“Come on, Father, tell me a story, please?”

“Well…” Nasher paused, unable resist his daughter’s puppy eyes and quivering, pouting lip, “Alright, I will.”

“Yippee!” Kochai cheered, rubbing her father’s foreleg until she fell over, looking up at him in anticipation.

“I have one, I don’t think you’ve heard it before,” the tiger finally said. Clearing his throat, he too slumped over, resting a giant paw across his daughter’s body, protectively. Paternally.

“It’s about a tigress,” Nasher began, “She was very powerful, very fast. The greatest fighter Hindustan has ever known—but, daughter, here’s the surprise. She abhorred fighting, and violence, of all kinds. You see?

“In fact,” he continued, “She even tried, for many years, to find a way that we cats can survive without killing and eating meat. Eventually, she gave up, and accepted it as a necessary evil. She spent most of her life protecting the creatures of this jungle—making sure that there was enough water to go around, keeping track of human sightings, and so forth.

”One day, she had two cubs, both male,” Nasher smiled, sadly, “She loved them more than anything else in all the world, and, if things had been allowed to continue normally, they would, no doubt, never have strayed far from each others’ sides, perhaps creating combined families of their own, someday.

“Alas, this wasn’t to be. When her cubs were only a few months old, she was killed, just like that, right in front of them—by a hunter, Kochai,” Nasher said softly, “A hunter. To live, the cubs split up, running in different directions… but they never met each other again. It was only many, many years later when one of them found out that his brother… had been captured, after killing many men, and was never, ever seen or heard of again.

“This isn’t a sad story, though,” he continued, “You see, she may have died… but her other cub lived. In fact, he still lives. And even though he doesn’t protect his homeland as much as his mother did, he feels sure that his daughter will, someday, take after her grandmother.

“Ah, heheh… you should meet his daughter, Kochai. She’s very sweet—I’m sure you’d like her very much,” the tiger smiled, rubbing his daughter under the chin.

“You mean, the tigress’s son, and his daughter are still alive?” Kochai asked, latching on to her father’s foreleg, wrestling with it playfully, “Maybe, can we meet with them someday?”

Nasher played with his daughter in silence, for a moment, lifting her off the ground easily, tapping at her insistently. Then, smiling, he nodded.

“Sure, we will. In fact, Kochai, you already have met them. In fact… you are meeting them, right now, this very moment?”

The tigress kitten gasped, got up, and quickly began to lick her paw, using it to straighten her fur into presentability.

“Ah—really? Where are they, Father? This is an honor, to meet such a great family—why are you smiling like that, Father?”

Nasher stood, shook himself off, and approached his daughter, gently ruffling her headfur. Avoiding her curious green eyes for a moment, he wiped his own with the back of a paw, bizarrely, inexplicably. Then, looking at Kochai again with a slightly quivering smile, brown eyes moist, he spoke in a tone the kitten had hardly heard before.

“They are you and I, Kochai. The one that was the jungle’s protector… was my mother. The one that killed so many humans, he was my brother. And you, Kochai,” he said, “Will take after your grandmother, I am sure. Don’t tell your mother, ever… but I believe that it’s your destiny.”

“Lesson number one…”

Raj’s cool, gentle voice was almost taunting, given Freak’s condition—it was matter-of-fact, and maddeningly calm, while he was lying on the ground, bleeding to death. The li-tigon had been knocked over by the force of the sudden, long burst, and now, dazed, was on his back, twitching as—

“Wait, just one second…”

“There are no rules,” Raj said, swapping the spent magazine of his G3KA4 for a fresh one, slapping the Velcro pouch of his vest shut with a casual flick, “There are no warnings, no second chances; there’s no predictability, and if any rules arise during combat, don’t expect them to apply throughout or even be respected ever again. Simply put,” the human went on, chambering a round, “Anything goes, so, always keep on your guard.”

By then, the li-tigon was on his feet again, giving a rather annoyed glare to his “friend”. Shaking himself off, hearing the clatter of twenty or so rubberized globules hit the floor, he turned on his heel, suddenly, giving a sardonic look at Nasher and Kochai, who, bizarrely, had both tried to hide scoffs with their paws.

“What’s so funny…” Freak said, in his equivalent of a whine, as Raj, too, grinned, “You’d have done the same, if this… crazy human suddenly shot you like that.”

“Nay, nay, that’s not it, my dear great nephew,” Nasher said, attempting a tone of dignity, while holding back laughter, barely, “It’s just… here. You have to see it for yourself.”

Freak gave his mane an annoyed toss, and, following the direction indicated by the tiger’s outstretched paw, made his way to a nearby pond. How irritating people could be, at times… but the li-tigon already felt no anger or resentment. He neither had the time nor the will to feel such useless emotions.

And, in fact, as he looked at this reflection, standing at the lip of that darkened pool, moonlight flashing sporadically off its miniscule waves, he too had to smile, if only for a second.

“Raj…” Freak said, turning slowly, expression still slightly warm, “You have a very, very strange sense of humor. But tell me—what was the purpose of dying my fur pink with gunshots?”

Indeed—Raj had fired at Freak not with rubber bullets, but paintballs: simmunition, of sorts. The li-tigon’s entire side was nicely polka-dotted with neon pink dye that, hopefully, would wash out soon… …hopefully.

“Spirits, I hope it does,” Freak thought, and, suddenly, anxiously, dived into the pond behind him without another word. Licking at himself wildly, or trying to, anyway, he regardless heard the human’s next words.

“It seems that you’ve learned lesson two already,” Raj laughed, watching the li-tigon’s dismay as he realized that the dye wouldn’t come out so easily, “Allowing yourself to be embarrassed and resultantly acting in anger or haste… may be fatal.”

“So, little one, who do you think will win?”

“Well,” Kochai said, before continuing in a louder voice, audible to the combatants, “My father is strong, smart, and this is his home. He’s a very good fighter.”

Stretching, hyperventilating to psyche himself up for the oncoming match, Nasher paused for a moment to smile at his daughter, snapping off a flashy salute. Shadowboxing, for a moment, executing a series of lightning fast strikes so unorthodox and deadly that Raj had to pause, impressed, hardly hearing what the kitten said next.

“But, Raj sahib, my money’s on cousin Scar. He’s even bigger and stronger than Father, and he’s told me stories about fighting all over this world. So, even though this is Father’s homeland, cousin Scar has a very clear upper paw. I don’t think Father will be able to resist for long.”

The two male cats were perhaps twenty five or thirty yards apart, sizing each another up. Oh, don’t misunderstand—this wasn’t a real fight, just a friendly… match. Just to loosen their muscles, just to give Freak some much-needed practice. There was nothing malicious about it—no, really.

They were on a plain, covered with short, somewhat prickly grasses. The Season of the Rains, though, had made the landscape dreary and gray, increasing friction between the ground and whatever touched it—say, speeding paws. The Sun had been concealed by cloud cover for days, and, for days, it had been raining like it was now—heavily, but not so heavily that the match had to be called off, not at all.

Raj and Kochai were well off to the side, safely out of the way. The human had even constructed a simple shelter there, at the edge of a rather thick forest—a length of tarp kept himself and the kitten dry, so, below it, they were free to watch the battle ensue.

At the moment, he was mostly unarmed—he had a shack of weapons, food, ammunition, and other devices beyond the comprehension of his companions several miles off. A GLOCK 17 was holstered at his thigh, against simple camouflage pants. Clad in a fitted black tee that didn’t restrict movement in the slightest, he ran a hand across Kochai’s soft, striped fur.

“I tend to agree, Kochai… but do you really think the weights won’t affect things?”

In contrast with Nasher’s quick motions, Freak’s practiced moves were sluggish, and slow. He tried to stretch, but was hardly able too—even then, he gave the umpteenth “do I really have to do this” sort of gaze to Raj—he was so weighted down that he could hardly move. Fifty pound packs were strapped around all four of his legs, and a jacket filled with iron fillings further slowed him.

This was going to be… a tough fight to win.

And yet, slowly, seeing that there was no escaping this, Freak found that there were maneuvers that he could execute—not strikes, necessarily, or dodges or brutal, unforeseeable counters. What the li-tigon could do, though, was wrestle, and well—if he managed to bring the fight to the ground, he could use his superior strength to pin Nasher and draw a winning move in the confusion that was sure to ensue.

The problem, of course, was that he’d been taught wrestling either by Nasher himself, or by Raj in front of Nasher. Hopes of taking the tiger off-guard were slim… but it was his best tactic.

Taking a few deep, long breaths, Freak looked up, locking eyes with his opponent. Rain ran shallow trails through his mane, but nothing distracted the li-tigon now—his focus was absolute.

Finally, from the side, Raj called out. “Ready?” he said, as a long, spiky tendril of lightning streaked out in the distance, “Then… Go!”

As thunder rocked the land, the fight began. Freak moved forward, slowly; even more slowly than his best speed was. Nasher came in much, much faster, but, as the fighters closed, the li-tigon already began to formulate a plan.

“I’ll let him come to me as he is—let him waste his energy. I’ll block his attacks as best I can, and take what I can’t—Raj said to avoid using claws, but I’m used to pain. I’ll make this fight one of attrition… I have more stamina than him; I’m part lion. Once he exhausts himself, which shouldn’t take long, I’ll have my opening. I’ll have my victory.”

Nasher’s first attack was a flashy one, a somewhat frightening one. Darting to the side, first, in a feinted flank, he jumped forward, suddenly launching his full mass at Freak. Teeth bared, arms open in a twisted imitation of a hug, the tiger’s slim, striped form shot forward at high speeds, giving the li-tigon no time to pull together a real response.

“I guess this is one that I’ll have to take…”

It wasn’t all as bad as that, though. Freak was able to rear up, somewhat, almost sluggish due to the hundred pounds of extra luggage weighing down his forepaws. To Nasher, the li-tigon seemed to almost be moving in slow motion, so much so that the tiger smirked, a little, working out an easy counter in his mind… before realizing that he was still closing far too fast to react.

As a result, Nasher scrambled, or attempted to, awkwardly twisting in air. Most of the effectiveness of his attack was lost as his midsection collided with Freak’s powerful shoulder—in fact, this worked to the li-tigon’s advantage. Thanks to his superiority in intertia, he barely moved, whereas Nasher almost crumpled against him, exhaling explosively.

Freak’s paws were both off the ground, and, hoping to press his advantage, the li-tigon tried for a grab then and there. Nasher was too quick, though, so as the li-tigon’s forelegs closed, they grasped at nothing but thin air.

The tiger had used his forepaws to push up, off Freak’s back, jumping up into the air. He attempted to kick at the li-tigon’s face, but was thrown clear too early. Still in the air, Nasher managed to execute a near-perfect twist, turning around to face Freak, or at least, Freak’s back.

For his part, the li-tigon turned his head, knowing that Nasher would hit the ground soon and immediately come for him. So, now, he’d have to turn around quickly, without wasting energy—the solution, of course, was to take advantage of his fledgling forward momentum, tuck, and roll.

Drawing his shoulder down, Freak was on his feet again just in time to stop Nasher in his tracks. The tiger had been moving in, intent on headlocking Freak or showing that he could bite the li-tigon’s neck, an instant win. Now, though, he just circled, muscles shifting over bones like a well-oiled machine.

“You’re good, Scar—very good. How much weight are you wearing? Two hundred and fifty pounds, or more… wah wah. I must be getting old, because in my prime, the fight wouldn’t have even lasted half this long.”

“Lesson One…” Freak thought to himself, not saying a word, “There are no rules, so always be on your guard.”

Nasher fell silent, smirking a little and bowing his head in deference once to how quickly the li-tigon had defeated his attempted diversion. The tiger had conversed with Raj prior to the match, and the human had laid out a few good ideas that would both test how well Freak had learned his lessons, give him as tough of a fight as possible… and give Nasher the best shot at victory as possible. It was a mutually beneficial deal.

Freak was turning, slowly, trying to keep up with Nasher without using too, too much energy. The tiger’s fighting style was explosive, intense, kick-ass-in-your-face… for minutes. After that, the li-tigon knew, Nasher would rapidly tire, form collapsing with strength and speed. So, as long as they both kept moving, Freak had the upper hand.

Nasher knew this. So, he needed to change the odds—how though? The answer was simple—attack and attack and attack and press the attack until the fight was done. There was no chance that the li-tigon would be able to take what he gave him, all at once, without showing some gap in his defense—no chance at all.

This time, the tiger didn’t dive; he made sure to keep at least two paws on the ground at any given time. Moving in fast, he didn’t bother to try to take out Freak’s legs or go for a pin; he too knew that he stood a good chance of losing a wrestling match. Instead, the tiger batted fast and hard—for every one blow that the li-tigon successfully blocked, at least two came through.

Freak was able to roll with the blows, though, so, wasn’t fazed by them too much. He even managed to fight back, the power of his already vicious swipes multiplied by the added weight behind him. Though Nasher was able to snap off perhaps seven strikes for every one of the li-tigon’s, a single shot from Freak’s massive paw was enough to make the tiger rock back on his feet.

Wide arcs of water splaying out in all directions as Nasher dodged this way and that, throwing what body weight he could spare behind some blows, the fight wore on. Freak took hit after hit after hit, but refused to give up. Naturally, both cats’ lips had peeled back, baring their teeth—but they didn’t snarl. They didn’t smile either, really, but sucked in and expelled air too powerfully to rely on their noses. For quite some time, Nasher seemed to be winning, and, once or twice, Freak was pushed to the brink of defeat by sudden combinations of attacks, but he always rebounded and ended up standing his gorund.

Their paws shattered raindrops into spray before slamming, hard, into their opponents. Flesh deformed, and, every now and then, a carelessly unsheathed claw would trace a long, red line across and into fur. Nasher pranced around his opponent, but Freak slowly shifted from offense to defense, as, finally, the tiger began to tire.

Now, every attack counted. The li-tigon had started his assault more early than he’d have preferred, but there was no alternative. Against such a sustained attack, he couldn’t last much longer—so he had to move in now, while he still could.

Feeling bruises blossom under his fur, Freak didn’t try for another grab—not now, not yet, it was too early. Instead, he started to move forward, working against the rain and his weight and the tiger’s stubborn defense. Nasher seemed to realize that things weren’t going well, and prepared to either escape or hit Freak with whatever he had left in a last ditch push—but the li-tigon was not one but two steps ahead of his opponent.

The second he saw Nasher’s eyes flash, Freak jumped. His hind legs weren’t burning nearly as much as his forelegs; they hadn’t done nearly as much work. The li-tigon had launched himself forward, but it didn’t matter if Nasher was dodging, attacking, or even escaping—whatever the tiger’s plan was, Freak’s preemptive response had ruined it.

As it turned out, Nasher was, in fact, attacking. Hoping that a sudden offensive would catch the li-tigon off-guard, he’d roared and gone low, intended to spring up, uppercutting Freak before slamming him down and ending the fight with a powerful, stylistic chop, elbow, or palm.

