More advance chapters on P@treon.com/Saintbarbido.
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The journey to Wakanda was tense, the air inside the SSR transport plane thick with unspoken tension.
Bond sat in the back, his wrists bound in cuffs, his posture was relaxed but alert.
Across from him, Sw'Thandi, the Black Panther and Wakandan prince, sat, lost in thought. His expression was unreadable, his regal composure unshaken though Bond could sense the underlying guilt that plagued him.
After all, he was an expert in that. The difference was that Bond had learned to make peace with his regrets.
He'd been expecting an apology, or an explanation where Sw'Thandi would justify his actions. So far, the Prince hadn't spoken since their departure, his gaze fixed on the horizon as the aircraft sliced through the clouds.
Bond respected him for that. No cheap apology would make up for the past. At least not so soon. So he didn't mind the quiet. It gave him time to think, to strategize on his current diplomatic mission.
He had agreed to escort the Black Panther to Wakanda, but he wasn't naïve—he was walking into a kingdom that saw him as an intruder, a thief, a threat. Hence the cuffs around his wrists.
The SSR had negotiated Bond's entry under the condition that he would be allowed to speak to Wakanda's leaders, to address the consequences of Sw'Thandi's interference.
Bond knew they didn't care about avenging Steve and that this was all a sham for the higher ups to bully the poorer and weaker nation, into giving out their highly coveted yet rare Vibranium metal for free.
Normally he'd tell Colonel Phillips to shove it, as the scheme put a stain on Steve's sacrifice but he had another reason for being here.
As the plane descended, flying through a shimmer in the air, Bond caught his first glimpse of Wakanda, and for a moment, his mind went blank.
"Poor and weak my bloody ass." He muttered, to which Sw'Thandi snorted.
Bond had expected a hidden nation of traditional villages, of spears and huts and a few veins of precious metal.
What he saw instead was a civilization far beyond anything the outside world could imagine.
Towering structures of vibranium rose from the lush landscape, their surfaces shimmering with an otherworldly purple glow.
Hovercrafts that made the SSR top of the line aircraft seem like junk, glided effortlessly between the spires, their movements fluid and precise.
Roads of sleek, metallic stone pulsed faintly with light, while markets bustled with people dressed in garments that blended ancient African heritage with futuristic design.
The entire city was alive, a seamless fusion of the past and the future.
Bond's question of why and how a small African nation could afford to insert their nose into a global crisis like Hydra was answered- 'The real Wakanda wasn't just ahead of the world. It had left the world behind long ago.'
As the plane touched down on the steps of what he guessed was the Palace, a contingent of Wakandan warriors, the 'Dora Milaje', stood waiting.
Their vibranium spears gleamed in the sunlight, their expressions as unyielding as their weapons.
'Highly trained and very dangerous.' Bond observed.
Sw'Thandi stepped forward, speaking to them in Xhosa. Bond didn't understand the words, but their weight was clear.
"Come," Sw'Thandi said, turning to him. "You will be taken to the palace. My father will decide what happens next."
Bond smirked, his voice laced with dry amusement. "Can't wait."
The Golden Palace was even more breathtaking than the city.
It loomed above the capital, a masterpiece of vibranium-infused architecture, with glowing spires outfitted with weapon turrets that could take down an invading army in seconds.
Bond was led through its halls, passing murals that depicted Wakanda's history—its wars, its kings- most of whom were Black Panthers and its triumphs.
The air was heavy with the scent of incense, the atmosphere charged with the weight of tradition.
Finally, he was brought before the Wakandan Senate.
At the head of the chamber sat King Azzuri, an imposing figure with sharp eyes and a regal bearing.
The Senate flanked him, their expressions a mix of curiosity, suspicion, and silent judgment.
Sw'Thandi stepped forward and spoke. "Father. I have returned."
The king's gaze shifted to Bond. "And who is this outsider you bring before us?"
Sw'Thandi's voice remained steady. "James Bond. A representative of the SSR. He has come to speak with the Senate, as was agreed."
A murmur rippled through the room, but Bond didn't wait for permission. He stepped forward, clearing his throat for attention.
"Good people of Wakanda, I have come here for reparations," he said bluntly. "Your son interfered in an important Allied mission against the Germans. That interference cost us our best Soldier- a brother, a good man and a protector of the world, just as the Black Panther protects Wakanda. The least your kingdom can do is hear me out."
The murmurs grew louder, the Wakandans unaccustomed to such boldness from an outsider.
King Azzuri's gaze darkened. "You dare step into my kingdom and make demands?"
Bond didn't blink. "I dare because lives were lost. Captain America sacrificed himself to stop a Madman with delusions of world domination. If your son hadn't interfered, the good Captain might still be fighting alongside us. If Wakanda truly seeks peace, then you should take responsibility for your actions."
