FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Cackling Pride

For Johnzaloog

By Draconicon

The Battle of Pride Rock was over, and his nephew had failed at every opportunity to turn the battle's tide. The hyenas had been more than capable of handling the lionesses through sheer numbers, and the magic of Rafiki had been brought too late to the fight, leaving the lionesses and Simba vulnerable to the spells that Scar had learned in his time as King.

The boy never bothered to learn the power of domination, Scar thought as he sat on the throne at the back of Pride Rock, deep in the caves, far from the great walkway of stone where the various creatures of the Pride Lands saw him and the other members of the Pride on a daily basis. Down here, deep in the confines of the ancestral lands of the lions, was where the Pride held court, where they decided what would be done with one another when they went against the will of the King.

And for all that Scar had usurped the throne, there was no doubt any longer. He was the King.

His nephew knelt among the lionesses, the other members of the Pride having shown their traitorous selves as soon as they had a symbol to rally behind. The fear that he had instilled with the hyenas had not been enough, nor was the power that he had wielded over them with the magic of the throne. The way that he had darkened the land, empowered the predators, given them...assets...

Scar narrowed his eyes at the lionesses. Not a one of them appeared over the age of thirty, and most of them had been youthened from his brother's time on the throne. He had taken that further, making them little more than their mid-twenties, in the case of many. Sarabi alone had been stripped of decades, allowing her to match Nala in appearance. They had been given the curves of zebras, allowing their hips and their chest to pop in ways that lionesses never did naturally.

And yet, not one of them showed a hint of gratitude, a scrap of thanks. They had all turned on him the moment that they had a figurehead.

Simba glared at him from the floor, his hands tied behind his back, forced to his knees. The prince obviously still felt as though he could defy the proper King, and Scar knew that there would be no peace until he showed his nephew the error of his ways.

The black-maned lion chuckled deep in his throat as he shook his head, crossing one leg over the other as he reclined back on the stone throne. The loincloth that he wore tented slowly in the front as he considered his options, and he knew that this...this would be as enjoyable as the punishing rut that he had already given his nephew at the end of the battle.

"It is clear to me now that there is no need for a Pride that will turn on its King."

"You're not the rightful king, Scar. You never were."

"Perhaps not while you were alive, when I had gone unchallenged," he said, looking down at his fingers, rolling the clawed digits in a playful fashion. "Yet, now that you've fought and lost..."

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head.

"Now that I've won, Simba, there's no doubt who is King. And as King, I know that I cannot rule over a Pride that is looking for any way to betray me. I'll have to see to that...even if it means that I am the last King."

The lionesses looked at each other, obviously confused. Simba merely glared at him, and he imagined that his nephew was too dull to truly realize the capabilities of the power behind the throne.

After all, Mufasa had never truly wielded it on the land. The old king had allowed for the magic to come forth for his personal pleasure from time to time, and his brother had once or twice used it to bring life and light out of the earth during the dry times, but he had never truly used it. He had never brought it out as the weapon that it was, used it to seize control of the Pride, to hold them as the subjects that they were.

If he had, perhaps he might still be alive.

Scar smirked to himself as the hyenas started to file into the room. They had been told to come to him, to make their way down when the time was right. As soon as the first footstep was heard, the lionesses turned, glaring and hissing, even roaring in indignation at the intrusion into the sacred caverns of the lion.

Yes, this was turning his back on years and years and years of tradition, but Scar no longer cared. It was time to secure the rest of his years of rulership, regardless of the cost. If he was to be King of the Pride Lands, then he would be the last King. No one would take it from him, not when there was no Pride left to seize the title.

He reached for the magic, the deep magic that resided beneath Pride Rock. He seized the power that was the right of any King, and he wielded it like the wind that blew through the long grasses of the savanna. With but a thought, he directed it to blow through the cavern, and a gust as dark as his mane blew over the lionesses and their leader.

They gasped as it forced its way over them, a smell of sweat and the smell of bodies filling the small chamber. The lionesses rolled back, their eyes rolling back in their sockets, while Simba slumped forward, coughing, shivering.

