The Tower of Truth:

It couldn’t get any darker. Ordinarily, he felt comfortable in the blackness, but this--this was smothering. Save for the sparse, lifeless dots of white that rotated around him--they must have been stars--the room was enveloped in shadow, and nothing else.

The silence was unnerving, for, naturally, it gave no indication of his predicament.

Was the room spinning, or was it his own delirium?

The chains that bound his arms and legs began to cut off his circulation. He had been confined to the bars of the cage with those heavy shackles. He could not feel the ground under his feet--he was hanging. His body hunkered awkwardly, provoking his flaming, broken ribs. He wanted to cry out in pain, but it would hurt too much.

All this, and the room was getting hotter.

Black Panther heard M’swa’s stifled breaths beside him. Though visual verification was lost even to his heightened senses, he feared she had been similarly restricted to the cage. She was a warrior, indeed, nearly on par with the Panther himself, but if this confinement had so exasperate HIM, how could she cope...? Not very well, he lamented, for she breathed in gurgling spurts as she struggled to stay conscious, but fought a losing battle against her own injuries.

At last, he heard a voice.

“Don’t be angry, King T’Challa,” the withered, feminine voice echoed through the room. “This isn’t your fault. It is merely destiny.”

He inhaled past his burning sides enough to ask, “Why--?”

“No, do not speak, Your Highness. I know you have many questions, but you are weak, and you must heal. Besides, I know your questions before you can ask them, just as I knew you would attack King Nobolo’s Royal Court earlier this evening and fall to his defenses. I regret that I could not predict your young, female companion’s arrival, but it is no matter. She will soon take Ozymandias’ place in the Tepefier. Ah, yes, Ozymandias--I foretold his coming as well, though without the aid of my precognitive abilities; I know him well, for I am Futura, and Ozymandias, you see, is my father.”

***

K’obi was the last of the elite. In storming Rudyarda’s corrupt Royal Court he and his twelve comrades had made Wakanda proud. The six who had lost their lives in the battle would be further exalted in the eyes of their homeland. The remaining elite had been captured by the villainous Rudyardan soldiers.

Once they had completed their humbled march to the Royal Court, Rudyarda’s King Cecil Nobolo had seen them into a stone pit that measured no more than three feet on any side, and nine feet deep. Each with a frantic struggle, Wakanda’s elite were pushed into the hole, one painfully on top of another until they formed a broken shrine to dishonorable death. A steel-barred cover prohibited their escape.

Oh, how each of them had cursed--between their squeals of broken bones and burst organs--that they had not died alongside their six fellow warriors on the battlefield. The screaming would not stop as they had continued to crush each other. And K’obi carried a burden heavier than the others, for he stood atop the tower of agony.

Nobolo would occasionally check in to see how the elite fared--and, no doubt, to savor their suffering. Finally, he had grown tired of their cries for mercy, and his fiendish soldiers began to pour water into the pit. Throughout the long night, pail after pail of murky water slowly climbed the pit, and drowned each of its helpless occupants.

Except K’obi. He pressed his nose and mouth desperately through the bars of the pit’s cover, where the water could not reach. He wheezed and fought hard against the bolted cover like the warrior he was. He defied Nobolo’s torture. He stayed alive on the broken backs of his brothers.

But the cover would not budge, nor would Nobolo endure K’obi’s second-by-second triumph. At last, the tyrant ordered one of his guards to shoot K’obi.

“Not gonna happen,” the soldier replied in English, one of the many languages in which K’obi and the other elite had been fluent. This soldier was a black American with features not so far removed from his African roots, but mannerisms that marked his Western origin.

“Excuse me, Mr. Carter?” Nobolo’s eyes lit in surprise. “I wasn’t asking. I was ordering you to shoot that Wakandan dog!”

“No. That’s cold-blooded, an’ that ain’t my game. You brought me here to kill the Panther, AND you promised me some loot if I did that. But you didn’t say nothin’ about offin’ no one else.”

“Well,” Nobolo replied as he attempted to regain his composure, “now I am.”

“Yeah, an’ I ain’t gonna do it. You can’t do nothin’ to me. You kidnapped me outta my ‘hood an’ brought me to this place cuz you thought it’d be...just...for an American to kill the Panther. An’ I’m that American, so you ain’t gonna do jack to me. You want this fool dead, YOU kill him.” Carter held his pistol out in front of the seething Nobolo.

Nobolo scoffed at Carter’s insolent proposal, but as the weapon remained under his nose, and K’obi mocked him with each labored breath, he hesitantly took the pistol. It weighed heavier in his hand than he had anticipated, and his finger tentatively crept toward the trigger. He’d never handled a weapon before, K’obi wagered. Who knew how much blood Nobolo had spilled in his time. So much, and yet none, as it was pathetically clear that he had never taken a life with his own delicate hands.

