On the vast African savanna, the setting sun bleeds red, dyeing the horizon a golden red, weaving a magnificent tapestry with the horizon.
The grass sways gently in the breeze, like ocean waves, with a few gazelles occasionally leaping by, leaving behind a series of light footprints.
On this vibrant land, a figure is crossing the field at an astonishing speed.
It was Stuka.
A well-built black warrior, he held a smoothly polished spear that reflected dazzling light under the golden rays.
Stuka's skin was like the finest chocolate, his muscles taut and powerful, each quivering with his running, displaying his extraordinary strength and agility.
Sweat slid down his resolute face, yet it couldn't hide the fighting spirit burning in his bright eyes. This was his seventh hunting trip this month, each one carried with a sense of duty to his tribe and awe of nature.
Unlike before, this time his target was a male lion ousted from its pride.
