It was the rowdiest Zane had seen Titan Rhinos outside of a fight. A bunch were stomping. A few even bellowed.
It was mostly younglings and the white-streaked fighters, and a smattering of gatherers and healers—maybe three-quarters of the camp stood huddled around that white-streaked circle.
A circle that had been set ablaze. And this fire was meant to burn. Not like the Bonfire, which burned almost gently; Shaman Guri said on top of the logs, they burned on the ashes of an ancient Rhino ancestor. That flame wouldn't hurt a Rhino.
This flame, on the other hand, burned on treasure coals and the ashes of the Rhinos' enemies and that strange white circle chalk. The Laws in this fire roared and boiled and cackled, riddled with Tier-5 and Tier-6 Concepts; Zane felt a kinship with them.
It wouldn't be near enough to kill. But stumble through it and it'd leave a mark on even Rhino skin. They'd feel it on their backs in the ring.
A few Rhinos noticed him coming closer. One padded up to him and handed him something with its mouth. It seemed to be some kind of aged cheese curd—a stringy white lump.
He looked around at the gathered Rhinos; most of their tails were swishing. Now that he paid attention, it seemed most were chewing these weird cuds.
He shrugged and popped it into his mouth.
It was sweet and sour and crunchy at once, bursting with essence. Looking around, he got the sense it was their version of popcorn. There was something oddly calming about seeing all those Rhinos chewing.
Then he saw the fighters.
Two peak Minor Gods ran up against each other, horns locking as they bellowed. Trying to knock each other out of the ring. It was that sumo wrestling game he'd seen earlier.
Both were pretty strong; they jousted with 100,000-year-old horns each, horns that powered their bodies.
Both horns acted like giant battering batteries of essence—in the Astral Plane they thrummed with power; reality bent around them, caving inward.
They broke apart, then started charging up again, stomping and snorting.
One of them was clearly bigger, though he seemed one of the younger ones—not very wrinkly. He had one white streak under his eye. The other was an older Rhino, bearing two white streaks.
Once their Skills were fully powered, they charged one another head-on.
The forces being exchanged in that ring were astronomical; in the space of a blink, planet-shattering forces passed between them, furious and fast, neither Rhino giving an inch. Two true powerhouses of the Galaxy pit their greatest strengths against each other full-bore.
Zane leaned in a bit closer, trying to get a better look. The Rhinos let him through. He got all the way up near the fires, close enough to feel the heat.
The smaller Rhino had powered up an Annihilation Charge. It got in three steps—each step ratcheting its powers higher and higher—before it rammed its foe square on the horn.
It staggered the bigger Rhino at first. But it didn't get him out of the ring.
That fellow had another Skill—it wielded its horn like a club. As he raised his head it spiked with power, with weight; its horn darkened, took on a silvery glow. Then it drove in a headbutt, knocking the littler fellow off-kilter.
As it stumbled, the big Rhino pressed its advantage.
Each blast came as an explosion of essence and force—it kind of reminded Zane of his fiery smashes. But the Rhino's explosive power wasn't from flame; it came from the sheer density of the horn. The moment it threw up its Skill, that density skyrocketed; the warping grew stronger too. That 'sucking gravity out of the air' effect.
He could see the heft of it threatening to throw the smaller Rhino straight out of the ring. It had to weight its own horn just to keep its feet. The two of them stood locked there for a moment—horn against horn, growling, muscles bunching thickly as both Rhinos fought for dominance—
"I know that look," chuckled the Barbarian Sage, looking at him. "You've just fought damn near a full day!"
He muttered something about youngsters and stamina.
The bigger Rhino won out.
Wobbled, the smaller Rhino tried shoving back, but they could all feel the momentum of the wrestling had shifted. The big Rhino kept chugging ahead.
At last, the smaller Rhino was knocked clean through the flames. They died as it passed through.
The Rhinos around them all stomped their appreciation. The Big Rhino bellowed.
The littler Rhino got up, dazed, and the two of them touched horns and gave each other a lick—Zane got the sense it was a show of respect.
He wandered off.
The big Rhino stayed, though—and it was then that he noticed Zane.
