A/N: One of the hardest chapters I've written in a while. It was important to capture the characters of Kailasha's inhabitants without turning them into caricatures. I hope I did them justice.
___
"I apologise with the deepest sincerity for my brother's behaviour," the elephant-headed teen - who introduced himself as Ganesh - said solemnly while on his knees. He turned then yanked the other boy's arm and brought him to his knees as well.
"Apologise to the warrior!" Ganesh admonished his younger brother, Murugan. The other lad was apprehensive but eked out a murmur of an apology nonetheless.
Looking at the two kids, Kratos was increasingly certain that the two were most likely blood brothers, as there was clearly no resemblance. But those thoughts were plain deviations from the matter at hand.
"This one was trying to kill me for no reason at all," Kratos stated while pointing at Murugan.
"But you didn't die now, did you?" Murugan challenged with a scornful glare.
Kratos growled back at the challenge, but he was caught off-guard as Ganesh raised his hand and twisted his younger brother's ears. "It doesn't matter if he died or not. You raised your weapon intending to kill, and you did succeed in killing him. For that, an apology isn't enough to clear the karma between you two."
He looked towards Kratos and declared, "A debt is owed, and a debt shall be repaid. It is your choice, warrior, on how you wish to claim it."
"Why should I owe him anything?" Murugan interjected with an affronted scoff. "He could have very easily subdued me. He was clearly toying around with me. And I'm pretty sure he let himself get hit and died."
"You can only make that claim after the fact," Ganesh immediately denied Murugan's excuses and rose to his feet. "Accept your fault and move on. What is there to gain from holding on to your pride and ego here? You know what Father always says, 'Pride and ego are the weights that hold you from growing'."
"Then why is father so tall?" Murugan snapped back with a mirthful snort, only to receive a deathly glare from Ganesh that immediately deflated the boy's posture.
"W-Well I wasn't trying to kill you for no reason, by the way," Murugan spoke swiftly, swerving away from his brother's ire. He pointed at the axe in Kratos' waist and said, "It's because of that."
As Kratos looked at the weapon the boy continued, "It doesn't belong to you. It shouldn't be in your possession."
"It refuses to leave," Kratos responded with a tired sigh as he tossed the weapon off the side of the cliff. After a few seconds, he held out his palm and the axe returned in half the time.
"So it seems that it has tethered itself to you," Ganesh hummed while nodding his head in thought. "I assume you're here because you want to get rid of it?"
Right as Kratos nodded in affirmation, the boy played with his broken left tusk like a man twirling his moustache and said, "I can't help you, unfortunately. But that's only because I wasn't the one who created the weapon. You see a sentient weapon, such as this, only listens to the wielder it was forged for or the smith who forged it."
"But why does it return to me when I call for it?" Kratos said in frustration.
"It's plainly performing one of the tasks it was assigned at the time of its creation," Ganesh explained. "...probably. Again, since I am not its creator, at most I can only hypothesise."
"Didn't father create it?" Murugan blurted out while scratching his head. "Why can't he just ask him?"
Ganesh returned a sharp side-eye and said, "Father does not recant. Besides, an audience with Father must be earned."
Murugan waved his hand and approached Kratos with a decisive stride, "Let us clear our debt here. I will give you an audience with the creator of this axe."
"That's not-"
"I'll take responsibility, brother," Murugan quickly cut in. "Father's wrath will be mine to bear."
Turning to Kratos, the boy instructed, "Follow me!"
___
As the trio walked towards their destination, Kratos managed to glean more information about who they were and who their supposed 'father' was. And apparently, the two had the same father.
"Was your mother an elephant?" Kratos asked Ganesh bluntly, causing both the kids to stumble in unison.
"Say that again!" Murugan immediately recovered and jabbed his spear towards Kratos. Before the duo could tussle, the elder child interjected with an uproarious laugh.
"Not exactly," Ganesh responded while soothing his younger brother into lowering his weapon. "Our mother created me out of clay."
"Why did she give you an elephant's head?" Kratos responded.