The li-tigon successfully cleared Nasher, and, as he was in control of the situation, wasn’t nearly as surprised and even shocked with the way events had unfolded as the tiger. Wide-eyed, Nasher had gasped and looked up, confident snarl collapsing as he desperately tried to turn over and attack at Freak’s midsection.

Too late.

Freak blocked Nasher’s desperate kicks with one foreleg, drawing the other once back before unleashing it. Even without the weight, it was powerful enough to potentially dislocate limbs or break bones, so Freak didn’t aim for a weakpoint—instead, he slammed his paw into Nasher’s hip.

The Lion Sheikh must note that Nasher was right—he wasn’t that old, fortunately. Otherwise, such an attack could easily have broken his hp, crippling him for good.

What the attack did succeed in doing, though, was sending the already spinning tiger hopelessly off course. Nasher had no chance to recover and bounced, helplessly, growling and yowling, across the soaked, muddy ground. Freak wasn’t much better off, though; the li-tigon didn’t have enough time to bring his weighted paws in place to land.

Messily, he rolled, barely getting to his feet in time to turn and see that Nasher, too, was recovering from the exchange.

Despite the growing cramps and aches in his muscles, the painful stitch in his side from the exertion, Freak rushed him. He had neither the time nor the energy to think out an assault, and, to be fair, Nasher had even less time to react or think out a defense before the li-tigon was on him.

Struggling to see straight and breath through gasps and pants, Freak desperately wrestled Nasher. The tiger fought back tooth and nail, blasting at Freak’s body with blow after blow; somehow, the li-tigon had pinned him in place.

Teeth gritted, Freak ignored the practical jackhammer at his chest and fought on. This was his only chance to win the fight; if he didn’t commit to this one final assault Nasher would dance out of range and then attack his exhausted, weighted form—

“Ah! That’s enough, that’s enough, I give in, I give in, I give in—gah…”

Somewhere along the line, Freak had shut his eyes, tightly. Maybe it was to protect himself from the increasingly desperate flails of Nasher’s paws, and the resulting spiderweb of clawmarks across his face, or maybe it was to prevent him from being overloaded with information—he didn’t need vision to know that this was a desperate, desperate encounter.

The fight had gone to the ground, and even though Nasher had taught Freak most everything he knew about wrestling, the li-tigon had prevailed. The rain had lubricated the combatants, and that had played a roll. So had the added resistance from Freak’s weights, and the exhaustion that Nasher had caused himself by attacking so relentlessly from the start of the fight.

Slowly, the two cats untangled themselves from one another. They had to go slow; an improper move could result in the wet, sickly sound of meat leaving bone, and Freak was too worn out to do anything but collapse when he was free from Nasher.

Laying on their backs, both fighter panted, wincing at their temporary but painful injuries. Looking to the sky, they had to keep their eyes half shut due to the Rains that thundered inexorably down, finally soaking through their fur since they’d stopped moving. Tapping at his keyboard, the Lion Sheikh reveled in the poetic form of this paragraph—

“Shabosh, shabosh!” Raj called, applauding as he neared. The human’s face was lit up with a smile, even as he undid the weights from Freak’s limbs with a few deft, intricate maneuvers, “I’m very impressed, Scarred One; I didn’t think you’d prevail. This is good, very good,” he grinned, rubbing his hands together, “Your training is progressing quite well, we’ll be ahead of schedule at this rate. I—“

“Oi, Raj…” Nasher said, suddenly on his feet, looking around, “Where is my daughter?”

The human’s smile faded as he looked around, all around. But the tigress kitten was nowhere to be seen; she hadn’t followed him to the two exhausted fighters, and she wasn’t still at the tent, out of the rain.

“Someone needs to put a leash on that girl,” Freak murmured as he too stood, somewhat shakily, muscles feeling sluggish and unresponsive, “Where could she have gone? Why—”

“Hello, Father, Raj sahib, and cousin Scar,” said a voice from the nearby treeline, opposite the one where Raj had constructed the small shelter, “I have lunch!”

Kochai probably hadn’t been gone for long; the fight was intense and too exciting to miss. And yet, it had only lasted for perhaps five minutes at best. That meant that she’d tracked down, somehow hunted, and somehow hauled back her kill in the timeframe of mere minutes.

The three grown beings watched, dumbstruck, as she tugged hard at the neck of a deer. Her teeth sliced its skin, though, so, a second later she fell backwards but somersaulted cleanly, landing on her feet. After taking a moment to clean herself obsessively, licking her paws, snout, and chin, Kochai turned, smiling widely, before blinking and canting her head.

“What is it? Do I have something in my fur? Oh, no, Mother always said to wash my face three times a day, and I’ve already forgotten!” she groaned, quickly hastening towards a stream.

“No, Kochai, it’s not your face,” Raj said suddenly, standing, before walking to the downed herbivore. Checking its vitals with a brief touch, he shook his head, staring down at the kitten.

For a moment, Kochai just blinked back with her big green eyes, canting her head. She was almost humorously shorter than Raj, and quickly giggled and playfully “attacked” his boots, careful not to deal them any lasting damage.

Half-hobbling, Freak and Nasher walked over. Of course, the instant Raj looked over, the two cats straightened up, looking as dignified as they could, nibbling and examining their claws to show that their little fight had been nothing, nothing at all, just a little work out.

The human rolled his eyes, and, with some difficulty, hauled Kochai’s kill onto his shoulders. So Freak and Nasher wanted to show how tough they were, fine—he’d given them an opportunity to do so.

The Rains had picked up, somewhat, and it would take quite some effort to get back to the basic shelter he’d erected at the far end of the field. The moment the human turned his back, though, the two cats all but collapsed, mouthing complaints about their aching backs, arms, and legs.

“Come on, you three; it’s a long walk and I’m sure you’re hungry. Or, could it be that you’re unfit for such a simple task? Could it be—has the fight overtaxed you…? Surely, this is not so?”

Turning slowly, Raj gave both cats plenty of time to stand, proud and strong, as Kochai looked back and forth between them, bewildered.

“Don’t let me hear you say such things ever again, boy; you need to learn some respect for your elders and betters. Unfit to walk three hundred yards? What an insult! I’m tempted to leave this place, even now.”

“He’s right. We’re strong. Very strong. Three hundred yards is nothing. Don’t underestimate us.”

If any doubt remained in Raj’s mind, Nasher’s hyperbole and pomp as well as the unusually forceful tone in Freak’s voice removed them. Nodding, bowing his head in apology, the human snickered to himself as he heard Nasher groan, thinking he was out of earshot, and complain.

“Just how on Earth can I walk three hundred yards in such a condition? Great nephew, you’re as disrespectful of your elders as that blasted human. No mercy, no restraint at all…”

“…Sorry.”

The curt reluctance of Freak’s reply made Nasher’s lip twitch. No more words were shared, though, for the moment, as the two male cats struggled to follow Raj towards the shelter.

Half-limping, the tiger muttered under his breath, “Three hundred yards… I’m no longer a strapping young adult, I’m—not old, certainly not, not at all. But I’m not in my prime… three hundred yards. How can I do this?”

Kochai was dutifully flanking her father, affectionately rubbing his shin every now and then with her cheek. At that, though, she had to sigh and trot up in front of him, turning around as she made towards Raj.

“Easy, Father—the same way I killed a deer and brought it to you: mind over matter.”

“Lesson number three, mind over matter…”

“So. Break the table.”

Freak didn’t react. Not immediately, anyway. After a moment, he made a show of looking across his supposed target, examining it slowly, carefully. Rain lubricated the structure, and it was a small wonder that it still stood; it wasn’t bound or lashed together in any way that Freak could see.

“Raj,” the li-tigon said slowly, setting a powerful, massive paw on the table. Flexing his muscles, for a moment, he pushed down, a little, but the structure didn’t budge, not an inch. Since his training had started, he’d taken full advantage of his somewhat beefier frame; broader shoulders and a thicker chest. To begin with, he’d never been weak, at all. But now, his sheer muscular strength rivaled that of Kovu’s… times two.

“How?”

The table was little more than a slab of stone raised off the ground by a few cinderblocks. It was perhaps nine feet long, and two feet wide… but three inches thick. It wasn’t smooth, not quite; little flecks of sediments stuck out, here and there, offering grit against the li-tigon’s paw as he rubbed over it, testing it for weak points—there were none.

“Simple—strike it. You should break it in one blow, or you’ll hurt yourself,” Raj warned.

Still, Freak looked skeptical. So, after a moment, the human sighed, and placed a spare cinderblock on the impromptu table. Taking a few moments to calm, breathe more deeply, and concentrate, he seemed to Freak to be gathering energy, somehow, or concentrating it.

When Raj struck, his blow fell with all the power of a lightning bolt. Smashed bits and pieces of clinker flew in all directions, showering the surrounding area with dust that rapidly coagulated into little drops of mud with the falling rain.

Still exhaling, the human slowly withdrew his open hand from the table, shaking it off slightly—not in pain, but, rather, to show Freak that he was uninjured despite having struck the block with his palm. He wasn’t bleeding, bruised; his bones weren’t broken and by flexing his fingers, he showed Freak that he hadn’t been significantly affected by the strike at all.

“Correction,” the human said after a moment, dusting himself off, “Don’t strike the table: strike through the table. You’d be surprised at how much energy a strike can generate, if you put your body weight behind it. Just remember,” he warned, “You have to execute this move with complete confidence. If you fail to commit 100%, you will injure yourself.”

Freak nodded, still somewhat awed by the human’s incredible display. Looking at the table, he ground his teeth, for a moment, considering how best to do this.

“I’ll have to strike it directly in the center, that’s the closest thing it has to a weak point. I can’t strike and withdraw, like I’d generally do in a fight—that removes a good deal of force from the attack, and puts unnecessary strain on my foreleg. I’ll have to aim… perhaps six inches below it. I’ll jump, a little, I want to give myself as much energy as possible, but if I jump too high, I’ll hurt myself.”

All in all, there was a relatively small window for a successful break, but, the li-tigon started to realize, it was doable…. Probably. Raj wouldn’t tell him to do something like this with the goal of having him fail, because there was a very, very real possibility of serious and even permanent injury if Freak botched this.

That gave the li-tigon some confidence.

Rather than taking the long, slow breaths that Raj did, Freak hyperventilated, for a moment, to psyche himself up. Bouncing back and forth on his paws, for a moment, as if shadow boxing, he calmed, now that his muscles were warmed up, and practiced the strike once, twice, then three times.

Then, it was time for the real things.

As tunnel vision set in, causing Freak to block out what didn’t significantly affect what he was about to do—the Rains, the terrain, Raj, and so on—the li-tigon felt a cold sense of purpose. He could do this. He would do this.

Stepping forward twice, Freak jumped up, inhaling. At the apex of his ascent, he drew his paw back, throwing his shoulders askew, and waited... waited… waited… now!

Exhaling explosively, Freak struck down with every fiber of his being. Unlike Raj, he didn’t open his paw; rather, he struck with the knife-like side, focusing as much energy as possible on as little space as possible.

The li-tigon hit the ground.

And, a moment later, the table did, as well… in two clean halves.

Panting, paw throbbing from the impulse, Freak found himself smiling as wide as he ever had--that had gone well; he was uninjured and the practice had been entirely successful. As the rest of the world started to regain meaning for the li-tigon, he turned to Raj, who was clapping, duly impressed.

“This is to show you, Scar, that there are times when you have to ignore the seeming impossibility of what has to be done, and just do it. Now, I’m not saying to ignore good sense, of course,” he clarified, “But I hope you understand what I mean. At any given time, we only use maybe a third of our true power, at best. This is to prevent injury; if we use more than that at once for any period of time, our muscles will be destroyed. However… using more than a third of your true power here and there, on occasion, perhaps to finish a fight or to gain a meaningful foothold… it’s effective,” he finished, “Just use this tactic… sparingly.”

Freak nodded. Now that things were calming down, he saw just how close he’d been to failure—his paw was starting to numb, as he automatically banished that nagging, dull pain emanating from it, and, he knew, it would be ginger for a day or two. The crack running through the slab was clean, it didn’t fork off; not once—that meant that it had reached from top to bottom without a millimeter to spare.

“So…” the li-tigon said, slowly, “Essentially, this tactic is a double-edge sword, since it will hurt me even as it hurts my enemy?”

Raj nodded harshly, as if to ask Freak if he expected not to be hurt in a fight.

“Then… I think I’ll keep my mind as material as possible,” the li-tigon said, shuddering once at the notion of lying helpless, without energy due to his own doing, at the feet of his demonic twin.

“There’s sense in that, my friend; I just wanted to show you what you’re capable of. I tend to agree with you, mostly,” Raj said, heading off, back into the forest, before turning with a somewhat goofy smile, “After all… we live in a material world.”

“Come on, Father, tell us another story, please?”

Age, Nasher was slowly starting to realize, wasn’t that bad. Sure, he sometimes had to sneak off to brew certain concoctions out of this plant, those berries and that sap to bring out the orange in his coat, and sure, sometimes he found himself caught in awkward positions for minutes at a stretch until he cracked his back properly—but even with all that, and much more, it really was something to have not just his daughter, but now, even Freak and even Raj ask him for advice, tidbits of information, and, of course, stories from a time and world so far removed from the present that they might as well have been from another planet.

“Ha, Nasher sahib,” Raj said, smiling hopefully, “Tell us one from your cubhood—a happy one, or a funny one. I like this.”

Human emotions and expressions were, mostly, still mysteries to the cats. But if you were there, and listening closely, you might have noticed that there was a real yearning in the boy’s voice, some sort of deep, passionate need to hear a happy childhood story from a being whose life was defined, mostly, by hardship, pain, and struggle.

Making a great show of considering, carefully, eying his daughter’s best puppy eyes, Freak’s blatantly feigned indifference, and Raj’s open interest, Nasher sighed, slowly, and nodded. “All right, all right, I get the message… a funny one, hmm? Give me a moment; I’ve lived a long life and I have many memories to go through…”

It was surprisingly mild that night, so Raj had elected to not build a large fire. Rather, he’d only cooked through a leg of meat for himself and allowed the gentle, red glow cast by the campfire’s resulting embers to remain as the only source of light for miles around. They’d been on the move, recently, and now, he’d mentioned, they were in the geographic center of the mesa. Here, a sea of tall grasses stretched for miles with little exception—they clogged out trees, bushes, ponds, and other plant life. Hunting was prime in this area; even as they sat, the group could easily detect at least three distinct herds of prey in their vicinity.

It was a clear night, or, at least, clear enough that the Moon could brighten the environment up, somewhat. Burning through a silky veil of clouds, its light was gentle, hazy; a soft touch—no more. Thousands of stars twinkled overhead, and, at times, they could even be seen through the sparse clouds—at times. For the Season of the Rains, this was a rare treat, one that the cats and Raj would enjoy—tomorrow, the human had said that stormclouds would roll in and stay for a week, at least.

“I’ve got one.”

Nasher cleared his throat, sitting up, a little, as Kochai smiled happily and jumped not on him, but on Freak, resting on the li-tigon’s side, attention completely on her father. Raj turned, a little, tying his shoe so that his face was shadowed, the interest and even relief on it hidden.

