The First Kryptonian in Marvel

Back in Wakanda, Kara rolled her eyes. "I'm the one who warned you about the mercenaries' plans. And if you'd bothered to listen instead of jumping straight to conclusions, I would've told you about Prince N'Jobu's agenda as well."

The revelation hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.

"Klaue and Batroc?" Kara continued, her tone almost casual. "They were supposed to be your problem. But since I'm apparently doing everyone's job today..." She gestured with a sweeping motion and two unconscious men slowly materialized out of her shadows.

Ulysses Klaue lay on the ground, his left leg twisted unnaturally, his mouth stained with fresh blood. Nearby, the heavily battered Batroc, his tattered suit barely holding together, was slumped over, unconscious but alive.

Kara smirked faintly. "Well, you're welcome, and thanks for the sparring session. I actually wanted an audience with your father," she said, finally revealing her real reason for lingering in Wakanda.

T'Challa's gaze flicked to the unconscious mercenaries lying at her feet—Klaue slumped awkwardly, and Batroc face-down in the dirt. His sharp eyes returned to Kara, scrutinizing her. Though his expression was controlled, tension radiated from his stance as he brushed the dust off his shoulder. He took a deliberate step forward, his voice low and authoritative.

"So, that is Ulysses Klaue!"

T'Challa's voice carried a hint of gritted teeth, and Nakia adopted a serious expression. This man was the primary target of the recent investigation assigned to her by the royal family. She hadn't expected that the previously elusive Klaue investigation would suddenly fall in their lap today.

"It seems I was right," Kara said, stepping into T'Challa and Nakia's path. "You knew about his actions."

Faced with Kara's slightly provocative demeanor, Nakia stood resolutely in front of T'Challa, gripping the two ring-shaped weapons tightly in her hands.

"Please step aside, Miss. I need to deal with this thief, Ulysses Klaue!" T'Challa said, reaching out to gently pull Nakia aside, bringing himself face-to-face with Kara.

"As you can see, he's not going anywhere," Kara replied sardonically. "He's unconscious, and on top of that, his leg doesn't look very healthy."

The invisible tension eased as T'Challa recognized that his behavior had been out of line.

"Apologies. I was impulsive," T'Challa admitted, retracting the claws that had extended from his hands. Then, with a more composed tone, he added, "You were the one who warned us about their plans. For that, Wakanda thanks you."

"Despite the initial tension, T'Challa extended his right hand to Kara, his demeanor calm and formal. 'Allow me to introduce myself. I am T'Challa, son of T'Chaka, the Prince of Wakanda, and the current protector of our nation—the Black Panther.'"

Kara clasped his hand briefly, her grip firm yet not overpowering. "Hello, nice to meet you, Mr. T'Challa," she said with a genuine smile, returning the handshake and dissolving the last traces of tension. "I'm Kara Zor-El Vasilissa, not as many titles as you," she added, letting her disguise fall off with a shimmer. Her eyes sparkled with subtle amusement as she continued, "And yeah, the last name's probably a mouthful."

Ororo Munroe shifted beside him, the faint crackle of electricity still sparking in her fingers. Her wild, white hair framed a sharp gaze that never wavered. She stepped closer, a mixture of power and curiosity in her tone. "Ororo Munroe," she said evenly. "Storm, if you prefer."

"Hello," Kara replied, offering a courteous smile and inclining her head, though her attention momentarily shifted to the third figure. Nakia stood slightly behind the others, her stance unyielding, the twin vibranium rings in her hands gleaming faintly. She said nothing at first, her gaze sharp and appraising, her entire demeanor radiating suspicion.

"I'm Nakia, a War Dog for Wakanda," Nakia added, offering a nod of acknowledgment. Her eyes never left Kara as she spoke. "You claim to have warned us. But why? What are you really doing here?"

Kara didn't flinch under the scrutiny, her smirk widening into something almost playful. "I told you," she replied casually, crossing her arms. "I wanted to help. And judging by your current collection of mercenaries, I'd say it worked."

Nakia's frown deepened, her fingers subtly tightening on her rings. She didn't respond, but her body language communicated volumes.

