Killing that lion was easy—very easy.  It had taken Kifo two rounds, and even fewer seconds of effort.  His bloodlust wasn't sated by the murder in the slightest, particularly since he'd seen the white furred male coming from a mile away.  All he needed to do was crouch, ready his rifle, then open fire.  It was even easier than the massacre he'd recently committed in the White Sands.

The killing might have been more satisfying if Kifo had found the body, and had had the time to consume or torture it—but when he and Kishindo had arrived where the body should have been, they saw nothing.  Not even blood.

In total, the killing had done little more than give him the patience for some interaction with his companion.

"I'm going to tell you a story, Kishindo."

She barely heard him.  Her focus was almost completely taken by the sight before her: the Pride Lands.  The landscape closest to her and the demon was a slowly sifting ocean of grass, left dried and tan by a recent lack of rain that had affected the majority of the Land of the Spirits.

It had been some time since she'd last been in the area, but she'd forgotten nothing since she'd been washed away by the treacherous efforts of Simba, Kiara… and her own son.

Well.  Kifo would have his revenge someday.  But first, Kishindo would have hers—she'd make Kovu sorry that he was ever born, as she was.

"What did you say?" the lioness said, a bit curtly.  Her eyes didn't leave her destination, and her mind didn't leave her goal.  "I wasn't paying attention."

A tendon running alongside Kifo's neck throbbed, and he had to concentrate for a moment to calm, slowly forcing his fists to open.  When he replied, it was in an even harsher, more abrupt tone than his companion used.

"I said," he practically spat, "that I'm going to tell you a story.  Listening?"

He glared at her so venomously that she actually felt the tanned, tawny fur at the back of her neck prick up.  Real fear rose in the lioness, and, silently, she turned to face Kifo.  She didn't apologize, and, unsurprisingly, neither did he.  But, a moment later, the demon started to speak again.

"There was this one country, right, and they knew that they might have to fight this other country.  So, they got a giant line of guns ready—except, they didn't protect this one part of their border, see.  So, the other country invaded through that little opening, and the entire line became useless.  See the analogy?"

Kishindo smirked slightly—a risk that was wise only for her.

"I've heard of the Maginot Line, boy.  Just because I'm a lioness doesn't mean that I'm stupid."

"Wha—how—forget it," Kifo sighed.  "So, uh, where's Belgium?"

She turned back to the empty quadrant of the Pride Lands, the area that had very recently been soiled with Sarabi's blood.  Her angular, cruel features were as sharp and precise as a scalpel; carefully, they cleaved apart every detail of the nearby border with the Pride Lands.

"I'm not entirely sure," she admitted.  "But if I know Simba, the arrogant blowhard will have sanctified the Pride Lands.  And that's a problem—it means that you can't enter… unless you have permission."

"From what?" the demon interrupted.  "Him?  His dead relatives?  Either way, we're fucked."

"Not to worry, Kifo," the lioness said smoothly.  "To enter a sanctified area… you must have permission from one of its owners."

He stared down at her blankly.  His patience was wearing thin, and if Kishindo didn't get to her point soon, she'd know just how much power one of those massive fists could deliver to a feline body.

"Think, Kifo.  If sanctification could have kept us, Scar's followers, out of the Pride Lands, it would have been done generations ago.  As I recall, that red-maned bastard even tried it once.  It didn't work."

Comprehension made its way across the demon's face, followed by a cruel smile.

"Now," the lioness said, savoring the word, "if only I could remember the correct wording…"

She tilted her head.  Raised her gaze up to the sky.  She wasn't looking for the Spirits that had abandoned her cause for more than a lifetime—she was looking through her mind; scouring years' worth of memories for the few words that would grant Kifo access to the Pride Lands.

"Ah, yes…" she said, malicious.  "Kifo… kneel."

Not without difficulty, the demon complied.  He rested his paws on his massive quadriceps, giving the thick black hair that clung to his skull a toss—and watched, as Kishindo stood before him.

"In compliance with the law of our Land, as the rightful owner of the Pride Lands, I grant Kifo, demon, access to the Pride Lands."

Silence—for a moment, nothing happened.  Kifo's lip twitched.

"That's it?  We done here?"

"I… believe so."  Furrows were etched into Kishdindo's brow.  Her eyes, normally as hateful as their blood-red shade suggested, were unsure—but she shook her head.  "We'll find out.  Follow me…"

They moved forward; there was no question in either of their minds where the divide between the Pride Lands and their current territory was.  Fifty yards away and slowly approaching, there was a divide in the land so clear it could be seen from the Heavens themselves—on one side, grass didn't grow.  On one side, the ground was dry and dusty and lifeless.  On the other, none of this was true.

There was no fear as she walked forward, demon directly behind her.  There never had been, though the punishment for trespassing into the Pride Lands was capital—this was her territory.  She wouldn't be deterred from entering it, no matter how unwelcome she was.

Heart's ease.  Solastalgia.  Place pathology.  These are all reasonable terms to describe what was felt by those that left the Pride Lands.  Because, no matter how acclimated to other territories they became, they always knew at the core of their being that they were not home.  The real homeland of all lions in the Land of the Spirits was the Pride Lands.

Freak was no lion.  But his bonds to the Pride Lands were so strong that they ran in his blood—his father had held the title of the Lion King, as had his father's father, and his father's grandfather, and all of his male ascendants.  He was descended directly from the first cats to enter the Land of the Spirits after years of searching for their own little slice of Heaven on Earth.

Allow the Lion Sheikh to be very clear: coming back to the Land of the Spirits brought with at a feeling of success, and happiness so great that Freak could hardly stop himself from… smiling… for maybe two seconds.  But coming back to the Pride Lands—that might make the li-tigon smile for three seconds.  Or even four.  Who knew?

Freak wasn't a being that needed to show his emotions on the outside.  He felt them just as acutely as anyone else did within—perhaps even more so.  His circle of beloved friends and family was large, and with all of them in the same place for the first time in history, the li-tigon felt something he wasn't used to.

Satisfaction was an emotion he'd known throughout his life, even during the darkest periods in the Jungle before he'd met another being willing to accept his right to live.  He'd felt it at varying levels—but he'd never felt a relieved sort of satisfaction, a quiet sense of accomplishment that told him that everything would be okay; that he'd done his job.

He thought of the friends that were no longer with him—Raj, Nasher, Asal, the Dark One, Samehe, Sikia.  All of them had one thing in common: they all knew that their places were among others.  They all knew their priorities—to secure a better future for everyone, even at the cost of personal sacrifice.

Until then, he would have included Adhabu and Msaka among the list of beings that he'd loved and lost—but, amazingly, they were there, in the flesh, very alive and very happy to see him.  But, like the rest of the group that had converged on Freak, Kochai, and Uvuli, they were all silent.

For several minutes, they'd been moving north, towards Pride Rock.  Freak wasn't sure how, but it seemed like every being in the Land of the Spirits he'd ever known was within twenty feet of him—except for Simba.  But as they approached the natural monument that had been the object of Freak's aspirations for months, Freak could see a familiar silhouette standing at its crest, alone, waiting to be joined.

As he walked, Freak found himself reminiscing over his life.  Everything he'd ever done, everything that had ever been done to him—it all seemed to have the purpose of preparing him for one event, which was now closer than ever.  Every fight, every injury received and given; it had all molded him into the being he was now: one that was, hopefully, capable of vanquishing the greatest threat to the Land that had ever existed.

There were unfamiliar faces around him—lions he'd never seen before.  But he knew, now, not to treat them with fear and suspicion—they were the friends of his friends; thus, they had his trust and friendship by extension.  They looked different—one female in particular had pale fur and green eyes.

Freak would never, ever hold someone's strange appearance against them.  He was no hypocrite.

What in particular was going on was still a mystery to Freak, but he didn't say a word.  No one had, not since he'd re-entered the Pride Lands.  There was an intensity about the ceremony that was going on—it was a ceremony, he was sure of it—that demanded silence.

Even little Kochai wasn't saying anything.  She was nervous; Freak could feel it, but she was also a brave young tigress.  Maybe she was starting to assume that there was some bizarre Pride Land tradition against speaking to newcomers until some sort of blessing took place—such things existed in her homeland, after all.  The kitten's thoughts, though, remained private.  Next to Uvuli in the rough phalanx formation behind Freak, she walked forward just as focused as everyone else.

The li-tigon was surprised that he didn't feel strange, leading such a massive group of lions—he'd literally never been around so many before in his life, not by a long shot, and he knew better than to set an overwhelmingly high bar for himself.  But he didn't feel nervous, not even in the slightest.

Perhaps, then, this was his place: at the head of the pride.

That could be true, he thought, but only in the short term.  Only Simba was the Lion King, and Freak was grateful that he felt no desire for power.  Once before, that dangerous hunger had plunged the Pride Lands into disastrous war.

Now, though, the wrongdoings of the generations would be fixed.  That is… if Freak could fight and win in single combat against his twin.  And, even then, as he made the final leg of his epic journey back to pride rock, he wasn't sure that he could.

There were no moments in Freak's life so solemn as those following when everyone stopped at the base of Pride Rock.  Even Uvuli and Kochai did, though they couldn't have been told what to do without his notice—but they, too, halted, staring at the worn stone path that led up Pride Rock.

The li-tigon wondered if he was supposed to stop as well, and looked back at the myriad of faces behind him for guidance.  No one spoke, though, nor so much as mouthed a command—so, after a moment of hesitation, Freak began to climb.

Still finding it difficult to believe that he was back in the Pride Lands, the li-tigon looked down to ensure that those massive, light, tan-orange paws were his, as they noiselessly padded across the sleek gray of Pride Rock.  He was alone, for a few moments, in the darkened passage that led to the protruding peak of the structure.

Then, Freak stepped into the light.  The Sun's rays on his face were so inspiring, that he had to stop, for a moment, frozen by the power of the moment—and then, he saw Simba.

It had been too long since the li-tigon had seen his cousin, the merciful, wise being responsible for bringing him into the Pride Lands.  Simba hadn't changed a bit—his mane seemed to burn as the concentrated light struck it; his face was still proud, noble, compassionate, all at once.  Unsmiling, the Lion King stopped surveying his homeland, and turned to Freak.

Then, he shut his eyes and bowed his head.

"In compliance with the law of our Land, as the Lion King, I grant Shujaa, warrior, command of the Pride Lands, and all of its people."

Freak froze—surely, what was going on wasn't a transfer of power.  No, he'd prepared to fight Kifo—he wasn't prepared to do this…

"I relinquish my position as the Lion King," Simba said without a trace of hesitation or reservation.  "Shujaa is the new King."

Now this was a surprise—and not just Freak's sudden, unprecedented ascent to the throne.  He actually felt more powerful, more in touch with the land.  He was now as inextricably part of it as Pride Rock itself—and now, Freak understood, better than ever, the challenge facing him.

Without realizing it, the li-tigon had made his way past Simba.  The former King's head was still bowed in deference, and he didn't look as mighty as he had a moment ago, but Freak saw none of this.  He was looking at his kingdom.

From the vast, sprawling plains of to his left, to the lush forests and jungles to his right, to the rocky, mixed habitat directly before him, there was a unity, a sense of kinship felt by all the beings that lived in the Pride Lands.  Freak had felt this at its most rudimentary levels before his exile, and somewhat more strongly just minutes ago—but now, the li-tigon felt it as fully as any living being ever would.

Everything was counting on him to survive.  Everything, and everyone.   The stakes couldn't be higher.

For a long time, Freak was silent.  His mind, impressive as it was, was racing over the time he'd spent in the Pride Lands.  There were few areas he hadn't see, few secrets the territory still held, and now, as King, he realized that there always would be.  The Pride Lands were as full of mystery as they were of life.

Life—this was what Freak was protecting from his twin, a warrior of death and destruction.  He was fighting for the right to exist—and not just his.  His battle would be on behalf of every living being in the Pride Lands.

