Salter-chan and the Charge

"You pass the day before drinking and having a gay ol' time... and then the next day... they force you to run for a few miles... this is why... you never trust British people... and Martians..."

Monet huffed as he tried to run, though his running was slower than his walking and what he called "running" looked more like "wiggling around your body pathetically while moving at an incredibly slow pace". In the end, he resorted to just walk pretty fast.

"And not only that... they even pretend for me to run... in the middle... of a fucking desert! With sand filling my shoes! And the best part... is that they asked me! Claude fucking Monet! The guy that made the water lilies! They asked me to run in a place with no water, no flowers, no green at all! And here I am, talking to myself as if I was a crazy person, as if my name was Vincent Van Gogh!"

As he kept on complaining, he started climbing up a dune. By the end of it, he was basically crawling on his four limbs like a dying cat that got ran over by a car. In the end, he made it on top and looked down to see where he was. To his immense pleasure, he realised that he had reached his destination: just down the dune, Salter was battling with her foe.

"Who is she fighting against? Cow head... great strength... yeah, it's the Minotaur... well, time to go and make myself useful. Hey, Brit lady! I came to your aid-"

He tried to yell, however he collapsed on the ground, barely able to stay conscious. He had barely enough energy to not fade away right in that instant. He could do absolutely nothing.

"Damn, for a second I forgot my days were numbered... trying to fight that thing in this condition won't do the young lady any good... I better recover a bit and then assist her... resist just a bit more... Artoria."

Meanwhile, Salter had entered a battle of attrition with the beast, hoping to tire it out by outmanuveuring it with controlled blasts of mana. The creature relied on its raw power, which if it hit the swordswoman, it would have damaged her severely. Despite this, it still proved fast enough to block any attempt by Salter to switch to the offensive.

They were caught in a stalemate when they were both knocked back by another one of their exchanges. They stared at each other's eyes and both realised that this was the right moment. The time to reveal their trump cards. The decisive moment was in the thick, dusty air of the desert they had flattened.

The Minotaur moved its upper body forward, bent its legs and lowered its head. Salter raised her sword behind the back of her head. The blade slightly sparkled of red energy as it started slowly but surely glowing, sign that she was about to charge it.

Some may not know this, but the myth of the Minotaur probably stems from the bull culture that was very important for ancient Cretean culture. A ritual festival would be held, during which young men and women would jump over a raging bull, symbol of nature's overwhelming power.

Because of its connection with this ancient and misterious ritual, the Minotaur possessed an attack that represented this unstoppable power. A charge capable of destroying even the strongest defense. The Noble Phantasm that bears the name of Crete and the bull.

 KRITIKOS TAVROS

"Excalib-" Salter tried unleashing her own Noble Phantasm to match the mighty charge, but she realised too late that she wasn't going to make it in time. So she swang down her sword, hoping to slow the creature down enough to avoid the impetous blow.

It didn't.

The sand beneath them ignited and the ground parted, and as the beast stopped, it released a powerful shockwave that soared through the entire region in an immensely powerful sandstorm.

The Minotaur looked back. Salter was still standing, slightly bent over one side, as a cut through her armour was bleeding quite a bit. She panted slightly, but nonetheless, she raised her sword once more, a sign that she still had fight in her. Though she couldn't completely avoid the attack, she was able to redirect it enough to not be hit completely by her enemy.

The half-human walked towards her, a look of pure violence in his eyes, when it felt something liquid fall down on its forehead. Wiping it away, it noticed that it was red. Only then did the realisation dawn on the creature: part of its horn had been cut off.

The Minotaur unleashed a powerful, blood-chilling scream, that had nothing human in it. Pure and unadultered rage, hatred, need for vengeance. Salter had made two mistakes: firstly, she couldn't finish her enemy with her last attack. Secondly, and most importantly, it had pissed it off.

The Minotaur had one thing that was certainly human: to win, it would go as far as needed, without pulling any punches or holding back. Especially when it was injured. Especially when it was pissed. Especially when it wanted vengeance.

There's one thing everyone thinks about when someone mentions the Minotaur. Its original home, its prison, its place of death, and the place where it killed and became the monster everyone in Greece feared. That place has since become as famous as the Minotaur itself.

The Labyrinth.