Minotaur

HIPPOPHORBAS

Hey, Dad. Me again.

How are things on your end?

…

The same, as always. Right. Guess that was a moot question.

Meanwhile, over here in the land of the living, feels nothing is ever the same. The life of a wrestler in this day of age is constant twists and turns. Aggravating uncertainties and unforeseen intangibles to deal with every passing day. Blindly groping my way through the modern human experience.

Been in London for a month now. Not quite as glamorous and posh as you might think. Like any other major metropolitan armpit of society, it's just another city that happens to be old, filthy, and full of assholes.

Only with a lot more fog. And terrible, terrible teeth.

I’m staying in a laughably cheap caravan, so small that there’s barely room to stretch. Stuffy when the days are hot, and freezing when it's cold. The ceiling leaks, and the smell of the septic tank bleeds through the floor.

…

No, Dad. Not very posh at all.

In fact, that's the point. To be as frugal as possible. To remain on edge at all times. Uncomfortable, but sharp. Focused.

Sober.

Speaking of...

You’d be pleased to hear that it’s been four weeks since your boy had his last drink. Didn’t expect quitting would be this hard, though. Had a lot of trouble sleeping at first. Never knew what it was like having the shakes, until these past few weeks.

…

Why am I putting myself through this?

Funny… Mom wondered the same thing. Thinks I’m crazy for doing this. Wants me to come back to Seattle. But I'm not sure she can fully fathom what that would mean for me.

Familiar comforts like the feel of a perfectly fit suit or the weight of a tumbler in my hand would only serve to distract me from what I’m trying to accomplish out here. And what I'm looking for in that damned bakery up in Berkshire.

…

Ah, right… I have yet to tell you about Drakos…

IDAS

On his back again, a meager two inches of foam separating him from the slab of cold concrete that was the building's foundation. In that moment, its shallow, sweaty embrace was the only comfort this cruel world could offer him.

“Again…”

The thunderous and commanding voice of Ioanna Drakos spoke to him from above. In his mind, a trigger was squeezed. His body, wracked only moments ago with fierce, incapacitating levels of pain, was somehow willing itself into motion.

Somehow, Kerry Kuroyama was on his feet once more.

Gradually, his vision came back into focus. The first thing he would come to notice was To Minoikó, terrifying as she was beautiful, standing firm and defiant before him like a living bronze statue carved in the likeness of a goddess of destruction and catastrophe. Her sapphire blue eyes beckoned him, like those of a cat wanting to play with its prey.

“More?” he groaned, through heavy and agonized gasps of air. “Honey, I’m startin' to get bored here...”

Up came his fists.

A hungry smile spread across her unscarred face as she raised her own.

“Then come at me.”

So he did, exploding off the balls of his feet into a tenacious lunge.

Their bodies collided, entwined into yet another violent dance. The eerie quietness of the dank, poorly lit storeroom in the back of the Wheat to Chaff Bakery echoed with the whispered duet of their distressed grunts and labored breathing.

They weren't alone. When the private lessons began, they mostly sparred in solitude. But as the weeks passed, more and more of her other pupils trickled in to witness their master at work.

Today, their duel was spectated by a small group of maybe half a dozen New Bloods from the BATTLEART Pit. They intently watched the battle play out in complete silence.

Kerry had a good fifty pounds over her, but was well aware that it lent him absolutely no advantage. Against someone of her speed and flexibility, it was like having weights tied to the end of his limbs. Even now, with their arms coiled into one another, he could feel one of her hands working itself around to the back of his head, threatening a clinch.

He knew it’d be over in seconds if he allowed her to take it, courtesy of one of her deadly patellas. So he made his move, extending his leg and leading her into a trip.

Drakos, disinclined to go to the mat alone, brought him down with her.

They rolled over together onto their knees, temple to temple and shoulder to breast. Looking deep into the burning sapphires that distinguished her sharp facial features, Kerry could only see a mad and manic euphoria.

Now he pressed his advantage, attempting to roll her onto her back and give himself the benefit of side control. But he paused the moment he felt her hand clamp down on his wrist like the bite of a powerful anaconda.