There was no motion, the li-tigon realized.  No noise.  Not even a distant, non-sentient bird, a dozen miles from Pride Rock, could be heard.  Everything had stopped for Freak—the Earth itself had stopped spinning, waiting for the li-tigon to accept his responsibilities.  Once he did, things would continue.  But until he did, they couldn't.

Freak hadn't been told what to do next, but he didn't need to be.  After all, leadership was as much a part of who he was as the scar on his face.

According to Kochai and Uvuli, yes, in fact, his roar had changed.  It was louder, and deeper too—but it wasn't the roar of a lion.  It was the roar of a being that was mostly lion but a little bit tiger—familiar and foreign all at once.

It certainly was inspiring.  As it struck the gathered felines below, they all couldn't help but jump, just a little—though they all remained silent.

Freak looked down.  His friends, family—his subjects—were bowing.  After a moment, he turned, to see that Simba was doing the same.

The li-tigon tilted his head; he didn't know what to do.  His face carried no discernable emotion, but those that knew him knew that he was incalculably proud and honored to be the new Lion King.

Simba stood.  Smiled.  And then, he spoke in that calm, negotiator's tone, one so comforting that Freak shut his eyes to hear it properly—he'd dreamed about it for months, after all.

"Well… we're finished here.  You're the new Lion King… how does it feel?"

As always, Freak chose his words carefully before speaking.

"My duty… it's challenging.  But not overwhelming.  I can do it… if I'm wise, careful, compassionate… if I have a very, very good adviser."  Pointedly, the li-tigon looked at his cousin.

"I might be able to help.  I don't have anything planned for the next few months… your voice has changed.  You've… changed."  Simba stared at Freak, realizing, for the first time, how much bigger he was than the diminutive li-tigon that he'd last seen so long ago.  His pronounced stripes, his different eye color, his new, powerful physique… everything was different.  But this was still his cousin—of that there was no question.

"I've been busy for some time.  You saw the female I brought with me?...  She's my relative.  My blood."

"I see."

The two Kings, one former and one current, stared at one another for some time.

"I have a question.  Are you ready for your first official assignment as my adviser?...  That's not my question."

"No, no, I understand," Simba nodded, diplomatically.  "Ask away."

"If we're finished… why are we being so formal?"

Simba smiled.  Now, he was the one to spend a few seconds pausing, choosing his words carefully.

"Good question," the red-maned lion replied.  "Welcome home."

The silence ended as an exuberated roar rose from below Pride Rock.  Freak raced forward to meet his cousin—for the first time in his life, he actually played with someone close to his own age and size.  The li-tigon was a full-grown cat, as was Simba, but for a few moments, they both acted like they were cubs again, and they were justified in doing so.  It had been so, so, so long since they'd last seen one another.

Their jubilation wasn't exclusive for long, though.  Seconds later, a rush of lions lifted Freak bodily off the ground, before covering him in a series of feline displays of affection.  The li-tigon laughed out loud, but no one heard him—they were all too busy embracing him, praising him, welcoming him back to his homeland—many, for the first time.

The hyenas, though, didn't immediately join.  After all, they were welcoming back Uvuli—she'd seemingly returned from her dead.  For the first time since his mate had been executed, Usiku of the Bloody Shadows had tears in his eyes; he barely allowed anyone else to touch his daughter until he'd practically smothered her.

"Uvuli, Uvuli, Uvuli…" he said her name over and over again.  Finally, he stepped back, beaming at her for a long moment—T, Ed, Banzai, and Shenzi had a chance to welcome their little sister back.  "Where have you been?" the aging, black hyena asked.  "And… who is this little lady?  Hello…"

One must read Jagabor's work to recognize how utterly bizarre it was for a son of Kivuli of the Bloody Shadows to coo to a young cub sincerely.  Yes, that's advertising—and yes, that's disclosure.

Kochai had hidden behind Uvuli, green eyes nervously flitting back and forth between the unfamiliar beings all around her.  Her golden tabby markings quite contrasted with the dark, slate tones of the hyenas' fur—she was easy to spot, and, in moments, all eyes were on her.  Until, of course, she blushed and dived behind Uvuli, refusing to peer out again.

"Oh, this is Kochai.  Dad, Kochai; Kochai, uh, uncle Usiku... um, and those are big brothers Ed and Banzai," she said, pointing towards the psychotic hyena and his pug-nosed friend—Ed replied with an insane cackle; Banzai simply nodded and said, "Sup?"  "And that's big sister T, and aunt Shenzi—"

"Watch it—"

"Okay, big sister Shenzi," Uvuli grinned.  "Kochai is Freak's grandfather's brother's daughter… hey, what are you hiding from?  Come out here so everyone can see you."  The black hyena female turned.  For a moment, protesting mewls were heard, but, quickly, Uvuli managed to catch Kochai in her paw and slide her forward into view again.

Obviously, the hyenas had never seen a tigress kitten before—nor even a lioness cub for generations.  They stared at her for several moments, taking in every detail of her, from her soft, white-orange fur, to her bright green eyes, to her strawberry (ice cream) nose, to her keen, velvety ears, to the tail that she'd not quite grown into yet—she was strikingly beautiful.  Almost too cute to believe.

"If-if you were wondering," Kochai said, in her quiet, high pitched, accented voice, "I get most of my looks from my mother.  She was prettier than I was… but I will be stronger than she was, and a better fighter, too.  She had white fur, and green eyes, and she had black stripes, and she was from the Feet of the Himalayas, and that's enough about my mother; my father would be very jealous.  My father was the brother of Shere Khan; his name was Nasher, because their names together form the name of someone very important.  He had orange fur, and stripes, and he was an atheist, like me—"

"Kochai, quit babbling," Uvuli suggested.  "And that's not true.  I thought you were agnostic—and even then, not really.  You're more like… secular-leaning."

"W-well, 'agnostic' is a synonym for weak atheist, yes?...  At the very least, I'm a skeptic about these things.  I've always been a skeptic about these things," the tigress said.  "Even when I was very young, I couldn't completely believe that there is a giant force of some sort above us, always looking down and keeping track of things—"

"Kochai, you're babbling again," Uvuli sighed, causing the young tigress to fall silent, mumbling something about how she didn't wish to babble.  The hyena looked around at her compatriots, then her father.  Above them, she noted, the lions were still obsessing over Freak—many of the felines that now called the Pride Lands home, it seemed, were unfamiliar to her.

"Well… whaddaya think?" the youngest hyena asked.  She felt real concern for a moment—supposing the hyenas didn't approve?  Supposing that they weren't even willing to let Kochai stay?  After all, the Pride Lands were either at or were approaching their carrying capacity of apex predators.  Kochai didn't eat much, but even a single grain of rice can tip the scale.

Uvuli's countenance hardened.  If Kochai wouldn't be allowed to stay—

"Ed's got a question," Banzai suddenly said.  He looked directly at Kochai, causing the young tigress to squirm where she sat, cautiously moving towards Uvuli again.  "Are you always this shy?  Is that why your name's Ko-shy?  What kinda name is that—where are you from?"

"My name is not 'Ko-shy'," the tigress protested.  "It is 'Kochai.'  It's very easy to pronounce—and it's a Hindustani name."

"Get outta here," T said—perhaps not the best choice of words; they caused the tigress's ears to flatten and her head to hang.  "Hindustani… my cousin's from around there."

"Really?" Kochai said, suddenly looking up with a smile—all the other hyenas simply looked confused, and stared at T.  What was she talking about?

"Nah, just kidding.  Bazinga!"

There was something about the way T laughed that just made it infectious—soon, not just Kochai was laughing, but what was important was that Kochai was laughing.  Finally, she knew what Uvuli and Freak had for so long—she'd be accepted as family by those in the Pride Lands immediately.

It took over an hour for Freak to be introduced to everyone in the Pride Lands.  He already knew Tanga, but the Eastern Nomads and Aoi were completely strange to him.  Though they all had important things to do, the li-tigon took the time to learn all of their names.  He would have done more, but time was short and he had a lot to be caught up on.

It was just before midday when Freak decided that he needed to look around the Pride Lands for himself; it would be his first official patrol as Lion King.  At the base of Pride Rock, he prepared to move out, the rest of the Pride—including the hyenas and Kochai—formed up around him.

Freak looked at the crowd gathered before him, their powerful forms upraised from their grayish backdrop.  His gunmetal eyes glided across theirs—various faces of three distinct species looked back at him.  All he saw was family; beings that he had to protect with his life, if needed.

"There are many of us," the li-tigon thought.  "I'll have to do a lot of hunting to feed so many…"  He paused, and smiled, seemingly for no reason.  In the Pride Lands, he realized, no one feline did all the hunting.  Many paws made work light.

"There's a lot of work to do," Freak said out loud.  "I would like the lionesses to go hunting.  Kovu, and my friends from the Eastern Jungle… please patrol the borders.  Ignore the gorge south of there; pay extra close attention to the northeast.  Roderik, Aoi, Simba, Tanga… we're going somewhere.  Usiku, T, Shenzi, Uvuli, Ed, Banzai—you're coming with us for the first leg of the trip."

The li-tigon considered telling everyone what he had in mind—until he realized that, actually, he didn't know.  Ah well.

"In the event that we're not back by nightfall… I'm leaving Kovu, Nala and Kiara in charge.  If our mission isn't over by dusk, please return to Pride Rock, and don't worry.  We'll be alright."  Freak smiled—he was sure of that, though he wasn't quite sure what their mission was as yet.  He looked around, for a moment, wondering if he'd forgotten anything—then, his gaze settled on Kochai.

Though the kitten was sitting politely, quietly, the li-tigon had been around her long enough to tell that the expression in her eyes was pleading.  It didn't take Freak a second to realize what it was that she was silently asking for.

"Please take Kochai with you," the striped male said, turning to the lionesses of the pride.  "Teach her to hunt if possible; she won't be much trouble."

A smile lit up the young tigress's face, and, a moment later, she'd happily trounced her way to the lionesses, shyly cheek-rubbing any of them that she passed close enough to.  Freak's gaze followed her, for a minute, but his smile faltered.  Everyone was happy, but things simply weren't right.

A year ago, the Sun would have been out and bright, encouraging the pride to take rest for the day.  Now, it was overcast and somewhat chilly; a steady zephyr brought the felt temperature down further.  This served to remind Freak of what he was doing—he was fighting so that the Sun could shine again.

"If everyone would look after one another, I'd be very happy."  Without realizing it, the first phrase of that sentence had been spoken in the emotionless monotone that Freak had employed for the majority of his life.  The last few words, though, carried with them a deep, desperate plea—paramount of the li-tigon's goals was the safety of his friends.

"I think that's all," Freak said, glancing at Simba—the lion nodded.  "So, remember… be back here by dusk.  And be safe…"  To drive the message home, the li-tigon nearly glared at every one of the beings before him.  It was almost like he was the leader of a counter-assassination corps again.

"All right… let's go."

The pride broke apart with a swift sense of purpose that only Freak could inspire.  The lionesses moved towards the last known location of a rather extensive group of wildebeest that they'd been tracking for several weeks; Kochai followed easily despite her size.  The Nomads and Kovu headed out in all directions, though their numbers were rather balanced away from the hunting grounds.  Most of their numbers made their way to the northeast, intending to cover the scarcely traveled border with the White Sands region.

The hyenas, male lions of the group, and Aoi followed Freak at a light jog.  They made good time, taking a long, roundabout route towards the northwestern region of the Pride Lands—every single one of them was struck by how precious and how fragile their home was.  It was true that the trees and the earth and the rocks and the terrain were strong, but the force of evil couldn't be underestimated.  It had been, a generation ago, with disastrous consequences.  Only barely had the Pride Lands survived the last time evil had taken control of them, and the new evil that threatened Freak's homeland was far, far, far stronger than Scar ever had been.

