It was like any other Friday. Easy enough schoolwork- the teachers didn't like to 'steal' the weekend away. Hang out with friends with the extra time. Relax at home. Caleb was simple enough, not an artist or an athlete, but he enjoyed his leisure. Like every other young teen, his walls belied what sort of person he was.

The room was painted a light shade of brown, almost tan, complimented with a navy-blue carpet. Within sat a plain-looking, white-sheeted bed on a probably queen-sized frame, a plain desk (of the Ik*a variety quite probably), a small hamper for clothes, and a simplistic dresser. The most interesting thing contained in the room might be the chair, which contrasted the desk in its grandeur. It was oversized, draped in scarlets and burgundies on the firm black background, with wings of fabric to cushion and support its occupant. The informed would probably see the truth of it, that it was the archetypal 'gamer chair'.

Caleb was not a gamer. He had played some games, maybe, but he hadn't owned anything past a Gameboy. The fancy chair was the envy of his friends, but it was to benefit his works. His schoolwork was one such work, sitting more comfortably evidently jogging the brain according to that one study that his mom read once, and his hobby. The contents of the room examined, a closer look at the walls may elucidate the other.

The publicly accessible back-wall was framed with poster after poster. Rather than pretty girls or role-models or just good-old-fashioned cool shit, it was covered in overly complex tic-tac-toe games. At least, that's what it was to the untrained eye. The accurate and complete truth was that they were war, battles long past. The battle of Gettysburg. Red circles from the north criss-crossing towards blue squares in the south, complete with tiny text describing the roads, landmarks, obstacles, and objectives. It simply could not be understood by someone without training. The battle of Edgehill was significantly simpler with its English regulars and straight lines of movement. Unlike the brawl of Gettysburg, the average person may be able to guess at the battle's sway and flow. More and more and more of these little circles and squares and colors on white backgrounds.

Caleb was not an artist or an athlete, he was a savant. The target of his excellence was precisely war, in its entirety. The back-wall was lined with posters, entirely the product of a scholarly interest in tactics and stratagem. The side-walls and fore-wall, bordering the door, were both covered in articles of war. Uniforms and replica uniforms from generations past. Swords and daggers and spears of several varieties, hanging like some fancy show-piece. Guns, albeit of the A*rsoft or Paintball variety, completed the set.

While others were drawing, bumming dope from friends, playing games, or lounging about, Caleb was pouring over text after text of military history, strategy, and instruction. Excellent memory translated to reality, too. He had met many of his local friends from the wild, full-neighborhood games of shooting they would play, curious tweens joining the herd either with their very own weaponry or after borrowing pistols and such from others. Caleb's studies and prowess in the subject made him increasingly lethal over time.

He had never stopped learning, and over the years, he became 'General'. The other kids who hadn't stopped playing, almost as dedicated as he was to these fake little wars of theirs, tended to band up against him. His studies gave him an almost preternatural level of situational awareness, and combined with half of a decade of live shooting practice, he became an excellent shot. He would wage war, taking his team- no matter how small- to a swift victory. Some were as overwhelming as the Battle of Rorke's Drift, displays of organization and planning that outstripped the would-be Zulu. They had to stop giving him a team at some point, and in free-for-all, it was an unspoken rule to take out Twig before any other player, given the chance.

Caleb had a simple plan for his Friday night. He had found a digital replication of the original, full-Latin De Munitionibus Castrorum. It was one of the few volumes he had left to read untranslated, and that's what he'd do. That's what he'd planned to do, at least. Then it happened.

The world started spinning.

The entire world was spinning. Not his head, not his chair, but the world. It was as though he had been tossed in a blender, tearing into and distorting the walls and floor. His nice little square began to look a lot more like a sphere before it flew away entirely. Caleb half expected to see a tornado on the other side, but even more shockingly, there was nothing. He was in the midst of a void of darkest black.

