Also great news is that we have once more a good number of stories. 6!
Here are the stories that you guys can vote for:
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Story 1:
Monster: show
Monster
Kovu stares back into the cold eyes of his mother. She stalks around him, black claws scraping on the cave floor. Suddenly, she stops and grins a sadistic grin, he remains stoic, face a mask of stone.
"And what is your goal?" She snaps.
"To take my rightful place as king of pride rock." He challenges.
"Good, Kovu. very good...." She smirks, disappearing into a cavern for a moment, only to bring out another cub.
"Mother...." Vitani frowns, she stares in horror, "what are you doing with Himi's cub?"
"Why don't we give a demonstration my son?" Zira grins more, whirling around to face the smaller female.
"But-" Kovu begins.
His mother turns and scrapes a claw painfully down his flanks.
"BUT NOTHING!" she screeches, "YOUR FATHER DIED FOR YOU TO GET THIS PRIZE! NOW, WORK!"
Kovu turns away, cupping the small, shivering Vitani between his paws.
"You have gone to far, mother..." He remains stoic.
"You know nothing, you are just an insolent child! NOW FINISH THEM!" She snarls.
"No." He growls, picking Vitani up and walking away. He does not look back, but he flinches slightly as the poor cub lets out a screech as it takes it's last painful breath.
"You are no son of mine!" Zira taunts, voice slightly wavery, "And certainly not Scar's..."
"I am glad that you are not my mother, you are a monster." He answers, the words echoing throughout the old termite network.
Story 2:
A Tale of Two Princes: show
A Tale of Two Princes
“We’ve had our differences in our lifetime, but there’s nothing wrong with you, Taka. You are just as capable of ruling the Pride Lands as I am,” Mufasa told his brother as they walked across the plains.
“People respect you, but they don’t even notice me,” Taka replied sadly, “They don’t even see me, much less care about me. How could I ever rule over such creatures?”
“Well…” Mufasa started, wrinkling up his face as he thought, “Think of it like this: if you had a juicy hunk of hippo meat and you wanted to share with mom and dad, but there was only enough for one of them, how would you choose who to give it to?”
“Um. I don’t know,” Taka admitted, “I guess whichever one of them I came across first.”
“This is the same as that,” Mufasa said, gesturing with his paw as he spoke.
“What? How?” the smaller lion asked, wrinkling his nose.
“I was born first, even though only by a few minutes, so they made me the heir, as tradition dictates. But, that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t be just as good of a choice. You’re clever after all, and well, I guess I’m just trying to say, the pride does notice you, but they aren’t as eager to please you because they don’t think you’ll ever be king.”
“But I won’t be,” the second prince practically pouted.
“Nonsense. That can’t be known for sure. I could abdicate, or I could give you part of the kingdom, or I could become too ill or even die before I have an heir. There’s no reason to think you’ll never get the throne,” Mufasa said lackadaisically. It was almost as if he didn’t really realize what he was saying. Taka just shrugged and kept walking.
They now stood at the edge of the gorge, and Mufasa started descending into the chasm. Taka followed him carefully, the wind tugging at his small mane that was growing down the back of his neck and the little patch of it on his chest. As they reached the bottom, Mufasa spoke again.
“There’s just so many different things that could happen brother. Don’t let the pride’s disinterest get you down. You know me and dad and mom pay attention to you, right? You know we care about you,” he said.
“Yes, I do. And you’re right. But you’re confusing me, brother, do you… not want the throne?” Taka inquired.
“Honestly? It doesn’t mean that much to me. You’re obviously more let down about not being the heir than I would be if I weren’t going to be. I’d be happy to be your advisor, or just a good brother, and let you rule,” the golden teen admitted as he continued strolling across the dusty land.
“Really? You… mean that?” Taka asked.
“Of course I do,” Mufasa replied gently, “You’re my brother.”
“And you, Mufasa, though I have done a poor job of showing it, are truly a gift of an older brother,” Taka returned the rare sentiment.
“Well I-” Mufasa started, but he stopped when he felt vibrations under his paws. Taka felt them too, and the duo looked down curiously, trying to figure out what was causing the shaking. They then glanced at each other and then turned to look behind them. What they saw was alarming. A herd of hartebeest were barreling down into the gorge straight at the princes. Alarmed, they turned and ran.
“Get to the sides, Mufasa!” Taka shouted as he raced over and pounced onto a wall, digging his claws into the rock and struggling to pull himself up. He kicked with his hind legs and pulled with his forelegs, managing to drag himself up onto a ledge. Then he turned and looked for Mufasa.
The hartebeest had flooded the chasm with their large, moving bodies, creating a living sea of death, and Mufasa, the crown prince, was in the middle of them, looking frantically from side to side. He hadn’t moved quickly enough and now there wasn’t much of an opening for him to get to one of the sides. Taka’s heart raced and his eyes widened at the sight of his brother, whom had just been so kind to him, being trapped in their midst. At the thought of him getting trampled.
“Brother! Over here! Quickly!” he shouted, panic coursing through him. Mufasa glanced in his direction and then started to come over, but took a hoof to the chest. He groaned in pain and staggered. “Mufasa!”
The golden brother kept striving to reach the edge and, after receiving a few more kicks, he managed to jump up. He was obviously weak and could barely hang onto the wall. Taka rushed over and reached out a paw to his brother.
“Brother! Grab my paw! I’ll help you!” Taka gasped. Mufasa’s eyes were cloudy, and that sent fear through the younger prince. His hearing was fine, it seemed, as he threw a paw into the air, claws still extended. The trajectory was off, so Taka moved to try and grab him, but the rocks beneath his paws gave out and made him slip, taking Mufasa’s claws to the eye. He howled in pain and recoiled away from his brother, clasping a paw to his eye. Blood dribbled down said paw and dripped onto the stone beneath his paws.
“Brother?” Mufasa asked, sounding alarmed. Taka hissed in pain and dropped his paw to the ground, moving back over to the edge. He knew Mufasa hadn’t intentionally done that. The darker lion reached out with his paws and caught Mufasa’s. Then he started pulling. He struggled to help the heavier prince up, but Mufasa was too bulky. He was too wounded and too heavy, and the hartebeest kept rushing past, some of them hitting his hanging form as they raced past.
“Mufasa, hang on. Just don’t stop fighting, you can get through this, just get up here,” Taka mumbled as he pulled with all his might. It wasn’t enough though, and at last, Mufasa sighed.
“Taka… I’m dying either way,” he said finally.
“No! Don’t say that! We were starting to really be brothers again, you can’t go, you’ll be fine,” Taka commanded.
“It doesn’t work like that, brother. I took too many hits. I can’t see… I don’t have the strength to hang on, and I can hardly think.”
“Stop it, I’m going to get you up!” Taka insisted, grabbing his brother’s mane with his fangs and pulling harder.
“Taka… Let go of my mane,” Mufasa rasped, and Taka did, looking at his brother fearfully. “Good… and Taka? Please… take care of mom and dad… take care of the pride… I know you can do it…”
“No…!”
And Mufasa stopped trying, causing himself to plunge down into the stampede, leaving a wide-eyed Taka standing on the ledge. Taka stood there dumbfounded and unable to think as the hartebeest kept rampaging on. He was still standing there in the same spot an unknown time later, after the hartebeest were all gone. His face was still bleeding, but he could barely feel two of the three cuts he’d gotten anymore. The dark prince shook his head and then descended into the gorge.
“Mufasa?” he called, looking around for his brother. It didn’t take him long to find the beaten and broken shell that had once housed his brother’s soul. Taka felt guilty. He had been the reason they’d come out walking today, and if he’d been just a little stronger, this wouldn’t have happened. It was all his fault. He stopped at the body, placing a paw gently on Mufasa’s shoulder as a tear escaped his wounded eye and rolled down his cheek.
“Brother… you shouldn’t have left, I can’t be the king you were destined to be. I’m nothing in your shadow,” Taka cried. Mufasa didn’t respond, and after a long while of sitting in silence at his side, the living prince rose on heavy paws and plodded back to Pride Rock through the savanna, not even noticing his surroundings. As he approached the pride, Uru noticed him and rushed over, calling for Ahadi as she ran.
“Taka! Oh my son, what has happened to you? Did Mufasa do this?” she demanded, knowing the brothers didn’t always see eye-to-eye. Taka heaved a sob.
“Mother, he’s dead,” he groaned.
“No…!” she gasped. Ahadi arrived in that moment, his black mane blowing in the breeze, and his face both stern and concerned.
“What happened, Taka?” he asked.
“It was an accident,” Taka sputtered, “We were talking in the gorge, and then there were hartebeest, and I ran, but he, he wasn’t fast enough. They got him… I tried to help him get up the wall, but he let go… he let go…”
“Taka, slow down,” Uru said, though she was already very worked up herself, “What happened to your face?”
“Mufasa, he… his eyes were all weird and he reached for me, but the rocks slipped, and he, his claws, it was an accident,” Taka sobbed, “I tried to pull him up but he was too big, and too hurt. They kicked him so many times… he was trampled…”
“Do you really expect us to believe that?” Ahadi asked sternly, “What have you done to your brother?”
Taka shrank away from his father, shocked, and Uru gasped.
“Ahadi…!” she hissed.
“I didn’t do anything, I’m telling the truth, honest…” Taka told them.
“Hartebeest are never in that gorge. And that detail about his eyes and the rocks… it sounds farfetched. The boys have never gotten along,” Ahadi pointed out, almost levelheadedly.
“That doesn’t mean Taka did anything to hurt his brother,” Uru said, unable to believe that one of her sons could be capable of killing the other.
“We know he’s envied Mufasa’s position as our heir. If they fought, it would make more sense for Mufasa to have left a scratch mark on his face, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, he… that… I don’t know what happened, but I believe my son. Please, don’t accuse him until we’ve at least found Mufasa,” Uru pleaded.
“Fine, we go to the gorge. But I will not rule out the possibility that this was a murder committed out of jealousy,” the golden king said, taking leave of Taka. Uru looked at her son with a face that was meant to be comforting, licked his face and then trotted away after her mate. Taka, blaming himself, and knowing that his father knew it was his fault, slunk up Pride Rock, making for the den. He stopped at all of the looks he was getting. Sarabi rushed over and asked what happened, where was Mufasa, just as Uru had. He sobbed and told her that his brother was dead. Soon people were whispering. It wasn’t helping. And no one was showing him any sympathy. It seemed they kept muttering about “liar,” “scar,” “dead,” and other things. It was depressing.
The dark prince made his way over to one of the caves he’d often used for alone time, and cursed himself. He sighed. Guilt plagued him. He shouldn’t have let go of Mufasa’s mane, he shouldn’t have thrown that tantrum the previous night that had led to this, he shouldn’t have run without seeing if Mufasa was with him or not. It was his fault. It was all his fault.
“I… I killed you brother… I can’t fulfill your dying wish, because I have broken the law. My punishment is exile… or death,” he muttered to the darkness of the cave. Suddenly the sky outside turned dark, bluish clouds rolled through the air, and purple hues began to form the shape of a lion. The lion began to take the form of a very specific lion, and Taka shuddered, backing away from the cave’s mouth.
“Brother,” Mufasa’s voice came from the air as the ghostly figure walked down from the sky and approached the surviving prince in his cave.
“M-Mufasa… I, I didn’t want you to die, I should have done more, I could have helped you, but I didn’t. I killed you,” Taka gasped.
“No, Taka, you didn’t. You did your best to save my life, and that is truly honorable. You are great, and you now have the opportunity to be the king you always wanted to be,” Mufasa’s spirit told him.
“I’m a murderer. I’ll be exiled, or killed, and I deserve nothing else,” Taka argued.
“My brother: remember who you are. You are Ahadi’s surviving son, and the one true king. Your place is here, and after today, I know you have it in you to be a great king. Taka, I’m in the stars now, but I will be here to help guide you, and so will all the others, kings or no, who came before me.”
“How can you know that? I failed to save you,” the dark prince pouted.
