Kratos observed the dead man go about his daily business with caution. His attention however wasn't on the man himself, but the weapon hanging by his waist. Kratos hadn't noticed this in the hubbub early on, but the axe tended to appear in the man's possession at the oddest of times.
When Rama died, he died bare-handed - unarmed. But upon revival, the axe had somehow returned. When Rama fell asleep, he did so without the axe, but when Kratos started fighting him, Rama was armed. Kratos did not believe in coincidences. The fact remained that both instances deviated from the norm when the axe arrived miraculously in Rama's possession.
"You're looking at me as if I just died and came back to life," Rama joked as he draped a cotton towel over his shoulders.
"You were dead," Kratos commented. "And do not lie to me. I have seen enough death in my time at the battlefield to know what it is!"
"Oh my!" Rama exclaimed with fake shock. "Are we finally revealing each other's pasts?"
Kratos growled in return before entering meditation, outwardly. On the inside, he was counting away the seconds until Rama would leave for his early morning bath and exasperatingly lord prayer - Sandhyavandanam, he called it.
As the man disappeared into the forest in the direction of the river, Kratos directed his attention to the tool-turned-weapon that was embedded into a bare tree stump. From afar it did not look like much. It had a simple wooden handle that was approximately the length of a person's forearm. However, it was surprising that the metal of the tool still maintained a healthy sheen and edge. Kratos hadn't seen Rama polish or sharpen it - the man almost despised this thing and would often leave it lying around.
Kratos crouched next to the stump and observed the tool more closely. Iron that has tasted blood adorns a malicious tinge that Kratos was all too familiar with. This tool did not have it. It was safe to say that it had no marks AT ALL. The metal was so clean and unmarred that one could mistake it for being a new piece.
Kratos continued to observe the tool for a while but with sufficient distance between him and it. He still maintained caution, because his instincts were still not satisfied with what the evidence before him had to offer. Kratos was a strict disbeliever of "seeing is believing". The world only shows you what you want to see. It is what it decides not to show you that bites you back. His instincts - which were built through repeated failure, death and resurrection - had been attuned over the years to become receptive to these details.
He leaned so close that his nose was merely a finger's width away from the tool. He took a series of quick sniffs, letting the scent emanating from the tool dance across his olfactory sensors. And unsurprisingly, he got nothing.
At this moment, Kratos should have pulled the reigns on his rampant curiosity. But the mystery was far too tempting to put down. A man had died but also hadn't.
After letting his instincts argue with his rationality, Kratos discerned that he had sufficiently evaluated the danger to be able to hold the tool. And so, with measured movements, Kratos wrapped his palm around the wooden handle and dislodged the tool from the stump. He turned the tool in his grasp, moved it around, swung it a few times, and chopped it down on the wooden stump. He dislodged the tool and inspected the iron. He noticed that the hit had caused minuscule chips to form on its surface. But within seconds, the damage started to heal itself. Metal mended as though it were flesh. This was enough to confirm Kratos' suspicion.
Deductive reasoning set in and a conclusion formed in his mind. The nature of the weapon's recovery could extend to the person wielding it. If it was basically reverting itself to an initial state, maybe the power could extend to the wielder as well. Alternatively, the weapon itself could be living (harbouring some entity) and this could be why it was undergoing recovery. Nonetheless, what worried Kratos was the question that came next. Every power comes with a cost. The greater the power, the greater the cost.
If this tool could resurrect its wielder, then it is within reason that the cost of such a power would be equally exacting. Was it blood? Souls?
Kratos decided to test the theory and cut his palm while holding the tool. Though, to his surprise, he did not notice any difference in the way his flesh responded to the gash. Blood trickled out with the same vigour and intensity as it usually did. And the tool remained dormant.
'Maybe it is so because I am not the original wielder.'
At that moment, Kratos' attention was piqued by the sound of approaching footsteps. He looked up and noticed the water-drenched Rama walking through the shrubbery. The man revealed a smile as their gaze met, but then the blooming expression of happiness froze and his eyes widened in shock as they traced the axe held in Kratos' hand.
The man extended his own and snapped his fingers, which was when the second bout of shock made itself visible on Rama's face. All of this was observed with Kratos and he took a mental note of it to grill Rama at a later time.
Now, was a later time.
