God of War 2 Page 9

  “Summon the Warrior of Destiny,” she ordered. “He is to intercept Kratos before he reaches the Island of Creation.”

  “You no longer wish to play with this mortal turned god, mistress?”

  She stared at the still-bowed priest and wondered what thoughts ran through his head. He and the others toiled for her, doing her bidding, performing tasks that none should ever consider, and all for a small stake in determining his own fate. Never had she allowed this, but it did keep a steady river of supplicants flowing to her service, all expectant and fearful—and all foolishly optimistic that they could cheat their fate.

  The fate she and her sisters spun for them.

  “My whims are no concern of yours, priest,” she said icily.

  “I shall summon the Warrior of Destiny immediately.” The Priest of Fate began backing away.

  “Wait!” A thought occurred to her. “I want you to be certain he is given this, also.” She rose and seemed to float ghostlike across her chamber to a marble column. Placing her hands on the ribbed column and pressing on a hidden catch caused a tall thin crevice to appear. Resting inside was a case made from obsidian, as long as her arm and as thick as her wrist. Lahkesis reached in and withdrew the case.

  For its size, it was far heavier than it appeared, but she had expected this. Contained inside was a weapon of immense power and one that should be used only in the direst of emergencies.

  What she had seen of Kratos in Typhon’s Lair convinced her she needed to put this formidable weapon in the hands of her doughtiest fighter.

  Lahkesis handed the obsidian case to her priest, who held it across his palms. She ran her fingers along one edge, finding the almost-imperceptible latches. The lid opened. She caught her breath when she saw the contents. Even she, one of the Sisters of Fate, had to be in awe of such power.

  She took it out and handed it to the priest.

  “Tell him to use it well against Kratos.”

  THE PEGASUS VEERED to the right so far that Kratos grabbed the mane and yanked out a handful of the spun-gold hair to maintain his seat. The horse immediately swung back and threaded its way deeper into a cavern festooned with icicles and a freezing blast that took away Kratos’ breath. The rocky, dirty ice walls closed in, forcing Kratos to sway violently from side to side to stay astride the winged horse. From ahead, deeper in the mountain of ice and rock, came a stale, frigid breath that formed frost on his beard and caused the Pegasus’ flaming feathers to flicker. The winged horse beat furiously, but its strength faded quickly. If it could no longer go on, Kratos had no need for it.

  “Back,” he cried, shifting his weight to send the Pegasus flying down a side corridor even frostier than the entry point. Rime ice formed on his outstretched arms, turning his flesh blue with the cold. Bending low, he tried to warm himself on the horse’s flaming wings, but there was no heat to be found. The Pegasus weakened with every second, its flying rhythm now erratic. Kratos had to shift constantly to keep from being tossed off one side or the other.

  They burst suddenly into a larger cavern, but the faint blue light made it difficult to see where they flew. Kratos cursed as the Pegasus wobbled from side to side, almost bouncing off one wall before veering in the other direction. The Ghost of Sparta was so engrossed in trying to turn his steed, to fly through the chilling fog and retrace their path through the tight-walled passage, that he saw their danger too late.

  The horse beat furiously to avoid a huge foot rising from a ledge of dirty gray ice. The Pegasus surged upward, past a statue come alive. The mouth opened, large enough to fly into. Kratos avoided the trap, letting the horse flap wildly away. A hand of frozen stone reached out and missed plucking them from the air.

  “Get out of my sight, Olympian,” the Titan rumbled. What Kratos had mistaken for a statue was Typhon himself. The thumb and forefinger were immense, a dozen times Kratos’ height. The crashing sound as they ground together alerted Kratos to the true danger. Those gelid fingers, so immense, so deceptively slow moving, were deadly.

  Bending low, Kratos guided the Pegasus away from the Titan Typhon.

  “I will not help you, God of War!”

  Kratos bluntly shouted back what the Titan could do with his aid.

  The blue-skinned Titan looked more like a statue than a living creature. Kratos wondered what banishment had placed Typhon in this frigid cave or if the Titan hid here to avoid the wrath of the gods. Tiny pockmarks dotted the Titan’s visage, icy depressions that cracked open to send ice crystals tumbling downward in a feathery curtain. Kratos thought darkness stirred behind those frozen plugs as if trying to escape.

