LITMIR.BIZ

      From where its jutting, crooked horns met its great bull’s head, it was covered in the mangy hair of a mongrel. As it looked back, slobber dripped from its great teeth and ran through the contours of muscles bulging along its back, past its waist down to patches of skin as cracked as baked clay. It stood on two legs that tapered down to menacing claws instead of hooves.

      The Minotaur was worse than Finn had ever imagined it could be. And he had imagined it to be pretty bad.

      It was looking straight at him.

      He ducked into a doorway. A woman was already hiding there, her back pressed against the door, a dog pulled close. Her face was tight with fear.

      “Don’t worry, Mrs Bright,” Finn told her, his voice muffled by the helmet. “You and Yappy will soon be safe, won’t you, boy?” He petted the dog, a basset hound, with his free hand. It sneezed on him.

      The woman nodded with unconvincing gratitude, then paused. “Where’s your father, young man? Shouldn’t he be—?”

      There was a smash further up the street. The Minotaur had disappeared round the turn at the top of Broken Road. Finn took another deep breath and moved on after it.

      From the other side of a wall, there was a thud so forceful it sent a shudder from Finn’s feet to his brain, which interpreted it as a signal to run screaming in the opposite direction.

      But Finn didn’t run. He had trained for this. He had been born into it. He knew what was expected of him, what he needed to do. Besides, if he ran now, his dad would be disappointed in him. Again.

      I’ll be there when you need me, Finn’s father had told him that morning.

      Pressing a radio button on the side of his helmet, Finn whispered, “Dad? Are you there?”

      The only response was the uncaring crackle of static.

      A dark, looming hulk crossed an intersecting laneway, tearing along its narrow walls. Finn raised his Desiccator and followed. At the corner, he crouched and peered round. The Minotaur had paused no more than twenty metres away. Its great shoulders heaved under angry, growling breaths as it figured out which way to go next.

      It was all up to Finn now. He recalled his training. Focused on what he had been taught. Thought about his father’s expert words. Carefully, he aimed his stocky silver weapon, steadied himself, exhaled.

      At that exact moment, the Minotaur turned to face him, its eyes like black pools gouged beneath scarred horns. Froth dripped from chipped and jagged tusks. For a second, Finn was distracted by the way drool, blood and rain clung to a crystal ring wedged through the Legend’s nose.