YOU’LL OOH AND AAH AT THE FROZEN VISTAS, THE CRAGGY SHORELINES, THE MONOLITHS GLITTERING ABOVE STILL WATERS; YOU CAN’T HELP BUT BE IMPRESSED It’s no easy feat, humanising an antihero like Kratos. An unflinching wall of sinew and muscle, he’s as cold as the frost crunching beneath his feet, neither relatable nor likeable, just blunt and a little bit broken, seemingly unmoved even by the soft sobs of his only child.
And it’s strange, seeing our Kratos – that crazed murderer of Gods, hitherto driven by just rage and revenge – so stripped down. To know that he lives a simple existence in a modest single-roomed shack, that this plain, ordinary space is where this terrifying, extraordinary god eats and sleeps, drinks and thinks. Though still every bit the brick…