Kratos reached down and pried loose the creature’s blade from where it had caught in his greave. He tossed it aside, but the heavy body armor looked better than the cobbled-together set he had worn and discarded in Athens. Kratos scraped away dried blood and scabs from his bare flesh, lingering only on the red tattoo that showed his rank as a Spartan leader. Darkness threatened him again. Kratos refused to permit the memories to flood back, though he had little control-only willpower now kept him from deep depression and frightening nightmares. He donned the fallen undead’s sturdy bronze-plate armor and found that it came closer to fitting his powerful body than most that had not been specifically forged for him. Only then did he turn to examine the huge box, towering twice his height.
“By the gods, can it be?” Kratos placed his hand against the unadorned side, thinking such a potent artifact would radiate power. He felt nothing. Jumping, he caught the upper edge and pulled himself to the top. A simple hasp fell open and he looked into an empty box. Before he could curse the gods for their spitefulness in giving him hope and then dashing it, a flaming arrow bounced off his newly acquired bronze armor, staggering him. He fought to keep his balance, then saw ample reason to continue his fall. He dropped behind the box an instant before a dozen more flaming arrows filled the space where he had stood.
Tiny explosions kicked up rock wherever an arrow impacted the ground. Kratos looked at the dent in his new armor and saw that the arrow had detonated and almost penetrated.
The cursed legionnaire had been supported by a squad of cursed archers.
Kratos chanced a quick look around the side of the huge box and saw six archers on a ledge higher along the pathway leading around the mountain.
“Forward,” he muttered. “By Zeus himself, never retreat!” Kratos got behind the box, dug his toes into the ground, and pushed with all his strength. The box gritted along a few inches, caught, then yielded to his constant pressure. It began to slide faster. He felt the impact of arrow after arrow against the far side of the box. Every hit caused a small explosion. To be open to this assault would have spelled his death for certain.
Kratos pushed faster, getting the box close to the ledge where the undead archers fired down on him. When he crashed into the bottom of the ledge, he found he had only a small space behind the box to safely stand. But standing was not what the Ghost of Sparta did. He drew the Blades of Chaos and cast out the one in his right hand, swinging it at the end of the length of chain binding it to his wrist.
The blade did not injure an archer but did cause it to turn slightly and release its arrow in front of the others. This forced them to fire off-target. All of them having to nock new arrows simultaneously gave Kratos an instant to attack. He did. Using his blades as climbing hooks, he scaled the side of the box and then jumped to the top of the ledge, where he played out the chains on his swords and spun in a furious circle. The vicious blades cut through unwary legs and arms. He drew back the blades and began a more directed attack.
Two of the cursed archers fell. A third. The remaining archers fired their deadly arrows at him from mere feet away. The first arrow crashed into his armor and detonated, blowing him off his feet. He landed hard and skidded away. Another archer fired and missed. From his position, Kratos could not cast his Blades of Chaos or hope to evade the arrows much longer.
He reached behind him and drew out Medusa’s head. Radiance blasted from the Gorgon’s eyes, transfixing the remaining archers and turning them momentarily to rigid stone. Kratos knew he had only seconds. He leaped to his feet, played out the chains, and spun in a furious circle. He felt his blades strike repeatedly as he whirled about; then he dropped to one knee, drew back the swords, and took in the battlefield in a single experienced glance. He had seen such carnage before, often-perhaps too often.
His enemies were scattered about, arms here and legs there. A severed head lay a few yards distant. Two of the cursed archers’ bows had been cut into firewood. Only Kratos had survived.
The Ghost of Sparta ran up the road carved with cruel intent from the side of the mountain atop Cronos’s back. The rocky path quickly turned again into a tunnel leading into the mountainside, and Kratos found his way inside blocked by a Minotaur warrior. The creature lifted the war hammer fastened where its left hand should have been and banged menacingly on the ground. The reverberations passed through the rock and up Kratos’s legs, giving him a weak feeling in the knees.
“You will die if you try to stop me.” Kratos spoke not to deter the Minotaur warrior-nothing short of death would do that. Rather, he listened to the echoes of his voice, gauging the size of the room behind the massive creature threatening to pound his head to pulp if he foolishly attempted to advance.
He widened his stance and waited for the inevitable. It came fast as the Minotaur warrior rushed him. Kratos ducked past, but the Minotaur was quicker than he had anticipated and spun behind him. With a powerful leap the creature went into the air, then aimed its hammer directly for his head as it plummeted.
Kratos somersaulted forward, the heavy sledgehammer barely missing his skull. He slashed as he went past but inflicted only minor wounds on the creature. He turned and faced it; as before, the Minotaur warrior proved more aggressive than the usual-and the ordinary man-bulls were tenacious fighters and strangers to fear in battle. Avoiding the hammer blow, Kratos hacked at any tiny target the Minotaur presented him. A wrist. The back of a knee. The man-bull’s ribs. One blow from Kratos’s blade careened off one of the Minotaur’s ebony-black horns and caused a quick head shake to throw off the effect of impact. No matter how Kratos fought, he was unable to land a death-giving blow.
Back and forth they shuffled, dodged, and leaped. Bit by bit he weakened the bull. He ducked another heavy hammer blow, thinking to slip past the creature’s guard and drive a blade into its gut. Instead, Kratos caught a horn in his upper arm. Blood spurted and his right hand went numb. The Blades of Chaos slid from his grip, leaving him helpless.
Thinking this was its chance to end the fight, the Minotaur charged, head lowered. The man-bull learned that Kratos might not wield the swords forged in Hades, but he was not unarmed. Kratos avoided the assault, stepped inside, and wrapped his left arm around the bull’s neck. The Minotaur reared, tossed its head, and tried to throw him to the side. Grimly, Kratos held on, his hand finding a wicked horn. He threw his right arm over the Minotaur’s sloping shoulder, got leverage, and jerked powerfully. His first effort only enraged the creature.
Far from being injured, it even tried to crush him with its hammer. The effort only made the Minotaur damage itself as it tried to strike him. Kratos used the war-hammer blow against the Minotaur’s own shoulder to get a better grip. By now both of his hands were functional. With his right arm around the heavily muscled bull throat, he grabbed a horn again and arched his back in extreme effort.
“By the gods, die, die, die!” Kratos went spinning through the air and crashed into a far wall. He came to his feet, dazed but ready to continue the fight. There was no need. He had broken the man-bull’s neck with his bare hands. The immense creature lay on the floor, bleating piteously and kicking out its last moments before finally succumbing to death.
Gasping for breath, Kratos stepped over the corpse and entered the chamber. He looked about but saw only one way out other than the portal where he had entered. A circular door marked with Poseidon’s trident mocked him. Kratos pushed against the door. It didn’t budge. He tried to roll it to one side. No movement. Then he slid his fingers under the stone door and lifted. Inch by inch the door rose until Kratos held it open up to his waist. With a grunt to coordinate his strength, he heaved and the door flew upward. Kratos rolled forward and came to his feet just as the door slammed back into place. There was no way to open it from this side, since the door had dropped into a protective slot, allowing no grip to be gained.