Robert Vardeman - God of War

Returning to the paved street revealed only new obstacles. Fireball after fireball blasted all the roadways leading to the summit, making of them rivers of flame. As if he had divined Kratos’s destination, Ares closed every path.

Kratos cursed and threw himself once more into a sprint. He moved to circle the Acropolis-there must be some gap in the war god’s ring of fire.

His new energy took him into a quieter section of Athens, one that so far had escaped the worst of the destruction. People peered fearfully from windows as he passed, but no one lay dead in the street, though this was merely temporary; on the far side of the neighborhood, he met an undead patrol.

The skeletal horrors stalked the roadways, swinging scythes that looked as though they could slice through the columns of the Parthenon itself. And these particular creatures, Kratos noted, wore armor-armor that was blackened with soot but showed no other evidence of fire. Armor that could protect the undead from Ares’s fires was exactly what he needed.

He fell in behind the well-armored skeletons and increased his speed, closing quickly. Some unholy instinct must have warned the creatures of his swift approach. They spun about, the long, wickedly sharp blades of their death scythes angled to taste Spartan blood. He blocked the swing of the nearest with his left blade. Sparks and flame exploded like the green pine in a campfire. He swung around to the creature’s flank, keeping it-and its armor-between him and its companions.

Legionnaires crowded around him, hacking again and again; Kratos was too busy blocking to counter-especially because he didn’t want to damage their armor, which was after all the only reason they were worth fighting.

The clash of weapons sent showers of flame in all directions. The house at Kratos’s back caught fire. He ignored this; he saw an opening for attack. In one motion he released the Blades of Chaos and leaped forward to seize the haft of the nearest undead’s scythe. Flames from the burning house began to blister his exposed, tortured back.

He needed that armor.

Instead of wresting the weapon from the creature’s grasp, Kratos used his leverage to swing the undead bodily into the attacks from the others. Death scythes bit deeply through the creature’s torso, and in the instant their weapons were hung up by their comrade’s body, Kratos reached back and drew the Blades of Chaos once more. One lethal flourish, and undead heads fell like catapult stones. The bodies continued to jerk and wave their weapons convulsively, but the loss of their heads left them blind: easy prey.

Kratos dissected them with brisk efficiency, hacking off the arms and legs, leaving only the torsos. These undead, though, were no Spartans-it would take at least three of their corselets to make one sized for Kratos’s massive chest. Kicking away severed parts, he picked out the least-damaged corselet, unfastened it, and then strapped it across his back; another, only slightly more ripped, he belted over his front. The coverage was imperfect, but then, he wasn’t going to use it to defend himself against Ares’s monstrous legions, only against the killing heat of the war god’s fire.

A shrug of his shoulders settled the armor in the best fit he could achieve, but before he could once more search for a way to the summit, he saw another undead enter a house.

He’d fastened the armor barely in time when two more legionnaires attacked-and these held out magic shields. Kratos let out a cry of rage as he retaliated. The Blades of Chaos bounced off the shield of the lead undead and caused Kratos to stagger back. This instant of unbalance provided the opening for both legionnaires. Holding their gold-glowing shields high, they charged.

Kratos fought for his life. More than providing protection from his Blades of Chaos, those shields drained his strength. Every blow he landed sapped his power. Kratos retreated until his back pressed into a ragged stone wall. The two legionnaires parted slightly to come at him from different angles. With a loud scream of rage, Kratos launched himself directly forward, between the shields. Somersaulting, he came to his feet and reversed positions. He now had the undead backed against the wall.

He still faced swords wielded from behind shields impervious-detrimental!-to his own magic blades. Kratos dropped his Blades of Chaos and allowed them to snake behind his back as he dived low. The undead he targeted lowered the magic-blazing shield, but Kratos had anticipated this and twisted at the last possible instant. The shield exploded with eye-dazzling fury as it crashed into the ground. Kratos strained, his fingers wrapping around the undead’s ankle.

Against the wall, the legionnaire could not retreat. Kratos squeezed as hard as he could and crushed the undead’s leg. It stabbed at him with its spear. Kratos ignored the pain as the spear tip penetrated his arm, but the point did not sink deeply. The chains from the Blades of Chaos protected him from real damage.

Kratos grunted, lifted, and upended the undead before its companion could rush him from behind. A stomp to the head ended the threat from the fallen legionnaire. Kratos ducked as the other thrust at him. The spear dug into the stone wall, giving Kratos yet another opportunity. Getting past the enervating magic shield was impossible, so he caught the one dropped by his first foe. He spun it like a discus into the legionnaire struggling to pull its spear from the wall.

The magical edge severed the undead’s legs and brought it crashing down to join its companion. Kratos’s fist repeatedly smashed into the back of its head until it was reduced to dust.

Kratos kicked the magic shields aside. He started to continue on his way when screams from inside a building drew him to peer through the open door. A man and woman clung to each other as an undead legionnaire drew twin knives and clacked them together, as though savoring their terror.

Using the pommel of his sword, Kratos rapped sharply on the door frame. The undead glanced over its shoulder, then back at the man and woman. When it turned its face once more toward the Ghost of Sparta, it discovered only the edges of the Blades of Chaos in the final instant before being cut in two from collarbone to crotch.

Kratos stepped back and let the pieces fall. The legs kicked at him feebly. He ignored them.

“We are truly blessed by the gods!” said the man. “You have saved us!”

“You’re not saved. I have only delayed your death a moment or two.” Kratos turned to go. “Your energy would be better spent in running away.”

“We were paying tribute to Aphrodite,” the woman offered, showing him a small carved wood box in her palms. It was filled with vials of fragrant oils.

“You should be on the walls defending your city.”

“There is always time for tribute,” she said, looking at her man, who was obviously an artisan and not a soldier.

“Maybe for you,” he growled, and strode away toward the street.

Before his sandal could touch the paving stones, Athens vanished before his eyes. The world shimmered about him, and he felt as if he might be soaring into the sky.

Brightness blossomed into blinding empyreal glory… and out from that Olympian splendor appeared a woman of such full-bodied perfection that the sight of her hit him harder than any foe ever had.

Kratos had to clear his throat twice before he could speak. “Lady Aphrodite.”

“Greetings, Spartan. I wish to bestow upon you my thanks for the rescue of my disciples.”

“Goddess,” Kratos managed to choke out, bowing his head, “it is an honor to serve you.” He coughed and cleared his throat again. “However you might desire.”

“Kratos.” Aphrodite spoke his name as softly as a lover’s caress. “Zora and Lora have spoken of your talents.”