This is actually a sneak preview of an experiment I've been writing for some months now - therefore, it is a bit old, particularly in the first few chapters. It is unfinished as of yet, but I would like some feedback from the general populace before I complete this work and post it on my Fanfiction.net account. Any help or support is appreciated. 
Enjoy!
To say the night was dark would have been an understatement, and a rather gross one at that. The absence of light was almost totally complete: or, at least, as close to complete as one could possibly hope to get in an average, ambient environment. Thick clouds—darkened to their very centers except for the sporadic flashes of strobe-like lightning—poured out heaps upon heaps of dribbling rain, soaking the very lions to their innermost cores.
The scene was an unusual one, and little more than a seeming fluke. Alas, all of this was a fluke of nature, and the very event was the pinnacle of many seemingly wayward lines, converging into an odd sort of climax. A climax which left them standing there, most of the survivors of a kingdom which was familiar at its base, but odd at its accented and chronologically warped details.
Two lions stood facing each other, soaked in mud in blood—one an unrepentant murderer, and another a poor, vagabond soul lost in the midst of time. The latter seemed sunken and tired, barely able to stand as he slumped, almost as if the pelt of the raindrops on his dark hide would bring him down to the ground. The former, meanwhile, stood tall in his stead, the calm mien about him and the vicious glint in his green eyes betraying his complete confidence over the outcome of the fight. He, of course, was unaware of the pair of lions beyond the crest of the nearby hill—one similar in appearance to himself, only with a sincere and somewhat clueless expression, and the other with the exact same features as the lion he wanted to pound into the ground…
There was nothing to be said. But he stated it anyways, still steadfast in his position and true to the need that burned within… the need to avenge the ruler of a kingdom which didn’t yet exist, a need imprinted into him by his mother, who had truly taught him everything he knew.
“… Do you give up yet?”
“No,” came the self-reliant answer. The smaller lion grimaced and growled, knowing of his coming fate… but choosing to accept it anyways.
“And why not? You will most certainly die either way. What does it matter, scout? Who are you fighting for?”
“I’m fighting so my family…” a lump formed in his throat, briefly stopping the words from reaching the cold and misty air, “… so my family will live. And to save them from you.”
“What does it matter? Most of them have been killed already—they’ll never even be born. What you do will make no difference.”
“I’ll still try,” he mumbled almost incoherently, earning an eerie, crazed laugh from the lion who was so much bigger than he would ever be…
“Why even bother? They hurt you, exiled you, denied you your love… and you were never even related to them.”
“It doesn’t matter. I have forgiven them… they’re the only family I’ve ever known.”
“Heh, pathetic… My father… he was killed by your ‘so-called’ father. He hurt us badly. And yet you don’t see me forgiving any of them, do you…?” He sharpened his claws on a scrap of rock, all too eager for the clash to begin… “And now your time shall end, Prince of the Pridelands…”
All was light. Bright light.
And yet, it was a different sort of luminescence: not the same as the fluorescent orange of glowing embers and harsh coals, which was one of the last things the lion remembered. This radiance wasn’t hot and dangerous. It didn’t leap across the ground, burning and consuming everything in its path, dooming it to a heart of destruction. This light was warm and soft. It possessed the almost tangible feeling of safety, with its bright waves and gentle edges. It was similar to the sun, only more direct and noticeable. The milky, cream-colored glow glinted off of… off of…
The ground, whatever it was. The lion looked down to see what he was lying down on, but it appeared to be nothing. Left, and right, and up… it was all the same. Vast expanses of a surface so indescribably pure and gossamer that it appeared as though it were nothing at all. A true illusion. A conundrum.
Normally, this lion was quite good at solving all kinds of various perplexities. But this one escaped him in its entirety. His head cocked slightly in visible wonderment, and this effect was only compounded as he rose to his feet with ease.
He felt as though he could physically run and jump for a thousand miles, and it appeared as though he could see much farther than that. Over here—wherever here was—time and space were obviously distorted. There was no sense of distance or magnitude. No noise. No sights. No sounds. No visible landmarks, no sign of any other beings. The lion was alone… at last.
“Scar, is it?”
He reflexively jumped at the sound of a voice; the lion may have been alone, but he wasn’t anymore. How long the other being had been there was a mystery. It could have been the smallest, infinitesimal speck of time, or it could have been eons. The way he looked at him, the way he looked through him… it was all somewhat disconcerting.
“May I ask how you know my name, er…?”
He stood there awkwardly, still not understanding any of this… The newcomer only stared, eyes flashing in a strange, ethereal way. He—it—resembled a lion. But what set it apart from any normal lion was the clear, almost translucent white fur and mane that covered the powerfully built figure, as well as the glowing, blue orbs which served as eyes.
