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 Posted: Fri Jan 15, 2010 7:29 am
Sleep did not come. How could it? The cogs of his mind continued to reel, turning as his eyes remained fixed upon a web.
It fascinated him.
To think that each individual string held an importance in creating such a masterpiece, a true work of art. Such a beautiful design was crafted to ensnare the oblivious and unfortunate. Each individual string held a vital importance of weaving one with another and bearing the burden which, in the end, would bring about a well earned reward. To create such a device one was required to have both patience and sensitivity- here, one couldn’t simply rush through it all. Oh no, that would only sow both tragedy and recklessness! This tedious process demanded a thorough examination of the finer details or else the end result could easily be estimated to be nothing short of a sticky mess. Bakunja knitted his brows slightly as he leaned his muzzle closer towards the elaborate trap, tail slithering behind him in a mischievous, almost contemplative, manner.
Ah, what webs had been woven! It was marvelous. The tension that had been kindling had at last struck a raging inferno between the Dhati and the Mizimu'Tungika as its enveloping smoke suffocated each individual into the heat of battle and the scent of the all too familiar bitter sweet crimson saturated the air with a sickly aroma. This was it. This was the rebellion and they were fighting it- rising up against the Mizimu and their 'spirits' if only to change the course of fate, perhaps even history. Although while it seemed his comrades were engrossed within the battle royale the spiderwebbed male still had an item of business to take care of. It was a task that only he sought to undertake, something that needed to find closure and be put to rest, an eternal slumber which would no longer cause the past to claw at the back of his mind with a residual haunting of embedded memories of which he tried to forget. Within his mind he had reasoned, and deeply believed, that it was he who could do this and as such it was Bakunja who had crept deeper into the heart of the Mizimu territory alone- his mind and claws anxiously fixated on closing the chapter to a drawn out cliffhanger.
Although this would bring about a final resolution to the weight that burdened his heart and had set vengeance ablaze within his soul this certainly wasn't the end. Oh no. How could it be? The old male could only rouse a deep chuckle from his chest to himself as a wry grin curled upon his maw.
This was not the end but only the beginning.
He was no seer yet rooted within the rather peculiar male was a concise understanding of a thing called 'fate'. Fate, destiny even, was something that one couldn't predict or accurately prepare for. In the wake of the rebellion that brewed there resided a pending fate which hung in the balance amidst, and regardless, of potential strategy and brute strength. Even in war one could never be guaranteed victory and fate often shifted the balance and changed its favored side throughout the course of battle. Just as the very tides changed with the pull of the moon fate's loyalty wavered- it was unpredictable and continually tossed and turned. Second chances and opportune moments certainly would present themselves if one was keenly aware of their surroundings and on their paws but it was the fate of ones very life which often seemed void of second chances. It was now or never.
Whether favorable or disadvantaging it would seem that fate dictated what would be. There was a reason for all of this- yes, those who had aligned themselves and banded together to fight for their beliefs and own gain did it not for glory or for fame, they did it to try to bring an end to a deceitful way of life where the innocent blood was shed to appease these 'spirits'.
Like the others of the Dhati, Bakunja felt that there was something greater out there and these cherished and esteemed deities were all but a farce, a ploy to reign over the members of the Mizimu'Tungika without question and to strike a meek, sickening fear into the hearts of her followers. They were convicted from head to tail that what the spirits said was right and yet blindly they walked as sheep to the slaughter, oblivious and blind to the reality of it all. It was a perfect scheme, Bakunja could admit, yet enough was enough. This had to end once and for all.
Surly by now those who had known him in the Mizimu would have thought of him as a fool, a cowardly, heartbroken individual who had become separated from the spirits. In the eyes of the others Bakunja was one who had brought disgrace to the spirits of whom he had listened to, the spirits of whom he had loyally served for quite some time if only to have his eyes been open to the truth. That deceiving veil had somehow been stripped off from over his eyes and it seemed that all at once conscious, coherent thoughts began to amble through the cogs of his mind. They were his thoughts, his views- not the spirits. Yet if this so called stereotype concerning the spiderwebbed male was true then wouldn't it be easily agreed that no fool would ever consent to making his or herself the very means of ploy against ones own enemies- against those who had stolen things most precious to ones self? These were not simple trinkets or sacred totems, these were things which no deity or powerful being could ever retrieve or return to him. His mate. His cubs. They were sacrificed to appease the spirits and boost the moral of the pride. And what had it done? Why was their sacrifice so vital to the Mizimu'Tungika that it was seen as a blessing? Who was this ‘blessing’ suppose to impact? Those who had consumed his own flesh and blood and were then ‘blessed’ with a full gut?
A snarl curled on his lips as a deep, unsettling growl emitted from the depths of his chest. Those last images of them had left an all but haunting impression within his mind and at their very thought his heart ached. The wounds from long ago festered with the sorrows of loss while his body became restless. Kunja's shoulders tensed, stiffening as he stifled another agitated growl. Patiently he had bridled his passions, containing his restless claws within his paws and seducing the vengeful creature inside of him. He had engrossed himself in creating opportunities and events that had led to this- this very moment where he could at last feel satisfaction and revel in aiding in the cause to dismantle the Mizimu. Bakunja turned his head away from the desolate spiders web and exhaled deeply, the wings of his nostrils flaring outward while his body followed the motion of his head and turned away if only to be led elsewhere by his restless paws.
