It has been three days passed that our hero wanders through the Labyrinth of Osmen without food or water but he does not know that. He thinks it has only been hours since his revival. His misunderstanding and his lacking sense of time could be explained by the fact that he doesn’t sleep. Wandering the Labyrinth is like wandering a dream; the wanderer doesn’t know where he goes, doesn’t know that he is dreaming; he is lost and it is unconsciously that he asks no question whether he is or not. Your consciousness slips away the moment you step inside the maze and like inside a dream, you do not ask questions whether what you perceive is real or fantasy. In the labyrinth, without consciousness, you go quickly insane and, of course, become food for the things that hide within the shadows of the walls. If only food and water are such common things within these walls. Unfortunately, they are not and extremely rare to come by. Humans are especially delicacies but they only explore the maze once month or so and, in the worse case, not at all for years. Each time a human steps into the maze, it is with eager and impatience that the eyes look for the right moment to strike and gain a small loot from the corpse. However, hunger which is the common thing every beings in the Labyrinth share is painfully excruciating. The monsters living the labyrinth, live everyday in complete paranoia. They are cynical to the point that grazing a piece of bone that means the world to them, could simply get you killed. That is the rule of the Labyrinth, every bone for themselves. Their attitude – this excessive obsession for comfort of the stomach at the risk of their own lives – might seem excessive knowing that most of them are bounded to their home and in consequence, they are unable to die. However, imagine a world where you are constantly faced with hunger until your death then, the next day, you wake up and you have to repeat the same sequence: you will live for days, you will get hungry then finally, when you are too exhausted to carry on, you will die of hunger. Now imagine doing the same repetition a thousand more times. In another case, monsters that are not bounded to the Labyrinth, though they are rare and only stumbled upon the Labyrinth by pure chance, have to pass the day doing anything they can to evade permanent death. To sum it all up, there is no pleasure concerning the life of a normal monster and, perhaps, chewing on a piece of dry bone could turn out to be the ultimate satisfaction a rodent can have for the rest of its miserable life.
However, Tyrus is a special case. He is special by the fact that, despite being a Minotaur, creatures that are usually only capable of charging walls without second thought, he is human in mind and heart. Three days has passed since his first revival and he did something no monsters had thought to do in their entire lives.
Tyrus roams around knowing that he does not know where he is going. It feels like only hours have passed but his intuition tells him otherwise. The Labyrinth is a deep and dark place where all directions are the same and no direction leads to anywhere in particular. With that fact, Tyrus walks with no goal in mind, no purpose to pursue. This emptiness digging through his heart, he feels like it is absorbing his soul, killing his only motivation and that is to live. He can not understand what goes through the mind of the engineers that made this place. He curses them once in a while to distract himself, if not for a minute or two, possibly from his eternal existence in this cage of torture. Otherwise, he keeps marching on with his eyes looking straight at what could be his final destination.
Restless, exhausted, he is threatened by his own being – this body that is not his and will never be – but he tries his best to stay optimistic. He thinks of the most random things to keep himself from boredom; like the time he got his first bike, or when his mother used to take him out on little walks beside the lake next to his old house, or the insides of his old room; there was a small lantern beside his bed on a night table and he used to stay up late at night and read books under the dim yellow light. The floor was covered by a large carpet and he grins remembering how soft it was and that he would roll over it, like an excited child, when his parents weren’t home. There was a bookshelf on the left side of his bed. The books he read, he knows all of them by heart: “Treasure Island” by Stevenson, “Bel-Ami” by Maupassant, “Oedipus” by Sophocles, “The Three pigs”, “Fables” by Jean de la Fontaine, “The Little Prince” by Saint-Exupéry, and so on. The closer he looks at the night table, the clearer he sees the details: there is a chip on the left corner of the table, the top is a bit burnt and brown, the legs were weak and they shook every now and then. Then there was the perfume of hot milk coffee; his mom always brought him milk coffee when he was feeling sad. It is extraordinary how memories can keep a person so preoccupied; there is just so much of them; little facts or details rushing back to you if you dig around your brain hard enough and I dare say that a man, living for a single day, can be preoccupied for hundred of years before running out of memories.
