Every impact tore up more of the stone walkway and sent shards flying in all directions like deadly missiles. One long sliver of stone penetrated Kratos’ armor and pricked his skin. He yanked it out. The needle-sharp tip was red with his blood. With a mighty heave, Kratos threw it at the Colossus, only to watch it bounce harmlessly off the metal chest.
It took all of Kratos’ accumulated skill to avoid the metallic fist crashing downward again. Worse, as he recovered and hacked at the impervious arm, sending sparks flying in all directions, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.
“Kill him and we’ll be given more land than we can walk in a week!”
Four soldiers rushed him while he chopped at the arm of the Colossus, now sweeping along the stone walk in an attempt to bowl him over. Kratos vaulted the arm, rolled, and had a chance to attack the left forearm where some of the bronze plating hadn’t yet been installed. The rods within the arm provided him with better targets. One stout rod parted with a loud snap, causing the Colossus to recoil, allowing Kratos to deal with the attacking soldiers.
They proved easy opponents. Whether they fought for land or honor or their city-state hardly mattered. One after another perished under the slashing cuts Kratos delivered. As the last warrior died on the tip of his sword, Kratos saw movement. The Colossus staggered back, clutching its left arm where the wrist had been severed, leaving only a stump spewing scintillant blue sparks and a soul-chilling glow.
The abbreviated arm swung around, sending the light searing through the air, sizzling and burning with the sweep of the arm. Kratos ducked beneath the deadly blue beam, hands gripping the blades as he readied for another thrust. But the Colossus moved with speed far surpassing what a monster of such metallic bulk ought to achieve. The severed limb swept around but the good right hand smashed down, as if swatting an insect.
Kratos jumped aside at the last possible instant, but the mighty bronze hand crashed into the terrace. The impact caused him to fly up into the air. With an agile twist, he came about and got his feet under him—only to find that he landed not on the stone terrace but in the now outstretched hand. With a clatter of sandals against metal palm, he landed hard. The fingers curled over as the Colossus made a fist, intent on crushing him.
Both blades drove upward. One penetrated a finger trying to clamp down on him and smash life from his mortal body. The other hacked off a chunk of metal from the adjoining finger. Kratos let out a bellow of pain as the Colossus squeezed and the fingers came down atop him. Only the small amount of bronze cut from the finger saved him. Rough edges tore at his body, but he fit through the hole he had hacked and came out atop the fist. Using his blades as poles, he drove them into the backs of two fingers and used this position to lever himself free.
He tumbled to the terrace, rolled, and came to his feet, weapons ready. The Colossus retreated again, stared at the nick Kratos had put into its finger, and then swung back its stump with the blazing light in a vain attempt to catch the God of War off guard.
Kratos jumped to a nearby platform where a ballista had been loaded with a huge stone spear. The crew had long since abandoned their post and their mission to heave the missile out and smash the incoming Spartan ships. The bowstring was only half pulled back. Kratos grabbed the winch and put his full strength to drawing the bowstring taut. This was normally a job for four men, but Kratos was up to it. Muscles bulged on his powerful arms and rippled across his back as he worked.
The string snapped into place with a solid thunk.
He turned and moved the ballista about, aiming it for the ponderous metal giant still struggling out in the harbor. Burning blue eyes fixed on Kratos, and the mouth opened in a parody of a human grin. Cerulean light poured forth as the behemoth lumbered forward to attack once more. Kratos watched, estimated distances—and waited even longer. The Colossus was too slow moving to dodge the massive stone missile he was about to launch, but he wanted it to strike directly in the center of the metal face.
As the Colossus reached for him, Kratos triggered the ballista. The stone grated along wooden rails and erupted with a speed so great, it was hardly more than a blur. If it had struck any ship in the harbor, the vessel would have been doomed and sent directly to the bottom. But the heavy stone, despite its speed, did not strike the Colossus. Moving faster than it had any right to, the statue batted the stone away, delivering such a blow that the rock turned to dust.
