Kratos Needs Love

The ritual chamber was dark, save for the lit candles and the perfect circle of light shining directly in the center of the room. The sacrifice was a middle aged man, bound by hands and feet. He had short, ragged hair like a wild dog and deep blue eyes that were full of panic. His mouth was gagged so he couldn’t speak. His tanned skin was drowning in sweat. She hoped the man wasn’t important to anyone, but whether he was didn’t matter. 

When the followers of Hades demanded a sacrifice, no one could refuse less they wished to be cursed by Hades himself. Human sacrifices were rare and it wasn’t common practice in the temple. But an animal vessel wouldn’t be enough to summon a God. Not even this frightened man was an ideal vessel. Hopefully Hades would possess him, otherwise the man would lose his life in vain. 

 Megara came up to Otrera, taking the book out of her hands. 

“Good luck Priestess” she said as she left. One by one, the followers approached her and gave words of encouragement. When she was alone she almost began to cry. 

“You have to do this,” she said to herself, “You have to for Agave.” 

Once she stood in the center of everything she didn’t hesitate. With raised arms, she spoke out the spell, the dead language reverberated in the chamber as her chant grew stronger. Soon the moans of the restless dead poured into the room, their wallowing was almost deafening. Like a typhoon, the souls swirled around her. The flames went out, but were replaced immediately by acidic green fire. 

The flames burst into an inferno, engulfing the souls. Through their screams Otrera still chanted; she couldn’t stop until Hades possessed his host. The man wept as he stared at the flames of hell. And when the flames suddenly surged onto him he screamed. The flames digested every part of the man, transforming him into a mock image of a godly being. When the flames finally dispersed, Hades towered above her.

His war helm was steaming, she could see angry red eyes through the slits. Before she could even think about what to say he backhanded her. Otrera held her cheek and tasted blood on her tongue. He was a bulky god; she knew he could have hit harder. She was fortunate he wasn’t wearing his gauntlets. 

“If you were not my daughter I would have let the flames burn the flesh from your bones. How dare you call on me.” 

“I need your help.” she was surprised by the confidence in her voice. 

“You will not have it.” 

“My Lord-” 

“Where is that murderous filth? Do not tell me you allowed him in my sacred temple,”

She kept her mouth shut this time. 

“Answer me.” he seethed. 

“I… I need your help.”

 In a single step, the God was upon her. He gripped her neck with his large hand. His skin was uncomfortably hot. Otrera gripped his forearm with both hands, as if that would keep him from squeezing. If she didn’t tell him the truth, he would harm her for real. 

“He’s not the man you think he is.” Otrera clenched her eyes shut as Hades roared, the sound so tumultuous it caused the room to quake. 

“You disgraceful, disobedient child! Your mother was too soft on you, clearly you are in need of discipline.” Hades bellowed as his fingers tightened around his daughter’s neck. Otrera felt tears prick in her eyes as she gasped for breath. 

“Please, Father,” she pleaded, “Please, help me find Achyls.” 

The God glowered at her as he stood in silent contemplation. Just as Otrera’s vision began to blacken, he let go.  She held her throat, wheezing and coughing.  

“I told you to abandon this foolish mission. You are so stubborn, like your insufferable mother,” Hades spited, grasping Otrera by her shoulders, 

 “Listen to me, ungrateful child of mine. The Ghost of Sparta sows misfortune and reaps tragedy. Achlys is no different. Stay away from them. Death does not spare the bad just as it does not spare the good, your mother taught you that.” 

Otrera felt her heart sink. “Are you telling me to let my sister die?” 

“She is weak, so weak I could not bestow any of my powers to her. Let her die.”

Otrera didn’t think people saw red when upset, but like a burst of lighting the color flashed in her eyes. She had only summoned the flames of hell once in her life and when they came they danced around her in a fury. Hades laughed mockingly; with a beckoning finger, the flames raced to him acknowledging their true master.

“Have you forgotten from whom your powers originate?”

The strain of calling such power made Otrera want to vomit. She fell to her knees, her skin paling and her body shaking. She scolded herself for summoning Hades at all. 

“I beg you, Father,” tears streamed down her cheeks, “Agave is the last blood I have on this earth. Please, help me save her.” 

Hades looked down at Otrera, a low growl sitting in his throat. “On your feet, pathetic, pleading wench.”

 Otrera did as told, shakily rising to her feet. 

“You are your mother’s child. One way or another you will do as you please… I suppose that is why I favored her in the first place,” Hades wiped her tears with plump thumbs. His skin felt abrasive along her smooth cheeks. 

“Misery is the one thing humans can never escape from. Where you find the most misery and death, you will find Achlys. I believe she has taken roots in Thebes. The city has just been through war and since Apollo was on the losing side he decided to strike it with a plague arrow,” Hades tangled in his fingers through Otrera’s coiled hair. 