“They always ask so many questions. I always ask them why they ask so many questions. But I suppose that’s not my job. So, let’s talk, shall we?”
The being spoke in a tone that sounded oddly youthful. His voice was snarky, condescending… sarcastic. There was another pause as both figures contemplated the other. Scar didn’t say anything, only staring stolidly at the infinite, yet nonexistent, wall.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your pointless attempts to comprehend everything, but you never answered me. The name’s Scar, am I right?”
“Y-Yes.” The lion stuttered half-heartedly, as if he had been jerked out of his sleep instead of a thoughtless mental sojourn. He was confused, most of all, and was suddenly being confronted by this strange creature.
“Well, I don’t think that the name suits you anymore, seeing as how you have no scar. Do you mind if I call you Ta—?”
“—What do you mean, ‘I have no scar’?” He interrupted, growling, somewhat perplexed over the sudden rejection of his alias by this strange and seemingly faux lion. There was absolutely no way he could be right. Scar had had a scar for years. He’d—
“I mean, you don’t have a scar above your eye. Didn’t you notice?”
The white lion—for, at this point, Scar had no other name for it—grinned lightly in amusement. Several sharp teeth were inlaid within the creature’s jaws, and Scar took a step backwards in discomfort.
“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you,” it added reassuringly, though Scar still shifted his weight uneasily. Slowly, he brought one dark paw off of the ground, and up to his forehead…
Oddly enough, the beast was right. The lion felt above his left eye, and was baffled as the pads of his paws gently ruffled the fur above his eyebrow. Normally, there was a noticeable indent where his flesh had been roughly torn off, and this area had remained hairless after the accident. But now the mark was clearly… gone. There was only the perfect, uniform patch of dark brown fur, which seamlessly matched the rest of his face.
Now that he thought about it, all of his body felt strangely whole. In a state of meticulous repair. Scar glanced down at himself apprehensively. There were no other scars marring his figure, which was the last thing he would have expected considering what he remembered of his final moments—namely, everything. It seemed as though only seconds ago he was trapped at the bottom of his old throne, struggling helplessly and watching as he was coated in waves of his own deep crimson blood. Watching as hyena after hyena ripped him apart from the inside out. But now… he was even better than before.
Something strange was happening. That much he knew for certain.
“Right… what’s going on here?”
The lion being stretched out lazily, yawning and baring his fangs with apparent disinterest. Two sets of claws popped out of his splayed toes, which began to dig into the surface of the shining floor they were standing on. Everything about this creature’s figure reflected boredom and idle indifference.
“Are you aware of the stories your father told Mufasa? About the ‘great kings of the past’ and whatnot?”
Scar shrugged slightly. He was vaguely aware of such a tale, but he had never believed in its credibility; not to mention the fact that the lion hadn’t paid much attention to his brother’s kingly training. Overall, he had discarded the story as rubbish for years. But now, under the present circumstances… he couldn’t rule out any possibilities.
“I suppose… what of it?”
He snapped irritably, tired of playing games with… whoever or whatever he was talking to.
“What of it? Why, I am Mercutio, peacekeeper of the Realm of the Kings! Have you never heard of me?”
The being faked shock, but was clearly only acting facetious to fool with him. Scar growled slightly, already having a strong dislike for this “peacekeeper”, who was now circling him quietly. The lion only sat there for a moment, thinking of what exactly to say. Before, of course, another question conveniently popped up in the back of his mind.
“So, if the Great Kings of the Past are real… was I a great king?”
Scar couldn’t help flashing an arrogant smile as he pondered this. Yes, if he was here… he must have been a good monarch after all. Everyone who had told him he could never be a king… well, they were wrong.
“Nope,” Mercutio said simply, now somehow in front of Scar, licking his paw in that same disinterested manner. To all appearances, it seemed as though this omniscient, ethereal being was unaware of the lion’s presence completely, though in truth this was false.
“What?” Scar snarled, a little miffed at the white lion’s apparent obliviousness, and amazed at just how lightly he was handling the situation, “was I a… good king?”
“Nope,” he responded again in that same manner, still pretending to ignore the lion sitting in front of him.
“M-m-mediocre?” he queried, visibly shuddering at the word.
Mercutio sighed, as if Scar was merely a pupil who still did not quite understand him. Clearly, he was missing something. The white lion rose to his feet irritably and began pacing around Scar, who attempted to maintain eye contact with him. It was difficult, however, as he would inexplicably disappear at intervals, only to reappear in a completely different place. Even though Scar began to expect it after one or two instances of this, it still surprised—and scared—him each time Mercutio did this.
