The First Kryptonian in Marvel

General (POV)

Meanwhile, Navi infiltrated Wakanda's digital defenses with ease. It slipped past firewalls, disabled countermeasures, and weaved through layers of sophisticated, specifically targeting the tech department's systems. With surgical precision, she injected a payload – evidence implicating outsiders in a vibranium heist. But that wasn't all. Nestled within this data stream was a hidden gem – intel on a growing rebellion within Wakanda. A rebellion led by none other than Prince N'Jobu, whose ideals of revolution threatened the throne of King T'Chaka.

The meticulously crafted evidence is exactly where it was meant to be: in the hands of Princess Shuri, Wakanda's technological prodigy.

Deep in the tech hub of Birnin Zana, Shuri sat surrounded by holographic displays, her face illuminated by the soft blue glow of her terminal. Her fingers flew across the keyboard with lightning precision, weaving together intricate lines of code. To her, technology wasn't just a tool—it was her playground, her weapon, her art.

When Wakanda's alarm system pinged faintly in response to the intrusion, she barely glanced up. Her brow furrowed as lines of foreign code flashed across her screen.

"Someone thinks they're clever," she muttered, her tone carrying equal parts annoyance and excitement. "Let's see how clever they feel in five minutes."

Her wrist gauntlets hummed to life, projecting a 3D map of the intrusion. Shuri analyzed the chaotic weave of foreign data with surgical focus, peeling back layers of code to expose the fabricated evidence. Each anomaly told a story—a conspiracy to steal vibranium, orchestrated by outsiders.

Her heart quickened, exhilaration bubbling up as the pieces fell into place.

"This is it," she whispered, a triumphant grin spreading across her face. "Baba will see—I'm not just the kid with gadgets. I'm the future of Wakanda."

But her focus on the surface-level threat left her blind to Navi's deeper machinations. Navi's virus wove through Wakanda's network unseen, embedding itself and gathering data—schematics, energy signatures, and secrets on vibranium-based technologies. It moved like a shadow, silent and unstoppable, leaving only faint anomalies in its wake.

Shuri dismissed the subtle vibration from her wrist gauntlet—just another glitch, she thought, likely a leftover from the code she was dissecting.

With her tablet in hand, loaded with the damning evidence, she sprinted through the palace halls. Excitement fueled her every step.

"Baba!" she called, bursting into her father's chambers. "You need to see this!"

T'Chaka, seated at his desk, looked up with a calm yet discerning gaze. "What is it, Shuri?"

"Evidence," she said breathlessly, placing the tablet in front of him. "Outsiders are planning to steal vibranium. I found their communications, their plans—it's all here. And worse…" She hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing. "They're working with N'Jobu."

T'Chaka's expression remained unreadable as he examined the holographic display. He studied the data, each detail scrutinized with care.

"You are certain this is authentic?"

"Absolutely," Shuri replied without hesitation. "I've triple-checked everything. This is our chance to strike first, Baba. To show them Wakanda's strength."

T'Chaka leaned back slightly, his calm demeanor unshaken. "You have done well, my daughter. But we must not act recklessly. There is too much at stake to rely on haste."

Shuri opened her mouth to protest but closed it as her gauntlet vibrated again. She glanced down briefly, frowning, then pushed the thought aside. There would be time for debugging later.

Unbeknownst to her, Navi continued its silent work, threading through Wakanda's technological core and collecting treasures of knowledge. It left behind echoes of its presence, ready for the day when Wakanda's vibranium ran dry—a future far beyond even Shuri's sight.

For now, Shuri stood with confidence before her father, the weight of discovery lighting her face with pride.

...

King T'Chaka's eyes lingered on the data for a moment longer before he set the tablet aside. His expression remained impassive, but the weight of his thoughts pressed heavily on the room. Accusations of betrayal, if true, could fracture even the strongest nation. And if false? The repercussions of acting on flawed intelligence could be equally catastrophic.

He turned toward the wide balcony of his chambers, his gaze sweeping over the golden Wakandan plains stretching toward the horizon. The sun bathed the land in hues of orange and gold, a tranquil façade masking the storm brewing within his kingdom.

"Evidence is a weapon," T'Chaka muttered under his breath, his voice low but firm. "One must wield it with certainty, or risk striking one's own people."

The contemplative moment shattered with a sharp knock at the door. A Dora Milaje guard stepped inside, urgency etched into her features.

"My King," she said, her voice steady but urgent. "The vibranium storage facility has been breached."

T'Chaka turned sharply, his expression hardening. Any hesitation he had moments ago vanished, replaced with the decisive resolve that defined his rule. The timing was too perfect. Whatever doubts lingered about the evidence, this breach demanded immediate action.

"Dispatch the Border Tribe and the Dora Milaje," he commanded, his tone firm and authoritative. "Secure the facility. This theft must not leave our borders."

The guard bowed swiftly and exited, her movements precise and efficient. Within minutes, Wakanda's elite forces were mobilized, converging on the vibranium storage facility with the precision of a well-oiled machine.

