“We will never allow you to reach us in our secret temple, Kratos. We have tired of you as a diversion,” said Lahkesis.
As if to accentuate the warning, a flurry of temple guards armed with their curved axes ran into the room. So many faced him that Kratos unleashed the Cronos Rage. The energy building within lacked the potency of earlier releases. The white-hot speck seemed cooler, more diffuse because of his earlier usage. Some time must be necessary to regenerate, but Kratos did not have the luxury of this. He cast forth the Rage. For a brief instant the powerful spell flowed through those attacking him, their limbs numbed. A full-scale casting would have blown them away.
One temple guard fell to his knees, then fought to stand. The Rage had barely affected him. He looked at Kratos and sneered. “You must kill us all—and more!”
Kratos saw the Rage shock wearing off the other guards. But what did the one mean, “and more”?
“Delay him, delay him!” the guard called to his recovering comrades, and this told Kratos what had been meant. The wall would yield to his passage for only a short while. If the temple guards prevented him from reaching it during the moments of vulnerability, he would have to find another way forward. Time pressed down on him, knowing the Sisters of Fate might take note of him at any instant and prevent his appeal.
With grim perseverance, Kratos cut and slashed his way through. He saw that the metal wall, still sparking and grinding forward, slowed with every death. This spurred him to fight harder. They had no chance against his skill, his strength, his determination and rage, and they died to the last guard. But had he killed them in time?
The wall reversed direction and clanked away amid showers of sparks, then grated to a halt. Kratos acted without thinking, rushing to an exposed door in the outer wall. Just as he slid through the portal, the wall shot back like the descending blade of a Spartan soldier. Kratos had almost lost his arm, if not his life, to the trap. He dropped to one knee, got his breath back, then continued to explore until he came to a room suitable for worship of the Olympian gods. Statues of the gods stood in small niches. Most had been destroyed, but one remained intact. Kratos walked forward and stood before the statue of Athena.
He was not surprised when the statue spoke.
“Kratos, you know not what you do. There are things far more important than your revenge.”
She had once guided him and had been there when he ascended to the throne of the God of War, but like the other gods and goddesses, she had shunned him. Only when he had urged the warriors of Sparta to conquer the other city-states had she taken notice of him, and then it was to sternly order him to cease.
He had killed Ares. He had become God of War! And Athena had sided with Zeus and the others demanding that he not allow his worshippers to go to war.
“You, of all the gods, cannot deny me! Yet you ally with Zeus against me.”
“I will do what I must to protect Olympus,” she said.
“Zeus is not Olympus. He must pay for what he has done. I do not seek to destroy Olympus, only the one who betrayed me, who gave me this reminder of his treachery.” Kratos ran his hand over the scar crossing his belly where the Blade of Olympus had skewered him. The simple touch renewed his determination to kill Zeus.
“Kratos, please …”
Kratos swung out with the war hammer to crush a statue of Poseidon to dust. Not satisfied, he worked around the room. Finding one of Hermes, Kratos took grim satisfaction in reducing it to gravel.
“I beseech you, Kratos. Cease this quest for revenge. Zeus is far too powerful. You are destined to fail. You do not want to risk his wrath—or what he might do if he is goaded.”
Kratos stopped in his destruction of the statues depicting those who had once been fellow gods and goddesses and stared at Athena’s stony visage. They all told him he would fail. Athena, Zeus, Hermes, the Sisters of Fate. He would not fail. He was the Ghost of Sparta.
“Kratos, please. I am your friend. But your actions make it impossible for me to defend you to Olympus.”
He swung the hammer and sent pieces of Athena’s statue flying throughout the room. Athena’s marble head rolled away, still speaking.
“You must stop!”
Kratos gripped the shaft of the hammer in both hands, lifted and brought it down with every ounce of his strength on the statue’s head. Athena’s head and voice disappeared in a haze of detritus.