“You didn’t fail, Taka. I did. I thought I could escape faster than you if I went the other way, but I was wrong and I got myself killed. But you, you tried your best to save my life, even after in an accident I wounded you. I could have blinded you for life, but still you came back and refused to let me go.”
“But father thinks I killed you from jealousy,” the younger brother persisted, “How will he ever trust me again? How will he trust me to rule?”
“Father doesn’t know everything. He is rash, and hurting from my loss. He will come around, and you will get your chance to prove to them that you’ve got it in you to be a great king. Don’t lose yourself in the darkness, my brother, no matter how bleak it looks. Remember who you are. Remember, and you will be fine,” ghost Mufasa continued as he began to back away and fade.
“Don’t go yet, Mufasa! You must talk to father! You have to help me! Please, I won’t be able to believe I didn’t cause your death if he accuses me again! Mufasa!” Taka pleaded, but it was too late, Mufasa had gone, and all that remained of him was an echo of his voice uttering a single word.
“Remember.”
Story 3:
Training: show
Training
“Oomph!”
Kovu hit the ground and sent up a little cloud of dust around him.
“Get up! There’s no time for resting!”
Kovu tried to stand up, and failed, falling back into the dust. He felt sore all around; covered in bruises, aching muscles, little cuts here and there. The last couple of days had been hell for him; nothing but training, barely any rest. He was starting to doubt his abilities, and was struggling to learn how to defend himself.
“Hurry up!”
Kovu struggled to his feet, and this time succeeded in staying standing. Keeping his eyes focused on the ground, he awaited the scolding he was about to receive for being knocked down. Again.
“You are failing. You are doing it wrong, all wrong. We have been at it for days, how could you be worse after so much training? Try harder or I will have you left out to die!”
‘I’m worse because of all the training! It’s wearing me down and… I was never going to be good anyway.’ As much as he wanted to tell Zira this, Kovu held his tongue. He dared not speak out against his mother, unless he wanted to miss out on food for a day.
“One more round. If you fail this one, you sleep outside tonight.”
Kovu looked his mother in his face for a second, then, not wanting to make her feel disappointed, changed from a weak, weary stance to a strong one. He nodded to show that he was ready, and the sparring match began.
Not taking his eyes off of his mother, he mirrored her every movement, waiting for an attack. After a few moments of this, fatigue took over Kovu’s mind, and he started to lose concentration. Zira, sensing this, feigned to the left. Kovu mirrored her movement, as expected. Zira then quickly moved ahead and hit Kovu on the right side, the side Kovu was not protecting, of the body.
The blow was not as hard as previous ones, but Kovu was weak from relentless training, and got knocked to the ground, creating yet another cloud of dust. Zira, strangely having a little sympathy for the little cub, helped him up.
“You may still sleep in the den tonight, don’t worry about being punished. But I’ll say it now, if you fail to improve soon, and I mean very soon, I will be very disappointed in you.”
Zira walked off and left Kovu standing out in the open.
‘I… I just can’t. I’m trying, but I can’t. I can’t do it. I’m never going to learn. How can I ever learn to fight? How am I, this pathetic and weak cub, going to dethrone King Simba and become king? And the worst thing is that I’ll disappoint mother. Of all the things, that would be the worst possible thing. If she is disappointed in me, then I’ll have no one. No one….’
Feeling exhausted, Kovu collapsed into the dirt he was standing on, and closed his eyes. He was sore and tired. In pain and weak. If he was not able to get up now, how would he be able to continue his training?
***
“Hey, Kovu? You awake?”
Kovu was awoken by a little nudge. Judging from where the sun was when he opened his eyes, it was almost night time. He had only been sleeping for an hour or so, but he felt refreshed. The pain was still there, but he was not as tired.
“C’mon, we gotta go get something to eat.”
“Hm?”
Kovu looked up and noticed his sister, Vitani, looking down at him and holding out a paw. Kovu grabbed onto his sister’s paw, and she was somehow able to get him up onto his feet.
“Thanks…”
Kovu looked down at his paws.
“What’s wrong? You seem a little… Sad.”
Kovu looked back up and put on a false happy face.
“Nothing, nothing at all. You just rudely woke me. And I was having the most wonderful dream…”
“Right. Well, come on then! I’ll race you!”
Vitani bolted off towards the den, and Kovu, somehow finding enough strength to run, chased after her. There were rocks everywhere, and Kovu’s sister had the advantage, as she was more agile. Kovu, however, managed to catch up to her. While overtaking her and looking back to see her expression as he raced past, he failed to notice a root sticking out of the ground, and tripped on it.
Kovu went flying through the air before landing on the ground. Yet another cloud of dust erupted underneath him.
“Hah! You didn’t see that coming did you? Well, we’re here. I guess you won, but I’m sure it was just a fluke. Next time I’m sure I’ll win.”
***
Right after Kovu had devoured his meal, he walked outside of the den and sat on a rock. By that time it was dark, and the stars were shining brightly in the sky, but Kovu wasn’t focusing on the stars; he was staring at the ground.
’I can’t even win a race against my sister. I really don’t have much hope. I’ll be out in the wild on my own before I know it…’
Lying down on the ground and sighing, Kovu thought over things. He had no idea what to do. Speak out against his mother, or suck it up and keep trying? Either way, it would result in him being hurt.
“Kovu? You out here?”
Kovu lifted his head off of the ground at the sound of his sister’s voice.
“Yeah, just behind this rock.”
“What are you doing out here? It’s a cold night. Shouldn’t you be…?” Vitani’s voice trailed off as she noticed how Kovu was lying down. He was curled up in a ball, sighing every few moments. “Alright, now I definitely know something is wrong. Come on, tell me what it is. I won’t bite.”
Kovu considered whether he should share his situation or not. He sat up, looked his sister in the eye, and reluctantly decided to tell her the whole story.
“I… I can’t do it! I can’t fight! I’m terrible at it, and I’m never going to learn how! Mom keeps yelling at me; saying I’m not worth it. I doubt I’ll be able to do it. I haven’t learnt anything in the last few days, and… I don’t want to disappoint mom…”
Feeling ashamed by what he just said, he returned to looking at the ground and sighing. Vitani, on the other hand, couldn’t help but feel sorry for her brother. She had seen the intense training that Zira was putting Kovu through, and she felt sorry for him. She also knew that Kovu actually could learn to fight. She thought about it for a moment, then went on to tell him that whatever he thought, he was wrong.
“Kovu… You’re wrong.”
Kovu looked a little confused as he looked back up at his sister. “Huh? What do you mea-“
“Remember all those times we fought? Remember that race we had earlier?”
“Well, yeah. But I don’t see-“
“Every fight, every race, everything competitive we’ve ever done, you have won. Now see, if you were as bad as you think you are, you would have never won any of those. There is nothing wrong with you right now; you are able to learn to fight. You just doubt your abilities. You doubt you can do it. No matter what you may think, I know you can.”
Kovu was a little taken aback, for he knew Vitani was not one to give out motivational speeches.
“You… You really mean that?”
“Yeah, of course I do.”
“Well then…” Kovu stood up, proud, strong, and ready to take on anything. “I guess I’ll have to try harder!”
“That’s the spirit! You go to that lesson tomorrow, and you beat mom!”
***
“So Kovu. Are you ready for another spar?”
Kovu looked up at his mother, with a determined look in his eye.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“Good. Now, let us begin.”
Just as he had done yesterday, Kovu mirrored his mother’s movements as she walked around, waiting for an opportunity to attack. This time, however, Kovu was more focused, and he was anticipating another feign. Zira, however, somehow knew that Kovu would be expecting something like that. So, as she went to strike Kovu, he did exactly as she had thought he would, and moved in the opposite direction, leaving him open to attack. Zira hit him, harder than normal, and he got knocked to the ground.
Standing up, Kovu noticed that he was bleeding from a small cut where Zira had hit him. He felt defeated. Beaten, done for. He really was useless. Just as he was about to give up and walk away, Kovu noticed a small movement in the corner of his eye. Turning his head to look, he noticed it was Vitani, who had come to give Kovu support.
Kovu was not very good at reading lips, but he saw Vitani mouth the words “You can do it” quite clearly. Seeing his sister show up at the training session, and seeing her mouth those motivational words filled him with strength. This time, he would not fail.
“Come on, get up! We only had one spar, you can’t be that tired, can you?”
Kovu slowly stood up, and faced his mother, determined to win.
“I’m ready whenever you are.”
“Good. It seems you are not willing to give up easily. That will be very useful. Begin!”
Without bothering to wait for Zira to strike first this time, Kovu raced towards his mother and, to her surprise, swiped her right across the head, knocking her to the ground within two seconds of the sparring match starting.
Zira stood up, looked down at her son, and congratulated him.
“Very well done! You are improving. Keep this up, and we’ll make a king out of you soon.”
Kovu looked around to his sister, who gave him a paw thumbs-up. He was filled with joy. He did not doubt his abilities any longer, and he was very happy to have pleased his mother. From now on he would try harder, increase his personal best, and never give up.
“Now…”
Zira started to talk, and Kovu turned back around and faced her, ready for another round.
“We begin. Fight!”
Story 4:
I Will Always be Back: show
I Will Always be Back
A flash of lightning tore through the charred sky above the Pride Lands, signifying both the end of the long drought, but as though signifying that a great struggle has to occur first. What remained of the once golden grass quickly caught fire, burning up as though the ground itself was starting to bleed after the hardships it endured. The flames spread faster than a sprinting cheetah, engulfing the lands almost instantly, overpowering the early evening light with a furious orange glow.
Amidst the burning inferno, the behemoth of a formation stood barren and untouched by flames. Pride Rock was not burning up like the rest of the wide open savanna around it, but on top of it, brew another furious storm all the same:
Two large groups of animals were clustered around two animals. Nala stood near the front of the lions, watching in horror as Scar slowly and carefully pushed Simba backwards towards the end of the rock. This wasn't what she thought would happen when she learned that he had ran back here out of his own free will. Only a few days ago when she was reunited with him, he outright refused to come home. That night, something convinced him to return. Just earlier today, he was so confident in his determination to retake the throne. Nothing was going to stop him from reclaiming what was rightfully his, and restoring balance to the desolated Pride Lands.
Or so she thought.
She had already thought something was amiss when, despite Scar telling the pride with full confidence that both Mufasa and Simba were deceased, Simba showed up in the middle of that jungle. Now she watched, speechless, as Scar effortlessly whisked all of Simba's pride away with nothing more than mentioning Mufasa's death.
Simba claimed it was his fault that the king was dead.
Nala wasn't going to buy it. The Simba she knew loved his father too much to commit such an act. And the way Scar spoke: something was going on between the two lions that no one else knew about. Whatever this knowledge was, it was all that Scar needed in order to overcome Simba's ability to fight back.
And then the rock ended.
Nala called out Simba's name in horror as her friend slipped and nearly fell off the rock and towards a fiery death. She didn't know why, but neither she nor any of the other lionesses dared to move and help the true prince. They all waited, transfixed in place to see what was happening.
Scar took his sweet time taking the last few steps towards Simba as the younger lion struggled to hold on for his life. The elder lion leaned down and began to whisper something.
Leaning her head forwards, Nala still couldn't hear what Scar was saying, but she didn't like what she was seeing. Simba's face was initially just made up of confusion, but as Scar continued to talk, a series of emotions swept through the prince: sadness, regret, and then finally, pure ferocious anger.
In his rage, Simba somehow managed to find a foothold somewhere in the rock, and with surprising swiftness, tossed himself up and at Scar.
But the scrawny lion also made an unexpected move, one unexpected from a lion of his stature, and with one swift motion, redirected Simba's own momentum against him, and tossed Simba off the side of Pride Rock. The prince screamed in anger and fear as he fell, his voice getting quieter and quieter as he fell further away from the monolith above him.
Nala's invisible chains broke free, and she sprang towards where the prince fell, screaming his name in agony as she saw him fall out of view. She reached the edge of the rock and looked down desperately looking for her friend, but to her horror, she couldn't find him anywhere.