"She gave me a human head, but... circumstances resulted in me losing my head. To not die, I needed a new one. Things happened too quickly, and the only one that was found was that of an elephant," Ganesh explained.
"That is odd," Kratos commented.
"How is that odder than your hypothesis of a person consummating with a beast and creating a hybrid offspring such as myself," Ganesh said with an amused smile.
"I have seen it," Kratos rebutted. A hybrid between a human and a bull - a Minotaur. There were more - Kratos could list the many offspring his father Zeus had sired, but that would take an uncomfortably long time.
"That IS odd," Murugan commented. "How does it even work?"
Kratos didn't bother quenching the boy's crude curiosity and continued his earlier line of questioning. "So you are his half-brother?"
"I guess so," Ganesh answered with a shrug. But the younger lad vehemently denied that claim and declared, "He is my true full-brother! If anyone says otherwise, may they be reborn as plain weed in their next lives!"
Kratos could clearly see the affection and respect the younger one had for his elder half-brother practically oozing out of his eyes. Although he bickered, he didn't question or refute his elder brother. It was endearing to watch.
But a question nagged at Kratos. "Why did you try to kill me because of this axe?"
Murugan's palms balled into a tight fist. He glared at the weapon and alternated his gaze between it and his elder brother's broken tusk.
"The man who wielded it before you, its original owner, wasn't a good man," Murugan declared.
"You didn't even meet him," Ganesh said while shaking his head.
"I know enough to judge him," Murugan challenged. "He hurt you, therefore he is a bad man."
"It was my fault. I was far too immature and offended him," Ganesh reasoned.
"Yet you did not deserve to be maimed as such," Murugan retorted. And before Ganesh pleaded the case for his attacker, Murugan raised his palm and said, "I know that you wouldn't hurt anyone. The worst you can do is play an innocent practical joke. Even then, there is no reason for a person to react the way he did. I still don't understand why Father let the man leave the mountain alive after what he did to you?"
"I can't believe Mother let him walk away either..." Murugan muttered with a shudder as he imagined his mother's expression when his brother returned crying with a broken tusk.
"She didn't just 'let' him walk away," Ganesh explained.
"Look, I don't know the whole story. I only know bits and pieces as they slip out of your or our parents' mouths unwittingly," Murugan cut in exasperatedly. "I know it's wrong to draw conclusions with only part of the truth, but it really makes my blood boil to know that someone out there is living their life peacefully after hurting you like this."
"He definitely won't be in peace," Ganesh blurted out with a dry chuckle. "Mother cursed the weapon so that it would be a constant reminder of his-"
Ganesh halted in his tracks, and he slowly turned his head towards Kratos. The boy's eyes widened as a realisation struck him. "Y-You are seeing them now, aren't you?"
Kratos didn't need to ask for clarification to understand. "They have taken over my dreams," he admitted.
"Oh, you poor man..." Ganesh mumbled. He then bit his lower lip hidden behind his trunk and said, "Things just got a lot more complicated."
___
Kratos, preoccupied with his guides, had failed to truly observe his surroundings. A grave oversight for a Spartan warrior, and another one his old paidonomoi would have chastised severely. The environment, after all, was the silent weapon a Spartan must master above all else.
So it was with a jolt of surprise that he found himself mounting a peacock – Murugan's apparently – a creature that flew effortlessly even burdened with their combined weight. Clearly, this was no ordinary bird. Nor was the rat that could morph into a bear-sized monstrosity and back again. But such oddities barely registered with Kratos. "Normal" was a relative concept, and his frame of reference had long been skewed by the extraordinary ever since his wrists were bound by the fiery chains of the Blades of Chaos.
Yet the sight that unfolded from above defied even his jaded perception. It was another world entirely. It was a hidden realm nestled atop a towering peak, soaring over eight thousand meters high. Kratos estimated its expanse to be the size of three sprawling cities or three times the breadth of the Olympian Realm of the Gods. But unlike that opulent realm, there was no ostentation here, no gaudy displays of divine power. There was just nature in its raw, barely tamed form.
