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The sound of wheels crunching over a rocky path was felt beneath the floor of the metal prisoner cart, the vehicle rocking and bouncing as it was drawn. This cart was quite unusual from the typical kind used to haul prisoners; the appearance was that of a metal cage, and over it was draped a dark cloth of sorts, blocking out any view of the outside. Only slight glimmers of sunlight managed to sneak through the fibers, providing limited vision for those inside. The panther sat closest to the door on his side, staring down at the chains that shackled his wrists before him. He hung his head in shame, guilt eating at him for his actions that landed him here; the prior night, in a confrontation with the city guard over a bar quarrel, he had accidentally slashed the throat of one of the guards accosting him. The guard ultimately perished from the attack. Having yielded immediately, the panther was promptly arrested and now was faced with prison, perhaps even his own execution. They hadn’t even provided him with a trial date; a killer such as he deserved to go straight to the gallows, he thought. Beside the panther sat two partners in crime, a younger brown wolf and a middle-aged black bear. The wolf was of average height, slim to medium build, and hadn’t shut up since they were loaded on the cart. The bear, a larger and taller fellow, had been bantering with his ally all the while. “Ohh now, this can’t be good, aye,” the wolf nudged the bear in the arm. “Not the normal cart.” The bear looked up at the grates surrounding them, slightly nodding his head. “Aye. ‘Tis the death cart.” He chuckled lowly, though his face looked grim. “Ah shite. We’ve fucked up bad this time, mate.” The wolf slumped back in his seat, lazily flinging his wrists and making the restricting chains clink together loudly. The bear shrugged. “The prisons must be full if they’re not even bothering with trials.” The words began to alarm the panther, who suddenly looked up, green eyes wide. “What do you mean, the prisons are full? A-And death cart?” The panther looked between the two as they both grinned at him, finding the cat comical. The wolf snickered before he piped up, “Why do ye think they letcha keep yer armor on? Yer not goin’ to prison in that.” He was right. The panther still wore his chestplate and pauldrons, though the guards had seized his weapons. Normally when he saw prisoners go by in the typical open-top wooden cart, they had already been adorned in garments most akin to potato sacks. “But they told me I’d just be awaiting my trial date! What do you even mean by death cart? I made a mistake, I need to state my case!” The panther’s heartbeat quickened as the pair began cackling again, shaking their heads. The wolf even wiped a tear from his eye. “Oi, mate. When the prisons are full, yeah? The king likes to entertain ‘imself.” He nodded to the bear, who took his turn. “You’ve never heard tell of the Labyrinth, have you?” The panther’s stomach dropped. He’d heard of the Labyrinth, indeed. The king’s playground where he supposedly tortured the worst criminals in every imaginable way. Nobody knew where it was, and as far as he knew, nobody had ever made it out to tell the tale; only rumors floated around, on occasion. According to legend, the sole survivor could walk away free, as if they had never committed their crime. For serial criminals it was a get-out-of-jail free card, at the cost of risking your life. “Then… what did you guys do..?” The wolf looked up to the bear and smirked at the panther’s question. “Ahh, robbery gone wrong, yeah? Shopkeep’s bitch wife came a’ us with a knife. Killed ‘er and the shopkeep didn’ take to it too kindly. Had ta put ‘im down, too.” The wolf spoke as though it were just another day for him, shaking his head in pity for the shopkeep he had slain. The bear nodded along in agreement. The panther shifted his eyes to the last prisoner in the cart, sitting across from him with his head leaned against the metal bars. His eyes were down and to the side, focused on the locked doors that prevented them from escaping. His face was set in a firm scowl. A greyish feline, with a darker tabby pattern; three scars across his snout. He was small, fairly young, lithe. The cat wore all black, body-conforming leather armor, and still had his hood raised over his head. “And you. What did you do?” The panther asked. At the question the feline briefly looked up, then back down, refusing to answer. Clearly, he wasn’t very friendly. The crunching gravel below the cart’s wheels suddenly shifted to the sound of rolling on stone, and the sunlight that poked through the fabric above disappeared, leaving the captives in complete darkness. The wolf and bear continued whispering to each other; the panther couldn’t help but to fear they were plotting to kill him. Anxiety got the worst of him, and he felt his heart pounding in his chest and climbing up his throat. At last, the cart stopped moving. It seemed to gently collide with something; a wall, perhaps. A clunk could be heard, similar to a large lock unlocking, before the cart door fell from its hinges, becoming a ramp. Beyond the exit of the cart was a dark hallway, only illuminated by torches mounted on the walls. It was composed entirely of uneven grey stone bricks. Echoes of voices could be heard from far ahead, the sources hidden by the shadows. As the panther’s eyes adjusted to the hallway, a magical blue glow emitted from the chains that bound his wrists. They slowly dissipated as though they were never there. Before he could even process what was happening, the feline across from him dashed from the cart, his figure enveloped in the shadows as he disappeared down the hallway. “Eager one, eh?” The bear chuckled as he stood, cracking his wrists. The wolf followed suit, both stepping past the panther, who was frozen in place. As they entered the hallway, the bear turned. “You comin’? Stayin’ there isn’t going to help yer case,” he said, voice deep and gravelly. The panther gulped, slowly rising to his feet. He resisted trembling as he stepped out into the hallway; it was cold. Once both his feet made it to the stone, the ramp quickly raised and slammed shut, the sound of it locking once again echoing loudly down the hall. The only way to go was forward. “What happens now?” The panther spoke in a hushed whisper, closely following behind the duo. On the contrary, they spoke at full volume. “Fuck if we know, eh? ‘S not like we been ‘ere before.” The wolf shook his head in disbelief at the panther’s naivety. As they pushed through the dim hallway, a noise grew in presence; the sound of something cutting through air, as well as the previously heard voices growing in volume. A few paces further and the torchlight revealed the scene. Columns of blades swung from either side of the hallway, spinning perpendicular to the wall. The space between them was narrow, just barely enough room for one to sneak through, if they were careful. Chunks of flesh decorated the floor, almost undecipherable as once being a person – or persons. The panther looked down at a chunk on the ground, still