Kratos closed his eyes, rolled, and came to his feet. The temptation to look was great, but he knew the consequences of even a small peek. More than once in combat, he had fought blinded by blood, both his and that of others. He listened intently rather than looking as the Gorgon hissed and slithered directly in front of him. In his mind he pictured it rising on its powerful tail, like a cobra preparing to strike. Using the sounds of the increasingly angry Gorgon as a guide, he judged distances, then somersaulted forward. In the instant his body shielded his eyes, he saw where the Gorgon rose to initiate its attack and changed the direction of the roll. When he came to his feet, his eyes were once again tightly closed.
His blades rose and fell. The right one clattered on the stone floor. The left one dug deep into flesh and caused a shriek of agony that guided his redirected right sword. Two more quick cuts and the Gorgon lay dead on the cavern floor.
Running on the ice-slicked path, he found himself at eye level with the Titan. Hardly noticing it as he studied how best to attack it, Kratos grabbed a Harpy thinking to harm him. One wing in each hand, he placed a foot in the middle of its spine and then heaved. The wings ripped free as the backbone broke. Angrily casting away the severed parts, he saw a way to reach the Titan and attack.
Kratos froze in his attack when a deeply resonant voice filled the cavern. Typhon spoke.
“You cannot win, Ghost of Sparta. Surrender. Let me crush you quickly. I promise you a painless death before consigning your shade to the Underworld.” The Titan stirred but did not remove the finger pinning the Pegasus.
“Your mother, Gaia, has told me what I need to defeat Zeus. Will you oppose her?” Kratos called.
“Yes! My mother’s poor judgment doomed the Titans.”
“You hate Zeus, as do I. Let us work together.”
“No! I would kill him myself, not allied with a disgraced and fallen god such as yourself!”
Kratos worked into position, moving slowly, carefully. A quick look showed how difficult his path would be, but he also saw his goal. A slight shadow, a curve and nothing more, floated on the Titan’s eye. A second, longer study of the eye confirmed it. The bow moved as Typhon blinked slowly.
He exploded into action. Blades flashing, he hacked away at an icy spire until it cracked, tipped, and finally toppled toward Typhon. It fell onto a flat-topped rocky spire, giving him a bridge to get closer. Kratos took a step out, ducked back as Typhon’s icy exhalation threatened to freeze him where he stood, then ran at top speed up the bridge he had created. The ice beneath his sandals made the short journey treacherous, but he reached the flattened spire. He saw he dared not hesitate. Typhon sucked in a deep breath. If the Titan exhaled, Kratos would perish, flash-frozen.
Feet slipping against the ice, then pumping harder, he launched himself into the air and landed on the Titan’s cheek. Typhon roared and tried to shake him loose, tossing a bulky, frozen head about. The rime ice turned Typhon’s face slippery, but Kratos was too near a vulnerable spot to attack to give up. If he had simply stopped trying, he would have slid down the cheek like a mortal tear and landed far below where the Titan still held the Pegasus captive, no better off for his efforts.
Such a fall would end poorly for him, not only because of Typhon’s wrath but from more Sentries poking out from their depressions on the Titan’s face.
Using the Blades of Athena as hooks he clawed his way forward to the Titan’s red-glowing left eye, where he had spotted the huge bow floating in the sclera. Kratos slashed furiously and blinded the Titan, causing huge gusts of ice cloud to be emitted from both mouth and nose. He ignored the rising cloud of gelid air, cut more of the eye, and then reached inside and caught at the bow. His fingers slipped on the first try. On the second he pulled the bow free.
The Titan rumbled and bellowed.
“I will slay you, Kratos. You cannot do this to me!”
“You of all the Titans have opposed Zeus.”
“He imprisoned me here!” roared Typhon.
The entire chamber shook and rocks fell from above, forcing Kratos to shield his head. “Yes, I opposed him. It was my mother’s will, but I did so willingly. He slew my brothers!”
“The Giants died at Zeus’ hand,” Kratos said, gripping the bow. Every turn made by the Titan threatened to send him flying through the air. His hands were cold, and there was little to grasp. If he were sent to the floor, the fall might kill him. Returning to the stony perch was his only chance—and Typhon turned his face away, making the leap impossible.