That urge, that desire- Bakunja couldn't restrain it any longer. After all this time he had found no remedy or cure that could cause that pain of loneliness to subside. Within the old male there was a restless spirit that had long been shackled, restrained from being too haste, but the rebellion that now plagued him sought to emancipate the captive hostage inside of him. And it would be that the chains that bridled such a side to him would finally be loosened. Nothing would hold him back.
It wasn't the thought or belief of having been a fool which left a rancid taste within his maw, it was that he was played a fool for having been swayed by the Mizimu and their ways. Like others, he had become brainwashed and rendered mindless- subjecting all rational thinking and putting logic, all sense of right and wrong, into the hands of these spirits. If only had understood it sooner then perhaps he wouldn't of had to have taken the loss of his own flesh and blood, the love of his life, to realize such a thing. Had he opened his eyes wide enough perhaps he could have done something to save them. But in doing so he surly would have brought shame and disgrace upon his bloodline.
A wry smirk seemed to unfurl across his maw.
They were no longer his traditions or rules that he abode by. Was he suppose to give a damn about the Mizi's traditions and how he would be impacted by showing himself again to the lands he had turned away from? No. And in doing so would disgrace hold him back from accomplishing that which would satisfy the tempest that raged within his soul?
Never.
The Mizimu'Tungika could call him a disgrace to his bloodline but he was immovable and steadfast in pursuit to redeem himself for the mistake he had made in partaking a pride whose rational had forged unsettling logic that bloodshed and intestinal readings were vital to ones own survival, ones own existance to be close to the spirits. A pride who had consumed his family, consumed by those blood thirsty, ravenous heathens. If anything Bakunja would be a disgrace if he wouldn't return to finally even the score. Just as they had taken something from him the old male was hell bent on taking something from them.
That sick, strange, darkness haunted him and yet it consumed him with a new found flame that was kindling inside of him. Even still it was as if he could hear his mate speaking to him ever so softly, guiding him to do what he knew was right. He could feel it- it stirred inside of him while the rest of him felt the voided pain that gaped as an unseen invalid within his chest. Although he bore the pain, Bakunja had become certain that it would remain with him until he could weave the final string to the web that laid in front of him. His whole life had consisted of moments, small strings he had wove which had slowly tied to create something more meaningful, something far greater which gave him a sense of purpose. Unfortunately it was in an instant all but stripped from him as he was left with only remnant memories and a pining desire to be reunited with that which rightfully belonged to him. The time had come at hand as darkness choked the last of the light from the sky. He had waited for so long to come to this moment, to soon let the vile emotions and tempest inside of him become unleashed. His own fate remained a mystery yet did little co cause concern for him- he was only but a spider who had created these webs and even a spider could fall victim to the very creation, or madness, which they had woven. It could very well be that his death would be that of a martyr, in vain for a cause which would wither and become nothing but a faint recollection years from now. But on the other hand this could be the start of a legacy and the dawning of a new age where rebellion would bring rise to a new era. Once rebellion had infested ones soul and desires it was impossible to turn away from. The call had to be answered once and for all.
This was not the end. Rebellion had no end- its vicious circle would repeat and rekindle with each generation, every rising and setting of the sun. Its very existence was infinite. Even when peace and solitude were all but abundant rebellion would continue to lurk within the shadows restlessly awaiting for the silent screams of the broken hearts and pent up frustrations that bring rise to claw and fang. It only took one individual one thought, one persuasive idea, to trip the rift before them and bring about a new revolution and Bakunja was anxiously engaged for first blood to fall. Whether it would be the blood of a Mizimu’Tungikan or his own he remained steadfast and immovable from his decision.
As the air around him seemed to sweep and give him a final caressing touch across his face the old lion let a wicked grin curl upon his maw as he exhaled, a wreath of mist pluming from out of his nostrils and mouth.
To die would be a great adventure, he thought to himself. This was not the end, this was only the beginning.
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Posted: Fri Jan 15, 2010 7:31 am
Under night's shrouding cloak he continued, his body nimbly maneuvering itself deeper into the heart of the Mizimu. Somehow it felt more like he was reliving scattered pieces of a severed dream rather than prowling about this godforsaken land. Good god, it had been a while hadn't it? And yet somehow it seemed as if nothing had changed. Everything seemed to feel that everything had remained in tact, exactly the way he had left it. Eerie, wasn't it? Bakunja's eyes stared up ahead towards a scarcely used path before him as only remnants of paw prints gave the impression that it was certainly not the path well traveled- the path less traveled, rather. A small grin, albeit a rather amused expression, twisted itself upon his maw in a slightly wry fashion. For being one who was rather estranged to the world did it not seem coincidence that he would choose to walk on the path less traveled? Was this a sign for what was to occur? Bakunja didn't know. All that he could feel was that, soon, the ending to this cliffhanger was to unfold. The end of his story was soon to be written. But was this truly the end?