  Kratos tried to grip tighter and found the freezing temperature robbed him of some strength. To fight now would be dangerous.

  He guided the horse back around in a large ice chamber, his vision blurred by the ice forming on his eyelashes. Escaping this frigid lair was the only hope of survival, but the pale light made it difficult to avoid the sharp, dangling stalactites—and he dared not fly too close to the floor. The stalagmites glistened with razored edges.

  The horse responded sluggishly to his urging, flying high once more inside the wintry chamber—but too near the face of the now animated Titan. From Typhon’s mouth gusted billows of noxious, icy air. For the briefest instant, the horse’s fiery wings faded. Kratos thought they would be extinguished; after they passed through the icy breath, though, the flames ignited anew. But not enough.

  The Pegasus spun downward out of control and tumbled onto the stone ledge just in front of the slowly stirring Titan. Kratos somersaulted off and swung about to regain his seat when Typhon’s fingers lifted ponderously … and descended with startling speed.

  The Pegasus was trapped under the heavy, cold palm.

  Kratos considered leaving the winged horse, but how would he escape this freezing lair and cross the ocean outside the moat of frost and needle-like stone spires unless he flew? The piteous neighs from the horse meant nothing to him. The Pegasus was a means of transport and nothing more, but it was necessary if he wanted to deliver his vengeance on Zeus. He drew his swords and attacked a huge fingernail, only to be flicked back as if he were an annoying insect.

  Kratos redoubled his attack. This caused the Titan to bend forward slightly. A new blast of cold breath engulfed Kratos and staggered him. More of the opening pockmarks showered ice upon him. He swung his swords and protected his eyes from the shards pelting him—but he misjudged his footing. He stepped back over the verge and tumbled downward, away from both the Titan and the imprisoned Pegasus.

  Kratos reacted swiftly and got his feet under him in time to absorb the impact of the fall. He rolled and came to his feet uncomfortably close to a Minotaur. Kratos was surprised to see that any living creature had made a home of Typhon’s icy domain. The hoofed beast roared, lowered its head, and charged. Deadly black horns swung back and forth as the creature’s powerful neck tried to drive them into Kratos’ gut. The broad shoulders rippled with corded muscle, and the bull-man’s armored arms groped for its opponent, intending to grapple Kratos and yank him into those horns. Broad nostrils flared, snorting flames, and a gut-shaking roar accompanied the clack of hooves against the floor as it charged.

  Kratos looked back up the sheer wall and saw no way to scale it. There had to be another way up, even if it was through this attacking creature. His blades heated the air with savage slashes in time to deflect a horn aimed to gut him. His other sword blade slashed along the side of the Minotaur’s neck and opened a deep gash.

  This infuriated the monster—and made it all the more vulnerable. Kratos’ rage was more directed. He chose his targets more carefully, delivering a cut that severed the hamstrings of one leg. As the Minotaur keeled over, it exposed its bull neck. Kratos jumped up and drove his blade down into the unprotected flesh. The Minotaur was a potent adversary, and this did not finish it. Then Kratos planted both feet on its chest, raised his pair of swords high above his head, and drove them down into the Minotaur’s mouth rep
eatedly.

  It died.

  He jumped down and once more surveyed how best to ascend the base of the Titan’s stony throne. Kratos snorted, and plumes of frost formed. The warm Minotaur’s blood that coated him kept the cold at bay for now, but Kratos did not think it wise to dally in this freezing prison.

  Kratos ran down the cavern until he found a part of the ceiling that angled back toward the Titan. Using his swords as grappling hooks, he dug into the rock, climbed to the stalactite-crusted ceiling, and began crossing it. The swords penetrated the rock and held long enough for him to swing in the direction of where Typhon sat, blowing huge clouds of condensed breath like a forge billows. Kratos felt increasingly wary as the depressions on the Titan’s face continued to become free of ice. Those cavities extended from the stationary Typhon out to either side, scarring the cavern walls. He had heard tales of creatures living in rock animated by Gaia and sharing their life force with the mountain housing them until the very earth shook and the mountain walked. The caves provided protection; the Sentries trickled out life.

