Black Panther
"Declaration"

Only moments ago, Wakanda's shining capitol, Central Wakanda, had been the stage for a joyous, city-wide gala, its nighttime streets bustling, its people full of cheer--full of life.

And then the Rudyardan soldiers came--led by the savage Man-Ape--and that gala had turned to chaos; that bustle had turned to panic; that cheer had turned to dread; and that life...it was being snubbed out by the second with every merciless squall of the Rudyardans' artillery.

And still, as always in this land, there was hope...

...for there was the Black Panther--engaged in the devastated, debris-laden street, surrounded by small shops, large towers--all sacked--and the limp bodies of several vanquished soldiers--battling his fur-adorned opponent with the swiftness and might of an Avenger--

--a king--

--a hero.

"As always, you fight well, but your reign ends now, T'Challa--today!" the Man-Ape vowed as he swung his bestial fist at the Panther with no result.

"I see you have backing in your attempt to dethrone me, this time, M'baku," T'Challa replied, leaping over Man-Ape, and delivering a kick into the small of his back before the brute could counter. "I would not have expected King Nobolo to act so soon--and so violently--after my visit to Rudyarda last week."

Man-Ape jerked around, striking the Panther with his forearm, and flinging the dark Avenger ten feet across the street and into a fire hydrant, whose water-feeding pipes had earlier been disabled in the Rudyardan army's initial attack.

"Consequential as that meeting was, Panther," Man-Ape said as he approached his recovering prey. "the coming conflict between Rudyarda and Wakanda has been destined for some time--some might say forever. And this...skirmish...is merely a declaration of war!"

The Panther rose swiftly from the ground, but not fast enough to escape Man-Ape's overpowering grasp, and, despite his struggle, he was lifted by the neck and forced into the wall of a small antique shop that lined the street.

He knew that Man-Ape would crush his windpipe before the blood flow could ever be cut off from his brain, but still he fought.

"You're speaking in tongues, foe," he gurgled. "What is the point of this?"

"The point, T'Challa, is that I shall spare your life, and in return, you will act wisely and leave your kingdom. Go wherever you please, but you will not be allowed to stay here...unless you are fond of seeing your people massacred at their own parade?"

The Panther's white eyes were far from blank--now, they were rage given form, and with a powerful thrust of his legs that tossed Man-Ape backwards several feet, through an abandoned Rudyardan military jeep and to the paved street, T'Challa became the conduit through which that rage was given life.

He stood, battle-ready, over the winded, white-furred warrior, and spoke.

"It is you who will leave, M'baku--you and your heartless army. If you do not, I will ignore the fact that you are a son of Wakanda, and I will hunt you down, and deal you a judgment worse than death. Make your choice, but know that if this IS war, then the Black Panther will NEVER be forced from his people."

Man-Ape merely grinned at the Panther's bravery--he knew it was not a front, but it was ill-guided nonetheless, as T'Challa would soon learn. And then, the beast-like man rose, as primed for another round as the Panther.

And after a brief gaze from both combatants, acknowledging their long-standing enmity--T'Challa with regret, for M'baku was once a trusted ally, a friend--Man-Ape with revenge in his eyes, for T'Challa had thwarted his quest for power too many times... ...simultaneously, they lunged at one another through the air, and the battle was renewed!

When young, Wakandan M'swa had volunteered to operate as King T'Challa's personal assistant three years ago, she had never imagined that she would be attacked by Wakanda's enemies so often. Not that she would ever complain--like T'Challa, she was a warrior, and while she did not welcome aggression, she was far from fearful of it.

However, for her companion, freelance documentarian Jeffrey Hoffman, the same could not be said.

"I think I just got shot!" he cried out as the two escaped the abandoned pizzeria that had been their shelter from the Rudyardan attack before the Black Panther's arrival moments earlier. And now, as they scurried through a maze of darkened alleyways, the brash, pudgy, twenty-five year old American was paranoid as ever.

"You THINK you've been shot?" M'swa replied. "Trust me, Jeffrey, had you been shot, you would know it."

"What, you've been shot before, Missy? But--!"

She tugged his arm and turned another corner. "Hush up and keep running!"

"Where are we going? I'm lost in these alleys!"

"I know where we're going--" another corner, and she stopped, peering out into the first open range they had seen in some time, "--there."

They both gazed upon a large tower that housed the controls to a skyline gondola system, some thirty yards away.

