"How creative. I haven't heard that one before." A feminine voice, laced with a Nordic accent, rang from the nearest, battered stone house.

Vatra's gaze drifted from Garmr and landed on the bare feet of the goddess, Hel.

The goddess' careful steps were methodic and quiet, like a cat stalking its prey, and she passed over the muck and blood without dirtying her skin or clothes. She wore an intricate leather breastplate fastened over a cloth tunic and pants. There were two wolf heads carved into the chestpiece, the faces of the animals snarling at one another. With each step the goddess took, Vatra could have sworn the carved animals' lips curled back as if growling.

Hel grinned, her full lips as pale as her skin. She stopped just short of Garmr and ran a hand through her hair. Long, blonde locks swayed in braids below her hips. The goddess draped her free hand across Garmr's raised hackles.

"Why did you interrupt Garmr's feast?" Hel questioned. She maintained a smile. The light freckles dotting her features made her look young and friendly, but her voice was a mixture of both ice and fire. She was not to be trifled with.

Clearing her throat, Vatra adjusted her grip on her godkillers. "We heard a god-"

"Ah, you came to fight!" Hel shouted. Her attention darted to Vatra's hands the moment her fingers shifted over the hilt of her weapons.

The atmosphere changed instantaneously. Hel's green eyes darkened with a murderous ferocity. The goddess took a step forward and, without breaking gazes with Vatra, she reached her arm down Garmr's throat.

"What the-" Vatra started, looking over to Spyro with disbelief before snapping her head back to Hel.

Slowly, Hel withdrew her arm. Tightly in her grasp was a godkiller of her own—the craftsmanship was unmistakable. A sword forged with a blade that could cut through anything. Hel's bloodied fingers wrapped around the hilt, which was adorned with the image of a silver wolf's head.

"What should we do?" Spyro asked. He was unarmed and appeared well aware of that fact. Spyro tucked himself behind Vatra.

"Now would be a good time for you to summon up some spirits to help us fight," Vatra whispered roughly. She held her weapons out in front of her, side-stepping closer to a path that would lead them out of the center of the village.

Garmr growled, canines flashing in warning.

"I cannot," Spyro replied.

"What do you mean?" Vatra nearly shouted, spinning to face Spyro. She was distracted from Hel, who had lunged toward both of them.

The goddess swung her blade in a wide arc, a sound like crackling thunder following the movement. Vatra grabbed Spyro and yanked him to the right at the last moment, both of them scrambling for safety.

Tripping over her feet, Vatra regained her footing and looked back at their near miss. A scorched mark scarred the earth where they'd been standing. If Vatra hadn't caught Hel's movement from the corner of her eye, they'd both have been turned to ash.

This isn't good, Vatra thought. She eyed Garmr, thankful the beast wasn't sprinting after them.

The both of them jogged down a path leading out of the village.

"We're in over our heads. Hel isn't the god I thought we'd be facing out here. Usually the gods we've been running into aren't of her level, and they definitely don't have godkillers. I don't like this at all. And why the hell did she attack us without even a little banter first? It was like she knew us or something," Vatra said through heavy breaths.

"Perhaps our reputation is more well known than we believed," Spyro offered.

"No," Vatra said. "The gods have never seen us as a threat. Even after all this time. We're nothing to them because we're not even on the same playing field." She blew air loudly through her nose.

This doesn't make any sense.

They followed the turns and twists of the path until both of them skidded to a halt. Vatra widened her eyes at the sight around the bend.

A group of mortal men were gathered on the path. They had to have been from the war that was going on in the far distance. The appearance of a person fighting in a war hadn't changed much over the years; fear, sadness, exhaustion and pure desperation. It was clear the six men before them were soldiers.

Guns raised and pointed toward Vatra and Spyro. The young faces of the soldiers contorted from surprise to confusion as the man in the front shouted at them.

"What side of this war were we in support of, again?" Vatra whispered. She had her hands raised in front of her, palms forward and grasp relaxed on her godkillers.

Spyro shifted uneasily beside Vatra. "I do not recall."

"Hmm." Vatra eyed the soldiers warily. She could already tell by their language they were Russian. "Pity."

"We have more to concern ourselves with," Spyro said.

"Right," Vatra sighed out. "Let's start with you trying to summon some spirits again."

"I cannot," Spyro repeated. "I need to be angry, and I am just not angry enough."

"You're telling me that Hel didn't make you angry enough?" Vatra questioned with disbelief, gaining a frantic response from the soldiers in front of her. She raised her hands back up apologetically.

Spyro shrugged. "I do not know what to say. My emotions are not as easily controlled as yours."

