God of War--The Official Novelization

by J. M. Barlog

  They continued across the bridge against the steady current of dead.

  “Oh, this is all wrong. Only the newly dead should be here. There’s too many. The gate must be closed… and if the gate is closed, then it’s true—Hel is full up. Odin, you old fool, what did you do?”

  “This is Odin’s doing?”

  “It’s the only explanation. He always coveted the power of the Valkyries; hoped to control them somehow. I don’t know what magicks he tampered with, but if they’re out of commission, I’m certain it’s down to him. And without the Valkyries to sort and cull the dead, Hel is overwhelmed… and soon Midgard may be as well.”

  Kratos remained silent while he monitored each of the dead as they passed. He cautiously retarded his pace when he spotted the bridge keeper, a towering horned creature, whose flesh was permanently blue from the terrible cold, standing watch over the parade of dead awaiting their turn to enter. He wrapped three-clawed fingers around a magic totem resting against massive arms.

  “The Bridge of the Damned. And there’s the keeper, making sure the dead are really dead,” Mimir explained in a whisper.

  Kratos sized up his prey, who rose taller and stouter than the mountain trolls he had faced in the past. He must take the monster down in short order, as the frigid air would drain him of strength more quickly during a fight. The bridge keeper, being native to this place, would be comfortable with his environment.

  They watched the dead soldier at the front of the line advance before the bridge keeper. The entire line shuffled forward behind him. The bridge keeper watched dispassionately as the dead man moved under a spectral lamp. When the lamp changed color, the dead’s exterior burned away, leaving behind a persistent glow. The lamp’s spectral light then returned to its original color, and the glowing soul proceeded across the bridge. Behind it, the train of dead took a few steps forward, and the process began anew.

  “Are you capable of defeating that thing?”

  Kratos grunted a response.

  “Then just get his heart so we can leave.”

  “How?”

  Mimir pondered for a few moments.

  “Start some trouble. You can do that, right?” Mimir smiled.

  They advanced, not entirely certain if their meager plan would succeed. Passing under the lanterns spaced at regular intervals along the bridge, Kratos’ color appeared different to the dead. Spotting the anomaly, the bridge keeper sprang to life, spinning around to square off against him.

  “Here we go!” Mimir said with a hollow voice.

  Unleashing the Blades of Chaos, Kratos attacked. The bridge keeper leveled his totem in both hands to fend off the assault, believing the small man would prove nothing more than an easy and pleasant distraction to the monotony of his job. Lunging at the God of War, the beast slashed his totem from side to side, deflecting each strike from the glistening blades.

  “Mind your left!” Mimir trembled, referring to the side he was hanging on.

  When the bridge keeper raised the totem to smash it down onto Kratos, the God of War slid the blades underneath to rend the bridge keeper’s chest, raising the shocked creature off his feet. When Kratos dropped the bridge keeper, the monster’s totem sheared in half, hurtling off the bridge. The bridge keeper stared lifelessly at the God of War.

  “Good show,” Mimir said. “Never doubted you for a moment.”

  Kratos grunted. In the next second, he mounted the corpse, carving deep into the cavity to pry it open with a sickening crunch. In the distance, across the Bridge of the Damned, the sky behind Kratos turned to fire.

  Sheathing his blades, he plunged into the wound with both hands. While Kratos fished amongst the squishing entrails, a swirl of clouds on the horizon formed into an apparition of the Temple of Olympus engulfed in flames.

  With a fierce yank, Kratos extricated the steaming heart in a spray of inky blood, which quickly froze in the subzero air, causing the splashes on Kratos’ arms to dangle in red icicles. Kratos jumped away from the body, turning back to stare at his gory creation; a flash of remorse crossed his face, and he shook it out of his head. He did what he had to do to save his son.

  “Will killing the bridge keeper help the dead leave Midgard?” Kratos asked.

  “I don’t expect it will. Though I don’t suppose it will make things any worse, either. It’ll be one less obstacle for the living to reach the inner sanctum of Helheim… but who’d be mad enough to go there?”