Her eyes filled with tears as she started to lose hope that she would ever see him again. Below her, the ground burned bright and furious, but no sign of the lion anywhere. She refused to even imagine Simba down there, burning up in the raging fire. This couldn't be the end! It simply couldn't!
Snarling, the lioness turned back towards Scar, pure rage covering her entire body. “What have you done?” She demanded, her voice so full of venom that even some of the other lionesses took a step back in fear.
Scar gulped nervously. He took a few moments to regain his composure. “Nala... you saw what just happened here. Simba was going to kill me! He-”
Sarabi interrupted him with her own angered words. “He was not! We all saw what happened. Simba offered you a chance to back down and you refused. It's your fault, Scar! You did this! I've had enough of you: Step. Dow. Right. Now.” Having just seen her son plummet to his death, her eyes were full of tears, but her voice did not contain any grief. Only anger at the lion who killed her son.
The lionesses around the ex-queen were shocked at her outburst, but they also agreed with her. Most of them knew that Nala had ran away in order to find a lion that can help them replace Scar and hopefully do the job that Scar refused to: restore the Pride Lands back to their former glory.
The king noticed that the lionesses started to murmur amidst themselves. He didn't hear their words, but he could hear their tone: they were very angry, and it was only a matter of time before a fight would erupt. Scar motioned slightly for his hyenas to step up and protect him, but to his disgust, only a few actually stepped forth. These disgusting scavengers were not willing to do their jobs, bu at least there are enough that the lionesses will have a very hard fight in front of them should they decide to revolt.
Scanning the lionesses as he waited for more hyenas to come to his side, Scar noticed with anger that Nala disappeared. He grunted. She can go off for all he could care about. Her precious Simba was now dead, and contrary to the lionesse's beliefs, Scar was very aware of their dissatisfaction with him. Zira made sure of that. She made sure that when push came to shove, that Scar will be prepared.
He cleared his throat and roared as loudly as he can. “Enough!”
***
Nala made her way down Pride Rock, searching desperately for Simba. All around her, the flames grew brighter and hotter as she went down. The flames were teasing her, as though to brag that they had already engulfed the lion that she put all her hopes behind.
She ignored this sickening feeling, refusing to call Simba dead until she actually found him, or his body.
The young lioness accidentally stepped onto some hot coals, and jumped back, hissing at the searing pain that raced though her leg. She had to stop and regain her bearings, for the burning plains made her home completely unrecognizable. Everywhere she looked, flames bathed everything Nala looked at in a hellish orange glow. To make things worse, the sheer amount of light made it hard just to even keep her eyes open. But she had to push on, and find Simba.
Steadily, Nala resumed her way down to where she saw Simba fall down. She reached the spot, not seeing anything. Her eyes started to fill with tears as she realized that she didn't know where she can possibly look. Simba was gone, for a second time in her life.
Despite the heat of the scorched rock, Nala collapsed on the ground, sobbing, as she once again relived the memories long ago of when she learned as a cub that Simba was dead. She now felt like the young Nala back then, completely helpless and alone. “Why did you leave me again?” she sobbed, “it was almost too much the first time, and now you had to go and do it again! Why did you leave me Simba?”
A lone figure approached the broken lioness, and gently nudged her head. “I didn't leave you.”
Nala snorted in anguish when she heard Simba's voice, taunting her by making her think that he was still alive, but when she felt his touch, she opened her eyes slowly. This is real. Great Kings, let this be real! She looked up and saw the lion she was about to write off as dead, standing above her, looking hurt, but very much alive. “Simba! How did you...?” She quickly wiped her tears off with a paw.
Simba chuckled, but his laughter was laced with anger. “It will take more than a small fall to get rid of me. Scar will pay for what he has done.”
Nala looked at the lion in confusion. “What are you talking about? What did Scar tell you?” Simba turned to look at Nala directly in the eye, and she saw his eyes were a deep read, even past the orange glow that bathed everything around them. His gaze was fully of fury, but at the same time, it looked like Simba had spent some time crying himself.
“Scar killed him...” The lion said quietly. “Scar killed dad. He blamed me for what he himself did!”
Now Nala understood why right before Simba tried to lunge at Scar, he was roaring with anger. “What are you going to do now? We just saw you... we just saw you die!”
Simba smirked. To Nala's surprise, there was even a hint of the playful smirk she knew very well from back when they were cubs. She didn't know how, but it was almost as though Simba was treating this as another grand adventure.
“Scar thinks I'm dead again. Guess I'll just have to come back from the grave for a second time. It takes more than just a small fall to get rid of me, just ask Timon and Pumbaa.”
Nala grinned as well. The Simba she chased back to the Pride Lands was back. But there was still one last thing she wanted to know. “How did you find me?” She motioned around at the raging inferno around them. “I couldn't see a thing when I tried to find you.”
Simba shrugged. “I was making my way back up when I saw you coming down.” He gently nuzzled Nala, and when he moved back, his expression was once again stern and fierce. “We still have a hard fight ahead of us. Scar won't go down without a fight.” He sighed. “I'm afraid that I will have to kill him today. Kill my own uncle.” He looked up, where above them, no doubt Scar was still dealing with the lionesses, “If I have to do that in order to save this place, then so be it. Come Nala. Let's take the Pride Lands back.”
***
“- I kept the peace between two species! If it wasn't for me, these lands would have perished long before, and all of you long dead! I am not your enemy, and if any of you still believe that I am responsible for these hardships, I say you are an enemy of the pride, and an enemy of the Pride Lands!” Scar was shouting by now, making sure that he kept the lionesses in check with shier force of will.
The lionesses were stronger than that. One of them challenged Scar's claims. “If you hadn't let the hyenas in the first place, we wouldn't have had to suffer this drought! You routinely favored them over us, why, you often flat out refused to listen, choosing to bask in their lies! Some king you are!”
Scar glared at her. “I hereby exile you from these lands right now! You have until tonight to leave the Pride Lands with your life, and after that, if you're still on these lands, I will not stop anyone from doing what they want with you!”
Against all odds, a new voice broke through the tension. “She's not going anywhere!”
The lionesses looked at the source and gasped in surprise. Scar took a few steps back in fear.
“Simba? How is this even possible?”
The prince made his way towards his uncle, his gaze eminatting so much hate that the hyenas guarding the king also backed away. “You can't kill me Scar,” he replied coolly, “I know you tried to do that back at the gorge. That makes it two times now, and two times you failed to get rid of me. You can't get rid of me Scar. To you, I am a ghost haunting you. No matter how hard you try, I will always be back.”
He stopped right in front of his uncle, who was too shocked to do anything else. “But I can.” Simba glared at his uncle, making it perfectly clear that he was not taking 'no' for an answer. “You step down and run, taking your friends with you, and I promise that at least on some nights, you will be able to sleep without worrying about me appearing out of nowhere.”
The lion looked over his uncle. His fall from Pride Rock took more out of him than he was showing, but Scar was a scrawny, weak lion. “If you choose to fight, uncle, I will finally learn what it will be like to kill a family member. I will try not to enjoy it too much.”
Scar was close to panicking. How could have his nephew survive such a fall, straight into a burning fire? Even though he was now very much afraid of the lion in front of him, he fought too hard to give up his position as king. He gained too much to die as an exiled lion, and not as a great king.
“Oh, Simba, normally I would. But...” Knowing that the hyenas were listening, he the roared loudly. “Attack them!”
The hyenas charged forwards, just as the lionesses did the same in order to back up the lion that they trusted to restore balance, and who came back from the dead to do so. Sarabi out of all of them fought harder, knowing well that once more, she had a reason to live that was her own.
Rain began to fall as the two groups merged and the fight began. All around the Pride Lands, the raging fires were slowly put out by the rejuvenating rains. A time of change was coming down on the Pride Lands, one that everyone were waiting for.
The hyenas were beaten back. The long drought had weakened the lionesses, but the much larger, less organized groups of hyenas suffered more during the last phases of hardships, and couldn't fight back at full strength. Many fled as soon as the fighting began, increasing the odds for the lions.
But the one to suffer the most was Scar. He fought hard, and nearly got the best of his nephew. But Simba was correct: Scar couldn't kill him, nor get rid of him. That wasn't the worst part though. The worst was that Simba won by tossing his uncle off Pride Rock as well, and Scar survived. As the ex-king realized how his nephew survived his own fall, he gained hope upon seeing his closest hyena friends, only for them to turn on him. He had betrayed them first in a last desperate bid for life, only to have it come in and kill him in a final stoke of justice.
With the death of the current king, the era of a new one began.
Simba's reign began with Scar's fall.
Story 5:
Emancipation: show
Emancipation
A gray, stormy sky lingered over the Pridelands, blocking out any trace of direct sunlight with its thick, expansive coat of mesh. The dark thunderheads festered all across the horizon, and rumbles of fury ignited in the upper atmosphere.
"Heh," Shenzi exhaled heavily. The hyena's ears perked up at the sound of thunder, before she stood up on her forepaws. Mildly interested, she stepped up onto a rock, and glanced down at a dark and dry horizon below. "Well, you look at that."
Banzai tilted his head. "What?" he asked, in his usual raspy voice. "See anything?"
"There ain't nothin' out here," Shenzi answered with a loud sigh. "Just dead stuff, dust, and clouds. Y'know... the usual."
"Oh yeah?" Banzai argued. He scratched the back of his neck with his hindpaw, relieving himself of a persisting itch in the process. "Then what do you want me to look at?"
Shenzi remained silent for a moment. Her eyes wandered upward, and she could almost feel a faint splash of a raindrop fall on the tip of her rounded nose. It was probably just her imagination, of course, but she had practically given up any hope of rain, long ago.
The same hyena slid and twisted one of her forepaws across the rock on which she stood, hoping it would help her bring her thoughts to full fruition. "Oh, nothing..." she finally answered. "It's just that... heh, we never get to have anything nice."
It was their place in life to be the scum of the Earth, and not much else. Shenzi once denied it, but she could no longer hide from the obvious truth, while it stood right before her eyes.
Suddenly, Shenzi turned around, closed her eyes, and stepped down from the rock. She couldn't bear to look at the Pridelands anymore. It was simply too depressing of a sight—even more so than life in the underworld.
She began to walk back toward her companion, carrying a distinct scowl across her face. "Them lions got all that green grass and clear water, with all those zebra, wildebeest, and trees... and we ain't got squat! Scar promised us!"
"Man, I hate Scar!" Banzai added.
Shenzi paused before a moment, before sitting back down in her previous resting position. "Oh, tell me about it," she replied. "I just hear that name and I quiver. He's almost as bad as Mufasa."
"Scar!" Banzai spat.
"Ooooh," Shenzi started to jitter. She rolled over onto her back and kicked her paws around erratically, while a giggle emerged from her muzzle. "It tingles me."
"Scar Scar Scar Scar Scar!"
"Ooooh," Shenzi shared a hearty laugh with her companion. "I'd just love to sink my teeth into his neck."
"So, let's kill Scar!" Banzai replied. His voice started to fill with both anger and hope, while his ambition increased notably with volume. "Death to Scar! Death to Scar!"
"Oh-oh-oooh!" Shenzi rolled over with uncontrolled laughter. "I like that!"
"DEATH TO SCAR!" Banzai repeated himself, this time even louder than before. The grunges of his voice even pierced through the mountainside, all the way to the promontory of Pride Rock itself.
In consequence, Shenzi immediately stood up, reverting her mindset back to a more serious perspective. "Shhh! Not so loud!"
"What? It doesn't matter," Banzai immediately argued. "There's nobody lion around."
"Them lionesses down there can hear us, alright," Shenzi explained with a quick, authoritative, and persuasive hiss in her voice. "They just look for any reason to start fightin' us."
"Did you see 'em up there?" Banzai asked.
"Yea," Shenzi replied. "They're down there at Pride Rock. They're lickin' their paws... rubbin' their heads... prancin' around..."
Banzai lifted his head up, and a few unkempt strands of hair rose upward in the wind. "Huh?"
"Oh, you know," the female hyena clarified. "They're doin' all that lioness stuff they do."
