THE LION KING: MY NAME
The Lion King: My Name (Read this alongside Chapter 13 of the Freak. Also, don't forget to check out my Balto fanfiction.) The demon carefully lowered his clawed finger into the vat. It felt like blood, though it was more gel-like, and when it dripped off of his finger, it did so in long, mucus-like tendrils. Morning. By nightfall, the western-most parts of the Eastern Jungle were covered in blood. “Mufasa,” Scar said, approaching his brother, obviously somewhat harassed, “this enemy... this demon. Does he have any weaknesses?” Morning came, and with it, so did the sound of a GLOCK's slide being racked. Kifo punched his semiautomatic pistol forward, holding it's slide in place, and watched as a 9mm frangible round found its way into the chamber. The mother monkey was alone as she gave birth. It was for her own protection—the rest of the Army was to the south of her position, in between her and the assumed position of their enemy... whatever it was. (You wanted story... al-Mujahid out.)
Chapter 5: Competitors III: Tough Creatures I
Still, Kifo was able to carefully draw a picture onto his left shoulder, with difficulty.
“Patient, quick and deadly, like a cobra... the snake that hides under the flower is dangerous, indeed,” he grinned, loving the burning pain that the dye made on his flesh.
He dipped his finger into the vat again, and this time drew a larger picture on his chest.
“Master didn't give me armor... but I can be tough and sturdy, like a rhino.”
Kifo dipped his finger into the vat again, dabbing away the last bit of dye from it, and drew a final symbol on his right shoulder.
“Dangerous, brutal, and built to be alone... like a tiger,” he growled, and concentrated on his finger, so even the blood-like liquid vanished, burning away.
Feeling quite pleased with himself, the warrior started to walk away. But he suddenly froze.
“Why the fuck do I feel so lonely?”
(remember what Samehe said about the needs of a tiger?)
The White Army rested in the northwestern part of the lesser-known Eastern Jungle. Oh, the Falme knew about their neighbors' existence, on an academic level anyway, there had never really been peace nor war between the Eastern Jungle and any other land. It was a land of tense peace, of bloodless anarchy—there were no leaders, official or otherwise, and the only law that mattered was the law of the jungle.
The monkeys were piled all over the trees and foliage of the environment, sleeping on top of, and next to each another. They'd had a long, hard day of fighting... and even now, every moment of sleep was important.
Suddenly, they were all awaken at once by a sharp, high-pitched roar. One of their own looked around, eyes wide, then looked at his own bloody paws, which had gone to involuntarily clutch at his chest. Then he fell, blood seeping from his torso.
There was no confused, fearful chatter. The White Army converged on itself, before a dozen monkeys moved off quickly, scouting out the mist-filled foliage. The sounds of their scampering feet quickly died off, and the rest of their comrades listened carefully.
Then, there was a clatter of noise, followed by a few pained yells, an angry shriek or two, then silence.
Then more silence.
An earsplitting roar then rolled through the Eastern Jungle, and now, the White Army couldn't help but grow fearful, if for only a second, before shrieking and jabbering back.
Out of the white, thin fog that plagued the forest like a scab, walked a silhouette. For a few seconds, the closest members of the army thought that it was, impossibly, their leader...
“Hi, guys,” said the figure calmly, as it manipulated a strange, blocky device in its paw, making several clacking sounds.
As he stepped closer, totally unimpressed by the snarling, angry, painted monkeys, it became clear just how drained he'd become in even one night of practicing hard, hard enough that he was now clutching at a GLOCK 18, loaded with high-velocity frangible ammunition.
“Kifo's my name,” he said, flicking a speck of grime from the muzzle of his automatic, “and killing's my game.”
His arm flashed, so that the strange device was aimed directly at the White Army. Sensing danger, they scattered. But they were so bunched up that they couldn't avoid all of the pistols 33 rounds. Twenty or so monkeys fell, but there were still thousands left.
As the Jungle came alive with the White Army's war cries, Kifo grinned—these beings might not like him; Hell, they might hate him. But now, he wasn't alone...
