Fantasy
The Last Roar
The Last Roar In the heart of an ancient jungle where time seemed carved into tree bark and whispered through leaves, two kings ruled in silence—the lion and the wolf. One was the traditional sovereign of the savannah, a creature of golden mane and commanding roar. The other, a shadow from the mountains—silver-eyed, silent, and ruthless. The lion, named Rahim, was revered by all. He walked with majesty and grace, and when he roared, the very trees bent as if in submission. But his pride had made him blind to whispers of change. There were murmurs in the wind, scents in the air, and a presence growing in the shadows—one that did not bow to tradition. That presence was Kael—the wolf from the cliffs. Scarred, silent, and exiled from his pack long ago, Kael had learned to survive by embracing the darkness. Where Rahim ruled with law, Kael thrived in chaos. And in chaos, he found strength. It was on a morning bathed in mist that their fates crossed. The jungle was silent that day. No birds sang, no leaves rustled. The clouds above grew heavy like drums preparing for war. Animals gathered in hidden corners—deer with widened eyes, snakes coiled in silence, and hyenas who whispered legends in the wind. Kael approached the center clearing, where Rahim often stood to claim the sun. The wolf's breath was shallow, his eyes locked forward. He had not come for diplomacy. He had come to end a reign. Rahim saw him, ears tilting forward, unafraid. "You do not belong here, wolf," he growled, his deep voice rumbling through the earth. Kael did not answer. He did not need to. The fight began with no ceremony—only a flash of fur and fang. Rahim lunged with strength, but Kael moved like wind through trees—precise, merciless, and quiet. The lion struck with claws meant to tear mountains, yet Kael danced through them, striking where the lion was weakest: pride, overconfidence, hesitation. Blood stained the earth—red on green. The sky darkened as thunder roared above them. The jungle held its breath. Kael bit deep into Rahim’s shoulder. The lion let out a roar—not of power, but pain. He stumbled back, eyes searching, confused. Never before had he bled like this. Never before had he faced an enemy who fought without fear, without rules, without honor. But Kael had no code. He had only purpose. With one final lunge, Kael drove Rahim to the ground. The lion’s chest heaved beneath the weight of the wolf. His golden eyes looked skyward, where the rain began to fall. A single drop landed on his nose—cold, clean, final. And then, silence. Kael stood atop the cliff now, the defeated lion below him. The storm wept over the jungle, and the animals who watched from shadows knew: the era of Rahim had ended. Not with a roar, but with a howl. Kael did not celebrate. He did not bask in victory. He had ended a king, but not to rule—only to reclaim balance. The wolf turned, descending back into the forest. He vanished between the trees like a ghost, his legacy echoing in every raindrop, every broken leaf, every breath the jungle took. From that day on, they said the jungle no longer had a king—it had a shadow. And in that shadow lived fear, respect, and an understanding: Even lions fall.
By Saeed Ullah about a year ago in Fiction
Parlay and Desecration
As our lips danced and wrestled and our tongues formed the frontal assault into enemy territory, it felt as if we had been locked in a heated, passionate battle for hours. The cold, harsh reality that existed outside of her plump pinks and my smaller, firmer mouth was that it had merely been minutes.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Fiction
Birdie the Dragon Cat
Birdie the Dragon Cat was not particularly keen on hatching dragons. She’d rarely been around any save for her own mirrored reflections, and even that wasn’t very enticing. It wasn’t her fault she wasn’t like the rest, who were more dragon than not. Whose bright idea was it anyways to mix the two? Her puffy, face with its pesky whiskers, short stout legs and rosy paws confused all the others from the litter. Others for whom had fewer feline qualities with catlike faces and portly dragon bodies. Some even sprouted wings and breathed fire if they were lucky. They didn’t know what to do with the tiny dragon cat who was more cat than dragon. In fact, the only thing dragon-like about Birdie the Dragon Cat was a small patch of emerald green scales along the tip of her spine and a spiky tail, but even those were covered in patches of silver fur.
By K.H. Obergfollabout a year ago in Fiction