"We're getting on that?" Jeff asked.

"Yes. The air trams lead to the canyons near the farmland--not far from here."

"Well...okay...let's roll on over there."

She nodded, but just as quickly, her soft brow furrowed, and she motioned him back into the cover of the alley.

"We've...been sighted--RUN!!!"

Before Jeff could respond to the unexpected and unprovable declaration, M'swa led him in a sprint through the dimly-lit, scarcely developed grass field between the alley's end and the gondola center--and, indeed, they had been detected by the Rudyardan soldiers, and were followed through the field by angry bullets.

But they made it to the gondola's salvation, and entered the state-of-the-art, empty, hi-tech building, the droning hum of the tramway's electronic pulley system and the vibrating fiberglass exterior drowning out their footsteps.

"How did you know someone had spotted us?" Jeff asked as he followed M'swa through the structure.

She seemed hesitant to respond. "For some time, I've experienced rather disturbing dreams of what seem to be future events unfolding before my slumbering eyes--and just recently, those dreams--perhaps 'visions' is a more accurate term--have invaded waking moments of my life as well."

"What, you mean you're psychic? ESP?"

"No, not that I know of. I cannot summon these visions whenever I please--frankly, I don't know that I would want to. They come to me at the strangest of times. I have noticed I experience them more in intense situations, but that is hardly proven, nor does it offer any explanation as to their origin."

Much to M'swa's surprise, Jeff was more amused than alarmed by her revelation--of course, his infatuation with her altered his perception of the matter, no doubt. And that...that endeared him to her, if only a little.

"Don't knock it, Missy--it just saved our tails out there. You said you can't just call 'em up, but would you try for me? Tell me...something...anything...I don't care."

She was prepared to dissatisfy him, once again, in that she could not do as he asked--but to his surprise, and to the disappointment of both young prey, she gave him just what he wanted.

"Jeffrey--we've been...trapped."

Indeed, not a moment later, three camouflaged, Rudyardan soldiers stepped from the gondola control room, their assault rifles targeted at M'swa and Jeff.

Perhaps this was NOT what he wanted.

The Black Panther's tactics were stealthy and evasive, his fists swift and forceful, but his enemy stood seven-feet tall, boasted the strength of the most feared white gorilla, and was nigh-unstoppable.

But, though Man-Ape's full motives were still unclear, T'Challa knew that at least the fate of Wakanda was in peril, and so he fought on--

--even as M'baku lifted the crushed military jeep over his head and commandingly thrust it at the Panther, who leapt out of its path with not a second's hesitation, letting it crash into and roll across the dark, asphalt street.

"You appear as strong as ever, M'baku," the Panther ceded. "Even without the aid of your tiresome companion, N'gamo, you are a worthy challenge."

"Heh. N'gamo--even I dare not guess at that troll's end after Nobolo grew irritated with his meddling and put him to work for one of Rudyarda's notoriously brutal slaveholders. M'baku has no need for aid. Even as the Rudyardan army has fallen at your feet, I still stand!"

"But not for long!" Black Panther jumped over the debris of the shattered jeep and delivered a heel into Man-Ape's massive chest, staggering the depraved combatant.

"The dark hides you well," Man-Ape replied as he pulled a light post from its base and swung it at a diving T'Challa, "but then, the night always was YOUR companion." Another thrust missed T'Challa once again, but sliced through the top of an abandoned automobile. "However, the fires set by the Rudyardan soldiers spread, and while their flame destroys your city, their light gives away your every move, Panther!"

One final swing, and the massive pole clipped the Panther in the shoulder before he could escape its reach. T'Challa's fall was without grace--he could hardly afford dignity--he was fortunate to remain conscious.

"It seems each time we meet, T'Challa, despite my strength, you manage to outsmart me...not this time."

As M'baku effortlessly tore the driver's side door from a curbside automobile, T'Challa was teased by the smoking rifle that sat beside the unconscious form of a Rudyardan attacker. He could name and construct each and every part of the rifle, but never had he considered using a firearm in his trials as the Black Panther. After all, tradition dictated that he who donned the identity of the Panther, Wakanda's sacred defender, would necessarily be fit of mind and body--over time, weapons would come and go, and take many forms, but the human form would always remain the same--ever-learning, ever-improving itself--and that made it the universe's most powerful weapon.