“Well, to put it in terms a clueless lion like yourself could understand…” he muttered tetchily under his breath, ignoring the sharp growl from Scar at this insult of his intelligence, “you are the second worst king the Pridelands has ever seen. After, of course, Mkali…”
“Mk-who?” the lion audibly pondered, eyes narrowed dangerously as he visibly sulked away from the beast in front of him. This whole situation was completely ridiculous. Utter nonsense. Besides, if there was any part of his brother’s training that actually interested him, one thing that he would readily eavesdrop on, it was the history of the monarchs of the Pridelands. And never, in all of his father’s reign, had he ever heard of a lion named Mkali.
“Oh, right. Silly me.” Mercutio rolled his eyes brusquely, “Mkali doesn’t usurp the throne for another 156 years, 6 months, 20 days, 4 hours, and 16 minutes.” He ended his statement matter-of-factly, without any hint of hesitation. “Sorry, I’m not supposed to tell you that. But yes, you currently hold the title of worst monarch. Congratulations.”
This… all of this… was getting on Scar’s nerves. Fast. He attempted to ignore the white lion’s drivel, nonchalantly settling down on his forepaws and closing his eyes impatiently, struggling to keep calm in the midst of this peculiar—and rather precarious—predicament.
What an irritating, know-it-all, self-righteous smartas—
“Excuse me?” Mercutio snarled threateningly, somehow in front of Scar, his gleaming, foreboding fangs only inches from the lion’s now-attentive face. “Look, I pride myself on being a calm, rational individual, but that… that was a little uncalled for, now, hmm, Taka?”
Scar wasn’t even going to ask for an explanation at this point. He’d probably get some sarcastic answer anyways. Maybe he was just hallucinating. Maybe he really was losing it…
“Don’t call me that. That’s what my father called me. And if I’m not a great king, why am I up here?”
“Finally!” Mercutio laughed slightly, ears perking forwards in the greatest display of interest Scar had seen from him as of yet. “Finally you ask the relevant questions. And here I thought you were supposed to be the smart one…” he paused and tilted his head slightly as he again caught sight of Scar’s generally scornful face. “…No matter. I talked to Mufasa about… when did he die? A few months ago maybe? Seems like about five minutes have passed. His sense of humor was much more developed.”
Scar rolled his eyes subtly. His older brother had been dead for years. If there was one thing amiss about this lion, it was that his sense of time was completely inaccurate.
“In any case, you may have heard that there is a heaven and a hell. This is true. However, hell is really only for evil spirits and the like—all animals go to heaven. The Realm of the Kings is a sort of branch of paradise, separate and distinct but very similar, created by the same being or spirit who created the rest of the flora and fauna as well as these places in the afterlife. All lion kings come to the Realm regardless of how good—or, in your case, horrible—they really were,” he continued, clearly having seen the roll of his eyes, but choosing to ignore it nonetheless, “…but the legend says that it is only the great kings because, well, they have slightly more influence on the Pridelands... Not much, mind you. All kings can watch everything unfold from above, if they would like, from the stars. Appear in a dream, or maybe a hallucination. Cause a small gust of wind. Make a star shine a bit brighter. Something of that sort. It really depends on how long you have been here and how good of a king you were. Mufasa sometimes sends breezes of wind to Rafiki, and Ahadi recently learned how to shoot small lightning bolts… not that he’s very accurate. But on your own, that’s the pinnacle of your power. Any more intervention requires a vote on the part of all the kings of the past. The only recent time this has happened was when Mufasa was allowed to appear before his son, Simba, when he was living in the jungle. It was agreed among his peers that Simba needed to return and take his place as king—from you—and Nala and Rafiki simply weren’t convincing enough in that regard… but, alas, that was a special case. I’ve still had lions ask me ridiculous things like ‘Can I go back to the Pridelands?’ or—my personal favorite—‘Can I fly?’”
He sniggered slightly, clearly more animated at the prospect of explaining the rules, and how things worked. Slowly, however, his mirth died down, echoing off into the infinite distance as his face resumed its old, pallid expression. “Ha, the amusing things I see on this job… Makes it almost worthwhile… Almost…” he muttered half-heartedly under his breath, scratching the surface of the ground with an outstretched claw.
“Do you hate your job?” Scar blurted out curiously, barely thinking as the words escaped his mouth and reverberated across the clear, colorless landscape. Mercutio actually paused and looked back up from the ground, a rueful but genuine smile on his face.
“Well, I have to admit I haven’t been asked that one in a while. Typically, everyone is too dumbfounded to ask me anything about myself… But the answer is no. Although, to be honest, I don’t need to do very much. I usually just sit and wait for the next king to die and come up here. Luckily, though, time doesn’t work quite the same way for me. It doesn’t seem as long. Alas, they say that I can see time in all of its three dimensions.”
“Time has three dimensions?” the dark lion cocked an eyebrow, feeling utterly naïve in the workings of the universe around him.
