A rich, full mane now adorned Nuka, thick tufts of black hair running deep across the gorge his beefy pecs made— the picture of a king, if ever there was one. He spotted the Outlands pride encroaching to see this walking mountain. As they drew closer, his muzzle split into a smile, his jaw hitting the crest of his pecs, as he hefted the enormous chunk of earth in one hand and flexed his arm for the benefit of his family, pumping muscles of such dizzying scale and density he could stone merely by bending his arm. Let his mother's precious prince have Pride Rock and Simba's meager scrap of glory— Nuka was here to show that whatever he wanted, he could take it— and no one was strong enough to stop him.