Soon, the li-tigon made his destination the Sun itself.  It hung low in the sky, lingering above the horizon.  Apart from a vast, grassy plain that broke off into blurred nothingness, there was nothing to hide its yellow-orange rays from his body—he basked in it, often moving forward with his eyes shut.  It had been too long since he'd felt the joy of being home.

For the most part, those that had been assigned to travel with Freak were silent, as he was.  Periodically, the hyenas would chatter among themselves, but even Ed generally kept his mouth shut.  Everyone was staring at Freak, their warrior, their savior—he was powerful, beautiful, and, most importantly, he was there among them.  Talk about inspiring.

Roderik was eying the li-tigon in a way most others didn't.  He and Tanga, as the oldest in the pride, sometimes found themselves acting their age—sometimes, they didn't like to practice fighting or hunting or stalking.  They enjoyed the occasional game of chess together; sometimes they simply relaxed on plush armchairs before the fireplace in bathrobes to debate philosophy.

"He's very strong," Tanga said softly, scarcely breathing hard despite the tough pace Freak was setting.  "Not the ideal build for an assassin, perhaps, but as we can see, he's very fit.  I'm sure he has a marvelous cardio system under all that muscle—given time, I feel sure that I could forge him into the ideal hunting machine.  I can imagine him running for days without rest, simply to track down and corner one target—and after taking it down, running again for days to get home."

"I'm sure that our warrior can do anything he sets his mind to," Roderik said simply.  "Although… I admit that I'd like to see his stealth skills at play.  That could be… interesting."  The white-maned lion smiled—then he turned to Simba.

"You know… now that Shujaa is our warrior and our King, he can do things that… most of us… generally… can't," Roderik said, slowly.  "That is to say… he should be able to manipulate the Land… that is, the elements… in manners that simple physics can't explain."

"I think I understand.  It's an extension of magic—well, sort of," Simba replied.  "Rafiki used to be able to do things like that… at least, I think so.  I only saw him fight once, and it wasn't for very long."

"That's because, at the end of the day, Rafiki is not a lion," Roderik reminded the former King.  "I'm not slighting my old colleague; he can do many things with his eyes shut that I never will.  But you understand what I'm saying—he's limited by the form he was born into."

That seemed fair enough, but there was little to be gained by speaking more, so Simba just nodded.  Or perhaps it was because he, like Roderik and Tanga, saw the wisdom in saving his breath—Freak was starting to move faster.

There weren't many hours of sunlight left, and every one of them was extremely valuable.  Freak was starting to understand what he was looking for—but he wasn't sure that he could find it.  Or that he'd know what to do when—if—he did.

"Usiku, Uvuli, Ed, Banzai, Shenzi, T," the li-tigon said, suddenly, "it's time for us to part ways.  Spread out, but do not get within a mile of the border.  Remember to go back to Pride Rock at dust…"

Slowly, the hyenas began to split off, continuing to run even as they spread out, moving to cover as much of the border region as possible.  They soon disappeared into tall, dry grasses that brushed against Freak's chin—but the li-tigon heard Uvuli call to him quite clearly.

"Where are you going?  What are you doing?"

"We're going to the Bloody Shadows," the li-tigon replied.  "As for why… I don't want to get your hopes up.  We'll be home soon… I'll see you very soon, Uvuli."

"Yeah.  Right."

Mixed into the black hyena's cynical voice was an unmistakable tone of sadness.  Freak wasn't sure what to make of that—did she really think that he'd let himself die so soon?  Or was she just going to miss him?  If he was more callous, or less socialized, he would have pointed out that she'd thrived during the year they'd spent apart—but now, Freak didn't immediately know how to reply.

When the words came to him, though, the li-tigon immediately knew that they were the right ones.

"I love you."

Three simple words carried with them a deceptive amount of meaning—they certainly shut Uvuli up; Freak could practically hear her blushing in reaction to them.  It occurred to the li-tigon that because of what he said, their secret relationship had been rather compromised—it also occurred to him that he didn't care.  Things between him and Uvuli would have to be put on a backburner, anyway, until he was finished his work.

Although Freak could tell that Simba, at the very least, was beaming at him, probably holding back more than a few snide remarks, he wasn't bothered.  That could be because they were getting closer and closer to the northwestern boundary—and as they did, Freak slowed down.

Then, he stopped.

"This is… different."

And it as.  Freak had intimately experienced the widest variety of environments that any living cat ever had—Kochai might potentially catch up to him, someday, if she were to follow her dreams and travel the Land of the Spirits.  For now, though, the li-tigon was the best traveled feline in existence.

But he'd never seen nor conceived of an African moonscape before.

Dust dominated everything.  Dust, and ashes, and death.  There was no grass—in fact, there was nothing green at all, though the abundance of organic material made the environment ideal for habitation.  But nothing decayed, either—as Freak focused his impressively powerful, gunmetal eyes on the distant scene of a battle that was even more distant, he could see the dead bodies of dozens of assassins—preserved, up until that very day.

Dozens of large, tall boulders meant that he couldn't see as far as he might on a flat landscape, though.  For all Freak knew, there could be some other force hiding in the Bloody Shadows.

That was a remote possibility, but a frightening one.  All at once, Freak wished he'd brought a larger force, and thanked himself for not putting too many good lions in danger.  Something about the Bloody Shadows… simply didn't make him feel right.

"We're going to cross the border, and once we're in the Bloody Shadows, we're going north," Freak said.  He turned, slightly, peering over the distant landscape.

"It looks like there's been some flooding… so be ready to swim.  And try not to stay in the water for too long… it smells strange."

The li-tigon glanced down at his massive paws; his fur was dark and striped, perfect for camouflage in almost any environment—this was no exception.  Tanga, Roderik, and Simba could make do, but Aoi had him worried.

Freak turned to look the white lioness up and down, for a long moment, allowing her brilliantly green eyes to sear back into his for a moment.  For a long moment, the li-tigon thought, weighing his options… then, he nodded.

"Aoi, please go back to Pride Rock.  This is going to be dangerous, and you can't blend in here.  You'll be a target… and if something happens do to you…" the li-tigon's voice died down, and he simply shook his head.  "So.  Please leave."

"Why?  Because I'm white?"  The lioness tilted her head, speaking in a soft, utterly emotionless tone.

"Yes," Freak replied simply, "and that's a liability.  You'd be at great risk if you went into the Bloody Shadows…  This isn't about gender or anything.  It's just… you're limited by the way you're born.  By the way you look."

A moment after he'd said it, Freak realized his hypocrisy.  But Aoi was already speaking.

"I've heard a lot about you, Shujaa," the white lioness began slowly.  "I've heard about the hardships you've had to endure because of how you were born.  Well, I'm not belittling what you've suffered, but don't underestimate what Akane and I had to go through in our homeland."  She paused.  "I know that your mother attempted to kill you at birth… that's something we have in common," she finished in a hollow sounding tone.

Simba, Roderik and Tanga stared at the white lioness.  After glancing at the three lions, Aoi saw that she had to explain, and did so in that same, empty voice.

"Eugenics are very popular in the White Sands—our leaders have been attempting to create a master race for several generations.  At birth, only cubs that react properly to—" Aoi paused, swallowing.  "Our mothers set their paws on our heads… and start to press.  You're only allowed to live if you fight back instead of simply crying.  Apparently, I only struck at the last moment."  The white lioness smiled blankly.  "My three siblings… weren't as assertive."

The grisly story made the fur on the back of Freak's neck stand up.  For a moment, he thought over what he'd just heard.  Aoi's mother wasn't like his—Chukizo had tried to mercy-kill her cubs, and, in one case, she'd succeeded.  But to kill innocent, defenseless children in order to alter the genetic makeup of a pride?... that was horrifying.

Freak looked at Aoi for a moment.  Then, he turned back to the deadened landscape that was their destination—he still wasn't quite sure why.  After another minute of careful consideration, the Li-tigon King spoke.

"If you have to… come with us, Aoi.  We may need a skilled fighter like you… just be extra cautious.  Everyone has to come home."  Freak looked at the lions after that.  Like Aoi, there was no fear or apprehension on their faces—if needed, it seemed, they wouldn't hesitate to die for him.

"Alright," the striped male murmured, facing the Bloody Shadows for a long moment again.  "Get ready to swim and then move—we're going to have to be very quiet, and very fast.  Don't plan on eating until we get home, either."

The li-tigon thought to himself for a moment—he was no great orator, but he could tell that his words hadn't exactly been inspiring.  The four cats he'd brought along with him took his flanks; the five of them stood atop a rock, inches from the deep, broad river that buffered the Bloody Shadows from the Pride Lands.

"On the bright side, there's little chance of heat exhaustion.  Now, let's go."

Staring at one another after Freak leaped forward, silently diving into the river, the four lions shared a somewhat uneasy smile.  They followed him—but not without an uncomfortably palatable sense of dread.

Snow was one of the few natural wonders that Freak had never seen in his life.  Perhaps if he were ever to experience it, though, he wouldn't be completely confused—after all, the conditions he and the four powerful fighters he'd brought along with him were experiencing were somewhat similar to a foggy sort of flurry.

For some reason, precipitation into the Bloody Shadows wasn't water-based.  What it was couldn't easily be identified—Freak couldn't identify the inch or so of whitish, grayish dust that had covered the land by sight, scent, texture, or taste.  He'd crushed some of the collected matter with his paw, then lifted it to his mouth—no, it wasn't familiar.

Their course was roughly northward, with a slight bias towards the west.  Flitting in and out between the dead, scarred trees, the Pride Landers—Aoi especially—were like phantoms.  They moved in a loose group with a spread of about ten meters, giving them plenty of room to react to anything that happened without worrying about friendly-fire, so to speak.

When they came to bodies, which was often, despite how far they were from the majority of the fighting, Freak would always stop and listen—just for a second.  The hyenas were dead, he was sure… but on the very edge of his perception, he swore he could almost hear something within them.  That was discomforting.

"Ssh, ssh… stop," the li-tigon whispered, after perhaps half an hour of moving.  "Let's take a break… get our bearings."

Freak crouched, and, keen, gunmetal eyes scanning the forest before him, he heard Aoi, Simba, Roderik, then Tanga form up on him.  They were all quietly panting, just like he was—it was hard to breathe the heavy, impure air.  Nothing had died in the Bloody Shadows for months, but the place was still rank with the odor of decay.

The li-tigon glanced at his followers, telling them to hold their position.  Then, he moved forward, just a little.

The corpse before him was resting at the base of a tree at a strange angle—like it had been thrown against the trunk with such force that it had died on the spot.  Such a cause of death was entirely plausible, but Freak wanted time to carefully examine the bodies—he needed to know what was going on.

Cautiously, though without a trace of the disgust he felt showing on his face, the li-tigon examined the body.  Its fur had mostly fallen off, leaving its gray, saggy skin clinging, limply, to surprisingly well-preserved bones.

Freak looked into the hyena's eyes—empty sockets stared back at him, and that was strange.  Perhaps after the battle, the assassin's eyes had been eaten?  The li-tigon had no way of knowing.  He noted that the hyena's skull structure was somewhat abnormal—its jaws were longer by perhaps an inch, and its cranium was quite spherical.

Maybe the hyena was just a freak.

Regardless, the li-tigon continued to examine it for another moment, before glancing back at his troops—it was time to leave.  Silently, the five cats continued northward, picking their way through the sparse, dead forestation and over the settling white dust—the snowstorm, so to speak, had ended.  The air was clear.

Freak was perhaps three hundred yards away from the corpse when his ear twitched—he shook his head, though, and kept moving, low to the ground, fast, silent.  Nothing in the Bloody Shadows made sense, so it wasn't out of line for him to hear quiet somethings  from time to time.

However, three hundred yards behind the li-tigon, there was movement.

