The Minotaur's war cry was a sound ripped from a nightmare, and its charge was an unstoppable force of muscle and rage. I didn't think; I just acted. My body, a blur of battered and bruised reflexes, dove out of the way. The beast slammed into the metal door behind me, the sound of the impact a violent, echoing crack that left the thick steel bent and half-folded like a piece of paper.

  I scrambled back, my heart pounding against my ribs, and tried to run for the exit. But the beast was impossibly fast. It turned on a dime, its massive form cutting off my path. My escape route, a wide, open corridor just seconds ago, was now blocked by a wall of golden armor and pure violence. I couldn't outrun it. There was no way to get past it. The only way out was through the beast.

  The monster started to engage, its massive fists swinging, each blow a deadly wind that would have crushed my skull if it had connected. I moved like a cat, my instincts, so long dormant, now screaming in every nerve. I ducked and weaved, my body contorting to avoid the killing blows.

  This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

  But my luck was running out.

  I ducked under a wide right hook, and the beast's massive torso caught me with a glancing blow. The impact sent me flying, my body a rag doll tossed across the factory floor. I hit the ground hard, a fresh wave of pain searing through my ribs. I tried to get up, but before I could, a heavy boot connected with my stomach, sending me flopping like a fish. The beast did this two more times, each kick more powerful than the last, until I was a broken, bloodied mess on the floor.

  I gasped for air, spitting up blood, the sharp, agonizing pain of broken ribs a constant reminder of my humanity. The beast stood over me, watching with a calm, predatory gaze. I struggled to my feet, my body trembling with the effort. I was beaten. My face was a mask of blood and sweat.

  I held my ribs, my voice a broken whisper. "What are you?