The axe began its descent. No time to run—my leg screamed just thinking about it. No time to counter, I'd be cleaved in half. Be her shield? She'd never allow it. She'd break herself to pieces first.

  The truth settled cold in my gut: I was a liability.

  Unless I made that work for us. Finnik's voice cut through the panic, calm and firm. "Patience is the strength of the weak. Impatience is the weakness of the strong."

  A grim smile touched my lips.

  Not a battle of strength. A battle of wits.

  "Lena!" My voice was raw. "Sorry to ask this much of you... but... BUY ME SOME TIME!" I took a deliberately clumsy step forward, collapsed to my knees with a pained gasp. Look as weak as possible—a handicap for the foe, not another enemy to worry about.

  I didn't reach for my spear—I crawled away from it, dragged my wounded leg through the dirt, let out a few convincing whimpers and ragged wheezes. My free hand clutched my thigh, my body trembled.

  Yeah, that's it! Look! I'm not even trying to reach my weapon! So don't mind me, you idiot cow!

  Lena let out a furious cry, met the Minotaur's earth-shaking axe swing with a shower of fiery sparks from her forearms. I began to mumble, my voice a broken whisper lost in the cacophony.

  "Spirits of fur and fang— Gather... By my name—" The silvery snakeskin in my sleeve grew warm, spectral green light coiling within the fabric.

  A hidden promise of venom.

  I let another whimper escape, accompanied by a genuine wince. I heard the Minotaur laugh—a deep contemptuous sound that vibrated in my bones as it parried Lena's flurry.

  It was working. Yeah, that's it! I'm defeated. Don't mind me, overgrown cattle!

  "Whisper, spirit of the green glade—..." Cool soothing energy flowed through torn muscle and bruised bone. The blinding pain receded to a manageable throb.

  The leg would hold.

  With a final desperate-sounding scream, I pushed myself to my feet, wobbled dramatically, then charged the Minotaur with a futile lunge—my fist pathetically bounced off its rock-hard calf. He didn't even flinch.

  Just as planned.

  I gave Lena a sharp meaningful wink as I staggered back. "Go! Dánkoma!" From my sleeve, the conjured viper struck—a thing of emerald light and spectral poison, moving with unnatural speed. It slithered up the Minotaur's leg and torso before sinking ethereal fangs deep into the side of its thick neck.

  The Minotaur roared in shock and pain. The snake immediately uncoiled, leapt onto Lena's extended leg before vanishing into shimmering motes.

  "Now LEE! Hit him harder! Try to stun him or make him dizzy!" I backed away swiftly, posture no longer weak but poised.

  Now the real battle—wound him enough he can't follow. Fighting to kill means one of us dies.

  Time to retreat.

  The world narrowed to a single horrifying moment. The Minotaur, enraged and poisoned, swung its greataxe in a desperate wide cleave. The blade connected with Lena's guard in an explosion of crimson energy and shattered sthenos.

  CRUNCH-THWACK.

  She was lifted off her feet, hurled backward like a discarded doll, slammed into the trunk of a twisted oak with a dull thud before collapsing into a still heap.

  "CRAP! LENA!"

  My plan shattered. Survival was all that mattered. As I rushed toward her, I commanded the serpent—it struck again, fangs sinking into the back of the Minotaur's knee. The beast bellowed, leg buckled slightly, but its rage was untempered. It turned murderous eyes toward me as I skidded to my knees beside Lena.

  "PSILOI!" I hurled one of my magic stones—not to harm, but to distract. It smacked against the Minotaur's brow with a sharp crack. The beast flinched and roared.

  Buying me one precious second.

  "Lena! Wake up!" I shook her—she was out cold, a nasty gash on her temple weeping blood.

  No time.

  I heaved her limp form over my shoulder in a fireman's carry, gritted my teeth against the fresh wave of protest from my wounded leg. With my free hand, I slammed one of the Seafoam Shell vials onto the ground, raised my voice in desperate command.