The Peak was comprised of three concentric circles. The outermost ring was a desolate tundra. It served as a stark transition from the barren slopes below to the more temperate climates within.
The second layer was a vast plain, carpeted in emerald green and dotted with a vibrant array of fruit trees, flowering plants, and cultivated fields. This fertile expanse, encompassing the largest portion of the Peak, exuded an aura of inviting serenity.
As they neared the innermost circle, the trees and flora of the plains grew denser. They seamlessly merged into a lush, tropical jungle. But here, a sense of unease crept in.
The density of trees and foliage in the forest increased exponentially within a few kilometres of entering the inner concentric circle. And an extremely thick fog hung over the core - Kratos could not make heads nor tails of what lay underneath.
Before Kratos could dwell on the mysteries hidden below, the peacock began its descent, issuing a majestic cry as it landed gracefully on the plains. It positioned itself beside the river that snaked towards the forest's edge.
Suddenly, a chaotic clatter broke the tranquillity. A series of irregular thumps, distinctly grouped in triplets, echoed from the treeline. Experience indicated that this could only be generated by a creature that walked on three legs.
And matching his hypothesis, a grotesque creature burst through the treeline and hobbled towards them. It had two arms and three feet, its body was like an overripe tomato twisted by hand and sewn back together. Its tongue flowed out of where its eye should have been and its ears were where its nostrils would have been. It emitted a stream of guttural gibberish as it charged.
Kratos pulled out his axe and instinctively hurled it in the direction of the approaching creature. The creature, startled, stumbled and slipped as the axe spun towards the eyes embedded in its palms. But the weapon abruptly halted midair, as its momentum was dissipated by a shower of golden particles. Looking to the side, he was Ganesh holding out one arm, with a mandala of complex geometric shapes blooming outwards from his palm.
"They work here," Murugan explained hastily as he helped the creature stand up. The creature rasped out another sequence of gibberish before scooping up the "normal-sized" rat and leading the peacock away.
"Did you tame Rakshasas?" Kratos asked in shock.
"They aren't Rakshasas. They are Ganas," Ganesh answered. "Manifestations of souls that have assumed a physical form. They are the groundskeepers here."
That was a non-answer, as it simply sparked a barrage of questions in Kratos' mind. But he didn't voice them as they were irrelevant to his current, immediate objective. He grunted as he observed the hobbling creature, and realised that it wasn't alone. There were others all around. Some were diminutive, others massive. But no two looked the same and no two looked... proper. They were warped or distorted beyond recognition, each just as horrifying as the last.
"Come," Murugan declared as he ventured onward with the river to his right. Kratos fell into step behind him, with Ganesh flanking his other side. Together, the trio were swallowed whole by the uninviting maw of the jungle as they trudged onwards.
"Always keep the river to your right," Murugan explained, his voice echoing strangely in the dense air. "Even if it seems to twist and turn back on itself. The forest is treacherous. A moment's distraction and you're lost, and if you lose your way in here, there is no return. Many have thought they knew better, and many have been swallowed whole."
Kratos couldn't fathom the need for such caution, but its truth became chillingly evident within moments. Even with the river as their guide, a creeping sense of disorientation settled over him.
The forest pulsed with hidden life, yet an unnatural silence clung to the river's edge as if the water itself was holding its breath. Turning right felt like turning left, and left felt eerily right. Many times, the river seemed to writhe in on itself with a series of impossible bends, making Kratos feel like he was trapped in a watery maze. If not for Murugan's and Ganesh's assurances that they were moving forward, Kratos would have given in to the urge to strike out on his own to follow the path that seemed, however deceptively, to lead to the forest's heart.
After what felt like an eternity, Kratos noticed the vegetation growing denser and more oppressive. The sunlight that had filtered through the canopy dimmed as if the forest itself were drawing close, eager to smother the light. Only the phosphorescent glow of the river guided them onward like a lifeline in the deepening gloom.
