A/N: Probably the worst thing I have had the displeasure of posting online, but what can I say? I'm sick of it cluttering my computer, mocking me all day about how it's unknown to the world. So, here I am now, posting this online. Here we go:
A few things you must know: This was originally an assignment for social studies that I wrote about Theseus, that dude who killed the Minitour. So I figured, because Beranabus's father was the Minitour, (You would know this if you read book.. I don't know, six or seven of Demonata) I would change up my essay a bit, and turn into Demonata fan fiction.
I wrote this forever ago. The beginning of sixth grade. I was a horrible writer then. I have revised it, but I feel that it isn't the best I can do still. Natrually, this is is Theseus's point of view because that's how I origionally wrote it. It seems dramatic, worthless, creepy, odd, just plain annoying. I know. Just look past that, please. Anyway, this is my first Demonata fanfic that wasn't a crossover, so here we go! Enjoy!

My name is Theseus. I was brought to the palace in Knossos to battle the mighty, grotesque Minitour for the king's entertainment. What the king didn't know was the sword I brought with me was not only extremely durable, but magical. I prayed it would be easier to fight the beast with that sword.

I stumbled through the labyrinth with thoughts of what this mythical beast might look like racing through my head. Gripping my sword tightly in my right hand, I came across the center of the labyrinth. I gaped at the doorway. I heard cheering and yelling. The loud screams of the Minitour rang in my ears. I smelled the foul stench of the Minitour: rotting meat. I gulped. Scared half to death, I entered the room.

The first thing I noticed were the bodies of the Minitour's past victims laying motionless on the dirt and gravel floor. They were all dead except for one young boy laying in a corner. He was smiling, and he almost seemed unknowing to the chaos around him. He was a bloody mess, but he seemed to be enjoying the bloodshed. He knew no one would have or could have done anything to help those poor, dead souls.

I looked up at the seats filled with people cheering and hollering for the Minitour. But some cheering for me. I fixed my eyes on the king in the middle of the first row who stared back at me with beady, cold, unfriendly eyes.

"Let it begin!" The king roared. And with that, the Minitour charged. I was forced to look at him now. He had the head of a bull and the body of a man. He was very muscular and very tall.

I looked up at the huge eight foot tall Minitour staring at me evilly with giant red eyes that could be mistaken for the fires of hell. Not wanting this battle to last longer than it needed to be, I drew my sword. I brought it up with both hands to stab the monster. I missed. I tried again. Missed that time too. As if by instinct, the Minitour realized what was going on and began to attack me.

He stumbled back then leaped forwards into me, forcing me back several feet. I landed on my right arm. I screamed as I heard the bone snap. I had let go of the sword and started to my feet again. Wincing at the pain and trying to ignore it, I grabbed the sword with my left hand and stood up. I glanced over at where the king was sitting up on the edge of his throne, bloodthirsty fascination visible on his wrinkled face.

The Minitour was upon me again. Without thinking, I brought the sword up again and cut the beast's right arm close to the shoulder. There was a long, deep gash. He gripped the wound to stop the flow of blood.

I drew my sword up again over my head. The pain from my right arm was agonizing, but I was able to put in this small last bit of effort. If I missed the Minitour's head, that would be it. I would be defeated. I could do no more.

I lunged the sword at the beast. And he dodged it. I missed. My first thought was "I'm a goner," but right when I was about to forfeit myself to the monster and let it kill me, the sword flew out of my hand and into the Minitour's chest. I forgot about the sword's magical abilities.

The Minitour gasped. For a few long seconds, he stood there motionless, emotionless, wide eyed. Then soon he fell to the dirt floor with a loud thud. After a few seconds, the beast was shaking and thrashing his legs and arms wildly. I brought down the sword once more to chop of the creatures head. As blooded poured out from the decapitated figure before me, I knew the Minitour was no more. The Minitour was dead.

The audience cheered loudly. Many jumped for joy. Some spat in disgust that I defeated the Minitour. But I didn't care. I won. In the midst of the battle, I forgot they were there. But I could always feel the king's eyes on me, as though they were burning through my skin. I still could. I turned to him. He was walking down to get closer.

"Well done," he commended me sarcastically. "I didn't think you could do it, but surprisingly, you did. Congratulations."

He hesitated. He was waiting for me to say something to him, curse at him for putting me through that pain, yell at him for being so cruel, but I couldn't. I was speechless, still in awe looking at the king dumbly. Soon, the king walked away.

As the audience trickled out of the large room and found their way out of the labyrinth, I was left alone with the dead Minitour by my feet. Adrenaline pumped through my veins, and a new-found energy was replaced by the pain. But it was gone just as fast as it came. Still not noticing the pain in my right arm, I collapsed onto the ground and fell asleep there.

I woke up to the sound of crying. I looked over to where the sound was coming from and realized it was that same small boy as before. He was crying in one of the corners of the labyrinth. But his sobs were not cries of fear, terror, nor pain. They were of morose and sorrow.

I edged over to the boy wearily. "I-It's alright, little one," I tried to comfort him. "The beast is dead. You are free to go." The boy only growled in response. It was a wordless growl, and I had the feeling he couldn't talk. After several other unintelligible grunts and mumbles, the boy thrashed his arms at me. I expertly dodged the attempted blows, and although weak and defenseless, the boy had a certain type of menacing quality about him. I couldn't help but grow wary of the boy.

Much to my surprise, the boy cuddled up to the dead, headless Minitour and began to sob even louder, his cries echoing through the long, winding corridors of the maze.

The end. Review, tell me how horrible, stupid, boring ect. this was, and I will take it like a woman and go pout in that corner over there. :) Have a nice day!