  "Veil of the hidden moon, arise. O breath of twilight, conceal all beneath your shroud. Let the eyes of my foes be lost to the haze, And in silence, let the hunter walk unseen! OMICHLI!"

  Thick impenetrable grey mist erupted from the shattered vial, billowed outward in a churning sphere. The world vanished, swallowed by muffled grey. The Minotaur's enraged roar became distorted, directionless.

  We were hidden. For now.

  But I could still hear it—heavy stomping footsteps circling just beyond the edge of our misty sanctuary, frustrated steaming snorts cutting through the silence. It knew we were in there. It was just waiting for the fog to fade.

  The fog hung in the clearing's heart, a grey bastion of nothingness. For a long moment, nothing but the muffled drip of moisture and my own ragged breathing, which I forced into shallow silent pulls.

  Then the mist shuddered. With a roar that tore through the veil, the Crimson Minotaur charged blindly into the center, its greataxe cleaving through empty air with a violent whoosh, blood-red eyes scanning the featureless grey. Found nothing. It snorted—steam and frustration, massive head swinging like a trapped bull.

  My loyal serpent made its final sacrifice. A flash of emerald light—it struck one last time, fangs sinking deep into the beast's forearm. The minotaur bellowed, more annoyance than agony. Its other hand closed around the spectral snake with crushing force.

  A sickening pop—the sound of unraveling magic. The conjured creature was crushed into dissipating motes.

  But the damage was done.

  Even from my hiding spot within thick brambles at the clearing's edge, I saw it—the beast stumbled, shook its great head. Dark ugly purple spread from the bite on its neck and the new wound on its arm, threading through veins like malevolent ivy. Its breathing became labored, wet, each exhale a ragged gasp. It swayed, mighty legs trembling.

  Good. It was enough. That bastard had too much force—a normal minotaur and this thing weren't even the same species.

  It let out one last weak roar, more wet gurgle than battle cry, then turned and staggered away from the fading fog, crashed back into the Labyrinthos depths. Footsteps clumsy and heavy, the sounds fading into oppressive silence.

  We were alone.

  The fog dissipated. The scarred clearing remained: the scorched hulking corpse of the first minotaur, the crater from Lena's final blow, and deep ugly gouges from the Crimson Minotaur's axe. Lena lay unconscious at my feet, breathing shallow but steady. My own leg throbbed—a reminder of mortality. The carved symbol on the ancient oak continued its soft silent pulse.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  We survived. But the victory was hollow.

  We were deep in enemy territory, and I was standing guard over a downed ally. A den—safe for now, but for how long?

  First things first—close that wound on Lena's head. The minotaur could wait. It was wounded and poisoned. Most animals, no matter how monstrous, couldn't handle that combination long.

  A plan formed in the weary confines of my mind. A fox-like smile touched my lips. A long breath escaped, tension bleeding from my shoulders as the last echo of the Crimson Minotaur's retreat faded. The immediate threat was gone, replaced by the patient insidious peril of a wounded party in hostile domain.

  My gaze fell to Lena—the gash on her temple was ugly, seeping blood into her fiery hair, her arm bent at a slightly wrong angle. She looked small and fragile, a stark contrast to the ball of incandescent fury she'd been moments ago.

  She bought me the time. Now my move.

  "A hunt..." I murmured. He thought he was the hunter in his own maze. But he was wounded, poisoned. Animals couldn't handle that.

  I knelt beside her, my own leg protesting with a sharp throb I forcefully ignored. My hands—still smeared with dirt and blood—hovered over her injuries. No grand gestures, no roaring incantations. Just quiet focused intent. I whispered half-remembered chants from Minthe, words of mending meant for broken saplings and bruised fruit. "Roots bind... sap seals... earth mend..." Faint greenish glow emanated from my palms, sank into the gash on her head. The bleeding slowed, then stopped, skin knitting together into a fresh pink scar. I carefully straightened her arm, whispered another soothing phrase as I felt the bone grate back into place.

  A stopgap. But enough.

