A/N: Apologies, no review responses for last chapter. It's been a pretty bad week. I figured folks are more interested in the story that my talking about it, anyway. So here we have another glimpse of what Dad of War is doing.
Thanks for reading.
Chapter Forty-Three: From Chaos Came Forth
Gods dreamt. Some dreamt of the future with unerring accuracy that they retained when they woke. Apollo's dreams often drove his mortal oracles to madness, if the fumes from the Delphic caves did not do so first. Freya often dreamt of what might be, and would use her magic and auguries to confirm if her dreams were true. Before Freya, Faye's dreams of the future were frighteningly detailed and correct.
Kratos? Kratos always dreamt of the past, and what he might have been.
He dreamt of his very first home, so many thousands of years ago in Sparta. Of his first wife, Lysandra. Of his first daughter, Calliope. A part of him always feared that the years would dull his memories of those days. He was born a Spartiate of Lacedaemon, which only now, with years, did he realize was a brutal, conqueror's culture. But the warrior was never the husband; the chosen of Ares was never the father. He fought so hard to keep the two worlds apart, until they came crashing together in the worst way.
In his dreams, the blood of his first wife and daughter burned like fire on his hands.
Kratos was a good Spartan. He killed the enemies of his polis and brutally repressed the Helots whom his people had conquered when they formed the city. He had clear memories of beating his slaves; of killing any Helots thought to even pose a risk of rebellion. At the time, he believed doing so was just and right. Every Spartiate was a soldier of Sparta; the Helots whom they conquered were the artisans that ensured the city had food, water, clothing and goods. With the Spartiates so heavily outnumbered, the lawgivers of the city encouraged such behavior.
He tried to find a point in his life where he grew to hate the practice of slavery. It was difficult to find any single instance, because all cultures throughout the world, from the brutish Northman and Picts to the great Upper Nile kingdom of Kush; from the edge of Iberia to the far kingdoms of the orient beyond what even great Alexander ever imagined-every tribe of people he encountered used those they conquered as slaves, and none of those slaves were treated well.
No, when he considered it, he knew when he grew to hate the practice of slavery. It was when he met a fierce, powerful woman he called Faye. She challenged him with her power, and when he managed to overcome her in battle, she overcame him in love. It was her hatred of being controlled that made him realize how evil slavery was.
His memories of her did not fade with time either, any more than his memories of dear Lysandra. Lysandra, like all Spartiate women, was educated and intelligent. Faye, too, was educated in the ways of her people. She knew powerful magic and the means to read and write in a language he learned to speak, but never to write in. But whereas his wedding night to Lysandra was a tender surrender, Faye's bedding was a battle of wills and magic that fulfilled him in a way he'd never imagined he needed. Only after she died did he learn that she was a god as well-the queen of the Jotuns.
Which made her death that much harder to move past. His years with her changed him in ways that the preceding centuries had not. And after his life with Faye, he could never bring himself to own a slave again.
He dreamt of Faye often for he had more years with her than he did Lysandra. He dreamed of that first night together-the challenge in her eyes as she took him to bed, as much as he ever took her. Lysandra and Calliope. Faye and Atreus. Freya and Taylor. Family. There were many other women in between-hundreds. Widows he sought out for shelter and food. He came to hate the man he became when he was too long away from a woman's influence. Just as he so hated the man he was, twenty-six hundred years ago in Sparta.
He'd told Oya of the Storms that gods could change. He knew this was true because he, himself, had changed. It was his many loves and losses over the centuries that changed him.
"And how will the loss of your second daughter change you, Spartan?"
In his dream, he sat in the backyard of the home he and Freya made in Brockton Bay. And the ghostly image of Athena stood across from him-an outline of the goddess filled with stars as if a window of the furthest heavens.
"Her fate is not decided," he told his step-sister.
"We both know what happens to little girls who are granted gifts from all the gods," Athena countered. "Even if not by your hand, she would rather die for the world than live and see it perish. The honor you instilled in her would demand no less."
"She is strong. Stronger than I am. She will prevail."
"Zeus was stronger than you as well. So too was Thor and Odin. Strength alone cannot guarantee victory. Even among the seeds of the Destroyer, there are those who could kill her. How else do you think her wings emerged, if not for a weapon of the Enemy?"
Even in his dream, Kratos could not help but think of the Slaughterhouse Nine. Though he'd defeated the Siberian, he could not kill her, while she hurt him as much as any god he ever fought. Worse, though, was the villain Heartbreaker. Could his daughter's will be sapped away by the parahuman rapist?