The demon primed a grenade, and drew his sword as his enemies made for him.
“This is gonna be fun,” he snarled, before lobbing the explosive at a pack of the animals.
Kifo panted, then froze, ducking under cover.
He might be many things, but he wasn't invincible, and right now, he was exhausted. He'd spent the day fighting, regenerating ammunition. He was glad that he'd painted himself; though he'd come up against harsh odds at points, he hadn't taken any serious injuries, and, aside from that, when he was forced to fight paw to paw, he had literally torn his opposition apart.
But now, he needed to rest. And so, the demon's scaled, taloned feet clomped to the south, far south, until he felt safe enough to almost collapse against a tree, not caring that the hundred-year-old plant would no doubt die from such prolonged exposure to him.
He closed his eyes... but couldn't sleep.
Something just didn't feel right...
The former Lion King paused for a long moment, then spoke, as he looked down, trying, fruitlessly, to penetrate the darkness that clouded the Great Spirits' view of the world that they were supposed to control.
“I don't know...” the tan lion said, “I couldn't speak with him long enough to tell. But brother,” he said firmly, seeing the dark lion's downcast expression, “don't worry. Your son has... perhaps... only a few potentially weak points. But you, your mate and I have only ascertained them because we've been watching him for so long now...”
“And this demon... he is not strong. He is as all tyrants are,” the red-maned lion said, “fearful, and in great pain. But what scares him, what hurts him, I don't know. Not yet. But I estimate that I will be able to find out.”
“So...” the dark lion said, somewhat comforted, “my son will be able to stand against him, when the time is right?”
“Ye—”
Mufasa suddenly paused, as a particularly malicious spike of evil peaked in the world.
“Yes... provided that he can survive what's coming.”
The demon suddenly felt a strange, inexplicable desire to throw down his weapons, to beg the White Army for forgiveness, for acceptance... but steeled himself.
“Later... later, I'll find out just what the fuck's going on with me.”
Kifo swallowed, and felt his eyes tighten.
He was gifted with the ability to sense life... to sense where it was, to sense how strong it was. And at this time, a new life was entering the world...
The female pushed and groaned, occasionally stifling shrieks of agony by clamping her jaws shut on anything she had handy—a branch, a stone, or her own arm...
The baby was taking its time to come, and so it was for a full half-hour that she laid there in agony on the ground. Perhaps if she wasn't in such mind-splitting pain, she would have felt two eyes on her...
Finally, the baby came. The mother took a few long seconds to shudder, to take in rattling breaths of air, and reached down towards her child...
But strangely, she couldn't. Something seemed to be wrong with her hands...
The female brought her hands to her face to look at them, angrily; she only wanted to hold her newborn child, how dare they not work!
And then, she realized... she no longer had hands. Her arms ended at her wrists, in clean-cut, bleeding stumps...
Any normal monkey would have died then and there in the combined agony of the injury and the thought that they'd never, ever be able to do even the simplest of chores ever again.
But this one was a member of the White Army, and she could deal with her pain, for a time, anyway.
With a shriek of challenge, the female monkey managed to position herself over her child, preparing to defend him against whatever terrible monster had amputated her so easily.
There was a snapping, tearing sound from behind the monkey, and she turned viciously, but then, for the first time in her combat-ridden life, flinched.
And who wouldn't, after seeing a terrible, deadly-looking monster casually eating their arms, looking at their child curiously?
“Hi!” the demon said playfully, before shoving the rest of the monkey's hand into his powerful jaws and biting down, so that a series of popping cracks were heard, “I'm Kifo. What's your—”
The warrior moved in a flash, punching the charging, screaming monkey in the chest, knocking her to the ground instantly.
“Courtesy of my cobra and tiger sides,” Kifo thought, grinning happily to himself for reasons that he couldn't begin to fathom before he spoke, “Hey now... why so aggressive? I only wanted to chat.”
The monkey made a series of incomprehensible, rasping, snarling sounds as she struggled to stand, and the demon's eyes narrowed.