"This axe repairs itself," Kratos commented. Rama extended his palm, calling for Kratos to pass the tool to him, which Kratos did by tossing it in the air. Kratos had a commendable aim, he had ejected the tool anticipating that it would land in Rama's hand safely. However, the man moved his hand back slightly, ensuring that the tool would miss. Yet his palms remained open, waiting to receive the tool. Yet the tool, as expected, landed on the ground in front of Rama.
The man looked at the tool for an extended period, no emotion showing itself on his face, until tears started to bubble. But Rama was quick to dab them away. He looked up to Kratos and revealed a smile that felt as if he was unburdening centuries worth of pain. He walked around the fallen tool with a wide radius, as if it was the source of some inhuman plague.
"I have a bow as well as some arrows stowed away in the shed at the back. Let us go hunting for deer today," Rama declared.
"You do not hunt. You do not eat meat," Kratos pointed out, voicing his suspicion.
"But I know that you do," Rama retorted. "I won't be eating, of course. So I will have to trouble you to kill, clean and cook it."
"What is your angle," Kratos responded. "This is different from your usual self."
"Change isn't bad."
"I have yet to see a tree that grows underground," Kratos said with a growl.
"Then you have not seen a real tree," Rama scoffed. "A tree's root reach further underground than its branches reach towards the sky."
"Do not play with words," Kratos demanded.
"And yet it was you who brought up the analogy of the tree," Rama pointed out with a scandalous smile. "My, oh my, Kratos, it seems that there is still some hope left for you. We can yet turn you into a civilised man!"
Kratos growled again and pressed on, "You are deflecting. What is that axe's significance?"
Rama paused, "It is as you said. It is a tool that can repair itself. It was... gifted to me."
"It resurrected you," Kratos added, more like stating a fact than asking a question.
"Can such a wondrous weapon exist?" Rama asked in return.
Kratos did not respond.
"Well... we are wasting daylight," Rama redirected. "Let us hunt!"
Kratos observed as Rama practically fled from the scene. Once the man's figure retreated around the corner of his house, Kratos' eyes landed on the axe. It just lay there, in its unassuming state. He walked over to it and picked it up. He then returned it to the chopped stump and embedded the tool back in its place.
___
Kratos just couldn't shake away the feeling of discomfort gnawing away at him. The source of this discomfort was the demeanour of the man who'd been housing, feeding, healing, and teaching him. Rama's general demeanour had turned different. The shift was subtle to a casual observer, but Kratos could see it as clear as day.
The man's attitude had grown uplifted. His steps were light and had a gentle skip to it. It was the kind of movement one would exhibit when they were having a really good day. To top it off, Kratos also noticed something interesting in the man's temper.
Anger is hard to mask. It can be suppressed, but not hidden. Although he wore a calm outer facade, Kratos could feel the rage bubbling within him every time something unexpected transpired. Even though he appeared as a man of infinite patience whenever he taught Kratos how to speak, read and write in Sanskrit and other languages, Kratos could see the minute tinge of red flashing past his gaze with every silly mistake Kratos made.
But now. It was like there was no anger at all. Kratos tested it too, by intentionally spilling the bucket of milk he drew from the cow.
He glanced at Rama, but the man shrugged and subtly skipped away.
Something was odd. People don't just change suddenly.
Rama left around midday, leaving Kratos to his own devices - time which he utilised to observe the axe once again. The tool was where he'd left it in the morning. Embedded superficially in the chopped trunk. It looked mundane in every single way. But it was the root cause of the change.
Unknowingly, the seconds sprinted away as Kratos scrutinised the weapon, stripping away at it layer by layer with just his calculating gaze. Yet no amount of scrutiny yielded any result, forcing Kratos to step away, admitting that maybe he'd just succumbed to his inbuilt paranoia.
Around the time the sun started to set, Rama finally returned. He walked in balancing a thick branch on his shoulder, with two earthen pots suspended on each end with a rope. He greeted Kratos with a smile as he placed the burden on the ground.
"I've brought you something special!" He declared while slowly opening the pot's lid. And as he did so, a torrent of flavours assaulted Kratos, causing his mouth to water unwittingly. Rama, however, showed an expression often presented by pregnant women who smelled something that didn't agree with their mood, and he recoiled immediately.
Kratos leaned forward and was shocked to see a large piece of bone sticking out of a pond of sumptuous, rich-brown curry. It was meat! His eyes darted towards Rama, who was supporting himself against a tree and dry-heaving.
"What is this?" Kratos asked with a growl.
"It's venison curry," Rama said with a hoarse voice. "I had the village's hunter make some."
"Why?!" Kratos exclaimed.