Nobolo’s aim was shaky. K’obi looked past the barrel, and past Nobolo’s veil of control, and into old, vanquished eyes. And the warrior smiled.

BANG!

***

T’Challa baked under the mysterious heat that filled the dark room, as his pores bled perspiration.

Beads of sweat ran down M’swa’s forehead and penetrated her half-opened eyes, and she began to awaken.

And Futura continued.

“I was born hundreds of years ago, gifted with the ability to see the future--a future when a being of great power is born--born in Wakanda. While this is only one of the many possible futures contained in the Everything, it is my goal to see this scenario to fruition. As such, for centuries, I have worked to arrange sequences that will align our reality with the future of my visions. My most recent power play has been the manipulation of Cecil Nobolo, who, without my aid, would merely be one of a thousand power-hungry rebels. But he fit my needs, and I offered him the promise of wealth and power; power over Rudyarda, and soon, power over your Wakanda, Your Highness.”

The Panther interjected. “So, all that Ozymandias said was true?* You ARE the true ruler of Rudyarda?”

(see last issue--Sam)

“In a sense,” Futura continued. “Nobolo has much power over Rudyarda, but where it comes to this nation’s destiny, he obediently cedes control to me. In recent days, he and I have watched over events most crucial to the realization of the future I wish to usher in. Very soon, the Great Child’s parents will join, while I will take control of Wakanda to witness the Child’s eventual birth.”

“The parents--who are they?” T’Challa asked, salty perspiration moistening his lips.

“With all due respect, their identities shall be known only to me, Your Highness. Should anyone else learn the Child’s parentage, would they not take measures to alter those people’s destiny in order to thwart me? No, I won’t let that happen.”

As Futura fell into confident reverie, M’swa whispered to T’Challa, “Where is that heat coming from?”

Before the Panther could answer, Futura snatched M’swa’s words out of the darkness. “That is the searing heat of your fate, my dear--that is the heat of the Tepefier.”

With that, a murky, golden light crept to life, contained within a glass capsule in the center of the circular room. In that capsule, both T’Challa and M’swa were surprised to see their mysterious, former ally, Ozymandias, leaned stoically against the glass. Trapped in the Tepefier.

M’swa shivered.

“You would cook your own father alive!” she spit, straining against her bonds.

“You should be pleased,” Futura replied placidly. Despite the meager illumination, her features remained blanketed in darkness. “He meant to deceive you. He sought your aid in the hopes that you would foil my destiny, in order to ensure the destiny of his master, the mutant Apocalypse. But I saw him coming all along.”

“You’re...disgusting,” M’swa said.

Futura ignored her insolence. “Your presence is the only true mystery, dear. I foretold Ozymandias’ earlier arrival in Wakanda, and I foretold the Panther’s failed attack on Nobolo’s Royal Court, but never did I see your involvement in any of it.” She paused, and turned to look at M’swa. “Do you have visions, dear?”

M’swa’s stomach jumped into her throat.

“Visions of the future?” Futura asked again.

“I...y-yes.”

“In your dreams, and when you are awake? When you are most calm, and most anxious?”

M’swa grew frustrated that this woman knew so much about her recent “waking dreams”. “I--what do you know about...” and then she realized--

“You and I, dear, are of the same kind,” Futura said, as startled as M’swa.

At this revelation, M’swa’s heart began to race, and she began to quake in her bonds. Quake--and sweat. Slowly, and unbeknownst to her in her shocked state, her moist flesh slipped from the shackles that held her arms to the cage. It was not until T’Challa informed her that she realized that she was free.

“M’swa, your bonds. You’ve escaped,” he whispered.

Dazed, M’swa looked around her, then looked to the bars of the cage that kept them captive. Trapped in the cage, but more than anything, she was a captive of the revelation that her visions were a natural occurrence, and that she was in some way related to the sinister Futura.

“You’ve got to free Ozymandias,” Black Panther urged.

Slowly, Futura approached the cage in an attempt to intimidate M’swa. If anything, her move only incited M’swa to lash out at her, as the Panther’s charge took hold of one of the shackles, and skillfully snapped the long chain through the bars of the cage, across the slowly spinning tower, and toward the Tepefier. The chain shattered the glass of the superheated torture device, and Ozymandias quickly fled its vicinity.

“What have you done?!” Futura cried, showing the first hint of any emotion.

“She’s defied your ‘destiny’, as only she can!” Ozymandias mocked. “Now you see that there is only one destiny, and it belongs to Apocalypse!”

He and Futura traded seething glares until he slyly stepped to the side, revealing a glass panther.

