The Lion King: My Name
Chapter 4: Competitors II: Tough
Environments
(This time, I promise I'll have the beginnings of a real story. Also, in this universe, I'm going to say that the Lion King, as in the movie, was never created. Read up to chapter 11 of the Freak, and of course, all of My Name thus far. This is meant to be read before chapter 12 of the Freak. Finally, there's going to be a good deal of the supernatural here. Well, there already is, but you know what I mean... the good kind of supernatural.)
The demon lay there, dying. It was odd: he was already dead. Wasn't he? After all, he shot himself through the head, and he hadn't seen the body he'd known for his entire life since that had happened.
And yet here he was, bleeding from a chest wound that just wasn't closing no matter how much pressure he put onto it, no matter how hard he tried to use his emotions to do something, anything that might save him, so that he could do the bidding of his Master.
"Your Master..."
Kifo managed to lift his head slightly, despite himself. The voice that spoke to him was so much like that of the one who'd given him this... existence. And yet, it was so, vitally different. This voice spoke in a calm, deep baritone. The demon's Master spoke in a harsh, grating tenor.
"Do you even know what he is?"
The warrior raised his scaled head, and looked up to see that the dense, oppressive humidity of the Unexplored Regions seemed to have collected itself. It formed the bust of a large, majestic lion...
"...No. I don't."
The apparition seemed to pause, and Kifo wondered... was that question really rhetorical?
"...Then... how can you go to fight an enemy that he points out to you... when that very enemy is nothing more than a being that, for all you know... is the same as your Master?"
Kifo seemed to think about that for a moment, and was about to answer before the lion spoke again.
"You are not a mere pawn, demon. I have seen what you're capable of... ever since you left the Forbidden Island, you've been as alone as you were before you came there."
That made the fur on the warrior's back stand on end. How could this being, who he knew, instinctively, to be the complete antithesis to his Master, know about Kifo's life before his death?
"I advise you to think, young warrior," the voice said, softening slightly, as if some sort of timer was about to run out, and it was time for it to return to its own lair, "because you have no reason to believe that the Master who so utterly failed to prepare you for the beings you have met... and still have yet to meet... what makes you believe he'll do anything for you but throw you aside when he no longer needs you?"
Finally, the voice left. Kifo seemed to think, for a moment, as emotionlessly as he always had, not even realizing that his wound, somehow, had healed itself.
"I'll pay Master back for the power he's given me. The power for revenge. After that, he will no longer be my only Mater... I'll go to whoever can make me stronger. Deadlier. More prepared for when I finally have my revenge."
He then looked to the sky, to where his most recent visitor seemed to have left to.
"I didn't believe in the afterlife when I was alive. But here I am... so, I guess... there you are."
"Brother, how is it that you may converse with this demon, when we cannot even speak with my son, our—"
"Scar, brother, you know that it's not that simple. The Great Spirits are... well, they are not omnipotent. And the ways that their powers work do not allow us to both prepare your son for what he has to go through, behind the curtains, and speak to him at the same time."
The dark lion sighed, and looked up meekly at his red-maned brother, as his mate seemed to accept the turn of events as well. Maisha, of course, probably wouldn't. That's why they'd deigned to "allow her" to spend some time with her grandfather.
"Funny," Chukizo thought, "even in the infinite, every moment spent with a loved one is precious."
"But Mufasa..." the tigon said, addressing her brother-in-law, by matehood, as the larger lion turned to respectfully meet his sister-in-law's eyes.
Her lips twitched mischievously.
"Is our little cub not preparing, in his own way?"
The lion sighed, and seemed to turn away. Only now, the Great Spirits had managed to cut through the dark haze that had completely obscured their view of the world. They'd lost the first battle, and the war, though far from decided, wasn't going well—and yet, they had had their victories.
However, Chukizo and Scar hadn't been able to even look down upon their son since he'd started to train the Pride Landers in their assault on the Bloody Shadows. And so Mufasa wondered just how forced those contented smiles on their faces were.
"He is... greatly. But, my dear sister-in-law," the former Lion King said, "though he made the Shadows bleed... I do not know if he can fight and win against his own grandmother, in her domain..."
