The Universe's Mixer

Lost; out of the seemingly infinite words to be found within the English language, only this one was capable of explaining the situation that faced him. In one syllable his entire life had been summed up. Gone was the cathedral with its antiquated stones; a long with it the numerous leather-bound volumes which pertained to one singular subject. St. Dumas himself or the actions that had been carried out in his name. Somewhere among the immeasurable amount of pages that had been swept away, perhaps even transcribed in a foreign language, had been the answers to the mystery that was Jean-Paul Valley.

The archaic building which served as home for the last two weeks had seemingly been put through a miraculous transformation to become the contemporary apartment complex it was now. Bitterly cold winds lashed at his cheeks, and despite his underdressed appearance, an urge to find warmth had yet to exist within him. Instead the young man was rooted in place, eyes gazing up at the unfamiliar structure, a storm of emotions raging inside his blue orbs.

The sole personal belonging which had made the journey now lay idly at his feet. From an outer perspective it seemed nothing extraordinary or special. It was a simple green backpack, one that very easily could have been found at an assortment of department stores, or slung around the shoulder of any given student. The contents of the bag were a different story all together. Contained within were the vestigial garments of Azrael; the avenging angel and primary enforcer for the Order of St. Dumas. An angel, that under the Order's rule, was meant to punish and kill, one wing always dipped in blood.
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You're in a funhouse maze, but it's no ordinary funhouse maze. The mighty minotaur is stalking you through it, and you have to get to the center of the maze to save the virgins and get back out before it reaches you.