The Lion King: My Name

by TLKFan

A human comes to the Pride Lands in a different, disturbing way. Set in the universe of the Freak, this is the story of a warrior... the warrior of an awesome, evil power. Rated M for gory, brutal violence, including graphic torture.

10. Homeland III: Exodus

The Lion King: My Name

Chapter 10: Homeland III: Exodus

---

(I have nothing to say here but to say that I have nothing to say here.)

---

"Big words, Aoi. What you've just said, it's contrary to everything we've learned in life. It's insulting towards those we owe our lives to—treasonous, even, since you're questioning the laws and culture that this nation is founded upon."

The young lioness was still, for a moment, feeling a prickle of worry. Akane's ice blue eyes—they were unreadable, even for her. Tail flicking back and forth, slightly, she looked down, hoping that she hadn't pressed her luck. Now that she thought of it… Akane could battle any White Sands lioness and either win or hold his ground. If he attacked… she would be destroyed so completely that there wouldn't be anything left of her but a bad memory.

So, really, the only thing she could do was hope, and pray, a little. Swallowing at a throat that had been dry for the past weeks—water was in short supply in the White Sands and therefore rationed—she bit her lip, still half-bowing to Akane.

"But… you know," the Prince whispered, a moment later, in a tone so soft that had there been any noise in the desert she wouldn't have heard, "Spirits forgive me, but I think you're right. About everything. Slavery is wrong, the Spirits can't protect us because of what we do for the Northern Deities, whatever they are… and, yes. You're right about our parents, too, but I don't want to talk—or think—about that, right now. I need… time."

Aoi nodded slightly, looking up. Indeed, Akane was pacing back and forth, obviously agitated. The young lioness wanted nothing more than to walk to him and embrace him, tell him that everything would be fine, but she held herself back. She was still his Prince, and he was still a male. He'd come to a conclusion soon enough—such was his nature.

Eventually, though, the lion only sighed. He looked to the side, one of the White Sands' occasional breezes shifting his fur, a little, pressing them against his frame—Aoi's eyes widened, he was skinnier than she'd thought, and that wasn't all. He was young, like her, a juvenile nearing but not quite on the cusp of young adulthood. But he looked old—now that she looked at him from so close, without any adults around to make her check her gaze, she saw the unmistakable marks of stress and guilt on him. His eyes were sunken in, lined with darkened circles; his fur was loose and saggy… he'd been losing weight, recently, and a lot of it.

"Akane…" she whispered, after a minute, "It's alright." Daring to walk closer to him, timidly, she ignored the fact that he was still pacing, and rested her cheek against his side.

That stopped him in his tracks.

"I know that all we've come to accept is… monumental. When I started to think like this, I fought myself so much… but now that I've told you, and now that I know you agree with me, I'm glad… because we can face things together, now. Now, we don't have to be scared and insecure alone."

"It's not much, in all practicality," Aoi admitted, before smiling, looking up into Akane's eyes, "But still. I'm glad."

Slowly, the Prince returned her smile, if slightly, if barely. It was true—in all practicality, having each another to talk to and confide in… in concrete terms, it didn't mean all that much. It would be comforting… but that was all.

As a leader, it was up to him to translate their comfort and security into actual action.

"We'll have to run away, you know." His voice was quiet, matter-of-fact, offhand. He'd said it without really knowing it, and, until a few seconds later, he hardly realized the gravity of his words.

Aoi gasped a little, mouth opening… but nodded. Her eyes wetted, a little, but she didn't cry or even wipe them dry—one of the few ways she'd benefited by being raised by the White Sands pride was that she'd been toughened up.

"Yes, you're… right, Akane. But not now… not for a few months, or weeks, at least. You're a great fighter, and I can hunt… but we're too young, too small to deal with the world yet. We need to learn many things—I have to learn to hunt and track better, and you'll need to learn about politics, in case we meet other lions. The White Sands… it's a harsh land, and we'll be prepared for difficulty, but that's all. I, at least, don't know anything about living in other climates."

Akane nodded. "My father spent a few months living in the Black Hills when he was younger—he was trying to get the Eastern Jungle nomads to join us, and create relations with the Falme, for a bargaining chip against the Pride Lands. You remember, this is when we suspected that they were going to become an empire, or at least stop us from keeping slaves by force if normal pressure failed. He should be able to teach me—I'll say that as my rite of passage into adulthood, I want to travel through the all of the Lands of the Spirits, for a year, creating alliances or at least relations with the rest of the prides. Since this is something he's failed to do utterly, he'll accept."

"Yes, that's good," Aoi agreed, "I'll have a harder time, I think. But my mother and yours, they scout out the Black Hills every year… we were just cubs the last time it happened, do you remember?... anyway, I'll join them. That means, I'll have at least two weeks' experience living in a different environment. It's not much, but it's better than nothing."

Silently, Akane nodded again. There was a pause—the two young felines looked at each other, then away. Ten minutes ago, they'd only started to accept and declare that their homeland, their pride, was… evil's too strong of a word. Barely. But now… they were making real plans of leaving, for good.

Unspoken was the fact that this meant that they had only each another. Also unspoken were secret desires, fantasies that were far-fetched to the point of ridiculosity, now… traveling, seeing lands and beings beyond their imagination, but more importantly, starting a pride of their own… and all that that implied.

"This means we'll have to start eating more, a lot more… both of us," Aoi said, looking pointedly at Akane's bony figure.

Despite being a young female, she was rare in that she hadn't attempted to starve herself, a practice that was common even against the decidedly unfeminine White Sands lioness. Of course, she wasn't chunky at all, but she would certainly find use for extra fat until she and Akane started to settle into their new home, whatever they'd make it.

Akane nodded, a little meekly. "I'll… keep that in mind. I suppose it's not just my mother that wants me to eat more."

A grin.

"I'll create more concrete plans as I learn more from my father," the prince said, "Where we're going, what we should bring with us, how we should avoid being captured by our parents, and if we should attempt to claim asylum in the Pride Lands, for at least some time… these are all things I need to figure out."

"Akane," Aoi said, "I wonder… we're running away for our benefit, and there's nothing wrong with that. But someone has to answer for the crimes of our nation… right? Even if we avoid both the leopards of the Black Hills, and our families… do you think we'll be able to avoid the wrath of the Spirits…?"

Akane was silent for a moment.

"This nation is already dying," he said simply, "Water is rare, now, and so are jewels. I think we're already answering for our crimes. The Spirits, ever merciful and forgiving, won't blame us for escaping this land—they won't, Aoi. Why—how could they? We're the ones that want to serve their will… isn't it?"

"I don't know," the lioness sighed, "But… I suppose we'll find out."

---

"I think I'm getting better. I hope I'm getting better. But the only way I'll find out for sure is by taking these three fucks—if I win, I'll get stronger, strong enough to take the White Sands. If not… my troubles will be over."

There was no time to wait or train more—Kifo had gone for too long without killing something serious. Without the backing of his master, he'd soon perish, or lose control. Either way… it was time to act.

Kishindo was away, scouting out the area around Kifo and his prey. They hadn't seen any other sentients around, but it paid to be sure. The demon had been left behind to watch over his targets, from two miles away, and pace, basically, trying hard not to lash out at everything in reach.

It wasn't easy.

Reduced to practicing drawing his weapons, hardly appeased by the fact that he was, in fact, getting faster and faster, he snarled.

"When Kishindo gets back, we're eating, then heading out. Tonight. I spent a day making all this; I'm out of energy. I don't know if I can even burn a branch off, the state I'm in… But, once I start to fight, things'll change."

It was true, bizarrely. Kifo was a creature that had been created to kill, and without doing what he was made to do for so long, he felt… uneasy. Restless. Angry. Always. Perhaps like a caged animal, struggling to deal with an excess of energy, a need to discharge it, and the inescapable madness that resulted from being unable to do so.

Little games and practices did little to sate the bloodlust slowly building in Kifo. Torturing insects, thinking up new ways to slice and dice trees (by now, the demon had mastered cubing, quartering, and finely chopping wood several different ways)… these activities were nothing. They didn't satisfy him, not even close, and it was starting to show.

Raising a shaking hand, glaring at it until it fell still, the demon resumed his work after a moment.

"Useless hand… twist yourself into a claw, for all the good it'll do you. Shit… who am I kidding? I'll… eat something for my hand, at least. Gotta keep my energy up, somehow…"

It took Kifo a good few seconds of effort, of careful concentration to slowly descend into a subconscious state of existence. He had to go slow—moving too fast would result in a loss of control, and that would put his operational security in danger… as well as Kishindo. Despite everything they'd been through together and everything they meant to each another, Kifo was was still a demon. There was a level of risk associated with going around with such a fellow that she was willing to accept, but adding to things… wasn't smart.

The demon was seated, palms on his knees. His expression was one of intense concentration, like an artist, or some other worker delved so deeply into his craft that the outside world was shut out almost entirely.

It was damp around where the demon was, at the base of a rocky hill they'd been using as a base for some days now. Dew glistened on the bark and leaves of the skyscraper-tall trees all around. Carefully tracking the family of leopards for the past days, they'd moved out of the abandoned corners of the Black Hills, and now ran a very real risk of being discovered. Their calculations had been precise, though, their risks taken carefully and conservatively. Hopefully, they wouldn't be found—hopefully.

As the soft, distant sounds of activity in the forest kicked up, slightly, due to the demon's lack of activity and the evil it produced, he breathed in and out, slowly, fingers still twitching every now and then. His mind was focused, completely, on his goal—to fight these leopards and win, he'd need a serious weapon. To get one, he couldn't just wave his arm and create it, as he habitually did with most of his gear—which, he'd come to notice, had an annoying tendency to jam, rust, or flat out decay within hours of creation or maintenance.

I t had taken him a full day to produce the receiver and internals of the weapon in front of him. Now, he was working on the furniture, sights, and, of course, ammunition.

Maybe Kifo was of Belgian heritage, or at least, was, when he was alive. Or maybe he was, despite everything, an enemy of communism.

The firearm he was making was the right arm of the Free World—an FN FAL, a powerful battle rifle chambered in .308 Winchester. So far, his wasn't much—just a few pieces on the ground in front of him, so far, that soon enough would be lubricated and then carefully assembled into a machine capable of firing a bullet through well over a few inches of treated wood… or flesh.

The work was rather tedious and damned exhausting, but in the end, it would be worth it. Everything seemed to be hinged on the battle with the leopards; if Kifo and Kishindo lost, they'd be finished. Kifo would lose control and attack her or do something stupid, quite possibly killing himself directly or indirectly by provoking a response from the Spirits in some form or the other—perhaps through the White Sands' pride. Whereas if they won… evil would grip the land further, and he'd have more power than ever before. Then, the lions of the White Sands would fall.

All in good time.

"Still hard at work, boy?... Good."

It was the lioness, but Kifo didn't acknowledge her presence. She took no offense, though, knowing that his task was vital to their cause.

Kishindo was tired from a long day after long days of tracking and ensuring that they, in turn, weren't being tracked. Her fur clung to her ribs a little more than was healthy, and the second she'd checked a two hundred yard perimeter around Kifo, she collapsed to the ground next to him.

Panting, for a moment, she licked her paws, a few times, before falling almost completely still. No use in wasting energy cleaning herself—not even vermin dared approach Kifo, and, just next to him, she could feel flies and beetles and parasites scurry out of her fur, desperately trying to get away from the demon.

Heh. He was useful for things like that.

"Sorry for making you go through all this, Kishindo. After I'm finished, I'll grab some food for ya; a little token of my appreciation."

By the time the lioness looked over, Kifo was completely still again, as if he'd never moved.

"Thank you, Kifo… …You are sure you'll be fine, right? I hate to act like your mother, but these past few days… you've been different."

"Don't worry about it," the demon said curtly. "Seriously."

A bit put off, the lioness shrugged, and fell silent. Folding up her paws, she yawned, and prepared to take a nap.

"…Sorry, Kishindo. I can't help it. You're right, there's something wrong with me. I don't know how to say this, but I have to kill something. Not just… targets, or small animals, or even a bear now and then. Until I fight Makhlava and her family," he said, "I don't think I'll be okay."

Kishindo had managed to learn the clouded leopardess's name by circling around the family and then laying in wait, so that they crossed within fifty yards of her. She'd listened closely, but only her name had been mentioned. It had taken hours, and was frustrating—they'd hoped to learn more about their prey.

"How long do you think you have?" she asked, after a moment. "Until whatever's wrong… makes you incapable of fighting, or worse."

"Not long," the demon replied softly, "Maybe… one day. I was thinkin'… it looks like they're gonna stop, tonight, to get rested up before they climb that big rock. That's what they've been going to all these days, and they seemed happy to arrive. So… after eating, I could finish up my gun, we could take a few hours to plan things out… then go for it. We're not gonna gain anything by waiting longer than that, because if they climb more than fifty feet up, we're done. We can't follow them, and at that range, I'll never hit 'em."

"You're right," Kishindo said. "But so soon? You might be a monster, boy, but I'm just a lioness. To be of any use… I'll have to sleep for the rest of the day. That means, no more intel, and we'll be unprepared to react if we're compromised."

"Doesn't matter," Kifo sighed, "If you don't have my back, I'll get myself killed. We'll just have to hope for the best, Kishindo… so… night-night."

"Mm, I suppose so… Good night, Kifo," the lioness said, lowering her head before peering at him with one eye. "And I'll be looking forward to whatever you bring to eat."

Curling up, Kishindo relaxed. The lands she'd lived in most of her life were nothing like the Black Hills—they were hotter, far, far hotter. But her long stay in the Forest of the Far East had tempered her, teaching her to fucking deal. She would never be comfortable in the cool environments of the world, but she would live. And that was enough.

The demon's face had slowly twisted into a jagged, toothy smile, as if he'd thought of something funny. And, depending on your sense of humor, he had—a total bloodbath later in the night… preceded by a dinner for two. His expression changed at that, into thoughtful contemplation.

What to bring for Kishindo, what to bring…

---

"Yo, Kishindo… wakey waky. Got us dinner."

The lioness stirred, eyes fluttering open, and then, slowly, stood. Stretching herself out regally, she yawned, and blinked until the blurriness in her eyes vanished, flexing her claws instinctively.

"Mmm… oh, good, Kifo. What time is it? When do you want to attack?"

"We got a few hours until sunset. I was thinking we could eat, nap, then head out near midnight, or so."

The demon walked into view a moment later, a nicely-sized buck over his shoulder's. It hadn't taken him long to find and kill the animal—Kifo had located a grassy meadow and sat in a tree, waiting until the lure of food called in the animal. Then, he'd dropped down and sprinted, snapping the animal's neck with a well-placed punch before it could react.

"Sounds like a plan," Kishindo said, "You know, I've never tried to train you to become a leader. Yet, here you are, learning to do just that, under my nose. It's exciting to watch, and I wonder if someday you'll ever lead a force into battle… just as I always dreamed of."

"Doubt it," the demon said curtly, setting the deer down, pulling out a knife to butcher it, "No one can stand me. Besides you, Kishindo. And I'd never lead anything into battle; that would mean I'd have to share…"

That got a laugh out of the lioness, even as they divvied up the meat. Kifo took the lion's share, of course—he was, after all, a growing boy. The next few moments were silent, save for the sounds of meat being ripped from bones and chewed. Conversation generally accompanied meals, but Kifo was too anxious, too tired and too high-strung to really talk, now. Which was alright with Kishindo—she welcomed the silence as a nice change from the norm.

"Let's save some," the lioness said, "To eat after we wake up and have a brief warmup. It'll keep our energy levels high—I think that the coming battle won't be short. Plan on fighting hard for at least half an hour, and remember, Kifo—they can run. We can't. And if they do run… we might as well say our final words to one another and die."

Kifo nodded silently. How important this battle was something he'd impressed upon himself daily, ever since they'd entered the Black Hills. It was his gateway to the White Sands, and then, after that, he'd have enough power to take the entire Land of the Spirits—or, rather, whatever parts of it he wanted. Then… it was back home to exact his revenge.

Ignoring the quiet, nagging voice in his head that told him that he was being fantastic, impractical… and, essentially, a short-sighted fool, he put down his chunk of meat. Even Kifo's wildest dreams gave him not the slightest idea of what he would, or could do after he successfully avenged himself.

"You know, Kishindo, I really am glad to have you around," he said, sitting, again, to start the final work on his weapons, "You know when to talk, and when to not. I owe you, big time."

"Oh, don't worry, dear Kifo," the lioness smiled, as she licked the last slivers of flesh off a bone before setting the rest of her own meal aside, "I already know how I want to call it in."

"Great… tell me, then. But not now…."

The lioness nodded and just watched, for a moment, as he sat. He was the perfect picture of evil—tall, powerfully built, shirtless, and utterly horrifying in appearance. His claws and fangs had grown longer and sharper under her tutelage, and he'd packed on muscle at an astounding rate. Though Kishindo doubted that such a rapid rate of growth could be kept up for much longer, thus far, Kifo was still growing, and growing fast.

"Then… see you in a few hours…" she murmured, "My dear Kifo."

After pausing for a moment, the lioness got up, and planted a motherly kiss on his head. He didn't notice, but she felt something in him spike. Energy, she assumed, or evil. What else could it be? Those two forces practically defined Kifo.

Smirking a little at that though, Kishindo lay back down, closing her eyes. In only a few hours… it would all go down.

---

"I don't see why you're so worried, Mother," Dato said, kneading the ground with his paws, quite contentedly, "I sense nothing wrong here, nothing… what could be wrong? We're all healthy, and this is our Ascent. Of course, you know better, but… I don't know. I just don't understand what's upsetting you and Father."

"Your father senses something, too?" she asked, unable to lie down just yet, still standing and looking out through the Black Hills, murmuring a soft prayer to herself that her mate would emerge from it soon, and uninjured, before turning to her son, "He's told you this?"

"No, of course not, Mother; he has pride… but I know my father well. He doesn't need to say a word—see, how much time he took to look around before letting us stop? And that look he gave you before going… it's not just him accommodating your unease, Mother. I feel certain that he, too, is worried about something."

That was somewhat of a comfort; she wasn't alone in her worries. But the knowledge that her mate felt that something was wrong, yet didn't speak to her… that indicated that he felt he had no logical reason to worry. Were the elder leopards just being paranoid, for some reason? Or was Dato just blind in ways beyond his, and their, comprehension?

"Come to think of it… I'd rather not find out."

"So…" Makhlava said, attempting to smile as she turned to her son before turning back to the forest, scanning it incessantly, "Let's suppose that there's nothing wrong, for a moment. Is our added caution bad?"

"Of course not, Mother," Dato said, smiling a smile that she couldn't see, "It's certainly not at a level where we won't enjoy this. And I suppose your worry is warranted… after all, the White Sands are long overdue for a major incursion."

"That's true," the clouded leopardess said, pausing, considering continuing, but closing her mouth.

"But they've never approached Spirits' Peak, before. They've never come close. I'm sure it's not them that I'm worried about; it's something… different. Something we leopards have never encountered before. Something worse…"

"But Sonam's the greatest fighter among us, and my senses are sharp. Though he's not grown yet, Dato shows signs that he'll overtake us both by the time he's in his prime, and possibly well before that. This is why I selected Sonam to be my mate—because whatever cubs we produce will be strong."

"For now, I'll keep my worry under control. Later, I'll speak with Sonam, and see what he thinks… but unless he has some tangible reason to act with extra caution, we'll never abort this Ascent. It's too special—too important."

"You're a thoughtful female, Makhlava," said a voice from the leopardess's right, making her jump slightly and turn more than slightly to watch as her mate approached, clambering over a set of car-sized boulders with a fat doe in tow, "That's why you're the only one for me."

The Black Hills were hard on everyone, particularly leopards—particularly female leopards. Makhlava had had plenty of experience controlling her emotions, and she was glad for that, just then. Otherwise, she would have blushed furiously in front of her son, and that certainly wouldn't do, not at all.

Instead, the leopardess was able to allow one corner of her lips to upturn, coolly and calmly, as she bowed her head a little before moving, then catching herself, as Dato went to help his father.

"Whereas you, Sonam, are conscious of your feelings and unafraid to show them, when appropriate. That's why you're the only one for me."

Dato had flattened his ears and appropriated his father's kill, carrying it off, away from the meticulously cleaned and very sacred path to the largest mesa in the land to do the bloody act of slaughtering it, preparing it for consumption. Romance… it wasn't something he was ready for, quite yet. And… romance between his parents… was something he'd probably never quite be ready to accept.