Chukizo's smile slowly fell, then collapsed entirely. Saar's did the same, though his dropped into a look of sadness. Whereas his mate's expression was one of angry disappointment.
"Mother..." she murmured, in a soft growl of a voice, as a hot tear started to leak from her eye, "can't you see... after all these years?... ...You forgave Father. But you still can't accept that I was your daughter? That my son, your heir, needs someone? My Spirits..." she said, taking in a long, raspy, rattling breath, "can't you see that he's our only hope?"
"Come ooonnn, Grandfather... tell me another story!"
The baby li-tigoness was, as always, gamboling about, batting at the fluffy, cloud-like structures as if they were butterflies. Dhaifu, grinned—she was so much like him in her playfulness. He reached over, and playfully tapped Maisha, knocking her over, causing her to squeal, then launch herself at the being closest to her: Jinga. That tigon merely stood his ground, taking the friendly nips that she landed onto his muzzle... like him, her jaws weren't quite as strong as they might be. Ziwi chuckled once... and wrapped his forepaws around his niece, pulling her away. Most cats, even infants the age of Maisha, would have heard him coming. But she didn't.
Ziwi wrestled the cub into submission, then spoke to her, even as she continued to laugh.
"We... are... one."
His brothers, and father looked over. The tigon had been going off to spend much time alone with his sister. They'd never known why, and every time they asked him, he'd pretend to not be able to read their lips—a likely story. But now, it all made sense...
His voice was strange, and somewhat forced. But still.. he spoke.
"...I know, Uncle Ziwi," the li-tigoness said, rubbing his side with the blunt smoothness of her head, "You, me, Uncle Dhaifu, Uncle Jinga, Grandfather, Mother, Father... Mufasa... big brother... Grandmother..." she ended softly, looking strangely at Shere Kahn, "...we're all the same."
The tiger looked away, as if in shame. He, Chukizo, Scar, and Mufasa, and even Uru and Ahadi had come to the decision that Maisha, at her young age, shouldn't be informed about certain aspects about the Circle of Life. At least, not immediately. Shere Kahn had joked that she need not know ever—in the infiniteness of this afterlife, she would never need such information.
And yet...
"She has the wisdom of Mother. ...Of brother..." he thought, looking back at the li-tigoness, wondering how to explain the dark whispers that he knew still haunted him, even now, "...I suppose I'll never see them, even here... they would have died at home. I died in a practical other world, and it was only by the hand of man that I came there. ...Men... they're strange beings. They walk on the same Earth that we do... and yet, I think I understand: time works differently for them, though I do not know how... but some of them seem to understand us. Like that one," the tiger ignored his granddaughter for a moment, to remember, and, again, forgive the big man that had beaten him after he was captured, "could there be others that understand us... and want to help us?"
He didn't know. He didn't know at all. But just then, the heavens shifted in another direction, and if he'd looked down at just the right angle, he'd be able to see back, back near his homeland... a white tigress had taken a few moments to herself, giving her mate some time to spend with their daughter. And yet... she was going to meet a human. A young human...
But the tiger did know one thing, and he saw one thing as well: his granddaughter's unspoken yearning for an explanation about her grandmother... and he saw how to deliver it.
"It hardly makes a difference," the tiger thought, choosing his words carefully, "she will die soon anyway. She can explain it herself..."
He pushed the thoughts of how he would look that poor lioness in the eye when they finally met out of his mind for the moment, and leveled a powerful, yet meek, and humble gaze at Maisha.
"I have... a new story for you," he said, and was pleased to see that she seemed to perk up slightly, though she still fixed him with a look of suspicion, "it's a story of forgiveness... you see, some beings have to deal with anger in their lives. Much anger. And sometimes, they express it in ways that are... bad. This story, my granddaughter, is about someone who did just that... and it's also about how the greatest of beings may come from the worst of places."
"Samehe..." he thought, before speaking again, saying, "One day, there was a... tiger. Like me. ...Me. I was tired, hurt. Dying. And I was bothered. ...Then, I did something that was very, very wrong..."
"I once heard a guy say that there are a thousand paths to enlightenment... and that we can find one anywhere. ...I don't believe the shit he said after that, about how brothers and sisters on that same path are just as commonplace. But I guess that... lion... he was my path. Now, I'm not... living... just for Master. From now on, it's gonna be how it always should have been: about me."
