THE LION KING: THE FREAK

Chapter 29: Nexus I: Calm

(It's hard to believe that after so long, things are finally ending.)

"Dichotomic" is a big word. But it's difficult to conceive of a more apt one for the time and place.

Let us consider, briefly, the collective character of those stationed in the Pride Land's NWFP--a lawless land where one didn't get far without an armed militia of bearded tribesmen with Kalashnikovs... that is, the most remote, scarcely-travelled sector of the Pride Lands. Rather understandably, the several dozen fighters that Freak had stationed there were shaking in their boots--they were watching a display of evil so breathtaking that it was almost hypnotic.

Enraptured, their faces held expressions ranging from shocked, to terrified, to somewhat jealous. After all, they didn't exactly have much in terms of divine aid--if they were going to win, they were going to win alone. The Spirits had played an important but invisible role in buying them time and stalling their aggressor here and there, but now, they were a non-factor.

Their numbers represented every lion pride in the Land of the Spirits except for the Falme Pride and the now-defunct Lower Plains Clan. It was incredible that the previously ethnocentric White Sands Pride was represented by its two survivors, and that they stood side by side with the Eastern Nomads. The bonds they'd created so quickly were forged out of necessity, but would outlast the emergency that had created them.

It was somewhat comforting that if they survived, there would never be another inter-pride war in the Land of the Spirits. What was saddening was the fact that it had taken such a desperate situation to bring about a miracle like that--and the fact that there was unlikely to be enough lions left when the smoke cleared to even bother fighting amongst themselves outside of one-on-one brawls.

No one left his or her post, although everyone was scared. Odds for individual survival were slim, after all; and it certainly felt like it. Even strict teamwork and a brilliant set of tactics would not guarantee a survival rate of more than sixty percent at best. Many of them were going to die and there was no escaping that cold, hard fact.

At least they were distracted from thinking about Kochai's and Simba's fate. Even Kiara and Nala felt certain that if they looked away from the terrible scene before them for a second, they'd be attacked from the back.

The red bolts of lightning that continuously struck the Forbidden Island in one particular spot were so powerful that the Pride Landers could feel the change in the atmosphere's electrical charge where they were--either that, or what they were feeling was simply the presence of absolute evil. The enemy forces, it seemed, were gathering directly on their doorstep for one final showdown... now, allow the Lion Sheikh to take you to meet them before he explains the meaning of the first line.

The Pride Landers weren't the only ones that were capable of overcoming generations-old prejudices and intolerance by focusing on a single, shared objective. Many, many, many different beings were gathering in the Forbidden Island--and they were all doing it to take the Pride Lands down.

Apart from our old friends, Altsoba and Cretac, there were all of the regional sub-commanders that Kifo's Master had brought to help him in his task. Surprisingly enough, they had not been doing nothing for much of the duration of this fan-fiction--although the Lion Sheikh will not deny forgetting them for much of it.

Mostly, they'd been recruiting troops from outside of the Land of the Spirits. Many were hired, so to speak, by the promise of power and wealth and immortality--but an almost equal number were coerced into fighting. There were gorillas, leopards, and, of course, dozens of humans.

And they were all being armed and armored.

African Kevlar seemed to be rhinoceros skin, and although the members of that species would have generally been disgusted and offended by such a use of their flesh, their simplistic minds had nearly been wiped of anything but anger and a dark desire to destroy.

The humans were armed with a variety of weapons--cheap AKs and MACs purchased in bulk at black market arms bazaars across the world. There was plenty of ammunition but it was cheap and in poor condition, and that they were cleaning their firearms by rubbing them with oiled bits of cloth suggested that they'd be able to get out maybe ten rounds, at best, before their weapons jammed or failed to feed.

Of course, there weren't many firearms. Most of the humans had nothing more than machetes and their own fists and feet--they were cannon fodder and they knew it.

The barren, rocky terrain of the Forbidden Island was buzzing with activity. More forces were still pouring in, and their unorthodox means of travel had had unanticipated results. Many of them were injured or nauseated. Some simply died upon or prior to arrival, and other simply didn't turn up.

But enough did and were in good health. After being armed and armored, they began to train--nothing intense; mostly, they just stretched out their limbs under the watchful eyes of the sub-commanders.

A great deal of their individuality had been taken away. They operated in single units, and as a result, their coordination was not something that could naturally be received. Even the sub-commanders were impressed when a hundred distinct beings struck out with the same attack at the same instant--it really was a sight.

As more troops continued to be beamed into the Forbidden Island, one subcommander--a dark scaled cobra--made his way into one of the few parts of the Island that wasn't currently being used. Slithering along through the permanently dead remnants of trees and rock, he stopped some distance from the southern border of the Island.

He didn't have to wait long, looking out over the imbricate waves of the river and the foreboding plains and hills of the land beyond it until his Master's final asset arrived.

Of course, the serpent was taken by his appearance. It was ironic, in his opinion, that their greatest enemy and one whose existence had taken years of careful work to confirm looked so strikingly alike--but it also made sense. What was interesting was how, beyond their appearances, the enemy and the being now approaching the Forbidden Island shared almost nothing. The only things they had in common were things that couldn't easily be changed--but beyond that, there was nothing. The one approaching was a shell of a creature.

But he was nothing if not vicious, even in appearance.

"Master," the cobra murmured in a quiet, hissing tone, "you've brought this one here... why? Is he to lead the invasion?..."

"No." After months of service, that deep, unearthly tone was still terrifying to hear.

"He's not leading anything..." By then, the feline was swimming, effortlessly, through the somewhat rough currents buffering the Forbidden Island from the rest of the Land of the Spirits. "He can't even say more than a few words. He's a fail-safe... even if everything else goes bad, then I'll be able to salvage things. Look at him--he's perfect."

The cobra couldn't help but agree. Although decidedly larger than the average lion, this one was slim and built for speed. Although he was probably somewhat less powerful than the Warrior King, it was difficult to question who would win in a fight if the approaching cat's combat skills were anything like his appearance suggested.

In a one-on-one conflict, the Warrior King would only be able to hold out against this one for a few moments. A concentrated attack by several opponents would wear down the fighter now making his way onto the Forbidden Island, shaking out his fur so that the cobra leaned forward, briefly, swearing he saw the shadows of something beneath his coat--and that's why he was the fail-safe. He could only be used when there weren't enough Pride Landers to bring about anything besides one-on-one combat.

As the cobra looked on, the strange feline in front of him stood completely, perfectly still--Master's orders, after all. Some moments later, the serpent's slitted eyes widened and he slid back an involuntary foot.

"Interesting..." The cat's voice was strange--his vocal chords were pathetically underdeveloped and his mouth unfamiliar to forming words. Everything he said came out sounding painful, forced, but what was most terrifying was the fact that the cobra's Master now had a physical form.

Rather wisely, the snake bowed his hooded head and tried not to appear too terrified--although the idea that a being powerful enough to bend minds to his will could now touch him as well was not pleasant. He felt his Master testing out his powerful paws and the massive defined muscles in his legs, slowly walking around and then transitioning flawlessly into an all-out sprint for several yards--before stopping on a dime without even breathing hard.

"This body is useful," the Master said, looking around his world with a gleaming pair of dark, gun-metal eyes. "I think I'll stay in it for some time... come." He walked dangerously close to the cobra, so much so that the serpent nearly died of fear and made his way toward his troops. They had to see who they were fighting for in the flesh.

As far as anyone in the Pride Lands' Peshawar knew, the battle between Freak and Kifo was still raging on.

The congregation of forces in the northwestern part of the region, to the east and south of the Khyber Pass which lead, of course, to the Pride Lands' equivalent of Afghanistan--they needed a morale boost. Unlike Freak, they had to watch their enemies rally up so they knew in their guts as well as in their minds that the fight they had coming was not going to be an easy or a quick one, and probably not a winnable one, either.

Freak, of course, was a powerful warrior and brilliant tactician. Perhaps with Simba's strong strategic planning, they'd be able to eke out a victory--but no one managed to hold the delusion that it would be a satisfying one. Many of them would die, perhaps so much so that the Sun would finally set on the existence of lions in the Land of the Spirits.

The rolling grasslands of the NWFP area meant that visibility was good. In fact, there was nothing at all to prevent them from seeing all the way to the nearest obstacle, some two miles away--a low, gradual hill. And they all did just that when a distant, rarely-heard roar told them two things: Freak had won... and it was time to turn around to see him.

It's difficult to describe how iconic that large, powerful silhouette looked, even thousands of yards away--there was no mistaking it. The setting Sun managed to penetrate cloud cover, at least for a moment, so that when its rays struck Freak's chest and countenance he seemed to glow ethereally--he was truly alive and on his own four feet. He had won his battle... so maybe they could win theirs.

For a moment, that shared awe continued--then, Freak roared again, asking if they were all still there and ready to fight. Of course, the roar that answered was proud and loud enough to physically strike him even those two miles away--it continued, for a moment.

And then it became a scream of terror.

The li-tigon tilted his head. He didn't understand.

And then he looked to his side. And then he understood what was scaring them, though he didn't understand how it had come to be.

"Kifo..." Freak's brow tightened, and although he didn't assume a defensive posture, not quite, his claws subconsciously unsheathed themselves. He couldn't suppress that instinct--after all, Kifo was no longer just a boy. Now, he was as big and powerful and demonic as he ever had been.