“Go to your sister. And never return to my temple... You are no servant of mine.”

He stood in a desert, the air unbearably dry and hot. Ash fell from the sky like snow and the scent of sulfur made him wheeze. He was exhausted, he could barely keep hold of the sword in his hands. The Blade of the Gods radiated power, he could feel it seeping into his body like a sponge absorbs water. It kept him from passing out. 

The God of War was on his knees before him, defeated and hateful.  Kratos finally bested the cause of all his pain...but where was his sense of triumph?

“You think killing me will end your torment, you ungrateful pet?” blood spat out Ares mouth as he spoke. 

“You were the one helpless and begging for my divine intervention. I gave you power beyond imagining. I gave you purpose. Everything you are is because of me. And yet you despise me. For what?”

“Shut your mouth.” 

“Familial bonds are worthless and pathetic. A true warrior lets nothing blind his path. But you are no warrior. And you will never be spared from your past deeds. They will haunt you until the end of days.” 

“Enough!” Kratos roared, raising the sword and thrusting it through the God’s throat and wrenching it out. Ares clawed at his neck as blood sprayed from the lethal wound. He fell onto his back, trying to scream as blood filled his mouth. Flame erupted from his chest like lava erupts from a volcano; Kratos couldn’t escape as the flames came down and scorched the battlefield. 

He wasn’t breathing when woke up. He clutched at his chest, his mouth opening to allow in air. But he couldn’t breathe. He was about to panic when arms wrapped around his chest. 

“It was only a dream, Kratos. You must calm down,” the Priestess whispered into his ear. “Breathe.” 

He inhaled deeply, air flowing into his lungs. He remained motionless as the Priestess held him.

“Do you want to tell me about it?” she finally spoke. 

“No.” he sat up, forcing her away from him. He stood to leave, until she grasped his hand. He glared back at her but upon seeing her pleading gold eyes he reluctantly sat back down. 

“Can I tell you of my dream then?” the Priestess said. He didn’t refuse.  

“It was a peculiar dream. I was standing on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the ocean. There was no sound, though the waves crashed against rock and the breeze was quite strong. The sky was grey but it was warm. I had this sense of… finality. Like I was ready to move on to the next life. But it wasn’t a solemn scene. I was content... Strange, isn’t it?” he kept his lips sealed, but his heart quickened in pace as he recalled the same dream in his perspective. He said the first thing that came to mind, anything that didn’t involve dreams. 

“Your name is Otrera.” 

“It is. My mother named me after the first Queen of the Amazons. She admired her ancestor greatly.” 

“You are Amazon?” 

“Half. My mother was twenty years old when she left her homeland, Anatolia, and came to Greece. She was exiled by the Amazons for trying to overthrow her younger sister Hippolyta, the Queen at the time. She never said how, but she eventually came into the service of my Lord Hades. By the time my sister and I were born she had served as Head Priestess of our temple for a while. She used to tell me how she longed to return to Anatolia. She passed away, never seeing her warrior sisters again.” 

“How did she die?” 

“She was old. My mother was seven hundred and six years old. Amazons age slow- and don’t bother asking. A woman never tells her age.” 

In the morning they journeyed to the docks, boarding the Myrmekes trireme. The Priestess whispered indistinguishable words and the crew came back to life. 

“It would save us more time to use your mist.” Kratos said. 

“It would. But I cannot trust that mode of travel anymore. Achlys, the Goddess of Death and Misery is also the creator of the mist. She is likely the reason why we jumped all the way to Troy instead of Lesbos. I would rather not use a power that is unpredictable.” 

Once the boat was well into the sea the Priestess finally revealed where they were heading. 

“It is not an easy feat to track a God. Not even Apollodoros has the power to do that. If I’m to figure out where Misery is waiting, I need all the help I can get.” 

When they reached the shores of mainland Greece, the sailors were put to eternal rest all jumping into the sea never to be seen. Kratos was familiar with these lands. Ten miles west would be the city of Athens.

“We are very close. It’s a mile north, we just have to follow the coast.” 

The temple was not what he expected. It was massive. Golden pythons wrapped around thick black pillars. The roof was flat save for the dome in the very center composed entirely of glass. The entrance were two doors that looked as thick and tough as steel, all painted in obsidian black. Without a word from the Priestess, the doors opened wide enough to allow them to step inside. Kratos was surprised to see an absolute juxtaposition of the dreary outside appearance of the temple. A light shade of gold with intricate lines decorated the path before them. The entire ceiling was covered with paintings depicting the God of the Underworld and some of the stories mortals would retell. Vines crawled up the marbled walls, creating purposeful patterns. The Priestess smiled at him, “Welcome to my home, Spartan.” 

 A small girl, who couldn’t have been any older than twelve, ran up to the Priestess wrapping her arms around her. 