“Watch your mouth. Especially around your kid, you bitch. You want to scar him for life?”
The demon extended his claws, and moved them towards the baby monkey, who merely seemed to be tumbling around innocently, and its mother fell silent.
“So...” Kifo said, and leaned back, relaxing, crossing his feet, “...what's up?”
The monkey looked at the demon strangely, not daring to believe her ears. Her lips twisted into a snarl, and she followed her fighting instincts, trying to kick Kifo.
This time, there was no mercy for the monkey. Kifo's sword flashed, and she fell... in different pieces. The demon sighed, shuddering in rage slightly, and ran his tongue along the blade of his weapon, before sheathing it.
He looked down at the baby disinterestedly. It was pawing around at the ground uselessly, looking at its mother's body without any discernible emotion.
“...Hi...” the demon said.
The monkey looked up at him with big, unblinking eyes, then raised its minuscule paws towards Kifo.
A day ago, the warrior would have scoffed, and shot, stabbed, or dispatched it in any number of other vicious ways. But today, he felt different.
“I'm Kifo,” he said, and reached out with his clawed, powerful paw, extending a finger to rub the little primate under the chin, “wassup?”
Of course, the baby only cooed slightly, and wrapped its arms around Kifo's wrist and paw, dangling off of it, closing its eyes. It opened one eye, looking over at the demon, who, suppressing a feeling of intense disgust, didn't brush it away, and instead brought the monkey closer to him.
Half an hour later, looking down in wonder, mostly at himself, and gave the baby monkey's smallish form a stroke. Why he felt no malice towards it, why he felt strangely... content? Fulfilled?... he didn't know. All he knew was that he only wanted to hold this monkey, this baby animal, in his arms...
All at once, it woke up.
“Hey, little guy... what's up?” the demon said, in a strange, friendly voice that sounded horribly mangled when it was produced by his Hellish jaws, “hungry? Here, try this...”
Kifo lifted up a bit of meat, namely, muscle from the monkey he'd killed... the baby's mother.
The little being didn't seem to care, however, as it merely sniffed at the bit of meat, then tried to nip at it... but, of course, it had neither the teeth nor the jaw muscles for the job.
But it still had its hunger. And it had no way to express that except for crying.
“Hey, now, stop that... stop it!” the demon suddenly snarled, and, for a moment, the baby monkey did stop its cry.
Kifo was torn—the instincts he'd only come to acknowledge since his “death” told him to kill the monkey and be done with it. But now, something else in him told him that he needed to do whatever it took to help this lost little one.
So he took the animal in his arms, and dashed around the Eastern Jungle, a purposeful sense of urgency, so much so that he barely remembered to hold a weapon at the ready, just in case. But no matter what plant he offered the monkey, no matter what he said to it, its crying only got worse and worse.
And the demon didn't have much patience.
In the end, Kifo lasted longer than one might expect—a full ten minutes. But the next time the demon was aware of himself, he was shaking in rage, a terrible cloud of blackness in his mind. He felt the need to vomit, strangely, and did.
He dropped to all fours, and retched. After Kifo brought up some of the undigested meat in him, he spat, and rubbed the back of an appendage over his lips. Unsurprisingly, it came away bloody.
The baby monkey was gone, horribly, and the demon knew better than to look for it. He didn't even want to think about it, but he knew that the infant was certainly dead, and reduced to a form so different from the original that it would be irrecognizable.
Kifo stood, and took in a long, rattling breath of air that became smoky and sooty the moment it passed his lips. He shook, barely capable of staying on his feet, and had to close his eyes tightly, clenching his hands into fists, biting down so hard that his gums bled.
The demon was distracted. He was confused, he had no idea what was going on inside of him. It occurred to him that it might have been a side affect of using the dye—perhaps the scorpion-creature had made it so that all that used it would feel a sense of attachment to members of the White Army.
He was in pain, he wasn't paying attention. And if Kifo was, he'd have realized that there were two eyes on him...
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