Although he was armed with a knife and a rifle on his back, Kifo didn't seem to grasp the fact that he was eight feet tall and deadly once again. He simply looked back at Freak, then scoffed, impossibly--a sort of smile.

"What?" he asked. "Is there something on my face?... What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Freak said, after a moment of contemplation. He was very tempted to tell Kifo exactly what had happened, but that might have certain unintended consequences. No, it was best to be honest but vague--after all, Kifo couldn't help what body he occupied. And if there was one thing Freak had learned over his life, it was that there was nothing wrong with an individual being as he was made to be.

Of course, the Pride Landers' apprehension, let's call it, was--not justified--understandable. Apart from Kochai--who Freak couldn't see for some reason--none of them had ever seen anything like Kifo. Even the "Lesser Gods" that Akane had seen once when he was very, very young weren't at all like the specimen standing next to Freak.

And now we see the meaning of this chapter's first paragraph.

The demon was such a dark and an overpowering presence insofar that in comparison, Freak seemed fair and mundane. To have both presences so close to one another, side by side... it seemed like there was an impassible black and white barrier between the two.

As the twins looked at the Pride Landers, they noted that, rapidly, the screaming stopped. Kifo raised a vascular hand and rubbed his chin--in that brief second, he became aware that he wasn't just a kid anymore. For some reason, though, that changed nothing. He had no desire to attack or kill... anything, really. But the group in front of him did intrigue him. It did.

"Are those your folks?" he asked. Kifo felt a strange longing--he wanted to get closer, even though he had no delusions about the danger in doing so. He felt strangely certain that Freak wouldn't let him be harmed, although he had no reason to.

"Friends and family," the li-tigon affirmed. "They're afraid of you. Show them that you're not a threat... it'll be safer for all of us that way." He looked up at Kifo expectantly until the demon slowly raised his bare hands to slightly above shoulder level, showing that he was unarmed.

Slowly, the two fighters--vicious enemies until hours before--made their way forward. Besides Freak, no one in the Pride Lands had ever seen Kifo before or had much of an idea what he looked like, beyond the brief descriptions the li-tigon had given them; but there was nothing that could be done to prepare one to face the demon for the first time. There was nothing that could be done to stop that cold, deep, instinctive fear from threatening to take over.

No one ran, though, and that was a surprise. Even as Kifo got closer, and closer, and closer still, no one broke rank and ran--and no one attacked, either. It wasn't out of fear that they didn't attempt to take the demon down, it was because Freak spotted any disposition to violence and shut it down immediately with a glare--Kifo was no one's enemy. Not anymore.

But when they got to within about fifty yards of the Pride Landers, the li-tigon glanced up at his twin and jerked his head--somehow, that was enough to tell the demon to drop to his knees.

Once Kifo was down, Freak nodded in approval, once, and looked at the Pride Landers--he smiled, then blinked, then looked over them again. Kovu was supposed to be patrolling, but that didn't explain Simba's absence, or Kochai's... He'd have to ask about them later, though. For now, the only topic of conversation could be the elephant in the room: Kifo.

"I'm glad to see that everyone's alright," the li-tigon said. "We'll discuss what's going on in the Forbidden Island later... they're going to invade us." It was closer to a statement than a question, but Rafiki and Roderik nodded gravely regardless. In response, Freak simply looked away for the briefest of seconds then nodded curtly himself, still aware that no one was looking anywhere but the demon behind him.

"This... is Kifo." A moment after saying that, the li-tigon twitched in irritation--of course everyone already knew that.

"He's not a threat to anyone. I defeated him," the li-tigon added. "It was close, but I defeated him. I was coming back when I was attacked by a certain force... and Kifo saved me."

Now that certainly surprised at least a few in the crowd. Uvuli, for example, looked away from the demon to give Freak a disbelieving stare--no one could really swallow the idea of the demon saving anyone, let alone his sworn enemy.

"I hate to interrupt," Rafiki slowly interjected, holding his staff in a decidedly less than neutral stance, "but the Forbidden Island is going to invade us very, very soon. We need to think of some way to fight them..." The mandrill's naturally humorous tone was now deadened and flat. And as he spoke, a collective shiver made its way through the group.

Freak shook his head, though. "Not now. Tonight... we're just going to relax and sleep. In the morning, we'll have a way to defeat our enemies... but they'll have to be delayed." Pointedly, the li-tigon turned to Rafiki--and after a moment, the shaman nodded.

Sighing softly, Rafiki turned and tiredly made his way to the banks of the Forbidden River--the Island that it buffered the Pride Lands from was less than a mile away from where he stood. It was close enough.

The mandrill patted his stick, briefly, then took it into his hands and held it like a spear. And then, with a burst of effort, he threw it into the air.

The projectile was surprisingly aerodynamic; for about two hundred yards it flew straight and true. Then, however, it split apart in a fiery, red explosion that liquefied in midair, so that brilliant, sparkling gaseous fluid slowly seeped down through the air and solidified into what was unmistakably a shield--a protective bubble of sorts that would keep the Forbidden Island's forces at bay. At least for some time.

Freak knew that they were coming, though, and they were coming the next day--Rafiki mentioned this in an offhand, somewhat apathetic manner. There was no way to escape the coming invasion... it could only be delayed for some time. Hopefully, the enemy force would languish and suffer due to that unexpected delay instead of practicing and sleeping and eating--hopefully.

The li-tigon looked from the weak, temporary shield to his forces--his beloved family and friends--to Kifo. He had to say something, he knew it, because it was almost certain that many of them were going to meet their ends the next day, under his command. So, slowly, he opened his mouth--then he shut it, then he smiled.

"You're going to go back to Pride Rock now," he said. "Kifo will make sure that nothing happens to anyone... I'll get us something to eat, and find Simba, Kovu, and Kochai. Everyone is to rest, and I mean it. Tomorrow's going to be a long day." To show that he was serious, Freak looked at Pride Landers once, meeting all of their eyes--only then did he nod and turn to his twin.

"You're going to have to take care of them," the li-tigon said. Kifo didn't look like he understood, so Freak stepped a little closer and glared at him for a second. "There could be another attack from the southern or eastern borders. We don't know what your Master is capable of. Just protect everyone, like you protected me."

He could not, of course, clap Kifo on the shoulder before leaving. But he could quite meaningfully bump his shoulder against the demon's arm. As Freak walked away, Kifo looked after him for a moment before turning, slowly, to the Pride Landers...

Though expansive and diverse, the Pride Lands were familiar enough to Freak that he could neatly organize the scents about the area into two sets: what he was looking for and everything else. This, of course, made him travel to the southeast--he could tell that Simba and Kochai as well as the unfamiliar lioness that had accompanied Kifo into the Pride Lands had made their way to the vicinity of the Outlands.

At first, Freak found himself simply walking. His mind occupied itself by focusing on his goal and the limited threats that would exist as he got closer to the southern border--then, the li-tigon realized how unlikely he was to ever make a walk like this again. By that time the next day, the Pride Lands would be soaked with blood, and even if he lived, things would simply never be the same again.

Freak had of course survived any number of harrowing battles, but this would only be his second war. And as much as he didn't want to admit it, even to himself, there was a cold tone of finality about it.

Maybe that was a good thing. If the Pride Landers won, they would achieve peace for several generations as well as the knowledge and will to fight evil at its inception without reservation in the future.

But there was still no way to ignore how much things would change, regardless of what happened the next day. Many good beings were going to die, as well as potentially hundreds of others.

Freak looked down at the grass below him--then up at the cloudy but expansive sky above. Everything he saw and experienced was a miracle in its own right, but by the next nightfall, much of it would be either permanently altered or simply destroyed.

Well, then--he had to enjoy it while he could. He might never again be able to feel the softness of the grass against his legs, or the gentle, cool breath of the wind on his face as he traveled. And even if he did, many of the Pride Landers would not.

Freak hoped that he'd find the three he was looking for soon enough. It was getting late, and he still had to hunt and after that he had to discuss a few important issues with Rafiki--and after that, he had to sleep. His mind was not a strategic one, but he had at least one card left to play before things finally came to blows.

After a few more strangely enjoyable moments of walking, the li-tigon noted that he was approaching a lake of some sort. This was an area with which he was not immediately familiar, though he seemed to recall Simba saying that something very important had once happened there. After crossing one final hill, Freak saw Simba and Kochai--laying on the ground, sopping wet. What had happened?

It might be difficult to think of the presence of a several hundred pound killing machine as comforting, but Kochai had been through some serious sh--that is, she knew by experience that Freak was caring toward his friends and family. For that reason, when she saw him approaching she didn't feel stifling fear--but rather overwhelming relief.

The kitten got to her feet and watched as the li-tigon approached, rapidly--soon, she was smiling. So, he'd won?... That was good. Not that she ever doubted him, of course.

Freak didn't preface his arrival with anything--he simply began to check that Simba was in stable condition, even as Kochai affectionately rubbed her face against his side.

"What happened?" the li-tigon asked. "Why do I smell Kovu?" The former Lion King was all right, of course--just unconscious. After briefly lifting the red maned lion to see that he wasn't horrendously injured, although his forelegs looked fairly mutilated, Freak turned to Kochai--why was she crying?

"Guess we ought to get going."

It was a reasonable statement, but after Freak left, no one really wanted to move. No one wanted to breathe--it felt like the slightest upset in the delicate balance that existed would cause a great deal of unnecessary destruction. So, naturally, no one answered Kifo. Awkwardly, the demon was left to look around for a tolerant face--that task was made difficult by the fact that he suspected that looking at any one being for too long would engender a violent response.