Shenzi then clenched her teeth, as she briefly rolled her eyes up at the stormclouds above. "They don't do nothin' around here. They just laze around in the sun, while we have to work for our food."
"And they blame it all on us!" Banzai added. "I hate lionesses!"
"Yeah," Shenzi agreed. A few strengthening gusts of wind started to blow across the Pridelands, and they immediately carried the hyena's words with them.
For several more seconds, silence persisted in the air surrounding the two, while clouds of sand flew off the ground and expanded into the air. What was once a dull, lifeless tone of gray that covered the horizon in blankets had now developed into something much more sinister in appearance, unlike anything that had swept across the Pridelands. It was largely unlike anything a lion had ever seen; not since the great drought during Mohatu's time.
And it was all Scar's fault.
Shenzi's eyes eventually landed back on the other hyena. "Anyway, you about ready to get back to work?"
"I guess," Banzai answered. "It's not like the lionesses are going to help us with anything."
"Heh, yea," Shenzi agreed. She sat down once again, and brushed her paw across the sand between her and her companion. She then scooted a small rock over, as well, placing it directly between the smooth, flattened plots of dirt.
A dried leaf blew into the side of Shenzi's face, causing her to twitch and rub her cheek with irritation, before she could continue. "They think they're better than everyone else—it's all part of that circle of life garbage," the matriarch added.
Next, Shenzi started to make a grid in the dirt below her paws, and she strategically placed several dyed blobs of clay in specific squares. The icons on her side were scattered around the grid, in what seemed to be a mostly random pattern.
Once she was done contemplating her moves, Shenzi looked back up over the rock. "Circle of life, my butt," she whined. "Those highfalutin creatures don't look after anyone but themselves."
"Idiots," Banzai mumbled, from his hunkered nest on the other side of the rock.
"Them lionesses are just blind, greedy, and stupid," Shenzi added. "I bet they couldn't even figure out how to play this game if they wanted to."
After a few more seconds of moving his paws around, behind the other side of the rock, Banzai looked back up. "I'm ready."
"Ah, right, right, right." Shenzi twitched her lips after she mumbled a response. Initially, she hesitated to make the first move, but the female hyena eventually came to a decision on where to call her attack. "Hmm... sierra four! Whatcha got there?"
"Nothing," Banzai answered. A smirk then appeared across his face. "I'm attacking india zero."
"Screw you!" Shenzi whined, picking up one of the clay pieces and tossing it away. "You killed my wildebeest already!"
Banzai let loose a giggle. "Your turn again."
"Alright, alright," Shenzi retorted, in a meager attempt to buy herself a few more seconds to think. This time, she was even more careful before calling out her move. "Okay... I'm going to mike niner."
"Miss," Banzai stated aloud.
"What?" Shenzi almost argued. She lifted her head up, and leaned forward with an enormous scowl. "Heh, well... I'd rather be lucky than good."
"So, whatcha got at bravo six?" Banzai asked.
Shenzi's eyes narrowed to slits of fury. "That's my freakin' impala! Are you cheatin' me? You gotta be cheatin!"
Banzai's only response was another giggle of satisfaction, while he watched Shenzi toss away yet another piece of clay. The winds picked up even more, but both carnivorans continued to lay in the sand, immersed in the world of their own little game for a little while longer.
"Alright, alright, alright," Shenzi muttered, in a final, meager attempt to regain her composure. "This time, I'm gonna get something. Alpha zero! You gotta have somethin' there!"
Banzai's grin only widened even farther. His eyes peeked over the rock, before he fell backward in full laughter. At the very instant he saw Shenzi's agitated face, he lost every ability to contain himself. Sparks of laughter ignited in his throat, and he began to spew saliva all across the grassland with his oddly powerful laugh.
"Will you knock it off?" Shenzi argued furiously. "This ain't no fun no more!"
For a few more seconds, Shenzi tried to focus her attention back to the game, but she soon lost all interest in playing. It was hardly any different from any other aspect of her life, she realized—any time she tried to succeed, she only lost miserably. Any taste of victory was purely a delusion; only defeat was ever possible, considering her luck.
And with that thought fresh in her mind, she stopped playing.
The hyena rose back onto her paws and began to stretch them out, while she sat back up. She took a quick glance around the horizon, and only one elusive question filled her mind. Why was she still in the Pridelands?
If she had just lost the game of life with Scar, why was she still playing? Why did she not chose to move on with her life, and try to live somewhere else? Those were all questions that she could not quite answer.
Suddenly, a harsh strike of lightning struck the ground in the distant field of Shenzi's vision. Only seconds later, half of the savannah started to go up in flames, with plumes of smoke literally rising and falling from the sky. Cinders churned upward, while ashes tumbled with liberation in the heavy, oddly powerful turbulence of the storm.
"Hey, Banzai..." Shenzi called quietly.
"Yeah? What do you want?"
A loud gulp passed through the matriarch's throat, suddenly exemplifying her melancholic hesitation. Eventually, however, she came to the decision to immediately voice her thoughts aloud. "Let's go find Ed and get outta here."
---
Nala's paws crunched through the dried vegetation on the ground, as she plowed her way through to the very darkest shadows of Pride Rock itself. Never before had the lioness walked with such a diligent fashion, carrying her tail behind her with blistering haste and determination.
Eventually, Nala made her way to the cavelike structure in the back of Pride Rock—the very same den Scar had once considered to be his place of residence. Although it was once a secret, quiet place, every lioness of the pride seemed to be there, seeking shelter from the legion of hyenas out front.
As she turned around the corner, Nala was greeted with a unified symphony of various expressions, most notably those of surprise. Although Nala's pride had hopes lower than ever, the lioness's mere presence seemed to immediately lighten the mood a bit.
Not to any lion's surprise, Sarafina was the first lioness to greet Nala formally. Her body rolled off the ground, and she quickly padded over to the returning huntress. "You're back... what happened out there? Did you find what you were looking for?"
Nala smiled uncontrollably. "I did," she answered simply.
Although her entire pride struggled to even believe that she had found a lion capable of challenging Scar, as she had promised during her leave, the entire situation was far more unbelievable than that. What she found in the jungle was nothing short of a miracle in the purest form, and she alone had the pleasure of breaking the news.
"You're not going to believe this," Nala began happily. Her grin only widened, while she closed her eyes for a moment, to hold in her feelings. "Simba is alive."
The entire pride of lionesses jumped back, loudly mumbling their initial reactions of disbelief.
Sarafina could only wonder if she had even heard her daughter correctly. Simply put, there was no way Simba could have been alive. After so many years, it was an impossibility. Sure, it was what Nala had said, but it didn't make any sense. Simba died in the stampede—she had to be delusional.
"He's here," Nala explained, planting her paw firmly onto the ground. "He's going to challenge Scar right now, and he needs our help."
Sarafina stepped back. "Nala, sweetie... are you alright?" she asked worriedly.
"What?" Nala asked immediately. In all honesty, she was unsure of how to even answer such a question, at the time. "Mom! You guys... think! We thought Simba was dead... but what did we really see?" she asked rhetorically. "We never saw him because he ran away. He's been hiding in the jungle all this time, and I found him!"
Eventually, Nala's perseverance and determination managed to sink into her mother's mind. She was finally starting to see Simba's return as being a possibility, but it was still an unlikely, albeit pleasant, surprise.
"But Scar said..." Sarafina tried to argue.
"No!" Nala insisted forcefully. "Ugh! Don't you understand?" she added with a groan. "Since when has Scar ever told us the truth? That's only happened once... and that was when he said he doesn't care what happens to us!"
Eventually, one of the lionesses stood up and walked over beside Nala. Shortly after, the two were joined by a third, fourth, and fifth. In only a matter of seconds, the entire pride seemed to unite as a group, banding together in rebellion.
"Nala is right," one of the lionesses agreed.
"Come on, Mom," insisted Nala. Her eyelids folded down into a squint, while her brows lowered, revealing her ferocious nature underneath. "I'm not going to let Simba grab all the glory... this is our home too. If we don't fight for it, who will?"
A uniform roar of a battlecry erupted from the many lioness beside Nala. Needless to say, the answer to such a question wasn't all that elusive. No doubt, it was time to rise and fight, in the name of the one true king.
King Simba.
And, at that moment, his reign had unofficially begun.
---
Ed watched with his typical lifeless gaze, as the many lioness moved out and formed up into their positions around Pride Rock, ready to strike. His unique, cackling laughter nearly gave away his hiding position, but too much chaos brewed in the air for any lion to take notice.
It seemed as if every part of the environment was endogenously converging to a single point on the horizon—Pride Rock. On the magnificent structure stood two lions, both preparing for the ultimate fight of their life. On the surface, it was Simba versus Scar; the king's son versus the king's uncle.
But, as the fires erupted beneath, every creature knew that the confrontation was so much more than that. It was hardly a matter of superiority between the two, but instead, it was a fight in which the outcome would forever change the fate of the Pridelands and its royal bloodline.
The mangy, unkempt hyena licked his teeth with his tongue, holding his jaw open in the process. Various slurping sounds emerged, while the savory taste of violence filled his empty, lifeless mind.
"Ed?" Shenzi asked immediately. "Are you broken again?"
By some strange occurrence, the matriarch's sudden call seemed to bring the dumbest of the three back into reality.
"Heh, heh hah," Ed replied, placing his tongue back within the zone of his mouth. He then leaned his spine upward, in an odd attempt to act like a much more civilized creature. "Heheha haha."
Somehow or another, the other two hyenas knew that was his way of saying he was sorry. He had been watching the situation unfold before his eyes, and his laughs provided the trio with critical intelligence regarding every lion's movements.
"Ain't nobody got time for that!" Shenzi argued quite loudly. "Don't you see what's going on? We gotta get outta here."
Ed tilted his head aside. "Haheha!" He was not so sure. He knew that Simba had returned, and he knew that Scar's defeat was imminent.
Shenzi raised her paw, and placed it above Ed's ears. Rather quickly, she rubbed her claws back and fourth, aggressively shaking his fur from side to side. "What's wrong with you? Would you stop talkin' like that?" she asked. "You know, I almost liked it better when you never said anything. You been hanging around them lions too much."
Ed stepped back. "Heheaha hahaaaa!" he stated clearly. "Hahahaaa!"
"DEATH TO SCAR!" Banzai suddenly interjected, at the top of his lungs.
"Oh, jeez, you two!" Shenzi winced, covering her face with her paw. "It ain't gonna matter if we kill Scar or not, cos the rest of them lions will kill us for sure... especially Simba. I don't think he likes us too much."
Obviously not listening, Banzai turned around, only to find that the conflict had erupted in full force. Fires of devastation surrounded the entire horizon, while entire legions of lions and hyenas clashed in a ferocious battle.
Yet, among all the fighting creatures, one small streak of movement blurred through.
"Is that a... meerkat?" Banzai muttered.
Indeed, it was a meerkat. Without any further warning, the hyena lowered his head to the ground, and immediately ran off in pursuit of a delicious meal. Even despite the chaos of the situation, he never declined the opportunity to catch a bite of food.
"What are you...?" Shenzi asked furiously.
Eventually, giving up, she conceded to the demands of her two friends. With one final roll of her eyes, she shook her head in defeat. "Fine. We'll kill Scar... but after that, we're leaving."
Ed nodded, and for the first time in his life, managed to speak one complete sentence. "Death to Scar! Heh, heh, hshshkshh!"
---
It was not long until the hyenas in the trio found themselves lost amidst the many plumes of smoke and walls of fire. What was once a simple desire for vengeance had expounded into something far greater, and even more deadly.
"Banzai? Ed? Where you guys at?" Shenzi called. She swiveled her head to the left, only meeting yellow fire, orange fire, and yellowish-orange fire. On the opposite side, there was even more of the strange substance, which burnt her tail to a sweat.
"You guys! Get over here!" Shenzi ordered. Her call was no longer a request, but much more akin to a demand, given the circumstances of the situation. The temperatures were rising below Pride Rock, and time was running out.