"It's been de facto true for years," Sonam said, looking at his mate with shining eyes, "At least… on my end…"

There was only the slightest hint of doubt in his voice. But the leopardess shook her head curtly.

"No… as I said, you're the only one for me, Sonam. I've never had a secondary mate—I've never even thought of it."

That wasn't quite true, of course. But little white lies are fair game in the games of love or war. And it made a smile touch his lips—there was no sin.

"Then, from now on… we'll be officially exclusive. Yes?"

It wasn't really an orthodox manner of posing such a question. But both Makhlava and Sonam had neither siblings nor parents, nor living immediate family that they were aware of—ideally, these beings would be present or nearby, in case things went wrong, and a fight had to be averted.

Of course, that wasn't going to happen. Not today. Not on the Lion Sheikh's watch.

The leopardess nodded, slowly. She'd forgotten about everything else, totally—her worries, the fact that he, too, had some unspoken fear, that she had perfect, complete, total control over herself…

The next thing either cat knew, Maklhava had practically pounced on her mate, and was nuzzling him ferociously, eyes wet with tears. Quickly, she realized what she was doing and slowed, but didn't halt, the floodgate of emotion she generally concealed so fanatically.

"Where did all this come from?" she asked softly, awed, "We met by chance, and now, here we are, exclusive mates… by chance. Neither you nor I would have brought up the subject, normally… I hate to sound like a zealot, Sonam, but the Spirits are the only things I've had for much of my life. I feel blessed, I really do," she said quietly, "Not only do I have a strong, healthy son, but now, a mate that's, officially, mine and mine alone. It's not just chance."

"I agree," Sonam said, trying, unsuccessfully, to get up, pinned down by the leopardess's paws and weight, "Oi--"he said jokingly, before pausing, and canting his head, noticing her sudden unease and apprehension, "Makhlava… what's wrong?"

Fluidly, she got off him and slunk over to the top of a nearby boulder, looking all around. Her tail's clouded tip twitched, this way and that, repeatedly—something really was setting her off; Sonam didn't know how he'd missed it until now.

"Sonam, tell me, and be honest—be brutally honest, if necessary, but be honest. Tell me… over the past few days, ever since we've started this Ascent… have you felt… strange, somehow? Off? As if… something's… just not right?... not in a manner that you can explain or understand. Just… something feels wrong…"

For a minute, she stood there, alone. A breeze rolled through the Black Hills, and, despite her thick, protective fur, she felt desperately cold, and shivered. Speaking softly, though, in a low, serious tone, as he padded to her, Sonam replied.

"Yes… I do."

"It's… crazy. Really, it is. Here I am, at my first and only cub's Ascent… worrying about a threat that isn't real, by any form of logic. I cherish tradition and therefore instinct, the collective knowledge of those before me… but the world's changing. It's been changing more quickly and unpredictably than ever before; since the Pride Lands instability…" he shook his head.

Scar's coup and, later, Simba's counter-coup hadn't just been the affairs of the Pride Lands. It was like any significant conflict—other powers had their hands in the matter, somehow. Foreign involvement wasn't that overwhelming; isolationism played a major role in the politics of the various regions of the Land of the Spirits.

But that conflict had been something of a proxy war between the leopards, who sided with the hyenas and therefore Scar's regime, and the White Sands' lions and a few other predators that had since been exiled from the Black Hills who had supported their brethren, in hopes of gaining military assistance someday.

Of course, things hadn't really gone as planned. The leopards' leadership had collapsed, and faction infighting had quickly led to civil war that only ended when all forms of governance collapsed. The White Sands' lions had turned on their comrades and given up all hopes of creating relationships with the Pride Lands' irrationally moralistic inhabitants, putting the situation where it was today—one that no one was happy with, but one that beat any viable alternative, and soundly.

"It hurts a little to say this. But perhaps some instincts are obsolete," Sonam said bluntly, shrugging, "We're far from the border with the White Sands, and even if they do come to us, we only need to climb up the mesa; they'll never be able to follow us nearly as far as we can go."

"That's true," Makhlava sighed, "…But, I think I'd feel better if we… chose a middle path, so to speak. Let's not waste time checking out every little oddity in this world, anymore… but, let's also sleep in the trees, and keep escape routes in mind. It won't be too much trouble, but if something happens, it'll mean a lot."

The leopard nodded, before grinning a somewhat unsettling grin.

"But, my dear mate… do you really think that such limited precautions will mean anything if a real monster comes?"

---

It was sickening for him to really interact with them. They were his parents, of course, but that didn't make it any better. To laugh at their jokes, to pretend to be interested in their barbaric stories, to help them put unruly slaves in their place…

But, on the plus side, Akane was learning. And he was learning fast.

He'd beefed up somewhat—no longer was he horribly underweight. His protein-rich diet had helped pack both muscle and fat onto his form, which meant that now, he gave his father a run for his money whenever they sparred. And he was getting better every day.

Three weeks had passed since he and Aoi had met last—they'd decided against meeting in private anymore; it might cause suspicion. Rather, they interacted through their parents. The goal was to fool their parents into thinking that they were only somewhat interested in each another—certainly not so madly in love that they were planning to run away together within the month.

Now, though, they had to speak face to face—and that meant alone, in private. Instead of informing their parents, they risked lying and sneaking off together—Spirits knew that they needed practice doing just that.

Akane's excuse was that he was checking up on the southwestern border with the Pride Lands, giving his father time to rest and relax for a chance. Aoi's was that she wanted to check the migratory patterns of desert birds—tall, white cranes that were either dinner or good indicators of the weather and the movement of larger prey animals along the Black Hills' border.

That gave them a few hours to themselves—perfect.

Akane was waiting in the spot they'd designated at the time they'd designated the last time they'd been alone. Ten miles to the north of the slaves' shantytown, in a crater filled with broken, jagged rock reminiscent of the Shadow Lands to the west, precisely twenty days after their previous meeting.

Aoi was late. But he didn't mind—he wasn't going anywhere, and would wait for eternity to see her face again, if needed.

Perched atop one of the glassy pieces of obsidian, his pale fur made him stand out in the darkness of the desert. At night, the White Sands glowed, a little, but it was perfectly dark aside from that—a new moon meant that there was little light apart from that provided by the sand, which wasn't much in itself. A few clouds high, high up in the atmosphere glowed purple from the setting sun, but apart from them and even more distant stars, the juvenile's backdrop was black.

And then, after another fifteen minutes, she approached. Akane stood up a little taller, drawing himself up, and focused his ears forward. Tail twitching, just a little, he felt a genuine smile touch his face—the first one in over a fortnight, now.

The White Sands didn't sport huge, rolling dunes, as did the Desert. The sand here was thick and dense and heavy, meaning that wind rarely significantly affected how it spilled out over the landscape. That meant that Akane could watch her as she came to him from a good two miles or so away, walking, then running, towards him.

He played it cool, though, and didn't run towards her in response. It was something he'd learned from his father.

"Remember, son," Amir had said, ignoring a few choice words Aisha called out as he took Akane out for a hunt instead of allowing his mother to teach him some more combat techniques as she'd planned for a week or so, "You are a male, and therefore superior. Females may leave you for a few minutes, but they'll always come back. We need them as much as they need us," he murmured in a lowered voice, "But don't you ever let them know it. Put yourself on a pedestal, make yourself more than what you are—a God."

Aoi was panting by the time she was in speaking distance of him, a smile blatant on her face. Slowing down, she gave herself a shake, dislodging a few grains of sand from her coat, and watched as Akane dismounted the rock and approached her, trying hard to maintain a poker face.

She knew the game he was playing. But rather than turning up her nose at him and perpetuating the ridiculous drama that most juveniles enjoyed for reasons completely beyond her comprehension, she spoke honestly.

"I've missed you, so much," she said, still smiling, "Every night, my last thought before sleep took me was you. And every morning, my first thought before my eyes opened was you. I'm glad to see you again, Akane."

Amir's advice was sound, for most cases. But he'd never met a lioness like Aoi.

Akane thought about how to react, for a moment. Then, he gave up, and merely walked to her and whispered into her ear.

"Me too."

He… wasn't a person of many words. Many aren't: Freak, Kifo, President Coolidge, I could go on…

Sometimes, though, one doesn't require many words to express much emotion.

Greetings were done. Though they could have spent hours lost in the depths of each another's eyes, they were a bit pressed for time—they had a lot to accomplish.

"I think we should go to the Pride Lands, by way of the Eastern Jungle. Someone's sure to be protecting that border, since it's so close to the Falme. We may come in contact with the Eastern Nomads—they're unlikely to view us as threats; they don't hold the same ideas of land ownership that we do. They may even help us, who knows?... anyway, the Pride Lands should accept us at least as temporary refugees. My father's said many things about them—it's hard to separate fact from fiction, when it comes to him, but I believe they may even go so far as to accept us fully into their pride, if we show them we can be trusted. If not…"

"Then it's back to the Eastern Jungle," he said, "Living there won't be easy, but it won't be impossible, either. The Falme and the Eastern Nomads have a peace treaty of sorts; the Falme doesn't affect the goings-on of the Eastern Jungle and, in return, the Nomads don't exterminate them."

The Eastern Nomads were the most feared pride of lions in the land, even more than the Pride Lands—at least, in some ways. Many tried to join their ranks: some from the Lower Plains, and there were even rumors that they traced their ethnic roots to strange forests to the south of the Southern Rocklands and the Wet forest, at least some of them. Nomadic Legend suggested that they were also descended from a few distinct tribes in the area now know as the Unexplored Region, before that part of the Land of the Spirits fell out of the Spirits' control.

In short, the Eastern Nomads were tough barbarians, uncivilized to the core. Akane and Aoi had no particular desire to throw their lot in with them for long, but they could certainly learn from such a tribe. The Eastern fighting style was said to be astonishing in both its beauty and its brutal effectivity.

"We'll be safe there as long as we want, as long as our parents don't track us. But if life's too hard, or our parents find us, or… anything else, we'll have to sneak through the Falme—there's no other choice. The Pride Lands are too strong, and if we offend them so much that they exile us, we're better off tempting fate in the Falme than there."

"After that, we'll have to cross the Eastern Volcanoes, or go through the Unexplored Regions."

Aoi shuddered. Both options left much to be desired.

"And then, we'll be free," Akane sighed, "Our pride has no quarrel with the Desert; they'll accept us and we can thrive there. If that's not enough, the Lower Plains will have to do, or some land near the Western Grasslands. Or, if we go over the Eastern Volcanoes, we can live in the Jungle."

There was so much to think of, so much to consider. Failure seemed to loom at every turn of the journey, but so did adventure. They were young and they were in love—this was as romantic as the legends their parents had told them before they'd opened their eyes for the first time.

They… were also probably going to die in their effort for freedom. But their determination was such that it didn't even need to be said how much they'd rather die on their feet than live on their knees.

"So… we're really doing this?" Aoi said.

Akane nodded, thin-lipped. He'd had his own internal struggles over the past days, but they were finished now—now, after fully delving into the evils of his homeland, he realized that he couldn't tolerate it. It made him sick—sometimes, literally.

"I'm glad," she smiled, "I might have done something like this someday, anyway… but you, Akane; knowing that you'll be with me… it gives me courage. I somehow know that things will turn out for the best."

Akane recalled that Aoi's grandmother, or great-aunt, or something, was somewhat gifted with prophecy. Akane had always been something of a believer, at least, in the power of the Spirits… but the way his pride bowed down to the Northern Deities, the way they rationalized everything they did with religion had made skeptical of supernaturality, or at least how it could be applied to day to day life. Yet, Aoi was well praised among the pride for being strangely adept at tracking prey—sometimes she ignored rules of thumb and wisdom gained from years of experience to find prey in unexpected and unforeseeable places.

If only he had a way to really take advantage of her abilities… but, sadly, such knowledge wasn't in the White Sands. Perhaps the Pride Landers could—he'd have to remember to mention that to them, when they attempted to gain entry to the Pride Lands. It could be a useful bargaining chip.

A smile touched his lips.

"That gives me courage. To hear that you're confident that we'll be successful."

Aoi opened her mouth, but then shut it. That… wasn't exactly what she'd said, or meant. She'd said that she was sure that things would turn out for the best… not necessarily for them, or not necessarily how exactly they wanted things to turn out for the best.

But he didn't need to know that.

"So," the Prince said, knowing that the longer they were here, together, the higher the odds of being caught became, "We'll meet again… the night you return from scouting the Black Hills. You're leaving either tomorrow or the day after, depending on how the hunt goes, right?" Aoi nodded in affirmation. "Then… we'll see each another again in about two weeks. After that… we'll make plans for our final departure. I want to be gone within twenty days… if that's alright with you."

"I agree," the lioness said, "Within twenty days… that's a good goal. I won't be able to make much preserved meat when I'm in the Black Hills—I'll have to leave that to you, Akane, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry. I'll be fine. Just concentrate on learning as much as you can—not just about the Black Hills, but about more general knowledge, of how to survive in strange lands."

"I will. In the meantime, Akane, take care of yourself," the lioness said, concerned, "I know it's hard for you to spend so much time around your parents, and I know it's even harder for you to pretend to like hearing what they have to say about... everything. But it has to be done."

The lion nodded, trying not to shiver. He wasn't being influenced by so much interaction with his parents, thank the Spirits, but there was a slight danger of revealing himself. He didn't know how much more of them he could take.

"I'll live," he finally replied, "But please, Aoi… hurry back."

There was a pause. They'd said everything that needed to be said—now, it was time to go.

"Keep me in your heart, Akane. I won't be gone long."

The Prince nodded, a little solemnly. It wasn't that he worried about her, he worried about himself. But he couldn't allow that to sour their farewell… it would be some time until they saw each another again.

"I will, Aoi. Be safe in the Black Hills, alright? No matter what, I love you, but I also want you to be in one piece for as long as possible."

Come to think of it… that was actually the first time the word "love" had crossed either of their lips. The word was simple and short, but the feelings it carried with it were immense. It certainly made Aoi blush, for one thing—and that was something that Akane had never seen before.

Her fur was as light as his; their coats were the near-pure white sported by all White Sands lions. The rosy tinge that she sported, though, contrasted nicely with her oceanic eyes, which, in turn, contrasted with Akane's piercing, deep blue gaze.

"Akane…" she whispered, searching for words, before simply smiling and gently touching her nose to his cheek in a feline approximation of a peck, "I will. I promise."

"Then," he whispered back, smiling, playing it cool, again, "I'll see you… very soon."

Slowly, the two backed away from each another. Their tracks were somewhat of a security risk, but both had traveled to the rocky structures to the north of their dens through roundabout routes, and the White Sands were long overdue for a windstorm. They'd be fine.

Turning away, reluctantly tearing their gazes apart, they went off to do the tasks they'd volunteered for. It would be hard to complete them quickly enough to not appear suspicious, but they both had great motivation. Love, dear readers—it's motivated many things throughout history: patience, charity, determination, ingenuity… and, of course, in many cases, murder, massacre, and, in the end, violence and death.

---

(Just in case anyone's curious, I'm picturing Kifo's build as similar to the professional wrestler Batista's.)

"It's time."

Just like that, Kishindo's eyes flickered open. Standing in a single, fluid motion, she first took a survey of her surroundings.

Apparently, it had rained while they napped, but the roof of leaves practically miles above them protected them well. Drops of water slowly rolled down the sides of the trees, vanishing into the hungry soil when they hit the ground. Looking up, Kishindo saw the Moon; a blue orb half-hidden from her by a few fat raindrops that had missed the rush, and the same canopy that had kept her relatively dry.

Not bothering to dry herself, the lioness looked at Kifo, and instantly grinned.

He was jittery, not from a lack of energy, for once, but from anticipation. For the moment, he was under-armed, under-armored, and only half-dressed—his gear and clothing was laid out in front of him. Clad only in a thick, protective rhinoceros hide trousers, it was obvious that his incredible workout regimen had been a complete success—he wasn't barrel-chested or heavy; rather, his figure was the perfect median between lean muscularity and shock-absorbing mass.

"Yes. So… let's get you ready, boy."

The demon nodded, and, slowly, relishing the buildup to what would, one way or the other, be a fatal fight, started to dress.

First, he pulled on a form-fitting vest. It didn't dissipate kinetic energy very well, but it was tough—it could stop any set of claws he'd come in contact with to date. Second were a set of gauntlets—armored and built with a material with an astoundingly high coefficient of static friction, making them ideal for gripping something and not letting go. After tightening his pants at the waist and ankle, it was time to get strapped.

Kifo's main arm for this conflict was, of course, the FAL he'd spent so much time and effort on. Customized with a zeroed ACOG sight and flip-up back-up irons as well as a foregrip, bayonet mount, sling, and ergonomics built precisely for his grip, it could unleash a steady stream of lead for seconds on end without overheating. The rest of the demon's weapons included a GLOCK 20, a more powerful version of what was usually his signature firearm—chambered in 10mm and equipped with an extended, match-grade barrel and night-sights, it was plenty powerful to take down a leopard; a pair of push-daggers that attached to his vest for quick draw, and, of course, a double-edged, chisel-ground knife built for combat.

Kishindo was proud to hand the demon each of his arms and accessories; holsters and sheaths, and check that they were secured to him well. As she circled him, grinning maliciously, eying his powerful, deadly form up and down, she spoke.

"You are ready.

"Heheheh… nice.

"Very… nice…

"You're going to win this fight, boy. I can tell. But before we move out, there's something you should know."

The demon glanced at Kishindo, then proceeded to practice drawing and firing his pistol accurately a few final times, striking various fighting postures in the effort.

"When I was a cub, I heard some things about the leopards. I believe that none of them were true, but this.

"It was said," the lioness said, "that leopards are favored by the Spirits. They're weak, you see. The Spirits pity them, but can only help the living so much, you see. So, overall, they're weak regardless. But they do have one advantage… perhaps.

"Supposedly, they are difficult to put down quickly. Let me explain—if you slit one of their throats, they'll die. But not in seconds; not in minutes… but in hours. And until then, they'll know their fate, you see… and you can trust them to fight desperately.

"So," she said curtly, "take nothing for granted. Keep fighting until your enemies' separate parts litter the ground, blood paints the trees, and you're out of ammunition and strength."

"Fair 'nough," Kifo hissed, raising his rifle and dry-firing, twice, making sure that he didn't have any kind of flinch reaction, "But I gotta wonder… why the fuck didn't you tell me this earlier?"

He wasn't angry. He wasn't upset. What he was was confused, and that was reasonable. So, the lioness responded reasonably.

"Because… think of what I said. Keep killing them until there's nothing left to kill… you'd have done this regardless, would you not, dear Kifo?"

The demon smirked just a little at that, one corner of his lip twisting, horribly, upwards.

"Guess so. Am I just predictable, Kishindo, or do you really know me that well?"

"Heheh… the latter, of course."

A pause.

By then, Kishindo was warming her muscles up as well; Kifo had started jogging in place a moment ago. Taking a second to shadowbox and stretch, the fighters hyperventilated for a few seconds, psyching themselves up. Then, looking at each another, they nodded. After jogging for a moment, in almost perfect silence, they ate, slowly, extremely intense, extremely focused.

Then, it was time to go.

Kifo snapped a round into the chamber of his rifle. Kishindo flexed her claws, snarled, for a second, and swiped at the air. After freezing, for a second, in perfect unison… they were off.

---

Nights in the Black Hills tended towards silence. Not the silence that those in the Pride Lands or Jungle were used to, punctuated by the cries of birds and insects and small animals—it was the silence of remote parts of the White Sands, Desert, Lower Plains, or, heh, now, the Bloody Shadows. Nothing moved—it seemed that nothing breathed, even. What little sound there was was absorbed by foliage, trees, leaves, reflecting around indiscriminately until it became inaudible.

As the parents had agreed, they weren't sleeping directly on the ground, nor even in a cave or on a hillside as was usual. Rather, they'd made the less comfortable but far safer choice of sleeping in the trees, along tough, thick branches—at least twenty five feet up in the air.

They were close, but not too close, spread about six yards from each another. Before sleeping, Sonam had taken perhaps twenty minutes to map out a few potential escape routes to relative safe places if something were to happen., and teach them to his family. Some involved climbing straight up as far as possible, collecting gravitational potential energy, then converting it to speed and running fast and far. Others involved scattering then regrouping, and escaping together without leaving the ground.

All in all, the leopards' safety was in good shape. Dato was rather obsessive with his claws, always keeping them razor sharp by rubbing them against rocks whenever given the opportunity, and the older felines had home court advantage—both of their hunting territories were very close to where they'd make their Ascent.