The deafening silence had given way to a chorus of eerie, inhuman cries that echoed through the trees. A cacophony of wails and whispers resonated all around them and set Kratos' senses on edge.
"Ignore them," Murugan reminded, his voice tight.
"What are they?" Kratos pressed, his eyes catching a fleeting shadow flitting through the branches above. "They're not animals."
"No," Murugan answered with a grim note in his voice. "They're the damned. Punished to never reenter the cycle of reincarnation. Ignore them. As long as you keep to the riverside, they cannot do anything to you."
"Souls?" Kratos probed, his unease growing.
At this point, Ganesh chimed in with an unsettlingly calm voice, "You are not of these lands, are you?"
Murugan halted, turning to Kratos with an intrigued frown.
"You lack common knowledge," Ganesh continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "You are equally ignorant to our identities. You don't even know where you are."
"Should I know you?" Kratos asked, his hand instinctively moving towards his weapon.
"Well..." Ganesh drawled a hint of amusement in his voice. He scratched his forehead sheepishly. "I don't want to sound narcissistic, but you kind of should. I'm surprised you've never seen me before."
Kratos's mind raced, desperately trying to process this new information. Then, like a lightning strike, a collage of images flooded his consciousness.
An elephant-headed statue. He'd seen it countless times. Every business, every shop he had passed by had one!
That could only mean—
"Gods!" Kratos growled. His knuckles turned white, even more than they already were, as they gripped the axe's handle tightly.
"So you HAVE seen me before," Ganesh exclaimed mirthfully. "Sure took you long enough. Oh, man!" He said while chuckling. The boy's entire body gyrated with each laugh, causing his bulging stomach to jiggle along with him.
"Why are you so angry all of a sudden?" Murugan interjected, his eyes fixed warily on Kratos's hand that clutched the axe.
Fury surged through Kratos. Even in this strange new land, he couldn't escape the meddling of the gods.
He ignored the two boys, shouldering past Murugan to continue following the river upstream.
"Wait!" Murugan yelled, but his voice was swallowed by the rising din of otherworldly shrieks and howls as the river twisted sharply into the deepening shadows.
Pushing aside the unwelcome realization that he was once again caught in the tangled web of divine schemes, Kratos pressed on, until finally, the oppressive treeline began to thin. But the darkness remained.
The river, now a ribbon of silver in the gloom, flowed through a moss-covered stone archway.
But as Kratos attempted to follow the river's course, an invisible barrier of pressure stopped him dead in his tracks. The ground trembled beneath his feet, and the air vibrated with the rumbling bellow of a monstrous bull.
A faint, rhythmic clinking cut through the oppressive silence that followed. It sounded like tiny bells chiming in the wind, and it seemed to emanate from the shadows themselves, growing louder with each passing moment. Kratos' senses heightened and his gaze instinctively drew towards the source of the sound, though it felt as if it were closing in on him from all directions.
Then, from the depths of the gloom, a hulking figure emerged. Two malevolent eyes, burning like embers in the darkness, glared at him with predatory intensity. A pair of enormous horns, sharp as obsidian blades, crowned its head. The creature stepped fully into view. It was a demonic white bull, twice the size of any he had ever seen and its muscled form radiated an aura of raw power.
The clinking grew louder, resolving into the distinct sound of small bells strung around its thick neck. Their gentle chime was a jarring counterpoint to the beast's terrifying presence.
The bull pawed the ground, sending tremors through Kratos' feet. It lowered its head menacingly, the bells jangling ominously, and prepared to charge. Kratos' grip tightened on his axe, but a primal instinct screamed within him.
He'd fought many creatures before. But very few had the ability to drench his back in cold sweats through their mere presence alone. This bull was dangerous.
A burst of steam escaped the bull's nostrils as it charged. Just as Kratos prepared himself to dodge, the two boys rushed through the treeline and blocked the creature's path.
The bull came to a skidding halt mere centimetres away from him, its horns a mere millimetre away from his face. The bells let out a final chime as they settled once again against its thick neck.