  As one blade entered the rock, an ear-piercing screech reverberated throughout the cavern, and blood trickled down the hilt and over Kratos’ wrist. He drew out the blade and a rock-legged Sentry tumbled from its hidden lair. Contemptuously, Kratos flicked the blood from the sword tip and continued toward the Titan, only to find that the inadvertent killing had roused other rock beasts.

  The humanoid creatures popped out from their small caves, plumed gold helms shining in the pale light, and scampered after him like spiders on the rock overhang. But Kratos focused on their knife-like talons and war axes seeking to disembowel and dismember, to rend and slash. Hanging from one sword embedded in the ceiling, he fought with all his skill and strength. The gray-fleshed Sentries were not worthy opponents, but there were many and they stole away precious time. He was not certain how long the Pegasus could endure being crushed under Typhon’s finger. One by one he sent the rock creatures to Hades’ embrace until only eerie silence filled the cavern.

  The Sentries kept Typhon from completely freezing, but there were too few of them for the Titan to escape his hyperborean imprisonment.

  Just as Kratos neared the spot where he might swing back to the base of the Titan’s throne, a section of roof collapsed and sent him tumbling to the cavern floor. The only way open for him amid the debris was to grab a chain fastened to the stone above. Kratos grabbed the chain and swung down and away. He hit the ground, tumbled, and came to his feet with a freezing wind in his face. For a moment he thought his joints would seize up. He turned his back to the gale and gathered his strength and warmth. Kratos flexed his fingers and squinted into the wind to see where he must go. Stepping forward, he found a snowy ledge stretching out into the gathering blizzard. The intense cold would kill him in minutes. As he turned to go back into the Lair of the Titan, a heavy door slammed downward, blocking his retreat. Kratos grunted as he tried to lift the door. Even if he’d had his godly power, he wasn’t sure this door could be opened by simple physical means. He stepped back and looked up the face of the mountain, spotting a glacier high above festooned with snowy crevices. The storm built around the summit and pelted down snowflakes the size of his fist.

  Before he could begin a climb up to see if there might be another way into Typhon’s Lair, he heard a plaintive cry for help. Kratos went to see who shared his dilemma of being locked outside. If they survived for longer than a few minutes, there had to be fire to warm their bones.

  Tramping through the new-fallen snow, he walked out onto a carved stone hand, outstretched and palm up. At first all he could see was the broad back of a snow-white bird bent forward, eating greedily. Bloody gobbets of flesh were strewn about on the snow, sizzling as the heat was rapidly sucked away by the cold.

  The muted cries for mercy let Kratos know that whoever the bird dined on still lived, while the curses that followed showed the victim still capable of fight and anger. Kratos’ striding forward caused the huge bird to swivel its head halfway about and peer at him with incurious eyes. Strips of gory flesh hung from its serrated beak. With a single squawk, the bird flapped its immense wings and took to the sky. Kratos raised his arm to keep the snow stirred by the bird’s departure from blinding him.

  As he lowered his arm, he frowned. Stepping forward until he was only a few feet from a man with his intestines ripped out and other organs dangling from his body cavity, Kratos had to wonder how anyone could have survived such an attack. The bird’s victim was chained with his hands held high over his head to stretch out his abdomen, providing the carrion eater with an easier meal.

  “God of War, you live!”

  “I no longer walk with the gods,” Kratos said. He eyed the cruel brilliance of the torture. “Who has placed you in this torment?”

  “Zeus!”

  Kratos nodded. The only other god who could conceive of such a vicious fate ruled over the Underworld, and Hades would have kept his victim close to revel in the daily pain experienced. Added torture came from the fierce weather. The guts sizzled as their heat vanished into the hungry maw of the piercing wind.

  “I am Prometheus and my only crime was helping mankind. When I took the fires of Olympus to the mortals, Zeus considered it a betrayal.”

  Kratos moved so that the setting sun was not in his eyes. The light from the bloodred sky caused Prometheus to almost disappear, his blood mingling with that staining the sky. Snow fluttered all about, making it seem that the sky filled with dancing drops of gore.