  “What backlash will come as a result of this?” he said to Mimir.

  “You need to see this,” Mimir said, instead of answering his question. After packing the heart into a pouch, he held up Mimir’s head.

  “I have the heart. I need nothing more?”

  “You are set. But best not to linger here, yeah?” A silence followed. “Uh, you need to…” Mimir persisted.

  An angry lightning bolt sizzled through the frigid air above the bridge, forcing Kratos’ attention for the first time to the burning mountaintop temple across the bridge. Above the temple, the fog and clouds swirled to create an eighty-foot bearded face with glowing white eyes of flickering lightning.

  “Kratos,” the voice bellowed.

  “W-who are you?” Mimir stammered.

  “Zeus?” Kratos responded, his voice tempered with confusion.

  “Zeus?” Mimir repeated, exuding a mixture of shock and surprise.

  Kratos gazed in disbelief at the apparition. “My father,” he confessed. “How is he here? This is not possible.”

  “An illusion. Hel tortures its inhabitants with the darkness of their past. We need to focus on getting back to your son.”

  “The boy must never know what you have seen here.”

  “No. The boy must know. He can never be whole without the truth.”

  “You will tell him nothing!”

  “Very well.”

  “What is that place?” Kratos asked, to divert the conversation toward a temple situated on the far side of the bridge.

  “Never go there, understand?”

  Entering Freya’s cottage, an eerie sensation of déjà vu overwhelmed the God of War. Atreus slept nestled on the thatchwork cot. Freya knelt beside him, applying a moist rag to his forehead as a hearth fire flickered nearby. But in the scene playing across Kratos’ grieving mind, his wife Faye knelt in place of Freya. A welcoming warmth spread throughout the room, seeping into Kratos’ soul.

  “Faye,” he muttered on impulse.

  “You have it?” Freya asked, hope and excitement filling her voice as she sprang to her feet.

  Sadness swarmed Kratos’ heart. He held up the leather pouch, bringing his mind back to what was most important at that moment: his son. Freya took it, only to dump the heart into a bubbling cauldron near them. Shimmering blue light emerged in a burst of steam.

  Kratos reached out with hesitation, touching his son’s forehead with the palm of his hand. “Back of your hand,” she corrected.

  Kratos corrected his touch, holding it there. “He is still sick?”

  Freya poured a steaming ladle full of the concoction into a wooden bowl. “I can break the fever, but to heal…”

  “He must know the truth of what he is,” Kratos admitted.

  “Yes, he must.”

  “That is not so simple,” Kratos countered.

  Freya motioned for Kratos’ help in sitting the boy up as she readied her remedy. She sat beside Atreus, holding the steaming magic under his face.

  “Did I tell you I also have a son? It has been forever since I last saw him. At his birth, the runes foretold a needless death. The babe in my arms was so small, so helpless. I knew right then I would do anything to protect him. No matter the sacrifice…” Her voice trailed off as her own loss flooded her head. “Of course, everything I did was really for me. I put my needs, my fears, ahead of what he needed… and I didn’t see his resentment until it was too late. Do not make the same mistake. Have faith in him. I know the truth is not simple, but nothing is, when it involve
s your child.”

  Rising, Kratos turned away. “It is a curse. The boy has been cursed,” he said plainly.

  They waited for any sign that Freya’s remedy might be working.

  Atreus stirred suddenly.

  “Do not leave without me,” he muttered, his legs thrashing as if trying to walk from his prone position.

  Kratos’ tone softened instantly. “I will not.”

  “Are you angry?” Atreus asked.

  “No,” Kratos replied.

  Atreus stumbled as he rose from the bed.

  “I am better now.”

  “I see that,” Kratos said. “Is he well enough to travel?” he said to Freya.

  “For now.”

  “It will not happen again,” Atreus said.

  “See that it does not,” Kratos offered with a weak smile, the stern words tempered by the tone of a caring father.

