The Lion King: My Name
Chapter 7: Competitors V: Tough Creatures II
(Read alongside Chapter 14 of the Freak.)
"What's wrong...?"
Kifo spoke without thinking. He was in such distress that he hardly registered that he was being spoken to.
"I... killed. That's not what I care about, though. I killed something that liked me. A friend..."
"....Why?"
The demon retched again.
"Because..." he said, then swallowed, staring at he ground, "I'm... fuckin'... beyond evil. I can't even stop myself from not killing things that like me..."
"There there, now..." the voice said, and Kifo looked up, registering that an old lioness, but a muscled, powerful one, was approaching him—a paw went to his sword automatically, "hey..." she said, with an edge in her voice, "calm down."
Lips twisting slightly, Kifo slowly removed his hand from his weapon. He watched with skeptic suspicion as the lioness drew closer.
But then, all at once, it was like everything was good in the world. Kifo could fight again, he could kill, he could enjoy himself and have his revenge... after all, this lioness was nuzzling him.
"Why...?" he said, as she backed away.
The lioness merely grinned.
"Because. You're like me—no. You are me. I don't know how I know that," the lioness said, "but I know it. You're motivated by your revenge... and after you have it, you don't give a fuck about what happens..."
The female spoke simply, matter-of-factly. But Kifo nodded like he was being asked a question.
"Well then," she said, grinning darkly, "it's like I said. We are one, you and I. One and the same."
"Yeah..." the demon rasped, hardly capable of believing his good luck, unable to even stand, "...what's your name? I'm Kifo. Death."
"Ooh..." the lioness said, a tingle jolting up and down her spine, and the demon's, "evil... my name is Kishindo, though, I was once known as Zira."
"Zira..." the demon said, and raised a hand, running it alongside the lioness's tanned side, "Kishindo... will you be my friend...?"
The lioness's lips turned upwards. But this was not an act of condescension—it was an act of sympathy. She nodded—and the demon felt a great weight lift from his shoulders
Kifo began to regain his strength, and stood, towering over the lioness. His weapons had disappeared, he noted, but, upon concentrating, he managed to procure a GLOCK again, a 9mm with an extended magazine and match-grade barrel. His sword remained, of course, but seemed to grow sharper, more cruel than before.
"...Kishindo. Come on," the demon said, and began to jog through the forest, his pace easily matched by the lioness, "I've got a little present for ya..."
The demon's face twisted into a smirk; his overlarge teeth hanging out of his mouth. His crinkled, dry skin stretched and convulsed, and his taloned, scaled feet ripped apart the ground as certainly as his claws had ripped apart Spirits knew how many lives. He chuffed, for a moment, then, along with his newfound friend, ally, mentor, and companion, laughed; horribly, long and loud, displaying their mirth and alliance to anyone who dared listen.
It wasn't a very long trip. And it was a trip made even shorter by the fact that Kifo told Kishindo everything... literally. Everything he knew, everything he remembered... and everything that he desired...
"Th—ere..." Kifo said, pulling his dripping wet hand away to eye his handiwork.
There was no dye left now. But who cared? He'd never been much of an artist, but the stick-figure emblazoned onto the lioness's fur could only be interpreted as one thing.
"A man," the demon said, licking his lips; his tongue coating them not with saliva, but blood, "how do you like it?"
"A man..." Kishindo repeated, "what sort of creature is that? Perhaps, one without any sense of mercy or compassion? One without the capacity to fully comprehend, or care about, the magnitude of its actions? One so deadly and so ruthless that it's universally hated, feared, and respected?"
"All of the above," Kifo said with a snarl, causing the lioness to cock a suspicious eyebrow, "...my bad, I... kinda have a history with man. I used to be one, see."
Kishindo opened her mouth, making a quiet "ahh"ing sound, and then snickered maliciously, before gently head-butting the demon's thigh.
"You truly are evil, Kov—Kifo..."
The demon seemed to not have heard the lioness's slight slip of the tongue; and yet, didn't react for a moment. Then, he held Kishindo firmly by the scruff of her neck and knelt down, glaring at her with such malice, such power, such dominance and such a complete lack of good that her fur stood on end.
"You got that fucking right," he breathed, then released the lioness, and chuckled...
(Excessive cursing coming soon to a fanfiction near you.)
The White Army was silent.
Then, it exploded into high-pitched, chattering conversation. How had the birthing female been killed without alerting the rest of the Army? And what in the name of the Spirits had happened to her newborn? The monkeys of the White Army had seen, so to speak, some crazy shit in their days, but to find an infant smashed into slush was something that turned even their stomachs.
