Mortal(God of War)

In the capital of Persia, upon the towering walls, stood the king, flanked by his vast retinue.His face was hidden behind a mask of metal, obscuring his features but his eyes, stern and filled with purpose, burned with power and a cold certainty of the war to come. His body was wrapped in a heavy, gold-embroidered cloak that fell to the ground and clung tightly to his form. Upon his bare arms ran strange dark lines, as if a sinister liquid flowed through his veins in place of blood.

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Before the walls stretched an army the world had never seen. Hundreds of thousands of warriors stood in flawless formation, like statues, ready to crush any force that dared to stand in their way.

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"King, your forces are prepared. When do we march?" asked the general.

"Not yet," the king replied.

"You need no divine aid to destroy your enemies. A single word from you, and we shall sweep across the kingdoms like a storm," said his advisor, bowing with reverence.

"The mad strength of my army knows no bounds," said the King of Persia. "But even that is but a shadow of the might of the Greek gods. We will crush Greece… and they will fall by the hands of their own Olympus."

"As you command, my king," the court replied in unison.

"Let them savor their final years," the king roared, his voice somehow amplified, reaching the ears of all. "Then we shall take all they possess and I shall become the greatest of kings!"

The general raised his sword high, and a deep roar surged through the ranks. The earth itself trembled beneath the power of their war cry.

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"Sua-Ukhaze-Usharna-Sitorak…" Many voices sang in the darkness, chanting an ancient song. Upon a black altar lay a body wrapped in bandages, bound tightly by countless chains.

"Tara, nuka sara…" the priest intoned.

Magic surged through the chains not ordinary magic, but one of crushing, overwhelming force. A violet mist burst from the bindings, seeping into the body on the altar. A sinister vortex tore open the air, spinning violently. Those standing around collapsed where they stood, their lives extinguished. Their souls, wrenched from their bodies, glowed as they rose toward the altar, pouring forbidden, dark energy into the corpse.

"Rise from flame and shadow… destroyer of worlds…" whispered the last one still alive. His weakening hand curled into a fist, then fell limp. He was dead.

The vortex faltered, its strength waning. It seemed the ritual had failed. The body remained still upon the altar lifeless. But then, one of the chains snapped taut with such force that the sound echoed through the hall. A heartbeat pounded from the creature's chest.

Its body began to tremble. One by one, the chains burst apart, releasing the thing within. It tumbled from the altar and struck the stone floor, its limbs twitching and jerking. Fingers scraped against the tiles, bones cracked and reshaped themselves, and from its back erupted bare, skeletal structures growing into wings, which then slowly sprouted flesh. When they fully unfurled, they seemed to cloak the world in darkness.

Beneath the bandages, scarlet eyes flared open. Above its head grew sharp, twisted spikes like a crown of ruin.

"Arkh-rrhh-rrhh…" The voice boomed, low and thunderous, like stone cracking under the weight of a god's wrath. It drew its first breath and began to rise to its full, monstrous height. Its body transformed into living armor twisted, grotesque, built for a single purpose: to bring annihilation.

"I will extinguish the light. Let eternal darkness reign!"

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POV Atreus

This is the place where they held Kratos.

A prison for oathbreakers. A cursed place, built not for redemption, but for torment. Here, the condemned were broken and tortured until they either went mad or fulfilled their vow, even if it took an eternity.

The prison's foundation was a Titan twisted into this hellish place against his will. His flesh, fused with stone, had become the walls, the floors, the very columns of the fortress. He was still alive. His dim eyes, clouded by agony, would sometimes shift, as if begging for mercy. But powerful magic bound him, refusing him the peace of death. His suffering was the very cornerstone of this prison.

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It was a torment you wouldn't wish even upon your worst enemy.

And at last I found the old warrior. His body was shackled with massive chains, bound to the stone pillars. His eyes were hollow, lost in an illusion one that played over and over, torturing him until he submitted, until he swore to fulfill his oath. Part of his mind had already been erased.

I broke through the illusion, entering his consciousness. Before me unfolded a familiar scene: a Spartan military camp. Kratos stood at the head of a formation. The Spartan was speaking about duty, about honor, about what it meant to never break an oath.

It was real. These lessons had truly existed. In Sparta, an oath of honor was never spoken lightly and never broken, not even at the cost of one's life.

My form shifted slightly. I became a childlike version of myself. I waited for the training to end, for Kratos to be alone. Despite the long day, he always kept training until the last light faded. I approached him just enough for him to notice me.

"Damocles? What are you doing here?" Kratos asked, turning toward me.

"Want to train together?" I offered.

"Haven't you had enough bruises from last time?" he smirked.

"I remember I wasn't the only one limping away," I said, taking a fighting stance.

He answered with a stance of his own. With a growl, he lunged at me. The spear's shaft flew toward me, but I deflected it with a shield. He pressed on, relentless. I only defended I wasn't trying to win. I only wanted to reach him, to understand how to bring him back.

"Fight me! Don't retreat like a coward!" Kratos roared.

I struck back with a sharp lunge. He staggered part of the plan. I shifted to the side, caught the moment, and swept his leg. He crashed to the ground, roaring in fury, covered in dust and rage but in his eyes, for just a second, I saw it: a flicker of awareness.

"Get up, Kratos. Break the illusion that binds your mind," I said, looking down at him.

He growled and sprang to his feet. Without a word, he came at me again, spear gripped tight, driven by the fury of a beast. With every blow, his body seemed to grow stronger returning to the warrior he once was. Until he became the Ghost of Sparta once more.

The spear and shield vanished. The Blades of Chaos ignited in his hands.

And I stood before him in my true form.