysical manifestation of my soul) inside me as my realization fully sets in and I can see Ramonda respond to it as well, her lips thinning to the point they're one flat line.

"You have faced your past deeds and remained firm in your resolve. You are ruthless, but not without mercy. You are guilt-free, but not incapable of remorse. Bast has judged you, and you have not been found wanting. You have completed your first trial."

I suppose that hearing that I was half-way there to not getting my soul obliterated by an irate Panther Goddess should have me jumping with joy, but as I'm emotionally strung out, I simply give the Queen a serious nod.

Ramonda glares at me with an unreadable expression on her face, before turning her head away from me, looking at where her daughter ran off after Klaue in her quest for vengeance.

"My daughter will come for you. She's smart, far smarter than anyone I know. If she's allowed to grow, then she'll eventually be able to hunt you down. She will kill you."

She glances at me as she speaks and I can hear her unspoken question.

Will I go after her daughter and put a stop to her before she becomes a danger to me?

It's not that I don't consider it at all, but I rather quickly decide against doing so. For all that she might become a threat to me later, right now she's a kid. An angry, scared and hurt kid that wants my head on a platter, but still just a kid.

Then there's also the fact that I'd have to track her down first. I don't know if the scenes that Ramonda have shown me are all in the past or in real-time. Hell, given the weirdness of this dimension and the fact a God is involved, there's even a chance I'm looking at the future. Which means I have absolutely no clue where she and Klaue currently are, or where they will end up going and considering the bee-hive Africa has become, I rather get out of here sooner than later.

So let her grow; I would as well. And in five to ten years, we would see which one of us had grown the most.

So I merely shrug at Ramonda's words, and repeat the words I had told Killmonger what seemed to be so long ago.

"She will try."

Apparently catching the hidden meaning of my answer, the Queen merely gives a nod, her eyes still fixed on where her daughter disappeared as she addresses me.

"I go to the Green Veld now, where my soul shall join my ancestors and my beloved husband. We shall be waiting for the arrival of our children, but mark my words, Michael McCole. If our daughter joins us before her time, there will be hell to pay."

I open my mouth to respond, but Ramonda cuts me off, as both she and our surroundings start to fade away into infinite darkness again.

"I leave you to your next trial, Mr. McCole. It shall begin… now."

And with that word, the darkness around me disappears as sound and colour rush back in against and I fall to my knees in golden sand. As I hurriedly glance around, I find myself in an arena of some kind, though all of the stands are completely empty and the utter silence is deafening.

"ARE YOU PREPARED TO FACE THE TRIAL OF THE BODY, PLANEWALKER?" Whirling around I see Bast lying down in a separate section of the stands, reminding me somewhat of where Roman Emperors are always portrayed as sitting in arenas.

As I look around in confusion, the gate on the other end of the arena suddenly gives a loud groan of tortured metal before it slowly begins to rise up, dust and sand falling down in thin streams.

Within the gaping maw of the arena I can see two orange flames light up in the darkness, before they slowly come closer to the sands of the arena, finally stepping into the light, making me gasp in shock as I fully see my opponent.

It's me.

Or rather, that darker side of me that had begun to crop up more and more since enhancing myself with Hulk-blood. Instead of appearing like my original body like my Astral Projection does, it looks like my new body still currently lying on a table in the middle of nowhere, but… meaner looking somehow.

The skeleton is even more pronounced, and instead of merely glowing veins its entire skin is burning a reddish colour, while its eyes seem to actually be two pools of liquid fire. It snarls at me, showing pointed teeth and a slobbering tongue, but it's held back by enormous chains made of shadow which stretch back into the darkness behind it.

But it shouldn't be here! It shouldn't be separate from me, right?! Sure I had gotten more aggressive since taking in two serums which had shown to be detrimental to a person's emotional stability, but so far Bruce Banner had been the only one to actually develop a completely separate identity.

"What the hell is this?" I whisper in shock, but Bast has clearly heard me, as she gives a deep rumbling chuckle that shakes the stands with its sheer presence.

"ENHANCING YOURSELF WITH SERUMS AS YOU HAVE DONE HAS FED THE DARKNESS INHERENT IN ALL CREATURES. EMPOWERING YOURSELF WITH MAGIC MERELY GAVE IT FORM AND SENTIENCE."

At that, the monster in front of me strains against his shackles, letting out a roar powerful to blast the sand around its feet away.

"WELL. FORM AT THE VERY LEAST." Bast says with a dismissive turn of her head.

"But how?! Blonksy went mad from Hulk's blood, yes, but he didn't get an alter-ego. And whatever else happened to Killian's brain after Extremis, he didn't have that inside it!" I scream, pointing at the frothing manifestation of my rage.

"TRUE ENOUGH. BUT THEN, NEITHER ONE OF THEM INGESTED A MYSTICALLY ATTUNED HERB AND THEN ENTERED THE ASTRAL PLANE WITH THE SOUL OF A PLANEWALKER. YOU ARE SOMETHING UNIQUE, AND IT SHALL BRING ABOUT YOUR DOWNFALL."

I gape like a fish out of water at the words of the Panther Goddess, my eyes glued to dark manifestation of my internal rage, before I manage to choke out a question.

"What are you even saying? Magic gave it life?"

In response, Bast shifts one her perch, turning her blazing eyes one me.

"FOR A CERTAIN DEFINITION OF LIFE. MAGIC IS A COSMIC FORCE OF UNIMAGINABLE POWER AND UNKNOWABLE RULES. MANEFESTING EMOTIONS SUCH AS WILLPOWER, FEAR, HOPE AND EVEN RAGE ARE NOT THINGS THAT ARE OUTSIDE THE REALMS OF WHAT IT IS CAPABLE OF."

Straightening from her seated position, Bast places one enormous claw on the hewn stone in front of her, bending her billowing form forwards a bit in order to better trap me with her burning gaze.

"ENOUGH TALK. THIS SHALL BE YOUR SECOND TRIAL: SURVIVE."

And with those words, the shadowy chains fall away from the manifestation, and it blasts across the sand of the arena, slamming into me with all the might of a freight-train. The hit throws me clear across the rest of the arena and embeds me in the towering wall that lines the sand.

As it sprints towards me for a second hit, all I can do is feebly lift up my arms in defence, but it proves useless as it ignores my guard completely and sends its burning fist straight into my face.

And all I know is pain.