A huge tear formed in the Titan’s eye and slipped forth. The icy liquid caught at Kratos’ legs and threatened to freeze him to the spot. The poor purchase he had on Typhon’s cheek was in jeopardy. Try as he might, he could not escape the tear. It froze about his ankles, then began to slip downward.
“I am Gaia’s last child, and the one she burdened most with her schemes.”
“This might be your only chance to escape this cruel exile,” Kratos said. Bow clutched in one hand, he used his other hand to clutch his sword and use the pommel against the block of iced tear. Tiny cracks appeared, but it dislodged and slid so that it—and he—balanced precariously. Without straining he could look out and down. The fall was hundreds of feet to where the Titan still pressed down on the Pegasus and held it captive.
“And if you fail?”
“Victory will be mine!”
“So you say, Kratos, but I cannot risk it.”
“What do you risk? More imprisonment? That Zeus will torment you further?”
“My wife!”
“Echidna?” Kratos continued to hammer at the ice and freed his left foot. As Typhon swung his head around, a large piece went tumbling over his cheek to smash far below.
“My darling wife and children. After Zeus imprisoned me here, he allowed them to live in freedom, a challenge to future heroes. If he thinks I aided you, he would slay them all! Better I live in exile with my beloved family free than to oppose Zeus and have him slay them should you fail.”
“I did not know,” Kratos said. “Loss of your family is a terrible burden to bear.”
“You should know,” Typhon bellowed. His cold breath gusted out and swirled back to chill Kratos further. But a final blow of the sword pommel cracked away the last of the imprisoning tear. “Would you have me endure the pain you feel? Would you fail my family as you did your own?”
Kratos bristled with rage. Would the torment forced on him by Ares ever end?
“I will slay Zeus!”
Kratos went to his knees as Typhon began thrashing about, roaring about his love for Echidna, his hatred for Zeus—and vowing to stop any attempt to dethrone the King of the Gods to preserve his wife’s and children’s lives.
As the Titan’s fury became more violent, Kratos launched himself through the air, landing once more on the ice-covered spire. Slipping and falling to his knees, he found it impossible to regain his balance. From the Titan’s cheeks bulged round gray lumps that grew into Sentries determined to preserve their abode—Typhon.
Rolling, Kratos bowled over one Sentry, then grabbed it and used it to pull himself erect. With a savage twist, he ripped off its head. Two more grew like dark tears on Typhon’s cheek. If he continued to fight in this fashion, he would perish. He hefted the weapon he had snatched from its hiding place.
He drew back the bowstring and aimed for the Titan’s eye. Although he had not nocked an arrow, when he released the string, a glistening ice arrow sailed true to the target. The arrow of wind embedded in Typhon’s eye and completely blinded him. The resulting bellow forced Kratos back. He sat down and skidded along the ice bridge and found shelter against the Titan’s wrath behind jutting rocks. Although he was unable to attack, Typhon unwittingly aided him. The thrashing about had dislodged the Sentries and, for a moment, distracted them.
The icy onslaught lasted for some time, but the Titan finally had to gasp for breath. The respite allowed Kratos to consider his predicament. There had to be a way to rel
ease the Pegasus and fly from this glacial prison. Attacking Typhon and his Sentries would not work, even using the bow. Kratos retraced his path to the crevice leading outside into the snowstorm and returned to where Prometheus dangled over the Olympian flame.
“Kratos,” Prometheus cried out. “You did not abandon me.”
“I seek to defeat Zeus,” he said. “You must tell me how to escape this frozen prison.”
“Free me from my torment, I beseech you! Give me surcease and I will tell you how to escape!”
Kratos drew back the bowstring, then released it. An icy gust of wind winged its way to ricochet off the chain holding Prometheus. A second arrow created a swinging target, but Kratos was expert in all weapons. Not needing to fall into the rhythm of reaching for a new arrow every time he fired, he filled the air with the icy missiles. One link began to yield. Kratos concentrated his fire on it.
