Rengar is a ferocious vastayan trophy hunter who lives for the thrill of tracking down and killing dangerous creatures. He scours the world for the most fearsome beasts he can find, especially seeking any trace of Kha’Zix, the void creature who scratched out his eye. Rengar stalks his prey neither for food nor glory, but for the sheer beauty of the pursuit.

Rengar was born to a tribe of east-Shuriman vastaya known as the Kiilash, whose society venerated the honor and glory of the hunt. Rengar was born the runt of the litter to the tribe’s chief: a Kiilash named Ponjaf. Ponjaf believed Rengar’s diminutive size would make him a worthless hunter. He ignored his child, assuming the runt would starve to death.

The young Rengar fled the camp, ashamed that he’d disappointed his father. He subsisted on grubs and plants for weeks until one day, he was nearly killed by a legendary human hunter named Markon. Upon seeing Rengar’s state, he took pity on the creature and let it live. Besides, this was no mighty vastayan warrior worthy of Markon’s blade.

Rengar spent months following Markon, feeding off the corpses the hunter left behind. Rengar still hoped to one day rejoin his tribe, and so took great care in observing how Markon took down his quarries.

After some time, Markon grew sick of the pathetic Kiilash following him around. He put a knife to Rengar’s throat and informed him that the only way to be a hunter was to hunt. He tossed Rengar the blade and kicked him down a ravine, where he was forced to make his first kill to survive.

From then on, Rengar spent years pushing himself almost to breaking point. He scoured Shurima for the most powerful and dangerous prey. Though he would never be as big as other Kiilash, Rengar was determined to be twice as ferocious. Over time, instead of coming back to his camp each time with fresh scars, he began to come back with trophies. He polished a sandhawk’s skull to a sheen; he braided the teeth of a shrieker into his hair.

Then, when he decided the time had come, Rengar returned to his tribe, ready to be accepted as a true hunter.

Ponjaf scoffed at Rengar and his trophies. He decreed that only by bringing back the head of an elusive void abomination would Rengar be welcomed back into the tribe.

Blinded by his eagerness to return to his tribe, Rengar allowed this wily beast to get the drop on him. The void creature ripped out one of Rengar’s eyes and escaped.

Furious and defeated, Rengar admitted his failure to Ponjaf. As expected, his father chastized him.

As Ponjaf spoke, Rengar noticed all the trophies adorning his father’s hut were dusty and old. The tribal chief hadn’t hunted anything in a long time—he’d likely sent Rengar after the void creature because he was too afraid to do it himself.

Rengar interrupted his father and called him a coward. Many Kiilash were blessed with strong bodies or comfortable homes. Rengar, conversely, was born facing death. He had taught himself how to hunt, and had the trophies—and scars—to prove it. Even his own bloody eye socket was a trophy—proof that though Rengar was born with disadvantages, he never gave up.

Rengar leapt onto his father and gutted him from neck to belly. The fiercest hunters of the tribe crowned him in flameroses, marking him as their new chieftain.

But Rengar didn’t need his village’s acceptance. All he needed was adrenaline pumping through his veins as he chased down his prey. Rengar left the village, without pausing to take a trophy from what was left of Ponjaf—the chieftain was not worthy of remembering. Instead, he set off determined to find and kill the void creature that had tried to blind him.

Not to satisfy the village, but to satisfy himself.

Rengar smelled the blood before he saw the dead humans. Six or so, he estimated, but it was tough to get an exact count thanks to the number of pieces they’d been torn into. Their swords were strewn about the meadow, as useful as dulled cutlery.

He knelt, licking blood from the ground.

Cold to the tongue. Still sweet, yet bitter with the taste of iron.

It had been spilled less than an hour ago.

Turning over one of the stray limbs in his hand, Rengar found a line of greenish saliva dangling from where the arm had been ripped from its body. He raised the stump to his nose and sniffed.

The saliva smelled foul, like a corpse that had rotted in a puddle of excrement. Just raising it to his nose nearly made Rengar want to vomit, and he had a stronger stomach than most.

He smiled his wide, toothy smile. The creature who inflicted these wounds would be easy to track.

Rengar watched from the brush as the razorhide worked its claws around an old man’s skull and crushed it between its boneteeth. It howled in disappointment, evidently unimpressed by the lack of a crunch.

The giant, four-legged beast stomped through the elderly man’s tent, crushing it with a single step, then biting at the canvas and tearing it apart.

Tossing aside the man’s bedroll, it howled in delight as Rengar heard the scream of a young boy.

Little one.

Frightened. Good fear. Delicious fear.

Time to eat. Time to silence screams. Time to—

Pain.

Pain on the back of its neck. Sharp and hot. Something bit it? No. Another pain, then another. Sharp stabs. Something with a weapon. Something with some fight in it.

Maybe something tasty.

Along this part, i'll be putting DIFFICULTY ratings on spoilers. These mean how hard it is to use the ability properly, and the spoilers will also bring some tips and tricks with each to you! It goes from 1 to 5, with 5 being very hard and 1 being easy.