The Strongman
Content Warning: This text adventure contains themes of horror, psychological distress, and mature content. Each article may include vivid descriptions and elements that could evoke strong emotional responses. Reader discretion is advised.
The Minotaur
You made your choice.
You step forward, your gaze fixed on the figure standing to the center of the strange trio. As you walk towards it, the other two performers- the Armored and the Beast- dissolve into shadows, vanishing without a trace. A faint sense of loss tugs at you briefly before the world around you begins to shift. The dusty pit of the arena seems to shrink, the atmosphere pressing in. All sounds fade, leaving only the low hum of distant carnival music, echoing faintly from beyond the mist.
You now find yourself seated on the terraces of the arena, as the pit before you transforms. It now resembles the mouth of a volcano, its jagged edges casting shadows over the molten, ashen floor. In the center, stands the Strongman- a massive, enraged minotaur with fiery eyes and enormous muscles. His breath comes out his nostrils in billowing clouds; each exhale creating small pillars of humid vapors that hang in the air like ghosts that warn you for an impending doom. Yet, it's his horns what strikes you first. They are truly colossal, twisted and coiled upon themselves, their sharp edges pointing inward, towards his neck. With every movement, they stab on him, angering him even more with every passing moment.
As his performance starts, the crowd- including you- roars in excitement, as if you all forget you are still trapped in this cursed carnival. You revel in the spectacle as the Strongman lifts impossible weights, muscles bulging with effort, veins throbbing like ropes under his skin. Each lift is greeted with thunderous applause, the sound echoing in the pit like a cheer against the walls of your own despair.
He transitions into a ferocious display, charging at a wall with all his might. The impact is deafening, and the barrier crumbles under his force, sending debris flying into the air like confetti celebrating a moment of freedom. You catch yourself cheering wildly, your voice blending with those of the other spectators in a symphony of exhilaration. For a moment, laughter mingles with shouts of encouragement, as if the primal thrill of the Minotaur's strength has momentarily freed you.
But then, the Strongman stops- just before the peak of his performance. Slowly, he turns his burning gaze towards his audience, and silence shrouds the arena in a blink of an eye. When he speaks, his voice trembles- colored by the purest form of wrath.
"Ye liked wha' ye saw? That was nothin'! Ye want a real show, eh? Then come here, ye bunch o’ cowards!" His breath is fast, visible heat escaping his mouth and nostrils. "These wee tricks—liftin’ weights, smashin’ walls? That’s just bairns’ play! Fightin’s wha’ I do. Real fightin’. Every day, I have to keep fightin'... ye think ye can handle that? Do ye have the guts? The backbone tae face me?" His eyes blaze, and he cracks his knuckles, muscles twitching with anticipation. "Come on, then. Come take me—if ye can. Who's first?"
The Fight to end all fights
After all you’ve endured this night after you choose to enter this cursed circus, you know there’s no escaping this challenge- no one else can take your place. You sit silently for a while, watching as one by one, spectators rise from their seats and descend into the pit to face the Strongman's wrath. The ground below them bubbles with molten heat, but it seems not to bother them. Even if it did, it would be the least of their concerns.
One after another, they all fall.
The Minotaur charges headfirst, his twisted horns gouging deep into his flesh each time he strikes. You hear bones shatter, skulls split, and blood sprays across the arena, its metallic scent filling the air. The crowd’s cheers have become distant, replaced by the sickening crunch of bodies breaking under the beast’s strength.
And then, without any warning, it’s your turn.
The moment you step inside the pit, the Minotaur charges. His massive horns are stained with his own blood from the countless battles he had endured. He barrels towards you with the speed of a storm, muscles straining, rage in his eyes.
You brace yourself, knowing his strength is beyond anything you’ve faced before. The first clash is brutal. The impact of his charge nearly knocks you off your feet, and for a moment, the world tilts as you’re sent tumbling. But you recover- barely- and rise to your feet, panting, as the Minotaur wheels around for another charge.
With each charge, his horns, majestic yet cruelly twisted, drive deeper into his flesh. The more he fights, the more he hurts himself, his fury blinding him to the damage he’s causing. It’s relentless; both his rage and his self-inflicted wounds. You watch him, as every violent effort causes him more pain. His strength is boundless, but so is his suffering. And then, a realization strikes you: maybe fighting him isn't the answer. The Minotaur roars again, charging forward, but this time you feel like you have a choice. A terrifying one.
What do you do?
You realize this fight is not about defeating him with brute force. It’s about understanding the burden he carries; the one you carry. You feel it now: the weight of your own burdens pressing against your chest, the memories that claw at your mind, unresolved pains that you’ve fought against for so long. Each of his charges is like another wave of your own unresolved battles; pushing, fighting, hurting.
But fighting only hurts more.
Like the Minotaur, the harder you fight, the more damage you inflict upon yourself. The challenge now is clear; not just to survive his attack, but to stop the cycle. To acknowledge the burden. To face it without rage. To let go of the need to fight and instead, understand.
The Minotaur roars again, charging forward, but this time you don't fight. You meet his fiery gaze and for the first time, you see the pain behind the fury. His horns cut deep into his own neck as he reaches you, but instead of meeting him with strength, you simply stand; determined and unmoving.
The heat from the pit cools, and the Minotaur freezes, his eyes wide in confusion. You have not fought him. You have not raged against him. You’ve simply accepted his charge without resistance, without feeding the violence with your own. This has never happened before.
His towering form shakes and his horns slowly, painfully, pull back from his flesh. His breath slows down and for the first time, you see something break within him. The rage begins to dissipate, leaving behind only exhaustion. The cycle has been broken.
Before you now stands a stout dwarf, dressed in blue, velver robes. His eyes reflect a sorrow far deeper than the fury they once held.
"I am Magran, the Necromancer," he says, his voice gruff, carrying the weight of centuries of regret. "Aye, it was me... I gave the Ringmaster the power he sought tae defy death. That is ma’ greatest sin, and the bastard knew it well. My rage fueled his twisted carnival, fer far too long."
He pauses, taking a deep breath, as if a weight is lifting from his very soul.
"But nae more. Thank ye... thank ye fer freein' me from these cursed chains o' hate an' fury. Now, I can finally seek forgiveness in the afterlife."
He shifts his stance, his eyes meeting yours with a newfound calm. "Before I go, ken this: when yer darkest hour comes, in this wretched place... I'll be there. I'll stand by yer side when ye need it most, fer ye've earned that much."
With that, Magran nods to you, his form beginning to dissolve into the silver mist of the carnival, leaving you alone in the quiet aftermath of the battle. Now, it is time to move one and meet
You discard the crazy idea of doing nothing in the face of danger. This must be another twisted game in this horror show. You raise your fists, instinctively trying to dodge the Strongman's charge. But your movements are sluggish, clumsy—your foot slips on the molten ground, and you tumble, striking your head against a jagged rock. The world blurs, your vision swimming in red as blood trickles down your forehead.
You chose your path and it led you straight into
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