The cool night breeze felt refreshing against his face as the man walked up the hill. The day had been as long as any other he could remember, and just as tiring in his estimate. His hand throbbed with pain, but he closed his eyes, willing himself to let go if it. Gandoca Torres had dealt with worse in his time and this new inconvenience would go the way of all flesh in due time.

He closed his eyes as he crested the hill and came within sight of his house. He went in the door, and just stood there for a moment. Leaning against his dresser he grabbed his journal out and opened it to the latest entry.

He scrawled something it, remembering what he'd seen when he was in town last week. He could hear the cries of the birds outside, the fowl cackling and cawing in the night. They would never shut up it seemed, never.

Sleep was elusive to him, and rest was something of a foreign stranger to him. It was something from a distant land. He wondered how people went about their daily routines. Normal people that was.

His eyes were deeply bloodshot, and his brow was furrowed. He felt so tired as he slammed the journal shut. He felt like maybe he needed a drink, but maybe later. A nightcap before bed might be the perfect thing.

He turned to the kitchen cabinet, looking to see if there was anything for later. There was that bottle of bootleg Mexican beer that had cost him a bit more then he had been figuring on… He took that out and placed it on the counter.

Torres stalked through the back door to find himself right next to the chicken coop. The birds moved away from the feed tray as he approached. They seemed to part like the red sea at the sound of his footsteps.

He bent down and grabbed two chickens by the throat. In their frenzy they pecked at his hands and wrists. Torres grunted and stepped back over the fence.

Walking along, he tightened his grip on the chickens. Pausing he leaned against the side of the house to wring the necks of the chickens. It took barely a moment before they stopped struggling and went limp.

He continued walking at a brisk pace, towards the barn. Reaching the ladder, he tucked the fowl under his arm and began to climb.

He was getting a bit old to be climbing those things and he could feel it in his bones. However it was the only way to get in, to do his daily duty. He just took a breath and shook his head.

As he reached the top, he threw the fowl onto the loft. Pulling himself up, he just let himself sit down for a second to catch his breath. Maybe he could find someone else to do this… but he didn't really know if anyone else on Earth could.

It had been a rough six years or so. More then he had ever expected. If he had known then what he knew now he would never have attempted it. But now he guessed this was his new duty. The obligation he'd held in his hands was beyond anything in the world.

It was beyond an obligation at this point. Something no one could even know or understand. Or maybe even begin to. And that was all right with him, because they didn't have to. And he didn't particularly care.

He picked up the fillet knife he always kept near the stairs. He took the nearest chicken and began gutting it over a bucket that had been placed directly near the knife. He watched, almost detached as the blood and guts poured into the bucket.

In the barn the only source of light was the hatch that led to the stairs outside. He could see the stars sparkling, and the moon was very bright tonight as well. It made him feel slightly better, if only for a very brief and interminable moment.

Then he looked back out into the darkness, out beyond the loft. Through the dim light, he knew just three feet beyond where he lay was a wooden ladder leading down from the edge of the loft. It was about an eleven to twelve feet separating the loft from the floor of the bar.

He repeated the process with the other chicken and saw that both of the buckets were now saturated with blood. Feeling along the edges, he found the cigarette lighter in his pants and lit it. He walked over to the edge and the corpses of the two chickens over, hearing them crash onto the floor.

Using his lighter as a guide, Torres carefully walked right over to where the bale of hay was. He took the pail, and gingerly dipped it over, grasping it tightly. He shook it just enough so that all the blood and guts washed over the hay and drenched it a good amount. God, it smelled terrible, but then again it always did.

Sighing, he wiped his brow with his forehead as he prepared to set the pail down. He listened for a while but could detect nothing noticeable. That was okay, some nights it was quiet here, and when he would come again in the morning there would be nothing left, not even bones.

He started to get up, but he heard a noise. But it wasn't coming from down on the barn floor. Torres realized with a tinge of fear that it was coming from outside. He walked over to where the hatch was, seeing the ladder shake.

Someone was coming up…he drew in a breath with fear and anticipation. But before he could do anything, a shape blocked out the dark night. Torres took a step back and raised his lighter to identify him.

It was the American, raising himself up to the loft from outside. He stood tall, his hat almost brushing the roof. He took a step forward, his face illuminated against the flame. His face half in shadow, Torres could see with a shiver that the other man was smiling.

"Senor Muldoon…" Torres broke off feeling his voice choke. "What are you doing here?" He felt naked, there was blood all over his hands and stained all over his pants. He felt he knew what Muldoon was doing here but…

The other man lifted his hand, and the flash of metal caught off of the flame. "I came here to fix an error that's been in the making a long time." His smile was almost a leer in against the shadow. "I let you have your time, to play with your pet."