Caleb pushed off of the chair arm, abusing the weirdness of this place to turn in the opposite direction, to look towards where the hallway and great room used to be. It tore away too, like all else His father and mother hung in space, flailing and with nothing to use to move themselves at this point. They were considerably naked, which made Caleb feel awkward. He realized he was quite naked, too. With that realization, he felt even more awkward. They were stuck hanging in the void for a minute or two before they suddenly weren't anymore.

We're not in Wisconsin anymore, MacArthur.

They were all on the floor, dazed and confused, and quite naked. A whole group of them, all different ages and shapes. Caleb would have appreciated the view in front of him, a cute Spanish girl who was every bit as naked as he was, but it wasn't the time. He was the very first to his feet, already no longer 'Caleb', but instead the 'General'. He was awed by the sight. He was most definitely not in Wisconsin, in any case. Wisconsin did not have impossibly emerald crystals the size of cars lying about willy-nilly.

He scanned for escape routes, and for the places where whomever abucted them might strike from. There was a number of tunnels branching off to the darkness from this stunningly beautiful cave, and only one way that led to a place brighter than this one. A way out, perhaps. Caleb paced as far as he could from the cavities, equidistant from the many dark caves, to best give himself a view within. It put him in the line of sight of those who may be in hiding, lying in wait, and as such, Caleb tensed to dodge the moment he saw motion within. There are roads that must not be followed. Any of them could be filled with enemies.

Eventually, the rest of the group awoke. They were normal, unequipped for the situation. Their recklessness was such that they ran into tunnels willy-nilly, hoping for food or water, long before it was necessary. Caleb scoffed at that, but he kept incognito, quiet within the group.

This continued and continued, through what little strife and progress they made. The fools hadn't even begun to estimate the tunnel's structure, to predict when the massive snakes called 'Dragons' would pass by the cave's mouth, or to find a way to get down those great sources of light on the roof. Just before he decided to split-off entirely, to find his own way free, the decision was made for him. The untrained mass was beset by a true warrior, a well-trained Crocodile, who seemed intent on eliminating them all.

Orwell had once said that 'one always abandons something in retreat'. As far as Caleb had read and seen, it was more emphatic. To say 'one always abandons something in retreat' is passive, too weak of a proclamation. It was truer to say 'one must abandon something to retreat'. The few fools who flee instead of withdraw are long lost to history as inglorious losers, while the intelligent cowards remain considered Heroes even today. Caleb hated it. Caleb did not want to abandon those people who he almost began to like, to abandon his own family, to leave them all to death. It must be done, though. Caleb had planned for this situation long before. He knew what to do. That plan involved sacrifices, and if it must be done, it would be. The enemy was scarier and deadlier than he had hoped all the more reason to be decisive.

"I am not a Twig or Caleb or just some kid. I am the General, and the General must not fall."

That desperate mantra was all he had to keep him sane as he fled. The tunnel he ducked into was a dangerous choice. It was nigh-unlit, but it had all of the things he needed to hide himself away. He followed the twisting tunnels, branch after branch, running as fast as he could. It wasn't a particularly impressive speed, but it'd have to be enough. He dived in a pit of guano, a meter-deep depression made from the acidic substance slowly eating into the rock. Caleb was careful not to let any enter his various cavities, especially the mouth or eyes. That'd just be too gross, even if it would make the shit-smeared disguise more complete. He rolled through the muck like a pig. The guano was not the be-all end-all, though. It was merely step one. He rose from the pit, stained black and brown and visibly disgusted at his own stench.