Ulysses Klaue's team had planned the operation with military precision. Armed with advanced weaponry, insider intelligence, and ruthless determination, the mercenaries struck under cover of darkness. The facility, tucked within a mountain shielded by Wakanda's advanced cloaking technology, was a fortress of security. Yet Klaue had found cracks to exploit.

Or so he thought.

As his team breached the facility, explosions echoed through the cavernous halls, scattering vibranium debris and filling the air with acrid smoke. Klaue moved quickly, barking orders into his headset. His mercenaries worked with practiced efficiency, loading vibranium into sleek, reinforced containers.

"Move! Move! We've got five minutes before their response teams lock us in!" Klaue snarled, gripping a stolen vibranium case tightly.

But five minutes was all Wakanda needed.

The first wave of Dora Milaje arrived with a ferocity that turned the tide instantly. Armed with vibranium-tipped spears and unmatched combat skills, they moved through the facility like shadows, dismantling Klaue's operation with brutal efficiency.

The sound of metal clashing against metal filled the air as Klaue's mercenaries attempted to fight back, but they were no match for Wakanda's elite. Mercenaries fell one by one, their high-tech weapons proving useless against the skill and determination of the Dora Milaje.

"Fall back!" Klaue shouted, his voice tinged with desperation as the mission unraveled.

The chaos spilled out of the facility and into the dense jungle surrounding it. The Border Tribe joined the hunt, cutting off escape routes and forcing the remaining mercenaries to scatter. Some were captured immediately and dragged off in restraints to face Wakanda's justice. Others sprinted into the underbrush, abandoning their vehicles in their panic.

Among the fleeing group was Liam, one of Klaue's most trusted operatives, and Deadpool, both clutching stolen vibranium cases. Liam's breath came in ragged gasps as she tore through the dense forest, her boots slipping on damp soil. Behind her, she could hear the shouts of pursuing warriors, their vibranium shields glinting in the moonlight.

Klaue followed close behind, his face twisted in frustration. A crackling walkie-talkie was pressed to his lips, his voice hoarse as he barked into it.

"Number 20! Detonate the bomb! Number 20, do you hear me?"

Static greeted his command, hissing like a venomous serpent. Behind him, Klaue and a handful of mercenaries struggled to keep pace, their earlier bravado dissolving under the weight of their failure.

"Number 20, respond!" Klaue barked again, his voice teetering between fury and desperation.

The static shifted and then came a voice – low, calm, and laced with a sinister amusement. "How's the sightseeing? Still breathing?"

Klaue stumbled, his heart sinking as recognition struck. "Sixty-nine?" he shouted into the walkie-talkie, his voice breaking. "Where the hell is 20? Put him on!"

The voice chuckled, a sound that sent a shiver down Klaue's spine. "Twenty is… indisposed. You might say dead."

"What the hell do you mean dead?!" Klaue roared, his panic finally spilling over.

But the response was silence. Klaue's mind raced, the weight of the voice's implication bearing down on him. Twenty had been their insurance, the one man trusted to set off the failsafe if everything went wrong. Without him, the plan – and their survival – unraveled further.

Behind them, the forest seemed to grow darker, as though Wakanda itself was closing in, determined to reclaim what was stolen.

But then suddenly came a response. 

"His body has ceased any biological function, seems to be what you mortals describe as dead, right?" Kara said with an ice-cold voice.

"But, don't fret," the voice continued, a touch of condescension creeping in. "No reinforcements are on their way. Best of luck, gentlemen."

With a sardonic chuckle, the voice faded, leaving Klaue and his dwindling crew bathed in an unsettling silence. Ignoring the tirade of curses erupting from the walkie-talkie, Kara crushed the device in a metallic grip. Crackling sparks rained down as metal shards fell from Kara's grasp.

"Time to wrap this up," she announced, in a chilly voice. "Let's deal with the remaining stragglers, then we have a little chat with your esteemed king."

Tossing the crushed walkie-talkie aside, Kara strode towards the shimmering energy shield that concealed Wakanda. As she approached, the barrier pulsed, then seamlessly parted, granting her effortless passage. Control of the defense matrix was now hers. Wakanda, once an impenetrable fortress, was now a playground she could enter and exit at will.

A flicker of satisfaction crossed her face.

...

Night draped Wakanda in an unsettling calm, the silence so deep it felt sacred. But the stillness was ripped apart by a deafening roar, quickly followed by the chaos of conflict. The sounds of war filled the air—shouts, the clash of metal, and the steady hum of energy weapons.

"Surround them!" a voice roared, cutting through the melee.

"Don't let them escape!" another shouted.

Amid the chaos, a rebel's scream of pain echoed through the night, a clear sign of what was at risk.

The tranquility of Wakanda was no more.

The rebels made the first move, launching their ambush with ruthless precision. Fueled by desperation and a fiery belief in their cause, they executed guerrilla tactics flawlessly, using the element of surprise to their advantage. For a fleeting moment, it looked like they might prevail. The royal guards hesitated, thrown off by the sheer intensity of the attack.