Well. Someone had to make the first move.

With that in mind, the demon turned away from the Pride Landers and began to walk--slowly--toward Pride Rock. As he did so, he passively carried an RPD machinegun in his left hand with the barrel of the weapon pointed well away from the lions and hyenas that comprised the area's fighting force.

It was some time before he heard them slowly, cautiously start to follow him. Without pausing, the demon turned back over his shoulder and nodded, briefly. He knew that a smile might give them all a very wrong message.

He'd never get used to it, though he ought to try, at least in preparation for the next day's events.

Freak couldn't help but collapsing, physically, when Kochai told him what had happened to Kovu. This was a being that, in hindsight, had a lot in common with him: they'd both grown up in fairly rough neighborhoods and had spent much of their lives as outsiders. Kovu could have been his brother--but now he was dead.

There was nothing that he could do now, though. It wasn't comforting that there literally wasn't a shred of the dark lion left for Freak to take back to Kiara--he'd been destroyed so completely that even the lingering scent of him that was left in the area was rapidly dissipating.

Freak shook himself out of his sadness, though--eventually. Kochai had fallen asleep crying, and that worried him. She'd been injured, he could tell, and her seeming exhaustion could indicate that she had in fact been serious, perhaps permanently hurt. But there was nothing Freak could do about that, either, except for place the sleeping tigress next to Simba and then sit back to think.

Rafiki could cure Kochai, hopefully, and Simba would be himself in a few hours--except, his forelegs might be a bit tender. Kovu was beyond anyone's help, but Freak couldn't focus on that--he had some hunting to do.

Though, as the li-tigon slowly made his way to a group of zebras some miles northeast of his position, he couldn't help but constantly ask himself how he was going to explain things to Kiara.

Curiosity killed the cat: this was a lesson that Akane and Aoi had learned well in the White Sands. Anything but rigid conformity and submission was rewarded with beatings or potentially death, so, over the years, the two white lions had gradually come to simply accept the world as it was without question.

And Kifo was terrifying to look at, much less be around, much less speak to. Maybe that had something to do with why no one dared to ask him what exactly had happened in his fight with Freak.

Every aspect about the vicious being before them was terrifying, from his sheer physical size, to his dress, to his weapons. Although his movements had been nothing but slow and predictable ever since they'd seen him, it was easy to tell how frighteningly strong he was. When he stepped forward, his calf muscle bunched up with enough energy to propel him upwards several yards--and that was just his calf, probably the smallest of all of his muscles.

Pride Rock was a long walk away. And--at least the Pride Landers--ever moment seemed like an eternity. They were, all of them, simply waiting for the demon to snap and attack. It was inevitable, they believed, but when it happened, at least things would be simple. They could defend themselves when it happened; there was no need for this stressful exercise.

After what seemed like forever... they were halfway to Pride Rock. And Kifo still hadn't attacked.

And, wouldn't you know it--it was Akane that broke down first and said something.

"Tell us... ...Kifo..." the white lion began, "what... happened." He wanted to continue the thought, but after a moment of reflection, Akane decided he'd said enough. The massive being in front of him wasn't stupid--Kifo could figure out what he was being asked.

The demon slowly traced a finger across his jawline, then shrugged. "We fought; I lost. I'm not sure what happened next, but I'm guessing that that guy tried to bring me over here. He was attacked, though--I don't know who did it. But, anyway... I sort of stepped in. If I didn't, he would have taken a bullet through the brain." To underline what he was saying, Kifo reached up and lightly tapped his forehead--Akane flinched at that.

"So, you saved him." It was a question, but one worded like a statement.

"Yeah, I... guess I did." Kifo glanced back and managed a lopsided smile that, while somewhat frightening, wasn't horrific or threatening. For some reason, acknowledging what he'd done for Freak made him feel something he hadn't felt in a very, very long time.

"So, ahm... how did you hide from me? When I was in the White Sands, I mean. I wondered about that," the demon said. "Does it have anything to do with how that guy was invisible for maybe half of our fight?"

So. Freak had been able to follow Akane's advice. The white lion nodded, unconsciously moving a bit closer to Kifo--although Aoi stiffened up in fear when he did that.

"It was easy, actually," Akane said. "All I had to do was be fearless."

By the time Freak was back and finished hunting, Simba was awake. The two Kings--one past and one present--greeted one another with a nod as dusk began to overtake the Pride Lands. Freak had successful brought down a number of zebras some miles away, and, together, he and Simba would bring back enough food to fuel a full day of fighting.

And Kochai, of course. Despite the state she'd been in when sleep had overtaken her, the young tigress had curled into a neat ball, hiding about half of her face behind her tail. After all, with Simba up and about, she needed some source of heat. For a moment, both of her relatives simply looked at her--that was enough to make things somewhat less downbeat and tense between them.

Freak was the one to carry Kochai back, at least to the area where he'd done his hunting. Then, she'd have to walk--but for now, neither of them wanted to wake her up. For now, she could have her sleep, and they could talk about things quite frankly without worrying her or anyone else.

How Freak managed to speak while carrying Kochai... is a secret. The Lion Sheikh guarantees, however, that he managed to do it.

"Simba, many of us are going to die tomorrow."

The red-maned lion could only nod in response--after all, it was true. "You're right. And I'm not a great strategist... I only have experience in dealing with guerillas and insurgents. I've never, ever dealt with an all-out invasion before..."

"Nor have I. And we slaughtered everyone that could have told us how to fight back against an invasion... do you remember? The Bloody Shadows... it seems like so long ago."

"Happy times."

They both laughed at that, although not for very long. The more both of them thought about it, the more they realized how unprepared for a no-holds-barred defensive battle they were. The Nomad Loyalists had a great deal of endurance, it was true, and the native Pride Landers were probably the best fighters in the land bar none, but over the course of hours, it was unlikely that many of them would last out.

The Desert Warriors might fare better, but they were used to fighting constant waves of somewhat weak enemies. Whereas the force that they would face now would probably be structured, ordered, and comprise serious opposition. Freak's grandmother was dead, and she could have helped...

"Simba, tell me about when the Falme invaded," the li-tigon said. He looked to his cousin, and nodded. "When my father was King..."

I wasn't there to see it happen. But I can tell you what happened... or at least the gist of it. No one really wanted to talk about it, but I forced them to--because it killed about a third of our lionesses. Many hyenas were killed as well... I didn't care about that at the time.

There's not much to say. It was a sneak attack, and there wasn't even time to bring everyone to the fight. Everyone in the southeast of the Pride Lands was hammered; there were no reinforcements. Eventually, people found out what was going on and the Falme lost enough troops to pull back--but I think it was a lot closer than anyone wants to admit.

The way everyone talked, though... your father was on the scene. He's the only reason why things didn't go to Hell, and I think that he purposefully got rid of as many lionesses as he could. His loyal corps were far away at the time of the invasion, so the only ones in danger were those that eventually rose against him with me. I have absolutely no idea how he got rid of his enemies while using them to fight for their homeland without letting them know what was up, and that's where the real genius is. Scar probably didn't care about the hyenas that much, but how he secured a victory like that... he made the situation work for him. Somehow he did it. It's incredible.

Freak nodded, although he didn't look at Simba. Something about him suggested that he wasn't saying all of what he was thinking when he answered--but then, the li-tigon wasn't exactly an easy character to read.

"What I want to know," the li-tigon said, "is how the survivors fought... what they did differently, how they applied squad-based tactics to large scale combat. I can guess a few ways Father directed them to a victory..." Freak said this, but he did not continue. And, after a moment, he spoke again.

"Rafiki set up a shield. It'll last until early afternoon tomorrow... that'll have to be enough time to prepare. There's... it's funny. There's so much to do, yet there's not much at all to do. We have to hide this one," Freak referred to the small female he was carrying, "and we have to draw up a plan of defense and act on it. That's all... but doing any of what I just said... well, it may not be possible."

Indeed, the possibility of simply failing to even put up a fight was strong. Many might break ranks and flee even before the onset of the invasion, and Freak wouldn't be able to blame any that did. But he couldn't account for that possibility in his plans--if even one ran, then everything was lost.

Their fates, it seemed, balanced on the razor edge of a knife: only just.

Freak felt strangely sick. Fear was an emotion he was used to; he'd spent half of his waking hours manipulating it when he was younger. That fear, though, was different--it was an emotion or a sense that the li-tigon could rationalize and use to his advantage or, at will, banish from his system and render obsolete. What he felt now was a numbing, paralyzing sort of fear, the kind that loudly, darkly told him to abandon everything and get out before he, too, was massacred.

What was worst about it was that no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't ignore it.

Things would be easier, he hoped, after being with his friends, all of them--for the last time--and eating. They'd sleep and then they'd fight, and that was all there was to it. Escape was a non-option.

That manner of thought made things a little easier. But not very.

Akane wasn't the only one talking to Kifo by the time they were back at Pride Rock. Kiara, Nala, Roderik, and several other brave but cautious Nomads had spoken to the demon. Their conversations were simple and carefully avoided his more malevolent activities in the Land of the Spirits--it was funny; Kifo was a demon and a dangerous warrior but everyone seemed most curious about the boy he had been before everything went to Hell, literally.

