The official start of Judgement as we know it. You'll se how that prologue ties in later on, if any of you haven't read the original. I am reminding you this is a Human conversion like my first two stories, not original. I do not own the OCs in this chapter, they belong to Haradion. And as I mentioned laster chapter in the AN, this is almost an AU of my own work. In the first story I didn't describe what happened to Scar after Simba shot him and he fell off the building. The basic story was this: He fell down, but a canvas verandah broke his fall. He still hit the ground, but lived long enough for Shenzi and co to find him...then you can guess what happens.

Scarstorm2000: Not about them, but they will play a prominent part. So stay tuned :)

Vitani825: The prologue was set in 2075, so Nala would be 81, which is about an average age to die.

Jonny2b: Yes, but in my canon Kovu WAS Scar's legit son to avoid confusion...but here we are proven otherwise...

Haradion: Yes, that is a strange coincidence. But for me, the Cold War ended when the Soviet Union dissolved in '91. Anyway, cheers :)

Cheers: JJZ-109


CHAPTER 1. THE VOID

Prideland City, 11th of October 2015

Time: ?

A lone man moved quietly through the streets of Prideland City. Always the same city. It never changed, despite the technological and economical boom. The Sun rises, and then moves across the sky, in a single great arc. Then it sets in the usually manner, uneventful and unchanged for thousands of years. Occasionally in the great scheme of things, something will change. Occasionally the moon will move across the sun, blocking out its golden light. Making it difficult for civilians to drive and get to work, in turn injuring the economy, which were seemingly controlled by pompous businessmen.

And yet. There was always an "And Yet". Such men were incapable of considerate thought or even of conscious kindness. Yet these people harnessed the very power of money, and thousands of offices away, the building blocks of the economy form. This money was used by the government to create a supposed better life. To expand, to care for, and to feed. And in turn, these acts make people's lives easier; building roads for people to get to work on, healthcare systems that keep people at work and much more. These amenities would pay off however, people work and pay their taxes, pumping more money into the system. And the same money from the citizens would move across from person to person, from business to business. And as each person paid, their money would become the funds to provide the amenities, which in turn would start the whole cycle again.

The man moving across the plains had no understanding of the immeasurable forces at work in the heart of the country. He had no care for the money which converted its value to his very lifestyle. He had no desire to understand the interconnectedness of the world around him, and particularly had no pleasure contemplating how his royal funds would feed the economy he left behind. He had no thought on the Great Circle of Life that he was (or had been) a part of. He did care about the people however. These particular people had vital skills that would do oh so well for his cause. This was a moot point however, as the man would never command the people. In fact, he would never taste any control ever again; which was all he desired.

This man had a problem. It was a very simple problem, which had anything but a very simple solution. The problem was thus: The man was dead. Dead as a dinosaur. Dead as the bodies that littered the Pridelands' streets from yesterday. Dead as a man with a bullet in his temple.

It has long been debated, in countless cultures and areas across the worlds, what happens to a person when they die. Some say they are consigned to oblivion, that there is no paradise of afterlife, that at the end of life, that – in every meaning of the word – was that. Others claimed that the souls of all of the dead great leaders reigned in celestial supremacy for evermore among the stars in the heavens. This was a romantic notion, but one that was in essence, far fetched. It highlights the social inequality between upper class (Royalty, government and business personnel) and the common civilians of the Pridelands, and how deeply it was ingrained into the culture of the country. It was also true.

The man paused for a moment in his thinking. The streets were completely deserted and silent, but also devoid of the scars of war. For the first time in this 'second life', he spoke aloud to himself.

"Now what?" He said and shrugged as he did so, looking for some sign of life.

Sure enough, this man was a head of state. But not a very good one, nor one of the original Constitutional Monarchy itself. Another thought struck him.

"And what happens to everyone else?"

He looked around him. Yes, this was Prideland City all right. Tiny pebbles littered the asphalt and cobblestones he walked on, and in the distance, the palace stood proud against the base of the mountain.

The truth was that every creature, every living thing, that had in life even a shred of goodness in it shined in the heavens – though those who looked from below saw only the brightest and greatest of those departed among the stars. Unfortunately, these were not qualities that this particular man had a lot of, or even a few of . The man knew this to be true, and then briefly wondered how he knew this, or why he was admitting them to himself. He had never been the villain in his own eyes. A lot of things didn't seem to make sense. He had just had a very nasty shock (being killed can do that to you) and may account for his inability to think properly. It did not however account for his ability to actually think when 'dead'.

