Burning. A village engulfed in flame, in ash. A woman, drenched in fire, staggered towards Kratos, begging for water, for respite, but all water had evaporated, leaving only the inferno, and her screams. Those screams. They echoed in Kratos' ears, searing him worse than the fire itself. Kratos took a step to grab the woman, to find some snow, or some nearby river, to drench her. A blackened skull cracked beneath Kratos' feet. In this place, Death had touched every surface, had filled the vision no matter where the eyes looked. It was too late. The woman had succumbed to the flame, and was gone.
A sound. A crying baby at his feet, which was not there before. This child, wrapped in cloth, held out his arms for his father.
"Atreus?"
The baby began to dissolve away, layer by layer. Skin dripped off of him like crushed leaves in a breeze. Muscles evaporated into the air, as if made of embers. Kratos reached down in desperation, but as he picked the baby from the ash, Aterus dissolved into the wind.
Kratos had grown accustomed to this nightly ritual. Nightmares. Always nightmares. He eyed his alarm clock through the dark of his apartment. Too early to worry about going to work, but too late to fall back to sleep. He sighed, rubbed his face, rose from his bed and shuffled to the kitchen. His small apartment was cheap, inconspicuous, easy to overlook. It was not a place for a god, and that was exactly the idea. No one would come looking for him here.
So much had changed in recent years. GPS. Internet. Smartphones. Mortals had become gods in their own right, learning nuclear power, instant communication, even space travel, all within the last century. In some ways, mortals had surpassed the wretched gods they once worshipped, and in some ways, they were becoming the very thing that oppressed them. Kratos neither applauded nor condemned mortals for this. Perhaps it was just the way of things. Perhaps cruelty, barbarism, was inescapable, no matter what rung you found yourself. If anything, it was amusing to see gods and prayer replaced with devices and convenience.
Coffee was one such convenience. The caffeine did nothing against Kratos' divine metabolism, but was a pleasant morning treat, and one of only a few modern commodities he allowed himself. With the sound of the maker bubbling, the coffee's rich nutty aroma filled the apartment. As he went to pour his first cup, a faint knock came from the door. Who, at this hour?Have I been discovered? Kratos wondered. Tentatively, Kratos approached his own door, and unlatched all four separate locks.
Tammy. His neighbour. A teacher at a nearby high school, and that was all Kratos knew about her, and that was all he cared to know. Their longest interactions were at the mailboxes, exchanging stories of the day, and nothing more. It was Kratos' nature to keep everyone at arm's length, especially neighbours. If they knew anything about his true nature, there was no telling what might happen to them, or to Kratos himself. He was tired, old, and wanted to be left alone. This was his retirement from the world of gods and monsters, and he had come to terms with his isolation.
Tammy had never knocked on his door before, yet here she stood, in an old white bath-robe and slippers, hair a mess, eyes sunken with exhaustion.
"Tamara", whispered Kratos, poking his head down the hall, then back to Tammy. "It is early".
"Yeah...it is," she whispered back, rubbing her eyes. "You ok? You were yelling and yelling, like you'd seen a damn demon. To be honest, I half-wondered if you were murdering someone in there."
Kratos's eye winced. "It was…a bad dream."
"Hell of a bad dream...well you let me know if you need anything, an herbal tea or something."
"Thank you, Tamara. I apologize if I woke you."
"Just Tammy, dude. You should see a doctor about those nightmares."
This conversation is over. "I doubt the doctors could help. Return to sleep."
Tammy gave Kratos a sympathetic look, then began to shuffle her way back down the hall. "Alright man, take it easy. My door is always open for you, if you need someone to talk to."
"I know."
The sun had begun to rise. Kratos pulled his blinds, feeling the warmth of the summer day enter his cold, dark and empty home. New York- city of a million hiding places. So many unusual people, so many tastes in fashion, so many tattoos and scars among its eight-million residents, no one would blink twice at Kratos or his strange appearance. He worked a normal job, in a normal city, as a normal citizen. It was a perfect hiding place.
Or so he thought.
Kratos' phone buzzed. No one knew this number, except work, and it was still too early for that. The text was from a private number.
"Knock knock." Was all it read.
No sooner had he read the text, there came another knock on his door. What do you want now? How did Tammy get this number? Kratos wondered to himself as he unlatched all four locks again. He swung the door wide, and grew anxious when it was not Tammy at the door, but a man, dressed all in black, adorned in leather, and wearing an eyepatch on one eye.
The stern man gave Kratos pause, but he would not entertain even the slightest chance of exposing himself. "Leave."
"Good morning to you too," said the man, speaking with the confidence of a soldier, the sternness of a commander, and the distant chill of a bureaucrat.
"I am warning you." Said Kratos curtly.
The man raised his eyebrows. "I see they weren't lying about your hospitality. I'm not looking for a fight. That would be suicide against someone like you, Ghost of Sparta."
A surge of adrenaline. Kratos' mind raced. How does he know me? Do the Asgardians know as well? The surviving Olympians? How was I discovered? Kratos' grip tightened around the door handle.
"Who are you?" Kratos asked.
"Me? I'm what you might call a talent agent. Nicholas Fury. Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Can I come in? I smell coffee."
"No. Leave." Kratos huffed. "You will find nothing here."
"I'm not so sure about that. The pale skin, the red tattoo. You match the description, and I think you'll be interested in what I have to offer."
Kratos sighed. There would be no dissuading this man without violence, and that was the last thing Kratos wanted in his own home. Not again. Kratos stepped aside and allowed the stranger entrance. "What do you want?"
The man, this Fury, poured himself a coffee, then explained. "I'm here to talk about the Avengers Initiative."
"I have had my fill of vengeance."
"It's just a name." Fury mentioned. "Earth is under threat, Spartan. We know superhumans and extraterrestrial threats are out there, and we know they're coming. The Avengers will be our line of defence against those threats, and right now, we are in need of people with your talents."
"My talents." Kratos scoffed.
"I don't think I need to remind you, but you have a track record of winning." Fury continued. "Earth could use someone with that kind of luck."
"My past is none of your concern. And my 'track record' is not what you think."
"Oh, we are aware of the gruesome choices you've made, Kratos." Fury said, taking a sip. "How about a chance to make it right with the world? Look at you. Sitting here, rotting away, soaked in your own guilt, sweat and stink. Is this your idea of redemption?"
"It is enough. I am no longer that warrior of the past. I abandoned that life a long time ago. I will NOT return to it."
Fury sighed lightly, took a business card out of his jacket and placed it on the kitchen table. "Think it over."
With that, Fury took another sip, then left, closing the door behind him, leaving Kratos heavy with questions. The card was silver and white, with only a phone number and an address imprinted on its surface. It promised redemption, but was more likely than not, a ticket back to the world of battle and bloodshed. They knew where he lived. They would return, no doubt. This Fury did not seem like a man who understood the word 'no.' Kratos assumed. The old God of War picked up the card, paused, then threw it in the garbage. Behind him, he could feel a presence, a presence he hadn't felt in what felt like an eternity, taunting him, laughing in silence, a whisper.
"Monster."