The Kamar-Taj library stood silent except for the occasional rustle of turning pages. Hong Fei sat in the farthest corner, offering polite smiles to the curious glances from other sorcerers. When the librarian approached with an armful of massive tomes, the desk shuddered under their weight despite his careful placement. Few in number, but each volume could've doubled as a doorstop.
"The Sorcerer Supreme has granted permission for these to leave the library," the librarian said, adjusting his glasses.
"But don't even think about taking them beyond Kamar-Taj's walls. A single creased page won't escape her notice."
This wasn't Wong yet—just some unfortunate soul destined to lose his head to Kaecilius' zealots.
Hong Fei nodded, running his fingers over the embossed titles: Vedas, The Newly Compiled Universe, and other equally intimidating names. He suppressed a groan as he slid a blue card into his mental inventory. Fast Memory (Blue)—Tony Stark: "Dramatically enhances memorization speed and capacity."
Reading?
Please. Did the Ancient One actually expect him to comprehend all this? Might as well challenge her directly if that were the case. With a quiet scoff, he buried his nose in the first volume, eyes darting across pages at inhuman speed. Two hours later, he slapped the final book shut and beckoned the librarian over.
The man frowned as he approached.
"Problem?"
"Finished."
"Excuse me?"
"I said I'm done."
Hong Fei gestured at the stack.
"You can reshelve these. I need to speak with the Ancient One."
He stood, but the librarian shook his head.
"Whether you actually read them or not," the man said dryly, "your task isn't complete."
He pointed toward the back wall where ten towering bookshelves loomed.
"Those are next."
Hong Fei's jaw clenched around an aborted curse. After a long pause, he dropped back into his chair.
"Fine. Bring the next batch. Quickly."
Night had fallen by the time he gave up. Gathering the remaining books, he stood just as the librarian called after him: "Remember—no damage."
"Yeah, yeah."
Outside the library, a round-faced figure waited in the torchlight.
"Mr. Hong? The Sorcerer Supreme asked me to show you to your quarters."
"Ah, Little Wong. Lead the way."
Wong's cheek twitched.
"You know me?"
"The Ancient One mentioned you."
Hong Fei's casual tone belied the way Wong's entire demeanor brightened, his usually stoic face cracking into a smile.
The quarters were spartan at best—peeling paint, a narrow bed, and a bathroom barely large enough to turn around in.
"Hot water runs all day," Wong explained.
"Can't sleep? More books under the bed. You're not bound by Kamar-Taj's schedule, but keep the noise down. Any problems, find me."
He handed over a slip of paper before leaving.
Hong Fei looked at the paper and said, "Shambhala, Shangri-La. WiFi password?"
"Correct."
"Full coverage?"
"Most areas."
"Where's the router?"
"Why?"
"Curiosity."
"No idea."
"Fine."
"Get some rest."
Wong stepped out and shut the door behind him. For the next two weeks, Hong Fei's main body remained at Kamar-Taj, buried in books. Even with the Fast Memory skill card, the endless volumes of bizarre scripts and arcane diagrams still gave him splitting headaches. He had to pause frequently, closing the texts to rest his burning eyes.
His schedule overflowed with obligations. Between accelerating the Dragon Power's refinement of the Panther God's divine energy in the Dragon Dimension and purifying the orange Panther God card, every moment was accounted for. Meanwhile, his Phantom Illusion in New York maintained appearances—reporting daily to the Avengers training base at S.H.I.E.L.D.
The illusion did little beyond occupying a seat from morning till night, its silent presence ensuring no one slacked off except for essential breaks. Over in Sokovia, Tony Stark's arrival prompted Big Head to assign him a generous chamber in the castle. But Tony's dozens of massive crates demanded more space.
With a sigh, Big Head relinquished five adjacent rooms and had workers knock down the walls to create a sprawling workshop. Tony vanished inside, not emerging for days. Xu Wenwu, meanwhile, returned to the Dragon Palace—dividing his time between family and overseeing construction progress.
Days passed without missions to unite the team. Big Head, who'd hoped for some excitement, grew increasingly restless. Then the deadline arrived.
Today marked one month since Hong Fei's agreement with Wakanda. Big Head led a ten-man squad in a quinjet toward the hidden nation. As they approached, a section of the reactivated Vibranium energy shield parted to admit them.
Big Head kept his distance from the capital. Even from afar, the scars of rocket attacks remained visible—charred patches of ruin not yet rebuilt. The quinjet descended vertically just inside the shield's perimeter.