Tyrus feels weak in his knees. Hunger is starting to occupy his mind. ‘Status’, he thought. A blue screen appears in front of his eyes.
General information
Mental Status
Name
Tyrus
Will Power
55
Race
Minotaur
Mental Fortitude
10
Status
Currently bounded to The Labyrinth of Osmen
Hungry and thirsty
Blood-lust
70
Level
8
Spirit
80
Health
135/150
Intelligence
60
Mana
10/10
Wisdom
40
Stamina
50/200
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
Tyrus is shocked to see that his stamina has decreased by so much in such little time. When he first opened the status table at his revival, his stamina was at maximum but now it is divided by three. He suspects that more time have passed than he thought. With that thought, he is suddenly afraid. Afraid of what? That he doesn’t know how much time have passed since the last time he ate? Seeing his stamina dropped so drastically, and the stomachache that he can not rid of, and the dryness in his throat, and the weakness in his knees, he knows that he is losing his control over the body. How much he would pay for a single drop of water or a piece of anything to chew on. A piece of rubber would be enough just so that he can move his jaws.
His eyes spot the sudden change in the stamina bar; “49” it says. A drop of a single digit and Tyrus is completely frozen. He forces himself to walk, keeping a close eye on the decreasing numbers. “48”, “47”, “46”, “45”, the numbers keep dropping like a countdown. Tyrus naively believes that being conscious of the numbers will keep him sane because he knows what to expect when it reaches zero, but the longer he stares at the decreasing values, the clearer it seems to him that his mind is out of grasp. There is a heavy burden on his eyelids and he tries to forcibly open them with much efforts and no results. Tyrus’s knees give up on him as he drops like a rock on the ground.
He wakes up. How long has he passed out? “20”, “19”, “18”, “17”, the numbers are getting close to zero. Tyrus tries to stand up but is unable to. His arms are glued to the ground and his legs are paralyzed to the spot. He musters all his strength to force his muscles to do what they are supposed to do but he quickly finds out that he could only move his big toe. Even then, the numbness was unbearable. He lays his head flatly on the ground, resigned. In a matter of minutes, he will once again lose to the Minotaur. How can a wild animal resist to its most basic instincts? Can a lion give up on its prey and starts chewing on leaves? He is not an animal and he tells it to himself. He is a human. Even then can humans resist their deepest desires? Beliefs that people’s actions, way of life and behaviors are the fruits of their relation with society, are very true. However, since birth, Nature has already decided certain natural instincts that will carry the baby in a later stage of life. Raising a wild cat in your home, will the cat gives up its most natural behaviors such as hunting and killing. Perhaps through thousands of years of evolution can they, but for Tyrus’s case who was born recently, feasting on human flesh and drinking their blood is as natural as Nature gets. He gives a head-butt to the ground as a impending feeling of despair takes hold of him. He hit his head several more more time until his face is covered in his own blood. The liquid flows down to his lips and Tyrus tastes it avidly, as taking pleasure from drinking blood from a nosebleed. He looks to his arm, the only thing he can perceived in his closing vision. Covered in a thick brown fur, the gigantic human arm looks like it was made to crush rocks with its bare hands. The muscles are strong, tough as a boulder. Tyrus despises this grotesque limb of his. This body isn’t his and he does not desire it in the slightest; a curse that he firmly believe that he does not deserve no matter what wrongful things he did in his life. He despises it at the bottom of his heart and, as he feels an erupting heat from his stomach pushing up to his head, he bites his arm with little force left in his body and rips a piece of meat off. “6”, “5”, “4”, “3”, “2”, “1”, he chews on his own red meat while spitting out the fur. “2”, “3”, he then proceeds by breaking his wrist and pulls his hand off of his forearm with his jaws. “4”, “5”, he munches on his fingers as he carefully sort out his sharp fingernails with his tongue and spit them out. “6”, “7”, “8”, “9”, “10”, when he finally finishes gulping down his entire right arm and that the bleeding has miraculously stopped, he notices that his stamina is at fifty. Like a cheerful infant, he joyfully laughs pleased with himself for what he did. Suddenly, he sees a blue notification followed by a jingling noise.
You gain a new title: The Stranger
‘The Stranger?’, he thought.