“This was before the Triangle of Pain existed—the villages were there, of course, but the humans didn’t hunt nearly as much. There were no foreigners, so, lions and tigers were quite common. We even met each other, sometimes, and didn’t have to fight over food, or water, or suspect each other of collaboration. Happy days,” Nasher said dreamily, before continuing.

“I was very young, then, not even a juvenile. It was after the Season of the Rains by perhaps a month or two, when all the prey comes out of hiding and we can eat like kings to fatten up after mostly fasting for a whole season. So, I was hunting a deer, minding my own business, when along came a mother and her two cubs, both males, both littermates.”

“They were brothers, to be sure, but all similarities between them ended there, just like that,” Nasher grinned.

“One of them—ah, I cannot remember his name—he was a decent tiger… strong, proud, a good son to his mother and a good hunter... His brother, though—heheh. Not so much.”

“I don’t know where he heard this garbage,” the tiger snickered, “But, if you’ll believe me, he was bawling, telling all of Hindustan how stars aren’t the spirits of our ancestors, as everyone knows—even I accept that, though I’m an atheist,” Nasher rolled his eyes, “But he was yelling—yelling, I say, that they’re actually balls of gas, burning billions of miles away.”

“His mother, poor thing, kept telling him to shut up, but he didn’t listen, and kept spouting off about how the future of our race isn’t in tradition, but in the religion of science—how he thought such a stupid belief was scientific, I don’t know, but there you are—anyway…”

“So he kept yelling about this, that, and the other thing—I was almost pushed to a point where I jumped out of hiding and put that idiot in his place; he’d even gone and scared off my prey, but his brother beat me to it.”

“He slapped him only once, but that’s all it took. He slapped him, and then, I didn’t hear what he said exactly, but that’s not the point. They left that fool behind to fend for himself—I heard his brother call back that if he ever approached them again, even when they were stars in the Heavens, he’d kill him.”

There was a pause, a silent pause.

“Got it? Balls of gas, burning billions of miles away? What a—what a gas, right? Hahahaha…” Nasher laughed, rolling over… not quite realizing that, inexplicably, Kochai, Freak, and most of all, Raj, were totally silent.

After a moment, though, the tiger sat up, and looked, confused, smirking, at his companions. “What is it? Do you not understand the joke? Come on, it’s not so hard to understand—balls of gas… burning, burning billions of miles away?” he chuckled, “Got it, now?”

Still, there was silence for a moment. Nasher’s smile slowly fell, and he was about to say something—perhaps a few pointedly sharp words—when Raj grinned once.

The human was hunched over, but rose his head, a little, to offer the tiger a rather dry, strange smile.

“Technically, Uncle… he was right.”

Freak, Nasher, and Kochai all reacted similarly—they blinked, and were about to demand an explanation, but the human continued.

“Stars are indeed balls of gas, burning billions and billions of miles away,” the human said, in a strange tone that they’d never heard before, “But it’s my belief that they’re also the spirits of our ancestors.”

“Sometimes, science is the future of our race, not… misplaced, rigid, obsolete tradition,” Raj continued, standing, kicking some dirt onto the fire, “And, sometimes,” he said, suddenly facing Nasher with unmistakable anger, “Estranged brothers and sons don’t want to approach their families, not even in Heaven.”

He didn’t twitch, didn’t fidget, didn’t react at all to the dramatic scene he’d unwittingly created. Raj’s fists were clenched, shoulders tense, but, after a moment, he took in a deep breath, let it out, and smiled at Nasher, quite venomously.

“I enjoyed your story, Uncle. It was very funny,” he practically spat, before turning, and storming off into the darkness.

For a moment, all eyes were on the human’s retreating form. Then, Freak and Kochai turned to Nasher—the tiger’s expression was unreadable.

“Well,” he said eventually, softly, but quite audibly, “I’m glad that someone enjoyed my story. You two,” he murmured, almost growling, turning, slowly, to face his great nephew and daughter, “If I take the time and effort to try to make you laugh, you could at least placate me by smiling—”

“Father…” Kochai whispered.

“Yes, what is it?” the tiger said, really growling now, until he saw the sadness in the kitten’s eyes, “Wh… Kochai, what is it…?”

“Don’t you understand?” Freak said quietly, canting his head noiselessly, as Kochai sniffled once, “A brother abandoning a brother because they’re irreconcilably different…”

Slowly, Nasher’s eyes widened. Standing, suddenly, the tiger looked around—Raj was nowhere to be seen, so he sniffed, instead, desperately hoping that, somehow, the human hadn’t left them for good.

“Before you go…” the li-tigon said, placing a paw gently on top of Kochai, “Tell me. What happened to the cub… the one that got abandoned… what was his fate, what was his destiny?”

Nasher looked to Freak, paused, but didn’t answer. Instead, he just turned and ran.

The posture Raj had assumed was reminiscent of another human from the subcontinent—one who had, in fact, heavily influenced his religious values. Seated, hands neatly folded in his lap, Raj had closed his eyes, and, slowly, concentrated on his feelings, meditating, bringing all the energy he normally expelled from his body back inside.

“Don’t… approach…” he said quietly.

Nasher froze in his tracks, a full ten yards away. He’d approached the human silently, almost predatorily, but, somehow, Raj had picked up his movement and reacted in his own way. The tiger blinked, shrugged, and sat, waiting for a real response… but Raj didn’t budge. Not for five minutes, not for ten, fifteen, or twenty.

Then, all at once, Nasher blurted out, “I don’t know why you’re upset, boy. All of us have to learn to laugh at ourselves—”

“So,” the human said, eyes narrowing just the slightest bit, “It’s funny when a young person is expelled from his family for, essentially, being different? When, instead of loving and accepting him, and doing what they can to affect his vies, his family rejects him to the point that they make it poignantly clear that he’s not even welcome to share afterlife with them?”

That silenced the tiger for a cool moment or so. His lip twitched once, before he sighed, and grudgingly conceded, “Not… when you put it like that. Still, boy, I don’t understand—”

“Of course you don’t,” Raj said simply, still refusing to stand or even face Nasher, “How could you? You don’t know anything about family life—I don’t care if this is hard to hear,” he spoke over the tiger’s fledgling protest, “It needs to be said. You’ve lived alone for how long, now? You got married—congratulations. But you know better than I do that you struggle to be a half-decent father—I don’t know what kind of a husband you were; Asal never spoke about you much other than to praise and worship your every facet.”

“I suppose Scar told you how you upset me—but I don’t know why you’re here. I don’t know what you intend to accomplish.”

Finally, the human stood and faced Nasher. His hands were bare, and, in the overwhelming darkness of the night, the most Nasher saw of him was a vague silhouette.

“You don’t care, do you? At least, you don’t care enough to change. This isn’t about me,” Raj continued, “Insult me, laugh at my fate; I don’t care. But what about your daughter—you’re callous to her needs, you know. Oh, you tell her stories and give her food and play with her—great, ah?” the human laughed humorlessly, “But, have you ever once taught her something meaningful—not about survival, but about social responsibility, about spiritual health, about acceptance, tolerance, and compassion—”

“Boy… not… one word… more…”

Raj fell silent at that. His hand drifted imperceptibly closer to his thigh and the automatic holstered at it. His night vision was far worse than Nasher’s; for all he knew, he was about to be attacked. But then, his eyes widened as he recognized the quavering tone in the tiger’s voice.

“You’re right. I don’t know how to be a good father, and it’s too late for me to be a great husband. Don’t judge me too harshly; I was raised in a world and time different from this one. I feel… I feel out of place,” he finished heavily, “I’m too old to adapt to the new Hindustan; for almost my whole life, my only concern was survival. Now… I’ve been taken away from the only certainty I ever had. From the moment my mother died until the moment I met Asal, I had to do one thing only. Now… I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be a good father to Kochai, though, Lord knows she needs at least one parent, now…”

“Well… I don’t know how to be a good father, Uncle, of course,” Raj said, after a moment, “But what I do know is that accepting your faults so that you can overcome them is a good step.”

Neither an apology nor the acceptance of an apology had been blatantly spoken. But, after another moment, the human and the tiger approached, shared a brief, somewhat gruff, but heartfelt embrace, before breaking, and, wordlessly, heading back to Freak and Kochai.

“But tell me, Uncle,” Raj said, as they walked, side by side, through the lush jungle, “The cub, the one who was expelled from his family… what happened to him?”

The tiger was silent, for a moment, thinking, pondering, before sighing, closing his eyes, and delivering the answer as quietly, softly, and quickly as possible.

“He died… suicide.”

“Lesson number four… practice makes perfect.

“But, please, be gentle. I’m just a boy, after all.”

Raj’s arms were bare, and that would give Freak a second or two to react. They were standing perhaps twenty yards apart, each bouncing on their feet, ready to move the second the human started the fight. Nasher and Kochai were off, together—the tiger was teaching his daughter some sort of hunting trick, or, instead, was just on a day out with her.

To make things fair, Raj had his G3 slung not across his chest, as he’d normally have done when ready to fight, but over his back. He still had a pistol, knife, and his bare hands and feet (for all the good they’d do) after his rifle, but they likely wouldn’t come into play here and now.

The purpose of this exercise wasn’t to gauge whether or not Freak could, in fact, defeat his twin. Rather, it was to get him used to fighting a bipedal being that used firearms, explosives, and blades. And since Freak couldn’t use his jaws or claws at all, and could only use gentle, slow bats, tackles, and pins, this practice certainly would do the li-tigon good—if he could defeat Raj with so many handicaps, he stood a good chance of being able to take Kifo.

“Ready? All right,” Raj said, shifting his stance, just a little, “Ready…. go!”

Freak ran low, fast, intent on reaching the human before he got his rifle fully out—damn, too late, too slow. Raj brought his gun to bear with stunning alacrity, so Freak jumped off to the side, as rubber rounds blew divots into the muddy ground behind him.

They were facing off in a somewhat sparse forest—Raj was in a small clearing, and trees all around him offered Freak some cover as he darted this way and that. This certainly wasn’t the same as fighting a foe with a hunting rifle, where after dodging one shot, or perhaps two, he could move in and finish things in one or two deft moves. Worse, Raj was being smart—he didn’t just spray bullets in Freak’s general direction and pray for a hit, he waited and aimed and only fired in staggered bursts.

The li-tigon’s quick motion kept him from getting hit, at first, but he knew that couldn’t last. So, just as he guessed that Raj was about to start firing again, he turned on his heel and rushed at the human again.

Too slow.

Raj’s rifle bullets veered off course, at first, but the moment Freak came at him linearly, he didn’t even bother to fire. He just held his aim on the li-tigon for a full two seconds, sighed, lowered his rifle, and waved his hand.

“If this was real combat, Scar, you’d be dead,” he said shortly, as Freak skidded to a halt in front of him, “You can’t do that again. You can’t come straight at me. The only time such an attack will work is if I’m out of ammunition, caught in the precise middle of a reload, or if my weapon’s caught up on something. Understand?”

The li-tigon nodded, curtly—not impolitely. He just knew, as well as Raj did, that time was of the essence. The two fighters reset their positions, and, ten seconds later, they were ready to go at it again.

This time, a plan formed in Freak’s mind—slowly, but surely. It was risky and it would tiring, but he knew that the only way he could fight a human and therefore his twin was by closing the distance between them.

So.

“Ready?” Raj said, “All right… go!”

Running forward for as long as he dared, Freak turned aside just in time to dodge the barrage of bullets Raj sent at his approaching form. The li-tigon now ran in a circle around the human, changing his pace, now and then, zigzagging, here and there, so that even though some bullets came close, he wasn’t hit.

Normally, this tactic was unsustainable. But the li-tigon was, slowly, but surely, spiraling in on his opponent. Raj realized this, and tried to back away while firing more rapidly—

It almost worked. Really, it was close. But Freak jumped into the air, rebounded off a tree, and, as bullets traced harmlessly next to him, where Raj had projected his position to be, he landed—just in front of the human.

“I win,” the li-tigon said coolly, “What now?”

Raj grinned, once, and reloaded, calmly. Then, leveling his rifle directly at Freak’s face, he said, “Now… we practice fighting hand to hand. Ready? Go.”

“I know I say this a lot, Scar, but I’m deeply impressed,” Raj said, adding another log to the happily burning fire at his feet, “You’re a very quick learner. I bet that you’ll be ready to get to your own home within the week, and make short work of this twin of yours.”

“On that topic,” the li-tigon said, suddenly raising his head in concern, “How… am I supposed to get home?”

It wasn’t raining, not really—it was misting, though, and heavily. The fog was so thick that visibility was limited to fifteen yards at best, and, with the addition of cloud cover, if Freak hadn’t been continually convinced about the security of the Sacred Mesa for the past week, he would have been jumping at every crackle the fire made.

“I was wondering that, myself,” Nasher said, tilting his head to the side, before lowering his voice—Kochai was napping, happily, at his side, “After all, this Land of the Spirits… it’s very far away, yes? I wonder how my brother reached it,” the tiger said, before shrugging. “I suppose some things will always be a mystery to us.”

Raj seemed to be pondering, mulling things over in his mind. Freak let out a somewhat worried breath, and concentrated, hard, for a moment… before sighing in frustration.

“I haven’t been able to contact anyone, not even Asal, or the Dark One, since I’ve arrived in Hindustan. I’m doing everything right, I know it... I suppose it’s not my fault. Someone, or something else is blocking my communication with them…”

“Got it,” Raj said suddenly, “It’s a little crazy, but I have a plan…”

As the human had said, the plan was a little… out there. But it was doable, if barely. There were three stages—in the first one, they’d get Freak away from the Sacred Mesa, to the south—it would be a long journey, taking a full twenty four hours, or so—where there was a river. There, stage two would begin: Raj knew of a bi-monthly transport, a ship, he called it, that would go from Hindustan to the vicinity of the Land of the Spirits—it would take a long time, but Freak would know when to dismount the ship by sighting Pride Rock. Stage three involved swimming all the way to the Desert, then, trekking it up to the Pride Lands.

“I don’t know precisely how close the ship will get to the coast, but it won’t be closer than fifteen miles, I’ll tell you right now,” Raj warned, “But you learned to swim from, ah, Salim, right? Fifteen miles, though… do you really think you can do it?”

“I… well, I don’t know,” Freak said, looking off into the distance, “Fifteen miles is a long way. …But there’s no choice. I’ll have to do it.”

Raj nodded solemnly, before speaking again. “I’d accompany you,” he said, “But I have unfinished business here, in Hindustan. My brother, and his group… it’s time that they… vanished… from the pages of time. Like the Banghar Clan.”

“If he can talk about killing his brother so easily… then, I have no excuse for feeling reluctance to kill my so-called twin—I’ve never seen him in my life, and he’s worse, a thousand times worse, than Shah.”

“Well spoken, Raj,” Nasher said, a little harshly, “Oi, Scar… I’d join you, too, but I can’t swim even two miles—this, I’m sure of.”

