He didn’t care. His way lay forward.
Running down the narrow tunnel carved deep into the mountainside, he quickly saw that the only light came from the braziers in the chamber at the far end.
As he entered the vast room, the glow instantly blossomed into a blinding glare, brighter than the Chariot of Helios at midday. Kratos shielded his eyes with one enormous arm until the brilliance faded enough that he could bear to look upon it. Immediately ahead was a huge door with the sigil of Poseidon on it. In front of the crest gleamed a shaft thrust into stone.
“The trident of Poseidon,” Kratos said, looking about as he advanced. His caution saved his life as red beams swept across the room, driving him away from the trident. Somersaulting, he came to his feet and faced a wraith.
He reached back for the Blades of Chaos but instead drew the weapon he had been gifted by Artemis, turning its broad blade sideways to reflect the red beams. Everything touched by the reflected wraith light sizzled. His flesh would boil from his bones if he remained in that gaze for more than an instant.
He attacked with a battle cry intended to freeze the blood of any enemy.
The wraith twisted about, the filmy black mist comprising the lower part of its body trailing behind as it moved. Kratos swung the Blade of Artemis for the spot where the wraith would be, not where it was. The creature emitted an earsplitting shriek of pure pain as the goddess’s sword slashed through the inky mist that passed for legs.
Deep within the wraith’s eyes flickered the dread crimson light again. Kratos spun about, holding the Blade of Artemis out as far as possible. The unwieldy thick blade thinned and snaked out while remaining metal-hard. The edge drove deep into the wraith’s arm, causing the creature to emit an even higher-pitched ululation of pure agony. Yanking the sword free of wraith flesh, Kratos spun it around beneath his adversary once more. The wraith tumbled in midair and tried to ball up and avoid his final thrust.
The Blade of Artemis cut the wraith in half. Before the pieces could float to the floor, Kratos swung again and halved those pieces. Then the swirl of mist popped into nonexistence. Kratos looked at the blue-glowing sword he held and knew this to be a potent weapon against both substantial and ethereal enemies. It would serve him well in any battle with Ares.
He cast a quick look around for other opposition but saw nothing. He went to examine the trident thrust into the floor. The shiny metal of the shaft caused him to squint. Reaching out, he touched it, expecting some defense to repel him. His hand rested on cool metal. Grasping, he tugged to pull it free. Strength that had lifted immense stone doors failed to draw the trident from the rock.
After placing his feet to either side and pulling with all his might did not bring forth the trident, Kratos released it and continued to explore. The altar to Poseidon consisted of more than the huge sigil and the embedded trident. To the right stood a stone platform. Kratos judged its size and walked the perimeter of the room, finding a box hidden behind a column that would fit the outline of the stone platform perfectly.
Kratos went to the far side of the box, bent down, and pushed. The box slid easily across the floor, faster and faster toward the stone platform by the altar. With a final shove, he sent the box skittering onto the stone platform. Once on the platform, a brilliant yellow light bathed the box for a moment, then its weight caused the floor to sink beneath it.
Kratos went to the trident and grasped it again. He pulled slowly, and this time it slid from the stone, as if it were nothing more than a knife thrust into a wheel of cheese. Kratos triumphantly held the trident aloft and stared at it for a moment, then slid it behind his back, where it magically reposed with the other gifts he had received from the gods. He lifted his right hand and looked at the white scar. Zeus had blessed him. His eyes rose to the shrine to Poseidon, but Kratos had no feeling that drawing the trident from the stone had been another gift from the God of the Ocean.
“Thank you, Lord Zeus,” he said. In a softer voice yet, he added, “Thank you, Lady Athena.” But he wondered if thanks were truly in order. So much lay ahead of him. He stretched aching muscles, tensed them all, and then relaxed to prepare himself for the next challenge, whatever it might be.
He went to the circular stone wheel holding Poseidon’s sigil and pressed his hands against it. No amount of effort budged it. He swung the Blades of Chaos, but they bounced harmlessly off it, sending fat blue sparks dancing into the chamber around him. Just as he began to wonder if the gods favored him in the least, he reached back and drew forth the trident. At eye level he saw three small holes. Leaning forward, he shoved the trident prongs deep into the exactly spaced holes.
The huge portal opened easily. He withdrew the trident, and the portal immediately began to close. He ducked under the ponderous weight and ran forward to the rim of a circular pool behind the door. Nowhere else in the tiny room did he see an exit, and without returning to be certain, Kratos knew the door would not open from this side. Every way in Pandora’s temple became only one way: forward.
This time it had to be down into the crystalline water of the pool. He knelt first and washed off the blood he had accumulated from his many fights, grimly pleased that much of it was not his own. He stretched and flexed again to judge his full fighting capability. Many were the times he had gone into battle in worse condition. But one thing worried him as he thrust his head beneath the surface of the water, striving to find the bottom of the well. No man could hold his breath long enough to reach the seemingly limitless bottom. All he could do was explore to the limits of his lung capacity, then assess his situation.
He sucked in a huge draft of air, then plunged into the bracingly cold water. Downward he swam, powerful strokes carrying him deeper and deeper. A faint light glowed all around, permitting him to see that the sides of the well were etched with the curious arcane symbols he had seen throughout his journey thus far. Again he wondered whether, if he could decipher them, he could find an easier way through the traps to the chamber holding Pandora’s Box.
He swam deeper still until he found a huge tunnel curving away from his position at the bottom of the well. His lungs were beginning to burn a little. He let out a few bubbles that built at his nostrils, burst forth, and raced toward the distant surface. Kratos tried to estimate his chances of going on with his lungs increasingly on fire from lack of air. This was a decision to be made while gratefully breathing the air above. He turned and began to rise, only to see iron bars moving from the sides of the well, crossing its diameter entirely. He kicked powerfully, trying to get past the bars before they trapped him underwater.
He failed. By the time he reached the bars, they had secured themselves on both sides of the well, leaving only small squares of opening between them. He strained, reached high. His hand broke through the surface of the water-but this did him no good. He breathed through his nose, not his fingertips! Straining, he applied his shoulder to the bars, but they refused to yield. Kratos moved to grasp the rim of the well to give him more leverage. Again he failed. The iron bars were impervious to his strength.
His lungs felt like bladders ready to burst now. He let out more bubbles and watched as they mockingly burst just above his head. The bars had been cruelly placed to allow a swimmer the promise of safety-and then deny it by mere inches.