"No reason-"
Before Rama could finish his response, he found himself getting grabbed and shaken violently. As his vision stabilised, he found himself an inch away from Kratos, whose ashen face was nearly bleeding red in anger.
"What is your objective with this!"
"Hey... Relax... You've been asking for meat for a while now. And I just felt that it was unfair to force you to follow my lifestyle," Rama explained calmly while gently disengaging Kratos' grip.
"Now I suggest that we start eating before it gets cold..." Then, with a lower voice, he said, "I don't want to reheat this. The smell is unbearable!"
To that, Kratos would have to disagree. A single whiff of the enamouring steam that billowed out of the pot caused a shiver of ecstasy to pulse through his body. Maybe it was the complete lack of meat in his diet that had turned him so sensitive. Frankly, it was embarrassing.
His mouth watered involuntarily as Rama stirred the curry with the wooden spoon before dumping a hefty serving of it on his banana leaf.
The golden-brown gravy poured down the sides of the deer leg piece like a river of rich flavour snaking down a mountain.
"Rice?" Rama offered.
"No," Kratos boomed before descending into the meat like a ravenous beast. With a single bite, he pulled out a large mouthful of the gamey meat and started to chew on it while simultaneously immersing himself in the volcano of flavours erupting across his tastebuds.
"I've never seen such an emotion in your face before," Rama muttered. Right as Kratos opened his eyes, he noticed that the man's face was barely an arm's length away from his own.
"I didn't know that this perpetually scowling face could actually sport a smile, huh! So all it took was some meat. You should have told me earlier," Rama joked.
"Humans aren't meant to survive off of grass," Kratos said between bites.
"Asceticism is the process of letting go of such pleasures," Rama reminded. "It is to extend beyond the baser human instincts. Eating meat is natural - that is what humans are meant to do. But to voluntarily put that aside-"
"If you keep talking, I will put this in your mouth," Kratos threatened while holding up another leg bone with vibrant red meat on it.
Rama play-acted by holding his palm against his lips before letting out a chuckle and gazing into the dimming sky. A fresh paint of red as the sun set over the horizon illuminated the heavens, evoking a myriad of emotions that escaped his lips with a long sigh.
A thought sparked in the man's eyes as he extricated himself from Kratos' company. Kratos continued to eat while his attention remained on the man through his peripheral vision. Rama disappeared into the cow shed by the cottage. What followed was the sound of heavy objects being moved about and utensils crashing. A few minutes later, the man exited carrying a rather extravagantly decorated pot about half his size.
It wasn't earthen - made entirely out of gold with innumerable gems laden all around it with great care. It wasn't something that could be found in some random villager's shed out in the woods. Which really made Kratos wonder what the origin of this container was.
"It was a gift," Rama answered the question plaguing Kratos' thoughts. "I did someone a favour, in return he gave me this- Well, what he gave me was what is contained within. The container was just a bonus."
Rama approached Kratos and dropped the container by his side.
"Unfortunately-" he continued as he twisted the pot's lid. With an enticing pop, the lid came off with it, and a heavenly aroma pervaded the ambience. "- I cannot drink a single drop."
Kratos' body moved involuntarily as the piece of venison in his grasp dropped onto the banana leaf. He stood up leaned over the pot and gazed in. In the seemingly endless darkness, Kratos saw a liquid sloshing with the vibrance of honey, but with the viscosity of water. It smelled more divine than ambrosia itself.
"What... is this?"
"Soma," Rama explained. He dipped a cup into the pot and filled it to the brim. "Here, drink."
Kratos looked at the extended cup with suspicion and great apprehension. He had to fight against every instinct of his body that urged him to down the entire container. He held on to the last trace of rationality that remained, the rest having succumbed to whatever siren song the liquid sang through its odour.
"What is it?" He repeated.
"As I said, it is Soma," Rama repeated. After facing Kratos' growing suspicion once again, he let out a defeated sigh and said, "It isn't poisoned-"
"You drink it first," Kratos demanded.
"I can't-"
"Why?"
"It's alcoholic! Damn it!" Rama yelled in exasperation.
"Why do you have alcohol?" Kratos asked after a long minute of silence.
"Do you want it or not?" Rama retorted angrily.
Kratos growled before yanking the cup out of Rama's grasp. He brought it up to his nose and took a healthy whiff. Then, with a slow gulp, he took a sip.
The moment the liquid made it past his lips and danced on his tongue, Kratos blanked out.
