God of War--The Official Novelization

by J. M. Barlog

  To avoid ice chunks that were caving into the crevasse, Kratos and Atreus jumped across the opening to a rock handhold, where they began climbing around old frozen city structures. A deafening thunderclap forced a monstrous chunk of ice to separate from the side, altering the path through the chasm.

  “Where are they?” a voice wavered to them in the cold air.

  “Magni,” Mimir whispered. That single word choked off his breathing.

  “I fucking hate Midgard,” another voice said. “How do we even know they’re here?”

  “You think that hammer fell on its own?” Magni, the taller and more muscular of the brothers, said. Both Odin sycophants wore full rubiginous beards and wielded broadswords.

  “We find them, the kid is mine, right?” Modi queried a moment later, his face lighting up at the very thought of the potential carnage.

  “What is the matter with you?” Magni said. Inhaling deeply, he filled his lungs to capacity with the biting air. “I smell a dwarf. You smell a dwarf? Let’s go hack up the little shit.”

  Their voices trailed off as they seemingly progressed away from Kratos and the boy, who remained perfectly still. The last thing they wanted was another fight. Just get the chisel tip and get clear of those two, Kratos reminded himself.

  “Stay quiet,” he said.

  Resuming their climb out of the crevasse once they felt certain the danger had passed, they leapt onto a small ledge. Returning to their feet, Magni and Modi stood less than fifty paces upwind. Kratos had mistakenly concluded the two men had wandered away, but they hadn’t, they had just gone silent.

  Drawing swords, a swaggering Magni and jittery Modi charged Kratos, while Atreus drew his bow and nocked an arrow. His first shot zipped high and wide of Magni, which only brought out a wolfish grin. Kratos parried wildly to keep the brothers from launching any semblance of a coordinated attack. The brothers, realizing the unstable ground beneath them might fail to support their fight, retreated quickly to regroup on the other side of an icy ridge.

  “They’re running!” Atreus called. “Do we go after them?”

  Kratos climbed to higher ground, heading directly away from where the brothers had disappeared.

  “That would be a no,” the lad concluded. He then asked Mimir, “Those were the men threatening you on the mountain?”

  “Aye. Magni and Modi, sons of Thor. Be wary of those two, desperate to impress their da. They are far more powerful and more dangerous than they appear.”

  “Mother always said the Aesir were the worst gods, and Thor was the worst of the Aesir. Guess he’s a terrible father as well,” Atreus said.

  “They are no longer children. They have no excuse,” Kratos said.

  Just as Atreus and Kratos crested the ridge, the path behind them completely collapsed, toppling them through the roof of a spacious vaulted room with a large dining table, which Mimir immediately recognized.

  “Ah, the great dining hall. Envy of all Midgard. Funny, I remember there being a massive candelabrum adorning the table. Really livened up the place.”

  Kratos scanned the space.

  “If memory serves, the Jarl’s throne was just on the other side of that wall of ice,” Mimir said.

  Kratos hacked into the wall until he created a hole large enough to peer through.

  “I see a throne. I think we can get through there,” Atreus said.

  A few more powerful hacks and the wall split open enough for them to climb through. Atreus immediately went to the runes scrawled on the wall behind the throne.

  “I think this is Njörd’s own mark. The god they worshipped came to dinner?” he said.

  “Sounds like Njörd to me. Affable fellow, formidable drinker. The Vanir always were a more personable sort of god than the Aesir.”

  As they made their way out of the chamber, voices echoed off the crevasse walls, making it impossible to discern the exact direction from which they came.

  * * *

  “We should’ve stayed and fought them right there,” Modi harped.

  “We fight on our terms. We needed better footing,” Magni shot back, trying to act as the voice of reason.

  “Is that what you tell yourself, you spineless weasel?”

  “Shh! You hear something?”

  Kratos and Atreus skulked around a corner into the ruins of an ornately carved domed rotunda. Across the expanse, the vital chisel tip glowed in a chunk of ice larger than Kratos.

  “Enough. Uncle said to bring them back alive. We can’t just attack without figuring out how we—” Magni said.

  “Uncle said? Uncle said. Then why isn’t he here? It is because he wants us to fa—” Modi stopped.

  “They’re here,” Magni declared.