A strange impulse causes Tyrus to reach out his hand and touch the words. Another blue screen appears.
Title : The Stranger
You are a stranger to society. You do not follow the norms and you trust yourself the most. Certainty is what defines your presence the most and it is where you draw most of your strength to keep going no matter the danger.
Effects:
Will Power +30
Guts +20
Mental Fortitude +30
Blood-lust -10
Spirit +10
Wisdom +10
Charisma +20
Pain Resistance +10 %
Fear Resistance +40 %
Hunger Resistance +10 %
Thirst Resistance +10 %
…
Tyrus is utterly confused. All of these numbers appearing one after another is giving him a light headache. His eyes tries to capture the immensity of what he just received. It is a blessing perhaps because he no longer senses the illogical rage planted deep inside his mind. It is still there, growling like a furious beast but it is weak and he has it on a leash. He opens his status window again to see what is new.
General information
Mental Status
Name
Tyrus
Will Power
85
Race
Minotaur
Mental Fortitude
40
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Status
Currently bounded to The Labyrinth of Osmen
Hungry and thirsty
Blood-lust
60
Level
8
Spirit
90
Health
135/150
Intelligence
60
Mana
10/10
Wisdom
50
Stamina
50/200
Charisma
30
Skills
Luck
5
Titles
…
Physical Status
Resistances
Strength
80
Physical Resistance
10%
Vitality
5/54
Pain Resistance
15%
Defense
120
Fear Resistance
45%
Agility
45
Charm Resistance
5%
Speed
60
…
Dexterity
30
Charm
2
…
Experience till next level
50/380
He takes note that some of the attributes he saw on the previous screen did not appear on his status window. The suspension points underneath might be where those attributes are hidden. Tyrus decides that he’ll explore those functions at a later stage because for a while now he gets the feeling that something, somewhere in the shadows, was watching him very closely.
Tyrus turns his back and sees a pack of gray wolves. He averts his eyes to a white wolf who stands in front. It is the perfect figure of a leader; muscular, strong, it had a taciturn, almost expressionless, visage on it scarred face and, unlike his kins, it stands on two legs that support its wide shoulders. Its fur, snow white, is like a dim source of light in the obscene obscurity of the Labyrinth. Its eyes, unhinged before Tyrus’s presence, pierce the atmosphere with their sheer intensity. The wolves however, grunting discreetly behind their leader, they are agitated, excited but fearful of the beast that towers them by five meters. Tyrus can see the contour of their ribcage sticking out of their dirty and worn-out skin. They are clearly feverish and hungry because the moment Tyrus makes a movement, they growl in anger as foam starts to form on their grotesque peaks. On the other hand, their leader stays composed, it even howls in an angry voice in an attempt calm down the agitated wolves. It is no surprise that their mental states are deteriorating. They have been moving with empty stomachs for almost four days on end and some, who were desperate enough, decided to resort to cannibalism. Odd enough, those were the ones who are most on edge among the pack.
Three wolves in the back brazenly launch on their hind legs toward Tyrus but before they can reach him to deliver a blow, the Minotaur punches the one closest to him in the nose, breaking it in the process. He then grabs one by the neck and crushes it with ease. The last one is pierced through the entrance of its mouth by his horn. Tyrus is amazed at how he has become so coordinated with his new body. He quickly disposes of the corpses behind him and approaches the leader with large steps. Arriving almost a hairbreadth away from the white wolf’s face, Tyrus notices that he is much taller than the wolf and yet he sees no fear in its eyes, like they were looking at him with slight admiration and much defiance and courage. The two giant beasts exchange gazes for minutes, ignoring the growling of the wolves in the background that madly demand justice for their murdered kins. Tyrus stares deep into his foe’s eyes; they are deep blue and they show no sign of fear or any intentions of retreating. Tyrus’s mind wanders elsewhere, in deep hypnosis. He sees in those captivating eyes, the ocean that he only gets to see once in his previous life, his warm blue sheet when he was still a kid and that he would put around his neck to play heroes and other random things that give him a sweet taste of nostalgia. When was the last time he has seen such a beautiful color? The more he thinks about it, the more he finds the blueness of those eyes almost physically attractive. He wants to take a hold of them, to watch them even more closely, and to inspect them more meticulously, and to gaze at them for the longest time, but there it is when he takes a step back to look: a wolf’s mouth is in the way. He reflexively gives a weary sigh and exhales a hot air straight at the wolf’s face. It takes it as an insult and, with a quick movement, swipes its sharp claws at Tyrus’s chest but the Minotaur quickly bounces backward and safely escapes. The white wolf is quick because, within the span of seconds, it clears the distance between its foe and it. Tyrus skillfully dodges a bite to the neck and counters with a punch to the jaws. The punch is at a distance where it is impossible to evade but the wolf miraculously did it; it bites the fist, and when Tyrus’s arm was fully extended and that the punch has lost most of its force, it breaks away. Both fighter’s respective actions are devastating because Tyrus’s fist is shattered and the wolf has broken most of its teeth.