They were moving across a dusty, dry grassland.  In the far distance, Freak observed more trees—his eyes narrowed.  In the far northwest of the Bloody Shadows, it seemed, the river between it and the Forbidden Island thinned.  The two different regions got to within fifty yards of one another.

It was night, by then, and though by Freak's count there ought to have been a waning gibbous moon in the sky, there was nothing.  Cloud cover let through only the dimmest gray lighting, but it was enough to see.  Freak kept moving.

By then, however, the li-tigon was starting to tire.  Roderik was faring the best of them all, owing to his life as a Nomad.  Aoi was young and full of life; she could keep the pace up for some time yet.  Tanga and Simba… would need a break.  Soon.

The cats' coats soon became dusty with the whitish powder that covered every inch of the Bloody Shadows.   Soon, they were all more or less the same shade of light gray—Freak's stripes managed to show through the camouflage coating, but that was all.  It took effort to not give into instinct and shake himself off, but the li-tigon knew that every advantage in a strange land was a good one.

The li-tigon looked upwards, briefly seeking inspiration or information from the Spirits above.  Even his determined gaze, however, couldn't pierce the darkness between himself and everyone that had left him—he sighed.

Then smiled, guiltily.

"I wish I could tell you what we're looking for," Freak mentioned, in a relatively soft voice.  "But I don't know.  This isn't a surprise, or something like that… I really don't know what we're looking for."

"It must be important," Simba panted, "to make you break your own rule about being out at night.  Are you sure you don't know what it is, Shujaa?  Think back… you might remember…"

The li-tigon tilted his head, but complied.  The war with the Bloody Shadows had happened so, so long ago; he couldn't be expected to remember every single detain of the battle.  Especially since he'd lost Vitani that day.

"I don't know," Freak finally said.  He hoped over a slate rock, then turned to look through the grass at Simba, running all the while.  "Do you?"

"I might," Simba replied, in a carefully measured tone.  "I think it's… nah, I don't want to get your hopes up."

"Alright."

The red-maned lion waited… and waited… then sighed.

"You're supposed to try to worm the answer out of me," he said exasperatedly, and, to Freak, out of the blue—the rest of the felines simply laughed or smiled, quietly, too close to exhaustion to speak.

"Why?" the li-tigon asked, utterly bewildered.  "I don't understand.  Is this a kind of social convention?  I'm sorry.  There's still a lot I have to learn."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Simba sighed.  "Anyway… well, we lost Rafiki.  Remember?  After you left… I spoke to Usiku about it, a lot.  From what I know… it could be that Rafiki came this way.  I don't know where else he could go and just vanish…"

"He could have gone to the Forbidden Island," Tanga offered suddenly, as Freak reeled from the sudden possibility.  "Roderik, Simba… I've never quite understood.  What is the Forbidden Island?  No one wants to talk about it.  The name," he said, "it's so… so…"

"Foreboding?" Aoi suggested.

"Foreboding, exactly," Tanga said, nodding his thanks to the white lioness.  "So, this Foreboding—Forbidden Island… tell me about it."

Simba and Roderik looked to one another, preparing their explanation.  The Forbidden Island was central to everything that was going on, in many ways, from the evil that had threatened their land for generations, to Freak's twin, to the existence of white mint ice cream—

That is… the Forbidden Island was one of the few main parts of the story that The Lion Sheikh has been purposefully vague about thus far.  When given, the explanation would make the li-tigon's role as King very, very clear—

"Stop."

The curt order was followed the instant it was given—the four lions froze in their tracks, sniffing at the air, listening closely, heads on swivels.  Freak, contrastingly, was staring forward at some distant object… what was it?  It was two miles away, at the edge of the Bloody Shadows, set in the center of an otherwise barren former grassland.

It wasn't a tree, nor any other sort of plant.  Was it a rock?... yes, it was a rock, of some sort, but a natural feature like this, so unique, so solitary… was it natural at all?

Freak's heart rose to his mouth, and, for a moment, he found speaking difficult.

"We're moving forward," he managed to rasp, a moment later.  "Stay close, and keep your guard up… this could be a trap…"

After hearing four different but very similar growls of assent, the li-tigon began to move forward.  First, his pace was slow, silent, measured—then, he got close enough to positively identify the rock… or, rather, what the rock had once been.

And when he did, he sprinted so fast that not even Roderik could hope to keep up with him.

There, after so long, was Rafiki—this was the mandrill responsible for too much in the Pride Lands to briefly list.  His staff was nowhere to be seen, and, Freak saw, his expression was one of pain—defiant, unflinching, laughing pain.  Even in the end, Rafiki hadn't forgotten his eccentricities.

Perhaps a moment later, the four lions managed to catch up to Freak.  Simba was panting too hard to say anything comprehensible—he tried to, for a moment, then ended up caressing Rafiki's rocky feet, begging the mandrill to speak or move.

Roderik's reaction, on the other hand, was notedly more conservative.  He merely looked at the mandrill, for a moment, then circled him.  After that, the old lion smiled tiredly.

"It's been a long time," he said, "since I saw my old friend.  I hoped to find him in better health than this…"  He shut his eyes.  Then looked back at Rafiki.  "What happened to you?  Who did this—and how?  What were you doing here, so far from the Pride Lands, so close to the Forbidden Island?"

"He can't answer," Tanga said, rather bluntly.  "He's been Petrified.  I've seen this before."

"I've heard of it," Aoi thought.  "They say that the Northern Deities have the power to turn anyone that goes against them to stone.  I'm not sure if it's ever actually happened… but maybe this is their work.  Maybe they left the White Sands to come here for some reason, and Rafiki opposed them."

Freak examined the mandrill for another minute, then shook his head—he didn't know how to deal with something like this.  So he turned to Tanga, speaking in a low, dull tone.

"You've seen this before?... where?"

"In the Unexplored Regions," the former assassin replied simply.  "There are creatures there with the power to do things like this to their enemies.  It was almost my fate, in fact—but that's a story for another time.  The bad news is that the longer this process has been allowed to go on, the harder it is to fix… but the good news is that yes, it is reversible."

Freak stared at Tanga, then back at Rafiki.  At first, he wasn't sure that the old, former assassin was talking about the same thing he was—how could Rafiki possibly be brought back to life when he was made of stone?

"How?" Simba asked.  "What do we have to do?  I'll do anything to bring Rafiki back."

"Are you sure you mean that?" Tanga said, turning to face Simba with a gravely serious expression on his face.  "Because this isn't going to be easy.  I don't even know if we'll succeed—it may be too late already."

"Anything," the red-maned lion repeated.  "As long as there's a chance.  We need Rafiki—all of you know this.  …What exactly do we have to do to… reanimate him?"  After a few minutes of panic, it seemed that Simba had calmed down and was starting to act like a leader again.

In response to his question, though, Tanga just smiled.  Then, he looked at the statue, for a moment.  Hopefully, it was lighter than it appeared.

Freak and Simba were the strongest of the group, so, they were the ones that carried Rafiki.  Aoi walked in front of them, while Tanga and Roderik covered their four and eight o'clock positions respectively.  There was no hope of moving stealthily, so the lions' best defense was to appear as threatening as possible.  That, hopefully, would be enough to deter any attack that might be coming their way.

The forest was fortunately not so thick that its trees prevented them from readily passing through.  The "snowstorm" had ended, Freak noticed, and everything around them was horribly still.  Collected white dust was tossed into the air by the slightest movement, unsettling for yards around them.

"Let's pick up our pace," Freak said.  "I don't want to be here any longer than necessary.  We'll eat and rest when we're home…"

A verbal reply was neither given nor necessary.  Freak received a nod from Aoi, and that was all—everyone was, like him, not scared, but… cautious, at least.  Concerned.

Slowly, the li-tigon noticed something—bizarrely, there were no bodies to be seen.  He hadn't kept perfect track of what he'd seen where, but he was sure that they were close enough to where most of the fighting had happened by then to see plenty of evidence of the war.

But nothing was there.  The forest was empty—and that simply didn't make sense.  Nothing could possibly have moved or destroyed so many bodies so quickly, so completely, without their notice.  Something else had to be at play.

Though more than a little wary of his surroundings, by then, Freak barely recognized the option of dropping Rafiki and sprinting back home.  Simba was right—the mandrill was absolutely necessary, and as long the possibility of bringing him back existed, they had to go for it.

And it wasn't like they'd been attacked… yet.

Freak wasn't used to the new Bloody Shadows, not yet.  He wasn't sure what smells belonged—everything looked the same—dead—and sounded the same—silent.  There were gradual fluctuations in the signals the li-tigon's keen nose gave him, but nothing really suggested that anything new had entered the area.

It occurred to Freak that every body he'd seen before might have not existed—at least, not in the physical sense.  They could have all been ghosts; disembodied spirits that had managed to linger around long enough to be seen one last time, before passing on.  Or maybe the li-tigon was just rationalizing—after all, he'd seen the impossible.

Aoi was a bit easier to see than it had been earlier.  The Sun had gone down, so the lioness's white fur stood out even more against its dark, grayish backdrop.  The second she froze, then lifted a fisted paw into the air, signaling a halt, Freak and Simba stopped in their tracks.

Tanga and Roderik kept moving, though, backing Aoi up—they were larger than the lioness, and by displaying themselves as presences ready to defend her, they would hopefully scare away whatever she was staring at.

Freak and Simba tried to look past the lions in front of them without luck.  Standing still for so long with Rafiki's full weight crushing down on them was difficult, painfully so—but neither of them said a word.  Not immediately, anyway.

The li-tigon's piercing gaze managed to penetrate a few hundred yards of forest and fog.  When he realized what he was seeing, he turned his head several degrees, and spoke to Simba.

"Drop Rafiki.  This fight won't be quick or easy."

Without hesitating for a second, the red-maned lion complied.  Somehow, he and Freak managed to coordinate their activities—they both jumped up, slightly, with an explosive burst of effort, then stepped aside rapidly.  Rafiki hit the ground between them, sinking several inches into the soft, dry ground—by the time he did, both Freak and Simba were at Aoi's side as well.

The distant, reddish orbs, hanging in midair, numbered in the dozens already.  But as the Pride Landers watched, they multiplied—soon, there were hundreds, then thousands of those glowing entities in the air.  All were relatively close to the ground, though a few were far, far higher up than the rest.

They were soon moving to surround the Pride Landers.  In response, the cats got into a loose circle, so that none of them could be flanked.  As they did, Freak, at least, realized that the red globules universally moved in pairs.

"Roderik," Tanga whispered, quietly, extending his claws, "what time is it?"

"What?" the Nomad leader asked, cracking his neck, then shrugging his shoulders.   "I have no idea.  A little after… maybe ten o'clock…"

"No," the former assassin said, in a completely serious tone.  "It's zombie time."

Despite the gravity of their situation, a joke was appreciated.  Freak, predictably, didn't quite understand what was so funny.

Slowly, the undead forces started to move in.  The lack of cover and the complete flatness of the terrain meant that tactics were extremely limited.  But four of the five cats present—Simba, Roderik, Tanga, Freak—were brilliant strategists.  And all five of them were deadly in a fight.

"Stay close, and hold your ground," the li-tigon said.  "Don't tire yourself out, and if you can't maintain your front, say something.  I'll protect you."

As the zombie hyenas approached, Aoi noted, with disgust, the nature of their attackers.  They were little more than skeletons with atrophied limbs, fur stretched over bone and the barest amount of flesh.  Their movements were slow but malicious, and every single one of them was panting, loudly.  They never stopped staring, either.  That was disquieting.

Soon, the somewhat mummified hyenas were within twenty yards of the lioness, and still approaching.  Some of their numbers were especially weak—they were trampled underfoot by their brethren.  The strongest ones were still pathetically slow, but they had a massive numerical advantage.  There were no choke points here, no bottlenecks—this battle would be more impressive than Thermopylae.  Particularly if they won.

Aoi forced herself to hold her ground.  Her green eyes locked into the burning orbs of her enemies, and she bared her fangs.  They didn't retreat, but she didn't expect them to.

