God of War
A fan-fiction by War Journalist
I do not assume ownership over any characters mentioned in this fan-fiction. The characters themselves are figures of Greek mythology. The character of Kratos and the likenesses given for all characters are copyright Sony Computer Entertainment.
"You will not die this day, Kratos. The Gods cannot allow one who has done such service to die by his own hand. Ares' tactics were brutal. His path of destruction had to be stopped. But now there is an empty throne on Olympus, and a new God of War is needed. Take these stairs, Kratos. They lead to your ultimate reward."
Kratos, the warrior who had murdered the God of War, watched in awe as the golden shield on the monument before him split apart. A bright light washed over him as the shield opened the doorway to Mount Olympus. And as if the sight were not enough, a strange golden aura issued from his arms. Where he had once felt searing pain now came a strange, soothing sensation, as if an intense fire from ages ago were finally being put out. As the glowing ceased, Kratos looked down at his arms to see golden replicas of his former weapons, the Blades of Chaos. In place of the horrid red glow there was a calming blue. The statue of Athena spoke once more.
"And what is a God of War without his weapons? I offer you blades I myself have crafted as further payment for your services. Now come, and take your place beside us. Olympus awaits."
The stone statue of Athena once again fell quiet, and the godly aura surrounding it dissipated. Still in awe of the rewards he had been offered, Kratos stepped forward through the portal. The mountain that moments ago was to be his final resting place was left behind. And before him stood the massive temple of the Olympian Gods.
He had seen many things in his life, most notably in his ten years as a servant to the Gods. But nothing he had seen before could match the majesty of this palace. He stepped forward, up the gilded stairway and past the torch-bearing statue. Clouds surrounded the massive structure, as well as the stairway. 'By the Gods...' he thought. 'Can this be real?' A mortal becoming a God was almost unfathomable. For a simple man to be able to ascend to the temple of the Gods and call it his home was an astounding experience to say the least. As he approached, the massive bronze doors before him slid open, revealing the interior of the palace. Golden torches lined the walls of the hallway, in the shape of the finest Spartan war horses. It felt as if the entire palace were somehow lit by the light of the sun; no doubt the work of Helios. And at the end of the hall sat a massive throne room.
As he approached, he realized that at the back of his throne stood a severed head of the Hydra he had slain only days before in the Aegean Sea, looking as fierce now as it had then. He also noticed the presence of two large statues at either side of the throne. As he approached, he realized that the one on the left was the skeleton of the Minotaur, the armored monster he had fought and killed within Pandora's temple. Along with the head of the Hydra, it stood as a true monument of his achievements as a warrior. But as he approached the statue to the right of the throne, a wave of dread washed over him. It was a statue of Ares, the former God of War, in the monstrous form he had taken for their final battle mere hours ago. Staring into the eyes of his former master brought back memories. Memories of the terrible deeds he had done in service to this maniac, culminating in the death of his wife and child.
The pain of the memories forced Kratos, the mortal who had slain a god, to wince in pain. The pain that only moments ago had driven him to seek solace in his own demise. Grand thoughts of his rewards turned bitter and cold. Had he remained mortal, his nightmares would have troubled him for a few more decades. And perhaps he could have managed to make those years peaceful. If only to ease the pain within by some, he would have done anything. But now that he was an Olympian, death was an escape made nearly impossible. And being proclaimed the God of War ensured that violence and death, concepts he had once reveled in for the glory of his country, would now haunt him for all time. The mortal breathed a weary sign as he realized that the torment of his guilt would follow him forever. And with a heart and footsteps as heavy as any measure, he took his place on the great throne, brooding under his title as the new God of War.
As he sat there, finally still after what had seemed like ages, Kratos could only think. About the things he had left behind: his ship, the spray of the sea, the glorious fields of Sparta, and the thrill of battling for her glory. It was all behind him now; all things of no consequence to a god. What would he do with himself now? An eternal life to live, and no way to spend it. For the last ten years, he had been in constant service to those with whom he now stood. Completing tasks, killing beasts, thwarting foolhardy bids for power, retrieving lost or stolen mystical items; amidst it all he had never had a life of his own. And even before his years of servitude, he had been a warrior of Sparta. And as such, his life was dedicated to its glory and prosperity; constantly making advancements in war. It had only been between battles that he had been given a shred of life, and a family. He once again winced in pain at their memory. He had spent so little time with them. His daughter had grown up without a father. And his wife had cared for her without a husband. With Ares gone, along with the hatred he had held for him, all there was left was the guilt.
As his eyes grew heavy and his muscles grew weak, Kratos leaned back against his throne with the knowledge that he could finally rest; his revenge fulfilled after ten long years. As much as he feared his terrible nightmares, his body would allow him to move no longer. The torches in the hall dimmed, as if in response to his exhaustion, and the great bronze doors slid closed with an echoing click. Soon, the new God of War's world turned to blackness.
She gazed upon her city through the Mystic Waters within her chamber. Buildings were destroyed, fires blazed, the seas had risen into the streets momentarily, and many of its citizens were dead. Yet she felt confidence in her heart. With her brother Ares dead, she knew Athens would heal and prosper again. Athena, the Goddess of Peace and Wisdom looked away from the Mystic Waters to see Helios streaking across the sky above Olympus in his fiery chariot, dragging the sun behind him. With the fall of night, the stars above were plainly visible to the world. She looked up and marveled at the hundreds of constellations above. Perseus, Orion, the Pegasus; all noble tales of heroism. As her gaze moved upon the mortal world below, her mind moved over her most favored mortal. Kratos. He had saved her city, and many others from Ares' reckless lust for power. And from Ares' final remarks toward her father, perhaps Olympus had been spared as well. Making Kratos a god and repairing his blades did not seem payment enough; an empty throne needed to be filled, and re-forging the blades took no effort. Perhaps Zeus would see fit to grant him a constellation as well?
Feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from her breast, she breathed a sigh of relief. All was well once again. And if not, it was only a matter of time; a luxury the Gods of Olympus could certainly spare. She returned her attention to the Mystic Waters, willing them to show her what had become of Kratos after entering the portal. The hall was dim, the doors closed, and Kratos was resting in his throne. Excellent. But upon a closer look, she noticed that Kratos was indeed resting, but not comfortably. Not at all. He twitched frequently, and his face warped and twisted as if he were being stabbed. It was terrible! It struck her that after ten years, only now did she see the effects of those nightmares he had fought so strongly to rid himself of. It hurt her, more deeply than she would have thought, to see him in such pain that no enemy could possibly inflict.
But as deeply as her sympathy ran for the warrior, Morpheus's charms were beginning to affect her as well. Turning away from the Mystic Waters and her view of the world below, she walked to her bedchamber. Upon reaching the room of marble and stone, comfortably warmed by the winds from Hades, she found her armor case. Opening the mystically-sealed cabinet, she began removing her many golden pieces of apparel and placing them in their proper place beside her own twin blades. She began with her breastplate and finished with her tiara and earrings, wearing no more than her soft silken robe. Being a Goddess representing virginity, there lay no man in her soft bed; not so for her sister Goddesses. Why even now, she could hear Aphrodite moaning in her chamber, noting her own beauty.
As she passed through the silk veils and crawled upon her soft bed, she turned, expecting her owl Bubo to be there. But then she recalled that he was joining Artemis on another of her hunts. She yawned, and with a sense of satisfaction at the days events, she too fell into a deep slumber, though much more peacefully than others.