It was hard, of course. Kifo was no story teller and, of course, the Pride Landers had no way of knowing what simple, mundane things back home were--but the demon didn't lose his temper once, or even come close to it. He found himself oddly patient and interested in nothing more than answering the questions posed to him and asking some of his own.

Of the many aspects of Kifo's life that were incomprehensible to the Africans, the one that made the least sense was the way people in Kifo's world so naturally and rapidly and thoughtlessly confined themselves inside neat little brick walls. That was the best way of putting it--people went about their lives alone. They were born alone and they lived alone and they died alone, coming together for brief seconds here and there to work and copulate and that was it.

Whereas in any pride or clan of hyenas, every individual was an irreplaceable component of any groups he or she was part of insofar that everyone knew everyone else and loved, or at least tolerated them. It was true that nine out of ten prides or clans or other collective enterprises failed, though not catastrophically, but there was nothing better than being part of a group that accreted on its own over the years in terms of size, power, and its ability to serve its members.

It was inconceivable that even one person in a society of any size, even one as big as Kifo's, managed to slip through the cracks, so to speak, to become the shell of a being that he had been.

To be fair, though, Kifo had to admit that he had been given blatant opportunities, on occasion, to fix himself. He recalled that a few times, co-workers had tried to get him to say more than a few words to any of them, and sincerely so. In response, once, he'd snapped at them--and they'd given up.

The way he told it, it almost felt like he was at fault for becoming the way he was. And that couldn't be true.

At one point on their walk back to Pride Rock, Freak felt a slight twitching, a sort of fidgeting, and bent down for a second to release Kochai. After yawning and stretching for a long moment, the tigress kitten stumbled, nearly falling, before slowly realizing where she was and following along. She wasn't playful, as she usually was, chasing butterflies or the cuffed tip of Freak's tail when there were none of the colorful, winged insects to be found.

And neither Simba nor Freak quite had the heart to ask her why she was so sad. They both knew, and damn well.

Pride Rock's increasing vicinity brought with it a dampened sense of awe and inspiration. Their massive paws easily shifting the irrepressible grass beneath them, they both glumly set their minds to the fast-approaching responsibility for one of them, at least, to tell Kiara that she was the youngest widow in the history of the Pride Lands.

As they got closer, though, Freak saw one particularly large, upright silhouette among the felines and hyenas slowly making their way into the sleeping chambers of Pride Rock. Kifo hadn't slipped up and gotten himself killed, it seemed--and that thought brought a smile to Freak's face that he would never admit was even slightly surprised.

It was perhaps unsurprisingly cold that night. After eating, Freak had told the majority of his fighting forces to go to sleep--and, reluctantly, they'd submitted. Simba, Tanga, Roderik, Rafiki, and, of course, Kifo, had been pulled back--the li-tigon needed to talk to them all.

The reddish shield that Rafiki had brought forth was still intact, apparently. Now and then, distant bursts of gunfire erupted, and it wasn't just from training. Angry, frustrated Island forces were trying to break down the protective sphere to no avail.

"We have a lot to talk about."

Freak said that, then turned to face the rest in the core group. Having gathered on the overhanging crest of Pride Rock, they were all fully exposed to relentless, cold wind originating in the Forbidden Island--more forces were still being beamed in, albeit infrequently. The resulting high pressure forced air outward in all directions, though there was no way to explain the cold.

Kifo had produced a tattered length of grayish fabric and wrapped it about himself. Like a phantom, he sat with one leg hanging over the edge of Pride Rock, constantly looking to the northwest. He had his gun in his hands and thought, for a moment, before turning and facing Freak. The expression on his face was inscrutable, but decidedly not neutral.

"First," the li-tigon said, turning to Rafiki, "you're sure the shield will hold?" "If it collapses overnight, we're dead."

The mandrill nodded. "It was created in evil... and it will be destroyed in evil. It will hold until noon... after that, it is only a matter of time."

"Good." Freak nodded, then paused, briefly... before turning to Kifo.

For a moment, the demon was vaguely worried--the intense gaze fixed on him was somewhat intimidating. And the way he was standing... it would be all too easy for Freak to push him off to a potentially deadly fall before he could do anything about it.

But he didn't react. He simply watched and waited.

"You're going to help."

It was not a question, but there was a desperate sort of urging audible just below Freak's flat, authoritative tone--Kifo knew that he could refuse. And, really, he was quite tempted to. He couldn't gain much personally by participating. It would be very easy, and very wise, to simply get up and go right then; after all, he knew exactly how to get through the White Sands in record time. From there, he could head north or perhaps south to the Unexplored Regions; they were supposed to be beautiful this time of the year...

"Why should I?" Kifo found himself asking. He leaned forward and turned his head to the side a little in a curious manner, carefully gauging the li-tigon's and his companions' response to that question. "I mean... shit, I barely know you. Any of you--and I didn't--I don't have any obligation to help you. I'm not one of you, and you wouldn't do the same for me. No way, man," the demon said, beginning to shake his head. "I'm not getting involved with this."

"Too late," Roderik said. "It's your Master that's doing this--and you fought for him before. We know that you did," the Nomadic leader said. "You can't just wash your hands of this--you were created by him... though I don't know how, I think I can guess. Before you came here, you were a pathetic, shell of a person--and you died. No one missed you and you returned the favor--so you didn't leave in peace. Your life, I imagine, was spent in a constant state of weltschmerz--you knew you were doing everything wrong, but didn't have the will or the guts to fix it."

That was pretty tough love, particularly for a demon. Kifo, however, did not attack--he simply stared at Roderik for a long, testing moment, as if deciding whether his next move ought to be escape or a decidedly more permanent form of escape.

"You still haven't told me why I should help you."

Simba was about to reply to that, but Freak cut him off with a brief look. For a moment, there was just silence, save for the distant sounds of the Island forces preparing for their attack--the eerie calm didn't last long, though.

"With Kovu gone, and Kiara... unable to create the next generation of leaders for this land... who's going to take over when our time is over?" Freak asked. When the war was over, Simba would be King again, and he... Simba would be King again, anyway. It was still the li-tigon's responsibility, though, as a son of the Pride Lands, to consider the region's future. They needed to prepare the next leader, or who would produce the next leader, as soon as possible--because the next generation or so would have a long, difficult time to bring the Land of the Spirits back to prosperity.

What Rafiki said next, though, shocked everyone.

"That would be little Kochai," the mandrill said simply, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "It fits in with another one of Mohatu's prophecies. She's very young for now, but she's everything the survivors of this war will need. You don't know her as well as you think you do, Shujaa." The shaman smiled in his own disarming manner, and laughed. "She's a tigress, but she'll never be able to be alone for very long. She will be the next Queen."

That was comforting, in a strange way. Kochai as leader... well, at least that way, there would be no intra-familial feuds over leadership; that was the advantage of hereditary monarchy. Freak couldn't conceive the challenges facing her--and he didn't need to. He had to win this one, final war... and that was all.

"It's getting late. Time to sleep," the li-tigon said after a moment, and he was right. Tanga blinked at him, once--then nodded, as comprehension dawned on him. Slowly, he turned back toward the sleeping chambers, making a show of yawning.

After that, the rest of the group got the message and followed him in, leaving Freak and his twin alone.

Neither of them said anything for some time. Kifo had turned back toward the northwest, resting a hand on his chin. For hours, now, forces had been built up--it was likely that the gathering enemies numbered in the thousands with ease. Although many of them were likely to be pushovers, cannon fodder, enough of them would wear down even the greatest of fighting forces, leaving them vulnerable to attack from more serious opposition.

There was no way to spin a situation like this into something positive.

"You're afraid."

Kifo turned at those two words and faced his twin. He didn't reply, and it was only several moments later that Freak seemed to realize this and continue speaking.

"It would be very easy to run away. Safer, too. Probably a wiser decision than staying to fight. I'm tempted to leave right now," the li-tigon said, and it was impossible to say if he was telling the truth. His voice, his face, his eyes--all were flat and emotionless.

"Even though it's best to leave," Freak said, now standing at Kifo's side to watch the continued activity in the Forbidden Island, "I'm not going to. Self-preservation... it's not everything."

"So why are you staying?" the demon asked--he was genuinely curious. He'd managed to gleam slight tidbits of information about Freak from the group he'd accompanied back to Pride Rock, but it was nothing significant--certainly not enough that he knew what made Freak tick.

The li-tigon seemed to consider his answer carefully, or perhaps he was just deciding how to word it best. There was no way to be sure.

"I am staying," he said slowly, "because I have no greater purpose in my life than to protect everyone here. I don't have time to explain... but I was a lot like you until very recently. In a lot of ways, I still am." Humorlessly, Freak smiled in a lopsided, slightly forced manner.

He turned away, then, so Kifo couldn't see him grind his teeth and wince. Damn it all--he'd spent a great deal of time with the Dark One; why couldn't he succinctly convince Kifo to stay and fight?... or, failing that, not go into Pride Rock's sleeping chambers and massacre everyone before anything could be done about it?

It was another few minutes before the li-tigon turned around to see that Kifo was again watching as the Forbidden Island prepared for the next day. Freak joined him, and quickly regretted it. The less he thought about the task facing the Pride Landers, the better.

"You're never going to know what you've missed if you leave," Freak said in a low, somewhat curt tone. He shivered, once, and looked up at Kifo again--his expression was not positive by any stretch of the imagination. "You might as well stay. At worst, you'll die--but who cares, right?..."

