ᴢɪᴋᴏʀᴀ'ꜱ ᴡᴏɴᴅᴇʀꜰᴜʟ ʟᴏʀᴇ, ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ʙʏ
ᴄᴀᴛ
When the weight of leadership falls upon unwilling shoulders, it is not only the leader who suffers. Ever the reluctant King, Zikora finds himself caught in a strange mixture of ennui and paranoia. He cares little for his position, thrust upon him by foolish elders who claimed he had “potential.” Furthermore, he fears that his reluctance may be interpreted as weakness by his enemies. He cannot be seen as weak. Not anymore. Thus he has chosen to wield his power like a saw-toothed blade, rank with the gore of any subject who might question him. Tyranny is a monstrous tool and Zikora is all too familiar with the concept of monstrosity. It does not matter if they hate him. It does not matter if he has become the blood-caked ghoul stalking the nightmares of misbehaving cubs. It only matters that they obey. His pride. His burden. His den of allies and enemies, sorted neatly into each category with expert precision. If there’s one thing this King knows how to do, it’s read other lions. A lifetime of mistrust has taught him this much.
Mutant. Smiler. Filth. These words echo through Zikora’s past as a sickening tuneless song. His former pride saw his mutation as a stain upon their pristine reputation. They starved him. Struck him. Chased him to the edges of their territory until he could barely walk, let alone run. He kept returning to them day after day for food, only for them to laugh in his face and send him away with an empty stomach. Their callous sneers will haunt Zikora until the end of his days. Eventually, he decided to leave them for good. It was a long time before he was able to stop craving their validation. He used to wonder if there was something he could do– some impressive feat that he could accomplish– in order for them to accept him with open arms. Life alone in the wilderness transformed his longing into bitterness and his bitterness into rage. When he joined his new pride, he vowed to protect every mutated lion with his life. The ‘normals’ would have to earn his favor, just like he was forced to earn scraps from the lions who had tormented him into malice. Now that he is King, Zikora has the power to elevate the status of mutated lions above the others. Perhaps he is punishing his new pride for the sins of his old one. Perhaps he is attempting to heal his wounds the only way he knows how. Perhaps he is merely protecting himself. Whatever the case, it is the strange-born and the not-quite-ordinary who thrive under his ironclad regime. Everyone else must fight for recognition or fade into obscurity.
The King before Zikora believed in rewarding lions based on merit. If they were kind, moral, and just, they received favor and accolades. If they were cruel, selfish, and uncaring, they ranked lower in the pecking order. Zikora calls this “the misguided teachings of an old fool” and prefers to organize his pride based on superior genetics. Rarity, aesthetic beauty, breeding and, of course, mutations are the rules of the game. The players are subject to the whims of a despot who relies upon the accident of birth to predict aptitude and character. This causes plenty of discontent amongst the losers. Still, they know better than to challenge their King. Zikora may have a distaste for leadership, but he is ever the formidable foe. One claw out of line would result in a swift and merciless death. Most lions would rather suffer the throes of injustice than engage in combat with a deranged Smilus.
Zikora treats much of the prior King’s leftovers as trash, including the beautiful, kindhearted lioness who was gifted to him as his queen. Leticia is a bright light in the tumultuous shadows. She treats her subjects with grace and dignity. She even holds love in her heart for her malevolent mate. He views her as a low-value addition to his pride due to her low fertility. Furthermore, she seems hesitant to slaughter her enemies. She claims she’d rather spar with words than with physical blows. Zikora calls her “pathetic” and often orders her to kill in the hopes that she’ll get used to it. He doesn’t have high hopes for her. Leticia seems more interested in chasing butterflies and singing lullabies to lost cubs. Zikora has no use for a soft, spineless lioness. In his pride, fangs and claws do most of the talking. There is no other way to keep everyone in line. When he beckons, they come running. When he commands, they follow. Zikora never wished to be King, but he will do what he must to obtain the respect he feels he deserves. Gone is the squealing cub who once licked gristle off bones for a meal. The discarded mutant is all grown up now– and what a menace he has become.
