He still faced swords wielded from behind shields impervious-detrimental!-to his own magic blades. Kratos dropped his Blades of Chaos and allowed them to snake behind his back as he dived low. The undead he targeted lowered the magic-blazing shield, but Kratos had anticipated this and twisted at the last possible instant. The shield exploded with eye-dazzling fury as it crashed into the ground. Kratos strained, his fingers wrapping around the undead’s ankle.
Against the wall, the legionnaire could not retreat. Kratos squeezed as hard as he could and crushed the undead’s leg. It stabbed at him with its spear. Kratos ignored the pain as the spear tip penetrated his arm, but the point did not sink deeply. The chains from the Blades of Chaos protected him from real damage.
Kratos grunted, lifted, and upended the undead before its companion could rush him from behind. A stomp to the head ended the threat from the fallen legionnaire. Kratos ducked as the other thrust at him. The spear dug into the stone wall, giving Kratos yet another opportunity. Getting past the enervating magic shield was impossible, so he caught the one dropped by his first foe. He spun it like a discus into the legionnaire struggling to pull its spear from the wall.
The magical edge severed the undead’s legs and brought it crashing down to join its companion. Kratos’s fist repeatedly smashed into the back of its head until it was reduced to dust.
Kratos kicked the magic shields aside. He started to continue on his way when screams from inside a building drew him to peer through the open door. A man and woman clung to each other as an undead legionnaire drew twin knives and clacked them together, as though savoring their terror.
Using the pommel of his sword, Kratos rapped sharply on the door frame. The undead glanced over its shoulder, then back at the man and woman. When it turned its face once more toward the Ghost of Sparta, it discovered only the edges of the Blades of Chaos in the final instant before being cut in two from collarbone to crotch.
Kratos stepped back and let the pieces fall. The legs kicked at him feebly. He ignored them.
“We are truly blessed by the gods!” said the man. “You have saved us!”
“You’re not saved. I have only delayed your death a moment or two.” Kratos turned to go. “Your energy would be better spent in running away.”
“We were paying tribute to Aphrodite,” the woman offered, showing him a small carved wood box in her palms. It was filled with vials of fragrant oils.
“You should be on the walls defending your city.”
“There is always time for tribute,” she said, looking at her man, who was obviously an artisan and not a soldier.
“Maybe for you,” he growled, and strode away toward the street.
Before his sandal could touch the paving stones, Athens vanished before his eyes. The world shimmered about him, and he felt as if he might be soaring into the sky.
Brightness blossomed into blinding empyreal glory… and out from that Olympian splendor appeared a woman of such full-bodied perfection that the sight of her hit him harder than any foe ever had.
Kratos had to clear his throat twice before he could speak. “Lady Aphrodite.”
“Greetings, Spartan. I wish to bestow upon you my thanks for the rescue of my disciples.”
“Goddess,” Kratos managed to choke out, bowing his head, “it is an honor to serve you.” He coughed and cleared his throat again. “However you might desire.”
“Kratos.” Aphrodite spoke his name as softly as a lover’s caress. “Zora and Lora have spoken of your talents.”
“Zora and Lora?” Kratos blinked. “The twins-they speak to you?”
“Not as often as they should,” the Goddess of Love purred. “But then, every parent has a similar complaint, I suppose.”
“You’re their mother?” This explained so many different things at once about the twins that Kratos found himself with no idea what to say next.
One slender finger from that slim hand traced the curve of his lips to silence any comment. “Athena asked me to contribute a gift of my own, to aid you in your quest.”
“The only gift I need is freedom to complete my task.”
Her laugh was like the chime of silver bells. “What you need, Spartan, is to be grateful for whatever a god chooses to bestow.” She caressed his cheek gently. The fingers turned cold as they stroked. “You will perform a task for me as well.”
“I am already engaged-”
“You will slay the Queen of the Gorgons.”
Kratos frowned. “But why her? Why now?”
“You are so adorable,” the goddess purred, “that I won’t have you eviscerated for daring to question me-this time. You must kill Medusa and bring me her head. The gift I will bestow on you is the power of the Gorgons: to turn men to stone!”
The goddess gestured and, with a wave, wiped away tranquil Olympus.
KRATOS TRIED TO SPEAK but had no breath, tried to see but had no light. He tried to move and did not know if the wild, whirling chaos he experienced was all around him or inside his head. Or both.
He crouched in a cold, dark place and heard the soft hissing of snakes.
He stood. The sooner he satisfied Aphrodite’s thirst for Gorgon blood, the sooner he could return to Athens and find the Oracle.
The gloom around him hid the slithering serpents. He took a few blind steps to one side, sloshing through ankle-deep water. His hand found a slimy rock wall. Pressing his ear against the wall, he waited through many slow, measured breaths in an attempt to detect any vibrations. Nothing.
He sighed. What had he expected? That Aphrodite would just point and make Medusa appear in front of him?
As his eyes adjusted to the murkiness, he began to make out his surroundings. The goddess had transported him to the juncture of three low-roofed tunnels hewn from living rock. No light shone down any of the tunnels; the light by which he now saw was the product of faintly luminescent moss clinging to crevices in the rock.
The tunnel straight ahead proved to be a dead end. Kratos shoved hard against the wall blocking his progress. His anger mounted. More wasted time.
The Oracle was in danger of death or worse if Ares captured her. Kratos didn’t care if the Oracle lived or died, so long as he learned her secret.
Kratos recalled campfire discussions among his officers before battle; some impious types had been speculating that the gods needed human worship the way a tree needs the sun. Could a god exist without worshippers? The way things were going in Athens, Kratos guessed he just might find out.
Would Athena’s power decline? Would she simply disappear? Zeus might prohibit one god from killing another, but Ares might have found a way to sneak around the ban.
In the past, Ares had always chosen brute force over subtlety, but perhaps he had learned his lesson. While the siege of Athens had the trappings of Ares’s old rage, he might have a different strategy in mind. Kill Athenians and Athena lost followers. Kill enough and her worshippers might abandon her for other gods-and who better to worship than the God of War, who had defeated their goddess?
Shows of strength in this uncertain world brought people to Ares’s temples. Kratos had, once upon a time, been the author of many of those shows and had himself been the earthly symbol of Ares’s might. Kratos’s officers had believed that a god without worshippers simply faded away like mist in the morning sun. If such a fate befell Athena, Kratos’s only chance for vengeance upon his former master would evaporate with her.
And the nightmares would continue unabated, rending sanity.
A few more blows upon the wall proved that it would withstand even his prodigious strength. Kratos turned and retraced his path. The water ahead began to ripple ominously before he reached the juncture where Aphrodite had deposited him. Kratos had to bend almost double to slide the Blades of Chaos off his back and bring them down in front of him. Barely in time.