Both combatants stare down at each other trying to predict their opponent’s next move. Tyrus acts first and charges head-on. He uses a feint by carelessly throwing a punch. The wolf, expecting a mindless charge, is caught completely off-guard. It tries to evade but it is too late; Tyrus lodges his right horn deep inside the white wolf’s shoulder sticking it to the wall like a nail hammered in a wooden plank. Tyrus suddenly feels an excruciating pain on the top of his head and he wails in pain. The pack leader had, with the last of its remaining strength, broke in half his left horn. The pack of wolves surrounds Tyrus in a desperate attempt to rescue their leader but it is in vain because, as two of them approach, they are easily killed by the enraging beast. Tyrus goes into a blind rage. He can feel something boiling inside of him; a burning sensation inside his face that slowly takes control of his body. While he is distracted, the white wolf takes the chance to break away by forcibly yanking off the horn from its shoulder. It places itself between the pack and Tyrus and spreads both of its arms wide out. It turns to the pack and howls in anger. The six remaining wolves, with much discussion between themselves, as if agreeing to a difficult choice, run with their tails between their legs. A small wolf, the youngest one of the pack, looks back to its leader and gives a painful howl, almost hauntingly sad. The Minotaur is shaken up by the crying howl, and it is with great effort that Tyrus regains control of his mind. The heating sensation disappears as soon as it came. He looks to the direction of his foe. The pack has fallen back and Tyrus, feeling safer than ever before that his opponent and him are alone, that and he doesn’t need to worry about an ambush, approaches with caution. The white wolf is immobile, unmoving from its spot; it has fallen unconscious. Tyrus catches its body as it drops flabbily to the ground. It is bloody and its face is beaten to a pulp. Tyrus, seeing such a proud and handsome leader in such a pitiful state, deeply regrets his actions. Seeing that it will not wake up any sooner, he places it on his shoulders and, with much pain in his upper body, brings it as far away from their current location as possible. He doesn’t want to risk the fact that there could be reinforcements.
Tyrus has traveled for a very long distance with the white beast on his shoulder. He feels weak in the knees but, this time, it was not because of hunger or his insatiable thirst for blood. With that fact, he feels reassured, almost proud of himself. He hides a hysterical laugh because he was afraid that it might draws attention but he forgets that there is no shame to hide because there is no one to judge in the Labyrinth.
It is quiet and the place where Tyrus finds himself in is awfully spacious. This empty space is almost discomforting to his being because the moment he steps into this maze he was already forcibly crushed by two walls. In here, a feeling of vulnerability seems to be inescapable in his mind. Unlike before when liberty from the maze occupied his thoughts at all moments, in these empty spaces the thought of freedom scares him. It is like a fear of what is beyond the walls, of the unknown that he doesn’t dare to reach because he knows nothing about it. The walls that oppressed him so often are now so far apart from each other that the idea of flying even comes to mind but he takes notice of the heavy luggage that is on his shoulder. Heavy breathings, rhythmic pounding of the heart, the small breeze that tickles his ear, the white and soft fur that brushes against his skin, these were what define the weight that he carries. With each step he takes toward the oblivion – large and quick steps that he does without his consciousness –, he reminds himself of the white wolf’s presence and each time he does, it is with an unconscious pleasure that he gives a wide grin that gives him profound courage. A grin that he only shows on the rare occasions of remembering something pleasant like his room, the books he read, his grandfather and it is one that gives a new refreshing air to his being. Like an avid worker, he carries on his work with a smile on his face and he knows that his weight is more important and precious than any others. Still, a worker needs his break so Tyrus rests down the werewolf against the wall and stretches his back. He gives a relieving sigh because, here away from dangers, he can finally tend to the wolf’s injuries.
