Marvel: The Villain Chapter 348 Play

Alex stood up, blood-red tendrils surging into his right arm and reshaping into a razor-sharp blade.

"Unkillable?" T'Challa spread his arms, the Vibranium claws on his fingertips extending with a metallic click. "People die if they are killed. Even you."

"Maybe..." Alex swung the giant blade, the sheer force of it cutting the air with a heavy whistle. He settled into a combat stance. "I survived a nuclear blast. I hope you pack more punch than a nuke."

The moment the words left his lips, they blurred toward each other!

Alex timed his strike, swinging the blade in a heavy vertical arc from the side. The blade was significantly lighter than the hammer form, eliminating the weakness of slow attack speed. T'Challa sensed this immediately—but every advantage had a trade-off. While the blade was faster, its blunt force impact was far inferior to the hammer.

As the blade descended, T'Challa raised his left hand and caught the edge mid-air.

Just as he calculated, Alex's current raw strength in this form was something he could barely contain. Simultaneously, T'Challa thrust his right palm toward Alex's throat. Those Vibranium claws were designed to shred metal; if they connected, they would crush Alex's windpipe instantly.

But Alex had anticipated this. The tendrils on his left arm surged, forming a blood-red shield.

CLANG!

The shield cracked under the pressure of the claws, but it held long enough to sap the momentum of T'Challa's strike.

"Got you!" Alex said.

The tendrils on his left arm suddenly liquefied, wrapping around T'Challa's right hand like a constricting snake. Simultaneously, a thick spear-like tentacle shot out from Alex's chest, aimed straight for T'Challa's heart. This was Alex's killing move—consumption.

At such close range, T'Challa couldn't dodge. The tentacle slammed into his chest. Fortunately, the Vibranium weave of the Panther suit saved his life, and the metal absorbed the kinetic energy. The suit pulsed with a vibrant purple glow.

So this is the 'consumption' they talked about? T'Challa thought, his heart racing. Without hesitation, he released the stored energy.

BOOM!

A massive purple shockwave erupted, tearing Alex's arm off and sending him hurtling backward. But Alex was like a cockroach; he stood up immediately, his left arm knitting back together.

The situation was becoming a stalemate. Alex's biological weapons couldn't breach the suit's kinetic absorption. Vibranium... I hate this stuff, Alex thought. He changed tactics, shooting a tendril out toward the battlefield and snagging a discarded Wakandan spear.

Only magic can defeat magic. Only Vibranium can pierce Vibranium.

Holding the spear, Alex's confidence surged. He lunged at T'Challa. While the suit could handle impacts, a sharp, focused puncture was far more dangerous. Conversely, Alex could regenerate from anything T'Challa threw at him.

The two were masters of combat. For the observers, it was a breathtaking spectacle. While raw superpowers are spectacular, there was something hypnotic about this high-stakes dance of calculated strength, technique, and sheer will.

Slowly, Alex gained the upper hand.

Seven or eight minutes in, the Black Panther suit was riddled with punctures. Fresh blood seeped through the tears, forming macabre patterns on the suit. Unfortunately, bleeding didn't make T'Challa stronger; it only drained him. By the ten-minute mark, T'Challa was gasping for air, his muscles screaming, yet he refused to yield.

Across the field, over half of the Wakandan warriors had fallen. They knew they were outmatched, but they fought like cornered animals, refusing to retreat an inch. Even in defeat, they were true to their titles as warriors.

Their resolve fueled T'Challa. With a guttural roar, he squeezed every last drop of energy from his body and charged Alex one last time.

But reality is cruel. Faith and reasons to win don't stop a spear.

Alex raised the Wakandan spear, tendrils wrapping around his arm to amplify his throwing strength. He leaned back into a javelin-thrower's pose and launched it.

Whish!

A silver flash crossed the distance, punching through the Panther suit and skewering T'Challa's heart. That final burst of strength vanished instantly. T'Challa stumbled a few steps, then collapsed face-first into the dirt.

"It's over," John said, his arms crossed as he watched the King fall.

Alex caught his breath and walked toward the body. He was curious; he wanted to know how a normal human from Africa could possess speed and strength rivaling Steve Rogers. Steve was a product of science, but what was T'Challa? To Alex, a normal human was just food, but a Strong One was a catalyst for evolution.

This body is mine now.

Squish!

He thrust his hand into the spear wound, and fine, thread-like tendrils spread over the body, breaking down the cellular structure and pulling it into his own. Ten seconds later, the body was gone. Only the limp, empty Black Panther suit remained on the grass.

BOOM!

A deluge of complex memories flooded Alex's mind. Simultaneously, T'Challa's unique genetic makeup began rewriting Alex's own DNA.

"AAAAAAAHH!" Alex clutched his head, roaring in agony. Red tendrils surged uncontrollably over his skin. Evolution always came with a price.

The pain reached a peak, and Alex let out a final, bone-chilling shriek. The chaotic tendrils retracted, but a second later, they exploded outward with the force of a bomb.