“Yes, it does. It’s a far more complex thing than any of you could ever understand. But I suppose that is all I should say. And that brings me back to… oh, yes, my job. Yes, I tolerate it. The other aspect of it is slightly more interesting. I act as the peacekeeper, as you no doubt remember. And though you can’t actually hurt or kill anyone else up here, every once in a long while there is a good little spat for me to fix up. As I expect there to be one soon…”
“What do you mean?” he asked yet again, surprised at just how little he understood everything. How complex it all was…
“Your father and brother are up here, and they are none too happy with you. I distinctly remember Ahadi attempting to electrocute you with his lightning bolts—though he caught the Pridelands on fire instead—and I believe Mufasa mentioned something about starting a drought a while back, though I wasn’t paying much attention to things at the time,” he shrugged nonchalantly, clearly not caring much about what happened to the Pridelands unless it was in any way interesting. To him, however, Scar doubted that there was much that was even remotely intriguing.
Of course, none of this seemed like striking news to Scar, either. It was exactly something that Mufasa would do. Ruin his own former kingdom to make Scar look bad, probably in retribution for what he did to him on that fateful day, all those years ago. What they did to each other, as cubs… And then there was Ahadi, his father, trying to obliterate him off the face of the planet like an unworthy stain. How typical. Scar attempted to slip in some snide, cutting remark that accurately depicted his thoughts. About how hypocritical everything was. Mercutio, however, sensed this. Understanding the general summation of what the lion was about to say, he made sure to quickly interrupt.
“I suppose I should send you on your way. You can tell them your qualms in person. I might need to see you every once in a while… Just try not to get into any fights on your first day. There aren’t very many rules up here, but I will be sure to enforce those that exist…” he trailed off in a somewhat eloquent tone of voice, noting Scar’s quizzical expression before he continued thoughtfully, “…well, no matter. I’m sure Mufasa will fill you in.”
Mercutio had, understandably, had enough of him. Before Scar was aware of any changes taking place, he found himself standing in a completely different atmosphere, with a completely different landscape stretching out under it. The lion being, and the oddly blank surroundings that had enveloped him, had disappeared. This particular area, Scar noted, seemed a lot more… well-defined. Picturesque mountains—probably an infinite distance away, but still clearly visible nonetheless—stretched out across the horizon. Thick waves of soft-to-the-touch, pillow-like clouds billowed out in every direction, serving as the floor of the grand expanse before him. The sky was a perfect, uniform azure, and it was lit by a bright and lucid sun which crawled slowly across the heavens; its light appeared to reach everywhere except for the nearby dark, quiet expanses of several yawning caverns, in which a number of lions were napping contentedly.
But, unlike before, he was not alone. Off in the distance, perhaps a few hundred feet away, several lions were congregated haphazardly amongst the caves, chattering idly or simply enjoying the sun. Seconds passed. Scar stepped forwards uneasily, and was shocked to find that the former kings immediately noticed him. All at once, they stopped what they were doing and stood up regally, examining him from a distance before padding forwards en masse. The pack continued quietly together, though for Scar it was interesting to note their differing facial expressions. Some were clearly unfamiliar with him, only grinning subtly with the knowledge that a new arrival had appeared in the Realm of the Kings. Others, however, looked devilishly angry or even downright malicious. The dark lion, unprepared and confused, wanted to back away from them. But something told him that resistance was futile, and escape certainly impossible.
But then he froze. A young looking lion was trotting at the head of the group, instantly noticeable as his body—a beautiful golden color—reflected the light around him and shone brightly in the sun. A luxuriant red mane sprouted from the top of his head, bobbing up and down in time with the smooth and rapid movements of his broad, powerful shoulders. He was as handsome as Scar remembered, a perfect archetype of a king in every imaginable way. But looking at this lion’s glorious figure did not strike up any emotions of awe. In fact, it provoked the opposite response. Scar’s narrow face contorted in disgust, his heart pounding in his chest as envy coursed through his veins, the blood within running cold as he gazed upon the calm, relaxed features of his life’s greatest foil. Of all the lions he had known during his existence, this was the one he wanted to see the least.
At the front of the group was his brother. At the front of the group was Mufasa.
So, put the second R in R&R and review!
Since I've already written about 40,000 words, the next nine or so chapters are finished and will come at regular intervals - be sure to stay tuned! Please and thank you. (In case you were wondering, yes, Mercutio's name is a reference to Romeo and Juliet, because I had just finished said play at time of writing. Also, the theories presented by me in this chapter would explain Mufasa's relatively numerous after-death appearances and how the 'Great Kings of the Past' fit into the TLK world. XD Anyways...)
Vayan con Dios!
Twin