Still, if T'Challa was anything, he was untraditional. It was he who first opened Wakanda to the world, after all, and because it was right. Not tradition, but his spirit, his own code had always dictated his actions--

--and so, out of M'baku's view, he took hold of the rifle, spun onto his back, took aim at the behemoth, and fired an uncounted number of times.

The rifle's assault ceased, and the man-made power in his hands startled even T'Challa, but Man-Ape stood over the Panther with a brazen grin, unfazed--the car door that shielded him had absorbed every round of artillery--

--or so they thought.

Suddenly, a stream of blood rushed to the ground, splashing up and around T'Challa's resting feet. And when M'baku lowered the car door's protection from his chest, both he and the Panther gazed at the tuft of misshapen hide at the base of M'baku's fur-adorned chest, and the red spurts that discharged from it--Man-Ape in shock, T'Challa in satisfaction.

Black Panther took advantage of Man-Ape's state by leaping to his feet and spinning into a kick that shook M'baku more than the flesh wound ever could. Another kick to the stomach, and Man-Ape doubled over into the full momentum of T'Challa's rising kneecap, staggering him several feet backward.

"Your injury will heal, M'baku--your inhuman strength assures me of that," T'Challa said. "But your pride has been mortally wounded this night--let humility's firm grip tug at your disgraceful gorilla guise the next time you wish to attack my people!"

And with that, T'Challa took hold of the rifle's nozzle and drove the butt into M'baku's jaw, letting gravity signal triumph as the beast fell limply backward with a pavement-shattering THUD!!!

In the tramway control facility, M'swa had gasped at the presence of the three, armed, Rudyardan troops, but only out of the suddenness of their arrival--she hardly feared them. They were chubby, their trigger fingers shaky, their twitching brows surrendering any front of intimidation. In fact, she surmised that these men had joined Rudyarda's government military only as a refuge from the fate that Cecil Nobolo would have delivered unto them otherwise. Furthermore, the only reason they were in the empty skyline tramway system building was to take refuge from the REAL action that took place closer to Central Wakanda's commercial district. They were novices--unenthused amateurs...punks, as Jeffrey would call them.

With the speed of the Panther himself, she reached out and grabbed the end of one soldier's rifle, then swung it and its holder around, plunging him into the other two gunmen, sending them all bumbling to the floor. Then, with a move T'Challa had taught her in an earlier workout session, she stomped on the center of each of their thighs with the heel of her sandal, rendering each of them immobile. And as she bent over to take possession of each of their weapons, the thought of further hindering them by placing a bullet in each of their legs crossed her mind...but only for an instant--she would never use a weapon--not as long as the Panther gods watched over her.

"I'm...impressed...." Jeff said.

Once she and Jeff entered the control room, she tossed the rifles aside and glanced over the readings from the control panel.

She seemed momentarily uneased.

"What's up?" Jeff asked, his voice decreasingly unsteady--he was almost getting used to all this...almost....

"The control crew is supposed to shut the air tram system down in an emergency, but the system is still functioning--they must have forgot. It's no matter," she said, leading him out of the control room, up a winding stairway, and to the outdoor boarding platform, "I have to get you to the safety of the canyons on the other side."

One of the sleek, uncovered, four-passenger air trams glided on the double reversible cable to the tower platform, and M'swa entered a set of commands into the computer console on the platform, stopping the tram at the platform. She opened the waist-high door and first boarded Jeff, and then herself before the air tram started up the overhead cable at a twenty-six degree gradient.

"Get me to safety?" Jeff continued as he found it easy to get comfortable once inside the leather-cushioned, open-air, skyline gondola as it smoothly lifted up and across the vast city five-hundred feet below, and climbing. "That's sweet!" he teased.

"You're my responsibility," M'swa replied, not nearly as comfortable as Jeff, as she tried to detect anymore Rudyardan activity below them--one errant bullet from the carnage in the city below could damage the cable the tram depended on, and she and Jeff would become that much more troubled. "If anything happens to you, T'Challa would have my head."

"Oh, so you mean you're not protecting me out of love, Missy? Come on, besides the flying bullets and burning city below, the setting couldn't be more romantic," he said sarcastically. "You mean you still don't feel a...tingle...in your tummy when you're around me? Not even a little?"

"I do," she replied, this repetitive, annoying conversation secondary to their safety. "But then I visit Dr. Tambak, and he usually prescribes an effective antacid."

"Ouch! That's a stinging sense of humor you've got!" Jeff quipped.

