[3rd POV]
(Maasai Mara)
The Maasai Mara lay stripped bare under the dry season sun.
Grass that once rippled like green water had faded into brittle gold. Dust hung permanently in the air, clinging to hides and throats alike. The rivers had narrowed into sluggish veins, their banks crowded with hoofprints and bones. Every sound carried farther in the open land. Every mistake was seen.
While the Serengeti was paradise, the Maasai Mara was hell.
It was the season of challenge for the lions. It was during this time that lone lions were no longer satisfied with a small corner of the land. They needed a large territory to secure the small prey.
Life needed to fight for the right to live.
So a call rang out across the plains. It was not a foreign sound. The roars of lions announcing their presence and challenging kings had grown far too common, like the crowing of a rooster in the morning.
The roar this time was deep, raw, and unrefined. It was not the roar of a seasoned ruler, but the voice of youth sharpened by hunger and desperation. It rolled over the savannah, bounced off distant kopjes, and faded into the heat haze.
Then another roar backed it up.
This roar was higher-pitched. It was rougher and angrier.
These two roars fused into one, like two sounds were dancing. It became clear that two lions were in a coalition.
Two lions in one challenge.
They stood at the edge of a withered acacia grove, ribs faintly visible beneath scarred hides. Brothers by blood, perhaps, or rivals bound only by circumstance. Their manes were uneven, still growing into their weight.
They looked strong, but untested. They were hungry, but not foolish. The place where they stood provided cover, whereas the surrounding land was bare. That meant they could see any approaching threat while they remained unseen.
They could also run away in case something bigger than they could handle responded to their call.
They stayed in their place, releasing roars of challenge. Eventually, two figures made their way towards them. Their figures were blurry due to the heat in the air.
"Two for two," one of the lions said, Zereth.
"We can take them," the other lion said, Rakai.
Zereth and Rakai were blood brothers who came from the same pride. At the age of four years old, they were reaching their prime, though they had more room to grow.
Perhaps that was also why they were a bit too arrogant for their own good.
Scarface and Baraka approached.
And the closer they got to the challengers, the more fearful and nervous they grew.
Scarface was first among the two. His blackened mane caught the sunlight like oil, heavy and full, framing a face marked by age and experience. The scars on his face and body spoke of tremendous battles survived.
This was a veteran. A beast that faced a bigger beast and survived.
The two challengers could not help but think that they might only turn into one of those many scars. Only leaving a small reminder while they perished.
Baraka came in second. He was a monster and a beast. From far away, he looked as big as Scarface who walked in front of him. But when they got close, it was clear that Baraka was a giant.
Settling at the weight of 300 kilograms, he was the biggest lion in the Maasai Mara, surpassing even his own father by a good 20 kilograms.
But he was not a white lion like his father was, although his mane was much lighter coloured and thicker than Scarface's.
By that point, it was too late to run. The two challengers, Rakai and Zereth, stepped out from the cover of the trees and headed towards the two kings.
Four lions met in the middle of the plain under the cruel sun.
Baraka and Scarface stood side by side. Their figures were effortlessly intimidating. Meanwhile, the two challengers trembled nervously and bared their teeth. They were doing too much just to prove they were not scared.
"You called and we came," Scarface said the first words. "What now, young bloods? Are you just going to stand there?"
Baraka scoffed. "Look at them, they are scared. Do we really need them?"
"They look like a waste of time."
...
Pride.
Lion is pride and pride is lion. It was not just some attribute or a trait of lions.
It was an identity.
The two challengers immediately exploded into rage after the disrespect. They might not die for food, they might not die for females.
But for their pride, they would walk off a cliff without flinching.
So they chose violence.
Zereth and Rakai exploded one after the other. Rakai moved first, perhaps due to being the stronger one or the more prideful one.
In response, Scarface did not move.
Baraka did.
The massive lion stepped forward, planting himself between Scarface and the oncoming challengers like a living wall. His shoulders rolled once, muscles shifting beneath his hide like boulders grinding together.
"He's fast," Scarface commented only.
After reaching Baraka, Rakai leapt into the air like a wild cat. His claws were extended and swiping right for the head. It was a violent, aggressive attack that had all hopes relying on the attack landing.
It would be enough to put down a lion. It probably worked in the few battles he had been in.
But Baraka merely took a single step back. Now Rakai was leaping at the wrong target. His claws could not reach him now.
Baraka moved with learned ease. Then he swatted the challenger away in the air like he was a fly.
It was not a slash. It was not even a strike.
It was an imitation of something he had seen months ago. Of a bigger lion swatting away another lion and planting his face into a tree. Fighting had not seemed so easy. It was almost like breathing to him.
Although Baraka was nowhere near that level, his imitation and learned move was enough to deal with the young challenger.
Rakai's body twisted sideways as Baraka's foreleg smashed into his ribs with bone-crushing force. The challenger hit the ground hard, skidding through dust and gravel, coughing as the air was knocked from his lungs.
