The New God of War: Ch. 18

Chapter
IIXX

Kratos stepped swiftly through the underbrush, again acting as a scout for his half of the amazon battalion. While his senses were keen to any sign of the gorgons or their queen, his mind wandered to Aerim. She held some grudge against him. Though it was not the grudge itself that disturbed him, nor the betrayal he anticipated.

It was the simple question of why he did not just kill her.

Why? Why not? She had affronted him in his own chambers, threatened him, even. She was an impudent warrior distracted by her emotions. She would fall in battle sooner or later; he would merely hasten the hands of Hades.

Kratos leaped from the jungle floor into the branches of a tree, pausing for a moment to get his bearings. The position of the moon told him that he was headed for the correct tip of the island, where Achilles's mausoleum was located. From here, he could not tell whether it housed the beasts or not; only that, without care, the jungle had begun to overtake it.

As he returned to the jungle floor, he could see the advance guard approach behind him, Aerim among them. He silently signaled for them to spread themselves out as they approached the temple. Aerim threw him a stubborn glance and ignored him. And as he trekked forward, he felt his grip tighten on his blades. The nerve of that woman! It would be so easy to simply fall back. He could kill her silently; make it look like a gorgon attack. The dark warrior inside of him writhed with joy at the thought.

But no. This was not the way. Kratos was a god now. The God of War, perhaps, but a god still. After all his griping; all of his ill-speaking of Olympus, would he really become the same tyrant that he had fought so hard to overcome? To solve his problems with violence rather than discourse?

No. His sword arm had led him his entire life. Every choice he had ever made for himself had been undone by those choices he never had. Lysandra had berated him more than once for his long campaigns; that perhaps he preferred the violence over his own family. But no. While he always claimed to wish for the glory of Sparta, there was nothing truer in him than his love for his family. And had he not been leading general in the Northeastern campaign, he would gladly have remained home.

As Kratos, the Ghost of Sparta, trekked through that forgotten jungle on the Isle of Leuke, he made a private vow: As the God of War, he would sanctify it. Violence would no longer become the only measure of pride or success. Killing for the sake of killing was monstrous. As the God of War, Kratos would restore honor to his seat, and be the example he wished he could have had. The one he never had the chance to be for Calliope.

Returning to his senses, Kratos found himself before the mausoleum, and it still echoed the glory of the day it was built. The high marble structure echoed the great cresting of waves before the crash. Two statues of Achilles created the entrance to the crypt. They faced each other, kneeling, and each holding a spear in readied stance. In their other hands, they held golden shields that seemed to serve as doors. Closed, of course.

As he stepped toward the doors, he heard the minute rustling of the brush behind him, and turned to see Aerim leading her scouts. They each looked over the temple, scanning for enemies. "I see no gorgons," Aerim proclaimed. "We should regroup with our goddess."

But as the group turned to leave, Kratos spoke. "No. We must speak with Achilles. He may know of Stheno's plot."

Aerim interrupted him. "The fallen Spartan seeks only to waste our time, reminiscing with his male cohort. We should regroup."

Finally, Kratos could take no more. "You speak not to a mere Spartan, girl!" His harsh tone visibly startled the amazons. "I have lived, breathed, and bled combat for longer than you have been alive. I have won and lost enough battles to know one must never refuse an advantage."

Aerim stepped back, glaring but defeated. The other amazons stood at the ready. He beckoned to them. "Tell the others to create a perimeter around the crypt. Be swift, be silent, and take care." The scouts nodded and retreated into the bush along with a furious Aerim. Kratos turned back toward the crypt. "I have a feeling this grave is not all that it seems."

Quickly, he surveyed the temple. Clearly there had been no one to care for the structure. Trees had taken root near the foundations, causing several of the pillars to crack. Vines climbed the walls from every angle, and though the temple breached the treetops, the birds above would be hard-pressed to distinguish one from another.

He approached the doors. Emblazoned upon them was a design of the heart, split at the center where the doors met. The seal was imperfect. And within the heart itself, Kratos could feel the stone shift and give way, like several pressable switches. Seeking the direct approach, he dug his hands into the very center. However as he pulled the doors apart, he could hear the grinding of a mechanism. He looked up, seeing that the eyes of the statues had begun to glow, and they each looked down upon him, thrusting their spears!

He backed away quickly, allowing the shields to join once again, and the spears to return to their original position. While it was true, he could use his godly strength to rend the statues, or the doors themselves, Achilles did not deserve such an affront, living or dead. And even if he did intend to pressure the old hero, he held no leverage over a shade.