“Mine is the power to mold the earth, and that includes the sand from which the Tepefier’s glass was made,” Ozymandias boasted as the glistening construct growled, then charged toward Futura.

“This is not the end,” Futura uttered. Just as the panther leapt for her, she faded out of the tower, leaving the glass cat in the air, without a target. It crashed through the bars of the cage, but quickly rolled onto its four feet.

“You lied to us, Ozymandias!” M’swa exclaimed.

He did not respond. He merely waved a rocky hand, and the panther approached M’swa until she was cornered in the cage, helpless against the panther’s looming fangs.

Before the panther could strike, the Panther struck--T’Challa extended a long leg out, impacting and hobbling the creature, and allowing M’swa to back out of the corner to free T’Challa from his bonds. As the panther rose to its feet, Black Panther and M’swa ran from the broken cage.

“I can’t let you escape,” Ozymandias said.

“What do you gain from our deaths?” Black Panther asked, standing instinctively in front of M’swa, though he knew well that the young woman did not need his protection.

“One less warrior opposed to the might of Apocalypse.”

The remaining broken glass littered across the ground began to slide into one center, then grow upward, into the form of another panther, which approached them just as the earlier thwarted glass creature did.

As Black Panther and M’swa shifted into battle stances, the tower began to rock and creak, tossing them, Ozymandias, and his glass pawns across the room.

“What’s happening?” Ozymandias asked over the rumbling of the tower.

“A self-destruct initiated by Futura after she left?” Black Panther wondered allowed.

“No,” M’swa replied in a hushed tone as she stared across the room, but saw far beyond the tower’s walls. “A...rebellion...below us, outside.”

“Is this another vision?” T’Challa asked.

“Yes, I see it too,” Ozymandias confirmed.

“Then we must leave this place,” Black Panther said, ran for the room’s exit as the tower’s metal ceiling panels began to rain down on them.

On the wall beside the exit was a control panel with buttons, and symbols of another language. Black Panther pushed the buttons at random, but the doors did not open.

“It’s an elevator, and you must know the code in order to open the doors,” Ozymandias explained.

“I suppose you don’t?” Black Panther replied.

“I’m afraid not.”

“Fine.” T’Challa strained to pull the doors apart, and found an empty elevator shaft. He stared down into the darkness of the shaft.

“We don’t know how far down it goes,” M’swa said.

“I’m starting to regain my heightened senses,” T’Challa replied. “It’s a long drop. That is all I’ll say. If anyone has any ideas, now would be a good time to let them out.”

“The chances of success are few, but perhaps....” Ozymandias held out his hand, and his glass panthers began to shift in form, as streams of glass, almost like liquid, flowed across the room and into his hand. A moment later, the glass shifted again into the form of a long, glass rod.

“Few indeed,” Black Panther said, realizing the stone-man’s clever, if impossible, intent.

Ozymandias stepped through the ever growing debris and toward the shaft and extended the rod downward over the expanse of the shaft--

“Like an incomplete pole,” M’swa said. “But how can we trust you, Ozymandias? You wanted us dead a moment ago.”

“Other than the Black Panther, anyone who leaves the tower will be assumed to have a hand in the Rudyardan government, and will be mobbed by the rebels. Such a fate does not appeal to me. Now take hold of the ‘pole.'”

Hesitantly, M’swa did so, straining Ozymandias aged arm.

“I don’t know whether or not to call you friend, stone one,” Black Panther admitted.

“I have no friends,” Ozymandias replied as he saw that the Panther grasped the glass rod.

Ozymandias stepped out into the shaft, and briefly, the three were engaged in freefall until they furiously began to “climb” the perpetual rod--as long as Ozymandias formed and reformed the glass rod, it would never come to an end, and if all went well, would serve the same purpose as a firehouse pole.

If all went well.

An explosion, resulting from the commotion at the base of the tower, rocked a room above them, and shook the shaft. Fiery debris was littered down on them like tiny meteors. The bulk of the debris was nearly enough to rattle them from the pole, and as if that was not hazard enough, the debris would occasionally clip the pole, breaking the glass and decreasing its length.

“Soon, there may not be enough length to hold all of us!” Ozymandias warned. “And one of you is dead weight!”

Suddenly, Ozymandias put a stone boot in M’swa’s unsuspecting face, and with a barely audible grunt, she lost her hold of the pole and began to plummet helplessly toward the distant bottom of the shaft.

White eyes wide, and with gifted reflexes, Black Panther reached out and grabbed M’swa’s wrist, snapping the rest of her body from it’s limp state. Now, however, he was unable to climb the never-ending pole, and soon, the nearing Ozymandias would make his way down the pole and overtake them both.

It was clear now: Ozymandias was the dead weight.

Black Panther twisted his body and swiftly kicked Ozymandias in the back. Once. Twice.