wet with blood. The small amount of fur still clinging onto flesh had the recognizable pattern of a zebra. He winced. Also standing before the blades was the feline that ran ahead. His eyes were forward as the scene unfolded, staring. Unwavering. On the opposing side of the blades was a rat, one of the voices heard echoing down the hall. He spoke to a rabbit who was still traversing the vicious maze of blades, barely scooting his feet, but a little more than halfway through. “C’mon, Pax! You’re almost here, just a little further, if I could do it, you can!” The rat encouraged the rabbit, trying to instill confidence. The rabbit seemed to be afraid, doing his best to keep mentality unbroken, though he kept glancing down at the blades as they whooshed just inches from him. He certainly was taking his time making his way through. Dumbfounded, the panther simply stared, mouth agape. How was he supposed to make it through that?! The others were right, he was brought here by a death cart. He wouldn’t even make it past the first obstacle, it seemed. While the panther was processing his fate, the feline moved forward, apparently unphased by the trap. The panther watched on in shock as he swiftly danced through the blades, effortlessly pirouetting through them; even his tail managed to avoid being severed as it chased behind him. The feline quickly encroached upon the rabbit who still inched his way along, now closing in on the end. Once the two were mere feet apart, the feline leapt up, keeping himself perfectly within the whirling blades. Using the rabbit’s head as a vault, he kicked off the leporidae and dove to safety, rolling as he landed in the clear. The rabbit, however, was not so lucky. The cat kicking off his head threw off his balance, and he staggered to the right. A blade caught his neck, just below the jawline, severing it about three-quarters of the way; the rabbit reflexively stepped back, just in time for another blade to cut through his shoulder, dismembering his arm, and embedding itself somewhere within his chest. His body swung from the blade for a millisecond before another pillar of spinning blades intersected the one he was impaled upon, slicing his body in three: at the calves, the waistline, and the chest. The chunks of rabbit kept falling as they continually were chopped into bits, leaving an unrecognizable mess. A loose eyeball flung itself past the panther’s shoulder and rolled on the stone behind the group as they watched on in shock, blood spraying them. The rat on the other side looked devastated as his companion was eviscerated by the blades. He spun on his heel to face the feline, who was already preparing to make his way forward. “You asshole!” he screeched, “You… You just killed Pax! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” The feline appeared to be unphased, not even bothering to look at the rat. Enraged, the rat lunged to tackle the cat, who darted forward in the same instant. He leapt up once again, kicking off of the wall and diving forth, landing in a dead sprint and delving further into the darkness that lay ahead. Undeterred, the rat made chase, running after him. He made it about four or five steps before a quiet click emitted underfoot. The rat was halfway through his next step as the spikes ascended from the floor in the blink of an eye. They must have impaled him at least a dozen times: multiple through his torso, his legs, arms, even one had gone through his jaw and dislodged it into an unnatural poise. The corpse collided with the ceiling, remaining there for a moment before the spikes slowly began to descend, wiping themselves off of the body and leaving it to rest on the ground. Blood pooled beneath the unmoving rat, one eye staring up at the ceiling as his head sat at a sickening broken angle. All was silent except for the fan of the blades. “Holy shit,” the wolf finally broke the silence. The trio all stared in disbelief at the scene before them. Two lives evaporated before them in mere moments. The weight of their deaths hung in the air. “...Well… Guess that means it’s our turn, aye?” The wolf gave the bear a gentle bump in the shoulder before he stepped forward, unwilling to find out what happened to those who dilly-dallied instead of continuing forth. The smallest of the three, he was the most well-suited to go first, anyway. Before he entered, he took care to stuff his tail in his belt, trying to keep it from being hacked off. Appearing more confident than the unfortunate rabbit, he then began shuffling his way through, chunks of flesh kicked as he scooted his feet across the slick floor. “This ain’t so bad,” he called out, taking the last few steps before emerging on the other side. He wearily looked down at the floor, noting where the pressure plate was so he wouldn’t accidentally impale himself, too. “C’mon, ye got it. Aye, panther, I believe in ye!” The panther’s breaths were shaky as he faced the maze. His physique was more buff than the wolf’s, somewhat thickly toned. He certainly had broader shoulders, at the very least. He took a deep breath, feeling the air as it whooshed past him. With one last look down, he kicked the chunk of zebra, watching it split in two as it collided with the first blade. Now or never, he thought. I can do this. He entered the gap between the blades, left shoulder first. Shuffling his feet as the wolf did, he began scooting his way through. He found that keeping his eyes up and toward the ceiling did him well; there was less blood there, moreso splatters rather than pools and chunks of meat. A few times he brought his shoulder too close, blades sparking as they collided with his pauldron and nearly sent the panther off balance. Alas, after what felt like a lifetime, he stepped out of the maze and beside the wolf who waited. The wolf offered a high five that was eagerly met before the two regarded the bear who remained on the other side. “Alright, Beau. Last but not least, scaredy-cat here made it.” The wolf clapped as he egged the bear on, who looked uncertain. “I’m too big,” Beau called out. “I don’t fit.” The bear was probably correct. The gap had certainly narrowed as the panther had made his way through, but his toned physique had allowed him to squeeze through. Beau, on the other hand, had a belly on him. Certainly a little too wide, even if he were careful. “Aw, it ain’t so bad! Just suck it in. You’ll be alright.” The wolf continued to encourage Beau. The panther remained silent, unsure if the goading would save the bear either way. Beau looked grim as he waited another moment, focusing on the path before him. His expression wavered slightly, as though his nerve was lacking. After a moment he took a deep breath, sucking in his belly and turning to his side, following the path the other two had taken. Watching on, both the panther and the wolf called out with words of encouragement as the bear tried to rush his way through. As he was holding his breath, he didn’t have as much time to be cautious; blades nicked his arms and legs, leaving gashes in his limbs. He winced with each slash, but persevered. In mere moments he was nearly halfway through. Something