Caleb cowered under the roar. He shrunk back against the wall, which was now tragically devoid of any escape from the terror he had thrust himself in. He had entered a graveyard, somewhere he'd die. He was certain of that, at least. This was fatal. Damn the overgrown Komodo dragon, whatever made that awful noise had to be the real deal. There he sat, and kneeled, and thought. It consumed him, and confused him, and in a twisted way, his entire situation amused him. He had gone from any normal evening in his home to a nudist's cave retreat, only to witness the cruelty necessary to make a society reform.

He had found that almost fascinating. Caleb had read text after aged text of records of battle and armies. The punishments detailed in there were academic to him, simply experiments in keeping soldiers in line. To see that act in person? He had dream after dream of commanding armies, but even with his obsession, he hadn't included executions in the fantasies- usually, at least. It had taken new life. He had been on the receiving end of the terror of martial law. While nude. He had honestly wondered from time to time whether this whole thing was the product of his twisted mind. He had never really been interested in fantasy, though, and it became very clear that they weren't on, or even in the general vicinity of, Earth. To start, the day and night cycle was off-kilter in a variety of ways. The people gathered in the cave were from all over the planet as well, even if they all had a common language in English. It was a level of precision even intelligence organizations would struggle to manage. Of course, the most obvious 'tell' was that there were Dragons scattered about.

It was all too clear that this wasn't a dream, now. It wasn't even a nightmare. It was real, and it was happening. He was really cowering against a wall, running on fumes, having witnessed his family (and a bunch of other people he had come to know) be brutally murdered. Or, at least, with the knowledge that he had left them to die. Just left them there. He had even justified it too himself, as though it wasn't pure cowardice. True, he had survived. True, he would have died if he tried anything other than 'the Plan'. If he was going to step up and take action, he could have at least tried to make a real difference, though. In the face of death, Caleb was all too aware of his faults.

He overanalyzes everything, afraid of action. Too afraid of death to be a champion, even if he could maybe do it if he tried. Too lazy to go further in his pursuits than beating some other idiot kids in faux battles. Hell, he had even felt proud of that 'achievement'. It looked so stupid, in retrospect. His pride in his limited knowledge, the absolute arrogance of even trying to compare to those figures in history who put things into action- a scholar, and a poor one at that. He was awkward, and any charm he had fell aside to his pursuit of war. Who had heard of a leader with no charisma? What was he thinking?

Around the time Caleb confirmed to himself that he was a sorry sack of garbage, he broke. A fury, an inferno of electricity surged through him, setting his every hair on end. Caleb had never felt this way, and he still hadn't- because Caleb was no more.

So what if he was lame, if he had fucked up, if he had been too proud to risk himself to save the others?

It had not been his choice. None of it had. Not a single thing about the situation was of his own choice. That would have to change. There would be no more crying against some dingy wall- he had been crying, apparently- no more flailing about in the dark, and no more terror. He would be the one to decide who did what, and where they'd do it at. To be in control, at all times, without fail. This was the end of excuses. The choices would be his. He would not acquiesce to some lizard, and certainly not to the stupid thing hunting for him.

He had been driven into a corner. Forced back against a wall. Yet, that could not stop him. How many people had triumphed from this exact same point of view, how many underdogs have ruled the day? One in particular had put it rightly- "I have not yet begun to fight!" This yawning maze presented the corpses, the great and terrible roar, the absence of a way out, as if to ask- "Are you defeated? Have you been crushed?"

I have not yet begun to fight!

The General was born. No matter the monsters awaiting him, he would find a way. No obstacle would be too strong for his resolution. With that fact in mind, he stood from the wall. He wobbled, but after a moment, he was to his feet once more. The glow of the crimson crystal made his arms every bit as red as the new-found rage burning in his chest.

Humans wear clothes. He made his decision quickly- no time to waste now that his little whining session gave the 'Minotaur' time to close the gap- and sprinted for the hall pointed towards the origin of the roar. Knowing mazes, this would probably be the least likely to lead him to the middle, and most likely to take him to an exit. He watched the corpses as he went, hoping for one with about his size. Most of them were skeletons by now; plates of excessively large or depressingly small armor left as the only substantial thing remaining. Many of which were punctured with holes too massive to be made by any weapon he was aware of. Even the freshest of the corpses were most of the way through decay, and the clothes they wore tended to be ripped to shreds or just as degraded. He ran headlong through each cerulean corridor, hoping for anything worth grabbing.

The corpses were strangely devoid of weapons. Whatever had killed them took special care to remove each weapon, which was quite unfortunate for the General. He had already started thinking up plans, but several factors worked against him. First, the floor of the maze was absolutely devoid of any markings, despite the evidently dangerous creature prowling through it. He had no clue as to if the creature was even a mammal, let alone its true size. Second, the absence of weapons limited his ability to combat it directly, forcing him to take a completely blind approach to the escape rather than methodically trailing walls. These facts made him even more furious- so what if it had tried to cover its tracks? So what if there were no weapons? He would find a way.