Kratos recognized the danger he faced now. The essence that the eagle had drained from him had been fully transferred to the metal colossus. With every passing moment, the giant statue became stronger, faster, more capable.
“You will not defeat me this easily, Athena,” he said, determination hardening within his breast. “Taking my power will not succeed. I am the God of War!”
A huge bronze fist rose and fell, shaking the foundations of the building even as it destroyed everything in front of Kratos. He backed away, then took a running start and vaulted over the fist. Kratos landed heavily, facing three soldiers. With a mighty sweep of his swords, he sent two scurrying away, unwilling to engage him in combat. The remaining soldier died quickly, in time for Kratos to avoid another flat-handed smash from the Colossus.
The exposed left arm presented a tempting target, but he could not reach it with his blades. Instead, Kratos cut furiously at the right arm and produced a small nick—nothing more. As the metal giant reared back to strike again, Kratos jumped again to the ballista. There were no more massive stones to fling at the bronze statue—and there was no time to crank back the bowstring in any case. Kratos stood on the rails, pressed his back against the string, and used his powerful legs to push backward.
If he could not defeat the metal statue by brute force, he would attack in as unexpected a manner as possible.
Growling like an animal, he forced back the string inch by inch. Ahead of him, rearing up in the harbor, the Colossus returned to launch yet another crushing blow at him.
Kratos sagged when the bowstring snapped into place. But the lack of missile didn’t deter him. He remained in front of the bowstring, armored back pressed firmly into the launcher. As the bronze man moved directly in front of the ballista, Kratos released the trigger once more.
The sudden acceleration took away his breath as he sailed through the air in a direct line ending at the head of the Colossus. But again, the god-power-endowed metallic statue reacted with astounding speed to bat him high into the air. Kratos found himself looking down at the monstrous figure, then tumbling through the air, writhing about to avoid being caught between grasping fingers. His own agility and fighting prowess landed him on the statue’s cheekbone, near the glowing right eye.
“Graaah!”
Kratos’ battle cry reverberated off the metal face and across Rhodes as he lifted both swords and plunged them deep into the right eye. The Colossus responded as an animal might. It grabbed for him and its injured eye, but Kratos was no longer there to provide a victim for the crushing might of the metal fingers. He slid downward, reached a slippery bronze shoulder where he could find some purchase, and began hacking away at the exposed neck. Scratches appeared, then deeper notches.
And then those fingers he had successfully avoided thus far finally found him, plucked him away, and flung him high into the air. This time Kratos screamed in frustration as he hurtled toward a stolid building on the far side of the harbor.
ATHENA PAUSED at the doorway leading into Zeus’ throne room. The Sky Father sat rigidly on the edge of his raised throne, leaning forward as he listened intently to his brother Hades. Whatever they discussed provoked heated emotions. Athena found it difficult not to storm forward and interrupt, but a speck of caution remained and smothered her anger.
She pressed her hand to her cheek, trying to assure herself she was in full control. She had been increasingly irrational of late, and noticed it. It was as if she had somehow separated body from spirit, her body taking charge as her soul ranged wide and far, taking all logic with i
t.
Zeus glanced up and stared at her, but it was as if she did not exist. He turned back to his brother and shot to his feet. The low argument now boiled out loud and clear.
“You will do no such thing!”
“He cheated me! No one should escape the Lord of the Underworld. Tell me how it was possible that Kratos climbed back from his death in the Temple of Pandora without help. It wasn’t Ares helping him. He was hotheaded but would have taken pleasure knowing his mortal irritant had been assigned to my realm.” Hades held out a bony hand, closed it into a fist, and squeezed. Black dust cascaded onto Zeus’ feet.
“What are you saying, my brother?” Zeus ignored the grave dust on his sandals.
“Athena thwarted me! She helped him escape the crossing of the Styx!”