was wrong, however. Beau was simply taking too long, and the expression on his face showed he couldn’t hold his breath much longer. The panther’s encouragement began to fade off as he knew the worst was coming; the gap grew the most narrow where he stepped, and Beau’s lungs were giving out. The wolf desperately called out, trying to give him the encouragement to make it the final twenty feet or so. “Beau! C-C’mon mate, it’s not so far! Yer more than halfway through! Yer almost here! C’mon! C’mon!” It was evident in the wolf’s heightening tone that could see it, too. Beau’s steps were smaller and smaller, and his look of determination began to fade. Finally, his eyes widened and he looked at the wolf, whose face dropped. Beau looked almost apologetic, then gave a slow shake of head. Then, he drew a breath. Before gravity could pull his belly all the way down, the blades cut through the soft fat and into Beau’s stomach. His heavy figure managed to remain upright as he drew another choked breath of shock, blood already flooding his throat as vital organs were sliced open. “BEAU! BEAUUUU!” The panther’s ears blocked out the wolf’s cries as he watched the bear’s legs quake, then give out. Instantly the blades caught his figure, though he wasn’t eviscerated like the smaller rabbit from before. No; it simply threw him back, cutting and slicing at his limbs as his form was tangled in the mess of blades. It seemed to rip him apart at the stomach, his lower half being dissected in the bloodbath. What was left from the chest up was strewn back at the entrance of the maze, skidding with a path of blood and entrails streaking behind it. One arm shakily lifted, multiple digits missing as it tried to reach out. It gave out, dropping to the stone simultaneous with his head limply turning to its side. The wolf stared, slightly shaking. He took multiple sharp breaths as his companion was obliterated by only the first obstacle. The panther reached out, resting a hand on the wolf’s back and rubbing reassuringly. He tried to not to think about what he had just witnessed. “Oh… oh my god…” The wolf sounded as though he were about to cry. His jaw tensed as he rose to his full height, then turned to face the dead rat that lay before them. Determination filled his eyes. “Let’s go,” he said shakily, voice hoarse. “...For Beau.” The two ventured forth, finding their way deeper into the Labyrinth. Hallways split off into different directions, guiding the pair to different traps; remains of corpses and dry skeletons tended to reveal hidden mechanisms, guiding the pair to safety. Occasionally they encountered an unseen pressure plate or tripwire, but fortunately quick reflexes saved them from an untimely demise. As they made their way further into the depths of the maze, they slowly began growing conversational. Perhaps the lingering reminder that they would likely die here made them want to share their lives with someone else for the final time. Maybe it was just comforting to pretend everything was normal. “...And so I said, Yer fookin’ right I took some! I’m a hungry lad, aye!” The wolf laughed, playfully punching the panther in the shoulder. “Oi, what’s yer name, by the way? Need somethin’ to buy a plaque and pay respects ta when I make it outta ‘ere.” “Dunstan,” the panther replied. “And yours? I’ll even buy you a headstone, how about that?” He punched the wolf back. “Ros, good knowin’ ya.” Ros snickered. The pair approached an arch, leading into a new room; this was the first time they encountered anything besides a fork of hallways to choose from. They approached wearily. Dunstan waved a foot in front of the door, checking for a tripwire trap while Ros checked the floor for pressure plates. Determining there was no threat at the doorway, they cautiously entered the room. Inside was an armory. The walls were decorated with weapons, anything they could imagine: Crossbows, swords, battleaxes, shields, armor. On the opposite side of the room was a door, deadbolted from their side. As Dunstan spun his head in disbelief at the array, Ros rushed forward to one of the walls and grabbed a bow. “We can defend ourselves now, eh? Look at this…” Ros admired the bow, masterfully crafted from yew. He slung a hanging quiver over his shoulder, then continued to browse. Dunstan moved to the opposite wall, looking at the collection of swords. “Hey…” He squinted inquisitively at one of the swords hung from the wall, carefully taking it and inspecting the hilt. “This is… my sword. They took it when they arrested me…” Ros trotted over, looking at the blade Dunstan held. It certainly was; his name was even engraved on the hilt in exquisite lettering. The panther appeared to be unnerved by this, hesitantly gripping it. “Well, good for ya, I s’pose.” Ros seemed dismissive of the fact, eager to unlock the door and push forward. Dunstan hesitated. “I-I feel like this a bad omen,” Dunstan said shakily. “Why do we need weapons? What’s beyond that door?” Ros cackled at Dunstain’s uncertainty. “Who cares, huh? Ye know the tale. Only one of us survives this place. I mean, who knows? Maybe we gotta fight each other and the victor gets to go free. I promise it’ll be a nice plaque.” Ros grinned, which seemed to calm Dunstan’s nerves slightly. Though, both exchanged a worried glance as they faced the door. “Whatever happens, good luck,” Dunstan murmured, before pulling the deadbolt loose. The door creaked as it slowly swung open. Ahead of the pair, it revealed a vast room, though equally dimly lit as the hallways they had traversed. On the opposite end was a large figure, much larger than either the panther or the wolf. In the center of the room was a narrow stone bridge, which hung over what appeared to be a pit, though it was too dark to reveal what was at the bottom. However, the platforms on either side were still adequate, much more spacious than anywhere else in the Labyrinth they had encountered. “Wha’ is that?” Ros muttered, as the figure slowly began to turn. As it did so, the silhouette of a giant battleaxe made itself apparent in its hand. Suddenly, from above, a flame ignited in a hanging brazier, illuminating the room. The figure was revealed to be a towering minotaur, who now stood facing the pair in the doorway, weapons drawn at the sight of a threat. The minotaur’s face was bloody, chunks of viscera decorating its tangled brown fur. At his feet lay a half-eaten puma, blank eyes staring up at the ceiling as his mouth hung open in a silent scream. Dunstan barely had a moment to process the scene before the slam of the door shutting and locking behind him jolted him into reality. Ros immediately turned and pulled at the gaps around the door to no avail. “Fuck, mate, it’s locked! Oh fuck, oh fuck!” The panther maintained eye contact with the minotaur, frozen in place with his blade held high as the minotaur began to charge across the bridge. Ros fumbled for a moment as he nocked an arrow, letting it fly aimed directly at the beast. With one swoop the minotaur blocked the flying arrow with his axe, advancing with surprising speed. As it got within attacking distance, Dunstan cried out; what else did he