The link snapped and Prometheus plunged downward into the center of the bowl. He landed on his feet and was immediately bathed in flames. He threw his hands high above his head and spun about to ensure that every inch of his body was exposed to the cleansing, killing fires.
“This gift I give you, Kratos, for you have given me the greatest gift possible.”
Kratos recoiled as a cloud of ash rose from the smoldering body to rain down on him. He felt a tingling sensation that turned into fiery pain, not unlike that when the old oracle had dusted him with the ashes of his wife and child outside Athena’s temple. Kratos touched the bone-white skin where those ashes had forever branded him, but the new ash did not erase—or add to—his visible shame.
Deep within he felt a grinding, however, a grating of one internal organ against another, a power growing that could not be denied. Kratos gasped as his entire body quivered and shook. The ice that had formed on him melted away, and the red tattoo glowed with an inner light. Where he had felt enervated by the battle with Typhon, now he experienced only a lightness of body and spirit. He looked down and saw the white ash that had been his wife and daughter permanently marking his skin begin to shimmer until he had to close his eyes or be blinded.
He had felt despair at fulfilling Gaia’s mission, though he accepted it as the only way of delivering to Zeus the fate he deserved. Now Kratos’ new power also added to his resolve. He was the Ghost of Sparta, and victory would be his!
More than simple power, Prometheus’ ash had imbued him with knowledge of the path away from this prison.
He turned and saw a dozen Sentries rushing forth, drawn by Prometheus’ death cries. Boiling from within came a rush of energy. Expanding outward in a fan, that energy swept to—and through—the Sentries. They died in an instant.
“The Rage of the Titans,” came a distant whisper from Prometheus. “Use it, Kratos, use it against Zeus!” And then the voice disappeared.
For a few seconds Kratos stood and allowed the power within—the Rage of the Titans—to build. He knew where its first real use would be. Never breaking stride as he reentered the Lair of the Titans, he marched to the stone bridge, only to find it in ruin. The Titan had thrashed about and used his cold breath to crack the stone.
Kratos backed away, found a dangling chain, and leaped. His fingers closed on the cold metal—and stuck. He pried them loose and made his way quickly to the base of the Titan’s throne where the hand still held the Pegasus trapped.
“Release the horse, Typhon!” he bellowed. “Now!”
“I do not obey the likes of you,” the Titan said in his raspy, deep voice.
Kratos stepped forward and eyed the broken fingernail on the cold digit closest to him. He hacked away with his swords but produced no movement. He took a deep breath, then released the Rage of the Titans. The immense power broke the fingernail and caused Typhon to lift the finger. Kratos stepped forward and loosed the Rage of the Titans again. Typhon jerked back, his hand lifting from the winged horse.
The Pegasus scrambled to its feet and stumbled away, free. Within seconds its wings burned brightly. It made a few tentative flaps as if to test its pinions for any damage from the imprisonment. When it tossed its head and let out a loud neigh of triumph, Kratos vaulted onto the horse’s back and stroked his heels along the flanks.
The Pegasus shot into the air, flying furiously away from the Lair of the Titan. Behind, Kratos heard Typhon cursing him with an anger that Kratos knew well, an anger that came from having your life and family destroyed by the gods of Olympus. Yet leaving the Titan scarred but alive in the seclusion of its frigid lair was the closest thing to sympathy Kratos would show a creature who had chosen to oppose him.
Kratos, astride the winged horse, exploded out of the cavern into bright, cold daylight, darted upward, and flew on toward the Island of Creation.
GAIA STIRRED AGAIN from her slumber when the gods mentioned Kratos. Her interest had been piqued when not only Zeus but also Hermes began speaking of him. Now another goddess brought Zeus information that puzzled her enough to eavesdrop.
For anywhere there were trees and earth and rock, there was Gaia.
“Kratos has broken Prometheus’ bonds and freed him, Sky Father,” Hermes reported. His winged sandals whirred softly as he hovered a few inches above the floor in Zeus’ throne room. Over him fluttered puffy white clouds, but they took on leaden underbellies as Zeus glowered at him.
