Chapter 3
As***ios alone
O-O-O-O-O
The world had changed.
That much was certain. Although his experience with the outside world was limited to the brief few years of his infancy, he remembered clear blue skies and the sprawling beaches of Crete. He remembered when his siblings would take him out to play in the meadows and woods of the island kingdom, and the song of birds and the rustling of trees being carried on the wind.
Though meadows and woodlands existed still, they were spread few and far between, separated by towering stone monuments to humanity's achievements. Bunched together like honeycombs, hundreds, perhaps even thousands of these towers comprised the many cities that were spread across this new land the Gods had taken residence in, and it was clear that this new territory surpassed the ancient lands in size many times over.
Perhaps it was due to the fact that the language spoken in the new land was different from the old, but the Minotaur found his comprehension of speech to have adjusted to fit this new era. That being said, while he could understand speech, he still could not read. He had never learned in his first life either. He could not read the letters and characters written out on the large signs that welcomed travelers into each new city he passed through, and listening into the conversations of mortals to find out where exactly he happened to be at the moment seemed like an unreliable gambit.
Ah yes, the mortals. Though he could not see it himself, the Minotaur could feel the presence of the thick veil of magic that lay over him. A barrier cast by the Gods to conceal the presence of the supernatural and mythical, changing its form to suit the perception of a modern human. From the looks he had gotten from the mortals as he wandered through the urban areas of different cities, the Minotaur could safely assume that he appeared to be little more than a particularly tall vagrant. Since the mortals appeared to seem more pitying or disgusted than they were afraid, the "mist" seemed to have removed the presence of his mask altogether.
The Minotaur offhandedly wondered what went through the heads of the few demigods and clear-sighted mortals that must've been part of the vast crowds of the bustling cities as they saw him pass through.
"oOOoOuuUuU…"
The hunger had returned.
Or rather, the hunger was always there and was finally reminding him now that he had nothing else to think about.
The urban cities had been a blessing to the Minotaur. The rats and birds that populated them had grown so fat and complacent with the presence of humans that they didn't immediately bolt at his presence, allowing him to catch a bounty of the pests for sustenance.
Consuming them was a bit harder of course, due to the cursed nature of his unremovable mask. Before, he would stuff small pieces of whatever he was eating through the "nose" of the bull-shaped mask, which was slightly larger than what a bull's nostrils presumably were for the sake of amplifying his cries like some sort of demented trumpet. This was made slightly harder as a result of one of these nose-holes now being caved in after his encounter with that son of the sea God.
And yet, even with the supply of rodents and birds to feast on, the Minotaur never felt his hunger leaving. It was always there, demanding more and more, raging in his gut like a rabid animal.
While the hunger never got any better, it didn't get significantly worse, either. It had been at least three weeks or more since his defeat at the hands of the Demigod, and the first of those weeks was spent acclimating to the city environments of the metropolis nearest to the half-blood settlement. During that first week, he had eaten nothing at all, spending most of his time finding shelter and hiding away from the mortals before he learned about the mist's existence.
And yet, during that week, he did not get any hungrier. He also didn't feel as though he were losing any strength from fatigue or malnourishment either, and that remained consistent for the days he went without food traveling between the cities on foot.
He recalled back in the maze it would feel as though years would pass between his feeding, and he didn't get particularly hungrier. Not more than he already was, anyway. But that was different. From what the Minotaur understood, the maze warped time. So what must've felt like years may not have been years at all, or at least his body did not progress as though they were.
But now, free from the maze, he felt the same. Was the reason for his constant, unchanging hunger within himself? Was he just stuck in a perpetual state of hunger, yet not hunger that could truly starve him?
...The Minotaur did not know. For now, he would eat where and when he could, in case he was starving but simply couldn't feel it.
The Minotaur entered a run-down part of the town he was staying in and made his way to the scrapyard, his newest hunt in hand. Though he had been hopping from city to city for the past several weeks, he wanted to try his hand at settling down and found himself a secure shelter in the sprawling towers of junk in a less populated area of the sleepy town.
