Black Panther Uprising (Volume 3) by Ronald L. Smith

Author:Ronald L. Smith [Smith, Ronald L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Disney Book Group
Published: 2022-09-06T00:00:00+00:00

T’Challa raised his hands to his face as a stream of flame shot toward him.

I’ve been burned!

He stumbled back, almost tripping.

He touched his face again. It was hot, but not from the heat of a flame. He was unharmed. He lowered his hands and exhaled.

He looked out at a dimly lit world.

There was neither sun nor moon, only an expansive lilac sky that gave the air a ghostly shimmer.

Where am I?

In the distance, trees swayed in an unfelt breeze. T’Challa looked down to his feet. His mouth opened in shock. He was no longer wearing the clothes he had set out in. He was dressed in a white agbada, a garment similar to a robe. Stars seemed to wink within the fabric.

He began to walk, his breathing slowly returning to normal. He didn’t know his destination. He just put one foot in front of the other and moved forward. The air was dry here but felt refreshing somehow. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the essence of this otherworldly place, trying to preserve the memory. His mind and body felt relaxed, as if he had just awakened from a long, fulfilling sleep.

Who will I see here? And what did Zawavari blow into my face?

The ground seemed to be a sea of black sand, sparkling under his feet.

Was that music in his ears?

It was a chorus of some sort. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard, and it lifted his heart in a way he had never felt before, which almost brought him to tears.

He pressed forward.

A baobab tree was up ahead, its bare trunk soaring to the sky, and at the top, a forest of leaves that seemed to brush the very heavens.

“Why are you here, Young Panther? It is not yet your time.”

The voice was clear as a bell inside T’Challa’s head, as if someone was standing right next to him. He spun around.

T’Challa froze.

A man stood before him.

A man who had his father’s eyes.

“Grandson,” King Azzuri the Wise said.

T’Challa studied the figure before him, his beloved grandfather. He didn’t have any memories of him, but still, his heart swelled all the same. He wore a white agbada, the same clothing T’Challa had found himself in. His form felt substantial, but still slight, as if he could blow away on a strong wind.

“Surely it is not your time, T’Challa. Tell me, what brings you here?”

T’Challa couldn’t believe it. Here he was, in the Ancestral Plane, talking to his grandfather. T’Challa’s father had often regaled him with stories of the great king and how he fought with Captain America and the Howling Commandos. His grandfather had been an incredible fighter, and not one to show mercy.

T’Challa swallowed, coming back to the moment. “There is trouble in the kingdom, Grandfather. Father and Mother. . .they. . .they have been taken.”

Azzuri’s brow wrinkled. “Taken? To where? By whom?”

“A young man. His name is Tafari, and he is aided by another man called Silumko. They have used some sort of.

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