Still, though, Makhlava couldn't' sleep. She'd tried honestly and hard, forcefully keeping her eyes shut as long as possible before, of their own accord, they fluttered open. She wasn't tired, though she tried to convince herself otherwise, and, despite everything, she felt fear. Continually making the fur on the back of her neck stand on end, as if charged with static electricity, it kept her from sleep, keeping her mind buzzing with activity.

Sighing, softly, she stood. Makhlava stretched, for a moment, dappled grey form striking a posture that made muscle ripple beneath fur, as if with a life of its own, before yawning silently.

Looking around, just to cool her nerves, it was as she'd expected—dark, uneventful, and, as far as she could see, safe.

What was wrong with her? She and Sonam had agreed not to let paranoia ruin this experience, yet, here she was, unable to sleep due to some silly premonition that carried no logical weight whatsoever.

Closing her eyes for a moment, swallowing, she exhaled softly through her nose. "I should be ashamed of this…" she thought, looking around again, wary, for some reason, "There's no reason to…"

Well.

Damn.

Makhlava had seen many things in her lifetime—she'd seen the White Sands lionesses advance so far into the Black Hills that they decided to stay the night, despite the best efforts of the leopards to oust them, before leaving. She'd seen any number of natural phenomena, and she'd seen real evil before, too, many times. Too many times.

But this… though she was looking right at it, she literally did not believe her eyes.

"A joke?" she asked herself, quietly, before scoffing once, humorlessly, swallowing nervously. Makhlava turned to grin at her mate, saying, "Haha, very funny, Sonam; how have you done thi…"

The leopard… was still fast asleep. And when she turned back to get a second look of that… thing… it was gone.

Now, she was scared. Eyes darting all around, searching from some corner that… might appear from, she slowly, carefully picked her way through the trees to her mate.

"Psst… psst… Sonam, wake up…"

Nudging his shoulder insistently, her efforts were rewarded by a surprised "mmr?" as the leopard opened his eyes, and, somewhat hastily, stood, seeing the fear in his wife's eyes.

"Mm? What is it, Makhlava?" he asked, getting back to back with her, looking around sharply.

"I… saw something."

That wasn't much of an explanation.

"Something…. bad."

That wasn't, either, but he seemed to understand. Nodding, though she couldn't see him, he replied in a stunningly cool, collected whisper, "Yes… I sense it. Where did it come from, where was it going, and what was it doing?"

"It was approaching from the northwest… towards us. I don't know what it was doing, it was just walking…."

Hearing such a terrified quaver in her voice made Sonam's fur prickle. He still wasn't sure what she'd seen, exactly, but now he was certain that whatever it was, it was, as she'd said, bad. Though he couldn't detect it with his normal five senses, he could feel it in a manner beyond explanation.

"Alright…" Sonam said, after a long, tense moment, "I think it's gone. Maybe it didn't notice us… either way, we need to go. On my mark," he murmured, extending his claws just a little, ready to grip the tree, "We're running up as high as we can, then heading to Drev's Falls. We'll hide there until—"

"Wait a moment…" Makhlava said suddenly, "Dato…"

In their terror, they'd both forgotten about their son. Now, as he occurred to them they looked around, wildly; where was he?

Then, the sight that met their eyes made their hearts stop.

"Heavy sleeper, huh?"

Monster was hardly an adequate description of the thing in front of them. He was big, bigger than they were, and bipedal. Despite the darkness, they could see every horrible detail of him—from his crimson mane, to his obtrusively large claws, to his protective clothing, to every taught bunch of muscle under his fur.

Worst… he wasn't two feet from their son.

Strangely, though, his expression was cordial, even polite, as he continued to speak, resting a long, thin instrument on his lap that the leopards instinctively distrusted. Waves of malice emanated from him, making them shudder and shake, only bolted into their positions by the threat this thing posed to Dato.

"Hate to wake you up like this. Really. I remember, back in the day, sleep was one of the few things I really, really liked doing… but that's another story. For now, we've got some shit to discuss."

So, he wanted to negotiate… but what? Had they somehow offended him? What did they have… that he wanted? Makhlava and Sonam didn't look at each another before nodding once, curtly, sharply. They were standing at the ready, either to run or to fight or to grab Dato and do either of the above, he knew it, and they knew that he knew it.

But he wasn't moving to attack or take Dato hostage… so, what was going on, it seemed, would be revealed in due course.

"You've been behind on your payments for way too fuckin' long, now. You knew what you were getting into by taking out an adjustable rate loan—I got the papers to prove it. You've left me no choice… sorry, guys… but I gotta foreclose you. Got big plans for your place.

"…Goddamn, no one appreciates sophisticated humor around here, what the fuck, what the fuck…" Kifo muttered to himself, sighing. Biting his tongue for a second, thinking of what to say, he eventually shrugged.

"I'm Kifo—that's all. No title, no surname, nothin'—I guess you can call me K if you want, but I've never met someone that can't pronounce Kifo."

A pause.

"Well," the demon said dramatically, expectantly, "I introduced myself, right? Now, it's your turn—and I already know your name. Malkhava, right?"

"Makhlava," the leopardess whispered.

Kifo nodded, holding up a hand in apology.

"My bad, my bad… Mal—ahem. Makhlava. Pretty name—what's your name, bro?"

"Sonam."

His voice brought her some comfort. He was still cool, still controlled, and the expression in his eyes was assertive and didn't show an ounce of the fear she knew he was feeling.

"Sonam and Makhlava… what's the kid's name?"

"Dato," the leopardess said, before adding, after a pause, "And I… don't wish to be rude… but it's not really polite to approach a mother's cub without her express permission…"

A tentative, cautious smile suggested that despite everything, she was allowing for the possibility that he meant them no harm. Maybe he was just a weird-looking madman of some sort.

"Yeah? Sucks," he said dismissively, not moving.

That wiped the smile off her face as quickly as it flattened her ears. But, despite everything… Sonam reacted.

"Hey…"he said dangerously, allowing just the beginnings of a growl to creep into his voice, "Don't speak to my mate like that, understand?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it—heheh. Kid's really a deep sleeper, eh?..."

That simple sentence carried with it an implicit threat, one that made the leopard step back, just a little, and stop baring his teeth as much. "Behave, or I'll kill your son." That was the threat, and it was an effective one.

"What… what do you want… Kifo? Why are you here?"

"I want a supermodel girlfriend, a personal squad of Ferraris and Lamborghinis, a mansion in upstate NY, and a cool million dollars, for starters."

"What I want that you can give me, though," he said, before smirking, wickedly, looking from Makhlava to Sonam, "Is one Hell of a fight."

---

"What? But… why?" she said, obviously frightened, "We've done nothing to you—if we're in your way, or something, we'll leave immediately. Why do you want to fight us…?"

"Because it's fun and I'm bored. And," Kifo said, "I need practice. Got big things to do, see? I need to hone my skills on you fuck-os so that I can take on real opponents—no offense, I mean, I'm sure you guys will put me through my paces."

"I have no desire to fight you," Sonam said coldly, "I have no stake in your plans whatsoever, and I won't put my safety of my family at risk for your sake."

Kifo twitched a little at that. Goddamn it, wherever he went, it seemed, no one cared about him. Blinking, seething, for a moment, he managed to swallow his anger, and let out a dangerous grin.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't really asking. I'm going to fight you—whether or not you fight back is up to you. Obviously, I'd like you to try, but you probably want to try, too. I'm not as tough as I look. If you legitimately try to beat me, who knows—you might do it."

Makhlava found herself curious, despite everything. This… thing, whatever he was… was talking about fighting and dying so easily. She didn't know his motives—she didn't know anything about him, but despite everything, she felt somewhat curious and somewhat sorry for this being in front of her. The events that put him where he was must have been extreme.

But, looking at him, seeing the hollowness and the hunger and the hate in his eyes… she knew that there was no use in talking. Now… there was no choice but to act.

"Sonam," she said aloud, not taking her eyes off him, "We have no choice. We have to fight."

"Ah, see, she sees the light. What say you?" Kifo asked, smiling widely at the leopardess before looking at her mate, "Gonna stand up with your girly?"

After a pause, Sonam answered.

"You're right, Makhlava. We have no choice. But first, before we do anything," he said, just as Kifo prepared to stand, "I'd like to know something."

"Have you always been so arrogant?"

Sonam didn't say that.

Dato did.

And he said it a second before he stood, explosively fast, slicing upwards with his razor-edged claws too quickly to be evaded. Kifo roared in surprise and pain and jumped back, bringing his weapon to bear, but by then, the family was already on the move.

"FUCK! KISHINDO—STOP THEM!"

The demon wanted nothing more than to give chase to the family himself, but training held him back. Sure, he took a few steps forward, but that was to give himself space, a wider angle, and a better line of sight.

He knelt, slightly, peering down his optics—an EO Tech reflex sight, enhanced by a variable-power magnifier. The demon didn't bother to zoom in farther; rather, he just centered the 1 MOA dot of his sight on one of the fleeing cats, and, after holding his aim, for a moment, opened fire.

It wasn't a burst or a full-auto fusillade—it was a single shot, meant to be perfect. More than that would accomplish nothing, and even if he were to miss, he had another seventeen rounds ready to go.

But, as it turned out, Kifo hit his target.

---

One minute, Sonam was running faster than he ever had before in his life. Dato was just feet behind him, almost literally on his tail, and his mate was at his side. Hearts in their mouths, they didn't bother to speak—they just moved.

The next minute, he fell down—not too far, thankfully; they hadn't had time to climb very high—breaking through several branches, he attempted to scramble in midair to right himself, but it was too late. He hit the ground with an audible thud, instantly curling up in pain, wincing, putting a paw on his lower back.

Another few seconds passed before Dato and Makhlava were both at his side. They'd been moving fast, very fast, and, therefore, they'd been noisy. Kifo's bullet was supersonic of course, but in all the commotion, they hadn't heard the distinctive roar of its trajectory through the air.

They skidded to a halt around him, taking positions in preparation for defense. Makhlava spoken thinly, almost spitting her words out in order to communicate more quickly.

"What happened? Did you fall? Did something attack you?"

"I… ungh… not sure…"

Dato dared turn, for a second, knowing that an assault could come at any moment from any angle. It was then that he saw the rapidly growing pool of blood at his father's side, fed by a gaping wound directly in between his shoulder blades.

"NO! Father—MOTHER! He's hurt, badly—quickly, try to save him, I'll keep a perimeter up!"

There was no time or room for dissent. Before he'd even finished speaking, Dato was off, moving quickly to secure the area around them for at least a few yards. Fortunately, they were concealed from where Kifo had fired from, so, for the moment, they were safe from any follow-up barrages. After checking the forest in front of her for another second, Makhlava turned…. And froze.

She had seen a great number of grievous injuries throughout her life. Some, she'd caused, others, she'd had the pleasure of just witnessing during hunts or security checks of her territory. Some, she'd treated—her own, of course. Early in her life, she'd foolishly come between a mother bear and her cub. She'd almost died in the brawl that had ensued, but ended up retreating to lick her wounds. To such a young cub, a broken leg and any number of serious bite and claw wounds would have been fatal, but she patched herself up and was back on the hunt within the week.

But perhaps Dato overestimated his mother's medical prowess.

"Oh, Spirits…" she whispered.

Then, she moved.

Pinning his wound shut with her teeth, or trying to, Makhlava checked his vitals—they were present, but weak and irregular as shock began to set in.

But he could live. Makhlava could give him more than the few hours of half-existence that was the fate of mortally injured clouded leopards… maybe…

"Alright. Alright. I can do this. I just need to get him to a safe place where he can hide, and leave him there—I'll use a rock, or something, to pinch his wound shut. Then, Dato and I will hold that thing off for just fifteen minutes. He'll be fine, by then, and when he's ready, we'll all make our escape together."

"But I wonder," she thought, even as she began to drag her mate to a thick, protective clump of bushes, "what is a Kishindo?"

Makhlava then heard a somewhat chilling variation of a roar she'd come to fear—the roar of a lioness. What really made it terrifying was that it was accompanied by her son's voice, yelling in pain.

"DATO! No—Sonam…"

For a second, Makhlava was torn. Sounds of combat were starting to rip through the night—her son and the lioness, whoever she was, were fighting. And judging from how much he was yelling, things weren't going in his favor. But to assist him now would mean abandoning Sonam… but, if she didn't help her son out immediately, he'd surely die…

Closing her eyes for just a moment, Makhlava swallowed hard. Two tears rolled down her cheeks but that was all.

"The purpose of parents is to protect and care for their children. I'm sorry, Sonam…"

Hopefully that demon wouldn't come to finish him off before he woke up with the knowledge that he was doomed and had only hours left in him. Makhlava was counting on protecting her son until Sonam could join the battle, because, from the sound of things… that would probably be all she could do.

---

She had him in a headlock by the time Makhlava arrived. Dato was struggling, hard, clawing at her ironclad forelegs, even as his facial fur took on a ghastly blue tinge from the lack of oxygen in his blood. Kicking, he attempted to escape the vice-like grip around his neck; he wouldn't remain conscious for much longer…

And then, just like that, he was free.

Without even taking the time to wonder what had pried her from him, he gave himself a few yards of space, and, gasping, rubbed at his neck, for a moment, massaging his larynx.

"Oh, Mother… thank you…"

He didn't see her as much as he smelled her. Taking his eyes off a foe like this for even a second could be fatal, and everyone present knew it.

They were in a clearing, circling, a little. The lioness, who, he guessed, was the Kishindo the demon had called for, was backing up, slowly—facing both leopards at once, she probably wouldn't last long. So, her goal would probably be to stand her ground until her big buddy could come to finish things off.

"Can't let that happen."

Things were flopped from how they were a second ago. Now, it was the lioness that had to dodge the combined, furious assault of the mother and son team. Dato kept pressure up with rapid blows and advances designed to keep her on her feet, preventing her from mounting an effective counter, while Makhlava danced out of range and jumped in, occasionally, with devastating strikes and tackles intended to inflict serious damage.

Wounds started to appear on her tanned fur, etching jagged marks into her weatherbeaten flesh. Kishindo hissed, eyes darting from fighter to fighter, knowing that she was on her own for a few seconds yet, until Kifo arrived. It was time to take a stand.

She planted her feet, and that was it. The line in the sand had been drawn—she wasn't retreating any more.

Kishindo allowed Dato to cut her up, a little; his incredibly sharp claws made tic-tac-toe marks on her shoulders. She reached through his furious strikes, though, and grabbed his face, sinking her claws into his fur and twisting, viciously, half-skinning him.

Makhlava, of course, jumped to her boy's defense. But this time, Kishindo was ready for her. The leopardess slashed down, hard… or tried too. Kishindo managed to bar the attack, pushing, even as Makhlava's claws inexorably approached her face…

The lioness sidestepped and allowed Makhlava's assault to land harmlessly next to her. She was about to bite her, just below the neck, but Dato was on her by then.

The tables really had turned. Now, not only was Kishindo pinned in a headlock, albeit one that wasn't nearly as powerful as hers, and one that she stood a chance of escaping by struggling hard, which she was doing, but Makhlava was striking, over and over and over, cutting the lioness into ribbons.

Blood loss made Kishindo's vision blur, but pain brought it sharply back into focus. The lioness struggled harder yet, flexing almost all of her muscles in a desperate attempt to get free, but it was of little use. Every time she gained an inch, Makhlava boxed her face or ears, putting her back in square one. This was a tough situation…

"But I'm used to being the underdog, come to think of it. I was the underdog as a cub, just like Scar… I was an underdog when my so-called friends and I tried to overthrow that bastard, and I was an underdog when I had to scratch a living to get back in the game. This is nothing new—I can win this. But… where's Kifo?"

For just a second, the lioness froze up, playing dead. Dato refused to let go, though, and just applied more pressure… then, slowly, relaxed his grip, just a little. Makhlava stood at the ready, not trusting that the lioness was dead for a second. Claws extended, she moved to check Kishindo's vitals when he came.

He dropped to the ground from several feet up in the air. Taking the impact to a knee and a fist, he landed in a crouch, weapon caressed at his side. Then, slowly, he stood, feet shoulder width apart, before, dangerously, approaching.

The darkness of the forest didn't compare to the black hatred blatant on his face—it was overwhelming, so much so that Dato and Makhlava were frozen; deer in the headlights, unable to think or react.

"You…" he said softly, before yelling, "BETTER… not have killed her. If you did, oho…"

"No, boy, don't worry… Zira's still around."

Just like that, the lioness pulled herself from Dato's grip, and, giving him a shove, stepped a few feet away—but not towards Kifo; rather, she took position behind the leopards, in case they decided to try to run again.

Slowly, Kifo calmed. Makhlava bit her lip—now, she saw the folly of not killing the lioness when she had the chance. Now, she and Dato were in a difficult position, and it was of no consolation that they'd put themselves in it by freezing up.

The demon was starting to laugh by then, a terrible, unsettling sound. Kishindo joined in, so Makhlava managed to speak to her son without being overheard by either of them.

"Dato… that can't happen again. We can't freeze up like that, ever again, understand? I know these two are… terrifying. But if we forget that and fight, we can beat them. I know we can. Now," she said, managing to give him a smile, for a second, "Let's get back to back. I'll take the lioness… you take him. But watch out for that thing he's carrying, it looks dangerous. Focus on your agility, son, and hold no punches. We cannot lose."

She felt him nod, somehow, even though he was behind her, facing away. Their opponents were still laughing, loudly, but Makhlava knew better than to try to escape. The only way to live through this would be to put both of them down for the count… or permanently.

"Where's that husband of yours?" Kifo asked, suddenly, grinning toothily, "Didn't kill him, did I? Ahh…" he snapped his fingers in disappointment, "I figured you folks were tougher than that—oh well. I'll go easy on you, okay? I promise."

"Keep talking," Makhlava said, "The longer it takes for this fight to end, the more likely it is that the White Sands lionesses will come. If that happens, I don't think siding with a leopard will be above them. Not if it means killing you both—what are you?"

"MYOB, bitch," Kifo said, suddenly bored of chatter, "Let's do this."

Makhlava considered pressing him, for a moment. She sensed, though, as an exception to the general rule, that angering creatures like these wouldn't make them worse fighters—so, she merely nodded, never taking her eyes off the feline in front of her, and spoke.

"Alright… let's do this."

Silence took over, for a moment. Kifo hadn't raised his weapon, and knew that doing so probably wouldn't be wise. At point-blank range like this, he could hit Kishindo just as easily as he could hit his enemies. Of course, the demon didn't take his paws off it—Dato might interpret that as an opening, and, at close range like this, there was absolutely no way Kifo would be able to do anything to keep the leopard off him.

Kishindo was slinking around, circling Makhlava, a little—she couldn't leave more than two hundred or so degrees clear, because the leopardess might interpret that as an escape. As she surveyed her opponent, though, Kishindo realized… she was a lot tougher than her son.

In the end, it was Kifo that broke the stalemate. In an unprecedented maneuver (like the bailouts), he jumped straight up, roaring, and aimed downwards. He knew he'd have to watch his fire still, but at least Dato wouldn't be able to go on the attack for a few seconds.

Rising five, then ten, then fifteen feet with no signs of slowing down, Kifo started to shoot. He'd never really tried something like this before, but it was essentially the same as shooting on the move in any other situation: he didn't bother to go for precision shots; rather, he just held his FAL tightly and unleashed a five round barrage at Dato. Brass and smoke were expelled into the air as the fight began.

The leopard not only heard but saw the bullets approach, though, and jumped to the side. Spinning around twice, he ignored the divots blown into the rich, dark choco—soil where he'd just been, and ran towards a nearby tree. His goal was to climb it and attack the demon before he'd reached the apex of his jump.

The moment Kifo attacked, Kishindo did too—so did Makhlava. The lioness was surprised by that as well as the ferocity of her opponent, and so, for a few moments, the two felines were deadlocked. Never more than a few feet from one another, each dodged, gave, and took one or two minor bites, three or four scratches, and at least six powerful blows to the face or forelegs. Makhlava changed things, though, by getting an upper hand when Kishindo moved in for a claw-strike to her face.

The fighting style of the clouded leopards of the Black Hills was short-range, to be sure. But not only did it involve the rapid-fire claw-strikes Dato was famous for, or the heavier combinations of paw-strikes, bites, shoulders, and kicks that Sonam and Makhlava preferred. It was one that favored techniques that were hard to pull off, to be sure, but devastating if landed.

Kishindo's paw was a blur in the air, backed by the lioness's face, snarling, before Makhlava cleanly blocked it. Rather than pushing back, though, or merely pinning the lioness's paw to go for a lock, the leopardess pulled, turning, and slid her own paw towards where Kishindo's throat would be in about second.

