The Minotaur
The sirens faded behind me, their mournful wail swallowed by the city's labyrinth of streets and alleys. My lungs burned with every desperate gasp for air, my legs ached with a pain that felt older than I was. My mind was a whirlwind of fear and disbelief. A stray. They had branded me a stray. I had just tried to buy a sandwich, and now the entire city was hunting me.
I ran until the neat, orderly streets of perfect city gave way to a desolate, industrial wasteland. Rusting hulks of machinery stood like forgotten titans against the purplish sky, their silent forms a stark contrast to the perfect city I had just fled. A lone, abandoned factory loomed in the distance, its skeletal frame a promise of temporary sanctuary. I sprinted toward it, the pounding of my feet on the cracked pavement the only sound in the terrifying quiet.
I ducked inside, the heavy, metal door groaning shut behind me. The air was thick with the scent of dust and decay, a welcome change from the sterile air of the city. I was in a vast, empty space, a place where people had once worked. I saw old, rusting machinery, a faded sign on the wall that read ALMOND PACKING, and a sense of profound loneliness washed over me. This was a ghost town, a relic of the world that was.
I walked deeper into the factory, my footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. I was alone, and for a fleeting moment, I felt a sense of peace.
Then I heard it. A deep, guttural grunt, followed by the heavy, deliberate scrape of something massive being dragged across a concrete floor. I froze, every nerve in my body screaming a warning. It wasn't the sound of an animal. It was too intelligent. Too menacing.
I backed away slowly, my eyes wide, scanning the shadows. The sound came from around a corner, a low, menacing rumble that seemed to shake the very floor. I took another step back, my foot landing on an empty can someone had left behind. The can rolled, making a loud, clattering noise that shattered the silence.
The grunting stopped. The silence that followed was a thousand times more terrifying than the noise.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I had to run. Now. I turned, my hand reaching for the doorknob, but it was too late. From around the corner, a figure emerged, its silhouette a terrifying parody of a man.
It had the head of a bull, with two massive, curved horns that jutted out from a thick, muscled neck. Its chest was covered in a makeshift golden breastplate, and a war skirt made of what looked like human bones hung from its waist. It stood upright, its arms and legs thick with muscle, its eyes two pools of burning, malevolent fire.
It was a Minotaur. A creature of myth, and it was standing right in front of me.
The beast gave a deafening war cry, a sound that was a mixture of a bull's roar and a man's scream, and a single, chilling phrase echoed in my mind.
You're going to die if you continue on your journey.
The child's words. I understood them now. The beast charged, its massive form a blur of pure, unadulterated violence. There was nowhere to run. My journey had led me here, to this moment. And now, it was over.