Kratos stood for a moment, thinking. He had faced plenty of challenges such as this in Pandora's temple. With these experiences in mind, he searched the temple exterior, investigating each crack and crevice. But with his mind on the battle ahead, he wasted no time. Unfortunately, he found no keyholes, levers, or switches. And even with his strength, the doors had only come open enough for his hand or his arm, before the spears had come down upon him.

Puzzled beyond his patience, Kratos approached the heel of the first statue; the weakness of the ill-fated warrior. Surely, though, those who came to praise him would not defile his weakness. It was the last place a true pilgrim would look for the entrance. He searched, finding nothing near the heels, at the sandals, or upon the ground. But as he searched the statues themselves more carefully, he realized that they carried something under the belt that shone only just more brightly in the moonlight. A strange shape at a straight angle. Looking to the other statue, he found another object of the mirror image.

Reaching up, he found that the object was not part of the statue itself. And with some small doing, he removed it from the belt. It seemed like a leftover piece of marble, but was too finely-crafted. The angle was perfect. And upon further inspection, he found an indent on the shorter end. He removed the second piece as well, finding a similar indentation. Placing the two ends together, he found that they locked into place, forming the letter Π. Returning to the heart design, he found that the angle of the piece directly matched the indentations in the heart. And so, he pressed the key into the heart. The pieces aligned, and once again he heard the mechanism grind into life. The shields separated, and the arms holding the spears turned downward, placing their blades into the dirt. The way forward was clear, and there was no time to waste.

Kratos charged down the hallway beyond the door. Along the walls, he saw tapestries depicting glorious battles. Achilles was featured in many of them; leading the charge against enemies, besting legions at a time, inspiring his fellow soldiers, and so on. The hallway began to turn downward into a descending staircase. But as he went on, Kratos held a sense of foreboding. The torches along the walls, illuminating the tapestries, became irregular. Several had been snuffed out, whilst the sconces of others had been ripped from the walls. And the ones that remained illuminated torn and burned tapestries; some ripped from the walls, others torn, and many shredded as if with inhuman claws.

The gorgons. So they had indeed found their way inside. Kratos quickened his pace, grasping his blades tightly.

After some time, the silence began to unnerve him. The pattern of destruction had continued, but after several minutes he had found no evidence of the gorgons. No sounds, no scales, no droppings or dead animals. Just the chaos. Could they have come and gone? How could they?

Finally, he reached the tomb. The door was held in place, closed. Though not locked, the doors were covered in cobwebs, as though they had never been opened once closed. At first, Kratos took himself aback. Perhaps this had been a foolish quest. Even Achilles was now just a shade. What help could he be against Stheno and her army of gorgons? His crypt had clearly not been disturbed. But even as Kratos thought this, an agonized wail exploded from the other side of the door with almost physical force. He instinctively wrenched the door open and pushed through. Though he was not prepared for what he had found.

The room was long, with walls of cold marble, balanced by the thick red carpet upon the floor. Lit torches hung above banners upon walls lined with gold and treasure; no-doubt the spoils of war. And at the far end, side-by-side, were two coffins. However both were closed, and there still showed no sign of gorgons. Instead he saw two ghosts. The first was, unmistakably Achilles. He stood still adorned in the famous armor that had driven fear into the hearts of the Trojans, and had later been delivered to his son.

The other shade, though, was harder to distinguish. Where Achilles's form was a sharp and clear outline of what he had once been, the other had become distorted. Shadows played mercilessly with it's features, ranging from the humanoid to the monstrous and blurring as if looking through a watery surface.

The strange ghost seemed to turn it's attention to him, releasing another horrid shriek, and flew at him. Although his weapons held no fear for the already-dead, Kratos drew his blades on reflex. "Patroklos, stop!" came the great booming voice of Achilles. And with the larger-than-life echo in the chamber, the monstrous ghost came to halt before him. Upon hearing the name, Kratos looked more closely at the thing, and realized. The symbol that had unlocked the temple, the Π, stood for Πάτροκλος : Patroklos. The key to Achilles's heart.

During the Trojan war, Achilles and Patroklos fought bravely on the battlefield together. They were written and spoken of as being the closest of friends and greatest of companions. But while some claimed them to be like brothers, others spoke of their bond as being... deeper.

As the ghost of Patroklos fell back toward his coffin, Achilles came forward. "Thank the gods you've come. These unearthly creatures have disturbed my rest for far too long. Have you come to slay them, warrior? Oh." As the shade approached, he seemed to notice something unexpected. Though Kratos's crimes had been after Achilles's time, he was unsurprised by the reaction. "Or should I simply be thanking you. Can that really be you, Lord Ares?"