"I am going to need some help here..."

As if on cue two men appeared before him, with no flashes of light or puffs of smoke, or any warning at all. Like him they were translucent, and seemed to give off a mysterious light, ever so faintly Well, one did. The other seemed to actually absorb the stuff, causing a thin dark smudge in the air around him. Darkness and a stain. The first was a remarkably handsome man. A strong, muscular body that the girls may have found appealing. He wore a white polo shirt with jeans, as well as an expensive Rolex watch. He had jet black hair combed neatly and he wore a pair of Ray-ban sunglasses, and two green eyes shone like jades, even from behind the shades – filled with pride. The other man – The one with a smear of shadows around him, was if it were possible the complete opposite. His black hair was scraggly, unkempt and had streaks of grey in it. He wore grey field pants, as well as a red formal shirt with the first two buttons undone underneath a black, faded blazer. The eyes shone an emerald green light that was as harsh and if not harsher than the light that came from an L.E.D. His face was covered with small scars that one would get from shaving, and he had a shirt goatee beard that resembled his own. Most disturbingly of all was the long angry red scar that ran across his eye. The sharp red contrasting with the green in a misshapen mess of blood and sickly light.

The first man, the one than gave off neither a gleam if light or a chilling darkness stood between them, kind of shocked into silence by their abrupt appearances. Finally, when the two new men made no indication that they were going to talk, he cleared his throat and asked casually.

"So...What's going on here? Am I dead?" The first man asked.

The two ghostly men laughed in unison. One was more a genuinely humorous laugh, while the other seemed so much more sadistic and sarcastic. They composed themselves and the first, better looking man spoke.

"Yep. You've kicked the bucket old timer, when your regime came to an end. You remember the chopper crash?" The man said, his Australian accent strong.

And the blood. And the debris. And the horrors brought by war and battle. He remembered all those things, all things that he had been the cause of.

"The clue was when you got shot in the chest and knocked off a building, then landed on a canvas shelter in the memorial park only to be beaten to death by your own troops." The darker looking man seemed to find the memory amusing. Bastards...

"So what happens now?" He asked. Obviously, he had never been dead before and had no clue what was going on.

The darker of the two men smiled, as if sensing the confusion and fear.

"Judgement."

"Of what?"

"You, mate."

The man raised an eyebrow and looked at both of the ghostly figures in a mixture of anger and confusion.

"Talk English boys. Why do I get judged? Does everybody get judged?" The man questioned the two figures, which he assumed had to be supernatural.

"You stand on a very fine line. True while you were an official leader of this nation, which is usually enough to get by, your authenticity, methods and Socialist government system may render your reign invalid. Furthermore your actions during your rule resulted in the deaths of hundreds of thousands of your own citizens, including several members of your own military. Not to mention that the means that you took your power by were of...let's say dubious morality?"

In that moment a feeling of cold fear struck the heart of the man. He was facing Judgement for his regime, and apparently, if he didn't pass, he may face eternal damnation or even worse, ceasing to exist. The worst feeling for him was that he knew that one of those outcomes was very possible.

"Then why am I here?"

"Scar, you are to stand trial for crimes against the Pridelands and humanity. The murder of King Mufasa, attempted murder of Prince Simba, the setting up of mass death and concentration camps and the tyranny of the Pridelands."

That was the name of the dead man that stood before the two ghostly figures; Scar Taylor, the killer of kings, and Communist Tyrant of the Pridelands.

"I deny that murder accusation! His blood is not on my hands. That lie was conjured up by Simba to justify the murder of me and the cause of the P.R.F!" Scar argued angrily.

He smiled as the lie left his mouth. Internally he grinned at himself. All he had to do was convince these two idiots that his version of the truth and interpretation of events was actually the more accurate one, then he would finish them. He discretely fiddled with his hip until he felt his hand touch the cold back end of his Desert Eagle handgun. It was there. You know what...screw it. I don't have time for this. He swiftly drew the pistol and leveled it at the first man's head. But before he could pull the trigger, a searing pain swept across his body.