___
"Kratos, wake up!"
"Kratos- Husband, wake up!"
This voice. He knew this voice. But- But how?
He could feel himself being shaken awake. His face was held in a gentle caress.
A soft touch descended on his lips, with a moist object invading it, like a mischievous snake, entering and exiting like a hesitant thief.
His sight turned clearer, and he was forced to confront his greatest regret- but she was alive, which meant that he hadn't committed his gravest sin just yet.
"Lysandra!" The name left his lips with an emotion that had been lost to him many years ago. The face, which he thought he'd forgotten was once again before him.
"I thought you'd never wake up!" His wife expressed with a playful smirk as she collapsed onto his chest, her head resting gently over his heart.
"C-Calliope?"
"She's out playing..." She said into his ear with an inviting whisper. "We finally have time for ourselves. What if-"
"WHO ARE YOU!"
"K-Kratos... You're... Hurting..."
The vice-like grip started to constrict around the neck of his dead wife. Her face grew paler, her eyes redder as blood started to slowly pool in them.
The asphyxiating woman looked at Kratos with fear, before her gaze mellowed and an alluring smile split her reddening face.
"Do you so eagerly wish for me to die, Kratos?" She asked with grace, almost as if her vocal cords hadn't been crushed by Kratos' constricting grip.
"You. Are Not. Real." He grunted before bellowing loudly in rage.
___
The vision dispersed like pollen in spring, and his true sight returned though with a blurriness akin to a man drowning. Kratos struggled to move as his body felt loose, almost lightweight.
"R-RAMA!" He yelled groggily. He could see the crimson outline of the man who'd poisoned him.
"It isn't poison," Rama said while clicking his tongue in disdain. "Stop fighting the Soma's effect. Immerse in it."
Kratos could feel himself being dragged across the ground and leaned against a tree. "The more you fight it, the worse it gets."
Kratos felt himself slowly slipping against the tree, falling over in slow motion, endlessly, for a very, very, very long time.
"What is this feee... eee... hmm," he grunted. "It feels like time is stretching endless... endless... endlessly."
"It is harmless," Rama repeated. "Try to enjoy it while it lasts. You will see what you wish to see. You will experience what your heart truly desires. So do not fight it, ease into it. Roll with the waves."
As he said this, Rama pressed his thumb against Kratos' forehead and gently massaged him.
"What are you..."
"Shhhhhhhh... Indulge in the pleasant dreams that it bestows on you while you still can."
___
Kratos found himself in a field of tall grass swaying gently in the wind. The grass was a lush, vibrant green, each blade kissed by the golden rays of the setting sun. The sky above was a brilliant canvas of orange and pink hues, the clouds painted in soft pastels as if by the hand of an artist. The air was filled with the sweet scent of wildflowers, their delicate petals opening up to the sky, releasing a symphony of fragrances that mingled with the crisp freshness of the breeze.
The serene scene was filled with joyous laughter. Giggles echoed across the meadow like the tinkling of tiny bells, blending harmoniously with the gentle rustling of the grass. Among them was his beloved daughter, Calliope, running and playing, her movements fluid and carefree. Her giggles were a melody that tugged at his heartstrings, a sound he had longed to hear again. Nearby, Lysandra, his wife, joined in the chase, her laughter a soothing balm to his soul. She moved with grace, her long hair flowing behind her like a cascade of silk, her eyes sparkling with happiness and love.
It wasn't real. He knew that. They were dead. He did that.
It was painful to see them again. But it also evoked a tinge of joy from deep within. It was an emotion he felt very rarely, and he had almost written himself off as unworthy of feeling it altogether.
Kratos began to walk towards them, his steps tentative. The soft earth beneath his feet felt cool and reassuring, grounding him in the moment. The distance between them seemed to stretch endlessly, an eternity captured in mere moments. The tranquil environment seemed to hold its breath, as if time itself had paused to allow him this fleeting glimpse of joy.
As he finally reached them, he extended his hand, yearning to touch the shoulder of his wife, to feel her warmth once more. His fingers brushed against her, and for a moment, everything felt perfect. The world around him was a paradise of peace and happiness, the very air humming with a gentle, harmonious energy. It was a place where pain and sorrow did not exist, where only love and joy reigned supreme.
But then it all started to go downhill. The fingers through which his wife's hair cascaded constricted and yanked roughly, causing the woman to stumble and fall onto the ground with a loud wail.
He then turned and started to walk away, pulling the woman by her hair.