have to lose, anyway? He moved to swing the blade, but the minotaur showed no fear. With the back of its giant hand it smacked the panther, knocking the air from his lungs and sending him flying toward the wall. The beast beelined for Ros, and the last thing Dunstan saw before colliding with the stone was Ros squirming after being grabbed and held high above the minotaur’s head. Dunstan groaned as he came to, vision blurry as he blinked. The back of his head stung, and he reached to rub the welt that came with it. Was it… was it all just a dream? Maybe the dungeon was just a nightmare, he just hit his head hard. He’d be going back to the forge today and was telling his friends about the crazy dream he had, where he was arrested and sent to the fabled Labyrinth. Damn, he needed to stop drinking so much. That bar fight was rough. After a few blinks, the panther came to the unfortunate realization that none of it was a dream. No, it was certainly real, his blurred vision still revealing the stone walls of the dungeon he had been confined to. The air smelled thick this time, however. Not that of an old tomb like he had noted before. As his eyes cleared he could see the minotaur across the room, hunched over. Another few blinks and he could see it thrusting, one hoof resting on the back of a greyish-brown creature… a greyish-brown… Wolf. Ros was quietly sobbing as the minotaur’s cock tore him open, forced down onto all fours. His cheek was pressed into the cold stone, his body held in place by the minotaur’s incredible weight over him. The bow he had previously been carrying had been tossed aside, his right arm clearly having been dislocated by the beast in the scuffle as it was strewn limply to his side. The minotaur’s heavy balls smacked against the wolf’s rump as it ravaged him. In one hand he still held the battleaxe, the other tightly holding Ros’s tail up and out of the way. Thick, white waterfalls of seed dripped down Ros’s taint and created a pool between his knees. Clearly, the minotaur was in a rutting mood, and didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon. After all, who wouldn’t want to breed a nice, slim wolf after being locked away in a dungeon for so long? A tight, warm hole ready for railing was all the minotaur could likely ever dream of. Dunstan carefully began to stand, finding he had never let go of his sword in the aftermath of being tossed like a ragdoll. His head still hurt, as did his back, but it was bearable; he squinted one eye as he prepared his stance to face the minotaur once again. The minotaur roared and reeled its head back as it reached its climax once again, balls lifting as it pumped Ros full of his seed. By now the wolf’s stomach was bloated with the beast’s spunk. There was no use in trying to get away. All that he could do was submit and hope for a quick death at the mercy of the beast. The metallic noise of the blade dragging across stone as Dunstan lifted his sword alerted the minotaur. Its head twisted, beady black eyes meeting the panther’s determined gaze. Keeping itself hilted, the minotaur lifted the hoof on Ros’s back, now resting it on the wolf’s cheek. The hoof alone was larger in circumference than the wolf’s head. Dunstan made eye contact with Ros’s yellow-green gaze, who grinned weakly. “H-Headstone,” Ros croaked. The minotaur’s muscles flexed as it pushed its weight down. One crack, two cracks. Ros’s eyes bulged, his jaw opening ever so slightly. Then, with a crunch and a wet squelch, his head was gone; smothered into the stone it was crushed into. Bright crimson seeped out from below the minotaur’s hoof, mixed with the pink sludge of what was Ros’s brain. It twisted the hoof a few times as if it needed to confirm the wolf wasn’t getting back up before stepping back, its cock sliding out of the ass that remained high in the air. Drops of semen splattered on the ground from the minotaur’s swinging cock as what remained of Ros slumped down, his knees lifelessly giving out. Cum continually leaked from his gaping hole. Dunstan tried not to concern himself much with his newfound friend’s fate, though his stomach dropped at the thought of having to continue throughout the Labyrinth alone, assuming the minotaur didn’t punish him with the same demise. The minotaur huffed before placing that same hoof forward, roaring at the panther who stood in its path. It then began to charge once again, battleaxe raised high. This time, Dunstan was prepared. The battleaxe cut through the air, aimed at the panther who held his stance. Using all his strength he raised the sword, parrying the blade as it fell upon him. The two met at a standstill, a battle of sheer might as they wrestled for control. Dunstan could feel the minotaur was exhausted after spending so much time fucking his prey, and used it to his advantage. Shakily stepping forward, the panther cried out as he won the battle of strength, pushing the minotaur back. The giant beast, who towered at nearly double Dunstan’s height, stumbled backward. Taking the opportunity, Dunstan lunged forward, slashing at its ankle and cutting through tendons and flesh. The minotaur screeched and swung its axe again, though poor aim whacked the panther in the side by the handle. Dunstan skidded across stone, stopping as he collided with Ros’s corpse. He kept his eyes averted from his fallen friend, quickly jumping to his feet. The minotaur staggered as its left leg proved to no longer support its weight. Limping, it attempted to charge the panther, but lost its balance and waved its arms in the air. Dunstan saw the dark pit only feet behind the minotaur and sprinted forward, using the opportunity to plunge his blade into the minotaur’s chest. The minotaur reeled its head back and roared as the blade impaled it, stumbling as it threw its weight backward. Dunstan ripped the blade out, kicking off the minotaur’s stomach with a spray of blood splattering on the ceiling above. The minotaur’s hoof met the edge of the pit, still waving its arms as it tried to regain balance. With a panicked grunt it swung the axe forward once more, the blade embedding the stone before it. In its weakened state it let go of the handle, glaring at the panther that stood before it before it slipped backward, disappearing over the ledge. A sickening thump could be heard below. Dunstan slowly approached, stepping around the axe and peering over the edge of the pit to see what was hidden from sight. About fifty feet down, the minotaur lay motionless; the bottom of the pit was decorated with spikes. Between its eyes poked through one of the many spikes, others having impaled his legs and torso. Skeletons decorated the other spikes, clearly having claimed many past victims. The beady eyes still stared up at the panther. Dunstan stared for a moment longer, making certain the beast was defeated, before stepping back. “I’m sorry, Ros,” he muttered. He couldn’t bear to look back at the corpse of his only friend here. Even if he had to kill him later, it still hurt. The thought of continuing alone was a terrifying burden. Beyond the bridge and the half-consumed puma was another door, this one with a deadbolt