  I sat back on my heels, sweat beading on my forehead. The clearing was eerily silent now, save for Lena's steady breathing and the ever-present low hum of the Labyrinthos itself.

  The hunt was on.

  The forest held its breath. I moved with hunter's silence, every sense stretched taut, listening for the snap of a branch or labored breathing. My druidic instincts guided me away from the open clearing toward a dense thicket overshadowed by a massive ancient tree that had given up its fight with time. Its fallen trunk was a fortress wall of rotting wood, creating a natural hollow beneath its roots.

  I carefully eased Lena into the sheltered space, propped her against soft dry earth and moss within the root structure—dark, hidden from casual view, defensible. I settled beside her, back against rough bark, spear resting across my knees. Exhaustion settled deep—my Sthénos was spent. No tricks left. If something found us now, it met my spear and shield. Nothing more.

  I let my head fall back, closed my eyes. My hand rested on Lena's shoulder, feeling the steady rise and fall of her chest.

  She's a Pyraei. She'll be fine.

  Three hours. Maybe four. Long enough for the venom to work—or for something worse to find us.

  -?-

  My eyes snapped open—no sound, no shift in light, just a primal prickle at my neck that dragged me from half-doze into razor-sharp awareness. The forest was deathly silent—not just quiet, but empty. The faint hum of the Labyrinthos had vanished, the air perfectly still, heavy and cold. No leaves rustled, no insects droned, as if the entire woodland was hiding in the presence of something even it feared.

  I counted heartbeats in the suffocating stillness. My inner clock gave me a grim tally.

  Three hours for my wounds to stiffen and my Sthénos to begin a slow grudging trickle back, and three hours for whatever ruled this domain to notice the intruders who wounded its guardian. Lena still slept, face peaceful. But out there, beyond our sanctuary, something had changed.

  The hunt had entered a new, more sinister phase.

  Fifty paces from our hideout. We were lucky. If it had come any closer... A slow grim smile touched my lips. I reached into a worn pouch at my belt, pulled out a strip of tough salt-cured venison. The smell was potent, gamey, utterly out of place in this sterile quiet.

  With a playful smirk, I gently waved the strip back and forth under her nose.

  For a moment, nothing. Then a twitch, a subtle flare of her nostrils. Her brow furrowed—the universal expression of someone whose dream was invaded by the aroma of trail ration. Her nose scrunched, a grunt, soft and annoyed, head lolling to the side.

  Then, like the first ember catching in a dead hearth, her eyes fluttered open, hazy with confusion for a heartbeat, blinking up at the tangled roof of roots. They focused on me, on the strip of meat still near her face. Confusion sharpened into familiar fiery indignation.

  "...Nihl?" She croaked, voice rough. She swatted weakly at my hand. "Are you... trying to feed me? What in all hells is wrong with you?"

  She was awake. And complaining.

  A wave of profound relief washed over me. She tried to push herself up on elbows, then winced, hand flying to her ribs with a sharp hiss. Memory flooded back into her eyes, replacing grogginess with alert tension. "The big one... the red...?" A whisper, gaze darting toward the hideaway's entrance, immediately understanding the unnatural silence outside.

  She was back.

  I gave her a tight smile, quickly sobering as grim reality settled back like a heavy cloak. "We retreat, yes." My voice was low but firm. "He's poisoned. It's good you're up. But I need to check on the big crimson prey... see how badly he's hurt. If I don't harass him, he'll start recovering. Then we're in real trouble. You stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?" I managed a chuckle with no humor, only a taut predatory edge.

  I hefted my spear and shield, tested weight on my injured leg. It throbbed with dull persistent ache, but the bone held firm.

  It would have to be enough.

  With a last searching look at Lena—taking in the determined set of her jaw despite her pallor—I moved to the entrance and peered out. The fog had long dispersed, leaving behind a world scrubbed clean of life. The trees stood like mute sentinels, branches choking the light, the air cold and still. No sign of the Crimson Minotaur, but I could feel its presence lingering—a psychic taint of rage and pain staining the clearing.