Instinctively, his other hand freed itself, and his fingers interlocked. He had been in this position enough times by now to know what was coming. In a flash, her legs would come up, scissor the shoulder joint, and extend the arm into one of the most searingly painful armbars he’d ever come to experience. But he wasn't about to let her have it this time.

That was until, quite unexpectedly, her other hand took him by the other wrist. He suddenly became the anchor she needed to pull herself out from under him.

In a heartbeat, she was on his back, and the loop formed by his interlocked arms at once became his own noose when she pulled them into a cobra clutch choke.

A lump in his throat hit the back of his mouth as his windpipe was forcibly slammed shut. Her legs, like the jaws of some ancient terrible lizard, squeezed down on his ribs with a body scissor. His breathing stopped immediately, as she effortless dragged him over onto his back

He tapped her forearm without hesitation, knowing it would still be several seconds before she cared to release him. Expectedly, she continue to clamp down on his neck. Punishment, for harboring the impetuous notion that he had anything in the way of a chance against her.

She held him for as long as it took for his vision to fade, before granting him release. When it came, his lungs exploded with the sudden rush of oxygen. While he gasped for air, she kicked him aside and rose to her feet.

“You are defeated, koutávi.”

ANTIMACHUS

I was more than defeated, Dad.

She straight up kicked my ass.

She ALWAYS kicks my ass.

Still have yet to win a match. In fact, it feels like the closest I ever got was that first time we met. Ever since, I've been as easy for her to read as open book. On the contrary, the book of Ioanna Drakos is a sealed tome, written in a dead language. And every fight only deepens its mysteries.

Comparing our fights to a game of chess doesn't do it justice. Fighting this woman is like finding my way through a maze. There’s no sense of direction. No way of knowing what comes next. No way to have confidence or trust in the choices I make on impulse. With every move I make, I either come across another tributary of unknown possibilities, or the finality of a dead end.

Every day, I drag my ass back into her ring with bruises that are barely healed, and leave every evening with fresh ones.

In all the years I’ve been a pro, I've never fought someone quite like this. Couldn’t even conceive the possibility of anyone existing at this level. I’m convinced this woman could take over the whole world if she wanted to.

Instead, she hides away in the back of this Greek bakery. Choosing to share her power only to groom and cultivate future generations of warriors.

…

Yeah, I agree. It is respectable.

When we first met, she asked why I fight. I thought it was to win, but soon found out I was wrong. If I fought solely for the glory of victory, then I don’t think I’d keep coming up here every single day, just so she can put me on my ass in front of her other students.

Which just begs the question, Dad: why do I really fight?

The search for that answer is why I'm still here. Why, despite all the pain and humiliation she deals me, I’m obsessed with solving this puzzle.

If I can finally find that answer, Dad, then maybe I can tell myself that all this suffering will be worth it in the end.

MENESTHEUS

“Tell me your mistake, koutávi.”

As if he had an answer that would satisfy her.

“Getting back up,” he muttered, still on his back. "That was my mistake."

There were a few humored grunts from the small gathering of spectators. Drakos wrinkled her nose as she turned to speak to them.

“The fight is hardly a race for victory,” she professed. “In most instances, it will always be a battle of attrition. Patience must be your shield, if intuition is to serve as your sword.”

She gestured back to the defeated, still on his knees.

“The opponent who plays his hand before the time is right only dooms himself for defeat, as you have witnessed here. Remember this, unless you intend to repeat his mistake.”

The New Bloods took in her lesson with quiet contemplation.

Kerry himself reflected on the sequence of events that got him there. Was he too hasty in going for the side control? Was it wrong of him to anticipate the armbar?

Every day, he arrived under the mindset that he had learned from his previous shortcomings. And yet, every day, she was proving that he was miles away from where he wanted to be. How could really gauge his progress if he couldn't pinpoint the things he was doing wrong?

“We are done here today,” she said, waving an arm toward the exit.

Without a word, the spectators filed out of the storeroom. With his body continuing to ache, Kerry began to push his way up, until her furious visage snapped back in his direction.

