by J. M. Barlog
Then came more insistent pounding. From the force shuddering the timbers, Atreus thought a thirty-foot giant beckoned them.
“More importantly, I know what you are!” the voice added, with such a casual delivery that it crawled under Kratos’ skin.
“What’s going on, Father? Do you know him?” Atreus whispered, too terrified to move.
Kratos silenced his son with a stern glare and a scolding hand before advancing to the door. Once there, he leaned his full weight against it to keep it closed.
“Quickly, below the floor. Hurry!” Kratos ordered, scanning the room for a defensive strategy.
“But… you told me—”
“Not now!”
“—never to go down there,” Atreus finished.
Kratos braced the front door closed with a timber plank he stationed beside it for that very purpose, before racing over to a black bearskin rug, flipping it back to reveal a trapdoor painted with a runic symbol.
“Who is that? What is he talking about?” Atreus asked in a frightened whisper.
Atreus had never seen his father this apprehensive. Even when confronted by the huge woodland troll, his father charged rather than retreated. He had never witnessed his father showing fear in even the slightest form.
Kratos yanked open the trapdoor to reveal a five-foot-deep crawl space beneath the house. In one corner, a rectangular timber crate sat in the low light flooding the hole.
“I do not know. Get in,” Kratos whispered.
Atreus obeyed, infected by the concern in his father’s voice.
With his son safely ensconced in the crawl space, Kratos replaced the boards and rug before returning to the door. For a moment, he contemplated drawing his axe. That was what the old Kratos would have done. The new Kratos decided against it, hoping to defuse the imminent confrontation before it could escalate into violence.
“Just tell me what I want to know! No need for this to get bloody,” the voice chimed from a distance.
Kratos removed the brace and flung the door open.
With fists planted on his hips, Kratos marched out, his face grim and imposing. In a glance, he appraised the man presenting himself at their home. After a pause, Kratos eased the door closed behind him.
The stranger—a slight, unimposing man, appearing no older than Kratos—was bare-chested, with rune tattoos scattered about his flesh. He stood, smileless. Bead-ended braids dangled from his full brown beard. Close-cropped hair collected the snowflakes flurrying around them. Clothes tattered and threadbare, he presented himself more as a beggar than a man of means. His soulless, penetrating gaze left his face unreadable.
He stared curiously at Kratos for a time, as if to size him up. It seemed he was waiting for Kratos to speak. Kratos noticed his bony fingers curled reflexively into fists.
“Huh. Thought you’d be bigger. But you are definitely the one,” the stranger said slowly, drawing out his words. His colorless lips curled into a smirk.
Kratos remained silent.
“You’re a long way from home, aren’t you?” the stranger said with a devious glint. If fear dwelled inside this man, he hid it completely.
Kratos raised a curious brow. He had never seen this scrawny Norseman before, yet the man seemed to know more about him than he had ever revealed to anyone other than his wife.
“What do you want?” Kratos’ hands also balled into fists, his biceps and neck muscles hardening to rock. He decided on his first move should the man advance. Why would this one, so ill-equipped for such a fight, instigate a confrontation? He brandished no weapons. Surely, with an inadequate stature and impotent arms, he knew he could never defeat the God of War.
“You already know the answer to that,” the stranger chided. A gloating smile crossed his face. In the next second it disappeared.
“Whatever you seek, I do not have it. You should move on.”
The stranger sighed, shaking his head.
“And here I thought your kind was supposed to be enlightened. So much better than us. So much smarter. Yet you hide out like a frightened rabbit in these woods… you pathetic coward.”
Kratos advanced a single step, removing his hands from his hips while releasing his fists to open palms by his sides.
“You do not wish this fight, whoever you are,” Kratos said, his voice fraught with warning. Undaunted, the stranger advanced three steps to place himself within arm’s reach of the God of War. His stare never left Kratos, who remained rock steady.
“Oh, I am pretty sure I do.”