No.
This was only the closing of a chapter. There was yet another book to be written, another tale to tell.
Even still the challenge of devising strategy, engrossing himself within meticulous and methodical thinking was demanded of him. The task of inter-working and applying interpersonal skills by means of a sly tongue were a prerequisite and now it had lead to this. No longer was there time to waste, there was only time to act.
Bakunja narrowed his eyes as he drifted against the horizon, his paws carrying him to where it was they had sought to return him to; the place of which he had once called home, to the pride of which he had once faithfully served. There was a strange, unsettling scent that wafted within the air- cast and strewn about by the gentle breeze. It was an acrid, metallic scent which twisted the spider webbed males stomach with both familiarity and an sickening sensation. Bakunja slowed in his steps before he came to a halt, his nostrils inhaling a deep breath. Blood, was it? It was familiar although attached with the scent of that crimson liquid were memories from long ago, memories which unceasingly haunted him. No doubt it was the smell of the carnage that rippled between the Dhati and the Mizimu but at the same time it seemed to awaken the ashes of a distant nightmare.
The old male bit down upon his lower lip as he eyes trailed across the eerie surroundings. He pursed his lips somewhat thoughtfully while the cogs of his mind began to turn as his eyes drank in the scenery before him. Yes, he knew this place well.
This was once his home.
Again it seemed that an unsettling mix of emotions conjured up inside of him, leaving him restless and somewhat on edge. The more he stared into the dark abyss Bakunja could feel his mind beginning to slip into the past, recollecting that fateful night where he had been stripped of everything suddenly and swiftly. His chest tightened, muscles straining as he stood in place. Try as he might the old male attempted to fend off the memories that seized his mind but it was impossible. How could he forget? Leaning his head back, the male rolled it against the back of his neck before he shook his head from side to side, his way of clearing the clutter from out of his mind if only to allow himself to concentrate.
Unlike the Mizimu, the Dhati had become a place for his roots to lay a new foundation, a new beginning. His heart had grown fond of the Dhati and had engrossed itself to live and breathe what it was that the Dhati centered themselves around. Although faith seemed a fickle concept the old male had found that incorporating hope and determination with faith forged a concrete foundation that supported even the weakest of rallying rebels. Together, those three concepts seemed to fortify and mend ones broken or weak desires into something formidable and passionate. If one did not believe in something then how was it to come to pass?
Everyone needed to believe in something and something needed someone to believe in it if only to make it possible, tangibly obtainable.
For a moment the older male stared outward towards the horizon where a full moon loomed, adorning the sky along with countless stars strewn within the skies tapestry. Their radiant light made it appear as if a greedy magpie had horded all of Africa's most precious of stones out of the reach of creatures who were condemned to the ground, forbidden to touch and forever to be allowed only to admire the sky with awe. It was beautiful, a creation which had been a simple pleasure of his to admire and gaze upon. Although the last time of which he had stopped to admire such a sight seemed to elude him but being caught within this unexpected moment was more or less a treat for him, much like a breath of fresh air to a suffocating individual. Bakunja again pursed his lips while the cogs of his mind turned, tossing about scattered memories and recollections of the past. It was strange to think that back then the spider webbed male would have simply laughed at the idea of turning his back upon his pride, turning away from the spirits even, although fate had brought him here- to this moment of which he believed that he was needed for something or perhaps his own webs had strung him here if only to oversee a grand master plan; a cleansing operation to restore the pride he had once loved from its sick, strange darkness and corrupt ways.
Whether this was the end or simply the beginning remained all but a mystery but come what may and love it- he would face whatever the Mizimu would throw at him. Change was needed in hopes to save a withering pride from its own deceit.
Yes, to at least save it from collapsing upon its self as others twist and skew the words of the spirits with their own desires. It was a shame but perhaps this was for the better. When something was tested and tried it becomes stronger in the end or if it truly is weak it would simply fall apart. Perhaps through the actions and crusade of the Dhati it would become clear whether or not the Mizimu had rendered themselves apart and if corruption had consumed the old ways. Whether or not the ways of old would be preserved remained undefined. It was hard to say what would remain intact or even if the legacy of which had created such a pride would stand true. The Mizimu'Tungika were different; it strayed from other principles of which prides abstained from- they listened and heeded the spirits, doing whatever necessary to fulfill their wishes and find a balance but a question that seemed prevalent was centered around if balance would be restored. To Bakunja it seemed like a puzzling mind game- there were so many questions and few answers that it was much like searching for a thorn in the brush. The old male exhaled softly through his nostrils as his gaze momentarily fleeted toward the sky.
Life was anything but simple and in a strange way that was the beauty of it but it was the beauty that was often obscured by the darkness of life's misfortunes. But even in the darkest times there was light somewhere, Bakunja silently reminded himself. Somewhere embedded within this rebellion against the Mizimu something good would come out of it- one way or another.