But his laughter stopped once he caught a glimpse of M'swa's face, a tad less smooth than normal--a bit of her characteristic dignity replaced with alarm.

"What now, Missy? You got another one of those visions?"

Her eyes focused intently on the air tram that approached, moving down the cable the opposite direction, toward them.

"No wonder the system is still operating--we're not alone up here! Jeffrey...GET DOWN!"

She forced him into a crouched position in his seat and covered him with her own small-framed form as a hail of bullets tore the air over their heads.

"These guys don't let up!" Jeff spit, his angered words drowned out by the screams of gunfire.

The assault continued until the gunmens' tram and M'swa's and Jeff's had buffered a significant distance from each other--but the Rudyardans were still not about to give up. The four, black, camouflaged men stood in their cart and leapt dangerously across to the cart that followed them. One by one, they each cut the distance between themselves and M'swa and Jeff, as their bounding, tram-to-tram jaunts were faster than M'swa and Jeff's tram took them.

Realizing this, M'swa cautiously stood and motioned for Jeff to do the same.

She looked forward, toward their destination--there was not enough time.

"These trams travel almost four-hundred feet a minute. The troops can double that time easily. We're going to have to jump ahead to the next tram, Jeffrey," she regretfully stated. "Before the troops reach ours and execute us."

Jeff looked ahead to the cart in front of them, and his eyes widened. "That's almost ten feet ahead, Missy! You might be able to make it, with your ninja moves, or whatever, but there's no way I can jump that far!"

"So you are going to stay here and let the Rudyardans shoot you down like an animal? I can't let you do that, Jeffrey. You HAVE to come with me. Now come on--I'll go first to show you how easy it is."

She took a rather vulnerable position at the edge of the tram facing the skyline gondola nearest her going in the same direction. Fortunately, as long as the troops attempted to vault along the tramway, they would be unable to use their firearms against her or Jeff. She then crouched a bit lower, then pushed off her feet, gliding through the air and landing gracefully in the center of the tram ahead--she knew she had made it look easy--that was her intent--but she also knew that Jeff would struggle, no matter what.

Even still, she had to give him his due--he went about this endeavor with more bravery than she had seen him muster thus far. And just as she had, he took position at the end of the open gondola, then gave one last look back at the approaching, unshakable, snarling troops, and though he was not a religious man by any means, he said a little prayer:

"I know I could stand to lose a few pounds, and I know I can be a little flirtatious at times, and yeah, I probably stared at the static on the TV too many times in the hopes that the She-Devil Channel would come through clear, but please God, don't let those BUTT-UGLY faces be the last thing I see...thanks."

And then, like a reluctant child into a frigid lake, he just jumped...

...

...and he cleared the distance!

"You did it, Jeffrey!" M'swa exclaimed as he landed clumsily at her feet in the gondola.

He was exasperated, and exhausted. "That deserves a kiss...don't it, Missy? Come on, just a little...peck...on the cheek...please."

She sighed. "I wouldn't consider it. Don't get overconfident just yet--the soldiers are still gaining on us, and I estimate that we must jump to one more tram before we can safely reach the canyons."

"There's no way in the world I can do that!" Jeff complained.

"You said something to me once, Jeffrey--what was it? Oh, yes...would you like some cheese with that whine?"

He shook a frustrated head at her brazen attitude as she took position once again at the edge of the tram, and spanned the effortless (for her) distance between moving carts.

He knew she was trying to help him, and he was convinced that it was out of something more than duty. For that, he could not let her know that a second jump was impossible. After all, she was doing her part, for whatever reason--so why couldn't he be a man and do his?

He would have to.

Jeff climbed to the edge of the moving gondola once again, and uttered another fear-inspired oration. "Okay, man, God gave you a free-B on that last one--this one's up to you. Play Carl Lewis and hit your mark at M'swa's lips, or you end up some dead white guy a couple hundred feet down. Either way, it's better than giving those Rudyardan thugs the satisfaction of ripping you apart with a swarm of bull--ARRGH!"

With a violent, gunpowder cry, that half-spoken swarm began to feed on him as a bullet ripped through his open shoulder, and his back arched in pain and shock. More bullets sliced the air around him, and it was all he could do to fall backward into the cushioned tram, partially protected from the Rudyardans' fury.

But the protection could not last, as they approached still, only perhaps twenty feet from him, if even that. His forward moving cart would never reach the tower platform in time, and even M'swa would not be able to save him from the four gunmen, though he heard her enraged pleas in the tram ahead of his.