"I will clear her path for her," Kratos said. "I will destroy all who might impede her fate."
"Her monster, instead of mine?"
"No. Not her monster. Her father."
The ghostly image laughed, but the sound held no humor. "Then you had better begin soon, Spartan. Time runs short."
~~Theogony~~
~~Theogony~~
He woke, and as he had done since it was returned to him, the first thing he did was ensure the chest which held his godly armor and weapons was secure. His daughter had somehow deactivated the protection on the chest so that Alexandria could bring it to him; now that magic was restored.
The room in the former police station he'd taken over as his central command was small. It held a strongly reinforced cot, a desk and a shelf filled with binders that held command codes and the names of all his officers and the strength of their individual units. It held maps of the continent, and the names of all the delegates that had come to Port Harcourt for the first African Continental Congress.
He showered quickly and dressed in the uniform of his army-desert fatigues with a maroon beret. His insignia consisted of the Greek Lambda. He found it fitting that the symbol of his ancient home would forever be associated with the supreme commander of the African Continental Army.
Tarak was waiting for him when he emerged, along with his other senior staff who were not in the field trying to keep the hard-won peace across the continent. Breakfast was laid out on the table before them; the staff stood waiting his entrance.
The meal was rich, with fried plantains, fried eggs, pap and akara, (fried bean cakes and a fermented grain pudding), and even a heaping plate of Nigerian-style pancakes. Carafes of black coffee and tea and syrup stood between the various serving dishes.
"Good morning," he greeted the men and women of his command. He sat at the head of the table, and his staff sat with him.
The twenty men and women of the staff, most of whom were veterans of his army with a small group formerly with Moord Nag's forces, returned his greeting and the food was quickly parsed out to the officers. As they ate, each of his generals and colonels gave reports over their specific areas. His forces were responding to ethnic violence in South Sudan that quickly escalated to the edge of genocide.
The officer in charge of the region, Elizia Ngoy, dispatched the mostly Congolese 2nd Mechanized infantry and had the region under martial law at the moment. Her immediate commander, the Spaniard Bunuel, spoke well of her.
"She took control of the area in two days with minimal losses to her own forces, and less than ten locals killed," he said proudly.
Sadly, the South Sudanese situation was just one of several spots of increased ethnic violence that was flaring up in the wake of Moord Nag's demise. Kratos commanded the largest army on the continent and one of the largest in the world, but most of his equipment was decades old, and fuel was a constant issue. The Middle Eastern nations that were so generous with their oil while facing the threat of Moord Nag no longer seemed so giving.
Most importantly, until a civilian government was established for the region, he was acting essentially without the benefit of law. His official commission came from the Saharan Confederation, but those peoples south of the Sahara were slow to warm to the idea of their northern colleagues having rule over them.
Kratos issued orders where his subordinates did not feel they could, or should. They discussed the various issues to determine plans of action in the absence of civilian oversight, and at the end of the hour-long meal, his staff went about their day. The last to leave were Bunuel and Kratos's loyal aide, Tarak.
"You have meetings with Delegates Abdelaziz Bedui and Mamady Foufana this morning," Tarak said as he dutifully checked his paper padfolio. "You have a business lunch with Prince Saud, and dinner tonight will be at the Chinese mission."
Kratos grunted in answer. The Chinese Union-Imperial was one of the most racist, xenophobic governments in the world, but the one thing they were very egalitarian about was their capes. They were more than happy to abduct parahumans from anywhere in the world to feed the machine that was the Yang Ban.
Africa was crawling with parahumans in numbers only the worst American cities could comprehend. Conflict and despair spawned trigger events, and of that Africa had more than enough to spare. Only the Indian subcontinent boasted more, and only then because Moord Nag had so drastically depopulated her home continent. With the re-establishment of communications after the fall of Moord Nag's forces, Kratos was learning just how far the Chinese depredations had gone throughout the continent.
It would make for a lively discussion; he had no doubt. He hoped that the delegates of the Continental Congress were able to overcome their differences and establish civilian order quickly. He had a promise to keep—as soon as he was not needed, he would leave this land.
"What of your staff, Fernando?"
The old Spaniard leaned back in his chair, full from a hearty breakfast but looking tired nonetheless. "It is a strange thing to command people filled with such hope as those you lead. Colonel Ngoy is an example. She was a lawyer in the DRC when Moord Nag swept through and depopulated her city and took most of her family. Now? When I retire, I will nominate her to replace me."
"Good," Kratos said. "The fate of this land must be in the hands of its people. The sooner the likes of you and I are gone, the better. Now, we have...what is it, Dhafer?"