She missed out of sheer bad luck, but the lioness was still brought to the ground with her foreleg twisted and in Makhlava's grasp. That was hardly an advantage—her paw was occupied as well. Though Kishindo had gotten the wind knocked out of her by the surprising maneuver, she had recovered, and fast.

Makhlava tried to go for the lioness's throat two more times, but Kishindo dug her chin into her chest to give herself some protection. Lashing out with her other set of claws, furiously, she pushed against the ground with her feet, trying to get up.

The leopardess knew she wasn't going to do anything for herself by continuing the fight like this. It was time to change the odds.

Digging her claws into the lioness's foreleg and pulling, hard, she aimed to rip out muscle, tendon, and, hopefully, a few major blood vessels as she moved off. To be sure, Kishindo roared in pain, but the lioness was, stunningly, almost as fast as she was. She'd turned her foreleg, blocking the worst of the attack with her bones—she'd still had a sizeable chunk of flesh and fur pulled right out of her, but it was far from a debilitating injury.

---

Dato had clawed his way straight up the tree, dodging branches and bullets alike as he looked directly at his enemy. Just a few more feet, just a few more feet… there!

The leopard flipped off after digging his paws into the bark. For a second, his back faced the ground as he outstretched his claws, using them to guide himself towards Kifo. Twisting in midair, he peeled his lips back into a snarl—his jump was perfect.

The demon wasn't half as agile as his opponent and was still trying to turn to track him when he was struck. As it turned out, he was tackled at the very apex of his jump—a whopping thirty feet off the ground.

Exhaling explosively so as to minimize the traumatic assault, Kifo winced as Dato's razor-like claws dug into his belly. Feeling his legs hang back for a second as his body was thrown forward due to the inertial property of matter (as explained by Bill Nye), he looked around, desperately, for something to grab onto… thirty feet—no, twenty five, now… was a long fucking way to fall.

Dato had been lucky, though, and had launched Kifo towards empty space. There would be no breaking this fall, and the second the demon realized it, he stopped focusing on protecting himself, and started focusing on hurting his enemy. Though Dato was far faster and far more agile than he… Kifo was stronger, five times over. And he was mean.

The demon reached around and managed to grab Dato by the scruff of his neck—it was sheer luck, but it loosened the leopard's grip out of instinct trailing from early cubhood, if just for a second.

That was all the respite Kifo needed.

He pulled, hard, bicep flexing, and managed to yank the leopard, along with a few patches of fur from his belly, off. Dato yowled and clawed at the demon's arm, but Kifo was triumphant.

"Ha, bitch! Take this!"

The demon threw Dato, aiming for a nearby tree. Grinning evilly, smirking, he paused, for a second—he'd forgotten something, something very important; what was it?

Oh, that's right.

He was still falling."Oh shi—"

Kifo had no time to brace himself. He tried to curl into a ball at least, but there was no time for even that. He ended up taking the landing to his feet, rolling forward sloppily as he slid across the topsoil, mowing down a few man-sized ferns in the effort. He heard a sickly, meaty crack as he landed, and, the second he stopped moving, almost seized up in pain.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, my ankle!"

Kifo hadn't landed evenly on both feet. His right foot had hit ground first, and since he hadn't relaxed his muscles before landing, he'd taken the majority of the impact to his right ankle, pulverizing it—oh, it would heal, of course, but not for a few moments at least… and, in those few moments, who knew what could happen?

Grinding his teeth so hard that he soon bled from his mouth, the demon managed to stand, furiously throwing away his rifle's spent magazine, fumbling, before snapping one into place. He looked to where he'd thrown Dato—but the leopard was nowhere in sight.

As sounds of Kishindo and Makhlava's fight were drowned out by a dull, metallic ringing in his ears, the demon struggling to contain his anger. Lip twitching, vein throbbing, lungs pumping to flood his system with oxygen… he didn't last long.

"BASTARD! COME OUT!"

The rest of what Kifo yelled was less polite and coherent. It was, at first, accompanied with a few shots that blasted fist-sized holes out of the trees—but that was a waste, and the demon knew it. Swearing, he shoved his rifle out of the way, letting it dangle on its sling, for a moment, before managing to assume an unarmed fighting stance despite his injury.

"I said… COME OUT!"

Kifo's left hand was forward, held open, while his right hand was fisted, its knuckles near his temple. Gaining energy, for a second, he roared, and snapped into action.

Stepping forward with his right foot, he slapped his left hand down, forcing his torso to turn faster. Accumulating all the energy from his toes to his shoulder to his wrist, he shoved his right hand forward, palming into the air.

A massive ball, formed, seemingly, of black smoke, howled through the air. It stank of rotting meat and soot, trailing ash and dust as it arched towards its target. Its center seemed alive, somehow; perhaps… black fire, somehow, but when it struck the ground, it certainly didn't burn.

It exploded.

It wasn't an explosion that could easily be reproduced by conventional methods—perhaps a precise concoction of flash powder and C4 might have approximated something like it, but probably not. There were two distinct stages to the blast—the first was rapid; a high-pressure shockwave that, when closely viewed, might seem a bit like a stampede of angry cattle rushing towards areas with higher concentrations of life. This primary blast shattered things, cracking them; creating fault lines and weak points for the second level of the explosion to exploit.

This secondary explosion wasn't nearly as fast—it was slow but powerful, as menacing and inexorable as a tsunami. Rolling out through the Black Hills slow enough to easily see, it shoveled everything, everything but the trees, outwards powerfully enough to toss them for hundreds of yards.

Kifo was still hyperventilating, veins throbbing in rage. He had his rifle back into his hands, just waiting for Dato to give him a clear shot, but, after being patient for ten seconds, it became clear that wasn't going to happen.

Then, a soft click from above told the demon that the hunter had become the hunted.

Though he'd been thrown hard, Dato hadn't been injured. He'd landed on the tree, albeit painfully, but instead of sliding or climbing to the ground, managed to spring off and leave the immediate area, where Kifo would look for him first. As such, the explosion didn't hurt him—though it did scare him, a little. His enemy was a walking field artillery piece, it seemed.

Regardless, he was an opportunistic predator by nature. He hunted by getting into an advantageous position, hiding, and then waiting for the prey to come to him—this hunt was no different. Perched fifty feet above Kifo, the leopard knew he was taking a risk. At best, he'd dropped on prey from maybe forty feet up, before. However, a serious blow needed to be dealt in order to give him a good chance of winning this fight.

Unfortunately, a twig—that was all, a twig, no larger than a pencil, but positioned just so, ruined his plans. It alerted the demon to his presence, as he snapped it while falling through the air, aiming to bring Kifo down.

The demon wasn't able to get out of the way. Dato had extended his forelegs but folded his paws, lowering his head to make his profile as aerodynamic as possible. He rocketed through the air at a speed well above normal terminal velocity due to his posture—taking a hit from a projectile like him would hurt.

Kifo stepped aside, just a little—it was all he had time to do. Dato's eyes widened as he did, though, and, desperately, the leopard tried to change his trajectory, just a little, just a little—

Too slow. Perhaps intentionally, the demon had moved just enough to put his shoulder where his head had been a heartbeat ago. Dato had aimed to crush Kifo's head. Now, he was careening towards a thick block of solid bone too fast to stop—the impact would be as devastating to him as it would be to his opponent.

Somewhat otiosely, Kifo fired one shot, then two, then three. He hadn't had a moment to aim, though, so they streaked harmlessly past the leopard, leaving little sonic ripples in their wake as they arched into the air.

Finally, Dato struck.

For a moment or two, neither fighter was quite sure what was going on. Both were on the ground, dazed, struggling to get up. Neither was seriously injured, but the collision had hurt Dato more than it had Kifo. So, it was the demon that managed to stumble to his feet, first…

---

Kishindo twisted herself to her paws, injured foreleg clung close to her chest for a moment. Hissing loudly, warning Makhlava not to think for a second that the slight… inconvenience was an advantage, the lioness swallowed her pain, and, a moment later, had all four paws on the ground again.

Silently, expression sharp and alert, the clouded leopardess circled. She looked into her enemy's eyes, mostly, searching for fear or insecurity or a split-second warning for some attack. In the darkness, Kishindo would probably have a slight disadvantage, but how significant this was remained to be seen. The lioness was still extraordinarily fast, especially for a lioness, and reasonably stronger than Kishindo.

Her eyes shifted, though, glancing past Makhlava to see if Kifo was okay. And that was the leopardess's opening.

She moved with stunning alacrity, racing across the ground almost too quickly to track. Kishindo could hardly raise a foreleg in defense before she was tackled.

Both felines were thrown out over the ground, sliding, striking and clawing at each another the whole way. Eventually they stopped, thanks to a tree, but the fight certainly didn't. Things only got more vicious as Kishindo refused to submit, though she was on the ground and quickly showing signs of succumbing to Makhlava's relentless assault.

Quickly, the lioness was bleeding, and severely. She could hardly see more than brief flashes of the leopardess's paws, making blocking or parrying or dodging or reacting at all… difficult, to say the least.

For Kishindo, things weren't going well. But her enemy was a leopardess, and fought with two limbs, not four.

Her loss.

Makhlava couldn't see the wicked glint in Kishindo's eyes due to the lack of light, and the fact that she was busy pummeling her opponent with the intent of killing her. It came as a shock, therefore, when she was lifted off her paws, thrown into the air, by a powerful and well-placed kick.

The leopardess had time to get in one more strike, then two—the latter caused Kishindo's head to suddenly snap back, a jagged cut etching into her fur, just above her eye, even as Makhlava looked up.

That… wasn't a very good decision.

A good decision for the leopardess, then, would have been to curl up and duck, shielding her head from serious injury. As a result of not being a good little girl and making good decisions, she was punished by ramming the tree that had stopped herself and Kishindo from sliding across the ground… headlong.

Dazed, seeing stars, the leopardess managed to land on all fours. Gasping, panting, blinking hard, only vaguely aware of the fact that she was in a fight, the leopardess was a sitting duck for Kishindo's revenge.

Stylistically, the lioness was brutal. The Human—Lion Sheikh might use the word "inhumane" to refer to her actions, but such a term hardly applies to a feline.

Getting to her feet with practiced speed, the lioness took no chances, at first. Teeth bared in a vicious snarl, claws unsheathed and ready to go, she paused, for a moment, peering at her enemy. Makhlava was clearly still dazed and incapable of fighting… so the lioness laughed.

First it was just a little, but quickly, her peals of mirth grew into something overwhelming, dark, terrifying. By the time the lioness was finished, slowly tilting her head downwards after throwing it back, Makhlava was moaning in pain, groggily attempting to turn to face her enemy.

"Don't bother, you pathetic…" Kishindo sneered. Striding over to the leopardess in a brisk, businesslike fashion, she coldly backpawed Makhlava across the face, making the leopardess's head snap to the side, nearly breaking her neck.

The lioness tasted blood from the numerous cuts on her face, most notably the deep wound above her eye, and grinned, dangerously, the rapidly coagulating fluid dripping from her maw.

"I'm disappointed. Really, I am. I figured," she snarled, inserting her claws into Makhlava's side and twisting, making the leopardess almost seize up in agony as a practical cookie was cut out of her flesh, "You'd give me a little more trouble than this. That you wouldn't be dropped with one hard hit. It seems I was mistaken. So now, I'm disappointed."

Kishindo then proceeded to strike Makhlava this way and that, keeping her claws extended. The clouded leopardess had neither a chance to recover or run or fight back, so was instead reduced to attempting to roll with the blows, stepping back, farther and farther, with every passing moment.

Something had to chance. Something had to change soon, or Dato and Makhlava would be no more.

---

Kifo wasn't the only being in the Land of the Spirits that could shift pure malice into a coherent form. He also wasn't the only one that could fight without sleeping, eating, or resting—though all of the above did increase his combat effectiveness.

What made the demon special, though, was that he was autonomous. Independent. Impossible for the Spirits to kill by cutting him off from his former master.

Unlike the Black Army.

I hope you haven't forgotten about them. After all, no one living in the Eastern Jungle ever will.

Open warfare had quickly degenerated into ambush and guerilla-esque tactics on all sides. Suicide bombings, shoot-and-runs, remotely activated rocket strikes… the area had been transformed into a practical Baghdad.

The Black Army fighters hadn't changed—they hardly could. Their master had learned from the failure of the Kifo experiment, so to speak, and well. By maintaining complete control over the Black Army, he ensured that they would always do his will exactly how, when, and where he wanted them to. The disadvantage, of course, was that on the rare occasions that the Spirits would reach down to their lands or try to, he was forced to put them on standby, so to speak—making them collapse, useless piles of metal and flesh.

On the rare occasion when the Black Army was able to find large concentrations of the White Army and spray with their MG36s, they could drop bodies with ease. The trouble was that the White Army was as adaptable as it was effective—this was a mercenary group, the best in the lands now that the Bloody Shadows were finished.

Now that it became clear that their enemies weren't enemies that could be pounded into submission by mere waves of flesh or carefully planned sneak attacks, they were in hiding and using their minds—damned powerful for monkeys'—to fight.

The Eastern Jungle was home to a number of plants that contained chemicals that most had come to avoid. But the White Army had its fair share of members with degrees in chemistry—that is, they were well-versed in the arts of creating explosives.

Of course, they weren't cranking out MLRSs or cluster bombs or mortars (though that would be pretty fucking sweet if they could). What they were doing were rather crude, improvised weapons—simple devices that could be equipped with fuses, wire detonators, or bombs that were set off by sheer trauma.

They had set up a more or less base in the eastern part of the jungle. The land's anarchic residents had come to tolerate the White Army; without their most powerful allies, the Nomads, they were defenseless against the Black Army. To be sure, the White Army wasn't in any way allied with the beings they'd been assigned to massacre by Kisuse (who, by the way, had abandoned them entirely). It was just a "the enemy of my enemy is my 'friend'" sort of deal.

The residents of the Eastern Jungle served as an alarm system—whenever the Black Army got too close, the White Army would blow up half the jungle with planted explosives, or unleash a barrage of rockets. Like this, they were more or less secure, and free to move out and set up ambushes and other attacks at their relative leisure.

It took a lot of manpower, so to speak, and a lot of infrastructure to reduce any number of plant parts to more pure forms of chemicals that could be used—some had to be boiled just so, some had to be carefully cut open and roasted over high temperatures, some had to be tempered, quenched, et cetera…

In the end, though, the power offered by little wrapped up bundles of goodness, or logs hollowed out to form tubes for cone-tipped rockets was worth it. The Black Army was overpowered at long ranges, and during ambushes.

Still, they held their own. One of them had died in an attack, when a dozen or so heavily armed members of the White Army had caught him alone and beaten him into separate, bloody parts at close range, but it was inconsequential. They were still five strong, and their Master had every intention of adding to their numbers as soon as possible.

The problem, though, was that to get energy to give to his subordinates, he had to commit acts of evil. And in a land with too many baddies with too little trust, and too many goodies resisting them, it was hard—it really was—to get away with anything.

So, for the moment, the Eastern Jungle was deadlocked—it was the White Army and their allies versus the Black Army. The White Army was depleting the natural resources it had at an unsustainable rate, but it was getting close to locking down the area, even as more and more of its members died off at the hands of their unearthly opponents. The Black Army just went on, patrolling through the jungles alone or in pairs, picking off whatever moved.

The only ones that were really losing were the nonsentients, and the only thing that really was winning was evil in the abstract—that is, evil that couldn't be directed or manipulated. Overall, the situation was bad and getting worse, fast, but the White Army was stuck where it was—if it attempted to retreat, the Eastern Jungle natives would eliminate it, entirely. The Black Army wasn't nearly strong enough to survive for more than a few days in the Unexplored Regions or the Falme, and exfiltration elsewhere would just trade one problem for another.

Something had to give. And then, one day, when what herds remained in the lands left the Barren Plains of the Southeast, something did.

---

"Heheh."

"It's so nice… to be back home. Kurt—you scout ahead. If anything's changed since we left, I want to know it, and I want to know it now. Aldrik, Silvester; you're on me. We're going to make sure that the herds aren't too far behind us, so that we time the Feast properly—"

"No one's going anywhere…"

This voice was calm, soothing, spoken in a slow, polite tone. It suggested an ever-forgiving nature on the part of the speaker… and that wasn't far off the mark.

Looking to the lion that had spoken first, the one with broad shoulders and a long, thick auburn mane, he smiled, speaking in that same, gentle tone.

"Dietz, please, nephew, don't be so hasty to take over—I'm still alive, aren't I? I'm still the leader of this pride… aren't I?"

The question was an implicit challenge; a not-so-subtle way of asking the much younger and much bigger cat to acknowledge his uncle's rule. For a moment, it seemed that things really might come to nasty words which would lead to violence; Dietz's choleric nature was well known and, in some cases, well-liked among the pride.

But now wasn't the time. Not now—not today. It was too soon, and there were still many things to learn from the old one, whose decisions weren't too bad… just, not as great as the ones Dietz determined to make.

Swallowing, remembering his place before assuming a laudable approximation of humility and repentance, he smiled, bowing his head a little.

"Of course, of course, Uncle… forgive me, it's just that leadership is in my blood…"

Damn. These things never came out right, but the older cat didn't seem to take offense.

"Ah, of course it's all right. I can't blame you for doing what's natural."

There was silence, for a moment. They'd arrived, unintentionally, just a few moments before sunset. Even as light disappeared from the sky, as did color, the pride stood at the apex of a low, rolling hill. Their silhouettes shimmered, when viewed from the Eastern Jungle, rippling like mirages backed by the setting Sun.

'Let's trust fate," the leader said quietly, peering into his homeland carefully, "And take rest in our home, for just a few hours. After that, we'll do as my nephew suggested, and prepare for the feast."

"But Roderik," said a female, a young one with deep red eyes and angular features, "That's… not what we normally do, is it? Trusting fate… I don't like the idea. I think we should take no chances."

"I understand your concerns," Roderik said kindly, "But my decision is final. I have spoken."

It was damned annoying, at least, it was for Dietz, to hear his uncle's calm, gentle tones shutting out dissent and better ideas than his senile mind could conceive so readily.

"So, let's go," the old lion said, sighing in effort as he started to walk—his joints needed warming up before he could move without subjecting himself to pain, "I can't wait to be back home again.

---

"My Spirits…"

"This is why there's wisdom in taking no chances, you old fool."

"Roderik… what happened here?"

The old lion didn't answer, immediately. He just took his time, looking around, panning his vision slowly—as if it was necessary to glean every little bitty detail about the scene in front of the pride. What was needed now was action—what did it matter if there were fifty broken, charred trees or fifty-one; what did it matter how many hundreds of these… strange, sand-colored casings were piled on the ground?

"I… don't know," he finally answered, "I have never seen, or heard, of… something remotely like this before, not once in my many years. This… whatever we're looking at, that is… it's not an… incident… with any precedent that I know of."

"It might even be a good thing; I do not know. Perhaps the Spirits are sending us a message of some sort… or perhaps it's something else that's sending us a message…"

It was generally accepted against the Nomads that the Spirits weren't the only powers in the land—they were just the only ones worthy of worship. This, though… if some other supernatural entity had caused it, it would mean that the Spirits were either not worth spending valuable time acknowledging and praising, or that they weren't the only ones worth spending time acknowledging and praising.

"Whatever it is, Uncle," Dietz said, taking his relative's side, eyes alert for signs of movement, "I don't think there's wisdom in staying so close. We should leave someone behind, as a sentinel—the rest of us should find a safer place to sleep… and, until we figure out what's going on, we should cancel the Feast."

"Bold, nephew… but not too bold. You're correct, in your sentiment," the old lion said, "But postponing the Feast, indefinitely?... this is something we should not do. Not at this stage, not with so little information. But the rest of your plan… it's sound."

Smirking, satisfied, the future leader of the Nomads nodded, half-bowing. He paused, though, and, keeping his head lowered, looked up at his uncle. "Then… may I…?"

Roderik nodded slowly, smiling graciously. He wasn't unsettled by the arrogant glint in his nephew's eyes—he'd simply grown used to it, and was starting to assume that his own old eyes were either playing tricks on him, or Dietz just had his share of oddities.

"Alright, then… Kurt," Dietz said sharply, looking to who was essentially his right hand man, a dark-furred lion with a knack for seeing things that others missed, "You're to hide here until the rest of us come for you. As for the rest of us," he said, turning to the group at large, "There's a clearing to the north that's difficult to access and gives us plenty of escape routes, plenty of opportunity to fight back, just in case. Follow me… it's not too far, so keep it quiet. We can't be followed."