"Aoi," Freak said, from just next to her, without turning his head to face the lioness, "relax.  You think better and quicker when you're calm.  Breathe deeply, and focus on what you're doing.  Don't let your fear and anger rule you—you're better than that."

At first, the white lioness didn't understand.  In the seconds that followed, though, she started to.

"Fear and anger lead to hate… and hate is eventually self-destructive," she said softly.

The hyenas were three yards away by then, so close that she could count every one of their grizzled, mangy spots if she so wished.  There wasn't much time for the lioness to let go of her hate—but she managed to.

Their range of attacks, it seemed, was very, very small.  All the hyenas seemed to do was to rear up onto their hind legs and pathetically launch themselves forward in an attempt to tackle the Pride Landers.  Facing one or two or three or even eight or so of these assaults at once wasn't particularly difficult.

The problem was that there were so many hyenas, and that there was no room to maneuver.  There were no lulls in the battle, so Aoi had to constantly be on her toes.  Eventually, she found an efficient way of dispatching the undead hyenas—she'd slip between their forepaws and sever the nerves connecting their heads to their bodies.

Though gory, the brutal counter worked very well.  Sometimes, Aoi didn't power her claw strikes properly, and ended up completely decapitating her attackers—but for the most part, she struck with pin-point precision.

Freak soon realized that his battle strategy hadn't quite taken into account the sheer volume of dead bodies that would accumulate in such a small space.  He hadn't taken any bites yet, and neither had anyone else—that was good.  Normally, a single bite wouldn't be a remotely mortal wound, but the li-tigon had a feeling that the putrid jaws of the zombie hyenas held more than one secret.

"Climb onto the bodies," the li-tigon said, "and keep killing.  There's no way we're getting Rafiki out of here until there are none of these things left."

It was true.  Even if Aoi, Roderik, and Tanga managed to clear a brief path forward, there was still the problem of getting Rafiki off the ground again—furthermore, there was no way to defend two cats from an attack coming from all angles with only three.

Taking the high ground, so to speak, made very little difference.  The mass of bodies that Freak and the rest of the Pride Landers was very dynamic, and in a battle, one more thing to worry about was one more liability.

Exhaustion was starting to become a real concern, by then.  Freak parried an assault, then jumped forward with a signature headbutt—the hyena he'd attacked was launched back with such force that it took down several of its compatriots, but less than a second after they fell, a dozen more took their place.  The area had been so saturated with enemy forces that soon, everyone was trudging through bodies, living and dead—Freak couldn't completely suppress the fear of drowning in blood, or in a wave of attacks.

He began to fight a little more vigorously.  Or, more precisely, desperately.

Freak started to regret running the group so hard.  Although he couldn't imagine staying the night in the Bloody Shadows—which they'd almost certainly need to do if their pace was significantly decreased—anything was better than fighting unending legions of hyenas that should have been fragile skeletons on the ground.

Regret wasn't going to help them now, though.  Nothing could get them out of this but their own skill—no divine aid was coming, and the idea of sending one fighter away to call for reinforcements was ludicrous.   Freak's expression set into one less neutral than it had been before—he wasn't going to have anyone die.  Not here, not now, not yet.  He had to change things.

In the end, the li-tigon wasn't completely sure how he did it.  All he knew was that he executed his next dozen or so strikes with a determination he hadn't known before then.  When Freak  stopped attacking, he realized that not only the hyenas immediately in front of him had been cut to shreds—but he'd slashed a wide, arcing swath through the oncoming mass of zombies.

Unknown to him, his appearance had rather changed while he'd engaged in the counterattack—his stripes had flashed crimson red while his fur became pure white.  The li-tigon's gunmetal eyes opened widely as he attempted to replicate what he'd just done with stunning success.  It seemed that his reach had been extended; the vectors that his claws drew through the air overlaid with destructive energy.

Within a minute, Freak had effectively put down all attackers within thirty-six degrees on either side of him for at least ten yards.  Not wasting a breath, the li-tigon proceeded to press his attack so that soon, the Pride Landers were staring at him, watching as he single-handedly eliminated the zombies that had, until then, been their responsibility.

Owing to the fact that the zombie hyenas seemed to originate from the south—the direction Freak had been facing, so that he could take the brunt of the attack—now, the Pride Landers could rally up and form a new counter offensive.

By then, they were all covered in blood, and, by then, most fighting forces would be running out of energy.  And while each of the Pride Landers were panting, by then, Freak managed to instill new energy in them by simply looking at them, channeling some of the infinite will behind those steely grey eyes into their bodies.

"We'll rest soon," the li-tigon said, as the hyenas—and perhaps a dozen zombie Phantoms—started to regroup for another attack.  "But first, we have to finish this.  I've asked a lot of you already… but I'm going to ask a little more."

Freak turned forward again, his striped form somewhat closer to the enemy force than the rest of the Pride Landers'.  The collected white dust that had largely defined the Bloody Shadows was gone, blasted into the air by the miniature war—now, the ground was just black.  But it seemed that nothing could crush the li-tigon's will to survive—after all, nothing, as yet, had.

"Will you run with me?" Freak asked.  "After that… we'll rest.  I promise."

There was no answer.  The hyenas  were still approaching, Freak noted uncomfortably—the cuffed end of his tail began to twitch, and he glanced at his followers for a brief moment.

"Is that a real question, Shujaa?" Tanga asked.  "You know our answer… or at least mine."

"And mine," said Roderik.

"And mine," said Simba.

"And mine," said Aoi.

Freak nodded, slowly.  The hyenas were ten yards away, by then, and that distance was rapidly closing—but he no longer felt even the slightest apprehension.  This fight was over.

"Alright, then… let's go," the li-tigon said.  With a strikingly loud roar, he raced forward, shortly followed by the loyal four at his side.  He attacked with the force of a thunderbolt, with a ferocity no one had ever seen before.

Freak kept his promise.  After the battle had been won, the Pride Landers had taken refuge around one tree perhaps fifty yards from the nearest dead body—just in case.  Rafiki had been left in the center of the killing field, upright, as if overlooking the bloodbath with the distant curiosity of a philosopher.

The Bloody Shadows were not peaceful.  They wouldn't be until the Pride Landers both left and brought real tranquility to the entire Land of the Spirits, ostensibly by killing Kifo.  But, for the moment, the Bloody Shadows were bareable.

They remained cold and barren, though.  For heat, the five cats had set themselves up not two feet from one another.  At first, Freak had intended to grab perhaps an hour of rest before finding something to eat—then, he'd took the weight off his paws and realized how exhausted he was.  He'd need more than a few hours of sleep, it seemed.

Aoi and the three male lions were no exception.  Within minutes of lying down, Freak noted that they were deeply sleeping—he yawned, and shut his eyes, intending to join them.

"Maybe," the li-tigon thought, idly, "I'll have a dream… which will tell me how I should kill Kifo.  That would be helpful…"

Freak was in a place unfamiliar to him.  It bore only the slightest similarities to the city he'd made his home what already felt like so long ago.  These buildings were far, far, far larger—and there were many more people walking in and out of them , as well as simply traversing through the street for purposes beyond his comprehension.

The air was cold.  It wasn't raining quite yet, but the sky was overcast.  Freak tilted his head—and turned.  All around him were people.  He felt concern, but then realized that somehow they didn't see him.  A li-tigon in a city warranted the deployment of more than one or two SWAT teams, after all.

Confused, but interested in finding out what he was doing, Freak began to walk.  Almost immediately, he fell.  His face impacted the ground, leaving a sliver of flesh behind.  He saw stars, for a moment, and attempted to stand, but couldn't.  His limbs didn't work—at least, not in the way they were used to.

Freak managed to roll over.  By then, he was starting to breathe a little quickly—what was going on?  The people all around him weren't helping, but the li-tigon saw that he'd made a faulty assumption.  They could detect him.  Many were glancing down at him before averting their gazes and moving on.  Some were attempting to hide cruel snickers behind their hands.

None moved to help him.

After a moment, Freak thought to look at himself.  He had a vague, impossible suspicion in mind—so, he didn't jump out of his skin when he brought his paws before his face and saw that they were hands.  Pale, pinkish, human hands.

Freak looked to one side.  Then the other.  No one else was falling down.  It seemed that Raj, Shah, and the few other men he'd seen in his life weren't the exceptions to the rule—somehow, humans managed to get around on just two feet.

Well.  If they could do it so naturally, he could learn to.

With great difficulty, Freak managed to stand.  Steadying himself against a tall, metallic pole, he ignored the cars whizzing past him to one side; if he didn't, he'd surely panic.  Instead, he tried to figure out where he was.

Of course, Freak had no idea how to make sense of the thousands of bits of information constantly flowing around him.  The marvel of the written word was one that escaped him entirely, and while any number of the various characters flashing their way across his vision bore semblance to the one Raj had taught him to recognize, the li-tigon didn't know what to make of them.

There were few things he did know, in fact, as he continued to search for something he could recognize.  Freak was somewhat sure that what he was experiencing wasn't reality—though he'd seen and experienced enough strange things in his life to know that anything was possible.  His location was unknown, as was when he was—this could be some strange past or future.  Perhaps the li-tigon was looking at his fate.

Thinking, though, wouldn't get him far.  He simply didn't know enough to draw any conclusions about his purpose—not yet.  And so, slowly, carefully, Freak began to walk.

There were patterns, he began to realize.  By sticking with large crowds of people—close, but not too close—he was soon able to pick up on them.  It astounded the li-tigon that such a massive group of people could operate together like that, with no violence, nor any threat that forced them to work together.  What were their goals—what were they doing?  And why, no matter where Freak went, was no one saying anything to him?

It was inconceivable.  All around him were millions of people, but none, it seemed, had a word to share with him.  Was he useless?  Or perhaps diseased, somehow?

The latter possibility seemed unlikely.  After all, Freak was in the immediate proximity of dozens of individuals at any given moment.  It seemed that the state of his existence was simply inconsequential to everyone.  This was nothing like life in the Pride Lands, where the loss or sickness of even one individual was such a grave loss to the group that if not by simple morality, everyone cared about one another out of practicality.

Freak kept walking.  For hours.  And in that entire time, he saw nothing to challenge his conclusion—no one cared.

The li-tigon was back in the Jungle, it seemed, but knowing what he was missing from his life made his existence simply intolerable.  At some point, he came towards a river—by then, he'd made up his mind.

This had to be a dream of some sort, the li-tigon thought, although he was very aware of how much of that conclusion was wishful thinking.  Pinching himself didn't work—he'd have to do something a bit more extreme to wake up.

He found that he couldn't will himself to look around at things—not the billion dollar enterprises that had taken years and the cooperation of thousands of people to create.  They were irrelevant, because, in the end, all that mattered was how the creations of men served men.  It seemed that at some point, at least Freak had been left out.  And no one cared.

There was a series of metal poles between Freak and the dynamic, tumultuous surface of the water below—the briefest excuse of an impediment to his will.  The li-tigon climbed over it without a second thought, and, a moment later, he was falling through the air.

He'd been in the full view of several people when he jumped.  Freak couldn't be sure, but he didn't see one of them raising a finger—proverbially or otherwise—to stop him.

The li-tigon hit the water, and began to sink.  The world around him grew dim, and black, and, slowly, he began to fade away…

Freak's eyes opened slowly, as if he was resisting a great force in doing so.  He was sweating, curled up tightly; regardless of that, he was still cold.

Or he would have been, if it wasn't for the four other cats in his immediate proximity.  Though shaky and still struggling to separate dreams from reality, he couldn't help but feel very, very lucky that he wasn't alone, because some people never managed to pull themselves out of solitude every bit as deep as the only reality he'd known as a cub.

Freak looked at the felines around him.  Aoi was beautiful, truly—her sleek, pale coat made her stand out against the charred, blackened ground.  She almost reminded the li-tigon of Asal, the only other white feline he'd ever seen in his life.