This wasn't going well. Freak had never been a motivational speaker, but--no, he was thinking about this too much. For a moment, the li-tigon tried to speak spontaneously without second-guessing himself, but he was drained. There was nothing left to be said, apparently.

Freak felt, regardless, that he'd done a fairly poor job of making any case for Kifo. He hadn't motivated any thought on the demon's part--he'd done nothing. He couldn't even talk to his twin--who knew why he did anything?

It was with a sense of sad acceptance that the li-tigon finally began to walk to the sleeping chambers. He'd never been able to rest soundly when he was in the Pride Lands before, but who knew--now, after more socialization, maybe he'd be able to close his eyes without fearing for his life.

"Why don't you take a walk around?" Freak said, uselessly. "See what we're fighting for... Good night, brother."

That was an ironic term to use, Kifo thought, as he turned and watched the li-tigon slink into the shadowed cavern within Pride Rock. He tried to look back to the northwest, but those words chilled him to the bone more than the constant air pressure difference ever could.

It wasn't very long before Kifo took Freak's advice. What was going on in the Forbidden Island--whatever it was--it was terrifying and unprecedented in the entire history of the Land of the Spirits, but after a few hours, the demon had seen all he was going to see. He also felt sick; perhaps a late-night walk would fix things at least somewhat.

Several moments later, Kifo found that as boring as watching the Forbidden Island was, walking around with nothing to do wasn't much better.

The moon was out that night, but it was impossible to say to what degree it was. The only thing that penetrated the Pride Lands' cloud cover was soft white light, not a discernable shape of any kind. Kifo, of course, would have been perfectly fine in absolute dark, but there was something quite pleasant about the way the diffuse light created discrete layers of color and darkness in the slowly swaying mass of grass that he was making his way through.

That was what made the demon pause, first, to fully appreciate.

He simply stood still and watched the mundane example of the physics of nature for what felt like a long time. His eyes, several times as powerful as a simple human's, focused with laser-like precision on individual blades of grass--or even more specific details than that, like the varying amount of wear on them exerted by age, weather, and, of course, animal life.

He'd never really just taken a minute to look at things, not in any sense. Now, Kifo found himself nearly overwhelmed by the eye candy before him--he had to see more.

He moved on, then, away from the brief grassland that covered the area immediately to the south of Pride Rock. The gradual hills meant that at his height, it was easy for Kifo to see the nearest patches of forest--all of them were somewhat similar, of course, in terms of plant and animal life, but each particular miniature forest of a dozen or so trees was certainly different from the next. The amount of diversity Kifo found just by looking around for a few seconds was not easy for him to grasp.

Continuing to move, the demon reflected that despite everything--he was just looking at the mundane and stupid. What few animals were visible to him were, of course, not intelligent--unlike the dozens currently sleeping in Pride Rock.

He had a good memory, though. And because of it, he could recall with great accuracy the particulars of the lions and hyenas he'd spent several hours traveling with. How incredible it was that they existed as they were, and even spoke to him in some cases without terror or the intention to kill him--that thought gave Kifo pause...

Sleep didn't come easily for Freak. After all, he knew damn right that his dog had been kicked--that is to say, he knew that the next day would be remembered forever for no reason other than the amount of bloodshed that would take place. Although he had full faith in the shield Rafiki had brought up, it was hard to calm down.

Everyone else had managed to, Freak knew. When he'd entered the sleeping chambers, he'd spent several moments ensuring that. It was an emotional moment, though--this was the last time he was going to see most of their faces. At least, as content and relaxed as they were. Even Kiara, who had faced the death of her mate just some moments before, was resting peacefully.

Freak was jealous.

No matter how hard he tried, all he saw when he shut his eyes was darkness. It was overwhelming, oppressive, omnipresent--there was no escaping it. So much had to be done in so little time--but nothing could happen in the morning unless Freak rested immediately.

Well. He'd been born to the darkness--literally. He'd faced overwhelming odds since his first seconds alive, and he'd always come through in some form or the other. No matter how long and dark the nights of Freak's life were, the Sun had always risen.

You don't know when your birthday is. Not for certain--of course, you (hopefully) have a birth certificate and of course your parents buy you a cake and perhaps even gifts more thoughtful than cash on one day out of the year, but you can't know for certain when your birthday is. The Lion Sheikh assumes, of course, that you can't remember your first moments of consciousness and when they were--so, at most, you can make a guess with a nearly, but not quite overwhelming amount of supporting evidence.

Let us all imagine, then, what it would be like to be aware of one's first moments alive outside of the womb.

Coughing and struggling to get to paws too underdeveloped and clumsy to support him, the being entered the world. It was hot and wet and there were too many presences nearby--after a moment of effort, he was able to get some elbow-room.

He had no idea what was going on, of course. He looked up, and down, and all around, and he did not understand. There was a big one not far from him, and another one like him as well and they were close to him and he didn't know what to think of them. When he'd pushed away from the little one, she'd pushed back with one limb--he knew this because his first movements had met resistance, and there was nothing else that it could have been.

He was aware that he existed. That was the only thing he knew.

He didn't remain an epistemologic skeptic for long, though. He knew that he had four paws, a body, and he knew that the other one did too. He knew that she was a lot like him and he knew that five seconds after the big one reached out to touch her, she was dead.

It wasn't long after that that he understood what the dark, glinting extension from her digit did. It was a weapon--a deadly, vicious weapon that was now being turned on him.

He didn't know how he did it--he couldn't consciously move his limbs. Some primal instinct took over, though--and moved him away from the big one. He saw her face change and he did not understand--she said something then. He didn't understand that, either.

But he did understand that she really wanted to kill him, because she tried to again. So, again, he moved out of the way and looked up at her again.

Now, things were starting to get dangerous. He was against a wall, and now that she was on her feet, there was only so much room for him to move. Her own body, massive and terrible, bigger and stronger than him a dozen times over threatened to suffocate him with its sheer presence--but he wasn't going to be pushed out of existence. He wouldn't let that happen, and that was something he knew damn right.

She tried to hurt him again. He jumped out of the way, now--and she couldn't touch him. She couldn't touch him and she realized it, because when he landed he didn't have time to react to what she did next. After all, he was only a few seconds old.

He saw a blur--and he jumped back. But he was too slow.

There was pain, then, and blood, but it wasn't like what he'd just experienced. What he felt was neither confusion nor uncertainty--he knew what had happened. She had struck him, and he was hurt. He was alive, though, despite her best efforts to the compliment of that possibility--and after a moment, he looked up at her. There was no fear in his mind and therefore none on his face, but he knew that he had to get away from her. He couldn't fight her, and she'd never stop trying to kill him.

What happened then can only be called history. One life ended, and another began--and that's all Freak had ever thought of his birth for the longest time.

He didn't wake up--no, to say that would be inaccurate, but only slightly. In a strange place between consciousness and the general alternative, Freak found himself scouring over the somewhat sketchy and rather dark memory of his first living moments. Somehow, he couldn't shake the feeling that it didn't quite add up, but he didn't know why. The li-tigon felt himself turn over uncomfortably, and not because he'd made his bed on a rock, of all things--his birth was axiomatically among the most important points of his life, but he couldn't work out a few details of it.

And he didn't know why. The slightest pieces of circumstantial evidence suggested an outcome that was simply impossible--it was so impossible that Freak didn't even allow himself to name it, even in his mind.

He forced himself to go to sleep again. The night was no longer young, but he still had one thing left to do.

Dark fur, odd tastes in females, and scarred eyes weren't the only things they had in common. Both of them had miserable relationships with their fathers--although for rather different reasons. Scar's father had willfully pushed him away, while Freak's father had spent every day of his death wishing he could be with his son.

It had been quite some time since they'd spoken. In that time, several hundred thousand words of fan-fiction had been written; Freak had changed. The being that Scar met that night was a stranger to him.

The dark lion had been resting, or trying to. Although the Lion Sheikh can't emphasize how little the Spirits seemed to be able to actually accomplish in their creation, their work had not been without result. The forces still gathering in the Forbidden Island arrived with missing limbs, or appendages, or heads, or entire bodies because they'd been disrupting the process in a risky counter-attack.

Scar, however, couldn't help but feel that everything would soon be shown to be in vain. He had faith in his son--but he also respected their enemy as a determined, divisive, vicious foe with brains and the ability to fight on his own terms. The odds for Freak's success were very, very long, especially since something had happened quite recently that no one expected: the head honcho went off the grid. Someone, or something had approached the Forbidden Island from the southwest, and then there was a gaping hole in the Spirits' intelligence.

Talk about depressing. Maisha had approached her father some time before with news that the dark lion did not remember--snarkily, he asked forgiveness for not leaping for joy and promptly fell down for an impromptu nap.

He slept for some time. Or maybe he didn't. Time wasn't inexorably linear as it was on Earth--it could literally slow down during times of boredom and exhaustion. What Scar did recognize, however, was that at some point, he felt something that yanked him to his feet and made his eyes widen.

Heavy interference from the activity in the Pride Lands' relative Afghanistan--that is, the Forbidden Island--made their first meeting in several years take place in a setting not unlike that that the two powers involved had used when Freak had been exiled. It was a dark room, though there was no table and there was no ganja either. Father and son entered from opposite sides of the small structure.

At first, both played it cool, walking slowly and carefully examining one another. Scar, of course, was precisely the same as Freak remembered him; the inverse of this statement was not true. Scar didn't recognize his son for a moment--then he saw the triangular scar that had withstood years of time and a full-blown physical transformation and knew that he was looking at his son.