The pride gave a nod of general assent, and prepared to depart. The two or three lionesses that had been looking out around, ensuring that they weren't being surveyed or tracked stood and protected the group's flanks. Another posed as rear guard, so it was Dietz and Roderik who led the pride.

"How was that, Uncle?"

Mostly, Dietz spoke to keep his mind occupied and sharp, but, partially, even he had to admit, the advice of the Nomads' current leader was valuable, if taken with a grain of salt.

"Very good, nephew, very good," the old lion said. He and his younger relative were side by side, not looking at each another—their attentions were completely on their surroundings. Paranoia, or caution, was prudent and necessary at that point in time.

"You issued the orders in a brief, succinct manner, but offered some rationale behind them—this serves to show the rest of us that you're not acting on instinct alone. I do think, though," he said, causing Dietz to twitch, knowing that some silly, uninvited criticism was sure to follow, "That you may have been a little more… calm… in your wording. This is a situation that can't be taken lightly, to be sure, but I would not call it an emergency," Roderik said delicately, "You might have created some unnecessary fear."

"Who cares, you old fool?... fear is motivation."

"I understand, Uncle. In the future… I'll be more careful."

"Good," Roderik said, still in his pleasant, calm voice, before adding in a somewhat more intimate tone, one that suggested that he really was speaking from the heart, "This is why I'm certain that, when the time comes, you'll be a great leader."

Dietz thought of how to reply, for a moment, then just decided to keep silent.

"Of course I'll be a great leader, it's in my blood—I would be a great leader now, if you didn't overstep your boundaries. To be sure, I was too young to rule when my beloved father died. You took control then, and that was justifiable."

"But I've been capable of ruling for years, now. Yet, you cling to your undeserved position with the same fervor that you cling to your life."

Dietz sighed, though, and swallowed his anger. It wasn't his day, not yet; but the day that he would take control of his pride, as was his well-deserved right was approaching, and fast. Perhaps he could even exploit this little crisis to expedite the removal of his uncle from power.

Scheming and plotting as always, the lipard kept walking.

He wondered, vaguely, if his heritage had anything to do with the lack of widespread support for his acquisition of power. That might be so, but it was not likely—though his health had been ailing and his appearance strange, in his youth, now, there was hardly a trace of the fact that his mother was an Eastern leopardess. In fact, the myth that his biological mother was the lioness that had raised him since birth was still rampant in the pride, largely due to a well-organized propaganda effort by his father.

Dietz looked up—they'd arrived at the area he'd designated as their home, for the next few days. It wasn't ideal for hunting, but it was perfect for defense or escape; exactly what the situation called for.

The clearing had been created in a storm, a year or so ago, when a lightning bolt had started a furious but short-lived forest fire that had burned down a few old, tall trees, clearing the forest for a few yards in all directions. Now, a dozen or so saplings battled for the vacuum created by the fall of the giants, offering good cover and protection.

"Is this our destination?" Roderik asked, turning to his nephew.

Dietz nodded.

"Alright, then…" the old lion said, "We've arrived. Everyone… I want you all to rest for at least two hours before you do anything else. After that, you can hunt, but I don't want anyone to be more than five miles from this place, and closer than ten miles from where Kurt is."

Despite everything, Dietz had to hand it to his uncle—he was generally sensible, and everyone complied with his decisions, and, for the most part, came to see the wisdom in them, if after the fact.

The lipard sat down, then turned to his side. His uncle did the same, albeit more slowly—relaxing, these days, was as painful as moving from a cold start. All around the two leaders, the rest of the pride prepared to take rest as well.

"So… now that we've had time to think about things, do you have any guesses as to what we saw, Uncle?" Dietz asked. He was genuinely curious, this time, and who knew—perhaps, after reflection, Roderik might have been able to draw some parallel with the strange scene they'd come across and something more familiar.

"A few," the old lion said, "But that's all they are—guesses."

"It could be, as I said before, a signal from the Spirits, or some other power. But since saying this doesn't help us in the slightest, let's ignore these possibilities, for the moment."

"The other possibility is that someone, or something, or a group of someones or somethings skilled in the use of magic was responsible for it. If this is true," Roderik said, "It could be that they were fighting, or just testing out some incantation or weapon. The ramifications of this possibility are diverse and expansive… it's too early, and we have too little information, to say anything with definition. All of what I've said, just now, could be totally off the mark. We have no idea what we're dealing with here."

---

"I'm glad that Dietz trusts me so much; after all, he is my future leader. But I wish he wouldn't make me do boring things like this."

Kurt was in a tree, carefully concealed from most angles. His dark fur meant that he blended into the shadowed, thick canopy well, making him ideal for surveillance like this.

But still.

"There's nothing out here. Nothing—I've been sitting here for over an hour, and nothing's happened …That's not entirely true. Now, the burned trees are smoking less, some fires have died down…"

If Kurt was following someone, it certainly wasn't himself.

"I suppose I may as well go to sleep," the lion murmured out loud, slowly closing his eyes. He didn't lower his head; in case something did happen he'd be ready to react that much faster. Not that anything was likely to happen.

It was over five hours later when Kurt's eyes flickered open as if on their own accord. He didn't stretch, though, or sigh as he woke… something didn't feel right, and he didn't want to give away his position. He'd woken up for a reason, and he knew it.

Something was moving behind him, approaching his general position. Kurt felt concern, and, slowly, extended his claws, eyes narrowing. Had he been spotted? Was he about to be attacked?

The answer to both questions turned out to be no, apparently. Whatever was coming came directly under the lion, beneath his branch. It was frustrating that Kurt couldn't see it, whatever it was, but, at least, it couldn't see him, either. At most, the lion caught a few glimpses of limbs, furless skin, and a metallic glint, but that was all—he had no idea what he was looking at.

Now, generally, Kurt would have taken the chance to lean over, a little, to get a better view of whatever wasn't five yards from him. That, or he would have silently leapt to another branch, a higher vantage point, perhaps. But something held him back… and that something was fear. Waves of fledgling panic washed over him, emanated by whatever being was now standing still, searching for something… searching for him, he was sure.

Suddenly, though, something else caught both Kurt's, and the unseen infiltrator's attention instantly. Movement, off ahead to the west. The lion looked up instantly, claws out, and, below him, he could feel the newcomer do the same.

It was a rustling sound, accompanied by a series of quiet hoots—monkeys. But, for some reason, Kurt felt certain that these weren't the monkeys he was used to, the ones he'd been around all his life—they moved with a determination and caution unfamiliar to him, he could tell that despite their great distance from him.

The being below him stepped forward, cautiously. Kurt felt a jolt of thrill—just a few more steps, and he'd see it, whatever it was.

The monkeys had stopped moving, at least, stopped moving so much that Kurt could easily see him. The lion wondered—was he about to witness a battle of some kind?... that didn't make sense; a group of monkeys versus a being so powerful that it inspired fear in him though he hadn't rightly seen it?

"Unless…" he thought rapidly, switching his gaze from the being below him, that was getting closer and closer to complete visibility, "They caused this, somehow. If so… they have the power to take this..."

Kurt almost gasped. For a full moment, he froze up entirely, claws gripping the branch on which he was perched for dear life.

"My Sprits… surely, this creature is not of your creation…"

This Black Army fighter was of North African heritage. He sported short-cropped black hair, generously tanned skin, and stood at an average 5'8" tall. The rest of his appearance was Black Army standard—MG36, KAC Masterkey, a belt loaded with pouches filled with extra Beta-C magazines, probably a knife or two, and, of course, the unnatural manner in which "his" lower torso caved in to "his" spine, as if "he" was horribly malnourished.

Indeed—this fighter was not a creation of the Spirits, but the creation of something else; something far more… dastardly.

The question now, at least for Kurt, was what was going to happen next? The monkeys seemed to have disappeared; running away, perhaps wisely. Would the being below him move out and search for them? Or would he look around here, and, inevitably, eventually find him?

As it turned out, the answer was none of the above. The Black Army fighter didn't have to search for the monkeys, at all.

Their attack was in the form of a simple rocket; a hollowed-out branch stuffed with a volatile, powerful concoction, loaded into a larger hollowed-out branch, powered by a substance similar to its payload. Launched from a hundred yards away, it arched into the air, trailing smoke and flickering, sparkling particles—it was a low-velocity weapon, and gave the Black Army fighter at least five seconds to move. Even Kurt, who had no idea what he was looking at, would have gotten out of the way if it wasn't for the thing below him.

But the Black Army fighter just looked up, sharply, and watched as the weapon zoomed down towards him. So, when it struck, not five feet from his position, he was injured, and seriously.

The blast, which brought leaves and branches down from vegetation for yards in every direction, offered Kurt cover. Though he would have liked nothing better than to be able to turn tail and run, he remembered his purpose, and that he had honor and a reputation—so, he just leapt up to a higher branch, one that offered a better vantage point, as well as more protection and more escape routes, and stayed there.

The Black Army fighter had been blown into a nearby tree, sinking at least an inch into its trunk. He struggled, for a moment, to get free, and then stood, looking over himself.

He'd been injured. His left arm hung at his side, uselessly, attached only by a few strands of flesh. But, as Kurt watched, those few strands started to thicken, grow, and reattach limb to joint.

"Regeneration, eh… it's even faster than our medicine…"

The lion jumped, then, as the Black Army fighter started to snap off shots. He did so slowly, so as to not overheat the heavy barrel of his light machinegun, but still launched a significant barrage of bullets in the general direction of his attackers. Plodding forward, slowly, lifting his left hand to steady his weapon, he peered down the sight of his weapon, eyes alert for movement.

Kurt watched as the shots fired by the machinegun splintered against whatever they hit, creating shallow but horrific cavities. The Black fighter was using a one in six tracer round combination, allowing him to keep his fire bang on target, directly within a few yards of where the monkeys had launched their rocket from.

Despite his terror, the lion had to admit—what he was watching was astonishing, and inspiring. The way the Black Army fighter marched, slowly, unleashing a ruthless attack, fixed, totally, on his goal… it appealed to Kurt in the deepest way.

The Black Army fighter was getting closer and closer to the area he was firing upon. The moment he got to within ten yards, though, the fight changed in an instant.

Six monkeys—white furred, with red symbols, now fading, etched onto their bodies, all armed with heavy sticks—jumped out of cover, shrieking, loudly. Moving with a speed Kurt hadn't seen in his sluggish, lethargic footsteps, the Black Army fighter held his machinegun at his hip and drew a knife in his left hand, using an icepick grip.

The lion couldn't see exactly what was going on, not from where he was—and he had no desire to get closer; in the fray that was currently raging on, he stood a very good chance of getting hit by a stray bullet even where he was.

And he'd seen enough—it was time to creatively interpret his orders, and get back to the rest of his pride.

Kurt started to move, swiftly yet silently, towards the north, following the scent trail left behind by the rest of the cats. A brief burst of bullets dotted the ground next to him as he slowly, carefully, quietly slunk away, vanishing from the area as completely as a phantom.

---

Politics, politics, politics—that's all Akane discussed with his father, nowadays. With his mother gone, he learned survival skills from watching not only the lionesses but the slaves, learning how they scratched out a living despite incredible conditions day after day after day.

It was a source of some inspiration, to him, to see how hard they worked for an incredibly improbable goal. Over his lifetime, Akane had seen countless slaves worked to death—whereas the number that had been set free could be counted on one paw. If the leopards could keep going for years on a single, far-fetched hope, he and his beloved could surely find solace in their search for freedom, at least.

Politics, politics, politics…

And some religion…

Akane's final nerves were wearing thin, but he always found a reasonable discharge for pent-up aggression and outrage in "friendly little sparring matches" between himself and his father.

Matches that he was now starting to win with surprising regularity.

Amir was still far bigger and stronger than his son, so when it came to extremely tight engagements heavy on wrestling moves, he had a distinct advantage. Otherwise, though, when blows were exchanged at ranges that allowed for Akane's rapid, fluid motion, Amir didn't stand a chance.

Even now, with only minutes left until Aoi was due to return, Akane was shadow-boxing. Paws wrapped up in dried wildebeest hide, he moved with lightning speed. Breathing hard, and fast, he'd bounce back and forth, sidestepping, swiping at the air in practiced threats, before sudden moving in and striking rapidly with his forepaws, nine distinct blows in a second.

He'd been practicing for a few hours now. Not a word had crossed his lips, and scarcely a thought had crossed his mind… that is, except for Aoi. She'd dominated his mind, and his entire consciousness, for the past few days, now. Every breath he took, every move he made, every step he took, he found himself thinking about her; about how and where she was, if she was safe, if she was learning things, and enjoying her last interactions with her mother and his.

"She'll be back, in just a few hours. I'll give her a few days to rest—I'd give her more, much more, but I don't think I'm cut out for another week in this Hellhole. I can't stand watching my father or a lioness lay down the law on the slaves, and I have no intentions of waiting for the pride to put the knowledge gained by her journey to use in the next assault."

Practicing like this was almost therapeutic. These moves, they'd been so deeply ingrained into him now that they were part of his bones. Without thinking, he performed a complicated set of elbow strikes in various positions, including aerials, before coming to a halt instantly.

Talk about precision.

Akane was a well-oiled fighting machine, now, and it was of little doubt that the next time he put his skills to the test, he'd either win, or he'd be facing an opponent of a caliber almost unthinkable by the pride. In short, they looked forward to seeing their greatest fighter in action. Massacres, after all, were a form of entertainment as ancient as the Romans.

"Akane."

He turned, chest heaving, and faced his father. Over the past few weeks, he'd changed, drastically—it wasn't just the fact that he'd somehow managed to gain a few pounds of healthy weight, and it wasn't just the more calm, confident posture he now sported. It was his eyes—they were as deep blue as ever, but now, they were piercing, and, Amir couldn't help but feel, cold, mistrusting, angry. Something vital and deep had changed in his son even as he watched, but he didn't know what it was, and he didn't know how to talk about it.

So, the leader just shook his head, briefly, smiled, and spoke.

"Son—your mother, your aunt Alina, and her daughter Aoi… they've been spotted. They're all alright, and should be at the dens within an hour."

A pause.

"And, in light of how much you've matured, in the past few weeks, of how much more I trust you… I've decided that, after we eat tonight, you will have as much time as you want with Aoi. Alone. I'm not sure what you feel towards her… but, of course, she is still a female. She is still young, and attractive—a little too young for me to consider as a viable second wife," Amir shrugged, "But perfect for you. Certainly, you should consider her; she's almost worthy of you, my son, the greatest fighter in the White Sands."

"Thank you, Father."

The words were simple, concise, polite, formal… but utterly emotionless. Akane smiled, yes, but it was a smile that didn't melt the icy expression in his eyes. Amir felt the fur at the back of his neck prick up, a little; he couldn't shake a sentiment of suspicion directed at his own son.

The lion almost said something. Almost.

Instead, though, he just nodded, and jerked his head for his son to follow as he turned, slowly making his way to the dens. The White Sands were now not quite as pale as they were most of the year; windstorms had carried in dust from the Far East, giving their desert homeland a certain tan tinge—now, for a change, the lions that lived there were visible at a glance.

Noiselessly, Akane took his father's side. The young Prince couldn't help but feel a twinge of grim satisfaction as he noticed his father jump, just a little. Of course Amir said nothing, and of course he would say nothing, even though Akane sensed worry and concern emanating from his father constantly, in ever increasing waves. It was one thing when Akane was doing everything wrong, but now that he was doing everything right, at least, to all appearances… Amir had no idea what to do, except stay the course and hope that he merely didn't understand his son any less than he ever had.

The trip back to the dens was mostly silent. Once or twice, Amir tried to engage his son in conversation; that didn't go too well. Akane's responses were brief and succinct, just as he'd always been told were the best way of communicating, but for some reason, Amir wanted to hear his son's true thoughts.

Apparently, that wasn't going to happen.

Akane wasn't entirely concentrating on his father, though. Rather, he found himself worrying about whether or not that tuft of fur at the back of his head was standing on end, if he'd remembered to clean his paws, and how much Aoi had thought about him during their time apart.

It was torture for him to sit and watch, without pacing or rushing to meet her, as Aoi, Alina, and Aisha approached. To distract himself, he thought about low-priority things—how much meat he'd salted and sun-dried to preserve it, how carefully he'd hidden it…

Nothing, though, shortened the wait. Worse, Akane had to avoid staring, so as to not rouse his father's curiosity or suspicion. Finally, he decided to simply lay down and relax, at least, until Aoi was close enough to scent.

After what seemed like hours, Akane's nose twitched.

Then, he stood in a second.

The lionesses had assembled around his father, and, a moment later, the young Prince took Amir's side. Aoi… she was so close, now; close enough that Akane could see the precise shade of green in her eyes perfectly.

They were walking slowly, proudly, and stopped just twenty yards from their pride. Akane could see how much Aoi had changed over the past few weeks—she'd grown tougher, and more muscular, and there was now an innate shrewdness in her eyes he'd never seen before. The Prince's lips twitched… but it was his father who spoke.

"In the name of the Spirits, ever forgiving and powerful, and the Northern Deities… welcome home, Aisha, Alina, and Aoi. Welcome home."

"And, in the name of the Spirits, ever forgiving and powerful, and the Northern Deities… thank you, Amir. It's been quite some time."

Formalities were done. Instantly, the returning trio was swarmed by the rest of the lionesses. Congratulations, compliments and all manner of other praise was heaped on them. A moment later, Amir and Aisha embraced, in a manner so passionate and tender that it made Akane swallow hard, and close his eyes, so that he wouldn't do the same, albeit to Aoi.

The Prince took the time to greet his mother, and then, of course, Alina. He and Aoi only looked at each another once, shared a few polite, chaste words, then moved on—the whole exchange, they felt the eyes of the entire pride on them, and, so, were careful not to make a move, or say a word, out of place.

Interest in the returning three died down slowly. It was late afternoon already, the hottest part of the day, when the pride traditionally took rest to wait out the burning sun. This time, instead of retreating into the shadows of the tall structures they'd fashioned and carefully maintained out of dunes and logs from the Black Hills and sleeping, they spoke to one another, rapidly, about the findings that had been made in the Black Hills.

Akane pretended to be preoccupied, brooding—it wasn't hard. All of his attention, though, was on what the three reconnoiters had discovered.

The leopards were more or less stable in number; that was good, they wouldn't rise up against the White Sands. Overall, life seemed more or less normal, save for a stunningly high incidence of natural disasters. Aisha, whose mother and grandmother had taken a great deal of time and trouble to teach her about the ins and outs of the Black Hills in her youth, seemed especially fixated upon those set of facts. If it kept up, invading the Black Hills would be an increasingly risky proposition; lions just weren't built to withstand tornados and lightning storms. At least, not White Sands lions. After all, that's how Aisha had lost her mother and grandmother…

Then, as the bottom tip of the Sun touched the horizon, it was time to eat. Amir himself had gone out earlier that day to slaughter a few gazelles, leaving the female members of his pride to rest. There was plenty of meat to go around, and in troubled times like this, that was a luxury more and more rare to be experienced.

Akane ate slowly, so as to appear as relaxed and indifferent to the return of the females as possible. His mother seemed a little hurt that he'd started to act as he was supposed to so suddenly—yes, he was the Prince, and a male, but she was still his mother. Surely she deserved more from him than a single smile and a few seconds of eye contact.

Quickly, the gazelles had been eaten entirely—or, at least, their most savory parts had. The rest—the skin, the bones, the innards, and other parts were clumped up and left in a corner to be given to the slaves, later… who, Akane noted, hadn't been fed for a few days now.

Happy from the big meal, the lions were splayed out in the shade, preparing to do what they did best—sleep. Akane went so far as to set his head down and close his eyes; of course he wanted nothing more than to see Aoi, but he didn't want to be the one to mention it…

"Ah, yes," Amir said, "Akane… are you still interested in…?"

After a pause, pretending to think, the blue eyed lion nodded.

"I suppose, Father. Alina—my father, in all his glory and wisdom, requests that your daughter be allowed to spend as much time with me, alone… as I would like."

Gone were the days of the polite, courteous Akane. This Akane was following in the footsteps of his father with full gusto, it seemed—he was becoming as forceful and brash as necessary. He'd make a good leader, to be sure… but Alina couldn't help but blink. She wasn't used to being treated that way by her Prince.

"Yes, yes, of course, Ak—my Prince." The lioness bowed, and smiled at the lion; a smile which wasn't returned.

She bowed again.

"Aoi, daughter… do as our leaders, our males, desire…"

There had been the unspoken hope among the White Sands lionesses that when the time came for Akane to take power, their lot in life would be better. Of course, they held no delusions that they'd be equal to males, but that was an outcome that was, to them, both impractical and undesirable.