Tanga and Roderik were still beings that he didn't know well.  Ironically, Freak had been the first feline Tanga had seen in a lifetime when he'd escaped from his prison in the Bloody Shadows, and Freak was the one that he had to thank for overthrowing his oppressors.  Roderik, on the other hand, had little connection to Freak, but the li-tigon still greatly respected the judgment of the old lion.  Anyone that could live to be that old deserved reverence, and Roderik was still an active, dangerous lion.  And although his mane could use a trim, he also looked deceptively young.

Simba, of course, was the one Freak was most familiar with—his cousin, and up until perhaps twenty hours ago, the Lion King.  The li-tigon had been told that the transfer of power was needed to fully cement his purpose—after Kifo was defeated, Freak would be free to relinquish his title, and he had every intention of doing so.  He was a good leader in times of strife, but that was all.  Only Simba, with his wisdom, experience, and his ability to negotiate without using force could lead the Pride Lands.

Freak looked at his friends for a moment.  Then, he turned away and left them.  They'd earned a little extra rest, and a snack, at least, as well.  As leader, it was the li-tigon's job to provide.

Forty five minutes later, Aoi's ocean green eyes opened—instantly.  They didn't flutter or slowly, hesitantly force themselves open.  When the white lioness woke up, she did so with will and determination.  That's why, hardly two seconds after her mind entered consciousness again, she was on her feet.

Freak was gone, but lioness could smell him—he wasn't far.  Perhaps he was doing some reconnaissance.

"He should have brought me with him," Aoi thought, as she circled Rafiki, several times, to make sure that the mandrill hadn't been disturbed.  "In a dangerous land like this, anything might happen."

She found herself staring down at the perfectly shaped stone that formed Rafiki's face.  Although Aoi had never seen the shaman before in her life, he felt familiar—comforting, even.  She wondered what he was like—very serious, doubtless.  The strong and silent type.  Just like Akane…

"He's… nothing like that."

Freak's sudden phrase made Aoi jump—it had been spoken from just under ten yards away, and was followed by a somewhat loud, rather wet flop.  The white lioness stepped out from behind Rafiki's statue to see that Freak was back, with breakfast.  His kill was about three feet long and over a hundred pounds—but that was about all Aoi knew about it.

"What…" the white lioness said, slowly, "is that?  Where… did you find it?"

Freak tilted his head, then looked down at his kill again.  What was so strange about it?

"Ah."

The li-tigon nodded to himself.  "The White Sands is a desert, right?"

"Yes," Aoi said.  "It's much hotter and drier than any other territory I've seen.  I don't think it's rained in the White Sands since… our leader was a cub."

"That explains things.  This," Freak said, referring to his kill, "is a catfish."

"A catfish," Aoi said, as if getting used to the word.  "So, it's almost cannibalism to kill and eat it?  Since it's related to us?"

The li-tigon nodded, somewhat solemnly.  "But it's justified," he said.  "There's no way to live without killing—trust me, I've tried."  He smiled briefly.  "As long as we do it respectfully, while inflicting minimum pain and fear… it's a morally neutral action.  That's my belief."

"I see," Aoi said.  She hadn't actually heard much of what Freak had said.  Instead, she was wondering just how a sea-dwelling animal—one that looked so foreign to her—could possibly be related to lions.  Evolution, after all, wasn't a concept popular in the White Sands.

The white lioness didn't have very long to sort through the confusion in her mind, though.  Roderik, Simba, and Tanga were starting to wake up—and she knew that after eating, they had a long day ahead of them.

As Aoi cautiously tasted the briny, white flesh of an icthyoid for the first time, she stole a glance at Freak.  The li-tigon was the only decent swimmer out of them all—how on Earth were they going to get Rafiki back into the Pride Lands?

Back in black.

Literally.

Death, for him, had been roughly similar to the harrowing, falling experience that Kifo had… experienced.  When it was over, though, he'd reacted with extreme aggression—the hordes of ravenous, cutting, burning insects that had approached him were met not with fear, but with oaths so hair-raising that the Lion Sheikh has declined to detail them.

His Master was quite pleased with his new asset.

Although tall by the standards of his homeland, he still required a good deal of conditioning in order to find his place among the 6'8", ex-human warrior drones that served their Master with precision, skill, and overwhelming force.

A great deal of who he was had been cut away by the vicious scalpel that was his Master's hand.  The process had been painful, and long—two days of motionless agony.  He only managed to keep his mind by focusing on what was at the end of the road: power, and plenty of it.

He wasn't disappointed.

As his Master's most prized asset, he'd been allowed to retain a great deal of autonomy, as well as the ability to control his comrades, as well.  They wouldn't be rendered useless by increased effort from the opposition any longer.

He wasn't the only newcomer, either.  The Black Army was now eleven strong—it had ten deadly gunman, each armed with machineguns and machetes… and him.

Shah.

The combat he'd seen thus far hadn't made him sneeze.  Brutal, close-quarters fighting in the Unexplored Regions with man-sized insects; long-range engagements with aerial targets to the far northeast—he'd already fought and killed creatures previously beyond his comprehension.  And he was stronger because of it.

Still, his Master had learned well from Kifo—there had to be ironclad limits on how powerful his troops might become.  Shah had reached it quickly—but he was still confident of his powers.

He was running when he received his next assignment, traversing across a vast, barren grassland completely unknown to the Pride Landers and their allies.  Quite suddenly, he turned, making for the northwest—there wasn't any fighting to be done, not immediately.  They were being relocated—moved to hold the Pride Lands themselves hostage, while their Master made a few preparations.  Soon, Shah was flanked on each side by five of the most horrific fighters the lands had ever seen—bar two.  Himself, and Kifo.

"Don't get mad—get glad," Freak said, in what he hoped, but did not believe, was a hopeful, enthusiastic tone.  "Soon, we'll be back in the Pride Lands."

"And then," Tanga said, mockingly, "we can carry Rafiki even more.  All the way to Pride Rock!  Oh boy, this is gonna be so much fun—I can hardly hold it in!  Yippee ki yay, mother—"

"Don't make it worse," Roderik said through gritted teeth.  "This is difficult enough as it is."

Simba had woken up too exhausted to help Freak carry Rafiki again.  After Tanga had taken a shift of supporting the mandrill in his new, several hundred pound form, Roderik had been rotated in.  They were starting to get closer to the Pride Lands by then—and Freak, who'd carried Rafiki the whole time through, was starting to notice something.

He didn't say it, of course—he might have been mistaken.  Wishful thinking could be a double-bladed sword, Freak knew, but he regardless paid closer attention to the crushing weight on his shoulders.

Even in full light, the Bloody Shadows was a depressing place to be.  Although all enemy combatants had been eliminated, the once powerful "assassin-nation" was dead quiet, and eerie.  Freak didn't feel that he was being watched—just that he ought not to be in the Bloody Shadows.

Well, soon, the li-tigon would leave.  And he didn't plan to come back, ever.

Their guard had been lowered, somewhat; it seemed unlikely that anything would come to attack them again.  The cats were already in the vicinity of the Pride Lands—all they had to do to be untouchable was to cross that nearing border.

Freak shrugged his shoulders, testingly.  Then, smiling, briefly, he looked at Roderik.

"Rafiki's lighter," the li-tigon said.  "You've noticed."

It wasn't a question, but the old lion nodded.  Indeed, although the weight crushing down on Freak certainly wasn't insignificant, it wasn't as oppressive as it had been a few short hours before.

"It's because we're getting closer to the Pride Lands," Roderik explained, as Aoi moved forward, briefly, to clear the area ahead of them, just in case.  "Hopefully, we'll be able to ferry it across the Forbidden River… if not…"  His voice trailed off, and he slowly shook his head.  "Let's just be hopeful."

Freak agreed, and picked up his pace, although not to a significant degree.  The cats he'd brought with him into the Bloody Shadows really were incredible to have followed his orders on minimal food and water—but the li-tigon knew that they were running on empty.  And so was he, for that matter.

Perhaps, then, this was Freak's first mistake as a leader.  Patience might have been employed with a heavier hand—the li-tigon was still quite tired from his journey back to the Land of the Spirits; one nap wasn't nearly enough to restore his body to its full potential.  In the future, he'd have to be aware of the fact that even he had to take a break sometimes.

After all, his motto was, "Everyone is a threat," and not "You can sleep when you're dead."

By the time they were at the banks of the Forbidden River, where the deep, dark body of water tapered down to a passable width, Rafiki wasn't remotely heavy.  He still required two to carry, but that was because the size of his statue was such that he couldn't easily be balanced.

Still, getting the mandrill across the wide expanse of bottomless water might be difficult.  And Freak knew that dropping Rafiki would be an irreversible, fatal action—they had to get the petrified shaman across in one go.

To achieve that end, there was little they could do.  There wasn't time to build a vessel of some sort, and calling in reinforcements from the Pride Lands probably wouldn't help—swimmers among their ranks were limited, and any help they might offer would be off-put by the dangers of concentrating their forces in one area.  No, Freak and the four he'd brought along had to accomplish their task alone.

"One, two, three, down."

The li-tigon and Aoi lowered, then stepped away.  Inches from their paws, the icy water of the Forbidden River lapped at the sand, neither frothing nor making the gentle, ambient sounds that waves tended to.  Everything outside of the Pride Lands just wasn't the same as it had been before Freak had left.  Hopefully, someday, they might be restored to their original status—though, there wasn't much to say about the future of the Bloody Shadows.  The few living beings that traced their roots to that land had no intentions to return.

"How are we going to do this?" Simba asked, taking Freak's right side.  "Is there anything… any possibility, any idea, that we've ignored?"

"I don't think so," the li-tigon replied.  He frowned, a little—surely, there had to be a way to do this.  There was always a way.

For a moment, the five felines simply rested their bodies, while searching their minds for an answer of some sort.  Their searches, though, were fruitless—completely.  And time was valuable.

"Alright," Freak said suddenly, but softly, "we're going to do this in the most direct way.  All of us are going to support Rafiki… it's not asking too much.  He'd do the same for us."

It was true, although not literally.  Rafiki had been a constant force for good for generations; abandoning him out of convenience was unthinkable.  So, grimly, the four other Pride Landers nodded, and got ready to swim.

Aoi was left on land so that she could push Rafiki onto the four males' backs.  To get in position, they were side by side, hunkered down, heads barely above water.  Their expressions were determined, but not what could be called hopeful.  The odds were well and truly against them, this time.

Even Simba couldn't think of any encouraging words to say.  The red-maned lion could barely muster a smile as he looked at Roderik, then Tanga, before focusing on the Pride Lands' shore—it was so close.  But for Rafiki, it might be too far.

"Ready?" Aoi said, looking out from behind the massive chunk of stone that was their mandrill shaman.

"Just do it," Freak said somewhat curtly.

The white lioness nodded, though of course Freak couldn't see it.  The li-tigon shut his eyes, briefly, focusing, before staring forward will the intensity of a freshly-sharpened blade.  Time, for him, ceased to have meaning, as did everything else, but for the anticipation of the familiar weight on his back, and the will to carry it forward…

Freak blinked.  Nothing was happening.  He noticed that Simba, Roderik, and Tanga were all staring at something, and that didn't please him.

"We," he said thinly, "are supposed to be getting Rafiki to the Pride Lands.  Not looking at… at…"

The li-tigon's voice trailed off rather quickly, and it was obvious why that was so.

"Talk about slipshod programming; look how buggy this is.  How could a serious glitch like this get by the beta testers?"

Whoever asked that question was quite reasonable in their sentiment.  Aoi had pushed Rafiki forward, yes—but the second the mandrill's statue had come in contact with the placid surface of the Forbidden River, it had started to… not float.  But it had started to glide, supernaturally, over the motionless, deep blue water.  And the vector of its motion suggested that it was going directly towards the Pride Lands.

