Marvel x Genshin: Mavuika, The Sun Goddess Rules Asgard — Chapter 202

Chapter 202: A Complete Victory

M’Baku was, without question, the most formidable warrior among them. He was a giant of a man, tall and burly enough to stand on par with Thor, but with shoulders that were broader still. A white gorilla totem was tattooed across his bald head, and his muscles were knotted and dense, giving him the presence of a silent, unmovable mountain.

He wore the traditional attire of the White Gorilla Tribe: a cloak of white animal hide draped over his powerful frame, a necklace of polished ape teeth around his neck, and a pair of Vibranium brass knuckles fitted over his hands, each one studded with sharp, menacing spikes.

During the battle for Wakanda, he had been leading his warriors in a mountain blockade against Ultron’s legions, holding a critical pass far from the capital. He had not set foot in the Golden City. It was only after the fighting had ceased that he arrived at the royal palace with his elite guard to attend the victory banquet.

Now, he sat at the far end of the long table, a massive half-roasted sheep set before him with a dagger plunged into the meat. His gaze was fixed on Thor, tracking his every move with an unnerving intensity.

Okoye stood to the side, arms crossed over her chest, her expression severe. She knew M’Baku’s strength all too well. As a young man, he had killed an adult white gorilla with his bare hands, a feat that had made him the youngest chieftain in his tribe’s history. His strength, speed, and combat prowess easily ranked in the top three among all of Wakanda’s warriors.

Thor met the gaze of the man who radiated such a primal, untamed aura. The lingering regret in the God of Thunder’s eyes slowly gave way to a flicker of excitement.

“And who are you?” Thor asked, his voice a low rumble.

M’Baku rose and stepped into the cleared space in the center of the hall, each footfall steady and powerful. He came to a stop before Thor and crossed his arms over his chest—not as a salute, but as a proud declaration of his identity.

“M’Baku. Chieftain of the White Gorilla Tribe.”

He raised his fists. The two Vibranium brass knuckles smashed together, producing a sharp, metallic clang that sent a shower of sparks into the air. He didn’t charge head-on as the previous challengers had. Instead, he slid to the side, his movements shockingly fluid. He bounded and weaved like a great ape handling treacherous mountain rocks, a display of agility that seemed utterly at odds with his massive physique.

His right fist shot out, a blur of motion aimed straight for Thor’s ribs. The spikes on the Vibranium knuckles glinted coldly under the palace lights.

The punch landed squarely on the left arm Thor raised to block. The impact of Vibranium on Asgardian flesh produced a dull, heavy thud, like a hammer striking an anvil wrapped in leather. Before the sound had even faded, a second punch had already smashed inward.

This one struck Thor squarely in the chest. The god’s body swayed, and he was forced to take half a step back.

M’Baku gave him no room to breathe. A third, fourth, and fifth punch followed in a rapid, brutal succession. Each strike was precise, hammering Thor’s torso and limbs with enough force to shatter a stone wall.

Yet, Thor did not strike back. He simply stood his ground, absorbing the blows.

The Wakandan warriors watched with wide, disbelieving eyes. They had never seen anyone withstand M’Baku’s relentless assault for so long, let alone someone who could tank the chieftain’s Vibranium-enhanced fists without collapsing.

M’Baku’s breathing grew ragged, his chest heaving with the effort. He had landed more than a dozen blows, each one thrown with the full, explosive power of his body, but Thor was still standing. The Asgardian had been driven back several steps, his tunic now marked with a dozen white dust prints from the impacts, but he hadn’t fallen. He wasn’t bleeding. He didn’t even show a flicker of pain on his face.

Finally, M’Baku stopped. He took a staggered step back, his arms trembling slightly. For the first time, a look of genuine awe appeared in his eyes as he stared at the god before him.

Then, Thor raised his hand and threw a single, casual punch.

M’Baku felt a colossal, irresistible force slam into his chest. His world tilted, and his entire body was launched backward through the air. He crashed into the long table behind him, sending roasted sheep, platters of fruit, and flagons of wine scattering across the floor in a chaotic mess. He rolled twice on the polished stone before coming to a stop on one knee, his hand braced against the ground as he gasped for breath.

