Hoggish's Arc

Chapter 5 of 7

The caped figure came down from the ridge. Hoggish gripped the golden mic. His chihuahua pressed flat against his shoulder. The man walked slow, sure of himself. Green light glowed from the emerald on his chest. Buddha Banks had warned this would come. Now it stood in the clearing, close enough to touch. "That mic sings," the man said. His mask hid his eyes, but his mouth curled up. "I collect things that sing." He tapped the glowing gem on his suit. "Been hunting relics longer than you've been rhyming, tall one." He circled Hoggish. His cape dragged over the dirt. "I'm not here to take it by force. I want to see if you deserve it." Hoggish stood his ground. "It already chose me." "Then prove it." The relic hunter reached into his cape. He pulled out a small frog carved from emerald. It caught the light and threw green across his palm. "You want to be the best. I know that hunger. So I'll help you." He held the frog out. "This feeds power. Hold it while you spit, and your voice will shake the hills. No more quiet. No more doubt. Take it." Hoggish stared at the frog. His arm ached to grab it. The mic in his other hand felt suddenly small. He remembered flaring the gold too bright and burning it out. He remembered the crowd that laughed. Louder was what he had always wanted. "Take it," the man said again. "Loud beats truth every time." Hoggish reached out. The green glow lit his fingers. Then Buddha Banks's words came back. A pretender pushes the mic. A king lets it pull. Hoggish looked at the frog and knew it pushed. It wanted him to force, to perform, to fake. That path had already died in his hand once. He closed his fingers on air. "No," he said. "I don't need it." The relic hunter's smile fell. "Everyone needs it." Hoggish lifted the golden mic. He didn't reach for a big rhyme. He spoke low, about crossing the swamp alone, about the dog on his shoulder, about wanting one true thing. The gold woke and hummed. His words rolled out clean and full. The trees swayed. The chihuahua's ears lifted. The emerald frog cracked. A thin line split its glassy back. The man looked down, shocked. The green light dimmed in his palm. "Truth," Buddha Banks said from the trees. "Beats every relic you got." The relic hunter clutched the broken frog. His jaw tightened. "You turned it down," he said. "Nobody turns it down." He backed toward the ridge, cape snapping. "You think one clean verse makes you the best? There's an arena where they crown the world's greatest. I'll see you there. And you won't have your teacher." He vanished over the hill. Hoggish let out a breath. The mic still hummed in his hand. He had passed the test. But now he knew where he had to go.