  Hollow-eyed, Atreus nodded solemnly before going to Freya. “Thank you,” he said, hugging her waist. He wished in that moment he could remain with her for eternity.

  She brought her hands to his temples, caressing him as if he were her own. The beginnings of an endearing smile flashed across her face. Tears crept in.

  Atreus lingered in her embrace, feeling not Freya in his arms, but rather the touch of his mother. If only he could reach out to hold her once more. An unfathomable emptiness consumed his aching soul.

  “It was your father who did the heavy lifting. You should stay, though. Recover more fully,” she said.

  “You have done enough,” Kratos was quick to interject. “I will not forget this.”

  Freya wiped tears from her cheeks, directing her stare at the God of War.

  “He will be safe here until he has fully regained his strength,” she responded, though her statement lacked insistence. She would never convince Kratos to leave his son behind.

  “What is beyond that window?” Atreus asked, indicating the strange view that did not match what existed on the other side of the wall.

  “Vanaheim. My home.”

  “That’s Vanaheim?”

  “Yes. All I have is that view through a Bifröst crystal.”

  “We must go,” Kratos reiterated.

  “What happened to you in Alfheim—that prevents you from traveling to other realms?”

  “Yes. My punishment from a cruel husband.”

  “Time goes short,” Kratos said, forcing an end to the exchange. The last thing he wanted at the moment was to spend more time in this place. The sooner they were gone, the better for them.

  “My door will always be open to you.” Something in her face changed after the words left her lips, her shoulders slumping in regret.

  With only unfathomable stares in response, Kratos and Atreus departed the cottage with Freya crowding the doorway. She watched them trek through the forest until they were beyond her view.

  * * *

  “Head, what next?” Kratos asked after they had been walking a while.

  “As luck would have it, we are only a stone’s throw from our goal: the home of the ancient god Týr. That is where we will find the Black Rune, the lost password that allows us to create a Bifröst bridge into Jötunheim.”

  “Why did the World Serpent not just tell us the rune?” Kratos asked.

  “Because there is no spoken equivalent. We must see the rune if your boy is to learn how to scribe it. Nothing comes easy, does it now?”

  “Those blades… where do they come from?” Atreus asked.

  “They are from a time before your birth.”

  “And you do not wish to talk about it.”

  “No,” Kratos said.

  Reaching the underground cave beyond Freya’s cottage, Kratos pulled the old boat through knee-high mud with Atreus in it.

  “You are quiet,” Kratos commented. Atreus offered no response.

  “Are you not better?”

  “I guess,” he said.

  Kratos continued to drag the boat in silence for a dozen strides.

  “I know you overheard my talk with Freya. You think you understand. But you do not.”

  Silence.

  “Why do you say nothing?” Kratos said.

  “You said I was cursed. You think I am weak, because I am not like you. I know I was never what you wanted. But after all this, I thought… maybe things were different.” He allowed long-buried bitterness to creep into his words. After he had spoken, he regretted the biting inflection in his tone.

  “You do not know everything, boy.” The harshness in his father’s response cut into Atreus.

  “No. But at least I know the truth now.”

  “The truth. You think you know the truth,” Kratos snapped, his anger and impatience mounting. An expression of pain flashed across the God of War’s face. He knew what he had to do… but he refused to force himself to do it. So much would change if his son knew the truth; so much would have to be dealt with. Their lives could never remain the same.

  “The truth,” Atreus said.

  Kratos needed a deep breath, using the moments it took for the air to slip in and out to reconsider his fragile decision. He studied every nuance of Atreus’ face, read into his soul in that instant. Could his son accept and deal with the truth?

  “I am a god, boy, from another land, far from here. When I came to these shores, I chose to live as a man. But the truth is… I was born a god. And so were you.”

  Relief swarmed Kratos’ head. He had revealed his deepest secret to his son. He had taken a step which he had thought until now he could avoid. But what came next?

  Silence came next.

