[ Heart-Shaped Herb Cave, Holy Mountain, Wakanda ]
Seeing that the priests had begun to clean up the remnants of the spiritual chaos, Daisy gave Storm a wink and casually stepped forward with her left foot. A light tap to the ground, then another — a subtle double vibration that shivered through the soil and then stopped like a breath held too long. Just enough to flex.
Storm, ever the perceptive one, caught on quickly. She grinned and gave a playful thumbs-up, her eyes twinkling through the remnants of her exhaustion. "Pretty cool," she admitted, her voice hoarse but amused.
It was the first time in years Storm had taken that much damage in a single battle. She wasn't taking it lightly. Still recovering, she demanded answers — where had the mercenaries gone? She needed to find Juggernaut and personally return the favor. But when she asked one of the Dora Milaje, the response was ice cold.
The hierarchy was firm in Wakanda: king, queen, prince. As for Storm, she was the prince's companion, not royalty. So when she demanded information, she was politely ignored. The message was clear: know your place.
Storm's pride took the hit hard. Her jaw tightened, irritation curling at the edge of her features. Daisy reached out, catching her arm gently.
"Easy, Thunderheart," she said in a low voice. "Save that lightning for someone who deserves the burn."
The surrounding people— priests or Dora Milaje alike — were bound to the royal family's wellbeing. Their loyalty was transactional: as long as the monarchy thrived, so did they. But after today's heavenly-earthly duet between Daisy and Storm nearly split the sky open, even the ones who had stood beside them in battle were watching with a wary sort of distance.
As the de facto leader of the mutant faction, Storm had grown used to being underestimated—by politicians, skeptics, and even her own kind. Daisy, on the other hand, had no interest in earning anyone's approval. She greeted contempt with indifference and hostility with a smirk. Between the two of them, pride was less a shield and more a selective weapon.
With the Dora Milaje still barring the exit and no ceremony left to attend, the two women lingered near the shattered steps of the holy mountain, idle but not awkward. Conversation came easily—especially when Daisy steered it toward topics she actually cared about.
"So," Daisy said, glancing sideways, "you're not just weather girl, right? You've got magic in the mix?"
Storm tilted her head. "Something like that."
As it turned out, the Monroe bloodline had long been tied to magic — saints to locals, witches to Westerners. Each generation bore the gift of the storm, but it was Storm's unique mutant genetics that pushed her powers to cataclysmic levels.
"What exactly is your magic? Can you show me?" Daisy asked, her voice somewhere between fascination and casual interrogation.
Storm, unfortunately, had to disappoint her. Though the title of "saint" sounded impressive, the reality wasn't nearly as glamorous.
Storm gave a dry laugh. "Not unless you've got three days to spare."
Daisy blinked. "Seriously?"
"Seriously. The rituals are long. And slow. Super slow. If I don't use my mutant powers, it takes forever to even summon a drizzle."
After further questioning — and Daisy could question like a pro — she learned that their ritualistic magic required preposterous preparation. Three days to summon rain? Useless in a real fight. It wasn't Storm's fault. She joked that maybe her family's magic bloodline was thinning out.
Daisy wasn't buying that. No. This isn't just bloodline dilution, she mused, It's a tether issue.
She theorized that one of Storm's ancestors must have signed a contract with Oshtur — the god of white magic — and the magic they accessed came from another dimension. A place where time flowed differently. That time dilation could explain the delay.
It also explained the strange duality in Storm's battle record. Some days, she was a solar tempest wrapped in a goddess's form. Other days, she got decked by thugs with brass knuckles. It all came down to prep time. If she was ready, she was unstoppable. If caught off guard? Just another weather witch with poor luck.
"Magic's not all it's cracked up to be," Storm said cryptically. "You want the gain? You pay the price."
Daisy understood more than she let on. Magic in the Marvel world was full of hidden traps. Most top-tier magic users drew their power from powerful beings in other dimensions.
Storm, for instance, channeled magic from Oshtur, the god of white magic. Scarlet Witch drew from Chthon, the god of black magic. The Ancient One relied on Dormammu, Doctor Strange drew strength from the Vishanti, and Mystique's power came not from a god, but from Limbo-Hell itself. Once Mystique left Limbo-Hell, she had to depend solely on her own abilities.
And those who didn't make pacts? Like those acolytes around the Ancient One? They spent their lives learning and ended up as magical cannon fodder.
Storm ignored the presence of Dora Milaje and lifted her hand and summoned a miniature whirlwind with a casual flick. "My powers aren't like yours," she said.
Daisy watched. Closely.
Storm needed to gather and sculpt the energy from the surrounding atmosphere. It was beautiful. Precise. And flawed. Not because Storm was weak, but because she still bore the weight of her younger, reckless self.
"When I was young, I didn't know any better and acted without thinking. In truth, everything requires balance. When I first awakened my powers, I kept bringing rain to Kenya. I thought I was helping, until…" Storm began to share a story.
Daisy tilted her head, curious. "Until what?"
"Until I crossed into neighboring Uganda. They had suffered years without rain—famine was rampant, and war became a way of life. Sometimes the fighting was over a single day's worth of supplies. And all of it… was because of me. I disrupted their environment. The price of a week's rain in Kenya was tens of thousands dead in Uganda…" Storm had carried this guilt silently.
It had weighed on her for years. That's why she told Daisy — part confession, part warning. Powers like theirs weren't toys.
Daisy nodded slowly. She wasn't surprised. The science wasn't even complicated — natural systems were delicately balanced. You tip the scales in one place, another breaks.
Still, she found it a bit far-fetched to blame Uganda's entire crisis on Storm's rainfall.
However, one word still lingered in her mind—variables. For short-distance teleportation, they could be ignored. But over long distances, especially those measured in light years, variables had to be accounted for.
It would be interesting if she were accidentally teleported into a star or next to a black hole.
The amount of calculation required was far beyond what a human could handle. She needed a supercomputer to process it all. While Daisy could hack into labs and gain high-level access to control their machines, the sheer load of such calculations would quickly attract attention. What she really needed was her own supercomputer.
But that was just a fantasy for now. Compared to the cost of such a system, the money she had "borrowed" so far was a drop in the ocean.
She was, quite simply, broke.
...
[ Some Time Later ]
T'Challa arrived just as Daisy was plotting how to rob a few dozen million from offshore accounts without getting caught. His return was quiet — no fanfare, just relief.
"They're still here," he muttered to himself. Good.
Storm, ever dramatic, raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "You're late."
"I apologize," he said sincerely. "My mother needed reassurance. And… the enemy is still at large."
He didn't waste time. "Juggernaut and Batroc must be stopped. We've had three failed attempts. Last time, Juggernaut killed a frontier tribe's war rhino. No one else will volunteer. So now the task falls to me — and you."
Storm straightened, her exhaustion replaced by a flicker of vengeance. Daisy? She rolled her shoulders, grinned, and gave a slow nod.
"Finally," she murmured. "Something worth stretching for."
Without hesitation, both women joined the pursuit team.
Let the hunt begin.
To Be Continued...
---xxx---
[POWER STONES AND REVIEWS PLS]