He dropped to the floor and started shaking violently; erupting into a seizure of pain. Raw pain consumed him, his throat and head burned while he felt like his back had several knives plunged into it at once. But the worst pain was on his scar, as a matter of fact it felt like it was literally on fire.

As suddenly as the pain started, it stopped. It had only lasted for a brief moment, but it still shook Scar the core. He leapt to his feet, trying his best to hide his shock from his tormentors so they wouldn't get the satisfaction. The first man had a concerned expression and shook his head solemnly, while the other smiled contently and clapped sarcastically at the pain he inflicted without lifting a finger.

"Just who are you people?" Scar gasped at the two figures.

His eyes focused in on the darker looking lion and his jaw trembled.

"You...you look like me!" The figure burst into maniacal laughter in response. Scar then saw the other person.

"You...Mufasa? Brother?" Scar was genuinely afraid now. He could only imagine his brother exacting brutal revenge upon him.

But the man shook his head.

"Do I look like Mufasa to you? Look...if you can't guess who I am, then the name's Kivuli. It means 'shadow', so I guess it suits me, as I am a shadow after all. However, you are correct in that Ammit over here is taking your form. " Kivuli flicked his head in Ammit's direction, who gave him a little salute.

Scar was more shocked by Kivuli's similarity to Mufasa than he was with Ammit's to his. It wasn't the way Kivuli looked, it was his manner and gentle, wise swagger as opposed to Ammit's crude one.

"I despise guessing games, but if that's all you are willing to say..." Scar rolled his eyes at all the puzzles and mind games the two figures were playing with him.

Kivuli then stepped forward.

"I feel I should explain something to you, it will be my job -distasteful though it is to defend you in this Judgement..." Kivuli started but was interrupted by Scar.

"Oh great, a lawyer!" Scar remarked and Kivuli continued on, unconcerned with the comment.

"While my associate over here...will criticize your rule. However, in the end, it will be down to you to decide your fate."

"And what happens if I refuse? Why should I submit to you? I am the leader of this country, I can and will do whatever I want!"

"You are a dead leader. An ex-leader. Passed on, expired, ceased to be. Whatever choice of words sounds best to you." Ammit said and grinned provocatively at Scar. Kivuli then continued on for him.

"Dead because of your betrayal of the East Side soldiers you used. People who trusted you, respected you, and served you even when your own family and country had disowned you and your barbaric rule. What do you have to say to that?" Kivuli pointed out and put his hands on his hips.

Anger gripped Scar as he recalled their betrayal. He had made good on all his promises to them, even though it had inflicted damage on the economy and lifestyle of the average citizen. When he had genuinely needed their help, they backstabbed him. Shenzi called his army to stand down to the oncoming NATO and P.R.F wave, and personally had Scar beaten to death after she found him mortally wounded.

"The cowards!" Scar spat. "Those inbred, uneducated, disgusting, redneck thugs! They were part of it right from the beginning, and they screwed me over!"

For a moment, the air stood still.

"Scar, this is your Judgement, not theirs. They will pay for their crimes, as will you. What we need to know is if there is a single shred of good in your heart. And if that good outshines the darkness, you can join your ancestors. If not, then you will fade. Its that simple." Kivuli explained.

Scar lost his patience.

"Why do you care? What is it to you?" Scar whined.

"Let's just say I have an interest in your well being. I can allow you to relive parts of your life. If we judge that you have shown sufficient kindness, generosity, and compassion then you will be judged innocent. On the other hand... Ammit over there..." He nodded to Ammit who continued.

"I will find those moments in your life when you were your true self, your darkest days...the days you were Death Incarnate." Ammit grinned.

"This is going to be fun!"

Scar shivered. This 'Ammit' was a very unsettling character.

"Fine. Show me the event you had in mind...do I have to find it?" Scar asked.

"Nope, you only have to explain or justify it." Kivuli told him.

"Then let's this over with."

As much as it pained Scar, as much as it damaged his pride, he complied with their demands.

And the world was engulfed in white mist.


First memory next chapter! Gotta love Scar logic...Don't like 'em, shoot 'em. But that didn't work out now did it? Don't forget to leave a review!

This has been JJZ-109, and as always...Have a nice day.