  I turned back to Lena one last time. Silent understanding passed between us, forged in shared battles. "Be careful." She whispered, eyes narrowed not in weakness but focus, her formidable strength returning with every steadying breath.

  I stepped out into the watchful hungry stillness of the Labyrinthos.

  Alone.

  I moved like a ghost, druidic instincts overriding my leg's protest. I didn't walk on the ground—I moved with it, flowing from gnarled root to root, boots finding silent purchase on mossy elevated pathways. My fingers brushed rough bark—not for support, but for connection, reading the forest's whispers. Below, the forest floor remained pristine. I was a shadow, leaving no trace.

  And I found its story, written plainly in the earth. Not fifty paces from our den, the trail began—deep staggering footprints, each pressed deeper on the right where its poisoned leg was failing. Splatters of blood—some crimson, others tinged with ugly purple—dotted the ferns like a gruesome trail.

  I followed the spoor, a wraith flitting from trunk to trunk.

  And then I saw it. The Crimson Minotaur was ahead, partially obscured by thorny brambles. It hadn't gone far. It had collapsed against another massive tree, greataxe lying discarded as if too heavy to bear. Its colossal chest heaved in ragged wet gasps I could hear from my hiding place. Purple venom pulsed visibly through distended veins in its neck and forearm. A low pained groan rumbled as it tried—and failed—to lick the festering bite.

  The venom's working. But how long until it kills him? Or until he adapts?

  Critically weakened. Preoccupied with agony.

  Perfect target. But one wrong move and it was still strong enough to kill us both.

  I had a clear line of sight.

  -?-

  Three hours became six. Six became twelve. We took turns—I watched from shadows as Lena circled the wounded beast. It swiped at empty air, roared at nothing. She waited for the perfect opening—

  CRACK.

  Her stone shattered against its knee. The roar became a whimper. She melted back into the trees.

  One hit at a time. Patient, methodical, merciless.

  The magic stones, once mere annoyances, became instruments of pure torment. The beast's hide was now a tapestry of blossoming purple bruises and weeping cuts. A single well-aimed pebble shattered its dwindling sanity, sent it into frenzies of swiping at empty air, roaring at uncaring trees.

  By dawn of the second day, it had given up any pretense of chase. Its right knee—targeted with grim precision by Lena's unerring throws—was a swollen useless joint that dragged like a sack of stones.

  It had been driven to its knees not by heroic blow, but by a thousand tiny calculated cuts. Our victory was built on patience and attrition.

  And now we stood before it.

  We didn't emerge as heroes radiating divine light. We stepped from shadows as brigands, as predators who had methodically cornered their quarry. My armor was scarred and caked with dried mud, old blood, and leaf litter.

  Beside me, Lena's fists clenched, faint embers of Promethean Flame flickering like awakening serpents. A low continuous growl rumbled in her chest—a volcano preparing to erupt.

  The Crimson Minotaur was propped against the same tree where I first found it collapsed, greataxe lying beyond trembling fingers. Its breath came in ragged wet heaves that misted in cold air. The fire of intelligent vengeance was extinguished, replaced by a glassy sheen of feverish agony and bottomless exhaustion.

  It tried to push itself up at our approach—a final spark of pride—but its wounded leg buckled instantly. It crashed back to earth with a pained bellow more whimper than roar.

  Normally... in the silly stories of heroes we grew up listening to... in the moment Lena got hurt by that axe... I should have raged, awoken some hidden power, and defeated the beast right there in a blaze of glory.

  I looked at the broken creature before us, at Lena standing firm and furious beside me.

  But this was reality. We created our own "opportunities." And right now... our power was patience. And teamwork.

  We stood side-by-side, looking down at the broken colossus. No triumphant music. Only heavy silence and the minotaur's labored dying breaths. The fight wasn't over—a cornered beast was always most dangerous. But the balance of power had irrevocably, finally, shifted.

  My hand found my spear. Lena's fists ignited with faint crimson.

  A fox-like smile touched my lips.

  Time to finish this hunt.