Before Kratos could react, the stranger relaxed his fists. In the next second, he backslapped Kratos hard across his face.
Kratos held his stance, reminded himself of the vow he had made when he came to this land. He forced his arms to remain at his sides, though all his muscles were ready.
Fire bloomed in Kratos’ eyes. Feeling the uncontrollable rage returning, the rage he swore he would never revert to, he exhaled deeply, forcing himself to relax. He refused to allow this spineless woodsman to goad him into a fight.
“Leave my home now,” Kratos spat. The stranger only smiled, revealing carious teeth and his willingness to fight. Or was it a willingness to die?
“You will have to kill me for that to happen,” he responded calmly.
In a dizzying blur, the stranger attacked with a series of hard, wild punches, hurling his feeble weight into the God of War.
Kratos caught the fourth punch, crushing the man’s fist within his. “I warned you,” he snarled.
Unflinching, the stranger released a sigh of relief, waiting for what was to come. An elated smile formed across the man’s grimy face.
Kratos could only assume the man had lost all sanity. He failed to understand the expression. Who was this man? And more importantly, what was this man, that he would eagerly await a fatal outcome?
Drawing back his fist, Kratos delivered a hard hook to the stranger’s jaw, which sent the man awkwardly to the ground on one knee.
“Why do you not heed my warning?” Kratos said.
As the stranger remained motionless on his knee, Kratos risked a glance over his shoulder at the house, wondering at that moment what, if anything, he should tell his son. This was not the person he wanted his son to know about. The Kratos-of-the-past was not the Kratos-of-the-present.
The stranger’s rising brought Kratos’ face back to him.
The man’s visage turned up in a strange display of pleasure at what had occurred. “No. No, no, no, no. Fine. Now my turn,” the stranger said.
The stranger charged, launching a fierce uppercut, which sent Kratos flying into the air, skipping across the roof of his house, and finally coming to rest in his yard.
This was no ordinary man.
The stranger followed with an enormous leap, landing less than a dozen paces from the God of War.
Kratos rolled away, springing to his feet and planting them firmly to brace for another onslaught.
“How incredibly disappointing. Come on then,” the stranger taunted.
When Kratos charged, the stranger leveraged the God of War’s superior weight against him, flinging him into the side of his house. He laughed when Kratos bounced off the structure to hurl himself at him.
The stranger responded by grabbing Kratos as if he were a ragdoll, leaping high into the air with him in his clutches to slam him into the overhanging roof. Straddled over Kratos, the stranger unleashed a flurry of rapid, debilitating punches, the unseeing gaze of a madman on his face.
“This is real simple. Tell me what I want, and the pain stops,” the stranger shouted.
Kratos worked his right arm free. Ramming his fist into the old man’s face again and again, then throwing him off, he slammed the stranger onto the roof so hard that the thatch gave way, revealing the room’s contents below through a gaping hole.
The stranger rolled Kratos onto his back, hovering his fist just above his face. But instead of slamming it into Kratos, the stranger craned his neck for a better
view of the house’s interior.
“Why are there two beds?”
Kratos whacked the stranger’s unprotected jaw, while at the same time bucking the man off and onto the roof. The God of War dove on top of the flailing stranger, threw the man’s arms aside, and unleashed his own flurry of debilitating punches.
The stranger, however, recovered quickly, deflecting Kratos’ blows and using his superior strength to seize Kratos by the neck and fling him into the garden behind the house.
“Struck a nerve, did I?” the stranger asked casually, raising a brow.
The man displayed no bruising, had no bleeding, and maintained complete control of his limbs despite the pummeling Kratos had delivered.
Kratos heaved up a nearby tree trunk, one damaged from their earlier exchange, and the stranger charged in response. When he was within range, Kratos swung the trunk in a wide arc, batting him back across the yard, where he crashed into the rake of the roof.
He had to prevent the stranger from entering his house and possibly uncovering the trapdoor. Above all else, he had to protect Atreus. Was that what this was all about? Did he intend to take or harm his son?