Yeah, it was that bad.
Everyone was lost, no one knew what to do. In other words, even with their recently-obtained gifts, and the chance to practice using them on citizens of the Eastern Jungle, they were susceptible to an ambush.
And a two-pronged ambush could break them.
Six automatic rifles opened fire. Dozens of light, high-velocity frangible bullets smashed saplings into splinters, cut leaves and plants into finely tossed salad, and turned flesh into hamburger meat.
They reacted well—monkeys with rhinos painted on them moved up to take the brunt of the attack. They still died, but they protected their brethren from the worst of the bullets.
Then, another attack broke out.
Roaring a terrible, hissing, shrieking roar that made the monkeys cup their hands over their ears, what could only be described as a monster jumped out of the tree-line. In each hand, or paw, or appendage, he held a .45-caliber MAC-10 submachinegun. An inaccurate weapon to be sure—but a weapon capable of belching out heavy, slow-moving bullets at a rate of almost 1200 rounds every minute. The twin automatics clattered, sending the large chunks of lead arcing towards, and into, the White Army.
An incredibly quick, incredibly vicious tan figure jumped into the fray—limbs, heads, and all manner of other, less describable body parts were flung everywhere as she ripped the White Army into separate, bloody, chunks.
The previously undefeated force had had five thousand members when the fight began. But in only half-an-hour, that number had been halved. Oh, the White Army had tried to fight back; rushing at the two main forces at first, then trying to circle, then finally, trying to burrow under the ground in desperation. But nothing worked; endless streams of bullets seemed to beat them back no matter what.
And so, really, you can't blame the ones that live to fight another day—by running like cowards.
Kifo and Kishindo stood side-by-side, panting. The demon took in a deep, rattling breath, then let it out in a terrible chuckle.
"That... was... great—"
"You assholes! You fuckin' assholes! You two-bit, back-stabbing, yellow-bellied, lily-livered, mother-fuckin' assholes!"
In the center of the battlefield, standing on a heap of who knew how many broken bodies was the scorpion-like creature Kifo had seen before. Instinctively, he stepped forward a little, protectively making his body a barrier between the newcomer and Kishindo, just in case.
"HEY!" the demon shouted in outrage, "you callin' me an asshole, asshole? Who the fuck do you think you are?"
The black, shelled creature glanced to the side slightly, and raised its hung head, sighing, walking in a non-threatening manner towards Kifo.
"Hi, I'm—" he began, extending a clawed appendage until Kifo growled and brandished a machinepistol, "hey, yo, easy, tiger," the scorpion said, clearly affronted as he stopped in his tracks, "jeez, what is this, I was just introducing myself..."
"Anyway. Like I was sayin', name's Kisuse. 'Sup?"
Kifo didn't betray a hint of humor or interest, but Kishindo stepped to the side, slightly, to get a better look at the only creature in the land that she knew of who might possibly best Kifo in a fight.
"Kisuse... scorpion. How apt," she commented dryly, "now... what are you?"
"Duh, duh, duh, well, duh, my name's, duh, Kisuse, so, duh, it might fuckin' follow that I'm, duh, a fuckin' scorpion," the shelled being said, looking at Kishindo incredulously, "Spirits Almighty, where were you when they passed brains out—"
"SHUT IT!" Kifo yelled, and for just a second, the scorpion reared up in fear, his stinger half-raising, "e... fuckin'... nough. Shut up..." he seethed, hissing; acrid saliva spitting past his lips to burn holes into the Eastern Jungle.
All was silent, save for the distant sounds of the survivors of the White Army running farther yet into the Eastern Jungle—there was a pause, then screaming, roaring, and the sound of more fighting... apparently, the anarchist residents of the Eastern Jungle were not just going to turn over and die.
The scorpion licked his lips... then slowly, smiled, then cackled, doubling over in laughter.
"Sh... shut up? Hahahahaha..." he laughed, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye, "duuuude... who are you? No, don't tell me, let me guess... got it! You're the warrior of evil, of Sh—you're Kifo! Kifo, the warrior of evil, twin of the warrior of good!"
"He's insane," Kishindo muttered, then dug her claws into the ground, "come, Kifo. If we're quick, we can end him without a problem... they don't seem to like him either..."
"No. No, I'm not insane," Kisuse said, suddenly seriously, "not insane," he sighed, then stood up.
