Joseph had no idea that Daisy's curiosity toward him had reached dangerous levels. At this moment, he was calmly walking through the depths of a vast, primeval forest, his expression serene, his steps unhurried.
His spiritual power, invisible yet immense, spread outward in all directions—blanketing a radius of nearly a hundred miles. Within that invisible domain, nothing escaped his awareness.
Suddenly, the corner of his mouth lifted in a knowing smile.
With a flash, Apparition magic surged.
In the blink of an eye, Joseph appeared ten kilometers ahead, his figure materializing as if space itself bent to his will.
To the naked eye, the environment didn't seem to change. Still the same thick, lush greenery. Still the endless canopy of towering trees. But Joseph's powerful senses detected what others could not—a thin, invisible veil of energy just ahead.
His eyes narrowed slightly. "Wakanda..." he murmured.
With one smooth step, he crossed the barrier.
The illusion shattered.
The scene before him transformed instantly. He now stood on the edge of a highly advanced metropolis—one of Earth's best-kept secrets. Glittering skyscrapers, ultra-modern aircraft, and wide, spotless roads revealed a society centuries ahead in technology. Yet surrounding the city were farmlands and shepherds, old tribal customs nestled in the shadow of futuristic towers.
It was a paradox.
A civilization built on the cutting edge of science… governed by a monarchy rooted in tradition.
Despite possessing Vibranium-based technology capable of changing the world, Wakanda remained inward, concealed, and bound by ancient ways. Its technology, controlled exclusively by the royal family, was less a public gift and more a tool to sustain their rule. The nation had evolved its tools—but not its politics.
Joseph had no interest in their internal structure.
He was here for one thing only.
His psychic reach extended once more, scanning Wakanda like a sonar ping. Within seconds, he pinpointed what he sought: the heart of the Vibranium mines.
He vanished again.
Apparating once more, Joseph appeared atop a mountain ridge, directly overlooking Wakanda's largest mine.
His gaze swept over the terrain.
"The legendary Vibranium mine," he mused.
There was curiosity in his voice—but not greed. He wasn't here to take, but to understand.
Joseph stood motionless on the mountaintop, but it didn't take long for his presence to be noticed.
He'd breached Wakanda's energy barrier. That alone was enough to raise alarms.
And now he was standing unannounced above the nation's most guarded resource.
The response was immediate.
First to arrive were the Mountain Tribe warriors—brawny men with chiselled physiques, hardened from years of mining and combat. Dozens charged up the slope, armed with heavy mining gear and primitive-looking weapons infused with Vibranium.
Behind them followed the Dora Milaje—Wakanda's elite royal guard. Clad in deep crimson armor, bald heads gleaming in the sun, they carried high-tech Vibranium spears that could pierce steel and redirect energy blasts.
Above them, airborne patrol crafts circled like vultures, engines humming ominously.
"Who are you?!" one of the tribal warriors bellowed, raising his axe and charging forward without hesitation.
Joseph didn't speak.
He simply looked at them.
The moment his gaze fell upon them, their minds shattered like glass.
A four-ring magic: Mind Shock.
Dozens of warriors stopped in their tracks. Their eyes glazed over, weapons dropped from slack hands. They stood frozen, like puppets whose strings had been severed.
The Dora Milaje skidded to a halt in alarm.
"What's wrong with them?!"
"He's using psychic abilities! They're under control!"
Trained and experienced, the royal guards reacted instantly. They didn't rush in recklessly. Their weapons began to glow with energy as they formed a tight perimeter.
Joseph still didn't move.
With a slight twitch of his fingers, the earth beneath their feet began to tremble. A localized seismic burst erupted—Earth Dragon Roll—sending many of the guards tumbling to the ground.
Those agile enough to recover were swiftly ensnared by mud-born tendrils, rising like serpents from the ground and coiling around their limbs, locking them in place.
Fear bloomed in their eyes.
Every member of the Dora Milaje was a warrior of unmatched physical skill, trained in combat since childhood, wielding the most advanced weaponry in Africa.
And yet… they had no chance.
They hadn't even scratched him.
Magic.
That was the difference.
Technology was predictable. But magic was chaos. Unfamiliar. Terrifying.
Joseph finally spoke.
"Inform your king," he said calmly, "that Joseph, King of Mutants, seeks audience."
His words were not shouted, but they carried weight. Authority. Command.
The captain of the guard, still trapped in the mud's grip, trembled. Her lips parted to speak—but the incoming aircraft had already picked up his words.
Moments later, a VTOL transport vessel hovered just above the mountaintop. From its belly, sleek cannons emerged, locked onto Joseph with deadly precision.
The hatch opened.
From within leapt a figure dressed in sleek black, the suit gleaming with faint purple highlights—the Black Panther suit.
The mask retracted, revealing the sharp face of a young man—strong, proud, and brimming with resolve.
"I am T'Challa, Prince of Wakanda," he declared, his voice ringing out. "Who are you to breach our borders and subdue our people?!"
Joseph didn't even look at him.
"A prince," he said dryly. "Where is your king? Doesn't Wakanda know diplomacy?"
The jab hit hard.
T'Challa's pride flared. With a hiss, retractable claws extended from his fingertips. "You dare mock my nation?" he growled. "Then defend yourself!"
He launched forward like a shadow, closing the distance in a heartbeat. Enhanced by the heart-shaped herb, T'Challa's strength, speed, and reflexes surpassed even Olympic-level athletes.
His body blurred, aiming straight for Joseph's throat.
Joseph sighed.
"Why do these tech-savvy people love melee so much?"
With no effort at all, Joseph activated his Super Dynamic Vision—a passive five-ring magic that turned T'Challa's blitz attack into a sluggish blur.
In Joseph's eyes, it was like watching someone fight underwater.
Still, he didn't move.
Instead, a sudden cyclonic wind howled into existence—a mini tornado forming around him in an instant. The violent gale caught T'Challa mid-lunge, hurling him sideways with terrifying force.
He twisted in the air and landed on his feet, agile like a cat.
But as soon as he regained balance, a barrage of low-tier curse spells fired from multiple directions—each spell calibrated to predict his evasion path.
Gravity Curse. Weakness Hex. Confusion Mist. Mental Daze.
Layer upon layer of affliction.
Even with strong magic resistance, T'Challa faltered. His limbs slowed. His mind clouded. His footing weakened.
And then—
Boom!
The tornado connected.
The prince of Wakanda was flung through the air like a ragdoll.
His body crashed into the far wall of the mountain, armor sparking. The VTOL pilot screamed into comms: "Open fire! Open fire!"
Dozens of turrets locked on.
Joseph just smiled.
"I've heard," he said, eyes glowing faintly with ember-like flames, "that Wakanda's Vibranium came from a meteorite that fell from the sky..."
His tone dropped.
"How ironic, then, that you'll be greeted by another."
The flames in his eyes flared.
A faint rumble echoed in the sky.
Something was coming.
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