Chapter 1
There is only darkness. So dark in fact that Tyrus is not certain if he is still sleeping or not. It feels like a dream because he can now feel the articulations of his fingers. Fingers? A second ago, he had hooves for hands and now he can feel the tip of his fingers? He touches his fingers to make sure of the realness of it. It is hard but his index is there and so is his little finger. He sighs in relief but as soon as he feels his face with his hands, he is horrified to find out that it is still that of a monster’s. He breaths out raggedly and shockingly he can hear the sound of the air entering through his trachea to his lungs and back out. His heartbeats, he can clearly identify each pounding in his chest. He notices that his heart pounds in an interval of less than a second. He feels like he can even hear his own thoughts or is it just him talking out loud again. A loud groan comes from his grotesque mouth. He still can’t talk. But other than his pounding heart and his breath, there is nothing but silence.
He gets up from his sitting position but the first thing his head encounters is a wall. A loud noise resounds; it was from his head bumping against the ceiling. He stretches out his hands to feel the ceiling. It is humid and the air around him has been so oppressive that he is starting to asphyxiate. Even the walls themselves are suffocating because they have been enclosing him from all four directions. As he slowly paces toward oblivion, he has to bend his back a little to fit his giant body through the small passage.
The single path seems to lead to nowhere in particular. He feels lost and the longer he follow the only track, the greater the feeling that the walls are closing in on him. Sometime there would be other paths that take him to the right or left. These alternative path, he only encounters some of them through pure chance; as he sticks to the wall long enough, he would fall to the right or the left because he occasionally loses his balance. Otherwise, he only has a dark void to guide him.
It is like a maze. How long has he been here? The notion of time seems to escape perfectly from his mind. He doesn’t know whether it is night or day. For how long has he wander through these walls? He feels like they are getting narrower by the seconds. He has to bend his back even more, walking with both his arms squeezed against his body. He runs. He wants to escape this empty maze, but most of all he doesn’t want to listen to his own thoughts anymore. Sick of them, tired of the same repetitions playing constantly in his head like a rolling tape. His muscles tense up with each step taken. His legs hurt and his arms are weak. The air he inhales every three steps seems to heat up and it is burning his lungs and his throat. The thirst, irresistible, and the hunger, aching so much that it is killing him. His head is spinning around in a giant vortex and his mind is gradually losing all of it senses; he feels no longer his face, he can see nothing, can hear nothing, can no longer understand the reason why he is running. From what is he running from? Exhausted, his strength is losing despite his hardest efforts to stay awake. But the longer he runs, the narrower the walls get until he has to miserably crawl on the ground like a wounded beast. Like an injured animal, he lies his head against the cold earth. He knows that it is paved so humans must have constructed this. Someone must have done a very sophisticated plan to build such a colossal labyrinth. Why did they build such a labyrinth? And why is he here? Did they put him in here in fear that a monster, awoken from its slumber, goes into a red rage and ravages them? But somehow, they decided not kill him, these unknown beings that threw him in here. However, he thinks that his containment was justified; angering a giant beast is probably unwise and what better way there is but to let it rot in this maze where they hold no responsibility. They should have just kill me right there and then. I was defenseless, living like I was dead and yet they threw me in here to leave me to suffer.
Male voices surface from the abyss; they are still far away but soon they will come close enough. The voices are hardly audible if not for the exceeding quietness within the walls. They are soundless murmurs of various emotions: bravery, determination, courage to more discreet ones such as fear, anxiousness, dread. Then appears a source of light; a red fiery torch lights up the wet and cold walls. Slowly but surely, Tyrus feels a small burn on his back. He thinks people are here to save him but he forgets his unnatural appearance and he forgets who he is. His body is soon showered in heat. The voices are in dismay; some are screaming in fear, others, in a more reassuring tone, try to calm down the group, rare ones stay dead quiet; they were either in shock or used to scenes like these. The fallen beast knows all of this because he can hear their bodies: their voices, their breaths, the pounding echo in their chest and particularly the circulating blood in their veins. Their metal rods reflect the red fire of the torch turning them bloody. The men brandish their swords and one signals to a sick-looking soldier in the back. He approaches the lying monster and pokes its back with his sword. Seeing no movement from the supposed corpse, he turns his back and laughs at his comrades. But it is a fatal mistake, as soon as his back turned, Tyrus rises to his feet and pierces the man with his left horn. The man coughs out blood that spray violently on his companion’s faces. In the shadows, it looks like the spilled blood has turned black. The rest of the men brandish their swords once again – though some are glued to their place completely paralyzed out of fear – but it is too late; the beast barbarically charged into the middle of the group, with the dead man still hanging limply on his horn, and killed two more men in the back: one was hit by an enormous fist and is sent flying into a wall, the other had his throat ripped out by a furious bite. The torch falls on the ground; the only source of light is off. Anguish screams echo throughout the corridor, then come after dry sounds of metal clinks against a hard material. Only small sparks of fire could partly shine the scene of carnage that follows afterwards but, soon enough, they are extinguished by streams of viscous black blood.