It had been a difficult journey to say the least and Bakunja had found himself to be pulled to those of which had helped him find what he had been looking for all along, guiding him to become the individual he needed to be. It was an entangling web but it had led him here. Although ones mind does not let go of what it once knew so easily and nor does it accept something so readily the spider webbed male felt peace. He was prepared both mentally and physically to do whatever was required of him to see to it that, even in death, that the Dhati's principles and ideas would live on. Perhaps at first many would be apprehensive to undertake a dishonorable way of life by turning their back upon the spirits but wasn't it better than being confined to a pre-determined life? For Bakunja It had taken his very world to turn upside down before he could see the sick, strange darkness was consuming him. His tribulations, like others who aligned themselves with the Dhati, were not easy but no doubt they had become stepping stones to greater things, to bringing rise to a rebellion that would illuminate the hopes of a better tomorrow. A better future.
There were unknown eyes and individuals that silently watched, taking notes and learning. Such individuals perhaps would never utter a word nor alert you, notify you even, that they were there but they would see ones example and mirror it. In a way it was much like a web- by weaving one string it would seem that the one string would become two, the two become four and just as quickly as the first had been laid down it was that an elaborate design was in place! As it was, an action was always followed with a reaction and a reaction was always started by one person- that one person could go on to influence and change others for either the worst or the better, depending on their influence.
But at last, the time for change had come.
Yet another deep breath was inhaled and slowly exhaled by the spider webbed male. Adrenaline began pumping through his veins, coursing through his body as it swelled like a tempest storm; unruly and unable to cease. It was invigorating, intoxicating, even. As his eyes skimmed across the still surroundings Bakunja's ears cocked upward, tail flicking behind him. Echoing in the distance he could hear the guttural cries and roars of conflict resounding from the borders and with each sound he could feel his heart beat faster.
It was time.
With upmost thought and stealth, the spider webbed male silently prowled along the path. It was up ahead where a forlorn den resided and it was there that the conclusion would be drawn. What was in there, who was there, if anyone was there, and why had it piqued the old males interest?
One would simply have to wait and find out. Bakunja was one who didn't like to ruin a good secret.
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 5:01 pm
It had begun. The preperations had involved everyone, and he'd had no time to slip away before the battle started. However, he'd managed to place himself on the outskirts, as a scout. Noone expected a scout to leap into the fighting. It certainly wasn't that Haini was afraid of fighting. He was well accustomed to it. It merely was that he did not choose to fight on the side he stood on.
He was a traitor. Not to his pride, as most thought, but to the rebels. For a time he had fed information back to the pride about the doings of the Dhati. After his contact had disappeared, he kept his eyes open and his mouth shut, for the most part. He'd tried to stir rebellion amongst the 'rescued' Sacrifices that were of like mind, but when the battle had begun, he was too far from them to return to the side of the young orange male. No, it was time to return home. Let the others find their own ways back to familiar ground.
So it was that he found himself past the drawn lines of war. He'd been challenged once by a Mizimu guard, but a greeting and his name gave him admittance into the protected area of the dens. He padded quietly, seeking his old den for some rest before the next day's battle. It made him grin ferally to imagine the startled looks when he surged upon the foolish Dhati. What was he but an old lion? They'd find out tomorrow.
A shadow among shadows moved in the corner of his eye. He paused, not yet alarmed, and turned to see who stirred at this time of night. There. His pupils widened in order to see better, and he took three steps nearer. Apparently the Dhati weren't the only ones due for a surprise.
"You!" It was a snarl, carrying the animosity of finding an enemy within the inner sanctum of the pride. His whiskers spread wide and he advanced another two steps, his head rising and his ears flattening. It was the spider-webbed male. They had never had a reason to speak before, neither in Mizimu nor in Dhati. Haini knew nothing of the other lion's personal tragedies or struggles. And at this point, he didn't care. "You don't belong here," he growled low, gathering himself powerfully. Though aged, muscles rippled beneath his green hide. He'd fought hard and long for his next life, and it showed in the condition of his body. He bared his fangs as he spoke, for there was no dobut in his mind that this was no traitor such as himself. No, this one had no love for his beloved pride. This one... he sought to sow venom. He was certain. A chill down his spine warned him, sang to him, trhilled him. This was his time, and he welcomed it.
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 5:42 pm
Alongside the brisk breeze and the somber of nights silence it would seem that the stench of something foul, rancid, entwined with the familiar aromas. Strange wasn't it that it seemed to spark some sort of recollection yet the spider webbed male kept his head leveled and his posture taunt. Bakunja flicked his ears as the others snarl all but ripped through the silence and like a spark to the kindling it was that the old males body began to pulsate with a rush of adrenaline as it was more than obvious that an outbreak of conflict hung in the balance, anxiously waiting for the first strike to be dealt.