again on his side. Dunstan continued forth, staring down at the lifeless eyes of the feline as he stepped over the mangled corpse; his stomach and chest had been mostly consumed, though his limbs remained. At least the puma still had his head, he thought. With a long sigh he pulled the deadbolt to reveal the next room. A short hallway lead to another arch, this time without a door blocking his path. Upon entering the room, Dunstan felt the cold stone beneath his feet turn to a wet, mushy texture. Glancing down he could see the floor had transitioned to a thick moss. The air he breathed was… cleaner, not stale like the other hallways, or thick like the room with the pit. It was refreshing. Upon further inspection the room seemed to be covered in jungle fauna, vines dangling from the walls and ceiling. Thick bushes damp with what appeared to be fresh rainwater decorated the environment. Hesitant, Dunstan pushed forward, slashing the vines and leaves away to clear a path. As he pushed onward, grunting could be heard ahead. Occasional yelps, and cries for help. The panther cut a final bush down to reveal a clearing. A large tree was in the center of the room, ascending into darkness above. Somehow, a natural yet dim light seemed to illuminate the center of the clearing, though Dunstan couldn’t determine the source. In the middle was a large naga, who resembled a cobra; his scales were a deep shade of blue, shimmering in the light. Before him was another puma, who looked shockingly similar in appearance to the one in the prior room. He only wore tattered pants, whether his shirt had already been torn away or he arrived without one Dunstan didn’t know. In either hand he wielded two falchions, though he was scooting back on his rear, facing the naga. The end of its tail was wrapped around his right ankle, and he desperately tried to kick it away. “Ssstop resisssting,” the naga warned as he slithered forth, hands on his hips. His belly was round, indicating he was well fed. The puma kicked again, raising the falchion and slashing at the tail. The scales seemed to be stronger than the metal the blade was fashioned from, however, and it simply bounced off. “Get away from me!” The puma screamed, and he twisted around, tossing the blades aside and digging his fingers into the moss as he tried to pull himself free. He made eye contact with Dunstan, who stood awkwardly in the clearing, tightly gripping his own sword. “Oh, fuck, man, please! You gotta help me, please!” The puma cried out, reaching for Dunstan. “They got my brother, please! I have to get out of here, I have to avenge him! Please!” Dunstan remained unmoving, simply staring down at the puma as he pleaded. They were both of the same muscular, toned physique; the panther knew if the puma couldn’t pull himself out of the naga’s grasp, he certainly wasn’t going to risk his own life attempting to save him. Besides, at this point, there was no point in trying to save someone else. Only one person could survive, anyway. It was him versus the puma. The struggling feline clearly could sense this as it crossed Dunstan’s mind. The puma cried out as he clawed for Dunstan, but the naga pulled him back. He spun back around, facing the naga once again, body trembling as the cobra raised above him. The tail continued to coil around his leg, gradually tightening its hold on him. Frantically, he tried to reach for the discarded falchions, but by now they were out of reach. His feet pressed into the naga’s rotund stomach as he was pulled forth, kicking it desperately. “No! No! Not like this! Help! Help me, dammit!” The puma tilted his head back, keeping one hand in the moss to hold himself in place as he reached out for Dunstan, eyes wide. The naga began opening its cavernous maw, fangs dripping over its prey. The puma’s fingers quivered as he stretched out, but he was at least ten feet from Dunstan, who was purposely keeping his distance. “PLEASE!” Dunstan bit his lip. Even with what he had witnessed in the short amount of time he spent in the Labyrinth, he still felt a nagging conviction to help the poor puma. But it was too late. The naga’s head finally snapped forward, engulfing the puma down to his chest. Though, the fangs didn’t pierce flesh. No; the tail continued to creep upward, coiling until it wrapped around the puma’s waist. Restraining his kicking legs, all the puma could do was claw and punch at the sides of the naga’s face as it lifted its head. The cries were barely audible as he was swallowed alive, squirming as his body slowly disappeared into the naga’s gullet, inch by inch. Dunstan watched on in a frozen horror as the puma disappeared, the only sign of him ever having existed after his feet disappeared down the naga’s throat was the squirming bulge in its neck, and inevitably, that round stomach. As the puma was entirely consumed, the panther held the sword out in front of himself defensively, unwilling to become the naga’s next snack. The naga slithered back, leaning against the tree with a gentle thump. Dunstan was distracted by the fruits of the tree that hung above… Until he came to the realization that it wasn’t fruit at all. From the canopy above hung hundreds, if not thousands, of skulls; varying from feline, to canine, to bovine, it was there. Dunstan blinked, feeling tense as he imagined his own head hanging from the branches. Slowly, his eyes descended, meeting the resting naga. The naga smiled as he licked his lips, hands resting on his bulging stomach, squirming with the puma whose fate was sealed inside. “Thanksss for not interrupting my dinner,” the naga praised, eyes low as he examined the panther, somewhat hungrily. “Perhapsss you can have hisss ssskull as a trophy…. If you ssssurvive.” The tail lazily flicked and the outline of a door appeared between vines that adorned the wall. Was it really that easy? Was sacrificing his own morality enough to make it past the threat of the carnivorous serpent? Dunstan gave a small nod of appreciation, cautiously stepping around the clearing with his sword still drawn rather than walking past the predator. The naga watched on as Dunstan’s shoulder brushed against the door. Keeping his eyes trained on him, the panther pushed the door open and stepped backward into the next stage, not turning until the door was fully shut. This hallway was not illuminated by torchlight. Rather, a barred metal gate was in the distance, illuminated with what appeared to be daylight. Was this the end? If you ssssurvive. The words echoed in Dunstan’s head. Certainly not, right? As he drew nearer to the gate, he could depict the environment. Beyond it was a circular arena of sorts. The ground was made up of a beach of soft white sand, though many patches of blood stained it. Discarded weapons were strewn around. Limbs, not far from said weapons. In the center of the room was a throne, which sat unoccupied. Two empty pedestals sat on either side of the throne. Again, the source of the light was not immediately clear; the ceiling ascended into a dome, though no daytime sky was overhead. The brick was dark slate now, almost black; not like the grey stone from earlier in the dungeon. Two