Storm, however, seemed more intrigued than suspicious. Her gaze flicked over Kara again, lingering just long enough to notice details others might miss. "Any relation to Angeliki Vasilissa?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity.

Kara's smirk turned genuine for a brief moment. "Yup," she said lightly. "She's my grandma. Why, did she owe you money?"

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Ororo's lips as she shook her head. "No. But she was... memorable."

Turning to T'Challa, Ororo said confidently, "We can trust her. The Vasilissa name carries weight far beyond Wakanda. I'll explain more later."

T'Challa's eyes lingered on Kara, his expression thoughtful yet unreadable. He exhaled softly, giving her a slow nod. "Your actions speak louder than your words, Ms. Vasilissa," he said. "If your intentions are true, then Wakanda owes you its gratitude. You will be an honored guest here while we determine the full extent of your involvement."

Kara leaned back slightly, her arms still crossed. "Wow, royalty and hospitality. This day keeps getting better," she said dryly. "Lead the way, Prince."

Without further comment, T'Challa turned and began walking down the path that led deeper into Wakanda. Ororo and Nakia followed though both spared lingering glances at Kara before moving on. Kara remained where she was for a beat, her gaze sweeping across the lush, vibrant landscape.

"Well, looks like I'm in," she muttered to herself, a flicker of curiosity sparking in her expression as she fell into step behind the others.

...

Their arrival in the heart of Wakanda marked Kara's first glimpse of the true Wakandan Kingdom—a realm hidden beyond shimmering energy shields and whispers of myth. It was a land of contradictions: where cutting-edge technology harmonized with untouched natural beauty, and yet, the potential fragility of its greatest resource—vibranium—lingered in Kara's thoughts like an unsaid warning.

Kara's eyes widened as she took in the breathtaking panorama unfolding before her. Unlike the sun-scorched terrain of neighboring nations, Wakanda thrived. Rolling green hills gave way to dense jungles, rivers threaded through the landscape like veins of life, and the sky shimmered faintly—almost as though vibranium itself hummed through the atmosphere. The ecosystem was alive in ways Kara had rarely seen, an untouched sanctuary shielded from the outside world's ruin.

The capital, known as the Golden City, earned its name twice over: first, for the golden hues of its vibranium-enhanced architecture rising proudly toward the horizon; and second, for the untold vibranium veins buried beneath Wakanda's surface—veins that made this nation the technological marvel of the modern world. But it wasn't the metal nor the skyline that truly caught her attention. It was the Wakandan palace. Ancient yet enduring, its walls seemed to echo the whispers of a thousand kings and queens who had ruled this land with wisdom and ferocity.

Beneath the platform where she stood sprawled a jungle so vibrant it bordered on surreal, as though untouched by time itself. Kara's super-vision swept across the terrain, observing villages that seamlessly coexisted with the wild. The creatures she glimpsed weren't larger than their global counterparts, but there was something about their movements—sharper, stronger, an untamed grace that hinted at the subtle influence of vibranium, even in the bones of this land's wildlife.

Kara's extensive knowledge of paleobotany stirred as she studied the plant life. Leaves glistened faintly, their edges reflecting light in patterns she'd never seen before while flowering vines seemed unnaturally vibrant. Some flora bore structural echoes of ancient species, but it wasn't time travel—it was evolution, accelerated and enriched by vibranium. One plant stood out in particular: the legendary Heart-Shaped Herb, its leaves pulsing faintly with an inner light. She'd heard rumors of its power—how it imbued Wakandan kings with strength and vision beyond mortal limits—but seeing it in its natural splendor felt almost sacred.

Kara let out a quiet breath, absorbing the blend of technological wonder and natural brilliance. For all her travels across galaxies and dimensions, Wakanda felt different. It was not a utopia born of naivety or privilege—it was earned, preserved, and protected.

...

"Your Majesty, the rebels have been completely subdued. Their concealment was more extensive than we expected..."

A bald Dora Milaje knelt before King T'Chaka in the throne room. The aging king stood before her, clad in a sleek black combat suit, a silver vibranium necklace gleaming against its surface. His helmet, dark and imposing, concealed the exhaustion etched across his face. Moments earlier, he had led the mission to capture Prince N'Jobu—his own brother. But any sense of triumph was soured by the sight of N'Jobu taking his own life before him.