The male narrowed his eyes as his paws kneaded into the earth, claws racking at the surface. Intently he watched, intrigued and alert, as the other male proceeded closer although when it was that the individual came into view the old male stared silently as the other seemed to growl and bare his fangs. Was he trying to be intimidating? How pathetic.
A deep, rumble of laughter emitted from out of the spider webbed males chest as a twisted grin curled upon his maw. "Neither do you," his hackles rose with a thrumming growl.
The green pelted male was familiar and the more he looked upon the one before him it seemed Bakunja was starting to put the pieces together.Yes, this male had been a part of the Dhati although something had seemed a bit off about him and now it seemed to be coming together. Although Bakunja had never paid attention to the stereotypes of pelt colors it would seem that this male was a living embodiment of what the so called 'spirits' had marked him with. A traitor. Surly Bakunja could be mistaken yet the more he watched the others body language, for he was quite an intuitive individual, it was clear that there could be no mistake. There was something embedded within the others eyes that radiated with a unbridled and anxious nature- something along the lines of blood lust and being engaged with both claws and fangs. Words were useless at this point and if the other was looking for a hell of a brawl then why should Bakunja deny him that which he was vying for? That would be rather selfish to refrain from giving the other male exactly what he was asking for.
Subtly, his body crouched as his back legs conjured up tension within his muscles. All Bakunja could do for the moment was laugh as his tongue slid across his fangs. This was his time, this was it; the final chapter was soon to be written and where the story would end remained unknown. Whether death or the continuation of life it was to be an adventure. Wrinkling his muzzle, Bakunja's lips pulled away from his fangs as he gave a feral snarl.
"Lets dance, you b*****d."
With no apprehension or second thought Bakunja lunged, open jaws and claws bared.
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Posted: Mon Jan 18, 2010 7:33 pm
Righteous rage boiled up when this other accused him of not belonging here either. What did this fool know? His vision hazed red with bloodlust, and as the other leapt for him, he rose to meet him. The other lion was slightly wider in the shoulders and chest, built somewhat heavier, but Haini was no slacker. He had all his life refused to be a push-over, and he wasn't about to start now, in his shining moment of giving of himself for his people, his beliefs.
He dove into the dark male's embrace, slipping between razor-edged paws to smash breastbone to breastbone. He sought to latch his own claws into his opponent's shoulders or elbows, or whatever he could get a grip on. His jaws gaped wide as he sought both to find weakness and to protect his own throat. His lower positioning had its disadvantage, though. It put the heavier lion slightly above him, and Haini could feel them toppling even as they fought. Soon he could be on his back if he did nothing to stop it.
How his blood sang! How it roared in his ears like the thunder of a thousand wings! He'd fought before, but nothing like this. Not brother against brother, for the sheer survival of the pride. It filled him, trickling into all the empty places left by years of being told he lacked courage, lacked wisdom, lacked trustworthiness. This was his moment. Die he might, but he would die fighting for what was right! His lungs bellowed forth a roar of both fury and triumph. This true traitor could not take this away from him. Noone could.
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Posted: Thu Jan 21, 2010 7:14 pm
The collision was fast, Bakunja had expected that, yet the impact that slammed into his chest perhaps was something he had underestimated. For a moment his breath felt forced, nearly stripped away from him while something sharp raked into his skin. A snarl and a thrumming growl broke loose from his maw but nothing else- there were no need for words, especially when adrenaline doused his senses with its sweet toxin and caused his old spirit to soar. This was what he had been waiting for, this fight alone was making his purpose stay rooted into an unshakable foundation. Stand for something or fall for anything, Bakunja scorned silently to himself. It was yet another push for the spider webbed male to keep his drive up and his senses keen.
Hell or high water he would give this damn, devout Mizimu a brawl of a lifetime and perhaps if he was lucky a good run for attempting to thwart any efforts ino attempting to find favor with the fates for that of a new color of fur.
A searing pain warmed his body with an eerie sensation and the feeling of something trickling, oozing, along his form was evidence enough. Damnit, the lucky b*****d! Somehow or another it would seem the coward had been swift, or simply lucky, to latch his claws into his front, right forepaw at the shoulder. With momentum and movement, engrossed within the heat of battle, it was impossible to simply stop and attempt to solve the problem as his opponents claws continued to dig into his flesh, raking downward. This injury could only fuel fire to the tempest that raged inside of him. Bakunja's facial muscles tensed, straining as he narrowed his eyes in a deadlock with the other while his teeth bore themselves with a threatening, feral show. The one thing that he did have on his upside was that he was beginning to descent down upon the other and while it seemed his opponent was still very much latched into him it could only put Bakunja in a place to have the upper paw and make a move.
And he'd better well take it- who knew how long the other would hold on. Besides, the sensation of claws grappling his forepaw wasn't too comfortable.
Aided by gravity, Bakunja jerked his body downward as weight was thrust downward. Compared to him the coward was smaller and this more than ever was the perfect opportunity to attempt to render him motionless and to strip all power away from him and dictate the outcome. Whether or not he would be so lucky to get his wish gnawed restlessly at the back of his mind but, regardless of the outcome, he would see it through. There was a sudden impact yet the spider webbed male closed his eyes, his mane wisping into his face as he struck outward with unsheathed claws. Had he made a mark? Bakunja didn't have a clue yet he lurched his head forward, jaws snapping voraciously while his muzzle bunched and wrinkled with protest.