The li-tigon nodded—he’d have to take this journey alone, it seemed. But that was alright—he’d spent the majority of his life alone…

“Heh, that’s funny. Now that I think of it, I’ve only known other beings, other cats; I’ve only had friends for… a year, now, give or take a month. I spent at least a few years in the Jungle, in solitude… but I can hardly remember those days, now, or at least their specifics. All I can remember is that it was hard. Hard, and lonely.”

“It looks like my destiny isn’t one in solitude, after all…”

That thought was comforting. The idea of perhaps—perhaps­—growing old with company, of perhaps creating a family, even a pride of his own…

“Farfetched.”

“But… possible. Possible.”

Remote, outside possibilities are very interesting things. For starters, they’re remote, outside possibilities—secondly, despite their remote, outside nature, they can inspire so much hope and passion that people run their lives on them.

“Lesson five: getting blown up is not good for your health.”

“I… would never have guessed that.”

Raj opened one eye. Leaning against a tree with crossed arms, he was cool, confident, in his element… but…

“You completely tripped me up, Scar. I was on a roll, don’t you see? Now, I’ll have to start over.

“Like I was saying… being—wait, no. Get—being… getting blown up is not good for your health. Not at all. No. So,” he said, moving suddenly, crouching down and beckoning Freak over, “You need to know your enemy, yes?

“There are two basic types of explosives that you might encounter,” Raj said, counting off his fingers, “Concussive, and incendiary. Concussive explosives create high pressure shock waves that are born, and die, very quickly—they’re the ones that’ll throw you around like a ragdoll, turn trees into toothpicks, that kind of thing.

“Incendiary explosives, on the other hand… they’re what burn you. They go off slowly, so you will have the possibility of shielding yourself from at least the worst of a flaming explosion. But,” Raj said, “There are exceptions. One is a hybrid concussive-incendiary explosive—it will use concussion, a quick push, to spread unlit fuel all around, before burning up. The other is a sticky fuel… if it touches you and lights, you’ll have to smother it for a few seconds if it doesn’t burn you to the bone, first.

“But don’t be a, ah, ‘fraidy cat,” the human laughed, “I’m going to show you a few tricks that will protect you from even the biggest of explosions.”

“I already know one, I think,” Freak said, watching as Raj pulled out several devices, similar to the one that had resulted in his capture, “Heat is transferred slowly, by some medians, and water consumes it well. That means that I have a natural defense against fire—that means I may be able to jump directly through lighter incendiary explosions.”

The human grinned. “Sometimes, Scar, I wonder if you even need me at all. So… do it.”

Raj’s arm flashed, throwing a small, cylindrical device through the air where it spun, twice, before hitting the ground, bouncing, trailing a long line of flame behind it. The result was a wall of fire about three feet wide, ten feet long, and four feet high.

“So. Jump through it.”

It would have been dramatic if Freak approached, close enough to the flames that his whiskers singed, sizing up his enemy, before pausing, tensing, and leaping over the wall. It would also have been unrealistic and foolish, and the li-tigon was generally not one for grandeur.

Freak circled, a little, until he was perpendicular with the fire wall—this way, he’d minimize contact with it. At a full fifteen yards away, he felt the heat come and go in waves, and knew that there was no sense in waiting.

At such a close distance, a clean sprint wouldn’t give him the speed necessary to cross without injury. Yep… there was no dignified way to do this—ah, well.

He scrambled, fast and hard, and jumped rather messily. Freak flailed, somewhat, as well, striking several ridiculous postures in midair, but there was a method to his madness—every excess motion caused air to move, and, in the high temperatures generated by the fire, every millijoule of heat wicked away from him was worth it.

The li-tigon landed and ran, for a moment, until he was reasonably far from the wall of fire. Turning quickly to check that he wasn’t burning, the li-tigon batted, once, at the smoldering tip of his tail, before relaxing and looking at Raj.

“Well,” the human said, after a minute, “You’ve done it.”

Freak did his best to hide his elation at having accomplished the terrifying, terrible feat—now, he’d never have to do it again… except… on the battlefield…

Raj, though, was shrewd and quick and caught the li-tigon’s relief. At first, it seemed nothing would come of it, but then, the human spoke in a somewhat noncommittal, offhand manner.

“Well, you know what they say… practice makes perfect…”

Freak twitched.

“Bah.”

“Lesson six… how to kick ass at close range.”

“Obviously,” Raj said, “I can only help you with this so much; I’m just a human, a ragdoll compared to your might. Still, I hope you’ll find the skills I can teach you useful.”

“All I want you to do is try to disarm me, or block me from raising or aiming a weapon, alright? After that, we’ll do something else. For now, though, let’s keep it simple, and work our way up.”

Nasher and Kochai were watching from closeby, seated side by side. Raj looked rather bulky—he’d packed as many weapons on him as possible. He had pistols at his hips, thighs, ankles, at the small of his back, two more in his vest; he had knives of all shapes and sizes all over his body: push-daggers, machetes, butterflies, karambits, and even a ballistic or two. And that was what Freak could see.

“At close range, when we’re face to face,” Raj said, “You can bite, tackle, or knock me into a tree, maybe. But if I get a gun or knife out and hit you just right… it won’t matter.”

There was a somewhat grim pause, for a moment. It was raining lightly, but under the tall, tall trees of this part of the Sacred Mesa (which a more well-traveled being might have likened to the Black Hills of the Land of the Spirirts), the group was relatively dry.

Freak and Raj were no more than two feet away, at best. Most others would feel intimidated, standing so close, face to face, without the protection of a fence, plexiglass, or loaded weapon, but not Raj. He’d been around Asal for years, and now, Freak for weeks. He felt not even the slightest bit of fear.

The human was standing with weight on one foot, the other slightly forward. His hands were inches from his sides, and he moved them around, slowly, in coy, deceptive motions, guising his intentions.

Freak wasn’t quite used to how humans moved, manipulated their arms in manners he couldn’t hope to imitate. But, by watching, the li-tigon was able to realize, slowly, that maybe, just maybe, he could beat the system, so to speak.

“And now… we go.”

Raj held one hand forward in a deterrent block, that Freak could easily have chopped down, of course, while his other hand dropped to his thigh. The li-tigon had to act fast, but there was only one way to react, in his mind.

Rather than engaging in a series of quick, short moves that Raj would win, the li-tigon pounced on his “trainer”.

He was gently, of course, but Raj let out a loud, surprised, “Oof!” regardless. Freak had slipped under his bare hand, wrapped a foreleg around his torso and strong arm, gently bringing him down on his side—now, the li-tigon could easily have bitten through Raj’s neck, but buddies don’t bite through buddies’ necks.

“I win,” Freak said, somewhat humorously, “Right? I blocked you from raising a weapon.”

“Technicalities, technicalities,” Raj said, as he struggled to get free of the li-tigon’s massive foreleg, “I meant, without jumping on me. All right? Now, we’ll start again, once you let me go.”

Finally, Freak released his human friend, grinning thinly. The boy was a bit of a workaholic, and it was fun to grind his gears from time to time, just a little. The duo resumed their positions, and, after a moment, went at it again.

This time, Raj went for two daggers on his chest, using both hands. In the split second it took for the human to grasp them between his fingers and draw them, partially, Freak came to a decision. The li-tigon reached forward, and batted down, gently, so that his paw struck the back of Raj’s hands. Against such a light blow, Raj easily could have kept his weapons, to be sure, but that wasn’t the purpose of this exercise—the purpose was for Freak to practice disarmament at close range, to get a feel for the human physique.

Raj dropped his daggers, allowing his hands to crumple and deform around Freak’s paw as they might have if the li-tigon had struck him with full force. Hooking one hand around Freak’s paw, though, the human went for a pistol at his hip.

Freak was too quick, though, and allowed Raj to move his paw out of the way, at first, before circling around below the human’s hand and batting sideways, shoving the barrel of the human’s weapon off center, off course—perfect. Reacting, Raj brought his disarmed hand up and dropped down to the ground, pinning Freak’s one paw under his weight. His other hand went for a knife under his far shoulder, not even bothering to draw it fully before slashing outwards. The li-tigon still had a free paw, though, and in a circling maneuver, deflected the assault upwards—that gave him a perfect opening for a glancing claw to the neck or face, or a chance to dive in and use his jaws.

Which he didn’t, of course—buddies don’t use their jaws on buddies. What Freak did do, though, that made Raj “Oof!” loudly again in surprise, was jump on the human, gently… again.

Pinned, somewhat dazed, despite how gentle the li-tigon had been, Raj gave a sardonic look at the li-tigon, who was pinning him easily, trying hard not to laugh.

“What’s so funny about this, Scar? I’ve already told you, I’m a ragdoll compared to you, why rub salt into wounds like this? This isn’t—oi, stop laughing, this isn’t funny! Hey! Listen to me when I’m talking to you!”

The li-tigon had started to grin, quietly—he wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe it was because Raj was normally so cool, confident, so suave and so balanced, or maybe it was because Kochai was giggling madly at the li-tigon’s open, blatant defiance of the human’s orders. Maybe it was because Nasher had started to laugh, too, or maybe it was because the human’s protests, and pathetic struggles were, some way or the other, hilarious.

Eventually, Raj too started laughing. But, even as the cats slowly quieted, he kept laughing, bizarrely, for another few moments. Slowly, though, the humor in his eyes died, as he looked, pointedly, at the fact that as he’d been taken down by Freak, he’d somehow managed to get out a .44 snubbie—a powerful, compact pistol that could have easily ended the li-tigon’s story then and there, if it had been loaded.

“This,” the human said quietly, “Is not a laughing matter.”

“I don’t think this twin of yours will have much as far as advanced technology goes,” Raj said, performing the final series of tests and warm-ups on one of his little friends, so to speak, “But we do need to give you practice dodging bullets, explosives, et cetera... so. This machine is programmed to attack you until I tell it to do otherwise. I’ll keep it still for five minutes, then, I’ll let it pursue you on its own for two or three... and then, Scar, I’ll control it. I’ll pursue you.”

“And take care,” the human said, “We’re not using live rounds, but I’m out of simmunition; we’re using a plastic-rubber composite, now. Getting hit by these will hurt... and, at close range, potentially maim or even kill. Understand?”

Freak nodded. The device in front of him was alien and bizarre; if the li-tigon had had some semblance of a normal cubhood, it might have reminded him of intense curiosity and slight revulsion felt during his first encounter with, say, a dragonfly. Mounted atop a slender pole with thick, multicolored cables running from its “head” to its base were a group of weapons—a machinegun, a chaff/flare launcher, a flamethrower… and a grenade launcher.

This would be a tough fight… especially since Freak wouldn’t even be fighting his enemy—he’d just avoid taking fire. To do that for ten minutes or more would not be easy.

Still, Freak had a fighting chance. The forest they were in was reasonably thick; trees would offer plenty of cover, except against the dummy grenades, of course. He hadn’t really had a chance to watch one of Raj’s fighters work, but that was, in a way, good—he would never have a chance to see how his twin fought until it was actually time to take him.

“Alright,” Raj said, “For my own safety, I’ll be in the trees—and no cheating and using me as a human shield, yes? Don’t worry about the forest, either; it’s too wet for me to start a real conflagration, unless I really try to. I regret the damage bullets will do to things, but there’s no alternative. No choice,” the human sighed, “Life feeds on death, pain, and suffering… and this is necessary.”

“I agree,” the li-tigon said, “…So… there’s no use in delaying. Let’s begin,” he said harshly.

Raj nodded, and gave the li-tigon a lopsided smile before they split, going their separate ways.

“Good luck….”

The human took to the trees, as he’d said. His perch gave him a view of both his machine, and Freak. The li-tigon stuck to the ground, of course, and, for now, faced his opponent head on, in a relative clearing—to make this practice mean something he’d have to challenge himself. Taking shortcuts, easy ways out… in the end, he’d only be hurting himself. And everyone and everything in the Land of the Spirits that he cared about.

Dancing on his paws, for a moment, the li-tigon’s eyes darted around rapidly, as he memorized the lay of the land.

“Ditch there. Clump of trees here. Stream there. Foliage there. Mud throughout. I can do this.”

Don’t mistake Freak’s confidence for cockiness—he was going to take no chances in this fight, but, at the same time, he knew that he wouldn’t have to take undue risks, or result to desperate tactics… …hopefully. He could do this. Hopefully.

“Ready?” Raj called, as he straddled a thick, powerful limb.

Freak nodded, and, after some hesitation, snapped off a Kochai-style salute.

“Alright,” the human grinned, before his voice, his eyes, and his fingers steeled, “Weapons hot…” the machine moved, slightly, transforming from a limp pile of metal into a deadly, powerful weapon with a soft, high-pitched squeal, “And… here we go.”

The gunfire was immediate, intense. The machinegun Raj had mounted on his mobile weapons platform wasn’t styled after his G3, or a lighter automatic weapon in a smaller caliber—no. This one was a Deuce, a .50 BMG heavy machinegun—its rounds were, all in all, five and a half inches long—that’s five and a half inches of primer, powder, and, of course, purpose-built synthetic compounds designed to injure, wound, and, if need be, kill. Even though the bullets Raj had loaded into this weapon were less-than-lethal, they were only slightly so—indeed, even as the human watched the gun spray dozens of rounds in a wide arc, trailing just behind Freak, bark was chipped from trees, and untold numbers of plants even miles away were reduced to pulp.

Somehow, Freak vanished from sight—the machine stopped firing, for a moment, looking around blankly with its integrated cameras, analyzing light from both the visible and infrared spectrums. Raj removed his fingers from his ears, and grinned as he heard the distant roar of bullets still traveling downrange.

“Powerful, isn’t it, Scar? But I must commend you—did you get hit, even once? No? Shabosh, shabosh…”

Silence was Raj’s only reply. The human shrugged, and, for a moment, looked around for the li-tigon… but, of course, he was unsuccessful.

“To give this exercise purpose, Scar, you’ll have to show yourself. Come, don’t be shy…”

“I already am showing myself,” said a voice from several yards directly in front of Raj, “I can’t help it if your machine is stupid.”

“Wh—I said no using me as a human sh—”

“I’m not,” Freak said incredulously, looking from the machine to Raj, head canted, “It has a direct line of fire to me, unimpeded by you. Why doesn’t it look up and around, as a real foe would?”

Raj twitched, and swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment.

“It’s not a real foe. …New rule,” the human growled, grinding his teeth, “No leaving the forest floor, alright? If you make the battle three-dimensional, it’ll never be able to track you. The same is true for your twin—trust me on this one, Scar. I’m a good shot, and a quick one, too, but keeping a bead on a target that moves seamlessly from the ground to the trees… it’s damned difficult. Alright? Damned difficult.”

The li-tigon nodded, filing away that fact away in his mind, carefully—when he fought his twin, if he needed a quick escape, all he’d have to do is take to the trees.

“Alright, Raj…” Freak said slowly, as he slid out of the trees.

When he was still in midair, the machine opened fire on him again.

Somehow, the li-tigon managed to dodge, contorting himself quickly, so that the first three bullets roared past just next to his chest. Then, hitting the ground, he ran perpendicular to the oncoming fire.