The field, once vibrant and green, began to wither and burn around him. Flames licked at the grass, transforming the tranquil scene into a hellish inferno. The sweet scent of wildflowers was replaced by the acrid smell of smoke, and the peaceful sounds were drowned out by the roar of the fire.
He was no longer outside now. Instead, he was walking down a long and grand hallway of a palace. Though it looked like the building had just weathered a rather dastardly disaster. Its pillars were shattered or near collapse and the floor was marred with craters and loose stone.
He ignored the woman's pain-filled cries and dragged her across the worn and torn path. As he ascended the steps leading up to the throne room, he could hear the woman yelp in agony as her entire weight was pulled by her scalp. But he did not care.
The throne room was in a far worse condition than the rest of the palace. There was endless wreckage everywhere and bodies were strewn willy-nilly, most missing one or multiple body parts. There were none alive here, except one - the King.
The man who would sit on the throne laden in gold and gems was instead crucified against it. But this was no ordinary King. This was Kartavirya Arjuna - The Thousand Armed King. Yet each of his arms was hammered into the golden throne, made immobile. His lower body remained limp, as his spine had been severed rendering it useless.
Kratos approached the broken king and slapped his face. The man shook awake, his eyes red with anger and pain.
"Y-You! All this just for a cow?" The man spat out. "Just take her! Why go this far-"
"The punishment isn't for the theft of a cow," Kratos spoke up, though his voice was altogether different. "It is for the fact that you chose to repay my father's benevolence in treating you, his guests, to a filling meal by stealing the very resource that fed his family. And when he denied it, you chose to take it anyway by force."
"W-Wha-"
Kratos grasped Arjuna by his jaw and brought his face up to him. "If your sins had stopped there, we wouldn't be in this position right now. No. Your greatest sin is being a poor father. Children repeat what they see, and what they saw their entire life was an entitled man who would snatch anything that caught his fancy come hell or high water. Your sons decided that Kamadhenu wasn't enough, they wanted her calf too. And when my father and brothers tried to stop them, guess what your sons did?"
Kratos tossed the woman to the side and approached a large sack thrown by the throne. He picked it up and emptied it in front of the crucified Arjuna. From the jute bag, out rolled four heads.
"M-My sons!" Arjuna bellowed. "Y-You monster!"
Kratos approached the woman and raised her by her hair. He looked into her tear-filled and surrendered eyes and said, "I take no pleasure in this-"
"Please don't kill me!" The woman begged with a hoarse voice. "I am with child!"
"Please, oh, great Sage! Please spare me and the life that I carry~"
A tense silence filled the room as neither party moved.
"L-Let her go. This is between you and me. Innocents don't have to get hurt-"
"My father and brother were innocent," Kratos snapped angrily. "But that didn't matter to you, nor your children."
"So be it," Kratos muttered, and a flash of hope glanced past the woman's eyes, but they were summarily extinguished as Kratos' palm surrounded her throat and started to crush it like a vice.
"NO!" Arjuna yelled as he tried to extricate himself from his imprisonment, but to no avail. "LET HER GO!"
The woman's eyes started to bulge out as she struggled for air. Her nails dug into Kratos' hand as he collapsed his fist around her neck to an unnaturally small circumference. A muffled snap echoed, and the woman went completely limp.
"NOOOO-" A loud thunk followed as Kratos brought his fist down on the man's jaw, dislocating it completely.
As Arjuna mumbled unintelligibly, Kratos extended his hand behind him with his palm open. A series of clangs approached him as metal struck marble. As it grew closer, the sound of wind being cleaved started to grow louder. And through the broken pillars, a spinning axe burst through before perching comfortably in Kratos' palm with a satisfying "thwump".
The axe's metal sang with murderous ecstacy, as he raised it and brought it down on one of Arjuna's arms.
Amidst the King's wails in pain, Kratos raised the axe and brought it down again. And again. And again.
By the thousandth slash, the Unarmed King, though alive, was now a husk of his formal self. His life clung on by its final strand. For all intents and purposes, he was a dead man.
The thousandth and first slash descended, separating the King's head from his body.
Thus ended the Haihaya Dynasty.
Kratos looked down, as the blood pooled out of the dead King's body.
He knew that this was only the beginning. Because bonds of blood still remained - the Dead King had relations both near and distant.
At that moment, the pool stilled and he could see his reflection.
Only, it wasn't his face that he saw.
It was Rama's.
___
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