Athena watched her father’s reaction and knew for certain that he had been the god aiding Kratos as the gravedigger. She had suspected but until this moment had no solid proof.
“Welcome, daughter,” Zeus said, looking back at her, as if seeing her for the first time. “Come closer. Your uncle was telling me of your interference with his realm.”
“It is of Kratos I have come to speak, Father,” she said. Athena nodded politely in Hades’ direction but did not address him. He had worked himself up into a fury, thinking she had dug the grave near the temple to allow Kratos’ escape.
“She champions his cause still! He has brought only discord to Olympus, Zeus. You cannot permit this to endure any more than you can allow Athena’s meddling in matters reserved to my kingdom!”
Hades was so angry that his dark face smoked, as if he were on fire within. He clutched his hands together so hard, a steady cascade of ash floated to the travertine floor in front of Zeus’ throne.
“My uncle should have been a poet, so great is his imagination. Perhaps you have been speaking with Homer as he explores the Elysian Fields?”
Hades brought his fist back to strike her but a dazzling lightning bolt rent the air above his head. Hades spun and glared at Zeus. Before he could say a word, a new flash caused Hades to step away. He spun about, rose into the air, and vanished in a sooty tornado. Zeus lowered the hand used to cast his lightning, then made a quick sweeping motion. The ash on the floor disappeared. Athena could not help but notice that the greasy blackness on Zeus’ sandals remained when he dropped back onto his throne.
Once more he was the stoic Sky Father, King of the Gods, looking regal and as if nothing had disturbed him.
“My daughter petitions for Kratos again?”
She started to agree, then shook her head. “No, Father, but I do beseech you to show mercy. Your plans for Kratos are hidden to me, but through your good graces I was allowed to place him on Ares’ throne.”
“Ares’ insanity destroyed him. Kratos provided only the final toss of the dice in a game Ares could no longer play.”
“The other gods have humiliated Kratos,” she began, but Zeus’ deep-throated laughter stopped further words.
“Kratos humiliated? Never! His pride knows no bounds. It is I who am wronged. He refuses to obey and brings discord to Olympus. How often have I found him eyeing me with malice?”
“He is right to be angered that you did not give him surcease from his nightmares,” she said.
“All I do is for a reason, daughter. He has chosen to ignore your warnings, and his behavior now threatens all in Olympus.
“All, Sky Father?” she said, staring boldly at him. “Or is there more? Do you fear your own creation and what he is capable of?”
“Like Ares, he refuses to obey me. Kratos did not seize the throne of the God of War. I allowed him to ascend. Am I not the Lord of Olympus? I control all that happens.”
Athena did not answer this because her father’s tone indicated he believed it. Or had he forgotten the role of the Sisters of Fate in the Titanomachy? If they had not been favorably inclined toward the gods during the Great War, the Titans would still reign supreme.
Rather, she said, “Discord spreads on Olympus, my father. You have seen how your brother, my uncle, acts.”
“Poseidon is testy, also,” Zeus said, stroking his long white beard of billowing clouds. Gold rings engraved with his name held thick strands together. With a toss of his head, he got his long white hair out of his eyes—pupil-less eyes that glowed the blue of the sky surrounding Olympus. An air of thoughtfulness descended. Athena wondered at what went on behind those blank eyes.
“Kratos is the cause. Speak to him, my father. Convince him with your eloquence to return peace to Olympus.”
“Would he listen to me? He has scorned your attempt to aid him.” Zeus answered his own question. A sly smile crept to his lips. “Of course he will listen to me. He needs to be taught humility because he reaches for that which he cannot have.” His eyes darted to a curtained alcove on the far side of the audience chamber. Athena watched Zeus’ expression alter from one of confidence, even arrogance, to something … else.
She looked over her shoulder as a gentle breeze blowing through the chamber stirred rose petals on the floor and the curtain. The glimpse of Pandora’s Box caused her to stiffen with sudden apprehension that Zeus would notice her attention on the box rather than on him.