Anger still burning, Kratos spun and continued his search through the maze of corridors. Occasional creatures tried to bar his way but such was his wrath that he dispatched them and hardly noticed the blood on his hands, how he waded through ankle-deep gore on the floors or found his way to a room where a wizened man looked up in surprise.
Kratos saw that this room was the duplicate of the other where he had found the book that required deciphering. For a moment he thought he had gone back in time, but this robed man was different, as were details of the room. This atrium looked out toward the mountain where it seemed that the chrysalis had opened slightly but still nothing of its interior had been revealed. What caused Kratos to hesitate was a large mirror on one wall. The glass was both solid and fluid, rippling like the waves upon the sea.
The old man drew Kratos’ attention when he ran to the low wall surrounding the atrium and cried, “I will not let you reach the Sisters.”
Kratos needed the Translator if he were to proceed. As the man dashed away, Kratos grabbed. His fingers closed on the man’s robe, but to no avail. The fabric ripped. The Translator looked back, eyes wide with fear. He climbed atop the wall and then plunged to his death, past the edge of creation, before Kratos could reach him.
Kratos looked over the precipice. The man had died as a coward—but he had denied Kratos what he required most. Stride quick, he walked back to the pedestal and examined the book. Undecipherable without the skills the now dead Translator possessed. Why else would the man kill himself other than to prevent Kratos from learning what was in this volume? Kratos found himself transfixed by the mirror, which was unlike any he had ever seen. Polished bronze served women well, but this was glass—and yet it wasn’t.
Kratos walked to it and stared at his reflection. He reached out slowly, but his fingertips paused, never touching the surface. The curious ripples in his reflection told him this was not a perfect mirror—but it showed him. Turning his head to one side, he saw a shimmer deep within the mirror. A quick turn to look over his shoulder convinced him the mirror showed more than what was in the chamber.
On impulse Kratos reached out to touch the mirror’s surface, but he found no resistance. This was definitely not an ordinary looking glass. With a deep breath Kratos plunged into the mirror.
Where shards ought to have cut his flesh he found himself in a peculiar green sea, moving at normal speed while all else slowed. It was as if he had used the Amulet of the Fates, but he felt his guts twisting about and knew entering the mirror was different. He whirled about and stepped back through the mirror to find the green fog gone but the Translator only now looking up from the book.
Kratos had gone back in time. Just a handful of seconds. The Translator tried to kill himself again, but Kratos circled his waist with a strong arm and lifted him bodily to drop him in front of the book.
“Ghost of Sparta?” the Translator rasped out in a frightened voice. “It was foretold that you would come, but I will not let you reach the Sisters.”
Kratos bent one arm behind the man in a hammerlock and grasped the back of his head with the other so he could not look away from the book.
“Read the words.”
“You must not reach the Sisters. All will be destroyed. Do you understand this?” The Translator groaned as Kratos applied pressure to the hammerlock to emphasize his command.
“Read!” When the man tried to shake his head, Kratos slammed him face-forward into the book. Blood flowed. “This is your purpose. Die with honor.”
“Divine Sisters of Fate, hear these words. I have proven my resolve.
I seek your divine wisdom and power …”
The Translator attempted to get away. Kratos slammed him down into the book again, then gripped his hair to pull his face up so he could continue deciphering the peculiar runes.
“Show me the path to your great temple.” He cried out in pain and fright. “No, Kratos! This will be the end of us all. Stop!”
“Read!”
Sobbing, the Translator read, “… and I will lay my life before you.”
Kratos made sure he did. Life fluids from the man’s broken body ran into the shallow blood gutters on the floor, again outlining a Phoenix with widespread wings. Kratos looked out from the atrium and saw what he had mistaken as a huge insect chrysalis on a pillar of ash opening more, spreading wings that could span the distance from Athens to Sparta. The Phoenix’s eyes glowed, but the bird did not stir otherwise.