To his tentative surprise, her screams grew louder--no, the gunfire began to wane, ceding to her shriek. And then, it all stopped--the gunfire, the cries--it all stopped.

Ah, but if Jeff dared peer over the guarding boundaries of the tram, he would see that it was all just beginning.

The muffled wail of one of the troops marked the arrival of the Black Panther as he swatted the man with the back of his fist before the other three could react. He leapt across the length of the distance between that tram and the one moving toward him ahead, and delivered an elbow into the jaw of another troop. Then, in the close quarters of the tram, he jumped into a kick, knocking the third troop unconscious. He jumped again, this time into the next tram ahead, where he met the last Rudyardan soldier, whose trigger finger hesitated at the sight of the Panther. The Black Panther merely forced the man's gun from his hands, grabbed the back of his collar, and slung him back through the air and to the previous tram to join two of his unconscious mates, seeing that all four soldiers slumbered safely-but-painfully in the trams.

Noting the lack of gunfire, Jeff finally did stand in his gondola, cautiously, and saw the Panther bounding toward him. He had seen the Panther-garbed T'Challa in action at the gala,* but to see him close up--well, no man had ever evoked in Jeff the inspiration that he felt at that moment.

(last issue--Sam)

He would have jumped to his own salvation, in fact, had Black Panther not briskly swept Jeff from his position, and leapt onto the cart ahead, toward the canyon platform--Jeff could see his way to safety now...finally.

SKRREEEEE!!!

Suddenly, the air tram jolted to the side, then pulled he and Black Panther back, snapping his neck back. M'swa, newly-arrived at the platform tower, stretched her arm out to rescue them, and T'Challa saw that Jeff accepted her salvation. But before the Panther could leap to safety, the cart rapidly began sliding down the overhead cable at an unnaturally fast rate of speed--it was no longer operating electronically--this was nature's speed pulling it down. Black Panther knew just what had happened--someone had snapped the thick cable at the far end of the tramway--but who?

He whipped his head back, and his advanced eyesight told him: the Man-Ape, holding the two parts of the cable in his massive hands with a sinister grimace, had returned for one, final attempt at victory.

He would have had his day, too, had T'Challa not found a way out of this particular situation. Rapidly sliding down the cable, the Panther was out of reach from the platform, even with his great leaping abilities. However, several gondolas had already worked their way from the opposite direction of the double reversible cable, and now they, too, raced down the split cable toward him. Soon, they would collide with his tram, killing him before the collision with the boarding platform OR the five-hundred foot plummet could.

He could not let that happen, and so, he jumped from his tram to the swiftly approaching cart ahead, and again to the cart ahead of that, and again to the next cart--he repeated this course across seven out-of-control air trams until he was finally near enough to the canyon platform that he soared across the distance, and into M'swa's waiting arms. And, across the span of the tramway, and five-hundred feet below, they heard the CRASH!!! of the trams as they violently slid from the broken cable and plunge into the base of the platform opposite them.

And T'Challa was uncertain if his heightened senses were at work, or if he only imagined hearing M'baku bellow a Wakandan curse as he escaped the opposite platform.

"Thanks, T'Challa," Jeff exhaled in gratitude and relief. "I guess you ARE the real deal."

Hours later, Hope City, Rudyarda:

In the royal palace's darkened lavatory, Man-Ape let out a moan mixed with frustration and satisfaction. He had lost his battle with T'Challa, but even now he took steps to rectify that defeat as he rested in a tub brimming with the crimson blood of the vile white gorilla, gaining strength as his bare flesh absorbed its power--that same power that had given him his own superhuman strength years ago. Already he felt stronger, ready to crush the Panther!

The electronically locked door across the room hissed open, revealing the medium-frame of Rudyarda's self-appointed king, Cecil Nobolo, who looked through his eyeglasses upon Man-Ape's strength-gaining practice with utter disgust as he approached.

"This is the third time this week you have bathed in the gorilla's blood, M'baku," Nobolo said in his aging voice--he was in his fifties, but the confrontation with Wakanda had added years in just the past few days. "And to find out why--" his voice suddenly erupted, "--I should have you executed for your betrayal!"

"What are you speaking of, Nobolo?" Man-Ape replied snidely.

"Some of the troops that returned from the assault on Wakanda claim to have seen you disable the air tram the Black Panther was on in an attempt to kill him."