The young tinker was one of the first parahumans Kratos recruited. He rushed into the room, wide-eyed with alarm. "Mahdi," he began in Arabic. "The angel...she twitched!"
Bunuel froze, his eyes bulging before he rose to his feet. "The Simurgh?"
Dhafer nodded. "Come, I show you!"
Kratos followed, with Tarak and Bunuel at his side. They went through a few narrow halls before emerging into the main command center of the former police station.
After having just weeks ago received a glimpse of the holographic projector that Alexandria had used to show Kratos his daughter, the tinker had taken the idea to new levels and created an entire network of holographic tables even better than his original that Kratos's senior staff used to coordinate real-time feeds from across the continent from the tinker's many drones.
On one table sat in a far corner of the room away from the rest, Dhafer brought up an image of the cursed Simurgh, who had moved as Kratos moved until she hovered directly over Port Harcourt.
"Yesterday, late afternoon," Dhafer said.
Kratos bit down a surge of anger when he saw an all-too familiar figure floating up effortlessly on the edge of space. However, another figure rose up into view of the satellite feed to face the Endbringer.
"That is Eidolon, no?" Bunuel said. "What is he doing?"
To their mutual shock, the most powerful parahuman in the world lashed at the Endbringer with a blast of some unimaginable power. It struck full-on, but did not even make the Endbringer move. The Simurgh continued to ignore him entirely as it looked down directly where Kratos himself stood.
Until, abruptly, she didn't. The 14-foot-tall creature, shaped like an elongated woman made of ivory with hundreds of wings sprouting in impossible angles from her body and each other, twitched as if struck by something even more powerful than Eidolon, and turned her head to look toward the north hemisphere.
"Do you know why?"
Dhafer shrugged. "I have made a friend. Much nicer than your Alexandria. She is Canadian. She can tell us."
Kratos nodded with a grunt, and Dhafer called up his friend. The hologram split, half the table showing the Simurgh, the other showing a woman with perfectly symmetrical features, only with the features themselves sized to give the impression of mundaneness rather than beauty. It looked to Kratos as if someone had crafted the perfect bust, but then painted it poorly to hide the underlying perfection.
"Hello, Dhafer," a gentle female voice said. She spoke Arabic like Dhafer himself, but Kratos recognized the tinker.
"You are Dragon."
"I am, yes. And you are...are you going by Kratos openly, now? I've seen images of you in art going back millennia."
"I am Kratos," he said. "Why did Eidolon attack the Simurgh?"
"I don't know," Dragon admitted. "But Alexandria and Legend were both alarmed enough to reach out to him."
"And the reason why the Simurgh moved as she did after?"
"I have a suspicion. Your daughter has travelled to Ireland."
This should not have surprised him. And yet, the late hour still caught him off-guard. Was he so set in the comfort of leadership that he'd lost track of what was truly important? Kratos crossed his arms and stared at the hologram of the Simurgh intently. He could feel the cold eyes of the angelic demon searing into him from above even now. If his daughter was already on her quest for her godly weapons and armor, then the time was running short just as Athena warned in his dream.
"My friends," Kratos said gravely. "My time here is at an end."
The entire command staff, which had been buzzing with the sounds of voices speaking to people across the continent, went eerily quiet. Many of the communications technicians rose to their feet in alarm.
Of them all, only Fernando Bunuel understood. "Your daughter?"
"Only she could make the Endbringers look away," Kratos said. "Her just being within the same side of the world brings risks."
"Mahdi, I do not understand," Tarak said. His voice actually cracked.
Kratos gripped the young man's shoulder. "The Endbringers watch me because they know I am a danger to them, and to their master."
He looked up from his loyal aid to all the men and women who had supported his crusade against Moord Nag. "I have fought for all of you so that your people may have a better future than you or your parents did. But my daughter fights for all the peoples of Earth, and her battle is far graver. If she fails, all will be lost. It calls to me to clear her path and ensure all is ready for when she comes. If she fails, this world and all of you upon it will perish."
Kratos returned his attention to the hated Endbringer, then to the hologram of Dragon. "There are things I must do. Places I must go. I have means of flight, but it is...not preferable."
"I've been authorized by the US Protectorate and Guild to offer you blanket assistance. If you wish, I can have a super-sonic transport to you in three hours."
"Very well." He nodded his thanks to the Tinker before her image faded. Turning to his speechless staff, he nodded to them. "All of you are worthy warriors for this cause. Serve your people and your land well, and you will be remembered."