After a few seconds, the other two hyenas formed up behind her, one on each side. After a long and chaotic battle, they were reunited once again, and right in the nick of time.
Death was falling from above. One of the two kings lunged through the air, aimed directly at the other with all his claws and teeth extended. For the fighting lions, all of time slowed down to a crawl, but from the perspective of the hyenas, it was all just a blur of motion.
Scar attacked, and Scar failed.
Instead of crashing into the ground, however, his body went back up. He started to tumble back through the air, and off the promontory. When he finally hit the ground, he landed right in front of the trio, completely disoriented, dazed, and stunned by the heat.
Ed licked his chops with satisfaction, while they all stepped closer. Meanwhile, the flames were spreading rapidly, and they were all about to be trapped.
Shenzi's eyes scanned the horizon one last time. There was one small section that remained unburned; it was a break in the walls of flames, barely wide enough for a hyena to leap through. More importantly, it was closing at a rapid rate.
Shenzi looked back over at Scar, and her blood began to boil. If she chose to kill Scar herself, she ran the risk of not being able to escape. If she escaped, then she would not have the satisfaction of killing Scar.
After all she had been through, the female hyena had never been more sure of a decision in her life.
Shenzi stepped away from the clearing in the fire, and approached Scar instead. She drew out her claws, and exposed her teeth to the harsh conditions she faced. There was no turning back now; this was the end of it, for her.
It was the end of a long life of suffering. As Shenzi scratched and bit into Scar's flesh, it was the end of all the unfairness she had once faced. Killing Scar herself was hardly an act of true vengeance, even as satisfying as it was to see him pay.
In the end, she was content for other reasons. She had accomplished her goal. For the very first time, she did what she thought was truly right, and she had succeeded. She didn't win, but neither did Scar. The lion's defeat was all that mattered.
It wasn't just gratifying. It wasn't just liberating. It was the great emancipation she had always dreamed of—even though it came at the consequence of her own death.
Although the fire eventually swept away her final breaths of air, she was far more than the nothing she had always been, by that point.
Story 6:
Unforgiven: show
It was cold, and dark, in the night. The air hung about with a frigid malevolence; its chill pressed itself harshly against the lion’s sides, as though trying to freeze him from the inside outward. His sleek coat bristled, trying to trap his body’s warmth, and when he shuddered from the low temperatures, countless wisps of condensed moisture floated towards the sky in his breath, tickling his whiskers—which had their own drops of perspiration gathering and dripping from the edges. As he walked, the wind howled a forlorn note, its force slicing effortlessly through his pelt. His flesh prickled in discomfort, though he continued onwards. It was unusual for the savannah to display such coldness, even at night, but the land now was barren and scarcely hid its cruelty from him.
His head dipped slightly and his eyebrows furrowed together, the short and thick hairs interlocking with a taut expression. This was it. This was surely where he was meant to be on this night. He could feel it, somewhere, somehow…
For the first time he stopped as his sharp vision studied the deviation before him. The dusty ground, with its scant blanket of brown grass above an eroded layer of soil, was worn away, replaced with stone walls and a massive ravine. Night though it may have been, his senses could detect the change in terrain: the dark, solid blackness of the ground faded away to reveal the ditch. The relative warmth of the earth, which his paws had gently imprinted with many scores of tracks, faded into the cold of the boulders. He nearly recoiled when his pads first met with the icy kiss of the solid, non-impregnable stone: its bitterness bit savagely into the hairless, unprotected skin on his soles, and it left him locked in another gripping shudder as he tried to descend the slope.
“Mmm,” he moaned, shoulders poking out like undulating blades as he began to move downwards, picking his path carefully through the sharp rocks.
I could be back in the den right now…
He thought back with an indulgent fondness to his cozy, royal domicile. As a king, it was his prerogative to slumber in the wide, open cavern designated for him and his family. If he weren’t here, he would be sleeping, huddled next to Zira. She would be there to warm his bed and comfort him, as she always was. Perhaps he would see a glimpse of his son, Nuka, muddy and dirty and smelly after a long day of playing and watching his newborn sister.
The king had fondness for the little whelp his mate had borne. The only problem, though, was his gentleness and timidity. He was a sycophant, too… but alas, he didn’t have to make him his heir. There was still room in the world for those like him. As long as they didn’t come into power, there were no problems. And Zira was still young, and willing, and fertile…
She was different, somehow. Unlike the others. He thought with disdain on the hordes of them, the same sycophantic commoners always groveling. It was, invariably, the same old inane set of queries—‘How are you feeling, Your Majesty?’; ‘Would you like me to get something for you, Highness?’; ‘I could help you with that’. As transparent and shallow as it was, he rather enjoyed it. He enjoyed having control over the purposeless masses; those who had not the ambition to rise as he had, and were thus stuck as mere underlings. Pawns.
Pathetic. That they should be so lowly. So… without a pl—
Scccrrrrrrtch!
His heart skipped a beat when his paw slipped on a rock, sending fragments clattering into the ravine as his entire body shifted downwards. His knees locked; he took a sudden breath in surprise as he clung to his tenuous footing, muscles clenching and claws scratching at the stone to assist him in this. A momentary shot of fear coursed through him as he stared downwards into the yawning, gaping chasm below him.
A close call.
Perhaps it was best not to let his thoughts wander too far, or to allow himself to become too distracted, upon this steep slope. Bracing himself for another long moment, he swallowed, and resolutely decided to pay more attention to where he placed his step. His joints creaked in protest from the cold, and the frigid air crisply assailed his lungs as he sighed under the moonlight.
Alas, there was no point in idle musings. Daydreaming had nearly had him killed right then… and honestly, how could he have slept anyways, on this night? It was hard enough as it was, to enjoy a few hours of uninterrupted, peaceful sleep…
He stopped on a shelf of stone. It was flat, and frozen to his touch despite its position deep inside the ravine, out of the wind. The lion sat on his haunches and simply breathed for a moment, glinting eyes scrunching shut as the memories of this place haunted him. He was near the bottom… it was this shelf, in fact, where Mufasa had…
His teeth clenched. The king had held his throne for a year now—today marked the date of his usurpation. Now, he had never considered himself a sentimental lion, much less a spiritual one. But then, this year had changed everything he’d ever thought to be so solid. His perceptions were skewed, twisted… how could he not remember? How could he not remember the reverberating rumble, the omnipresent pounding of thousands of hooves within the tight throat of the land? How could he not remember the roar of his older brother, the former king, as he leapt bravely from the fray and unknowingly into his death? How could he?
‘Scar’…
No. Please…
‘Brother, help me!’
NO.
He’d smiled. He’d laughed. And he’d sent the older lion to his death. He heard the roar of pain, anger, sadness… as the big, strong brother fell into the horde, swiping at thin air. It haunted him, that sound. A cry so heartbroken, agonized. Anguish incarnate. He’d undertaken everything with so much levity: the planning, the plotting, the scheming to kill his brother and his nephew. He was ambitious; he wanted what he felt had been taken from him. He’d wanted revenge for so long—surely a little blood on his paws wouldn’t be too bad?
But to hear that roar… that loud, gut-wrenching roar… he could never have expected that. He tried to push it to the back of his mind, yet being here did nothing to help. Not when he could almost feel the old heat pricking up beads of sweat on the back of his neck, from the sun which had shone ruthlessly on that day. Or breathe in the thick clouds of dust which had been churned up by those pounding ungulates so many months ago. The vision stung his eyes. And he realized he still remembered. Better than he wished to.
He leapt nimbly to the floor of the gorge with a quiet sound, before slithering across the ground in the darkness of the night. His body was a mere shadow, scantly illuminated by the full moon above. The nippy air was deathly still and its crisp coldness peppered his face. Fangs bared, he approached the center of the ravine, which was sheltered from the blustery winds above. His hackles were raised and his stomach was knotting and wringing itself nervously inside of his ribcage… but he knew it wasn’t from the cold.
Clack-clack!
He nearly sprung out of his skin when his paw collided with something on the ground. His widened eyes scanned the shadowy, almost pitch-hue floor, barely catching sight of the many bleached bones littering the cold stone.
The lion—the live one—flared his nostrils, fear melting away and the hairs on his spine lying back down as he realized it was merely the skeleton of the lion that had died here months before. By now, the flesh of the corpse had been picked apart by scavengers and rotted away, leaving only the bones to be exposed to the sun. No hyenas had devoured them, and no other predators had moved the carcass: he forbade it, out of some twisted sense of respect. He had killed his brother, yes, but he felt oddly bad about letting others harm the body so. The only reason he hadn’t buried it was Mufasa’s belief in the circle of life. Surely he wouldn’t mind being left out as food for the vultures?
Scar shuddered softly, another puff of frozen breath escaping his muzzle. Only now did he realize he was shivering, though whether it was from fear or from the weather was unknown.
“Why,” he cleared his throat, the abrasive timbre of his cold and raspy voice displeasing him, “can I not stop thinking of you, hmm?” For a moment his lips twisted into a grin, and a small burst of mirth escaped him… but it was a somewhat mournful chuckle, and his expression quickly faded into a sharp frown. He approached the skull and picked it up, unsheathed claws poking out of his deceased brother’s orbits as he held it at eye-level.
It was like a conversation… almost.
“Ironic, I suppose. The murderer and the victim, reunited again.”
There was no effort made to hide his voice, even given the echo of the gorge—nobody would be around in this barren locale this late at night.
“You’re getting back at me, I know it. Just like in life, hmm? Always… always right over me, yes?” He continued holding his brother’s head by those empty, staring sockets. Mufasa was permanently grinning, smiling off at nothing. Taunting him. The live lion looked away in distaste, derision burning in his eyes along with his inward guilt. His act of murder changed nothing… and yet, at the same time, it changed everything.
“They still remember you. Your lionesses,” he thought back to his complaining pride. How they were suffering in the midst of the dry weather back at home. He’d banned the mentioning of Mufasa’s name—more to ease himself than the females—but that changed nothing, of course. The implications in their words were just as loud as before.
“… And I… I don’t blame them. Hmpt. No. You were always so much… more fit for this job than I was. And now, under me…” he bared his fangs in an enraged expression, “it’s all gone to naught!”
He lopped his brother’s skull off of his paw carelessly, sending it clattering across the hard ground, when he was unable to suppress his temper further. The lion paced around, paw steps heavy and a thick, piercing growl ravaging the inside of his parched throat. He could not keep himself from knocking the abused head around with a limb once more.
“Why do you do this to me?” His bitter vehemence died down, replaced with an overwhelmingly sorrowful note. He stopped walking.
“Why, Mufasa?” He craned his head towards the ground, finding that the skull was nestled between his paws, orbits staring blankly back up at him. Almost unable to gaze upon it, he closed his eyes, clenched teeth tightening his expression. “Help me.”
He took several deep breaths, composing himself. He’d never expected his seemingly apathetic self to release so many… emotions… In fact, come to think of it, he didn’t even really understand why he’d come down here. Was it to… pay his respects? Or was it something else entir—
“… Why do you molest my body so…?”
The skull was knocked away by his flurry of movements, reflexes flinging him backwards with a catlike agility. A chill sprung down his spine at the sight of such an apparition, and he stood frozen in terror, muscles locked and claws extended into the ground.
Mufasa.
“M-M-Mu… Mufasa, I-I-I was si-simply…” He stammered, unable to continue as he suddenly lost his voice. The words melted away in his throat, which had tightened into an incorrigible, unmoving lump.
The sight of his brother was momentarily blotted out by the cold fog his breath had sent spiraling into the sky. His pupils narrowed to mere dots as the glowing, shimmering figure stood silently, several feet from him. Yet the ghost did not move, and gradually reappeared. His reddish-brown mane now appeared ruddy, almost sanguine… as did his eerie, unreadable eyes.
“Please forgive me,” the live lion bent down, tail curving between his legs in fear and righteous awe.