"Come in closer, I'll punch you in the nose and see if that pisses you off enough," Vatra growled. She looked back to the soldiers, her heart dropping.

Over the shoulders of the soldiers, she saw the outline of a familiar god. The heavy furs draped across Ares' shoulders framed a hardened jawline. His brown eyes were shadowed by deepened, thick brows. His dark curls had been slicked back beneath a gilded helmet that reminded Vatra of the one Enyalius liked to parade around.

Ares pulled free his godkiller from his back. The spear stood almost as tall as he was, and it flashed a ray of sun that must have caught the soldiers' attention.

Turning around, the Russian soldiers abandoned their aim on Vatra and Spyro and trained their weapons on Ares instead. Frantic shouts followed their wavering aim. They were terrified of this singular man, and they should have been. He was no regular human being.

"Run away!" Vatra shouted to the soldiers. "Get out of here!"

One of the young soldiers turned his head to look at her. He couldn't have understood her words, but he had to have known what she meant. There was some understanding in his gaze. But, as any soldier, he stood with his fellow comrades.

Raising his spear over his head, Ares spun once before bringing down the weapon in a wide arc to the ground before him. The soldiers fired their weapons as soon as he moved, but it was as if the bullets hit a wall.

A shockwave sent tremors through the ground beneath their feet. Seemingly from nowhere, a forceful wind tore at their clothes and bit at their skin. Vatra held her arms up in front of her face, bracing against the blast that almost sent her tumbling backwards. Her braid whipped around behind her.

After what felt like minutes, the wind died down. Vatra dropped her hands to her side and looked out at the aftermath. Spyro had remained upright beside her, but the soldiers that had been close to Ares were splayed out on the ground. They'd all either been killed by the ricochet of their own bullets, or killed by the force of the spear's hit.

Vatra felt a fire grow in her belly. She scanned the young faces in front of her, and drew her gaze back up to Spyro. Over her shoulder, she saw Hel and Garmr approaching them from behind.

"Are you angry yet?" she questioned Spyro.

Spyro's lips had tightened into a deep frown. "I am."

"Good," Vatra said. "Summon some spirits up. I can handle Ares. You take the two bitches."

It didn't take long for Spyro to even the odds, and four rather malicious-looking war spirits joined him in fighting Hel and Garmr. Vatra pushed the fighting behind her from her mind and walked toward Ares, her godkillers at the ready.

"It's been a while, Ares. Now I know why Hel knew who we were. You must have been expecting us," Vatra said. "I'm surprised to see you don't have your family around. Leading a secret life without them?" she continued, intentionally trying to strike a nerve.

Ares chuckled. "You really are a troublesome creature, aren't you?"

"Ouch," Vatra feigned. "What is it you're up to, anyway? Two gods like you and Hel causing trouble around here?"

"Can't you tell?" Ares gestured around him, using the spear to point toward the battle in the distance. "Mankind is killing itself. Have you seen some of the new technology they've been developing? We can't help but have some fun along the way."

"This is fun to you?" Vatra prodded the boot of one of the soldiers with her own shoe. "I thought you had some sense the last time we ran into each other, but I was mistaken."

"A lot has happened since then," Ares said. His tone darkened, clearly replaying a list of memories in his mind.

"Apparently," Vatra muttered. She took up a stance to make her move, tired of talking.

It was pointless to face the war god. Vatra knew she wasn't strong enough to fight Ares, she never had been. After their last encounter on the beach, she'd shown she was an able fighter and that she had godkillers. But Ares was too skilled for her.

Vatra barely closed in the gap between them before Ares spun out of the way. He was gone before she could blink, and a sharp pain burst through her chest. Looking down, Vatra saw the tip of the spear emerging from her wool coat.

"Screw you, Ares," Vatra sputtered out.

"I'm curious to know. Do you still hate my son more, or have I gained a little of that fire of yours?" Ares walked around to face Vatra. He pulled his helmet off and tucked it beneath his arm.

Vatra wanted to use what little strength she had left to smack the cocky grin off his face. "You think I hate you?" She managed a chuckle. "That's cute. I have more hate for the tiger that mauled me to death once than I do for your pathetic ass."

Ares' smile faltered. He clenched a fist but refrained from landing a blow. Instead, he walked back behind Vatra and gripped the spear, carelessly ripping it free from her. He kicked her to the ground.

"No matter. We'll be gone by the time you come back to life. It's a shame these godkillers don't kill someone as weak as you for good. I see your friend has held up his own well enough. It's a wonder he's survived this long with you weighing him down," Ares said.

The last thing Vatra heard was Ares' boots stomping off into the distance. At least she got to piss him off before she died.