~~Theogony~~
~~Theogony~~
Extricating himself from the continent proved easier said than done. Though many of the delegates of the continental congress had voiced their doubts and concerns with a foreigner having command over the army, when they learned of his imminent departure their tunes changed quickly.
Even before Moord Nag, Africa suffered from centuries of colonization, ethnic warfare and tensions. It was only as Kratos announced his departure that the many regional delegates realized that he was the sole reason why the whole continent had not collapsed into bloody civil war.
He made his rounds among the delegates, assuring them that Bunuel would hand over the command once the civilian authority was established. It took hours. But when he spoke to the last delegates he needed to appease, he returned to his quarters only long enough to shed the trappings of mortal leadership, and to don the true weapons of his role. When he left his chambers and walked through the command center, he did so as Kratos of Sparta, the God of War. His staff watched his every step; many had tears in their eyes when he stood and gave them final words of encouragement or hope. He knew everyone by name, and knew in their hearts they strove with all their might for a better world.
Finally, though, he could delay no further. It was already late in the day when he left the converted police station and walked into the cleared yard where the massive, dragon-shaped craft waited for him. He walked up the ramp to find a surprisingly spacious yet Spartan interior. Kratos did not look back at the men he'd led for the past year. Only the future mattered.
He settled onto a hard bench as the craft lifted into the air and began its return journey. It did not surprise him at all when a hologram appeared opposite, a blue glowing form that reminded him of a spirit. This spirit was in the shape of Alexandria.
"Your comrade was foolish."
Alexandria's face remained hidden, save for pursed lips. "He is having difficulty accepting what's happening. Speaking of, do you know what she's doing?" the hologram asked without preamble.
"I know enough. Her mission is paramount. The time grows short."
"What will you do?"
"I will clear the way for her and gather what allies I can. When I return to America, I will do so as a cleansing fire. Understand this, Alexandria. I will destroy any threats that might slow her. You and yours will not interfere with me."
The hologram regarded him intently for a long moment. "Threats such as the Slaughterhouse Nine or Heartbreaker?"
"Just so."
Alexandria considered him intently. "Very well. When you're ready to return to America, we will not interfere. In return, though, we ask that you let us know where you are going so we know not to get in your way. And if you can do this for us, we might even be able to assist."
"In what way?"
"I might have information regarding Siberian. We hoped for years that the Siberian would assist us in Endbringer fights."
"Foolish," Kratos scoffed. "Creatures such as that are cowards."
"This is what we know," Alexandria began.
~~Theogony~~
~~Theogony~~
Not far from an ancient village on the edge of a great natural structure of circular stone so large that Zeus could spy it from the top of Olympus and know it as the edge of his domain, a great beast of metal and fire sent desert sand swirling.
"I've read about the Richat Structure, but I've never been so close," Dragon said through the speakers of her "suit".
Kratos said nothing as he walked down the ramp.
Sand as fine as flour flared in little bursts with each step as he walked to the edge of a dune and looked down into the bowl of a wadi on the edge of the Richet. Nestled within the wadi, he saw a low-roofed building made of stacked stone, with narrow windows barred by old drift wood. He could smell water in the air from the wadi's spring, as well as a few mastic trees clinging to life amidst the harshness of the desert. Goats lingered near the well, announcing each step with the dull, low clang of a bell.
The structure held four blue-painted wooden doors, each marking a small chamber. Sitting cross-legged on a hand-woven rug between the two center doors rested a Berber man in a brilliant indigo Tagulmust that covered his head, but which was pulled back to reveal a hard, dark face with a thin beard.
Great boulders formed a border around the wadi, positioned in a way that a mortal eye would dismiss as unimportant. To Kratos, the stones formed an ancient but powerful spell of protection.
He made his way down the hill. As he came closer, he saw stone idols on the boulders that were ancient even when he was a child. They were stone carvings of Earth goddesses, with swollen breasts and hips. The magic within them was ancient when Kronos sought out help from Gaia. They were Gaia, as this region had known her.
The lone man sitting in front of the stone structure watched but said nothing.
Kratos stopped at the nearest boulder. Without a word, he slipped his Leviathan axe from his shoulders and leaned it against the boulder. He unwound his Swords of Chaos, wrapped them in their hateful chains, and laid them by his axe. Only then did he continue through the most ancient warding.
Finally, he stopped before the man. A rifle from the Great War lay propped against the wall beside the Berber man. While it was easily over a century in age, Kratos could see it had been kept clean and operational.
"She said you would come," the Berber called in Arabic.