  Atreus stared off into the distance, as if he wished to hide what was running rampant through his mind. All the stories his mother had told him about the gods. They were good, benevolent gods, not monsters. Did she know about his father? If she did, why had she kept it secret from him?

  Kratos reached the dock, where he pushed the boat into the water. He watched Atreus, who sat speechless, staring.

  “Son?”

  Kratos climbed into the boat to sit squarely across from him.

  “Have you nothing to say?”

  “Can I… turn into an animal?” Atreus asked.

  Relief flooded the God of War. Kratos was uncertain whether his son actually understood the full gravity of what he had told him. His perception of gods was rooted in his mother’s biased teachings, rather than reality. Perhaps he could avoid confronting the ugliness that so cluttered his past life.

  “Can you turn into an animal? No… no, I do not think so,” Kratos responded.

  “I am a god,” Atreus muttered to himself. “Mother knew? She was a god, too?”

  “No, your mother was not, but she knew of my true nature.”

  “I am a god. Why did you wait so long to tell me?”

  “I hoped to spare you. Being a god… can be a lifetime of anguish and tragedy. That is the curse.”

  Atreus nodded, understanding now why his father felt he had been cursed. “What sorts of things can I do? Can I fly? Turn invisible? I don’t feel like a god.”

  “I do not know the reach of your godhood, but over time, we will learn.”

  Breathing easy, Kratos settled back, took up his oar, and used it to push off from the dock.

  “You’re sure I cannot turn into a wolf?”

  “You are welcome to surprise me…”

  Kratos rowed, the creaking oars the only sounds, as he watched Atreus come to grips with his new identity. His young face bounced between elation and consternation. Kratos could only wonder what thoughts ricocheted about his mind.

  “Is that why I hear voices inside my head?”

  “Every god is unique. As you grow, your capabilities will become clear,” Mimir said.

  “Wait. If I am a god, how come I get sick? Gods do not ever get sick, do they?” he asked.

  Kratos had no answer.

  Leaving the boat, they crossed the bridge toward Týr’s temple. They reached a platform beside the dome te
mple, which began a slow descent the moment they stepped onto it, stopping at a position that allowed temple access.

  “Look, do not be mad, but I have seen those blades before. I saw them when I was hiding under the house. Where did they come from?”

  “They are my burden. From a life left behind me.”

  “They are in my life too, now, and I would like to hear that story.”

  “Those days are dead. To relive them is… needless.”

  “How can it be needless if it is the truth?”

  “Er, laddie, up on the wall there,” Mimir interjected, in an attempt to change the conversation.

  Two panels from a triptych of panels hung on the wall, illustrating a god being attended to by a small group of peasant people.

  “It is Týr! But… the middle panel is missing. Wait, I thought Týr was a god, not a giant,” Atreus said.

  “Aye, you are right. But Týr was loved by everyone, including the giants. Other than me, he was the only one they gifted with their special sight.”

  “I wonder if the giants left a triptych about me somewhere too?” Mimir added, after pausing to reflect.

  Then he returned his attention to the triptych before them.

  “Aye. A god of war… but one who fought for peace. He had a reputation for being heroic and lawful, using his power and knowledge to stop wars, rather than start them.”

  “So then there are good gods.”

  “All gods choose to either serve themselves or serve others. Týr chose the latter,” Mimir said. The platform lowered to a second runic panel, which Atreus ran to.

  “This one mentions places I have never even heard of. Seems Týr really liked to travel,” Atreus said.

  “Týr believed the mind, not might, was the key to preventing war and chaos. And he also knew visiting other cultures would give him a perspective that staying in one place could not. While Odin always hoarded knowledge, guarding it jealously, Týr openly shared his learning and wisdom. For this, mortals adored Týr, showing their love by bringing him gifts from the world over.”

  The platform reached a third runic panel showing Odin and Thor at the center of a dais, presiding over Týr, who stood before them with his head hung. Atreus scanned it for a second, then turned back to Mimir still hanging at his father’s belt.