Each of the corpses seemed to be left in the exact position they died in. Though, a few that fell more towards the center of the corridors might have been shifted to the side. Whatever killed them, it wasn't doing it for food. Perhaps it couldn't even eat meat, or it didn't eat in a traditional way. That ruled out a few ideas he had for distraction- cutting off fingers, so forth. If it wasn't a predator, it may not be tracking him through smell at all. How had it known he entered so quickly? Did it have some way of tracking him from the center? He didn't see any cameras, so that wasn't likely. The strangeness of this world meant he couldn't rule it out, though. This left him with two real ideas.

Then he realized that each of the corpses really was left in the exact position they died in. He looked more intently at each passing failure, especially the still-decaying ones, and he spotted it. The arm of this corpse- it looked startlingly similar to that of a 'Dwarf' from a certain series of fantasy movies. Ignoring the terrible squish of the rotting body and the bile it had soaked in, he flipped it over. The arm that was tucked under the Dwarf's chest ripped under the strain of the weight- from the bludgeon it held in a death grip. It had been sheltered under the Dwarf's body as he died, evading the beast's detection. Whatever it was, it wasn't as intelligent as it seemed. Perhaps it had merely been trained to grab the weapons, not doing it of its own volition.

The mace was a weighty ball-mace on a long pole. It weighed something like 6 pounds, and holding it was a pain. It was better than nothing, though, and the General learned to situate it on his shoulders. He began to move again, albeit a bit slower than before. It irked him a bit that finding a weapon was this much easier than finding clothes. If the corpses couldn't provide him with anything to wear, he would have to find another way. It wasn't dignified for someone of his stature to go without uniform, let alone without anything at all.

Turn after turn, he finally found an area that would be worth using. It was a four-way intersection, with two corridors actually connected in a loop. He couldn't find a way into the cordoned-off cavity, but that wouldn't matter. It was risky with so little to go with, but he had to resolve for the fight eventually. The mace flew with a thud, digging into the ground. Regardless of if he could use any of his plans, having the tools at his disposal would be necessary if he hoped to survive. Patton had once said that a good battle plan was one that you could act on today, rather than a perfect one designed tomorrow. He would have to make do with a shot in the dark.

___

He heard the beast before he could see it. The dull thump of its steps, one by one, implying it was of the bipedal variety. When its head whipped around the bend, staring down the long hall straight at the General, it became clear that was not the case. It had a long face, with a gently up-turned nose, lips naturally slightly parted. Its teeth shone bright in the blue light, wide and jagged, as though molars had been sharpened to points. Its eyes were somewhere between the sides of its head and the front, more like that of a herbivore than the great and terrible murder-machine it evidently was. It was furless, instead covered in deep-set and thick skin flaps, like a rhino. This skin was a distinct shade of deep-grey, turned deep teal by the light's tinge, and it did nothing to hide the rippling muscles that lined the thing's jaws and neck.

It had more reach than he had hoped, but as long as he prepared well enough, he was confident in his ability to compensate. One way or another, this would be his great stand. No more running. To his elation, the next part of the creature's body to be revealed was as hoped- hooves. They were intensely muscular, impossibly dangerous, impressively flexible, but hooves nonetheless. They were tall, the little bit of exposed back sloped down, just like its neck. They seemed to act as a fulcrum for its weight, perhaps giving it the 'oomph' required to poke all of those massive holes in the armor he had seen. That was the biggest tip-off- both of the methods it had used to detect him would seem to imply a more animalistic beast, and if it wasn't a weapon that broke the armor, what did? This massive beast was in line with his guesses, more or less. The next bits would be the moment of truth. Its abdomen was muscled, still in decline from the foreleg's height, and it hung from the spine, rib-cage completely hidden under the folds. The configuration was slightly strange compared to most quadrupeds, favoring the forelegs, and it had two horizontal shafts of muscles pumping towards the front, no doubt to add to the 'kick'.

Finally, the rest of it slunk around the bend. He could only catch glimpses before it aligned with him, staring him down. Its tail was not quite as expected. It was huge, which he had figured, but it was just a tail, to balance out its front. The thing was like the tail of a beaver, wide and thin, and it would probably hurt like hell if he was thwacked by it, but it was just a tail. The feature he expected there was in fact on the rear-legs, especially the feet. Rather than hooves, it was like it was walking on light-grey starfish. They expanded and contracted, sometimes flitting all the way to the edges of the corridor where it stood. Eimer's Organ, or something like it. It was using these extremely sensitive tendrils to detect even the slightest tremor in the maze, hunting the source. As soon as I had entered, it knew, not because of sight or smell, but because it felt me arrive. This thing was more similar to a Star-Nosed Mole than a Rhino or a Beaver, really. That was something he had counted on. Even if they weren't as sensitive as the nose of the Mole, they were still sensory organs. They would prove more malleable, more vulnerable than anywhere else on the thing.