"He's with us," Murugan quickly explained. The boy then joined his palms and pleaded, "Please let him through to meet Father."
The creature returned a blank stare, though, in that silence, it seemed to have expressed a myriad of thoughts.
"I will take responsibility," Murugan said with a hint of trembling uncertainty.
The bull drilled its gaze into the boy before finally relenting and stepping aside. Its attention remained affixed to Kratos as he brushed past the boys and passed through the arch.
The world expanded once again as he crossed that threshold - like a light being pushed through a fish's eye. A sense of heavy disorientation crashed into Kratos, but he did not let it take hold. He kept his guard up and followed the river, which was starting to grow wide and shallow.
Then before him, the earth started to rise into a wide plateau. The river circled around it and bubbled out from the soil beneath, flowing downstream. But what intrigued Kratos was the ashen, luminescent particulates that floated upstream. Millions of tiny, wispy fragments swam against the current towards the river's source. And instead of sinking into the ground, the particulates lifted off and floated up the plateau like the ash billowing out of a volcano. A charred stench hung in the air, accentuated with a powdery aftereffect as Kratos could feel the molecules of ash disturbing his nostrils.
All other sounds, barring the soft and incessant bubbling of the stream, had faded into silence. And then, cutting through the stillness, came the rhythmic beat of a drum. Its high, tribal thrumming echoed from the plateau's summit. The beats were interspersed with the resonant sounds of bare feet slapping against the earth in a primal rhythm that was both systematic and unpredictable, mellow yet aggressive. It was a perfectly chaotic motif forming a mesmerizing blend of order and chaos.
Kratos approached the base of the plateau. His gaze was drawn to the swirling vortex of ash rising to its peak. He chose the least steep incline and began his ascent, wading through the ever-thickening torrent of luminescent particles. With each upward step, the drumming grew louder and more passionate, as if urging him onward.
As he finally crested the plateau's rim, the source of the drumming came into view. A lone figure, silhouetted against the swirling ash, danced with a frenzied energy. The figure's movements were fluid and hypnotic, yet interspersed with rigid and forceful jerks. Their limbs weaved intricate patterns in the air, and in their arm, they held a trident. At the trident's staff, they had a type of drum tied to it. As the trident danced with the figure, the drum evoked a reverberating thump - this was the source of the sound.
The ash particles were drawn to the figure like moths to a flame. As they danced in the still wind towards them, they immediately adhered to their skin, forming a shimmering, spectral shroud. And as each particle touched the figure's flesh, ethereal forms erupted outwards – ghosts, souls. The ethereal forms had faces contorted in a myriad of emotions ranging from ecstasy to anguish. These spectral beings, freed, surged upwards towards three gaping portals hovering above the dancing figure.
Kratos' gaze followed the trajectory of the liberated souls, his eyes widening as he took in the sight of the portals. Of the three, two were of a smaller size. The first amongst them offered a glimpse of a tranquil realm, a world of soft clouds and gentle breezes. The second, equally small, pulsed with an oppressive heat, leading into a coast of molten rocks. But it was the largest portal that held Kratos's attention. It shimmered with a golden light, revealing a vast, opulent palace in the distance set to a backdrop of void and darkness. Through the swirling portal, Kratos could just make outlines of ghostly figures, their forms fading as they marched towards the palace gates.
Suddenly, a shrill shriek pierced the rhythmic drumming. Kratos's eyes snapped towards the disturbance where one of the liberated souls, with its face contorted in a mask of fury, broke from the ascending throng and launched itself at the dancing figure. A demonic grin stretched across its spectral features and its ethereal form flickered with rage. But the ash-wreathed dancer, with a dancer's grace and a warrior's speed, whirled their trident and struck the vengeful spirit with pinpoint accuracy. The ghost recoiled as its form dissolved into wisps of smoke and was flung back towards the plateau's edge, vanishing into the shadowy depths of the forest below.