“I do not recall giving you permission to rise!"

The edge in her voice gave him pause. Kerry, whose left cheek was by now well-acquainted with the unforgiving feel of her slap, knew the threat was real. Wisely, he remained on his knees.

When they were finally alone, she went to him, knelt, and took a firm grasp of the hair on the back of his head. Her polite little way of making sure he was listening close.

“What is the point of you continuing to come here if you still refuse to learn?”

Even in the face of what could only be swift and certain doom, Kerry felt a sense of defiance rise within him.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for you to stop fucking around, and actually go through with cutting my nuts the next time your class is here to watch?”

Her eyebrow arched sharply, shortly before rewarding his show of wit with an open palm clapping the side of his head.

"You insult me, by suggesting I need to ‘cut’ them off."

Her hand extended toward the doorway, where the New Blood made their exit.

"They come here willingly," she said with insistence. "Because to see you fight offers them something that even I cannot."

Kerry snorted, and expectedly, she was displeased by his reaction. Drakos seized the strap of his tank and shook him, her lips curling into a furious snarl while her raging sapphires stared straight into his soul.

"Do you not know what you are?" she boomed. "You are a rare breed of warrior who fights with conviction! Passion! These things can never be taught! Only learned with the passage of life!"

Drakos threw him back to the thin, dampened mats of her practice ring. Yet again, they were his only meager comfort.

"Yet you waste these gifts," she scolded, looking down at him in disgust. "All to pursue the childish delusion of standing above others…"

She swiftly turned for the door.

"Go. Wash. And while you are back there, maybe take a long fucking look in the mirror."

AMPHIDOCUS

I've had plenty of time to reflect on things, Dad.

I keep thinking back to my days in the Dojo. Your Dojo, rather.

Well, technically, now Coral Avalon’s…

Huh?

…

Long story, Dad, but we don’t have time to get into that.

My point is, before Rocko pissed everything away, I can at least credit him for attempting to run a tough system. Obviously, not quite this tough, but firm enough to instill discipline and respect for this business. He could be punishing in his own way, but he balanced it by trying to uplift his students on a spiritual level.

Thing is, Dad, I’m beginning to realize that I don't really respond that well to positive reinforcement. In a strange way, I much prefer to be torn down.

Which, despite the abuse and verbal emasculation, makes Ioanna the perfect opponent for me. If she wasn't here to tear me down, I’d only be doing it to myself.

She gives me a reason to use that energy to build myself back up. If anything, just to defy her. To prove her wrong.

For all the years I put into this business, my only real accomplishment has been the ability to bring out the best of any and every opponent.

For once though, Dad, I feel like I can face off with someone who brings out the best in me.

DEMOLEON

"Eat, koutávi."

After a quick hosedown in the rust-lined mop sink of the janitor’s closet, Kuroyama was redressed and ready to leave for the day. But when he entered the bakery’s storefront on his way out, Drakos was waiting for him at the counter.

And in her hand, she offered up a square of bougatsa.

"A gift, in hopes that you remember today's lesson."

Her voice, for once, lilted without its familiar abrasiveness. It was strangely calm.

Confused by her intentions, Kerry looked dubiously between the pastry and Ioanna's niece, wordlessly kneading out a set of cheese pites on the other side of the counter.

Insistently, Drakos held out the treat in front of his face.

“EAT.”

There was that edge. He knew there would be no arguing with her on the matter. With a reluctant sigh, Kerry took the "gift" from her hand.

“Kali oreksi,” he said, and bit into it.

Sweet, spicy, and not too flaky. The bakery's proprietor was apparently as unimaginably gifted as her aunt.

Kerry slowly and quietly ate beneath the harsh, judgemental glare of To Minoikó.

“There is a legend we are accustomed to, back in our home of Crete,” she began. “I presume you have heard the myth of the Labyrinth?”

Taking another bite of bougatsa, Kuroyama nodded.

"As the story goes," she continued. "Every number of years, King Minos would demand a group of young Athenians to be sent there as an offering of fealty. Sacrifices, condemned to be sent into the maze and become lost. That is, until they were found by the beast that dwelled within.