figures seemed to be engaged in combat at the center: One, a large, buff smilodon bearing heavy metal armor, though he bore no helmet. He wielded a greatsword, swinging it with intense ferocity at his opponent. The blur of the other was hard to make out, Dunstan had to squint to decipher the figure as he tucked and rolled and leapt from each attack. His eyes widened as he finally recognized the figure: The tabby-like feline from earlier. Dwarfed in size compared to the smilodon, the feline used size to his advantage to dodge each strike. He appeared to have been disarmed, now relying on his claws to attack. The smilodon certainly had a handful of cuts on his face and neck, though the rest of him was well-armored and defensive against claws. The only thing possibly piercing through it would be a javelin or an axe, and even that would have to be wielded by a much larger opponent to even make a dent. “Stop… fucking… moving!” The large smilodon roared, making a sideways slash at the feline. The smaller opponent leapt up and kicked the larger cat in the face, backflipping before landing in a low crouching stance. The smilodon charged forward with the blade raised high above his head, slamming it down at the smaller feline. The small feline dashed to the side at the last instant, kicking up sand as the blade collided with the ground. The smilodon spun around and growled, dropping the blade and pulling a morning star from his belt. He swung the mace from its chain, taking a menacing step forward. The two maintained eye contact, though the smaller one breathed heavily; clearly this fight had been going on for a while, and evading the larger cat for so long was becoming exhausting. He was simply prolonging his fate. Finally, the smaller feline lunged to the right to create space. The smilodon swung the mace in his path, and the small feline tried to feint out of the attack. However, the smilodon had prepared for this, and brought his left hand forward. As the little feline kicked backward to dodge he was caught by the larger, whose fingers dug into the leather straps of his armor. The smaller gritted his teeth, writhing as the smilodon lifted him high above the ground; grinning at the cat’s peril, he slammed him down into the sand. And again. And again, until the small feline was entirely disoriented, if not unconscious. The smilodon lifted him one more time, preparing to end his opponent, before a voice called out. “Stop.” Dunstan was even a little surprised at the interruption. From the shadows on the other side of the arena, another door opened. From the darkness, a figure emerged. A towering alligator, even over the smilodon. At least ten or twelve feet tall; his build beefy with bulging muscularity. He only adorned a loincloth and a crown. The King. The panther froze. He had never been so close to the king; he had only seen him once, many years ago, during a royal execution: the queen, no less. She was the most beautiful lioness he had ever seen, even in her state of despair. Executed after being outed for purposely poisoning the king’s concubines. At the time, Dunstan had only seen him standing from the balcony of the palace, watching from far above as the queen’s head rolled when the guillotine came down upon her. The image had been burned into his memory, though he never realized quite how giant the king truly was. Once her head rolled he simply turned and retreated into the palace with a single nod of approval. The smilodon dropped to his knees and bowed his head, releasing the feline who unceremoniously crumpled onto the ground. The gator approached, raising one foot; the large fanged feline kissed his toes as an act of respect. The king raised his other foot and the smilodon did the same, before the king sat upon the throne. The smilodon dragged the limp cat so he laid before the king, weakly trying to push himself up as he came to. “You may stand.” The king’s voice was deep, echoing throughout the arena as he spoke to the victor of the fight. The smilodon quickly stood, dropping the morning star into the sand and standing at ease. The king watched as he did so, before his gaze shifted to the struggling cat below. The feline’s arms shook as he tried to hold his weight up, panting as he found it difficult to support his own weight; surely, the slamming had left his head spinning. The king raised a hand and snapped his fingers. From thin air, leather straps were conjured, and an invisible force pushed the weakened cat into a kneeling position. The leather straps swirled through the air to bind his wrists and ankles behind him. “Take his hood off. I want to see his face.” The smilodon hurriedly stepped forward, pinching the black hood and pulling it back. As he did so three gold rings in each of the cat’s ears jingled together momentarily, before his ears slowly folded back. The cat hung his head, glowering at the ground. The king gazed down upon the grimacing cat, contemplating before he spoke. “Impressive,” he mused. “The only one to manage to find his way into my vault. Did you like getting to witness all my riches?” The gator’s mouth twisted into a crooked grin. “I bet you thought you got away with it. How was my dragon?” Dunstan watched on, eyes wide with surprise. Hushed rumors from the cityfolk told of a certain someone managing to break into the impossible vault, but nobody knew quite who. Dunstan wasn’t even sure if the rumors were true, until now. Honestly, with what he saw of the cat’s evasive skills, he had wondered how he managed to get caught in the first place. Now it was apparent: he got in over his head. The king rose from his throne, still inspecting the cat. He lifted a hand and the feline’s leathers suddenly dissolved, leaving him nude, still bound. The king lifted a finger and the invisible force seemed to bring the cat to his feet, now standing as the king slowly circled him. His height brought him no taller than the king’s waist. “Sleek… resilient… quiet,” the king continued to muse. As he circled, his hand squeezed the cat’s plump, exposed buttocks, pulling one cheek to the side and lifting his tail to inspect what the feline had to offer. The cat’s brow furrowed, scowling deep; humiliated as he was exposed. The king moved back to stand in front of the cat, then reached down, pressing a finger into the cat’s chin and lifting his head with a gentle scritch. The feline tried to avert his eyes as he was forced to face the king. “And so soft. I don’t think I’d even have to cut out your tongue.” The king bent down, casting his shadow over the dwarfed feline. “You’d make a good servant. Would you like that?” The feline looked hesitant, though his expression seemed to contemplate his survival in the moment. He looked up at the gator, a small, reluctant nod as they made eye contact. The king chuckled. “Too bad you’ve proven you can’t be trusted.” The gator’s hand shifted from the feline’s chin to the top of his head, and with a slight downward push the feline fell to his knees again. The king then sat back in his throne and nodded to the smilodon, who retrieved the blade he had dropped earlier. “I’d ask if you have any last words, but… Well, I