He scrambled up, heaving his way to the gently sloping floor of 'the cave'. He began his trek, much slower. The effort had left him even more out of breath, and he couldn't muster that bravado again. Just stick to the plan. He found the next destination quickly enough, one of the many reflection pools in the caves. This one was used for bathing, but it hadn't been exposed to the detritus of a boy covered in feces before. It turned murky brown, removing most of it tidily from him. That wasn't really the important part, though. What mattered was that with the soak, his smell faded away. The smell of his body was masked thoroughly, and with the nasty fumes of the guano removed, he was simply 'plain-smelling'. Not like a human, not like a dung-beetle, just a faded scent of nasty and nothing. Next, he ran to a certain location that was covered in dusty silicates. The group had been shocked to find such things, but the powder nearly tasted like salt, and it made the grub and awful plants just that little bit more bearable. Now, he rolled in it, a fine powder sinking into his still-wet skin. He couldn't tell in the dim light from the few crystals still hanging from the offshoot tunnel's ceiling, but he was certain he looked like the tawny cave walls. Even if his scent was masked, he needed to be as invisible as possible to escape a predator like that monstrous lizard. This was step three, done. Two to go. Nearby this cavity of 'salt', there was a tiny shaft, angled steeply downwards. Through his mental map, Caleb had estimated where it would lead, but he couldn't be certain. If it worked, it would buy him several days of time to find a way out.

He had been much further than the group in these caves. He spent some time exploring, even spending a full day finding his way deeper towards the mountain's base. Eventually, the dim green lights of the Emerald Crystals faded for a different sort entirely, a jagged Ruby Crystal formation that hugged the roof like studs rather than stalactites. The called the two areas the 'Green Zone' and 'Red Zone', respectively. Caleb was certainly quite clever, and almost definitely had an excellent naming sense. Don't judge.

As far as he had gone, he had entered a small 'room' in the Red Zone that had a hole in the ceiling with a gentle upward slope, barely visible in the crimson glow. A bit of conjecture said that the angle and direction just about aligned with the similar hole in the Green Zone. Thus, he incorporated it in any escape route he made. If they were confronted with something as deadly as the 'Dragons', he'd need every advantage to survive. To take it in faith that strategy and forethought could win over brute strength. He had never practiced going down the shaft before, though, so he had no idea if this slide would be lethally steep and simply shatter his body, or perhaps dump him in the waiting jowls of some monster far below. That caused a small involuntary shiver, which Caleb brushed aside as quickly as he could. There were stories of British generals staring down machineguns and artillery alike, what was a little slide compared to that? With that thought in mind, he lowered himself into the claustrophobic opening.

Caleb did not anticipate that he would pick up speed at such an astonishing rate. Perhaps the salty skin-rub he applied acted as a lubricant, reducing friction on his back. Perhaps it was his twig-like demeanor, providing no real obstacle to sliding. He began his attempts to slow, swinging his arms out against the wall in a desperate attempt to break his fall. It was like the most terrifying waterslide Caleb had ever been on, sans water, and most certainly without a tide-pool to catch him below. The dim red glow suddenly filled the space, sweeping over him. With the light, he could see that he was still going much faster than expected or desired. He held his fore-arms against the walls, forcing himself to slow down by sheer arm-strength and friction. His arms were skinned and torn, agony shooting through their every nerve, but the impromptu friction brake was working. He slowed down rapidly, and not moments too soon. The walls fell away, and he was ejected to the rough floor below. It hurt like hell, but he wasn't dead. That was more than what could be said for most of the other would-be escapees, Caleb figured. It still bothered him that something as obvious as friction would escape his plan. This was a learning experience, and it'd need to be put to good use to calm his aching ego.

This room of the Red Zone wasn't as grandiose as the Green Zone's great cavern. The ceiling was no higher than six feet, low enough for Caleb to hit the roof on tip-toes, and the red studs lighting it were less imposing than the massive crystalline formations that hung like chandeliers far above. The thought of that struck him in an instant. The boy crawled to one of tunnel mouths, still oozing blood at an astonishing rate, and found a suitably large piece of rubble. The fact that the rubble existed was cause for concern. Something, or someone, was able to dig a fancy slide through hundreds of feet of rock and leave rubble in an otherwise pristine, natural cavern. The little bit of tunnel visible in the light was covered in dust and rock, as though something had dug it through recently. He made a note to actively avoid that particular route. He wrenched up the piece of rubble, still on the floor, and began using it to drag himself back. His legs would not comply, maybe shocked from the sudden impact. Caleb had to hope his Lumbar wasn't shattered, and it was just a shock, at least. In retrospect, 'dive down an unlit vertical shaft you've never been in before' wasn't his best plan. It was lucky enough that he had even predicted the right terminus for he slide's descent. If he had fallen even a little further, he'd be in even more dire straits.

