Black Panther: Who is the Black Panther? Prose Novel by Jesse J. Holland

Author:Jesse J. Holland
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Marvel Comics
Published: 2017-08-17T16:00:00+00:00

THE SETTING sun silhouetted the Black Knight as he knelt for his evening prayers, his Ebony Blade pressed into the black soil tip down. Klaw noted that the man was wearing a full set of scaled armor now, instead of just the cape and helmet. His winged horse, Valinor, was nearby, decked out in a saddle and reins with Christian iconography stamped throughout.

Klaw was loath to interrupt the holy man. But time was now short.

The mercenary team had gathered on a grassy plateau about 50 miles outside of the Wakandan border, at the head of a Nigandan ground division consisting of tanks, armored vehicles, and helicopters. The Nigandans had been instructed to swoop in after the first sortie brought down the Wakandan defenses, and had been given special dispensation by their king to loot and plunder to their hearts’ content. After all, it was only Wakandan property that would be destroyed.

The Nigandan soldiers seemed of good cheer, laughing among themselves as they awaited Klaw’s order to strike. An hour ago, M’Butu had riled up the men up with a speech about the longtime animosity between Niganda and Wakanda, and a laundry list of what Klaw assumed were made-up atrocities committed by the Black Panther and his kin.

Glory, power, and loot were promised by the king to his soldiers, with special accolades offered to anyone who captured Wakanda’s arrogant princess or Queen Mother and brought them back to Niganda—undamaged—to face the king’s justice. M’Butu’s men had cheered and hooted in response.

Now M’Butu had retreated to his palace to await word of victory. A nervous energy filled the staging area as the men joked about all of the booty—human and property—they would claim before the next nightfall.

That didn’t go over well with Batroc, Klaw noted. Once the king had departed, the mercenary had stalked between the lines, slapping down one soldier after another who claimed to be planning special forms of atrocities against the Wakandans.

Most of the men accepted their chastisement and fell silent. One soldier, his wispy beard betraying him as a surly teenager attempting to impress his friends, spat at the Frenchman’s feet. The challenge was clear.

Ten seconds and two swift kicks to the mouth later, Batroc had the boy spitting teeth and blood into the dusty ground. Batroc ordered the boy’s friends to haul him to the rear of the formation, where a doctor would be able to reset his jaw. Then Batroc climbed on top of a tank and shouted for attention.

“I am a professional, and while you are under my command, you will act as if you are professional, too—or you will answer to me,” Batroc warned. “There will be none of this…unnecessary brutality against noncombatants. If someone attacks you, deadly force is authorized. If you can grab something valuable and take it back home, do so. But if the people you encounter surrender, they will be treated as you would want your family to be treated at the hands of the Wakandans.

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