“How is this possible? Am I to get no relief from that upstart?” Zeus reached out and formed a thunderbolt in his right hand, playing with it and making Hermes uneasy.
From her vantage, Gaia held back a deep laugh, seeing the Messenger of the Gods become so nervous. Zeus might unleash his potent weapon at any instant and reduce Hermes to smoldering ash. That would provoke more than consternation among the Olympians.
“I killed him. I killed him with the Blade of Olympus,” cried Zeus. “How do you come by this knowledge? What god sent you with this message to provoke me?”
“I … none, my father,” Hermes said. “I happened upon this information by accident and thought you should be the first to know. If you prefer I could tell it to someone else.”
“You were fluttering about as you do and you just happened to see Kratos release Prometheus? What a coincidence.”
“Please, Sky Father, it is true. I have no idea why I had to be near Typhon’s cavern, but I was.” Hermes looked frazzled and confused.
Well that he should, Gaia thought. The Sisters of Fate decreed that he be there when Kratos released Prometheus. She inhaled and mountain ranges rose. When she sighed, river valleys formed and continents moved. Gaia had hoped for his triumph, but now there was more than hope. Distinct possibilities existed.
“He could not free Prometheus,” Zeus said. “I bound him specially.” He sat on his throne, arms crossed over his massive chest. He tossed his head to flip his beard outside his arms, and his long white hair billowed.
“He used Typhon’s Bane to sever—”
“He took the bow from Typhon’s eye?” interrupted Zeus. The Sky Father leaned forward, his hands now gripping the arms of his throne. The mighty throne creaked under his weight as he half levered himself to his feet. “Impossible!”
“Not that impossible apparently. He used the bow to sever the chains holding Prometheus, and then—”
“Chains are not all that bind him,” interrupted Zeus again, “The eagle I magically attached to Prometheus will follow him no matter where he goes.” The King of Olympus looked more content until Hermes spoke again.
“If you let me finish, dear father, you would know that Prometheus fell into the Flames of Perdition.”
“How dare he release the Firegiver from his torment!”
“A better question is: How did he get a Pegasus to ride? There was none in Rhodes.”
“Someone in Olympus aids him,” Zeus raged.
Gaia appreciated the paranoia that seized Zeus now. He would blame others dwelling on Mount Olympus and never know that she had been the one who gave Kratos his winged transport.
Zeus snapped
out of his reverie. “Who, Hermes, who on Olympus gave him the Pegasus?”
“I cannot say. No one has mentioned such a scheme to me.”
“You’re lying. You know! Why do you refuse to tell me?”
“I speak of only the things I witnessed with my own eyes,” protested Hermes nervously. “I swear, Father, I would have told you!”
“Quiet!” Zeus opened his hand and loosed the thunderbolt. It crackled and then exploded, sending Hermes tumbling backward in the air, feet-over-head. “I will not tolerate your lies.”
“It is my sworn duty to tell only the truth when delivering an official message,” Hermes said, fighting to regain his composure. “While no other god or goddess entrusted this message to me, I vouch for its truth.”
“It cannot be,” Zeus said, settling down into a glum reflection.
“You are right, King Zeus. It is not so.”
Zeus snapped upright to better see the newcomer.
“Iris, what are you saying?” Hermes cried. “I spoke only the truth to my father. I’d not dare to lie.”
“But you would, Hermes,” Iris said. She stepped forward, every footstep a glowing rainbow on the marble floor. “You think to ascend the throne and replace our lord Zeus!”
“I … never!” Hermes bowed deeply in Zeus’ direction. “I am completely loyal.”
Gaia watched carefully. The gods fought among themselves!
“Prometheus was not released by Kratos, and there is no danger to you, Zeus.”
“Why are you saying this, Iris? It’s wrong!” Hermes failed to control his winged sandals and floated upward until a thunderbolt from Zeus’ hand forced him back to a more subservient position at the base of the throne.
“Why are you filling Lord Zeus’ ears with such drivel? You think to deceive him, then replace me?”
“No!”
“Quiet!” Zeus bellowed. He turned to Iris. “What happened?”
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