doubt it.” The king snickered as the smilodon approached from behind, grabbing a tuft of fur at the top of the cat’s head and pulling it back. The cat’s fists clenched, the muscles in his back tensing as he looked up at the large fanged feline, who positioned the blade at the smaller cat’s neck. For a brief moment, Dunstan could see a glimmer of fear for the first time in the poor cat’s eyes. The king simply nodded once more, and the smilodon made one clean slice. The cat’s fists opened first, fingers falling loosely. His shoulders dropped, and finally the muscles in his back relaxed. His body stuttered, swaying briefly before collapsing on its shoulder, laying on its side. Blood spilled, soaking the sand from where the cat’s head once was. Above, the smilodon still gripped the head in place. Its eyes still open, though glazed over; it no longer looked up, but straight forward. A waterfall of crimson poured out beneath it for a moment before the smilodon presented the decapitated head to the king. The king reached out, taking the head in both hands and gazing down at it with a devious smile. “Good work,” he said to the obedient smilodon, who had made a clean cut. The gator kept inspecting the head for a moment before turning it and tucking it under his arm, as if the cat’s eyes were to watch with him from its place. The king slowly turned his head. He was looking directly at the gate Dunstan stood behind. Dunstan felt his heart in his throat. Had they known he was there the entire time? “Go on. Don’t be shy, now. You want to live, do you not?” The gate, as if on queue, began to rise. Dunstan gripped his blade and timidly advanced into the sand, staring at the two taller figures as he approached. The smilodon let out a low growl, knuckles tightening as he gripped the greatsword. “Well?” The king smirked, gesturing with his hand impatiently. “Kill each other, won’t you?” With no hesitation, the smilodon snarled and advanced at Dunstan, who immediately took a step back to brace himself. Raising his blade high, the swords collided, another battle of strength as they pressed into each other. The smilodon’s face was mere inches from Dunstan’s, his glare composed of a primal ferality. Those fangs were massive, sharp and bloodied at their points. The panther considered himself above average height, around 6’2”, but this beast had at least another foot and a half on him. As they met each other’s eyes, something clicked. Dunstan remembered this man, this beast. He recognized him from the bounty posters. The smilodon was wanted for a murder spree outside of the city, targeting farmers and their families. Triggered by a feud between farms, a rival family had set his farmland ablaze and destroyed his livelihood. From what Dunstan had heard, his wife and children didn’t survive the fire, leaving him with nothing to lose. So he retaliated without fear. Only death could stop him. Lost in thought, the panther was overpowered by the smilodon, throwing him back. Dunstan tumbled over a dismembered torso, landing on his back. His opponent rapidly approached, raising his blade high to impale the fallen panther for his hand at freedom without consequence. Dunstan rolled to the side as the blade pierced the sand where his chest was, sending grains flying. The king seemed to enjoy watching the struggle. The imbalance in foes was entertaining for him; the panther was certainly doomed facing the smilodon, it was just a matter of time. Knowing his imminent demise was arousing. He could just picture the blood trickling over that shiny black fur. Lazily, he reached down between his legs, where the loincloth had already tented. He tossed the fabric aside, revealing his throbbing length; standing tall, it was thick and veiny, adorned with a gold ring pierced through its tip. From beneath his arm he retrieved the fallen feline’s head, smiling down into the blank eyes. “Let’s put you to work, shall we?” The king turned the head so it would face the ongoing battle, then raised its severed neck above his pulsating member. The mouth was so predictable, and besides, what better use of the new “orifice” than to test it out? Whether the cat had lived or not, he would be violating its throat one way or another. The gator pressed his tip against the exposed flesh that once connected the cat’s head to his shoulders, still slick with blood. He circled his tip around for a moment before, ah! Found the exposed larynx. Still warm. Resting one hand between the cat’s ears, he slowly pushed down, watching its neck expand as his girth stretched what was left of it. As the flesh pushed into his groin, he could see the tip of his cock expose itself out of the cat’s mouth. Mm, he looked cute like that. He continued to watch as he thrust his hips a few times, testing out his new toy’s throat before returning his gaze to the other show before him. Surprisingly, the panther was putting up a fight, having managed to latch onto the smilodon’s back and was attempting to slash at the nape of its neck while it thrashed about. “Fuck!” Dustan cried out as the smilodon reared back, landing on his back and sandwiching the panther between his weight and the ground. Dustan groaned while the smilodon climbed back on its feet. His entire back was sore, and there was a biting pain in his shoulder. He tried to flex his hand, but it was rapidly growing numb. Looking to his left, he could see his shoulder disfigured, pushed out of place from the collision. Oh god, he thought. Where’s my sword? Certainly, the sword had fallen from his hand as it went numb, tumbling off to the side. A dagger rested in the sand by his leg, but as Dunstan went to reach for it the smilodon kicked it away, standing over the injured panther. Fear struck his heart as he came to the realization that there truly was no hope in surviving the Labyrinth. He couldn’t win this fight. He shouldn’t have survived this long in the first place. Still determined and driven by his primal instinct to do anything to survive, he kicked at the sand, scooting backward. He didn’t have enough strength left to jump to his feet, nor to run if he did manage. The burning pain in his lungs from hyperventilating began to make itself present. The smilodon took a slow step forward as Dunstan inched backward, looming. He couldn’t even find the words to say. They would mean nothing, anyway. Glancing to the right, he saw the king sat upon his throne… skull-fucking the decapitated head of the small feline. The panther felt sick though couldn’t break his eyes away from the massive pink cock forcing its way in and out of the cat’s mouth, from the wrong end no less. The gold ring at its tip glistened each time it passed the cat’s lips. Hefty gator balls slapped against its chin as he thrust in and out. The feline’s blank eyes seemed to almost look at him, watching. Is that what he’s going to do to me, too? Dunstan feared. Is this all I’ve become? Continuing to inch back, the panther watched on in horror as the king threw his head back with a grunt, then roared. Holding the head in place, he gave one last forceful thrust upward before the feline’s mouth was flooded with the fruit