As a cub, he’d never lent credence to those wild ghost stories he’d heard… but now he could see that, on the contrary, they did the spirits little justice in their portrayals. Their narratives didn’t capture their essence. The very appearance of his dead brother’s spirit was enough to trigger a visceral, primeval reaction within him. Something told him that this presence was out of the ordinary… He could feel Mufasa’s deathly, immortal aura, and that alone was enough to curdle the blood in his body.
“… You complain so profusely. What have you to mourn…?”
Scar tried to find the strength to speak, his jaw hung open as he paused in thought. He trembled inwardly… Mufasa appeared impatient. In the end, all he could stammer was a weak “the kingdom suffers, brother.”
“… Why do you think that is…?”
The lion backed up warily, until he found, with dismay, that his back legs were pressed against the stone. He could distance himself from the spirit no farther… not that it mattered. Mufasa surely had the power to approach him as much as he wished. There was no escaping it—he had to face his brother... and his guilty conscience, if it existed.
Somewhere deep inside, he knew the answer, and it terrified him. Hence why he chose to run from it.
“You know how to run this kingdom,” he stated surely. “Please… help a wretched soul. I shall find no solace if I cannot help my own people.”
“… Since when have you given a damn… about my people?” The apparition boomed, a slight tremor echoing through the gorge. His flame-red mane glowed a terrifying color… one reminiscent of blood. “…You deserve not solace, for you care not for this kingdom… you care only for your own name...”
Scar looked taken aback. He would have taken another step backwards, were it possible. His mouth gaped, and he denied it. No… of course not. He couldn’t bear to see the kingdom—his kingdom, his people—complain so garrulously.
“You don’t understand,” he shook his head wildly. “Have you not—”
“… DO NOT LIE TO YOURSELF, Scar…!” A burst of flames appeared around the apparition as he roared, a sound more terrifying than any the living Mufasa could have produced. The fiery glint in his eyes bore into the living lion, effectively cowing him. He ducked his head and shrunk towards the ground, tail still between his legs.
“… I can see your soul better than you yourself can…” the spirit spoke, righteous wrath scarcely bridled under his bright, glowing countenance. “… And I am ashamed—of your greed, your guile, your selfishness... You bring this family no honor…”
Scar shrunk back, shaking slightly in fear. It was just like all those times in life… All the times he’d been shamed, shoved backwards. By his own relatives. By those who were supposed to be closest to him.
You bring this family no honor…
They were different words, from a different lion, but it was the same tune. What… what did he mean?
Again he denied it. He merely wanted to do well by his kingdom, so they could finally see that he was as good of a ruler as Mufasa had been. All he wanted was his time in the spotlight. Was that so much to ask for?
One look at Mufasa’s spirit told him that it was so. In life, Mufasa had been a loving and compassionate creature, always giving second chances. Always believing in people. That kindness, that mercy, continued to a fault… and it was his downfall. But now… now he could see his jealous younger brother for exactly what he was.
An impostor.
“If not for me,” the lion shrunk back, his voice pleading, “then at least for your kingdom. Sarabi, your mate… she suffers wrongly, through no fault of her own. We are starving, Mufasa…”
“… Is that so…? You appear to be well…” His statement was accusatory, the derision in his displeased stare clearly visible, even on his surreal countenance. When they had last seen one another, when both had been in the land of the living, Scar had been a pitifully scrawny, ribby lion, thin to the point of emaciation. Despite the famine and the drought, however, he now appeared to be faring better—muscle had been laid down across his frame, and his ribcage was covered by a layer of flesh.
It was clear, from this alone, who the king was truly looking out for. Himself. Any pretense of looking out for the pride was ass tripe as far as Mufasa was concerned. Alas, Scar viewed it as his rightful dues, but to Mufasa, it was wholly irresponsible and deserving of no less than contempt.
The new king looked absently at the ground, attempting to hide his emotion from the old one’s clairvoyance. It did not work.
“… You have the gall to ask me for my help when you’ve brought this upon yourself… to speak to me about suffering wrongly…”
No. This can’t be my fault. It must be the hyenas… someone… anyone else.
The younger lion pressed himself into the rock, his form awash in the shadow cast by Mufasa’s brilliant light.
“… You caused this suffering when you took me from my family and tainted my throne with your bloody, evil ways… when you neglected your role in life and deigned to take what does not belong to you…”
His eyes narrowed in fright, though Mufasa was relentless. Suddenly he felt that this was a waste of time. To even think that Mufasa would help him was… surely… surely unreasonable. After what he’d done… why would he have reason to believe that Mufasa, of all lions, would provide him assistance?
“You are receiving nothing less than what you deserve!”
“NO!” Scar cried out, his raised voice more a roar than anything else. It was a rash, frivolous outburst, one borne of anger and frustration. He groaned, teeth gritted together in a horrid grimace as he bit back his temper and tears—yes, the tears… as unexpected as it was, he could feel a sting in the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t handle these accusations. It reminded him of similar instances, long ago…
As much as it hurt his pride, he could not resist much longer. He fell to the ground, trying to dam back his frustration and keep what little dignity he had left.
“Please, I implore you… on my knees. Have mercy on me. Fix this. I can’t handle these problems on my own.”
He looked up at the figure of his brother, almost disbelieving that this would happen. Before he would have mistaken this for a fluke, a hallucination… for he’d had many of Mufasa. Visions. Nightmares. But this was different. This was indeed his victim’s spirit, and as he lay practically prostrate before him he honestly felt as though he were being judged. The ghost’s face was stern, stoic… he saw, and knew what was just. Scar half expected him to repeat what he’d said before, that it was his own damn fault… but he was silent.
“Forgive me, please.”
Mufasa’s brow furrowed. There was a long note of silence, and then he spoke… yet when he did, his voice was softer, more rational… He seemed to have faded slightly, his form nearly transparent as it wavered in the air before him. He was testing him.
“… The kingdom suffers as punishment for your actions… but…” Scar felt a mote of optimism as he gazed upon the imposing form of the former king, “… if you make an effort to continue forward, to forget the past and absolve yourself of your many mistakes… you may yet be forgiven.”
“I’d do anything,” he commented hastily, “please, give me a chance.”
Mufasa appeared skeptical, but continued, his gaze softening considerably. A prickle of hope assailed the failing king’s chest at this. To clear his guilt, to win over the happy ending he deserved… he would give nearly anything at this point. Or so he thought.
“… Tell the lionesses the truth. Give up the kingdom, and start a new life. Sarabi is a strong leader; she shall endure without you and bring the kingdom back on course. Your paws shall be cleansed, and the throne will be given to he who deserves it—there need be no bloodshed…”
His face fell, and he was quite sure that, under his fur, his clammy skin was all but drained of its pallor. “No bloodshed?” He could only imagine their reaction when he told them—if he told them, or ever could tell them—the truth of his predecessor’s demise. His throat suddenly constricted, as though a serpent had squeezed his windpipe. They were close to mutiny as it was.
“I-I… No, you don’t understand. Mufasa? I can’t tell them… I can’t give up the kingdom… that I…”
… Worked so hard for…
His breath caught, and he remained silent. The apparition tried to reason with him one more time, attempting to spare him his worry.
“… If you admit your guilt now, there will be time. Your life shall be spared…”
“How do you know that?” His voice quavered, eyes widened and glinting in the dark night. Mufasa’s face remained blank, and he said nothing. Either Scar accepted his offer or rejected it—there was nothing more to be said. Somewhere he knew he couldn’t do that. Would never do that. Perhaps, in a way, the old king was right all along… he deserved this. He was a worthless coward, a dead weight burdening the kingdom…
He felt his shortcomings first with sorrow… and then with a frustrated, outraged lashing of his chronically-shortened temper. How could he have known him so well? How could he understand? How dare he ask him to do something so impossible? It wasn’t his fault—he was merely a mortal lion! There need be no change!
Suddenly, and for the first time since Mufasa appeared to him, his fear melted away, replaced with a brash hubris which would only do him harm. He exposed his canines, despite the fact that they posed no threat to his brother, and his coat bristled instinctively.
“Why must you make this so difficult? Why?” He roared in frustration, his expression demanding despite that fact that he was, truly, the one who owed answers, and an explanation for his deeds… “Why must you torment me, night and day, in my every waking moment, even after death? Why?”
There was a long and fateful silence. Scar bared his teeth, refusing to be subjugated.
“You are no merciful spirit!”
“—SILENCE!” Mufasa’s voice rumbled with an otherworldly wrath, a burst of rubicund colors accenting his wild eyes, his dark crimson mane… A sudden shot of pain stung the living lion, as though he were being burned with virulent flames, and a cry of pain was promptly squeezed from his senselessly frightened figure. He fell to the ground with a thud, barely even cognizant of what was transpiring. All he could see was the trembling, fiery figure in front of him… and he rightfully knew to fear its wrath. His terror returned in full force as he lay, witlessly, on the ground. Scar tried to stagger to his feet and run, but he was disoriented. He knew not which way was up, nor down… his limbs wriggled helplessly, but he could do nothing. It was too late.
“I have attempted to show you the leniency you sought, but you are a blind and ungrateful runt, just as you have proven yourself to be! If you shall not accept mercy, then you shall accept your fate…”
The lion couldn’t help but whimper as he ceased writhing on the ground. He continued to quiver with terror, panting desperately for breath, his body slick with sweat despite the freezing atmosphere. His heart raced as he tried to apologize.
“No, Mufasa, please. I’m sorry. I-I’ll do what I can. Spare me.”
The spirit ignored him—there was nothing left for his brother but punishment.
“… I will fulfill justice, that you shall pay for your deeds!” He boomed, his voice vengeful in its timbre and pitilessly strict, “And I curse you! That your kingdom and life be taken from you as you have taken from me mine, and given to one who deserves it!”
No… he can’t do that to me…! Surely… surely he has not the power!
His eyes narrowed in pain as he lay there, trying to ignore the blows. The lion’s paws covered his bitter face, and he refused to accede… but his limbs offered no protection.
“Your line shall end—your mate shall be barren!”
“B-but Mufasa, you can’t; Zira has done nothing!” He pleaded.
“You had your chances, and you squandered them! And now your son shall grow up without a father, as mine has!”
His rage was potent, and even when he stopped speaking, the words continued echoing in the still air… through the gorge they rumbled angrily, and even when that had melted away into nothing, the inside of the younger lion’s skull was still reverberating with those damning words. He clenched his teeth and pressed his eyes shut, trying to ignore it, but there was a tangible, physical pain associated with them. They remained, rattling his brain, sticking there like a disease. His paws covered his ears, and he rolled on the ground in agony. But they did not go away…
The outside environment was serene, and the air was tranquil and still, free of turbulence from the wind. There passed not a sound, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that the ghost was gone. He was alone.
With a grunt, he forced his aching body to stand up. No longer was he on his knees, yet he still felt oddly vulnerable. The words still hung there, omnipresent. He tried to blot them out of his mind, but they continued to tickle him malevolently.
… You shall pay for your deeds, Scar…
“Ermft,” he groaned weakly. His jaw tightened, and when he looked around he saw no trace of anything threatening. It was as though nothing had happened—there was no odd prickle of the hairs on his spine. In fact, he didn’t feel afraid anymore. What was there to be frightened of? Mere words?
Instantly he tried to discredit the experience. Surely it was just imagination, or a dream. This was not the first time he’d had a nightmare, after all. He’d just… overreacted this particular time to his presence, that was it… Yes, certainly.
Hmpt. I am a fool after all.
That was certainly overdone, that was for sure. There needn’t be such fear on his part—it was merely guilt, and emotion… and like everything else, he could learn to control and suppress it.
He looked around, the crook of a smile forming despite itself, and spotted the skull of his brother lying on the floor, face gazing upwards towards the sky. Yes, that was right—Mufasa was dead. And a lion like him could do no harm when he was dead.
Without knowing exactly what he was doing, he took a hold of it one last time, and held it up to whatever scant light was in the bottom of the gorge. It reflected off of the polished white bone, showing the neat features as well as a crack which had started to form from earlier. He grimaced, showing his teeth.
“You are dead. I can see that. And you shall not get the best of me now!”