Thousands upon thousands of silk-thin tendrils whipped across the battlefield in a massive radius.

Splat! Splat! Splat!

Wakandan warriors and the Hulk Legion alike were impaled. Those hit withered instantly, their bodies drained of all biological matter until only empty clothes and armor remained. In the blink of an eye, five or six thousand soldiers were absorbed into Alex.

Having consumed thousands of people at once, Alex stood frozen, looking like he was suffering from a severe case of biological indigestion.

The Joker members were horrified. If they hadn't used their own defensive skills just now, they would have been part of the buffet. They had been partners for years, but none of them knew Alex had an AOE move this terrifying.

To be fair, Alex was surprised too. This wasn't a move he could use at will; it was a desperate survival reflex triggered by the virus during an evolutionary leap.

Once Alex regained his composure, the group headed straight for the Royal Palace. The war was over; it was time to collect the prize.

"Invaders!" The palace guards screamed, charging with their spears.

Harley led the way with a swagger. She extended her right hand, and the guards were instantly pinned by spatial distortion. She clenched her fist, and the space compressed, crushing the warriors into the size of basketballs.

The group didn't slow down. Being delayed by mobs would be embarrassing. The others looked at Harley with surprise—it seemed her Level 8 upgrade had granted her some terrifying new tricks.

They marched into the palace, painting the thousand-year-old halls red. They reached the Great Council Chamber, where a massive bronze door protected by an energy shield blocked their path.

"In this palace, I'm the god of the machines," Franklin said with a smirk. He snapped his fingers, the shield flickered out, and the heavy doors groaned open.

Inside, the elders and high-ranking officials of the tribes were huddled together, their faces ashen. They had lost. The arrogance of the world's most advanced nation had evaporated, replaced by raw terror.

Christine stepped forward. "Does anyone here speak English?"

A young man tentatively raised his hand.

"Good. Translate for them," Christine said coldly. "From this moment on, everything in Wakanda belongs to the Joker Organization."

The youth babbled the translation. The elders looked indignant, but they were powerless.

"Enough people have died today," Christine continued. "We don't want to keep killing. If you cooperate, we might show mercy."

The goal was to seize the Vibranium and the tech. To keep the country running and extract its secrets, they needed collaborators. When the translation finished, the reaction was split: some felt the relief of survival, while others were consumed by rage.

Several elders stood up, screaming curses in their native tongue. Alex, still riding the high of his evolution, blurred across the room. His hands became claws, and in a heartbeat, the dissenters were reduced to piles of meat.

The air grew thick with the scent of iron. The remaining elders became very, very cooperative.

"I don't know your customs," Christine said, her voice dropping to a whisper, "But from now on, when you see us, you kneel."

The young translator hit the floor instantly and relayed the message. The rest followed suit.

"Excellent," Christine said. "From today, you are the servants of the Joker Organization."

Chloe stepped forward and asked in perfect Wakandan: "Where are the Vibranium mines and the labs?"

The elders gasped. She speaks our language? Why did they need a translator? Then it hit them—it was a psychological power play.

One elderly man, desperate to please, looked up. "I know! The labs are in the mining district behind the mountains!"

"Take us there," Chloe commanded.

The man scrambled to his feet like a lapdog. Christine turned to David, John, and A-Train. "Stay here and mop up any remaining resistance. If they fight, kill them."

Harley, Christine, Chloe, and Alex took the old man and boarded a ship for the mines.

*

The mines were the heart of Wakanda.

"Your Majesty," The old man whispered as they approached, "The mines are guarded by our most elite forces. Please, be careful."

Chloe relayed this to Harley, who promptly teleported out to scout. She returned seconds later with a confused look. "What army? There isn't a soul there."

The ship landed at the laboratory helipad. They stormed inside, only to find the place completely gutted. The equipment was gone, the servers were wiped, and the shelves were bare.

The old man turned purple with rage. "Cowards! Traitors! T'Challa, that bastard... he let Shuri escape and left us old men to die!"

The Joker members froze. The lead scientist of Wakanda had escaped?

Christine turned to Alex, her expression darkening with displeasure. "You absorbed T'Challa. How did you not know about this?"

Alex looked embarrassed. When he absorbed someone, the memories were stored, but the volume was massive. Unless he specifically looked for a memory, he wouldn't know it was there. He immediately dove into T'Challa's mind.

It turned out that the meeting in the war room was only Plan A.

T'Challa, Shuri, and Okoye had a private Plan B: If the battle turned, Shuri was to take the most critical assets—Vibranium samples, top scientists, research data, and the most advanced prototype ships—and flee Wakanda immediately.

T'Challa had left the elders behind because he knew they were power-hungry "old coins" who would only drag Shuri down. As a brother, he was noble. As a King, he was selfish. He chose to die with his city, ensuring his sister could carry the torch elsewhere.

"He played us," Alex muttered. "They're gone."

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