"Yes, Mother," the young lioness said, submissively, "My Prince… please lead."

Akane merely nodded. As the lionesses and Amir watched, he and the youngest female of the pride left the dens, heading northwards. Somewhat awkwardly, the adults all looked at one another.

There were so many things that they all wanted to say. Amir wanted to express grief that his son was becoming as his father—Akane's grandfather—would have taken great pride in… as well as apology for fitting that mold too well. The lionesses wanted to denounce the way their kind were almost constantly treated in manners undeserved… but none said a word.

The White Sands had been an interesting land for generations. Civil war between not two but three distinct factions a few generations ago, famine, uprisings by the leopards, infighting, disease… these had all led to a vicious system, today, that was as destructive towards males as it was to females.

And, apparently, Akane's generation wouldn't change a thing.

---

"I think we're far enough now."

Slowly, he turned, deep blue eyes as unreadable as ever.

Aoi froze, midstep. Humbly, she only met his eyes for a second, before looking down. Akane was a good actor… hopefully. Because the way he'd treated her mother, the way he'd done so so convincingly, so naturally… he hadn't betrayed her, had he? He hadn't changed his mind… had he? Because, to be sure, there were clearcut advantages to be had for a young Prince that fell in step with the patriarchal system of the White Sands…

"Aoi?" he asked quietly, "Won't you… look at me?"

Timidly, knowing that this could very well be a trap, she did so.

Instantly, she was convinced.

"I'm so sorry, Akane. You had even me fooled."

"…Well… technically, we haven't been around each other very much."

A brief embrace was followed by more walking to the north. This time, however, they were side by side, smiles on their faces.

"There's not a scratch on you, Aoi. That's good—I hope you learned a lot during your excursion?"

"Very much," the lioness replied, "How to hunt other animals more effectively, how to hide, how to live in environments aside from our own, where we blend in so readily… It was very difficult, but I'm confident of my skills," she said, "As well as my ability to teach them to you, when the time comes."

"When the time comes…"

Akane shook his head. He'd address that, but not right now.

"And you, my Prince?" she said, teasingly, purposefully bumping her shoulder into his, "How have you fared, these past two weeks?"

"Well," Akane said simply, "Very well, in fact. I've been eating more, and I've been practicing fighting much more. Now, I can take on even my father in single combat; lionesses… are no match for my might."

Aoi laughed, softly, a sound somewhat like small bells clinging against one another.

"I've plenty of meat, preserved and hidden and stored away. We're going to it now, in fact—it's not very much, but we need to move quickly and quietly. Under the circumstances, it was the best I could do," he said heavily, "We haven't experienced a food shortage… but we no longer have surplus following surplus. The slaves, of course, were hit the hardest. Two of their cubs starved while you were gone."

"Oh… that's terrible," Aoi said, "I wish there was something we could do for them. But we'll be very lucky to escape with our own skins intact…"

Akane froze her with a look. It wasn't a look of anger—it was a look of incredulousity.

"Our own skins…"

The Prince of the lions of the White Sands had been taught, from when he was born, etiquette. How to be polite, how to be clean…

So, when he spat, all that compounded the nature of the action. He was beyond disgusted by that thought—their own skins.

"We're doing what we're doing for freedom," he said, "Liberty… or, apparently, so I thought. Please be very clear to me, Aoi—are we merely serving ourselves, working for our own well-being, or is there principle behind our actions? Are we just narcissists…?"

"Well no, Akane… certainly not, but… practicality," she said, "Our paws are tied… what—how can we help the slaves? We can't take them with us; they're malnourished and injured. It'll do no one any good in the end—they'll be killed, and so will we, and our pride will just go and take more slaves. What's the point?"

"What you say is true, Aoi," Akane said slowly, before starting to walk again, so that she had to hurry to catch up, "But it's abhorrent—and I think there's an alternative."

"Before we go," he said, "Let's free one of them—just one. Whether that one escapes, or calls out in hopes of winning our pride's favor, or releases his brethren… it'll be his decision. Everyone deserves a chance to fight for their freedom. That's all I'm suggesting we give them—one chance. That's all."

Aoi had her reservations about Akane's plan, but it probably wouldn't result in anything bad, for them. And who knew—perhaps things could turn out well. Aoi trusted Akane, and he was, obviously, very passionate about this issue.

The lioness nodded.

Akane nodded back, before smiling at her, a little guiltily, a little faintly. It was then that she saw in him the pain and outrage that had been inexorably collecting for the past days.

"That's another thing… we have to leave very soon. I know you're tired from your trip, and Aoi, believe me when I say that I'm sorry for rushing things."

"But I can't… stand… my father, our pride… you don't understand," he said, "His Goddamned talk about the superiority of our pride, of our rights to enslave the leopards… the way he takes extra naps while the lionesses spend their every waking hour tracking the herds at our borders… And the lionesses themselves; they're indefensible. The way they treat the slaves… it sickens me. It does. I can't stand it, can't tolerate it… not for much longer, anyway. I'm almost at my breaking point."

After a moment, Aoi nodded slowly.

"As you said, Akane, I don't understand. I can't understand—I haven't spent as much time around your father as you have, and I haven't spent that much time around the elites of the lionesses. But I've certainly gotten more than a few tastes of what you're talking about, and if it's so bad that even you can't stand it… I don't want to put you through it anymore. We're leaving tonight."

They'd come a long way while speaking; it was only now that Akane realized how far they'd come. They were beyond being easily tracked or even spied by their pride members; only a conspiracy of some sort would have fostered the effort and will to keep track of them, where they were now—in a remote part of the White Sands, largely unvisited by the pride because there was nothing there.

Akane sighed once, overlooking a sea of sand. Then, he turned, slowly, and smiled at Aoi for a long, long moment.

"Tonight, is it? I suppose the decision's been made—I can't get a word in edgewise, can I?"

The lioness laughed again, softly, and shook her head. Then, after a shorter pause, she did something that surprised Akane.

She leaned in and kissed him on the lips, just once.

"Not a word, Akane… not a word."

She leaned in to kiss him again. But this time, when she did, Akane did the same…

---

They were laying, side by side, looking out over the stark white plains of their homeland. They wouldn't be seeing such sights, ever again—but they didn't mind.

Chest still heaving, slightly, Akane let out a soft breath that made Aoi's ear twitch before he tenderly, yet teasingly, gave it a gentle nip.

"So… tonight, eh?"

"Mmm… yes, Akane," she murmured, "Tonight."

"Then," he said, "I want you to get some extra rest—no arguments, you've had a hard journey in the Black Hills. I'll retrieve the meat I've preserved, and then, we'll release one slave… and then, we'll be gone."

"Forever."

"Forever is a very long time, Akane," Aoi sighed, "But I don't mind. In fact, I like it. I want to be with you, as we are now, forever… and more," she smiled.

"If that's how you want things to be, Aoi," Akane said, "That's how they'll be. The decision is made."

"How forceful, how masculine," the lioness giggled. "I suppose I can't get a word in edgewise?"

"No, Aoi," the Prince replied. "Not a word."

---

"Ssh… not a word…"

The White Sands at night—silent. Dark. Ominous.

And, tonight, abuzz with activity.

Akane led Aoi away from the open-air part of where the pride slept. Silently they padded along, looking, carefully, for returning sentries or patrols—luckily, there were none.

They paused, and crouched, some two hundred yards from their parents. After giving themselves a few seconds of insurance, making sure that no one had awaken, they met eyes.

"Alright…" Akane whispered, "The meat's fifty yards from here, directly to the north—follow Alexander's Star," he murmured, referring to the star named after his grandfather, "It'll be there. Wait there, for me; I'll release the slave alone. If the worst happens and he wakes everyone up, start running—don't worry, I'll catch up, and forget about the meat. If the worst happens, we'll need to run.

"Otherwise, just start walking, and hand it off to me when I catch up."

"Only half of it," Aoi said silently, looking at Akane with her marvelously bright eyes, despite the darkness of their surroundings, "Only half."

"…Alright. Only half," he said, before pausing, and smiling, "And… if the worst happens, I'll have no regrets. Earlier, after you returned…"

Aoi blushed. Akane didn't explicitly praise her, but then, he had enough when they'd—

"Alright… I'm going now. Find that meat, alright, Aoi?"

The lioness nodded, getting her game face on, so to speak. This was going to happen, and she needed all her wits about her to be ready for it.

"Alright… let's go. But remember, keep it quiet."

Silently, Aoi stalked northwards. She didn't glance back to see that Akane was doing the same—she didn't hear him, either, but she did trust him.

Keeping low to the ground, just in case someone woke up, the lioness crept over that final dune, and didn't have to look around much to spot her goal. Just in front of her was the meat—perhaps forty pounds of the stuff, salted and dried and ready to be transported for weeks on end, and consumed in a pinch whenever necessary.

The young lioness wasted no time in wrapping the long shreds of meat around her neck with a deft toss of her head. Then, continuing to stay low, she started to creep along to the southwest quadrant of the White Sands—their first goal was the Eastern Jungle for a brief crossing. And then, they'd be off to the Pride Lands—possibly for good.

One minute passed, then two.

Then, Aoi began to hesitate.

Had Akane been caught? Was she, at that very moment, being tracked by her parents? Had he… gotten cold feet…?

"Psst," said a voice from surprisingly close to the lioness, making her jump, "Aoi…"

It was Akane. Expression intent and hopefully, he took his beloved's side and after a brief attempt to take the lion's share of the meat, accepted half of it.

"You set one of the slaves free?" she whispered, as they tracked shallow pugmarks behind them.

"Yes," the lion replied thinly, "It was the youngest one of them; the one who'd seen his younger brothers die before his eyes. He almost wanted to fight me, for a moment, but then he realized what I was doing. We didn't say a word to each other, but I think he knows what I want him to do. What he wants him to do."

"I hope they win," Aoi said. "Though… I don't give much for their chances. Perhaps they'll be able to force negotiation, especially if they manage to call in their friends from the Black Hills—if the leopards unite, which is unlikely… but if they do, our pr—our… former pride… may be forced to rethink how it does things."

Akane replied only with a thoughtful "mmm," and Aoi got the message. Talking just now… wasn't in their best interests.

With a growing sense of foreboding, they kept walking. Had the leopard managed to release the rest of his brethren? Were they escaping together? Or… had he abandoned them and taken freedom while he had the chance?

Akane and Aoi would never know for sure.

But they were fifteen miles away when they both jumped at the sound of a terrible battle being fought, in their homeland. Near their den.

As the series of vicious yelps, growls, and roars reached the young couple's ears, they looked at one another. Their expressions held guilt, relief, shock, fear, but mostly sadness. All they could do was hope that the leopards would somehow benefit from whatever was going on… and keep walking.

---

Dietz had fallen into a light doze, eyes shut but head raised. He was asleep, but prepared to be alert and on his feet within seconds, if necessary. His uncle, on the other hand, had lowered his head to the ground, resting it on his paws. He'd said that nothing would dare attack the pride, not when it was all together, but Dietz assumed, probably correctly, that he was just too weak and tired to pass up a chance to catch some well-needed zs.

All at once, Dietz's eyes opened. A second later, Roderik looked up, turning his head to an approaching sound from the south.

The two leaders tensed their muscles, claws half out, prepared to fight to defend their lives and their pride. But they relaxed when they saw that it was only Kurt.

The dark furred lion was panting, a little, lime-green eyes excited and wide, even as he paused and bowed to Roderik and the lipard.

"Kurt?" the old lion said, canting his head. "Why are you here—your orders were to stay there, where you were assigned to be, until we came for you. What happened?"

"I'm sorry for disobeying your orders," Kurt said first, looking at Roderik, for a moment, before turning to Dietz. "But you have to know what I saw. There was no time to spare."

The lion then proceeded to describe, with gradually rising emotion, what he'd seen. Slowly, the rest of the pride woke and gathered around, drinking in every detail of what Kurt was describing. Some seemed scared, some seemed merely cautious, but a few looked… awed.

Dietz was one of them.

"…And that's when I decided that it was time to leave," Kurt finished, taking a second to pause, "I don't know who's winning that fight for sure… but I wouldn't give much odds for the monkeys. I wouldn't give much for them at all."

Roderik spoke up, after a moment.

"And you're sure of what you saw, Kurt—absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt?"

"Certainly," the dark lion said. "There was no mistaking it… unless I was trapped in some sort of illusion more sophisticated than I can comprehend."

Roderik nodded, slowly.

"Neither the monkeys, nor this… warrior, so to speak… neither noticed you?"

"I don't think so," Kurt said. "I never had a reason to think that they did."

"Mmm."

"So… what are we going to do about this, Uncle?" Dietz said, eventually. "We have to contact this fighter, or something. We need to find out what it is, what it's doing—"

"No, nephew," Roderik said curtly. "No, we don't. What we need to do is prepare to leave immediately—not just this part of our Jungle. This fighter you've described," he said, looking at Kurt, "I don't know what it is, exactly. But it's not natural, and it's almost certainly not good. There's nothing to be gained by getting near it, and everything to be lost by remaining even within the boundaries of the same land it inhabits. You saw one of them—but there must be more than one; there must. Look, all around you—signs of monkeys, and not just a few of them—thousands."

Indeed, now that the pride looked down and into the trees, paying closer attention, they realized that it was undeniable—thousands of monkeys had, indeed, passed through this very area, not so long ago.

"Now, if there were so many monkeys but just one of these fighters, they'd overwhelm him in a heartbeat. But they're not—so, there must be more than one of these fighters… or other fighters whose natures remain unknown to us."

"It also explains why no sentients have attempted to contact us. The Eastern Jungle must be at war; these monkeys versus these fighters. The others… must either be dead, or have picked sides."

"In short, we don't know what we're getting into, and there's no reason why we would want to. Something's going on here that's far, far beyond us," Roderik said, "I don't understand it, and I don't care to understand it. All I know is that this war, or whatever it is, poses a threat to us as long as we remain here."

"So."

"We're leaving. We'll go past areas we know are well-traveled by other sentients; we'll try to find something out and we'll welcome any that wish to join us to safety—and no, we're not going back to Barren Pains, there's nothing left there. We're going to the Pride Lands."

Silence, for a moment—understandable silence. As far as anyone could see, Roderik was speculating, and blindly. The consensus was that while there was cause for concern and alarm, the best response was to lay low and to try to figure things out; not acting so harshly so soon.

It was Dietz that voiced this.

"Uncle… leave our home, immediately after arriving? Without understanding what's going on? And then—the Pride Lands. Why the Pride Lands?"

"Because they're powerful and are entrusted with knowledge that we're not," Roderik said simply. "You know the old poems and folk songs, nephew. In desperate times, when all lions must stand together, we must do it in the Pride Lands—I think this is a desperate time. A creature like that would never be allowed in the Land of the Spirits… not unless the Spirits aren't as omnipotent as we think.

"Which would explain the lack of prey, the droughts, the storms; everything. Yes, Dietz," the old lion said, "it's time to go."

No one spoke, no one moved, no one breathed for a second. The minatory expression on the lipard's face was as black and deep as a stormcloud. The heir imminent of Nomad leadership seemed to struggle with himself, for a moment, before managing to speak, tensely, curtly.

"Alright… Uncle. Time… to go."

Things were still tense, for a moment. The pride wondered if there was a second meaning to Dietz's words; and, to be sure, his claws were extended and he appeared ready to pounce on Roderik. The old lion stood his ground though, and merely waited, calmly, for something to happen.

Finally, Dietz turned, rapidly, and began to storm to the west, where their lands bordered the Pride Lands and Falme, as well as an outlaying Jungle territory.

Roderik nodded approvingly, and a little coldly, as his nephew passed, before following him with a jerk of his head that ordered the rest of the pride to, likewise, follow.

For the moment, Dietz and Roderik had only barely avoided fighting for control of their pride. For the moment. Dietz was on the edge of attacking his uncle, however, and it wouldn't take much at all to push him over it…

Kifo almost fell over, for a moment, swaying dangerously on his feet. He managed to clamp down, for a moment, forcing himself to stand straight up—then, he sneered.

"That's… what… you get… for fuckin'… dropping on me from… wherever… bastard…"

The demon's voice reduced t incoherent babbling as he held a tree for support, for a moment. His head throbbed, but that didn't compare to his shoulder—Kifo hadn't broken any bones for unknown reasons, but the connective tissue in his joint had been damaged. It would be a few moments at least before he could use his arm normally.

Dato was on the ground, still, weakly attempting to stand. He had little hope of doing so, however, as he was on his back and couldn't even muster the strength to turn over. So, despite his injuries, Kifo laughed, and strode over, almost falling as he did.

"Like… I said… that's… what you get…"

The demon really did fall, then, but he managed to turn it into an attack, dropping his full body weight down onto Dato, concentrating on focusing it on the leopard's ribcage.

Dato's eyes bulged as he exhaled explosively, strands of blood expelling from his maw. Kifo chuckled darkly as the leopard curled up into fetal position, or tried to, and crouched, drawing his knife.

"Heheh… gonna cut you the fuck up… heheh…"

The demon fumbled with his blade, for a second, trying hard to coax the hand of his injured arm into gripping it properly. Thinking he'd succeeded, Kifo proceeded to slash viciously, a few times. It did him little good, though; his moves were slow and awkward and his wrist was so weak that when his blade did meet fur, it did little to no real damage.

That made the demon mad.

Suddenly on his feet, neck bulging and throbbing, the demon roared, loudly, every muscle in his upper body flexing—as that happened, his shoulder suddenly healed itself. Kifo hardly took note of this, however—his attention was on Dato.

Screaming curses and threats, the demon proceeded to lift Dato up, bodily, and throw him into trees, into rocks, or just onto the ground. Kicks and punches were added too, throughout, and, in reflection, Kifo would realize that he had little to no recollection of the minutes that followed.

What the demon did know, however, was that at one point he found himself leaning over Dato's unconscious form, pummeling the leopard's face with his fists, repeatedly, as his bout of deadly, dark anger started to come to a close.

"Come on…" he snarled, hearing a grotesque, wet snap as his fist impacted his opponent's cheekbone, "Come on… come on… fight… fight… fight… fight… FIGHT!"

With the demon's final word came a roar, but not from him and certainly not from Dato. Instead, it came from the side and made Kifo turn, or try to, before something impacted him hard, knocking him away from the downed leopard and against a nearby tree.

The demon hissed in pain, but slowly got up, eyes narrowing.

"So. You folks are tough to kill, huh."

Sonam was tending to his son, a paw on the younger leopard's forehead. When he was sure that Dato wasn't in mortal danger, he turned to Kifo.

He looked different, now. Certainly, not like a being on death's door, which he was—he looked… brighter, more powerful, more determined. In short, he looked more dangerous than he did before, and the demon put a paw on his FAL, prepared to raise it in a second, a precaution that would soon prove wise.

"Yes, we are. I don't believe, though, that you'll prove equally difficult."

There was just a second after that before Sonam moved in.

Kifo was astounded by the alacrity of the leopard's advance; he hardly had time to get his rifle up. He snapped off a single shot that impacted the ground just in front of Sonam, not making him slow for a heartbeat.

Then, the leopard was on Kifo.

The demon still had his rifle in his hands, and attempted to use it to shove Sonam off him. It didn't work, though, and Kifo was relegated to using his FAL to block the worst of Sonam's attacks. The leopard merely increased the veracity of his blows, though, so soon, Kifo was having injuries piled on him, and fast.

Desperately, Kifo switch to his pistol. Sonam was too busy striking at the demon's upper chest and face to notice, so Kifo managed to pump four or five powerful 10mm shots into the leopard's gut before Sonam jumped forward, slicing at the demon's face in the process.

He intended to attack again before Kifo could react, but Kifo was up in a heartbeat. Bleeding heavily from his injuries, the demon regardless held his pistol in an outstretched arm, running as he fired rapidly, going for a knife with his free hand.

Sonam stood his ground, for a second, before an idea occurred to him. Running off with incredible speed, he dodged bullets, even as Kifo started to, impossibly, catch up. It appeared that even in "death", so to speak, the leopard was outmatched by his opponent.

At least—that's how it appeared.

---

"So… he's finished," Makhlava thought, vision starting to blur from the repeated blows she had little hope of dodging at this point. "He's finished… and he's here, now, fighting so that Dato and I can live…"

"…What am I doing? I can't just let myself get beat up like this! I can't make his work meaningless—I won't."

Kishindo had just danced in with a vicious blow that might have broken the clouded leopardess's neck if it had connected. Face twisted in rage, the lioness had put every ounce of her being into the blow—so it hurt when Makhlava ducked, causing her to strike a tree instead of her enemy.