“What?” The question escaped Athena before she could stop. She took a step forward, one foot on the lowest step leading to the throne of the ruler of the gods.
“He seeks to depose me, just as Ares tried. No god—or goddess—will ever assume this throne. It is mine and mine alone to rule Olympus.” His voice rose shrilly, and he half stood from the throne, his powerful body tense. Athena saw a touch of madness matching Ares’ in her father, and it frightened her. A dozen thoughts tumbled in her head on how to forestall any attempt on his part to exert more control over the other gods. There were always plans and secret schemes brewing among the easily bored of Olympus, but Zeus was in a singular position of power.
Again Zeus looked past her to Pandora’s Box, but he turned his attention fully on her before she could say anything more.
“Kratos has no aspiration for your throne, Father,” she said, then paused, thinking about this. She shook her head as certainty settled on her about Kratos’ motives. “He only makes war using his Spartan soldiers to strike back at offenses heaped upon his head by the others.”
“I have treated him fairly,” Zeus said.
“He does not see that,” Athena said.
“He cannot. Therefore, I must make him, if harmony is to be restored in Olympus.” Zeus settled back on his throne, arms crossed and tiny storms billowing in his beard of braided clouds.
Athena heard more than the tiny claps of thunder produced by those storms. She sensed violent winds blowing through her beloved Olympus.
“SUCH A LOVELY PATTERN,” Clotho cooed as she shifted her immense sluglike bulk to get more comfortable at her spinning wheel. Amid the whine of threads flying from her spinneret came far-distant cries of pain as entire armies met the fate decreed by the Sisters of Fate. “I cannot remember if I have ever spun such a fine design before. Have I, dear sister?”
Atropos looked up from her own work, measuring the length of a thread of destiny tied to a rod to maintain tension. If it slackened, she might have to remeasure and give the boon of a longer life to the young king tethered to the far end. Worse, he might die too quickly should impetuous Lahkesis cut prematurely because of the drooping fate. Atropos stretched out a talon-fingered hand, using her long nails to mark off the proper life-length on the thread.
“Why, sister, have you decided so quickly on this one?” Clotho asked, looking over from the spinneret snaking out destinies.
“I hope to toy with him a bit longer,” said Atropos, with a sigh. She rose into the air, black tendrils swirling where a mortal’s legs and feet would be. She whirled about, then settled down to stroke along another thread of fate spun by Clotho. “How long should this one be?” she mused.
“You’re asking my opinion?” Clotho laughed. “Of course not, dear
sister. You never do. You are so dedicated to your work that you never need advice.”
“We have enjoyment enough playing with the mortals—”
“And the gods,” cut in Clotho. “We need to spend more time with them and less with the petty mortals.”
“So say you. I find enough diversion with the mortals.”
Atropos ran her talons along myriad strands, some glowing gold and others plain and white, as of cotton or other mundane material, and finally plucked one.
“Kratos,” Clotho said, seeing the ebony thread that occupied her sister’s attention. “That one will give us trouble. I feel it. Let me—”
“Stop!” Atropos thrust out her long talons to prevent her sister from spinning a new thread of fate for Kratos. “We agreed, the three of us, about him.”
“He talks with Titans,” Clotho said.
“We defeated the Titans when we placed the gods atop Olympus. They are no longer interesting.”
“Do not become obsessed with him. Sister, return to your work and let Lahkesis tend to him. There are so many threads for us to spin and measure.”
“You are right,” said Atropos, ignoring Kratos’ black thread in favor of another, more interesting one. “I am concentrating on an important mortal. He wiggles and darts about but has no hope of evading the fate I have in store for him.”
“Not another of those tedious diseases you are so fond of?” Clotho reared back, her gelatinous body rippling, and looked at the tangle of destinies she had contrived to bring together. Nations were naught but intricate patterns of individual fates. She had fashioned a fine tapestry this time, one that would be remembered for all time by the mortals.
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