"Fuck the world for killing me, fuck everything living for being alive, and fuck Master for treating me like a tool. I'm more than a God-damned tool."
"...I'll pay him back for giving me this body. But after that, he'll have to pay for what he wants me to do. He'll have to teach me things, or give me more power, or something... or I'll find someone else. I don't care."
Nothing changed on the warrior's face. And yet, he changed completely. He'd spent the past few days of his life relying on his Master, trusting that that being would take care of his underling, that he'd reward Kifo for his work.
No more.
The demon looked skywards, after the entity that had just left him.
"...You're different from me. ...But you're not so bad. I'd gladly work for you."
There was no reply. But that was okay. He expected none.
"I bet that guy's satisfied that I listened to him. He didn't come out here to change me, or none of that shit. He set out to he—no, he didn't want to help me, he doesn't give a fuck about me. He wanted to make me less threatening... to something. Or someone. ..And since he's made me think about my so-called Master... I guess I'll leave his friends alone."
"For now."
He got to his feet, realizing that his chest had healed. He pawed at himself, and then ceased his motions, as if suspicious if he really was as good-as-new as he felt.
Though the demon could still now travel in the Unexplored Regions relatively safely; by picking his fights and avoiding attention, he still had to get through the majority of that area.
It was slow going: it was like every five miles that he traveled brought a new need to duck and hide. Still, the warrior was moving. And he kept moving even after the sun set, allowing both the moon, and the most dangerous, deadly, animals out of the depths of the Unexplored Regions. He had to stop more, yes, to avoid the three-headed, dog-like beings that he wasn't even sure if he could fight with his rifle.
But he never remained still for more than a moment. After all, he had a mission to do, and the desire to accomplish that mission was the fire that burned inside of him, keeping him going.
Because he couldn't do anything else—yes, he could fight, he could shoot, he could bring such pain onto a being that it would make his Master shudder in glee... but he couldn't for the "life" of him figure out what he wanted to do. He would have his revenge, one day... but then what?
Kifo didn't know. But as he trudged and ran through the horrid, disgusting overgrowth of the Unexplored Regions... he remembered... that he used to dream.
The boy was six, and, like most of his peers, in first grade. His face was as devoid of emotion as it always was. And yet, in his eyes, lay a spark that no one had ever seen before.
But no one looked at him, certainly, not into him, not at his eyes. And so they assumed, all of them, that today was just as meaningless for him as all other days were.
Even his parents.
"Mom. Dad."
He appeased them with the same practically blank stare that he might favor, for instance, a thrown-out candybar wrapper with, and, predictably, they didn't even nod towards him as he opened the door to enter their apartment room.
"I've decided... what I want to be."
There was a long pause. Neither of his parents budged, save for his father, who raised a can of beer to his lips to take a long, deep sip.
"I want to be a—"
"A what?" his father interrupted, cutting off the child, silencing him instantly, "a mannequin?"
That earned a laugh out of his mother, who kissed his father's sweaty, unshaven chin. The man chuckled deeply, then attempted to take another gulp of alcohol; failing, because the can was empty.
"...No. I want to be a social worker.."
That made both of his parents laugh; the high-pitched giggle of his mother contrasted with the deep grin of his father. But he stood there, taking it, not even blinking at their apparent amusement.
"What's so funny?" he asked after a moment, as their laughter quieted.
"What, are you serious, kid?" his father asked, standing slowly.
At that, the boy backed up automatically. His father didn't get up from his couch much, and when he did, it was rarely for a reason that didn't cause him pain in some manner.
"Yes, Dad. I don't joke a lot."
The man gave a single, almost explosive guffaw at that. He raised his beer can again, then checked the motion. However, before his son could do anything about it, the can was crumpled, then bouncing off of his forehead with a dull thunk.
He dropped to a knee, clutching his skull, and hissed in pain, a few drops of wetness appearing in the corners of his eye. A second later, he became aware that his father's feet were just inches in front of his knees, and struggled to stand, to cringe away, still holding his head with one hand.
"Kid... I'm gonna ask you one more time... you're joking, right?"