The mention of the name caused his skin to crawl. "Ares is dead, Achilles. I am the new God of War."

Even on the ghostly pallor of Achilles's face, Kratos could see further surprise and confusion. "Could I not see your aura, I would surely call you a liar. But if what you say is true, I am intrigued."

The ghost of Patroklos returned, now looking much more human. "Had I known we were expecting company, I would have tidied up. I apologize for my outburst. Being dead does little for one's compsure."

Kratos nodded awkwardly, even as he saw Achilles give off a look of disgust to the other ghost. "In life you envied me, and so do you in death, Patroklos. Only in death does it rise so visibly to the surface."

Patroklos rounded on Achilles, his form slipping slightly. "Now that we lay dead, you choose to look at my faults. You never cared, or you never knew. One is just as damning as the other in a lover. We battled together for years, shared lovers, shared a bed. And all anyone could ever speak of was The Great Achilles, who gave more thought to himself than his worshippers did."

Kratos backed slightly away, disturbed by the conversation. It appeared that the less popular rumors held more creedence.

"If ever I would ask, you would pretend not to know!" Achilles roared. "You were weak of spine and sharp of tongue, Patroklos. It is not my fault that I was famous. If you had truly loved me, you would have seen the burden it laid upon me, being the idol of millions."

"And if you had truly loved me," Patroklos responded, again changing shape, "you glory-hounding whore, you would have seen to me! You would have known how much it broke me to share you with all of those millions."

Achilles's shade turned away from the poltergeist that had once been Patroklos. "I am to be taken or left, Patroklos. We grew up together. You could have spoken, but you didn't. You could have confided in me, but you chose not to. Just as you chose to ignore my order at Troy, sacrificing your life for a mere fifty-three soldiers. Do you know how it broke my heart, to see you die in battle like that?"

The two ghosts fell silent. And though he held no footing in the argument, Kratos could not help but imagine what would have happened had he died there on that field ten years ago. Would Lysandra hold it against him? Did she still? Kratos shook his head, refusing to go down that road. There was work to be done.

But before he could speak, the ghost of Achilles turned to him. "I know the island, God of War. I know of Stheno's encampment, and I can help you to destroy it. All I ask is that you take me with you. Free me from this madness."

In an effort to escape the scene playing out before him, Kratos hurriedly opened Achilles's coffin, wherein he found the warriors bones. Though it seemed a crime to disturb the tomb, Kratos wished nothing more than to be away from this place. "Take my skull. It is all I will need," Achilles breathed. Kratos picked a large sack of gold from the treasures in the hall and emptied it of it's contents. He stepped past the stunned form of Patroklos and gently placed the skull of Achilles in the sack, tying it tightly to his belt.

But as he turned back toward the stairs, he saw Aerim standing there. He could not see her eyes, but he knew nothing good would come of this. "You... creature," she breathed.

"I instructed you to watch the battalion," was all Kratos could say.

Aerim stepped forward. "You monster. Graverobber! I knew you could not be trusted. I KNEW you were not worthy of my goddess. And now I shall prove it." The amazon drew her sword.

"You should not do this," Kratos seethed. His earlier dark thoughts bubbled to the surface.

"I have WISHED for this moment, Fallen Spartan," she said, settling into a combat stance. "You do remember slaying the Furies, don't you? You remember how you selfishly wormed your way from the contract you made with the true God of War?" Kratos clenched his teeth and drew his blades. "I'm sure you do, for all the self-pity you carry with you. But do you remember all of the amazons you slayed on the Isle of Delos? Do you?! No, I'm sure you wouldn't."

As Aerim spoke, Kratos could see the shadows move out of the corner of his eye. The monstrous form of Patroklos crept across the room, wrapping serpent-like around the amazon. "Aerim, be careful. You..."

"I AM NOT FINISHED!" She roared. And through her open mouth, the shade of Patroklos entered. Her body froze, then shook. Her face lifted to the ceiling, and her eyes went pale. It was too late.

Within seconds, Aerim returned to her speech, though he could hear the voice of Patroklos echo her, and her eyes glowed a ghostly white. "You wouldn't remember the weakest of them; they are merely enemies, obstacles to a murderer like you. You would not remember the girl of palest skin and longest auburn hair, whose eyes glowed with a kindness and purity too good for even the amazons. You would not. But I do. I am Aerim of Themiscyra. You murdered my sister. Prepare to die."