Hidden in the shadows, rebel fighters moved like ghosts, slipping through the thick jungle and striking with brutal speed. Explosions erupted, lighting up the night and casting brief glimpses of chaos—one Wakandan soldier disarmed, another forced to fall back under a barrage of gunfire.

But the disarray was short-lived. Wakanda's military, renowned for its discipline and unmatched technological prowess, adapted quickly. Leaders barked orders with calm precision, rallying their forces. Tactical formations reformed, and the tide began to shift.

The rebels soon found themselves facing more than just soldiers—they faced a force sharpened by generations of duty and a kingdom's unmatched technological edge. The royal guards moved as one, a seamless blend of flesh, metal, and machine. Vibranium shields hummed with energy, deflecting rebel projectiles. In the skies above, drones whirred into position, their lights piercing the darkness as they pinpointed enemy movements.

Momentum shifted with brutal finality. The rebels' early victories crumbled under the weight of Wakanda's superior coordination. Their initial foothold became a trap, the dense jungle that had concealed them now a snare.

A rebel leader bellowed orders, his voice hoarse. "Fall back! Regroup at the—" His words were cut short as a Dora Milaje spear found its mark, silencing him instantly.

The royal guards advanced relentlessly, cutting off escape routes and tightening their grip. The once-proud cries of the rebels turned to panicked shouts, and then, as the slaughter became undeniable, to desperate pleas for mercy.

"Drop your weapons!" a guard shouted, her voice ringing with authority. "There is no escape!"

Some rebels obeyed, their weapons clattering to the ground as they raised trembling hands. Others fought to the bitter end, their defiance fading as they fell, one by one, their bodies, proof of the clash, lay scattered on the lush Wakandan soil.

Similar chaos unfolded along Wakanda's border, where cutting-edge technology clashed with overblown mercenary egos. Of the original twenty-eight who dared to infiltrate the fiercely advanced nation, only seven unlucky souls remained standing—or wobbling, in one case. Liam, Klaue, and Deadpool led the retreat, accompanied by number 12 and three faceless extras destined for the highlight reel of poor life decisions.

They ran like cornered rats, zig-zagging to avoid vibranium spears crackling with kinetic energy and sonic nets hurled with ruthless precision. Their earlier swagger? Left somewhere in the vibranium mines. Now, survival instincts had taken over, reducing the once-mighty infiltrators to gasping, sweaty husks.

Deadpool, however, seemed to be thriving in the chaos.

"Running builds character!" he shouted between bursts of gunfire. "And glutes!"

One of the nameless mercenaries glanced at him, utterly baffled, right before tripping over a root and getting tackled by a guard.

"On the plus side," Deadpool panted, pausing mid-stride to finger-gun a Wakandan guard who didn't flinch, "cardio goals achieved! On the downside—oh crap, Klaue, incoming!" He shoved another nameless merc into a thorny bush, narrowly avoiding an incoming spear.

The chase was taking its toll. When one of the Dora Milaje closed the gap, the last nameless mercenary decided to surrender—hands up, weapon discarded. Unfortunately for him, the spear hurled his way had other ideas. His surrender ended swiftly, leaving just Klaue and Liam.

Oh, and Deadpool. Except... he was gone.

"Figures," Klaue muttered, teeth gritted as he side-eyed Liam. Survival Rule #1: If you don't have to be faster than the enemy, just be faster than your allies. In a desperate bid for freedom, Klaue kicked Liam to the ground, drawing the guards' attention momentarily. He discarded his stolen vibranium case and bolted for the trees.

The guards focused on Liam and didn't notice the shadowy figure clad in black. Moving with silent efficiency, the figure resembled a phantom in the night as the shadows seemed to cling to its form. Vibranium containers, weapons, and other tactical gear—nothing escaped their attention.

But fate, the jerk, had a different plan. The figure, completely black, emerged out of the shadows with inhuman speed. A dark leg lashed out, kicking Klaue's calf with a crack that sounded like someone stomping a watermelon. Klaue crashed to the ground, a strangled yell erupting from him. His escape attempt was toast.

Grimacing, Klaue looked at his twisted leg with foggy eyes. The searing pain in his leg was unlike anything he'd ever felt. It seemed something had broken it during his escape; it all happened too fast to register. That much was clear: his leg was twisted at an unnatural angle. As a figure crouched before him, Klaue glimpsed a black trench coat, strange and unsettlingly luminescent blue eyes under the hood, and glistening canines in the moonlight. "Sixty-nine," he muttered.

"Sleep tight," the figure whispered, its voice laced with a chilling indifference. Before his brain went into standby.

With a single blow, Kara knocked Ulysses unconscious and tossed aside the broken twig she used. She finished packing the vibranium in her subspace storage unit, while her shadows dragged Klaue into her shadow dimension. Wiping her hands clean on her trench cloak, she muttered, "Number 12 and Deadpool."