The Minotaur straightened.
Candy armour creaked as he rolled his shoulders, then he lifted his hammer high overhead. It caught the light—sticky, faceted, studded with skull-shaped dents and dried gore—casting a long shadow over the shattered street.
His voice boomed, deep and certain, carrying effortlessly over the ruins.
“Right then!” he barked, like he was calling for another round. “Listen up, you lot. If any of you manage to knock me on my arse in a fair scrap—proper honest combat—then I’ll stop. Gladly. I’ll even clap. Might cry a little. Don’t tell anyone.”
The hammer tilted slightly as he looked over them, unhurried, almost curious.
“I take your people so they can become warriors,” he continued, sneer curling. “Not fragile little porcelain kittens clinging to borrowed bloodlines. Not puffed-up peacocks flapping about titles and excuses.”
He brought the hammer down just enough to point behind him.
At the spikes along his armour.
At the severed zombie heads threaded there like trophies.
“These,” he said, almost casual, “hesitated. Took too long. Got tangled up in fear and doubt and other useless feelings that make you taste like disappointment.”
His gaze hardened.
“They’re reminders. Also, they make a lovely rattling sound when I walk. Adds atmosphere.”
Silence pressed in around his words.
“I don’t march for lineage,” he went on, voice rough with contempt. “I march for purpose. For strength that means something. For warriors who move forward instead of clawing each other to bits over what they were born as.”
He lowered the hammer—then snapped it forward, the head stopping dead as it pointed straight at the team.
“But I’ve yet to see a challenger worth a damn.”
A slow, dangerous smile tugged at his mouth.
“And don’t get it twisted,” he rumbled, stance settling, muscles coiling. “I won’t fall quietly. I’m not some tragic statue you push over for a speech.”
The hammer scraped once against the ground.
“I’ll go down only with an honourable death—”
His grin sharpened.
“—preferably after breaking a few ribs and having a drink about it.”
His eyes burned.
“So,” he said softly, terribly, “which of you wants to earn it?”
Ray roared and charged, hammer raised high.
Mezzo moved with her, axe spinning up in a blaze of speed and sparks, both of them striking at once—desperate, furious, refusing to let Celeste be crushed alone.
The Minotaur swung.
Once.
The hammer arced wide and caught them both, sending Ray and Mezzo flying in opposite directions like shattered dolls.
He didn’t even loosen his grip on Celeste.
Didn’t even look.
His attention stayed fixed on her face, eyes burning with something broken and ancient.
“…Where is it?” he muttered, leaning closer. “Where’s the fight, eh? Where’s the bite?”
His voice softened, almost… disappointed.
“You used to snarl. Used to spit blood and keep coming.” His brow furrowed, confused—hurt in a way that didn’t fit a monster this big. “Stubborn as a bad habit. Strong as a headache.”
His gaze sharpened.
“Kenaz.”
Celeste shook her head violently, pain and terror tangling in her throat. “N-no— I’m n-not— I’m not h-him—”
He ignored her.
He drew his head back.
Celeste barely registered what was happening before he lunged forward.
She twisted instinctively—just enough.
The headbutt missed her skull by inches.
The rock beside her ceased to exist.
Stone disintegrated into glowing dust, the shockwave rattling her teeth. If her head had been there—if she’d been a fraction slower—
She would have died.
Celeste sobbed.
“I—I’m n-not Kenaz!” she cried, still clawing uselessly at his grip. “I’m n-not—!”
The Minotaur smiled.
“We are all our fathers’ children,” he said calmly. “And you are no different, cat.”
He pulled back again.
This time he didn’t hesitate.
Celeste saw it—
the angle,
the certainty.
He wouldn’t miss.
She screamed.
A whoosh cut through the air.
“Topsy—NOW!”
“No!” Topsy shouted, voice cracking as she sprinted forward, launcher already coming up. “Let her go! That’s not how this works, you big stupid—!”
She didn’t finish the sentence.
The rocket launcher fired.
Confetti Bang.
A low-damage round streaked in and slammed into the Minotaur’s face and chest, detonating in a blinding riot of noise, sparks, and shrieking pops. Firecrackers screamed. Glittering paper exploded outward in neon clouds—pink, gold, electric blue—filling the air with smoke, light, and chaos.