The Lion Sheikh knows, but will not say who suddenly sprinted forward first.

Their efforts were both of them in vain, however. The closer they attempted to get and the harder they tried to do it the more they were pulled back. It got to a point that both the dark lion and his son exhausted themselves by sprinting--succeeding only in forcing themselves to the far ends of the room.

Freak was the first one to speak. His tone was not the flat, unreadable drone that Scar expected--there was warmth in it. Respect, too, and maybe even more than that. They had only ever interacted for moments--but that didn't mean that Freak had no affection for his father.

"It's been a long time, Father," the li-tigon said. He paused, briefly--the canned greeting of inquiries about health and family didn't really apply to someone that was long-dead. So, instead, Freak had to synthesize his words.

"I've missed you, and there's so much I want to tell you--but I don't think we can talk for very long. It's only a matter of time before this meeting is compromised."

He was right, but almost anyone else would have been hurt by seemingly such a cold statement. Scar, however, knew that there was no sense in wasting what time they had smothering over one another, as desirable as that was. It could come later--but some things had to be discussed immediately. So, as he'd done a thousand times before, Scar banished all emotion from his being and nodded, curtly, becoming a creature of logic and nothing more.

"We're not... certain," the dark lion said, "what your adversaries are. We've never seen anything like a few of them before; they're probably from the Unexplored Regions. Whatever they are--you'll have to be prepared for anything. Your strategy has to be changed... because if you have a strategy, you've already lost."

"We have to be dynamic and ready to fight in any manner at any time," Freak said slowly. "How? Once things start, it's going to be constant chaos. There won't be time to tell anyone to change tactics or warn them of some new attack or foe--what are you saying, Father?"

"You have a significant advantage that you haven't considered," Scar said. He looked to the side, briefly, stroking the wayward locks of black fur that extended from his chin. "Your fighters... they're all different. I count at least five distinct fighting styles in your ranks; you know them better than I do. What is needed is careful delegation... split everyone up into groups. Three to six strong apiece... with diversified strengths."

"I understand... Father, that's brilliant."

"Mmyes... I know." Scar smiled in his trademark, twisted manner. Although what he'd said made sense, it in itself was an oversimplification. While the character of their enemy was technically unknown, much of it could be guessed at--after all, he'd shown his hand before by creating Kifo.

The one they were fighting had big dreams and big plans, but he couldn't take a loss in the Land of the Spirits--this was the battle he had to win before he could do anything elsewhere. He was going to go all out; nothing and no one would be reserved to fight another day. This foe was extremely aggressive--but he was also arrogant and overconfident.

Fighting a defensive battle against him on one front was a good way to get overwhelmed and beaten down. A single weak point or any lack of uniformity in fighting style would invariably lead to retreat, flanking, and eventual destruction.

The answer, then, was as terrible as it was simple.

"Use seventy to eighty percent of your numbers as simple defense," Scar said suddenly. "They must not put up token resistance--they'll have to fight hard, and some of them will die. There's nothing you can do about that," he added in a flat, somewhat apathetic tone.

"With the remainder of your forces, lead a blitzkrieg counteroffensive. You'll find your enemy on the Forbidden Island--he won't be able to escape. His natural form is very weak--you can kill him easily. Take the quickest fighters with you and once your enemy's forces are sufficiently occupied slaughtering--being slaughtered by the rest, run. Run as fast as you can and don't return until the adversary is killed."

Freak said nothing. So, Scar continued.

"When you swim across the Forbidden River, I imagine that you'll be noticed. You'll have to penetrate whatever defenses the Forbidden Island has, though I don't expect it to be much. Use your best judgment--leave behind as many of your crack troops as possible to lessen the pressure on the main front. But the quicker you finish things, the fewer will die."

Freak said nothing again, at least for a time. Finally, he nodded, although not in a very certain manner.

"Father, I would never have done anything like that... and I'm not sure that your strategy will work. There's too much we don't know..." Freak shook his head. His mind, inexplicably, drifted to Kifo. He couldn't even convince his twin to stay; the demon was now probably back in the Black Hills even then.

"You're the better strategist, though. I'll do what you say," the li-tigon said slowly, carefully, as if he was convincing himself more than anything else. "But I have to know... the Falme invasion, when you were King... how did you stonewall it and win?... and how did it happen that the only ones that died were some of your worst critics?"

"Ah, yes, Operation Jaywalking Pigeon--why are you looking at me like that? There are worse names for operations... 'gothic serpent' comes to mind. Anyway," Scar said, "it happened that way because that's the way I had it planned. I don't have the time to explain the plot fully... but I was responsible. The battle itself wasn't how I showed my true genius--the fact that the battle happened is."

Freak shook his head, smiling, then grinned toothily. "Modest as always, Father. I don't know what I'd do without you... I mean that."

Things would have gotten emotional, but Scar had his pride. He didn't let anyone see him do any more than smile, and his own son was no exception. There were few that can smirk without being condescending or sarcastic--and Scar was not one of them. Freak knew what to look for, though. And he found real warmth in his father's eyes.

"It's time for you to run along now, Shujaa," Scar said, suddenly serious. By now, one intrusion had been attempted and it was only a matter of time before there was another, more successful attempt to pry into the meeting. The dark lion took one step back--and paused. "Son, if you lose... if you die... you won't be able to join us here. This place that they call Heaven... it won't exist anymore." Scar paused again. "The stakes can't be higher. I've never told you to do anything before in your life... so take this order to heart: win."

Freak seemed to have frozen in response to the sudden upping of the ante, and he couldn't be blamed for it. Just when he thought that things couldn't get any more tense...

The li-tigon shook his head. He looked down for a moment, then raised his head to see his father for what could well be the last time.

"I'll see you soon, Father. Keep watching me... ...goodbye."

Scar hardly had the time to return the brief farewell before Freak had taken one final step backward and vanished from sight. The dark lion stayed where he was for a minute--he couldn't go back, not quite yet. After all, he didn't let anyone see him do any more than smile.

Freak didn't expect to see anything more that night. He wanted nothing more than to pass out completely, giving his mind as well as his body time to rest. Rafiki stopped him for a moment, though--just a moment. What he had to show the li-tigon was significant but simple. They hadn't been up to just nothing while he'd been on his little vacation--they'd been using peacetime to cautiously prepare for times when peace no longer existed.

Freak had already seen some of them. Strategically positioned upraised clumps of earth and stone could offer limited protection from gunfire and large-scale attacks, but that wasn't all by a longshot. Rafiki was clever--he'd tied together in some cases miles of thin, unbreakable vines and wired them up to hidden traps set underground. When tripped, a chemical reaction would take place that would release a powerful acid into the air--enough to severely burn lungs, eyes, and any limbs that it actually touched.

Dozens of gourds full of similar stable but reactive components were also safely stashed behind Pride Rock. Banzai would be able to deliver devastating ranged fire if things got close enough to Pride Rock--for a time, anyway. No one could be spared to cover him, so when a shock or aerial division was dispatched to take him down he'd be on his own.

How many Banzai would take down with him would be entirely up to him, but his death was inevitable. All the hyenas, in fact, except for perhaps Usiku... they simply couldn't take as many hits as a lion. Their stories would all end within twelve hours--but not Uvuli's. Uvuli would live, because for Freak to lose love twice without fully coming to understand or experience it... that was too cruel. Uvuli would live, definitely.

Freak thought that to himself again and again--he didn't know how many times. But unlike counting sheep, no matter how high he got he simply couldn't relax. Because the more he repeated those few words to himself, the more hollow they rang.

No matter how dark the night got, the Sun always rose. It was one of the first things that Freak had come to rely on besides his own mind and body--at least, it was one of the first things besides his own mind and body that he'd come close to approximating reliance upon.

The next morning was no exception.

What was the exception to the generally clear skies met by those who greeted the day along with the Sun, of course, was the cloud cover that would either entirely end that day--or expand to envelope the rest of the world. And yet to simply describe the dawn as cloudy would be inaccurate--there was something in the air that made the heating glow red-orange, not simply yellow.

Maybe it was symbolic. Or maybe it was just coincidence.

Whatever it was made the sight Freak's eyes met when he left the sleeping chamber that much more unsettling--and surprising.

"So, Kifo. You're here."

He hadn't returned long ago; Freak could see that although he didn't know how. The li-tigon could also see that his twin hadn't quite made the conscious decision to stay and fight--it was more like morning had arrived before he had realized it and now he was just staying by default. Freak would have to choose his next words carefully, because Kifo could still very easily be pushed away.

Kifo, however, made Freak look like a readable, open-minded character. The demon's face was completely blank and even his twin could scarcely guess at his inner thoughts.

For a moment, the demon simply didn't answer. When he did speak, it was in a halting, jerky sort of way because although he'd never known what he wanted, now the stakes of his choices were rather higher.

"I'm... going to stay," Kifo finally said. "Don't ask me why... don't talk to me about it. Might change my mind..." It wasn't a threat, it was simply true and Freak understood it. For that reason, the li-tigon simply kept quiet and joined his twin on the crest of Pride Rock.

It was really incredible two beings could simultaneously be so similar and so different. When both were seated and viewed from the back, their profiles were nearly identical--and when either of them spoke,

"You were out all night," Freak said, and it wasn't a question. But Kifo nodded regardless.