“I will not fail my lord!” Ozymandias proclaimed.

The third kick, Ozymandias lost his grasp of the pole, and streaked past Black Panther and M’swa. The THUD!!! came soon after. The bottom--and their demise--was close.

Still, Black Panther could not hold onto M’swa and climb the pole at the same time. So he improvised, and flipped the wrist that was holding the glass pole, lodging it between the walls of the shaft and breaking their fall.

“I can hear the debris hit the bottom,” M’swa called out. “Drop me.”

Black Panther did, and heard M’swa hit the bottom not a moment later. As more and more debris began to scatter down on them, he knew they would be overwhelmed by the debris and crushed. He let go of the pole, and met the bottom gracefully.

“Where is Ozymandias?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Perhaps he’s hidden beneath the debris that has already accumulated,” M’swa replied. “All the more reason to get out of here as soon as possible. I’ve found this hatch,” she knelt down and pulled the handle of a hinged door.

“It’s the elevator’s emergency exit,” Black Panther said as he climbed down through the hatch, closely followed by M’swa.

The Panther pulled the doors of the elevator apart, and stepped into what appeared to be a lobby, though not as inviting as what he was used to, as the large room was mired in looming tones of grey--Nobolo’s or Futura’s influence at work? he wondered. His thoughts focused again on the ever-present rumbling around them. It was louder now. More fierce. It was coming from the door only ten feet away. The door that flew open triumphantly, as a horde of armed men swarmed the lobby. But they were no threat to Black Panther, nor did they perceive him as such, for, to T’Challa’s surprise, they were lead by a man most familiar.

“Uncle Joe?” he gasped.

The bearded, rifle-toting man made of ivory stepped forth with a jovial grin. “It’s actually ‘The Ivory Ghost’ now, kid. Beats ‘Ivoryman’ don’t it?”

“What’s going on?” T’Challa asked, stunned by his childhood “uncle”’s return. Before Joe Morris was killed by poachers, he had been the friend of T’Challa’s father, T’Chaka. It was only a few months ago that, with the help of Doctor Stephen Strange, Joe was revived in his new ivory form, the result of one of Strange’s mystical spells. After his “resurrection” Joe had gone on his way.* How he ended up leading a band of Wakandan rebels, T’Challa did not know.

(see ANNUAL #1 for the whole story!--Sam)

“I toldja I was gonna go civil war-huntin’, kid,” Joe explained. “Well, just so happens, I didn’t have to go too far to find one. Seems someone got a group of brave men together to revolt against King Nobolo, tryin’ to free Rudyarda. Sounded like a good enough cause for me, so here I am.”

“Why did you come to this tower?” M’swa asked.

“Funny story: I found a friend of yours earlier, said he needed help. So, me and my merry men left our jungle hideout and headed for the Royal Court. It took some goading, and we lost a few men to Nobolo’s soldiers, but we eventually got one of the Rudyardan cowards to tell us that you’d been captured and brought here, to the Tower of Truth. The guards here put up a good fight, but not good enough.”

“A friend?” M’swa wondered aloud.

“Yeah. Me,” Jeffrey Hoffman said, stepping out of the crowd of armed men. He was shirtless now, revealing a pudgy belly, but more surprisingly, a host of bruises and minor flesh wounds. War wounds. He more resembled an African warrior than an American documentarian, M’swa thought with a strange sense of pride that she had never felt for the notoriously intrusive young man. He was more stoic, at this moment. More like...her.

Mysteriously embarrassed, she looked away from him, for fear of looking into his eyes and sharing something with him that she was certain could not exist.

“Hold,” T’Challa said, silencing the determined whispers of the rebels. “I hear...them.”

In sync, the men turned and looked past the guards they had defeated and out the tower’s entrance, and found a unit of infantry men, tanks, and helicopters approaching the Tower.

“Reinforcements,” Ivory Ghost said. “Nobolo must be mad now.”

T’Challa clenched his fists. “Then let us give him something to be angry about,” he proclaimed as he charged from the tower, followed by a hundred cheering rebels.

If there was such a thing as destiny, Cecil Nobolo’s had lead to this day.

Next issue: Black Panther vs. Man-Ape: Round Two. The Rebels vs. Rudyarda. Nobolo’s fate. In other words...The Conclusion!

WHAT ELSE IS GOIN' DOWN IN FEBRUARY, YEAR 4?

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BLACK KNIGHT #2 (by Barry "Brainiac" Reese)--Black Knight vs. Bloodwraith!!!

THUNDERSTRIKE #26 (by "Killer" Kell Carpenter)--Thunderstrike meets The Avengers!!!

WOLVERINE #120 (by Kevin "Gone, But Not Forgotten" Glover)--Wolverine sets up shot at MV1!!!