Above, clouds moved away so that the sun shone brightly on the bird. As sunlight moved across its chest and lit its head, it slowly opened its mouth. Cradled within the cavernous mouth gleamed a building of ivory and gold.
The Temple of the Fates.
Kratos went to the low railing and tried to find the base of that ashen spire now capped with a Phoenix but could not. The sides were too sheer to climb. And the distance to the Temple of the Fates was incalculable. Still, he had to risk using the wings of Icarus to fly. That was the most direct path. Before he could step to the railing, he felt a presence in the room.
The reddish apparition of Lahkesis again spoke to him.
“You are impudent, mortal who once was a god. No one petitions the Sisters of Fate without our permission. I do not grant you that boon.”
Kratos stared at the Sister. The staff in her hand drew his attention. The wickedly curved blade at the end was more than a formidable weapon. He suspected that with this razored edge she severed threads of fate.
But she had not cut his. She toyed with him.
“What would be necessary for you to give me such an audience?” Kratos saw surprise cross her face. A small smile curled the corner of her mouth, but the amusement died as quickly as it came. This told him she was unlikely to cut his thread of destiny without something more.
What more could it be? His mind raced.
“You have proven an annoyance far too long.”
“To you? Or to your sisters?” Kratos saw the shock again on the Sister’s face and knew how to proceed. “You control the fate of the world, but it must become tiresome.”
“I eliminate continents, mortals by the thousands, gods,” Lahkesis said proudly.
“The job wears on your imagination. That is why you have allowed me to come this far.”
“Atropos—” Lahkesis began. She cut off the sentence. “I do not have time for your impudence.” She lifted the scythe, but Kratos saw no thread running to him. Perhaps a mortal or even a god or Titan could not see what the Sisters of Fate did, but he was in their inner sanctum. Hiding the threads would serve no purpose if no one entered. He hoped that the threads being spun were not visible only to the Sisters of Fate.
“So your sister has been my guide thus far,” he said. “She is the one who tires of the sameness of her job.”
“Atropos is a poseur.”
“Your skill is greater?” he asked. Kratos put enough doubt into the question to infuriate the sister.
“It is! Far greater! Atropos mimics me, nothing more, and she does it poorly.” Lahkesis floated upward, clutched her staff in both hands as if ready to lash out, then stared down at him. Kratos saw the subtle change in her visage.
“Perhaps we should grant an audience, but you must prove yourself worthy.”
Kratos knew that anything he said at this moment would change the sister’s sudden resolve to show up Atropos, to continue to enjoy the challenges she placed in front of him. He was under no illusion that Lahkesis would not end his existence in an instant, should she tire of him. Whatever she commanded of him now would almost certainly result in his return to the Underworld.
“Kratos, like the fiery Phoenix who is resurrected from his ashes, you, too, search for a second chance at life. Find these ashes and free the Phoenix. Only then will you find the path to the Temple of the Fates.”
The ghost of the Sister faded from sight. Faint laughter followed her. He stepped away from the railing and glanced toward the mirror. How could he turn its time-changing property to his own advantage? Perhaps he did not need the Sisters of Fate to reverse his destiny but could use this mirror.
It would not be that easy. It could not. He had gone back only seconds in time, not the long weeks necessary to return to Rhodes and slay Zeus.
Kratos left the atrium and went down a curving corridor that led to a capstan with steam leaking around it. He looked up, then began turning the crank to lower the plug. Steam billowed all around him so he could stretch out his wings and soar upward on the thermal air current. Spiraling about, he deftly landed on a platform above. Folding his wings, he ran deeper into the palace, alert for traps and guards.
There was no need for either. He came to a vast cavern filled with glowing magma from the heart of the world. The heat tore at his face and chest, but Kratos saw in it another chance to use the wings of Icarus. He stepped off the floor, extended the pinions, and banked quickly, making his way across the fiery floor, avoiding occasional bubbling geysers of molten rock to finally land on a platform at the far side.