The room fell silent, the weight of Bond's words hanging in the air.
Then the king stood.
"No," he said simply.
Bond barely had a second to react before the Dora Milaje moved.
"Seize him," the king ordered.
The warriors surged forward, but Bond was faster.
His cuffs snapped apart with a sharp crack, shattered by sheer force. The female warriors took this as a challenge and attacked with lethality.
"Dangerous indeed." Said Bond as he dodged the first strike, grabbed the wrist of the closest Dora Milaje, and twisted—her spear spun from her grip and into his hands.
He deflected another attack with the stolen weapon, disarmed a third warrior with a kick and shoved the rest back with his superior strength. One even crashed onto a pillar.
The Senate erupted into chaos.
Bond moved like a predator, his movements precise and brutal. He weaved between more warriors, knocking them aside with calculated strikes.
The Dora Milaje were formidable, trained in the highest forms of combat, but Bond was beyond human. Every movement was honed by war, instincts adapted to face unwinnable odds by necessity.
In a blink, he was across the chamber, standing before the throne with a blade held against King Azzuri's throat.
The room froze.
Sw'Thandi was already moving, but Bond didn't press the blade further. His voice was calm, almost conversational.
"You're fast, Panther" Bond said without looking his way. "But not fast enough to stop me from killing him. And if I'm being honest, his life, more than reparations, would make up for Steve's death."
Sw'Thandi stepped back, hands raised. "Enough. You've made your point. Let my father go."
Bond held the king's gaze for a moment longer before lowering the knife.
The guards rushed him, grabbing his arms, restraining him once more but with vibranium cuffs. This time, Bond didn't resist. He let them.
Sw'Thandi exhaled, turning to his father. "Let's handle this peacefully, Father."
The king narrowed his eyes, but after a long silence, he nodded. "Take him to the cells first. Let him cool his temper."
The Dora Milaje pulled Bond who let them drag him away, his expression unreadable. As he passed Sw'Thandi, the prince gave him a small knowing nod.
Bond smirked. He'd made his point to the Wakandans, now all that remained was the diplomacy.
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The cell he was in, was dark and cold, its walls made of solid vibranium.
Bond sat against the wall, arms folded, eyes closed.
He wasn't worried. He and Sw'Thandi had come to an agreement before they even left the SSR camp. A solution to the tense relations between the SSR and Wakanda.
Bond would keep Wakanda's secret if Sw'Thandi allowed him to stay in the Kingdom longer than outsiders were allowed as well as share the secret behind the Black Panther's strength.
Neither trusted the other but Bond knew how to exploit Sw'Thandi's guilt.
As the night stretched on, and Bond fell asleep, something strange happened.
A warmth spread through the air, filling the room. The darkness shifted, became something else. Bond opened his eyes—
And found himself standing at the edge of a mountain cliff, eyeing a vast, glowing landscape.
The sky above was a canvas of deep purples and blues, filled with shimmering stars. The ground beneath him rippled like water, shifting and alive. And in front of him with fur as dark as midnight, a large panther sat in the air, taking slow licks at it's leg.
Tall. Majestic. Eyes glowing like fire.
Bond tensed instinctively, his every sense on high alert.
"James Bond," she said, her voice ancient and resonant. "Fate has long whispered your name in the ears of those who see ahead. In person, you are not what I expected."
Bond squared his shoulders. "And who are you?"
"I am Bast, Guardian Goddess of Wakanda." She rose with grace, her gaze piercing. "Why have you come here?"
'She knows of me. Perhaps my plans as well. The truth then.'
Bond exhaled slowly. "I came to find a way to strengthen the Super Soldier Serum. I thought Wakanda had what I needed."
Bast scoffed in dismissal. "Another white man hungry for power. How predictable."
Bond's jaw tightened. "Pardon me fair lady, I don't seek power. I seek strength."
Bast's expression shifted slightly, her interest resurging."And what is the difference?"
Bond's voice was steady. "Power is fickle. It can be taken, stolen, shared, and corrupted. Strength isn't. It's forged through necessity and pain. It exists to back one's ideals."
Bast studied him, intrigued. "And what is your ideal?"
Bond hesitated, thinking hard.
Finally, he said, "Before, it was vengeance. But now… I don't know. I just want to keep the world standing long enough for someone who does to take over. I'm the substitute for the ideal protector. A temporary replacement until the real hero arrives. That is the burden I took upon myself."
Bast was silent. Then, slowly, she smiled, her lips giving way to sharp canines.
"Truly, you are not what I expected," she repeated. "But perhaps… you are exactly what this world needs."
Bond woke with a start, his heart pounding.
The darkness of the cell had receded with the sun's rays piercing through the small window.
"A dream?" He said, the contents of which were slipping out of his mind. But one name remained.
Bast. The Goddess of Wakanda.