"I will be the last King, because I will be the last Lion. Those that turn against me have no right to mane or the golden fur. Instead, you will become like them...be hyenas, the lot of you, my enforcers."

The felines gasped as one, but the transformation had already begun. Spots and gray fur began to pop through the great coats of the lionesses, and Simba was already starting to lose his mane. The red fur was slowly falling free, and as he slumped forward, his muscular body shaking from head to toe, the other changes had already begun. His arms were losing their great bulk, and so were his legs. His shoulders began to slide inwards, becoming less and less broad, and his hips began to expand.

"Scar...I swear...no matter what you do..."

"You'll fight me, dear nephew?" Scar chuckled. "How can you fight when you can't even remember what you're fighting for?"

Grabbing the young man by the shoulder, he yanked the changing lion back to his feet. Already, his mane was gone, and his face was slowly changing. The soft, boxy muzzle of a lion was fading away, becoming more and more the face of a hyena, angular and rising in the nose. He smiled, running his thumb along his nephew's jawline, shaking his head at the way that Simba still tried to fight the inevitable.

There wouldn't be much more of that, he was sure.

As the boy's hips started to flare out further and further, his tail losing the long, pale-gold fur and becoming more of a strap that ran from the base of his spine and out, Scar turned the lion around. He pulled one of Simba's hands free of the restraints, holding it up in the air. With his free hand, he cut the loincloth that the 'prince' wore.

"See your former prince. See what he will become!"

Already, the magic had taken much of Simba's masculinity. His cock had shrunk, losing half of its thickness and nearly as much in length. While it would not disappear entirely - after all, he wished to humiliate Simba, not destroy him - the pride of the lion was long gone. Bit by bit, his balls were rising up, shriveling to the size of a child's, and his cock would barely be long enough to penetrate a lioness by the time that he was done.

And yet, other things were growing. Little buds - not breasts, but buds - grew from the boy's chest, giving him a hint of development. Scar chuckled, running his hands up the lion's sides, squeezing his nephew's nipples. The younger lion gasped, then blushed, obviously disbelieving that he had made such a sound.

All the while, his fur continued to change. Two tones of gray, one dark and one light, ran over his body. Hips that were thick, nearly to the point of being child-bearing and belonging to a breeder, filled the prince's hips out until one could have mistaken him for a woman from behind.

Scar smiled, lifting his loincloth and resting his cock between those spotted cheeks. Simba tried to turn, tried to thrash, but there was nothing that the boy could do. All those powerful muscles had been stripped from him, leaving nothing but curves and willowy limbs behind.

The other lionesses were screaming, some in pain, some in shock, and some in pleasure as the natural hyenas leaped upon them. Cock and pseudo-penis alike slammed into the new hyenas, teaching them their place, while Simba continued his slow trip to hyena-hood as Scar rubbed his cock up and down the lovely, soft rump cheeks. They parted slowly, some of the King's seed still oozing from the pucker between them.

"You...you won't..."

"I did once already, Simba..." Scar chuckled deep in his throat, biting the boy on the neck. "And I'll do it again..."

He pushed forward, the barbed tip of his cock sliding into the pre-lubed pucker. His nephew growled, then moaned, a mewling sound that came from the transformation as the fur colors continued to shift, his body becoming ever more feminine. His cock shrank down until it would have been barely suitable for a lion cub, and his hips were soft and plush.

And through it all, the King's magic ripped the traitor's memories from him. Little by little, Simba stopped fighting, and bit by bit, his body surrendered to the true King of the Pride Lands. Resistance faded and became eagerness, the wide rump pushing back, accepting and begging for his cock.

The changes shifted throughout the Pride, the former lions losing their memories of resistance, becoming hyenas, and the basest of them at that. They would never remember where they came from, or why they were at the bottom of the group, but they would always remember that it was where they preferred to be.

Scar smiled, pulling Simba back with him to the throne, sitting on it and encouraging that fat-assed former prince to bounce. It was time for the boy to start earning his keep; if he was to be a cared-for hyena, then he needed to put that ass to work.

Scar chuckled, groaning from time to time as his cock was swallowed up again and again. It was good to be the King.

The End