Ahead of him billowed even more intense heat radiating from the magma over which he had flown. To enter this chamber unprotected would mean instant death. Looking around, he saw a tall stone statue. Putting his back to it, he scooted the statue out and used it as a shield to get closer to the flames shooting from the far wall. Barely had he begun his journey across the room than Hades Legionnaires surged forward to engage him. Kratos found himself at a disadvantage, having to remain behind the statue. The creatures from hell had no such problem. If anything, they relished the intense heat and flame that licked at their hindquarters as they brandished their scythes and curved war axes.
Kratos swung his war hammer and caught one Hades Legionnaire with the spiked surface. A second blow knocked the monster to its knees. A third crushed it. But while he fought one, the second came at him from the rear with an attack that almost took him by surprise. Rather than a sword, this legionnaire simply shoved him forward.
The flames bathed him and burned at his flesh. Kratos spun and grappled with the creature of Hades. His fingers crushed one arm and distracted the legionnaire long enough for Kratos to gather his strength, bend low, and then heave. He swung the creature high, then smashed it to the floor. Kratos whirled around, still holding its arm, and banged it into the rear of the statue. Another hard slam to the floor ended its life.
Kratos pressed into the blisters that dotted his massive chest and sneered. They were badges of honor to him. He lowered his head, pushed hard against the statue, and moved it closer to the flame wall until he could see a point high on the ceiling above to grapple, catch, and swing past. He landed hard beyond the wall, rolled, and came to his feet.
Ahead stretched another chamber filled with molten rock, but this time Kratos dared to hope that he had reached the Phoenix Chamber. In the middle of the ocean of liquid rock stood a ring of columns, the magma bubbling and boiling between them. The sulfur scent made his nose wrinkle, but he also smelled the hint of victory that hung in the air. Standing in an alcove was an intricately decorated urn.
He tried pushing the urn toward the ring of columns, but it proved too heavy for even his immense strength. Kratos stepped back and looked above, seeing a track. He walked back toward the boiling lake of lava and found a lever behind the head of a Phoenix statue. Pulling hard on the lever caused the grappling mechanism to activate. A platform above rolled over the urn and lowered a chain outfitted with a metal collar. Kratos fastened the collar around the lip of the urn, then returned to the lever and pushed it back. Chains rattled, and the winch on the rolling platform above began wh
irring. The urn lifted from the floor so the platform could roll toward the columns in the molten lake.
The urn stopped directly over the center of the columns before the collar released and sent it hurtling downward. The heat consumed the urn, but dancing sparks rose above the magma, swirling about and settling down on the boiling surface in the pattern of the Phoenix.
Kratos stepped back and reached for his swords when a head appeared in the molten rock. The columns constrained the creature as the magma beneath it rose slowly. More and more of the Phoenix’s writhing body was revealed. Wings formed. The beak snapped as the head took on more definition. Then the Phoenix arched its back and became whole atop the rising pillar of lava.
The Phoenix exploded upward, bursting through the ceiling and leaving behind a hole that showed azure sky beyond.
Kratos explored and found an elevator to a higher level that overlooked the sea. The Phoenix struggled atop the pillar of molten rock, unable to escape. Its wings flapped futilely trying to get free. It spun about, but no amount of fury released it from its invisible bonds.
A long horn at the edge of the terrace drew Kratos. He placed his lips against the horn, remembering how he had summoned Cronos in the Desert of Lost Souls, pursed his lips, and loosed a powerful call. The resonant note built and radiated outward, encompassing the Phoenix and the column of magma holding it. The Phoenix shivered as if cold, then shot upward, free of its molten bondage.
Kratos watched as the bird with flaming feathers circled and then settled on a perch halfway between him and the prodigious Phoenix statue with the ivory-and-gold palace in its mouth.
He had freed the Phoenix and had won the right to an audience with the Sisters of Fate.
“LORD POSEIDON,” Iris said, bowing slightly. “I had thought to find King Zeus.”
God of War 2 Page 24