Chapter Text
Everything works 88% according to plan.
The Talokanil can’t do much within fifty meters of the Sea Leopard because of the electrified buffer.
The whales are another story.
They launch soldiers onto the hull, like some horrific Disney musical. Wakanda’s forces are hard pressed to keep up with Talokanil healing, but Shuri can accept an impasse if it means fewer casualties on board.
She and Riri pull off their fish-in-a-barrelroll maneuver, shockingly enough. However, even laminated in nanites, Namor is still strong enough to carve through her aircraft like clay.
Griot gets them over the island before the ship loses its engine.
Without access to water, Namor doesn’t have his hulking great edge over humanity. But the fight is still worse than trying to beat M’Baku with just a broom.
That is to say… difficult.
But not impossible.
Not when Namor has two enemies here. The Black Panther. And time.
-
He knows it.
“{Imperius rex.}”
He uses one last burst of energy to impale her like a butterfly specimen.
He collapses after and does not rise.
Her pulse rings like bells in her head as she forces herself off the stake.
Her steps are slow and suffering as her suit tries to ameliorate the damaged organs.
She deactivates the nanites around Namor’s head and kicks him onto his back, resting her weapon above the pearls and gold.
He is not allowed to die with the thought that he has killed her.
She waits under the wretched sun until his eyes flutter open and find her.
The acceptance in his gaze galls her to no end.
How will Wakanda forgive her, if the god-king of Talokan, who drowned their kin and their queen, leaves this world at peace?
The spear draws a line of blood on his neck. It is nearly black with hypoxemia.
Shuri.
“Mama.” Her hands shake a little, so she grips the haft tighter. Thick inky drops bead along the edge of the blade and run into the sand.
Show him who you are.
Noble, like your brother? Or…
Namor doesn’t seem interested in taking advantage of her hesitation.
A pity.
She kind of wanted an excuse to stab a hole in his liver and see how he likes it.
To make him beg for mercy.
She wants retribution. She thinks. It seems harder than should be allowed given their position.
Clearly blood loss and abandonment issues are doing a number on her.
“Will you still love me if I… if I'm not like T'Challa?”
Of course. Ramonda seems offended at the very question. But Shuri, you have to love yourself.
“Griot.” Her voice cracks. She clenches the spear like a lifeline, the only thing holding her up. “20% permeability. Allow enough moisture in to keep him alive and functional.”
“Retreat. Talokan has lost.”
They don't until Namor nods, uncaring of the blade beneath his chin.
Once the door of the Sunbird closes and Griot sets course for Birnin Zana, she shoves him to the floor.
“You should not have made me Queen.” Shuri stands over his prone form. “I will make sure you regret it every single day for the rest of your life.”