The Black Panther sensed the palpable threat radiating from Sebastian, his instincts sharpened by the faint hum of magic in the air.

His gaze darted to Tony, where a shimmering portal materialized behind him, disgorging a sleek Iron Man suit that swiftly enveloped Tony’s frame, its red-and-gold plates locking into place with a mechanical whir.

Recognizing the odds, T’Challa halted his advance, his hand rising to remove his vibranium helmet, revealing the youthful, resolute face of T’Challa—confirming Sebastian’s suspicion.

The title of Black Panther was a royal mantle, passed to Wakanda’s king.

For T’Challa to bear it now suggested a seismic shift—his father, T’Chaka, was no longer the reigning monarch.

“Why are you the Black Panther?” Sebastian asked, his voice low and probing. “What happened to your father?”

T’Challa’s eyes flickered with a mix of grief and wariness, his understanding of Sebastian’s knowledge of Wakanda deepening.

Turning to Tony, he spoke in a hushed, accusatory tone. “My father was killed by his Iron Soldiers. They invaded Wakanda, stole vast quantities of vibranium, and when my father led our warriors to stop them, those machines cut him down. I came here to avenge him.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, little king,” Tony interjected, his voice dripping with mock indignation from within the suit. “Accusing me of murdering your father? That’s slander—I’ll have my lawyers on you faster than you can say ‘vibranium.'”

Sebastian studied T’Challa, noting the fury and hatred in his eyes, yet sensing their direction wasn’t wholly fixed on Tony.

A sliver of doubt lingered in T’Challa’s heart—he wasn’t entirely convinced Tony was the culprit. If Tony sought vibranium, he could’ve sourced it discreetly through black-market channels, where small, illicit quantities circulated, despite the lethal risks from Wakanda’s relentless enforcers.

Invading a technologically advanced nation like Wakanda was overkill, even for Stark’s audacious style.

This restraint had stayed T’Challa’s hand, his rationality overriding blind vengeance. He was no reckless fool, his mind sharp enough to suspect deeper machinations.

“T’Challa, if you’re not ready to speak openly, there’s no point in talking,” Sebastian said, his tone firm, an undercurrent of authority making the air feel heavier.

T’Challa met Sebastian’s gaze, an inexplicable pressure settling over him, akin to facing Bast during sacred rituals—a divine weight, less intense but eerily similar. It sapped his defiance, leaving him unable to muster his usual resolve.

Taking a deep breath, T’Challa admitted, “I only suspect Stark’s involvement. I’m not certain he’s responsible. My true purpose here… is to seek help.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, reading T’Challa’s sincerity. He sensed the young king likely knew Tony wasn’t directly tied to his father’s death but had acted impulsively, driven by grief and youth, only to stumble into a confrontation he hadn’t fully planned.

Still too green, Sebastian thought.

“Let’s take this upstairs,” Tony said, his voice now measured, shedding its usual flippancy. “I’m curious about who’s impersonating me, too.”

Tony’s knack for rising to the occasion shone through. Despite his penchant for sarcasm, he never faltered in critical moments.

Facing a future king, he tempered his anger at the unprovoked attack, opting for diplomacy over retribution.

With Tony leading, Sebastian nodded, and the trio—T’Challa, Tony, and Sebastian—entered the elevator, ascending to Avengers Tower’s top floor.

As the doors slid open, they were met by Pepper Potts, her expression shifting from surprise to confusion as she took in the group. “Tony, didn’t you just send Iron Soldiers to escort Dr. Helen Cho away?” she asked, her eyes flicking to his armor. “Why are you back already? And why the suit—is there a mission?”

“Helen Cho?” Tony’s voice sharpened. “I didn’t send any Iron Soldiers for her. You—”

Before he could finish, realization dawned on Sebastian, Tony, and T’Challa, their faces darkening with alarm. Pepper, oblivious, tilted her head in puzzlement.

If Tony hadn’t ordered the Iron Soldiers to take Helen Cho, who had? Were they linked to the machines that killed T’Chaka? Or were they one and the same?

Without hesitation, Tony called out, “Jarvis!”

But the tower’s power abruptly cut off, plunging the room into darkness. Jarvis’s voice crackled through Tony’s suit, fragmented by interference. “Sir, something… cutting power… network blocked… I can’t—zzzt—”

Tony switched to manual control, severing the suit’s network connection. A new voice, feminine and crisp—Friday—emerged. “Systems online, sir.”

“Sebastian, you’ve met Helen Cho,” Tony said urgently. “Can you track her?”

“Leave it to me,” Sebastian replied, stepping forward. With a swirl of his cloak, he transformed into a twisted vortex vanishing instantly.

As Tony prepared to follow, T’Challa donned his helmet, grabbing Tony’s arm. “Take me with you—I can help.”

Tony glanced at him, then nodded, gripping T’Challa’s arm. He manually opened a window, leaping out with T’Challa in tow, their path guided by the tracker embedded in Helen Cho’s gear—a precaution Tony had placed on all Tower scientists for their safety.

Sebastian wove through New York’s towering skyline, his senses attuned to Helen Cho’s magical signature. Pinpointing her presence, he descended swiftly, his body dissolving into black smoke through his Animagus death raven’s Phase Form, slipping into a vehicle below.

Inside, he spotted Helen Cho slumped against the seat, unconscious, flanked by four Iron Soldiers. The machines reacted instantly, weapons trained on him.

Simultaneously, the driving Iron Soldier smashed through the vehicle’s compartment, seizing Helen Cho and bursting out, fleeing with her limp form. Read full story at novel(ꜰ)ire.net

Sebastian raised his wand to obliterate the remaining soldiers and pursue, but the four machines detonated in a fiery explosion, engulfing the vehicle in a roaring inferno.

Unfazed, Sebastian shifted back into black smoke, evading the blast with a fired a Protego. He surged after the fleeing Iron Soldier, but a sudden gust of unnatural wind blocked his path, forcing him to halt.

Three figures emerged from the haze: the Mandarin, his rings glinting with malevolent power; Mordo, his eyes dark with Dormammu’s influence; and a man clad in silver armor, his face hidden behind a metallic mask, draped in a green cloak and hood—Doctor Doom, the Shadow Council’s elusive co-founder.

They stood united, barring Sebastian’s path, their presence a chilling promise of conflict.

——

Author’s note:

You guys know the Shadow council from comics right??

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep