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Heathrow Airport, London
–Damian Hawthorne–
He winced as he felt another gust of wind violently hit his face, as the plane began the process of landing. The landing gear opened, exposing him to gusts of wind strong enough to make any grown man flying, but he just thrust his hand into the robust hull around him, creating enough leverage for him to stay in place.
The events of the past few days flashed through his mind, as the plane finally landed, his face scrunching up as he smelled the no doubt toxic fumes of the rubber being burnt, as the plane, with a slight jerk, landed at the airport.
He really had f*cked up, having almost died to a Wakandan weapon that destroyed weeks of effort in a single blast, overcoming every single protective enchantment woven into his clothing.
After that, it had taken him days of running, foraging, and hunting for food to finally reach the closest airport. Slipping in had been a risk, but he was willing to do almost anything to get off the continent of Africa, the memory of almost disintegrating still fresh within his mind.
Which led him to bounce around two other airports before he finally caught this flight, heading to London.
The plane came to a halt, as he activated the barely passable invisibly enchanted clothing he wore and slipped out of the plane, making sure to use as little magic as possible, just in case the Ministry of Magic had some common sense and had posted Aurors and Magic monitors in major airports.
In the end, expecting that competency from the British Ministry was just too much because he got no obstruction as he left the airport premises, dodging security, people, dogs, and more as, once he finally felt as if he had enough distance, he turned on the spot, and appeared back in his base, in the designated teleportation room.
The second he did so, he just collapsed on the ground, letting the enchantments fizzle away, barking out a half-cry half-laugh, as he just lay there for a moment, the feeling of being on the run, of not belonging anywhere, of being so vulnerable that he couldn't sleep for days, finally left him.
He smiled in relief one moment and the next, he was gone, into the sweet sweet embrace of sleep, too tired to muster up the thought of getting off the floor.
___xx___
War Room, Wakanda
–T'Chaka–
His fists clenched as he saw the footage of the bunker, as he all but snarled in outrage at the analysts in front of him, "Who gave the order?! Who dared?!"
Silence. All he received was silence from them. He glared at each and every one of the Royal Analysts, people with special permissions and training to operate the most advanced weapons that Wakanda had, and for them to fire an experimental one that resulted in over a dozen deaths of the students of Uagadou could only mean one thing.
He turned to the side, his hands twitching, as he restrained himself against the Elder Council. Six members with the second highest authority in all of Wakanda, beyond anyone but him, and in some unique circumstances, authority surpassing even his could be usurped by them.
"Speak!" He hissed out as they exchanged measured glances before one of them opened her mouth, only for him to point at her, claws extended, still glowing purple because of how much cursed magic had been absorbed by them in the battle two days ago.
"NOT. YOU." He spoke as he silenced the Elder of the Magic Tribe, someone he held partially responsible for the chaos from two days ago. To think that he would have to find out this way that his brother was not resting in the Ancestral Plane but forced to live in a cursed body, like a ghost haunting the living.
"We," The Elder of the Border Tribe spoke hesitantly, "We believed it to be the best measure. Once the wards came falling down and communication outside Wakanda was reestablished, the analysts began doing their tasks. Reconnecting with undercover agents, assets, and satellites around the planet. That was when they informed us of the threat in the Hut."
The Hut. A mockery of a country, built expressly to fool the outsiders, to hide the real Wakanda from their greedy, coloniser hands. Still, disguised or not, they were still Wakandans living in the Hut, forced to stay away from all the comforts that the Birnin Zana provided, leading to the construction of a small fortified city underground.
A facility not built to resist invasions since Birnin Zana, and all its forces were just a stone's throw away. He could see it now that it was a mistake. They had grown lax over the years, believing that despite the magical community being peripherally aware of Wakanda, they wouldn't do anything because of Africa's and Wakanda's mysterious power.
"The cascading failure report convinced us that getting the Border Tribe members out of there and initiating the weapons in that room was the only option. Unfortunately–"
"Unfortunately what? It was clear as day that those students were being controlled. They were not of sound mind. Someone had tampered with all the wards, broken them down, broke down most of our countermeasures, and set loose mind controlled children against us as human shields. You could have had the base contained. The Dora Milaje. The Rhino Squad. Drones could have been used, and we would have had less backlash because now to the school of Uagadou, we have intentionally killed them, as per the reports they got from our esteemed Representative of the Magic Tribe," His words dripping with sarcasm.