"I understand... Okoye," T'Chaka mumbled, his voice heavy with grief. He removed the helmet, revealing a face that betrayed none of the turmoil raging inside. Plopping down on the throne, he exhaled deeply, allowing himself a rare moment of vulnerability. His mind churned with questions he could not afford to ask.

The sound of footsteps, distant at first, grew louder, accompanied by an unusual scraping noise. From outside the throne room, a group approached the palace—its towering spires a seamless blend of tradition and Wakandan innovation. At the rear, Kara trailed casually behind, dragging two battered forms across the polished floor.

Batroc the Leaper and Ulysses Klaue hung limply in her grip, their faces bruised and swollen. Kara's expression was as smug as her methods were direct—every time one of her "prizes" stirred, she delivered a swift and casual bonk to ensure they stayed unconscious. Subtlety was, quite literally, not her strong suit. She was more of a hit-it-really-hard kind of gal.

"Sorry to intrude," Kara said, her tone light, almost mocking, before she unceremoniously dumped Batroc and Klaue at the palace entrance. The pair looked more dead than alive, their bruised faces smearing against the pristine floor. Without waiting for an invitation, Kara strode confidently toward the old king on the throne.

"Hold it right there! Intruder! Take another step, and my spear will pierce you!"

Okoye's sharp and commanding voice rang out as she stepped forward, her vibranium spear leveled before her. Her stance exuded pure discipline—muscles taut, eyes locked onto Kara, sizing her up.

Kara, however, didn't so much as flinch. She tilted her head, one eyebrow raised, as though amused by the challenge.

"She is a guest!" T'Challa interjected quickly, stepping forward in an attempt to defuse the situation. But he was too late.

In the blink of an eye, Kara became a blur of motion. One moment, she was sauntering toward the throne, and the next, she was on Okoye like a heat-seeking missile. Before anyone could react, two lightning-fast movements disarmed the Dora Milaje captain. The spear flew one way, clattering to the ground, while Okoye herself landed with a surprised grunt.

The entire confrontation lasted seconds. Okoye, stunned but undeterred, scrambled back to her feet, her eyes blazing with fury and embarrassment. She'd been entrusted with the king's safety, and an intruder—guest or not—had just made a mockery of her.

"Okoye, stand down," King T'Chaka's voice boomed through the throne room, commanding attention and immediate compliance. Despite her pride, Okoye froze, the authority in her king's tone brooking no argument.

Kara smirked and spread her hands in a mock gesture of innocence. "Calm people are always easier to deal with," she said lightly, dipping into a playful curtsey. The movement was exaggerated and awkward, more akin to a botched dance step than a display of royal decorum. "Not bad for someone without a spear, though," she added with a sly grin in Okoye's direction.

After a moment, Kara straightened, her gaze sweeping across the throne room. She took in the intricate carvings and holographic displays—an elegant marriage of Wakanda's ancient traditions and cutting-edge technology. King T'Chaka, seated on his throne and clad in an older version of the Black Panther suit, radiated a weary authority that Kara found almost admirable.

Her gaze drifted to Queen Ramonda, regal in her striking white attire and towering headdress. Kara struggled to suppress a smirk. What is it with royalty and weird hats? she mused silently.

Clearing her throat, Kara decided to embrace the formalities, if only for the sake of expediency. "Your Majesty, King T'Chaka," she began, inclining her head in a gesture of respect that was passable, if not polished. "I trust you've received the message I sent?"

T'Chaka's expression softened slightly. Despite Kara's irreverence, her attempt at courtesy seemed to please him. He gave a curt nod, his deep voice steady. "I have."

Not everyone, however, shared the king's measured sentiment.

"Intruder! You will show more decorum in the presence of our king!" Okoye snapped, her fury finally breaking free. To her, Kara's casual demeanor in the face of Wakandan royalty was nothing short of sacrilege.

Kara glanced toward King T'Chaka, catching the subtle relaxation in his features. He looked like a man who'd had enough dramatics for one day and was eager to move things along. Still, the room's atmosphere remained taut. The Wakandan faithful, ever-disciplined, held their united composure, standing as a bulwark of respect for their monarch.