The machine had wizened up, a little, and only fired bursts now—short, two or three round blasts that gave the barrel a chance to cool. Freak stayed one step ahead of them, though, if barely, and, slowly, figured out little techniques to keep him safe from gunfire—yes, perhaps, he could do this.

The li-tigon dived behind a tree to take a quick break, for a moment—breathing hard, panting, he heard several bullets hit the trunk, chipping off bark explosively, but failing to reach him. There was a pause, and the li-tigon considered what to do next—perhaps practice approaching the machine to attack, or staying relatively still, or—

He saw it, and that was the real irony of it. Freak watched the conical shell of the 40mm dummy grenade impact the ground next to him, burying a few inches into the soil, before it exploded.

Freak managed to shield himself from the worst of the rubbery fragments that were thrown at him by jumping forward and pressing himself to the ground, but that didn’t help much. Getting up slowly, painfully, the li-tigon shook his legs out irritably—from his flank down, his body was on fire, nerves tingling with pain—that had hurt.

Fortunately, though, he was still protected from the machinegun; even though several more shots were fired, none came remotely close to hitting him. Ricocheting off the tree at strange angles, flattening into disks, the bullets landed anywhere but within ten yards of Freak—good.

Taking a minute to compose himself, the li-tigon pondered, eyes narrowing, face hardening. It was humid, of course, quite humid; the ground was muddy and thick and slippery. Some leaf cover further limited his optimal speed, but things were completely stacked against him—vines dangled down from the treetops, offering the chance of a quick, unexpected escape through the air, increasing the distance and height Freak could jump.

Formulating a plan, knowing that he had only seconds before another grenade was fired, Freak prepared to run—he had to wait until the last second, when the machine would be reloading it’s most powerful weapon, to execute his move.

This time, the li-tigon didn’t wait for the grenade to hit the ground—as soon as he heard the dull “ploomp” of it being fired, he was off.

He’d guessed, correctly, that the machine would have trouble opening up with its machinegun immediately after firing a grenade. Raj had intentionally programmed that handicap in, a real fighter would be unlikely to use more than one weapon at once with any effectively.

Feet scampering across the ground, slipping, slightly, until they caught hold against something, the li-tigon sprinted, face set, towards his goal. Of course, he wasn’t running directly towards the machine, he was running at an angle offset from it by about 30 degrees. The advantage to this tactic was that the closer he got, the quicker the turret had to turn to track him… the disadvantage, of course, was that if he got hit at this range, he’d be down for the count.

As it turned out, though, Freak was able to get next to the machine. Changing his path as quickly as possible, he ran just behind it, as it struggled to turn to pump rounds into him at point blank range. Shadowboxing for a few split seconds, showing that he could have, if he wanted to, demolished the contraption in the brief seconds he had to harm it, Freak felt his confidence rise… yes, he really could do this.

Then, though, the machine stopped tracking him with its .50 and grenade launcher. Instead, it used its flamethrower.

Freak felt the wave of heat and fire rush towards him, and ran. The burning gasoline clawed at him, even as thick, black smoke rose up into the air and the wet leaves of the jungle were steamed and then roasted, but he prevailed, and managed to escape.

The wall of fire obfuscated him from both the machine’s visible light and infrared cameras, and that was helpful. Freak had enough time to not only search for cover but find it, and take it, pausing, for a moment, to both catch his breath and plan another move.

“You’re doing quite well, Scar,” Raj called from the trees—he’d seen where Freak had gone, “I’m impressed. Are you ready for the next stage of difficulty, however—shall I let it move and actively pursue you?”

The li-tigon was pressed against the tree trunk, listening hard, considering. He was surprised, he really was, that five minutes had elapsed so quickly and so painlessly—he wouldn’t have predicted doing this well, but then, the machine wasn’t moving. With this added level of difficulty, who knew how well he’d hold up?

There was, of course, precisely one way to find out.

“Alright. Do it.”

The moment he said that, he moved. Hiding behind the tree to wait until the machine approached and found him would effectively trammel the li-tigon—not course, as soon as he left cover, he was fired upon, but it was of no consequence—Freak was starting to understand how to dodge bullets, he really was. Of course, he wasn’t fast enough to see them coming, generally, but he was able to realize that there were little patterns, little flaws that could be exploited to his advantage.

And so, this time, Freak felt no fear as bullets followed him towards his next piece of cover—a slight overhang behind which the li-tigon ducked, for a moment, preparing an assault.

Then, though, Freak was surprised.

“Well. I didn’t know that they could move that fast.”

One second, he was at least twenty yards from the machine. Trees flanked the oddity in the ground, but the area between the machine and Freak was relatively clear—perhaps that had something to do with the fact that the next second, it was on him.

Or perhaps the machine was just really fucking fast.

Maybe Freak hadn’t heard it coming due to the fact that it had been blasting away at him with its .50-cal, so that the gun’s thunderous roars drowned out the squeal of its treads, but that wasn’t likely—the li-tigon’s cubhood had trained him to hear a pin drop in a sandstorm. Perhaps it could move in relative silence.

Freak looked up, peeping his head out of cover. It was fortunate that he was fast, otherwise it might have been consumed in the fireball spewed by its flamethrower.

The li-tigon waited out the blast, partially—the machine had him pinned, and if he didn’t react, it would move in for the kill a minute later. It was best to fool it, let it think it had him, while turning the situation into one that was advantageous for him.

With that though, even as the fireball continued to blast over his head, Freak jumped… straight up.

Now, Raj had impressed upon him how dangerous burning liquid was in that it had an annoying tendency to stick to fur. But the li-tigon moved fast enough that although he was singed just a little, he wasn’t harmed—better yet, the machine didn’t realize that he’d jumped out of the way.

Landing behind it, Freak took a second to bat himself off, ensuring that he wasn’t burning, before grinning quietly—the stupid contraption had moved forward and was clearing the crevice he’d just been hiding in with the barrel of its machinegun, panning its cameras back and forth blankly.

“Idiot,” the li-tigon murmured, before using a massive paw to slowly angle the cameras… to face him, “Here I am.”

A second before the machine could fire its fifty, Freak jumped back, far back, but then froze, and decided not to run. He was ten yards from his enemy, and that was close, especially for such a powerful round… but he could do this. He knew he could do this.

There were few things the li-tigon could rely on, at this range—he couldn’t rely on the outside, near impossibility of seeing the high-velocity bullets, and he obviously couldn’t rely on an audible warning—but what he could rely on was the accuracy of the bullets, their tendency to follow the angle of the barrel, and, of course, his own speed.

Not that that made this any less risky or flat out crazy…

Assuming a defensive stance that left him light on his feet, the li-tigon took a few seconds to hyperventilate and growl, psyching himself up. Feeling energy tingle through his limbs, he watched the machinegun lock on his position.

Then, it fired.

The li-tigon was thankful that, to start off, it only fired brief bursts—one or two or sometimes three rounds—understandably, the machine was confident of its ability to score a hit.

But, as the seconds wore on, it started to both circle and ramp up its rate of fire… somehow, some way, the li-tigon was dodging.

Ducking, contorting his form, diving, rolling, he more or less remained within a few yards of his original position—it was hard, very hard, and demanded action without thought, but the signs given off by Freak’s ability to do this were good. Fighting enemies armed with automatic weapons, it seemed, was starting to become part of his muscle memory.

The machine was firing full auto, now; there were no breaks in the long, staccato blasts—it tried to approach Freak, still circling, but the li-tigon managed to back away, even as he still avoided fire.

Its barrel overheated, it gave up using the machinegun, for the moment. Freak stood, breathing hard, sweating, but completely unharmed, still dancing on his paws, ready to take whatever came next—if he could dodge the bullets of a .50 at close range, he could take whatever else the machine could throw at him.

Shaking his head, once, so that his hearing returned fully—it had been rather suppressed due to the loud explosions going off dangerously close to him—the li-tigon watched, waited, watched, waited…

Raj might have told him that his little friend didn’t have just any old grenade launcher. Raj might have told him that his little friend was packing a Mk. 19.

It was a rather nasty surprise for Freak, to find out both that the machine fired into the ground and that he not only had to dodge getting hit by its grenades directly, but also had to avoid the shrapnel they produced. Only by zigzagging desperately, tail struggling to counter his rapid motion, was he able to spring off the trees, so that some grenades, at least, sailed uselessly past him to detonate off in the distance.

The machine could travel fast, sure, but it had nothing on Freak. And since Raj (presumably) wasn’t controlling it, yet, the li-tigon felt that this tactic—running like a squirrel—was completely fair.

Grenades landed all around him, sometimes directly in front of and behind him, rocking leaves, plants, trees, and the entire jungle as they detonated. The li-tigon was occasionally peppered by little shreds of vegetation or the synthetic compounds the less-than-lethal rounds produced, but he sustained no serious hits.

Formulating a plan, or trying to, as he ran on, Freak took note of a few important facts. One was that the jungle was slowly changing, becoming less thick and more navigable, increasing both his and his enemy’s optimal speed. The other was that the Season of the Rains had decided to throw yet another lightning storm at Hindustan.

Maybe it would last ten minutes, maybe it would last ten days; Freak didn’t know, and, to keep things realistic, Raj hadn’t told him the region’s weather forecast. It was hardly of consequence, though—in an intense fight like this, there was no sense in creating long-term strategies or traps. Thinking more than two minutes into the future was next to pointless.

Thumb-sized drops of rain plummeted down from the sky, striking Freak hard enough to hurt, a little, but the li-tigon knew better than to let it get to him—his relentless enemy certainly wouldn’t.

“Bah,” the li-tigon groaned, dismayed—he’d hit a plane, and that was bad. There would be no cover for him if he continued through it, and he was starting to tire.

Skidding to a halt, Freak turned, and allowed the machine to approach. He easily outpaced it, so he had a full ten seconds to rest as it rolled towards him, giving its grenade launcher time to cool. Perhaps it was readying another salvo, or, less likely, it was out of ammo. But rather than firing on empty and telling Freak that by a series of automatic clicks and whirrs, the machine switched to its .50.

The shoulder-high grasses were cut down not just by the bullets but by the massive raindrops, even as Freak danced his way back towards the jungle. The machine moved to stop him, barring his path, but the li-tigon saw that coming and quickly changed direction, dashing past it, back towards the more protective environment.

Somewhat dismayingly, the li-tigon noted that Raj had yet to take control of his little friend. That meant that he’d really feel the lack of energy he had just now—really.

“I need to learn to sustain high-energy activities. …I don’t know how I’ll do that… but I’ll have to. For all I know, when I fight my twin, I could be at it for half an hour, or longer.”

The machine fired only single shots, now, only occasionally—its barrel was still cooling, and it was probably running low on ammo—it would need a lot for the final push, when Raj took control. Freak was well out of range of its flamethrower, but it fired a long, wet stream of fire regardless, desperately attempting to score at least one hit…

“Tired, Scar?” said a voice, from just above Freak.

The li-tigon looked up, panting, but shook his head to Raj—he wanted to finish the exercise. He needed to know that he could.

“Well, then,” the human said, cracking his knuckles, the smile on his face slowly transforming into determination, “Let’s… play.”

The difference was instantly noticeable. The machine no longer deployed its weapons with seconds of digital thought between them, slow recalculations hardly based in past experience—now, with Raj at the wheel, it would set up clever traps that the li-tigon nearly walked into, several times. It would fire a grenade to cut off the li-tigon’s motion, then open up with its machinegun or move in with its flamethrower. When Freak took to the air, sometimes with the aid of a vine, it would wait untilh presented as large of a target as possible before opening up.

There was no mercy and no quarter given when Raj took control, but Freak wouldn’t have it any other way. This exercise… it wasn’t a game, but perhaps by treating it like one to a degree, the li-tigon could maximize his profits from it. That, or feline instinct, possible resulting from a cubhood devoid of play, made it simply feel good to not take things too seriously.

Maybe that’s why, ten minutes later, the li-tigon was panting, exhausted, sweating, soaking wet from the rain and shivering from it, too, that he stood, proud and strong… without a scratch.

Finally, the machine died down. A second later, Freak turned, suddenly, to see Raj hop down from the tree, approaching, slowly, with his bare hands plainly visible—sure, they were friends, but an apex predator is still an apex predator, and he had, after all, just finished a twenty five minute long adrenaline rush.

Eventually, the li-tigon managed to relax, and shook some of the water out of his mane and fur, revealing that he was smiling, and widely. “How did I do?” he asked, “I don’t think I was hit, except for in the beginning, with that grenade… I tried to get in some attacks of my own, and I think, if I really tried, I would have been able to take out your machine…”

“You were fantastic,” Raj said, beaming, “Incredible. I didn’t restrain myself at all, Scar, and even then, you dominated the battlefield. I’m confident that you’ll be able to prevail, in the future… but, for now, let’s focus on the here and now.”

“You’re great, Scar,” the human said, “Truly great. Unless your twin is stronger than you, more competent with state-of-the-art weaponry than me, and as cunning and cruel as Shah,” he said, referring to his brother, “You’ll destroy him. Of this I am certain.”

Raj then laughed, and held up his hand. Freak blinked, before remembering that Raj had told him, some time back, that that gesture was friendly, congratulatory. In response, the li-tigon raised his paw, and allowed the human to tap it—a high five, of sorts.

“You’re sure I’ll destroy him,” the li-tigon said quietly, even as Raj continued to extol his prowess and otherwise praise him, “That’s good. Very good. Because I’m not so certain….”

“This is it,” Raj said, “The final test. Today, we’ll see if all your training has paid off.”

“Now, you know that we’re using live rounds, as I’ve nothing else left. You’re weighted, and you won’t be too rough with myself or Nasher, yes? You have to run, you have to sprint, leap, dive, roll, attack targets I’ve set up… you have to do all that without dying or being injured so much that you can’t perform your duty back in the Land of the Spirits.

“I’m not going to lie—I don’t give much for your chances of success,” the human said in somewhat brutal, blunt honesty, “At best, I’ll give you 20, maybe 25 percent odds of finishing it. Maybe there’s a 50 to 60 percent chance of us having to call it off, and then, there’s a smaller chance of you being injured, or even killed.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Freak said, not grumpily, not jokingly, but rather, somewhat dismissively. “The only way we’ll know for sure is by starting.”

“I know, Scar. I’m not a cheerleader, though. I’m your trainer.”

At the rough geographic center of the Sacred Mesa, all terrains the giant structure encompassed met. With two or three thousand square yards, there was desert, there were plains, forests, swamps, rocklands, and other, less definable habitats. Fighting here would be like an all-environment tour—Freak would have to constantly reassess his tactics every time he crossed from one terrain type to another, and that would happen often.

This final exam, so to speak, involved several distinct phases—an obstacle course that included travel through water, across sand, mud, through treetops and other tough structures; a lengthy series of targets, made out of hay, wood, or metal that Freak needed to destroy; a miniature army of Raj’s little friends whose attacks Freak would have to evade while taking out more targets; followed by a battle with Nasher and Raj … in tandem.

