The King: T'Challa.

Chapter 23: Black Order and the Outriders.

The Quinjet broke through Wakanda's veil, carriers gliding overhead like great birds of prey. Soldiers massed on the plain, shields locked, spears glowing. Steve and Bucky rode with the ranks; above, Falcon swept the skies while War Machine circled lower, the rumble of his weapons systems humming in the air. In the distance, the bulk of the Hulkbuster kept pace, lumbering but steady.

Nat's voice cut across the comms, calm and clipped.
"How are we looking, Bruce?"

The armour stumbled into view, the massive frame awkward but somehow keeping up. Bruce's voice was laced with forced bravado.
"Yeah—think I'm getting the hang of it. It's like being the Hulk, only with air conditioning—"

The boast was cut short as the armour caught a ridge and went sprawling. Metal groaned, earth tore up. Bruce scrambled, flustered.
"I'm okay! I'm okay."

Okoye gave him a long, withering look. "You will not have time to trip over rocks when they reach us."

Before Bruce could reply, Rhodey's voice broke in.
"I've got movement. Two signatures—straight through the tree line."

A hush fell as shadows emerged from the forest. Proxima Midnight. Cull Obsidian. Their very presence seemed to sour the air. Above, one of their carriers banked sharply, disgorging ranks of Outriders who poured down like a black tide.

The Wakandan war-chant ceased as M'Baku and the Jabari charged across the field, their rhythmic cries rolling like thunder. He clasped T'Challa's arm in solidarity.
"Kunjalo, ubhuti." (Of course, brother)

T'Challa gave the smallest nod before stepping forward, his gaze unflinching. Proxima dragged her blade across the barrier, testing its pulse. The sound cut through the field like metal on bone.

Nat's tone was sharp. "Where's your other friend?"

Proxima's lips curled back, animal-like. "Dead. His death bought us your blood. Thanos will have the stone."

I stepped forward without hesitation, voice hard.
"He'll have nothing."

T'Challa moved with me, his presence anchoring mine.
"You stand in Wakanda now," he declared. His words were not shouted, but the authority in them carried across the field. "Here, he will find only dust and blood."

Proxima tilted her head, the corners of her mouth twitching in something close to amusement.
"We have blood to spare."

Her blade lowered in signal. Behind her, the carriers opened like wounds in the sky. The Outriders poured forth, a snarling flood of limbs and teeth.

For a heartbeat, silence gripped the battlefield. Soldiers, Avengers, Dora Milaje—every breath held as the horde raced closer.

I edged towards T'Challa, voice low but steady. "Did they just—surrender?"

His jaw tightened. "Not quite."

Steve's sigh carried the weight of inevitability.

And then, in one breath, the King broke the stillness. "Yibambe!"

Arms crossed in unison.
"YIBAMBE!"

The chant rolled like thunder, growing until it shook the ground. Again and again until the barrier shook with the pounding of beasts. Proxima's army clawed at the shield, crushing their own against its force, their screams splitting the air. Limbs sheared off. Bodies bisected. Still they came.

Okoye's voice cracked, horror threading through her discipline. "They are killing themselves."

Through the haze of bodies, some made it through, intact and raging. The Border Tribe sank to one knee, shields raised. The Kingsguard levelled their spears over their shoulders. At the King's signal, the field erupted in fire.

***

The rhythm was merciless: every breach in the barrier brought another volley of fire. For every wave of Outriders cut down, more clawed their way through, throwing themselves at the shield until it burned them apart. It was attrition, nothing else. We all knew what that meant: there would be no clean victory, no walking away without cost. Men and women would die here—brave warriors, Wakandan and otherwise—and nothing could change that.

Above us, Sam's wings cut arcs across the sky, Redwing spitting fire into the horde. His voice crackled over comms, tight with adrenaline.

"You seen the teeth on those things?"

Rhodey, circling overhead, dropped a stream of mines that ripped a swathe through the front line. "Alright, Falcon, back it up before you get your wings clipped."

Sam ignored him, diving lower. The Outriders kept coming, spilling around the shield's curve like a flood seeking the cracks in a dam. Bruce's voice carried the dread we all shared.

"Cap, if they flank us and get behind the line... there's nothing between them and Vision."

Steve's reply was as steady as ever, though there was an edge of steel under it.

"Then we don't let them."

Okoye turned sharply, brow furrowed, her voice pitched between disbelief and demand.

"And how do you propose we stop them?"

T'Challa's answer came without hesitation. "We open the barrier."

Even among seasoned warriors, the words landed like a stone in water. His voice on the comms was calm, measured.

"On my mark—open North-West section seventeen."

Shuri's reply carried the kind of confusion that only comes when genius meets apparent madness.

"Requesting confirmation. You said open the barrier?"

"On my signal."

At my side, M'Baku muttered low, though his voice carried a gravity none of us could ignore.

"This will be the end of Wakanda."

Okoye did not look at him, her gaze locked on the tide waiting to crash through. Her words were quiet but resolute.

"Then let it be the noblest end in history."

The front line braced. Steve slid one of Shuri's shields over his forearm, testing the weight as T'Challa moved to the fore. The chant began again, low and steady, rumbling in our chests.

T'Challa raised his voice, the command cutting through the battlefield air.

"Wakanda forever!"

He crossed his arms in salute, his mask sealing shut, then surged forward. Steve was beside him in moments, the two of them devouring the distance with inhuman speed. The rest of us followed, a wall of steel, vibranium and resolve.

"Now!"

The barrier peeled open in a blinding seam of blue. The Outriders did not hesitate; they poured through, howling, limbs thrashing. Steve and T'Challa hit them first, a blur of fists, claws and shields. The clash was instant, brutal.

The air was filled with the sound of tearing metal, breaking bone, and war cries. It was chaos—no clear line, no neat formation, just survival against the tide. Already, bodies littered the ground. The Outriders weren't stopping. They never would.

I fought my way back to T'Challa's side, blade slick with alien blood. An Outrider lunged for him, jaws wide. I loosed a beam of raw energy, splitting it apart before it reached him. He glanced back at me, giving the smallest nod of acknowledgement before turning back to the fight.

"Shuri," he called over the comms, his voice steady despite the carnage, "how much longer?"

Her reply was clipped, urgent, her voice alive with focus.

"We've barely begun."

T'Challa exhaled sharply, his gaze flicking my way even as he pressed on.

"Then you may want to pick up the pace."