Well.

"This makes our job… somewhat easier," Freak said seriously, breaking the four other cats' reverie.  "But we can't get cocky.  Let's go."

The li-tigon held his expression, for a moment, then laughed.  He swam forward, shortly followed by his friends—his own friends—looking over his shoulder at Rafiki.  The mandrill was still moving forward, face as stony and expressionless as it always was.

Once they were back on land, Rafiki didn't stop moving by himself.  If anything, he started to move faster, so that soon, Freak and his followers were jogging, briskly, in the wide swatch of grass flattened by the statue in front of them.

It was mid-morning, and Freak was somewhat concerned.  They were already a hundred yards into the Pride Lands, but they hadn't been contested yet.  Where was everyone?  Were they still asleep?

Freak looked up, briefly, the stripes racing up and down his sides barely shifting despite how fast he was moving.  He clenched his muscles, then pressed out—and, a moment later, the li-tigon was standing on Rafiki's statue, specifically, on the massive, perfectly chiseled block that the mandrill himself was perched on.  Tail twitching, slightly, he looked forward—their course was straight and true.

A moment later, the li-tigon noted that he'd rather underestimated the Pride Lands' security measures.  They had been noticed, probably moments before they'd actually entered the territory—it was just that there was so much land to cover that the hyenas deployed to the northwest were still approaching.

Freak nodded, coolly, and continued to look forward.  He mused about the future—specifically, the near future.  Even more specifically, the very near future.  Tanga knew how to bring Rafiki back—but the old, dark-furred lion had said that it wouldn't be easy, several times, when pressed for details.  The li-tigon didn't care, though.  As Simba had said—anything Rafiki needed would be given.

"That's blatant cliché," the li-tigon had said disbelievingly.

And he had been completely correct.

They were back at Pride Rock, although most Nomads, hyenas, and lionesses were still out in the field, prepared to defend the Pride Lands' borders.  Freak had looked around, for a moment, when Rafiki had finally ground to a halt just before the monolithic structure, to see if Kochai was around, but she wasn't.  Though sad that he wasn't able to greet his young relative, the li-tigon felt happy for her.  She seemed to be fitting in already.

The li-tigon was quite tired; he couldn't appreciate much about where he was or what he was doing—not then, anyway.  Simba, Aoi, Tanga, and Roderik were all still awake, but only just.  The days of constant action and minimal sleep had worn them all to the bones.

But there was still one more thing to do.

Rafiki was standing upright, again, facing Pride Rock.  After that, Tanga had walked around, for a few minutes, checking this, looking at that, occasionally unintelligibly muttering to himself.  And then, he'd turned to Freak and spoken, quite bluntly.

"He needs blood."

Marvelous.

"How much?" Freak sighed.  "And will any blood do?  We can knock a gazelle out, then bring it here…"

But Tanga was already shaking his head.  "No," the former assassin replied, briefly.  "He needs a certain kind of blood… I'm not completely sure of all the rules, actually.  But I believe," he said slowly, "that yours will work.  Simba, or Kovu, or perhaps Kiara or Nala… theirs may work as well.  But not to the degree that yours should.  And allow me to remind you that our chances of success are limited."

Freak was already swaying on his feet from exhaustion.  He hadn't slept properly for the longest time—despite everything, the li-tigon was still a slow learner.  This lesson, though—get enough rest—was not one that he'd forget easily.

"No, Simba," the li-tigon said, without needing to look at his red-maned cousin to know that the former Lion King was holding an extended claw to one of the major veins on his wrist.  "There's no point.  We don't want to waste blood—it's very valuable."

That was true, and, since Simba couldn't think of any reason to oppose Freak, he simply nodded, after a moment.  Then, he joined the li-tigon at Rafiki's side, on top of the massive, white block of stone that supported the mandrill's statue.  Already, Freak was preparing to open one of his blood vessels.

"I may pass out," the li-tigon warned, as he started to cut.  "Please catch me if I do.  This is a high place to fall from…"

"Don't worry, Shujaa," Simba replied.  "I'm right here."

Freak nodded, and looked down at the thick bunch of veins, many of which he'd just broken.  The pain wasn't great, but as blood began to spill, the li-tigon knew that he'd soon feel the results of what he was doing, one way or the other.

And so he began to paint the white stone of Rafiki's statue red.  Nothing happened, immediately, but Freak expected that—instant results hadn't been anticipated.  Tanga's expression was neutral, but not genuinely so.  The li-tigon was certain that the former assassin was starting to have his reservations, his doubts, about the process he'd just suggested.

Too bad.  Freak would continue to do what had to be done until Rafiki left his stone enclosure, or he had no blood left to give.

In moments, though, the li-tigon was starting to feel dangerously lethargic.  Already, he'd had to brush away the coagulated tissue at his wrist twice, to keep the flow of blood steady—but, despite everything, he saw that it had dwindled.  Freak had lost a significant amount of his blood already, and continuing to bleed was now starting to get dangerous.

"This needs to stop," Simba said suddenly.  "Cousin—"

"No.  Not yet," the li-tigon managed to rasp, turning to freeze the red-maned lion with a glare.  "Don't stop me.  I'm not finished yet."

With the utmost reluctance, Simba didn't get any closer to his increasingly shaky, swaying relative.

Freak was struggling to keep his eyes open, by then, but he managed to force himself to go on.  Just one more drop, just one more drop, he constantly told himself, just stay standing, just stay standing.

By and by, Freak came to wonder if he was insane—at least, to a very slight degree.  There was no questioning his fate if he stayed the course, but he wasn't going to stop.  Not while Rafiki needed him to keep going.

In the end, the li-tigon wasn't sure when, exactly, he passed out.  He didn't recall hitting the ground, so perhaps Simba had saved him.  Or perhaps he'd simply fallen into unconsciousness too quickly to realize what was happening.

Either way, he must have dreamed hearing someone—or something say, in a deep, old, wise, heavily accented voice, that it was nice to be back.

Freak was resting, breathing very, very slowly, stripes cascading down his furred side.  Having hardly slept for days, after his first taste of REMs he was out—and for hours.

No one was particularly worried, though.  It was true that the li-tigon was a quiet, considerate sleeper, but one couldn't mistake him for the dead.  He was alive and well, and if that changed for a second, he was under the close attention of the best medical expert in the Land of the Spirits.

"You're sure you're not out of practice?" Roderik asked.  "It's been some time since you've done… anything."

"In real world terms, dat is true.  For me, only one day has passed.  There's no reason to delay—come.  Let's get to work."

The old lion sighed, but nodded, smiling slightly.  The years had taken and given fortune and life and pain alike, but nothing could change his greatest friend, it seemed.

"All right, Rafiki."

The mandrill turned to his old friend.  His grizzled "mane" was as perfectly white and wild as the lion's, and, to the untrained layman, similarities between the two ended there.  Yet, despite the years they'd spent apart, it was clear that they'd grown up together.  The slow, confident cadence of their steps, the unpresumptuous, wise, analytical gazes they fixed on everything… they were too similar.  It was almost eerie.

Freak had been put in Pride Rock to recover, and had been fast asleep for almost seven hours by the time Rafiki had been caught up with everything that had happened since he was Petrified.  The mandrill had taken it all surprisingly well, though it was clear that he was greatly disturbed by his failure to not see things coming.  In hindsight, the fast approaching showdown was inevitable, and had been for several years.

A number of preparations had to be made at the last moment.  Plans were scrapped together, reviewed, then rejected or accepted.  In the end, the decision Pride Lands leadership came to was a fairly conservative one—everyone was patrolling the borders, after food had been taken.  What Rafiki and Roderik were up to was likely detectable by their enemies—a sudden, blitzkrieg invasion might penetrate sparsely defended borders.  And if Pride Rock was disturbed, it was all over.

In other words, everyone was using their bodies as shields—for Freak, Rafiki, and Roderik.  When the process was done, no one would need to be in danger, anymore… but until then, their position was risky.  There was no margin for error, and that's why Rafiki and Roderik had each spent two hours meditating after everything they needed had been gathered.

Neither a word nor an ingredient out of place could be tolerated, in the procedure that followed.  Powders had to be blessed, then mixed with one another in just the right proportions.  Their derived results were sometimes small and metallic; more often, they were simply strangely luminescent liquids or still other powders.  More rarely, they couldn't be seen at all, but everything they were doing had a purpose.

Their end product was perhaps a tablespoon of silver liquid that shimmered and danced in the darkness of the cave in a strange, almost living manner.  Its physical natures were uncertain, but were also unimportant.

Rafiki paused, for a moment, to wipe the sweat from his face.  Roderik did the same, and then, wordlessly, they prepared to give Freak enough power to defeat Kifo.  It wouldn't be easy, because the potion they'd made couldn't be ingested.  It had to be imbibed more directly.

Concentrating, hard, the two old ones lifted the shining liquid from its container.  It became bulbous, in midair, almost like gravity no longer affected it—but then, it began to break apart into droplets that soon formed hair thin, inch long needles.

The deadly-looking projectiles glinted in the air as they spread apart, each taking position perhaps two feet from Freak.  Poised to strike, they would, in a second, inject the li-tigon with power, and lots of it.  Without this extra jolt of energy, the outcome of the battle was very unsure—either that, or the odds were against them.  No one was interested in taking any risks when it came to the fate of their entire world.

Rafiki and Roderik said a few final words, then fell silent.  And then, deftly, the needles began to move with enough speed to bury themselves deep into Freak—

Something happened, then, that no one anticipated.  Freak woke up, just in time to see a thousand glinting projectiles launch themselves at him, and acted reasonably.  His eyes widened, and, without bothering to realize where he was or how he had gotten there, the li-tigon tried to save his life.

He moved, rapidly, using every muscle in his body.  In a heartbeat, he'd twisted to his feet; after that, he launched himself forward, milliseconds before the needles descended, striking into the rock formerly beneath him.  The motion was so quick and natural that it was over before Rafiki or Roderik could do anything to prevent it.

Seconds later, though, they realized what had happened: they'd failed.  Their work glowed, for a moment, before vanishing into the Earth, leaving the area where it had hit somewhat brighter and less dusty than it had been before, but that was all.

Hissing, viciously, Freak prepared to fight after getting several yards away from whatever attack he'd just dodged.  His mind hadn't quite woken up yet; he was still running on instincts alone, and of those that occurred to him, the simple desire to live dominated the question of what, exactly, was going on.

Dusk.

Everyone had been pulled back to Pride Rock, though few knew why.  The late evening sky stretched above them, a dark purple mosaic of stars and empty space.  It was an evening that would have been considered solemn, perhaps beautiful, in normal times—but that day, it was just cold and empty and apathetic.

No one had felt any sense of affection or even acknowledgment from the Spirits for the longest time.  Some had even started to wonder if they'd died—or experienced their own equivalent of death.  Nothing could better explain their apparent lack of involvement in the real world.  After all, there wasn't the slightest indication that things could be worse.

An atheist revolution hadn't swept the Pride Lands quite yet.  But no one knew about what had just happened—not yet.

The incident, itself, was simple bad luck.  Freak had been cursed with paranoia—indeed, often, it had been the only thing between him and an early death.  The dark side of too much caution and jumpiness, though, was obvious.

A natural flaw like that, though, shouldn't have had such disastrous consequences.  Not in the Pride Lands, not when they were sanctified, and certainly not when they were simply days from being invaded by the greatest threat to stability and peace since Scar.

Everything that could possibly have gone wrong, simply, had.  Was there a better explanation of the current state of things than the assertion that they were all cursed, or, more likely, just doomed?

"Maybe we are," Freak thought to himself.  "Well.  If we are, then I hope others hear about how defiant even the most damned of us can be.  We're not giving up."

Looking down at the gathered masses from Pride Rock was an act that Freak had neither imagined he'd ever do in his life, nor fantasized about.  And yet, there he was, tall, and strong and alone; a single, solitary silhouette in the darkness, looking over the huddled, tired bodies before him.