Then, in quick succession, three more souls broke free, bouncing off the dancer's ash-coated skin and landing heavily on the ground. Unlike their brethren, they made no move towards the beckoning portals. Instead, they writhed and twisted as their ethereal forms sharpened, resolving into the figures of men and women. These figures had faces etched with reverence as they prostrated themselves before the dancer. But their obeisance was short-lived. A chorus of ear-splitting shrieks erupted, and their forms began to warp and distort. Their human features started to dissolve into a grotesque spectacle of mutation. Kratos fought back a wave of nausea as one of the figures was violently inverted, its insides spilling outwards before solidifying into a horrifying, fleshy mass. The second had its ribs burst from its chest in a gruesome display. Its limbs twisted and contorted until it resembled some monstrous insect. The final figure sprouted eyes across its entire body, its flesh bubbling and decaying as it compressed into the shape of a putrid, pulsating eggplant with spindly limbs.
These newly formed abominations prostrated themselves once more before the dancing figure. Then, with a series of guttural snarls and chitters, they scrambled over the edge of the plateau, disappearing into the darkness that shrouded the Peak.
Kratos' gaze finally settled on the dancer, taking in his otherworldly appearance. Long, dark, matted hair, dusted with ash, framed a face of stark beauty. His eyes, sharp and intense, shone with an inner fire and held an expression of serene focus. His figure was impeccably sculpted. His body was clad in a leopard skin garb that clung to his lithe form and moved with a grace that was both mesmerizing and unsettling. The ashen white coating that clung to his skin like a second layer gave him an ethereal quality that blurred the lines between the mortal and the spectral. From afar he appeared one with the ghostly figures that swirled around him.
As Kratos lost himself to the mesmerising dance, he started to feel lighter. Unburdened. This feeling... It was familiar. It was just like-
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted as he noticed the ash coating his own skin begin to peel away, merging with the ascending stream of particles. His eyes widened in shock and his mind reeled as his skin regained the natural vibrancy that was imprisoned beneath the pale, ashen layer.
The ash that had clung to him surged towards the dancing figure, joining the swirling vortex of particles before merging with the dancer's skin. Then, in a breathtaking instant, two ethereal figures with an off-coloured sheen erupted from the dancer's body and landed softly before Kratos. The figures solidified and their features sharpened rapidly, resolving into the achingly familiar forms of his wife and daughter.
A torrent of emotions surged through Kratos, his words got caught in his throat, choked by the sudden and overwhelming weight of grief and longing. His legs buckled beneath him and he collapsed to his knees. His gaze remained locked on the spectral images of his beloved and his kin.
Their eyes, filled with a profound sadness, met his. But there was no trace of anger, no accusation in their gaze, only a deep, abiding sorrow.
A thousand unspoken words, and a lifetime of regret, welled up within him. But they refused to leave his lips. His sorrow fought against his Spartan conditioning, reaching an aching standstill. In the end, he resolved to gaze at their forms for as long as possible. Even if there was something to say, it would be worthless. They were gone, after all.
But the reunion, if it could be called that, was cut short. Kratos belatedly realised that the sound of dancing and drumming had stopped altogether. The portals that were open above had closed, and the vortex of ash no longer rushed towards the epicentre - it was now piling up into a mound all around him.
Suddenly, the forms of his wife and daughter dispersed as the dancer walked through them. His expression was blank and his gaze was limpid. He kneeled in front of Kratos and brought his palm towards Kratos' face. Kratos did not anticipate the gentle brush of the man's fingertips against his cheeks. The touch sent a shiver down his spine, causing the Spartan within to lose and resulting in the long-dormant wellspring of emotion bursting through.
A single tear escaped Kratos' eye, tracing a path down his weathered cheek. The dancer, with a delicate touch, captured the teardrop on his fingertip, held it up to his eyeline and studied it intently. Then, with a deep breath, he opened his palm and blew, sending a swirling gust of ash towards Kratos. The ash enveloped him, clinging to his skin. And in an instant, the pallor that had briefly lifted returned, causing his flesh to once again assume its ashen hue.