‘What can I do?’, Tyrus thought. After a bit of thinking and a close inspection of the wounds, he needs to disinfect the gaping hole in the wolf’s shoulder. He licks the wound and the wolf flinches in pain. When he feels like he is making progress, he spits out the blood – he notices that he did not crave for it – and the dirt that was starting to accumulate in the injury. He then repeats the process three more times but only after letting the patient some time to recuperate. He does not know how much time has passed but, slowly through the saliva’s treatment, the wolf’s breathings start to regulate and its expressions softer and less agonizing despite its slightly deformed mouth from receiving Tyrus’s punch. The Minotaur is content that his work is making progress because he was not certain if the saliva would work but he can now finally relax. With nothing else to do, he opens his status window. A number of notifications appear before he can reach his status window.
You gain an increase in your experience and status from your previous actions
Effects:
Will Power +8
Mental Fortitude +8
Blood-lust -5
Spirit +5
Pain Resistance +5%
You gain a new title: Auto-cannibal
Title : Auto-cannibal
To fight against hunger, you resorted to auto-cannibalism.
Effects:
Blood-lust -5
Pain Resistance +5%
Anything ingested from your body recovers stamina
You gain the ability Slow Stamina Regeneration
These notifications appeared after Tyrus ate his own arm. A small trivia came to mind about how swallowing saliva or drinking your own blood is self-cannibalism.
You defeated Wolf level 6
You defeated Wolf level 6
You defeated Wolf level 6
You defeated Wolf level 5
You defeated Wolf level 3
You level up
You gain an increase in your experience and status from your previous actions
Effects:
Strength +1
Defense +1
Agility +2
Speed +2
Dexterity +3
Physical Resistance +2%
You level up
Evolutions available
You reach your maximum level. An evolution is now possible.
These ones appeared when he was fighting the white wolf’s pack. Tyrus is curious of what an evolution is.
You are worthed of the title of The Stranger
Effects:
Will Power +10
Guts +5
Mental Fortitude +5
Blood-lust -10
Spirit +5
Wisdom +5
Charisma +10
Pain Resistance +10%
Hunger Resistance +10%
Thirst Resistance +10%
These numbers and these titles still look so strange to Tyrus no matter how many times he watches them. As if the longer he inspect them, each numbers and each words, the more it seems that they are out-of-this-world.
General information
Mental Status
Name
Tyrus
Will Power
103
Race
Minotaur
Mental Fortitude
53
Status
Currently bounded to The Labyrinth of Osmen
Hungry and thirsty
Blood-lust
40
Level
Max
Spirit
100
Health
40/150
Intelligence
60
Mana
10/10
Wisdom
55
Stamina
23/200
Charisma
40
Skills
Luck
5
Titles
…
Physical Status
Resistances
Strength
81
Physical Resistance
12%
Vitality
5/54
Pain Resistance
35%
Defense
121
Fear Resistance
45%
Agility
47
Charm Resistance
5%
Speed
62
…
Dexterity
33
Charm
2
…
Experience till next level
Evolution available
The notifications end here. Tyrus feels light on his feet and the pain inflicting him seems to subside; it is still there but nevertheless subsided. He thinks it is all because of the increase in his status notably the increase in his resistances. Hunger and thirst gradually decrease in tenacity and he feels like he can go for days without water or food. He looks at the injured wolf lying against the wall. He approaches and gently caresses its fur. It is soft and it reminds him of some long distance memories that he does not wish to remember in fear that the nostalgia will be too strong and, in this prison where liberty does not exist, he will be too scared to open his eyes. He is tired; the long distance travel exhausted him and his pupils become too heavy to bear. He lies his head on the white wolf’s chest and closes his eyes. It is comforting because he swears he can hear a light breeze playing a lullaby somewhere between the walls.