The air did not crackle with rage as it had against Ares. It grew still. Cold. Intelligent. Athena did not stomp or roar. She simply stepped forward, and the very dust of the arena seemed to arrange itself at her feet in patterns of perfect geometry. Her spear was back in her hand, its point glinting with a light that was sharp and clear, not fiery.
"You destroyed my city, Spartan," she said, her voice calm, carrying easily across the space between them. It wasn't a shout; it was a statement of fact, as immutable as law. "You burned my temples. My people cried out to me as they died under your blades. Did you hear them? Or was it all just noise to you?"
Kratos said nothing. He adjusted his grip on the Blades of Chaos. The flames, which had roared against Ares, now flickered uncertainly.
"No matter," Athena said. "The accounts will be settled now."
She moved.