No words were exchanged. Makhlava didn't even pause to think or plot out an attack—she just moved in, pressing the advantage she had gained from her enemy's temporary confusion and pain.

Makhlava went directly for Kishindo's neck, and almost got it. The lioness turned, attempting to strike her opponent with a rigid elbow, but the leopardess parried it with a casual bat with her paw.

Kishindo was shoved into the tree as Makhlava pounced on her, trying hard to get a debilitating neck bite or headlock in. The foundation upon which the engagement had been built had vitally changed; now, Makhlava fought without restraint or mercy, no quarter had been received and so, from here on out, none would be given. Kishindo was taken aback by the sudden, newfound tenacity of her opponent, and struggled to try to turn over, to try to dislodge the sharp, deadly claws from her rapidly tenderizing back.

Eventually, the lioness's strength won out over Makhlava's surprisingly rapid series of blows. But there was no lull in the fight; the second the clouded leopardess got a grip on the ground, she moved in again. Kishindo didn't even have time to turn around, fully.

Darkness made the battling felines unearthly shadows, silhouettes in the night. To those of us without the gift of night vision, the most that might be seen were the glint of a claw or tooth here, or the spray of blood and gore there. The sounds, though, were what made the fight terrifying—not a second passed without a threatening growl or grunt of pain; it was a wonder that no other leopards had heard and come to investigate—this, the Lion Sheikh supposes, is what comes from a lack of communal cohesion.

Not that Makhlava or Sonam anticipated any help. They weren't attempting to hold off their enemies; their intentions were fatal. Dato was still unconscious or worse—hopefully unconscious—and Makhlava was losing blood fast.

Whereas Kishindo, though injured, wasn't mortally injured. The lioness was far bigger than her opponent, and though her fur wasn't as thick and protective, a lifetime of combat and conflict and hardship and hate had toughened her—she hardly acknowledge the dozen or so deep cuts and bites that now adorned her form.

Things were now as they had been before. The two cats were exchanging paw and claw strikes, rapidly. Makhlava had the advantage here, but you wouldn't know from watching—Kishindo had adapted her fighting style and her natural advantages, and was actually holding off the leopardess's advances quite well.

They weren't deadlocked, however—far from it. The lioness might be blocking three or four out of five blows launched at her, but one or two were still coming through. And the pace of the conflict meant that every minute or so, Kishindo would take at least—at least a dozen hits. If things kept up like this, she'd slowly be pummeled into exhaustion.

Not good.

Kishindo, though, suddenly realized—she had an advantage. Or, she could have an advantage, if only—

Settling on her decision, the lioness turned and fled. Makhlava didn't register surprise for a heartbeat, and tore after her opponent. The leopardess maintained her equanimity, hardly thinking more than one or two steps into the future—she focused on beating Kishindo in the present, in the split-second here and now—and so, when she finally realized what the lioness was doing, she was taken off guard.

The few blows Makhlava had lain on Kishindo's hindquarters and tail meant nothing, now. The leopardess should have moved to head her opponent off, or stop her, or go for her hamstrings or something, instead of hoping to lay on a gradually increasing series of wounds that would, eventually, bring the lioness down.

Because now, Kishindo was within yards of Dato.

"No! Bitch!" Makhlava yelled, but the lioness just laughed and attempted to dive onto the downed leopard.

In desperation, the leopardess tackled her opponent, jumping as hard and fast as she could. Kishindo had reached out, and, grinning maliciously, got a paw on Dato, but that was all. The next second, the lioness had had her wind knocked out by Makhlava's assault. Now, the leopardess had wrapped her forelegs around Kishindo's midsection, and was biting, hard, gnawing on the lioness's ribs.

They were thrown past Dato, though; the leopard was left mostly unharmed, save for a single, triangular cut across his eyelid. Landing in a heap, the two females continued to battle it out.

Kishindo struck hard at Makhlava's face and head, repeatedly, and attempted to kick her enemy, too. The leopardess used her legs to pin the lioness's, though, mostly, so it was now a battle of attrition now, in a fashion. Would Makhlava gain the upper hand by breaking through Kishindo's underbelly? Or would Kishindo win out by battering the leopardess into unconsciousness?

---

One of Kifo's largest flaws as a villain—that is, combatant—is that he was almost painfully predictable. He was like a moth to flame, when enticed with the possibility of spilling some blood.

Sonam realized this.

"C'mon, fucker! What are you running for; you're not getting away!"

They were moving blazingly fast. Sonam was leading Kifo by a dozen or so yards; moving so quickly that he made rather large branches on the Black Hills' trees quake as his wake washed over them.

At first, the demon had held his rifle up, unloading round after round towards his enemy. It was useless, though; Kifo wasn't a great shot on the move, and Sonam was moving everywhere. He hardly ran ten yards without changing direction, if slightly; he took to the treetops and sprang off of trunks every chance he got; and, at speeds like this, the demon experienced a significant increase in aerodynamics and therefore maximum speed when he lowered his gun.

All at once, though, Kifo had to stop. They'd reached a hill; crumbling rock and bush made it impossible for the demon to follow with a hope of catching up to the leopard.

Roaring in frustration, the demon dropped to a knee and brought his rifle up. Sonam was moving all over the place, still, bouncing from behind boulder to boulder, flying from outcropping to outcropping, giving Kifo far too little time to snap off meaningful shots. At most, the demon was firing at blurs; fleeting glances of the leopard's coat or tail—they weren't big enough targets for him to hope to get a hit.

Quickly, Kifo gave up the hope of dropping his enemy through precision. So, instead, he switched to sheer firepower.

The demon fired bursts, short bursts, but in rapid succession. Rocks were chipped into pebbles in powder due to his mostly fruitless attempts—he saw exactly one explosion of blood that was, hopefully, the leopard; not some stupid bystander or a decoy of some sort.

Sonam had moved out of sight, though. Roaring again, Kifo pressed the trigger of his gun and held it, vision reddening as his neck bulged, saliva spraying from his maw. He was tired and he was hurt and he was hungry and he was angry—he wanted blood!

He didn't know why he paused, suddenly. Maybe it was because the loud cracks of rounds being fired from his rifle had been replaced with a series of metallic clicks; his magazine had emptied. It couldn't have been because he noticed anything different—maybe it was due to some instinct. Maybe he intended to go up and fight Sonam at close range, practicality be damned.

Or maybe it was just chance.

Whatever it was, though, it made Kifo look at the hill itself, sniffing, carefully, air flowing rapidly through his nostrils. For some reason, he suddenly felt quite insecure, quite unsafe—what was wrong?

The demon turned, changing magazines, rifle at his hip. Had more leopards arrived on the scene to help their brethren? What was happening?

A sound, though, on a frequency so low that he didn't hear it so much as he felt it, made Kifo turn again, looking at the hill.

"Just a fuckin' second—I swear to G… oh, shit…"

The scene before his eyes was, actually, pretty much the same. But Kifo was gifted with a mind that allowed him to recall even infinitesimal details quite well—he noticed that one of the huge rocks that formed the hill, a slab of sediment that provided actual structure for the formation… had moved.

"Bastard… how did he do it?" Kifo murmured as, slowly, he started to back away, knowing that if he moved too much, too quick, he might unleash a rockslide that would not only bury and pulverize him, but would obliterate the forest for hundreds of yards behind him—not that he cared. But it was a hazard that he had little hope of surviving.

The demon raised his knees high, hoping to step over smaller rocks, so that he wouldn't be tripped up. Hopefully, he wouldn't run into any trees, either, as he continued to carefully pick his way backwards…

As it turned out, he didn't slip on a loose boulder, and he didn't walk into a tree. Rather, his heel caught on an raised sheet of rock, common to hilly areas of this land. Trying to compensate suddenly, eyes growing wide, the demon reached out with an arm to try to grab something to keep himself upright—too late.

The back of his head smashed into a pointed, oval piece of rock, but that wasn't the worst of it. Reflexively, not just his free hand but his rifle hand had tightened its grip, so that he sprayed perhaps five rounds into the sky—this, folks, is why you keep your finger off the trigger of a gun you don't want to shoot.

Hissing on the ground in pain, for a moment, the demon suddenly froze—his vision had blackened; had he set off the avalanche of rock and sediment and died?

Slowly, though, he found himself looking at the sky.

Then, the demon sat up, and laughed.

The mountainside hadn't budged.

"I'm getting paranoid," he said to himself, picking himself up without too much pain. "I—"

Another crack, another shift.

And this one didn't end in mere silence and tension.

Thousands of tons of rock had been destabilized, and, for a second, it looked like they might just roll a few yards and stop. But the conversion of energy set off a chain of events that broke off the entire side of the hill, sending house-sized boulders barreling towards Kifo.

Perhaps the demon said something then, but he certainly didn't hear it over the thunderous, menacing rumble that approached. He didn't much pay attention to his mouth, either; he focused on his feet. Everything he'd ever learned or experienced just then told him exactly one thing: run.

Kifo was pretty sure he screamed after that, but who wouldn't? Sure, he was a fighter by nature, but he was no Indiana Jones—he was used to running towards enemies, not away from threats so insurmountable that confronting them was insanity.

The demon had a few seconds headstart, but that was all, and it hardly mattered. He didn't even consider climbing—trees could be, and were, brought down by the dozens and dozens of rocks.

Everything that the slide met was flattened. Trees, foliage, smaller hills, and all the creatures that lived in them. Such a ruthless attack could hardly have been foreseen—no one would ever have imagined that Sonam was capable of unleashing such destruction on his homeland.

But then, the leopard was already finished. He had nothing left to lose but his family, so he felt little regret for opening the gates of Hell on Kifo.

The leopard was left out in the open after he triggered the slide, and watched Kifo as long as he could. Quickly, though, the demon disappeared among, and ostensibly beneath, the slurry of boulders.

Finally, the slide was starting to die down. Watching dust settle, Sonam's eyes narrowed. His enemy hadn't—couldn't have survived such a pounding… right? That was impossible… …right?

He suddenly felt a need to confirm the kill before going off to help his wife.

The slide had cut a vast swath through the Hills; everything had been knocked down and covered with rocks. Sonam picked his way over them carefully, knowing that they were prone to shifting, and if he fell, he could be squashed or trapped, incapable of taking down the lioness with Makhlava.

"I don't see him," the leopard thought. He used his nose to try to find where Kifo had fallen, but it was useless—the demon's scent had been spread all around and covered by the slide.

"You're dead, right?" Sonam said out loud, ears swiveling from side to side, intent on picking up any sound, even the slightest. There was nothing, though—nothing but for the distant sounds of combat, of Makhlava and Kishindo's fight.

"You're dead," the leopard said after another moment of searching. "There's no way that you survived that. None. At all. I'm going to help my wife, now," Sonam said, turning, "Farewell, demon… and good riddance."

The leopard walked one yard. Then two.

Then stopped.

And looked down.

"I…"

"Dead… am I?"

A paw had caught hold of Sonam's ankle, reaching up from beneath hundreds of crushing pounds of dead weight.

Kifo's paw.

The leopard slashed, viciously, at the demon's appendage, attempting to get free. Three deep, jagged lines appeared across Kifo's fingers. Chunks of flesh were removed, baring his bone—but still he held.

And started to crush.

Sonam hissed in agony, and continued to slash, to slice. He could feel his flesh being turned into little more than mush, and knew that it wouldn't be long before his bones failed…

But still, Kifo kept crushing. Sonam fell, adjusting his position, and bit down on the demon's wrist. He felt his claws cleave their way through flesh and cartilage, but still, the demon wouldn't let go.

The leopard heard a wet, meaty crack and then, a mind-numbing bolt of pain shook him to his core. His paw dangled uselessly at his side, more or less separated from the rest of his body by a grievous compound fracture. Sonam tried to stand to fight or run, but Kifo had already mostly freed himself from the rocks.

The demon had had to displace and climb through at least a ton of the sediments; his muscles bulged from the effort. For a moment, he stood at the surface, panting, muscles bulging from the exertion—it was good to be back.

Then, turning to the leopard, who had somehow managed to get to his feet, Kifo grinned.

"I gotta hand it to you," he said, examining his FAL—it had been severely damaged from the rockslide, but even as the demon spoke, it began to repair itself, "I would never, ever have figured you coulda done something like that. I still don't even have a clue—how'd you do it? It's got me beat?"

"It's… because of my condition," the leopard said, voice unsteady from pain. "I used my life-force itself to set off that slide."

"Aw, how sweet," Kifo sneered. "So I guess you've only got a couple minutes left as it is, huh?"

Sonam nodded. He tried to set his paw on the ground, to at least give the illusion that he could fight, but the slightest touch almost paralyzed him from agony.

"But I bet you're not gonna let me pass without a problem, huh? After all… your bitch is still alive, and your boy is too… maybe."

Sonam shook his head.

"Though," he said, smiling despite his situation, forcing himself to set his paw on the ground, grinding his teeth to ignore the pain, "I wouldn't be too concerned about my bitch. Your bitch… do you really think she can take on Makhlava? My wife is a fighter," Sonam murmured. "That old hag you go around with doesn't stand a chance."

"Is that so?" Kifo growled, racking the bolt of his rifle threateningly. "I—"

"Yes, it is so," Sonam said, grinning. He was doomed, and had been since he'd taken that single, lethal shot—but who cared? Any minute that he spent delaying Kifo, any minute that he spent protecting his wife and child was a worthwhile minute. "I'm surprised that a woman that old can still walk—"

"Shut up," Kifo said, but Sonam just kept speaking.

"And what about her will; has she got that in order? Not that I think she's got much net worth, but still. Money's money, right; and she can't have any kids, not with a face like that—"

"Actually," Kifo sneered. "She has a son. Bastard betrayed her, but she doesn't care anymore. She's got me, see?"

"I see. I see," Sonam said, nodding in a mock-up of sympathy. "So, ahm, I guess she's your adoptive mother, eh? For how many more years will you stay with her? I could never stick around my mother for so long. Free men need more space and freedom than that, you see."

"The fuck do you know about freedom?" the demon laughed, "Dude, you're fuckin' chained down by your family! I mean, sheeeeyit… I go when I want, where I want, how I want, why I want—you, on the other hand—"

"I don't think you understand how things work here, in the Black Hills," Sonam said, rolling his eyes, "Youngsters these days; so presumptuous, so patently stupid… Anyway," the leopard continued, "I have a family, yes. But we don't live together—we meet at our leisure, when it suits us, and that's all. There's no constraints, little commitment but that which is self-imposed—I'm living the life, boy. You could take a lesson from me."

"I probably could. I don't know how to lose fights—and The Game," Kifo snarled, raising his rifle.

"Bastard," Sonam said in wonder, before leaping to the side, dodging a sudden volley of bullets that sliced through the space he'd inhabited just a second before.

The leopard tried to circle, but the terrain was too tough, and his broken paw didn't help any. He tripped and tried to roll, but ended up jamming his shoulder against a pointed rock. Flinching in pain, he managed to recover and spring at Kifo, whose rifle had hit a failure to eject, forcing the demon to wrestle with the bolt.

The tackle was sloppy and inefficient, and didn't bring Kifo to the ground. At the last second, the demon planted his feet and hunched his shoulders up. When Sonam struck him, he just shoved forward, in a way, canceling out the leopard's kinetic energy with a high-impulse push. The leopard fell down to the ground and would have landed just fine, if Kifo hadn't raised his knee just then.

Sonam's eyes bulged as the demon's armored joint pummeled into his solar plexus. Feeling himself seize up, the leopard wheezed, gasping for breath, clutching at his chest. Kifo grinned—he'd gotten himself a great advantage, and intended to use it to finish the fight.

The demon picked his enemy up, bodily, just as he'd done with Dato, not so long ago. Lifting him over his head, Kifo bent his knees, grunting from the exertion, then jumped and threw the leopard not just far, but high into the air.

Sonam scrambled, or tried to, as he finally regained control of his limbs halfway through his flight. But the demon unslung his rifle, sighted, and started to fire at the leopard's falling form.

He took a few hits but managed to dodge some, watching the muzzle of Kifo's FAL and projecting, with a surprising degree of accuracy, where bullets would go, and what he'd have to do to avoid them. It didn't gain him much, though; he was merely trading bullet damage for fall damage.

The leopard hit the ground with a sickening crunch—he'd landed on his side, shattering half his ribs. His paw was now completely useless, the foreleg to which it was attached broken in another two places—it was limp, totally, and beyond useless. It was just dead weight.

Savagely, Sonam roared, and dashed towards his enemy, zigzagging. Kifo sprayed a few rounds downrange, missed them all, then forced himself to be patient—it was hard. But by waiting, he gave himself a perfect shot; the leopard's shoulder danced directly in his sights—

The shot was perfect, final, finishing. It struck Sonam like a sledgehammer, its force flipping him to his back, blood spraying, dying the rocks and flattened plants red. With both of his forelegs out, the leopard was panting, bleeding heavily, internally and externally—but still, he managed to crawl forward, snarling viciously, spittle and blood flowing from his lips. He wasn't going to give up.

Frowning, the demon looked at his enemy. Spat. Reloaded his rifle… then started to walk, leaving Sonam behind.

"Wh—NO! COME BACK HERE!" the leopard yelled, "COME BACK, BASTARD! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

"No thanks, bud," Kifo said, casually striding onwards, scarcely turning his head to speak over his shoulder. "I've got more important things to do. See you around, Sonam… or not…"

"No… no… no…" he practically whimpered, struggling to get to his feet, completely without success, "Stop… fight me, hurt me… not Dato… not… Makhlava…"

It was a wonder, it really was, that Sonam had lasted so long. But, slowly, as Kifo continued to walk, the light started to vanish from the leopard's eyes. His efforts soon became twitches, before vanishing altogether.

The leopard died. The demon kept walking.

---

Makhlava was making progress, but it wasn't much. Worse, she could feel her vision starting to blur, dim, as the lioness's repeated blows rattled her brain.

Then, though, she made an advance—a large strip of flesh and fur was stripped from the lioness's underbelly, courtesy of Mahlava. Kishindo hissed in agony as the leopardess dove towards her exposed internals, but managed to cope.

The lioness turned, hiding her gaping injury from her enemy. It was a desperate play for time, but it worked—Makhlava couldn't get to the single advantage she had, and, in this new position, Kishindo found that she had one leg free, and started to use it to regain her upper hand.

The wrestling match came to a sudden and unexpected end when a third combatant entered the fray.

And it wasn't Kifo.

Dato rushed in and struck Kishindo in the ear, the energy of his paw coupled with his relatively high speed to land a blow that took the lioness's hearing, for a moment. The lioness was knocked to her side, downed, for a moment, giving the young leopard time to tend to his mother.

No words were exchanged. He merely helped her up, looked over her injuries, wincing a little, but realizing that none were entirely debilitating, and turned back to the lioness. Kishindo was already on her feet.

"Well, this is certainly a treat," the lioness said sweetly, eyes glinting with malice as she backed up—the mother-son duo had split up, moving to attack her from two fronts with a rough pincer maneuver. "I've never killed a mother and son in the same battle, I think."

"And you never will," Dato retorted, "That bodyguard of yours—he's gone. My father wiped him off this Earth, without a doubt. Soon," the leopard said, smiling just a little, "you'll have to take him on, as well. Do you really think you can do that? Face an entire family of Black Hills clouded leopards, who, unlike you, have the blessings and favor of the Spirits?"

"Yes," Kishindo seethed. "Blessings and favor of the Spirits, pah… you've already seen how much that's done for you. Supposing, for a moment, that your pathetic father managed to kill Kifo—he still only has hours left to live. And you both have injuries that will never, ever completely heal, I fear," she said dramatically, giving the pair a sympathetic look. "Perhaps it's not me that should consider giving up and begging for mercy."

"We'll never give up, and we'll never beg for mercy," Makhlava said softly. "NEVER, do you hear me, whore? Never."

"Ooh, what a sharp, sharp tongue you have. I'm hurt," the lioness rolled her eyes for just a second, so that the duo wouldn't interpret that as a weak point and move in. "Sticks and stones, girl. Sticks and stones."

Kishindo was still backing up, panning her gaze from Dato to his mother. The leopards crept in together, slowly, approaching the lioness gradually—soon, the distance between them would close, and the fight would begin again. But there was a glint in Kishindo's eye besides the malice there that never left—she was planning something and they knew it. The question was—what on Earth was she up to?

Maintaining situational awareness, the leopards continued to move in. Communicating with each another nonverbally, using subtle, slight paw signals and motions, they started to spread apart, intending to attack the lioness from both sides.