Kratos had to shut down his brain—act purely on instinct. As he raced toward the house, the stranger slid awkwardly off the roof. Kratos rammed him full force when the stranger hit the ground.
“Who are you hiding?” the stranger questioned, while repeatedly battering Kratos’ ribs. He slammed down on Kratos with both fists, sending him to the ground in a heap, then leapt to a nearby ridge where he lifted a boulder larger than himself.
“Catch!” he laughed.
Kratos commanded the frost and responded by launching his axe as hard as he could at the stranger, embedding it in the man’s chest, which forced him to take a knee. But he did not freeze! Somehow this one was unaffected by his axe’s most potent power. The act of Kratos recalling his axe caused the stranger to topple to the ground. In the next moment, the bleeding ceased, the wound closed up. Witnessing such supernatural power, the God of War ran at the stranger and grabbed him by the throat, dangling him off the ground.
“You are slow and old. You should never have come to Midgard,” the stranger taunted.
“You talk too much,” the God of War said.
Kratos pommeled the stranger’s face, intent on finishing him off before he might regain his strength. As the God of War’s strength began to wane, slowing his assault, the stranger leveraged Kratos’ shoulder to flip him rearward and reverse their positions. He unleashed a quick, powerful flurry of punches.
“I talk too much, and you refuse to talk. Fine. Maybe whoever is stashed in that house will? Oh, but don’t worry, I will be back. I am not finished with you yet.” The stranger smiled.
Rage consumed Kratos. Releasing a roar that reverberated through the forest, Kratos stormed across, grabbing the stranger by his throat and slamming him into the nearest tree. He repeatedly bashed him into the trunk until the tree teetered at an obtuse angle.
Tossing the stranger aside as if he were a bundle of rags, Kratos ripped the tree from the ground, ramming the rooted end into the man. Without so much as breaking a single stride, they crashed through the surrounding boulders and earth, ending up in a new area in the shadow of a massive carved stone monolith.
“Who are you afraid I will find?” the stranger shouted.
Kratos rammed the stranger into the monolith. He responded by jamming his fingers into the cracks of the tree trunk to tear it in half. Kratos began to realize his strength might be insufficient to defeat this one. The power this man controlled seemed far greater than any Kratos had encountered in his past life.
“Shall we find out?” the stranger said with a smirk.
Kratos leapt up to pull at the monolith with everything he could muster. It gave way, toppling on top of the stranger, crushing him beneath it.
Kratos heaved his chest to breathe, standing motionless for a moment.
It was over. Whoever this one was, he was dead now. Kratos could have spared his life, if he would have just walked away and left the God of War alone. He had no understanding of the type of person he had tangled with.
His body battered and aching, Kratos finally withdrew from the monolith, filling his lungs with deep, revitalizing breaths.
Five paces later he stopped. A low rumbling sounded. It could not be. That was impossible. No mortal could survive that.
“Leaving so soon?” The huge carving began to thunder as the stranger hoisted it above his head. He wore a relaxed smile.
“Why do you persist? You do not know who I am,” Kratos said.
“Evidently, you do not know who I am,” he responded, with a pride that seemed out of place.
“You have engaged in an unwinnable battle against me,” Kratos snarled.
“We are not done yet.” The stranger’s smile left his face.
The stranger elevated the monolith above his head and threw it at the God of War. Kratos caught the stone midair, and with a huge heave, launched it back. The stranger, in turn, caught it midflight, immediately charging at Kratos.
Kratos launched his full weight into the stranger, and they collided in the middle of the field. Both refused to budge. However, the thunderous fight caused the ground beneath them to give way; as the earth separated, they tumbled, still grappling, into the narrow space.
“Odin sent me for answers, but your vanity has turned this into a battle. Throw at me what you may, I will keep coming. That old body of yours will falter; your pain will become too great to bear. But before I end this, you must know one thing,” the stranger gasped.
