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.
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
