Black Panther scaled the walls of The Mandarin's castle silently and gracefully. If anyone could see him as he moved from shadow to shadow, they would scarcely have recognized him. In place of his usual vibranium armor, he wore brown leather inscribed with hundreds of runes.
He'd fought Temmy Sartak Borjigin, commonly known as "the Mandarin" once before, but on that occasion he had wildly underestimated Temmy's mastery of chi-mysticism. He had come armed with a weapon designed to deal with the rings, stealth gear designed to thwart technological scanners, and a political agenda designed to deal with a refined Chinese nationalist.
In place of all that he'd found a chi mystic whose very soul reacted to his presence with animal alertness and rage, a physical powerhouse far beyond his ability to fight directly, and a British/Mongol conqueror who only thought of China as a slave-plantation he wanted back.
In short, he'd come prepared with poor intelligence, and nearly paid with his life. It made him deeply ashamed, as he'd always taken pride in Wakanda's intelligence agency being the best in the world.
He would not make the same mistakes twice. He'd studied Temmy Borjigin carefully for months, carefully detailing his actual strengths, weaknesses, and psychological profile.
This time he'd come dressed in mystic garb that dulled the glow of his soul. He was now as invisible to a chi-mystic as his standard gear was to technology.
He'd also learned something about Temmy's ability to enhance his body with chi: it had limits. He couldn't do it instantly, nor could he do it perpetually. In short, he was as vulnerable to surprise attacks as any man.
Panther gazed through the window into Temmy's bedchamber. Temmy lay asleep with three of his harem girls in a golden bed covered in soft animal furs.
Panther carefully disabled the security system and slipped inside.
Panther silently walked up to the bed, until the full moon shining through the window made his shadow loom over Temmy's insensate form. Panther could smell alcohol coming off him in a wave.
He could have killed Temmy at that moment, but that was not the way of an Avenger.
Instead he backhand slapped him gently, with his fingertips. This did not wake Temmy up. So he backhand slapped him again, harder.
The Mandarin woke up with a startled expression. He saw Panther there and immediately began to summon his Chi, which would harden his flesh until it was like iron once the process completed.
Had Panther waited even a full second to punch The Mandarin in the face, that punch would have done nothing to The Mandarin, and might even have broken Panther's fist.
But the Black Panther did not wait a full second, he barely even waited a tenth of a second, his fist lashing out like a serpent, his sacred-herb-enhanced strength turning the Mandarin's nose into a purple smear as he knocked him unconscious with a single blow.
The harem girls were waking up now, their screams would bring security in seconds. The Panther did not wait for those seconds to pass. He tossed The Mandarin over his shoulder and ran to the window. His jet, running on preprogramed autopilot, was scheduled to fly over in three, two, one, he fired a grabbling line into the sky, latching onto the jet as it flew past.
The jet jerked him into the air, nearly pulling his arm out of its socked. He would pay for this in shoulder pain for weeks, but the price was worth the purchase: The Mandarin was now his prisoner.