He leaned in close with a savage visage.
“I cannot feel any of this.” He finished with a hearty laugh.
Then the stranger leapt across the gap, striking Kratos with a powerful uppercut, which launched him skyward. The stranger followed him up, and while Kratos scrabbled about on the ground, trying to regain his feet beneath him, the stranger stomped all over him before kicking him deep into the crevasse.
Kratos hit the bottom with a loud thud. He shook his head to clear his blurred vision. As he climbed the side of the crevasse, he could hear the stranger shouting.
“This fight is pointless. Your struggle is pointless. You cannot beat me.”
With trembling arms, Kratos emerged to assume a fighting stance across from the stranger.
“This again. Come on then.” The stranger’s smile crept all the way into Kratos’ soul.
Kratos charged, throwing a punch that swung the stranger into an awkward position. Then he tackled him, sliding in from behind and locking him in a reverse choke hold. Twisting with all his might, Kratos wrenched the stranger’s neck until his head turned almost completely backward.
“Come on, do it! Of everyone I have faced, I’d hoped you would have been able to make me feel something, but even you can’t,” the stranger taunted, straining.
Kratos grunted and heaved, finally snapping the stranger’s neck. A moment later, his limp body crumpled to the ground before the God of War. Exhausted, Kratos dumped the stranger’s carcass into the crevasse. He stood there for many minutes waiting, half-expecting the man to come back to life and spring up from the hole to attack once more. As his breathing slowed to a normal rhythm, Kratos accepted that he had ended the strange man’s life.
Shaking his head in a mixture of anger, disgust, and sadness, Kratos sighed before turning his back on the crevasse to return to his house.
“How did he know me and my past? How did he find me after all this time?” he muttered to himself.
Kratos surveyed the damage inside the house. The main structure remained intact, but the one corner where the roof had collapsed showed multiple cracks running the entire height of the adjoining walls. Dislodged cooking implements littered the floor throughout. Kratos kicked an iron pot into the hearth, ignoring the accompanying pain.
“Faye, what do I do?” he said in a whisper. “Our son is not ready for what you ask of us… I do
not know how I can do this without you.” He bent to the trapdoor.
He was grateful his son had remained safely tucked beneath the house. If the man had come for Atreus, he had died ignorant of his son’s location. Yet how would he have known about Atreus anyway? They lived a secluded, sheltered life in the forest. Kratos tried to understand what had brought the stranger there in the first place. Was it a chance encounter with a man seeking to confront the fabled God of War?
Kratos had come to this land specifically to hide his identity and change the man he once was. “How did he find me?” he muttered, throwing back the bearskin to pry open the trapdoor. “Boy.”
The daylight flooding in revealed Atreus curled in a darkened corner, with arms wrapped tightly around his legs and chin resting on his knees. Discerning his father through the harsh light, Atreus wiped away tears clinging to his pallid cheeks. He offered a relieved smile when he realized the chaos was over and his father was safe.
“There was so much… I thought you…” Atreus forced out, fighting back a new rush of tears, but this time tears of joy rather than anguish.
“You’re all right,” Atreus said, rising to his feet.
“I am uninjured. Come,” Kratos said with a level, unemotional voice, as if he had expected to be fine all along.
He offered a hand, raising his son out in one smooth pull to land on his feet beside him.
“Gather your things. We leave now,” Kratos commanded, leaving Atreus standing in confusion amid the disheveled room. A quick survey revealed more destruction than Atreus had even imagined. The gaping hole in the roof held his gaze. He could only imagine the force it took to batter through the roof timbers.
“What happened?”
His father busied himself near his bed, collecting everything he deemed vital for their journey.
“Why are we leaving? This is our home,” Atreus said. In defiance, he remained rooted, fully expecting a response. Abandoning their house so soon after losing his mother tore his heart out. If he left, would he be surrendering all his connections to her?
“Now, boy,” Kratos said from across the room, without turning to him.