Thor walked over and extended a hand to him.

M’Baku stared at that offered hand for a long moment before finally taking it.

With a single, effortless pull, Thor hauled the massive chieftain to his feet. The two stood face to face. M’Baku was not much shorter than Thor, but in that moment, he lowered his head in a gesture of respect.

“The White Gorilla Tribe,” he said, his voice rough but clear, “pays its respects to the strong.”

He crossed his arms over his chest, offering Thor the formal Wakandan salute. Thor watched him for a beat, then mirrored the gesture, crossing his own powerful arms in return.

M’Baku looked up, and a slow smile spread across his lips. It was a complex expression—a hint of his own stubborn pride, a deep sense of awe, and the deep relief of a warrior who had finally met a power greater than his own.

“Thor,” he declared, his voice booming with new energy. “I want to have a drink with you.”

Thor’s face broke into a wide grin. “You’re not the first to say that.”

The two men walked back toward the tables. M’Baku personally poured a large bowl of palm wine for Thor. They clinked their bowls together with a resounding crack and drained them in one go.

The Wakandan warriors erupted in cheers once more. This time, it wasn’t just the people of the Golden City; the fierce warriors of the White Gorilla Tribe joined in, their voices roaring with pride. They were proud of their chieftain’s strength and awed by Thor’s power. A failed challenge had brought no shame to their tribe; instead, it had shown them a world far wider than they had known.

Okoye watched the scene unfold from the side, the corners of her lips curling into a faint, satisfied smile. She walked over to Mavuika and whispered, “That stubborn mule M’Baku has finally met someone who can make him yield.”

Mavuika smiled gently. “Thor has that effect on people.”

The banquet continued, a new table swiftly brought in and laden with fresh food. The spilled wine was mopped away, and the celebration resumed with even greater fervor. Thor and M’Baku sat side by side, their wine bowls constantly clinking, constantly being refilled, and constantly being emptied.

Outside the grand windows, the moon climbed to its zenith. In the clear Wakandan night, the stars were scattered across the sky like a handful of brilliant, glittering diamonds. Laughter echoed through the palace as the city, so recently recovered from the flames of war, glowed quietly under the moonlight. Its people, in their ancient way, were celebrating the promise of a new life.

The first rays of morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Wakandan palace, illuminating the aftermath of the night’s revelry.

The long table was a chaotic landscape of overturned cups and plates. Dark rings from spilled palm wine stained the fine tablecloths, and several empty bowls lay on their sides, silent proof of the intensity of the previous night. In a corner, two Wakandan warriors leaned against each other, dozing peacefully. They were still dressed in their festive attire, their hands loosely clutching unfinished wine flasks.

Thor was sprawled across two chairs he had pushed together, one leg hooked over an armrest while the other dangled near the floor. His snores were like rolling thunder, echoing softly in the quiet hall. A deeply satisfied smile remained on his face, as if he were still competing in a drinking contest with M’Baku in his dreams.

Loki sat perched on a wide windowsill, holding a cup of tea that had long since gone cold. He was gazing out at the morning light, his expression unreadable. His clothes were still perfectly neat, his hair carefully styled; it seemed he hadn’t slept at all, or had done so only very lightly.

Across the room, Wanda and Pietro sat by another window. Wanda was leaning against the wall with her eyes closed, her breathing even and steady. Pietro sat beside her, a bright orange in his hands. He was peeling it slowly and methodically, carefully placing the seedless segments on a small plate by Wanda’s hand for when she woke up. He didn’t require much sleep; his accelerated metabolism meant a few hours were more than enough to restore him.

Tony Stark lay on a nearby sofa, a soft blanket draped over him—a thoughtful addition from Shuri in the middle of the night. He had been up until three in the morning, deep in discussion with T’Chaka and his daughter about reconstruction plans and technological integration. Finally, unable to fight off his exhaustion any longer, he had simply passed out right there.

Even in sleep, his brow was slightly furrowed, his mind not yet fully at rest.