I Am Zeus

The air on Olympus thickened, growing heavy with the promise of annihilation. The playful condescension was gone from Ares's posture, replaced by a stillness that was more terrifying than any roar. Through the crack in his helmet, that single eye burned with the promise of eternal pain.

Kratos didn't wait. He never did. He was a predator, and a predator strikes when its prey is stunned. He lunged forward, the Blades of Chaos whistling as they carved through the air, aiming to bury themselves in the gap in the god's armor.

Ares didn't even bother with his sword. He simply flicked his wrist.

A wall of invisible force hit Kratos like a mountain. It lifted him off his feet and hurled him across the arena. He smashed through a marble pillar, the stone exploding into dust and rubble. He tumbled across the ground, his world a blur of pain and spinning sky.

Before he could rise, Ares was there. The God of War stomped down. Kratos rolled, the god's heel cratering the stone where his head had been. He came up swinging, his blades scoring a deep groove across Ares's greave. It was like scratching diamond.

Ares backhanded him. The blow was casual, almost dismissive, but it sent Kratos flying again, his vision blooming with white stars. He tasted blood.

"You see?" Ares's voice boomed, no longer amused, but cold and lecturing. "This is the difference between us. You fight for revenge. I am war. Your passion is a flickering candle. My power is the sun."

He gestured, and the very air around Kratos solidified, crushing him. It was like being buried alive in nothingness. Kratos gritted his teeth, the muscles in his neck corded, his arms trembling as he fought against the pressure. The chains of his blades glowed red-hot, the flames sputtering.

"I will break you, mortal. Not just your body. I will break the very memory of you."

Ares clenched his fist, and the pressure intensified. Kratos felt his ribs groan. He couldn't breathe. The faces of his dead wife and daughter flashed before his eyes—not as a comfort, but as a fuel.

No.

With a guttural roar that tore from a place deeper than his lungs, Kratos pushed. The Blades of Chaos flared, their fire burning not orange, but a blinding white. The spatial lock around him shattered like glass.

Ares's eye widened in genuine surprise.

In that split second of shock, Kratos attacked. This wasn't the graceful, chained dance from before. This was raw, brutal efficiency. He didn't aim for the body. He aimed for the weapon.

As Ares recovered and swung his massive greatsword in a decapitating arc, Kratos dropped and slid between the god's legs. The Blades of Chaos lashed out, not at Ares, but at the chains holding the massive pauldrons on his shoulders.

The infernal fire, superheated by Kratos's will, sliced through the divine metal. The heavy shoulder guards clattered to the ground, revealing the god's flesh beneath—skin that shimmered like molten rock.

Ares bellowed, more in outrage than pain. He was being undressed by this pest. He spun, his sword cleaving the ground where Kratos had been, but the Spartan was already gone, using the god's own bulk against him, staying frustratingly close.

Kratos was a ghost, a scar upon the god's reality. He ran up Ares's back, his blades leaving fiery trails along the spine of his armor. He leaped from the god's shoulder, driving both blades down like pitons into the exposed flesh.

Ares screamed. A real, pained scream that echoed across the divine peak. It was the sound of impossibility. The sound of a god feeling genuine agony.

He reached back, swatting at Kratos like a man swatting a hornet. Kratos yanked his blades free and dropped, landing in a crouch as golden ichor, the blood of the gods, dripped onto the stone beside him, sizzling like acid.

The silence from the other gods was absolute. Zeus was leaning forward now, his expression unreadable. Poseidon's trident gleamed in his hand, as if he were considering intervening. Hades watched with a hungry smile.

"ENOUGH!" Ares's voice was a distortion of rage. He abandoned his sword entirely. He raised both hands to the sky, and the world changed.

The arena vanished. They were suddenly standing in a field of fire and blood under a crimson sky. The skeletons of fallen warriors rose from the ground, clutching broken swords and spears. The air reeked of ash and despair. This was Ares's domain. The heart of war itself.

"You die here, Spartan! In the world I built from mortal suffering!"

The skeletal army charged.

Kratos stood his ground. He was not afraid of ghosts. He was haunted by far worse. The Blades of Chaos became a whirlwind of destruction. He moved through the horde, a force of pure negation. He didn't block; he obliterated. Bones shattered to dust. Spectral weapons dissolved in his flames. He was a reaper harvesting a field of the already dead, each swing a tribute to the family he had lost.

He fought his way through the nightmare, his eyes locked on Ares, who stood at the center of the chaos, drawing power from the carnage.

Ares summoned a massive spear of dark energy and hurled it. Kratos didn't dodge. He caught it. The impact drove him back, his boots skidding through the bloody soil, but he held on. With a roar, he broke the spectral weapon over his knee.

He was getting closer.

Ares created a whirlwind of blades. Kratos dove through it, his skin being sliced by a dozen ethereal edges, but he didn't slow. He was a missile, guided by hate.

He was within reach.

Ares, for the first time, looked uncertain. He threw a punch that could shatter continents. Kratos ducked under it, the wind of the blow tearing at his skin. He wrapped the chains of his blades around Ares's massive arm and pulled, using the god's own momentum to swing himself onto his back.

He climbed, hand over hand, like a sailor scaling a mast in a hurricane. Ares thrashed, trying to dislodge him, but Kratos held on, his grip iron.

He reached the god's head. He gripped the cracked helmet with one hand, and with the other, he raised a Blade of Chaos high, the fire reflecting in Ares's single, wide eye.

"This," Kratos growled, his voice raw and final, "is for them."

He drove the blade down, not into the helmet, but into the gap, aiming for the eye.

Ares's shriek was the sound of the world breaking. He convulsed, throwing Kratos from his back. The nightmare realm flickered and dissolved, dumping them back onto the stone arena of Olympus.

Kratos landed hard, his body screaming in protest. He pushed himself to his feet, breathing in ragged gasps.

Ares was on his knees, clutching his face. Golden ichor poured from between his fingers, dripping onto the pristine stone. The fire around him was gone. The air was still.

He was just a wounded giant, kneeling before a mortal who had refused to break.

Kratos walked forward, the chains of his blades dragging behind him. He stopped before the God of War. He didn't say a word. He simply looked at him, his own eyes empty of everything but a cold, finished purpose.

The fight was over.