They were playing into her paws.

But, of course, they didn't know it.

Kishindo felt her tail hit a tree, and stopped moving. She allowed the leopards to flank her entirely, though—Makhlava was on the right and Dato was on the left; she made note of that.

This, however, was a delicate situation for the lioness. She couldn't keep her eyes just on one leopard, or the other would dash in too quickly and too quietly for her to react. On the other hand, there were also dangers associated with looking back and forth; if the leopards detected any rhythm in her doing so, they would exploit it. And they were going to come in only seconds, anyway.

It was a risk. A big risk.

But… it paid off.

Both leopards rushed in at the same time, anticipating that Kishindo would either run forwards or jump straight up. The lioness did neither, though, and confused both Black Hills natives by running—directly at Dato.

Of course, the clouded leopard was prepared to meet his foe, and jumped a little early, seeing the lioness bob up to meet him in midair.

Folly.

It was a feint, and it worked. Kishindo suddenly dropped down, sliding, turning onto her back. Dato flew directly over her, trying to claw at the lioness, but his limbs weren't nearly as long as hers. Kishindo could, and did reach him—even as he continued to slide, streaking mud across her back, she grabbed Dato and threw him.

Makhlava, of course, was still coming. Her son was thrown off, however, by the lioness's unexpected shove, and flailed in midair, losing control rapidly. The clouded leopardess's eyes widened and she tried to dodge, but she'd been moving too fast, he'd been running too recklessly, and the lioness had thrown him too far.

They hit hard; a collision compounded by extended, knifelike claws. Both leopards were dazed, and Kishindo took only seconds to get to her feet and change the direction of her motion, digging her paws into the Black Hills' yielding topsoil to move forward.

Dato and Makhlava struggled to break apart from one another, and managed to do so just before Kishindo was on them. The lioness leaped into the air and pounced on Dato, working on pinning the leopard—she was distracted, though, as Makhlava fought back, slashing at her shoulder, moving in for a bite.

Kishindo rolled and tried to elbow the leopardess, simultaneously keeping a decent grip on Dato. It didn't work well, though; Makhlava dodged the hasty blow and went for the lioness's brachial artery. Dato managed to gain some leverage, and, just before they hit ground, worked on getting a pin on Kishindo.

From this position, there really were few options for the lioness. The leopards had both of her forelegs pinned pretty good, and she could hardly kick or bite them. Fatigue and blood loss from her injuries were starting to set in, making it almost impossible for her to flail her way free, and the duo now knew better than to ignore her legs—she tried to kick at them, several times, but they parried and blocked and shrugged off her blows.

All at once, though, the rules of the game changed, again—another combatant entered.

And this time, it was Kifo.

The demon fired a few rounds into the air, announcing his arrival. Stepping into view, looking around wildly, he ignored the wrestling trio, for a moment, and raised a finger into the air, after licking it.

A moment passed.

Then, without warning, the brawl restarted in full force.

First, Kifo forced the leopards to scatter by unleashing a barrage of rounds at them. Kishindo curled up a little, allowing the stream of lead to fly just next to her head, and then moved the instant her compatriot ceased fire.

Dato and Makhlava had made off in opposite directions, breaking the fray into two separate but related fights. After glancing at one another for a brief second, Kishindo pursued the leopardess; Kifo pursued Dato.

Both leopards were now seriously considering flat out retreat—the problem, though, was that they'd split up too soon, too quickly; and were now too far apart to communicate their intentions to one another. Now, each was pinned in the fight by the possibility that, no matter what, the other might not give up.

Both Kifo and Kishindo picked up on this, and the occasional manner in which each of their quarries would try to turn, try to shift their engagements back into convergence, they'd block it with every ounce of effort they had. Dato and Makhlava would not be allowed within a hundred yards of each another… ever again.

Dato was the first to realize that Kifo wasn't going to let him get back to his lone teammate. He also realized that his best chance at beating the demon wasn't at medium or long range, where a swarm of bullets could chop him apart in a second—it was at close range.

Skidding to a halt before, surprisingly, jumping into, then springing off a tree, the leopard turned 180° within a half second.

But Kifo was waiting for him.

Now, just then, the demon could have finished his opponent in any number of ways. He could have dropped to a knee and dispatched Dato with a CNS disconnect shot, in which a single bullet would be fired through the leopard's upper lip and go on to sever his brain stem, essentially turning off his nervous system in a heartbeat. Or, he could have cut the leopard's head off with a wild slash of his knife; or, he could have punched Dato with the muzzle of his rifle, stunning him, before finishing him at his leisure.

He did none of these things, though.

For reasons unknown to the demon, he tensed his legs, getting into the perfect position, predicting Dato's path flawlessly—and headbutted his enemy, feeling a thrill which he didn't quite understand as he did so.

Of course, the leopard went down, gasping, clutching at the base of his neck. Kifo had pulverized the bone there, causing severe internal trauma—Dato struggled to get to his feet, but it was useless. Useless.

For a second, the demon snickered, watching his fallen enemy writhe on the ground. He considered a great many things, then; the last of which involved quick, relatively painless endings for Dato's story. Then, though, his mind shifted…

"Kishindo…"

"Damn. Guess I oughta go help her—but don't worry, little fellow. I'll be back… real soon." Kifo then knelt next to the leopard, unfurling a length of rope. Due to his experience in the BSA… that is, due to having tied his shoes several times throughout his life, the demon was able to tightly constrain the leopard's movements, ignoring the pathetic batting motions his quarry made.

He just kept walking.

---

Kishindo wasn't catching up anytime soon, that was for certain. However, it was equally certain that the lioness wasn't given up anytime soon, either. Makhlava couldn't get back to her son, and every moment she kept sprinting was taking her away from him.

Grinning maliciously, the lioness dug her claws into the ground, intent on catching her prey. She was getting close, too; just a few more feet, a few more inches, and she'd be on her—

The chase came to a halt, though, when Makhlava jumped, turned, and flipped through the air, once, landing in a clean, low fighting stance. Growling viciously, the leopardess held her ground, allowing Kishindo to come to her, for once.

"Finally," Kishindo said, savoring the emotion, the feeling of preparing to rip her opponent limb from limb, "Finally. You're really going to fight now—I hope. Don't disappoint me—alright?"

It was a rhetorical question to which the lioness expected no answer. But Makhlava gave one regardless.

"Alright."

The leopardess then did something that her opponent didn't foresee. She attacked, but not in the usual way; not with her claws or jaws or body mass. Instead, she ran in but planted her forelegs, suddenly, forcing Kishindo to dodge a blow that wasn't coming, spun, and slammed both of her hindpaws into the lioness's shoulder.

Kishindo was jolted off course and almost fell, but managed to right herself and avoid a bite aimed at the back of her neck. Makhlava still had the upper hand, though… for a moment.

She took only two bullets, but those two bullets carried with them such trauma that they almost dropped the leopard on the spot. They smashed through her lower ribs, missing her heart, and lungs; but taking out important digestive organs. Essentially, the wounds she sustained, just then, were mortal.

But she kept fighting.

Growling, shaking off the pain, the leopardess wrapped her foreleg under Kishindo's, then, around the lioness's neck, in a sort of feline half-nelson. Normally, the lioness would have shaken herself out of such a hold, but, just then, she couldn't—apparently, Makhlava was already starting to "die", so, the potential for exacting revenge held by all clouded leopards was starting to be realized.

Kishindo resisted, hard, both attempting to break the lock as well as trying to stop herself from being dragged, used as a shield from more support from Kifo. But Makhlava was too strong.

"You killed my husband? My son?" the leopardess asked, snarling, still dragging Kishindo along like a ragdoll, making sure that she wasn't giving Kifo a clear shot by jostling her hostage, and avoiding baring her head or limbs.

"Got it," the demon replied, thinly. His rifle was raised and he peered down the sights, tense—his finger twitched, a few times, ready to drop his enemy, but at the last second, right before he planned to fire, Makhlava would reposition. Even as he advanced, she moved backwards, still holding Kishindo in an impressively tight grip.

"And you too," Kifo added, noting the way the leopardess's muscles and veins bulged, supernaturally, spiked with extra energy, "How long do you think you'll last?" The demon now looked into Kishindo's eyes, carefully; but didn't aim at her. This wasn't going to be easy to pull off…

"A few hours; no more. But don't worry—I'll kill her. And then, I'll kill you," Makhlava snarled.

"I'm sure."

A second passed.

Then another.

Then, Kishindo's eyes flashed.

The lioness contorted her body, suddenly, with every ounce of effort she had, which wasn't much—cut off from air by her enemy's King Kong-like grip, her lungs were in dire need of oxygen. Makhlava, on the other hand, was angry and in control and had the advantage of adrenaline and the defensive measure built into her genes by generations of violence and warfare. She reacted within a second, head blurring, as she moved to duck, giving herself cover once more—

Kifo fired only one shot.

But it did the trick.

The slug clipped Makhlava in the top of the head. It didn't penetrate her skull. Bouncing off, it merely cracked it, cleaving a path of blood and fur out of the leopardess's flesh. It stopped her in her tracks, though, for a moment; giving Kishindo time to escape her grasp and dash, gasping for air, to Kifo's side.

Makhlava struggled, for a moment, to overcome the near-fatal shot—it had given her a rather serious concussion, and she couldn't see very well at all—her enemies were mere blobs against the dark background of the Black Hills.

But she kept fighting.

Snarling, swaying on her feet, a little, the leopardess rushed forward with stunning speed.

Kifo, though, was ready.

This time, he didn't fire a single shot. He fired a series of bursts, rapidly. The first salvo took out Makhlava's shoulder. But she kept fighting. The second and third riddled her torso and back with nickel-sized holes. But she kept fighting. The fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh took out Makhlava's spine and filled her lungs with rapidly coagulating blood.

She finally stopped moving.

Rather dispassionately, Kifo stepped forward, kicked his enemy so that she was on the ground, back down, barely twitched, probably unconscious. He held the muzzle of his rifle to her head, and didn't flinch as he pulled the trigger.

Suddenly, things were silent.

Though, Kifo could feel himself strengthened and emboldened by his victory. He was injured, and it would take him hours to heal—after that, he was sure, the full results of the battle would set in.

He looked forward to it.

But there was still a loose end to tie up—and, potentially, a way to test the new power he could already feel bubbling up inside of him.

"You good to go, Kishindo?" he asked, finally tearing his gaze away from the leopardess, after nudging her to make sure that she really was down for the count. Now, as he checked on his mentor's condition, he saw that she'd need some time—a few days, at least—to heal. She was exhausted, sweaty, bloody; and, now that the adrenaline from the fight was wearing off, rather dazed and unfocused, as well.

"Go where, Kifo?" the lioness asked, canting her head up at the demon, "I was actually thinking that it might be nice to go to sleep, right now… right here, even."

"Just a few minutes," he said, feeling a tinge of guilt, "That's all I want. It's sort of a big deal, see… the other one, Dato, or whatever… he's still alive."

That certainly woke her up.

"What?!" the lioness exclaimed, eyes widening and claws extending as she looked around, "Why did you let him—supposing he gives us away? We have to track him right now!"

"Don't worry, don't worry," the demon said, before smiling, black lips upturning to bear his fangs, "He's not going anywhere. At least—not until we want him to."

---

"It's a difficult situation, Doctor—there are complications, allergies, heart murmurs, carcinogens, even trans fats involved. But we can do this," he breathed, "I know we can."

"Sometimes, boy, you don't make any sense at all," Kishindo replied, "What is a trans fat?"

"I don't exactly know," Kifo replied. "I think it has something to do with capitalism, or something. I'm not sure."

"Ah. What's capitalism?"

"…Let's try and focus, huh, Kishindo?"

Dato had been gagged and bound more securely since the lioness and Kifo had returned. They'd come to find the leopard attempting to break free by biting at his knots; it had done little good, fortunately.

Kishindo was holding the leopard down, physical, feeling somewhat disgusted for doing so. Dato glared up at her, so she spat on his nose, and looked away. To her, a defeated, conquered enemy deserved neither mercy nor pity.

Looking to her right, feeling a ripple of terror roll through her, the lioness looked at Kifo—he was slowly pressing his hands together, as if compressing something intangible, invisible.

"What are you doing?" the lioness asked, genuinely curious, "Hey—you're not going to make him explode, are you? I'm too close!"

"Nah, nah, Kishindo, nothing like that. Just… hold still."

Kifo's paws burned black, as if covered and surrounded by ash and soot. As he approached, Dato started to struggle—it did no good, of course, even as the demon continued to maliciously, inexorably bore down on him.

Now, he was only inches away. The leopard's eyes darted, rapidly, as he still persisted to try to get away, but it was no good…

---

"Ssh, ssh… wait… get down."

Without reluctance, the pride obeyed. The exception, of course, was Dietz—but, after a second of fuming, he, too, took cover, peering through the trees.

"I wonder what the old fart's seen. The senile old fool—it can't be important," the lipard thought to himself, "Perhaps—"

"Kurt… come here, please," the long-furred lion whispered.

Silently, Kurt complied, crawling past Dietz with an apologetic look. He took position next to his leader and canted his head.

"Tell me… is what you saw… does it look anything like those?"

Dietz blinked. And then, he became aware that he was practically lying in a pile of ejected brass…

"Oh Spirits… without a doubt, Roderik. I had no idea that there were so many…"

"Fuck it. Caution and decorum be damned; I have to see this."

Dietz got up, silently, and slid into position next to his uncle. Ignoring the way the old lion's eyes narrowed, he looked far, far into the distance, into a clearing almost hidden from view by the thickness of the Eastern Jungle.

All five Black Army fighters were preparing to rest—unlike Kifo, they had creature needs, and sleep was one of them. In a way, it seemed, their Master treated them well; apart from the machineguns welded into their hands, they disarmed and climbed into hammocks, upraised from the ground—they were still susceptible to bites and stings from insects and worse.

"So… they're directly in our way, Uncle. What shall we do?" Dietz murmured.

"Move around them, of course," Roderik replied, softly. "Or, rather—we three, and Sylvester, will remain in place, here, in case they wake—the rest will peel off and move at least a mile away before we continue."

"This is cowardice!" Dietz said sharply, hardly whispering. Roderik looked at him, but Kurt kept his eyes on the Black Army. "Uncle, they're over five hundred yards away! We don't need to circle around farther! I—"

"Enough," Roderik murmured. "We will do… as I say. If you want to take any shortcuts, you're free to do so, nephew—after we're all far, far away."

Now, Dietz started to growl.

"Fool," he hissed. "Not only are we not taking an appropriate risk and contacting this great power."

"Dietz…"

"We're circumventing it entirely—cowering as if we're not the lords of this land."

"Dietz…"

"How can a lion without guts exist, much less lead? It's malarchy."

"Dietz…!"

"What, Kurt?" the lipard spat, turning viciously towards his friend before pausing, face falling—he hadn't realized how loudly he'd been speaking.

"I think they heard you…"

The Black Army, indeed, had stood. Without a word between them, they got back to back, in a hunting circle. No hand motions were required; nothing—they started to spread out and move, vaguely in the Nomads' general direction.

"We'll deal with this treachery later," Roderik breathed, not taking his eyes off the former humans as he started to back up, silently, "For now, the safety of the pride is our first concern. We need to get everyone away from these things, as far and fast as possible—don't argue, Dietz. Even you must admit that this is not the first impression you want to make."

The lipard didn't respond. He did, though, seem to comply, starting to back away, invisible, hopefully, to the Black Army.

Something happened then, however, that no one could have forseen.

The Black Army was attacked, but not by the White Army, nor the Eastern Jungle anarchists, nor the Nomads.

They were attacked by a clouded leopard… that, until quite recently, had gone by the name of Dato.

---

The Lion King: My Name

Chapter 10.5: Kifo Runs for President

---

(I don't mean to offend anyone by this. Really.)

---

"It's time."

Standing tall and proud at eight feet tall, Kifo was well dressed, at the moment—a suit, pin-striped, stylish sunglasses, the works. He'd even gone so far as to comb his hair, for once, and even brush his teeth.

"Hold still, just a moment," Kishindo said, approaching. "Your tie…"

The lioness adjusted it, straightening his jacket. Smirking to herself as she looked at the imposing, powerful figure in front of her, she couldn't help but feel that they had this election in the bag.

"Thank you, future Vice President," the demon grinned. "Now… it's time."

One minute, Kifo was backstage.

The next, he was there, right there, standing at a podium in front of seas of people as far as even his telescopic eyes could see.

The roar of the crowd was deafening, but the demon took it in stride. His smile was slight, humble, and in acknowledgement of the attention, he merely raised a hand in greeting—they cheered even louder at that.

The second he adjusted his microphone, though, the silence was sudden, instant, and absolute. There were no straggling cries, no late applause, nothing—everyone was focused on the demon, and what he had to say.

"Today we rise again as one nation, in the face of betrayal and corruption… We all trusted this man to deliver our great nation into a new era of prosperity, but, like our monarchy before the Revolution, he has been colluding with the West with only self interest at heart.

"Collusion breeds slavery!... and we shall never be enslaved. The time has come to show our true strength. They underestimate our resolve... Let us show that we do not fear them. As one people we shall free our brethren from the yoke of foreign oppression! …Our armies are strong, and our cause is just. As I speak—our armies are nearing their objectives, by which we will restore the independence of a once great nation. Our noble crusade has begun.

"…Just as they lay waste to our country, we will lay waste to theirs. This is how it begins."

Silence lingered for a moment. Then, men in uniform started to become visible in the crowds, passing out weapons—Kalashnikovs, machetes, pistols, RPGs, grenades, aluminum bats… this army didn't seem modern. But even as Kifo watched, he paused, glancing down at a PDA on his belt—already, the Air Force and Navy were converging on the capital.

"It's time."

The demon raised his own weapon, his signature gold-plated FAL, aiming it into the clear, purplish sky, hand on the grip. It was a heavy rifle, but Kifo handled it like it weighed nothing.

Then…

"Umshini wami."

The crowd screamed in anticipation and vigor, raising their own weapons in response.

"Mshini wami."

Now, they started to sing with him.

"Khawuleth', umshini wami!"

Now, Kifo began to dance—he wasn't good at it, and it was difficult to do while singing, but still, he managed to pull off a few L-kicks, flares, and confusions; all in all, not too bad.

"Umshini wami mshini wami."

"Khawuleth' umshini wami… umshini wami mshini wami! Khawuleth' umshini wami, khawuleth' umshini wami."

"Wen' uyang' ibambezela! Umshini wami… khawuleth' umshini wami."

Jiwani, and, for that matter, all of the surrounding Balochistan area had been emptied; everyone was here, now, ready to go. Kifo wouldn't disappoint them.

The song ended, and he started to speak again.

"Zelaya is ousted! Come, brothers, let's g—wait, wait a moment. So sorry… cell phone."

The demon turned, grumbling to himself, and pressed a single button, bringing the device to his ear. He didn't realize, however, that he'd neglected to turn his microphone off; everything said was audible to the crowds at large.

"Who the fuck is this, I'm fuckin' busy, I—oh, shit—I mean, sorry, Mom, but—no—y—what do you mean? Of course I—what?! This is—grounded? Are you—no, not now, I'm—gah… fine. Bye… …yeah, love you too."

Wincing, the demon turned. Clearing his throat, for a moment, he swallowed, choosing his words carefully.

"Yeah dudes… sorry, I gotta go take out the trash, alright? Alright. Kthxbai," he said, before suddenly and inexplicably vanishing.

Due to the ethnonationalistic nature of his speeches, Kifo's supporters were, by and large, of Romulan heritage. Clad in bellbottoms and keffiyehs, and little else, they looked at each another in silence, disappointed—they'd all cleared their schedules; now what were they going to do? The night was so young…

"It's alright, it's alright," Kishindo said, walking on stage, smoothing out her skirt nervously, "We have a back-up plan—hit it, boys!"

The explosion of music was sudden and unexpected. What was really shocking, though, was who Kishindo had hired as back up, in case the worst happened—which it had.

A coalition of Marilyn Manson and Angry Aryans entered the stage with as much violence as possible, following the directives of their producer, Michael Scheuer. Their first poem appealed to the environmentalist factions of Kifo's supporters; the second and third focused on clinching the extremist libertarian fringes.

After that, everyone packed up, headed home and went to bed, awaiting another bright, sunny day, and another opportunity to make the world a better place.

---

(It seems that I have finally been able to throw Marilyn Manson into this fanfiction, a goal I've held for some time now. Look forward to the next chapter of My Name after Freak the 22nd comes out. So, until later… this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction—see you soon.)