Torres felt the fear rise in his belly as the other man spoke. No…it was not possible, it couldn't be possible. He shook his head, his heart beating a million miles an hour. "I won't let you." He said, breathing heavily. He took a step towards the other man, his eyes focused on the gun.

"Feeling lucky?" Muldoon laughed derisively, walking right past him. "This here is hollow point. Blow right through whatever you got." He peered down into the blackness, and Torres couldn't imagine what he was expecting to see.

"Listen," He said at last. "Maybe you've made some sort of mistake…" However he didn't have time to finish that though because Muldoon whirled around in a split second.

"A mistake?" The other man shook his head, his eyes dancing. " No. Every part of the hunt must be meticulously planned. No mistakes can be made or will be permitted." The man held the gun up, demonstrating to Torres. "Modified for maximum penetration. One shot to the skull should be all I need."

By this time, Torres had let his pail fall from his grasp. It resounded with a clang and rolled on the floor. "You don't have to do this…" He said to Muldoon. "Just leave me be."

Muldoon just laughed in his face. "Of course I have to do this!" He grabbed Torres's hands all of a sudden and held them up to the light. "Feeding the birds my ass. Not a scratch on you?" He let go with a derisive snort. "So that's why I must do this tonight…" He let the hammer back on his gun. "It's for the good of everyone."

Well, it seemed the time for talk was over. Taking a deep breath, Torres lunged for the gun. He grabbed hold of Muldoon's arm and attempted to wrest it from his grip. In the process, the lighter fell from his hands and faded out.

He was struggling with the other man in the pitch darkness, and he couldn't see what he was doing. He was putting forth his strongest effort, and straining all of his muscles, but to seemingly no avail. It was not even a question of strength here…

He twisted and turned, trying to wrench the gun free, but felt himself being overmatched. He felt like maybe he should let go, and did so. Unfortunately, just as the older man had decided to violently jerk him to the side.

Gandoca Torres fell eleven feet straight down into the hay pile. He groaned as he felt his back tack the impact of the fall. It had been lucky, having his to cushion the impact.

Looking up, he could see the other man staring down at him, lighter in hand. It illuminated the whole floor, and he could see the ladder as well. Torres started to get up, when he suddenly stopped.

By the dim light, he could see clearly that he was covered in blood head to toe, because this was exactly where he had so carelessly dumped the bucket out to. He cursed his carelessness, thinking how much of a pain in the ass…

He was about to call out to the man above, when his words died on his lips. The left wall of the barn seemed to flicker and fade in the light, and he squinted as he realized what he was seeing.

The light was poor, but he could easily see the vague outline of the animal as it approached. It was about nine feet tall, give or take. A master of camouflage, one would never know it was there unless you looked for it. Even then…

The two bony horns atop the head usually gave it away, or so he had concluded in the many times he'd sat and watched high above in the lift. They had been the reason for the nickname he'd given it in the first place, their resemblance to that master of cunning himself…

"Los Cuernos" he muttered to himself, so softly he could barely hear. "Los Cuernos que terroice…" He thought to himself as he felt the oh so soft footprints approaching.

He felt the animal's muzzle against his side, feeling familiar though he hadn't physically touched it in the past three years. He'd raised it from an egg…. Tentatively, he reached out and touched it. The skin felt scaly and pebbly to his touch.

Looking up, he could see Muldoon staring in a mix of horror and fascination. Torres knew the animal's full outline would be visible from up there, where the other man could see it in its full grandeur.

He bet there was not another animal like it in the world. As the animal bent down, he realized that it was sniffing him. He took a deep breath as he realized that he was completely covered in blood.

Well, he should have seen something like this coming from a long time ago really. As he lowered his hand, he suddenly felt something cold and clammy. It was like….

Torres looked own in the dim light, too see what the matter was. Touching his chest, he felt extremely lightheaded. Maybe it was the fall. Or maybe it was the fact that his liver was slowly dripping down the hay stack.

In the light, he could see what the animal held in its maw… his own flesh. The bite had been so quick; he barely had time to register it.

Looking up, he could see the lighter flicker and flare out. By its dying light, the shape silhouette against the night seemed to be darker then ever.

For one brief, fatal instant, Gandoca Torres saw the animal in full profile. One never got to fully appreciate it… It truly was a majestic creature.

The Carnotaur lowered its head; slavering jaws open wide and Torres opened his mouth to scream.