Chapter 397: Allen – All You Goons, Come at Me
Black Manta surged forward in a single direction.
Underwater, he could explode with terrifying speed, nearly reaching supersonic levels.
Right behind him was Namor, only slightly slower.
Aquaman Arthur followed in third, aided by the power of the Golden Trident.
Far in the rear, Orm struggled bitterly to keep up, pouring all his strength into not falling too far behind.
"Yoohoo... I just passed you!"
Suddenly, Allen rode past Orm on a manta ray glider, not forgetting to show off a bit.
"Yoohoo... I passed you too!"
A few seconds later, Morgan zipped past, boasting just as cheekily.
Orm let out a helpless sigh—at a time like this, with life and death hanging in the balance, they still had the energy to mess around.
"Get on."
Only T'Challa caught up, deliberately slowing down to give Orm a ride.
Boom boom boom—
Several figures shot out from the water.
David dashed across the water's surface toward the island ahead.
Killian and Erik, along with their men, were already waiting there, having been stationed in advance since they weren't suited for underwater combat.
David had planned ahead—if the assault didn't go smoothly, he would lure the enemy ashore and annihilate them.
As expected, things weren't as smooth as he'd hoped.
Still, it was all under control—because Aquaman Arthur had caught up.
As long as he could kill him and take the Golden Trident, he could unify the oceans under his rule.
Furthermore, David suspected that the Golden Trident might suppress the mind-eroding effects of the Dark Trident.
On the shimmering golden beach, David came to a halt, calmly awaiting his pursuers.
Namor and Arthur also stopped, their eyes wary, alert for traps hidden on the island.
"Hey, Black Bastard, why'd you stop running?"
Allen arrived last, riding his manta glider right onto the beach, yelling provocatively, "I'm gonna drag you back to Moore Manor to pick cotton—and throw in a free 300-pull summon bonus just for showing up!"
But David didn't waste time responding to the lunatic—his full attention remained locked on Arthur.
"Finally, I get to shine."
From the nearby woods emerged Erik, dreadlocks swaying as he walked out.
"Another Bastard."
Allen glanced down at Erik's crotch with contempt, smirking, "Don't worry, I'm not racist. Even the small ones are kinda cute."
"F*** you! I'm gonna tear you to pieces!"
No doubt, Allen's jab had hit Erik right in his sore spot.
He'd sacrificed too much on his path of revenge—he had nothing left to lose.
"What a beautiful golden beach."
Morgan arrived and momentarily forgot about the battle as she admired the scenery.
Boom!
Suddenly, numerous figures burst out from beneath the sand, surrounding Morgan in the center.
"Stop!"
T'Challa arrived just in time, shouting a command.
The hundred Wakandan guards hesitated—he was still the former king of Wakanda, and his authority lingered.
Some tribes genuinely respected him, while others simply followed the strong, ready to switch sides at a moment's notice.
"T'Challa, I'm the king now. You have no right to command my guards."
Erik turned to face him.
As the son of his father's killer, T'Challa was his number-one priority. So long as he lived, Erik would know no peace.
"I challenge you to ritual combat for the throne," T'Challa said firmly.
Once the ritual was invoked, Erik couldn't refuse—it was a royal law unique to Wakanda: royal challenges for the throne had no limitations.
Usually, once someone lost, they wouldn't challenge again, knowing their strength couldn't match.
But this time, T'Challa had found new meaning in this fight—he would be the one to hold back Wakanda's forces.
During the ritual challenge, the guards could not interfere; their sole duty was to stand watch and ensure no one disrupted the combat.
"I accept."
Erik replied coldly, "If I killed you once, I can do it again. This time, I'll take your head just to be sure."
The memory of letting his enemy live gnawed at him—he wouldn't make the same mistake twice.
"I won't show mercy again. We owe each other nothing now."
T'Challa had nearly died at Erik's hands last time—he no longer felt any guilt.
With that, both men activated their vibranium suits and assumed combat stances.
The hundred guards split into four formations, guarding all directions.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the battlefield, Erik once again faced off against the trio.
But now, a surge of reinforcements spilled out from the forest.
Dozens of Extremis Warriors and a fully armored squad of frogmen wearing Royal Guard power armor emerged.
Thankfully, the Wakandan forces remained spectators for now, lessening the pressure.
"Little Morgan, go beat them up!"
"Okay, Grandpa!"
Like a mini Hulk, Morgan charged forward and threw a massive punch at Killian.
Killian raised his own fist to block.
Boom!
Their fists collided, sending out a shockwave.
BOOM BOOM BOOM!!!
Morgan was clearly overpowering him, forcing Killian into a purely defensive stance.
Their fighting style looked crude—more like a street brawl than a martial arts duel.
Morgan swung her arms like a windmill, raining down blows like a thunderstorm.
"She's mastered the Turtle Fist... we can't let her live."
Allen paused mid-thought, then corrected himself, "No, wait—she has the makings of an Emperor."
Killian, a man of science, had no real combat training—he could only dodge and block.
YAA—!
Morgan charged after the Extremis Warriors, swinging her Turtle Fist wildly.
Against such overwhelming strength, any technique became useless.
Those bold enough to try a direct confrontation were met with a flurry of punishing blows.
A couple of punches to the head and they were seeing stars.
The beach turned into a chaotic scene, with Extremis Warriors scattering and Morgan chasing them while letting out war cries—like a kid playing tag, rather than a battle to the death. It all looked rather comical.
Allen turned to face the frogmen, crooked a finger, and taunted, "You goons, get over here."
The frogmen looked at each other, clearly insulted.
"What are you staring at? Yeah, I meant you."
Hands on his hips, Allen shouted, "I, your lord, will take you all on—solo!"
Next second, a volley of energy blasts flew his way.
The frogmen had zero intention of playing fair—they went straight for their guns, skipping melee altogether.
Allen ducked and rolled to avoid the ambush, reaching for his shield—then paused, dismayed. "Wait, I'm not Old Steve's boy. What if they shoot my legs?"
To be blunt, the round shield was barely the size of a frying pan—it could protect his face at best.
Allen had serious doubts that Steve had some hidden ability that made enemies inexplicably aim for the shield while ignoring his exposed legs.
He tumbled, leaped, then hurled his shield.
The spinning shield curved midair at a sharp angle and struck the back of a frogman's armor, smashing the water tank on his back.
Atlantis energy tech ran on seawater, and the Royal Guard armor was no exception.
In short, if the water tank got destroyed, the suit became nothing more than useless scrap metal.
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