It was cold, for some reason, and that was a condition quite foreign to the Pride Lands.  Perhaps the occasional four am breeze cooled things down, but the constant lack of heat felt by every predator in the area almost seemed to be the result of some force, or some being, sucking the life out of the land.

Freak grit his teeth, briefly.  He was no orator, no great public speaker—unlike his father, his cousin, uncle, or the male ancestors before them, he couldn't motivate anyone.  He couldn't fill them with hope—but he could arm them with the truth, and a quiet, invincible will to prevail.

"All my life," Freak began, "I've fought enemies far, far more powerful than me… quicker, stronger, smarter, more numerous…  That might be the one thing that's never changed, no matter where I've gone.  It's not that I bring suffering to people—I don't think that's it," he said.  "Just… I fight.  It's all I've ever done properly, naturally…  I've faced difficult odds before, and I've always come out on top."

He paused.

"So, in a way, what I'm doing now isn't unfamiliar.  I just have… more motivation to win."  Freak didn't intend to pause, that time—but he had to smile down at all of the faces looking back up at him.  Even the most serious Nomad loyalists couldn't help but smile back in response.

"Everything is against us," Freak said.  "Or… that's how it seems.  But it doesn't matter.  I am going to win this fight."  There was nothing about that statement that was cocky—for some reason, the li-tigon felt that he was informing everyone of a self-evident truth.  After all, he'd never really lost a fight before, and there was no reason why he'd start to lose just when it really started to matter.

"Kifo is going to invade within two days.  Don't ask me how I know that—Rafiki and Roderik couldn't tell me."  Now, Freak wasn't looking at his audience anymore—he was looking forward, southward, eyes unfocused and somewhat glazed over.  Mixed in with his passion and determination was just a little bit of insanity, it seemed—insanity that shortly passed, because the next minute, the li-tigon faced his friends again.

But he wasn't just looking at his friends.  He was looking at everything—the grass, the trees, the innumerable plains and forests and rivers and beings of the Pride Lands.  As Warrior King, he had to protect everything from destruction.  He would not fail in his task—he couldn't.  The very foundations of the Land of the Spirits were built around the premise that, in the end, good would prevail.

"Kifo is my twin," Freak said.  "And I am going to kill him."

There.  He'd said it.  And, a moment later, the Pride Landers responded with a low, loud, vitally bloodthirsty roar.  They expected their King to water the land with the blood of their enemy, and, with his last sentence, Freak had announced that he would.

The li-tigon looked forward, again, an almost aghast expression on his face.  He'd promised to win, but, still, he somehow knew that he was not going to kill his own twin.

He had never run so far or for so long in his life, not by a longshot.  Although life in his homeland had prepared him for such marathons, well, he was injured—grievously so.  It was a small miracle that he was still living at all, much less moving, much less maintaining a near sprint for such an agonizingly long time.

Soreness hadn't set in, mostly because he hadn't allowed it to.  By continuing to move, continuing to keep blood rushing through his veins, he had managed to ignore or at least suppress the screams of protest now coming from every muscle in his body.

He would soon hurt in places he didn't know exist.

But he had to keep running.

He took the fact that there was no one defending the Pride Lands' northwestern border easily, without being demoralized or shouting in outrage, though he would have been justified in doing so.  His journey had already been long, and, already, he'd probably set several world records.  Ah, for a videocamera to document his trip…

Though injured, he didn't show it.  The wound was clean—the bullet had exited him, completely, and thanks to how close he was when he'd taken it, the devious shot hadn't had time to do real damage to him.  It was a serious injury, to be sure, but not a crippling or a fatal hit.

It had been quite some time since he'd eaten, but that was nothing new.  The majority of his life, after all, had been one when meals came when they were taken—not with any sort of regularity.  He still had some energy left in him, and every joule of it would be used to take him to his objective.

He judged his position and the position of his goal by the only real reference point in sight.  Fortunately, as where he was going and what he was looking at were one and the same, he didn't have to do any complicated trigonometry—after all, he was just a lion.

"Well," he thought to himself, as he got to within two miles of his goal, "at least I won't have to search for anyone.  It seems that most of them are already there…"  He started to move a little faster—at least, that's what it felt like.  Already, it was extremely taxing to prevent himself from stumbling and falling to a clumsy, painful, and quite possibly permanent halt.

"I wonder what they've been up to while I've been gone.  I wonder how she's been…"

"From now on, no one is to do any patrolling near the northeastern border, or be anywhere near that area for any reason.  I do want tighter security elsewhere, though—it's possible that—"

Freak turned, rapidly, but he couldn't see past the massive boulder behind him.  Something was coming from the northeast itself, and quickly.  Out of the li-tigon's view, as he raced down Pride Rock, intending to meet whatever threat was approaching, the rest of the Pride Landers fanned out, prepared to either retreat or support their leader.

In moments, the entire military forces of the Pride Lands were assembled, with Freak at the vanguard of their formation.  The tall grass and darkness of the northwestern region of the Pride Lands, though, obnubilated their view—entirely.  All they could do was hear whatever was approaching.

Freak was ready to fight, and, at first, his eyes were wide and intense as, slowly, adrenaline entered his bloodstream.  But then, he realized that if the vision he'd had of Kifo was remotely accurate, the demon was huge, and loud—if it was Kifo that was coming, he'd be visible, slower, and the li-tigon would have known he was coming far, far before then.

It wasn't Kifo, then.  Who it was, Freak didn't know, but he was certain it was a threat.

Imagine the li-tigon's surprise, then, when out of the tall, shadowed grasses, emerged Akane—exhausted, but alive, and well, with a smile on his face.

"Hello," the white lion said, panting, barely able to breathe in short, ragged breaths.  "It's… been some time.  Shujaa, I saw your twin… and I know how you can beat him."

Kifo breathed in, slowly, before exhaling, savoring the taste of the air in his mouth.  It was warm, and somewhat moist, but it was alive—not stale and cold, like it tended to be wherever he went.  His lips upturned, slowly, until his face was split by a wide, malicious grin.

He was in the Pride Lands.

"Ah, it's good to be home," Kishindo said.  She stretched, reaching out with her paws, clawing at the ground, before standing up again with a satisfied smirk.  Her tawny, somewhat coarse fur allowed her to blend into her surroundings rather well—Kifo could imagine her, several years younger, organizing her insurgency to the southwest of their position.

For the first time in several weeks, the demon looked down at himself.  He didn't believe that he'd grown, at least, not significantly.  The armored sections of hide and weapons that crisscrossed the majority of his thick, muscular form didn't seem any smaller than they normally were—or perhaps Kifo had just gotten used to a constant rate of growth, and, even then, was on his way to being closer to nine feet in height than eight.

His armaments had improved.  He no longer used little rifles—the weapon slung over his back was an M240 machinegun, a viciously rapid-fire gun that was loaded with rounds powerful enough to tear most soft targets apart, with one shot.  He didn't bother with pistols anymore, either—a sawed, double-barreled 12 gauge was more to his taste.  Of course, his blade remained, in a fashion—it was a large, broad, hacking tool, designed for doing as much damage as possible with one hit.  There was no finesse about it.

Just to see what laws applied in the Pride Lands, Kifo shouldered his machinegun, aiming vaguely into the air.  He pulled the trigger, then, so a long burst of automatic gunfire echoed across the landscape.  After a moment, when the reverberating sound-waves died down, the demon nodded, and lowered his weapon.

"I think I'm gonna have fun here," he said, coolly.  "I'm guessing these Pride Lander-types won't be as easy to take down as those pushovers at the White Sands… no problem.  I'm up for a challenge, and I need practice."

"Mmmmyes…" Kishindo agreed.  "But Kifo, I have a small request to make."

The demon glanced down at her, arching a brow.  Then, he nodded, curtly, willing to at least her the lioness out.

"Leave Simba for me.  I'm strong enough to defeat him, alone, and you don't know how much I want to.  I've dreamed of killing him for years… now that I think of it, leave me my dear little son, as well.  I'll take care of him once I'm finished with Simba."

"That's asking a little much," the demon said.  "Not of me, though.  You really think you're up to fighting both of them, one after the other?  I mean, damn—you're not in your prime anymore… no offense."

A vein in the lioness's neck twitched, once, but she nodded, scouring the area before them with narrowed eyes.

"Don't worry about me, boy.  And don't get cocky yourself—there's something going on here… I'm not quite sure what it is.  But you're going to have to be extra careful.  Understand?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah…" the demon waved his massive hand, dismissively.  He started to move, covering over a yard with a each step he took, towering over the knee-high grass all around him.  As he moved, the tall, tan stalks withered, graying, and, slowly, died.

He was walking toward the Sun, but the bright light didn't stop him—nothing could, he believed.  His roughly feline features were set, determined, because this was likely to be the toughest fight of Kifo's life.  Kishindo knew that the Pride Landers were a viciously dangerous bunch, and, for some reason, had the Spirits on their side—she'd warned and prepared Kifo as best she could.

Of course, neither of them knew about Freak.

And neither of them knew that, even then, the li-tigon was observing their approaching.  He was a mile away, on top of a hill, alone.  Everyone else had been ordered away to protect the border—this was a threat that Freak had to meet alone.

As he stood, watching, the li-tigon noticed—Kifo wore an expression identical to his.  Trying not to dwell on that for too long, he took careful note of the terrain around him.  This would be a titanic battle, and Freak suspected that it would ravage across the vast expanse of the Pride Land's northeastern territory—for hours.

Grasslands, plains, and limited desert conditions existed directly between himself and his twin.  To the north, there were rugged, rocky steppes—Freak could fight there well, but his greatest advantages would exist to the east, where forests and jungles dominated.

Yet, no matter the terrain, no matter what knowledge he'd received from Akane, Freak knew that this fight would be neither quick nor easy.  His eyes unblinkingly stared at his enemy, trying to read Kifo's motion for anything useful—reluctance, pain, anything but ironclad, malicious will.  Of course, there was none.

Freak didn't recognize the lioness at his twin's side.  He didn't think she was very important, either—there existed no big cats that could stand up to him in combat, not for a second.  He felt no curiosity about her, not now, because his only goal was directly in front of him: his twin.

The li-tigon began to move.  To any outward appearance, his steps appeared confident—slow, to be sure, but confident.  No one, not even his own mother, could have told that nothing could be farther from the truth: Freak was scared out of his mind, and he didn't know how he planned to fight Kifo.

Preparation time was up, though; now was the time for action.  Freak had a long way to walk—so, slowly, he began to let go of his fear.  It was not easy, but the li-tigon was successful—mostly.

Well.  That's what Akane told him to do, but he felt no different.  He looked down—yes, those were his paws, the same as they always were, plodding, softly, across the grassy, somewhat sandy terrain.  It occurred to Freak that, for him, this might very well be the end of the road—this might be his last chance to look down at those paws, those powerful miracles that had come into being despite the best efforts of the world at large.

Somewhat coldly, Freak looked up.  Kifo was less than half a mile away, but he hadn't been detected yet—good.  Maybe, Freak could do it quickly—maybe he could sneak up on the demon, pounce on him from behind, and rip his neck out before he could defend himself.

Or, maybe not.

As he continued to get closer, Freak felt his fear return.  He didn't sweat, but there was a definite uptick in his heart rate, and his eyes, to be sure, were no longer cool, gray, confident—they were wide and scared.  He had to defeat Kifo, there was no question about that, but how was he supposed to fight a being that he was terrified of even facing—one that he was certain, now more than ever, that he couldn't kill?

By then, the li-tigon was within a quarter mile of his enemy.  He continued to stare at the demon, bearing down on him—only the slightest falter in his steps indicated the precise moment when, for the first time, Kifo saw his twin.

(Next chapter will come sooner. We're getting close to the end, believe it or not.)