“God of War,” Kratos said through his teeth, “I have not forgotten you. For what you did that night, this city will be your grave!”
An earthquake shook the city center. Kratos had to stop and widen his stance in order to keep his feet. Smoke from the burning buildings cleared for a moment to give him a direct view of Ares himself.
The huge god stepped over the Long Wall and strode up the causeway, stepping on Athenians too slow to escape his advance. The war god roared, shaking the heavens and the earth. He reached down, caught a soldier, and flicked him away as he might an annoying bug. The screams were thin and high and then died along with the man when he crashed into the roof of a temple devoted to Zeus. Then Ares began stamping on any who caught his eye, his fury palpable.
Ares rampaged through the city, crushing buildings and kicking away people in the square. The city was entirely at the mercy of the God of War, and mercy was in short supply. Ares had no more mercy than he did compassion or self-restraint. It was a bad night to be Athenian.
Kratos was a Spartan. Was there ever a good night to be Athenian?
He turned his back on Ares and followed the roadway upward onto the Acropolis. Another earthquake took him off his feet, forcing him to roll clear as a stone wall collapsed beside him. Kratos climbed back to his feet to look into the city.
Ares had drawn a sword the size of ten warships and raised it high above his head. The God of War brought it crashing down again with such force that houses for blocks around crumbled as the shock wave spread throughout the city. Ares delivered another blow, but this time Kratos was braced for it. He turned back to his path and set out toward the Parthenon.
“They come, they’re coming!” A woman on the roof of a nearby temple shrieked the warning, then scrambled down a rickety ladder to the sacristy’s front door. An undead archer fired from among Kratos’s pursuers. The shaft pinned the woman to the wood frame, which caught fire as the arrow exploded.
Kratos ducked and shifted aside when he heard a furious flapping of wings that he knew all too well, but he was not this harpy’s target. The foul beast swooped down to pluck at a woman running with a child in her arms. The harpy grabbed the child and carried it aloft. The woman screamed and threw rocks, but the harpy soared upward to hundreds of feet. Then it let the child drop.
“Noooo!” Kratos raged. He took a step and reached out, as if he could keep the child safe. He couldn’t. A vision of his beloved daughter filled his eyes-and then blood replaced the vision. Again.
The woman frantically tried to catch her infant, racing toward it with arms outstretched, only to see her child’s brains dashed out on the rubble of another temple. The harpy swooped low again, this time clawing at the woman. She fought off the flying monster but tripped on a broken flagstone.
Kratos raced forward and then leaped with all his prodigious strength. His fingers slipped away from the harpy’s wing but caught a taloned foot. The harpy screeched in rage and fought to break free. Rage at the child’s death lent Kratos the raw determination to clutch down hard enough to drag the harpy from the sky. The hideous creature crashed to the ground, only feet from where the child had perished.
A twist, a turn, and Kratos worked up to where he could smash his fist into the harpy’s face. He continued to pummel the monster until only pulp remained. Panting, he held the scrawny neck in his grip, then cast the corpse away so its foul blood would not mingle with that of the fallen child.
“Help me, help me!” the bereft woman called to Kratos. “A trapdoor inside. Safety. Sanctuary is yours if you will help me!” The harpies had seen the fate of their companion and converged, thinking the woman was the easiest victim to slay.
Kratos let his revulsion for what crimes the harpies committed decide the matter for him. Swinging the Blades of Chaos, he charged. The first stroke took off a pinion. The second severed a clawed foot. A double swipe of his blades removed one harpy’s head from its birdlike sloping shoulders. “Go,” he said to the woman. “Find your refuge.”
The woman did not plead with him to join her. Another harpy screeched as it swooped like a falcon. Kratos sprang into the air, hurling himself and his blades at the creature, but he was just too far away to reach it.
The woman took the full strike on her back.
Vicious claws opened bloody gashes, and then the harpy beat downward with its wings and plucked the woman’s spine from her body. What remained fell lifeless to the ground.
Kratos ran, jumped onto an overturned crate, and launched himself through the air in a burst of furious attack. One blade sheared through the harpy’s face, from her mouth to her ear. The second blade sliced through her breastbone almost without resistance, opening its monstrous heart to spew black blood across the streets below. Man and harpy fell heavily to the ground. Kratos rolled free, jerked the chains around his forearms, and brought the Blades of Chaos whistling back to hand.
“There! There he is! Kill him! Kill him for Lord Ares!”
Charging toward him were a dozen Minotaurs, followed by six Cyclopes and half a hundred undead legionnaires-and behind them were still more. They choked the road; he could never fight his way clear.
It appeared his quest was about to end in a sudden and bloody failure.
He drew his blades. He was Spartan.
Just because he could not win was no reason to quit.
TEN
ATHENA STARED DOWN into the broad scrying pool below the throne of Zeus. A few ripples crossed it, but these came from the gusts swirling through Olympus. With a gesture, Athena stilled the waters so that they became clear as the sky. She bent forward to get a better view as Kratos unleashed Medusa’s Gaze.
“Your mortal fights well.”
Athena looked up. Her father had willed himself once more onto his throne, where he now leaned forward, peering intently into the pool. Could it be that Zeus showed the faintest hint of satisfaction?
Even Athena could not read the face of the Lord of Olympus for certain, but she dared hope.
She moved to one side, the better to keep one eye on the pool while she tried to fully decipher his expression. “I did not realize you were following the battle.”
“Slaughter,” Zeus said, “is mightily diverting. It has been many years since we’ve had such fine wanton destruction.”
“Ares brings it to my beloved city,” Athena said, a catch in her voice. “But Kratos’s savagery comes from Ares. He is what my brother has made of him.”
“He may be a bit more than that,” the Lord of Olympus murmured. “You know, the sack of Athens is shaping up to be an epic poem-you should ask Apollo to compose an ode, perhaps. Commemorate the occasion. Doesn’t have to be anything so elaborate as Homer’s tale of Troy-after all, Troy stood against all of Greece for ten years. Athens hasn’t lasted ten days. Nonetheless, many of your soldiers are managing to die heroically. And then there’s your Kratos.”
The Skyfather pointed to the scrying pool, which reflected Kratos’s battle against a flight of harpies. “His furious quest for vengeance-one tiny mortal against the God of War? Very nice. Really. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”
“High praise, my lord father-perhaps the highest I have ever received.” She didn’t let it go to her head, because Zeus, premier among the other Olympians, was a deep planner. Athena wondered at his interest now and if he worked his own subtle plans.
Whatever the machinations, her Kratos played a prominent role.
“I am gratified you are taking such an interest in the struggle, Father. Would it be too bold for me to ask if your interest arises from the struggle itself?”
“My dear daughter, this is not about you. It had better not be. This is only your mortal against Ares’s mob of horrors raked from the dregs of Hades. That Kratos has survived so far makes this a bit more interesting than certain gods had been expecting.”