As it ran Bodies began to appear. One lioness.
Then another. Then another!
All thrown carelessly aside, discarded like dead prey.
Each one it passed, it slowed. Sniffed. Recognized the scent, mothers, mates, lionesses it had bred with, fought for, protected.
Every corpse had the same wound. Stomach split open. Clean, brutal, efficient.
Not a struggle. Not a hunt. A slaughter.
Something, or someone, had walked through its pride like a blade through soft flesh. No hesitation. No effort. No mercy.
The lion's breath grew heavier. Not from running.
From something far worse.
Rage. Fear. Helplessness.
The emotions it had mocked in weaker beasts, now sank fangs into its own heart.
It paused beside one of the few lionesses it had favored more than the rest, lowered its head, and inhaled her fading scent.
Gone.
All of them gone.
Lionesses of his pride, his harem, his lineage, every one of them cut open, emptied, discarded.
