Nollius

The minotaur had already bested him once before. Soon as Nollius the Farmer heard about the beast terrorizing the neighbor down the road, he took off with his best choppin’ axe.

Nollius confronted the beast alone and barely lived to tell the tale.

He gave his bruises and wounded pride three nights to heal, then went back out to try again. This time he brought two axes, freshly sharpened. This time would be different.

However, for selfish want of victory and vengeance, he again chose to go it alone.

He hunted the countryside. Maybe he’d get lucky and catch the thing sleeping. He could still bring the severed head into town as a hero and they’d all be none the wiser.

He stalked under the shady woodlines along the neighboring farms. Stealthy and careful though he was, his target spotted him first. There, in a clearing stood the minotaur, clad in leather armor and a large sword on his back.

The two locked eyes from a distance, a gaze of mutual recognition. The minotaur immediately drew his sword.

With a sneak attack no longer possible, Nollius approached the minotaur directly. He walked tall and squared his shoulders to evoke what he hoped would seem a threatening posture.

Nollius charged at the minotaur, slashing one axe first then the other. Steel clashed against steel. Sharp edge’s scrape punctuating the grunting and growling of the combatants.

But there was no glory. No one was around, not one set of human eyes to witness the deathmatch.

Here alone he was on the razor’s edge, engaged in a fight he wasn’t stacked to win. His ego craved something to brag about.

Nollius barely felt the pain after the minotaur’s sword sliced his arm, so proud was he to see it tear his flesh apart. This was a milestone, a moment of pride; now he was a bloodied warrior.

The thought warmed his soul, filled him with adrenaline.

He was outweighed, outstrengthed, and outmaneuvered. But as the minotaur struck him again and he stumbled backwards and collapsed on the forest floor, Nollius the Farmer went down a hero.