The old king raised a calming hand, patting Okoye's shoulder. The gesture was enough to signal her to step back, though the frustration in her eyes lingered.

Queen Ramonda, on the other hand, wore her disapproval like an armor. Her stern gaze didn't waver, deepening as it flicked from one face to another. Her scrutiny sharpened as it landed on Ororo who stood confidently by T'Challa's side, their hands intertwined. Ramonda's eyes narrowed further, especially at the absence of Nakia by her son's side. Instead, Nakia stood behind them, her expression calm but unreadable.

"Mother, where has Shuri gone? My suit is damaged and needs repairs."

T'Challa's voice drew the queen's attention momentarily, though her expression didn't soften.

Storm, unfazed by Ramonda's glare, met her gaze head-on. Her defiant confidence was noticeable, a storm brewing in more ways than one. Outside, the clear sky began to darken, heavy clouds swirling as Ororo's emotions subtly influenced the weather.

T'Challa, ignoring the tension, removed his outer robe, revealing his heavily damaged Black Panther suit. The gasps from the Wakandan faithful echoed like a wave through the throne room. Their collective shock was mirrored on the faces of King T'Chaka, Queen Ramonda, and the Dora Milaje. The Vibranium-laden armor, a near-indestructible symbol of Wakandan strength, now bore signs of catastrophic damage.

"What happened?!"

The question hung in the air, as much an exclamation of disbelief as it was a demand. The royal family, having intimate knowledge of Vibranium's unparalleled durability, found the sight incomprehensible.

T'Challa pointed to the unconscious Klaue and then toward Kara with a nonchalant shrug.

"Klaue started it. She finished it," he said, his tone dry, with just the faintest edge of exasperation.

The room's collective gaze turned to Klaue and then to Kara. Unbothered, she crossed her arms, her hood casting shadowy lines across her face.

T'Chaka leaned forward, his sharp eyes narrowing. "Thank you for the warning. However, as an outsider, how do you possess such intimate knowledge of Wakandan affairs?" he pressed, the sharp edge of his tone leaving no room for evasion.

Kara uncrossed her arms, a wry smile playing on her lips. "Your brother, N'Jobu, it seems, had a rather…extensive business relationship with the gentleman currently decorating your entrance." She nodded toward the half-dead Klaue. "Transaction records, shipping manifests—these things tend to leave trails. Following those trails?" She shrugged casually. "Not exactly brain surgery."

T'Chaka's eyes narrowed further, his piercing gaze weighing her every word. "And who, exactly, are you?"

Before Kara could reply, Ororo stepped forward, her voice calm but resolute. "Kara Zor-El Vasilissa. She's a bioengineer of unparalleled genius in the outside world and the inheritor of the largest biopharmaceutical empire. Her grandmother fought alongside the Howling Commandos in World War II. She can be trusted."

The room buzzed faintly, digesting the information.

As if to break the charged silence, a new voice interjected, cheerful yet sharp.

"Ulysses Klaue is the main culprit," the newcomer said, her Wakandan accent crisp. "He used stolen Vibranium and tech he smuggled out of here to build that." She held up Klaue's sonic weapon, now dismantled into its component parts, gleaming in her hands like a trophy.

The petite black girl's arrival commanded instant attention. Draped in Wakandan attire that blended tradition with cutting-edge tech, she looked both regal and ready to hack the nearest mainframe.

"Not so much 'disrupting' Vibranium as dulling it. The design's amateur—clearly modeled after prototypes I was working on." Her tone was a mix of pride and irritation, as though offended by Klaue's lack of originality.

"Shuri," T'Chaka called, his voice layered with calm authority. "Take your brother's suit for repairs. Study the weapon as well."

Shuri's eyes lit up like a kid handed a new puzzle. "Can Kara come with me?" she asked brightly. "Her combat suit is pretty awesome—"

"Shuri," T'Chaka cut in, his tone carrying the weight of the entire Wakandan monarchy. "Address her as Miss Vasilissa. She and I have matters to discuss."

Kara chuckled under her breath, "Sure thing, Miss Shuri," she quipped, her irreverent tone earning a surprised grin from the girl.

Kara's grin widened. The man wasn't king for nothing.