"Alright, look. You two... and those six mindless robots... are assholes. Sorry buddy, it's gotta be said," the scorpion said, raising his voice to be heard over Kifo's growl, "I mean, come on, what've I ever done to you, ah? And yet, you come here and fuck up my Army... Hell, you even stole my dye! Now, I can't pretend I'm not impressed, no, no, wouldn't want to do that at all..."
"But you are assholes."
"So... where do we go from here?" the scorpion said, then paused for effect, then raised a finger, "ah, I have an idea! How about this..."
He licked his lips, facing Kifo and Kishindo fully, using his shelled hands to help him speak.
"From now on... stay the fuck outta my hair. Alright? It's not gonna be that hard to do. Your little boss, okay... I dunno. I don't think our time is ripe yet," he sighed, "...but that's not of your concern."
"So!"
"I'm gonna head off to the east... far, far, far away from here. Okay? So just fuck off, and leave me alone. I got wounds to lick, shit to check on... again," the scorpion sighed, "no, it's none of your concern, it's not even gonna affect you assholes. Oh, and as a token of my good will, I won't kick your sorry, furry asses for stealing my damn dye—that was my life-blood, my blood, you stole my blood! Vampires!" Kisuse said, mocking panic.
The scorpion sighed again, licking his lips, and looked to the west, into the air... and shuddered, as if something had just looked back at him.
"Well. It's getting time for me to get going... oh, and a word of advice. You see those fuckers back there?" he said, thrusting a thumb behind him, "might wanna talk to them a little bit. They're dumber'n doornails, but still... haha, I guess that's another thing ya'll have in common. So... adios, amigos!" Kisuse grinned.
And just like that, the scorpion vaporized into ash and dust, and was carried, as he said, far, far to the east, out of sight, out of mind...
"Okay..." Kifo began, "...let's check out those guys..."
Kishindo nodded, eyes narrowing as she and Kifo, as well as the half-dozen other beings walked towards each another on the battlefield. Her claws were extended, their firearms were drawn, but no insults were hurled, no threats made, no weapons pointed.
The six other fighters were... men, in a fashion. They wore boots and cargo pants that bunched up into the tops of their boots, neatly. They wore gloves, too, and their belts were thick and loaded with ammunition pouches.
They carried MG36s with 100 round Beta C magazines and KAC Masterkey shotguns and reflex sights and flashlights. But, horribly, they were unable to ever set down their weapons... their right hands were all melted into the weapons' handles.
Their skin tone ranged from the pale white of the Nordic peoples to the deep brown of Sub-Saharan Africans, with every shade in between imaginable. They had long hair, short hair, red hair, black hair, brown hair. They had brown eyes, green eyes, blue eyes, and hazel eyes.
They wore no shirts. Their chest were, from the collarbone to the sternum, normal. But after that, their skin sloped inwards to graze against their spines, giving them a ghastly, and, accurately, unearthly appearance.
Their faces were blank, emotionless, and their eyes focused with intensity as Kifo and Kishindo approached.
"So..." the demon said coldly, as if he was unintimidated—for now, this force could beat him—for now, "...who are you?"
In unison, they answered, "The Black Army."
Indeed, as close as they were now, Kifo and Kishindo could see that three black streaks, as if made by fingers, slashed diagonally over each face.
Kifo blinked.
"...Who are you?"
"The Black Army."
The answer was as quick and perfect and delivery as the previous one.
"Who do you work for?"
"Master."
"...I'm Kifo. I used to work for him too."
There was a pause. A long pause. Then, a long-clawed deinonychus dashed towards the demon and his consort out of thin air. Aggressively, the servant approached, claws raised, and stopped only when Kifo growled and moved his MAC-10s rather suggestively. Kishindo looked at the dinosaur with disinterest... she could take him, she knew it.
"Traitor," the deinonychus accused, "Master gave you everything, and yet you—"
"Don't bullshit me," Kifo said, "he brought me back to life, or whatever this is, to serve his will. And guess what? I am. I do evil. And I'm gonna keep doing evil until I'm strong enough to have my revenge. If the particular evil I do dun't serve him as good as he wants it to... well, tough fuckin' beans," Kifo said coolly, "I don't work for that bastard anymore."
"You dare—"
"No, he does," Kishindo said with a snarl, "you don't understand. You, perhaps, follow your Master because you're under the delusion that he'll reward you... pathetic. Once you no longer serve his purpose, he'll eliminate you. The last thing a being like that wants is competition. Why do you think Kifo was sent here?"
"Enough," the dinosaur said angrily, "...there's nothing more to discuss. You," he said, glaring at Kifo, "are no longer welcome in the Forbidden Island... the one place in this land where the Spirits have no control still..."