The child flinched, then stumbled as he got to his feet, looking almost completely upwards over the beer-gut that impeded his view of his father's face, and spoke.
"...Dad... what's wrong with wanting to help people?"
A blinding pain exploded at his face, and he moaned, facing the ground, feeling something warm and wet drip from his cheek.
"You can't even help yourself, you little prick," he said matter-of-factly, "so I'm gonna learn you to do that before you even think about helping someone else."
It hurt a lot. But he didn't—couldn't—cry. He didn't know how.
"You do got balls, though, I'll give you that," the man grunted, lashing his belt over the kid's back one more time.
"My future's not in the future. My future is in the past..."
Kifo paused, and looked to the northeast. He could swear he saw distant movement, so he used his claws to climb up a tree, not caring that it was already starting to wither and die at his touch. The warrior flipped open the scope of his rifle, and sighted.
Lions. A few males, and many, many lionesses. The Falme.
"I'm making good progress."
Time, weather, and the environment had little meaning to Kifo. He ran past it all, faster and faster, as if he could outrun the pain that he was starting to feel. It was as if it had built up over his whole life, owing to his inability to understand it, and now, now that he could feel it, in a way, it seemed almost overwhelming.
"The only way I can deal with my pain is to make others hurt. To make them hurt a lot."
The remainder of the Falme passed him by without event. He scarcely registered that his taloned feet were now scampering across the dark, dirty sands of a desert. Most of the warrior's attention was on himself—the growing feeling of hurt, hollowness and panic that threatened to suck away his life or eat him from the inside out.
"I swear... I'm not gonna rest until all my pain is gone. No matter how much death I have to bring to this world... I don't care. Because that's the only way I can deal with it..."
He didn't even consider the possibility that there might be another way for him to live. It just didn't occur to him—his father had done an untold amount of damage to the world when he'd forever crushed the fledgling desire to help others from his son. Kifo hadn't thought of how to help anyone but himself since that day... and now, years later, after his normal life ended... he was going to help himself.
The warrior abruptly froze in his tracks. There was a mass of trees in front of him... the forest. His destination.
Kifo looked upwards, at the sky. It was dark, probably only minutes after dusk. Did that matter? Yes, a little bit—he couldn't see as well. His assault would have to wait until the morning.
However, now, he could conceivably do some reconnaissance. Check what the monkeys were doing, and see how to best defeat them.
The warrior walked forward. He didn't have to go far before the distant sound of agonized animal sounds and the raucous chirps of monkeys made his eyes narrow.
"Genocide in the animal kingdom. ...I wonder if the Great Spirits have any knowledge about this... this is probably out of their jurisdiction."
He took a moment to wonder just how many battles like this between his Master and the Great Spirits were taking place in the world. And how many his Master's side won, and how many the Great Spirits's side won. And how much energy his Master's side wasted with infighting.
"Not my concern. Not after this mission. After this, I'm a freelancer. I heard that there's one being that my Master's worried about... but he's gonna get sent away, or some shit. Wish I could get a chance to have a crack at him."
But for now, he had to fight the monkeys. But to do that, he had to see them. So Kifo dared to move a little further...
And smirked. Maybe he wouldn't have to wait for daylight, after all. The monkeys were pure white, and stood out against the night like little candle lights.
They were small, about three feet high at most, with prehensile hands and tails. However, there were thousands, thousands of them. His rifle wouldn't help much here... Kifo would need a machinegun, at least.
And yet, it was too late to go back to the Forbidden Island to arm himself. He'd have to make do with what he had.
The warrior seemed to think, then paused. He felt at his holster, remembering that he'd lost his GLOCK. But then he held out both paws, closed his eyes, and concentrated hard. He allowed his hate, malice, anger, and just a touch of emptiness flow from them into the world... and felt something in his paws.
Kifo opened his eyes... and looked down at a full magazine. He grinned. That was a start.
His rifle wouldn't be of much use to him. At least, not the way it was. But if he changed it... into perhaps a less powerful automatic, such as an AK47... that would do nicely.
"Another day..." he mumbled, sitting back to watch, gleefully, as the monkeys continued to destroy every living thing in their path.
Hours later, the slaughter was over. At least, in this part of the jungle. There was much of it left—Kifo assumed that this force had come from the north. And if that was the case, they still had the vast majority of the jungle left.