"She is wise," Kratos said. "I come in peace."
The man nodded. Kratos stepped past him to the first blue door. When he opened it, he emerged into a place beyond. An oasis lay under a violet sky, with palm trees swaying in an ephemeral wind. Goats and camels lay side by side with lions, while crocodiles floated in the water. Beyond, a seemingly endless field of reeds marked where the water of the oasis spilled out into the desert.
A tall, striking figure stood on the edge of the oasis, her back to him. She wore an indigo boubou of woven cotton, interwoven with golden flour designs. A veil of dark blue silk hung over her head. She turned to see and for one moment Kratos felt like a child again before those ancient blue eyes.
She did not cover her face, not to him. She was striking in a way modern women could not be, for hers was the template of womanhood. Her skin was the color of polished rosewood, darker than any woman of Sparta, but not as dark as Oya. The eyes, though, shone with the color of the sky.
"Neith," Kratos whispered.
"So I have been called," the ancient goddess replied. "It has been many millennia since I walked out of the deserts of Libya to the land of the River peoples."
"You were mother to their gods," Kratos said.
"To some, yes. Some of whom you killed."
Kratos bowed his head. "Yes."
Her dress hid her figure, save for the swell of her hips as she walked toward him. The smell of her pervaded his senses in a way only Freya and Faye before her could. Smell was not even the word for it, but rather that recognition that pervaded every sense he had that this was an ancient, powerful goddess of the Earth. Her movement spoke of untold amounts of spilled blood and cleaved flesh; of gods born and raised upon high. Mother of Ra; mother of Sobek and Apep, consort to Set.
Before him stood a creator god more ancient even than Zeus; a goddess who walked among the most ancient of men from the time primordial.
"You've reclaimed your power, Kratos," the goddess said. A slim hand covered in ochre symbols touched his beard. "The fires of war burn in you. You killed Oya's perverted champion."
"I did, and I returned the girl to her mother's embrace."
Neith met his gaze squarely. She stood taller even than his own Taylor. "And it is for that I allow you entry, Olympian. You are stained with the blood of my kin."
"And my own as well."
She dropped her hand. "I feel your daughter moving about the world. Her steps shake the ground. It was anathema, what you did. To trap a goddess of spirit within the body of a goddess of the Earth. At any other time, the gods of both would rise up against her and destroy her."
"It was necessary."
"You would destroy the Earth to save it. The ancient dragon from Beyond is a destroyer of worlds; an eater of stars. But the ancient protections still stand. A champion would have risen to defeat him in time. But you and your mate shaped your own—you were always impatient."
"Will you help her?"
"I will not. The age of gods has passed; it does no good for our children to try and bring it back."
"Perhaps. But it is done. Telos lives. Even now Brigid the Smith arms her for the battle to come. I prepare the way. Will you help me, if not her?"
More than any goddess he had known, Neith's gaze saw through him. She saw his fears and hopes; the quiet despair and loss so powerful it could grind mountains to dust. She knew because she had the same; more than any living thing; more than any god to ever walk the realms, Neith had known loss.
"There are too few of us left," she finally said. "Those with the power to act are known to you. The rest do as I do, and remain as I remain."
"She is our best hope, Neith."
"So you say. Perhaps you are right. But what of the next threat, Kratos? And the next after? What happens when our children pierce the heavens and move beyond the shelter of the gods into the stars beyond? What happens when the constellations fall and Earth is laid bare to the chaos beyond the stars? There will always be another threat. Always, there is risk. How many children can you sire to face those threats?"
"Did you not do the same when you brought the sun to the peoples of the Nile?"
"And did I not suffer as they suffered, and see all I cherished lost until all that remained was to walk back to the desert that birthed me?"
She lowered her head. "You are strong, Kratos of Sparta. You have become more than your fate foretold. In time, you may be greater still. This threat will pass, by one hand or another. And another threat will rise. In time, you will return to me. When you do, you shall put your axe and sword away forever. Until that day, I cannot assist you."
Kratos stood silent as she turned her back on him and looked out across this small remnant of the Fields of Aaru. He found a reluctance within himself to leave.
Such had never stopped him before. "Thank you for seeing me, Neith."
"I don't like that name any more," she said over her shoulder. "When next you see me, I shall have another."
"Then I look forward to that day." He bowed, turned and left. When he did so, the sun had set over the desert.
The Berber warrior had not moved. "Peace go with you," he said.
Kratos regarded the old warrior before nodding. "And with you."
He walked back up the dune to the waiting Dragon craft.