That word choice made Kifo think—was evil not doing as well...? Were the Spirits fighting back, successfully?
"Until Master, the true King of this Land, comes to power, your presence will be... tolerated. And until he comes to power, you will be welcome to leave. But when he comes to power, oho..." the deinonychus grinned toothily, "you'd better be gone. Otherwise I, and my sabertoothed brother... we'll make you gone."
"Please, that big-toothed faggot ain't worth shit—the fuck is he? A walking, talking can-opener? He's an insult to evil. Like you... strutting around with your big-ass claws... get them painted or something, bitch, because they're not shit, either..."
The dinosaur was, simply, not a good being. Not at all. When he lived, he'd spent his life killing. He ate only the best parts of his victims, leaving their bodies, for the most part, to rot.
It was quite a miracle that he managed to hold back from slashing the demon's throat wide open.
That, or he was... ...intimidated... by Kifo.
"...Go. Get lost. Out of the Eastern Jungle. You have two days to get to the Black Hills of the North. But don't be so sad... there are plenty of things to kill there. Have you fought a feline, yet, or an ursine? No, I don't believe that you have... just a crab, a spider, a bird... well. Fight the Leopards of the North, or the Giant Bears of the same land... and then, if you and your little friend survive," he said, glaring at Kishindo, "then, perhaps, you'll be worthy of standing up to a real enemy, a real force... the lions of the White Sands. Because for now... well. It's time for the Eastern Nomads to return northwards from their migration to the Barren Plains of the Southeast. And taking care of them is a task that Master will trust only to the Black Army... and his real followers."
"Yeah, whatever," Kifo yawned, "this place sucks anyway. It's hot as Hell, and if the White Army, the Eastern Jungle dwellers and these Nomads are softcore enough for you amateurs... I'm better off elsewhere. 'Bye, bitches... see me when you want to have a real fight on your paws..."
With that, Kifo and Kishindo walked just next to the dinosaur, with the latter sneering and throwing her nose, and tail, into the air in contempt. The Black Army gripped their rifles a little more tightly, shouldering them but not daring to aim them towards Kifo or the lioness at his side.
They watched the demon walk away for a good mile, until they were sure that he really was heading towards the Falme Kindakindaki, presumably to go through its tip and then towards north, into the Black Hills... a land that bordered the northeastern lobe of the Pride Lands, the only place that was untouchable by direct evil.
...For now.
The deinonychus didn't have to wait long.
The sabertooth tiger stepped out of the air, materializing into being with a puff of soot—this abberation wasn't as clean as previous ones had been. And if they didn't know better, the servants would have said that their master's war wasn't going as well as had been planned.
"Greetings, Cretac... How did it go?"
"Welcome, Altsoba..." the dinosaur said, bowing his head slightly, trying not to flinch from his master's right-hand man's cold, misty-gray eyes, "...he's gone. Out of Master's employ—"
That was as far as the reptilian got. Because, without so much as raising a paw, the sabertooth caught his throat in a vice-like grip.
"Cretac, Cretac, Cretac..." he said quietly, approaching the rasping, gasping dinosaur, "can I really believe you? Did you do everything in you power to try to convince such a powerful tool to remain in the hand of its Master...?"
It was then that Cretac noticed that Altsoba was wearing a cape—a ragged, black cape that seemed to linger in the air, spreading dust as the feline approached him.
The sabertooth locked his eyes with the dinosaur's fearful, yet still unrelenting green orbs. And then, all at once, the pressure on his throat fell.
Gasping, the dinosaur barely heard Altsoba speak, as the sabertooth strode purposefully towards the east, the Black Army following him without dissent or explicit command.
"It's time for us to go. We, Cretac, you and I, are not like these men. We're the real evil; not like these gutless pawns. And so, we attract the gaze of the Spirits..."
The sabertooth made a few quick steps, then jumped into the air, disappearing.
Cretac paused for a moment, hissing in resentment.
"Can-opener..." he seethed, before he too vanished.
The Black Army continued on towards the east. There was just time to fight off the rest of the White Army and even the rest of the Eastern Jungle's anarchists before the Nomads returned.
Some would say that with the will of the Spirits, they'd be victorious.
But who needed the Spirits, when they had their Master?
The decision was made all at once, without discussion or dissent. Louder, and louder, the Black Army chanted, until their voices riped through the forest, piercing the ears and hearts of its inhabitants. They spoke their Master's name, over, and over, and over...
Talking.
