THE LION KING: MY NAME
The Lion King: My Name (This doesn't need to be read alongside anything in the Freak. Also, I've decided to change the rating of My Name to M. There's just too much material here that's by no means appropriate for teenagers and other immature age-groups to read. Make no mistake: this story is built to disgust and shock you. But there is a method to my madness... you'll see, soon enough. But I do have to warn you: My Name will get no less graphic, violent, senseless or shocking than it's been thus far.) Water. There's something about it, the way it flows, the way it sloshes, the way it cuts through rock and land, the way it dashes even the mightiest boulder to bits in its powerful waves. The way it washes away our fears, our enemies, and any evidence of their existence that they leave behind. Or, the way that it appears to. Lions, like almost all cats, neither like water nor are made to be capable of swimming well. True, though, in times of life and death, they find the strength to pull themselves out of relatively shallow, relatively calm water. Surely, however, water that flows along at great speed, that tumbles through rocks, over waterfalls, that carries any sediment caught in it hundreds of miles aways... surely, no lion is capable of surviving that. Surely not. This land was one that was far, far, far away from either the Pride Lands or the Outlands. It lay well beyond the Eastern Jungle, and even beyond the gigantic Forests of the Far East, of which the unorganized residents of the Eastern Jungle scarcely knew of. In short, the utterly drenched, half-dead lioness that found herself washed up on the sands of a quiet lakebed had no idea where she was. Of course, that wasn't the first thing that registered to her. First, she realized, that she was, despite the incalculably long odds, alive. “Scar's gone...” she thought, rasping, trying to get to her feet before she fell, and brought up some of the water in her. She was exhausted, and water still filled much of her lungs. So, for now, the lioness remained still, defeated, for the moment, but, as always, planning, regrouping, filling her soul with new determination... new hate... “Sarafina... by now, you have struck.. have you succeeded? Does it matter?” She started to breathe a little less shallowly, and after a full hour of rest, opened her yellow and red eyes. Her tawny fur clung to her ribs as it always did, but now, the pangs of hunger that she'd known all her life were more intense and urgent than ever. “Scar's gone...” she rasped, struggling to get to her feet; defeated for the moment, maybe, but still standing, never truly put down, “...Scar is gone...” She extended her claws, testing them, and felt her old strength, her old anger return, giving her purpose, giving her direction, giving her power. Her lips twisted upwards, and her teeth split apart into an unmistakable grin. “But Zira's still around...” The lioness then tore off through the foreign land, claws slicing vegetation, her peals of laughter echoing after her like the cries of agony of all those whose lives she'd ruined... She'd spent her whole life fighting, learning, tempering herself, improving. Her first hunt had been a complete failure, as had her second, and third. But on her fourth hunt, she'd perfected her technique... and that night, every one of the Outlanders had feasted on the flesh of two zebras. Zira's lips twisted into a snarl as she remembered her former “pride.” “Ungrateful bastards,” she growled, as she bit into the neck of a deer she'd just found and downed, to make sure that it was dead, “I gave them everything, my children, my youth, my loyalty, my blood... and, in the end, what did they give me but a slap across the face?” The lioness ripped a chunk of flesh from her prey, and scarfed it down. Then, she proceeded to eat the animal to the bone, leaving nothing except for what would be undeniably toxic to her. Then, she ran, at a brisk, merciless pace for hours. Finally, panting, she came to a halt, and checked out the area surrounding her location—a wet, rather chilly (for her) forest—and slumped over. “Zira... that name no longer fits me. I no longer seek to rebuild Scar's empire, I'm only one lioness... and I'm not getting any younger. My goal now is only to avenge myself, and Scar... so, that will be my name. Revenge. Kishindo.” “Kishindo.” Days, weeks, months of running with little rest, stopping only for eating had added pounds of muscle to Zira's tawny frame. Now, she could spring through the treetops with little effort, without even breaking a sweat. She was stealthy, too. The Forests of the Far East had large predators, ones that were at least thrice as heavy as she could ever hope to become. They had thick, dark-brown fur, jaws powerful enough to smash through solid rock, and claws longer than hers. Fighting them was a challenge, and a challenge that slowed her down... and now that Kishindo knew that she could fight them and win, she didn't bother to try any more. Though, the meat of their children was tasty... “Now, I'm getting somewhere...” The lioness was in the Eastern Jungle. She scarcely knew of the land; her whole life had been devoted to the reclamation of the Pride Lands for its rightful owner; she'd never really bothered to learn much about the Land of the Spirits... and there as no one to teach her about it, either. Within two days, she was in the northwestern lobe of the Eastern Jungle. Kishindo froze. She sniffed the air—there was something here, or someone... someone so much like her, some one so... deliciously... refreshingly... evil. Someone powerful. And someone that, in his own way, needed her. And someone that she, in her own way, needed. Eyes filled with lust-like greed, she watched, analyized, calculated, and realized that, after all, the being she was looking at was so much like her that they could have been born to the same mother...
Chapter 6: Competitors IV: Still Around
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