"Yes...."

"We agreed that T'Challa would not be killed! He cannot be killed!" Nobolo insisted. "He is more than integral to the prophecy's fulfillment!"

M'baku shifted in the tub, letting a small wave of blood ease up and over its rim and just short of Nobolo's feet. Nobolo gazed through slitted eyes at the mischievously grinning M'baku and took one step back. "You speak so often, and yet so little about this 'prophecy'," M'baku began. "I've been told next to nothing of it, yet you expect me to work toward its end."

"You've been told enough," Nobolo replied. "You've been told that its realization leads to your reign over Wakanda--isn't that all you need to know?"

"But if T'Challa lives, he will fight to reclaim his kingdom."

"Not according to Futura," Nobolo said, as if her mere mention ceased all dispute.

"This Futura--why should I trust her word? How do I know that she even exists?"

"Futura saw my occupation of Rudyarda years before even I did. She sees all, M'baku, and I promise you that her word will lead to the Promised Land."

M'baku grunted in amusement.

"I trust we are clear on the arrangement once again, M'baku?" Nobolo continued. "Do what you will, but King T'Challa lives. Now, I must see that Carter, the American we retrieved some days ago, is equally certain of this." Nobolo turned and stepped out of the room, leaving M'baku alone again--alone to contemplate, to scheme, to plot the Panther's demise, prophecies of power be damned!

Central Wakanda buzzed with activity, as city maintenance crews worked to clear the debris left after the Rudyardans' attack only hours ago.

T'Challa--in his tattered Panther garb, unmasked--made his way around their early morning work to T'Chaka Medical Center, and lamented that as active as the city crews were, the hospitals were even moreso. The Rudyardans had injured--and killed--more than he could stop. They had taken a festival of Wakandan pride and had turned it into a bloodbath, and for that, they would pay. But now, T'Challa stepped unnoticed into the injury-filled elevator, just another troubled Wakandan in a scarlet sea of them.

He arrived at Jeff's recovery room, where the mood was decidedly breezy as tiny giggles crept through the entrance. T'Challa saw Jeffrey smiling and sitting up in the bed, his left shoulder bandaged and his arm cradled in a cast as M'swa stood over him.

"...but on that first jump," he laughed, "I swear, my life DID flash before my eyes in, like, two seconds!"

"What a disturbing two seconds those must have been," M'swa poked back.

"T'Challa!" Jeff finally noticed the preoccupied king. "Didn't you ever teach this girl some manners?"

"I've learned over time that she's a hard one to teach, though she learns so well," T'Challa said, forcing a smile despite the physical and emotional pain he felt.

"By the way," Jeff started again, "thanks for the save back there, T'Challa. Not sure how to pay you back for that."

"It's my duty to serve all Wakanda, and its guests," T'Challa replied. "I trust your bullet wound will heal?"

"Oh, yeah--the doctor says I'll be able to left my camera in just a few days, even!"

"Great...." M'swa sighed.

Just then, the structured face of the royal chambers' communication advisor, Taku, peered anxiously into the recovery room.

"Your Highness?"

T'Challa turned. "Taku? What is it?"

"The Avengers, Your Highness...they want to help...!"

To be continued in BLACK PANTHER ANNUAL #2...coming soon!

Next issue: Black Panther and friends prepare for an assault on Rudyarda!

Some exciting news regarding BLACK PANTHER ANNUAL #2: Jess Nevins, one of MV1's most respected writers, has agreed to tell a story for the annual. Anyone who knows how much work Jess puts into every single issue knows what an honor it is to have him aboard, if even for one story--and it promises to be a great story! Oh, and it features this little team of Earth's Mightiest Heroes...um...what's that team's name...?

On to this month's letter!

Sam,
About issue #13, I just have one thing to say... YES!
You brought back the Man-Ape! Yay! I can't wait to see the inevitable fight between the Man-Ape and the Panther.
Also, Darren Carter...what he's got to do with the Black Panther, I can only guess. That guess is, he's the Man-Ape!? No? Okay, maybe not.
I like the way M'Swa and Jeff are acting. It seems very true to life.
Keep up the good work,
Adam Di Stefano

Thanks for reading, Adam! Hope you enjoyed this issue's titanic battle between Black Panther and Man-Ape (still M'baku, natch!). But we promise, this isn't the last time they'll meet, so stay tuned!