[3rd POV]
(Central Africa)
Africa. It was a continent that supported various geological environments. While there existed vast savannas in East Africa, stretching across northern Tanzania and Kenya, the central Congo was a forest, almost like the Amazon.
It was dense, thick, and of swallowing scale. It was to the point that the sky was rarely seen from the ground beneath the canopies.
But in that thick jungle of forest, life never truly rested. It wasn't like the Serengeti, where life thrived in an open area. Here, life stacked upon each other.
The thick forest often hid the chaos within.
But the scale of the battle that was taking place in one part of the forest was too much to be hidden.
A lion roared.
A gorilla bellowed, beating his chest.
The birds on top of the trees scattered like scared prey.
...
The battle was the finest nature had to offer. It was the strongest creatures in the world clashing.
Leaves, soil, and shattered branches burst upward as a massive body slammed into the earth, the impact sending a shock through the jungle floor. A roar tore through the canopy, raw and furious, followed immediately by another, deeper sound, chesty and thunderous, not a roar but a challenge.
The lion, Simba, was already moving away from the rampage of the gorilla.
He twisted mid-stride as a colossal arm swept through the space where his head had been a heartbeat earlier. The force behind it cracked a tree trunk clean in half. Bark and splinters rained down as Simba skidded across the damp forest floor, claws carving furrows into the soil as he fought for balance.
The gorilla charged again.
A western lowland silverback, vast and terrifying up close. Its chest was a wall of muscle, its arms longer than Simba's two legs combined.
Each step of the gorilla was enough to shake the ground as he barreled forward without hesitation. His mouth was open, and his teeth were bared. An interesting fact was that the gorilla that chewed on tough plants all day had a higher bite force than even lions.
But in the face of this mighty and magnificent beast, Simba somehow made him look insignificant.
Weighing at around 300 kilograms, Simba was one and a half average lions in one body. He was a beast that somehow dwarfed the titan of a gorilla that weighed around 190 kilograms.
So Simba lunged without hesitation.
He met the charge head-on, leaping low and fast, slashing across the gorilla's side as he passed. Claws bit into dense fur and hide, drawing blood in bright streaks.
But the gorilla was not an easy beast to take down. Made almost entirely of pure explosive muscle, it roared and slammed both fists down where Simba landed.
The thudding sound of hardened flesh smashing could be heard through the jungle. Pain flared for Simba, and his eyes became a little narrower, a little angrier.
Simba wanted to take it easy on the gorilla. He was a silverback that had grown bitter after he lost his troop to another silverback.
He had been wreaking havoc in the forest and needed to be stopped.
Now it looked like he needed to be put down. He needed to be killed.
More birds erupted from the canopy. Monkeys shrieked and scattered. Vines snapped as the silverback charged again. He tore through undergrowth, swinging wildly now, anger replacing calculation.
This time, Simba went for the kill.
A cat.
Nature's perfectly designed predator. When they aimed for a kill, there was virtually no beast in the world that wouldn't fall.
Simba blurred in a linear path, maximizing momentum, maximizing force, maximizing lethality.
When the two beasts met amid the thick jungle, the silverback faltered.
He faltered hard.
He felt a bite so clean on his neck that it didn't hurt. It choked and stole life right out of his eyes. Curved claws designed to take down beasts ten times bigger anchored on the rather soft hide of the gorilla compared to the buffalo.
But the silverback did not go without a fight. As he fell on his back with the lion on top, it swung its arms with full adrenaline in the final struggle of life.
He swung at the side of Simba, cracking ribs from a lucky shot. In response, the predator ran out of patience and, with a growl, Simba ripped the head clean off from the silverback.
Blood splurted out like a fountain.
A mane was drenched in blood.
The so-called hero of the forest was forced to kill once more.
The forest became awfully still and silent.
Before it was torn asunder by a roar that shook everything.
..
..
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[3rd POV]
(The next day)
Simba lay stretched across a broad, moss-covered root at the edge of a clearing. His golden fur was dulled slightly by shade and humidity. The scars on his shoulders had faded into pale lines, souvenirs of lessons learned the hard way.
He licked at the small wounds on his forearms, while his breathing was a little loud due to the bruises on the side of his body. But his belly was filled to the brim by the flesh of the one who caused the injury. The gorilla did this, now he would fix it by becoming nutrients.
His mane was thick, thicker than most lions and darkening at the edges. It was not yet the full weight of a king's crown, but no longer the mane of a youth either.
At almost five, Simba was at the very top of his species.
He could feel the strength he had in his core. The giant jaw weighed heavily every time he opened his mouth, stronger than even his father's. His muscles were compact and refined, making him able to do feats he didn't even think possible at times.
His own mind found it hard to comprehend just how strong he was sometimes.
In the entire Congo, nothing could force him to the limit anymore.
At the age when he was climbing his prime, Simba could feel it in his raw instinct.
He was ready.
...
"Are you listening to a word we are saying?" Timon, the meerkat, asked, standing below the exposed root where Simba was lying.
Simba snapped out of his thoughts.
"Ummmm....Not exactly," he said.
"Pumba was telling us about how he chased off a tiger by farting in his struggle to escape," Timon said, gesturing to Pumba, the warthog.
"Oh, then please continue," Simba said.
Timon and Simba turned their eyes to Pumba, who made himself smaller under their gaze.
"I don't know...that kinda ruined the immersion," Pumba said, looking downcast.
"See? You made him upset," Timon said, quickly scurrying to his friend and consoling him.
"I'm sorry, Pumba. I'll listen closely next time."
"It's okay, cub. You just had a difficult fight, and here I am sharing stupid stories about how my fart smells like a skunk," Pumba said in tears.
Pumba cried on the little meerkat's shoulder. "Wahh, he grew up too fast. Not long ago he would always listen so intently to my stories. I can't take it. I can't take it anymore. Is this how my mother felt when she abandoned me?"
"I know the feeling, Pumba. But we must stay strong. We watched him grow into a lion, and that's all we can ask for as a parent," Timon said.
And under the amused eyes of Simba, the two animals cried together, sharing their grief.
...
"I think it's time," Simba said suddenly when the two were done with their antics.
"Time for what? Food? You just ate yesterday!!" Timon said dramatically.
"No, Timon. I think it's time I go back home," Simba said.
The two animals froze.
"After all, I have done everything I can. And now it's time I return and finally do what I'm supposed to do," he said.
Pumba and Timon looked at Simba, and then at each other, before they had another episode of breaking down.
"Really, you guys?" Simba sighed.
But no matter the tears, it couldn't be stopped.
After another two days passed, Simba left the Congo.
But before doing so, he pressed his head against the giant tree in the forest and said,
"Thank you."
And so, the runaway prince headed back home.
The lost prince was found, now ready to be king.
..
..
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