"The murderous minotaur. A bloodthirsty abomination, half-man and half-bull monstrosity, that feasted itself upon any poor souls it found lost within that dismal maze."

He continued listening in silence. Through the storefront’s windows, he could see that evening had settled itself over Berkshire.

And a fog had begun to roll in.

"Yet as fearsome as it was, the beast was every bit a prisoner as those who were sent in to be sacrificed. For its entire life, it lived bound to an existence of forever wandering those long, winding passages, too blind from its own rage to ever find the path that could lead to its escape. It was only inevitable then, that the beast should be slain, by someone who could navigate its prison. Because only by knowing the lay of the land, could the hunter become the hunted.”

Kerry gulped down with last of the pastry in his hand.

"So what's any of this got to do with David Bowie's bulge?"

The glare on her face could have made a weaker man’s blood run ice cold. But after a moment, it softened into a smile.

"Consider yourself lucky that we are through with lessons for today."

Bullet, dodged. Even though he knew she’d make him pay for it by tomorrow.

“I get where you’re going with this,” he said bluntly. “But I'm not big on riddles and stories. What I want you to tell me is that we’re at least making some progress. That this isn’t all for nothing.”

For only a fleeting moment, her Aegean blue eyes averted themselves to the floor while she formulated a response.

“If it is any reassurance to you, then know that you are the first in many years to make me actually work for it.”

Kerry grunted in dissatisfaction.

"See you tomorrow, koutávi," said Drakos, nodding to the door, and the mist beyond it. "Do not lose yourself on your way home."

Biting his lip, Kuroyama walked by, pushed his way through the door, and stepped out into the crisp London fog.

Contrary to her concerns, he had no fear of losing his way.

After all, he’d walked this way enough times by now to know exactly where he was going.

PORPHYRION

I suppose, Dad, that the only describable reason why I keep doing this to myself, is the outside hope that by letting myself be humbled and putting my ego to rest, something can possibly be gained from it.

Some sort of spiritual wisdom, picked up further down the road.

Or, I dunno... maybe that’s all bullshit. Maybe that’s just something I tell myself, to keep my mind occupied, so my body can keep pushing that boulder further up the endless hill.

There's no guarantee that any of this will ever manifest itself into actual results. Could very well be that all this time and effort and personal sacrifice and emotional commitment is just going to waste.

After all, I can't overlook the fact that I still compete in a sport where any random asshole can run himself into the middle of a sanctioned fight and fuck everything up, and do it without the threat of consequence.

So in light if all that, Dad, I have to ask myself, why shouldn't I take the abuse?

After all, if the world insists on literally kicking me while I'm down, I'd rather let it be done on my own terms.

…

Yeah, I suppose you’re right.

No point in being bitter about how it went down. No reason to give them that kind of power over me.

Regardless of how it happened, a win is a win. And I'm better taking the dub and moving on. Focusing on trying to maintain this momentum for what lies ahead.

Maybe then we’ll see if this self-imposed European sabbatical of masochism actually yields any results. Maybe the world will finally see the real gifts To Minoikó has given me, when I step into the ring with Crash Jackson.

He’s a… spirited guy. Says “bro” a lot. Bangs a purple lady. Has a borderline unhealthy obsession with consuming hotdogs.

He knows how to brand himself. I’ll give him that. Given where this industry is going, you either sell yourself as a fool, or eventually get made to look like one.

Hell, even I had to tolerate having literal fucking vermin put on my head down in Paris. All in the name of fighting for relevance.

I genuinely hate that you had to see that, Dad. After everything you and jiji spent your brief time on this world working for, the last thing I want is for you to see this legacy of ours dragged into the mud.

But it’s become clear that there’s no point in trying to avoid this carnival anymore. The only way out, is to go straight through it.

And in the ring, there’s only one way I know to go.

If Crash Jackson is stupid enough to stand in my way, then I have no reservations with what I do to that wiener-slurping motherfucker.

Whatever it takes, so long as there’s something to show for all this hell I’m putting myself through. Something to show for all this senseless wandering.

I promise you, Dad... your boy will do you proud.