Coward.
It was the only word that kept repeating in his mind over and over again, taunting him- driving him to seek to render and maim the individual before him into a state that not even the spirits, let alone any wandering Mizimu'Tungikan, to salvage or recognize. His breath drew from in between clenched jowls.
Coward. Coward. Coward.
Matching that of his opponent, Bakunja unleashed a guttural roar as his body screamed for blood, for justice, and for vengeance.
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Posted: Thu Jan 21, 2010 8:42 pm
It pleased him to see the impact of his body eliciting a somewhat startled reaction from his enemy. His claws caught on one side, and he dug them in deeper for better purchase, nevermind their tilting balance. He clung to any advantage, made good on whatever chance he had to bring this lion down. And down they went indeed.
This time it was his turn to be surprised at the impact. The heavier lion slammed him into the unforgiving ground, raising a puff of dust around them, unnoticed amidst the clash. It was his turn to gasp for breath, but something more than that was wrong. Something had snapped, perhaps several somethings. Searing pain shot through him, providing further fuel for his rage. His eyes glazed slightly in battle-fervor, a mechanism against the pain. He bared his teeth in almost blind defiance, pulling hard to gain breath.
It was when the darker male's muzzle plunged forward and he felt fangs sink into the fur at his neck that fear finally reared its ugly head. The finality of this fight sank deep in his soul like a dagger of ice. This was indeed it. The last he'd have to prove himself, the last efforts he'd make in this life. As the Dhati's grip on his throat firmed and tightened, Haini drew up his hind legs, his smaller size giving him an advantage of movement. If he could just... get... in... position!
With an outrush of breath gurgling through his threatened throat, he heaved upwards and outwards with his hind paws, claws extened. With all his might he kicked, arching his spine and putting his entire body into the strike against the softer underbelly. If he must go down, he was bound and determined to take this unbeliever with him! His whole mind was focused on that one motion, up and back, thrust and flex, grip with every razor-tipped digit. He kept his forepaws hooked in flesh, for though their position had shifted so that he wasn't holding his opponent so close, it kept him from pivoting away from the raking hind paws.
Savagely, his breath rasping in the little room left of his throat, he met the eyes of the webbed shadow lion. May you be born green in your next life! he cried ferociously within his mind, pulling his hind legs back in for a second, though weaker, kick.
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Posted: Thu Jan 21, 2010 9:38 pm
Like a veil acting to mask the carnage, the dusty air concealed the raging turmoil of Mizimu and Dhati rebel. The realization to the direction of the brawl seemed to become clear when Bakunja felt his fangs latch around fur, sinking deeper as warm liquid oozed within his maw- that acrid, metallic taste dousing his tongue with a sickening yet satisfying taste. The old male's eyes seemed to narrow, eying the Mizimu more intensely as his jowls clamped down with a vice grip. Eyes ablaze with vengeance, the vigilante would be damned now if he relinquished.
Don't let go, was all he could think. Breathe slowly; let him struggle. He thought the heavy pulsations of his own heart would be sound enough to try to drive his opponent to latch onto what life he had if only to save himself from the fate which awaited him. The spider webbed male would see to it that the other would be void of such opportunity. Yet on the other hand he did give him credit for even as the other struggled and fought with unsheathed claws and raging back legs that wildly kicked striving to take Bakunja with him. Aside from their differences, both old souls were determined, hellbent even, to fight for what they believed in, what they lived for, even if it required a martyr's death. While it was that Bakunja's concrete mindset kept him relentless at letting go he was not immune to the bombardment of claws.
Where his mane tapered and left the rest of his underbelly exposed it was quickly becoming matted with disheveled fur and crimson. With each swift blow, each claw slashing against his underside, Bakunja could feel that sharp pain lash against his body as his muscles reeled and body cringed. He was tempted to recoil but he growled, muffled scorns and colorful language were masked inbetween his maw and the neck of the Mizimu'Tungikan. His nostrils flared as pain continued. Breathe, damn it! He urged himself to inhale the air deeply through his nostrils although his maw desperately sought to gasp and greedily suck in a lungful of air. No, he couldn't. He was going to end this. The temptation still remained in place but the old lion resisted as best he could. In his efforts to continue crushing the others larynx and throat it didn't help that the other continued to struggle, thrusting his weight and body in all directions while the spider webbed male seemed resilient in relinquishing the other from their inevitable fate.
Claws still laced themselves within his front leg while the once dark blue of his fur had become a tarnished purple. The feeling and sensation in his leg had slowly deteriorated over time and now rather than an appendage it felt more like dead weight. The b*****d must have severed more than just muscles, he seethed silently. But that was the price to be paid, wasn't it? The extent of the damaged remained unknown and, for now, of little importance.
