Around them there was a sea of mortals acting like morons, a fair amount of which were booing in the direction of Kratos now for stopping Bast's lung at Ninkasi and others chanting: fight, fight, fight, fight!! For herself, she stared at Kratos for a moment, eyes dark and unblinking, jaw clenched, then turned to look at the crowed, “who? Them?”
Her gaze shifted back to him, the pitch of her voice lowering an octave, “why?” In an eerie moment of calm she started to ask, “step aside, Kratos, I don't want you to get hurt..” but it was too late. She heard Hermod say something about scratches and sharply there was a small jerk of her head in his direction before a dark energy rolled off of Ninkasi. The second her eyes noticed blood, it rolled off further in waves, like the wake made from a boulder having been dropped into a pool of calm, cool, refreshing, hydrating fresh water.
It was only divine energy, but it was nothing good and anyone sensitive to such things: gods, creatures, mortals touched with gifts or sight... would feel it.
The ancient goddess, even in terms of the ancients... the normally jovial goddess of fermentation, of beer, of hydration, of fresh waters that heal the mouth... the goddess who gladdens the heart...
… her temper had gone foul.
And with it, by the power of her will, so did every potable liquid she could control in her vicinity. “Kratos.” She said one final time, but now as low and dark as she could get, Bast had harmed him. Now she was out for blood herself. “Move.” Around her, people were spitting out things they were drinking. She continued, in Sumerian, “before I move you myself.”