He threw it as hard as he could at the wall of stone before him, his anger propelling it through the air before it crashed into the rock and split apart into a million different pieces. For a moment he was overtaken by an odd sense of satisfaction, as though he had removed the last vestiges of power Mufasa had held over his life, absolved himself of their bond to each other.
He would have laughed. But there was only silence. His face drooped, and suddenly he was unsure of himself. No noise punctuated the air, but there was a faint trickle of air. Something like a breeze, just enough to ruffle the edge of his pelt. And he froze.
Who was he fooling? He could deny it… but he knew he would pay for his crimes. It was knowledge beyond his sensual understanding. Yet he could feel the presence of something ethereal. His breath stopped, as he was forced to remember all that had taken place. There was no forgiveness.
No. You can’t let these powerless… words… affect you.
He looked around. Silence. And yet he was afraid. It was odd, for there was no physical impetus for it… but there was reason for him to fear. For the gorge was still alight with the spirit of the vengeful kin who had died there. He knew this, on some level, no matter how much he tried to deny it. Perhaps that was why he ran so suddenly and refused to stop, even when he tread over the sharp, biting shards of bone littering the ground.
He was a marked soul; the words would come true whether he wanted them to or not. And the very conversation, whether it had really taken place or not, would haunt him until the day he died… Unforgiven, just as he deserved.
His head dipped slightly and his eyebrows furrowed together, the short and thick hairs interlocking with a taut expression. This was it. This was surely where he was meant to be on this night. He could feel it, somewhere, somehow…
For the first time he stopped as his sharp vision studied the deviation before him. The dusty ground, with its scant blanket of brown grass above an eroded layer of soil, was worn away, replaced with stone walls and a massive ravine. Night though it may have been, his senses could detect the change in terrain: the dark, solid blackness of the ground faded away to reveal the ditch. The relative warmth of the earth, which his paws had gently imprinted with many scores of tracks, faded into the cold of the boulders. He nearly recoiled when his pads first met with the icy kiss of the solid, non-impregnable stone: its bitterness bit savagely into the hairless, unprotected skin on his soles, and it left him locked in another gripping shudder as he tried to descend the slope.
“Mmm,” he moaned, shoulders poking out like undulating blades as he began to move downwards, picking his path carefully through the sharp rocks.
I could be back in the den right now…
He thought back with an indulgent fondness to his cozy, royal domicile. As a king, it was his prerogative to slumber in the wide, open cavern designated for him and his family. If he weren’t here, he would be sleeping, huddled next to Zira. She would be there to warm his bed and comfort him, as she always was. Perhaps he would see a glimpse of his son, Nuka, muddy and dirty and smelly after a long day of playing and watching his newborn sister.
The king had fondness for the little whelp his mate had borne. The only problem, though, was his gentleness and timidity. He was a sycophant, too… but alas, he didn’t have to make him his heir. There was still room in the world for those like him. As long as they didn’t come into power, there were no problems. And Zira was still young, and willing, and fertile…
She was different, somehow. Unlike the others. He thought with disdain on the hordes of them, the same sycophantic commoners always groveling. It was, invariably, the same old inane set of queries—‘How are you feeling, Your Majesty?’; ‘Would you like me to get something for you, Highness?’; ‘I could help you with that’. As transparent and shallow as it was, he rather enjoyed it. He enjoyed having control over the purposeless masses; those who had not the ambition to rise as he had, and were thus stuck as mere underlings. Pawns.
Pathetic. That they should be so lowly. So… without a pl—
Scccrrrrrrtch!
His heart skipped a beat when his paw slipped on a rock, sending fragments clattering into the ravine as his entire body shifted downwards. His knees locked; he took a sudden breath in surprise as he clung to his tenuous footing, muscles clenching and claws scratching at the stone to assist him in this. A momentary shot of fear coursed through him as he stared downwards into the yawning, gaping chasm below him.
A close call.
Perhaps it was best not to let his thoughts wander too far, or to allow himself to become too distracted, upon this steep slope. Bracing himself for another long moment, he swallowed, and resolutely decided to pay more attention to where he placed his step. His joints creaked in protest from the cold, and the frigid air crisply assailed his lungs as he sighed under the moonlight.
Alas, there was no point in idle musings. Daydreaming had nearly had him killed right then… and honestly, how could he have slept anyways, on this night? It was hard enough as it was, to enjoy a few hours of uninterrupted, peaceful sleep…
He stopped on a shelf of stone. It was flat, and frozen to his touch despite its position deep inside the ravine, out of the wind. The lion sat on his haunches and simply breathed for a moment, glinting eyes scrunching shut as the memories of this place haunted him. He was near the bottom… it was this shelf, in fact, where Mufasa had…
His teeth clenched. The king had held his throne for a year now—today marked the date of his usurpation. Now, he had never considered himself a sentimental lion, much less a spiritual one. But then, this year had changed everything he’d ever thought to be so solid. His perceptions were skewed, twisted… how could he not remember? How could he not remember the reverberating rumble, the omnipresent pounding of thousands of hooves within the tight throat of the land? How could he not remember the roar of his older brother, the former king, as he leapt bravely from the fray and unknowingly into his death? How could he?
‘Scar’…
No. Please…
‘Brother, help me!’
NO.
He’d smiled. He’d laughed. And he’d sent the older lion to his death. He heard the roar of pain, anger, sadness… as the big, strong brother fell into the horde, swiping at thin air. It haunted him, that sound. A cry so heartbroken, agonized. Anguish incarnate. He’d undertaken everything with so much levity: the planning, the plotting, the scheming to kill his brother and his nephew. He was ambitious; he wanted what he felt had been taken from him. He’d wanted revenge for so long—surely a little blood on his paws wouldn’t be too bad?
But to hear that roar… that loud, gut-wrenching roar… he could never have expected that. He tried to push it to the back of his mind, yet being here did nothing to help. Not when he could almost feel the old heat pricking up beads of sweat on the back of his neck, from the sun which had shone ruthlessly on that day. Or breathe in the thick clouds of dust which had been churned up by those pounding ungulates so many months ago. The vision stung his eyes. And he realized he still remembered. Better than he wished to.
He leapt nimbly to the floor of the gorge with a quiet sound, before slithering across the ground in the darkness of the night. His body was a mere shadow, scantly illuminated by the full moon above. The nippy air was deathly still and its crisp coldness peppered his face. Fangs bared, he approached the center of the ravine, which was sheltered from the blustery winds above. His hackles were raised and his stomach was knotting and wringing itself nervously inside of his ribcage… but he knew it wasn’t from the cold.
Clack-clack!
He nearly sprung out of his skin when his paw collided with something on the ground. His widened eyes scanned the shadowy, almost pitch-hue floor, barely catching sight of the many bleached bones littering the cold stone.
The lion—the live one—flared his nostrils, fear melting away and the hairs on his spine lying back down as he realized it was merely the skeleton of the lion that had died here months before. By now, the flesh of the corpse had been picked apart by scavengers and rotted away, leaving only the bones to be exposed to the sun. No hyenas had devoured them, and no other predators had moved the carcass: he forbade it, out of some twisted sense of respect. He had killed his brother, yes, but he felt oddly bad about letting others harm the body so. The only reason he hadn’t buried it was Mufasa’s belief in the circle of life. Surely he wouldn’t mind being left out as food for the vultures?
Scar shuddered softly, another puff of frozen breath escaping his muzzle. Only now did he realize he was shivering, though whether it was from fear or from the weather was unknown.
“Why,” he cleared his throat, the abrasive timbre of his cold and raspy voice displeasing him, “can I not stop thinking of you, hmm?” For a moment his lips twisted into a grin, and a small burst of mirth escaped him… but it was a somewhat mournful chuckle, and his expression quickly faded into a sharp frown. He approached the skull and picked it up, unsheathed claws poking out of his deceased brother’s orbits as he held it at eye-level.
It was like a conversation… almost.
“Ironic, I suppose. The murderer and the victim, reunited again.”
There was no effort made to hide his voice, even given the echo of the gorge—nobody would be around in this barren locale this late at night.
“You’re getting back at me, I know it. Just like in life, hmm? Always… always right over me, yes?” He continued holding his brother’s head by those empty, staring sockets. Mufasa was permanently grinning, smiling off at nothing. Taunting him. The live lion looked away in distaste, derision burning in his eyes along with his inward guilt. His act of murder changed nothing… and yet, at the same time, it changed everything.
“They still remember you. Your lionesses,” he thought back to his complaining pride. How they were suffering in the midst of the dry weather back at home. He’d banned the mentioning of Mufasa’s name—more to ease himself than the females—but that changed nothing, of course. The implications in their words were just as loud as before.
“… And I… I don’t blame them. Hmpt. No. You were always so much… more fit for this job than I was. And now, under me…” he bared his fangs in an enraged expression, “it’s all gone to naught!”
He lopped his brother’s skull off of his paw carelessly, sending it clattering across the hard ground, when he was unable to suppress his temper further. The lion paced around, paw steps heavy and a thick, piercing growl ravaging the inside of his parched throat. He could not keep himself from knocking the abused head around with a limb once more.
“Why do you do this to me?” His bitter vehemence died down, replaced with an overwhelmingly sorrowful note. He stopped walking.
“Why, Mufasa?” He craned his head towards the ground, finding that the skull was nestled between his paws, orbits staring blankly back up at him. Almost unable to gaze upon it, he closed his eyes, clenched teeth tightening his expression. “Help me.”
He took several deep breaths, composing himself. He’d never expected his seemingly apathetic self to release so many… emotions… In fact, come to think of it, he didn’t even really understand why he’d come down here. Was it to… pay his respects? Or was it something else entir—
“… Why do you molest my body so…?”
The skull was knocked away by his flurry of movements, reflexes flinging him backwards with a catlike agility. A chill sprung down his spine at the sight of such an apparition, and he stood frozen in terror, muscles locked and claws extended into the ground.
Mufasa.
“M-M-Mu… Mufasa, I-I-I was si-simply…” He stammered, unable to continue as he suddenly lost his voice. The words melted away in his throat, which had tightened into an incorrigible, unmoving lump.
The sight of his brother was momentarily blotted out by the cold fog his breath had sent spiraling into the sky. His pupils narrowed to mere dots as the glowing, shimmering figure stood silently, several feet from him. Yet the ghost did not move, and gradually reappeared. His reddish-brown mane now appeared ruddy, almost sanguine… as did his eerie, unreadable eyes.
“Please forgive me,” the live lion bent down, tail curving between his legs in fear and righteous awe.
As a cub, he’d never lent credence to those wild ghost stories he’d heard… but now he could see that, on the contrary, they did the spirits little justice in their portrayals. Their narratives didn’t capture their essence. The very appearance of his dead brother’s spirit was enough to trigger a visceral, primeval reaction within him. Something told him that this presence was out of the ordinary… He could feel Mufasa’s deathly, immortal aura, and that alone was enough to curdle the blood in his body.
“… You complain so profusely. What have you to mourn…?”
Scar tried to find the strength to speak, his jaw hung open as he paused in thought. He trembled inwardly… Mufasa appeared impatient. In the end, all he could stammer was a weak “the kingdom suffers, brother.”
“… Why do you think that is…?”
The lion backed up warily, until he found, with dismay, that his back legs were pressed against the stone. He could distance himself from the spirit no farther… not that it mattered. Mufasa surely had the power to approach him as much as he wished. There was no escaping it—he had to face his brother... and his guilty conscience, if it existed.
Somewhere deep inside, he knew the answer, and it terrified him. Hence why he chose to run from it.
“You know how to run this kingdom,” he stated surely. “Please… help a wretched soul. I shall find no solace if I cannot help my own people.”
“… Since when have you given a damn… about my people?” The apparition boomed, a slight tremor echoing through the gorge. His flame-red mane glowed a terrifying color… one reminiscent of blood. “…You deserve not solace, for you care not for this kingdom… you care only for your own name...”
Scar looked taken aback. He would have taken another step backwards, were it possible. His mouth gaped, and he denied it. No… of course not. He couldn’t bear to see the kingdom—his kingdom, his people—complain so garrulously.