She cleared her throat, the one person he did not want to see…ever, but alas, being King meant that more often than not, things did not go his way, "For the record, I was not present when this decision was taken. Mother Magic weeps at the loss of her children, but she despairs at the thought of their lives being taken for nothing. They–"
"Enough!" He turned to the Analysts, the cream of the crop, the very pinnacle of what Wakanda could offer, "I want extensive reports on every single order that went out for the past 72 hours. If a Border Tribe member moved a single inch, I want to know about it. Until I receive this report, the Elder Council is deprived of its highest level clearance."
"My King! You–"
"SILENCE!" He roared at the Council, claws flexing as the threat reached its intended target, "I have had to bury the haunted memory of my brother twice in two years now. After that, I find my one year daughter targeted and confined in a force field with blood and bodies all around her. I find my chain of command to be compromised. I find wards, structures that have stood strong for decades, breaking inexplicably, trapping my citizens. I have found students being used as human shields, and then, this."
He stopped, retracted his claws, and took a deep breath, his emotions almost taking the best of him as he replied, "Let me make one thing very clear, I have no patience for this. After this, if you are found innocent and wish to make a claim, be my guest, but until I have resolved this existential threat to Wakanda, you will do as I say. Am I clear?"
Hesitant nods entered his vision as he whirled around and stomped out of the War Room. He had been awake for three days now and was no closer to figuring stuff out. It had taken him two days, this long, just to weed out any other hidden supporters of the invasion, having hunkered down in easily defensible positions or with hostages.
Most of Wakanda's digital infrastructure was going to be rebuilt, with at least a fifth of its armed forces being in either prison or summarily executed on the spot. This was a massive failure and he knew, in his heart, that N'Jobu would not have been able to orchestrate all of this.
Someone else had their hands in this, and he intended to find out who. The face of his brother, frozen in that maniacal, frenzied expression, haunted him the second he closed his eyes.
How had they missed so much? He could understand being unaware of some of the slow attacks, but to miss all of them? It clearly reeked of inside influence being used to weaken Wakanda. He had to find the links, outside or inside it did not matter. Though with the upheaval Wakanda has gone through over the past few days, it would be better to start with the investigations outside.
There were plenty of people in power who would slow down anything that could target the people in prison right now. He was certain that some people actually expected for some, if not most, of the people arrested, to be pardoned because actually following through with his promise would outright cripple some divisions.
An outcome he was fine with, if he could catch his brother's tormenter, or someone who could lead him to the perpetrator of the greatest tragedy of his life being rewound in front of him.
The image of that floating wizard, the Giant Killer of Britain, someone who managed to do the impossible and dodge the disintegration cannon, an item magically built to never miss, went through his mind as one of the possible suspects in this whole chaos.
An unlikely one, given that he was strong enough to have made some impact in his fight against N'Jobu and his forces but instead of that, he was outside Birnin Zana.
Either way, he had a suspect and by Bast, he was going to get some information out of him
__xx__
–Damian Hawthorne–
His eyes fluttered open as he sat upright, legs splayed on the cold, hard ground, as he took in his surroundings. Just a few days ago, they looked normal to him. Just plain and a bit boring, but now?
Now, they felt like heaven itself in comparison to what he had been in for the past two days. It was horrible. The feeling of not having some layer of safety on him at all times grated on him.
The loss of all his enchanted items hurt him, but the way it was done hurt him more. He had never expected a disintegration curse powerful enough to burn through his entire magical list of defenses in seconds.
After going through what little he could remember of its magic, from his memory, he could safely say that it was not just magic. It was an amalgamation of an extreme amount of energy with a magical curse, the latter of which was supercharged beyond imagination because of the absurd amount of energy from the former, resulting in that death ray.
They probably built that thing with a healthy amount of Vibranium mixed in, since that was the answer to most of the impossible stuff that Wakanda has built over the years. Vibranium shenanigans galore was why Wakanda was so safe, so advanced, so beyond the rest of the world.
He just had hope that it would not give them the same edge in the magical world.
He sighed and got up. He was famished, hungry, thirsty, and disturbed. He did not think he had it in him to leave this place for at least a week now.
"First things first, though," He muttered to himself as he quickly undressed, burning the permanently borrowed clothes. Putting on his nice, comfy clothes, he set out to make food for himself, even though he would absolutely kill for takeout right now.
Alas, his desire to hunker down after coming so close to death won out over the desire to eat unhealthy takeout.
"Omelet it is," He declared as he entered the kitchen, comforted by the fact that he had over a dozen eggs in the fridge and he had the know-how to make good scrambled eggs.
Food first, investigations and more armour later.
God knows he needs it after today.
Damn Wakanda and their overpowered, magi-tech weapons.
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