  * * *

  “Hurry, brother, we need to get a piece of that chisel and be gone before they spot us,” urged Mimir.

  Kratos and Atreus had advanced no more than a half-dozen strides when a hulking ogre dropped down from the rotunda dome to block their path. Magni, covered in speckled ogre blood, rode its back with a wide grin across his face.

  “Too late,” Mimir said, catching only a glimpse of the desperate scene from his position on Kratos’ belt. His eye swiveled frantically from side to side.

  With a sickening crack, Magni wrenched the ogre’s neck to kill him dead where he landed.

  Jumping off, he planted his feet in a fighting stance, fixed on Kratos. His smile faded. Hatred took over his stare.

  “You’re next,” he said bluntly.

  From a ledge on the other side of the chamber, Modi dropped into the rotunda to join his brother.

  Hoisting the ogre’s limp body overhead, Magni heaved it out of the way.

  “Surrender!” Modi demanded.

  “The Allfather demands it,” Magni added, his vicious stare all-consuming.

  “Never,” Kratos shouted, with raging fire in his voice. He tightened his grip on his axe, widened his stance, and braced to take on both demigods himself. He had witnessed the one brother’s strength, but had yet to determine just how powerful the other might be.

  “This fight is mine alone, boy. Go,” Kratos ordered.

  Atreus attempted to flee, but before he could advance three strides, Modi shifted his charge, cutting the boy off. There would be no escape.

  “Where you think you’re goin’, you little cretin worm?” Modi sneered, with a vicious gap-toothed smile. “Look, brother, the little shit’s got a bow. What are we gonna do?”

  Kratos juggled his fight between the two demigods, alternating blows back and forth to keep both men at bay. Magni focused his assault on Kratos, while Modi seemed intent on hounding the boy, who was raining hastily-aimed errant arrows his way.

  “Come ’ere, half-breed. You’re done holding your father’s hand,” Modi goaded.

  Kratos worked to fight Modi off, but the demigod, with sword clutched in both hands, delivered a flurry of well-placed vicious parries, effective against the God of War’s assault. Following up with repeated fierce jabs kept Kratos at bay. Each time Kratos focused his attention on Magni, Modi renewed his charge at the boy.

  “Look at you, all weak and half-formed. How did you manage to crawl out of your crib?” Modi chided.

  “Shut up!” Atreus yelled.

  “Ha! Those skinny little arms can barely draw back your flimsy bow.”

  “I said shut up!”

  “Calm yourself, boy,” Kratos warned.

  Modi only laughed, inching closer to the lad, waving his blade menacingly.

  “Why do you hunt us?” Kratos gasped between cuts of his axe, returning his fight to Magni.

  “Don’t know. Don’t care,” Magni replied.

  “Hey, boy, your mother must be some whore to lie with the likes of him,” Modi jabbed.

  Fear, anger, and despair all collided in an explosion of emotion in Atreus’ brain. Discarding his bow, he charged Modi with his hunting knife, snarling like a crazed animal.

  “I will kill you!” he yelled.
r />   “Control, boy!” Kratos shouted.

  Atreus’ unexpectedly foolish charge captured Magni’s attention, but only for a moment. And in that unguarded moment, Kratos caught the demigod with a hew of his axe. The blade sliced effortlessly through Magni’s neck, the screech of his death wail ripping into his brother’s ears. His body quaked uncontrollably for a few seconds, before collapsing lifeless to the floor.

  Modi half turned, frozen in place. A demigod killed by a mortal?

  “Magni! No!” he uttered in a panic, retreating. “How did you? You have no idea what—” he screamed at Kratos, while flailing his sword wildly to fend off the God of War. “Who are you, you sonofabitch?”

  “You’re next,” Kratos said calmly, devoid of emotion. His stare turned vacant, soulless.

  Unleashing his weapon on a now frightened Modi, Kratos advanced. Modi’s courage, however, evaporated, so he fled. Atreus rapidly fired off a volley of high and wide arrows at the demigod, before Kratos took up the chase.

  “Come back, you damn coward! I will rip your head off!” Atreus shouted, his heart pounding out of control, his chest heaving.