The totality of it, the creature's toothy grin, its broad and deadly hooves, the writhing 'feet', made for a frightening scene. It loomed over him, massive even in the distance. It was built to kill him, to hunt any intruder through these dark halls, the poison set in the trap that was the Blue Zone. It wasn't in any hurry, just a still mass of pure certainty that it would fulfill its purpose. This was the maze's minotaur, the ashen murderer responsible for all of those corpses. The beast was truly fit for that one purpose, even combing over its tracks with the seemingly infinite tentacles writhing around on its hind-legs.

He had to look away. The laughter was coming too hard and heavy- the monster was a rhino-mole? That was the big baddie?

The beast was suitably offended. It charged, taking advantage of the fact he was looking away, or perhaps simply in a rage that the prey was mocking it, covering meters with ever bound. Rather than slow it down, the rear legs practically floated over the terrain, still providing intimate detail of every movement the General made- or maybe even wanted to make. He couldn't be certain, since something as tiny as a weight shift might set it off this close. The most talented warrior couldn't win a fight against an omniscient, after all. What were strategists for?

There was no strategy in the charge, just sheer power. It was upon him, then, rearing back to deliver a fatal blow, a stomp that would turn his unarmored, unclothed body to viscera and meat-paste. It was almost too fast for him to react, but he made it just in time. He leapt at an odd angle, thankfully distant from both hooves and not just the one aimed straight at him. It was dumb luck that it hadn't chosen the other side. The beast slammed the ground close behind him, nearly catching his foot, and howled in pure agony. Everywhere around him- and where he had just stood- were barely uncovered bones, buried upright, with impressively sharp ends. Shatters from hoof-wounds tend to snap bones, if not grind them to dust. He had plenty of bodies to choose from. The softer under-hoof flesh had no chance against an incursion like this, mounted on the tiny spikes. The creature was stuck only for a moment, long enough for him to scramble to his feet and around the corner. The tunnel-loop, the great magic trick. The beast was furious, jaw nearly unhinged as it whirled around the corner, blood still dripping from its hooves. He snagged the mace perched just so against the wall and ran, ducking the first snap of its mighty head. The beast was not leisurely now, no, it was charging, bite after bite closing distance to the General's exposed neck. He only just had time to duck again and grab a bone from. Lining the walls were two great columns of corpses, assembled and perched on just a few leaning femurs each- just like the one he snagged. The Swiss Defense was plan A, to catch the predator unaware and dump the bodies on its sensitive tail. Plan A wouldn't cut it, though, since he had miscalculated. There were far more advantages to the creature if its Eimer Organ was on the tail, but the less-likely of the two options was the correct one: it was actually on each of the hind legs.

Instead of turning to try and batter it or collapse the other column, he struggled to flee again, gaining ground on the distracted and partially buried beast. It finally chased after, streaks of blood still trailing from the punctured fore-hooves. The General jumped and jumped struggling through the pain. He was really taxing his body, and he had been pushing it hard all day. Had it been longer than twenty-four hours? No way of knowing, really. He finally slowed, turning. The stamping had stopped. The mole-taur staggered and lurched, but it couldn't seem to get free. It went full-speed through line after line of bones, lodged into the ground like the trap from the start of the fight. This time, though, they were sticking out plenty- diagonally. They were not meant to be crushed down on, but charged into. The most basic of Cheval de Frise, a simple stud meant to catch the dragging hind-legs as they struggled to catch up to its mighty hooves.

Now it was his turn to charge, practically dragging the mace into an upward swing. The thing wasn't looking at him, but entirely focused on freeing itself from the painful trap. The swing caught it unawares, smacking the equine snout near-vertical, the strongest he could muster. It was visibly bruised, perhaps the greatest injury it had received in a long while. Its head whipped back to bite at his arm, murder in its eyes, but he was already gone. The mace smacked it once more, this time quite impotently, thrown as he fled. It could only watch as he wheeled around the corner. It threw a fit, beating its hooves on the ground until it finally freed itself. It was bruised, bleeding, and pissed. Incredibly pissed. It watched the ground, finally confident it had broken all of the boney caltrops. In truth, the beast had rampaged its way through every other line, only getting truly 'hooked' at the last one. It cleared the corner, desperate to see where the ape had fled. It had lost him in the agony, and it couldn't feel him now…

The General had not fled. He had ducked in that same corner, just around the blind. The mole-taur didn't have the sort of sight most predators used. Its vision was patently inferior to even his own, necessarily augmented by the vibrations through the ground below. That was why whoever made this maze had made the dirt so malleable, and why it didn't see him now. He was stock-still, and as its lethal forelegs passed him by, he lunged. He smashed the red crystal into the Eimer Organs as close to the base as he could. The outer feelers were too risky, too mobile. The pain from the impact shocked the creature once-more. It reeled, and even as he started to celebrate the blow and prepare himself for the next step, it swung his tail in a flash.