of his loins. Hot white cum spurted from his lips on one end, as well as on the other end from where the blade had cut his neck, leaking down the king’s bloodied shaft and dripping over his balls. Dunstan felt the pressure of the smilodon’s foot on his chest, forcing him to lay flat as it pressed its weight into him, holding him in place. The beast above seemed to care not what the king was doing, still focused on claiming his prize. Though, he paused there, as if waiting for the king’s order to make the finishing blow. The king stood and stretched, letting the head hang on his cock for a moment before pulling it off with a wet shlck. He looked at his masterpiece of a mess and chuckled, setting the head down on one of the empty pedestals. The cat’s pale pink tongue poked out from its lips, still dripping the king’s seed. The gator approached, standing over where Dunstan lay and crossing his arms. “I was disappointed to see you survived,” the king scolded, shaking his head disapprovingly. “Weak. Afraid. You didn’t deserve to make it to me.” Dunstan’s heart pounded in his chest. Disappointed? He bested a damn minotaur! So what if he was afraid? Anyone would be scared being sent to their death in a maze of sadistic traps. He didn’t deserve this. He didn’t… “I don’t deserve to die,” Dunstan choked out. This got the king’s attention; his brow raised as he gazed down at the helpless panther. He exchanged a glance with the smilodon, then broke out in a bellowing laugh, which lasted far too long for something Dunstan didn’t believe was funny. His eyes welled with tears as the king’s laughs subsided. “Oh, my… Hah! Yes, you do.” The king nodded to the smilodon and Dunstan shrieked a final plea for his life as the fanged feline lunged forward, sinking those sharp fangs into his chest. Dunstan wheezed, his body convulsing as his lungs filled with blood, the searing pain unimaginable. He felt the hot blood streaming from the sides of his mouth as he tried to breathe to no avail. The smilodon ripped its head back, a mess of lungs and ribs splattering and flinging through the air. Dunstan’s vision began to quickly fade as the smilodon bowed his head to the king, who held out his hand expectantly. The smilodon spit out Dunstan’s weakly beating heart, and the last thing the panther saw was his own heart’s beating cease before his vision faded to black. ** The king stepped back in front of the throne, facing Elof. Gesturing to the empty pedestal, he allowed the smilodon to do the honors. Elof spit the viscera from his mouth, blood still dripping from his fangs. The face of the panther at his feet was still twisted in its final scream, eyes wide. The pleading was a nice touch; it certainly was satisfying to hear it cut short as his lungs were torn from his chest. The smilodon stuck his blade in the sand beside the panther’s neck, dragging it through the panther’s throat and severing its head. He grabbed the head and approached the empty pedestal, placing it down and soaking the quartz with blood in turn. “My victor,” The king proclaimed, as Elof was the final surviving participant in the event. He knelt before the gator, bowing his head. What a good soldier, the king thought. I wouldn’t mind keeping him for myself. The king waved a hand to reveal a doorway on the far side of the arena, sunlight visible beyond it. He always anticipated Elof to win, though there was always the element of surprise. The panther, for example, was not supposed to survive the minotaur, but alas; a good show, either way. “You are free to leave and continue your life without consequence,” the king informed Elof, who slowly raised his head. A form of relief grew on his face, survival of a feat such as the Labyrinth was silently revered, even if it was only spoken of in tales. “However, I would like to offer a position as a royal bodyguard. You have proved your might worthy enough to serve me directly.” Elof looked conflicted. He had razed multiple farms, ended bloodlines, yet here the king was, offering him a role in his cabinet? Was the king mad? …Though, he had seen how he treated the remains of the feline he himself had quelled. Certainly, the gator was a mad king. At the very least disturbed. “I…” The smilodon paused, thinking. What did he have left to return to? Blackened fields, no home? If anything he would have to exile himself, his face too familiar with the public for him to reside as a regular citizen of the city. He was a killer, after all. Someone to be feared. “...I accept.” The king smirked. “Good.” He snapped his fingers, and the door disappeared as quickly as it had revealed itself. Another smaller door appeared, and two of the king’s servants emerged, approaching the smilodon and ushering him away. “You will serve me well.” The king turned his head to watch the fanged feline exit; he would be led to the soldier’s quarters and prepared for his newfound duties as one of the king’s personal guards. As the trio disappeared behind the door, the king was left alone in the arena. He couldn’t help but to glance over the two pedestals, each adorned with the heads of the freshly slain victims. “Useless,” he grumbled, looking at the panther’s head. Somehow, fear still showed in its eyes. The king realized its heart had grown cold, still held in his palm. With one clench of the fist the heart burst, blood oozing down his forearm. He was still displeased with the results; he had hoped the wolf would make it through, or perhaps the first puma brother… Both of them perished to the minotaur. The puma was at least strong enough to kill it, though watching the wolf in its final moments was exciting. He would’ve made a good concubine. Oh well. Finally, the king regarded the feline’s head, whose fur was now tacky with dried semen. An impressive cat. Making it into the vault was an almost impossible task, one the king did not even foresee until his dragon brought the thief before him. Through everything, he hadn’t heard it say a single word. It would make a good personal servant. He certainly could break it, provided he gave the cat what it likely wanted: Luxuries. Why else would a thief steal from the king? Surely it knew such an act was a death sentence. Reaching forward, he took its head in his palm, holding it up for further inspection. Aside from the scars across its snout it was pleasant enough to look at. Alluring, silvery blue eyes. Still young. He looked down at its body, peacefully resting on its side, still bound in its unmoving state. Such a lithe little cat; toned, but not too much so. He scratched his chin, pondering, before snapping his fingers. From the same door Elof had disappeared into, another servant emerged; the king’s high mage. He scurried forth, bowing before the king. “You beckoned, your majesty?” The lizard looked up at the king after holding his bow for a moment. “Yes. Clean up this cat and deliver it to my quarters,” the king commanded. Before he could finish his orders the lizard was already hurrying to lift the decapitated corpse. The king gazed into the feline’s dead eyes for a moment more before handing it off to his servant. “I have yet to add a Khajiit to my collection.”