Bakunja felt a surge of nausea as the claws of his opponent again found his vulnerable flesh, raking and severing with relentless determination. This one ws clever, intelligent perhaps in ways of which were not manifested by the color of his pelt. Clever and quick, it seemed that the Mizimu certainly embodied more than the soul of a coward- perhaps there was a worthy foe, a formidable opponent, concealed behind that murky green. Perhaps if the spirts truly did give a damn that in his next life this so called 'coward' would receive his just reward of being crowned with an honorable hue of fur.
Well, that is if there was a life after death.
As their eyes met, Bakunja crushed his jowls fiercely. "I'll see you in hell," he muttered, his words cryptic and disjointed from the fur that his maw encompassed.
It would be blasphemy to say that the webbed, shadow lion was a saint for Bakunja himself knew that he stood far apart from those of whom lived an elevated life. But rather than being a prisoner in heaven he'd rather be a prince in hell. And wherever he ended up it was the simple knowledge that he had fought for what he believed in which would comfort him. No regrets, no remorse. Knowing that he had never wavered from his own morals and fought for the causes he upheld was all he needed.
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Posted: Fri Jan 22, 2010 8:22 pm
His grizzled muzzle gaped as what little breath he could manage was cut off. Flecks of blood speckled his white jaws, and not even a gurgle emerged. There was a roaring in Haini's ears that was not that of his opponent. It grew in volume until it distracted him from his goal to give as much as he got. What was that? His eyes rolled in his head, no longer seeing the dust cloud, the dark form above him, nor the midnight sky. Sightlessly he searched for who was roaring, that irrefusable call. It bekconed him, tugged at his soul. His brows bunched in confusion even as the paw sunk in the other male's shoulder relaxed, claws sheathing as the pads fell away from torn flesh.
He grimaced, still puzzling over the sound, over the call, over the lingering sense of urgency and drive to accomplish... something? He couldn't recall now what it was. And still the roaring grew louder, like a slowly pacing lion with lungs of steel. Pressure in his own chest increased, causing him to curl as a cub might when in pain. All sense of the world was gone, so fleet, so quick! He'd forgotten his purpose amidst the all-encompassing roar. Though his hind paws were drawn up beneath his opponent's belly once more, he did not kick. His hind claws, like his fore, were sheathed, his paws as harmless as anything so big possibly could be.
The roaring was all around him now. He decided that it was the spirits. They circled about him, welcoming him home with this beckoning call. He watched them swirl about him for four slow beats of his heart, oblivious to the victorious Dhati positioned above him. In those last moments, why did he need know the roaring was the pressure of blood building in his brain, pounding his eardrums with the primal chant of death? Too far gone to ever know the truth, he smiled up at the spirits and rose to meet them with a leap of joy, leaving his body limp and lifeless between the jaws of his faithless enemy.
The eternal question must be... who had truly won, and who had truly lost? Perhaps not even the spirits could have answered with certainty this time.
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Posted: Mon Jan 25, 2010 6:49 am
There was something that stirred inside of him- something familiar which had been long kept from breaking free. Was this the animal inside of him, the beast which had so desperately clawed its way to the surface? Bakunja didn't know. The taste of the warm, bitter liquid oozed from his maw, trickling down from his jaws with a feral appearance. Some unknown, unseen invalid caused his soul to swell - yes, this was revenge but this was only just the beginning. How far this rebellion would go remained a mystery yet the old male would see it through. He still had his own agenda to follow and come hell or high waters he would be damned if he would leave the task at hand unfinished. Although the scenario before him had fallen in his favor there still remained the conclusion to the story, this web which had been woven had yet to be complete and the spider had yet to string its final strings. But for the moment it seemed that what would constitute the final strings seemed to elude Bakunja. It was part of the story which had yet to make itself known to its author as well as to the reader; a cliffhanger whose climax was soon to be reached. Yes, he could feel it. Time was elusive but it was creeping up on him, stalking him from the shadows for when the opportune moment would present itself and it would strike. Here, time would suffocate him, render him useless and obsolete and cast him aside just as a predator would do to a stripped carcass. With meat stripped from the bones and vital purpose met with full bellies and satisfied hunger it was that, perhaps, Bakunja would be of no worth to this cause. And like all things, he would come to an end.
Regardless of what fate would befall him the spider webbed male, for the moment, felt accomplished. Feeling his enemy reel as life was all but leeched from his physical body was surreal and there was something that awakened a part of the old male which stirred unsettling feelings from the past. For a moment he snorted, exhaling briskly through his nostrils as their wings flared. Damn the past, damn it all. That was what drove him, what kept his spirits aflame and motivation empowered - it had led him to be here this very moment yet the past had also betrayed him, deceived him. The Mizimu'Tungika. It was there fault. Their lies and twisting of words had made him forsake things which were of up most value to him. And what had he been left with? Nothing save for a name and a face.