There was a lot of talking. More talking than Kifo had ever done in the shell of the life he'd lived, in fact. Talking to Kishindo, about everything—her life, his life, their plans, and everything in between.
The demon was at peace.
Oh, there was killing too, and plenty of it. The lioness and the demon, together, shot, clawed, bit, broke, maimed, gored, and tore apart rodents, small lizards, the occasional monkey, crocodile, and bird.
There was no challenge, but still, killing was fun. Plenty of fun.
But still, there was no challenge...
"Something's wrong," Mufasa said, looking from Scar to Chukizo, "I don't know what it is, yet. No one does. But we all think that the master of Kifo is preparing for something... something big. Something that will affect your son," he said.
"Evil has been a little careless. They haven't taken the time and energy to hide themselves from us. So, that means that they don't mind being seen. The Spirits and making an offensive, now, but we're almost certain that evil is gathering, conserving power."
"So..." said Scar, "...any ideas as to what they're planning?"
The red-maned lion shook his head.
"We suspect that it's powerful, though, whatever it is. And so, we too have been saving energy. Because if your son, brother, killed, there's no more hope."
Chukizo spoke next.
"He's that important... that if he dies, the Land of the Spirits is doomed?"
"Yes," the former Lion King said, "he embodies hope. His life, as you know, has been inexpressibly difficult. And yet, though we can neither see him nor speak to him now, we can tell, Chukizo, that whatever he's doing now is because despite the hardship's he's been through, he has hope."
(Anyone ever been to South Dakota? That's what I'm modeling the Black Hills after. Think of these leopards as sort of crosses between leopards and snow leopards, but I'll describe each sufficiently that you'll get a good picture of them.)
This forest wasn't unlike the Forests of the Far East that Kishindo had had to become intimately familiar with to survive. It was neither dense nor sparse; and its coniferous trees included tall, flaky redwoods; broad-leafed pines, twisting, bizarre junipers. On the ground, mosses and ferns dominated. Grasses were few and far between; and when they did exist, they were sharp-bladed tufts that sprouted out of the ground as if randomly.
But the terrain was as far from flat or manageable as possible. True, in some areas, it was navigably sloped. But for the most part, the huge sedimentary structures that rose from the ground made the terrain crumbly where trees didn't dare take root, and treacherous where they did.
The weather was without exception cloudy. Some days, a general haze of gray allowed sunlight to reach ground. But for the most part, conditions were so overcast that the dark green vegetation on the ground looked even darker.
A full mile above the ground level, only a few trees grew. They were short—whenever one got too tall, the weekly thunderstorms struck them down with lightning.
And thunderstorms weren't the worst the land had to offer. At least once a month, tornadoes ravaged the ground, sometimes even falling a tree or two.
And recently, tornadoes were frequent... almost unnaturally frequent...
And so, the inhabitants of the Black Hills had taken to meditating more, praying to the Great Spirits, their best, their only defense against evil.
The Black Hills weren't particularly kind to a single mother.
And yet, the dappled leopards of the Hills had lived that way for generations. Mothers raised cubs until they were old enough to strike out on their own. Fathers hunted for their families, sometimes—but they knew that if they were too caring, too soft, too gentle, their children would never be prepared for the sometimes harsh world.
And so, the burden of the father was to sometimes be harsh himself.
However, after cubs grew up and proved that they were capable of being independent, a great tradition took place: the Ascent. Together, the family would travel to the top of the highest rock in the Black Hills, Spirits' Peak, and spend a full month together. After that, they would return to their homes, and only interact when coincidence brought them together.
The Black Hills weren't particularly kind to a single mother.
But the dappled leopardess; so spotted she looked that her grayish fur looked brown or black, was no longer a single mother.
That part of her life was over. She was now proudly self-reliant again. Every three or four days, she spoke to her favorite male, in fact, the one she'd chosen to father her child. And her child... she spoke to him every two days now.
For a full year after he'd left her, Makhlava had watched him grow. She'd watched him hone his hunting skills, grow stronger, and rise. Sometimes she'd watched him fall, too—but her duty as a mother demanded that she sometimes let him fall, so that he could see the glory that it is to stand.
Now, the leopardess was waiting. She was concealed behind a large group of ferns at the base of a huge sequoia. Twenty feet in front of her, and fifty feet straight up, a got with long, sharp, curving horns strutted around, nibbling on grass, its beard trailing across the ground as it adjusted its position.
The leopardess's large, padded paws shifted as she tensed every muscle in her body, preparing to unleash herself towards the animal. The thick, longish protective fur behind her cheeks, at her jawline ruffled slightly in the wind.