In preparation for the test, Freak had taken the past two days off, relaxing, and carefully managing his diet. However, he hadn’t had more than ten minutes to check the battlefield itself, and even then, Raj had only allowed him the most cursory of glances of his surroundings. The li-tigon would have to construct plans and tactics on the fly, but so would Raj—Freak had determined to, throughout the course of the fight, do things that just didn’t make sense, that were certain to force the human to constantly reevaluate his strategies, just as the li-tigon would.

Today, for the first time, Raj, Freak, and Nasher had finally given up trying to tell Kochai where to stay—instead, they’d told her where not to be, and impressed upon her the danger of disobeying. The tigress kitten had been told that she could go anywhere on the Sacred Mesa, provided that she wasn’t visible to anyone from the ground, that she didn’t get herself into trouble, and that she had to return to them at nightfall—who knew, perhaps by trusting her just a little and giving her a share of the responsibility for her safety, they’d save themselves the time and frustration generally associated with finding her.

“Everything’s almost ready to go, Scar,” the human said, looking beyond the li-tigon for a moment to catch Nasher’s eye, who moved off into position, somewhere. Raj checked his PDA for a moment, tapping a few keys on it, then nodded, putting it away. “Now, we’re really ready to go. So… whenever you want to begin…”

Freak took a minute to calm, looking around. It was cloudy, and it was drizzling, a little, but he wasn’t chilled. Over time, he’d grown accustomed to the Season of the Rains, and had recently even started to enjoy the cold, somewhat. Still, though, he knew that his favorite climate would be a heated one, and that was alright, even now—soon enough, things would get hot.

“Alright… I’m ready.”

Raj tapped a key on his PDA, so that a brief, shrill squeal echoed across the Sacred Mesa—the test had begun.

The obstacle course was first, and Freak wasted no time in sprinting to the swampy forest that formed the first part of the course. Glancing around sharply, ears perked up, the li-tigon jumped towards one tree, and, after rebounding off it, made his way through a series of branches specifically weakened to hold his weight for only seconds, at best.

He had to duck his head in order to avoid being whipped across the face by a series of thorned twigs, and that was a slight mistake. Raj had set up not a trap, but a little annoyance—by not looking straight forward, Freak hadn’t seen that one of the branches set up in the course was weakened even more than all those around it so that when the li-tigon set his paw on it, it cleanly snapped in half. Freak tumbled out of the trees, somersaulted, once, and ran, quickly, across the surface of a wide pool of mud. He looked up, trying to see a way to get back on the course—there were none.

So, instead, he decided to make one.

The li-tigon jumped up, bracing himself, so that he broke directly through the treetops. Of course, that made it hard to find footing at the apex of his jump, but he managed, and, after a second, continued on.

A series of vines formed the next part of the course, and Freak wasted no time in stopping, checking things out to see how fast he’d have to move to swing from one vine to the next or even if the vines were secure—he wouldn’t have such luxuries in combat.

As it turned out, the first vine was only barely attacked or tied to one of the taller trees in this swamp, and the moment Freak grabbed it, it started to slide. The li-tigon had planned for that, though, and adjusted his trajectory just a little, so that he wasn’t going straight forward.

He ditched the vine completely, and jumped off one tree, then two, then grabbed the next vine in the course—this one was secure. Unfortunately, though, Freak hadn’t hit it fast enough, and had to swing forward, then back, putting his body weight into the pendulum-like motion before he could transition to the next vine.

The next part of the obstacle course was a series of logs, upraised from a plain—balance beams, of sorts. Freak took them at almost full speed, jumping where they were separated, using his forepaws to drag him up when they were sudden, high gaps.

At one point, Raj opened up with his rifle—Freak knew that this was part of the obstacle course, and didn’t engage the human. Rather, he merely evaded the gunfire and moved faster yet until he took away the human’s angle, and the gunfire stopped.

Next was a long line of walls, some as high as twenty or even twenty five feet. Freak didn’t stop moving, and dashed right up to the first, a five foot high wall and cleanly leapt over it. Rolling to his feet, he leapt over the next wall, a ten foot high structure, with a little more difficulty.

Freak had a second, now, to move across the wet, grassy plain to gain speed. Then, he jumped up, kicked off the next, fifteen foot high wall, and neatly cleared it. Taking the impact of his landing on his forepaws, the li-tigon panted, hyperventilating, before moving on.

The next three walls were all ten feet high, but spaced close to one another—Freak had to jump over one, spring off the ground without a second to spare to clear the other. It was hard, but he made it without slowing down. After that, he jumped to the top of a ten foot wall, then kicked off that to the top of a fifteen footer before hitting the ground and looking up at the behemoth structure in front of him.

This wall was at least twenty, but probably twenty five feet high. It loomed over the li-tigon, but Freak didn’t slow down. He didn’t both to sprint, forward momentum would do him no good. Luckily, it hadn’t been raining too hard, but the wood was still quite slick, and Freak would have a hard time getting a grip on it before clearing it.

Freak had to spring off the wall, directly upwards, not once, not twice, but three times—but in the end, he managed to pull and scramble his way over the edge. Landing hard, he exhaled… before moving on.

The li-tigon hadn’t made it to the target range yet, and that was concerning—he’d have to be careful to make sure he wasn’t tired for the battle royale. Fortunately, though, the next series of obstacles were easily cleared, without much energy expenditure—Freak crawled, slid, and climbed his way through an impossibly thick series of trees and bushes, all the while trying to keep his precise location as hard to pinpoint as possible.

Finally, it was time to take out the targets. This stage of the test brought him closer to the center of the Sacred Mesa, so that the li-tigon would transition from one environment to the next quickly. His first set of targets—a group of scarecrows, essentially—were positioned at the edge of a thick jungle. As quickly as he could, Freak took them out—he tackled the first, pinning it, biting out its neck. Leaving it the second it could be considered a confirmed kill, the li-tigon used his claws on the next two, set side by side, cleanly shredding their chests and torsos. The final scarecrow was dispatched by a powerful bat that knocked its head from its shoulders, leaving its body standing, for a moment, before collapsing to the ground.

Gunfire started to rattle out through the air, courtesy of Raj. Freak had to stop, for a moment, hiding behind a tree, before moving on again—too slow. The li-tigon had to dive to take cover again; the human had retargeted him with stunning speed.

“This is bad, I need to move on now. I don’t want to wait for him to reload; he’ll just switch to a pistol, and I think he’s getting closer…”

Ranged weapons… are not the specialty of big cats. However, the li-tigon’s mind drifted back, months back, to the war with the Bloody Shadows…

“Banzai…”

The li-tigon double checked to ensure that he was flicking a rock, not a grenade, at Raj. Then, nudging the small projectile out into the open, Freak listened, hard, before giving it a whack.

A sudden spew of swearing both coherent and incoherent to the li-tigon told him that he’d hit his mark from sound alone—good. But he had no time to dwell on his satisfaction; the second he’d struck Raj, he was on the move.

The next testing facility involved a small lake that, while shallow at its fringes, quickly dropped off—Freak had no idea how deep it was, if it even had a bottom. But the targets’ distribution led him right to its center.

They were mounted on little wooden platforms that bobbed due to the wind and the Rains, and the waves that occurred naturally in such a large body of water. Splashing water everywhere, Freak hydroplaned, a little, as he dashed towards the first target.

He struck its chest, then its head, with his paws, before biting at its hip and tearing—this one was tougher; Raj had reinforced some targets with rubber and plastic meant to resemble lean, toughened flesh. Still, Freak took it down without difficulty, and instantly took to the water, swimming towards his next enemy.

Raj didn’t fire much, thankfully; and the li-tigon suspected that the human was only doing so in order to make Freak remember what he was doing. Perhaps the human was only snapping off the occasional shot from his hip, or perhaps he’d drawn a pistol and was emulating his favorite movie stars by firing sideways, striking strange poses, or going one handed—who knew?

Bullets spanged off the water’s surface, now and then, but Freak didn’t worry about them—if Raj was really gunning for him, all shots would be landing within a few feet of each another… or less. The li-tigon made it to his next target, but didn’t climb onto the platform to take it out; that would be a waste of time. Rather, with Herculean effort, he managed to capsize it with his forepaws. Then, coming up from underwater, he gutted the scarecrow with his claws, biting through its rubber spine.

Freak moved on underwater, holding his breath. Raj, or one of his little friends, was still firing sporadically, giving Freak a rather interesting view from below the surface—bullets striking the water, skimming, then bouncing off, keyholing at unexpected angles.

The next two targets were on the same platform, so Freak decided to get up onto it, this time—he probably wouldn’t be able to sink it easily, anyway. The li-tigon had plenty of air left in his lungs, and that was good—perhaps the fifteen mile or more swim to the Land of the Spirits would be doable.

Freak tossed his mane, so that a long stream of water arced through the air as he broke the surface. Landing cleanly between the targets, which were both facing him, he sprang into action. Jumping into the air, the li-tigon twisted to his side, using all four sets of claws in a Desert-style multidirectional attack, he slashed their faces and necks. On their own, the targets would probably have fallen, due to that, but Freak finished one by batting out its legs and knocking it into the water with a fisted paw, and struck the other with a powerful, signature headbutt.

Continuing forward, the li-tigon dived into the lake again and swam, this time, on the surface. The next target was at the very center of the lake, but there was, of course, a twist—Freak had no idea at all how Raj had done it, but, somehow, the moment he approached the platform… the lake transformed into a vast, massive whirlpool.

Powerless against the might of the water, the li-tigon flailed, hopelessly, training to maintain a linear course. He wasn’t sucked down, though, so, for a minute, he was able to tread water, and try to cope with his suddenly rising dizziness—it wasn’t easy. Raj didn’t fire, though, and so, after a moment, the li-tigon managed to find a way to work with the water.

Rather than attempting to swim in a straight line, Freak concentrated his efforts on not being thrown around hopelessly, and merely closing in on the lake’s center. Keeping upright wasn’t too difficult, and swimming towards the remaining platform was, after a few tries, doable.

The final target in this section of the test was dispatched with a quick, deadly combo of clawing and bats. Then, it was time to go.

Mercifully, Raj had turned off the whirlpool, somehow, so that Freak was able to swim out without contest. Once he was on the ground, though, the li-tigon wasted no time in running at near full speed towards the next set of targets.

These were set in the treetops, mostly, of a thick, muddy swamp. Freak dashed up the gnarled trunk of a moss-covered tree to make his way to the first target, before something hit him.

More confused than dazed, the li-tigon stared, head tilted, at the two-by-four in front of him. Formerly more or less rectangular in shape, it now sported an indentation in it that, for some reason, looked exactly like his forehead…

“What’s the matter, Scar? Combat is all about nasty surprises,” Raj called from the distance, “You’re not hurt, are you?” he added, after a moment.

“No, I’ll be fine,” the li-tigon replied.

“Shabosh, shabosh… I always knew you had a thick skull.”

After a second of attempting, and failing, to come up with a reasonable response to that, Freak swatted the spring-loaded chunk of wood out of the way with his paw, smashing it easily. Even as splinters danced through the air, he leaped from branch to branch, making his way to the first target.

There wasn’t enough space on the branch it was mounted to land on from the side, the direction Freak was approaching from. Rather, the li-tigon clotheslined it, hard, knocking it off its perch and with him, through the air. Turning his head to the side, for a moment, he dug his claws directly into where the scarecrow’s eyes would be, if Raj had taken the time to draw them, or something—leave it to a human to do a half-assed manufacturing job.

The target crashed into the next branch Freak landed on, then fell to the ground. The li-tigon then noticed that when he’d withdrawn his claws from the target, they hadn’t come out clean—rather, skewered on their lengths were little bits of cut-up rubber; tires, in fact. These, it seemed, were even tougher than the targets Freak had already hit.

Quickly sheathing and unsheathing his claws to clean them, the li-tigon moved to the next target. This one was suspended under a branch, fifteen feet about a slick of mud, or, possibly, quicksand. Attacking it from the bottom… probably wouldn’t work.

So, instead, Freak came from the side.

Daring, for a few seconds, to tread on the weaker, lower limbs of the swamp trees, the li-tigon sprang off another trunk and opened his jaws. This target was almost solid, far heavier than it would be if it was as dense as normal flesh, but Freak managed to grab it, and lift it up onto a more stable branch with his jaws.

Viciously throwing his head back, then forth, the li-tigon gripped the target with his massive paws, digging his claws deep, deep into its body—a kill, no denying it.

The li-tigon threw it aside, letting it splash into the quicksand or mud below with a wet splat. By the time it had hit the ground, Freak was flying through the treetops to his next target.

This time, he was prepared for the bar of wood that flung, as if out of nowhere, trying to trip him. Freak easily cleared it, but again, had to admit that, despite everything, Raj was a shrewd being. In midair, the li-tigon had no chance to dodge the second beam that was shot out from an unseen air cannon, or something, at him.

At first, Freak thought he’d only be able to block it from striking him in a sensitive spot, just below his armpit with an elbow. As it turned out, though, the li-tigon was able to deflect it with a quick tap, so that it flew over his lower back.

He landed in line with the next branch, upon which was located his target. This gave him time to gain both footing and therefore some speed—Freak slashed diagonally downwards with both sets of his front claws, shoving the target back. He finished the assault by pinning it to the tree and biting out its neck, leaving it to slump over, lifeless… er, even more lifeless than it… already.. …was…

The next engagement, it seemed, was in a harsh, gravely area. Boulders, jagged and harsh, spiked out of the ground suddenly and randomly, sharp enough to gore Freak if he were to run into one in the wrong angle. As the li-tigon approached, Raj started to open fire again, but not with his rifle.

“I might have guessed,” Freak thought, glumly, pressing himself against a finger of obsidian, “He’s been going easy on me, so far.”

Fortunately, Raj wasn’t being totally merciless. Though he’d opened up with an automatic grenade launcher, he was only firing directly at Freak. Now, while that certainly doesn’t sound merciful, consider—the li-tigon only had to find cover from a direct assault. If the human were to adjust his fire, even just a little, so as to launch his very live grenades next to Freak… there we be no dodging, and no evading. There would be no test, anymore… and no li-tigon to attempt it left.

Perhaps mercy… isn’t the best way to describe it.

As it was, Freak’s cover was rapidly being eroded by the numerous explosions against it. Broken shards of rock danced past the li-tigon as the ground shook, reverberating with the force of the powerful barrage. The li-tigon waited, though—let Raj feel a bit of fear, he reasoned, let him think that something had gone wrong. That tactic sure beat the Hell out of jumping out of cover blindly, praying for the best.

Sure enough, within a few seconds, the attack slowed, then stopped.

That was when Freak made his move.

He didn’t give Raj another chance to really bring the pain with another sustained barrage of grenades, but that was hardly relevant. Since the li-tigon was on the move, the human couldn’t carefully line his shots up just so, minimizing the risk of actually threatening Freak’s life.

Talk about realism.

Freak was lucky, though—no grenades landed close enough to him to do real damage. Raj had elected to use concussion rounds only for the test, not more lethal fragmentation ammunition—if he had, the li-tigon would have been Swiss cheese by then, easily.