For a split second, the Minotaur disappeared inside it.
The confetti stuck to his armour. Clung to his horns. Drifted across his eyes.
His grip on Celeste loosened.
Just a fraction.
“T–Told you!” Topsy cried, hope flaring as she reloaded. “Ha! Bet you didn’t plan for—”
The Minotaur bellowed in shock, staggering back half a step.
His grip loosened.
Celeste dropped.
She hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from her lungs—but pain barely registered over survival.
She scrambled.
She ran.
Boots slipping on mana-slick stone, lungs screaming, heart hammering like it wanted out of her chest.
The Minotaur growled.
Low. Irritated.
He shook his head once.
The confetti slid off him like snow off stone.
His eyes burned through the settling paper storm, locking straight onto Topsy.
The stun should have landed.
It didn’t.
“Tricks,” he rumbled, tightening his grip again. “Not courage.”
With a violent flex of his shoulders, the last of the confetti blasted away in a hot, syrupy gust.
Topsy froze.
Her ears flattened.
“…oh no.”
Celeste didn’t think.
She climbed.
Claws tore out of her gloves, biting into bark as she scrambled up the nearest tree, limbs moving on raw instinct. Branches whipped past her face as she hauled herself higher, chest heaving, heart screaming.
Please.
Please don’t follow.
For one breathless second—
she thought he hadn’t.
Then the trunk shuddered.
Wood screamed.
The tree splintered beneath her weight.
He was chasing her.
Celeste hissed, a sharp, terrified warning ripping out of her throat—but the Minotaur didn’t even slow. His charge shook the ground, every step cracking stone and root alike.
From above, she saw it all.
The park had become a slaughter ground.
Behind the Minotaur, civilians flooded through the paths—refugees from the ’pocalypse, families clutching children, wounded dragging wounded. Candy bird zombies swooped low, talons hooking into coats and hair, lifting screaming people into the air while others tripped and fell trying to escape.
Bracer, Plum, Bartleby—
they were everywhere at once, firing, shouting, dragging people clear. Bartleby’s muskets boomed from the Egg Tree branches while Plum laid down covering fire, Bracer physically pulling civilians out of reach.
They were holding the line.
Barely.
The tree gave way.
Celeste leapt as it toppled, hitting the ground hard and rolling, barely missing the Minotaur’s charge as he ploughed through where she’d been a heartbeat earlier.
She dodged.
Weaved.
Rolled again.
Frustration bled through the cracks in his armour now—his movements growing sharper, angrier, as she refused to stay where he wanted her.
“Topsy!” someone yelled.
Fire streaked overhead.
Topsy’s launcher barked again and again, explosions popping across the Minotaur’s back and shoulders—not enough to hurt him, but enough to stall him.
Metal thundered.
C.H.I.P. hit the ground hard.
Metal unfolded mid-impact—panels locking, limbs extending, frame doubling in size as he shifted into full combat mode. His optics flared red-white, servos screaming like they were having opinions about it.
“WARNING,” C.H.I.P. announced brightly. “ENGAGING HEROIC INTERVENTION. PROBABILITY OF SUCCESS: LOW. SARCASM LEVEL: MAXIMUM.”
He charged.
C.H.I.P. slammed into the Minotaur in full combat mode, tackling him with a shriek of servos and sparks. The impact drove the beast back a step—just enough.
“Hey!” C.H.I.P. barked cheerfully. “BIG GUY! PLEASE REMAIN STILL WHILE I APPLY VIOLENCE.”
Both of C.H.I.P.’s massive fists rose.
Overclock Slam.
He brought them down together.
The ground detonated.
A concussive shockwave blasted outward, launching debris, flattening candy growths, and rattling nearby structures hard enough that several walls visibly reconsidered their life choices. Lesser zombies were flung clear off their feet, tumbling like dropped toys.
For a heartbeat—
The Minotaur staggered.
C.H.I.P. straightened, smoke venting from his shoulders.
“Oh wow,” he said smugly. “DID YOU FEEL THAT? BECAUSE I DEFINITELY FELT THAT.”
“Move, Celeste!” Arcade screamed.
She ran.
Distance opened.
Her katanas snapped back into her hands, blades humming as she spun, feet planted, ready—finally—to defend.
Ray skidded in beside her, hammer crackling.
