The epic battle of Theseus and the Minotaur
Twisted, crunched, crooked toes thud along the floor. Hard as hooves. Echoing endlessly along, accompanied by lonely dust dancing to each stomp. The sound is joined by a low screech, heavy and sharp. Along the wall a deep rut runs, head height either side. The screech is closer now, until in the dim distance a creature appears. One horn grinds into the hard walls, a violent violin tearing through the plaster of the faded frescos. The creature passes by. Then softly another approaches, Theseus steps lightly. A careful silent step. Drawing nearer. In the deep half light the steel in his hand glows. And then the screeching stops.
“I have no joy in this.” The Minotaur’s viscous voice wraps around you like a velvet cloak. “It is not my wish for you to die. But it is my fate and yours.”
Theseus is silent. It had been too long now. Getting here, all he had done and been through.
“I can smell your fear like all the others.” The Minatour continues.
“Can you? I’m not sure that’s my fear you smell. Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? And you think I’m scared of some horned fool lost in a maze. Clucking around like some unpleasant aunt.”
The Minotaur remembers then, he had had an aunt once, she would play with him unafraid when he was young, before he learnt his true nature. Light and laughter and maybe for a while he had been happy.
“I know nothing of you, only what I was and what I am now.”
“Oh fuck this” Theseus unstrings a bow from his back and before the Minatour can blink, he fires three strong black shafts deep into its body. The Minatour gasps in shock. He feels the arrow head move inside him. Feels the warm trickle of light shining out.
“This is not…”
“Not what? Possible? Happening? Decreed by the gods?” Theseus watches the creature fall to his knees. It’s unwieldy muscular head drops forward in an unwanted nod of defeat.
“No-one will know how you died, just that you died.” He says brandishing the sword high.
“Wait, I ask just one….”
The sword drops and slices into the neck of the beast.
“I’m actually in a bit of a rush.” Theseus says and then rips the sword backward. Golden blood arcs out in a one colour halo of angelic horror. He hacks again and again until eventually the head rolls away. “That’s the problem with you creatures.” Theseus sighs, as he unfolds a bag and tries to force the giant horned skull into it. “Convinced they are the worlds greatest. But there is always someone else waiting in line. Take too long and you miss your chance. You have to do what you can, when you get your shot. Well that’s that done anyway. Should be plain sailing from here on for me.”