On the ground, Wakandan vehicles roared to life, speeding toward the landing site. Moments later, the two groups faced each other.
T'Chaka, the resurrected Black Panther, led the Wakandan delegation. His pallor suggested the toll of his return. Flanking him stood the Queen, T'Challa, Princess Shuri, and Royal Guard Captain Okoye with her squad of warriors.
The quinjet's hatch hissed open. Big Head grinned.
"Load it up. Five tons of Vibranium. Looks about right—no need to count."
The Wakandans' expressions darkened. Not a single guard moved to assist. Fortunately, Big Head had brought muscle—otherwise, tensions might have boiled over.
He understood Hong Fei's stance perfectly. Even without considering the Master's dignity, he wasn't one to tolerate disrespect. Smiling faintly, he stepped forward and met T'Chaka's gaze.
"The boss figured you'd lack the shame to stay on the throne after being revived."
His chuckle held an edge.
"Seems he overestimated you."
The insult ignited the Wakandans. T'Challa's fists clenched; Shuri's eyes flashed. Okoye's grip tightened on her spear. Only T'Chaka remained still.
T'Chaka raised a hand to stop his son and daughter beside him, then shot Okoye a warning glance.
"We've honored our agreement—the Vibranium is prepared, and we accept the fifty percent terms."
His voice remained steady.
"But regarding my daughter, I'd like to renegotiate."
Big Head burst out laughing.
"Ah! That explains it. I wondered why you'd show your face today."
T'Chaka swallowed his pride, bowing his head despite the humiliation burning in his chest.
"She's my daughter. Naturally I want what's best for her. Shuri's spent her entire life in Wakanda—this paradise is all she's ever known. As a father's request, couldn't she remain? She could serve you just as well from here."
Big Head's smile vanished as quickly as it appeared.
"No."
The royal family's expressions darkened.
"This decision isn't mine to make," T'Chaka tried, his voice softening with hope.
Big Head crushed it immediately.
"Let me be perfectly clear—the boss won't reconsider. You're right about one thing: your daughter could work for us from Wakanda, and her combat skills are irrelevant."
His lips twisted in a humorless smile.
"But use that brilliant mind of yours. Your son once convinced the boss to spare Wakanda from total annihilation, yet you squandered that hard-won negotiation. We initially asked for only ten percent of the Vibranium."
He leaned forward, voice dropping to a dangerous murmur.
"Then you violated the challenge's fairness. Resist now if you dare. Try keeping us here. Though I doubt I need to explain what happens next."
T'Chaka's face grew ashen as Big Head spoke. T'Challa, ever the dutiful son, steadied his father's arm while murmuring reassurances. His brow remained knotted with grief too deep for words—partly because protocol demanded silence before the king, partly because he had no solutions, and partly because he too was waiting for the right moment to strike.
Across from them, Shuri wrenched free from the queen's grasp. She took T'Chaka's other arm, jaw set.
"Don't worry, Father. I'll come back."
T'Chaka studied his brilliant, mischievous daughter in silence. The minutes stretched like hours until the quinjet finished loading five tons of Vibranium.
"Time to go, little princess," Big Head announced.
Shuri shot him a venomous glare before embracing each family member, their clasped hands trembling. When the final goodbye lingered too long, she abruptly wiped her tears, turned on her heel, and marched onto the aircraft without looking back.
The royal family stood motionless as the quinjet shrank to a speck on the horizon. After an eternity, T'Challa murmured, "Father, we should return."
T'Chaka's cracked lips parted.
"He was right," he whispered, as if in a trance. "I can't cling to the throne any longer."
T'Challa's eyes widened.
Inside the quinjet, Shuri pressed her forehead against the cold window, watching Wakanda disappear beneath the clouds.
"Cheer up," Big Head said. "This separation's temporary. Impress the boss with obedience, and you'll visit home sooner than you think."
Shuri spun around.
"I can return?"
"Certainly."
He clasped his hands behind his back.
"Though you'll never truly be free—short of death, of course."
"Then kill me now!" she spat.
Big Head chuckled.
"The boss would just bring you back."
"You're monsters!"
"Heroes, actually."
"Only because the world doesn't see your true faces!"
He shook his head in mock disappointment.
"Consider this your final warning: shed the tantrums and royal airs quickly. Otherwise..."
His smile turned icy.
"You'll beg for death."
Shuri recoiled.
"The outcome's fixed. But accept it willingly," he continued, "and I promise you'll discover realms beyond your wildest dreams."