One last man was still alive. Pitiful would best describe his situation; sitting on his bottom, his back against the wall, he is frightened to death. The sword that he holds with both his hand, is broken but he doesn’t know that. He soiled himself, the beast recognized it from the smell but the small man probably doesn’t know that either. He is tearful, shaking like he had a strong fever and, despite feeling the breath of the monster right beside his shoulders, he is crying out loud like a baby asking for his mother. The breath is getting closer, the man knows it. He hears approaching footsteps and, from them, he feels a threatening aura spilling out from each advancing step. Nevertheless, he tries to swing his sword but as time passes by, he notices that his arms weren’t moving to his commands. He panicked, he frantically forcing his hands to move but his efforts are futile because he will later notices that nor his legs, nor his head would budge. There is nothing he can do. He musters his last ditch of force to pray. His lips are quivering and his voice is trembling, but he manages to speak some words out. It is a prayer to the gods that he always adores. Suddenly, he feels a surge of fury taking over his mind. Why aren’t the gods coming to save their most faithful follower? He has prayed his entire life and this is how destiny repays him? He shouldn’t have come to this ominous place. He knew of the danger but his foolishness will bring him to his death. At this moment, he wants to see his village again. He remembers the sign at the entrance of the village that he helped to set up himself with some of his friends. For me, I just want to go home. To have left Namia and my children at home lonely at day, cold at night waiting for their father to come home… What have I done? He hears the loud breathing once again, a hot wind of air blows into his face. The monster is right in front of him. I’m sorry, Namia…
The hunger has subsided and the thirst is quenched. He knows why but he doesn’t want admit it.
When he woke up, he saw clearly the contour of the walls, the depth of the corridors of rock and a viscous liquid that decorated his surroundings in black. Puddles of the liquid are on the ground, some painted on the walls, he only felt a bit disturbed watching it. He looked to his hand because he felt like he was grabbing something, it was a hand. He quickly let go of it, surprised. Then he inspected his hands, they are covered by the same black liquid and so was his entire body. He scrubbed his teeth with his finger and saw that his mouth is full of black goo. Something was stuck in his teeth so he tried to force it out with his tongue, a small finger was spitted out. He was terrified. Struck with profound agony at the bottom of his heart, he ran once again. He doesn’t remember which direction he took. Did he retraced his steps? Or had he taken the correct path? He has calmed down, but a feeling of self-deprecation and deep remorse condemn him to live for the rest of his life knowing that he had tasted human flesh. He doesn’t want to say it but he enjoyed every second of the process; the feeling of flesh tearing in his arms, the men’s deafening and agonizing screams as he rips out their throat, the taste of their blood and the feeling he gains from drinking it. He remembers every last sensations and relives every last bit of memories of the carnage. The pure pleasure of killing is a conflicting idea in his consciousness. He has calmed down but he is not foolish enough to not know that he will get hungry again, thirsty again and kill again. What will he do then? The best solutions he can think of: kill himself by starving to death or keep walking. He bites his finger until it bleeds and says to himself that the pain he feels is incomparable to what he did to those people. Is killing himself the better idea? Inflicting pain on oneself to repent for the ultimate crime: murder? Killing himself so that he can finally forget the pleasure of eating raw human flesh and so that he doesn’t kill anyone else in the future, all of this for the sake of satisfying his deprived needs. As natural as these needs are, he is not an animal, he is a human at heart and so the acts he had commit are, to him, acts of the lowest form of morality and humanity. He flatly stops on his track and thinks of ways to commit suicide. Pensively, his right hand caresses his forehead. It is unusual to see an enormous monster, alone in the middle of a gigantic labyrinth, thinking thoroughly on how to kill itself.