“Hello little one.” the Priestess greeted with a gentle smile. Others appeared before them, all dressed in black clothing with black soot over their eyes and on their lips. Some were welcoming and some were not. They all stared at him. 

“My travel companion has been helping me search for Agave. He is Kratos of Sparta.” 

“We know who he is,” a low and taut voice spoke. The woman was also clad in a black sheer peplos. Her hair was waist length and white. Her pale skin was slightly flushed- she was not pleased by his presence. 

“Lord Hades has spoken to us during your search. The Ghost of Sparta is not welcome here.” he almost flinched at the mention of the alias. He wondered if he’d ever get over that name. 

“I am Head Priestess of this temple. You will all do as I say and I say he is welcome,” her tone is absolute, there was no room for arguing. 

“Prepare the ritual chamber. I will speak to Lord Hades myself.”

Waiting was difficult. He tried to busy himself by sharpening the Blades of Chaos. But merely looking at the cursed weapons didn’t help his mood. Eventually he took to looking around the room. It was decent sized; a large bed was placed by the window topped with many pillows. A wardrobe was on the opposite side, filled with black silks, skirts, and few peplos. ‘Whose room is this?’ he thought just as the Priestess entered. She held a tray with a bowl of grapes and plates of cheese, flat bread, and roasted lamb legs. Following behind her was the small child named Megara, who held a pitcher of wine in one hand and two cups in the other. There was a short table in the middle of the room with cushions on every side. After the child placed the pitcher and cups on the table she fled, but not before glaring at Kratos with a disapproving pout. 

“Do not mind her. She is a jealous child, but a promising apprentice.” 

They ate in silence. The Priestess didn’t look in the mood for small talk, neither was he. She had a book in front of her, her gold eyes glided over the words. Every now and then she would mutter something from the pages. She said she would speak to Hades; in his experience Gods rarely intervened in the mortal world unless there was something to gain from it. But she spoke as if the God would answer her summoning like a servant would answer his master’s call. What was her relationship with Hades? 

“Who is Lysandra?” the Priestess suddenly conveyed. 

His eyes narrowed, “How-” 

“When you were sick from the poison, you spoke her name. I don’t think I’ve ever asked you who she is?” 

“She… She was my wife.” 

“How did she die?” 

Didn’t she know the story behind the Ghost of Sparta? Why bother asking questions she has the answer to? He kept silent, not wanting to engage any further. 

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I can be too intrusive. I used to be married as well. My husband and I had a difficult time conceiving but eventually I became pregnant. I gave birth to a little boy, his name was Aegean, after the Amazon Queen Aegea. He was a sweet boy. But death does not spare the good just as it does not spare the bad. He was ten years old when he died. My husband blamed me and left…” the Priestess closed her book.

“He wasn’t wrong to blame me. I was performing a dangerous ritual, one that required a living soul. An old woman had traveled hundreds of miles to our temple, pleading for a miracle. It was very dry that year and with no rain to nourish the lands thousands of people everywhere were starving. Her village was in the midst of famine, and no amount of their prayer and offerings would make the Gods intervene. I knew of a way to bring life back to her people’s lands, but that required a life. 

The ritual chamber was supposed to be sealed completely from the outside. Somehow, Aegean got in. I will never know what possessed him to enter the chamber while a ritual was in place. He knew better but he did it anyway. The sacrifice’s soul was spared and his was taken instead,” tears gave her eyes a golden sheen. Kratos found himself holding his breath; the priestess always seemed so reserved, like himself. Yet she confided her tragedy to him of all people. 

“I begged Lord Hades for his soul back. I offered my own in exchange but he refused. I could not undo my mistake. After that, I learned that I have some resilience in me. Agave was always by my side and I by hers. No matter what we went through, we had each other... I don’t think I could live in a world without my better half.” 

Kratos couldn’t stop himself. Despite everything screaming within him to block out her pain, he was moving closer to her. When he was close enough he placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping the gesture was comforting. This was pain he understood. 

The Priestess leaned into him, pressing her back to his chest. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed his nose into her hair, scenting lavender. “I’m sorry about your wife. Of course I know the stories but people have a way of distorting truths. I wanted to know your side.” 

He wished the stories were all lies. 

“My wife and my daughter,” his tongue felt like lead as he spoke, 

“They meant the world to me.” 

The Priestess turned in his arms to face him. “Tell me what happened. Everything. No detail spared.” 

That unbearable screaming within him would not retreat. If he listened to instinct he would have pushed her away, left, and likely never returned. His family was territory he still could not face head on. But with the Priestess he didn’t feel alone in his pain. Even as he told her his memories, omitting nothing, he felt lighter. He hadn’t known there was such tremendous pressure bearing down on him. He even went past that event, telling her about his reunion with his daughter in the afterlife. A memory he had forced deep down within himself. 

“We are almost the same you and I,” the Priestess said when he finished.