"You can't dodge midair, stupid," Baraka sneered.
Zereth came next. He veered sharply, angling towards the flank of Baraka. His teeth were bared, and he lunged at Baraka in a horizontal line. He did not recklessly leap like his brother.
The king of the Maasai Mara eyed the incoming danger before he turned, turning the hard-earned flank into a frontal assault with that simple move.
Baraka took another step back, his paw rising into the air.
Zereth's jaws snapped shut on empty air. Their mistake was attacking like Baraka would be an unmoving boulder that would not change position.
Right then, a paw slammed onto the top of his head. The force was enough to knock his body limp and plant his face into the sand.
Zereth snarled, waking up instantly before he thrashed around in panic, thinking that Baraka would have followed up on the strike. He stirred up a cloud of dust in his violence before finally seeing Baraka standing still.
He lunged for a second time. Baraka did not move this time, so his claws raked across the chest, drawing thin lines of blood.
But the giant did not react.
Zereth stumbled back, shocked to see his attack doing nothing.
Baraka turned his head towards Scarface in a deadpan.
"Are you sure you want them? I think they'll die from his breath," he said.
"Keep going. I think they have potential," Scarface insisted with a shake of his head.
So Baraka turned back to Zereth.
"Try again."
Words that hit harder than claws.
Zereth stood up and charged low, trying to get beneath Baraka's centre of mass. It was a smart move, although it looked desperate more than anything. Baraka actually raised an eyebrow at that before letting him do as he liked.
Zereth felt like he had hit a mountain. Baraka only slid back a few inches before he came to a stop.
"Absolutely no power. You would be a twig to him," he said before shifting his weight onto his front legs.
Baraka's jaw opened and snapped shut around Zereth's scruff before lifting him whole. It was one of the insane sights you could witness, a lion lifting another lion.
Zereth yelped, legs flailing uselessly, before Baraka flung him aside. The challenger landed awkwardly, rolling across the ground before scrambling back to his feet, breathing hard.
While Baraka was dealing with Zereth, Rakai charged and leapt on him once more. He managed to slam into the giant, making him stumble.
He climbed the back of Baraka before sinking his jaws onto the shoulder. He bit hard. God knows he bit hard. He bit as hard as he could.
But again, Baraka moved with imitation. He stood on his hind legs, reached for Rakai's mane and held it tight with claws from both paws.
And then.
BOOM
He threw Rakai over his shoulder in a throw. Rakai's back hit the ground hard, his eyes turning white, spit spilling from his mouth and mixing with blood.
Baraka merely scoffed.
Then he turned towards Scarface, who nodded his head.
"Stand," he said.
But the two challengers seemed scared to do so. They scurried in the dirt, not standing but not laying too low either. Their tails flickered in humiliation and irritation.
The two shared a look and then seemed to agree on something.
Then they exploded out, steering clear of the giant and heading straight for Scarface. They were not deeply injured by Baraka, who went extremely easy on them, so they moved fast, almost fresh from any battle.
"You fools!" Baraka screamed at their backs, but it was too late.
They committed a grave mistake.
Scarface did not retreat.
He did not even shift his stance.
As Zereth and Rakai split wide, circling him like starving dogs around an old bull, Scarface simply lowered his head and waited. His breathing was steady. They could see the many scars on his flank, which looked like weakness compared to Baraka's mostly unmarked skin.
It was proof that he could be harmed. They thought they could harm him too.
The challengers mistook that stillness for weakness.
He should be weaker than Baraka. If they killed him here, at least they could regain some of their pride.
Rakai lunged first again.
Not a leap this time. He rushed low and fast, aiming for Scarface's legs, hoping to take away his balance. Zereth followed a heartbeat later, angling for the throat, teeth bared, eyes burning.
It was a simultaneous attack, something they did not even attempt against Baraka.
Scarface moved.
He stepped forward, not back.
Again, a direct contrast to Baraka, who always stepped back.
Rakai's charge slid past him, claws scraping uselessly through dirt as Scarface did a small hop to evade the low charge. Then his mouth opened, his jaws revealing sharp canines. He did not bite, but simply crashed his teeth into the head of Zereth, who was leaping higher.
Again, an imitation.
His canines punched into the charging Zereth. The challenger's own momentum betrayed him and caused his end.
The clash ended violently. The explosion of flesh caused a cloud of dust to erupt. There seemed to be a shockwave as well as the cloud pushing outward.
And then came silence.
Baraka stared.
When the smoke cleared, only one figure was standing.
"They are too reckless and still chained by pride," Scarface said with a sigh.
Although they were kings, they were no longer chained by pride. In fact, they did not have pride anymore. It was robbed from them.
In the end, to follow their plan, they needed lions who were not so hopelessly burdened by pride.
"Let's go and look for others," he said, walking past Baraka.
Baraka looked at Scarface's back before briefly turning back to the cloud of dust. It had settled now, and two bodies lay there.
He sighed.
And simply followed Scarface once more.
..
..
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