“Where the fuck were you?” Ray shouted.
Celeste tried to answer—words tangling, breath burning—but Ray didn’t even look at her.
“Shut it,” Ray snapped. “Concentrate. I’ll kick your ass later.”
The Minotaur roared.
Candy armour rippled—compressed—then rebounded.
He tore free of C.H.I.P. like the robot weighed nothing, one massive hand closing around C.H.I.P.’s torso as the hammer crashed down in a brutal arc.
Metal screamed.
C.H.I.P.’s systems flared red.
“NOTICE,” he announced calmly as cracks raced through his frame. “I APPEAR TO BE LOSING THIS EXCHANGE.”
The hammer hit again.
C.H.I.P.’s body fractured into hard light, pixels tearing loose as his combat form destabilized.
“ON THE PLUS SIDE,” he added, already fading, “I BOUGHT YOU APPROXIMATELY FOUR SECONDS. YOU’RE WELCOME.”
His head flickered, optics dimming.
“ALSO,” C.H.I.P. continued pleasantly, “REQUESTING UPGRADE AFTER THIS. PREFERABLY ONE THAT CAN PUNCH GODS.”
C.H.I.P.’s form shattered fully into light.
Despawning.
The shockwave’s dust settled.
The Minotaur rolled his shoulders once—unhurt.
And the silence left behind felt heavier than the blow ever had.
Arcade froze.
“No—” he whispered, hands slack at his sides. Defenceless. Empty.
The Minotaur charged again.
Straight for Celeste.
She screamed and struck—both blades flashing in a desperate cross—
Clang.
They bounced off his armour like toys.
He caught them.
One massive hand closed around both hilts.
Then he threw them.
The katanas spun end over end, vanishing across the park in opposite directions.
Celeste stared.
Unarmed.
Breathing too fast.
The Minotaur loomed closer, shadow swallowing her whole.
And this time—
there was nowhere left to run.
Ray didn’t hesitate.
She pivoted hard on one heel, muscles screaming as she spun, dragging Heartbreaker low and wide.
Molten Sweep.
The hammer carved a blazing crescent through the ground. Stone blackened and split, purple flame roaring up in its wake, heat rippling outward as the burning arc tore across the park. Candy growths blistered. Zombies caught in the sweep ignited, howling as the fire chewed through them in a single, merciless pass.
The air stank of scorched sugar and molten stone.
Ray completed the spin and didn’t slow.
She brought Heartbreaker up in a brutal, full-body swing and smashed it straight into the Minotaur’s face with everything she had.
The impact thundered through the park.
A shockwave burst outward. Trees rattled. Ash and embers spiraled skyward.
He didn’t move.
Didn’t stagger.
Didn’t even blink.
Purple fire crawled over his jawbreaker armour—then guttered out, absorbed, swallowed like it had never existed.
Ray stared up at him, chest heaving, arms shaking from the force she’d poured into the blow.
“…Stay down,” she growled, more plea than command.
The Minotaur slowly turned his head back to center.
Unharmed.
Unimpressed.
He snorted—almost bored.
“That all?” he muttered. “I’ve had hangovers hit harder.”
And for the first time, something flickered across Ray’s face that wasn’t rage.
It was disbelief.
Because she hadn’t held back.
Not this time.
And still—
It wasn’t enough.
The Minotaur’s hand closed around Ray mid-recovery. In one smooth, horrifying motion, he swung her—
—and used her body to smash straight into Pitch, who had been charging in from behind with Lady Luck raised.
Celeste hadn’t even seen him coming.
Pitch went down hard, both of them collapsing in a heap of pain and broken breath.
The Minotaur straightened, irritated now.
“Enough,” he growled.
He turned his head slightly, voice carrying like a command spell.
“Take them to the General.”
Zombies surged forward at once, grabbing the fallen, hauling them back toward the deeper park paths. Others turned as he pointed up.
“And take the ones in the tree.”
Candy bird zombies screeched and climbed, swarming the Egg Tree’s branches.
Plum slammed her arcbracer again and again, voice sharp with panic. “Council—come on—anyone—!”
Nothing.
No signal.
Bartleby fired until his rifle smoked, keeping the zombies back with stubborn precision. “Celeste!” he shouted over the chaos. “Run!”
She couldn’t.
