It had been brewing for some time now. It had actually been an underground war the kobels were not even aware of, fought savagely throughout the plains between those bowing to them and the growing mass of the disgruntled.
On the day of the ritual, that mass had agreed to strike. With a coordination few thought possible, combat erupted all over the settlements. Brothers killing brothers, warriors against warriors and surging on helpless crowds.
The hill, for once, would not be spared. Hundreds were facing the kobels and raiding their mansions. Burning. Plundering.
Killing.
Killing. The pleasure of blood in their eyes. In the cavern both warriors were trading blows that should have killed any lesser.
They were watching limbs hold by nothing and reattach.
Still the minotaur was forced on the defensive, using reach and his decent speed to fend off an overwhelming might. And Tunu, wiser than ever, was taking it slowly.
Whenever his enemy disengaged, rather than pursue blindly, he was repositioning, then charging again to keep the initiative. It was relentless, a kind of hunt. His beating heart could not get enough of it, exhilerated.
The bull's eyes were brimming with excitement.
But they exchanged hits again, insisted, tore into each other until the distance was nothing.
At that point the minotaur used his free hand to seize one of Tunu's horn. In doing so he had left himself completely open. His other arm, holding the trident and net, could not prevent the kobel's claws from digging deep.
He got absolutely demolished, yet would not let go of the horn, pulled and pulled until it snapped.
Both of them took some distance to face each other. Already their wounds were closing, yet the headache would not cease; Tunu's senses were exploding, running him mad. His horn was not growing back. His broken horn remained broken.
The bull, with a grin, threw that piece on the ground to smash it. His hoof only left fragments.
It had always been like this. In every fight, at every moment. The realm, cold and cruel, would remind him of how insignificant he was. How better everything was compared to him.
So both him and his heart roared out of pure fury.
Now the minotaur had what he wanted: the kobel lunged blindly to strike, nearly cut him in half in one swing. There was no fighting back against that strength. All the beast could do was fall back, again and again, hoping against all hope that his opponent would tire.
He would not, but all the same, at the first opening the net flew and trapped Tunu.
Already the net was being torn apart, yet suddenly his strength got sapped. He fell on his knees, crushed by a sudden weakness.
And the bull, not hesitating for a second, plunged his trident right into the kobel's chest.
That net had used the same sorcery imbued in black chains. The very art to subdue monsters had been used against him. His hands had gripped the trident, only to feel it pull further in, through those heavy scales.
If for a second that savage allowed himself to believe he could win.
The heartbeat only grew faster. Faster.
Before that puny insect grew the shape of a wyvern.
Tunu roared, his mind crushed by that sudden surge of power. He could barely think; no, he could not think anymore. Nothing but a primal hunger remained.
With the net in pieces, his throat filled, his maw opened and the jet of flames burst to devour bones and rocks alike. Only the spire protected that miserable opponent from being liquefied. The fire, instead, went slamming on the wall afar.
Had Tunu not stopped, it would have spread from there, engulfed the whole lair.
A wyvern could survive its own fire. But that appearance was already taxing for him and the damage would have been tremendous. So, to avoid that stress, it let go, let the darkness fill the cavern again.
The minotaur, immediately, came out of the spire. From the right, no, from the left, defiant.
The wyvern gave chase.
The wyvern went after that pale figure, behind the spire, towering over it with mad eyes.
In front of him the savage would not flee anymore, but stood his ground, only taking two steps back to better brace for the fight.
"Eh!" He yelled. "Want to hear something funny, big guy?!"
That made the wyvern pause, but barely.
"Your legend Tusali, it's a lie! The whole thing!" Then the bull kept going: "Your chief told us, his own chief made it up when they were kids! You kobels don't have wyvern blood, you're just hairy freaks!"
Why the wyvern had frozen, seething, was beyond reason.
But the minotaur, feeling his moment, added:
"You think I'm lying? Eh! Tusali is a woman's name!"
And every single kobel from birth had been able to tell.
So the wyvern fell on him, maw wide open to finish with that nuisance. And the moment it fell on that bull, it felt a sudden, abominable pain in his heart.
A sword had surged from the ground to hit it.
Where only bones littered the ground a kobel had appeared, powder flowing off to reveal the trickery. That kobel, covered in scars almost as old as him, had surged up to plunge the sword into scales it should not have been able to break.
That blade had been forged for nothing but this. All of the tribes' art to pierce.
And so the heart was hit.
All of his strength, all of his might receded. That massive shape staggered and fell, shrunk rapidly. As his thoughts came back Tunu could feel himself dying.
His enemies, far from triumphant, hurried to him to bring their weapons down and finish the thrashing kobel where he lay.
A warcry stopped them.
Savae fell on that kobel first, tore him open with her sword. In a second it was finished, but the minotaur saw this and went crazy.
He watched them fight. Tunu watched the warrior face that unkillable beast and thought, thought she was so beautiful. So mighty. Everything he could never be.
Tunu watched as his own heartbeat failed, tried again but without rhythm, had him gag on the ground. All he could think was if another kobel had got the heart, if someone better than him... he want to cry, to scream and only blood splurted from his mouth.
Not even Savae could beat that strength and rage. She got wounded, wounded again, fell back to regain her footing. Blood was blinding one eye. Blood was blinding the bull as well.
The witchcraft that had maintained him alive had started to lapse.
And now the magic unraveled. He could feel it too, his whole body breaking from all the wounds it had absorbed. With no way to heal, knowing itself a dead beast walking he charged one last time, to strike with all he had.
That desperate charge was met with Savae's blade. She cut his head, tore through his knees, let the savage crash behind her.
Then her eyes fell on Tunu and the female dropped her sword, rushed to him to grab his chest.
He could not hear what she was saying. He could not understand her sudden fear. The proud warrior, the bloodthirsty champion, had started to cry.