As it was, the waves of pressure that slammed into him hard enough to almost knock him off his feet, and the chips of rock that peppered his sides were powerful enough obstacles anyway. The li-tigon’s face twisted into a snarl as he zigzagged, fur tousled by the explosions, making his way along a path of smell—the only one he had. Raj had mentioned, some time ago, that he’d have to find out how to do this test, at points, without direction. And now, it seemed, the only direction Freak had were the remnants of scent left behind by the human’s work, when he’d set the course up.

Maybe the human had guessed that Freak would do just that—the path he’d taken, it seemed, cut directly through the toughest, most impassible part of this miniature rockland. Raj’s path cut through a chasm, one riddled with sudden and extreme changes in elevation—if he wasn’t having fricking grenades shot at him, the li-tigon might have stayed the course.

“That’s it,” Freak said, suddenly skidding to halt over the cracked, blackened gravel, before turning and suddenly running in a totally different direction, “I won’t be the only one confused and constantly in need of tactical reassessment… if I do things that don’t make sense.”

Indeed, the li-tigon could almost see Raj pause, narrow his eyes, lower his weapon to wonder, for a moment, what had bitten his “student”, so to speak; what had made Freak do something that didn’t seem to serve any logical purpose.

A moment later, the fire started up, again, but it wasn’t nearly as rapid, and the human’s aim had been thrown off by the fact that Freak had come across a sudden, massive hole in the ground—great cover from the deadly little projectiles that Raj kept launching.

Throughout all this, though, Freak managed to keep his mind on his goals—find the targets. His tactic had worked, in the short term; he wasn’t playing by Raj’s game… one that, he knew, would end up giving the human a perfect shot, trapping Freak in between a rock and a hard place, forcing him to accept defeat. Now, though… well, he certainly couldn’t comb every inch of this rockland, not while evading a practically endless supply of grenades from Raj. That was sinfully inefficient, and wouldn’t teach him how to fight his twin at all. No, Freak needed to find his targets fast.

The only solutions, then, were to use both his nose, and his brain.

Again, the li-tigon changed direction, adjusting his course to be one that would take him to a relative high ground, a collection of smashed bits of rock. Darting across it, he had seconds, at best, to get the lay of the land—no more.

It would have to do.

Cross referencing the human’s current position—which was, at best, a presumption, an educated guestimate, no more—and therefore the line of fire he had with the trail of scent he’d picked up, the depressions and structures he’d just gotten a glimpse of, and experience with Raj, and his little quirks and oddities… Freak came up with a few possibilities of where to search for his objectives.

And he also knew that they would all, somehow, be trapped.

No more innocent two-by-fours—this time, the defense Raj had set up around at least one of his targets was a practical claymore—a directional mine. Freak hadn’t seen it, it was well camouflaged and he was going way too fast to notice—but the li-tigon had heard it. That soft, slight click of a safety catch being thrown, and the almost infinitesimal bit of resistance on his footpaw as it caught an unseen monofilament—

He had just enough time to jump, and high. There was no better option, the li-tigon had no way of telling what direction the explosion would come from. For that matter, he had no idea of what sort of trap Raj had set—it just seemed unlikely that the human would have created a trap effective from the bottom only, when Freak might have set it off from any direction.

So, fortunately, the flood of splintered wood (in favor of metal ball-bearings and scrap), flame, and pressure that otherwise would have sliced up, roasted, then pulverized Freak went cleanly under the li-tigon.

Of course, the fifteen foot drop into a landscape that wasn’t all that of a far cry from broken glass wasn’t enjoyable… but still. It beat the alternative.

And the trap told Freak that the target was near, probably. Raj didn’t have the time, patience, lack of regard for innocent life, or resources to set up traps randomly all over the testing facility… probably.

The li-tigon jumped into a small depression—ten feet deep, and twenty feet in diameter. Its walls were jagged and deadly—brushing against them would doubtlessly result in any number of lacerations and resulting infections… let alone being thrown into them.

The land was gray, dark gray—gunmetal, even, like the numerous tools Raj used, or the li-tigon’s eyes. The rain had let up in favor of mist, perhaps fledgling fog. Visibility was low, and that was good for Freak—hopefully, Raj wouldn’t fire as much, practically blinded at this range by the conditions. Unless… he had thermal imaging, somehow.

Thankfully, Freak underwent no attacks by the human. Instead, out of a serious of wide slats cut into the rock walls flung little, sharp, star-like pieces of metal at Freak from all directions at varying speeds. He could easy have jumped and avoided most if not all of them… but that was no challenge.

Unlike dodging gunfire, dodging these slower projectiles was—not easier—but more about reacting. To evade bullets, Freak had to watch the angle of a firearm’s barrel, and, taking into account wind and the gunman’s velocity, project what he’d have to do to avoid being shot. With these, though, he could actually see little glints of steel in the air, shining against the black background—easily visible.

The problem was that there were so damn many of the projectiles, and that they were coming from all directions.

By ducking and sidestepping, and spinning this way and that, the li-tigon managed evade… most of the sharpened metal shards. The volley ended, though, as quickly as it had began, so, grimacing, somewhat, Freak took a second to brush the stars from his mane… and pick a few out of his upper foreleg.

It was then that he noticed that, sometime during the course of the fight, the target had revealed itself. One of the slats in the wall hadn’t thrown out projectiles… but, rather, a scarecrow.

This one was only made of hay, allowing Freak to practically bisect it with a single swipe.

Then, it was time to move on.

He hopped out of the cylindrical hole with ease, and braced himself, preparing to dodge gunfire and grenades—but none came.

Running along, moving towards the next possible target area, Freak had to wonder—what was Raj planning, what was he up to? By this stage of the test, the li-tigon knew that his examiner, so to speak, wasn’t going to let him have many more freebies.

The answer to Freak’s question came in the form of not one but four pop-up turrets—these weren’t part of the miniature army Freak would have to face soon; they didn’t move. But their flamethrowers and submachineguns were completely functional.

However, by diving to the side, behind cover, and moving sporadically, unpredictably, the li-tigon was able to evade their attacks. It wasted time, though, so once he’d circled around, outside of their maximum effective range, Freak double-timed it to the next possible target area.

This one was concealed from most angles by a series of hills, formed of loose gravel—Freak had to scramble to get over them, but once he did, the target was in plain sight. There were no traps, too—because it was made of metal, and filled with mud.

Freak wouldn’t be able to manhandle it, as he’d been able to with the other targets. Biting or clawing it would also be dangerous, due to its tough exterior—so the only remaining options were clear.

The li-tigon stock to his paws—he struck the target’s head, hard, over and over. Quickly, he brought it to the ground, but didn’t end the assault. Freak kept striking, faster and faster, until, finally, he took its head off—a confirmed kill.

The next target would be as tough as this or worse, Freak was sure, but he’d come to understand potential weak points of such a design. And, while running to the remaining likely target area, he had time to formulate a plan of attack.

The li-tigon was sure, though, to keep plenty of attention on the here and now, and that paid off well. Raj’s defense for this trap was a spring-loaded series of flamethrowers that popped up from the ground, only twenty feet in front of Freak—they gave him no time to get out of the way or take cover before spraying flaming gasoline at the li-tigon.

If you were to look at the scene from behind the flamethrowers, you would have seen only a giant, bright orange fireball consume the landscape, and, presumably, Freak. Temperatures would quickly rise, making you sweat and tug at your collar, before the li-tigon either bounded over, past, or through you.

“Heat is transferred slowly, by some mediums…”

“Like fur…”

He’d seen the flames coming, and hadn’t slowed down—he’d done the opposite, and sprinted before jumping, clearing the flames before they had a chance to burn him.

Landing, Freak didn’t bother to bat himself off—such precautions were unnecessary in the heat of combat. Raj had opened fire with a machinegun, so a long trail of small explosions of hot lead and rock trailed Freak until he dived behind cover.

And there it was, another twenty yards away—the final target. It was in the open, though, and Freak could see that it had been bolted down to the ground with screws as fat as his thumb.

Bouncing on his paws, the li-tigon knew that Raj had stopped firing not to chance a magazine or barrel, but to wait until he showed himself. This was… a sensitive position—there was no way he could get to the target and take it out, or bring it behind cover, without exposing himself to gunfire. And since Raj was a good five hundred yards away, he was out of range of any rocks Freak could chuck at him, if suitable projectiles existed here… and, if Raj hadn’t learned and would shoot it out of the air.

“His gunfire,” Freak said suddenly, “That’s the solution.”

Without another thought, or wasting another second, the li-tigon rushed out of cover, too fast for Raj to track. The miniature explosions chased him, though, but Freak kept running, on and on, right past his target...

An explosion of sparks and mud told Freak that his trick had worked. Behind cover again, the li-tigon turned, and smiled, for just a heartbeat, at the target… neatly cut in two by Raj’s reckless gunfire—perfect.

The question now, though, was whether there were more targets to be had, or if the time had come to face Raj’s army.

And the answer came in the form of an explosion of gunfire from a nearby treeline.

Freak ducked, a little, so that the rock behind which he’d taken cover cracked, exploding from the powerful slug that struck it. They began to emerge from the forest, one at a time—some were small and fast and light, armed with a single weapon. Others were tanks, sporting multiple weapons and even multiple turrets, capable of some planning and forethought. All in all, there were a dozen of them… and the li-tigon would have to take them all down with enough energy left to fight Nasher, and Raj.

But he could do it… maybe.

There was only one way to find out, though, and the li-tigon refused to ignore the challenge posed by the posture the machines struck, waiting, watching for him to answer.

As machineguns began to roar, Freak charged. He didn’t have a plan, but he did have the mind, muscle, and will to pass this test.

Surprisingly enough, Freak hadn’t been shot.

His mane might be singed from too many close calls with flamethrowers, and he might have a few bruises, here and there, and more than a few cuts from shrapnel, but no bullets had tasted his flesh.

The li-tigon stood, now, among broken mechanical and digital parts, belts of ammunition and the weapons that fired them under his feet. Cleanly snapping the turret off Raj’s last little friend, Freak allowed himself to calm, for a moment.

“Only one part left… Now, I have to take Nasher and Raj at the same time.”

No need to give them a stationary target.

Freak vanished deeper into the forest where the massacre had taken place, and spent a few seconds taking deep cover—now, he wouldn’t be noticed unless his opponents were very observant indeed, or Raj implemented a piece of technology far beyond Freak’s comprehension.

A quick check of himself told Freak a few things.

One was that although he was slightly injured, his overall fighting ability wouldn’t be affected.

Another was that, despite the nearly full day of combat, he’d remained surprisingly calm and collected—his mind wasn’t jittery or paranoid, no in the slightest.

The other was that he was dangerously low on energy, and no matter how calm he was, if he faced Nasher and Raj now, there was no chance that he’d win. None.

“It’s been a while since I’ve really hidden,” Freak thought, “But before my first year passed, I beat a venomous python in a battle of stealth and ambush. By now… surely, by now, I can hide from Nasher and Raj long enough to regain some energy. Enough to beat them.”

“After fifteen minutes, they’ll think that I’m too injured to respond to their calls,” Freak thought, “By the half hour mark, they’ll be searching in total desperation. And, one hour from now, they’ll be demoralized, angry, confused… and I’ll be rested enough to take them.”

“So now, I’ll rest,” the li-tigon murmured, taking even deeper cover yet, “For just an hour. Then, when I wake… I hope they’re ready.”

“I say, you don’t really think he died, do you?”

“I hope not, Uncle, but who can tell? Why else would he refuse to show himself for so long—two hours?”

“I’m not sure that it’s been that long, Raj. You’re right, but still…” Nasher clicked his tongue, peering, untrustingly, into the forest, “It would be just like my silent great-nephew to intentionally do this to us. How many times have we been through the forest, now?... what are the odds that we’ve missed him; he’s not a kitten.”

“You’re right, too,” Raj said, “And I’m now certain that all my machines are destroyed. But let’s think, for a moment… supposing, he’s not injured and he’s not setting a trap. That means—”

“Someone else is playing a role,” Nasher finished.

The chilling silence was hardly perturbed by the soft, fearful sounds of the tiger and human getting back to back, ready to fight. Raj raised a set of binoculars, checking the perimeter of the forest… stealth to a degree that he’d be able to sneak up like this was not Shah’s forte, but Raj knew better than to underestimate his twin brother.

“Forget about Scar. We have to find Kochai,” Nasher said in a steely voice, “My relative can take care of himself, but my daughter—she’s still a kitten. And I have so much to do with her yet, before she’s too old or I’m dead.”

The tiger’s voice cracked, a little, and Raj understood the legitimacy of the urgency in it. Ever since that day, when they’d shared a little… heart-to-heart in the forest, Kochai and her father had grown closer than anyone could have expected—and yet, Nasher was right. There was so much left for father and daughter to enjoy together—he couldn’t play a role in denying such a relationship, even indirectly.

Slowly, Raj nodded.

“You’re right. Dusk is coming soon, so, she should be nearby, or approaching,” he murmured, “Maybe we’ll have more luck with her than we have with Scar.”

Nasher nodded, still looking around, completely alert for anything.

“Alright, boy… we can’t split up, we’re stronger together. But we need to cover as much ground as possible as quickly as we can, so we’ll move within eyesight of one another, and that’s all—let’s set a few things straight, right now,” he said in a steely voice, “If one of us goes down, the other leaves him and finds Kochai, and takes her to safety. And if Kochai goes down… well, boy, you’ve got a life in front of you. As for me… don’t bother trying to hold me back, or stopping me.”

Raj nodded, slightly—of course, Nasher couldn’t see it, but acted as if the human had agreed.

“Also… despite everything, boy, I’m grateful for your friendship, and your advice. Both things have been very rare for me, in this life… so, while I have a chance, let me make sure that I can say this: thank you.”

A smile touched the human’s thin lips—it wasn’t wide or overt, but it was heartfelt.

“You’re very welcome, Uncle. Now…” he whispered, crouching, a little, tightening his grip on his shortened G3, “Let’s move, on my go…”

“One…” Raj said.

“Two…” Nasher said, as the human took a shot of almost pure caffeine and sugar (read: an energy drink).

“Three…”

The human and the tiger paused, then turned, slowly looking at one another.

“Did you—”

“No. No, I didn’t,” Nasher said, blinking, utterly confused, “It sounded like it came from you, though. Have you got something caught in your throat? Maybe it was you who said it, perhaps that ganja drink of yours affected it.”

“I don’t think so,” Raj said, examining his can, “It‘s only sugar, caffeine, water, and artificial flavors, that’s all,” the human said.

Nasher looked skeptical, so, sighing, he added, “And… some other things, which I cannot pronounce.”

“But wait,” the tiger said suddenly, “That’s an accelerant. So, if anything, your voice would have been higher. I say—”

“Yes,” Raj said, twitching, throwing his can down to the ground, stepping on it, sneering… before pausing, picking it up and putting it into his pocket for later eco-friendly disposal like any good Planeteer, “He’s here.”

“You mean—”

“Yep,” Raj said shortly, “He heard everything you said.”