"I needed some time to cool off and think," the demon said. "I grew up in a city... guess you don't know what that is. It's a pretty..." he searched for a word briefly, "a pretty... gray place," Kifo said finally. "Never really took the time to look at anything until last night."

"You're wrong about one thing," the li-tigon offered, a moment later. Kifo's brows raised and in response, Freak simply smiled. "I know exactly what a city is. I've even been to one."

"How...?"

That question wasn't going to be answered; at least, not for a while. Freak kept smiling but turned to the northwest again. Rafiki's shield was still standing strong... for at least another few hours, they'd be safe.

Freak needed time to think, time to sort out the strategies his father had given him and think of the best squad-based tactics that would make those that were left behind fight to live and those that came with him fight to win. Everyone had eaten very lightly the previous night... and all of them would burn several thousand calories that day.

Fighting and not only defeating Kifo but doing so without killing him--this would have filled most other beings with confidence and hope. Freak, however, knew that the engagement they were all facing was nothing like his battle. For one thing, he didn't dread what was going to happen later that day... he feared it, yes, but he acknowledged it with a grim sense of resignation.

"Come on," the li-tigon suddenly said, turning to make his way down from Pride Rock. "We're going hunting... you can hunt, right?"

"Fuck yeah, I can hunt." Kifo followed Freak at a distance either out of fear of the li-tigon or out of respect--it was impossible to say which it was if it wasn't both.

It was, however, quite telling that the demon kept his voice down. After all, everyone else was still asleep.

Freak had planned to leisurely track and stalk and then bring down and then bring back prey for perhaps an hour. Kifo rather ruined things, then, by sighting a group of gazelle some seven hundred yards away.

Suppressed thirty caliber rifles really are a marvel, and in fifteen seconds the demon had used one to take down three reasonably-sized specimens with great efficiency. A single shot through each of their heads was enough to kill them immediately--rigor mortis was induced before their bodies hit the ground.

The roar of the supersonic bullets' flights was somewhat annoying. For the most part, however, the demon was a silent killer.

Freak stopped in his tracks and stared at Kifo after that. When he'd spoken to his father, he'd done so under the assumption that his twin was long gone. But now that it was clear that Kifo was staying, the li-tigon couldn't help but recall their showdown--when he'd been on the receiving end of a grenade launcher.

"You know what," the li-tigon said, actually feeling something very much like hope, "we might actually win this."

Everyone ate in silence. Freak hadn't let them sleep in much--he couldn't, because a great deal of time was required to set up what he had in mind. Rafiki made it clear, several moments after waking up, that his shield would obfuscate the rest of the world to the Forbidden Island to the point that their plans would remain secret--and that was good.

But everyone was still aware that many of them wouldn't live to see the next day. Some were sharp enough to notice Freak's eyes darting around, sizing them up--he was deciding who would go where and with whom. Essentially, the li-tigon was selecting who was most likely to live and who would be left to die.

It was fortunate that despite everything, Freak still found it relatively easy to be cold and emotionless--a warring machine. He didn't see his beloved friends and family all around him... he saw soldiers: assets to be used and expended as necessary. On some level, the li-tigon was chilled by how quickly he could regress to the shell of a being he'd been for most of his life--but just then, he couldn't bring himself to care too much. Reflection and self-psychoanalysis could wait for some other day. That day, he needed to fight and he needed to win.

"You're sure you don't want to eat, Kifo?" Simba said that, before licking a thick sheen of blood and ichor from his muzzle. He offered the demon a smile--but his request was turned down as Kifo curtly shook his head. Eerily, the red-maned lion recalled Freak doing that precise act without the slightest deviation in idiosyncrasy back when he was new to the Pride Lands--before he'd been even slight socialized.

"I don't eat," the demon added, several seconds later. "Thanks for the offer, though. Means a lot..."

The smiles that were exchanged then were sincere, though uneasy. Everyone present was poignantly aware that many of them were literally eating their last meal--and the uncertainty of it all was the worst of it. Who would live, who would die?... there was no way to know beforehand.

Well. At least there were a few moments of peace left to enjoy. The unnamed dozens of the Eastern Nomad loyalists were mostly paired up already when they'd followed their leader to the Pride Lands--but Freak saw that the number of singles since the previous night had dropped down to zero. It really was incredible how love blossomed in even the most trying of situations.

Or maybe everyone was just trying to get it before they died virgins.

Kochai was eating quietly not far from Kifo's feet. She didn't seem to be nearly as afraid of the demon as everyone else still was--she had no problem with being both close to him and facing away from him. This despite the fact that he was staring down at her; she could feel it. Of course, the demon's intentions were not malicious. He'd just never seen a tigress cub before in his life.

After a moment, Kifo glanced at Freak with a questioning expression in his eyes. They were twins--no words were needed to explain that Kifo was asking if Kochai would be hidden. Freak simply nodded once in response; apart from the fact that she was still very small, she was to be the next leader of the Pride Lands. Her loss could not be afforded.

Even Kifo seemed to realize that Kochai wouldn't like having to sit this battle out. She'd be forced into hiding kicking and screaming the entire way.

Freak considered, briefly, looking around and taking at least a moment to remember the too-short time he'd spent with all those around him. He'd known some of them--those in the White Sands--for only a few hours apiece. Others, like Simba, were far more familiar to him. But the li-tigon quickly focused on eating. The more he thought about the approaching task, the more painful it would be to get right.

He'd have to be cold in order to win this one.

No one really felt full when they were finished eating. It was true that Freak had been very careful to not bring back too much food--everyone had to have calories to spare but they couldn't be weighted down. But it was also true that they could all have kept eating for hours without realizing that they'd had enough: that's how much they were focused on the upcoming battle.

Now, they were assembled before Freak at the base of Pride Rock. Some of them were still smiling; most were not. None, however, really looked miserable or hopeless.

Freak's expression was kept carefully neutral; no one could fairly read it as anything but that. This despite the fact that he absolutely refused to make eye contact with anyone--if he did, he would be unable to lead properly. There was no question of that.

He didn't speak for a few moments. Apparently, the li-tigon simply looked down at his paws before murmuring in a low, somewhat curt tone.

"I am going to list some names," he said mechanically. "Those who I name should go to the westernmost point of the Pride Lands." He paused, briefly. "Nala, Kiara, Aoi, Roderik, Usiku, Ed..." Freak nodded. He waited, for a moment and jerked his head. "Now. There's no time to waste."

He heard the ones he'd ordered to leave slowly, reluctantly do as they were told. They passed him silently, though he could feel their eyes on him--they wanted some sort of motivational speech, but Freak could say nothing that was both true and motivating.

It felt somewhat strange to leave without saying goodbye, but Freak's orders had been crystal clear. Usiku, at the very least, saw the utility of it--prolonged farewells would make things that much harder. A desire to say goodbye would make everyone fight their hardest--maybe even hard enough to make it unnecessary to say goodbye.

Now, the bulk of the fighting force remained with Freak. So did Kifo--and so did Kochai. Although it was difficult to say what the general sentiment toward the demon was, Freak didn't expect that anyone really trusted him. The decision that would be made next would probably have been second-guessed at almost any other time.

"Kifo, take Kochai to the back of Pride Rock. There's a cave... you'll know what to do next. When you're finished, meet me two miles west of here."

A collective shudder ran through the group, but no one protested--except, of course, for Kochai. Sensing that she was going to be hidden, the kitten bristled, then looked around... and decided that it would be best to try to escape later, when there were fewer people around. She could probably get away from Kifo if he was alone... with that in mind, she sighed and allowed the demon to lead her away.

"Banzai, you're staying here. The rest of you... let's go." That was all Freak said to the rest of them before he began to move toward the northwest. And as they followed, none of them could pretend for any amount of time that the reddish shield Rafiki had thrown was anywhere near as strong as it had been even when they'd just started to eat.

He set them up close to Pride Rock--just a mile or so away from the monolith that defined the land around it. At that range, Banzai would be able to provide devastating support fire--and the death toll from the traps Rafiki had set would be devastating. Better yet, the strike force Freak would lead into the Forbidden Island would be less likely to run into resistance owing to the distance the enemy had to travel to engage the Pride Landers.

The orders they were given were simple: hold position until attacked and then swarm out with full force. They'd create as broad of a front as possible to avoid getting flanked, but they were almost certain to end up fighting in a circle regardless.

The time that it would take Freak to find and defeat the adversary was optimized--nearly. Once the li-tigon had prepared his troops, he left in silence, feeling their eyes follow him for a long, long time.

He wanted nothing more than to be able to turn and say a few comforting words, but he didn't trust himself to do it properly.

At least they had Simba. Maybe he'd be able to lead them in a prayer, or something, because Freak certainly couldn't.

The one person who wasn't absolutely depressed by the current situation was, predictably, Kochai. Although she'd allowed herself to be led off to the back of Pride Rock, she hadn't allowed herself to feel the worse for it. Besides, Kifo would be more prepared for a sudden attempt to escape if she was apparently cooperative and happy.

She really was quite small next to him. Kochai barely came halfway up Kifo's shin, and then, she was fairly slim and light-furred. Contrastingly, the demon was eight feet tall, dark, and handsome--that is to say, he was a lot different from her. She definitely didn't mind him, though; her guard had been lowered to the point that she thought it appropriate to allow herself to be distracted by a passing butterfly for several seconds.