  Without warning, the lad doubled over, forced to his knees, gasping to breathe. A moment later, he erupted into a coughing fit so brutal that he felt his guts being pulled into his throat. His suffering forced Kratos to abandon any chase and, instead, spin about in time to see his son buckle to the floor. Visibly frustrated, all he could do was watch Modi escape before rushing to his son’s side. Atreus continued to cough violently into his hand.

  “The sickness… your fever has returned,” Kratos said, taking a knee beside the boy.

  “No… it… hasn’t,” Atreus forced out weakly.

  Kratos turned Atreus’ hand over, to see splattered blood covering the lad’s palm.

  “I… will be… all… right,” Atreus spat between coughs.

  “Son,” Kratos said. His voice rumbled with frustration, but mostly fear for his child.

  Atreus read the dire concern across his father’s face. There was more anxiety than he expected to see.

  “The coughing, the blood. Your boy is sick. He needs help,” Mimir said.

  Shaking his head, Atreus brought his coughing under control; he staggered to regain his footing, wobbling like a newborn fawn struggling to its feet for the first time.

  “Steady,” Kratos said, doubt clouding his response.

  Atreus fell, unable to keep his rubbery legs beneath him. Angry, and refusing his father’s assistance, he pulled himself erect by sheer force of will. He ventured a few uncertain strides toward the stonemason’s chisel, growing steadier with each footfall.

  “There you go, lad,” Mimir encouraged.

  Kratos extended a steadying hand; Atreus shoved it away.

  “I am fine. See,” he declared. “Let’s get what we came for and go.”

  Unconvinced of his son’s state, Kratos unsheathed his Leviathan axe, and turning to face the chisel, he hacked at it with maddening force. The ice cracked and broke away, surrendering the chisel tip, which Kratos tucked away into the sack at his belt.

  “What now?” Atreus asked.

  “Back to the boat,” Kratos said.

  “Yes. We must not linger. Magni might have been a minor Aesir, but his father is not. There will be repercussions you do not wish to face.”

  Kratos, however, remained skeptical. If he had to fight their gods, he knew he could defeat them.

  Atreus released a throaty cough, which escalated quickly into moaning.

  “I do not think the wee one is doing too well. His face is now the color of your skin,” Mimir said.

  “I am fine! Nothing to worry about,” Atreus growled, still attempting to stifle his cough.

  “If you are, then keep up,” Kratos said.

  “Yes, sir!”

  Kratos spotted a way for Atreus to jump onto a ledge to assist them out of the crevasse. “There,” he said, pointing.

  “I can get it,” Atreus said. But he couldn’t.

  Kratos had to hoist Atreus up. The boy climbed, rolling weakly over the ledge. He slipped, but regained his footing in the next moment before managing to pull himself over completely.

  They wound their way around the giant’s corpse and over the frozen lake to reach the boat. Atreus appeared exhausted and weak. He collapsed when he attempted to climb in, rocking the boat. Slowly, he crawled to his position in the center, where he slumped, head lowered, with his elbows resting on his knees.

  “Is it colder than it should be?” the lad said, his voice growing frail.

  He began shivering uncontrollably.

  “Hurry, we need to get him back to the warmer air,” Mimir said.

  Kratos had already determined that on his own.

  “What now? Maybe Freya ought to have a look at the boy,” Mimir suggested.

  “There must be another way,” Kratos said.

  “Anyone else I know who is capable of helping will refuse. In fact, they will try to kill us. No, he needs Freya. And look at him, brother, we are running out of time. You will lose him if we do not hurry!”

  “Freya. Very well then,” Kratos conceded. He rowed as fast as he could, consuming every ounce of strength to keep the boat moving at optimum speed.

  “I’m sleepy…” Atreus said, unable to lift his head to even look at his father.

  “Boy, wake up! You must not sleep,” Kratos ordered. He had been in the company of men who fell into their final sleep when ill.

  “Talk to me to keep me awake.”

  “Oh. What would you like me to talk about?” Mimir offered.

  “Odin. Tell me about Odin. He wants to prevent Ragnarök, right?” Atreus said.

  “Odin, the Allfather, and the Lord of the Hanged.”

  “Why is he called the Lord of the Hanged?” Atreus asked.