Making himself comfortable in the makeshift den he had set up from discarded furniture and the hollow shells and skeletons of wrecked cars, the Minotaur set to rendering his food into more manageable pieces for consumption.
Krrnch! Krrnch! Krrnch!
The Minotaur froze. The unmistakable sound of footsteps, the footsteps of someone climbing haphazardly over the hills of junk in the scrapyard. It couldn't have been the mortal managing this place, he always used the paths cleared between the hills rather than risk his safety climbing over piles of sharp metal and wood. This was someone else.
From the sounds of it, the footsteps weren't getting any closer, indicating that whoever they belonged to either wasn't looking for him or just didn't know where he was. One part of the Minotaur's mind reasoned that it could just be some child or scavenger looking for hidden treasures in the junk, but he decided that the best course of action would be to find the intruder and watch them from hiding. Then, he could take action if it seemed as if they were a threat to him.
If there was one downside to living under a hill of junk, it's that he could hardly smell anything.
The Minotaur slipped towards the source of the sound with a silence that belied his towering size. Measuring every step he could, putting as little weight in each step as possible, and making sure that anywhere he put his feet was stable and would not give way or make sound, he crept slowly but surely towards the potential threat.
In his hand, the grip on his scavenged weapon tightened in anticipation. It was an ugly thing, a table leg with a sheet of metal crumpled around one end to make an impromptu mace. It was no axe, but the Minotaur had started to put more faith in his ability to use a weapon than he did his fists, ever since he was bested in hand-to-hand combat by not one, but two children.
The sound of footsteps climbing over trash transitioned to the softer sound of footsteps on solid ground. Still not in range to smell the intruder, the Minotaur crept closer.
As he peered around a corner, the Minotaur caught sight of the newcomer.
It was a human boy, or rather a human on the cusp of adulthood. His hair was blonde and cut short, and a long scar ran down the right side of his face.
But what caught the Minotaur's attention was the object the human carried with him. Three, maybe even four feet long and wrapped in canvas cloth, it was impossible to tell what it was, and yet he felt a strange feeling beckoning to him, as though there was a connection between him and the hidden item.
Who was this human? What was he carrying? Why was he here?
The Minotaur's first question was answered as a gentle breeze swept through, fully carrying the human's scent to his nose.
Demigod.
The Minotaur recoiled ever so slightly, yet it was enough to shift the scrap he bumped into. The Demigod whipped around towards where he hid at the sound. For a few moments, the only noise around was the gentle creaking of the hills of trash settling in the summer breeze. Then, the Demigod spoke up.
"Alright, I know you're there. Come out so we can talk."
The Minotaur made no noise. He was completely still, and if one were to look at him, they'd be hard-pressed to even notice if he was breathing.
"Come on, I didn't come here to fight. I've been looking around for you, you see."
He could hear footsteps as the Demigod began approaching the heap of junk he hid behind. There was something about that Half-blood's voice, something that sent chills down his spine.
"We're all friends here. No need to stay hidden, or cower under the gaze of mortals. It's alright. You don't have to hide anymore."
Yes, that was it. There was no fear in the Demigod's voice. Not a single trace. If the Demigod was truly searching for him, why was he so relaxed? There was no fear, no hesitation, not even the tension of someone preparing for a fight. He was just so… calm.
And that was frightening.
"Because aren't you just sick of hiding? Having to live in trash, away from the rest of the world? Just because you were born differently from the others? Shunned and locked away like a demon?"
The footsteps were getting closer. Soon, the Demigod will have him cornered. It seems that he would have to step out on his own, lest he have his back pressed to a wall if they may come to blows. Tightening his grip on the makeshift mace and bracing himself, the Minotaur stepped out.
"RrrrrRrRRmMMmm…"
The Demigod smirked as the Minotaur revealed himself, not intimidated in the slightest by his growl.
"Well damn. They weren't lying when they said you were big."
