Under the watchful eyes of the crowd, Erik Killmonger drew his long sword and advanced on T'Challa. He raised the blade slowly, preparing to strike the kneeling king.
"No!"
"T'Challa! Stand up!"
Princess Shuri cried out in desperation, while the Queen covered her mouth, her eyes wide with fear.
Former King T'Chaka remained silent, but his tense expression and troubled gaze revealed his anguish.
The sacred challenge ritual could not be interrupted. It ended only with surrender or death. In his heart, T'Chaka wished his son would yield. He cared nothing for the throne—he only feared losing T'Challa.
"T'Challa…" he whispered.
But T'Challa refused to surrender. Though battered and unable to rise, his eyes still burned with unyielding resolve.
As Killmonger raised his sword high, a spear suddenly shot forward, intercepting the strike.
The crowd gasped. It was High Priest Zuri who had stepped in, breaking the sacred rules to save T'Challa.
Killmonger's blow had been restrained; had he struck with full force, Zuri could never have stopped it.
"Let him go! Kill me instead!" Zuri cried. "Your father died because of me!"
He released the spear, letting it fall into the pool, and faced Killmonger with grim acceptance.
For years, guilt had weighed on him. He had never admitted it aloud, but he knew the truth: they had been wrong. Now, he was ready to atone with his life.
Killmonger's eyes hardened. The gods had spoken true—his father's death was tied to Zuri.
Lowering his sword, Killmonger strode toward him, radiating menace. The Queen, Shuri, and others shouted in alarm.
"No!"
"Zuri!"
"Stop!"
But Killmonger ignored them. He loomed over Zuri, his voice cold as steel.
"Do you plead guilty?"
"I do," Zuri answered, kneeling and bowing his head. His reflection in the water showed a face carved with pain, regret, and a strange relief.
He had not slain Prince N'Job himself, but N'Job's death was his burden. Worse still, he and King T'Chaka had abandoned N'Job's family.
N'Job's wife and child were innocent. They were Wakandan by blood, deserving of protection, rights, and dignity. Instead, they had been left to struggle in the slums, forgotten.
That choice haunted him. For over twenty years, regret gnawed at his soul.
Once, he had secretly returned to America, searching for the widow and child. He found nothing. To him, it seemed they had vanished, likely dead—victims of violence, poverty, or despair.
Broken by guilt, Zuri resigned as head of Wakanda's War Dogs, despite T'Chaka's pleas. He sought refuge in faith, devoting himself to the Panther God as a priest.
When he later learned that Erik Killmonger was N'Job's son, he felt both sorrow and relief. Erik had survived. Perhaps this was his chance to make amends.
Zuri even supported T'Chaka's decision to yield the throne to Killmonger. It was justice, though it could never erase the wrongs done to him.
T'Challa, however, was blameless. Zuri had raised him like a son, and when he saw him about to fall to Killmonger, he could not stand by. He broke the sacred rules, thrusting his spear to save him.
T'Challa was innocent. Zuri would gladly give his life instead.
Killmonger glared down at the kneeling priest, then turned his gaze to T'Chaka. His voice thundered.
"T'Chaka! Do you plead guilty?"
The crowd fell silent. With a heavy expression, T'Chaka stepped into the pool and knelt before Killmonger.
"Father!"
"T'Chaka!"
The Queen and Shuri cried out in shock.
T'Challa stared at his father, torn by grief. He opened his mouth but could not speak.
"I am guilty," T'Chaka said at last, his voice low. Looking at Killmonger, he saw the shadow of his brother N'Job. This was his nephew, his blood. And yet, after killing N'Job in fear and desperation, he had abandoned his family, leaving them to suffer for decades. He was guilty.
Killmonger's grip tightened on his blade. T'Challa braced himself, ready to throw his life away to protect his father.
But instead of striking, Killmonger hurled the sword into the water. He raised his head and declared for all to hear:
"You committed an unforgivable crime. But since you have confessed, I will not pass judgment here. I will hand you over to the Council of Elders. Let the tribes decide your fate."
He pointed at them both.
"Atone for your sins."