[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1112185613685358642/1164060440310075462/minotaur.png?ex=6541d6c4&is=652f61c4&hm=835a309eef8a5507a664d602848174979774ddbdd85465de32f6918226bdbedb&]
Pt. XI
The Minotaur is mostly bull. He is not from Greece. And he most certainly was not created when his mother fucked a cow. No way man, he is a Roanoke through and through. His mommy and his daddy could trace their genetics back to that North Carolina Island, and from there straight down a narrow near branchless family tree. What that means, among other “issues,” is that the horns that have grown out of his skull are not horns but a bone disorder. The bone just kept piling and piling on the top of his head. When it reached a certain point it separated almost perfectly right at the middle but kept growing down and curving until ending with two sharp near unbreakable points on either side of his head. Fortunately, the residue from this defect also gave him the most amazing naturally produced neck, back, and core muscles. Of course, that natural strength has been augmented with daily horse testosterone treatments stolen from a farm-vet near Syracuse. They basically give the shit away and never notice the amounts taken to be used on the Minotaur.
He soars through a gnome-provided barricade, splitting the net running between two of the machines and forcing the three gnomes on each to bail off. It falls, now smoking and ruined through the thicker layers of fog. For the gnomes, they are saved when paragliders pop out of their backpacks and unfold. Three of them. All in varying shades of a rainbow. One puffs bubbles for some reason. Another sparks. The third seems fine until Rick realizes the gnome it saved is riding on top of it and not underneath. The gnome is gripping for dear life and does not look happy about his situation at all.
Then it dawns on him, he only sees three paragliders and remembers six gnomes went down. He is sad for a moment over the first casualties. But as they get closer it’s easier to tell that two of the gliders are carrying more. Despite these hardships, none of the gliders have trouble getting altitude and making a pass on the Rever. While over it, they toss out little yellow sacks that explode on impact. The explosions are small but disruptive. Splinters sail, ending a few the option of two eyes. The boat is fine.
The three crest down, picking up speed about to take another run. Two of the gnomes drop off onto the Rever and disappear quickly through the legs of the aeronauts massed there.
But none of that takes away from the ferocity of the creature that maneuvers by firing his rocket pack, headed straight for Rick. By then it is too late for Rick as the Minotaur lands right next to him.
What sound does a minotaur make when it crashes into the deck of a ship? Minotaur snorts and raises a rusty hunk of metal like an axe above his head and screams a mighty battle cry to be proud of and attacks, axe high, intending to administer a killing blow right away.
His skin could be cured leather and glistens like he is coasted with motor oil. The distance between him and the old Vietnam vet disappears quickly. Ricks holds his ground. He doesn’t even flinch. Likely because he is unaware Minotaur is about to cleave him in two.
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The Minotaur’s axe is about to fall directly on its target until Rick bends down to grab another cannonball, perfectly on time to be out of the way. The forward momentum of the swing makes the giant horny thing topple off balance and fall over the side of the Merry Merrey Alle. He also notices the ugly brute left behind his axe. Rick continues the original intent and throws the cannonball. It takes out another balloon from the main ship, which begins to sink into the fog. The ships around it stop their attack and throw it lines which are quickly tied off but now the other two ships list in the direction of the lead ship, dangerously. But Rick’s attention is elsewhere. He lets go of the last cannonball clutched in his good hand, more interested in Minotaur’s ax.
He rips it out of the floor with his gnome-created arm and notices it is perfectly balanced, weighs about sixty pounds and the edge is a two-foot wide perfectly honed wedge of rusty metal.
Then he is attacked from behind. He and something incredibly heavy roll into the center of the ship. He recovers slower than the oil-stained thing that rolls away and kips back into a ready stance.
In that time, Rick has managed to sit up.
The Minotaur, rocket pack still smoking, kicks him in the chest. It is hard and painful and puts him back on the ground with its ferocity. Minotaur leaps on top of him and begins wildly swinging his arms pounding the ever-loving bejesus out of the vet’s face. This is very annoying to Rick. He does not like being hit in the face, who does? Later when things calm down, he’ll admit this is pretty much where his memory stops. Which might be for the best.
Both of Ricks's arms are pinned under Minotaur’s knees. It looks like it is over for the senior citizen until he raises his new arm. Minotaur yelps in pain at the chaos, acting like a hand at the end of his arm, bites down hard on the shiny black ankle. Rick lifts the would-be circus freak’s leg and then begins to twirl the three hundred pounds of lab-produced muscle over his prone body for a few seconds before slamming him back down on the deck.
Minotaur is hurt. No air in his lungs, and his head rings. He might even have a broken arm, but the shock of it all hasn’t worn off yet to tell for sure. Beneath him, the deck of the Merry Merrey Alle is bruised from the assault. This causes the captain to forget about the cannonballs he is supposed to be dodging and exclaim violently in Rick's direction, “That’s comin' out of your bonus, matey!”
Rick ignores him because he has other tasks to attend to. First, he repossesses the ax from the deck, hoists it with his gnome-arm, and brings it down right in the center of Minotaur’s chest. Minotaur doesn’t die, even when Rick flips him over to remove the rocket-pack and place it on his own shoulders.
It does not fit and as Minotaur gurgles on his own blood, Rick struggles, managing to get one arm fully in a strap but the other only up to his elbow. He decides; that will have to do. He takes the handle of the axe with his chaos and uses it, still embedded in Minotaur’s chest, to drag him over to the bulkhead and toss him overboard. His chortling scream echoes through the clouds and keeps going and going before disappearing.
Rick steps to the edge of the aeroship. He has the ax in one hand and the rocket packs activation button in his other and is about to jump off when Dog toddles up and grabs his elbow, “What the fuck are you about to do? There’s miles down there until the end. Death long before you hit the ground. You want that fat man?”
Rick looks at Dog for a moment and with no words, jumps off. The rockets activate and for a second it looks like everything is going to work out, until the rocket pack sparks and the fire stops and Rick falls almost exactly through the hole created by Minotaur.