The goat's hoof left the ground—
And off she went. Slightly less than twenty feet forward, then fifty almost straight up.
The leopardess tore through vegetation, then scrambled up the sheer, rocky rocky face, her paws finding footholds in depressions and outcroppings only inches deep. The goat reacted, and tried to head down the face, trying to out-maneuver the feline—
But Makhlava was too fast. She sprang to the side, and reached out with her paw, hooking it around the goat's neck. Continuing upwards, mostly due to her momentum, she got over the rise into a small cove, then smashed it against the unyielding rock wall with enough force to cleanly snap off one of its horns.
The leopardess clamped her jaws shut around the goat's neck, and used her forelegs to pin the animal down. Due to trauma, blood loss, and asphyxiation, the goat quickly expired.
There wasn't much meat to be had on the animal, but who cared? Leopards weren't heavy eaters; in fact, this one kill could sustain Makhlava for at least two or three days comfortably.
However, today, she hadn't hunted only for herself.
"Dato... Sonam..." she said loudly—she didn't need to yell.
Ten minutes passed. Then, Makhlava smiled.
Two leopards approached. Both were male, and both were grayish. One, however, had exactly the same spot pattern as his mother; albeit slightly more subdued. That one, the younger one, also had exactly the same facial structure as the other male...
Within seconds, both newcomers had bounded up the sheer rock face with ease. Makhlava smiled, and touched her nose to each of their's in turn; the younger one first.
"Dato..." she said, smiling at her son, before touching her nose to the older leopard's, "Sonam... come. Let's share our first meal together in this Ascent."
The two males returned Makhlava's peaceful smile and bowed graciously. Then, together, the family ate. There wasn't much meat on the goat. But what made it taste so marvelously delicious was the fact that Makhlava had killed it... to share it with them.
The leopards only backed off of the kill when there was bone left. They'd eaten all of it, every consumable chunk of flesh, and had liked its skeleton clean. To do anything less, they knew, was both a sin and an insult to the goat, as well as an affront to the Spirits.
The Spirits...
"It's thanks to them that we even exist," Sonam said, looking at his family, first at his mate, then at their child, Dato, "your mother has taught you well, young one. You pray every dawn and dusk, I've seen it. I am honored to have fathered such a devout being," the leopard said, then honored his son by bowing slightly.
"Father... it's because your blood flows in my veins," the juvenile leopard said modestly, "without you, or mother... I'd be nothing now. Thank you," Dato said with incredible gratefulness as he rubbed his soft blunt head against both Makhlava and Sonam, "thank you," he repeated.
Sonam and Makhlava looked at each other, and smiled.
"...Come," the father of the family said, looking to the north, towards the largest, tallest rock in the Black Hills of the North, "let us take our last steps as a family together, as we go to make our Ascent..."
The Black Hills weren't particularly kind to a single mother.
But something made Makhlava shudder for a second, as if her land had just grown decidedly more unkind to her. As if something, or somethings, had entered it, with nothing other than the desire to kill her, and her mate, and her child, and her entire species...
"The Black Hills of the North..." Kishindo said.
Kifo nodded. Over the past days, his weapons set-up had changed. Now, he carried a scoped Browning BLR in .308. The lever-action rifle was tough, powerful, and the demon had carefully modified it so that it was equipped with a larger, extended magazine than held fifteen rounds. He still had his GLOCK, but this time it was a model 17 with an extended, match-grade barrel, and a grip that fight his hand perfectly, as well as night-sights, and an autosear that gave it burst-fire capability.
The pistol was holstered at his side, and his sword, now shortened into a machete-length blade that was sheathed behind his left hip. The BLR was mounted on a Sceptre three-point sling that Kifo had adjusted so that it was ready for weak-hand transition and shoved behind his back so that it hung loosely, but perfectly for quick usage.
On his torso, the demon carried a short-barreled pump-action shotgun loaded with flechette—perfect for eating through light cover, and flesh.
He glanced to his side, and smirked slight at the lioness.
"Neat, huh? The climate really agrees with me..." what Kifo didn't know was that that was because the climate of the Black Hills mimicked the climate of the place he'd lived in before his life took a turn for the worse, when his parents had moved the family to New York.
"Yes... and Kifo?" Kishindo said, looking up at her companion with pure hunger in her eyes, "what lives in it, and is soon to die in it... agrees with me."
(Yo necesito five-o reviews-o. al-Mujahid-o out-o.)