"rrRRrRGggG…!"
"Alright, alright," the Demigod raised his arms in a placating gesture. "no need to get hostile. I'm just making small talk. See, I've been hearing stories pass around about a colossal man, one who towers over the mortals yet walks among them all the same."
The Demigod made to take a step forward, yet paused as the Minotaur tensed at his approach.
"...And they say that the man lets out a low howling noise in place of speech, and has large horns, like a bull. So I thought to myself; 'It couldn't be him, right? He's supposed to be dead, killed less than a month ago.'" The Demigod held his arms up towards the Minotaur, his smile broadening. "And yet lo and behold, you're right here in front of me, still very much alive."
The Minotaur scowled behind his mask. That still didn't answer any of the questions he had. Why was this Demigod here? Why was he looking for him?
As if reading his mind, the Demigod responded. "I'm sure you're wondering why I came looking for you. See, my, ah, benefactor is raising an army, and as his main errand boy, it's my job to scout valuable talents to fill the ranks. And what better talent than the Bull of Minos?"
As*er*o*...
A**e**os…
*st**i**…
********...
Minotauros.
"...!"
Noticing the Minotaur tensing up as old memories began to resurface, the Demigod took a step back and laid his parcel on the ground.
"Alright, calm down. Just as a show of goodwill, I've brought along a little something as a gift." The Demigod began to pull back the canvas, revealing within-
The Minotaur's club made a dull thud as it slipped from his hand to the ground. There, on the ground before the Demigod, lay two axes. Identical to each other in shape and forged from blackened celestial bronze, the twin weapons each held a wickedly sharp rounded blade, in the shape of an omega.
Labrys.
The twin axes he wielded in the maze.
The Minotaur's mind reeled in shock. This was impossible. One of them was destroyed in his fight with the hero, and there's no way they could still be in such pristine condition after thousands of years. Were these replicas? A replacement? Or-
"The weapons are a part of you." The Demigod explained. "An extension of yourself, quite literally your 'arms'. When you died, as Theseus did not claim them as trophies, they went to Tartarus with you. And now that you've returned to the world of the living, so have they. In that sense, they're exactly the same as your mask."
The Minotaur gently reached up to touch the dented metal mask that had caged his face for nearly the entirety of his life, and the entirety of his afterlife as well. A part of him?
"Well," the Demigod shrugged. "I guess you just didn't notice them when you were reborn both here and in Tartarus. They may be part of you, but they weren't cursed to be eternally stuck on your face or anything."
Had he been capable of speaking to begin with, the Minotaur would be at a loss for words. His weapons, his Labrys, and all the memories they carried returned to him, for better or worse.
"As I said, I'm looking for people to fill the ranks of my master's army. An army he's raising to strike down the Gods." The Demigod looked down to the Minotaur, who was on his knees with his hand on Labrys, simply touching it to affirm that they were real. "You don't need to decide now, but I doubt you need much convincing." The Demigod's gaze darkened as he turned away, remembering his own reasons for joining his master's crusade against Olympus.
"Well, I'll be off." He drew his sword, and with a quick swipe, a portal opened up before him. "When you decide to join us, you'll know where to go. The Great Stirring has begun, you only need to follow it."
The nameless Demigod then stepped through the magic gateway, and the Minotaur was alone again.
Cing Krimson's Qringe Korner: Fuck it, I'm sticking with that.
Anyway, I'm back after like, a week. To you two guys that follow my story for some reason, sorry, and thank you. Not much going on here. Luke is a bastard (but he's our bastard) and ol' Asty has Labrys back.
That's uh,
That's kind of it.
Writing takes a lot longer than you'd think. I mean, what is this? You mean I actually have to put in effort and properly set up characters and settings in order to craft a story both I and others can enjoy? What kinda bullshit is that, amirite?
Ah, whatever. I enjoy doing this anyway, for as much as I procrastinate on it. Who knows? Maybe I'll actually be able to write more now that the holidays have rolled around...