“You don’t understand,” he shook his head wildly. “Have you not—”
“… DO NOT LIE TO YOURSELF, Scar…!” A burst of flames appeared around the apparition as he roared, a sound more terrifying than any the living Mufasa could have produced. The fiery glint in his eyes bore into the living lion, effectively cowing him. He ducked his head and shrunk towards the ground, tail still between his legs.
“… I can see your soul better than you yourself can…” the spirit spoke, righteous wrath scarcely bridled under his bright, glowing countenance. “… And I am ashamed—of your greed, your guile, your selfishness... You bring this family no honor…”
Scar shrunk back, shaking slightly in fear. It was just like all those times in life… All the times he’d been shamed, shoved backwards. By his own relatives. By those who were supposed to be closest to him.
You bring this family no honor…
They were different words, from a different lion, but it was the same tune. What… what did he mean?
Again he denied it. He merely wanted to do well by his kingdom, so they could finally see that he was as good of a ruler as Mufasa had been. All he wanted was his time in the spotlight. Was that so much to ask for?
One look at Mufasa’s spirit told him that it was so. In life, Mufasa had been a loving and compassionate creature, always giving second chances. Always believing in people. That kindness, that mercy, continued to a fault… and it was his downfall. But now… now he could see his jealous younger brother for exactly what he was.
An impostor.
“If not for me,” the lion shrunk back, his voice pleading, “then at least for your kingdom. Sarabi, your mate… she suffers wrongly, through no fault of her own. We are starving, Mufasa…”
“… Is that so…? You appear to be well…” His statement was accusatory, the derision in his displeased stare clearly visible, even on his surreal countenance. When they had last seen one another, when both had been in the land of the living, Scar had been a pitifully scrawny, ribby lion, thin to the point of emaciation. Despite the famine and the drought, however, he now appeared to be faring better—muscle had been laid down across his frame, and his ribcage was covered by a layer of flesh.
It was clear, from this alone, who the king was truly looking out for. Himself. Any pretense of looking out for the pride was ass tripe as far as Mufasa was concerned. Alas, Scar viewed it as his rightful dues, but to Mufasa, it was wholly irresponsible and deserving of no less than contempt.
The new king looked absently at the ground, attempting to hide his emotion from the old one’s clairvoyance. It did not work.
“… You have the gall to ask me for my help when you’ve brought this upon yourself… to speak to me about suffering wrongly…”
No. This can’t be my fault. It must be the hyenas… someone… anyone else.
The younger lion pressed himself into the rock, his form awash in the shadow cast by Mufasa’s brilliant light.
“… You caused this suffering when you took me from my family and tainted my throne with your bloody, evil ways… when you neglected your role in life and deigned to take what does not belong to you…”
His eyes narrowed in fright, though Mufasa was relentless. Suddenly he felt that this was a waste of time. To even think that Mufasa would help him was… surely… surely unreasonable. After what he’d done… why would he have reason to believe that Mufasa, of all lions, would provide him assistance?
“You are receiving nothing less than what you deserve!”
“NO!” Scar cried out, his raised voice more a roar than anything else. It was a rash, frivolous outburst, one borne of anger and frustration. He groaned, teeth gritted together in a horrid grimace as he bit back his temper and tears—yes, the tears… as unexpected as it was, he could feel a sting in the corners of his eyes. He couldn’t handle these accusations. It reminded him of similar instances, long ago…
As much as it hurt his pride, he could not resist much longer. He fell to the ground, trying to dam back his frustration and keep what little dignity he had left.
“Please, I implore you… on my knees. Have mercy on me. Fix this. I can’t handle these problems on my own.”
He looked up at the figure of his brother, almost disbelieving that this would happen. Before he would have mistaken this for a fluke, a hallucination… for he’d had many of Mufasa. Visions. Nightmares. But this was different. This was indeed his victim’s spirit, and as he lay practically prostrate before him he honestly felt as though he were being judged. The ghost’s face was stern, stoic… he saw, and knew what was just. Scar half expected him to repeat what he’d said before, that it was his own damn fault… but he was silent.
“Forgive me, please.”
Mufasa’s brow furrowed. There was a long note of silence, and then he spoke… yet when he did, his voice was softer, more rational… He seemed to have faded slightly, his form nearly transparent as it wavered in the air before him. He was testing him.
“… The kingdom suffers as punishment for your actions… but…” Scar felt a mote of optimism as he gazed upon the imposing form of the former king, “… if you make an effort to continue forward, to forget the past and absolve yourself of your many mistakes… you may yet be forgiven.”
“I’d do anything,” he commented hastily, “please, give me a chance.”
Mufasa appeared skeptical, but continued, his gaze softening considerably. A prickle of hope assailed the failing king’s chest at this. To clear his guilt, to win over the happy ending he deserved… he would give nearly anything at this point. Or so he thought.
“… Tell the lionesses the truth. Give up the kingdom, and start a new life. Sarabi is a strong leader; she shall endure without you and bring the kingdom back on course. Your paws shall be cleansed, and the throne will be given to he who deserves it—there need be no bloodshed…”
His face fell, and he was quite sure that, under his fur, his clammy skin was all but drained of its pallor. “No bloodshed?” He could only imagine their reaction when he told them—if he told them, or ever could tell them—the truth of his predecessor’s demise. His throat suddenly constricted, as though a serpent had squeezed his windpipe. They were close to mutiny as it was.
“I-I… No, you don’t understand. Mufasa? I can’t tell them… I can’t give up the kingdom… that I…”
… Worked so hard for…
His breath caught, and he remained silent. The apparition tried to reason with him one more time, attempting to spare him his worry.
“… If you admit your guilt now, there will be time. Your life shall be spared…”
“How do you know that?” His voice quavered, eyes widened and glinting in the dark night. Mufasa’s face remained blank, and he said nothing. Either Scar accepted his offer or rejected it—there was nothing more to be said. Somewhere he knew he couldn’t do that. Would never do that. Perhaps, in a way, the old king was right all along… he deserved this. He was a worthless coward, a dead weight burdening the kingdom…
He felt his shortcomings first with sorrow… and then with a frustrated, outraged lashing of his chronically-shortened temper. How could he have known him so well? How could he understand? How dare he ask him to do something so impossible? It wasn’t his fault—he was merely a mortal lion! There need be no change!
Suddenly, and for the first time since Mufasa appeared to him, his fear melted away, replaced with a brash hubris which would only do him harm. He exposed his canines, despite the fact that they posed no threat to his brother, and his coat bristled instinctively.
“Why must you make this so difficult? Why?” He roared in frustration, his expression demanding despite that fact that he was, truly, the one who owed answers, and an explanation for his deeds… “Why must you torment me, night and day, in my every waking moment, even after death? Why?”
There was a long and fateful silence. Scar bared his teeth, refusing to be subjugated.
“You are no merciful spirit!”
“—SILENCE!” Mufasa’s voice rumbled with an otherworldly wrath, a burst of rubicund colors accenting his wild eyes, his dark crimson mane… A sudden shot of pain stung the living lion, as though he were being burned with virulent flames, and a cry of pain was promptly squeezed from his senselessly frightened figure. He fell to the ground with a thud, barely even cognizant of what was transpiring. All he could see was the trembling, fiery figure in front of him… and he rightfully knew to fear its wrath. His terror returned in full force as he lay, witlessly, on the ground. Scar tried to stagger to his feet and run, but he was disoriented. He knew not which way was up, nor down… his limbs wriggled helplessly, but he could do nothing. It was too late.
“I have attempted to show you the leniency you sought, but you are a blind and ungrateful runt, just as you have proven yourself to be! If you shall not accept mercy, then you shall accept your fate…”
The lion couldn’t help but whimper as he ceased writhing on the ground. He continued to quiver with terror, panting desperately for breath, his body slick with sweat despite the freezing atmosphere. His heart raced as he tried to apologize.
“No, Mufasa, please. I’m sorry. I-I’ll do what I can. Spare me.”
The spirit ignored him—there was nothing left for his brother but punishment.
“… I will fulfill justice, that you shall pay for your deeds!” He boomed, his voice vengeful in its timbre and pitilessly strict, “And I curse you! That your kingdom and life be taken from you as you have taken from me mine, and given to one who deserves it!”
No… he can’t do that to me…! Surely… surely he has not the power!
His eyes narrowed in pain as he lay there, trying to ignore the blows. The lion’s paws covered his bitter face, and he refused to accede… but his limbs offered no protection.
“Your line shall end—your mate shall be barren!”
“B-but Mufasa, you can’t; Zira has done nothing!” He pleaded.
“You had your chances, and you squandered them! And now your son shall grow up without a father, as mine has!”
His rage was potent, and even when he stopped speaking, the words continued echoing in the still air… through the gorge they rumbled angrily, and even when that had melted away into nothing, the inside of the younger lion’s skull was still reverberating with those damning words. He clenched his teeth and pressed his eyes shut, trying to ignore it, but there was a tangible, physical pain associated with them. They remained, rattling his brain, sticking there like a disease. His paws covered his ears, and he rolled on the ground in agony. But they did not go away…
The outside environment was serene, and the air was tranquil and still, free of turbulence from the wind. There passed not a sound, and when he opened his eyes, he saw that the ghost was gone. He was alone.
With a grunt, he forced his aching body to stand up. No longer was he on his knees, yet he still felt oddly vulnerable. The words still hung there, omnipresent. He tried to blot them out of his mind, but they continued to tickle him malevolently.
… You shall pay for your deeds, Scar…
“Ermft,” he groaned weakly. His jaw tightened, and when he looked around he saw no trace of anything threatening. It was as though nothing had happened—there was no odd prickle of the hairs on his spine. In fact, he didn’t feel afraid anymore. What was there to be frightened of? Mere words?
Instantly he tried to discredit the experience. Surely it was just imagination, or a dream. This was not the first time he’d had a nightmare, after all. He’d just… overreacted this particular time to his presence, that was it… Yes, certainly.
Hmpt. I am a fool after all.
That was certainly overdone, that was for sure. There needn’t be such fear on his part—it was merely guilt, and emotion… and like everything else, he could learn to control and suppress it.
He looked around, the crook of a smile forming despite itself, and spotted the skull of his brother lying on the floor, face gazing upwards towards the sky. Yes, that was right—Mufasa was dead. And a lion like him could do no harm when he was dead.
Without knowing exactly what he was doing, he took a hold of it one last time, and held it up to whatever scant light was in the bottom of the gorge. It reflected off of the polished white bone, showing the neat features as well as a crack which had started to form from earlier. He grimaced, showing his teeth.
“You are dead. I can see that. And you shall not get the best of me now!”
He threw it as hard as he could at the wall of stone before him, his anger propelling it through the air before it crashed into the rock and split apart into a million different pieces. For a moment he was overtaken by an odd sense of satisfaction, as though he had removed the last vestiges of power Mufasa had held over his life, absolved himself of their bond to each other.
He would have laughed. But there was only silence. His face drooped, and suddenly he was unsure of himself. No noise punctuated the air, but there was a faint trickle of air. Something like a breeze, just enough to ruffle the edge of his pelt. And he froze.
Who was he fooling? He could deny it… but he knew he would pay for his crimes. It was knowledge beyond his sensual understanding. Yet he could feel the presence of something ethereal. His breath stopped, as he was forced to remember all that had taken place. There was no forgiveness.
No. You can’t let these powerless… words… affect you.
He looked around. Silence. And yet he was afraid. It was odd, for there was no physical impetus for it… but there was reason for him to fear. For the gorge was still alight with the spirit of the vengeful kin who had died there. He knew this, on some level, no matter how much he tried to deny it. Perhaps that was why he ran so suddenly and refused to stop, even when he tread over the sharp, biting shards of bone littering the ground.
He was a marked soul; the words would come true whether he wanted them to or not. And the very conversation, whether it had really taken place or not, would haunt him until the day he died… Unforgiven, just as he deserved.
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Voting will end on Wednesday, November 6th. As we have six stories again, I will go ahead and allow two votes per person.
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