Watching Kochai play... that brought back a few unwelcome memories. Kifo couldn't remember much, but his own childhood had not been unenviable. He recalled, or he thought he recalled, at one point in his life having the desire to do something for kids like him.

Of course, that wasn't likely to happen now.

"Are you going to fight with big brother?" Kochai asked suddenly, looking over her shoulder and then just tilting her head backward to look at the demon while she walked along. As a result, she nearly tripped over an unexpected rock but recovered, well, smiling despite everything.

"Not a chance," Kifo said. "He already took me down once, and I'm not gonna go back on my word like that. I'm on his side now--unless... that's what you were asking me in the first place...?"

Kochai simply laughed and hung back a little bit so that she was walking next to the demon. She seemed fairly curious about the weapon he was carrying--she'd rarely seen firearms up close, and Raj didn't have a great variety of weapons. Kifo's, to be sure, was head and shoulders better than the third world stuff made by kids equipped with their bare hands in Darra Adam Khel --it was a sleek weapon, a powerful medium machinegun of Belgium design.

"What are you looking at? Children shouldn't be so curious about guns. Go--go play with another butterfly or something," Kifo said, maneuvering his weapon to the other side of his body. "We're almost there anyway."

The kitten simply looked up at him with a sardonic expression, and shook her head.

"I thought you were cool and different," she complained. "But you're exactly the same as big brother."

Autoloading shotguns tended to have failures to feed and fire a lot when they were used with underpowered rounds and had been packed in crates with dirt and rust for months without maintenance. Ammunition, though, was almost literally available by the boatload. The Forbidden forces could waste it as much as they wanted, but nothing could change the fact that they were poor shots--they had poor bodies and poor weapons, it was to be expected.

Pumping shell after shell into the red shell around them got pretty tiring after a while. But they kept at it. There was nothing else to do.

Meanwhile, those among them that couldn't use weapons--the majority of the forces--rested and practiced alternatively. They too were overwhelming poor soldiers, with a few notable exceptions that the Lion Sheikh will reveal in due course.

Their sub-commanders marched around, increasingly restless, ensuring that their troops were remaining relatively disciplined instead of tearing one another apart as such a group would do to itself if not carefully regulated. A number of fights over gear, space, and even more trivial disagreements had taken a toll on the fighters, but not nearly as much as the fact that many of them were literally rotting where they sat. Teleportation had its drawbacks, though most were insignificant if transported troops were put to use quickly.

But when unexpected delays happened, things simply didn't work out. The population of the Forbidden forces could be modeled with a number of functions, among them Bernoulli's, the Beverton-Holt model, and simple logarithmic curves. In fact, even at this time, the Lion Sheikh is hard at work crunching the numbers and intends to release a detailed case study sometime next year--that is to say, they were dying. Quickly.

The time at which they could attack was fast approaching and inexorable, but it hadn't yet arrived. The treacherous Master of the enemy forces sulked; wisely, everyone left him alone. In the form that he was, he was liable to kill someone out of sheer impatience.

As it turned out, Kochai found herself less and less willing to disobey Freak and Kifo--at least to their faces. Although she would never admit to herself in a thousand years that she could not escape from the demon, her rationale lead to the same conclusion. They'd only just met--and she didn't want to make a bad first impression on a friend who'd be with her for quite some time.

Besides, she could always think or muscle her way out of whatever cage Kifo intended to trap her in.

She kept on thinking that right up to the very moment that Kifo looked down at her and told her to get in.

They'd stopped at the mouth of a small crevice, one barely enough for the kitten to slip into. Inside, Kochai could see, there was a hollowed-out domed structure that would give her enough room to turn around... and not much more.

"Do not want," Kochai protested, putting on her best puppy eyes before looking up to Kifo. "Surely, there's somewhere else that I can be hidden, yes? No?... Then you can definitely trust me to hide far away from the fighting and not come back until everything's finished. I promise--I, that is to say, I mean, I really, certainly won't do anything truly dangerous, big brother Kifo. Please?"

Talk about poker faces. The demon hadn't reacted in the slightest to Kochai's routine, at least that's what it seemed like. For a full moment, he didn't breathe--then, finally, he glanced skyward and cracked a slight, terrifying smile.

Memorable words have occasionally been said before terrible, historic battles. "Hoka hey" comes to mind, as do several less flattering phrases: "oh, shit" and "Mommy!" among them.

Freak saw no reason to speak, of course. After making it clear that the force he'd taken to the northwest was to hide and hold position, the li-tigon returned back toward Pride Rock. As he did, he found himself looking, almost staring at the massive structure. He remembered the wonder he'd had when he'd seen it for the first time, so long ago--what was it, he'd wondered, and how did it get there?

He'd probably never see it again.

His paws trailed almost reluctantly through the grass around him, still standing strong and proud. The slight trail he left behind would never have been recognized by any but the most experienced hunter as the calling card of a large predator, but in a heartbeat the li-tigon could have left behind nothing. If he wanted, he could move with such stealth that he became as invisible as he had been to Kifo.

For some reason, that day was an exception to the norm. Freak wanted there to be some sign that he'd existed--he didn't want his passing to go unnoticed.

He was preoccupied, and he knew it. But he couldn't help it. It was by sheer coincidence that the li-tigon looked up just a few seconds before he'd have run headlong into his twin.

"I took care of Kochai," the demon said, looking far down at the striped feline in front of him. "Why'd you want to meet me way out here?"

The li-tigon didn't answer. His sullenness was depressingly infectious; Kifo found himself dragging his feet to follow Freak to the west-northwest.

The night before, he'd familiarized himself with the area. It saddened the demon slightly to think that the magnitude of awe he'd experienced the night before simply by opening his eyes was gone forever, due to the law of diminishing returns. Unless he could constantly keep moving on to some unexplored bit of paradise, he would--

Then, of course, Kifo realized that each new day, each new set of atmospheric conditions and weather and sunlight and cloud cover introduced a plethora of variables that he had not taken into account. He could occupy himself for the rest of his life in a twenty by twenty square if he wanted--and the Pride Lands encompassed thousands of square miles easily.

Quickly, and for rather different reasons than his twin, Kifo too became silent and stoic.

The Sun was just a few degrees from being directly overhead, although it was sometimes difficult to be certain of that. Although the shield Rafiki had thrown around the Forbidden Island had reduced the stifling cloud cover that had otherwise been constant for the past months, the skies were not clear. They never would be, not until--unless--the battle was over and won.

"We're going to launch a hybrid pincer/two-pronged counteroffensive," Freak said. Perhaps he was speaking to Kifo; perhaps he was speaking to himself. Or, perhaps, he was somehow doing neither, both, or all of the above at the same time. Eyes set directly forward, scouring the approaching landscape for the most advantageous place to locate Kifo, he continued. "After the forces to your northeast attack, wait... when they start to get beaten back, that's when you move in. No one will be expecting you, so watch your fire... but the first seconds after you attack will be your time to shine. Before you're engaged, you can take out many, many enemies."

The li-tigon looked from where he'd placed the Pride Landers and Nomadic loyalists to the Forbidden Island. "Until you attack, use a suppressed gun. Protect Banzai without being found, if you can."

There was nothing more to be said, in Freak's mind. So, promptly, he turned to leave.

He moved about twenty yards before pausing and turning to speak to his twin over his shoulder--though he did not make eye contact.

"We may never see one another again," the li-tigon said. "If that's how it turns out... knowing you has been--interesting. I hope that you find what you're looking for in this life, brother. Goodbye."

He tried to smile, but couldn't. So, Freak continued on. Now, Kifo was the one being rudely silent.

The walk west was lonely and quiet. Freak found himself shaking, the slightest amount, and desperately tried to think of something, anything, that would get his mind off of what was just moments from happening. No matter how hard he tried, though, when he looked through his memories he only found combat and death. And when he looked to the future, he only saw more of the same.

He couldn't remember ever being so scared before in his life. The mind-numbing terror whose fingers slowly crept their way up the li-tigon's limbs before entering his body and clutching his innards in any icy grasp told him, constantly, to leave while he could. Indeed, running would be easy and no one would fault him for it--but still, Freak plodded forward. In the end, it wasn't the desire to protect anyone or anything that kept him movie--it was the need to end the most significant threat to him once and for all. When that was done, he'd be able to live in relative peace. After all, everyone would still be a threat.

He reached his comrades and settled down in the tall, waving grasses that he knew to be in the western fringes of the Pride Lands. Silent and invisible to the forces just over a mile from them, the li-tigon watched, and waited.

No one moved, and no one breathed. And then the strange peace and serenity that endured yet in the Pride Lands suddenly broke.

Rafiki's shield died in a sea of electric sparks and flame; the resulting concussion nearly made several in Freak's core group jump where they were. Two seconds passed--and then a horrifying, earth-shattering roar raced across the land.

Freak shut his eyes and opened them very, very slowly. When he did, he could see legions of hundreds of men, wolves, gorillas and any number of other attackers flooding into the Forbidden River, racing toward the southeast and Pride Rock. There were so many of them and they were moving so quickly and with such disorder that they seemed like a single, dynamic black mass; a virus infiltrating the Pride Lands through a terrible wound in the northwest.

Soon, it would become clear whether the Pride Lands' best defenses could protect it from being overrun and destroyed--or not.

(Will update soon. Until then, this is the Lion Sheikh of fanfiction, expressing no view on the Israeli-Palestinian conflict--see you next chapter!)

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