To say that he was a faithless soul seemed inaccurate. Just as the coward Bakunja had been devout and devoted to the spirits through and through- he had been part of the 'heart' which kept the pride beating and the spirit appeased. But now it seemed that through his service to the spirits that he had been conned, required to give unceasingly to those invisible invalids and in return he was only left with pain - a pain so great that nothing could ever weld the void that was left in his very soul. Faith had stripped him of everything and left him naked, forlorn and abandoned. Was faith suppose to render a valiant soul so broken? If he wasn't mistaken, the spider webbed male would have reasoned that faith was suppose to strengthen the individual, make them whole and refine them. Then why, heaven knows, why it had made him more miserable than any soul should have been.
The eternal question at hand was debatable and certainly the spirits could not answer for those who spoke on their behalf had all but mutilated and contorted their words. What they had really said, what the spirits had truly demanded were masked by the greed of others; they were afraid of change for losing their status would make the 'immortal' become nothing but mere mortals. Who had won; Mizimu or Dhati? Perhaps sooner or later the answer would become clear, manifesting itself for all to know or, maybe, it was something that was never to be known.
Would the wool would remain in tact upon the eyes of either side and prevent a conclusion, the final resolution, to be drawn? Everything could simply go back to the start. They could all be left at square one.
It's only just beginning, the old male reminded himself. The wakes have yet to surface and the damage has yet to fully impact. Whether in this life or after his spirit had long departed this twisted world Bakunja knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this rebellion could very well be over yet its effects still lingered, gathering strength for what could possibly bring rise to a new brood of blood whose souls yearned to revolt; to strike a new found revolution.
As the Mizimu'Tungikan slipped away and his body fell limp, the shadow webbed male released his maw as the body fell to the ground in a pathetic heap. An audible thud resounded within the still air. It was finished. A deep breath exhaled once more out of the old males' maw while eerie orbs scanned the surroundings.
There was one thing he still had left to do.
He had to return to his mates memorial site. Of course there were no remains left since she was all but consumed but Bakunja had created a small place in her honor - a place where he had often ventured or sought to seek solitude at. It was here that he could make amends and, if she was watching him from above, plead for her forgiveness. The old male had been foolish in his youth but now he knew better. if only, somehow, time could be reversed; with the knowledge he had now he was certain that his future could have been drastically different had he known better. But it was silly to think that the past could be changed when it had been lost so long ago, wasn't it? Looking back towards the lifeless body of his foe, Bakunja wrinkled his muzzle.
Death was only the beginning, the spider webbed male concluded. Although his foe had passed on perhaps now he would learn of the reality of what twisted and construed lies he had been led to believe. Perhaps death would awaken his fallen spirit to truly see the pawn he had been played as.
Turning away from the green pelted coward, Bakunja narrowed his eyes towards the meagerly marked site that sat only lengths away. His front, right fore paw stepped with what felt to be a renewal of spirit, strength even, as he breathed deeply. At last. Unconsciously he extended his front, left paw as it began to make contact with the hard pact earth below but it seemed that such a simple task went all but horribly wrong. The surge of adrenaline which had all but masked the pain during the heat of the battle was wearing off, that mask which had vigilantly kept his mind focused to the cause at hand eluded the fact that his foreleg was all but mangled and it was when his leg planted itself upon the ground that a sudden shock of pain registered inside of him, jarring his body. With the lack of stability and a surreal feeling of the absence of his very leg, Bakunja fell face down onto the unforgiving surface as his mind reeled with pain. His chest gasped for air, his very breath feeling as if it was stripped from his lungs as he recoiled onto his side. What happened? What did that green b*****d do to him? A disgruntled and pained growl thrummed from his chest.
"Damn it," he spat.
Betrayed by his own strength it would seem that the collision between Mizimu'Tungikan and Dhati had mustered a force potent enough to render the spider webbed male's shoulder out of place. All along he had been in disillusion and oblivious to the damage done aside from the mangled muscles and ligaments of his arm but now it seemed that the scenario was getting worse, much worse. Abandoned by his body's ability to deflect the pain Bakunja was incapacitated. He wasn't going anywhere. Even the smallest attempt at making any minor gesture or motion with his leg caused him to wince, restraining himself from crying out and piercing the eerie air with a guttural cry of agony.
From the side the males shoulder felt mushy, as if the underlying bone itself had been obliterated into gelatin. Its form was distressed, abnormal as it was clear to him that he had awakened a rather old, and severe, injury.
Bakunja was in trouble.
Unable to stand or defend himself the Dhati rebel was now left at the mercy of the Mizimu'Tungika, the very pride of which he had turned his back on. How exactly they would react to such a find didn't puzzle the spider webbed lion, more so it was how they would deal with him that made him restless but even entwined within the looming danger of death it seemed the cogs of his mind all but continued to turn.
What awaited him remained elusive yet Bakunja, even while incapacitated, still continued to weave the strings to something- the final web, perhaps. Death was not the end, only the beginning, he mused silently as a wry smile curled upon his maw. And where this ending would lead him he didn't know - he was, unfortunately, sentenced to wait for what would befall him.
Oh how he hated waiting; Especially when the conclusion was drawing nigh.
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