Tyrus halts his thoughts and looks at his horns. He grabs them and pulls them down with all his forces. The horns break and the Bull screams in pain. A fountain of blood gushes through where the horns were broken off. It flows down to his face, covering half of it in a dense liquid. He examines the horns; they are unexpectedly straight and pointy. He thinks that the instruments of his death are perfect. He grabs one of the horn in both hands and aims the point at his heart. He breathes heavily and closes his eyes in order to not see the object that will be the cause of his death. His face, covered in his own blood, is tensed up giving surface to multiple deep lines and wrinkles that makes him more of a monster than he already is. He grinds his teeth to prepare for the worse. He takes a deep breath in, filling his lungs to their maximum capacity and, with a swift movement of the arms, he impales the horn cleanly through his own heart. He doesn’t howl in agony, he doesn’t agitate or cry. He falls like a stone sinking in water.
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Tyrus sees in front of him a blue screen. He doesn’t know where he is because it is pitch black. He tries to read what is written on the screen.
You are dead. Revival in one hour…
‘You are dead.’, he repeated in his head, ‘Revival in one hour…’
He tries to discern meanings behind these words but they are as clear as they could get. He is dead and he will revive in one hour. He looks around: he is floating in the air. It is absurd, the situation in which he found himself. It is like a game; he hasn’t played much games in his life but he knows one when he sees one. These blue screens that appear out of the blue and show your current status are those that he sees in RPG games or that’s what he thinks it is. He is dead and he will revive in one hour. Does it mean that he can’t die no matter what? That somehow he is stuck living as a monster for the rest of his life? Then again if he can revive, it could also mean that he is basically immortal. He knows that he is going too quick to conclusions without basing on any facts, but right now thinking is the only assurance that he is still sane. I think, therefore I am. An idea suddenly comes to mind.
‘Status...’, he shyly whispered in his head.
And indeed another blue screen pops up in front of his eyes, a denser one than the last.
General information
Mental Status
Name
Tyrus
Will Power
55
Race
Minotaur
Mental Fortitude
10
Status
Dead
Currently bounded to The Labyrinth of Osmen
Blood-lust
70
Level
8
Spirit
80
Health
0/150
Intelligence
60
Mana
10/10
Wisdom
40
Stamina
0/200
Charisma
10
Skills
Luck
5
Titles
…
Physical Status
Resistances
Strength
80
Physical Resistance
10%
Vitality
5/54
Pain Resistance
5%
Defense
120
Fear Resistance
5%
Agility
45
Charm Resistance
5%
Speed
60
…
Dexterity
30
Charm
2
…
Experience till next level
50/380
This is the strangest thing he has seen in his life. He takes notice of his charm, the number is ‘2’. He gives a weary sigh and said to himself that he is a Minotaur after all. He is surprised at how calm he is. ‘Bounded to The Labyrinth of Osmen’ he thought out loud. What does ‘bounded’ mean? Perhaps it means imprisoned, caged within ‘The Labyrinth of Osmen’. He does not know, he knows next to nothing of his current situation.
He remembers the Greek mythology of the Minotaur. In Crete, there once existe a powerful kingdom. The king who ruled that kingdom was Minos, the wisest man in Greek. He established the most efficient and fair system of justice in the empire. His wife was Pasiphae, daughter of the Sun and a descendant of the king of gods, Zeus. However, the Sun was deeply hated by Aphrodite, the Goddess of Love. So the beautiful goddess, to satisfy her hatred for the Sun, planted a seed of love in Pasiphae so that she would fall in love with the most handsome bull in the kingdom. Later on, Pasiphae, giving up to her temptations, gave birth to the Minotaur. Minos caught news of his wife’s deprived act and had her exiled from the kingdom. As for the Minotaur, the king of Crete, a compassionate man by nature, couldn’t muster the strength to kill a child so he ordered the construction of a labyrinth from his most ingenuous engineers. From then on, each year, a sacrifice is made to feed the Minotaur. The beast would later be vanquished by the Greek hero, Theseus. That is the story of the Minotaur.
He looks to his ‘Blood-lust’ bar in his ‘Mental Status’. It is at seventy, one of the highest number he sees in the status table. He wonders if the numbers makes who he is or is he the one who makes the numbers. The idea didn’t stay for long before another blue screen appears.
Revival in one minute…
This is it. He will be back to the Labyrinth and once again he will have to roam those cold corridors. He doesn’t have a say in the decision. There is no escape from the Labyrinth, not even in death could he find solace or peace. He softly cries at the pessimistic idea but there it is, in front of him, a white path to take him back to where he needs to be. He fights to walk forward but an invisible force is pushing him in the back. The light is blinding, it is warm and cozy but soon enough, he is within the confines of two walls and he sees the abyss from afar. It is difficult to breath, it is hard to stand on his knees and he feels like his soul is suddenly sucked out of his body. The languishing feeling is back, the pain is still there where he stabbed his own heart but the Minotaur keeps walking.