Nasher twitched.

“Well then,” he said, clearing his throat, “Let it be known that I wasn’t actually being very serious at all; I was merely saying it to comfort you, boy—”

“You’re only digging yourself a deeper grave, Uncle.”

Nasher twitched again, but fell silent.

“So, you are grateful for his advice…”

The voice came, somehow, from directly above Nasher and Raj. The two turned, instantly, just in time to watch Freak land, daintily, and quietly, ten or so feet away from them, lips quivering.

“I’m sorry. I should have attacked before then, but it was so precious—I couldn’t resist, I really couldn’t.”

“…So!” Raj said suddenly, loudly, seeing that Nasher was glaring daggers at the li-tigon, who was still barely concealing laughter, “Shall we?”

“Of course,” Freak said, “Let’s—”

No one would ever know for sure—not even the tiger himself—if Nasher had attacked in well-feigned or real anger. The roar he gave as he attempted to pounce on Freak was incredibly realistic, if it was fake… but, if it was real, he was pissed.

Freak dodged to the side, rolling, and took cover behind a tree just as Raj opened fire, backing up his teammate. The li-tigon barely had a moment to wait alongside the moss-covered tree before Nasher ripped through a series of vines, skidded to a halt, and ran towards Freak again.

This time, though, the tiger didn’t go for a simple tackle—he reared up, yes, so Freak did as well in response. The cats shared a long series of strikes—Nasher’s furious, fast assault kept Freak on his toes, and on the retreat, for the moment. The li-tigon parried most of the tiger’s blows, dodging a few, and blocking the remainder. Once or twice, he spotted opportunities to drop Nasher with a bat or headbutt, and once or twice, he could have locked the tiger’s forelegs and taken the fight to the ground—but, Freak found, he was in the mood for a challenge.

The positive part of fighting so furiously with Nasher, moving so quickly, changing direction and his position relative to the tiger was that Raj couldn’t shoot—he never had a clear line of fire to Freak for more than half a second, and even then, opening fire would have placed Nasher in grave danger anyway. I suppose that we can only hope that Kifo wouldn’t be so unwilling to sacrifice an ally, in a blind rage to kill his twin…

Quickly, though, Raj grew tired of trying to line up a perfect shot. He fired off a few rounds, not necessarily aiming at Freak, but aiming as close to the fray as he dared. This served, though, only to agitate the two combatants and increase the veracity of their fight.

The li-tigon still showed combat restraint, even as Nasher landed one, then two strikes that trailed long, jagged bloody lines through his ruff and mane. Continuing to allow himself to be forced back, so that Raj had to constantly reposition himself, only occasionally able to fire off a shot, Freak kept careful track of where Nasher was guiding him, pushing him—it was a trap, he was certain.

Looking deliberately into the tiger’s eyes, using only his peripheral vision to thwart Raj’s efforts to get a clean shot on him, the li-tigon would have exactly a millisecond to react before whatever trap he was being led into was sprung.

After blocking a series of quick jabs, Freak saw that telltale flash in Nasher’s eyes, and felt his foot give way, a little—jumping back, far, the li-tigon cleared a pit, deep one, that Nasher very much stumbled into.

When Freak hit the ground, he turned and ran—but not away from his combatants. Nasher had started to round a pit, recovering from the surprise of Freak’s jump well, but not from meeting the li-tigon again far before he’d expected.

This time, Freak was on the attack—Nasher didn’t have a chance. Of course, the li-tigon was careful to not injure his great uncle, but still—within a few seconds, Freak’s initial tackle, and the cleverly-placed bats that followed placed Nasher in a position ripe for a grappling maneuver that could pin him into submission, or, potential, a bite to the neck. Unfortunately, though, Freak was forced to give his attack up prematurely: Raj was almost in a position to fire.

Calculating, quickly, the li-tigon decided that the human would be able to snap off a shot before he could get to him. Leaving Nasher on the ground, belly up, Freak jumped up into the treetops. Though angry gunfire chased him, courtesy of Raj, he wasn’t too worried—even for a skilled shooter like Raj, tracking a rapidly moving cat through the trees… was hard.

Freak had to give Nasher credit, though—before ten seconds had passed, the tiger was not only back on his feet, but up in the trees, hot on Freak’s tail, and that was bad. If Nasher so much as slowed Freak down, much less managed to take the fight out of the trees and back to the ground, Raj would have a confirmed kill without even needing to pull the trigger.

Unacceptable.

Before the tiger could realize that or implement it, Freak had stopped, and jumped, twisting, turning around in midair. He managed to kill his momentum by landing on a tree, so, for a second, held himself there so as to not change his momentum too quickly—before launching himself at Nasher.

His intention wasn’t to engage the tiger again—rather, he meant to either knock him out of the tree, or just get him out of the way. Freak needed time to think of a way to take on Raj—at least a few seconds.

He ended up making Nasher dodge to the side, and that put the tiger out of the game for maybe five seconds. Nasher had to turn and catch up to Freak again, but by the time that happened, the li-tigon had an idea in mind.

Raj was reloading, then, snapping home a drum magazine for his G3. He fumbled, though, and almost dropped it, and rushed to click it in place. Then, though, the human looked up, and threw aside his rifle. The human’s sidearm was a Skorpion machinepistol, a nasty little gun that fired smaller rounds at a rapid rate—it wouldn’t be likely to kill Freak, but the li-tigon would certainly feel getting shot by it.

Freak’s intention was to take Raj out fast, before he could be double-teamed. Dropping down from the trees, the li-tigon sprinted towards the human, whose pistol had just cleared leather. Raj raised his weapon, just as Freak leapt into the air.

It was close, and if the li-tigon had been a millisecond slower, even at this range, he would have been seriously injured, or very possibly even killed by the flurry of .32 ACP rounds that would have been blasted into him. Freak took the human down, wrapping his forelegs around Raj’s arms, so that although the Skorpion went off, its bullets smattered uselessly into the ground.

Even though the trauma of being tackled by a feline weighing well over five hundred pounds dazed Raj, he recovered well before hitting the ground. His upper arms were pinned, and there was nothing he could do about it. However, his belt was laden with weapons—using his right hand to keep a grip on the li-tigon’s mane, so he wouldn’t be tossed aside, he went for a long, curved dagger with his left. It didn’t even clear the sheath, though. Freak slid down and gripped the human around his forearms, locking him up entirely—if Raj had had a few more seconds, he might have been able to do something, but, just as they hit the ground, the li-tigon had opened his jaws and pointedly held them only inches away from Raj’s neck.

A kill.

Before Raj could say or word, or even totally recover from being tackled to the ground, though, Freak was gone. Nasher bounded over the human, a moment later, chasing the retreating li-tigon into a clearing.

Freak turned, in a dime, so the tiger stopped. Circling, the two cats snarled at each another—surprisingly seriously, for just a test, as Raj started to stand. Though Freak had “killed” him well and truly, his twin would be a lot tougher. A few more good kills on Raj would finish the fight, but, before that, the li-tigon had to “kill” Nasher.

This wasn’t good. Freak knew that if he and his great-uncle got into another close-quarters brawl, this time, Raj wouldn’t hesitate to open fire.

But… it was his only option. If the li-tigon didn’t make it prohibitively costly for Raj to fire upon him and Nasher, the human would just find an angle, eventually, and exploit it. It looked like Freak’s only choice was to take Nasher down in one furious push, and then turn his attention to Raj, and keep it there.

As the li-tigon ran forward, Nasher danced away, glancing towards Raj. The human quickly tried to circle, raising his freshly loaded rifle, ready to spray—

Too late, Freak was too fast. Before Raj could flick his rifle up, the li-tigon was on Nasher. He tackled the tiger cleanly out of view behind a tree, so that the human had to swear and get up and run to get a view of the yowling, vicious sounds of combat coming from the thick forest.

But before Raj could get an angle, Freak dragged Nasher out of view again. It was obvious that the tiger was losing the fight, and badly, but Freak had apparently not gotten in a “kill” yet. Raj rushed forward, rifle-half raised—he didn’t dare fire at the brawl while moving.

Freak got behind another clump of trees, and this time, when Raj caught up, he found Nasher.

The tiger was panting, exhausted, and seemed to only barely keep his feet. He looked up at Raj, apologetically, and said, “Boy… you might want to look behind you…”

The human looked to the side with his eyes, only, not his head. With his peripheral vision, he caught a flash of tan-orange, and leaped to the side. Feeling Freak’s massive paw bat his elbow, hyper-extending it, slightly, he slid across the ground as he fired rapidly.

Casings bounced around just next to Raj’s head, as bullets cut through the forest canopy, rocketing into the sky. Branches and twigs were snapped, cut down, by the volley, but the human hadn’t taken the time to aim. His spray hadn’t touched Freak.

Standing up, the human crouched, a little, and this time took a second to aim before firing rapid but short bursts at the li-tigon’s form. Freak was sprinting, circling Raj, and both fighters knew it was only a matter of time before they closed.

Unfortunately for Raj, his drum magazine was already running out. He thought he’d gotten in a hit—a slight explosion of blood was followed by a slight misstep or stumble on Freak’s part, but the li-tigon had taken cover, again. Raj knew better than to reload, even as he circled around, rifle at low-ready, moving in for the kill. A quick mental calculation said that there were at best a dozen rounds left at the ready, so after that, he’d be back to his sidearms, blades… or bare hands.

Indeed, there was a puddle on the ground where Freak had been, a moment ago—but the li-tigon was gone. And a soft click off to Raj’s three o’clock told him where his opponent had gone…

The human didn’t even bother to fire, this time. He just turned his head, quickly, and saw the blur of Freak approaching, already in the air. Raj ducked, explosively, and swung his rifle, swinging its stock, hard. The dull thud that reverberated through the G3 shook it from his grip, but also left an indent in Freak’s fur, hopefully throwing the li-tigon off, if only a little.

Freak flew over Raj, and the human took advantage of that. Getting a two knives out, holding one in an ice-pick grip and the other in a normal fighter’s, he tried to slash at the li-tigon’s underbelly—no luck.

Impressively, Freak managed to grab the ground with his claws, swinging himself around, stopping his jump prematurely. Raj wasn’t prepared for that, and tried to get his blades back into play. Freak could have tackled the human, disarming him, and then proceeded to “kill” him over and over and over, passing the test.

This wasn’t to be, though—the li-tigon paused, for just a second, and that gave Raj time to move in. The human relied on slashes, mostly, but now and then followed up deep, lunging stabs with backhand slices. Freak dodged and parried everything, though, moving as fast as the human was, twice over.

Quickly, Raj grew desperate. On his next attack, he threw his right-hand knife. Freak’s eyes widened, and he quickly brought up a paw in his defense—the blade penetrated it, completely, its clipped point visible on the other end. The li-tigon winced, and, after a second of hesitation, dared use his foreleg. Hopefully, the blade had gone in line with his tissue, and wasn’t tearing it apart already.

Raj was now using a pistol in his left hand and knife in his right. The human tried to draw a bead, but Freak disarmed him with a single, deft paw-strike. Hissing in pain, Raj backed away, quickly, from the li-tigon’s malicious, stalking advance, raising his knife threateningly.

Freak watched the blade, for a moment, as if afraid. Then, though, Raj’s back hit a tree, and the li-tigon reared up, bracing the human’s wrist against the tree with a foreleg.

Teeth bared, snarling at the human, staring at him from only inches away, Freak was a rather terrifying sight. For a moment, Raj really did fear for his life, and didn’t dare move a muscle. Then, though, he heard Freak growl and dive towards his neck, and closed his eyes—

“I win,” the li-tigon said, dropping down to all fours again, looking up to Raj, “Right? I could have taken your neck out, there, and I was ready to claw your face, or your chest, or anything. I don’t think there was anything you could have done… but if you want to continue…”

“No, nononononno,” Raj said, barely stopping himself from collapsing to his knees, “You beat me, fair and square. I don’t dispute it.”

Freak grinned, a little, and, panting, nodded, sitting down slowly, and a bit painfully. “Heh… alright, Raj.”

Exhausted, the li-tigon looked, a bit sardonically, at the knife stuck to the hilt in his foreleg. Opening his mouth, he leaned in and gingerly grabbed it, very carefully tugging

“Wait, wait…” Raj said, walking over, “Let me help you with that…”

Freak was only took glad to hold his foreleg out and watch, without gritting his teeth or even reacting as the human gripped his knife, tightly, and cleanly yanked it out. Taking a moment to examine the gaping wound, asking Freak to flex his fingers and wrist, Raj eventually nodded.

“You’ll be fine, Scar. As for your other injuries—ah, that’s right. I shot you, right? In the leg, wasn’t it?”

The li-tigon chose to ignore the somewhat hopeful tone in the human’s voice, and, rolling his eyes, nodded.

“I think so. The right leg…”

Slowly, Freak rolled over. Now, he was starting to feel his injuries, as the adrenaline from the day of fighting slowly wore off. Indeed, Raj had shot him exactly once, but, as the human reported, it was only a superficial wound and the bullet had gone through him completely.

“I estimate that you’ll be yourself again, within a week or so,” Raj said, sitting down at the base of a tree. Resting, for a moment, head hung, the human laughed, once, as Nasher approached.

“Even though I watched it happen, I’ve no clue how you managed this. Now that I’m looking at you so closely, I can see that you were hurt, a lot… but despite your injuries,” Raj said, looking through Freak’s blood-matted fur for left over shrapnel, “You prevailed.”

Freak was about to reply before he turned, suddenly, at the sound of Kochai’s voice. Nasher stood up, calling for his daughter with a roar, before sitting back down and looking at the sky.

It was dusk, Freak noted, and that probably had some bearing on why he’d won. In the lack of light, Raj wouldn’t be able to see or aim as well. Waiting and taking a nap really was a good tactic, upon reflection.

Kochai was approaching, quickly, and bounded over Freak, then past Raj to jump on her father, nuzzling him happily. Nasher was legitimately pushed back by his daughter, for once, and griped, for a moment, about how he was tired and in need of more gentle affection. The tigress apologized, and immediately busied herself by softly kneading the bruises and cuts engendered from his encounter of the Freaky kind.

“So,” the li-tigon said, eventually, looking at Kochai, “…What have you been doing, all day?”

“First, I took a nap,” the tigress said, resting on her father’s side, thinking, blue-green eyes skyward, “And then… I explored the jungle, a little, and then, I took a nap. After that, I caught a small mouse for lunch, and took a nap… it was a very fun day, but I like being around you and Raj and Father more. I get to nap more that way.”

Raj laughed, once, before the cats looked at him strangely, wondering what was so funny—Kochai’s desires were legitimate, as far as they could see. Things fell silent, slowly, as the four rested. Nasher, Raj, and Freak were hungry, but food could wait. For now, they’d enjoy the little slice of Heaven they’d found, here, on top of the Sacred Mesa, with each another…

While they could.

(Next chapter will be My Name, expect it between now and when I die or get tired of or forget about writing. Until then, this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction, reminding you to disgorge your eggplant before grilling it… see you next chapter.)