By the time he made it back to the nearest piece of the infinite array of red crystals, he was getting woozy. Thankfully, the bleeding from his arms had stymied. At this rate, he wouldn't die from the blood-loss, but it would be just as lethal to fall unconscious. He shook himself awake, leveraging the rock in his palms to try to shift himself upwards. Trying his legs again, they finally began to move. For a moment, it felt odd, like they were moving of their own volition. Then they were his again, suddenly, and Caleb could really feel them. They hurt like hell, but they were his again. He made his way to his feet, wobbly, and swung the rock at a glittering crystal. It smashed into the thing, crushing it back. Evidently, the crystals were not like gems, which could resist something as plain as a little bit of limestone. It popped out of its socket in the roof, crystal clattering to the floor, and the thing split into two pieces, tiny shards strewn across the floor below. He dropped the stony rubble. The effort of the swing tore open his right arm again, but Caleb was too intent on not stepping on the sharp fragments of red crystal to care. He gingerly grabbed for the larger of the two halves, grabbing it. It was deceptively heavy for its size, easily twice what he expected, but it'd have to do. Caleb reeled back, nearly tipping backwards, but clear of any further danger to the soles of his feet.

The gem in his hand hurt to hold, but it was bright. A source of light. He'd have to make due. That thought in mind, he went to the nearest wall, grinding it against the smooth surface. It took some effort, but eventually it was satisfactorily sanded-down, rough edges made slightly more bearable. He sat against the wall for a long time, waiting for his body to return to sorts, covering his bloody limbs as well as he could. The Lizard-monster had lost his scent, but it was only a matter of time before it realized that the iron wafting up from the shaft was fresh blood from a certain escaped Human. It was probably already too late to cover his tracks, but anything that might buy him time was worth the effort.

Finally satisfactorily healed and increasingly nervous of the Lizard's knowledge of the tunnels-maybe it had been here before- Caleb began his descent. One tunnel in particular was just his height and not all that wide, a potential advantage when fleeing from that brawny reptile. It would have to go in nearly sideways just to fit its shoulders. The red glimmer from his new crystal-lamp made everything all the more earie. It was a long trek down the tunnel, which gently descended. At times, he would have to duck, and at others, it seemed to stretch far overhead, which gave him the heebie-jeebies. Even at his walking pace, the lizard did not suddenly gore him from behind, so at least one thing about the plan had gone right. The walk was almost therapeutic, letting Caleb make new plans, correct old ones, to think of the future and what he'd need to do to survive.

All of that went out of the window when he saw it for the first time. It was not an exit to the valley outside. It wasn't another cavernous hub of tunnels or small, well-lit room. Stunning marble walls, lit with blue torches- an aesthetic choice, the torches were tipped with little blue 'crystals' not unlike the red one he held in his hands. Caleb couldn't stop to enjoy the beautiful imprints and engravings covering every register, because he figured out the nature of the place. He was facing down a maze, a labyrinth, the master-work of this place's Daedalus cast far below the world's surface. The little blue torches were just bright enough to bathe light on an impressive number of corpses, of all different shapes and sizes. Many were human, but just as numerous were corpses that simply couldn't be human. Each hall was littered with the skeletons of a thousand races, and Caleb had a sinking feeling he was doomed to be one. He ran back, trying to re-enter the long and winding tunnel that had led him here, but it was gone. It had vanished without a trace, a smooth wall replacing where the narrow entrance had stood moments before. In the distance, billowing over the impossibly large walls, he heard a roar. It was a roar of such magnitude that it made the yowling of lions seem like a kitten's mewls. Caleb cowered, only to realize there was simply no time to be afraid, that he could not afford it.

Every maze has its Minotaur.