His eyes shone. He touched his horn to the ground and made a rumbling sound. Then his expression wrinkled for a second, like he was trying quite hard.
A beat.
Then—
"Hello," said the Rhino. For a moment it blinked, as though it was surprised at its own voice. Then it just looked pleased it got the word out.
Zane gave it a wave.
"This one's name is Mook," rumbled the Rhino. It was on a roll now. It looked across the circle, then at Zane, then at the circle again.
"Join?"
Its tail swished, and it gave a little hop—it looked a bit strange; it struck him as something a much smaller animal might do when it got all excited. The ground shuddered under its weight.
All around him, the Rhinos started up a little stomping. He got the sense they wanted to see what he was all about.
Zane always had the notion the best way to know the heart of a man was to meet him in combat. To get a good look at him when the stakes were life-or-death, when all else was stripped bare.
He wondered if that was why the Rhinos weren't much for small talk back at the feast, like humans. Small talk was for small things.
They'd know what he was about soon enough.
As it happened he'd been hoping this fellow might ask.
"Let's do it."
He strode right to the middle of the ring.
A Rhino came forth with a burning branch and dropped it on the circle.
Flames sprang up—and quickly began filling the ring. When they finished the match would begin.
𝕄𝕠𝕠𝕜, 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕋𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕟 ℝ𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕠𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕤
𝔼𝕤𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 𝟝𝟡𝟟
The lad's foe was a hefty one.
But Zane stood taller than the Rhino, and just as wide—he held his own across the ring.
The sounds of Rhinos chewing and stomping filled the scene, a crunching, thundering drumbeat. The Barbarian Sage popped a curd in his mouth and happily joined them.
"You sure about this, Jogo?"
"Trust me," said the Sage. "You've never seen anything like him! You'll see."
"Hmm." Shaman Guri squinted at the ring, then at the Sage. "I remember your first Wreckoning."
"You do?" said the Sage, blinking.
"Clear as if it were yesterday. You were a good deal hairier back then. Just as loud, though. You were wailing when they got you out of there."
She let out a wheeze. "You had these great big lumps on your head—you tried to match a Rhino horn with your own temple!"
"Huh. Does sound like me."
"You've got to be able to take a few good shots on the head in there. But the boy's got no horn," said Guri. "It was a good few months before you got the hang of it."
"Eh," said the Sage. He grinned. "I've got a feeling Zane'll be just fine."
Out there in the ring, Zane growled; his aura flared as his body lit up with bloody runes. Mook stomped and snorted, and his own Titan Rhino Bloodline roared out too.
It was Gentlerhino's rules: no domains, no soul attacks. Power Skills only.
The Rhinos all around watched in breathless anticipation. Or maybe they were all slightly constipated—it was hard to tell sometimes with their expressions. They seemed pretty into it to the Barbarian Sage.
The Rhino that'd brought the branch came up to the edge of the ring; now he wore a little black-and-white cap. He blew a hollowed-out elephant tusk of a horn.
The blast cracked across the plains—a war-horn if the Sage had ever heard one.
Then those two went right at it.
***
At first it seemed the Shaman was right to be concerned.
That first collision had to be one of the most brutal Zane had ever taken. Raw force, straight to the dome—WHAM!
When the dust cleared they saw him locked deep in a tussle, ploughed deep into the soil, working hard—trying to hold back its four-legged charge with his two. His hands wrestled with its horn. There was a red streak on his forehead where it'd broken through.
He looked a tad disoriented—eyes crossed, wobbly-legged.
"Jogo?" said Guri.
Again Mook pressed his advantage. Ramming horn after horn—and though Zane was catching them better now, each blow still sent a visible shock rippling up his body.
The Barbarian Sage just kept chewing his curds. "Just you wait. Lad's not even gotten started yet!"
They watched Zane being driven back foot after foot, until he was forced to the edge of the flames.
The heat of it seemed to get through to him.
He shook his head, as though clearing it, and his eyes uncrossed. That dazed look left his face. And in its place was an intensity, a focus the Barbarian Sage knew all too well.
He growled—his Asura runes seethed. And his aura erupted bloody red.
"You give it to 'em!" roared the Sage.
Zane did.