"This place is fuckin' huge," the warrior through, creeping up a tree to look to the east, he couldn't even see the end of this strange, new forest from his new vantage point.
The environment here was less humid than both the Unexplored Regions and the Jungle, yet it was hotter than the Jungle as well. It wasn't a desert, however... it was strange that so many animals could find their home in the almost dry dirt of it, in the tough, brambly trees, and harsh ferns of it.
"Life finds a way. Unless there's a fucker like me around," he grinned, wrapping his arms around a tree branch, listening to it rot, then hopping to the ground as the rest of it fell next to him.
"I wonder what that guy... the one that came to talk to me... I wonder what he's doing now. Who he is."
Scar wrapped a foreleg around his mate, glad that she didn't shake it off, and muttered a few consoling words into her ear. Mufasa looked away... and a movement in the Desert caught his eye.
The former Lion King cleared his throat, then spoke.
"Perhaps your fears are unfounded, sister-in-law. Your mother seems to have... turned over a new leaf."
"...Who cares, though?" Kifo said to himself, occupying the relative boredom of watching the monkeys, trying to figure out their weaknesses by concentrating small concentrations of his willpower into the air, shooting down any insect that was unfortunate enough to fly by, "I don't know why he helped me, but he sure as Hell didn't do it to help me. He's just another motherfucker that wants to take advantage of me," the warrior shrugged, then froze.
Another voice spoke from the air itself. It had the dark, ominous quality of his Master... but unlike his Master, it took a physical form. Namely, a scorpion-like creature that stood on two legs, and fixed his troops, who were now all standing at attention, wherever they were, with a cruel, proud grin.
"Heheh... nice job..." he drawled, "You've taken over the western part of the Eastern Forest..."
The monkeys seemed to mutter praise to one another, grinning, before listening up again.
"But be careful, kiddies... the Great Spirits might not be able to do a damn thing here. But the denizens of this forest know that. You realize that you haven't encountered a single tough cookie in this entire place?"
"Well... I'm not that powerful... but I'd put money down that says that they're grouping up for a big counter-attack, or something... keep your eyes open, fellas."
The monkeys grimly nodded. They knew that in the battles to come, not all of them would live. But their leader seemed to sense his troops's somberness.
"Don't be like that... I ain't gonna send you out there without a little parting gift first."
As the armored being said that, he seemed to place his strange-looking hands together, and murmur a series of incantations. Then, just in front of him, at the epicenter of the monkeys, was a large vat of a suspiciously blood-like dye.
"I'll paint this into symbols onto yous... and you'll get some of what the symbol suggests. Like, if you draw one o' your cousins, a gorilla," the monkeys grinned, "well, you won't be able to lift a fuckin' tree... but you won't be skinny little wimps any more."
The leader chuckled at that, and then his troops did. Kifo had to force down his rage... why couldn't his Master be so open? Defection was looking better and better, fucking doing this mission for him at all.
"I'll kill at least a thousand of them..." Kifo promised himself, "...mmm... that might actually be some fun," he grinned, as he watched the first, brave monkey step up to the scorpion, and get a gorilla painted on his arm.
Seconds later, the monkey stepped up to a tree, upon which sat a few dozen of his brothers. He punched it, dented its trunk, and causing the entire bunch to call and shriek in a wild, crazy uproar, before they all got in line.
Kifo watched, jealousy burning in his heart, as the scorpion took the hours that were necessary to adorn his entire force with the paint. Some got symbols of strength, others of speed, others of cunning, and many, many more. Finally, it was finished... and he left some of the dye behind.
"If you guys need more, go ahead and paint yourselves... but don't be too greedy and try to put on two symbols, or you'll just die. That is, unless you're literally evil as Hell," the leader grinned, then vanished into thin air.
Kifo perked up at that, and watched in glee as the monkeys retreated to the northwest, assuming that no creature around here was dexterous enough to paint themselves... but they didn't figure that the demon was, the entire time, watching them.
"Evil as Hell, huh..." he smirked, approaching the vat with lust-like hunger in his eyes.
(My name's al-Mujahid
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To continue the story, My Name
However, unlike Freak, Kifo's brining me little fame
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