  “The god is so obsessed with gathering knowledge that he actually hanged himself, so he might enter the realm of the dead to plunder the World Tree for its secrets. I think, and quite rightly, that the realm got so fed up with him that it sent him back to the land of the living. Did I mention he was barking mad?”

  “But I don’t understand how Odin can prevent Ragnarök, if the World Serpent has already experienced it. Doesn’t that mean he has already failed?”

  “Fate’s a tricky thing. And Odin is just arrogant enough to think he can get the best of it.”

  “Fate is but another lie told by the gods,” Kratos butted in.

  “Nothing is written that can’t be unwritten. Yeah, I got that already,” Mimir finished for him.

  Disregarding Kratos’ comment, Mimir let slip a smile. Keep the boy engaged, maybe he could keep him awake and alive, at least for the time being.

  “Odin seeks to control his future and thereby control his fate. The god would control all nine realms if he could. Even if Odin cannot prevent Ragnarök, he hopes to acquire enough details to tip its outcome in his favor. Remind me later to tell you about the wolves.”

  Atreus’ eyelids dropped against his will. His breathing slowed to a trickle, indicating that the lad had lost consciousness.

  “The boy asked for you to keep him awake,” Kratos interrupted.

  “Odin’s eye is on you, brother. Especially now that you have taken to killing his kin. Freya’s forest is a blind spot for him, making it our smartest move. And if anyone can heal him, it is her.”

  Kratos shifted from rowing to steering the boat toward the shore. In the distance, Freya’s cottage appeared out of the trees.

  “He’s unconscious,” Mimir announced. “Boy, wake up!”

  Atreus tugged his eyelids up halfway.

  “Why did Freya spit in your face?” he asked.

  “Oh, that. In an attempt to end the bloodshed between the Aesir and the Vanir, I brokered a peace between the gods. It took some convincing, but ultimately Odin was persuaded to marry his deadliest enemy—Freya. She only agreed as a sacrifice to save her people…” Mimir’s voice trailed off.

&nbs
p; Atreus flinched, but his head remained slumped, his eyelids closed.

  “What happened after that?” he asked.

  “Simply put, he won Freya’s trust, used her to steal the Vanir magic—then robbed her of her warrior spirit and banished her forever to Midgard. No living thing may she harm, by blade or spell. Should I go on?”

  Mimir waited for some indication that Atreus was still with them. None came.

  “You will lose him if you do not hurry,” Mimir said.

  Kratos withdrew the oars from the water just as the boat slammed into the shoreline, lodging itself in the weedy mud.

  “I take it this isn’t the first time this has happened?” Mimir asked.

  Without responding, Kratos leapt from the boat, shifting the craft sideways so he could more easily remove his son.

  “Sickness plagued his childhood. We thought it was behind us,” he grumbled, while taking Atreus into his arms to press him against his body. The boy’s skin felt cold, lifeless.

  “And you really have no idea what causes it?”

  “No,” Kratos snapped, struggling to steady his footing in the marshy ground. The cottage was fifty long strides distant.

  “It is possible that a conflict of the mind is expressing itself as an ailment of the body. That would be rare in his case… Hey, you forgettin’ something?” Mimir shouted, when he realized Kratos was leaving him behind.

  Kratos stopped midstride. He stared back at Mimir’s head. If he left it behind, it might be gone when he returned. The God of War scanned the sky for predators, then the surrounding woods. He noticed nothing more than a pair of ravens perched near the canopy of a towering tree. He had no choice but to return the twenty paces back to the boat to collect the head.

  Setting Atreus down, Kratos dashed to the boat and secured Mimir to his belt, then, in a graceful swoop, returned Atreus to his arms.

  A distant horn warbled through the trees, then a slight rumble followed. Behind them water sloshed, thumping the boat against the shore.

  Kratos kicked into a slow run with his son in his arms.

  “Somebody just called the serpent,” Mimir muttered with an ominous tone.

  “Now his fever burns. He is quaking,” Kratos said.

  “It is serious. I tried to tell you nothing good would come of keeping the boy from his true nature. You will have to tell him. And I do not want to be around when he finds out you have been lying to him his whole life… keeping the most important part of his life secret, ashamed of what he is,” Mimir blurted out all at once, to prevent Kratos from interrupting. Then he paused, realizing this moment was possibly the worst time to criticize a god. “I should stop talking now.”