  “He condemned me to be savagely consumed every day by this cursed bird. And then with the fall of night, I am healed.” Prometheus coughed up blood and grayish lung tissue. He tried to lift his head but his strength, his reason for life, had been ripped from him.

  “How long I have been here, how long I have suffered this curse, I truly do not know.” A massive shudder passed through his body and he died.

  Kratos watched as the organs that had been yanked free from Prometheus’ innards slithered back into place. The missing intestine regenerated and curled up dutifully like rope coiled by an able seaman on a ship’s deck. When all the insides were restored, the belly and chest flesh slapped up into place. Soon Prometheus was entirely healed, not even a scar showing where the merciless gutting had occurred.

  Prometheus let out a scream of pure agony and arched his back as he fought his shackles. His eyes flew open, and he gasped for air.

  “The healing is worse than the death, but worse still is to awake knowing that I have nothing ahead but pain and suffering,” he said, panting harshly. He looked down at Kratos. “Please, Ghost of Sparta, release me from my torment.”

  Kratos stared at Prometheus for a moment before coming to a decision. How he had suffered at Zeus’ hand! Seeing another who similarly suffered and demanded only surcease directed Kratos’ hand. He would give a wounded comrade grace in battle. Prometheus should be afforded no less.

  Kratos stepped forward, his blades whining in the cold air. Sparks jumped away from the iron shackles as he severed one link after another.

  Kratos stepped away as Prometheus tumbled forward, but Kratos quickly saw he had not freed the man. Prometheus slid through the statue’s fingers and dangled from the chain above a giant bowl ablaze with an eternal flame.

  “The only way to kill me, Kratos, is to burn me in the Flames of Perdition!” Prometheus kicked feebly as he dangled above the fire. He strained to set himself on fire but could not accomplish this self-immolation.

  Kratos stepped closer and let the heat rising from below renew his strength. He flexed his arms and stretched his legs until the frost melted away. He bent to better study the problem. A quick look at how the chains were tangled around Prometheus showed Kratos he could not send the affront of a death to Zeus as a message without going below. He slipped and slid down the frozen palm of the statue before dropping to another ledge below. Staring up at the dangling Prometheus, he knew there was no way to sever the chain and send him i
nto the fiery bowl.

  “Typhon’s Bane,” Prometheus grated out. “You must get the bow hidden in the Titan’s eye.”

  Prometheus swung about in obvious agony, his flesh burning and healing, only to be burned again, but Kratos saw the former god staring toward a crevice some distance away. Putting down his head against the growing snowstorm, he slogged forward and felt air blowing from inside the mountain through the crevice. Turning sideways, Kratos barely fit into the crack in the rock. He found himself on a walkway that spiraled up from below and led to a stone bridge at Typhon’s eye level.

  A bloodcurdling shriek brought him about. A trio of scrawny Harpies had been posted to guard the bridge. They let out a shrill screech as one and launched into the air for their attack. Leathery wings beat at the frigid air, and breath gusted out of twisted, broken noses as they clawed at him. Their stench sickened him. Kratos hated Harpies and their ferocious, mindless anger.

  He ducked one’s attack, then drew his swords and pressed the others backward, down the ramp to a level area. Immediately Kratos saw his error. Now he faced not only the three Harpies but a Gorgon as well. He averted his gaze a split second before he would have been turned to stone. Lambent green light bathed his back and formed his shadow like a new warrior before him.

  The Harpies shrieked and attacked. Kratos reared up, swung his swords in a broad arc to get their attention, then fell flat on his belly, exposing the Harpies to the Gorgon’s deadly stare.

  Where there had been three Harpies, living, breathing, deadly, now were suspended statues in midair, accumulating hoarfrost. As if moving through treacle, the Harpies twisted and turned, then fell with the suddenness of a hunting falcon to smash into a thousand shards at his feet.

  The endlessly moving nest of snakes rising in anger from the Gorgon’s head hissed and snapped futilely in his direction. All were following his every move. But the snakes were not what worried him. The Gorgon’s eyes darted about, hot rays shooting forth that could turn any living creature to stone.